AUGUST 29TH, BEHEADING OF ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST;

Commemoration of St. Sabina, Martyr

Month in honor of the Assumption of the BVM.

From the Book Upon Virgins (ii, 6), written by St. Ambrose, Bishop of Milan.

We must not hurry by the record of the Blessed John the Baptist. We must ask what he was, and by whom, and why, and how, and when he was slain. He was a righteous man murdered by adulterers. The guilty passed upon their judge the sentence of death. Moreover, the death of the Prophet was the fee of a dancing-girl. And lastly, there was a feature about it from which even savages shrink; the order for completing the atrocity was given amid the merriment of a dinner-party. From banquet to prison, from prison to banquet, that was the course run by the servants of the murderer. How many horrors does this simple crime embrace within its details? Who is there, that, on seeing the messenger hasten from the dinner-table to the prison, would not have forthwith concluded that he carried an order for the Prophet's release. If any one had heard that it was Herod's birth-day, and that he was giving a great feast, and that he had offered a damsel the choice of whatever she listed, and that thereupon a messenger had been sent to John's dungeon. If any one, I say, had heard this, what would he have supposed? He would have concluded that the damsel had asked and obtained John's freedom. What have executions in common with dinners, or death with gaiety? While the banquet was going on, the Prophet was hurried to death, by an order from the reveller whom he had not troubled even by a prayer for release. He was slain with the sword, and his head was served up in a plate. This was the new dish demanded by a cruelty which the Feast had been powerless to glut. Look, savage King, look at a decoration which suiteth well with thy banquet. Put out thine hand, so as to lose no part of the luxury of cruelty, and let the streams of the sacred blood run between thy fingers. Thine hunger the dinner hath been unable to satisfy, thy cups have not been able to quench thine inhuman thirst. Suck, suck the blood which the still palpitating veins are discharging from the place where the neck has been severed. Look at the eyes. Even in death they remain the eyes of a witness of thine uncleanness, but they are closing themselves upon the spectacle of thy pleasures. Those eyes indeed are shutting but it seems not so much from the laws of natural death, as from horror at the scene of thine enjoyment. The golden mouth, whose bloodless lips are silent now, can repeat no more the denunciation which thou couldest not bear to hear, and still thou art afraid of it.