be fully awakened. Let him realize his destiny, above and beyond
this world; let him appreciate the evil of sin that defeats his
destiny; let him, if the case be so, perceive how far out of the
way he has gone by his sins; and then how full of interest, how
full of meaning, becomes the exclamation of St. John, as he
points to Christ and says: "_Behold the Lamb of God, that
taketh away the sins of the world!_" Let a man's spiritual
nature be stirred within him; let him aspire to what is pure and
high; aim at regulating his passions; struggle, amid inordinate
desires and the importunities of creatures which encompass him
like a flood, toward the highest good and the most perfect
beauty; and, oh! with what music do these words of Christ fall on
his soul: "_Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy
laden, and I will refresh you. Take my yoke upon you and learn of
Me, and you shall find rest to your souls. For My yoke is sweet,
and My burden is light._" [Footnote 38]
[Footnote 38: St. Matt. xi. 29, 30.]
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It seems too good to be true. He listens, and asks, "May I
believe this?" "Is there really a way through this world to
heaven? a sure, clear, easy way?" He finds that his understanding
not only allows, but compels him to believe in Christ: he is
happy; he believes; his faith is a conviction into which his
whole nature enters; it entwines itself with every fibre of his
soul.
The connection, then, between the preaching of the Baptist and
the coming of Christ was not a temporary one. It is essential and
necessary. St. John is still the forerunner of Christ. The
preaching of the commandments is ever the preparation for faith.
The awakening of a man's conscience is the measure of his
appreciation of Christ. Our Lord gives many graces to men without
their own co-operation. Many of the gifts of Providence, and the
first gifts in the order of grace, are so bestowed. But an
enlightened appreciation of Christianity, a personal conviction
of its truth, a real and deep attachment to it, will be always in
proportion to the thoroughness with which a man has sounded the
depths of his own heart, to the sincerity with which sin is hated
and feared, and holiness aspired after. Christ is never firmly
seated in the soul of man till he is enthroned on the conscience.
"_Unto you that fear My name, shall the Sun of Justice arise,
and health in his wings_." [Footnote 39]
[Footnote 39: St. Matt. iv. 2.]
And, here, my brethren, in this law or fact which I stated, we
have the key to several practical questions of great importance.
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Here we have, in great part at least, an explanation why
conversions to the Catholic Church are not more frequent than
they are. Surely the Catholic Church is prominent enough in the
eyes of men. From her church towers she cries aloud. In the
streets, at the opening of her gates, she utters her word,
saying: "_O children of men, how long will you love folly, and
the unwise hate knowledge? Turn ye at my reproof_." Her
antiquity, her unity, her universality, the sanctity of so many
of her children, are enough to arrest the attention of every
thoughtful man. But how few heed her voice! True, here and there,
there are souls who recognise in her the true teacher sent by
Christ, the guide of their souls, and submit themselves to her
safe and holy keeping. Altogether, they make a goodly company;
but how small in proportion to those who are left behind! It
reminds us of the words of the prophet: "_I will take one of a
city, and two of a family and bring you into Sion_." [Footnote 40]
[Footnote 40: Jer. iii. 14.]
They come by ones and twos, and the mass remains behind. And what
does that mass think of the Catholic Church? Some are entirely
ignorant of her, almost as though she did not exist. Some have
wrong ideas about her, and hate her. Some know a good deal about
her doctrines, and are conversant with the proofs of them, and
argue about them, and criticise them. Some are favorably inclined
to her. Some patronise her. It was just so with Christ. To some
He was simply unknown, though He was in their midst. To some He
was an impostor and a blasphemer. To many He was an occasion of
dispute, some affirming Him to be a "good man," others saying,
"Nay, He deceiveth the people." To some He was an innovator on
the established religion, the religion of the respectable and
educated. To others, His mysteries were an offence, and the
severity of His doctrine a stumbling-block. Why is this? Why is
it always thus? Why are men so slow to be wise, and to be happy?
I do not wish, my brethren, to give too sweeping an answer. I
know there is such a thing as inculpable ignorance. I believe
there are many on their way to the Church who are not suspected
of it, and who, perhaps, do not suspect it themselves. I know
that God has His seasons of grace and providence. I know that
each human mind is different from every other, and has its own
law of working, its own way of arriving at conviction.
