THE FORTY-SECOND CHAPTER

To stir up the soul to praise God

Nowen, O my soul, and as many as have been redeemed by the precious Blood of Christ, come, and with inward compassion and fervent devotion, let us go up to the blessed palm-tree of the Cross, for it is all laden with the fairest fruit. Even as the busy bee, let us pass from wound to wound, for they are all full of honey. Let us search into and weigh with exceeding care-the sacred words of Christ, which He uttered on the Cross; for everything is medicinal and good which cometh from this blessed tree. All our salvation, all our health, all our life, all our glory, are centred in the Cross of our Lord and Saviour; and as the Apostle saith: "If we suffer with Him, we shall also reign with Him." And that we may not be found ungrateful for such immense benefits, let us stir up heaven and earth, and all things that in them are, and call them to our help, in order to praise and bless God, and give Him thanks. Let us invite them to come and gaze on this marvellous spectacle, and say: "Magnify our Lord with me, for He hath done wonderful things. Praise and bless the Lord with me, for His mercy over us is great." O ye angelic spirits, come up, I pray you, with me, to Mount Calvary, and behold your King Solomon on His throne, and with the diadem wherewith His Mother hath crowned Him. Let us weep before the Lord Who made us, Who is Himself the Lord our God. O all mortals, and as many as are members of Christ, behold, I beseech you, with tearful eyes, your Redeemer, Who hangeth on high. See if any sorrow can be compared with His sorrow. Acknowledge the cruelty of your sins, which required such satisfaction. Go to every part of Christ's Body, and ye will find nothing but wounds and blood. Cry to Him with mournful voice, and say: "O Jesus, our redemption, love, and desire, what mercy is this that hath overcome Thee, that Thou shouldst bear our sins, and suffer a cruel death, in order to snatch us from death, even death everlasting!"

And Thou, O God, the Father Almighty of heaven, look down from Thy high sanctuary on Thy innocent Son Joseph, sold, and wrongfully betrayed into the hands of blood-thirsty men, and given over to a shameful death. See whether this be Thy Son's garment or not. Of a truth, an evil beast hath devoured Him. The blood of our sins is sprinkled over His garments, and all the coverings of His good name and reputation are defiled thereby. See how Thy holy Child hath been condemned with the wicked, how Thy Royal Son hath been crowned with thorns. Behold His guiltless hands, which have known no sin, dropping with blood; His sacred feet, which have never turned from the path of justice, pierced with a cruel nail; His naked and helpless side transfixed by a sharp lance; His fair face, on which the angels desire to look, all utterly debased and devoid of all beauty; His blessed Heart, which no stain of unclean thought hath ever touched, pressed down by inward woe. Behold, O loving Father, Thy sweet Son, all stretched out on the harp of the Cross, and harping blessings on Thee with all His members. Wherefore, I earnestly beseech Thee, O my God, to pardon me, for the sake of the Passion of Thy Son; whatever sin I may have committed in my members. Look, O merciful Father, on Thy only-begotten Son, that, Thou mayest have pity on Thy servant: As often as that red Blood of; Thy Son speaketh in Thy sight, so often do Thou wash me from every stain of sin; and as many times as Thou patiently beholdest the wounds of this Thy Son, so many times open to me the bosom of Thy fatherly mercy. Behold now, O tender Father, how Thy most obedient Son crieth not out: "Bind my hands and my feet, lest I should rebel against Thee;" but how of His own free will He stretcheth out His hands and His feet, and gladly suffereth them to be pierced with nails. Look down, I pray Thee, not on the brazen serpent hanging upon a pole for Israel's salvation, but Thy only Son, hanging on the Cross for the salvation of all mankind. It is no longer Moses, who stretcheth forth his hands to heaven, that the thunder, and the lightning, and the other plagues of Egypt may cease, but it is Thy beloved Son, Who lovingly stretcheth forth His bleeding arms to Thee, that Thine anger may depart from the whole race of man. No longer do Aaron and Hur hold up the hands of Moses, that he may pray more perseveringly for Israel; but rough, rude nails have fastened the hands and feet of Thy only-begotten Son to the Cross, that He may wait with long-suffering for our penance, and that He may take us back into His grace, and that He may not in His anger turn Himself away from our prayers. This, indeed, is that faithful David, who now tighteneth the harp strings of His Body, and maketh sweet melody before Thee, singing to Thee the sweetest song that hath been ever sung to Thee: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." This is that High-Priest, Who by His own Blood bath entered into the Holy of Holies, to offer Himself a peace-offering for the sins of the whole world. This is that guiltless Lamb, Who hath washed us in His own precious Blood, Who never knew sin, but Who hath taken away all the sins of the world.

From the treasury, then, of this Passion, I borrow the price of my debt, and all its merits I count out before Thee in payment of what I owe. For all that He hath done, He hath done in my nature, and for my sake. O gracious Father, if Thou weighest all my sins on one side of the balance, and placest in the other the Passion of Thy Son, the latter will outweigh the former. For what sin can be so great that the guiltless Blood of Thy Son lath not washed away? What pride, or disobedience, or lust, is so unbridled and lifted up, that such lowliness, obedience and poverty cannot do away with? O, merciful Father, accept the actions of Thy beloved Son, and pardon the wanderings of Thy wicked servant; for the innocent Blood of our Brother Abel crieth to Thee from the Cross, not for vengeance, but for grace and mercy, saying: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

THE FORTY-THIRD CHAPTER

Jesus saveth the thief

Nowe thieves which were crucified together with Jesus, these also uttered blasphemies against Him. But after a little, he who hung on Christ's right hand, when he saw His great patience and long-suffering, with which He so lovingly prayed to His Father for them who heaped such shame upon Him, and fearfully tormented Him, became utterly changed, and began to be moved by exceeding sorrow and repentance for his sins. And this he showed outwardly, reproving by his words his fellow-thief, who still continued to blaspheme, and saying: "Dost not thou fear God, seeing that thou, too, art near to death?"

"Although from obstinate confidence thou fearest not men, and thinkest nothing of thy bodily pains, yet surely thou must fear God, and this, too, at the last moment of thy life, for He hath power to destroy both thy body and soul in the hell of fire. And although we suffer like punishment with Him, yet far different are our merits. We, indeed, suffer justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds; but this Man hath done no evil." He, then, who but just now was a blasphemer, is now a confessor and a preacher, distinguishing good from evil, blaming the sinner, and making excuse for the innocent one; he who a little before was an unbelieving thief, is now the confessor of God Almighty. O good Jesus, this is the sudden change of Thy Right Hand, at which he hung. Thy Right Hand touched him inwardly, and straightway he is changed into another man. In this, O Lord, Thou hast declared Thy patience, for out of a stone Thou hast raised up a child unto Abraham. Of a truth, the good thief received the light of faith from no other source than from that bright light on the candlestick of the Cross, which, shining there in darkness, dispersed the darkness of night. But what doth this mean, except that our Lord Jesus, out of His immense goodness alone, looked with the eyes of His mercy upon him, although He found no merit in him, save what it pleased Him in His goodness to give? For even as God out of His goodness alone giveth unto His elect what none hath a right to claim, so He bestoweth on the wicked what is due to them from the equity of justice. Wherefore David also saith: "He saved me, because He desired me." And this was why that thief, before our Lord touched his heart with the rays of His grace and love, blasphemed Christ along with the other thief, thus proving in truth what first of all he did of himself, and then what was afterwards worked in him by grace. At first, indeed, he did as the other, for he, too, was a child of wrath; but when Christ's precious Blood, the price of our redemption, was poured forth, and paid to the Father in payment of our debt, then at that happy moment he asked of God an alms for his own good, and no sooner asked than received it. For how doth one alms lessen that measureless treasure! Or how could our tender Lord, Whose property it is to have mercy, have refused it him? Indeed, He gave more than that thief asked for. Yet how could that thief avoid the intense heat of the burning fire which was so near him! Of a truth, this was the fire, which had been sent down by the Father from heaven upon earth, which for long indeed had smouldered, but which now, kindled afresh, and fed by the wood of the cross, and sprinkled with the oil of mercy, and blown into a blaze by the breath, as it were, of the reproaches and blasphemies of the Jews, threw up its flames to heaven, whereby that thief was wholly kindled and set on fire, and his love became strong as death, so that he said: "I, indeed, suffer no grievous punishment, for I more than deserve it; but that this innocent one, who hath no sin in Him, should be so tormented, contrary to what is just and good, this, of a truth, addeth grievous sorrow to my sorrow." O admirable faith of this thief! He despised all the punishment that could be inflicted on him; he feared not the fury of the people, who, like mad dogs, were barking out their rage against Jesus; he heeded not the chief priests; he dreaded not all the executioners with their divers kinds of torments and weapons; but before them all, with a heart that knew no fear, he confessed Christ to be the true Son of God, and the Lord of the whole universe; and, at the same time, he confounded the Jews, by confessing that our Lord had done no evil, and that therefore they had wrongfully crucified Him. O wonderful faith! O mighty constancy! O incomprehensible love of this poor thief, that cast out all fear from him. He had, indeed, well drunk, and was drunken with that new wine, which in the wine-press of the Cross had been pressed out of that sweet grape-cluster, Christ Jesus, and therefore without shame he confessed Christ before all the people. From the very beginning of the Passion the apostles and disciples had all fled away, and forsaken Christ: S. Peter himself, terrified at the voice of one woman-servant, had denied Christ, yet not even in death did this poor thief forsake our Lord, but confessed Him before all those armed men to be the Lord of heaven. Who can worthily celebrate the virtues of this man? Who can tell of them? Who hath taught him so quickly that faith of his, and the clear knowledge of all virtues, except the very Wisdom of the Father, Christ Jesus, Who hung near him on the Cross? Him Whom, even from the promises made to the patriarchs, and from the confirmed oracles of the prophets, and from the teaching of the scriptures, and from the interpretation of figures, the Jews could not, or would not know, this poor thief learnt to know by penance. He confessed Christ to be the Son of God, although he saw Him before him full of wretchedness, and want, and torments, and dying of human weakness; and he confessed Him at a time when the apostles, who had seen His signs, and wonders, and marvellous miracles, denied Him. The nails were then holding his hands and feet immoveable upon the cross, nor had he anything free about him, except his heart and tongue; yet he offered to God all that he could freely give Him, so that, in the words of Scripture, "with his heart he believed unto justice, and with his mouth confessed Christ unto salvation." O utterly infinite and unsearchable mercy of God! what kind of man was he when he was driven to the cross, and what when he left it? Not that we should ascribe this change to his own cross, but to the goodness and power of Christ crucified. He came to the cross polluted with another's blood; he was taken down from it cleansed by the Blood of Christ. He came to the Cross still cruel-hearted and full of anger, and upon the Cross he became so meek of heart and compassionate, that he bewailed the sufferings of others more than his own. One member alone was left to him, and he came at the last hour to work in God's vineyard, yet so zealously did he labour that he had finished his work before the others, and first of all received his reward. He acted, indeed, like a just man, for, first of all, he accused himself and confessed his sins, saying: "And we, indeed, justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds." Secondly, he made excuse for Christ, and confessed Him to be the Just One, when he said: "But this Man, what evil hath He done?" Thirdly, he showed forth brotherly love, for he said: "Dost not thou fear God?" Fourthly, with all his members, – at least, with all he could offer, – and with a look of love, and a devout heart, and a lowly spirit, he turned to Christ, and fervently prayed: "Lord, remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom." By this prayer he proclaimed Christ to be the Lord of heaven, and therefore Very God, for heaven is God's alone. He beheld nothing in Christ, save poverty, pain, and blood, with death coming over Him, none of which signs, speak in any way of the Lord God, but quite the contrary; yet he said firmly: "Lord, remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdom." Great, then, was the justice, and humility, and resignation which he showed forth in this prayer, since he asked only for a little remembrance of himself, acknowledging himself unworthy to ask anything great. Nor did he pray for the salvation of his body, for he gladly desired to die for his sins; and it was more pleasant for him to die with Christ, than to live any longer. Nor did he pray to be preserved by our Lord from the pains of hell or of purgatory, nor did he ask for the kingdom of heaven, but he resigned himself utterly to God's will, and offered himself all to Christ, to do with him what He would. Nothing, then, save grace and mercy, did he pray for in his humility, even as David prayed; saying: "Deal with Thy servant according to Thy mercy." Wherefore, because he had humbly and wisely prayed, the Eternal Wisdom, that readeth the hearts of them who pray, heard his prayer, and opening wide the rich treasures of His grace, bestowed upon him far more than he had dared to ask.

O incomprehensible goodness of God! how clearly dost Thou declare by this that Thou desirest not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn to Thee, and live. Thou hast shown forth by this, and fulfilled what of old Thou didst promise by the mouth of Thy Prophet; saying: "In the hour whensoever the sinful man shall mourn for his sins, I will remember his iniquity no more." Not many years of severe penance didst Thou impose upon him, not many pains of purgatory for the expiation and satisfaction of his sins; but as if Thou hadst utterly forgotten his evil deeds, and couldst see nothing but virtue in him, Thou saidst to him: "To-day thou shalt be with Me in paradise." O immense mercy of God! our tender Lord in His pity forgot all the evil deeds which had been so numberless in that poor thief, and pardoned him when he repented, while to the good in him, which was small indeed, He gave so noble and magnificent a reward.

Exceeding rich is our loving God, nor doth He stand in need of our goods; but He seeketh for a heart which turneth to Him with lowliness and resignation, such as He found in this poor thief. For He saith Himself: "Be ye turned unto Me, and I will turn unto you." When, therefore, this thief so bravely and efficaciously turned himself to God, straightway his prayer was not only received, but heard. For our Lord rejected not his prayer, nor said: "See how I hang here in grievous pain, and I behold before My eyes My Mother in sore affliction, standing in the midst of this great agony, to whom as yet I have not spoken one word, so that to hear thee now would not be just." Nothing like this, I say, did our Lord speak to the thief; nay, rather, He heard his prayer at once, and spoke in answer that sweet word: "Amen, I say to thee, this day thou shalt be with Me in paradise." O tender goodness, O incomprehensible mercy of God! O great prudence of the thief! He saw that the treasures of his Lord lay open wide, and were scattered about on all sides. Who then should forbid him to take as much as would pay his Lord's debt? And O, the damnable hardness of the wicked thief, whom neither the reproof of his fellow, nor the patience of Christ, nor so many signs of love and mercy that shone forth in Christ, could soften and convert! He saw, indeed, that alms abounded at the rich man's gate, that more was given than asked for, yet was he too proud and obstinate to wish to ask. He saw that life was given, that the kingdom of heaven was being bestowed, yet would he not bend his heart to desire them, therefore he shall not have them. He preferred blasphemies and curses, and they shall come upon him, and that for ever and ever.

