down God's blessing on it, we should show our esteem by making up our
minds in good time beforehand that we will make it. The experience of
a curate returning from his holiday on a Saturday, discussing his
plans on Sunday, and making up his mind not till Monday morning that
he will join the diocesan Retreat would seem to indicate his view of
it as a disagreeable duty to be performed because it is ordered. No
one would treat an important or attractive work in this way. What
wonder that he arrives on the scene without thought or preparation,
spends most of the Tuesday resting himself, and finds he is slack on
the remaining two and a half days? And can he wonder that the special
graces to be looked for come to him only sparingly? Even those who
have made up their minds to join the Retreat, often spend the whole of
Monday at their ordinary work, till the very last minute before
starting; or even arrive late and thus emphasise a bad beginning.
"Before prayer, prepare thy soul," says the holy writer, "and be not
as a man that tempteth God." [3] One who is in earnest about what is
before him will break off his ordinary occupation, except such as is
absolutely necessary, all Monday, so as to be ready to begin the work
of the Retreat in the evening.
Similar conditions hold as to the ending of the Retreat. Formerly this
was not till the Saturday morning after the general Communion. In
recent years, however, it has been customary to finish early in the
afternoon of Friday. But a considerable number do not stop for the
end, and we often see a priest who thinks nothing of returning from
his holiday at a late hour, sometimes not far from midnight, at the
end of a Retreat wishing to be back "in good time" and cutting short
the Retreat accordingly. Or sometimes a priest will return early on
the plea of doing his Friday evening service. This ought not to be so,
and a rule against doing any pastoral work whatever on the Friday
would remove the temptation.
With respect to the body of the Retreat, let each one determine what
is necessary for himself to go through it with real profit. Certainly
a mere attendance at the discourses is not enough. The work to be done
is a real and active one. The Jesuits realise this, and they do not
usually use the word Retreat, which connotes its negative side, but
prefer to use the expression "spiritual exercises," which connotes its
positive side. In truth, the _ennui_ of the Retreat, from which so
many suffer, comes from looking exclusively on the negative side. If
we are properly active and at work, the time will pass rapidly and
will appear all too short. This is for the modern priest undoubtedly
far the most important aspect of the Retreat. It is indeed a help to
keep silence and to be away from one's work and distractions, but that
will not benefit us unless we have other work to replace that which we
have put away. And this will save us from the temptation to use our
time in preparing sermons or instructions for the next Sunday or two.
Let it be remembered that even for the following one we shall have the
Saturday at our disposal for such preparation.
The keeping of silence indeed, helpful though it may be, is not of the
essence of the Retreat. Considering how seldom we meet our fellow
clergy, some intercourse will be in many ways desirable. It is well,
if possible, to regulate this, and the modern custom of having an
hour's recreation at the dinner has much to recommend it.
A word may be added on the importance of regularity at all the
exercises. It may be that some of them appeal to our personal taste
less than others. Some persons prefer saying their Office in private
in place of the public recitation usual in clergy retreats. Others are
inclined to avoid the Stations of the Cross; and so on. But surely a
Retreat is of all times one in which to sink our personal tastes, so
as to join in the corporate act. The same applies to taking our share
in the community duties, such as reading in Refectory, or serving at
the altar, or taking special part such as e.g. a Lesson in the Office,
or other duties. To avoid them is a sign of selfishness. To be willing
to sacrifice oneself in small ways is a powerful means to bring a
blessing on the Retreat and the example to others will not be thrown
away.
The old habit of refraining from saying mass during the Retreat has
now almost gone out, and Benediction is commonly given not only at the
conclusion as formerly but every evening of the Retreat. It would seem
hardly too much to ask that at least one mass be set aside for the
intentions of the Retreat for ourselves and others; for considering
how much of the success of the year's work depends on the Retreat
being made well, every effort should be made to secure God's blessing
on it. In the Society of Jesus, it is part of the rule after the first
years of priesthood to devote a whole year to a second novitiate:
those doing so are known as tertians, as they are going through a
third year as novices. It is easy to see what special value such
additional novitiate may have, after the priest has been sufficiently
long time in active work to realise and appreciate its value. We may
well envy them in having this opportunity of entering into themselves
so thoroughly. The only thing that we seculars have to compare with it
is the periodical Retreat. It is little enough, lasting only a few
days compared with a whole year of the tertianship. Let us learn to
esteem that little more, and to make it the opportunity of overhauling
our whole life, and making good resolutions for the future. Let us
always remember that some day we shall make a Retreat which will prove
to be our last serious preparation for death. We have been frequent
witnesses of this in others: one day it will happen to ourselves. Yet
when we are making the Retreat, we probably shall not know such to be
the case. We may be well and strong, and with a good prospect of life
before us: yet God may know that this is our last great opportunity.
