February 7prev home
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6 p.m.
My joy today.
I see a place in the mountains. I do not know where it is. There is a gorge of mountains entering and emerging with their spurs from a valley on whose floor there flows a torrential stream entirely covered with foam on its jagged course. It is narrow, but, like all mountain currents, it is swift, a whole succession of resounding cascades. From where I am, it is heading south. Other, more distant mountains are beyond another steep slope and another valley.
I understand I am in a range of not extremely high peaks, which are, however, mountains, not hills. Just like our Apennines at so many points, such as the Magra Valley, for instance, or near Porretta. The vegetation is more suitable for sheep raising than for other forms of livelihood. I see green meadows plunging down or rising up here and there along the steep slopes, which at this hour - I think it is approaching sunset - seem to be turning an indigo violet. The season appears to be early summer, for the grass is beautiful - already tall, but not yet scorched by the sun.
From the point where I am, I see a mule track rising towards a town and entering among the houses there. A typical mountain road, pebbly and uneven all along. It rises from south to north (from where I am looking), in such fashion that I see it heading in that direction into the town and running on to meet the stream, which is moving in the opposite direction, but not into the town - down into the valley.
There is also another little road which from the valley climbs up this spur where the town is nestled. A little road that is more a path than a road and that runs right along the mountain ridge. Further down, beyond it, the mountain slopes off steeply, with green pastures as far as the foaming little torrent, beyond which there are other pastures assailing other mountains grouped together to the east.
Jesus is coming up from the path along with his disciples. Not all of them. I see Peter and Andrew, John, and Judas Iscariot. I do not see the others. Jesus is dressed in white and wrapped in a dark blue cloak, more navy blue than a lighter shade. He is bare-headed and is climbing nimbly, alone. Behind, in a group, are the four disciples, who are speaking to one another. Jesus, who is a few meters ahead of them, is not speaking. He is thinking. He is looking around, but never speaking.
At a certain point, the little road runs alongside a low flat wall which marks the boundary of a piece of property (or so it seems to me), as if to keep the earth on this land from sliding down into the valley. Jesus enters this piece of property, with very well-tended pasture land, on which there are scattered apple and walnut and fig trees. All of them are very well looked after and are already laden with fruit.
Jesus stops for an instant right at the spot where the mountain spur forms a sort of pointed triangle resembling a ship’s cutwater. He leans on the wall and looks up and down and around Himself. He waits for the apostles, who are coming up rather slowly, especially Peter. Then, when they are together, He says a few words to them which I do not grasp. I see Him bend slightly to speak, for He is much taller than they. I do not understand the words, but I intuit their meaning, for I see Judas Iscariot heading briskly towards a house rising up at the end of the wall.
It is a house that is quite different from the one in Cana.157 This one does not have a terrace on the roof, but is crowned with a kind of rounded dome, perhaps to keep the winter snows from building up on the roof, for in this locality the winter must certainly be snowy, or at least very rainy. Instead of the missing terrace, it has a protruding wing on one side, a wing into which the stairs - also outside, but protected by a sort of overhanging roof - lead. This wing has a portico on the ground floor and a covered gallery above. The house is entirely white and stands out against the surrounding greenery. There is a large grass-covered open space in front with a well in the center surrounded by fruit trees which have been placed there with the intention of creating a garden, for little flowers have been planted around them forming circular flowerbeds. I get the impression the house belongs to people who are well off and more refined than the owners of the house in Cana.
The mule track passes in front of the house, which can thus be reached by both the shortcut and the track. The bramble hedge is not an insurmountable barrier - all the more so because the two rustic gates situated in it are barely closed.
Judas uninhibitedly enters the house, as if quite well acquainted with those living there. A blooming mother surrounded by three children and holding the smallest one in her arms comes out at once. Smiling, she goes to meet Jesus, who in the meantime has continued towards the well.
I notice that this woman is very dark in complexion and shapely, about thirty years old. Her hair, quite black and rather curly, is clasped in two braids surrounding her head. Her eyes are also black and large; her nose, aquiline; and her lips, rather thick and very red. She is tall and well built. I further notice that she is dressed differently from the way Mary and the other women seen in Cana dress. She, too, is wearing a long, light-blue dress which is nearly white, but she is also entirely wrapped in a sort of dark-blue, tightly-clinging shawl which follows the contours of her body. It passes under her armpits on both sides, and one border, the upper one, then bends behind her left shoulder and rises over her head, which it covers with its fringed point as far as her brow. Her overall appearance leads me to think she is not a Galilean, for her physical characteristics and clothing are different from what I have observed in the case of Galilean women.
