Virgin Most Faithful - MARY, THE FAITHFUL SPOUSE OF ST. JOSEPH

THE FAIREST FLOWER OF PARADISE - CONSIDERATIONS ON THE LITANY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN, ENRICHED WITH EXAMPLES DRAWN FROM THE LIVES OF THE SAINTS BY Very Rev. ALEXIS M. LEPICIER, O. S. M.

"Happy is the husband of a good wife . . . A good wife is a good portion, and she shall be given in the portion of them that fear God, to a man for his good works" (Ecclus., xxxvi, 1,3.)

THE providence of God which governs all things with power and wisdom, was pleased to grant to Mary, as an inseparable companion during a great portion of her mortal life and of the mortal life of Jesus, St. Joseph, the man truly "just," (Matt. i, 19) who, like the Blessed Virgin, was descended from the royal stock of David. Mary and Joseph were then united by the bonds of a true marriage, and the holy Patriarch, by this intimate union, entered into community of goods with the Blessed Virgin. Thenceforth he fulfilled in the Holy Family the office of father and head, while Jesus and Mary were in some sort subject to him.

Oh, with what fidelity did St. Joseph guard these holy treasures which had been entrusted to him! Indeed, in the worthy fulfilment of his office, he had to face a thousand dangers and brave unnumbered persecutions; but the love he bore toward Jesus and Mary made him suffer all with joy.


During those years of closest union with Jesus, his Foster-Son, and Mary, his chaste Spouse, what treasures of grace did he not receive? Truly, the life of St. Joseph, in such a school was like "the path of the just which, as a shining light, goeth forward and increaseth even to perfect day." (Prov. iv, 18.)

In her relations with her chaste Spouse, Mary set herself to practice the virtues becoming a faithful wife. She loved St. Joseph as the inseparable companion of her life; she revered him as the guardian of her virginity; she vowed to him a perfect faithfulness.

This unbounded fidelity never failed. Even when the most anguishing doubt tormented his soul, St. Joseph preserved toward Mary all his affection, reverence and respect, committing himself unreservedly to the Divine Goodness, and firmly trusting that God would shortly put in evidence the honor of his Spouse, by dissipating in one way or another the doubts which troubled him.

What a spectacle worthy of the gaze of the Heavenly Court was this Holy Family! The King of kings and Master of the universe, who made Himself a little child, lavished profusely upon the souls of Mary and Joseph the treasures of divine grace; and these two holy consorts admired with deepest veneration, the humility and goodness of God who had deigned to become their Son! And since only a man adorned with the most perfect purity could be the worthy guardian of such matchless holiness as dwelt in Jesus and Mary, St. Joseph was privileged, as we may firmly believe, never to have committed one single venial sin. How can we find words to express the eminent degree of charity and holiness to which God had been pleased to raise the foster-father of His Son?

The unexampled office with which St. Joseph was invested, and the eminent degree of sanctity which he acquired in the company of Jesus and Mary, fully justify the glorious title which Pius IX solemnly decreed to him, of Protector of the Universal Church.

From his celestial throne on high, St. Joseph watches over all the faithful ransomed by the blood of Jesus Christ. His patronage extends to all the needs of this life, and no one has ever called on him in vain, for it is impossible that God, who was subject to him upon earth, should refuse anything to his intercession. Here, then, is the reason why souls truly enamored of divine charity feel themselves so strongly drawn to place all their interest in his hands, and never to disjoin him from the Saviour and His Mother in their devotion. Jesus, Mary and Joseph are the inseparable objects of the love, esteem and devotion of the predestined.

Let us thank God for having given us, in St. Joseph, so powerful a protector. In all our sufferings and sorrows, let us have recourse to this glorious Patriarch, and beg of him in particular to obtain for us the grace of a happy and holy death.

Blessed the Christian, who has the good fortune to die in the company of Jesus, Mary and Joseph! The assistance of this earthly trinity, in the last moments of life, is for him an assured pledge of possessing hereafter the uncreated Trinity which is man's last end.

Example - St. Joseph, Virginal Spouse of Our Lady

St. Joseph, predestined to be the Spouse of the holiest of all creatures and the guardian of the Son of God made Man, was filled by God from his youth with special graces and spiritual gifts, so that he became a model for all the devout servants of our heavenly Queen. Especially is he worthy of being proposed as a perfect example of a faithful spouse and a kind father. To him God entrusted the important and honorable office of guarding the virginity of His Son's Mother and of protecting the Incarnate Word in His early years.

On account of this great dignity, St. Joseph came nearer than any other saint to Jesus and Mary. He must therefore have been more united to them in affection and love, so that we may say that even as he reproduced the virtues of Mary, so he was a spotless mirror, in which was reflected the incomparable sanctity of the Son of God.

The particular merit by which St. Joseph is honored in the Gospel is his justice. "Joseph autem cum esset justus" : by which words is implied the fulness of all virtues and in a special manner his fidelity as the Spouse of our blessed Lady.

The lily sprung from the rod, with which St. Joseph is wont to be represented, portrays for us not only his perpetual virginity but also the first of the bitter sorrows which afflicted his soul. While yet ignorant of the great mystery which was brought to pass in Our Lady, by the power of the Holy Ghost, he reluctantly decided to put her away privately, for fear on the one hand of breaking the law, which forbade anyone to keep an unfaithful spouse, and on the other of exposing to infamy his chosen one, whom he beheld to be filled with the highest virtues, and of whom he could not conceive the least suspicion.

This indeed was the hardest trial to which the holy Patriarch was subjected, but in this trial he did not allow himself to be discouraged, being sure that God would help him. And this came to pass when the Angel appeared to him, revealing the glorious mystery of the Incarnation of the Word as accomplished in the womb of Mary. St. Joseph had the happiness of breathing forth his soul assisted both by his foster-son, Jesus, and his holy Spouse, Mary.

Prayer

O most Blessed Virgin Mary, among the great privileges with which thou wert favored by God, not least must be counted His having appointed as thy spouse and guardian of thy virginity the glorious Patriarch St. Joseph. Obtain for me, I pray thee, that in imitation of this great Saint, I may preserve myself chaste in soul and body, and daily grow in the grace of our Lord. Amen.

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 22.

