Simple Thoughts on the Rosary: Sorrowful Mysteries: The Crowning with Thorns
I.—I looked for one that would grieve together with me, but there was none: and for one that would comfort me, and I found none.—Ps. Ixviii.
Then the soldiers of the governor, taking Jesus into the hall, gathered together unto Him the whole band, and, stripping Him, they clothe Him with purple. And platting a crown of thorns, they put it upon His head, and a reed in His right hand. And bowing the knee before Him, they began to salute Him, (and) they mocked Him, saying: “Hail! King of the Jews.” And spitting upon Him, they took the reed and struck His head (Matth. 27, Mark 15, John 19).
See the barrack-yard of the soldiers in the Praetorium. The whole band, about five hundred men, gathered together for the sport. Our Lord seated on a stone bench. An old scarlet cloak about His shoulders. On His head a crown, i.e., a raised cap or mitre, of thorns, covering the whole head and half of the forehead, the long, sharp thorns protruding inside and outside. In His hand a reed. Streams of blood trickling down His face and through His hair, filling His eyes and beard.
See the soldiers marching before Him, genuflecting as they pass: every now and then a halt to offer Him some fresh insult; some spitting on Him, some striking Him, all mocking Him.
Hear the shouts, the laughter, the uproar, the blasphemy.
Hear the silence of Christ.
II.—They are not afraid to spit in my face.—Job xxx.
Pity our Lord as He goes from the pillar of the Scourging to the scene of His next torment. Wonder that human hearts could be so hard, that hatred could be so relentless as not to be satisfied with the state to which the Scourging has brought Him. See His tottering steps. He is exhausted with pain and loss of blood. Every movement is torture. His woven tunic is clinging to a body that is one wound. The soldiers push Him before them to the barrack-yard, where they are going to have some sport by dressing Him up as a king, and doing Him mock homage.
See them roughly taking off His vesture; not even His Mother could have removed it without causing Him exquisite torture. They seat Him on a low stone bench, throw a red rag round His shoulders by way of a royal mantle, and put a reed in His hand for a sceptre. A crown alone is wanting. One of them has seen a thick briar growing near the door. It would serve the purpose. They cut a branch covered with hard spikes, and, taking care not to hurt their hands, twist it into a kind of helmet bristling with sharp points within and without. They put it on to His Head and beat it down with the reed.
Mark His agony as the thorns are driven into the eyes, into the temples, into the nerves. See the rush of tears caused by the intolerable pain. The blood trickles through His hair, disfigures His face, fills and blinds His eyes.
Now begins the mockery. They draw themselves up in line and pass before Him, bowing the knee and saluting Him: “Hail! king of the Jews.” One takes the reed from His hand and strikes His head. Others pull His beard and buffet Him. He makes no resistance. There is no sign of indignation. He does not turn away His face when they spit upon Him. When they want the reed to strike His head, He gives it them, and takes it into His trembling hand when they return it to Him. He endures beyond the limit of endurance, because supported by His Divinity, torture that would have killed the strongest man. His physical suffering is awful, but it is not the worst. Think what He feels in that tender, sensitive Heart of His!
“Spitting upon Him.” This indignity was not only foreseen by the prophet, but was one of the few pains of the Passion foretold by Himself. “The Son of man shall be betrayed and delivered to the Gentiles, and shall be mocked, and scourged, and spit upon, and put to death.” Six only of His sufferings mentioned out of so many, and among these the mockery and the spitting! He was a king, and He felt as none but a king could feel dishonour, treachery, betrayal. “For this is God, our God unto eternity, and for ever and ever” (Ps. 47). “The blessed and only mighty, the King of kings and Lord of lords” (I. Tim. 6). How, then, will He feel the outrage He endures at the hands of a brutal soldiery!
His Angels surround Him in adoration and astonishment. This is the treatment He receives from the human family, which He has preferred to them, which He has honoured so unspeakably by making it His own! How they marvel at the predilections of God, and try to see what He sees in this human race that is being redeemed in so wondrous a way, at such tremendous cost.
III.—In what place soever thou shalt be, lord my king, either in death, or in life, there will thy servant be.—2 Kings xv.
Which of us will have the courage to say this as we kneel before our King crowned with thorns? Who will desire to have it said of him: “Thou also wast with Jesus of Nazareth in humiliation and disgrace?” Thousands of His saints have been thus loyal. But we maintain that not having the grace of the saints we are not called to imitate them in this respect. So close a following of the King is to be admired rather than imitated. Discretion is not a virtue only, but a duty. We have our position to uphold, and so far from permitting us to submit to anything in the shape of dishonour, it requires us to act on the maxim: “No one shall provoke me with impunity.”
Still, as I kneel before Christ crowned with thorns, my King, as well as the King of all saints, my Leader no less than theirs, a sense of disquiet comes over me, a feeling of being out of harmony with Him in His meekness and patience under injury. He may not want me to endure outrage, but He does ask me to pass over a slight, to bear peacefully the annoyances of daily life, the failings or the inconsiderateness of those around me. Can I dispense myself from following Him at least thus far, and still call myself His disciple?
How can I get the fortitude to follow Him more closely? For it is fortitude that is wanting. It is the feeble-minded who stand up hotly for their rights, whom no one can provoke with impunity. Where can I get the royal virtue of meekness, the greatness and strength of soul to bear at least the little rubs of life as I ought?
