The Mass is the Passion and Death of our Lord

While the following paper describing what the Lord showed Dorothy about the Mass is not part of Dorothy’s journal. Its importance cannot be understated. In it Dorothy carefully tells precisely what Our Lord showed/taught her about the Mass. It is invaluable for anyone who desires to know Dorothy’s spirituality. The paper was written by Dorothy in obedience to her spiritual di-rector at the request of Fr. Germanus Tomaino, S.A

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The Mass is the Passion and Death of our Lord

Our Divine Lord told me that He would give me “a love beyond the imagination and knowledge of men.”  On another day, Jesus told me, “you will sing the Mass with your heart,” and that my heart would live within Father’s.   When I told Father this, he said, “If it’s God’s will, it’s all right with me.”  So, there it has remained, and especially during Father’s Mass.

 As Father is one with Jesus, so, when he is vesting for Mass, I begin to feel the warm, living Blood of Jesus flowing around the flesh of Father’s heart.  I feel, through Father, Jesus’ steps as He walks the road to the Garden of Olives.  I feel the slight tenseness of His body, caused by the knowledge of what is to happen.  The night air is moist and cool.  I kneel with Him in the Garden.  It is the Agony of Jesus in the Garden all over again.  Sometimes I put my hand down, almost as if I doubted, to take a handful of the warm sand and let it sift through my fingers.  How I am within Jesus at times, and yet myself, is, of course, as everything, by the power of God.

From the Garden we see down on the world: most often, fields of leaping flames, which Our Lord tells me are sins of pride sweeping the world.  He has told me that the sins of this generation cause Him His most bitter suffering.

I feel the burning flesh of Jesus, and with my hand brush back His matted hair, and kiss away His tears.  I feel Father’s hands clasp over Jesus’.  Then our souls leave – in some manner – our bodies, and go down through darkness.  Everything around is slimy, moving, snake-like, creepy.  On occasion, Lucifer has approached and threatened me for taking souls away from him.  I hear souls screaming, moaning.  The black cloak of penance is heavy over Father’s shoulders.   The walking becomes almost impossible.  Over and over I call: “Mary!  Mary!”  Sometimes I feel a Rosary made of living drops of Our Lord’s blood between his fingers.   Then I feel that burning, passionate, intense love of Jesus: His Heart pounds with love as we see these souls.  They are buried and suffering in this slime of sin.  Some are indifferent; others are reaching out for help.  I see Father go to one and then to another.  I hear him making love to them, whispering words of love to them, coaxing them; sometimes he holds one close to his heart.

We find ourselves back with Our Lord, perhaps just when I feel the kiss of Judas against Jesus’ cheek. “Oh Jesus, it is my sins that have betrayed you.”  I feel each step of Jesus back into town; the Apostles run away; the mob mocks Him: they shove and push Him, pull His hair and beard; the trial goes on before the Sanhedrin; Peter denies Him.  I live through the bitter hours of unbelievable loneliness at His feet in prison.  In the morning, I hear the drunken mob returning.  Our Lord is brought before the Sanhedrin; then to Pilate; then to Herod; and again back to Pilate.  I hear him ask: “Are you a king?”  I feel Our Lord’s back slightly straighten and I heard Him answer: “I am a King.” Since then He has told me so often when he appears as “Christ the King,” that His kingdom is in the hearts of men.  And as they take Him away, they push and shove Him; they pull His hair; and one of the blows knocks Him over. When Father moved to the gospel side of the altar, for a minute I saw him.  Then at the scourging I feel each blow against the flesh of Father’s back: the rope that ties and burns His wrists; the crowning with thorns. Within Jesus’ sorrowful Heart I hear the mob cry, “Crucify Him!”

Then I feel the weight of the cross cutting into His shoulder.  Sometimes He stops and lets me kiss that wound.  One would think that the pain of touching it would be unbearable; but no; it seems to ease His suffering.  We walk a little farther, and Veronica rushes out to wipe His face.  This courageous act of love causes the pain of Jesus to cease for a few seconds.  I feel the pressure of her veil against Father’s face.

I feel Jesus’ tongue so thick, so swollen; the cool metal cup of wine mixed with myrrh against His lips – usually given to numb the pain of the flesh – but which consolation Jesus refuses, because it was not prompted by love as was Veronica’s act.  He looks to see what choice I will make.  But, “My Beloved White Dove (Canticle of Canticles) what can I do but refuse.”  I kiss away the tears of blood that come from His eyes.  I feel it all through Father.  And then comes that most cruel of all moments when the first blow of the hammer sends the nail crushing through Jesus’ hand.

