Chapter XII: Part 12

All her worldly affairs were in perfect order, and but one thing troubled her, namely, that her children who had all assembled round her, on hearing of her danger, were too indefatigable in their attendance upon her, and this, as she thought, to the detriment of their own health. Our Blessed Father wishing to comfort her, said tenderly: "Do you know that I, on the contrary, when I am ill, am never so happy as when I see my relatives and servants all busy about me, tiring themselves out on my behalf. You are astonished, and ask me why I feel like this. Well, it is because I know that God will repay them generously for all these services. For if a cup of cold water given to a poor man in the love and for the love of God receives such a reward as eternal life; if our least labours undertaken for the love of God work in us the weight of a supreme glory, why should we pity those whom we see thus occupied, since we are not ill-disposed towards them, nor envious of their advantages? _For unto you it is given_, said St. Paul to the christians of his day, _not only to believe in Christ, but also to suffer for Him_.

"The reapers and vintagers are never happier than when they are heavily laden, because that proves the harvest, or the vintage, to have been plentiful. In truth, if those who wait on us, whether in health or in sickness, are only considering us, and not God, and are only seeking to please us, they make so bad a use of their toil that it is right they should suffer for it. He who serves the prophet for the love of the prophet shall receive the reward of the prophet. But, if they serve us for the love of God they are more to be envied than pitied; for he who serves the prophet in consideration of Him who sends him shall receive the reward of God, a reward which passes all imagination, which is beyond price, and which no words can express."

In his visiting of the sick when on their death-bed our Blessed Father was truly an angel of peace and consolation. He treated the sick person with the utmost sweetness and gentleness, speaking from time to time a few words suited to his condition and frame of mind, sometimes uttering very short ejaculatory prayers, or aspirations for him, sometimes leading the sufferer to utter them himself, either audibly, or, if speech was painful to him, secretly in his heart; and then allowing him to struggle undisturbed with the mortal pains which were assailing him.

He could not bear to see the dying tormented with long exhortations. That was not the time, he would say, for preaching, or even for long prayers; all that was needed was to keep the soul sustained in the atmosphere of the divine will, which was to be its eternal element in heaven, to keep it up, I say, by short beatings of the wings, like birds, who in this way save themselves from falling to the earth.

UPON SPEAKING WELL OF THE DEAD.

When any of his friends or relatives died he never tired of speaking well of them nor of recommending their souls to the prayers of others. He used to say: "We do not remember our dead, our dear ones who have left us, nearly enough; and the proof that we do not remember them enough is that we speak of them too seldom. We turn away conversation from that subject as though it were a painful one; we let the dead bury their dead, their memory die out in us with the sound of the funeral knell, seeming to forget that a friendship which can end even with death can never have been a true one. Holy Scripture itself tells us that true charity, that is, divine and supernatural love, is stronger than death! It seems to me that as a burning coal not only remains alive but burns more intensely when buried under ashes, so sincere and pure love ought to be made stronger by death, and to impel us to more fervent prayers for our deceased friends and relatives than to supplications for those who are yet living.

"For thus we look upon the dead more absolutely as in God, since, having died in Him, as we piously believe, they rest upon the bosom of His mercy. Then, praise can no longer be suspected of flattery, and, as it is a kind of impiety to tear to pieces the reputation of the dead, like wild beasts digging up a corpse to devour it; so it is a mark of piety to rehearse and extol the good qualities of the departed, since our doing so incites us to imitate them: nothing affecting us so deeply and so strongly as the example of those with whom we come in close and frequent contact."

In order to encourage people to pray for the dead he used to represent to them that in this one single work of mercy all the other thirteen are included, explaining his statement in the following manner. "Are we not," he would say, "in some sort visiting the sick when we obtain by our prayers relief or refreshment for the poor Souls in purgatory?

"Are we not giving drink to the thirsty and feeding the hungry when we bestow the cool, refreshing dew of our prayers upon those who, plunged in the midst of its burning flames, are all athirst and hungering for the vision of God? When we help on their deliverance by the means which Faith suggests, are we not most truly ransoming prisoners? Are we not clothing the naked when we procure for souls a garment of light, the light of glory?

"Is it not an act of the most princely hospitality to obtain for them an entrance into the heavenly Jerusalem, and to make them fellow-citizens with the saints and servants of God in the eternal Zion?

"Then, as regards the spiritual works of mercy. Is it not the most splendid thing imaginable to counsel the doubtful, to convert the sinner, to forgive injuries, to bear wrongs patiently? And yet, what is the greatest consolation we can give to the afflicted in this life compared to the solace our prayers bring to the poor souls who are in such grievous suffering?"

UPON DEATH.

Strictly speaking, the sojourn which we make on earth, in the days of our flesh and which we call life, is rather death than life, since "every moment leads us from the cradle to the grave."

