POST-MEDIÆVAL PREACHERS.
LONDON: GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
[Illustration: Some account of the most celebrated Post Mediæval
Preachers. by S. Baring Gould, M.A.]
POST-MEDIÆVAL PREACHERS:
SOME ACCOUNT OF THE
MOST CELEBRATED PREACHERS OF THE 15TH, 16TH, & 17TH
CENTURIES;
WITH OUTLINES OF THEIR SERMONS, AND
SPECIMENS OF THEIR STYLE.
BY
S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.
AUTHOR OF
“ICELAND: ITS SCENES AND SAGAS.”
London,
RIVINGTONS, WATERLOO PLACE;
HIGH STREET, | TRINITY STREET,
Oxford. | Cambridge.
1865.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
The following work is of Theological, Biographical, and Bibliographical
interest.
It has been written with the view of bringing a class of Preachers
before the public who are scarcely known even by name to the theological
student, but who are certainly remarkable for their originality, depth,
and spirituality.
Among the numerous Preachers of the three centuries under review, it has
been difficult to decide which to select, but those chosen are believed
to be the most characteristic.
The Author returns thanks to Mr. John Mozley Stark, of
Fitzwilliam-street, Strand, for his assistance in the compilation of this
Work, by the loan of some costly and scarce volumes not in the Author’s
library.
The title-page, and the Dance of Death at the head of this page, are
taken from the Sermons of Santius Porta, printed and published by J.
Cleyn, Lyons, 4to. 1513.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
GABRIEL BIEL 61
JEAN RAULIN 69
MEFFRETH 81
MATTHIAS FABER 100
PHILIP VON HARTUNG 116
JOSEPH DE BARZIA 134
JACQUES MARCHANT 155
JOHN OSORIUS 177
MAXIMILIAN DEZA 192
FRANCIS COSTER 206
INDEX 237
INTRODUCTION.
The history of preaching begins with the first sermon ever delivered, the
first and the best, that of our blessed Lord on the mount in Galilee.
The declamations of the ancient prophets differ widely in character from
the sermons of Christian orators, and in briefly tracing the history of
sacred elocution, we shall put them on one side.
For the true principles of preaching are enshrined in that glorious
mountain sermon. From it we learn what a Christian oration ought
to be. We see that it should contain instruction in Gospel truths,
illustrations from natural objects, warnings, and moral exhortations, and
that considerable variety of matter may be introduced, so long as the
essential unity of the piece be not interfered with.
In this consists the difference between Christ’s model sermon, and the
exhortations of those who went before Him.
Jonah preached to the Ninevites, “Yet forty days, and Nineveh, shall be
overthrown,” and that was his only subject.
John Baptist preached in the wilderness, and on one point only, “Prepare
ye the way of the Lord.”
They confined themselves to a single topic, and that purely subjective,
whereas a Christian sermon is to be both objective and subjective. It
should be like Jacob’s ladder, reaching from God’s throne to man’s earth,
with its subject-matter constantly ascending and descending, leading men
up to God, and showing God by His Incarnation descending to man.
A Spanish bishop of the seventeenth century thus speaks of the Sermon on
the Mount, the model for all sermons, and the pattern upon which many
ancient preachers framed their discourses.
He quotes St. John, “I saw in the right hand of Him that sat on the
throne a book written within and without, sealed with seven seals;” and
this book, he says, is the life of our blessed Lord, written with the
characters of all virtues—within, in His most holy soul; without, in His
sacred body. It is sealed with seven seals. St. John continues, “I saw
a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, Who is worthy to open the
book, and to loose the seals thereof? And no man in heaven, nor in earth,
neither under the earth, was able to open the book, neither to look
thereon.”
Who, then, was worthy to open that book? None save Christ Himself. He
opened it in the Sermon on the Mount, wherein He taught all men to follow
and observe the virtues which He practised Himself.
Hearken and consider as He opens each seal:—
“Blessed are the poor in spirit:” and behold Him at the opening of this
first seal, poor and of no reputation.
“Blessed are they that mourn:” and this second seal displays Him offering
up prayers for us, “with strong crying and tears.”
“Blessed are the meek:” and we see Him meek and lowly of heart, before
the judgment-seat answering not a word.
“Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness:” this
fourth seal exhibits Him whose meat it was to do the will of Him that
sent Him, and who on the cross could still cry, “I thirst,” in the
consuming thirst for the salvation of our souls.
“Blessed are the merciful:” and “His mercy is over all His works.”
“Blessed are the pure in heart:” and who was purer than the Virgin Son of
the Virgin Mother?
And the seventh seal opens with: “Blessed are the peacemakers;” showing
us Christ who made “peace by the blood of His cross” between Jew and
Gentile, between God and man.
Every sermon preached since that mighty discourse, which opened the life
of Christ to man, what has it been, but a turning over of leaf after leaf
in that most mysterious book?
There is something very striking in the accidents of that first sermon,
that fountain whence every rill of sacred eloquence has flowed to
water the whole earth; delivered, not in the gloom of the temple, in
the shadow of the ponderous roof, like the burden of the law to weigh
it down, but in the open air, free and elastic like the Gospel, on a
mountain-top, in the soft breeze beneath an unclouded sun; the Preacher
standing among mountain flowers, meet emblems of the graces which should
spring up from His word, sown broadcast over the world. We can picture
the scene: the twelve around Him, bowed in wonder, like the sheaves of
the brethren bending before the sheaf of Joseph; and beyond, a great
multitude with eager uplifted faces, a multitude hungering and thirsting
after righteousness, drawing in the gracious words which proceeded from
Christ’s lips; whilst far below, gently ripples and brightly twinkles the
blue Galilean lake, over the waters of which that Preacher walked, and
the waves of which by one word He stilled. We may say with the angel,
“The waters which thou sawest are peoples, and multitudes, and nations,
and tongues” (Rev. xvii. 15), and see in them a type of the world once
tossing in the darkness and terror of a night of ignorance without God,
but now to be calmed in the daylight of His presence, and lulled at the
sound of His voice.
The following analysis of the Sermon on the Mount, taken chiefly from Dr.
J. Forbes, will give some idea of its arrangement:—
_Introduction._
A. The character of the true members of Christ’s kingdom diametrically
opposed to the expectations and character of the world.
The Beatitudes, or progressive stages of Christian life (verses
3-10).
The reward of those who keep the beatitudes in this world (11)
and in the next (12).
B. The duty of Christ’s servants towards the world (13-16).
_The Subject._
“Christ is the end of the law for righteousness.”
I.
(Ver. 17.) “Think not that I am come to destroy the law and the prophets.”
A. (Negative proposition) I am not come to destroy,
B. (Positive proposition) but to fulfil.
Negative proposition explained (18, 19).
Positive proposition explained (20).
Christ then shows how that the law is made of none effect by the Scribes
and Pharisees, and not by Himself.
II.
A. The Teaching of Christ contrasted with that of the Scribes. Perfect
form of the Second Table of the Law.
1. Law of Individual Life (VI Commandment, V Beatitude) (21-26).
2. Law of Family Life (VII Commandment, VI Beatitude) (27-32).
3. Central Law of Truth (IX Commandment) (33-37).
4. Law of National Life (VIII Commandment):
On its Negative or Passive Side (III Beatitude) (38-42).
On its Positive or Active Side (VII Beatitude) (43-48).
III.
The Practice required by Christ of His Disciples contrasted with the
Practice of the Scribes and Pharisees.
First Defect of Pharisaical Righteousness, Ostentation, or Hypocrisy. God
must be regarded in all our _Acts_ (chap. vi. 1).
α. In the Duties owed to our Neighbours (2-4).
β. In the Duties owed to God (5-15).
γ. In the Duties owed to Ourselves (16-18).
Second Defect of Pharisaical Righteousness, Worldliness. God must be
regarded in all our _Affections_ (19-34).
Third Defect of Pharisaical Righteousness, Spiritual Pride. God must be
regarded in all our _Judgments_ (chap. vii. 1, 2).
We must acquire Discernment to judge,
_a._ How to give (3-5).
_b._ To whom to give (6).
_c._ What to give (7-12).
_Conclusion._
The conclusion sums up, in three practical exhortations, the whole
sermon. Such being the spirit of the Law and the Prophets, and the
strictness of the righteousness required,
I. Beware of Supineness (13, 14).
II. Beware of false Teachers (15-20).
III. Beware of empty Professions (21-27).
The other sermons given in Holy Scripture are those of St. Peter, St.
Stephen, and St. Paul; in all of which arrangement is discernible.
But passing from the apostolic age to those succeeding it, we find that
preaching consisted chiefly in scriptural exposition, the only order
observed being that of the sacred text. Such was the nature of the
sermons of St. Pantænus (A.D. 180), the Sicilian Bee, so named from
the way in which he gathered honey from the flowers of prophetic and
apostolic fields. He is said to have travelled preaching the Gospel as
far as India, whence he brought back a Hebrew copy of St. Matthew’s
Gospel, left by St. Bartholomew. St. Clement of Alexandria and Origen
succeeded him; adding polish and refinement to the matter. These great
men, so well versed in the history of the Old and New Testaments, were
also probably masters of the art of preaching, though but few of their
genuine homilies are extant by which we might judge.
In Africa, St. Cyprian preached with eloquence and vigour. A few sermons
and homilies of St. Athanasius remain; and fifty sermons preached by the
Macarii to the monks in the Thebaid. St. Ephraem Syrus, Deacon of Edessa,
was a voluminous writer, and an eloquent preacher. Sozomen observes of
him, that, though he had never studied, yet he had so many beauties in
his style, and so many sublime thoughts, that the traces of his eloquence
are discernible through a translation. St. Gregory Nyssen says that he
had read and meditated more than any one else on the Bible; that he had
written expositions upon all Holy Scripture; and that he had, besides,
composed many fervid and touching exhortations. “All his discourses,”
says he, “are filled with weeping and compassionate expressions, which
are calculated to move even the hardest hearts. For who that is proud
would not become the humblest of men, on reading his sermon on Humility?
Who would not be inflamed with Divine fire, by reading his treatise on
Charity? Who would not wish to be pure in heart, when reading the praises
he has lavished on virginity? Who would not be alarmed on hearing his
discourse on the Last Judgment; wherein he has described it so vividly,
that not a touch can be added by way of improvement? God gave him so
profound a wisdom, that, though he had a wonderful facility of speaking,
yet he could not always find words to express the crowd of ideas which
flowed into his mind.”
Every one knows what was the success of the homilies of St. Augustine,
of the two Gregories, of St. Chrysostom, St. Basil, St. Ambrose. “There
were giants in those days.” We will not speak of them now, as their lives
and their works are well known. Suffice it to say, that they spoke so as
to suit the capacities of their hearers. Sometimes they preached without
preparation, and in a homely manner; seeking rather to instruct than to
please.
St. Cyprian, St. Ambrose, and St. Leo, among the Latins, pass with
justice for the most eloquent orators of their time. St. Augustine is
more simple than they; but he preached in the small town of Hippo, to
shopkeepers and labourers.
In the age after Augustine, perhaps the most famous preacher was Salvian
(390-484), surnamed the Master of Bishops, not that he ever was a Bishop
himself, but because so many of his pupils at Lerins became eventually
prelates in Gaul. Among the most eminent of these was St. Cæsarius of
Arles (470-542), son of the Count of Chalons. He passed his youth in
the shadow of the cloister of Lerins, and left it only to succeed the
first fathers of that peaceful isle, Honoratus and Hilary, upon the
archiepiscopal throne of Arles. He was for half a century the most
illustrious and most influential of the Bishops of Southern Gaul. He
presided over four Councils, and directed the great controversies of his
time. He was passionately beloved by his flock, whose hearts he swayed
with his fervid eloquence, of which 130 still extant sermons bear the
indelible stamp. Another of the early preachers of Gaul was St. Eucher
(434), whom Bossuet calls “the Great;” and he, too, issued from that
great nursery of saints, the Isle of Lerins.
Valerian of Cemele (450), has left behind him sermons plain and sound,
but devoid of eloquence. Basil of Seleucia was a preacher of fame in
the East. Photius says, that “his discourse is figurative and lofty.
He observes, as much as any man, an even tone. He has united clearness
with agreeableness, but his tropes and figures are very troublesome. By
these he wearies his hearer always, and creates in him a bad opinion of
himself, as an ignorant person, incapable of blending art with nature,
and powerless to keep from excess.” Photius is rather too hard on Basil,
whose sermons are really stirring and good. The discourses of Andrew of
Crete (740) are also excellent; those of John Damascene are poor.
Turning to England, we shall find Bede instructing our Anglo-Saxon
forefathers in the faith of Christ and in the mysteries of the Gospel;
and Alfric, in 990, compiling homilies in the vulgar tongue, to the
number of eighty, and, among others, that famous one on the doctrine
of the Holy Eucharist, which Matthew Parker could flourish in the face
of his Romish opponents, saying, “What now is become of your boasted
argument of apostolic tradition? see here that the novelties with which
you charge us are older than the doctrines which you oppose to them!”
Wulfstan, Archbishop of York (1003), is known through one remarkable
sermon, “Sermo Lupi ad Anglos quando Dani maxime persecuti sunt eos.”
We have now arrived at the true middle ages, and I will say but little of
the history of preaching in that period, as it has already been treated
of by that distinguished ecclesiastical scholar, Dr. Neale, in his volume
“Mediæval Sermons.” And, indeed, but for his labours, the bulk of this
introduction would necessarily have been extended beyond its due limits,
for the middle ages teemed with preachers, and preachers very striking
for their originality and depth. The monasteries were great nurseries
of preachers, sending forth continually multitudes of carefully trained
and orthodox teachers. These preaching monks and friars exercised an
immense influence over the uneducated laity, and for long they worked
in harmony with the secular clergy. Let me give one instance from a
chronicler of the thirteenth century, Jacques de Vitry, who has left us
some interesting details concerning a very celebrated preacher of his
time, Foulque de Neuilly. “He excited to such an extent all people, not
only of the lower orders, but kings and princes as well, by his few and
simple words, that none dare oppose him. People rushed in crowds from
distant countries to hear him, and to see the miracles wrought by God
through him.… Those who were able to tear and preserve the smallest
fragment of his dress, esteemed themselves happy. Besides, as his clothes
were in great request, and as the multitude were constantly tearing them
off him, he was obliged to have a new cassock nearly every day. And as
the mob commonly pressed upon him in an intolerable manner, he struck the
most troublesome with a stick he held, and drove them back, or he would
have been suffocated by the throng eager to touch him. And, although
he sometimes wounded those whom he struck, yet they were by no means
offended, and did not murmur, but, in the excess of their devotion, and
the strength of their faith, kissed their own blood, as though it had
been sanctified by the man of God.
“One day, as a man was engaged in ripping his cassock with considerable
violence, he spoke to the crowd thus, ‘Do not rend my garments, which
have never been blessed: see! I will give my benediction to the clothes
of this man.’ Then he made the sign of the cross, and at once the people
tore to rags the man’s dress, so that each obtained a shred.”
Pass we now to the wane of sacred eloquence at the close of the
fourteenth century. By this time pulpit oratory had become sadly debased,
though still a few noble orators, as Savonarola at Florence, Louis of
Granada in Spain, and Philip of Narni at Rome, shone as lights.
In the place of earnestness came affectation: the natural movement of
the body, when the feelings of the preacher are roused, was replaced by
studied gestures; the object of the orator was rather the exhibition of
his own learning than the edification of his hearers, and the lack of
matter in sermons was supplied by profanity and buffoonery. Preachers
became the slaves of rule, their sermons were stretched on the same
Procrustean bed, and were clipped or distorted to fit the required shape.
By this means all natural eloquence was stifled; every action of the
body, every modulation of the voice, was according to canon; and to such
an extent did this run, that some preachers made it a matter of rule to
cough at fixed intervals, believing that they were thereby adding grace
to their declamation. In some old MS. sermons, marginal notes to the
following effect may be found: “Sit down—stand up—mop yourself—ahem!
ahem!—now shriek like a devil.”
Such is a sermon preached by Oliver Maillard, and printed with these
marginal notes at Bruges in 1500, black letter, quarto. Balzac describes
a lesson given by an aged doctor to a young bachelor on the art of
preaching, and it consisted of this—“Bang the pulpit; look at the
crucifix with rolling eyes; say nothing to the purpose,—and you _will_ be
a great preacher.”
Throughout the fourteenth century sermons were for the most part
hammered out on the same miserable block. The same text perhaps served
for an Advent or a Lenten series. Maillard in the next century preached
sixty-eight sermons on the text, “Come up … unto the mount” (Exod. xxxiv.
2); and he took for his text throughout Advent, Christmas, and the
festivals immediately following—in all forty-four sermons—the words of
St. James i. 21, “Wherefore lay apart all filthiness and superfluity of
naughtiness, and receive with meekness the engrafted word, which is able
to save your souls.”
The preacher having given out his text, pronounced a long exordium, in no
way to the purpose, containing some scriptural allegory, some supposed
fact from natural history, or a story extracted from a classic historian.
He then returned to his text and began to discuss two questions, one in
theology, the other in civil or canon law, remotely connected with it. On
the theological question he quoted the sentiments of the schoolmen, on
the other he cited legal authorities.
He then proceeded to divide his subject under heads, each of which was
again subdivided, and each subdivision was supported by the authority of
a classic philosopher, and illustrated by an anecdote often pointless,
sometimes indecent. Indeed, to such an extent were classic allusions and
quotations in vogue, that the story is told of a peasant who had “sat
under” his priest for long, and had heard much of Apollo in the Sunday
discourses, bequeathing his old cart-horse “to M. Pollo, of whom the curé
had said such fine things.”
This absurd affectation continued long the bane of the pulpit. In the
sixteenth century a monk preaching on the feast of St. Peter, saw no
impropriety in mingling mythology with Gospel history, and in quoting
the fable of Daphne to illustrate the denial of the Apostle. “The nymph
of the wood,” said he, “being pursued by the shepherd Apollo, fled over
hill and dale, till she reached the foot of a rock up which she could
not climb, and, seeing herself at the mercy of her pursuer, she began to
weep,—in like manner, St. Peter seeing himself arrested by the rock of
his denial, ‘wept bitterly.’” And Camus, Bishop of Belley, who flourished
in the beginning of the seventeenth century, could use such words as
these on Christmas Day:—“We now, skimming over the sea in our boat,
come to behold the Infant born into the world to conquer it. He is our
Bellerophon, who, mounted on the Pegasus of His humanity, winged by union
with the Deity, has overcome the world, ‘confidite, ego vici mundum;’
the world, a true and strange Chimera! lion as to its front by its
pride, dragon behind in its avarice, goat in the midst by its pollution!
He is our youthful Horatius overcoming the three Curiatii of ambition,
avarice, and sensuality! He is our Hercules, who has beaten down the
triple-throated Cerberus, and who has in His cradle strangled serpents.
The one crushed only two, but ours has destroyed three, the vanity of the
world by His subjection, the avarice of the world by His poverty, the
delights of the world by His mortification.”
Sometimes preachers, carried away by their feelings, gave vent to the
most violent and indecorous expressions. As, for instance, the Père
Guerin preaching on the danger of reading improper literature, could not
refrain from using the following language with reference to Theophilus
Viaud, who had written a very immoral poem, “La Parnasse des Poètes,”
1625, for which he and his book were condemned to be burned. “Cursed be
the spirit which dictated such thoughts,” howled the preacher. “Cursed be
the hand which wrote them! Woe to the publisher who had them printed! Woe
to those who have read them! Woe to those who have ever made the author’s
acquaintance! But blessed be Monsieur le premier Président, blessed be M.
le Procureur Général, who have purged our Paris of this plague! You are
the originator of the plague in this city; I would say, after the Rev.
Father Garasse, that you are a scoundrel, a great calf! but no! shall
I call you a calf? Veal is good when boiled, veal is good when roast,
calfskin is good for binding books; but yours, miscreant! is only fit
to be well grilled, and that it will be, to-morrow. You have raised the
laugh at monks, and now the monks will laugh at you.”
Preachers have been quite unable at times to resist the chance of saying
a bon mot. Father André, being required to give out before his sermon
that a collection would be made for the dower of a young lady who wished
to take the veil, said—“Gentlemen, your alms are solicited in behalf of a
young lady who is not rich enough to take the vow of poverty.” I believe
it is of the same man that the story is told, that he halted suddenly
in the midst of a sermon to rebuke the congregation for indulging in
conversation whilst he was speaking. One good woman took this in dudgeon,
and standing up, assured the preacher that the buzz of voices came from
the men’s side of the church, and not from that reserved for the females.
“I am delighted to hear it,” replied the preacher, “the talking will then
be sooner over.” This reminds me of Gabriel Barlette’s dictum, “Pone
quatuor mulieres ab unâ parte, decem viros ab aliâ, plus garrulabunt
mulieres.”
Kings even have been publicly rebuked for something of the same kind.
Every one knows that Mademoiselle d’Entragues, Marchioness of Verneuil,
was mistress of Henry IV. One day that the Jesuit father, Gonthier,
was preaching at St. Gervais, the king attended with Mademoiselle
d’Entragues, and a suite of court ladies. During the sermon the
marchioness whispered and made signs to the king, trying to make him
laugh. The preacher, indignant at this conduct, turned to Henry and
said, “Sire, never again permit yourself to come to hear the word of
God surrounded by a seraglio, and thus to offer so great a scandal in a
holy place.” The marchioness was furious, and endeavoured to obtain the
punishment of the preacher, but Henry, instead of consenting, had the
good sense to show that he was not offended, by returning to hear Father
Gonthier preach on the following day. He took him aside however, and
said, “My father, fear nothing. I thank you for your reproof; only, for
Heaven’s sake, don’t give it in public again.”
I have said that the preachers of the fifteenth century often
degenerated into the burlesque, in order to attract the attention they
failed to rivet by the excellence of their matter. Unfortunately this
fault was not confined to the fifteenth century, but we find it again
and again appearing among inferior preachers of the next two centuries.
It must be remembered that the monasteries had then fallen from their
high estate through the intolerable oppression of the “in commendam,” and
that learning was far less cultivated than in an earlier age. The popular
friar-preachers, the hedge-priests, who took with the vulgar, were much
of the stamp of modern dissenting ministers, men of little education but
considerable assurance; they spoke in the dialect of the people, they
understood their troubles, they knew their tastes; and, at the same time,
like all people who have got a smattering of knowledge, they loved to
display it, and in displaying it consisted much of their grotesqueness.
The following sketch of one of these discourses is given by Father Labat,
in his “Voyages en Espagne et en Italie, Amst., 1731, 8 vols. in 12mo.”
He says that he was present on the 15th September, 1709, at a sermon
preached in the open air under a clump of olives near Tivoli.
The day was the Feast of the Name of Mary. “Those who did the honours
of the feast placed me, politely, right in front of the preacher. He
appeared, after having kept us waiting sufficiently long, mounted the
pulpit, sat down without ceremony, examined his audience in a grave and
perhaps slightly contemptuous manner; and then, after a few moments’
silence, he rose, took off his cap, made the sign of the cross on his
brow, then on his mouth, and then on his heart, which after the old
system he supposed to be on his left side; lastly, he made a fourth sign,
which covered up all the others, since it extended from his head to the
pit of his stomach. This operation complete, he sat down, put on his cap,
and began his discourse with these words, ‘I beheld a great book written
within and without,’ which he explained thus: Ecco il verissimo ritrato
di Maria sempre Virgine; that is to say, Behold the veritable portrait of
the ever Virgin Mary. This application was followed by a long digression
upon all books ever known in MS. or in print. Those which compose the
Holy Scriptures passed first in review; he named their authors, he fixed
their date, and gave the reasons for their composition. He passed next to
those of the ancient philosophers, of the Egyptians and of the Greeks;
those of the Sibyls appeared next on the scene, and the praise of the
Tiburtine Sibyl was neatly interwoven into the discourse. Homer’s Iliad
was not forgotten, any more than the Æneid; not a book escaped him; and
then he declared that none were equal to the great book written within
and without; a book, said he, imprinted with the characters of divine
virtues, bound in Heaven, dedicated to wisdom uncreate[1], approved by
the doctors of the nine angelic hierarchies, published by the twelve
Apostles in the four quarters of the globe; a book occupying the first
place in the celestial library, in which angels and saints study
ever, which is the terror of demons, the joy of heaven, the delights
of saints, the recompense of the triumphant Church, the hope of the
suffering, the support, the strength, the buckler of the militant. He
never left this great book, the leaves of which he kept turning, so to
speak, for three good quarters of an hour, and then finding that it was
time to rest, he quitted us suddenly without a ‘good-bye.’ I mean without
the blessing, and without having spoken of the Blessed Virgin in any
other light than that which served him in the explanation of his text.
“I confess I never heard a sermon which pleased me better, for I was
not a bit wearied during it; and, in his style, I suspect he was
unequalled. The Passion of Father Imbert, Superior of our mission at
Guadaloupe, his sermon on St. Jean de Dieu, that of Father Ange de
Rouen, a Capuchin, on a certain indulgence, had hitherto appeared to me
inimitable masterpieces; but I must award the palm to that which I have
just reported, and to do the preacher justice, he surpassed the others
mentioned as the empyrean sky surpasses the lunar sky in grandeur and
elevation.”
I must speak here of a famous preacher of the fifteenth century, to whom
I cannot afford a separate notice, and who is more offensively ridiculous
than the man spoken of by Labat; I mean Gabriel Barlette. I do not give
him other notice than this for two reasons; the first, because there is
reason to believe that the sermons which pass under his name are spurious
compositions, as indeed is asserted by a cotemporary, Leander Alberti,
who says that they were the composition of a pretender who took the name
of the great preacher.
It is therefore not fair to judge of a really famous man from works
which may not be his. Another reason why I have limited to a few lines
my notice of sermons which were undoubtedly popular, if we may judge of
the number of impressions they went through, is that there is positively
no good to be got from them; they are full of the grossest absurdities
and the most profane buffoonery. I have given an account of some three or
four of this class of sermon, and I can afford no more room to similar
profanities.
Gabriel Barlette was a Dominican, and was born at Barletta in the
kingdom of Naples. He lived beyond 1481, for he speaks of the siege and
capture of Otranto by Mahomet II. as a thing of the past. In one of the
sermons attributed to him is the following passage on the close of the
temptations:—“After His victory over Satan, the Blessed Virgin sends Him
the dinner she had prepared for herself, cabbage, soup, spinach, and
perhaps even sardines.”
In a sermon for Whitsun-Tuesday, he rebukes distractions in prayer,
and he illustrates them in this unseemly way. He represents a priest
engaged at his morning devotions, saying, “Pater noster qui es in cœlis—I
say, lad, saddle the horse, I’m going to town to-day!—sanctificatur
nomen tuum,—Cath’rine, put the pot on the fire!—fiat voluntas tua—Take
care! the cat’s at the cheese!—panem nostrum quotidianum—Mind the white
horse has his feed of oats.… Is this praying?” No, Gabriel, nor is this
preaching!
Another preacher of the same stamp was Menot. Michael Menot was born in
Paris; he was a Franciscan, and died at an advanced age in 1518.
Take this specimen of his reasoning—
“The dance is a circular way;
The way of the Devil is circular;
Therefore the dance is the Devil’s way.”
And he proves his minor by the Scriptural passages “circuivi terram,”
“circuit quærens quem devoret,” “in circuitu impii ambulant.” In his
sermon for Friday after Ash-Wednesday he thus expresses his sense of the
value of magistrates: “Justices are like the cat which is put in charge
of a cheese lest the mice should eat it. But if the cat lay tooth to it,
by one bite he does more mischief than the mice could do in twenty. Just
in the same manner,” &c. The following is a specimen of his style, a sad
jumble of Latin and French. He is giving a graphic description of the
prodigal son wasting his goods. “Mittit ad quærendum les drapiers, les
grossiers, les marchands de soye, et se fait accoutrer de pied en cap; il
n’y avait rien à redire. Quando vidit sibi pulchras caligas d’écarlate,
bien tirées, la belle chemise froncée sur le collet, le pourpoint
fringant de velours, la toque de Florence, les cheveux peignés, et qu’il
se sentit le damas voler sur le dos, hæc secum dixit: Oportetne mihi
aliquid? Or me faut-il rien? Non, tu as toutes tes plumes; il est temps
de voler plus loin. Tu es nimis propè domum patris tui, pro benè faciendo
casum tuum. Pueri qui semper dormierunt in atrio vel gremio matris suæ,
nunquam sciverunt aliquid, et nunquam erunt nisi asini et insulsi, et
ne seront jamais que nices et béjaunes. Bref qui ne fréquente pays nihil
videt.”
Of course this sermon was not thus preached, but it gives us an idea of
Menot’s acquaintance with Latin, and of his utter inability to render the
slang which had disfigured his vernacular by classic phrases.
But it must not be supposed that all preachers of the fifteenth century
were like these clerical jesters.
Gabriel Biel was grave and dignified, his sermons remarkably simple in
construction, and full of wisdom and fervour. The same may be said of
Thomas à Kempis, John Turricremata, and Henry Harphius.
With the sixteenth century a new phase of pulpit oratory was about to
dawn. Men wearied of conventional restraints, and spoke from the heart,
knowledge was profounder, less superficial, the conceits of schoolmen
were kept in the background, and scriptural illustrations brought into
greater prominence. Anecdote was still used as a powerful engine for
good, but it was anecdote such as would edify. Similes were introduced
of the most striking and charming character; and the preachers sought
evidently rather to instruct their hearers, and to render doctrine
intelligible, than to surround themselves with a cloud of abstruse doubts
and solutions, to the bewilderment of their hearers, and to their own
possible glorification. It is impossible not to see in this a fruit of
the Reformation. To people famishing for the bread of life, the preachers
of the fifteenth century had given a stone, and now their successors
were alive to the fact, and strove earnestly to remedy it. They threw
themselves forward like Phineas, and stood in the gap, so that it is to
them, perhaps, more than to great theologians like Bellarmin, that the
Catholic Church must look with thanks for having stayed the advancing
tide of reform.
If, in that age of religious upheaval, the pulpit had remained as
unedifying as heretofore, there can be no manner of doubt that the
eruption in Germany would have devastated Italy, France, and Spain.
Indeed the Huguenot party in France was very powerful, and extended so
widely that it must be a matter of surprise to many to find its tenets
now represented by a few miserable, quivering fragments. In fact the
Roman Church, after the first shock, recovered ground on all sides, for
her clergy rose to meet the emergency, and turned to the people as the
true source of strength to the Church, and leaned on them, instead of
putting her trust in Princes. I cannot believe that the massacres of
the Huguenots had any thing to do with the extirpation of Protestantism
in France, for persecution strengthens but never destroys. I am rather
inclined to attribute it to the vigour with which the clergy of the
time set themselves to work remedying the abuses which had degraded
pulpit oratory. Sacred eloquence is the most powerful engine known for
influencing multitudes, and the Catholic clergy resolutely cultivated it,
and used it with as much success as Chrysostom, Gregory, or Augustine.
They had a vast storehouse of learning and piety from which to draw,
the writings of the saints and doctors of the Church in all ages, and
they drew from it unostentatiously but effectively. Their sermons were
telling in a way no Protestant sermons could equal, for the Calvinist
or Lutheran had cast in his lot apart from the great men of antiquity,
whilst the Catholic could focus their teaching upon his flock. The
former had but their own brains from which to draw, whilst the latter
had the great minds of Catholic antiquity to rest upon. There are vast
encyclopedias and dictionaries of theology, moral and dogmatic, filled
with matter any Catholic preacher of the meanest abilities could work
up into profitable and even striking discourses, great collections of
anecdote and simile, which he might turn to for illustrations, and,
above all, exhaustive commentaries on every line, aye, and every word of
Scripture.
From all these great helps to the preacher, the Protestant minister
conscientiously, and through prejudice, kept aloof.
This may account for the undoubted fact that after the first flush of
triumph, sacred oratory in the reformed communities sank to as dead and
dreary a level as it had attained in the fifteenth century.
The Protestant preachers were not always as grotesque, but they became
as dull and unspiritual, whilst the Roman Church having once napped,
never let herself fall asleep again, but with that tact which once
characterized her, but which is fast leaving her, she stirred up and kept
alive ever after the fire of sacred eloquence.
And here I must make an extraordinary statement, yet one indisputably
true, however paradoxical it may appear.
The main contrast between Roman Catholic sermons and those of Protestant
divines in the age of which I am speaking, consists in the wondrous
familiarity with Scripture exhibited by the former, beside a scanty
use of it made by the latter. It is not that these Roman preachers
affect quoting texts, but they seem to think and speak in the words of
Scripture, without an effort; Scriptural illustrations are at their
fingers’ ends, and these are not taken from one or two pet books, but
selected evenly from the whole Bible.
Let me take as an instance a passage selected at hap-hazard from
Königstein, an unknown German preacher. He is preaching on the Gospel
during the Mass at dawn on Christmas Day. I choose him, for he is as
homely a preacher as there was in the sixteenth century, and as he may be
taken as a fair representative of a class somewhat dull.
“‘And the Shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto
Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass’ (Luke ii. 15).
The Saviour being desirous of weaning altogether the hearts of His own
people from worldly glory, not only chose to be born in poverty, but to
be announced _to_ poor folk, and to be proclaimed _by_ them. And this
He chose lest the beginning of our faith should stand in human glory
or wisdom, _which is foolishness with God_, whereas He desired that it
should be ascribed to Divine grace only; therefore the Apostle says,
‘_After the kindness and love of God our Saviour towards man appeared_,’
&c. _Kindness and love_ in His conversation, and His nativity into this
world, by taking our flesh; _of God our Saviour_, by His own vast
clemency; _not by works of righteousness which we have done_, for _we
were by nature children of wrath_, so that our works were not done in
justice, nor could we gain safety by them; but _according to His mercy
He saved us_ by present grace and by future glory, as _we are saved
by Hope_; and it is _He who hath called us with an holy calling, not
according to our works, but according to His own purpose and grace, which
was given us in Christ Jesus before the world began, by the washing of
regeneration and the renewal of the Holy Ghost_, that is, by the washing
of Baptism, which is a spiritual regeneration, for, _except a man be born
of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the Kingdom of God_.
Water cleanses the body without, and the Spirit purges the soul within.
In Baptism man ends the old life which _was under the law_, that he
may begin the new life which is _under grace_; so that he who believes
is daily renewed more and more _by the Spirit, which is given us_ in
Baptism; as says the Apostle, _Be renewed in the spirit of your mind_,”
&c.
Of a similar character are the sermons of Helmesius, and the simple;
earnest, and thoughtful postils of Polygranus.
There is another observation which I must make upon these venerable
preachers. It is impossible to read them attentively without observing
how different in tone they are to modern ultramontane theologians, and
how sadly modern Romanism has drifted from primitive traditions, and how
rapid has been its descent, when this is noticeable by ascending the
stream of time but a few centuries.
I am not prepared to say that there is nothing false and unprimitive in
the doctrine of these great preachers, but that doctrinal corruption
was not then fully developed. I suppose that an English priest would
find it hard to select a sermon of the new Roman school, which he could
reproduce in his own pulpit; but if he were to turn to these great men of
a past age, he would meet with few passages which he should feel himself
constrained to omit. The germ of evil had been slowly expanding through
the middle ages; it flowered at the close, and now it has seeded, and
become loathsome in its corruption.
Let me take the worship of the Blessed Virgin, which has of late assumed
such terrible dimensions. A modern Roman preacher rarely misses an
opportunity of inculcating devotion to Mary. But it was not so with the
old preachers. They do use language which cannot always be justified,
but, more often, language which ought to be frankly accepted by us,
considering that the tone of English reverence is unwarrantably low with
regard to the blessed ever-virgin Mother. Often when there is a natural
opening for some words of deification of Mary, the preachers of the
fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries turn from it to make a
moral application to their hearers. I will only instance De Barzia, a
bishop of Cadiz. He gives three sermons for the Purification.
The first is on the care which a Christian man should take not to
scandalize his neighbours by any act which though innocent might give
offence, or by the neglect of any duty.
The second is on the great danger of setting an evil example.
The third is on the funeral taper, by the light of which those truths,
which man saw not in the day of his life, are then most evidently
discerned.
For the Annunciation he gives three sermons. The first on the modesty of
Mary, which all should imitate. The second is on the general confession
of sin made in Lent. The third is on the promptitude with which man
should act on Divine impulses.
It is true that De Barzia uses strong language from which we should
dissent, on the feasts of the Assumption and the Nativity of Mary; but
the fact of letting two of her festivals pass without pointing her out
as a prominent object of worship is what, I should suppose, no modern
Ultramontane would do.