These new first-fruits of the grape, which our Lord Jesus obtained on the wood of the Cross, from our unfruitful soil, after much sweat of His brow and abundant watering of His own precious Blood, He sent to His heavenly Father with great joy, as a precious gift, by the heavenly messengers, the holy angels. But if there is joy amongst the angels of God over one sinner doing penance, what will be the joy amongst them, what the exultation, at the salvation of this thief, of whom they had almost lost hope, and thought that he had perished? With what joy, let us imagine, did the Father of heaven receive these first-fruits of the harvest of His Son's Passion? But to Christ Himself, although He, too, was able to get some joy at this conversion, there came therefrom still greater affliction, for by His Divine wisdom He easily foresaw that this thief would be to many the cause of damnation; to those, namely, who make up their mind to pass their whole life in sin, hoping, nevertheless, to obtain forgiveness and grace at the moment of death; a most foolish thing indeed, for never do we read in the Scripture that it hath happened thus to any man. Truly, they who have sought after God only when compelled by necessity, will not, it is to be feared, find Him at hand in their hour of need.

Meanwhile, no man can trust in God too much; nor hath any man ever been forsaken by Him, who turned to Him with his whole heart, and leant upon Him with loving trust.

Jesus addresseth His sorrow-stricken Mother       

There stood also by the Cross of Jesus His most holy and ever-Virgin Mother Mary, not, indeed, that His pains might be lightened and moderated thereby, but that they might be increased in no small measure. For if any creature could have brought comfort to our Lord as He hung upon the Cross, none would have been so fitted for this as His most blessed Mother. But because it had been decreed that Christ should die the bitterest of deaths, and close His Passion without any consolation or relief, but with true resignation, His Mother's presence brought no comfort with it, but rather added to His pain, for her pains were thereby joined to His, and thus He drew therefrom still more abundant matter for cruel suffering.

Who then, O good Jesus, can find out by meditation how great was Thy inward grief, when, for Thou knowest the hearts of all, Thou sawest all the bowels and members of Thy holy Mother racked by inward compassion in like manner with Thee upon the Cross, and fastened thereto by nails, and her tender Heart, and true Mother's breast, pierced with the sword of sharp sorrow, her face deadly pale, while it told of all the anguish of her soul, and herself well nigh dead, without being able to die. When Thou sawest her burning tears, flowing down abundantly like sweet rivers upon her gracious cheeks, over her whole face, as so many witnesses to Thee that she shared in Thy sorrow and love; when Thou heardest, too, her pitiable groans, pressed out from her under her weight of woe; when, moreover, Thou beheldest that same tender Mother, wholly melted away by the heat of love, utterly dissolved in tears, her strength utterly failing her, exhausted and worn by the torment of Thy Passion, which wasted her away; Oh! of a truth, all this was a new affliction to Thee on Thy Cross, and itself a new cross. For Thou alone, by the lance of Thy compassion, hast searched into the weight and grievousness of her woes, which to all men are simply beyond all understanding. And this, indeed, greatly added to the pain of Thy Passion, because not only in Thy Body, but also in Thy Mother's Heart Thou wert crucified, for her cross was Thy Cross, and Thine was hers.

Oh! how bitter, sweet Jesus, was Thy Passion! Thy outward pain was indeed great, but far more grievous was Thy inward pain, which Thy Heart conceived at Thy Mother's anguish and distress. Now it was, it is clear, that the sword of sorrow pierced her through and through, for the Queen of martyrs was fearfully and mortally wounded in that part which is impassible, that is, in her soul; and she bore the death of the Cross in that which could not die, suffering all the more her grievous inward death, as outward death departed farther from her. Who, O most loving Mother, can tell, or worthily conceive in mind, the immense sorrows of thy soul, or thy inward woe? For Him Whom without pain thou broughtest forth, as the blessed Mother, free from the curse of our first mother Eve, and who, instead of the pains of troublesome labour, wert filled with jubilee of spirit, and who for thy refreshment didst catch with thine ears the sweet melody of the angels, as they praised thy Son, even Him hast thou now seen killed before thine eyes with such exceeding cruelty and tyranny. How manifold was that sorrow of thine, which at His birth thou didst happily escape, when thou sawest thy blessed and only Son hanging in such fearful pain upon the Cross, before that cruel and raging crowd, who heaped upon Him all the insults, and afflictions, and shame that they could think of in their minds; when thou sawest Him Whom thou didst carry in thy chaste womb without any burden, so inhumanly stretched upon the Cross, and pierced with nails; when thou sawest His sacred arms, with which He had so often lovingly clasped thee, stretched out so that they could not move, covered all over with red Blood, His adorable Head also pierced with sharp thorns, and His whole Body but one streaming wound; and all the while it was not given to thee to wipe those wounds of His, or anoint them. What must have been thy sorrow, when thou sawest Him, Whom, times without number, thou hadst laid on thy virgin bosom, that He might take His rest, now without even the smallest thing on which to lean His sacred Head; and Him Whom thou hadst fostered with the milk of thy holy breasts, now tormented with vinegar and gall. Oh! how that Mother's heart of thine was pressed in the press of the Passion, when thou beheldest with thy chaste eyes His fair face so pitiably disfigured, so that there was no beauty therein, and nothing whereby He could be distinguished. How did the wave of affliction, O sweet Mother, beat against, and flow over thy soul, yea, and utterly overwhelm it! Of a truth, if even a devout man cannot, without unutterable sorrow and compassion, turn over in his mind the Passion of thy Son, what must have been thy cross, thy affliction, who wast His Mother, and sawest it with thine own eyes? If, to many of the friends of God, and to many who love God, thy Son's Passion is as great a pain as if they themselves suffered it; and if these, by inward compassion, are crucified with thy Son, how fearfully, even unto death, must thou have been inwardly crucified, when not only thou didst weigh with thyself and search into thy Son's outward and inward pains in thy most devout heart, but didst see them even with thy bodily eyes? For what is any man's love for thy Son compared with thy love? Never did any mother so love her child as thou didst love thy Son. And if S. Paul, who loved so much, could say out of his burning love and deep compassion for thy Son: "I am fastened with Christ upon the Cross, and I bear about the marks of the Lord Jesus in my body," how much more wert thou crucified together with Him, and didst inwardly receive all His wounds, being made, in some sort of way, an image and likeness of thy Crucified Son?

If, moreover, they who fervently love God, so earnestly seek and thirst after His glory, that as often as they perceive that God is offended, or any wrong is done Him, they are afflicted with as great inward grief, and are tormented with as great pain, as if they themselves had received some deadly wound; how exceedingly then must thou, the most faithful of all mothers, and who lovedst God most fervently, have been afflicted, when thou sawest thy dearest and only Son, nay, thy God and Lord, so shamefully blasphemed, despised, and mocked? If, lastly, those Jewish deceivers and hypocrites, when they heard any blasphemy, rent their garments, as if in proof of their sorrow, how must thy tender heart have been rent for sorrow, when thou both sawest and heardest all those accursed and horrible wrongs, and reproaches, and blasphemies darted forth against thy Son? For thus saith the Lord: "Rend your hearts, and not your garments." And, indeed, on this very day, thy brave heart was pierced, not once only, but more than a hundred times. For no trouble came upon thy Son in thy sight, which did not pierce thy heart.

And how couldst thou stand? For the Evangelist saith: "There stood by the Cross of Jesus His Mother." Whence came thy strength? Of a certainty, thy body was not of steel or stone, that this day thou couldst be pierced so many times by the sword of sorrow, and crucified so many times, and wounded together with thy Son, nevertheless thou didst stand there firm both in body and soul. Peradventure those strong and rough nails held thee also fast upon the Cross of thy Son, so that thou couldst not fall. But far more strongly did thy mighty love, love stronger than death itself, bear thee up, so that thou couldst not fall. Thou stoodest, therefore, the immoveable column of the faith, the lioness that hath never been conquered, and that feareth no attack or threat when her little ones have been taken from her. Thou hadst no fear for the fury of the Jews, the neighing of the horses, the noise of arms, for thou wert ready to die with thy Son. Nor couldst thou deny Him, as Peter had done, or fly, like the other apostles, or doubt, like the disciples, or suffer any scandal, like not a few, for well thou knewest Whom thou hadst conceived, and brought forth, and how.

Therefore thou stoodest by His Cross, and didst adore His Godhead in spirit. Truly thou stoodest like some strong tower, in which the king, who had set forth on a long journey, had hidden the precious treasure of faith. Thou stoodest, I say, by the tree of the Cross, in order to cooperate by thy bitter pain in man's redemption, by looking on the fruit of life; even as of old Eve had brought death on man, by standing with pleasure by the tree, and looking at its fruit of death. And, because all grief and compassion that spring from love are great according to the measure of love, therefore, because thy love was beyond all measure, thy grief was utterly measureless. And because thou knewest Jesus, thy beloved Son, to be the true Son of God, thy love for His Godhead, and thy love for His Manhood, like two mighty rocks, pressed together thy heart between them, and straitened it in mortal agony, when thou sawest Jesus, the Son of God, Whom thou hadst conceived in thy chaste womb, treated so horribly and shamefully in His Human nature, and so cruelly put to death. Of a truth, these were the two sharp swords that cruelly pierced thy soul with all affliction and grief. For, as a bride full of burning love, thou hadst bitter grief for the grievous contempt and wrong which thou sawest inflicted on thy Bridegroom, even thy God and Lord; and, as a faithful and true Mother, thou didst sorrow exceedingly, in like manner, for the horrible pains and most shameful death which thou beheldest thy sweet Son undergo. Moreover, because the Passion of this thy Son was so exceeding great, that according to the rigour of justice it might outweigh by its own weight all the sins of the world, which are numberless and boundless, therefore was thy suffering also measureless and boundless; and because thy sorrow corresponded with His torments, on that account was thy cross and affliction beyond all comprehension and measure, and thy merits limitless. Again, as it had been decreed by God that the most blessed Virgin Mary was to stand between God and sinful man as a reconciler, for this very reason He Himself permitted her to suffer a great sickness and sorrow of soul, that the merits of her affliction might be as great as those of one who stood between God and man ought to be, and that they might suffice for all men, who might thus draw help from the measureless treasury of her merits. It was fitting, too, that this same holy Virgin, our Lady, whom God Almighty wished to be the Mother of the children of grace, should perform as sad funeral rites of her Son, as all the children of grace taken together could possibly, or ought rightly and deservedly to perform.

So great, then, was her cross, so mighty her affliction, that although she might have found some little comfort in her Son's Passion, in order to relieve her sorrow, yet was this straightway swallowed up by the force of the flood of bitterness, even as a drop of sweet wine would be lost in the salt sea. Here, then, were to be seen two altars, made ready for the Father of heaven; one in the Body of Christ, the other the Heart of the Virgin Mother. Christ, indeed, offered His Flesh and Blood, Mary her soul. And, of a surety, that sweet Mother desired to mingle her blood with that of her Son, so that, together with Him, the work of man's redemption might be accomplished. But it was the privilege of the High Priest alone, to enter with blood into the Holy of holies. Wherefore, although the Blessed Virgin could not accomplish her sacrifice by shedding her blood outwardly for God, nevertheless inwardly she burnt and consumed all in the glowing fire of love and sorrow. And, of a truth, she did offer to God a pleasing sacrifice, even as the Prophet saith, "a broken heart, and afflicted spirit," or, as the text hath it, "a troubled spirit;" and in place of blood she shed forth tears, and her sighs were borne, like clouds of sweet incense, up to heaven. In this way she performed and offered her sacrifice for all the children of grace, whose Mother she was, and she, too, was heard for her reverence.

Now then, O my soul, and as many as desire to be the children of grace, look up to Christ your Father in His bitter agony, and see how by His Death He hath recalled you to life, and, like the faithful pelican, hath quickened and nourished you, His little ones, with His own Blood. Look, too, on your sorrow-stricken Mother Mary, who suffereth new pains of labour by reason of you, in order that you may be made the children of grace. Through your Father you have life, through your Mother grace is given you. Have compassion, therefore, on your parents, whom you see labouring in such anxious pain for your salvation, if, indeed, you are the children of grace. Oh! how often did that most sad Mother lift up her eyes to gaze upon the disfigured Body of her Son, and yet was forced to cast them down, pouring forth bitter tears. She saw His wounded Body, and yet she could not anoint it; she saw the fearful Blood-shedding, yet it was not given to her to wipe it away; she saw His members cruelly extended, yet she could not loosen or relieve them. She beheld Him clad in His purple robe, with which she had not clothed Him; and the garment which He had received from her, all torn, and tattered, and worn. She saw Him bow down His Sacred Head to die, and all His members sighing for death, and this was the only relief and lightening of those her pains, whereby her tender heart was pressed out like a grape, so that she could truly say with her Son: "My soul is sorrowful even unto death."

Now when her sweet Son saw these things, Who hitherto had contained Himself, in order that her mighty faith, and her great faithfulness, and her unconquered patience, and her glorious passion, and, above all, her boundless love that could not be restrained, and lest the glory of her cross might be lessened, could now no longer contain Himself, but with tender and comforting voice addressed her, saying: "Woman, behold thy Son!" as if He would say: "Sweetest, dearest, most faithful Mother, I know thy sorrow and woe; I know how much thou sufferest for the love of Me: I perceive the anguish of thy devoted heart, when thou beholdest Me, thy beloved Son, in such exceeding pain, and when thou art so pitiably deprived of thy dear Child, in Whom is all thy hope and consolation. But what comfort can I give thee, sweetest and most faithful Mother? My Passion must needs be finished, and I must die; now hath the hour come that I should go to Him Who sent Me. Wherefore I leave to thee My best loved disciple to be thy son in the place of Me, to console thee, and guard thee, and to care for thee, and that, as a dutiful son, he may be subject and obedient to thee, his Mother." But how, think you, did these words of our Lord Jesus pierce His sad Mother's tender heart, when she heard that she was thus left utterly destitute; that for the Son of God there was given her a child of man; for her Creator, a creature; for her Master, the disciple; for tier Lord, a servant? How did her great love for our Lord then melt her utterly away, when she thought with herself of all His anxious care for her, and that He was more afflicted by compassion at His Mother's sorrow than at His own Passion! For now death stood at His door, yet still He thought about His Mother. Devouring death had already well nigh stiffened all His members, yet once more they grew warm again from love, and were moved to compassion. He put forth all the strength still left Him to console her, as if He had forgotten all His own woe, and was tormented by His Mother's grief alone. Then, as well as He could, He turned all His members to comfort her. First, indeed, He bowed His Head, as if to bid the last farewell, and to ask her leave to depart from life. Then He lovingly turned to her His eyes red with Blood, and still wet with warm tears. Lastly, He opened His lips, that were already growing pale with death, and said: "Woman, not My Mother only, but woman, in the widest sense, by reason of thy great fruitfulness" – even as of old God had said to Abraham's wife that she should be called no more Sarai, but Sara, "for I have made thee the mother of many nations." "Woman, behold thy Son. Here is John, who will be thy son, whose name, being interpreted, is grace. And I have granted thee this privilege, that thou mayest be the mother of grace for evermore, by reason of the exceeding great merits of thy sorrow, nor shall thy breasts be ever without the milk of grace, whereby thou mayest foster and nourish all and each who press them by devout prayer. Wherefore, O most fruitful Woman, behold thy Son, and weep no more, for thou art no withered tree, no forsaken and barren mother without children. Rejoice, rather, for thou art the most fruitful of all mothers that have ever been, and blessed above all women. By these pains of labour which now thou sufferest, thou wilt bring forth children without number, and thou shalt be the mother of all, who by My grace shall believe in Me. All these, as thy own children, shalt thou foster and guard in the bosom of thy maternal grace, giving them to drink of the milk of thy chaste breasts, because thou thyself hast found grace before God. All who thirst shall run to thee, and say: `Show thyself to be our mother.' Wherefore, Woman, behold! not one Son alone, but many sons; and now forget thy grief. Let this comfort thee, and lighten and lessen thy labour."

