The Wound Speaks

The timeline of @Pontifex, Pope Benedict XVI, is filled with vicious words. Some are just trying to be wise guy. Some just wanted to pass their time trolling personalities.There are those who truly are wounded people and their wounds speak.





Those who were abused as children. Women and homosexuals who experienced brutality from other people. No one is really spared from woundedness. We can not compare wounds because it hurts just the same. Their wounds are real and can not be undermined. It may have happened a long time ago, perpetuators may have been dead or banished, but the wounds continue to bleed and hurt them.





They seek justice, wherever or whoever can give it, but they cannot find it. Why? Because there is NO JUSTICE THAT WILL SATISFY AN UNHEALED WOUND. Even the death of the assailant can not bring their wounds to just compensation because the wound continues to hurt.





Unfortunately, healing does not come easy. The defensive wall of mistrust, apathy, anger, dissent can only be eroded in small pieces at a time. Seeking justice is futile for an unhealed wound, thus, it often ends in depression and self-destruction.. We hold on to the wound and keep it afresh so it can continually shout to the world "it's real", "it hurts". So how can one find healing?





I don't know if the Pope would have time to read the replies on his timeline. But going in a very public forum, even though virtual, opened himself up to such vicious attacks. I am pretty sure, he had expected it as it was already something he had encountered as Cardinal. The gesture, however, is admirable. The Pope joining the tweet arena had allowed himself to be vulnerable; And vulnerability is an openness to love and be loved.
It leaves one the possibility of being wounded but at the same time it leaves one to the possibility of healing. Punch all you can but I will just embrace it all.



The followers and respondents of the Pope, often in anguish, cynicism, dissent, and disrespect are also venting out a wound that had continually fester them. They are in a defensive and unconciliatory mode but this could also be a break through.



The pope was not the one who abused them, forced them to have abortion, or hurt them. Yet, he remains to be the priest, the Catholic layperson, the Catholic parent who abused them, neglected them, and hurt them. But one CANNOT be angry at the world and the wrong people forever. And slowly the walls breakdown and the people truly capable of loving them can reach out and let healing start.



HEALING LEAVES A SCAR but IT CAN NOT HURT YOU anymore. And often the justice we really seek is, no more than, being able to be there for the unhealed wounds still shouting loudly in our world.


And we cannot forget our WOUNDED MESSIAH, Jesus Christ, who took all the thorns and scourges for our sins.. the Wounded Healer who will be there for us and our woundedness.

A Christmas at the Stable

I went to the stable




to seek Jesus and greet Him.




There were no Angels singing Gloria



but the rising voice of frustration.




O, Where is Jesus?




I seek Him and want to greet Him.









There was no bright star




but a dark hovering cloud of dementia.




There was no silence




but a rumbling wind of fear and worries.




O, Where is Jesus?




I seek Him and want to greet Him.









It is Christmas Day, right?




I hear a Christmas carol from a distance.




People greeting each other from afar.




But where is Jesus?




There are no shepherds around




just a listless sheep at large.









I have stayed awake all night and day;




And I am wearied and weak.




Little bites of bread and lots of coffee




to keep me alert.




For I seek Jesus.



I long to see Him, hold Him, and accept Him.








Lit a little candle and a scent of lovely lavander.




O prayers to Holy Angels, Saints, and




Divine Mercy.




It is Christmas Day and it is almost spent;




But where is Mary and Joseph?




I seek Jesus on this special day.









The humid day turned into a cold night;




The dead seems to haunt




a brain that regressed.




Could I have been in the wrong place?




But this is where Jesus asked me to be;




So I am here to do my part.









O where are you, my sweet Jesus?




I want to spend Your birthday with You.




I think of You and long for You.




Why an empty manger have I found.




The night had passed,



it's the Second day of Christmas!







Slowly, the rising sun shines



while the dark cloud dispels a bit.



There's a reason to smile still,



though the body had become tired.


It was Christmas at the stable



Baby Jesus was not around.







Baby Jesus was not in the manger;


He celebrated with the downtrodden.



Not in a party of the well-dressed

overflowing with food and drinks.



Baby Jesus came as a toddler;

To be carried in a bosom;

So close to every heartbeat.

Warmth shared in each breath.



Baby Jesus was at every stable;

As fragile as a rose petal;

Easily crushed by the weight

of a hand so used to hard toil.



Baby Jesus was at every stable;

Vulnerable and defenseless.

Yes, Jesus was and is

a Tiny Host to be consumed.



Baby Jesus was at every stable;

The Celebrant who gives Himself.

Made Himself as small as a Wafer;

as fluid as Wine to fit a vessel.

Yes, Jesus can be found.
At a table open to all.
Intellects and ignorants,
Rich or the poor.

But don't seek Him in grandeur,
in humility He came.
As tiny as a babe,
For Love He will be.