that could never be paid, that it was a claim on us that pressed
continually, and was never satisfied. And surely it is so. When
we think at all, we must all acknowledge that it is so. Who is
Christ? the Son of God, the Splendor of His Father's Glory, and
the Image of His Substance. Who are we? lost sinners. And for us
"He did not abhor the Virgin's womb." He did not refuse "to bear
our infirmities, and carry our sorrows." He gave His body to the
smiters, and turned not away from those that rebuked Him and spat
upon Him. He gave His blood [as] a ransom for many, and laid down
His life for sin. Was there ever love like this? While gratitude
lives among men, what shall be the return given to Christ by
those whom He has redeemed? Is the return we are actually making
such as He deserves?
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Was it for this that He died, that we should not commit _quite
so many_ mortal sins? Was it for this that He hung on the
cross, that _only now and then_ we should omit some
important duty? Was it for this that He sweat those great drops
of blood, that we should live a slothful and irreligous life? O
my brethren, when I see how men are living; when I look at some
Christians, and see how when Easter comes round it is an even
chance whether they go to their duties or not; when I see them on
Sunday stay away from Mass so lightly, or listen to the word of
God so carelessly; when I see them omit most important duties
toward their families; when I see how freely they expose
themselves to temptation, and how easily they yield to it; when I
see how slow they are to prayer, how cold, sluggish, sensual and
worldly they are; above all, when I hear them give for an answer,
when they are questioned about these things, so indifferently,
"_I neglected it_," I ask myself, Did these men ever hear of
Christ? Do they know in whose name they are baptized? Did they
ever look at a crucifix, or read the story of the Passion? Alas!
yes, they have seen and heard and read, and have taken their
side, if not with Judas in his deceitful kiss, or the soldiers in
their mockery, with the crowd of careless men who passed by,
regardless and hard-hearted. But let these men know that their
Saviour sees and resents their neglect. "_Because thou art
lukewarm_," He says, "_and neither cold nor hot, I will
begin to vomit thee out of my mouth_." [Footnote 70] His soul
loathes the slothful and half-hearted. Yes, slothful Christian,
far different will be the estimate thou wilt make of thy life
when thou comest to die, from what thou makest now. Then that
negligence of thine, of which thou makest so little, will seem
the crime it really is; and bitter will be the account thou shalt
render of it to Christ thy Judge.
[Footnote 70: Apoc. iii. 16.]
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But if it be not enough to rouse us from our torpor, to think
that we are offending God, let us reflect how great is the danger
which we are bringing on our own souls. A negligent Christian is
in very great danger of being lost. I said just now that he falls
into mortal sins now and then. It is hardly possible it should be
otherwise. One will certainly fall into mortal sin if he does not
take pains to avoid it. We all have within us concupiscence, or a
tendency to love the creature with a disordered love, and this
tendency is much increased in most men by actual sins of their
past lives. Now, this principle acts as a weight on the will,
always dragging it down to the earth. Fervent men make allowance
for this. They aim higher than it is necessary to reach. They
leave a margin for failures, weakness, and surprise. They build
out-works to guard the approaches to the citadel. But with the
negligent Christian it is the contrary of all this. Unreflecting,
unguarded, unfortified by prayer, in his own weakness, and with
his strong bent to evil, he must meet the immediate and direct
temptations to mortal sin which befall him in his daily life. Is
not his fall certain? Not to speak of very strong temptations
which can only be overcome by a special grace, which grace God
has not promised to grant except to the faithful soul--even
ordinary temptations are too much for such a man. He falls into
mortal sin almost without resistance.
And what is also to be taken into the account is, that the
difference between mortal and venial sin is often a mere question
of more or less. So much is a mortal sin: so much is not. The
line is often very difficult, nay, impossible to be drawn, even
by a theologian. Now, who can tell us in practice when we have
arrived at the limit of venial sin, when we have passed beyond it
and are in mortal sin? Will not a careless, thoughtless man, such
as I have described, will he not be certain sometimes to go over
the fatal line? Yes, my brethren, negligent Christians commit
mortal sins. They commit mortal sins almost without knowing it.
They commit mortal sins oftener than they imagine.
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Without opposing religion, without abandoning themselves to a
reprobate life, just by neglecting God and their duties, they
fall into grievous sins; bad habits multiply upon them apace,
their passions grow stronger, grace grows weaker, their good
resolutions less frequent and less hopeful, until they are near
to spiritual ruin. The wise man gives us in a striking picture
the description of such a soul: "_I passed by the field of the
slothful man and by the vineyard of the foolish man: And behold,
it was all filled with nettles, and thorns had covered the face
thereof: and the stone wall was broken down, which when I had
seen, I laid it up in my heart, and by the example I received
instruction. Thou will sleep a little, said I: thou will slumber
a little: thou will fold thy hands a little to rest: And poverty
shall come upon thee as one that runneth, and want as an armed
man_." [Footnote 71]
[Footnote 71: Proverbs xxiv. 30.]
