Meditation for Tuesday in Holy Week

The Lamb of God (Agnus Dei)
St. Ignatius Church - Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts

Jesus went through Holy Week with but one purpose, to be obedient to the will of the Father. As you continue in your journey this week as yourself this question: Am I obedient to the will of my Father?

Words: Paul Ger­hardt, in Prax­is Pi­e­ta­tis Mel­i­ca, third edi­tion, by Johann Crüger, 1648 (Ein Lämm­lein geht); com­po­site trans­la­tion. Music: An Was­ser­flüss­en Ba­by­lon, gen­er­al­ly at­trib­ut­ed to Wolf­gang Dach­stein, in Teutsch Kirch­en­ampt mit lobi­gseng­en (Strass­burg, Ger­ma­ny: 1525)

A Lamb goes uncomplaining forth, The guilt of all men bearing; And laden with the sins of earth,
None else the burden sharing! Goes patient on, grow weak and faint, To slaughter led without complaint, That spotless life to offer; Bears shame and stripes, and wounds and death, Anguish and mockery, and saith, “Willing all this I suffer.”

This Lamb is Christ, the soul’s great Friend, The Lamb of God, our Savior; Him God the Father chose to send To gain for us His favor. “Go forth, My Son,” the Father saith, “And free men from the fear of death, From guilt and condemnation. The wrath and stripes are hard to bear, But by Thy Passion men shall share The fruit of Thy salvation.”

“Yea, Father, yea, most willingly I’ll bear what Thou commandest; My will conforms to Thy decree,
I do what Thou demandest.” O wondrous Love, what hast Thou done! The Father offers up His Son!
The Son, content, descendeth! O Love, how strong Thou art to save! Thou beddest Him within the grave Whose word the mountains rendeth.

From morn till eve my theme shall be Thy mercy’s wondrous measure; To sacrifice myself for Thee
Shall be my aim and pleasure. My stream of life shall ever be A current flowing ceaselessly, Thy constant praise outpouring. I’ll treasure in my memory, O Lord, all Thou hast done for me, Thy gracious love adoring.

Of death I am no more afraid, New life from Thee is flowing; Thy cross affords me cooling shade
When noonday’s sun is glowing. When by my grief I am oppressed, On Thee my weary soul shall est Serenely as on pillows. Thou art my Anchor when by woe My bark is driven to and fro On trouble’s surging billows.

And when Thy glory I shall see And taste Thy kingdom’s pleasure, Thy blood my royal robe shall be, My joy beyond all measure. When I appear before Thy throne, Thy righteousness shall be my crown— With these I need not hide me. And there, in garments richly wrought As Thine own bride, I shall be brought To stand in joy beside Thee.