You might liken them to some of those old soldiers of the empire, who, from having travelled a good deal in foreign countries, are generally allowed the license of embellishing and even of inventing a little. As everybody knows, they make free use of the privilege, and concoct a number of tales wherein they themselves are made to play a prominent part. These they repeat incessantly, until at length they succeed in persuading themselves that such stories are true, and that the incidents actually occurred as they have narrated them. … It is the same with those who wish to pass themselves off as unbelievers. Hence we should not allow ourselves to be moved by their words; for at heart they are better men and nearer to God than is thought, and you should insist on the duty of praying for them. If you pursue this course, none will be hurt or offended, and the wives, daughters, or mothers of these pretended unbelievers will return home from your sermons happier at the thought that all hope for those whom they love is not wholly lost.
The sterner the truths which you have to set forth, the more should tact and kindliness be brought into play, that the souls of the hearers be not depressed. This, however, is a very common error. We are terrible in the pulpit; we thunder and storm there; whereas in the confessional we are gentle and paternal. That was all well enough in times of faith; but an entirely different course is called for nowadays, otherwise you will estrange the hearts of your people. Be paternal in the pulpit, be paternal in the confessional as well; but at the same time uncompromising in your principles. There are many things which terrify at a distance, but which, nevertheless, are readily assented to in the familiar intercourse of the confessional.
We sometimes hear such language as this, uttered in a tone of great self-conceit, after a long tirade or vehement declamation:—"I have driven them into a corner. I have now fairly crushed them." You have crushed them, have you? So much the worse, for in so doing you have altogether misapprehended your duty. God has not called you to crush men, but to raise and save them. Moreover, there is much cause to fear that those whom you have crushed will not run the less eagerly in the way of evil.
Hence all strong admonitions should be tempered with such deprecations as these:—"Brethren, why am I constrained to tell you these stern truths? You will pardon me for doing so, because it is my duty. It pains me as much as it does you to have to say them." Or, something to this effect:—"If I wished to pain you, or if it was not rather my heart's desire to spare you, or if I did not love you, I might inflict on you the chastisement of irony and defeat; I might say this or that, and speak truly and justly. But no; I leave you to your own consciences, which will tell you of your faults and failings more forcibly than I can. For my part, I prefer holding out a hand to you, I prefer to pity, to save you." …
We must become the servants of all. … That was the course pursued by Saint John Chrysostom. "A man," says he, "who is only bound to serve one master, and to submit to one opinion only, may discharge his duty without trouble; but I have an infinity of masters, being called to serve an immense people who hold many different views. Not that I bear this servitude with any sort of impatience, nor that by the present discourse I would defend myself against the authority which you exercise over me in the capacity of masters. God forbid that I should entertain such a thought! On the contrary, nothing is so glorious to me as this servitude of love."
The same feelings ought to pervade the heart of every Christian priest, who should be able to say as St. Paul did to the Corinthians:—"Out of much affliction and anguish of heart, I wrote unto you with many tears; not that ye should be grieved, but that ye might know the love which I have more abundantly unto you."
You become aware, for instance, of a prevailing disposition to ill-will, and have cause to apprehend the ridicule of certain parties. Under these circumstances, throw yourself into the hands of your audience; make them your judge, and rest assured you will be treated with indulgence. As Saint Augustine has said:—"If you fear God, cast yourself into His arms, and then His hands cannot strike you." In like manner, if you fear the wit and ridicule of the French people, throw yourself into their hearts, and then the sallies of their tongues will fail to reach you.
There are certain thoughts and expressions which have a great hold on the French mind, such as progress, liberty, enlightenment. These you should never meddle with unless absolutely obliged. We ought to respect even the illusions of our brethren, when they do nobody any harm. When we are forced to combat them, it should be done with courtesy, with gentle irony, or with profound ability. We, too, may speak of enlightenment, of progress, and of liberty, and point out that they can only be effectually attained through the instrumentality of religion. …