Preaching was the chief occupation of our Blessed Lord during His Public Life. He was always teaching, now on the seashore, now from a boat on the lake, on country roads, in houses, in the synagogues. And everywhere He was surrounded by huge crowds of men and women, boys and girls, fathers holding their children high to see and hear, mothers with their little brown babies in their arms, old folk bent and tottering, scarce able to keep their footing amidst the thousands that stood about Him, crowding and crushing "so that they trod upon one another," says St. Luke.

St. Mark tells us that "they ran flocking to Him from all the cities. And Jesus going out saw a great multitude, and He had compassion on them because they were as sheep not having a shepherd, and He began to teach them many things." The teaching and the Teacher were so delightful that the hearers never tired; fathers of families who had the daily bread to earn, mothers with their household cares upon them, little restless children, stood or sat about Him, silent, spellbound. There was a majesty and a grace in His look, and words, and gestures that held them captive.

He taught as a Master, with an authority none could gainsay, and when He prefaced His words with that solemn: "Amen, amen, I say unto you," there was not a wandering eye nor an inattentive ear in the crowd.

All could understand Him. He did not preach dry sermons like the Scribes and Pharisees, who made the Law harder by explaining it. He taught by parables, stories with a hidden meaning that the people were to find out. By the things they saw around them every day He explained truths which they could not see.

"Be not solicitous" that is, over anxious, "what you shall eat or what you shall put on," He said to them one day. "Consider the ravens, for they sow not, neither do they reap, neither have they storehouse nor barn, and God feedeth them. How much more valuable are you than they." And pointing to the lilies bespangling the fields all round, He went on: "Consider the lilies how they grow; they labour not, neither do they spin. But I say to you, not even Solomon in all his glory was clothed like one of these."

The sparrows, innumerable in Palestine, were hopping about in His path.

"Are not five sparrows," He said, "sold for two farthings? and not one of them is forgotten before God. Fear not, you are of more value than many sparrows." Then, looking round on the fathers who with their little ones were standing by, He said:

"What father is there here who when his child asks for bread will give him a stone, or for a fish will give him a serpent? If you then being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father from Heaven give good things to them that ask Him."

When He spoke of a net filled with all kinds of fish and of the sorting on the seashore, the rough men of the Lake gave an approving nod, and understood that while the world lasts, good and bad men will be together, and that at the end of the world there will be a great separation, the good will be taken to Heaven and the bad cast away.

He said that a woman who has lost a little coin lights a candle and sweeps the house and seeks diligently till she finds it. The wives and mothers looked at one another and smiled, and understood what He wanted to show them—the value of the soul, stamped with the image of the King of kings, who has taken such pains to find it when it was lost.

The farmers and the labourers liked the parables which told of men being hired to work all day and being paid when evening comes; and about the seed that was sown on different kinds of soil, and was wasted in one place whilst in another it sprang up and yielded good fruit; about the fig-tree, too, which its master had taken every care to cultivate and which never made him any return, so that at last he ordered it to be cut down and destroyed. And all, even the little children, understood the parable of the cruel rich man who when his life of feasting and pleasure was over was punished in terrible torments, whilst Lazarus, the patient beggar at his gate, who had been refused even the crumbs that fell
from his table, was comforted.

Jewish children, like all others, loved to play at being grown up, and to have weddings and funerals. Our Lord had Himself played at these things with His little companions at Nazareth. When He spoke about their games in His preaching, the children in the crowd were delighted to see He knew all about them and could make parables of them.

One day He told the people a parable to show them how foolish it is to think only of this life which is going so fast, and not to be getting ready for that life which is to last for ever.

There was a certain rich man who had so much corn that his barns were full to overflowing. "What shall I do?" he said to himself, "for I have no more room to store my corn. This will I do. I will pull down my barns and build greater, and I will gather therein all that I have. And I will say to my soul: Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thy rest, eat, drink, make good cheer." But God said to him:
"Thou fool, this night do they require thy soul of thee, and whose shall those things be which thou hast provided?"

The little ones in the crowd were listening attentively, and could see quite well why this man was called a fool. For who but a fool would speak to his soul like that, or think that barns full of corn could satisfy the soul that is made for God and for Heaven! What use were the man's riches to him when he came to die, and "what would it profit a man," as our Lord asked, "if he were to gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"

Those words, "lose his soul," are very terrible. Sometimes our Blessed Lord spoke to the people about terrifying things, as a father or mother will frighten a child of the fire lest it should go too near and fall in. He told even His dear disciples to fear that fire which is never put out, which will burn body and soul for ever. He spoke in terrible words of that "place of torments" to make us all fear sin, which alone can take us there. He said that as we part with eye, or hand, or foot to preserve our life, so must we give up anything, however useful or pleasant, rather than let it lead us into sin. And, as He spoke, the crowd could see by His face and by the tone of His voice that He knew all about that dreadful place and wanted to save them from going there.

