Simple Thoughts on the Rosary: Sorrowful Mysteries: The Crucifixion
Look at the poor thieves, His companions. They are suffering sorely. Yet something yonder is riveting the attention of one, and stirring his soul to its depths. In that fellow-sufferer on his left, that Man tortured almost out of the likeness of man, he discerns a majesty that neither pain nor indignity can disturb. He sees Him looking down with gentleness on the rabble that are feasting their eyes on His agony. From the parched lips he hears no word of indignation or complaint; but again and again, broken by the sobs of the death struggle:
“Father forgive them.” He looks, He listens. He ponders. Grace comes and is not rejected. Faith shows him in this outcast the King of Kings. Hope that was dead an hour ago revives. Love draws him strangely to this Friend found so late. For the robber feels He is not a King only, but a Friend. He has not spoken, but His eyes have turned this way more than once, and whilst that look rested on him all pain was forgotten. Who can it be that has power to draw his soul like this? Oh that he could fling himself at His feet; that he might belong to Him; that he might be with Him in that life on which they are entering as he is with Him now; that he might not be altogether forgotten by Him whose presence is soothing his last hour! A passionate desire wakes within his soul to reveal itself, to cast itself on the mercy of Him who hangs there. But will this Holy One spurn him? Will his King reject him? He flings away the thought. He gives no heed to the reviling of his fellow-robber; no heed to the fury he will provoke down there. A cry goes forth: “Lord, remember me when Thou shalt come into Thy Kingdom!”
And see! The thorn-crowned head that lay drooping on the breast is lifted. It turns to him. The eyes dulling with the mist of death, painfully raise themselves to his. The dry lips open, and words come thick and slow: “Amen—I say—to thee—this day thou shalt—be with Me—in Paradise.”
A remembrance was all the thief had asked. The answer was pardon for the sins of a life, final perseverance, canonisation while living, the promise of heaven, and—happiest of all—reunion with his Master before the sun had set. Can we trust our Lord to be tender and generous with us when we return to Him? Does not His royal Heart proclaim Him King!
Remember me! The thief had but a short space for prayer. He had much to pray for. In two words he prayed, and his prayer covered all his needs.
I, too, have but a short time for prayer. Life will soon be done, the little space wherein I am to obtain from God all I want for my eternal happiness. And I, like the thief, may be content with the cry that includes every petition: “Lord, remember me!”
Remember me in my present necessities, in the actual state of my soul as it is in Thy sight. Remember its wounds and its weakness, the result of sin in the past. Remember its trials, its temptations, its weariness. Remember the peculiar difficulties and dangers consequent on temperament, early influences, circumstances, and the way my will has borne itself towards all these things.
Remember, O Lord, the love with which from eternity Thou hast brooded over my soul; with which Thou didst create, and redeem, and sanctify it. Remember Thine ideal in creating it, and the graces Thou hast prepared for it with a view to that ideal. Remember that “the gifts and the calling of God are without repentance” (Rom. 11); that Thy love and Thy purpose remain firm in spite of the waywardness by which I have crossed Thy designs. That I may not disappoint Thee, may not waste what Thou hast lavished on me, or lessen by any shortcoming on my part the glory Thou hast put it in my power to render Thee—for Thine own sake, therefore, my God,—remember me.
Remember my desires—those aspirations after better things that are the fruit of Thy grace; that subsist in spite of all my inconsistencies and failings.
Remember my responsibilities—the dread influence which, whether I will or no, I exercise on those about me, those especially who are dependent on me. Remember me, O Lord, when the figure of this world is passing away, when we shall see Thee coming in glory to judge the living and the dead. Remember me when Thou shalt come into Thy Kingdom, that where Thou art I too may be.
Remember me in life, remember me in death; in time and in eternity, O Lord, remember me!
V.—When Jesus therefore had seen His Mother and the disciple standing whom He loved, He saith to His Mother: Woman, behold thy son.
After that He saith to the disciple: Behold thy Mother. And from that hour the disciple took her to his own.
