Tractatus Prior, Pars Altera, Cap. 14. De expoliatione, illusione, coronatione et percttssione capitis Domini lestt.

Tractatus Prior, Pars Altera, Cap. 14. De expoliatione, illusione, coronatione et percttssione capitis Domini lestt.

I bless you and give thanks to you, Lord Jesus Christ, glorious King of the saints and shining crown of eternal glory, for the many unheard-of mockeries and vexations that you began to endure again from wicked tormentors, when you were brought before the judgment hall of the judge by unworthy soldiers, where the whole gathered cohort shamefully stripped you of your own garments and, in a scarlet cloak, derisively clothed you again, so that you might clothe us, empty of all virtue, with the mantle of your holiness and adorn us with the sweetness of your character. I praise and glorify you with a special devotion of my heart for your most grievous punishment, which you patiently endured for us, the lowly worms, during the thorny coronation of your sacred head. For then your blessed head, sanctified above all the Nazarenes, was so heavily pressed down by the density of thorns that it was pierced most cruelly all the way to the softness of your brain, so that streams of abundant blood flowed from your neck and ears, from your eyes and cheeks, and scarcely did they leave your sweet face, still stained with the spittle of the Jews, entirely bloodied and disfigured. O how lamentable it is to see the Son of God crowned in such a disgraceful and cruel way, in whom no sin could be found. Alas, the cruel madness of the soldiers, who did not shrink from piercing that most holy, most beautiful, most noble and reverend head with so many thorns, but even dared to mockingly salute the very King of Angels, striking Him and displaying Him openly to all. O most merciful Jesus, most lovable King, crown of those who confess You, strength of those who fight, happiness of those who reign, form of all who follow You, how poorly You are treated for me, how fiercely You are tormented, how filled with confusion You are from without, and how overwhelmed with indescribable pains You are from within, so that You might rescue me from eternal confusion in the torment of hell, so that You might cleanse my heart from the thorns of vice and crown me with unfading glory and honor in heaven. I praise and honor you for that mocking greeting and false adoration shown to you, when the ministers of cruelty, kneeling before you, struck you with harsh blows and mockingly worshiped you, calling out irreverently with their mouths: 'Hail, King of the Jews.' Ah, look, mortal man, servant of sin, how much anguish and scorn the only-begotten Son of the eternal Father endures for you. Open your mind to hear and respond to the harsh cries of Pilate with a pious groan and weeping. Behold, he said, the man. If there are any feelings of compassion in you, let your whole being groan and weep for the Author of the universe. I praise and honor you, revered Jesus, for that despicable mockery, while a fragile reed was given to you in your right hand as a scepter, to increase the confusion of your humiliation, as if you were a reckless usurper of royal dignity. I praise and exalt you for the most brutal blows inflicted on your head, while merciless men and the cruel torturers raised a higher staff of reed to strike your holy crown with frequent blows, and now for the second time they spat upon you with their venomous tongues. Go out now, daughters of Jerusalem, and see King Solomon wearing the crown with which his mother crowned him, on the day of his passion. Behold how great he is who is led out. For with what great affliction and insult he is led out to the authority of Pilate, so that his wretched appearance may be revealed to all. Indeed, to see this is misery; to think about it is immense sorrow; to feel compassion is a devoted love. Behold, the most patient and gentle Jesus comes forth from the judgment hall, wearing on His head a crown of thorns and a purple robe, as if the fury of the treacherous crowd might be stirred a little to compassion by seeing Him so terribly dishonored and afflicted. But alas, the wicked crowd rages even more fiercely; and as the governor proclaims in public: "Behold the man!" they cry out even more terrifyingly: "Take him away, take him away, crucify him!" Hearing all this and reflecting deeply, tremble and grow pale from the overwhelming weight of pain, O most faithful lover of Jesus. Strike your chest, pour out your tears, and lay yourself before the sight of the crowned Jesus, the image of the King, filled with the confusion of the most despised servants. He submitted himself to the horrific miseries of punishment so that he might withdraw you from the desire for worldly glory and extinguish the plague of pride within you. You should be ashamed to seek worldly glory, you who are of such a lowly condition, when you see the most noble head of the Lord displayed in such disgrace. Let it shame you to seek worldly glory, you who are of lowly condition, when you