He told them they must be like servants in charge of a house who have to be watching, ready to open to their lord whenever he knocks, either at midnight, or at cockcrowing, or in the morning. They knew what He meant. The house which belongs to the Lord is our soul. And we are in charge. He calls us to Him by death when we least expect it. We must keep our soul always in the state of grace and ready for Him. This is to be found watching. The people delighted in finding out our Lord's meaning as He went on, and sometimes their admiration broke out in joyous exclamations:
"This is the Prophet indeed! This is the Christ!" Because their hearts were simple and upright they understood the Divine Teacher better by far than the Scribes and Pharisees who were eaten up by pride and envy. Some of these were generally found among His hearers, not to learn of Him—they would have scorned to do that—but "to lie in wait for Him" says St. Luke, "seeking to catch something from His mouth that they might accuse Him."

One day they sent officers to seize Him. Provided with cords to bind Him and lead Him away prisoner, these men joined the listening crowd. But when they beheld the majesty of His countenance and heard His wondrous words, they stood as if transfixed, not daring so much as to think of laying a finger on Him. Until He ceased to speak they stood there with the crowd, still, reverent, charmed. Then they returned to give
an account of themselves.
"Why have you not brought Him?" said their angry masters.
"Never man spake like this Man," was the answer.

A printable file of this chapter can be found below.

             " WHO WENT ABOUT DOING GOOD."
The Roman centurion of Capharnaum was in sore trouble. A servant very dear to him lay at the point
of death, every effort to save him had proved unavailing, and now his master, as tender by the sickbed as he was brave in battle, watched beside him and waited for the end. Suddenly it was told in the house that Jesus of Nazareth was entering the city. The centurion had heard of His deeds of mercy, and hope sprang up in his heart. Thinking himself unworthy as a Gentile to approach the great Prophet, he sent to Him the ancients of the Jews. And when they had come to Jesus they besought Him earnestly, saying:

"He is worthy that Thou shouldst do this for him, for he loveth our nation and he hath built us a synagogue." And Jesus went with them. And when He was near the house the centurion met Him, and, falling on his knees before Him, said:

"Lord, trouble not Thyself, for I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof, but say the word and my servant shall be healed. For I also am a man subject to authority having under me soldiers; and I say to this one: Go, and he goeth, and to another: Come, and he cometh, and to my servant : Do this, and he doth it." As though he had said : "If the word of one who is himself a subject meets with prompt obedience, how much more will the word of Him who is Almighty be obeyed." And Jesus hearing, marvelled, and, turning to them that followed Him, said:

"Amen, I say to you, I have not found so great faith in Israel." The faith and frankness of this Roman soldier delighted Him:

"Go," He said, " and as thou hast believed, so be it done to thee." And the servant was healed at the same hour.

We should like to know what became of one whose faith won the admiration of the Son of God. This at least we know, that the Church sets him before us as a model. In the solemn moment when we are receiving Jesus Christ into our hearts, she puts upon our lips as our most fitting preparation the Domine, non sum dignus of the centurion.

One evening our Lord, attended by the Twelve and by the vast crowd that always followed Him now, began to climb the hill on which stood the little city of Nain. As He neared the gate a sad procession streamed out—first, women weeping and wailing and beating their breasts; then, flute players with their mournful music; then, a bier on which lay the body of a young man wound round and round with linen cloths. A great throng of people followed, not only because the Jews held it to be a religious duty to accompany the dead to the grave, but also because this was " the only son of his mother, and she was a widow." Our Lord saw her among the hired mourners, and His heart was
filled with pity. Making His way through the crowd, He came to her and said:

"Weep not." She looked up bewildered, and her red eyes met the divine compassion of His. Then He led her to the bier and touched it. The bearers stood still and laid their burden on the ground. There was a thrill of expectation all around. The procession broke up, the crowds mingled, and a breathless multitude closed round Him. For a moment He stood there looking down on the boyish face. Then in a tone of authority that none who heard it could ever forget, He said:

"Young man, I say to thee, arise !" Instantly the eyes opened, the marble cheek flushed, and he that was dead sat up and began to speak. His mother fell on her knees, and, with tears of joy streaming down her face, stretched out her arms to her boy. A great awe fell upon the people, and for some momenta there was silence. "There came a great fear on them all," says St. Luke, " and they glorified God." This was always the effect of our Lord's wonderful works on the simple folk that followed Him—fear because God was so near, thanksgiving and praise because God was so pitying and so good.

We notice that it is chiefly the poor who form the audience of our Blessed Lord when He preaches. They are attracted to Him. He is one of themselves, they feel at home with Him. But one day there appears in their midst a listener whose attire and bearing show nothing of the simplicity and bashfulness of the poor. Her dress is of the richest, her veil thrown back displays the costly gems that hang from her ears and gleam on her forehead and in her hair. What can she, with her perfumes and long braided tresses and embroidered sandals, be doing here ? Has she come, like a Pharisee, to scoff at the Master? Her humble neighbours eye her with curiosity and no little indignation. For this is Mary Magdalen, whom all the city knows, and who all the city would say is here strangely out of place.. Yet here she stands, her gaze riveted on the Speaker yonder.

