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  THE WESTMINSTER LIBRARY
  A SERIES OF MANUALS FOR CATHOLIC PRIESTS AND STUDENTS

  EDITED BY

  THE RIGHT REV. BERNARD WARD
  BISHOP OF BRENTWOOD

  AND

  THE REV. HERBERT THURSTON, S.J.



  THE
  PRIESTLY VOCATION

  A SERIES OF FOURTEEN CONFERENCES
  ADDRESSED TO THE SECULAR CLERGY

  BY

  RIGHT REV. BERNARD WARD
  F.R.HIST.S.
  BISHOP OF BRENTWOOD


  NEW YORK:
  LONGMANS, GREEN AND CO
  FOURTH AVENUE AND 30TH STREET
  39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
  BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS
  1918



  TO
  THE CLERGY OF THE DIOCESE
  OF BRENTWOOD
  IN THE MIDST OF WHOM
  IT IS MY HAPPY LOT
  TO SPEND THE LAST YEARS OF MY LIFE
  THE SANCTIFICATION OF WHOM
  HAS BECOME THE FIRST OBJECT OF MY
  PASTORAL SOLICITUDE
  THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE
  RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED




PREFACE

THE aim of the following pages is to present well-known ideals and
principles of action, and to apply them to the state of things
actually existing among the secular clergy of this country. They
contain the substance of Conferences originally addressed to
Seminarists, which are now amended so as to be applicable to a wider
circle.

From the nature of the case it happens that the greater number of our
spiritual books are written by the Regular Clergy. Yet in some of its
phases the religious life differs essentially from that of a secular
priest. For example, the virtue of Poverty, or that of Obedience, as
practised by the latter differ not in degree but in kind from the
manner in which they are practised by those in the religious state.
Hence the seculars do not always find the exact application they want.

In the present book it is hoped that frequent quotations from the
writings or sayings of well-known bishops and priests who have had
personal experience of the English mission may at least give actuality
to what is said, and at the same time add an authority for it to rest
on.

FEAST OF ST. THOMAS OF CANTERBURY,
    PATRON OF THE SECULAR CLERGY OF ENGLAND,
            _December_ 29, 1917.



CONTENTS

  PREFACE
  CONFERENCE
     I. THE PRIESTLY VOCATION
    II. THE PRIESTLY VOCATION (continued)
   III. POVERTY
    IV. CHASTITY
     V. OBEDIENCE
        APPENDIX ON OBEDIENCE AT THE SEMINARY
    VI. THE RELIGIOUS EXERCISES OF THE PRIEST
   VII. THE PRIEST'S PASTORAL WORK
  VIII. THE PRIEST'S PASTORAL WORK (_continued_)--THE LITURGY
    IX. THE PRIEST'S PASTORAL WORK (_continued_)--PREACHING
     X. THE RECREATIONS OF A PRIEST
    XI. THE RECREATIONS OF A PRIEST (_continued_)
   XII. THE ANNUAL HOLIDAY
  XIII. THE PERIODICAL RETREAT
   XIV. THE PRIEST IN SICKNESS--AND IN DEATH



THE PRIESTLY VOCATION

CONFERENCE I

THE PRIESTLY VOCATION

IT is well known that one of the great aims of Cardinal Manning during
his long episcopate, and perhaps the one of his works which has left
the most permanent impression behind it, was to raise the tone and
status of his diocesan clergy. For many reasons connected with our
Catholic history, the level at which the average secular priest in the
days of the Vicariates aimed left something to be desired. When we
read the story of penal times, and realise the kind of life that an
ordinary priest had to live, it is not surprising that the tone and
quality of mind which we somewhat vaguely designate under the name of
the "Ecclesiastical spirit," should not have been largely developed.

We are not speaking now of the time of actual persecution. In the days
when a priest had to go about his duties in the continual risk of
being apprehended and cast into prison, and being condemned on trial
to be hanged, drawn and quartered, the heroism of his life, and the
manner in which he had to be almost continuously braving personal
danger in his search after souls, would undoubtedly have taken the
place of much training and prayer in sanctifying his soul. But with
the relaxation of active persecution, came an imminent danger which
showed itself throughout the dreary eighteenth century, and during the
first half of the nineteenth. There was no longer any fear of
violence, and even the depressing penal laws invented after the
Revolution of 1688 gradually lost their vitality and ceased to be
enforced. But the spirit engendered by these laws lasted longer than
the laws themselves, and when the English clergy found themselves able
to live the normal life of a secular priest, some stimulus was
required to revive in them the spirit of their state, which had been
so long obscured by the necessity of hiding their priesthood.

For consider what the ordinary life of a priest was even in the later
days of the Vicariates. He dressed as a layman; he did not even
venture to wear black, but wore the ordinary  coats common at
that day. If he was not a chaplain to one of the old Catholic
families, he would live in his own hired lodging, by himself, and in
the utmost poverty. Only rarely would he have the opportunity of
meeting a brother priest. Daily mass was at that time not usual. Even
the Sunday services were of a very unpretending character, consisting
for the most part of low mass, with some English prayers before or
after. The "chapels" had little external signs of devotion beyond the
altar itself. Statues of our Lady and the Saints were unknown, for it
would have been considered highly imprudent to run counter to strong
Protestant prejudice in matters which were not essential. The
sacraments were administered with as much privacy as possible: the
priest would hear Confessions in his own room; and having no font,
would take Baptism water privately to the house of a child who was to
be baptised. No vestments would be worn on such occasions, except
perhaps a stole over a lay coat. It is not wonderful that such a life
produced a kind of religion which was restrained and below the
surface, and that there was little inclination to show outward signs
of devotion. The lifelong habit of concealing their priesthood from
the knowledge of others could not but tend to blunt the esteem for it
in themselves; and it engendered a form of Catholicity which was dry
and undemonstrative, to say the least, and wanting in the warmth of
devotion which we now rightly look upon as among the most valuable
aids to piety.

Nevertheless, it would be a great mistake to underestimate--as so many
of the early Oxford converts did--the sterling qualities of the
priesthood of the Vicariates. A more unworldly set of persons, with
greater conscientiousness and devotion to duty, has hardly existed in
any age of the Church. Their life had a hardiness and simplicity about
it which might well be a lesson to a modern priest. Their self-denial
and the strictness of their personal lives, added to their remarkable
humility and obliteration of self, often indicated great holiness, but
it was of a stamp which an outsider would not easily grasp. They
themselves in their daily conversations made light of their labours,
and it was considered almost bad manners to talk of spiritual
subjects. All that was taken as a matter of course, and anyone who
spoke of it would be suspected of self-consciousness. The concealment
of their devotional life had become to them a second nature, and it is
no wonder that the converts who were brought up under such different
surroundings failed to appreciate the real substantial virtues of a
priest of the old school, or even failed to believe in their
existence, while the roughness of their external behaviour was no
small trial to those who were brought across it for the first time.
Full allowance for this must be made in reading the strictures which
Cardinal Manning made on the clergy with whom he was first brought
into close contact.

Yet we must admit that this self-effacement had become a hindrance to
their work. The time had come when the sacraments could be publicly
administered, when many of the "chapels" had given place to churches
which could reasonably be so called, with fonts, confessionals,
tabernacles and ambries openly displayed, when a priest could go
abroad not indeed in his cassock, but in a distinctively clerical
dress, when he could live openly in a priest's house or presbytery,
when the churches could be furnished in proper Catholic fashion with
side altars, statues of our Lady and the Sacred Heart and the like,
and there was no longer any reason to be shy of such practices as
burning votive candles before pictures and shrines. Owing to their
traditions they did not easily take to such practices, and often even
discouraged them as being what they described as "Continental
Catholicity," unsuited to the English character. And this spirit was
intensified by the action of some of the converts who adopted the
extreme opposite course, and carried their slavish imitation of
everything Roman to a ridiculous degree. The practical result was that
the old Catholics became still more restrained as a protest against
the exaggerations of the new-comers, and it cannot be denied that the
spirit of shyness of legitimate Catholic devotions thus engendered
tended to stunt their development to an unfortunate degree.

It has, moreover, often been said, and still oftener assumed, that the
priests of the old school were unfitted or unwilling to undertake new
works, such as the building of churches and schools, or other
developments requiring initiative and energy. It must be admitted that
such was their tradition, for the simple reason that in the greater
part of the eighteenth century, no such developments were called for.
It was a time of gradual shrinkage of all Catholic work, as mission
after mission was shut up. Those who read the account given in Joseph
Berington's well-known _State and Behaviour of English Catholics from
the Reformation to the year 1780,_ will easily realise how the highest
hope of the priest of that day was to keep what remained of
Catholicity in the country, and to stem the wearying shrinkage which
persistently went on in all Catholic work. It is probable that the
English clergy obtained their first lessons of development of such
work from their brethren, the _emigres_ priests from France, men such
as the Bishop of St. Pol de Leon, or Abbe Carron of Somers Town, or
Abbe Maurel of Hampstead, or Abbe Voyaux de Franous of Chelsea, or
Abbe Cheverus of Tottenham (afterwards Cardinal Archbishop of
Bordeaux), or others who undertook such numerous works, primarily for
the benefit of their exiled compatriots, but works which reacted
powerfully on the English Catholics themselves. But as soon as the
tide was really turned, and the Relief Act of 1791 had begun to bear
fruit, we do not find such a marked want of priests ready to initiate
new works. Such men as "Father Thomas," afterwards Provost, Doyle, who
built St. George's Cathedral, or Rev. William Hunt, the founder of St.
Mary's, Moorfields, or Rev. Peter Butler of Bermondsey, were typical
priests of the old school, and yet had large ideas which bore fruit in
the carrying out of important new works.

It is probable that as time went on, and such work was more and more
needed, priests would have been found ready to undertake them; but it
may be admitted that such ideas did not occupy a large part of the
mind of the average priest of the day.

With respect to the Regular Clergy, many of the above limitations
affected the character of their work in similar manner; but they had
perhaps better means of combating them. They lived indeed outwardly
the same lay life as a secular priest; but at fixed intervals they had
to retire abroad to their monasteries and live the regular life for a
time; and even when living in England as chaplains to the gentry, or
in out-of-the-way country missions, they were able to keep some part
at least of their rule. With the Jesuits this was especially the case,
as their rule does not include reciting Office in choir, and is in
fact specially adaptable to the conditions of a missionary priest.
From the fact that they lived outwardly as the seculars, and were
occupied over the same missionary work, while they had the advantage
of a longer and more complete training, and continued it on the
mission by the observance of their rule, which gave them greater
opportunities of becoming spiritual men, they became more highly
esteemed by the majority of the laity; and the feeling grew up that
their vocation was the same as that of a secular priest, but that
their rule caused them to live up to it better. They were looked upon
as on a higher plane; a feeling which continued long after the
circumstances which had led to it had been substantially modified.
Even the secular priests themselves seemed to acquiesce in it, and
though they were jealous of their own rights in matters
ecclesiastical, they were often ready to hand over the more difficult
work to the Regulars, and seemed to assume that the latter were the
more experienced confessors or spiritual advisers, and that they were
leading a higher life than themselves. It was the persistence of this
idea which Cardinal Manning felt called upon to combat; and in order
to combat the idea, the most direct method was to destroy the
inequality of training which had given rise to it. We can quote his
own words:--[1]

"My first thought was that no Provincial or Father General had any
obligation to multiply and perfect his Order greater or more absolute
than I had to multiply and to perfect the priesthood of the diocese of
Westminster. . . . What was the esteem in which the laity held them?
They, with exceptions, were held to be at a disadvantage as compared
with the Regulars: as preachers, confessors, directors, judges of
vocation, advisers in spiritual and even in worldly things they were
held to be of less esteem. Many of them no doubt were so. But the
whole as such was higher in parts. On the other hand, many of the
Regulars, with longer training and greater advantages, were better
qualified than the priests of the diocese; but many were not so. And
yet the laity took for granted that the clergy were 'seculars' and
spoke of them as such. 'He is only a secular priest' was often heard,
and it revealed a whole world of prejudice, depreciation and mistrust.
This was bad enough, but there was worse to come. The priesthood
accepted the depreciation which depresses and paralyses the will. A
conquered people lose the sense of power, and what is worse, take
their state as a standard; so that priests have come to plead against
invitations and exhortations to higher things. 'I am only a secular
priest.' What can be greater than a priest? For itself does it not
contain all perfection? What can black or white or brown cloth add to
it? This seemed to me to be the first thing wanting. The world is
governed by ideas, and the idea of our Lord's priesthood, truly and
fully conceived, has a motive power to raise men to anything.

"The first thing needed, as it seemed to me, was to bring out into the
clearest light what the priesthood is. It seemed to me to be obscured
by the traditional prejudice that to be a Regular is to be everything,
and to be a priest is to be functionary for sacraments and ceremonies.
Even the priesthood of the Regular was lost sight of in his Order,
habit and privileges.

"This conviction was the motive of all that I did and wrote at
Bayswater. And more explicitly since 1869 in St. Thomas's Seminary and
in two books, _The Pastoral Office_ and _The Eternal Priesthood._"

It is no disrespect to the memory of so great a man as Cardinal
Manning, to say that like most men who pursue one great idea, he went
somewhat to extremes in working for his object. It is well known that
he discouraged or at times even prohibited the Regulars from giving
missions or retreats, in order to induce his clergy to do so instead.
He endeavoured to abolish the very name of a secular priest, as being
identified in the minds of many with low ideals and aspirations, and
preferred the name "diocesan clergy." He insisted that they had a
better right than the Regulars to the title "Father" which from his
time began to be applied to them, after the manner in vogue in
Ireland; and this change has become so permanent that the old title of
"Mr." would to-day sound quite strange. Many of his clergy rose to the
occasion, and undertook work which they had before looked upon as
outside the scope of their vocation; and they soon achieved great
success in it. Let Cardinal Manning himself bear witness to this:--[2]

"The next aim I had," he writes, "was to make the priests of the
diocese conscious of their own power as priests. . . . It forced
itself upon me that dormant powers diminish, faculties in activity are
enlarged, energies exerted continually grow in strength. Why then, I
asked, should our priests always ask others to preach for them, to
give Missions and Retreats? Is it because they know themselves to be
incapable? or because they have come to believe themselves to be
incapable, because the laity so regard them? Is it true? If so, _in
nomine Domini_ let us wipe away this reproach as speedily as ever we
can. Is it that our priests are discouraged and believe themselves to
be what is said of them? At all events the way to cure this incapacity
is to do the things of which they are told that they are incapable.
Let them preach, give Missions and Retreats, 'Use legs, have legs.'

"I have therefore encouraged them to give parochial missions, which
have greatly prospered; chiefly to the priests themselves. Many have
told me that they had no knowledge they possessed such power over
their people; that in giving the missions a new light and strength
came to them, and a new piety came to their people. They had never
before made a full trial of the priesthood, and of the powers dormant
in it."

There can be no doubt that the work of Cardinal Manning was
successful, in that he raised the tone and work of the secular clergy
in a marked degree. And his work had a certain reflection outside his
diocese, especially in the north, where the traditions of Dr. Newsham
at Ushaw were still fresh. It is true that neither there nor after
Cardinal Manning's time in London, has the full exclusiveness which he
introduced been maintained. Missions and Retreats are fitly given by
religious not only because they have more leisure to give to a proper
preparation, but also because the holiness of their lives will often
react upon the success of their work. The very fact of their being
outside the ordinary parochial life is often an advantage for a
mission. People confess to them more readily. But the idea that a
secular priest is by his state unfit for such work may be said to be
dead, and from time to time, as occasion offers, we find them bearing
their share of it. The expression "only a secular priest" has passed
from out our vocabulary, and the old-fashioned depreciation of the
secular clergy is almost a thing of the past.


[1] _Life of Cardinal Manning,_ ii. p. 784.

[2] _Ibid._ p. 785



CONFERENCE II

THE PRIESTLY VOCATION--_continued_

IT was pointed out in the last Conference that the root of the evil of
the depreciation of the secular clergy in the past, was the idea, in
which they seemed to acquiesce, that their vocation was similar to
that of the Regulars; but that not being religious, they were on a
lower plane and could live with less high ideals and aspirations. The
true fact, however, is that the two vocations are radically and
essentially different. Each has its own special sphere of work in the
Church, and if properly lived up to, they will not clash, but will
supplement each other.

Consider this one point. The secular clergy are trained and ordained
for the one special object of parochial or pastoral work; whereas in
the case of the regulars, such work is only incidental and secondary.
Many--in some countries the majority--never do it at all; and in the
case of those who do, it is limited both in quality and amount by the
demands of the rule and traditions of their particular Order or
Congregation.

It is true indeed that in this country in the penal days and after, a
large amount of missionary work was done by the regulars under
conditions not very dissimilar to those under which the seculars were
working. The English Benedictines became practically a missionary
congregation, and remained such until almost within living memory: but
this was due to the stress of the times. At an ordinary Benedictine
monastery the monks give themselves to a life of prayer and study, and
to singing the Divine Office in choir, only a few of them doing any
parochial or missionary work, and that always in subservience to their
monastic life.

Let it be admitted if so desired that, in itself, this vocation is
higher than that of the secular clergy; for it makes the
sanctification of him who receives it the first and chief concern, to
which any work which he may undertake must be subordinate. In that way
it becomes the highest possible state of life, for it fulfils our
Lord's test, [1] "If thou wilt be perfect, go sell what thou hast and
give to the poor, and thou shalt have a treasure in heaven, and come,
follow Me." The traditional interpretation given by the Church to the
well-known text, "Mary hath chosen the best part," [2] indicates the
greater dignity of the contemplative over the active life.

Many religious orders, however, especially the modern congregations,
were not founded for the contemplative life in this strict sense, but
rather for carrying out some active work of a specific nature, which
could be combined with the religious life. The Society of Jesus was
founded for special educational and other work; the Redemptorists were
intended for giving missions to the uninstructed poor of the country
districts; and similarly with others. Such Congregations will adapt
themselves, so far as they can, to altered conditions, and will often
undertake work such as was not exactly contemplated by their founders;
but they will always regulate the amount which they undertake by the
consideration of the limitations of their rule and the number of their
subjects available, their general principle being that no member must
be given work which either in degree or in kind would interfere with
his own religious life, for that is the primary object of his
vocation. For every one of them is bound to aim at perfection, which
is of the essence of his state.

This consideration is so important as to be an excuse for quoting at
some length a portion of a well-known letter of Cardinal Wiseman in
which he urges it. When he first came to London as Bishop in 1847, and
saw the amount of work among the poor that was calling out to be done,
and the utter inadequacy of the secular clergy in point of numbers to
cope with it, he conceived the idea of putting much of it as special
work into the hands of the religious Congregations, who were then
settling in London: but he found in every case that their missionary
activities were strictly limited both as to quantity and quality. We
can quote his own words:-- [3]

"1. The Jesuits have a splendid church, a large house, several
priests, besides Westminster. [4] Scarcely was I settled in London,
than I applied to their Superior to establish here a _community_ in
due form, of some ten or twelve fathers. I also asked for missionaries
to give retreats to congregations, etc. I was answered on both heads,
that dearth of subjects made it impossible. Hence we have under them,
only a church which, by its splendour, attracts and absorbs the wealth
of two parishes, but maintains no schools and contributes nothing
towards the education of the poor at its very door. . . .

"2. The Redemptorists came to London as a missionary Order, and I
cheerfully approved of and encouraged their coming. When they were
settled down, I spoke to them of my cherished plan of missions to and
among the poor. I was told that this was not the purpose of their
institute _in towns,_ and that 'another Order would be required for
what I wanted.' The plea of 'rule' is one which I have all along
determined to respect; and I had no more to say. They have become, so
far as London is concerned, a parochial body, taking excellent care of
Clapham, having five or six priests and abundant means for it. . . .

"3. The Passionists I brought first to England, in consequence of
having read what their founder felt for it, and of a promise I made to
Father Dominic years before I got them placed at Aston Hall, and
thence they have spread. In consequence it was decreed that the
principal house should be in London when I came to it. . . . They have
never done me a stroke of work among the poor. . . .

"4. The Marists I brought over for a local purpose, and they are
answering well. I hope for much good from them in Spitalfields, but,
at least at present, I dare not ask them about general work.

"5. And now, last, I come to the institute of which I almost
considered myself a member, San Filippo's Oratory. I have never
omitted an opportunity of expressing my thankfulness to God for its
establishment here, and for the many graces it has brought with it, in
the piety it has diffused, and the many it has converted. But as a
matter of fact, you know that external work, the work I have been
sighing for, is beyond its scope.

"You know" (he continues) "how rigidly I have respected 'rule,' how I
never thought of forcing a parish on you, how I have refrained from
asking cooperation, even a sermon, because I would ask for nothing
which I understood to be incompatible with the Institute's purpose. .
. . Two things I have always respected in the case of all Orders,
_vocation_ and _rule_."

And he sums up as follows:--

"Look at the position in which I am . . . I have introduced, or
greatly encouraged, the establishment of _five_ religious
congregations in my diocese; and I am just (for the great work) where
I first began! Not one of them can (for it cannot be want of will)
undertake it. It comes within the purpose of none of them to try.
Souls are perishing around them, but they are prevented by the rules,
given by Saints, from helping to save them--at least in anything but a
particular and definite way."

In the case of secular priests, no such reasons for limiting their
work can ever enter in. It is sufficient that the work is there,
waiting to be done, and they must put their hands to it, even though
their number be hopelessly inadequate to perform it with anything like
completeness or efficiency. They are, as it were, the residuary
legatees of the needs of the Church, and often have to do the roughest
work for the simple reason that no one else has undertaken it. Many a
priest is in charge of a mission, either alone or in company with
others, in which the amount to be done is hopelessly out of proportion
to the supply of men to do it. Yet he cannot refuse. He must do what
he can, as well as he can, and leave the rest in the hands of Divine
Providence. This is surely nothing to be ashamed of: it is rather the
chief glory of the secular clergy that the roughest work of the Church
falls to our lot, and we are continually called upon to do that which
the religious, for good and lawful reasons, cannot undertake. One
sometimes hears of dissatisfaction at their having missions which are
flourishing so far as this world's resources are concerned. It may be
that it is their hard work and self-denial which has caused their
missions to become so; but whether this is the full explanation or
not, there is no reason why we should envy them: rather they should
envy us, in the difficult and uphill work which has been laid upon us
by the providence of God.

Nor can we refuse to do it on the plea that our spiritual life will
suffer. Such will indeed seem at first sight to be the case. Consider
the example of a busy mission in London or one of our large towns,
especially if it be a single-handed one. On an ordinary Sunday there a
priest cannot possibly devote much time to his own religious
exercises. He will perhaps have to say two masses, to preach possibly
more than once, to catechise children, and give Benediction, and to
administer the sacraments of Confession, Holy Communion, and Baptism
at different times of the day. Manifestly his own meditation,
spiritual reading and the like have to be omitted. Even his Office is
said with difficulty, a great part of it perhaps at the end of a long
day's work when he is hardly physically fit to say it, and might with
advantage profit by our English privilege of substituting the Rosary.
Often on the Monday he will not have sufficiently recovered and has as
far as possible to take a day's rest. Thus his regular spiritual
exercises are at best limited to five days in the week, on the last of
which--the Saturday--the pressure of the coming Sunday work is already
making itself felt, with the duties of preparing sermons, and perhaps
sitting long hours in the Confessional. This weekly break is an
effective hindrance to any strict adherence to a rule of life, and
prevents the personal self-sanctification of a secular priest from
being so systematic as that of a religious. Indeed, even on an average
week-day, it is impossible to adhere at all rigidly to any self-made
rule. If a priest has to go out to say mass at a Convent, it is hard
to avoid his daily meditation being performed in a perfunctory
fashion, or sometimes even omitted altogether. If he has to say mass
twice or three times a week at ten o'clock and on other mornings at
eight--as is often the case in town missions--regularity of life
disappears. Then much of his pastoral work--such as visitations, sick
calls, or unexpected calls to the Confessional--is entirely uncertain
and variable as to time, and cannot be foreseen. Moreover, the
anxieties of a priest are very distracting to the even tenor of our
spiritual life. Add to this that much of his recreation has to be
taken late in the evening, as being the only time that his friends in
the parish are at home, and it is difficult to refuse _all_
invitations to dine out, or his position among his parishioners would
suffer: yet the evening is the time of day when naturally a spiritual
man wishes to be recollected.

What then? Are the secular clergy to surrender their own
sanctification for the sake of their work? The question has only to be
asked to be answered in the negative. The dignity of the priesthood
and the pastoral office is enough to put such an idea out of our
thoughts. Some of the greatest saints of the Church--including the
Apostles themselves--belonged to the secular clergy: and it would be
manifest blasphemy to look on their state as anything but a school of
holiness. Certainly we must look for an answer in a different
direction from this.

Three different answers may be suggested, each of which can lead us to
important considerations.

In the first place we have the three great Evangelical Virtues,
Poverty, Chastity and Obedience, as practised by the priest, which
inform their whole lives and give a character and greatness which
overshadows everything that they do. These are so important that
separate Conferences will be given to the consideration of each. Let
it suffice here, then, to enumerate them as the first answer to the
difficulty we are considering, of how the secular priesthood is to be
made a school of holiness.

The second answer is the spirit which prompts us to do our work. It is
a spirit of complete self-sacrifice and trust in God, who will in his
own way watch over His priests and ministers, so that if they have
sacrificed themselves for the sake of preaching the Gospel of His
kingdom, He will in return take them under his protection and
accomplish their sanctification in His own manner and in His own time.

Let us take comfort when we examine our lives. We may find that our
daily exercises have been very irregular; that our meditation has been
cut short, or elbowed out; our spiritual reading has often been
postponed till late at night, or performed in perfunctory or
distracted manner, or not infrequently omitted; our Office has been
said at odd times whenever we could fit it in; perhaps we have not
always been regular even at our daily mass. The cause of much of this
has no doubt been culpable; we might have been less irregular than we
have been. But if we can truly say that it was in great measure due to
the unequal pressure of our work, and that the primary cause is
traceable to the necessary sacrifice of our ministry we can feel
confidence in the result; for whatever our shortcomings in detail, we
have in the main been practising the highest kind of self-sacrifice,
and the kind which is specially characteristic of our vocation as
secular priests. This is the advice insisted on in the _Imitation of
Christ_: [5] "Evil ought not to be done either for anything in the
world, or for the love of any man; but for the profit of one that
stands in need, a good work is sometimes freely to be omitted, or
rather to be changed for a better. For by doing thus, a good work is
not lost, but is changed into a better. Without charity the outward
work profiteth nothing; but whatever is done out of charity, be it
never so little and contemptible, all becomes fruitful. For God
regards more with how much affection and love a person performs a work
than how much he does."

But if we have often to set aside our rule of life, and postpone or
give up our religious exercises at the call of charity, we should be
careful to maintain strictness in not giving them up for other
reasons, as, for example, for the sake of some recreation, or through
pure laziness. Here also we may quote the _Imitation_: [6] "If for
piety's sake, or with a design to the profit of our neighbour we
sometimes omit our accustomed exercises, it may afterwards be easily
recovered. But if through a loathing of mind or negligence it be
lightly let alone, it is no small fault and will prove harmful." So
long as we act strictly on this principle, we shall find that hard
work, however distracting, is not a bar to holiness. "Let no one
think," says Cardinal Manning, [7] "that a busy life cannot be a holy
life. The busiest life may be full of piety. Holiness consists not in
doing uncommon things, but in doing all common things with an uncommon
fervour. No life was ever more full of work and of its interruptions
than the life of our Lord and His Apostles. They were surrounded by
the multitude, and 'there were many coming and going, and they had not
so much as time to eat' (St. Mark vi. 31). Nevertheless, a busy life"
(he adds) "needs a punctual and sustained habit of prayer. It is
neither piety nor charity for a priest to shorten his preparation
before mass or his thanksgiving after it because people are waiting
for him. He must first wait upon God, and then he may serve his
neighbour."

A third answer to our question on the means of our sanctification may
be given, of a different kind from the other two. It is that the very
works of our ministry may be a direct source of sanctification far
greater than the various exercises, which from time to time we give
up. Some of these we may enumerate.

