May 17, 1949prev home
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Afternoon
First, Jesus, under the aspect of Ecce Homo, waiting for the Cross and saying to me, “They are imposing the cross on Me again so that, by my pain, I can redeem them.... Their obstinacy in a lack of penance flagellates Me, crowns Me with thorns, and weighs Me down with the cross.... Three martyrdoms on account of their three forms of concupiscence - human, mental, and spiritual.”
Later, Our Lady of Fatima - it was truly Her, with her white and gold mantle, the Rosary in her hand, and the white robe, but her face gently pained.
She came down along the pathway of clouds as far as my bed, on a level with it. But there were not two tears, as on the 8th of this month, furrowing her face.... It was a flood of tears washing her face and sprinkling pearls - or, rather, diamonds - over her white robe which fell down to her bare feet: And if the weeping on the 8th had been placid - just two tears falling from her eyes over her face, afflicted, but not contracted by pain - today it was the tremendous crying which alters one’s features and shakes one’s whole body with intense sobbing.... Not one word.... But glances and tears.
I asked Her, “Is this weeping for me? Have I been at fault?”
She shook her head, with a tenuous smile, and confirmed in words, “No, not for you. It’s not you that make me cry.... But what pain, what pain!”
I would have liked to console Her, but I didn’t have time to ask her how I could. She said, “Love me increasingly to console Me for one who is a prodigal son ceasing to dwell in the Mother’s Heart, in my Immaculate Heart, whose loving beat sanctifies whoever accepts it.”
She then went off, weeping, slightly bent over, as if demoralized. She looked like the Woman of Sorrows in the hours of the Passion....