CHAPTER XX. THE DEATH OF JOSEPH

JESUS returned with His Mother and His foster-father into Galilee. During the journey He was their docile, loving Child, and no change was apparent in the manner of the Holy Family. Nevertheless, both Mary and Joseph looked upon Him ' in a new light. To Mary her Child was now her God preparing to suffer, and her tenderness for this dearly-beloved Son became a heartache in her maternal breast.

As for Joseph, he contemplated Jesus with respect and dread, notwithstanding the affectionate intercourse which was habitual between them. For he felt—did this most just and righteous man—that his foster-Child was indeed the Son of the God of heaven, and often he covered his face in His presence, as did Moses near the burning bush of Oreb. But he was upright of heart and God loved him as one of His most faithful servants.

"And," he thought often, "if I cannot look, without fear, on the divinity concealed under human guise . . . how, how shall I be able to appear before my Creator when He shall call me hence?"

Jesus did not abandon him who had watched beside His cradle, under whose authority His infancy had been passed, and to whom He loved with a tender and filial affection. The hour was at hand, indeed, when Joseph was about to leave this world, and as that hour drew near, Jesus, the Son of God, was at his side. By voice, and glance, and touch He encouraged the soul of His adopted father, so that death lost all its terrors.

"How lovely is this passing!" exclaimed Joseph. "What joys are mine! The heavens open! Those heavens have been rent asunder to rain down the Word made flesh, and how heaven and earth are united by an indissoluble tie. It is the Christ, the living God, who unites them. The angels, the thrones, the dominations encompass us, for the King of glory is present. His feet are upon the earth, but His forehead touches the heavens. I shall be able to go from Him to His Father forever. O Death, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?" (1 Corinthians xv, 55.)

And Joseph looked from the face of Jesus toward heaven, from heaven toward Jesus. Life was quitting its earthly tenement, but sorrow and dread had no part in this dissolution. The holy Virgin, anointing, according to the custom, the limbs of the dying man with perfumed oil, could not restrain her tears. She was bidding farewell to one who had been her prop and stay, the companion of her days, good and bad, the faithful friend, the sharer of her glory and her grief. Nevertheless, wiping the tears from her loving eyes, she murmured:

"Go forth, my beloved spouse and friend! Enjoy happiness in the bosom of Abraham. Thy day is finished. It is full as the day of the diligent vine-dresser. Rejoice, dear Joseph, son of Jacob, son of David. God calls thee to Himself. Go! Receive thy recompense . . . and let us sorrow who lose in thee a dear friend, and one whose speech was affectionate and wise. But, Joseph, we shall meet again—since we have lived in the same hope and rejoiced therein."

The other Mary and her sons, and Salome and her children surrounded the couch of the dying man who had been so long their dear and trusted friend.

"The Lord has conducted the just through the right ways and showed him the kingdom of God," they sang. "He has exalted him like a cedar in Libanus. Courage! Enter upon the road to eternal life. Return to the heavenly city where thy name is enrolled, for thou hast been chosen to be one of its inhabitants."

And Jesus, pointing toward Joseph, said:

"Blessed are the clean of heart, for they shall see God." (St. Matthew v, 8.)

The eyes of Jesus were suffused with tears, for suffering human nature ever awoke a response in His gentle heart.

Joseph breathed his last in the arms of Jesus and Mary, with those he loved about him—and this death, filled with all kinds of consolation, was the reward of a life so humble and so hidden that we know it only through the light which has been shed upon it by Mary and Jesus. Before he —the just one—was chosen to be their support and guide, he lived in obscurity. His mission accomplished, he died in obscurity; like those stars which only shine when they approach the sun, and are lost, apparently, when they no longer reflect its rays.

But while this planet swings within its orbit the name of Joseph shall be held in reverence. St. Joseph, guardian of the Holy Family, pray . . . pray for us!

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 20.

CHAPTER XVIII. THE PEACE OF NAZARETH.

NOW the other Mary, with Cleophas, her husband, and their children, had arrived at Nazareth a few days before, and finding the home of Joseph and Mary in so wretched a condition, had sought another domicile. They had just journeyed from Mesopotamia, where they had sold all their goods, previous to settling in Galilee. The report that the Holy Family were in Nazareth soon reached the ears of their kinsfolk, and they hastened to visit them and rejoice over their return.

Joseph was more than happy to see his beloved sister.

"God be blessed, dear Mary, that He has united us upon this earth," he said, affectionately. She returned his caresses, and clung to him, and he added, in a lower tone of voice: "Though I were to thank God forever, I could not praise Him sufficiently for the task He has given me. It is now accomplished."

Mary's inquiring glance was bent upon him, but her lips framed no question.

"Your sister Mary," he continued, "will one day merit the respect and homage of the entire earth.

Should the Lord call me to Himself, I ask that you take my place, to watch over her and her Son."

Mary and Cleophas listened to their brother in astonishment, not having the clue to his words— and then they saw their children, James and Jude, with one of their young companions, named John, approaching Jesus. John was a beautiful child, with a heavenly countenance. When he saluted Jesus he knelt on the ground before Him, while James and Jude stood close to Him, gazing upon His face with awe and reverence.

"What is this?" exclaimed Cleophas and his spouse, almost in the same breath. "The sight of this Child stirs our very souls with a trouble that is half-pain, half-sweetness. Look at our boys! They tremble! And John, the son of Salome, who kisses His feet, and weeps as if for very love!" They were silent. Then, turning to Mary, who now stood at Joseph's side, regarding, with him, the touching scene before them, the woman placed her hand on Mary's arm:

"Is what we have heard . . . true?" she asked.

Quietly, and with admirable simplicity, the holy Virgin related the miraculous events of the birth of Jesus, as well as those which had preceded, and those which followed it. She told of the visit of the shepherds; of the Magi; of the flight into Egypt, commanded on the day that Herod had caused the male children of Bethlehem and its environs to be slain. The report of the massacre had indeed penetrated to Nazareth, and made all tremble, but they were ignorant of its cause.

Hearing these wondrous things, Cleophas and Mary, with their children and the young and beautiful John, prostrated themselves before the divine Child. They adored Him, these three who were to be His followers and Apostles.