First and foremost comes our daily mass. This can never be omitted
through pressure of external work, whether there is a congregation or
not. Time was, when in the days of our youth, we looked forward to the
privilege of saying mass as almost too great and too sacred to be
spoken of. It seemed to us that with this daily privilege, all life
would be sanctified and sin would become impossible to us. What has
been our experience after many years of this daily privilege? Has it
fulfilled our expectation? Alas, our first experience has been that
with frequent repetition the act has become perfunctory, and has often
been performed with inadequate preparation, too short a thanksgiving,
and little real devotion. Perhaps we have been free in too often
omitting it. But it is not too much to assert that when it has been
said properly, with suitable preparation and recollection, it has more
than realised our most sanguine expectations, and that no instrument
of sanctification could exceed in strength the daily mass of the
priest, well prepared, well celebrated, and with a suitable
thanksgiving.

After this we may look at the various exercises of the pastoral
ministry. Take the Confessional; who can rise up from a long session
in the box without the consciousness that he is a better man? Why is
it that the time spent in the exercise of hearing the Confessions of
others never seems long, except that during the whole time we are
conscious that it is reacting upon ourselves? Cardinal Manning
enumerates five different truths upon which the Confessor
assimilates:-- [8]

"First, self-knowledge, by bringing things to his own remembrance and
by showing him his own face in a glass by the lives of sinners.

"Secondly, contrition, in the sorrow of penitents who will not be
consoled.

"Thirdly, delicacy of conscience in the innocent whose eye being
single and their body full of light, accuse themselves of omissions
and deviations from the will of God which we, perhaps, daily commit
without discernment.

"Fourthly, aspiration by the fervent, whose one desire and effort, in
the midst of burdened and restless homes, is to rise higher and higher
in union with God.

"Fifthly, self-accusation at our own unprofitableness, from the
generosity and fidelity of those who are hindered on every side, and
yet in humility, self-denial, charity and union with God surpass us,
who have every gift of time and grace needed for perfection."

A similar effect is produced in us by the ordinary visitation of our
people, even in the most difficult surroundings. How many do we not
come across whose daily uphill struggle for virtue puts our own lives
to shame! Others whose trust in God in apparently hopeless
circumstances, and the answers which we see to their prayers, bring
the closeness of God's providence over His elect sensibly nearer to
us. Then our prayer with our people and for our people, our
instructions and sermons, our indirect influence over them, all alike
continually keep us in the presence of God. There is a tendency among
some priests to look upon the devotions in which they lead their
people as one thing, and their own spiritual exercises--their Office,
Meditation, Spiritual Reading--as another. There is no need for any
such distinction. The devotions which a priest goes through with his
people--the Rosary, confraternity prayers, Benediction and the like--
react on his spiritual life quite as strongly as his Meditation or
Spiritual Reading which he may have omitted in their favour. The Cure
of Ars for many years practically gave up his private spiritual
exercises, except his mass, in order to devote the whole of his time
to his pastoral work, either in the Confessional, or in the midst of
his people, preaching to them, or saying night prayers or other
devotions with them. In his later years he was dispensed by Rome even
from saying his Office. His was indeed an extreme case; but the same
principles hold good, in their measure, in the case of every priest
who devotes himself to his pastoral work. Even the sin and misery
which we see around us, bring vividly before us the dignity of our own
office in trying to rescue our people from the results of their own
folly. Still more when we minister at the death either of one who has
led a good Christian life, or one who has become a true penitent, are
we brought almost into touch with the other world. There is a
sacredness about a Catholic death-bed which is all its own. One moment
the patient is going through the last of his sufferings in this world,
dependent upon our poor help and our prayers, and receiving the
consolations of religion at our hands: a moment later he is in the
other world, looking down on us, with knowledge and experience which
we so long to have, his salvation we hope assured, and this the result
of our ministry. Can any priest come back from a Catholic death-bed
without a feeling of awe, and his faith strengthened as though he were
in actual contact with the next world?

To sum up then, the pastoral work of the priest is in itself a means
of sanctification as direct and as efficacious as any personal
religious exercises can be; and while we should always be jealous of
omitting any of our accustomed devotions through carelessness or
laziness, we need have no misgiving when they are omitted in
consequence of the pressure of our pastoral work. We may fitly
conclude with one more quotation from Cardinal Manning on the
sanctifying power of the self-sacrifice which a true pastor
practises:-- [9]

"The pastoral office is in itself a discipline of perfection. For
first of all it is a life of abnegation of self. A pastor has so many
obediences to fulfil, as he has souls to serve. The good and the evil,
the sick and the whole, the young and the old, the wise and the
foolish, the worldly and the unworldly--who are not always wise--the
penitent and the impenitent, the converted and the unconverted, the
lapsed and the relapsed, the obdurate and the defiant, all must be
watched over--none may be neglected, still less cast off--always, at
all times and in all ways possible. St. Philip used to say that a
priest should have no time of his own, and that many of his most
consoling conversations came to him out of hours at unseasonable
moments. If he had sent them away because they came out of time, or at
supper-time and the like, they might have been lost. Then again, the
trials of temper, patience, self-control in bearing with the strange
and inconsiderate minds that come to him, and the demands made upon
his strength and endurance day and night in the calls of the sick and
dying, coming often one after another when for a moment he has gone to
rest; the weary and continual importunities of people and of letters,
till the sound of the bell or the knock at the door is a constant
foreboding, too surely fulfilled; all these things make a pastor's
life as wearisome, and, strange to say, as isolated as if he were in
the desert. No sackcloth so mortifies the body as this life of
perpetual self-abnegation mortifies the will. But when the will is
mortified, the servant is like his Master, and his Master is the
exemplar of all perfection."


[1] St. Matt. xix. 21.

[2] St. Luke x. 42.

[3] _Life of Wiseman,_ ii. p. 116.

[4] i.e. The old Jesuit mission in Romney Terrace, afterwards
Horseferry Road, now absorbed in the Cathedral parish. The letter was
written on October 27, 1852.

[5] Book I, xix. 3.

[6] _Ibid.,_ xv. i.

[7] _Eternal Priesthood,_ p. 81.

[8] _Ibid.,_ p. 104.

[9] _Ibid.,_ p. 58.




CONFERENCE III

POVERTY

THERE is nothing new in the remark that Christ at His coming
sanctified the state of poverty in a manner totally new to the world.
In this relation we look upon the circumstances which surrounded His
birth as a very special Providence. The life of the Holy Family at
Nazareth was indeed one of ordinary but apparently not extreme
poverty. The question "Is not this the son of the carpenter whom we
know?" "Is not this the carpenter?" show us that our Lord and St.
Joseph practised a trade in the ordinary way, like any other Jews
would have done, working no doubt day by day for their living, but not
in a state of destitution, or in want for the necessaries of life. By
a combination of circumstances however, which we believe to have been
brought about by God for this express purpose, His birth took place
away from His home and from the friends of His mother and St. Joseph,
in surroundings which were without what may fairly be considered as
the necessaries of life. It was under these circumstances that He
preached His first sermon on the dignity of Poverty.

It was a new idea to the people and one of which the world had never
before heard. The poor have ever formed the vast majority of mankind;
yet the instinct has always been to look down upon them. The ancient
Romans looked upon the needy and the afflicted as the object of the
malediction of the gods. A story is told of one of the Emperors
sending a whole shipload of them to sea, and having the vessel sunk,
so as to rid the city of their presence. The Jews had indeed learnt
something less opposed to the truth; but even they looked upon Poverty
as a misfortune. A promise of an earthly reward was necessary as a
stimulus to lead them on to do their duty. "I am the Lord thy God, who
brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage."
"Honour thy father and thy mother, that thou mayest be long lived upon
the land which the Lord thy God will give thee." A modest competency
was to them the minimum that was put before them to deliver them from
care and anxiety. "Give me neither beggary nor riches: give me only
the necessaries of life." [1] Yet they knew that if the poor were
faithful to God, He would protect them; and indeed that one of the
attributes of the God of the Jews was His providential care of the
poor. "He shall judge the poor of the people, and he shall save the
children of the poor, and he shall humble the oppressors. . . . He
shall deliver the poor from the mighty, and the needy that had no
helper. He shall spare the poor and needy; and he shall save the
souls of the poor." [2]

Our Lord in His teaching, however, went far beyond anything which even
the Jews had before their minds, when He proclaimed that Poverty was
the true state of blessedness. His first recorded words as official
teacher of mankind are "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is
the kingdom of heaven." In another passage we read still more
explicitly, [3] "Blessed are ye poor, for yours is the kingdom of God;
Blessed are ye that hunger now, for you shall be filled; Blessed are
ye that weep now, for you shall laugh; . . . but woe to you that are
rich, for you have your consolation. Woe to you that are filled, for you
shall hunger; woe to you that now laugh, for you shall mourn and
weep." He is here putting the state of poverty forward as the state of
blessing, more to be desired than the state of riches.

The same idea we find enforced by our Lord in His teaching in numerous
instances. He speaks of as "the Mammon of Iniquity," so intimately
connected does He consider them with vice. More than that. He speaks
as though the salvation of a rich man was so difficult as to be almost
a test of God's omnipotence. "It is easier for a camel to pass through
the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of
God. . . . With man it is impossible; but with God all things are
possible." [4]

Consider also some of our Lord's parables in this regard. The
well-known one of Dives and Lazarus at once occurs to mind. The rich
man is not accused of any particular evil; but simply he lived
trusting in his riches, the selfish life of which they are so often
the foundation. He "was clothed in purple and fine linen and feasted
sumptuously every day"; while Lazarus "lay at his gate full of sores,
desiring to be filled with the crumbs that fell from the rich man's
table"; and it is added almost as a matter of course that after death
their lots are reversed. Abraham is depicted as saying to the rich
man, "Son, remember that thou didst receive good things in thy
lifetime, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted,
and thou are tormented." [5] In another parable we have placed before
us one who trusted so much in his accumulated wealth that he said to
himself, "Thou hast much good laid up for many years, take thy rest,
eat, drink, make good cheer"; and the merited rejoinder is "Thou fool;
this night do they require thy soul of thee, and where shall those
things be which thou hast provided?" [6] These examples might be
multiplied indefinitely.

There is no danger of the virtue of poverty being lost sight of by the
Church. The whole attitude of the clergy and devout laity affords
opportunities of charity to the poor. Not only do they practise
almsgiving to a degree far beyond any question of strict duty, but
many of them give themselves to personal work among the poor, which is
more valuable than silver and gold, while the modern active
congregations of nuns are fully appreciated especially for the work
that they do among the poor. One of the most sanctifying phases of a
priest's life is his close contact with the poor. The man of the world
at best looks upon them as persons to be pitied, to be relieved, to be
helped; in modern times, they teach them to combine together to insist
on the betterment of their state--a movement with which, if carried on
with proper responsibility and care, the Church is in full sympathy.
But so long as the world goes on, so long there will be poor people in
it, and to the Christian, still more to the priest, the natural
attitude is something bordering on reverence for the poor; for to them
Christian virtues such as humility, work, self-denial, obedience, come
almost naturally as the accompaniment of their state. Their very
necessities almost compel them to seek comfort from God in prayer.
Many of the poor indeed neglect these advantages and make their
poverty a source of discontent and even murmuring against Divine
Providence in this regard. Equally a rich man may practise poverty of
spirit; but it does not come easily. "How _hardly_ shall they who have
riches enter into the kingdom of God." [7]

While however a priest easily understands the sanctifying effects of
poverty in others, there is a real danger that he may fail to
appreciate it in himself. The anxious and worrying effect on the mind,
the continuous trouble as much as the self-denial necessitated by the
conditions of his life seem to interfere with his power of prayer and
with the proper sanctification of his duties. Yet in truth the facing
of such conditions may react in a far more sanctifying way than the
prayers and devotions which they impede: the prayer of a poor man in
anxiety and distress, even though a distracted prayer, may be more
efficacious than the ordinary prayer of the man in comfortable
circumstances.

Thank God, in England there is no chance of a priest being anything
else than a poor man. But there are degrees of poverty amongst us
according to the missions at which we are stationed and other
circumstances; and from the fact of the general state being
inevitable, we are apt to lose sight of its value and long for
positions where we have to practise it less rather than more.

It is well for us then to think over and apply to ourselves the fact
that Poverty as such should be looked upon as a true blessing, to be
desired as the ordinary means by which our lives may be raised up and
made like to that of our Divine Master. True, indeed, our wish should
be for whatever surroundings will best enable us to carry out the work
which God has destined for us individually; and whatever He sends us,
we joyfully accept. But so far as we have any wish or longing, the
blessing we should prefer should not be riches, but poverty, for that
make us more like to Him.

It is just here, when we come to reduce theory to practice, that our
state contrasts with that of a religious. In one sense--and a true
sense--they practise the virtue in its fulness, and we should never
underestimate the spirit of self-sacrifice necessary in order to have
nothing that they can call their own. But in another sense, religious
poverty may be easier to practise than that with which a secular
priest is faced. For their wants are always provided for, and they are
free from the anxieties of poverty with which we are familiar. St.
Ignatius gives it as one of the fruits of whole-hearted sacrifice in
the Society, that it relieves its members of all care. They live
indeed in what may be called in the words of Pope Leo XIII "frugal
comfort," such as befits men who are poor; but they are free from
anxiety. For St. Alphonsus it was not enough that his subjects should
use things that are cheap; but he wished that they should be rough and
common things, so that the spirit of poverty might not be wanting. And
many inconveniences distinctive of poverty are common to all
religious. But so long as their order or congregation exists and
flourishes they need have no care or anxiety for themselves or their
future.

Our poverty, however, is of a totally different type, and our dangers
of a different nature. The life of a secular priest may be full of
care and anxiety on the question of money--difficulty of making ends
meet, support of church and school, perhaps the weight of a capital
debt, good works languishing for want of means--the poor dependent on
him--and so forth. He will wear a threadbare coat, and deny himself
any food or comfort that are not absolutely necessary for the sake of
his people and his work. This is a poverty more wearing and apparently
less sanctifying. Poor jaded human nature longs to be free from care
and anxiety, and we easily lose sight of the supernatural power of
poverty. We look on it as the unfortunate accompaniment of the
existing state of Catholic England; we fail to remember that it is one
of the great sources of blessing on it. Hence the anxiety of some
priests to be placed on better missions, with more pay and less work,
a hope for better days in recognition of past services and so forth.

What is to be our remedy? How are we to learn to love our poverty, to
realise its power for good, to make it, as it can be made, the
greatest source of our sanctification?

The answer to all these questions is one and the same. Our life must
have about it the notes and characteristics of the poor men that we
are. It must be a life of humility and self-effacement, hardiness, and
of work; there must be no self-indulgence; and, above all, we must
surrender our liberty to the call of duty. Let us consider these
points in detail.

1. A poor man does not think of himself individually; he knows that he
is only one of a multitude of human beings similarly circumstanced. He
has to work for his living, and is willing to put up with whatever his
lot may be, provided he can earn what is necessary for the support of
himself and those who depend on him. He does not resent being
slighted: he looks upon it as his natural lot. Nor does he put forward
his own wishes or opinions. He only desires to be able to go his way
and do his daily work. Our Lord was in this, as in other things, our
model. He had lived nearly thirty years at Nazareth, and all that his
fellow townspeople had to say of Him was, "Is not this the
carpenter?"--as though to say, "Is he not like any other carpenter?"--
"How came this man by all these things?" (St. Mark vi. 2, 3.) In like
manner a priest with the spirit of poverty will seek no notoriety,
will not wish to be known from his fellow clergy, but will only seek
to be allowed to live the daily life on the mission, and to share its
blessings. He will look on the ordinary rough usage of life merely as
incidents to be expected, while he pursues the end of his calling, the
acquisition not of temporal, but of spiritual riches: the "unum
necessarium," so far as he is concerned.

2. A poor man does not seek after self-indulgence. If money is spent
on himself, he has to do additional work to earn it: this thought is a
perpetual stimulus to self-denial. In similar manner, to a priest on
the mission there is plenty of such stimulus. Such small sums of money
as may pass through his hands are wanted over and over again for the
relief of the poor around him. Their needs are ever present, and
appeal loudly and forcibly to him. If he is a rector, the expenses of
the mission have to be met, and they are often increased by having to
find interest on mortgages or capital debt, sometimes leaving little
or nothing for personal expenses or salary. Here necessity to some
extent asserts itself; but not altogether. A priest in a so-called
comfortable mission has the physical power to make himself very
comfortable. He can furnish his rooms well, so that they appeal both
to his artistic sense and to his self-indulgence: he can spend money
enough to give himself the best of food, without sinning against
justice or defrauding anybody; he can save money enough for a
first-rate holiday once a year. His work may languish, though he does
all he is bound to do, and no one can make a complaint against him.

Yet he is living a life unworthy of his state, and one which will not
bring any blessing on him such as the sanctification of his flock.
Where is his spirit of poverty? Has a poor man always plenty of good
food? Does not his work sometimes suffer from his forced
abstemiousness? Can he give himself a holiday of the nature indicated?
Truly many a man of the world would envy the comfortable life of a
priest who has lost the spirit of poverty. A zealous priest on the
other hand will strive to live economically. His measure of food is
just that which will support him and enable him to do his work
efficiently: his measure of comfort [8] will be that which he needs
for his work. If he be in a well-to-do mission, he will willingly save
what he can for the relief of the poor at his doors. If he is on a
poorer mission, or if he is a junior priest, he will willingly accept
any necessary self-denial, both as a schooling for himself and because
he knows that what is saved will find a worthy destination in the
hands of the poor and needy, or in the support of the Church.

3. A poor man is a hard-working man. "Exibit <DW25> ad opus suum, et ad
operationem suum usque ad vesperam." "Man shall go forth to his work,
and to his labour until evening." [9] Such is the ordinary lot of
mortals. By far the majority have to work for their daily bread. They
only think themselves fortunate to have work ready to their hands
which will enable them to earn what they require. Now a priest may be
a hardworking man or not as he himself decides. The amount of work
absolutely necessary and binding _ex justitia_ is usually not large.
His Sunday duty may be heavy; but during the greater part of the week
he is free. But if he has the spirit of his state, the work ready to
his hand is inexhaustible; and the salvation of numberless souls
depends upon his doing it. "Why stand ye here all the day idle?" is
Christ's reproach to those who have time on their hands and do not use
it. St. Alphonsus made a vow that he would never pass a minute of time
unoccupied. Such a vow if kept to would mean a heroic life. Far short
of that we can well learn to use our time with the sense of
responsibility. To throw away time in inordinate reading of the
newspapers, accompanied with the smoking of cigarettes, may not be
definitely sinful; but it is throwing away opportunities which will
never recur. A hard-working business man once explained to the writer
that he never wasted a moment of time: so much so that if he had to
wait in a waiting-room before seeing some one, he would exercise
himself by valuing in his mind all the objects of furniture, which he
considered a good business training of the faculties. Truly the
children of this world are in their way wiser than the children of
light. He said Time is money: we can say, Time is eternal life. Which
of the two maxims makes time more valuable, or should make us harder
workers?

4. Uncertainty as to the future. We often hear a demand among the
clergy for "fixity of tenure." This means that a Rector, without
Canonical fault, should not be removable from his mission, which
should be bound to give him support in sickness and old age. There is
nothing unreasonable in this aspiration, at least for those who have a
certain number of years of work behind them: the ordinary law of the
Church is designed to produce such security. Nevertheless, we in
England, when we were truly missioners, and had no such claim to fall
back upon, were undoubtedly practising the virtue of poverty in a
higher degree than those who had complete and permanent parochial
livings. A poor man's future is always precarious, depending on his
services being still wanted, his employers being themselves
prosperous, his own health remaining strong, and a thousand other
contingencies of life. A missioner in accepting a like state of
precariousness is putting himself on a higher plane than that of the
ordinary parochial clergy, and many priests, with the true spirit of
their vocation, have rejoiced in their condition in this respect, the
hardship of which has been much mitigated by the existence of clergy
funds which secure to the aged and infirm an amount of help quite out
of proportion with the entrance fees or subscriptions they have to
pay, and thus far better than any mutual help association of the
working man.

In recent years, however, this question has been settled permanently.
Whatever the effect here in England of the legislation of Pius X--
about which there has been some difference of opinion--in the revised
Canon Law it is laid down that in all countries in which there is a
Hierarchy, the rectors of the churches are to be "Parochi"; but
whether or not they have security of tenure is left to the Bishop to
decide in each case. It is possible that our custom in England may
continue without much change, and only those who have what were
formerly known as Missionary Rectories will have true security of
tenure: that, however, will depend on the individual Bishop. But at
least, we can say that those who are called to work long years without
such security, will be called to practise the virtue of poverty in a
higher degree than the others. A priest with the true missionary
vocation will do good while he can, and leave the future in the hands
of God. The practice of a priest saving up money for his old age is
not indeed to be condemned, but it is the less high course. How many
have done this for years and then the last summons came to them while
still in middle life, so that they had to leave their savings for
others to spend.

5. Surrender of Liberty. The consideration of this can be postponed
until the Conference on Obedience.

[1] Prov. xxx. 8.

[2] Ps. lxxxi. 4, 12.

[3] St. Luke vi. 20.

[4] St. Matt. xix. 24, 26,

[5] St. Luke xvi. 19, 25.

[6] St. Luke xii. 20.

[7] St. Mark x. 23.

[8] The question of how to furnish one's rooms must be always a
personal one for each priest to settle. To some, the advantage of an
attractive room, artistically decorated, both as to furniture and
pictures, may be a help towards their work, and induce them to spend
time among their books which might otherwise be frittered away. But
the effeminate or even luxurious method of furnishing that one has
occasionally seen is hard to defend in a priest's room. Cardinal
Vaughan ends his book on _The Young Priest_ by this advice:--

"We have but one caution to offer, and that is, not to furnish your
room as though it were a lady's boudoir. Indulgence in this kind of
taste tells unfavourably upon a Priest's own character and stamps the
man in the judgment of others" (_The Young Priest,_ p. 34).

[9] Ps. ciii. 23.




CONFERENCE IV

CHASTITY

WE are often asked by non-Catholics why it is that priests are not
allowed to marry. It is a difficult question to answer in a few words,
and becomes the more difficult from the obvious inability of even a
well-disposed person who is not a Catholic to understand our view of
the matter. We should probably answer by appealing to the conveniences
of the rule. A man who is unmarried is free from encumbrances; he can
go where he is sent at short notice; in his daily life all the time
and thought which he would otherwise spend on the affairs of his home
and the bringing up of his children can be devoted to the direct work
of his ministry. We might perhaps quote the words of St. Paul: "He
that is without a wife is solicitous for the things that belong to the
Lord, how he may please God; but he that is with a wife is solicitous
for the things of the world, how he may please his wife; and he is
divided." [1] Or we might point to financial considerations to show
that it is a useful rule, for an unmarried priest can be supported on
a far lower income than a married one. A somewhat similar rule applies
to the army, and for similar reasons, with this important limitation,
that soldiers cannot be expected to deprive themselves permanently of
matrimony, so that the limit of the rule is to restrict it to a
certain percentage, and to those of a certain age; whereas priests
being called to a more self-denying life, are expected to do without
it permanently.

All this is true as far as it goes; but we ourselves know that this is
only one aspect of the subject, and that not the most important one.
The fact that the Church faces scandals among the clergy in every age
of her history, without showing any inclination to relax the rule,
would surely point to the fact that there are greater issues involved
than mere questions of finance or convenience. These scandals are
indeed happily few--very few--in proportion to the total number of the
clergy; but they are sufficiently numerous and sufficiently grave to
make us certain that the Church would not insist on the rule which
makes their recurrence possible, but for a good of surpassing and
all-pervading importance.

In fact the Church has ever spoken with no uncertain voice on the
excellence of the celibate over the married state. Not that she
underrates the latter; on the contrary, by raising matrimony to the
dignity of a sacrament and insisting on its indissolubility, she has
done much to raise the standard of domestic virtue and domestic
happiness, and to emphasise the greatness of the Christian home and
family. But St. Paul says, "He that giveth his virgin in marriage does
well"; but "he that giveth her not does better"; [2] and the celibate
state has ever been regarded by the Church as higher than that of
matrimony.

In fact it would seem that the married state, great as it is, is
hardly compatible with the highest sanctity: scarcely an instance
occurs to mind of a canonised saint who died in the married state,
except martyrs whose sanctification was accomplished by the very act
of death.

Nor is there any difficulty in discerning our Lord's special love for
celibacy or virginity. An esteem for virginity was indeed the creation
of Christianity. Even to the Jews, for a woman to have no children was
considered a reproach, [3] if for no other reason, because it
destroyed any possibility of the Messiah being descended from her. It
was our Blessed Lady herself who first broke through this prejudice.
For her answer to the Archangel Gabriel can only mean that she
esteemed the privilege of being ever a virgin more than the prospect
of having the Messiah descended from her, or even that He should be
her own son. It was only when it was explained to her that by a
special dispensation of Providence her mothership was to be compatible
with her continued virginity that she gave the requisite consent, and
the Word was made Flesh within her womb. It is perhaps a thought that
we might make more prominent in our spiritual life that Mary, whom we
love to regard as the guardian of a priest's celibacy, was in truth
the first in this world to discover the excellence of that state, and
the first to practise it as a virtue.

And there are other instances where our Lord showed His special
predilection for this virtue. The "disciple whom Jesus loved," whose
head was on His breast at the Last Supper, who stood beneath the
Cross, and received the commission to be the guardian of our Lady
during the remainder of her sojourn on this earth, according to
tradition practised this virtue throughout his life in all its
fulness, so that the Church on his feast day calls out, "Valde
honorandus est beatus Joannes, quis upra pectus Domini in coena
recubuit; cui Christus in cruce matrem virginem virgini commendavit";
and again, "Diligebat eum Jesus quoniam specialis praerogativa
castitatis ampliori dilectione fecerat dignum: quia virgo electus ab
ipso, virgo in aevum permansit. In cruce denique moriturus huic matrem
suam virginem Virgini commendavit, quia virgo electus ab ipso, virgo
in aevum permansit."

These thoughts might easily be developed; but it is unnecessary, as--
theoretically at least--we are all familiar with the idea.
Nevertheless, there is often a danger that we may lose sight of its
essence--that we may look upon celibacy as a mere disciplinary law of
the Church, made for prudential reasons, and our duty as merely to
abstain from every thought or act which may endanger its observance--
to look on celibacy, in short, as a negative rather than a positive
precept, forbidding us to do this or that, but not adding anything
very special to our daily spiritual life, beyond absence of sin. Yet
this gives one a very inadequate idea of what should be to us a most
positive virtue, affecting our whole lives, giving to the priesthood
our greatest glory, and to our lives the note of heroism.

Now the positive side of the virtue of celibacy is in theory plain
enough, at least in its main outline. Woman was created to be man's
helpmate, and she fulfils her calling in the first place by her power
of sympathy. There is no human sympathy like that of a woman, and
granted that it is used within proper limits and restrictions, it is
one of the greatest helps which man can have in meeting the troubles
and storms of life. The care and sympathy of his mother in youth, of
his wife in the heyday of life, of his daughters in old age, are the
most valuable helps to many a man of the world, to enable him to face
with success the difficulties of his state. In like manner when he
wants counsel and advice he turns to that sex who have specially the
gift of entering into another's difficulties and helping him through
them.

The essence of celibacy is that when we seek sympathy and counsel in
our troubles and trials, or our work, and in all the affairs of life,
we turn not to human sympathisers, but to those whom we know by
faith--to our Lord in the Tabernacle, to His mother, to our patron
saints, to our guardian angel, etc. The sympathy we get differs from
that which is to be obtained in the world in the first place in the
absence of the feeling of sense, which is the first and easiest remedy
and that which we should look for as the natural accompaniment of
sympathy in the world. This does not mean that it is less real: on the
contrary, it is far more real and more powerful. If a priest is sent
any great trouble or anxiety, and instead of seeking human consolation
and guidance, goes straight into his Church, to pour out his soul in
the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, or before the altars or statues
of our Lady or the Saints, he will come forth strengthened in spirit,
and having received the gift of counsel in a far higher degree than
would ever have been the case had he had recourse to the solace and
company of a wife or family or relations. And this counsel and
strength will increase in degree in proportion as he has banished from
his life the ordinary sensible consolations to be obtained from human
sympathy.

