It is the office of the preacher to declare Christian doctrine, to defend and explain it, to show its consistency and excellence, to answer objections against it, and thus to add to the power of hereditary faith the force of personal conviction. The Church has always understood this, and therefore, whenever a new heresy arises, she sends out a new phalanx of preachers to confront it by good and sound doctrine. And the enemies of the Church have always understood it, and therefore, in times of persecution, when they wished to deal the Christian faith a deadly blow, they sought in the first place, by the murder of bishop and priest, to silence the voice of the teacher. It was one of the last woes threatened against Jerusalem that the people should seek in vain for a vision of the prophet, and that the law should perish from the priests; [Footnote 126] and when in the Christian Church there shall be heard no more the message of truth, when there shall be no more reproof, no more instruction in justice, the iniquity shall come in like a flood; then shall be the abomination of desolation, and the time of Antichrist.
[Footnote 126: Ezech. vii. 26.]
Great, then, my brethren, is the dignity of preaching. It is God speaking on Mount Sinai. It is Jesus preaching on the Mount. It is the Divine Sower scattering the seeds of truth and virtue. The Holy Ghost has not left the world. In every Christian church, at every Mass, the day of Pentecost is renewed. See, the priest has clothed himself to celebrate the unbloody sacrifice. He has ascended the altar. Already the clouds of incense hang over the mercy-seat, and hymns of praise ascend;—but he stops, he turns to the people. Why does he interrupt the Mass? Has he seen a vision? Has an angel spoken to him, as of old to the prophet Zacharias? Yes, he has seen a vision. He has heard a voice. A fire is in his heart. A living coal hath touched his lips, the Breath of the Spirit hath passed over him, and he speaks as he is moved by the Holy Ghost. Listen to him, for he is a prophet. He speaks to thee from God. What is thy misery? What is thy sorrow? What is thy trial? Now thou shalt find relief. Are you in doubt about religious truth? Listen, and you shall find the answer to those doubts. Are you sorely tempted to sin? Now God will give you an oracle to strengthen you. Are you distressed and suffering? Have you a secret sorrow? Now you shall receive an answer of comfort. Do you wish to know how to advance in God's love? Now the way shall be made plain before your face. O blessed truth! God has not left Himself without a witness. The world is not to have it all its own way. The teachings of Satan are not to go on all the week uncontradicted. The dream of the heathen, that there are sacred spots on earth whence Divine Oracles issue, is fulfilled. The Chair of Truth is set up for the enlightenment of the nations. "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; to them that dwelt in the region of the shadow of death light is sprung up." "The earth is filled with the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea." [Footnote 127]
[Footnote 127: Isaias ix. 2, 19.]
This subject suggests some very practical reflections. I am not unmindful that some of them concern the preacher himself. I do not forget that the thought of the high dignity of his office calls for the greatest purity of purpose and diligence of preparation; but while I remember this, suffer me also to remind you of your duty in listening to the preacher. St. Paul praises the Thessalonians because they listened to his words, not as the words of man, but as the words of God. In the sense in which the teaching of an uninspired man can be so designated, have you thus listened to the preacher's words? Has it been a task to you to listen to the sermon? Have you sought only to be amused? Have you been critical and captious? Or, acknowledging the truth you have heard, have you been careless about putting it in practice? Oh, how much the preaching of God's word might profit us, if we brought the right dispositions to the hearing of it! If we came to Church, eager to know more of God, with a single heart desirous to nourish our souls with His Truth, what progress we should make! A single sermon has before now converted men. St. Anthony, hearing but a single text, embraced a saintly life. If we had such dispositions, if each Sunday found us diligent hearers of God's Word, anxious to get some new thoughts about Him, some new motive to love Him, some new practical lesson, some new help against sin, it would not be long before the effect would be visible in us all. We should make progress in the knowledge of our religion. The devil and the world would assail us in vain. Scandals and sins would become rare. Heavenly virtues would spring up. Piety would become strong and manly. And that which the prophet describes would be fulfilled: "The Lord will fill thy soul with brightness. And thou shalt be like a well-watered garden, and like a fountain of water, whose waters shall not fail." [Footnote 128]
[Footnote 128: Isaias lviii. 2.]
"The spirit indeed is willing,
but the flesh is weak."
—St. Matt. XXVI. 41.
The word "flesh" here does not mean the body, but the lower or sensitive part of the soul in which the fleshly appetites reside. Our Lord is warning St. Peter of the necessity of prayer in order to meet the temptation which was coming upon him, and He tells him not to trust to the willingness of his spirit, that is, his good intentions and resolutions, because he had an inferior nature which might easily be excited to evil, and which in the hour of temptation might, without a special grace of God, drag his will into sin. What our Lord is declaring, then, is the fact attested by universal experience, that there are in the heart of man two conflicting principles—inordinate passion on one side, and reason and grace on the other. This truth, though so well known, touches our happiness and salvation too closely not to possess at all times an interest and importance for each one of us; and I propose, therefore, to make it the subject of my remarks this morning.
