Jesus says:
-And now come (to Mary Valtorta). Even if you are tonight as one about to expire, come, for I want to guide you to my sufferings. Long will be the road that we will have to travel together, because I was not exempted from any pain. From no pain of the flesh, from none of the mind, from none of the heart, from none of the spirit. All of them I experienced, all of them I fed on, all of them were drink to my thirst, until I died because of them.
If you were to rest your mouth on my lip, you would still feel in it the bitterness of so much pain. If you could see my Humanity in its now fulgent aspect, you would see that this glow emanates from the innumerable wounds that covered with a tunic of living purple my lacerated, bled, abused, pierced limbs for love of you.
Now my Humanity is fulgent. But there was a day when, as much as it was mistreated and humiliated, it resembled that of a leper. The Man-God, who had in himself the perfection of physical beauty because he was the Son of God and of the spotless Woman, appeared then, before the eyes of those who looked at him with love, with curiosity or a look of contempt, ugly: a "worm" as David says, the reproach of men, the refuse of the plebs. (Psalm 22, 7: Isaiah 53, 4-5; Song of Songs 2, 10-12).
Love for the Father and for my Father's creatures led me to abandon my body to those who beat me, to offer my face to those who slapped and spat on me, to those who thought they were doing a meritorious deed by pulling out my locks of hair and beard, by driving thorns into my head, making even the earth and its fruits accomplices in the torments they inflicted on their own Savior, dislocating my limbs, uncovering my bones, tearing off my garments and thus giving my purity the greatest of tortures, nailing me to a wood and lifting me up as the slaughterer hangs a slaughtered lamb from the hooks, and barking around me in agony like a pack of famished wolves, whose ferocity increases with the smell of blood.
Accused, condemned, killed. Betrayed, denied, sold. Abandoned even by God, as the crimes with which I had burdened myself were upon me. In a state of poverty greater than that of a beggar assaulted by bandits, because they did not even leave me a garment to cover my livid nakedness as a martyr. Not exempted, not even after death, from the aggression of a wound nor from the slander of enemies. Plunged in the mire of all your sins, sunk to the bottom of the darkness of pain, with no light from Heaven to answer my agonizing gaze, nor divine voice to respond to my extreme invocation.
Isaiah expresses the reason for so much pain: "Truly He has taken our griefs upon Himself and borne our sorrows. Our sorrows, yes, I have borne them for you! To alleviate yours, to mitigate them, to cancel them, if you had been faithful to me, but you did not want to be faithful. But you did not want to be faithful, and what did I receive in return? You have "looked upon me as a leper, as one punished by God". Yes, the leprosy of your infinite sins was upon me; it was upon me, like a garment of penance, like a sackcloth. And how could you not have seen God transparent with his infinite charity through that garment which he cast upon his holiness for your sake!
"He was wounded for our iniquities, pierced for our transgressions," says Isaiah, who with his prophetic eyes saw the Son of man transformed all into ecchymosis to heal those of men. Ah, if they had only been wounds inflicted on my flesh! No.
What you wounded most was my sentiment and my spirit. Of one and the other you have made me an object of ridicule and a target of aggression. You wounded me, through Judas, in the friendship I had placed in you; through Peter, who denies, in the fidelity I expected from you; through those who - after having cured them of so many illnesses - cried out to me "Die!". You wounded Me in gratitude for My benefits; you wounded Me in love, for the sorrow inflicted on My Mother; in order to religion, declaring Me a blasphemer against God (I who for the zeal of the cause of God had placed Myself in the hands of man, incarnating Myself and suffering all My life long, and abandoning Myself to human cruelty without uttering a word or a complaint).
It would have sufficed for Me to have turned My gaze away, so that My accusers, judges and executioners would have been reduced to ashes. But I had come voluntarily to fulfill the sacrifice; and, like a lamb, because I was the Lamb of God and I am so eternally, I allowed Myself to be stripped and killed and to make of My Flesh your Life.
When I was lifted up, I was already consumed by nameless sufferings, with all names. I began to die in Bethlehem, when I saw the light of the Earth, so distressingly different for me, who was the Living One of Heaven. I continued to die in poverty, in exile, in flight, in work, in misunderstanding, in fatigue, in betrayal, in feelings torn away, in tortures, in lies, in blasphemies. This is what man gave to the One who came to unite him again with God!
Mary, look at your Savior. He does not wear a white robe, his hair is not blond, he does not have the sapphire gaze you know: his robe is red with blood, lacerated and covered with filth and spittle; his face is swollen and disjointed; his gaze is veiled by blood and tears, and he looks at you through the crust of blood and tears and dust that his eyelids bear. My hands? You see, they are already a whole sore and await the last sore.
Look, little John, (this is what Jesus called Mary Valtorta) as your brother John looked at me. Behind my footsteps there are traces of blood. Sweat dilutes the blood that flows from the wounds of the scourging and that which still remains from the agony of the Garden. The word comes out - in the panting of the fatigue of a heart already dying from all kinds of tortures - from those scorched and bruised lips.
From now on, frequently, you will see me like this. I am the King of Pain and I will come to speak to you of my pain in my royal robes. Follow me in spite of your agony. I am the Compassionate One, and I will also know how to place before your lips embittered by my pain the aromatic honey of more serene contemplations. But you must prefer these of blood, because by them you have Life, and with them you will lead others to Life. Kiss my bloody hand and be vigilant, meditating on me as Redeemer.
I see Jesus as He describes Himself. Tonight, since seven o'clock (it is now a quarter past one o'clock on the eleventh) I am truly in agony.
Jesus tells me this morning, February 11, at 7:30 a.m.: "Last night I wanted to speak to you only about myself as the suffering Christ, because I began the description and vision of my sorrows. Last night was the introduction, and you were so exhausted, my friend! But before the agony returns, I must gently reproach you for something.
Yesterday morning you behaved selfishly. You said to the Father (to Father Migliorini): "Let's hope that I will continue, because my fatigue is the greatest". No. His is the greatest, because it is tiring and does not have the compensation of the beatitude that means to see and have Jesus, present as you have Him, even with His holy Humanity. Never be selfish, not even in the smallest things. A disciple, a little John, must be most humble and most loving like her Jesus.
And now come and be with me. "The flowers have appeared... the time for pruning has come... the voice of the little turtle has been heard in the field...". And they are the flowers born in the pools of the Blood of your Christ. And He who will be cut as a pruned branch is the Redeemer. And the voice of the turtledove, who calls her bride to her painful and holy wedding feast, is my voice that loves you.
Arise and come, as today's Mass says. Come to contemplate and to suffer. This is the gift I give to the beloved.
The Gospel as revealed to me