Volume II, Treatise VII, Chapter III

How We Ought to Meditate Upon the Passion of Jesus Christ.— the Motions of Compassion Ut Ought to Excite in Us

TE method we ought to observe in meditating on the sufferings of Jesus Christ, is the same which the masters of a spiritual life, desire us to observe in prayer. For they would not have us employ all the time of prayer, in running over the points of meditation, but that we should particularly apply ourselves to the inflaming our will by motions of affection, which being first produced in the heart, have afterwards their effect in all our actions. And it is tothis, say they, we ought particularly apply ourselves in prayer. As he who digs in the earth, whether it be to find water, or to find a treasure, leaves off digging, as soon as he finds what he sought after; so in like manner, when by profound meditation we have found the treasure of charity, and the love of God, that fountain of living ‘water we sought after, it is not necessary any ‘longer to busy ourselves in digging; but we must think of enriching ourselves with those treasures of grace we have found, and of refreshing ourselves by copious draughts from this fountain of eternal life, and entertaining ourselves with those affectionate motions wherewith we shall find ourselves touched. This is the end of prayer; this is the fruit we ought to reap from it; and it is this all the meditations, and all the reflections of our understanding ought to aim at. Ihave already spoken of this method in another place; and as what we ought to observe in meditating on the passion of Jesus Christ, is altogether the same, it is only necessary here to set down those sentiments of affection we ought to obtain from this meditation, and upon which we ought to insist; this is what I propose to myself; and at the same time, shall touch on such points, as are most proper to excite these sentiments in us.

There are many sorts of affections which the consideration of the sufferings of the Son of God may produce in us, and in which we may entertain ourselves with great fruit; but they are ordinarily reduced to seven. The first is compassion, which is a lively feeling for another’s pains, whereby we participate in them after such manner as seems to sweeten and comfort them; just as malignant joy sharpens and augments them. It is true we cannot, by this means, lessen the sufferings of Jesus Christ, becanse they are already passed; nevertheless he seems to be pleased that we are touched thereby,.and that we, as I may say, make his sufferings our own. And therefore the apostle says to us; “if we are children of God, we are also heirs, even heirs of God and co-heirs with Jesus Christ; so that if we suffer with him, we shall with him also be glorified.”” (Romans 8:17)

To excite ourselves then to this compassion, it will be good to consider the excessive pains of Jesus Christ: because according to the opinion of all divines they were greater than any that ever have been, or can be suffered in this life; and it is this the prophet Jeremiah expresses in these words: ‘O you who pass by, attend, and see if there be any grief or pain like mine.” (Lamentations 1:12) First of all, no part of his body was free from pain; ‘for from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head,” says the prophet Isaias, “there is nothing sound in him.”—(Isa. i. 6.) His feet and hands were nailed, his head crowned with thorns, his face beaten black and blue with buffets, his body torn with whips, all his bones disjointed, by being extended upon the cross, all which give an idea of the most cruel punishment that ever was inflicted.

‘But he suffered not only in his body, but in his soul also, and after a manner far more painful. For notwithstanding human nature was in him, united to the divine person, yet it hindered him not from feeling the indignity of his sufferings, in as lively a manner, as if this union had not been at all. Moreover, to render this pain the greater, he was deprived of all consolation; which was the reason that he cried out upon the cross, “my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”—(Mat. xxvii. 46.) The holy martyrs were solaced in their torments by comforts from heaven, which made them suffer all things, not only with courage, but even with joy; but Jesus Christ, in order to suffer the more for love of us, vouchsafed, as to his sacred humanity, to be deprived of all sorts of comforts, both of heaven and earth, and not only to be forsaken by his disciples and friends, but even by his eternal Father: ““T am become,” says he by the mouth of the psalmist, “‘ like a man without help or succour;” and yet this man was the only one who “was free amongst the dead.” (Psalms 87:5) That is to say, the only one who was free from sin, and consequently ought to have been free from all pain.

To be able to conceive how great the excess of his pains were, it is sufficient to say, that the: very thought or idea, which he formed to himself of them in the garden, excited a sweat of blood all over his sacred body, in so great abundance, that the earth round about him was moistened therewith, Great, therefore, must those sufferings be, the bare idea whereof produced so extraordinary and dolorous an effect! They were so violent and excessive, say the saints, that it had been impossible for human nature to resist them without a miracle. It was necessary that he should make use of his Divinity to prevent himself from dying even in the very first conflict: for, the effect which the Divinity then wrought, was not to blunt the feeling of these pains, but to prevent the violence of them from causing his death: it was to protract his life, that he might suffer the longer. Let us herein admire the goodness and infinite mercy of our Saviour: he acted miraculously upon the martyrs, to hinder them from feeling their pains; and he acts miraculously upon himself, that he may suffer the more for love of us; but how violent soever the pains were which were common both to his body and soul, those that immediately afflicted his soul were incomparably more excessive. For, from the moment of his conception to that of his death, he had always present in his mind, all the sins that had ever been committed from the beginning of the world, and should be committed to the end of it. On the one hand, the love he had for his eternal Father, caused him highly to resent the injuries done to him—on the other, the tender affection he had for souls made him ardently desire their salvation—notwithstanding the sacrifice of his life which he offered for them, he saw that an infinite number of souls, not profiting thereof, would be lost! So that the pain he felt at their loss, and the zeal he had for his Father’s glory, was like a two-edged sword, that pierced continually his afflicted heart, and excited in him such pangs, as surpassed imagination. All this then, and all the sufferings and affronts, at the bare idea whereof he fell into a bloody sweat, cast him into agony in the garden—in fine, all that he had ever suffered in his whole life, he had, as I said before, still present before his eyes, from the instant of his conception, to that of his death; as he teaches us by the words of the psalmist, “my pain was always before my eyes.”’ (Psalms 37:18) Now this being so, may we not judge, that all the days of his life were to him the day of his passion? Besides, the apprehension of an evil is oftentimes more grievous than the evil itself; and therefore may we not say, that his whole life was an abyss of pains into which his holy soul was continually plunged, without having the least respite?

When we come to consider all these things in particular, when we think that he who suffered them is the Son of God; that he suffers them for us out of a pure excess of love, we must have a heart harder than marble, not to be touched therewith. The earth quakes, says St. Bernard, the rocks are cleft; the graves are opened, the veil of the temple is rent in pieces, the sun and the moon are darkened; and in fine, nature gives all possible marks of compassion, and shall we alone have none for him, he who suffered only for us—Let our hearts be touched, let them be penetrated with grief; and let us not be harder than stones, nor more insensible than inanimate creatures. “My son Absalom,” said David, “0 Absalom my son, who will grant me my desire of dying for thee? Absalom my son, my son Absalom?” (2 Kings 18:33) Now, if natural tenderness could inspire such feeling as this, for one who died as a traitor to his father and his king, with how far greater reason ought we to have the like for the Son of God, who died only to deliver us from the slavery of the devil, and to makes us partakers of the kingdom, of his eternal Father?

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