chance of heaven, now heaven is closed to you. Once, perhaps, you
had rich merits laid up for heaven, you had gone through many
trials, you had borne many sufferings, had achieved many labors
of piety, and for each of them the good God, who never allows any
good work to go unrewarded, had added many a jewel to your crown;
but, alas! that crown is broken, those jewels scattered and
crushed, those merits lost. And what has done this. That mortal
sin! that rebellion against God, that sinful gratification, that
turning away from God and loss of grace which it brought with it.
Ah! my brethren, when I think of these things, when I think that
Christians are falling into sin, and, for a very trifle and a
nothing, losing the favor of God, I feel as if I wished all
preachers should go out to the whole world and cry out: "Know
thou and see that it is an evil and a bitter thing for thee to
have left the Lord thy God." I am not surprised that St. Ignatius
said he would be willing to do all he did for the prevention of
one mortal sin.
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But, my brethren I have not as yet described the full effects of
mortal sin. It immediately makes us liable to the eternal
punishment of hell. That is what hell is made for. It is the
prison for mortal sin. Apostates from the faith, drunkards,
murderers, adulterers, the impure, the dishonest, the profane,
the impious, calumniators, and all sinners "shall have their
portion in the pool burning with fire and brimstone, which is the
second death." The sentence of damnation is in the next life, but
damnation itself begins in this. Each one of us is a candidate
for heaven or hell, at this present moment. Hell is not something
which is assigned to us arbitrarily. We dig our own hell for
ourselves. When we first commit a mortal sin we open hell under
our feet, and every time we commit a fresh mortal sin we deepen
that hell. It may happen even that the sentence is passed in the
same instant that we sin. Many men die in the very act of sin.
The fallen angels, themselves, sank into hell the very instant
they committed mortal sin, and the instant they committed the
first mortal sin. You know, my brethren, that the angels were
created very beautiful and powerful. There were myriads and
myriads of them. They were as beautiful as Gabriel or Michael or
Raphael; and yet, as soon as they committed one mortal sin,
notwithstanding their glory, their beauty, their number, their
splendid intellects, their power, they were hurled from the
thrones of heaven; not only defaced, degraded, and dishonored by
the loss of sanctifying grace, but condemned to hell, chained in
everlasting darkness, waiting for the judgment of the great day.
If God dealt so with the angels, surely there is nothing unjust
in cutting off the days of a sinner in the very moment of sin.
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Oh! my brethren, I will tell you what happens when one sins: the
devils come and claim this soul as their own: this poor soul
becomes the slave of the devil, the heir of hell and of
damnation. It is not for nothing, then, that conscience makes
such a terrible alarm in the soul when we commit a mortal sin.
Tell me, did you not at the moment you sinned hear a stern voice
speaking in the depths of your heart? Tell me, O my brethren, did
you not, when you were deeply plunged in sinful enjoyment, feel a
dreadful pang at your heart? Tell me, now that you stand in God's
holy presence, tell me now, is there not something within you
that tells you, you are ruined? What is that? Ah! that is the
beginning of the remorse of the damned. That is the sting of the
worm that shall never die. That is the shadow of thine eternal
doom in thy soul. It tells thee that thou art the child of the
devil; it tells thee that thou hast lost God, and that thou art
not fit for heaven, but art an heir of hell. And it tells thee
truly. If this moment thou wert to die, like Dives, thou wouldst
be buried in hell. And why? For a momentary gratification of
appetite? Is that what you will be punished for? No; but because,
for a momentary gratification of appetite, thou hast forsaken the
Lord thy God, broken His law, lost His grace. Thou hast made thy
choice. Thou hast chosen sin and not God, and death overtakes
thee before thou hast returned to God by penance, and thou art
lost; lost on account of thy sin, lost forever on account of thy
sin. Go down to the chambers of hell, ask Dives, ask Judas, ask
the fallen angels, ask each one who in that dark abode drags out
a long eternity; ask them what it is that brought them there, and
they will tell you, mortal sin. It is mortal sin that kindles
that flame, that feeds that fire, that makes them burn
unceasingly, and forever. Oh then, tell me! if you will not
listen to reason, to God, to the angels; will you not listen to
your companions lost?
