Chapter 35: The insults, the mockings, and the smitings of the Head, of the Lord Jesus

I BLESS You, and give thanks to You, O Lord Jesus Christ, Crown and Glory of the Saints, for the grievous contempt, and the foul insults to which You were subjected, when, after You had been condemned to death, You were so shamefully abused, and mocked with so many disgraceful words, by hard-hearted menials, and were moreover frequently and roughly smitten on the head and face by them.

Oh, the thought that Your altogether lovely countenance, upon which Angels delight to look, should be basely dishonoured by the filthy spitting of Jews, and be violently buffeted by the palms of their hands! Nor can we doubt that tears from Your eyes mingled abundantly with the blood which was flowing from Your nostrils. Your beauteous neck is sorely bruised by the blows rained upon it by the fists of those who smite You. Those Eyes of Yours, clear as crystal, which are ever over the righteous, are blindfolded in derision, like the eyes of fools. Your adorable Head, exalted far above all creatures, is rudely struck by the polluted hands of sinners; and with mocking shouts they insult You, saying: "Prophecy unto us, O Christ! Who is he that struck You?"

Who, O Lord, can hear of the indignities thus heaped upon You without being moved to deep sorrow and anguish of heart? Of a truth Your capacity for suffering far surpasses ours; but the hearts of those who love You cannot but be deeply wounded at the thought of all the shame and disgrace which You had to undergo. From Your friends You were estranged; by Your followers You were deserted; You were made a scoff and derision to them that hated You without a cause, who winked at You with their eyes. Ah, my Lord and my God, how can You suffer Yourself, as if You were the most foolish of men, to be thus mocked, and spitted on and buffeted by the ungodly? Those raging Jews! All that night did they spend in mocking and in striking You; and by the time they had glutted themselves with Your sufferings, they had so disfigured Your Countenance, that scarce anyone would have known You: and yet, all the while, Your unspeakable gentleness was unfailing, and although Your impious tormentors could not discern it, the incomparable beauty of Your Soul was unchanged. To all Your chosen ones, however. You have become still fairer and more precious, because, by the eye of faith, they recognize You as the most High God, and know that for love of them, all innocent as You were, You did suffer all these things.

I pray You, O most patient Jesus, that You would teach me, in my meditation on the surpassing insults heaped upon You, to realize my own vileness, and how by my sins I have richly deserved to be despised, and to be condemned amidst the scoffs and hisses of my fellow men. Pity my shortcomings, and strengthen me to bear harsh words spoken to me, even when I blush for shame at their violence. For You, because You were supremely humble, did on behalf of me, a contemptible sinner, endure, without complaining, and with supreme meekness, many despiteful words, besides bonds and stripes. Oh how unlike You am I; how far from being truly humble am I, who for some trifling wrong or inconsiderate word, am angry with my fellow man; and, whereas I ought to be grateful for a reproof which was good for me, lose heart and feel impatient, and make no use of it!

Forgive, O Lord, I pray You, these my misdoings, and pardon my having so often offended You by my follies, my not having kept a pure conscience in my heart, and my not having shown towards You, and towards my fellow men, due humility and respect. Give me wholesome sorrow, and a fount of tears. Make me to welcome discipline, calling to mind the blows which You did endure. Grant that even from the harshest charges brought against me, I may, by patience under them, win profit to my soul; and may, from my hearts of hearts, feel that I deserve to be looked down upon and put to shame.

May the thought of the hard smiting of Your Head help me to bear my own bodily pain, of whatever kind it be; may the thought of the scornful blindfolding of Yours Eyes check the curiosity of mine; may the thought of the filthy spitting upon Your beauteous Countenance repress within me every fleshly lust; and may it teach me not to be dazzled by outward glitter, but to cultivate more earnestly than ever, the inward graces of the soul. May the thought of the mocking which You had to bear make me shrink from all levity of behaviour, and from all foolish jesting; and may the thought of the utter setting at naught of Your Majesty quench in me all desire of being made much of, and lead me rather to seek a mean and lowly state. Amen.