O Mary, Mother of grace, Mother of mercy, strengthen us in all virtue, preserve us from all evil, and protect us from all the enemies of our souls.

Then our Lord said to His disciple: “Behold thy Mother!” Now this was said not to John alone, but to all converted sinners, for whom grace is all necessary, and who, without grace, die like infants without milk. For no man can persevere or make progress without the nourishment of grace. O Mary! true mother of grace and of mercy, to whom hast thou ever closed the bosom of thy grace? From whom hast thou ever withdrawn the breasts of thy tenderness? Let him keep silent in thy praise, who complaineth that he hath suffered repulse from thee, or hath been defrauded of grace. We praise virginity, we marvel at humility, we extol justice; but mercy is dearer to them who are in misery, and mercy we embrace with greater love, and remember more often, and more frequently invoke.

Wherefore, as many of us as are in need of grace, let us stand by the Cross, and with Mary let us be crucified inwardly by compassion. Of a truth, our tender Lord, Who hath spent His whole self and all that He hath, will not suffer us to go away from the Cross without comfort and reward. And although He is overwhelmed in pain, yet He will have care of us. Although He goeth now to the Father, He will not leave us orphans; but He will commend us to His own Father, and will send us another Comforter, His own Holy Spirit. Moreover, He will give us His own spotless, Virgin Mother, saying: "Behold your Mother!" How sweet, how full of comfort is this word to all who are weak, that they should have so faithful, so kind, so merciful a mother, who learnt compassion from what she herself suffered? Of a truth, she filled up in herself what was wanting, and belonging to Christ's Passion, that by her merits she might bring help to all men. But oh! how small is our hope and trust in God! We have the Father of mercy for our Father, waiting for us with open bosom, that He may make us joint-heirs with His Son on high in the kingdom of heaven. The Son also is our Advocate, Who by His own labour and pain leadeth us back into the Father's grace. We have the Holy Ghost for our Comforter in this valley of tears, that we may not be cast down in heart, or broken down from weariness. Moreover, we have received for our food Christ's adorable Body and precious Blood, lest we faint by the way, and as a pledge of bliss to come, lest we should doubt or be overcome by despair. Lastly, Mary standeth between us and God to reconcile us to Him, and to renew our peace. And what cannot such a Mother obtain from her Son? What more comforting word could Christ have spoken to us than this word: "Behold thy Mother!" Behold your Mother full of mercy, who will ever receive you as her children, full, also, of grace, who will feed and nourish you to the full.

THE FORTY-FIFTH CHAPTER.

The Sun is darkened.

Nowom the sixth hour there was darkness over the whole earth until the ninth hour, which with us is the twelfth hour, when the sun is highest. But now the sun hath withdrawn his light, and hath put upon him his mourning garment, in order to show, as best he could, his sorrow and compassion for his Maker, Who was at that moment girt about with such anguish and torments; as if the Father, Whose nature cannot suffer, nor have sorrow, nor weep, had given command to His creature to mourn in His stead, and to perform the funeral offices of His Son, and to be the companion of the spotless Virgin in her sorrow, who then alone wept for Christ's Passion. Peradventure, she was even then complaining gently to the Father in this wise: "O most loving Father, am I alone His Mother? Art not Thou the Eternal Father of Thy Son, Who hangeth here in such pitiable affliction? Why dost Thou suffer me to weep alone, and to suffer this intolerable sorrow, which, of a certainty, is not due to me alone? Hast not Thou long before borne witness, that this is Thy beloved Son, in Whom Thou art well pleased? Where are now the signs of Thy love to Him? He hangeth here, not as the Son of God, not as the Son of the King, not as the friend of God, not even as some poor servant of God, but as a transgressor, guilty of death, forsaken, and humbled by God. Hast Thou, then, forsaken Him Whom the disciples have forsaken? What hath He done against Thee, that Thou shouldst deliver Him to His enemies? Is it because Thou art the Lord Almighty, and heedest nothing, that Thou art touched by no pity for Him in His affliction? Because Thou art a spirit, canst Thou not feel? Because Thou dwellest in heaven, hast Thou no concern for what is done on earth? Because Thou art in glory, dost Thou not behold and regard the contempt, and the wrong, and the reproach, and the affliction, and the dreadful death of Thy only-begotten Son? Dost Thou not see, O most just Judge, how the malice of the Jews rageth madly against Thy beloved Son, Who suffereth Himself, like an innocent lamb, to be torn, and wounded, and crucified, and slain, and His precious Blood to be poured out like water? Vouchsafe, O loving Father, to be touched with pity and compassion for this Thy wretched Son, for Thy nature is goodness, and Thy property is ever to have mercy, above all, on those who are wretched, and oppressed, and who suffer wrong. Come, too, and help His sorrowing Mother, whom Thou seest in such agony, and alone with Thy Son treading His wine-press!"

Now to these complaints of Christ's tender Mother, we may imagine the Father of heaven to have made answer in this or in like manner: "Make no complaint to Me, O My chosen daughter, that for a little while I have forsaken thee; for this I have done out of My goodness, for the increase of thy glory and merits, that thy affliction may be in harmony with My Son's Passion, which He, with perfect resignation, must undergo even to the end. Think not that thy prayers, and groans, and tears, have not come up before Me. Know by what is happening whether I have compassion for My own Son or no. For although no sorrow, no affliction, can fall upon My nature, yet I will do through My creatures what My Godhead cannot do. Lo! I will stir up and move the whole world to sorrow, and to weep bitter tears for My Son, so that all creatures shall celebrate with thee the funeral of My Beloved Son. For all this world was made by Me, and as many creatures as live thereon obey and serve Me. Only these hardened sinners oppose Me, for I, Myself, have given them the faculty of free will. Thou, therefore, O sun, withdraw thy pleasant splendour, make the whole world sad, and become the companion of the blessed Virgin Mother in weeping for My Son. Thou, also, O Earth, tremble with horror at such great wickedness and cruelty, and at the crimes of the evil-minded men whom thou bearest on thy shoulders; be horrified at the wrong and contempt inflicted upon Me. Marvel at My patience, loving-kindness, and longsuffering, that I suffer these things so long; shake with fear, and acknowledge thyself unworthy to drink in the precious Blood of My Son. And you, ye hard rocks, chastise and reprove the hardheartedness of the Jews, and of all sinners, whom these fearful torments of My Son cannot soften, nor move their hearts to know Him, and receive My grace. O most cruel death, thou devourer of life, that hast not spared even My only Son. This malice shall fall back on thine own head; thou shalt be caught in the net which thou hast stretched out for My only One: of a truth, thou shalt be slain by Him Whom thou hopedst to swallow up. Unjust and wicked are thy judgments. Thou hast devoured My Son along with the sinners of earth, because He wore a garment of earth, and the likeness of a sinner, although He was without sin. Therefore shall His innocent death fall back upon thee; thy strength shall be broken, and thou shalt be cast down from thy lordship, because thou hast abused it against right and reason. It is sin thou oughtest to correct, not to oppress the Just One. But thou hast smitten the just and good one along with the wicked. Thou hast a zeal, indeed, for justice, but not according to knowledge and right reason. The vengeance, therefore, which thou hast wrongfully taken on My Son, shall deliver the whole human race from the punishment it deserves. And that thou mayest know that thou art conquered, and that through life all thy former power hath been taken away from thee, and that all thy dominion hath fallen back into nothing, give up now the dead, whom hitherto, for so many ages, thou hast held captive. For My Son, by the arms and power of His Cross, hath gotten Himself the victory, and obtained possession of them, and hath acquired the right to set them free." Meanwhile, we may imagine what must have been this new sorrow of God's Mother, when she saw the elements and senseless creatures give forth such signs of sorrow and compassion for her Son. How did her still recent tears, that had sprung from her former consolation, now begin to flow afresh in sweet and abundant streams, when she found that she had now so many companions in her sorrow!

Now the sun hid the brightness of his light, because Christ, the true Sun of Justice, had set over the whole world, and was hidden in darkness, and because the light of faith had failed above measure, save in the Virgin Mother, and in the thief, who confessed our Lord. The sun was also darkened, because he could not bear to look on the bitter passion, and contempt, and shame, and wrong, which those savage men were inflicting on their Maker.

THE FORTY-SIXTH CHAPTER

"My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?"

About the ninth hour our Lord Jesus cried with a loud voice: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" He cried with a loud voice, that He might easily be heard by all, and, at the same time, by this wonderful word, might shake off the slumber of sloth from our souls, and cause them to marvel and be astonished at God's immense goodness towards us. He saith, therefore: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" Why? For the sake of vile sinners, for the sake of wicked and ungrateful servants, for the sake of sinful and disobedient prevaricators, Thou hast forsaken Thy Beloved Son, and most obedient Child. That the vessels of wrath, Thy enemies, might be changed into the children of adoption, Thou hast slain Thy own Son, and, as a sinner, hast delivered Him over to death. O My God, why, I pray Thee, hast Thou forsaken Me? For the very reason why men ought to praise and thank Thee, for the very reason why they ought to love Thee with everlasting love; because, namely, Thou hast delivered Thy dear Son to death for their redemption, and gladly sacrificed Him, for this reason will they draw matter for blasphemy and shameful reproach against Thee, saying: "He saith, He is the Son of God, and that He hoped in God. Let God deliver Him now if He will." Why, My God, hast Thou desired to spend so precious a treasure for such vile and adulterated merchandise?

Moreover, this word may be taken to mean that it was spoken by Christ against those who endeavour to lessen the glory of His Passion, by saying that it was not so bitter or terrible after all, because of the great help and support He derived from His Godhead. Now those who say and think this, let them know that they renew His Passion, and crucify Him afresh; and, therefore, to prove the error of these men, our Lord cried with a loud voice, and said: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" as if He said these words to His own divine nature, with which He formed one Person – and the Godhead of the Father and of the Son is one and the same – marvelling, Himself, at His own love, which had so cast Him down, and worn Him away, and humbled Him, and that He Who bringeth help to all men, should have forsaken Himself, and exposed Himself to every kind of pain, led to do this, and conquered by love alone.

Nor, again, should we be wrong, were we to interpret this word which Christ spoke out of the immensity and vehemence of His sorrow in this sense: namely, that this Spirit and inward man, taking upon itself God's severe judgment upon all sinners, and, at the same time, clearly seeing, and perfectly feeling and measuring in Himself the intolerable weight of His Passion, on this account cried out with sorrowful voice to His Father, and poured forth tender complaints, because He had been plunged into these horrible torments; as if His Father's goodness had become so embittered against the sins of men, that in the heat of justice He had utterly forgotten the inseparable union between His passible Humanity and His impassible Godhead, and therefore, in the fiery zeal of justice, had delivered His passible nature wholly up to the cruelty and malignity of savage men, and had given it over to them, that they might waste it away, and bring it down to nothing. For this reason, then, He said: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?"

This word hath, besides, an inward meaning; according to which Christ, in His sensitive parts, made complaint to His Father, that He had been forsaken by Him. For as many as contend for His honour, and bear in patience the adversities of this world, our tender God so moderateth and tempereth their crosses and afflictions by the inpouring of His Divine consolation, that by this sensible grace He rendereth their whole cross well nigh insensible: but He left His own Be loved Son utterly without any comfort, and so stripped Him of every consolation and light, that He suffered as much in His human nature, as the Eternal Wisdom had determined and decreed, according to the rigour of justice, and as much as was required, according to the same rigour, to atone for so many sins. And, indeed, our salvation was so much the more nobly and perfectly repaired, as it was accomplished and finished without any light whatsoever, in utter resignation and abandonment. For the chief cause of Christ's Passion was to show clearly how great was the wrong and contempt brought upon His most high Godhead by the sills of the human race. Now, as Christ's knowledge was higher and more subtle than that of all beings, whether in heaven or in earth together, so much the greater, therefore, and heavier, was His sorrow and anguish. Nay, – and this is the most marvellous of all – whatever afflictions have been experienced by all the saints, as Christ's members, existed in far greater abundance in Christ their Head, as in the source of all sorrow: but this, of course, I wish to be understood according to the spirit and according to reason. For all the saints that have ever been, have suffered no more than flowed in upon them through Christ united to them His members; Who communicated to them His own afflictions. Truly it was He Who suffered in them, rather than they themselves. For He drew upon Himself the affliction of all the saints, out of His great love for His members, and marvellous compassion, and He felt them with far more interior agony than any of the saints; nay, more than even the most blessed Virgin Mary, God's Mother, felt her own sharp sorrow and sickness of soul. For if an earthly father loveth his child so much, that in his fatherly compassion he taketh upon him his child's sorrows, so as to grieve for them as if he suffered them himself, what must have been Christ's Cross and Christ's compassion, at the affliction of His members, above all, of those who suffered for His Name's sake? Of a truth, He bore clear witness to His members, how much He suffered from their afflictions, how great was His inward compassion for their pains, when He took all their debt upon Him, and did away with all the punishments they had deserved, so that they might go free. The same is more than sufficiently borne out by the words He addressed to S. Paul, when He said: "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me?" For the persecution which Paul had stirred up against the disciples, that is, the members of our Lord, was no less grievous unto Him than if He had borne it Himself. Hence He saith to His friends and members: "He who toucheth you, is as one who toucheth the apple of My eye." For is there anything suffered by the members which the Head doth not suffer with them, Whose nature is goodness, and Whose property is to have mercy and to spare?

After our Lord, the Blessed Virgin Mary was of all the most desolate, because, above all others, He had given her a share of His own sorrow and abandonment, so that, so far as was possible, her cross might be conformed to His own Cross and affliction, and that, at the same time, she might feel as great woe for the Death of so great a Son, as was pleasing unto God, and as became so great a Mother. Most true, therefore, were the words which Isaias spake concerning her: "The Lord hath called thee a woman that is forsaken, and is in sorrow." Thus, too, our Lord's abandonment is spoken of in the person of Elias: "With zeal was I inflamed for the Lord God of Hosts, because the children of Israel have forsaken the covenant of the Lord. They have destroyed Thy altars, they have slain Thy prophets with the sword, and I, even I, am left alone, and behold they seek my life to take it away." Moreover, this word of Christ may be taken to express Christ's acknowledgment and confession of His own spotless innocence, and perfect justice, and also His wonder at the severe sentence of God His Father; so that, in the excess of His wonder, He broke out into that sad cry: "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" My God, Whose nature is goodness, and Whose property is to have mercy, and to help the oppressed and the innocent, why hast Thou suffered Me to waste away by a bitter death, giving Me over into the hands of My enemies, and delivering Me over to their cruel will, although never, even for one moment, I have departed from the path of Thy justice, but have most perfectly performed all virtues, in accordance with Thy Divine will; as if He had said: "I, indeed, find no cause in Me, nor do I acknowledge any fault, by reason of which Thou oughtest, even for a moment, to forsake Me, for I have ever worshipped Thee and adored Thee with due homage. Yet, if Thou wishest to glorify Thyself through Me, and to declare unto men Thy Fatherly goodness, Thy Divine mercy, and Thy immense love, by this Thy abandonment of Me, Thy will be done; into Thy hands I wholly commend Myself."

