On Sunday the Church celebrated, in honour of Mary, two solemn festivals; that of her happy passage from this world, and that of her glorious Assumption into Heaven.
In the present discourse we shall speak of her happy passage from this world; and in the next of her glorious Assumption.
How precious was the death of Mary!
1. On account of the special graces that attended it.
2. On account of the manner in which it took place.
Death being the punishment of sin, it would seem that the Divine Mother all holy, and exempt as she was from its slightest stain should also have been exempt from death, and from encountering the misfortunes to which the children of Adam, infected by the poison of sin, are subject. But God was pleased that Mary should in all things resemble Jesus; and as the Son died, it was becoming that the Mother should also die; because, moreover, He wished to give the just an example of the precious death prepared for them, He willed that even the most Blessed Virgin should die, but by a sweet and happy death. Let us, therefore, now consider how precious was Mary’s death: first, on account of the special favours by which it was accompanied; secondly, on account of the manner in which it took place.
First point.
There are three things which render death bitter: attachment to the world, remorse for sins, and the uncertainty of salvation. The death of Mary was entirely free from these causes of bitterness, and was accompanied by three special graces, which rendered it precious and joyful. She died as she had lived, entirely detached from the things of the world; she died in the most perfect peace; she died in the certainty of eternal glory.
And in the first place, there can be no doubt that attachment to earthly things renders the death of the worldly bitter and miserable, as the Holy Ghost says: “O death, how bitter is the remembrance of thee to a man who hath peace in his possessions!” But because the Saints die detached from the things of the world, their death is not bitter, but sweet, lovely, and precious; that is to say, as Saint Bernard remarks, worth purchasing at any price, however great. ” Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” Who are they who, being already dead, die? They are those happy souls who pass into eternity already detached, and, so to say, dead to all affection for terrestrial things; and who, like Saint Francis of Assisi, found in God alone all their happiness, and with him could say, ‘ My God and my all.’ But what soul was ever more detached from earthly goods, and more united to God, than the beautiful soul of Mary? She was detached from her parents; for at the age of three years, when children are most attached to them, and stand in the greatest need of their assistance, Mary, with the greatest intrepidity, left them, and went to shut herself up in the temple to attend to God alone. She was detached from riches, contenting herself to be always poor, and supporting herself with the labour of her own hands. She was detached from honours, loving an humble and abject life, though the honours due to a queen were hers, as she was descended from the kings of Israel. The Blessed Virgin herself revealed to Saint Elizabeth of’ Hungary, that when her parents left her in the temple, she resolved in her heart to have no father, and to love no other good than God.
Saint John saw Mary represented in that woman, clothed with the sun, who held the moon under her feet. “And a great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet.”4 Interpreters explain the moon to signify the goods of this world, which, like her, are uncertain and changeable. Mary never had these goods in her heart, but always despised them and trampled them under her feet; living in this world as a solitary turtle-dove in a desert, never allowing, her affection to centre itself on any earthly thing; so that of her it was said: “The voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” And elsewhere: “Who is she that goeth up by the desert?” Whence the Abbot Rupert says,’ Thus didst thou go up by the desert; that is, having a solitary soul’ Mary, then, having lived always and in all things detached from the earth, and united to God alone, death was not bitter, but, on the contrary, very sweet and dear to her; since it united her more closely to God in heaven, by an eternal bond.
