marriage, and their defection affects not only themselves, but their
children. It destroys the character of the home, and is an injustice to
those whom they have brought into the world. To them the solicitude of
the priest will be continually applied. "I came not to call the just,"
said our Lord, "but sinners to penance";[7] and the priest's work in
continually visiting his flock--house to house visiting, if
circumstances permit--is chiefly directed towards rescuing those who
have fallen away, or are in danger of doing so. The special efforts, the
Lenten sermons and missions then or at other times, and the long hours
spent in the Confessional are directed primarily towards getting back
the sheep who have gone astray. No satisfaction of the priest can be
compared with that when he brings back a lost sheep to the fold, and
perhaps creates a holy home which but for his efforts would have been a
home of perdition. If he has imitated the Cure d'Ars and done penance to
himself in order to obtain such a conversion, the penance will appear to
him small indeed compared with the blessings he has obtained.
The solicitude of a priest must not be limited to his own Catholic
people. We have surely a mission to all, and we should try to reach all.
"Other sheep I have," said our Lord, "that are not of the fold; them
also I must bring, and they shall hear My voice, and there shall be one
fold and one shepherd." [8] One learns by experience how little we have
personally to do with making converts. "The Spirit breatheth where He
will," and a new convert will come from some unexpected quarter as
though dropping down from the skies. It is often assumed that the chief
school which produces converts is the High Church party of the Church of
England. This may be so sometimes; but in the small experience of the
present writer, both in the four years spent on the mission and in
granting faculties as Bishop, this has not been universally the case. He
can recall receiving Low Churchmen, Dissenters, Quakers, or unbaptised
persons with no religion at all, as frequently as those of the High
Church. They come at all ages; and often without any very definite
apparent reason. It has no doubt been a case of corresponding with the
grace of God, and even when it was originally set in motion by something
in one of our sermons, or when difficulties have been chased away in
like manner, the priest feels clearly enough how little one has had
personally to do with it, beyond being the representative of God.
Nevertheless, it is one of the signs of God's blessing on our work, and
if it is absent, and no converts are coming, we may well take it as a
warning that we are not doing our work as well as we might.
This is not the place to write at length on the treatment of converts.
Let it be sufficient to say that we should extend to these the very
utmost charity and sympathy. We who were born Catholics can hardly
realise the extraordinary mental anguish which some of them go through
in their search after truth, and in confronting the call to break with
the most sacred associations of their lives. Yet it is no charity to
them to receive them when they are only partially instructed or when
they have not really grasped the essentials of an act of faith. The
modern discipline of requiring a faculty before receiving anyone into
the Church is some check on this, but not a complete one. The judgment
of the priest is practically always accepted and the instructions laid
down are often curtailed.
When the convert has been prepared, the priest has to complete the work,
and it is no small consolation both to him and to the convert. But after
the seed is planted comes the time of growth, and the anxiety about the
early Catholic life of his converts is not the least among the pastoral
solicitudes of the priest. In their early days as Catholics they have a
right to frequent visits from their father-in-God.
