him the more because he did not so much as lift his eyes to
heaven. God drew the nearer to him, the farther he stood off. God
comforted him, and justified him, the more he acknowledged his
own wretchedness, and condemned himself. Not without reason, it
is true, because he __was__ a sinner. While he, who was not a
sinner, went up in his pride and sinned in his very prayers. The
humble sinner went away justified; the proud, just man went away
condemned.
{258}
And hence we may conclude that, if one does not pray in humility,
his prayer is of no value, and he moreover runs a great chance of
committing sin by praying, and of receiving curses instead of
blessings in answer.
"God resisteth the proud," says the Apostle, "but giveth grace to
the humble." [Footnote 99] He is, as it were, shocked and
indignant to see a man approaching him in presumption or pride.
He has no grace for such an one, and then without that he will
infallibly commit sin and be lost.
[Footnote 99: St. James iv. 6.]
For what happens? He who prays without humility thinks that he
has done a great thing, for which God honors him, and holds him
up as an example for the admiration and imitation of others,
especially for those who seldom or never go to their knees, or
pray so quickly and unobtrusively that no one notices them. So he
rises from his prayer puffed up with self-conceit.
{259}
Look at the Pharisee. He came to the treasure-house of God with a
large sack; he extolled its capacity, and stretched it out to its
utmost dimensions; he made his prayer long, wordy, and full of
self. As he really did not profess himself to be in want of
anything, God sent him away, with his sack empty of everything
but his own windy words, which God despised and returned to him
for his pains. His load was not heavy, and he could walk with
head and shoulders proudly erect.
As he passed out he gave a scornful glance at the miserable
publican, crouching in the porch, and thought within himself:
What bad people there are in the world, to be sure! The humble
object of his disdain followed him out with bent shoulders and
downcast head. He had come empty-handed to God's treasury. But
something had passed between him and God which the proud Pharisee
little imagined: and he might well go away still humbly bending
to the ground, for God's mercies and blessings lay heavily upon
him. So sang the humble Virgin: "He hath filled the hungry with
good things, but the rich he hath sent empty away."
Many imagine that the wealthy are the chief ones who pray like
the Pharisee; but this is a great mistake. There are quite as
many poor "rich Pharisees" as wealthy rich ones. Being in humble
circumstances does not make one humble. The Blessed Virgin did
not mean the rich in this world's goods, but those who were rich
in their own conceit.
{260}
So we see many who have not much money to boast of, yet will
boast pretty loudly of their piety. They come to pray to God for
forgiveness of their sins; and what do they say? "I don't do
much. I don't curse. I don't steal. I don't slander my neighbor."
And if God did not rouse them up to a sense of the sins they do
commit by questioning their consciences, they would go away fully
persuaded that they were out-and-out saints, while all the rest
of the world were thieves, and liars, and extortioners, and
workers of all kinds of iniquity, especially that quarrelsome
neighbor who has just taken their place in the confessional, and
who, they hope, will meet with severe and righteous treatment. O
self-sufficient, rich Pharisee! it is true I have seen you in
silk and broadcloth, but I have seen you also in a cotton gown,
and a coat out at [the] elbows.
Not a few are found lacking in this requisite to make prayer of
any value, because they pray in fear. At first sight, fear would
seem to be almost identical with humility; but it is quite a far
different thing, for humility brings the soul nearer to God,
while fear drives it away. Humility recognizes the greatness and
goodness of God, and, while it reverences Him, holds Him for that
knowledge in the highest esteem; but fear hides itself, and, in
place of esteem, holds Him in slavish dread.
{261}
Humility is hopeful; fear is full of despair. See those sinners
who find themselves in shipwreck, or in some imminent danger of
death from disease. They pray, it is true, but how? Is it in
sorrow for their sins? Do they want to get back the lost love of
God? Oh! no; that is the last thought they have. It is to be
saved from death; it is to be cured of their diseases; and what
does it all amount to, but that they are trying to make a truce
with God? Their whole lives have been at enmity with Him; and
now, when God compels them to acknowledge Him, when He conquers
them and brings them down, it is not peace they want, but a
cessation of hostilities. It is plain enough God is the master.
