The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 41.

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CONDEMNATION. Part 3.

Ecce Homo (Bosch, 1470s)

The Procurator pondered a little, weighing the life of Jesus against the favor of the Romans, his own weak will and the clamor of the crowd. He yielded at last to the fear of endangering his interests. "And their voices prevailed." ( St. Luke xxiii, 23.)

Casting fear aside, he ordered Jesus to be scourged, as the usual preliminary to crucifixion. Stripping Our Lord to the waist, the soldiers bound Him to a low pillar, that bending He might be in a better position to receive the lashes of the instrument of torture—a leather thong, loaded at its tips with lead or iron.

The scourging began. The Mother of sorrows heard the blows that descended upon the flesh of her Son and her God*

You, who have suffered through the pain of one you dearly loved ... oh, was your grief like hers? What are torments or sufferings ever endured compared to hers when she beheld that cherished body mangled in such a manner by the hands of men ?

And that Son of man, the fruit of her womb, is divine; that flesh, whipped and torn, is divine! That silent Victim is the Son of God, God of God and Light of Light!

But ... at this very moment . . . . when the Man God is overwhelmed with most frightful physical agony, He looks upon a horrible vision. He sees all who will withdraw themselves from His Redemption, the schisms, the divisions, the incredulity of future ages. Irreligious luxury. Pride that would call itself Philosophy. His soul is burdened with every sin, every crime, every evil which ignorance and blindness commit. The iniquities of earth's creatures tear at His soul as the lashes tear at His body.

But now the scourging was over, and the Roman soldiers, who have no pity for this Victim, who belonged to the hated Jewish race, would carry their sport still further. They clothed Him, therefore, with a purple cloak, and they put a crown of thorns upon His head, and they placed a reed as scepter in His bruised hands.

And then began an hour of cruel jest and ribald play. They mocked Him. They prostrated themselves upon the ground before Him. They struck Him and asked Him to prophesy whose hand inflicted the blow. They laughed and jested and paid court of cruelty to Jesus, the King of the Jews.

When Pilate beheld Jesus in this frightful condition, he was moved with compassion. He could not understand why the people could want Him punished further. He himself, therefore, led Him forward and presented Him.

"Behold the Man!" he exclaimed. "I bring Him forth unto you that you may know that I find no cause in Him!" (St. John xix, 4.)

Behold the Man more bruised by the sins which He has taken upon Himself than by the scourging, more wounded by the crimes of men than by the tearing of His flesh. In the presence of such suffering, such meekness, the people were silent. Then the voices of the chief Priests and their servants sounded clamorously.

"Crucify Him!" they screamed. "Crucify Him!"

Pilate was incensed at this implacable hatred.

"Take Him you, and crucify Him; for I find no cause in Him," he exclaimed, resolved that he would not put Jesus to death. But the crafty Jewish leaders rose up once more.

"We have a law," they cried, "and according to the Law He ought to die, because He made Himself the Son of God!"

Again Pilate wavered between fear and sympathy. He went back to the hall.

"Whence art thou?" he demanded in desperation.

Jesus did not answer.

"Speakest Thou not to me? Knowest Thou not that I have power to crucify Thee, and I have power to release Thee?"

That thorn-crowned head was raised wearily. Those worn eyes gazed out at him from that bloodstained face.

"Thou shouldst not have any power against Me unless it were given thee from above," said Jesus. "Therefore he that hath delivered Me to thee hath the greater sin."

"I—I can not! I will not condemn this Man to death!" said Pilate. "I—"

"If thou release this Man thou art not Caesar's friend!" said the Priests with a sneer. "For whosoever maketh himself a king speaketh against Caesar!"

The Roman Procurator was no match for his wily opponents. They threatened him with the thing he feared the most on earth—the displeasure of the Emperor. This decided his course of action. He felt himself compelled to give the final sentence. But first he offered a sop to his own accusing conscience. In the midst of the tumult that now ensued he ordered his servants to bring him water. Standing there, in the sight of the assembled multitude, he washed his hands. This singular action quieted the noise for a moment. The silence that followed allowed the voice of the Roman to be heard most plainly as he disowned all share in this horrible crime.

"I am innocent of the blood of this just Man!" he exclaimed. "Look ye to it."

A yell answered him—and the voice of every demon in every lane and alley and byway of hell joined to make that shout as loud as loudest thunderclap:

"His blood be upon us; and upon our children !"

At this frightful cry, the Virgin moaned, and buried her head in her hands. Magdalen and the others were terror-stricken — they expected the heavens to open and annihilate these unfortunate wretches. Pilate's face whitened. Inside the grated window Claudia, his wife, heaved a great sigh and fell unconscious to the ground. Yet with that same hand which he had just washed and purified, he signed the sentence of Jesus' condemnation. Our Saviour was led forth once more.

