Pierced by a Sword:
Reflections on the Sacred Heart
by Louie Hlad

"Are you ready to hear the secret?"

The old monk grinned at me from his tattered armchair. He gestured with his calloused hands to the pictures and prayer cards spread out on the small table between us. I looked up at the mischievous holy man and my mind turned reflexively back to the events that had brought me here seeking answers. He waited patiently, as a man who had all the time in the world.

I was at a Trappist monastery outside Atlanta. Over the years it had become my spiritual home, a refuge from the chaos and constant noise without. Whenever I found myself overwhelmed, anxious, or unsettled, I would set aside a few days for peaceful meditation and quiet reflection. In a world of relentless stimulation, four days of silence can work wonders.

The monastery cottage rests in the middle of endless acres of solitude. The doors are always open to guests and seekers like myself. Visitors are invited to immerse themselves in the rhythms of monastic life- silence, meditation, simplicity. This particular brotherhood are Trappists, following the Rule of St. Benedict: "Work and Prayer". They spend all day in the fields growing bonsai trees, or in the courtyard creating sandblasted art pieces. Their daily labor is punctuated by the communal chanting of the Liturgy of the Hours, seven times a day. Work and prayer. The evidence of this lifestyle can be found in their weathered hands and vibrant eyes.

In a way, it was just such a pair of eyes that had brought me to this place. An image had been haunting my thoughts for reasons I couldn't understand. It was the well-known Christian icon of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Devotion to the Sacred Heart dates back hundreds of years to St Margaret Mary in 17th century France. In mystic visions St. Margaret received a message of Jesus' burning love, the image of which quickly spread throughout the world. The image shows Jesus with his hand touching his chest and looking longingly at the viewer, his heart on display for all to see. The heart is glowing brilliantly, and on fire with passionate love. A cross rises above, with a crown of thorns pushed down onto it. A single drop of blood falls from the wound in its side. The image of the Sacred Heart is a powerful and moving picture, rich in symbolism and inviting contemplation.

The problem was, I just didn't get it.

I have been exposed to this icon ever since my earliest days, finding it in every room of my grandmother's house. It is displayed prominently in the tiny prayer chapel of the local church where I grew up. I discovered it at the Cathedral of Notre Dame, at the seminary of Mount St. Mary's in Massachusetts, behind the altar of a spectacular church in Guadalupe, Mexico. I even saw it recently on a Comedy Central news parody show. The image seems to pop up in my life no matter where I turn, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something.

Every good religious system has an abundance of different symbols and themes to choose from, and Catholicism is certainly no slouch in that department. Of the triune Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Jesus has always been the most difficult aspect of God for me to relate to. I always wonder — what was this man thinking, what was he feeling? When all of his friends turned against him and he chose to face his destiny alone, what exactly was happening in that Sacred Heart of his? We read simply, "Jesus wept." I look at this image with its fire and thorns and wound, and something calls out to me just beyond my understanding. Something behind those expressive eyes...

Without a strong connection to the Jesus image, I have found myself inexorably drawn to the figure of His mother. Meditating on the life and person of Mary can always elicit emotion, passion, and tears from my soul. Ever tied to her Son, Mary's heart is also enshrined in Catholic symbolism: the Immaculate Heart of Mary. She is shown in a similar gesture, with fire also pouring from her heart. Her purity is represented by a ring of lilies or roses. And her heart is pierced by a sword.

Yes! This is an image I can relate to. This is a feeling that I know. "For your own heart, too, will be pierced by a sword," the prophet Simeon warned her. I can understand the pain of watching a loved one suffer. I know how heart-wrenching it is to stand by idly and wish that you could carry a friend's burden. It feels very much like a sword piercing your heart.

The person of Mary has always called out to me. Walking into a church I take one glance up at Jesus on the crucifix, but inevitably find myself walking over to the Mary shrine on the left side of the sanctum. For years, I brought flowers to place at the feet of the beautiful Mary statue in the church garden every week. I am so moved by the imagery of the holy mother, that I often find myself standing in the pouring rain in front of her statue in the middle of the night. She understands my pain, and I understand hers. Her heart and my heart are one.

To fully let a religious mythos permeate your being, you need to embrace the metaphor. "Thou art that," Joseph Campbell teaches. When you worship the image of a god, you are really honoring the God inside of you. You are taken into the story and you act out the drama in your own life. I have tried for years to make the Jesus figure real in my life. What does he feel with that crown of thorns lying heavily on his head? How is this man affected when he looks down from his cross and sees Mary crying out of despair and helplessness? I needed a strand of understanding to follow in order to embrace this God who is supposedly myself. I needed that missing link that I was sure was there.

So I brought all of these thoughts and questions to my spiritual director.

"Are you ready to hear the secret?" the old monk asks again. The images are spread out before us, side by side. Yes, I nod. He moves his weathered hand over the prayer card of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, covering almost all of it, and simply waits. It takes a moment for the realization to set in. The only visible part of the image now is the top half of Jesus' face- no heart, no beard, only His long flowing hair and affectionate eyes. Those feminine eyes...I suddenly start up out of my chair as it strikes me. How could I not notice this before? The eyes I am looking at in the two images are the same!

My spiritual director smiles as he sees the understanding dawn on me. "Jesus is Mary. Mary is Jesus. And they are both you." Thou art that.

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