Chapter 40: Of the stripping the mocking the crowning, and the smiting of the Head, of the Lord Jesus

I BLESS You, and give thanks to You, O Lord Jesus Christ, illustrious King of Saints, and shining Crown of everlasting glory, for the many unheard-of outrages and affronts, to which You were once more subjected by Your impious tormentors, when You had been brought by the cruel soldiers into the Praetorium. There, the whole band being gathered together unto You, You were shamefully stripped of Your own garments, and instead of them, were mockingly clothed in a scarlet cloak; that so You might clothe us, who are devoid of all goodness, with the cloak of Your own holiness, and might adorn us with the sweetness of Your Own nature.

I praise and glorify You, with the special bevotion of a heart full of compassion, for the very great pain You had to bear for us poor worms of earth, when the Crown of Thorns was forced upon Your sacred Head. For at that time Your ever-blessed Head, hallowed above those of all other Nazarites, was oppressed by such a multitude of thorns, and was so grievously pierced, even down to the brain itself, that large streams of blood ran down everywhere over Your Neck and Ears, over Your Eyes and Cheeks, and made Your sweet Face, which was as yet scarce dry from the spitting of the Jews, bloody and disfigured.

O sight of all sights the saddest; to see the Son of God, in Whom no spot of sin could be found, so ignominiously and so cruelly crowned!

How surpassingly cruel was the rage of the soldiers, who shrank not from piercing with so many thorn-points that Head, so noble and so worshipful; and who even dared to insult the King of Angels by saluting Him in mockery, by smiting Him, and by making Him a gazing-stock to the multitude!

O most gentle Jesus, King deserving of all love, Crown of Confessors, Stay of the Church Militant, Joy of the Church Triumphant, Model for all who would follow You, how outrageously are You treated, how cruelly are You tormented; outwardly what affronts are heaped on You; inwardly with what unspeakable distress are You filled — and all for my sake; that You might save me from being confounded for ever, in the torments of Hell; that You might pluck out from my heart the thorns, which my sins have left in it; and that You might crown me, in the Heavenly Mansions, with a crown of glory and of honour that fades not away!

I laud and magnify You, for the mocking salutation, and pretended respect, shown to You; when Your tormentors, bowing the knee before You, struck You on the Head; when they contemptuously adored You, and ironically styling You King, acclaimed You in the words: " Hail, King of the Jews! "

Behold, O man who must die, O servant of sin, to what anguish and contempt the Only Begotten Son of the Father is subjected for your sake! Set open the ears of your soul, and pour forth loving sighs and tears, as you hear Pilate's cruel words: "Behold the Man!" If you have any bowels of love, let all that is in you burst forth in groans and tears of compassion for the Creator of the Universe.

I praise and bless You, my adorable Jesus, for the despiteful mockery which You did endure, when, to add to Your distress, a frail reed was put into Your right Hand instead of a royal sceptre; as if to proclaim You an audacious pretender to kingly rank.

I laud and magnify You for the most cruel smitings of Your already wounded Head, which You did endure when those pitiless men and most brutal tormentors, lifting high the reed, struck You many blows with it on the top of Your sacred Head; and, yet again covering You with loathsome spittle from their filthy mouths, thrust out their tongues at You.

Come forth, now, you daughters of Jerusalem, and behold Solomon your King, wearing the crown with which His mother, the Synagogue of the Jews, crowned Him, on the day of His Passion.[1] Behold how mighty is He Who goes out before you! See amid what outrages and insults He is, by Pilate's order, led forth; that so the pitiable condition, to which He has been brought, might be made known to all! In very sooth, to behold all this is misery, to think thereon is painful; with such affliction faithful love cannot but suffer in unison. See, from the Judgement Hall, goes forth the most meek and patient Jesus, wearing on His Head the Crown of Thorns, and clothed in a purple robe, that so perchance the rage of the fickle mob might be ever so little changed into compassion, at seeing their victim so dishonoured and ill-treated! But alas, alas, the angry crowd rages only the more fiercely; and, as the Governor calls out: "Behold the Man" it shrieks back its answer: " Away with Him! Away with Him! Crucify Him!"

When you have heard all this, O faithful lover of Jesus, and laid it to heart, tremble, and grow pale, at the thought of the extremity of His affliction. Beat your breast, pour forth your tears, and fall low upon your knees, at the sight of Jesus crowned, and made believe to be a King, maltreated all the while like the most contemptible of slaves — remembering that He bore all this terrible pain and distress that He might check in you the longing for earthly renown, and subdue in you the fatal disease of pride.

