There was never anyone more beloved by God, nor anyone more despised by men than Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified by his own people. Notice the gratitude that the world shows him in return for all of his extraordinary deeds and miracles. He is put to death as if he were the worst of thieves and dies as the poorest of men. He does not die in a comfortable feather bed, but on the hard wood of the Cross; not in a house or under a protecting roof, but in the open air, in a frightfully foul place; not in a private room, but publicly on a Cross; not in the company of his disciples, but between two thieves; not in the arms of his loving Mother, but between those of a tall Cross. He did not even have a few handfuls of straw beneath him, nor over him a covering of the poorest linen. He had no pillow for his head, but a crown of sharp thorns instead. There were no sandals on his feet nor gloves on his hands, but as substitutes he had iron nails that pierced through his flesh and bones. In this dire distress of his, there was no one to minister to him, but an impenitent thief at his side, a degenerate criminal, who showered him with shameful insults. There was no one to console him...He could move neither hand nor foot, nor turn on his side - he found no relief for his bodys pain, not even in the slightest. He remained immobile, stretched to the straining point, every organ dreadfully distended. No one there tried to console him. No one thought of helping him. No one was interested in him... There remained only his tongue that he could use. He prayed for his enemie.
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 14:54:03 +0000