In the first place, then, what is the source and nature of the conflict thus indicated by our Lord? Whence does it arise? How does it come to pass that there are those two principles within us? How does it happen that every child of man finds himself drawn, more or less, two contrary ways, toward virtue and toward vice, toward God and toward the devil, toward Heaven and to-ward Hell? The answer commonly given is, that this conflict we feel within us comes from the fall, that it is the fruit of original sin. But the fall, according to the Catholic doctrine, introduced no new principle into our nature, infused no poison into it, and deprived it of none of its essential elements. We must look farther back, then, than the fall for the radical source of this conflict; and we find it in the very essential constitution of our nature. Man, in his very nature, is twofold. He is created and finite, yet he has a divine and eternal destiny. He has a body and a soul, and therefore he must have all the passions which are necessary to his animal and sensible life, as well as the intellectual and moral powers which are necessary to his spiritual life. Here, then, we have, in the very idea of man's nature, the possibility of a conflict. We have two different principles, which it is conceivable might come into collision. Man's appetites and passions, no less than his reason, are given to him by God, are good, are necessary, but since his appetites and passions are blind principles, it is conceivable that they might demand gratifications which would not be in accordance with his reason and spiritual nature. As human nature was at first constituted by the Almighty, any actual collision between these parts was prevented by a gift, which is called "the gift of integrity," a gift which was no essential part of our nature, but was conferred on it by mere grace, and which bound together the various powers of the soul in a wondrous harmony, so that the movements of passion were always in submission to reason. When Adam sinned, this grace was withdrawn from him; and since it was no necessary part of our nature, since it was given of mere grace, it was withdrawn from the whole human race. Hence men now find in themselves an actual conflict between the higher and lower parts of the soul. In a complicated piece of machinery, if a bolt or belt is broken that bound it together, the parts clash. Each part may in itself remain unchanged, but it no longer acts harmoniously with the other parts. So in fallen man, the bolt that braced the soul together is broken, and the powers of the soul clash together. The passions, the will, the reason, all, in themselves, remain as they were, undepraved; but they are no longer in harmony together, and man finds himself weakened by an intestine conflict. This, together with the loss of supernatural grace and a supernatural destiny, is the evil which, according to Catholic theology, accrued to man by the fall.
This conflict, then, which we find within us; this clamor of the lower nature against the higher; this propensity of the passions to rebel against reason—in other words, this proneness to sin, which is the universal experience of humanity, does not prove that we have lost any constituent part of our nature, that there is any thing positively vicious in us, nor does it prove that we are hateful to God. It proves, indeed, that we are not divine, that we are not angels, that we are not in the condition of human nature before Adam's transgression; it proves that a source of weakness, inherent in our nature, has been developed by the fall, that we need grace; but it gives not the slightest reason for supposing that our manhood has been wrecked, that the will is not free, that the reason of man has been extinguished, or that the passions are not in themselves good, and have not their legitimate sphere and exercise. So true is this, that this propensity to sin remains even in the baptized. Baptism does a great deal for a man. It takes away original sin, by supplying that justifying grace which our race forfeited in Adam. It restores to man his supernatural destiny. In the language of the Council of Trent, it renders the newly-baptized "innocent, immaculate, pure, harmless, and beloved of God, an heir of God, and a joint heir with Christ, so that there is nothing whatever to retard his entrance into heaven." But there is one thing it does not do. It does not remove the propensity of the passions to rebel. And the Council uses this fact—that concupiscence remains in the baptized—to prove that concupiscence, or the propensity to evil, cannot itself be sin; and enforces its conclusion by the seal of its infallibility and the warrant of its censures, saying: "If anyone is of the contrary sentiment" (that is, declares that the incentive to sin, which remains in the baptized, hath in it the true and proper nature of sin), "let him be anathema." [Footnote 129]
[Footnote 129: Sess. V. Decree on Original Sin.]
Thus, Christianity explains the origin of this conflict in the human heart, in a manner agreeable to reason and human experience. But it does more. It reveals to us the purpose of this conflict. Why does our Lord leave us subject to this strife? The same holy Council I have quoted already, answers distinctly; this incentive to sin is left in the soul "to be wrestled with." The state of the case is this: The passions desire to be gratified without waiting for the sanction of reason, sometimes even in defiance of reason. Morally speaking, this is no evil. The passions are but blind instincts; it is the province of the will to restrain them in their proper limits, and to help her in this work she has reason and the grace of God. If she fails to do her work, then she sins. Whenever sin is committed, it is the will that commits it. It is only the will that can sin. The sin lies not in the inordinate desire, but in the will's not resisting that desire. The will is the viceroy of God in the heart, appointed to keep that kingdom in peace. And herein lies the root of Christian morality, the secret of sanctification, and the essence of human probation. We speak of outward actions of sin; but all sin goes back to the will. There was the treason. "Out of the heart," says our Blessed Lord, "proceed murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false testimonies, blasphemies." [Footnote 130]
[Footnote 130: St. Matt. xv. 19.]
Each black deed is done in the secret chamber of the heart before the hand proceeds to execute it. Each false, impure, and blasphemous word is whispered first by the will before the lips utter it. Yes, man's heart is the battle-field. There is the scene of action. We speak sometimes of a man's being alone or being idle: why, a man is never alone; never idle. He may, indeed, be silent, his hands may be still, no one may be near him; but in that kingdom within great events are going on all the time. Angels and saints are there. The armies of Heaven and the armies of Hell meet there. Attack and repulse, parley and defiance, truce and surrender, stratagem and treason, victory and defeat—are things of daily occurrence there.
