Love and Sorrow
by Bishop
Fulton J. Sheen
1952
TAKEN FROM THE WORLD'S FIRST
LOVE
Pleasure
is the bait God uses to make creatures recognize their destiny, whether
it be that of eating for the sake of the individual health, or mating
for the sake of society. God also puts a limit on pleasure; one of
these is a "fed-up-ness," which comes from nature, the other is that of
the woman, who is most reasonable when man is most irrational. In this
domain of the flesh, man is liberty, woman, the law.
If, then, a
woman is not taught carnal pleasure by the man, two effects will
follow: first, her restraining power will create continency and purity.
Since pleasure is outgoing, she will become more inward and
self-possessed, as if hugging a great secret to her heart. Desire is
anticipation, pleasure is participation, but purity is emancipation.
The second effect is just the opposite, namely, sorrow. She who lives
without pleasure not only gives up something, she receives something
--- it
may be the hatred of those who see in her the enemy of the flesh,
whether they be man or woman. Such is the story of virgins like
Agatha,
Cecilia, Susanna and, in our day,
Maria Goretti. As the sun
hardens
mud, so purity provokes those who are already sinners to hardness of
heart, persecution, and violence.
The day Mary
declared: "I know not man," she not only affirmed that she was untaught
by pleasures, but she also brought her soul to such a focused
inwardness for God's sake that she became a Virgin --- not only through
the
absence of man, but also through the presence of God. The secret that
she kept was no other than the Word! Bereft of the pleasures of the
body but not of all joys, she could sing to her cousin, Elizabeth: "My
soul doth rejoice in the Lord."
On the other hand, Mary was also a Woman of Sorrow. To love God
immediately and uniquely makes a woman hated. The day she brought her
Babe, her Divine Love, to the Temple, the old priest Simeon told her
that a sword her soul would pierce. The hour the Roman sergeant ran the
spear into the Heart of Christ, he pierced two hearts with one blow ---
the
heart of the God-man for Whom Mary gave up the knowledge of pleasure,
and the heart of Mary, who gave her beauty to God and not to man.
No one in the world can carry God in his heart without an inner joy,
and an outer sorrow; without singing a
Magnificat to those who share
the secret, and without feeling the thrust of a sword from those who
want freedom of the flesh without the law. Love and sorrow often go
together. In carnal love, the body swallows the soul; in spiritual
love, the soul envelopes the body. The sorrow of the first is never to
be satisfied; one who wants to drink the ocean of love is unhappy if
limited to a mere cup with which to drink. The sorrow of the second
love is never being able to do enough for the beloved.
In the human love of marriage, the joys of love are a prepayment for
its duties, responsibilities, and, sometimes, its sorrows. Because the
crosses lie ahead in human love, there is the Transfiguration
beforehand, when the face of love seems to shine as the sun, and the
garments are as white as snow. There are those who, like Peter, would
wish to capitalize the joys and to make a permanent tabernacle of love
on the mountain tops of ecstasy. But there is always the Lord, speaking
through the conscience and saying that to capture love in a permanent
form one
must pass through a
Calvary. The early transports of love are
an advance, an anticipation, of the real transports that are to come
when; one has mounted to a higher degree of love through the bearing
of a Cross.
What most human love forgets is that love implies responsibility; one
may not fool with the levers of the heart in the vain hope of escaping
duties, fidelity, and sacrifice for the beloved. So-called birth
control, which assists in neither birth nor control, is based on the
philosophy that love is without obligations. The real problem is how to
make humans realize the sacredness of love --- how to induce mothers to
see
a Messiahship in the begetting of children. The best way to achieve
this would surely be to bring forward the example of a WOMAN WHO WOULD
ACCEPT THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF LOVE WITHOUT THE PREPAYMENT OF
PLEASURE --- one who would say: "I will do it all for nothing! I will
accept the bearing of a child, the responsibility of His education, a
share in His world mission," without even asking for the ecstasies of
the flesh. Such is the role of the Blessed Mother. She undertook
marriage, birth, a share in the Agony, all for the love of God, not
asking the initial joys to prepare her for those trials. The best way
to convince mankind that it must take the medicine which cures is to
take it oneself and without the sugar coating, yet never wince because
of its bitterness. The Sisters of Charity in the poor sections of our
cities, the missionaries caring for the victims of leprosy --- these
give
inspiration to all social workers. The former do their work for nothing
except the love of God, and thus they keep before the world the ideal
of a disinterested affection for the hungry and the sick.