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But after all such deductions, are there not very many of whom it
is a plain matter of fact to say that they _will_ not give
their attention to this subject? They may even have conscious
doubts on their minds, and live and die with these unattended to,
unresolved. It is a want of religious earnestness. Men do not
ask: "What shall I do to be saved?" Or at least, they do not give
to that question their supreme attention. They do not grapple
with their destiny. They are indifferent to it, or hopeless about
its solution. They let themselves float on, leaving the questions
of the future to decide themselves as they may, and live in the
pleasures and interests of the present.
Oh, fatal supineness! unworthy a rational being, defeating the
end of our creation, and entailing countless miseries here and
hereafter. Nothing can be hoped for from the world, till it
awakes from its lethargy of indifference. Men must be men before
you can make them Christians--serious, thoughtful earnest men,
before you have any reason for expecting them to become
Catholics. There is more hope of a conscientious bigot, than for
a man indifferent to his salvation. He, at least, is in earnest.
If his mind should become enlightened, if he should recognise the
Catholic Church as the divinely-appointed guide to that heaven
which he is seeking, there is reason to hope that he will avail
himself of her blessings. He will not make frivolous objections;
he will not stumble at the Sacrament of Confession, or catch at
every scandalous story of immorality on the part of a Catholic,
or quarrel with every minute ritual arrangement; but in a better,
higher, nobler spirit, in that spirit of obedience which so well
becomes a man, in that spirit of faith, in which man's reason
asserts most clearly its high character, by uniting itself to and
embracing the Reason of God, when he finds that the Church is the
guide to his immortal destiny, he "_will come bending to her,
and will worship the steps of her feet, and will call her the
City of the Lord, the Sion of the Holy One of Israel_."
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And now, to turn our eyes within the Church, we can in the same
way account for those dreadful apostasies from the Catholic faith
which are here and there recorded in history. Mahometanism, which
in numbers is a rival to Catholicity, possesses some of the
fairest lands once owned by Christ. In modern times, one of the
most refined and enlightened nations of Christendom, in a moment
of frenzy, threw off the faith with which her history had been so
adorned, and professed Atheism. Now, how did these things happen?
Not of a sudden, or all at once. Men are not changed from
Christians into Turks or Infidels in an hour. There must have
been some secret moral history, which accounts for this wonderful
change. And so there was. Men became lax in their conduct. The
Catholicity they practised was not the Catholicity of Christ and
the Apostles. Public morals were conformed to the standard of
heathenism rather than that of the gospel--nay, sometimes
outraged as much the decencies of heathenism as the precepts of
Christ. It was the old story. St. John the Baptist imprisoned by
an adulterous king; St. John the Baptist, conspired against and
murdered by an ambitious queen; the head of St. John the Baptist,
eloquent and reproachful even in death, brought in to point the
jest and stimulate the revelry of a lascivious feast--this is but
a figure of the treatment which conscience has received in
Christian courts, and at the hands of Christian princes. Morality
and decency grew out of date, and were cast aside like
old-fashioned garments, and the restraints of the Law of God were
as feeble as cobwebs before the power of passion. Now, what else
could be the result of all this, but a disesteem of Christianity
itself? True, it might retain some hold upon men's minds for a
time. The fact that it was the religion of their ancestors, the
fact that they were baptized in it, the beauty of its ceremonies
and architecture, the soothing influence of its ordinances, the
services it has rendered to civilisation, might keep it standing
in its place for a time; but these considerations are not strong
enough to withstand the power of hell, when it is exerted in the
way of persecution, or a general apostasy.
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"_Every plant that my Heavenly Father hath not planted, shall
be rooted up_," said Christ. [Footnote 41] It must be a
supernatural motive that binds us to our faith. Christ and the
Law cannot long remain divorced. A people without conscience will
soon be a people without faith; and a nation of triflers only
waits the occasion, to become a nation of apostates.
[Footnote 41: St. Matt. xv. 13.]
