[ CONFERENCE XIV ]
THE PRIEST IN SICKNESS—AND IN DEATH
IT is a well-known fact that St. Bernard preferred to found a monastery in a not too healthy locality, as he considered it better for a religious life that the monks should not be in too robust health. This is often given as a reason why the Cistercian monasteries are frequently built in specially relaxing climates. Since those days, however, the world has greatly changed. Human nature is not so tough as it then was; mortifications which then were common would now be impossible. Even during the last century things have changed in this respect. It is only a century and a quarter ago that Bishop Talbot was blamed by many for a Lenten Indult which included meat three times a week for the first four weeks, and limited the consecutive abstinence to Passiontide, or the last fortnight. The last of those who used to observe a "black Lent" (as it was called) died almost within living memory. Yet amidst modern conditions nothing approaching a "black Lent" could possibly be enacted, and even the very modified fast of the modern Indults finds very few observers. It is probably the case to-day that valetudinarianism and small ailments are a greater hindrance to spirituality than robustness, and that the highest aim of mortification should be that amount which keeps the body most fit for work—to do which consistently requires a considerable degree of mortification.
Nevertheless, we may well regret the decay of the old spirit of hardiness since even a generation ago. The feeling which gave rise to the phrase "grin and bear it" was very excellent, and seems now almost extinct. The modern tendency is all to the magnification of small ailments, to constant remedies, and scientific self-indulgence which people justify to themselves under the name of hygiene. It is no exaggeration to say that the degree to which it is carried is out of keeping with the hardiness of the Christian vocation, and that many persons lose much of the sanctifying effect of their small ills by continually seeking alleviation. The sale of patent medicines is immense, as we can see from the extent to which they are advertised.
It may well be doubted if this spirit does not defeat its own end. The state of mind engendered by continually taking one's temperature, and seeking a cure—probably drinking medicines—whenever it is a degree too high or a degree too low is bad for both mind and body: the malade imaginaire often ends by becoming positively ill, and picking up every infection of which he is so much afraid. After all, the best cure for many small ailments is to leave them alone and not bother about them.
In the case of a priest, however, we should put it on a higher ground. He has to be at the service of his people. An indisposition will not dispense him from saying mass on Sunday unless it is sufficiently severe to incapacitate him. Nor will it exempt him from attending a sick call even in rough weather. A soldier would be ashamed of giving in to a small ailment and of injuring his fighting power. He would despise one who did so for his softness. Much more should a priest be above such effeminacy. Often he is so: many a modern priest fights consistently against general weak health, with such success that his weakness is not known or suspected. In such an effort God will give us very special help. But, alas! one can call to mind also instances of those who systematically nurse their ailments, and seriously injure their constitution by continually taking drugs and applying remedies.
Before we can learn how to consecrate our real illnesses let us learn to despise and fight against small ailments. It is by no means always easy, and there will no doubt be times when one is on the verge of actual breakdown; but so long as we have the real power, we should fight strenuously against them. To lie in bed in the morning, still more to spend a day in bed, should be the last resort, only when imperiously necessary. Once we give way, we shall find reasons increasingly often to induce us to repeat the act. On the other hand, any work we do under the handicap of headache or indigestion or rheumatic pains or other troublesome weakness will, we may be sure, be specially blessed by Almighty God.
Turning now to the time of severe illness, it is easy to say, but it is none the less true, that it may be a great grace; and like other graces, if neglected, it becomes the reverse. We are speaking of course of a grave and serious illness, whether or not there be danger to life. One of the most remarkable phenomena in our strangely complex nature is the sudden and complete way in which our most acute anxieties disappear at the touch of sickness. This at once leaves the ground free for our own thoughts, and if we have been leading a really busy life, we can find many things which we have never had time to think out. Nevertheless, we cannot do much thinking at the beginning, through sheer mental debility, even apart from the pain which often accompanies the illness. The tendency is strong simply to give our thoughts to our illness and its remedies, and the small incidents which surround a sick-bed. Those who have looked forward to reviewing their lives and setting their consciences in order during their last illness should be warned that experience shows such thoughts to be uncongenial at that time. Notwithstanding the way in which time hangs, especially at night, one is least of all inclined to fill it by serious examination of conscience, or for the matter of that by any form of prayer. Our obligations to Meditation, or the like, or even to reciting the Divine Office, have suddenly ceased, and the danger is that we may take an absolutely material view of our condition, and cease all relations with Almighty God, looking forward only vaguely to resuming them when we are convalescent. A few considerations on illness as a time of grace may be useful at such a season.
In the first place, it has often been pointed out that a time of sickness is the one period of life when we know for certain that we are doing God's will; for we have no alternative. Nor is it any answer to say that this illness may be the punishment of sin, either by the law of nature or the providence of God. For even if this were so, the sin is over and has passed out of our control; it can never be recalled. Whatever our past failings, or whatever God's providence in our regard, hic et nunc He wills this illness, and we have no power of contravening His will. It therefore follows that we have the opportunity for a supreme act of virtue in accepting it willingly and even thanking God for sending it to us, which is an act which requires little effort, and to one who habitually listens to the voice of God, is of no great difficulty. Nor is it incompatible with hope or prayer for speedy recovery, should it be God's will, provided that we willingly embrace the illness so long as God sends it to us. This simple act of conformity will go far to sanctify the whole illness.
Next, as to the use of our time. This often settles itself, at least in the graver stages of the illness. But we sometimes allow it to settle itself too easily. Certainly we cannot meditate or say Office, or do spiritual reading. But we can and should do something. The rosary, for example, is a prayer which does not need much exertion, and if the five mysteries are too much, we can do one mystery at a time. We can also get others to help us by saying occasional simple prayers which we can follow. And occasional mental ejaculatory prayer is always possible. Of course any such exercise must be only occasional: during a great part of the day we shall not be thinking directly of Almighty God; but as in health our ordinary exercises sanctify the whole day, so in sickness very much shorter ones have a similar far-reaching effect.