“Where did this man get all this?
What kind of wisdom has been given him?
…Is he not the carpenter,
the Son of Mary?”

Reaching out to touch the hem of your garment,
the faithful heart experiences the Power within you,
the immensity of the Mystery burning in your breast.
But you are just a man like any other!
But then again, you are not.
Your own people take offense at you,
at the scandal of your humility,
I would almost say, of your ordinariness.

Yes, precisely this humility,
this closeness to each one of us,
this full and true humanity,
is your doorway into hearts.
But it is also the prime reason
that hearts shut the door to you.
A God who is far away is more comfortable,
one who speaks only to the “perfect,”
and who allows me, in my littleness,
in my brokenness, my wounds, my sin,
to side-step the call to holiness
and to keep the vulnerable places
of my inner heart hidden.
But, then again, what we desire above all
is a God who draws near lovingly,
who opens his Heart humbly to us,
even if, of this, we are also afraid.

Ah, but, dear Jesus,
this encounter is simply love,
and holiness is but intimacy with you!
You come, so gently, so lovingly,
an infant in the womb, a child,
a young man in the home,
a carpenter working in obscurity,
a poor itinerant preacher
walking from town to town.
A criminal crucified on a cross…

And you open wide your arms,
you lay bare your Heart
in radical, loving vulnerability—
so that, through your vulnerability
we may gain the confidence, the trust,
to become vulnerable too, to you.
For vulnerability is openness of heart,
openness to be touched, wounded,
and, yes, even pierced.

But vulnerability is also
the key to being healed…
the very foundation of loving encounter
and of the intimate joining of hearts.
For only in self-opening,
the laying bare of the wounded heart,
can we allow the healing current of Love
filling your Heart at every moment
to pour out also into our own.

Then, dear Jesus, we discover
that littleness is no obstacle,
that weakness and, yes, woundedness,
is not a hindrance to your grace,
nor to the joy and beauty of intimacy with you.
No, I am utterly convinced
that the most beautiful thing in this world
is the vulnerable human heart—
the heart that, finding a safe-haven
in the heart of another,
trustingly opens itself and shares
those things it carries deep within.

For in this encounter,
beyond the brokenness, the wounds,
the shame, the fear, the pain,
an ineffably beautiful mystery is revealed.
Yes, the mystery of this person
—this beloved child!—
whom God has made in his love,
and whom he gazes on in each moment
with inexpressible tenderness.

If only each heart knew, dear Jesus,
how tenderly you love us,
how much beauty you see in us,
drawing your Heart in desire
to unite yourself, forever, to us in love.
Then perhaps we would not be so afraid
of the Little One, the Wounded One
who comes so near to us,
welcoming our own littleness,
our own burdens and our wounds,
to take them into your own Heart,
there to touch, to heal, to transfigure them.