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Hearken to them as from their dark prison they cry out, "It is an
evil and a bitter thing to have left the Lord thy God."
Such, my brethren, is mortal sin. Such is one mortal sin. It does
not require many mortal sins to lose God's grace or incur
damnation. One is enough--one final deliberate rebellion against
God and his holy law.
* * *
(Peroration, according to the circumstances.)
-----------------
Sermon III.
The Particular Judgment.
(Mission Sermon.)
"It is a dreadful thing
to fall into the hands of the living God."
--Heb. x. 31.
There is a moment, my brethren, in the history of each immortal
soul, which, of all others that precede or follow it, is the
fullest of experience: the moment after death. The moment of
death is indeed the decisive moment of our history. Then the
question is settled, once for all, whether we are to be happy or
miserable for all eternity; but, for the most part, we do not
know that decision. Many men die insensible. By far the larges
part of those I have seen die, have died insensible. And even
when the power of the mind remains to the last, it is extremely
difficult to form any true conception of that state of things
into which the soul is about to be ushered. It is difficult to
conceive aright beforehand of any thing to which we are
unaccustomed. Did it ever happen to you to visit a strange
country, and to form anticipations of what it would seem like,
and did not the reality falsify all your anticipations? Well, how
much more difficult to realize those things which the soul sees
immediately after death, and which are so much farther removed
from our former experience!
{240}
According to Catholic theology, immediately after death, the soul
appears in the presence of Jesus Christ to be judged--to receive
an unalterable sentence to heaven or to hell. If to hell, no
prayers can benefit it; if to heaven, it goes there immediately
or not, according to the degree of its goodness. But it is judged
unalterably to heaven or hell, the moment after death. And
Catholic theologians teach that this judgment takes place in the
very chamber of death itself. There, in that room, while they are
dressing the body for the grave, closing the eyes, bandaging the
mouth, arranging the limbs in order, that soul has already
learned the secrets of the eternal world. Naked and alone, it had
stood before its Judge, and heard its doom pronounced. To
everyone, no doubt, even to the most pious, to those who have
meditated on the truths of faith, there will be something
alarming in this moment; but, oh! what will it be to the sinful
Catholic? What will be the thoughts and feelings of that large
class of Catholics, now careless about their salvation, who are
obeying every impulse of passion, and breaking every commandment
of God? This, indeed, is a difficult question to answer. There is
but little in this world that can help us to portray the emotions
of the lost Catholic, the moment after death; but I will not on
this account desist from attempting to describe it. I will
consider your advantage rather than my own satisfaction, and
though I feel deeply that I shall not be able to describe the
scene I undertake in anything like the colors of truth, I will
undertake to do what I can.
First, then, following the soul beyond the limits of this world,
I see her overwhelmed with a _conviction_ of the reality and
truth of the objects of her faith. Now, in saying that this soul
obtains a conviction of the truths of faith, I do not mean to
suppose the case of one who has been a sceptic in this world. The
truth is, faith is so strong a principle in the heart of a
Catholic, that it is exceedingly difficult to put it out or shake
it.
