may be said to fulfil it at all. The second way is, to fulfil it
in its perfection, according to the most generous meaning of the
words. When may one be said to fulfil it in the first way? When
he has a firm determination to keep clear, at all times, of every
mortal sin. It is plain, that in this case he can be said to
fulfil the commandment, because, after all, he prefers God to
every thing else.
{271}
When he determines to avoid every mortal sin, no matter what the
temptation to commit it may be, he does give his whole mind and
heart to God in some sense--at least, really and substantially,
though it may be imperfectly. If he does not go that far, he does
not in any sense fulfil this commandment. He loves the sinful
thing more than he loves God. He is ready to give up God, rather
than his will and pleasure. His whole heart and soul loves
sin--is turned away from God. He cannot entertain any hope of
eternal life: that is clear from the words of the Saviour in
to-day's Gospel. The Lawyer asked Him, "_What shall I do to
possess eternal life?_" The Saviour said, "_What is written
in the law? how readest thou?_" He answered: "_Thou shalt
love the Lord God with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul,
and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind_." And the
Saviour replied: "_Thou hast answered right, this do and thou
shalt live_." You see what the condition is. We must fulfil
this commandment, or there is no eternal life for us.
{272}
Let us not deceive ourselves. If we cannot honestly and sincerely
say: 'I am determined to keep clear of every mortal sin,' our
religion is vain. Don't build on the idea that we shall be saved
because of the Catholic faith we profess. "_Think not_,"
says Jesus, "_to say, We have Abraham for our Father. Do
penance; the axe is laid to the root of the tree; every tree that
bringeth not forth good fruit shall be hewn down and cast into
the fire_." [Footnote 115]
[Footnote 115: St. Luke iii., 8, 9.]
But is it enough just barely to fulfil the commandment in this
way? No, it is not. One who does not go farther, runs a very
great risk of being lost. The fact is, to maintain one's self in
an habitual horror of mortal sin requires a great deal of fervor
and recollection. In order to do so, one must also aim at
avoiding every deliberate sin, small or great; one must really be
in earnest to please God, or, in other words, one must strive to
fulfil the commandment of the text with a good degree of
perfection. That is plain enough to the dullest comprehension. A
man may get over an ordinary difficulty well enough, but when a
great one comes in his way, he requires all his strength and
resolution to overcome it.
{273}
So the ordinary temptations may be avoided, but there come times
which try the soul, great temptations, or unusual difficulties,
and great fervor is necessary to overcome them. They come just
when least expected, when one is off his guard. Unless one
maintains himself, then, in this state of fervor, so as to be
prepared for these occasions, he must fall. A ship that is strong
enough for fair weather, goes down in a strong gale of wind. A
drowsy sentinel may serve as well as another for awhile, but when
suddenly beset by an enemy, is slain before he can get ready to
defend himself; so the Christian, who goes on the principle of
keeping clear of mortal sin, but makes light of lesser sins, will
be sure to come to a grievous fall at last. "_He that despiseth
small things_," the Scripture says, "_shall fall by little
and little_." [Footnote 116]
[Footnote 116: Ecclus. xix., 1.]
[Transcriber's note: Ecclesiastes ends with chapter 12.
Sirach xix. 1. reads
"Whoever does this grows no richer; those who
waste the little they have will be stripped bare."]
The man who goes on the principle of gratifying his passions as
much as he can short of mortal sin, will never stop there. He
will overleap his boundary, as surely as the sun goes down at the
close of day, as surely as the water that eats out the sand from
the foundations of a house will finally bring it to ruin.
{274}
Such a person is not only in danger of ruin in the world to come,
but loses the peace and consolation which the servants of God
ought to have in this world. There is too much selfishness about
him. He is trying to join together two things as contrary as God
and the world--an impossibility, as God Himself says: "_No man
can serve two masters, for either he will love the one and hate
the other, or he will hold to the one and despise the other. Ye
cannot serve God and mammon_." [Footnote 117]
[Footnote 117: Matt. vi., 24.]