Salome (who had been a companion of the Virgin in the Temple) when informed by her son John of the return of Mary, and the wonderful story which was told of her and Jesus, came in turn to see her. Salome was, like her son, of a loving and tender nature. So may we contemplate Jesus in the little house of Nazareth, surrounded by hearts which were filled with love and devotion toward Him. Already were His words listened to with respect. His discourses reached sublime heights. Mary, observing these things, thought that the time of His mission was approaching. Dreaded epoch! She could only prepare herself for it by redoubled prayers, by good works, by renewed submission to the will of God— asking one thing more than all others—that increase of sorrow might find her possessed of the strength that she had had in the days of her happiness. In her humility she was well aware that each soul conceals mysteries unknown to all, even to itself— mysteries of strength or weakness with which occasion alone can make us acquainted.

She prayed for herself as if she had been a poor, weak woman. She prayed for the world. Her love embraced all that her Son loved—and who could fathom the depth of that divine love—the love of Him who came from heaven to suffer death, in order to save us?

With her return to Nazareth Mary began once more her usual humble duties. She cared for her home, attended to the wants of her holy spouse and her divine Son, and often conversed with Jesus on the sufferings of fallen humanity, which God, in His great mercy, had never ceased to love. The sorrows of the earth, even the visible sorrows of those around them, spoke to these united, devoted hearts. Sin had brought grief into the world, and they, hating sin and loving the sinner, were moved to tears.

Often, on returning from the town, whither she repaired to help some unfortunate who had appealed to her or to console another in affliction, the Mother would sit beneath the shade of the great sycamore, and cover her eyes with her hand as if to shut away . from her the sight of so much woe.

"O world of anguish!" she would exclaim. " O world of sorrow! What moans escape from thee!"

And Jesus longed to suffer, in order to help these and all the unknown tragedies of human life, which vibrated through His heart even as our sighs now re-echo through the vaults of heaven and reach His pitying ears. Even thus were they fulfilling their adorable mission. Already was Mary the Mother of the Afflicted, the Consolation of those in pain. And her Son, in spite of His tender age, was even now that God of infinite love and mercy who died for His creatures upon the wood of the cross.

Some years elapsed without any exterior events of importance, years filled with peace and tenderness, yes, and preparation. Joseph grew older—but his heart was at rest. He had fulfilled his mission. The Child and His Mother were safe within the shelter of their home; his hands were still able to furnish their daily sustenance. Everywhere the world delivered itself up to unbridled passions. Iniquity reigned triumphant in the courts of men. Not knowing that heaven reigned . . . here ... in this obscure corner of the globe. That a divine life was here being lived that would heal the shameful wounds of sin and misery. Jesus and Mary, Joseph, his sister Mary, Salome, and the young children, the unknown hope of the future—spent their days in apparent monotony, which was interrupted only by the prayers which every Hebrew was accustomed to make in the Temple at the epoch of the great festivals.

Time of silence and expectation! In which the Lord increased upon the horizon of humanity! With what joy the trembling earth saluted Thee! How the just rejoiced to see Thee born at last! How Abraham, Isaac, and Joseph hailed Thee from that place of expectation in which they invoked Thy coming! How the angels who watched over men blessed Thee! For they beheld their hope increase, and saw the beginning of all those joys which they had been promised by the Omnipotent.

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 18.

CHAPTER XVI. THE COMMAND TO RETURN

NOTWITHSTANDING the respect and adoration which Mary felt for the Word Incarnate, she fully comprehended the loftiness of her earthly mission. Humbly worshiping God, she knew that her Child needed a mother, like all other children of the human race. He had come upon the earth as a child; was weak with a child's weakness, helpless with a child's tender helplessness. In the sweet rapture of her virginal maternity, she watched over Him, uniting the modest innocence of the young girl with the lofty and sublime functions of the mother.

By a marvelous prerogative, and for the first and last time, the two mysterious and wonderful charms which constitute a woman's glory only when separated, were harmoniously united in Mary. She had the sweet innocence of the virgin with the lofty devotion and knowledge of the mother. She was, as a virgin, His chaste and holy worshiper, and, as a mother, His enlightened and prudent guide. In her heart she rendered Him the most fervent homage— and yet from her lips fell the words of love by which she spoke to Him of human life such as she, in her wisdom and innocence, understood human life to be.

She first uttered to Him the names which man ventures to bestow on the Almighty, for she conversed with Him in the language of man. She spoke to Him of the works of God—the sun, the stars, the earth and its beauties, and how Adam had named them in God's presence, although He who has created everything also knows everything. Childlike, He deigned to take from her the words to convey His thoughts, just as He had taken from her a body to clothe His divinity.

One day the Child pronounced the sweet and sacred name of mother in a low tone, like a bird trilling its first note of music, and again the equally sweet and sacred name of father. Listening to these words of earth on the sacred lips of Jesus, both Mary and Joseph experienced a foretaste of heavenly joys.

Little by little the Child uttered the name of every object about Him. If He gathered from the banks of the Nile the purple day-lily, or if, in His tiny hands, the Child caressed a bird or fondled the fawn of the tame antelope, His Mother must have listened with rapture as He repeated the names in the language of man. And her eyes would fill with tears at the sound of that voice which was, at a future day, to proclaim God's mercies to the world.

The day dawned when she spoke with Him of the bitter conditions upon which life—that inestimable gift—is granted to every creature. She conversed with Him on the fatigues, the harsh and difficult duties to which man is subjected, and she added— but she spoke with tears, and with tears He heard— that man, for one crime, whose enormity weighed always upon him—was condemned to labor and to death.

"To labor and to death!" repeated the Child. "To labor and to death," said the Mother—the Mother of Him who had come upon earth to suffer. They were silent.

Next day the Child followed Joseph, and asked to be taught His foster-father's trade. Astonished at this request, Joseph sought Mary.

"To labor . . . and to death!" she echoed, softly. "He has heard ... He submits." Covering her face with her hands, she wept a long time.

It was after this that Joseph began to take the holy Child into his workshop. The foster-father of our Lord understood that Jesus, having become man, had subjected Himself as man, to labor—until, alas! He should suffer death. Then was beheld a beautiful, an affecting sight—a God filled with all knowledge, placing Himself under a man—and a humble man and a Woman still more humble, being elevated even by their very humility, to the lofty dignity of commanding a God!