{241}
And although it sometimes happens that a Catholic; from reading
bad books, or frequenting the society of those who blaspheme his
religion, or from becoming acquainted suddenly with some of the
difficulties which science seems to present to faith, and not
knowing the answer to them, or from the petty pride of seeming
wiser than his neighbors, and making objections which unlearned
Catholics cannot answer, may use the language of a sceptic; yet
such cases are very rare, and the scepticism is not very deep. A
little guidance from one who knows better, and a little humility
on the part of such an objector, will set all right. But there is
a kind of infidelity not so easily cured, and far more common
among Catholics--a practical infidelity, an insensibility and
indifference to the truths of faith. The truths of faith--I mean,
heaven and hell, God and the soul--are not seen by the eye--it
requires reflection to realize them; but the world, and the
objects which it presents, are visible and tangible. The former
are lost sight of, while the latter absorb all our thoughts. The
body clamors for necessities and pleasures, and the soul, and
things of eternity, are simply forgotten. It is almost the same
to many men as if there were no God, no eternity, no heaven, or
no hell. Really, one hardly sees in what the lives of many
Catholics would differ from what they are now if there were no
God, no heaven or hell. I do not mean to say that they have no
faith at all, for even the heathens have some faith; or that they
never think of God, for then they would be brutes; but that these
things have no real hold on their minds or influence over their
hearts. They never reflect. They stay away from the sacraments.
They do not listen to sermons. They have no correct idea at all
of the advantage they enjoy in being Catholics; in a word, they
break the commandments of God on the slightest temptation, are
children of this world and immersed in its cares and enjoyments.
Now, one of these men meets with a sudden death.
{242}
He goes out in the morning--perhaps he is a mechanic--and he
falls from a height. He is taken up and put in a litter hastily
made, and carried home. It is apparent that life is ebbing fast.
In a few minutes he becomes speechless. He has lost his sight.
Ah! does he breathe at all? It is hard to say. The doctor comes
in great haste. He feels his pulse, looks at him, and says, "It
is all over. He has received an injury in a vital part. He is
dead." Yes, he is dead. This morning he was alive and well, he
was making his plans, he was talking of the weather--now he is
dead. All his old thoughts and experience are all rolled back by
a new set of things that are forcing themselves on his vision. He
is dead. He died suddenly; but not without warning. Others have
died in his home before--he is not young. He has seen wife and
children die. It made him weep for a while; but he forgot it, and
now his turn is come--he is dead. I will not stop to notice the
grief of the friends he leaves behind. No; I will follow his
soul, as it enters eternity. The voice of his friends dies on his
ear--he begins to hear other voices. As he ceases to see the
people in his room he begins to see other objects. Who is that,
that is standing at the foot of his bed? A neighbor was standing
there but just now; but this is another form, a form beautiful,
indeed, but majestic and terrible. No; it is not anyone he has
ever seen before, and yet, he ought to know that face. He has
seen it before; it is the face his mother looked on as she was
dying-the face he had often seen in Catholic churches. Yes, it is
Jesus Christ. He knows it; it is the same, and yet, how
different! When he saw that face in pictures, it was crowned with
thorns; now it is crowned with a diadem of matchless glory. When
he saw that form in the church, it was naked, and hanging on the
Cross; now it is clothed with garments of regal magnificence.
Yes, it is Jesus Christ! and He is looking upon him with eyes of
fire. He turns to escape those eyes, and he sees there are other
figures in the scene.
{243}
There are two figures--one at the right hand, and one at the
left. Who are they? He ought to know them, for they know more of
him than anyone else--they have been his companions for life. One
is very beautiful--a being with golden locks and cloud-like
wings--that is his angel guardian; he looks sad now, for he has
nothing good to say. And the other is the black and hideous demon
of hell, that crouches at his side, full of hate and malice, and
triumph, too, for he has dogged the steps of this poor sinner
from youth to age, and now the time has come for him to seize his
prey. And now, as the sinner looks from one to another, the
meaning of it an breaks upon him. Conviction flashes upon his
mind. He may not have been an infidel before; but putting his
past feelings by the side of his present experience, it seems
almost as if he had been. Did it ever happen to you to be talking
quite unconcernedly, and all at once to find that others were
listening, before whom for worlds you would not have used such
unreserve. Well, to compare small things with great, something
like this will be the feeling of the sinner when the curtain of
time draws up, and shows him the realities of eternity. The whole
tide of his past thoughts and feelings will be arrested, and,
with a great check, rolled back before the new set of experiences
and sights that rush in on him. Oh! he will say, what is this
that I see and hear? Has Jesus Christ always been so near me?
