Simple Thoughts on the Rosary: Glorious Mysteries: The Resurrection
The Mother of Sorrows is alone. Yes, alone. He must have her all to Himself when He comes. Not even Gabriel here, as in the first coming to Nazareth; unless, indeed, as her Guardian Angel, he is privileged to be near her even now.
The sweetest and tenderest of our Lord’s visits on Easter Day, those in which He had wounds to heal deeper even than His dear Magdalen’s, are shrouded in secrecy till the day when the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed. Of the interview with Peter we are told nothing beyond the fact. Of the interview with His Mother, what need to tell even the fact! What heart that believes He came to the world by her, that she stood by Him to the end, has to be told on the word of God, that He came to her first in His risen life!
She is alone—stricken as no creature has ever been, as no other mother could have been, and lived. She has borne with Him all they undertook to bear together for our sakes, when she said at Nazareth: “Ecce ancilla!” She has lived it through, but the frail vessel is all but shattered. His Presence alone can revive the spirit that is pining for Him; His Voice alone recall to it joy and gladness; His Hand draw the sword from out that broken heart. “For He woundeth and cureth, He striketh, and His Hands shall heal” (Job 5).
The night wears on. Again and again her eye turns to the window that looks east. No streaks of light as yet. She waits in silence and in hope, the handmaid of the Lord, hastening by her desires His second coming into the world in His Risen life, as, we are told, she had accelerated the hour of the Incarnation: “O God, my God, for Thee do I watch at break of day. For Thee my soul hath thirsted; for Thee my flesh, O how many ways!” (Ps. 62.) “As the hart panteth after the fountains of water, so panteth my soul after Thee, O God! My soul hath thirsted after the living God. My tears have been my bread day and night, whilst it is said to me daily: ‘Where is thy God?’” (Ps. 41.)
Wait, blessed mourner, wait! Light is breaking in the east. It begins to dawn towards the first day of the week. Yet a few moments and “thy Light shall come, and the glory of the Lord shall rise upon thee” (Isaias 60). A few moments and “the Lord God shall wipe away all tears from thy eyes” (Apoc. 21). “If He delay, wait for Him, for He will surely come and will not be slack” (Hab. 2).
“Sing praise and rejoice, O daughter of Sion! for behold I come” (Zach. 2). “I am risen, and am still with thee.”
See her! One moment in desolation worse than death. The next, at His feet, in His embrace who is “the breath of her mouth, Christ the Lord” (Lament. 4). She has fallen at His feet, for He is God. He has folded her in His arms, for He is her Son.
O Son of Mary, was there ever joy on earth like the joy of Thy Heart when Thou didst meet Thy Virgin Mother, and fold her in that Easter embrace, and according to the multitude of the sorrows of her heart make her glad with Thy consolation?
Were ever tears so blissful, Mother, as those which were wiped away by the Hand of thy Son and thy God in that first hour of the Resurrection? Look, blessed one, through those tears of joy and see that it is He Himself. Look upon that face, the face of thy Christ. Look upon the face on which the Angels desire to look; thy right is before every other. Look with thy adoration and thy love. Worship for us what for us was buffeted, and bruised, and dishonoured. Worship it with thy praise and thy thanksgiving, with the humility of His handmaid, with the pride of Thy Mother’s heart. See with delight how the dazzling glory of that face leaves uneclipsed the human beauty of the three and thirty years. O blessed among women, blessed by all generations, enter into the joy of thy Lord; share in the triumph of thy Son!
“The winter is now past, the rain is over and gone.” Hail! full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
IV.—Jesus saith to her: “Mary.” She turning, saith to Him: “Rabboni.”—John xx.
How faithful the holy women were to our Lord from the time they attached themselves to Him! They followed Him about during His preaching, ministering to Him of their substance, unmindful of private interests and social distinctions when there was question of His service. Salome and “Mary of James” gave up their sons to Him, Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward, and Magdalen, made themselves the associates and helpmates of the wives of fishermen.
But faithful among the faithful was Mary Magdalen; the most zealous, the most devoted, their recognised leader, as Peter among the Twelve. During the forty hours from the Crucifixion to the Resurrection, we find her now with one party, now with another, so prominent, that in the records of the Evangelists she stands at times for her whole company. With Mary of Cleophas at the foot of the Cross, beside the sinless Mary. When all was over on Friday evening sitting “with Mary mother of Joseph over against the sepulchre.” “In the end of the Sabbath coming with Mary the mother of James to see the sepulchre.” And when the Sabbath was past, going with Salome “to buy sweet spices that coming they might anoint Jesus.”
“On the first day of the week Mary Magdalen cometh early when it was yet dark unto the sepulchre.” A little later “Mary stood at the sepulchre without weeping.” The Angel had announced the glad news of the Resurrection, and her companions had gone quickly with fear and great joy running to tell His disciples. But Magdalen stands riveted to the spot where she had last seen Him, too bewildered by her grief to take in the purport of the Angel’s message. Again and again she stoops down and looks into the tomb, searching still through her tears, lest by any oversight she might have missed Him. Two Angels appear, sitting, one at the head, one at the foot, 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 her companions “entering into the sepulchre, saw a young man sitting at the right side clothed with a white robe, they were astonished.” Magdalen shows no surprise. She answers the Angels as if they were persons whom she might have expected to find there. Their “shining apparel” does not distract her from her grief: “They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.” How could He whom she sought so perseveringly fail to show Himself to her? His first appearances were for those who had been faithful to Him unto death. His Blessed Mother, Mary Magdalen, the holy women. His Mother has seen Him. Magdalen is to see Him now.
A sound attracts her attention. She turns her tearful face to the mouth of the cave and sees One standing there whom she knows not. Repeating the Angels’ words, He says to her: “Woman, why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?”
“Why weepest thou?” There is no chiding in those tones of pitying tenderness. Presently on the road to Emmaus He will rebuke two downcast disciples: “O foolish and slow of heart, to believe in all things which the prophets have spoken.” Later on He will upbraid the Eleven “for their incredulity and hardness of heart.” Magdalen’s faith and hope were at fault like theirs. But her love and her tears, as of old, stayed all upbraiding on His lips. He had reprehended Simon for his hard thoughts of her. He had chidden Martha who complained of her. But for the sinner out of whom He had cast seven devils He had never a word but of tenderest mercy. Against the Pharisee He defended her: “Many sins are forgiven her because she hath loved much.” Against her sister: “Mary hath chosen the best part which shall not be taken away from her.” Against His own disciples: “Let her alone. Why do you molest her?”
It was her contrite love, her loving contrition, that thus won His Heart. He had no reproach for her whose tears were her confession, and sorrow, and satisfaction. So high was she raised in grace and favour, that she had her own way with Him. She sent for Him in her trouble: “Lord, he whom Thou lovest is sick.” And He came. She expostulated with Him for His delay: “Lord, if Thou hadst been here my brother had not died.” And “Jesus groaned in the spirit and troubled Himself.” She led Him where she would: “Lord, come and see.” And “when He saw her weeping... Jesus wept.”
Oh those tears of Mary’s, what they obtained from Christ! Once only had He seemed unmindful of them. It was three days ago when at the foot of the Cross they fell like rain, mingling with the blood that was being shed for her. Yet He was heeding them even then. A higher grace than consolation was granted her on Calvary—the privilege of sharing in His own desolation, of tasting next after His Blessed Mother the bitterness of His chalice.