Behold Him as He stands under the shade of two palm-trees to which is fastened a long mat, made from the straw of the sesame, which Joseph had hung up in the morning to protect him from the burning Egyptian sun. The house, in the shape of a beehive, casts its shade to the east, and from every side the eye may roam over fields sown with beans and barley, over rice fields intersected with canals to retain the fertilizing waters. The silent waters of the Nile are to be observed in the distance; green rushes, tall willows, huge sycamores are there, and beyond the Nile is proud Memphis, with its sphinxes, its gigantic symbols, its bold pyramids. Temples, palaces, and cities may be seen still further on in mere outline. The landscape is one of magnificent, glowing, splendid beauty, unknown to the colder west. And, by that very splendor, it draws attention to the simplicity of the scene nearer our eyes.

For Joseph, in the shelter of the little house, standing under the palm-trees, holds the plane in his hands, and directs the weaker hands of the Child. A thin shaving is planed from the piece of wood on which both are working. The Child is very serious. His mind already directs His actions, in spite of His tender age. He begins again; Joseph smiles at Him encouragingly.

Mary, seated near by, with her distaff and spindle, pauses occasionally in her own work to look at this dear and holy group, uniting with the angels in worshiping that God who thus voluntarily humbles Himself.

And thus did Jesus labor with Joseph at his daily toil, seeking ever some task and performing it. And when He had finished, when perspiration poured down His cheeks, and fatigue overpowered His strength, He seated Himself beside His Mother, who dried His moist forehead with her veil.

Thus seated, the divine Lord contemplated that beautiful picture which seemed to stretch so endlessly before His eyes. He saw those places, which, at a future period, were to be inhabited by holy anchorites; He blessed now those mysterious deserts, in which so many saints were one day to gather and receive His spiritual influence. His celestial infancy scattered power through the water, the air, the palm-trees, and even the red sand which the wind blew, occasionally, against His cheek. And this spiritual power, this secret influence, was to inspire the first saints of the rising Church in this land which God, made man, had inhabited.

O sweet-scented banks of the Nile! O walls of Memphis! O winds of the desert! O sacred solitudes! Ye have seen the blessed steps of the spotless Virgin and the Desired of nations! The infant Saviour grew in strength near the verdant willows— praised be the trees that sheltered Him! The shadow of the pyramid guarded His sacred head—blessed be its shade! The solitudes beheld Him pass—happy solitudes! Playing, He made crowns of lotus-flowers from the waters of the Nile; fashioned rush hampers, and baskets with the leaves of the acanthus; plaited ornaments with the sesame grass. So are they ever blessed—the lotus, the willows, the acanthus, the sesame, the air, the water, the sand of the desert! A holy breath blew upon them in the sweet days of its infancy, before sorrow had changed it into sighs. What wonder that the land of Egypt is still fertile, the waters of the Nile productive, the rushes green, the acanthus beautiful!

Nor need we be astonished that Mary was the only one of all the exiled Hebrews who dwelt in this land who did not regret her country. Her companions sang the song of captivity as it had formerly been sung in Babylon.

"Upon the rivers of Babylon there we sat and wept: when we remembered Sion. On the willows in the midst thereof, we hung up our instruments. For there they, that led us into captivity, required of us the words of songs. And they that carried us away said: Sing ye to us a hymn of the songs of Sion. How shall we sing the song of the Lord in a strange land?" (Psalms cxxxvi, 1-4.)

Mary regretted nothing. She enjoyed the happiness of the elect. She enjoyed the unbounded ecstasy of continual adoration and contemplation. She worshiped the Trinity thrice holy in that Son begotten of the Father, the marvelous filiation of which the Holy Ghost is the bond. And the more she loved, the more she was enabled to love, for love is increased and renewed by love.

* * * * 

The period in which Mary enjoyed heaven upon earth was not of long duration. The angel reappeared with his second message to Joseph.

"Arise and take the Child and His Mother and go into the land of Israel; for they are dead that sought the life of the Child." (St. Matthew ii, 20.)

Mary knew that the mission of the Saviour was to begin in Israel, and although ever obedient to God's holy will, her heart ached. Were, then, the days of peace, of joy, of security, already passed? She held her Son in her arms and wept silently. And He, who loved her, was deeply affected, for He was the best as well as the most beautiful of the children of men.

He wiped away her tears, and then placed both His soft young palms upon her closed eyelids. To the Mother this holy and gentle touch seemed to give her a powerful penetration. The past, as well as the future, stood before her like a vision of sorrow , and unbounded hope.

* * * * 

Man came forth radiant and splendid from the Creator's hands; his countenance was beautiful as the sun, but his soul was still more beautiful, being created in the image and likeness of God. He was happy, he was good, and his companion, given to him by God, equaled him in all his perfect gifts.

Humanity was called to the highest destinies; the object of love, the being pleasing in the sight of an all-powerful Creator. It was a wondrous work.

And the Virgin, understanding, admired and praised God.

She admired the first mother of the human race . . . and even thought to feel as Eve must have felt in love for all the generations that were to come. Then she saw the angel of evil approach Eve; she saw the temptation and the fall.

Matter enshrouded the spirit. The brilliant universe became coarse and opaque instead of transparent and subtle. Man was driven from the garden he had polluted; clothed in flesh, condemned to sufferings, darkness, labor, and death.

And the Virgin, seeing, with tears admired and praised God.

Every soul had its hidden sorrow; every heart concealed its own weakness, its own faint recollection of heaven. Evil and good still struggled, but the good was everywhere conquered. There was no escape, no remedy. Men suffered in vain—they could not expiate the crimes of men. The righteous themselves were found wanting, and had to wait at the gates of hell till justice was satisfied. And Mary, gazing, already oppressed, felt that she would sink under this universal distress.

But she seemed to hear a voice; and these were the words it said:

"Be comforted, be comforted, My people! Righteousness and deliverance shall descend upon Israel."

Then did the Blessed Virgin behold herself proceeding from the thought of the Most High, where she had been destined from all Eternity to be the tabernacle of the Word of God. And she saw that uncreated, all-powerful, creative Word passing through space to become incarnate. She recognized her Son, her dear Son, and thrilled with rapture. She heard the angels, who were singing what St. John announced in the after years:

"Behold the Lamb of God: behold Him who taketh away the sin of the world!" (St. John i, 29.)

Weeping angels surrounded this most adorable Son. They brought the instruments of the Passion of the Redeemer. Mary contemplated His sufferings —His crown—the nails—the mockery—the vinegar and gall—the winding-sheet—the tomb.