Have my guardian angel and the demon that has tempted me been
always in this very room? Ah, yes! it is even so. I have been
living in a dream all my life, and pursuing shadows. It is true,
as I learned in the catechism, and as the Church taught me, I was
not made for the world or for sin, but for God. I had a soul, and
the end of my being was to love and serve my Maker. He has been
watching me all my days, and I have thought little of Him. I
heard of judgment, but I did not give heed to it, or I placed it
far off in the future; but now it is here at the door. There is
my Saviour, there my angel guardian, there the demon.
{244}
Once I heard of these things, now I see them with my eyes. Yes,
it is all true. The world did not seem to believe it, the world
forgot it; but the world was wrong. The poor and the simple were
right, after all, and the wise ones taken in their own
craftiness. Yes, Christianity is true, Catholicity is true; I
cannot doubt it, if I would, for there it stares me in the face!
O, overwhelming conviction! You have heard of the answer of a
self-denying old monk to a wild, licentious youth, who reproached
him with his folly in living so severe a life for the sake of a
hereafter he had never seen. "Father," said the youth, "how much
wiser I am than you, if there be no hereafter!" "Yes, my son,"
replied the aged man, "but how much more foolish, if there be!" O
fearful discovery, to come on one for the first time, with a
strong and deep impression, at the very threshold of eternity! O
miserable man! why did you not think of these things before? Why
did you rush into the presence of your Maker without forethought?
Now, for the first time, to think seriously, when there is no
longer freedom in thought, or merit in faith. O, the folly and
the misery!
But I must pass on, for these are but the beginning of sorrows.
The conviction, then, that the soul acquires in the first moment
of her experience in the other world is accompanied by a mortal
terror. Why is Jesus Christ there? Why are the angel and the
demon there? Ah! he knows well. It is to try him. Yes, he is to
be tried, and to be tried by an unerring judge--by Jesus Christ.
To be tried; and that is something he is not used to. He never
tried himself. He never examined his conscience. He was afraid to
do it, and if sometimes the thought of a hereafter intruded
itself into his mind, he banished it, and thought he would escape
somehow or other. Perhaps he built on the very name of Catholic,
or on the sacraments, as if they possessed a magical power, and
would change him at once, in the hour of death, from a sinner to
a saint.
{245}
Perhaps he thought that God would strike a balance between the
good and the evil that was in him, and pardon him for being as
wicked as he was because he was no worse. Perhaps he built simply
on the mercy of God. So far as he thought at all, he built his
hopes on some such foundation as this. He did not know how, but
he thought somehow he would get off. It is the old story.
Almighty God said to Eve: "In the day thou eatest thereof thou
shalt surely die." And Eve said to the serpent: "We may not eat
it, lest we die." And the serpent said: "Ye shall not surely
die." So it is; man's self-love reasons, and the devil denies.
But the time has come when the deceits of sin and the devil are
discovered. The sinner is to be tried. He stands as a culprit to
be judged. And by what law is he to be tried? By the ten
commandments, of which he has heard so often, and which he has
neglected so completely. God says: "Thou shalt not break My
commandments, and in the day thou breakest them thou shalt surely
die." God had said: "Thou shalt not commit adultery." He had
committed it. God had said: "Thou shalt not steal;" and he had
stolen. God had said: "Thou shalt keep holy the Sabbath day." He
had broken the Sunday and neglected the Sunday's Mass. God had
said: "Thou shalt do no murder;" and he had murdered his own soul
by drunkenness. He had grown bold in sin, and thought that God
had hidden away his face, and would never see it. And now he is
brought to trial. There is no hope that his transgressions
against the commandments can be hidden. The demon is there as his
accuser.