We come finally to a large number of subjects for the priest's visits--
the sick of every kind, whether in hospitals or workhouses or
infirmaries or in private houses, and from those who are stricken with
comparatively light ailments to those who are chronic invalids: and,
lastly, those in danger of death. Of the sick in general Canon Keatinge
at the outset calls attention to the essential difference between the
sick men "letting the priest know" and "sending for the priest"; and he
rightly points out that even when the former state is reached, there is
a great opportunity for his soul, and the very protraction of his
illness, wearying as it is to flesh and blood, may be--whether he
recovers or not--the grace of his life. How many a man has been called
back by illness to serious thoughts, and has made his peace with God,
which may last for the rest of his life, perhaps for many years. "His
illness," writes Canon Keatinge, "may be nothing less than a retreat for
him and his whole house, if you happen to be a man full of the spirit of
your vocation." [9]
When an actual sick call comes, there is of course no room for choice;
one must go, and at once. The ministration to the dying is a part of the
priest's office, which is sometimes viewed with some apprehension before
ordination. The surroundings of death are unattractive to nature; the
sight of the struggle for life which ends in defeat is painful to watch;
and there is often trying physical discomfort in the surroundings of
poverty and disease. Yet when it comes to the actual fact, any priest
will confirm the statement that it is one of the most consoling duties
of his office. The very fact that he is attending for purposes of
ministration seems to carry him through all that nature revolts against
in the sight and surroundings, while he gains for himself a valuable
lesson on the frailty of human life and the nearness of eternity. It is
indeed exceptional to be present at the actual moment of death, though
this sometimes occurs. But one frequently sees the body very soon
afterwards, with the familiar death expression on the countenance,
before it has been laid out and assumed the calm sleep-like appearance
with which most people are familiar. The thought is inevitable: a few
moments ago the soul was here; we were speaking with him; now he has
seen Almighty God and been judged. May he always remember us who helped
him to die as a Christian should!
We are often asked by the future priest for our experience of
death-beds. The description of the final struggle between good and evil,
the last assaults of the devil, who knows that with this soul it is now
or never, are often depicted in vivid colours in books of devotion or in
sermons, and this forms one of the features of death of which ordinary
people are most afraid. It may be a good thing to have brought before
them as a warning a picture of what presumably is a possibility; but
truth compels us to say that in the ordinary case it is not so. The late
Dr. Coffin, Bishop of Southwark, who had had a long career as a member
of the Congregation of Redemptorists, of which he was Provincial, once
admitted frankly that although he had often preached it, he had never
seen it; and his experience of death-beds was very large. The ordinary
rule is that in the later stages of illness all is calm, and the fear of
death, even in cases where it has been prominent in life, disappears
before the end comes. And--a fact which can never be too strongly
enforced and which will be corroborated by any priest who has ministered
to the dying--when the patient is told that death is imminent, in nearly
every case the announcement is received with resignation; and the last
Sacraments give no small consolation. This has to be firmly insisted
upon; for ordinarily a non-Catholic doctor, who has not the same outlook
on death that we have, will deprecate or even forbid informing him as to
his condition. The priest has to resist this order, and he can do so
with perfect confidence. The physical effect such as it is will be, as
experience shows, all in the direction of calming the mind and rather
assisting than retarding recovery. And to us who believe in the efficacy
of the Sacrament of Extreme Unction, "even to restore health when God
sees it to be expedient," this thought appeals with special force.
Are we to understand then that there are no bad deaths, or no death-bed
conversions? Alas, many a death is evil and Godless, and many people
refuse to see the priest at all. Even in such a case there is not
necessarily a struggle, for a man may have surrendered himself to evil.
There may, indeed, be cases of a struggle between the right and wrong at
the end, but they are rare. But with respect to death-bed conversions,
there is more to be said. The expression may be used in a broad or a
narrow sense. In the strict meaning of the term, that a man after an
evil life changes his disposition at the very end, this is of course the
rarest event in the world, and if it occurs, must be looked upon as a
very extraordinary grace. But many a person puts himself straight in his
confession when in danger of death. Some ancient criminal attachment or
some unconfessed sin may have kept him away from the sacraments for
years without having destroyed either his faith or his general wish to
serve God. To such a one his last sacraments form a great grace, which
show that Almighty God has not been unmindful of his general aiming at
good, and that whereas during life this aim has not been strong enough
to overcome the special difficulty which came upon him, the stimulus of
approaching death has been providentially afforded him to strengthen his
will sufficiently for true sorrow.