And then she saw mankind redeemed. The weight of misery was taken away. Death was conquered. Sin was vanquished. Humanity, triumphant, regained a station so exalted that the saints of the New Law have dared to exclaim: "O happy fault!" (St. Augustine, Office of Holy Saturday.) when meditating upon the wonders of redemption.

The God-man, a potent conqueror, was seated in His glory at the right hand of His Father, surrounded by blessed martyrs, triumphant saints, exalted virgins. The salvation of the world was accomplished, the Church established. The Sacraments continually caused that redeeming blood to flow from heaven to earth, purifying and sanctifying the whole human race until it should be transformed and spiritualized in God.

And the love of Mary toward her fellows was so excessive that, in a holy transport, she accepted a share in the sufferings of her well-beloved Son.

She knelt, with her Son still in her arms, and cried out:

"Behold the innocent Victim, the spotless Lamb presented to stripes! My God, let Thy justice be satisfied by His ignominy, sufferings, and death I But—let my soul at least be united with that anguish by which He is to expiate the crimes of earth. Do not separate the Mother from her Son in pain and suffering. And, in all things, may Thy holy will be accomplished toward Thy humble creature!"

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 16.

CHAPTER XIV. THE JOURNEY TO EGYPT

AFTER some days of anxious and cautious travelling along the most retired roads in the mountains of Judea, having passed the open plains after nightfall, and having concealed themselves for an entire day in the thick woods, the jaded wayfarers, tired out by their troublesome journey, at last reached Bersabee. Here they felt a little more secure —for a great distance now separated them from the soldiers of Herod, whose pursuit they had dreaded —and they stopped to enjoy a much-needed rest under the shade of those trees that grew near the sacred well, formerly the witness of the alliance between Abraham and Abimelech, king of Gerara. (Genesis xxi, 31.) Exhausted by fatigue, almost overcome by heat, Mary seated herself under the date-trees and cooled her face in the refreshing waters.

Nothing so beautiful had ever been mirrored therein—not even when they reflected the blushing countenance of Sara, confused in the presence of Abimelech, who, having restored her to her husband, said to her, with sorrow, "This shall serve thee for a covering of thy eyes to all that are with thee, and whither soever thou shalt go'' (Genesis xx, 16.) meaning, indeed, "Cover your face with a veil always, according to the custom of the country into which you are entering. Then those who look upon you will know that you are married, and so shall not regard you with affection."

The Virgin bathed the face and hands of her little Son in the limpid waters, and Joseph, loosing the strap of his sandals, dipped his weary feet in the cooling liquid. The few hours of quiet repose that followed did much to recruit their strength, and it was with renewed hope and energy that the holy travelers resumed their way at day-dawn, crossing the river by a ford which the fall of some rocks had rendered practicable. For two days they journeyed along its verdant bank, until they reached the country of the Amalecites.

Being free at last from all dread of the power or cruelty of Herod, they passed slowly over the peaceful country which had, in former times, been washed in the blood of so many cruel wars. Soon they entered the desert—that desert teeming even yet with the miracles of the Most High. Here was the well which had restored Ismael to life, in order that he might be preserved to be the father of a great people; (Ibid., xxi, 18, 19.) farther on were the mountains of Idumea, witnesses of the triumph of David; there was the road pressed by the feet of the Hebrews in their flight from Egypt, and who, for their disobedience, were condemned to wander for forty years in the scorching sands of Pharan, and to die without greeting the holy land which had been promised them. Joseph and Mary, overwhelmed by the silence and the thoughts that occupied them, exchanged few words. The time of rest had not yet arrived for either. The angel had ordered the spouse of the Blessed Virgin to take Mother and Child into Egypt. Until that was accomplished there could be no thought of rest.

Pursuing the road toward the east, they plunged deeper into the boundless desert. At every moment they feared to lose their way amid the yellow, moving clouds of sand—lofty, some of them, as billows of the sea lashed by a storm. The fatigues which they had hitherto experienced were slight indeed compared to the distress which they now encountered. They had avoided joining any caravan, always dreading pursuit and capture, and though the risk of travelling alone was great, it was the lesser of two evils. For the first few days they followed a track, on which the print of numerous footsteps served to guide them, but the horizon, far as eye could reach, was blank. The desert, vast and deep, was void of all that could direct them on their way. The wind arose, the dreaded hot wind of these terrible plains. It drove the sand before it in whirlwinds. Every sign was obliterated. Cavities were filled up, hillocks were destroyed. How could they proceed ? But how dared they, even if they could, go back?

Lost in the desert! Nothing around them but sand; not a tree to serve as shelter. All was desolate. At night they marched under the stars, endeavouring to find the road by the signs God had fixed in the heavens. In the day they slept beneath the shade of Joseph's cloak, wearily and fitfully.

One day—it was the ninth since they had been lost —they were even more oppressed. The sand burned their feet; the rays of the sun beat vertically down upon them, and the desert seemed interminable. Eleabthona was panting with exhaustion; they were on the last of their provisions, and their precious water was nearly gone.

Joseph halted the little animal, fearing that she would drop from weakness, and turned to Mary.

"It may be that we have been too cautious," he said. "Had we joined a caravan—"

"Take courage," said Mary, in her gentle tones. "We have obeyed the will of God—are we not sure He will protect us?"

Like balm the voice of Mary fell on Joseph's troubled heart. He helped her to alight from the faithful beast. The Child was carried in a basket that swung from the saddle and sheltered by a thick veil.

"Let us walk a little while," she said.

Joseph's head drooped.

"Mary," he said, huskily, "the Lord undoubtedly sees that with your wisdom and prudence you can do without me. He will guide you. Proceed on your journey. The provisions will last—"

"Nay," said the Virgin, smiling courageously, "what should we do without him whom God has appointed our protector ?"

They rested in silence, Mary raising her heart to the Most High, Joseph anxious over the fate in store for Mother and Child. He felt that he was responsible for their safety, and his mind was filled with serious misgivings; for indeed he feared that God expected him to show greater wisdom and prudence in providing for them. With the coming of dusk they resumed their way amid profound silence. Suddenly Joseph seemed to perceive that the journeying was easier. He kept his eyes fastened upon the sand, saying nothing until he could be positive. Mary, with her veil thrown back off her face that she might the better breathe the cool night air, contemplated the starry sky, beyond which reigned the Lord God by whose hand the elements were controlled.