It is not, then, without a special providence of God, that in
these later days the missionary orders of the Church have been
multiplied. In the sixteenth century the intellectual defence of
the faith was the Church's greatest need, and that was most
successfully accomplished. But there is needed something more to
uphold the falling fabric of modern society. Men need to be
reminded of the first principles of morality. And, therefore, a
St. Alphonsus appears in Naples, a St. Vincent of Paul in France;
missionary orders in every land go about teaching the people,
before it is too late, the very first and fundamental truths--the
doctrine of repentance and good works. Here, in every age, and
every country, is the real danger to faith. We speak often of the
dangers to faith in this country; and unquestionably we have our
special trials here. Some of our children are lost by neglect.
Some grow cold in the unfriendly atmosphere that surrounds them.
But the real danger to be dreaded is, that the love of the Church
herself should grow cold; that a wide-spread demoralisation
should take place among ourselves; that we should forget the
keeping of the Ten Commandments. This, indeed, would be the
prelude to our destruction. Practical morality makes a strong
Church; but let morality be forgotten, and the Church, while it
has a name to live, is dead.
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And as a corpse long decomposed sometimes retains the human form
until it is exposed to the air, when it crumbles into dust; so a
dead Church will be blown to atoms and swept away, the first
strong blast that hell breathes against it.
And, in fine, by the light of the thought which I have been
endeavoring to present to you this morning, we see the means by
which we ought to make sure our personal union with Christ.
Christ is coming. He is coming at Christmas to unite Himself with
those whom He shall find prepared. He is coming again, and the
mountains shall melt before Him; for He is coming to judge the
world. "_Who shall stand to see Him? For He shall be as a
Refining Fire, and shall try the Sons of Levi as gold and
silver_." [Footnote 42]
[Footnote 42: St. Matt. iii. 2, 3.]
How shall we abide His coming, my brethren I how shall we prepare
to meet Him? I know no other way than that which St. John the
Baptist recommended to the Jews--a true and solid conversion.
Whether a man has committed mortal sin or not, whether he is born
a Catholic or not, there comes upon him, if he is a true
Christian, some time in his life, a change which Catholic writers
call conversion. It may not be sudden. It may be all but
imperceptible. It may be more than once. But at least once, there
comes a time when religion becomes a matter of personal
conviction with him. He is different from what he was before. A
change has passed over him. He has awakened to his moral
accountability. His manhood is developed. His conscience is
aroused. And until that happens, you cannot count on him. He may
seem innocent and pious, but you cannot tell whether it will not
be "like the dew that passeth away in the morning." You cannot
say how he will act in temptation. You cannot reckon on what he
will be next year. Perhaps then he will draw sin "as with a
cart-rope."
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The trouble with such men is not that they sin sometimes. Alas!
such is human frailty that a single fall would not dishearten us;
but the real misery is, that they have no _principle_ of not
sinning. They are not preparing for Christ's judgement. Their
contrition, such as it is, is intended to prepare them for
confession, not for eternity. See, then, what we want!
And this is what I understand by the _penance_ which St.
John the Baptist preached. He practised it himself. It is thought
that in St. John's case the use of reason was granted before
birth; and when as a babe he leaped in his mother's womb, it was
for conscious joy at the presence of his Lord and Saviour. And
since the Blessed Virgin and St. Elizabeth were cousins,
doubtless St. John and our Blessed Saviour knew each other as
children. It is more than probable that they used to play
together when they were boys, as the painters loved to represent
them. And oh! what an effect did the knowledge of Christ have on
St. John! It took the color out of earthly beauty, and the music
out of earthly joy. There was with him afterward one overpowering
desire--the desire of sanctity. He had seen a vision of heaven.
Not because he despised the world, but because a higher beauty
was opened to his soul, he went into the desert, and his meat was
locusts and wild honey. One aim he had: to purify his heart. One
thought: to prepare for heaven, and to help others also to
prepare.
Oh, let us heed his words and example. Let us follow him, if not
in the rigor of his fastings, at least in the sincerity of his
penance. Be converted, and turn to the Lord your God. There is no
other way of preparing for judgment. Remember what the Church
says to you at the Font: "If thou wilt enter into life, keep the
commandments." Listen to what God Himself counsels, when
prophesying the terrors of the last day: "_Remember the law of
Moses, My servant, which I commanded him in Horeb for all Israel,
the precepts and judgments_." [Footnote 43]
[Footnote 43: St. Matt. iv. 4.]