This made an ancient philosopher say that we are dying every day of our lives, that every day some portion of our being falls away, and that what we call life is truly death.[1]

Hence the beautiful saying of the wise woman of Thecua: _We all die, and like waters that return no more, we fall down into the earth._[2]

Nature has imprinted in the hearts of all men a horror of death. Our Saviour, even, taking upon Himself our flesh and making Himself like to His brethren, sin only excepted, would not be exempted from this infirmity, although He knew that the passage into another world would set Him free from all miseries and transport Him into a glory which He already possessed as regarded His soul. Seneca says that death ought not to be considered an evil when it has been preceded by a good life.

What makes death so formidable is that which follows upon it. We have, however, the shield of a most blessed hope to protect us against the terrors that arise from fear of the divine judgments. This hope makes us put our trust, not in our own virtue, but solely in the mercy of God, and assures us that those who trust in His goodness are never confounded.

But, you say, I have committed many faults. True, but who is so foolish as to think that he can commit more sins than God can pardon? Who would dare to compare the greatness of his guilt with the immensity of that infinite mercy which drowns his sins in the depths of the sea of oblivion each time we repent of them for love of Him? It belongs only to those who despair like Cain to say that their sin is so great that there is no pardon for them,[3] for _with God there is mercy and plentiful redemption, and He shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities_.[4]

Listen to the words of holy consolation which were addressed by our Blessed Father to a soul encompassed and assaulted by the terrors of death and of the judgment to follow. They are to be found in one of his letters. "Yes," he says, "death is hideous indeed, that is most true, but the life which is beyond, and which the mercy of God will give to us, is much to be desired. There must be no mistrust in your mind, for, miserable though we may be, we are not half so miserable as God is merciful to those who desire to love Him, and have fixed their hope in Him. When St. Charles Borromeo was at the point of death he had the crucifix brought to him, that by the contemplation of his Saviour's death he might soften the bitterness of his last agony. The best remedy of all against an unreasonable dread is meditation upon the death of Him who is our life; we should never think of our own death without going on to reflect upon that of Christ."

[Footnote 1: Senec. Epist. 24.] [Footnote 2: Kings xiv. 14.] [Footnote 3: Gen. iv. 13.] [Footnote 4: Psal. cxxix. 7-8.]

UPON WISHING TO DIE.

You ask me if we are permitted to wish for death rather than offend God any more? I will tell you a thought which I believe was suggested to me by our Blessed Father, but I cannot distinctly remember on what occasion.

"It is always dangerous to wish for death, because this desire, generally speaking, is only to be met with in those who have arrived at a very high pitch of perfection, which we dare not think we have reached, or else in persons of a morose and melancholy temperament, and but seldom in those of ordinary disposition like ourselves."

It is alleged that David, St. Paul, and other saints expressed their longing to be delivered from the burden of this body so that they might appear before God and be satisfied with the vision of His glory. But we must remember that it would be presumptuous to speak the language of Saints, not having their sanctity, and to imagine that we had it would be inexcusable vanity. To entertain such a wish because of sadness, disappointment, or dejection is akin to despair.

But, you say, it is that you may no longer offend God. This, no doubt, shows great hatred of sin, but the Saints longed for death, more that they might glorify God. Whatever we may pretend, I believe it to be very difficult to have only this one end in view, in our desire to die. Usually it will be found that we are simply discontented with life. To get to heaven we must not only not sin, but we must do good. If we refrain from sin we shall escape punishment, but more is required to deserve heaven.

UPON THE SAME SUBJECT.

There are some who imagine that St. Paul desired to die in order only that he might sin no more when he said that he felt in himself a contradiction between the law of his senses and of his reason; and, feeling this, cried out: _Oh! unhappy man that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death?_[1] These people, therefore, as though they were so many little Apostles, when they are, by some trifle, goaded to impatience, instantly say that they desire to die, and pretend that their only wish is to be in a condition in which they cannot possibly offend God. This is, indeed, to cover up mere impatience and irritation with a fine cloak! But what is still worse, it is to wrench and distort the words of the Apostle and apply them in a sense of which he never thought. Our Blessed Father, in one of his letters, gives an explanation of this passage which is so clear and so excellent that I am sure if will be useful to you. He speaks thus: "_Oh, unhappy man that I am_, said the great Apostle, _who shall deliver me from the body of this death?_ He felt within himself, as it were, an armed host of ill humours, antipathies, bad habits, and natural inclinations which conspired to bring about his spiritual death; and because he fears them he declares that he hates them, and because he hates them he cannot support them without pain, and his grief makes him burst out into the exclamation which he himself answers in these words: _The grace of God by Jesus Christ_. This will deliver him not from the death of the body with its terrors, not from the last combat, but from defeat in the struggle, and will preserve him from being overcome.

"You see how far the Apostle is from invoking death, although elsewhere he desires to be set free from the prison of the body that he may be with Jesus Christ. He calls the mass of temptations which urge and incite him to sin a body of death, sin being the true death of the soul. Grace is the death of this death and the devourer of this abortion of hell, for where sin abounded grace superabounds.