Thus they travelled into the night, Joseph growing more hopeful, till at last they found themselves at a small oasis in the desert, called by wandering tribes of the desert the "Well of Reward," a spot of refreshment, where one, arriving exhausted, regained courage and strength to finish his journey. For three days they remained in this abode of quiet, enjoying the rest that was so sorely needed.

* * * * *

When the sun reddened the east behind the mountains of Idumea for the third time, Mary and Joseph set forth once more.

After four days' journey they came to the city, and there indeed found some of their people, who had been the victims of persecution in former times, and who now cordially welcomed them. (The particular place where St. Joseph settled in this foreign land is probably Metaryieh, near Heliopotis, and about two hours distant from Cairo. Cf. Gigot's "Outlines of New Testament History," p. 56.)

A few exiled Hebrews received the humble family, and without knowing what guests had come to visit them, led them into the Temple. They had endeavoured to recall to their minds their absent and beloved country, and with unskilled hands had kept in repair the temple which Orneas, expatriated like themselves, had erected to the Lord in remembrance of the Temple at Jerusalem. Here they sang the praises of the Most High. The holy Ark of Alliance was not there, but their souls were raised to God in true courage and sincerity. To reward them, great Jehovah sent the Desired of nations to dwell among them, to bless them in secret and wonderful ways, and to diffuse a holy virtue through the air they breathed. Their temple was an empty one, but their prayers were from the heart. So the God of heaven accomplished in the midst of them that word, which, at a future period, He was to give mankind: "For where there are two or three gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them."

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 10.

CHAPTER VII - THE MYSTERY OF THE INCARNATION REVEALED TO JOSEPH

JOSEPH had been detained in Mesopotamia a much longer period of time than he had anticipated, for he found his sister in the throes of a severe illness, protracted and dangerous—but terminating favorably. Death was, as yet, far removed from her, and the sight of her dearly-loved brother inspired her with new courage and strength. After some time she regained a portion of her ordinary health. Joseph, unwilling to leave her without a protector in a foreign country, remained with her until she was able to undertake the journey to Nazareth, setting out with her and her two children, James and Jude, and arriving a few weeks after Mary's return from the house of Zachary.

The meeting between Joseph and Mary was a joyous one. Then he led his sister forward.

"Here is our sister, whom I have brought you, according to your wish," he said to Mary. "She has come to live with us—until the return of Cleophas, at least." And he added, in a gentle tone, "God has given you both to me. You are all that I have in the world. I entreat you, therefore, to love each other."

The two young women embraced cordially.

"Sister, my dear sister," said the Virgin, tenderly, "you are most welcome." Mary, wife of Cleophas, was overwhelmed at so warm-hearted a greeting, and her eyes filled with tears.

Joseph had gone outside to bring in his two nephews. He came back now and presented them to his wife.

"Here are the beautiful children our sister has brought us," he said to Mary, and his voice was proud and happy. "Henceforth they will be to us as sons."

The elder of the two, about seven or eight years old, was rather shy and would not come forward, but Jude, the youngest, a fine child, with fair and curly hair, knelt instinctively as soon as he saw Mary and kissed her feet with respect. Mary raised him, and caressed him, and parting his shining curls, pressed her lips to his forehead.

"You will love my boys, because you have always loved me," said Mary to her brother. "But they will not hold the place in your heart of your own children."

Joseph looked at her, puzzled, and then followed her glance, which now rested on Mary, who had called the children to the stone bench on which stood a vessel of glowing fruit, the beauty of which had enticed them. A faintness seized on Joseph. He .began to tremble and turned pale; then, making an excuse, went outside. The voices of the children followed him, and as he crossed the garden, they came out with Mary. She beckoned to him, but he pretended not to see the motion, going out by the entrance which looked toward the fields.

Mary now rejoined her new sister, and both seated themselves under the eaves of the house to find shelter from the storm, which had already begun to bend the tops of the trees. The two young women conversed for a long time on the happenings of years gone by, with which they felt the necessity of becoming acquainted in order to understand and love each other. For friendship is not satisfied with the present. It takes possession of the past as it desires to take possession of the future, forming a sort of eternity. The one spoke of the Temple and the sweet reminiscences of her life within its shelter; the other told of her infancy passed with Joseph, under whose care the early death of her parents had placed her. Mary listened with pleased satisfaction to these things which the other Mary's filial and tender affection still loved to dwell on. Affection for the true and good-hearted Joseph was to prove the bond of love between their two souls. The mother spoke of her children, adding:

"Indeed, sister, your own coming blessing will only cause you to love my brother more," and she gazed at her with gentle sympathy.

The holy Virgin cast down her eyes, and was silent a moment. When she raised them it was to say, in a sweet and serious manner:

"Children are indeed the gift of God. I thank Him continually, and my soul is lost in praise when I consider all the good with which He has overwhelmed His servant."

Mary perceived instantly what Joseph had tried to impress upon her—that God was always present in the Virgin's heart. She seemed so pure and so holy and so far removed from earth that her thoughts were elevated to an intense degree.

"Mary, I speak according to what is in my mind," she said, humbly. "Worldly feelings have perhaps occupied it too long. From you, who are so wise and so spiritual, I shall hope to learn a different speech."

The decline of evening found them still beside each other, but it was now time to retire, and the traveller, with her two little ones, gladly sought repose. Mary entered her cell, and casting herself beside her couch, prayed fervently for Joseph. She had observed his uneasiness, and she begged God to console him and not allow his just heart to bear unnecessary sorrow.

As to Joseph, he was a prey to the most intense grief. He did not perceive the naked rocks among which he walked, neither was he aware of the tempest which bent the trees and scattered withered leaves and broken branches in his path. He neither felt nor heard the sharp whistling of the wind. His ears were deaf to the terrific claps of thunder. One thought alone filled him, and from this thought his noble soul shrank as if he had blasphemed.

What! He to doubt Mary—Mary, the essence of candor and purity and sincerity—Mary, the angelic, the noble. . . . The most agonizing conjectures ran through his mind. He was "a just man," a faithful observer of the Law. "My angel, my shield, my strength, my counsellor, my guide and consolation," he called her, the while his heart ached within his bosom. "How can I endure life away from her?"