He does not on this account love his family and his friends less; on
the contrary, he loves them more, though in a different and more
mortified manner. The relations between a priest and his family must
be essentially different from what they were when he was a layman. His
pleasure in being in their company, the joy of their society, has to
be restricted and curtailed; often for long years--as in the case of
foreign missionaries--he may be cut off from them altogether; but his
true charity towards them, his wish for their highest good, his
readiness to sacrifice himself for them are not less but far greater
than before, and both he and they have the consolation of knowing the
power of his prayers to help them.

The great exemplar of this virtue, St. Aloysius, may be quoted as a
special example. Of him it is written that he even denied himself the
sensible consolation of his mother's countenance, and his detachment
from all the consolations of sense were such that we can hardly
realise. Yet he speaks confidently of his affection for his family and
friends. He declared that he offered daily to Almighty God in one hand
his relations and worldly friends, in the other his fellow members of
the Society of Jesus, and that both were continually in his mind.

In such a matter as this it is not suggested that we should aim at the
height of chastity practised by St. Aloysius. The particular degree of
reserve alluded to above, however admirable in him--and the fact that
the Church records it with approval in the official lessons on his
feast is sufficient proof of this--would be in us not only
affectation, but wholly unsuited to the conditions in which we live.
Nevertheless, we have to imitate the same spirit in our measure and
our social intercourse with our family must be limited both in degree
and in character. The very fact of the sensible sympathy being so
strong between mother and son, or between brother and sister, is one
of the reasons--and not the least of them--why the Synods of
Westminster prohibit a priest's female relatives from living in his
house, without special circumstances to justify it, lest such close
intercourse might draw the heart away from that higher kind of
sympathy which we seek from Almighty God in prayer.

We should in fact be exceedingly foolish if we were to limit our
aspirations to the avoidance of those things in which there might be a
danger of leading us into sin. That is indeed the minimum to which we
are all bound; but there are degrees in this virtue, and we can all of
us aim at a higher detachment from sensible consolations than that to
which we are bound under sin, and the higher we can put the practice
of this virtue, the nearer we shall get to Almighty God, and the
greater will be the power of our prayers.

From consideration of our relations with our own family, we proceed to
the question of our attitude to members of the other sex generally and
the need of strict limitation and mortification in this matter. In
discussing this question, we shall appeal to the authority of a small
brochure, privately printed some forty years ago, by one who can speak
with as great authority as any man living or dead, on the practice of
the virtue in circumstances of the present day in this country. [4] It
will be worth our while to study what he says in considerable detail.

He begins by quoting in favour of the rules he lays down some widely
different authorities, such as St. Augustine, Thomas a Kempis, St.
Ignatius and St. Francis de Sales. These great men lived at different
epochs, amidst different surroundings, and in different circumstances.
Their types of piety differed widely from one another. If, then, we
find that they are all agreed in recommending a particular line of
conduct, a very strong presumption is created in favour of their
recommendation.

He continues:--

"[Our duty] is indeed all summed up in the one word of the
_Imitation_, 'Be not familiar with any woman.' This familiarity is the
one thing which according to all is to be avoided. And if we ask what
precisely is meant by the word, we may say that at least it means, as
regards the external conduct of a priest, the avoidance of long or
frequent intercourse with women, even by letters; as regards his
heart, a firm purpose never to seek consolation or recreation in
female society; and, finally, it means that the counsel _nunquam solus
cum sola_ should be as far as possible the rule of daily life. Of
course this rule is observed so long as he is in the sight of others
or is easily visible. Priests are bound by vow to celibacy, and as a
consequence the saints quoted above regard them as bound in prudence
to treat with women on business only, and never to look on them as
companions or intimate friends."

A little further on he anticipates possible objections based on the
condition of modern society, especially in this country. He writes:--

"We are compelled to look at the world as it is, and it cannot be
denied that in an English-speaking society a priest is expected to do
much more than administer the sacraments and preach or catechise.
There is always a great deal of mental as well as bodily misery to be
met with. This misery is much increased in the English-speaking world
by differences in religion, by the circumstances connected with
conversions to the faith and the persecutions to which these give
occasion. On the other hand, centuries of persecution have created in
our Catholic laity generally a larger and deeper confidence than is
perhaps to be found in other countries. By their very nature women are
inclined to lean on others. What more natural than that many should
look to the priest--their 'director' as they love to call him--as
their one and only guide in all their doubts and troubles? Again, a
priest has frequently to call in the aid of women in his efforts to
reclaim souls from sin. It will often happen that he can reach the
ignorant and sinful only through the co-operation of nuns or good
women living in the world, or of both. Hence innumerable occasions of
treating with women will arise to which he is compelled by his very
duty as a priest.

"All this is true. Still there is nothing in these modern
circumstances to justify a departure from the reserve inculcated by
the saints. Nay, these circumstances only the more strongly confirm
the saying of the _Imitation_, 'we should have charity towards all,
but familiarity is not expedient.' Charity is universal. Intimacy or
familiarity is necessarily confined to a few. If a priest acts from
charity, he will be ready to receive all and at all seasons. But if he
follows natural inclination, he will necessarily waste on a few the
time and heart that might have been given to many. . . .

"Still on the plea of the difference of their times from ours, it may
be said that the reserve which they recommended and practised has
become impossible for a priest at the present day. It may be alleged
that he is indeed bound to avoid sin, and therefore all proximate
occasions of sin, whether the danger be to himself or to others. But
he must be natural in his behaviour towards women no less than towards
men; otherwise his ministry will be to a great extent sterile and his
confessional will be shunned. And after all, every Christian, it may
be said, is bound to avoid sin. Why should a priest be more on his
guard than an ordinary layman?

"We have thus two models of behaviour in a priest put before us--the
reserved and the natural. Is the reserve of the saints possible
nowadays, and if so, is it desirable? In answering this question let
us bear in mind that a priest is ordained not only, as the Apostle
says, to offer up gifts and sacrifices for sin, but is likewise sent
to all who are living in ignorance and sin, 'qui condolere possit iis
qui ignorant et errant.' Hence the main occupation of a priest in
charge of souls is to prevent sin by instruction, and to absolve from
sin in the Sacrament of Penance. In other words, to teach Christian
doctrine and to hear Confessions may be said to be the sum of a
priest's work in dealing with souls. For Baptism and the sacraments of
the dying are only other forms of loosing souls from the bonds of sin.
The question then is, does reserve with women create any hindrance in
this essential work of a priest? Unquestionably not. Protestant
writers, indeed, looking at the Church from outside, and not
understanding the real feeling of Catholics, have sometimes supposed
that they prefer going to Confession to an easy-going, self-indulgent
priest, rather than one who leads a mortified, unworldly life. But all
practical Catholics well know there cannot be a greater mistake.
Penitents seek indeed one who will be patient and kind. In proportion
to the weight of sin which they feel, they long for a man of God, who
in the words of the Apostle already quoted, 'Condolere possit iis qui
ignorant et errant,' and one on whose judgment they can rely. They
want one who will treat with them in God's name and for His sake. This
being so, is it not manifest that the paternal reserve of the saints
is more sure to attract confidence than the familiarity of the natural
man?"

A similar idea was no doubt in the mind of Cardinal Manning when he
wrote that "The priest who is seldom seen in society is the priest
whom men desire most to have beside them when they die." By being
"seldom in society" he of course meant mixing in the society of men
and women as one of themselves. For it is abundantly possible to go
among mankind and freely mix with them even in social gatherings, in
the performance of one's pastoral duty, while at the same time keeping
all the reserve pleaded for by the writer of the pamphlet and
observing the rules of custody of the eyes and of the senses
inculcated by spiritual writers. In adapting these rules to ourselves,
it may be of use to consider some of the various classes of females to
whom they may apply.

First there are young girls who are almost or quite children. We
easily get familiar with them, call them by their Christian names,
join in their play or amusements, and should rightly resent the idea
of there being anything wrong or even dangerous. Yet too much
familiarity with the young is never very desirable. The author of the
_Imitation_ specially warns us against it. Their society is pleasant
and innocent; yet the very simplicity and irresponsibility of youth
tends to draw us rather to a lower than a higher level. In the case of
a priest among his people however, he has to bear in mind that as time
passes the child grows into a girl. Familiarity once admitted is not
easily broken off, though a time conies when it is more than
undesirable, and finally it becomes a scandal to others and a danger
to oneself. Sometimes one has heard a priest address a young lady by
her Christian name, perhaps in a contracted form; which sounds
startling; and the explanation is to be sought in the familiarity
acquired in past years when she was only a child. If a proper reserve
had been maintained then, the familiarity would never have reached its
final state.

Secondly, there are good and devout young ladies in the congregation--
Children of Mary, perhaps, who are zealous to run their confraternity.
They come to the Presbytery to discuss their plans and schemes, and to
organise the Confraternity devotions. Or they may be regular workers
in the sacristy, members of the Altar Society, or those who help in
collecting money, or in visiting the poor, and such-like. Or they may
be penitents, who come to discuss matters of conscience. We must not
be thrown off our guard by their being pious. There may be danger to
us, or even in their weakness, to them, in that which at first sight
looks so proper and desirable. Means must be found to give them all
the spiritual help they want, while avoiding all kind of familiarity.

Thirdly, going to the other extreme, there are the evil-minded and
designing, who would love nothing better than the ruin of the priest.
Their power is great, their patience greater, and their cleverness
prevents them from being fathomed. The only method to meet them is to
keep them at a distance from the beginning. Once they have acquired
influence over one, they will be more than difficult to shake off.

After this we may mention various categories, the officious who wish
to know everything, the priest's own business as well as theirs; the
idle who want to gossip, to take offence at trifles and then make it
up, and in so doing to acquire influence; then the class of elderly
ladies who have no sinister design, but love all kinds of
ecclesiastical gossip to fill their time and thoughts; then those with
whom the priest comes into daily official contact, such as the
schoolmistress or housekeeper; and, lastly, one who may belong to
several of the above categories, who is truly motherly, and taking
pity on a priest's loneliness, wants to tend him in his wants; to keep
such a one with proper reserve requires no small determination.

For all these classes of females, the same law holds good--charity and
helpfulness to all, familiarity with none. There can be no danger
without previous familiarity, and though in some cases familiarity can
exist without danger, there are other reasons which have been given
why it should be shunned. Once more we can quote the same writer:--

"The fear for one's chastity is only one of the reasons, and often not
the most important, for this priestly reserve, as indeed is clear from
the lives of the saints themselves. Had St. Augustine, or St. Francis
of Sales, for example, any practical reason to fear for themselves, or
would there have been any danger of scandal to others in their case
from a more free and easy way of treating with women from that which
they adopted? Yet we have seen the rule which they laid down for
themselves."

Alas, however, that we cannot conclude this conference without
alluding to actual danger. The same writer proceeds:--

"In truth now, as at all times, the main difficulty lies in the human
heart itself and not in external circumstances. It will appear at
times as if a departure from such reserved behaviour is not only
justifiable but absolutely necessary for the well-being of a
particular soul. In this matter the danger lies precisely in
exceptional cases in which the priest is liable to be deceived by the
appearance of good. He may easily forget that in all such cases a
triple danger is involved--a danger for himself, a danger for the soul
with which he is dealing, and a danger of scandal in the world that is
always looking on. And these dangers are so distinct that even if
assured of his own personal safety, he is not thereby secure as to the
soul of the penitent, or even if both feel blameless in their own
hearts, disedification may be occasioned in others."

Following out the danger to the priest himself, the next stage may
easily be his sensible appreciation of the devotion of his penitent or
friend, and her kindness to him. Gradually the care and attention she
shows him undermines the sternness of his vocation. He loses his sense
of spirituality and the saviour of his priesthood languishes. His mass
is no longer to him what it once was; his church has ceased to be the
abode of peace and prayer; his power of seeking consolation in the
Tabernacle is gone; his pastoral work has become irksome to him; he
almost regrets the day when he bound himself to celibacy. What wonder
if he at length casts off his priesthood, and "retires" or disappears,
whether or not it be known to his people what the state of affairs
really is?

Such a falling away is, alas, possible even without, or at least
independently of, any criminal intercourse. Instances occur to mind
when such has happened to a priest at an age when one would have
thought the danger from violence of passion was almost over. His lack
of appreciation of the positive virtue of celibacy paved the way, and
his giving up his priesthood followed. But for all of us there is the
fatal possibility of a more complete fall and spiritual ruin in its
fullest sense. Of this, however, we may rest assured that when a final
fall takes place and one of our brethren abandons his priesthood, it
is not the result of an isolated action or a first fall. Judas
received many warnings and calls to repentance before our Lord
addressed to him those last sad words, "What thou dost do quickly"--as
though to say, get it over and done with. When a priest first goes
wrong, we may be sure that he receives many a similar call to
repentance. And he has the sacrament of Penance within his grasp, to
help him to recover his stability, which, thank God, often bears
fruit. But the time may come when warnings neglected, graces set at
nought, occasions of sin not avoided, gradually do their work and
shipwreck ensues, final and in a sense almost irrevocable. In such
case at least we can bear in mind that it never came within the bounds
of possibility until such rules and aspirations as we have been
pleading for were set aside. One cannot fall over a precipice until
one first goes near the edge.

There is no sorrow in a priest's life to compare with the fall of a
brother priest. In such a case we pray indeed that He who is all
mercy, who gave him his first call, will rescue him whom He loves; and
any act of ours which will help towards such rescue we shall esteem as
the greatest of acts of charity. But if we have to face this sorrow,
let us also draw our own lesson. "He who thinketh himself to stand,
let him take heed lest he fall." Let it be a stimulus to us to renew
our resolutions, to rise higher in the scale of celibacy, to realise
its sacredness and the dignity which it gives to our lives. "How
beautiful is the chaste generation with glory: because it is known
both to God and to men . . . it triumpheth for ever, winning the
reward of undefiled conflicts." [5]

And if the dangers we have to meet are great, our trust in God's help
should be greater. Let us end with one more quotation from the
brochure:--

"Taking then all circumstances into account, it is clear that the
preservation of perfect purity of heart in a priest is far above the
power of unaided nature. It behoves us therefore to consider what
means must be used for attaining this end. Our Blessed Lord's words to
the Apostles, 'Vigilate et orate ne intretis in tentationem' apply to
this case in their fullest sense. All external precautions will be
insufficient without prayer, and prayer without such precautions will
be like calling on God to work a miracle. Above all things, therefore,
a priest must start with the conviction that this work is
supernatural, and that he needs constant light and aid from God not
only to save souls, but likewise to keep himself from sinking in his
efforts to save others from destruction."

[1] 1 Cor. vii. 32, 33.

[2] 1 Cor. vii. 38.

[3] St. Luke i. 25.

[4] After this lapse of time, there seems no reason to conceal the
name of the writer, who was the Rev. Robert Whitty, S.J. He was in
many respects a remarkable man. Educated chiefly in Ireland, he
finished his course at St. Edmund's College, where he remained some
years as a Professor; then at a comparatively early age he became
Cardinal Wiseman's Vicar-General, which post he held during the
exciting times of the so-called Papal Aggression in 1850. A few years
later he joined the Society of Jesus, in which he afterwards became
Provincial, and then English Consulter to the General. Certainly no
man has a better right than he to speak on the subject before us.

[5] Wisdom iv. i, 2.



CONFERENCE V

OBEDIENCE

THERE is no more solemn moment in the whole Ordination Service than
when the newly ordained priest kneels before his Bishop, who, taking
his hands between his own, asks him the question, "Promittis mihi et
successoribus meis reverentiam et obedientiam?" and on receiving the
requisite promise, kisses him on the cheek, saying the words, "Pax
Domini sit semper tecum."

The words "reverentiam et obedientiam" may perhaps be freely rendered
as "a loyal obedience," and the solemnity of the surroundings when the
promise is made should not only serve to impress it, on the mind and
memory, but is also an indication of the importance which the Church
attaches to that virtue in the future life of the priest.

The virtue of obedience is one which we are accustomed to read about
as the foundation of the religious life, and it has been practised in
a high degree in the various religious orders and congregations. We
have often heard of special instances to illustrate this. A Jesuit
Provincial receives a letter one morning informing him that he is to
relinquish his office, and to devote himself to another work, of an
altogether humble description, and immediately he prepares to leave
for his new sphere of labour at the earliest possible moment. A
Franciscan missionary is commanded to leave one centre of work, and to
proceed to another, perhaps a thousand miles away, and before the day
is out, he has started on his journey. These, indeed, are special
instances of an extreme nature; but the general type is common to all
religious.

Moreover, obedience to command is carried into all the details of their
daily lives. The bell summons them to the various duties of the day, and
they aim at instant obedience, so that a perfect religious will
immediately leave off anything he is saying or writing in order to give
a willing and punctual compliance. The story is often quoted of the
Carthusians, who speak only once a week, leaving off in the middle of a
sentence at the sound of the bell to resume the thread in a week's time.

Again, no work is undertaken by them without the direct command of their
superior, but whatever he directs has to be done at once, and to the
best of their power, even though they may not see the reason of his
command, or may even in their own mind think it unwise. In the more
perfect stages of obedience they are called upon to submit their
judgment and opinions to those of the superior. It is no wonder that a
strict novitiate is enjoined to train them to such obedience as this.

In reading these descriptions, however, there seems to be in the case of
a secular priest some unreality. He will never be called upon to
practise obedience of this kind. If his Bishop moves him from one
mission to another, he will not usually do so in this sudden manner. If
the priest has reached a certain age or standing, his Bishop will
consult his feelings before appointing him to any new work, to ascertain
whether it is such that he thinks he can do, or to see whether he has
any great objection to it. In a secular priest's daily life he is not
called to his various duties by the sound of the bell at all in the same
way as a religious. He is expected to be punctual when he has to perform
pastoral duties, and his day is usually mapped out by necessary
limitations caused by his work--sometimes regular, often most irregular
and unforeseen,--but that is all. He is in no case expected to break off
suddenly at the sound of a bell in the manner described.

Then again, religious obedience is often described as a "passive
virtue." According to Rodriguez, [1] a religious who practises it in
perfection makes himself like a dead body, which has no movement of its
own, but is taken from place to place by the living. Surely nothing can
be more unlike than this to the condition of a secular priest, who has
to be all activity and energy. He has to use his own judgment in
everything, and only rarely receives any definite command or guidance
from his Bishop or Superior.

What then? Does a secular priest not have to practise this virtue? or is
his obedience at least on a lower level than that of a religious? This
is surely a pertinent question and calls for a careful answer.

A little consideration will show us that the obedience of a secular
priest differs from that of a religious not in degree but in kind, and
that even if we grant that for the perfection of the virtue we may have
to look to the religious state, the obedience practised by a secular may
be, and commonly is, in many respects harder of accomplishment. Let us
examine this in detail.

The obedience of a religious may be compared with that of a private
soldier. The command is given, and he has nothing to do but to obey. The
strength of an army is dependent upon the unanimity and promptness of
their obedience. The orders are given by the officer in command, in an
absolute manner, and he bears all the responsibility: the soldier has no
say as to whether the order is wise or unwise; he has only to execute
it. The work of the typical religious includes much of this principle
and acquires proportionate strength. The superior views the situation,
and, aided by the advice of whatever form of consultation his particular
rule provides, he determines what is to be done. He communicates his
decision to whom it may concern, and they have at once to receive the
commands and execute them.

The obedience of a secular priest, on the other hand, is more like that
of an inferior officer, who while he is leading others, is also in
contact with one in supreme command, helping him, advising him, and
sharing in part his responsibilities. One of the earliest experiences of
a priest when he first goes on the mission is to find the power and
influence which he exerts over his people. This power he is free to use
with little restriction. He may use it in subservience to his rector--if
he is a curate--or to his Bishop, to help on their work, to make the
people loyal towards them, and to endeavour that everything shall
proceed in harmony with their wishes and plans; or he may criticise
their ideas, speak and act against them, and take refuge in self-defence
on his "rights" and the position he occupies. Undoubtedly there will be
rules and regulations laid down by his superiors which will grate on him
and of which he may at least profess not to see the use. When young, he
may be ready to find fault with the work to which he is appointed, and
be discontented; and when he grows into years, he may get the impression
that he is not appreciated, that others are unjustly preferred before
him, and so forth. To put it on its lowest ground, a priest of this kind
is a continual trouble to his Bishop, and a source not of strength but
of weakness.

Now the remedy for this evil frame of mind is by no means to become
passive, or to resemble a dead body which is moved about by others. He
is called upon to do something more difficult to human nature--to act
positively in loyal subservience to his superior. Such obedience is less
tangible than that of a religious, and in that proportion it is harder.
[2] It involves a whole spirit of loyalty, and the very vagueness of its
application makes it harder. We are not brought to book, so to say, by
the advantage of a definite command, and yet with all our outward
liberty, we are called upon to regulate our whole life on submission and
obedience. Now if there is a course of action which goes against our
taste and judgment, it is comparatively easy to overcome our reluctance
and to perform outwardly what we are told to do; but when we have no
definite command given, and are simply called upon of our own free will
to act positively to forward some particular course of action, this is
often far harder.

Yet this is what a secular priest is continually called upon to do. His
rector runs the parish on lines which he considers old-fashioned and out
of date; he seems to discourage new works which the needs of the day
seem to call for. There may be some truth underlying these criticisms,
though probably there is much to be urged on the other side. However
this may be, a priest in the flower of his youth and activity can do
much to direct the course of public feeling among the parishioners. He
can either defend his rector to the best of his ability, explain that
there may be many circumstances, important factors of the case, which
are not publicly known; and try and carry things on in accordance with
the rector's ideas and schemes; or he can fan the discontent by joining
in the criticism, with alas! too great effect, for discontent easily
spreads and develops. Needless to say, the priest with the spirit of
obedience adopts the former course; the one without such spirit the
latter. But in neither case is he or ought he to be in a passive state;
he has to be all life and action.

In like manner, when a Bishop wishes to change the work of a priest, and
offers him a new mission, undoubtedly one who makes difficulties about
accepting this or that place, or any that does not fit in with his
tastes and requirements, is not showing the spirit of obedience; and one
who holds himself passive and ready to undertake whatever his Bishop
suggests is doing better. Nevertheless, there may be a better stage
still and a more obedient one, which is to discuss the matter with his
Bishop and give him the advice he seeks. For one of the most important
factors in helping him to make up his mind is to know what his priests
think they are qualified to undertake. If the priest remains passive,
all the onus of deciding is thrown on the Bishop; and though this is far
better than opposing him or raising difficulties, it is not the most
perfect course. But, granted that he has talked it over in the manner
indicated, should the Bishop decide not in accordance with his wishes--
which will frequently occur, in view of the many and complicated needs
of the diocese--then is the time for the obedient priest to accept his
Bishop's decision as the voice of God, and to set himself to the work
indicated however distasteful it may be to himself. The ruling idea in
his mind should ever be, how he can be of the greatest service to his
Bishop and help to lighten his heavy burden. It is difficult enough to
govern wisely at any time: it becomes ten times harder when it is a case
of governing unwilling subjects. An obedient priest will strive to make
it not harder but easier.

We can perhaps contrast our obedience with that in the army. There
discipline is carried to a high pitch, as is necessary for efficiency,
but interior obedience there is none. Most soldiers seem to spend the
greater part of their time in finding fault, sometimes in strong
language, with the orders of their commanders. There are indeed means of
enforcing obedience and the commands have to be obeyed: but the thought
of rendering the commander's task easier does not enter in. In the case
of priestly obedience, no such material sanction exists, or at least it
plays a very secondary part. The whole relation between him who commands
and the subject who obeys is on a spiritual and sacred footing, and
enforced almost entirely by such considerations--for the punishments at
a Bishop's disposal, such as censures or the like, are very rarely
available, and, even if available, only used when other motives fail.
Hence the practice of obedience becomes a positive virtue.

If we wish to find out whether we ourselves are practising the proper
spirit, we can do so by watching an unguarded and spontaneous
conversation, for "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth
speaketh." [3] If we find ourselves instinctively talking against those
above us, it is a sure sign that we are not obedient men; if, on the
other hand, we are truly obedient in mind, this will show itself by the
whole turn of our talk about our superiors. It is hardly too much to say
that it is this spirit of obedience which alone will make a priest's
life happy, or even bearable.

We may ask, then, are there no circumstances in which we are justified
in resisting authority without prejudice to our obedience? Is a truly
obedient priest precluded from taking part in any action which has for
its object the resistance of episcopal or other rulers? Surely the
negative answer is indicated by the whole practice of the Church and of
Canon Law which gives and regulates the right of appeal in certain
cases. And we all know of instances in which saints have resisted
authority. Cannot we safely follow their example?

The answer in the first place is that they were saints. A person who has
such perfect control over his lower nature may venture on a course which
to us would be dangerous. And indeed resistance to authority is always
dangerous. The author of the _Imitation_ warns us how many people are
moved with passion and mistake it for zeal. So long as we are obeying,
we are on safe ground: there is no motive possible to us but that of
obedience. Once change our condition to one of resistance, and there may
be hundreds of motives such as injured pride, self-will, want of charity
to our superiors, and the like which may be influencing us to a far
greater extent than we know.

If, then, we think it necessary at any time to resist our superiors, our
first care should be to test ourselves, to see whether we are in truth
actuated by unworthy motives. There are two means ready to hand. One is
prayer, earnest and long continued; the other is prudent advice. If we
go to a disinterested party, whether a priest or a Bishop--for laymen
will not be in a position to understand the circumstances--the adviser
will be better able to judge of the position than we are, from the very
fact that he is disinterested. Then he will realise better than we do
that there may be circumstances unknown to us, on which our superior has
based his action, and in many cases charity demands that we should
believe such circumstances to exist until the contrary is proved. Then
let us beware of the plea which is so often put forward by the priest
who is by nature disobedient, that he is not contending for himself--so
far as he is concerned he would willingly put up with the injustice--but
that it is his duty to defend a principle for the sake of the rights of
other priests similarly situated. In most cases this is in truth a thin
covering of self-will. His first statement is indeed most cogent: it
_is_ oftentimes far better to put up with supposed injustice, which
after all may be _only_ supposed; and a really obedient man will fall
back on that whenever he possibly can. It is only when he is advised by
a competent authority that he ought to act, that he will adopt a
position so distasteful to him.

Granted, however, that a priest is advised that he ought not to let
matters rest as they are, let him act with confidence and all charity.
His first step will of course be to see his Bishop and talk the matter
out. This stage, indeed is fairly often reached. Cardinal Vaughan quotes
a great authority of his day on obedience, speaking to him as follows:--

"In his administrative capacity, a Bishop may err in judgment, he may be
narrow, inconsiderate and at fault. This may be a trial to a priest; but
his duty is perfectly clear. He should say, 'God can appoint such a one
to be my superior, and the means of my sanctification. He stands to me
in the place of God; I must obey.'"

Nevertheless, he continues:--

"The priest in such a case may legitimately make respectful
representations to his Bishop. It may be his duty to make such
representations. Let him do this once, but let him beware of morally
forcing the Bishop by his importunities." [4]

If these representations are made in a proper spirit, and with due
submission, they ought not to form an act of hostility: on the contrary,
they may in fact be the highest form of obedience, for the priest in
this manner may put before his Bishop facts of which he was unaware, or
considerations which had not occurred to him. In the great majority of
cases an understanding may be arrived at in this manner.

In the few instances in which the Bishop does not modify his action and
the priest remains of the same opinion, it may be necessary to carry the
matter further. If so, the spirit of charity becomes doubly needful. No
word of "tyranny" or "injustice" or "ill-temper" applied to his superior
should escape him, and a favourable interpretation should always be
given to his superior's actions. Let the appellant priest fortify
himself continually with prayer, so as to obtain the gift of counsel,
and let this be joined to a special intercession on behalf of the
superior against whom he is acting. These are ordinary means for ensuing
his purity of intention; and if these means alone are taken, we may be
confident as to the result. For whatever the final verdict may be, if we
have taken the requisite precautions, it will be a victory, for God's
will is done. When the late Cardinal Vaughan, then Bishop of Salford,
had his long dispute with the Jesuits in Rome, when the letter came to
him announcing the result, before he opened it, while still ignorant of
its contents, he went to the tomb of St. Peter to return thanks.

Alas, that this spirit is so often wanting in the appeals of our clergy.
All those who are acquainted with the Holy See will bear witness to the
readiness to hear the appeal of the weak against the strong, and all
such appeals have sympathetic consideration. The fact that the majority
of them go in favour of the Bishops is an unfortunate testimony to the
frequent insufficiency of the grounds of appeal, and indicates a want of
the spirit of obedience.