She was His last gift—kept for the end. He had declared His Father to be ours: “I ascend to My Father and to your Father” (John 20). He had promised us His Holy Spirit: “If I go I will send Him to you” (John 16). He had given us Himself: “This is My Body ... This is My Blood” (Matth. 26). He had parted for our sakes with all He had in this world—His followers, His friends, His fame, His honour. What was left to Him? She to whom He came at first, His Mother. He will give her away now. We must not be able to say there is anything however dear to Him however specially His own, that He has not shared with us. He must prove His right to the title of our Elder Brother by making His Mother the Mother of us all. As He has said: “My Father and your Father,” He will say: “My Mother and yours.” Heartbroken, she was standing beneath His cross by the disciple whom He loved. Jesus saith to her: “Woman, behold thy son.” After that He saith to the disciple: “Behold thy Mother.”
“And from that hour the disciple took her to his own.” He took her to sanctify the home at Ephesus and Jerusalem as with her Divine Son she had sanctified the home at Nazareth. It is the mother that makes the home. It is her influence that pervades it and determines its spirit. She is its brightness and its joy, the common possession and resource, the comforter, the peacemaker, the provider, the counsellor. The Mother of God is given to Christian homes to be all this to them. But the gift must be accepted. John received with reverence, gratitude, and love the treasure bequeathed to him. We must do the like.
O Mother of Jesus be to me what thou wert to the beloved Disciple. Be to my home what thou wert to his. Like John I receive thee as a precious gift to me and mine. Like him I promise thee the honour, love, and trust of a child. Like him I take thee to my own.
VI.—My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?—Mark xv.
Our Lord loves to call Himself “the Son of Man,” and there is none among His many titles to which He has more fully proved His claim. He came to us in His Incarnation resolved to share with us all He could share. He would come down to our level. He would know by experience our trials and our sorrows. In the execution of His design there were difficulties all but insuperable. But the Omnipotence of His Love overcame them. We are wayfarers, journeying painfully to our Country, to the Vision of God there which will satisfy every desire. His Soul enjoyed the Beatific Vision from the moment of Its creation. And that Vision is incompatible with pain. But His Almighty Power could suspend Its effects. He suspended them. Now He could suffer with us cold, heat, hunger, weariness. Sickness He could not suffer. But He would more than compensate for this by the torments of His Passion. “From the sole of the foot to the top of the head there should be no soundness in Him, wounds and bruises, and swelling sores” (Isaias 1). Whilst we employ anesthetics, and ask for miracles to avert suffering, He will use His Omnipotence to bring it within His reach. Thus will He be at one and the same time with us on the way to cheer and support, and at the term to reward. But there was a deeper depth yet to which He must descend if He would be like us in all things. Sin has fixed a gulf between us and our God. It has hidden His face from us, and then left us wailing in our despair. Here surely the Son of Man must part company with us, He “who did no sin neither was guile found in his mouth” (1 Peter 2). No, for He is come to seek and to save that which was lost. He will follow us down into our misery that He may rescue us. Sin cannot touch Him. But its chastisement He can draw down upon Himself. He has undertaken to satisfy for us to the full, to bear all that He may bear consistently with the dignity of His Person. Therefore He will endure as far as possible the most awful form of human suffering—separation from God, dereliction by God.
“When the sixth hour was come there was darkness over the whole earth until the ninth hour” (Mark 15). And there was darkness deeper and more terrible over the human Soul of Jesus. Among His unspeakable sufferings the keenest was this hiding of the face of the Father. We have no thoughts or images whereby to bring home to ourselves in the very least the love with which the Soul of Christ turned to the Father. “I and the Father are one” (John 10). “As the Father knoweth Me, and I know the Father” (Id). “I live by the Father” (John 6). To be about His Father’s business He had come into the world. That His Father’s Name might be hallowed He had taught, and toiled, and suffered. It was when He spoke of the Father that His full Heart revealed Itself. To the Father’s face He lifted His eyes, weary with the sin and sorrow of earth. The Father’s bosom was rest when heavy at heart He lay in prayer on the mountain side by night. The Father’s love was His all-sufficing compensation for the coldness and ingratitude of men.