When he at last arrived at a conclusion—being "not willing publicly to expose her," he "was minded to put her away privately" (St. Matthew i, 19.) —the tears of a man in agony rose to his eyes. Perhaps it was at that moment that Mary's prayers ascended for him to the throne of God, and the Lord commanded His angel to go and alleviate the mind of His servant Joseph.

And the angel came. In the heavy sleep that overpowered the just spouse of Mary, he revealed to him the profound mysteries of the Redemption. Well might Joseph, in this slumber, see Adam, wrapped in sin as in a winding-sheet. Well might he imagine that he heard his words.

"Joseph, through the wife God gave me, the serpent tempted me. We have fallen, we and our seed. The whole of creation, of which we were the rulers, has fallen with us. But Mary—Mary, by her glorious purity—has bruised the serpent's head. Rejoice, rejoice, our race is saved! Mary, the spiritual Eve, brings it forth to a new life."

With what joy was the heart of Joseph now suffused! The burdens rolled away. His ears harkened to the words of the shining angel:

"Joseph, son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.

"And she shall bring forth a Son: and thou shalt call His name Jesus: for He shall save His people from their sins." (St. Matthew i, 20, 21.)

"Let not thy thoughts distract thee! Instead, raise them continuously to the Lord!"

With humility and love and sorrow Joseph prostrated himself, praising God. As soon as day appeared he entered his dwelling, and when he saw Mary, he knelt before her, worshipping the holy Child.

* * * * *

The weeks that followed were serene and peaceful. Joy reigned paramount in that happy cot, which, humble as it was, became more sacred and glorious than the Holy of holies, for the Holy of holies contained but the type of Him who really and truly dwelt in Mary as in a temple purer and more magnificent than the most wonderful shrine ever raised by human hands.

And the angels served their Queen on bended knees, the heavens bowed down to earth; a new order of things was established now that the Word of God dwelt among men. The world of spirit and the world of sense were no longer separated. All miracles became the necessary results of a greater, a more incomprehensible miracle—the Incarnation of God.

The Lily Of Israel By The Abbe Gerbet. Part 6.

CHAPTER IV. THE CHOICE

MARY had attained her fifteenth year. This was the age when the consecrated virgins left the house of the Lord for their future homes. Their vows ended now, for among the Hebrews marriage was of rigorous obligation.

If Anne and Joachim had been alive, both would have come to present to their daughter the young man whom they had selected for her out of their own family or from their neighborhood. They would have presided at the nuptial festivals, always long, and celebrated with the splendor permitted by the fortune and rank of the affianced. The father would have pronounced the blessings of the Patriarchs upon the happy couple. The mother, covering the bride with a veil embroidered with her own hands, would have explained to her in what manner a woman is called to spread happiness and joy around the days of her husband. The touching example of Anne's beautiful and meek character would have given holy authority to her voice. But that dear voice Mary was destined never to hear again. The counsel which now failed her upon earth was  henceforth to proceed from the Most High, from the Giver of all good things. Being an orphan, and no relative having claimed her guardianship (to the great regret of Elizabeth and Zachary, both were kept by illness from the Holy City), the duty of settling her in life devolved upon the High Priest. Joiada then being in office, he called a Council—and according to the customs of those days it was made known to the young men seeking a wife that one of the maids of the Temple had just reached the age of marriage, and the time was appointed when they should come to solicit her hand.

The report of Mary's extraordinary beauty, her sweetness, her purity, and her maidenly virtues had been circulated throughout the city, for no one could meet the daughter of Anne and Joachim without carrying away an impression of intense respect and affection. Every mother was anxious to obtain her for her son, and the young men, in turn, ardently sought her for a wife. On the day set by Joiada and the Council a number of these repaired to the Temple.

Now Mary, notwithstanding the vow of virginity which she had made, had not attempted to release herself from the law common to all. Perhaps she knew that her opposition would not be listened to. It was more likely, however, that she felt assured of God's care and protection, for she said nothing. Only, before the time, she passed three days and three nights in prayer, and when the assembly opened in which her fate was to be decided she asked the Council to propound a certain question to each of those who would claim her hand. A simple enough question, but she promised to wed the one who could answer it.

The question appeared insignificant. Yet the acquiescence of the Council to her request was sufficient to calm her fears.

The crowd obstructed the approaches and the entrance of the Temple. The council chamber was given over to the young men who sought the daughter of Joachim in marriage, while their mothers, friends, and relatives were also present to pay them honor, and to show the interest which they took in the success of their wishes.

One, the first to ask for Mary's hand, was called Mahasias, son of Sadoch. He said :

"I have fertile lands, I own rich pastures and fine flocks in the plains of Jericho. I have many servants. I ask the hand of Mary, daughter of Joachim and Anne, in marriage."

Another was called Heli, the son of Nadab:

"My father traded over seas with Tyre and Sidon," he said. "He has left me, as an inheritance, one hundred talents of gold, fifty talents of silver, and his house at Jerusalem, filled with goods of value."

Thus each in turn boasted of his riches and of his qualifications. But Mary, standing concealed beneath her veil amid a group of the Temple virgins,did not even appear to hear them. With hands clasped on her breast she was silently praying.

When all had finished the enumeration of the^r wealth and fitness, the young girl advanced rather timidly, saluted the High Priest with deep reverence to remind him of his promise, and then returned again to her young companions, who shielded her from observation.

Joiada then called Mahasias.

"Mahasias, son of Sadoch," he said, gravely, "tell us what, in your estimation, is the most beautiful ornament of woman? Do not hesitate to reply, and may the God of our fathers inspire you."

Mahasias was astonished at this unexpected question. He thought deeply—then, glancing toward Mary, he replied:

"The most beautiful ornament of a woman is her veil, which, concealing her beauty, allows one to imagine it."

The High Priest looked at Mary. She ^as motionless. Shaking his head, he ordered Heli to come forward, putting to him the same question.

"Necklaces of rubies," declared the wealthy youth, with calm assurance. "Earrings of the finest emeralds of Egypt—such jewels as my mother reserves for the wife of her son."

Mary remained silent.

A third replied: "It is the prudence and wisdom of her mind."

Others gave definitions which proved most clearly their temperaments, but Mary's head was bent, her beautiful face covered, and neither by sign nor by movement did she signify that their answers were pleasing to her. Then came one named Agabus. He had seen Mary in the Temple; he had been impressed by the beauty and purity which had seemed to emanate from every movement. Her chaste and maidenly presence had elevated his soul above the consideration of earthly things.

