The Pieta

At my parish church, St. Michael's, there is a beautiful statue of the Pieta. I used to take Karim there to look at this statue and pray by it because the wounds Jesus bore reminded me of Karim's wounds. Like Jesus, Karim's hands and feet had open sores on them, often bleeding where they cracked open. His mid-section around his groin area was covered with a manifestation of his disease. This reminded me of the place of Jesus' side where the soldier thrust the sword into His flesh to make sure He was indeed dead. And finally, Karim had sores on his face and about his ears, sometimes causing him pain and itching and sometimes bleeding, as well. Jesus suffered from the wounds caused from the crown of thorns on His precious head.

On Wednesday I went to pray at church after I left work. I found myself pondering that statue. I went behind the communion rail so that I could be right next to the statue and I touched all of the wounds on Jesus' body, contemplating each one individually. I looked into Mary's sorrowful eyes and spoke to her, telling her how I was so sorry for the pain that she had to endure as a mother of this man that had suffered so right before her eyes; the innocent one who had been slaughtered for the sins of the many guilty ones, including me. The statue had tears coming down her cheeks as she looked upon her son with such pain in her eyes. I reached up and attempted to wipe the tears from her eyes. Of course, this wasn't possible, since it was a plaster statue, including the tears.

I continued to go from wound to wound, thinking of the significance of each, and begging the Father to hear my continued prayers for little Karim. I thought of Jesus' words, "Whatever you ask the Father in my name, it will be given to you." These words have gone through my head so many times for the past three years. I say them over and over again, yet I remind myself that it is only according to His holy will that these prayers will be answered.

Then I sighed a deep sigh and rested my head upon Jesus chest, holding in my left hand his limp left hand, and with my right, enfolding his mother's hand and his right hand which were clasped together as she held Him one last time. I entered into this sorrowful love scene. I became a part of this sorrowful love scene. I kissed each one of Jesus' wounds before I left. And I went home with the hope in my mind that one day the Father will indeed answer my unselfish prayer for Karim because the judge answered the persistent widow because he got tired of hearing her over and over again. I wonder if God will get tired of hearing me over and over again. I wonder if He is bothered by my persistence. I think not. For He is a loving and merciful God who never tires of His human creations. His love for us is far greater than any irritation He may have with us. Thank You, Lord, for being patient with my persistence.