Hour EIGHTEEN, From 10 to 11 AM: Jesus takes up the Cross and walks toward Calvary, where He is stripped.

THE EIGHTEENTH HOUR (From 10 to 11 AM) Jesus takes up the Cross and walks toward Calvary, where He is stripped

My Jesus, insatiable Love, I see that You give Yourself no peace, I feel
your fidgets of love, your pains. Your Heart beats strongly; in every
heartbeat I feel bursts, tortures, violences of love; and unable to contain the
fire that devours You, You pant, moan, sigh, and in each moan I hear You
say: “Cross!” Each drop of your Blood repeats: “Cross!” All your pains,
through which You swim as though in an interminable sea, repeat among
themselves: “Cross!” And You exclaim: “O Cross, beloved and longed for,
You alone will save my children, and I concentrate in You all my love!”

Second Crowning with Thorns.

Meanwhile, your enemies take You back into the Praetorium, and remove the
purple mantle, wanting to clothe You again with your own garments. But,
alas, how much pain! It would be sweeter for me to die than to see You
suffer so much! The garment remains snagged to the crown, and they are
unable to pull it off. So, with cruelty never before seen, they tear off
everything together – garment and crown. At the cruel tearing, many thorns
break, remaining stuck inside your most holy head. Blood pours down in
torrents, and your pain is such that You moan. But the enemies, heedless of
the tortures, clothe You with your own garment, and then put the crown
back, pushing it violently upon your head. The thorns are driven into your
eyes, into your ears – there is not one part of your most holy head that does
not feel their piercing. Your pain is such that You stagger under those cruel
hands, shivering from head to foot; You are about to die among atrocious
spasms of pain, and with your languishing eyes, filled with blood, You look
at Me, with difficulty, asking for help in so much pain!

My Jesus, King of Sorrows, let me sustain You and hold You tightly to my
heart. I would want to take the fire that devours You to burn your enemies
to ashes and rescue You; but You don’t want it, because your yearnings for
the Cross become more ardent, and You quickly want to immolate
Yourself on It - also for your enemies! But as I hold You tightly to my heart,
You, holding me tightly to Yours, tell me: “My child, let Me pour out my
love; and together with Me, repair for those who do good and yet dishonor
Me. These Jews clothe Me with my own garment in order to discredit Me
even more before the people, to convince them that I am a criminal. In
appearance, the action of clothing Me was good, but in its essence it was
evil. Ah, how many do good works, administer Sacraments or attend them,
with human, and even evil purposes. But good, done badly, leads to
hardness; so I want to be crowned for the second time, with pains sharper
than the first time, in order to shatter this hardness, and with my thorns,
draw them to Myself. Ah, my child, this second crowning is much more
painful. I feel my head swimming in the midst of thorns; at every movement
I make, or blow they give to Me, I suffer many cruel deaths. In this way I
repair for the malice of the offenses; I repair for those, who, in whatever
interior state they find themselves, instead of thinking of their own
sanctification, waste and reject my grace, giving Me back more piercing
thorns; while I am forced to moan, to cry tears of blood, and to sigh for
their salvation.

Ah, I do everything to love them, and the creatures do everything to offend
Me! You, at least - do not leave Me alone in my pains and reparations.”
Jesus embraces the Cross.

My tortured Good, with You I repair, with You I suffer. But I see that your
enemies hurl You down the stairs; the people await You with fury and
eagerness; they make You find the Cross ready, which You long for with
many sighs. And You - with love You gaze on It, and with firm step You
approach It and embrace It. But, before that, You kiss It, and as a shiver of
joy runs through your Most Holy Humanity, with highest contentment You
gaze on It again, measuring Its length and breadth. In It, already, You
establish the portion for each creature. You dower them all, enough to bind
them to the Divinity with a bond of marriage, and make them heirs of the
Kingdom of Heaven. Then, unable to contain the love with which You love
them, You kiss the Cross again, and say: “Adored Cross, finally I embrace
you. You were the longing of my Heart, the martyrdom of my love. But you,
O Cross, have delayed until now, while my steps were always toward you.
Holy Cross, you were the goal of my desires, the purpose of my existence
down here. In you I concentrate my whole being, in you I place all my
children, and you will be their life, their light, defense, custody and
strength. You will assist them in everything, and will bring them gloriously
to Me in Heaven. Oh Cross, Pulpit of Wisdom, you alone will teach true
sanctity; you alone will form the heroes, the athletes, the martyrs, the
Saints. Beautiful Cross, you are my Throne, and since I have to leave the
earth, you will remain in my place. To you I give all souls as dowry – keep
them, save them; I entrust them to you!”

