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 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 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 temptations, saying, “Help me, Mary, help me.” Amen.