An hour ago she was passing this way, and, attracted by the crowd, drew near to see Him who had just raised to life the widow's son. And now she stands, swaying with the throng, heeding nothing but Him, impatient only when some movement in front hides Him from her sight.

His sermon ended, He goes away, and the crowd breaks up. Yet, still, she stands there, gazing after Him. She had darted forward as if to follow Him, but looking down upon her dress came back with a sigh. She watches now till He is out of sight, then, drawing her veil over her face, hastens home.

Some hours later Simon, the Pharisee, is dining with a party of friends in a room that opens into a courtyard. Handsome lamps, couches with rich cushions for the head and arms, tables laden with choice wines, figs, grapes, pomegranates—all show a wealthy home. Near the tables, which form three sides of a square, are placed the low couches on which the guests recline, their feet stretching back from the tables.

Among those present is Jesus of Nazareth, whose Name since the miracle of Nain is in every mouth. Simon has invited Him, but has not thought it necessary to show Him any further courtesy. He is only a carpenter and will not expect it. So no water was offered Him for His feet when He came in. There was no kiss of welcome from His host, and He took His place, not on the couches reserved for " the worthiest but with the less distinguished guests. The meal is nearly over when one of the rabbis present points with a contemptuous expression of surprise to the couch on which Jesus reclines. A woman is kneeling there at His feet. Her dress is coarse, her long hair streams loosely over her shoulders and face, and on the floor beside her stands an alabaster box of precious ointment. Her tears are falling fast upon His feet, and as they fall she wipes them away with her hair. Again and again she stoops and kisses His feet. And then she takes the box and breaks it over them, and the fragrance of the perfume fills the house. Simon is indignant. How dares Mary Magdalen enter his house ! And how is it Jesus of Nazareth does nnot drive her away? If He were a prophet He would surely know that she is a sinner. From His lowly place Jesus looks at Simon and says:

"Simon, I have somewhat to say to thee." And he says :

"Master, say it."

"A certain creditor had two debtors, the one owed five hundred pence and the other fifty. And as they had not wherewith to pay, he forgave them both. Which, therefore, of the two loveth him most? " Simon answers in a surly tone :

"I suppose he to whom he forgave most." And Jesus says to him:

"Thou hast judged rightly." Then, turning to the woman, He says to Simon:

"Seest thou this woman ? I entered into thy house, thou gavest Me no water for My feet, but she with tears hath washed My feet, and with her hair hath wiped them. Thou gavest Me no kiss, but she since she came in hath not ceased to kiss My feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint, but she with ointment hath anointed My feet. Wherefore I say to thee many sins are forgiven her because she hath loved much. But to whom less is forgiven, he loveth less." "And He says to her:

"Thy sins are forgiven thee." At once all the company begin to think : " Who is this that forgiveth sins also ? " Jesus takes no notice of them, but says to the woman:

"Thy faith hath made thee safe, go in peace." Not one word had Magdalen spoken, either of sorrow for her sins or in self-defence. She let her Lord speak for her, she trusted herself to Him. Not by words but by her tears, and kiss, and costly gift she showed Him her contrition. And she knew from His own words that not one of her loving acts had escaped Him. He had accepted all. And now she goes away, her heart full of peace and joy, teaching us all by her example not to be afraid of our merciful Lord when we have sinned, but to go to Him like her with our sorrow and our love, and like her we shall be forgiven. Magdalen never forgot that much had been forgiven her. To try to repay her Lord with loving service this was her one aim now. With other holy women who had become His disciples, Joanna, wife of Herod's steward, Mary of Salome, Mary of Cleophas, and many others, she followed Him about and provided for His wants. For we must remember that from the time He left Nazareth He had no home, and with His twelve Apostles depended on the charity of those who believed in Him and loved Him. "

The foxes have holes and the birds of the air nests," He said, " but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head." These holy women were devoted to Him, faithful and brave when even Apostles wavered, but bravest and most faithful of all was Mary Magdalen. Where His Blessed Mother lived during the three years of the Public Life we are not told: some think she remained at Nazareth, others that she settled with her relatives at Capharnaum. Twice we find her mentioned in the Gospel. Jesus was speaking one day to the multitude when a man in the crowd said to Him:

"Behold Thy Mother and Thy brethren stand without seeking to speak to Thee."

Our Lord would not interrupt His teaching, and again taught the lesson given long years ago in the Temple, that before any call of affection, however holy, however tender, must come His Father's business. Answering him that told Him, He said:

"Who is My Mother and who are My brethren ?" And stretching forth His hand towards His disciples He said:

"Behold My Mother and My brethren. For whosoever shall do the Will of My Father that is in Heaven, the same is My brother and sister and Mother. Again, when a woman in the crowd, filled with admiration for the Son, had broken out into words of blessing on the Mother, Jesus said:

"Yea, rather, blessed are they that hear the word of God and keep it." He did not mean that as Mother of God Mary is not blessed among women, but that she is more blessed for hearing His words and doing His will, for that habit of pondering in her heart of which St. Luke tells us twice in the same chapter.
"Hail, full of grace!" said Gabriel first. And then "Blessed art thou among women."

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