"Behold your King!"

"Away with Him! Crucify Him!"

"Shall I crucify your King?"

"We have no king but Caesar!"

The condemnation was given.

"Conduct to the place of punishment Jesus of Nazareth, who incites the people to revolt, despises Caesar, and calls Himself falsely the Messias. Go, lictor, prepare the cross."

Hearing this, Magdalen trembled, and sank almost unconscious to the ground. Salome and the other women supported her. Only Mary remained —Mary, the Mother of the Man condemned. She saw nothing but her Son. Her soul was in her eyes, and across the sea of hatred and passion that surged between them their pure gaze met. She could almost read His thoughts. "The work advances," He was saying to her in His heart, and her heart heard.

In the meantime an echo repeated in the air: "Prepare the cross!" A second repeated it; a third which seemed to come from the heavens above re-echoed the phrase:

"Prepare the cross, whence is to issue salvation to the world."

But the frantic, maddened, devil-driven multitude heard nothing. Neither the voices of heaven nor those of earth; nor the smothered wailings of Mary Magdalen, nor the pitiful sobs and cries for pardon and justice from those who accompanied her.

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 40.

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CONDEMNATION. Part 2.

James Tissot "Behold the Man (Ecce Homo)"

Pilate, therefore, came out to give them audience. He seated himself on the top of the steps, with his guards and servants. Two steps below him stood the Pharisees and the Doctors. The crowd remained at the bottom of the stairs, and Jesus, with His hands still bound, and surrounded by His executioners, was at a little distance between the crowd and His accusers. His Mother and the friends—men and women—who accompanied her, were ranged behind a statue of the Emperor, which concealed them from observation, and whence they could see everything.

"Well," began Pilate, austerely, "what is the accusation against this Prisoner?"

There was silence. Then one said:

"We have found this Man perverting the people. We have judged Him guilty of death. We wish you to confirm our sentence."

Stumblingly they uttered these words. Their tongues had become mute. They had forgotten what they wished to say, and moved about uneasily.

"That is no cause—" began Pilate.

"He forbids giving tribute to Caesar, saying that He is Christ the King," ( St. Luke xxiii, 2.) cried a loud voice.

Pilate descended a few steps.

"Art Thou the King of the Jews?" he asked Jesus.

"Thou sayest it," answered our blessed Lord.

Pilate looked at Him intently—at that bound form, that mud-caked garment, that bruised face, that brow, those eyes. ... A feeling of unrest stirred in his bosom. He returned to his seat.

"I find no cause in this Man," he said. (St. Luke xxiii, 4.)

His accusers had by this time collected their senses. One of them began a long and skilful discourse, in which he cited all the crimes that had been imputed to Jesus, as also the depositions of the false witness.

"This Man," he ended, theatrically, "who appears before you now in so humble a guise, is a disturber of the public peace. He stirreth up the people, teaching throughout all Judea, beginning from Galilee to this place. (St. Luke xxiii, 5.) Yes, from Galilee even to Jerusalem have the crowds followed, crying out Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed be the King who cometh in the name of the Lord!" (St. Luke xix, 38.)

"Is he a Galilean?" asked Pilate, eagerly.

"He is of Galilee!" they answered.

"Conduct Him, then, to Herod, the tetrarch of Galilee, who is now at Jerusalem. It is the right of Herod to judge Him."

A murmur of disgust arose from the crowd, and the Pharisees and Doctors muttered angrily. Pilate, however, having given his sentence, arose and went into his palace. Weak and of little discernment, he grasped at this means of delivering himself from a most difficult affair—and he seized the opportunity of making Herod his friend by thus deferring to his judgment.

The cortege resumed its march. Some of those who loved Him began to hope, seeing Jesus sent to Herod. Magdalen whispered: "It is said that Herod is much less severe than Pilate." But Mary made no comment. Jesus was accused of sedition.' That was enough to convict Him.

The coming of the Saviour pleased Herod. For a long time he had been curious in His regard, because of the prodigies that were related of Him. He even hoped that this Man, in order to save Himself, might work a miracle in his presence. He questioned Him in many ways. Our Lord said nothing. The chief Priests and the Scribes stood by, earnestly accusing Him. But still the Saviour uttered no word. Jesus, so patient toward the sinner, so merciful to the woman of Samaria and the woman accused of adultery, so mild and clement even toward Judas who betrayed Him, had no word for this great one of the earth.

For He saw in him a heart devoid of all feeling; a soul dead under the weight of the world's riches; an intellect stifled by sensual pleasures, and the wretchedness of a selfish life.

He did not answer Herod, and Herod, angered at His silence, mocked Him. And Herod's soldiers mocked Him. And when they were tired of the sorry sport, Herod dismissed them, saying:

"Put upon Him the white robe of royalty and send Him back to Pilate, that he who is the governor of all Judea may pass what sentence he will upon Him."

