Baker's life. I have already mentioned that his constitution had
shown symptoms of giving way under the fatigues of his missionary
labors. Nevertheless, he still continued in the constant and
active discharge of his priestly duties, and no solicitude in
regard to his health was felt by any of his brethren, with whom
these periods of physical infirmity wore an ordinary occurrence.
On one Sunday, a few weeks before his death, his strength failed
him while he was singing High Mass, and he was obliged to
continue it in a low voice.
{196}
He was also unable to continue the abstinence of Lent, and was
obliged to ask for a dispensation, which I believe never occurred
with him before. His appearance was pale and languid, and the
fulfilment of his duties evidently cost him an effort. We had
been accustomed to sing together two of the three parts of the
Passion on Palm Sunday, ever since the church had been opened;
but, in making arrangements for the services of the Holy Week for
this year, he remarked that we would be obliged to omit singing
the Passion as usual. He had marked himself, however, on the
schedule of offices which was posted up in the library, to preach
both on Passion Sunday and Palm Sunday. His last Sunday sermon
was preached on the Second Sunday of Lent, March 12. The subject
was "Heaven." The Wednesday evening following, he volunteered to
preach in the place of one of his brethren who was unwell, about
an hour before the service commenced, and left the supper-table
to prepare himself. He took for the emergency the sermon which he
had first preached as a missionary, on "The Necessity of
Salvation;" and this was the last regular discourse which he
delivered. On the following Sunday, after Vespers, he gave a
short conference to the Rosary Society; and after this his voice
was never heard again in exhortation or instruction. About this
time, there were several cases of typhus fever in the parish, and
F. Baker had in some way imbibed the poison, to which his
delicate state of health rendered him peculiarly susceptible. On
the Fourth Sunday of Lent, March 26, the first symptoms of
illness showed themselves. On the preceding evening he heard
confessions as usual, until about nine o'clock, after which he
came to the room of one of the fathers and made his own
confession, as he did habitually every week. The next morning he
said Mass for the last time, at half-past eight, for the children
of the Sunday-school. As I passed his door at half-past ten, to
go down to High Mass, he met me in the corridor, and remarked
that he felt too sick to go down to the sanctuary.
{197}
From this time he came no more again to the table or the
recreation of the community, but kept his room. Nothing was
thought of his indisposition, and it was by accident that his
physician, who dined that day with the community, saw him and
prescribed for him in the afternoon. The next day three of the
fathers left the house for a mission, and bade him good-by as
usual, without a thought of anxiety on either side. F. Baker
remained on Sunday and Monday in the same state, dressing himself
every morning, and sitting up at intervals, but usually lying on
the bed, and occupying himself about some matters of business. He
wrote several notes, and dictated others, some concerning the
articles he had ordered for the sanctuary, and others concerning
some sick persons or penitents for whom he had a special care.
During this time, no symptoms of typhus had appeared, but his
complaint appeared to be a slight attack of pneumonia. On Monday
evening he went down by himself to the bath-room and took a hot
bath, after which he kept his bed entirely. The superior of the
house, who was engaged in the mission on Staten Island, came
every day to visit him, and had already detected an incipient
tendency to delirium, which awakened in his mind an anxiety,
which, however, was not shared by anyone else. On Wednesday,
however, although he retained control over his faculties, his
brain began evidently to show a state of morbid excitability. He
remarked that the bells of the house had a strange sound, and
fancied that his breathing and pulsations were all set to a
regular rhythmical measure, and gave out musical sounds. When he
was alone and his eyes shut, he said that a brilliant array of
figures continually passed before him, and that he seemed to be
hurried away by a rapid motion like that of a railway carriage.
During that evening he was more decidedly wandering in his mind,
although he became quiet, and slept nearly all night. On Thursday
morning the poison of typhus had filled his brain completely, and
he lay in a dull, stupid state, unconscious of what was said to
him, and incapable of uttering a rational word.