Of course, this is all very well known, very simple, very elementary, but yet there are some who never seem to understand it. They do not understand it who confound temptation with sin. This is a mistake often made, and by those too who ought to know better. If a man feels a strong inclination to evil, if an evil thought passes through his mind, or a doubt against the faith assails him, immediately he imagines that he has fallen under God's displeasure. To state such an error is to refute it. Never, my brethren, fall in to this mistake. No: between temptation and sin there lies all that gulf that separates Heaven from Hell. Let the devil fill your mind with the most horrid thoughts, let all your lower nature be in rebellion, let you have temptations to unbelief, to despair, to blasphemy; yet if that queenly will of yours keeps her place, if she stand steadfast and immovable, not only have you not sinned, but you are purer, more spiritual, more full of faith and reverence than if you had had no such trial. When St. Agnes was before the heathen judge, he ordered her to be sent to the stews and thrown among harlots, but she answered: "I shall come out of that place virgin as I entered it." Yes, all the powers of earth and hell cannot make a resolute soul commit a single sin. It is said that the walls of that house of prostitution, to which the holy maiden was condemned, still stand, and form the walls of a church dedicated in her honor—a visible proof how the soul, faithful to itself and God, turns the very means and instruments of its temptations into trophies of its most magnificent victories.
Nor do those understand the nature of the Christian conflict who make strong passions the pretext for the neglect of religious duties. There are such. Their hearts are too tumultuous, their passions too strong, their virtue too weak, their circumstances too difficult; and they must wait till they become more composed, calmer, more devout, until religion becomes more natural to them. Error, dangerous as common! I tell you, Christianity takes hold of every man just as he is, and just where he is, and claims him. No doubt, a quiet temper, a tranquil disposition, a devout spirit, are valuable gifts, but the root of religion does not lie in them, but in the will. That is it. God never intended religion to be confined to the passive and gentle, and to be neglected by the strong and impulsive. You, young man of pleasure; you, man of business and enterprise; you, proud and worldly man; you, passionate woman, with your wild and wayward nature, God, this day, here and now challenges you: "Why are you not working with Me, and for Me? Why are you not religious?" "Me!" you say, "it is impossible. I am sensual and avaricious, I am selfish and revengeful, I am full of hatred and jealousy, I am worldly to the heart's core." No matter: you know what is right; are you willing to do it? "Oh! I cannot. I do not love God. My heart is cold." No matter: are you willing to serve God with a cold heart? That is the question. "I cannot, I cannot. I have no faith. I cannot pray. I have not a particle of spirituality. Religion is wearisome to me, and strange. It is as much as I can do to stay through a High Mass." No matter, I say once more. Do you want to have faith? Are you willing to practise what you do believe? Then if you are, begin your work here and now. You cannot be of so rough a nature that Christ will reject you. No matter who you are and what you are, no matter what your trials have been, and what your past life, if you are a man, with a human heart, with human reason and a human will, Christ calls you by your name, and points out a way that will lead you to peace and heaven.
But least of all do they understand the nature of the Christian life, who make temptation an apology for sin; who excuse themselves for a wrong action by simply saying, "I was tempted." Far be it from me, my brethren, to undervalue the danger of temptation, or to forget the frailty of the human heart, or to lack compassion for the fallen; but it is one thing to fall and bewail one's fall, and another to make the temptation all but a justification of the fall. And are there not some who do this? who do not seek temptation, but invariably yield to it when it comes across them? who only steal when some trifle falls in their way; who only curse when they are angry; who only neglect Mass when they feel lazy and self-indulgent; and are always sober and chaste except when the occasion invites to libertinism and intemperance? What! is this Christianity? To abstain from sin as long as we have no particular inclination to commit it, and to fall into it as soon as we have! O miserable man, O miserable woman, go and learn the very first principles of the doctrine of Christ. Go to the Font of Baptism, and ask why you renounced Satan, and promised to keep God's commandments. Go to the Bible and learn why Christ died, and what is the duty of His followers. Temptations come upon you in order that you may resist them. You are subject to gusts of anger, in order that you may become meek. You are tempted to unchastity, in order that you may become pure. You are tempted against faith, that you may learn to believe. That you are tempted, is precisely the reason that you should not yield; for it shows that your hour is come, and the question is whether you will belong to Christ or Satan.
Yes, my brethren, our conflict is for the trial of our virtue. It is a universal law of humanity. It was so even in the garden of Eden. In the fields of Paradise, where the trees were in their fresh verdure, and the air breathed a perpetual spring, and all things spoke of innocence and peace, there Adam had to meet this trial. And each child of man since then has met it in his turn. And Christians must meet it too. In the sheltered sanctuary of the Church, where we have so many privileges, so much to strengthen and gladden us, even there each one must abide the test. As the Canaanite was left in the promised land, to keep the children of Israel in vigilance and activity, so the sting of the flesh, the power of our inferior nature, is left in the baptized, to school us in virtue, to make us men, to make us Christians, to make us saints. This is the foundation principle of religion. He who has learnt this, has found out the riddle of life.
And now, my brethren, that I have explained to you the source of the conflict that we feel within us, and the purpose it is designed to answer, you will see what the result of it must be, how it issues in the two eternities that are before us. "He that soweth in his flesh, of the flesh also shall reap corruption; but he that soweth in the Spirit, of the Spirit shall reap life everlasting." [Footnote 131]
[Footnote 131: Gal. vi. 8.]