So, turning his eyes toward her, he answered the question put to him.

"The most beautiful ornament of a woman," he said, in a voice of deep feeling, "is, in my opinion, her modesty."

All eyes were turned toward Mary. At last! Surely Agabus had read her mind! Through her veil the young girl turned her eyes upon him, and in a gentle whisper he heard:

'' Good thoughts proceed from the Lord! May He still further enlighten your understanding!"

That was all. She did not manifest her approbation—and the High Priest was astonished. Agabus had, in reality, comprehended the meaning of the question better than any of the others, but he, too, was dismissed, to his great and bitter disappointment. Now the young men who had presented themselves were wealthy and handsome, and many of them held an elevated rank in Jerusalem. The High Priest and Council sent them away regretfully and all withdrew dissatisfied and downcast. The Council murmured.

"This young girl abuses the privilege which has been granted her."

But the High Priest knew and loved Mary. He was certain that there was some deep and sacred meaning behind the promise she had given to accept for her husband the man who would answer her question. Because of this he proposed to dissolve the assembly until the following month, for most of the young men were engaged in the harvesting. The Council determined to await their return, and the sitting was about to adjourn when a man who had indeed passed his youth, and, by his attire, seemed to belong to the respected, but struggling class, of artisans, came through the crowd, and asked leave to present himself as the husband of the young Virgin.

The priests looked at one another doubtfully.

They did not know if it were right to grant this request. Mary was descended from the royal race. Her relatives, true, had left her very little wealth, but she was, by her virtue and beauty, the glory and honor of the Temple in which she had been educated. Could they permit this stranger, obscure, yes, almost elderly, for his abundant dark hair was streaked with gray—could they permit him to propose himself as a suitor for the hand of one so eagerly sought by others far his superiors in station and wealth?

"Who are you?" asked Joiada, in a cold voice.

"I am Joseph, the son of Jacob, the son of Mathan, of the house of David" he answered without hesitation and with a calm dignity that insured instant respect. "But my house has fallen into obscurity, and from my youth I have lived by the labor of my hands. I am poor—but I hope, with the help of God, to provide for her who shall entrust her fate to me."

Again the High Priest and Council exchanged doubtful glances. They made no answer—they were dissatisfied and irresolute. But, quite suddenly, from behind the silken veil came the voice of the young girl herself, uttering the question which was to determine her decision.

"O Joseph, son of David, what, in your opinion, is the most beautiful ornament of woman?"

A long, long silence succeeded.

All eyes were turned upon this man, all eyes judged him, considered him. His face was handsome, dignified, calm, but there were wrinkles upon his forehead that told of toil and anxiety; his hair, once coal-dark, was almost white above the temples and ears; silvery threads were visible in his thick dark beard. But there was a serenity in those calm features that no youth could bestow; the deep lines in his forehead, while indicating that the troubles of life were not unknown, indicated also that he had had the fortitude to bear them; his eyes were serene and intelligent, and clear with the beauty of a well-spent existence. One could not look at him save with esteem and respect.

Mary's question vibrated in the air, as the music of a harp may be heard in its echoes. The man drew his form erect, stood listening an instant, and then answered, firmly and gently.

"The most beautiful ornament of a woman is her inviolate and pure virginity."

Mary stepped forward.

"Joseph, son of Jacob, son of Mathan," she said, "I know by your reply that you are the one that God has sent me. I accept you for my husband, and I will be your affectionate and obedient wife."

"Let God be praised!" said Joseph. He looked at her with tenderness, contemplating the young girl who had given herself to him in such an extraordinary manner, because he had understood the secret meaning of her words.

Yet how could a man, a strict observer and follower of the Jewish Law, conceive so lofty an idea of the sublime dignity of this holy Virgin? Oh, it is because the chosen ones of the Lord exist at all times and in all conditions—and this man, poor in the goods of the world, tried by suffering, had been ennobled, dignified, illumined by the Light, which, at a later period was to enlighten every man that cometh into this world. (1 John i, 9.) The Messias whose father and guardian he was to become in the sight of man, had instructed his mind, as the sun, before rising on the horizon, gilds with its rays the ridges of the loftiest mountain.

But the world judges by appearances. With dismay and even grief the High Priest and the members of the Council heard Mary's acceptance of this poor man for her life-companion. They did not know that the angels were transported with joy, both in heaven and on earth; they did not know that it was Joseph, the only man among all the Hebrew race, whose purity of heart and nobility and courage, had rendered him worthy of one who was to be the Queen of angels. They did not know this, and they tried, by every possible and plausible argument, to dissuade her from a decision which they felt was most unwise. Mary, however, fortified by the satisfaction of conscience which Joseph's answer had meant to her, remained immovable.

"For me the will of heaven has been made manifest in the word of Joseph," she answered, steadily.

There was no gainsaying this. Joiada felt her quiet strength and said no more. The espousal ceremonies were immediately performed. One of the treasurers brought Joseph the ring of purest gold which was kept for this ceremony, and Joseph, approaching Mary, placed it on her finger.

"Mary, daughter of Joachim and Anne," he said, "by this ring you are my wife according to the Law of Moses."

"Joseph, son of Jacob, son of Mathan," replied Mary, "by this ring which I receive, I am your wife before Israel."

Some of the young girls who had been Mary's companions, brought her the presents they had prepared for this festival. One gave her a distaff, covered with the flax of Mizraim; another a very fine sieve to sift the flour; another, sandals which she had splendidly ornamented, expecting to see Mary exalted, as was Queen Esther, to the rank to which her beauty entitled her. They were not pleased with Mary's choice, and since all loved her, their tears could not be controlled, but ran down their cheeks even while they embraced her. Mary's countenance, on the contrary, radiated peace and joy.

"The riches and happiness of this world consist in doing the will of God," she said.

Anna the Prophetess came last, offering her the gift of a purple girdle which she had embroidered with her own hands, and on which were inscribed the words: "And there shall come forth a rod out of the root of Jesse, and a flower shall rise up out of his root." (Isaias xi, 1.) The Virgin smiled and kissed her tenderly, but said no word.

A few days later the solemn nuptials took place, and thus it was that Mary became the wife of Joseph, the most upright of men.