__________________________________________________________________ Title: Meditations on the Life and Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Creator(s): Tauler, John (c. 1300-1361) Print Basis: London: Thomas Richardson and Son (1875) CCEL Subjects: All __________________________________________________________________ MEDITATIONS ON THE LIFE AND PASSION OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST. Mediaeval Library of Mystical and Ascetical Works. __________________________________________________________________ MEDITATIONS ON THE LIFE AND PASSION OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST. BY DR. JOHN TAULER, DOMINICAN FRIAR. TRANSLATED FROM THE LATIN BY A SECULAR PRIEST, AUTHOR OF A TRANSLATION OF "The Book of the Visions and Instructions of B. Angela of Foligno;" "The Life of V. Grignon de Montfort;" etc., etc. Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, pray for us. London: THOMAS RICHARDSON AND SON, DUBLIN, AND DERBY. 1875. __________________________________________________________________ CONTENTS. Page The First Chapter.--A Confession on bended knees to implore God's goodness 1 The Second Chapter.--A devout Meditation and Thanksgiving on the Incarnation and Life of Jesus 7 The Third Chapter.--Of the washing of the disciples' feet 23 The Fourth Chapter.--Of the Institution of the Worshipful and most August Sacrament 29 The Fifth Chapter.--A devout Prayer to the Worshipful Sacrament 44 The Sixth Chapter.--A devout Exercise on the Passion of our Lord 50 The Seventh Chapter.--Of the great Sorrow and Anguish which Christ underwent in the Garden, at the thought of His Passion hanging over Him 56 The Eighth Chapter.--A Prayer and Offering for Sins 66 The Ninth Chapter.--A Prayer to the Son for Pardon, and the grace of Self-denial 81 The Tenth Chapter.--Jesus goeth to meet His Enemies 84 The Eleventh Chapter.--A Prayer for perfect Self-denial and Love 92 The Twelfth Chapter.--Jesus is taken and bound 94 The Thirteenth Chapter.--A very humble Confession of Sins, and a Prayer to the Father for Forgiveness 103 The Fourteenth Chapter.--Jesus is forsaken by His Disciples 111 The Fifteenth Chapter.--Jesus is led to Annas 114 The Sixteenth Chapter.--A Prayer that we may follow Christ 129 The Seventeenth Chapter.--Jesus is led to Caiaphas 134 The Eighteenth Chapter.--Mary followeth Jesus her Son 152 The Nineteenth Chapter.--Of the Compassion of the Virgin Mother for her Son 159 The Twentieth Chapter.--Jesus is delivered to Pilate 164 The Twenty-first Chapter.--A Prayer that we may perfectly follow and love Jesus 168 The Twenty-second Chapter.--Jesus is led to Herod 172 The Twenty-third Chapter.--Christ, after having been set at nought by Herod, is led back to Pilate 179 The Twenty-fourth Chapter.--Jesus is fearfully scourged 183 The Twenty-fifth Chapter.--A devout Prayer for the forgiveness of sins, and for resignation, and the love of Jesus 199 The Twenty-sixth Chapter.--Jesus is crowned with thorns 204 The Twenty-seventh Chapter.--A Prayer for enlightenment 213 The Twenty-eighth Chapter.--Christ is shown to the people by the Governor, with the words: "Behold the Man!" 219 The Twenty-ninth Chapter.--The burden of the Cross is laid on Jesus 237 The Thirtieth Chapter.--Mary, the Mother of Sorrows, followeth her sorrowing Son 248 The Thirty-first Chapter.--A Prayer to the Father of Heaven 253 The Thirty-second Chapter.--Jesus is given vinegar to drink 258 The Thirty-third Chapter.--Jesus is again stripped of His garments 262 The Thirty-fourth Chapter.--Jesus is fastened on the Cross 270 The Thirty-fifth Chapter.--A Prayer to Jesus Crucified 286 The Thirty-sixth Chapter.--Jesus with the Cross is lifted up on high 289 The Thirty-seventh Chapter.--Jesus was numbered with thieves 300 The Thirty-eighth Chapter.--Of the glorious title of Christ's Cross 301 The Thirty-ninth Chapter.--Jesus clotheth those who had crucified Him 307 The Fortieth Chapter.--Jesus is attacked with blasphemies 313 The Forty-first Chapter.--A devout confession and prayer for sins 325 Forty-second Chapter.--To stir up the soul to praise God 330 The Forty-third Chapter.--Jesus saveth the thief 335 The Forty-fourth Chapter.--Jesus addresseth His sorrow-stricken Mother 345 The Forty-fifth Chapter.--The Sun is darkened 361 The Forty-sixth Chapter.--"My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" 366 The Forty-seventh Chapter.--Jesus complaineth of His thirst 376 The Forty-eighth Chapter.--Jesus drinketh vinegar and gall upon the Cross 386 The Forty-ninth Chapter.--"It is finished" 393 The Fiftieth Chapter.--"Father, into Thy hands I commend My Spirit" 398 The Fifty-first Chapter.--Jesus giveth up the Ghost 406 The Fifty-second Chapter.--The veil of the temple is rent in twain 409 The Fifty-third Chapter.--Jesus is pierced with the lance 416 The Fifty-fourth Chapter.--Jesus is taken down from the Cross 429 The Fifty-fifth Chapter.--A devout prayer for conformity to the sacred life and crucified image of Jesus Christ 434 __________________________________________________________________ Meditations ON THE Life and Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. __________________________________________________________________ THE FIRST CHAPTER. A Confession on bended knees to implore God's goodness. O Most gracious Jesus, my Love, Salvation, and Comfort! O most faithful Lover of men, my Maker and Redeemer! Light of my heart, Solace of my spirit, and Medicine of my soul, how much do I owe Thee, O my God! Of what worth hast Thou esteemed me, O my Creator, Who hast formed me out of nothing to Thine own image and likeness? For a price beyond all reckoning hast Thou bought me; with exceeding great labour hast Thou redeemed me; for how many years in long-suffering hast Thou borne with me; while I still persevered in my iniquities hast Thou spared me. Many are the good gifts, and great is the loving-kindness, by which Thou hast drawn me, and followed after me; and countless are the times when in Thy mercy, and by Thy divine grace, Thou hast come to my help, although as many times I turned my back upon Thee, nor obeyed Thy holy inspirations,--but neglected Thy most holy will;--nay, when I even gave myself up, instead, to my own corrupt and wicked will. O most gracious God, how ungrateful have I been for all Thy bountiful gifts, even to this hour! O merciful God, behold I confess, to Thee my manifold and great iniquity. Lord, open Thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise; for, see, Lord, to Thee have I lifted up my soul. O unseen Sanctifier! do Thou purify my spirit, and make ready my heart to praise Thee, and give thanks unto Thee. Enlighten my understanding. Gather all my memory into one point. Kindle my desires. Purify my intention. Purge my affections. Raise up the powers of my soul to Thyself, and water its drought with the dew of Thy heavenly grace. O, most loving God! vouchsafe, now, I beseech Thee, to bow down Thine ears from Thy throne in heaven to me, Thy wretched and sinful creature, and hear my prayers, whereby in lowly fear I knock at the breast of Thy divine grace. Behold! I turn me wholly to Thee. Lo! I lift up all the powers of my soul to praise Thee, and bless Thee, and with my whole strength I open my heart unto Thee. Oh! cause this heart of mine, I beseech Thee, to be pierced by the rays of Thy divine love, to be enlightened by the splendours of Thy divine brightness, so that inwardly I may look into the lowest depth of my soul, and may see and acknowledge how far I am from Thee, my God!--that I may behold, too, the faults and vices which keep me from Thy love and service, and make me unworthy to receive into my soul the inpouring of Thy divine grace. For so long a time, O Lord my God, hast Thou embraced and girt me round about with Thy immeasurable gifts, and benefits, and graces, but, above all, with Thine incomprehensible charity, that I cannot hide me from the glow of Thy love, or keep back my spirit from Thy praise. Yea! my heart desireth to praise Thee, and give thanks unto Thee, so far as I am able, with every power of my soul; and my spirit exulteth earnestly in Thy praise, and my soul doth magnify Thee, for over me Thy grace is exceeding great. But who am I, O most high and Almighty Maker, that I should dare to praise Thee? Moreover, how shall I dare to open my mouth, full, as it is, of all uncleanness, and covered with the vile filth of so many vices, to tell of Thy power and might? Nay, what can I ever think, or understand, or speak of Thee, Who art immense, invisible, incomprehensible, inscrutable, so as to be able to praise, extol, and magnify Thee, since I am powerless to form any thought of Thee, or take in, or scrutinize Thy Being? Yet, although I, who am but a poor, little, worthless man,--an empty straw,--am not sufficient of myself to praise Thee, O high, and terrible, and incomprehensible Majesty, since neither Thyself nor Thy works can I comprehend; nevertheless, for this very reason ought I to laud and extol Thee, O my God, and give thanks unto Thee; because Thou art so wonderful, and high, and incomprehensible and inscrutable, that neither by understanding, nor keenness of mind, nor reason, can any of Thy creatures reach unto Thee, save only in the way and in the measure that Thou givest them to understand concerning Thee by Thy grace. For if, of old, profane and heathen men made such loud exultation, and boasted themselves so mightily of their great, and powerful, and immortal gods, in that they were made at great cost, and with cunning art, of gold, and other precious things,--and, indeed, in one sense they were not mortal, for never had they any share in mortal life--how much more just is it that I should exult in Thee, my Almighty Lord, Whose power is so exceeding great, that Thou fillest the heavens and the earth with the glory of Thy Majesty; Whose beauty is so exceeding fair, that the sun and the moon and all the elements marvel thereat, while the angelic spirits rejoice beyond all measure in contemplating Thee; Whose strength is so exceeding terrible, that by one look of Thine Thou makest the earth to tremble; Whose might is so exceeding marvellous, that by a word Thou didst bring forth the heavens and the earth, and all creatures are subject to Thy will; Whose riches are so exceeding vast, that whatsoever is contained within the boundary of heaven and earth belongeth to Thee alone, and is ruled by Thee without care or anxiousness; Whose goodness and loving kindness, last of all, are so exceeding tender, that Thy mercy is over all Thy works. For there is not even a little worm, however utterly vile, nor any creature, however abject, that doth not share Thy favour, or which Thou forgettest to uphold, and give it its food in due season. If, then, from Thy marvellous works, O Almighty and most gracious God, we are able to discover and gather, that Thou art so powerful, and wise, and good, because Thou createst all things of such wonderful workmanship without any labour, and governest them so wisely without any care, and upholdest them so tenderly without any lessening of Thy riches;--how powerful, and wise, and good, and admirable, must Thou be in Thyself, since, of a surety, the workman is higher, and nobler, and worthier, than the work of his hands! For with the same ease couldst Thou create, rule, and uphold a thousand heavens and a thousand worlds, as one heaven and one world. How then, O Almighty One, shall I tell of Thy praise, when this is above the understanding of all Thy creatures, even of the spirits in heaven? O most merciful God; I know that Thou standest in no need of any works or praise of ours, since in Thyself Thou ever aboundest in all praise. Simple art Thou in Thyself and perfect God, Whom no creature can add to, or take from by any of its works, nevertheless Thou vouchsafest to be praised by Thy frail and worthless creatures. Therefore, although my praise, O loving God, is far too lukewarm and vile, and unworthy of Thy lofty power, and incomprehensible wisdom, and unutterable goodness; yet do Thou vouchsafe graciously to accept it, and let Thy goodness make up for my weakness. O most tender Lord! although unworthy, it is still my chief duty to praise Thee. For how can I be ungrateful for Thy manifold gifts and benefits? Can I ever cease from praising Thee, when Thou ceasest not to do me good? O most merciful Jesus, I would indeed wish to gather together, and heap up in the ark of my heart, all Thy good gifts and all Thy loving-kindness which Thou hast poured out upon me, and to laud Thee and give Thee special thanks for each one of Thy benefits. But who is able, O Lord, to look into or sound the depth of Thy goodness, or to measure the breadth of Thy love? Yet, although this is impossible for all Thy creatures, still may this, the chief work of our salvation, wherein Thy mighty love is chiefly reflected, never depart from my heart! __________________________________________________________________ THE SECOND CHAPTER. A devout Meditation and Thanksgiving on the Incarnation and Life of Jesus. I Adore Thee, O Jesus Christ, Thou King of Israel, Light of the people, Lord of lords, Prince of peace, Power of God Almighty, Wisdom of the Father. I adore Thee, O Reconciler of men, most tender Advocate of sinners, the refreshment of them who labour, the comfort of them who are oppressed, the reward of all the just. I adore Thee, O Bread of Life, Medicine of the soul, Peace-maker of the people, Redeemer of the world, Joy of heaven, grateful Peace-offering and Sacrifice, peace-giving Victim, Who by the sweet smell of Thy vestments hast graciously bowed down and moved Thy Father, Who dwelleth on high, to look upon our weakness and wretchedness, and to hear our groans and lamentations, and to take us back into His favour. O most merciful Jesus! behold, I confess Thy exceeding tenderness and grace, which out of Thine own essential goodness, and for no merits of ours, Thou hast poured out upon us; and I offer Thee the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving for all Thy benefits, which Thou hast bestowed upon us, who are but an evil seed, vessels of wrath, reprobate children, useless servants, and sinners worthy of damnation and death. Behold! I praise, and exalt, and bless Thee, and give thanks unto Thee with my whole soul and heart, and all the powers and faculties of my mind. Of a truth, Thy mercy over us is exceeding great! For when we were all children of damnation and wrath, and enemies to Thee, spotted with the stain of original sin, destroyers of Thine image in our souls, violators of Thy temple; when, I say, the old serpent had infected us with his poison, then it was that Thou wert mindful of Thy mercy, and lookedst down from Thy dwelling-place in heaven upon this valley of tears, and didst have compassion on our tears, and didst hear our groans, touched in Thy bowels with sorrow of heart, and moved by pity for the wretchedness of Thy people;--yea, at the same time, Thy heart was kindled with love. And although Thou wert the very Son of God, dwelling in light inaccessible, and upholding all things by Thy divine power, and governing and ruling all things by Thy divine wisdom, in Whose sight the angels tremble, at Whose name every knee is bent; yet in no way didst Thou disdain to bow down Thy lofty power to the dark prison-house of this wicked world, and to be made partaker of our weakness and misery, and to be clothed with the sackcloth of our mortality; and all this, that Thou mightest swallow up