Such souls tremble at death, because it is bringing them nearer
to God; the humble souls fear life, because it is so full of the
danger of losing Him.
Such was the prayer of the wicked King Antiochus, who prayed to
God and made great promises; but it was only fear that wrung the
prayer out of him. He cared for nothing but to be restored to
life and health; but God rejected his prayers, and left him to
die a horrible death, being eaten up by worms. The Scripture says
of him: "Then this wicked man prayed to the Lord, of whom he was
not to obtain mercy." [Footnote 100]
[Footnote 100: 2 Macc. x. 13.]
[USCCB: 2 Maccabees ix. 13.]
{262}
Now and then the judgments of God hang over sinners. Hell gapes
underfoot, and they pray and cry to the Lord for mercy, yet are
not heard, because they have no contrition; and are wanting in
contrition, because they have no humility. Their fear is the fear
of those sinners described by the prophet: "The sinners in Sion
are afraid; trembling hath seized upon the hypocrites." [Footnote
101] But the humble soul is not afraid to draw near to God, for
the promise encourages it: "An humble and contrite heart, O God,
Thou wilt not despise." Such are not afraid, because their
contrition is founded on the love of God, and is real and hearty.
"Perfect love," says St. John, "casteth out fear."
[Footnote 101: Isa. xxxiii. 18.]
[USCCB: Isa. xxxiii. 14.]
Look at Mary Magdalen. There was an example of boldness in a
truly contrite, humble heart. She dared a good deal. Jesus, her
Lord, the God of infinite purity, is the honored guest of a
wealthy and proud citizen; she, an abandoned woman. Yet she dared
enter the rich man's door. She dared the sneers and contempt of
the servants. She dared enter the banqueting hall as an unwelcome
intruder, at the risk of being ignominiously expelled. She dared
approach the Spotless One, and touch His sacred feet with her
polluted hands. But perfect love casteth out fear.
{263}
Her tears were so many eloquent words of prayer that went
straight to the heart of Jesus. Her penitent love chased all fear
away, and moved the Lord to say of her: "Many sins are forgiven
her, because she hath loved much."
But the most common want of humility is seen in those who pray in
selfishness. Has God seen fit to send them a trial--say, a defect
in their hearing or sight, or one of their children is born
deformed or sickly--then they act as though the like had never
been seen before, so querulous are they under the affliction.
They pray--a good long string of complaints--over it. Or else the
selfishness takes another shape, and, while they can look with
indifference upon hundreds who suffer worse, they cannot bear to
have the hand of the Lord touch __them__. They come to beg of
the priest to cure them; they come humbly enough in their manner,
will go down on their knees, and even kiss the ground, but they
have not a particle of humility in their hearts. They are so
selfish about their pains and aches that they are quite surprised
and vexed if the priest does not profess himself quite ready and
able to perform a miracle in their favor; as if the Almighty owed
them miracles, or as if they were the only people in the world
about whose ease and comfort He was concerned. And then they go
away disappointed, giving no heed to the holy words with which
the priest tried to teach them to profit by their affliction, and
instruct them how to pray to God to be relieved of it, if it be
His holy will.
{264}
Very probably, such people are not in the grace of God at all;
and it is plain even to human wisdom that, if God heard and
answered their selfish prayers, they would go away puffed up with
pride, never think of returning Him any thanks, and lead a worse
sinful life than they have before. For it is a proverb: "Do a
proud man a favor, and he hates you for it." He dislikes the idea
of being laid under an obligation; and this is just what would
happen to such. They would dislike God for putting them under the
obligation to serve Him the more strictly in return for His
favors. God sees this, and, because they have no humility, their
prayers are not heard.
It is the same with many spiritually minded persons too. They are
led to look for mortifications and crosses, and, when these are
sent, then they are both mortified and crossed in another sense.
