The illustrious penitent woman mentioned by St. Luke,[244] was, by
her perfect conversion, an encouraging example and model of penitence
to all succeeding ages. She is called the Sinner,[245] to express
her pre-eminence in guilt. This epithet seems to imply that she led
a lewd and disorderly life. The scandal of her debaucheries had
rendered her name infamous throughout the whole city. Naim, Tiberias,
or some neighboring place in Galilee, seems to have been the chief
theatre of her disorders, at least at the time of her conversion.
They took their rise from small beginnings; for no one becomes a
great proficient in vice all at once. The fences of virtue are
weakened by degrees before they are entirely broken down.
The steps by which young persons, like this sinner, are led into
evil courses, are pointed out to us by our Divine Redeemer in the
parable of the prodigal son. The source of all his misfortunes is
a love of independence and of his own will. He is full of his own
wisdom, and of a certain self-sufficiency; is an enemy to advice, the
means to find out truth and to discover dangers. All who contradict
his passions, or tell him the truth, are odious to him; the counsels
of tender parents he calls interested; those of God’s anointed too
severe and scrupulous; those of the old and experienced, cowardly
and mean-spirited. Young persons, above all others, are in an age
in which the devil prepares innumerable snares, the world lays many
stratagems, and passions easily eclipse reason; and it behoves them
infinitely to be strongly persuaded that their safety consists
altogether in most sincere dispositions of humility, obedience, and
docility. Tractableness and dutifulness towards superiors is the most
essential virtue of that age, next to the obligation of religion,
which we owe to God. Those companions, whose discourse and behavior
tend to inspire a contempt of parents and other superiors, are of all
pests the most dangerous to youth.
The prodigal son, blinded by his passions, thought himself prudent
and strong enough to be his own governor and master, and flattered
himself that his love of liberty and pleasure was not very criminal
or unjust; but from this root all vices have sprouted up, and are not
to be restrained by him who opens to them such a door by shaking off
the happy yoke of subjection, which is the divine ordinance. Such is
the strange disorder of that mischievous passion, that though the
prodigal son lived in dignity and plenty, and enjoyed all temporal
blessings and all the comforts of life without feeling its troubles
or knowing its miseries, yet he was not content. His subjection to a
good father was true freedom; he was the object of all his parent’s
cares, and he reaped the fruit of all his labors. But so distempered
was his soul, that the constraint of this tender guardian’s watchful
eye seemed to embitter all his pleasures, and such an obedience
appeared to him an insupportable burden and slavery, which therefore
he would shake off to have no other law but his own will. This was
his capital enemy, though he would not be so persuaded; and by
indulging it he fostered a young tiger in his own bosom, which soon
grew too strong for him and tore him to pieces. We are astonished
at the quick progress which the passions make when once the bridle
is let loose. The prodigal youth, seeing himself possessed of that
dangerous liberty which he had so passionately desired, full of false
joy at the prospect of imaginary happiness, went into a foreign
country, to be at a greater distance from all troublesome advisers.
His passions being so far yielded to, had no longer any bounds, and
he denied his heart nothing of its irregular desires, being no longer
master of himself. Unthinking and blinded he soon squandered away his
fortune, without keeping any accounts, or knowing how it was spent;
he was surprised to find his hands empty, and himself starving, and
that he had not yet found those enjoyments which he had promised
himself; instead of which he had met with nothing but shadows and
miseries. Nevertheless, cleaving still to so treacherous a world, and
yet entertaining desperate foolish hopes of finding happiness in it,
he went on in the pursuit of his passions; and losing himself daily
more and more in the mazes of sin, he was at length reduced to have
no other company but that of the most filthy of beasts, and almost to
perish with hunger at the heels of the hogs which he was condemned to
serve and fatten.
This is a true picture of the sinner who has thrown off the holy
yoke of God, and has enslaved himself to his passions. How earnestly
ought every Christian to pray that God may always so strengthen his
resolution with his grace, that he may never receive any other than
his sweet and holy law? What completes the misfortune of the habitual
sinner is, that few who have fallen into that gulf ever sincerely
rise again. The very afflictions which converted the prodigal son
throw thousands into despair. God’s powerful graces are weakened
after having been long contemned; and habits grow stronger than
reason. When the poison of sin has sunk deep into the heart, it is
not expelled by an ordinary grace. Of such a sinner that curse is
pronounced, that even in his old age, if he ever arrive at it, his
bones shall be filled with the vices of his youth, and they shall
descend with him into the grave, and shall sleep with him in the
dust.[246] Christ indeed came from heaven to save all such; in his
tender compassion for their miseries he invites them to return to
him, and for their encouragement has shown a remarkable example
of his mercy in our saint. Having considered in the image of the
prodigal son, the unhappy steps by which she fell, we shall, with
greater edification, take a view of the circumstances which have
given so great a lustre to her repentance.
