Mary, Mystical Rose

by Fr. Peter Richard Kenrick (1840)

“I was exalted like a palm tree in Cades, and as a rose-plant in Jericho.” — Ecclesiastes xxiv. 18

Among flowers there is none so beautiful as the rose, as among the daughters of Eve there was none so beautiful as Mary, who is called in the canticle “the most beautiful of women.” (Canticle v. 9) But although her external appearance was the image of the beauty of her soul, it could not fully represent it. “How beautiful art thou, my love,” says Christ to her in the canticle of canticles, “how beautiful art thou,—thy eyes are dove's eyes, besides what is hid within.” (Canticle iv. 1) Her external appearance was, indeed, invested with an air of sanctity, that inspired the beholder with the love of virtue, but her internal perfection was far superior; and the psalmist declares, that “all the beauty of the king's daughter” — Mary is the daughter of the Great King—“is from within.” (Psalm xliv. 14) It was this interior beauty of perfection that rendered her so lovely in the sight of God; it was the sweet perfume of her virtues that entitled her to the approbation of the heavenly King. “I gave a sweet smell,” says she, “like cinnamon and aromatical balm I yielded a sweet odour, like the best myrrh.” (Ecclesiastes xxiv. 20)

            As the beauty and fragrance of the rose are surrounded and protected by thorns, so was the virtue of Mary accompanied and perfected by the tribulations she endured. Hence in the canticles it is said: “As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.” (Canticle ii. 2) “As the rose,” remarks a holy writer, “grows among thorns, so the blessed Virgin grew up and was perfected in tribulation. And as in proportion as the rose matures, in the same degree the thorns increase; thus Mary, in proportion as she advanced in years, was tried in the ordeal of tribulations.” How great were the trials to which God's providence exposed her! Who can conceive what she suffered from the uneasiness created in the mind of Joseph, by the divine mystery, which her humility prevented her from disclosing to this most affectionate spouse? Her journey to Bethlehem, the trying circumstances under which she brought forth Jesus Christ, the flight into Egypt, and her residence in a strange country, where she had to suffer a thousand privations, in consequence of the poverty of her condition, were so many thorns by which God encompassed this mystical rose. On her return to Judea, how much must she have suffered, while passing through Jerusalem, from fear and anxiety lest the son of Herod should accomplish the impious design of his deceased father, and imbrue his hands in die blood of the infant Messiah! How much did this most affectionate of all Mothers have to suffer when the child Jesus remained behind in Jerusalem, and she and her holy spouse sought him “sorrowing” for three days? As the time approached in which Jesus was to commence his divine mission, and consummate the great work of our redemption, the most loving heart of Mary felt all a mother's solicitude, and all a mother's grief, at the foresight of what He was to endure. During the three years of His mission, every danger to which He was exposed, — every attempt made upon His life, — every obloquy cast on Him, — was keenly felt by this most tender parent. Truly, then, did her sorrows increase with the development of her own supereminent virtue: which, although it sustained her under them, did not render them less sensible or less afflicting. May we not then say to her with the spouse in the canticles: “As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters?”

If we are attracted by the sweet fragrance of Mary's virtues, we are taught by her character, as Mystical Rose, that tribulations are the lot of the most favoured servants of God. There is wily one way to heaven, — that in which Jesus Christ himself has walked, and in which we are to follow His footsteps. “Ought not Christ,” says He himself, “to suffer these things, and so enter into his glory.” (Luke xxiv. 26) Mary, Joseph, the Apostles, in fine, all the servants of God, have passed through many tribulations, and thus entered into the kingdom of heaven. This seems almost a necessary part of God's providence. Were earth the place of our permanent abode, we might be naturally surprised and afflicted at finding ourselves exposed to suffering; but as heaven is our home, we cannot hope for perfect rest or satisfaction, as long as we are strangers and foreigners in a distant country. Every trial that we experience is an act of God's mercy, by which He endeavours to detach us from earth and its frivolities, and direct our thoughts to that place, where alone there is unalloyed joy. Why, then, do we wonder at this providence of God? Why do we repine when we experience it, and, not unfrequently, make these means of purifying our affections, and approaching closer to God, so many occasions on which we manifest the unworthy sentiments of our hearts, and cause God to retire still farther from us? Ah, let us think on Mary, and remember that as her virtue is likened in the Scripture to myrrh, whose scent is sweet, but whose taste is bitter; so our humble imitation of her, while it diffuses around us the “good odour of Christ,” will make us partake of the bitterness of His chalice.

