When I contemplated that blessed Mary, whom I loved, as so tenderly approaching the house where she was to meet her divine Son, who had been so long absent from her, my heart suddenly throbbed in sympathy with hers. I felt as if sharing her unspeakable joy at every step which brought her nearer to her adorable and beloved son. What tears had she not shed when Jesus had left her alone, in her poor, now, and cheerless home, that He might preach the gospel in the distant places, where his Father had sent Him! With Jesus in her humble home, was she not more happy than the greatest queen on her throne! Did she not possess a treasure more precious than all the world! How sweet to her ears were the words she had heard from His lips!
How lovely the face of the most beautiful among the sons of men! How happy she must have felt when she heard that he was, now, near enough to allow her to go and see Him! How quick were her steps! How cheerful and interesting the meeting! How the beloved Saviour will repay by His respectful and divine love to his mother, the trouble and the fatigue of her long journey! My heart beat with joy at the privilege of witnessing that interview, and of hearing the respectful words Jesus would address to His mother!
With heart and soul throbbing with these feelings, I slowly read,
“While he talked to the people, behold His mother and His brethren, stood without desiring to speak with Him.
“Then one said unto Him: Behold, thy mother and thy brethren stand without desiring to speak with thee.
“But he answered, and said unto him that told Him: Who is my mother? Who are my brethren?
“And he stretched forth His hands towards His disciples, and said: Behold my mother and brethren!
“For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in Heaven, the same is my brother, sister and mother.”
I had hardly finished reading the last verse, when big drops of sweat began to flow from my face, my heart beat with a tremendous speed, and I came near fainting; I sat in my large armchair, expecting every minute to fall on the floor. Those alone who have stood several hours at the fall of the marvellous Niagara, heard the thundering noise of its waters, and felt the shaking of the rocks under their feet, can have any idea of what I felt in that hour of agony.
A voice, the voice of my conscience, whose thunders were like the voice of a thousand Niagaras, was telling me: “Do you not see that you have preached a sacrilegious lie, this morning, when, from the pulpit, you said to your ignorant and deluded people, that Jesus always granted the petitions of His mother, Mary? Are you not ashamed to deceive yourself, and deceive your poor countrymen with such silly falsehoods?”