And what is to secure you from dying in such a state? Our Lord
says, "_If the master of the house had known in what hour the
thief would come, he would have watched, and would not have
suffered his house to be broken open_." [Footnote 72]
[Footnote 72: Matt. xxiv. 43.]
But he knew not, and so in the dead of night, when deep sleep
falleth on man, the thief came. And so it is with death. It comes
like a thief in the night. Death is almost always sudden.
Sometimes it comes without any warning at all. A man is sent into
eternity in a moment, without time to utter a prayer. Sometimes
it comes after sickness, but sickness does not always prepare for
death. The sick man says: "Oh, it is nothing; I shall soon be
well." His friends say the same. If he gets worse the priest is
sent for; he would like to receive the sacraments. But too often
he has not yet looked Death in the face, he has not heard the
dreadful truths he has to tell, he is much as he was in life,
slothful and negligent. And after the priest is gone, when he is
alone, at midnight, that comes to pass of which he has thought so
little.
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Death enters the room, and with his icy hand unlocks the prison
of the body, whispering to the soul with awful voice, "Arise, and
come to judgment." O my brethren, how dreadful, if at that hour
you find yourself unready! If like the foolish virgins you are
forced to cry: "Our lamps are gone out." "_Cursed is he that
doeth the work of the Lord negligently_," [Footnote 73] saith
the Holy Scripture. The work of the Lord is the work of our
salvation. That is the work of our life, the work for which we
are created, and he, who through negligence leaves this work
undone, shall hear at the last that dreadful sentence: "Depart ye
cursed."
[Footnote 73: Jer. xlviii. 10.]
We come back, then, to this truth, that the only way to secure
our salvation is to be not slothful in that business, but fervent
in spirit, serving the Lord. Salvation is a serious work. We are
not sufficiently aware of this. We seem somehow to have got in
the belief that the way of life is not strait, and the gate not
narrow. Certainly we feel very differently about our salvation
from what our fathers in the Catholic Church felt. How many have
gone out into the desert and denied themselves rest and food, and
scourged themselves to blood! How many have devoted themselves to
perpetual silence! How many have willingly given up wealth and
friends and kindred! How many, even their own lives! Will you
tell me they were but seeking a _more perfect_ life? they
were but following the counsels of perfection, which a man is
free to embrace or decline? I tell you they were seeking their
_salvation_. They were afraid of the judgment to come, and
were trying to prepare for it. "Whatever I do," says St. Jerome,
"I always hear the dreadful sound of the last trumpet: 'Arise, ye
dead, and come to judgment.'" Now, can salvation be a work so
serious to them and so trivial for us? Grant that yon are not
bound to do precisely what they did, are you at liberty to do
nothing?
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If you are not bound to a perpetual fast, are you at liberty to
darken your mind and inflame your passions by immoderate
drinking? If yon are not required to walk with downcast eyes and
to observe perpetual silence, are you free to gaze on every
dangerous object, and to speak words of profanity, falsehood,
impurity, or slander? If you are not required to flee from your
homes, are you not required to forsake the occasions of sin? If
you are not called to forego all innocent pleasures, are you
exempt from every sort of self-denial? If no rule obliges you to
spend the night in prayer, are you not obliged to pray often?
Yes, it was the desire to place their salvation in security that
led our fathers into the desert. Surely, we have to work out our
salvation with fear and trembling, who remain behind in a world
which they left as too dangerous, and have to contend with
passions which they felt wellnigh too strong for them. We must be
what they were. "_The time is short: it remaineth that they who
have wives be as those who have not; and they who weep as they
who weep not; and they who rejoice as they who rejoice not; and
they who buy as they who possess not; and they who use this world
as if they used it not; for the figure of this world passeth
away_." [Footnote 74]
[Footnote 74: I. Cor. vii. 29, 30.]
My brethren, then be earnest in the work of your salvation. While
we have time let us do good, and abound in the work of the Lord.
Serve the Lord with a perfect heart. He deserves our very best.
Our own happiness, too, will be secured by it, for He says:
"_Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me, and you shall find
rest to your souls_." [Footnote 75] And to the fervent: "_An
entrance shall be ministered abundantly into the everlasting
kingdom of Jesus Christ_." [Footnote 76]
[Footnote 75: Matt. xi. 29.]