I must now turn to a bright and pleasant feature in these preachers—their
keen appreciation of the beauty of nature. This indeed had been a
distinguishing characteristic of the Middle Ages. In architecture, in
painting, and in poetry, even in preaching, the great book of nature had
been studied, and its details reproduced. As the sculptor delighted to
represent in stone beast, and bird, and plant; as the painter rejoiced to
transfer to canvas, with laborious minuteness, the tender meadow flowers;
so did the preacher pluck illustration from the book of nature, or refer
his hearers to it, for examples of life.
With the Renaissance, the artist turned from the contemplation of God’s
handiwork, but not so the sacred orator. In him the same love for the
works of God is manifest, his mind returns to them again and again, he
gathers simile and illustration from them with readiness and freedom,
he seems to stand before his congregation with the written word in his
right hand, and the unwritten word in his left, and to read from the
written, and then turn to the unwritten as the exponent of the other.
Nature was not then supposed to be antagonistic to Revelation, but to be
its Apocrypha, hidden writings full of the wisdom of God, and meet “for
examples of life and instruction of manners.”
The great Bernard used the heart-language of every mediæval theologian
when he said, “Believe me who have tried it; you will find more in the
woods than in books: the birds will teach you that which you can learn
from no master.”
In like temper did Philip von Hartung preach to a courtly audience on the
text, “Consider the fowls of the air,” and drawing them away from the
glitter of the palace, and the din of the city, set them down in a meadow
to hear the lessons taught them by the lark.
“Consider the fowls of the air, and look first to the lark (_alauda_),
drawing its very name, _a laude_, out of praise; see how with quivering
wing it mounts aloft, and with what clear note it praises God!
Aldrovandus says that he had been taught from childhood, that the lark
mounted seven times a day to sing hymns to its Creator, so that it sings
ascending, and singing soars.
“St. Francis was wont to call the larks his sisters, rejoicing in their
songs, which excited him to the praise of his Creator. Seven times a day
might we too chant our praise to God: first for our creation, which was
completed in seven days; then for our Redemption, which was perfected
by the seventh effusion of blood; thirdly, for the seven sacraments
instituted by Christ; fourthly, for the seven words uttered from the
Cross; fifthly, for the seven gifts of the Spirit shed on us from on
high; sixthly, for our preservation from the seven deadly sins, even
though the just man falleth seven times a day (Prov. xxiv.); and lastly,
for the seven sad and seven glorious mysteries of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
“A heavenly lark was royal David, going up to Thee, O God, ‘seven times
a day’ to praise Thee! David from the softness of a palace; David from
the cares of a kingdom; David from the tumult of battle; David engaged in
so great correspondence with many and mighty kings, seven times a day,
rose to the praise of God; and shall not you, my brethren, mount from
your ease seven times a day to give thanks unto God? Threefold, aye! and
fourfold, were our blessedness, if from this vale of tears our hearts
would but wing their way on high to seek true and never-fleeting joys.
Notice the lark! it is not content, like the swallow, to skim the surface
of earth, but it must struggle up higher and higher. ‘The higher the soul
goes,’ says Hugo, ‘the more it rejoices in the Lord.’ And just as the
lark when on earth is hushed, but mounting breaks into joy and song; so
does the soul raised to Heaven rapturously and sweetly warble. It sings
not upon the topmost boughs of trees, as though spurning all that is
rooted in earth. And so do you cast away all cares, all intercourse,
all affairs of life, all that is evil, all, in short, that is earthy.
Socrates was wont to say that the wings of a lark failed us when we came
down from Heaven, drawn by the host of earthly objects. But we can spread
them again to flee away and be at rest, if we will, by earnest endeavour,
dispose our hearts to mount, and so go on from grace to grace.”
Beside this let me place a lesson from the flowers, culled from Matthias
Faber. “They teach us to trust in God. I pray you look at Divine
Providence exerted in behalf of the smallest floweret. God has given it
perfect parts, and members proportioned to its trunk; He has provided
it with organs for the performance of all those functions which are
necessary to it, as the drawing up of juice, and its dispersion through
the various parts; a root branching into tiny fibres riveting it to the
soil; a stalk erect, lest it should be stained and corrupted through
contact with the earth, strong also, lest it should be broken by the
storm, a rind thick or furred to protect it from cold, or heat, or
accident; twigs and leaves for adornment and shelter; a most beauteous
array of flower above the array of Solomon in all his glory. He has given
it, besides, a scent pleasant to beasts or men; He has endued it with
healing properties, and, above all, with the faculty of generating in
its own likeness. How many benefits conferred on one flower! one flower,
I say, which to-morrow is cut down and cast into the oven! What, then,
will He not give to man, whom He has made in His own image, an heir of
Heaven!… ‘Consider the lilies of the field how they grow,’ aye! _how_
they grow, how is it? They grow steadily night and day, stretching
themselves out and expanding, so that no man may discern the process
going on. So, too, let us grow, daily extirpating vices, daily implanting
virtues, thus sensibly increasing, so that, after the lapse of years, we
may be found to have advanced in spiritual growth, though we ourselves
may not have known it. As said the Apostle, ‘Forgetting those things
which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before,
I press towards the mark’ (Phil. iii. 13).
“They teach us, also, to sigh for heavenly beatitude, and the society
of the blessed. If even in this world such variety of flowers is seen,
such beauty, such fragrance, and these in flowers which to-day are and
to-morrow are cast into the oven, what will be the beauty, what the
variety, what the glory of the elect in the kingdom of God! Those who go
to distant lands are ever discovering fresh and fresh flowers; and so in
Heaven is there unmeasured variety among the angels and the elect.
“Yet in all this variety there is perfect unity. For as in the same
garden, or meadow, the flowers are content with their several beauties,
and no one impedes the growth of another, or thrusts it out of its place,
but all look up to the one sun, and bask and grow and gather strength
in his brightness; so also in Heaven. There each of the Blessed will be
content with his portion of glory, none interfering with another, none
envying another. For all will see God face to face, and live and move
and have their being in His presence, and therewith be satisfied through
eternity.”
Simile has been used extensively in all ages of the Church, but in the
fifteenth century it had become very mean and coarse. Meffreth could talk
of the world as being untranquil, like a globule of quicksilver, never
to be brought to rest till fused to a black residuum in the sulphurous
blast of Hell; and could illustrate the text, “Here we have no continuing
city,” by comparing this poor world of ours to the weed-covered back of a
large whale, which an eminent and veracious navigator—of course he means
Sinbad—mistook for a verdant isle, only to discover his mistake when he
began to drive into it the stakes of his habitation.
Far nobler was the use of simile in the great revival of the sixteenth
century.
Pre-eminent among those who made it a vehicle for conveying truths, are
the names of De Barzia and Osorius; both men of great refinement of taste
and richness of imagination.
What, for example, could be more graceful than the following, given
by the Bishop of Cadiz, when speaking of the impossibility of man
comprehending the reason of God’s dealings, when He touches with the
finger of death at one time a child, at another an aged man, then a
youth, and next, perhaps, one in full vigour of manhood? To us, this
selection seems to be a matter of chance, but there is no chance in
it. The Bishop then uses this illustration. The deaf man watches the
harpist, and sees his fingers dance over the strings in a strange and
unaccountable way. Now a strong silver cord is touched, then a slender
catgut string. At one time a long string is set vibrating, at another a
very short string; now several are thrummed together, and then one alone
is set quivering. Just so is it with us; we hear not the perfect harmony,
nor follow the wondrous melody of God’s operations, for the faculty of
comprehending them is deficient in us, and to us in our faithlessness
there seems chance and hazard, where really there exists harmony and
order.
Osorius uses a different simile in illustrating an idea somewhat similar.
He is speaking to those who murmur at God’s dealings in this world,
and who would fain have His disposition of things altered in various
particulars. He then says, that those who look on an unfinished piece
of tapestry see a foot here, a hand there, a patch of red in one spot,
of green in another, and all seems to be confusion. Let us wait till
the work is complete, and we shall see that not a hand or foot, not a
thread even is out of place. Such is the history of the world. We see
blood and war where there should be peace; we see men exalted to be kings
who should have been slaves, and men condemned to be slaves who would
have ruled nations in wisdom and equity, and we think that there is
imperfection in the work. Wait we awhile, till at the Last Day the great
tapestry of this world’s history is unrolled before us, and then we shall
see that all has been ordered by God’s good providence for the very best.
But Scripture supplied most of the illustrations needed by these
preachers. It was to them an inexhaustible storehouse, from which they
could bring forth things new and old. Holy Scripture seems to have
supplied them with every thing that they required; it gave them a text,
it afforded confirmation to their subject; from it they drew mystical
illustrations for its corroboration, and examples wherewith to enforce
precept.
To some, the sacred page may be crystalline and colourless as a
rain-drop, but to these men who knew from what point to view it, it
radiated any colour they desired to catch.
They did not always make long extracts, in the fashion of certain modern
sermon-composers, who form a sermon out of lengthy Scriptural passages
clumsily pegged together, always with wood; but with one light sweep,
the old preachers brush up a whole bright string of sparkling Scriptural
instances, in a manner indicating their own intimate acquaintance with
Scripture, and implying a corresponding knowledge among their hearers.
Take the following sentence of an old Flemish preacher as an instance: he
is speaking of the unity prevailing in heaven:—
“_There_ all strife will have ceased, there all contradiction will have
ended, there all emulation will be unknown.
“In that blessed country there will be no Cain to slay his brother Abel;
in that family, no Esau to hate Jacob; in that house, no Ishmael to
strive with Isaac; in that kingdom, no Saul to persecute David; in that
college, no Judas to betray his master.”
Let me take another example from a sermon on the small number of the
elect.
“‘Many are called, but few are chosen.’
“Noah preached to the old world for a hundred years the coming in of the
flood, and how many were saved when the world was destroyed? Eight souls,
and among them was the reprobate Ham. Many were called, but only eight
were chosen.
“When God would rain fire and brimstone on the cities of the plain, were
ten saved? No! only four, and of these four, one looked back. Many were
called, but three were chosen.
“Six hundred thousand men, besides women and children, went through
the Red Sea, the like figure whereunto Baptism doth even now save us.
The host of Pharaoh and the Egyptians went in after them, and of them
not one reached the further shore. And of these Israelites who passed
through the sea out of Egypt, how many entered the promised land, the
land flowing with milk and honey? Two only—Caleb and Joshua. Many—six
hundred thousand—were called, few, even two, were chosen. All the host of
Pharaoh, a shadow of those who despise and set at nought the Red Sea of
Christ’s blood, perish without exception; of God’s chosen people, image
of His Church, only few indeed are saved.
“How many multitudes teemed in Jericho, and of them how many escaped when
Joshua encamped against the city? The walls fell, men and women perished.
One house alone escaped, known by the scarlet thread, type of the blood
of Jesus, and that was the house of a harlot.
“Gideon went against the Midianites with thirty-two thousand men. The
host of Midian was without number, as the sand of the sea-side for
multitude. How many of these thirty-two thousand men did God suffer
Gideon to lead into victory? Three hundred only. Many, even thirty-two
thousand men, were called; three hundred chosen.
“Type and figure this of the many enrolled into the Church’s army, of
whom so few go on to ‘fight the good fight of faith!’
“Of the tribes of Israel twelve men only were chosen to be Apostles; and
of those twelve, one was a traitor, one doubtful, one denied his Master,
all forsook Him.
“How many rulers were there among the Jews when Christ came; but one only
went to Him, and he by night!
“How many rich men were there when our blessed Lord walked this earth;
but one only ministered unto Him, and he only in His burial!
“How many peasants were there in the country when Christ went to die;
but one only was deemed worthy to bear His cross, and he bore it by
constraint!
“How many thieves were there in Judæa when Christ was there; but one only
entered Paradise, and he was converted in his last hour!
“How many centurions were there scattered over the province; and one only
saw and believed, and he by cruelly piercing the Saviour’s side!
“How many harlots were there in that wicked and adulterous generation;
but one only washed His feet with tears and wiped them with the hair of
her head! Truly, ‘Many are called, but few are chosen.’”
We hear but little in modern sermons of the mystical interpretation of
Scripture, which was so common in all earlier ages of the Church. The
Epistles of St. Paul show us that the primitive Church was accustomed
to read Scripture in a mystical way. What, for instance, can be more
“fanciful,” as we moderns should say, than his allegorizing of the
history of Isaac (Gal. iv. 22-31), and of Moses (1 Cor. x. 1), or his
argument from the law that the laity should pay for the support of their
pastors: “For it is written in the law of Moses, Thou shalt not muzzle
the mouth of the ox that treadeth out the corn” (1 Cor. ix. 9, 10),
and “Let the elders that rule well be counted worthy of double honour
(i.e. _honorarium_, contribution in money) … _for_ the Scripture saith,
Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn?” (1 Tim. v.
17, 18.) Bacon said that we should accept as conclusive the meaning of
Scripture which is most plainly on the surface, just as the first crush
of the grape is the purest wine, forgetting, as Dr. Neale aptly remarks,
that the first crush of the grape is not wine at all, but a crude and
unwholesome liquor. Certainly modern preachers are ready enough to give
us the most superficial interpretation of Scripture, and rarely trouble
themselves with probing the depths of Holy Writ for fresh lessons and
new beauties. In the same way it was quietly assumed till of late that
the ocean below that depth which is storm-tossed was quite azoic. We
know now that that untroubled profound teems with varied forms of life,
and is glorious with hitherto undreamt-of beauties. Our modern divines
are content with the troubled sea of criticism, and pay no heed, and
give no thought, to the manifold beauties and wonders of the tranquil
deeps of God’s mind, above which they are content to toss. The analogy
between God’s word written and God’s unwritten word is striking. Yet we
are satisfied to know that the further the great volume of Nature is
explored, the closer it is studied, the greater are the wonders which
it will display. Why, then, do we doubt that the same holds good with
the written word? Deep answers to deep, the deep of Nature to the deep
of Revelation. The Same Who is the Author of Nature is the Author of
Revelation; and we may therefore expect to find in one as in the other
that “His thoughts are very deep,” “His ways past finding out;” that
in one as in the other there is a similarity, a mighty variety yet an
essential unity, a vast diversity yet a perfect harmony; that there are
mysteries in both, through which, as through a glass darkly, shines the
wisdom of the Creator.
Commentators on Scripture, such as Scott and Henry, really fill pages and
volumes with the most deplorable twaddle, and exhibit conclusively their
utter incapacity for commentating on any single passage of Scripture.
Not only are their comprehensions too dull to grasp the moral lessons
in the least below the surface, but they entirely ignore the mystical
signification of the events recorded in the Sacred Writings. To the
Mediæval divines and those who followed their steps, every word of
Scripture had its value; indeed, the very number, singular or plural, of
a substantive was with them fraught with significance. Take one instance;
Stella the Franciscan remarks, on St. John xiv. 23:—“‘Jesus answered and
said unto him, If a man love Me, he will keep My _word_ (τὸν λόγον μου
τηρήσει): he that loveth Me not, keepeth not My _words_ (τοὺς λόγους μου
οὐ τηρεῖ).’ Love of God makes one command out of many, for to him who
loves, the many precepts are but as one. So here Christ says, ‘If any man
love Me, he will keep My word;’ but of him who loves not, He says, ‘He
keepeth not My words.’ Of him who loves, it is spoken in the singular;
of him who loves not, in the plural. Eve said, ‘Of the fruit of the tree
which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of
it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die’ (Gen. iii. 3); whereas God
forbade only the eating, not the touching. But a chilled heart made one
command into two; whilst a heart full of love, like that of David, could
sum up the six hundred and thirteen precepts of the old law into one,
when he exclaimed, ‘Thy commandment is exceeding broad,’ and ‘Lord, what
love have I unto Thy law, all the day long is my study in it.’”
Compare with this suggestive passage the only remark made on the text in
D’Oyly and Mant: “The manifestation I mean is, that of inward light and
grace, which shall never depart from those who are careful to live as I
have commanded them.” The observation of Stella is suggestive, that in
D’Oyly and Mant is decidedly the reverse.
But I would speak now of the mystical interpretations of Scripture. I
have only room for a very few. The following are from Marchant. “Unless
Christ had been sent, none of us would have been released from our
iniquities. Wherefore the Apostle often exhorts the Jews not to glory
in the law, for the law did not suffice to justify and to make alive.
Do you desire a figure of this mystery? Listen to that of Elisha. He
was asked to come and call to life a child which was dead: he sent his
servant first with a staff, which he was to lay upon the dead child;
but neither servant nor staff were of avail. Then went he himself,
and see what he did: ‘He went up, and lay upon the child, and put his
mouth upon his mouth, and his eyes upon his eyes, and his hands upon
his hands:’ contracting himself to the form of the child; ‘and the
flesh of the child waxed warm … and the child opened his eyes.’ You see
the figure, attend to the verity. God sent Moses His servant, and the
Prophets, with the staff of the law; but neither they nor the law could
avail to restore man to life from the death of sin. It was necessary,
therefore, that He Himself should go to man, and bow Himself to man by
the assumption of man’s nature, and contract Himself to the form of a
child by the Incarnation, not only casting Himself on this our dead
nature, but taking our nature, hands, arms, mouth, and soul to Himself.…
This circumstance of the closing of the door that none might see, when
Elisha stretched himself upon the child, is not without significance.
For as none discerned how Elisha, that great man, was able to contract
himself to the form of a little boy; so no one can comprehend how the Son
of God, so high and so mighty, could unite, and apply, and abase, His
nature to ours; so that He became mortal Who was immortal, passible Who
was impassible, infant Who was God. In all these the mystery is great,
the door is shut; it is not necessary for us to see, but it is necessary
for us to believe. We have another figure in the sign given to Hezekiah.
When he was sick unto death, the sun going back ten degrees was the sign
of his restoration to health. ‘And the sun went back ten degrees on the
dial of Ahaz.’ In like manner, that man might rise from the sickness unto
death of sin, it was necessary that ‘the Sun of Righteousness’ should
descend through the nine angelic choirs, ‘being made a little lower than
the angels,’ as though going down nine degrees till He reached man the
tenth.”
“The Lord said to Joshua, ‘Moses My servant is dead: now therefore arise,
go over this Jordan, thou, and all this people, unto the land which I do
give them’ (Joshua i. 2). Joshua is by interpretation a Saviour, and is
the same as Jesus. As he, after conquering Amalek, brought the people
into the land of promise, and divided the land between them; so has
Christ come to overcome the devil, and to introduce Christians daily into
His Church through the Baptismal stream, and finally to lead them into
glory. Moses could not bring them in, for the Father saith unto the Son,
‘Moses My servant is dead.’ The ceremonies of the law are made of none
effect, ‘now, therefore, arise’ from the bosom of the Father, enter the
earth in human form, expel the devils: ‘go over this Jordan,’ drink of
the brook of Thy Passion in the way, ‘Thou, and all this people,’ for by
the way by which goes the head, by that must the members go, and where
leads the general, there must follow the soldiers, ‘and go unto the land
which I do give them’—the land of the living, to which Christ ascends
and we follow; to which neither law nor prophets, no nor Moses, could
introduce us, but only our Joshua, our Jesus, the Son of God.”
I have not yet spoken of the text, except to mention Maillard as having
preached on the same throughout a season of Lent. Some of the earlier
mediæval preachers delighted in selecting strange texts, and even went so
far as to take them from other books than Holy Scripture. Indeed Stephen
Langton composed a sermon, still preserved in the British Museum, and
published in Biographia Britannica Literaria, on the text:—
“Bele Aliz matin leva
Sun cors vesti e para,
Enz un verger s’en entra,
Cink flurettes y truva,
Un chapelet fet en a
de rose flurie;
Pur Deu trahez vus en là,
vus hi ne amez mie;”
which was a dancing-song. Maillard also did the same thing when he
preached in Thoulouse, singing at the top of his voice as a text the
ballad “Bergeronnette Savoisienne.”
Peter of Celles took a stanza from a hymn, and his example has been
followed by others. Hartung preached from the words, “It fell, it fell,
it fell,” occurring in the parable of the sower.
Texts have sometimes been selected with remarkable felicity. I have room
for two instances only.
In the reign of King James I., a clergyman was to preach before the Vice
Chancellor at Cambridge, who was a very drowsy person. He took his
text from the twenty-fourth chapter of St. Matthew, “What, can ye not
watch one hour?” and in the course of his sermon very often repeated
these words, which as often roused the vice-chancellor from his nap,
and so irritated him, that he complained to the bishop. The bishop sent
for the young man, that he might hear what he had to say for himself
in extenuation of the offence; and so well pleased was he with the
preacher’s defence, that he recommended him to be one of the select
preachers before the King. On the occasion of his occupying the pulpit
before James (First of England and Sixth of Scotland), he took for his
text James i. 6, “Waver not,” from the translation then in use. This
somewhat startled the King, for it touched him on a weak point; but he
loved a joke, and was so well pleased with the preacher’s wit, that he
appointed him one of his own chaplains. After this the bishop ordered the
young man to preach again before his university, and make his peace with
the vice-chancellor. He did so, and took for his text, “Whereas I said
before, ‘What, can ye not watch one hour?’ and it gave offence; I say now
unto you, ‘Sleep on, and take your rest.’” And so left the university.
The other story is less known. A Capuchin having to preach one day in a
church at—I believe—Lyons, slipped on the steps into the pulpit, and fell
on his head. The Franciscan garb is scanty, and the congregation were
startled by the apparition of a couple of bare and brawny legs protruded
through the banisters. The unlucky preacher however picked himself up
with great rapidity, and stationing himself in the pulpit, before the
general titter had subsided, gave out his text, selected with great
readiness from the gospel for the day—“Tell the vision to no man.”
Next to the text in a sermon comes the exordium.
If a royal personage were present, some compliment was expected to
be paid by the preacher to his august hearer, at the opening of the
sermon. Some of the greatest preachers have injured their reputation by
indulging in unmerited flatteries. Chaussemer, a Jacobite, preaching
after the famous passage of the Rhine, before Louis XIV. in Holy Week,
when according to custom, the king washed the feet of some poor folk,
used these words, “The haughty waves of the Rhine, which you, Sire, have
passed as rapidly as they themselves are rapid, shall one day be dried
up; but these drops of water, which your royal hands have sprinkled
over the feet of the poor, shall ever be treasured before the throne of
God.” Noble was the commencement of a sermon of Father Seraphim, when
preaching before the same monarch. “Sire!” he began, “I am not ignorant
of the fact that custom requires me to address to you a compliment;
I pray your Majesty to excuse me; I have searched my Bible for a
compliment,—I have found none.” I cannot omit here the really magnificent
exordium of a preacher, who, in his matter and style, belonged to the
seventeenth century, but who flourished in the eighteenth—I allude to
Jacques Brydaine, born in 1701. He had been a mission-preacher in the
country, when he was suddenly called to preach at St. Sulpice, before the
aristocracy of Paris. The humble country parson, on mounting the pulpit,
saw that the church was filled with courtiers, nobles, bishops, and
persons of the highest rank. He had been instructed in the necessity of
acknowledging their presence by a compliment. But listen to the man of
God.
“At the sight of an audience so strange to me, my brethren, it seems
that I ought to open my mouth to ask your favour in behalf of a poor
missionary, deficient in all the talents you require, when he comes
before you to speak of your welfare. But far from it, to-day I feel
a different sentiment; and though I may be humbled, do not think for
one moment that I am troubled by the miserable anxieties of vanity;—as
though, forsooth, I were preaching myself. God forbid that a minister
of Heaven should ever think it necessary to excuse himself before such
as you! Be you who you may, you are but like me, sinners before the
judgment-seat of God. It is then only because I stand before your God
and my God, that I am constrained now to beat my breast. Hitherto I have
published the righteous dealings of the Most High in thatched temples. I
have preached the rigours of penitence to unhappy ones, the majority of
whom were destitute of bread. I have announced to the good inhabitants of
the fields, the most awful truths of religion. Wretched one that I am,
what have I done! I have saddened the poor, the best friends of my God; I
have carried terror and pain into the simple and faithful souls which I
should have sympathized with and consoled.
“But here, here, where my eyes rest only on the great, the rich, the
oppressors of suffering humanity, the bold and hardened in sin; ah! here
only is it, here in the midst of these many scandals, that the word of
God should be uttered with the voice of thunder; here is it that I must
hold up before you, on one hand the death which threatens you, on the
other, my great God who will judge you all. I hold at this moment your
sentence in my hand. Tremble then before _me_, you proud and scornful men
who listen to me. Listen when I speak of your ungrateful abuse of every
means of grace, the necessity of salvation, the certainty of death, the
uncertainty of that hour so terrible to you, final impenitence, the last
judgment, the small number of the elect, hell, and above all eternity!
Eternity! behold the subjects on which I shall speak, subjects which
I should have reserved for you alone. Ah! what need I your suffrages,
which may, perchance, damn me without saving you? God Himself will move
you, whilst I, His unworthy minister, speak; for I have acquired a long
experience of His mercies. It is He, and He alone, who in a few moments
will stir the depths of your consciences.”
Passing from the exordium to the subject: that which is so tedious in
modern sermons is the want of variety in the matter. There are a stock
of subjects of very limited range upon which changes are rung, but these
subjects are so few that the changes are small in number. Many years
ago I was staying with a relation in holy orders, after a tour through
different watering-places, and I mentioned to him the curious fact,
that on three consecutive Sundays, in different churches, I had heard
sermons on Felix waiting for a more convenient season. Having mentioned
this, I forgot the circumstance. Five years after I was in a cathedral
town, and went to one of the churches there, on a Sunday morning. To my
surprise I saw my relation sail up the nave in rustling silk, preceded by
the verger, escorting him to the pulpit. As he passed my pew, our eyes
met. He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him, as he was only
a visitor like myself. I noticed signs of agitation in his countenance,
and that he was some time before he delivered his text, which was upon
Zaccheus in the sycamore-tree.
After service I waited for him, and on our meeting, his first words were,
“You wretched fellow! You put me terribly out; I had Felix trembling
in my pocket ready for delivery; but when I saw you, our conversation
five years ago flashed across me, and I had to change the sermon in the
pulpit.” But this was not all. Next Saturday I was at the other end of
England, staying with a country parson, and I related this incident.
My host pulled a long face, broke out into a profuse perspiration, and
said,—“I am really very sorry, but I had prepared Felix for to-morrow,
and what is more, I do not see my way towards changing the subject.”
The remarkable part of this anecdote is, that the moral application was
similar in all these discourses. Now, the sermons of the divines of the
fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries seldom offended in this
manner. Matthias Faber published three enormous volumes of sermons for
every Sunday in the year, containing some fifteen discourses for each,
and they are perfectly varied in matter and in application.
The following is a list of the subjects for one Sunday—the second in
Lent:—
St. Matt. xvii. “He was transfigured before them.”
Sermon I.—The means whereby a hardened sinner may be transformed into a
new man, and his heart be softened.
1. By constantly hearing God’s Word.
2. By assiduous prayer.
3. By earnest endeavour.
4. By diligent practice of virtues.
Sermon II.—The incidents which took place on Mount Tabor, and the lessons
they give us.
1. By labour must we pass to glory, for it was “after six days”
and a laborious ascent that the mountain-top was reached.
2. Beatitude is to be sought above, not on earth, for the
disciples were rebuked for desiring to make tabernacles on
earth, the true tabernacle being in heaven.
3. In every act we should consider the end: thus Christ in the
glory spoke of His approaching decease.
4. Those who would see the glory of God must watch.
5. Christ is to be heard by all, for He is glorified of His
Father.
6. Christ’s passion to be constantly before the minds of His
servants.
Sermon III.—What might be seen on Mount Tabor.
1. The glory of Christ.
2. Our own future glory, the reflex of His.
3. The vanity of worldly glory.
4. The certainty of future judgment[2].
Sermon IV.—Why Christ in His passion made His decease (_excessum_). The
point of this sermon depends on the various significations of the Vulgate
expression, _excessus_.
1. He deceased (_excessit_) to show us how great an evil is sin.
2. To show us His fervent love.
3. To compensate for our evil deaths by His most perfect and
holy death.
4. To compensate for our defects by His superabundant merits.
Sermon V.—Pious exercises for the season of Lent.
1. The exercise of fasting; set before us by the example of
Moses and Elias, each of whom fasted during forty days.
2. The exercise of prayer; set before us by the example of
Christ, who was transfigured “as He prayed.” (Luke ix. 29.)
3. The exercise of conversion; set before us by Christ’s
raiment becoming white and glistering; teaching us that we must
wash our robes, and make them white in the blood of the Lamb.
4. The exercise of making devout use of God’s Word; “This is My
beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased; hear ye Him.”
5. The exercise of the memory of Christ’s passion; by the
example of Moses and Elias talking with Him of “His decease
which He should accomplish at Jerusalem.”
6. The exercise of present opportunities of grace, before the
cloud obscures Christ, and ye desire “to see one of the days of
the Son of Man, and shall not see it.”
Sermon VI.—The transfiguration of Satan into an angel of light, and how
he deceives men.
1. He leads them into the high mountain of pride, that thence
he may cast them down.
2. He dazzles by the splendour of his countenance.
3. He puts on a show of virtue, like glistering raiment.
4. He brings upon men a cloud of doubts and difficulties and
worldly delights.
5. From that cloud he utters a loud voice, filling men with
fear at the difficulties besetting them if they would begin the
service of God.
6. He chooses his apostles.
7. He produces Elias; example of indiscreet zeal.
8. He brings forward Moses; example of exaggerated meekness.
Sermon VII.—Eternal good things offered us by God: what they are and what
their nature.
1. They are solid and true. For the transfiguration was not a
mere dreaming vision, but seen when the three “were awake.”
2. They are pure and sincere; unmixed with care, or pain, or
toil.
3. They are secure and stable.
4. They are perfect and complete.
5. They are realities, not promises.
6. They are bought at a low price.
Sermon VIII.—Wherefore Christ was transfigured.
1. To establish our faith in the resurrection.
2. To excite our hope.
3. To kindle our love.
4. To console the Church.
5. To show who He was.
6. To teach us to despise the world.
7. To give a moment’s joy to His body, wearied with fasting,
watching, and toil.
Sermon IX.—The great Parliament held on Tabor, and what was treated of
there.
1. The death of Christ was discussed.
2. The glory of Christ the Mediator and Legislator.
3. The imperial laws were drawn up; that
α. The cross should precede the crown;
β. The end should be held ever in view;
γ. Beatitude should be sought above;
δ. The passion should ever be had in remembrance.
Sermon X.—On the meaning of _excessus_.
Sermon XI.—Man’s fourfold transfiguration.
1. From a state of grace into one of sin.
2. From a state of sin into a state of grace.
3. From the state of delight in this world into the misery of
hell.
4. From the state of pain here to the glory of Heaven.
Sermon XII.—The five sources of joy to the redeemed.
1. The place—Heaven.
2. The society of the blessed.
3. The delights of the senses, especially of the eyes and ears.
4. The dowers of the risen body; glory, agility, subtlety, and
impassibility.
5. The beatific vision of God.
Sermon XIII.—The estimation in which indulgences are to be held.
Sermon XIV.—Lessons drawn from the Gospel.
1. The power of prayer.
2. The duty of watching.
3. The image of worldliness in Peter, to be avoided.
4. The lightest sins to be shunned.
5. The difference in the falls of good and bad.
6. The fleeting nature of joy here on earth.
7. The signs of Christ’s coming in judgment.
Sermon XV.—Mysteries contained in the Gospel.
1. Why Christ elected only three of His disciples.
2. Why He led them into a mountain apart.
3. Of the nature of the Transfiguration.
4. Why Moses and Elias appeared.
5. Why they spoke of the passion.
6. Why the cloud overshadowed the vision.
7. Why the disciples were bidden to be silent respecting the
vision.
8. How the Father is well pleased in the Son.
9. The order of events in the Transfiguration.
These sermons of Matthias Faber, and indeed most of the sermons of great
preachers in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, are very simple
in construction. The system of dividing into a great number of heads,
and then subdividing, had been cast aside by the Catholic preachers at
the Reformation, as unprofitable. But Protestant orators continued the
baneful practice. It prevailed till lately in England, and is common
still in Scotland. Dr. Neale remarks, “One would think, to read some of
the essays written on the subject, that the construction of a sermon was
like a law of the Medes and Persians. Look at Mr. Simeon’s one-and-twenty
tedious volumes of ‘Horæ Homileticæ.’ The worthy man evidently considered
this the greatest system of divinity which English theology had ever
produced. And of what does it consist? of several thousand sermons
treated exactly in the same ways, in obedience to precisely the same
laws, and of much about the same length. Claude’s Essay had laid down
certain rules, and Simeon’s Discourses were their exemplification.… The
preacher opens with a short view of the circumstances under which the
text was spoken. This is a very convenient exordium, because it fills
two or three pages with but little trouble. The clergyman has only to put
Scripture language into his own, and he is fairly launched in his sermon
without any effort. Another almost equally easy method of opening is to
be found in drawing a contrast between the person or thing of which the
passage in hand speaks, and that to which the writer may wish to allude.
And it has this special advantage; that if he is unlucky in finding
much likeness between the two, he is sure to discover a good deal of
_un_-likeness, and either treatment will supply a good number of words.
Thus, as every one knows, come the heads,—a most important part in this
style of discourse. Taking Mr. Simeon as a pattern, we shall find that
they cannot be less than two, nor more than four; though, indeed, there
are not wanting those who have greatly extravagated beyond the superior
limit, as the Puritan divine’s ‘And now, to be brief, I would observe
eighteenthly, that—’ so and so, may suffice to prove. Then come all the
minutiæ of subdivisions and underdivisions (little heads, as the charity
children call them), all set forth, when the aforesaid discourses came
to be printed, in corresponding variations of type.” After a lengthy
exordium, one Sunday evening, a preacher divided his subject into twenty
heads, each of which he purposed D.V. considering in all its bearings. On
hearing this, a man in the congregation started up and proceeded to leave
the church, when the preacher called to him, “Wherefore leave, friend?”
“I am going for my nightcap,” replied the man; “for I plainly see that we
shall have to pass the night in church.”
The conclusion in an old sermon of the three centuries under review, is
short, pithy, and to the purpose. It consists in a vehement appeal to
the consciences of the hearers, in the application of a parable or a
Scriptural illustration, in a rapturous exclamation to God in the form of
a brief extempore prayer, or in a string of anecdotes and examples. The
following is a conclusion by Guevara, Bishop of Mondoneda:—
“Tell me, O good Jesu, tell me, is there any thing in a rotten sepulchre
which is not in my sorrowful soul and unhappy life? In me more than in
any shall be found hard stones of obstinacy, a painted sepulchre of
hypocrisy, dry bones of old sins, unprofitable ashes of works without
fruit, gnawing worms of great concupiscence, and an ill odour of an evil
conscience. What, then, will become of me, O good Jesu! if Thou do not
break the stones of my faults, throw down the sepulchre of my hypocrisy,
reform the bones of my sins, and sift the ashes of my unruly desires?
Raise me up, then, O good Jesu! raise me now up: not from among the dead
which sleep, but from among sins which stink, for that the justification
of a wicked man is a far greater matter than the raising up of a dead
man; because that in the one Thou dost use Thy power, and in the other
Thou dost exert Thy clemency.”
Many of Paoletti’s sermons conclude with a string of incidents and
stories, from which I presume any preacher using the sermon might select
that which seemed to him most appropriate.
The effect produced by the sermons of these ancient preachers was
sometimes extraordinary. Jerome de Narni preached one day before the
Pope, with such zeal, on the duties of residence, that next day, thirty
bishops fled from Rome to their several dioceses. St. John Capistran,
a Franciscan, preached in 1452 at Nuremberg, in the great square of
the town, and he spoke with such vehemence against gambling, that the
inhabitants brought out their dice, cards, and tables, heaped them up and
burned them before him. The same thing happened next year at Breslau. Of
the marvellous conversions, the result of their powerful preaching, of
course we can know but little, though there is evidence that they were
neither few nor unenduring. It was not an uncommon thing for people to
throw themselves at the foot of the pulpit, and denounce themselves of
crimes they had committed, or to throng the preacher after the sermon
was over, earnestly desiring him to hear their confessions. But the most
original scene, the result of a sermon of great power, exhorting to
confession and amendment, took place in a church at Turin, during Lent
in 1780. After the most touching appeal of the preacher, a man stood
up and began to confess his sins aloud. He said that he was a lawyer,
and that his life had been one of extortion. He mentioned the names of
several families which he had pillaged, widows’ houses he had devoured,
orphans’ substance which he had conveyed into his own pocket. This went
on for some little while, when suddenly a gentleman on the other side of
the church sprang up, and in a voice choking with rage, exclaimed, “Don’t
believe him! it is not true. The good-for-nothing fellow is describing me
and my acts; but I never did any thing of the kind!” It was evident to
all that the cap fitted.
