Jesus, Man of Sorrows, those drops of Blood that flow down Your Face, those deep gashes caused by the thorns that circle Your holy head, make You dearer to me than if Your forehead shone with precious stones. Such signs remind me of the Divine love that burns in Your Heart for me. I love the noble, sorrowful majesty of Your holy Face. You reject the crown of gold and the rich robes of royal state, and accept instead a crown of thorns and the purple rags of mockery and scorn.
You consent to be a mock-king, a king of fools, only to be the real King of my soul. My thorn-crowned King, I adore You as my very God. I subject myself entirely to Your Divine Kingship of love. I would rather be a fool in the eyes of men for Your sake and have You reign over me, than be king of the world and be the slave of the prince of darkness. I adore You as the Conqueror of hearts, whose Kingdom is not of this world, but of heaven.
Fr. Lawrence Lovasik
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