Anyone who doesn't shed a tear when reading this chapter has a heart of stone:

 

 

“O Expectation of Israel, the Saviour thereof in time of trouble:  why wilt Thou be as a stranger in the land, and as a wayfaring man turning in to lodge? Why wilt thou be as a wandering man and as a mighty man that cannot save?    Jeremias 14:8-9

 

Each Catholic Church is Jesus Christ’s home.

Now, home is the place where we meet our friends and welcome those we love.  A man without friends cannot have a  home, for a deserted home is none.  Yet is not Jesus Christ’s home deserted?  May we not question Him in the words of Jeremias of old:  “Why wilt Thou be as a stranger in the land and as a wayfaring man turning in to lodge?”  Why is it, Lord Jesus, that you are as a man in a foreign land, who looks in vain for the hearty clasp of hand and the ring of a cheering voice, and finding it not, turns with heavy heart to lodge in a friendless inn?

If we listen well we shall hear You answer:  “Because Israel hath not known Me, and my people hath not understood:; “because My people  have forgotten Me”;  “I have spread forth My hands all the day to an unbelieving people who walk in a way that is not good after their own thoughts.”  The fault is not My own.  I have done all that man, yea, that God could do.  I planned from unbeginning years to win the love of each and all of you.  I veiled My Godhead and became like to you in form and habit, and when I had tarried a while on earth, I was yet loath to leave you.  I hid even my human form and once again “I pitched My tent” among you, and the Word-made-Flesh was in likeness found as bread, and I dwelt and still dwell among you. 

For nineteen hundred long, slow years I have tarried within the tabernacle wanting to make it My home, yes, My home, because it is there I meant to meet My friends.  Yet how have I been cheated of My hopes!  Many of those that I loved so much that I gave My life for them, never visit Me, save when the fear of mortal sin drives them to an early Mass on Sunday morning; a few come now and then to see Me;  a very few find pleasure in My frequent company.  Oh!  if I were not God, the unvarying century-old-ingratitude of man would be too much to bear.  Though I am man's best friend, I am "as a wandering man, as a mighty man that cannot save". Can I not, then, ask you at least to make up "for the coldness and indifference with which men have so long requited the number less benefits I have conferred on them"?  Can I not, then, ask you at least to make My home a real home for Me?  Hour after hour from out the tabernacle I listen for a friend's footfall on the vacant pavement, and hour after hour the silence is unbroken.  Will not you at least break it?  Shall I, your truest Friend, alone be unbefriended?  "I will stand upon My watch and fix My foot upon the tower; and I will watch to see what will be said to Me."

Dear Lord Jesus, I am ashamed of myself.  My past is a puzzle to me myself, for indeed I have not known You.  I have scarely ever thought of You as having a heart as keenly sensitive as our own hearts, and I forgot that You minded being alone and unremembered.  If I visited You - and that has not been too often - my own sorrows and joys were ever uppermost in my mind, and I little thought of asking You to tell me a deal about Yourself.  I forgot to interest myself in You.  Pardon this shabbiness, my God, for I blush at my selfishness.  And yet I know You will be willing, yes, glad, to receive me even though self be all that I talk about, for my soul is very precious in Your eyes.  I will come, then Lord Jesus, come as often as I can.  I will try to make You "feel at home."