about death. Why, death is our best friend and our wisest
counsellor. A London anatomist once placed over his
dissecting-rooms this inscription: "_Hic mors juvat succurrere
vitæ;_" "Here death helps to succor life." You see the
meaning. The physician takes a dead body and studies it, spends
days and nights over it, repulsive as it is, in order to learn
the secrets of the living frame and how to minister to its
complaints. So let the Christian look at death and learn from it
how to keep his soul in health, how to secure its everlasting
life. It is nothing very terrible that death has to tell us now.
The time will come, if we refuse to hear him now, when his words
will be terrible; but now, though solemn, though calculated to
make us serious and thoughtful, they need not make us gloomy. He
says, you have a great work to do, and little time to do it
in--time enough, but none to spare. He says to the young: Look at
me, look into my face, and see the value of beauty and of
pleasure. He says to the proud: Come and see how kings and
beggars lie side by side in my dominion. He says to the covetous:
Come, open a grave, and see what a man carries away with him when
he dies. And he says to all, you must die alone; what you are,
what you have made yourself, so must you appear before God, to
receive a just and final sentence. This is the sermon of Death,
that he has been preaching from the beginning. It never grows
old. It has converted more sinners than all missionaries and
preachers by any other means. It has made more saints, induced
more to embrace a religious life, sent more souls to heaven than
any other sermon ever did. Oh! Death is a great preacher. There
is no answer to his reasonings, no escape from his appeal. He
speaks not, but his silence is eloquent. He makes no gestures,
but that motionless arm of his is more expressive than the most
impassioned action. There is a story told of a certain man named
Guerricus, which shows how powerfully death preaches. This man
was a Christian, but one who loved the world too well, and one
evening he strayed into a church when the monks were singing
matins.
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The hour, the place, all invited to reflection, and as he stood
and listened, one of the monks came forth, and in a loud, clear
voice sang the lesson of the day. It was as follows: "_And all
the time that Adam lived, came to nine hundred and thirty years,
and he died. And Seth lived after he begat Enos eight hundred and
seven years, and all the years of Seth were nine hundred and
twelve years, and he died. And Enos begat Cainan. And all the
years of Enos were nine hundred and five years, and he died. And
all the days of Cainan were nine hundred and ten years, and he
died_." [Footnote 247]
[Footnote 247: Gen. v. 5.]
So it came at the end of every period, the same melancholy
cadence, _Et mortuus est_, "and he died." The words rang in
the ear of Guerricus. "So then," said he, "that is the end of
all. The longest life ends with that record--_and he died_.
So it will one day be said of me." And with this reflection on
his mind, he went away and distributed his wealth to the poor,
commenced a life of mortification and prayer, and began in good
earnest to prepare to die. Happy those who after this example are
led by the thought of death to enter on a really devout life!
They will not be confounded in the evil day. They will not be
afraid of any evil tidings. When the great prophet Elias was
about to leave this world, the sons of the prophets came to tell
Eliseus of it as a piece of afflicting news, saying: "_Dost
thou know that the Lord will take away thy master from thee
to-day?_" [Footnote 248] And he said: "_Yes, I know it, hold
your peace._" So when the good Christian's last hour comes on,
and sorrowing friends approach his bed to break it to him that he
is dying, he can say, Yes, I know it. It is no news to me. I have
long known it. I have expected it. _Dying_, you say. "So
then," I can exclaim with St. Teresa, "the hour is come!" the
hour I have so long been waiting for, the hour I have labored
for, the hour that is to end my exile here, and unite me for ever
to my Saviour and my God!
[Footnote 248: I. Kings ii. 3.]
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I tried just now to describe to you the desolation that is now
spread over the face of Nature; but a few weeks ago the scene was
quite different. The fields were laden with a golden harvest, and
the husbandman was gathering it in with joy. He knew that winter
was coming, and he prepared for it. In the morning he sowed his
seed, and in the evening he withheld not his hand. He labored in
the chill, uncertain spring, and in the hot days of summer, and
when autumn came, he gathered his fruits into the garner, safe
from the frosts of winter. So he who thinks of death makes the
most of the spring-time of life, takes care in his youth to plant
in his heart the seeds of piety, and to tear up the weeds of
vice, guards his soul in the storms of temptation, labors
untiringly through the heat and burden of life, and, when his
last hour arrives, lies down in peace, confident that he shall
enter into those fruits of righteousness which, by patient
continuance in well-doing, he has laid up for the time to come.
