Mystical Love and the Sacred Heart of Jesus

I've been thinking about this dilemma I have, that the closer I am to God, the more I feel the agony of unrequited love; and that, whenever I close myself off to the suffering, I experience a separation from his presence.

Here's what I think: I think that, back when he did that thing that changed my heart, what he did was give me a little bit of his heart. And his heart, while full of overflowing divine love and compassion, is also full of unimaginable grief for us, and for all the sin and suffering in the world. And of longing, to be united with us in full communion, and to return at last and claim his bride, whom he won through his own suffering. 

I think that, through this experience, he is giving me a tiny little taste of how he loves us. Infinitesimally small, relative to his own love and pain; but still, almost more than my small strength can bear. Well, more, really, only he sustains me through it with his grace.

This is not something that I've come up with. There's a long history of the theology of and devotion to the Sacred Heart.

The theme of God as bridegroom and lover, and his people as bride and beloved runs throughout the Bible. The first thing that happens in the beginning, after creation, is a marriage, and the last thing that happens at the end, after judgment, is another marriage. God spoke through the prophets to the people of Israel as a husband calling out to a straying wife; the wisest mere human ever to have lived wrote the parabolic form of the love between us and God as a love poem between husband and wife; Jesus himself explicitly spoke of himself as the bridegroom; the apostle commanded husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the church. 

In other words, he's allowing me to suffer for the one I love as he suffers for us, the ones he loves.

I can see fairly clearly what would be his purpose toward me in doing this: to bring me closer to himself and make me more like him. But I can only hypothesize about how it relates to her. His purpose toward her must be good and not evil--that is theologically imperative. But how, exactly, I don't know for sure. Here's an educated guess, though: Could it be that this is what it's going to take to convince her to finally open herself up to someone? Is, perhaps, seeing that someone loves her enough to go through all this for her what she needs, to be able to trust? Is it that it's going to take someone completely baring every little corner of his heart, to give her the confidence to open up that safe, dark casket she's had hers locked up in for so long, just a little bit?

You may say, "Yes, a husband is supposed to love his wife as Christ love the church. But you're not her husband." That is true. But neither were we his bride yet when he suffered and died for us. Nor when he first called to us in our individual lives. He already loved us first; and even while we resisted and rejected him, he kept loving, kept calling, kept extending the invitation: "Come away, my beloved". And that's all I'm doing: just baring my soul, and saying, I love you. Just you, exactly as you are. No matter what. Will you choose to let me love you?

If I am right, then I thank you, Lord, for allowing me the privilege of sharing in your sufferings. And of doing so for this woman in particular. She is absolutely worth every bit of it. And even if she never chooses to respond, I thank you for allowing me to have known her, and to have seen that such a wondrous and beautiful thing exists upon this earth.