TWENTY-SIXTH LESSON
Our Lord's Tears over Jerusalem.
ST. LUKE 19:41-47.
Our Lord, on His last entrance into Jerusalem before He suffered, willed to enter the city in triumph. Perhaps it was to encourage His disciples, who were so shortly afterwards to see Him in the hands of His enemies; perhaps it was to show how little we ought to reckon on the esteem or favor of men, who will cry Hosanna, "the Lord preserve you!" one day, and "Crucify Him, crucify Him!" the next. But, amid the shouts of the multitude, who spread their garments on His path, and cut down branches from the trees, to strew them as a tribute of honor, when He came in sight of Jerusalem, He wept. The tender Heart of the God-man, Emmanuel, was moved with compassion and sorrow over the city. And why? "If thou also hadst known"—this was His voice of lamentation—"if thou also hadst known, and that in this thy day, the things that are to thy peace! but now they are hidden from thine eyes." Then He foretold the horror and distress of the siege of Jerusalem by the Roman Emperor, and its destruction at last, so that one stone should not be left upon another, because of the blindness, and hardness of heart, and impenitence, of its children. All this was to come, "because," He said, "thou hast not known the time of thy visitation."
Now, this is for our instruction. Jerusalem represents a soul in sin; and, what is worse, unconscious of its sin; sinning on, without remorse, sinning as a habit, growing less pricked by conscience as time goes by, and its sins are repeated. This state is described by the Apostle as "having the conscience seared;" that is, burnt as with a hot iron, which is painful at the time, but leaves the flesh hard and insensible. Such a soul neither sorrows for its past offences, nor for its present condition, nor fears for its impending doom. It is like the prophet Jonas, who, in the midst of the storm which his own disobedience had raised, was fast asleep in the ship's hold. He needs a special call of grace to cry to him, as the ship's captain cried in the ear of Jonas: "Why art thou fast asleep? Rise up; call upon thy God!" This fatal peace is the most perilous condition. Travellers in the snow, if they yield to the slumber that creeps over them from the cold, if they lie down, are frozen to death. They have to be up, and keep moving; they must take some vigorous steps homewards. And the impulse to do this, is what our Lord speaks of as their "time of visitation." There are special times of grace, like a higher tide than usual, that floats off the boat stranded on the beach, and makes it swim again. Our Lord speaks with all His sweetness and persuasion by the pen of St. John, His beloved disciple, the very Apostle of Divine love. "Behold, I stand at the gate, and knock. If any man shall hear My voice, and open to Me the door, 1 will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me." But the man within, the sinner we are speaking of, must rise up and open the door; that is plain. Otherwise, our Lord passes by, and the day of visitation also passes away. He goes to some other door, perhaps to the very next door: to some one who will listen to His voice, and open to Him, and be saved.
How solemn and stirring are these truths! A sinner may be forgetting his sins, till he is within the very jaws of Hell. He wakes up suddenly, as at the blast of a trumpet. He then summons the priest to his side; what sort of confession shall we suppose him to make? That long-hardened heart; is it likely to melt with true contrition, or even to be touched with true attrition, the less perfect kind of sorrow? Can it do this, at a moment's notice? By a special mercy, it may; but there must often be cause to fear for such a case, that it is a mere natural dread of torments that drives it to the Sacrament. At all events, the time of our visitation is now. "Behold, now is the acceptable time: behold, now is the day of salvation;" this is the Church's voice, borrowed from the Apostle. One of the causes of our Blessed Lord's agony in the garden, when He shed, not tears, but the dreadful sweat of Blood, was to see the multitudes who would insist on losing their undying souls, in spite of all He was come to suffer for them. Let us not be among the number. Let us know "the time of our visitation." What is there about us, what in our lives, that would make us most anxious, if the summons were now to come? Today is ours; tomorrow may be out of our grasp. We may be in eternity; or the grace we have delayed to accept, may have passed to some other. Let us awake, and dream no longer.
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