Such, however, is not always the case, and one can point to instances in
which the appeal has been conscientiously made, even though it proved
unsuccessful, and some also in which the verdict has been in favour of
the priest and against his superior. In such rare cases, it is hardly
necessary to add there must be no note of triumph or of
self-congratulation. A disagreeable duty has been done, and properly
accomplished, and we go back ready to resume our work for God and souls.

But it is not necessary to dwell on this eventuality, considering how
exceedingly rare is its occurrence. Let us end as we began by alluding
to the words at our Ordination:--

"While the sacred body and blood of Christ are still within him, he
gives his newly consecrated hands into the hands of the Bishop, who
says: 'Promittis mihi et successoribus meis reverentiam et obedientiam?'
To which he replies 'Promitto.' And as the personal fruit of obedience
is peace of conscience and the peace of God, the bishop adds, 'Pax
Domini sit semper tecum.'

"The formal acceptance by the Church of the solemn promise of obedience
made by the priest contains an assurance and a pledge full of
encouragement and consolation to the priest himself.

"He is an officer in the army of Christ: he has promised loyalty and
obedience. All the works of his ministry undertaken in obedience to his
Bishop, or in conformity with the discipline and canons of the service
are henceforth to be accounted not as private and particular works, but
as works belonging to the Christian ministry. They are of a higher
order; they are the works of Christ Himself, and deserve a special
reward." [5]


[1] _Fifth Treatise_, chapter vi.

[2] It is not intended to deny that there are cases in which a
religious has to use initiative or judgment when under orders: but it
can hardly be questioned that the other is the ordinary course of
things; and that while a secular priest has to use his judgment and
initiative far more, he has proportionately less guidance in the way of
command. He has to depend on his own judgment; yet all the time his
decisions must be actuated by submission and obedience.

[3] St. Matt. xii. 34.

[4] _The Young Priest_, p. 116.

[5] Cardinal Vaughan, _The Young Priest_, p. 119.



APPENDIX ON OBEDIENCE AT THE SEMINARY

IT would seem at first sight an anomaly that if the obedience practised
by a secular priest is so different from that of a religious, in the
time of preparation at the Seminary the life is modelled on that of a
religious congregation; for, although it is no doubt easy compared with
that of any religious Order, it is, nevertheless, of much the same
character, and the occasions of practising obedience in a Seminary are
very similar to those in a monastery. There are fixed hours for rising,
for prayers and mass, for study, recreation and meals, and there are
times of silence--as after night prayers, or before the morning
meditation. The students are, in fact, expected continually to obey the
bell as it calls them from one duty to another in much the same way as a
religious does. Why, it may be asked, if their future obedience and
future life are to be so different from that of a religious are they
asked to go through a daily routine at the Seminary which seems to be
based on theirs, or at least to be similar to it?

This is a pertinent and natural question; but the answer is simple. The
essential difference is that one is permanent and the other temporary. A
Seminarist is called upon to exercise the easier forms of obedience, to
train him for the harder. He leads a regular daily life, in obedience to
authority made known to us by definite commands and by fixed rules, in
order that he may acquire a habit of submission which may give him his
tone when he shall have gone forth from the Seminary and have no such
definite rules or commands to guide him.

It is this consideration which gives the true importance to the daily
observance of such rules as he has. We sometimes hear the question, "Is
it a sin to break a rule?" Surely this is looking at the question from
an unworthy standpoint. Theologians say that it is not a sin even for a
religious who has taken a special vow of obedience to break a small
point of his rule; much less can it be a sin for a Seminarist, who has
taken no such vow. But there is a higher way of looking at it than this.
It is not a question whether this or that isolated rule binds under sin;
the question is rather how the Seminarist's general attitude towards the
rules is affecting his training, how far the object for which they have
been imposed upon him is attained, or how far impeded, by the spirit in
which he accepts them. The proper spirit should be something of this
kind. He has come to the Seminary to undergo a definite training, which
is administered by those set over him, through the instrumentality of
the rules. It is the traditional Catholic training, which has formed
holy priests and even saints. All the incidents of his daily life are
part and parcel of it. To neglect or put aside any of them deliberately
is to put aside part of that training, with its corresponding means of
sanctification, both natural and supernatural. To put it on its lowest
grounds, he cannot afford to lose it.

Indeed, one would hope that a well-behaved Seminarist would never
deliberately and of set purpose break rules. Small failings through
thoughtlessness, or in the weakness of the moment, are indeed excusable;
but that is essentially different from open and premeditated breaches of
discipline. A Seminarist who frequently fails to come down in the
morning, or who evades his work when he conveniently can, who is slack
and unpunctual at his various duties, is misusing his time and omitting
that which the Church and his Bishop reasonably expect him to do. He may
be clever enough to conceal his idleness; he may even after an ill-spent
term make up time and pass his examinations by cramming up at the end--
for which some have a great facility; but he will never make up the
training he has lost, nor will he obtain the graces which would have
been his had he used the means which God gave him to obtain them.

Moreover, the spirit of obedience or disobedience in community life is
very catching. One grumbler will make many. The Seminarist owes a duty
to the institution which has done and is doing so much for him, to set
up a high ideal for himself which will spread itself to others and
affect the whole life led within the walls of the Seminary. It is a duty
which he owes to his Bishop and likewise to his fellow students.

This whole question is so vital to the life of the Seminary that we may
be excused for appealing to high authority in support of what has been
said. In his _Lex Levitarum_, the late Bishop Hedley discusses it at
some length, and all that he says will repay careful reading. His first
conclusion is that although single rules can in single cases be broken
without sin, "It is sinful and a sin against obedience to violate them
in grave matters, or with a persistence which causes grave results in
the house. But," he continues, "the aspirant to the holy priesthood
should take a higher view of the rules of his Seminary. They are,
indeed, not fetters to bind his liberty, but steps or occasions to
deepen his purity of heart, and his love of his heavenly Father. In
themselves they are wise and useful, tending to the well-being of each
individual. Even therefore if they carried no obligation, it would be
the part of a true servant of God to observe them religiously. Obedience
is the most essential virtue of a heart which aspires to imitate Jesus
Christ; a real, interior obedience, not merely external, but grounded
upon general humility of heart. It is obedience which most effectively
clothes the spirit with the mind and temper of Christ. It is obedience
which has the promise of victory over passion, and of success in the
ministry of souls. To promote and to deepen in the character the spirit
of obedience is certainly one of the principal purposes of the training
of a priest. . . . A life of rule which is accepted and loved is the
very best preparation for the priesthood because it is the very best
discipline of a truly Christ-like mind, and the most effective
instrument for acquiring perfection." [1]


[1] Lex Levitarum, p. 67.



CONFERENCE VI

THE RELIGIOUS EXERCISES OF THE PRIEST

THERE is a sense in which it may be said that the religious exercises of
a secular priest are of more importance than those of a religious; for
he has no definite rule to impose most of them upon him, while from the
nature of his life they often have to give way before the pressure of
work. It has been said that the sanctification of a religious is
effected primarily by his religious exercises, and secondarily by his
work; but that of a secular is effected primarily by his work and only
secondarily by his religious exercises. Of course in those exact words
we cannot accept the statement: it is something of a paradox; but a
paradox usually covers a real truth, and in this case the truth is that
there is always a danger of a secular priest failing to realise the
necessity for such regular exercises from the fact of their having so
often to be postponed or curtailed or even omitted in favour of works of
charity, and from having no regular binding rule for any except the
recitation of the Divine Office. There may indeed be individual days
when a priest dispenses himself from all else: but as a regular
practice, he well knows that other exercises are an absolute necessity
if he is to lead a priestly life.

In the new Codex of Canon Law, for the first time we find an enumeration
of the exercises expected of a priest [1]--not indeed binding under sin,
but the norm put before us by the Church--_ratione sacerdotii_. They
include, besides his mass and Office, daily Meditation, Rosary, visit to
the Blessed Sacrament, and Examination of Conscience, and a Retreat at
least every third year. It may be well to take these in order and say a
few words about each.

_Mass_

There is no need to emphasise the power and consolation to a priest of
his daily mass. It is the direct object of his priesthood and the one
which he is least likely to allow to pass out of his mind. In view of
his being a priest, he is bound to offer the Holy Sacrifice on Sundays
and on the chief feasts of the year [2]--Christmas, Easter, etc. In
practice in this country, he is usually bound, _ratione officii_, to
celebrate much more often: in many cases daily mass is his duty; in
almost all, several times a week is his minimum. One result of this is a
tendency to look on his mass as a duty for the sake of the people who
hear it and to lose sight in some degree of its effect on himself. In
days gone by when daily mass was not usual, we have stories told of how
a travelling priest or a French _emigre_ might come in and ask to say
mass, and the priest who was actually vesting for the parish mass, would
let the visiting priest say it, and himself go to breakfast. Happily,
however, this state of things has passed away. At the present day the
vast majority of the clergy are only too pleased to celebrate daily.
They may indeed like to omit a morning occasionally, while on a holiday:
possibly they are sometimes over free in giving themselves a rest out of
holiday time: but this is the exception. Even the practice recommended
by St. Alphonsus of omitting one day in every week out of reverence, now
seems to be a thing of the past: the movement of Pius X in favour of
frequent or daily communion seems to have swept away the last trace of
it. At any rate, most priests of necessity, and others by preference,
usually celebrate daily, and no reform is called for in this respect.

When, however, we come to the circumstances of celebration, we find a
good deal calling for attention. There are indeed many priests who begin
the day with mental prayer, and say the Preparation for mass, so that
when the time comes they are ready to celebrate with devotion: but there
are many who do not act so well. Dr. Grant, the first Bishop of
Southwark, used to lament the number of priests who came straight from
their bedrooms to the altar, and he would quote this as one of the
greatest obstacles to the spread of Catholicity in this country. It is
manifest that such a practice is fatal to the devout celebration of the
Holy Mysteries. The new Codex of Canon Law has drawn special attention
to this by enacting that a priest should make a proper preparation and
thanksgiving as of obligation. [3]

Yet there are often practical difficulties about a satisfactory reform
in this matter. Those who say mass at a convent, for example, are in
nearly every case expected at an early hour, and on arrival are usually
shown into the sacristy as a matter of course; to get up sufficiently
soon to have time to spare needs considerable stimulus. A difficulty of
the opposite kind is created when a priest has to say a late mass,
whether on a weekday or a Sunday. He naturally makes it the occasion of
a long rest, and too often prolongs it to the very last minute, arriving
in the sacristy only just in time to vest. If it is a Sunday, and he is
duplicating, he makes that an excuse for sparing himself, so that he may
not be over fatigued.

Neither of these difficulties are insuperable; but in practice they
commonly hold the field. Without any drastic remedies, however, it is
sometimes possible to suggest at least a partial way out of the
difficulty. A priest who has to walk some distance to the convent, for
example, may well keep up a state of recollection during his journey,
and when he knows the liturgical prayers by heart, he can usually say
them on the way. But after all, the proper remedy is to rise a little
earlier, so as to make his preparation either in the sacristy or even on
a _prie-Dieu_ in the convent chapel, [4] which the nuns will very
willingly provide if asked. And in this case he need not limit himself
to the liturgical "Preparation." Still more easily can he, if only he
adverts to the necessity, come down for a late mass some little time
before he has to vest. And for the ordinary parish masses he can do the
same, if only he is sufficiently serious-minded to do it; and he will be
well rewarded in the additional fervour which he will bring to his mass.

Nor should we omit an allusion to the negative preparation, which
consists in avoiding all kinds of distraction before mass. To refrain
from reading one's letters, even before a very late mass, is a practice
the very definiteness of which makes it easy to perform. In similar way
every kind of arrangement for the work of the day, or any unnecessary
speaking or intercourse with others should be strictly avoided.

With respect to thanksgiving after mass, there is less to be said, as
the temptation to omit or curtail it is less. It is regularly looked for
and expected wherever the priest goes. The importance of a good
thanksgiving, to gather up the fruit of the mass, can hardly be
overestimated. Hence when a priest has to take Communion to the sick--
which he so often does after mass--it does not seem much to ask that he
should allow at least a few minutes to pass for his direct thanksgiving:
after which he can well continue and complete it as he carries his Lord
through the streets to the house of the sick man. It is not too much to
say that his fervour as a priest will be the reflection of that of his
daily mass, and the manner in which he says mass will depend on his
preparation and thanksgiving.

With respect to the intention for which mass is offered, in a populous
mission that almost settles itself, as our parishioners have the first
right to our masses, within reasonable limits. But a priest would do
well to keep a certain number at his own disposal, in order to foster
the spirit of his piety. And every priest should from time to time say
mass for his people. This is now laid as an obligation on those rectors
of missions who have by recent legislation become _parochi_, on all
Sundays and holidays, including the suppressed feasts. For others it is
still a matter of option; yet one would think that a priest's own
interest in his work would suggest to him the propriety of doing so at
least occasionally. It sounds strange to hear many priests regret the
obligation and refuse to comply with it unless it can be shown to be
absolutely binding. It would have appeared that if a priest has a proper
spirit of zeal, the one end of his life would be the sanctification of
his people, or those among whom he works. They have few enough prayers
offered for them: one would have thought that an occasional mass would
have been freely offered by the priest as a privilege. Unfortunately the
question of income comes in, and many a priest hesitates between the two
motives. Yet even in the masses which his parishioners ask him to say,
some have to be without a stipendium, and this ought to be so, to
prevent the danger of the mercenary spirit over-running his better
instincts.

It remains to say something on the manner of saying mass. There is no
necessity to labour the fact that the rubrics ought to be faithfully
observed, for they are commonly considered to bind under sin. Yet
consistently with observing them it is possible to be either unduly long
or unduly short. Both are objectionable from different points of view. A
priest who takes from half an hour to forty minutes will prevent many
who could otherwise attend from hearing mass; while one who gets through
in a quarter of an hour will give no small scandal. The rule sometimes
given of thirty minutes "from amice to amice" means about twenty-five
minutes at the altar, and it is a reasonable allowance. But, after all,
the actual time consumed is of less importance than the manner of
celebrating. Some people have a rapid utterance; others are quick in
their movements; others again save much time by not dawdling, but
proceeding from one act direct to the next. Others, however, are by
nature slow, and inclined to be hesitating in their action. Due
allowance must be made for difference of temperament in this regard, so
that no strict limit can be laid down. Even the well-known rule of St.
Alphonsus that a priest must occupy at least a quarter of an hour is not
always a safe minimum; for it must be remembered that on different days
masses vary considerably in length. A short ferial mass without _Gloria_
or _Credo_, especially if there is no _Imperata_ prayer, or a _Missa
Quotidiana_ for the Dead, omitting the _Dies Irae_, are instances of
very short masses which might take less than twenty minutes. The really
important thing is that mass should be offered by the priest with
dignity and recollection, as though conscious of the greatness of the
act, a spirit which will show itself in every movement and gesture, and
help the devotion both of him who celebrates and those who assist.

A word ought to be added about reading the Latin audibly. The late Pope
tried to reintroduce the practice of the faithful following the
liturgical prayers, etc. Undoubtedly this is a good method of hearing
mass, though it had fallen largely into disuse. It can hardly be said
that the Pope's wishes have led to any substantial result, and the
reason is not far to seek. For the tradition of saying mass in an
audible tone, such that even those near can follow, has almost entirely
died out. In the vast majority of instances, the priest reads the Latin
rapidly, and in a tone of voice that effectually precludes anyone
hearing him. It seems sometimes as though his special object was to
prevent anyone from following. Now there are other ways of hearing mass
which do not need attending to the words, such as saying the Rosary,
reciting Office, or private prayers, or using the prayers in the _Garden
of the Soul_ or other book. The first of these methods has been
especially approved by being actually commanded by ecclesiastical
authority for the month of October in every year. Nevertheless, it is
not too much to say that those who prefer what many people consider to
be the highest way of assisting at mass, have a right to do so, and it
is the priest's duty to enable himself by practice to read the Latin in
a tone which can be heard at least by those around him. We say
deliberately "by practice," for the power to read Latin audibly and
intelligibly is not so easy as many people seem to think, and requires
considerable trouble to acquire.

The above of course only applies to a congregational mass: those who
celebrate privately at a side altar will naturally speak in a low tone
of voice, so as not to disturb their neighbours. Even they, however,
should be practised in reading Latin, so as to read it intelligibly to
themselves, for the liturgical prayers should be a great aid to their
own devotion. The old habit of saying a black mass on every free day is
now almost obsolete; and it has been replaced by the various concessions
of Pope Pius X with respect to certain days, on which we may either say
mass _de Tempore_ or _de Sanctis_; and occasionally, as in a vigil in
Advent, three different masses are possible. All this helps to the
appreciation of the liturgy, and should be used by the priest for that
purpose.

_Mental Prayer_

It is admitted by all that a priest must be supereminently a man of
prayer, and that the most important form of prayer, both in obtaining
what we ask for and in its reaction upon ourselves, is Mental Prayer:
yet, strange to say, of all the priest's duties, that of Mental Prayer
is the one which is unfortunately too often put in a secondary place, or
even neglected altogether. The name usually given to it--Meditation--is
unattractive and misleading. It seems to put before one the idea of
day-dreaming, and it is possible that all the practice of several years
at least in the Seminary has not fully dispelled this idea. In point of
fact, the Meditation is only one part, and that by no means the most
important, of systematic Mental Prayer. It is a means to an end. Mental
Prayer may be defined simply as prayer without a set form of words, and
the Meditation is that which is usually--though not always--necessary to
set the mind and heart in motion; but the end to be obtained consists of
the aspirations of the heart and the acts of the will. It is these which
make St. Alphonsus say that it cannot co-exist with sin; [5] and to
promise that anyone who practises Mental Prayer for half an hour daily
will certainly save his soul.

It is to be hoped that now the Church has laid it down definitely as
part of a priest's daily duty, greater strictness may be observed by our
clergy in practising it with regularity. Yet there are undoubted
practical difficulties in the actual circumstances in which we are
placed. The ideal practice is undoubtedly to make half an hour's Mental
Prayer before saying mass; but in many instances, especially in the case
of the junior clergy, this is hardly possible. For they frequently have
to say mass either very early or very late, or sometimes one, sometimes
the other; or to go out to say mass at a convent or other centre some
distance away, at a comparatively early hour.

The difficulty is thus the same, only in a more acute form, as that
which has been mentioned in connection with a proper preparation for
mass. For if it is difficult to find time for a preparation of five or
ten minutes, a priest is not likely to find the longer time necessary
for a proper Meditation. If he has to celebrate early at a convent, his
mass will be followed by breakfast, after which he will return to the
Presbytery somewhere about eight o'clock. He may then have letters to
read, and in any case will consume half an hour or more over the daily
paper, accompanied with his morning cigarette. Often he cannot spare the
time after that, as he may have to be in the school at nine. But even if
he can, he is not well circumstanced for a Meditation: the distractions
of the day are on him, and he is in the midst of his work. The
conclusion forces itself upon us that the morning Meditation, whether
before or after mass, should be made at least before breakfast, or it
will not be made at all; and whereas the rector is usually in a position
to do so without inconvenience, this is not always the case; and whereas
a curate can easily do it if he really wishes on days when he says a
late mass, it is not always easy when he says an early one.

Undoubtedly the duty will not be complied with without serious effort,
and the first stage is a realisation of its practicability as well as
its necessity. Some priests meet the case by uniting their mental prayer
with their thanksgiving after mass. This is always better than nothing;
and if a priest has the courage to prolong the exercise to twenty or
twenty-five minutes, and can guard against interruption from having to
take Communion to the sick or other causes, it may be a complete
solution of the difficulty.

But should the obstacles in the morning prove too great, so that
practically the exercise is frequently curtailed or elbowed out; it may
be better to capitulate to circumstances and set apart a time in the
evening, when it will be done less effectively, and perhaps less
regularly, as a priest is sometimes out at that time; but it can usually
be done. The Canon Law lays down no definite duration for the exercise;
and though the traditional half-hour assigned by custom ought not to
prove too long, it is better to occupy half that time or even less, than
to omit the exercise altogether.

Granted now that twenty minutes or half an hour is to be spent in Mental
Prayer, the next question is how to spend it. And here the present
writer wishes thoroughly to endorse the view put forward by Canon
Keatinge that it should be spent in the church and nowhere else. The
whole passage is worth quoting:--[6]

"Let me plead for the habit of using the church as our pious lay folk
do. The church is not merely the priest's workshop, where he gives the
sacraments and preaches to others. It is his own home, his sanctuary,
and he is the appointed guardian of this dwelling-place of God with men.
Here at least his surroundings will help his prayer, not mar it, and the
sacramental presence of his God will tend to warm his heart and to lift
his first thoughts above the teasing distractions of his daily life."

The alternative of trying to make our Meditation in our room is to
surround ourselves with difficulties and distractions of every kind,
connected with our daily work. If it be argued that the Jesuits
themselves always make their exercises in their rooms, the answer is
simply that this is part of a complete and thoroughly worked out system
of life, and it is no disrespect to them to say that to adopt one detail
when we do not aim at adopting the whole will not lead to a good result.

A minor reason for urging the use of the church is that it gives great
edification to the lay folk coming to mass to find the priest always
there first at his prayers, while it puzzles them to find the church
empty till the very hour for mass. And if it be urged that the early
comers will invade the priest's time and seeing him there, will utilise
the spare minutes to go to Confession or the like, the answer is that
only the most inconsiderate of his parishioners would think of troubling
him at such a time unless there is good reason--that they live at a
distance or cannot come at another time; and in the few instances in
which it may occur, the charity of his sacrifice will make up for the
interruption of his exercise.

We may also plead the high authority of St. Alphonsus, [7] that the
church is the best place for meditation, and although he goes on to say
that those who cannot go to the church may "give themselves to prayer in
any place, at home, in the country, even when walking, even when at
their work," he is not speaking primarily of priests, who nearly always
have the opportunity of using the church if they want to; nevertheless
he describes a practice which may often be useful to a hard-worked
priest, whether his morning meditation has been omitted or not.

Coming now to the method of Meditation, we find some features common to
all methods. All are agreed that a short preparation should be made
overnight, and the subject matter of the coming exercise be briefly
reviewed, and that from that time until the Meditation is made, some
sort of recollection should be observed, corresponding to the "Magnum
Silentium" prescribed in the Seminary. All are agreed also that when the
time comes, a short preparatory prayer should be made for light and
help; and at the conclusion an act of thanksgiving. For the body of the
prayer it is usual to speak of two great systems--the Jesuit and the
Sulpician--but of these two the Jesuit method is far the more
widespread. [8] Indeed, the general use of that method is one of the
greatest proofs of the large influence exerted by the Society in the
Church. It is in many ways specially suited to the restless age in which
we live, for it excites and guides our activity throughout: there is no
period of rest. It is so well known that there is no need to describe
it in detail. At first sight, to a beginner, it appears complicated
enough. We are told to begin with a prayer for light, and two preludes,
one being a "Composition of Place," the other a petition for certain
definite grace. Then comes the body of the subject, divided into three
points; to each point is assigned a Consideration and an Application;
and, finally, at the end a Colloquy, and an examination of how the
Meditation has been made. Then as an alternative, we are given a method
of Contemplation--to examine the Persons, Actions, Words--or Application
of the Senses--touch, sight, sound, etc. All this to a beginner presents
the idea of hopeless complication; Father Faber likens it to the
cleric's first initiation into the Breviary with its apparent hopeless
ramifications; but in practice the parts fit so well together and follow
so naturally one on the other that after a short time the idea of
complication to a great extent disappears.

The Sulpician method is in entire contrast to the above. The subject
matter is not divided into points, but viewed as a whole; but the prayer
itself is divided into three parts, of almost equal duration with each
other. They are Adoration, Communion, Co-operation; said to correspond
to the three petitions of the Lord's Prayer, Hallowed be Thy Name; Thy
Kingdom come; Thy will be done.

In truth, however, there are as many methods of mental prayer as there
are teachers thereof, for so much depends on the personality of the
person who practises it. It seems almost presumptuous to speak of
practising it without a method, and it opens the door to the danger of
"kneeling vacantly and doing nothing, which adds the fault of
irreverence to that of idleness."[9]--a danger almost indicated by the
very name Meditation. Still, on the high authority of St. Alphonsus, we
venture to put forward a plan which is so natural as hardly to be called
a method at all, and which emphasises the quality of spontaneity in our
intercourse with God which should be one of the great fruits of Mental
Prayer. Let him speak for himself; the following quotations give the
essence of his direction:--[10]

"For meditation, it is best . . . to use some book; pausing when the
mind finds itself most affected. St. Francis of Sales says that in this
we must do as the bees, who will settle on a flower until they have
drawn out its honey, and then pass on to another. . . .

"Here we must observe that the spiritual profit derived from Mental
Prayer does not consist so much in meditation as in making affections,
petitions and resolutions: these are the fruits of meditation. And so
after reflecting on some eternal maxim, and after God has spoken to the
heart, we ought ourselves to speak to God with the heart, by making
affections, or by acts of faith, of thanksgiving, of adoration,
humility, and--most of all--of love and of contrition, which is also an
act of love. For love is that golden band which unites the soul to God.
. . .

"It is of great benefit to make petitions again and again, earnestly
beseeching God with humility and confidence for His light; for pardon of
sins, perseverance, a good death, paradise, and, above all, the gift of
His holy love. . . .

"It is necessary in prayer, at least at the end of it, to make some firm
resolve, not only in general to avoid all deliberate sin however light,
and to give ourselves entirely to God, but also in particular, as, for
instance, to keep ourselves with greater care from some fault into which
we have more frequently fallen; or to practise some virtue in a better
way than before. . . We ought not to cease from prayer until we have
made some definite resolution."

One special advantage of the above is that its simplicity makes it
suitable for beginners in the art of Mental Prayer; and in times of
dryness, when devotion does not come easily, it may reduce itself
ultimately to slowly reading a book. Such times are familiar to all of
us, but they are especially discouraging to a beginner who is without
experience to cope with them. Especially a student at college, or even
at school, may find help in this manner, and a practice which from its
name sounds unattractive, and the explanation of which has sometimes
appeared too complicated to be practicable, may in this way be reduced
to a simple exercise within the reach of all.

The choice of a book is of course an important feature. To discuss this
at length, however, would take us beyond our prescribed limits. There
are good books in plenty, but nearly all of them are based on the Jesuit
method, and difficult to use for such people as prefer some other
system. Of late an inclination has been shown to go back to Bishop
Challoner--a fact which bears eloquent testimony to the solid worth of
his work written a century and a half ago. His meditations are indeed
each in three points, but they allow more latitude of treatment than
does a strictly Jesuit book.

But, after all, it is not necessary to have a set meditation book at
all. Many find all they want in the _Imitation of Christ_. Others use
the text of the Gospels--a practice which may be very fruitful to those
who are sufficiently familiar with New Testament criticism, so as to be
able to picture vividly in their own mind the surroundings of the scenes
described. If these are sufficiently understood, then the words of our
Lord, especially as given in St. John's Gospel, should provide the best
possible matter for mental prayer.

_Divine Office_

The daily recitation of the Breviary is the one exercise of the priest
which is not optional, but imposed by precept. The first result of this
is that he is praying not in his own name, but in that of the Church.
The most perfect way of satisfying the precept is to attend Office in
choir. At one time this was in a great measure possible; and indeed
until the recent reform of the Breviary under Pope Pius X, it contained
no reference to private recitation at all: it was assumed throughout
that the Office was recited in choir. [11] At the present day, however,
it is practically only monks who have the opportunity of doing so. Even
on Sundays, the singing of Vespers has become rare in our churches, and
when it does take place, there is usually no priest present except the
Celebrant. The only alternative left to the secular priest is to recite
the Office privately. But it is well for him to bear in mind that he is
one of a large choir of reciters all over the world, who though
separated physically, are united in spirit, singing the praises of God
in the official words of the Church. It would seem that the least a
priest can be expected to do is to select a proper time and place and
suitable surroundings for so solemn a duty.