Be ashamed, O man, slime of the earth that you are, of seeking earthly renown, when you behold the most noble Head of Your Lord treated with such contempt. As member of a Body, the Head of which is crowned with thorns, be not for very shame, fond of pleasure: having before you your Lord, in all His Majesty, submitting to this hardship and disgrace, shrink you from choosing a life of greater softness; and aim rather at a passionate longing for a severer discipline than any you have yet had to undergo. Stand in awe, you proud ones, who pant to rise higher in the world, who crane your necks that your heads may seem to overtop your neighbours', not thinking that the more you put yourselves forward the more you demean yourselves. Blush with shame, you exquisites, who dare to carry yourselves proudly in the presence of Jesus scourged and crowned; take shame to yourselves you who dress yourselves up in jewels and silk attire, you who pile gold and silver ornaments upon your bodies, so soon to perish and decay; take shame to yourselves you who tire your heads, and flaunt your grand apparel, and all the while are neglecting the work of your salvation, and are forgetting at the cost of what dire pains your redemption was purchased.

Be comforted, be comforted, poor Lazarus full of sores, and you, whoever you are, who in this world are of no account; for you, in your distress, and in your low estate, are more in the likeness of Jesus of Nazareth than the rich man, as he goes his evil way, clothed in purple and fine linen.

And you, cowled monk, take no shame to yourself for the meanness of your habit, coarse, and covered with patches, though it be; for you shall have praise of God, and of His Angels, if it be your outward apparel only which is mean and poor, and inwardly you are adorned by a holy life! But take shame to yourself, you monk, who ought to be dead to the world, and to rejoice in being poor, if you wish for more dainty clothing.

What true and refreshing consolation is in store for a Religious needing comfort in distress, when he does not fail often to meditate out of a sad heart, upon the most painful crowning of Jesus, His Lord! As often,then, as you find yourself ill at eaes, call to mind the many thorns with which the Head of Jesus was pierced, and your pain will be made easier for you to bear, whether it come from being vexed by others, or because you have a grievous headache, or (which is very often harder to bear) because the many-pointed stings of detraction are wounding you. Better far, surely, is it for you to suffer now with the suffering Jesus; and by bearing trials, of whatever kind they be, to wear your crown of thorns with your crowned Jesus; than hereafter, by reason of having followed your own will and pleasure in your life on earth, to have to suffer the pains of Hell, and to have to bear that worst of all the torments of the damned, the being cast out for ever from the presence full of joy of your Saviour Jesus, and the being shut out for ever from the sweet company of the saints in Heaven. How joyously and fearlessly, at the dreadful Judgement Day, will that man stand before the King Eternal, who in this world does not shrink from bearing the reproach of His dishonour, and the anguish of His sufferings in the Flesh! How pleasing and how dear to God is that soul, and how fruitful is its meditation, which is inwardly bruised at the thought of the sufferings of Jesus, which is wounded to the heart by His Wounds, and at the thought of His death, expires with Him in a death of love.

I mourn over You, my loving Jesus, full of patience and meekness, in Your cruel scourging, in Your shameful mocking, in Your painful crowning for my sake; and, that I may mourn the more deeply, I pray You to grant me the grace of a pity that may pierce me through and through. Humbly falling, therefore, at Your Feet, I adore Your glorious Majesty, subjected, in Your Human Nature, to such insults and contempt; and, with lips vowed to Your service, I earnestly beseech You to imprint plainly, and to stamp firmly, upon the tablet of my heart the image of Your afflicted Face, as It was in that hour when You were thrust forth as a leper abhorred of all men; and, crowned with thorns, were made a gazing-stock for the raging multitude. May this most distressful vision of You so pass into the secret recesses of my heart; may it so powerfully afflict and pierce it, that every worldly longing may perish from my eyes; that every lust of the flesh may utterly die within me; and that, for Your sake, everything that is humiliating and distasteful may seem to me sweet and pleasing. May the thought of Your sufferings crush within me all my evil affections; and may the remembrance of Your most cruel anguish make my daily worries easier for me to bear. May the holy vision of Your crowning, borne in upon my mind, and carefully and deeply meditated upon, bring me great comfort under the assaults of the enemy, and help me firmly to resist temptation to impurity in thought. For a heart occupied with heavenly things, and truly contrite, has no room for evil imaginations, and is shielded from the flying darts of the enemy. Strip me, too, O Lord Jesus, of the filthy rags, which are all that I have of my own. Clothe me with true righteousness, and grant me to bear contempt cheerfully; that so I may learn not to take offence if I am deprived of necessaries, nor to lose my temper if old clothes are served out to me instead of new, or rough instead of soft. Keep me from being angry with those who flout me, and from paying back in their own coin those who find fault with me. Remembering Your Crown of thorns, may I, for my own Salvation's sake, take calmly everything painful and distressing that comes upon me. Finally I pray that You would pierce the hardness of my heart, and would drive one of the sharpest thorns of Your Crown right through its very centre; that so all the bad blood which is in my flesh may flow out through the wound which it makes, and the sharp goad of Your holy love may remain fixed therein, till the thorns of my besetting sins, and the thistles of my temptations are thoroughly purged out of it, and I have become fit to be a seed-plot for virtues; and so the soil of my heart, poisoned as it is by the primeval curse, may again receive a blessing from the inpouring of Your sacred Blood; and, in place of the thorn of envy, may bring forth the rose of charity, in place of the nettle of lust, the lily of chastity, in place of the burdock of vanity, the violet of humility, and in place of the bramble of harshness, the flower of gentleness.