CONTENTS
CHAPTER
SUBJECT
PAGE
1 A
Confession on bended knees to implore God's goodness
1
2 A devout
Meditation and Thanksgiving on the Incarnation and Life of Jesus
4
3 Of
the washing of the disciples' feet
11
4 Of the
Institution of the Worshipful and most August Sacrament
14
5 A devout
Prayer to the Worshipful Sacrament
21
6 A devout
Exercise on the Passion of our Lord
24
7 Of
the great Sorrow and Anguish which Christ underwent in the Garden, at the
thought of His Passion hanging over Him
27
8 A Prayer
and Offering for Sins
32
9
A Prayer to the Son for Pardon, and the grace of Self-denial
39
10 Jesus goeth
to meet His Enemies
41
11 A Prayer
for perfect Self-denial and Love
45
12 Jesus is
taken and bound
46
13 A very
humble Confession of Sins, and a Prayer to the Father for Forgiveness
51
14 Jesus
is forsaken by His Disciples
55
15 Jesus
is led to Annas
57
16 A Prayer
that we may follow Christ
64
17 Jesus
is led to Caiaphas
67
18 Mary
followeth Jesus her Son
75
19 Of the
Compassion of the Virgin Mother for her Son
79
20 Jesus is
delivered to Pilate
81
21 A Prayer
that we may perfectly follow and love Jesus
83
22 Jesus
is led to Herod
85
23 Christ,
after having been set at nought by Herod, is led back to Pilate
89
24 Jesus
is fearfully scourged
91
25 A
devout Prayer for the forgiveness of sins, and for resignation, and the love
of Jesus
98
26
Jesus is crowned with thorns
100
27 A
Prayer for enlightenment
104
28 Christ
is shown to the people by the Governor, with the words: "Behold the Man!"
107
29 The
burden of the Cross is laid on Jesus
115
30 Mary,
the Mother of Sorrows, followeth her sorrowing Son
120
31 A
Prayer to the Father of Heaven
123
32
Jesus is given vinegar to drink
126
33
Jesus is again stripped of His garments
128
34
Jesus is fastened on the Cross
132
35 A
Prayer to Jesus Crucified
139
36
Jesus with the Cross is lifted up on high
141
37
Jesus was numbered with thieves
146
38 Of
the glorious title of Christ's Cross
147
39
Jesus clotheth those who had crucified Him
150
40 Jesus
is is attacked with blasphemies
153
41 A
devout confession and prayer for sins
159
42 To
stir up the soul to praise God
162
43
Jesus saveth the thief
165
44
Jesus addresseth His sorrow-stricken Mother
170
45
The Sun is darkened
177
46 "My
God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?"
180
47
Jesus complaineth of His thirst
185
48
Jesus drinketh vinegar and gall upon the Cross
190
49
"It is finished"
193
50
"Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit"
196
51
Jesus giveth up the Ghost
200
52
The veil of the temple is rent in twain
202
53
Jesus is pierced with the lance
206
54
Jesus is taken down from the Cross
212
55 A
devout prayer for conformity to the sacred life and crucified image of Jesus
Christ
215
MEDITATIONS ON THE LIFE AND PASSION OF OUR LORD
JESUS CHRIST
THE FIRST CHAPTER.
A Confession on bended knees to implore God's goodness.
O Most gracious Jesus, my Love, Salvation, and Comfort! O most faithful Lover
of men, my Maker and Redeemer! Light of my heart, Solace of my spirit, and
Medicine of my soul, how much do I owe Thee, O my God! Of what worth hast
Thou esteemed me, O my Creator, Who hast formed me out of nothing to Thine
own image and likeness? For a price beyond all reckoning hast Thou bought
me; with exceeding great labour hast Thou redeemed me; for how many years
in long-suffering hast Thou borne with me; while I still persevered in my
iniquities hast Thou spared me. Many are the good gifts, and great is the
loving-kindness, by which Thou hast drawn me, and followed after me; and
countless are the times when in Thy mercy, and by Thy divine grace, Thou
hast come to my help, although as many times I turned my back upon Thee,
nor obeyed Thy holy inspirations, – but neglected Thy most holy will;
– nay, when I even gave myself up, instead, to my own corrupt and wicked
will.
O most gracious God, how ungrateful have I been for all Thy bountiful gifts,
even to this hour! O merciful God, behold I confess, to Thee my manifold
and great iniquity. Lord, open Thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth
Thy praise; for, see, Lord, to Thee have I lifted up my soul. O unseen
Sanctifier! do Thou purify my spirit, and make ready my heart to praise Thee,
and give thanks unto Thee. Enlighten my understanding. Gather all my memory
into one point. Kindle my desires. Purify my intention. Purge my affections.
Raise up the powers of my soul to Thyself, and water its drought with the
dew of Thy heavenly grace. O, most loving God! vouchsafe, now, I beseech
Thee, to bow down Thine ears from Thy throne in heaven to me, Thy wretched
and sinful creature, and hear my prayers, whereby in lowly fear I knock at
the breast of Thy divine grace. Behold! I turn me wholly to Thee. Lo! I lift
up all the powers of my soul to praise Thee, and bless Thee, and with my
whole strength I open my heart unto Thee. Oh! cause this heart of mine, I
beseech Thee, to be pierced by the rays of Thy divine love, to be enlightened
by the splendours of Thy divine brightness, so that inwardly I may look into
the lowest depth of my
soul, and may see and acknowledge how far I am from Thee, my God! –
that I may behold, too, the faults and vices which keep me from Thy love
and service, and make me unworthy to receive into my soul the inpouring of
Thy divine grace. For so long a time, O Lord my God, hast Thou embraced and
girt me round about with Thy immeasurable gifts, and benefits, and graces,
but, above all, with Thine incomprehensible charity, that I cannot hide me
from the glow of Thy love, or keep back my spirit from Thy praise. Yea! my
heart desireth to praise Thee, and give thanks unto Thee, so far as I am
able, with every power of my soul; and my spirit exulteth earnestly in Thy
praise, and my soul doth magnify Thee, for over me Thy grace is exceeding
great. But who am I, O most high and Almighty Maker, that I should dare to
praise Thee? Moreover, how shall I dare to open my mouth, full, as it is,
of all uncleanness, and covered with the vile filth of so many vices, to
tell of Thy power and might? Nay, what can I ever think, or understand, or
speak of Thee, Who art immense, invisible, incomprehensible, inscrutable,
so as to be able to praise, extol, and magnify Thee, since I am powerless
to form any thought of Thee, or take in, or scrutinize Thy Being? Yet, although
I, who am but a poor, little, worthless man, – an empty straw, –
am not sufficient of myself to praise Thee, O high, and terrible, and
incomprehensible Majesty, since neither Thyself nor Thy works can I comprehend;
nevertheless, for this very reason ought I to laud and extol Thee, O my God,
and give thanks unto Thee; because Thou art so wonderful, and high, and
incomprehensible and inscrutable, that neither by understanding, nor keenness
of mind, nor reason, can any of Thy creatures reach unto Thee, save only
in the way and in the measure that Thou givest them to understand concerning
Thee by Thy grace.
For if, of old, profane and heathen men made such loud exultation, and boasted
themselves so mightily of their great, and powerful, and immortal gods, in
that they were made at great cost, and with cunning art, of gold, and other
precious things, – and, indeed, in one sense they were not mortal, for
never had they any share in mortal life – how much more just is it that
I should exult in Thee, my Almighty Lord, Whose power is so exceeding great,
that Thou fillest the heavens and the earth with the glory of Thy Majesty;
Whose beauty is so exceeding fair, that the sun and the moon and all the
elements marvel thereat, while the angelic spirits rejoice beyond all measure
in contemplating Thee; Whose strength is so exceeding terrible, that by one
look of Thine Thou makest the earth to tremble; Whose might is so exceeding
marvellous, that by a word Thou didst bring forth the heavens and the earth,
and all creatures are subject to Thy will; Whose riches are so exceeding
vast, that whatsoever is contained within the boundary of heaven and earth
belongeth to Thee alone, and is ruled by Thee without care or anxiousness;
Whose goodness and loving kindness, last of all, are so exceeding tender,
that Thy mercy is over all Thy works. For there is not even a little worm,
however utterly vile, nor any creature, however abject, that doth not share
Thy favour, or which Thou forgettest to uphold, and give it its food in due
season.
THE SECOND CHAPTER.
A devout Meditation and Thanksgiving on the Incarnation and Life of Jesus.
I Adore Thee, O Jesus Christ, Thou King of Israel, Light
of the people, Lord of lords, Prince of peace, Power of God Almighty, Wisdom
of the Father. I adore Thee, O Reconciler of men, most tender Advocate of
sinners, the refreshment of them who labour, the comfort of them who are
oppressed, the reward of all the just. I adore Thee, O Bread of Life, Medicine
of the soul, Peace-maker of the people, Redeemer of the world, Joy of heaven,
grateful Peace-offering and Sacrifice, peace-giving Victim, Who by the sweet
smell of Thy vestments hast graciously bowed down and moved Thy Father, Who
dwelleth on high, to look upon our weakness and wretchedness, and to hear
our groans and lamentations, and to take us back into His favour. O most
merciful Jesus! behold, I confess Thy exceeding tenderness and grace, which
out of Thine own essential goodness, and for no merits of ours, Thou hast
poured out upon us; and I offer Thee the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving
for all Thy benefits, which Thou hast bestowed upon us, who are but an evil
seed, vessels of wrath, reprobate children, useless servants, and sinners
worthy of damnation and death. Behold! I praise, and exalt, and bless Thee,
and give thanks unto Thee with my whole soul and heart, and all the powers
and faculties of my mind. Of a truth, Thy mercy over us is exceeding great!
For when we were all children of damnation and wrath, and enemies to Thee,
spotted with the stain of original sin, destroyers of Thine image in our
souls, violators of Thy temple; when, I say, the old serpent had infected
us with his poison, then it was that Thou wert mindful of Thy mercy, and
lookedst down from Thy dwelling-place in heaven upon this valley of tears,
and didst have compassion on our tears, and didst hear our groans, touched
in Thy bowels with sorrow of heart, and moved by pity for the wretchedness
of Thy people; – yea, at the same time, Thy heart was kindled with love.
And although Thou wert the very Son of God, dwelling in light inaccessible,
and upholding all things by Thy divine power, and governing and ruling all
things by Thy divine wisdom, in Whose sight the angels tremble, at Whose
name every knee is bent; yet in no way didst Thou disdain to bow down Thy
lofty power to the dark prison-house of this wicked world, and to be made
partaker of our weakness and misery, and to be clothed with the sackcloth
of our mortality; and all this, that Thou mightest swallow up our wretchedness
and weakness in Thine own divine power, and enrich our poverty, and cause
our mortality to rise unto life eternal, and wash away and blot out our sins,
and restore our nature to its first innocence, and lead us out of captivity
into freedom of spirit, and make good again our ruin by bestowing on us glory
everlasting. Nor to accomplish the work of our redemption didst Thou send
any of Thine angels, no, not even from the Cherubim, or Seraphim, but Thou
Thyself didst come at the bidding and by the will of Thy Father, – of
Whose unutterable goodness we have had experience in Thee, His Eternal Word,
– not, indeed, for change of place, but that Thou mightest show us Thy
Presence by taking upon Thee our humanity. From the bosom of the Father Thou
camest down into the most pure, and virgin, and integral body of the chaste
and sweet Virgin Mary; in whose most sacred womb the power of the Holy Ghost
alone caused Thee to be conceived and, born in the nature of man; –
yet, in such, a way, that this birth of Thine in no way detracted from Thy
Majesty, nor lessened the chaste integrity, of that most-blessed Virgin.
O wonderful and incomprehensible exchange! The Lord of glory, for our poor
human weakness, gave His own most high Godhead! The Maker of all creatures
did not abhor to take upon Him the form of a servant! Nor was it, alone,
the form of a servant that He took upon Him, but He was even humbled, like
an abject worm, and held of no account, and condemned as a transgressor,
and a wicked man, to the shameful death of the cross, – He, Who is one
day to judge the living and the dead! O most loving Jesus; how, from the
very beginning, hast Thou loved us! It was not enough for Thee to be our
Lord, and Maker, and Guardian, but Thou wouldst also become our Redeemer,
fellow-worker, brother, – our own flesh and blood! Thou wouldst have
a share in our weakness, and poverty, and mortality, – Thou who stoodest
in no need of aught whatsoever! And, so poor wert Thou made, and so deeply
didst Thou taste of the bitterness of our wretchedness, that at the very
time of Thy birth, Thou hadst not even any little thing belonging to Thee
by inheritance, wherein Thy tender and infant limbs might have been laid
and sheltered – Thou Who art the Lord of heaven and earth! In a stable
wert Thou born, and the rough manger and coarse little cloths were all that
Thou didst suffer to be a resting-place and a covering for Thy tender members!
Nay, even Thy poor unworthy resting-place was borrowed by Thy blessed and
truly-loving Mother of the beasts of the field that cannot reason. O good
Jesus! whose heart would not be softened and kindled with love, and stirred
up to devotion, and moved to compassion, when he beholdeth such exceeding
poverty, and marvellous lowliness, and burning love towards man? O how quickly
didst Thou begin to work at our salvation! How zealously didst Thou accomplish
it! Not even one moment of time didst Thou lose, for not a moment was there
which was not perfectly spent by Thee in saving us according to Thy Father's
Will. Straightway, from the very first moment of Thy birth, Thou didst begin
to give Thyself up to pain and suffering.
But why, O sweet Jesus, was it Thy Will to become so lowly, and poor, and
helpless, and abject, except to teach us lowliness, and to commend to us
holy poverty? Thou didst take our human nature, that we might be made partakers
of Thy Godhead. Thou wert made the Son of Man, that we might be made the
sons of God, that we might become, I say, by adoption and grace, what Thou
wert from all eternity by nature. Thou wert born in a stable, that Thou mightest
preserve not men only, but beasts, (for men had become beasts.) Thou wert
placed in a manger, and Thyself wert made grass, that Thou mightest become
the food of poor beasts. Yes, O Lord, it must needs have been, that Thou
shouldst be made grass, when men themselves had become beasts. For a certain
prophet saith: "The beasts have become rotten in their own dung," that is,
in the filth of their sins. In order, then, that these animal men might feed,
the Word was made grass, (that is, flesh.) For all flesh is grass; and that
they might be led out of the stable of their filthy sins, Christ was born
in a stable. Now, then, O man given up to thy senses, adore Him lying in
a stable, Whom thou hast despised as the Ruler of heaven; adore as a beast,
and as one of the cattle of the field, Him Whom, in thy character as man,
thou wouldst not recognize. Turn now to Him, in the wretchedness and banishment
of this world, from Whom thou didst turn away in the paradise of delights.
Honour now His manger, Whose commandment thou hast broken. Feed, now, upon
the grass, who hast turned aside from, and left the Bread of angels. O Almighty
King of glory, what love hath overcome Thee, that Thou shouldst make Thyself
so poor, so lowly, so abject, for me, who am but a sinner and a poor worm;
that Thou shouldst be placed in a filthy stable among brute beasts, Who art
adored by the angels in heaven; that Thou shouldst be nourished with milk,
Who art Thyself the Bread of angels, that Thou shouldst be wrapped in coarse
swaddling clothes, Who adornest the heaven with stars, and clothest Thy holy
ones in stoles of gold?
Nay, even in Thy very harmless infancy Thine enemies kept not back their
cruel hands from Thy tender members. Scarcely wert Thou born, and while as
yet Thou layest in the chaste arms of Thy sweet Mother, taking pleasant rest
on her maternal bosom, as in Thy hunger she gave to Thee her virgin milk;
when not as yet hadst Thou spoken a word to anyone, even then did cruel and
wicked men seek after Thy life to destroy it. O sweet Jesus, how quickly
did they rise up against Thee, those wicked enemies of Thine! How young didst
Thou begin to suffer! As Thou grewest in age, so, too, grew Thy suffering.
Eight days had barely passed away, when Thou didst shed Thine infant and
innocent Blood for me, and as if under sin and the law, wert circumcised
according to the law, that Thou mightest uphold, and build up, and sanctify
the law. So, too, that Thine infancy and boyhood might be an ensample of
religion and the mirror of virtues, Thou didst not follow the vain ways of
this world. Thou soughtest no comfort or relaxation of mind in boyish games,
or in the company and meeting-places of talkative men, where nothing but
temporal and vain things are spoken of. But in the temple, and worship? and
service of Thy Father, wert Thou found amidst the doctors, hearing them,
and asking them questions, – Thou Who art the very Wisdom of the Father,
the Lord of knowledge, the Eternal Truth, and the Word of God, which was
in the beginning. And that Thou mightest deliver unto us a certain form of
obedience, Thou placedst Thyself under Thy parents, being made subject unto
them, Thou to Whom all the elements are subject, to Whom all power is given
in heaven and in earth, and Who hast the keys of death and hell.
Then, when the fulness of age had come to Thee, and the time was at hand
when Thou wert to put out Thy hand to strong things, Thou didst go forth
in the morning for the salvation of Thy people, and didst rejoice as a strong
giant to run the course of our poverty. And that, first of all, Thou mightest
teach us the virtue of blessed humility, which is the beginning and ground-work
of all virtues, Thou wentest forth, an innocent lamb, to Thy servant John
the Baptist, who was administering the baptism of penance unto sinners, just
as if Thou Thyself wert a sinner; and Thou didst ask of him to be baptized,
Thou Who hadst never felt the least stain of sin – not that Thou hadst
need to be sprinkled, and washed with water, but that Thou, in Thine own
Person, mightest bless the water as with sacred chrism, and mightest consecrate
baptism for us, whereby we were to be cleansed from all stain of sin, and
that thus Thou mightest point out, that Thou wert the true Messias, promised
to the fathers, and the Christ, that is, the anointed One, and the spotless
Lamb of God, Who, takest away the sins of the world.
Thence Thou wentest forth in the power of the spirit into the wilderness,
and that, as our strong standard-bearer and leader, Thou mightest give us
courage for the fight, Thou Thyself, first of all, didst enter into battle,
and begin a single-handed combat with our cruel enemy, whom straightway,
with his whole power, at the first meeting Thou didst lay low, that being
conquered by a man, he might be confounded, and cease henceforth to boast
that of old he had conquered and deceived man. O unvanquished Lion, how
earnestly, and with what toil hast Thou wrought out our salvation, in order
to stir us up, Thy weak members, and give us courage for toil and for battle.
Thou didst not fear the loneliness of the wilderness, nor grow pale at the
temptation of the devil – no gnawing of hunger, no roughness of penance
held Thee back, nor wert Thou ever weary of the labour of prayer, or of
meditation, or of watching. For the salvation of us, Thy suffering members,
was ever in Thy Heart, and for these, like a most faithful father, Thou wert
ever careful, and didst earnestly labour to enrich them with eternal goods,
and lay up for us the unfailing treasure of virtue and merit, from which
we might draw in all abundance whatever might be wanting to us. Then, too,
because the light of Thy Godhead, which lay hidden within Thee, under the
bushel of Thy Manhood, could not be concealed, Thou didst suffer the light
of Thy heavenly doctrine and wisdom to shine out in the face of day, that
Thou mightest enlighten all men as to the faith. For to all who dwelt in
those parts Thou didst announce the kingdom of God, confirming Thy words
by marvellous works and miracles; while to all who were weak, or in evil
state, Thou didst declare Thy divine power, nor to anyone didst Thou refuse
Thy tender loving-kindness, that Thou mightest gain all, and heal them. But
the understanding of men was darkened, for not with love did they receive
Thee as their Saviour, but rather turned away their hearts far from Thee,
as if from some seducer and impostor of evil will. At the same time, they
despised Thy teaching; they spoke ill of Thy works; they made light of Thy
miracles. Not only were they ungrateful for all these Thy benefits, but even
for the very reasons for which they ought to have loved and worshipped Thee,
for these same reasons they wickedly accused, and hated, and persecuted,
and blasphemed Thee, saying: "This man is not from God: He seduceth the
multitude: He is a winebibber and a friend of publicans." Yet all the while,
O most meek Lamb, Thou openedst not Thy sacred mouth to utter words that
might have grieved them, but Thou didst bear all with gentleness. Why, then,
art thou so impatient, and so fainthearted, O my soul, when any adversity
cometh upon thee, or some pain or annoyance is inflicted on thee on the part
of men? Dost thou not perceive how great was the wrong, and the slight, and
the contempt, and the shame which the Lord of glory suffered for thee? Dost
thou make more account of thyself than of Him? If they called the master
of the house Beelzebub, how much more them of His household, and His ministers?
O Jesus, Wisdom of God, Eternal Truth, how brightly hath Thy divine light
shone down on the sons of Adam! How hath all Thy life, and every action of
Thine, been to us, as it were, a light leading us on to the truth! How clearly
hath the light of Thy heavenly teaching lit up the darkness! How full were
all Thy works of lowliness; and long-suffering, and love, and self-denial;
in a word, of every grace and virtue, so that in these were reflected the
most perfect examples of all holiness! Therefore, whatever is wanting to
me, from these sources will I draw it. If in anything I shall happen to doubt,
in Thy holy life as in a clear mirror will I look. For here I find rigorous
self-denial, true obedience, profound humility, voluntary poverty, unutterable
purity, marvellous patience, unchanging long-suffering, constant perseverance,
and incomprehensible charity. Here, also, I find in all abundance, that of
which we chiefly stand in need, infinite loving-kindness and mercy, –
yea, and all the virtues that I can possibly think of in my heart, all these
I clearly discover written down as on a
tablet. Of a truth, Thou art that book which the prophet saw written within
and without, for all Thy life, both outward and inward, is full of spiritual
teaching, and all virtue. Truly, whosoever, with the prophet eateth this
book, and masticateth it well, shall find it sweet in his mouth, like honey.
O most pitiful Jesus, what labours didst Thou undergo, in seeking after and
gathering together the lost sheep of the house of Israel! With what friendship
and sweetness didst Thou recall them from their error to Thyself; how gently
didst Thou smile upon them, and win them by Thy good deeds, and draw them
by Thy love to Thy Father, now by the promise of heavenly gifts, now by the
threats of the torments of hell, at one time by smiles, at another by upbraiding.
What more couldst Thou have done unto this vine, that Thou hast not done?