Yet there is perhaps no exercise in his daily life about which he is so
lax in the manner of its performance. The obligation seems to weigh on
him, and he acts as though time given to Office was time wasted, and
therefore the great object aimed at was to fit it in when he can do so
with the least interruption possible of his daily occupations. Who has
not seen a priest saying Office in circumstances of time and place
ill-befitting such a solemn act--as, for example, in a crowded railway
carriage or tramcar, or while walking from place to place, or while
waiting for an appointment, or for dinner? This method of treating it,
to say the least, shows a want of appreciation of its solemn character,
and the sanctifying effect of the duty is properly discharged. Yet these
same people will show a minute scrupulosity about many of the small
details of the Office which they conceive to bind under sin. It might
surely be better if they devoted less care to the small details and more
to the general spirit with which the Office is said. It is with a view
to this general result that the following few suggestions are made.

The first way to show our respect for the Divine Office is to have a
fixed time and place for the recitation of the different hours.
Undoubtedly the best place is the church, and many priests contrive to
say the greater part of their Office every day before the Blessed
Sacrament. But this is not always possible, and a certain amount must
almost necessarily be said in one's house or grounds. In such case, it
is important to show our respect for the exercise outwardly, which will
react within. Office may be said very devoutly walking about, or sitting
down even in an arm-chair; but not lounging, still less lying on a sofa,
which except in case of sickness would involve grave irreverence. And
one ought to have one's priestly dress on: to say Office in hot weather
with one's coat or collar off is quite irreverent.

Sometimes a priest has to say part of his Office away from home. In such
case, the same principles apply. He should say it in surroundings
suitable for such an exercise. One cannot say Office properly in a
crowd, whether walking or in an omnibus or tramcar. If our compartment
is fairly empty, and no regular conversation in progress, a railway
carriage may be a suitable place: but if it is full of people it
certainly is not; and if it occurs that this is the only opportunity we
have of completing our obligation, it might in an extreme case be almost
better to let the obligation go than fulfil it so irreverently. Stories
are told of a priest finishing his Office under a street lamp before
midnight, when it might certainly have been better to omit it. A due
respect for the Office urges us to say it with devotion or not at all.
But in the majority of cases, the question of omitting it does not enter
in; the alternative is not to omit it, but to have to say it at an
inconvenient time after returning home. Surely such slight inconvenience
should not be put in the balance against the need of reciting it "digne,
attente ac devote."

With respect to the time of day, each priest must judge for himself how
to accommodate it to his daily routine. The liturgical rules bind only
_sub levi_, and therefore can be set aside for a reasonable cause,
provided that the whole Office is finished by the hour of midnight.
Nevertheless, a priest who wishes to show respect for his Office will
set rubrics aside as rarely as possible. So far as he can, for example,
he will aim at saying Prime in the morning and Vespers in the evening.
He will not invert the order of the hours if he can help it; he will not
break off at unauthorised points, even though the reason be
theologically sufficient: he will rather anticipate any likelihood of
interruption and avoid saying his Office at such times. A priest who
looks on his Breviary as a convenient duty to put in at odds and ends of
time, so that it shall not encroach on any valuable space of time, is
laying himself out for possible interruptions and certainly not showing
that respect for his Office which is necessary to make it a source of
blessing to his life.

A word may be added about the privilege of anticipating Matins and Lauds
the previous afternoon. It is usual to lay stress on the advantage of
this practice, and in the case of a priest on the English mission, the
advantage is certainly great. For his daily routine is so uncertain, and
so often interfered with by unforeseen pressure of work that the
occasions on which the Office has to be postponed till evening are
numerous and continually occurring. On days of special stress it may and
does often occur that when he finishes his work, perhaps late in the
evening, he has not had time to open his Breviary all day. In such
circumstances, he is little fit to begin _Aperi Domine_ and recite the
whole, and there is no chance of his doing so with much devotion. If,
however, he has anticipated his Matins and Lauds, he can now say the
other half of the Office--and the easier half--and postpone the pressure
until the following day, when by giving an extra half-hour he can
recover his lost ground.

On the score of convenience therefore, and of getting the exercise more
reverently performed, the practice is to be strongly recommended. On the
score of devotion, however, there is room for two feelings, which are
largely a matter of temperament. To some the idea of being forward in
one's duty is such a help that it outweighs everything else. To others,
the changing the feast at midday to that of the morrow is perplexing,
especially on days when there may be Benediction in the evening in
honour of the former feast, which in his liturgical life has passed
away. Then to many persons Compline is an attractive end of the day; and
though it is lawful to anticipate Matins and Lauds of to-morrow before
saying Compline of to-day, and to reserve this till the last act before
going to bed, it seems hardly the proper and reverent thing to do; and
it is more common for those who purpose anticipating to say Vespers and
Compline any time after twelve, sometimes before a one o'clock dinner.
Again, those who argue in favour of anticipating often lay stress on the
fact that it is out of place to say _Jam lucis orto sidere_ in the
evening: but surely it is at least equally out of place to say _Te lucis
ante terminum_ at midday, or early in the afternoon. Therefore if anyone
is situated so as to have command over his time, by all means let us
leave it to his own devotion to adjust his hours, and whether or not he
will use the privilege of anticipating.

In England we have the privilege of substituting our Rosary for the
Office on days when we are hard pressed for time. It might be well if we
used this privilege more freely. For apart from all questions of time,
the Rosary is far more easily said with devotion by a tired man than the
Office, for it does not involve either reading or finding places. A
devout Rosary will give greater glory to God than an indevout Office.
The privilege is said to have been first obtained by Cardinal Wiseman,
in view of the long Sunday Offices which in Lent and Advent were a
difficulty to our hard-worked clergy. It was a source of disappointment
to him that so few priests availed themselves of it. This is probably
due in many cases to what are to a great extent scruples. The obligation
to recite the Breviary is only a positive law, and binds according to
the _mens legislatoris_. That mind can reasonably be interpreted by the
reasons adduced by theologians as sufficient to justify non-compliance.
The mere fact that a sick man who feels that he cannot say the whole
Office is not bound to say any, lest he should be troubled with
scruples, shows that any really serious discomfort is admitted as a
sufficient cause for excusing from the rule.

It is well, however, to make an effort to avoid looking on the Office as
a burden. If we find it so, we may be certain that there is something
radically wrong in our performance of the duty. If properly recited, it
should be one of the main supports of a priest's life. Cardinal Wiseman
often declared that he had never once in all his life found it otherwise
than an attractive duty. If well discharged, in proper surroundings, it
may easily be made part of the liturgical life of the church within us,
and should help us not a little in keeping the various feasts of the
year with devotion.

_Visit to the Blessed Sacrament, Examination of Conscience, Rosary_

In most Presbyteries in which the church joins, it is customary for the
clergy to pay an official visit to the Blessed Sacrament after dinner.
This is in one sense not a good time, as one is perhaps less inclined
for prayer at that moment than at any other during the day. Hence some
have preferred to make their visit before dinner. The advantage of the
more general plan is that it can be performed with regularity, and will
not be elbowed out by pressure of work.

Such a visit fulfils any kind of quasi-obligation. At the same time
there are reasons worth considering for not looking on so short an
exercise as meeting what is aimed at. A priest's visit should surely be
an event in his day--as it were a stocktaking of his daily work, when he
puts his difficulties as well as his consolations with all confidence
before his Lord, and while offering thanks for the latter, begs special
grace for the former. This demands that he should not be hemmed in by
considerations of time, and he would also wish to be alone at such a
moment. It is a sort of complement to his examination of conscience, and
should be an attractive exercise. Surely, then, if ever he wishes to
pray spontaneously and without the restraint of words, a good visit will
leave its impress on the whole day's work.

Then in the evening, as the last act of the day, comes the actual
examination of conscience. As we so frequently urge when speaking on the
Sacrament of Penance, the examination is only a means to an end. The end
aimed at is sorrow for sin, and good resolve for the future. Now in the
priest's case we are met with a definite danger. Many priests do not say
regular night prayers as the laity do; for they consider that for them
Compline is the best form of night prayer. But it does not contain any
definite examination of conscience. The part which corresponds thereto--
the _Confiteor_--seems the reflection of days when life was simpler, but
it contains the most important part, the Act of Contrition. In these
days a more systematic examination is called for and is now commanded.
It would be well if this exercise were taken a little more seriously,
and in this matter we might do worse than imitate a good Catholic living
in the world.

The recitation of the Rosary does not call for much comment here.
Freedom and facility in its use is one of the chief characteristics of
modern Catholicity, whether of priest or layman. The fact that nearly
all religious of both sexes wear a large Rosary prominently as part of
their habit shows how completely the Church has adopted the devotion as
part of her life. Many a layman--or laywoman--recites the third part--
five mysteries--daily; and there is surely nothing wonderful in a priest
being asked to do the same.


[1] Canon 125.

[2] Canon 805.

[3] "Sacerdos ne omittat ad Eucharistici Sacrificii oblationem sese piis
precibus disponere, eoque expleto, gratias Deo pro tanto beneficio
agere" (Canon 810).

[4] The alternative answer, often given, that the priest can make his
preparation and thanksgiving in his own room can hardly be taken
seriously. It is possible that there are some few priests who do this;
but the ordinary rule is that if the preparation and thanksgiving are
not made in the church, they are either not made at all, or at least
curtailed to very small dimensions.

[5] _Preparation for Death_, Father Coffin's Edition, p. xv.

[6] _The Priest_, etc., p. 26.

[7] _Preparation for Death_, Father Coffin's Translation, p. xv.

[8] An excellent explanation of the Jesuit and the Sulpician systems can
be found in Father Faber's _Growth in Holiness_, chapter xv.

[9] Growth, etc., p. 270.

[10] Preparation for Death, Father Coffin's Translation, p. xvi.

[11] Thus, for example, the _Confiteor_ in Prime and Compline were given
in the form used in choir, with no reference to how it was to be said in
private recitation. This has now been supplied. And so on in other
instances. Even now the choir rubrics are often given without comment--
as, for example, that which prescribes the _Preces_ at Prime to be said
in Lent, "flexis genibus," which of course does not refer to private
recitation.



CONFERENCE VII

THE PRIEST'S PASTORAL WORK

IT has sometimes been a matter of comment that in the ordination of a
priest the Church seems to act in a different manner from what she does
in the consecration of a Bishop. In the latter case, a man has to wait
till there is a vacancy and his work is required for the good of the
Church: in the former case, he offers himself for ordination, and it is
not until after he is ordained that a suitable vacancy is sought where
he is asked to work. In some respects this follows inevitably from the
nature of the case; for a candidate for the Bishopric can go on working
as a priest until his services are called for in the Episcopate. In some
instances indeed that time never comes, and one who is apparently
"Episcopabilis" never gets consecrated at all. In the case of a priest
it is manifestly impossible to have candidates for Holy Orders waiting
to be called to the ministry, and remaining laymen till that time comes.
And indeed if it were otherwise possible, the length of time necessary
to prepare for the priesthood necessitates the candidate being chosen
some years before the need arises; while, on the other hand, there are
so many openings where a priest's work is called for that one can
usually be found for a newly ordained priest without waiting, and indeed
the tendency is rather for there to be such need that a man has to be
ordained before his time.

Nevertheless, the comment does express a real truth. Some men--in
certain countries not an inconsiderable number--are ordained as what are
often spoken of as "Mass priests," who having a sufficient competency of
their own, have no intention of ever offering themselves for pastoral
work of any kind. They wish to say Mass, and that is all. It is
significant of the times that this is not to be so any longer. Although
it is impossible to wait for a definite vacancy, the Bishops are
directed in future not to ordain anyone unless they are satisfied that
his services are necessary or useful to the Church, and an obligation is
laid on every priest to accept any work from the Bishop which he is
reasonably able to do. [1] There are to be no more "Mass priests." The
movement was begun by Pius X in the city of Rome, when he only allowed
those to live there who had definite employment: now the principle is
extended, and has become part of the law of the Church. Hence pastoral
work, in its broadest sense, has become an essential part of the
vocation of a priest. It is proposed here to say a few words about the
various offices of such work a priest ordinarily performs in this
country. This naturally divides itself into two main categories, that
which he does for the sake of his people as a whole, and that which he
does for them individually. The former of these will form the subject of
a later Conference: here we will consider the latter. [2]

The work of the Church is to sanctify the life of the Christian, and the
priest's pastoral solicitude should extend to every individual of his
parish. Many of them he comes to know intimately, through the sacrament
of Penance, and all of them are his friends as they are friends of
Christ. [3] His work is to apply to them individually the graces of the
Church, throughout their lives, and more especially at the chief
epochs--to baptise them when they come into the world; to provide for
their Catholic training at school; to prepare them for Confirmation when
the opportunity arises; to administer their first Confession and Communion
when they are of a suitable age; when they enter the state of matrimony
to prepare them for the sacrament, and to assist at it when the parties
are solemnly married; and, finally, to watch over their death bed, to
anoint them and administer the holy Viaticum when the last summons
comes. But in addition to these main epochs, the priest has to keep
perennial watch over their lives, to assist them in their troubles, to
advise them and absolve them when they have fallen into sin, continually
to stimulate them in the practice of their holy religion; to warn those
who neglect Mass on Sundays, or who stay away from Communion at Easter;
and to help them in countless other ways. A few words about each of
these duties will be in place.

We begin with the solemn rite of Baptism. Many priests find this the
least spiritualising of all their works in the Church. The fact that the
recipient of the sacrament is unconscious of what is being done, and
often in consequence behaves in a manner not befitting the occasion,
undoubtedly detracts from the solemnity of the rite. Yet there is much
to suggest itself of special interest, for the sacrament involves the
whole history of mankind. The child arrives not a member of the Church,
even in positive enmity--though unconsciously--to Almighty God, and in
the power of the enemy of mankind. As a result of the priest's
ministration, the devil is expelled, and the child acquires the state of
one of the faithful. The command "Exi ab eo, immunde spiritus, et da
locum Spiritui Sancto Paraclito" should surely bring home to one the
power of the priesthood. So also the words that follow a little later
on:--

"Exorcizo te, immunde spiritus, in nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus
Sancti, ut exeas et recedas ab hoc famulo Dei: ipse enim tibi imperat
qui pedibus super mare ambulavit, et Petro mergenti dexteram porrexit.

"Ergo maledicte diabole, recognosce sententiam tuam, et da honorem Deo
vivo et vero, da honorem Jesu Christo Filio ejus, et Spiritui Sancto, et
recede ab hoc famulo Dei, quia istum sibi Deus et Dominus noster Jesus
Christus ad suam sanctam gratiam et benedictionem fontemque Baptismatis
vocare dignatus est. Et hoc signum sanctae Crucis, quod nos fronti ejus
damus, tumaledicte diabole, nunquam audeas violare."

So also the profession of faith of the god-parent on behalf of the child
speaks of the Christian home into which it is its privilege to be born;
and this gives the full meaning to the Baptism itself. The
sanctification of the child is completed by the two-fold anointing--by
the Oil of Catechumens before Baptism, and by Chrism afterwards. It is
the sign of a good Catholic tradition to wish for Baptism as early as
possible so that the infant may be sanctified; and the Catholic practice
is to give him the name of a saint, under whose protection he is placed.
[4]

The next epoch in the life of a child is his going to school, which by a
strange satire comes always before he has, theologically speaking, "come
to the use of reason." From henceforth the school teacher, as the deputy
of the priest, shares with the parents the responsibility for the
child's religious education. A good priest is frequently in his school,
and gets to know the children each and all. Much of the religious
instruction is best done by the ordinary teachers, but the priest will
supervise it and often participate in it; and when it comes to preparing
the children for their First Confession, he will probably keep it in his
own hands. Nevertheless, he must bear in mind that although according to
the new Codex the final responsibility as to the child's fitness rests
with the priest (Canon 854, Sec. 5), his final decision requires the consent
of the child's parent or guardian (_Ibid._, Sec. 4). This consent, however,
is of course ordinarily assumed: with the large numbers at a modern
school no other system would be possible. The children make their First
Confessions in groups, on a date fixed by the priest. It is hardly
necessary to remark that many a child in his first few Confessions
experiences difficulty in finding matter to confess. Yet it is very
important for such a one to form the habit of Confession in good time,
so that when the need really arises by serious sin, the remedy may be
ready to hand.

According to the modern practice, initiated by Pope Pius X, the First
Communion follows immediately. In many cases the child only partly
realises the sacredness of the act. Nevertheless, the surroundings,
together with such knowledge as can be assimilated at that age, give
plenty of scope for devotion; and with advancing years, the child
realises more and more the privilege of receiving the Blessed Sacrament.

When the time comes for leaving school, a crisis is reached, and it is
sad to note how many boys and girls, but especially the former, are
carried away by the brightness and interest of life when they go out
into the world, and lose sight of their religion altogether. Needless to
say, many of them fall into bad company, and their souls become in a
state of grave peril. Various works have been set on foot at different
times to retain our influence on our boys at this time of life--the
institution of clubs, or boy scouts, or boys' brigades, or the like,
with varying success. It is a time when the priest with all his
solicitude is often powerless to do anything. On this we can quote the
experience of Canon Oakeley writing half a century ago:--

"No complaint is more commonly heard among our clergy," he writes, "than
that those who have been educated in our schools are lost to the Church
by scores, if not by hundreds, as soon as the school time is over. This
complaint I fear is but too well grounded, but I think that it suggests
some important topics of self-examination to ourselves. Are we
sufficiently careful to follow with our eye the children of both sexes
who have ceased to come under daily observation by entering on the
duties of their secular callings? This enquiry applies most forcibly to
the young men of our flocks, who for many reasons are less likely to
come under the protection of watchful guides than young persons of the
other sex, and who are at the same time exposed to a more dangerous
class of temptations."

And he gives his own experience as to a possible remedy:--

"The interest which both sexes alike demand at our hands consists not
merely in using means to preserve them in the practice of their formal
religious duties, but in keeping up their attachment to the Church to
which they belong by engaging them in some practical form of connection
with it, such as association with confraternities, or participation in
offices or works of which it is the centre and spring. I have myself"
(he adds) "witnessed in various ways and in more than one place the
incalculable advantage of maintaining by some such definite and
practical bond of union the tie between young persons, but especially
young men, and their church. I have found that the privileges of the
sanctuary or the choir have been prized as the most precious of
distinctions, and that the Offices of the Church have proved successful
rivals, not to say powerful antagonists, of the theatre or the
music-hall. I have known young men who have been, to my undoubting
belief, kept harmless amid the manifold temptations of the metropolis
through influences directly received in, or by means of, the Catholic
Church." [5]

In many cases where men have allowed their religion to lapse, the
steadying influence required is happily supplied when the time comes for
a man to marry and to devote himself to bringing up a Christian family.
The wedding-day is a day of rejoicing; it is the priest's privilege to
assist at the ceremony in church, and in many cases to join in the
festivities afterwards. It is much to be regretted that the nuptial mass
has almost died out with us--this being apparently in great part due to
our Protestant surroundings; the two ostensible reasons being the custom
of having the ceremony at a late hour, in order to enable people to
come, and the wish for a short service so as not to overburden the
non-Catholics present. It is the more to be regretted because it is such
a beautiful service that if people were accustomed to seeing it, few
Catholics would be content to omit it. However, taking the service as we
find it, short though it is, it can be made very devotional [6] and
joyful.

It has been said by some cynics that such joy is misplaced, and that if
the young couple realised the anxieties and trials before them they
would look on it as a day of sorrow rather than joy. Such remarks are
surely out of keeping with the spirit of the followers of Him who
assisted at the wedding feast in Cana, and worked His first miracle lest
the rejoicings should be marred. In point of fact, marriage is a subject
for joy as life is, with all its sufferings and anxieties, for it is the
means of achieving a great and joyful work. If ever there is an occasion
in life when people stand in need of the joyful sympathy of their
friends, it is when they are beginning the main work of their lives. In
later years, when storm and stress is on them, they will ever look back
to their wedding-day for comfort and hope which will carry them through
their trials. If God bless their union with children, the priest is at
hand to minister to the mother in childbirth, to baptise the offspring,
and to perform the solemn rite which is the mother's act of thanksgiving
for successful childbirth.

Alas, however, many people lose sight of their religion after as before
marriage, and their defection affects not only themselves, but their
children. It destroys the character of the home, and is an injustice to
those whom they have brought into the world. To them the solicitude of
the priest will be continually applied. "I came not to call the just,"
said our Lord, "but sinners to penance";[7] and the priest's work in
continually visiting his flock--house to house visiting, if
circumstances permit--is chiefly directed towards rescuing those who
have fallen away, or are in danger of doing so. The special efforts, the
Lenten sermons and missions then or at other times, and the long hours
spent in the Confessional are directed primarily towards getting back
the sheep who have gone astray. No satisfaction of the priest can be
compared with that when he brings back a lost sheep to the fold, and
perhaps creates a holy home which but for his efforts would have been a
home of perdition. If he has imitated the Cure d'Ars and done penance to
himself in order to obtain such a conversion, the penance will appear to
him small indeed compared with the blessings he has obtained.

The solicitude of a priest must not be limited to his own Catholic
people. We have surely a mission to all, and we should try to reach all.
"Other sheep I have," said our Lord, "that are not of the fold; them
also I must bring, and they shall hear My voice, and there shall be one
fold and one shepherd." [8] One learns by experience how little we have
personally to do with making converts. "The Spirit breatheth where He
will," and a new convert will come from some unexpected quarter as
though dropping down from the skies. It is often assumed that the chief
school which produces converts is the High Church party of the Church of
England. This may be so sometimes; but in the small experience of the
present writer, both in the four years spent on the mission and in
granting faculties as Bishop, this has not been universally the case. He
can recall receiving Low Churchmen, Dissenters, Quakers, or unbaptised
persons with no religion at all, as frequently as those of the High
Church. They come at all ages; and often without any very definite
apparent reason. It has no doubt been a case of corresponding with the
grace of God, and even when it was originally set in motion by something
in one of our sermons, or when difficulties have been chased away in
like manner, the priest feels clearly enough how little one has had
personally to do with it, beyond being the representative of God.
Nevertheless, it is one of the signs of God's blessing on our work, and
if it is absent, and no converts are coming, we may well take it as a
warning that we are not doing our work as well as we might.

This is not the place to write at length on the treatment of converts.
Let it be sufficient to say that we should extend to these the very
utmost charity and sympathy. We who were born Catholics can hardly
realise the extraordinary mental anguish which some of them go through
in their search after truth, and in confronting the call to break with
the most sacred associations of their lives. Yet it is no charity to
them to receive them when they are only partially instructed or when
they have not really grasped the essentials of an act of faith. The
modern discipline of requiring a faculty before receiving anyone into
the Church is some check on this, but not a complete one. The judgment
of the priest is practically always accepted and the instructions laid
down are often curtailed.

When the convert has been prepared, the priest has to complete the work,
and it is no small consolation both to him and to the convert. But after
the seed is planted comes the time of growth, and the anxiety about the
early Catholic life of his converts is not the least among the pastoral
solicitudes of the priest. In their early days as Catholics they have a
right to frequent visits from their father-in-God.

We come finally to a large number of subjects for the priest's visits--
the sick of every kind, whether in hospitals or workhouses or
infirmaries or in private houses, and from those who are stricken with
comparatively light ailments to those who are chronic invalids: and,
lastly, those in danger of death. Of the sick in general Canon Keatinge
at the outset calls attention to the essential difference between the
sick men "letting the priest know" and "sending for the priest"; and he
rightly points out that even when the former state is reached, there is
a great opportunity for his soul, and the very protraction of his
illness, wearying as it is to flesh and blood, may be--whether he
recovers or not--the grace of his life. How many a man has been called
back by illness to serious thoughts, and has made his peace with God,
which may last for the rest of his life, perhaps for many years. "His
illness," writes Canon Keatinge, "may be nothing less than a retreat for
him and his whole house, if you happen to be a man full of the spirit of
your vocation." [9]

When an actual sick call comes, there is of course no room for choice;
one must go, and at once. The ministration to the dying is a part of the
priest's office, which is sometimes viewed with some apprehension before
ordination. The surroundings of death are unattractive to nature; the
sight of the struggle for life which ends in defeat is painful to watch;
and there is often trying physical discomfort in the surroundings of
poverty and disease. Yet when it comes to the actual fact, any priest
will confirm the statement that it is one of the most consoling duties
of his office. The very fact that he is attending for purposes of
ministration seems to carry him through all that nature revolts against
in the sight and surroundings, while he gains for himself a valuable
lesson on the frailty of human life and the nearness of eternity. It is
indeed exceptional to be present at the actual moment of death, though
this sometimes occurs. But one frequently sees the body very soon
afterwards, with the familiar death expression on the countenance,
before it has been laid out and assumed the calm sleep-like appearance
with which most people are familiar. The thought is inevitable: a few
moments ago the soul was here; we were speaking with him; now he has
seen Almighty God and been judged. May he always remember us who helped
him to die as a Christian should!

We are often asked by the future priest for our experience of
death-beds. The description of the final struggle between good and evil,
the last assaults of the devil, who knows that with this soul it is now
or never, are often depicted in vivid colours in books of devotion or in
sermons, and this forms one of the features of death of which ordinary
people are most afraid. It may be a good thing to have brought before
them as a warning a picture of what presumably is a possibility; but
truth compels us to say that in the ordinary case it is not so. The late
Dr. Coffin, Bishop of Southwark, who had had a long career as a member
of the Congregation of Redemptorists, of which he was Provincial, once
admitted frankly that although he had often preached it, he had never
seen it; and his experience of death-beds was very large. The ordinary
rule is that in the later stages of illness all is calm, and the fear of
death, even in cases where it has been prominent in life, disappears
before the end comes. And--a fact which can never be too strongly
enforced and which will be corroborated by any priest who has ministered
to the dying--when the patient is told that death is imminent, in nearly
every case the announcement is received with resignation; and the last
Sacraments give no small consolation. This has to be firmly insisted
upon; for ordinarily a non-Catholic doctor, who has not the same outlook
on death that we have, will deprecate or even forbid informing him as to
his condition. The priest has to resist this order, and he can do so
with perfect confidence. The physical effect such as it is will be, as
experience shows, all in the direction of calming the mind and rather
assisting than retarding recovery. And to us who believe in the efficacy
of the Sacrament of Extreme Unction, "even to restore health when God
sees it to be expedient," this thought appeals with special force.

Are we to understand then that there are no bad deaths, or no death-bed
conversions? Alas, many a death is evil and Godless, and many people
refuse to see the priest at all. Even in such a case there is not
necessarily a struggle, for a man may have surrendered himself to evil.
There may, indeed, be cases of a struggle between the right and wrong at
the end, but they are rare. But with respect to death-bed conversions,
there is more to be said. The expression may be used in a broad or a
narrow sense. In the strict meaning of the term, that a man after an
evil life changes his disposition at the very end, this is of course the
rarest event in the world, and if it occurs, must be looked upon as a
very extraordinary grace. But many a person puts himself straight in his
confession when in danger of death. Some ancient criminal attachment or
some unconfessed sin may have kept him away from the sacraments for
years without having destroyed either his faith or his general wish to
serve God. To such a one his last sacraments form a great grace, which
show that Almighty God has not been unmindful of his general aiming at
good, and that whereas during life this aim has not been strong enough
to overcome the special difficulty which came upon him, the stimulus of
approaching death has been providentially afforded him to strengthen his
will sufficiently for true sorrow.

But apart from death-bed struggles, the judgments of God are often
manifestly shown by a sudden death. It has sometimes been remarked how
many priests die suddenly; but to them surely sudden death should have
no terrors. A man who has given his whole life and strength to
ministering for God should surely welcome a short and swift transit from
this vale of tears to our home above. But in the case of those not so
prepared, it is otherwise, and often the sudden death of one whom we
have known and loved may come upon us as something truly solemn and
awful. The following story of his early priestly days, even though more
than thirty years ago, has never been forgotten or lost its effect on
the present writer, and he makes no apology for reproducing it here;
though no doubt most priests might have similar experiences to recount.

