SEVENTEEN O'CLOCK

My Jesus, infinite Love, the longer I look at You, the more I understand how much You suffer... You are covered in wounds, there is no healthy part of Your body left. Your tormentors put You on Your feet, but they are furious to see that in such pain, You look at them with such great love, seeing that Your loving gaze is like sweet delight, how many voices beg for more suffering and new sufferings. And though they are cruel, they are compelled to do so by Your Love. And you cannot stand on your feet and fall again into your own blood. They become irritated and, pushing and hitting you, bring you to the place where they will crown you with thorns. My love, if you do not strengthen me with your loving gaze, I will not be able to continue watching you suffer. I feel a tremor in my bones, my heart is pounding, and I feel like I am dying. Jesus, Jesus, help me!

 And my beloved Jesus says to me: My daughter, take courage. Do not waste anything from my sufferings. Pay close attention to my teachings. I must remake man in everything. Sin has deprived him of his crown and crowned him with disgrace and shame, so he cannot appear before my Majesty. Sin has disgraced him and caused him to lose all rights to honor and glory... Therefore, I want to be crowned with thorns in order to place a crown on the forehead of man and restore to him all rights to every honor and glory. My thorns will be my Father's recompense and justification for so many sins committed in thought, especially pride. And for every created mind, they will be voices of light and a plea not to insult Me. So join Me, pray and make reparation with Me.

 Crowned Jesus, your enemies, becoming increasingly cruel, force you to sit down. They throw a red cloth over you, take the crown of thorns and, with satanic malice, place it on your glorified head. Then, with blows from a stick, they drive the thorns of the crown into your forehead, and some of them reach your eyes, ears, skull, and even the back of your neck... My love, what torture! What unspeakable suffering! How many cruel deaths you are experiencing!

 Blood flows down Your Face, so that nothing can be seen but blood. But beneath these thorns and beneath this blood, your Most Holy Face can be seen, radiating goodness, peace, and love... The executioners, wanting to complete the tragedy, blindfold you, place a reed as a scepter in your hand, and begin their mockery. They greet you as the King of the Jews, strike your crown, slap you, and say to you: Guess who struck you!

You remain silent and respond with compensation for the ambitions of those who strive to gain kingdoms, positions, and honors, and for those who, having attained such great power, do not act honestly and contribute to the downfall of nations and souls entrusted to them, and whose bad examples push others to evil and cause the ruin of souls... With this reed that you hold in your hand, you make amends for so many good works, but ones that lack inner spirit and are even done with bad intentions. With insults and blindfolds, you make amends for those who ridicule the most sacred things, discrediting and profaning them, and you make amends for those who cover the eyes of their minds so as not to see the light of Truth. With these blindfolded eyes, you implore for us the removal of our blindness to passions, wealth, and pleasures.

 My King Jesus, Your enemies continue their insults. The blood flowing from Your Most Holy Head is so abundant that it reaches Your lips and prevents Your gentle voice from reaching me clearly. Therefore, I cannot do what You do. That is why I come into Your arms, I want to support Your deeply wounded and aching head, and I want to put my head under these thorns to feel their pricks...

 But as I say this, my Jesus calls me with his loving gaze. I immediately cling to his Heart and try to support his head. Oh, how pleasant it is to be with Jesus, even amid a thousand tortures!

 And He says to me: My daughter, these thorns say that I want to be chosen as King of every heart. All rule belongs to Me. Take these thorns and pierce your heart with them, strip it of everything that does not belong to Me. Then leave one thorn in it as a seal that I am your King, and that nothing else may enter you. Then go around all hearts and pierce them to remove all the stench of pride and corruption they contain, and appoint Me King of every heart.

 My love, my heart aches when I leave you. Therefore, I ask you to deafen my ears with your thorns, so that I may hear only your voice. Cover my eyes with your thorns, so that I may look only at you. Fill my mouth with your thorns, so that my tongue may be silent to anything that could offend you, and free to praise you and bless you in everything. O my King Jesus, surround me with thorns, so that they may guard me, protect me, and keep me turned toward you. And now I want to wipe away Your Blood and kiss You, for I see that Your enemies are leading You to Pilate, who will condemn You to death... My Love, help me to continue Your painful Way and bless me.

 Jesus again before Pilate, who shows Him to the people

My crowned Jesus, my poor heart, wounded by Your Love and pierced by Your pain, cannot live without You. So I seek You and find You again before Pilate. But what a moving sight! The heavens are terrified, and hell trembles with fear and anger... The life of my heart, my eyes cannot bear to look at You without feeling that I am dying. But the captivating power of Your Love compels me to look at You, and thus I can understand Your pain well. So, amid tears and sighs, I gaze at You.

 My Jesus, you are naked. Instead of garments, I see you covered in blood. I see Your torn Body, Your exposed bones, Your Most Holy Face, which is unrecognizable... Thorns, stuck in Your Most Holy head, reach Your eyes and Face. I see nothing but blood flowing down to the ground and forming a bloody stream under Your feet... My Jesus, I no longer recognize You. To what state You have been brought! Your condition has reached the absolute peak of humiliation and suffering! Ah, I can no longer bear to see You in such a pitiful state! I feel like I am dying! I would like to take You away from Pilate's presence, to enclose You in my heart and give You rest. With my love, I would like to heal your wounds, and with your blood, I would like to drown the whole world, to enclose all souls in it and bring them to you as the spoils of your suffering.