Lastly, we may suppose that this word expresseth the twofold nature of Christ's Humanity, and therefore our Lord said twice: "My God, My God," as if both His Manhood and His Godhead made complaint to God. First of all, indeed, His rational or inner nature cried out, both from the immensity of His anguish and from natural affection and love and compassion towards His sensitive part; "My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me, and left Me in such horrible pain and intolerable anguish, deprived of comfort and relief?" Then, too, in its turn, His sensitive nature cried out from the agony of these unutterable pains: "My God, why hast Thou left Me in such cruel torments? Why hast Thou cast off from Thee, as if in anger, Thy purest instrument, whereby Thou hast worked so pleasantly, and delightfully, and marvellously, and which was ever obedient to Thee in all things?" Of a truth, the greatness of Christ's inward and outward affliction no man hath ever known, save Christ Himself. Hence it is that no man knoweth how to compassionate Him. Yet He, besides all His own grievous torment, was compelled to feel and bear the sorrows and pains of all who suffer with Him. Now if many, not from grace but from nature, suffer not a few grievous things with a light heart, this is because they are hard as iron, and insensible, and therefore their hard and stony hearts are touched with no sorrow or compassion either for their own or others' afflictions. But Christ, because He was of all men the tenderest and most merciful, in nature, too, and character, and complexion, the gentlest and the noblest, had exceeding great compassion for Himself, for no one could measure or know the bitterness and weight of what He suffered, save Himself alone. Hence this twofold sorrow and pressure of Christ's Passion and compassion, like two sea-waves tempest-tossed, surging and striking one against the other, so beat against every part of Christ, inwardly and outwardly, and wore Him away, and racked and tortured Him, as to pass all understanding, and indeed, that this was so, He Himself declared at the very outset of His Passion, when the sensitive and rational parts of His nature, like two torrents, rushed one upon the other with mighty force, and so afflicted our Lord, that in His exceeding anguish His sweat was both of blood and water. For even as then His sensitive nature cried out from great compassion: "Father, if it be possible, let this chalice pass from Me;" so, too, now it saith: "My God, why last Thou forsaken Me?" And even as His rational nature added: "If this chalice cannot pass from Me, except I drink it, Thy will be done;" so, too, now it crieth out: "Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit." Now not a little weight was added to Christ's sorrows, because, even to His last breath, He had the sense of feeling in all His members, and this sense was alive and perfect; nor was it dulled or extinguished by any stupor; as may easily be seen from the fact that it was with a loud voice that He cried out, and gave up the ghost. And so, to the very last moment of His life, He suffered in like manner in all His members.

THE FORTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER

Jesus complaineth of His thirst

Our most tender Lord was so exhausted and dried up by the exceeding great bitterness of His pain and anguish, and by His immoderate blood-shedding, that He cried out: "I thirst." This is indeed a little word, but full of mysteries. First of all, it may be literally taken. For it is only natural, that all who are about to breathe their last should have thirst, and a desire to drink. But how great was the dryness felt by Him Who is the well-spring of living water, but Who was now exhausted and dried up by the heat of His burning love, when He could truly say: "Like water I am poured out;" and again, "My strength is dried up like a potsherd." For not only did He shed all His own Blood, and pour forth whatever He had of moisture by His tears, but the very marrow of His bones, and all His Heart's Blood, were consumed for our sakes by the heat and flame of His love. Rightly then, He said: "I thirst."

Secondly, this word can be spiritually understood, as if Christ said to all in general: "I thirst for your salvation." Hence Bernard saith: "`I thirst,' cried Christ, not `I grieve.' O Lord, what dost Thou thirst for? For your faith, your joy. I thirst because of the torments of your souls, far more than for those of My Body. Have pity, if not upon Me, at least upon yourselves." And again: "good Jesus, Thou wearest the crown of thorns: Thou art silent about Thy Cross and Thy Wounds, yet for thirst alone Thou criest out, ‘I thirst.’ What, then, dost Thou thirst for? Truly for the redemption of man alone, and for the joy of the human race." This thirst of Christ was a hundredfold more sharp and vehement than His natural thirst. He had, moreover, another kind of thirst, that is to say, of suffering more, and proving to us still more expressly and clearly His measureless love, as if He said to man: "See how I am exhausted and worn away for the sake of thy salvation. See how horrible are the pains and torments that I suffer. The savage cruelty of men hath brought Me down well-nigh to nothing – the sinners of earth have drunk out all My Blood, yet still I thirst. Not yet is My Heart satisfied, not yet is My desire fulfilled, not vet is the flame of My love quenched. For if it were possible for Me, and pleasing to My Father, that I should be crucified again even a thousand times for your salvation and conversion, or that I should hang here in all this misery and pain even until the last judgment day, most gladly would I do it, both to prove unto you the measureless love of My Heart for you, and to soften your stony hearts, and to excite you to love Me in return. This is why I hang here so thirsty by the fountain of your hearts, so that I may observe the devout souls that come hither to draw out of the bottomless well of My Passion. Therefore, the maiden to whom I shall say, "Give Me a little water to drink out of the pitcher of thy conscience" – the water, that is, of devotion, compassion, of tears and mutual love – and who shall let down her pitcher to Me, and shall answer: "Drink, my Lord; and for Thy camels, that is, Thy servants, who carry Thee about daily on their bodies, and who, both by night and day, are held fast bound in Thy yoke, I will draw in like manner the water of brotherly love – that is, the maiden whom the Lord hath prepared for the son of My Lord, even the bride of the Word of God, united to My Humanity. And she shall be worthy to enter, like a bride with her Bridegroom, into the bed-chamber of everlasting rest, at the invitation of the Bridegroom, Who saith: "Come, My blessed bride, possess the kingdom of My Father. For I was thirsty, and thou gavest Me to drink."

Thirdly, we may apply this word to the Father, as if Christ had said to His Father: "Father, I have made known Thy Name unto men; I have finished the work Thou gavest Me to do, and in Thy work I have spent My whole Body as Thine instrument. Behold! I am all exhausted and worn away; nevertheless, I still thirst to do and to suffer more for Thy honour. This is why I hang here stretched out unto the farthest breadth of love, for I desire to be an everlasting sacrifice, a sweet odour unto Thee, an eternal praise, and, at the same time, an everlasting atonement and salvation unto men." Thus, too, might this strong Samson have said: "Thou, O Lord, hast given into the hand of Thy servant this exceeding great salvation and victory, and yet, behold! I die of thirst;" as if He would say: "My Father, I have fulfilled Thy gracious will; I have finished the work of man's salvation as Thou requiredst it, yet still I thirst; for the sins whereby Thou art offended are infinite. Therefore I desire that the charity and merits of My Passion, whereby Thou art to be appeased, may be also infinite. And as I now offer Myself for the salvation of all men a peace-offering, and a living sacrifice, so through Me may all men appease Thee, by offering Me to Thee as a peace-offering to Thy eternal glory, in memory of My Passion, and to supply for all their defects." How pleasing to the Father must have been this desire of love! For what else was this thirst, but a certain sweet and delightful refreshment to the Father, both warm and healing, and, at the same time, the blessed renewal of mankind! Or what other language doth this burning throat speak to us, than that of Christ's burning love, out of which, indeed, measureless, and without bounds, He wrought all His works. Of a truth, this is the most noble sacrifice of our redemption, this is that peace-offering which will be offered even till the last day, by all the good, through the Holy Ghost, to the most high Father, in memory of the Son, to the everlasting glory of the Adorable Trinity, and the admirable profit and fruit of salvation for mankind. Here, clearly, is the measureless treasure of our reconciliation, which upon earth never faileth, for it is greater than all the debts of the world. This is that measureless love, higher than the heavens, for it hath restored again the ruin of the angels; deeper than hell, for it hath freed souls therefrom; wider and broader than earth, for it is without end, and cannot be understood by any created understanding. Oh! how sharp and vehement was this thirst of our Lord! For not only did He then say once: "I thirst," but even still without ceasing He saith within our hearts, "I thirst; woman, give He to drink." So great, I say, and so mighty is that thirst, that He asketh drink, not only of the children of Israel, but even of the Samaritans. And to each one doth He complain of His thirst.

But what dost Thou thirst for, O good Jesus? "My drink and My food," He answereth, "is that men should do My Father's will. Now this is the Father's will, even your sanctification and salvation, that you may sanctify your souls, by walking in My precepts, by performing true works of penance, by adorning yourselves with all virtues, that as a bride made ready and adorned, you may be worthy to come to My supper in My Father's kingdom, and to sleep with Me as My elect bride, ill the bed-chamber of My Father's Heart." Oh! with what longing doth Christ desire to lead all men thither. This is what He meaneth when He saith: "Wheresoever I shall be, there also shall My servant be." And again: Father, I will that even as We are one, they may be one." Oh! how beyond all understanding is this thirst of Christ! Oh! what sweat and labour He underwent three and thirty years for the sake of this! For this the marrow and blood of His very Heart were spent. See what our tender Lord saith to His Father: "The zeal of Thy house hath eaten Me up." Of a truth, He would have suffered Himself to be crucified even a thousand times, rather than suffer one soul to perish for any fault of His. Oh! how did this inward thirst afflict Him, when He thought that He had both done all that He could, and even a hundredfold more than He need have done, and yet that so few had been turned to Him, and gained by Him. His whole Body was now worn away; all His Blood was shed; there was nothing left which He could do, and therefore He was forced to confess, and say: "It is finished;" yet, by all His labours, and sorrows, and pains, He had brought no greater fruit, no greater gain to His Father than this. Of a truth, it was the bitterest of all sorrows, that in so hard a fight His victory had not been more august, and that He returned victorious to His Father with so few spoils. Wherefore, as many as refresh Him not by fulfilling His will, and earnestly performing whatever is pleasing and honourable to Him, and by manfully and bravely resisting all that reason telleth them is displeasing unto Him, all these will with the damned hear Him one day say: "I was thirsty, and you gave Me no drink." Go, ye cursed, into everlasting fire.

Fourthly, there is another inward meaning of this word; namely, that Christ uttered it out of the love which inwardly drew Him towards all men; thus declaring unto us His burning love, and opening His own Heart, as a delightful couch, whereon we may feed pleasantly, and, at the same time, inviting us unto it, saying: "I thirst for you." For as the draught which we drink is sent down through the throat with sensible delight, and goeth down pleasantly into our inward parts, and passeth into the substance and nature of our body, even so Christ, out of the burning thirst of His love, taketh spiritual delight in drinking in all men into Himself, and thus receiving them, as it were, and sweetly swallowing them, and incorporating them into Himself, and bringing them into the secret chamber of His loving Heart. Wherefore He saith: "When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all things unto Me;" that is, as many as suffer themselves to be drawn by Me, and subject themselves unto Me as obedient instruments, suffering Me to do with them according to My gracious will. But they who resist Christ, who suffer not themselves to be licked up by the flame and heat of Christ's love, so that He may drink them in, and swallow them down into His bowels; these, indeed, quench not His thirst, but give Him a bitter draught instead, even the works of their own self-will. And these, as soon as our Lord tasteth, He vomiteth out.

Fifthly, this word may be taken to express, what our Lord said to His sorely afflicted Mother, as she stood by the Cross: "O My sweet Mother, see into what need the Son of God and thy Son hath been brought down. I, indeed, created the seas, and the springs, and all moisture. I command the clouds, and they pour forth rain. To My angels I give to drink of the delights of heaven, and to My saints the cup of everlasting blessedness. To My friends still upon earth I give to drink of inward consolation, and to My disciples of Divine wisdom, and to all sinners I give the chalice of redemption. Yet there is not one, no, not one, who will refresh My tongue in this My bitter thirst." Oh! how that word must have cut and pierced into the devout and heavy heart of the spotless Virgin, when she heard her only-begotten Son, Whom she had nursed on her virgin breast, complain of His thirst in His great need, and yet could not help Him. Peradventure, she answered Him thus: "O my sweet Son, I am seized with such exceeding and intolerable anguish, that I cannot help Thee. I am so crucified with Thee by unutterable compassion, that I cannot move. I am now without any strength at all, because I see Thee, the only comfort of my heart, crucified so unjustly before my eyes, so shamefully despised, so cruelly slain: and yet I cannot die with Thee, nor bring Thee any help. I am wholly melted away – the marrow of my soul is melted. Thou seest, O my loving Son, that I am all melted by the heat of Thy love, and, like the grape, am pressed out by the grievous weight of Thy Passion. Therefore, draw me all into Thyself; drink me in, swallow me, change me into Thy body, that I may be wholly Thy refreshment and relief in this Thy grievous thirst."

Sixthly and lastly, we may gather from this word that Christ afforded thereby great consolation to His loving Mother and all the saints, and lightened thereby the labour which they have borne for His sake, whether by action or by suffering. For even if their labour and affliction be small, yet is it altogether pleasing and delicious, like Christ, to take some sweet drink. For, on the Cross itself, He drank in with great delight all the compassion, sorrow, devotion, sighs and tears, which were the fruit of meditation upon the Passion. And all the persecutions, distresses, afflictions borne for His honour, all the rigorous penances, fasts, prayers, watchings; all the mortifications of nature; all the works of obedience and charity, and all the deeds to be performed in His honour even to the last judgment day; all these our Lord Jesus drank in, in a certain marvellous way, and swallowed them in His great thirst, and joined to His own Body, and united with His own works, and cleansed in His warm Blood, and heated in the fire of His divine love, and perfected and finished, by His own merits and actions, whatever was imperfect and defective therein, and so at last offered them in the sight of His Eternal Father, and made them pleasing and acceptable unto Him.

THE FORTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER

Jesus drinketh vinegar and gall upon the Cross

Nowter our Lord Jesus had uttered this word concerning His thirst, a certain man filled a sponge with vinegar and gall, and offered it to Christ's sacred mouth. And this, indeed, our Lord, according to David's prophecy, desired to taste, that He might suffer torment in all His members and senses; and that the sin of Adam, which had been committed through the delight of taste, might be corrected by this bitter and unpleasant taste. But here, first of all, we may notice the spitefulness, and hardness of heart, and bitterness of the Jews, in that all these torments, and blood-sheddings, and cruel sufferings, which they had inflicted on our Lord, had not even yet quenched their blood-thirstiness. They saw Him now at the very point of death, yet in no way did they restrain their cruelty. It had been decreed, indeed, by Solomon, that those who were condemned should be refreshed by an aromatic and sweet draught, so that they might become unconscious of their pains; but these wretches drank this wine themselves, and made up for Christ instead, as bitter a draught as they could think of in their poison-laden hearts. For they were, indeed, themselves vessels of gall and vinegar, full of hatred and spite; nor could they draw therefrom aught but gall and vinegar. Oh! how afflicted must our tender Lord have been, Whose nature is goodness, when He looked at the poisonous and bitter dregs, which were, in truth, the unquenchable fire of the cruelty and the stony and obstinate malice of the Jews, whereby they whom He had fed for so many successive years in the wilderness with the manna of heaven, which had in it the sweetness of every taste, and whom He had embraced with such Fatherly love, and enriched with so many and such marvellous benefits, feared not in His extreme and greatest need to offer Him such a draught. Of a truth, this their envy and want of mercy was a greater torment to our Lord than the bitter draught itself. For the more virtuous a man is, so much the more is he grieved when he beholdeth malice and cruelty; and the more clearly he perceiveth it, so much the more grievously is he thereby tormented in heart.