EXAMPLE

What better example can be proposed to the devout admirer of the Mystical Rose, than that of St. Stanislas Kostka, who may be justly styled “the flower of holy youth.” This most faithful servant of Mary, after enduring much from the violence of an elder brother, contrived to elude his unjust vigilance, and entered the Society of Jesus. He died in the odour of consummate sanctity while yet a novice. On the first of August, the month in which he died, he heard a sermon, in which the novices were exhorted to spend each day as if it were to be the last of their lives. After the discourse was over, Stanislas told his companions that he recognized in this advice the voice of God, admonishing him that his death would take place in the course of the month—whether it was that God had vouchsafed to make him an express revelation to that effect, or that He had given him a strong presentiment of what was to happen. His companions, seeing the perfect health of the young prophet, laughed at what he said, and only regarded it as the expression of his desires. Four days afterwards Stanislas accompanied Father Emmanuel to the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, and, on the way, spoke of the approaching festival of the Assumption. “Father,” said the holy youth, “how beautiful will Paradise be on that day! On that day the Mother of God is crowned Queen of heaven, and elevated above the choirs of angels! Ah, if it be true, that each year this festival is renewed in the heavenly Jerusalem, I have great confidence, O good Mother! That I shall soon behold it!” The manner in which he expressed these last words astonished his companion.

            That very evening he felt the first attack of a fever, which, although slight, was regarded by him as a sure indication of his approaching end. On retiring to rest, he said with a transport of inexpressible joy, “I shall never more rise from this bed, what a happiness! Death is a real blessing. Ah, my good Mother, thou hast obtained for thy unworthy child the grace of being with thee on the festival of thy triumph.” On the vigil of the Assumption, the malady appeared still inconsiderable, and did not present any alarming symptom; but the saint told a lay brother that he would die on the following night. Shortly afterwards he became remarkably worse. The superior ran to his room. Stanislas begged to have the ground strewed with ashes, on which he desired to be laid, that thus he might die as became a penitent; his request was granted. He then confessed and received the holy Viaticum, and afterwards extreme unction, with sentiments of extraordinary piety. Sometimes he would turn his eyes to the crucifix, and fix them on his dying Saviour; at other times, he would kiss, and press to his heart, an image of Mary. One of the religious asked him, “Of what use are these beads that you have in your hand, as you are not able to recite them?” “They serve,” answered the young saint, “to console me by reminding me of my Mother.” “You will be still happier,” answered the father, “in seeing her in heaven.” On hearing this, his countenance became quite inflamed, as he rallied his departing strength to raise his hands and indicate the desire with which he languished to behold her. Some moments after, on the 15^th of August, at the dawn of day, he calmly expired; his eyes remaining fixed on heaven. It was only when the image of the blessed Virgin was placed before them, that, his insensibility being noticed, it was discovered that he had passed to her society in heaven. . All these circumstances are related on the authority of many, and those most credible, witnesses who were present; and who, enchanted with so beautiful a spectacle, cried out with one voice, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” (Psalm cxiv. 5)

PRAYER

O most amiable mother, thou didst please God from the beginning, by thy uncontaminated beauty; and by thy sanctity and perfection thou hast spread over the whole earth a beautiful odour of virtue. Thou art indeed a mystical rose, the joy and consolation of the banished children of Eve. Obtain for me the grace to please, every day more and more, thy divine Son, and by the innocence and holiness of my life to spread abroad the sweet odour of Christ in every place. Obtain for me, also, patience under the inflictions of God's providence, by which He designs to facilitate and secure my salvation, but which I have but too often made the occasion of murmuring and repining. May I henceforward imitate thy example, and be equally indifferent to poverty or wealth, contumely or praise, sickness or health, and alone solicitous for the accomplishment of the will of my heavenly Father. Amen.

PRACTICE

Let not this day pass without offering to Mary some act of mortification, either of the will, or the curiosity, or the senses, or the appetite. The rose of virtue must bloom amidst the thorns of self-denial.

ASPIRATION

We fly to thy patronage, O Holy Mother of God!