Now, the Lord intended to remove these evils, to show us a sure
and safe way to everlasting life, and to fill our souls
habitually with a heavenly peace and consolation, by enjoining on
us to fulfil this commandment with perfection, and, as the words
sound--"_with all our hearts, and with all our souls, and with
all our mind, and with all our strength_." I think this is
enough to prove conclusively the necessity of such fulfilment;
now let us see how it is to be done.
{275}
But, at the very outset, a great repugnance and distaste will
arise, I doubt not, in the minds of many, at hearing these strong
words of the text. It will seem to be asking too much--more than
they can dream of fulfilling. In their idea, it would seem an
impossibility, even if they had the best will in the world.
"What," says the father of a family, "give my whole soul and mind
to God? To take care of my children, to put bread in their mouths
and clothes on their backs, takes up, and must take up the
principal part of my time and attention. I must attend to my
business, and use all my skill and prudence and activity to make
all things meet. I can not do as the old hermits of the desert
did, pass my time in constant prayer and meditation." "What,"
says the mother, "give all my strength and all my mind to God!
How can I do it? I must expend all my strength going up and down
stairs, in the kitchen, in the dining-room, in my own room sewing
and mending, to keep every thing decent for the children. I must
teach them, and look out for them. One thing or another takes up
my time and attention the whole day, so that, when night comes
round, I am glad enough to get to bed and to sleep as quick as I can."
{276}
"What," says the young woman, just growing out of her girlhood,
"give my whole heart to God, when this dear old world is so
pleasant, and I have such fine times in it?" Alas! not the young
woman only, but the young man, and the old man and the old woman,
too, are apt enough to speak in this way. Dissipation and
pleasure keep such a hold upon them, that they seem to be more
giddy and foolish as they grow older. And another cry comes up
from all quarters: "How can I give my whole heart and soul to
God, when the troubles and sorrows of the world, its cares and
anxieties and disappointments fill me with bitterness and rage,
and excite every evil passion? In this miserable world there is
no such thing as tranquillity or peace, and how, without these,
can the whole heart be given to God?"
Now, dear brethren, whoever you may be who speak or who think in
this way, put down that feeling a little while; listen with
patience while I propose to you a means of fulfilling Christ's
commandment which will smooth away these difficulties, and enable
you to do so in a manner most pleasant and agreeable to you.
{277}
I do not pretend that this means takes away from you all
necessity of exertion--all effort and care to do right. No, the
words of Christ must hold true: "_Strive to enter into the
straight gate_," He says. "_Fight the good fight_," says
St. Paul. The prize of our high calling is too valuable to be had
without being in earnest about it. But I can venture to say, that
by the method I propose, it is by no means so difficult a thing
to fulfil Christ's commandment as you may suppose; that, with a
little patience and perseverance, it will become an easy and
agreeable thing to do so. What is this method? It is--_to
excite and keep in your souls an ardent desire to love God_.
This desire will do every thing, if it is strong and lively. Now,
the desire to love God is a thing natural to the soul. How so?
Why, thus. We naturally desire what is good--what will conduce to
our interest, our pleasure or profit. We express this by the very
word "desirable." As soon as we become acquainted with the value
of any thing to us, we desire it, and our desire for it is in
proportion to our appreciation of it. So a good name is more
desired among noble-minded men than the possession of riches--a
substantial wealth, more than the pleasure of the senses.
{278}
Now, what is more desirable than God? To possess Him, is to
possess all that is good, all that is beautiful, all that is
honorable, all that makes happiness. As soon as we know, even
imperfectly, what God is, a strong desire to possess Him must
arise in the soul. It may be transitory, quickly fade away and
lost sight of, through the things of the world which occupy the
attention, but, whenever we reflect on it, that desire must--it
is impossible that it should not--rise up in the soul. This
transitory desire, which passes away like a vapor, is of little
or no value; it does not last long enough to produce any
practical impression. It is what is called a _velleity_, or
ineffectual wish, if it is not nourished and made permanent, so
as to influence one's life.
But since this desire to love God is natural to one who knows
what He is, it must be, therefore, an excellent and easy means to
acquire a high degree of that love. It is like the oar in the
hands of the rower. It is like the wing by which a bird mounts
high in the air. Why, as soon as this desire acquires force
enough to control the will (and any strong desire is sure to do
so), we cannot separate the desire to love God from the love of
God itself.