In the Annunciation, God told Mary, through an Angel, that
she would
conceive without the benefit of human affection and its joys --- that
is,
with no payment of pleasure to herself. She thus dissociated carnal
joys and social responsibilities. Her sacrifice was a rebuke to those
who would snare the music by breaking the lute, pick up the violins of
life and never produce a tune, lift a chisel to marble and yet never
bring forth a statue. But it also gave courage to those whose burdens
are heavier than their pleasures --- to those who have children
destined
for death when they are hardly launched on the sea of life, to those
who find their love's surrender betrayed and even despised. If Our Lord
allowed Mary to suffer the trials that even the most grieved mother
could suffer --- such as to have her Son pursued by the totalitarian
soldiers at two years of age, to be a refugee in a foreign country, to
point to a Father's business which would end in death, to be
arrested falsely, to be condemned by His Own people, and to
suffer the taking-off in the prime of life --- it was in order to
convince mothers with sorrows that trials without pleasures can be
overcome, and that the final issues of life are not solved here below.
If the Father gave His Son a Cross and the Mother a sword, then somehow
sorrow does fit into the Divine Plan of life. If Divine Innocence and
His Mother, who was a sinless creature, both underwent agonies, it
cannot be that life is a snare and a mockery, but rather it is made
clear that love and sorrow often go together in this life, and that
only in the next life is sorrow left behind.
Christians are the only people in history who know that the story of
the Universe has a happy ending. The Apostles did not discover this
until after the Resurrection, and then they went through the ancient
world shouting and screaming the excitement of the good news. Mary knew
it for a long time, and in the
Magnificat
sang about it, even before
Our Lord was born.
Great is the sorrow of a woman when her husband abandons his
responsibility to her, and seeks what he calls "freedom" from what is
his own flesh and blood. What the woman feels in such abandonment is
akin to what the Church feels in heresy. Whenever, through history,
those who are the members of her Mystical Body isolate themselves
from her flesh and blood, not only do they suffer in their isolation,
but the Church suffers still more. The irresponsibility of love is the
source of life's greatest tragedies, and as the Church suffers more
than the heretic, so the woman probably suffers more than the erring
man. She stands as the "other half" of that man, a constant reminder
to him and to society that what God joined together has, by a
perverse will, been rent asunder. The husband may have left his spouse
to teach another woman pleasure; but the wife remains as the unfinished
symphony, clamoring for spiritual understanding. A civilization which
no longer stands before God in reverence and responsibility has also
renounced and denounced the dignity of woman, and the woman who submits
and shares in such a divorce of responsibility from love stands in such
a civilization either as a mirage or a pillar of salt.
The world is not shocked at seeing love and sorrow linked arm in arm,
when love is not perfect; but it is less prepared to see immaculate
love and sorrow in the same company. The true Christians should not be
scandalized at this, since Our Lord is described as the Man of Sorrows.
He Who came to this earth to bear a Cross might conceivably drag it
through His Mother's heart. Scripture suggests that He schooled and
disciplined her in sorrow. There is an expression used today, always in
a bad sense, but which, if used in the right sense, could apply to the
relations between Our Lord and His Blessed Mother, and that is
"alienation of affections." He begins detaching Himself from His
Mother, seemingly alienating His affections with growing unconcern ---
only
to reveal at the very end that what He was doing was introducing her
through sorrow to a new and deeper dimension of love.
