What relief do I feel in my miseries, and what consolation in my tribulation; what strength do I not find in the midst of temptations, when I remember and call thee, O my Mother, to my aid? O my most sweet and most holy Mother Mary, my own Mother, do thou console me! I see myself loaded with sins and surrounded by enemies, without virtue, and cold in my love towards God. Comfort me, and let me begin a new life, a life which will be pleasing to thy Son and to thee. Amen.
Eleventh Day. Meeting Jesus with the Cross.
We have now come to the morning of Good Friday—to Mary's meeting Jesus with the cross, which is one of her seven dolors. It is twenty-one years since the three days' loss, and the heart of Mary has traversed a world of mysteries since then—always [pg 201] in joy, yet always with her lifelong sorrow before her. It would be impossible to make any calculations of the sum of love which these years produced in Mary's heart. But now the time has come when Mary must give Jesus up, to be scourged and to be put to death. The Passion may be said to begin on the Thursday in Holy Week. The first Mass took place that night, Our Lord's first unbloody sacrifice, to be followed on the morrow by the dreadful one of blood. By a miraculous grace Mary is enabled to go through all the dreadful tortures of that long night of pain. She hears the sound of the scourging, and sees the cruel soldiers crown Him with thorns, bandage His eyes, and dare to bend the knee in mockery before Him Who has one day to be their Judge. She has heard Pilate say, “Behold the man,” and the cry of the people, “Crucify Him, crucify Him!” and when Pilate said, “I am innocent of the blood of this just man; look you to it,” she heard the dreadful imprecation that was shouted by the demons around her, “His blood be upon us, and upon our children! Crucify Him, crucify Him!” Then they lead Him away to pronounce the final sentence. The streets are filled with a great concourse of people, all going in one direction towards Calvary. What a journey for Mary, yet she never shrinks. Oh, how can we, when we look at our sinless Mother suffering so patiently, how can we murmur at the petty trials that God sends us? Mary, with St. John and Magdalen, stands at the corner. She does not even tremble. Hark, that hoarse shouting, that trampling and hurrying of feet! The procession comes in sight; the centurion leads the way, the soldiers dragging Jesus and His heavy [pg 202] cross—then the maddened crowd surge around, about and behind her. She approaches to embrace Him, but the soldiers thrust her rudely back. He staggers, and falls with a dull, heavy sound upon the street. O God of heaven! He falls, and His sweet Mother must stand and look on. Well may she say, “Look and see if there be sorrow like unto my sorrow.” Men crowd around Him, and with curses and blows drag Him up, and sweep on again on the way to Calvary, to finish their impious designs. O my Mother, I too was one of the agents in that cruel work! Surely, when I see all that my most sorrowful Mother had to undergo, it will cost me no great effort to have a loving devotion to her. Can we look on this sinless, uncomplaining Mother, standing in the streets of Jerusalem, gazing on her Son and her God torn and bruised, crowned with cruel thorns, bending under the heavy cross which we gave Him, and refuse to bear the little crosses which He gives us? Oh, no! Let us look at our Mother, and like her see all the beauty of our Jesus in the blood-stained countenance of the God made man, and carry most gladly all trials that our loving Lord may send us.
Prayer.
O most holy Mary, in the great battle in which I am now engaged with hell, do thou always help me! And when thou seest me wavering, and likely to fall, O my Lady, do thou extend thy hand and sustain me. Mary, my hope, my refuge, my strength, do thou protect me, and never allow me to lose the grace of God. And on my part, I resolve always and instantly to have recourse to thee in all [pg 203] temptations, saying, “Help me, Mary, help me.” Amen.
Twelfth Day. The Crucifixion.
The way of the cross is ended, and they have come to Calvary. They have stripped Jesus of His garments, and have laid Him on the hard bed of the cross. Now commences the dreadful work of nailing His blessed hands and feet to the cross. The right hand is nailed to the cross first, but through some mistake the left hand will not reach; then a fearful scene takes place. The brutal soldiers pull with all their force, until, dislocating the arm, they succeed in stretching the hand to its place. Picture Mary looking in mute agony on that dreadful scene! His legs are stretched out, one foot crossed upon the other, and through them the nail is driven. Now the cross is raised on high, and Jesus hangs upon it. In the past few moments Mary has suffered a world of woe. The sacrifice of the Mother was inseparable from that of the Son; it would have cost her much less to have given her own life, and for this reason she is justly styled the Queen of martyrs. The first hour of the three long hours of agony has passed; still Jesus is silent. The second hour begins. There are fewer persons around the cross; all is silent, and then His lips move. Mary listens with all her heart: “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” Beautiful, beautiful prayer—true of all sins and of all sinners—“they know not what they do.” Beautiful prayer also because it discloses the heart of a God. For God alone could teach such charity as this, and Mary, joining her Son in His prayer, looks [pg 204] up to heaven and repeats, “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” The third hour begins, and His first word in this last hour goes through her very soul: “I thirst.” Well might He thirst. Since the night before nothing has crossed His lips, and Mary, His Mother, is unable to give Him a drink to cool them, parched and swollen as they are; she cannot even reach to wipe away the blood that has congealed there. Thus for three long hours she watches Him in His death-agony, unable to afford Him the slightest alleviation; until at last He cries out with a loud voice, “Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit.” And bowing His head, Jesus dies. Such were the sufferings endured by the Mother of that divine Son. Jesus dies for love of us, and we live to torture and crucify Him afresh. What sublime lessons Mary here gives us, and how perfectly is she the model of those souls whom God permits to be sorely tried in affliction! Their trials are great, but are they to be compared with hers? Ah, do not complain, but to enable you to endure your sufferings cast your eyes on this sorrowful Mother, and ask her to obtain for you grace to imitate her firmness, her constancy, and her generosity. After Jesus on the cross, the most beautiful book one can study is Mary at the foot of the cross.
Prayer.