"Grace, which has been merited for us by Jesus Christ our Saviour, to whom be honour and glory for ever and ever."

[Footnote 1: Rom. vii. 24.]

UPON THE DESIRE OF HEAVEN.

Here is a little village story to show how often true and solid piety is to be found among the lowly and ignorant, of whom the world thinks not at all. I had it from the lips of our Blessed Father, who loved to tell it.

While visiting his diocese, passing through a little country town, he was told that a well-to-do inhabitant was very ill and desired to see him, and to receive his blessing before he died. Our Blessed Father hastened to his bedside and found him at the point of death, yet in full possession of all his faculties. When he saw the Bishop the good farmer exclaimed: "Oh! my Lord, I thank God for permitting me to receive your blessing before I die."

Then the room being cleared of all his relations and friends, and he being left quite alone with the holy Prelate, he made his confession and received absolution. His next question was, "My Lord, shall I die?" The Bishop, unwilling to alarm him unnecessarily, answered quietly and reassuringly that he had seen people far more ill than he recover, but that he must place all his trust in God, the Master of life and death, who knows the number of our days, which cannot be even one more than he has decreed.

"But, my Lord," returned the man, "do you really yourself think that I shall die?" "My son," replied the good Prelate, "a physician could answer that question better than I can. All I can tell you is that I know your soul to be just now in a very excellent state of preparation for death, and that perhaps were you summoned at any other time, you might not be so fit to go. The best thing you can do is to put aside all desire of living and all care about the matter, and to abandon yourself wholly to the providence and mercy of God, that He may do with you according to His good pleasure, which will be undoubtedly that very thing which is best for you."

"Oh, my Lord," cried the sick man, "it is not because I fear to die that I ask you this, but rather because I fear I shall not die, for I can't reconcile myself to the idea of recovering from this sickness."

Francis was greatly surprised at hearing him speak in this manner, for he knew that a longing to die is generally either a grace given to very perfect souls such as David, Elias, St. Paul, and the like; or, on the contrary, in sinners a prelude to despair, or an outcome of melancholy.

He therefore asked the man if he would really be sorry to live, and, if so, why such disgust for life, the love of which is natural in all men.

"My Lord," answered the good man, "this world appears to me to be of so small account that I cannot think why so many people care for nothing beyond what it has to give. If God had not commanded us to remain here below until He calls us by death I should have quitted it long ago."

The Bishop, imagining that the man had something on his mind, or that the bodily pain he was enduring was too much for him, asked him what his trouble was--perhaps something about money?

"Not at all," replied he, "I have up to the present time, and I am seventy, enjoyed excellent health, and have abundant means. Indeed, I do not, thank God, know what poverty is."

Francis questioned him as to his wife and children, asking him if any one of them was an anxiety to him. "They are each one a comfort and a delight to me," he answered, "Indeed, if I had any regret in quitting this world it would be that I shall have to part from them."

More and more surprised, and unable to understand the man's distaste for life, the Bishop said: "Then, my brother, why do you so long for death?"

"My Lord," replied he, "it is because I have heard in sermons so much about the joys of Paradise that this world seems to me a mere prison." Then, speaking out of the fullness of his heart, and giving vent to his thoughts, he uttered marvellous words concerning the Vision of God in Heaven, and the love kindled by it in the souls of the blessed.

He entered into so many details respecting the rapturous joys of Eternity that the good Bishop shed tears of delight, feeling that the good man had been taught by God in these things, and that flesh and blood had not revealed them to him, but the Holy Spirit.

After this, descending from those high and heavenly speculations, the poor farmer depicted the grandeur, the wealth, and the choicest pleasures of the world in their true colours, showing their intrinsic vileness, and how in reality they are vanity and vexation of spirit, so as to inspire Blessed Francis himself with increased contempt for them. The Saint, nevertheless, did no more than silently acquiesce in the good man's feelings, and to calm the excitement under which he saw that he was labouring, desired him to make acts of resignation, and indifference as to living or dying. He told him to follow the example set by St. Paul, and by St. Martin, and to make his own the words of the Psalmist: _For what have I in heaven? And besides Thee what do I desire upon earth?_[1]

A few hours later, having received Extreme Unction from the hands of the holy Bishop, the man quietly, and apparently without suffering, passed from this world. So likewise may we when our last hour comes fall gently asleep. _Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord!_

Another story told me by our Blessed Father relates to himself and a man with whom he came in contact.

When he was at Paris in the year 1619, this gentleman, who was not only rich in this world's goods but also in piety and charity, came to consult him on matters of conscience, and began thus: "Father, I am much afraid that I shall not save my soul, and therefore I have come to you to beg you to put me in the right way."

The Bishop asked him what was the cause of this fear. He answered: "My being too rich. You know Scripture makes the salvation of the rich a matter of such difficulty that, in my case, I fear it is an impossibility."

Francis, thinking that perhaps he had made his money dishonestly, and that on that account his conscience was now pricking him, questioned him as to this.