Oh! how earnestly didst Thou endeavour to plant Thy Father's vineyard, without
ever sparing Thyself in heat or cold, or in thirst or hunger, or in watchings
or labours? For Thy Heart was ever glowing within Thee with an exceeding
burning longing, as in a fiery furnace, to gain for Thy Father, and save
the whole of Israel.
What shall I pay unto Thee, O sweet Jesus, for all these immense benefits
of Thine? What is man, that Thou shouldst so thirst after his salvation,
and suffer so much for his redemption, and labour so earnestly to draw him
to Thy love? What is there in lost man in which Thou canst take delight?
Of what use to Thee is the sinner in his uncleanness? Or what gain dost Thou
look for from a vile and wretched worm of earth, that Thou placest Thy Heart
so near him? O gentlest Lover of men, why have I begun so late to love Thee?
Why have I left Thee, the well-spring of virtue, and the vein of living waters?
Why have I turned away from Thee, Who art the stream of spiritual favours,
the abyss of graces, the highest good, and the mirror of all perfection?
What madness hath overcome me, that I should not blush to offend so faithful
a father, to anger so powerful a Lord? Alas! wretched man that I am, I have
forsaken Thee, the Bread of angels, and in my exceeding want have filled
myself with the husks of vicious pleasure, in order that I might satisfy
my beastly appetites. O, Restorer of nature, how glorious and beautiful didst
Thou create me, and how full of corruption and foul have I made myself! For
behold, my heart is turned aside, it is hard like adamant. My memory is scattered
abroad, my understanding is darkened, my will is corrupted, my love is cold,
my soul hath become a filthy thing, my spirit is relaxed and languisheth.
I am wholly given up to my senses, I have become hateful and abominable.
When Thou leavest me, I grieve not; I have fallen into the devils' snare,
and I see it not; they have struck me, and wounded me to death, and I feel
it not; I have fallen to the gates of hell, and I mourn not. Yet not even
in this state, O most merciful God, dost Thou turn away from me Thy great
and manifold mercy. Thou callest me to Thyself, who have gone far from Thee.
Thou drawest me to Thee, who still refuse to come. Thou openest Thine arms
to receive me, before I reach Thee. Thou bowest down Thy Head to give me
the kiss of peace, who am still all unworthy and unclean. Thou preventest
me, and meetest me with Thy grace, before I am reconciled to Thee. Thou pourest
out Thy grace upon me, more quickly than I dare to ask it. Lastly, Thou feedest
me with the most sweet bread of Thy chosen children, who am not worthy to
be the last of Thy slaves. What more shall I ask of Thee? For all these things
my soul doth magnify Thee, and my spirit doth rejoice in Thee, O God, my
Saviour. All my inward parts praise, and bless, and give thanks to Thee,
O Lord, for Thy mercy over me is great. Oh! if Thou showest Thyself so loving
to Thine enemies, my tender Jesus, what then art Thou to the friends of Thy
Heart?
Moved, then, by the contemplation of this Thy immense mercy and goodness,
I, a wretched and vile sinner, weighed down with the heavy burden of my
numberless sins, come to Thee, O good Jesus! Very humbly do I cast myself
at Thy feet, for Thou art full of grace, and exceedingly kind towards sinners,
and it is, indeed, Thine own natural property ever to have mercy, and to
spare, nay, even to show favour and kindness. Grant, I beseech Thee, that
I may find the same grace which blessed Magdalen, Thy most fervent lover,
obtained from Thee. Say unto my soul that word full of comfort which Thou
spakest unto her: "Thy sins are forgiven thee." For although my sins are
beyond measure great, yet are they small when compared with Thy mercy. O,
sweet Jesus, help me, for indeed Thou canst; give me the desire of my heart,
for in my deep lowliness and wretchedness I cry unto Thee! Forgive me much,
that I may love Thee much, and may magnify and bless Thee. Heal me wholly,
that I may wholly cleave unto Thee. Unburden me of my heavy load of sins,
that I may freely and cheerfully follow Thee. Cast away all my sins into
the abyss of Thy divine mercy, and then so grind them into dust, and bring
them to nothing, that all remembrance of them may pass away from before Thee.
For now I have determined with myself, from this time forward, never more
to offend Thee, O my God. Most tender Jesus, since I confess to Thee my
wretchedness, show unto me, I beseech Thee, Thy goodness. All my wretchedness
and poverty have I shown unto Thee, do Thou then open unto me the ample treasures
of Thy grace, and at the same time apply to my sins and negligences all Thy
toil, and labours, and all Thy good works, and all the merits of Thy most
sacred Passion. Reconcile unto me Thy Father who is in heaven, and with whom
Thou livest and reignest, Co-eternal God, world without end. Amen.
THE THIRD CHAPTER.
Of the washing of the disciples' feet.
When the time of grace and mercy was at hand, in which He had decreed from
everlasting to accomplish our salvation, and to redeem us, not with corruptible
gold and silver, but with His own precious Blood, out of true love, Christ
Jesus, as a most bountiful Master of the household, desired to eat supper
with His disciples before He departed from them by a cruel death, and as
a sign of the mighty love with which He loved them. And in this supper it
was His will to establish His testament, declaring openly, that even to the
end He had loved them as His true children, and had pressed them to His fatherly
heart from everlasting. For, when the supper was over, and He had pointed
out to His disciples that His death and Passion was very near at hand, and
had beheld how grievously they were afflicted thereat, at the thought, namely,
that they were to be torn asunder from so faithful a Father and loving a
Teacher – out of His exceeding great compassion He gently comforted
them, and said: "My little children, be not sad, nor let your heart be troubled,
I will not leave you orphans. It is expedient for you that I go away. I shall
go away, therefore, but I will come again to you." But when He saw that they
had lost all heart, and were sore stricken, some of them, indeed, with tears
running down their cheeks, and others heaving deep sighs from their inmost
heart, and others, again, showing by their pale and changing countenances
the anguish of their spirit, all the bowels of His compassion were moved,
for He is full of mercy, and, at the same time, He spake unto them words
of comfort, and said: "My little children, fear not, neither be ye troubled.
Lo, I am with you, even unto the end of the world." See, with what burning
love He embraced them. Again, when the Paschal Lamb was made ready in the
place where He had eaten, He entered the upper-chamber, and His disciples
followed Him.
Come, then, and let us also follow Him, for our tender-hearted Lord will
not suffer anyone to go out of that chamber hungering. When, therefore, the
Paschal Lamb had been eaten, according to the rites and law of the Jews,
He summed up, as it were, in one, but, at the same time, a twofold virtue,
all the virtues which He had practised His whole life long in divers and
marvellous ways, that they who cannot follow the works and virtues of Christ,
may, with all earnestness, endeavour to acquire, at least, these two, which
He taught us so carefully at the end of His life. For, indeed, without these
virtues no man can obtain salvation, or the bliss of heaven. He rose, therefore,
from the table, and, girt about with a linen cloth, began very diligently
to wash His disciples' feet. Now, the reason why He performed this grand
work of striking humility at the end of His life was this: – namely,
that He might deeply impress upon His dear disciples, and upon all of us,
the virtue of profound humility. For, without this, we cannot persevere in
the other virtues, nor make progress, nor please God, nor obtain His grace,
since, according to the Scripture, God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace
unto the humble. And as pride is the beginning and source of all evil, so
humility is the groundwork of all virtues. This blessed virtue uniteth us
with God: and by humility we, as it were, force God to sink down into our
souls. For no man can use force over the exceeding mighty power of God, save
by deep self-contempt, and utter self-deprivation. And as water ever seeketh
the lower places, so doth God, by His grace, flow down with greater readiness
into a lowly heart. By humility the Blessed Virgin, our Lady, overcame Him
Who is unconquerable, reconciled Him Who had been offended, gave pleasure
to the King most High, and drew Him down to rest in her pure body, as she
herself confesseth: "For He hath regarded the lowliness of His hand-maiden."
By pride we have been cast out of Paradise, by humility we are raised again
to glory. But if pride was so damnable in the angels, that justice required
that they should be driven out of the everlasting heaven, although, by reason
of their great glory and brightness, they had many more reasons for exalting
themselves than man; how doth the latter dare to lift himself up, as if he
himself were somewhat, when, of a truth, both his substance, and state, and
nature, and dwelling-place, and all belonging to him, drag him down, and
render him vile? For, if he will only observe what he hath been, what he
is, what he undergoeth, where he dwelleth, and what he will be, he will,
of a surety, perceive how his one condition lowereth and humbleth him, and
casteth reproach upon the depth of his lowness in these words: "Why art thou
proud, O dust and ashes?"
But, although our Lord Jesus taught us this virtue His whole life long, both
by word and deed, yet, when He was now nigh unto death, He desired more deeply
to impress it both upon His disciples and all of us, and more expressly to
teach it us by His own lowly actions, so that it might never be blotted out
of our hearts. And, of a truth, could our sweet Lord have shown us deeper
humility than by washing His own creatures' feet? He bowed Himself down to
the earth, and was made the servant of all His disciples. Who, I ask, without
compunction and devotion, can behold the King of glory, at Whose marvellous
power the angelic spirits are lost in wonder and trembling adoration, –
girt round the loins with a linen cloth, and washing so carefully the
dust-covered feet of His own servants? His disciples sat, and He, the Power
of God Almighty, threw Himself down upon the ground. He, the Lord of lords,
knelt down at the feet of His own disciples, although at His Name every knee
is bent. Oh! how humbly, how devoutly, how lovingly He passed from one to
the other, and, placing His sacred knees upon the ground, touched the dirt
of their feet with those fair, clean hands of His, – nay, so carefully
washed them, and dried them, and kissed them. Nor was it only the feet of
His friends, but even of him who betrayed Him, that He desired to wash and
kiss, since He knew that he had been sold by the latter for thirty pieces
of silver; yet, not less kindness did He show to him than to the others,
this truly tender-hearted Jesus. Now this great work of humility He wrought
for our instruction. Hear Him speaking Himself to His disciples: "Know ye
what I have done to you. If I, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet,
so ought you also to wash one another's feet. For, behold, I have given you
an example, that as I have done, so you should do also, that you, in like
manner, may perform one to the other the works of mutual love, and mutually
help one another, and this, too, not only to your friends, but to your enemies."
Wherefore, whosoever refuseth to follow the profound humility of the Son
of God on earth, will never be exalted with Him at the right hand of His
Father in heaven. For, nothing doth God love so much, as a pure, and lowly,
and peaceful heart, as He saith Himself: "On whom shall My Spirit rest, save
on him who is of a lowly and peaceful heart, and who trembleth at My words?"
THE FOURTH CHAPTER.
Of the Institution of the Worshipful and most August Sacrament.
When, therefore, our Lord Jesus had instructed His disciples in true humility,
both by word and example, and the time of His Passion was close at hand,
He desired to teach both them and all of us another of His virtues, not less
necessary for our salvation than the one already spoken of; that is to say,
perfect love. These two virtues He left us as His testament for an everlasting
remembrance, desiring to impress them on our inmost hearts, for in them lies
our whole salvation, and without them we cannot be saved. Nay, even had we
nothing else, these alone would suffice. Hear, now, what our most gracious
Lord said to His disciples: "My little children, a new commandment I give
unto you;" as if He would say: "Many lessons, and divers and numerous
commandments have you from Me. But now, a new commandment I give unto you,
the highest, indeed, of all commandments, and the compendium of all My teachings;
and this is, that you love one another as I have loved you; that as I lay
down My life for you, so also you should love one another unto death, and
help one another; that, as I have loved him who betrayed Me, and have rayed
for them who have brought Me to the cross, so also you should love your enemies,
and do good to them, by lending loving help to all who persecute you, and
bring evil upon you." This new commandment of love our Lord Jesus taught,
not only by word, but also by deed. And when He desired to make known to
us that we were His true sons, and that out of His eternal love He bore us
in His bosom, and that from everlasting we had been in Him, and, as it were,
in our origin, had rested in Him from all eternity; and that no earthly father
had ever embraced us with such exceeding love as that with which He had embraced
us. Then it was that, as a most faithful father, He left us His most august
testament, and bequeathed to us that excellent good, which is nobler and
better than heaven and earth, even His own most sacred Body for food, and
for our drink His most precious Blood. O wonderful mystery! O most high
Sacrament! Oh, all ye, as many as love God, come, make ready, behold, wonder,
marvel, praise, announce and magnify the Name of the Lord. For so great,
so marvellous a work hath our Lord wrought in us, that whosoever desireth
to look into it with his inward understanding, can only shrivel up in spirit,
and faint away in mind, and lose all power for exceeding great astonishment.
And even if a man desire, according to the poor little measure of his human
frailty, and by the help of God's grace, to look through and search the depth
of this love by means of his reason and understanding, as far, namely, as
God vouchsafeth out of love to allow him to do this, yet will his heart melt
away, and burn, and glow with the flame and fire of love. For, although it
was a great and wonderful work that God Almighty vouchsafed to take upon
Himself the nature of man, and to clothe Himself with the sackcloth of our
mortality, yet doth this work leave all His other works far behind. For,
in the former work, He took upon Himself, indeed, our manhood, but in this
work, joined and united with His Manhood, He poureth out upon us His own
Godhead, so that we receive It within ourselves. In the former He took on
Him our manhood, in the latter, we are clothed with His Godhead.
For, as the food taken by man passeth into his substance, and becometh of
one nature with man, so whosoever worthily receiveth this Food, is made one
thing with our Lord by grace. And as our Lord saith by Augustine, we change
not this divine Food into our substance, but rather are transmuted and
transformed by it into Himself, and thus are made deiform, and of one nature
with Him. Now this is the way by which we put on Christ, as the apostle
admonisheth. Oh! who can ever reach, by any act of the understanding, unto
this infinite abyss of deepest love, which God hath willed to make known
to us in this sublime and wonderful Sacrament? And this, indeed, He did at
the end of His life, that it might be, as it were, the sum, and compendium,
and everlasting remembrance of all His works. Moreover, although it was at
the last supper that He first instituted this Sacrament, and gave It to man
to take, yet It included within Itself the whole Christ, God Incarnate. For
in this Sacrament He had His true Body, and His living soul, and He was Very
God; and these three we receive in this Sacrament. Where, now, is the heart
that will not glow with burning love, and be stirred and moved to devotion,
when it considereth with what exceeding love He, the King of glory, the Lord
of majesty, was consumed for us vile creatures, who are but dust and ashes,
in whom, besides, He found nothing but frailty, and sin, and want? Yet of
such He can say: "My delights are to be with the children of men." Can He
lift us higher than by setting up His own temple within us? Can He love us
more than by vouchsafing to become the food of His own creatures? He is the
highest and most perfect Good, with which no other good can be compared,
and which can never fail; and because His fatherly and loving Heart could
think of nothing better, nothing higher, He gave us Himself, so as to prove
to us His bountiful goodness, and the deep love of His Heart. Bountiful
altogether is the bestowal, when He giveth Himself, but how much more bountiful
when He giveth Himself in this way! For He gave Himself to be out father,
and brother, and companion, and food, and ransom, and mediator, and advocate.
Lastly, He will give us Himself for our everlasting reward, and will so satiate
us in Himself, that He will be to us all that we can desire.
Nor is this all, for over and above all this bountiful goodness, He is ever
ready to come into our hearts, and to bestow upon us all the merits of His
Incarnation, and Life and Passion. He saith by His prophet: "Thou shalt call
and the Lord will hear thee. Thou shalt cry aloud, and He shall say, `Lo,
here I am.'" And He Himself saith: "If any man love Me, My Father will love
him, and We will come and make our dwelling with him." Look, O my soul! to
thy dignity, and rejoice exceedingly in thy God, Who hath lifted thee up
from the dung-hill of thy sins, that thou mayest be the dwelling-place of
the Adorable Trinity, thou who wert formerly the devil's slave.
Nor was it enough for this most ardent Lover to show us such exceeding love.
More deeply still must He lower and submit Himself unto us. He will not wait
until He be invited and desired by us: He cometh Himself first, and knocketh,
and prayeth us to let Him in. Hear what He saith in the Apocalypse: "Behold,
I stand at the door and knock. If any man open unto Me, I will enter in,
and sup with him, and he with Me." O blessed and happy soul, that listeneth
to his Lord's knock, that watcheth, and with longing waiteth for His coming,
so as not only straightway to open to her Lord and Bridegroom, but even with
her lamp burning, and full of oil, to go out to meet Him, and to take Him
back with her, saying: "Let my Beloved come into His garden!"
Oh! how great the happiness to receive Him, as He cometh back from the heavenly
marriage-feast, drunk with wine, full of grace and truth, coming forth from
His Father's most pleasant Bosom, all delightful and full of comfort, flowing
with spiritual delights, ready to give His loving bride the kiss of peace
which He Himself had received from His Father. Oh! what a happiness to eat
with Him, Who thus giveth Himself for food! Who, I ask, could ever have so
cast himself down, or so raised us up? Heaven and earth are filled with the
glory of His divine Majesty, and yet He refuseth not to be handled, and taken
and eaten by us worthless worms of earth. The heaven of heavens is not large
enough to contain His greatness, and He telleth us that it is His delight
to be with us, who lie hidden in the filthy homes of earth.
Oh! whose is the spirit that will not marvel with exceeding wonder? Whose
is the heart that will not melt away at the burning fire of this unutterable
love? How could He have given us surer proof of this His burning love for
us? It is a small thing to Him to send His holy angels to honour and visit
us, but that He, the King of angels, should come to His own servants, that
He should visit the sick, and comfort the weak, and lift up the fallen, and
console the desolate, and give heart to them who despair, and instruct them
who doubt, and call back them that wander, and refresh them that hunger,
and give warmth to them that are lukewarm; in a word, that He should heal
all our languor, and all our sins, and this not by any strange medicine,
but by His own precious Body and Blood! O wonderful mystery, O most high
Sacrament, O unutterable love, O unheard of bounty, in which the Giver is
Himself the Gift, the servant eateth his Lord, the creature receiveth his
Maker, the minister is commanded to sit at the table of the most high King,
and is filled to overflowing with divine food; in which man is fed with the
Bread of angels, the Father distributeth the Body of His only Begotten, and
giveth His friends to drink, in all abundance, of the precious Blood of His
dear Son! Who hath ever heard of greater or more lavish bounty? Where is
the understanding that can look into and grasp the mysteries of this wonderful
Sacrament? What more could God have done for us? How could He have more closely
joined to us His most high Godhead, than to become our food, and to incorporate
us wholly into Himself? For as bodily food, when taken by man, falleth down
softly into his inward parts, and nourisheth all his members, and at length
passeth into his substance, so, in like manner, Christ letteth Himself sink
down into our souls, in order to fill us wholly with Himself, and He draweth
all our powers into Himself. And if He meeteth our souls thus worthily made
ready, so as to enable Him freely to accomplish within us His own pleasant
work, then, too, according to the Scriptures, He buildeth up and destroyeth,
He killeth and giveth life, He teareth up and planteth, He darkeneth and
giveth light. For He is that Lamb Whom St. John saw sitting on the throne
of heaven, and making all things new. Even as He once made our souls, when
before they had no being, to His own image and likeness, so also He reneweth
and marvellously reformeth them according to the same likeness, which in
us hath become defiled and broken. Thus, too, thou mayest hear Him say by
the mouth of one of His prophets: "I Myself will feed My sheep, and I will
make them to lie down. That which hath perished I will seek; that which hath
been cast away I will bring back; that which is broken I will bind together;
that which is weak I will strengthen."
Oh! who can grasp in mind, or who is able to discover in thought, all the
marvels, and all the happiness, which this divine Food worketh in the soul
that worthily receiveth It? Oh! how pure, how holy, and, above all, how divine
doth such a man straightway become by means of this Food? For if the nature
of the elements is such as, after the manner of their author, to consume
all things, and make them like themselves, and transmute them into their
own substance, how much more will this most noble Food, which is God Himself,
consume whatever in man is vicious, or carnal, or sensual, and cause to spring
up and encourage all virtue and all good; and, chief of all, will at last
transform the whole man into Itself, and unite him with Itself, and, so far
as is possible for a creature, make him of one essence with God, and like
to Him. While this is being done, that is to say, while man is being conformed
and made like unto this Food, he also becometh wholly quickened in spirit,
for he receiveth the Bread of Life, so that now he may say with the apostle:
"I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me." He is made, in like manner,
wholly angelic and heavenly, for he hath eaten of the Bread of angels, and
of their food. Lastly, he is made all divine, inasmuch as he hath received
God Himself, Who hath so filled him, and, so to speak, deified his powers,
that he can no longer seek, or desire, or meditate upon, or love anything,
save only God, while to do God's will, and whatever God's love requireth,
is for him enough. What, then, can be wanting to us, when we have partaken
of this most noble Food? O merciful God! what more couldst Thou have done
for us, or what hast Thou done? Even hadst Thou brooded with all Thy power
and all Thy wisdom upon this one thing, namely, how to bestow upon man some
great gift, and to show to him some striking proof of Thy exceeding love,
yet so far as my understanding can grasp, no nobler, or higher, or more useful,
or more saving gift couldst Thou have lavished upon us. For Thou hast poured
out upon us the whole treasure of Thy grace. Thou hast opened to us Thy fatherly
Heart, and allowed the veins of Thy exceeding love to flow in all abundance
over us. Openly hast Thou made known to us with what great love for us Thou
burnest and art wounded. And because Thou couldst no longer hide this blessed
wound, and burning fire, the flame broke forth, and Thou sufferedst man to
feel the force of Thy love, giving to him Thy most sacred Body for food,
and Thy precious Blood for drink, that so man, looking upon the immensity
of this love, might, in his turn, be inflamed and wounded by love, and, at
the same time, by its sublimity, might be inwardly forced and admonished
to repay it in some way, and satisfy its longings.
