Why, the sword

A sword, whatever form or shape it takes, is a cruel instrument for battle. It rips, tears, strikes into hearts a dreaded fear and despair. A single edge is awful past enough, the double-edge can wring harm to its wielder.

One reason for building firearms, particularly guns, was to defeat the swordmasters. A projectile fired spares the combatant from the keening of a swung blade. If any item benign can be a weapon malevolent by intent, you are spared the sword thrusts when you come into a presence so close.

We’ve been reading, and hopefully meditating, upon the Sword that is Reason, the Word, our Jesus, whom we call Lord. The Word of God is as the sword — piercing, thrusting, slashing at our souls. Our works. Our lives. Our Church. The sword is at once romantic and fantastic, its other edge repellent and horrific.

Despite the awe that a sword’s innate cruelty contains humanity’s violence and sorrows in weight, remember its measure. It is not the sword itself that thrust into Our Lady’s heart as cause for her sorrows, but it is her fiat, from which springs her Magnificat. Those who have tasted an edge of a blade may testify its particular pain — a sharpened keen, a mark may be seen, and a straggling light of a soul broadens to a beam. Mary survived these seven thrusts; her purpose unfolding, unveiling, a revelation from a Dream.

Seven times her heart, her soul, is pierced. Seven times over, her Son flicks His wrists. Seven times too soon, she’s learned to share with others’ babes … her Son’s own kiss. Though we are named, we are sent into many lands. Though we share in Rome’s story, we must remember: The Sword was accepted by Mary. She held Him with her hands.

Based in The World’s First Love by Ven. Fulton J. Sheen. Dedicated for The Immaculate Conception — Solemnity.

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