"Not at all," he answered, "My parents, who were excellent people, left me no ill-gotten goods, and what I have added to my inheritance has been amassed by my own frugality and honest work, God preserve me from the sin of appropriating what belongs to my neighbour! No, my conscience does not reproach me in that respect."

"Well, then," said the Bishop, "have you made a bad use of this wealth?"

"I live," he replied, "in such a manner as becomes my rank and position, but I am afraid that I do not give enough to the poor, and you know that we shall be one day judged on this point."

"Have you any children?" asked Francis.

"Yes," he replied; "but they are all well provided for, and can easily do without me."

"Really," said the Bishop, "I do not see whence your scruples can arise; you are the first man I have ever met who has complained to me of having too much money; most people never have enough."

It was easy to set this good soul at rest, so docile was he in following the Bishop's advice. The latter told me afterwards that he found upon enquiry that the man had formerly held high appointments, discharging his duties in them most faithfully, but had retired from all in order to devote himself to works of piety and mercy. Moreover, he passed all his time in churches or hospitals, or in the houses of the uncomplaining poor, upon whom he spent more than half his income. By his will, after his many pious legacies were paid, it was found that our Lord Himself was his real heir, for he gave to the town hospital a sum of money equal to that which was divided among his children. I may add that a life so holy and devoted was crowned by a most happy death. Truly, _Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy!_

[Footnote 1: Psal. lxxii. 25.]

WHAT IT IS TO DIE IN GOD.

On one occasion Blessed Francis was asked what it was to die in God; what was the meaning of those words: _Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, that they may rest from their labours, for their works follow them._[1]

He replied that to die in God was to die in the grace of God, because God and His grace are as inseparable as the sun and its rays. He was asked again, if to die in God meant to die while in habitual grace, or to die in the exercise of charity, that is to say, whilst impelled by actual grace. He answered that in order to be saved it was enough to die in habitual or sanctifying grace, that is to say, in habitual charity; seeing that those who die in this state, as for instance newly-baptized infants, though they may never have performed a single act of charity, obtain Paradise by right of inheritance, habitual charity making them children of God by adoption. Those, however, who die, not only in the holy and supernatural state of habitual charity, but whilst actually engaged in works of charity, come into the possession of heaven by a double title, that of inheritance and that of reward; therefore is it written that _their works follow them_. The crown of justice is promised by the just Judge to those who shall have fought a good fight and finished their course with perseverance, even to the end.

Going on to explain what is meant by man's dying in actual grace, he said that it was to die while making acts of lively faith and hope, of contrition, resignation, and conformity to the will of God. He added these words, which have always remained deeply impressed on my mind: "Although God is all-powerful, it is impossible for Him to condemn to eternal perdition a soul whose will, at the moment of its leaving the body, is subject to, and united with, His own."

[Footnote 1: Apoc. xiv. 13.]

UPON LENGTH OF LIFE.

Judging from outward appearances, from the vigour of his frame, from his sound constitution, and from the temperate simplicity of his manner of life, it seemed probable that Blessed Francis would live to an advanced age.

One day I said as much to him, he being at that time about forty-two or forty-three years old. "Ah!" he replied with a sigh, "the longest life is not always the best. The best is that which has been best spent in the service of God," adding these words of David: _Woe is me that my sojourning is prolonged; I have dwelt with the inhabitants of Cedar, my soul hath been long a sojourner._[1] I thought he was secretly grieving over his banishment from his See, his beloved Geneva (he always called it thus), wrapped in the darkness of error, and I quoted to him the words: _Upon the rivers of Babylon there we sat, and wept._[2]

"Oh! no," he answered, "it is not that exile which troubles me. I am only too well off in our city of refuge, this dear Annecy. I meant the exile of this life on earth. As long as we are here below are we not exiled from God? _While we are in the body we are absent from the Lord._[3] _Unhappy man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death? The grace of God by Jesus Christ._"[4]

I ventured in reply to remind him how much he had to make his life happy: how his friends esteemed him, how even the very enemies of religion honoured him, how all who came in contact with him delighted in his society.

"All that," he answered, "is beneath contempt. Those who had sung Hosanna to the Son of God three days later cried out _Crucifige_. Such things do not make my life any dearer to me. If I were told that I should live as long again as I have already done, and that without pain, without law-suits, without trouble, or inconveniences of any kind, but with all the content and prosperity men desire in life, I should be sadly disturbed in mind! Of what small account are not the things of time to him who is looking forward to a blessed Eternity! I have always praised the words of the Blessed Ignatius de Loyola, 'Oh! how vile and mean earth appears to me when I meditate upon and look up to heaven.'"

[Footnote 1: Psalm cxix.] [Footnote 2: Psalm cxxxvi. 1.] [Footnote 3: Cor. v. 6.] [Footnote 4: Rom. vii. 24-35.]

UPON PURGATORY.