But apart from death-bed struggles, the judgments of God are often
manifestly shown by a sudden death. It has sometimes been remarked how
many priests die suddenly; but to them surely sudden death should have
no terrors. A man who has given his whole life and strength to
ministering for God should surely welcome a short and swift transit from
this vale of tears to our home above. But in the case of those not so
prepared, it is otherwise, and often the sudden death of one whom we
have known and loved may come upon us as something truly solemn and
awful. The following story of his early priestly days, even though more
than thirty years ago, has never been forgotten or lost its effect on
the present writer, and he makes no apology for reproducing it here;
though no doubt most priests might have similar experiences to recount.
A certain Mrs. X., a widow of about forty to fifty years old, who had
been brought up in the Church of England, became convinced of the truth
of the Catholic religion. She attended mass every Sunday, and was always
at the evening service both Sunday and weekday--she never missed--and
she had ceased entirely ever going to the Anglican Church. After a while
she was asked whether she would not like to see the priest and be
received into the Church. She answered that she would do so later on;
but she wished to wait till after the death of her aged mother, who was
much opposed to Catholics, and who, she feared, might suppress her
allowance and leave her nothing by will. Mrs. X. added that there was no
danger in waiting: she lived next door to the priest, and in case of
illness she could and would at once summon him. So matters remained
until one day in the summer, when the school children had their annual
outing, and the priest accompanied them. On his return, he found his
housekeeper almost in a state of hysterics. Mrs. X. had been taken
suddenly ill at midday, and had sent across to ask the priest to come;
but he was out with the children. About half an hour before his return
Mrs. X. had died. The final scene of this remarkable story was the
funeral service of Mrs. X. in an Anglican Church, at which her aged
mother assisted. Such are the facts, and without taking any too rigid a
view of the final lot of Mrs. X. in the next world, we can at least see
a punishment for her want of generosity in hesitating to give herself
into God's hands as a Catholic until she should have (as she thought)
made sure that she would not be the loser in this world's goods. At the
lowest estimate, she was punished by being deprived of countless graces
which she could have had. "God is not mocked...what things a man shall
sow, those also shall he reap." [10]
The pastoral work for the individual does not end with his death. First
there are the funeral rites to perform. According to the new Canon Law,
being a parochial function, it must take place in the parish church: the
ordinary cemetery chapel, when there is one, will not suffice; still
less the recital of the service in the open air, which is often the only
function possible in the case of a public cemetery, and the parish
priest or his deputy must perform the actual burial. This law is perhaps
more important than it seems. The time of a funeral is one when the
hearts of the mourners are open to influences to which at other times
they are impervious; and frequently also there are non-Catholics among
them. The beauty of the ceremonial cannot fail to be a real consolation
to those who are bereaved, if only it is performed in a devotional
manner; but a priest who is continually doing it day after day can
hardly fail to go through it somewhat mechanically. The parish priest,
on the other hand, or the curate, who has assisted at the death will
himself share the emotion of the mourners. The custom prevalent in this
country of adding some vernacular prayers when the ritual or official
prayers are over helps very much at such a season, and not infrequently
affects the non-Catholics present, for some of our funeral prayers are
remarkably beautiful.
Then when the last rites are over, the priest will wish to commemorate
his dead and to offer prayers for them. The time is unhappily over when
the tombs of those who have departed were grouped round the church, to
be remembered for many years by those who knew them. This practice was
specially in accordance with the Church's spirit. Nowadays the growth of
populations and the sanitary considerations have demanded the creation
of large cemeteries outside the towns. All the more reason therefore
that the clergy should continually call the attention of their
parishioners to the Catholic doctrine of the Communion of Saints and to
their duty to pray for those who have gone before them. This is one
special feature of an Episcopal visitation, and the solemnity of the
Bishop's act should serve to remind both pastor and people of the duty
and consolation of offering prayers and masses for "those who have gone
before us in the sign of faith, and sleep the sleep of peace."
[1] Canon 969: "Nemo ex saecularibus ordinetur qui judicio proprii
Episcopi non sit necessarius vel utilis ecclesiis dioecesis." Canon 128:
"Quoties et quamdiu id judicio proprii Ordinarii exigat Ecclesiae
necessitas, et nisi legitimum impedimentum excuset, suscipiendum est
clericis ac fideliter implendum munus quod ipsis fuerit ab Episcopo
commissum."