our wretchedness and weakness in Thine own divine power, and enrich our poverty, and cause our mortality to rise unto life eternal, and wash away and blot out our sins, and restore our nature to its first innocence, and lead us out of captivity into freedom of spirit, and make good again our ruin by bestowing on us glory everlasting. Nor to accomplish the work of our redemption didst Thou send any of Thine angels, no, not even from the Cherubim, or Seraphim, but Thou Thyself didst come at the bidding and by the will of Thy Father,--of Whose unutterable goodness we have had experience in Thee, His Eternal Word,-- not, indeed, for change of place, but that Thou mightest show us Thy Presence by taking upon Thee our humanity. From the bosom of the Father Thou camest down into the most pure, and virgin, and integral body of the chaste and sweet Virgin Mary; in whose most sacred womb the power of the Holy Ghost alone caused Thee to be conceived and, born in the nature of man;--yet, in such, a way, that this birth of Thine in no way detracted from Thy Majesty, nor lessened the chaste integrity, of that most-blessed Virgin. O wonderful and incomprehensible exchange! The Lord of glory, for our poor human weakness, gave His own most high Godhead! The Maker of all creatures did not abhor to take upon Him the form of a servant! Nor was it, alone, the form of a servant that He took upon Him, but He was even humbled, like an abject worm, and held of no account, and condemned as a transgressor, and a wicked man, to the shameful death of the cross,--He, Who is one day to judge the living and the dead! O most loving Jesus; how, from the very beginning, hast Thou loved us! It was not enough for Thee to be our Lord, and Maker, and Guardian, but Thou wouldst also become our Redeemer, fellow-worker, brother,--our own flesh and blood! Thou wouldst have a share in our weakness, and poverty, and mortality,--Thou who stoodest in no need of aught whatsoever! And, so poor wert Thou made, and so deeply didst Thou taste of the bitterness of our wretchedness, that at the very time of Thy birth, Thou hadst not even any little thing belonging to Thee by inheritance, wherein Thy tender and infant limbs might have been laid and sheltered--Thou Who art the Lord of heaven and earth! In a stable wert Thou born, and the rough manger and coarse little cloths were all that Thou didst suffer to be a resting-place and a covering for Thy tender members! Nay, even Thy poor unworthy resting-place was borrowed by Thy blessed and truly-loving Mother of the beasts of the field that cannot reason. O good Jesus! whose heart would not be softened and kindled with love, and stirred up to devotion, and moved to compassion, when he beholdeth such exceeding poverty, and marvellous lowliness, and burning love towards man? O how quickly didst Thou begin to work at our salvation! How zealously didst Thou accomplish it! Not even one moment of time didst Thou lose, for not a moment was there which was not perfectly spent by Thee in saving us according to Thy Father's Will. Straightway, from the very first moment of Thy birth, Thou didst begin to give Thyself up to pain and suffering. But why, O sweet Jesus, was it Thy Will to become so lowly, and poor, and helpless, and abject, except to teach us lowliness, and to commend to us holy poverty? Thou didst take our human nature, that we might be made partakers of Thy Godhead. Thou wert made the Son of Man, that we might be made the sons of God, that we might become, I say, by adoption and grace, what Thou wert from all eternity by nature. Thou wert born in a stable, that Thou mightest preserve not men only, but beasts, (for men had become beasts.) Thou wert placed in a manger, and Thyself wert made grass, that Thou mightest become the food of poor beasts. Yes, O Lord, it must needs have been, that Thou shouldst be made grass, when men themselves had become beasts. For a certain prophet saith: "The beasts have become rotten in their own dung," that is, in the filth of their sins. In order, then, that these animal men might feed, the Word was made grass, (that is, flesh.) For all flesh is grass; and that they might be led out of the stable of their filthy sins, Christ was born in a stable. Now, then, O man given up to thy senses, adore Him lying in a stable, Whom thou hast despised as the Ruler of heaven; adore as a beast, and as one of the cattle of the field, Him Whom, in thy character as man, thou wouldst not recognize. Turn now to Him, in the wretchedness and banishment of this world, from Whom thou didst turn away in the paradise of delights. Honour now His manger, Whose commandment thou hast broken. Feed, now, upon the grass, who hast turned aside from, and left the Bread of angels. O Almighty King of glory, what love hath overcome Thee, that Thou shouldst make Thyself so poor, so lowly, so abject, for me, who am but a sinner and a poor worm; that Thou shouldst be placed in a filthy stable among brute beasts, Who art adored by the angels in heaven; that Thou shouldst be nourished with milk, Who art Thyself the Bread of angels, that Thou shouldst be wrapped in coarse swaddling clothes, Who adornest the heaven with stars, and clothest Thy holy ones in stoles of gold? Nay, even in Thy very harmless infancy Thine enemies kept not back their cruel hands from Thy tender members. Scarcely wert Thou born, and while as yet Thou layest in the chaste arms of Thy sweet Mother, taking pleasant rest on her maternal bosom, as in Thy hunger she gave to Thee her virgin milk; when not as yet hadst Thou spoken a word to anyone, even then did cruel and wicked men seek after Thy life to destroy it. O sweet Jesus, how quickly did they rise up against Thee, those wicked enemies of Thine! How young didst Thou begin to suffer! As Thou grewest in age, so, too, grew Thy suffering. Eight days had barely passed away, when Thou didst shed Thine infant and innocent Blood for me, and as if under sin and the law, wert circumcised according to the law, that Thou mightest uphold, and build up, and sanctify the law. So, too, that Thine infancy and boyhood might be an ensample of religion and the mirror of virtues, Thou didst not follow the vain ways of this world. Thou soughtest no comfort or relaxation of mind in boyish games, or in the company and meeting-places of talkative men, where nothing but temporal and vain things are spoken of. But in the temple, and worship? and service of Thy Father, wert Thou found amidst the doctors, hearing them, and asking them questions,--Thou Who art the very Wisdom of the Father, the Lord of knowledge, the Eternal Truth, and the Word of God, which was in the beginning. And that Thou mightest deliver unto us a certain form of obedience, Thou placedst Thyself under Thy parents, being made subject unto them, Thou to Whom all the elements are subject, to Whom all power is given in heaven and in earth, and Who hast the keys of death and hell. Then, when the fulness of age had come to Thee, and the time was at hand when Thou wert to put out Thy hand to strong things, Thou didst go forth in the morning for the salvation of Thy people, and didst rejoice as a strong giant to run the course of our poverty. And that, first of all, Thou mightest teach us the virtue of blessed humility, which is the beginning and ground-work of all virtues, Thou wentest forth, an innocent lamb, to Thy servant John the Baptist, who was administering the baptism of penance unto sinners, just as if Thou Thyself wert a sinner; and Thou didst ask of him to be baptized, Thou Who hadst never felt the least stain of sin--not that Thou hadst need to be sprinkled, and washed with water, but that Thou, in Thine own Person, mightest bless the water as with sacred chrism, and mightest consecrate baptism for us, whereby we were to be cleansed from all stain of sin, and that thus Thou mightest point out, that Thou wert the true Messias, promised to the fathers, and the Christ, that is, the anointed One, and the spotless Lamb of God, Who, takest away the sins of the world. Thence Thou wentest forth in the power of the spirit into the wilderness, and that, as our strong standard-bearer and leader, Thou mightest give us courage for the fight, Thou Thyself, first of all, didst enter into battle, and begin a single-handed combat with our cruel enemy, whom straightway, with his whole power, at the first meeting Thou didst lay low, that being conquered by a man, he might be confounded, and cease henceforth to boast that of old he had conquered and deceived man. O unvanquished Lion, how earnestly, and with what toil hast Thou wrought out our salvation, in order to stir us up, Thy weak members, and give us courage for toil and for battle. Thou didst not fear the loneliness of the wilderness, nor grow pale at the temptation of the devil--no gnawing of hunger, no roughness of penance held Thee back, nor wert Thou ever weary of the labour of prayer, or of meditation, or of watching. For the salvation of us, Thy suffering members, was ever in Thy Heart, and for these, like a most faithful father, Thou wert ever careful, and didst earnestly labour to enrich them with eternal goods, and lay up for us the unfailing treasure of virtue and merit, from which we might draw in all abundance whatever might be wanting to us. Then, too, because the light of Thy Godhead, which lay hidden within Thee, under the bushel of Thy Manhood, could not be concealed, Thou didst suffer the light of Thy heavenly doctrine and wisdom to shine out in the face of day, that Thou mightest enlighten all men as to the faith. For to all who dwelt in those parts Thou didst announce the kingdom of God, confirming Thy words by marvellous works and miracles; while to all who were weak, or in evil state, Thou didst declare Thy divine power, nor to anyone didst Thou refuse Thy tender loving-kindness, that Thou mightest gain all, and heal them. But the understanding of men was darkened, for not with love did they receive Thee as their Saviour, but rather turned away their hearts far from Thee, as if from some seducer and impostor of evil will. At the same time, they despised Thy teaching; they spoke ill of Thy works; they made light of Thy miracles. Not only were they ungrateful for all these Thy benefits, but even for the very reasons for which they ought to have loved and worshipped Thee, for these same reasons they wickedly accused, and hated, and persecuted, and blasphemed Thee, saying: "This man is not from God: He seduceth the multitude: He is a winebibber and a friend of publicans." Yet all the while, O most meek Lamb, Thou openedst not Thy sacred mouth to utter words that might have grieved them, but Thou didst bear all with gentleness. Why, then, art thou so impatient, and so fainthearted, O my soul, when any adversity cometh upon thee, or some pain or annoyance is inflicted on thee on the part of men? Dost thou not perceive how great was the wrong, and the slight, and the contempt, and the shame which the Lord of glory suffered for thee? Dost thou make more account of thyself than of Him? If they called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more them of His household, and His ministers? O Jesus, Wisdom of God, Eternal Truth, how brightly hath Thy divine light shone down on the sons of Adam! How hath all Thy life, and every action of Thine, been to us, as it were, a light leading us on to the truth! How clearly hath the light of Thy heavenly teaching lit up the darkness! How full were all Thy works of lowliness; and long-suffering, and love, and self-denial; in a word, of every grace and virtue, so that in these were reflected the most perfect examples of all holiness! Therefore, whatever is wanting to me, from these sources will I draw it. If in anything I shall happen to doubt, in Thy holy life as in a clear mirror will I look. For here I find rigorous self-denial, true obedience, profound humility, voluntary poverty, unutterable purity, marvellous patience, unchanging long-suffering, constant perseverance, and incomprehensible charity. Here, also, I find in all abundance, that of which we chiefly stand in need, infinite loving-kindness and mercy,--yea, and all the virtues that I can possibly think of in my heart, all these I clearly discover written down as on a tablet. Of a truth, Thou art that book which the prophet saw written within and without, for all Thy life, both outward and inward, is full of spiritual teaching, and all virtue. Truly, whosoever, with the prophet eateth this book, and masticateth it well, shall find it sweet in his mouth, like honey. O most pitiful Jesus, what labours didst Thou undergo, in seeking after and gathering together the lost sheep of the house of Israel! With what friendship and sweetness didst Thou recall them from their error to Thyself; how gently didst Thou smile upon them, and win them by Thy good deeds, and draw them by Thy love to Thy Father, now by the promise of heavenly gifts, now by the threats of the torments of hell, at one time by smiles, at another by upbraiding. What more couldst Thou have done unto this vine, that Thou hast not done? Oh! how earnestly didst Thou endeavour to plant Thy Father's vineyard, without ever sparing Thyself in heat or cold, or in thirst or hunger, or in watchings or labours? For Thy Heart was ever glowing within Thee with an exceeding burning longing, as in a fiery furnace, to gain for Thy Father, and save the whole of Israel. What shall I pay unto Thee, O sweet Jesus, for all these immense benefits of Thine? What is man, that Thou shouldst so thirst after his salvation, and suffer so much for his redemption, and labour so earnestly to draw him to Thy love? What is there in lost man in which Thou canst take delight? Of what use to Thee is the sinner in his uncleanness? Or what gain dost Thou look for from a vile and wretched worm of earth, that Thou placest Thy Heart so near him? O gentlest Lover of men, why have I begun so late to love Thee? Why have I left Thee, the well-spring of virtue, and the vein of living waters? Why have I turned away from Thee, Who art the stream of spiritual favours, the abyss of graces, the highest good, and the mirror of all perfection? What madness hath overcome me, that I should not blush to offend so faithful a father, to anger so powerful a Lord? Alas! wretched man that I am, I have forsaken Thee, the Bread of angels, and in my exceeding want have filled myself with the husks of vicious pleasure, in order that I might satisfy my beastly appetites. O, Restorer of nature, how glorious and beautiful didst Thou create me, and how full of corruption and foul have I made myself! For behold, my heart is turned aside, it is hard like adamant. My memory is scattered abroad, my understanding is darkened, my will is corrupted, my love is cold, my soul hath become a filthy thing, my spirit is relaxed and languisheth. I am wholly given up to my senses, I have become hateful and abominable. When Thou leavest me, I grieve not; I have fallen into the devils' snare, and I see it not; they have struck me, and wounded me to death, and I feel it not; I have fallen to the gates of hell, and I mourn not. Yet not even in this state, O most merciful God, dost Thou turn away from me Thy great and manifold mercy. Thou callest me to Thyself, who have gone far from Thee. Thou drawest me to Thee, who still refuse to come. Thou openest Thine arms to receive me, before I reach Thee. Thou bowest down Thy Head to give me the kiss of peace, who am still all unworthy and unclean. Thou preventest me, and