Mirror of Justice, Mother of God, Mystical Rose: Our Lady of Sorrows

The titles of Mary reflect our experience of her through the ages. Her 
titles of majestic triumph have their source in her assent to be Our Lady
 of Sorrows.When I wrote "A Corner of the Veil" about the death of my
 mother, I mentioned an article by Father Dwight Longenecker in
 This Rock Magazine (July/August 2009) entitled, "Weird Things 
Happen: How Catholics Should Deal with the Paranormal." Father
 Longenecker, who hosts the "Standing on My Head" blog, wrote
 of a strange experience while praying in France in the 
presence of the uncorrupted remains of St. Bernadette:

"I kept silence there for 15 minutes and noticed a
beautiful fragrance of flowers - but there were no flowers. 
As I prayed, the fragrance grew stronger, and I felt transported by a presence that was beyond my understanding."

This caught my attention because I had the same experience, 
though I've kept it to myself for 21 years. It was 1989, and I
 was in the back seat of a car in northern New Mexico. In the
 front seats were two other priests who had invited me to ride
 with them to visit a Franciscan shrine in the village of
 Chimayo that drew pilgrims from throughout North America.

One 
of the priests up front seemed determined to visit every
 shrine he possibly could. I cared not for pilgrimages to 
shrines, and was just along for the ride. Nothing more. 
The two priests up front were arguing about the shrine's "holy 
dirt" and its supposed miracles. Then they launched into an 
argument about Marian apparitions. I stayed out of it, but I
 found myself secretly siding with the more skeptical priest in 
the passenger seat.My own skepticism is sometimes a hindrance 
to faith. I have always empathized with Thomas, the Apostle 
who could not believe until he personally probed his Risen 
Lord's wounds. You may have gleaned from my post, "A Day
 Without Yesterday" that I once deluded myself into believing 
that a good scientist-priest should always filter faith 
through reason in the modern era.So I sat back there in my smug but silent skepticism as the 
two priests argued about apparitions. I dismissed, in my mind, 
the various accounts of visits by the Blessed Mother. I did 
not see the apparitions as a threat to faith so much as 
unnecessary to faith. I had long ago - and now I know wrongly
 concluded -- they were just so much emotional baggage inflicted
 on the Church by well-intentioned, but hysterical faithful.As 
described in "The Day the Earth Stood Still," my seminary 
training in the "Enlightenment" of the 1970's did not lend 
itself to a faith that employed the heart as much as the 
mind. On top of that, as a younger priest, my intellectual 
arrogance sometimes knew no bounds.HER SOUL MAGNIFIES THE LORDThen IT happened. I say "IT" because I can't really convey
 what IT was, but in effect IT was a lot like what Father 
Longenecker described. It came over me that day like a wave.
 In that back seat, I suddenly felt a sensation of great
 distance between myself and what was happening up front. I
 experienced the faint scent of roses that grew in intensity 
until it was overwhelming.Like Father Longenecker, I too felt 
"transported by a presence that was beyond my understanding."
 It lasted only a few moments, something for which I was
 grateful for that was all I could bear. In those moments, I
 felt as though I was given a sort of lesson, a demonstration
 of the Divine Authority manifested in God's choice of Mary as
 a model of faith. I didn't "see" her. It wasn't a vision or 
apparition. It was occurring only inside of me.For just a few moments, I was in a feminine presence of 
inconceivable power. That presence was superimposed over a
 momentary awareness of my own relative ... well ... "insignificance" 
is the best word. I was taught a much needed lesson in
 priestly humility, and the teacher, I believe, was one whose
 living presence in our life of faith I doubted. It was the
 last time I doubted it.Her light was felt, not seen, and it was a refracted light. It
 wasn't from her. She was a sort of lens, but it pierced me and 
left me with terror. It wasn't really fearful terror. It was 
more like awesome terror, as though I had just become aware of 
something I only hoped in my essence to be true but didn't
 quite dare to really believe. It was a momentary sense of
 great confidence in a fact far beyond my own meager resources.It was a sense that the truth is much more than the snippet of
 hope I had been clinging to. The truth was this: that the 
Light shines in the darkness and the darkness can never 
overcome it. But it was also more than that. It was a sudden,
 momentary awareness that despite all appearances in this 
world, the darkness we all fear so much doesn't really even 
stand a chance, and never did.The Gates of Hell cannot
 prevail over Christ. 
I don't know if I've explained anything. I'm not even sure of
 what took place, but I know I will never forget it. The only 
words that could begin to describe what I experienced that day
 are "awe" and "triumph," and a yearning to trust in it.
 When it was over, I was still in that back seat and the two 
priests up front were staring at me.They had pulled the car 
over. "Are you all right? You look awful!", one of them said. 
I told them nothing. I had no idea what to say. Later, just
 as with Father Longenecker, the experience diminished somewhat. 
Over time, my scientific mind grasped for a rational, more 
physical explanation, and I settled on one.It came just months later in 1989 when I was diagnosed with 
epilepsy - specifically, temporal lobe epilepsy (TLE)
 resulting in periodic complex-partial seizures bilaterally in 
the temporal lobes of my brain. The seizures occurred during
 childhood, but stopped when I was twelve. 23 years later,
 they came back. These electrical storms in my mind are 
sometimes manifested in dream-like experiences. It must have 
been that, I told myself, and I put the event aside.I have a very good friend, a man of deep faith, who has the 
same illness, and who had some experiences similar to mine. I
 remember telling him once that a natural explanation doesn't
 mean a spiritual experience wasn't a spiritual experience.
 By accident one day, I came across a fine novel by Mark 
Salzman entitled Lying Awake.It's about a Discalced Carmelite 
nun with temporal lobe epilepsy. In the book she had an
 experience very similar to mine and Father Longenecker's, then
 she feared that surgical "treatment" may end for her what 
became an expression of love between her and God. Why can't
 God use the ordinary to communicate something extraordinary?
 At the time I had that strange experience, and for the four
 years afterward, I was in ministry as a priest at the Servants
 of the Paraclete center for priests in New Mexico.I was 
Director of Admissions, and it was my job to arrange for 
troubled priests from throughout North America to come to the 
center for spiritual and psychological support.
 At about the same time as my ride to Chimayo, the center had
 come under a very public attack in the news media for its
 treatment of a notorious priest, Father James Porter, two to 
three decades earlier. Dozens of lawsuits were filed against
 the center and the Servants of the Paraclete Order. It seemed
 to be the only such facility in the world to be held liable 
for the future behavior of those who sought treatment there
 decades earlier.A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESSI plan to write much more about this story in coming months, 
but it was an irony that at the height of news coverage
 buzzing around the center, I was accused of sexual abuse 
alleged to have occurred over a decade earlier. I was indicted,
 arrested, and then released on personal recognizance to 
prepare for a trial. You may have already read of that trial on These Stone Walls.As you know, I entered into a deeply trying time of great 
sorrow and injustice in my life, and wondered why such a thing
 happened to me. It seemed a time of great darkness and near
 despair. Every step of the way for those first months after 
being accused, I begged the Lord to reveal the truth and take 
this cup from me. I remembered the Risen Lord's words to 
Peter near the close of the Gospel of John (John 21:18):