The Judgment Day is but the revelation of the faithfulness or unfaithfulness of each one of us in the struggle to which he has been called. Every act, every choice we make, tells for that great account. The day will declare it. Then the secret of each man's heart shall be revealed, and how that battle in his heart has been fought. Oh, what a spectacle must this world present to the angels who look down upon the solemn strife that is going on here below! There is a man who has ceased to strive. No longer making any resistance, he is led on wholly and completely by his inferior nature. The slave of sin, he hardly feels the conflict in his soul, but it is because the voice of reason and the voice of grace have been so long resisted that they have become almost silent. And there are others who have given up the pure strife, but not so determinedly, not so completely. Occasionally they have better moments, regrets for the good they have forsaken, but still they float on with the careless world. And there is the young girl taking her first step on the downward road, looking back to the father's house she is leaving, reluctant, but consenting. Then there is the penitent, who has fallen but risen again; who has learned wariness from his fall, and new confidence in God from His mercy and goodness, and who is striving by penance and prayer to make up what he has lost. And there is the man with feeble will, ever sinning and ever lamenting his sin, divided between good and evil, with too much conscience to give free reins to his passions, and too little to master them completely. And there is the soul severely tried, still struggling but almost overwhelmed, and out of the depths calling upon God the Holy and True, "Incline unto mine aid, O God." And there is the soul strong in virtue, strong in a thousand victories, which stands unmoved amid temptations, like the deep-rooted tree in a storm, or like the rock beaten by the waves. Oh, yes, in the sight of the angels, this world is full of interest. There is nothing here trivial and common-place. What prophecies of the future must they not read! What saints do they see, ripening for Heaven! What sinners rushing madly to Hell! What unlooked-for falls! What unexpected conversions! What hidden sins, unsuspected by the world! Now they must rejoice, and now they must weep. Now they tremble over some soul in danger, and now they exult because the danger is over. So it is now; but when the end shall come, then fear and hope shall be no more, the conflict will be ended, the books shall be opened, and the secrets of the heart published to the universe. The struggle of life will be past, only its results will remain—two separate bands, one on either side of the Judge, the good and the wicked, those who have been true to their conscience, to reason, to grace, and those who have not.
Well, then, we will strive manfully against sin. There are untold capacities in us for good and evil. God said to Rebecca: "Two nations are in thy womb, and two peoples shall be divided out of thy womb, and one people shall overcome the other." [Footnote 132]
[Footnote 132: Gen. xxv. 23.]
So, my brethren, in each heart there are two powers struggling for the mastery—the Spirit and the Flesh. There are two sets of offspring struggling for the birth—"the works of the flesh, which are immodesty, uncleanliness, fornication, enmities, wrath, envies, emulations, quarrels, murders, drunkenness, revellings; and the works of the spirit, which are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, faith, modesty, continence, chastity." It is for the will, with and under God's grace, to say which of these shall overcome the other. Do you say that I put too much on the will? that the will is too weak to decide this fearful contest? O brethren, the will is not weak. On the side of God, and with the help of God, it is irresistible. Look at the martyrs' will. Did it not carry them through fire and sword? Did it not enable them to meet death with joy? This is our mistake, we do not know our strength. We know our weakness, but we do not know our strength. We think God is to help us, independently of ourselves, and not through ourselves. But this is not so, God helps us by strengthening our will, by enlightening our reason, by directing our conscience. We cannot distinguish between what God does and what we do in any act. The two act together. Therefore, I say, you have it in your power to resist sin, you have it in your power to become saints. No matter though your evil dispositions have been increased by past sins, you can overcome evil habits, and be what God wills you to be. Only do not be contented with a superficial religion, a religion of feelings, and frames, and sensible consolations. Go down deep, go down to the will. Let the sword of the LORD probe till it pierces even "to the division of the soul and the spirit," the point at which our higher and lower natures meet each other. Make your religion not a sham, but a reality. School yourself for heaven. Day by day fight the good fight of faith, and thus merit at last to die like a holy man at whose death St. Vincent of Paul assisted: "He is gone to heaven," said the saint, speaking of M. Sillery, "like a monarch going to take possession of his kingdom, with a strength, a confidence, a peace, a meekness, which cannot be expressed."
"If you remain in me,
and my words remain in you,
ye shall ask whatever you will,
and it shall be done to you."
—John xv. 7.
There is perhaps no Catholic doctrine which meets with more objection among those outside the Church, than our devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Expressions of love to her, of hope in her intercession, which seem to us perfectly natural, which come from our hearts spontaneously, when they are most under the influence of Christian and holy principles, seem to them altogether at variance with Christianity. I do not believe that this comes always from prejudice, and a spirit of opposition on their part. It comes often, I am persuaded, from not understanding us. There is a link in our minds which connects this practice with other Christian doctrines, and this link is wanting in theirs; and therefore acts of devotion of this kind seem to them arbitrary and useless, an excrescence on Christianity, and even alien to its spirit. If this is the case, it cannot but be a duty and charity for us to explain, as far as possible, what is in the mind of a Catholic when he prays to the Blessed Virgin; and I shall accordingly attempt to do so this morning. Perhaps while we are thus removing a stumbling-block out of some erring brother's way, we shall be at the same time rendering our own ideas on this doctrine clearer, and its practice more intelligent.
The Blessed Virgin Mary, then, to a Catholic, represents the power of intercessory prayer in its highest form and degree.
