A poetic reflection on Divine Mercy Sunday

Divine Mercy Sunday

Afraid to show You my wounds

I cower,

Hiding faults and failures,

Unable to meet your gaze.

Afraid of being too much and too little

all at once,

I build my wall,

Brick after brick—excuses, pious prayers and what I think I’m supposed to say to You,

All the while hiding how I really feel, what I really think, who I really am—

my heart.

But You too were broken once.

You show me Yourself—Your Body, broken, for me.

“Here is My side, the wound cuts deep.

Behold My heart,

beating for you,

pouring out blood and water—

mercy, for you.

Take and drink, be washed clean.

Here are my hands,

pierced,

nailed down so that you may be set free.

Place you hands in My wounds,

My hands and My side.

See My love, My mercy,

Doubt no more.”

I see Your wounds, Your hands, Your side.

I reach out my hand

Slowly, cautiously,

Afraid You might change Your mind.

I touch Your wounds

Your hands, Your side.

Mercy,

Love,

Beyond compare flow from Your wounds

over my heart.

Your wounds heal mine.

Jesus I trust in You.