The story is told of a rich usurer of Vicenza urging the ecclesiastical
authorities of the town to send for an eminent preacher to declaim
against usury. “He has converted many usurers in various towns of Italy,”
said the man, “and I should not in the least scruple to pay some of the
expense of his coming here.” “But,” said the clergyman to whom he spoke,
“if you are determined on your own conversion, you surely need not the
exhortations of a preacher to strengthen your resolutions.” “Oh!” replied
the usurer, “it is not for myself. This town is so full of usurers, that
there is no room for a poor fellow like me to gain a livelihood. Now if
they were all converted, and gave up their evil habits, there would be
some chance of my being able to pick up a living.”
There were, indeed, preachers who were sent round the country to declaim
against certain special sins. Their _forte_ lay in attacking one species
of guilt, but they were ineffective when preaching on another point.
There were preachers whose strength lay in panegyrics upon saints;
and others who—I pity them—were great in funereal discourses. Of the
latter class was Geminiano, a Dominican, whose “sermones funebres” were
published at Antwerp in octavo, 1611. They are ninety-eight in number.
He preached over the graves of popes, archbishops, bishops, abbots,
soldiers, doctors, rich men and beggars, beautiful women, an emperor,
a drowned man, a prisoner who died in jail, an executed criminal, and
a murdered man or two; he preached at the interment of merchants,
fishermen, ploughmen, and huntsmen—in short, it would be hard to find
some over whom John Geminiano did not dolorously hold forth. A sad moment
for Geminiano when he first let people understand that his strong point
lay in a grave.
A really great preacher was never suffered to hide his light under a
bushel; according to our parochial system, the most eloquent man of the
day may, for aught we know, be perched on the top of a Wiltshire down, or
be buried in the clay of a North Devon parsonage, fifteen miles from a
railway.
The Roman Church had the regular clergy to draw upon for preachers, and
as they had no ties, could send them up and down the country, so that
the same course of sermons would serve them again and again. Indeed,
otherwise it would have been impossible for some of the favourite
preachers to have continued providing fresh matter and committing it
to memory, for it must be remembered written sermons are not tolerated
in the Roman communion. It might be possible for an eloquent man with
a lively imagination to continue for long without exhausting himself,
but how could a solid and learned preacher, who relied on quotations,
continue extracting and committing to memory long paragraphs from the
Fathers, Sunday after Sunday, and year after year? Let us take a sermon
of Mangotius the Jesuit, for instance.
Adrian Mangotius was a Dutchman, and consequently eminently practical and
unimaginative. His sermons are good in their way; there is not a bit of
originality in them, but the fragments of which they are composed are
judiciously selected. In his fifty-ninth discourse, he quotes St. Matthew
four times, St. Luke thrice, St. John twice, the Epistles five times,
Revelation once, the Old Testament ten times, St. Augustine a dozen
times, St. Gregory four times, St. Ambrose twice, St. Jerome twice, St.
Bernard twice, St. Thomas Aquinas once, Cicero some three or four times,
Plutarch, Sallust, and Virgil once.
This style of sermon suits some people, perhaps, but it did not take
with the masses, who liked richness of imagery, abundance of simile,
and neatness of illustration. So when Father d’Harrone, a man of sound
learning, but little brilliancy of genius, preached a course in Rouen,
after the great Bourdaloue, to use his own words:—“When Bourdaloue
preached last year at Rouen, artisans quitted their business, merchants
their wares, lawyers the court, doctors their sick; but as for me, when I
followed, I set all in order again; no one neglected his occupation.”
In the following pages I have given a sketch of some of the most
remarkable preachers of the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth
centuries. The divine and the bibliographer may miss the names of some
great and eminent men, as Paolo Segneri, Antonio Vieyra, Latimer,
Andrewes, &c. But these men are either well known, or their lives and
sermons are within the reach of English readers. Segneri’s Lenten sermons
have been translated and somewhat diluted by Prebendary Ford, Vieyra
is noticed in “Mediæval Sermons,” and English preachers I have omitted
entirely to notice, because they are for the most part hopelessly dull.
GABRIEL BIEL.
This excellent and learned man is generally supposed, from his name
Biel, the modern Bienne, to have been a Swiss, though some assert that
he was a native of Spire, and the latter is probably the real place of
his nativity, though his family may have been of Swiss extraction, for he
is called “Gabriel Biel ex Spira” in the beginning of his “Sermones de
tempore,” as published by Johan Otmar, in Tubingen, 1510.
He went by the name of “the Collector,” from the fact of his being a
laborious compiler rather than an original composer.
He was undoubtedly one of the best scholastic divines of his age, and was
a careful reader of the Fathers.
Gabriel Biel was a member of the Regular Canons, and was Doctor of
Theology, which he taught as professor in the University of Tubingen,
founded by Count Eberhardt of Wirtemberg, in 1477.
He soon became a favourite with this nobleman, who listened to his
sermons with delight.
At one time he was vicar and ordinary preacher at the metropolitan church
of St. Martin at Mainz, but the date of his appointment is uncertain.
Gabriel Biel was a man of gravity and learning; his sermons were
popular, not on account of the eloquence with which they were delivered,
for of that there was little, but of their beautiful simplicity and
intrinsic excellence.
His hearers were not amused by his discourses, but I venture to say that
they were edified.
His style is pithy, his sentences pregnant with meaning, for what he
said, he said in few words, and he said it too very gracefully. Instead
of wearying his hearers with unprofitable scholastic quibbles, he gave
them practical good advice in plain and homely words.
The date of his death is not known with certainty, but it probably took
place in 1495, though, according to some, he lived till 1520.
His works and their different editions are:—
Commentaria in libros iv. Magistri Sententiarum; Basil., 1512; Brixiæ,
1574, 5 vols. in 3, 4to.
In Sententias; Parisiis, 1514, fol.; Basileæ, Joc. de Pfortzen, 1512, 2
vols. fol.; Lugduni, Jacobus Myt, 1527, fol.
Sententiarum repertorium generale; Lugduni, Cleyn, 1614, fol.
Historia Dominicæ Passionis, prodiit una cum Defensorio et Sermonibus
cunctis; Hagenæ, 1519.
Passionis Dominicæ sermo historialis; sine loco et anno, 4to.
Sermones dominicales de tempore. Sermones de festivitatibus Christi.
Absque loci et anni nota, 4to.; sine loco impressionis, 1494, fol.,
Goth., a 2 col.; Tubingen, Otmar, 1510, Goth., 2 col.; Haguenaw, 1515,
4to.
Sermones de Sanctis. Absque loci et anni nota, 4to. Ejusdem de
festivitatibus Virginis Mariæ, 1599, 4to.
Sermones sacri totius anni; Brixiæ, 1583, 4to.
Sermones medicinales contra Pestem et Mortis Timorem; Defensorium
obedientiæ pontificis. Expositio canonis Migsæ; Lugduni, 1514, fol.;
Parisiis, Jehan Petit, 1516, fol., Goth.; Hagenoiæ, 1519, fol.;
Antuerpiæ, 1549, 8vo.; Lugduni, 1542; Venet., 1576; Brixiæ, 1580;
Bergomi, 1594.
Lectura super canonem Missæ, in alma universitate Tuwingensi ordinarie
lecta; Reutlingæ, Otmar, 1488, fol.
Tractatus de Monetarum potestate simul et utilitate; Norembergiæ, 1442,
4to.; Colon., 1574, 4to.; Lugduni, 1605, 4to.
Epitome scripti Gulielmi de Occam, et Collectorium circa iv. libr. Sent.
Still in MS.
The Exposition of the Mass which passes under the name of Biel is really
a copy from the work of Eggeling of Brunswick, as, indeed, Biel owns at
the end of the book.
The simple earnestness of Gabriel Biel renders his sermons very
attractive; and as being the production of a well-read and a thoughtful
man, these sermons furnish ample material for reproduction in the modern
pulpit. The reader will not find in Biel much of the fire of the Italian
pulpit, nor the richness of simile which characterized the Spanish
preachers, but he will find plain truths drawn from Scripture in a very
straightforward manner, and applied in short but nervous sentences.
Perhaps the main difference between a sermon of Biel and one of a modern
preacher, is, that the former contains many thoughts in few words, whilst
the latter consists of many words, but contains few thoughts.
* * * * *
Analysis of Sermon xix. “De tempore,” being a sermon for Septuagesima, on
the text from the Gospel: “The kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that
is an householder, which went out early in the morning to hire labourers
into his vineyard,” &c. (Matt. xx. 1.)
Introduction.
Hitherto the Church has been keeping festival. Now she closes
her season of festivity, that she may lament and weep for the
lapse of her sons.
A. (1) Man’s _nature_ as it left the Creator’s hands was very
noble. It was immortal, not by nature, but by grace. By nature
it was capable of decay and death, but by grace it was provided
with the tree of life, the fruit of which renovated and
preserved it.
(2) Man’s _life_ was maintained subject to a condition, the
condition of obedience. Its preservation was contingent on the
keeping of God’s commandment.
The soul as created was innocent; man was wise in intellect and
clean in affections; he was associated with angels, accustomed
to converse with God, peaceful in conscience, and endowed with
all gifts of nature and grace.
(3) Man’s _knowledge_ of God was not enigmatical, but
intuitive. He saw God by some internal power of contemplation:
a power not so perfect as that will be which we shall possess
in our country, nor so imperfect as that which we have in the
way.
(4) Man’s _conscience_ was at peace with God; and internal
peace implies external peace as well. Paradise was a place of
perfect peace, for the elements were tranquil, the animals were
in subjection, nourishment was in abundance.
Had this state of peace continued, man would not have died, but
he would have been translated to Heaven without death.
(5) But alas! all this was forfeited by sin; and man was
spoiled of his graces, and wounded in his faculties.
He lost original righteousness, and with its loss his
tranquillity was disturbed, his flesh became unbridled, his
intellect parched, his will depraved, his memory disturbed.
(6) Creation was moreover armed against him, so that earth
was no more ready to nourish him spontaneously; but he was
constrained to labour in the sweat of his brow for his daily
bread.
B. And now we are led to a consideration of the Gospel for the
day, which speaks of fallen man, and of fallen man working, and
working moreover to recover the conditions which he had before
he fell.
The Gospel is full of doctrine and dogma suited to all
conditions of men.
Doctrine I. is serviceable for increasing our faith. For the
Gospel teaches us that in no other way can we attain the reward
of the kingdom, than by working with true faith in the Lord’s
vineyard, which is the Church.
It is not sufficient that we should be called, we must work as
well.
Work is not sufficient, unless it be work in the Lord’s
vineyard.
Work in vineyards of our own planting will never be paid for by
the Lord of the vineyard, when He comes to give the labourers
their hire.
Again; this Gospel opposes the presumption of those
carnally-minded men who think to be saved by faith only;
whereas faith without works is dead, being alone.
Doctrine II. giveth hope. For it shows that the kingdom of
Heaven is open to all, and closed to none; all are called to
the work, even though it be at the last hour. So long as there
is life there is hope.
Again; this Gospel, at the same time as it shows that none
should despair, opposes all sloth and cowardice in undertaking
the work of the salvation of the soul.
Doctrine III. inflames charity. For it exhibits to us in a
remarkable manner the love of the Father towards man; a love
which embraces all, and rejects none; a love ready to reward
both the righteous and the unrighteous, both the good and the
bad, if the unrighteous and bad will but turn from their evil
ways, and be converted, that He may heal them. Examples of
those called at late stages of life, and yet meriting a reward
equal to those who have borne the burden and heat of the day,
are afforded by David, St. Peter, St. Paul, St. Matthew, and
St. Mary Magdalen.
Again; by this Gospel all excuse is removed from those who
neglect the work of their salvation, for no man can say that
he has not been hired, inasmuch as God calls him throughout
life; calling him externally and internally,—externally, by
the beauty of creation, by the Holy Scriptures, by preaching,
by the scourge of afflictions; internally, by shame at
sin committed, by fear occasioned by the knowledge of the
uncertainty of the hour of death, by dread of judgment, by
horror of hell, by promises of absolution, of glory, and by
aspirations of love for the mysteries of Redemption.
Doctrine IV. induces to humility. For it shows us that no man
should puff himself up with spiritual pride, because he may
have laboured long in his Lord’s vineyard, or may have been
kept free from falling into heinous crimes; by this Gospel he
is taught that many that are first shall be last, and the last
shall be first. “Why dost thou judge thy brother? or why dost
thou set at nought thy brother? for we shall all stand before
the judgment-seat of Christ.” “Therefore judge nothing before
the time, until the Lord come, who both will bring to light the
hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels
of the hearts; and then shall every man have praise of God.”
Doctrine V. urges to the fear of God, lest by delay in
undertaking the work of his conversion, man should neglect the
call of God to work, and lest he thereby lose his hire.
“Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.”
“Watch ye, therefore, for ye know not when the Master of the
house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing,
or in the morning: lest coming suddenly, He find you sleeping.”
Conclusion. Finally, let all keep in mind the awful sentence of
Him who cannot err: “Many are called, but few are chosen.” Let
each fear for himself, lest he be found among the number of the
called who have neglected the vocation; and let him strive by
all means in his power to be of the number of the chosen.
This sermon is followed by another on the same Gospel; the subject being,
the small number of the elect.
The analysis given will show how wholesome and practical were the
discourses of this truly pious and learned man.
JEAN RAULIN.
John Raulin, born at Toul in 1443, of noble and wealthy parents, was
educated at the Navarre College in Paris, and took honours in theology in
the year 1479.
In 1481 he was elected President in the place of William de Châteaufort,
and he filled the position with the utmost probity, and ruled with
singular discretion.
In 1497 he resigned the mastership and retired to Cluni, where he lived a
life of great sanctity.
In 1501 he obtained a commission from Cardinal Ambassiani to introduce
a reform into the Benedictine Order. He died at Paris in the Cluniac
monastery, on February 6th, 1514, aged seventy-one.
Raulin was a man of considerable piety, of blameless life, and of the
utmost integrity. He seems to have been regarded in his day as a great
preacher, and his sermons have been several times republished. Those for
Advent have passed through six editions, and those for Lent through five.
Besides sermons, he wrote a “Doctrinale” on the triple death,—the
death of the body, the death in sin, and the last or eternal death. He
is also the author of a volume of letters and tracts on the reform of
the Cluniacs; also of “The Itinerary of Paradise,” “A Discourse on the
Reformation of the Clergy,” and a “Commentary on Aristotle’s Logic.”
He was a dry and methodical preacher, vehement in his denunciations of
the corruptions in Church and State, and ready unscrupulously to attack
all abuses in ecclesiastical discipline. His style is wholly devoid of
eloquence, and is precise and dull. His sermons are full of divisions and
subdivisions, which could never have fixed themselves in the minds of
his audience, and serve only to perplex his readers. They are wanting in
almost every particular which would make a sermon tolerable now-a-days;
and after a lengthened perusal, one rises from the volumes wondering
how there could have been found hearers to listen to such discourses,
or readers sufficiently numerous to necessitate a rapid succession of
editions.
As a representative man of a type common enough in the century which
produced him, he is valuable. For the age and the taste of his period, he
is grave; but he sometimes sinks almost as deep in buffoonery as Menot,
Meffreth, or Oliver Maillard.
As an example, taken at hazard, of one of his sermons, I will give a
short outline of his Epiphany discourse on the text—“It is the Lord that
commandeth the waters; it is the glorious God that maketh the thunder; it
is the Lord that ruleth the sea.” (Ps. xxix. 3, 4.)
Question. Was it of necessity that Christ should be baptized?
Answer. No; for reasons taken from St. Bernard and St. Chrysostom.
Christ however consented to be baptized for three reasons,—
1. To set an example to us.
2. To conceal Himself from Satan, who beholding Him baptized
might hesitate to regard Him as the Messiah.
3. To show His perfect humility.
In the baptism of our Lord, there were three manifestations: the Son in
His humanity, the Father by the voice, the Holy Ghost by the descent of
the dove.
Then follows an exhortation to humility, and a warning to priests and
people to practise godliness instead of contenting themselves with
professing it. “The hand is bigger than the tongue,” hints Raulin.
The Son was manifest in His humanity. A question is asked:—Did John
Baptist recognize Christ?
Answer:—
1. He recognized Him when He was unborn, “The babe leaped in my
womb for joy;” but he did not distinctly know Him now, for—the
reason given is perfectly monstrous—Aristotle says that the
human frame changes every seven years.
2. He knew that Christ was among the throng by a sort of
inspiration, but he knew not which of his hearers was Christ.
3. Knowledge is double; it arises out of
α. Demonstration, and is acquired by reason.
β. Experience.
Raulin investigates the knowledge of John, and resolves the question by
stating that at first he had no certain knowledge, but that after the
manifestations accompanying the baptism, he obtained it by experience.
A second question is asked:—Why St. John Baptist did not venture to touch
Christ?
Answer:—
1. Because he had an instinctive fear of God present in the
flesh.
2. Because he was conscious of his own sinfulness.
The Father was manifest by the voice.
In holy baptism all men are made in like manner children of God. We are
made children,
1. By adoption—to the Father.
2. By ingrafting—to the Church.
3. By spiritual generation—to the priest who baptizes.
From this arises the question:—Did St. John the Baptist become spiritual
father of our Lord by baptizing Him?
This Raulin answers in the negative; for,
1. Christ received not grace through the ministration of John;
for He was full of grace from the moment of His conception.
2. The rite was imperfect.
3. It was a baptism of repentance, which could not avail
spiritually one who had never sinned.
The Spirit was manifest under the form of a dove.
The dove appeared above water, and here follows a dissertation on the
virtues of divers waters.
The question arises:—Why did the Spirit elect the form of a dove?
This Raulin answers in the following manner:
1. A dove is without gall, and is harmless, and therefore
represents the character of those born of the Spirit.
2. A dove bore the olive-branch to the ark, in token of God
being reconciled. And by baptism we are reconciled to God.
3. A dove has seven qualities, resembling the Spirit’s
sevenfold gifts. These are,—
(1) It moans instead of warbling; this represents the spirit of
holy _Fear_.
(2) It is a gentle bird, and is offered in sacrifice; thus
representing the spirit of _Piety_.
(3) It is granivorous, not carnivorous; thus it shadows forth
the spirit of _Knowledge_.
(4) It dwells in the clefts of the rock; thus exhibiting the
character of the spirit of _Fortitude_.
(5) It brings up the young of others; thus showing forth the
spirit of _Counsel_.
(6) It rends not what it eats, but swallows whole; a type of
the spirit of _Understanding_.
(7) It dwells beside waters; thereby exhibiting the marks of
the spirit of _Wisdom_.
All these points are drawn out at length, and examined minutely;
Scripture is tortured to illustrate them, and illustrations of a most
unsuitable nature are brought to bear upon them.
It will be seen from this abstract, how thoroughly unprofitable the
sermons of Jean Raulin prove to be; they bear the character of playing
and trifling with Scripture and with the most sacred subjects, and it is
sad to think that a good and blameless man, such as he was, should have
degraded the ministry of God’s Word to a mere tissue of Sunday puzzles.
Raulin delighted in far-fetched similes, and in tracing out types beyond
all limits of endurance. That of the dove was sufficiently extravagant,
but what can we say to his working out the details of the parable of the
Miraculous Draught of Fishes, in such a manner as to make the little
fishes resemble the faithful in the Church, because,
(1) Fish have their eyes at their sides, and so can always see
about them; and faithful Christians are ever watchful.
(2) Fish advance in the water by wagging their tails; and
good Christians have to advance by remembering the end of all
things!!
(3) Little fish are eaten by big fish, and so of the faithful
it is said, “Men shall devour you.”
Occasionally Jean Raulin tells a story to enliven his discourse—stories
in the pulpit were in vogue then—and these anecdotes and fables are often
exceedingly good and pointed, but they are most unsuited to a sermon.
On one occasion, when preaching on the corruptions in the Church, and
declaiming against the way in which the clergy condoned moral sins of
the blackest dye, but showed the utmost severity when the slightest
injury was done to the temporal welfare of the Church, he illustrated his
subject by a story to this effect:
The beasts were once determined to keep Lent strictly, and to begin by
making their confessions. The Lion was appointed confessor. First to
be shriven came the Wolf, who with expressions of remorse acknowledged
himself a grievous sinner, and confessed that he had—yes, he had—once
eaten a lamb.
“Any extenuating circumstances?” asked the Lion.
“Well, yes, there were,” quoth the Wolf; “for the mother who bore me, and
my ancestors from time immemorial, have been notable lamb-eaters, and
‘what’s born in the bone comes out in the flesh.’”
“Quite so,” said the confessor; “your penance is this,—say one Pater
Noster.”
The next to approach the tribunal of penance was the Fox, with drooping
tail, a lachrymose eye, and humble gait.
“I have sinned, father!” began Reynard, beating his breast; “I have
sinned grievously through my own fault; I—I—I—yes, I once did eat a hen.”
“Any extenuating circumstances?” asked the Lion.
“Two,” replied the penitent; “I must say, the fault was not quite my own.
The hen was grossly fat, and it roosted within reach. Now, had she been
an ascetic, and had she gone to sleep in some tree, I should never have
touched her, I assure you, father.”
“There is some truth in that,” said the confessor; “say as penance one
Pater Noster.”
Next came the Donkey, hobbling up to the confessional, and her broken
ee-yaws! could be heard from quite a distance. For some time the poor
brute was so convulsed with sobs that not a word she said could be
distinguished. At last she gulped forth that she had sinned in three
things.
“And what are they?” asked the Lion gruffly.
“Oh, father! first of all, as I went along the roads, I found grass and
thistles in the hedges; they were _so_ tempting that—that—that—ee-yaw,
ee-yaw!”
“Go on,” growled the Lion; “you ate them; you committed robbery.—Vile
monster! I shudder at the enormity of your crime.”
“Secondly,” continued the Donkey, “as I came near a monastery one
summer’s day, the gates were wide open to air the cloisters; impelled
by curiosity, I—I—I—just ventured to walk in, and I think I may have
somewhat befouled the pavement.”
“What!” exclaimed the confessor, rising in his seat, and shaking his
mane; “enter the sanctuary dedicated to religion—_you_, a female, knowing
that it is against the rules of the order that aught but males should
intrude; and then, too, that little circumstance about the pavement! Go
on,” said the Lion grimly.
“Oh, father!” sighed the poor penitent; “the holy monks were all in
chapel, and singing the office. They sang so beautifully that my heart
was lifted up within me, and at the close of a collect my feelings
overcame me, and I tried to say Amen; but produced only an ee-yaw! which
interrupted the service and hindered the devotion of the monks.”
“Horrible!” cried the Lion, his eyes flashing with pious zeal, his hair
bristling with virtuous indignation. “Monster steeped in crime, is there
any penance too great to inflict on you? I—” The reader may guess what
became of the helpless beast.
This story, which I have related in my own words, instead of giving a
literal translation, must have been a cutting satire on the practices of
the clergy of that period, and as true as it was cutting; but the pulpit
was not the place for it.
Another of Raulin’s beast fables is good. It occurs in a sermon on St.
Nicolas. He is speaking of the persuasion which parents have that their
children are perfect spiritually and corporeally. Once an old toad had
a son who was fond of church-going—so fond, indeed, that in the ardour
of his devotion he went one day without his socks. This troubled the old
toad, as his son was liable to colds in the head if he caught chills in
his feet. Seeing the hare dashing by, he called out, “Hey! you, there!
going to church, I suppose? Do me a good turn and take my son his socks,
or he’ll get his death of cold.”
“But how am I to know your son?”
“Nothing more easy,” replied the toad; “there’s not such a good-looking
fellow in the crowd.”
“Ah! I know him,” said the hare; “we call him the swan.”
“Swan!” expressed in a tone of contempt, “swan! a fellow with great splay
feet and a neck you might tie in a knot!”
“Well, let me see! I know him; he is the peacock.”
The toad screamed with dismay. “How can you insult me by thinking that
cracked-voiced thing my son?” and he puffed himself up to the shape of a
ball.
“Then how am I to know your son?”
“Why, look you,” pumped forth the toad with stateliness, “he is
remarkably handsome—ahem! he is the image of me: has goggle eyes, a
blotched back, and a great white belly!”
Now, could any congregation hear this story from the pulpit without
laughing? It is sufficiently _piquant_, and would go home to many parents
present.
There is a capital story which I believe originated with Raulin, but
which has since been versified by Southey, and even dramatized; but it
may be questioned whether any modern author has told it with any thing
like the _naïveté_ of the original.
It occurs in the third sermon on widowhood. I give it in the Latin of the
period.
“Dicatur de quâdam viduâ, quod venit ad curatum suum (à son curé),
quærens ab eo consilium, si deberet iterum maritari, et allegabat quod
erat sine adjutorio, et quod habebat servum optimum et peritum in arte
mariti sui.
“Tunc curatus: ‘Bene, accipite eum.’
“E contrario illa dicebat: ‘Sed periculum est accipere illum, ne de servo
meo faciam dominum.’
“Tunc curatus dixit: ‘Bene, nolite eum accipere.’
“Ait illa: ‘Quid faciam? non possum sustinere pondus illud quod
sustinebat maritus meus, nisi unum habeam.’
“Tunc curatus dixit: ‘Bene, habeatis eum.’
“At illa: ‘Sed si malus esset, et vellet mea disperdere et usurpare?’
“Tunc curatus: ‘Non accipiatis ergo eum.’
“Et sic semper curatus juxta argumenta sua concedebat ei. Videns autem
curatus quod vellet illum habere et haberet devotionem ad eum, dixit ei
ut bene distincte intelligeret quid campanæ ecclesiæ ei dicerent, et
secundum consilium campanarum ipsa faceret.
“Campanis autem pulsantibus, intellexit juxta voluntatem suam quod
dicerent: ‘Prends ton valet, prends ton valet.’ Quo accepto, servus
egregie verberabit eam, et fuit ancilla quæ prius erat domina.
“Tunc ad curatum suum conquesta est de consilio, maledicendo horam quâ
crediderat ei. Cui ille: ‘Non satis audisti quid dicant campanæ.’
“Tunc curatus pulsavit campanas, et tunc intellexit quod campanæ
dicebant: ‘Ne le prends pas, ne le prends pas.’ Tunc enim vexatio dederat
ei intellectum.”
In an Easter sermon, Raulin asks why the news of the resurrection was
announced to women. And he replies that they have such tongues that they
would spread the news quickest.
He then says that it has been asked why women are greater chatterboxes
than men. And the reason he gives is certainly original, if perhaps not
conclusive.
Man is made of clay, woman of bone—the rib of Adam. Now if you move a
sack of clay, it makes no noise; but, only touch a bag of bones, and
rattle, rattle, rattle, is what you hear.
This remark is also made by Gratian de Drusac in his Controverses des
Sexes masculin et féminin, 1538, p. 25.
A story told by Raulin, with which I shall conclude, is not without
beauty.
A hermit supplicating God that he might know the way of safety, beheld
the Devil transformed into an angel of light, who said, “Your prayer is
heard, and I am sent to tell you what you must do to be saved; you must
give God three things united—the new moon, the disc of the sun, and the
head of a rose.” The hermit was nearly driven to despair, thinking that
this was an impossibility, but a real angel appeared to him, and told
him the solution. “The new moon is a crescent, that is to say a C; the
disc of the sun is an O; and the head of a rose is R. Unite these three
letters, and offer to God COR, your _heart_, then the way of salvation is
open before you.”
MEFFRETH.
According to a mediæval legend, an evil spirit once entered a monastery,
passed his novitiate, and became a full brother. In preaching one Advent
to the assembled friars, he spoke of the terrors of hell, and depicted
them most graphically, being, of course, eminently qualified for so
doing. His discourse produced a profound sensation among his audience,
their blood curdled with horror, and some of the weaker brethren fainted
away. When the true character of the friar was discovered, the Superior
expressed to him surprise at his want of judgment in preaching a powerful
sermon, calculated to terrify the hearers from ever venturing on the road
which leads to the place described by the preacher with such fidelity:
but the devil replied with a hideous sneer, “Think you that my discourse
would prevent a single soul from seeking eternal damnation? Not so; the
most finished eloquence and the profoundest learning are worthless beside
one drop of unction,—_there was no unction in my sermon_.”
Meffreth, the subject of this notice, was a preacher of great popularity
in the fifteenth century; his sermons display great power of a certain
order. He was undoubtedly an accomplished theologian, a good scholar, and
a man of diversified reading; he could speak with force, and describe
with considerable graphic power,—but for all this, in his two hundred and
twenty-five sermons there is not one in which the unction necessary for
the conversion of souls is to be discovered. It is quite impossible to
read these sermons without feeling that the preacher’s great object has
been the exhibition of his own ingenuity and learning, not the saving of
the souls of his hearers.
Of the man himself but little is known, and that little we gain from
his own title-page. From it we ascertain that he was a German priest of
Meissen, and that he flourished about 1443.
His only work is the Hortulus Reginæ, seu Sermones Dominicales et de
Sanctis, per totum annum, in Partes Æstivalem et Hyemalem distributos.
Proderunt Norimbergæ, 1487, fol.; Basileæ, 1488, 2 vols. fol.; Coloniæ,
1645, 4to.; the same sermons, Pars Hiemalis; sine loco et anno, folio.
Sermones de Præcipuis Sanctorum Festivitatibus; Monachii, 1614, 4to.;
Coloniæ, 1625, 4to.
Meffreth having stated boldly, in his Sermons on the Conception of the
Blessed Virgin, that she was born with the taint of original sin, his
editors were put to some trouble in order to get a licence to publish;
in the first edition there is an explanatory note by the publisher, in
the second, a long preface by Fr. Joannes de Lapide, a Carthusian and
Doctor of the University of Paris, refuting the opinion of Meffreth on
this head, and stigmatizing it as heresy, not, however, on Scriptural and
Patristic authority, but on the ground of the judgment of Sixtus IV., the
decision of the University of Paris, and the decree of the Council of
Basle.
The edition of 1625 contains another “Præmonitio ad lectorem, in tres
sequentes sermones de gloriosæ Virginis Mariæ conceptione,” which, after
giving an account of the indulgence decreed by Sixtus IV. to all those
who should keep the octave of the feast of the Conception, concludes
with these words: “Sixtus Popa IV. constituit, ut nec affirmantes,
nec negantes Beatam Virginem sine originali peccato conceptam fuisse,
hæreseos, vel peccati mortalis damnarentur, idque Concil. Trident.
sess. 5 de peccato originali et Pius V. in quadam sua constitutione
confirmarunt: ceterum doctrina dicentium, B. Virginem cum peccato
originali fuisse conceptam, pietati ædificationique populi minus videtur
profutura. Quare quæ per tres sequentes sermones a Meffreth in hanc
sententiam dicuntur, non sunt pro concione rudibus proponenda, sed
Doctorum disputationi relinquenda: præsertim cum ex iis quædam admodum
incerta et falso quam vero propriora sunt.”
Notwithstanding that a _soupçon_ of heresy might be supposed to attach to
Meffreth by vehement adherents of the dogma of the Immaculate Conception,
the man is quite extravagant enough in his teaching about Our Lady to
satisfy on all other points the most zealous Mariolater. For instance,
with him, Mary is the garden of all delights (De Sanctis 3), by her name
devils are put to flight (48), no one can be saved without her assistance
(87 and 95), and she was conceived without earthly father (17). If
Meffreth could swallow so many camels, he need not have strained at a
solitary gnat. The sermons of Meffreth occupy 1412 pages of small, close
print, in double columns, in the edition of Anthony Hierat, 1625; and
they are furnished with three indices, one to each of the parts.
They are quite incapable of being reproduced in a modern pulpit, but
they are nevertheless valuable, and worth the few shillings which they
cost, for Meffreth was a man well versed in the mystical signification
of Scripture, and he has carefully gathered together a vast amount of
serviceable material, though he has been unable to build it together,
with the wood, hay, stubble, which he has added, into a homogeneous mass.
His sermons open with a fact (?) from natural history, to which he gives
an allegorical interpretation. This serves as an introduction. The
body of the discourse is separated into two or three parts, and each
part contains several heads; each head is again broken into divisions,
and each division is subdivided. The sermons vary in length; those for
Saints’ days are short, but the rest are of intolerable length. They
are enlivened with anecdotes, sometimes good, generally pointless,
occasionally absurd.
Those of Meffreth’s sermons which are intended as expositions of our
Lord’s parables are better by far than the rest, and will be found useful
by the theological student. As an example, take the following analysis
of his exhaustive exposition of the parable of the Sower.
He explains it “anagogicè,” “allegoricè,” and “moraliter.” I shall give
only the first two interpretations, as the moral signification has been
given in the Gospel, and Meffreth does little else than repeat it.
I. Anagogicè—
1. God the Father sows seeds of two kinds:
A. Angelic nature, sown in the beginning,
α. On the way; i. e. on Christ, its true resting-place,
from which some of the angels were snatched away by
pride.
β. On the rock; i. e. on Christ. On this rock Satan
fell and was broken. This is the rock which at the last
day will fall on him and grind him to powder.
γ. Among thorns; i. e. envy and ambition.
δ. On good ground; this is the angelic nature, which
rested unfallen on the good ground of God’s presence,
and there ripened into the fruits of love, reverence,
and obedience.
B. Human nature, sown on the sixth day of creation. This fell—
α. On the wayside of luxury: for the woman saw that the
tree was good for food and pleasant to the eyes.
β. On the rock of pride: for Eve was tempted by the
promise, “Ye shall be as gods.”
γ. Among the thorns of ambition: for the woman saw that
the fruit was good to make one wise, and she desired
“to know good and evil.”
2. God the Son went forth from the bosom of the Father to sow
Himself—
A. In the womb of the ever-blessed Virgin, that good ground
where He would spring up and bear an hundredfold. In her
womb He sowed—
α. His Divinity.
β. The humanity of Adam’s flesh.
γ. The human soul, which is the breath of God.
B. When He left the womb of Mary He went forth to sow—
α. The Gospel, which fell—
1. On the wayside of the impenitent.
2. On the rock of Pharisaic pride.
3. Among the thorns of worldliness and avarice.
4. On the good ground of the elect.
β. That He might sow His Divine grace.
γ. That He might sow His mercy, pardoning iniquity: and
this fell—
1. On the wayside of luxury.
2. On the rock of despair.
3. Among the thorns of riches.
C. His own self did our Lord sow in His double nature,
when He left earth for Heaven, there to sow the roses of
martyrdom, the violets of confessors, and the lilies of
virgins.
II. Allegoricè—
A. The sower is a preacher of the Gospel. The seed is the
word. The resemblances are sixfold.
α. The seed attracts the moisture of the earth, without
which it is sterile.
β. The seed occupies the place of weeds.
γ. It generates seed in its own likeness.
δ. It contains within itself the principle of life.
ε. It is in a state of continual progression; first the
seed, then the blade, then the ear, and afterward the
full corn in the ear.
ζ. It multiplies itself.
B. The sower is a preacher; his characteristics should be—
1. Discretion as to _where_ he sows.
2. Discretion as to _when_ he sows.
3. Discretion as to _how much_ he sows.
4. Discretion as to _what quality_ he sows.
He must also _go forth_—
α. From evil communications.
β. From covetous desires, lest—
1. His example injure.
2. His eye be darkened.
3. He forget his vocation.
γ. To contemplation.
C. The soil is fourfold in its quality.
1. It is trodden down by the continual passing to and
fro of worldly and carnal lusts.
2. It is stony, without depth of conviction.
3. It produces thorn-like pleasures, riches, ease,
ambition, and luxury.
4. It is good and deep.
Perhaps one of the most striking of Meffreth’s sermons, and one free
from his worst defects, is that on the text, “A certain man made a great
supper, and bade many,” &c.; being part of the Gospel for the second
Sunday after Trinity. It is divided into three parts, the first two of
which I give in abstract, as they are suggestive and beautiful.
By way of introduction, Meffreth observes that Isidore in his Natural
History asserts that the tiger is a beast swift as an arrow, marked and
dappled with diverse colours, and when it approaches fire or water, or a
looking-glass, it becomes so sluggish that it either falls into the fire
and is burned, or tumbles into the water and is drowned, or remains in a
brown study in front of the mirror till the hunters capture it.
Now this has its moral significance, observes the preacher, for all human
beings are tigers, set like arrows to fly swiftly to their true end and
aim, eternal happiness, which they would reach, were it not for certain
fires and waters and mirrors which retard them, and allow them to fall
into the hands of the devils, who are the hunters.
Meffreth having proved that man’s true end and aim is eternal beatitude,
shows how that he is checked, and falls short of his aim, by the fires
of evil concupiscence, the water of impure affections, and the mirrors
of worldly felicity. It will be seen that there is some confusion in
metaphor here.
Meffreth having settled the tigers, approaches the text.
The supper, he observes, has two significations; it is (A), the Blessed
Sacrament, and it is (B), the beatitude of eternal fruition, the one
being the earnest of the other.
And first, with regard to the Blessed Sacrament, he shows that the name
of supper applies well to it for three reasons—the first being that it
was instituted at the Last Supper; secondly, that _cœna_ is derived from
the Greek κενόν, “_new_,” and so exhibits it as a sacrament of the New
Testament; and thirdly, because κενόν signifies _shadow_, the eucharistic
symbols being shadows of the living realities they contain.
