Slowly the solemn hours of Lent have passed away, and we find ourselves once more with our dear Lord at the beginning of His Passion. With Him once again we shall journey to Jerusalem, where we shall see Him delivered by a traitor’s hand to the fury of His enemies: we shall see Him in that upper room, ever thoughtful of us, lovingly prepare for us that most precious legacy, His Body and Blood to be ever with us, the comfort of our hearts, our “flower of the field,” our “lily among thorns,” who is all fair, in whom is not a spot–our Jesus, our love. We shall witness His agony in the garden, bearing the weight of our sins, alone. We shall follow Him before Pilate, and see Him condemned to a shameful death for us, and finally shall tread with Him the bloodstained way of the cross, and with Him ascend “the green hill without the city wall,” and there mingling our tears with those of His Blessed Mother–our mother now, His last dying gift to us–we shall see Him nailed to the accursed tree, and listen to His last cry of agony, as His loving heart breaks beneath the crushing burden of our sins, and redemption’s work is done. Heaven’s gates are unlocked, and we may enter in.

It is through no fault of His that He suffers thus. No; it is for love of us that he pays the price of sin. What wonder that as He stands in dark Gethsemani, and sees the sins of the whole world–our sins, the sins of our fathers, of our posterity, sweep down upon Him like a great avalanche–the very face of God Himself obscured by the blackness of that awful cloud of guilt–He shrinks back, for the moment appalled, and cries out from the depths of His tortured soul, “My Father, let this cup pass away from me”; but only for a moment, and then, filled with divine compassion for poor lost humanity, He adds, ” Thy will be done,” thus setting us the example of complete submission to the will of God.

What is before us ere another Lenten season rolls around we know not, and well for us that it is so. Who among us, were it in his power, would dare stretch forth his hand and draw aside the curtain with which God in His infinite wisdom and mercy has hidden the future from our gaze. Woe to him who seeks to know what the next year, the next month, or even the next day has in store for him, until God in His own good time raises the veil. No; rather let us learn from our divine Master’s example, and bitter though our cup shall be, accept and drink it to the very dregs in loving submission to His holy will. It may be that poverty, sickness, death, the loss of all we hold most dear, will be our lot; then let us pray as did our suffering Jesus: “My Father, if it be Thy will, let this cup pass from me; but Thy be done.”

And as we go with our Saviour during the coming week over the rough road of His Passion, let us seek to realize as never before the greatness of His sufferings, the extent of His sacrifice. Let us feel that a lifetime of torture suffered by us cannot equal one instant of His agony, and though we may not endure His sufferings–in His love and mercy He does not require this of us–we may follow His blessed example and blend our wills with that of His Father, and that too with cheerful countenances and happy hearts, remembering that though the way be hard on earth, there is an eternity of rest beyond–an eternity spent with Him. ”

Thy will be done”–Christ’s own prayer wrung from His breaking heart. It was taught to us in childhood; is said by us throughout our lives: oh! let us learn during this Holy Week to say it, to feel it, to live it with our whole hearts. Let it be the closest tie that binds us to our God.

Five-minute Sermons for Low Masses on All Sundays of the Year
By the Priests of the Congregation of St. Paul, 1893

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