See here, how marvellous and unheard of hath been the meeting and the union
of the Divine Wisdom with our nature. It took from us our weakness, and our
mortal manhood, and bestowed upon us Its own adorable Godhead. And the better
to do this, It could find no more suitable or pleasant way, than to leave
Itself to us under the appearance of food and drink. O power of God, to be
ever praised, that under the appearance of a little bread could give His
own high Godhead, could give His own perfect Body and holy Soul unto all
men, equally and wholly to be their food, which, while wholly received by
every man, yet remaineth in Itself whole and incorrupt! O marvellous wisdom
of God, that instituted this subtle and saving means of salvation for us,
and decreed it! O incomprehensible goodness of God, that for the sake of
our salvation hath perfected such sublime works of love! O saving Food, whereby
the children of men pass into the children of God, and humanity is absorbed
that God may remain! O longed-for, sacred, and adorable Bread, that refreshest
the mind, not the belly; that strengthenest the heart, nor weighest down
the body; that gladdenest the spirit, nor darkenest the understanding; whereby
sensuality is killed, and our own will brought down to nothing, that God's
Will may have place, and God's Spirit may have rule, and God's working may
come across no hinderance! Of a truth, it was needful for man, who had swallowed
the serpent's poisonous morsel, to drink the heavenly draught of Christ's
precious Blood, in order to recover the salvation he had lost. Clearly it
was fitting that he who had fallen through food that brought him death should
be raised up again by the Bread of life; that he who had died through the
fruit of the tree, should come to life again in like manner, by the fruit
of the Tree, and that he who, through the tree of disobedience, had been
sentenced to everlasting death, should, by the Tree of obedience, be restored
to everlasting glory. On that former tree hung the food of death, on this
latter the medicine of life. In that ran the sap of concupiscence, on this
hung the grape-clusters of salvation, which, pressed out in the vine-press
of Christ's Passion, gave us that new wine, by which the heart of man is
gladdened. Clearly, this is that chosen grape-cluster, sweet to the taste,
which they who were said to spy out the earth, that is, the holy apostles,
carried on a staff, as they explored with interior eye the kingdom of heaven;
as, for example, St. John, who saw in the Apocalypse the Lamb, as it were
slain, and St. Paul, who himself also went forth to look at the Land of Promise,
when he was rapt into the third heaven, and who, when he had returned to
himself, confessed that he knew no other sign, save the grape upon the vine,
that is, Jesus Christ, and Him crucified. This is that true grape-cluster
which hath no sourness mingled with it; this is that sweet-tasting Bread,
or heavenly manna, full of spiritual delights, wherein there is nothing rough
or coarse, for it is not made of the grain of the Old Testament, administered
by Moses, but it is the flour of wheat, that is, of the grace shown through
Christ Jesus; no mere figure, but the truth.
Wherefore, let no man forget to eat this Bread, lest his heart should wither.
For as we fell into ruin through food, so by food we must be quickened again
to life. Of that former food it was said: "In whatsoever day thou shalt eat
thereof, thou shalt surely die." But of this is it said: "If any man shall
eat of this Bread, he shall live for ever." As often, therefore, as, through
the cheating of Satan, that wicked serpent, we have fallen into sins, and
have drunk the cup of death when held out to us by the enemy's temptation,
so often ought we to make ourselves ready to partake of this heavenly medicine,
with sorrow, and penance, and devotion, and burning longing. Never let us
cease at all to succour our sick and suffering souls, since to no man doth
our tender-hearted Lord refuse His grace, nor is there anything He is more
ready to give than Himself. And, of a surety, whatever favours, whatever
grace our Lord Jesus brought into this world, and gave to man when He took
his nature, all this He bringeth with Him, and bestoweth upon every man who
worthily partaketh of this worshipful Sacrament. Moreover, whatever virtues
Christ performed during His Life, – all the fruit of His Death, Resurrection
and Ascension, the blessedness of His gracious Body, the virtue of His precious
Blood, and lastly, the merits of His most noble Soul, – all this He
bringeth with Him into the soul that worthily receiveth Him. What more desirest
thou? In this most august Sacrament, whatever can be thought of, or desired,
is received. For herein is received the true Son of God, Jesus Christ, very
God and very Man, ever one God with the Father and the Holy Ghost. Truly,
then, it was right to say, that whatever virtues or merit Christ performed,
and obtained in His Life and Passion, all this is received in this Sacrament
by the soul that is worthily prepared. Nay, our sweet Jesus is ready to give
us all these virtues through His tender and bountiful goodness, just as if
we had performed them ourselves. Let us hasten, therefore, zealously to cleanse
our hearts from every stain of sin, and to adorn them with virtues and good
works, that we may be always fit and worthy to receive this saving food,
to the everlasting glory of our most gracious Maker. Amen.
THE FIFTH CHAPTER.
A devout Prayer to the Worshipful Sacrament.
Almighty God, and Lord Jesus Christ, Word of the Father, Eternal Truth, most
merciful Redeemer, most just Judge, how incomprehensible are Thy judgments
over the children of men! how terrible art Thou to the wicked, how tender
and loving to the good! Behold I, Thy poor, vile, and sinful creature, trembling
and groaning, come before Thee, the Eternal Truth, from Whom no secrets are
hid, Whose eyes search out, in all clearness, not only the works, but the
very inmost depth of man, as to the intention of his heart, wherewith all
his works are done. O my God, Thou art very good, yet Thine infinite Justice,
all piercing Truth, awful Wisdom, and terrible judgments, press sore upon
me even unto death, and make me fear to come into Thy presence; for I am
stained with many sins, whereby I have grievously stirred Thee to anger.
But Thine infinite loving-kindness, and great tenderness and goodness, which
are over all Thy works, these make me breathe again, and hope for salvation
and pardon.
Behold, that deceitful and envious serpent hath held out to me the food of
death under a pleasing shape, and I, a stranger to the light of Thy grace,
discerning not good from evil, have given consent to the wicked one: I have
eaten, and am poisoned. To whom now shall I fly, O most tender God, save
to Thee? Thou art the salvation of man, the Lamb without stain, that takest
away all the stains of sin, and washest and healest in Thine own most pure
Blood, all the corruption and infection of the poisonous serpent. Wherefore,
with tender trust I fly beneath the wings of Thy gentle loving-kindness.
Before Thee I throw myself in all lowliness, not presuming on any virtue
of mine, but laden with the heavy burden of my sins, that by groans, and
tears, and prayer, I may move Thee to pity, O my God, Whom I have offended
by my lusts, and pleasures, and pride, and vanity, and, alas! too much by
my own evil will. All unclean I come unto Thee, but Thou art the source of
mercy and grace; if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean. Wounded unto death
I come to Thee, but Thou art my God, Thou art the medicine of life. Behold!
I confess to Thee my sins. Lord! if Thou wilt, Thou canst help me; and, indeed,
Thou alone canst help me.
Oh! of a truth, it is but little for Thee to give what to me is most profitable
to receive. Remember, I beseech Thee, O tender Jesus, that comforting word
of Thine, which Thou, the Eternal Truth, Last spoken; that "Thou desirest
not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness
and live." O faithful Lover of men, lo, with my whole heart, and with every
power of my soul, I turn to Thee. Help me, before my soul die! For without
Thee I cannot but die, since Thou hast said: "Except ye eat the Flesh of
the Son of Man, and drink His Blood, ye shall have no life in you." Behold!
I am nigh unto death, for I have turned away from Thee, the medicine of my
soul, and the Bread of Life! My heart hath withered within me, so that I
am forced to beg my bread upon the earth, that is to say, to go after earthly
and temporal consolation, for I have gone far away from Thee, the food and
nourishment of heaven. Wherefore it is, that, hungry, and sick, and crippled,
I now come to Thee, the Father of mercy, the well of loving-kindness. With
lowly prayer I knock at the door of Thy divine grace and mercy, and at Thy
fatherly Heart. Oh! hear my prayer: grant unto me the desire of my heart,
fill the hungry one with good things, refresh the thirsty one, quicken my
languor, heal my sickness, for Thou alone canst heal me.
O most merciful Samaritan, pass not by on the other side of Thy poor weak
servant, but take pity upon me, and pour into my wounds Thy wine and oil.
It was love that drew Thee down from heaven, that Thou mightest redeem Adam
our father; let that same love move Thee now to heal me, the weakest of his
children. Nor is it only, O kind Jesus, because Thou art so very necessary
unto me in my weakness, that I desire to receive Thee, but it is also by
reason of the great love and longing which I feel for Thee, O my Lord and
Saviour, the only love of my heart. For Thy grace preventing me, and Thy
love first shown unto me, have so strengthened my heart in faith, and hope,
and love towards Thee, that I cannot fear Thee or fly from Thee, as if Thou
wert a terrible judge that can never be appeased. But I am forced to go and
meet Thee, that I may take Thee, and embrace Thee with inmost love, as my
tender-hearted Father and sweet Lover. In power Thou art most mighty, in
wisdom most glorious, in goodness most perfect, in gifts most bountiful,
in nature most beautiful, in conversation most holy, in fruit most delightful,
in taste most sweet. Thou art full of comfort and grace, Thou art all-desirable.
O sweetest Lord, although the heavens cannot contain Thy greatness, and I
am such a poor, little, vile worm of earth, that I am not worthy to receive
from Thee even the least of Thy good gifts, yet not even by all Thy gifts
canst Thou fulfil the longing of my heart, unless Thou givest me Thyself!
Nay, the viler I am, the more Thy goodness will be praised, and the more
will all men marvel thereat, that Thou, the Lord of glory, shouldst vouchsafe
to come unto me, a poor, wretched, and weak man. O most merciful Jesus, Who
didst not shrink from the feasts of publicans and sinners, nor didst abhor
the touch of the woman who was a sinner, do Thou visit my soul in its desolation!
Come, and say unto my soul: "I am thy salvation." O out-flowing abyss of
divine goodness, that fillest the heavens and the earth, and all that in
them is, out of Whose plenitude all the saints flow over with delights, and
are satisfied in all abundance, fill me wholly with Thyself! To do this,
belongeth to Thy power; but how to do this, and by what means, belongeth
to Thy wisdom, while the perfecting of the work belongeth to Thy goodness.
Vouchsafe, also, so to adorn my heart with the riches of Thy grace, that
I may seek for no curious adornment beneath Thyself, but that all things
temporal may be to me vile as dung. O heavenly Sweetness, I long to eat Thee
all; and to be all eaten by Thee. I desire, O my Lord, to be all consumed
by Thee, and in myself to be brought down to nothing. I wish to die in myself,
and to live in Thee, to be likewise transformed and incorporated by Thee,
and to rest for everlasting in Thee, my blessed origin. Thou art the source
and origin of all things that are, and by Thee, and in Thee, according to
Thine eternal thought of us, we live and are. Of a truth, our heart is restless,
unless it find rest in Thee, its origin.
O Almighty upholder of my being, draw me into Thyself, and do Thou Thyself
come down in mercy to me. Form again in Thee, according to its first purity
and integrity, that fair likeness of Thee, which I have corrupted within
me. O purest principle of my essence, which is created, indeed, within me,
but increate in Thee according to Thine eternal idea, I beseech Thee, by
that burning love of Thine, whereby Thou didst suffer Thy pure Heart to be
pierced, that through its pierced opening Thou mightest lead me back into
the uncreated Heart of God, come down, come down, quickly to me, and bring
together with Thee Thy most gracious Father, for in grace Thou knowest it
is His Will, not to send Thee out of Himself, but to be Himself together
with Thee! O sweet Jesus, I beseech Thee, baptize me many times, purify and
cleanse me in Thy pierced and wounded Heart, that I may be made worthy to
be brought into the loving Heart of Thy Eternal Father, where He may vouchsafe
to receive me as His adopted son, through Thee His own Son, co-eternal and
co-equal. Amen.
THE SIXTH CHAPTER.
A devout Exercise on the Passion of our Lord.
Nowhen the time drew nigh that our Lord Jesus was to pass out of this world
to the Father, having Himself made His testament as a most faithful father,
and left it to His beloved disciples, that is to say, the best and most excellent
good that His fatherly Heart could think of, even His own most sacred Body
to be their food, and His precious Blood to he their drink: – and this
He did to give them a most sure proof of His burning love, to leave behind
Him an everlasting memorial or monument of His Passion and Death, and of
all His works, and to deliver to them a signal, and certain and precious
pledge of their future glory – when this, I say, had been actually
accomplished and ended, and when He had sung a hymn to God the Father, He
went forth with His disciples to the Mount of Olives, across the brook Cedron,
where was a certain garden, to which often for the sake of prayer He was
wont to go with His disciples. And He said to them, "Sit here, watch and
pray, lest ye enter into temptation." But He took with Him Peter, and the
two sons of Zebedee, James and John, the three most secret, faithful, and
best loved of His friends, that to those to whom He had shown the glory of
His Godhead in His Transfiguration, He might now show the bitterness of His
sorrow in His Passion.
Stand here, then, as many as love God, and observe and see all that our Lord
hath done for our souls. Come here, all ye who have been redeemed by the
sinless blood of the innocent Lamb, Christ Jesus, that ye may see and understand
all that He hath suffered for our iniquities. Behold! now the Book of Life
is opened, and its seven seals are broken; the book in which truth shineth
forth, and all the mysteries of wisdom and knowledge are hidden, which is
full of doctrine, and overfloweth with mysteries. Now is the mirror of all
virtues clearly shown to the eyes of all. Now is the old veil rent, and all
the wrappings and coverings of figures are taken away. Now is the Holy of
Holies thrown wide open by Jesus the High Priest; for He hath offered His
own Blood in sacrifice, and revealed all hidden holiness, and all secret
sacraments and mysteries.
Now is shown the deep well of the patriarch Jacob, out of which flow rivers
of living water, whereof not only the Israelites, but even the Samaritans
can draw, and refresh their many flocks and herds, and wash away all filth
and uncleanness. Here also is seen the bitter and troubled sea of affliction,
which, although it was formerly so terrible, that at its very name man stood
aghast, yet, now the true Jonas, after that He hath bidden Himself be thrown
therein, hath so turned into sweetness, and so quieted and soothed its every
tempest, that men can place themselves therein as in a delicious bath, and
cleanse themselves therein, nor fear any more, but even glory in the cross
of our Lord Jesus Christ. And so it is that in our own day we see very many
gladly take His cross to themselves, and with great cheerfulness follow their
Lord Jesus Christ.
Here also is Jacob's ladder placed before our eyes, the top of which reacheth
not only to heaven, but even to the bosom of God the Father, and by which
not the angels only, but the Lord of the angels mounteth up, followed by
publicans and sinners. At the top of this ladder sits the Father of Mercies,
with His bosom wide open, lovingly to receive as many as love His Son.
Now also is brought back to our remembrance that marvellous pool at Jerusalem,
which beyond measure is moved and troubled by the descent of the great Angel,
Christ Jesus, so that not only one sick man, but as many as are ill, and
all who are unclean, and whosoever wash in this saving water of sorrow, that
is, of His Passion, are healed therein, and cleansed. Now, too, is opened
the immense treasury of the rich Master of the household, whereby the poor,
and the weak, and all who are heavy laden, may be gladdened with most generous
gifts, so that every man may have leave to draw from the sacred bowels of
Jesus Christ whatever he knoweth he is without. For plentiful grace floweth
therefrom; and that it may flow still more plentifully, they have been torn
and opened in many places.
Now also is celebrated the glorious victory of Christians, because the true
David, Christ Jesus, humble indeed, and small in stature, but mighty in strength,
armed not with the armour of Saul, but with a staff, that is, His own Cross,
and five pebbles,1
[i.e., His five Wounds] hath fearlessly
attacked and battled down the cruel Goliath, the enemy of the people of Israel.
Moreover, here is made known to us a wonderful sacrament, and most high mystery,
in that the Lord of the angels hath vouchsafed to be made an outcast of men;
the Most High hath become the lowest; the only-begotten of God the Father
hath freely offered Himself for guilty sinners to die upon the cross, that
He may nail sin to the cross, and destroy death, and blot out the hand-writing
of our debts in His own precious Blood.
Lastly, the fire which our Father Who is in heaven hath sent upon the earth,
is so mightily kindled, that the flame thereof reacheth unto heaven, and
melteth by its intemperate heat the frost-bound earth, and breaketh through
the hard and stony places. Of a truth, whosoever cometh nigh to this fire
by devout meditation, will not be able to escape its heat. For whose is the
heart, however stony, that will not melt, when it perceiveth the immense
goodness of Christ Jesus, how greatly He longeth after us poor worms of earth,
how eagerly He hath thirsted after our salvation, how gladly He hath offered
Himself to death, how generously He hath given His precious Blood, and His
young and beautiful Body, and all that He had, that He might redeem us, sinners
though we were, from damnation? For it was by no compulsion or force, but
by His own free will, that He came to the place known to him who betrayed
Him, that He might the more easily be found by him.
Behold, then, O faithful soul, and look upon this bold-hearted David, thy
God and Lord, how He burneth with exceeding great desire to begin the combat,
and to lay down His life for His people and the house of Israel. Behold,
I pray thee, how, quickened by love, He cometh the first of all to the place
of battle to fight for thee. Of a truth, before His enemies had come, He
had already exercised His limbs for the fight. And although only by lowliness,
and love, and prayer, and long-suffering, He had determined to do battle,
before those envious ones had laid their cruel hands upon Him, yet gladly
did He take suffering upon Himself when it did come, so that no pain can
be likened to His pain.
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER.
Of the great Sorrow and Anguish which Christ underwent in the Garden, at
the thought of His Passion hanging over Him.
When Christ had now come into the garden, He began to be sorrowful and afraid,
and very heavy; and by reason of the vehemence of His inward pain, He trembled
outwardly in all His members, nor was He ashamed to confess to His disciples
this sorrow, and weakness, and trouble of His Body, for He said: "My Soul
is sorrowful even unto death."
Let us also go and see what is the cause of so great a sorrow. And, indeed,
for many reasons was Christ so sad; but we will here only touch on two reasons,
which may the more forcibly stir us up to compassion and love.
The first reason was, because of our many and grievous sins, and obstinate
malice, and great ingratitude, and because we were so utterly devoid of all
holy fear. For on account of these things was Jesus sorrowful. For we both
read, and know by experience, that if God were to permit a man to see his
own sins, as He Himself seeth them, straightway his heart would break for
exceeding great sorrow; or he would lose his senses, when he beheld how he
had wronged, and despised, and thought lightly of his Maker and Redeemer,
his God and Lord, and how basely and unworthily he had deformed his own beautiful
and noble soul. Now, of a truth, Christ took all the sins of the world upon
Himself, and of His own will He allowed sorrow of heart for these sins to
come upon Him, even as if He Himself had committed them. And because of His
divine wisdom, which saw all things, He beheld all sins, especially those
that were most hateful, that ever have been, or ever will be; and, at the
same time, He beheld the contempt and wrong which they inflicted on His Father.
Who then can, in any way, understand how great must have been His grief and
sorrow? For He was ever urged on to promote His Father's honour with His
whole strength; nor did He thirst after anything, save His Father's glory
and the salvation of souls.
Amongst the Jews, indeed, it was a custom, that if they heard God blasphemed
or wronged, they rent their garments as a sign of grief, in order to show
thereby that they sought after God's honour. Now, if the Jews, false hypocrites
as they were, did this, how much must Christ, the true Son of God, have sorrowed,
when He saw all the wrong and contempt which were daily inflicted on His
Father Who is in heaven? For, alas! even now it is easy enough to see, how,
day by day, men think nothing at all about offending God by deadly sin. For
this reason, therefore, Christ took upon Himself grief and sorrow, even so
far as He could, still remaining alive. Yet, not as the Jews did He rend
His garments as a proof of His bitter sorrow, but He rent asunder His own
Body, so that a sweat of blood broke forth from all His members, by reason
of His exceeding great anguish and dread, even as the juice of the grape
when in the winepress. And that He might show us how this sorrow was consuming
the very inward marrow of His Soul, when He was straightened by this deadly
anguish, He said: "My Soul is sorrowful even unto death." Of Phinees, the
son of Eleazar, we read in the Bible, that he avenged a wrong done to God.
For when he saw a certain Israelite sinning with a Moabitish woman, he burned
with anger, and thrust both of them through, and for this was beloved by
God. In like manner Moses avenged a wrong done to God, thousands being put
to death for adoring the golden calf, after which the Lord was appeased.
What, then, was the vengeance taken by the Son of God, Jesus Christ, Who
was ever consumed by a burning thirst after justice, and Who placed all His
zeal in this one thing, namely, that He might increase His Father's glory,
and turn aside, and prevent whatever was contrary to His Will, – when
He beheld not merely a single sin, but the crimes of the whole world? Who
can understand how all His inward parts were shaken with grief, how all His
limbs trembled by reason of His burning thirst for justice, how His whole
man was moved to avenge the wrong done to His Father? Yet in this His anger
He remembered mercy, for He was full, not of truth only, but of grace and
loving-kindness. Therefore said He unto His Father: "O My Father, Thou knowest
that I have ever loved Thee, and done Thy most gracious will; Thou seest
also that My Heart is just, and how exceedingly I thirst to do Thy will,
and to avenge the wrong done to Thee by Adam and his posterity. Yet, as mercy
is Mine, and My nature is goodness, and I have come, not to take vengeance,
but to reconcile; not to strike, but to heal; not to kill, but to redeem;
and as Adam's sin cannot pass unavenged, I beseech Thee, Father in heaven,
to take vengeance upon Me. I take all the sins of man upon Myself. If this
tempest of anger hath risen up because of Me, cast Me into the red and bitter
sea of My Passion, let Me be swallowed up, and overwhelmed in the abyss of
a shameful death, if only Thy wrath may pass away, and man's debt may be
justly cancelled."
Thus it was that this innocent Lamb took upon Himself all the sins of the
world, and allowed such great vengeance to come upon Him, – yea, so
great was the agony which He took upon Him in the garden, that had it been
greater, His natural life must have given way. O unutterable goodness of
Christ Jesus! O love beyond our poor understanding! All our sins did He desire
to bear, Who alone was without sin. He, Who is the joy of heaven, for our
sakes is made sorrowful even unto death; and for our sinful pleasures it
was His will to suffer Himself this deadly agony. And because He is the
brightness of His Father's glory, and the Wisdom of God, in Whom the Father's
will is ever reflected as in a most pure mirror, therefore it was that He
clearly knew by what works and actions His Father was to be appeased, and
by what ransom our debt was to be paid; namely, by bitter sorrow, and humble
prayer, and rough penance, and by patient bearing of suffering and affliction.
And, at the same time, He left to all men, as His teaching and doctrine,
that they also should strive to appease His Father by their works, whenever
they may have fallen into sin. For this reason, He wished to be Himself the
first of all to appease Him. And, indeed, so great was the sorrow and grief
that He took upon Him, that they out-balance the sins of the whole world,
and were not only more than the strength of His Body could bear, but pressed
down His Soul even into the straits of death.