The small child in her arms is two years old at most. He is a beautiful child, dressed in a kind of shirt made of white wool.
The other children are a little girl about six years old, with very curly, chestnut-blond hair and dressed in light pink, and two smaller boys, also wearing light-blue woolen tunics, like their mother. They must know Jesus very well, for they crowd around Him, laughing.
The young mother greets Him, “Come in, Master, for my house is yours,” and smiles.
Jesus replies, “May the Lord repay you,” and then extends his right arm - his left arm is bent over his chest, and He is holding back the edge of his cloak - to caress the baby. I see the beautiful hand of my Jesus touching the forehead of the tot, who plays the charmer and, laughing, hides his little head against his mother’s neck and from that nesting place looks at Jesus and laughs - he laughs to lure Him to repeat the caress.
Near the well, under an apple tree laden with fruit which is starting to ripen, there is a stone bench, a seat. Jesus sits down there while the woman goes into the house and comes out with a pitcher.
Jesus tells her to let Him hold the child and sits him on his lap while the woman draws water and then comes back with one cup full of water and another with milk and gives them to Jesus; and she selects some ripe apples, passing over those that are still green and offers Him these, too, putting everything on a tray placed on the bench, alongside Jesus. It is clear that she has previously done so on other occasions. She knows what Jesus likes.
The apostles have followed Jesus and are also drinking under the arcade.
Jesus first drinks the water. He continues to hold the child on his lap and is laughing, for the tot is tugging at his hair and beard. The other three are around Jesus. Jesus takes the apples and hands them one by one to the three older children, and, finally, He, too, takes one and eats it. He has the smallest one drink some of the milk in the cup and then drinks as well. Jesus is content. He is laughing as I have never seen Him laugh. The girl nestles up to his knees and takes the liberty of resting her head in his lap. Jesus caresses her curls. The two boys, who had gone off on a run, come back -one with a dove clasped to his chest and the other dragging along by the ear a little lamb a few days old that is bleating desperately. They show Jesus their treasures.
Jesus shows interest, but, taking pity on the state of the two poor animals, has the dove handed to Him and, after having admired it, lets it fly off to its nest; and He lifts the little lamb onto the seat, caressing it and keeping it safe until the children’s mother returns and takes it back to its spot.
The girl, who has nothing else, bends down and gathers a bouquet of flowers and gives it to Jesus.
The Master is a teacher with these children, too, and, continuing to hold the youngest in his arms, speaks to the older ones about the flowers: “So beautiful, made by the Heavenly Father, from the biggest to the smallest, the flowers, which, in the eyes of God, are as beautiful as children when they are good. And to be good it is necessary to be like flowers, which do no harm to anyone, but, rather, provide fragrance and joy for all and always do the will of the Lord in sprouting where He wills, in blossoming when He wills, and in letting themselves be picked if He so pleases.”
He speaks of the doves: “So faithful to their nests and so clean that they never perch on ugly things, always remembering their homes and loved by God because they are faithful and pure. The children of God must also be like this: like little turtledoves that love the house of the Lord and make their nests of love in it and that, to be worthy of it, are able to keep themselves pure.”
He speaks of the little lambs: “So meek, so patient, so resigned, that provide wool and milk and meat and let themselves be immolated for our good, giving us such a great example of love and gentleness. The little lambs are loved so much by God that He will call his Son the ‘Lamb.’158 The good Lord loves those who are able to keep their souls like lambs until death as his dearest children.”
While Jesus speaks, other children come into the enclosure and form a crowd. And not only children, but there are also adults who listen. There are other mothers, who present the smallest ones and some who are suffering to Jesus so that He will caress them and take them onto his lap for a moment. The older ones approach on their own.
Jesus is surrounded by a brood of children. They are in front of Him, at his sides, on his shoulders, and between his legs. He cannot move. But He is laughing in the midst of that unruly and also rather wrangling hedge. They would all like the first place, and the little masters of the house do not intend to give it up, thereby providing Jesus with the occasion to be a teacher once more: “One must not be selfish even in what is good. I know that you love Me and am glad. I, too, love you, but I will love you more if you now let the others come to Me. A little for each one. Like good brothers and sisters. You are all brothers and sisters and equal in the eyes of God and in my eyes. Indeed, those who are obedient and loving towards their companions are the ones most loved by Me and by God.”
The swarm, to show that... it is obedient and loving, withdraws at once. They are all good! Jesus laughs.
But the innocent swarm then returns. It returns in spite of the mothers - and especially the disciples - who do not like so much disrespectful invasiveness. Judas Iscariot is the most intransigent; John, the least. He has sat down on the grass and is laughing, too, surrounded by children. But Judas is frowning and grumbling. Peter is also complaining.