{279}
God does not measure our love to Him by our feelings, for we may
seem to ourselves to have little, while our will shows that we
love Him dearly. The trouble then with us, and I may say our only
trouble is, that we do not enough desire to love Him; that we do
not keep that desire bright and lively in our souls. Surely we
have abundant reason for it! Besides the loveliness of God
attracting us, our eternal destiny depends upon it--heaven and
hell. Only let us turn over in our minds the vast importance of
loving God, and we must be compelled to cry out with intense
desire: "Oh, that I did love God with all my heart, with all my
soul, with all my mind and strength!" I say, then, excite this
desire; think, and think every day, on these simple things: Who
am I? Who is God? What has God made me for? What is the world and
all in it, compared to the love of God? Or, as the Gospel reads,
"_What shall it profit me to gain the whole world, if I suffer
the loss of my soul?_" Perhaps this fire of desire is almost
out in your soul; but there is still fire there--there is one
coal at least burning yet.
{280}
Blow it into a flame! Keep on blowing, and that fire will be sure
to spread, until the whole heap is in a blaze. You see, all that
is required of you is to think, to reflect. Put your mind upon it
with earnestness; and the desire of God must speedily gain the
mastery of your soul. When it does so, it will regulate all its
motions, and make every thing that was before so unnatural and
difficult seem wonderfully easy.
Let us see how it would fare then with sin. Only keep that ardent
desire to love God burning in your soul, and you will find it a
very hard thing to commit any deliberate sin. It is a maxim in
physical science that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at
the same time. One must displace the other. So, I say, two strong
desires, that are opposed to each other, cannot stay together in
one heart. Either one or the other must give way and yield
possession. So our Lord said long ago under cover of this
comparison: "_When a strong man armed keepeth his court, those
things which he possesseth are in peace. But if one stronger than
he cometh upon him and overcome him, he will take away all his
armor wherein he trusted, and distribute his spoils_."
[Footnote 118]
[Footnote 118: St. Luke xi., 21, 22.]
{281}
The strong desire for God's love will take away from the desire
for sin all its armor, all its strength, and leave it powerless
to hurt us. It had a peaceable possession of the soul before,
because nothing seriously disputed its right to govern, but now
the desire to love God has made it hateful and loathsome. The
strong man has become weak as an infant. When we fix our eyes on
sin, perhaps its allurements, and the force of old habits, may
make it so attractive, that it would gain the mastery once more.
Certainly it would make a desperate struggle for the mastery. But
let us look up to God! Let us consider how necessary, how
desirable in every view is his love, until we become resolved
that at least we will long for it, and continue longing for it,
as long as life is long; saying with the royal Psalmist: "_As
the hart panteth after the fountains of water, so panteth my soul
after thee, God_." [Footnote 119]
[Footnote 119: Ps. xli. 1.]
[Transcriber's note: The USCCB reference is Ps. xlii. 2.]
Then will all those allurements and attractions of sin vanish. We
shall only wonder how such miserable things could have blinded us
so long.
{282}
We all know how strong and engrossing the passion of earthly love
is. The lover is taken with some real or fancied perfection of
his mistress, either a beautiful face, a noble figure, or, it may
be, with what is far more to be prized, some noble qualities of
the mind or disposition. His whole mind is taken up with her
night and day, and his only study is, how he may recommend his
suit. If encouraged with the prospect of success, transports of
joy fill his soul; if met by neglect and indifference, he is
plunged into the deepest melancholy. If parents or relatives put
obstacles in the way, heaven and earth are moved to get them out
of the way. This is the burden of so many novels and romances
that are read with eagerness by people of every condition and
every class of society. If the desire of earthly beauty, of body
or soul, so imperfect, so unsatisfying, so short-lived, can thus
engross the soul of man, why should not the desire of God's love,
who is perfect beauty, perfect wisdom, perfect goodness, and our
promised portion for ever and ever, be able to do far more? It
will remove all obstacles out of the way.
