TUESDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2025 - Podcast Archives

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The Agony of Jesus in the Garden The Communion of Saints is the circulation of blood in the Mystical Body of Christ. When one limb suffers, all suffer. When you are strong, you pump life into the rest of the body. And When you are weak, the holiness of others sustains you. When you feel the agony of your own "Gethsemane" you are sustained by the prayers of your brothers and sisters who are keeping watch. You are supported by the cloistered nun praying in silence, by the mother offering her fatigue, by the sick person offering their pain. If you are united to the Head, Christ, you are united to all the members. let us make a resolution. We will not leave Him alone. We will stay awake. We will tell Him: "Lord, I am here. I am weak, I am a sinner, I am nothing. But I love You, and I offer You this struggle, this small sorrow, for the needs of my brothers in the faith, for the Church, for the Pope. The Scourging at the Pillar Imagine a powerful King. The strongest man in the world. And imagine He walks into a prison and tells the guards, "Take the chains off that criminal. Put them on Me instead." My child, do not look around to find the criminal. You are the criminal. And so am I. He takes the punishment that your sins earned. Every blow intended for your pride lands on His back. Every stripe intended for your impurity tears His flesh. He stands there, bound and bleeding, so that you can walk out the door, free. Now... what will you do with that freedom? This is the decisive moment. This is where the Slavery of Love begins. The world tells you: "Run! You are free! Go back to your old life! Go sin again, nobody is watching!" But if you have a heart of flesh and not of stone, you cannot do that. You stop at the door. You look back at the King tied to the pillar, bleeding for you. Your heart breaks with gratitude. You realize that "freedom" away from Him is just a cold, lonely darkness. So you turn around. You run back to Him. You fall at His feet and you say: "Oh Lord, take my liberty—it was the weapon that scourged You! I give it back, every last bit of it. Tie me down with the sweet knots of Your Will, for it is better to be a bound slave in Your house than a lost king in the wilderness." The Crowning with Thorns My child, do not close your eyes. I know it hurts to watch, but we must look. We are in the courtyard of the guardroom. The whole cohort has gathered. They are bored, and they want entertainment. They have found a victim. Look at your King. Ecce Homo. Behold the Man. They have stripped Him again and thrown a dirty, tattered purple cloak over His bleeding shoulders. It is an old rag, meant to mock the royal purple. They force Him to sit on a stone—His "throne." They thrust a reed into His bound hand—His "scepter." And then, the crown. It is not gold. It is a woven helmet of sharp sea-thorns. They press it down. Hard. They beat it into His scalp with sticks. The blood runs down His forehead, into His eyes, into His mouth. But the physical pain is not the worst part, my child. The worst part is the laughter. They are laughing at God! They kneel before Him, spitting in His face, shouting with mocking glee: "Ave, Rex Iudaeorum!" "Hail, King of the Jews!" They are treating Him like a carnival act. Like a madman. Like a fool. The Carrying of the Cross See how they grab a man from the crowd to help Him. It is Simon of Cyrene. Look closely at Simon’s face, for in his features, you might see a reflection of your own soul. He is coming in from the fields, tired, hungry, longing only for the comfort of his home and his rest. Suddenly, a heavy hand grips his arm. He is forced. Angariaverunt Simonem. They pressed him into service. He takes the wood, yes, but he takes it with anger. He takes it because he has to. He is a victim of bad luck, a man trapped by circumstance. He drags his feet, grumbling internally, his heart full of bitterness, thinking, "Why me? This isn't fair! This isn't my problem!" The Crucifixion The Roman soldiers, rough men used to dividing the spoils, paused before this garment. They said, 'Let us not tear it.' Even they, in their ignorance, respected the integrity of that Jesus cloth. You must show that same respect for your own soul. Do not let the 'soldiers' of laziness, of human respect, or of the frantic rush of the workday tear your garment. You must be a contemplative in the middle of the world. The same heart that loves God in the Tabernacle is the heart that loves Him in the professional duties of the day. It is all one. It is all holy. It is all for Him.