Jesus, not long after he had raised to life the son of a widow at
Naim, a town in Galilee, was invited to dinner by a certain Pharisee
called Simon, who seems to have lived in the same town, or some
neighboring city, as Calmet shows. Our Lord was pleased to accept his
invitation, chiefly that he might confound the pride of the Pharisees
by manifesting the power of his grace in the wonderful conversion
of this abandoned sinner. His bowels had yearned over her spiritual
miseries, and he spread upon her soul a beam of his divine light
which penetrated her understanding and her heart so effectually,
that, listening to the interior voice of his grace, she saw the
abominable filth and miseries in which she was plunged, was filled
with confusion and horror, and conceived the most sincere detestation
of her ingratitude and baseness. Our Lord went to the banquet in
great joy to wait for this soul, which he himself had secretly
wounded with his holy love, and which he was pleased to draw to him
in the midst of a great assembly, that by her public repentance
she might repair the scandal she had given, and he might give to
all succeeding ages an illustrious instance of his mercy towards
all repenting sinners. She began her conversion by entering into
herself. As her fall was owing to inconsideration, so doubtless her
first step towards repentance was serious reflection on the misery
of her present condition, the happiness she had forfeited, and the
punishment she was to expect. From these considerations she raised
her thoughts to others higher and more noble, those of divine love,
reflecting who He is whom she had so grievously offended, and how
excessive and incomprehensible his goodness is, which she had so long
and so basely slighted. This motive of love, to which Christ ascribed
her conversion, drew from her eyes a torrent of tears, and made her
cry out with the prodigal son, that she had sinned against heaven.
That model of true penitents forgot his corporeal miseries and all
other circumstances of his fall, being full of this reflection
alone, how he could be capable of offending so good a parent. He
acknowledged himself unworthy to be again called a child; yet he
deferred not a moment to restore his heart to him to whom he owed
it, and, confiding in his indulgence, threw himself upon his mercy,
hoping by his goodness to be admitted among his hired servants.
In the like dispositions does our penitent raise her heart to God.
She hearkens not to the suggestions of worldly prudence which
might seem to require some time for deliberation, for settling her
concerns, or for taking proper measures about her conversion itself;
the least delay appears to her a new crime, a fresh aggravation of
her misfortune. She was informed that our Divine Redeemer was at
table in the house of the Pharisee. She did not so much as think
of the disgrace to which she exposed herself by appearing before a
numerous and honorable assembly, of the reproaches and disdain she
was to expect from the Pharisee, or the fear of moving Christ himself
to indignation by an unseasonable importunate address. One moment’s
delay in seeking her physician seemed too much, because her heart
was now wounded with divine love. Sinners who, in returning to God,
think too nicely that they have temporal interests to provide for,
friends to please, and opportunities to wait for, are far from the
dispositions of this happy penitent. She found mercy because she
sought it before all things. Had she dallied with grace, it would
have been justly withdrawn; had she been for compounding with her
passions, they would have again enslaved her more strongly than ever.
She found all difficulties vanish in a moment, because her conversion
was sincere and perfect; by one steady resolution the work is done.
What further deliberation can one that has sinned require than that
the gate of mercy is yet open to him? Let him at all rates make
haste to find it, though for this he should sacrifice every thing
else. So insupportable to this holy penitent was the stench of her
own filth, and the load of her guilt, that she could not defer the
remedy an hour longer to wait for a better opportunity, or to inquire
if our Lord was at leisure to hear her; and a firm confidence in his
boundless mercy was her encouragement, and her strong assurance that
he would not reject her tears.