I commend these thoughts to you all, my brethren; but there are
some among you to whom I commend them especially, those, namely,
who are to die soon. When the captains of Israel were assembled
together at Ramoth-Galaad, the messenger of Eliseus appeared in
their midst and said, "_I have a message to thee, O
prince._" And they answered, "_To which one of us all?_"
[Footnote 249] So I feel this morning as if I had a message to
some of you in particular, though I do not know who they are. The
message is that which Jeremias the prophet sent to Hananias:
"_Thus saith the Lord, this year shalt thou die_." [Footnote 250]
[Footnote 249: IV. Kings ix. 5.]
[Footnote 250: Jer. xxviii. 16.]
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How many of those who were alive a year ago are now dead! How
many of those who listen to me now will be dead before another
year rolls round! Now, to these persons it is a question of the
most pressing urgency, "Am I now as I would wish to be when I
die? When Death comes, it will not wait because you are laden
with sins or unprepared. It will not wait for you to send for the
priest or finish your confession, or to receive absolution. At
the moment that sentence is given, you must yield up your soul,
in whatever state it is. Now, then, is the time to put your house
in order. Perhaps you are not a Catholic. You are lingering
outside the Church, with misgivings in your heart that only in
her fold you can secure your salvation. Will those misgivings
help you to die easily? Will those ingenious and far-fetched
arguments, by which you fortify yourself against conviction now,
give that peace to your soul, which the broad, strong, plain
evidence of the Faith imparts to the soul of a Catholic? Would
you not like, as you go out of this world, to step on the firm
rock of Peter? To go hence "with the sign of faith," with the
blessing of the Mother of Saints upon you, and the grace of her
sacraments within your heart?
Or, you are a Catholic, but a careless one. You have the load of
years of sin on your conscience. When you come to die, will you
not wish to have those sins blotted out? Will you then forego as
you do now those absolving words which our Lord has promised to
ratify in heaven? Will you trust all to the uncertain chance of
confession in that hour, or to a doubtful contrition?
Or it is a cloud of venial sins--a veil of worldliness, and
selfishness, and unfaithfulness, of omissions and neglects, that
darkens your soul. Do you wish to die with that veil not taken
away? Do you wish to go before God as careless and as sensual as
you are now? Are you spending your time as you would wish to
spend the last year of your life? Oh! be diligent. The night
cometh. Work while it is day. "_Whatsoever thy hand is able to
do, do it earnestly; for neither work, nor reason, nor wisdom,
nor knowledge shall be in the land of the dead whither thou art
hastening_." [Footnote 251]
[Footnote 251: Eccles. ix. 10.]
Receive instruction. Be not of the number of those who have
foolishly thrown away their salvation.
{503}
There are stories of men's passing through grave-yards on dark
and stormy nights, and hearing dismal sounds, as of a restless
and unhappy soul complaining of its torments. You say it is the
wind. Suppose it is: may not the wind be speaking for the dead?
Is not the earth for the elect? Does not Nature sympathize with
man? Does not every creature groan and travail for our
redemption? [Footnote 252] Did not the prophet call upon the
fir-trees and the oaks to "howl" for the destruction of
Jerusalem! [Footnote 253]
[Footnote 252: Rom. ix. 22.]
[Footnote 253: Zacb. xi. 2.]
Did not the sun hide its face at the crucifixon of our Lord, and
the earth tremble under His Cross? And when He comes to judgment
will not the stars fall from the sky and the heavens be parted as
a scroll? Is not, then, that instinct of humanity right which has
understood the fearful sounds and sights of Nature as Divine
utterances--pictures and voices of a woe that is unspeakable and
indescribable. There is a bird in South America with a cry so
melancholy that it is called _The Lost Soul_. And Nature,
that speaks there to the hearts of men by that dismal cry, tells
the same story to us by the storm at sea, and the moaning and
sighing and shrieking of the wind on a winter's night. What
aileth thee, O sea, tossed and driven with the waves? Let the
Scriptures answer. "_The voice of the Lord is upon the waters,
the God of majesty hath thundered, the Lord is upon many
waters_." [Footnote 254]
[Footnote 254: Ps. xxviii. 3:]
Why does the winter come upon us with desolation and storm? Let
the Holy Scripture answer again: "_The vineyard is confounded,
and the fig-tree hath languished. The pomegranate-tree, and the
palm-tree, and the apple-tree, and all the trees of the field
shalt wither because joy is withdrawn from the children of
men._" [Footnote 255]
[Footnote 255: Joel i. 12.]
{504}
Yes, there are sad things in nature because there is death and
reprobation among men. The days grow short out of sorrow for the
lost children of God, and the wintry heavens "are black with
clouds, and winds, and rain," because to many "_the harvest is
past, the summer is ended, and they are not saved_."
[Footnote 256]
[Footnote 256: Jer. viii. 20.]
-----------------------------
THE END
{505}
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