He Didn’t Just Die. He Loved Me to Death

by Madeline Mauro

Many have asked me, “How do you pray the Rosary? You seem to go somewhere else when you pray, and all I get out of it is repetitive words with no depth.”

In this article, I want to share how meditating on the Sorrowful Mysteries has opened the way for me into contemplation—a place where the heart begins to soar and burn with love.

When I sit with the Rosary, especially the sorrowful mysteries, I often begin with a question or image, and suddenly I find myself somewhere deeper. Contemplation happens. Not by force—but by love. And when it does, something inside me begins to lift.

I begin by talking to Jesus…
Reflecting on Your Passion, I imagine Mama—Your mother—hearing that You were taken captive. She would’ve known. And I wonder if she recalled something You once said:

“Mother, you must promise me you will forgive them. This is the Father's will. I am His gift to you. And my mission is to bring about salvation. Because everyone will suffer.”

I know that’s not in Scripture. But I’m almost sure He would have said something to her—because she was human. She knew what was coming. She felt it in her bones. Yes, she was full of grace. Yes, the Holy Spirit lived in her. But still—she was His mother. She had a mother’s heart. That means something.

I reflect: O Holy Spirit, I allow myself to sit, knowing the suffering Jesus endured was so that I can live with Him. Jesus, your suffering has meaning in my life. Your cross is my salvation. You died for me so that I will live—and my life is in You and with You. Where is there ever a greater love than when You laid down Your life for me? Thank you, my Lord.

I share my heart with Momma (that’s what I call Mother Mary), knowingly, as a mother, I too hate when my children suffer. We want to take the suffering from them. I’m sure Momma wanted to run and take the Cross from her Son.

I wonder why Jesus expresses His humanity on the Cross, such a graphic and dreadful way to die.  Even though He’s fully divine, we know He sweated blood, human blood. He felt every pain that touched His body.  And that when I die, my death will have meaning because it’s in Him. Without Him, there’s no meaning to life.

Because when we die—everybody will—there must be a final resting. And if you live a whole life without knowing that there is a possibility that the resting can be with the Creator who loves you and sacrificed His life for you… What was it for?

He came in humanity to prove that He is who He is—and then He wasn’t received. That’s really sad and it's on people.

There’s nothing about God that has to do with us… and yet He chose to come for us. So when we meditate on the Passion, it’s not just Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, or Jesus at the pillar, or the crown of thorns. There’s a depth.

And without entering into that meditation, the Rosary can remain just surface-level—missing its invitation to go deeper. The Rosary is meant to lift you—to draw you into a spiritual level, elevating your heart and mind to a higher plane.

I’m one of those people who like to pray it privately, and my reason is so I can ponder at my own pace.  You don’t have to sit in a chair or a church pew. You can do it in the car. Maybe I’ll do a decade in the church, another in the car. Maybe while I’m cleaning, or cooking, or doing laundry.

But I’m going into it with these questions… because there’s such a human aspect to it.

And here’s something else: I remember hearing this man, a Christian preacher, mock people who wear crucifixes around their necks.  That’s the sad part. He compared it to wearing a gas chamber or an electric chair around your neck. He went on and on—“Why would you wear the way someone died around your neck?” Then he continued to mock the woman for her inability to answer him.

So, I would like to take a moment to answer for her: The Cross is not just an execution of a person. This is my God.

I wear it because He got executed for me. It’s a reminder of the length of love and that He took my place! The depth He went to save me. Jesus hangs from the cross and says to me, “Madeline, don’t you see it? Don’t you know how much I love you? Look. Look what I did. I died on the Cross so that you will live in Me and with Me forever. Can you believe that? Do you believe Me enough? Have I not given you enough faith to let your mind move to that level of belief? Can you trust My words? Can you trust My promises?”

I respond: Lord, You’re asking me—can I trust that even though those back in the day, the ones who didn’t have indoor toilets or cars or houses the way I do today—those who walked with You, Jesus, or even those before You—can I see how they searched with longing for their Creator? That they wondered? That they believed?

And now, I ask you to ask yourself that same question.

Faith is given to us so that we can allow our minds to wander into the heavenly realms, letting the heart soar in places you've never been before. Similar to people who write books expressing their own creative thoughts.

But contemplation is something else entirely,  going beyond ourselves with love to our Creator. It must go back to where one began.

While I know I don't have the ability like other people, I do have the gift of contemplation. And I've always done this, because I always look up, wondering. In my younger days, I looked up at the sky and the universe and wondered at the vastness of it. So much that I could see with my own eyes, I started hyperventilating. It was so overwhelming for me. The abundance of it. But when I began to trust God at His Word, the heart and intellect began to fly beyond into the heart of God.

Contemplation is a gift God gives to those who love Him. When we gaze at Him with love, we are picked up and carried into His bosom to rest our head against His sacred heart.
The Rosary is a gateway that leads us to it.1Top of Form

¹ The Catechism (CCC 2713) calls contemplative prayer “a gaze of faith, fixed on Jesus.” It is a simple look of love, a surrender, a communion more than a conversation.