When the prodigal son said to himself, _I will arise, and will go to
my Father_, we might have asked him, says St. Peter Chrysologus, what
he trusted to for his pardon? upon what he grounded his confidence?
upon what hope or assurance he presumed to appear in the presence
of him whom he had so heinously offended? His answer would have
been, “This is the assured ground of my confidence, that he is my
Father. I have forfeited all title to the name or rank of his son;
but he hath not lost the quality or affection of a parent. I want no
stranger to intercede with a father. The tender affection of his own
breast pleads powerfully within him, and is sure to incline him in
my favor. His paternal bowels are moved, and yearn to restore to a
son by pardon that life which he formerly gave him by birth.”[247]
In like sentiments this penitent woman seeks her Almighty Physician,
professing herself altogether undeserving and unworthy of mercy,
and therefore alleges nothing on her side to recommend her to his
compassion, except only that she was the work of his hands, though
an unnatural and rebellious child, in whom that title was only a
grievous exaggeration of her guilt; but she confidently appeals to
his infinite goodness and mercy, and begs that for his own sake
he will save her, in whom he still discovers, though frightfully
disfigured, the traces of his divine image which his own omnipotent
hand had formed, and which it is in his power easily to repair and
perfect.
In these dispositions she bolted into the chamber where Jesus was
at dinner with the Pharisee, and, regardless of what others thought
or said of her past life or of her present boldness,[248] she made
up to her Redeemer and Physician. She durst not appear before his
face, and therefore went behind him; and the nearer she approached
his sacred person streams gushed more abundantly from her eyes. She
reflected how basely she had defiled and sought to destroy her own
soul, and how impiously she had robbed Christ of many other souls
whilst he was come from heaven, and was ready to sacrifice himself on
the cross for her and them; and at this and other like considerations
she was not able to moderate her grief. The inward confusion she
felt at the sight of her sins and baseness made her despise all the
confusion which she could receive before men, or rather rejoice in it
to meet that contempt which she acknowledged herself most justly to
deserve from all creatures. Attentive only on Christ, from whom she
sought her health and salvation, standing at his feet, she watered
them with her tears, wiped them with her hair, most respectfully
kissed them, and anointed them with rich perfumes and sweet-scented
essences which she had brought in an alabaster box. She now defaces
or consecrates to penance whatever had formerly been an instrument
of sin; her eyes, which had been full of dangerous charms, are now
converted into fountains of tears to cleanse the stains of her soul;
and her hair, once dressed in tresses and curls to ensnare souls,
now hangs loose and dishevelled, and serves for a towel to wipe
our Lord’s feet, which she kisses with her lips, and scents with
her perfumes, formerly the incentives of vice. The penitent must
consecrate his riches to Christ in the poor which are his feet; must
employ his eyes in tears, and his lips in supplications for mercy,
and must make all that serve to charity and mortification which
before served self-love. These exterior offerings must be accompanied
with the interior sacrifice of the heart, by humble confidence in the
divine mercy, by lively faith and ardent love, with which the soul
of a sinner approaches to Jesus, and is reconciled to him. Our holy
penitent prepared as it were an altar at the feet of our Lord, on
which she offered to him the true sacrifice of a contrite and humble
heart. There losing the use of her speech whilst grief intercepted
her words, she spoke only by her tears; but before Him to whom the
secrets of her heart were open, these sighs, and this silence itself,
was a louder cry than that of any words could have been. Thus she
earnestly begged of God’s pure mercy, that pardon which she confessed
herself most unworthy to obtain.
Jesus, who had himself inspired her with these dispositions, cast on
her a favorable eye of mercy. He was come to the Pharisee’s banquet
exulting with holy joy, which sprung from his foreknowledge of the
conversion of this soul; the mainspring of all he did and suffered
on earth being that insatiable thirst for the salvation of sinners
which brought him from heaven, and which was not to be satisfied but
by his sufferings on the cross, and by the last drop of his blood
poured out for them upon it. In these sentiments he had testified
that it was his delight to converse with sinners, out of compassion
for their miseries, being desirous to draw them out of that gulf
into which they had blindly plunged themselves. This he expressed by
many moving parables, especially that of the prodigal son, where he
paints his mercy in the strongest coloring by the manner in which he
represents the good old father receiving him upon his return. From
the time of his going astray the tender parent never allowed himself
any respite in his tears, inquiries, and search: at length, from an
eminence in which he looked about on every side, still hoping he
should one day see him return, he descried him at a distance. He saw
only a disfigured, languishing, and frightful spectre; the wretched
remains of a debauchee and rake worn out by riots and revellings: his
features horrid and defaced, his body resembling a walking skeleton,
but half covered with a few filthy rags. Yet, under this disguise,
his eye, directed by love, discovered him at a great distance, and
before any other could see him, knew that it was his son. Far from
being disgusted at such a spectacle, he ran to meet him, affection
giving vigor to his enfeebled age. He remembered no longer his past
behavior, but rushing to his embraces, kissed him, and bathed his
head and face with floods of tears which joy drew from his eyes, and
which he mingled with the tears of sincere grief and affection which
the penitent son abundantly poured forth. The good father wiped them
off his face, prevented his confusion, restored him to his former
rank, called for, and gave him the best robe; a ring upon his finger
(a symbol of dignity), and shoes on his feet. He, moreover, ordered a
fatted calf to be forthwith killed, and gave a splendid entertainment
with music, inviting all to rejoice with him and make merry, because
his son whom he lamented as dead was come to life again, and he that
had been lost was found. If the birth of this son, when he was first
brought to life, had been to him a subject of great joy, how much
more reason had he to rejoice seeing him now restored by a second
birth, so much the more joyful, as it wiped away his tears, and
changed his grievous sorrow into comfort? Thus doth our loving God
and Redeemer receive the penitent sinner; thus is there joy in heaven
upon one sinner that doth penance. The Holy Ghost clothes him with
the robe of sanctifying grace, puts a ring on his hand, the emblem of
his divine gifts, and gives shoes to his feet, that is, fortifies him
with strength to tread on the venomous aspick and basilisk, and to
trample upon the raging lion and dragon.