Surely this thought, if no other, should stimulate us to make the
Retreat well, so as not to have it ever said against us that we had
the power given us of making a full preparation for our last passage,
but omitted to use it.
[1] "Singuli sacerdotes teneantur, quoque saltem biennio, exercitia
spiritualia quae Episcopus providebit, adire" (_I. Westmonast_, xxiv.
7).
[2] "Omnes sacerdotes saeculares debent tertio saltem anno
spirituajibus exercitiis, per tempus a proprio Ordinario
determinandum, in pia aliqua religiosave domo, ab eodem designata
vacare; neque ab eis quisquam eximatur, nisi in casu particulari,
justa de causa, ac de expressa ejusdem Ordinarii licentia" (Canon
126).
[3] Ecclus. xviii. 23.
CONFERENCE XIV
THE PRIEST IN SICKNESS--AND IN DEATH
IT is a well-known fact that St. Bernard preferred to found a
monastery in a not too healthy locality, as he considered it better
for a religious life that the monks should not be in too robust
health. This is often given as a reason why the Cistercian monasteries
are frequently built in specially relaxing climates. Since those days,
however, the world has greatly changed. Human nature is not so tough
as it then was; mortifications which then were common would now be
impossible. Even during the last century things have changed in this
respect. It is only a century and a quarter ago that Bishop Talbot was
blamed by many for a Lenten Indult which included meat three times a
week for the first four weeks, and limited the consecutive abstinence
to Passiontide, or the last fortnight. The last of those who used to
observe a "black Lent" (as it was called) died almost within living
memory. Yet amidst modern conditions nothing approaching a "black
Lent" could possibly be enacted, and even the very modified fast of
the modern Indults finds very few observers. It is probably the case
to-day that valetudinarianism and small ailments are a greater
hindrance to spirituality than robustness, and that the highest aim of
mortification should be that amount which keeps the body most fit for
work--to do which consistently requires a considerable degree of
mortification.
Nevertheless, we may well regret the decay of the old spirit of
hardiness since even a generation ago. The feeling which gave rise to
the phrase "grin and bear it" was very excellent, and seems now almost
extinct. The modern tendency is all to the magnification of small
ailments, to constant remedies, and scientific self-indulgence which
people justify to themselves under the name of hygiene. It is no
exaggeration to say that the degree to which it is carried is out of
keeping with the hardiness of the Christian vocation, and that many
persons lose much of the sanctifying effect of their small ills by
continually seeking alleviation. The sale of patent medicines is
immense, as we can see from the extent to which they are advertised.
It may well be doubted if this spirit does not defeat its own end. The
state of mind engendered by continually taking one's temperature, and
seeking a cure--probably drinking medicines--whenever it is a degree
too high or a degree too low is bad for both mind and body: the
_malade imaginaire_ often ends by becoming positively ill, and picking
up every infection of which he is so much afraid. After all, the best
cure for many small ailments is to leave them alone and not bother
about them.
In the case of a priest, however, we should put it on a higher ground.
He has to be at the service of his people. An indisposition will not
dispense him from saying mass on Sunday unless it is sufficiently
severe to incapacitate him. Nor will it exempt him from attending a
sick call even in rough weather. A soldier would be ashamed of giving
in to a small ailment and of injuring his fighting power. He would
despise one who did so for his softness. Much more should a priest be
above such effeminacy. Often he is so: many a modern priest fights
consistently against general weak health, with such success that his
weakness is not known or suspected. In such an effort God will give us
very special help. But, alas! one can call to mind also instances of
those who systematically nurse their ailments, and seriously injure
their constitution by continually taking drugs and applying remedies.
Before we can learn how to consecrate our real illnesses let us learn
to despise and fight against small ailments. It is by no means always
easy, and there will no doubt be times when one is on the verge of
actual breakdown; but so long as we have the real power, we should
fight strenuously against them. To lie in bed in the morning, still
more to spend a day in bed, should be the last resort, only when
imperiously necessary. Once we give way, we shall find reasons
increasingly often to induce us to repeat the act. On the other hand,
any work we do under the handicap of headache or indigestion or
rheumatic pains or other troublesome weakness will, we may be sure, be
specially blessed by Almighty God.