{283}
We shall say, as did St. Agnes to her admirer and tempter:
"Depart from me thou food for death, for I am betrothed to Him
whom the angels serve, whose beauty sun and moon admire." Every
creature that breathes is food for death. Sin is the food of
eternal death. The idea that mortal sin brings eternal death,
eternal separations from this infinite beauty and goodness, must
make us regard it with the same horror that fills the soul at the
sight of a ferocious tiger or deadly serpent. It will make the
occasions of sin hateful, and cause the soul to exclaim: "Away
from me, ye frightful temptations! I know you: Ye bear the
serpent's tongue and the tiger's claw. Ye carry with you the risk
of God's anger and my eternal ruin." Who that loves God, or
desires to love Him, could venture into any place, into the
society of any person, where the danger of mortal sin is lurking,
since he knows that mortal sin is banishment from God?
{284}
This sacred desire would also consume every kind of deliberate
sin, whether great or small. This is the language of a heart that
longs after divine love. "Oh! how can I admit this, it is sinful;
it will cool away the fervor of my soul, it will prevent me from
making that near approach to God's love which I so much covet."
Cursing and swearing, lying, slandering, pilfering, and every
form of dishonesty, all immodesty in deed, word or thought, anger
and foolish pride--how would these all disappear before such a
fervent desire! And all this would be accomplished without any
violence to the soul, quietly, but powerfully and effectually,
and even with delight and satisfaction. For is it not a joy to
follow where our heart's desires lead? But this holy desire leads
toward God, and away from sin.
Again, this ardent desire to love God more and more will make it
easy and pleasant to us to perform all our duties. We cannot work
without a motive, without proposing something to ourselves which
appears good in our eyes. If the work to be done is arduous or
difficult, the motive or inducement must be a strong one. Such a
strong motive will render what is difficult easy. How easy it is
for men to take the longest journeys, endure the greatest labors,
when their souls are fired with the desire of providing for their
beloved ones at home, or with a noble ambition to serve their
country, or even for the miserable pursuit of gain.
{285}
Only hold out the prospect of success, and any amount of labor
seems light to them. Cannot the motive of God's love do as much?
Is it not as great? Can it not fill the soul as much as any
other? For an answer to these questions, look at what the Saints,
holy men and women, have done. Urged and animated by this
all-absorbing love, they have not counted life even as dear to
them, but given it up freely and gladly under the most frightful
torments. Look at the labors and sufferings of others, for
example, of a St. Francis Xavier, enough in his case, one would
suppose, to kill twenty ordinary men, all endured with the most
heroic cheerfulness and joy. No, depend upon it, the labors and
duties of ordinary life will seem trifling in the eyes of the
Christian who longs for the love of Jesus Christ. His soul burns
for opportunities. What shall I do? he says. 'Why do I stand here
idle? Lord, send me something to do.' The cares, duties, and
responsibilities of every-day life are the first things to be
done; sent by the Lord to be done for his sake. Therefore the
soul, instead of finding in them a source of complaint, finds an
outlet for that activity which she desires to exercise for God.
{286}
Suppose one would only say to himself, I want to do something to
please God and increase in his love. Now, I have not to search
for it; it is here before my face. To take care of my family,
endure fatigue and exertion for them, to discharge with fidelity
this office or employment committed to me, by which I earn my
bread. I will set right to work to do it. It is little indeed
that is required of me, but that little, and nothing else, is
what God requires of me now. Thanks be to Him who has made my way
plain before my face. In this way do things naturally distasteful
and irksome become agreeable, when the love of God is spread over
them.
This desire for God's love will also moderate all excessive
desire for the pleasures of the world. I do not speak now so much
of sinful pleasures, as of allowing the heart to go too much
after such as are allowed. Such liberty leads to sin by a short
road. Our life is too important to be trifled away. God requires
of us not to set our hearts on the pleasures or pomp of this
world, because then it is sure to forget, what is of so much more
importance, Himself.