meetest me with Thy grace, before I am reconciled to Thee. Thou pourest out Thy grace upon me, more quickly than I dare to ask it. Lastly, Thou feedest me with the most sweet bread of Thy chosen children, who am not worthy to be the last of Thy slaves. What more shall I ask of Thee? For all these things my soul doth magnify Thee, and my spirit doth rejoice in Thee, O God, my Saviour. All my inward parts praise, and bless, and give thanks to Thee, O Lord, for Thy mercy over me is great. Oh! if Thou showest Thyself so loving to Thine enemies, my tender Jesus, what then art Thou to the friends of Thy Heart? Moved, then, by the contemplation of this Thy immense mercy and goodness, I, a wretched and vile sinner, weighed down with the heavy burden of my numberless sins, come to Thee, O good Jesus! Very humbly do I cast myself at Thy feet, for Thou art full of grace, and exceedingly kind towards sinners, and it is, indeed, Thine own natural property ever to have mercy, and to spare, nay, even to show favour and kindness. Grant, I beseech Thee, that I may find the same grace which blessed Magdalen, Thy most fervent lover, obtained from Thee. Say unto my soul that word full of comfort which Thou spakest unto her: "Thy sins are forgiven thee." For although my sins are beyond measure great, yet are they small when compared with Thy mercy. O, sweet Jesus, help me, for indeed Thou canst; give me the desire of my heart, for in my deep lowliness and wretchedness I cry unto Thee! Forgive me much, that I may love Thee much, and may magnify and bless Thee. Heal me wholly, that I may wholly cleave unto Thee. Unburden me of my heavy load of sins, that I may freely and cheerfully follow Thee. Cast away all my sins into the abyss of Thy divine mercy, and then so grind them into dust, and bring them to nothing, that all remembrance of them may pass away from before Thee. For now I have determined with myself, from this time forward, never more to offend Thee, O my God. Most tender Jesus, since I confess to Thee my wretchedness, show unto me, I beseech Thee, Thy goodness. All my wretchedness and poverty have I shown unto Thee, do Thou then open unto me the ample treasures of Thy grace, and at the same time apply to my sins and negligences all Thy toil, and labours, and all Thy good works, and all the merits of Thy most sacred Passion. Reconcile unto me Thy Father who is in heaven, and with whom Thou livest and reignest, Co-eternal God, world without end. Amen. __________________________________________________________________ THE THIRD CHAPTER. Of the washing of the disciples' feet. When the time of grace and mercy was at hand, in which He had decreed from everlasting to accomplish our salvation, and to redeem us, not with corruptible gold and silver, but with His own precious Blood, out of true love, Christ Jesus, as a most bountiful Master of the household, desired to eat supper with His disciples before He departed from them by a cruel death, and as a sign of the mighty love with which He loved them. And in this supper it was His will to establish His testament, declaring openly, that even to the end He had loved them as His true children, and had pressed them to His fatherly heart from everlasting. For, when the supper was over, and He had pointed out to His disciples that His death and Passion was very near at hand, and had beheld how grievously they were afflicted thereat, at the thought, namely, that they were to be torn asunder from so faithful a Father and loving a Teacher--out of His exceeding great compassion He gently comforted them, and said: "My little children, be not sad, nor let your heart be troubled, I will not leave you orphans. It is expedient for you that I go away. I shall go away, therefore, but I will come again to you." But when He saw that they had lost all heart, and were sore stricken, some of them, indeed, with tears running down their cheeks, and others heaving deep sighs from their inmost heart, and others, again, showing by their pale and changing countenances the anguish of their spirit, all the bowels of His compassion were moved, for He is full of mercy, and, at the same time, He spake unto them words of comfort, and said: "My little children, fear not, neither be ye troubled. Lo, I am with you, even unto the end of the world." See, with what burning love He embraced them. Again, when the Paschal Lamb was made ready in the place where He had eaten, He entered the upper-chamber, and His disciples followed Him. Come, then, and let us also follow Him, for our tender-hearted Lord will not suffer anyone to go out of that chamber hungering. When, therefore, the Paschal Lamb had been eaten, according to the rites and law of the Jews, He summed up, as it were, in one, but, at the same time, a twofold virtue, all the virtues which He had practised His whole life long in divers and marvellous ways, that they who cannot follow the works and virtues of Christ, may, with all earnestness, endeavour to acquire, at least, these two, which He taught us so carefully at the end of His life. For, indeed, without these virtues no man can obtain salvation, or the bliss of heaven. He rose, therefore, from the table, and, girt about with a linen cloth, began very diligently to wash His disciples' feet. Now, the reason why He performed this grand work of striking humility at the end of His life was this:--namely, that He might deeply impress upon His dear disciples, and upon all of us, the virtue of profound humility. For, without this, we cannot persevere in the other virtues, nor make progress, nor please God, nor obtain His grace, since, according to the Scripture, God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace unto the humble. And as pride is the beginning and source of all evil, so humility is the groundwork of all virtues. This blessed virtue uniteth us with God: and by humility we, as it were, force God to sink down into our souls. For no man can use force over the exceeding mighty power of God, save by deep self-contempt, and utter self-deprivation. And as water ever seeketh the lower places, so doth God, by His grace, flow down with greater readiness into a lowly heart. By humility the Blessed Virgin, our Lady, overcame Him Who is unconquerable, reconciled Him Who had been offended, gave pleasure to the King most High, and drew Him down to rest in her pure body, as she herself confesseth: "For He hath regarded the lowliness of His hand-maiden." By pride we have been cast out of Paradise, by humility we are raised again to glory. But if pride was so damnable in the angels, that justice required that they should be driven out of the everlasting heaven, although, by reason of their great glory and brightness, they had many more reasons for exalting themselves than man; how doth the latter dare to lift himself up, as if he himself were somewhat, when, of a truth, both his substance, and state, and nature, and dwelling-place, and all belonging to him, drag him down, and render him vile? For, if he will only observe what he hath been, what he is, what he undergoeth, where he dwelleth, and what he will be, he will, of a surety, perceive how his one condition lowereth and humbleth him, and casteth reproach upon the depth of his lowness in these words: "Why art thou proud, O dust and ashes?" But, although our Lord Jesus taught us this virtue His whole life long, both by word and deed, yet, when He was now nigh unto death, He desired more deeply to impress it both upon His disciples and all of us, and more expressly to teach it us by His own lowly actions, so that it might never be blotted out of our hearts. And, of a truth, could our sweet Lord have shown us deeper humility than by washing His own creatures' feet? He bowed Himself down to the earth, and was made the servant of all His disciples. Who, I ask, without compunction and devotion, can behold the King of glory, at Whose marvellous power the angelic spirits are lost in wonder and trembling adoration,--girt round the loins with a linen cloth, and washing so carefully the dust-covered feet of His own servants? His disciples sat, and He, the Power of God Almighty, threw Himself down upon the ground. He, the Lord of lords, knelt down at the feet of His own disciples, although at His Name every knee is bent. Oh! how humbly, how devoutly, how lovingly He passed from one to the other, and, placing His sacred knees upon the ground, touched the dirt of their feet with those fair, clean hands of His,--nay, so carefully washed them, and dried them, and kissed them. Nor was it only the feet of His friends, but even of him who betrayed Him, that He desired to wash and kiss, since He knew that he had been sold by the latter for thirty pieces of silver; yet, not less kindness did He show to him than to the others, this truly tender-hearted Jesus. Now this great work of humility He wrought for our instruction. Hear Him speaking Himself to His disciples: "Know ye what I have done to you. If I, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, so ought you also to wash one another's feet. For, behold, I have given you an example, that as I have done, so you should do also, that you, in like manner, may perform one to the other the works of mutual love, and mutually help one another, and this, too, not only to your friends, but to your enemies." Wherefore, whosoever refuseth to follow the profound humility of the Son of God on earth, will never be exalted with Him at the right hand of His Father in heaven. For, nothing doth God love so much, as a pure, and lowly, and peaceful heart, as He saith Himself: "On whom shall My Spirit rest, save on him who is of a lowly and peaceful heart, and who trembleth at My words?" __________________________________________________________________ THE FOURTH CHAPTER. Of the Institution of the Worshipful and most August Sacrament. When, therefore, our Lord Jesus had instructed His disciples in true humility, both by word and example, and the time of His Passion was close at hand, He desired to teach both them and all of us another of His virtues, not less necessary for our salvation than the one already spoken of; that is to say, perfect love. These two virtues He left us as His testament for an everlasting remembrance, desiring to impress them on our inmost hearts, for in them lies our whole salvation, and without them we cannot be saved. Nay, even had we nothing else, these alone would suffice. Hear, now, what our most gracious Lord said to His disciples: "My little children, a new commandment I give unto you;" as if He would say: "Many lessons, and divers and numerous commandments have you from Me. But now, a new commandment I give unto you, the highest, indeed, of all commandments, and the compendium of all My teachings; and this is, that you love one another as I have loved you; that as I lay down My life for you, so also you should love one another unto death, and help one another; that, as I have loved him who betrayed Me, and have prayed for them who have brought Me to the cross, so also you should love your enemies, and do good to them, by lending loving help to all who persecute you, and bring evil upon you." This new commandment of love our Lord Jesus taught, not only by word, but also by deed. And when He desired to make known to us that we were His true sons, and that out of His eternal love He bore us in His bosom, and that from everlasting we had been in Him, and, as it were, in our origin, had rested in Him from all eternity; and that no earthly father had ever embraced us with such exceeding love as that with which He had embraced us. Then it was that, as a most faithful father, He left us His most august testament, and bequeathed to us that excellent good, which is nobler and better than heaven and earth, even His own most sacred Body for food, and for our drink His most precious Blood. O wonderful mystery! O most high Sacrament! Oh, all ye, as many as love God, come, make ready, behold, wonder, marvel, praise, announce and magnify the Name of the Lord. For so great, so marvellous a work hath our Lord wrought in us, that whosoever desireth to look into it with his inward understanding, can only shrivel up in spirit, and faint away in mind, and lose all power for exceeding great astonishment. And even if a man desire, according to the poor little measure of his human frailty, and by the help of God's grace, to look through and search the depth of this love by means of his reason and understanding, as far, namely, as God vouchsafeth out of love to allow him to do this, yet will his heart melt away, and burn, and glow with the flame and fire of love. For, although it was a great and wonderful work that God Almighty vouchsafed to take upon Himself the nature of man, and to clothe Himself with the sackcloth of our mortality, yet doth this work leave all His other works far behind. For, in the former work, He took upon Himself, indeed, our manhood, but in this work, joined and united with His Manhood, He poureth out upon us His own Godhead, so that we receive It within ourselves. In the former He took on Him our manhood, in the latter, we are clothed with His Godhead. For, as the food taken by man passeth into his substance, and becometh of one nature with man, so whosoever worthily receiveth this Food, is made one thing with our Lord by grace. And as our Lord saith by Augustine, we change not this divine Food into our substance, but rather are transmuted and transformed by it into Himself, and thus are made deiform, and of one nature with Him. Now this is the way by which we put on Christ, as the apostle admonisheth. Oh! who can ever reach, by any act of the understanding, unto this infinite abyss of deepest love, which God hath willed to make known to us in this sublime and wonderful Sacrament? And this, indeed, He did at the end of His life, that it might be, as it were, the sum, and compendium, and everlasting remembrance of all His works. Moreover, although it was at the last supper that He first instituted this Sacrament, and gave It to man to take, yet It included within Itself the whole Christ, God Incarnate. For in this Sacrament He had His true Body, and His living soul, and He was Very God; and these three we receive in this Sacrament. Where, now, is the heart that will not glow with burning love, and be stirred and moved to devotion, when it considereth with what exceeding love He, the King of glory, the Lord of majesty, was consumed for us vile creatures, who are but dust and ashes, in whom, besides, He found nothing but frailty, and sin, and want? Yet of such He can say: "My delights are to be with the children of men." Can He lift us higher than by setting up His own temple within us? Can He love us more than by vouchsafing to become the food of His own creatures? He is the highest and most perfect Good, with which no other good can be compared, and which can never fail; and because His fatherly and loving Heart could think of nothing better, nothing higher, He gave us Himself, so as to prove to us His bountiful goodness, and the deep love of His Heart. Bountiful altogether is the bestowal, when He giveth Himself, but how much more bountiful when He giveth Himself in this way! For He gave Himself to be out father, and brother, and companion, and food, and ransom, and mediator, and advocate. Lastly, He will give us Himself for our everlasting reward, and will so satiate us in Himself, that He will be to us all that we can desire. Nor is this all, for over and above all this bountiful goodness, He is ever