Then for three long, bitter hours, I feel the terrible pain of Jesus’ blood leaving His body drop by drop until this pain, caused by sin, becomes so terrible that only the Infinite Love of Jesus, Who bears it for us in reparation, can and does act as an anesthetic.  The pain is gone.  There is only love. Suffering has become a joy.  I feel the beating of Jesus’ Heart.  Through Father, I feel His arms outstretched as on the cross: Jesus is a Burning White Cross of Love.  Great golden clouds, filled with angels, suddenly roll gloriously like thunder-clouds over the mud, the filth of Calvary.  There is the throne of Our Heavenly Father.  I see His arms outstretched to embrace Jesus.  I feel the most precious blood of Jesus, His Infinite Love, flowing through His wounds down upon the world. IT IS THE CONSECRATION OF THE MASS. One day our Blessed Mother told me that at the Consecration, “Heaven and earth are united as one.”  Then, looking down from the Sacred Heart of Jesus upon the world I see souls coming from all over: some come very quickly; others just slowly; others are carried by angels.  These, I think are the dying.  

What follows the Consecration, I can never describe except that the air is fragrant with the odor of spices and roses.  I become so hungry for Our Lord’s flesh and blood at this time.  Sometimes I see our Lord coming swiftly as on a soft breeze, with His arms out-stretched.  At other times He comes from the cross; and sometimes, invisibly.  As He comes close, I taste His flesh and feel each pore on Father’s tongue, then going slowly into his throat and into his heart.  On First Friday I taste His burning flesh.  On  occasion, His flesh tastes as a rose petal, that is, His Infant flesh.  From Jesus’ hands held like a cup we drink His most precious blood.  Our souls just leap with joy.  I feel His kiss against Father’s cheek.  Sometimes He says, “With desire, I have desired to eat this Pasch with you.”  I feel the breath of the Holy Ghost filling Father’s heart.  I feel Jesus’ flesh drawing us into Himself.  I melt at His feet and our souls sing of love to Him.  It is after this that Jesus talks to me.

When the priest distributes Holy Communion, I often see Our Lord in soft white garments, barefooted, coming to the spiritually lame, halt, and blind.  I do not see the priest, but only Christ.  As Jesus raises His hand in absolution,  our souls sing this prayer to Him:

O Thou Who of old didst love Thy hand to lay
On the dull vacant eyes that craved for light,
Behold! I come to Thee, and crying pray:
“O Christ, O Son of David, give me sight!
A faith scarce clouded by the mists of earth,
A faith pierced Heaven, I ask of Thee;
Faith to prize all things by their lasting worth;
Thou canst, Thou wilt – O Lord, that I may see!”

As Jesus goes to each soul I see His arms embrace that soul, and it disappears, for it becomes one with Him. The life of the priest in black may appear dull and boring to the world, and, at times, even to the priest himself because he is human.  But if priests would only remember that they are the most adventurous, the most daring, the most thrilling of lovers when they bring Christ’s love to a soul in sin, there could be no dullness to amount to anything.  Their hearts contain the love of Christ: all of the passion of Magdalen, the fire of St. Paul, the recklessness of St. Peter, the gentleness of St. John.  If they would only see the Light of the Holy Ghost Who causes souls of sinners to melt at their spoken words, as Magdalen did when her eyes met the eyes of Jesus for the first time!  Priests are lovers who, one with Christ, at the Consecration unite Heaven and earth.

Just as I share in the sufferings of Our Lord through Father, so too, I receive His flesh and blood through Father.   Our Lord asked me to sacrifice the joy of receiving Him in the customary manner  because He desires to show how close the soul of every mortal is within the Heart of Jesus at the Mass.  To those who assist at Mass, of course, more graces are given.  But Jesus’ Heart burns with love for each and every soul on earth and in purgatory, as well as for those in Heaven.  His priests, who are one with Him, share in that all-embracing love of souls, and all souls are thus in the heart of every priest.

This text is the most important of all the single texts written by Dorothy to describe what Our Lord showed her about what happens during the Eucharistic Sacrifice.  Her experience of the Mass is what she recounts here, saving certain exceptions. These pertain to the particular role that Dorothy plays in the Mass for the instruction of the faithful. An example is the way the Lord wished Dorothy to receive his Body and Blood through the intermediary of the priest/celebrant of the Mass without approaching the Minister of the Eucharist. Our Lord requested this exceptional way of receiving Him to indicate how important is the priest for all of the faithful at Mass since the priest acts in the very Person of Jesus and the faithful are united with Jesus through the priest since the priest carries the faithful in his heart, just as the priest is in the heart of Jesus, the High Priest.

When Dorothy writes to her spiritual director/confessor, it is usually because he was away from St. Mary’s at the time or, later, had been transferred to another Dominican house. While he had these roles in Dorothy’s life he was transferred successively from New Haven to St. Jude Shrine, Memphis, TN; Holy Name Priory, Philadelphia, PA; and, finally, to St. Dominic Priory, Washington, DC.