But so far as relateth to the spiritual meaning, it was not only on the Cross that our Lord Jesus was tormented by the Jews with this bitter draught, but even now is He given, day by day, vinegar and gall to drink, by those who fear not to anger Him by their sins and iniquities; but, above all, by all Christians, who know, indeed, the way of truth and will of God, and yet do not what they ought. Of these He Himself complaineth, saying: "I planted thee a chosen vineyard, and I fenced thee round with the wall of faith, and I built in the midst of thee the high tower of My contemplation, and I gathered the stones from out of thee; that is, the holy martyrs and doctors, who are the foundation stones of the Church, and who have taught thee the way of life and truth both by word and deed. What more ought I to have done to My vineyard, and I have not done it? How art thou turned into bitterness, even thou, to cultivate which I spent so much labour and zeal, and which I bought for Myself with so high a price? I looked that thou shouldst bring forth the sweet grapes of burning love, the fruit of good works; and thou offerest Me vinegar and gall, thorns and briars."

But let us now see what kind of wine every man should offer to Christ, and what are the fruits which he should give Him out of his vineyard. The Scripture saith: "A good man, out of the good treasure of his heart, bringeth forth good, and a bad man, out of the evil treasury of his heart, bringeth forth evil." Some, therefore, like the Jews, offer Christ wine mixed with gall. These are those great sinners who still have the will to work evil; who, although they perform good works, are all tainted with bitter gall, and contract the taste of the corrupt and filthy vessel in which it is contained; and these, as soon as they touch Christ's palate, are spat out by Him. Of these Moses speaketh in the canticle of Deuteronomy: "Their grape is the grape of gall, and the gall of dragons is their wine." And S. Peter saith to Simon Magus: "I perceive that thou art in the gall of bitterness, and thy heart is not right before God."

Others, indeed, offer wine to Christ, but it is corrupt, and acid, and bitter; for it is turned into vinegar. These are those dissolute and thoughtless men, who abstain, indeed, from deadly sins; but even as they take no thought of daily venial sins, so they abound in them, and exceeding often fall into them. And this happeneth to them, because they look not into the depths of their own souls, nor hearken to the warnings and reproaches of the Holy Ghost – nay, inwardly, they are blind and deaf. These seek God with a torn and divided heart. For they have not wholly torn themselves from all that can come between them and God; and although they receive from above a certain inward light, and their reason beareth witness to them that in certain things they offend God, and displease Him, yet still they will not forsake these things; for they think that they can serve both God and the world. These, for the most part, are lukewarm, and slothful, and wandering in heart, and distracted; and they continue lukewarm when reading, or meditating, or doing anything of this sort. This, moreover, have they done for a long time, so that they have become utterly vapid and sour. And this wine, in like manner, Christ vomiteth out, as He saith in the Apocalypse: "I would that thou wert either warm or cold, but because thou art lukewarm I will begin to vomit thee out of My mouth." And of these is it elsewhere said: "As vinegar to the teeth, and smoke to the eyes, so is the sluggard to them who have set him in the way."

Church, and who have taught thee the way of life and truth both by word and deed. What more ought I to have done to My vineyard, and I have not done it? How art thou turned into bitterness, even thou, to cultivate which I spent so much labour and zeal, and which I bought for Myself with so high a price? I looked that thou shouldst bring forth the sweet grapes of burning love, the fruit of good works; and thou offerest Me vinegar and gall, thorns and briars."

But let us now see what kind of wine every man should offer to Christ, and what are the fruits which he should give Him out of his vineyard. The Scripture saith: "A good man, out of the good treasure of his heart, bringeth forth good, and a bad man, out of the evil treasury of his heart, bringeth forth evil." Some, therefore, like the Jews, offer Christ wine mixed with gall. These are those great sinners who still have the will to work evil; who, although they perform good works, are all tainted with bitter gall, and contract the taste of the corrupt and filthy vessel in which it is contained; and these, as soon as they touch Christ's palate, are spat out by Him. Of these Moses speaketh in the canticle of Deuteronomy: "Their grape is the grape of gall, and the gall of dragons is their wine." And S. Peter saith to Simon Magus: "I perceive that thou art in the gall of bitterness, and thy heart is not right before God."

Others, indeed, offer wine to Christ, but it is corrupt, and acid, and bitter; for it is turned into vinegar. These are those dissolute and thoughtless men, who abstain, indeed, from deadly sins; but even as they take no thought of daily venial sins, so they abound in them, and exceeding often fall into them. And this happeneth to them, because they look not into the depths of their own souls, nor hearken to the warnings and reproaches of the Holy Ghost – nay, inwardly, they are blind and deaf. These seek God with a torn and divided heart. For they have not wholly torn themselves from all that can come between them and God; and although they receive from above a certain inward light, and their reason beareth witness to them that in certain things they offend God, and displease Him, yet still they will not forsake these things; for they think that they can serve both God and the world. These, for the most part, are lukewarm, and slothful, and wandering in heart, and distracted; and they continue lukewarm when reading, or meditating, or doing anything of this sort. This, moreover, have they done for a long time, so that they have become utterly vapid and sour. And this wine, in like manner, Christ vomiteth out, as He saith in the Apocalypse: "I would that thou wert either warm or cold, but because thou art lukewarm I will begin to vomit thee out of My mouth." And of these is it elsewhere said: "As vinegar to the teeth, and smoke to the eyes, so is the sluggard to them who have set him in the way."

THE FORTY-NINTH CHAPTER

"It is finished"

When Christ had tasted the draught of gall, He spake the sixth word: "It is finished;" signifying thereby that by His Passion had been fulfilled all the prophecies, figures, mysteries, scriptures, sacrifices, and promises which had been foretold and written concerning Him. This is that true Son of God, for Whom the Father of heaven hath made ready a supper in the kingdom of His eternal blessedness; and He sent His servant, that is, the human and servile nature of Christ, to call them that had been invited to the wedding. For Christ, according to the human nature which He had taken on Him, was not only a servant, but a servant of servants, and served all of us for three and thirty years and more in great labour and suffering. This He Himself telleth us through Isaias the prophet: "Thou hast made Me to serve in thy sins." And, indeed, His whole life long He spent in this; namely, in inviting all men to His supper. For this He preached, He worked miracles, He went from place to place, He cried out, and proclaimed that the kingdom of heaven was at hand, and that every man should make ready for it. But they would not come. And when the Father of the household heard this, He said unto His servant: "Compel them to come in, that My house may be filled." Then that servant thought thus with himself: How shall I be able, by subtlety and without violence, to compel these men to come, that both rebellion may be avoided, and yet the right and faculty of free will may remain to them untouched? For if I compel them to come by chains of iron, and hard blows, and scourges, I shall have asses, not men. He said then within Himself: "I perceive the condition of man, how he is given to love. Therefore I will show him such love as shall pass all his understanding, nay, than which none can be greater. Now if man will observe this, he will feel himself so caught fast in its meshes, that he will not be able to escape its heat and fire, and will be compelled to turn to God, and love God in return. For whithersoever he shall turn, he will ever be met by the immense benefits, the infinite goodness, the marvellous love of God; and, at the same time, the compulsion will grow strong with him to return love for this love, and it will so urge and impel him, that he will not be able to resist it, and he will feel himself gently compelled to follow." Now when this was done, this faithful and prudent Servant, Jesus Christ, said to His Lord and Father: "It is finished;" I have finished the work which Thou gavest Me to do. What more could I have done, and I have not done it? I have not even one member left which is not wearied and troubled by labour and suffering. My veins are dried up, all My Blood is shed; My marrow is spent, My throat is hoarse with crying. I have shown such love to man, that his heart cannot be human, no, not even of stone, nor that of a brute beast, but must be altogether devilish and desperate, if he be not moved at the thought of this.

Moreover, this word of our Lord Jesus is a word of sorrow, not of joy. For our Lord spake it not as if He had now escaped from all punishment. But "It is finished," He said – all, that is to say, which had been fore-ordained and decreed by the Eternal Truth, that He should suffer. Besides, all the sufferings which had been inflicted upon Him by degrees, and one by one, He now suffereth altogether at once with immense pain. Hitherto He had been tortured gradually, now in this member, now in that, but now He undergoeth intolerable pain in all His members at once. Oh! how those stretched-out arms were racked, although for so long a time they had been enduring pain! How the cruel wounds of His hands and feet cut into the very marrow of His Heart, when the whole weight of His Body hung upon them Who, I ask, will have such a heart of adamant, as not to be moved by agony such as this? Oh! how short were the words which our Lord Jesus uttered on the Cross, yet how weighty with sacramental mysteries! Now, of a truth, was fulfilled what we read in the book of Exodus: "And all things were finished which belonged to the sacrifice of the Lord."

Moreover, by this word, our Lord declared the glorious victory of His Passion, how the old enemy, the envious serpent, was now conquered and beaten down, for it was for this that He had suffered. For this He had clothed Himself with the garment of man's nature, in order to overcome and confound the enemy by the same arms by which that enemy boasted he had overcome man. This, I say, was the chief intention and scope of His Passion, and now He confesseth that it is finished. Oh! how marvellous are the mysteries and the victories comprised in this little but subtle word: "It is finished"! All that the Eternal Wisdom had decreed, all that strict justice had required for all and each, all that love had asked for, all that had been promised to the fathers, all the mysteries, figures, ceremonies foretold in scripture, all that was fitting and necessary for our redemption, all that was required to wipe out our debts, all that contributed to supply for and repair our negligences, all that was glorious and loving for the showing forth of this noble love, all that we could desire for our spiritual instruction and information; in a word, all that was good and fitting for the celebration of the glorious triumph of our marvellous redemption, all this was included in that one word: "It is finished." What, then, remaineth for Him, save to finish and perfect His life itself in this glorious contest; and because nothing more is left Him to do, to offer His precious soul into His Father's hands, when He had fought the good fight, and perfectly run the course of His life in all holiness? It is just, then, that He should obtain the crown of glory, which His heavenly Father shall give Him on that the day of His exaltation.

Lastly, by this word Christ offered all His labour, affliction, and sorrow for all the elect, as the Apostle saith: "Who in the days of His Flesh offered up prayer and supplications with a strong cry and tears to Him, Who was able to save Him from death, and was heard for His reverence, for if the blood of bulls and of goats and the sprinkling of the ashes of a heifer upon the unclean, sanctifieth to the purifying of the flesh, how much more shall the Blood of Christ, Who, through the Eternal Spirit, offered Himself without spot to God, cleanse our conscience from dead works to serve the living God, that is, in newness and purity of spirit?"

THE FIFTIETH CHAPTER

"Father, into Thy hands I commend my Spirit"

Again did our Lord Jesus cry with a loud voice, saying: "Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit." O all ye who love our Lord Jesus Christ, come, I pray you, and let us watch with all devotion and compassion His passing away. Let us see what must have been His sorrow, and anguish, and torment, and oppression, when His most noble Soul was now at last compelled to pass away out of His worthy and most sacred Body, in which for thirty and three years it rested so sweetly, and peacefully, and joyfully, and holily, even as two lovers on one bed. How hard it was for them to be torn away one from the other, between whom no discord had ever arisen, no strife, no quarrel, no treachery. Oh! how grievous and unutterable was that Cross, when His holy Body was forced to lay aside so faithful a friend, so gentle a householder, so loving a teacher and master; and how great was the sorrow with which, in like manner, His noble and pure Soul was torn away from so faithful a servant, whose service had ever been obediently rendered, who had never spared any trouble, and shrunk from neither cold, nor heat, nor hunger, nor thirst; and who had ever suffered both labour and sorrow in gentleness and patience. Oh! how great, how immense was this cross and affliction! For, as the philosopher saith: "Of all terrible things death is the most terrible, by reason of the natural and mutual affection, which is exceeding great, between soul and body. How much greater, then, must have been the agony and the sorrow, when Christ's most holy Soul and Body were torn asunder, between which there had ever been such marvellous concord, such wonderful love? With inward compassion, then, and anxious sorrow, let us meditate upon this pitiable separation; for Christ's Death is our life.

Let us contemplate with all devotion, how that sacred Body of His, the instrument of our salvation, was plunged in agony, when all His veins were now dried up, and had nothing more wherewith to nourish themselves, and when all His nerves were contracted, and all His members, as if to bid a last farewell, were bowing themselves down to die with unutterable pressure. Ah! who can look without compunction, and sorrow, and compassion, upon Christ's most gracious face, and see how it is changed into the paleness and image of death; how His eyes grow dim, yet still shed tears; how His sacred Head is bowed; how all His members show forth to us, by signs and movements, the love which they could no longer show by deeds. Let us compassionate Him, I pray, for He is our flesh and blood, and it is our sins, not His, for which He is thus shamefully put to death. O all ye who hitherto have passed by the Cross of Jesus with lukewarm or cold hearts, and whom all these horrible torments and pitiable tears, and His warm Blood poured forth like water, leave been unable to soften; let, at least, this sharp and loud voice, and this terrible cry of His, rend and pierce your hearts through and through. The voice which hath shaken the heavens and the earth and hell with fear, which hath rent the rocks, which hath opened the ancient tombs, and raised the dead, let this voice soften your hearts of stone, and uncover the old sepulchres of your conscience, full of dead men's bones, that is, of vicious actions, and call again your departed spirits into life. For this is that voice which of old cried out: "Adam, where art thou? What hast thou done?" This is that voice which brought forth Lazarus from hell, saying: "Lazarus, come forth; arise from the tomb of sin, and suffer thyself to be loosened from thy grave-clothes." Of a truth, it was not so much the cruelty of His pains, as the greatness of our sins, that made our Lord break forth into this cry. He cried also, to show that with Him was the empire over death and life, over the living and the dead. For, although He was all exhausted, and devoid of strength, and beyond the power of man had endured so long the bitter pains of death, yet He restrained death from putting forth its power against Him, until it pleased Him.

He cried with a loud voice, in order to make earthly men, who seek nothing but the earth, shake with fear and trembling, and cause them to meditate and see how naked and helpless the Lord of lords passed away out of this life. He cried with a terrible voice, in order to stir up all those who live in luxury, and who have grown old in their filth, and who, like dead dogs, send forth a foul stink, and, like the beasts of the field, have grown rotten in their own dung, so that, at some time or other, these wretched ones may rise from their lusts, and desires, and voluptuousness, and the delights of the senses, and see how the Son of God, Who never contracted even the least stain of filth, went forth to His Father; and with what labour, and pain, and agony, He departed from the light of day, and what anguish and unutterable affliction He had to undergo before He reached His Father's kingdom. And yet these men, by obeying the pleasures of their flesh, and loosening the rein to the affections and desires of nature, think that they will be amongst the blessed, and will mount up to heaven. Our Lord also cried with a loud voice, that He might inflame the slothful and lukewarm to devotion and love.

Moreover, He cried with a loud voice, as a sign of this glorious victory which He had obtained, when, having entered into single combat with His cruel and strong adversary, and having come down into the arena and battle-field of this world, He had put him to flight upon Mount Calvary, and stripped him of all his spoils, and left him naked. This victory, I say, and glorious triumph, Christ proclaimed with a loud voice, as a sign of triumph, and thus departing from the place of combat victorious and triumphant, and gathering together the whole army of His merits, He departed to the place of all delights, even the Heart and Bosom of God His Father, commending both Himself and all His own thereto, as to a sure refuge, and saying: "Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit."