Then, falling flat on His Face upon the earth, humbly, and fervently, and
with long-suffering, He prayed, and wept bitterly, not tears of water only,
but tears of blood; and this in such abundance, that great drops of His Blood
fell down upon the ground. Nay, they fell from His whole Body, and from every
limb, that thus all His members might share in one common sorrow, and celebrate,
as it were, the sad funeral rites for the sins and damnation of the human
race, and might show, in very deed, the compassion by which they had been
moved, and the love with which they were burning, and how ready they all
were to suffer for our sakes; since not even for a little while were they
able to put off their affliction, even before they were tortured by the enemy.
Burning with love they were beforehand with the enemy, and they began to
contend among themselves, and to tremble, and to shed blood, as if they suffered
from the enemy's delay.
Oh! who hath such a heart of stone as not to turn at the thought of this
fiery love of Christ? Who is so ungrateful as not to turn with all his members
to his Saviour, Whom he seeth engaged in such eager toil, and suffering such
cruel agony in the work of our salvation? Who hath a heart so perverse, who
can be so cold in love as not to strive, according to the poor little measure
of his strength, to repay love for love, and sorrow for sorrow, and prayer
for prayer, and tears for tears, and resignation for resignation, and offering
for offering, and agony for agony, and blood for blood, and death for death,
and charity for His burning love? Oh! what can be dearer to a loving and
grateful soul in this life, than to repay her lover even one little drop
of love, in return for that exceeding bitter chalice, all of which, He, for
the love of her and for her salvation, drank even to the dregs? Oh! where
is the heart that can understand the compassion and sorrow that Christ felt,
when He beheld in the mirror of God's Providence the wretched deformity and
misery of His own members and creatures, which He had created in such purity,
and nobleness, and holiness, and glory, when He saw what we had lost, and
what we had deserved? Alas! how all the bowels of His compassion were then
moved! Even as a tender father mourneth for the death of his only-begotten
son, so did Christ Jesus sorrow for our wretchedness and unhappiness. Oh!
who can contemplate, without compunction and without tears, this loving Joseph
falling on the neck of each of us, and kissing His brethren, weeping, likewise,
over each of them, comforting them, and forgiving their sins; nay, taking
all their sins upon Himself, and punishing their crimes in Himself with sorrow
of heart, and making the wanderings of each one of them, as it were, His
own guilt. Oh! what exceeding great labour did this innocent Lamb undergo,
in order to reconcile His Father unto us! Even as a mother bringeth forth
her child into the world with great pain and sorrow, so did Christ make us
to be born again to life everlasting with intolerable agony and torment.
O my soul, and all ye who love God, come, and let us follow now Christ Jesus
with sorrow of heart and inward devotion, and with tears and pity, into the
garden. Let us contemplate with the eyes of our heart, Jesus, that is, our
Saviour, the Lamb without spot, how He bore therein all our sins; how heavily,
all alone, He trod the wine-press, that like the grape that is pressed with
all care, He, too, might be pressed in the wine-press of His Passion, and
might pour upon us richly, and give us to drink, the red wine of His precious
Blood, so as to make us drunk with His love. Let us see, I pray you, how
the glory of the angels became sorrowful even unto death, that He might carry
us into joy everlasting. For, in order to rescue us from the torments of
hell, He bore in Himself all the pains which we had merited; and He, the
Lord of might, at Whose look the angels tremble, and every knee is bowed,
appeared not as God, but as the poorest, and most abject, and most desolate
man, whom the world possessed. See how He lieth with His Face upon the ground,
in much anguish of spirit, covered with a bloody sweat, forsaken even by
His Father as well as by all men. There He lieth, I say, and prayeth, not
as God, not as a just man, but, as it were, a public malefactor, as some
dreadful sinner, as if He were not worthy to be heard by His Father, or,
at least, as if He were ashamed to lift up His eyes to heaven. Doth it not
seem as if He had been cast away by God, and were held to be God's enemy,
that we who were, of a truth, God's enemies, might be made His friends and
elect children? It is written: "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands
of the living God." Yet see, how our sweet Jesus, of His own free will, gave
Himself up into those Hands, and gladly suffered all the wrath, and vengeance,
and punishment of God His Father, which we had deserved, to fall down upon
Himself. This is why He suffered Himself to be so cruelly scourged, and
reproached, and beaten, and wounded, and, last of all, to be put to a shameful
death. Oh, what resignation have we here! What an offering of Himself! What
a love is this! His disciples were heavy with sleep; He alone remained watching,
to pray and labour, and, like a tender and faithful shepherd, to guard His
sheep with loving care. Nay, thrice He prayed, before He was comforted. O,
may such sorrow, I pray, such faithfulness, such love beyond all bounds,
touch these hearts of ours! For it was we that, by our sins, brought this
sorrow and cross upon Him. Oh! we have thought so very little of offending
the God of glory; yet see, how fearful was the sweat, and the toil, and the
sorrow, which Christ had to suffer, in order to be able to reconcile His
Father unto us! Dear, indeed, was the ransom which He was forced to pay for
our redemption. Let us sorrow, then, I pray, together with our Saviour, in
His exceeding bitter sorrow and affliction; let us pray together with Him,
and watch and suffer with Him. Let us also do somewhat for the sake of our
salvation; when we see how zealously Christ Jesus, in every member of His
Body, and in every power of His Soul, is busied about us. And if we cannot
shed tears of blood, at least let our eyes rain down tears of water. If we
cannot weep with Christ in all our members, at least let our eyes weep. And
if we are still so hard, and the vein of tears is so stopped up within us,
that not even with our eyes are we able to weep, at least let us desire to
weep in our heart. Let us fall down upon our face before Christ, and say
to Him:
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER.
A Prayer and Offering for Sins.
O Most gracious God, have mercy upon me! O King of glory, be merciful to
me a sinner! For the sake of Thine own goodness, pardon me, for ever having
turned my heart away from the right path of Thy commandments, and for having
followed my own wicked will, when it drew me into sin, and for having cast
off and thrust aside Thy holy will, that was inviting me to virtue. How,
O my God, can I be so blind of heart, as even for a moment to turn away from
Thee, from Whom come all salvation and every good thing, and to turn to that
which is earthly, and perishable, and will soon fall away, and from which
nothing cometh to me, but loss, and perdition, and all wretchedness? Oh!
how can I take pleasure in anything at all, save in the remembrance of the
immense benefits which Thou hast conferred upon me? How can I seek for comfort,
or refreshment of mind, in aught, save in Thy most sacred and bitter Passion,
and in Thy sweet wounds, that are ever dropping down with honey? What can
I ever care for, except to please Thee, and do Thy most gracious will, and
love Thee with my whole heart, and, according to the poor little measure
of my strength, repay Thee somewhat for Thy labours and pains, and, above
all, for Thine unutterable love, which Thou hast lavished upon me? O, most
gracious Lord, what more couldst Thou have done for me, which Thou hast not
done? What was the love that overcame Thy tender Heart, O most loving Jesus,
and caused Thee to offer Thyself willingly to die for my sins? Why didst
Thou so thirst to drink the chalice of Thy bitter Passion, that before Thine
enemies came upon Thee, Thou didst place upon Thy shoulders the too heavy
cross, and not only wentest forth to meet Thine enemies, but didst inwardly
crucify Thyself, even unto death, before they reached Thee, and didst inflict
upon Thyself inward death through bitter sorrow, long before they inflicted
upon Thee outward death? For the thirst of working out our salvation so burned
within Thee, that Thou didst accomplish in Thyself whatever lay within Thy
power; and didst only leave to Thine enemies to do what Thou couldst not
accomplish in Thyself. Ah, Lord, my God, behold I, too, am not worthy to
live, for it was I that brought upon Thee this most bitter sorrow, when I
was not ashamed to commit, for the sake of a little moment's vile pleasure,
what Thou hadst to wash away in Thy precious Blood, and to blot out by Thy
death! Oh! how grievous are my sins, which called for so great a satisfaction,
and so noble a victim.
O most loving Father! how could Thy fatherly Heart suffer Thee not to hear
Thine only and beloved Son, as He lay with His Face upon the ground, wrestling
with Thee in prayer, and in His exceeding inward anguish sweating even blood?
Why were Thy fatherly bowels moved not at the sight of Thy beloved Son, to
take away from Him that most bitter chalice, as He so humbly prayed of Thee?
What is man, O Father of mercies, that Thou so lovest him, that Thou art
ready to give Jesus, Thy most obedient Son, for vile sinners, who have always
offended Thee, and covered Thee with wrongs and contumely? Dost Thou love
us more than Him? He had to die, that we might live; He was sorrowful, that
we might rejoice; He was wounded, that we might be healed; He shed His precious
Blood, that we might be cleansed. He ever sought Thine honour: what was pleasing
in Thy sight, He carefully performed. At all times, and in all ways, He was
the expression of all virtue; why, then, wert Thou so cruel towards Him?
Why dost Thou deliver Him up for man, who was already damned, and who was
still a rebel against Thee? How hath He ever deserved this from Thee? Or,
what didst Thou foresee in man, that thou lovest him so, and art so faithful
to him? For, of a truth, the most precious of Thy treasures, and the highest
and best gift that Thy fatherly Heart could give, Thou gavest for man's
redemption, – even Jesus, Thy beloved Son, the Word of Thy Heart, by
Which Thou speakest to us the intention of Thy mind, and through Which Thou
makest known to us Thy love, wherewith Thou hast loved us with such fatherly
tenderness from the beginning.
Oh! how is it that this burning love of Thine doth not absorb and melt us
in a moment, when we see Thee attentive to the groans of exiles upon earth,
and hearkening to the cry of men who ought to be prisoners in hell, and yet
leaving Thine only-begotten One in the anguish of death, sweating great drops
of blood, praying to Thee with His Face upon the ground, watering the very
earth with tears of blood, as if in no way He belonged to Thee? O sweetest
Father, why, or for whose sake, hast Thou forsaken Him? Hearken, I pray Thee,
O tender-hearted Father, to this sorrow of His Heart; look down upon Him
as He trembleth in His agony; let those bitter groans of His mount up into
Thy Heart; and His Sweat of Blood, flowing from His whole Body, move Thee
to pity! See how He is bowed down to the ground; hearken, at last, to His
fervent prayer, for all His members cry out to Thee for mercy. Grant Him
the desire of His Heart, for He turneth wholly to Thee in perfect resignation,
and poureth forth His supplication in truest love. It is not His own comfort
that He seeketh, but the salvation of His brethren. It is not His own sin
for which He grieveth, but my iniquities; it is not His own crimes, but mine,
for which He mourneth; for never even once hath He sinned against Thee, whereas
my offences against Thee are manifold.
O most merciful Father! by the love and suppliant prayers of Thy beloved
Son, pardon the wanderings of Thy sinful servant. Accept the worthy sacrifice
of Thy only-begotten Son, and remember not the wrong done to Thee by Thy
wicked servant, for far more hath He paid Thee than all my debt. Oh! if Thou
wouldst only weigh together my malice and His goodness, my crimes and the
merits of His bitter Passion, surely the latter would outweigh the former.
For what wickedness can be so great, as not to be blotted out by such sorrow,
such affliction, such obedience, such lowliness, such unconquerable patience,
and, above all, such unutterable love? What crime can be so enormous, as
not to be outweighed by Christ's most bitter Death? O heavenly Father, see!
I offer Thee my Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, Thy best-loved Son, with
great devotion and gratitude, in union with that love, by which Thou didst
send Him to me from Thy fatherly Heart, in order that He might take my nature,
and free me from eternal death. See! I offer Thee this unutterable sorrow
of His, this anguish incomprehensible to us, but known to Thee alone, which
here in the garden He underwent for all my sins, and instead of the sorrow
and contrition which by right I ought to feel. Yes, I offer Thee His sweat
of blood, for the tears which I have not in my eyes, which for hardness of
heart I cannot shed. I offer Thee, also, His most humble and burning prayers
for all my lukewarmness, and sloth, and negligence. Lastly, I offer Thee
all His grievous labours, the practice of His virtues, His rough and austere
life, and all that He did in His human nature; all the bitter torments which
He suffered in His Passion, together with all the praise of the spirits on
high, and the merits of all the saints, as a worthy sacrifice to Thy eternal
honour and glory, for all my sins by which I have ever offended Thee, and
for the virtues which I have neglected to perform, as also for all the living
and the dead, for whom Thou, O my God, wishest me to pray, and I am bound
to pray; that Thou mayest grant to each of them who are still alive, through
Thy beloved Son, whatever Thou knowest to be necessary for them to enable
them to serve Thee in that state to which, by Thy merciful loving-kindness,
they have been called.
Another cause of Christ's sorrow was, that He foresaw all the fearful and
cruel torments which He was now, at this very moment, about to suffer, and
this as perfectly as if felt them already present. And because in very truth
He was a man able to suffer like other men, of a tender and noble complexion,
beyond what any understanding of man can grasp, for this very reason His
fear was the more vehement, so that outwardly He trembled in all His limbs,
and inwardly was sorrowful even unto death. He had undertaken to redeem man
from his damnation, and to pay his whole debt, and therefore His heavenly
Father, as a just Judge, entered into strict account with Him, and opened
that great and ancient account-book which containeth all the debts of men,
and in which He clearly saw all the sins of the world. At the same time He
shewed Him the ancient hand-writing against us, and He laid before His eyes
the price beyond all reckoning, the immense sum, by which these debts must
be paid, so that our sweet Jesus saw His whole Passion as openly as when
He suffered it. Oh! then, what must have been the sorrow, what the anguish,
what the fear, which seized upon Christ's tender Heart and all His members?
Here, too, we ought to notice, how our Saviour, Christ Jesus, had always
lifted Himself up, and stretched Himself forth both in spirit and with His
whole strength, to show reverence and honour to His Father. For the Spirit
of God had gently embraced His nature with all its powers, and had made them
subject to the law, and all the Scriptures which concerned Him, so as to
perfect them according to His Father's gracious will. Therefore it was that
He offered obediently into the hands of His Father Almighty, His Body and
Soul, and whatever He had, desiring that in Him might be accomplished all
that had been decreed and fore-ordained by the eternal wisdom of God and
the counsel of the Holy Ghost, and in this Spirit He enjoyed both peace and
quiet, in that He had resigned Himself simply, without any choosing of this
or that, to God the Father. But, on the other hand, looking down on the
tenderness of His complexion, and the cruelty of the torments already hanging
over Him, He became sorrowful even unto death; and here, so great were His
suffering and struggle, that they surpass all human understanding, and by
reason of the exceeding inward agony, outwardly He trembled all over. For
according to the spirit He desired to die, but all His Flesh shrank from
the bitterness of death. His Spirit, indeed, was at peace, being united and
subject to God, but His sensible and sensitive nature had so fully drunk
in the bitterness of His overhanging Passion, as imaged before His mind,
that He was beyond measure troubled and sore afraid.
After this, so fierce grew the struggle, and with such force did He compel
His sensitive nature to consent to these horrible sufferings, that from the
excessive strain His Blood poured forth like sweat from all His limbs. For
by reason of the fervour of His prayer, and of His dread and horror of death,
His Blood had flown up to His Heart. Then His strong love driving out all
fear, as well as His burning desire to accomplish His Father's will, and
of redeeming us, like some hammer or mighty force, struck down and overcame
this fear and sensitiveness, and forcibly pressed out the blood which had
meanwhile grown heated, so that, from the sudden shock, it burst forth from
His open pores, and flowed down mingled with His other sweat. Oh! who can
understand the greatness and bitterness of this pain? Oh! by what anguish
was the sweet Heart of our Saviour shaken, which, placed as it were between
two pressures, that of fear and of love, was sorely straitened, fear, namely,
straitening Him in His lower nature, and love in His higher?
And although fear was strong, yet was it utterly cast out by the mightiness
of His love. But oh! the sufferings, the incomprehensible pain which Christ
underwent in this wine-press? Oh! how did His material nature compassionate
His sensitive nature, when He saw the latter so straitened and oppressed?
How faithfully in its great compassion did that higher nature make intercession,
even as an advocate, for the lower? "Father," it said, "if it be possible,
let this chalice pass from Me:" and then again, as an excellent peace-maker,
it added in the spirit, "My Father, if this chalice cannot pass away, except
I drink it, Thy will be done." As if He would say: "Now that Thou hast unfolded
unto Me the great debt of the human race, and the price by which it must
be paid, from which, indeed, all My tender nature, tender above all
understanding, shrinketh in fear and trembling; yet the desire which I have
of fulfilling Thy will, and of redeeming man, utterly overpowereth Me. I
accept then the condition, and I approve what Thou demandest, and see! this
red Blood of Mine, just shed, shall be the pledge, that with money of the
same kind I will pay the rest of the debt." O love of Christ Jesus, Thou
art above all comprehension! Who is there that would not be inflamed by such
burning love as this? Who is able even to think of the fruit, and usefulness,
and salvation, and eternal good, which were born to us when this most saving
word was uttered, "Thy will be done?" Of a truth, of all words ever uttered
that was the most saving; for by it the Son of God was taken in exchange
by His Eternal Father, so that from the moment when it was uttered, our heavenly
Father laid aside His ancient enmities, and changed all His wrath into mercy,
and took us back into His grace, so that we have become the sons of God,
and joint-heirs with Christ of the kingdom of heaven, who before were the
children of wrath, and dwellers in darkness. Oh! who can sound the abyss
of this love, whereby Christ uttered this word?
He foresaw, indeed, all the torments that hung over Him, even down to the
least blow. He beheld, too, how grievously, how cruelly He was to suffer;
nay, He saw, too, our exceeding great hardness of heart, and ingratitude,
and that amongst so many men His precious Blood would have no effect, no
fruit; nevertheless, so great was His love for us, that He was ready rather
to suffer Himself to be crucified even a thousand times, than allow, so far
as lay with Him, even one man to perish.
Come, then, all ye who are devoted to Him, and as many as are of good will,
and who desire to make progress in virtue. Contemplate here in the garden
Him Who is the mirror of all virtue, the very path of perfection. Follow
your Lord, walk in the same footsteps in which He hath gone before you. Learn
here to lay aside your own will, and to do God's will. Learn to overcome
and to bring into captivity to the Spirit your sensuality and vicious learnings,
which are drawing
you away from God, that so, according to St. Paul's advice, you may have
all your senses under bridle, and your will obedient to the service of Christ.
Learn, here, that in nothing ought ye to seek your own selves, but rather
God's honour, and your neighbour's salvation. Lastly, learn here not to give
in to the desires of nature, or the persuasion of your own wisdom, but rather
to those things which God asketh and requireth of you, whatever they may
be, whether in acting, or in abstaining from action, or in suffering, or
in prosperity, or in adversity; even as Christ did not His own will, but
His Father's, although to do this was a trial to His nature, and went against
it, and His sensitiveness shrank from it utterly. Far more useful will it
be for you to follow Christ and His divine inspirations, than to be wise
according to your own conceits and feelings, however grand and good these
may seem. For He Who alone was offended, perfectly knew, when you knew it
not, in what way He would be appeased and reconciled. Whatever, therefore,
He requireth of you, that give unto Him; wheresoever He may either lead or
draw you, thither follow Him; yea, not less boldly to the depths of hell,
than to the heights of heaven. As He speaketh to you, so answer Him; whatever
He commandeth, accomplish without delay; whatever cross He may lay upon you,
carry it without murmuring. For the more you are united to Him, and the more
you go out of, and deny yourselves, so much the more will ye be lifted up
above to Him.
But now, that we have been strengthened for a little while by this little
morsel of spiritual teaching, let us turn again to Christ in His affliction,
to Christ, I say, still lying upon the ground, as we have seen Him in our
meditation, wet with His bloody sweat, and fervently entreating the Father
for us. And now, O my soul, look and see how noble and excellent thou art,
and how great is the price with which thou hast been bought. See how greatly
the only-begotten of God the Father hath esteemed thee, when for thy sake
He delivered Himself to death, and for thy redemption hath shed His precious
Blood. Observe, I beseech thee, what are the pains and the labour by which
thou hast been restored to health and salvation. Yet thou considerest thyself
so vile, that for the short pleasure of a moment, for some trifling temporal
thing, thou sellest and losest thyself, whom Christ hath redeemed in His
own Blood. See how bitter was all His Passion, the mere thought of which
caused Him to shed both blood and water.
But now, with melting hearts, let us see how our loving Lord, after this
grievous suffering, lifted up His Head from the ground, and rose from prayer.
Oh! how sore were all His limbs from the fearful and great agony which He
had undergone. How swollen was that fair face of His, after His burning prayer,
covered all over, as it was, by His sweat of blood! How inflamed were His
eyes by the tears, which still were thickly flowing! Hear how He addresseth
His disciples, and saith: "Sleep on, now, and take your rest." See here the
immensity of our Lord's goodness. Not with severity did He upbraid them,
but patiently bore with their sloth and weakness. See, too, how the faithful
Shepherd watcheth and prayeth for His sheep. Of a truth, by His own fervour
He supplied for their sloth and torpor. O, the unutterable kindness of Christ
Jesus! The Lord watcheth, while His servants sleep. He alone combateth, that
they may remain unhurt. He exposeth Himself to the wolves, that His sheep
may escape scatheless from their bite. He did, indeed, love them to the end.
After this He roused them, and said: "Arise, it is enough; behold, he who
betrayeth Me is at hand." Think, then, O my soul, that thou art now with
Christ in the garden, and that He spake these words to thee. Rise, therefore,
O my soul, from the sleep of sin, from thy torpid dream of the deceitful
pleasures of earth, and from every delight and convenience of nature; and
seizing manfully the cross of penance and affliction, follow Christ thy Lord,
and with great compassion, devotion, and inward love, look upon the poor
disfigured form of thy Saviour, and think how thou wert the cause of His
Passion. Weigh diligently with thyself, how great must have been the inward
anguish of His Soul, by the outward signs of His exceedingly afflicted Body.
Then throw thyself humbly at His Feet, with as much sorrow and compassion
as thou canst obtain from God, and with burning tears and deep heavy sighs,
pray to Him thus:
THE NINTH CHAPTER.
A Prayer to the Son for Pardon, and the grace of Self-denial.