ready to come into our hearts, and to bestow upon us all the merits of His Incarnation, and Life and Passion. He saith by His prophet: "Thou shalt call and the Lord will hear thee. Thou shalt cry aloud, and He shall say, `Lo, here I am.'" And He Himself saith: "If any man love Me, My Father will love him, and We will come and make our dwelling with him." Look, O my soul! to thy dignity, and rejoice exceedingly in thy God, Who hath lifted thee up from the dung-hill of thy sins, that thou mayest be the dwelling-place of the Adorable Trinity, thou who wert formerly the devil's slave. Nor was it enough for this most ardent Lover to show us such exceeding love. More deeply still must He lower and submit Himself unto us. He will not wait until He be invited and desired by us: He cometh Himself first, and knocketh, and prayeth us to let Him in. Hear what He saith in the Apocalypse: "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If any man open unto Me, I will enter in, and sup with him, and he with Me." O blessed and happy soul, that listeneth to his Lord's knock, that watcheth, and with longing waiteth for His coming, so as not only straightway to open to her Lord and Bridegroom, but even with her lamp burning, and full of oil, to go out to meet Him, and to take Him back with her, saying: "Let my Beloved come into His garden!" Oh! how great the happiness to receive Him, as He cometh back from the heavenly marriage-feast, drunk with wine, full of grace and truth, coming forth from His Father's most pleasant Bosom, all delightful and full of comfort, flowing with spiritual delights, ready to give His loving bride the kiss of peace which He Himself had received from His Father. Oh! what a happiness to eat with Him, Who thus giveth Himself for food! Who, I ask, could ever have so cast himself down, or so raised us up? Heaven and earth are filled with the glory of His divine Majesty, and yet He refuseth not to be handled, and taken and eaten by us worthless worms of earth. The heaven of heavens is not large enough to contain His greatness, and He telleth us that it is His delight to be with us, who lie hidden in the filthy homes of earth. Oh! whose is the spirit that will not marvel with exceeding wonder? Whose is the heart that will not melt away at the burning fire of this unutterable love? How could He have given us surer proof of this His burning love for us? It is a small thing to Him to send His holy angels to honour and visit us, but that He, the King of angels, should come to His own servants, that He should visit the sick, and comfort the weak, and lift up the fallen, and console the desolate, and give heart to them who despair, and instruct them who doubt, and call back them that wander, and refresh them that hunger, and give warmth to them that are lukewarm; in a word, that He should heal all our languor, and all our sins, and this not by any strange medicine, but by His own precious Body and Blood! O wonderful mystery, O most high Sacrament, O unutterable love, O unheard of bounty, in which the Giver is Himself the Gift, the servant eateth his Lord, the creature receiveth his Maker, the minister is commanded to sit at the table of the most high King, and is filled to overflowing with divine food; in which man is fed with the Bread of angels, the Father distributeth the Body of His only Begotten, and giveth His friends to drink, in all abundance, of the precious Blood of His dear Son! Who hath ever heard of greater or more lavish bounty? Where is the understanding that can look into and grasp the mysteries of this wonderful Sacrament? What more could God have done for us? How could He have more closely joined to us His most high Godhead, than to become our food, and to incorporate us wholly into Himself? For as bodily food, when taken by man, falleth down softly into his inward parts, and nourisheth all his members, and at length passeth into his substance, so, in like manner, Christ letteth Himself sink down into our souls, in order to fill us wholly with Himself, and He draweth all our powers into Himself. And if He meeteth our souls thus worthily made ready, so as to enable Him freely to accomplish within us His own pleasant work, then, too, according to the Scriptures, He buildeth up and destroyeth, He killeth and giveth life, He teareth up and planteth, He darkeneth and giveth light. For He is that Lamb Whom St. John saw sitting on the throne of heaven, and making all things new. Even as He once made our souls, when before they had no being, to His own image and likeness, so also He reneweth and marvellously reformeth them according to the same likeness, which in us hath become defiled and broken. Thus, too, thou mayest hear Him say by the mouth of one of His prophets: "I Myself will feed My sheep, and I will make them to lie down. That which hath perished I will seek; that which hath been cast away I will bring back; that which is broken I will bind together; that which is weak I will strengthen." Oh! who can grasp in mind, or who is able to discover in thought, all the marvels, and all the happiness, which this divine Food worketh in the soul that worthily receiveth It? Oh! how pure, how holy, and, above all, how divine doth such a man straightway become by means of this Food? For if the nature of the elements is such as, after the manner of their author, to consume all things, and make them like themselves, and transmute them into their own substance, how much more will this most noble Food, which is God Himself, consume whatever in man is vicious, or carnal, or sensual, and cause to spring up and encourage all virtue and all good; and, chief of all, will at last transform the whole man into Itself, and unite him with Itself, and, so far as is possible for a creature, make him of one essence with God, and like to Him. While this is being done, that is to say, while man is being conformed and made like unto this Food, he also becometh wholly quickened in spirit, for he receiveth the Bread of Life, so that now he may say with the apostle: "I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me." He is made, in like manner, wholly angelic and heavenly, for he hath eaten of the Bread of angels, and of their food. Lastly, he is made all divine, inasmuch as he hath received God Himself, Who hath so filled him, and, so to speak, deified his powers, that he can no longer seek, or desire, or meditate upon, or love anything, save only God, while to do God's will, and whatever God's love requireth, is for him enough. What, then, can be wanting to us, when we have partaken of this most noble Food? O merciful God! what more couldst Thou have done for us, or what hast Thou done? Even hadst Thou brooded with all Thy power and all Thy wisdom upon this one thing, namely, how to bestow upon man some great gift, and to show to him some striking proof of Thy exceeding love, yet so far as my understanding can grasp, no nobler, or higher, or more useful, or more saving gift couldst Thou have lavished upon us. For Thou hast poured out upon us the whole treasure of Thy grace. Thou hast opened to us Thy fatherly Heart, and allowed the veins of Thy exceeding love to flow in all abundance over us. Openly hast Thou made known to us with what great love for us Thou burnest and art wounded. And because Thou couldst no longer hide this blessed wound, and burning fire, the flame broke forth, and Thou sufferedst man to feel the force of Thy love, giving to him Thy most sacred Body for food, and Thy precious Blood for drink, that so man, looking upon the immensity of this love, might, in his turn, be inflamed and wounded by love, and, at the same time, by its sublimity, might be inwardly forced and admonished to repay it in some way, and satisfy its longings. See here, how marvellous and unheard of hath been the meeting and the union of the Divine Wisdom with our nature. It took from us our weakness, and our mortal manhood, and bestowed upon us Its own adorable Godhead. And the better to do this, It could find no more suitable or pleasant way, than to leave Itself to us under the appearance of food and drink. O power of God, to be ever praised, that under the appearance of a little bread could give His own high Godhead, could give His own perfect Body and holy Soul unto all men, equally and wholly to be their food, which, while wholly received by every man, yet remaineth in Itself whole and incorrupt! O marvellous wisdom of God, that instituted this subtle and saving means of salvation for us, and decreed it! O incomprehensible goodness of God, that for the sake of our salvation hath perfected such sublime works of love! O saving Food, whereby the children of men pass into the children of God, and humanity is absorbed that God may remain! O longed-for, sacred, and adorable Bread, that refreshest the mind, not the belly; that strengthenest the heart, nor weighest down the body; that gladdenest the spirit, nor darkenest the understanding; whereby sensuality is killed, and our own will brought down to nothing, that God's Will may have place, and God's Spirit may have rule, and God's working may come across no hinderance! Of a truth, it was needful for man, who had swallowed the serpent's poisonous morsel, to drink the heavenly draught of Christ's precious Blood, in order to recover the salvation he had lost. Clearly it was fitting that he who had fallen through food that brought him death should be raised up again by the Bread of life; that he who had died through the fruit of the tree, should come to life again in like manner, by the fruit of the Tree, and that he who, through the tree of disobedience, had been sentenced to everlasting death, should, by the Tree of obedience, be restored to everlasting glory. On that former tree hung the food of death, on this latter the medicine of life. In that ran the sap of concupiscence, on this hung the grape-clusters of salvation, which, pressed out in the vine-press of Christ's Passion, gave us that new wine, by which the heart of man is gladdened. Clearly, this is that chosen grape-cluster, sweet to the taste, which they who were said to spy out the earth, that is, the holy apostles, carried on a staff, as they explored with interior eye the kingdom of heaven; as, for example, St. John, who saw in the Apocalypse the Lamb, as it were slain, and St. Paul, who himself also went forth to look at the Land of Promise, when he was rapt into the third heaven, and who, when he had returned to himself, confessed that he knew no other sign, save the grape upon the vine, that is, Jesus Christ, and Him crucified. This is that true grape-cluster which hath no sourness mingled with it; this is that sweet-tasting Bread, or heavenly manna, full of spiritual delights, wherein there is nothing rough or coarse, for it is not made of the grain of the Old Testament, administered by Moses, but it is the flour of wheat, that is, of the grace shown through Christ Jesus; no mere figure, but the truth. Wherefore, let no man forget to eat this Bread, lest his heart should wither. For as we fell into ruin through food, so by food we must be quickened again to life. Of that former food it was said: "In whatsoever day thou shalt eat thereof, thou shalt surely die." But of this is it said: "If any man shall eat of this Bread, he shall live for ever." As often, therefore, as, through the cheating of Satan, that wicked serpent, we have fallen into sins, and have drunk the cup of death when held out to us by the enemy's temptation, so often ought we to make ourselves ready to partake of this heavenly medicine, with sorrow, and penance, and devotion, and burning longing. Never let us cease at all to succour our sick and suffering souls, since to no man doth our tender-hearted Lord refuse His grace, nor is there anything He is more ready to give than Himself. And, of a surety, whatever favours, whatever grace our Lord Jesus brought into this world, and gave to man when He took his nature, all this He bringeth with Him, and bestoweth upon every man who worthily partaketh of this worshipful Sacrament. Moreover, whatever virtues Christ performed during His Life,--all the fruit of His Death, Resurrection and Ascension, the blessedness of His gracious Body, the virtue of His precious Blood, and lastly, the merits of His most noble Soul,--all this He bringeth with Him into the soul that worthily receiveth Him. What more desirest thou? In this most august Sacrament, whatever can be thought of, or desired, is received. For herein is received the true Son of God, Jesus Christ, very God and very Man, ever one God with the Father and the Holy Ghost. Truly, then, it was right to say, that whatever virtues or merit Christ performed, and obtained in His Life and Passion, all this is received in this Sacrament by the soul that is worthily prepared. Nay, our sweet Jesus is ready to give us all these virtues through His tender and bountiful goodness, just as if we had performed them ourselves. Let us hasten, therefore, zealously to cleanse our hearts from every stain of sin, and to adorn them with virtues and good works, that we may be always fit and worthy to receive this saving food, to the everlasting glory of our most gracious Maker. Amen. __________________________________________________________________ THE FIFTH CHAPTER. A devout Prayer to the Worshipful Sacrament. Almighty God, and Lord Jesus Christ, Word of the Father, Eternal Truth, most merciful Redeemer, most just Judge, how incomprehensible are Thy judgments over the children of men! how terrible art Thou to the wicked, how tender and loving to the good! Behold I, Thy poor, vile, and sinful creature, trembling and groaning, come before Thee, the Eternal Truth, from Whom no secrets are hid, Whose eyes search out, in all clearness, not only the works, but the very inmost depth of man, as to the intention of his heart, wherewith all his works are done. O my God, Thou art very good, yet Thine infinite Justice, all piercing Truth, awful Wisdom, and terrible judgments, press sore upon me even unto death, and make me fear to come into Thy presence; for I am stained with many sins, whereby I have grievously stirred Thee to anger. But Thine infinite loving-kindness, and great tenderness and goodness, which are over all Thy works, these make me breathe again, and hope for salvation and pardon. Behold, that deceitful and envious serpent hath held out to me the food of death under a pleasing shape, and I, a stranger to the light of Thy grace, discerning not good from evil, have given consent to the wicked one: I have eaten, and am poisoned. To whom now shall I fly, O most tender God, save to Thee? Thou art the salvation of man, the Lamb without stain, that takest away all the stains of sin, and washest and healest in Thine own most pure Blood, all the corruption and infection of the poisonous serpent. Wherefore, with tender trust I fly beneath the wings of Thy gentle loving-kindness. Before Thee I throw myself in all lowliness, not presuming on any virtue of mine, but laden with the heavy burden of my sins, that by groans, and tears, and prayer, I may move Thee to pity, O my God, Whom I have offended by my lusts, and pleasures, and pride, and vanity, and, alas! too much by my own evil will. All unclean I come unto Thee, but Thou art the source of mercy and grace; if Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean. Wounded unto death I come to Thee, but Thou art my God, Thou art the medicine of life. Behold! I confess to Thee my sins. Lord! if Thou wilt, Thou canst help