[Footnote 76: II. Pet. i. 11.]
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This is my desire for you, to see you fervent Christians. I would
like to know that you are anxious to assist at the Holy Mass on
week-days as well as on Sundays. I would like to know that you
pray morning and evening. I would like to believe that you speak
with God often as the day goes on. I would like to know that you
are watchful over your lips for fear of giving offence with your
tongue; that you are prompt to reject the first temptations to
evil; that you are exact in the fulfilment of your duties; that
you are careful in confession, and devout at communion--in a
word, that you are living a life of watchfulness against the
coming of Christ to judgment. This includes all. This is what our
Saviour enjoined on us: "_Take heed; watch and pray; for you
know not when the Lord of the house cometh: at even, or at
midnight, or at cock-crowing, or in the morning. Lest coming of a
sudden, He find you sleeping_." [Footnote 77]
[Footnote 77: St. Mark xiii. 35.]
-------------------------------------
Sermon XII.
The Cross, The Measure of Sin.
(Passion Sunday)
"For my thoughts are not as your thoughts;
nor your ways my ways, saith the Lord.
For as the heavens are exalted above the earth,
so are my ways exalted above your ways,
and my thoughts above your thoughts."
--Isa. LV., 8, 9.
To-day, my brethren, is the beginning of Passion-tide, the most
solemn part of the season of Lent. The two weeks between now and
Easter are set apart especially for the remembrance of the
sufferings of Christ. Therefore the Church assumes the most
sombre apparel, and speaks in the saddest tone. The actual
recital of the Passion, the following of our Blessed Saviour step
by step in His career of woe, she reserves for the last three
days of this sorrowful fortnight.
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In this, the earlier part of it, her aim is rather to suggest
some thoughts which lead the way to Calvary, and prepare the mind
for the great event that happened there. I shall then be saying
what is suitable to the season, and at the same time directing
your minds to what I regard as one of the most useful reflections
connected with this subject, by asking you this morning to
consider the sufferings of Christ as a revelation of the evil of
sin.
But, it may be asked, does man need a revelation on this point?
Is not the natural reason and the natural conscience sufficient
to tell us that sin is wrong? Undoubtedly a man naturally knows
that sin is an evil, and without this knowledge, indeed, he would
be incapable of committing sin, since in any action a man is only
guilty of the evil which his conscience apprehends. But this
natural perception of sin is more or less confused and
indistinct. Our Saviour on the cross prayed for His murderers in
these words: "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they
do." He did not mean that they were ignorant that they were doing
wrong, for then they could have needed no forgiveness, but that
they did not realize the full atrocity of the deed. They were
acting guiltily indeed, but inadvertently and blindly: And the
same may be said of very many sinners. Sin is for the most part a
leap in the dark. A man knows he is doing a dangerous thing, but
he does not realize the full danger. He does not take in the full
scope of his action, nor its complete consequences. St. Paul
speaks of the deceitfulness of sin, and the expression describes
very well the source of that disappointment and unhappiness which
often overtakes the transgressor when he finds himself involved
in difficulties from which it is all but impossible to extricate
himself and sorrows which he never anticipated. It is the old
story. Sin "_beginneth pleasantly, but in the end it will bite
like a snake and will spread abroad poison like a serpent_."
[Footnote 78] Oh! how many are there who are finding this true in
their own experience every day.
[Footnote 78: Prov. xxiii. 31, 32.]
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Tell me, my brethren, do you think that young persons who
contract habits of sin that undermine their health know all they
are bringing on themselves--the weakness of body, the feebleness
of mind, the early decay, the shame, the remorse, the impotence
of will, the tyranny of passion, the broken vows and resolutions,
the hopelessness, the fear--perhaps the premature disease and
death? No, all this was not in their thoughts at first. These are
the bitter lessons which the youth has learned in the school of
sin. He has not found out what he was doing till it was all but
too late. Or that married woman who has stepped aside from the
path of virtue, did she realize what she was doing? Did she think
of the plighted faith broken; did she think of the horrible guilt
of the adulteress, of the agony, the remorse, the deceit, the
falsehood, the trembling fear of her whole future life; did she
realize the moment when her guilt would be detected, the fury of
her wronged husband, her family dishonored, her children torn
from her embrace, her name infamous, herself forlorn and ruined?
