"Place me within your open heart, oft broken.."

The link in the title to this post is to an article in the Catholic Encyclopaedia, 1917, which gives a fine summary of the devotion to the Sacred Heart and its history.

Tonight is the vigil of the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus - a long-standing Roman Catholic devotion, and one which has greater favour in Anglican, Lutheran, and Orthodox circles in recent years. I borrowed the title from a prayer which a priest friend of mine (who, I must add, was a tough little spitfire) particularly loved. He had spent much time promoting devotion to the Sacred Heart, one of the reasons being that he worked with criminals in prisons, and so wanted the gift, promised in the revelations to Margaret Mary, of 'touching the most hardened hearts.'

The Sacred Heart is one devotion that has the capability for enormous depth of contemplation - huge expressions of love for God and neighbour (how many mothers, for example, "made the First Friday devotions" hoping for the good of their children) - and production of some of the very worst poetry, art (if I may dignify that with the term), and weird meditations in Christian history. I love the essence - the Incarnation, Christ's enormous suffering as a result of his fully assuming human nature and suffering consequences of his vocation, and all the other 'good stuff' you may ponder in the article to which I linked. Whatever theological flaws it may have, Brother Bonaventure certainly inspired many with his words about Christ and the spouse, the Church, who sprung forth from the water and blood that poured from his pierced heart. (Even the great Franciscan theologians are allowed to lapse into odd symbolism! I am pausing for a moment, so that those of you who are expert in exegesis may wince. Selah.)

I'll admit that there are aspects of the Sacred Heart's depictions (and let us not even think of the grotesque version in The Last Temptation of Christ) which make me shudder. In texts about his revelations to Margaret Mary, Jesus sounds like a childish whinge bag, whining that he isn't getting enough attention - as if he were dependent on our love, where the reverse is true! Pictures of bleeding hearts and swords are about the depths of bad taste in religious art.

Yet I wonder if, on a level of the 'heart,' one of the reasons this devotion so endured, and was enormously popular, was that it has ways of speaking to us 'wherever we are.' The priest I mentioned in the first paragraph, whose love for the prisoners was unquestionable, also could identify with the thought of even Jesus being 'heart broken.' (Need I say that no one, including Jesus Himself, invariably touched the most hardened hearts? - and those who make the effort will have many a scar.) The common practise of consecrating one's home and family to the Sacred Heart seems to involve a deep wish for there to be love and devotion shared - and most of us would admit that family, too often, is a place where there is much discord, competition, envy, misjudgement, violence (even if only emotional.) Though (as the article explains - I'm not being cerebral, just this once) there are far greater dimensions to the meaning of this devotion (and it has nothing to do with honouring a body part!), the image of Jesus' heart pierced on the cross powerfully brings to mind how fully he assumed our humanity. (Excuse the lapse into popular cinema, but I'm dealing with the 'popular' in general today. Anyone who shuddered at seeing Susan Hayward in "I Want To Live," at scenes where the condemned woman waits as the gas chamber is prepared, or at "Dead Man Walking" as the lethal injection takes effect, might become ill at Mel Gibson's Passion of Christ - as I did. Thinking just of the images in "I Want to Live" or "Dead Man Walking"... add on seeing if even these wicked murderers had a lance thrust into their hearts...)

As my 'regulars' well know, I am one of those who sees the divine as beyond our knowledge - we only catch a glimpse, and that is quite enough for us to see the limitations of our vision. (Note that I intend no slur on those who see things differently - I often envy them.) One of the hardest parts of responding to divine love, I believe, is that, the more we wish to respond in love to God, the more we realise that we really do not know Him at all - he seems totally remote. Perhaps images such as the Sacred Heart, which focus on boundless love in a very vivid depiction, make the divine seem far more tender and near.

For one from a Franciscan tradition, it is odd, I suppose, that I'm not much into meditating on the poor man and his family, and I cannot relate to Jesus as an infant at all (save on Christmas.) I'm pure "Johannine Logos" all the way. Yet, important though it is to recall the gap between our understanding and the divine - and how this indeed can be essential to keep us from idolatry in identifying with God so much that we create him in our own image! - I think a bit of sentimental, homely devotion can be very helpful.

Here's the beginning of my priest friend's favourite hymn (...and it's even odder that I'd reference this one, since this isn't Palestrina or Tallis quality...):
To Jesus' heart all burning, with fervent love for men,
My heart with fondest yearning shall raise the joyful strain.
While ages course along, blessed be, with loudest song,
The Sacred Heart of Jesus, by every heart and tongue.