But the children, pressing in around Jesus, pay no attention. They look defiantly at the grumblers, and only respect for Jesus stops them from making faces at the two. They feel protected by Jesus, who has opened his arms and drawn to Himself as many children as He can: a bouquet of live flowers.
There are children who show Jesus toys ...that are broken. And Jesus, with a little piece of a branch, replaces the axle for the wheels of a small cart and, with a short cord and a piece of wood as reinforcement, repairs the leg of a wooden horse which a dark-complexioned boy shows Him. There are shepherd boys who, having left their flocks along the way for a moment (dusk is now setting in), approach Jesus, who caresses and blesses them. One of them brings a little wounded ewe lamb to Jesus, who, not wanting his young friend to be scolded by his master, stops her bleeding and gives her back to him.
A mother comes in and elbows her way through. She is holding a pale, sick child in her arms. The child is very ill, entirely desolate on the mother’s breast. Jesus, who has already touched other infirm children presented to Him by their mothers, opens his arms and rests the half-dead child on his lap. The mother, in tears, implores Him.
Jesus listens to her and looks at her. He then gazes at the poor little child, bone-thin and pale. He caresses and kisses the child, whom He rocks a bit because the tot is crying. The boy or girl (I do not know which because the child’s hair extends down to his or her ears) - opens his eyes and looks at Jesus with a sad smile. Jesus speaks to him slowly. I do not understand what He is saying because it is spoken in a whisper. The sick child continues to smile.
Jesus gives him back to his weeping mother and looks steadily at her with his commanding eyes: “Woman, have faith. Tomorrow morning your child will play together with these others. Go in peace.” And He makes another gesture of blessing over the pale little face.
And here, O Father!159 And here I seem to be drawing near my Jesus and asking Him, “Master, what is there in your hand which makes everything that touches it be repaired or healed or changed in appearance?”
A very silly question, it’s true, but my Jesus answers it with divine goodness: “Nothing, daughter, except the liquid of my immense love. Look at my hand. Observe it.” And He extends his right hand to me.
I take it with veneration, with my fingertips, on my fingertips. I do not dare to do anything else, while my heart is beating very forcefully. I have never touched Jesus. I have been touched by Him, but I never dared to. I am now touching Him. I feel the warmth of his fingers. I feel his smooth skin, his very long fingernails (long not in terms of jutting out, but in their shape in the last phalanx). I see his long, slender fingers and his marked ly concave palm. I notice that his metacarpus is much shorter than his fingers. I observe the embroidery of his veins where his wrist begins.
With benignity Jesus lets me hold his hand. He is now standing, and I am kneeling. I thus do not see his face, but I feel He is smiling because the smile is in his voice:
“You see, soul that I love, that there is nothing. My years of work have left Me an ability to repair children’s toys, and I use this ability of mine because it, too, serves to attract to Myself the creatures whom I love: children. My humanity, which remembers that it has been a worker, works in this. My divinity works in the other aspect of healing sick children, just as I heal sick toys and little lambs.
“I have nothing except my love and my power as God. And I pour it upon no one with so much joy as upon these innocent ones, whom I give you as a model to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.160 I rest in their midst. They are simple and frank. And I, who am the Betrayed One and am filled with disgust by those who betray, find peace in the company of these, who are unable to betray; and I, who will be the One distrusted by so many, find joy in the company of these, who are unable to distrust. And I, who will be denied by those who, with adult reflection, think of getting out of harm’s way in stormy hours, find comfort in the company of these, who believe in Me, without giving thought to whether good or evil may come to them from this believing. They believe because they love Me.
“You, too, must be like a child. Like one of these, and you shall have the Kingdom of Heaven, which opens under the impatient push of Jesus, who is burning to have at his side those whom He has most loved because they have loved Him most.
“Go in peace, now. I caress you like one of these little ones to make you happy. Go in peace.”
Note that the vision came while, disgusted by a rude reply (not the first one today), I was weeping in discouragement and desolation, full of regret and repugnance over what I observe in the hearts of others. The vision calmed me from the outset and then brought me gladness. But when I later was able to have the joy of feeling Jesus’ fingers, I felt the sweetness of ecstasy overwhelming all bitterness.
I look at my writing hand, which conserves the sensation of having touched Jesus’ hand, and it seems holy to me, like something which has touched a relic.161 Blessed be my Jesus!
157 See note 80.
158 John 1:29.
159 She is addressing Father Migliorini.
160 Matthew 19:14; Mark 10:14-15; Luke 18:16-17.
161 That hand, her right hand, remained white when the writer died, whereas her left hand became leaden.