From these words we may gather, that the Eternal Word, our Lord Jesus Christ, had been let down like a fishing hook, or ample net, by the Father of heaven, into the great sea of this world, to catch not fish, but men. Moreover, God let down this net on the right hand, where He knew it would enclose a vast multitude. Hear how He saith: "My Word, that goeth forth out of My mouth, shall not return to Me empty, but He shall do whatsoever I will, and He shall prosper amongst those to whom I have sent Him." And this net is drawn by the Father out of the salt sea, to the quiet shore of His Fatherly Heart, full of elect men, of works of charity, of penance, patience, humility, obedience, spiritual exercises, merits, and virtues. For Christ drew into Himself all the afflictions and virtuous works of all the good: even as S. Paul saith: "I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me;" in like manner, Christ liveth in all the good, who are dead to this world, and who have submitted themselves as obedient instruments in Christ's hands. In these, I say, Christ liveth, suffereth, and worketh. For whatever ever good there is in all men, is all the work of God.

Christ, then, feeling His Father draw Him, gathered together in Himself, after a certain marvellous manner, all the elect with all their works, and commended them to His Father, saying: "Father, these are Thine; these are the spoils which I have obtained as Conqueror by the sword of the Cross; these are the vessels which I have bought with My precious Blood; these are the fruits of My labours. Keep them in Thy name, whom Thou hast given Me. I ask not that Thou shouldst take them out of the world, but that Thou shouldst keep them from the evil."

Thus, then, did Christ commend Himself with all of His into His Father's hands. Come, therefore, O faithful and devout soul, and watch with exceeding earnestness the going in and the going out of thy Lord Jesus; follow Him lovingly and longingly, even to the chamber and bed of delights, which He hath made ready for thee in His Father's Heart. O happy he, who could now be dissolved with Christ, and die with the thief, and hear from our Lord's lips that word full of comfort: "To-day thou shalt be with Me in paradise." And although this is not given unto us, yet whatever we can here obtain by labours, and watchings, and fasts, and prayers, let us commend all this with Christ unto the Father; let us pour it back again into the fountain, from which it came forth to us; and let nothing at all remain to us of vain complacency; nothing be left to us among men, by seeking any praise, or honour, or reward. But whatever our God hath vouchsafed to work in us, let us give it back again into His hands, and say: "Of our own selves we are nothing. He made us, and not we ourselves. All good things have been made by Him, and without Him nothing was made. When, therefore, He taketh away with Him what He made Himself, we are simply nothing." Lastly, Christ commended His Soul into His Father's hands, to show us how the souls of holy and good men now mount up after Him to the bosom of the Eternal Father, souls who before this must all have gone down into hell; for it is He Himself Who hath opened for us the way of life, and it is His sacred Soul which, by rendering the journey safe and secure, hath been our guide into the kingdom of heaven.

THE FIFTY-FIRST CHAPTER

Jesus giveth up the Ghost

After that our Lord Jesus had uttered the aforesaid word, He bowed His head and gave up the ghost. He bowed His head first to His Mother, and then to all men, as if to bid a last farewell; as if to ask His Mother's leave to pass away, and to give both to her and to all men the kiss of peace. Observe here, O faithful soul, the unutterable love of thy God, how He loved us even to the end. See how, when all power of speech hath been taken from Him, and while His life is ebbing away, and death is already in possession of all His members, nevertheless the latter, so far as they could, gave forth signs of love. See here the true Jacob blessing His children with outstretched arms, and gathering up His feet upon the bed of the Cross, as He passeth away to the Father. Behold Christ's gracious members now dead, yet still showing us the same love and good will as when alive! His arms remain extended to embrace us; His eyes cast down to look upon us; His head bowed low to kiss us; His wounds open and gaping, that we may enter in and take refuge therein; His head also, which before He had lifted up to His Father, while offering Himself to Him with tears, He now bent down to us in love, as a most welcome messenger of our reconciliation with the Father, and in order to give us the kiss of peace as a sign of atonement.

He bowed His head towards the earth, and turned away from the glorious title of the Cross, to show us how little He valued all glory and honour, and that He desired to close His life in all abject and lowly poverty, and that He suffered nothing of this world to cling to Him. Thus, at the very end of His life, He taught us, that whenever we are honoured or praised by men, we ought to bow ourselves down to the earth, by making ourselves of no account, and by saying within ourselves: "Why art thou proud, O dust and ashes?"

Thus, then, Life died upon the Cross, that He might give to us from the tree of the Cross the fruit of life. Thus was this most excellent ransom paid for us, and all our debts cancelled. And with the same faithfulness with which He had carried out His Father's embassy, and finished it, He returned to His Father, commending His Spirit into His hands; as if He would say: "For Me, O loving Father, hast Thou cast away the debts of all men, and for Thy honour I have gladly taken them upon Myself. I was made an exile from My kingdom; I have been sold as a slave in foreign parts; I have become a prisoner, and despised, and wounded, and I have been put to a shameful death. I have suffered Thy anger to take vengeance on Me, that, appeased by My agony and sorrow, Thou mightest take man back into Thy favour. I have satisfied the requirements of Thy love and justice, and the prayer of mercy I have fulfilled. I have exposed My whole self, and offered it – to Thee My will, to the Jews My Body, to sinners My Blood, to the executioners My garments, to My disciple My most loving Mother: and now I have nothing left, save My afflicted, and burdened, and care-worn spirit. Indeed, there is no place under heaven worthy of Me, except the heart of My tender and sorrowing Mother; yet she, too, is overwhelmed by so much anguish and distress, that she can bear it no more; and truly My afflicted spirit is rather a trouble and a burden to her, than a comfort. Therefore I fly to Thee, for the torrent of Thy divine consolation can alone swallow up My sorrow and sadness, and now I commend My careworn spirit into Thy hands. Enough, and more than enough, O most gracious Father, hast Thou made known Thine anger against Me, and inflicted on Me grievous sweat and labour in the work of others. Thou hast required of Me the payment of a debt which I had not contracted, and Thou hast left Me alone in My grievous torments. Now, then, at last, after Thou hast chastised Thine only Son, be mindful of mercy, open to Me Thy Fatherly Heart, and receive My Spirit."

THE FIFTY-SECOND CHAPTER

The veil of the Temple is rent in twain

Then was the veil of the temple rent in twain, the earth trembled, the rocks were burst asunder, the sun was darkened. All these marvels and wonders took place, that both the heavens and the earth might reprove the unbelief of the Jews and all unbelievers, and that in like manner they might bear witness, by such clear signs, that Christ crucified was their Lord and God. For at the terrible cry of their Creator all creatures trembled and groaned, desiring themselves to die with their Maker, as if they were wearied with serving any longer rebellious and ungrateful men, and that they were ready to fight for Him Who made them, and avenge His wrongs. And as a proof of this indignation, the sun changed colour, the earth trembled, and all irrational creatures, as if seeking for vengeance, were moved by reason of their Creator. See here how great is His power, and strength, and majesty, Who but just now seemed so powerless, weak and abject – He showed forth a sign in heaven to show that He was the very Lord of heaven. He showed forth a sign on earth, to proclaim and announce that the earth was the work of His hands, and that it was subject to Him, and obeyed Him. He also showed forth a sign in the temple, to prove that He was above the law, above all ceremonies, above all sacrifices, and that with Him lay the authority to abrogate the law, even as His had been the power to establish the same. Therefore it was that He rent the temple veil in twain, that the naked truth might be laid open, which hitherto had lain hidden under the veil and coverings of the latter; and, at the same time, that He might declare by this very fact, that mysteries, and figures, and prophecies had all been fulfilled and unveiled, when He Himself, the Eternal Truth, for Whose sake all things had been written, made Himself manifest on the Cross to the whole world. Moreover, by the rending of the veil, He uncovered the Holy of holies, and showed that every kind of sacrifice that had been offered with the blood of sheep had now become old, and was abolished, and had lost all holiness. For Christ, the High Priest, entered by His own Blood into the now uncovered Holies, and offered Himself without the city upon the Altar of the Cross openly for all the people, being made a general and everlasting sacrifice to His Father for all mankind, above all, for those who sought after and desired Him.

Now, therefore, I pray, let us compassionate our Lord God, Who made us; otherwise the hard rocks and the elements will condemn us, for these had compassion for their Maker. With devout tears and loving sighs let us beat our breasts, and say: "Oh! what have we done, what have we done?" He was, indeed, the very Son of God, and we sinners have crucified Him. Let us measure the greatness of our iniquities by the power and dignity of Him Whom we have offended. For it is not a patriarch, or a prophet, or some common king of the Israelitish people, whom we have despised; but it is Jesus Christ the Son of God, the King of kings, Whom we have crucified afresh, Whose Blood we have shed, and Whom we have pressed out, like the grape, under the heavy burden of our sins. With all sorrow, therefore, and devotion, and compassion, let us celebrate His funeral, Who was slain for our sins, and Whom we confess that we ourselves have slain. If it be possible, let us weep with all our members, for we are provoked to this even by the creatures that have no sense. Oh! who can understand the pain and torment of the tearing asunder of that knot, which that Holy Ghost had knit together, and in which Christ's noble Soul had been bound up with His worshipful Body in love, even as the lover with the loved one. Who can marvel enough at that obscure eclipse of Christ's bright eyes, which by their look had given light to the earth, and, like two shining stars of the firmament, had enlightened the world with their rays, but which now have become darkened in the black cloud of death. Of a truth it was no marvel that darkness covered the face of the whole earth, when the Sun of Justice was taken away from the earth, and had closed His eyes.

O marvellous organ! O delightful harp! O sweet sounding trumpet, thou living voice of Christ Jesus, whose melody hath given gladness to the Father, and joy beyond measure to the angels of heaven, whose blessed sound hath taught the living, and raised the dead, and healed the sick, and refreshed the hungry, and put the demons to flight, and which still stirreth up the slothful and them who sleep, and arouseth them to action; who, I ask, hath imposed on Thee this hurtful silence, that, deprived of Thy honeyed words and sweet and pleasant sound, we should now have fallen so wretchedly into the sleep of death?

O glorious breast of Christ! O couch of God! O ark of heaven, wherein are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and of knowledge, and are contained all riches of virtues and of graces, and which breathest the spirit of life into the face of all creatures; who hath taken away Thy life?

O blessed hands! the instruments of the most high Creator, which by your very touch have cast out all diseases, and by which benediction hath been given to the world, who hath dared so inhumanly to fasten you to the Cross, forgetful of that great salvation, which hath been wrought through you? O Jesus Christ, meekest Lamb, why are these cruel wounds in Thy hands? He maketh answer by the Prophet: "These are the wounds wherewith I was wounded in the house of those who loved Me;" that is, of those who by right and deservedly ought to have loved Me, and who seemed to love Me.

O sacred feet of our Lord Jesus! Columns of the temple of God, founded upon the bases of justice, polished, and adorned with the capitals of charity. O feet that have never wandered from the path of truth, but by your walk have shown to all the way of the highest perfection, and have left to all for their everlasting instruction the footprints of double love; who hath made you so stiff, so immoveable? Who is it that hath not feared to wound you, before whom that blessed lover Magdalen, obtained so rich a grace, beneath whom the sea stood still, and offered a solid path for them who walked thereon! The very elements, as was fitting, here paid you reverence, and cruel men have nailed you to the Cross!

O glorious Body of Christ Jesus! precious ciborium of God, wherein the temple of the most holy and adorable Trinity is marvellously constructed, made by the mystery of the Holy Ghost out of the excellent nature of the most pure and noble Virgin Mother, adorned with the beauty of all virtue, who hath so pitiably destroyed thee, and laid thee low, and cast thee down even to the ground? O filthy synagogue of the Jews! which so many times hast turned aside in shameless impudence from the loving embraces of thy lawful husband, God the Most High and Mighty, and hast been polluted by strange men and false idolators; thou hast looked even upon this fair Joseph with lustful eyes, and hast desired to embrace and touch a simple man, not believing Him to be the Son of God. But this Joseph is spotless and innocent, nor hath He ever hearkened to thy pestilential voice, nor given faith to thy false words, nor come down to thee from the Cross; but as a proof of His inviolate innocence, He hath left His torn garment in thy hands, and hath fled naked out of thy filthy bed-chamber unto the Father, choosing rather to suffer the loss of His garment, that is, of His Body, than to stain His Soul. O Jerusalem, and all ye Israelites, who by the light of faith have reached unto the knowledge of God, and who yet have crucified your Lord and King by your deeds of evil, shed tears, weep and mourn. For what was once the place of peace, is now the valley of wickedness and the plain of battle and dissension; what was once the holy city, is now the hateful den of thieves; what was once the chosen people, is now cast away and accursed, as murderers before God. Behold the innocent Blood of your Brother, which you have taken upon your own heads, and which you have cruelly shed, crieth loudly from the earth to the Father of heaven against you. Sprinkle your heads with ashes, put mourning garments upon you, for in the midst of you the Saviour of the people of Israel hath been slain. Let your eyes fail and grow dim for weeping, for ye have rejected the only Son of the Most High King.

Look now, O man, on the face of Christ thy Lord, on which the angels gaze with delight unutterable; see how it is all disfigured, and pale, and filthy; and how there is no more beauty in it. Turn here and there Christ's sacred Body, and from the top of His head to the sole of His feet, thou wilt find nothing but wounds and blood: yet, at the same time, impress upon thy heart this disfigured image of thy Redeemer. Let this His pitiable face be ever before thine eyes, and let it be so fixed in thy feelings and thoughts, that thou mayest utterly forget all vanities.

THE FIFTY-THIRD CHAPTER

Jesus is pierced with the lance

After this, by reason of the Paschal solemnity, on which it was unbecoming that the bodies should remain on the Cross, the Jews asked of Pilate, that the legs of those who had been crucified might be broken, and their bodies taken away: and when leave had been given, they first of all broke the thieves' legs. But when they came to Jesus, and saw that He was already dead, they brake not His legs; but one of the soldiers, Longinus by name, opened His right side with a lance, and straightway there flowed forth blood and water. O fearful cruelty of the Jews! O pitiless and unquenchable thirst, which after so much blood-shedding was still not quenched! While His Body was yet alive ye heaped upon it torments greater than any tyrant would have done, and now when it is lifeless ye spare it not. This the Jews did out of craft and singular wickedness; for they knew that dishonour shown to the dead, would be held to be the same as if done to the living; and they wished to persuade all men that our Saviour's wickedness and guilt were so great, that they could not be adequately punished in His living Body, and therefore that it was necessary cruelly to torture His dead Body. They sought also by this to obtain the favour of the chief-priests, who wished to have sure proof of His death.

Moreover, although our Lord's Body felt nothing of this, since it was dead, and without feeling; yet in another certain way our Lord was afflicted thereby; that is, in the same way in which He even now suffereth and is afflicted at the hands of many, who swear by His sacred wounds and Passion, and who, by their grievous crimes, both wrong and insult Him, more bitterly than they who crucified Him in the Body. For He receiveth thereby far more insult to His divine Majesty, wherein He is one with the Father and the Holy Ghost, than by those outward torments inflicted on Him during His Passion.