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The law commanded in Horeb--that eternal law of right, and
justice, and purity, and truth--examine yourself by this
standard; forsake every evil way and live a Christian life. Happy
are they who do so! Happy and secure shall they be in the evil
time. When the earth and heaven shall be shaken, and sea and land
give up their dead, and the Son of Man appear in the heavens, and
the Throne shall be set for judgment, then look up and lift up
your head, for your redemption draweth nigh. You have been true
to your conscience; you have believed in Christ; you have kept
His law; now to you belongs the promise, "_Then they that
feared the Lord spoke every man with his neighbor, and the Lord
gave ear, and heard it: and a book of remembrance was written
before the Lord for them that fear the Lord, and think on His
Name. And they shall be My special possession, saith the Lord of
Hosts, in the day that I do judgment: and I will spare them as a
man spareth his own son that serveth him_." [Footnote 44]
[Footnote 44: St. Matt. iii. 16, 17.]
----------------------
Sermon VII.
God's Desire To Be Loved.
(Christmas Day.)
"Thou art beautiful above the sons of men:
grace is poured abroad in Thy lips;
therefore hath God blessed Thee forever.
Gird Thy sword upon Thy thigh, O Thou most mighty.
With Thy comeliness and Thy beauty,
set out, proceed prosperously and reign."
--Ps. xliv. 3-5.
The Church calls on us to-day to rejoice and be glad for the
Incarnation of the Son of God. With a celebration peculiar to
this Feast, she breaks the dead silence of the night with her
first Mass of joy.
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She repeats it again as the east reddens with the dawn. And still
again, when the sun is shining in full day, she offers anew a
Mass of thanksgiving for a blessing which can never be
sufficiently praised and magnified. I have thought that I could
not better attune your hearts to all this gladness and gratitude
than by reminding you of one of the motives of the Incarnation.
Why did our Lord become man? and why did He become Man in the way
He did? I answer, out of His desire to be loved by us. There is a
love of benevolence, which is content simply with doing good
without asking a return. God has this love for us. Nature and
reason tell us so. "_He maketh His sun to rise on the good and
the bad, and raineth upon the just and the unjust_." [Footnote 45]
[Footnote 45: St. Matt. v. 45.]
And there is another love, the love of friendship, which seeks to
be united to the object of its love. And the Incarnation shows us
that God has this kind of love for man. His love makes us lovable
in His eyes, and this again makes Him vehemently desire our love.
This will be my subject this morning--the Incarnation, an
evidence of God's desire to be loved by us.
And, first, observe, that there is no other reason given for the
Incarnation which sufficiently accounts for it in all its
circumstances. There are several reasons for the Incarnation. It
is the doctrine of many Catholic theologians that God would have
become man even if man had never sinned; that it was part of His
original plan in forming the creature thus to unite it to
Himself. Again, it is said that our Lord became Man in order to
make satisfaction for sin. And a third reason alleged for His
becoming man, is, that He might give us a perfect example. Now
all these reasons are true: but neither of them alone, nor all of
them together, entirely account for the Incarnation with all its
circumstances. Not the first, for even if God had predetermined
that His Son should become Man, irrespective of man's
transgression, certainly in that case He would not have come poor
and sorrowful, as He did.
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The necessity of a satisfaction for sin accounts indeed for our
Lord's sufferings in part, but not altogether; for He suffered
far more than was necessary. Besides, it was not necessary for a
Divine Person to have suffered for us unless it had pleased God
to require a perfect satisfaction, which He was free to demand or
dispense with. The desire to give a good example may be suggested
as the explanation of our Lord's humiliation; but when we
consider a moment, we will see that though a good man really does
give a good example, he does very few, if any of his actions, for
the mere sake of giving it. There are many things, then, in our
Lord's becoming Man, and His life as Man, that need some further
reason. What is that reason? It is His great desire to be loved
by us. Suppose this, and every thing is clear. I do not mean to
say that this account of our Lord's Incarnation makes it any less
wonderful--it makes it more so--but it gives a motive for it
all. Suppose Him influenced by an intense desire to gain our
love, and then we see why He stooped so low, why He did so much
more than was necessary, why he was so lavish in
condescension--in a word, this is the explanation of what would
otherwise seem to be the _excess_ of His love.