They are humiliated, but not humbled. Oh! how hard they pray to
be delivered from these very means of their sanctification. But
it is selfishness that makes them pray. They thought themselves
saints, and it galls their pride to be treated as though they
were yet far from perfection. They suffer, and keenly too, I
know. So did our Blessed Lord in His agony, and dereliction on
the Cross. But when __He__ prayed, He said to His Father, "Not
My will, but Thine be done."
{265}
The want of humility in prayer is the bane of those living in
heresy. Heresy, you know, is the offspring of pride. Souls fall
into it, and wilfully remain in it from an undue opinion of their
own wisdom. All heresy must have "private judgment" as its basis
of religion. If the true religion ever comes up before them for
examination or acceptance, they are almost afraid to pray at all,
lest they should pray themselves into submission to it.
They see that the road before them is the road of humility. They
start back at the hard sayings. Wanting humility, they have very
little conviction of sin; and, like the Pharisee who went up to
the temple to recount his good deeds, you will not unfrequently
hear such persons, in speaking of the confessional, say with
unaffected surprise: "Why, what in the world can you have to
tell? I don't think I have any sins to confess."
Oh! if they could once be brought down to pray humbly for light
and guidance, how differently would they talk, and how quickly
all their fancied difficulties and impossibilities would fade
away!
{266}
A celebrated master in the spiritual life used to send persons
away to pray who came to him to talk controversy. If they were
humbly seeking the truth, they found all their objections
answered in prayer before they returned. If not, he knew their
pride would be proof against both prayer and argument, however
long the one or powerful the other.
My brethren, we have all got to pray for what we want, and to
pray humbly too, if we expect our prayers to be heard. To pray
like the Publican, "O God, be merciful to me a sinner," and not
like the Pharisee, "O God, I thank thee I am not like the rest of
men."
I recollect an instance, on one of our Missions, which will be a
lesson for all those whom I have been addressing this morning. A
young man came to me, whom I soon learned to be one of those
unfortunate Catholics whose parents do nothing more towards
making them Christians than to get them baptized. The first words
he said to me were these: "Father, I'm a mighty hard case." I
found he was quite ignorant of the principal doctrines of the
faith, and sent him away for a few days to learn them. When he
presented himself again, he was surprised I did not recognize
him. "Why, don't you know," said he, "I'm the mighty hard case?"
It was necessary not only to instruct him, but to give him some
serious warnings, that he might keep out of bad company, and live
thenceforward a good life.
{267}
Perhaps I was led to speak in a tone that appeared to him rather
severe; and it went to my heart to hear the poor fellow repeat
the humble judgment he had passed upon himself: "Yes, father, I
told you so. I told you I was a __mighty__ hard case." The
"mighty hard case" got his communion with great joy and a holy
pride; and I remembered the words of the Lord: "Amen, I say to
you, this man went down to his house justified ... for every one
that humbleth himself shall be exalted."
Reflect upon this touching example of an humble soul, and, when
you go to pray, think of the necessity of humility, and of
patience and resignation to God's will in all things.
Pray! Not in proud self-conceit, for God will despise you, and
resist your supplications, and withhold His grace. Without grace
you will find yourself falling so repeatedly and grievously into
sin that you will lose faith in prayer. When it comes to that,
you are on the road to hell.
Pray! Not in fear. That is a bad sign. It looks as though you did
not love God; and, it such be the case, you cannot expect Him to
hearken to you, or grant you any favors.
Pray! but not in selfishness. Let God and His holy will be all in
all to you. Take what He sends. Learn to trust Him in humility
and patience. The Lord does not always tell us the reasons why.
{268}
Whether He commands us as a Master, chastises us as a Father, or
teaches us to imitate Him in some hard lesson of humiliation--as
when He Himself washed the Apostles feet--He very often has but
the same answer to us that He gave to the astonished Peter: "What
I do thou knowest not now; but them shalt know hereafter."