In saying this, eager, You let It be placed upon your most holy shoulders.
Ah, my Jesus, the Cross is too light for your love, but the weight of our sins
unites to that of the Cross - enormous and immense, as the expanse of the
Heavens. And You, my wearied Good, You feel crushed under the weight
of so many sins. Your soul is horrified at their sight, and feels the pain of
each sin. Your Sanctity remains shaken before so much ugliness, and as the
Cross weighs upon your shoulders, You stagger, You pant, and a mortal
sweat creeps through your Most Holy Humanity. O please, my Love, I
don’t have the heart to leave You alone - I want to share the weight of the
cross with You; and to relieve You from the weight of sins, I cling to your
feet. I want to give You, in the name of all creatures, love for those who do
not love You, praises for those who despise You, blessings, thanksgivings,
obedience on behalf of all. I promise that in any offense You receive, I intend
to offer You all of myself in reparation, to do the acts opposite to the
offenses the creatures give You, and to console You with my kisses and
continuous acts of love. But I see that I am too miserable; I need You to be
able to really repair You. Therefore I unite myself to your Most Holy
Humanity, and together with You I unite my thoughts to yours in order to
repair for the evil thoughts – mine, and of all; my eyes to yours, to repair
for the evil glances; my mouth to yours, to repair for the blasphemies and
the evil discourses; my heart to yours, to repair for the evil tendencies,
desires and affections. In a word, I want to repair everything that your Most
Holy Humanity repairs, uniting myself to the immensity of your Love for
all, and to the immense good You do to all. But I am not yet content. I want
to unite myself to your Divinity, and I dissolve my nothingness in It, and in
this way I give You everything. I give You your Love to quench your
bitternesses; I give You your Heart to relieve You from our coldness, lack
of correspondence, ingratitude, and the little love of the creatures. I give
You your Harmonies to cheer your hearing from the deafening blasphemies
it receives. I give You your Beauty to relieve You from the ugliness of our
souls, when we muddy ourselves in sin. I give You your Purity to relieve
You from the lack of righteous intention, and from the mud and rot You see
in many souls. I give You your Immensity to relieve You from the
voluntary constraints into which souls put themselves. I give You your
Ardor to burn all sins and all hearts, so that all may love You, and no one
may offend You, ever again. In sum, I give You all that You are, to give
You infinite satisfaction, eternal, immense and infinite love.

The Painful Way to Calvary.

My most patient Jesus, I see You take the first steps under the enormous
weight of the Cross. I unite my steps to yours, and when You, weak, bled
dry and staggering, are about to fall, I will be at your side to sustain You; I
will place my shoulders beneath It, so as to share Its weight with You. Do
not disdain me, but accept me as your faithful companion. Oh Jesus, You
look at me, and I see that You repair for those who do not carry their crosses
with resignation, but rather, they swear, get irritated, commit suicide, and
commit murders. And for all You impetrate love and resignation to their
crosses. But your pain is such that You feel crushed under the Cross. You
have taken only the first steps, and You already fall under It. As You fall,
You knock against the stones; the thorns are driven more into your head,
while all your wounds are embittered, and pour out new Blood. And since
You do not have the strength to get up, your enemies, irritated, try to make
You stand with kicks and shoves.

My fallen Love, let me help You to stand, let me kiss You, dry your Blood,
and repair together with You for those who sin out of ignorance, fragility
and weakness. I pray You to give help to these souls.

My Life, Jesus, making You suffer unheard-of spasms, your enemies have
managed to put You on your feet, and as You walk, staggering, I hear your
panting breath. Your Heart beats more strongly and new pains pierce It
intensely. You shake your head in order to clear your eyes from the blood
that fills them, and You gaze anxiously. Ah, my Jesus, I understood
LUISA PICCARRETA | 1 2 5everything - your Mama, who is searching for You like a moaning dove,
wants to tell You one last word, and receive your last gaze; and You feel Her
pains, Her heart lacerated in Yours, moved and wounded by Her love and
by Yours. You see Her pushing Her way through the crowd, wanting at
any cost to see You, to hug You, to give You the last good-bye. But You are
more transfixed in seeing Her mortal paleness, and all of your pains
reproduced in Her by force of love. If She lives, it is only by a miracle of
your Omnipotence. You move your steps toward hers, but You can hardly
exchange a glance!

Oh, pang of your two Hearts! The soldiers notice it, and with blows and
shoving prevent Mama and Son from exchanging the last good-bye. The
torment of both is such that your Mama remains petrified by the pain, and is
about to die. Faithful John and the pious women sustain Her, while You fall
again under the Cross. Then, your sorrowful Mama does with Her soul that
which She cannot do with Her Body, because She is prevented: She enters
into You, makes the Will of the Eternal One Her own, and associating
Herself in all your pains, performs the office of your Mother, kisses You,
repairs You, soothes You, and pours the balm of Her sorrowful love into
all your wounds!