Oh, no! these things she did not realize. There was indeed, on
the day when she committed the dreadful crime, a dark and fearful
form in her path, that raised its hands in warning, and frowned a
frown of dreadful menace. It was the awful form of conscience,
but she turned away from the sight, and shut her ear to the
words, and heard not half the message. And so the dreadful
consequences of her sin have come upon her almost as if there had
been no warning. Or that drunkard, when he was a handsome young
man, with a bright eye and a light step, and was neatly dressed,
and was succeeding in his business; when he first began to
tipple, did he realize that he would soon be a diseased, bloated,
dirty vagabond; that his children would be half naked, and his
wife half starved; or that he would spend the last cent in his
pocket, or the last rag on his back, in the vain effort to allay
that thirst for drink which is almost as unquenchable as the fire
of hell?
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No, he little foresaw it, and if it had been told him, he would
have said with Hasael, the Syrian captain, when Elisha showed him
the abominations he was about to commit, "What, am I a dog, that
I should do such things?" Or that thief, when he yielded to the
glittering temptation, and made himself rich for a while with
dishonest riches, did he then see before him the deeper poverty
that was to follow; the loss of all that makes a man's heart glow
and his life happy; the lies that he must tell, the subterfuges
he must resort to, the horrible detection, the loss of situation,
the public trial, the imprisonment? No. Of course these were all
daily in his thoughts, for they were part of the risk he knew he
was running; but so little did he bring them home to himself, and
the suffering he was to endure, that when they came it seemed
almost hard, as if a wholly unlooked-for calamity had overtaken
him. So it is. Wherever we look it is the same thing. Men imagine
sin to be a less evil than it really is. It is so easy to commit
it, it is so soon done, the temptation so strong, that it does
not seem as if such very bad consequences would come of it. So it
is done, and the bitter consequences come. It seems as if the lie
that Satan told to Eve in the garden, when he tempted her to eat
the forbidden fruit, "Thou shalt not surely die," still echoes
through the world and bewitches men's ears so that they always
underrate the guilt and punishment of sin; and although the lie
has been exposed a thousand times, although in their own bitter
experience men find its falsehood, yet they do not grow wiser,
they still go on thoughtless, insensible to their greatest danger
and their greatest evil, and when they stand on the shore of
time, and hear God threatening eternal punishment hereafter to
the sinner, they still set aside the warning with the same fatal
insensibility.
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If they are not Catholics, they deny or doubt the existence of
hell; if they are Catholics, they think somehow they will escape
it.
Oh, my brethren, before you allow yourselves to act on this
estimate of sin, so prevalent in the world, ask yourselves how it
accords with God's estimate of sin. That is the true standard.
God is Truth. He sees things as they are, and every thing is just
what He considers it. He is our Judge, and it will not save us
when we stand on trial at His bar to tell Him that we have
rejected His standard and taken our own. What, then, is God's
estimate of sin? Look at the Cross, and you have the answer. Let
me for a moment carry you back to the scene and time of the
Crucifixion. It is the eve of a great festival in the city of
Jerusalem. It is the Parasceve, or Preparation of the Passover.
On this day the Jews were required, each family by itself, to
kill a lamb and eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs.
They were required to eat it standing, with loins girded, and
with staves in their hands, because this feast was in memory of
the sudden deliverance of their fathers from the bondage of
Egypt, when God smote the first-born of the Egyptians with death,
passed over the houses of the Israelites, and conducted them
miraculously through the waters of the Red Sea. It was a great
feast among the Jews, and always collected together a great
multitude of strangers in the holy city. But on this occasion a
new excitement was added to the interest of the holy city, for
there was a public execution on Mount Calvary, and turbaned
priests, and Pharisees with broad fringes on their garments, and
scribes and doctors of the law, mingled in the throng of
mechanics and laborers, and women and children, who hastened to
the spot. The day is dark, but as you draw near the Mount, you
see, high up in the air, the bodies of men crucified; and sitting
on the ground, or standing in groups, talking and disputing among
themselves, or watching in silence with folded arms, are gathered
a vast multitude of spectators.
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What is there in this execution thus to gather together all
classes of the people? The punishment of crucifixion was
inflicted only on slaves or malefactors of the worst kind, and
two of the three that are hanging there are vulgar and infamous
offenders. What is it, then, that gives such interest to this
scene? It is He who hangs upon that cross, at whose feet three
sorrowing women kneel. Read the title, it will tell you who He
is. "This is Jesus, the King of the Jews." Yes, this is Jesus,
the merciful and kind; He who went about doing good, healing all
manner of sickness, and delivering all that were possessed with
the devil; He who spoke words of truth and love. This is Jesus,
the King of the Jews, whom a thousand prophecies fulfilled in him
and a thousand miracles performed by Him pointed out as the
promised Messias: Jesus, whom the Eternal Father, by a voice from
heaven, had acknowledged as His own Son. "This is my beloved Son
in whom I am well pleased." Why is this? Why is it that the just
man perisheth? The apostle tells us: "Christ must _needs_
have suffered." He was the true Paschal Lamb that must die that
we might go free. He was the victim of our sins. Pilate and Herod
and the Jews were but the instruments by which all the
consequences of our sins fell upon Him who came to bear them.