O Most merciful Jesus, I beseech Thee by Thy bitter sorrow and anxious grief,
when Thou wert made sorrowful even unto death at the inward contemplation
of the bitter Passion and shameful death which were so close at hand, so
that the strain within Thee made Thee tremble outwardly, and sweat blood
and water – by that exceeding great anguish of Thy Soul, when prostrate
on Thy Face, Thou didst pray so earnestly to Thy Father, and with simple
created love and true resignation, didst struggle with the fear of death,
not heeding the horrors of Thy lower powers, but submitting and subjecting
Thyself with the created love of Thy Humanity, to the uncreated love of Thy
most high Godhead, wert made obedient with Thy full consent to Thy Father,
even unto the death of the cross; – by the struggle and mighty effort
of that contest, by the intolerable pain of Thy Soul and Body, by the sweat
of blood itself which broke forth from all Thy members, and flowed down in
great drops upon the ground; – by all this sorrow and grief, I beseech
Thee, O tender Jesus, to pour into me true contrition for my sins, and to
soften my heart of stone to compunction, and to inflame it to devotion, and
to give to my eyes rivers of tears, so that night and day I may weep for
having wronged and insulted Thee, and for the numberless sins whereby I have
offended Thee, O Lord my God!
Deal not with me, I implore Thee, according to my demerits, but according
to Thine infinite mercy; neither enter into judgment with Thy servant, but
set, I beseech Thee, this bitter Passion of Thine between Thy judgment and
my wretched soul with its sins. And whatever mine iniquities deserve, let
Thy bitter Death forgive, and Thy precious Blood wash away for ever. Grant,
O most gracious God, that I may deny my own will, and make myself of no
reputation, and submit myself and all creatures to Thee, my Lord and Maker,
for Thy sake, and that I may feel also that I am the vilest and most unworthy
of all Thy creatures; that thus I may be resigned in will, and as free from
all choice, as if never I had any will of mine own at all.
O Jesus Christ, most strong and unconquerable Lion, Who hast overcome the
world and its prince, do Thou so strengthen, I beseech Thee, my weakness,
that I may utterly overcome my sensuality and unmortified rebel nature, and
every inordinate affection towards all things in this world beneath Thyself;
and that I may put a yoke upon myself, and perfectly and wholly turn away
from all that can stain my heart, or come between Thy love and me; in a word,
that I may love Thee, my Lord, as purely and as fervently as it is possible
for a perishable creature to love. Make, also, my heart so just, and right,
and pure, and place it so close to Thy Heart, that between me and Thee there
may be found nothing distorted, nothing unjust, nothing unlike Thee; so that
in all my conversation, and in all my works, I may seek for nothing, desire
nothing, look for nothing, or intend nothing, except to please Thee, honour
Thee, perform whatever is Thy will, and love Thee with my whole heart; and
that in this I may ever spend my whole being, in order, in some poor little
way, at least, to repay Thy love.
THE TENTH CHAPTER.
Jesus goeth to meet His Enemies.
Our Lord Jesus, knowing that Judas, His betrayer, had come, surrounded by
a devilish crowd of wicked men who were thirsting for His Blood, and who
had come with exceeding cruelty to take Him, as if He had been a thief, with
lanterns, and swords, and cords, and with a great noise of arms, like an
innocent Lamb, with great affection and burning love went forth to meet them,
saying: "Whom seek ye?"
Consider now, O my soul, with thy inward eyes, the immense love of thy Saviour;
see how above measure He thirsteth to redeem thee. Look how His Heart is
boiling over within Him for exceeding burning love. O sweet Jesus, the only
comfort of my heart, where is now the fear, which a little before had come
upon Thee? Where now are Thy deep groans? Where now are Thy trembling limbs?
Where now is Thy great horror of death? While as yet Thine enemies were far
from Thee, Thou wert sorrowful even unto death, and in Thy cruel straits
Thou didst sweat blood, and Thou didst pray that the Passion that was hanging
over Thee might be taken from Thee by Thy Father; but now that Thine enemies
are before Thine eyes, roaring like lions, and raging like mad dogs to shed
Thine innocent Blood, Thou fearest nothing, Thou tremblest at nothing, and
all fear hath gone far from Thee. Thy betrayer hath come with a crowd of
blood-thirsty men, cruel wolves; and of Thine own free will Thou goest forth
to meet them. What doth this mean, O gracious Jesus, except that perfect
love hath cast out fear?
Oh! how perfectly hast Thou gone out of Thyself, O loving Jesus! How well
hast Thou prepared a place for Thy heavenly Father, in order that He may
accomplish within Thee His own most gracious work according to His will.
Oh! how Thou hast spared Thyself in nothing! With what burning thirst hast
Thou sought after Thy Father's honour! How mightily hast Thou conquered Thyself
through love, being made obedient even unto death! O Jesus, sweet Lover of
men, what love is this that hath so swallowed up Thy Heart, that Thou hastenest
to death as to a marriage feast, that Thou goest forth to meet Thine enemies,
as if they were Thy friends! Thou couldst not even wait till they addressed
Thee, but even as a man saluteth his friends, whom he meeteth on the way,
so didst Thou address them first, and say: "Whom seek ye?" Oh! of a truth,
most gracious Jesus, the fire of love had so worked its way within Thee,
and melted, and burnt away the marrow of Thy Soul, that all Thy inner man
blessed God the Father Almighty, and all Thy members were stretched like
a bow to accomplish Thy Father's gracious will. For Thy uncreated love as
God so moved and kindled Thy created love, that Thou wert wholly ready to
satisfy that love in all that it required. Hence it was that in Thy
thirst Thou didst seize the chalice, from which but a little before Thou
didst so greatly shrink; and quickened by love, as a fearless giant, Thou
rejoicest to run the way of our salvation.
O most gracious Lord, who is there that would not be inflamed by love like
this? Who am I, and Who art Thou, that Thou, the Lord of lords, Thou, the
Ruler of heaven and earth, shouldst offer Thyself to such a shameful death,
and into the very hands of Thy cruel enemies, for me who am but a poor vile
worm of earth; and that Thou shouldst receive him who betrayed Thee as if
he were Thy brother? No, not even from Judas, that ungrateful dog, didst
Thou turn away, O well-spring of unexhaustible mercy, even when he blushed
not to seek a kiss from Thy sacred mouth; but Thou didst gently place that
sweet and loving mouth of Thine, in which there was no guile, against that
foul mouth of his, overflowing, though it was, with malice. Oh! the
incomprehensible gentleness, the wonderful loving kindness, the unutterable
lowliness, the measureless goodness of the Master towards His cruel servant!
Of a truth, Lord, it were better for that man if he had never been born!
O sweet Jesus, so continual was Thy goodness, that Thou didst show him all
the kindness that Thou couldst, in order, if possible, to soften his heart
of stone. With kindly, friendly words Thou spakest to him, and saidst: "Friend,
why camest thou hither?" As if Thou wouldst say: "Have I deserved this of
thee, O Judas? Did I sin against thee, in washing thy feet, in bending My
knees to thee, in refreshing thee with My Body and Blood? Friend, wherefore
hast thou come? Dost thou hold Me of less value than thirty pieces of silver?
Why hast thou turned away from Me, Who honoured thee by the title of apostle,
Who brought thee up in delights, and taught thee with all loving care, as
My own son? Why hast thou forsaken Me, the well of living water, and joined
thyself to the servants of the devil? Why hath thy heart gone after avarice,
and why hast thou left Me, the highest and Eternal Good, and sold Me for
a poor wretched price, although I have within Me the hidden treasures of
wisdom and knowledge, and I enrich and fill both heaven and earth? Friend,
wherefore hast thou come? Turn and look into thine own self, I pray thee,
go down a little into thyself, come back to thine own heart, and see the
depth to which thou hast fallen; observe what thou hast done. Even now My
grace is open to thee; only come back with sorrow unto Me, and I will receive
thee."
Who can restrain his tears, when he considereth Christ's unutterable kindness
to His betrayer? Who, after this, shall dare to lose hope of God's mercy?
O sweetest Jesus, if Thou hast been so faithful, and loving, and kind to
the traitor, and the enemy, Thy wicked and unfaithful servant, and hast so
laboured to call him back to Thee, and save him, what, therefore, wilt Thou
do to Thy dear friends, who seek, and love, and thirst after Thee with their
whole life? Of a truth, Thou art no respecter of persons, nor dost Thou desire
the death and destruction of the wicked, but rather that they should be turned
from their wickedness, and live. For Thou hast embraced all men in Thy Heart,
nor dost Thou cast away any man from Thee, save those alone, who by their
own free but evil will, and hardness in sin, depart from Thee. Oh! how grieved
was our gentle Saviour, that His own disciple should treacherously betray
Him with a kiss! Bitterly enough He complaineth of this by the prophet, when
He saith: "If Mine enemy had spoken evil against Me, I would indeed have
borne it, but that thou, the man of My peace, My friend and disciple, in
whom I hoped, and who sattest at meat with Me, shouldst magnify treachery
against Me, and sell Me for a vile sum of money, and deliver Me to death!
O Judas, wherefore hast thou come? Dost thou betray the Son of Man with a
kiss?"
But now return awhile to thyself, O my soul, and see, I beseech thee, how
impatient, how cruel and greedy of vengeance thou art. By a single word thou
art moved to anger, to reproachful words, and to avenge thyself. Truly Christ
did not disdain to speak to His betrayer, and to call him friend, and to
sweetly kiss him. Oh! how many times I pass by my neighbour, thinking it
beneath me to speak to him, and by such disdain or contempt provoke him to
hatred, and thus I lose his soul when I might have softened him by a friendly
look or kind word, and moved him to love.
But Christ addressed also His other enemies with friendly words, and said:
"Whom seek ye?" They answered Him: "Jesus of Nazareth." Jesus said to them:
"I am He." And when He had said this, they went backwards, and fell upon
the ground. Here Augustine crieth out: “‘I am He,’ by this
one word, expressive of His hidden Godhead, without a weapon of any kind,
He struck down, drove back, laid low so great a multitude that had come out
against Him, fierce in wrath, and terrible in arms, for God lay hidden in
the flesh. What will He do when He cometh to judge the world, who doeth this
when He is about to be judged Himself? What will He do when He shall reign,
who could do this when He was about to die?” So far Augustine. After
this sign He gave them again power to rise, and raised them, as it were,
from death; and a second time He said: "Whom seek ye?" They said unto Him:
"Jesus of Nazareth." Jesus answered: "I have told you that I am He." Hearken,
O my soul, to this sweet word of thy Saviour. He Who a little before had
laid them low upon the ground by one word of His power, by the same word
now graciously delivereth Himself over to death, saying: "I have told you
that I am He;" as if He would say: "I am ready to fulfil My Father's will,
and to offer Myself a living victim to My Father's honour and glory, for
the salvation of men. I am ready now, not only to bear all the sins of the
world, but also to undergo the penalties which are due to them, and to blot
out that old hand-writing of their cruel enemy in My own Blood, and to redeem
man from eternal death. Your High Priest spoke truly when he prophesied,
that one man must needs die for the people, that the whole nation perish
not. I am that Man; I am that innocent Lamb, ready to be offered for the
sins of My people. Therefore it is, that now I give Myself into your hands.
Often, indeed, have ye desired both to take and to kill Me, but My hour had
not yet come. Now that hour is come, and the power of darkness. Glut now
your thirst, and your rage against Me. I am He Whom ye seek; I am ready to
bear whatever ye can think of to do against Me. Take Me, seize Me, bind Me,
lead Me to death itself; but suffer these to go their way. No power hath
been given you over My disciples; only against Me have ye power to rage.
O unutterable love! Oh! of a truth Thou art the good Shepherd. See, how He
loved His little flock even to the end, placing Himself between them and
the teeth of these ravenous wolves. How willingly He suffered Himself to
be mangled, and torn, and killed, that the sheep of His little fold might
go unhurt. Then with great fierceness did they take Him, and like mad dogs,
fastened their cruel fangs upon this innocent Lamb.
THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER.
A Prayer for perfect Self-denial and Love.
O Most gracious Jesus, I, a vile and wretched sinner, heartily acknowledge
and confess myself utterly unworthy of all these benefits, and gifts, and
graces, and of all grace and love, which so abundantly and beyond all measure
Thou hast bestowed upon me, the least of the worms of earth, and above all,
of that love whereby Thou gavest Thyself into the cruel hands of Thine enemies,
that Thou mightest suffer a most bitter death for my sins, and mightest shed
Thy precious Blood for my redemption. And I beseech Thee, O tender Jesus,
mightily to inflame my heart with the same love, that I may utterly deny
myself, and count myself for nothing, and may subject myself both to Thee,
and, for Thy sake, to all creatures, so that I may correspond in some poor
way, at least, with Thy obedience, and resignation, and wonderful humility.
And this one other grace grant me also; namely, that my desires and affections
may be so inflamed, that I may offer myself wholly to Thee in return, with
the same burning love as that with which Thou didst offer Thyself to the
Father for me; and that I may offer myself, too, with all my powers, as a
living sacrifice, to accomplish Thy most gracious will in all things, both
in what I do, and in what I leave undone, without any choice of my own, and
to bear whatever may happen to me by the permission of Thy goodness, in
whatsoever way or by whomsoever it may come about; and that I may so free
and purify the very depths of my being, relying on Thy help, from all
selfishness, and sensuality, and impressions of images, and from cleaving
thereto; in a word, from everything that can cause a barrier between my soul
and Thee, so that naked, and without anything coming between us, I may be
united to Thee in will, and love, and intention, and desire; and that I may
thoroughly and wholly shake myself off from, and make myself naked of all
that is beneath Thee, so that Thou mayest have free space to work in me,
and mayest accomplish Thy pleasant work within me without any obstacle; and
that I, all free and unencumbered, may embrace Thee in the naked arms of
Thy love, and rest for ever in Thee, and Thou in me, O my most sweet, and
loving, and gracious Lord and God! Amen.
THE TWELFTH CHAPTER.
Jesus is taken and bound.
Come now, and with inward sorrow and weeping eyes let us go and see where
we have left our Lord Jesus Christ, namely, in the cruel hands of the savage
Jews; our most innocent Lamb in the hateful and rough claws of lions, roaring
for their prey. Let us see, I pray, in sorrow and affliction of heart, how
shamefully and miserably these unclean dogs have treated the Lord of glory.
He, indeed, the meek Lamb of God, spake to them kindly in gentle words, and
said: "As against a thief have ye come forth to take Me. I was daily with
you, teaching in the temple, and ye took Me not. But this is your hour, and
the power of darkness." O ye blind and wicked, what need was there to come
in such numbers to take Him, Who of His own free will giveth Himself into
your hands? What need was there to search with lanterns and torches for Him
Who cometh forth to meet you, and to speak to you? What will your arms profit
you, when by one word He hath laid you flat upon the ground? Or why have
ye sought by night Him Who was daily with you in the temple? Of a truth,
this is the hour of darkness. The children, I say, the children of darkness
hate the light; therefore they desire to put it out, that they may remain
in their darkness, lest their evil works may be made manifest. But in vain
do they labour. As the Scripture saith: His light shall not be put out by
night, but it will shine the brighter, and will be lifted up on the candlestick
of the Cross, that it may give light to all, who are in the household of
Holy Church.
Then all the disciples, leaving their Master alone in the wicked hands of
the raging Jews, fled away. Oh! who can think of all the fierceness, and
the wickedness, with which those savage wolves treated this our loving Lord,
or of the sorrow, and contempt, and shame, that they brought upon Him? Let
us for a little while, I implore you, endeavour in our imagination to compass
this cross and affliction, in order to stir up our hearts to compassion and
devotion. And although all that our Lord here suffered may not appear so
plainly as from the Evangelist's words, yet may we gather and deduce them
from those other words, in which he saith: "They did unto Him whatsoever
they would." And who can reckon up all that these mad dogs wrought against
this innocent Lamb, if they "did whatever they would?" If they could not
glut themselves with His Blood, and with all kind of cruelty against Him,
when they had crucified Him, and shed His precious Blood like water, without
also crucifying Him with their tongue, and blaspheming and mocking Him, and
even opening His Side when He was dead, what must they be thought to have
done to Him while He was still alive? If at the end of His Life no kind of
savage cruelty could satisfy them, what must we think they did to Him in
that first mad rush upon Him, when their rage was at a white heat? Where
is the mind that can understand, or the heart that can search out all the
cruelty with which they treated our gentle Lord, after having for so long
a time sought after Him, and laid in wait to kill Him, and so often threatened
Him? With what tyrannical and cruel eagerness did they now seize on this
innocent Lamb, when they had Him in their power, Whose Blood they had so
fiercely thirsted after? All the savageness, the malice, the envy, the contempt
they had so long conceived and borne in their minds, they now poured out
at once upon Him. All the poison, bitterness, and rage, they had so long
before laid up in their hearts, and carried about with them, and nourished,
they now in one mass vomited out upon Him.
But let us go a little farther, and with great compassion, and hot burning
tears, behold how our tender Jesus stood here alone among all those mad and
raging hounds, forsaken by all men. Let us imagine, I beseech you, that we
ourselves are standing by, and are looking on, while they thus treat so cruelly
this meek and gentle Lamb. One teareth out the hair of His Head, another
that of His beard. This one layeth hold of His breast, that one of His neck.
One striketh Him hard blows in the face, another on the neck, a third upon
His Most Sacred Head. Some heap up spittle upon His loving face, and bind
His blessed hands with hard cords. There are doctors who say, that they threw
an exceeding heavy iron chain around His neck. Who can unfold how many
blasphemies, how many reproaches and revilings, how many foul and shameful
names our sweet Lord was compelled to hear? Of a truth, they knew not how
to glut their malice, or by what shameful torments to rage against Him. For
although they carried out against Him all that they could think of in their
traitorous and cruel hearts, nor even then were able to glut their bloody
thirst – yet far more did they burn, and desire to do, than they actually
did. For the more of wickedness and malice their virulent eagerness vomited
out, so much the more did they burn to devise all manner of treachery and
deceit against Him. And because our Lord had cast them down with their backs
upon the ground, so in their exceeding rage and fury, they in their turn
threw Him with His back upon the earth, and kneeling upon His breast spat
upon His sacred face and adorable mouth; nay, as some doctors think, they
so trod upon His breast, and covered His face and mouth with spittle, that
by the stopping of His breath He would have died of suffocation, had not
the power of His Godhead kept Him alive.
See here, in passing, how almost every step of Christ's Passion was itself
a bitter death. Look now, O my soul, with the eyes of thy heart upon thy
Lord and Maker, at Whose high Godhead the angels marvel, and see how exceeding
low He hath been cast down, and humbled for thy sins. Marvel at, and tremble,
and adore this wonder of all wonders! Behold, and with all care consider,
how that most high Majesty hath cast Itself down, and, as it were, brought
Itself to nothing for the sake of thy measureless vileness. But above all,
weigh well that burning love, whereby He willed to do this, for He alone
was the cause of His doing so. Contrast, I beg of thee, His highness with
thy vileness, and – unless I am mistaken – in the contrast thy
powers will fail thee, thy understanding will totter to and fro, thy spirit
will become faint, and thy heart for exceeding great wonder will shake with
horror. Consider, also, the greatness of thy sin and the fearful weight and
gravity of the debt which called for such a payment, and stood in need of
such a Redeemer, and asked for so dear a ransom of reconciliation. For with
nothing less than the very precious Blood of Christ, and the Death of the
Son of God, could it be paid. Observe, too, O my soul, both thine own hardness
and dissoluteness, in that thou hast so little fear; and at the same time,
be ashamed that thou thinkest nothing at all about sinning, exposing thyself
so easily to damnation, when Christ had to redeem thee with such measureless
torments, and with such great labour.
After this, behold how those shameful ones trampled upon the Lord of Glory.
Hear how He complaineth of this by the prophet, when He saith: "Many young
bulls have compassed Me, fat bulls have beset Me round, and many dogs have
surrounded Me. Upon My back have sinners built, they have prolonged iniquity.
I am a worm and no man, the reproach of men, and the outcast of the people."
Oh! how deeply hath the Majesty of God cast Itself down, in order to lift
us up on high! How humbly hath It submitted Itself unto all men, in order
to wipe out our pride, and blot out our disobedience. See whether He was
not, of a truth, a poor worm, trodden under the feet of the Jews, despised,
spat upon, killed? Was ever a thief or malefactor treated so cruelly, so
inhumanly, or disfigured so basely, as Jesus Christ the Son of God, to Whom
hath never clung the slightest stain of sin. O sweet Jesus, loving Lord,
whither shall I turn my heart for exceeding great trouble, when I see in
what anguish and distress Thou wert, when Thou didst lie so miserably among
those madmen, who, all of them, like hungry lions, thirsted to mangle and
tear Thee in pieces, innocent Lamb that Thou art, and how my sins were the
cause of Thy Passion? Who, I ask, can have such a breast of steel, such a
heart of ice, as not to be inflamed by love like this? For thereby, when
we were about to be burnt up in the fires of hell, Christ took all this upon
Himself, and suffered, out of His pure love, the punishment due to our sins
for our sakes. That we might be freed from the power of Satan and the chains
of death, the King of Glory was taken prisoner, and bound, and led to death;
and that He might lead us without punishment into the kingdom of heaven,
He underwent all the punishment that we deserved.
Wherefore, O most merciful God, what can we render Thee in return for all
this unutterable grace and love? Much have we hitherto marvelled, that Thou
hast willed to sink so low as to take our human nature, and to be laid in
a manger, but this humility, this utter casting down of Thyself, is above
all Thy former works. For now Thou art no more a man, but, indeed, an outcast
and a worm. At Thine Incarnation Thou didst lie in the pleasant arms of Thy
most tender Mother, but here Thou liest in the hands of the Jews. Then Thou
wert adored as God and Man, now Thou art taken as a thief. Then were offered
Thee royal gifts, now Thou art smitten, and blasphemed, and despised, and
mocked.
Weigh well with thyself, O my soul, what must have been the sorrow of the
holy and heavenly spirits, when they saw their Lord and King, Whom they had
ever held in such honour and reverence, brought down to such distress, and
punishment, and wretchedness, so exceedingly humbled, despised, and shamed.