Concerning Purgatory, St. Francis used to say that in the controversy with Protestants there was no point on which the Church could support her doctrine by so many proofs, drawn both from the Scriptures and from the Fathers and Councils, as on this. He blamed those who oppose the doctrine for their lack of piety towards the dead. On the other hand, he reproved those Catholic preachers who, when speaking of Purgatory and of the pains and torments suffered there by the holy souls, do not at the same time enlarge upon their perfect love of God, and consequent entire satisfaction in the accomplishment of His will, with which their own will is so indissolubly united, that they cannot possibly feel the slightest movement of impatience or irritation. Nor can they desire to be anywhere but where they are, were it even till the consummation of all things, if such should be God's good pleasure.

On this subject he recommended the careful study of the _Treatise on Purgatory_, written by blessed Catherine of Genoa. By his advice I read the book with attention, and have often re-read it, always with fresh relish and profit. I have even invited Protestants to read if, and they have been quite satisfied by it. One young convert admitted that had he seen this Treatise before his conversion it would have helped him more than all the discussions into which the subject had led him.

St. Francis was of opinion that the thought of Purgatory ought rather to comfort than to terrify. "The majority of those," he used to say, "who dread Purgatory do so in view of their own interests, and out of self-love, rather than for God's interests. The cause of this is that those who preach on the subject are in the habit of depicting only the pains of that prison, and say not a word on the joy and peace which the souls therein detained enjoy. It is true that the torments of Purgatory are so great that the most acute sufferings of this life cannot be compared with them; but, then, on the other hand, the inward satisfaction of the sufferers is such that no amount of earthly prosperity or contentment can equal it. 1°. The souls who are waiting there enjoy a continual union with God. 2°. Their wills are in perfect subjection to His will; or, to speak more correctly, their wills are so absolutely transformed into the will of God that they cannot will anything but what He wills. 3°. If Paradise were open to them, they would rather cast themselves down into hell than appear before God stained and denied as they see themselves still to be. 4°. They accept their Purgatory lovingly and willingly, because it is the good pleasure of God. 5°. They wish to be there, in the manner in which it pleases God that they should be, and for as long as He wills. 6°. They cannot sin. 7°. They cannot feel the slightest movement of impatience. 8°. Nor be guilty of the smallest imperfection. 9°. They love God more than themselves and more than any other creature, and with a perfect, pure, and disinterested love, 10°. They are in Purgatory consoled by the angels. 11°. They are secure of their salvation. 12°. They are in a state of hope, which cannot but be realized. 13°. Their grief is holy and calm. 14°. In short, if Purgatory is a species of hell as regards suffering, it is a species of Paradise as regards charity. The charity which quickens those holy souls is stronger than death, more powerful than hell; its lamps are all of fire and flame. Neither servile fear nor mercenary hope has any part in their pure affection. Purgatory is a happy state, more to be desired than dreaded, for all its flames are flames of love and sweetness. Yet still it is to be dreaded, since it delays the end of all perfection, which consists in seeing God, and therefore fully loving Him, and by this sight and by this love praising and glorifying Him through all eternity."

UPON PENANCE.

He compared penance to an almond tree, not only in allusion to the word _amendment_ and the expression, amend your ways, both of which in the French language resemble in sound the word _almond_, but by a very ingenious comparison.

"The almond tree," he said, "has its blossom of five petals, which as regards number bear some resemblance to the five fingers of the hand, its leaves are in the shape of a tongue, and its fruit of a heart. Thus the Sacrament of Penance has three parts which make up its whole. The first which concerns the heart is _contrition_, of which David says that God heals those who are contrite of heart,[1] and that He does not despise the humble and contrite heart.[2]

"The second, which concerns the tongue, is _confession_. The third, which regards the hand, that is to say, the doing of good works, is _satisfaction_. Moreover," he went on to say, "as there are almonds of two kinds, the one sweet, the other bitter, which being mixed make a pleasant flavour, agreeable to the palate, so also in penance there is a certain blending of sweetness and bitterness, of consolation and pain, of love and regret, resembling in taste the pomegranate, which has a certain sharp sweetness and a certain sweet sharpness far more agreeable than either sharpness or sweetness separately. Penance which had only the sweetness of consolation would not be a cleansing hyssop, powerful to purge away the stains of iniquity. Nor, if it had only the bitterness of regret and sorrow, without the sweetness of love, could it ever lead us to that justification which is only perfected by a loving displeasure at having offended the Eternal, Supreme, and Sovereign Goodness."

Our Blessed Father treats of this mingling of love and sorrow proper to true penitence with so much grace and gravity in his Theotimus that I think nothing grander or sweeter could be written on the subject. Here is an extract. "Amidst the tribulation and remorse of a lively repentance God often kindles at the bottom of our heart the sacred fire of His love; this love is converted into the water of tears, then by a second change into another and greater fire of love. Thus the penitent Magdalen, the great lover, first loved her Saviour; her love was converted into tears, and these tears into an excellent love; whence our Saviour told her that many sins were pardoned her because _she had loved much_. The beginning of perfect love not only follows upon penitence, but clings to it and knits itself to it; in one word, this beginning of love mingles itself with the end of penitence, and in this moment of mingling penitence and contrition merit life everlasting."[3]

[Footnote 1: Psalm cxlvi. 3.] [Footnote 2: Psalm l. 19.] [Footnote 3: _Love of God_, Book II, c. 20.]

