The Spirit comes. The wound remains.
It’s not that simple. Yes, of course, there is joy. One is quick to see the traces of God in such things. And that’s fine. It shows a kind of spiritual sensitivity. And perhaps—hopefully—some humility. “Hopefully,” because where pride arises, danger lurks: namely, perceiving God’s traces where only ego is present. One’s own plans. One’s own desires. And then using God to justify the ego with divine legitimacy. Lord! Preserve us from pride!
But there is another challenge. Let me try to explain it like this:
Yesterday was First Friday, dedicated to the Sacred Heart (celebrated in the Catholic Church worldwide on the first Friday of each month). And we are in June—the month especially dedicated to the Sacred Heart. Now, my religious congregation (the Legionaries of Christ) used to be called “Misioneros del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús y de la Virgen de los Dolores” (freely translated: Missionaries of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and of the Sorrowful Virgin Mary), a heritage that still shapes us today. We signed the contract with our general contractor “coincidentally” on September 15, 2023—the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows (why this curious title would be a longer story). And yesterday, we celebrated the handover of the building, the so-called “key handover” from the contractor to the owner. This is a major milestone for us—one of the most important of the whole project. And it happened on the the first Friday in June, dedicated to the Sacred Heart. It began with Mary, ended with Jesus. She leads to him. Always. Divine orchestration… with the awareness that such statements must be made cautiously. But one can also fall into the opposite extreme—being unable to recognize God’s mighty deeds at all, trying to explain everything with human logic. But if we had approached this project like that, we would never have begun. This project was and is only possible because God intervened—and still intervenes. All the miracles that happened along the way defy purely human explanation.
But here’s the challenge I mentioned. Or why it’s not that simple. Yesterday we didn’t just have a key handover. I also had a conversation with a mom who recently lost a child. And her father was just diagnosed with cancer. And… I could go on, but that’s already enough. Should I enthusiastically explain to her what the Lord is doing so wonderfully among us? How His providence can be felt? Should I just ask her to open her eyes? It’s not that simple. Truly challenging.
Yes, we may experience moments that taste of heaven, foretastes of “He will wipe away every tear” (Rev 21:4), glimpses of life in abundance (cf. Jn 10:10). Even now, we may share in the joy of the Risen One, filled with hope that sustains us (cf. Rom 5:5). I myself can testify to the depth of joy, the fullness of life, granted to me undeservedly, simply as a gift. Even when storms rage on the surface. But I also know that this is gift. Grace. Divine life, given through the Holy Spirit, the Gift personified. And I know that it’s easy for me to speak—because I have not endured what many others I meet in ministry have lived through. I know I speak easily when I haven’t had to walk through this or that suffering myself.
We are not masochists. We don’t love suffering. We don’t glorify it. And we work to eliminate it wherever we can. At the same time, we know: we do not live in paradise. Jesus Himself evidently did not come to remove all suffering from this world—but to remove its meaninglessness (see John Paul II, Salvifici Doloris). He redeemed suffering itself, gave it redemptive power—through His own suffering, His own offering. And that is not easy to grasp.
It is Pentecost. He showed them His hands and feet (cf. Jn 20:20). He breathed on them (cf. Jn 20:22): “Receive the Holy Spirit… If you forgive anyone’s sins, they are forgiven.” (Jn 20:22–23) He showed His hands and feet… because they could still see the wounds: “Unless I see the nail marks in His hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into His side…” (Jn 20:25). Jesus is risen. Yes. But the wounds remain. This is a great mystery. And the sending of the Holy Spirit seems somehow to be tied to it. Also to the greatest evil in the world—greater even than physical suffering—and its overcoming: sin and its forgiveness.
He gives them the Spirit after showing His wounds. This recalls the Cross itself. “I thirst!” (Jn 19:28) …and after being offered vinegar on a sponge, “It is finished,” and He “gave up His Spirit” (Jn 19:30). The Spirit comes through His death… and when the spear pierces the Lamb of God (cf. Jn 19:34), from this Temple of God, just as in Ezekiel’s vision, a stream of life flows—blood and water—becoming a great river. Wherever this living water flows, life arises (cf. Ez 47:1–12). For “Whoever believes in Me… rivers of living water will flow from within them.” By this He meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in Him were later to receive. (Jn 7:38–39) The Spirit comes—but through the Cross. The Spirit comes—but the wound remains. Even if it is glorified. The Spirit will flow—if we believe. Lord: “I believe! Help my unbelief!” (Mk 9:24) Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of Your faithful, and kindle in them the fire of Your love. Come, Holy Spirit, and all things shall be renewed. Come, Holy Spirit! And the face of the earth shall be made new. (cf. Ps 104:30)
God bless! Happy Pentecost!
Fr. George LC