Turning now to the time of severe illness, it is easy to say, but it
is none the less true, that it may be a great grace; and like other
graces, if neglected, it becomes the reverse. We are speaking of
course of a grave and serious illness, whether or not there be danger
to life. One of the most remarkable phenomena in our strangely complex
nature is the sudden and complete way in which our most acute
anxieties disappear at the touch of sickness. This at once leaves the
ground free for our own thoughts, and if we have been leading a really
busy life, we can find many things which we have never had time to
think out. Nevertheless, we cannot do much thinking at the beginning,
through sheer mental debility, even apart from the pain which often
accompanies the illness. The tendency is strong simply to give our
thoughts to our illness and its remedies, and the small incidents
which surround a sick-bed. Those who have looked forward to reviewing
their lives and setting their consciences in order during their last
illness should be warned that experience shows such thoughts to be
uncongenial at that time. Notwithstanding the way in which time hangs,
especially at night, one is least of all inclined to fill it by
serious examination of conscience, or for the matter of that by any
form of prayer. Our obligations to Meditation, or the like, or even to
reciting the Divine Office, have suddenly ceased, and the danger is
that we may take an absolutely material view of our condition, and
cease all relations with Almighty God, looking forward only vaguely to
resuming them when we are convalescent. A few considerations on
illness as a time of grace may be useful at such a season.
In the first place, it has often been pointed out that a time of
sickness is the one period of life when we know for certain that we
are doing God's will; for we have no alternative. Nor is it any answer
to say that this illness may be the punishment of sin, either by the
law of nature or the providence of God. For even if this were so, the
sin is over and has passed out of our control; it can never be
recalled. Whatever our past failings, or whatever God's providence in
our regard, _hic et nunc_ He wills this illness, and we have no power
of contravening His will. It therefore follows that we have the
opportunity for a supreme act of virtue in accepting it willingly and
even thanking God for sending it to us, which is an act which requires
little effort, and to one who habitually listens to the voice of God,
is of no great difficulty. Nor is it incompatible with hope or prayer
for speedy recovery, should it be God's will, provided that we
willingly embrace the illness so long as God sends it to us. This
simple act of conformity will go far to sanctify the whole illness.
Next, as to the use of our time. This often settles itself, at least
in the graver stages of the illness. But we sometimes allow it to
settle itself too easily. Certainly we cannot meditate or say Office,
or do spiritual reading. But we can and should do something. The
rosary, for example, is a prayer which does not need much exertion,
and if the five mysteries are too much, we can do one mystery at a
time. We can also get others to help us by saying occasional simple
prayers which we can follow. And occasional mental ejaculatory prayer
is always possible. Of course any such exercise must be only
occasional: during a great part of the day we shall not be thinking
directly of Almighty God; but as in health our ordinary exercises
sanctify the whole day, so in sickness very much shorter ones have a
similar far-reaching effect.
Here it may be permitted to put in a strong plea, if a nurse is
wanted, to have a Catholic one. Many priests would prefer a nun, even
though her medical qualifications were less than those of a
professional nurse--which is far from being always the case. If,
however, we yield so far as to have a lay woman, at least let her be
one of our faith. It is astonishing how frequently even good Catholics
impose a non-Catholic nurse on a priest on the plea that nursing has
nothing to do with religion. There is really no reason to do so.
Plenty of Catholic nurses are to be had. It means some little
additional trouble, but that is all. Yet the gain in comfort to the
sick man is immense; in the case of a mental illness it is supreme.
There are scores of little ways of daily occurrence in which the
Catholic nurse may help the devotion of the priest, and minister to
his spiritual as well as his bodily wants. There is indeed something
unseemly in the question of whether the patient is fit to say mass or
not being regulated by a person to whom the mass means nothing, and
who cannot possibly estimate the reasons in favour of that consolation
being granted. In the meantime, the poor patient is helpless. He has
to accept what others provide for him, and has no power to make his
own wish felt, for in such matters an invalid is often treated with
strange want of consideration. In many cases the hired nurse thinks
little or nothing of the patient's feelings, so long as she keeps the
sick room neat from a professional point of view, and so pleases the
doctor. "I must not let you get bed-sores," a nurse once said, "or
what will the doctor say?" The question "What will the patient say?"
did not seem to enter her head; yet he was the chief person concerned.
Every serious illness has a crisis--sometimes of considerable
duration--which is followed either by a recovery more or less gradual,
or by a gradual sinking. Let us follow the former alternative first.