We may, indeed, picture them to ourselves by a holy imagination, as falling
down flat upon their faces in the presence of God the Father, and weeping
bitterly and praying for their King. Let us also, therefore, have a
fellow-feeling with them, that we may compassionate our Lord Jesus Christ,
for it is our sorrow and our wounds, by which He is afflicted and tormented;
and with deep groans and sorrowful hearts let us fall down upon our faces
before the Father, and say:
"O most gracious Father, look down, I beseech Thee, upon the sore distress
of Thine only Begotten One, and the cruel torments whereby He is compassed
round about. Oh! how could Thy tender Heart endure to see Thy beloved Son
suffer such dreadful agony, and yet give Him no help or succour? O Father,
Father, why hast Thou forsaken Him? Why were Thy fatherly bowels moved not
with compassion towards Thy beloved Son? Why hadst Thou no pity on the tears
of the angels, so as to suffer them to avenge the wrongs of their Master
and their King? What love hath overcome Thee, O Father of Mercies? What is
man, that Thou so lovest him? Thou hast pity upon sinful men, and forsakest
Thine only Son. That men might be exalted in heaven, it is for this that
Thy Son is so shamefully humbled upon earth. That the guilty and wicked sinner
might be freed from death, this is why Thy only holy One, Who knew no sin,
is led to a miserable death! O most loving Father, what is this marvellous
work which Thou hast willed to do, that Thou shouldst lay all our sins upon
Thine only One, and avenge them in Him, although He ever thirsted after Thy
honour, and did Thy will, and performed whatever was grateful and pleasing
in Thy sight? Yes, Thou hast horribly smitten this Thy beloved Son for our
sins, and delivered Him wholly into the hands of the cruel Jews. What shall
I give Thee in return, O Father of heaven, for all this utterly unfathomable
and incomparable love, for all the faithfulness, and mercy, and loving-kindness,
which Thou hast shown to me, so worthless, and vile, and ungrateful, and
dissolute a sinner? What gratitude, what praise and honour shall I repay
Thee for all this? Oh! how can I ever give Thee even the least thing in return
for love so far above all understanding?"
THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER.
A very humble Confession of Sins, and a Prayer to the Father for Forgiveness.
O Father Almighty, tender and merciful, I, a wretched and vile sinner, with
as much lowliness as I can, and with full trust in the immensity of Thy goodness,
cast myself down at Thy Feet, and confess with inward sorrow of heart all
my great and grievous sins, whereby I have offended Thee, my gracious Father,
even to this very hour; and that I have not feared to commit those accursed
crimes which Thy only and beloved Son so cruelly atoned for, and so bitterly
expiated. I confess also to Thee, O most gracious Father, my manifold and
great ingratitude, that even to this hour I have been ungrateful both to
Thee, and to Thy Son, for all the love, and mercy, and faithfulness which
Thou hast shown me; inasmuch as now, for so many years, in the midst of malice
and sinfulness, Thou hast in Thy long-suffering spared me, and hast gently
borne with all the wrong and contempt I have brought upon Thee by my disobedience
and evil will; nay, even waited for my repentance with such infinite
loving-kindness, in order that at some time or other Thou mightest get possession
of my heart, and make Thy dwelling-place therein, and pour out upon it Thy
love. And oh! how often, O Lord my God, hast Thou knocked at the door of
my heart by Thine inspirations, and soothed me with Thy good gifts, and drawn
me on by Thy consolations, and forced me on by the afflictions Thou hast
sent me; and yet Thou last suffered Thyself to be driven back, for always
have I turned my back on Thee. But even this Thou hast borne in mercy. Oh!
how justly mightest Thou have cast me down into the depths of hell, yet hast
Thou graciously spared me. Of a truth, it is wonderful, O sweet Father, that
my heart breaketh not for exceeding great contrition, when I think of these
things. Even hell itself hath not punishments many and cruel enough for all
my wickedness and sin. I am not worthy that I should be called Thy creature,
or that the earth should bear me up, or provide me with nourishment. Marvellous
it is, O Lord, that Thy other creatures and all the elements have not taken
vengeance together on the wrongs and contempt I have brought upon Thee by
my manifold iniquity.
But now, O most faithful Father, have mercy upon me, I beseech Thee, and
turn to me, a wretched and lonely sinner, the eyes of Thy divine grace and
tenderness. Open to me the bowels of Thy loving kindness; take me back again
into Thy grace; pardon me for having so long delayed to turn to Thee. Throw
open to me Thy fatherly bosom, and pour upon me the nourishment and comfort
of Thy grace. I beseech Thee, O Lord God, work speedily in me, that for the
sake of which hitherto Thou hast spared me, and for which from everlasting
Thou hast foreordained me. And woe to me, unhappy sinner, because I have
forsaken so loving, so tender a Father, Who hath never shown me anything
but love, and kindness, and grace, and faithfulness, and because I have refused
Thee my heart, which Thou, O God, hast decreed to be Thy temple, Thy
dwelling-place, and Thy delight, and have made it foul with many stains,
for indeed it hath been a vessel of iniquity, and the cave of unclean spirits.
Openly I confess to Thee, O Lord, that of all whom the world holdeth, I am
the most sinful. Nevertheless, in the immensity of Thy goodness I place my
trust; for if my sins are above number, so also is Thy mercy.
O most loving Father, if Thou wilt, Thou canst indeed make me clean. Heal
my soul, for I confess to Thee that I have sinned. Remember, O kind Lord,
that comforting word of Thine, which Thou spakest by one of Thy prophets:
"Thou hast committed fornication with many lovers; yet turn again to Me,
and I will take thee back." Of a truth, Father of Mercies, I trust much in
this most sweet word, and with my whole heart I turn to Thee, as if Thou
hadst spoken it to none but to me alone, and as if by that word Thou hadst
meant to call me alone. For I, even I, unclean and unfaithful soul that I
am, am that prodigal and unprofitable son, who miserably have gone far away
from Thee, the Father of lights, from Whom flow all good things, and as a
wandering sheep, have strayed far from Thee, and squandered and lost all
those bountiful gifts which Thou hadst given me in such profusion. I have
left Thee, the fountain of living water, and have dug for myself cisterns
holding no water, by seeking outward consolation, for all temporal and perishable
delight vanisheth away like smoke. I have left Thee, too, the Bread of Life,
and I have fed myself with the husks of swine, by following my sensual appetites,
and indulging my passions, like the beasts. I have left Thee, the Highest,
and perfect, and Eternal Good, and I have let myself float down upon the
stream of earthly pleasure that passeth rapidly away. Wherefore I have become
naked, and poor, and wretched, and unclean, and, like the beast of the stall,
I have become rotten in my own dung and filth. But I pray Thee, O Father,
remember not the contempt and the wrong Thou hast received at my hands. For
I have thought of my ways, and my evil life, and with my whole strength I
have turned my feet towards Thy testimonies and Thy commandments. Yea! and
in the bitterness of my soul I have counted all my years as evil and lost,
and I have determined with myself to do Thy will, and to persevere in Thy
faithful service. Lord! what wilt Thou have me to do? For I am ready not
only to bear the easy yoke of Thy commandments, but also for Thy love to
keep to hard paths, and to enter upon the strait and narrow way of the cross,
and to take the cross upon my shoulders, and to follow Thine only and beloved
Son. And now, O Father of heaven, I offer myself wholly to Thee, with all
love, and with all my powers, as a living sacrifice; and whatsoever Thou
wishest to do with me in time and eternity, I am ready to do or not to do,
and to suffer whatever Thy goodness shall desire to come upon me. Take thorough
vengeance upon me, O Lord, for all the wrong I have done Thee, for humbly
do I bow myself beneath the scourge of Thy fatherly mercy. Bind, I beseech
Thee, my hands and my feet, lest in aught I may rebel against Thee; for although
the flesh indeed is weak, and without will, yet the spirit is altogether
ready. I know, yes, of a truth, I know that so many adversities could not
have come upon me, unless I had deserved greater and more for mine iniquities.
Wherefore I ask for nothing but Thy grace from the depths of my heart, and
that mercy may temper justice. But what shall I render unto Thee, O most
gracious Father, for all that Thou hast done for me? Teach me by what works,
by what service, by what offerings I ought to appease and reconcile Thee.
Thou hast commanded us not to appear before Thee empty-handed. But what shall
I offer Thee, who have nothing of my own. All this is why I humbly knock
at the door of Thy rich Son, and beg an alms out of the infinite never-failing
treasury of His most sacred Passion; and this I will offer Thee. Nay, I offer
Thee this same only Son of Thine, in union with that love with which Thou
didst offer Him to me, and didst send Him from Thy fatherly Heart into this
world, that He might take our human nature, and undergo a most bitter death;
and with Him I offer Thee all His merits, that is to say, of His Incarnation,
Passion and Death; but more especially that shameful affliction and torment
which He suffered when He was taken prisoner. Moreover I offer Thee His willing
obedience, His unutterable lowliness and patience, and above all that burning
love of His, with which He went forth to meet His enemies, and cheerfully,
as if they had been His friends, gave Himself into their hands. In like manner,
all the cruel chains, and blows, and buffets, and tramplings under foot,
the contempt, the spittle, the mockery, the blasphemies, and whatever He
suffered when He was taken, all this with overflowing heart and meek gratitude,
I offer as a worthy sacrifice to Thy supreme glory, for all my sins and
negligences. Accept, I beseech Thee, O most gracious Father, the merits of
Thine only-begotten Son for all my iniquities. For whatever sin I have committed
against Thy justice, all this Thy beloved and only Son hath paid for, and
blotted out, and expiated by His Passion, and for all my defects He hath
laden Himself with, and supplied for them. And what can be the sin so great,
for which such suffering cannot implore pardon? What can be the stain so
foul, that Christ's warm blood cannot wash away? What malice can there be
in man so deep-rooted and inveterate, which such burning love cannot melt
away, and utterly burn out? Of a truth His Passion is stronger than our sins,
and the riches of His merits are measureless and infinite, so as to outweigh
all sins and negligences. Wherefore from these deep streams I draw whatever
I see is wanting to me.
I offer Thee, then, His most innocent Death, and whatever He wrought in His
human nature, together with all the merits of all the saints, and all the
acts of virtue, and all the praise which shall be shown forth in Thy sight
until the last judgment day, and throughout endless ages of ages. All this
with as full a heart as I can, I offer Thee, as if they were all my own.
Lastly, I offer Thee this oblation to Thine eternal glory for my own sins,
and for those of all the living and the dead, for whom I am bound to pour
forth prayers, and as Thou, O God, wishest to be entreated for them, and
that Thou mayest be praised and blessed thereby for all eternity, and that
thanksgiving may be made to Thee by all Thy creatures.
THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER.
Jesus is forsaken by His Disciples
When our Saviour, as hath been said, was so cruelly bound, and led away by
those mad dogs in so miserable a plight, His disciples, terrified by exceeding
great fear, fled away from their beloved Master, and left Him alone. But
oh! what must have been their sorrow, when returning to themselves, and looking
into the depths of their own hearts, they thought with themselves Whom they
had forsaken, and from Whom they had separated themselves; and how faithlessly
they had deserted their loving Master and most faithful Lord in the moment
of His greatest need. Oh! how those fiery and piercing words, which Christ
had spoken to them in warning, both at the supper and on the way, now glowed
within them, and burnt into their hearts like live coals. For although they
had torn themselves away from the fire, yet as men who have just come from
the fire, they were still glowing with heat, and the sparks of fire were
still bright within their breasts. And although Christ in His provident wisdom,
had, for a little while, departed from them in the body, yet He had left
behind Him in their hearts His inward foot-prints, and the signs of His
Visitation; that is to say, tears, and groans, and compunction of heart.
He Who had once saved His people Israel in the wilderness, leading them by
night by a pillar of fire, lest they should wander and fall into the hands
of their enemies, He it is, the same Lord, Who now guarded and led His holy
apostles by the support of His fiery love, lest in that dark night they should
utterly lose their way, and fall under the power of Satan. For although He
had been taken away from their bodily eyes, yet had He left His Spirit in
their hearts, by which also they cried out: "Abide with us, Lord, for it
is toward evening." Oh! in what distress and anguish they went along, shedding
many and bitter tears! Oh! how often with weeping eyes and many groans did
they look up unto heaven! In what misery did they go along the way, weeping
and crying aloud, complaining of their grief, and clasping their hands, as
orphans without a father, desolate as sheep without a shepherd! How forcibly
they smote their breasts, and said: "O gracious Master, O sweet Father, O
gentle Lord, Who hast nourished us for so many days in delights, and hast
guarded us as Thine own sons with loving care, and governed us with all zeal,
and taught us with all wisdom, and loved us with all faithfulness, as if
we had been Thine own Heart! How is it that we have gone away from Thee so
basely? Whither shall we now fly? Who henceforward will defend us? Ah! ravening
wolves will now attack Thy sheep. Why have we forsaken Thee? Why did we not
cling to Thee? Why did we not stand by Thee, as we promised, even unto death?
Better far would it have been for us to die with Thee, than to live without
Thee. Oh! how often meanwhile did they cast back their eyes on their Master,
Whom they saw led away so cruelly to death! How often did they stop doubting
in their minds, whether or not to go back to Him! How were love and fear
fighting within them for the mastery! But all this was by God's permission,
God so ordering, that the Scripture might be fulfilled.
As for the rest, our sweet Jesus being now in the hands of His enemies, turned
not His loving-kindness away even from these wicked ones, for He healed the
ear of one of the Jewish servants, that had been cut off. Yet could not all
this goodness and power, shown to these traitors, soften their hearts of
stone.
THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER.
Jesus is led to Annas
From this they now led Him away cruelly bound to Annas. And here who is able
to think of all the annoyances, and injuries, and cruelty, and contempt with
which they treated Him on the way; how often they struck Him, and vomited
out blasphemies against Him, and pulled His sacred beard, and kicked Him,
and spat their hateful spittle in that fair face of His, on which the angels
desire to look; and how at last they hastened to lead Him as quickly as they
could to the chief priest, and after this to deliver Him over to death. No
one can think of all they did to Him, for far more than all this they did,
since, as it is written, they did with Him what they would.
See now, O my soul, how miserably thy Lord and Maker is beset and led off
by those wicked and lustful wretches, just as if He had been a thief, or
malefactor condemned to death. And yet, during all this persecution He remained
patient towards men, most grateful towards His Father. Think, I ask of Thee,
what sort of night, so full of trouble was it, must this have been to Him?
O Jesus, King of glory, Who governest the whole world by a word, for no one
can resist Thy power, how lowly, and poor, and weak, and despised, hast Thou
willed to become for my sake! Where now are the thousand times ten thousand
of those who fall upon their faces before Thee, and adore, and bless, and
praise Thee, saying without ceasing; "Holy, Holy, Holy!" Of a truth, O loving
Jesus, this is the hour of darkness, the time of sorrow, the night of bitterness.
And Thou didst enter into this sad and horrible night of Thine own free will
for my sake. Thus, then, as we have seen, they led Him bound and disfigured
to Annas.
Let us now see, but with exceeding compassion, how humbly the Lord of power
stood there chained and covered with spittle, His eyes cast down, His face
suffused with virginal shame, waiting with friendly look to be judged by
a vile and puffed up sinner, although no guile had ever been found in His
mouth, nor any injustice in His deeds; nay, to Whom, because He was full
of grace and truth, all power and all judgment hath been delegated by the
Father. And see! how the blood-thirsty high-priest treacherously questioned
Him concerning His disciples and His doctrine, in order that from His words
he might lay hold of some occasion to condemn Him. But Christ, the Wisdom
of God, understanding the high-priest's deceit, was silent as to His disciples
for this time, because at this particular time He could not greatly praise
them. But with regard to His doctrine, He answered with prudence and wisdom:
"I spake openly before the world, I was daily teaching in the synagogue and
in the temple, where all the Jews meet. Why askest thou Me? Ask them, who
heard what I said; ask thy servants whom thou hast sent to take Me; behold!
these know what I have said."
Of a truth, He who speaks thus is the Eternal Truth, Whose words are so just
and true, that even His enemies bear witness to them. And when He had said
this, one of the servants standing by, a wicked man and of bold front, gave
Jesus a horrible blow, saying: "Answerest Thou thus the high-priest?" Meekly
did this gentle Lamb receive that blow, nor did His face contract with wrinkles,
nor burn with anger, nor did He loosen His tongue to make reproach, nor did
He stretch forth His hand to avenge Himself, but He meekly answered, and
said: "If I have spoken ill, bear witness to the ill, but if well, why smitest
thou Me?" O Jesus, gentlest Lamb, who can call to mind without tears Thy
exceeding loving-kindness, and patience, in that Thou sufferest that fair
face of Thine, on which the angels desire to look, to be so cruelly smitten
by a vile wretch? And thou, O my soul, how proud, how impatient, and severe,
and rude and greedy of revenge thou art, thou who by one word art disturbed
and offended, nor ever thinkest of the mighty wrong the Son of God underwent
for thy sake. Let His Passion be the mirror of thy life, follow His blessed
footsteps and His conversation, learn of Him, how He is meek and humble of
heart. Offer Him at least one little drop of sorrow in return for the large
and bitter chalice which He drank to the very dregs for thy salvation; show
Him some little compassion for all His labour and sorrow; give Him at least
patience for patience, suffer contempt for contempt; forgive thy neighbour,
even as God daily forgiveth thy many wanderings, although often thou offendest
Him, and so forgiveth, as not the less to protect thee, and show thee His
friendship and loving-kindness. Contemplate the whole of Christ's Passion,
even to His last breath, and never once wilt thou find Him to have been moved
in any way against His enemies, although they afflicted Him so sorely, or
ever to have shown forth the least contempt for them either in word, or look,
or deed. Nay, rather, thou wilt find that He showed them all loving kindness
and sweetness, so that, if possible, He might soften and turn their hearts.
For so loving, so sweet is our Lord, that He knoweth not how to show His
enemies anything but love and friendship. He hath a kiss for him who betrayed
Him, and sought to take Him, He healeth the ear of one of the high-priest's
servants, when it had been cut off; He prayeth for them who crucified Him;
nay, His Heart was wounded with greater agony by their sins and hardness
of heart, than by the outward pain which He bore in His body.
We, therefore, if we wish to please Christ, ought to cast away far from us
all bitterness, and rancour, and the clouds of passion, and to rejoice when
any adversity crosseth our path. For that sweet Bridegroom came to look for
a sweet bride, who might be free from guile, and like Himself in condition.
Hence, in the Canticle of Canticles He calleth His bride a dove.
Moreover, Peter also followed his Lord, but when He was charged with being
of the number of Christ's disciples, he denied Him thrice. Thus Christ, moved
by mercy, turned the eyes of His grace upon Peter, who, returning to himself,
began to think that this had been foretold him by Christ; how, namely, before
the cock crowed, he should deny Him thrice. Thus touched with inward sorrow
of heart, he went out from the company of sinners, by whom he had been drawn
on to his fall and sin, and wept bitterly. Let us also see here, how great
was the sorrow which pierced Christ's loving Heart, when He saw the head
and the most earnest of His disciples thus miserably overcome, and how, even
as powerful Samson of old had lost all his strength through a woman, so now
the prince of the apostles, who by a word had been wont to cast out devils,
had denied his Master, out of fear of one word from a woman-servant's mouth.
Oh! how all His bowels were moved with compassion and mercy at the weakness
and fall of His disciple, and even as some kind father mourneth for the death
of his only child, so did Christ weep for the inward death of His disciple
and member, whose spiritual death-wound touched Him with no less sorrow,
than if He had received it Himself. Oh! how quickly He snatched him out of
Satan's power, into which he had fallen, and raised him up again by His
preventing grace! How quickly did He look upon him with the eyes of His grace,
and permitted the rays of divine light to shine into the dark depths of his
soul! Hence it happened, that Peter at once returned to himself, and betaking
himself into the depths of his own heart, acknowledged his fault, and wept
bitterly; and straightway at the first touch of grace, turning away from
the children of darkness, turned himself to the light that went before him.
For although by God's permission he had fallen into weakness, yet had he
been resigned to God, and had utterly denied his own will, and given himself
wholly to God; and lately again he had chosen him and embraced him in His
Heart, so that in desire and affection nothing could ever separate him from
Him. And although afterwards he failed in deed, yet that resolution, that
desire was good. For he had said: "Lord, even if all should be scandalized
in Thee, and shall forsake Thee, yet not I. For I am ready to go with Thee
to prison and to death." No doubt, love and burning desire had raised his
courage above its strength, and had so lifted up his heart, that he forgot
his own frailty. But temptation changed all this, so that now he humbly cast
himself down within himself, and esteemed himself as nothing worth; who so
lately had boastingly lifted himself above himself, and being left to himself,
learnt also what in that first fervour he had been unable to recognize. For
he had offered himself to God, and suffered God to work in him, but that
lofty structure which God sought to build up in him, could not be built,
except first the weakness of the first foundation were disclosed, and a new
foundation deep and low were laid. For straightway as soon as Christ looked
upon him, and he received the light of grace in his heart, he followed that
light, and accustomed himself to the touch and inspiration of His Spirit,
doing what he was admonished by the Spirit to do; namely, to turn away from
creatures, and to turn to the light which he felt within him; and by this
he was led to the knowledge of himself, and so he wept bitterly, For when
he had trusted to himself, and boasted of himself boldly above measure, and
the weakness of nature, our Lord left him to himself, that he might recognize
his own weakness and powerlessness; and thus at once he fell. For however
much we trust in fervour of spirit, to the same extent ought we to fear the
frailty of nature. Of a truth, S. Peter, as long as he was with his Lord,
feared neither death, nor enemies, nor weapons of war, for boldly had he
thrown himself upon the enemy, striking at them with his sword. But when
his Lord turned away His face from him, he was overthrown and overcome by
one woman's word. No doubt this is what David meant when he said: "Thou didst
turn Thy face from me, and I was troubled."
O measureless goodness of God, how tenderly did our loving Lord undergo the
contempt and shame which He suffered on account of His disciple, in order
that thereby the same disciple might learn to know and humble himself? For
already had our Lord decreed that he was to be the foundation of the Church,
and therefore He permitted him to fall into the lowest depth of his nature,
where he clearly discovered his own frailty and utter powerlessness; and
where he learnt not to boast rashly of himself, but humbly to trust in the
help of God, as it is written "Be not high-minded, but fear." For all this,
because Christ had fore-ordained Peter to be to the house of Israel, a wall
and tower that can never be taken, it was altogether necessary, that his
foundation should be laid exceeding deep in the virtue of humility, which
is itself the foundation of the whole spiritual structure and of every good.