me; and, indeed, Thou alone canst help me. Oh! of a truth, it is but little for Thee to give what to me is most profitable to receive. Remember, I beseech Thee, O tender Jesus, that comforting word of Thine, which Thou, the Eternal Truth, Last spoken; that "Thou desirest not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live." O faithful Lover of men, lo, with my whole heart, and with every power of my soul, I turn to Thee. Help me, before my soul die! For without Thee I cannot but die, since Thou hast said: "Except ye eat the Flesh of the Son of Man, and drink His Blood, ye shall have no life in you." Behold! I am nigh unto death, for I have turned away from Thee, the medicine of my soul, and the Bread of Life! My heart hath withered within me, so that I am forced to beg my bread upon the earth, that is to say, to go after earthly and temporal consolation, for I have gone far away from Thee, the food and nourishment of heaven. Wherefore it is, that, hungry, and sick, and crippled, I now come to Thee, the Father of mercy, the well of loving-kindness. With lowly prayer I knock at the door of Thy divine grace and mercy, and at Thy fatherly Heart. Oh! hear my prayer: grant unto me the desire of my heart, fill the hungry one with good things, refresh the thirsty one, quicken my languor, heal my sickness, for Thou alone canst heal me. O most merciful Samaritan, pass not by on the other side of Thy poor weak servant, but take pity upon me, and pour into my wounds Thy wine and oil. It was love that drew Thee down from heaven, that Thou mightest redeem Adam our father; let that same love move Thee now to heal me, the weakest of his children. Nor is it only, O kind Jesus, because Thou art so very necessary unto me in my weakness, that I desire to receive Thee, but it is also by reason of the great love and longing which I feel for Thee, O my Lord and Saviour, the only love of my heart. For Thy grace preventing me, and Thy love first shown unto me, have so strengthened my heart in faith, and hope, and love towards Thee, that I cannot fear Thee or fly from Thee, as if Thou wert a terrible judge that can never be appeased. But I am forced to go and meet Thee, that I may take Thee, and embrace Thee with inmost love, as my tender-hearted Father and sweet Lover. In power Thou art most mighty, in wisdom most glorious, in goodness most perfect, in gifts most bountiful, in nature most beautiful, in conversation most holy, in fruit most delightful, in taste most sweet. Thou art full of comfort and grace, Thou art all-desirable. O sweetest Lord, although the heavens cannot contain Thy greatness, and I am such a poor, little, vile worm of earth, that I am not worthy to receive from Thee even the least of Thy good gifts, yet not even by all Thy gifts canst Thou fulfil the longing of my heart, unless Thou givest me Thyself! Nay, the viler I am, the more Thy goodness will be praised, and the more will all men marvel thereat, that Thou, the Lord of glory, shouldst vouchsafe to come unto me, a poor, wretched, and weak man. O most merciful Jesus, Who didst not shrink from the feasts of publicans and sinners, nor didst abhor the touch of the woman who was a sinner, do Thou visit my soul in its desolation! Come, and say unto my soul: "I am thy salvation." O out-flowing abyss of divine goodness, that fillest the heavens and the earth, and all that in them is, out of Whose plenitude all the saints flow over with delights, and are satisfied in all abundance, fill me wholly with Thyself! To do this, belongeth to Thy power; but how to do this, and by what means, belongeth to Thy wisdom, while the perfecting of the work belongeth to Thy goodness. Vouchsafe, also, so to adorn my heart with the riches of Thy grace, that I may seek for no curious adornment beneath Thyself, but that all things temporal may be to me vile as dung. O heavenly Sweetness, I long to eat Thee all; and to be all eaten by Thee. I desire, O my Lord, to be all consumed by Thee, and in myself to be brought down to nothing. I wish to die in myself, and to live in Thee, to be likewise transformed and incorporated by Thee, and to rest for everlasting in Thee, my blessed origin. Thou art the source and origin of all things that are, and by Thee, and in Thee, according to Thine eternal thought of us, we live and are. Of a truth, our heart is restless, unless it find rest in Thee, its origin. O Almighty upholder of my being, draw me into Thyself, and do Thou Thyself come down in mercy to me. Form again in Thee, according to its first purity and integrity, that fair likeness of Thee, which I have corrupted within me. O purest principle of my essence, which is created, indeed, within me, but increate in Thee according to Thine eternal idea, I beseech Thee, by that burning love of Thine, whereby Thou didst suffer Thy pure Heart to be pierced, that through its pierced opening Thou mightest lead me back into the uncreated Heart of God, come down, come down, quickly to me, and bring together with Thee Thy most gracious Father, for in grace Thou knowest it is His Will, not to send Thee out of Himself, but to be Himself together with Thee! O sweet Jesus, I beseech Thee, baptize me many times, purify and cleanse me in Thy pierced and wounded Heart, that I may be made worthy to be brought into the loving Heart of Thy Eternal Father, where He may vouchsafe to receive me as His adopted son, through Thee His own Son, co-eternal and co-equal. Amen. __________________________________________________________________ THE SIXTH CHAPTER. A devout Exercise on the Passion of our Lord. Nowhen the time drew nigh that our Lord Jesus was to pass out of this world to the Father, having Himself made His testament as a most faithful father, and left it to His beloved disciples, that is to say, the best and most excellent good that His fatherly Heart could think of, even His own most sacred Body to be their food, and His precious Blood to he their drink:--and this He did to give them a most sure proof of His burning love, to leave behind Him an everlasting memorial or monument of His Passion and Death, and of all His works, and to deliver to them a signal, and certain and precious pledge of their future glory--when this, I say, had been actually accomplished and ended, and when He had sung a hymn to God the Father, He went forth with His disciples to the Mount of Olives, across the brook Cedron, where was a certain garden, to which often for the sake of prayer He was wont to go with His disciples. And He said to them, "Sit here, watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." But He took with Him Peter, and the two sons of Zebedee, James and John, the three most secret, faithful, and best loved of His friends, that to those to whom He had shown the glory of His Godhead in His Transfiguration, He might now show the bitterness of His sorrow in His Passion. Stand here, then, as many as love God, and observe and see all that our Lord hath done for our souls. Come here, all ye who have been redeemed by the sinless blood of the innocent Lamb, Christ Jesus, that ye may see and understand all that He hath suffered for our iniquities. Behold! now the Book of Life is opened, and its seven seals are broken; the book in which truth shineth forth, and all the mysteries of wisdom and knowledge are hidden, which is full of doctrine, and overfloweth with mysteries. Now is the mirror of all virtues clearly shown to the eyes of all. Now is the old veil rent, and all the wrappings and coverings of figures are taken away. Now is the Holy of Holies thrown wide open by Jesus the High Priest; for He hath offered His own Blood in sacrifice, and revealed all hidden holiness, and all secret sacraments and mysteries. Now is shown the deep well of the patriarch Jacob, out of which flow rivers of living water, whereof not only the Israelites, but even the Samaritans can draw, and refresh their many flocks and herds, and wash away all filth and uncleanness. Here also is seen the bitter and troubled sea of affliction, which, although it was formerly so terrible, that at its very name man stood aghast, yet, now the true Jonas, after that He hath bidden Himself be thrown therein, hath so turned into sweetness, and so quieted and soothed its every tempest, that men can place themselves therein as in a delicious bath, and cleanse themselves therein, nor fear any more, but even glory in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ. And so it is that in our own day we see very many gladly take His cross to themselves, and with great cheerfulness follow their Lord Jesus Christ. Here also is Jacob's ladder placed before our eyes, the top of which reacheth not only to heaven, but even to the bosom of God the Father, and by which not the angels only, but the Lord of the angels mounteth up, followed by publicans and sinners. At the top of this ladder sits the Father of Mercies, with His bosom wide open, lovingly to receive as many as love His Son. Now also is brought back to our remembrance that marvellous pool at Jerusalem, which beyond measure is moved and troubled by the descent of the great Angel, Christ Jesus, so that not only one sick man, but as many as are ill, and all who are unclean, and whosoever wash in this saving water of sorrow, that is, of His Passion, are healed therein, and cleansed. Now, too, is opened the immense treasury of the rich Master of the household, whereby the poor, and the weak, and all who are heavy laden, may be gladdened with most generous gifts, so that every man may have leave to draw from the sacred bowels of Jesus Christ whatever he knoweth he is without. For plentiful grace floweth therefrom; and that it may flow still more plentifully, they have been torn and opened in many places. Now also is celebrated the glorious victory of Christians, because the true David, Christ Jesus, humble indeed, and small in stature, but mighty in strength, armed not with the armour of Saul, but with a staff, that is, His own Cross, and five pebbles, [1] hath fearlessly attacked and battled down the cruel Goliath, the enemy of the people of Israel. Moreover, here is made known to us a wonderful sacrament, and most high mystery, in that the Lord of the angels hath vouchsafed to be made an outcast of men; the Most High hath become the lowest; the only-begotten of God the Father hath freely offered Himself for guilty sinners to die upon the cross, that He may nail sin to the cross, and destroy death, and blot out the hand-writing of our debts in His own precious Blood. Lastly, the fire which our Father Who is in heaven hath sent upon the earth, is so mightily kindled, that the flame thereof reacheth unto heaven, and melteth by its intemperate heat the frost-bound earth, and breaketh through the hard and stony places. Of a truth, whosoever cometh nigh to this fire by devout meditation, will not be able to escape its heat. For whose is the heart, however stony, that will not melt, when it perceiveth the immense goodness of Christ Jesus, how greatly He longeth after us poor worms of earth, how eagerly He hath thirsted after our salvation, how gladly He hath offered Himself to death, how generously He hath given His precious Blood, and His young and beautiful Body, and all that He had, that He might redeem us, sinners though we were, from damnation? For it was by no compulsion or force, but by His own free will, that He came to the place known to him who betrayed Him, that He might the more easily be found by him. Behold, then, O faithful soul, and look upon this bold-hearted David, thy God and Lord, how He burneth with exceeding great desire to begin the combat, and to lay down His life for His people and the house of Israel. Behold, I pray thee, how, quickened by love, He cometh the first of all to the place of battle to fight for thee. Of a truth, before His enemies had come, He had already exercised His limbs for the fight. And although only by lowliness, and love, and prayer, and long-suffering, He had determined to do battle, before those envious ones had laid their cruel hands upon Him, yet gladly did He take suffering upon Himself when it did come, so that no pain can be likened to His pain. __________________________________________________________________ [1] i. e. His five Wounds. __________________________________________________________________ THE SEVENTH CHAPTER. Of the great Sorrow and Anguish which Christ underwent in the Garden, at the thought of His Passion hanging over Him. When Christ had now come into the garden, He began to be sorrowful and afraid, and very heavy; and by reason of the vehemence of His inward pain, He trembled outwardly in all His members, nor was He ashamed to confess to His disciples this sorrow, and weakness, and trouble of His Body, for He said: "My Soul is sorrowful even unto death." Let us also go and see what is the cause of so great a sorrow. And, indeed, for many reasons was Christ so sad; but we will here only touch on two reasons, which may the more forcibly stir us up to compassion and love. The first reason was, because of our many and grievous sins, and obstinate malice, and great ingratitude, and because we were so utterly devoid of all holy fear. For on account of these things was Jesus sorrowful. For we both read, and know by experience, that if God were to permit a man to see his own sins, as He Himself seeth them, straightway his heart would break for exceeding great sorrow; or he would lose his senses, when he beheld how he had wronged, and despised, and thought lightly of his Maker and Redeemer, his God and Lord, and how basely and unworthily he had deformed his own beautiful and noble soul. Now, of a truth, Christ took all the sins of the world upon Himself, and of His own will He allowed sorrow of heart for these sins to come upon Him, even as if He Himself had committed them. And because of His divine wisdom, which saw all things, He beheld all sins, especially those that were most hateful, that ever have been, or ever will be; and, at the same time, He beheld the contempt and wrong which they inflicted on His Father. Who then can, in any way, understand how great must have been His grief and sorrow? For He was ever urged on to promote His Father's honour with His whole strength; nor did He thirst after anything, save His Father's glory and the salvation of souls. Amongst the Jews, indeed, it was a custom, that if they heard God blasphemed or wronged, they rent their garments as a sign of grief, in order to show thereby that they sought after God's honour. Now, if the Jews, false hypocrites as they were, did this, how much must Christ, the true Son of God, have sorrowed, when He saw all the wrong and contempt which were daily inflicted on His Father Who is in heaven? For, alas! even now it is easy enough to see, how, day by day, men think nothing at all about offending God by deadly sin. For this reason, therefore, Christ took upon Himself grief and sorrow, even so far as He could, still remaining alive. Yet, not as the Jews did He rend His garments as a proof of His bitter sorrow, but He rent asunder His own Body, so that a sweat of blood broke forth from all His members, by reason of His exceeding great anguish and dread, even as the juice of the grape when in the winepress. And that He might show us how this sorrow was consuming the very inward marrow of His Soul, when He was straightened by this deadly anguish, He said: "My Soul is sorrowful even unto death." Of Phinees, the son of Eleazar, we read in the Bible, that he avenged a wrong done