The Pharisee who had invited Jesus to his table, was shocked to see
an infamous sinner well known in that city, admitted by our Lord to
stand at his feet, and secretly said within himself that He could not
be a prophet, or know that she was a scandalous person. To inculcate
our strict obligation of shunning bad company, God commanded all
intimacy with public sinners to be avoided, lest the sound should
be infected by the contagion of their vices. The haughty Pharisees
construed this law according to the false maxims of their pride,
as if it were a part of virtue to despise sinners, and as if that
respect and charity which we owe to all men, were not due to such;
but the humble man, whilst he shuns the snare of wicked company,
places himself below the worst of sinners, as the most ungrateful of
all creatures; discharges all offices of charity, and spares neither
tears nor pains to reclaim those that are gone astray. The contempt
of any one is always the height of pride, which degrades a man in
the sight of God beneath that sinner whom he undervalues. This was
the case of the Pharisee; and such was the disorder of his pride
that it betrayed him into a rash judgment by which he condemned a
penitent who was then a saint; and, arraigning the goodness and mercy
of God, blasphemously censured the sanctity of our Redeemer. Nothing
is more wonderful in the conduct of the Son of God on earth, than
the patience and meekness with which he bore the contradictions,
murmurings, and blasphemies of men in most unjustly condemning his
charity itself. We cannot form any idea unless we have experienced
it, what force such injurious treatment has to make men abandon the
good which they have begun, and cease bestowing favors on those that
murmur against them. Christ has encouraged us by his example to this
heroic practice of virtue, teaching us that the most effectual means
of confounding slanderers is to instruct them by silence, meekness,
perseverance in good works, and a constant return of sincere kind
offices; he shows how we must still persevere steadfastly to regulate
our intentions and actions according to the maxims of piety, and give
ourselves no trouble about what men will say of us.
Christ sought indirectly by a parable, to cure the pride and rash
judgment of this Pharisee, and convince him that she to whom much
had been forgiven, then loved God the more; consequently was more
acceptable to him. Some interpreters understand his words, that much
was forgiven this penitent, because her love and sorrow were great
and sincere; others take the meaning to be, that gratitude would
make her after this mercy more fervent in love. Each interpretation
is undoubtedly true; but, as A. Lapide shows, the first seems most
agreeable to the context. The conversion of sinners is usually begun
by motives of fear, but is always perfected by those of love; and
the fervor of their love will be the measure of the grace which they
will receive. By the love of vanity the soul falls from Christ; and
by his divine love she returns to him. How fervent was this love
in our devout penitent! By it she is become at once insensible of
the reproaches and judgment of men; she defers not her sacrifice a
single moment, and allows not herself the least mitigation in it;
she cuts off all her engagements, extirpating them to the very root
both in her heart and actions; she renounces for ever all dangerous
occasions of her disorders. With what courage and resolution does she
embrace all the most heroic practices of penance? confessing publicly
her crimes: looking upon the utmost humiliation as her due and her
gain, and as falling far short of what she deserves; chastising sin
in herself without mercy, in order to excite the divine compassion;
making the number and enormity of her sins the measure of her
penance, or rather desiring to set no bounds to it, as the malice of
her offences went beyond all bounds; and devoting the remainder of
her life to tears, prayer, and every exercise of virtue and divine
love. She is the first to confess Jesus Christ publicly before
men, and in the presence of his enemies. By these dispositions she
deserved that her Lord should take upon him her defence, and declare
himself her protector. Happy are those sinners who by the sincerity
and fervor of their repentance will have at the last day their Judge,
Redeemer, and God, for their advocate and patron! The first and
most important grace which the Church teaches us in her litany most
earnestly to ask of God is, that He vouchsafe, in his mercy, to bring
us to this true penance.