{287}
Now, as soon as the soul in earnest perceives that indulgence is
producing this effect, that she is losing the relish for the love
of God and spiritual things, she is startled, and cannot but feel
afflicted. What, she says, shall I barter away so immense a good
for such trifles? The very pain this reflection causes weans her
away from pleasure. She judges, and judges rightly, that a small
enjoyment neglected for so high a motive, will bring a higher and
better happiness. We all know this in every-day affairs. Most men
prefer to neglect the pleasure of the moment when they see that
they gain a greater one for themselves in the future. How
provident, how temperate they are in early life to lay up an
abundance for old age! What old age can compare with eternity?
How strong then the motive of the soul to moderate all her
earthly desires, that she may have time and opportunity to look
out for that eternity. The ardent lover of God looks at every
thing in such a light. Pleasure becomes irksome to him very soon,
because he has something so much more important on his mind, that
he cannot, and will not rest easy, unless it be attended to.
{288}
He is no longer a little child, and cannot amuse himself with
running after butterflies the whole day. Besides, a greater
pleasure has engrossed and filled up his soul, and leaves no room
for trifles. It is the happiness of uniting himself to God. There
is no drawback to this. After a day spent in trying, with all his
heart, to please his God, he feels no regret for it at night,
when he lies down on his pillow. He is not left uneasy, restless,
and dissatisfied, as when pleasure, ease, and self-indulgence
were his aim, but is full of tranquillity, full of hope, and full
of the desire that his whole life may be thus spent in the same,
or greater efforts, to please God. The pleasures of the world
soon grow to be worthless in the eyes of such a man. With St.
Paul he says: "_I account all things as dung, so that I may win
Christ_." [Footnote 120]
[Footnote 120: Phil. iii. 8.]
It is not hard to part with what we esteem so little. The joy of
the heart amply compensates for all sacrifices, so that instead
of a long face, a melancholy and soured heart, such a one enjoys
deep gladness and satisfaction of mind, which grows deeper and
more complete, in proportion as he is weaned away from the
pleasures of the world.
{289}
Finally, all those things which are naturally disagreeable, such
as misfortunes, pains, sickness, trials of all kinds, become easy
and even agreeable through such a strong desire. The Martyrs
smiled in the midst of their torments. Did they not feel them?
Most certainly they had the same flesh and blood as ourselves.
But their souls had a sight of Jesus, surrounded by his Angels,
and this distracted their attention from all their torments. So
St. Stephen, when he saw this sight, became radiant with joy, and
his face shone like the face of an Angel. Sufferings,
tribulations and trials are things that force the soul to look
steadfastly upon Jesus, and the sight of Him takes from them all
their bitterness. So we read that an old hermit of the desert
complained when his yearly sickness failed to come upon him, that
the Lord had neglected to visit him. The soul that earnestly
desires God's love needs only to be told that pain of body or
mind, borne patiently, as coming from God's hand, is the surest
means of obtaining its desire. Pain is accepted then with
alacrity, and with pleasure.
{290}
To be sure, the first pangs may be exceedingly hard to bear; the
soul may require a little time to recollect herself, and gather
force to overcome the repugnance of nature. But a little
reflection puts every thing in its proper place. Shall I, she
says, reject the very things I have longed for, the opportunities
of making rapid progress in the love of God? If this does not
still the tumult of nature, prayers are resorted to, and in the
end comes victory and triumph, a wonderful vigor and refreshment
of the soul.
This is not merely for Martyrs and canonized Saints; it is a
thing that belongs to every-day life--the grand remedy for all
the ills we are subject to: "_Take up my yoke,_" says the
Saviour, "_for my yoke is easy and my burden light, and ye
shall find rest for your souls_." [Footnote 121]
[Footnote 121: St. Matt, xi., 29.]
It seems strange that the cross of Christ should give rest, but
it is so; and the tribulations which come from his hand, as St.
James says, work patience, and patience hath a perfect work;
therefore it is to be counted joy to receive them, and not
sorrow. And such will be the sentiment of the lover of God.
{291}
So in the Sermon on the Mount, the burden is always: "_Rejoice
and be exceeding glad_." For what? Poverty, afflictions,
persecutions, false testimony, and so on--they are worthy of joy,
because they bring what the soul so much desires.