There are two great periods in the relations of Jesus and Mary, the
first extending from the Crib to Cana, and the second, from Cana to the
Cross. In the first, she is the Mother of Jesus; in the second, she
begins to be the Mother of all whom Jesus would redeem --- in other
words
to become the Mother of men.
From Bethlehem to Cana, Mary has Jesus as a mother has a son; she even
calls Him familiarly, at the age of twelve, "Son," as if that were her
usual mode of address. He is with her during those thirty years,
fleeing in her arms to Egypt, living at Nazareth, and being subject to
her. He is hers, and she is His, and even at the very moment when they
walk into the wedding feast, her name is mentioned first: "Mary, the
Mother of Jesus, was there."
But from Cana on, there is a growing detachment, which Mary helps to
bring on herself. She induced her Son to work His first miracle, as He
changed her name from Mother to Woman, the significance of which will
not become clear until the Cross. Readers of Genesis will recall how
God promised that Satan would be crushed through the power of a woman.
When Our Lord tells Mary that they are both involved in the
manifestation of His Divinity, she practically sends Him to the Cross
by asking for the first of the miracles and, by implication, His Death.
A year or more later, as a devoted Mother, she follows Him in His
preaching. It is announced to Our Lord that His Mother is seeking Him.
Our Lord with seeming unconcern, turns to the crowd and asks: "Who is
my Mother?" (Matt. 12:48.) Then, revealing the great Christian mystery
that relationship is not dependent on flesh and blood but on union with
Divine Nature through grace, He adds: "If anyone does the will of My
Father Who is in Heaven, he is My brother, and sister, and mother."
(Matt. 12:50.)
The ties that bind us to one another are less of race than of obedience
to the Will of God. From that text originated the titles of "Father,"
"Mother," "Brother," and "Sister," as used throughout the Church to
imply that our relations are in Christ rather than in human generation.
He Who called His Mother, "Woman," is now telling us and her that we
can enter a new family with her, as He has already taught us to enter
into new bonds with His Own Heavenly Father. If we can call God "Our
Father," then we can call her "Our Mother," if we do the Will of the
Father.
The mystery comes to an end at Calvary when, from the Cross, Our Lord
now hearkens back to Cana and again uses the word "Woman," the title of
universal motherhood. Speaking to her of all of us who will be redeemed
by His Precious Blood, He says: "Behold thy Son." Finally, to John who,
unnamed, stood for us, He said: "Behold thy Mother." She becomes our
Mother the moment she loses Her Divine Son. The mystery is now solved.
What seemed an alienation of affection was in reality a deepening of
affection. No love ever mounts to a higher level without death to a
lower one. Mary dies to the love of Jesus at Cana, and recovers Jesus
again at Calvary with His Mystical Body whom He redeemed. It was, for
the moment a poor exchange, giving up her Divine Son to win us; but in
reality, she did not win us apart from Him. On that day when she came
to Him preaching, He began to merge the Divine Maternity into the new
motherhood of all men; at Calvary He caused her to love men as He loved
them.
It was a new love, or perhaps the same love expanded over the wider
area of humanity. But it was not without its sorrow. It cost Mary
something to have us as sons. She could beget Jesus in joy in a stable,
but she could beget us only on Calvary, only in labors great enough to
make her Queen of Martyrs. The
Fiat she
pronounced when she became the
Mother of God now becomes another Fiat, like unto Creation in the
immensity of what she brought forth. It was also a Fiat which so
enlarged her affections as to in- crease her pains. The bitterness of
Eve's curse --- that she would bring forth her children in sorrow ---
is now
fulfilled, and not by the opening of a womb, but by the piercing of a
heart, as Simeon had foretold. It was the greatest of all honors to be
the Mother of Christ; but it was also a great honor to be the Mother of
Christians. There was no room in the inn for that first birth; but Mary
had the whole world for her second.
