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Today, and on the same day of each year, man is startled from his
deep slumber and stands before the phantoms of the Ages, looking with
tearful eyes toward Mount Calvary to witness Jesus the Nazarene nailed
on the Cross. . . . But when the day is over and eventide comes, human
kinds return and kneel praying before the idols, erected upon every
hilltop, every prairie, and every barter of wheat.

Today, the Christian souls ride on the wing of memories and fly to
Jerusalem. There they will stand in throngs, beating upon their
bosoms, and staring at Him, crowned with a wreath of thorns, stretching
His arms before heaven, and looking from behind the veil of Death into
the depths of Life. . . .

But when the curtain of night drops over the stage of the day and
the brief drama is concluded, the Christians will go back in groups and
lie down in the shadow of oblivion between the quilts of ignorance and
slothfulness.

On this one day of each year, the philosophers leave their dark
caves, and the thinkers their cold cells, and the poets their imaginary
arbors, and all stand reverently upon that silent mountain, listening
to the voice of a young man saying of His killers, "Oh Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they are doing."

But as dark silence chokes the voices of the light, the
philosophers and the thinkers and the poets return to their narrow
crevices and shroud their souls with meaningless pages of parchment.

The women who busy themselves in the splendour of Life will bestir
themselves today from their cushions to see the sorrowful woman
standing before the Cross like a tender sapling before the raging
tempest; and when they approach near to her, they will hear a deep
moaning and a painful grief.

The young men and women who are racing with the torrent of modern
civilization will halt today for a moment, and look backward to see the
young Magdalen washing with her tears the blood stains from the feet of
a Holy Man suspended between Heaven and Earth; and when their shallow
eyes weary of the scene they will depart and soon laugh.

On this day of each year, Humanity wakes with the awakening of
Spring, and stands crying below the suffering Nazarene; then she closes
her eyes and surrenders herself to a deep slumber. But Spring will
remain awake, smiling and progressing until merged into Summer, dressed
in scented golden raiment. Humanity is a mourner who enjoys lamenting
the memories and heroes of the Ages. . . . If Humanity were possessed
of understanding, there would be rejoicing over their glory. Humanity
is like a child standing in glee by a wounded beast. Humanity laughs
before the strengthening torrent which carries into oblivion the dry
branches of the trees, and sweeps away with determination all things
not fastened to strength.

Humanity looks upon Jesus the Nazarene as a poor-born Who suffered
misery and humiliation with all of the weak. And He is pitied, for
Humanity believes that he was crucified painfully. . . . And all that
Humanity offers to Him is crying and wailing and lamentation. For
centuries Humanity has been worshipping weakness in the person of the
Saviour.

The Nazarene was not weak! He was strong and is strong! But the
people refuse to heed the true meaning of his strength.

Jesus never lived a life of fear, nor did He die suffering or
complaining. . . . He lived as a leader; He was crucified as a
crusader; He died with a heroism that frightened His killers and
tormenters.

Jesus was not a bird with broken wings; He was a raging tempest
who broke all crooked wings. He feared not his persecutors nor His
enemies. He suffered not before his killers. Free and brave and
daring He was. He defied all despots and oppressors. He saw the
contagious pustules and amputated them. . . . He muted Evil and He
crushed Falsehood and He choked Treachery.

Jesus came not from the heart of the circle of Light to destroy
the homes and build upon their ruins the convents and monasteries. He
did not persuade the strong man to become a monk or a priest, but He
came to send forth upon this earth a new spirit, with power to crumble
the foundations of any monarchy built upon human bones and skulls. . .
He came to demolish the majestic palaces, constructed upon the graves
of the weak, and crush the idols, erected upon the bodies of the poor. 
Jesus was not sent here to teach people to build magnificent churches
and temples amidst the cold wretched huts and dismal hovels. . . . He
came to make the human heart a temple, and the soul an altar, and the
mind a priest.

These were the missions of Jesus the Nazarene, and these are the
teachings for which He was crucified. And if Humanity were wise, she
would stand today and sing in strength the song of conquest and the
hymn of triumph.

Oh, crucified Jesus, Who are looking sorrowfully from Mount Calvary at
the sad procession of the Ages, and hearing the clamour of the dark
nations, and understanding the dreams of Eternity . . . Thou art, on
the Cross, more glorious and dignified than one thousand kings upon one
thousand thrones in one thousand empires. . . .

Thou art, in the agony of death, more powerful than one thousand
generals in one thousand wars. . . .

With Thy sorrows, Thou art more joyous than Spring with its
flowers. . . .

With Thy suffering, Thou art more bravely silent than the crying
angels of heaven. . . .

Before Thy lashers, Thou art more resolute than a mountain of
rock. . . .

Thy wreath of thorns is more brilliant and sublime than the crown
of Bahram. . . . The nails piercing Thy hands are more beautiful than
the sceptre of Jupiter. . . .

The spatters of blood upon Thy feet are more resplendent than the
necklace of Ishtar.

Forgive the weak who lament Thee today, for they do not know how
to lament themselves. . . .

Forgive them, for they do not know that Thou hast conquered death
with death and bestowed life upon the dead. . . .

Forgive them, for they do not know that Thy strength still awaits
them. . . .

Forgive them, for they do not know that every day is Thy day.