to God. For when he saw a certain Israelite sinning with a Moabitish woman, he burned with anger, and thrust both of them through, and for this was beloved by God. In like manner Moses avenged a wrong done to God, thousands being put to death for adoring the golden calf, after which the Lord was appeased. What, then, was the vengeance taken by the Son of God, Jesus Christ, Who was ever consumed by a burning thirst after justice, and Who placed all His zeal in this one thing, namely, that He might increase His Father's glory, and turn aside, and prevent whatever was contrary to His Will,--when He beheld not merely a single sin, but the crimes of the whole world? Who can understand how all His inward parts were shaken with grief, how all His limbs trembled by reason of His burning thirst for justice, how His whole man was moved to avenge the wrong done to His Father? Yet in this His anger He remembered mercy, for He was full, not of truth only, but of grace and loving-kindness. Therefore said He unto His Father: "O My Father, Thou knowest that I have ever loved Thee, and done Thy most gracious will; Thou seest also that My Heart is just, and how exceedingly I thirst to do Thy will, and to avenge the wrong done to Thee by Adam and his posterity. Yet, as mercy is Mine, and My nature is goodness, and I have come, not to take vengeance, but to reconcile; not to strike, but to heal; not to kill, but to redeem; and as Adam's sin cannot pass unavenged, I beseech Thee, Father in heaven, to take vengeance upon Me. I take all the sins of man upon Myself. If this tempest of anger hath risen up because of Me, cast Me into the red and bitter sea of My Passion, let Me be swallowed up, and overwhelmed in the abyss of a shameful death, if only Thy wrath may pass away, and man's debt may be justly cancelled." Thus it was that this innocent Lamb took upon Himself all the sins of the world, and allowed such great vengeance to come upon Him,--yea, so great was the agony which He took upon Him in the garden, that had it been greater, His natural life must have given way. O unutterable goodness of Christ Jesus! O love beyond our poor understanding! All our sins did He desire to bear, Who alone was without sin. He, Who is the joy of heaven, for our sakes is made sorrowful even unto death; and for our sinful pleasures it was His will to suffer Himself this deadly agony. And because He is the brightness of His Father's glory, and the Wisdom of God, in Whom the Father's will is ever reflected as in a most pure mirror, therefore it was that He clearly knew by what works and actions His Father was to be appeased, and by what ransom our debt was to be paid; namely, by bitter sorrow, and humble prayer, and rough penance, and by patient bearing of suffering and affliction. And, at the same time, He left to all men, as His teaching and doctrine, that they also should strive to appease His Father by their works, whenever they may have fallen into sin. For this reason, He wished to be Himself the first of all to appease Him. And, indeed, so great was the sorrow and grief that He took upon Him, that they out-balance the sins of the whole world, and were not only more than the strength of His Body could bear, but pressed down His Soul even into the straits of death. Then, falling flat on His Face upon the earth, humbly, and fervently, and with long-suffering, He prayed, and wept bitterly, not tears of water only, but tears of blood; and this in such abundance, that great drops of His Blood fell down upon the ground. Nay, they fell from His whole Body, and from every limb, that thus all His members might share in one common sorrow, and celebrate, as it were, the sad funeral rites for the sins and damnation of the human race, and might show, in very deed, the compassion by which they had been moved, and the love with which they were burning, and how ready they all were to suffer for our sakes; since not even for a little while were they able to put off their affliction, even before they were tortured by the enemy. Burning with love they were beforehand with the enemy, and they began to contend among themselves, and to tremble, and to shed blood, as if they suffered from the enemy's delay. Oh! who hath such a heart of stone as not to turn at the thought of this fiery love of Christ? Who is so ungrateful as not to turn with all his members to his Saviour, Whom he seeth engaged in such eager toil, and suffering such cruel agony in the work of our salvation? Who hath a heart so perverse, who can be so cold in love as not to strive, according to the poor little measure of his strength, to repay love for love, and sorrow for sorrow, and prayer for prayer, and tears for tears, and resignation for resignation, and offering for offering, and agony for agony, and blood for blood, and death for death, and charity for His burning love? Oh! what can be dearer to a loving and grateful soul in this life, than to repay her lover even one little drop of love, in return for that exceeding bitter chalice, all of which, He, for the love of her and for her salvation, drank even to the dregs? Oh! where is the heart that can understand the compassion and sorrow that Christ felt, when He beheld in the mirror of God's Providence the wretched deformity and misery of His own members and creatures, which He had created in such purity, and nobleness, and holiness, and glory, when He saw what we had lost, and what we had deserved? Alas! how all the bowels of His compassion were then moved! Even as a tender father mourneth for the death of his only-begotten son, so did Christ Jesus sorrow for our wretchedness and unhappiness. Oh! who can contemplate, without compunction and without tears, this loving Joseph falling on the neck of each of us, and kissing His brethren, weeping, likewise, over each of them, comforting them, and forgiving their sins; nay, taking all their sins upon Himself, and punishing their crimes in Himself with sorrow of heart, and making the wanderings of each one of them, as it were, His own guilt. Oh! what exceeding great labour did this innocent Lamb undergo, in order to reconcile His Father unto us! Even as a mother bringeth forth her child into the world with great pain and sorrow, so did Christ make us to be born again to life everlasting with intolerable agony and torment. O my soul, and all ye who love God, come, and let us follow now Christ Jesus with sorrow of heart and inward devotion, and with tears and pity, into the garden. Let us contemplate with the eyes of our heart, Jesus, that is, our Saviour, the Lamb without spot, how He bore therein all our sins; how heavily, all alone, He trod the wine-press, that like the grape that is pressed with all care, He, too, might be pressed in the wine-press of His Passion, and might pour upon us richly, and give us to drink, the red wine of His precious Blood, so as to make us drunk with His love. Let us see, I pray you, how the glory of the angels became sorrowful even unto death, that He might carry us into joy everlasting. For, in order to rescue us from the torments of hell, He bore in Himself all the pains which we had merited; and He, the Lord of might, at Whose look the angels tremble, and every knee is bowed, appeared not as God, but as the poorest, and most abject, and most desolate man, whom the world possessed. See how He lieth with His Face upon the ground, in much anguish of spirit, covered with a bloody sweat, forsaken even by His Father as well as by all men. There He lieth, I say, and prayeth, not as God, not as a just man, but, as it were, a public malefactor, as some dreadful sinner, as if He were not worthy to be heard by His Father, or, at least, as if He were ashamed to lift up His eyes to heaven. Doth it not seem as if He had been cast away by God, and were held to be God's enemy, that we who were, of a truth, God's enemies, might be made His friends and elect children? It is written: "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." Yet see, how our sweet Jesus, of His own free will, gave Himself up into those Hands, and gladly suffered all the wrath, and vengeance, and punishment of God His Father, which we had deserved, to fall down upon Himself. This is why He suffered Himself to be so cruelly scourged, and reproached, and beaten, and wounded, and, last of all, to be put to a shameful death. Oh, what resignation have we here! What an offering of Himself! What a love is this! His disciples were heavy with sleep; He alone remained watching, to pray and labour, and, like a tender and faithful shepherd, to guard His sheep with loving care. Nay, thrice He prayed, before He was comforted. O, may such sorrow, I pray, such faithfulness, such love beyond all bounds, touch these hearts of ours! For it was we that, by our sins, brought this sorrow and cross upon Him. Oh! we have thought so very little of offending the God of glory; yet see, how fearful was the sweat, and the toil, and the sorrow, which Christ had to suffer, in order to be able to reconcile His Father unto us! Dear, indeed, was the ransom which He was forced to pay for our redemption. Let us sorrow, then, I pray, together with our Saviour, in His exceeding bitter sorrow and affliction; let us pray together with Him, and watch and suffer with Him. Let us also do somewhat for the sake of our salvation; when we see how zealously Christ Jesus, in every member of His Body, and in every power of His Soul, is busied about us. And if we cannot shed tears of blood, at least let our eyes rain down tears of water. If we cannot weep with Christ in all our members, at least let our eyes weep. And if we are still so hard, and the vein of tears is so stopped up within us, that not even with our eyes are we able to weep, at least let us desire to weep in our heart. Let us fall down upon our face before Christ, and say to Him: __________________________________________________________________ THE EIGHTH CHAPTER. A Prayer and Offering for Sins. O Most gracious God, have mercy upon me! O King of glory, be merciful to me a sinner! For the sake of Thine own goodness, pardon me, for ever having turned my heart away from the right path of Thy commandments, and for having followed my own wicked will, when it drew me into sin, and for having cast off and thrust aside Thy holy will, that was inviting me to virtue. How, O my God, can I be so blind of heart, as even for a moment to turn away from Thee, from Whom come all salvation and every good thing, and to turn to that which is earthly, and perishable, and will soon fall away, and from which nothing cometh to me, but loss, and perdition, and all wretchedness? Oh! how can I take pleasure in anything at all, save in the remembrance of the immense benefits which Thou hast conferred upon me? How can I seek for comfort, or refreshment of mind, in aught, save in Thy most sacred and bitter Passion, and in Thy sweet wounds, that are ever dropping down with honey? What can I ever care for, except to please Thee, and do Thy most gracious will, and love Thee with my whole heart, and, according to the poor little measure of my strength, repay Thee somewhat for Thy labours and pains, and, above all, for Thine unutterable love, which Thou hast lavished upon me? O, most gracious Lord, what more couldst Thou have done for me, which Thou hast not done? What was the love that overcame Thy tender Heart, O most loving Jesus, and caused Thee to offer Thyself willingly to die for my sins? Why didst Thou so thirst to drink the chalice of Thy bitter Passion, that before Thine enemies came upon Thee, Thou didst place upon Thy shoulders the too heavy cross, and not only wentest forth to meet Thine enemies, but didst inwardly crucify Thyself, even unto death, before they reached Thee, and didst inflict upon Thyself inward death through bitter sorrow, long before they inflicted upon Thee outward death? For the thirst of working out our salvation so burned within Thee, that Thou didst accomplish in Thyself whatever lay within Thy power; and didst only leave to Thine enemies to do what Thou couldst not accomplish in Thyself. Ah, Lord, my God, behold I, too, am not worthy to live, for it was I that brought upon Thee this most bitter sorrow, when I was not ashamed to commit, for the sake of a little moment's vile pleasure, what Thou hadst to wash away in Thy precious Blood, and to blot out by Thy death! Oh! how grievous are my sins, which called for so great a satisfaction, and so noble a victim. O most loving Father! how could Thy fatherly Heart suffer Thee not to hear Thine only and beloved Son, as He lay with His Face upon the ground, wrestling with Thee in prayer, and in His exceeding inward anguish sweating even blood? Why were Thy fatherly bowels moved not at the sight of Thy beloved Son, to take away from Him that most bitter chalice, as He so humbly prayed of Thee? What is man, O Father of mercies, that Thou so lovest him, that Thou art ready to give Jesus, Thy most obedient Son, for vile sinners, who have always offended Thee, and covered Thee with wrongs and contumely? Dost Thou love us more than Him? He had to die, that we might live; He was sorrowful, that we might rejoice; He was wounded, that we might be healed; He shed His precious Blood, that we might be cleansed. He ever sought Thine honour: what was pleasing in Thy sight, He carefully performed. At all times, and in all ways, He was the expression of all virtue; why, then, wert Thou so cruel towards Him? Why dost Thou deliver Him up for man, who was already damned, and who was still a rebel against Thee? How hath He ever deserved this from Thee? Or, what didst Thou foresee in man, that thou lovest him so, and art so faithful to him? For, of a truth, the most precious of Thy treasures, and the highest and best gift that Thy fatherly Heart could give, Thou gavest for man's redemption,--even Jesus, Thy beloved Son, the Word of Thy Heart, by Which Thou speakest to us the intention of Thy mind, and through Which Thou makest known to us Thy love, wherewith Thou hast loved us with such fatherly tenderness from the beginning. Oh! how is it that this burning love of Thine doth not absorb and melt us in a moment, when we see Thee attentive to the groans of exiles upon earth, and hearkening to the cry of men who ought to be prisoners in hell, and yet leaving Thine only-begotten One in the anguish of death, sweating great drops of blood, praying to Thee with His Face upon the ground, watering the very earth with tears of blood, as if in no way He belonged to Thee? O sweetest Father, why, or for whose sake, hast Thou forsaken Him? Hearken, I pray Thee, O tender-hearted Father, to this sorrow of His Heart; look down upon Him as He trembleth in His agony; let those bitter groans of His mount up into Thy Heart; and His Sweat of Blood, flowing from His whole Body, move Thee to pity! See how He is bowed down to the ground; hearken, at last, to His fervent prayer, for all His members cry out to Thee for mercy. Grant Him the desire of His Heart, for He turneth wholly to Thee in perfect resignation, and poureth forth His supplication in truest love. It is not His own comfort that He seeketh, but the salvation of His brethren. It is not His own sin for which He grieveth, but my iniquities; it is not His own crimes, but mine, for which He mourneth; for never even once hath He sinned against Thee, whereas my offences against Thee are manifold. O most merciful Father! by the love and suppliant prayers of Thy beloved Son, pardon the wanderings of Thy sinful servant. Accept the