{198}
This gave place after a time to a more violent form of delirium,
during which he talked incessantly in an incoherent manner, and
could with difficulty be kept in a quiet position or induced to
swallow any nourishment or medicine. On Friday morning the danger
of a fatal termination was evident, as the disease continued to
progress, and the symptoms of pneumonia were also aggravated. The
superior of the house was sent for, and came over in the
afternoon. Dr. Van Buren and Dr. Clarke, two of the most eminent
physicians in town, were called in for consultation by Dr. Hewit,
the attending physician, and information of F. Baker's illness
was sent to his sister, who came immediately from Baltimore to
see him. On Saturday evening the typhus fever had spent its
violence, reason returned, and from this time F. Baker remained
in a weak but tranquil state until his departure. He had been
removed from his own room to the library, a large and airy
apartment, where every thing about him was arranged in a neat,
orderly, and cheerful manner, and he was attended and carefully
watched night and day by his physician, his brethren, and his
nurse. The violence of his fever had prostrated his strength so
completely, that he was unable to resist the severe attack of
pneumonia which accompanied it, and which medical skill and care
were unable to subdue. The feeble vital force which still
remained gradually subsided during the next three days, under the
progress of this disease, although his friends continued to hope
against all appearances for his recovery, and seemed almost to
take it for granted that God would surely hear their prayers and
spare his life. During all this time he was rational and
collected, recognising all his friends, but unable to speak more
than a few brief sentences that were connected and intelligible.
He desired his sister to remain with him, and she did so during a
great portion of the time. He expressed his perfect willingness
and readiness to die, and made an effort to repeat audibly some
prayers, but without success.
{199}
He manifested his desire for absolution by signs, and it was
given to him, together with the Sacrament of Extreme Unction, on
Sunday. On Tuesday, the Holy Viaticum, for which he had asked,
was given him, at about half-past ten in the morning. He received
it with perfect consciousness, and remained quiet, free from
pain, and without becoming perceptibly worse, until one. After
the fathers had gone down to dinner, he asked his nurse for his
cap, which was brought to him and placed in his hand. He then
asked for his habit, and said he would dress and go down to
dinner with the community. Soon after, a change was observed in
him by the watchful eye of the father who had been his bosom
friend during their common missionary career, and who had passed
so many hours of the day and night by his bedside during his
sickness with more than the devotion of a brother; and several of
his particular friends were sent for, that they might see him
once more before he died. The two fathers who were at home, his
physician, his only and beloved sister, a lady who had been his
chief aid in the care of the sanctuary, and another, who was one
of his converts, surrounded his bedside, where he lay, the
picture of placid repose and holy calm, quietly, gently, and
imperceptibly breathing his last, until four o'clock, when his
spirit passed away to God, without a struggle or a sign of agony,
leaving his countenance unruffled, and his form as composed as a
statue. Those who saw him after death have said that, about an
hour after his departure, his appearance was most beautiful, as
he lay just dressed in his sacerdotal vestments, his majestic and
finely chiselled brow and features as yet untouched by the finger
of decay. The vestments in which F. Baker was dressed had been
prepared by himself only three weeks before, that they might be
ready in case of the death of one of the community. His body was
placed in a metallic case, enclosed in a rosewood coffin, and
laid in state in the church.
{200}
These arrangements were not completed until late in the night,
and the people did not therefore begin to visit the sacred
remains until the next morning; from which time until the
sepulture, crowds of the faithful were coming to the church
during every hour, both of the day and the night. Requiem Masses
were said by all the priests in the house on Wednesday and
Thursday. The mission at Staten Island closed on Tuesday evening.
The fathers who were there were not made acquainted with the
extreme danger of F. Baker, and the intelligence of his death was
not sent to them until Wednesday morning, when their labors were
all completed. They returned home to find the body of their late
companion lying in the church, and the household and parish
overwhelmed with sorrow. Usually, in a religious community, the
death of a member is taken very much as the loss of a soldier is
regarded by his comrades, schooled as they are to control their
feelings, and to be ready at any moment to expose their lives in
the discharge of their duty. But in a small band like ours, which
had been through so many trials and vicissitudes in company, and
where all the members had been continually in the most constant
and intimate association with each other, it was impossible not
to feel in the deepest and keenest manner the loss of one of our
number, the first one called away during the fourteen years of a
missionary life. To an infant congregation like ours, the loss of
a priest like F. Baker was truly irreparable. Besides this, each
one felt that his loss as a friend and brother was a personal
grief equal to that of losing his nearest and dearest relative by
the tie of blood. This sorrow was shared by the whole parish, by
all his friends, and by the faithful everywhere in the parishes
where he had preached and labored. Many letters of sympathy and
condolence were sent from all quarters, and not Catholics only,
but numbers of others also, who had respected the virtues of the
holy Catholic priest, testified their regret at his death, and
their sympathy with our loss.