For which exchange of courtesies Holy Writ tells us: "Herod and Pilate were made friends that same day; for before they were enemies one to another." (St. Luke xxiii, 12.)

What a price was paid for your soul and for mine!

It was clear now that since Herod had not acquitted Him, Jesus was lost. And the Mother followed as she would follow unto the end. She faced the woe; she took the cup of sorrow to her lips and drained it to the dregs.

The troops set out again for the house of Pilate. When one of his servants brought him the most unwelcome news that the multitude had come back again with the Prisoner, he was much disturbed.

For Jesus was accused of treachery, and Pilate was ambitious. He paid court to the Roman senate. Nevertheless, when he came forth for the second time to receive the High Priests, the senators, and the people who would not enter the praetorium, he was more firmly convinced than ever of the innocence of Jesus.

"You have brought this Man before me, charging Him with attempt to excite the people to revolt. And yet, having examined Him in your presence, I find nothing guilty in Him, nor Herod more than I. I will chastise Him, therefore, and release Him." (St. Luke xxiii, 16.)

Magdalen and Jezel trembled. "'But if He is not guilty, why punish Him?" cried the young girl, with the fiery judgment of youth.

The people remained silent.

"It is customary, at the Paschal festival, to release any prisoner for whom you, the people, have a special desire. Take your choice, therefore, Who shall be released to you—Jesus, the Prophet, or Barabbas, the murderer? You may have either one or the other."

He waited complacently for the word that would release Jesus and relieve him of further responsibility. But Claudia Procula, leaning forth from one of the golden-latticed windows to discover the cause of the great commotion, saw Jesus upon the steps. Almost overcome, she called a servant to her quickly.

"Go, go to my lord," she said, "and tell him that during the night I have been greatly disturbed in my dreams because of the just Man who now stands before him. Tell him he must let Him go free— "and not inflict the slightest punishment upon Him!"

This message was carried to Pilate, and added to his indecision and restlessness. He had suggested a most unfortunate compromise. The priests would not be satisfied with anything but the death of Jesus. The people, reminded of their right to choose, rejected the limitation of their choice. True to their leaders, then, and to the passions incited by them, they began to clamor loudly for the release of Barabbas and the death of Jesus.

Pilate sat in dumb astonishment as the cry arose around him.

"What shall I do, then, with Jesus, that is called Christ?" "Let Him be crucified!" "Why, what evil hath He done?" But the tumult arose once more. "Let Him be crucified!" (St. Matthew xxii, 22, 23.)

Louder and louder surged that dreadful cry: "Let Him be crucified! Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"

The Roman governor wished to resist them still, for his wife, not trusting to the servant, had followed, and concealing herself under a purple hanging, sent him another imploring message.

"Protect this Man! Save Him from death, or shudder at the consequences."

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 39.

CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CONDEMNATION. Part 1.

Jesus Is Led from Caiaphas to Pilate by James Tissot

IN the morning all the chief Priests and Ancients of the people again assembled. Although they had judged Jesus worthy of death they could not arrogate to themselves the authority of pronouncing the sentence. For this the ratification of Pilate was necessary—since without the approval of the Roman Procurator who governed them, they had no power to carry out an edict of death.

This approval they hoped to wrest from the weak Pilate, and in consequence they hurriedly led Our Lord to the fortress Antonia, where the Roman official resided.

The Blessed Mother was still concealed from view in the place where she had watched and prayed during the whole of this terrible night. She saw her dear Jesus come forth, surrounded by those who were conducting Him to the Procurator. Soldiers and servants crowded after Him and formed a mock cortege.

"Oh, how changed, how changed He is!" whispered Magdalen, in an accent of deepest woe.

"Truly this is the Man of sorrows," said the other Mary, in as low a tone.

And so indeed He appeared, His adorable features covered with bruises, His garments rent and soiled with mud. The Virgin raised her veil, so that her loving glance might clothe Him, as it were, might linger upon Him, might prove, if proof were ever necessary, that she suffered with Him! Mothers will know what sentiments filled the heart of the Mother of God at this moment.

Her companions noted that she, too, had changed. Ah, yes! In spirit she had participated in His sufferings. She beheld that chaste body, fashioned by the Holy Ghost, bleeding with wounds—there, under her very eyes, besmeared with mud and clay; and God Himself the jest and byword of all the vile rabble!

What a price was paid for your soul and for mine!

And now Magdalen, looking upon Him who had shone with divine splendor before her, at last realized that danger of death was threatening.

"Where are those who yesterday kissed the print of His feet? Where those who followed Him with cries of joy and transport of love? All have vanished! Vanished!" She clasped her hands in agony. "Cowards! They have abandoned Him to a few madmen thirsting for blood and drunk with wine, whom a little boldness would scatter to their holes! Shall we allow Him to perish ? Oh, no, no!"