"when
 you are old you will stretch out your hands, and another will 
bind you, and carry you off where you do not want to go."

I have never written of any of this before now. Those months 
awaiting trial became so stressful and depressing that I began 
to give up. I stopped accepting treatment for epilepsy, and
 ended up hospitalized at Albuquerque Presbyterian Hospital for
 a week. After a traumatic night, my good friend and co-worker 
Father Clyde Landry, came to see me.He brought from my room
 at the center a portable short wave radio to listen to.
 Later that night, I plugged in my earpiece and turned on the 
radio. It was close to midnight, and I was not even aware it 
was the Feast of the Visitation, May 31. I also didn't know my
 radio was on the short-wave band. Father Clyde must have moved 
the band by accident. I raised the antennae and played with 
the tuner, then stopped. I had stumbled upon EWTN's short
wave broadcast from Birmingham, Alabama. As I lay there in the dark in that hospital room, I heard the 
Salve Regina intoned and chanted in my ear.Then a very
 familiar and melodic voice resounded, and I could not suppress 
a smile. It was the voice of Father Benedict Groeschel whom
 I've known for some 35 years since my early 20's. I hear from
 Father Benedict periodically since I've been in prison, but I 
have never told him this story. From across the miles, Father 
Benedict prayed the Magnificat with me in that hospital room
 during my dark night of the soul. Then he preached a 
reflection on the fiat of Mary.

When I heard the words in Father Benedict's unmistakable 
lilting voice and Yonkers accent - "My soul proclaims the
 greatness of the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my 
savior" - I thought of that day in the back seat of the car on 
the road to Chimayo. I remembered the words I would much later
 write in a post called "February Tales" - the words of Simeon
 the priest to Mary as she and Joseph presented their newborn 
son on the Day of Purification:

"Behold, this child is set for the rise and fall of many
 in Israel, and for a sign that is spoken against 
(and a sword will pierce through your own soul also),
 that thoughts out of many hearts will be revealed."

I realized at that moment that it matters not at all whether
 my experience in that car that day was miraculous or just 
another symptom of something in me. God uses whatever means He 
wishes to reach us. The message became clear. Despite
 appearances, the darkness doesn't really stand a chance 
against the light of faith, and faith dawns even on the 
brokenhearted if we respond in trust like Mary, our model of 
how a resounding "yes" to God will turn sorrow into triumph.Thank you, Father Benedict, for this lesson about trust
 delivered in the dark and across the miles on the night of my 
undoing.
 Thank you for reminding me that night that the life here
 surrendered by Mary's assent to be Our Lady of Sorrows is 
depicted in Cosmic Time with her foot triumphantly on the head
 of the serpent.At the Cross her station keepingstood the mournful Mother weeping,close to Jesus through the last.Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,all His bitter anguish bearing,now at length, the sword had passed.