The despised heart of Jesus

There is no greater sorrow for a heart that loves than to see its love despised; and all the more when on one side the love has been great, and on the other the ingratitude has been great. Jesus Christ has offered for us His sufferings, His Blood, His very life, and we have returned Him ill-treatment, contempt, and injuries.

I. There is no greater sorrow for a heart that loves than to see its love despised; and so much the more when the proofs given of this love have been great, and, on the other hand, the ingratitude great. If every human being were to renounce all his goods, and to go and live in the desert, to live on herbs, to sleep on the bare earth, to macerate himself with penances, and at last give himself up to be martyred for Christ’s sake, what recompense could he render for the sufferings, the Blood, the life that this great Son of God has given for his sake? If we were to sacrifice ourselves every moment unto death, we should certainly not recompense in the smallest degree the love Jesus Christ has shown us by giving Himself to us in the Most Holy Sacrament. Only conceive that God should conceal Himself under the species of bread to become the Food of one of His creatures! But, O my God, what recompense and gratitude do men render to Jesus Christ? What but ill-treatment, contempt of His laws and His maxims,-injuries such as they would not commit against their enemy, or their slave, or the greatest villain upon earth.

O Heart of Jesus, abyss of mercy and love, how is it that, at the sight of the goodness Thou has shown me, and of my ingratitude, I do not die of sorrow? Thou, O my Saviour, after having given me my being, hast given me all Thy Blood and Thy life, offering Thyself up for my sake to ignominy and death; and, not content with this, Thou hast invented the mode of sacrificing Thyself every day for me in the Holy Eucharist, not refusing to expose Thyself to the injuries Thou dost receive, and which Thou didst foresee in this Sacrament of love. O my God, how can I see myself so ungrateful to Thee without dying with confusion! O Lord, put an end, I pray Thee, to my ingratitude, by wounding my heart with Thy love, and making me entirely Thine.

II. And can we think upon all the Injuries which Jesus Christ has received, and still receives every day, and not feel sorrow for them, and not endeavour by our love to recompense the infinite love of His Divine Heart-this Divine Heart which ever remains with us in the Most Holy Sacrament, inflamed with the same love towards us, and anxious to communicate every good gift to us, and to give Itself entirely to us, ever ready to receive and pardon us whenever we return? Him that cometh to me, I will not cast out-(Jo. vi. 37). We have been accustomed to hear of the Creation, Incarnation, Redemption, of Jesus born in a stable, of Jesus dead on the Cross. O God, if we knew that another man had conferred on us any of these benefits, we could not help loving him! It seems that God alone has, so to say? this misfortune amongst men? that though He has done His utmost to make them love Him, yet He cannot attain this end, and, instead of being loved, He sees Himself despised and neglected. All this arises from the forgetfulness of men for the love of God.

Ah, dear Jesus, remember the Blood and tears Thou hast shed for me, and forgive me. Let not all Thy sufferings be lost upon me. But though Thou didst see how ungrateful and unworthy of Thy love I have been, yet Thou didst not cease to love me even when I did not love Thee, nor even desire that Thou shouldst love me; how much more, then, may I not hope for Thy love, now that I desire and sigh after nothing but to love Thee, and to be loved by Thee. Oh, do Thou fully satisfy this my desire; or rather, this Thy desire, for it is Thou that hast given it to me. Grant that this day may be the day of my thorough conversion; so that I may begin to love Thee, and may never cease to love Thee, my sovereign Good. Make me in everything die to myself in order that I may live only to Thee, and that I may always burn with Thy love. O Mary, thy heart was the blessed altar that was always on fire with Divine love: my dearest Mother, make me like to thee; obtain this from thy Son, Who delights in honouring thee, by denying thee nothing that Thou askest of Him.