A certain man, in the parable, made a _great_ supper: a great supper
indeed is the Holy Eucharist; great because of the glorious nature of
the food; great because of the abundance of meats it offers; these meats
being remission of sin, mitigation of carnal desires, a revivification
of good works by the destruction of sins, a fructification of virtues,
an increase in grace, a mystical ingrafting into Christ, and a pledge of
eternal life. Each of these seven meats is treated of at some length,
and ramifies into collateral subjects. Great, too, is the supper of
the Holy Eucharist, because of its durability. The feast of Ahasuerus,
remarks Meffreth, lasted but seven days (Esther i.), whereas that of the
Eucharist had lasted 1496 years, that being the date of his sermon. The
preacher then, following St. Ambrose, shows who are those who come not
to the Holy Table; they are the heathen, the Jews, and the heretics.
The heathen, like him who had bought a piece of land, have set their
affections on this earth, and sold all that they might secure it. The
Jews, ever ploughing with the five yoke of the Pentateuch, never sow in
the seed of the Word. The heretic, wedded to a sect of his own choosing,
deserts the Catholic Church, which is the Bride of Christ. None of these
men, says our Lord, shall taste of My supper.
But secondly (B), the supper signifies the beatitude of celestial glory.
The whole of this division is worked out, I think all will agree, with
singular felicity.
A supper, to be really great, says Meffreth, must have ten properties or
requisites:—
1st. It must take place at a suitable time, neither too early nor too
late. That of Ahasuerus was made in the third year of his reign, and that
of Christ in the third age, the age of grace.
2nd. It must take place in a spacious, and suitable, and secure spot.
That of Ahasuerus was made “in the court of the garden of the king’s
palace: where were white, green, and blue hangings, fastened with cords
of fine linen and purple to silver rings and pillars of marble.” And the
preacher shows how that the place of the heavenly banquet excels that of
Sushan in spaciousness, suitability, and security.
3rd. There must be great liberality and hilarity of the host. Of
Ahasuerus it is said, “The heart of the king was merry with wine, and he
commanded—to bring Vashti the queen before the king with the crown royal,
to show the people and the princes her beauty: for she was fair to look
on.” Christ also shows His liberality and hilarity by making His feast
known to all; by the greatness of His preparation; by His inviting many;
by His distress at the refusal of those first invited, and His sending
into the streets and lanes of the city; by His compelling men to come in
from the highways and hedges.
The fourth requisite of a great supper is the abundance and the variety
of the dishes. King Ahasuerus gave drink “in vessels of gold (the vessels
being diverse one from another), and royal wine in abundance, according
to the state of the king.” In like manner has Christ prepared abundance
of good things for His marriage supper. And chief among these are the
twelve refections of the just, each of which Meffreth comments upon with
great beauty. I can but name them.
1. Health without infirmity. (Ps. ciii. 3. Isa. lx. 18.)
2. Youth without age. (Ps. ciii. 5.) This is followed by a dissertation
on the apparent age which the resurrection body will have.
3. Satiety without distaste. (Isa. xlix. 10. Eccles. i. 8.) Followed by a
proof that the soul can be satisfied with nothing short of God.
4. Beauty without deformity. (Matt. xiii. 43. Wisd. iii. 7.) Followed by
a dissertation on the degrees of glory hereafter.
5. Impassibility with immortality. (Isa. xxv. 8; xlix. 10.)
6. Abundance without want; to this the preacher applies very beautifully
the text, Judges xviii. 10.
7. Peace without break.
8. Safety without fear. (Ps. cxlvii. 14.)
9. Knowledge without ignorance. (1 Cor. xiii. 12.)
10. Glory without shame. (Col. iii. 4.)
11. Joy without sadness: joy in having overcome our foes, joy in having
become purged from every defect, joy in having escaped the woes of the
lost.
12. Liberty without restraint, arising from the spirituality of the body.
To will being then to do: the spiritual body being capable of travelling
as swiftly as mind, of executing whatever the imagination can conceive.
Each Person of the ever-blessed Trinity, observes Meffreth, will grant us
three gifts.
God the Father will present us with the unutterable contemplation of His
unveiled presence, with the entire possession of all good things, and
with the fulfilment of every desire.
God the Son will afford us clean and renewed flesh, sanctified souls
radiant with beauty, and participation in the Divine nature.
God the Holy Ghost will give us the sweetness of eternal fruition, the
wine of perennial gladness, and the fruits of love, joy, peace, &c. (Gal.
v. 22, 23.)
Meffreth then returning to the requisites of a feast, says that the fifth
is the courtesy of the ministers. In that made by King Ahasuerus, it is
expressly said, “The king had appointed to all the officers of his house,
that they should do according to every man’s pleasure.” How fully will
that requisite be obtained in the heavenly banquet! exclaims Meffreth,
when even Christ “shall gird Himself and make” His servants “sit down to
meat, and will come forth and serve them.” (Luke xii. 37.)
The sixth requisite of a feast is sweet music, and here Meffreth speaks
of the music of the heavenly city as heard by St. John in Patmos.
The seventh requisite is abundance of light, and on this he quotes the
Apocalypse xxi. 23, “And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the
moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb
is the light thereof.”
The eighth requisite is the delicacy of the victuals, and this he applies
to the varied delights the redeemed will have in the society of the
saints and of the angels in their differing orders and ranks.
The ninth requisite is duration. The banquet of Ahasuerus lasted but
seven days, whilst that of Christ will be for ever and ever.
And lastly, a feast must be peaceful and calm. When Ahasuerus made
his banquet, he prepared “beds of gold and silver, upon a pavement of
red, and blue, and white, and black marble.” How much sweeter will be
the rest of the redeemed in the green pastures of Paradise, beside the
ever-flowing waters of comfort!
In another sermon on the same Gospel, Meffreth strangely inverts the
subject just given, and makes the certain man to be the devil, and
he describes with equal power the great feast of emptiness which he
prepares. The properties of a feast are of course in this case wanting
in every particular. For abundance of light there is outer darkness; for
sweetness of music there are never-ending cries of despair; for calm
and tranquillity there is strife and discord, and instead of those who
are at that fearful feast having delicacy or variety of food, they are
themselves the food on which the never-dying worm so sweetly feeds.
The commencement of the second sermon for the same Sunday after Trinity
is so thoroughly characteristic of Meffreth’s worst style, that I must
give it in his own Latin.
“Experientia, quæ est rerum magistra,”—note this pompous and stately
beginning, and see what it introduces—“sæpe ostendit, quod mus, quandoque
intrat promptuarium macilentus, ibique invenit lardum, carnes vel caseum
et hujusmodi (and all that sort of thing) comedit, et impinguatur,
cumque dominus venit quærens murem, vult fugere per foramen arctum, per
quod intravit, sed præ pinguetudine non potest exire, sicque capitur et
necatur.
“Moraliter. Per mures hic ad præsens intelliguntur homines, quia, sicut
mus ab humo dicitur, eo quod ex humore terræ nascatur. Nam humus terra
dicitur. Sic enim homo ab humo est dictus, eo quod _de limo terræ est
formatus_. Gen. i.” After a few words about minding earthly things, and
a quotation from Boetius, he continues,—“Si enim inter mures videres
unum aliquem, jus sibi atque potestatem præ cæteris vendicantem, id est,
usurpantem super alios mures. O quanto movereris cachinno, id est, risu,
quia derisibile esset, et talis potestas terrena scilicet derisibilis,
quæ non extendit se ad corpus. Quid vero si tu corpus spectes hominis,
quid est imbecillius, id est, debilius homine? quasi diceret, nihil; quos
scilicet homines muscarum sæpeque morsus in secreta, id est;”—another id
est, Meffreth is intent upon being intelligible,—“in interiora hominis
quæque reptantium, id est, serpentium, necat introitus.” The construction
of this sentence is very confused. “In quo declarat, quod homo est mure
debilior, imo parvissimo mure, quia musculus est diminutivum a mure. Iste
quidem homo ad instar muris macilentus et nudus intrat in promptuarium
hujus mundi. Juxta illud Job i. _Nudus ingressus sum in hunc mundum et
nudus revertar illuc._ Cui alludet Apost., 1 Tim. vi., _Nihil intulimus
in hunc mundum, haud_, id est, non _dubium, quia nec auferre quid
possumus_.”
Having brought us into the larder of this world, Meffreth ought to have
followed out the moral application, but he becomes apparently lost over
the “lardum, carnes vel caseum et hujusmodi,” and never leaves them
throughout his sermon.
An Advent discourse opens with the following statement: “Naturalists say
that the Balustia, a certain flower of the pomegranate, is cold and dry,
and has astringent and stiptic properties, wherefore it is used against
dysentery and bloody flux of the stomach. It also restrains choleric
vomiting, if it be cooked in vinegar and laid upon the collar-bone—so say
medical men.”
“Expert naturalists say that every irrational animal, when it feels
itself becoming weak and helpless, at once seeks a remedy for its
languor, which may restore it to health.… In like manner, says Isidorus
(lib. xii.), stags, when they feel themselves burdened with infirmity,
snuff the serpents from their holes with the breath of their nostrils,
and having overcome the noxiousness of the poison, reinvigorate
themselves with their food. Aristotle (lib. vi.) says of animals, that
bears are wont to eat crabs and ants for medicinal purposes. Avicenna
relates in his book viii. of animals, that it was related to him by a
faithful old man, that he had seen two little birds squabbling, and that
one was overcome; it therefore retired and ate of a certain herb, then it
returned to the onslaught; which, when the old man observed frequently,
he took away the herb. Now when the birdie came back and found it not,
it set up a great cry and died. And Avicenna says, ‘I inquired the name
of the plant, and conjectured it to be of the species which is called
_Lactua agrestis_.’” (Dom. Sexagesima i.)
“The owl at night eats the eggs of the jackdaw, because it is strongest
by night. But, on the other hand, the jackdaw walks off with the owl’s
eggs by day, and eats them, because the owl is feeble by day. In like
manner the devil devours all man’s good works in the night of sin, … and
just as the devil like an owl destroys man’s good works by mortal sins,
so on the other hand ought man in the day of safety and grace to destroy
the devil’s eggs by works of repentance.” (Feria, 4to. post, Reminiscere
i.)
“According to naturalists, salt has the property of preserving from
putrefaction. For we see that if meat is placed at full moon in the beams
of the moon, it breeds worms, because the moon augments the moisture of
the meat, and by this means predisposes it for corruption. If, however,
meat is salted, the moon cannot do it so much harm; for salt extracts
from the flesh its juices, wherefore men desirous of preserving meat
from putrefaction put it in the pickle-tub. Morally—by salt understand
the bitterness of penitence, or satisfaction; and by the meat understand
carnal delights,” &c. (Domin. 2da p. Pascha, 9.)
I have mentioned the fact of Meffreth using stories in his sermons. They
occur very frequently; they are not all either appropriate or edifying.
The following, however, is pretty: it is to be found in the first sermon
on the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. Meffreth is speaking of
wealth and its cares as contrasted with the _insouciance_ of poverty. He
then relates the story of a certain Robin, or Rubinus, a poor man who
lived under the steps leading into the palace of a wealthy nobleman.
Poor Robin had a hard time of it: he toiled all day, and at nightfall he
would go about the streets with an old fiddle, playing for a few coppers:
sometimes, however, he would get as much as five pence, and then he would
fiddle and sing at night on his straw, so cheerily that the rich man in
his palace heard him and sighed, because his own heart was never glad.
One day the lady of the house said to her lord, “How is it that you with
all your wealth are never happy, whilst poor Robin under our stairs is as
cheerful as a cricket?” “I will destroy his mirth,” replied the rich man;
and he secretly conveyed a bag of money into Robin’s den.
No fiddle, no song, were heard for many days, for the poor fellow was
gloating over his strangely-acquired wealth, and fearing hourly lest
it should be taken from him. “How is it,” asked the lady of the house,
“how is it that Robin neither fiddles, whistles, nor sings now?” “Mark!”
replied her lord; “I will restore his song to him.” So he reclaimed his
money. Now when Robin was free of this source of care, he caught up his
fiddle and sang to it right lustily half the night through.
Another charming story told by Meffreth is this:—
There was once an aged hermit in the Egyptian desert, who thought it
would be well with him if he had an olive-tree near his cave. So he
planted a little tree, and thinking it might want water, he prayed to God
for rain, so rain came and watered his olive-tree. Then he thought that
some warm sun to swell its buds would be advisable, so he prayed, and the
sun shone out. Now the nursling looked feeble, and the old man deemed it
would be well for the tree if frost were to come and brace it. He prayed
for the frost, and hoar frost settled that night on bar and beam. Next,
he believed a hot southerly wind would suit his tree, and after prayer
the south wind blew upon his olive-tree and—it died. Some little while
after, the hermit visited a brother hermit, and lo! by his cell-door
stood a flourishing olive-tree. “How came that goodly plant there,
brother?” asked the unsuccessful hermit.
“I planted it, and God blessed it, and it grew.”
“Ah! brother, I too planted an olive, and when I thought it wanted water
I asked God to give it rain, and the rain came; and when I thought it
wanted sun, I asked, and the sun shone; and when I deemed that it needed
strengthening, I prayed, and frost came—God gave me all I demanded for my
tree as I saw fit, yet is it dead.”
“And I, brother,” replied the other hermit, “I left my tree in God’s
hands, for He knew what it wanted better than I.”
Very different is Meffreth’s story of the fat priest who was carving
a capon in Lent, when his servant burst out laughing behind his back.
“Sirrah! what are you laughing at?” asked the globular parson.
“Oh, your reverence! excuse me, but I could not help thinking what a lot
of drippings there would be from you, when hereafter the devils have the
roasting of you.”
MATTHIAS FABER.
Matthias Faber was born at Neumarkt, in Bavaria, in the year 1586. He
was appointed to the cure of the parish of St. Maurice in Ingolstadt,
and to the professorship of the University in that town. Whilst there,
he published three volumes of sermons for every Sunday in the year, and
these have gone through six editions.
He was much regarded as a preacher, and deservedly so, for he was a man
full of learning and genius, though not remarkable for his eloquence.
In the year 1637, at the age of fifty-one, he was received into the
Society of Jesus at Vienna, and continued after his reception to preach
with considerable success. He then published another volume of sermons
for all the Sundays and the principal festivals of the year. This book,
divided into two parts, is called the Auctuarium, and was thenceforward
published along with the former volumes. The Concionum opus tripartitum,
together with the Auctuarium, contain one thousand and ninety-six
sermons. Besides these, he preached funeral and marriage orations,
published after his death, which took place on the 26th of April, 1653,
at Tyrnau.
It is not to be expected that in such a vast collection all should be of
equal merit; and yet few of Faber’s sermons would be put down as bad. The
vast majority of them are remarkably good, and full of matter. Not one,
perhaps, could be found which does not contain more suggestive remarks
than we are accustomed to hear from the modern pulpit in a month. Faber
is brief, but what he says he has thought well over, and it is always
worth the hearing. He is almost too brief sometimes, for he throws out a
brilliant remark, and goes on to another without making the most—without,
indeed, making any thing of the former.
How great is the contrast between him and a modern preacher, who every
Sunday labours through a polished and carefully worded essay, containing
in many words the feeblest whiff of an idea! And Faber could vary his
matter to suit his hearers. Preaching before his University, he discussed
learned questions in Divinity with great lucidity; but preaching to
the good citizens of Ingolstadt, he confined himself to practical
instructions.
His style is dignified and earnest, but it is not eloquent, though many
of the passages in his sermons are very graceful. And he is perfectly
free from the bombast which supplied the place of eloquence among certain
preachers of his day.
Matthias Faber does not shrink from telling a story, and a story with a
good practical moral to it, but he does not attempt simile to any extent.
There is an apparent crudity in his discourses. Probably this is owing to
their being printed from the abstract which he drew up before preaching;
so that when delivered, the apparent abruptness and ruggedness of this
outline may have been smoothed away.
Few ancient preachers would be more serviceable to a clergyman of
the present day, or more acceptable to an English congregation.
Unfortunately, the volumes are somewhat scarce, and consequently
expensive.
The following is a list of Faber’s works and their several editions:
1. Controversiæ contra Altorfienses Professores.
2. Concionum opus tripartitum; Ingolstadii, 3 vols. fol., 1631; Cracoviæ,
1647.
3. Auctuarium Operis Concionum Pars; Græcii, fol., 1646; Antverpiæ, 2
vols. fol., 1647.
Auctuarium pro Dominicis et Sanctis; Cracoviæ, fol., 1647.
Opus Concionum, Pars Hiemalis; Antverpiæ, 3 vols. fol., 1650.
Auctuarium; Antverpiæ, fol., 1653.
Opus Concionum … cum Auctuario; Coloniæ Agrippinæ, 4to., 5 partes, 1669.
Opus Concionum, Pars Æstivalis; Antverpiæ, fol., 1663.
Opus Concionum; Coloniæ, 3 vols., 4to., 1693.
Concionum Sylva nova, seu Auctuarium. Cui accedunt Conciones Funebres,
Nuptiales, et Strenales posthumæ. Coloniæ, 4to., tomus primus, 1695.
4. R. P. Matthiæ Fabri Conciones Funebres; Brugis, 12mo., 1723.
5. Höret den Sohn Gottes; Olivæ, 24mo., 1678.
I shall give the reader the outline of some of Matthias Faber’s sermons,
that he may judge for himself whether he deserves the praise I have
accorded to him.
Fourth Sunday in Lent.
St. John vi. 13. “They gathered them together, and filled twelve baskets
with the fragments of the five barley loaves.”
Introduction.
There were twelve baskets full of food gathered from this
feast which Jesus made in the wilderness, and twelve are the
wholesome lessons which I gather from it, and with which I feed
you to-day.
1. Learn fervour and zeal for hearing the Gospel.
“The people,” we are told, “ran afoot out of all cities,
and outwent them, and came together unto Him.” Behold their
earnestness, and contrast it with your indifference. They came
on foot, they came long distances, they came in great numbers,
they outwent Christ and His Apostles, they came voluntarily
and without having been summoned, they came oblivious of their
bodily wants, bringing with them their wives and children.
Faber draws a contrast between these people and his hearers,
undoubtedly just, but certainly not flattering: and he applies
to the latter the words of God to Ezekiel, “Ye pollute Me among
My people for handfuls of barley, and for pieces of bread.”
2. Learn the various effects produced by God’s Word on
different hearers.
Faber is singularly infelicitous in filling this basket. He
observes that our Lord at one time drew near to the sea, but
did not enter it; at another put off a little from land, but
soon returned to it, and now in to-day’s Gospel crosses the
sea, and having crossed it, performs the miracle: so does
He shadow forth three kinds of Christians in His mystical
Body, the Church: those who only approach the bitter sea of
repentance, those who just enter it and again return to land,
and those who traverse it and are found meet to sit down in
green pastures at His heavenly banquet.
3. Learn the custody of the eyes.
Christ “lifted up His eyes” and beheld the multitude. He had
them before on earth, not straying hither and thither; and
so He teaches us to restrain our wandering gaze. His eyes
meekly rested on earth; Eve’s, straying among the boughs, saw
the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and
those wandering eyes brought death into this world. So did the
restless eyes of Potiphar’s wife light on Joseph, so did the
unguarded eyes of David fall on Bathsheba, and the curious eyes
of the two elders on Susanna. But we are not required to keep
our eyes always fixed on earth, or closed; but to restrain them
from idle curiosity, to avert them from dangerous objects, and
to guard them carefully when we pray. There are, on the other
hand, times when we should raise them, after the example of
Christ. For the considering and relieving of the poor (John vi.
5), in giving thanks (Mark vi. 41), in praying (John xvii. 1),
in giving instruction (Luke vi. 20), in seeking the glory of
God in all our actions (John xi. 41).
4. Learn to ask God’s blessing on your food.
As Christ gave thanks, and looking up to Heaven blessed the
loaves and fishes.
We have the same lesson in Deut. viii. 10, “When thou hast
eaten and art full, then thou shalt bless the Lord thy God.”
And we have the example of the Israelites who would not eat of
the victims till Samuel had blessed them.
5. Learn care for the poor.
Christ gave the loaves and fishes to His disciples to
distribute among the multitude, and so He gives the rich their
abundance, not for them to consume it themselves, but that they
may “distribute and give to the poor.”
6. Learn to see God’s providence in the support of all men, and
especially of His own servants.
Thus did God provide manna for the Israelites in the wilderness
(Exod. xvi. 12), bread and meat for Elijah during the famine
(1 Kings xvii. 4), food for Daniel in the lions’ den (Bel and
Dragon, 33).
7. Learn to seek the food of the soul before seeking that of
the body.
Thus Christ before feeding the multitude “spake unto them of
the kingdom of God” (Luke), “began to teach them many things”
(Mark).
8. Learn that fasting precedes festival, Lent goes before
Easter.
So now Christ retired to the wilderness, as “the Jews’ passover
was nigh at hand; and many went out of the country up to
Jerusalem before the passover, to purify themselves” (John xi.
55.)
9. Learn moderation and frugality in diet.
Christ performed the miracle of feeding five thousand, not with
luxuries, but with plain and wholesome food, to teach us not to
care about luxurious living, but to be content with simple diet.
10. Learn that there should be order in the Church.
For the people sat not down till commanded, and then, not in
confusion, but in ranks.
11. Learn to avoid waste, and what is superfluous learn to give
to the poor.
This may be gathered from the fragments being collected by the
Apostles at Christ’s express command.
12. Learn to despise worldly honours.
For when the multitude would have taken Jesus by force, and
made Him a king—as we read in to-day’s Gospel—He fled from them
into a high mountain apart.
Conclusion.
Let all who have been fed from these fragments of instruction
be satisfied, and, thanking God, acknowledge Christ for their
true king.
First Sunday after the Epiphany.
St. Luke ii. 51. “His mother kept all these sayings in her heart.”
Introduction.
In God’s Word we find rules of life for all conditions of men,
for all stages of life, for all positions in society. The
Gospel for this day gives instruction to several grades of men.
1. Parents are taught:—
α. To train their children in the fear and admonition of
the Lord. To bring them at an early age to the house of
God, to teach them to love its courts, to take pleasure
in its services, and to delight in the instructions given
there.
β. To seek their children when they wander from the paths
of righteousness, to seek them sorrowing, and to find no
rest till they see them restored.
2. Children are taught—
α. To follow God rather than man; to obey Him in preference
to their earthly parents, remembering that “He who loveth
father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me.”
β. But in every thing else, except where the will of
parents clashes with the will of God, cheerfully to submit
to them.
3. Married persons are taught to feel for each other, and
to sympathize with each other. Thus Joseph entered into the
grief of Mary at the loss of her Son, and returned with her to
Jerusalem in quest of Him. And Mary showed deference to her
husband, saying, “Thy father and I have sought Thee sorrowing,”
placing Joseph in honour before herself.
4. Kinsfolk and acquaintance are taught that they have a
responsibility in the children of their relatives. Mary and
Joseph sought Jesus among them. So God required Abel at the
hand of Cain. So the Apostle writes to Timothy, “If any man
provide not for his own (i. e. look not after his own), and
specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith,
and is worse than an infidel.”
5. Priests are taught to abide in the temple, and to be ready
to hear the doubts and perplexities of others, and to answer
them as God gives them understanding.
6. Finally, all may learn—
α. From the fact of Joseph and Mary coming to Jerusalem,
notwithstanding that Archelaus did still reign there, and
leaving their substance and business for the service of
God—that we should not allow vain excuses to hinder us from
attending public worship.
β. From the fact of Christ the Eternal Wisdom deigning
to listen humbly to these blind Pharisees and ignorant
doctors—that we should not puff ourselves up with the
consideration that we know better than those whom God has
appointed over us as teachers, but in lowliness hearken to
their instructions.
γ. From the fact of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus accomplishing
the days, and not leaving before the feast was over—that
we should not be eager to rush out of church in the middle
of service, in the midst of the celebration of the Blessed
Sacrament, before the completion of the sacrifice.
δ. From the fact of Mary and Joseph going to Jerusalem,
“according to the custom of the feast,”—we learn to submit
to all laudable customs, and not to set ourselves against
them on the plea of our superior wisdom or understanding.
ε. From the fact of Mary and Jesus going to Jerusalem,
whereas the law was not binding upon women and children—we
learn not to rest satisfied with the letter, but to go on
to the spirit; not to be content with mere conformity to
the bare commandment of God, but with loving hearts to
strive to “do more for His sake than of bounden duty is
required.” (The Church, for instance, bids us communicate
three times in the year, but let us draw near oftener to
the altar of God. The law of God requires us to give tithes
of our goods, but let us give more, be liberal-hearted,
and liberal-handed, and glad to distribute. S. B. G.)
ζ. From the fact of Christ being said to have increased
in favour with God and man—let us learn to seek first the
favour of God, and then the favour of good men will be
added to us. Those who seek first the favour of men, often
lose both that of man and God. Pilate, to find favour
with Cæsar, fearing the accusation, “Thou art not Cæsar’s
friend,” gave up Christ. And what did he gain? Nothing;
he lost the favour of God and of Cæsar. By the one he was
driven into exile, by the other he was cast down into hell.
Conclusion.
From like fearful end may Christ in His mercy keep us.
I will add a few specimens of the style of Matthias Faber. And I shall
quote first some portions of an Easter sermon.
“See how our hope and confidence should be fixed on God. For the women
went to the sepulchre through the morning twilight, without thought of
the soldiers who guarded it, or of the sepulchral stone which closed it,
for removing which they were far too weak. But as they drew nigh they
considered this difficulty among themselves, saying, ‘Who shall roll us
away the stone from the door of the sepulchre?’ And yet they turned not
back despondingly, but resolutely persevered, trusting in God to provide
the way and means. And so it was as they trusted: by the providence of
God the stone was removed by an angel, and at the sight of the angel the
keepers fled in fear. Where human aid is wanting, there, if we trust in
God, Divine aid is present.”
“Behold the place, where we can see an image of the beatitude which
we may expect on the Resurrection day. We see it in the angel. For he
appeared as ‘a young man,’ and we all shall arise in ‘the measure of
the stature of the fulness of Christ,’ in the flower of youth. His
countenance was like lightning, and the bodies of the blessed shall
be resplendent as the sun. He was vested in ‘raiment white as snow,’
signifying the glory and beatitude of the soul; ‘And white robes were
given unto every one of them’ (Rev. vi. 11), those white robes which
are promised to him that overcometh (Rev. iii. 5). He sat upon the
stone—image of the constant and perpetual rest, ay, and regal dignity of
the blessed in Heaven. And lastly, the angel was ‘sitting on the right
side,’ for in Heaven there is nothing sinister and adverse, but all
right, prosperous, and happy. But of this I have said enough elsewhere.”
The following are from a Palm Sunday discourse:—
“Processions are in use in the Church on this day with palm-branches,
in imitation of that in which Christ our Lord was this day conducted by
the crowd and His disciples to the city of Jerusalem. But our Jerusalem
is in Heaven, and thither are we advancing, led by Christ. With Him, and
by Him, must we enter _the vision of peace_ which Jerusalem signifies.
In this procession he who takes not part, enters not Heaven. For the
idle and the spectators have no admission there. All those who took part
in that triumphal entry into Jerusalem had something to do. Some loosed
and led up the ass and colt, some laid their garments on them, some set
Jesus thereon, some spread the public road with garments, some cut down
branches from the trees, others again sang; the very beasts fulfilled
their office, and bore their Creator. In like manner must we do something
for Christ, if we would become partakers of His glory.”
After having applied these several acts of the multitude to various
conditions of life, in a practical manner, he comes to the seventh,
“Others cried, saying, Hosanna to the Son of David,” which he explains
thus, “This do those who are happy and well-to-do in this present life,
who are tossed by no storms of adversity, but sail on a tranquil sea. But
there is danger in a life so calm in its state of wealth and pleasure.
Yet they who have it, may also enter into the Blessed City, if they
refer those good things which they enjoy to God, and diligently thank
Him for them, ‘singing and making melody in’ their ‘hearts to the Lord;
giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name
of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ (Eph. v. 19, 20.) In like manner the state of
felicity in which they were created was not injurious to the holy angels,
for directly they were created they began to sing praises and give thanks
to God for the benefit they had received, as God testified to Job, ‘The
morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.’
(Job xxxviii. 7.) And by reason of this praise, they were confirmed in
a state of grace and felicity, and received glory. For this cause the
holy patriarchs, though they abounded in earthly possessions, yet lost
not their salvation. For indeed, they referred all their fortune, their
prosperity, their abundance, to God. Thus Noah, saved from the deluge,
‘builded an altar unto the Lord;’ thus Abraham, having received a promise
of the land for a possession, ‘built an altar unto the Lord.’ Thus did
Isaac when he received the promise of the seed; thus did Jacob when
delivered from the fear of Esau; thus, too, in acknowledgment of the good
things they acquired, they called these things gifts of God; as Joseph
called his sons, and as Jacob his sons and his flocks.
“If those who sail in prosperity, would but imitate these, and sing
praises to God, they would reach the port of safety without difficulty.”
I have said that Faber did not excel in simile. I must instance a few of
his attempts at illustration of this nature, to corroborate my statement.
In one sermon, already quoted, he speaks of persons who begin repentance,
and then soon break off from their pious exercises, to return to their
old state of torpor and indifference, and he says they resemble frogs,
which crawl a little way out of their swamp, but, at the least sound to
alarm them, flop into their slough again.
In another sermon, Faber rebukes those who ask thoughtlessly in prayer,
and make no use of the blessings given them in answer, and he tells them
they are like the boys who on bonfire night go about begging wood with
the song,—
“Lieber Herz Sanct Veith,
Bescher uns ein Scheitt.”
“O dear Saint Vitus,
Grant us a faggot!”
And what use do they make of the faggot when they have it? asks the
preacher. Why they make a fire with it, on which they may jump, till they
have stamped it out!
And in speaking of the obedience of servants to their masters, he says
it should resemble that of the man who is being shaved. Such a man turns
his head this way, or that way, puts his chin up, or puts it down, in
obedience to the slightest gesture and sign of the barber.
Faber is fond of quoting popular sayings and proverbs; some of which I
give in his quaint old German:—
1. Wer sich mischt unter die Klew,
Dem fressen die Saw.
2. Ein guter Zoll
Ist spardir woll.
3. Wo tein gleicher Glauben ist
Da auch tein Recht, betrawen ist.
4. Sanct Catyarein,
Schliest die Thur ein.
This is in reference to St. Katharine’s day closing the door of the
Christian year.
I must find space for one story related by Faber on New Year’s Day.
A farmer once told a wise man that he was daily becoming poorer;
whereupon he received from the wise man a casket, with the advice to take
it daily into his kitchen, his garden, his storehouse, his vineyard,
his cellar, his stable, and his field; and then, on the condition that
the box was not opened till the year’s end, the sage promised wealth to
the farmer. The husbandman obeyed implicitly: in the kitchen he found
the cook wasting the meat, in the cellar the vats leaking, in the fields
the labourers idling, in the garden the vegetables unhoed. All these
disorders were rectified, and by the year’s end the man’s fortune was
doubled. Then he opened the casket, and found in it a slip of paper, on
which was written:—
“Wills du Dag dir reichlich geling
Solves taglich zu deinem Ding.”
Which, Faber adds, is like the German saying, The best soil for a field
is that in the farmer’s shoe.
PHILIP VON HARTUNG.
This very popular preacher was horn on the 25th October, 1629, at
Theising, in Bohemia. He entered the novitiate of the Jesuit order
in 1645, at the age of sixteen. He spent his early life in different
colleges, but finally he ascertained that his vocation was to be a
preacher, and thenceforth he devoted his time and energies to the
composition of sermons. He preached most frequently at Sternberg, in
Moravia, and at Glogau, in Silesia. He died at Eger on the 9th March,
1682, aged fifty-three. The greater part of his works were published
after his decease.
1. R. P. Philippi Hartung, Concio tergemina rustica, civica, aulica, in
Dominicas; Colon., 1680, 4to., 2 vols.; Egræ, 1686, fol.; Colon., 1709,
4to.; Norimbergæ, 1718, fol. Conciones tergeminæ in Festa; Norimbergæ,
1711, 4to. Ibid., 1718, fol., 2 vols.
2. Philippicæ sive Invectivæ LX. in Notorios Peccatores. Pro singulis
totius anni Dominicis. Ægræ, 1687, fol.; Calissii, 1688, 4to.; Augustæ et
Dilingæ, 1695, 4to.
3. Problemata Evangelica; Egræ, 1689, fol.; Augustæ et Dilingæ, 1695, 4to.
4. Heiliger Tag; Prag, 1733, 12mo. Heiliger Tag und gute Nacht;
Rauffbeyern, 1745, 12mo.
The sermons of Philip von Hartung are very unequal; some of them are
polished gems, others are very rough diamonds; but none are without
value. The preacher had his mind stored with matter, but he was wanting
in the art of nicely digesting it, and reproducing what fermented in his
brain, in a pleasant form. At least, so we must judge of him from his
published Latin sermons; but it is quite open to question whether these
discourses were delivered as they are written. I am rather inclined to
regard them as his schemes from which he preached, the outlines which
he developed extempore. And this I think the more probable, as the vast
majority are short. It must be remembered that only one edition of the
sermons appeared during the author’s lifetime, and that, only two years
before his death. In this edition are contained the Sunday sermons, but
not those for the festivals.
Hartung gives at least three sermons for each Sunday and festival: one
addressed to a rural congregation, the second to a town audience, and the
third delivered before Court. As might be expected, the _concio aulica_
is the poorest of the set, the preacher being less at his ease, and
more fettered by conventionalities. The rustic sermons are capital. He
preaches on broad facts of religion, Sunday after Sunday, with striking
vigour, considerable beauty, and no small amount of originality.
During the Sundays in Advent he preaches to the rural congregation on
the Last Judgment. The first sermon is on the appearance in Heaven of
the cross, the sign of the Son of Man; the second is on the trumpet-call
waking the dead; the third on the examination of the risen ones; the
fourth on the final dooms of good and bad; each of these is a most
striking sermon.
From the first Sunday after the Epiphany to Quinquagesima, Hartung
preaches on Hell: the absence of Jesus, its chief woe, the hunger and
thirst of the damned, the gloom, the tears, the horror of the abode, the
undying worm of conscience, the fire, the eternity of the punishment, the
murmurs of the damned, &c.
From the first Sunday in Lent to Palm Sunday he preaches on Death: the
time of death the season of temptation, the time of death the moment of
transfiguration, the time of death the time for confession and communion,
the time of death the moment of supreme joy, &c.
At the same time he has another series of rural sermons from Septuagesima
to the close of Lent, on our Lord’s Passion.
From Easter Day, Hartung preaches upon Heaven: the beauty of the
glorified body fills three discourses; he speaks then of the harmony
of Heaven, the immutability of the joy, the vastness and beauty of the
abode of the redeemed, the delight of the five senses in Heaven, and the
thoughts of Heaven.
Throughout Trinity, Hartung preaches upon God. I shall give two sermons
of the preacher, the one on Hell, the other on Heaven.
First Sunday after the Epiphany.
Rural Sermon.
_On Hell._—I.
The absence of Jesus, the chief woe of the lost.
Luke ii. 48. _Thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing._
1. He loses much who in a moment loses his wealth, as did Job.
He loses more who loses the favour of a king, and the love of an intimate
friend, as did Absalom.
He loses more yet who loses himself, as did Ahithophel.
But he loses most who loses Jesus; for he who loses Jesus loses every
thing, a treasure above price, the best of friends, the surest of
counsellors, his _all in all_.
“Omnia si perdas, Jesum servare memento,
Ipse tibi Jesus _omnia solus_ erit.”
The names Jesus and Jehovah are very similar, as St. Jerome observes, for
what Jehovah _signifies_, that Jesus _is_—all in all. Oh! how sweetly
does Ambrose exclaim, “Christ is our all.”
Art thou an infant? He is thy mother, her breast, her milk.
Art thou aged? He is thy staff, thy stay.
Art thou a boy? He is thy path, thy way.
Art thou sick? He is thy physician and thy medicine.
Art thou dying? He buries thy soul, not in the bosom of Abraham, but
in His own pierced side, and thy body He lays in the field which He
purchased for thee at the price of His blood, the field of the Church,
His Bride.
Christ is all to us. He who loses Him, loses all. Truly, if Micah could
say when his idols were removed, _Ye have taken away my gods which I
made,—and what have I more?_ (Judg. xviii. 24;) far more truly may he
complain who sees himself deprived of Jesus.
And this will be the chief woe of the damned—that Jesus is irrevocably
lost to them. For if He were in hell, it would be no hell, as Heaven
without Him would be no Heaven, as the Royal Psalmist exclaims: _Whom
have I in Heaven but Thee?_ To be with Jesus, is to be in Paradise, as
the poor thief learned, when he was assured that he should be with Jesus,
and therefore be in Paradise: _To-day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise_.
