The Virgin Sees His Wounds

The Virgin of the Host, 1854, by Jean August Dominique

I secured a 2:00 am Saturday slot for Adoration at St. Joseph’s Catholic Community in Grand Rapids, MN. Not even a Confirmed Catholic, preparing for RCIA to start in that Fall of 2012, all my senses were on high alert, There was something about this act of Adoration that drew me to it, and I was aiming to find out. I had asked the priest what the requirements were to be an Adorer. He told me that a belief in the Real Presence was absolutely essential. Even though I was not formally catechized at that point, I knew I believed in that, having scoured the Catechism, front to back. So I signed up, counting on the early morning hour to rouse my faculties; sort of a boot camp for my soul. What grew out of that initial encounter was the following poem, Adoration Kept. What I have also come to believe with all my being is that Mary is the soundest guide to Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. I hope you enjoy the poem.

My wound was deep; it bound me fast.
My heart, it turned to you at last.
My first resort was not so true.
There was no bond from me to you.
I cursed Creation far and wide,
until I saw your riven side.
My wound was not sufficient proof,
of living love, eternal truth.
Until I tasted your Body & Blood,
I never knew the joyous flood,
of constant peace, and heaven above.
The Spirit came from high to low,
to renew in love, pure love to show.
And I, but one of a numberless throng,
please let me sing this glorious song!
Is eternity enough to plumb the depth
of love so strong as to cancel death?
My wound I now add to Mary's bouquet,
on this, our shared, transfigured day.

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