UPON PENITENT CONFUSION.

Our Blessed Father had a wonderful aptitude for distinguishing between what was real and genuine and what was false in the shame manifested by his penitents. He used to say that when this confusion was full of trouble and agitation it proceeded from self-love, from vexation and shame at having to own our sins and imperfections, not from the spirit of God. This he expresses in his second Conference in these words:

"We must never suffer our confusion to be attended with sadness and disquietude; that kind of confusion proceeds from self-love, because we are troubled at not being perfect, not so; much for the love of God as for love of ourselves." An extract from Theotimus will close this subject most suitably:

"Remorse which positively excludes the love of God is infernal, it is like that of the lost. Repentance which does not regret the love of God, even though as yet it is without it, is good and desirable, but imperfect: it can never save us until it attains to love, and is mingled with it. So that, as the great Apostle said, even if he gave his body to be burned, and all his goods to the poor, and had not charity it would all be of no avail; we, too, may say with truth, that, however great our penitence may be, even though it make our eyes overflow with tears of sorrow, and our hearts to break with remorse, still if we have not the holy love of God it will serve us nothing as regards eternal life."[1]

[Footnote 1: Book ii. c. 19.]

UPON INTERIOR PEACE AMIDST ANXIETIES.

It is a great mistake when souls, in other respects good and pious, imagine that it is impossible to preserve inward peace amid bustle and turmoil. There are some even, strange to say, who though dedicated to God by their holy calling, complain if they are employed by their community in laborious and troublesome offices, calling them distracting functions and occupations. Assuredly, these good people know not what they say, any more than did St. Peter on Mount Thabor.

What do they mean by distracting occupations? Possibly those which separate us from God? I know nothing which can separate us from His love except sin, which is that labour in brick and clay in which the infernal Pharaoh, tyrant of souls, and king over the children of pride, employs his unhappy subjects. These are the strange gods who give no rest either by night or by day. But with that exception, I know of no legitimate occupation which can either separate us from God, or, still more, which cannot serve as a means to unite us to Him. This may be said of all callings, of those of soldiers, lawyers, merchants, artisans.

Our Blessed Father devotes two chapters in his Theotimus to this subject, but he speaks even more explicitly upon it in one of his letters, in which he says: "Let us all belong wholly to God, even amid the tumult and disturbance stirred up round about us by the diversity of human affairs. When can we give better proof of our fidelity than amid contrarieties, Alas! my dearest daughter, my sister, solitude has its assaults, the world has its disorder and uproar; yet in either we must be of good heart, since everywhere heaven is close to those who have confidence in God, and who with humility and gentleness implore His fatherly assistance. Beware of letting your carefulness degenerate into trouble and anxiety."

"Tossed about upon the waves and amid the winds of many a tumult, always look up to heaven, and say to our Lord: 'O God, it is for Thee that I set my sails and plough the seas; be Thou my guide and my pilot!' And then console yourself by remembering that when we are in port the joys which will be ours will blot out all remembrance of our toils and struggles to reach it. We are now voyaging thither in the midst of all these storms, and shall safely reach our harbour if only we have an upright heart, a good intention, firm courage, eyes fixed on God, and place all our confidence in Him. If the violence of the tempest makes our head dizzy, and we feel shaken and sick, do not let us be surprised, but, as quickly as we can, let us take breath again, and encourage ourselves to do better. I feel quite sure that you are not forgetful of your good resolutions as you pursue your way; do not then distress yourself about these little attacks of anxiety, and vexation, caused by the multiplicity of domestic affairs. Nay, my dear daughter, all this tumult gives you opportunities of practising the dearest and most lovable of the virtues recommended to you by our Lord. Believe me, true virtue is not nourished in external calm any more than are good fish found in the stagnant waters of the marshes."

UPON DISCOURAGEMENT.

Our Blessed Father used to say that the most cowardly of all temptations was discouragement. When the enemy of our salvation makes us lose hope of ever advancing in virtue he has gained a great advantage over us, and may very soon succeed in thrusting us down into the abyss of vice. Those who fly into a passion at the sight of their own imperfections are like people who want to strike and bruise their own faces, because they are not handsome enough to please their self-love. They only hurt themselves the more.

The holy Bishop wishing to correct this fault in one of his penitents said to her: "Have patience with every one, but especially with yourself. I mean, do not be over-troubled about your imperfections, but always have courage enough at once to rise up again when you fall into any of them. I am very glad to hear that you begin afresh every day. There is no better means for persevering in the spiritual life than continually to be beginning again, and never to think that one has done enough."