worthy sacrifice of Thy only-begotten Son, and remember not the wrong done to Thee by Thy wicked servant, for far more hath He paid Thee than all my debt. Oh! if Thou wouldst only weigh together my malice and His goodness, my crimes and the merits of His bitter Passion, surely the latter would outweigh the former. For what wickedness can be so great, as not to be blotted out by such sorrow, such affliction, such obedience, such lowliness, such unconquerable patience, and, above all, such unutterable love? What crime can be so enormous, as not to be outweighed by Christ's most bitter Death? O heavenly Father, see! I offer Thee my Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, Thy best-loved Son, with great devotion and gratitude, in union with that love, by which Thou didst send Him to me from Thy fatherly Heart, in order that He might take my nature, and free me from eternal death. See! I offer Thee this unutterable sorrow of His, this anguish incomprehensible to us, but known to Thee alone, which here in the garden He underwent for all my sins, and instead of the sorrow and contrition which by right I ought to feel. Yes, I offer Thee His sweat of blood, for the tears which I have not in my eyes, which for hardness of heart I cannot shed. I offer Thee, also, His most humble and burning prayers for all my lukewarmness, and sloth, and negligence. Lastly, I offer Thee all His grievous labours, the practice of His virtues, His rough and austere life, and all that He did in His human nature; all the bitter torments which He suffered in His Passion, together with all the praise of the spirits on high, and the merits of all the saints, as a worthy sacrifice to Thy eternal honour and glory, for all my sins by which I have ever offended Thee, and for the virtues which I have neglected to perform, as also for all the living and the dead, for whom Thou, O my God, wishest me to pray, and I am bound to pray; that Thou mayest grant to each of them who are still alive, through Thy beloved Son, whatever Thou knowest to be necessary for them to enable them to serve Thee in that state to which, by Thy merciful loving-kindness, they have been called. Another cause of Christ's sorrow was, that He foresaw all the fearful and cruel torments which He was now, at this very moment, about to suffer, and this as perfectly as if felt them already present. And because in very truth He was a man able to suffer like other men, of a tender and noble complexion, beyond what any understanding of man can grasp, for this very reason His fear was the more vehement, so that outwardly He trembled in all His limbs, and inwardly was sorrowful even unto death. He had undertaken to redeem man from his damnation, and to pay his whole debt, and therefore His heavenly Father, as a just Judge, entered into strict account with Him, and opened that great and ancient account-book which containeth all the debts of men, and in which He clearly saw all the sins of the world. At the same time He shewed Him the ancient hand-writing against us, and He laid before His eyes the price beyond all reckoning, the immense sum, by which these debts must be paid, so that our sweet Jesus saw His whole Passion as openly as when He suffered it. Oh! then, what must have been the sorrow, what the anguish, what the fear, which seized upon Christ's tender Heart and all His members? Here, too, we ought to notice, how our Saviour, Christ Jesus, had always lifted Himself up, and stretched Himself forth both in spirit and with His whole strength, to show reverence and honour to His Father. For the Spirit of God had gently embraced His nature with all its powers, and had made them subject to the law, and all the Scriptures which concerned Him, so as to perfect them according to His Father's gracious will. Therefore it was that He offered obediently into the hands of His Father Almighty, His Body and Soul, and whatever He had, desiring that in Him might be accomplished all that had been decreed and fore-ordained by the eternal wisdom of God and the counsel of the Holy Ghost, and in this Spirit He enjoyed both peace and quiet, in that He had resigned Himself simply, without any choosing of this or that, to God the Father. But, on the other hand, looking down on the tenderness of His complexion, and the cruelty of the torments already hanging over Him, He became sorrowful even unto death; and here, so great were His suffering and struggle, that they surpass all human understanding, and by reason of the exceeding inward agony, outwardly He trembled all over. For according to the spirit He desired to die, but all His Flesh shrank from the bitterness of death. His Spirit, indeed, was at peace, being united and subject to God, but His sensible and sensitive nature had so fully drunk in the bitterness of His overhanging Passion, as imaged before His mind, that He was beyond measure troubled and sore afraid. After this, so fierce grew the struggle, and with such force did He compel His sensitive nature to consent to these horrible sufferings, that from the excessive strain His Blood poured forth like sweat from all His limbs. For by reason of the fervour of His prayer, and of His dread and horror of death, His Blood had flown up to His Heart. Then His strong love driving out all fear, as well as His burning desire to accomplish His Father's will, and of redeeming us, like some hammer or mighty force, struck down and overcame this fear and sensitiveness, and forcibly pressed out the blood which had meanwhile grown heated, so that, from the sudden shock, it burst forth from His open pores, and flowed down mingled with His other sweat. Oh! who can understand the greatness and bitterness of this pain? Oh! by what anguish was the sweet Heart of our Saviour shaken, which, placed as it were between two pressures, that of fear and of love, was sorely straitened, fear, namely, straitening Him in His lower nature, and love in His higher? And although fear was strong, yet was it utterly cast out by the mightiness of His love. But oh! the sufferings, the incomprehensible pain which Christ underwent in this wine-press? Oh! how did His material nature compassionate His sensitive nature, when He saw the latter so straitened and oppressed? How faithfully in its great compassion did that higher nature make intercession, even as an advocate, for the lower? "Father," it said, "if it be possible, let this chalice pass from Me:" and then again, as an excellent peace-maker, it added in the spirit, "My Father, if this chalice cannot pass away, except I drink it, Thy will be done." As if He would say: "Now that Thou hast unfolded unto Me the great debt of the human race, and the price by which it must be paid, from which, indeed, all My tender nature, tender above all understanding, shrinketh in fear and trembling; yet the desire which I have of fulfilling Thy will, and of redeeming man, utterly overpowereth Me. I accept then the condition, and I approve what Thou demandest, and see! this red Blood of Mine, just shed, shall be the pledge, that with money of the same kind I will pay the rest of the debt." O love of Christ Jesus, Thou art above all comprehension! Who is there that would not be inflamed by such burning love as this? Who is able even to think of the fruit, and usefulness, and salvation, and eternal good, which were born to us when this most saving word was uttered, "Thy will be done?" Of a truth, of all words ever uttered that was the most saving; for by it the Son of God was taken in exchange by His Eternal Father, so that from the moment when it was uttered, our heavenly Father laid aside His ancient enmities, and changed all His wrath into mercy, and took us back into His grace, so that we have become the sons of God, and joint-heirs with Christ of the kingdom of heaven, who before were the children of wrath, and dwellers in darkness. Oh! who can sound the abyss of this love, whereby Christ uttered this word? He foresaw, indeed, all the torments that hung over Him, even down to the least blow. He beheld, too, how grievously, how cruelly He was to suffer; nay, He saw, too, our exceeding great hardness of heart, and ingratitude, and that amongst so many men His precious Blood would have no effect, no fruit; nevertheless, so great was His love for us, that He was ready rather to suffer Himself to be crucified even a thousand times, than allow, so far as lay with Him, even one man to perish. Come, then, all ye who are devoted to Him, and as many as are of good will, and who desire to make progress in virtue. Contemplate here in the garden Him Who is the mirror of all virtue, the very path of perfection. Follow your Lord, walk in the same footsteps in which He hath gone before you. Learn here to lay aside your own will, and to do God's will. Learn to overcome and to bring into captivity to the Spirit your sensuality and vicious learnings, which are drawing you away from God, that so, according to St. Paul's advice, you may have all your senses under bridle, and your will obedient to the service of Christ. Learn, here, that in nothing ought ye to seek your own selves, but rather God's honour, and your neighbour's salvation. Lastly, learn here not to give in to the desires of nature, or the persuasion of your own wisdom, but rather to those things which God asketh and requireth of you, whatever they may be, whether in acting, or in abstaining from action, or in suffering, or in prosperity, or in adversity; even as Christ did not His own will, but His Father's, although to do this was a trial to His nature, and went against it, and His sensitiveness shrank from it utterly. Far more useful will it be for you to follow Christ and His divine inspirations, than to be wise according to your own conceits and feelings, however grand and good these may seem. For He Who alone was offended, perfectly knew, when you knew it not, in what way He would be appeased and reconciled. Whatever, therefore, He requireth of you, that give unto Him; wheresoever He may either lead or draw you, thither follow Him; yea, not less boldly to the depths of hell, than to the heights of heaven. As He speaketh to you, so answer Him; whatever He commandeth, accomplish without delay; whatever cross He may lay upon you, carry it without murmuring. For the more you are united to Him, and the more you go out of, and deny yourselves, so much the more will ye be lifted up above to Him. But now, that we have been strengthened for a little while by this little morsel of spiritual teaching, let us turn again to Christ in His affliction, to Christ, I say, still lying upon the ground, as we have seen Him in our meditation, wet with His bloody sweat, and fervently entreating the Father for us. And now, O my soul, look and see how noble and excellent thou art, and how great is the price with which thou hast been bought. See how greatly the only-begotten of God the Father hath esteemed thee, when for thy sake He delivered Himself to death, and for thy redemption hath shed His precious Blood. Observe, I beseech thee, what are the pains and the labour by which thou hast been restored to health and salvation. Yet thou considerest thyself so vile, that for the short pleasure of a moment, for some trifling temporal thing, thou sellest and losest thyself, whom Christ hath redeemed in His own Blood. See how bitter was all His Passion, the mere thought of which caused Him to shed both blood and water. But now, with melting hearts, let us see how our loving Lord, after this grievous suffering, lifted up His Head from the ground, and rose from prayer. Oh! how sore were all His limbs from the fearful and great agony which He had undergone. How swollen was that fair face of His, after His burning prayer, covered all over, as it was, by His sweat of blood! How inflamed were His eyes by the tears, which still were thickly flowing! Hear how He addresseth His disciples, and saith: "Sleep on, now, and take your rest." See here the immensity of our Lord's goodness. Not with severity did He upbraid them, but patiently bore with their sloth and weakness. See, too, how the faithful Shepherd watcheth and prayeth for His sheep. Of a truth, by His own fervour He supplied for their sloth and torpor. O, the unutterable kindness of Christ Jesus! The Lord watcheth, while His servants sleep. He alone combateth, that they may remain unhurt. He exposeth Himself to the wolves, that His sheep may escape scatheless from their bite. He did, indeed, love them to the end. After this He roused them, and said: "Arise, it is enough; behold, he who betrayeth Me is at hand." Think, then, O my soul, that thou art now with Christ in the garden, and that He spake these words to thee. Rise, therefore, O my soul, from the sleep of sin, from thy torpid dream of the deceitful pleasures of earth, and from every delight and convenience of nature; and seizing manfully the cross of penance and affliction, follow Christ thy Lord, and with great compassion, devotion, and inward love, look upon the poor disfigured form of thy Saviour, and think how thou wert the cause of His Passion. Weigh diligently with thyself, how great must have been the inward anguish of His Soul, by the outward signs of His exceedingly afflicted Body. Then throw thyself humbly at His Feet, with as much sorrow and compassion as thou canst obtain from God, and with burning tears and deep heavy sighs, pray to Him thus: __________________________________________________________________ THE NINTH CHAPTER. A Prayer to the Son for Pardon, and the grace of Self-denial. O Most merciful Jesus, I beseech Thee by Thy bitter sorrow and anxious grief, when Thou wert made sorrowful even unto death at the inward contemplation of the bitter Passion and shameful death which were so close at hand, so that the strain within Thee made Thee tremble outwardly, and sweat blood and water--by that exceeding great anguish of Thy Soul, when prostrate on Thy Face, Thou didst pray so earnestly to Thy Father, and with simple created love and true resignation, didst struggle with the fear of death, not heeding the horrors of Thy lower powers, but submitting and subjecting Thyself with the created love of Thy Humanity, to the uncreated love of Thy most high Godhead, wert made obedient with Thy full consent to Thy Father, even unto the death of the cross;--by the struggle and mighty effort of that contest, by the intolerable pain of Thy Soul and Body, by the sweat of blood itself which broke forth from all Thy members, and flowed down in great drops upon the ground;--by all this sorrow and grief, I beseech Thee, O tender Jesus, to pour into me true contrition for my sins, and to soften my heart of stone to compunction, and to inflame it to devotion, and to give to my eyes rivers of tears, so that night and day I may weep for having wronged and insulted Thee, and for the numberless sins whereby I have offended Thee, O Lord my God! Deal not with me, I implore Thee, according to my demerits, but according to Thine infinite mercy; neither enter into judgment with Thy servant, but set, I beseech Thee, this bitter Passion of Thine between Thy judgment and my wretched soul with its sins. And whatever mine iniquities deserve, let Thy bitter Death forgive, and Thy precious Blood wash away for ever. Grant, O most gracious God, that I may deny my own will, and make myself of no reputation, and submit myself and all creatures to Thee, my Lord and Maker, for Thy sake, and that I may feel also that I am the vilest and most unworthy of all Thy creatures; that thus I may be