The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1870-05-08
The Word Made Flesh.


the history of which is identical with the
history of human ALTERATIONS it is fitting
that we should dwell for awhile on the life
and character, the failure and tyiumphs OF
it's Divine Founder. In these dogs, when
it is the fashion to read history backwards,
in other words, to substitute analysis for
synthesis, the study cannot BE Improbable.
Over eighteen hundred years ago.. . man,
| at least in outward form, trod the historic
soil of Palestine, on which his footprints
have stamped the seal of desthless interest
Born in cold grotto by the wayside, an
unwonted glory Of the heavens is coinciSent
! with his birth: from out of the heart Of
Ghaldea-the birthplace of the father OF
the elect raee-saliy forth mysterious STAR
gazers, to proceed under the guidance of q
new planet,of which astronomy hes kept
no record, on thsir laborious pilgrimage to
his humble cradle. This was in the days
Of Augustus; yet, on reaching mans estate,
he boldly afarms that he gas before Abra-
ham existed. His biograpiers have left no
record, from which we could conclude that
he ever~went to school: his most decided
| enemies have bowed to his superior know
ledge of a literature, the treasures of which,
though locked npin q volume not too bulky
for an overcOat pocket, all the generations
| of scholars caDnot exhaust. He was sub
ject to all the accommodates of human
nature was hungry, thirty, weary he was
sften faint and kanguid he was every way
q man, except in that he did not sim OF
sin he defed his bitterest enemies to con-
Wet him. He spoke to the multitudes in
their own language, and with the majestic
| simplicity of his answers put the proud
aristeerass Of intellect to the blush. The
pharisee, the self-righteous puritan, he en-
ergetically denounced the poor despised
sinner, the outcast from social circles, the
spendthrift son and the hayward daughter,
Though sinless himself, he clasped in his
! strangely sympathising arms. What could
have drawn such variety of characters
within his singular irfluence9
He was presumptivsly the son of poor
mechanic, undoubtedly the son of a woman
whose royal lineage was well authep ticated,
but in those days, as in these of ours, roy
atty without money commanded but little
respect. To all outward appearance he
was simply the burgher of an obscure town
in Palestine he followed calling as un-
! remunerative as it was unpretendiny, vet
at his bidding nature in it's revolutions
comes to a sudden halt disease relinguishes
it's prey, the cold, stiff form of death itself
springs up in the glowing consciousness Of
life. Never before or since were SO many
incompatible conditions reconciled in one
ind uih rrol in, Il
bear so mOnstrOus disproportion to ends.
Never from such obscure beginnings evolved
such magnificent results. This man (but
was he only a man y had not a spot on
| earth to lay his head the earth, kind
mother to US all, denied him alone this
scanty hospitality. Yet he established on
| earth a kingdom, for which earth's circum-
ference is too restricted; he founded an
elective dynasty no revolution can over
throw.
Other men, it is true, have founded great
empires, which they erected on the ruins
of the Municipalities they destroyed. But
where are now the empires of Alexander,
of Cesar and Zenzis Kahn2 Those en-
pires were founded on force, with the
irresistible arguments of well disciplined
armies. The kingdom of the lowly Gal
lilean was founded in love, and to make
room for it the internal economy of single
village was not disturbed. Who thinks
now with love of the great butchers of hui
mauity, who once filled the world with
their fame7 Mahomet 10 still reiterated by
Che multitude of his followers, but Maho-
met is not loved. Around his tomb, as
around the tombs of all other mere earthly
conquerers, cold memory has drawn its
mantle, but this mantle is never stirred by
the ethereal breeze of love. How few
Americans to-day feel real personal love
for their noble Washington; nay, how few
mortals are there in the world whose love
for their departed kindred survives the
year in which the dear ones have been laid
in the gravel Sooner or later dark obi
WON shrouds both great and small alike
our doom is to be forgotten-eternally fer
gotten: that is the history Of human love.
There is one tomb, however, on which
love keeps its sleepless vigils, and the
thousands who yearly, almost daily, visit it,
bear witness by their tears and sobs to the
sincerity and depth of their love; there is
one man, whose ashes, after more than