Here, at last, is the answer to the query, "Did Mary have other
children besides Jesus?" She certainly did. Millions and millions of
them! But not according to the flesh. He alone was born of her flesh;
the rest of us were born of her spirit. As the Annunciation tied her up
with Divinity before the coming of Her Divine Son, so this word from
the Cross tied her up with all humanity until His Second Coming. She
was a child of that chosen section of humanity called "the seed of
Abraham," the scion of that long line of royalty and kings who hand on
to her Divine Son the "throne of His Father David." But, as the new
Eve, she hands on to her Son the heritage of the whole human race, from
the day of Adam until now; and through her Son she breaks the
boundaries of that limited blessing to the seed of Abraham, and pours
it out upon every nation, race, and peoples. Her moment in history was
the "fullness of time"; this phrase meant that the human race had at
last produced a representative worthy of becoming the chosen vessel of
the Son of God. "One who comes into his property while he is still a
child has no more liberty than one of the servants, though all the
estate is his." (Gal. 4:1.)
Our Lord is not immersed in history, but Mary is. He comes to earth
from outside time; she is within time. He is the suprahistorical; she,
the historical. He is the Eternal in time, she is the House of the
Eternal in time. She is the final meeting place of all humanity and all
history. Or, as Coventry Patmore says:
Knot of the cord
Which binds together all and all unto
their Lord.
At the end of the story of love and sorrow, we see that love needs a
constant purification, and this happens only through sorrow. Love that
is not nourished on sacrifice becomes trite, banal, and commonplace.
It takes the other for granted, makes no more professions of love
because it has sounded no new depths. Our Lord would not have His
Mother's love on one plane of ecstasy while on this earth; He would
universalize it, expand it, make it Catholic. But to do this, He had to
send Her seven swords of sorrow which enlarged her love from the Son of
Man to the sons of men.
Without this deepening, love falls into one of two dangers: contempt or
pity --- contempt because the other no longer pleases the ego, pity
because
the other is worthy of some consideration without love. Had Our Divine
Lord not called Mary into the fellowship of His suffering, had she been
dispensed from Calvary because of her Majesty as His Mother, she would
have had contempt for those who took the life of her only Son, and only
pity for us who had no such blessing. But because He first identified
Himself with our human nature at Bethlehem, later with our daily tasks
at Nazareth and with our misunderstandings at Galilee and Jerusalem,
and finally with our tears and blood and agonies at Calvary, He gave to
us His Mother and, to all of us, the lesson that love must embrace
mankind or suffocate in the narrowness of its ego. Summoned by Him, to
share His daily Cross, her love expanded with His own and reached such
a peak of universal identification that His Ascension was paralleled by
her Assumption. He, Who inspired her to stand at the foot of the Cross
as an active participant in its redemption, would not be remiss in
crowning such love with union with Him where love would be without
sorrow, or where sorrow would be swallowed up in joy.
Love never
becomes a cult without a death. How often does even human love come
into the full consciousness of the other's devotedness, until the death
of the partner? History becomes legend after death, and love becomes
adoration. One no longer keeps any memory of the other's faults, or
what was left undone; all is surrounded in an aureole of praise. The
ennui of life fades away; the quarrels that hurt evaporate, or else
they are transformed into souvenirs of affection. The dead are always
more beautiful than the living.
In the case of Mary, we have no memories of her imperfections fading
away, for she was "blessed among women"; but we do have such a
deepening of love as to produce a cult. He, Who sacrificed Himself for
us, thought so much of His Death that He left a Memorial of it and
ordered its re-enactment in what is today known as the Mass. His love,
that died, became adoration in the Eucharist. Why, then, should not
she who gave Him that Body with which He could die, and that Blood
which He could pour forth, be remembered, not in adoration, but in
veneration, and as long as time endures? But if, along with the God Who
is the Man of Sorrows and who entered into His Glory, there is a
creature, a Woman of Sorrows who accompanied Him into that glory,
then we all have an inspiration to love through a cross and with it,
that we, too, may reign with Christ.
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