To be away from Jesus is to be in hell. Wherefore the sentence of the
Judge is: _Depart from Me, ye cursed_. To be separated from Jesus, and
that for ever; ah! that is _the_ malediction of all, that a hell deeper
than hell itself.
But how is it that we esteem this loss at so small a price? that we lose
Jesus knowingly, wilfully, for a momentary pleasure, for a point of
honour, for a nothing at all; and having lost Him, seek Him not sorrowing?
Our own gross ignorance is the cause, readily consenting to sin, and so
losing us the dear presence of Jesus.
* * * * *
2. How great this loss is, and how great a grief arises from this loss,
those who have experienced the loss know.
Mary Magdalene saw her beloved Jesus fall seven times beneath the great
weight of the cross, she beheld Him hang for three hours upon the cross,
she saw Him taken down from the tree and laid in a sepulchre, and yet not
one Evangelist says that she shed a single tear. But on the most festive
day of the Resurrection, when the angels sang their paschal hallelujah in
full choir, when mourning was laid aside for garments white and clean,
when the dead themselves rose for joy from their graves, and the dawn
blushed a fairer pink than heretofore, and the sun, rejoicing _as a giant
to run his course_, scattered brighter than wonted beams, THEN Magdalene
wept inconsolably, nor deigned to look at the angels who asked, _Woman,
why weepest thou? for_, says the Evangelist, she had _bowed down_ her
face to the earth, as though beaten down and crushed beneath the burden
of her sorrow.
But why this strange paradox! that she should not weep at the time for
tears, and now not laugh at the time for laughter? Magdalene’s answer
explains all: _They have taken away my Lord_. This was her sole and
worthy cause of tears—the absence of her Lord. “She wept more,” says
Augustine, “because He was removed from the sepulchre, than because He
was slain upon the tree.” When He was on the cross, she stood by; when He
was entombed, she sat over against the sepulchre; dying she was near Him,
risen she was parted from Him—therefore flowed her tears. Truly may St.
Bernard say: “So sweet is Jesus to all who taste of Him, so beautiful to
all who behold Him, so dear to all who embrace Him, that a little moment
of absence is greatest cause of sorrow.” But oh! what will it then be, to
lose Him for ever and ever!
3. To this example of a female disciple who loved much, let us add that
of a male disciple who loved very much, that from both we may learn
what it is to lose Jesus. Peter, inseparable, as it were, from Christ,
according to his own testimony, _Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast
the words of eternal life_,—Peter, I say, when he saw his Master rise
from the supper of the law, and gird Himself with the towel, pour water
into a basin, and stoop to wash his feet, refused to permit Him to do
it: _Thou shalt never wash my feet_. Oh, Peter! hast thou forgotten thy
words to thy Lord: _Bid me come to Thee on the water_? And why wilt thou
not dip thy feet in water when thy Lord cometh to thee? Thou art ready
to go with Him _to prison and to death_, and that thou mayest go the
better, He who giveth _His angels charge concerning thee_, is conforming
thy feet that they may bear thee up, _lest thou dash thy foot against
a stone_. Ay! He is placing His hands beneath thy feet to bear thee up
Himself, lest thou stumble at the stone of stumbling and rock of offence.
Why delay? Why shrink back? Why recoil? God loveth not headstrong piety,
nor an obstinate self-will! Listen, Peter, to what Christ answers thee:
_If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with Me_. So many words, so many
lightnings! by these Peter is threatened, not with prison and darkness,
not with horrors and wretchedness, not with pyres and wheels, but with
the absence of Christ Himself, _Thou hast no part with Me_.… Touched by
this lightning-stroke, Peter exclaims: _Lord, not my feet only, but also
my hands and my head_.
4. …
5. Fatal will be that last sentence: _Depart from Me, ye cursed, into
everlasting fire_. Here observe that the first portion of the sentence
refers to expulsion from Christ’s presence as the chief pain of hell.
Of which says St. Chrysostom: “This pain is worse than to be tortured
in the flames.” And St. Bruno: “Let torments be added to torments, let
cruel ministers cruelly rack, let all kinds of scourges increase their
severity, but let us not be deprived of God, whose absence would be the
worst of tortures.” And that this may be confirmed by the mouths of three
witnesses, B. Laurentius Justiniani says, “The interminable want of the
beatific vision will excel all other woes.”
Certainly the damned would feel no pain if they could see Jesus. Three
children were cast into the burning fiery furnace of Babylon, and they
trampled on the flames, they sang among their torments, and called upon
all creatures to unite with them in praise. Would you know the reason? We
have it from the mouth of the hostile king: _Lo! I see four men loose,
walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of
the fourth is like the Son of God_. The form, the very image only, of the
Son of God was sufficient to remove all power from the fierce element,
to turn torment into jubilee, punishment into delight, a furnace into a
joke (_focum in jocum_; a pun), a torturer’s pyre into festive flames. No
less would the damned rejoice if they could thus behold the Son of God,
and would set at nought fire, hell, and damnation.
6. Oh! if after myriads of years they were given a chance of obtaining
one thing from Christ, would they ask of Him any thing else but that
which the blind man required—_Lord, that I may see_? Why did the damned
Dives ask that Lazarus might come with a drop of water at the tip of
his finger to cool his parched tongue? Why did he not rather demand a
refreshing shower, or a pleasant rill of cool water to flow into his
throat? It was because he desired the presence of the glorified Lazarus.
By that presence all his pains would be relieved, his hell would be
turned into Paradise. The longed-for Lazarus is the very Son of God, who
suffered poverty at the gate of the rich, asking for a little crumb of
comfort, but in vain; rejected by the Jews, the dogs of Gentiles came,
and found healing in His wounds.
Now the damned desire of the Father that He should send His Son, who with
the finger of God’s right hand, the Holy Spirit, might touch the stream
of celestial joys, and let one drop distil into the consuming fire, to
refresh the lost for one moment, to give them for one instant a glimpse
of the beauty of that radiant countenance. But in vain; in vain they ask,
they cry, they weep; they shall see the face of Jesus no more.
The sentence was pronounced against the children of outer darkness when
God said, _My face will I turn also from them_. The hiding of that
countenance is the source of all ills. _My face will I turn from them!_
they have set the face of men before them in the place of Mine. They
have loved the beauty of human countenances rather than the glory of
Mine which is divine. _My face will I turn from them!_ I, who turned not
My face from those who spat upon it, and buffeted Me. _My face will I
turn from them_, and My face is _as the sun_, and _they shall never see
light_; My face, which is the source of all gladness; _Lord, lift Thou
up the light of Thy countenance upon us. Thou hast put gladness in my
heart_, and they shall be sad; My face, the prospect of beholding which
tempers more than did the hopes of possessing Rachel. They shall labour
for ever without rest, or solace, or refreshment. And this is the sum of
their woes, that Jesus, whom they lost in the way of life, they find not
again, and shall not see or grasp through ages evermore.
7. Oh, weeping mother of Jesus! who soughtest Him whom thou hadst lost,
through no fault of thine own; by that pain, that anxiety, that aching
void thou didst endure through three days when thy Son was absent; keep,
I pray thee, thy Jesus and my Jesus in our souls, that we may never lose
Him through our grave offence. Rather may the world perish, and all
the vanity therein, than that thy Jesus should be lost to us! Rather
may health and life, and good report, and fortune, hope and all things
perish, if only we may keep Jesus, without whom all things else are
nought, for He is all in all.
The Second Sunday after Easter.
Rural Sermon.
_On Heaven._—VI.
The unity and concord of the Heaven-dwellers.
John x. 16. _There shall be one fold and one shepherd._
1. And when will that happy time at last arrive, when the fold will be
but one, and one the Shepherd, so that once more all shall be _of one
heart and of one soul_ among those that believe?
Alas! the fold of Christ has ever been broken through: Nicolaitans and
Corinthians in apostolic times, then Gnostics, Manichæans, Arians,
Donatists. These were followed by Iconoclasts, Albigenses, Hussites and
sects of this age, which I will not name[3].
Shall there ever be discord in the faith? Shall we in the same fold be
ever severed in heart?… Unity is not to be found here: not here, but in
Heaven, where the Pastor is one, and the God triune; where the flock is
twofold, human and angelic. Of the concord of the blessed shall I now
speak.…
2. There is not so great a variety among garden flowers or meadow herbs,
among forest trees, among fishes of the sea or birds of the air, among
meats at a feast or nations upon earth, as there is among the saints.
Yet, though so great is the variety, great also is the harmony. The
Psalmist, considering the wondrous unity of the saints, breaks forth
into praise to God, who _maketh men to be of one mind in an house_. They
have the same will, not as brothers, but as one man, and yet they are of
all tribes, and tongues, and nations, and they are a _great multitude
which no man can number_, yet all understand each other, for each can
speak all tongues.
The variety of nations, and sexes, and states, and merits, and natures
will afford delight. The angels in their three hierarchies, in each of
which are three choirs, and in each choir nine mansions; thus are they
divided, yet in this great crowd there is no crowding. The limbs are
not bound to the body as closely as the elect are united in the bonds
of their charity. Why are the members of the body so united? Because,
forsooth, they communicate into one spirit. Though their natures may
differ, and their offices vary, one soul conciliates them; then how much
more will the Divine Spirit, by whom all the elect live, make unity such
as this and much more excellent. None will contradict, none contend with,
none emulate, none envy another. _Without are dogs._ In that country
there will be no Cain to slay his brother Abel; in that family there
will be no Jacob to hate Esau; in that house no Ishmael to contend with
Isaac; in that kingdom no Saul to persecute David; in that college no
Judas to betray his Master. Hence their exceeding joy. _Behold, how good
and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity!_ All
will the same thing, for all have but one rule which they observe, the
will of God, against which they can rebel no more.… Wherefore, because
it is the will of God that Peter should be greater than James, each
will be content, each will rejoice in the joy of the other as though
it were his own. Consequently, St. Augustine says, “Each will be glad
in the beatitude of another, as much as in his own ineffable joy, and
he who has friends has as many joys. Whatever is needful, whatever
pleases, is there; all riches, all rest, all solace. For what can be
wanting to him where God is, to whom nothing lacks? There, all know God
without error, see Him without end, praise Him without fatigue, love
Him without fail. And in this delight, all repose full of God; cleaving
ever to blessedness, they are blessed; contemplating ever eternity, they
are eternal.” See how good and how pleasant! so pleasant, that one day
granted in Heaven in the enjoyment of the society of the blessed would be
of sufficient value to make us resign all the delights of this life, to
make us renounce all evil companionship. _One day in Thy courts is better
than a thousand._ For all joys, all pleasures of this world, as compared
to the perennial delight in Heaven flowing from the vision of God and the
society of the saints, are but as a drop to the ocean.
3. Man is a social animal, and though he may abound in all, yet if he
have not a companion he is not happy. Let a man be shut up in a palace
or a garden, and be left alone, he will soon weary of the solitude, and
ask to be either let go or to have a companion admitted. God Himself
judged this when He saw that it was not well for Adam to be alone, even
in Paradise. Seneca said divinely, “The possession of no good is pleasant
without a companion.”
God, though He needs none, yet seems to affect society, for He says, _My
delights were with the sons of men_. Indeed, when He designed to form
man, He said, _Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let
us make_, one labour of the Three Persons; and the one work is social
man. _After our likeness_, that as there is plurality of Persons in one
Nature, so there might be a plurality of bodies, yet a unity of souls.
But this unity will not be perfect, this likeness complete, except in the
celestial Paradise, where, says St. John, _we shall be like Him_; then,
indeed, many will be one, and one like all, in the admirable unity of
souls. Drexelius ingeniously observes, “God found an admirable art, by
which a happy one might make the joys of many myriads his own, and thus
each might be hundredfold happy.” The art consists in this, that the
thought is deep rooted in each of the blessed ones, a thought sweeter
than honey: God loves me intimately and infinitely, and I love God with
my whole being; and these all love me, and I love them; eternally shall I
be loved, eternally loving. Hence the immense joy which each feels in the
other’s happiness.… Isaiah beholding this celestial charity, this goodly
unity in the land flowing with milk and honey, says, _My people shall
dwell in a peaceable habitation, and in sure dwellings, and in quiet
resting-places_.
_Shall sit down_ (Vulg.). This the position, this the mark of perennial
rest. Now we stand and fight till we drop into our graves.… _In the
beauty of peace_ (Vulg.). Beautiful is that which is perfect; in Heaven
peace is most beautiful, for there is it altogether most perfect. _In the
tabernacles of confidence_ (Vulg.). When six hundred thousand men went
forth out of Egypt, they dwelt in tabernacles, but not in confidence;
in tabernacles of fear and anxiety, for the way before them was to be
opened by the sword, and the foe was to be dreaded on every side. But in
Heaven there is no foe, nothing hostile, no ambushes, no heartburnings;
but security and confidence, unity and charity; therefore they sit down
in _wealthy rest_ (Vulg.), for they will not only possess what they have
hoped for, but more than they hoped for, ay! more than they were capable
of hoping for. One possesses what all possess, and therefore they are all
of _one heart and of one soul_.
4. But how will it be, that with such disparity of rewards, there will be
no strife and envy? This may best be explained by a simile. If a father
had ten sons of different statures, and were to dress them each alike in
silk, the smallest would not envy the greatest because his breast was
wider, his sleeves fuller, his cloak longer, but would be content with
his own little tunic, and would be unwilling to exchange it. So, too,
the eldest would be well pleased in the little brother because he was
suitably equipped. The same too in a banquet, where each may drink what,
and how much, he likes. But St. Augustine has a more graceful simile,
taken from the strings of a harp. The strings are of various lengths,
but when struck they produce harmony. “The saints will have their own
harmonious differences in degrees, just as the sweetest music is that
produced by diverse, but not adverse sounds.”
5. He who would attain to this most blessed society, ought to be in the
fold of Christ, that one, true, good Church Catholic, which is the fold
of Christ, beyond which is neither unity of doctrine nor the bond of the
Good Shepherd’s charity.
Secondly, let the Christians who are in this fold learn from the sheep
to seek unity. Let them remain closely bound to each other, and not bite
each other as dogs, nor rend as wolves, nor kick as horses, nor butt as
goats; so, O Christian, abstain from tossing thy neighbour on the horns
of pride, injuring him with the bark of envy, rending him with the tooth
of detraction; but like a gentle lamb cleave to the Good Shepherd, and
thou shalt be of the dear sheep of Christ. For what St. Bonaventura says
seraphically, touching the religious state, is to be repeated a thousand
times: “There is no greater proof of a man’s predestination, and that he
is conforming himself to God, than that he should exhibit himself to be
gentle and patient,” and I add, that he should show his love for concord
and unity.
* * * * *
I think that no one can peruse these two sermons, which I have given
almost entire, curtailing them but slightly, without being convinced of
the overflowing charity and deep-seated piety of the holy man who wrote
them. Whatever there may be of crudity in the style, every thought gushes
from the pure spring of the love of God, open and flowing in the heart of
the good Jesuit. _He that believeth on Me, out of his belly shall flow
rivers of living water_, may justly be applied to Philip von Hartung.
Many and many a rill of the water of Life may be lighted on in the
garden of delights contained in his volumes. Often, perhaps, the water
is discoloured, but more often is it limpid and crystalline as when it
leaped out of the fount of God.
In style Hartung resembles the more earnest preachers of dissent, because
he speaks from the heart. _Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth
speaketh._ If our preachers had the zeal and the love of God which was
found among the great Catholic orators, and is still to be discovered
among dissenting ministers, there would be fewer complaints of the
barrenness of the land, less deadness to the calls of God in professed
Church-goers. It is quite impossible for a preacher to effect the
slightest good unless he feels what he says from the depths of his soul;
it is hopeless for him to expect to draw hearts to the love of Jesus,
if he knows not what that love is. And the sermon, however eloquent and
finished in style, will never convert sinners, unless its inspiration is
derived from God; and that inspiration can alone be obtained by prayer.
He who prays much is filled with a power of winning souls quite
inexplicable; he sheds a sort of magnetic influence upon hearts, drawing
them to Christ; and, though the words be few and ill-chosen, they can do
a work for God which the most polished masterpiece of elocution would be
powerless to effect.
I think the story is told of Francis Borgia, that he was asked to preach
at a certain church in a distant city. On his arrival he was too ill
to speak, and he requested some one to occupy his place. “No!” said the
priest who had summoned him; “only mount the pulpit, say nothing, and
come away.” He did so; hearts were touched, people burst into tears, and
the confessionals were filled with penitents. He was a man of _Prayer_.
JOSEPH DE BARZIA.
I know of no preacher of his age who comes so near to Paolo Segneri, the
great luminary of Italian eloquence, as this Spaniard, De Barzia. He
flourished at the beginning of the seventeenth century, and was Bishop of
Cadiz.
His works are:—
Christianus animarum excitator. Auctore J. de Barzia, Soc. Jesu; Augustæ
Vindelicorum, 1721, 2 vols. folio.
There is, I believe, a mistake in this title; Joseph de Barzia was not a
Jesuit; at all events, the brothers Bächer have not included him in their
catalogue.
Compendium excitatoris Christiani; lingua primum Hispanica vulgatum
ipsomet ab Auctore Rdo. D. Josepho de Barzia Episcopo Gaditano, nunc
demum Latine versum a R. P. Petro Gummersbach, Soc. Jesu; Coloniæ, 1724,
4to.
Manductio ad excitationem Christianorum; seu, Sermones Missionales.
Auctore Jos. de Barzia; Augustæ Vindelic., 1732, 2 vols. in one, 8vo.
Ibid. 1737, 2 vols. in one, 8vo.
The sermons of De Barzia are model mission-discourses; they are
interesting, pointed, full of illustration and anecdote, and are
eminently qualified to arrest the attention, and arouse the consciences
of the hearers.
The good Bishop possessed the art of never suffering the attention of his
audience to flag. He carefully avoided wearing his subject thread-bare,
and the moment he saw that his shot had taken effect, he opened a new
battery from another point altogether, yet aimed at the same object.
His knowledge of the Bible is wonderful, even for a Roman Catholic
Post-Mediæval preacher; his sermons teem with Scriptural illustrations
of the most apposite character, culled from every portion of Holy Writ.
It is not that he affects quotations from Scripture in the manner
of Helmesius, who, in an Advent sermon, could make one hundred and
seventy-five quotations, but that he found in his Bible an inexhaustible
store of illustration for every subject which he handled.
The majority of Mediæval sacred orators, and their immediate followers,
seemed to think, and consequently speak, in Scripture terms, but De
Barzia preaches to unlettered men, who knew little or nothing of their
Bibles, beyond the broad outlines of sacred history, and who would
not recognize quotations from the prophetic books or the Epistles. He
therefore avoids these to a considerable extent, unless he can point them
out severally as words of Scripture, and confines himself chiefly to the
narrative portions of the inspired volume. He selects an incident which
can bear upon his subject, relates it in the most vigorous style, and
then applies it with force and effect.
And these happy selections show such thorough acquaintance with the
sacred writings, that it is impossible not to see that Holy Scripture
formed the staple of the good Bishop’s meditations, night and day. His
sermons are eminently practical; they are not dogmatic. De Barzia makes
no attempt to instruct in Catholic doctrine, he presupposes that his
hearers are orthodox, he does not suggest the possibility of there being
a heretic among them, he makes no attempt to arm them for the conflict
of the faith, but he goes straight as an arrow to their consciences, and
stirs them to the perception of their moral obligations.
In this he differs widely from the German and French preachers of his
age, who seldom preached without firing a broadside at heresy, and
generally took the opportunity to furnish their hearers with arguments in
favour of Catholic doctrines and practices.
De Barzia is more subjective than the other preachers of his day, and he
excels in sermons calculated to strike terror into the impenitent heart.
Each man has his special line, and his was the declaration of God’s
judgments. Marchantius would melt the stony heart with love, De Barzia
shatter it with fear. And yet his soul was full of tenderness and the
love of God, which exude from him occasionally, as the aromatic gum from
the frankincense.
For instance, take the following:—“Ungrateful sinner, let me speak to
thee in the name of Jesus crucified—‘Why!’ says He to thee, ‘who filled
thee with such rage against Me? _What iniquity have your fathers found
in Me?_ (Jer. ii. 5.) Of what sin canst thou charge Me, that thou ragest
so furiously against Me? _Many good things have I showed you_; I have
displayed abundant charity, I have poured forth many benefits; _for which
of those works do ye stone Me?_ (John x. 32.) Art thou enraged against
Me because I brought thee into existence out of nothing? Art thou vexed
because I have watchfully preserved thee? because I have brought thee
to a saving faith? Dost thou count it an injury that I gave up life and
honour, blood and all, upon the cross for thee?… Come now, answer thou
Me, wherefore art thou enraged against Me?’ O Jesu, best beloved! cease
to inquire! I own that there is no cause, I acknowledge my audacity,
and I bewail it! Flow, my tears, flow, and streaming over my cheeks,
testify to my sorrow! Break, O heart, break, through excess of love! I
acknowledge, I own, I see clearly my condition. What have I done! I have
returned Thee evil for good, and hatred for Thy good will. Which was it,
love or enmity, which crucified Thee? O Lord! it was love, and it was
enmity. Thine the love, mine the enmity.”
The following abstract is a good specimen of the Bishop’s quaintness.
The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost.
Sermon III.
God is to be loved with the whole heart, and even light sins are to be
avoided.
Matt. xxii. 37. _Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart._
The unhappy Ishbosheth, son of Saul, was slain in his own house, after
the destruction of his father’s army. How, think you? Was the door open
for the foe to enter? It was open: for he had been winnowing wheat; and
they _came about the heat of the day to the house of Ishbosheth, who lay
on a bed at noon. And they came thither into the midst of the house, as
though they would have fetched wheat; and they smote him._ (2 Sam. iv. 5,
6.) Here was neglect of ordinary watchfulness, a little heedlessness, a
little drowsiness, a little care for the wheat, leading to loss of life.
St. Eucher says truly, “When man loses the solicitude of discretion, he
leaves the door open for the ingress of evil spirits to the slaying of
his soul.”
Truly, many an ill has come to us through this indifference to our
danger, through carelessness for our spiritual peril.
Oh, what precious swords are rusted, because they are not drawn from
their scabbards!
Oh, what noble horses become sluggish in their stalls, because they are
not exercised!
Oh, what crystalline pools nourish reptiles, because they are not stirred!
Oh, what great souls, living in honour and purity, have fallen into an
abyss of sin, because they have been negligent! “For,” says Lessius, “he
who serves God negligently, deserves in return that God should not exert
Himself to care so greatly for him.”
Little venial faults begin to accumulate and increase till the whole
moral nature is clouded by them. The intellect is darkened, the fervour
of charity cooled, the spirit stained; the strength fails in temptation,
the soul is enervated in prayer, the whole man is neglectful in the
practice of good works; and why? Because he has neglected to purge
himself of his little faults, to struggle against his infirmities. King
David often cried to God, _Incline Thine ear unto me; bow down Thine
ear to me_. (Ps. xvii. 6; xxxi. 2; lxxi. 2.) It was not enough that God
should hear his prayer, but He must also bow down over him. Just as sick
men, when their voices are broken and faint with disease, require the
physician to incline his ear to their lips; so does David, well knowing
how weakened and broken is his prayer through venial sins and daily
transgressions, ask God in like manner to incline His ear to him.
Oh, how great is the evil arising from little ills! A grain of sand, how
light it is! but many grains accumulated will sink a stately vessel! How
light is a drop of rain! yet many gathered into one stream will submerge
houses! How trifling is the loss of a little tile! yet it will admit the
rain to rot the timber, to break down the walls, and to produce a ruin!
In like manner one little venial sin may lead to destruction, if it be
neglected. It is a trifle looked at by itself, but it has brought a soul
to perdition, in that, as St. Thomas asserts, a venial sin may dispose
towards the commission of a deadly sin!
It is worth noting, the manner in which the sea-crab gets an oyster and
eats it. In the morning early the oyster gapes, that it may bask in the
sunbeams. Then up steals the crab, not boldly advancing upon the fish, or
it would at once close its shell and escape him, or clutch him tight by
his claws. What course does the crafty animal adopt? It takes a little
pebble and tosses it into the oyster. This prevents the valves from
closing, and then he rushes up and devours the oyster at his leisure.
Soul of man! just so comes the evil one towards thee; not alluring thee
to some sin of horrible deadliness, but flinging a little pebble—a tiny
fault—into thy heart, and if thou cast it not from thee at once, but
keepest thy heart still unclosed, he obtaineth an entry and destroyeth
thee utterly.
Take another specimen. The following passages are condensed from a sermon
on the vanity of all the labour of sinners, and the lamentations of lost
souls when they behold in retrospect their life squandered in empty
trifles.
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost.
Sermon III.
Luke v. 5. _We have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing._
Those words of Job are worthy of notice, _I have made my bed in the
darkness_. I will explain them to you by the use of a simile.
A lighted candle is given to a servant that he may retire to rest by
its light, after that he has made his bed. The fellow snatches up the
candle and begins to wander about the house, dawdling over this or that,
gossiping with one or another, till the candle is expended, flickers up,
and dies out. Then, in hurry, he runs to his chamber, but he is without
light, and he is constrained to make and to retire to his _bed in the
darkness_. O Christian soul! if you sigh for the rest of eternal glory,
know that God has given to you for the very purpose of finding it, and
preparing for it, the taper of life. If you consume that life in idleness
and in vanities, you will have to make your bed in the darkness, and in
the outer darkness lie down to rest,—to rest! oh, no! to seek rest, and
find none on that ill-made couch, to toil all the night of eternity and
to take nothing; for the time of preparation has been wasted, and the
work which was to be done has been neglected till the allotted time for
doing it has expired.
Of the virtuous woman declared King Solomon, _She layeth her hands to the
spindle._ Where is the flax? “Spun,” says St. Ambrose. See what a mystery
is involved here! The flax is attached to the head of the distaff,
and the spun thread is twisted round the spindle. “On the distaff is
that which is to be done, on the spindle that which is done,” says the
same Father. Therefore does Solomon commend the just soul which has
accomplished its work, not that which has its work to accomplish: for
that soul which has finished its work is secure, not that which has to
commence it. Look, then, to thy spindle, see if of the work God has set
before thee any is spun off and completed; if so, there lay thy hand,
for there is thy virtue, there thy security. Christian man! that the
praise of the virtuous soul may be thine, it behoveth thee not to have
a handful of flax at thy distaff-head, but a full spindle at thy side:
not purposes, but acts; not confession to be made, but confession made;
not restitution to be accomplished, but restitution accomplished; not
injuries to be forgiven, but injuries already forgiven. Things that are
future are but flax on the distaff-head, flax which will blaze up and
leave no trace; but things of the present are thread spun, and therefore
is the virtuous woman commended, who layeth her hands to the spindle.
Terrible is the sentence of God in Deuteronomy: _If I whet My glittering
sword, and Mine hand take hold of judgment; I will render vengeance to
Mine enemies._ (Deut. xxxii. 41.) And where will God whet His glittering
sword? Where are blades usually whetted? Let us look. Surely on a
whirling circular stone. And on what stone will God whet His sword? I
reply, on that stony heart of the sinner, which is ever revolving, never
at rest. Watch the grindstone a little while. See how it plunges down
into a trough of turbid, foul, and muddy water. O stone, stone! why rush
down into this filth? Rise up, rise up from this uncleanness. I put my
hand to it, I set the stone in motion. How easily is it made to revolve!
It moves—it leaves that sink of filth—it mounts upwards. In vain! It
whirls round, and with a rush seeks again its bed of pollution.
Heart of sinner, hard and stony! why dost thou not emerge from the
corruption in which thou wallowest? ‘I will emerge,’ thou repliest. Why
dost thou not leave thy enmities, thy passions, thy shameful uncleanness?
‘I will leave them,’ is thy answer. And yet nothing comes of these fine
promises. Always on the move like the grindstone, you never remove from
the trough of slime; always leaving sin, that with fresh relish you may
plunge into it again.
Know, you sinners who are so full of good resolutions which come to
nought, so full of promises of amendment which end in relapse, that it is
on whirling grindstones such as you that _the glittering sword_ of Divine
vengeance is whetted. _If I whet My glittering sword, … I will render
vengeance to Mine enemies._
To whom, I ask, will He render vengeance? To His enemies; to those such
as you who have such excellent purposes, but who have never accomplished
one good purpose. Then when that sword is whetted, too late will you
exclaim with the lost, ‘We have erred, we have erred, we have taken
nothing!’ Wretched sinners! do you hear these threats, these warnings,
these words of God calling you to repentance? You hear, and yet you stop
your ears as the deaf adder; you despise, you laugh, you mock, you harden
into stone!
Well, then, be hard as stone, have your laugh out, despise as you will,
stop your ears! you are at liberty so to do! Yet, mark me, the time will
assuredly come when the laugh will be turned against you.
_Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out My hand, and
no man regarded; but ye have set at nought all My counsel, and would none
of My reproof_: awful is that which follows! _I also will laugh at your
calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh._ (Prov. i. 24-26.) O good
God! O goodness immeasurable, dost Thou laugh at the destruction of Thy
sons! Alas! terrible laughter is that indeed.
Hannibal is said, after the subjection of Carthage by Rome, to have
walked through the city, and, as he saw the tears and heard the wailing
of the people who groaned under the terrible burden imposed upon them by
the conquerors, to have laughed. Then, when his fellow-citizens rose up
against him in indignation, he replied, “I laugh not from joy to see your
bondage; but I laugh at your tears, now too late, now in vain; for had
you in proper time fought as men, now you would not be weeping as women.”
Behold, O sinners, as in a picture, your tears and God’s laughter: you
bewailing your misery, and God laughing at your tears: you sobbing
through eternity under the burden of the Devil’s rule, and God laughing
at your sobs: you lamenting in the agony of eternal fire, and God
laughing at your lamentations: and all—because when as Christians you
might have fought the good fight, now, when too late, you break forth
into tears which are vain, and into lamentations which are fruitless.
* * * * *
Surely this is a very terrible, yet striking sermon, one sure to tell on
rude and uncultivated minds, from the vigour of the moral application,
and the richness of the imagery.
There are some very remarkable passages in the next sermon, which is
on the subject of the merit of good works consisting in the inward
disposition, and not in the magnitude of the outward act.
De Barzia relates the story of the anointing of David. He pictures Samuel
before the sons of Jesse admiring the stalwart form of Eliab, and the
stature of Aminadab, and thinking that one of these must be the destined
king. Yet no—it is none of these. The word of God bids him anoint David,
the youngest, the feeblest, the shepherd boy: for _the Lord said
unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance.… Man looketh on the outward
appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart._ Oh! exclaims the Bishop,
how different are the judgments of God from those of man!
Men often preach up some act as great and wonderful which is worthless in
God’s judgment. Men estimate the quality of a work from the outside, God
weighs the inward intent of the soul: as says the wisest of kings: _All
the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes; but the Lord weigheth the
spirits_. (Prov. xvi. 2.) This is the difference between the judgments of
God and of man, and this difference will be made manifest when all things
shall be revealed before the Divine tribunal. To that judgment-seat will
come the Christian soul and there give account of all its works, its
alms, its fasts, its prayers: boastfully perhaps it will advance, resting
on the multitude of these, reckoning to enter through them into life
everlasting, and to merit the crown of immortality.
Look! what an eminent work of mercy! a large sum of money given as dower
to a poor girl! Look! what a meritorious fast! three days’ abstinence
on bread and water! _Look not on his countenance._ To the eye these
seem to be great works, and yet they are accounted as nothing by God,
because they were not wrought with a right intent: whereas the crust of
stale bread given in the name of a disciple, and out of love to God, is
rewarded with a crown of eternal glory. I am reminded, says the preacher,
of a story told by John Geminiano, which is to the point.
Two women came before a judge, contending about the ownership to a clew
of wool, which each claimed to be her own.
The judge inquired as to the shred upon which the wool had been wound.
One woman declared she had wound it upon a bit of black rag, another
affirmed that the piece was white. Then the judge ordered the wool to be
unwound, and delivered it over to the woman who had asserted that she
had used a black rag; for the end of the thread was found twined round a
black centre.
Oh! how carefully will all excuses, all outward appearances, be wound
off at the last, and the true intent within be revealed! Now every act
is like a clew, and who can tell what lies at its core, and what its
origin?—all that is hidden. Now self-love persuades man that his show
of virtue is wound about the best intention, as a white bobbin, but too
often has it been coiled about the black one of vanity or self-will.
“Let each man fear,” says St. Bernard, “lest, in that searching
examination, his righteousness prove to be sin.” The Amalekite soldier,
who dealt King Saul his death-blow, came exultingly to David expecting
great reward, and lo! he received the punishment of death; in like manner
will many a man at the last perish eternally who has expected to triumph.…
When thou appearest before God the righteous Judge, say, whose will be
the works thou hast wrought? Thy studies, thy labours, thy vigils, thy
cares, thy traffic, thy contracts, thy business of life, whose will
they be? Works of salvation to thee, or works of avarice? All the many
Sacrifices of the altar at which thou hast assisted! All the pious
sermons thou hast listened to, all the alms thou hast distributed, all
the penances thou hast undergone, all the Communions thou hast received,
all the fasts and mortifications thou hast undertaken, all the works of
mercy thou hast performed! Tell me, are they to be referred to nature or
to grace, to reason or to concupiscence, to self-love or to the love of
God? Tell me, are they works meriting eternal salvation, or deserving
condemnation? _Whose shall those things be which thou hast provided?_
Christian soul, all this is now veiled in mystery inscrutable, but this
will be made manifest before the sun, when the Judge shall call up for
examination all thy works, and pronounce upon them, one after another,
according to the end, according to the method, according to the intent,
according to the circumstances wherewith they have been wrought.
* * * * *
This admirable lesson is taken from the first sermon for the Sixth
Sunday after Pentecost. I will now give a sketch of one of De Barzia’s
complete sermons; and I shall select for the purpose one on the subject
of the solemn account those will have to give who hinder others in their
spiritual progress.
There are other sermons by the preacher on the same subject, but this
is the best among discourses which are all very good. To my taste this
sermon is superior to any by Paolo Segneri.
The text is from the Gospel for the day—with us, the Gospel for the
Purification.
The Sunday after Christmas Day.
Sermon II.
Luke ii. 40. _And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with
wisdom; and the grace of God was upon Him._
_Exordium._ Among other iniquities which Absalom committed in his
rebellion, perhaps the chief was that he, by flatteries and fair
promises, stole away the hearts of the men of Israel from their
allegiance to David.
Foolish youth! exclaims the preacher; see the veterans of the king drawn
up before thee in battle array! See the army of mighty warriors assembled
to overthrow thee! Thy destruction impends; it is but a matter of a few
hours more or less. Yet, lo! on the contrary, I see David fleeing; David,
the mighty man of war; David, who shrank not before Goliath; David, who
quailed not before Saul; he, even he, without striking a blow, turns
his back to flee before an undisciplined rabble! How can we account for
this? Chrysostom replies, “David fled, not because he feared, but because
he did not choose to see his son slain before his eyes.” It was love,
not fear, which put him to flight. So great was the guilt of Absalom in
weaning the children of Israel from their duty, that it could only be
washed out in the blood of the offender. And all those who by enticing
words, or by evil example, allure others from their duty to God, their
true King, act as did Absalom, and like Absalom will be slain, _all the
sort of them_.
_Propositio._ The subject of this sermon is the severe judgment which
will fall on all those who put stumbling-blocks in the way of their
brethren, or who, in any way, impede their spiritual progress.
_Confirmatio._ We do not hear of God’s wrath being kindled against any
nation so fiercely as against Amalek. _I will blot out the remembrance of
Amalek from under Heaven_, He swore, and He bade Saul again and again,
_Go and smite Amalek_. What was the sin of this people, that Divine fury
should thus be roused against it? The answer is threefold.
First, the children of Amalek opposed the progress of the Israelites to
the Promised Land; and Moses reminded the people that this sin was not to
go unpunished: _Remember what Amalek did unto thee by the way, when ye
were come forth out of Egypt; how he met thee by the way, and smote the
hindermost of thee, even all that were feeble behind thee, when thou wast
faint and weary; therefore it shall be, when the Lord thy God giveth thee
rest from all thine enemies round about, in the land which the Lord thy
God giveth thee for an inheritance to possess it, that thou shalt blot
out the remembrance of Amalek from under Heaven; thou shalt not forget
it._ (Deut. xxv. 17-19.)
But this is not a sufficient answer. Did not other nations rise up
against Israel to withstand them in their advance? The Midianites fought
against them; the Amorites blocked their way; Og, King of Basan, fell
upon them; and yet against these no such fearful denunciations of wrath
were launched. _The Lord hath sworn, that the Lord will have war with
Amalek from generation to generation._ And four hundred years after:
_Thus saith the Lord of Hosts, I remember that which Amalek did to
Israel, how he laid wait for him in the way, when he came up from Egypt.
Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and
spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and
sheep, camel and ass._ (1 Sam. xv. 3.) For the second reason turn to the
thirty-sixth chapter of Genesis.
_Timna was concubine to Eliphaz, Esau’s son; and she bare to Eliphaz
Amalek._ Consequently the Israelites and the Amalekites were near of
kin; they were sprung from the loins of one father, Isaac. This nation,
consequently, which was bound by kindred to assist the Israelites, forgot
its ties of blood, and fell upon them.
There is also a third reason for the annihilation of Amalek. It was
the FIRST of all the nations to assault the chosen people, the first
to fall upon them with the sword, the first to stop the way to the
Promised Land. This was the final reason why Amalek was singled out for
such overwhelming destruction that Balaam in prophecy could exclaim:
_Amalek was the first of the nations that warred against Israel_ (marg.),
_but his latter end shall be that he perish for ever_. The children of
Israel were in a critical position when encamped at Rephidim: they had
just escaped from Egypt, and in a few days they might return thither if
their hearts failed at the prospect of war. They had begun to sigh for
the leeks, and the onions, and the flesh-pots of Egypt, and but little
more was wanting to bring their discontent to a climax, and to send them
back to their captivity. Amalek, being the first to attack them, set
an example to other nations of the land, provoking Midianite, Moabite,
and Amorite to regard the chosen people of God as enemies instead of
treating them as wayfarers, to impede their progress instead of opening
to them a passage.
_Applicatio._ From this learn, Christian soul, that if God chose to
annihilate this people because it hindered the chosen race in its
progress to the Land of Promise, because it opposed this people which it
was bound by relationship to assist, because it was the first to do so,
thereby encouraging others to stand against it—then great indeed will be
God’s wrath with you, if you prevent others from reaching the Heavenly
Canaan, they being members of the same spiritual family, and you being
the one to encourage others to destroy the souls for which Christ died.
Let infidel, heathen, and heretic persecute, their guilt is tolerable
compared to yours; if you lead from the paths of righteousness, and
you be the first so to lead astray, one who is of the same household
of Faith, a brother, a relation, one redeemed by Christ’s blood, a
member of the same mystical body, of the same Church—think what you are
thereby doing! Christ, the true Moses, is leading His people from the
Egypt of sin, through the wilderness of this world, into the country of
everlasting felicity. And what are you doing? Barring the passage to
God’s people, undoing the work of Christ, setting at nought the blood of
the covenant. Terrible will be the condemnation of those who act thus!
De Barzia, after having appealed earnestly to the consciences of his
hearers, and urged them to examine themselves whether they have ever put
an occasion of falling in their brother’s way, bursts into a magnificent
piece of irony. He says that he hears the excuse made,—“Come, now!
persecution is a strong term, unjustifiably strong; I never persecuted
any one for leading a holy life: I may have teased So-and-so, but that
is all; just teased him in joke, you understand.” In joke! a joke more
ruinous than the worst cruelty of a persecutor. A joke! Ah, ha! a right
merry joke, a capital joke, indeed! Go, cut the pipes which bring water
into this city—only in joke, of course—cut the pipes, then, and watch
the result. Such a joke! the fountains fail, the mills cease working,
the gardens are parched up, men and beasts perish through thirst. Oh,
magnificent joke!
This the Bishop applies with all his vehemence and fire. He then
continues by reference to the old law: _Life for life, eye for eye, tooth
for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burning for burning, wound
for wound, stripe for stripe_. If a man smote another with a stone and
injured him, by the law of Moses he was bound to pay for the cure of the
injured man, and also for the loss of time. By which is signified, that
if any one by evil example, or bad advice, cause spiritual sickness in
another, he must atone for that, suffering for the sins which he has led
his brother to commit.
_Epilogus._ Woe to such an one on the last great day, when the Judge
says, “See, impious man, this child was waxing strong _in spirit, filled
with wisdom, and the grace of God was upon him_, but you by your sneers
and ridicule, by your jests and scoffs, turned him aside from the path
of My commandments into the way of death. You have made My labours for
that poor soul in vain; come now, make recompense for all that you have
done,” and He shall deliver him to the tormentors till he have paid the
debt.
At the risk of wearying the reader, I shall give in outline a specimen of
one of De Barzia’s Saints’-day sermons, and I select the third for the
festival of St. John the Divine.
Text, John xxi.—_What is that to thee?_
_Introduction._ Although our Lord promised to His disciples that they
should have whatsoever they asked, yet He made the condition—_If ye
abide in Me_. Wherefore? Judas had at this time gone out, so that those
to whom the promise was made were certain to abide in Christ; and He in
His foreknowledge knew that of the eleven all would remain constant till
death. But Jesus spake not out of His omniscience as God, but out of care
for the eleven, lest they should be elated and puffed up with spiritual
pride, knowing that they were ordained to eternal life. Christ spoke
conditionally, so as to teach them fear and anxiety for themselves, and
in order to keep them humble.
_Subject._ The uncertainty in which we are as to our future condition is
salutary; for it keeps us on the watch, it makes us cautious and anxious
about our salvation.
_Confirmation._ When Jacob fled from Laban, he was pursued by his
father-in-law, who had lost his household gods which Rebecca had stolen.
Laban charged Jacob with the theft, and Jacob bore the charge with
patience, and without resentment. But after that Laban had searched
through the goods of his son-in-law, _but found them not. And then_, but
not till then, _Jacob was wroth and chode with Laban_. (Gen. xxxi. 36.)
How was this? At first Jacob was full of meekness, but now he is wroth.
Oleaster gives the reason, he says: “At first Jacob knew not whether the
idols were amongst his stuff or not, but now, the moment that he feels
himself secure, his anger breaks forth against Laban for having accused
him of the theft. As long as he was afraid lest the idols should be
found, he was silent; but when they were not found, then he became bold.”
And which of you, Christian souls, knows whether some idols may not be
secreted in the dark corners of your hearts, some secret sins buried deep
in your bosoms? No man knoweth. Wonderful is the providence of God which
leaves us ignorant as to our final condition, so as to keep us humble.
But suppose now, O man! that you were assured of your final acceptance,
satisfied that there was no idol hidden in the depths of your heart,
would you not be filled with pride as was Jacob, would you not break
forth into words of contempt for those who are not so sure?
_Epilogue._ Thanks be to Thee, O infinite God, for Thy great mercy in
having veiled Thy final judgment from our eyes, so that every one is
rendered fearful lest he should miss the prize of his high calling, and
fail to reach the crown for which he is now striving. For Thou hast
concealed it solely for our good: yet is our future state foreknown to
Thee; and Thou wouldst have us serve Thee not for the hope of reward, or
for the fear of torment, but from love: and Thou art worthy to be loved
and served though there were no future glory, no future hell.
JACQUES MARCHANT.
Although the subject of this notice was well known in his own day as an
eloquent preacher, his sermons, with few exceptions, have not come to
us in their original condition, and Marchant is known now chiefly as
a dogmatic and moral theologian. His great work, the Hortus Pastorum,
contains the notes of his sermons and catechetical instructions, as
we know from his own account; and he published them in a compendious
form, that they might serve the like purpose to other preachers. The
Hortus Pastorum differs widely from the Dictionaries and Libraries of
Predication, which issued from the press at the close of the Middle Ages;
for they contained crude extracts from the Fathers and from Mediæval
expositors of Holy Scripture, without any attempt being made at digesting
them into a form ready for delivery, whereas each proposition of Marchant
might be pronounced from the pulpit verbatim, and indeed possesses all
the ring of a popular sermon.
Jacques Marchant flourished in the Low Countries at the beginning of
the seventeenth century. He had the good fortune to sit at the feet of
Cornelius à Lapide, when that great man taught at Louvain, a circumstance
fully appreciated by Marchant, and referred to by him with thankfulness
in his preface.
He was appointed Professor of Theology in the Benedictine monastery of
Floreffe, which had been founded in 1121 by Godfrey Count of Namur, and
he seems to have looked back in his later life with firm attachment to
his cloister life in that picturesque and venerable abbey above the
gliding Sambre. He was afterwards removed to the more famous monastery
of Lobes, which had sent forth so many great men in the Middle Ages, and
there he contracted a lasting intimacy with Raphael Baccart, afterwards
its abbot.
Marchant was next transferred to the town of Couvin, to the church of
which he became pastor and dean.
Jacques Marchant wrote his work, “The Garden of Pastors,” at the
instigation of his brother Peter, a Franciscan, at one time Commissary
and Visitor-General of the Province of Britain, and afterwards Provincial
of that of Flanders.
The Dean of Couvin was a man of very remarkable refinement of taste. His
mind was eminently poetic, and there is not a subject which he touched,
over which he has not cast a gleam of beauty. He handles his matter
with the utmost tenderness, yet he holds it with the firm grasp of a
theologian.
The glow of his fervent piety irradiates every page of his writings, and
invests them with that peculiar charm which attaches to the works of the
great mystic and spiritual writers of an earlier age. He is full of
holy reverence and godly fear: with him there is none of that offensive
trifling with sacred matters, none of that profane prying into solemn
mysteries, which disgraced certain of the earlier preachers, who were
only eager to exhibit themselves as well versed in the subtleties of the
schools.
Marchant never approaches a sacred subject but with veiled face and
the bow of reverence; never does he degenerate into buffoonery; “The
wise man doth scarcely smile a little,”—and the smile of our author is
inexpressibly sweet.
If St. Thomas Aquinas is to theology what Michael Angelo was to art, then
Jacques Marchant may take his place beside Angelico of Fiesole.
And perhaps the reason of this spirituality is, that the Dean drew from
the purest wells of living water, instead of letting down his pitcher
in the polluted cisterns of a pagan antiquity. Profoundly learned he
was not; his knowledge of the classics was but limited;—but he was well
versed in the writings of the great Christian Fathers, and well trained
in the science of the Saints.
His pure and loving spirit seems to have panted, like the hart, for the
water-brooks of Divine wisdom, and to have turned instinctively from the
dry and sterile land whither the men of his day were bending their steps.
Yes; he left the satyr to dance in the desolate ruins of the olden world,
that he might lie down in the green pastures of the Christian faith.
It is certainly remarkable that, whereas in his day men affected to
quote the classic writers of Rome and Greece, and the study of these
authors was reviving, Marchant passes them almost completely over[4]. The
catalogue of his library I give, as it would be hard to find one more
judiciously selected.
His commentators on Holy Scripture, in addition to the Fathers, are
Jansenius, Titelmann, Jansonius Baradius, Viegas, Salasas, Ribera, and
Cornelius à Lapide. His theological writers, after the great Thomas
and Cajetan, are Bellarmin, Suarez, Clarius, Torres, and Malderus. The
preachers whom he consults are Pepin, Louis of Granada, Diez, Stella,
Vega, Iachinus, Stapleton, Osorius, Valderama[5], Coster, Labata, and
Carthagena.
His spiritual authors are Thomas à Kempis, Blosius, Harphius, Platus,
Aponte, Sales, Salo, Solutivo, Roderiguez, Bruno, and Baldesanus.
His catechetical writers are Canisius, Somnius, Fœlisius, Nider, Bayus,
and Claude Thuet.
“And although,” says Marchant, “I may have amassed stones, wood, and
mortar from other sources than my own field or quarry, in order that
I might erect this edifice, yet do not deny it to be mine, for it is
according to my own scheme; mine is the labour, mine the skill, mine the
hand which erected, disposed, and consummated it. No one surely will deny
that the garden is his who possesses, digs, cultivates, arranges, and
adorns it, though he may have brought from elsewhere some seeds, herbs,
fruit-trees, and flowers, which by pruning, lopping, and transplanting,
he may have sown or planted there. However, it is little to have sown,
planted, watered, and cultivated, unless there be increase and fruit
produced, all which comes, not of human skill, but of God alone.
“I say, then, that the garden is not mine, but His who worketh all in
all, to whom I commend and reconsecrate it with my whole heart, that
He may give it increase. And do thou use it happily, and pray for me.
Farewell.”
The Hortus Pastorum consists of four books; the first treats of Faith,
the second of Hope, the third of Charity, the fourth of Justice—the four
great streams springing from one source which water the Eden of the
Church.
Under the head of Faith, Marchant expounds the Apostles’ Creed in
seventeen tracts, each containing several propositions and lections.
Under the head of Hope, he discusses prayer, and especially the Lord’s
Prayer and the Angelic Salutation. In this book are five tracts.
Under the head of Charity, Marchant treats of the Commandments, in four
tracts.
The fourth book of the Hortus Pastorum has a separate title, the Tuba
Sacerdotalis, or the sevenfold blast of the priestly trumpet laying low
the walls of Jericho.
These walls of the city of palms are, according to Marchant, the seven
deadly sins, which he accordingly treats of in seven tracts, each
containing from nine to ten lections.
In addition to the Hortus Pastorum and the Tuba Sacerdotalis, Marchant
is the author of other works, a list of which follows, together with the
list of the different editions of the Hortus.
Hortus Pastorum; Parisiis, Soly. fol., 1638.
Do. do. 1651.
Do. do. Josse, fol., 1661.
Do. Coloniæ, 4to., 1643.
Do. nova editio curante M. Alix; Lugduni, fol., 1742.
Candelabrum Mysticum; Montibus, 4to., 1630.
Do. cum Horto; Parisiis, fol., 1638.
Do. do. do. 1651.
Do. do. do. 4to., 1696.
Vitis florigera de palmitibus, etc.; Parisiis, fol., 1646.
Triomphe de St. Jean Baptiste; Mons, 12mo., 1645.
Opuscula pastoralia; Parisiis, 4to., 1643.
Resolutiones pastorales; Coloniæ, 18mo., 1655.
Do. cum Horto, q. v.
Quadriga Mariæ Augustæ; Montibus, 8vo., 1648.
Conciones funebres; Coloniæ, 2 vols. 4to., 1642.
Do. do. 1652.
Rationale Evangelizantium, in quo doctrina et veritas
evangelica sacerdotibus ad pectus appendenda. Acc.
Vitis florigera. Ed. quinta opusculis part. &c. Coloniæ,
3 vol. in uno, 4to., 1682.
The funeral orations are hardly likely to be much read now, but the
sermons on the Saints, published under the title of Vitis florigera, are
of value; they give an outline of the life of each Saint, and a moral
application of the lesson inculcated by the Church in the appointment
of the festival. The Resolutiones pastorales will be found exceedingly
useful, as it contains solutions of many difficulties which are likely
to beset a parish priest. The Candelabrum Mysticum is a very important
and useful practical exposition of the Sacraments, and the Virga Aaronis
florens, which is generally bound up with the Hortus, is an admirable
directory of priestly life, containing godly admonitions and advice,
under five heads and thirteen lections, each lection representing a
blossom on Aaron’s rod, or a perfection in the sacerdotal life to which
every priest should labour to attain. At the end of this work there is an
interesting account of the introduction and founding of a congregation
of St. Charles Boromeo (oblates), in the diocese of Leyden, by the
joint efforts of Marchant and his friends Stephen Strecheus, Suffragan
of Leyden, and John à Chokier, Vicar-General. This congregation is a
society of secular Clergy constituted on much the same principles as
the Societies of the Oratorians and St. Philip Neri. At this time, when
associations for the advancement of spiritual life are being formed
in our own branch of the Church, it would be well to consider whether
the rules of St. Charles might not be taken and adapted to our modern
exigencies, and so the congregation of oblates be revived amongst
ourselves.
But to return to the Shepherd’s Garden.
As a specimen of the manner in which Jacques Marchant expounds a
doctrine, I will give in outline his exposition of the eleventh Article
of the Creed—“The Resurrection of the Body.”
Lection I. On the resurrection of the dead.
Proposition 1. Universal resurrection was announced in the Old
and New Testaments; Christ proves this from the words, _The God
of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob_, saying, _He is not the God of
the dead, but of the living_.
For the Sadducees denied the existence of angel or spirit,
and a state of life after death.
If God is God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and He is God
of the living, then these patriarchs are in a state of
existence after death.
Christ quoted from Moses, and not from passages in the
prophets, because the Sadducees accepted the Pentateuch
only.
Christ raised some from the dead as an earnest of what He
would do hereafter, as for instance, Lazarus, the widow’s
son, and the daughter of Jairus.
Proposition 2. The resurrection of the body, though naturally
hard to be understood, is most easy to be performed by God.
The doctrine of the resurrection was unknown to the
philosophers.
There are natural difficulties in the way, yet it is
possible with God, as illustrated by the vision of Ezekiel
(xvii.).
Daniel also was promised the resurrection (xii. 2).
Marchant relates the story of the seven sleepers as an
illustration of the manner in which those sleeping in their
graves may awake in the flesh and in the likeness of their
former selves.
Nature gives us figures and types of resurrection: the
seeds decaying and springing up again; the trees shedding
their leaves to burst again into leaf, and flower, and
fruit; the waning of the year to break again into spring.
If there is a difficulty in our conceiving how a body
scattered to the winds may be restored, take a globule of
quicksilver, shiver it into countless minute particles,
gather them again into your palm, and lo! the globule is
identical with that which was before.
Proposition 3. This doctrine of a resurrection has been the
source of joy and consolation to saints and martyrs in their
afflictions.
Example of Job. _I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that
He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and though
after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh
shall I see God._ (Job xix. 25, 26.)
Example of the seven brethren (2 Macc. vii.).
Examples of St. James and St. Nicasius.
The Apostle asserts that if we had no such hope _we should
be of all men most miserable_, but we have a hope of
resurrection (Phil. iii. 20, 21).
In like manner then as the husbandman (James v.) waits
unconcernedly for the time when his seed sown in corruption
shall spring up, so must we not be saddened if these
our corruptible bodies waste and decay, but must commit
them unto the faithful Creator, remembering the words
of Habakkuk, _Rottenness entered into my bones, and
I trembled in myself, that I might rest in the day of
trouble.… Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the
God of my salvation. The Lord God is my strength, and He
will make my feet like hinds’ feet, and He will make me to
walk upon mine high places._
Lection II. Of the identity of the risen with the present body.
Proposition 1. The two bodies are essentially _one_. The
resurrection is one of the flesh, not of the soul only.
It is a resurrection of substantial flesh, not of an aerial
phantom.
Job distinctly says, _In my flesh shall I see God, whom I
shall see for myself and not another_; in the same skin and
flesh, not in other skin and flesh; with the same eyes.
Example of Eutychius of Constantinople confessing this
truth when dying.
Corollary. From this we see what dignity belongs to the
human body, with what reverence man should treat it, and
how it is worthy to be guarded carefully by angels (Jude 9).
Proposition 2. Although the risen body is identical with the
natural body in substance, yet it differs from it in accidents.
For the risen body has four dowers—
1. Impassibility, or incapacity for suffering pain,
disease, or corruption.
2. Glory, being made resplendent as the sun, after the
fashion of Christ’s transfiguration
3. Agility, or capacity for following every impulse of the
will.
4. Subtlety, or capacity for penetrating every where.
Of these four conditions of the body the Apostle speaks (1
Cor. xv. 42-44), _It is sown in corruption, it is raised in
incorruption_ (impassible); _it is sown in dishonour, it is
raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in
power_ (agile); _it is sown a natural body, it is raised a
spiritual_ (subtle) _body_.
St. Paul takes the figure of a grain of corn, which is
sown in corruption, decaying in the earth, but rises in
incorruption; and shows that in like manner will the body
rise free from corruption.
The body is sown in dishonour; however noble and
illustrious it may have been in life, it becomes an object
of loathing in the tomb; but it will be raised glorious,
radiating light.
The body sown in weakness, unable to resist the attack
of decay and the worm, will be vigorous and free on the
Resurrection morn, capable of performing any act which the
mind can devise.
The body sown an animal or natural body, subject to
vegetative processes, and other conditions of nature, at
the Resurrection will be free from all these conditions.
Proposition 3. Bodies here deformed, will hereafter be
perfected.
Marchant reasons that, in a state of perfection, all
imperfection, and therefore all deformity, will be done
away.
He discusses the question of the age to which all bodies
will seem to have attained at the Resurrection; the
received doctrine being that _we_ shall _all come … unto a
perfect man, unto the measure of the stature_ (marg. _age_)
_of the fulness of Christ_. (Eph. iv. 13.)
Lection III. The circumstances of the resurrection.
Proposition 1. The trumpet call precedes it.
For it takes place _in a moment, in the twinkling of an
eye, at the last trump_—that trump being the voice of the
archangel. (1 Thess. iv. 16. Matt. xxiv. 31.)
The trumpet of old called to a solemn assembly; it was a
sign of advance, it was a signal of battle. So will the
last trump _call the Heaven from above and the earth, that
God may judge His people_; it will be the sign of advance
to the elect into their kingdom, it will be the signal for
all creation to arm itself to fight against the ungodly.
Do you ask what is the object of the trumpet blast?
1st. It is to call the angels together, to prepare for the
severance of good and bad.
2nd. It is to wake the dead.
3rd. It is to summon the elect to the feast of good things
in Heaven.
4th. It is to terrify the wicked and announce to them their
doom.
Proposition 2. The locality of the resurrection is uncertain.
It is supposed by many that it will take place in the
Valley of Jehoshaphat, where good and bad will be gathered
together. Others suppose that the good and bad will be
gathered in separate spots. Others again suppose that each
individual will remain by the grave whence he has arisen.
Proposition 3. The time when the resurrection will take place
is also uncertain.
Some think it will take place early on Easter Day, _at the
rising of the sun_, that our resurrection may be made in
all points like that of our great Head. Others think that
it will take place suddenly at night: _At midnight there
was a voice heard, Behold, the Bridegroom cometh; go ye out
to meet Him_. The type of Israel coming out of Egypt points
also to midnight.
But the place and the time knoweth no man, they depend on
the Providence of God.
I confess to feeling quite at a loss what to select as a specimen of
Marchant’s refined and beautiful writing. Every page contains beauties,
and it is hard to choose among them.
The following is very tender. After quoting the text, _My beloved is
white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand_ (Cant. v. 10), he
breaks forth into the following passage: “White is my Beloved in His
purity and His innocence, but ruddy in His burning charity, through
which He shed His blood. White is He in His nativity, girded about with
virgin flesh, but ruddy in His circumcision, sprinkled with His gore.
White at the transfiguration, in His glistering raiment, ruddy on the
Mount of Olives, bleeding in His sweat. White is He in the palace of
Herod, dressed in the white robe, ruddy in that of Pilate in the purple
garment. White upon the Cross, in the water which flowed from His side,
but ruddy, bathed wholly in His Blood. White is He in the Sacrament,
under the species of bread, ruddy under the veil of wine. White in His
mercy, ruddy in His justice; white in His Body mystical, in the virgins,
but ruddy in the purpled martyrs.” (114.)
“_He is the chiefest among ten thousand_, through His passion exalted
above all creatures and above all glory of the elect.
“The chiefest among ten thousand, as leader of His people Israel to the
Promised Land, by the pillar, the rod, and the Red Sea; the pillar,
forsooth, at which He was scourged, the rod of His Cross, and the Red Sea
of His Blood.
“The chiefest among ten thousand, as the great High Priest entering into
the holiest of all with His own blood.
“The chiefest among ten thousand, as the Mediator between God and
man, ever presenting before the Father those wounds by which He was
constituted Mediator.
“The chiefest among ten thousand, as the Shepherd of either fold, that of
Jew and that of Gentile; by the pastoral staff of His Cross reducing them
into one fold under one Shepherd.
“The chiefest among ten thousand, as Head of the militant and triumphant
Church.
“The chiefest among ten thousand, as Head and King of angels and men, of
both making one society, one kingdom.
“The chiefest among ten thousand, as the Judge of living and dead.” (110.)
I make no apology for translating, almost entire, the following exquisite
passage on the wound in our Lord’s side, so redolent with spiritual
fragrance, so rapturous in heavenly ardour:—
“Not only ought the dove to dwell in the clefts of the rock, but she
should also flee to the _cavernam maceriæ_ (English vers., ‘secret places
of the stairs’): that is, the wound in the side.… There make thy nest,
and enter, O dove! therein lurk many mysteries: for why was that side
opened?
“First, that thou mightest enter the ark with the olive-bough, the symbol
of peace. Lo! Christ is the ark, and the wound in His side is the window
of the ark through which thou mayest enter; for as the dove found not
rest for the sole of her foot, so dost thou wander in vain with the
raven, and wheel around the corpses of this world; thou canst not find
thy rest, save in the heart of thy Saviour. There has He chosen to build
thee a home; there, in that heart burning with love, to plant thee a
flowery Paradise, in which thou mayest delight, and exclaim, _It is good
for us to be here_. ‘How good!’ says Bernard, ‘how good to dwell in that
heart, in that dug field!’ O Lord, Thy heart is a good treasure, for
which I will surrender all my fancies, all the desires of my mind. I
will acquire it for myself, casting all my thoughts into Thy heart; and I
will worship toward this ark of the covenant, and praise the name of the
Lord.…
“If then at any time thou feelest want and lukewarmness, or dryness, then
turn thy heart to the Lord, turn to the heart of thy Lord; seek it on the
cross, His couch of love. There wilt thou find the way to His very heart
open; by that broad gate of His side, by that door of piety, thou mayest
enter. There join heart to heart, that thou mayest become partaker of
light, of life, of flame, and of that peace which _He shall speak unto
His people, and to His saints, that they turn not again_.
“Secondly, He chose that His side should be opened, because to the
Redeemer it was not enough that His whole body was bloody with the rods,
that His hands and feet were purpled by the nails, but He desired to shed
forth, by the spear, as token of His unbounded love, that blood which
still lingered about the heart, and which neither thorns nor scourge
had extracted. Wherefore He was wounded, not so much by the spear, as
by love, or if you prefer it, by both the lance and love. Whence it is
said twice, _Thou hast wounded My heart, My sister, My spouse; thou
hast wounded My heart!_ And do thou reply, ‘Wound Thou my heart, my
Bridegroom; wound Thou my heart! wound it with compassion, wound it with
love; with these twin arrows from Thy bow pierce through my heart. Twice
did Moses smite the rock, twice do Thou smite this stony heart, that from
it may stream, if not blood, yet bitter tears.’
“Thirdly, He chose to show us the place of our regeneration. Hence there
flowed forth both water and blood, signs of Baptism and the Eucharist,
which regenerate us to God. And thus is it said, _Thy daughters shall be
nursed at Thy side_ (Isa. lx. 4), O Christ! for Thou regeneratest us by
the blood and water streaming from Thy side.
“Fourthly, consider that, although the lance gave no pain to the Saviour,
yet was it keen, for it wounded with cruel pang the heart of the Mother.
For her heart was bound up with the heart of her Son; and to this the
prophet seems to refer when he says, _Supra dolorem vulnerum meorum
addiderunt_. (Ps. lxix. 27.) But in conclusion, I repeat—Arise, O dove!
enter in, O love! for here is the door by which thou shalt pass to the
marriage-feast of thy Bridegroom; for here is the window of love which
desires to enkindle thee also; for here is the furnace streaming forth
with mercy. Gathering together all thy evil affections, thy sins, thy
negligences, cast them into that furnace of love, that there they may be
consumed. There exclaim with Thomas, _My Lord, and my God!_ and with the
Psalmist, _This shall be my rest for ever; here will I dwell, for I have
a delight therein_. For there is the place to live, there is the place to
die.”
In like manner does Marchant exclaim: “Spare, O cruel nails, O spare
those sacred feet, which have never walked in the way of sinners. Come
rather and pierce my heart; pierce my hard heart with the piercing of
penitence, that ye may draw from it the salty tears of contrition; for,
from the time when ye were sprinkled with the Saviour’s blood, ye have
had power to heal the wounds of the mind.
“Yet would not the Saviour spare Himself these nails, that He might make
satisfaction for all offences committed by our feet walking in the way of
sinners, when we went astray like the lost sheep; and that He might merit
by this price and these pangs to guide our feet into the way of peace.
“It was not sufficient for Him to have endured so much labour, sweat, and
weariness, whilst seeking His wandering sheep; but He desired also that
His feet should at length be pierced, not with the thorns only, but also
with the nails.”
On the words, _He stood in the midst of them_, he remarks: “There then
were the disciples gathered in terror, in error, all had lost their
faith, all wavered, doubting of the resurrection. All, the Virgin
excepted, had lost the light of faith, as is represented by the Church
in her Office for Holy Week (i. e. Tenebræ), when fifteen candles are
extinguished, one alone being excepted and allowed to remain alight.
This indicates the eleven Apostles with the three women losing the light
of faith, which remained in the Virgin alone, of whom it might truly be
said, _Her candle goeth not out by night_. These, then, being gathered
together, Christ was present in the midst, though the doors were shut;
for just as He issued from the Virgin’s womb leaving her still virgin, as
He passed through the unmoved stone of the sepulchre, so now did He enter
to His disciples without impediment, for nothing can hinder the transit
of a glorious body: _He stood in the midst of them!_ Stood as a pastor
in the midst of his flock, gathering them to him; as a leader in the
midst of his soldiers, encouraging them; as the sun in the midst of the
stars, illumining them; as the heart in the midst of the body, vivifying
it; as the tree of life in the midst of Paradise amongst the elect trees;
as the candlestick in the midst of the house, lighting it and dispelling
its gloom; as the column in the midst of the building, sustaining it.
“And this word _stood_ has its special significance, denoting the
resurrection. For before the resurrection, when He bore the burden of
our sins, He is described as at one time lying in the manger, at another
as seated weary by the well, and then as prostrate with His face to the
earth praying, upon the mountain, or as bowed down and crying to the
Father in the garden, or again as stooping under the weight of the cross
as He ascended Calvary, whilst on the cross itself He is spoken of as
bowing His head to give up the ghost. All which attitudes of the body
denote the weight of our sins with which He was burdened. But now, that
burden is shaken off in His resurrection, for He has drowned it in the
abyss of His blood, and so rightly is He spoken of as _standing_ in the
midst.”
Jacques Marchant thus paraphrases the 110th Psalm: “At the ascension it
was said unto Him, _Sit Thou on My right hand, until I make Thine enemies
Thy footstool_. That is, Do Thou, who art exalted above all creatures,
share with Me My kingdom until all Thine enemies are subjected unto Thee,
till the kingdom of the predestinate is filled, and Thy victory has
attained to its perfection. And here by the fulfilling of the kingdom of
predestination, and the conquering of foes, and the extension of empire,
this is signified, that in the consummation of the age, He will return
again into the world, that the subjection of every thing to Him may be
made manifest in all the world. Wherefore the Psalmist adds, _The Lord
shall send the rod of Thy power out of Sion: be Thou ruler, even in the
midst among Thine enemies_. That is, the sceptre of Thy royal power, the
sceptre of strength, shalt Thou begin to extend and pass on from the city
and mount of Sion, even unto the ends of the earth, by Thy Apostolic
messengers; so that Thou mayest rule even in the midst of Thy enemies
and false brethren, Jews, heathen, and heretics. In the end of the age,
however, Thy kingdom will be exalted perfectly over Thine enemies, when
Thou shalt send forth the sceptre of virtue, the banner of Thy cross out
of the Heavenly Sion, that Thy foes may be entirely subjected beneath Thy
feet. Then he adds: _In the day of Thy power shall the people offer Thee
freewill offerings with an holy worship_, when the kingdom will be Thine,
and Thine the only principality.” The Vulgate varies so much from our
English Version in this third verse, that Marchant’s paraphrase cannot
apply to it, and I shall therefore pass on to the fifth verse: “_The Lord
upon Thy right hand shall wound even kings in the day of His wrath_.
Christ our Lord sitting at Thy right hand shall break all the power of
kings who have persecuted the Church. Then shall the Neroes, Maximinians,
and Deciuses be thrust down into hell. _He shall judge among the heathen;
He shall fill the places with the dead bodies_: He shall then exercise
judgment over all nations, and, having condemned the wicked, shall
perfect and consummate their last extermination. Then shall the _places_
of hell be filled with impious men, and with devils thrust down thither
and there enclosed; and that because _He shall smite in sunder the heads
over divers countries_, breaking down the proud, and bringing them into
confusion before all the world.
“And would you know why He is given such power to judge the nations and
trample upon kings and haughty men? _He shall drink of the brook in the
way: therefore shall He lift up His head._ Because, forsooth, in this way
and mortal life, which glides by as a brook, He drank the turbid water,
bearing our infirmities, by His Passion descending into the very depths
of the stream; therefore, because of this so great humility, hath God
highly exalted Him, making Him the Judge of all.
“If indeed in His first Advent it was cried, _Blessed is He that cometh
in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest!_ how much more in that
His second triumphal coming will it be cried by angels, by the elect, by
kings, by priests, by people, by children, ay! by all creatures, _Let the
Heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad: let the sea make a noise, and
all that therein is. Let the field be joyful, and all that is in it; then
shall all the trees of the wood rejoice before the Lord, for He cometh,
for He cometh, to judge the earth._
“We too, considering that time of triumph, shall exclaim to our King and
Saviour with glad accord, ‘Reign even in the midst among Thine enemies!
Reign, Thou Son of David, setting up Thy throne above all monarchs!
Reign, Thou peaceful King, trampling under foot all the kingdom of Satan!
Reign, Thou Son of Mary, in the midst of heretics and blasphemers!
Reign, Thou Galilæan, in the midst of infidels once rebels! Reign, Thou
Nazarene, in the midst of Julians and persecutors! Reign, Thou innocent
Lamb, in the midst of ravening wolves! Reign, Thou Lamb which was slain,
in the midst of angels and all the elect!’ _I heard the voice of many
angels round about the throne and the beasts and the elders, saying with
a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and
riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.
And every creature which is in Heaven, and on earth, and under the earth,
and such as are in the sea, and all that are in them, heard I saying,
Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon
the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever._”
JOHN OSORIUS.
John Osorius, a Spaniard of the diocese of Burgos, entered the novitiate
of the Society of Jesus in 1558, at the early age of sixteen. He taught
moral theology, but gave himself up more especially to preaching, his
talents in that line soon manifesting themselves. He preached often
before the Court, and was selected to deliver orations on various public
occasions. For instance, he preached twice at the fitting out of the
Armada, and again on its discomfiture. His three sermons, entitled _Cum
nostri redirent ab Anglia re infecta_, will be found in the fourth volume
of his collected sermons. He was select preacher on the anniversary of
the death of St. Ignatius Loyola, the founder of his order, and also on
the occasion of the death of the king. He died at Medina, aged fifty-two,
in the year 1594.
His sermons have been published several times.
Concionum Joannes Osorii; Antverpiæ, 1594-5, 3 vols. 8vo. Ibid., 5 vols.,
1597, 8vo.
Concionum J. Osorii; Colon. Hierat. 1600, 12mo., 5 vols.; Lugduni,
Pillehotte, 1601, 8vo.; Venetiis, 1601, fol.; Parisiis, M. Sonnium, 1601,
8vo., 5 vols.; Venetiis, 1604, 4to., 5 vols.; Monast. Westphaliæ, 1622,
8vo. 5 vols.
R. P. Osorii Concionum Epitome; Colon., 1602, 8vo., 3 vols.; De Sanctis,
ibid., 1613, 8vo.
John Osorius was a preacher of a high order. He was eminently Scriptural,
and thoroughly practical. He neither wasted his efforts on the discussion
of profitless school questions, nor wearied his hearers by abstruse
disquisitions on points of Canon law. His matter is always solid, and his
method sound and clear. A man of refined taste and lively imagination, he
could render his discourses attractive to both educated and uneducated.
He seldom breaks into a torrent of eloquence, like De Barzia, but his
style is polished and graceful. He had none of the fire of the Bishop of
Cadiz, but in his heart burned the pure flame of a tempered zeal, not
raging forth as a furnace, dazzling and scorching all around, but calmly
glowing in unruffled peace, unnoticed perhaps in the glare of day, but
steadily beaming as a guiding star to the wanderer in the night.
In one point he certainly resembles his countryman De Barzia, viz.
in his accurate Biblical knowledge. But the use he made of Scripture
was different to that made by the Bishop, as his audience was very
different from that to which the Prelate addressed his Mission Sermons.
Holy Scripture was the spiritual food of this Jesuit preacher, and his
discourses prove his intimate acquaintance with every portion of God’s
Word. His discourses do not contain, as do so many modern sermons, crude
and undigested lumps of Scripture, clumsily pieced and awkwardly inserted
to distend the dull oration to its conventional limits, but the words
of Inspiration float lightly and fragrantly on the stream of simple
eloquence, as strands of new-mown grass and cut meadow flowers on the
calm brook which softly glides past the field where the mowers mow the
hay.