[2] See also remarks on the Pastoral Office as a source of
sanctification in Conference II.
[3] St. John xv. 14.
[4] The modern practice of giving secular names is, it need hardly be
pointed out, of Protestant origin. It is to be noted that in the new
Codex of Canon Law it is definitely enacted that one name at least must
be that of a saint (Canon 761).
[5] _The Priest on the Mission_, p. 87.
[6] In the case of "mixed marriages" some restrictions are necessary;
and it is one of the sad drawbacks of our state in England that
practically a large proportion of our marriages are "mixed."
[7] St. Luke v. 32.
[8] St. John x. 16.
[9] _The Priest, etc._, p. 243.
[10] Gal. vi. 7.
CONFERENCE VIII
THE PRIEST'S PASTORAL WORK (_continued_)
THE LITURGY
ONE of the regrettable symptoms of present-day Catholicity in London is
the decay of liturgy. It is true that we have in our midst now the great
Cathedral of Westminster where the full liturgy of the Church is carried
out daily with a completeness unknown in modern times; but it seems as
though its existence has become a sort of centre of specialisation in
that line, while one after another the parish churches have put their
Sunday high mass into a secondary place, or abolished it altogether.
This is a great change on past traditions. At the beginning of the last
century, when the modifying of the Penal Laws first made it possible, a
great effort was made to have high mass in all the churches of London--
then about eight in number. The memories of Webbe at the Sardinian
Chapel, and Novello at the Portuguese Chapel became part of Catholic
London; and in later times, though the singing at the various churches
was of a type which we should not now approve--notably at Warwick
Street, which gained for itself the title of the Shilling Opera, for all
the best singers of the Italian Opera were to be heard there on
Sundays--nevertheless, this indicated much care and attention in the
carrying out of the liturgy at high mass. Vespers were also common as an
afternoon service on a Sunday, which was probably in great part due to
the thousands of French _emigres_ priests and laymen who were in London
in the early years of the century; for in France the singing of vesper
psalms has always been popular. Even in the country churches it was the
rule, not the exception, to have a sung mass on Sundays. Here again one
recalls a stamp of music with which we should not now be content--such
as Mozart XII sung in unison, already alluded to in a former
Conference--but it evidences considerable trouble to be able to have a
sung mass.
We may well enquire what has caused the London tradition to change. One
reason may possibly be that the increase of population has led to the
people being more evenly distributed between the various masses, so that
no single mass is the principal one in the sense that it used to be, and
that seems expected in the liturgical rubrics. At present in many places
the ten o'clock mass draws the largest congregation, and since the
introduction of a twelve o'clock low mass, the high mass has been
further depleted, so that the sermon, is often put at the former instead
of the latter.
Another reason may be the coming of the tradition from Ireland. There
are no people on the face of the earth to equal the Irish in their
devotion to low mass, or in the number of the mass-going population.
Dublin may be compared with any city in Catholic Europe, and for the
number of people who go to mass on a Sunday--and even on a weekday--
could put that city in the shade. But since the suppression of the
liturgy by the Penal Laws, the Irish have never recovered their taste
for high mass or other functions. Even at the Pro-Cathedral in
Marlborough Street, Dublin, though the singing is excellent, the people
do not take to high mass: they prefer to hear a low mass which may be
going on at a side altar at the same time, and at its conclusion the
church empties, though the high mass is not half over. Here in England
we have not got the Irish devotion to low mass, and to us therefore the
decay of high mass is a greater loss.