I believe there are very few persons, indeed, who realize at all the power which is attributed to intercessory prayer in the Bible and in Christianity. The Apostles frequently exhort the Christians to whom they are writing to pray for them. They enjoined it upon them as a duty to pray for one another. What does this mean? Had not St. Paul and St. Peter influence enough with Heaven to carry their wants directly to the throne of grace? Was not the way of access to God open and easy for every one? Did God require to be reminded of the woes and wants of any child of man, by the sympathizing cries of his fellow-creatures? Was not God's own heart as large as theirs? Could any thing He had made escape His knowledge, or any sorrow fail to awaken His compassion? Or, if it did, was the intercession of Christ insufficient that any other had to be called in to supplicate? No, certainly. None of these suppositions are true. God's goodness and knowledge are infinite. He needs not to be told what is in man. He loves the work of His hands. The meanest and the poorest are in the light of His Providence. Christ's merits are infinite and universal. But after all, there stands the fact. Intercessory prayer is an ordinance of God. It is a duty to pray for others, and it is useful to have others pray for us. You may call it a mystery if you like. To me, it does not seem so very wonderful. No man lives to himself. We are not the only Christians. Many others walk alongside of us on the road to Heaven. Many are ahead of us. Many have already reached their term. Shall there be no sympathy between us? Is that principle so deeply seated in our nature to have no play in Christianity? Are we to have no interest, no feeling for each other? Or, is that sympathy to be a barren sentiment, and to have no results? God, in religion, makes use of and commands this kindness and sympathy. He makes use of it to bind all men together in a bond of love. In order to [do] this, He makes it a law that we shall pray for one another, and suspends His gifts upon its execution. It is, then, to meet that nature that He has framed—it is to exalt that nature craving for sympathy—it is to give rein to charity—it is to make us always sensible and mindful of that great human family to which we belong—it is for these reasons, I conceive, that God has instituted the ordinance of intercessory prayer. But, explain it as you will, the fact cannot be denied. It is an appointment of God, and an appointment of great efficacy. It plays a large part in the history of the Bible. Elias was a man subject to like passions with us, and he prayed earnestly that it might not rain, and it rained not for three years and six months; and he prayed again, and the heavens gave rain. Abraham prayed for Abimelech, and God healed him. When Moses prayed for the Israelites suffering under the fire with which God had visited them for their sins, the fire was quenched. In the prophet Ezechiel, God speaks as if he could not act without this intercession—as if it were really a necessary condition for the bestowal of His graces. "I sought among them for a man," he says, "that might stand in the gap before me, in favor of the land, that I might not destroy it, and I found none." [Footnote 133] St. James even seems to make salvation depend on intercessory prayer. "Pray for one another," is his language, "that ye may be saved." [Footnote 134]
[Footnote 133: Ezechiel xxii. 30.]
[Footnote 134: St. James v. 16.]
These are but a sample of the many Scriptural proofs that might be brought to show that intercessory prayer is an ordinance of God. It is one of the forms in which the goodness of God and the merits of Christ flow over upon us. By it we obtain graces from God much more easily than we could without it. And we obtain by it special graces, which we would not be likely to obtain at all without it. In this sense, perhaps, St. James meant to imply that it was necessary to our salvation. Not that it was a matter of precept to ask the prayers of this or that particular person, but that their intercession might be the condition of our obtaining graces without which our salvation would be a work of great difficulty.
But this is not all that the Scriptures tell us about intercessory prayer. They not only declare its wonderful power, but they make known to us that the efficacy of intercessory prayer depends on the goodness and merit before God of the one who offers it. I do not mean that no one should pray for another unless he is very holy. By no means. No matter how great a sinner a man may be, it is a good thing for him to pray for others, and the mercy and compassion of God, I am sure, never turn away from such a petition. But then, in such a case, it is mercy and compassion which moves God to hear the prayer. In the case of a good man praying for another, there is a sort of claim that he should be heard. Not an absolute claim, by which he can demand any thing for another, as of right, but a claim of fitness, a claim as if between friend and friend, a claim on God's bounty and generosity, which will not allow Him to turn a deaf ear to one who is faithfully striving to serve Him. The passages of inspiration which express this are very clear and very strong. "The continual prayer of a just man availeth much." [Footnote 135] There it is the prayer of a righteous man that has this efficacy. And to this agree the words of our Lord: "If ye remain in me, and my words remain in you, ye shall ask whatever ye will, and it shall be done unto you." [Footnote 136] Could words express more clearly that the power of intercessory prayer is in direct proportion to the closeness of the union which we maintain with God? And St. John reiterates the same principle when he says: "Whatsoever we shall ask we shall receive of Him, because we keep his commandments, and do those things that are pleasing in His sight." [Footnote 137]
[Footnote 135: St. James v. 15.]
[Footnote 136: John xv. 7.]
[Footnote 137: I. St. John iii. 22.]
God's dealings, as recorded in the Bible, are in exact accordance with this rule. At the prayer of Abraham, God desisted from His purpose of destroying Sodom, because Abraham was God's friend. When the three friends of Job had displeased God by their wrong judgments and unjust suspicions, God commanded them to go to His servant Job, and he would pray for them, and him He would accept. And in the prophet Ezechiel, when the Almighty would express, in the strongest possible manner, the fact that His anger was enkindled against a people and a city; that nothing, however strong, should stay its effects, He says: "And if these three men, Noe, Daniel and Job, shall be in it, they shall deliver their own souls only by their justice." [Footnote 138]
[Footnote 138: Ezechiel xiv. 14.]
As if to say: "Notwithstanding the intercession and merit of these great saints, even though they were all combined in favor of that one city, they should not avail to make Me spare such wickedness. What must be the wickedness that can force Me to withstand the power of such an appeal?"
