The Soto family home had a few curious features. My father, Oscar, loved gardening. When newly married, he bought a home at the end of a cul-de-sac so he could have a large garden that wrapped around the house. In the garden were a variety of flowers and trees: gladiolas, snap dragons, California poppies, gardenias, orchid trees, apricots and an avocado tree, to name a few.
My father also enjoyed birds, canaries in particular. He built an aviary so he could raise them. At one time, the aviary may have housed up to 50 canaries. When he was not tending to the yard, he was certainly looking after his canaries. When my sister’s suitors would come to the house, the pre-requisite for taking my sister on a date was a conversation with my father, often in the aviary with its feathered tenants fluttering around him.
There was also a covered patio built by my father. Many a splendid summer evening was spent on that patio, watching a bright, orange California sun sink slowly into the horizon, while a sprinkler launched a shimmering, swaying spray of water across the lawn and the voice of Linda Ronstadt sang old Mexican ballads.
Inside the house there was a parthenon of saints, crucifixes and holy water fonts disseminated through every room. Most Catholic Churches looked barren in comparison. But, there was one prominent religious image that hung on the wall opposite the front door: a large portrait of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
My Father always held a fond devotion for the Sacred Heart of Jesus. He was never a talkative person — except if the topic of conversation was Notre Dame football. I don’t recall the reasons for his heartfelt devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. His home parish in Nogales, Arizona was named in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Regular visits to the parish church may have engendered his lifelong devotion to this popular image of Jesus. He was also very fond of this small border town. Many summers my siblings and I were packed into a station wagon then driven across the desert to spend a week at my grandparents’ home, just up the street from the church. Looking at the “meek and mild” image of Christ may have stirred up old affections for that place in the Sonoran Desert far from the ocean breezes that frequently wafted through Orange County, California.
The image was the photograph of a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, taken from the waist up. The face of Jesus was neither stern nor smiling. His countenance conveyed an image described in the Lord’s own words from the gospel of Matthew, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves.” (Mt.11:29)
The eyes of Jesus were looking down in order to catch the eyes of those looking up at him. This would have been appropriate for a statue normally set atop an altar or on a pedestal. In our home, the image was hung high enough on the wall to give the same impression; His “meek and mild” gaze fixed on those who raised their eyes to Him.
The image of Jesus looking at you while his left hand pointed to the Sacred Heart emblazoned on his chest was the first object any guest would see entering our home. Though the hallway was not big, this was the place the family would gather to pray the rosary. With seven children, it could get a little crowded. In the months of May and October, we knelt around the image while praying the rosary. My mother and sister always had first dibs on the throw pillows from the living room. After them, there was the ritual wrestling match among six boys for the remaining pillows. This sibling rivalry did not always foster the proper disposition for prayer. We should have begun with a penitential rite before the recitation of the holy rosary.
As mentioned, the left hand of Jesus pointed to his Sacred Heart. Of note was the blood-red scar where the nails had pierced his hands, a quiet, but not so subtle reminder of the pain endured by the merciful heart of Christ.
Upon the Sacred Heart at the center of the image was pictured a woven crown of thorns with fiery flames of love emerging from top of this crucible of divine mercy. The wound pierced by the soldier’s lance on Calvary could also be seen. This stark image, as gruesome as it was alluring, stretched the imagination to comprehend such a heart, pierced by spear and thorns, yet still aflame with love.
The late Pope Francis promulgated, only a few months before his death, a beautiful encyclical on the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Dilexit Nos. He recounts the ancient theological and spiritual legacy of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I encourage you to read it. In it, he relates the contribution of St. Margaret Mary Alacoque to the popular promotion of this devotion. The Holy Father quoted from the writings of this wise mystic of the Church:
Once, when the Blessed Sacrament was exposed, Jesus appeared, resplendent in glory, with his five wounds that appeared as so many suns blazing forth from his sacred humanity, but above all from his adorable breast, which seemed a fiery furnace. Opening his robe, he revealed his most loving and lovable heart, which was the living source of those flames. Then it was that I discovered the ineffable wonders of his pure love.”
(Autobiography, St. Margaret Mary Alacoque, n. 55)
This June, the Catholic Bishops of the United States, on the occasion of the 250th anniversary of the founding of this nation, invite the Catholic community and all people of good will to consecrate the United States of America to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The proposed consecration should begin in our own lives and in our homes. The manner with which my father shared with the family his own devotion for the boundless mercy that flows from the Sacred Heart of the crucified Christ, serves as an encouragement to bring this hallowed image into our homes so that the Lord’s most Sacred Heart can transform them into sanctuaries of his most tender mercies.