A certain Mrs. X., a widow of about forty to fifty years old, who had
been brought up in the Church of England, became convinced of the truth
of the Catholic religion. She attended mass every Sunday, and was always
at the evening service both Sunday and weekday--she never missed--and
she had ceased entirely ever going to the Anglican Church. After a while
she was asked whether she would not like to see the priest and be
received into the Church. She answered that she would do so later on;
but she wished to wait till after the death of her aged mother, who was
much opposed to Catholics, and who, she feared, might suppress her
allowance and leave her nothing by will. Mrs. X. added that there was no
danger in waiting: she lived next door to the priest, and in case of
illness she could and would at once summon him. So matters remained
until one day in the summer, when the school children had their annual
outing, and the priest accompanied them. On his return, he found his
housekeeper almost in a state of hysterics. Mrs. X. had been taken
suddenly ill at midday, and had sent across to ask the priest to come;
but he was out with the children. About half an hour before his return
Mrs. X. had died. The final scene of this remarkable story was the
funeral service of Mrs. X. in an Anglican Church, at which her aged
mother assisted. Such are the facts, and without taking any too rigid a
view of the final lot of Mrs. X. in the next world, we can at least see
a punishment for her want of generosity in hesitating to give herself
into God's hands as a Catholic until she should have (as she thought)
made sure that she would not be the loser in this world's goods. At the
lowest estimate, she was punished by being deprived of countless graces
which she could have had. "God is not mocked...what things a man shall
sow, those also shall he reap." [10]

The pastoral work for the individual does not end with his death. First
there are the funeral rites to perform. According to the new Canon Law,
being a parochial function, it must take place in the parish church: the
ordinary cemetery chapel, when there is one, will not suffice; still
less the recital of the service in the open air, which is often the only
function possible in the case of a public cemetery, and the parish
priest or his deputy must perform the actual burial. This law is perhaps
more important than it seems. The time of a funeral is one when the
hearts of the mourners are open to influences to which at other times
they are impervious; and frequently also there are non-Catholics among
them. The beauty of the ceremonial cannot fail to be a real consolation
to those who are bereaved, if only it is performed in a devotional
manner; but a priest who is continually doing it day after day can
hardly fail to go through it somewhat mechanically. The parish priest,
on the other hand, or the curate, who has assisted at the death will
himself share the emotion of the mourners. The custom prevalent in this
country of adding some vernacular prayers when the ritual or official
prayers are over helps very much at such a season, and not infrequently
affects the non-Catholics present, for some of our funeral prayers are
remarkably beautiful.

Then when the last rites are over, the priest will wish to commemorate
his dead and to offer prayers for them. The time is unhappily over when
the tombs of those who have departed were grouped round the church, to
be remembered for many years by those who knew them. This practice was
specially in accordance with the Church's spirit. Nowadays the growth of
populations and the sanitary considerations have demanded the creation
of large cemeteries outside the towns. All the more reason therefore
that the clergy should continually call the attention of their
parishioners to the Catholic doctrine of the Communion of Saints and to
their duty to pray for those who have gone before them. This is one
special feature of an Episcopal visitation, and the solemnity of the
Bishop's act should serve to remind both pastor and people of the duty
and consolation of offering prayers and masses for "those who have gone
before us in the sign of faith, and sleep the sleep of peace."


[1] Canon 969: "Nemo ex saecularibus ordinetur qui judicio proprii
Episcopi non sit necessarius vel utilis ecclesiis dioecesis." Canon 128:
"Quoties et quamdiu id judicio proprii Ordinarii exigat Ecclesiae
necessitas, et nisi legitimum impedimentum excuset, suscipiendum est
clericis ac fideliter implendum munus quod ipsis fuerit ab Episcopo
commissum."

[2] See also remarks on the Pastoral Office as a source of
sanctification in Conference II.

[3] St. John xv. 14.

[4] The modern practice of giving secular names is, it need hardly be
pointed out, of Protestant origin. It is to be noted that in the new
Codex of Canon Law it is definitely enacted that one name at least must
be that of a saint (Canon 761).

[5] _The Priest on the Mission_, p. 87.

[6] In the case of "mixed marriages" some restrictions are necessary;
and it is one of the sad drawbacks of our state in England that
practically a large proportion of our marriages are "mixed."

[7] St. Luke v. 32.

[8] St. John x. 16.

[9] _The Priest, etc._, p. 243.

[10] Gal. vi. 7.



CONFERENCE VIII

THE PRIEST'S PASTORAL WORK (_continued_)

THE LITURGY

ONE of the regrettable symptoms of present-day Catholicity in London is
the decay of liturgy. It is true that we have in our midst now the great
Cathedral of Westminster where the full liturgy of the Church is carried
out daily with a completeness unknown in modern times; but it seems as
though its existence has become a sort of centre of specialisation in
that line, while one after another the parish churches have put their
Sunday high mass into a secondary place, or abolished it altogether.

This is a great change on past traditions. At the beginning of the last
century, when the modifying of the Penal Laws first made it possible, a
great effort was made to have high mass in all the churches of London--
then about eight in number. The memories of Webbe at the Sardinian
Chapel, and Novello at the Portuguese Chapel became part of Catholic
London; and in later times, though the singing at the various churches
was of a type which we should not now approve--notably at Warwick
Street, which gained for itself the title of the Shilling Opera, for all
the best singers of the Italian Opera were to be heard there on
Sundays--nevertheless, this indicated much care and attention in the
carrying out of the liturgy at high mass. Vespers were also common as an
afternoon service on a Sunday, which was probably in great part due to
the thousands of French _emigres_ priests and laymen who were in London
in the early years of the century; for in France the singing of vesper
psalms has always been popular. Even in the country churches it was the
rule, not the exception, to have a sung mass on Sundays. Here again one
recalls a stamp of music with which we should not now be content--such
as Mozart XII sung in unison, already alluded to in a former
Conference--but it evidences considerable trouble to be able to have a
sung mass.

We may well enquire what has caused the London tradition to change. One
reason may possibly be that the increase of population has led to the
people being more evenly distributed between the various masses, so that
no single mass is the principal one in the sense that it used to be, and
that seems expected in the liturgical rubrics. At present in many places
the ten o'clock mass draws the largest congregation, and since the
introduction of a twelve o'clock low mass, the high mass has been
further depleted, so that the sermon, is often put at the former instead
of the latter.

Another reason may be the coming of the tradition from Ireland. There
are no people on the face of the earth to equal the Irish in their
devotion to low mass, or in the number of the mass-going population.
Dublin may be compared with any city in Catholic Europe, and for the
number of people who go to mass on a Sunday--and even on a weekday--
could put that city in the shade. But since the suppression of the
liturgy by the Penal Laws, the Irish have never recovered their taste
for high mass or other functions. Even at the Pro-Cathedral in
Marlborough Street, Dublin, though the singing is excellent, the people
do not take to high mass: they prefer to hear a low mass which may be
going on at a side altar at the same time, and at its conclusion the
church empties, though the high mass is not half over. Here in England
we have not got the Irish devotion to low mass, and to us therefore the
decay of high mass is a greater loss.

But probably the reason that would be given is that the stress of modern
life has made people unwilling to face long services. No doubt there is
some truth in the contention that they would not tolerate the length of
services current last century. The great _Requiem_ for Pius VI in 1799
lasted, together with the Dirge, from ten in the morning till nearly
four in the afternoon: people certainly would not sit through that
to-day. In much later times, and within living memory, the ordinary
Sunday high mass, with sermon, lasted the greater part of two hours. But
that is not so now. With the present length of sermon, and with simple
music, the high mass need not last more than an hour and a quarter, and
it may well be questioned whether people would really find this too
long. The plea about length is heard perhaps more often from the priest,
professing to voice the mind of the people, than from the people
themselves.

In more outlying parts, it would seem that the regulation issued by Pius
X insisting on the singing of the "proper"--introit, gradual, etc.--in
some cases has had the opposite effect to that intended, and has caused
many to give up the sung mass altogether; for although it may be urged
that the "proper" can always be sung either in psalm tone, or at least
monotone, in practice people will not attempt it; and indeed often when
it is attempted, the difficulty of reading Latin to laymen who are not
accustomed to it in a country where the language is so different in
sound and rhythm produces a result the reverse of devotional.

Then again restrictions on the class of music from a false reading of
the well-known _Motu Proprio_ of Pius X has had the same effect. There
is no document more frequently misquoted than this _Motu Proprio_. The
lover of Gregorian music speaks as though universal plain chant was
prescribed; the admirers of Palestrina quote it in favour of polyphonic
music; while those who are opposed to the masses of Mozart and Haydn,
once so popular, appeal to the _Motu Proprio_ as though it were a
condemnation of this whole class of music. In point of fact if anyone
will actually read the text, he will find it most broad in outlook.
Undoubtedly the Pope extols plain chant as pre-eminently the music of
the Church and calls for its restoration; but he also speaks highly of
polyphonic music; and with respect to modern music, he only stipulates
that it should not be theatrical in character. Those who are familiar
with the very light and trumpery music in vogue in the Italian
churches--which is the instance actually quoted by the Pope--will
readily understand this restriction. That it condemns masses such as
Haydn's Imperial may perhaps be fairly argued; but most of Mozart's
masses would seem to come within the scope of what is allowed. A
possible exception is the well-known No. XII, which many maintain to
have been written not by Mozart at all, but by his pupils. At any rate
it is of a distinctly more operatic character than the other Mozart
masses. But even if Mozart and Haydn are excluded, there are plenty
of simple masses often sung which are entirely within the line drawn.
Indeed, on the important point emphasised by the Pope, of the words
being sung so that the listeners can follow them, music of this kind
is superior to polyphonic, in which the syllables in the different
voices so overlap that it is often impossible to follow the words. It
is true indeed that these masses sometimes include the "needless
repetition" of the words of the liturgy which the Pope condemns;
especially in the _Kyrie_, where the number of invocations is never
the proper nine, and is simply adapted to the exigences of the music;
and in the concluding phases of the _Gloria_ and _Credo_, in which the
_Amen_ is often repeated many times; in the beginning of the _Gloria_
also, or in the _Sanctus_ or elsewhere some repetition is found; but
as a general rule in the masses we have had in this country the
repetitions have been less pronounced than is often implied, and a
good many masses are practically free from them. The abuse current in
Italy of having all the chief parts of the _Gloria_--the _Gratias
agimus_, the _Domine Deus_, etc.--as separate pieces which is
condemned by the Pope has never found its way into England. [1]

Then with respect to details, although the ideal put forward is for a
choir of men and boys, it was apparently not intended to exclude women
altogether: it was only meant to stipulate that they should not be
"admitted to the choir," which according to the authorised explanation,
is complied with provided that they are grouped apart and not mixed with
the men. Indeed, solos are expressly allowed, provided that they do not
monopolise the singing. The chief instrument is to be the organ or
harmonium, but with leave of the Bishop other wind instruments may be
added on special occasions. The only prohibition is against _instrumenta
percussionis_, specified as pianoforte, drums, kettledrums, cymbals,
triangles, etc.--a list which is in itself a sufficient commentary on
the music which it is desired to exclude.

All this seems surely broad enough to bring the sung mass within the
capability of most missions. Nevertheless, there is much in favour of a
return to plain chant. The old idea which was involved in Bishop
Douglass's description of a Requiem a century ago that "the Responses
were in plain chant except the _Libera_, which was in music," calls for
combating, for Gregorian Chant is in the highest sense music. The chief
reason that people do not always take to it is that it requires a
certain training to appreciate it. If plain chant is to be restored, the
first step is to train not only the clergy, as is already being done,
but more importantly still, the schoolmasters. Recently the writer heard
a high mass in a country church sung in plain chant by the school
children, who had been trained by their master, and not only was the
effect most devotional, but the congregation was already beginning to
join in the singing--a consummation devoutly to be wished. If this could
be done regularly, we should perhaps see our way to the restoration of
the liturgy in popular estimation, and an incidental advantage not to be
lost sight of would be that it would limit the duration of the services.
[2]

The case of Vespers is different from that of sung mass. It was never
meant for an evening service of the modern type, and used to be sung
early in the afternoon. From the time when vernacular evening services
began to come in--which was about the middle of last century [3]--the
popularity of Vespers has steadily declined. There are now but few
churches where they are ever attempted; and such services as _Tenebrae_
in Holy Week or the _Dirge_ on All Souls' Day seem to be almost limited
to cathedral churches. This is of course to be regretted, and it is
probable that a good deal more might be done to revive the singing of
Vespers; but it may be doubted whether it would be really popular in
England as a regular thing. [4]

Now a priest should love the liturgy, both for his own spiritual life
and for that of his people; and likewise for the outward glory of God,
for it is the official life of the Church. The Puseyites boasted to
Cardinal Wiseman that great credit was due to them for reintroducing
high mass (as they considered it). The Cardinal replied that still
greater credit was due to Catholics who had never lost it. A priest
should be educated in the liturgical sense that he in turn may educate
his people. If he has little taste for liturgy he is wanting in the
fulness of his vocation. It is certainly not an over-statement that much
more trouble might be taken with the liturgical services than is often
the case. To learn to be at home on the sanctuary and to move about
quietly and in a dignified way requires a little effort, but presents no
great difficulty. Yet often we see it far otherwise. So, also, every
priest should be able at least to chant the prayers in a proper tone,
and this will make a great difference to the general effect. If he is
musical, so much the better. Many priests are not, and for them it
involves a good deal of trouble and will be only moderately successful;
but it is hard to believe that the prayers we sometimes hear represent
really the best that the priest can do. An unmusical priest may be
excused for finding the Preface and _Pater Noster_ a difficulty, but it
should not be insuperable.

Although, however, a high mass, or at least _Missa Cantata_, may be
regarded as the ideal even for small missions, there are undoubtedly
many in which this is impossible. In such cases the chief Sunday low
mass can be and often is performed with solemnity--such as the lighting
of the "sixes" on the altar, and the number of servers increased--which
may be very devotional. And it may be accompanied by singing, provided
this is in Latin. [5] And in large churches, all the Sunday masses
should be celebrated as solemnly as possible. Let it be remembered that
many persons always hear one of the low masses only. For this reason it
is desirable that at least the more essential notices--announcing coming
feasts, or fast days, or special services--should be read at every mass,
as well as the Epistle and Gospel of the Sunday. Where possible, even a
short five minutes' sermon serves a very good purpose. The whole service
can be made devotional, and the large Communion makes itself necessarily
so. The well-known description of Father Dalgairns, in his book on Holy
Communion, is worth quoting as illustrating this fact:--

"Enter into a London chapel on a Sunday when not even the few attempts
at magnificence which our poverty permits us are displayed. Let it be in
the depths of the City, in an old-fashioned chapel, with Protestant
pews. Here the church has no beauty that one should desire her. No organ
peals, and no sweet-toned choir chants. Yet there is a marvel which
kings and prophets thirsted to see and did not see. They throng to the
altar; the priest in a low voice repeats the blessed words and gives to
each his God. No saints are there, but good ordinary Christians, fearing
God in the midst of the world; some are even great sinners who have just
been cleansed in the sacrament of Penance. The same scene goes on all
over even this heretical land. No glorious bells ring out over the
length and breadth of England, from spire and steeple, to announce the
adorable sacrifice, but in our great wicked towns you may count the
communicants by tens of thousands. In Birmingham and Sheffield,
Liverpool and Manchester, they are crowding to receive their Lord. The
same blessed work is going on in lowly country missions scattered up and
down the country, where a few worshippers still congregate to worship
the God of their fathers, in venerable chapels under the roof of
Catholic gentlemen, the descendants of martyrs, where the Blessed
Sacrament has found a refuge through centuries of persecution." [6]

But the priest will have to conduct many services which are only partly
liturgical, or not liturgical at all. Of such a nature is the ordinary
Sunday evening service at most of our churches, or the weekday
Benedictions, meetings of Confraternities, etc. Here again there is room
for improvement in the manner they are conducted. Many a priest
"gabbles" the prayers--especially the Hail Marys of the Rosary--in a
manner which makes them quite inaudible, and is a real hindrance to the
people joining. It conveys the idea that he is discharging a duty for
the sake of his people, without any idea of praying himself. Yet surely
the prayers which are good enough for them are good enough for him; and
in truth there is no more moving or devotional sight than that of a
priest praying together with his people. The practice of utilising the
time during Benediction to say Office is regrettable if only for this
reason--that it destroys the community of prayer between priest and
people, and he loses the grace of the Congregational Act. At the
Eucharistic Congress in 1908, when the people assembled at each side of
the street in their thousands, one of the most touching sights was the
arrival of groups or congregations led by their priests, reciting the
Rosary or other devotions or singing hymns with him. No more vivid
representation could be imagined of the good shepherd leading his flock,
as is customary in southern or mountainous countries, which formed one
of the best known of the parables of our Lord.

There is certainly a need for more variety in our popular evening
services: people get tired of the perpetual Rosary, sermon and
Benediction; but until something better is forthcoming, we must make the
best of what we have. Evening services are comparatively new in other
countries besides England, as formerly there was no satisfactory means
of lighting the churches, and there is now room for their development.
In some smaller churches Night Prayers are an agreeable variety: the
Cure of Ars used to say them with his people every evening. There is
something to be said also for the old English devotion of the Jesus
Psalter; and in Lent, Stations of the Cross are usually popular. But on
the whole, there is a want of suitable variety in the first part of the
service. For the concluding part, nothing could be more beautiful than
the Benediction service, which has crystallised itself into a definite
form for this country.

Finally, it is worth while to put in a word in favour of an effort to
keep the church open all day. The importance of this practice has been
emphasised not only in our own Synods of Westminster, [7] but also in
the new Codex, [8] which orders it for at least several hours each day.
With us there are sometimes difficulties in the way, especially when the
presbytery is at a distance from the church. Sometimes, however, these
difficulties are unduly magnified. Even the danger of occasionally
losing a few shillings from the collection boxes would seem to be not
too great a price for satisfying the devotion of so many who long to
visit the Blessed Sacrament from time to time. A Catholic church should
have as its characteristic that it is _alive_; and even when no service
is going on, the daily life of the church shows itself. Time was, and
not so many years ago, when a church left open would run the risk of
being maliciously desecrated: and that is probably in part at least
responsible for the bad tradition in some of our churches in this
respect; but it is to be hoped that we have got past that danger by now.


[1] That is, not as a rule. In the days of the so-called "shilling
opera" at Warwick Street, some of the Italian type of masses were in
vogue.

[2] As an extreme example of the opposite spirit and the decay of
liturgical sense may be quoted that of a church a few years ago on Palm
Sunday, which fell that year on March 16, the only music being at the
distribution of the Palms, when the people sang the hymn "Glorious St.
Patrick." On another occasion at quite a large church, one Maundy
Thursday, falling that year a few days after March 19, and within the
supposed Octave of St. Joseph, when we came hoping to find _Tenebrae_,
instead there were popular devotions before the statue of St. Joseph,
which in consequence of Passiontide, was covered with a purple veil, but
had lights burning before it.

[3] About half a century earlier a system of English psalm-singing was
introduced by some of the gentry in their chapels. Owing to the nature
of its origin--for it was at a time when the laity were in opposition to
their Bishops and adopted the name "Cisalpines"--these English psalms
did not at that time receive Episcopal sanction; but they were not
forbidden, and were in use in some chapels down to comparatively modern
times. In the home of Cardinal Vaughan at Courtfield, in Herefordshire,
they were in regular use. In his youth he learnt to love them, and when
Bishop of Salford he introduced something similar in his Cathedral, with
considerable success; and the experiment was copied elsewhere. When he
came to London as Archbishop, he tried to introduce them there; but they
were not taken up, and are now rarely heard anywhere. Nevertheless, the
"Come let us adore"--an adaptation of the _Venite exultemus_--found its
way into the Manual of Prayers and has thus secured a permanent place
among our devotional exercises.

[4] The practice in some few churches of having votive Vespers of our
Lady every Sunday has little to recommend it. They are in truth private
devotions, and ought to be sung as such, without any liturgical
accessories. If there is, as often, a celebrant in cope, either he will
be vested in a colour incongruous to the season--as, for example, a
white cope in Lent or Advent, or even on a green Sunday--or, what is
worse, he will be celebrating the office of our Lady in green, red or
purple, which is still more incongruous. Moreover, since the reform of
the Calendar under Pius X, the proper liturgical psalms at Vespers are
nearly always the same, which removes the difficulty which used to drive
people to votive Vespers of our Lady, in days when the liturgical
Vespers were so various and complicated.

[5] So the _Motu Proprio_ of Pius X provides. In the case of children's
masses the singing of English hymns seems to be sanctioned by custom.

[6] P. 403. (Ed. Duffy. 1903.)

[7] "Ad hanc devotionem magis magisque fovendam, vehementer optandum est
ut Ecclesiae aditus vel continuo diu, vel si ruri sit, per aliquot
horarum spatium fidelibus pateat; et doceantur omnes amantissimum
Salvatorem in Ss. Eucharistia latentem invisere, adorare, ac fervidis
precibus supplicare, animamque simul communione spirituali refocillare"
(_I Westmonast_. xviii. 9).

[8] "Ecclesiae in quibus Sanctissima Eucharistia asservatur, praesertim
paroechiales, quotidie per aliquot saltem horas fidelibus pateant"
(Canon 1266).




CONFERENCE IX

THE PRIEST'S PASTORAL WORK (_continued_)

PREACHING

LET us begin this Conference by propounding a question for
consideration. The preaching of the Word of God is a sacred part of the
priest's pastoral work, and not the least sacred part of it. Yet the
average priest speaks of it as though it were a task irksome in itself,
to be got through somehow or other, and always a nuisance. If anyone is
available and is kind enough to replace him in the pulpit, or if he gets
off by the timely arrival of a Bishop's pastoral, he is unreservedly
pleased. It is true that he is usually a hard-worked man, and that if he
gets off any of his work, it is a relief to him; but in the case of a
sermon he is far more relieved than in any other case. Does this look as
if he appreciated at its true value the pastoral work of preaching the
Word of God?

In order to get a true answer to this question, we shall probably not be
far wrong in seeking it in the personal history of the individual priest
as preacher, to see whether he has imperceptibly learnt an inadequate
view of his office.

It is hardly an exaggeration to say that his early sermons were simply a
struggle against breaking down. He was naturally nervous the first few
times that he found himself in so novel a position, standing before a
congregation all listening to his words. In order to nerve himself up
for the occasion, he has taken no small trouble in writing out in full
his discourse and committing it to memory. His chief anxiety is lest his
memory should fail him--which sooner or later it is sure to do, not
once, but often, and he is anxious as to what will happen the first time
that this shall occur. He gets through his first sermon, and is then
anxious about his secondhand so on. Very soon he finds that it is
practically impossible for him to write out all his sermons, and he
contents himself with an analysis; for as time goes on, he is acquiring
a certain facility in expressing himself _ex tempore_, and the frequency
of his sermons is gradually curing him of nervousness. Perhaps the first
time that he lost the thread of his discourse he covered his difficulty
better than he might have hoped, and this helps to give him confidence.
Then sooner or later it will occur that some unexpected pressure of
work--a sick call on a Saturday night or a Sunday morning, let us say--
prevents him from preparing his sermon at all in a systematic way, and
he finds himself face to face with the duty of preaching with only a few
minutes to collect his thoughts. With commendable trust in Providence,
he says a fervent prayer for Divine assistance, boldly ascends the
pulpit, and perhaps surprises himself at the facility with which he
discharges his task. Would that he always bore in mind that if our
Heavenly Father helps us in a special way when we have to speak for Him
and His kingdom on the pressure of an emergency, this does not dispense
us from using ordinary means on a future occasion when the emergency has
passed away. It was for such occasions--when the Apostles were to be
delivered up to the hands of their enemies--and for those occasions only
that He told them to "take no thought of how or what to speak; for it
shall be given you in that hour what to speak." [1]

If we may venture to give a natural explanation, it would be that we all
have a certain class of thoughts in our mind which, under the influence
of sudden or strong stimulus, take shape in words. If we trust to these
time after time, we shall, to say the least, lay ourselves open to great
monotony and self-repetition in our preaching. And this is what often
occurs as a young priest gradually gains confidence, and begins to think
that he can preach without serious or long preparation.

The above description might be continued, but enough has been said for
the present purpose, which is to call attention to this point. At the
beginning the priest's preaching has been a struggle to get through
without breaking down. When he has been sufficiently long at it for this
danger to have passed away, he still has the practical feeling--his aim
is to fill up the requisite amount of time with respectably good matter,
so as to discharge his duty. It has hardly at all come before him in the
light of a privilege to speak the Word of God, a source of grace to
himself as well as to others, an expression of his own spiritual
thoughts put forth for the benefit and instruction of those entrusted to
his pastoral charge; and this is to a large extent responsible for the
want of fervour and of soul and interest in his sermons.

It is always easier to state an evil than to suggest a remedy; but it is
something towards the desired end if we are able to diagnose the true
cause of our difficulty. The conclusion urged is that it is not enough
to insist on an elaborate direct preparation; on a scientific knowledge
of the way to order a discourse; on rules of elocution and rhetoric;
highly desirable as some of these may be. Still less would one ask a
priest to write and learn all his sermons, which even if practically
possible, is not in any way desirable. The true remedy is rather to
teach our young priests the spiritual side of preaching, to train them
to look on the sermon as part of their pastoral office. If this view is
planted in their minds at the outset of their priestly career, it will
grow rapidly and strongly, as by actual contact with their parishioners
they feel their own power for good in the pulpit, and see before their
eyes their people growing and living on the strength of words heard in
their sermons. It is this consciousness which will elevate the duty in
their minds from an irksome task to that of one of the most privileged
of their pastoral duties.

In this point of view we see the key of the remark often made that the
remote preparation for preaching is more important than the proximate.
By the remote preparation is meant the priest's daily life, his union
with God, his supernatural views of the things of this world, and the
acquiring of his store of thoughts from his prayer, his meditation, his
spiritual reading, and, not least important, his pastoral work among the
poor, the sick and the dying. "We cannot but speak the things which we
have seen and heard." [2] If the truths of faith are so vividly present
to us that God's dealings with mankind are as things we have actually
seen and heard, we shall long that others may share our privilege, and
we shall feel the greatest joy in instructing them in Christ's Name. But
if this spirit be wanting, all human eloquence will be of no avail. The
value of the sermon is the reflection of the life of the preacher.

In considering the question of reading and study in preparation for the
pulpit, we naturally turn first to the two-fold branches of Scripture
and Dogma as that which will help chiefly to give substance and backbone
to our sermons.

It is astonishing how little use many preachers make of the inspired
Word of God, containing as it does in itself not only the essence of all
religious history and dogma, but so many of the words of Christ Himself.
Limiting our observations to the Gospels alone, it is an extraordinary
grace we have received in having such full records of His words and acts
at least during His public life. This in itself enables us to have a
real personal knowledge and love of our Redeemer. We should expect our
sermons to be full of His words and sayings, His parables, His
illustrations, the example of His works; and that all our moral lessons
should be illustrated and driven home by His words. Yet in practice we
hear sermon after sermon with no more than a few texts from Scripture
scattered through them, and these often isolated and without their
context; and when we find a preacher really familiar with our Lord's
life and words, we comment on it as quite remarkable.

It is probable that this is largely due to our habit of quoting isolated
texts in support of dogmatic truths, and our very reverence for them as
the inspired Word has led us to rest on the actual words and to lose
sight of their general context. Very probably also Cardinal Manning's
remark may be true, that since the sixteenth century there has been a
tendency to over-strictness against the popular use of the Scriptures as
a sort of recoil or reaction against Protestantism. At the present day,
however, there is happily a reaction against this in all countries, and
a movement in favour of circulating at least the New Testament more
freely in the vernacular. With us we can date it from the issue of the
sixpenny New Testament by Burns and Gates, and the Penny Gospels of the
Catholic Truth Society; but the cheap Gospel texts in the vernacular
which have appeared in some other countries--notably those issued by St.
Luke's Society in Rome itself--have outdone anything we have in England.

One of our chief and foremost duties then is to familiarise ourselves
with the words and actions of our Lord in English. There are many texts
with which we are familiar in Latin, but we seldom make use of them
because of the labour of turning them into English in the middle of a
sermon, when our mind is already intently occupied. Let us know them in
English for the sake of our people whom we wish to instruct. As to how
this is best done opinions may differ. Some recommend learning texts by
heart so as to have them always at hand. Others would find this method
too mechanical, and would prefer to trust to their own reading of and
meditation on the Gospels to bring about the desired result. They would
argue that he will have more command over texts that he has used and
pondered over than over those he has simply learnt by heart.