Mercy is the property and the favorite attribute of our divine
Redeemer; and tinder is not so soon kindled by fire when applied to
it, as the divine mercy blots out all sin when it is implored with
a heart full of confusion and truly penitent. Hence Christ assured
this humble sinner that her offences were cancelled, and that her
lively faith, animated by ardent charity, which drew from her eyes
tears of repentance, had saved her; and he insured to her that solid
and happy peace which is the fruit of such a repentance. The pious
cardinal Berulle admires the happy intercourse between the heart
of this holy penitent and that of Jesus; the first employed in the
most perfect sentiments of compunction, love, and entire sacrifice;
the second, in the tender motions of mercy, love, and goodness: the
penitent offers floods of tears; these Jesus repays with treasures of
graces and mercy, by which he makes her soul a heaven on earth, as
bright and pure as the angels, and the throne of the whole blessed
Trinity. The hearts of the penitent and of Jesus are two sources
which perpetually answer each other; the more the penitent pours
forth her heart in contrition, the more abundantly does Jesus in
return bestow on her his infinite graces. It is at the feet of Jesus
that these wonders are wrought; witness this example, and that of the
sister of Lazarus, in the house of Simon the Leper in Bethania. It is
good for us to make this our dwelling in spirit. The adorable feet of
Jesus so often wearied in seeking sinners, and at last bored on the
cross for their salvation, are the source of all blessings. Here this
true penitent consecrates to him her heart, her mind, her actions,
her perfumes, all she is or has; and here he cleanses her soul, and
kindles in her his love, which the rebel angel lost in heaven. All
his attention is taken up on her, he entertains her alone, forgetting
the master of the feast, and others that were seated with him at
table. He even gave the Pharisee sensible proofs how much her fervor
and penance surpassed in the sight of God his pretended justice and
charity, though it were presumed real. Perseverance in this fervor
completed her happiness. Gratitude to God for so great a mercy, and
so distinguished a grace, was to her a fresh spur to advance every
day in this love with greater ardor and fidelity. Thus the greater
the debts were which had been forgiven her, the more earnestly she
strove with all her powers to love him who vouchsafed to accept her
humble sacrifice. This same motive of gratitude ought to have no less
weight with those who, by God’s singular grace, have always preserved
their innocence; for, whether God shows mercy by pardoning sins or by
preventing them in us, we are totally indebted to Him for the grace
which we receive. Upon this great principle, St. Austin addresses the
Pharisee who despised our holy penitent, in the following words:[249]
“O Pharisee! to say you are less indebted to the divine mercy,
because less was forgiven you, is a capital ingratitude and pride.
For by whom were you preserved from those crimes which you did not
commit? One who hath sinned much, stands indebted for the gracious
pardon of exceeding great debts. Another who hath sinned less, owes
to God the benefit, that he hath not defiled himself with grievous
sins. You have not fallen into adultery; but God saith to you, it
is owing to me who governed and protected you. If no tempter ever
enticed you, this was the effect of my special care and providence
in your favor. If you escaped the occasions of dangers from time and
place, this likewise was ordained by me. Perhaps a temptation and
an opportunity of sinning occurred; yet I withheld you by wholesome
fear, that you did not consent to the evil. You are indebted to me
for your preservation from all the crimes which you did not commit;
for there is no sin that one committeth, which another person might
not commit if he were not preserved by him who made man.” We cannot
sufficiently admire and praise the excess of the divine goodness
towards men who were born children of wrath, and vessels of weakness
and corruption. Wonderful is his mercy in those whom he preserves
from the contagion of vice and mortal sin; but its influence appears
with the greatest lustre in sinners whom by repentance it not only
cleanses from their guilt, but exalts to the highest places in his
favor. Of this our fervent penitent is an instance, who, after her
conversion, surpassed others in the ardor of her charity, with which
she gave herself up entirely to the service of her Redeemer.
