Who is this that cometh up from the desert, flowing with delights, leaning upon her beloved? Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array? - Canticles 8:5; 6:9Who is this that cometh up from the desert, flowing with delights, leaning upon her beloved? Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array? - Canticles 8:5; 6:9
The holy Mother of God is exalted above the choirs of Angels. Mary is assumed into Heaven. The Angels rejoice, and in their hymns of praise bless God for the fruits of man's redemption.
Mary languished, waiting anxiously many years for the blessed day that would re-unite her with her Son. It came at length. Her lamp of life was peacefully extinguished in the home of the beloved disciple, Saint John, surrounded by the apostles, whose messages she bore to heaven. A virgin sepulchre received the mortal remains of the spotless Virgin. It was the mysterious cradle soon to be visited by the Author of life. Sleep on, dear Blessed Mother, sleep on, whilst the infant Church mourn around thy grave!
Soon one of the disciples desired to see again his Mother's face, and to kiss the blessed hand that had caressed the Saviour of the world. The tomb was opened, but the immaculate body was not there; instead of it were found roses and lilies of the sweetest perfume - a fitting symbol of her perfections and virtues.
Thus a miracle is performed in the silent shade of the tomb. Jesus, from the highest heavens contemplating the spotless body which was the tabernacle of His humanity, repeated the words of the prophet: 'Thou wilt not give Thy Holy One to see corruption.' He applies it to His holy Mother; He will not suffer her to feel the corruption of the grave. Mary slumbers in death, as her Son once did, but He awakes her with these loving words of the Canticles: 'Arise, make haste my love, my dove, my beautiful one, and come. The winter is now past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers have appeared in our land; the time of pruning is come; the voice of the turtle is heard. The fig-tree has put forth her green figs; the vines in flower yield their sweet smell. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come. . . . Come from Libanus, where the incorruptible cedars grow. Come and be crowned'.
Mary can neither rise nor ascend to heaven of her own power, but the Author of life extends to her His omnipotent force, places His angels at her service, and they bear her to her home in heaven.
To us poor mortals the privilege of incorruption in the tomb does not belong. Wretched children of Adam, defiled, from the first moment of our existence, by original sin, unfaithful to the grace of our regeneration, frequently guilty of sin after having been pardoned, we have opened to death all the avenues of life. Death entered with sin and has written on our flesh this terrible word: Corruption! Nothing escapes its cruel tooth. The skin, gradually eaten away, soon disappears entirely, leaving only a dry skeleton; and this, too, silently crumbling into dust, is mingled with the surrounding earth by the grave-digger's spade when he is preparing a place for other dead bodies. This is the end of all.
Let us not be terrified, however, at our nothingness. Men may seek for us in vain; but the all-seeing eye of God follows through the mazes of nature the wanderings of the particles which once composed our bodies. When the world shall have finished its course, the Author of life will visit the empire of death, and with His sovereign voice will address the elements of which human bodies were once constituted, saying: 'Unite, arise, come.' Then the bones of each human being shall be recomposed, and the flesh shall recover the texture and colour by which it was once before known. This is a certain truth.
And it is no less certain that our resurrection will be the same as our death. It will be glorious or ignominious, it will be for eternal joy or eternal sorrow, according as our death shall have been in justice or sin.
If today we hear the forebodings of death, if we are saddened by our infirmities, if our thoughts are gloomy and dark, if the perfection of our souls is retarded or burdened with the weight of our bodies, let us not repine. Patience! Patience! One day this poor companion of the soul will rise immortal, incorruptible, brighter than the stars of heaven, obedient to the commands of the soul which will impart to it a wonderful agility. If the body presses us with its earthly needs, and even incites us to sin, we must inexorably repress it. We must preserve ourselves from all defilement by wise precautions, strong resolutions, and salutary chastisements. The more we resemble in the flesh the unsullied flesh of our Holy Mother, the more resplendent will be the glory of our resurrection.
- text taken from Jesus in the Rosary, by Father Jacques-Marie Louis Monsabre, O.P.