My suffering Jesus, I too unite with the pierced Mama. I make all your pains,
and every drop of your Blood my own; in each wound I want to act as a
mama for You, and together with Her, and with You, I repair for all the
dangerous encounters, and for those who expose themselves to occasions of
sin, or, forced by necessity to be exposed, remain entangled in sin.
Meanwhile, You moan, fallen under the Cross. The soldiers fear that You
may die under the weight of so many martyrdoms, and from the shedding
of so much Blood. In spite of this, by lashes and kicks, with difficulty, they
manage to put You on your feet again. And You repair for repeated falls
into sin, for mortal sins committed by every class of people, and You pray
for obstinate sinners, shedding tears of blood for their conversion.
My Love, overcome with pain, while I follow You in these reparations, I see
You stagger under the enormous weight of the Cross. You are shivering all
over. At the continuous shoving You receive, the thorns penetrate more and
more into your most holy head. The Cross, with its heavy weight, digs into
your shoulder, to the extent of forming a wound so deep that the bones are
exposed. At every step, it seems that You are dying, and unable to move
any further. But your love, which can do everything, gives You strength,
and as You feel the Cross penetrate into your shoulder, You repair for the
hidden sins; those which, not being repaired, increase the bitterness of your
spasms. My Jesus, let me place my shoulder under the Cross to relieve You
and repair with You for all hidden sins.

But your enemies, for fear that You may die under It, force the Cyrenean to
help You carry the Cross. Unwilling and complaining, he helps You – not
out of love, but by force. Then all the complaints of those who suffer, the
lack of resignation, the rebellions, the anger and despising in suffering,
echo in your Heart. But You remain even more pierced in seeing that souls
consecrated to You, whom You call to be your help and companions in your
suffering, escape You; and if You hug them to Yourself through suffering -
ah, they wriggle free from your arms to look for pleasures, and so they leave
You alone, suffering!

My Jesus, while I repair with You, I pray You to hold me in your arms, but
so tightly that there may be no pain that You suffer in which I do not take
part, so as to be transformed in them and make up for the abandonment of
all creatures. My Jesus, overcome with weariness, all bent over, You can
hardly walk; but I see that You stop and try to look. My Heart, what is it?
What are You looking for? Ah, it is Veronica, who, fearless and
courageous, with a cloth dries your Face all covered with blood, and You
leave your Face impressed on it, as sign of gratitude. My generous Jesus, I
too want to dry You, but not with a cloth; I want to expose all of myself to
relieve You, I want to enter into your interior and give You, O Jesus,
heartbeat for heartbeat, breath for breath, affection for affection, desire for
desire. I intend to dive into your Most Holy Intelligence, and making all
these heartbeats, breaths, affections and desires flow in the immensity of your
Will, I intend to multiply them to infinity. I want, O my Jesus, to form waves
of heartbeats, so that not one evil heartbeat may resound in your Heart, and
so soothe all your interior bitternesses. I intend to form waves of affections
and desires to cast away all evil affections and desires which might, even
slightly, sadden your Heart. Still more, O my Jesus, I intend to form waves
of breaths and thoughts, to cast away any breath or thought that could
LUISA PICCARRETA | 1 2 7slightly displease You. I will be on guard, O Jesus, so that nothing else may
afflict You, adding more bitterness to your interior pains. O my Jesus, please,
let all of my interior swim in the immensity of yours; in this way I will be
able to find enough love and will, so that no evil love may enter your
interior, nor a will which may displease You.

O my Jesus, to be more certain, I pray You to seal my thoughts with Yours,
my will with Yours, my desires with Yours, my affections and heartbeats
with Yours; so that, being sealed, they may take no life but from You. I ask
You, again, O my Jesus, to accept my poor body which I would want to tear
to shreds for love of You, and reduce it to tiny little pieces, to place over
each one of your wounds. On that wound, O Jesus, which gives You pain
from so many blasphemies, I place a little piece of my body, wanting it to
say to You constantly: “I bless You”. On that wound that gives You so
much pain from the many ingratitudes, I intend, O Jesus, to place a portion
of my body, to prove my gratitude to You. On that wound, O Jesus, which
makes You suffer so much from coldness and lack of love, I intend to place
many little bits of my flesh, to say to You constantly: “I love You, I love
You, I love You!” On that wound which gives You so much pain from the
so many irreverences to your Most Holy Person, I intend to place a piece of
myself, to tell You always: “I adore You, I adore You, I adore You!” O my
Jesus, I want to diffuse myself in everything, and in those wounds
embittered by the many misbeliefs, I desire that the shreds of my body tell
You, always: “I believe - I believe in You, O my Jesus, my God, and in your Holy Church, and I
intend to give my life to prove my Faith to You!” O my Jesus, I plunge
myself into the immensity of your Will, and making It my own, I want to
compensate for all, and enclose the souls of all in the power of your Most
Holy Will. O Jesus, I still have my blood left, which I want to pour over
your wounds as balm and soothing liniment, in order to relieve You and
heal You completely. Again, I intend, O Jesus, to make my thoughts flow
in the heart of every sinner, to reprimand him continuously, that he may not
dare to offend You. And I pray to You with the voice of your Blood, so
that all may surrender to my poor prayers. In this way I will be able to
bring them into your Heart! Another grace, O my Jesus, I ask of You: that
in everything I see, touch and hear, I may see, touch and hear always You;
and that your Most Holy Image and your Most Holy Name, always be
impressed in every particle of my poor being.

