A few weeks back, there was news of a book that was published – it may be one of the most talked about, written about, and wondered about books in the world.

But hardly anyone has read it. There is only one copy.

It is 40 pages long, bound in leather, written by hand.

It contains the names of 1,476 people who were sexually abused by priests, deacons or nuns in the Archdiocese of Boston. And it was given to Pope Benedict when he visited America last month.

Last week, the Boston Globe published pictures of the book. It’s a beautiful piece of work that commemorates an unspeakable horror. The first thing you notice is that there are no last names. Jackie Robert Wayne Stephen Paul Linda.

They were crafted by a calligrapher named Lyn Boyd who, this time of year, is usually busy with wedding invitations. But when she was approached about this, she couldn’t say no. Lyn Boyd is not Catholic, and she was never even told who would be receiving the book.

She completed the project in just 30 days. It became for her, she said, an obsession.

“I felt like I had 1,500 people I needed to do something for,” she said. “And when I came across a name where I knew a child with that name who had been raised in the Catholic church, I’d think about that person.”

Some pages are left blank – for all the victims who never came forward, who never gave their names.

At one point, there is a page with a quote from Isaiah: “I will never forget you. Behold, on the palm of my hand I have written your name.”

The book was presented to the pope during an extraordinary meeting with five of the people whose names are written on those pages. Those who were there said when he received it and opened it, you could see the shock on his face. The enormity of it hit him.

The most dramatic moment of the meeting came when the only woman victim stepped forward to speak. All the others turned away and she stood facing the pope and she wept. It was like an aria, someone said. A great exhaling. No one could say anything.

One of the other victims, Olan Horne, described his meeting. He said: “I told the pope that I had not gone to confession in 35 years, but I went 10 minutes before I met him to ask God’s forgiveness because I had hated him for years, I hated the church, I hated my God. I told him I wanted forgiveness so that I could be in the same place that he was when I met him. So I could have an open heart.”

He said the pope smiled and took his hand. And he wouldn’t let it go.

I hear stories like this and I can only imagine the isolation and darkness that those men and women lived with for so long. The sense of abandonment and fear.

And reading today’s scriptures, I thought of them. Because I imagine the apostles must have felt abandoned and afraid, too. They must have wondered, after Jesus had left them, what would become of them. They must have felt alone. Lost. As if God had left them.
So they went from a mountaintop to a place they felt safe – the upper room, where they had been given the Eucharist, where Christ had given himself to them in a profoundly personal and eternal way.

And there they waited and prayed.

But in the middle of this uncertainty and unknowing, in the middle of the apostles’ praying, John’s gospel offers us this astonishing thought: Jesus is praying for them – and for us.

“I pray for them,” he tells his father. “I pray for the ones you have given me.”

For anyone who has ever felt afraid, or alone – for anyone who has felt abandoned or unloved, victimized or abused – those may be the most beautiful words in the world.

Jesus prays for us. All of us. All those who have been given to him.

Last week, he told his followers, “I will not leave you orphans.”

This week, he reminds us why:

“I have been glorified in them.” It’s a humbling and amazing statement: the son of God, glorified by simple, sinful, sorrowful humans.

And so he prays for us. And, I think, he prays with us.

Because, he is a part of us. “I will never forget you. Behold, on the palm of my hand I have written your name.”
It is a thought that gains even greater meaning, I think, when we realize that Christ’s palm was pierced for each of us. Our names are written in his blood.

The victims who met with Pope Benedict say they came away full of gratitude – and hope.

And I think that is one of the messages in this Sunday’s scripture: to wait with gratitude and hope for Pentecost, and the coming of the Holy Spirit, and the fire that will light that upper room, and inflame our hearts.

The responsorial psalm today tells us: “I believe that I shall see the good things of the Lord in the land of the living. The Lord is my light and my salvation…the Lord is my life’s refuge…of whom should I be afraid?”

To everyone who has known darkness, no matter where, no matter how, look to the light that is Christ, with hope and with comfort and with joy.

He is praying for us.

And his prayers never end. His love never ceases.

He takes our hand…and doesn’t let go.