It was necessary, too, that the head should feel sick and weak, in order
to feel pity upon the weakness of the other members, and to forgive those
who sin not seven times, but seventy times seven, and to learn by what he
himself suffered, how to have compassion upon all who desire to turn from
their sins, and to obtain for them the grace which he himself had received
from Christ. And because Peter had resigned himself wholly into God's hands,
and his heart and intention were right and true before God, therefore it
was that this fall was not unto damnation, but rather a healing medicine,
and was a step forward towards God; so that he who had rashly and without
caution turned to himself, being now fallen and wounded, might be compelled
to forsake himself, and to turn to God. And this is why the apostle saith:
"To them that love God all things work together for good," both adversity
and prosperity, riches and poverty, gain and loss. For they who have renounced
their own selves, and suffered themselves to be led by God, to such there
can happen nothing ill. For when by God's permission, any infirmity cometh
upon them, it is for them the cause and matter of humiliation, and contempt,
and of lowly thoughts about themselves, and of turning to God, and of loving
God, and of cleaving unto God, and of serving Him more faithfully, and of
observing themselves more carefully, and of more diligently watching their
own salvation. And whatever from their own defect they lose in mounting up
to God, and in working for Him, that they gain once more in coming down into
themselves, and in resignation. For the deeper we go down in the knowledge
of ourselves, so much the higher do we rise in the knowledge of God, in which
consisteth our chief beatitude; just as the deeper the wall below, the higher
it is from above. So, too, the more we cast ourselves down, the higher will
God exalt us, and the viler we believe ourselves to be, the more shall we
magnify God.
Nor can a man worthily honour God, unless he be truly humble; nor is any
service pleasing unto God, unless it proceed from a humble heart; nor is
any man so pleasing unto God, as he who is utterly humble. For such men have
so lowered themselves, and made themselves of no account in their own eyes,
that God, neither by Himself nor by all His gifts, can cause them to be proud
of themselves. For the more they are enlightened, and the more gifts and
graces they receive from God, so much the more clearly on this very account
do they recognise their own vileness, and the more unworthy do they feel
themselves to receive any of God's gifts; and for this reason they marvel
that God should vouchsafe to work anything through them. From this then arises
in them so great a love, reverence, zeal, and delight towards God, that they
know not how in any way to repay His exceeding love and graciousness, or
how to do enough for Him. They know, too, that both they themselves, and
whatever they are able to do, suffice not for this. Hence it is, after all,
but a little thing for them, compared with what they desire to do, that they
have given themselves wholly unto Him, Who had first given Himself wholly
for them, since they are not ignorant, how all that they can themselves give
is far above what they can give to Him, when compared with all they have
received from Him. Nor do they know how enough to praise Him, or to give
Him thanks, or to exalt and worthily honour Him, or how enough to despise
and to think nothing of their own selves. Whatever they do, they are eager
to do more; at all times they have equally the same thirst after His honour,
the same alacrity in doing His will, for their love of God is always asking
of them something more. They praise God, indeed, but they fall short in praising
Him; and because they fall short in good, they confess that they do wrong
even in that which they do well. Hence they blame and despise themselves;
yet here again they come short, and so are made nothing in their own eyes.
Now in this mounting up to God by praise and reverence, and in this going
down into their own selves, they are set on fire with love, and the red marriage
garment, the scarlet and purple robe, twice dyed, is woven. This is that
ladder, which Jacob saw reaching up into heaven, and the angels ascending
and descending thereon; and of a truth, as many as have found this way of
ascent and descent, rightly and deservedly may be called angels. For, indeed,
by means of that mighty wonder which is stirred up within them by the knowledge
of God, and by means of that burning love which springeth from this knowledge,
they have so mounted up on high to God in their affections, as to pass beyond
and above, and to forsake all earthly and perishable things, and to have
their conversation in heaven, now contemplating God with this illuminated
understanding, so far as God Himself wisheth to be known by them, and as
is expedient for them; and now again by the light which they receive from
God's shining rays, sinking down into the depths of their own being, and
letting themselves fall into their own vileness, where they utterly despise
themselves, and hold themselves as less than nothing. And when again they
feel the exile of this world, and the frailty of their nature, and the wants
of the body, they groan and cry aloud: "Alas! am I still here in my misery?"
And they say with the apostle: "Oh! wretched man that I am, who shall deliver
me from the body of this death?" O Lord, take my soul out of its prison.
I desire to be dissolved and to be for ever with Thee. Even as the hart desireth
the fountains of living water, so doth my soul thirst after Thee, O God.
Oh! when shall I see with mine eyes Him Whom I confess with my mouth, Whom
I believe in my heart, Whom I thirst after in my affections? When shall I
see Thee face to face, Whom now I am permitted to see only in a glass, in
a dark way. Wherefore let my tears and my groans be my bread day and night,
and my consolation; and let my soul look down upon all earthly comforts,
until the day come when it shall be said to me: "Behold here is thy God!"
Oh! they who ceaselessly fly up on high upon wings like these, even as the
chaste and mourning dove, or who mount up by the ladder aforesaid, seeking
after the things their soul loveth, passing step by step from virtue to virtue
even unto God. Oh! surely surely shall they with Jacob see God leaning over
the top of the ladder, as He stretcheth, out His arms to rescue His bride,
and saith: "Come, My bride, My dove, enter into the joy of My delights, which
thou hast sought after with toil and groans."
Men like these can with confidence mount up to God, because they have laid
their foundations deep down in humility, and are led by the Spirit of God,
so that they cannot fall as long as the hand of God upholdeth them. Oh! happy
and blessed they, who walk not after the impulse of nature, or their own
judgment, but according to God's leading, and suffer themselves obediently
to be guided by God's Spirit, and to follow whithersoever He may have gone
before. And now, O my soul, how is it that in thine inmost depths thou art
so busied about other things, and so distracted and unquiet, that thou art
unable to notice God's secret inspirations? How rebellious also art thou,
and given up to thine own will, so that very often thou causest delay to
God's Spirit, and placest obstacles in the way of His sweet workings? S.
Peter, at one look from God, was so thoroughly converted to Him, that exceedingly
quickly he turned himself from every disturbing and distracting influence
to God, so that he was taken back into God's grace, and his sins were forgiven
him, and he was established in love.
O most gracious Jesus, how happy are they on whom Thine eyes thus fall, whom
Thou thus enlightenest with the rays of Thy divine light, so that they are
enabled both to search into the depths of their own soul, and to acknowledge
their own sin! How quickly are they converted! How quickly are their cold,
hard hearts softened, inflamed, melted with love, and dissolved in tears,
so that they who before could not keep from sin, now cry out in the conversion
of their hearts: "Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? Of a truth it was no
marvel that Peter should weep bitterly; but it is indeed a marvel, and a
greater marvel, that his heart should not have utterly burst asunder for
distress and fear, when his dear Lord caused him to look into the depths
of his own soul, and to see his own sins, and to perceive all the contempt
and wrong he had brought upon his beloved Master. Oh! that a man could only
once thus look into the depths of his own soul!
THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER.
A Prayer that we may follow Christ
O Sweetest Jesus, Who wert forsaken by Thine own disciples, taken prisoner
by Thy chosen people, betrayed, sold, and given up by Thy own apostle, led,
shamefully bound, before Annas the high-priest, denied thrice by Thy chief
apostle, and cruelly struck upon the face by a vile servant; I beseech Thee,
O my God, by Thy most sacred Passion, and by all the contempt which Thou
didst freely undergo for my sins, to forgive me whatever I have done wrong
against Thy law, and the right of Thy commandments; and henceforward to direct
all my life according to Thy most gracious will. Grant me also the grace
to follow Thine example, by truly loving my enemies, and by doing good to
them who do me wrong and trouble me. O my only comfort, so soften my heart,
I beseech Thee, and make it so warm and pliable by the fire of Thy love,
that Thou mayest be able, according to Thy will and desire, to beat it down
with repeated blows of the hammer of affliction, and to work it into a vessel
of love for the tenderness and delight of Thine own Heart, and that I may
never faint away through frailty under these blows, but that at each blow
I may send forth fiery sparks of patience and resignation! O Jesus, mirror
of virtue, form of perfection, way of life, lantern to my feet, grant that
I may faithfully keep to the footsteps of Thy patience, lowliness, obedience,
and love, and so that my life may be in harmony with Thine, so far as this
is possible for mortal man.
O Thou true Lover of men, Who desirest that no man should perish, but that
all should turn to the knowledge of the truth, and be enlightened thereby,
look upon me, I beseech Thee, from the bottom of my heart, with the eyes
of Thy mercy, as Thou didst look on Peter, and Magdalen, and Matthew, and
those many others, whom Thou didst draw forcibly away from the path of iniquity,
to Thy singular love, that the rays of Thy divine light may shine in the
dark depths of my soul, and that I may thus clearly know my measureless vileness,
and wickedness, and my own nothing, and utterly annihilate myself in mine
own eyes, and profoundly humble myself before Thee and all men, so far as
it is possible for me, and pleasing and agreeable to Thee. O heat of the
Love of God, that burnest so fervently, that no water can quench Thee, for
Thou ever brightly glowest, nor can Thy flame ever fail, and Thou consumest
and transformest all things into Thyself, even as the fire which is seen
by the eye transformeth iron and wood; burn, I beseech Thee, all that Thou
canst lay hold upon without obstacle, and melt my hard and stiffened heart
by the heat of Thy love, that I may embrace Thee with the closest love, and
that I may be all consumed in my poor, frail, and corrupt nature, given up,
as it is, to the senses which, indeed, I did not make and form for myself,
but which I have rather unmade, and deformed, and that I may become nothing,
and by thy marvellous transformation may put on and wear a new form and likeness
according to Thy likeness. And even as Thou, O everlasting Son of God, by
the fellow-working of the Holy Ghost, wert made the Son of Man, and taking
upon Thee what Thou wert not, didst yet remain what Thou wert, so in like
manner make me to be born again into the number of Thy elect children, by
the laying aside of the old, and carnal, and sensual man, and by the taking
on of the new, and deiform man, created according to Thine image. O Key of
David! that openest, and no man shutteth, that shuttest, and no man openeth,
shut up, I beseech Thee, all the windows of my senses, through which entrance
may be given to death, or the devil, or any wicked thing, into my soul, which
is Thy house, and which holiness becometh. And because it hath pleased Thee
to make Thy temple within us, keep Thy dwelling-place spotless, that it may
be Thy everlasting house of prayer, and that it may please Thee to dwell
therein for ever. Open only therein the eastern gate which Ezechiel saw,
that is the highest part of my soul, of which Thou didst give command to
Thy prophet, that no man should enter through it, for Thou, the King of Israel,
wouldst keep its entrance for Thyself alone. Keep, then, for Thyself alone,
this entrance, that it may lie wide open at the rising of Thy grace, and
that when Thou, the Sun of Justice, beginnest to dawn over my darkened soul,
straightway I may be able to receive in me the rays of Thy light, and that
so, in the words of Holy Writ, my evening and Thy bright morning may be one
day; and also that I who, times beyond number, have, with Peter, by my wicked
works, denied Thee by night, may confess to Thee by day.
Open up to me, also, O my God, the vein of tears, suffer mine eyes to grow
weak and dim with weeping at the thought of many sins and of the wrongs I
have done Thee, O Lord my God, by my dissolute and negligent life. Of a truth,
most sweet God, Thou hast loved us beyond our poor understanding, and therefore
Thou askest for a return of love from us, and I long to satisfy this demand
of Thine, and desire to love Thee in return, O my God, with my whole heart,
and strength, and thought. But, O most gracious God, I have fallen down to
my own self upon the earth, my heart is full of stains, my spirit full of
sluggishness, my understanding full of darkness, my thoughts full of
distractions, and I have utterly lost the mastery over myself; for my own
household fighteth against me, nor is there anyone subject unto me. Yea!
with groans I complain to Thee, that the very wife, whom Thou hast given
to be my helpmate, whom I have more than enough cherished in my bosom, I
mean my own flesh, persecuteth me, and, like Eve, daily desireth my destruction,
by vexing me, and offering me the forbidden food of pleasure. Wherefore I
fly to Thee, O God, my protector. Enlighten, I beseech Thee, my inward eyes,
that I consent not to sin; strengthen all my powers, that I may overcome
mine enemies, and subject all my senses and all my members to my spirit,
in order to serve Thee alone. Cleanse Thou my heart, inflame my spirit, enlighten
my understanding, collect my thoughts, unite all my powers, and bind them
together with the chain of Thy love, and the fetters of Thy fear, so that
never more I may be estranged from Thee, but that ever subject and united
to Thee, I may cleave unto Thee and faint not, but rather fear, and love,
and thank, and praise, and bless Thee now and for evermore. Amen.
THE SEVENTEENTH CHAPTER.
Jesus is led to Caiaphas
After this Annas sent Jesus bound to Caiaphas, who was the high-priest of
that year. Here the chief priests and scribes and elders of the Jews had
met together, for eagerly they thirsted to deliver Christ to death, and to
shed His innocent Blood; and when they saw Him, they rejoiced like a lion
that has caught its prey, and is ready to devour it. Now this was the second
procession of our Saviour. Follow now thy Bridegroom, O my soul! Who, in
order to espouse thee underwent all this labour and torment. Nor will He
remain with thee for long. See, He is already given over into the hands of
His cruel enemies, and of the Jews who are thirsting for His Blood, and who
will not give over, until they shall fasten Him to the gibbet of the Cross.
Gaze now upon that fair face of His, and press it to thy heart, for yet a
little while and there will be no more fairness in it at all, nor any beauty.
Observe, I beg of thee, this sad procession, wherein these cruel dogs lead
along the gentle Lamb, and this, we may firmly believe, they have done, as
children of the devil, full of envy and madness, even as their father Satan
hath suggested to them and persuaded them. And because they had remained
quiet for a little while, in the house of Annas, and had recovered their
strength, now they began anew to vex our Lord on the way, and to mock Him,
and to spit upon Him, and to pull His venerable beard and hair, and to throw
Him down, and to trample on Him with their feet, and then, when He had fallen
upon the ground, to drag Him along; in a word, to heap upon Him all the
reproaches, and mockery, and annoyance, and injury that they could think
of. Let us here consider in our hearts the agony which our sweet Jesus suffered
in His Heart, how weary was His Body, how sick and ill were all His members
from this grievous cruelty, and the exceeding great haste with which the
Jews hurried Him along. For in all this agony and distress not even a moment's
space was given Him, in which He could draw even one breath; yet was He ever
the same innocent, patient Lamb, Who gave Himself wholly up to their fury.
Whose is the heart that can keep from tears, when he seeth love, and lowliness,
and patience such as this? Who would not be touched with compassion, and
groan from his inmost heart, and proclaim himself guilty before high heaven,
when he seeth that he is himself the cause of such exceeding cruel suffering
to his Lord? Thus then they led our Lord Jesus with all cruelty to Caiaphas,
at whose house the chief priests and elders of the Jews had hurried together,
as children of the devil, at their father's bidding. And because they had
met in Satan's name to shed Christ's innocent Blood, therefore was that malignant
one in the midst of them, inwardly spurring them on to all manner of cruelty
and malice. See now, O my soul, how humbly the King of Glory stood there,
His hands bound, His eyes cast down, His face pitiable and disfigured from
the spittle and the blows, yet full of chaste shame, and loving thirst, and
longing to drink the bitter chalice, and to accomplish His Father's will;
and how those raging and cruel dogs gnashed at Him with their teeth, and
glared at Him exceeding fierce looks. This is that of which our Lord complained
by the mouth of His prophet, when He said: "They have taken thought together
against Me, and looked on Me with fearful eyes; they have gaped upon Me with
their mouths like a ravening and a roaring lion; they have gnashed upon Me
with their teeth; they have sharpened their tongues like serpents, that they
might vomit upon Me this poison." Ah! who can see without sorrow of heart
this innocent and weak Lamb standing alone among so many savage wolves, and
think that He Who is the Son of God, and Lord of lords, to Whom belongeth
all judgment, is waiting for sentence of death to be passed upon Him by the
vilest of His creatures, and wicked sinners? Oh! how their savage breasts
burned with rage! How their souls overflowed with hatred, and their mouths
with cursing and malice! How did envy darken their reason, spread thick clouds
over their understanding, extinguish truth, keep down the judgment of their
conscience, and all thoughts of religion! Oh! all the plots, and snares,
and false-witness contrived against this guiltless Lamb, and drunk in by
their cruel and poisoned thirst, in order that they might deliver over the
Just One unto death! Yet our sweet Lord opened not His mouth, but gently
and meekly bore for His Father's honour all those wicked and foul lies, and
blasphemies, and falsehoods, which they heaped upon Him. No excuse would
He give, for He had taken upon Him all the sins of the world; and because
it was His will to be crucified with the unjust, as an unjust man, it was
also His will to be judged. Not even a word did He answer to all these false
accusations, because out of His measureless love He thirsted with a burning
thirst after man's salvation, and the chalice which His Father had given
Him to drink; for clearly in His inner man He felt His Father drawing and
calling Him, that Father to Whom He could not go, save by the road of His
Passion. Of a truth He had given and resigned Himself wholly up to His Father's
will, and He suffered Him to work in Him, offering Himself in all things
as His instrument, and listening in silence to what He was saying to His
soul. For in His humanity He proved Himself a most fitting instrument to
accomplish His Father's work, and all that He required of Him; even as He
had taught His disciples not to fear, when they stood before kings and governors,
nor to take thought what they should answer, but rather to wait for the Spirit
of the Father, Who should teach them when and how to speak.
Then, when the false witnesses had been heard, and no cause of death found
in our Lord, the wicked high-priest was troubled, and carried away by rage
out of his seat, said unto our Lord: "I adjure Thee, by the living God, that
Thou tell us whether Thou be Christ, the Son of God." Now when our Lord heard
Himself addressed by His own divine Name, out of reverence to His Father,
and by the Spirit shining in Him, He answered: "Thou hast said that I am.
Nevertheless I say unto you, hereafter ye shall see the Son of Man sitting
on the right of the power of God, and coming in the clouds of heaven." Then
the high-priest rent his clothes, and said: "He hath spoken blasphemy, what
further need have we of witnesses? Behold, now ye have heard His blasphemy.
What think ye?" Then all those mad men with one voice cried out, and said:
"He is guilty of death." And at the same time, running upon Him with one
accord, as fierce lions upon some gentle lamb, they all loosened the reins
of their envy, and vomited upon Him all their rage and hatred, without measure
and without compassion. And one spat in His face, and another smote Him on
the head, and another on the neck, while others again tore His hair and His
beard. Some, moreover, out of inborn malice, cruelly wounded His fair face
with their nails. This, too, He had testified of old by His prophet, saying:
"I turned not away My face from them who reproached Me and spat upon Me."
And again, "I gave My cheeks to the pluckers." Of a truth they did upon Him
what they would, nor could they glut their cruel rage. Nay, had it been possible,
in their mad fury they would have reduced Him to nothing. But His hour had
not yet come.
It was a custom with the Jews, that when they wished to show contempt to
a man, on account of his wickedness and guilt, they spat in his face, as
if to avenge the wrong done to God. And this they too often did with intemperate
cruelty, so as to take away the breath of not a few, and to suffocate them.
Here, therefore, we are allowed to imagine, that this torment of our Lord
was not less than death itself, and that in this grievous strait He would
have been deprived of breath, had not His Godhead saved Him to suffer still
greater punishments. For, as the Evangelist saith, they not only spat, but
they spat out, that is, they fetched their foul spittle from the depths of
their chest, and cast it into His face, yea, and even into His blessed and
most gentle mouth. What greater contempt or contumely could they have shown
the Lord of Glory? Never to any thief, or to any one condemned to death,
had been shown such contempt, or derision, or shame, as was now shown to
our Lord after His condemnation. With such indignities did they treat Him,
that hardly the form of man remained to Him. And His fair face was so swollen
from the blows, so beset with spittle, so crimsoned with blood, so torn by
their nails, and likewise the blood and spittle were so mingled together,
that our sweet Saviour's face was pitiable to behold, and would have moved
a heart of stone to pity and compassion. And because the grace of His face
had been such as by its mere look to soften sinners, and draw them unto Him,
so those wicked men put a veil upon Him, that they might not be moved by
any kind or pitiful feeling, but might pour forth according to their desire
all their rage and cruelty upon Him. Therefore without mercy they cruelly
struck Him, and at the same time mocking Him, said: "Behold our Prophet!
Prophesy unto us, O Christ, who it is that struck Thee?" Thus whatever annoyance,
and insult, and cruelty, they could conceive in their devilish heart, this
they did to our most patient Lord. Nor even yet was their thirst quenched.
For after that they had vomited upon Him all the poison of their bitterness,
and were themselves utterly tired and exhausted, they handed Him over to
their servants, that they might spend the rest of the night in guarding Him,
and annoying Him, while they betook themselves to rest. But to our exhausted,
and wearied, and agonizing Lord was no rest given, nor even breathing-time,
but He was handed over to their wicked followers, who all that night inhumanly
troubled Him. It is indeed the opinion of S. Jerome, that those annoyances
and punishments which they inflicted on our Lord on that night, will only
be made known at the day of judgment. Wherefore the devout, who desire to
meditate on our Lord's Passion, ought to do something in honour of those
secret sufferings of God, and to offer them to the Eternal Father, to Whom
they are well known, in satisfaction for their own secret and unknown sins.
Now then, O my soul, and as many as love Jesus, let us go and behold with
inward sorrow, in what distress and affliction our sweet Jesus, the joy of
heaven, then was. Where is the heart that can refrain from tears, when he
seeth the Lord of Glory, the King of Heaven, so basely treated? O beautiful
in form above the sons of men, how art Thou deformed! Thou, Who art the mirror
of eternal brightness, Whose beauty is the marvel of the elements, art led
about covered with a vile and filthy linen cloth! Of a truth the prophet
saw all this with great sorrow, when he said: "We have seen Him, and there
was no beauty in Him. And we accounted Him as a leper, and as one smitten
by God, and humbled." Let these words cut into thine heart, O my soul, and
set this exceedingly afflicted form or image before the eyes of thine heart,
and understand that so pitiable is it, that the prophet, although enlightened
by God, could find no words to express it; but compared Him to a leper, at
the very sight of whom, every one shrinketh away. Yes! Christ's loving face
was so swollen with the blows, so veiled in blood, so full of spittle, so
cut and wounded by their finger nails, that there remained to Him no more
the form of man, nor the beauty.