It is wonderful how the simple quoting of Gospel words elevates our
sermons. The people want the words of our Lord, His acts, His parables,
the lessons He intended to teach; they want to hear of the collateral
setting of His life, the gradual development of His work, the kind of
people He was teaching, and so forth. Then they should hear the teaching
of St. Paul, his words to his converts, his warnings against abuses, his
doctrinal and disciplinary instructions. Then also they like to hear
from time to time some of the Old Testament--either the history of God's
chosen people, or the beauties of the Messianic prophecies--of Isaias
and others; or the psalmody of David; or the Sapiential books of
Solomon; or the works of Jeremias and the other prophets. Mere memory
work will not do all this for us; we must ourselves be accustomed to
think of the Gospels, to meditate on our Lord's words, to see the
meaning of His parables, and so forth. Here is prayer enough and work
enough to last us a lifetime, and be continually bearing fruit.

Now we come to direct preparation of our sermon. Undoubtedly the only
way at the beginning is to write it out, learn it and deliver it from
memory. But this laborious process is only a means to an end. It will in
the first instance help the priest through his initial shyness and
diffidence in speaking of God and holy things in public; and it will lay
the foundation for the methodical composition of a discourse. For he
will soon learn the sequence of ideas which sound at first artificial,
though eventually they become part of the instinct of the preacher--
text, introduction, statement, development, explanation, illustration,
peroration, etc. But it bears the same relation to preaching that the
old autumn manoeuvres did to war. His sermons in future will not be
written out: in the present hard-worked state of our clergy, it would be
impossible; and in any case, it would be ineffective. A sermon written
and repeated by heart _must_ sound unreal and dead. [3] As Cardinal
Manning puts it, "The written word is what we thought when we wrote it;
the spoken sermon is what we think at the moment of speaking. It is our
present conviction of intellect and feeling of heart: it is therefore
real, and felt to be real by those who hear it." [4]

It is not intended to discourage a careful preparation, so far as
circumstances will permit; quite the contrary. But it will not be of the
nature of writing a set discourse. It will be a far more simple
preparation. Cardinal Manning instances the preaching of the Apostles.
"We cannot," he says, "conceive these messengers of God labouring to
compose their speech, or studying the rules and graces of literary
style. The records of their preaching in the New Testament are artless
and simple as the growths of nature in the forest, which reveal the
power and beauty of God. Their words and writings are majestic in their
elevation and depth and pathos and unadorned beauty, like the breadth
and simplicity of the sea and sky. Their whole being was pervaded by the
divine facts and truths, the eternal realities of which they spoke." [5]

Let us fix our ideas by a definite instance. In all St. Paul's career
there was no one sermon which would have needed greater care than his
sermon at Athens. He had to speak to a highly educated audience, of
people without belief even in God, most of them eaten up with pride,
listening to him with a supercilious curiosity; and he knew that for
most of them his sermon would be the one opportunity of their lifetime.
If any sermon of his would have needed previous thought and preparation,
it would have been this one. Of course we have no authority for saying
how much preparation he gave to it. We can well imagine his carefully
thinking over what he was going to say, thinking of his initial outburst
about the Unknown God, carefully considering his line of argument about
the Resurrection of our Lord, his reference to the Greek poet with whom
both he and they were familiar, and so forth. But equally we most
assuredly cannot for a moment imagine him writing out and learning his
discourse. Had he done so, it would have lost all its force and reality.
Any gain in the artificial rhetoric, or the choice of words, or the like
would have been far more than compensated for by the hollowness and want
of fervour _hic et nunc_. Other instances might be adduced and the same
reasoning applied to them: St. Peter's sermon on the day of Pentecost,
St. Stephen's speech to his murderers, and many others. From internal
evidence we can see that these were thought out and prepared beforehand;
but we cannot even imagine their having been written out and committed
to memory.

Our future preparation may perhaps be something of this kind. First we
have to fix on our subject--not always the easiest part of our work. Let
us suppose that on reading through the Sunday Gospel some aspect of it
or some incident in it appeals to us from a particular point of view,
and that point we decide to develop. Possibly something we have read in
the past occurs to mind, and we get out a book--or perhaps several
books--to suggest to us a few ideas. Then the first stage of our work is
done.

The next process is to think. We have to make the ideas our own, and
develop them according to the bent of our own minds. This cannot easily
be done as we sit at our desks. Thoughts will not come to order.
Developing a subject in one's mind is a gradual process, and takes time.
It can well be done as we walk from place to place, or exercise any
light employment. It is specially suitable to do it as we go about our
pastoral work. The words we use in our visits to members of our flock
are the reflection of our mind and will bear close resemblance to our
words in the pulpit. If we find plenty to say, and are conscious of the
consolation we give by saying it to the poor individually, why should it
not be so likewise when we address them from the pulpit?

In order to complete our preparation, we must then sit at our desk and
write out the substance of our thoughts and put them in methodical
order. We should also look up the texts of Scripture on which we rely,
and frequently the context will suggest further thoughts. All this will
vary between man and man, and between day and day. Some will write long
notes, others short. On some days thoughts come easily, on others only
with difficulty. Some people may find it useful to write a fair copy
when the matter has been rearranged, others will arrange their matter
methodically at the outset, and so forth. When we have done this, we can
leave the sermon to the time, presumably not far distant, when we are
going to preach it.

In the case of many of our less formal sermons, the delivery follows
close on the first preparation, and even that has to be much curtailed.
Such are the few words which we deliver to Holy Family meetings, or
other Confraternities, and short addresses at weekday evening services.
The Sunday catechetical instruction forms a subject by itself, and the
idea that it can be efficiently performed with little or no preparation
should be strongly deprecated. It is an opportunity of doing great
things for the children, and implanting in their minds ideas which will
last them through life, and often be, as it were, their sheet-anchor to
keep them to their religion in after years, in times of stress and
temptation, or call them back to it if they have unhappily fallen away.
The responsibility of such an opportunity is great, and no trouble
should be too great to secure its effective performance.

We now come to the time of the sermon's delivery. To some the quarter of
an hour immediately before ascending the pulpit is the most important
part of the preparation; to all it is an important part. It is essential
that we should begin with our mind full of our subject. A very little
practice will enable us to feel at home in the pulpit once we have
begun, and we shall soon acquire self-command and power to collect our
thoughts there. Nevertheless, we shall often forget many things which we
have thought of during our preparation, while other thoughts will
suggest themselves in most unexpected fashion. A celebrated French
preacher once said that he had never ended a sermon without finding that
he had omitted most of what he had intended to say, and said much that
he had not intended. [6] It matters not: what matters is that when the
priest is speaking he should be full of his subject, earnest,
enthusiastic, speaking straight from his heart, and above all things
zealous for the good of his hearers.

Then let his declamation be simple, earnest, natural. The inflated and
artificial style of oratory, current until almost modern times, would
to-day be wholly out of place. At best it was ill-suited to so lofty a
purpose, and St. Alphonsus only followed the lead of many saints and
others in warning the preacher against the style it naturally led to.
The present simplicity of taste is far more in keeping with the
sacredness of the work. Let the priest say what he means and mean what
he says, and the intrinsic force and sacredness of his words will be
better than all rhetoric. Above all, let there be no affectation of
manner or self-consciousness, which does so much to mar the effect of a
sermon. By all means, however, let him practise clearness of utterance.
It is very trying to a congregation to sit before a preacher whom they
cannot hear; and especially when such happens through the preacher's
neglect of the ordinary rules of elocution. Nor does it usually require
any greater effort on the part of the preacher to make himself
intelligible. Clearness does not always necessitate loudness, nor is it
always achieved by it. A careful utterance in a suitable pitch is really
all that is required; and the people should be spared the annoyance of
listening to a preacher who clips his words, or only partially
pronounces them, or drops his voice so that the last syllable of a word
or the last word of a sentence is inaudible: all these faults make it an
effort to follow him. And if there is any weakness in the initial _h_ or
the final _g_ of a word, the effect is far from pleasing. In order to
draw fruit from a sermon, one wants to be able to follow it _without
effort_, and to be undisturbed by fault or peculiarities of enunciation.
These ends cannot be attained unless the preacher will take some
trouble; but with a little trouble it can easily be done. Nevertheless,
it often is _not_ done. [7]

The preacher should likewise make an effort to get over his natural
shyness and disinclination to use his hands. This will go of its own
accord as soon as he has had sufficient practice to feel at home in the
pulpit. We do not wish to gesticulate so much as the French priests do--
it is not in accordance with the genius of our people; and what is
suitable in one country is out of place in another. Still less do we
want any forced or unnatural gesticulation. At first we should do with
very little. Many Englishmen do always with very little. But in most
cases, it comes natural after a time to use the hands, and when it is
natural, it increases greatly the force of our words.

A few remarks should be made as to the length of time at which to aim.
It is safe to say that the pressure of modern life calls for shorter
sermons than our fathers were accustomed to. The practice of five-minute
sermons at the Sunday low masses, which first emanated in systematic
form from the Paulists of New York, is now fairly common, and of great
service to those who cannot attend the principal mass on Sundays. But
the curtailing of the chief sermon may easily be overdone. People will
never venture to complain of the shortness of a sermon, but in truth one
of eight or ten minutes does not satisfy them, nor allow time to develop
the matter properly. It may be admitted, however, that shortness is a
fault on the right side, and people would not now tolerate the length of
sermon that used to be imposed on them. As a general rule, it would be
well to be under twenty minutes rather than over, unless the occasion be
an important one, with a special preacher, who may allow himself longer.
This applies to the chief sermons only; that at the evening service on a
weekday, or at Holy Family or Confraternity meetings or the like would
naturally be shorter; eight or ten minutes might in many cases be
enough. The length of time that we can hold their attention will of
course vary somewhat from day to day. One is able to tell at once when
the listeners are getting weary. But even when we are conscious that
this is so, there may be more good done than we are aware of. Frequently
such has afterwards come to our knowledge; in numerous other cases it
may have occurred without our knowing it.

Moreover, the good done by a sermon depends on what has been said in the
body of the discourse. A good beginning or a good ending may round it
off as a literary composition; but they will not appreciably affect the
value of the sermon from the point of view of gaining souls. The same
applies to the methodical development of the subject throughout. It is
useful to aim at it, but if we fail to attain it, or go astray from the
scheme we had made out, no great harm is done. What is important is that
whatever we say should come from our heart, and that we should be so
united to God as to fulfil our Lord's words, "It is not you that speak,
but the spirit of your Father that speaketh in you." [8] This is the way
to reach the hearts of our congregation, and to make our sermon in truth
part of our pastoral work.


[1] St. Matt. x. 19.

[2] Acts iv. 20.

[3] That is, an ordinary parish sermon. In the case of a sermon on some
special occasion this remark must be modified. Such sermons partake of
the nature of a pronouncement, and it is important that the language
should be carefully weighed, and no point of importance omitted. They
usually find their way into print, and are therefore addressed to a
larger and different audience besides that in the church, and must be
treated on a different footing.

[4] _Eternal Priesthood_, p. 187.

[5] _Ibid_., p. 179.

[6] Perhaps a remark may be here made respecting the eventuality which
from time to time occurs to every preacher. All those who have been in
the pulpit are familiar with the sudden feeling of blank coming over the
mind, and the momentary complete forgetfulness of the scheme of the
sermon. The great thing on such an occasion is not to stop. Once one
stops to think, ideas go further away, the silence and expectancy of the
congregation become oppressive, and the pause seems interminable: it is
a question whether we shall ever recover ourselves at all. Whatever
happens, one must not stop. One can repeat what one has just said in
slightly different words, or give forth any religious sentiment, or the
like: this gives time for thought and conditions favourable for
thinking, and ordinarily one's ideas will return in plenty of time. And
only those who have themselves had experience in preaching are likely to
detect what is happening. One can occasionally notice even the most
experienced preachers losing their thread in this way, and it is worth
noting as an antidote to discouragement.

[7] A similar remark applies to the notices, and the Epistle and Gospel,
which are sometimes read with quite painful carelessness. This is a
point which many laymen feel very much.

[8] St. Matt. x. 20.



CONFERENCE X

THE RECREATIONS OF A PRIEST

IN the rules of every religious order are to be found special
provisions with respect to recreation. These are both positive and
negative. On the one hand there is usually a daily recreation which
all take in common; and besides this, there are other times on feast
days or other occasions when the ordinary rule of silence is relaxed
and recreation by conversation is possible. On the other hand there
are the negative rules, that a subject must not seek recreation
outside his monastery, and must not go out for social intercourse with
his neighbours without the leave of his superior, for which he must
adduce a good reason.

The prominence attached to such regulations shows the important place
which the subject holds in the life of the Order or Congregation. With
the secular clergy this is no less so; and as is so often the case in
comparing the two states, we find that the secular priest has in one
sense a harder task, for he has no limitations of rule to guide him
and no superior at hand to counsel him. He has to depend on his own
strength of will and his own judgment.

But at the beginning of his priestly career, he has even greater
difficulty, for it comes at a time when he has just thrown off the
restrictions of seminary life, and also when he is reaching the
fulness of his manhood. The world which has been kept from him to a
great extent up to then now seems to open out and smile before him. It
used to be a frequent question to seminarists, "How soon do you hope
to be out?" Now he has come out. He is at once made much of by his new
parishioners, who shower upon him invitations to lunch, dinner,
supper, or other social gatherings. He needs no small self-control to
avoid being carried off his legs at the outset, and being drawn into a
daily life such as he never looked forward to when picturing to
himself the priesthood.

His personal freedom also tends to increase the difficulty of his
state. He has no wife or family to think of, he is alone, and is for
the first time in the enjoyment of outward liberty, for his actual
priestly duties can in the majority of cases be postponed or adjusted
or even omitted to facilitate his recreation. It is very easy for his
boy's outlook on life, which he should have put away before entering
philosophy, to persist in considerable measure not only during his
seminary course, but even after he has begun his career as a priest.
Such an attitude is simply to take anything pleasurable or attractive
which comes in his way, provided it is not sinful, and to enjoy it.

The state of the newly ordained priest in this respect is vividly
depicted by Cardinal Manning:--[1]

"To a priest who enters for the first time upon the sacerdotal life
the first danger is the loss of the supports on which he has so long
been resting in the seminary. As in the launching of a ship, when the
stays are knocked away, it goes down into the water, thenceforward to
depend on its own stability; so a priest going out from the seminary
into the field of his work has thenceforward to depend under God upon
his own stedfastness of will. The order, method and division of time
and of work; the sound of the bell from early morning through the day
till the last toll at night; the example and mutual influence and
friendship of companions in the same sacred life; and still more the
nature, counsel and wise charity of superiors--all these things
sustain the watchfulness and perseverance of ecclesiastical students
until the day when invested with the priesthood, they go out from the
old familiar walls and the door is closed behind them. They are in the
wide world, secular as the Apostles were--that is, in the world for
the world's sake, not of it, but at war with it; of all men the least
secular, unless they become worldly, and the salt lose its savour."

A little later he continues:--

"A life of unlimited liberty is encompassed with manifold temptations.
A priest coming out of a seminary needs fellowship, and he often seeks
it in society. He does not as yet know the character of those about
him, or the reputation of the homes to which he is invited. Before he
is aware he is often entangled in relations he would not have chosen
and in invitations which, if he had the courage, he would refuse.
People are very hospitable and pity a priest's loneliness and like to
have him at their tables. Sometimes the best of people are least
circumspect and most kindly importunate in their invitations. How
shall a young and inexperienced mind hold out against these facilities
and allurements to relaxation, unpunctuality, self-indulgence and
dissipation? The whole of a priest's life may be determined by his
first outset. He has been in it too short a time either to gain or to
buy experience."

It is not meant to be inferred that all social invitations should be
refused and all intercourse with one's neighbour avoided. Such would
be both impossible and undesirable. Nor, indeed, can it be allowed
that such invitations are by any means always accepted from motives of
recreation at all. Such is of course often the case; but often it is
not. In many instances the priest may be fulfilling a duty of charity,
or finding a means of spreading his pastoral work, and the recreation
may be a secondary consideration, or may even be absent altogether.
Indeed, as a priest gets into years he will find more and more that
many of his duties will bring all that is necessary for him in the way
of recreation without his seeking it by any special act; and this even
though he has to face much which is dull or unattractive or monotonous
to him. The late Canon Oakeley, in his lectures at St. Thomas's
Seminary so far back as the year 1870, lays stress on this point:--[2]

"A priest," he writes, "especially in some of the less populous
missions, will soon find that social intercourse with his parishioners
is quite as often a duty of charity as a means of personal recreation.
He must either refuse invitations altogether, or participate in some
festivities which will tax his good nature and exercise his self-denial
quite as much as many of his severer duties. He may have to sit
out a dull dinner-party, with uncongenial companions, on a hot day in
summer. He may have to carve a round of beef for thirty hungry
children at a Christmas party. He may have to adapt himself to the
tastes and manners of the poorer members of his flock at some rural
entertainment where his presence will tend to promote innocent mirth
and to check dangerous excesses. On these and similar occasions he
will find it necessary to put a restraint on his natural inclinations,
in order to confer on those for whose happiness he is responsible that
especial gratification which good Catholics of every class derive from
the sympathy and society of their priest."

Yet, apart from duties of charity, _some_ recreative society can
lawfully and advisably be sought in the houses of the laity; but it
should be strictly under control and subject to narrow limits. Above
all things, a priest must not be a slave to it, so as to be driven by
human respect often to accept invitations which his reason may tell
him to be inordinate. A priest should not be a pleasure-seeker; and if
he is not ready to deprive himself of much society which has an
attractive appearance, for the sake of his work and for the
recollection of his life, it is an unfailing sign of the loss of the
priestly spirit. But precisely what limits to lay down for himself,
cannot be stated in general terms, for it depends not only on a
priest's own personality and temperament, but also on the
circumstances in which he is placed. Canon Oakeley, however, adds one
restriction which should certainly be adhered to, for we live in an
ill-natured world, and our best friends are ready to be captious in
their fault-finding:--

"The priest in society," he writes, "must never forget that he is a
priest. Even if he forgets it, others will not. The ambiguous jest,
the anecdote of questionable propriety, the loose and unguarded
manner, with other such indications of the unpriestly character, will
be remembered and perhaps quoted against him when the evening is over,
and when its warping influences have given way to calmer thoughts and
cooler judgments. The same persons who in the spirit of hospitable
good nature have placed in his way the inducements to those excesses
which at least weaken morality, if they do not occasion scandal, will
be among the first to criticise the indiscretions to which they have
helped to give rise. The demeanour of a priest in society should
always be marked by humility, modesty, courtesy and prudence. He
should be swift to hear and slow to dogmatise. He should avoid
arguments except when necessary for the vindication of truth; and when
thus necessary, he should maintain his side with meekness and in the
spirit of charity."

There is one kind of social intercourse that should be an unmixed
good, and often is so--the meeting with our fellow clergy. It is
difficult to get them together for merely social gatherings; but any
part of their work which brings them across their fellow priests is to
both parties a source of strength as well as recreation. One of the
great advantages of the monthly Theological Conference is that it
brings groups of clergy together and is often made the occasion of a
dinner or other social gathering. In like manner, not the least of the
benefits which the Clergy Fund confers on its members is the bringing
together of all the clergy of the South of England once a year to
spend an evening in each other's society.

Even gatherings of the clergy, however, are not without their abuses.
The sight of a party of priests playing at cards hour after hour, till
late at night, with its usual accompaniments, is happily more rare
than it once was; but it is hardly obsolete even yet. Of course there
is nothing in itself wrong in a game of cards, or in playing for
money, provided the stakes are low; but it is well known as leading to
much abuse. The excitement is of an unhealthy kind, and whether one is
winning or losing, it is difficult to break off when a suitable hour
arrives. Indeed, the whole question of card-playing needs treating
with caution; both because it so often leads to what is undesirable,
and because the recreation it affords is at best out of proportion to
the time consumed. After a long session one ends less fresh than one
began. A game of whist, or to some extent bridge, in which
considerable skill is required, rests on a somewhat different footing:
but even of that we should be wise to exercise a careful control.

From the social side of a priest's life, one naturally turns to that
which has most influence on him when he is alone and which will
include the chief part of his solitary recreation--his reading. To say
that much of the success or failure of his priestly life will depend
on the proper direction of his reading is merely to say what is
obvious. Leaving out of account his directly spiritual exercises, he
will undoubtedly have a large amount of time on his hands which may be
most usefully employed in reading, and which otherwise will be simply
wasted. A certain proportion of this may be solid work, such as
theological or other study, necessitating close application. A
mathematician may utilise his powers by studying problems or other
matter, which stimulates and improves his mind. But there must be a
large amount of time left when the mind is too tired for serious
exertion, and this can be profitably devoted to reading of a lighter
nature.

The first idea that occurs to one is novels. In past times a stricter
view obtained about novel reading than seems to be the case to-day.
There is no doubt that a purely sensational novel is a powerful
instrument for the loss of time, and it engenders an unhealthy craving
for excitement of an undesirable type. A novel which is chiefly read
for the excitement of its plot is beyond all doubt the priest's enemy,
and a greater and stronger enemy than many realise. Such novels exist
to-day in large numbers, and are sold at low prices. Perhaps for that
reason they are not spoken of with much respect, and being of a
generally low order, are less likely to ensnare us than those of a
generation or two ago. This of course does not apply to classical
novels, such as Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, etc., nor to many modern
novels by standard authors. But there are many to which it does apply.
Even the best novels are permeated with worldly ideals, and the
mainspring of the story always turns upon love affairs, which even to
a Christian in the world should not be the exclusive motive of life.
Nevertheless, if such books are read with care and discrimination,
much recreative as well as educational thought can be obtained from
them without any serious instilling of wrong principles.

The general subject of novels, however, is too long and complex to
discuss here. We can perhaps get a little more practical on that of
newspapers. To a priest a certain amount of newspaper reading is not
only desirable, but necessary to keep him in touch with the world in
which he lives and works. To know what is going on politically, the
forces at work in Parliament, the agitations through the country, the
relations of capital to labour, the lives and deaths of distinguished
men, is essential to the conditions of modern life. Would that
newspaper reading stopped there! Alas, many of the principles are
unconsciously imbibed and are detrimental to the priestly spirit. This
is no new evil. So far back as about the year 1836, Dr. Newsham of
Ushaw wrote to Dr. Wiseman, as he then was, Rector of the English
College at Rome, deploring the newspaper as the source of much of the
want of ecclesiastical spirit among the clergy of his day:--[3]

"I will say to you frankly that there is a very great want of a spirit
of piety, faith and religion in our clergy. It is useless to
investigate the cause of this. I will say briefly that it has probably
in good measure arisen from the great majority of the missionaries
being young men, from the little control that has been exercised by
the Bishops for many years over their young priests on the mission,
and probably above all from the spirit of the times which is
incessantly infused into the mind of a young man by our abominable
newspapers. In fact, a greater pest, a more efficient weapon of the
devil does not exist in the world than the English newspapers. Their
pernicious effect on the minds of our young ecclesiastics has been
observed and lamented by many others as well as myself."

At the present day the evil is of course emphasised by the great
profusion of cheap newspapers, and as a rule the cheaper the paper,
the lower the style and setting. And a further evil has arisen of
reading those parts of them which give a momentary excitement. The
little paragraphs are a potent time-waster. Even during the war, the
evening papers contain much that is not really of any permanent
importance about it, but out of war-time we became familiar with any
number of small tit-bits which may beguile the time of a business man
returning home from his work, but which are unworthy of the attention
of a serious-minded priest. Yet the paper became so full of them that
even important news, such as the proceedings of Parliament, became
relegated to a back page, or even got omitted altogether.

If we want to see a priest at his worst, we cannot think of a better
opportunity than after breakfast on a winter's morning, if we can find
him, as we sometimes can, spending an hour or two of the most valuable
time of the day, when he is best fitted for work, in sitting before
the fire reading the newspaper and smoking pipe or cigarette.

This perhaps suggests a few words about smoking itself, which can be
reckoned among a priest's recreations; and if properly controlled, a
very good recreation it may be. The solace of a pipe towards the end
of a day, when nature calls for a rest and an opportunity for quiet
thought, may be of great assistance to a priest in recuperating after
a day's work. And a smoke after meals is good and healthy for mind and
body. But, alas! many people do not limit themselves to moderate
smoking, and the habit often leads to sad waste of time. There are
indeed some who can work better with a pipe in their mouths: but these
are the exception. The ordinary rule is that smoking is only
compatible with light occupation. Hence a man who is always craving
for a smoke is always craving for a few idle moments. How many small
intervals in the day are there which many a priest fills up with a
cigarette, with or without a little light reading or newspaper
snippets. One does not easily realise how much time can be thrown away
in this manner. Cardinal Manning used to have always at hand what he
called a "five-minutes book," and he used to tell of the large amount
of reading which he thus got through in his short unoccupied
intervals.

But the evil of the frequent cigarette is more far-reaching than that.
The craving which calls for a few minutes of self-indulgence of this
kind is surely an opportunity for a little self-control and
mortification: if this is allowed to slip, by degrees one becomes a
slave to smoking. And the evils of heavy smoking are many and great.
One is the general demoralising effect on oneself. Another is the
unpleasant effect it has on others. A heavy smoker is a selfish man:
the fact that he inconveniences his neighbour does not deter him.
After all, non-smokers form more than half of the congregation, for
practically all the women and children are such, besides a not
inconsiderable proportion of the men. To non-smokers, the smell of
stale smoke is always unpleasant, while not infrequently it engenders
unwillingness to go into close contact, as for example in the
Confessional. Then again the stained fingers which mark the heavy
smoker seem an unworthy instrument for saying mass, and for touching
the Blessed Sacrament. Many a person has been kept away from a priest
by his reeking of tobacco. Truly a priest's whole career may be marred
by the habit.

The danger of continual smoking at small intervals is obviously much
greater in the case of a cigarette than a pipe, and one stage towards
self-control in this matter would be to keep the number of cigarettes
strictly limited. But the best preservative is to have fixed hours for
smoking of any kind and never to smoke outside them.


[1] _Eternal Priesthood_, p. 76.

[2] _The Priest on the Mission_, p. 209.

[3] _Sequel to Catholic Emancipation_, i., p. 140.



CONFERENCE XI

THE RECREATIONS OF A PRIEST

(_continued_)

THE actual laws about a priest's recreation are, as is almost
necessary from the nature of the case, only negative. They enumerate
the amusements in which he must not take part. In our own Synods there
are two laws, the first of which is taken from the Synod of St.
Charles at Milan:--

"Priests should keep away from spectacles unworthy of an ecclesiastic,
from clamorous hunting which is carried on with horse and hounds, from
public dances, from unlawful games and from feastings which are
protracted till late in the night."

"We strictly forbid clerics in Holy Orders from being present at
scenic representations in public theatres [or in places which serve
for the time as public theatres], [1] imposing on transgressors the
penalty of suspension incurred _ipso facto_, as has hitherto been in
force throughout England, with reservation to their respective
Ordinary."

The first of these laws is sufficiently vague to admit of considerable
variety of interpretation. So far as public dances or balls are
concerned, the practice has always been to regard them as not the
place for a priest. At the time of the French Revolution, the
_emigres_ clergy, who were received in England with such hospitality,
used to be invited to all kinds of festivities, and no doubt their
heads became somewhat turned. At any rate, many of them used to stay
up the greater part of a night at balls to which they were asked,
until it reached the ears of the Bishop, who prohibited it. In truth,
if balls or dances were ever so innocent, such dissipation prolonged
into the night is incompatible with priestly life.

It would seem, however, from recent decisions that the Holy See means
a rather stricter interpretation to be affixed to the law, and
although these actual decisions may only bind locally, in the United
States and Canada, it seems hardly rash to infer that it is intended
to discountenance priests generally from attending or promoting
entertainments which include dancing. [2]

With respect to the rest of the law, it is difficult to be very
precise; but we shall not be far wrong if we adopt a general rule that
in every case when a priest is tempted to conceal his priesthood, and
adopt a costume which will allow his being taken for a layman, he is
on the verge of frequenting "a spectacle unworthy of an ecclesiastic."
It can be done with care without breaking the letter of the law about
ecclesiastical dress, simply by covering the Roman collar and wearing
a dark grey coat; and it has been done in the past by those who wished
to attend a spectacle where a Roman collar would be out of place.