see the most noble head of the Lord presented in such ignominy. Be ashamed, you children of pride, who aspire to higher things and lift your heads up high, so that you may be seen as more worthy than others, while you are in fact even more wretched. You should be ashamed, you who walk proudly in the presence of the scourged and crowned Jesus, you who adorn yourselves with gems and fine silk, who drape gold and silver around your dying flesh, who wear beautiful miters on your heads for show and for the work of your redemption, when you have been redeemed from dire punishments, yet you do not look back. Console yourself, console yourself, poor and afflicted Lazarus, and whoever is despised in this world, you bear a greater resemblance to Jesus of Nazareth in your infirmities and shortcomings than the rich man does in his fine linen and purple garments. And you, hooded monk, don’t be ashamed to be covered in coarse and patched clothing, for you have a special glory before God and His angels if you appear humble in your habits and more refined in your conduct. It's a great confusion for a monk if he seeks to wear finer clothing, when he should have died to the world and embraced poverty in all things. O how true and sweet a comfort the desolate religious finds in his affliction, who does not neglect to ponder often with a sorrowful heart the sharp crown of thorns that Jesus bore. Whenever you feel anxious, remember all the thorns that Jesus endured, and you'll bear your troubles more gently, even if others have provoked you or if you're suffering from a severe headache, or, what is often worse, if you're torn apart by various slanders. It's far better to suffer now with the afflicted Jesus, wearing the crown He bore, enduring many hardships, than to live freely and later pay the hellish penalties, and, what is worse than any torment, to be cast away from the most delightful face of the Savior Jesus and the sweet company of all the blessed for eternity. O how joyful and fearless he will stand before the sight of the eternal King in the terrifying judgment, who does not shrink from suffering the shame of his confusion and the punishment of his bodily passion. Oh, how grateful and dear to God that soul is, and how fruitful its meditation will be, which is deeply troubled by the passions of Jesus, wounded to the heart by His wounds, and lingers in love over His death. I grieve for you, good Jesus, who are patient and gentle, gravely beaten for me, shamefully mocked and crowned with thorns, and I ask for the grace to feel this sorrow more deeply, a sorrow that pierces my heart. Therefore, I humbly prostrate myself before you, Lord, and I adore your venerable majesty, which is so contemptibly humbled in human nature, fervently beseeching you with my lips, that you may clearly impress upon my heart that wretched form of your countenance, and deeply engrave it; the form you had at that hour when, like an abominable leper, you were cast out by all and displayed as a public spectacle, crowned with thorns. May this most miserable image enter the secret places of my heart and so effectively pierce and torment me that every worldly curiosity may perish from my eyes, that every carnal desire may completely die away, that everything bitter and vile may sweeten and please because of you: may your passions conquer my evil affections and may your most grievous pains ease my daily troubles. May this sacred vision of your coronation, contemplated seriously and deeply, provide me with great comfort amid adversities and strengthen me against the onslaught of slippery distractions. A mind occupied with divine matters and devoted to compunction is freed from harmful thoughts and protected from the enemy's attacking darts. Lord Jesus, free me from every stain of ownership. Clothe me with true strength and grant me joy in the face of contempt, so that I may learn to bear with kindness when necessities are taken away, and not to be angry if the old is given to me instead of the new, or if rougher garments are provided instead of better ones. Let me not murmur against those who mock me, nor contend with those who scold me, but in remembrance of your thorny crown, may I bear all penalties and humiliations that come my way with equanimity for my salvation. Cleanse the hardness of my heart, and pierce it with the sharpest thorn from your head, so that all harmful blood mixed with my flesh may flow out from the wound you received, and let the great stimulus of your sacred love remain there, so that I may be fully purged from the thorns of vice and the tribulations of temptation, and may be worthy to be adapted to the seeds of virtue. Thus, may the soil of my heart, infected by the original curse, receive a new blessing from the instillation of your sacred blood, so that in place of the thorn of envy, a rose of love may bloom for me; in place of the nettle of lust, a lily of chastity; in place of the bramble of vanity, a violet of humility; and in place of the thorn of harshness, a flower of gentleness.