THE DRAWBRIDGE
THE THIRD ROSE OF TEARS
At the first hour of our Lord’s suffering on the Cross, a rose of tears fell from heaven; the second hour, another rose, one of sorrow fell from above; at three o’clock at the end of the third hour, the third rose fell, saturated with our Lord’s Precious Drops of Blood: compassionate roses, the blessed three, illuminating over the world at our Lord’s last breath. For it is the magnitude of the third rose which has consumed the substance of the other two—spiraling inward these tears and sorrow, a transformation, of a flowing presence of our Lord’s Passion: enclosed within its petals, amplified with delicate fragrance. I embrace this blessed rose with great humility and compassion—ingesting this fragrance into my heart and soul. The mist of this rose has captivated my thoughts of our Lord’s agony, sacrifice and endurance in these hours of suffering. They are unimaginable in my mind, but my heart has awakened with deep reverence, unfolding each petal—my teardrops falling upon each one.
O Lord, my sins have been many; my neglect has been much: Your Merciful Heart has condemned none. I walk upon your path, but yet, weak in my efforts. It is the third rose which has drawn me to You, to confront my faults, my transgressions: unfolding each petal to the center, to Your Mercy. This rose of You, is the containment of Your Sacred Heart—the tabernacle of your Presence. I hold You dear to me—clutching this precious vessel.
Empty me Lord, of all things that block my entrance to You; give me strength and growth to excel in Your goodness. Let me not waste time on foolish things; penetrate me with Your awareness; lift me up from this abyss to Your loving Heart; console me, with words of encouragement and wisdom; motivate my prayers into a contrite state of compassion; allow nothing to stand between myself and You; let my weakness fall away. Fill me with grace, for I am in awe of Your greatness—for it is the great LOVE of Yourself, You pour out on all, missing no one: calling, probing, refining.
Oh Lord, I missed not knowing You in my youth—my ears, were closed; my heart, rebellious and unconcerned. Who could help me; who could rescue me? It was You, waiting: waiting on the Cross for the roses to fall. You waited for me, to “smell the roses”; to embrace the third rose—unfurl the petals to the center, finding your Cross imbedded within. The Precious Blood of my Lord has infused the depth of majestic redness into the third rose, and with tenderness, sorrow, and tears has cultivated my heart and soul, into Thy Presence. Amen.
Robert J. Varrick
rjvarrick@gmail.com