And now, to turn our eyes within the Church, we can in the same way account for those dreadful apostasies from the Catholic faith which are here and there recorded in history. Mahometanism, which in numbers is a rival to Catholicity, possesses some of the fairest lands once owned by Christ. In modern times, one of the most refined and enlightened nations of Christendom, in a moment of frenzy, threw off the faith with which her history had been so adorned, and professed Atheism. Now, how did these things happen? Not of a sudden, or all at once. Men are not changed from Christians into Turks or Infidels in an hour. There must have been some secret moral history, which accounts for this wonderful change. And so there was. Men became lax in their conduct. The Catholicity they practised was not the Catholicity of Christ and the Apostles. Public morals were conformed to the standard of heathenism rather than that of the gospel—nay, sometimes outraged as much the decencies of heathenism as the precepts of Christ. It was the old story. St. John the Baptist imprisoned by an adulterous king; St. John the Baptist, conspired against and murdered by an ambitious queen; the head of St. John the Baptist, eloquent and reproachful even in death, brought in to point the jest and stimulate the revelry of a lascivious feast—this is but a figure of the treatment which conscience has received in Christian courts, and at the hands of Christian princes. Morality and decency grew out of date, and were cast aside like old-fashioned garments, and the restraints of the Law of God were as feeble as cobwebs before the power of passion. Now, what else could be the result of all this, but a disesteem of Christianity itself? True, it might retain some hold upon men's minds for a time. The fact that it was the religion of their ancestors, the fact that they were baptized in it, the beauty of its ceremonies and architecture, the soothing influence of its ordinances, the services it has rendered to civilisation, might keep it standing in its place for a time; but these considerations are not strong enough to withstand the power of hell, when it is exerted in the way of persecution, or a general apostasy. "Every plant that my Heavenly Father hath not planted, shall be rooted up," said Christ. [Footnote 41] It must be a supernatural motive that binds us to our faith. Christ and the Law cannot long remain divorced. A people without conscience will soon be a people without faith; and a nation of triflers only waits the occasion, to become a nation of apostates.
[Footnote 41: St. Matt. xv. 13.]
It is not, then, without a special providence of God, that in these later days the missionary orders of the Church have been multiplied. In the sixteenth century the intellectual defence of the faith was the Church's greatest need, and that was most successfully accomplished. But there is needed something more to uphold the falling fabric of modern society. Men need to be reminded of the first principles of morality. And, therefore, a St. Alphonsus appears in Naples, a St. Vincent of Paul in France; missionary orders in every land go about teaching the people, before it is too late, the very first and fundamental truths—the doctrine of repentance and good works. Here, in every age, and every country, is the real danger to faith. We speak often of the dangers to faith in this country; and unquestionably we have our special trials here. Some of our children are lost by neglect. Some grow cold in the unfriendly atmosphere that surrounds them. But the real danger to be dreaded is, that the love of the Church herself should grow cold; that a wide-spread demoralisation should take place among ourselves; that we should forget the keeping of the Ten Commandments. This, indeed, would be the prelude to our destruction. Practical morality makes a strong Church; but let morality be forgotten, and the Church, while it has a name to live, is dead. And as a corpse long decomposed sometimes retains the human form until it is exposed to the air, when it crumbles into dust; so a dead Church will be blown to atoms and swept away, the first strong blast that hell breathes against it.
And, in fine, by the light of the thought which I have been endeavoring to present to you this morning, we see the means by which we ought to make sure our personal union with Christ. Christ is coming. He is coming at Christmas to unite Himself with those whom He shall find prepared. He is coming again, and the mountains shall melt before Him; for He is coming to judge the world. "Who shall stand to see Him? For He shall be as a Refining Fire, and shall try the Sons of Levi as gold and silver." [Footnote 42]
[Footnote 42: St. Matt. iii. 2, 3.]
How shall we abide His coming, my brethren I how shall we prepare to meet Him? I know no other way than that which St. John the Baptist recommended to the Jews—a true and solid conversion. Whether a man has committed mortal sin or not, whether he is born a Catholic or not, there comes upon him, if he is a true Christian, some time in his life, a change which Catholic writers call conversion. It may not be sudden. It may be all but imperceptible. It may be more than once. But at least once, there comes a time when religion becomes a matter of personal conviction with him. He is different from what he was before. A change has passed over him. He has awakened to his moral accountability. His manhood is developed. His conscience is aroused. And until that happens, you cannot count on him. He may seem innocent and pious, but you cannot tell whether it will not be "like the dew that passeth away in the morning." You cannot say how he will act in temptation. You cannot reckon on what he will be next year. Perhaps then he will draw sin "as with a cart-rope." The trouble with such men is not that they sin sometimes. Alas! such is human frailty that a single fall would not dishearten us; but the real misery is, that they have no principle of not sinning. They are not preparing for Christ's judgement. Their contrition, such as it is, is intended to prepare them for confession, not for eternity. See, then, what we want!
And this is what I understand by the penance which St. John the Baptist preached. He practised it himself. It is thought that in St. John's case the use of reason was granted before birth; and when as a babe he leaped in his mother's womb, it was for conscious joy at the presence of his Lord and Saviour. And since the Blessed Virgin and St. Elizabeth were cousins, doubtless St. John and our Blessed Saviour knew each other as children. It is more than probable that they used to play together when they were boys, as the painters loved to represent them. And oh! what an effect did the knowledge of Christ have on St. John! It took the color out of earthly beauty, and the music out of earthly joy. There was with him afterward one overpowering desire—the desire of sanctity. He had seen a vision of heaven. Not because he despised the world, but because a higher beauty was opened to his soul, he went into the desert, and his meat was locusts and wild honey. One aim he had: to purify his heart. One thought: to prepare for heaven, and to help others also to prepare.
Oh, let us heed his words and example. Let us follow him, if not in the rigor of his fastings, at least in the sincerity of his penance. Be converted, and turn to the Lord your God. There is no other way of preparing for judgment. Remember what the Church says to you at the Font: "If thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments." Listen to what God Himself counsels, when prophesying the terrors of the last day: "Remember the law of Moses, My servant, which I commanded him in Horeb for all Israel, the precepts and judgments." [Footnote 43]
[Footnote 43: St. Matt. iv. 4.]