St. Clement of Alexandria, St. Gregory the Great, and many other
writers both ancient and modern, doubt not but this penitent was
Mary Magdalen, of whom St. Luke makes first mention in the following
chapter. This surname seems to have been given her from Magdala, a
town mentioned by Josephus, or rather from Magdalum, both situated
in Galilee.[250] She was by extraction a Galilæan, and is reckoned
among the devout women who followed Christ from Galilee. St. Luke,
after speaking of the conversion of her that had been a sinner,
says[251] that certain women who had been cured of wicked spirits
and infirmities followed Christ in his travels through Galilee, and
up to Jerusalem, and assisted him with their substance; and our Lord
receives such good offices from them, to give them an occasion of
exercising a gratitude and charity with which he was well pleased.
Among these, the evangelist names Mary Magdalen, out of whom our Lord
had cast seven devils, Joanna the wife of Chusa Herod’s steward, and
one Susanna. St. Gregory the Great, Lightfoot, and some others, by
these seven devils understand seven capital vices of which Magdalen
was cured by her conversion; but Maldonat, Grotius, and others doubt
not but she had been literally possessed by seven evil spirits, by
whom she might be agitated at intervals, and which were cast forth
at her conversion. Gratitude and devotion having attached her to our
Divine Redeemer after so great a benefit, she followed him almost
wherever he went, that she might have an opportunity of listening
to all his sacred instructions, and of exercising her charity in
ministering to him her substance.[252] She attended him in his
sacred passion, and stood under the cross on Mount Calvary. For her
to arrive at the summit of divine love, it was necessary she should
pass through the sharpest trials. “No one,” says Thomas à Kempis,
“was highly rapt whose fidelity was not sooner or later put to the
test; for he is not worthy of the high contemplation of God who hath
not, for God’s sake, been exercised with some tribulation; and the
trial going before is usually a sign of ensuing consolation.” A great
mystery is contained in those words of the evangelist,--_There stood
near the cross of Jesus, Mary his mother, and his mother’s sister
Mary of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalen_. Happy association! happy state
and situation near Jesus on his cross! cries out the devout cardinal
Berulle. This is a new order of souls which consists in the spirit,
in the interior, and is invisible to men, but visible and glorious
to the eyes of God and the angels. An order of souls crucified with
Jesus, and through Jesus, which takes its birth from his cross.
The order, at the same time, both of the cross and of heaven; the
order and school of love by the martyrdom of the heart; which by
learning to die to the world and inordinate self-love, lives to God
and his pure love. This happiness we attain to, by being united in
spirit to Jesus crucified, as Magdalen was at the foot of his cross.
She suffered by love what he suffered in his body by the hands of
the Jews. The same cross crucified Jesus and Magdalen in him and
with him. The thorns pierced her heart with his head, and her soul
was bathed in all his sorrows; but the crucifixion was in both a
martyrdom of love; and that love which triumphed over Jesus by making
him die on the cross, crucified her heart to all inordinate love
of creatures, thenceforward to reign and triumph alone in all her
affections, so that she could say in a twofold sense; “My love is
crucified.” Mary Magdalen forsook not her Redeemer after his death;
but remained by his sacred body, was present at its interment, left
it only to obey the law of observing the festival, and having rested
on the sabbath from sunset on Friday to sunset on Saturday, as soon
as the festival was over went to buy spices in order to embalm our
Lord’s body. Having made all things ready, in company with other
devout women, she set out very early the next morning with the
spices, before it was light, and arrived at the sepulchre just when
the sun was risen.[253] As they went they were anxious how they
should get the heavy stone which shut up the door of the monument,
taken away; but upon their arrival found it removed to their hands.
God never fails to be with his servants in what they undertake for
his honor; and the difficulties, whether real or imaginary, with the
apprehension of which the devil attempts to discourage them, are
banished by confidence and resolution, and vanish as shadows in the
execution. The pious women looked into the sepulchre, and finding
the body not there, Mary Magdalen ran to inform Peter and the other
disciple whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken away
the Lord out of the sepulchre, and I know not where they have laid
him.” SS. Peter and John, the two most fervent in love among the
apostles, ran immediately to the sepulchre, and were there assured
by the holy women who were at the door of the monument, that going
in they had seen two angels clad in white shining apparel, and that
one of them who sat at the right hand of the place where the body had
lain, bid them not to fear, but to acquaint the apostles that Jesus
was risen, showing them at the same time the place where his body
had been laid. Peter and John having narrowly viewed the sepulchre,
doubted no longer of what was told them, and in great astonishment
returned to Jerusalem to the other disciples. Mary Magdalen, who had
brought them to the sepulchre of her Lord, made the throne of divine
love, would not return with them, or be drawn from the sacred place
where the true ark of the testament, the body of her Redeemer, had
rested three days, and continued at the monument bemoaning herself
for not being able to see her Redeemer, either dead or alive. Not
being able to assuage the violence of her grief and of her desire to
see her Lord, she stood weeping without the door of the sepulchre.