Yet who can grasp in thought how fearfully this lance pierced and wounded the devout soul of His tender Mother Mary, whose soul and heart dwelt, indeed, in the Body of her dear Son, Who was her whole love and treasure? For if we are to believe Augustine, "there is more of the soul in loving than in living." Moreover, Bernard also saith: "Of a truth, O sweet Mother, the sword of sorrow pierced thy soul rather than the cruel lance tore the Body of thy Son, for therein was thy soul rather than His. Therefore art thou the chief of martyrs, for thy measureless inward sorrow surpasseth the outward torments of the martyrs."

We have a certain kind of figure of this in Saul, who was first chosen by God, but afterwards was cast off for his sins, and who is a type of the Jewish people. The Jewish people hath desired to pierce David with a lance, but David, that is the Soul of Christ, fleeth away through the gate of death; and the lance remaineth fixed in the wall, that is, in the side of Christ's Body, which is sorely wounded thereby. So also we read of Absalom, that as he was hanging from the tree, he was pierced by three lances. And this, too, can be applied to Christ, Who was beautiful above the sons of men. For He, too, was pierced by three lances. The first was His great suffering from His outward affliction. The second was His measureless sorrow, arising from His compassion for His tender Mother. The third was His inward cross, because of our exceeding ingratitude, and because He foresaw that His bitter Passion and immense labours and torments would be without effect for a great part of men. O, how many, alas! are to be found at the present day, who, like the Jews, persecute our Lord, and, moreover, when they have crucified Him, fearfully wound Him. This is done by those who, after that they have once crucified our Lord by deadly sins, and have witnessed signs and wonders; after that their earth hath trembled at the voice and inspiration of God, and their stony heart hath been softened, and the filthy sepulchre of their conscience hath been opened, and the foul bones of their sins have been cast out by contrition and confusion; after that the worms have been driven out by absolution and forgiveness; after that they have received the enlightenment of heavenly grace, and striking their breasts have said: "What have we done? truly this was the Son of God Whom we have crucified!" again wound Christ, and persecute Him by shameful mockery and indignities. For is not this to mock Christ, when they confess His power and majesty, and then so lightly despise the commandments of so powerful and high a Lord, and resist His will?

Moreover, the Evangelist saith of this lance, in a marked manner, not that it wounded Christ, but that it opened His side, signifying thereby that the gate of life was opened to us. For the wound in Christ's side is the gate of the Sacraments, without which we have no access to the life of bliss. Wherefore, also, the Evangelist addeth: "And straightway there flowed forth blood and water." From this it is easy to perceive, that although Christ's nature was mortal, yet in certain respects it was different from the nature of other men. For in others, when they give up their souls, the blood congealeth, but from Christ's side, not without miracle, as from a living well, there flowed forth true blood and water, thus showing Him to be the living well-spring from which the life of all of us hath flowed. Of this we read in Zachary: "In that day there shall be an open fountain for the house of David, and to those who dwell in Jerusalem, for the washing of the sinner, and the unclean woman." Now this is fulfilled by the Blood and water flowing from Christ's side. For by the Blood, which is the price of our redemption, we are washed from sins; and by the water, which is the figure of our baptism, we are cleansed from all the stains of original sin, even as our Lord saith by Ezechiel: "I will pour forth upon you clean water, and ye shall be cleansed from all your iniquities."

Christ's side was also, doubtless, opened, that we might have access and entrance into His Heart. Hence Augustine saith: "Behold the door in the side of the ark, through which enter in all the creatures that are saved from the deluge. Behold thy source, thy father, who hath regenerated thee to life! For even as our mother Eve was formed out of the side of the sleeping Adam, so out of the side of Christ dead upon the Cross the Church arose."

Lastly, Christ's side was opened, and straightway there flowed forth the Sacraments. From this is seen Christ's incomprehensible love towards us, since He hath spent His whole self upon us. Nothing hath He hidden in His Heart, which He hath not wholly given to us. What more could He have done for us than He hath done? His own Heart He hath opened to us, as His most secret chamber, wherein to introduce us as His elect bride. For His delights are to be with us; and in the peacefulness of silence, and in silent peacefulness, to take His rest amongst us. He hath given us, I say, His Heart fearfully wounded, that we may dwell therein, until utterly purified, and cleansed, and conformed to His Heart, we may be made fit and worthy to be led with Him into the divine Heart of the Eternal Father. He giveth His own Heart to be our dwelling, and asketh in return for ours, that it may be His dwelling. He giveth us, I say, His Heart, even as a bed adorned with the red roses of His own purple Blood; and He asketh in return for our heart, even as a bed decorated for Him with the white lilies of clean works. Who will dare to refuse Him what He Himself, in His rich bounty, hath bestowed upon us? Behold! He inviteth us into His sweet wounds, and into His loving and open side, even as into a rich wine-cellar flowing with all delights, saying to us in the words of the Canticle: "Come, My sister, My dove, into the holes of the rock; that is, into My Sacred Wounds." Who hath a heart so iron and so stony, as not to be touched by such love and kindness, when He, Who is the King Almighty, immense, eternal, embraceth us with such mighty love, who are but dust and ashes? And yet, Oh! the shame, the sorrow! we turn our back upon Him, and despise so great a Majesty. This is why Augustine crieth out in the person of Christ: "Weigh with thyself, O man, of what kind and how great was the suffering which I underwent for thy salvation. When thou wert still My enemy, I led thee back into My Father's favour. When thou wert wandering as a lost sheep, I sought thee for long with much sweat and labour, and when I had found thee I brought thee back upon My shoulders with great suffering to My Father. I submitted My head to the crown of thorns, I laid My hands and feet open to the nails, I bent My whole Body patiently to scourges, I shed My Blood even to the last little drop, I gave My Soul for thee that I might join thee unto Me by love; and yet thou withdrawest, and art separated from Me. Lastly, I opened My Heart to thee, and gave thee the rosy Blood of My Heart to drink. What more askest thou of Me? Tell Me, I pray thee, how I may soften, and turn, and draw thee to My love, and, of a truth, I will do it unto thee."

Let us then approach with longing thirst and love unto this living well, for He will give unto us the water of life, and that freely, without price and without exchange. See! how readily He inviteth us, saying: "He who is athirst, let him come; and whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely." See here the pure well springing forth in the midst of paradise, whereby the whole earth is watered. Come, then, with the loving soul of the Canticle, and in all the temptations, and miseries, and afflictions of this life, let us flee into the holes of the rock. "Of which rock?" thou askest. Of Jesus Christ our Lord. For He is the Rock, which was struck by Moses, that is, by the Jewish people, by the rod of the Cross, and gave forth plentiful waters, so that we may draw not water only, but even, as the Scripture testifieth, oil from this rock. Hence the prophet Jeremias saith: "O ye that dwell in Moab, leave the cities," that is, the noise and disturbances of the people, "and dwell in the rock, and be like the dove that maketh her nest in the highest mouth of the hole," that is, in Christ's open side. Christ is the stone which Jacob the patriarch set up for a title, and over which he poured oil, for a sign of abundant mercy and loving-kindness. What can be wanting to us in this rock? Of a truth we are safe here, and secure from all our enemies. Here the old serpent, the trailing snake cannot come. Here we are lifted up from earth, and placed on the path of heaven. Let the world tempt, and enemies threaten, and the flesh complain, we have, indeed, no need to fear, for we are founded on a rock. Never are we so safe as in our Saviour's Wounds. "I take," saith S. Bernard, borrowing from S. Augustine, "I take with confidence what I want, I take it from the bowels of my Lord, for they overflow with mercy;" nor are the holes wanting through which they flow: "They have dug My hands and My feet, and they have pierced My side with a lance;" and through these holes I can suck honey from the rock, and oil from the hard rock; that is, taste and see how sweet the Lord is. He thought of peace, and I knew it not. But an opening nail, the piercing nail was made for me, that I might see the will of the Lord. What do I see through the hole? The nail crieth out, the wound crieth out that God is truly in Christ reconciling the world unto Himself. The iron hath gone through His Soul; it hath come near His Heart, so that He knoweth no more how to feel for my infirmities. But the secret place of His Heart is open to me through the holes of His Body; the great sacrament of love is open; the bowels of God's mercy are open, wherein the Orient from on high hath visited us. Why are Thy bowels seen open through Thy Wounds? Why? Because in what could it shine forth more clearly than in Thy wounds, that Thou, Lord, art meek, and gentle, and of great mercy? Augustine also saith: "Longinus opened for me Christ's side with a lance, and I have entered in," Here I dwell with confidence; here I refresh myself with gladness; here I rest in sweetness; here I feed on delights.

But oh! what was the sorrow, what the pain with which God's worshipful Mother, the Virgin Mary, was seized, when she saw her only solace, and the whole delight of her heart, hanging dead on the Cross? Oh! how that fearful cry pierced her tender heart, when that same beloved and only-begotten Son of hers cried out with a loud voice, and gave up the ghost! How was her soul then melted away in her burning love for Christ, even as wax is melted in the fire, and, like a seal of wax, received upon itself the pitiable image of her crucified Son! For perfect love hath three conditions, or effects, or works. Its first work is forcibly to carry the lover out of himself, for love is strong as death, and even as death violently teareth away the soul out of the body, so doth perfect love draw a man utterly out of himself, so that in himself he wholly falleth away. Another work of love is to attract, or inwardly draw. For as, in the first place, it draweth the lover out of himself, so, in the second place, it joineth and maketh him one with the beloved, and attracts him towards the beloved, even as our Lord saith to the loving soul: "With everlasting love have I loved thee, therefore have I drawn thee and shown pity upon thee." Now this is also done by love, so truly, that the lover liveth not where he standeth or walketh, but where he loveth. For where our treasure is, there also is our heart. And Augustine saith: "A man is such as the thing that he loveth." They who love earthly things are worms, not men. They who love the pleasures of the flesh, are beasts devoid of reason. They who love heavenly things are angels, for their conversation is in heaven. They who embrace God with perfect love, become God, as David said: "I have said, ye are Gods, and all of you sons of the Most High." For what God is by nature, that we are made by grace and transforming love. The third work of love is transformation itself; and this is its chief and peculiar work, and rendereth the lover conformed and like unto the beloved; even as fire changeth into itself both iron, and whatever it can act upon. Hence also God, Who is uncreated love, in His immense and bountiful love, hath made man according to His own image and likeness; and again, impelled by the same love, His most high and loving Godhead hath so cast itself down and humbled itself, as to take upon it the form and likeness of man, whom It loved so much.

Thus, also, the Blessed Virgin Mary, as became such a Mother, loved her dear Son, from her very inmost heart, and surpassed all in love. Wherefore, utterly drawn out of herself by the force and efficacy of love, she was both rapt into Christ her Beloved, and so transformed by Him, that she became wholly like to Him. For, like soft wax, she was so impressed with the lifeless and crucified image of her Son, and made like thereto, being likewise crucified with her only begotten Son, wounded, slain, and fearfully tormented in every part together with Him, that she lived no more in herself, but in Christ her Beloved, and He in her. For if the strength of Christ's love so absorbed S. Paul that he could say: "I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me;" and again: "I am fastened with Christ to the Cross, and I bear about the wounds of the Lord Jesus in my body;" how much more must we believe that this happened to the Blessed Virgin, whose love surpassed the love of all men, even as the vast sea some little brook. Who, then, can understand those bitter pains and torments, which that most sorrowing Mother felt, when the lance pierced Christ's adorable side with a dreadful wound. Of a truth, this was the sword of grief, of which just Simeon had prophesied long before. O blessed they, who are made partakers of this wound; whose hearts are so pierced by the blessed lance of Christ's love, that henceforth they glow with the everlasting fire of love!

THE FIFTY-FOURTH CHAPTER

Jesus is taken down from the Cross

Let us now see how sad a funeral, and what mournful funeral rites the spotless Virgin, and the other friends of our Saviour, celebrated over the dead body of Christ. Oh! with what desire and devotion did the tender Virgin embrace the Cross of Christ her Son, and reverently receive the blood and water which flowed from His side. Oh! how often did she stretch out her arms towards Him, and desire also to clasp and embrace Him with her outward arms, Him Whom she had already impressed and engraven on her heart! Oh! with what devotion, and how lovingly did she fold Christ's now lifeless body, when it had been taken down from the Cross, in her maternal arms, and press it to her heart! But, at the same time, how were all her bowels moved with fresh compassion! How was her soul, like wax in the fire, melted in love, and her whole self dissolved in tears! O how she fell upon that disfigured face of His, as it lay there in its shame, and kissed it again and again, and not only washed it, but plentifully watered it with her warm tears! And Christ's faithful lover, too, Magdalene, how devoutly she fell at His feet – at which she had formerly obtained such grace – and washed them again in her tears, and kissed His sacred wounds, showing to His dead body the same kindness and love as when He was yet alive. How great was the compassion of all Christ's friends there present, and how burning was their love, so that they who stood by felt its heat, even as men are warmed by the fire near which they stand. Oh! how sad were the tears that flowed in streams from their eyes over Christ's Body! What groans and sighs they sent up to heaven! how sad a funeral they justly gave our Lord! No song was heard there, nothing but groans, and tears, and lamentations. Oh! how did the worshipful Mother count each limb and wound, and look into it, and kiss it, weeping over each, and washing it with her tears; nay, engraving each upon her own heart, and weighing with herself and measuring the pains of each limb, and heaving sighs such as pass our understanding; and, at the same time, according to her heart's desire, making an ointment of the blood and marrow of her heart in her burning love, and anointing all His wounds and sores. Oh! how did the burning tears flow down that tender Mother's sweet face, like gentle streams running one before the other, as if striving which should first reach Christ's Body! Nay, saith blessed Augustine: "which of the angels could then have kept from tears, when he saw his King and Lord wasted away by so foul and shameful a death, and beheld, contrary to all nature, how the Maker of nature, the God Who cannot die, in a human nature sought after death? How did the bright Cherubim and burning Seraphim marvel at this unutterable love, when they beheld that Life itself had died for love, that the dead might return to life; for these blessed and heavenly spirits saw before them Christ's Body so inhumanly torn, mangled and lifeless, as well as His tender Mother, as she stood there so anxiously embracing Him, all stained with His Blood, and shedding such streams of pitiful tears that she could not restrain them.

And what shall we say of S. John? Now, as we may imagine, he conformed himself to the sorrowing Mother in his own tears and sorrow, and became her most faithful companion. How gently and tenderly he exhorted her, now for a little while, at least, to lay aside her excessive grief, and leave off weeping. Oh! how he, too, threw himself in his bitter anguish and distress of spirit on Christ's sacred breast, on which he had lately so sweetly rested, pouring back the water of loving tears into that well, from which he had drank the water of saving wisdom.

Then Joseph, and John, and the other friends of Jesus, earnestly besought the Blessed Virgin to suffer our Lord's Body to be arranged and made ready for burial, for the sun was nigh its setting. Then, too, did that tender Mother answer with words of lamentation: "Have pity on me, have pity on me, at least ye, my friends; tear me not away so quickly from my beloved Son; take not away from me so hastily Him Whom I bore in my womb; suffer me, at least, to enjoy Him dead, Whom I have not been able to keep alive. Let me, I pray you, show to His lifeless Body that love and tenderness which was not shown to His living Body during His Passion. Let me now water with my tears Him to Whom I was not allowed to give one drop of water, even during His cruel thirst. Let me for a while satisfy my soul with tears and sighs, since I am no longer able to find refreshment in His sweet presence. Do not, do not, I beseech you, tear the Mother from her Son; take not so quickly from me Him Whom I have loved so long, or, at least, bury me along with my most loving Son."