"_Surely He hath borne our infirmities and carried our sorrows;
and we have thought Him, as it were, a leper, and as one struck
by God and afflicted. But He was wounded for our iniquities, He
was bruised for our sins. The chastisement of our peace was upon
Him, and by His bruises we are healed. All we like sheep have
gone astray, everyone hath turned aside into his own way, and the
Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all_." [Footnote 79]
[Footnote 79: Isia. liii. 4, 5, 6.]
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Yes, every sin of every kind received its special reparation in
the sufferings of Christ. His mouth is filled with vinegar and
gall to atone for our luxury. His ear is filled with revilings to
expiate the greediness with which we have drunk in poisonous
flattery. His eyes languish because ours have been lofty, and His
hands and feet are pierced with nails because ours have been the
instruments of sin. He suffered death because we deserved it. He
was accursed, because we had made ourselves liable to the curse
of God, and hell had its hour of triumph over Him, because we had
made ourselves its children. Nor was it our Lord's body alone
that suffered. It would be a great mistake to suppose that His
sacrifice was merely external. The chief part of man is his soul.
St. Leo says that our Lord on the cross appeared as a penitent.
It was not only that He suffered for the sins of men, but it was
as if He had committed them. The horror of them filled His soul;
sorrow for the outrage they had done to the Majesty and Holiness
of God consumed Him. "My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto
death," He said. Afterward the evangelist says He began to be
very heavy, and it was sinners that on the cross made Him bow His
head and give up the ghost. He was not killed. His enemies did
not take His life. The flood of sorrow for sin came into His
soul, and overwhelmed Him. It was too much. His heart was broken.
Oh, the weight of that sorrow! He bowed His head and gave up the
ghost. Then sin was expiated. Then the work of man's atonement
was completed. At last man had done adequate penance. At last
sorrow for sin had reached its just proportion as an offence
against God.
Here, I say, we have a revelation of the evil of sin. God does
nothing in vain: His works are as full of wisdom as they are of
power. Since, therefore, Christ died for sin, the cross of Christ
is the measure of sin.
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"From the consideration of the remedy," says St. Bernard, "learn,
O my soul, the greatness of thy danger. Thou wast in error, and
behold the Son of the Virgin is sent, the Son of the Most High
God is ordered to be slain, that my wounds may be healed by the
precious balsam of His blood. See, O man, how grievous were thy
wounds, for which, in the order of Divine wisdom, it was
necessary that the lamb Christ should be wounded. If they had not
been unto death, and unto eternal death, never would the Son of
God have died for them. The cross of Christ is not only an altar
of sacrifice, but a pulpit of instruction. From that pulpit,
lifted up on high, Jesus Christ preaches a lesson to the whole
world." The burden of the lesson is the evil of sin. "The law was
given by Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ." And
yet, my brethren, the law was published afresh by Jesus Christ.
Mount Calvary but repeats the message of Mount Sinai--nay,
repeats it with more power. Here, indeed, God does not speak in
thunders and lightnings, as He did there, but He speaks in the
still small voice of the suffering Saviour. Oh, what meaning is
there in those sad eyes as they bend down upon us! Oh, what power
in those gentle words He utters! He does not say, "Thou shalt not
commit adultery; thou shalt not steal; thou shalt not bear false
witness." No. He cries to a guilty people, a people who have
already broken the law, and He says to them: "See what you have
done. See My thorn-crowned head. See My hands and feet. Look at
Me whom you have pierced. Is it a light thing that could have
reduced Me to such a state of woe? Is it a light thing that could
have bound Me to this cross? Me, the Creator of all things, to
whom you owe all life and liberty? Who by My word and touch have
so often healed the sick and released them that were bound to
Satan. They say of Me, 'He saved others, Himself He cannot save.'
And they say truly. Here must I hang. Not the Jews have nailed Me
to this cross, but My love, and thy sins. Yes, see in My
sufferings your sin displayed. See in the penalty I pay the
punishment you have deserved. See your guilt in My sorrow. Look
at Me, and see what sin is in the presence of the All Holy God!"
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