Pray in humility, O ye doubting, distrustful souls! God's truth
is near enough and plain enough. It is you who are too
high-minded to see it, too proud to pray that you may know it.
Ask not with Pilate, "What is truth? what is truth?" in the
presence of the Infinite Truth, and then, like him, turn away and
never hear it.
Cease not to pray, though the morn is long in dawning, and the
day of redemption be delayed; but cease not to pray humbly, for,
says the wise man, "the prayer of him that humbleth himself shall
pierce the clouds, and he shall not depart until the Most High
behold." [Footnote 102]
[Footnote 102: Ecclus. xxxv. 21.]
[USCCB: Sirach xxxv. 17.]
---------------------
{269}
Sermon XVIII.
Preparation For A Good Death.
(For The Fifteenth Sunday After Pentecost.)
Isaiah xxxviii. 1.
"__Put thy house in order,
for thou shall die, and not live__."
When I read the Gospel for to-day, which describes the raising of
the widow's son to life, I ask myself the question--Did he die
prepared? When his friends could no longer give him any hope of
recovery--when he was forced to make that bitter acknowledgment
to himself, "My time is come," then did he make ready to die? Did
he put his house in order? Had he time to do it? Was he in a fit
state to do it? When his soul had departed, could his widowed
mother console herself with the thought--He lived a good life,
and he died a good death? We can not answer for the young man, as
the Gospel tells us nothing either of his life or of his death,
but we can answer for many whose lives and whose deaths we know;
and, knowing our own lives, we ought to be able to answer for the
kind of death we would die if the word of the Lord came to us as
it came to King Ezechias: "Put thy house in order, for thou shalt
die, and not live."
{270}
A friend, about to take a journey to Europe, remarked: "I have
arranged all my affairs, so as to have a pleasant journey." He
did well. We will do better when we shall have arranged all our
affairs for a pleasant journey to that far-off land from which we
shall never return. Let us see, brethren, what it is to arrange
one's affairs that one may die a good death. This preparation may
be summed up in the fulfilment of three obligations--the first,
to God; the second, to our neighbor; and the last, to one's self.
To die well and happily, we must fulfil our obligations to God.
Here I must confess I am somewhat troubled to answer how a man
who is near death, whether he be in good health at the present
moment or given up by his physician, shall satisfy this demand,
if he has not already done so. The last, and usually the most
useless, hours of one's life are hardly the time to give God his
due. God's obligations are fulfilled in living not in dying,
well. Our Lord compares the dealings of God with us to a man who
hired workmen to labor in his vineyard; to another who gave
certain talents to his servants which they were to improve; and,
again, to a husbandman who sowed his seed expecting to reap a
harvest from it in due time.
{271}
These are very apt figures of the duties and the fruits of life.
The heavenly reward will be bestowed upon him who labored at
God's work in life. He shall enter into so much of the heavenly
joy of his Lord as he has fitted himself for by the improvement
of the talents which God gave him. God will reap just so much of
a harvest as the seed of His divine grace has been cultivated and
allowed to grow in the heart. Now we are sent to begin our work,
to improve our talents, and His grace is sown in our hearts when
life begins. God's obligations begin when we begin to live, not
when we begin to die. Oh! this is a startling truth! What a
fearful thought this must be to him who has never realized it as
life went on, and only now begins to think about it when the
terrors of the coming judgment are casting their shadows before,
and darkening the last hours of his misspent life!
I hardly know what to say to that man to whom religion has never
been a reality in life, who has shirked its duties, and deafened
his conscience to its appeals, who thinks of it only when life is
not worth thinking of; who makes use of it only to smooth his
dying pillow, to bless his grave, and pray for him when he is
gone.
{272}
The thought that his life, the only life he has had or will have
upon which God has such a heavy claim for his service, for the
worship and love of his heart, upon his personal exertions and
sacrifices for the cause of His holy faith--has simply been
allowed to wear away, day after day and year after year, and that
nothing has been done, must be a thought of misery and dismay,
such as would overwhelm the mind of a merchant who, after making
a long and, as he supposed, prosperous voyage across the ocean,
finds, to his disappointment, that he has forgotten to bring
either the money or the letters of credit wherewith to purchase
his expected cargo.