Here, then, we have two things clearly taught in Holy Scripture. One is that intercessory prayer is an ordinance of God of great power and utility. The other is, that the degree of power this prayer has in any particular case depends on the merit of him who offers it. Who, then, shall be the favored child of man, the favored saint, who shall exercise this power in the fullest degree? Of whom it can be said literally, "Whatever thou askest of Me I will do it," because the condition of union with God is perfectly fulfilled? Who shall this be whom Holy Scripture thus clothes with this tremendous power, if it be not the Blessed Virgin Mary? My brethren, our belief in the surpassing sanctity of the Blessed Virgin is no fancy of later times. It goes back to the very beginning of Christianity. St. Ambrose wrote her praises as he had learned them from those who had received them from apostolic men. Grave, austere men, as far as possible removed from any thing like fancy religion or sentimentality, men who had suffered for the name of Christ, and even faced death in its defence, employed their art and care to coin words which might express the virtue and purity and exceeding sanctity of the Virgin Mary, as they had learned it from their forefathers. And in the most ancient writings of the Church, in the Canon of the Mass, when the priest recalls by name the glorious army of Christian heroes who had gone before, always in the first place she is mentioned, the all-glorious, undefiled, immaculate Mary, Mother of God, and ever Virgin. This being so, is not her power of intercession fixed beyond dispute? Does not Scripture itself fashion out for her the glorious throne on which the Catholic Church places her? Did any remain in Christ as she did? Did His words ever so abide in any heart as in hers? Suppose a Christian who lived in the times of the Apostles, before the Blessed Virgin had gone to her rest, when she was just dying; suppose such a one sorely tried and tempted within and without; suppose him anxious about his salvation, distrustful of his own petitions, fearful of the coming storms of persecution; and suppose him in this state of mind to have read that passage of St. James, "The continual prayer of a just man availeth much," what more natural than that he should have said to himself, "I will go to ask the prayers of the dear Mother of Christ. I will ask her to use her power and influence with her Divine Son in behalf of a frail wanderer like me." And when he came into her presence and knelt before her, and kissed her hand and made his plea, and looked up to her and saw that sweet grave smile, and heard her say, "Yes, my child, when I stand in the presence of my Royal Son, and He holds out to me the golden sceptre, and says to me, what wilt thou? what is thy request? then I will remember thee!" Oh! how light his heart! Oh, how strong his soul! what a charm against sadness! what a fortress in temptation! Mary prays for me in heaven to Christ her Son! And is there any thing in this joy and confidence which reason or Christianity would condemn? If so, it must be either that intercessory prayer is not the power the Scriptures say it is, or that Mary is not the saint the Church considers her. Why, even Protestants have gone as far as this. Protestants who have made the primitive form of Christianity their study and profess to accept it as their rule, as, for example, High-Church Episcopalians, have distinctly acknowledged in the seventeenth century, and in our own day, that the saints in heaven do intercede for us, and that this was the primitive doctrine of Christianity. Why, then, find fault with us for invoking the saints, and say we ought only to ask God to hear their prayers for us, as if invocation on our part were not the correlative of intercession on theirs; as if it could be right to ask a saint to pray for us the moment before he died, and wrong the moment after; as if there could be any moral difference before God between a direct and an indirect supplication for the benefit of their prayers in heaven?
Such, my brethren, is our idea when we address the Blessed Virgin for aid. It is not that we cannot go directly to God. It is not that God is not the nearest to us, and at all times accessible. It is not that, sinful as we are, we may not go with our miseries into the very presence of the Almighty. It is not that prayer to God is not the best of all prayers. It is not that we put the Blessed Virgin in the place of God. O cruel charge! It is not that we derogate from the merits of Christ. O strange misconception! But it is this—we believe in intercessory prayer. We believe that man may help his brother. We believe that Christianity is a human and a social relation; we believe that heaven is very near this earth—oh, how much nearer than ever we believed! and that in Christ we are in communion with an innumerable company of angels, and the Church of the First-born. We believe that there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over the good deeds done on earth, and that the litanies of the saints ascend over one sinner and his deeds. And we believe that this power of intercessory prayer culminates in the Blessed Virgin. We believe that she is the "one undefiled," whose way has been always in the law of the Lord. We believe that before the foundations of the earth were laid, or ever the earth and the sea were made, she was foreknown by the Almighty, spotless in purity, matchless in virtue. We believe that she was the flower of humanity, the fairest type of Christianity—-and we believe, therefore, that God is as good as His word, and whatever she asks of Him, He gives it to her. This is the doctrine on which we found our devotion to the Blessed Virgin. Take our strongest language. It means no more than this: "Pray for me." You may amplify as you will, but from the necessity of the case every thing we say comes to that. Put prayer for the Blessed Virgin, suppose prayer personified in her, and you have the key to the Catholic doctrine on this subject. Strong things are said of the power of the Blessed Virgin, but so are strong things said in Holy Scripture and by holy men of the power of prayer. Whatever can be said of prayer, can be said of her. Cease, then, to misunderstand us. Acknowledge that we are but obeying Christ in praying to the Blessed Virgin. And if you will still find fault, find fault, not with us, but with God, who has instituted intercessory prayer and given such power to men.