resigned in will, and as free from all choice, as if never I had any will of mine own at all. O Jesus Christ, most strong and unconquerable Lion, Who hast overcome the world and its prince, do Thou so strengthen, I beseech Thee, my weakness, that I may utterly overcome my sensuality and unmortified rebel nature, and every inordinate affection towards all things in this world beneath Thyself; and that I may put a yoke upon myself, and perfectly and wholly turn away from all that can stain my heart, or come between Thy love and me; in a word, that I may love Thee, my Lord, as purely and as fervently as it is possible for a perishable creature to love. Make, also, my heart so just, and right, and pure, and place it so close to Thy Heart, that between me and Thee there may be found nothing distorted, nothing unjust, nothing unlike Thee; so that in all my conversation, and in all my works, I may seek for nothing, desire nothing, look for nothing, or intend nothing, except to please Thee, honour Thee, perform whatever is Thy will, and love Thee with my whole heart; and that in this I may ever spend my whole being, in order, in some poor little way, at least, to repay Thy love. __________________________________________________________________ THE TENTH CHAPTER. Jesus goeth to meet His Enemies. Our Lord Jesus, knowing that Judas, His betrayer, had come, surrounded by a devilish crowd of wicked men who were thirsting for His Blood, and who had come with exceeding cruelty to take Him, as if He had been a thief, with lanterns, and swords, and cords, and with a great noise of arms, like an innocent Lamb, with great affection and burning love went forth to meet them, saying: "Whom seek ye?" Consider now, O my soul, with thy inward eyes, the immense love of thy Saviour; see how above measure He thirsteth to redeem thee. Look how His Heart is boiling over within Him for exceeding burning love. O sweet Jesus, the only comfort of my heart, where is now the fear, which a little before had come upon Thee? Where now are Thy deep groans? Where now are Thy trembling limbs? Where now is Thy great horror of death? While as yet Thine enemies were far from Thee, Thou wert sorrowful even unto death, and in Thy cruel straits Thou didst sweat blood, and Thou didst pray that the Passion that was hanging over Thee might be taken from Thee by Thy Father; but now that Thine enemies are before Thine eyes, roaring like lions, and raging like mad dogs to shed Thine innocent Blood, Thou fearest nothing, Thou tremblest at nothing, and all fear hath gone far from Thee. Thy betrayer hath come with a crowd of blood-thirsty men, cruel wolves; and of Thine own free will Thou goest forth to meet them. What doth this mean, O gracious Jesus, except that perfect love hath cast out fear? Oh! how perfectly hast Thou gone out of Thyself, O loving Jesus! How well hast Thou prepared a place for Thy heavenly Father, in order that He may accomplish within Thee His own most gracious work according to His will. Oh! how Thou hast spared Thyself in nothing! With what burning thirst hast Thou sought after Thy Father's honour! How mightily hast Thou conquered Thyself through love, being made obedient even unto death! O Jesus, sweet Lover of men, what love is this that hath so swallowed up Thy Heart, that Thou hastenest to death as to a marriage feast, that Thou goest forth to meet Thine enemies, as if they were Thy friends! Thou couldst not even wait till they addressed Thee, but even as a man saluteth his friends, whom he meeteth on the way, so didst Thou address them first, and say: "Whom seek ye?" Oh! of a truth, most gracious Jesus, the fire of love had so worked its way within Thee, and melted, and burnt away the marrow of Thy Soul, that all Thy inner man blessed God the Father Almighty, and all Thy members were stretched like a bow to accomplish Thy Father's gracious will. For Thy uncreated love as God so moved and kindled Thy created love, that Thou wert wholly ready to satisfy that love in all that it required. Hence it was that in Thy thirst Thou didst seize the chalice, from which but a little before Thou didst so greatly shrink; and quickened by love, as a fearless giant, Thou rejoicest to run the way of our salvation. O most gracious Lord, who is there that would not be inflamed by love like this? Who am I, and Who art Thou, that Thou, the Lord of lords, Thou, the Ruler of heaven and earth, shouldst offer Thyself to such a shameful death, and into the very hands of Thy cruel enemies, for me who am but a poor vile worm of earth; and that Thou shouldst receive him who betrayed Thee as if he were Thy brother? No, not even from Judas, that ungrateful dog, didst Thou turn away, O well-spring of unexhaustible mercy, even when he blushed not to seek a kiss from Thy sacred mouth; but Thou didst gently place that sweet and loving mouth of Thine, in which there was no guile, against that foul mouth of his, overflowing, though it was, with malice. Oh! the incomprehensible gentleness, the wonderful lovingkindness, the unutterable lowliness, the measureless goodness of the Master towards His cruel servant! Of a truth, Lord, it were better for that man if he had never been born! O sweet Jesus, so continual was Thy goodness, that Thou didst show him all the kindness that Thou couldst, in order, if possible, to soften his heart of stone. With kindly, friendly words Thou spakest to him, and saidst: "Friend, why camest thou hither?" As if Thou wouldst say: "Have I deserved this of thee, O Judas? Did I sin against thee, in washing thy feet, in bending My knees to thee, in refreshing thee with My Body and Blood? Friend, wherefore hast thou come? Dost thou hold Me of less value than thirty pieces of silver? Why hast thou turned away from Me, Who honoured thee by the title of apostle, Who brought thee up in delights, and taught thee with all loving care, as My own son? Why hast thou forsaken Me, the well of living water, and joined thyself to the servants of the devil? Why hath thy heart gone after avarice, and why hast thou left Me, the highest and Eternal Good, and sold Me for a poor wretched price, although I have within Me the hidden treasures of wisdom and knowledge, and I enrich and fill both heaven and earth? Friend, wherefore hast thou come? Turn and look into thine own self, I pray thee, go down a little into thyself, come back to thine own heart, and see the depth to which thou hast fallen; observe what thou hast done. Even now My grace is open to thee; only come back with sorrow unto Me, and I will receive thee." Who can restrain his tears, when he considereth Christ's unutterable kindness to His betrayer? Who, after this, shall dare to lose hope of God's mercy? O sweetest Jesus, if Thou hast been so faithful, and loving, and kind to the traitor, and the enemy, Thy wicked and unfaithful servant, and hast so laboured to call him back to Thee, and save him, what, therefore, wilt Thou do to Thy dear friends, who seek, and love, and thirst after Thee with their whole life? Of a truth, Thou art no respecter of persons, nor dost Thou desire the death and destruction of the wicked, but rather that they should be turned from their wickedness, and live. For Thou hast embraced all men in Thy Heart, nor dost Thou cast away any man from Thee, save those alone, who by their own free but evil will, and hardness in sin, depart from Thee. Oh! how grieved was our gentle Saviour, that His own disciple should treacherously betray Him with a kiss! Bitterly enough He complaineth of this by the prophet, when He saith: "If Mine enemy had spoken evil against Me, I would indeed have borne it, but that thou, the man of My peace, My friend and disciple, in whom I hoped, and who sattest at meat with Me, shouldst magnify treachery against Me, and sell Me for a vile sum of money, and deliver Me to death! O Judas, wherefore hast thou come? Dost thou betray the Son of Man with a kiss?" But now return awhile to thyself, O my soul, and see, I beseech thee, how impatient, how cruel and greedy of vengeance thou art. By a single word thou art moved to anger, to reproachful words, and to avenge thyself. Truly Christ did not disdain to speak to His betrayer, and to call him friend, and to sweetly kiss him. Oh! how many times I pass by my neighbour, thinking it beneath me to speak to him, and by such disdain or contempt provoke him to hatred, and thus I lose his soul when I might have softened him by a friendly look or kind word, and moved him to love. But Christ addressed also His other enemies with friendly words, and said: "Whom seek ye?" They answered Him: "Jesus of Nazareth." Jesus said to them: "I am He." And when He had said this, they went backwards, and fell upon the ground. Here Augustine crieth out: "`I am He,' by this one word, expressive of His hidden Godhead, without a weapon of any kind, He struck down, drove back, laid low so great a multitude that had come out against Him, fierce in wrath, and terrible in arms, for God lay hidden in the flesh. What will He do when He cometh to judge the world, who doeth this when He is about to be judged Himself? What will He do when He shall reign, who could do this when He was about to die?" So far Augustine. After this sign He gave them again power to rise, and raised them, as it were, from death; and a second time He said: "Whom seek ye?" They said unto Him: "Jesus of Nazareth." Jesus answered: "I have told you that I am He." Hearken, O my soul, to this sweet word of thy Saviour. He Who a little before had laid them low upon the ground by one word of His power, by the same word now graciously delivereth Himself over to death, saying: "I have told you that I am He;" as if He would say: "I am ready to fulfil My Father's will, and to offer Myself a living victim to My Father's honour and glory, for the salvation of men. I am ready now, not only to bear all the sins of the world, but also to undergo the penalties which are due to them, and to blot out that old hand-writing of their cruel enemy in My own Blood, and to redeem man from eternal death. Your High Priest spoke truly when he prophesied, that one man must needs die for the people, that the whole nation perish not. I am that Man; I am that innocent Lamb, ready to be offered for the sins of My people. Therefore it is, that now I give Myself into your hands. Often, indeed, have ye desired both to take and to kill Me, but My hour had not yet come. Now that hour is come, and the power of darkness. Glut now your thirst, and your rage against Me. I am He Whom ye seek; I am ready to bear whatever ye can think of to do against Me. Take Me, seize Me, bind Me, lead Me to death itself; but suffer these to go their way. No power hath been given you over My disciples; only against Me have ye power to rage. O unutterable love! Oh! of a truth Thou art the good Shepherd. See, how He loved His little flock even to the end, placing Himself between them and the teeth of these ravenous wolves. How willingly He suffered Himself to be mangled, and torn, and killed, that the sheep of His little fold might go unhurt. Then with great fierceness did they take Him, and like mad dogs, fastened their cruel fangs upon this innocent Lamb. __________________________________________________________________ THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER. A Prayer for perfect Self-denial and Love. O Most gracious Jesus, I, a vile and wretched sinner, heartily acknowledge and confess myself utterly unworthy of all these benefits, and gifts, and graces, and of all grace and love, which so abundantly and beyond all measure Thou hast bestowed upon me, the least of the worms of earth, and above all, of that love whereby Thou gavest Thyself into the cruel hands of Thine enemies, that Thou mightest suffer a most bitter death for my sins, and mightest shed Thy precious Blood for my redemption. And I beseech Thee, O tender Jesus, mightily to inflame my heart with the same love, that I may utterly deny myself, and count myself for nothing, and may subject myself both to Thee, and, for Thy sake, to all creatures, so that I may correspond in some poor way, at least, with Thy obedience, and resignation, and wonderful humility. And this one other grace grant me also; namely, that my desires and affections may be so inflamed, that I may offer myself wholly to Thee in return, with the same burning love as that with which Thou didst offer Thyself to the Father for me; and that I may offer myself, too, with all my powers, as a living sacrifice, to accomplish Thy most gracious will in all things, both in what I do, and in what I leave undone, without any choice of my own, and to bear whatever may happen to me by the permission of Thy goodness, in whatsoever way or by whomsoever it may come about; and that I may so free and purify the very depths of my being, relying on Thy help, from all selfishness, and sensuality, and impressions of images, and from cleaving thereto; in a word, from everything that can cause a barrier between my soul and Thee, so that naked, and without anything coming between us, I may be united to Thee in will, and love, and intention, and desire; and that I may thoroughly and wholly shake myself off from, and make myself naked of all that is beneath Thee, so that Thou mayest have free space to work in me, and mayest accomplish Thy pleasant work within me without any obstacle; and that I, all free and unencumbered, may embrace Thee in the naked arms of Thy love, and rest for ever in Thee, and Thou in me, O my most sweet, and loving, and gracious Lord and God! Amen. __________________________________________________________________ THE TWELFTH CHAPTER. Jesus is taken and bound. Come now, and with inward sorrow and weeping eyes let us go and see where we have left our Lord Jesus Christ, namely, in the cruel hands of the savage Jews; our most innocent Lamb in the hateful and rough claws of lions, roaring for their prey. Let us see, I pray, in sorrow and affliction of heart, how shamefully and miserably these unclean dogs have treated the Lord of glory. He, indeed, the meek Lamb of God, spake to them kindly in gentle words, and said: "As against a thief have ye come forth to take Me. I was daily with you, teaching in the temple, and ye took Me not. But this is your hour, and the power of darkness." O ye blind and wicked, what need was there to come in such numbers to take Him, Who of His own free will giveth Himself into your hands? What need was there to search with lanterns and torches for Him Who cometh forth to meet you, and to speak to you? What will your arms profit you, when by one word He hath laid you flat upon the ground? Or why have ye sought by night Him Who was daily with you in the temple? Of a truth, this is the hour of darkness. The children, I say, the children of darkness hate the light; therefore they desire to put it out, that they may remain in their darkness, lest their evil works may be made manifest. But in vain do they labour. As the Scripture saith: His light shall not be put out by night, but it will shine the brighter, and will be lifted up on the candlestick of the Cross, that it may give light to all, who are in the household of Holy Church. Then all the disciples, leaving their Master alone in the wicked hands of the raging Jews, fled away. Oh! who can think of all the fierceness, and the wickedness, with which those savage wolves treated this our loving Lord, or of the sorrow, and contempt, and shame, that they brought upon Him? Let us for a little while, I implore you, endeavour in o