If De Barzia roused long-dead consciences, waking them from their
sepulchres with note like a trumpet, bringing them forth bound hand and
foot in the corpse-clothes of evil habits, and delivering them over to
the confessors to be loosed and let go, Osorius quickened the consciences
but just dead, with still small voice, taking them as it were by the hand
and lifting them up with tenderness, that he might restore them to their
parents—to their God, who was to them a Father, to the Church, which was
to them a Mother.
But with all these rare merits, Osorius had his defects. His sermons
are wanting in arrangement and in unity of design. He preached on the
Gospel for the day, and aimed rather at giving a running commentary
on the selected passage of Scripture, than at elaborating one text
and concentrating his powers upon its application. Hence, each of his
sermons, which are very long, may well be broken into six or eight short
discourses with separate points, but when preached in their entirety
the effect is that of a surfeit. Nothing can be better than the food
he provides, but it is in too great abundance, and it is too varied;
briefly, in his sermons there is what the French call an _embarras de
richesses_.
There is this excuse to be made for Osorius, that he did but follow in
the wake of the Patristic and Mediæval preachers, whose public orations
consisted almost invariably of Scripture expositions, partaking more of
the character of our modern Bible-class lectures than our set sermons;
and it was only bold men like De Barzia, who set all conventionalities
at defiance, that originated the class of sermon now recognized as the
normal type of a pulpit discourse. Osorius, however, could divest himself
of the trammels of custom when he chose, and he has left some notable
specimens of sermons which have but one point and subject, in his fourth
volume; and I very much question whether any more noble and more vigorous
have ever been composed than those written by John Osorius, the Jesuit,
on the Four Last Things, the Three Foes of Man, and the Seven Last Words.
Osorius seldom relates anecdotes, and his sermons are almost entirely
free from those stories which preachers of his age delighted in
introducing to illustrate their subjects; but, in their place, he brings
forward similes to an extraordinary extent. His sermons are studded with
them, and his similes are almost invariably graceful and neat. It may
be questioned whether he does not somewhat overdo it, when one sermon
contains fifteen similes. Yet these are so beautiful that we could ill
spare one. Perhaps we are too critical in requiring all sermons to be cut
to the same shape; perhaps the beauty of the wood hyacinth may consist in
the multitude of its azure bells, and the splendour of the tulip would be
lost if it grew in a bunch.
But the reader shall judge for himself. I will give him a string of
similes from the Trinity sermons of Osorius.
“Aristotle says that as the sun, most visible in itself, cannot be
contemplated without difficulty by our eyes, on account of their
weakness; so God, of supreme entity and perfection, can hardly be grasped
by us, through the imperfection of our intellect.”
“_When my father and mother forsake me, the Lord taketh me up_, says
the Psalmist; and Israel exclaimed, _Make us gods to go before us_. For
without God we have not power to advance. What will he say to this, who
enters on a state of life without God to lead him, who undertakes hard
matters forgetful of God? As the ivy trails along the earth when it finds
not a tree, to which it may cling and by which it may ascend, so does the
soul lie prostrate till it has found God, to whom it may cling as to its
beloved; and having found Him, by Him ascend, _going on from grace to
grace_.”
“_The Heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth
His handiwork_: they all point wondrously to their Creator, showing
themselves to be creatures fashioned by His hands.
“Cicero observes: If when travelling you came suddenly in a desert upon
some magnificent palace, such as that of Solomon, and were to ask how it
came thither, and the answer were made that a mountain had fallen, and
that its ruins had shaped themselves, somehow, into this great mansion,
you would laugh them to scorn who asserted this, for the house shows
plainly the handiwork of an artificer—and that he was a famous artificer
to boot—who thus ranged all in such perfect order, and this, you would
say, was self-evident. So, too, he who considers the workmanship of this
world with attention,—the garden of earth, the abyss of sea, the heavens
wondrously adorned, the variety of stars, their varied and yet harmonious
motions,—he will say that it is manifest that some master artificer has
arranged them, and that their conjunction cannot be fortuitous.”
“Look first at the beauteous image of the soul, and gather from it that
it has a divine artificer. If you saw a boy holding a charming image in
his hand, and you asked him, Whose is this image? who fashioned it? if he
were to reply, I made it; you would at once say, That is not true, for it
is a masterpiece of art. So, too, the wondrous power of our souls, and
their wondrous perfection, point to a Heavenly artificer.”
“Who, then, is God? He is One and Three: one in nature, one in wisdom,
one in goodness; but three in Person: Three Persons but One God, one
wise, one powerful, one good.
“How then three Persons and not three Gods? I and thou are two persons,
but one in nature and species.
“How two persons with one nature? Because in me there is that which is
not in thee, and this constitutes difference in personality.
“But thou sayest, What is there in the Father which is not in the Son?
“That thou mayest understand, take this illustration.
“I have invented a science, entirely of myself; this science I teach
thee; thou and I communicate it to a third. The same science is in all
three; one of us knows nothing which the other knows not; one knows as
much as all the three. Yet is there this difference between us, I have
the knowledge of myself, having received it of none; in thee it is
derived from me; in the third it proceeds from thee and me. Now suppose
that, instead of a science, this were my nature which I gave to thee, and
which we two communicated to the third; then should we three be one in
nature, and yet with the diversity I have specified.
“Thus, as I have said, is it with our God, in whom it is the same to
be, to know, to be able, &c. This wisdom and nature is in the Father
self-derived, received of none. It is in the Son also, the same, but
received by intelligence from the Father. It is in the Holy Ghost, but
proceeding from the Father and the Son by love: therefore the Persons
are three, but there are not three Gods nor three Lords, for the nature,
and the wisdom, and the power, and the goodness are one, but in three
Persons; therefore there is but one God, one Lord, one Wise.”
“God is the abyss of being, as signifies His name Jehovah; in Him are all
perfections, of which perfections each is infinite, all are One. What
then is my God? Ask every creature, and let them show you their God, and
tell you what He is; not that each can declare Him perfectly, but each
in part. Does it not happen to you sometimes, as you walk abroad, that
you light upon a brook, and say, I will trace it to its source, and see
whence this streamlet flows? Do you now act thus, and you will attain
to your God. Mark what is good in the creatures you behold, in the song
of birds, in the beauty of flowers, in the wealth of metals, in the
sweetness of meats; these are but rills proceeding from God the abounding
Fount; all these utter the things which are in God; for all creatures
are but voices manifesting Him.”
Yet we must not rest in them. “It has happened that painters have
pictured fruit with such accuracy that birds have come out of the sky
thinking them real, in order to feed upon them; but finding them to be
painted, and that there is no food in them, they fly away to seek their
true sustenance. The Divine painter has traced with His brush in His
creatures the beauties which live in Himself, and in them they seem to
live. Yet are they but figures, not verities, _for the fashion of this
world passeth away_. Would you know how to act, knowing that these are
but pictures and not realities? Act as the bird, which finding no food in
the painting seeks its real meat elsewhere. Mark this, you will find in
creation no true food, no satiety, no repose; mark this and fly away to
your God, He is very good, He is true food, in Him alone is repose.”
“When you hear sweet harmony, you say, I hear musicians, though you see
them not; so seeing the harmony of creation, acknowledge God its source.
In God are all perfections. Take the opal. Look at it fixedly from one
point; it is white as snow, and you see nought save whiteness in it.
Turn a little aside; it flashes out in flames as a carbuncle. Look from
another point, it glows a rich crimson as the ruby; again, from another
point it is all green as the emerald. Lo! you have an image of God, that
most precious gem, to win which we must sell all we have. He is one, yet
manifold. Moses beheld God, and He was to him like to the carbuncle, a
burning fire: _The Lord thy God is a consuming fire_. That same God did
David behold: _The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: long-suffering
and of great goodness_. To him then was He not all white? Isaiah beheld
him: _Wherefore art Thou red in Thine apparel?_ and seeing Him executing
vengeance, He was like to the ruby. John beheld Him, and _a rainbow round
about the throne, in sight like unto an emerald_. Lo! what variety, and
yet what unity!”
One of the most curious ideas of Osorius is the following. He says that
as he lies in bed he hears the stroke, stroke, of his heart; and it
sounds to him as though within were two wood-cutters engaged night and
day in hewing down a tree. Nor am I wrong in thinking so, he continues,
for Flux and Reflux are engaged every hour in laying their axes to the
root of the tree of life. In another sermon he speaks of men fretting
over the loss of worldly goods and neglecting their eternal inheritance
as resembling the little boy who has built a mud castle, and who weeps
when a passer-by overthrows it with his foot, though he cares nothing
that a lawsuit is going on at the time by which a large inheritance is
being wrested from him.
The following is singularly beautiful, to my mind. Osorius is speaking
of the dower Christ has given to His Church. He says, that as when a
traveller marries a wife in a far country he gives her a few presents,
but says to her, O my beloved, when we come home to my own country, where
all my wealth and property are, then you shall have ten thousand times
better presents; so does Christ act with His Church. Here, in the _far
country_ of this earth, He gives her a few gifts and graces, but when He
leads her home to His heavenly habitation, He will crown her with endless
glory.
On the subject of the Ascension, he observes, very gracefully, that when
a fleet is tossing on the sea, if one vessel enters the port in safety,
the others pluck up courage to follow. When the soldiers see their leader
mount the wall of the besieged city, they, though below, are stirred to
press onward too.
And again, speaking of Christ resuming His seat in Heaven, he says that
when a costly gem is given to a king, he sets it in a golden ring, which
is exquisitely wrought, and which seemed a miracle of perfection before
the insertion of the gem. But when the jewel is set, its glory eclipses
all the graving of the ring. So was Heaven beauteous without Christ,
beauteous as the setting, but now the precious gem, for whom all was
made, is again in His place, and eclipses all other glories in His own
effulgent beauty.
“The joy of Heaven must have been great, and the cause of the joy is
manifest. Heaven has received its sun, enlightening it more than all its
stars. It has gotten its precious gem adorning that ring of eternity more
than its fine gold, more than all the comely forms thereon engraved.
But, earth, how canst thou rejoice this day, deprived of the sun which
late illumined thee? When the sun shines in this hemisphere, all things
rejoice receiving light from it; but when it retires to the other
hemisphere, those things which are in it begin their rejoicing, whilst
those which are in ours are veiled in darkness, and droop in gloom and
tears. When the ark of God was brought to Bethshemesh, that is, the
house of the sun, the calves of the cows which drew it were shut up at
home, and they lowed because the mothers which gave them milk were away.
This day is the ark of God, which has been held captive in the house of
this world, brought back into Heaven, the true house of the sun. And we,
as the calves, remaining shut up in this world’s tabernacle, without
our nourishment from the breast and wounds of Christ, how shall we do
otherwise than low and lament?”
This beautiful and quaint passage will show how Osorius finds
illustration in Scripture. I translate a few more specimens of his style.
“_Behold how He loved him._ St. Thomas explains this passage admirably
when he says, quoting the wise man, _Nothing doth countervail a faithful
friend, and his excellency is invaluable_, for a faithful friend is
worthy of love: and yet, _a faithful man who can find_? He is a faithful
friend who is stable in friendship; not forgetting a first friend when a
new one arrives, nor when exalted in prosperity forgetful of the friend
in poverty, nor despising the friend who is cast down.
“God will be found the most faithful friend, in that He never forgets
former friends for the sake of new ones; but those whom He chose before
time was, these will He love in eternity, when time is no more. Neither
does the addition of new friends make the former less the friends of God,
but rather the more grateful is it to Him that many should love Him.
Nor is Christ like the chief butler, who, when things went well with
him, forgot Joseph; but _though the Lord be high, yet hath He respect
unto the lowly_. Christ, when mortal, chose men to be His friends; when
made immortal, He called them His brethren. _Go to My brethren, and say
unto them_, &c. (John xx. 17). Nor is the friendship of Christ capable
of change through loss of the friend, as is evident from the eleventh
chapter of St. John. _Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and
Lazarus_, when they were hale and sound. But what will He do when Lazarus
is sick? _Lord, behold he whom Thou lovest is sick_; He ceases not to
love because His friend is sick. Lazarus dies, the misery increases, but
friendship does not decrease; for He says, _Our friend Lazarus sleepeth_.
Lazarus is not called friend because that he loves, but because he is
still beloved. Now Lazarus stinketh, and still Christ is his friend, for
He weepeth because of him. _Behold_, they say, _how He loved him_! Ill,
O multitude, do you speak! to Him love is present, therefore rather say,
Behold how He loveth him! O most faithful Friend, Thou art He who sayest,
_I have loved thee with an everlasting love_!
“Far otherwise are we toward Christ. He is in bonds, and lo! Peter swears
that he knows Him not. O man! if you seek a true friend, seek first
Christ, who changeth not. What think you is the friendship of the world?
What the friendship of the flesh? You have three friends. You are in
peril, for you are summoned before the king to be tried, and sentenced
for high treason. You go to your first friend, and tell him your danger,
and ask of him assistance. He replies that he will accompany you as far
as the judgment hall, and leave you there. ‘Do you settle your affair
with the king; I can do no more for you.’ Seeing that there is no help
to be gotten from this friend, you turn to the second, and ask of him
succour. He replies, ‘When you are executed, I will wrap your body in
some old and cast-off linen, for a shroud.’ You go to the third, and he
says, ‘I will be your advocate. I will assist you, and will liberate you.
I will pacify the king, and, if need be, I will die in your room.’ Is not
this a faithful friend? Now those who enter into compact of friendship
with their flesh, which of these friends have they got? The first, which
will accompany you only to the gate of death. Cherish the flesh, love
it, and it will be a Delilah to you, handing you over to your enemies,
leaving your soul before the Judge, without accompanying it. The world
resembles the second friend, to please which you must torture yourself,
but all it will give you in the end will be the shroud to enwrap your
dead body. But Christ is the third friend, the faithful one, our
advocate, who, to liberate us, endured death for us; He who accompanies
us to the judgment, who frees us, who protects us! Let Him be our friend
who truly loves us. _We love God because He first loved us._”
I conclude with the following striking passage:—
“_Are ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of?_ Being desirous
of alluring His disciples to drink of the cup, He expounds to them its
sweetness, when He says that He will drink of it first. And, in sooth,
if we were faithful to God, this reason would be sufficient to make us
drink it readily. But, as says the wise man, _most men will proclaim
every one his own goodness: but a faithful man who can find_? There is
not a son, there is not a servant, who acts as faithlessly with his
father or his master as we act towards God. Would you know that of a
certainty? I tell you be loth to sin, be ready to die rather than sin.
“Ah! but you say, I like to sin. I ask you, Upon what grounds do you
persist in sinning? Well, you say, God is so good; He loves me, He is
ready to pardon. So this is the reason why you continue in sin! And what
though you know this for certain, where is your fidelity? where is your
Christian honour? Does a wife act in this manner with her husband? a son
with his father? a servant with his lord? I pray you bid your wife act
in this manner towards you. Say to her, ‘Be chaste.’ She will say, ‘That
is no concern of mine. I know full well that you are good, that you love
me, and that if I were an adulteress you would pardon me.’ And if it were
so, would this answer of your wife gratify you? Why! where would be the
honour of a good woman? where her fidelity? Would it be deemed sufficient
by you, if she were an adulteress and were reconciled to her husband?
Does any minister act thus? You say to the royal minister, ‘Beware lest
thou plot treason against your master.’ He replies, ‘He is an excellent
king; he loves me, he will most certainly pardon me even if I do turn
traitor.’ O vilest of men! O man truly without honour! where is the
fidelity which you owe to your monarch?
“Vilest Christian of the household of Faith, unfaithful and destitute of
honour! how continue to sin? how do you still commit adultery against
God? how are you so traitorous to your King? You say: He will pardon me.
Be it so. Yet where is your fidelity? where your honour? Is it sufficient
to be reconciled, to be a pardoned traitor? Is it not far better to be
able to say, I never was a traitor?
“Now let us turn to the subject. If we are faithful servants of God,
enough for us that He has said, _The cup that I shall drink of_, to make
us thirst for that cup. He drank thereof before thee; wilt thou not quaff
of it out of love for Him? Is there a faithful soldier who would see
his sovereign enter the battle, and fight amongst the foe, and withdraw
himself, leaving his king alone, and betake himself to his sports? Hear
what Uriah said, _The ark, and Israel, and Judah, abide in tents; and my
lord Joab, and the servants of my lord, are encamped in the open fields;
shall I then go into mine house?_ How different also she who said, _My
Beloved is mine, and I am His_. Bernard says, ‘In no other way can man
respond to his God in these same words, except by love, and by drinking
of the cup.’ God gives thee gifts; thou canst give Him nothing. _I will
take no bullock out of thine house._ God beatifies thee; thou canst not
beatify Him, except by love and suffering. God loves thee; love Him thou
canst. He suffered for thee; suffer for Him thou canst. Thus mayest thou
render unto Him what thou hast received of Him, and return, as it were,
like for like to thy God.”
MAXIMILIAN DEZA.
Maximilian Deza, an Italian, was born in 1610, and joined the
Congregation of the Mother of God, in which he soon became famous as a
preacher. He seems to have been a man of fervent piety and Apostolic
zeal. He had acquired a good knowledge of the Latin classics in his
early years, and this he was fond of exhibiting, with some pedantry,
in his discourses. But such was the taste of the times, when classic
literature and art were deluging Europe, and producing a revulsion in all
the laws of taste which had regulated the mediævals. This affectation of
classic learning was the bane of Deza’s oratory, and it is constantly
obtruding itself on the reader, in a marked and offensive manner, though
nowhere perhaps so prominently as in his sermon at the marriage of the
Queen of Poland with the Duke of Lorraine, in the Cathedral of Neustadt
in Austria, in which sermon, for instance, he enumerates celebrated
marriages, as those of Cadmus and Harmonia, Jupiter and Juno, David and
Michal, Isaac and Rebecca, and that at Cana—all in one breath.
As soon as his fame was established, he was in request throughout his
native land, and we find him preaching at Bonona, Turin, and Milan. In
1664 he preached before the Doge at Genoa; in 1666 he was in Malta. We
have sermons of his delivered at Rome in 1672, and at Venice in 1686.
There is extant a sermon by Deza on the birth of the Prince of Wales,
the so-called “Pretender,” son of James II., and an oration preached at
Venice on the occasion of the exhibition of the Blessed Sacrament for
obtaining success against the Turks, with whom the Republic was then at
war. Maximilian Deza was sent for by Leopold I. to preach before him at
Vienna, and there the old man died peacefully in his seventy-seventh
year, A.D. 1687.
His sermons were published in Italian, “Prediche dell’ Avvento del P.
Massimiliano Deza, Lucchese della Congregatione della Madre di Dio,” by
Nicolo Pezzana, Venice, 1709.
There is also a Latin edition, translated by Cassimir Moll, a
Benedictine, published by Veith, Vienna, 1726, and dedicated to John
Julius de Moll, Archbishop of Salzburg.
The sermons extant form three series; the first consists of sermons from
the First Sunday in Advent to the Sunday after Christmas, together with
two discourses on the parable of the Prodigal Son, in all nine, forming
one volume. The second contains thirty-eight sermons preached during
Lent; and the third part, which is immeasurably inferior to the other
two, consists of orations on divers saints, such as St. Catharine of
Bologna, St. Peter of Alcantara, St. Rosa of Lima, together with sermons
on state occasions.
Maximilian Deza just escaped being a really great orator, like Segneri,
whom he much resembles in his vehemence, zeal, fine word-painting, and
brilliant transitions. There is nothing heavy or dull about his sermons;
they are calculated to rivet the attention of an audience, and they
appeal earnestly to the conscience. They are not sermons to be read in
measured tones from the pulpit, but to be declaimed with flashing eye,
modulated voice, and vehement gesture. To modern readers Deza seems to
play with an idea in a manner unsuitable to our nineteenth century ideas
of pulpit proprieties; but it must be borne in mind that his discourses
are long, lasting sometimes two hours, and the mind of the hearer would
need rest, it would only be fatigued if kept constantly on the stretch.
Viewed thus, it will be seen that Deza handles his matter with great
skill; he works one point of his subject to a climax,—you hold your
breath even in reading him—and then he gently drops the point, and gives
time for relaxation of the attention till he deems it fit to produce
another effect, just as in a drama the sensational scenes are separated
from each other by the talkee-talkee scenes in the front groove. But
these intermediate portions of Deza’s sermons are by no means dull; they
are light and pleasant trifles with which he toys, but which lead on
insensibly to his point, just as the small beads of a rosary draw the
fingers on to the larger ones.
Take his sermon for Ash-Wednesday as an example. He is preaching on the
words, “Remember, O man, that thou art dust, and that into dust thou
shalt return,” which occur in the Roman Office for the day.
He begins with the lessons drawn from the ashes sprinkled every where;
and he bids his hearers look on these ashes, and remember that they shall
one day be like them. He then draws with skill a picture of man’s forlorn
condition, with the prospect of death before him, and no possibility
afforded him of escape. He laughs to scorn the thoughts of immortality
connected with name and title; he tells the story of Empedocles seeking
an immortal name by jumping into the crater of Ætna; and then he warns
his hearers most solemnly to keep death ever before their eyes. Remember,
he cries, that you have sucked in with your mother’s milk the seeds of
death. Remember that all beasts were created alive, but Adam was created
a lifeless frame, till God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.
Remember that from the moment of birth, the moment of death began to
creep nearer. Then suddenly pointing to the hour-glass he exclaims, Look!
this hour is stealing away in grains of dust, warning you to remember
what you too ere long will become. And having worked this out with great
solemnity, he suddenly breaks off into a description of glass and its
manufacture. He says it is made of sand and ash, it is fused with heat,
it is formed by the breath.
Is not that like man? he asks; man made of dust, kindled by the glow of
life, vivified by the Divine breath?
Well! you will say that glass is a very brittle affair; it somewhat
resembles ice, and is just as fragile; one little fall, and it is
shivered into countless fragments; it is made by a puff, it is clouded by
a breath, it is broken by a touch.
You consider it very fragile.—I tell you, on the authority of St.
Augustine, that man is far more fragile.
Glass carefully preserved may become an heirloom, but man can never last
out more than a generation.
Glass is only shattered by accident, but man is perishable by his nature.
Glass is broken by external force, but man bears about within him the
seeds of dissolution.
Glass is snapped by a touch, but man untouched will crumble into his
grave.
Glass once broken may be restored, not so man.
Glass though broken does not decay, but man’s flesh becomes corrupt.
Having thus amused and rested his hearers, Deza begins another earnest
appeal to them; he explains that the soul of man does not descend to the
grave, and he solves a difficulty in the text, Genesis iii. 19, _Dust
thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return_.
Having done this, it is proper that the congregation should be given a
little breathing-time, and so the preacher takes the sentence, _Dust thou
art_, and plays with it, by giving a description of dust agitated by the
wind. Oh, into what fantastic shapes does the wind whirl the dust! how
the dust-cloud runs along, rushes forward madly, stops and spins awhile,
and tosses itself up, up, till it seems verily to fly; it ascends higher
and higher, it is carried above the tree-tops, it will reach the clouds
of Heaven. Stay!—the wind drops. Where is the dust? It falls, it obscures
the landscape, it is scattered every where, it parches the tongue, it
blinds the eyes, it clogs the throat; and that which just now dulled the
air and obscured the sun, has returned to itself again; dust it was, and
nothing more, and unto dust has it returned.
Is not this a picture of man? asks the preacher; man, poor dust carried
up and hurried forward by the winds of his vain fancies? Ambition puffs
him up on high, only to fling him to earth again; passion drives him
forward, and then drops him a helpless atom to his native soil.
Look how high those giddy particles are flung—_Thou takest away their
breath, they die, and are turned again to their dust_.
Yes, toss yourselves in pride, rush on in the storm of passion, eddy up
in the struggle of life, spin in the giddiness of pleasure, penetrate
every where in the eagerness of curiosity—_Thou takest away their breath,
they die, and are turned again to their dust_.
Deza then examines the words of Solomon, _There is a time to be born and
a time to die_, and he asks why the King did not say there is a time to
live. Having answered this question to his own satisfaction, by showing
that Solomon spoke of definite moments of time, but that life was not a
point of time, but a fleeting succession of moments, he enters on the
subject of the shortness of time, and quotes Wisdom v. 10. The life of
man, says Solomon, is _as a ship that passeth over the waves of the
water_, and leaves no trace—no trace but the foam-bubbles; and those
foam-bubbles are like the life of man, now appearing in the wake of the
vessel, and then brushed away by the next wave,—and this wave is like the
life of man, sweeping on resistlessly to the rock on which it will be
shivered with a roar—a roar like the life of man, loud and fierce for the
moment, and then carried off on the wind—the wind like the life of man
sinking into a lull and lost.
And so throughout the sermon.
I will now give an analysis of one of Maximilian Deza’s most
characteristic and striking discourses, with a translation of a portion
of it as a specimen of his style of oratory.
The sermon I have selected is that for the First Sunday in Advent, with
which the Feast of St. Andrew coincided. The lessons from each holiday
are very happily blended.
Maximilian Deza takes two texts, the first from the twenty-first chapter
of St. Luke, _Then shall they see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with
power and great glory_; and the second from the Office for St. Andrew’s
Day, “Blessed Andrew prayed, saying, Hail, good Cross! may He receive me
by thee, Who by thee redeemed me.”
Introduction.
On this coincidence of holidays two points of consideration are
presented to us; the Cross the sign of terror and destruction
to the guilty, and the Cross the sign of joy and salvation to
the just.
I. The love of the Cross is the characteristic of the elect;
whilst the hatred of the Cross is the sign of the reprobate.
α. The Lord knoweth those that are His—by their love of His
Cross of suffering. _If any man will come after Me, let him
deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me._
β. But the wicked are called _the enemies of the Cross of
Christ, whose end is destruction_.
The day will come, the great and terrible day of the Lord, when
He will call the heavens from above, and the earth, that He may
judge His people; when the Cross, the sign of the Son of Man,
will appear in the clouds of Heaven.
II. Then God will judge the world with fire, and the Cross
alone will be the standard by which all will be tried.
God will judge the world with fire.—How with fire? When a
palace is destroyed by the flames, every thing in it is reduced
to cinder; the rags of the beggar, the gorgeous robes of the
prince, the statue of the king, and the image of the ape. So
every man will be tried with fire, and all difference between
man and man as now existing will be rendered indistinguishable.
King and subject, master and slave, will stand shivering in
nakedness beside each other; there is no respect of persons
with God, they will be but as a heap of cinders, which are
equally hideous, though some may be the ashes of costly
articles, others of vile materials.
One alone distinguishing mark will be left, the love of the
Cross, by which to judge them.
III. By the Cross will the saints be recognized, as in Ezekiel
ix. the prophet saw in vision the destruction of the last day,
when God’s command was, _Slay utterly old and young, both
maids, and little children, and women: but come not near any
man upon whom is the mark Tau_.
This Tau, Deza observes, is the Cross, the mark on the brow
by which the faithful shall be known. Tau is the last letter
of the Hebrew alphabet, and it is the last sign which shall
appear in Heaven. The preacher then goes through the list of
those slain, old and young, maids, and little children, and
women, and shows how that wisdom of grey hairs, or innocency of
childhood, or purity of virgins, are of no avail to stand the
fire of trial unless the Cross be the source of those graces.
The Cross is the banner of the King in His army on earth. It is
the tree of life in the Paradise of His Church.
IV. The Cross, as sign of safety to some and of destruction to
others, was prefigured in the Old Testament—
α. By the rod of Moses, which opened the sea for the
passage of the Israelites, and which brought it back again
to overwhelm the Egyptians.
β. By the ark of Noah.
γ. By the blood-marks on the lintel and door-post when the
destroying angel passed through Egypt.
V. A contrast is drawn between St. Peter and the penitent
thief. The former feared the Cross, and when our Lord spoke of
His approaching crucifixion, the Apostle said, _Be it far from
Thee_; and was therefore suffered to fall. But the thief who
sought Christ through the Cross found acceptance.
VI. Deza shows that people may now become enemies of the Cross
of Christ—
α. By gluttony and drunkenness.
β. By debauchery and frivolity.
γ. By injustice and dishonesty.
δ. By falsehood and calumnies.
ε. By hypocrisy.
He draws a very solemn and awful picture of the dawning of the
great day, and the flashing of the sign of the Son of Man upon
the enemies of the Cross of Christ, and then—
VII. He comments on the sentences pronounced on the good and on
the bad. This is the passage I translate.
Part II.
VIII. Maximilian Deza now shows how St. Andrew is a blessed
child of the Cross. He shows how that to him the Cross was as
a second mother, guiding him through life, sustaining him and
embracing him in death.
IX. The love of Christ’s Cross regenerates us, assures us of
our sonship, and is an earnest of our inheritance.
At our birth into this world we are placed in divers positions
by the will of God and by no appointment of our own. So
some are born to be kings, some to be slaves, some to be
philosophers, others to be fools.
But at the regeneration it will not be so. Our position then
will be regulated by our own selves, for we shall be nearer to,
or more remote from, Christ; be princes or subjects according
to our love for the Cross of Christ during our earthly
existence, according to the closeness of our walk in the bloody
footprints of our Master, bearing our crosses after Him, in the
season of our probation.
And in conclusion, Deza makes an eloquent and earnest appeal to his
hearers to _redeem the time because the days are evil_.
* * * * *
The following is a translation of the seventh section of this most
striking sermon, which exhibits at the same time his power and his
weakness, his merits and his defects:—
“Behold!” will say the Judge, with threatening voice, to that great
throng of accused; “behold! on this Cross I poured forth all the
treasures of My love—producing blood for your welfare; to you though was
that most precious stream counted but as dung, squandered recklessly
for some fleeting vanity. From this My Cross with last and dying voice,
with tears breathing nought but piety, I called you to penitence, but as
deaf adders you stopped your ears and hardened your hearts to the sweet
incantations of love. On this Cross, full of sorrows and of confusion,
painfully I suffered death, that I might recover eternal life for your
souls; and you, meanwhile, before the countenance of God dying for you,
did laugh with the scribes, mock with the Pharisees, sport with the
soldiers. This My Cross was a noble pulpit from which I, the Master
of humility, of patience, and of charity, taught you the love of your
enemies, praying to the Father for My foes and My persecutors. But you!
what did you take in, what did you learn? Answer, what? The implacable
madness and rage of a Saul, the boastings of a Goliath, the impieties,
and crimes, and vengeance of a Cain, a Joab, or an Absalom. And what!
were your hopes too rash to calculate on finding safety in that Cross?
Ah, wretched ones! Are ye not those to whom the withering roses of
this world were more acceptable than My thorns? Are ye not those who
sucked in the sweet poison from the cup of Babylon, but rejected the
chalice of My passion? Are ye not those who, fleeing the embrace of My
Cross, rushed into the arms of lust which polluted you, of the world
which betrayed you, of Satan who erects his trophies upon your ruin?
These, these were your lovers, these the idols of your heart, these the
deities ye idolatrously worshipped—commend yourselves now to them, let
them arise and help you. In Me remains no hope for you, no more bowels
of mercies,—Depart from Me, ye cursed! This Cross is your condemnation;
this gallows-tree is your scourge, this wood will rack and consume you
more fiercely than the flames of hell. Depart from Me, ye cursed, into
everlasting fire.”
But oh, happy elect! to whom on the contrary the holy Cross has been
the bow of peace eternal, the ladder of Heaven, the pledge of glory,
the unfading palm of lasting triumph. “Come, ye blessed of My Father!”
Oh, sweet words! best-loved invitation! most pleasant reception,
long-looked-for glimpse of Paradise so near! “Come, ye blessed of My
Father. Ye innocents by your sweat, ye penitents by your tears, ye
martyrs by your blood, did water the tree of My Cross; come now, gather
the fruits of safety, life, and happy immortality. Come, ye blessed of My
Father. Ye who followed My blood-stained traces up the hill of Calvary,
even ye shall ascend with Me to the topmost height of the heavenly Sion,
where this Cross is exalted to be the trophy of your victories. Come,
inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
By nature were ye My subjects, but by grace My sons; and as sons of a
reigning Father My kingdom shall be your patrimony, and My Cross the
sceptre of a deathless realm. My charity bore it, out of love for you;
your gratitude bore it, out of love for Me; now has come the season for
both Me and you, that to patient love should succeed love beatifying. As
long as I am God, that is, for eternity, ye shall also be happy, shall be
likewise glorious, triumphant, princes of Heaven with starred diadem on
your brows, and monarchs of the universe.”
FRANCIS COSTER.
The subject of this memoir was born at Malines in the year 1531; he was
one of the first to join the new Society of Jesus, and at the age of
twenty-one was received into it by the illustrious founder himself.
St. Ignatius soon discovered the remarkable talents and the deep
spirituality of the young man, and he stationed him at Cologne, placing
him in the van of the army of the Church, and in the thick of the fight
then waging between Catholics and Protestants. He was admirably adapted
for his position, and fully justified the confidence placed in him by
Loyola. The Lutherans and Calvinists found in him an enemy of no ordinary
power, and quite invulnerable to their blows. His knowledge of Scripture
was as thorough as, and was sounder than, their own. Their arguments were
dissected, and the fallacies exposed, by Coster, in a manner so clear and
so conclusive that he stung them to madness.
Volume after volume passed through the press from his pen, many of them
composed in the vernacular, so as to be read by the vulgar. He is said
to have brought back multitudes to the Church who had fallen away at the
first blush of Protestantism, and to have strengthened numerous souls
which wavered in doubt.
He taught astronomy and lectured on the Holy Scriptures in Cologne. He
was afterwards Rector of several Colleges, thrice Provincial, and present
at three General Congregations of the Order.
After a life of controversy, yet with a soul full of peace and goodwill
to men, Francis Coster entered into his rest in 1619, aged eighty-eight
years; of which he had spent sixty-seven in the Society of Jesus. He died
at Brussels.
His works are too numerous for me to give a list of them here. A
complete catalogue will be found in the _Bibliothèque des Écrivains de
la Compagnée de Jésus, par Aug. et Alois Backer_, vol. i. pp. 218-224. I
mention the sermons alone.
R. P. Costeri Conciones in Evangelia Dominicalia a Dom. Adventus usque
ad initium Quadr.; Coloniæ, Ant. Hierat. 1608, 4to. Conciones ab initio
Quadr. usque ad Domin. SS. Trinitates; ibid. id., 1608, 4to. Conciones a
Domin. post Fest. SS. Trinit. usque ad Adventum; ibid. id., 1608, 4to.
R. P. Fr. Costeri Conciones in Evangelia; ibid. id., 1613, 4to.; 1626,
8vo., 3 part., 4 vol. This last the best edition.
Vyftien Catholiicke Sermoonen op t’Epistelen end Evangelien; Antwerp,
1617, fol., 4 vols.
Catholiicke Sermoonen op alle de heylichdaghen des jaers; Antwerp, 1616,
fol., 2 vols.
Sermoonen op d’Epistelen van de Sendaghen,—met twee octaven; Antwerp,
1616, fol.
Francis Coster differs in style from all the other preachers whom I
have quoted. He is neither eloquent nor impressive as a speaker, he is
immensely long, and must have been desperately tedious in the pulpit;
and yet I question whether a priest could possess a more valuable
promptuarium for sermon composition or catechetical lecture than Coster’s
volumes. Coster is rather an expositor of Scripture than a preacher;
his insight into the significance of the sacred utterances is perfectly
marvellous.
Coster relates numerous stories of different merit and point. He seldom
indulges in simile. He says sharp and _piquant_ things in a quiet
unassuming manner; and unless the reader is quite on the alert, he
may miss some very happy remark couched in a few pregnant words. For
instance: he says on the subject of Profession not Practice, that Christ
lived thirty-three years on earth, and He did many great works; but we
know of only one sermon that He preached. The arms are long, the tongue
is short; the hands are free, the tongue confined behind the prison bars
of the teeth; to teach us that we should work freely, but talk little.
Those who profess great things and practise little what they profess are
in a bad spiritual condition; the clock whose hand stands at one whilst
the clapper goes twelve, is wrong in the works.
The stories Coster tells are very unequal. There is one delightful
mediæval tale reproduced by him which I shall venture to relate, as it is
full of beauty, and inculcates a wholesome lesson. There is a ballad in
German on the subject, to be found in Pocci and Göres’ _Fest Kalender_,
which has been translated into English and published in some Roman
children’s books.
The story was, I believe, originated by Anthony of Sienna, who relates
it in his Chronicle of the Dominican Order; and it was from him that the
preachers and writers of the Middle Ages drew the incident. With the
reader’s permission I will tell the story in my own words, instead of
giving the stiff and dry record found in Coster.
There was once a good priest who served a church in Lusitania; and he had
two pupils, little boys, who came to him daily to learn their letters,
and to be instructed in the Latin tongue.
Now these children were wont to come early from home, and to assist at
mass, before ever they ate their breakfast or said their lessons. And
thus was each day sanctified to them, and each day saw them grow in grace
and in favour with God and man.