But probably the reason that would be given is that the stress of modern
life has made people unwilling to face long services. No doubt there is
some truth in the contention that they would not tolerate the length of
services current last century. The great _Requiem_ for Pius VI in 1799
lasted, together with the Dirge, from ten in the morning till nearly
four in the afternoon: people certainly would not sit through that
to-day. In much later times, and within living memory, the ordinary
Sunday high mass, with sermon, lasted the greater part of two hours. But
that is not so now. With the present length of sermon, and with simple
music, the high mass need not last more than an hour and a quarter, and
it may well be questioned whether people would really find this too
long. The plea about length is heard perhaps more often from the priest,
professing to voice the mind of the people, than from the people
themselves.
In more outlying parts, it would seem that the regulation issued by Pius
X insisting on the singing of the "proper"--introit, gradual, etc.--in
some cases has had the opposite effect to that intended, and has caused
many to give up the sung mass altogether; for although it may be urged
that the "proper" can always be sung either in psalm tone, or at least
monotone, in practice people will not attempt it; and indeed often when
it is attempted, the difficulty of reading Latin to laymen who are not
accustomed to it in a country where the language is so different in
sound and rhythm produces a result the reverse of devotional.
Then again restrictions on the class of music from a false reading of
the well-known _Motu Proprio_ of Pius X has had the same effect. There
is no document more frequently misquoted than this _Motu Proprio_. The
lover of Gregorian music speaks as though universal plain chant was
prescribed; the admirers of Palestrina quote it in favour of polyphonic
music; while those who are opposed to the masses of Mozart and Haydn,
once so popular, appeal to the _Motu Proprio_ as though it were a
condemnation of this whole class of music. In point of fact if anyone
will actually read the text, he will find it most broad in outlook.
Undoubtedly the Pope extols plain chant as pre-eminently the music of
the Church and calls for its restoration; but he also speaks highly of
polyphonic music; and with respect to modern music, he only stipulates
that it should not be theatrical in character. Those who are familiar
with the very light and trumpery music in vogue in the Italian
churches--which is the instance actually quoted by the Pope--will
readily understand this restriction. That it condemns masses such as
Haydn's Imperial may perhaps be fairly argued; but most of Mozart's
masses would seem to come within the scope of what is allowed. A
possible exception is the well-known No. XII, which many maintain to
have been written not by Mozart at all, but by his pupils. At any rate
it is of a distinctly more operatic character than the other Mozart
masses. But even if Mozart and Haydn are excluded, there are plenty
of simple masses often sung which are entirely within the line drawn.
Indeed, on the important point emphasised by the Pope, of the words
being sung so that the listeners can follow them, music of this kind
is superior to polyphonic, in which the syllables in the different
voices so overlap that it is often impossible to follow the words. It
is true indeed that these masses sometimes include the "needless
repetition" of the words of the liturgy which the Pope condemns;
especially in the _Kyrie_, where the number of invocations is never
the proper nine, and is simply adapted to the exigences of the music;
and in the concluding phases of the _Gloria_ and _Credo_, in which the
_Amen_ is often repeated many times; in the beginning of the _Gloria_
also, or in the _Sanctus_ or elsewhere some repetition is found; but
as a general rule in the masses we have had in this country the
repetitions have been less pronounced than is often implied, and a
good many masses are practically free from them. The abuse current in
Italy of having all the chief parts of the _Gloria_--the _Gratias
agimus_, the _Domine Deus_, etc.--as separate pieces which is
condemned by the Pope has never found its way into England. [1]
Then with respect to details, although the ideal put forward is for a
choir of men and boys, it was apparently not intended to exclude women
altogether: it was only meant to stipulate that they should not be
"admitted to the choir," which according to the authorised explanation,
is complied with provided that they are grouped apart and not mixed with
the men. Indeed, solos are expressly allowed, provided that they do not
monopolise the singing. The chief instrument is to be the organ or
harmonium, but with leave of the Bishop other wind instruments may be
added on special occasions. The only prohibition is against _instrumenta
percussionis_, specified as pianoforte, drums, kettledrums, cymbals,
triangles, etc.--a list which is in itself a sufficient commentary on
the music which it is desired to exclude.