{201}
The Rev. Dr. Osgood, a distinguished Unitarian clergyman of New
York, sent a small painting representing a bouquet of various
kinds of lilies, as a memorial of respect, in the name of his
congregation, accompanied by a very kind note. Several other
Protestant clergymen were present at the funeral services; and,
indeed, the manifestations of respect for F. Baker's memory were
universal.
The funeral obsequies were of necessity accelerated more than his
friends would have desired, so that few from distant places were
able to attend them. A few intimate friends from Baltimore, and
some clergymen from places out of town, were, however, present; a
large number of the clergy of New York and its vicinity; and as
great a number of the faithful as the church could contain. The
funeral was on Thursday in Passion Week, April 6, two days after
the decease. The previous Thursday was F. Baker's birthday, and
the anniversary of his conversion to the Catholic Church also
occurred within the week of his death and burial. He had just
completed the forty-fifth year of his age, and was in the ninth
year of his priesthood. The following Sunday was the twelfth
anniversary of his formal reconciliation to the Church, in the
chapel of the Sisters' of Charity, in Baltimore. Early on
Thursday morning, four private Masses of Requiem were said for
the repose of his soul in the church. At the usual hour for High
Mass on Sundays, a solemn Mass of Requiem was celebrated by the
superior of the house, in presence of the Archbishop, who
performed the closing rite of absolution, and a short funeral
discourse was preached. The coffin was ornamented with the
sacerdotal vestments, the chalice, and the missionary crucifix of
the deceased, and covered with wreaths of flowers. The altar was
deeply draped in mourning, and F. Baker's confessional was also
similarly draped. Never did these exterior symbols indicate a
more sincere and universal sorrow on the part of all who
participated in them. It was a very difficult task to summon up
sufficient fortitude to perform these last sad rites.
{202}
The voice of the celebrant was interrupted by his tears; the
sub-deacon faltered as he sang the elevating and comforting words
of the Epistle; the choir-boys showed in their candid and
ingenuous faces their sorrow for the one who had trained them up
in the sanctuary; the choir, composed, not of professional
singers, but of members of the congregation, undertook their
solemn task with trembling; every countenance was sad and every
eye moistened, in the assemblage of the clergy who sat in
white-robed ranks nearest the sanctuary, and of the laity who
filled the church. I had the last duty of friendship to perform,
in preaching the funeral sermon; and the wish to do full justice
to F. Baker, and to satisfy the eager desire of all present to
hear something of his life, enabled me to fulfil this duty with
composure, and restrain the tide of emotion which I saw swelling
all around me, quieted only by the hallowing and tranquillizing
influence of the sacred rites of the Church, and the high,
celestial hope inspired by the contemplation of a life so noble
and a death so holy. The music was in the sweet, plaintive,
solemn style of the true ecclesiastical chant; all the means of
celebrating the holy rites of the obsequies had been prepared by
F. Baker's own pious and careful hand; his own spirit seemed to
hover over the spot, and a divine consolation stole gently over
all. Sad as it is, there is nothing so beautiful, so soothing, so
elevating to the soul, as the funeral of a holy priest, who has
achieved his course and attained the crown of his labors. Many of
those who were present remained for a long time after the service
was completed, and some were still found there unwilling to leave
the spot, at nightfall. The remains were taken from the church to
St. Patrick's Cathedral, escorted by a band of young men, and
followed by a train of carriages, and by others on foot, although
it rained heavily; the Vicar-General recited the concluding
prayers of the ritual; the coffin was placed in the episcopal
vault next to that of the late archbishop; a few wreaths of
flowers were placed upon it, the entrance was closed, and all
withdrew; leaving the earthly form of the departed to the silent
repose of the tomb.
{203}
For some days after, a portion of the mourning drapery was left
on the altar, and requiems continued to be offered by all the
priests of the community. Many Masses were also said by other
priests in various parts of the country, and prayers offered by
the people, although the common sentiment of all was, that the
one for whom they were offered was already among the blessed in
heaven. On Saturday evening, as we all went to our confessionals,
and a large congregation of people was assembled in the church,
preparing for their Easter duty, a peculiarly holy calm seemed to
pervade the spot. The people were hushed and still, unusually
intent upon their devotions. The penitents of F. Baker looked
with sadness upon the place where, just two weeks before, he had
sat for the last time in the tribunal of penance, and came
weeping to some one of the other fathers to request him to take
the direction of their consciences. It was a sad Holy Week; and a
difficult task to us, wearied with labor, and some with watching,
oppressed with a grief which time and repose had not yet
diminished, to fulfil the arduous duties of the season. Our
greatest consolation was in the sympathy manifested by our
people, and in the proof they gave of the love and gratitude
which our labors had awakened in their hearts. Easter Sunday
came; the altar was superbly decorated with the choicest flowers
of the season, the triumphant chant of the Church resounded as
usual; but all felt that the one whose presence in the sanctuary
and whose eloquent voice had given the day one of its greatest
charms, was gone forever; and besides, the gloom of the great
crime committed on Good Friday had overspread the whole nation,
and the drapery of universal mourning had turned the city into
one great necropolis.
