Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands (Isaiah, 49, 16). This was the first thought to spring to mind at the sight of the new doors of bronze adorning the Sanctuary of Divine Mercy at San Pawl tat-Tarġa, Naxxar.

The mercy of God is so limitless that even if a mother were to forget her child, God would not. I called to mind this verse of the Prophet Isaiah due to the two hands appearing to be engraved in the bronze on the central door. To whom do they belong? To me? To you? To the Lord God?

I stand outside the door, uncertain whether to cross its threshold or not. The Lord compared himself to the good shepherd, to the true vine, and to a door as well. “I am the door” (John 10, 7).

But the door to this sanctuary is mysterious because it is a sea of intersecting lines, endless waves, currents, eddies and foam. Where do they start? Where do they come to end?

This is a mystery, like that of the wheels of the prehistoric people of Malta that seem to lead towards cliffs to fall into an abyss.

The storm lifebrought me to the point of shipwreck, but I did not make land. I turned to other gods

In my youth I thought that I could direct the course of my life, and guide it with my strength. Many times I feared when the waves rose high, and I complained to the Lord that he seemed to slumber while my bark did sink. This is the storm life that brought me to point of shipwreck, but I did not make land. I turned to other gods and these pronounced oracles on my fate, like those who read the future in the intersecting lines on my hands. Not that I paid court to sorcerers or to those who dabble in false palmistry. None of this at all.

But I too had false gods, idols, or, as they are indeed, demons. The raging sea overwhelmed me because I turned, in the middle of my struggles, to false gods offering false salvation. We no longer call them by their ancient names: Moloch, Dionysus, Mithras, Artemis, Isis or all the other names in the pantheon of ancient religion. We have merely changed the names.

It still remains the idolatry of old. Like Abraham, but these gods did not save me. The scribbles, like blind fate, refused to give up their secrets. However, from one side, a humble soul makes an appearance. Like myself it seems to be swimming in this dark sea, face down, too weak to look upwards.

On the door of the left is that saintly nun, Faustina Kowalska, the apostle of the Divine Mercy whom the Lord chose to preach this truth. The Lord turned the storm of my life into grace. The sea grew calm and actually transformed my sin into my credit. Roses bloomed from thorns. By the power of the Lord’s bitter passion, the storm subsided and He had mercy upon me and on the whole world.

He had mercy not only on me but on everyone because I could never have acquired salvation on my own. He saved me together with the souls that I shattered through my sin, the innocents that I slew through my egoism.

These are the heads of the infants on the door on the left. Mysterious souls that I feel accusing me, but, at the same time, I belong to their company and in their midst. Some are distressed, others are serene but all remind me of Herod’s ongoing slaughter of innocents.

No little sin will escape God’s justice. In the end, Divine Mercy will emerge triumphant and obliterate my sin and the harm I inflicted on others, both that of which I am aware, and that of which Iam not.

Help me to trust in you Jesus, because only you had mercy on me in these times when mitred wimps shrink and the wounded rise in your sight.

Go visit the doors of bronze of the Sanctuary of Divine Mercy at Naxxar and perhaps you too will experience a spiritual moment of grace.

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