April 7prev home
next
Good Friday, 10:30 a.m.
My inner counselor tells me that at this time of day John went to see Mary.298 The vision ceases as described. It is 12:30 p.m. - that is, 11:30 solar time.
Afterwards, from 1 to 4 (solar time), I was left demolished - not drowsy, but so intensely exhausted that I could not speak or move or open my eyes. I could only suffer. And without seeing anything, though in my suffering I continually meditated on the agony of Jesus.
Suddenly, at 4, while thinking of the nails being driven into his hands, I saw Jesus dying - this alone: dying. Turning his head back and forth in a final contraction, with a profound last gasp, moving his mouth in an attempt at an altered word, with the impossibility of pronouncing it, with a loud cry ending in a moan, because of death, which halts his voice, and He is left that way, with his eyes closing and his mouth remaining half open, with his head still upright for an instant, rigid on his neck, as if from an inner convulsive agony, and then falling forward again, but towards the right. Nothing else.
Afterwards I regained a little - but very little - strength until 7 p.m., solar time, and then sank back down all over again into a tremendous sopor until after midnight. But without the comfort of visions. I, too, am alone, like Mary after the burial. No sight and no voice. And I greatly suffer on this account.
To give myself a little consolation, I shall describe for you how I clearly saw Jesus last night while He was explaining to me again his leave-taking from Mary before the Supper.
Jesus was already kneeling at his Mother’s feet and hugging her waist, by turns resting his head on her knees and raising it to look at Her. The light of an oil-burning lantern with three spouts, placed on the corner of the table beside Mary’s seat directly struck the face of my Jesus. His Mother, on the other hand, remained more in the shadow, with the light at her back. But Jesus was brightly illuminated.
And I got lost contemplating his face and observing the smallest details. And I shall repeat them for you once more.299 His hair parted in the middle of his head and falling in long locks down to his shoulders. Wavy for a full palm’s-length, then ending in a real curl. Shiny, thin, neatly combed, bright blond, with marked coppery tones especially in the final curl. A very high, beautiful forehead, as smooth as a sash, with slightly hollowed temples on which the pale blue veins leave light indigo shadows appearing under the very white skin, with that special whiteness of certain individuals with reddish blond hair: a milky whiteness with a gradation slightly tending towards ivory, but with a very light touch of blue, quite delicate skin resembling the petal of a white camelia, so thin that the slightest vein shows through and so sensitive that every emotion is depicted on it, with more intense paleness and brighter blushes.
But I have always seen Jesus as pale, only a little tanned by the sun, which He liberally assimilated during his three-year passage through Palestine. Mary, on the other hand, is whiter, for She was more withdrawn at home, and it is a rosier white. Jesus is ivory white, with that slight reflection of blue.
A long, straight nose, with just a bit of a curve above, near his eyes - a very handsome, thin, wellshaped nose. Deep-set, very beautiful eyes, of the color I have so often described as very dark sapphire. Thick eyebrows and eyelashes, but not excessively so - long, beautiful, shiny, dark brown, but with a microscopic spark of gold at the summit of each hair. Mary’s, on the other hand, are very light brown, thinner and sparser. Perhaps they seem that way because they are much lighter, so light that they are nearly blond. An even, smallish mouth, well-shaped, closely resembling his Mother’s, with lips just thick enough, neither too thin, so as to appear serpentine, nor too pronounced. In the center they are rounded and accentuated in a fine curve, and at the sides they disappear, making the very beautiful mouth seem to diminish out of sight, with its healthy red opening over even, vigorous teeth which are rather long and very white. Mary’s, on the other hand, are quite small, but regular and evenly joined. Thin, but not gaunt, cheeks. A very narrow, long oval, but quite beautiful, with cheekbones which neither protrude nor recede excessively. His beard, thick on his chin and dividing into two curly points, surrounds, but does not cover, his mouth as far as the lower lip and rises, shorter and shorter, towards his cheeks, where, at the level of the corners of his mouth, it becomes very short, limited to leaving a shadow, like a smattering of copper, on the paleness of his cheeks. Where it is thick, the beard is a dark copper color, a dark reddish blond. And so is his mustache, not very thick and kept short, so that it barely covers his upper lip between his nose and the lip and is reduced at the corners of his mouth. Small, well-shaped ears closely joined to his head. They do not protrude at all.
On seeing Him so handsome, last night, and on thinking of the way I saw Him disfigured when He appeared to me on many occasions, in the Passion or after it, my compassionate love for his suffering was rendered even more acute. And when I saw Him reach out and rest his face on Mary’s breast, like a child needing caresses, I wondered once more how men managed to rage so against Him, so gentle and good in every one of his acts and winning hearts with his appearance alone. I saw the beautiful, long, pale hands embracing Mary’s sides, Mary’s waist, and Mary’s arms, and I said to myself, “In a little while they will be pierced by the nails!” And I suffered. The fact that I am suffering is visible even to the least observant.
I so wished for you today, Father, because my heart seemed to be exploding and giving in by turns. And it feels like an age since I received Jesus. It’s a good thing that it’s now 2 a.m. on Saturday and the hour for Communion is approaching. But I am alone. Jesus is silent. Mary is silent. John is silent. I had hoped in him, at least. Nothing. Complete silence and complete darkness. It really is desolation....
298 There follows the episode involving “John’s Going to Accompany Mary,” included in the Passion cycle.
299 Cf. December 29, in The Notebooks. 1943