The entrance being low and narrow she stooped down to look into it
again and again, and beheld the two angels in white, one of them
sitting at the place where Jesus’s head lay, and the other at the
feet, who thus accosted her, “Woman, why weepest thou?” She replied,
“Because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they
have laid him.” Neither the surprise of this apparition nor the
brightness and glory of these heavenly messengers could touch her
heart, or divert her thoughts from him whom she loved, and whom
alone she sought, and we suffer so many foolish objects to distract
us, and carry away our affections. In her answer to the angels she
called him _My Lord_, to express the share which by love she had in
him, and her title to him as her God, Lord, and Redeemer. Afterward
to the apostles she calls him _The Lord_, to excite them to duty
and love to the common Lord of all creatures. But why did not these
angels inform her that he whom she so earnestly sought was risen in
glory? Doubtless, because the Lord of angels would reserve it to
himself to give her that comfort. Blessed be thy name for ever, O
adorable Jesus, who so tenderly wipest away the tears of thy servants
with thy own hand, and sweet voice, and convertest their sorrow into
transports of inexpressible joy. Jesus first manifested himself to
the Magdalen in disguise to make a trial himself of her love; but his
tenderness could not suffer a delay, and he soon discovered himself
openly to her; for, as soon as she had returned the answer above
mentioned to the angels, she turned about, and saw Jesus himself
standing by her, but took him for the gardener. He asked her why
she wept, and whom she sought. She said to him, “Sir, if thou hast
taken him hence tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him
away.” According to the remark of St. Bernard and St. Thomas of Villa
Nova, love made her not to name him, because being full of Him alone,
she imagined every body else must be so too, and that this stranger
must understand of whom she spoke. Love also made her forget her own
weakness, and think herself able to carry a heavy corpse, provided
she could be so happy any way as to serve her beloved; for to ardent
love nothing seems impossible or difficult. Jesus, infinitely pleased
with her earnestness and love, manifested himself to her, saying with
his sweet and amiable voice; _Mary!_ He at first mentioned her tears,
and the object which she so earnestly sought, to excite her love. All
this while she knew him not, though he was present, and conversing
with her, because these words carried not with them the ray of light
to discover him; but her name was no sooner pronounced by him, but
his voice excited in her a rapture of light and love, and gave her
the most sublime and full knowledge, and the sweetest enjoyment of
the most desirable of objects, of him risen in glory who was the life
of the world, and her life. Hearing him sweetly call her by her name,
and thus knowing him, she turning said, _Rabboni_, that is, Master.
And casting herself at his feet in transports of devotion she would
have embraced them. But Jesus said to her, “Do not touch me; for I
have not yet ascended to my Father; but go to my brethren, and tell
them, that I ascend to my Father and your Father, to my God and your
God.” That is, my Father by nature, yours by grace, says St. Austin.
He bade her make haste to carry his message to his beloved disciples
for their speedy comfort, and not lose time in giving demonstrations
of her reverence and love. St. Leo explains these words of our Lord
as follows,[254] “It is not a time to demonstrate your affection
for me in such a manner as if I were in a mortal state; I am with
you but for a short time, to strengthen your faith. When I shall
have ascended to my Father, then you shall again possess me for
eternity.” Thus Mary Magdalen, out of whom Jesus had cast seven evil
spirits, was the first that saw Him after his rising from the dead.
