Salesian Literature

Chapter 12  :  A remarkable story of the knight who died of love on Mount Olivet

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Once upon a time, a most noble and sterling knight journeyed overseas to Palestine, to visit the holy places in which our Lord wrought the work of our redemption.  The first thing he did, this pilgrim, to ensure that he had the right dispositions, was to go to confession and holy communion.

 

Then he started by visiting the town of Nazareth, where the angel brought the news of the Incarnation to the blessed Virgin, and where the eternal Word was conceived in time.  In that holy place the worthy pilgrim turned his thoughts to the mine of God’s goodness, to the Creator who deigned to assume human flesh so as to save mankind from damnation.

 

From there he went to Bethlehem, to the place of nativity, where he shed tears past all counting as he contemplated the Son of God, the Virgin’s tiny Babe, crying in the stable.  He kissed that holy ground over and over again, putting his lips to the dusty floor which had been the divine Child’s first welcome to earth.

 

From Bethlehem he went on to Bethabara, and as far as little Bethany.  There he remembered that our Lord had stripped himself for baptism, so he also stripped and stepped into the Jordan.  As he washed and drank its waters, he thought he was watching the Saviour Jesus being baptized by the herald John, the Spirit of God coming down like a down and resting upon him, as heaven was suddenly opened; he thought he could hear too, coming from heaven the voice of the eternal Father, which said: This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased (Mt. 3:16-17).

 

From Bethany he went into the desert, where he saw – in his imagination – the Saviour fasting, then withstanding and defeating the devil.  He also saw in his mind’s eye the angels who ministered to our Lord with wonderful food (Mt. 4:11).

 

On he went, after that, to mount Tabor, where he watched the Saviour transfigured; then on to mount Sion, where he could see – it seemed to him – our Lord still on his knees in the supper room, washing his disciples’ feet, afterwards giving them his sacred body in the holy eucharist.

 

He crossed the Cedron valley into the garden of Gethsemene; there his heart melted with loving sorrow as he pictured his dear Saviour sweating blood in dreadful agony, before being arrested, pinioned, and led off to Jerusalem.

 

The knight took the same road, following all the time in his beloved’s footsteps.  In imagination he pictured Jesus dragged back and forth – to Annas, to Caiaphas, to Pilate, to Herod; he saw our Lord scourged, mocked, spat on, crowned with thorns, shown to the people, condemned to death, laden with a cross – a cross he was carrying at the pitiful meeting with his Mother steeped in sorrow, and when the women of Jerusalem mourned over him.

 

So he climbed at last, this devoted pilgrim, to mount Calvary, where he saw in spirit the cross spread out upon the ground, the naked Saviour throw upon it, and most cruelly nailed to it through hands and feet.  He contemplated what followed: how cross and Crucified were lifted up, blood streaming from every part of the divine body suspended there.  And the knight looked at the poor blessed Virgin, utterly transfixed with a sword of sorrow (cf. Lk. 2:35); then he turned his gaze towards his crucified Saviour, heard his sever words with unparalleled love, finally saw him die; saw him receive the thrust of the spear to show his divine heart through the open wound; saw him taken down from the cross, carried to the tomb.

 

There the noble knight followed him, shedding floods of tears over those places soaked in the Redeemer’s blood, to make his way into the tomb, to bury his heart beside his Master’s body.

 

Then, as though sharing in the resurrection, the nobleman went on to Emmaus, and reflected on all that took place between the Lord and two disciples.

 

Finally, he returned to the Mount of Olivet, where the mystery of the ascension occurred.  There, with his Saviour’s last footprints before his eyes, he fell down and kissed time and again the ground his Lord’s feet had trodden; and, while he kissed, he sighed with infinite love.

 

As an archer pulls the string of his bow to let fly an arrow, so he drew together all the strength of his affection.  Standing, eyes and hands uplifted to heaven, he exclaimed: “Jesus, sweet Jesus, I have nowhere let to seek you, to follow you on earth!  Jesus, Jesus my love, grant that my heart may follow you, may speed to you on high!”  there and then, with these burning words he let fly his soul to heaven – an arrow, as it were from one of God’s bowmen, aimed straight at the heart of God.

 

Immediately he fell down, apparently lifeless.  This took his companion and servants by surprise, and they ran urgently for a doctor.  When he came, he found that the knight was in fact dead.  To ascertain the cause of such sudden death more accurately, he made inquiries about the dead man’s constitution, habits, temperament; from these he learned that he was sweet-natured, likeable, extraordinarily devoted to God, loving him most fervently.  Whereupon the doctor said: “No doubt of it: his heart burst with the violence, the intensity of his love.”  So as to confirm his opinion, he had the body opened, to find that the heart was literally broken, these words engraved within it: “Jesus, my love!”

 

Love was the cause of death in that heart: it separated soul from body – there was no other contributory cause … St. Bernardine of Siena tells this story in the first of his sermons for the ascension; and he is an author of great wisdom, great holiness.

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