One of the predominant thoughts in time of serious illness is looking
back on the days of one's health and strength with a feeling of regret
for the poor use we made of them, and a longing to have the same
advantage again, if but for a short time, to make some small amends
for past shortcomings, or at least to show our goodwill. Canon
Keatinge tells a touching story of a dying priest, one of whose arms
had been amputated, who assured him that he would willingly part with
the other arm also, if only he could have the privilege of saying mass
once more. [1] Yet he had spent forty years of his life as a
missionary, during which time he had said mass almost every day. A
feeling somewhat akin to this is probably within the memory of most
priests who have passed through serious illness. The recollection of
their past priestly life passes through their mind, and they long to
have once again the opportunities which formerly were so plentiful.
When real convalescence has set in, they know that God in His mercy
has heard their prayer, and they are to have another chance. This
thought cannot but fill them with joy.
Yet convalescence is a time which requires in some sense greater
patience than the crisis of an illness. It is essential for its
completion that work shall not be resumed too soon. In grave illness
nature asserts itself irresistibly in this matter, the very suffering
and weakness overshadowing some of the tedium and _ennui_. But in the
case of convalescence, it devolves on us to put voluntarily restraint
on ourselves, and to omit doing many things which singly might not be
beyond our actual physical power, but which would retard or even
prevent proper recovery. It devolves on us to "kill time" in a manner
that in health would be almost sinful. Literature of the lightest is
indulged in, and wisely so, and any pastime such as a game of cards
comes as a relief, when one longs to be once more up and doing. Day
after day--week after week--we have to occupy ourselves as best we
can, while our nature slowly recuperates itself. It is real wisdom to
wait patiently for the day of our emancipation from the control of
doctor and nurse. We may have the consolation of saying mass, if not
every day, at least frequently; and the time may come when we may
resume our Office, though until we are sure that we are able to say it
all, we are not bound to say any. Then perhaps we may be well enough
to be taken to the seaside or other health resort to complete the
cure, and this forms a little excitement: but soon that dies down, in
the heavy atmosphere of doing nothing, and we require all the stimulus
we can get for our patience.
At length, however, the day dawns when we go forth, pronounced well
enough for work, and we resume that life which we once thought had
finally passed from us. Then is the time to gather up the fruits of
our illness, and to show by the spirit with which we now approach our
duties that the lesson of illness has not been lost on us. No feeling
of high spirits at the events of life such as starting for a holiday
or the prospect of enjoyment will compare with the feeling of elation
at finding oneself once more leading the life of a priest in the midst
of his people.
But not all illness leads to convalescence, and if the malady is
taking a serious turn, the priest of all men has a right to be told.
He has been so long familiar with death-beds that even the feeling of
shock, so often put forward as a plea for concealing an invalid's
state, is not to be apprehended in his case; and he knows as no one
else does how to prepare himself to face this last passage. Alas! very
often he has to do it for himself; he has frequently been the support
and consolation of others, but he may live in a lonely mission and
find no one to minister to him in his own time of need. He may have to
go without Confession or Extreme Unction, and only secure Viaticum by
getting a layman to open the Tabernacle, and bring up the Ciborium so
that the patient can communicate himself. Or he may live in a populous
city and have the same assistance as others. But in either case he has
no reason for discouragement. If he has given his whole life to the
service of his Divine Master, he need have no fear but that in return
he will have the grace of dying as a priest should.
Once a priest always a priest, and there is no time in life when a
man's priesthood is more prominent than when he lies on his bed of
death, while his parishioners going about their daily duties remember
him continually in their prayers. Thus truly they are grouped around
him in spirit, as the sheep around their shepherd. "I know mine and
mine know Me." He has been intimate with them, has shown how he knows
and sympathises with their difficulties and trials and dangers; now it
is their turn to show that they also know him, perhaps better than he
knows himself, which they show by the very certainty they entertain as
to his final lot. It may be that the priest himself, knowing his own
frailty, is tempted to despondency as he lies so helpless on his bed
of suffering. He may be as the man who "revolved these things within
himself, saying: 'If I did but know that I should still persevere';
and presently he heard an answer from God; 'And if thou didst know
this, what wouldst thou do? Do now what thou wouldst then do, and thou
shalt be very secure.' And immediately being comforted and
strengthened, he committed himself to the divine will and his anxious
wavering ceased." [2] What more can the sick man do, but "commit
himself to the divine will"? Then in union with that divine will,
surrounded by those praying around him, he goes forth from the world
as a priest of God, this being the concluding act of his priestly
vocation.
[1] _The Priest, etc._, p. 60.
[2] _Imitation_, I, xxv. 2.
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