 And you, patient Jesus, seem to look at me with difficulty through the thorns and say to me: My daughter, come into my bound arms. Lay your head on my Heart, and you will see even more severe and bitter sufferings, for what you see on the outside of my Humanity is only the outlet of my inner sufferings. Listen to the beating of my Heart, and you will hear that I am compensating for the injustice of those in power; the oppression of the poor and innocent, over whom the guilty are preferred; the pride of those who, in order to preserve their positions, status, and wealth, do not care about breaking every law or harming their neighbor, closing their eyes to the light of Truth. With these thorns, I desire to shatter the spirit of pride of «their dignitaries,» and with the holes they make in my head, I want to pave the way in their minds to put everything in order according to the light of Truth... Being so humiliated before this unjust judge, I want to make it clear to everyone that only virtue is what makes a man king of himself, and I teach those who rule that virtue combined with proper knowledge is the only thing worthy of ruling and capable of ruling. Only virtue can exercise power over others, while all other dignities without virtue are dangerous and worthy of condemnation... My daughter, repeat my rewards and continue to pay close attention to my sufferings.

Jesus, my Love, I see that Pilate trembles at the sight of You in such a pitiful state, and, deeply moved, he cries out: Is such monstrosity possible in human hearts? Ah, it was not my will when I condemned Him to scourging!

 To free you from the hands of your enemies and find a more reasonable basis for doing so (completely calm, he averts his gaze from you, unable to bear the painful sight of you), he asks you again: But tell me, what have you done? Your people have handed you over to me. Tell me, are you the King? What is your Kingdom?

 To Pilate's barrage of questions, You, my Jesus, give no answer, but withdraw into Yourself, thinking of the salvation of my poor soul at the price of so much suffering. And Pilate, seeing that You do not answer him, adds: Do you not know that I have the power to release You or to condemn You? And You, my Love, wanting the light of truth to shine in Pilate's mind, reply: You would have no power over Me if it had not been given to you from above. However, those who handed Me over to you have committed a greater sin than yours.

Pilate, as if moved by the sweetness of your voice, undecided and with a heart full of anxiety, thinking that the hearts of the Jews are more compassionate, decides to show you from the terrace, hoping that they will take pity on you when they see you so tormented, and that he will thus be able to free you.

 Suffering Jesus, my heart faints when I see you walking behind Pilate. You move with difficulty, bent under that terrible crown of thorns. Blood marks your steps, and as you leave, you hear the agitated crowd anxiously awaiting your sentence.

 Pilate demands silence so that he can attract everyone's attention and so that everyone can hear him. With disgust, he grabs the two ends of the red cloak that covers your chest and back, lifts them up to show everyone the state you have been reduced to, and says loudly: ECCE HOMO! Behold the Man! Look at Him, He is no longer human! Look at His wounds, He is unrecognizable! If He did evil, He has suffered enough, even too much. I regret that I made Him suffer so much. Let us free Him!

Jesus, my Love, let me support you, for I see how you are swaying, unable to stand under the weight of so much pain... Ah, in this solemn moment, your fate is decided. When Pilate utters these words, a deep silence falls in Heaven, on earth, and in hell... Then, as if in unison, I hear everyone shouting: Crucify Him, crucify Him! We want Him dead at any cost!

Jesus, my Life, I see that you are trembling... The cries for death reach your Heart, and in these voices you hear the voice of your dear Father saying: My Son, I want your death, and death on the Cross! Ah, you also hear your dear Mother, who, though wounded and saddened, echoes your dear Father: Son, I want your death!... Angels, saints, hell, all cry out with one voice: crucify Him, crucify Him! So there is no soul that wants you to remain alive... Oh, oh, I too, with the greatest shame, pain, and horror, feel compelled by the highest power to cry out: crucify Him! My Jesus, forgive me if I, a miserable sinner, want Your death! But I beg You, let me die with You...

 Meanwhile, my tormented Jesus, moved by my pain, seems to say to me: My daughter, hold close to my Heart and share my pain and my reparation. The moment is solemn, a decision must be made, either my death or the death of all creatures... At this moment, two streams flow into my Heart. In one are the souls who, if they want my death, it is because they want to find Life in Me. In this way, when I accept death for them, they are freed from eternal damnation, and the gates of Heaven open to receive them... In the other stream are the souls who desire my death out of hatred and to confirm their damnation. My Heart is pierced with pain and feels the death of each of them, and even the pains of hell... My Heart cannot bear this bitter pain. I feel death with every beat of my heart and with every breath, and I repeat: why will so much blood be shed in vain? Why will my sufferings be fruitless for so many? Ah, daughter, sustain Me, for I can no longer bear it! Share My pain with Me. Let your life be a constant sacrifice to save souls and alleviate My terrible sufferings.

 Jesus sentenced to death

 My heart, Jesus, Your pain is mine, and like an echo, I repeat Your acts of reparation.

 But I see that Pilate is surprised and hastily says: What? Shall I crucify your King? I find no fault in Him to condemn Him!

 And the Jews shout, drowning out everything around them: We have no king but Caesar, and if you do not condemn Him, you are no friend of Caesar! Away, away! Crucify Him, crucify Him!

 Pilate, not knowing what to do and fearing that he would be deprived of his power, orders a vessel of water to be brought. And washing his hands, he says: I am not guilty of the blood of this righteous man. And he sentences you to death.

 But the Jews cry out: His blood be upon us and upon our children!

And seeing that you have been condemned, they rejoice, clap their hands, whistle, and shout, while you, Jesus, you make reparation for those who have attained high positions and who, in order not to lose their status, violate the most sacred laws out of vain fear, not caring about the downfall of entire nations, supporting the wicked and condemning the innocent. You also make reparation for those who, having committed sin, fuel God's anger to punish them. And when you make reparation for this, your Heart bleeds with pain, for you see the nation you have chosen now covered with a curse from Heaven. They brought this curse upon themselves of their own free will, sealing it with your Blood, which they cursed! Ah, Your Heart is fainting! Let me support You in my hands, making Your reparation and Your pain my own... But Your Love pushes You even higher, and You eagerly await the Cross!