Christ loved the Church and gave Himself up for her.

We are in the first week of Advent, yet we do not forget why He came and His Passion lived out in the crisis afflicting the Church at the present time.  One of us wrote a poem a year ago after taking care of a persistent wound for an elder Sister.  This year, the poem seems prophetic.

Your Body

Lord,

Your body is so very wounded,

It wearies me.

Sores all over, unhealed, unsalved,

No hope of healing.

Woe, woe for wounds that weep,

Sores that seep

When I bandage them,

They fester beneath the gauze.

There is no soundness to be found in You-

Even exhausted pores sweat blood.

Where the end

To anguish beyond remedy?

I too have sinned;

I look upon You, and my own battered body

Resonates within.

I lay my hands upon You to heal,

Only to inflict infection.

Lord,

Your Body wounded all over

Has been bought in blood;

Her slavery to sin has ended-

There remain now the open stripes.

Help us, Lord;

Have mercy.