Spring, with its wealth of beauty on the earth, and its Lenten discipline in the Church, was slowly passing away in Rome; and all the time Aquileia was holding out through the three months’ agony of her siege, a perpetual reminder and symbol to the household on the Aventine of the spiritual conflict to be waged always by all. For Marius, their own Marius, was there, in what might prove the last death-struggle of civilization and Christianity, or might prove the travail-pangs of the birth of a new world of life and light. And now the fast of Lent was deepening into the shadows of Gethsemane, and the Passion-tide was bringing the pathos and strength of the Cross; and again the voice of Bishop Leo rang through the basilicas with its deep, inspiring tones.
“So it is, dearly beloved, that the true ground of Christian hope is the Cross of Christ. Whilst the blindness of the Jew does not see what is Divine in Christ Jesus, and the wisdom of the Gentiles despises what is human; whilst the former speak deprecatingly of the Lord’s glory, and the latter assume airs of pride about His lowliness, we adore the Son of God equally in His own might and in our infirmity.”
As Ethne listened, to her, Jew and Gentile were no lifeless, technical expressions; her heart went up to God for Miriam and Eleazar, that they might look up, and looking, be no longer blind, but see the love which is the glory of God. Again, in Leo’s words, she prayed “for that nation by whom the Lord had been crucified, and desired that mercy might be obtained by that people, on account of whose stumbling we have received the grace of reconciliation.”
Of the conflict in Gethsemane Leo said—“The lower will gave way to the higher, and it was shown to us what may be prayed for by one in distress, and what ought not be granted by the Healer. For since we know not what to pray for as we ought, and it is good for us that what we wish should not for the most part take place, when we seek for what would hurt us, our good and righteous Lord is merciful in refusing it. Therefore, when our Lord had by threefold prayer settled the mode of putting our own wills right, He said to His disciples, ‘Sleep on now and take your rest.’”
And the three women—mother, sister, and bride—in the agony of their Gethsemane of dread and longing for their beloved, at Aquileia or in all the perils of their journeys by sea and land, listening to those words of pardon and peace, comforted one another, and went home that night, and prayed Thy will be done, and slept and took their rest.
Even for Judas Leo had a word of sympathy, recognizing the yearning of the Master even for the traitor.
“From this man,” he said, “was withheld no condescension, lest some vexation should give him the motive for crime; for after the Lord had died for all, perhaps even this man might have found mercy if he had not hurried to his death.”
And so the tide of tender, sacred adoration flowed deeper and higher on through the days of the Passion, without a touch of morbid, melodramatic sensation, or of weak introspection. “The Festival of our Lord’s Passion,” as he called it, “suffers us not to be silent amid our exulting bursts of spiritual joy. For since the prophet says, ‘Seek His face evermore,’ no one ought to presume that he has found the whole of what he is seeking, lest by seeking to advance we fail to draw near.”
“The lowliness we see in God amazes us more than the power; we find it harder to grasp the emptying of the Divine Majesty than the carrying up on high the form of a servant.