Let me look into the Heart of my King as He sits there, the sport of the vilest rabble. What sustains Him? What makes Him suffer willingly in spite of the repugnance of nature? The same recognition of the Father’s hand in all that befalls Him, to which His words in the Garden testified: “The chalice that My Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it?” The faith that sees the Father’s hand in every trial, this it is that holds the secret of meekness. To it alone belongs the strength of endurance, the peacefulness of trust. A faith such as this transforms the aspect of life. It gives a charmed life that disaster and the malice of men assail in vain.
We cannot doubt that every event in the life of the Son of God came about by the express decree or by the permission of God. The same is true of all events in our own lives, those included in which the human element is most apparent. If, instead of ascribing my troubles to chance or to the ill-will of others, I rise to the thought of God’s designs in sending them, I shall find myself in a region of calm. I shall have passed beyond the reach of the sting that comes from the hand of man, but is not found in the hand of my Father who is in heaven.
Pain, indeed, comes from that hand, but for a little while only. It gives the trial that it may be able to give the reward; the crown of thorns to-day, the crown of glory to-morrow. Meanwhile, pain is sweetened by the thought that my companionship with Him here and hereafter softened His sorrows to my King the day He bore them in meekness and in love for me.
Jesus therefore came forth bearing the crown of thorns.—John xix.
Say, will that thorn-crowned Head As members own The delicately bred? Shall it alone Languish, and smart, and bleed? Or, rather, shall they miss Not following its lead His everlasting bliss?
IV.—You are bought with a great price.—1 Cor. i.
See our Lord seated there, meek, brave, invincible in His patience. On every side the thorns encircle and pierce His head, wounding the temples, breaking the nerves. This in expiation of our evil thoughts; our pride, rebellion, contempt of authority, uncharitable interpretations. This to teach us how to bear headache, anxiety, worry.
See His face, defiled with spittle, besmeared with blood, swollen and bruised with blows—a fearful sight to look upon. From their intolerable pain, His half-closed eyes have all but lost the power of sight. Dimly through tears and blood they discern the long line of mockers, and the hand lifted to snatch the reed and beat the crown still deeper into the head. This in atonement for our vanity, our curiosity, our love of display.
His parched, pallid lips, His shoulders seamed with the lash, His trembling limbs, His aching Heart, all these are bearing the penalty our sinful flesh has deserved. He loved me and delivered Himself for me. O my King, can I resist this piteous sight! Can I see unmoved what my sins have brought upon Thee! Can I refuse Thee my gratitude and my love! I was not by the pillar of the Scourging nor in the barrack-yard. I could not tell Thee of my thankfulness at the time Thou didst suffer for me. But how frightful would be my ingratitude were I to show myself ungrateful now! Who shall pay my debt if I neglect it? My pity for Thee in Thy pains, my sorrow for my cruel sins that caused them, is as acceptable to Thee now as it would have been at the hour when Thou wert enduring all this for me.
But if my gratitude is to be more than a name, I must seek out and destroy the cause of Thy sufferings. I must look at the Model Thou hast set before me, and reform myself by what I see there.
“Who when He was reviled did not revile” (I. Peter 2).
Do I pray for grace to forgive what I cannot forget?—Do I practise self-control when I feel hurt?
Do I try to accept bitterness of speech with sweetness?
Do I make allowance for mistakes and misunderstanding, and strive to accommodate myself to those of a different character from my own?
Am I too exacting?
Am I ready to make sacrifices for the sake of peace?
Am I as quick to find excuse for others as for myself?
Am I royally merciful towards those I dislike, or who dislike me?
Do I make others impatient by contradiction? Do I check in myself the spirit of criticism?
V.—The Lord hath cast down and hath not spared all that was beautiful.—Lament. ii.
(1) God hath delivered me into the hands of the wicked (Job 16).
(2) My enemies have surrounded me: they have set their eyes bowing down to the earth (Ps. 16).
(3) They have opened their mouths upon me, and reproaching me, they have struck me on the cheek (Job 16).
(4) I am made a derision to all my people (Lament. 3).
(5) They abhor me, and are not afraid to spit in my face (Job 30).
(6) I am turned in my anguish whilst the thorn is fastened (Ps. 31).
(7) I shall not lift up my head, being filled with affliction and misery (Job 10).
(8) My shame is before me; and the confusion of my face hath covered me (Ps. 43).
(9) O my people, what have I done to thee, or in what have I molested thee? Answer thou me. (Micheas 6).
VI.—Art thou a king then? I am a king. For this was I born, and for this came I into the world.—John xviii.
(1) Come, let us adore and fall down and weep before the Lord that made us, for He is the Lord our God (Ps. 94).
(2) Bring to the Lord glory and honour (Ps. 28).
(3) All the Gentiles shall adore in His sight (Ps. 21).
(4) All the kings of the earth shall adore Him, all nations shall serve Him (Ps. 71).
(5) All the nations Thou hast made shall come and adore before Thee, O Lord, and they shall glorify Thy name (Ps. 85).
(6) Let all the earth adore Thee and sing to Thee (Ps. 65).
(7) Thou alone art the God of all the kingdoms of the earth (Isaias 37).
(8) Thou art worthy, O Lord our God, to receive glory, and honour, and power (Apoc. 4).
(9) To Jesus Christ our Lord be glory and magnificence, empire and power, before all ages, and now, and for all ages of ages, Amen (Jude 1).
(10) For of Him, and by Him, and in Him are all things: to Him he glory for ever. Amen (Romans 11).