Let this Passion pierce thine heart, O my soul, and be thou inflamed by the
mighty love which worked all this. Be ashamed, O proud man, vile dung as
thou art, who seemest to thyself to be somewhat forgetful all the while that
thou art dust, and ashes, and dirt, and less than nothing. See how the Son
of God was humbled for thy sins; how the glory of heaven, Whose majesty passeth
all understanding, for thy sake was despised and set at nought. Observe,
O thou dust of earth, so greedy of revenge, so unyielding, so cruel and
impatient, how the Lord of lords most patiently bore all this grievous
affliction, and this too, at the hands of vile wretches, and worthless slaves,
and for thy sins. Of a certainty, in all this trouble and annoyance, thou
wilt not find that even once He contracted His forehead into wrinkles, or
opened His mouth to curse, or stretched forth His hands to defend Himself.
And thou canst not suffer even one little word for God's sake, without
straightway showing thine anger by word, and deed, and sign, and gesture,
and look. Thou confessest indeed thy sins to God, and He hath mercy upon
thee, and taketh thee back into His grace, and layeth on thee some little
punishment by way of satisfaction. He permitteth some cross to come to thee,
and desireth that thou shouldst carry it for His sake in return for all the
wrong thou hast done, and brought upon Him by thy sins. But straightway thou
breakest forth into complaints, murmurings, impatience, and art unwilling
to carry the cross which God hath laid upon thee; nay, thou thinkest that
thou art wronged therein by God. What else is this, except, in reality and
by thy acts to declare, and to say that thou wilt not perform the satisfaction
laid on thee by God, that thou wilt rather after this life suffer punishment
in flames of brimstone, than here undergo a little affliction? Thou hast
desired fire; the fire shall come to thee; thou rejectest God's mercy, thou
shalt not be able to find it. Here thou despisest His grace, afterwards thou
wilt feel His justice. For He saith: "What profiteth thee to ask for grace,
saying: `Lord, Lord,' when all the while thou doest not what I tell thee?"
Of a truth thou wouldst desire that in all things God should suffer thee
to do thine own will, to satisfy all thy sensuality and lust; that He should
fulfil every desire of thine heart, and that not even one little harsh word
should be spoken to thee, and yet that through His merits all thine iniquities
should be forgiven, and that thou thyself should be raised without any punishment
to His eternal glory, as if thou wert worthy thereof; nay, thou wouldst wish
Him to submit Himself in all things to thee, and to become unjust for thy
sake. But thou art deceived, utterly deceived. Not at so low a price doth
He reckon His kingdom. It cost Him far too dear. It behoved Christ to suffer,
and so to enter into His glory; if thou refusest to suffer, remain outside.
He saith: "He who would come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up
his cross daily and follow Me." Wherefore, if in a true spirit thou desirest
the grace of God, confess to Him thy sins, hate and turn from thy sins, lay
thyself wholly open to His correction, and offer thy whole self to Him, saying
with the Prophet: "I am ready for scourges." Throw thyself on Him, ready
for everything, and cheerfully with thy own free will embrace the cross which
He hath laid upon thee. Look not to its heaviness and trouble, but to Him,
Who layeth it on thee; for of a truth our Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God,
Who hath gone before thee with His own cross, and to Whom thy weakness is
well known, will lay no burden upon thee above thy strength. For His nature
is goodness, and He will be with thee, and stand by thy side in all thine
afflictions, as He hath done to all the saints. He will not be unmindful
of His mercy, if only thou knowest how to lay aside thine own will, thy
murmurings and complaints. Suffer Him therefore to do with thee as He willeth,
that He may perfect His work in thee. And without doubt in this thy lowly
subjection, He will show thee much mercy, and all the bowels of His compassion
will be moved towards thee, and He will pardon all thy wanderings, and He
will accept this thy resignation and good will, even as of old He accepted
that of our Father Abraham, when he took his only son to offer him to God,
and He will spare thee also, and show favour unto thee, even as He did unto
Abraham's son Isaac. For He desireth exceedingly to give thee His everlasting
glory, yet it is His will that thou shouldst do somewhat thyself, that in
justice this may be bestowed upon thee; and what He wisheth thee to do is
this, to submit thyself to Him in obedience of heart, and to suffer Him to
perfect His work in thee, and to keep His grace, lest it be frustrated in
thee. It was thus that we read of all the saints, how they suffered numberless
evils, and led a severe and austere life, that they might be worthy to be
joint-heirs with Christ in His Father's kingdom.
But now let us go back to our most loving Lord, from Whom for a little while
we have wandered; and let the flood of our tears, which meanwhile hath been
stayed, now again be allowed lovingly to flow. What, O my soul, I pray thee,
wouldst thou have done, hadst thou been there, and hadst seen all that contempt
and affliction cast upon thy Lord? Wouldst thou not have run forward to Him
out of burning love, and embraced Him, and washed His disfigured face with
thy tears, and lovingly lovingly kissed Him? Wouldst thou not have spoken
to Him the kindliest and most friendly words that thou couldst think of,
saying: "sweet Jesus, my Lord and God, my heart can no longer bear that these
wicked men should thus persecute, and despise, and inhumanly treat Thee.
For exceeding sorrow my heart will break, if any longer I shall see Thee
in such woe. O Jesus, my hope, my comfort and my love, Whom my soul loveth,
who will grant unto me, that I may suffer for Thee? It is not Thou Who hast
sinned, but I. O fairest and most beautiful of the sons of men, how full
of shame, and disfigured, and without beauty, Thou art become! Where hath
Thy beauty gone to? Why art Thou humbled so? How hath all this mighty guilt
been laid upon Thee, to which Thou art utterly a stranger, and of which Thou
art wholly innocent? See! it is the blood of our sins that is sprinkled on
Thy garments, and for us Thou Thyself hast been made the reproach of men,
and the outcast of the people. Ah! who hath delivered Thee over to these
wolves? O my soul, wilt thou not cleave to thy Lord by these words with thy
whole body, wilt thou not take Him in thine arms and defend Him, wilt thou
not rebuke those wicked men, and say: "Ah! do not rage, I beg of you, with
such exceeding cruelty against the Son of God, and the Lord of us all. Seize
hold of me rather, and do to me whatever pleaseth you. For this innocent
Lamb hath not sinned. It is I who have sinned, and who am worthy of death.
It is I whom ye should spit upon, it is I whom ye should mock, and strike,
and persecute; on me glut your cruel thirst, on me quench your burning rage,
on me accomplish all your hatred and poisonous malice, on me work out all
your will, – only let my Lord Jesus go. For I cannot bear the contempt
and wrong which ye cast upon Him." Oh! how could the Eternal Father bear
to see the wrong and the shame of His glorious Son? Did He not fearfully
avenge His Prophet Eliseus, when he was mocked at by children, and this more
from childish thoughtlessness than from malice? Yet His only and most dear
Son He would not avenge, but gave Him wholly up to the rage and malice of
the Jews. O most loving Father, what is man that Thou lovest him so; that
Thou hast given over to these ravening dogs, so worshipful, and good and
dear a Son, for the sake of a wicked and damnable sinner; that for the sins
of Thy people Thou hast smitten Him so fearfully? Oh! how could Thy fatherly
Heart suffer Thy most gracious Son, Who never did aught against Thy will,
to lie under the weight of the sins and debts of all Thy people, and at the
same time to drink to the dregs the chalice of bitterness and wrath, which
our sins had mingled! How hast Thou left Him in all His affliction, and cast
Him off as an exile and an enemy, that we who were Thine enemies and children
of wrath, might be made Thy friends and children of adoption? How is Thine
Heart so absorbed and drunk with love for man, that Thou seest not how much
Thine only Son is suffering? Nothing moveth Thee, though Thou art lavishing
a treasure beyond all price. Thou carest for no labour, no sorrow, no expense,
if only man may be saved. Therefore it is that Thou hast exposed and wholly
given over to the will of wicked men Thine only-begotten Son, just as if
Thou hadst cast Him from Thee in indignation, and adopted man in His stead.
O sweet Father, I offer Thee the measureless resignation and obedience of
Thy Son, Jesus Christ, and especially that immense love of His, whereby He
willingly offered Himself to suffer all this intolerable affliction and torment;
choosing to be forsaken by Thee, and chastised, and beaten, and inhumanly
and cruelly chastised, in order that we might obtain mercy and peace. Likewise
all those cruel blows, and mockings, and the spittle and derisions, and whatever
Thy beloved Son underwent according to His Heart's desire on that bitter
night, I offer Thee for my sins. O Father of mercies, have mercy upon me
for Thy dear Son's sake! For although I have sinned through weakness, yet
now out of His love hath Thy Son paid all my debt, for His goodness and love
are stronger than all sin. Oh! if my sins were placed in one scale, and the
merits of Thy Son in another, the latter would far outweigh the former.
Wherefore, I beseech Thee, let His Passion be to my profit, since for my
sake He suffered, and let His sacred wounds be a salve for my wounds. Let
His most pure Blood wash away the filth of my heart; His humility blot out
and excuse my pride; His obedience my disobedience, His patience my impatience.
O Abyss, from which flow all good things, grant me, by the name of Thy dear
Son, the grace to correct my evil life, and then to live according to Thy
most gracious will. Enlighten my blind heart with the shining rays of Thy
divine light, that I may know my sins, and frailty, and vileness, and that
thus, knowing myself thoroughly, I may thoroughly humble, despise, and submit
myself not only to Thee alone, but to all men for Thy sake, so that I may
faithfully follow the footsteps of Thy dear Son's humility and obedience.
Grant unto me, O my God, that I may perfectly deny and forsake myself, and
all things that are lower than Thou, so far as is pleasing unto Thee, and
so far as such things may be an obstacle in the way of my obtaining a perfect
love of Thee; that I may love Thee, and that in this love nothing may come
between me and Thee, and that I may be so fastened to Thee by the nails of
pure love, that neither adversity nor prosperity, no, nor any affliction
may be able in any way to separate me from Thee. Amen.
THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER.
Mary followeth Jesus her Son
Let us see now, where God's tender Mother hath gone, and whether she will
ever appear in public, or whether, peradventure, with the apostle she hath
forsaken her Son. Of a truth, although the apostles staggered in faith, grew
cold in love, and wavered in hope; although fear had scattered the sheep
far away from the Shepherd, and cut off the branches from the Vine, yet did
one branch remain whole and unhurt, and that was the Blessed Virgin Mary,
who was indeed full of the sap of faith. For it was not possible that Christ's
Mother should fall into doubt, as to whether Jesus was the Son of God, since
she knew that she herself had conceived Him by the Holy Ghost, without contact
of man; nor could she in any wise forsake Him, with Whom she had been made
one spirit in God. Indeed the Spirit of God, of Whom she was full, bore witness
in her concerning the Son of God, that it behoved Him thus to suffer for
His Father's glory. For as S. Paul saith: "He who cleaveth unto God is one
spirit." Wherefore it is altogether probable, that the Holy Ghost had gathered
into His embrace all the powers of the soul of God's Virgin Mother, and had
claimed with all power the allegiance of her whole will, and understanding,
and love and affections, lifting up her created spirit to the glory of the
Father, and rendering subject to the law and the other Scriptures, in all
that concerned her Son. Hence, even as Christ sought not His own Self, but
to do His Father's gracious will, and work out the salvation of souls, so
also Mary spared not her only-begotten Son, but herself offered Him cheerfully
for all that Passion, which God the Father required Him to bear. Nor did
she take heed of the sword, which was to pierce her heart, nor consider the
treasure beyond price, of which she was to be deprived, nor dwell even for
one hour on that dear Son of hers, or on all the joy and comfort from Whom,
and from which she was to be torn away. But she resigned her whole self,
with all the powers of her soul, to do God's gracious will, ready to bear
all the distress, affliction, and grievous torment that might come upon her,
as if she too in the spirit of her Son had said: "If this chalice cannot
pass from me, except I drink it, O Lord, Thy will be done!" But to no one
can it appear doubtful, that that blessed Mother, and our Lady was inflamed
with such love towards God and all mankind, and so thirsted for the salvation
of souls, that most gladly would she have undergone the death of the Cross,
if so it had seemed good unto God Almighty. And because that could not be,
she inwardly underwent so cruel a cross and sorrow, that she was unable to
bear it without her heart breaking. And even as our Lord Jesus Himself, although
ever united with His Father's will, nevertheless in His Humanity, feared
and dreaded death, so that at the thought of His Passion hanging over Him,
He became sorrowful even unto death, and His sweat was of blood, falling
in thick drops upon the ground. So also it could not be, but that that Mother's
Heart was pierced by the sharpness of a sorrow beyond all understanding.
Of a truth it would have been for her a far more pleasant thing to die with
Him, than to live without Him, and to behold with her own eyes His bitter
death. For how should she not love with exceeding vehemence that loving Lord
and God of hers, Who in form was beautiful and fair above the sons of men,
Who had folded her heart to His bosom, and utterly melted it in His own love,
and Who had chosen her from among all women, and had raised her high above
them all, and had honoured, and blessed, and hallowed her! How should she
not love Him, Who possessed in Himself, and Who had deified all the powers
of her soul, her will, and understanding, and memory, and love, and, together
with herself, had transformed them into Himself, so that she rejoiced at
the thought of His Godhead, and at the sight of His Manhood, with joy beyond
all understanding, and listened to His sweet sayings with delight unutterable?
For what was not Jesus, ever to her a cross? and therefore to suffer all
poverty, and affliction, and persecution, and contempt for His sake, and
with Him was to her an inward joy, and an exceeding great delight. Oh! surely
no mother ever embraced her son with so much love, as the Blessed Virgin
her only Son, nor did ever mother grieve for her son's leaving her, like
this Mother. But because the Eternal Father could bestow upon His only-begotten
Son no more excellent or noble gift than that of His Cross and Passion, –
for after Himself this is the most gracious and blessed gift He can give
His dearest friends – therefore it was that He bestowed the same gift
upon the Virgin who knew no stain. And as Christ was obedient unto the Father,
even unto the death of the Cross, so also the most Blessed Virgin Mary was
ready to obey God even unto the same death; for the suffering which her dear
Son bore in His Body, she in her compassion bore in her heart. Wherefore,
after the Name of Christ, Almighty God hath exalted her name above every
name, and hath blessed her above all creatures. And as she had been chosen
by God to cooperate in the new birth of the human race, so it was His will
that she should also cooperate in the Passion; that as she had been to us
our Mother, in bringing forth our Saviour, so too she might be our deliverer,
by inwardly bearing with her Son the Cross of His Passion, and by feeling
within her heart the exceeding sharp sword of sorrow. For as the Father of
heaven offered His only Son on the altar of the Cross, a living Sacrifice,
and still offereth Him in the Holy Sacrament for the salvation of man, that
He may be an everlasting Mediator between Himself and men, so also He suffered
His elect daughter, the Blessed Virgin Mary, to suffer hard things, and He
accepted her offering as a grateful sacrifice for the advantage and salvation
of the whole human race; that she too might become an everlasting mediatrix
between God and men, and offer herself with all her sorrow and all her virtues
in the sight of God, for all who shall call upon her, so as to turn, through
the merits of her afflictions, the wrath of God into His mercy, and that
standing beneath the wood of the Cross in her exceeding sorrow, and gazing
in bitterness on the fruit of the tree of life, she might cooperate in man's
redemption.
Moreover, He had here stored up an almost infinite treasure-house of merits,
wherefrom He might help before God all who are in wretchedness, and might
so fill her own heart with spiritual virtues, as to become to all men a most
faithful Mother, overflowing with mercy beyond measure.
O Mary, fountain of grace, chief of all the martyrs! This was not the beginning
of thy dolours; this was not the beginning of thy torments; this was not
the first renouncement of thyself under obedience to God; but just as Christ
thy Son had subjected Himself from the beginning to His Father's gracious
will even unto death, and all His life long had, of His own free will, undergone
poverty, persecutions, obloquy, and contempt; so thou too, O our sweetest
Lady, didst give thyself wholly to God, when thou didst consent to become
the Mother of God's Son, and didst say: "Behold the handmaid of the Lord,
be it done unto me according to Thy word." Moreover Christ was born that
He might die. As then thou didst offer thyself for the generation of the
Son of God, so also didst thou resign thyself unto His death and Passion.
Hence, as at the Nativity thou wert the happiest of all mothers that have
ever been, so at the Passion thou wert the most sorrowful; and thou, who
in bringing forth thy Son didst escape all pain and anguish, during His Passion
wert bowed down beneath the whole bitter heap of affliction. O most tender
Mother, how faithfully didst thou take thy cross upon thy shoulders, and
follow thy dear Son, and bear in thine heart all His bodily and outward Passion.
For His Cross was thine, and thine was His. And as Eve rashly took of the
tree of knowledge of good and evil, and thus caused all men's loss in Adam,
so didst thou take upon thee sorrow from the tree of the cross, and when
thou hadst eaten more than enough of its bitter fruit, didst, together with
thy Son, redeem man.
O Mary, Mother of grace! how overflowing were thy blessed breasts, when thou
didst undergo, together with thy dear Son, such cruel torments for thy children!
And who can reckon up all the cares and burdens, all the poverty, and affliction,
and trouble of these three-and-thirty years which thou didst suffer with
thy Son? Of a truth, whatever persecution and affliction thy only One underwent
at the hands of the Jews, all this thou, His most tender Mother, hast borne.
For by a certain marvellous love drawing thee within Him, thy soul lived
in Him; and so no trouble or sorrow could come upon Him, when thou wert looking
on, without thy soul being at the same time tormented by all that He suffered
in His body. Every man who is truly devout to thee, and who holdeth thy dolours
in veneration, may here still more carefully and deeply meditate and think
upon these things in his own heart.
THE NINETEENTH CHAPTER.
Of the Compassion of the Virgin Mother for her Son
O Blessed Mother of God, and ever Virgin Mary, where is the heart that can
conceive how heavy must have been the cross and the affliction which thou
didst suffer on that sad night, when thy dear Son, the only comfort of thy
heart, was given into the hands of wicked men, and was forsaken by His own
disciples! We may indeed believe, O sweet Mother, since thou wert full of
the Holy Ghost, that thou sawest in spirit all that sorrow and torment which
thine only Son underwent on that fearful night. For as for the sake of man's
salvation He would not spare His own fair, and young, and blooming Body,
but rather deliver it to death, so He spared not that Mother's heart of thine,
but suffered it to be pierced by the sword of sorrow. Hence, also, He foretold
thee all His Passion, that He might make thee share in all His merits and
afflictions, and that thou mightest cooperate in the work of man's redemption,
so that thy maternal breasts, filled with all merits, might ever have ready
the milk of grace, and pour it forth in all abundance on every one who presseth
them by devout prayer.
O Mary, Mother most sad, how bitter, how sorrowful was that night to thee,
when Simeon's sword pierced into thy heart! How mournful then was the song
of thy matin-prayers! Thy hymn was a hymn of woe; instead of jubilee, thou
didst utter groans, and thy spirit was full of anguish. Oh! how sad were
the words, how pitiable the sighs, yet how fiery, that thou didst send up
to thy Father in heaven! With how fervent and devout a heart didst thou pray
to the Father of heaven for thy Son, offering and commending Him wholly unto
Him. And although in the body thou wert not near thy Son, yet all that thou
knewest Him to suffer, pierced thy heart as much as if thou hadst suffered
it in thine own body; and thy very heart burned within thee as in a burning
furnace, and melted away, and withered up, for exceeding burning love and
the wasting flame of thy affection and thy cross. Who can conceive how fiery
were thy words, how glowing were the sparks which thy heart of fire sent
up all that night long? Peradventure thou didst utter some such words as
these: `O Jesus, my Son, my sweet Son Jesus, who hath taken Thee from me?
Who hath torn a Mother from so dear a pledge of love? Why cannot I see Thee,
O longed for light of mine eyes? Who will give to me, O Jesus, my child,
that I may suffer for Thee, die for Thee? O Jesus, only comfort of my heart,
why did I not go with Thee to death? Why did I not straightway follow Thee,
when Thou wentest away? O sweet Jesus, dear Sons where art Thou passing this
night? In whose hands art Thou? What art Thou now suffering! Oh! if those
raging dogs would only vomit forth their cruelty on me, and let Thee go Thy
way unhurt! O Jesus, my hope, my nourishment, my sweet delight, why have
I not died for Thee, that I might not now see in Thee all the sorrow of my
heart? For sweeter would it have been to die, than to see Thee, my sweet
and only Son, in such great distress. O my Jesus, my life, my nourishment,
the help of my soul, my sweetness and consolation, where now is the promise
of Thine angel, when he said to me, that I should become Thy Mother without
woe, full of grace, blessed above the rest of women? Of a truth I seem to
be the most unhappy of all women, whom the world containeth; a Mother above
all mothers that have been ever found, full of most bitter sorrow. My affliction
is indeed exceeding great, my heart overfloweth with bitterness, my spirit
fainteth for anguish, and my sorrow is above woman's sorrow.
These and such like words did Christ's blessed Mother pour forth all that
night long, and wore herself away in tears, and sighs, and tender complaints,
and lamentations. And just as all that night Christ was never without the
cross, so was His sweet Mother never for one moment free from fearful sorrow.
O Mary, most faithful Mother, with what courage didst thou then follow thy
Son? How hath that love, which by its fire had urged thy Son, to hasten of
His own accord to the place, where the cup of bitterness was waiting for
Him, moved thee too, to hasten where the sword of grief hung ready sharpened
to pierce through thy Virgin heart into the inmost recesses of thy soul?
O glorious Queen of heaven! how sadly wert thou led along the way by thy
friends! How didst thou move them all to tears by that sad voice of thine!
Who can conceive how sorrowful was this thy journey? For the nearer thou
camest to the city, the deeper wert thou plunged in thy grief. Nor can we
doubt, that so long didst thou continue on the way, until thou camest into
the presence of thy Son, either as He was being led to Herod, or as He was
being brought back from Herod to Pilate, or as Pilate was bringing Him forth
to the people, saying: "Behold the Man." Who can understand the sorrow that
seized thee, when thou sawest that same only Son of thine, so cruelly bound,
so wickedly disfigured by blows, and spittle, and blood, that almost He seemed
to have lost the form of man? Indeed, it is wholly probable, that our loving
Lord looked at His sweet Mother as calmly as He could, and spoke by loving
look what He could not say in words. But, O gentle Mother, how did thy heart
then melt away within thee, like wax in the heat of the fire? How wert thou
then utterly dissolved in tears? Yet, as these things are not found in the
Evangelists, it is not expedient for many to dwell upon them. But the things
that here have been written, have been written to excite in us devotion and
compassion for the Blessed Virgin. For the rest, each one can and ought to
meditate upon them still more thoroughly, and more deeply, in his own heart.
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