Simple Thoughts on the Rosary: Glorious Mysteries: The Resurrection
I.—This is the day which the Lord hath made: let us be glad and rejoice therein.—Ps. cxvii.
And in the end of the Sabbath, when it began to dawn towards the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalen and Salome to the sepulchre, the sun being now risen. And they said one to another: “Who shall roll us back the stone from the door of the sepulchre?” And looking, they saw the stone rolled back. For it was very great.
She (Magdalen) ran, therefore, and cometh to Simon Peter, and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and saith to them: “They have taken away the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid Him.”
And entering into the sepulchre, they (the other two women, Mary of James, and Salome) saw a young man sitting at the right side clothed with a white robe, and they were astonished. Who said to them: “Be not affrighted, you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He is not here, for He is risen as He said. Come and see the place where the Lord was laid. And going quickly tell His disciples and Peter that He is risen. And behold, He will go before you into Galilee. There you shall see Him as He told you. Lo! I have foretold it to you.” But they going out fled from the sepulchre; for a trembling and fear had seized them; and they said nothing to any man, for they were afraid. And they went... quickly... with fear and great joy, running to tell His disciples. But Mary stood at the sepulchre without, weeping. Now as she was weeping, she stooped down, and looked into the sepulchre. And she saw two angels in white, sitting, one at the head, and one at the feet, where the body of Jesus had been laid. They say to her: “Woman, why weepest thou?” She saith to them: “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.” When she had thus said, she turned herself back, and saw Jesus standing; and she knew not that it was Jesus. Jesus saith unto her: “Woman, why weepest thou? whom seekest thou?” She thinking that it was the gardener, saith to Him: “Sir, if thou hast taken Him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him; and I will take Him away.” Jesus saith to her: “Mary.” She turning, saith to Him: “Rabboni,” (which is to say: Master). And behold Jesus met them (the other two women), saying: “All hail.” But they came up, and took hold of His feet, and adored Him. Then Jesus said to them: “Fear not. Go, tell My brethren that they go into Galilee, there they shall see Me.” And it was Mary Magdalen, and Joanna and Mary of James and the other two women that were with them, who told these things to the Apostles. And these words seemed to them as idle tales; and they did not believe them.
Now when it was late that same day, the first of the week, and the doors were shut, where the disciples were gathered together for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in the midst, and said to them: “Peace be to you, it is I, fear not.” But they being troubled and frighted, supposed that they saw a spirit.
And He said to them: “Why are you troubled, and why do thoughts arise in your hearts? See My hands and feet, that it is I Myself; handle, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as you see Me to have.” And when He had said this, He shewed them His hands and feet, and His side. The disciples therefore were glad, when they saw the Lord (Matth. 28, Mark 16, Luke 24, John 20).
See the Soul of Christ passing swift as light from the mangled Body on the Cross to the Limbo of the Fathers. See the vast sombre region lit up at its entrance as with a thousand suns. Behold how by one impulse its eager millions are borne towards Him and fall prostrate in adoration—Adam and Eve; David and Isaias, the Prophets of the Incarnation; the Gentile Job; St. Joseph; the holy Baptist.
Hear the acclamations, the praise, the thanksgiving.
Taste the jubilee of that hour in Limbo when up above on the frightened earth all was darkness and desolation. Notice that this difference is due to one cause only—the Presence of Christ.
II.—Free among the dead.—Ps. lxxxvii.
We speak of helplessness during life, but what is it to our utter helplessness after death! Think of it. The body carried anywhere, treated in any way, delivered over to the dishonour of the grave. The soul, free a moment ago to choose its course, fixed now in its eternal state; presented at the Judgment seat for sentence, and taken instantly to the place where the sentence is to be carried out. If to the prison-house of Hell or Purgatory, what helplessness for it there! Yes, truly, our helplessness after death is absolute.
Not thus was it with our Head. A moment before death He was “as a man without help” (Ps. 87). Hands and feet nailed, every limb, every nerve without help in their intolerable pain: His mighty Soul, crushed under the weight of the Father’s anger, summing up Its anguish in the cry: “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”
After death—the moment after—what a change! The body, lifeless, it is true, but embalmed with the Divinity, awaiting in a three days’ rest the instant of its glorious Resurrection: “In peace, in the selfsame I will sleep and I will rest” (Ps. 4). The Soul—oh what a change for It! “Free among the dead” (Ps. 87). Free, absolutely free, free as It had never been before. The suffering that had weighed upon It from the moment of the Incarnation—gone! The ever-present sight of Calvary—gone! The burden of the sins of men—gone! The cloud that hid the face of the Father—gone! The very possibility of pain—gone from It for ever!
O my Lord, this is the thought that fills my soul with such overflowing gladness—that Thy blessed Human Soul is free at last. What must have been the weight that lay upon It always during the three and thirty years! Always, always. When It prayed and laboured. When taking in all sin and sorrow, past, present, and to come, It suffered the pain of this knowledge to coexist with the bliss of the Beatific Vision. Above all, when It bore the hiding of the Father’s Face during the Passion! O well-beloved Son, begotten of the Father from eternity, what must have been the torture of separation from Him with whom Thou hast but one undivided Nature: what the relief the instant after death, that that pain was passed away for ever.
“Free among the dead.” This is the glad thought that fills my soul with peace and joy as the clock strikes three on Good Friday; that is quiet jubilee all through the hours of Saturday; that leaps up in exultation at sunrise on Easter Day. Free! Free! Free! It was the cry of Mary’s heart when in Thy risen beauty Thou didst stand before her. She looked at eyes, and hands, and feet—free! The smile for the first time was free. In Bethlehem, in Nazareth, when Thou camest to her at intervals during the Public Life, Thy smile was always the sunshine of her soul. Yet there was that about it which told of the hidden burden of the Man of Sorrows. On Easter morning that smile was free, and she drank in its new beauty with the adoration of the creature and the overflowing joy of the Mother’s heart.
I adore and rejoice with her. O my Risen Lord, I can say nothing, think of nothing yet but this: “Free! Free! I will rejoice presently with Thy friends to whom Thou bearest Thine own joy. I will see Thee freeing them from doubt, and fear, and sorrow. I will ask Thee to free me from all that stands between my soul and Thee. But now for a little while let me kneel before Thee—quite alone. Let me pour out my heart to Thee who readest it through and through, and knowest all it would say, and wilt count as faith, and love, and adoration, and praise, its cry of Easter joy—“Free! Free!”
III.—Hail! full of grace, the Lord is with thee.—Luke i.
She is alone. All day she has been the refuge of the scattered flock. One by one they have made their way to her, Peter, and James, and Magdalen, and Salome. They could not share her faith and her hope, but her presence soothed them in their wretchedness. Instinctively they turned to her. Into her ear they poured their bitter sorrow. The sympathy of her motherly heart kept their hearts from hardening into despair. Yet their tears flowed faster as they looked into her face. She was all they had now; all that remained to them of Him. And she was so like Him. Her voice had His tones in it. Her ways were like His. Her counsel reminded them of Him. Even thus He would have said. So He used to comfort them when they came to Him in trouble. Yes, they must keep near her. Shared with her, their anguish was less intolerable, and, somehow, almost seemed less hopeless.
Thus, in the darkness of her own desolation, our Mother began her appointed task. She was Comforter of the afflicted, “giving to all abundantly and upbraiding not,” all that sad Saturday.
And now night has come and she is alone. Even Magdalen has left her side. There is still something that faithful heart may do for Him. The spices are bought, but there are preparations to be made for the early visit to the Sepulchre on the morrow.