I hardly know what to say to that man whose life has been little
more than a mockery of the God whom he pretended to serve; whose
principles and faith were indeed Christian, but whose practice
and works have been heathen. He has been a Catholic--oh! yes, in
name, but not in deed. It would be better to say of him that he
was not a Protestant, nor a Jew, nor an infidel. That is all.
That he is a Catholic seems to be a happy accident; for, to judge
from the indifference he manifests in its practice, it is to be
feared that, had circumstances made him anything else, the
Catholic faith would be the last thing to which he would give a
serious thought. When such are suddenly surprised with the
message, "Put thy house in order, for thou shalt die, and not
live," indeed it is hard to say how they are to prepare to answer
to God for their life.
{273}
Their memory brings up little else than despised warnings, grace
trifled with, neglected sacraments, prayerless days, and
desecrated Sundays; and I know not where they are to find the
fruit that God comes seeking of them.
You see, my brethren, that the first condition of being able to
prepare for a happy death is to have lived well. But you ask--Is
one who begins late in life to serve God, who knows that he has
but a short time to do something for Him, to give up his case as
hopeless, and despair of fulfilling this great obligation? Must
he say I have, alas! made no life-preparation of this solemn
account, and it is too late now? Far be it from me to say that;
but this I know: he must begin now all the more earnestly, and do
what he can with all the greater effort, as the time is the
shorter. O my dear brethren! that these late workmen in God's
service, and the dying, would understand this! Such an one falls
sick. He is attacked with a disease which will soon run its
course. He sends for a priest. He makes his confession as well as
he can--he would have made a better one if he had been well, for
he is not in a condition to remember the events of so many years;
he is sorry for his neglect and his sins; sorry for all the
comforts of religion that he has lost; but, tell me, is he sorry
for what God has lost by his careless life?
{274}
Does he express one regret that God has not only not had His own,
but that He has also been dishonored by his bad life; that the
Church of the faith he professes has been a loser by him; that
he, by his inconsistent conduct, has been a stumbling-block and a
rock of scandal to the unbeliever and the scoffer? No, this is
the last thing that troubles him. What is one to do? Plainly
this: Religion ought now to be his all-absorbing thought. Every
moment should be employed with a holy jealousy in prayer, lest
God might be forgotten again. One, and only one, desire ought to
fill his heart, and that is a desire to love God as perfectly as
he may before he die. He should frequently call to mind that
comforting assurance which our blessed Lord gave to the penitent
Magdalen: "Many sins are forgiven her, because she hath __loved
much__." It is not the time for excuses, as so many seem to
think it to be, but a time of humble abandonment to the will and
the mercy of God. It is a painful sight to witness the contrary;
to see the sick and the dying full of complaints, resisting the
will of God, and praying for a few more years of a miserable
life. If it were for the purpose of living in the love of God,
and repairing the bitter past, it would be well. But no, their
hearts are breaking to think they are forced to part with the
world that they have loved too well.
{275}
But oh! how sweet it is to see a soul, at the close of life,
striving to detach itself from the world, and, as it were,
reaching forward to throw itself into the embraces of its God.
True, it may have been idle for many long years, and it may have
come only at the eleventh hour, but that hour, at least, is well
spent. These are they of whom the Master will say: "I will give
to these last even as to the first." [Footnote 103] Such may also
say, in the language of the wise man: "I awaked last of all, and
as one that gathereth after the grape-gatherers. In the blessing
of God I also have hoped; and as one that gathereth grapes, have
I filled the wine-press." [Footnote 104]
[Footnote 103: St. Matt. xx. 14.]
[Footnote 104: Ecclesiasticus xxxiii. 16, 17.]
[USCCB: Sirach xxxiii. 16, 17.]