Then, again, let us consider how our Lord's Incarnation is
adapted to win our love. When we see means perfectly adapted to
an end, we are apt to conclude that they were chosen in view of
that end. Now, our Lord's humiliation is in all its parts
wonderfully calculated to attract love.
His taking our nature is especially so. There is a wonderful
power in blood. To be of kin is a tie that survives all changes
and all times. Now, here our Lord makes Himself of kin to us, of
the same blood. He is no stranger, before whom we need feel at a
great distance, but our relation, of our flesh and blood.
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And then as Man, He has clothed Himself with every thing that can
make Him attractive in the eyes of man. He makes His first
appearance in the world as an Infant, a beautiful Babe. How
attractive is a beautiful child! Men even of rugged natures are
softened by looking at it. A little child brings a flood of grace
and light into a house. Now, to-day, the Son of God is a Babe at
Bethlehem. He has the beauty of infancy, but there is also a
superadded beauty, a light playing on His features that is not of
earth, the light of Infinite Wisdom and Eternal Love. See, He
looks around and smiles, and stretches out His hands, as if
inviting us to caress Him.
In many children this beauty of infancy is evanescent, but in our
Lord it was the earnest of a grace and loveliness that followed
Him through life. It is evident that there was something most
attractive about our Lord to those who approached Him. As He grew
in stature He increased in favor, not only with God but with men.
When He had attained to manhood, He was such a one that children
willingly gathered around Him in the streets, and people stopped
to look at Him as He passed, and men's minds were strangely
stirred in them as He spoke, and the thought came into women's
hearts, "How happy to be the mother of such a Son!" Who but He
knew how perfectly to mingle dignity with familiarity, zeal with
serenity, and austerity with compassion? Even at the distance of
time that we are from His earthly life, His words reach us like
the sweetest music. What other preacher can say the same words
again and again, and never make us weary? Whose tones are there
that linger in our ears like His, and come like a spell to our
hearts in times of temptation and sorrow? Why, even scoffers have
acknowledged this. The beauty and excellence of our Saviour's
character have wrung a eulogium from a celebrated opponent of
Christianity, and at least a momentary confession that its author
was Divine.
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Then, to the attractions of His character, our Lord has added the
destitution of His circumstances, in order to gain our love. It
is natural for us to love any thing that is dependent on us. The
sick child that needs to be nursed, the helpless and depressed,
the poor that appeal to us, even the bird and the dog that look
to us for their food, come to have a place in our hearts. Now,
our Lord, at least even in this way to win us, has placed Himself
in a state of complete dependence on us. From the cradle to the
grave, and even beyond the grave, He appeals to man for the
supply of every want.
Think what it might have been. Think of the twelve legions of
angels that are impatient to come and minister to Him. But no! He
restrains them. For his swathing-bands, He will be a debtor to
Mary's care. For a habitation, He will put up with the stall of
the ox and the ass. The manger from which the cattle are fed
shall be His cradle. St. Joseph shall bear the expenses of his
early years; and when St. Joseph is gone, and He has begun His
ministry of preaching, Joanna and the other holy women shall
minister to Him of their substance. And at last, Magdalene shall
anoint His body for burial, and Joseph of Arimathea shall give
Him a winding-sheet and a grave.
I said He carried His poverty beyond the grave. And so He does.
For His churches, for the glory of His altars, for His priests,
for His sacraments, even for the bread and wine which shall serve
as veils for His presence, He depends on us, that out of love we
may minister to Him, and by ministering may love Him better.
And, further: while on the one hand our Lord thus appeals to our
affections by the poverty of His condition, on the other He
compels our love by the greatness of His sacrifices for us. In
His Sermon on the Mount, He bids us, "If any man force us to go
with him a mile, to go with him other two;" [Footnote 46] and
certainly it has been by this rule that He has acted toward us.
[Footnote 46: St. Matt. v. 41.]
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