And for you, my brethren, let these thoughts strengthen you in your confidence in the powerful intercession of the Mother of God. Our work is too severe, our difficulties are too great, for us to neglect any help God has offered us. There are many adversaries. The world, with all its seductions, passes in array before us. Why should we shut our eyes to the hosts of heaven that march unseen by our side? Why should we stay outside when we are invited to the marriage supper, and Jesus and His disciples are there, and Mary, pleader for heavy hearts, saying, "They have no wine;" and at her prayer Jesus gives them that wine that maketh glad the heart of man with the abundance of His grace and love? I have been glad to see you these bright May mornings around the altar. Persevere more and more. Your labor of love is not in vain. God's words cannot fail. His gifts are without repentance. Mary's power of intercession is as fresh this day as it was when her prayer made the miraculous wine to gush forth at the wedding feast; and until some one shall arise more blessed, more holy, nearer to Christ than she, it will remain as it is now, the highest and the most efficacious of all forms of prayer in heaven or on earth.
"Oh, the depths of the riches
of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How incomprehensible are His judgments,
and how unsearchable are His ways!"
—Rom. XI. 33.
The word revelation means the discovery of something that was not known before, or the making clear something that was obscure. Now, with this idea in our mind, it may excite surprise to find how much the Christian Revelation abounds in mysteries. By mysteries, I understand truths which are imperfectly comprehended. A doctrine which contradicts reason is not a mystery it is nonsense. A doctrine which is wholly unintelligible is not a mystery: it is simply unmeaning, and cannot be the object of any intellectual act on our part. But a doctrine which is in part comprehended, and in part not, is a mystery. Now, in Christianity we meet such mysteries on every side. The Sacraments are mysteries. Grace is a mystery. The Person of Christ is a mystery. And above all, the great doctrine we commemorate to-day is a mystery. To-day is the Feast of the Most Holy Trinity. To-day we call to mind that wonderful Relationship which exists in God, eternal and necessary, by which, in the undivided Unity of His Essence, there are three distinct modes of subsistence, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. It seems, then, not unfitting on this day to give you some reasons why you should acquiesce in that mysteriousness of Christian doctrine, which is certainly one of its marked characteristics, and which has been urged against it as a serious objection.
And, first, I observe that mysteries are necessary attendants on religion. There can be no revelation without them. There can indeed be no knowledge without them. To a little child the earth is a plane of no great extent, and the stars are colored lamps hung in the canopy of the night. But as he grows older, he learns that the earth is very big, and that the stars are very far off, and that there are many systems of worlds above us; and now how many questions press themselves upon his mind! What is the history of this universe? How old is the earth which we inhabit? Are the stars inhabited? Science with the hard earnings of human thought and labor gives him some little satisfaction, but for every question that she sets at rest there are many new ones that she raises, and at last in every department there comes a point where she gropes, and loses her way, and stops altogether. If you light a candle in a large room it casts a bright light on the table you are sitting at, and on the pages of the book you are reading, but gives only a dim light in the distance. You see that there are pictures on the walls, but you cannot discover their subjects. You see there are books on the shelves, but you cannot read their titles. When the room was quite dark you did not know that they were there at all, and now you know them only imperfectly. So every light which knowledge kindles brings out a new set of mysteries or half-knowledges. For this reason it is that a man of true science is apt to be modest in his language. Your loud-talking philosopher, who has no difficulties, has but a very narrow scope of thought and vision. He is clear because he is shallow. But a highly educated man knows that there are a great many things he is ignorant of, and so his language is modified and qualified. I believe it was Sir Isaac Newton who used to say, that in his scientific investigations he seemed to himself like a child gathering pebbles on the sea-shore. It was his vast attainments that made him sensible that Truth is as boundless as the sea. And when scientific men forget this; when they forget how much they are ignorant of; when they are boastful, over-positive, or inconsiderate in their statements, how applicable to them becomes the reproof which the Almighty addressed to Job: "Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? tell Me if thou hast understanding. Upon what are its bases grounded? or who laid the corner-stone thereof? By what way is light spread, and heat divided on the earth? Who is the father of the rain, or who hath begotten the drops of dew? Dost thou know the order of heaven, and canst thou set down the reason thereof on the earth? Tell Me, if thou knowest these things."
And this holds good just as well in regard to religious knowledge. Reason teaches us that there is a God, and it tells something of His Nature; but it speaks to us about Him only in riddles. God is immutable, and yet He is perfectly free: who shall reconcile these together? God is infinite, infinite in Essence, infinite in all His Attributes—try to comprehend infinitude if you can. Again, what a mystery there is in the creation of this world! What a mystery in the union of spirit and matter! Everywhere mystery is the necessary accompaniment of knowledge; and the more we know, the more mysteries will we have. If, then, God reveals to us any thing about Himself additional to that which reason can ascertain, mystery must still be the consequence. The wider the view, the more indistinct and shadowy the outline. It is revealed to us that in God, without injury to His Simplicity, there is a Threefold Relationship—that the Father, contemplating Himself from all eternity, has conceived a perfect Image of Himself, and that this Image is His Son, and that the Father and the Son have loved each other from all eternity, and that this Love is the Holy Ghost—that thus the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are Three distinct, eternal, necessary Subsistences. Do not be surprised at this. Here is nothing contradictory to reason. True, it is wonderful. True, you cannot pierce it through and through. It is full of darkness. No matter. You know, when the moon comes out from behind a cloud, how sharp and well-defined the shadows become. So these darknesses of doctrine come because the light is brighter. Men talk of the simple doctrines of the gospel. There are no such things. The gospel, as a scheme of doctrine at least, is a mystery. St. Paul called it so, and so it is. It is a mystery because it reveals so much. If we did not know that God is both One in substance and Three in the mode of subsistence, our difficulties would be less, but so would our knowledge. Well does the prophet exclaim: "Verily, Thou art a hidden God, the God of Israel, the Savior!" [Footnote 139]
[Footnote 139: Isai. xlv. 15.]