Secondly. Peace of mind renders the death of the just precious. Sins committed during life are the worms which so cruelly torment and gnaw the hearts of poor dying, sinners, who, about to appear before the Divine tribunal, see themselves at that moment surrounded by their sins, which terrify them, and cry out, according to Saint Bernard, ‘We are thy works; we will not abandon thee.’ Mary certainly could not be tormented at death by any remorse of conscience, for she was always pure, and always free from the least shade of actual or original sin; so much so, that of her it was said: “Thou art all fair, O my love, and there is not a spot in thee.” From the moment that she had the use of reason, that is, from the first moment of her Immaculate Conception in the womb of Saint Anne, she began to love God with all her strength, and continued to do so, always advancing more and more throughout her whole life in love and perfection. All her thoughts, desires, and affections were of and for God alone; she never uttered a word, made a movement, cast a glance, or breathed, but for God and His glory; and never departed a step or detached herself for a single moment from the Divine love. Ah, how did all the lovely virtues she had practised during life surround her blessed bed in the happy hour of her death! That faith so constant; that loving confidence in God; that unconquerable patience in the midst of so many sufferings; that humility in the midst of so many privileges; that modesty; that meekness; that tender compassion for souls; that insatiable zeal for the glory of God; and, above all, that most perfect love towards Him, with that entire uniformity to the Divine will: all, in a word, surrounded her, and consoling her, said: ‘We are thy works; we will not abandon thee.’ Our Lady and Mother, we are all daughters of thy beautiful heart; now that thou art leaving this miserable life, we will not leave thee, we also will go, and be thy eternal accompaniment and honour in Paradise, where, by our means, thou wilt reign as Queen of all men and of all angels.
In the third place, the certainty of eternal salvation renders death sweet. Death is called a passage; for by death we pass from a short to an eternal life. And as the dread of those is indeed great who die in doubt of their salvation, and who approach the solemn moment with well-grounded fear of passing into eternal death; thus, on the other hand, the joy of the Saints is indeed great at the close of life, holding with some security to go and possess God in heaven. A nun of the order of Saint Teresa, when the doctor announced to her her approaching death, was so filled with joy that she exclaimed, ‘ O, how is it, sir, that you announce to me such welcome news, and demand no fee?’ Saint Lawrence Justinian, being at the point of death, and perceiving his servants weeping round him, said: ‘Away, away with your tears; this is no time to mourn.’ Go elsewhere to weep; if you would remain with me, rejoice, as I rejoice, in seeing the gates of heaven open to me, that I may be united to my God. Thus also a Saint Peter of Alcantara, a Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, and so many other Saints, on hearing that death was at hand, burst forth into exclamations of joy and gladness. And yet they were not certain of being in possession of Divine grace, nor were they secure of their own sanctity, as Mary was. But what joy must the Divine Mother have felt in receiving the news of her approaching death! she who had the fullest certainty of the possession of Divine grace, especially after the Angel Gabriel had assured her that she was full of it, and that she already possessed God. “Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee . . . thou hast found grace.” And well did she herself know that her heart was continually burning with Divine love; so that, as Bernardine de Bustis says, ‘Mary, by a singular privilege granted to no other Saint, loved, and was always actually loving God, in every moment of her life, with such ardour, that Saint Bernard declares, it required a continued miracle to preserve her life in the midst of such flames.
Of Mary it had already been asked in the sacred Canticles, “Who is she that goeth up by the desert, as a pillar of smoke, of aromatical spices, of myrrh, and frankincense, and all the powders of the perfumer?” Her entire mortification typified by the myrrh, her fervent prayers signified by the incense, and all her holy virtues, united to her perfect love for God, kindled in her a flame so great that her beautiful soul, wholly devoted to and consumed by Divine love, arose continually to God as a pillar of smoke, breathing forth on every side a most sweet odour. ‘Such smoke, nay even such a pillar of smoke,’ says the Abbot Rupert, ‘hast thou, 0 Blessed Mary, breathed forth a sweet odour to the Most High.’ Eustachius expresses it in still stronger terms: ‘A pillar of smoke, because burning interiorly as a holocaust with the flame of Divine love, she sent forth a most sweet odour.’ As the loving Virgin lived, so did she die. As Divine love gave her life, so did it cause her death; for the Doctors and holy Fathers of the Church generally say she died of no other infirmity than pure love; Saint Ildehonsus says that Mary either ought not to die, or only die of love.
