A voice in the wilderness, the desert, crying out to God’s own people: You say that you love. But you simply pretend to love, going through the motions, for in reality you do not love. You only hate, with a hatred that is intense in its coldness and indifference of Him who loves you with infinity. Your hearts – so many of your hearts – are far, very far, from true love and, what is worse, you do not know it. Love suffers in silence because He is not wanted. Only the external trappings remain as a shroud covering up the taste and presence of Death.
Note: Written in the Upper Room, on the vigil of Pentecost.