On these words we may make the following reflections:

1. How shall we patiently suffer the faults of our neighbour if we are impatient over our own?

2. How shall we reprove others in a spirit of gentleness if we correct ourselves with irritation, with disgust, and with unreasonable sharpness? What can come out of a bag but what is in it?

3. Those who fret impatiently over their own imperfections will never correct themselves of them, for correction, if it is to be of use, must proceed from a tranquil, restful mind. _Cowardice_, says David, _is the companion of trouble and tempest_.

4. He who has lost courage has lost everything, he who has thrown up the game can never win, nor can the soldier who has thrown away his arms return to the fight, however much he may want to do.

5. David said: _I waited for him that saved me from pusillanimity and a storm_. He who believes himself to be far advanced in the ways of God has not yet even made a good beginning.

6. St. Paul, who had been raised to the third heaven, who had fought so many good fights, run so many splendid races, and had kept the Faith inviolate, in spite of all, never thought that he had finished his work, or reached the goal, but always pressed forward as though he had but just begun.[1]

7. This mortal life is but a road leading to heaven. It is a road to which we must steadily keep. He who stops short in it runs the risk of not reaching safely the presence of God in which it ends. He who says, I have enough, thereby shows that he has not enough; for in spiritual things sufficiency implies the desire for more.

[Footnote 1: 2 Cor. xii. 2, 4.]

UPON RISING AFTER A FALL.

Our Blessed Father was a great enemy to hurry and over-eagerness, even in rising up again after a fall.

He used to say that if our act of contrition is more hurried than humble we are very likely to fall again soon, and that this second fall will be worse than the first.

As he considered our penitence incomplete without an act of the love of God, so also he maintained recovery from a fall to be imperfect if not accompanied by tranquillity and peace. He wished us to correct ourselves, as well as others, in a spirit of sweetness. Here is the advice which he gives on the subject.

"When we happen to fall from some sudden outburst of self-love, or of passion, let us as soon as possible prostrate ourselves in spirit before God, saying, with confidence and humility: Have mercy on me, for I am weak. Let us rise again with peace and tranquillity and knot up again our network of holy indifference, then go on with our work. When we discover that our lute is out of tune, we must neither break the strings nor throw the instrument aside; but listen attentively to find out what is the cause of the discord, and then gently tighten or slacken the strings, according to what is required."

To those who replied to him that we ought to judge ourselves with severity, he said: "It is true that with regard to ourselves we ought to have the heart of a judge, but as the judge who hastily, or under the influence of passion, pronounces sentence, runs the risk of committing an injustice, but not so when reason is master of his actions and behaviour, we must, in order to judge ourselves with equity, do so with a gentle, peaceful mind, not in a fit of anger, nor when so troubled as hardly to know what we are doing."

UPON KINDLINESS TOWARDS OURSELVES.

Since the measure and the model of the love which God commands us to bear towards our neighbour ought to be the just and Christian love which we should bear towards ourselves, and as charity, which is patient and kind, obliges us to correct our neighbours' faults with gentleness and sweetness, our Blessed Father did not consider it right that we should correct ourselves in a manner different from this, nor be harsh and severe with ourselves because of our falls and ill-doings. In one of his letters he wrote as follows: "When we have committed a fault, let us at once examine our heart and ask it whether it does not still preserve living and entire the resolution to serve God. It will, I hope, answer yes, and that it would rather die a thousand deaths than give up this resolution. Let us go on to ask it further. Why, then, are you stumbling now? Why are you so cowardly? It will reply: I was taken by surprise: I know not how; but I am tolerably firm now. Ah! my dear daughter, we must pardon it; it was not from infidelity, but from infirmity that it failed. We must then correct ourselves gently and quietly, and not irritate and disturb ourselves still more. Rise up, my heart, my friend, we should say to ourselves, and lift up our thoughts to our Help, and our God.

"Yes, my dear daughter, we must be charitable to our own soul, and not rebuke it over harshly when we see that the fault it has committed was not fully wilful."

Moreover, he would not have us accuse ourselves over-vehemently and exaggerate our faults. At the same time, he had no desire that in regard to ourselves we should err on the side of leniency. He wanted us to embrace the happy medium, by humiliating without discouraging ourselves, and by encouraging ourselves with humility. In another letter he says: "Be just, neither accuse nor excuse your poor soul, except after much consideration, for fear lest if you excuse yourself when you should not, you become careless, and if you accuse yourself without cause, you discourage yourself and become cowardly. Walk simply and you will walk securely."

UPON IMPERFECTIONS.

"Some people have so high an opinion of their own perfection that should they discover any failings or imperfections in themselves they are thrown into despair. They are like people so anxious about their health that the slightest illness alarms them, and who take so many precautions to preserve this precious health that in the end they ruin it."

