A piece of writing from MOTHER TRINIDAD DE LA SANTA MADRE IGLESIA,
from the 14th of November, 1959. Title:
THE FACE OF THE CHURCH
Church of mine, how beautiful You are…! You are all-beautiful, Daughter of Jerusalem.
“Your eyes are doves,” because Your gazing is with the same gazing of the Father.
Your mouth is all sweet, soft, because Your mouth is the Word Incarnate Himself Who, breaking into Word, comes forth and is scattered over us through You in a divine singing of eternal and infinite perfections.
My Church, You are kindled. “Your cheeks are like halves of pomegranate,” reddened by the very fire of the Holy Spirit.
You are an “army in battle,” a queen with Your queenship received from God’s very being, strong with the same strength of the “Lion of Judah.”
O, Church of mine! all-beautiful, bedecked with Divinity Itself that penetrates You, fills You, ennobles You, extolling You with such fruitfulness, that You, Church of mine, are the selfsame Word Incarnate Who comes forth from the Father’s bosom breaking into Word and burning in the Holy Spirit. That is your Royal Head, my Church!
How beautiful You are with the beauty of the Most High and Most Holy God Himself! All Your Bridegroom’s Divinity truly spills out from You through all Your living members…!
Church of mine, You are Mother with the same heart of the Father. The one and only white Dove which contains in Her bosom the whole adorable Trinity.
O, Church of mine! All dove’s innocence You are… Your perfumes spread throughout all the ends of the earth. You are a “sachet of myrrh” lying in the very bosom of the Most High; and so loving, that the Father Himself, Who takes no other delight than in Himself, in His Son and Their common Holy Spirit, rejoices over and takes pleasure in You, because Your Head and Your Crown is His very own Begotten Son Incarnate.
Church of mine, where is Solomon to sing You in his poems…? Where all the poets to sing something of the beauties of my Church…? But no, there is no poet who can sing You as You deserve. You have to be known as You are, and the Father alone contemplates You adequately in all Your beauty, because You, in Your Head, are His Word.
And nor is there a word which can sing You, Church of mine, beloved Church, because, by not knowing You, who will be able to express You? Who will be able to spell out the idyll of infinite love that God accomplished in You and with You, like a Bridegroom in love, O Heavenly Jerusalem! on the day of Your bridals in perpetual and eternal marriage, according to the promises of He Who Is, announced to humanity from the beginning of time?
But yes, for You Yourself, in Your Royal Head, sing and express Yourself, since He is the fruitful Word Who comes forth singing from the Father’s bosom, beautifying You with Your royal crown of glorious Divinity as the Bride of the Immaculate Lamb; sealing You in Your forehead with His divine Blood, shed on the altar of the cross, which takes away the sins of the world; and bejeweling You with all the gifts, fruits and charisms of the Holy Spirit, Who at Pentecost made You break into fiery word by His loving impulse.