For she saw the weakness of the guard. His friends were many. A determined attack, and He might be rescued and carried to safety. With mouth firmly set, and despairing eyes, she whispered to the Virgin that she must go and see what might be done. Hurriedly drawing her veil about her, she turned swiftly toward the more secluded streets of the city, where many lived who had followed in the train of our blessed Lord, and who had received favors from Him. They had been friends and partisans of the Saviour, and to them she addressed herself.

"Come!" she cried. "He whom you love is about to perish; arm yourselves. Come, and defend Him! He will be put to death if you do not hasten! Come, come!"

She called each by his name. She called the lepers that had been healed, the sick that had been cured, the guilty who had been pardoned, the blind restored to sight, the deaf restored to sound, the lame made whole!

But those who heard her did not respond. They withdrew into their homes. She beat at the door of that house in which dwelt Joseph of Arimathea, but he Was already forth in the streets—whither she could not discover. She went to the disciples, but they anticipated all manner of evil, and would not show themselves. These men, one day to be the intrepid supporters of the Church, yes, martyrs of the new Faith, were now too timid even to appear.

Passing through one of the narrow streets she remembered that a paralytic who had been cured only three days before now lived within it. She ran to him, just opening the door of his house, that the sweetness of the morning might enter.

"Come and help Him who healed thee! He is being dragged through the streets like a criminal. The Priests would put Him to death. Come! You have many of the goods of this world! Use them now for His sake!"

But the Pharisees had already spoken with this man, and he coldly turned away from her appeal.

"I know that He cured me. But they say that He is wicked, the servant of Beelzebub. What can I do to help Him? If He is condemned justly, He must suffer."

"Oh, vile one!" said Magdalen. "Is it thus you repay His goodness? Thus?"

And tears rose to her eyes. Never, in all her life, had she thought hearts could be so hard. She was turning back in despair, when the name of Servilius suggested itself to her. He was rich and powerful, and could command the services of many friends. Alas! Magdalen the penitent could now but plead where Magdalen the sinner had only to wish to be obeyed! Servilius told her frankly that he would do nothing. He had just been named Procurator of the Gauls, and he did not propose to endanger his rising honors by any such futile attempt.

Magdalen left him abruptly. Time was flying. If Jesus was not rescued ere He reached the palace of Pilate, all would be lost. The guards would be increased. And now she understood how hopeless had been her quest, how useless her seeking of help.

Sobs broke from her. She pulled her veil across her face that none might observe her grief. As she went she could not control herself. Presently she knew that others had joined her—three of the disciples, James, Philip, and John. A sorrowful band, indeed! At the corner of the street a youth and maiden were passing. The face of the girl was stained with tears. As she approached with the three disciples, the young man addressed her.

"Can you tell me whither they have taken Jesus?" he asked.

"To the fortress Antonia," said Magdalen.

"Let us follow," said the young girl, nervously. "Let us die with Him if we can not save Him!"

"Poor children!" said Magdalen, in a broken tone. "All those who might have saved Him have abandoned Him. He is alone, in the hands of a furious mob. But we will join Him, and when He stands before Pilate, we will cry out for mercy and justice. Perhaps our voices may be heard."

Jezel and Melkam—faithful ones!—joined her, and soon a few other women—Melkam's mother and some of their relatives—followed. They hastened on, and finally located the cortege by the clamor which accompanied it. In traversing the lower part of the city the escort had been augmented by the meanest of the populace, who pushed and rolled like the waves of a roaring torrent.

Magdalen and the disciples looked at one another in sorrow. They felt their weakness. The only thing they could do was to reach the Virgin Mother's side, and keep a passage for her near her Son. It took them some moments to shove their way through the jostling crowd, but at last they did so.

The Mother of the Redeemer followed Him hopelessly.

"O God," she was crying out, in her pure heart, "must this dreadful sacrifice really be accomplished? Is not this enough? Are not these dread insults sufficient? Hear me, Father in heaven! Let humanity redeem humanity. I will search this earth for hearts pure enough to expiate the faults of their fathers. Young maidens, wise matrons. I will gather them together, and we shall go to the mountain and there pray to Thee day and night. But now save my dear Son, Thine only Son, in whom Thou art well-pleased."

But then she seemed to see Sin spread upon this earth through all the ages. She saw Sin soiling the creature. She heard a voice rising mournfully from the whole world. She understood that only the blood of a God could wash away so many iniquities.

The cortege arrived at the foot of the marble steps that led to the house of Pilate. The Doctors of the Law and the members of the Council ascended them. They could not enter this heathen domicile lest they should incur a legal Defilement which would prevent them from eating the Pasch, as they were expected to do that very day.