Our Blessed Father wished us to profit, not only by our tribulations, but also by our imperfections, and that these latter should serve to establish and settle us in a courageous humility, and make us hope, even against hope, and in spite of the most discouraging appearances. "In this way," he said, "we draw our healing and help from the very hand of our adversaries." To a person who was troubled at her imperfections, he wrote thus: "We should, indeed, like to be without imperfections, but, my dearest daughter, we must submit patiently to the trial of having a human, rather than an angelic, nature. Our imperfections ought not, indeed, to please us; on the contrary, we should say with the holy Apostle: _Unhappy man, that I am, who shall deliver me from the body of this death!_[1] But, at the same time, they ought not to astonish us, nor to discourage us: we should draw from them submission, humility, and mistrust of ourselves; never discouragement and loss of heart, far less distrust of God's love for us; for though He loves not our imperfections and venial sins, He loves us, in spite of them.

"The weakness and backwardness of a child displeases its mother, but she does not for that reason love it less. On the contrary, she loves it more fondly, because she compassionates it. So, too, is it with God, who cannot, as I have said, love our imperfections and venial sins, but never ceases to love us, so that David with reason cries out to Him: _Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak._"[2]

[Footnote 1: Rom. vii. 24.] [Footnote 2: Psalm vi. 3.]

THE JUST MAN FALLS SEVEN TIMES IN THE DAY.

A good man meditating upon this passage, and taking it too literally, fell into a perfect agony, saying to himself: "Alas! how many times a day, then, must not I, who am _not_ just, fall?" Yet during his evening examination of conscience, however closely and carefully he searched, and however much he was on the watch during the day to observe his failings and faults, he sometimes could not make up the number. Greatly troubled and perplexed about this, he carried his difficulties to our Blessed Father, who settled them in this way:

"In the passage which you have quoted," he said, "we are not told that the just man sees or feels himself fall seven times a day, but only that he does fall seven times, and that he raises himself up again without paying any heed to his so doing. Do not then distress yourself; humbly and frankly confess what you have observed of faulty in yourself, and what you do not see, leave to the sweet mercy of Him who puts out His hand to prevent those who fall without malice, from being jarred or bruised against the hard ground; and who raises them up again so quickly and gently that they never notice it nor are conscious of having so much as fallen."

The great imperfection of most of us proceeds from want of reflection, but, on the other hand, there are many who think overmuch, who fall into the mistake of too close self-inspection, and who are perpetually fretting over their failings and weaknesses.

Blessed Francis writes again on the subject: "It is quite certain that as long as we are imprisoned in this heavy and corruptible body there will always be something wanting in us. I do not know whether I have already told you that we must have patience with every one; and, first of all, with ourselves. For since we have learnt to distinguish between the old Adam and the new, between the outward man and the inward, we are really more troublesome to ourselves than any of our neighbours."

UPON THE PURGATIVE WAY.

Of the three ways leading to perfection the first is called the purgative, and consists in the purifying of the soul; from which, as from a piece of waste ground, we must take away the brambles and thorns of sin before planting there trees which shall bear good fruit. This purgation has, however, two different stages; that which precedes the justification of the soul, and that which follows it. This latter may again be subdivided into two parts. There is not only the freeing of the soul from sin, whether mortal or venial, but there is also its purgation from any inclination or attachment to either the one or the other.

It is not enough to be purged from deadly sin; we must labour incessantly to rid ourselves of any love, however slight, of the sin from which we have been cleansed, otherwise we shall be only too likely to fall back into it again. It is the same as regards venial sins. Our Blessed Father speaks of this purgative way in his Philothea as follows:

"We can never be wholly pure from venial sins, at least, never for any continuous length of time, but we can and may get rid of any sort of affection for these lesser faults. Assuredly it is one thing to tell falsehoods once or twice, lightly and thoughtlessly, and in matters of small importance; and another to take delight in lying and to cling fondly to this sort of sin."[1]

Besides venial sins, there are certain natural propensities and inclinations which are called imperfections, since they tend towards evil, and, if unchecked, lead to excesses of various kinds. They are not, properly speaking, sins, either mortal or venial; nevertheless they are true failings and defects of which we must endeavour to correct ourselves, inasmuch as they are displeasing both to God and man. Such are propensities to anger, grief, joy, excessive laughter, flattery, favouritism, self-pity, suspicion, over-eagerness, precipitancy, and vain affections. We must strive to rid ourselves of those defects which, like weeds, spring up without being sown in the soil of our corrupt nature, and incline us to evil from our birth.

The means of getting rid of all these evils, whether mortal sins, venial ones, imperfections, or attachment to any or all of these, you will find most clearly set forth by our Blessed Father in the same book.[2]

I once asked him what was the true difference between venial sin and imperfection, and I will try to recall his teaching on the subject that I may impart it to you. Every venial sin is an imperfection, but every imperfection is not a venial sin. In sin there is always malice, and malice is in the will, hence the maxim that nothing involuntary is sin; and according to the degree of this malice, whether great or small, and according to the matter on which it is exercised, the sin is either mortal or venial.