Oh! who can comprehend the folly of the human race—a race of beings so feeble and miserable, and limited by its nature, and yet so unlimited and unbounded in its cravings for happiness— who can make so little of that offer which lifts them out of all this misery and exceeds their highest expectations? One would think this offer would fill them with delight and a noble enthusiasm to avail themselves of it. And yet, what do we see? God's offer is despised. An immortal destiny is thrown away. Man, created to the image and likeness of God, makes himself like the beasts that perish. He boasts and prides himself on the fact that he lives for the body, and despises eternity and God.
Many are called. Many are placed in the way of salvation. Many have an abundance of means in their hands to attain to it. With a little attention, with light exertion, many would be saved who are lost. What inexcusable folly! Let us not be guilty of it. Let us live for our immortal souls. Let us put on the wedding garment of truth, and sincerity, and justice—that white garment that we received at baptism—and see that we keep it unspotted until the end.
Sermon XX.
Good Use Of Sickness.
(For The Twentieth Sunday After Pentecost.)
Ecclesiasticus xxxviii. 9.
[USCCB: Sirach xxxviii. 9.]
"My son, in thy sickness neglect not thyself,
but pray to the Lord, and he shall heal thee."
The Gospel of the day relates the miracle of the healing of the ruler's son. That this man had the right kind of faith which pleases God, and obtains extraordinary favors from His hand, is shown by the promptitude of his belief in what our Lord said to him. Although he had urged and insisted upon our Lord's going down to Capharnaum with him, yet, no sooner did he hear the words, "Go thy way, thy son liveth," than he immediately returned home alone without further doubt or remonstrance.
I do not think, my brethren, that we exercise enough of this faith in God in our sicknesses; not, understand me, that we are to look for miraculous cures of our ailments and diseases, or that we are to condemn ourselves for want of faith if our prayers for relief are not answered on a sudden; but what I mean is, that we too often misapprehend the cause of our sicknesses, and do not make the good use of them we might. Let me say a few words which may be for our instruction and edification on these points.
In any event, whatever may be the direct cause of our sickness, it is, after all, the will of God. If we fall sick through our own culpable neglect or criminal excesses, it is still the will of God. We have, in this, disturbed the good order of His Providence, and suffer the natural consequences of it. There are, besides, those countless forms of disease and phases of ill health which afflict us, and which we are not able to trace to any fault of ours. We fall sick, and cannot tell how or why. An invisible hand has touched us at a moment we knew not, and our strength is gone, the light has fled from our eyes, and the color from our cheek. A secret poison has insinuated itself into our blood, and dried up the fountains of health and vigor. Fierce and rapid in its destruction, a week, a day, or even a few hours suffice to bring us to the point of death, and shatter the boasted glory of our strength. Then, if the danger passes and the prospect of returning health smiles upon us, we have yet to pass through the long and tedious days and nights of convalescence, gathering but slowly, and with great labor and suffering, that which we lost so quickly and so easily.