In the meantime, the enemies, disapproving of this act of Veronica, flog
You, push You, and shove You on the way! A few more steps and You stop
again. Even under the weight of so much suffering, your love does not stop,
and on seeing the pious women weeping because of your pains, You forget
Yourself and console them, saying: “Daughters, do not weep over my pains,
but over your sins and over your children”. What a sublime teaching, how
sweet is your word! O Jesus, with You I repair for the lack of charity, and I
ask You for the grace of making me forget myself, to remember nothing but
You alone.

On hearing You speak, your enemies become furious, they pull You by the
ropes, and push You with such rage as to make You fall. As You fall, You
knock against the stones: the weight of the Cross crushes You, and You feel
You are dying! Let me sustain You, and protect your most holy Face with
my hands. I see You touch the ground and gasp in your Blood. But your
enemies want to make You stand; they pull You by the ropes, they lift You
by your hair, they kick You - but all in vain. You are dying, my Jesus! What
pain - my heart breaks with grief! Almost dragging You, they take You up
to Mount Calvary. As they drag You, I hear You repair for all the offenses
of the souls consecrated to You, which weigh upon You so much that, as
much as You try to stand, You cannot! And so, dragged and trampled
upon, You reach Calvary, leaving behind You the red trace of your precious
Blood.

Jesus is stripped and crowned with thorns for the third time.
But new sufferings await You here. They strip You again, tearing off both
garment and crown of thorns. Ah, You groan in feeling the thorns being
torn from inside your head. And as they pull your garment, they tear also the
lacerated flesh attached to it. The wounds rip open, your Blood flows to the
ground in torrents; the pain is such that, almost dead, You fall.
But nobody is moved to compassion for You, my Good! On the contrary,
with bestial fury they put the crown of thorns on You again. They beat it on
well, and the torture they cause You because of the lacerations and the
tearing of your hair clotted in the coagulated blood, is such that only the
Angels could tell what You suffer, while, horrified, they turn their celestial
gaze away, and weep!

My stripped Jesus, allow me to hold You to my heart to warm You, as I see
that You are shivering and an icy mortal sweat invades your Most Holy
Humanity. How I would want to give You my life – my blood to take the
place of yours, which You have lost to give me life!
In the meantime, barely looking at me with His languishing and dying eyes,
Jesus seems to tell me: “My child, how much souls cost Me! This is the
place where I wait for everyone in order to save them, where I want to
repair for the sins of those who arrive at degrading themselves lower than
beasts, and are so obstinate in offending Me as to reach the point of not
being able to live without committing sins. Their minds remain blinded,
and they sin wildly. This is why they crown Me with thorns for the third
time. And by being stripped, I repair for those who wear luxurious and
indecent clothing, for the sins against modesty, and for those who are so
bound to riches, honors and pleasures, as to make of them a god for their
hearts.

Ah, yes, each one of these offenses is a death that I feel; and if I do not die,
it is because the Will of my Eternal Father has not yet decreed the moment
of my death!”

My stripped Good, while I repair with You, I pray You to strip me of
everything with your most holy hands, and not to allow that any bad
affection may enter into my heart. Watch over it; surround it with your
pains; fill it with your love. May my life be nothing but the repetition of
Yours; strengthen my stripping with your blessing; bless me from your
Heart, and give me the strength to be present at your sorrowful crucifixion,
to remain crucified with You!

Reflections and Practices

Jesus carries the Cross. The love of Jesus for the Cross, His anxious ardor
to die on It for the salvation of souls, are immense! And we - do we love
suffering like Jesus? Can we say that our heartbeats echo His divine
heartbeats, and that we too ask for our cross?!

When we suffer, do we have the intention of becoming companions of Jesus
in order to relieve Him from the weight of His Cross? How do we
accompany Him? As He receives insults, are we always ready to give Him
our little suffering as relief for His pains?

In working, in praying, and when we feel the hardship of our suffering
under the weight of interior pains, do we let our pain fly to Jesus, which,
like a veil, may dry up His sweat and cheer Him, as we make His hardship
our own?

All: O my Jesus, call me always to be close to You, and remain always
near me, so that I may comfort You always with my pains.