What, the God of Israel a hidden God! Did He not manifest Himself to the patriarchs? Did he not speak face to face with Moses? Yes, but He is all the more hidden, the more He has manifested Himself. It cannot be otherwise. God yearns to make Himself known to man, but He cannot. The secret is too deep and high. Language is too weak. Thought too slow. Reason too narrow. The very means He takes to reveal Himself conceal Him. Clouds and darkness gather around Mount Sinai as He descends upon it. The Flesh in which He was "manifested" to men serves as a veil to His Divinity. No, we cannot find out the Almighty to perfection. The time will come in heaven when by the Light of Glory our intellects shall be marvellously strengthened, and we shall see Him "as He is"—but now we see as through a glass darkly. Our utmost happiness here is that of Moses, to be hidden in the rock, while the Almighty passes by and lifts His Hand that we may see a ray of His Glory. Do not complain if the ray dazzles thy feeble sight, but receive each glimpse of that Eternal Truth and Beauty thankfully, and give heed unto it, "as unto a light shining in a dark place."
But, further, mysteries are not only necessary attendants on revelation, they are really sources of advantage to us. In order to make this clear, I must remind you that Faith is one of the conditions of our acceptance with God. There was a time when men laid too much stress on faith and made light of works; then the Church had to define that works are necessary, and that there is no salvation without them. Now the contrary error is afloat. Men say: "Be moral," "Be religious in a general way, and it is no matter what a man believes." Now, this is an error as great and as dangerous as the other. "Abraham believed God, and it was reputed to him unto justice." [Footnote 140] The apostles believed Christ, and were praised for it. On the other hand, those who disbelieved are reproved as being guilty of a mortal fault. "The heart of this people is grown gross: and with their ears they have been dull of hearing, and their eyes they have shut: lest at any time they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them." [Footnote 141]
[Footnote 140: Rom. iv. 3.]
[Footnote 141: St. Matt. xiii 15.]
In like manner, when our Lord took leave of unbelieving Jerusalem, He wept over it. Now, why is this? What is there, in the act of believing or disbelieving, that is of a moral nature, that deserves praise or blame? Is not faith an act purely intellectual? I reply, faith is an act partly intellectual, partly moral. The intellect demands proof that a particular doctrine has been revealed by God, but, when that is once ascertained, faith accepts the doctrine, not because it is perfectly clear in itself, but because God reveals it. Clearly, there enter into such an act many elements of morality—our reverence for God, our desire to do His Will, our humility and docility. You know it is an honor to a man for one to believe in his word, and especially for one to make ventures on the faith of his word. Just so, to make ventures on God's word is a generous, devout, and noble act. Now, it is the mysteriousness of Christian doctrine that gives faith this generous character—or rather, that makes faith possible. The obscurity of the revelation throws the weight on the authority of the Revealer. It is mystery which gives life to faith. A man is not said to believe a thing he sees. "Blessed are they," said our Blessed Lord, "that have not seen, and yet have believed." [Footnote 142]
[Footnote 142: St. John xx. 29.]
There are certain flowers that require the shade to bloom. Constant sunshine burns them up. So Faith requires the shadow of mystery. It thrives under difficulties. Abraham's faith was so admirable, because he considered not his own decrepitude, nor Sarah's barrenness, but believed he should have a son at the time appointed by the Almighty. The faith of the apostles was so pleasing to Christ because they accepted His call so readily. They might have stopped to ask a thousand questions, but they rose up without delay and followed Him.
You see, then, what I meant when I said that mysteries are of advantage to us. They enter into our probation. They are the occasion of our practising the noble virtue of faith. They are a test of moral character. Nay more, by calling into action the best principles of our nature they exalt our character. You know how it is in the world when some new and great social question is started—how everyone is affected by it. The indolent take their opinions about it from others. The prejudiced and interested judge of it according to prejudice and interest. Men of principle decide it on grounds of morality. But everyone's position is in some way changed by it. So it is with the gospel. Its preaching throws men into new attitudes. "The Cross of Christ is to them that perish foolishness, but to them that are saved it is the power of God." [Footnote 143] The proud and the perverse stumble at this stumbling-stone, but men of "good will," the humble, and the loving, find it a precious corner-stone on which their faith has a solid foundation, and on which they are built up to everlasting life. So it was in the time of Christ. After our Lord had been preaching for some time, He inquired of the apostles into the effects of His preaching: "Whom do men say that the Son of Man is?" And they said: "Some say that thou art John the Baptist, and others Elias, and others Jeremias, or one of the prophets." "But whom do you say that I am?" [Footnote 144] —and Faith, undaunted by difficulties, answers by the mouth of St. Peter: "Thou art Christ, the Son of the living God." On another occasion, after He had performed the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves, as we read in St. John's Gospel, He taught the people the doctrine of the Real Presence in Holy Communion: "Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink His blood, you shall not have life in you." [Footnote 145] Now, what happened? Many were offended and walked with Him no more. It was too great a mystery. "How can this man give us his flesh to eat?" they said. And our Lord turned to His disciples and said—it seems to me I can see His anxious countenance, and hear His tones of sorrow as He asks the question—"Will you also go away?" And again Peter answered on behalf of all: "To whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of Eternal Life." As much as to say, "Thou art the Truth; no mystery at Thy mouth can deter us."
[Footnote 143: I. Cor. i. 18.]
[Footnote 144: St. Matt. xvi. 13.]
[Footnote 145: St. John vi. 54.]