{204}
The admirable pastoral letter of the archbishop on the
assassination of the President was read in all the churches,
giving eloquent expression to the indignation and grief which
oppressed all Christian and all honest and just hearts; and never
was there seen an Easter more sad and mournful, more like a day
of unusual humiliation and sorrow, than that Easter Sunday; which
had been anticipated as a day of peculiar joy and thanksgiving
for the cessation of bloody war and the restoration of peace.
It is in just such times as these, however, that we appreciate
most fully the strength and support which is given us by our holy
faith, the Divine Sacrament of the Altar, and the grace of God,
and that those who have given themselves to a religious life
learn the inestimable blessing of their vocation, which raises
them above all private and all public tribulation. A few days
brought back serenity and cheerfulness to our little community,
and we took new courage from the blessed death of our companion,
closing so beautifully his holy life, to resume quietly and
resolutely our ordinary duties, and to rely more completely on
the providence of God; trusting that we had gained an advocate in
heaven, and hoping to persevere like him to the end. His course
was short, and his reward speedily gained. What a happiness for
him that he listened to the voice of God; and, as his day was
declining to its close, though he knew it not, gathered up his
strength and courage to leave all and run that brief and swift
race, which in later years gained for him the brilliant and
unfading crown of a true and faithful priest of Jesus Christ, who
had brought thousands of souls into the way of justice; and had
practised himself that Christian perfection which he preached to
others!
There must be many young men equally gifted, and fitted to
accomplish an equally apostolic work, to whom God has given the
same vocation. What hidden consequences were involved in the
result of that struggle and deliberation which was the crisis of
grace in the life of Francis Baker! What a loss to himself and to
the Church of God, if he had proved cowardly and unfaithful! The
simple question before his mind was one of personal obedience to
the commandment of Christ to arise and follow Him.
{205}
But because of his obedience, God chose him to be the instrument
of an amount of good to others which would be sufficient to
enrich with merit a priesthood of fifty years. The immediate
fruits of his own labors in preaching the word of God and
administering His sacraments can never perish. The fruits of his
example and his teaching will, I trust, continue to multiply and
increase after his death in rich abundance. If the blessing of
God perpetuates and extends the congregation which he aided in
forming, and which, so far as we can see, could not have been
established without him, his character and spirit will be
perpetuated in those who will for all time venerate him as a
spiritual father, and imitate him as one of their most perfect
models. If he is to have no imitators and no successors, it will
be because God can find none among our choice and gifted youth,
who have enough of sincerity, generosity, and the spirit of
self-sacrifice, to obey the inspirations of His Divine Spirit,
and consecrate themselves to His glory and the good of their
fellow-men. The need is pressing, the career is glorious and
inviting, and the vocation of God will not be wanting. There is
no hope for religion, except in the multiplication of priests
animated with the apostolic spirit. If the example of Francis
Baker enkindles the spirit of emulation in some generous youthful
hearts; and encourages some timid, fearful souls who are
vacillating between the Church of God and the interests of this
world, to imitate his fidelity to the voice of conscience; the
end I have had in view will be accomplished. If not, it will
stand as a perpetual reproach to a frivolous and unworthy
generation, incapable of appreciating and imitating high
Christian virtue. And now I lay the last stone on this monument
of one who was once the friend and bosom companion of my youth;
afterwards my spiritual child; then my brother in the priesthood;
and who is now exalted to such a height above me that my eye and
my mind can no longer follow him.
{206}
{207}
Sermons.
{208}
{209}
Sermons.
Sermon I.
The Necessity Of Salvation.
(Mission Sermon.)
"Thou art careful, and art troubled about many things.
But one thing is necessary."
--St. Luke X. 41, 42.
