III. Birth of Our Saviour - Mary at the Crib

Jesus is born in Bethlehem; He is born in a stable. In that most despised situation He received the homage of angels and of men - of angels, a joyful multitude of whom praise the Lord and make the air resound with the sublime canticle: "Glory to God in the highest heavens, and on earth peace to men of good will"; of men also, of all conditions, who came to prostrate themselves before the crib and are in a manner repelled by the mystery of the abasement, the poverty, the suffering under which the majesty of the divine Word enfolds itself.

Here are the shepherds, men of simple, sweet, and faithful hearts; there are the Magi, kings of knowledge and shepherds of men, having come from a far-distant country under the direction of a mysterious star; and here is the humble Joseph, absorbed in the perfections of his adopted Child. They wonder, they adore and reciprocate their impressions of heavenly joy. For them Bethlehem is a paradise on earth.

More fervent than angels or men we behold an adorer at the crib of the Infant God; it is His Mother. Every hour, every instant is spent by Her in adoring and loving the fruit of Her chaste womb. Her love is intense, compassionate, attentive, devoted.

It is intense: She forgets the whole world; in it there is nothing for Her but Her Jesus. Her heart unites itself with His Heart, in order that She may never love any creature except in and through the adorable Heart of Her Saviour.

Her love is compassionate. The first sufferings of the Man-God rebound most sadly upon Her maternal heart, all the more sensitive than the hearts of other mothers because She is a virgin. It is most grievous to Her to be able to offer for His comfort only poor swaddling-clothes. She tenderly wipes away the tears of the divine Infant; She is ready to suffer all evils for His sake.

Her love is attentive: She seeks to find in the eyes of her Child, in His smiles, in His cries, in the movement of His lips, the expression of His most holy Will- But more than all else She studies within Herself the mysterious workings of grace, and holds Herself in readiness to obey every impulse of divine love.

Her love is devoted: She gives all to Him. Her soul, Her body, Her life, all belong to Him. Well may She repeat the word of the canticle: "My Beloved is all to me, and I am all to Him."

O Virgin! O Mother most admirable! How cold and languid is our love when compared to Thine! Instead of concentrating itself on its true object, it spreads itself on creatures and on earthly goods; it runs from one object to another, making trial of all, content with nothing, and never knowing that it can only be satisfied with the Sovereign Good.

Instead of compassion for our Lord, our love only seeks satisfaction and joy for itself. Like the carnal Jews, it is scandalized at the adorable helplessness and the touching wretchedness of the Infant God. The crib, the swaddling-clothes, the dispossessed Sovereign, without greatness or prestige, is something they had not dreamt of. They preferred an opulent monarch who would invite them to take part in his good-fortune and give them a continual feast. Are we not sometimes as blind?

Instead of strict attention to the holy will of God, our love often gives ear to the voice of its own inconstant desires; and even in the spiritual life, to which it makes pretensions, it finds ways and means to make its own fancies and caprices prevail against good counsels and wise admonitions.

Instead of being all devoted to God, our love tends too often to keep back or give sparingly that which was once offered to Him without reserve; and for its small generosity it bitterly complains of never receiving enough in return.

Oh, how poor is our love! How poor the vase, the heart, that contains it! Yet I desire to love my Jesus. I desire it in the depths of my heart. Take my love, O Holy Mother, and make it like Thine!