This pre-eminence of grace, this distinguishing favor and love of
Jesus was the recompense of her ardent love, by which she attended
last his body in the sepulchre, from which she was only drawn by the
duty of the Sabbath; and she was the first who returned thither: she
sought him dead, and found him living. In obedience to his commands
she immediately departed to acquaint the apostles with the joyful
message.[255] Jesus, who suffered her so long at his feet to satisfy
her ardent love and compunction when he received her to mercy, here
allows her, after her long search, scarce to remain a few moments
in the state of enjoyment; but he separates himself from her to
return into the secret of inaccessible light, invisible to mortal
eye. Why does not he who is Life itself allow her to live in his
happy presence? Why does not he allow her at least as many hours of
enjoyment as she had spent in her search of him? But this separation
itself is an effect of his greatest love, this life being a state
of action, of conflict, and of trials for the exercise of virtue;
and Magdalen in this separation itself which was from him, by his
appointment, and for her greater advancement in his love, found by
obedience, zeal, and resignation to his will, her comfort, life, and
great increase of his love and all graces. The other devout women who
had seen the angels at the sepulchre, in their return to Jerusalem,
were also favored with an apparition of our Lord. He having met and
saluted them, they prostrated themselves at his feet, and embraced
them worshipping him, though they were greatly afraid.[256] Jesus bid
them not fear, but go and tell his brethren that he would go before
them into Galilee, where they should see him.[257]
It is an ancient popular tradition of the inhabitants of Provence
in France, that St. Mary Magdalen, or perhaps, Mary the sister of
Lazarus, St. Martha, and St. Lazarus, with some other disciples of
our Lord, after his ascension, being expelled by the Jews, put to
sea, and landed safe at Marseilles, of which church they were the
founders, St. Lazarus being made the first bishop of that city.[259]
The relics of these saints were discovered in Provence in the
thirteenth century, those of St. Mary Magdalen at a place now called
St. Maximin’s, those of St. Martha at Tarascon upon the Rhone,
and others in St. Victor’s at Marseilles. They were authentically
proved genuine by many monuments found with them in these several
places. Charles I., king of Naples and brother of St. Louis, was at
that time sovereign count of Provence; but he being then in Naples
engaged in war with the house of Arragon, his son Charles of Anjou,
prince of Salerno, governed Provence. This prince was beaten at sea
by the fleet of the king of Arragon in 1284, and taken prisoner;
and though his father died the year following, he could not recover
his liberty before the year 1288. He ascribed his deliverance to
the intercession of our saint, the discovery of whose relics had
excited his devotion to her; he had already founded the church of
St. Maximin’s upon the spot where they were discovered, and assisted
at the solemn translation of them in 1279. He committed this royal
foundation to the Dominican friars, and the prior, who is nominated
by the king, is exempt from the ordinary jurisdiction both of the
archbishop of Aix, and of the immediate superiors of his Order.
The chief part of the relics of this saint was translated from the
subterraneous chapel in the middle of this church, and being put in
a porphyry urn, the present of pope Urban VIII. was placed over the
high altar. King Louis XIV., and the principal noblemen of his court,
were present at this translation, which was performed with great pomp
in 1660. The saint’s head, with many other relics, remains in the
subterraneous chapel; it is set in a gold case enchased with large
diamonds, and surmounted with the royal crown of Charles II. styled
king of Sicily or Naples. Before it is a curious statue of queen Anne
of Brittany, on her knees, made of enamelled gold. Three leagues from
St. Maximin’s, towards Marseilles, is a famous solitary convent of
Dominicans, situated on a very high rock, encompassed on every side
with wild deserts and mountains. It is called La Ste. Baume; which
in the Provençal language signifies Holy Cave. It was anciently a
celebrated hermitage, and is a place now resorted to by pilgrims,
out of devotion to this glorious saint. Both Latins and Greeks keep
the festival of St. Mary Magdalen on the 22d of July; it is in some
places a holiday of precept, and was such formerly in England, as
appears from the council of Oxford in 1222.
* * * * *
The pious cardinal Berulle was most tenderly devoted to this great
saint, whom he called his principal patroness; and nothing can be
more affecting in sentiments of compunction and divine love than
the discourses which he has left us in her honor.[260] She is the
excellent model of penitents. If we have sinned, why do not we by
her example speedily lay hold of the sovereign remedy of penance? If
violent temptations and terrible enemies seem to stand in our way, if
the world allures us, if the devil fights fiercely against us, and
unbridled passions are rebellious and clamorous, other penitents have
courageously surmounted greater obstacles than we can meet with. God
incites us no less than he did them, and he is no less ready to fight
in us and for us. Jesus holds out the crown to encourage us, and has
already prepared the banquet of spiritual joy and sweetness for us at
our return. If we arise in earnest he will come, and will make his
solemn supper in our soul; and there will be exultation and a voice
resounding praise through the whole heavenly court; but we must never
think our penance accomplished, must never put a stop to our tears
so long as we remember that we have sinned: God prolongs our life
that we may continue to weep for our ingratitude in having offended
him. If our conversion be sincere, to make amends for past losses and
offences, we must consecrate to the divine service with the utmost
fervor all our time, and all that we are to do. The Magdalen, after
Jesus Christ had rendered himself master of her soul, had neither
heart nor liberty but to give herself entirely to her deliverer.