Thus were they sore distressed, for the sun now going down towards its setting, urged them on to the burial of His Body; yet, as was meet, they were moved to compassion for the exceeding bitter sorrows of His Mother, nor did they wish to overwhelm her already too afflicted heart. Wherefore, for a little while, they allowed her love to work, that she might satisfy for a while, at least, her burning thirst. But afterwards S. John soothed her with sweet and prudent words, and prayed her to allow them to bury her Son, and she, not however without grief, consented. But oh! how devoutly, how sorrowfully did she follow that sad funeral of her Son, holding His sacred head, her eyes fixed upon His face, while she kissed it times without number, and watered it with her tears! Whence, I ask, did that sad Mother have all those tears which she shed to-day? How could her tender heart bear this intolerable anguish and distress? Of a truth, it was all her burning love, which was stronger than death itself. Oh! with what grief and mourning she bade farewell to so dear and precious a treasure! How lovingly she embraced His tomb, as if she would say, not indeed with her lips, – for how could she, plunged as she was in such anguish of soul? – but in her heart: O sacred monument! O happy tomb! O precious rock! O pearl beyond all price! O admirable ciborium! how noble a treasure, how excellent a prize, how immense a Lord dost thou contain? O elect vessel! O happy creature, that art found worthy to receive thy Creator, and to give hospitality to the King of glory, lay aside now thy natural hardness and roughness, and become soft, so as reverently to embrace the tender limbs of my beloved Son. O glorious ark! O excellent temple of God, above all creatures the most like unto myself! For even as I myself was chosen by God to bear His Son in my chaste womb, so hath He chosen thee to receive Christ's worshipful Body, the glorious instrument of the most blessed Trinity, by which God worked so many marvels, the priceless treasure of the world, and its chief good, surpassing the heavens and the earth in its excellence and worth. And even as thou art new, nor hast ever been polluted by the contact of any body, so I, too, am pure and free from the touch of all creatures. Even as from thee, although closed, the Saviour of the world shall rise again alive, so from my closed womb the salvation of the world went forth. And even as thou art a rock solid and immoveable, so have I remained unchangeable, and unconquered in faith and all virtue.

Moreover, this sepulchre of our Lord hath a certain resemblance in form to the spiritual monument which the Blessed Virgin had made ready for her loving Son in her own heart. For as the sepulchre was cut out and polished with sharp iron, so the glorious Virgin suffered a fitting place to be cut in the inmost parts of her soul by the sword of sorrow, as a monument exceeding suitable for the afflicted and tortured Body of her Son; for God loveth a humble and broken heart. And as in this sepulchre no man had as yet been laid, so no strange love or affection had ever stained, even in the least, the Virgin Mother's tender heart. For she is that closed door, which to no man hath been ever opened, through which alone the Prince and the King of Israel hath gone forth. Moreover, the monument was in a garden; and so, too, the spotless Virgin was the enclosed garden of her Beloved, surrounded by the hedge of prudence and discretion, since she was full of such light and discretion, that never could aught of evil, even under the cloak of virtue, steal into her garden. Nor was there on any side of her garden even the least opening through which the hateful and impure serpent could only once cast his eyes, who had dared not only to enter into the glory of paradise, but even to defile it. And this garden was fruitful, and planted with the herbs of all kinds of virtues, so that there was no place for any kind of weeds to spring up. For the singular glory of this pure Virgin, the flower of the field, and the lily of the valley, grew therein, even the excellent and aromatic flower of Jesse, on which the Holy Spirit hath rested, and the pleasant rose of Jericho. And, for a clear sign of her divine and singular benediction, there sprang up therefrom that blessed Vine, whose branches stretch up on high, and whose smell driveth all poison and all serpents far away; whose wine, rejoiceth and warmeth the heart, and, according to the Prophet, buddeth forth virgins. Our Lord's holy Mother had also a pure winding-sleet, that is, the garment of simple obedience, innocence and integral virginity. Nor were there wanting to her the aloe of Litter sorrow, and the myrrh of intolerable affliction. She had also a precious balsam, the ointments, and spices of all virtues.

Thus, then, did she anoint and wrap Christ her Son, and bury Him in the sacred monument of her own heart. But now let us consider how sorrowfully the afflicted Mother departed from the monument. How continual was her thought of Him Whom she had lost, and how priceless a treasure she had suffered to be hidden under the stone. Oh! how pitiably vas she led away, all exhausted and worn, from the sepulchre, by S. John and her other friends. Of a truth, whosoever hath no compassion for one so afflicted, so sorrowing, so grievously troubled, who is, at the same time, the Virgin Mother, nay, our Lady, is no living child of grace, but an abortion, senseless, and dead, and unworthy, it is clear, to draw the milk of grace from his mother's breasts. But we, as hath been said, will, together with the Virgin Mother, bury Christ Jesus in our hearts, so that He may also rise again in us, and that we, by Him and in Him, may rise from all dead works, and with Him may mount up in all happiness to the glory of His Father, He Himself being our help, Who is blessed for ever. Amen.

THE FIFTY-FIFTH CHAPTER

A devout Prayer for conformity to the sacred life and crucified image of Jesus Christ

O Unity above all understanding! O adorable Trinity of God I beseech Thee, by the Humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, which He took upon Him, and which was crucified, bow down the abyss of Thy Godhead to the abyss of my lowliness, and driving away all my wickedness, create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me.

O good Jesus, by that immense love who drew Thee from Thy Father's heart and bosom into the womb of the Virgin unstained; by Thy taking on Thee our human nature, in which Thou becamest my servant, and deliveredst me from everlasting death, draw me out of myself to Thee my God; and may this Thy love, O my God, recover for me Thy grace, and perfect and increase in me whatever is imperfect in me; may it raise up what is fallen down, restore what hath been destroyed, conform me to Thy most holy life and loving conversation; and may it make me one with Thee, and enclose me within Thee, and engrave on the fleshly tables of my heart, and in all my behaviour, Thy holy life with all its virtues, as well as the goodness of Thy behaviour. Loosen my spirit, O my God, from all lower things, rule my soul, and, at the same time, work together with my body holy and just works.

By Thy holy Nativity purify me for a new life. By Thy holy conversation perfect me in all virtues. By Thy sacred doctrine, enlighten the eyes of my mind, and teach me the short and complete path of truth. By Thy lowly washing of the feet of Thy disciples, and even of him who betrayed Thee, cleanse and purify the feet of my corrupt affections, and whatever in me hath a leaning unto vice, and preserve them from being ever again defiled by filth. By the making ready of the Cenacle, by the institution of the most excellent Sacrament, wherein out of love unutterable Thou hast given Thyself for our food and drink, form within me by Thine own power, and fit up for Thyself a fitting place, and make in me Thy cenacle, adorning it with all kinds of spices and flowers of virtues, that it may be worthy to draw Thee within itself, and this by Thy own merits, and gratuitous and condign preparation. Vouchsafe, also, to be Thyself both the house and the Master of the house, the Priest and the Sacrifice, the Giver and the Receiver, and change me wholly and consume me in Thy burning love, and transform me thereby, and make me one with Thee, that I may die to myself, and live to Thee alone; and be Thou Thyself Thy own praise before Thy most holy Father in heaven and on earth; and grant, O Jesus, my sweetness and my life, that I may never be found ungrateful to this Thy love. By Thy immense lowliness, whereby Thou sufferedst Thyself to be sold by Thy own disciple, grant me, O my God, that I may never sell Thee, my God, for any passing thing or mere empty breath of empty glory, and that I may try to bear all contempt of myself for the honour of Thy blessed Name with loving meekness, and that I may sell myself to Thee for the kingdom of heaven, which is ever to be bought, and give my whole self up to Thee by a certain divine commerce, since it is Thou Who sayest: "Son, give Me thy heart. I am wounded for the love of thee. Give Me thy heart, and I shall be healed; give Me thy heart, and take Me as thy reward."

By Thy intense sadness, distress and fear; by Thy devout prayer and humble resignation; by Thy bloody sweat, grant that I may have ever recourse to Thee in all adversity and temptation, that I may trust in Thee alone, forsake myself, and offer myself in resignation to Thee.

By that admirable love of Thine, whereby Thou sufferedst Thyself not only to be betrayed by Judas, but to be given up to Thine enemies; grant me, O good Jesus, that I may never betray Thee either in myself or in my neighbours, nor refuse to mine enemies the offices and courtesies. of love.

By that love, whereby Thou desiredst to be taken and bound by wicked sinful men, absolve me from the bonds of my sins, and again bind me with the cords of Thy commandments and Thy counsels, in union with Thy gracious will, so that all the members of my body, and all the powers of my soul, may constantly persevere in the presence of Thy divine Majesty, and never, at any time, be let loose through any fault of mine, to follow after the lustful liberty of the flesh.

By Thy burning love, whereby for my sake Thou wouldst bear much reproach and confusion, and suffer Thyself to be inhumanly and cruelly treated, have mercy on my sinful and guilty soul, and unburden it from all its heavy load of sin, whereby, alas! I have so shamefully disfigured Thy divine image, and wronged and contemned Thy holy Name in myself. Grant, I beseech Thee, O most loving Jesus, that I may gladly and willingly bear, for the honour of Thy sacred Name, all the shame and confusion that may come upon me.

By that priceless love, whereby Thou didst not shrink from painful scourgings, forgive me, O most merciful Jesus, for having, alas! times without number, scourged Thee by my own evil actions, and grant that I may ever confess Thee both in my heart and by my mouth, and that all my works may, by a pure intention, be in harmony with Thy gracious will, and be done in accordance with the same; and may the image of Thy countenance persevere unhurt within me.

By the loathsome and hateful spittle, with which for my sake Thou sufferedst Thy adorable and sweet Face to be defiled by the wicked Jews, forgive me, O kind Jesus, for having stained with numberless evil thoughts and impure desires, my own face in my own conscience, wherein Thou dwellest, and which ought clearly to reflect Thy shining countenance and image, and for having received Thy most sacred Body in the filthy spittle of a conscience stained with sin, and without reverence; and grant unto me, at the same time, that I may never defile the fair face of Thine image within me by unclean actions and thoughts.

By that love, whereby for my salvation Thou didst suffer Thy glorious Face, on which the angels desire to look, to be veiled with a filthy linen cloth, that the image of Thy divine countenance, which in my inward soul was hidden and darkened, might again be uncovered within me, and that the purity of Thy bright light may again arise within me, and shine once more; by that love, I say, enlighten me inwardly with the pleasant light of Thy heavenly grace, and grant that Thy Face may henceforth be never clouded over within me; but rather take away from my heart every veil of ignorance and sin.

O most patient Jesus, Who for my salvation wast led from judge to judge, bestow upon me, I beseech Thee, the light of truth; rule all my actions, instruct my reason according to Thy gracious will, teaching it in Thy light how it ought to go forward in the royal path of virtue, and to pass from virtue to virtue.

O Jesus, meekest Lamb of God, Who for my sake didst vouchsafe to be cruelly bound, and horribly scourged all over Thy fair Body, because I had abused my whole body and all my members by sin and hurtful lusts, grant me, that I may expose and subject all my members to corporal sufferings, and patiently accept the scourges of Thy fatherly correction, nor ever scourge Thee by my vices or sins.

O gracious Jesus, Who for the love of me didst vouchsafe to be crowned with thorns, that Thou mightest restore and mend Thine image in my soul which had been injured by sin, as that to which Thou hast united the whole of Thy blessed Trinity – for by the power of the Father Thou upholdest my memory; by the wisdom of the Son Thou art the light of my understanding, and by the love of the Holy Ghost Thou possessest and dwellest in my will, so that without Thee I can retain nothing, understand nothing, do no good thing, but all this is done by Thy most holy Trinity, which hath made its own heaven within me, and whose kingdom is my soul. For which reason also, Thou sufferedst Thyself to be mockingly adored as a King, and Thy venerable Face to be defiled by the filthy spittle of wicked men, namely, that Thou mightest cleanse and wash Thy most holy Face within me, that had become defiled by sin. Wherefore, grant that I may adore Thee, my true God, in spirit and in truth, and hail Thee my King with due worship, and that Thy kingdom may be founded and stablished in me, and may endure, so as to deserve in an eternity of bliss to receive the crown of life.

O most merciful Jesus, Who, although innocent, wert sentenced to a cruel death for the race of man, inasmuch as I have not feared the judgments of Thy justice, grant that I may ever behold Thee sitting as Judge in my soul, which is Thy tribunal, where Thou mayest bring all my thoughts, and words, and works to judgment, my own conscience bearing witness against them – for, indeed, it biteth into me sharply, and accuseth me of all my vices – so that, at the last judgment, I may appear with a safe conscience, and bear with even mind the unjust judgments of men.

O Jesus, gentle Sheep, Who for my sake wert pressed down under the heavy burden of the Cross, grant that I may gladly embrace the cross of penance, and make all crosses light by Thy Humanity, in union with the love of Thy Godhead, whereby Thou wilt unburden me of every load, and make me feel that Thy yoke is indeed sweet, and Thy burden light; and this will be more grateful and pleasing unto Thee, than if I cling to my own crosses, and persist in them according to the feeling of my impotent nature.

O most merciful Jesus, Who wert stripped of Thy own garments, because I had lost the first state of innocence, and wert commanded to sit on a hard rock, while the rough wind burned into Thy wounded Body, and Thou Thyself wert waiting for the Cross to be made ready for Thee, grant that, by a simple confession of my sins, I may put off and lay aside the old man, and be clothed in Thy sight with the garments of virtue, so that I may not be found naked, and that, stripped of all passing and temporal things that might imperil my salvation, I may deserve to be founded and established in the rock, which is Christ, even in Thyself.

O sweet Lord Jesus Christ, Who sufferedst Thyself to be so inhumanly stretched upon the Cross, that all Thy bones could be numbered, grant that all my members, and all the powers of my body and soul, being ever stretched out, and raised up in worthy praise of thee, may be lovingly united to Thee, and that my nature may be so fixed in Thy love, that I may never depart from Thy commandments, but may remain fastened to Thy Cross by the nails of Thy fear.

O unconquered Jesus, Who sufferedst Thyself to be raised up on the Cross, in order to draw all souls unto Thee, draw me wholly to Thee, that, lifted up from all earthly affections and desires, I may in spirit walk ii the heavenly places, and there firmly abide in Thy heart, O Jesus, my life, my hope, and my salvation, Thou heaven of delight, Thou hope and refuge of sinners, and of all heavy laden and afflicted hearts.

O most gracious Jesus, I beseech Thee, by the bitterness of the sorrows which for my sake Thou didst suffer on the Cross, and especially when Thy noble Soul went forth from Thy Body, have mercy on my soul at its passing away; take it into Thy hands, and grant that the merits of Thy most holy Humanity may profit it, so that in me Thou mayest have peace, and joy, and delight, both in time and throughout all eternity. Amen.

FINISHED