On the Glorious Wounds

As we return to the once-weekly Thursday posts, I wanted to share a resource I learned about in recent months: The Via Lucis or Stations of Light, a parallel to the Stations of the Cross. It seems an appropriate devotion during the Easter season.

According to this website, dedicated to the Via Lucis—which were developed by the Salesians in the 1980s and spread in the 1990s—”The Way of the Light is similar to the Way of the Cross: fourteen stations, with corresponding biblical passages that start from the Empty Tomb, first sign of the resurrection, up to the Pentecost, as its primordial fruit; there are also available adequate biblical passages…”

“And as the Way of the Cross has been planned with the company of Mary, full of sorrow because of her Suffering Son, so along the Way of the Light it's Mary who continues to accompany us, Mother who rejoices in the resurrection of her Son.”

There are various versions available online, but I included three I found particularly beautiful and well-suited for deeper personal prayer.

• Printable PDF Version

• Audio Version at Formed.org - station by station

• Video Version with art and music

Though not an official position or recorded in the canonical Scriptures, it is a widely believed tradition that Jesus appeared to his Mother Mary after his Resurrection. This poem of my beloved Sister Madeleva, the first to appear in this Lent/Easter series, beautifully reflects on the glorious wounds.

I have often found it quite significant that, while Jesus’ body overall was intact, not showing the signs of scourging, the wounds from the Crucifixion and lance remained after he rose from the dead. They had been gloriously transformed…but had not been erased.

What lesson in that is there for us? Which wounds does Our Lord want to gloriously transform in my life? Can I look at any of those wounds I carry and know “now that they are as beautiful as God”?

I have no words to match with its white wonder,
The garment of His body as He wore it
On that first dawning that He came to me
After His death.
Some things there were the soldiers played at dice for,
Kirtle and cloak, perhaps; each got a part
Of such dear raiment as He had about Him,
But not this single garment that He wore.
For that was mine, out of my body woven
Into the pattern of the Son of God,
Seamless from head to foot and perfect,
Growing to fit His growth, strong with His strength,
Until the day He died.
That day the soldiers tore it, soiled it, spat upon it,
Flayed it to thread, seared it with gaping rents.
Being His mother, I shall not forget it.
Only for joy I did forget on that first morning
That He returned to me, clad in its splendor
Cut from the loom of death.
Being His mother, I had wished his body flawless,
Fearing to think how beautiful might be
Five open wounds upon it.
I know now that they are as beautiful as God.
-by Sister M. Madeleva, CSC. From "A Question of Lovers and Other Poems" by Sister M. Madeleva; 1936, St. Anthony Guild Press. © Congregation of the Sisters of the Holy Cross, Notre Dame, IN. Reprinted with permission.

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