These little ones were taught to serve at the Holy Sacrifice, and they
performed their parts with care and reverence. They knelt and responded,
they raised the priest’s chasuble and kissed its hem, they rang the bell
at the sanctus and the elevation; and all they did, they did right well.
And when mass was over, they extinguished the altar lights, and then
taking their little loaf and can of milk, retired to a side chapel for
their breakfast.
One day the elder lad said to his master—
“Good father, who is the strange child who visits us every morning when
we break our fast?”
“I know not,” answered the priest. And when the children asked the same
question day by day, the old man wondered, and said, “Of what sort is he?”
“He is dressed in a white robe without seam, and it reacheth from his
neck to his feet.”
“Whence cometh he?”
“He steppeth down to us, suddenly, as it were from the altar. And we ask
him to share our food with us: and that he doth right willingly every
morning.”
Then the priest wondered yet more, and he asked, “Are there marks by
which I should know him, were I to see him?”
“Yes, father; he hath wounds in his hands and feet; and as we give him of
our food, the blood flows forth and moistens the bread in his hands, till
it blushes like a rose.”
And when the master heard this, a great awe fell upon him, and he was
silent awhile. But at last he said gravely, “Oh, my sons, know that the
Holy Child Jesus hath been with you. Now when He cometh again, say to
Him, ‘Thou, O Lord, hast breakfasted with us full often, grant that we
brothers and our dear master may sup with Thee.’”
And the children did as the priest bade them. The Child Jesus smiled
sweetly, as they made the request, and replied, “Be it so; on Thursday
next, the day of My ascension, ye shall sup with Me.”
So when Ascension Day arrived, the little ones came very early as usual,
but they brought not their loaf, nor the tin of milk. And they assisted
at mass as usual; they vested the priest, they lighted the tapers, they
chanted the responds, they rang the bell. But when the Pax vobiscum had
been said they remained on their knees, kneeling behind the priest. And
so they gently fell asleep in Christ, and they with their dear master sat
down at the marriage supper of the Lamb.
This story reminds me of another, to be found in one or two mediæval
sermons.
A little boy once made an agreement with an aged priest that they should
say Prime together.
So, on the first morning after the arrangement, the child rose, and
descended to the church, where he lighted the candles. He waited long for
the priest, and pulled the bell; but the old man turned in his bed and
would not rise. Then the lad looked from the window, and the land was
dumb with snow. He thought, I will run forth, and sport in the snow, for
the father comes not to Prime. But he resisted the temptation, and he
recited the office by himself in choir.
On the second morning he descended again, and rang the bell, and lighted
the tapers; but the priest came not. Then the boy thought, I will go
forth and slide on the frozen pond. But he overcame the temptation, and
recited the office by himself in choir.
On the third morning he turned in his bed, and thought, It is so cold,
I will not rise; the father will not leave his bed, nor will I. But he
resisted the temptation to lie in bed, he dressed and came down to the
church, he pulled the bell, he lighted the tapers; but the priest came
not, so he sang the office by himself in choir.
And this continued for six mornings; each morning was the child tempted,
each morning did he overcome the temptation. Each morning the priest lay
in bed, and the little boy sang the office by himself in choir.
On the seventh morning the priest was roused by the bell, but he turned
in bed and fell asleep again. Then he had a dream. He beheld in his
dream the Lord Jesus standing by the treasury in Heaven; and in His hand
He bare seven crowns of pure gold. “Oh, my Lord, are these for me?”
exclaimed the sleeper. “Nay!” replied the Blessed One, “not for thee, but
for thy little acolyte. Seven times has he been tried, and seven times
has he overcome; therefore have I prepared for him seven crowns. _Blessed
is the man that endureth temptation, for when he is tried he shall
receive the crown of life._”
But leaving these stories, let us turn to a sermon of Coster’s, and
analyze it thoroughly. It will be seen how pregnant it is with thought,
how exhaustive it is as a commentary on a passage of Scripture, how
suggestive it is of matter for a modern preacher.
I shall choose the sermon for the First Sunday in Lent, curtailing it in
only a few points, where the conclusions drawn seem unwarranted, or where
the doctrine enforced is distinctively Roman. These omissions I have made
from no wish to misrepresent the preacher, but simply to reduce the bare
skeleton of the sermon to moderate limits, the entire discourse filling
forty-seven pages of quarto, close print, double columns, and occupying
about 5000 lines. I tremble to think of the time it must have taken to
deliver, if it ever were delivered.
First Sunday in Lent. Lessons from the Gospel.
Matt. iv. _And Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness._
He was _led_. Here note—
1. That God is our leader into all good works.
2. That He leads, but does not constrain.
_By the Spirit._ Here note—
1. That in our Lent fast, we should follow the Spirit’s
leading. Now the Spirit leads and guides—
α. By the voice of the Church.
β. By the voice of conscience.
2. That our works are alone acceptable to God, if done
through the grace and impulsion of the Spirit.
_Into the wilderness._ Here note—
1. That Christ went into the wilderness to make expiation
in His body for our excesses; to endure poverty for our
luxury, want for our abundance.
2. That Christ went into the wilderness immediately after
baptism, to teach us that, by baptism, we are called to
renounce the world, and to lead a life of mortification.
3. That Christ sets us an example of retirement from the
world and its turmoil, at seasons.
4. That Christ, by His example, has sanctioned and
sanctified the life of the eremite.
_To be tempted of the devil._ Here note—
1. That, in order to be able to resist the devil, we must
be furnished with the Holy Spirit.
2. That God suffers us to be tempted for wise purposes—
α. To bring out our hidden virtues; thus He brought out
the virtue of faith in Abraham by tempting him to slay
his son, and the virtue of patience in Job by suffering
him to be afflicted with loss of substance, health, and
friends.
β. To keep us vigilant. (1 Pet. v. 8.)
γ. To reward us finally for our merit in resisting
temptation. (James i. 12.)
3. A. The word ‘to tempt’ has three significations in Holy
Scripture. It signifies—
α. To bring out hidden graces; and thus is used of God
tempting us. (Gen. xxii. 1.)
β. To lead into sin; and thus is used of the devil
tempting us. (1 Cor. vii. 5.)
γ. To provoke to anger; and thus is used of our
tempting God. (Ps. xcv. 9. Acts v. 9. Heb. i. 12.)
B. God tempts us in Lent, drawing out of us a proof—
α. Whether we love ourselves better than Him.
β. Whether we love our souls better than our bodies.
γ. Whether we love our present corruptible bodies
better than our future incorruptible bodies.
δ. Whether we love to obey the Church better than to
follow our own wills.
4. Christ endured temptation from the devil—
α. That He might prove the force of every temptation by
which we are assailed.
β. That He might show us how to meet temptation.
γ. That He might break the force of temptation.
δ. That He might teach us to expect temptation.
_And when He had fasted forty days and forty nights._
Note that Christ fasted, though there was no need for Him
to mortify His body, in that His body was free from sin.
_Forty days and forty nights._ Here note—
1. That forty represents the law as amplified by the
Gospel, 10 × 4.
α. Forty days did the rain descend to flood the world.
(Gen. vii. 4.)
β. Forty days were corpses dressed with aromatic herbs
before consigning them to the grave. (Gen. l. 3.)
γ. Forty years did Israel wander in the wilderness.
δ. Forty days did Moses spend, on two occasions, in the
mount. (Exod. xxiv. 18; xxxiv. 28.)
ε. Forty days did Goliath defy the armies of the living
God. (1 Sam. xvii. 16.)
ζ. Forty days did Ezekiel bear the iniquities of the
children of Israel. (Ezek. iv. 6.)
η. Forty days did Elijah fast in the desert. (1 Kings
xix. 8.)
θ. Forty days did Nineveh afflict itself in sackcloth
and ashes. (Jonah iii. 4.)
ι. Forty days was Christ with His Apostles after the
resurrection. (Acts i. 3.)
2. We keep forty days of Lenten fast—
α. That we may represent in the Christian year the
fasting of our Lord, as we also represent His birth,
His death, His resurrection, and His ascension.
β. That we may appease God’s wrath against us; making
satisfaction to the best of our power for our fallings
short during the rest of the year.
γ. That we may practise and test our strength, so as to
be able to exert it when temptation arises.
δ. That we may fulfil Christ’s words, _When the
Bridegroom is taken away, then shall ye fast in those
days_.
ε. That we may worthily prepare for the great solemnity
of Easter, suffering with Christ that we may also be
glorified together.
3. The advantages of fasting are,—
α. It keeps the body under, and brings it into
subjection; giving us the habit of obtaining a mastery
over our appetites.
β. It disposes the soul for prayer, and the mind for
meditation.
γ. It makes reparation for past offences. (Jonah iii.
5-10.)
δ. It is meritorious, being one of those three works of
which Christ has said that it shall be openly rewarded.
(Matt. vi. 18.)
_And when the tempter came to Him, he said._ Here note—
I. α. The devil is called tempter, as one who builds is
called a builder, and one who paints is called a painter:
from the work upon which he is constantly engaged.
β. The devil probably came in human form, as angels
when appearing to men assumed human forms. It seems
likely that Satan had not fathomed that mystery,
which angels desired to look into, the mystery of the
Incarnation, and that he did not know that Christ was
Incarnate God: yet was he filled with vague alarm.
γ. Christ’s temptations came from without; they could
not proceed from within, as His nature was sinless.
II. We also learn—
1. That solitude is not freedom from temptation, but
rather a time for it.
2. That Satan expends the whole force of temptation on
those who are leading a life of high vocation.
3. That Satan suits his temptation to the occasion.
4. That if Christ endured temptation, no man must
expect to escape it.
5. That if Christ suffered Satan to approach Him with
temptation, He will not reject us drawing nigh unto Him
in prayer.
6. That temptations come to us in disguise: the evil
one seldom presenting himself to us in his naked
deformity.
_If Thou art the Son of God._ Here note—
Satan had heard the voice from Heaven, proclaiming Christ
to be the beloved Son of God; but he may have considered
Him as a son in some sense as Adam, who was called a son
of God. That he could have grasped the mystery of the
hypostatic union is impossible. Sin produces blindness, and
Satan could not have seen and comprehended God’s purposes.
Had he believed Christ to be very and eternal God, it is
inconceivable that he should have thought it possible to
tempt Him into sin, unless the eyes of his understanding
were so obscured by his pride that he had lost belief in
all good, that he actually could imagine the Godhead to be
peccable, just as a prostitute disbelieves in the purity of
the most spotless virgin.
_If Thou art._ Note—
I. That Satan tempts even by that little word _if_;
implying a doubt whether God had meant what He said when
the voice came from Heaven; by this word _if_ Satan
endeavoured to drive Him into—
α. The sin of pride: by causing Him to perform a
miracle, so as to prove Himself to be the Son of God,
and thus to dispel the doubt of the querist.
β. The sin of doubt: by causing Him to question the
declaration from Heaven; for Satan’s _if_ implied that
God, had He meant that Christ were His Son, would not
have left Him to starve.
II. That it does not behove us to question the dealings of
God’s providence, though He suffer us to want, nor if He
refuse to hear our petitions. Perhaps we ask for what is
wrong, unsafe, or contrary to His will.
_Command that these stones be made bread._ Here note—
1. God wills to draw us from temporal things to things
spiritual, but the devil obtrudes carnal matters, to draw
us from spiritual things to things temporal.
2. The temptation of Christ bears some analogy to that of
our first parents. Eve was tempted by the sight of the
fruit which was good for food, Christ by the cravings of
natural hunger.
3. Satan tempts us through our need for the necessaries of
life. Thus some steal, others cheat, others live unchaste
lives, under the excuse that they do it for a livelihood.
4. If Christ by a word can change stones into bread, can
He not change bread into His true and sacred Flesh?
5. Satan tempts Christ to make more than was necessary,
_these stones_, so that He might fall into the sin of
gluttony.
6. Satan tempts Christ to a false humility, by urging Him
to make bread, the plainest food of the poor, instead of
costly viands.
7. Satan never offers what can satisfy. The prodigal son
was given but the husks, and here Satan presents nought but
stones.
8. Christ left Satan still in doubt as to whether He were
the Son of God or not: teaching us pious reserve on the
subject of spiritual favours.
_And He answered and said, It is written, Man shall not live by
bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth
of God._ Here note—
1. Christ implies that God’s power is not limited to the
means prescribed by Satan. God can satisfy His own sons in
ways of His own devising.
2. Christ passes over the challenge, _If Thou art the Son
of God_, teaching us that our spiritual privileges are not
to be proclaimed, but rather concealed, that pearls are not
to be cast before swine, nor the children’s bread to be
given to dogs.
3. Christ’s words imply the full inspiration of Scripture:
He says, that man shall live by _every word_; not by the
general sense.
4. Christ’s words are prophetic: they indicate the fact
that He Himself was to be the true food of man, He being
the Word of God, He to be present as man’s spiritual food
and sustenance in the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, until
the end of time.
5. Christ answered in the words of Scripture, teaching us
that in Scripture, as in an armoury, are the weapons of our
spiritual warfare. The sword of the Spirit is the Word of
God.
_Then the devil taketh Him up into the holy city, and setteth
Him on a pinnacle of the temple, and saith unto Him._ Here note—
1. In the first temptation we have Satan coming to our
Blessed Lord as a man moved with compassion for His
famished condition. In the second, he appears as an angel
of light, bearing Him to the holy city, as the angel bore
Habakkuk to Babylon, and the Spirit of the Lord caught away
Philip to Azotus. In the third, he presents himself as a
god demanding worship.
2. Christ’s great love is noticeable here, in suffering
Himself to be borne hither and thither, whithersoever the
tempter listed. So did He afterwards suffer Himself to
be dragged by the wicked Jews from the judgment hall to
Gabbatha and to Calvary. So too now does He suffer His
sacred body to be in the hands and mouths of unworthy
priests and lay communicants, and to be offered in the
meanest chapel, and to be carried to the filthiest hovel of
the sick.
3. Temptation to spiritual pride is severe to those who
are leading a high spiritual life; temptation to pride is
common to all who are placed in high positions, whether in
Church or State.
4. We must not be scandalized at the manner in which
Episcopal appointments are made, whether by intrigue, or by
State interference; Christ was exalted to a pinnacle of the
temple by the devil, and many a holy man may be elevated to
the dignity of the Episcopacy by the vilest of means.
_Holy city_, so called because—
1. In it was the temple of God.
2. Christ was present in the city to sanctify it.
3. It was a shadow of the Heavenly Jerusalem.
_If Thou be the Son of God, cast Thyself down._ Note—
This temptation followed the other as though deduced from
it. Satan implied, “You have done well in showing your
reliance on God; perfect your reliance, prove how complete
it is.” Observe also that—
1. Christ’s temptation is not only to spiritual pride, but
also to vain-glory, in that the prospect was before Him of
being seen by men, supported by angelic hands, and thus of
establishing His position as a prophet, at the outstart of
His ministry.
2. Satan not only makes use of our natural wants, but even
of our virtues, as means of temptation; urging us to carry
them to excess. But virtue consists in moderation, in
neither doing too much nor too little. Thus liberality lies
between avarice and prodigality, and compunction is the
mean betwixt assurance and despair.
3. Satan has no power to cast us down without the consent
of our own free wills. He may urge to fall, but he cannot
compel man to fall.
4. Satan endeavours to cast down to earth, whilst Christ is
ever striving to draw man from earth, to lead man _to seek
those things which are above_. (Col. iii. 2.)
5. We are guilty of casting ourselves down from the
pinnacle upon which we are placed, whenever—
α. We presumptuously neglect the natural means of
support with which God has supplied us.
β. We deliberately fall into sin, with the purpose of
expiating it afterwards by confession.
γ. We undertake any unprofitable task. For a Christian
should set before him nothing upon which to expend his
time and energies but what is of utility.
δ. We do evil that good may come.
_For it is written, He shall give His angels charge concerning
Thee: and in their hands they shall bear Thee up, lest at any
time Thou dash Thy foot against a stone._
I. Satan placed two dangers before our Lord: that of being
dashed to pieces, and that of committing a sin.
To remove the fear of either committing the sin, or of
exposing Himself to danger, Satan quotes Scripture. He does
this on two grounds—
1. To exhibit himself in a favourable light, as though
he were the angel of God sent to bear Christ up.
2. To remove the fear of injury, on the authority of
Scripture promises.
II. Satan endeavours to remove the prospect of danger,
so as to make the thought of committing the sin less
alarming. For many are deterred from crime by fear of its
consequences; and if the fear be removed, then they are
ready to commit the sin.
Eve was prevented from disobeying God by the fear of the
consequences (Gen. iii. 3); Satan removed the fear when he
said, _Ye shall not surely die_; and then at once the woman
fell. So when Satan removes the fear of death, as something
doleful to think upon, when we are in health, we are ready
enough to sin. Whereas fear is salutary; as says Scripture,
_To fear the Lord is the beginning of wisdom_. Ecclus. i.
14. 16. Matt. iii. 7. Luke xii. 5. Examples of the fear
of the Lord deterring from sin in Gen. xxxix. 9. Hist.
Susanna 23.
III. Satan quotes Scripture for his own vile purposes,
to screen himself under the semblance of piety. We have
a warning here against those renegade Catholic priests
and monks who desert the Church and the authority of the
Bishops, that they may give themselves up to heresy and to
unclean living, sheltering themselves all the while under
Scripture texts distorted to serve their own purposes.
IV. Satan garbles Scripture in quoting it.
1. He distorts the sense. Christ needed not angelic
hands to sustain Him, and therefore the passage is not
applicable to Him, but refers to His people. (Acts i.
9. Heb. i. 3.)
2. He omits passages which did not suit his purpose.
The words are, _They shall keep Thee in all Thy ways_,
i. e. in the ways of God’s commandments, not in
breaking those commands. He also omits, _Thou shalt go
upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon
shalt Thou tread under Thy feet_, because those words
referred to himself as overcome by Christ.
V. Note also how great is the dignity of the true servant
of God, upon whom, by God’s command, the angels wait. Hence
we may learn:—
1. Not to regard ourselves as of no value, for we are
so highly esteemed of God that He commissions His own
ministers to attend on us.
2. To entrust ourselves altogether to their guidance,
for they will keep us in perfect peace.
3. To lead such a life as will make the angels surround
us, and be our constant attendants. As bees swarm about
a bed of flowers, so will they gather around those
who bloom with Christian graces. Thus, the Bride is
spoken of as _terrible as an army with banners_, that
army of the living God, the angelic hosts of _chariots
and horses of fire_ surrounding the faithful. Around
the bed of Solomon were _threescore valiant men_. And
angels are about our bed watching and protecting us.
_Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God._
Note here that—
I. Christ does not enter into a long discussion with the
devil, but at once silences him, knowing his obduracy.
(Tit. iii. 10.) He teaches us thereby not to parley with
diabolic suggestions, but at once to suppress them.
II. Christ answered in the words of Scripture, to show us
how to meet the assaults of the evil one; not with weapons
of our own devising, but with those taken from the armoury
of God’s Word.
III. Christ met and overcame Satan with his own weapon.
Thus did David slay Goliath with his own sword; thus was
Haman hanged on his own gallows; thus did Christ triumph at
the last over Satan by a tree, wherewith Satan had ruined
man.
IV. We tempt the Lord our God, whenever—
1. Presumptuously we require Him to alter the course of
nature on our behalf.
2. We rush needlessly into danger.
3. We thoughtlessly cast ourselves into prayer, without
having prepared our minds as to what we shall ask.
(Eccles. xviii. 23.)
4. We persevere in sin that grace may abound,
postponing repentance, stopping our ears to the calls
of God.
5. We tie God down to means, as the princes of Bethulia
tempted God, when they said that they would give up the
city in five days. (Judith viii. 11.)
6. We attempt to excogitate the meaning of Scripture,
with regard to doctrine, for ourselves, without
following the direction of our divinely-constituted and
infallible guide, the Church.
7. We stifle the promptings of conscience.
8. We neglect the appointed means of grace for those of
our own choosing.
_Again the devil taketh Him up into an exceeding high mountain,
and showeth Him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of
them_; and St. Luke adds, _in a moment of time_.
I. Whereas St. John was shown the kingdoms of the world
become the kingdom of the Lord and of His Christ, in
ecstatic vision, here in vision are the kingdoms of the
world shown to Christ as bowing under the rule of Satan.
II. Note also, how that—
1. Satan exhibited all the kingdoms to tempt Christ,
whilst to tempt us one jug of wine, one fair woman, one
handful of gold, are deemed quite sufficient.
2. Satan showed the _glory_ of the kingdoms of earth,
but not their emptiness, their troubles, their
fleetingness.
3. Satan spreads the net of ambition before those who
are leading a life of high spirituality. Thus the
Apostles, who had forsaken all for Christ, yet strove
amongst themselves as to which of them should be the
greatest. (Luke xxii. 24. 2 Kings xxiv. 2.)
4. Satan showed the glories of earth, not of Heaven,
trying by this temptation also to withdraw Christ’s
mind from things above to things below.
5. Satan did not show the real kingdoms, but only a
semblance of them. So he offers us, not those things
which will satisfy, but things which have no substance.
(James iv. 14.)
Whatsoever there is in this world of glory, of beauty,
of majesty, is but the shadow of _good things to
come_. Satan tries to urge us to clasp the shadow, that
we may lose the substance.
6. Satan showed all _in a moment of time_; we learn
thereby—
α. That his temptations come upon us with great
suddenness.
β. That the things he offers us are fleeting
and without stability. In this world nothing is
enduring. (1 Cor. vii. 35.) If Satan gives us what
we desire, he removes it from us speedily. (Ps.
lxxvi. 5. Prov. xiii. 11.)
_And saith unto Him, All these things will I give Thee, if Thou
wilt fall down and worship me._ Here note—
I. Satan no longer says, _If Thou be the Son of God_, for
he is now presenting himself as God, and might therefore be
supposed to know all things.
II. Note here also, that—
1. The devil’s motive in tempting man is still his
unconquered pride. Still does he desire to be equal
with God. But one of the three things which God hateth
is, _a poor man that is proud_ (Ecclus. xxv. 2); and
who is poorer than the devil, yet who more proud?
2. All sin leads to the worship of Satan, and the
breach of the First Commandment. For sin is a
turning from the obedience of God to the bondage of
corruption, a leaving the kingdom of grace for the
slavery of sin, an electing of eternal death in the
realm of outer darkness in place of resurrection to
eternal life in the kingdom of Christ. All sin leads to
this, for—
α. Sin must inherit death and damnation.
β. Sins lead to infidelity. (Ps. xiv. 1. Prov.
xviii. 3.)
γ. They make gods of mammon or the belly. (Tobit
iii. 3. Phil. iii. 19. Eph. v. 5.)
3. Satan is like a merchant offering wares in exchange
for souls; like the king of Sodom who said, _Give me
the souls, and take the goods to thyself_. (Gen. xiv.
21, Vulg.) But _what shall it profit a man, if he shall
gain the whole world and lose his own soul?_
4. Satan tells here three lies.
α. He claims the world and its kingdoms as his own,
whereas they belong to God. _The whole world is
Mine, and all that therein is._
β. He says that he gives kingdoms to whom he will
(St. Luke); whereas God says, _By Me kings reign_.
(Prov. viii. 15. Dan. ii. 21. John xii. 31.)
γ. He says that he has power to bestow things,
whereas he has no such power whatever.
5. Satan tempts Christ to fall down: and so—
α. His deceptions have all one object: the
accomplishment of our fall.
β. No man can worship Satan, without falling first
most grievously.
6. Satan begins with small temptations, and ends with
great ones; begins with a matter of bread, and ends
with an offer of kingdoms. This teaches us not to
despise small temptations; they are the forerunners
of greater ones, the _little foxes_ which spoil _the
vines_. (Cant. ii. 15.) Give an inch, and Satan will
take an ell. St. Peter began his fall by mixing with
bad company about a fire; he ended by denying his
Master with oaths and curses.
_Then saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan; for it is
written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only
shalt thou serve._
I. Hitherto Christ has answered with gentleness, as the
shafts of the devil were aimed simply at Himself as man;
but now that Satan casts the arrow of blasphemy against
God, He is kindled with zeal: thereby teaching us to bear
our own injuries with meekness, but to resent with the
flame of indignation any affront offered to the majesty of
God. So Christ endured patiently being called a gluttonous
man and a winebibber, but He was fired with zeal when He
saw His Father’s house made a house of merchandise.
II. Christ said not, _Get thee behind Me, Satan_; but, _Get
thee hence, Satan_: for to Satan there was left no place
for repentance, whilst to Peter, all that was needed was a
following of Jesus in His humiliations and sufferings.
III. The weapons wielded by Christ in His temptation, were,
pure trust in God, the Word of God, and hatred of the devil.
IV. It is of advantage that when we are tempted, we should
recognize the tempter through his disguise. Temptation
loses half its power when it is recognized as a temptation.
When Christ showed Satan that He knew him, at once Satan
took to flight. (1 Cor. xi. 14. 2 Cor. ii. 11. 1 John iii.
4.)
V. Christ made no allusion to Satan’s offer, but passed at
once to the condition, to show us that we should not suffer
his allurements to find the smallest lodgment in our minds.
VI. Christ made use of the words, _Thou shalt worship the
Lord thy God_, instead of _Thou shalt fear the Lord thy
God_, Deut. vi. 13, from which He quoted, to show that in
Him we have passed from the bondage of fear to the liberty
of love, from the fear of servants to the reverence of
children, that we have come to the _perfect love_ of the
New Covenant, which _casteth out fear_ of the Old Law.
VII. Christ teaches us that God demands _worship_ and
bodily reverence, that reverence of falling down on the
knee which Satan asked for himself.
VIII. Christ says not only, _Thou shalt worship the Lord
thy God_, but also, _Him only shalt thou serve_: to teach
us that bodily and spiritual worship is insufficient,
unless it is followed by obedient service; that acts of
devotion must go hand in hand with observance of the
commandments.
_Then the devil leaveth Him, and behold angels came and
ministered unto Him._
_Leaveth Him_, St. Luke adds, _for a season_; for Satan
returned to Him with provocations throughout His life, and
finally afflicted Him on the cross. It was of his coming to Him
then that Christ spoke, when He said, _The Prince of this world
cometh, and hath nothing in Me_. (John xiv. 30.) It was then on
the cross that Christ endured the last assaults of Satan: then,
when He made that offering of a sweet-smelling savour, which,
_when the evil spirit had smelled, he fled into the uttermost
parts of Egypt, and the angel bound him_. (Tobit viii. 3.)
Note here likewise that—
The devil leaveth Christ: thus does he also leave us, after
having tempted us,—
α. In the hopes of returning with seven other spirits
to take up a permanent abode in man’s heart, if found
empty of the love of Jesus.
β. That he may plot some new form of temptation;
retiring to gather strength. We must use this time
of freedom for recruiting our forces and collecting
additional arms of defence.
γ. That he may throw us off our guard, luring us into
false security and spiritual sloth:—tempting us by his
very absence.
_Angels came and ministered unto Him_, when the temptation
was ended. In like manner will angels minister to us if we
successfully resist.
Observe also that—
I. This brings great consolation to the religious, who
have pledged themselves to the angelic life of poverty,
chastity, and obedience.
1. Christ overcame the temptation of the flesh when He
rejected the offered stones.
2. Christ overcame the temptation to disobedience and
self-glorification when He remained on the pinnacle of
the temple instead of showing a form of _will-worship_
and _voluntary humility_ by casting Himself down. And
so should religious occupy any position to which their
superior appoints them without seeking to desert it.
3. Christ overcame the temptation to avarice when He
rejected the offered kingdoms of the world: electing
rather, poverty.
II. Angelic consolation follows retirement: the angels
ministered to Christ in the wilderness. It follows victory
over temptation: the angels ministered to Christ when the
temptation was ended.
III. Conflict with Satan does not lead to conquest: Christ
took no spoils by His triumph. It is rather the victory
of successful defence, of having _lost_ nothing in the
struggle, not of having gained aught.
Now I ask any candid person whether this is not a marvellous sermon,
abounding in thought, overflowing with suggestions? Having read it, will
he take up Scott, or Matthew Henry, or D’Oyly and Mant, and see what
those luminaries have to say on the passage of Scripture thus wrought out
by the Jesuit preacher?
I have not the least doubt as to the opinion he will form on the contrast.
We may truly say of the majority of Protestant commentators, that—_Their
minds are blinded: for until this day remaineth the veil—upon their
heart—in the reading of the Old_, or New, _Testament_. This is more
applicable, of course, to foreign reformed theologians—if I may use the
term theologian of those who are ignorant of the first principles of
theology—than to our own divines. The English Church has always studied
the Fathers, and has loved them; there is no great gulf fixed between
us and the Mediævals, as there is between the Church and Protestant
sectaries, and gleams of patristic light are reflected in the pages of
our great divines. But there are commentators among us, such as Scott,
who, scorning the master-expositors of early and Mediæval days, go to
the study of God’s Word with the veil of their self-sufficiency on their
hearts, and become hopelessly involved in heresy.
Scott affords us a melancholy example of a mistaken vocation. A
commentator on Holy Scripture should be a man of profound theological
learning, and of great intellectual power. Scott, a most amiable and
pious clergyman, was neither a well-read man, nor were his abilities
at all above par. His voluminous Commentary is accordingly, though
overflowing with pious sentiment, of small theological value.
Protestant clergy commenting on Scripture, amidst the bustle of their
ministerial avocations and their connubial distractions, without
referring to the great works of early and Mediæval theologians, whose
whole lives were spent in prayer and Scriptural studies, stand the chance
of blundering as grossly as would a farm labourer if he undertook to
excogitate, for himself, a system of astronomy, without reference to any
treatises on the science already existing, or qualifying himself for the
study, by a mastery of the rule of three, but regarded with unmitigated
contempt all the discoveries made by those who have spent their lives
in the exclusive study of the stars, and rejected as useless all the
appliances of art invented to facilitate this investigation.
FOOTNOTES
[1] I have been obliged somewhat to modify these expressions here; the
originals are too profane for reproduction.
[2] The manner in which these and other points are deduced from the
text cannot be explained here; suffice it to say that it exhibits great
ingenuity and subtlety in the preacher.
[3] Notice the gentle and loving spirit of the Jesuit here; he avoids
giving offence without retiring from his position.
[4] I believe he quotes Juvenal twice, Ovid once, and the Æneid twice.
[5] Valderama, however, is not to be commended; he is vulgar, pompous,
and irreverent.
INDEX.
Absurd sermons, 18-21. 70-73
Alberti, Leander, 19
Anecdotes
of F. de Neuilly, 11
told by Balzac, 12
of Cambridge preacher, 43, 44
of Franciscan preacher, 44
of Chaussemer, 45
of the Père Seraphim, 45
of Felix trembling, 47, 48
of a long sermon, 55
of Jerome de Narni, 57
of St. John Capistran, 57
of a public confession, 57
of a usurer, 58
of the Devil preaching, 81
of Hannibal, 143
Bequest to Apollo, 13
Birds, 29-31
Bon-mots, 15, 16
Catholic preachers, 23-25
Classical allusions, 13, 14. 192
Commentators, 39, 235, 236
Conclusions, 56
D’Oyly and Mant, 40. 235
Effects produced by sermons, 56-58
Exordium, 13. 45-47
Flowers, 31-33
Friar-preachers, 17
Gratian de Drusac, 79
Henry IV., 16
Horæ Homileticæ, 54
James I., 43
Lapide, Cornelius à, 156
Lapide, Joannes de, 83
Lengthy sermon, 55
Louis XIV., 45
Love of nature, 28-33
Mademoiselle d’Entragues, 16
Marginal notes, 12
Mariolatry, 27. 84
Mystical interpretations, 37-43. 85. 124. 141. 187
Natural history, 84. 88. 94-97. 139
Nature, love of, 28-33
Oblates, 161
Open-air sermons, 11. 17
Parker, Matthew, 9
Preachers,
Adrien Mangotius, 59, 60
Alfric, 10
Ambrose, St., 8
Andrew of Crete, St., 10
André, le Père, 15
Andrewes, Bp., 60
Ange de Rouen, 19
Antonio Vieyra, 60
Athanasius, St., 7
Augustine, St., 8
Barlette, Gabriel, 16. 19, 20
Barzia, Joseph de, 27. 33. 134-154. 178
Basil, St., 8
Basil of Seleucia, 9
Bede, the Venerable, 10
Biel, Gabriel, 12. 61-68
Borgia, Francis, 132
Bourdaloue, 60
Brydaine, Jacques, 45-47
Cæsarius of Arles, St., 9
Camus, Bp. of Belley, 14
Capistran, St. John, 57
Celles, Peter of, 43
Chrysostom, St., 8
Claude, 54
Clement of Alexandria, St., 7
Coster, Francis, 206-236
Cyprian, St., 7, 8
Damascene, St. John, 10
Deza, Maximilian, 192-205
Ephraem Syrus, St., 7
Eucher, St., 9
Faber, Matthias, 31. 49-54. 100-115
Foulque de Neuilly, 11
Geminiano, John, 53, 59. 145
Gonthier, le Père, 16
Granada, Louis of, 12
Gregory the Great, St., 8
Gregory Nazianzen, St., 8
Guerin, le Père, 15
Guevara, Antonio de, Bp. of Mondoneda, 56
Harphius, Henry, 22. 158
Harrone, le Père d’, 60
Hartung, Philip von, 29. 43. 116-133
Helmesius, 26. 135
Imbert, Father, 19
Kempis, St. Thomas à, 22
Königstein, 25
Labat, 17
Langton, Stephen, 43
Latimer, Hugh, 60
Leo, St., 8
Macarii, the, 7
Maillard, Oliver, 12, 13. 43. 70
Marchant, Jacques, 40. 136. 155-176
Meffreth, 70. 81-99
Menot, Michael, 21. 70
Narni, Jerome de, 56
Narni, Philip de, 12
Neuilly, Foulque de, 11
Origen, 7
Osorius, John, 33, 34. 177-191
Pantænus, St., 7
Paoletti, 56
Polygranus, 26
Raulin, Jean, 69-80
Salvian, 9
Satan, 81
Savonarola, 12
Segneri, Paolo, 60. 134. 194
Simeon, Mr., 54, 55
Stella, 39, 40
Turricremata, John, 22
Valerian of Cemele, 9
Venerable Bede, 10
Vieyra, Antonio, 60
Wulfstan of York, 10
Protestant preachers, 23-25
Proverbs, 114, 115
Relation between Nature and Revelation, 28, 29
Scott the commentator, 39. 235, 236
Scriptural illustrations, 34. 37
Sermons for,—
First Sunday in Advent, 198-202
Christmas Day, 14. 25
St. John’s Day, 153, 154
Sunday after Christmas Day, 148-153
Epiphany, 70-73
First Sunday after Epiphany, 107-110. 119-125
Sexagesima, 85-87
Septuagesima, 64-68
Ash-Wednesday, 194-198
First Sunday in Lent, 213-236
Fourth Sunday in Lent, 103-107
Palm Sunday, 111-113
Good Friday, 169-171
Easter Day, 110, 111
Easter Monday, 172, 173
Low Sunday, 172, 173
Easter Tide, 161-167
Second Sunday after Easter, 126-131
Ascension Day, 173-176. 186, 187
Trinity Sunday, 181-185
Second Sunday after Trinity, 88-93
Fifth Sunday after Trinity, 140-144
Sixth Sunday after Trinity, 144-147
Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity,29-33
Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity, 137-140
Twentieth Sunday after Trinity, 36, 37
Feast of St. Andrew, 198-202
The Purification of our Lady, 27, 28. 148-153
The Annunciation, 28
St. Peter, 14
St. James, 189-191
Transfiguration of our Lord, 49-54
Nativity of our Lady, 28
Name of Mary, 17
Similes, 22, 23. 34. 74. 113, 114. 139, 140. 142. 181-186
Subjects of sermons, 47-54
Sermon on
Birds, 29. 31
Danger of neglecting trifling faults, 137-140
Example, bad, 148-153
Elect, small number of, 36, 37
Flowers, 31-33
Heaven, 126-131
Hell, 119-125
Judgment, 198-205
Resurrection of Lazarus, 186-189
Shortness of life, 194-198
Sower, parable of, 85-87
Supper, parable of, 88-93
Temptation, 213-235
Uncertainty of our future condition, 153, 154
Vanity of the work of sinners, 140-144
Wounded Side, 169-171
Tales related in sermons, 75
Beasts at penance, 75
Toad and his son, 77
Widow and her servant, 78
Hermit and the way of safety, 79, 80
Mice in the larder, 94, 95
Poor Robin, 97, 98
Hermit and the olive-tree, 98
Priest and capon, 99
Crab and oyster, 139
Hannibal, 143
Women and the clew of wool, 146
Children and the child Jesus, 209
Priest and the acolyte, 211
Texts, strange, 13. 43-45
Unction, 84
Viaud, Theophilus, 15
Violent denunciations, 70
Vitry, Jacques de, 11
THE END.
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