If, my brethren, I should ask each one in this assembly what his
business is, I should probably receive a great variety of
answers. In so large a congregation as this, drawn as it is from
the heart of a rich and important city, there are undoubtedly
representatives of all the various avocations that grow out of
the requirements of social life; some merchants, some mechanics,
some laboring men. I should find some heirs of ease and opulence
side by side with homeless beggars. Some of you are heads of
families, while others are living under guardianship and
subjection; and in answer to my proposed question, you would give
me your various employments and states of life. You would tell me
that your business is to heal the sick, or to assist at the
administration of justice, or to teach, or to learn letters, or
to labor. The men would tell me that their occupation is at the
office, or the warehouse, or the shop, and the women would tell
me that theirs is at home by the family fireside. No! my
brethren, it is not so. This is not your business. Your words may
be true in the sense in which you use them, but there is a great
and real sense in which they are not true.
{210}
Trade, labor, study--these are not your employments. Your
avocations are not so varied as you think they are. Each one of
you has the same business. All men who have lived in the world
have had but one and the same business. And what is that? The
salvation of their souls. However varied your dispositions, your
condition in this world, your duties, the end of life is
absolutely one and the same to you all. Yes! wherever man is,
whatever his position, whatever his age, he has one business on
the earth, and only one--to save his soul. All other things may
be dispensed with, but this cannot be dispensed with. This is his
true, his necessary, his only duty. Do not think that I am
exaggerating things in making this assertion. Our Divine Saviour
Himself in the words of the text has taught us the same
lesson--"_Martha, Martha, thou art careful, and art troubled
about many things. But one thing is necessary_." And what that
one thing is, He has taught us, in those memorable words which He
uttered on another occasion--"_What shall it profit a man, if
he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul; or what shall a
man give in exchange for his soul?_" [Footnote 8] But what
then, you say; must every one go into a cloister, must everyone
who wishes to do his duty forsake the world, leave house and
parents, lands and possessions, and nourish his soul by continual
meditation and prayer? No! this is not our Lord's meaning. The
end of life is indeed the salvation of our souls, but we must
work this out by means of the daily employments appropriate to
our several conditions. We must prepare for the life to come by
the labors of the life that now is. We must bear our part in this
world, but we must do so, always, in subordination to eternity,
and thus we shall in some way fulfil the words of the
apostle--"_They that use this world, let them be as though they
used it not;_" [Footnote 9] that is, let them not use it in
the same way that the children of the world use it, or according
to the principles of the world.
[Footnote 8: St. Mark viii. 36, 37]
[Footnote 9: 1 Cor. vii. 31.]
{211}
This is enough for the salvation of most men. No one can be
excused from doing so much as this. The law of God imperatively
and under the highest sanctions requires this of everyone here
present. This is your duty to your souls. This is your only duty.
This done, all will be done. This neglected, all else will be in
vain. To prove this will be the theme of my present discourse.
I will make a remark in the outset: It is important for us to
bear in mind that the salvation of our souls is properly our
work. The grace of God is indeed necessary in order to will, and
to accomplish His good will, but without our co-operation, the
grace of God will not save us; accordingly, St. Paul, writing to
the Philippians, exhorts them to _work out their salvation_.
[Footnote 10]
[Footnote 10: Philip. ii. 12.]
It is only little children, who die soon after baptism, and
persons equivalent to children, who are saved by a sovereign and
absolute act of divine power; with regard to all others, God has
made their eternal destiny dependent on their own actions. No one
of us will be saved merely because Christ died for us; or because
He founded the Catholic Church as the church of salvation, and
made us its members; or because He has instituted life-giving
sacraments; or because God is willing that all should be saved;
or because He gives His grace to us all; or because the Blessed
Virgin Mary has such power with God; or because the priest can
forgive sins. No one will be saved because he has had
inspirations of grace, good instruction, good desires, and good
purposes. Despite all this, one may be damned. For the Holy
Spirit has said distinctly and strongly, "Work out your own
salvation." It rests, then, with you to save your souls. The
grace of God is indeed necessary. You cannot be saved without the
death of Christ, or the sacraments of the Catholic Church, or the
gifts of the Holy Spirit, or the absolution of the priest, or the
patronage of Mary; but all these things are within your reach,
they are all in your power.
{212}
Now, at the time of the Holy Mission, they are offered to you
with especial liberality. God, on His part, has done, one may
almost say, all that He could do to make your work easy to you.
To make this an acceptable time, it only remains, then, that you
do your part. And this you can do. However great your
difficulties, however great your temptations, however strong your
passions, however importunate your evil companions, may be;
however deeply seated your bad habits; you can, each one can, by
the help which God is now willing to render him, save his soul.