Monday, February 10, 1956
The Sufferings Inflicted Upon the Sacred Heart of Jesus by Ingratitude and the Insults of Men
It was another bitterly cold morning—ten degrees above zero. Robert came promptly to pick us up for Mass, bringing along some extra firewood since he had noticed Father LeRoy’s supply was running low. The cold had kept most of the parishioners away again, so it was only a small gathering in the little church.
Sister Mary Claire, Robert, and I sat in the front pew, near the warmth of the freshly fixed fire. Since it was still early before Mass, we opened up Jesus, the Model of Religious and began reading the meditation for Monday. It spoke of how Jesus, knowing the suffering He would endure, told His disciples of His coming Passion. He would be betrayed, mocked, scourged, and put to death—yet His greatest pain came from the ingratitude of men. How many times He offers His love only to be rejected! How often His goodness is met with coldness! Sister Mary Claire explained how even now, the Sacred Heart suffers when souls turn away from Him, and Robert spoke of the offenses committed against Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.
When Father LeRoy stepped up to the pulpit for his sermon, we realized he had chosen to preach on the very same meditation. He had read it earlier and based his homily on the sufferings of Jesus, inflicted not just by the cruelty of those who condemned Him, but by the neglect and indifference of so many souls. “I looked for one to compassionate Me, but there was none.” Those words echoed in my heart, and I asked Jesus to help me be one who consoles Him.
After Mass, Robert went outside ahead of us to start the pickup so it would be warm by the time we climbed in. When we got home, Mini was eager for her morning walk, and I took her out, my boots crunching in the snow. We decided to wait to take more eggs to the Breakfast Club, as they still had plenty left from the last delivery.
I wondered if Molly and Megan had made it to warmer weather yet. They had left after Mass yesterday, so by now, they were probably somewhere in Colorado, far from this winter cold - or maybe not.
The day was filled with the usual routine of chores, but before the sun set, I made a quick visit down to the creek and to John Hathaway’s secret cave. His little room of books felt peaceful as always, a quiet place to reflect. I sat there for a moment, thinking about how he must have prayed in this very spot. I whispered a prayer for him, for those who have suffered for the faith, and for all who still reject Christ’s love.
O Sacred Heart of Jesus,
So full of love and yet so often forgotten,
I offer You my little acts of love to console You.
For every soul who turns away, may I turn ever closer to You.
For every insult against You, may my lips offer praise.
For every cold and indifferent heart, may mine burn with love for You.
Hide me in Your wounds, Lord,
That I may never stray from Your side.
Let me bear my little crosses with patience,
Remembering Your great Passion.
And may Your mercy, O Lord,
Draw all souls to Your Sacred Heart.
Amen.
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