In the case of going to a football or cricket ground, especially the
latter, to watch the game, the case is wholly different, for we find
plenty of Roman collars openly worn. At the time of writing, the war
has put an end to the possibility of this pastime for so long a period
that one has almost forgotten its fascination. We are even inclined to
wonder how we could ever have allowed the first-class cricket scores
to have the prominence they once had in our thoughts. For it is not
many years ago that the Daily Mail would announce the "sad plight of
England" cabled from the Antipodes during a Test Match with as much
prominence as is now given to apprehended danger of invasion by the
Germans. If cricket ever fully revives, however, there is a good deal
to be said in favour of an occasional afternoon at Lord's or the Oval.
It gives one fresh air and an amount of occupation not inconsistent
with quiet reflection on more serious topics. To watch a game of
football is in some ways less desirable, not only because the
excitement is more concentrated, but because the general tone of the
crowd is rougher. Still, a priest can go in his Roman collar.

It is hardly necessary to point out that the unlawful games alluded to
have no relation to our English athletic exercises. The modern
counterpart would perhaps be games at cards for high stakes, about
which some words have already been said. The question of athletics is
a very different one. Cardinal Manning, though himself in his younger
days a cricketer, took a stern view of a priest playing. "Can you
imagine"--he would say--"going before your Creator for judgment with a
chalice in one hand and a cricket bat in the other?" Or again, "Should
a priest have time to throw away in running after a piece of leather?"
It may be doubted whether he often carried conviction with such
arguments. Still, these considerations cannot be wholly put aside. But
it would be narrow-minded to make objection to athletics in general,
if indulged in with moderation, and in suitable surroundings. Either
tennis or cricket may be good for both soul and body, though the
latter game exacts so much time that it is only exceptionally within
the priest's reach. But the game of golf, so much in vogue in later
years, is almost an ideal one as a clerical recreation. In this,
however, as in all matters of recreation the personal tastes--and
personal attainments--must be the decisive factor. Many have no
inclination for athletics after leaving school. They find as they grow
older that the exercise which comes naturally with their daily work
satisfies their needs, with perhaps an occasional long walk, which
they designate a "constitutional"; and often during such
"constitutional" they can do some valuable thinking. Some writers do a
large part of their composition while out walking.

There is another form of athletics which is capable of great use, or
of some abuse--that is, the bicycle. In these days, indeed, it has
become so much part of every-day life that many use it simply for the
purpose of getting from place to place. But it can also be used on a
larger scale to provide an excellent recreation. As a physical
exercise indeed, it is exacting, especially when--as will often be the
case--the weather is unfavourable, or the wind in the wrong direction,
and it is doubtful whether it conduces much physically to health. But
it has an admirable power of taking away a man from his daily
surroundings and giving him a complete mental change and rest. If the
weather is fine, indeed, and the conditions favourable, it tends
occasionally to make inroads into our work. But if used judiciously it
may be the occasion of much educative interest, and give one some of
the advantages of travel which the modern railway transport from point
to point fails to give. Mr. Ruskin refused to travel by train, and to
be conveyed, as he said, like a parcel. If he had lived in the days of
bicycling, he might have found the key to his difficulty. The
bicyclist makes close acquaintance with the people and the places
through which he travels; he can visit the old churches and interest
himself in their history; he can see the various industries and way of
life of the people among whom he goes, and so forth. This is still
more so if he has a motor-cycle, as his range of country is so largely
increased. His interest may be developed by a portable camera; and
indeed photography in itself is a capital recreation. So is botany, or
geology, or any kind of hobby which a man may take up. And any hobby
is to be encouraged. If a man says he has no time to pursue a hobby,
he is probably an idle man. One who is keen can make time and this is
in every way an advantage.

We can now turn to consider the second synodical law--that against
frequenting the theatre--which is not only more precise, but has a
heavy penalty attached to its infringement, that the delinquent is
_ipso facto_ suspended from his priestly functions and commits a sin
reserved to his Bishop. Such a stringent law indicates that the matter
is viewed seriously.

The fact is that the Church has always spoken in strong terms against
the theatre. Bishop Milner uses his customary violent language in that
sense. "Everyone knows," he says, [3] "that actors and actresses by
the laws of the Church and the particular constitutions of our mission
[4] are considered as habitual sinners and in a state of damnation, to
whom therefore the sacraments are to be denied. Setting aside, then,
all other consideration, can any Christian think it lawful by his or
her presence or money to assist in keeping these wretches in such a
state?" And again, "What are the opinions, the taste, the conduct, and
in a word, the lessons which are inculcated by the theatre? I say that
the very best modern tragedies exhibit and recommend that pride,
ambition, vainglory, impatience, anger and revenge which are the very
reverse of our Divine Master's morality inculcated in the eight
beatitudes. And with respect to all the comedies and almost all the
tragedies, they are made up of the sentiments, the intrigues and the
gratification of the concupiscence of the flesh under the specious and
all-meaning name of Love."

Probably few would be found to speak in that drastic manner to-day. It
is, to say the least, remarkable that the actor's profession seems to
contain a greater proportion of Catholics than almost any other, and
although we cannot regard it as free from dangers, the activities of
the Catholic Stage Guild, and the fact that it is under high
ecclesiastical patronage show that the profession is not regarded as
in itself illicit. Moreover, those who have come across actors in
private life can testify to the fact that a large amount of real
goodness exists among them, and that as a class, they are very
charitable, and aim at high ideals.

Nevertheless, the considerations put forward by Dr. Milner cannot be
too lightly set aside, even under modern conditions. One of the
dangers of the stage is that it unconsciously undermines Christian
morality, substituting that of the world: extolling pride as a virtue,
looking down on the humble as poor-spirited and the like. A Catholic
spectator may honestly believe himself to be unharmed, whereas as a
fact his hold on Christian principles may have been lowered, and
worldly ideals substituted in their place.

It is true indeed that a new stamp of theatrical representation has
arisen since the date of Dr. Milner, typified by the Gilbert and
Sullivan comic operas, or the burlesques which were so fashionable a
generation or two ago. These produce much mirth and recreation, and
are free from the danger alluded to. But it is worth noting that it is
just these pieces which are most infected with improprieties of dress
from which Christian eyes should be kept.

A somewhat similar remark applies to the Italian Opera, which was once
the very height of fashion, and still retains a part at least of its
former distinction. The plot or _libretto_ takes a comparatively
secondary place and does not attract much attention, it being only the
setting of the music, which is the chief attraction. But as a set-off,
we are frequently brought face to face with a ballet of a most
improper nature. Certainly the inference drawn by the ordinary
frequenter of the theatre is that such performances are not wrong, and
it is prudish to object to them.

And if it be argued that one meets with similar worldly ideals in
novels, or even in everyday life, or that the state of the London
streets brings similar indecorum before one, the answer is simple:
what one meets with by accident in everyday life is one thing; what is
put for before us for our admiration and dressed in its most
attractive form is a totally different one; and many a man drinks in
an idea unthinkingly at the theatre which he would not assimilate in
the same way by mixing in everyday life or even by reading a novel. In
the case of a regular frequenter of the theatre, we find his whole
outlook on life distorted by its morality.

In similar way, though the views of Cardinal Manning against all kinds
of theatrical entertainments are commonly admitted to have been
extreme, what he says cannot be dismissed too easily, for it contains
much truth.

"Every theatre," he writes, "is the centre of a neighbourhood
abounding in all manner of evil, which lives and thrives on the
theatrical world. There are upon the stage many good men and many good
women; but also of both many bad. The spirit and surroundings and tide
of the stage are dangerous and downward. The classes and trades that
thrive by it are too well known to need words from me. Why should
anyone aid, abet, comfort or share in such a traffic, even by the
price of a box or a single ticket? I had rather have no liability
however limited in such a trade."

Probably most persons to-day would look upon these words as a somewhat
overdrawn picture, and it is to be hoped that we shall not be
considered wanting in respect in taking a somewhat less rigid view.
Perhaps we may apply the same principles as St. Francis of Sales
applies to persons living in the world assisting at parties, balls,
and social dissipations generally [5]--that such things should be
taken with caution and not too frequently, in which case the
recreation and other good which they provide may be obtained, and the
harm avoided. Thus, if it be argued that the need of recreation in the
modern world is great, that the stage contains much that is
entertaining, or at times even elevating, and that its evils may be
counteracted in the case of one who is solidly instructed in his
religion, a strong case might be made in favour of frequenting the
theatre provided it is not done too often, and that one knows that
there are dangers lurking which require watchfulness and care. It may
be urged that Cardinal Manning, from his very nature, never realised
the necessity or use of real recreation, for he seemed able to work
continuously without any; and, moreover, the particular recreation of
the theatre was to a great extent a closed book to him, for it is well
known that early in life he made a resolution not to put his foot
inside one, and he kept it throughout his life. This would seem to be
a justification for at least taking a somewhat less rigid view than
his on the matter.

But in the case of the priest, the question is totally different. Such
dissipation in such surroundings is incompatible with his general
life, and out of harmony with the stern seriousness of the priestly
vocation. It prevents recollection at a time of day when it is
especially needed, and his morning's Meditation and mass must suffer.
Moreover, a priest in a Roman collar is an official, and must not
countenance by his presence the indecorum which is of such frequent
occurrence in every theatre.

Yet one has heard of some priests regretting the law; but the
arguments put forward by them do not appeal with much force. One is
that the theatre has changed since the law was made and it is not now
objectionable as it once was. It is remarkable to note how this has
always been said. So far back as the time of Dr. Milner this argument
was used, as he himself testified. It is probable that as times goes
on, plays become more outwardly respectable, and the improprieties are
less emphasised; possibly for that very reason they are more
insidious. The general spirit of the theatre does not seem to change,
and is not likely to.

During the last decade of the eighteenth century, before the penal
state of Catholics had been relaxed, no law on the subject existed;
and the celebrated preacher, Rev. James Archer, used to go to the
play, to get a lesson in elocution; and when in 1803, at the first
meeting of Bishops which approached the nature of a Synod, they
forbade the practice, Mr. Archer was very irate. The style of
eloquence at that epoch was far more inflated and artificial than
anything with which we are familiar, and we can hardly imagine such
complaint being made now; but even in recent times, one has heard of
Catholic actors being asked to give a priest some hints on elocution.
As regards actual delivery, and means of making ourselves audible, it
is possible that they might give some useful advice; but it is certain
that the real value of a sermon will never depend much on mere rules
of rhetoric; and any rhetoric which is artificial is a hindrance, not
a help.

Then again it is urged that the rule does not act justly: there are
places more unsuitable than theatres, such as music-halls, which are
not forbidden. This indeed is possible enough. It is exceedingly hard
to draft a rule which shall cover exactly the cases desired, and the
difficulty is increased tenfold when the rules were made seventy years
ago, for the style, for example, of music-hall entertainment has
wholly changed in that time. No rule against music-halls was necessary
then, as no priest would have thought of going to one. In recent years
the type of music-hall has become higher, and if the law were made
to-day, it is possible that a reference to them might be thought
desirable. But after all, even if it were granted that the rule may be
worded badly, that would not interfere with the undoubted fact that
the theatre was intended to be forbidden, and no inclination has ever
been shown to go back from the rule.

In recent years a wholly new problem has presented itself by the
invention of the cinematograph. The present state of picture palaces
gives much room for thought and almost makes one weep. The
attractiveness and low price bring it within the reach of all. What a
power it might be for educating the people, and raising the tone of
their recreations! Yet in fact it does the very reverse. The reason is
simply the style of film which is shown. Here and there one gets an
interesting and educative one--such, for examples, as the official war
films which have been shown--but even these are usually sandwiched
between the low farcical vulgar displays which in the majority of
cinemas constitute the whole performance. They are indeed free from
some at least of the objectionableness of the theatre; but that is all
that can be said in their favour. Indeed, much of the juvenile
criminality which seems on the increase has been confidently
attributed to these picture palaces.

With respect to the desirability of the priest going to a cinema--for
it is not against any definite law--it is difficult to lay down a
general rule. Certainly there are many low-class cinemas which he
would never think of attending. Some of the better-class places in
London or elsewhere might sometimes provide him with useful
recreation; but it is only stating what is obvious in saying that he
will treat the matter with great caution.


[1] The words within brackets were added at the Synod of 1872, at
which Archbishop Manning presided.

The following is the original text:--

"Abstineant sacerdotes a spectaculis viro ecclesiastico indignis, a
venatione clamorosa quae equo et canibus fit, a publicis choreis, ab
illicitis ludis, et a cornessationibus quae usque ad intempestam
noctem protrabuntur. Prohibemus districte ne ecclesiastici saeris
Ordinibus initiati, scenis spectaculis in publicis theatris vel in
locis theatri publici usui ad tempus inservientibus intersint,
imponentes transgressoribus poenam suspensionis ipso facto
incurrendam, hactenus ubique in Anglia vigentem, cum reservatione
respectivo Ordinario" (_Westmonast_. i. xxiv. 2; iv. x. 9).

The corresponding law in the new Codex is:--

"Spectaculis, choreis et pompis quae eos dedecent vel quibus clericos
interesse scandalo sit, praesertim in publicis theatris, ne intersint"
(Canon 140).

[2] _Acta Apostolicae Sedis_, May, 1916, p. 147, and January, 1918, p.
17.

[3] _Life_, p. 112.

[4] The first rule prohibiting the theatre to priests was made at the
Synod of Winchester and Old Hall in 1803, which was indeed the first
occasion on which the four Vicars Apostolic were able to hold a
meeting to consider such matters at all. The penalty enacted was then
as now, suspension _ipso facto_, reserved to the Bishop.

[5] Devout Life, chapter xxxiii.



CONFERENCE XII

THE ANNUAL HOLIDAY

IN these days regular holidays every year have become a recognised
necessity for a life such as that of a priest in this country. The
effect of modern conditions of living, the prevalence of "slum"
neighbourhoods, with their generally depressing surroundings, the
continual pressure of such concentrated daily work, all bring with
them as a corollary the necessity of from time to time being released
from them altogether for a while, and modern invention has also
provided the means of getting away from one's work easily and cheaply,
which our ancestors neither possessed nor needed. The expression "he
is away on his holiday" has passed into our language.

Whatever is to be said of the general hardness of a priest's life, in
this one respect it stands out as more fortunate than that in most
other professions. A priest on a town mission--and it is on such a
mission that a holiday is really needed--commonly has four consecutive
Sundays off duty once every year, which means in many cases that he is
able to absent himself for nearly five weeks. The conditions of his
life render this possible, and nobody grudges it. Even the war has not
interfered with a priest's holidays, at any rate as regards their
length. And in this country they are more systematically regularised
than in most others. Some half a century ago a Belgian Bishop wrote to
Cardinal Manning asking him to dissuade his priests from visiting
Belgium when on their annual holiday, lest they should unsettle the
local clergy and instigate them also to look for holidays. In our
time, however, holidays for priests, before the war, were not so
unknown there. A primary result of this systematic arrangement for
holidays is that an appreciable part of a priest's life is spent in
this way, and it becomes of importance for us to enquire how we spend
it.

The science of arithmetical addition often produces startling results.
A person adding up accounts for the first time is surprised at the
total amount of money that he finds has passed through his hands, both
on the credit and on the debit side. Let us apply the process to the
priest's holiday. We will suppose that the average time he takes is
one calendar month--which is ordinarily well within the mark. In the
first twelve years of his priesthood therefore he spends a year in
holidays. One who has reached his silver jubilee has occupied over two
years so: an old priest may have spent four or five years in this way.
Clearly much will depend both in time and in eternity on how it has
been spent.

Or we may look at the arithmetic from another point of view. If one
month in every twelve is spent in vacation, it would seem to follow by
the law of averages that one priest in twelve would have to meet his
death during his holidays. For several reasons, however, this estimate
has to be modified. Death is not ordinarily so sudden but that the
illness which precedes it will show itself in time to prevent the
priest from starting on his vacation. But suppose we reduce the
estimate from one in twelve to one in fifty, or even one in a hundred,
that still leaves us matter for serious reflection; and experience
shows that this is not much above the mark. It is no uncommon thing to
hear of a priest who started on his holidays, if not in good health,
at least with the hope of regaining it, and his hopes being frustrated
either by the arrival of death while he is still away, or by his being
just able to return home to die. This surely, if we have the prudence
and forethought which a priest ought to have, should make us pause and
consider. If it is possible, and not extremely improbable, that so
important a moment may have to be faced during our outing, it is
essential that we should not relax our spirit of recollection so
completely but that we may be able quickly to resume it when
confronted by a crisis.

Now it is precisely here that the difficulty of spending our vacation
well comes in. It is essential for the very purpose for which we go
away that we should relax our spiritual exercises to some extent,
otherwise our vacation will fail of its effect, and we shall return
without that freshness which forms so valuable a send-off to the next
year's work. The recreations of a priest's life are at all times
difficult to regulate--as we have seen in the preceding Conferences.
To succeed in obtaining relaxation of mind, without at the same time
incurring dissipation, is never easy: and most of us in looking back
on our past lives will probably find more to regret in the time given
to recreation than in any other time. But the difficulty is greatly
increased when recreation is the order of our daily life, and our
ordinary elevating influences are for the time to a great extent in
abeyance. Yet we know that an ill-spent holiday leaves us on a lower
level than it found us; habits and practices are gone, and there is
nothing in their place except, perhaps, half-formed habits of
self-indulgence and general slackness.

But there is in truth another side to vacation time which is the very
opposite to its dissipating side. It is a time when being released for
a while from our daily work and anxieties, our mind turns back on our
life as a whole, our shortcomings, our prospects for the future, our
devotions and spiritual exercises, and the like. Some periods of
vacation time may be in this way almost as good as a retreat. The
possibility of utilising it thus of course depends to some extent on
our surroundings, how we are spending it, whom we are with, and what
doing. But we shall usually have sufficient unoccupied time at our
disposal, whether we are with our friends or relations, or on our
travels, and we can without forgoing any real relaxation let our
thoughts revert to our life and our work as a priest, which indeed we
shall naturally do if our interest in them is what it should be. If we
do not, much of our time will be simply thrown away. The author of the
_Imitation_ says that sickness changes no man, but shows what he is.
Something similar may be said of holidays. The manner in which they
are spent, and the thoughts which come uppermost will be a clear index
of the state of mind, spiritually, of the man who spends it. And if
the occasion is utilised, it will afford a valuable offset to the
natural dissipation of the period.

If, then, so much depends on the vacation being well spent, some
thought should certainly be taken in good time beforehand, that the
natural falling to low level may be checked by definite resolutions
made in advance, for when the time comes, the surroundings are not
favourable to making laws for ourselves. The following remarks then
are intended as a help towards sanctifying a time which it is more
easy to lose ground than at any other period of the year.

1. The Roman collar should never be taken off, or at least no outward
change should be made which would indicate that we are trying to
disguise our priesthood. It is true that theologians tell us that
under certain circumstances, when on a journey, it is lawful to do so;
but "all things are lawful to me, but all things do not edify." [1] It
is said that to be dressed as a layman makes one freer, and this is no
doubt the case; but it is questionable whether such freedom is
desirable. The restraint of one's priesthood, and the general rule
that wherever one cannot appear as a priest, one will not go at all,
is a useful check on our lives at such times. Incidentally it may be
remarked that the disguise will not often be successful, and many will
see through it. The shorn appearance, the general want of fit about
the clothes, and the evident discomfort at wearing so unusual a garb
attract observation; and sooner or later, the suspicion aroused is
confirmed by the appearance of a well-worn Breviary, out of which the
disguised priest is saying his Office. The general effect is lowering
both on others and himself. The feeling that it is a disguise brings
with it the practical conviction that he is acting in a manner
unbecoming to his state. Once a priest, always a priest, and it is
only in very exceptional circumstances that one should ever pretend to
be anything else. The priest's dress will not interfere with any
recreation which is suitable for him.

2. A certain minimum number of times for saying mass should be fixed
and closely adhered to. Even outside that limit, mass should not be
omitted without real cause. The sight of a priest who has put his mass
away at the beginning of his holidays as "work," to be left behind
until he returns, or at most to be produced on Sundays, has in the
past been unfortunately too common; and the reaction which induced a
priest when freed from his morning exercises to stay in bed
inordinately late is not edifying. There are indeed days when a rest
is needful, or advisable, or when it is difficult to make suitable
arrangements, or when all time available is wanted for an excursion,
or to catch an early train; but in many instances there is no such
reason. In truth a fervent priest should be specially anxious about
his mass at such times, both because he will feel the need of it to
sanctify his holiday, and because in fact being temporarily relieved
from his daily anxieties, he is able to say it with a new freshness
and devotion.

3. As to Meditation, in most cases one could hardly expect the
ordinary half-hour before mass, and if one's holiday is to be
successful, one must necessarily ease off some of one's spiritual
exercises. But there is really no reason for abandoning Meditation
altogether. A short period, even five or ten minutes, whether as
thanksgiving after mass, or at some other time of day, will be more
valuable than double that time in the ordinary working part of the
year. About this, as about other exercises, it is important to have a
rule, and to keep to it, save in exceptional circumstances; but the
exact nature of the rule depends so largely on the personal equation
that one hesitates to put forward any suggestion too definitely.

4. The Divine Office of course cannot be omitted for any ordinary
reason. But it can easily be put into odd times--more easily during a
holiday than during the working part of the year--or left to the end
of the day, when it is said without devotion, as fast as possible,
simply to get it over. The loss by this is the greater from the very
fact that the Divine Office is the one devotion which is binding even
in holiday season. A definite rule is a help in such cases, and if the
burden of anticipating Matins and Lauds is felt too great, a rule, for
example, to finish to the end of Prime before midday ought not to be
too difficult to be usually kept. But what precise rule to make, like
many other details, must depend on the nature of our holiday and where
we find ourselves. At least let there be some rule to aim at: don't
let it be simply a case of drifting.

This, therefore, suggests a few words as to what kind of a holiday a
priest will take. In many cases this settles itself by the exigencies
of circumstances. He may have a home to go to, with parents still
living, or he may have relatives and friends to stay with. In other
cases he may be able to go for a regular tour with a fellow priest or
other companion. The former class of case is perhaps more difficult to
regulate, as the priest has to accommodate himself to the ways of
those with whom he is staying. A general rule to be well occupied all
day, and to retire in good time so as to be fresh for the next day, is
very easily written down: to keep it without making oneself
uncongenial requires both determination and tact. Often it may be
possible to regulate one's retirement at night in this way; but
sometimes it is not, and in such circumstances we have no choice but
to accept what we find. The rule of occupying ourselves can however
practically always be kept. The reproach that the English take their
recreation sadly--perhaps seriously would be a better word--is really
an allusion to one of the most favourable sides of our national
character. To spend the time in aimless lounging--the _dolce far
niente_ so dear to the typical Italian--is not in itself congenial to
our nature; yet the habit not infrequently invades our holiday time,
especially at the seaside. The description a priest once wrote of
himself that he had spent day after day in sitting on the sands, and
getting behind-hand in his Office, is typical of a whole class of
holidays; but by no means of all. One easy way to guard absolutely
against it is to have a carefully chosen holiday book, sufficiently
light to recreate, yet entertaining and educative, to produce on any
day on which we find that, through stress of weather or other cause,
there is no definite occupation on hand.

If a priest is fortunate enough to be able to travel on a regular
tour, it is unnecessary to point out how fully his time will be
occupied, provided he takes at least an intelligent interest in what
he sees. The effect of travelling is very broadening, for one meets--
even in one's own country--with customs and surroundings very
different from those of the particular place in which we live; and the
amount of human history contained in churches and other public
buildings and dwelling-houses is very great. Moreover, the effect of
natural scenery is always elevating. If--as was possible before the
war, and will some day be possible again--a priest can visit Catholic
countries, he will find much to be of high spiritual advantage to him.
It is often possible to make a pilgrimage to a shrine part of our
holiday, and thus to unite recreation with high spiritual profit. To
visit such places as Lourdes or Ars in France, or Einsiedeln in
Switzerland, or Loreto or Genezzano in Italy--to mention only a few
typical ones--is not only an interesting experience, but will also be
a source of grace and blessing. One sees Catholic practices freely
developed, without the restraining influences which the surroundings
of Protestantism render inevitable here in England. The simple
devotion, wholly free from self-consciousness, which one sees joined
with such extraordinary fervour in places of pilgrimage, are full of
elevating effect in ourselves, and the atmosphere of faith among the
people all around us is as good as a revelation.

The shrine at Lourdes is too well known to need any words here. Apart
from any question of miracles--which in fact assume a very secondary
place there--the spirit of devotion among the thousands of pilgrims
from all parts of the world, and the absolute contentment of the sick
who have been brought from afar, and are often in acute physical pain,
give one a picture which one would not have believed to be realisable
in this world. The surroundings of Ars, again, are of special interest
from a different point of view as bringing us close to the life of a
real saint and parish priest, for the date of the cure's death is
still within living memory. Then, again, to find a shrine such as
_Notre Dame des Victoires_ in the midst of such a cosmopolitan city as
Paris, where so much evil is known to be rampant, is instructive and
edifying. But there is a shrine not a hundred miles from there to
which surely English people should be attracted more than they are:
that is, the shrine of St. Edmund of Canterbury, at Pontigny. One of
the last of our English saints to be canonised, his life is not
inferior in interest to that of any of his predecessors. He died in
exile in France, and by a curious combination of circumstances, the
great Cistercian Abbey Church at Pontigny, where his body is over the
altar, survived both the dangers of the Huguenots in the sixteenth
century and the great Revolution at the end of the eighteenth, and
stands to-day almost in the same condition in which St. Edmund knew it
in 1240. It is really a reproach to English Catholics that so few go
there. In recent years, a certain number of High Church Anglicans have
visited it. Unfortunately it is in one of the worst parts of France,
where religion languishes; but even there, twice a year--on the feast
of the Saint in November and that of the Translation of his Relics,
kept there in Whitsun Week--the massive church is filled with pilgrims
from afar.

But apart from actual shrines, a priest will find in the atmosphere of
a Catholic country and in the daily life of the people plenty of
thought on which to build up his own spiritual aspirations. If he says
mass in good time in the morning, he will find perhaps many people in
the church engaged on their own spontaneous devotions. On a Sunday the
succession of mass-goers is continuous; the liturgical services draw
large congregations; and Catholicism seems to be in the very air one
breathes. Even in large cities it is a prominent feature; in country
towns and villages it pervades the whole life of the people. The idea
of the Catholicity of the Church is brought home to us when we find
ourselves so manifestly belonging to the same body as these devout
souls, and the holiday becomes strengthening to the soul as well as
the body.


[1] 1 Cor. x. 23.




CONFERENCE XIII

THE PERIODICAL RETREAT

IN view of the fact that our own synodal law prescribes a Retreat for
every priest only every second year, [1] and the new Codex of Canon
Law only insists on one every third year, [2] it might appear that
either one or the other is the limit at which we should aim. Such,
however, is surely not the case. It is true that even though our
Synodal law still holds--as has been recently decided by the Holy
See--no more frequent Retreat is required as of obligation than once
in two years, and in some countries where there is no special local law,
the longer interval--once in three years--may be lawful. Yet, without
asserting any obligation, the present writer deliberately urges a
yearly Retreat as the ideal. Wherever circumstances permit it--as in
Ireland or Belgium or elsewhere--this has always been the practice.
Moreover, the wording both of the synodal law and of the new Codex by
no means excludes this as the ideal; in each case the word _saltem_,
or "at least," is joined to the specification of the obligatory
period.

But it would surely appear that an earnest priest would himself desire
it. The idea that a Retreat is an irksome duty, to be discharged as
best it can, is surely a very inadequate one. It should be a time to
which a priest looks forward with longing, when he can put away his
work for a few days, and attend to matters which are in the strictest
sense personal, and if we may say so, selfish; and in which he may
commune with Almighty God in a manner which the hard work of his daily
life renders difficult or at times impossible. True the Retreat
involves a serious work and an important Confession, and the renewal
of many resolutions which have fallen into abeyance. Such a work will
not be accomplished without serious effort, and often involves facing
trouble and discouragement during its course. A Retreat is by no means
the recreation which its name almost implies. But its interest is
supreme. It touches all that aspect of life which should be vital to
us, and it tests our progress in that aspect of our lives which alone
matters.

If the Retreat is to be for us the event which ought to be the centre
and crown of our year's work, certain conditions must be complied with
which often are not. Let us consider these in detail.

The first question is when and where to make the Retreat. The Synod
seems to assume that it will be made by all the diocesan clergy in
common at the time and place provided for by the Bishop. Whether this
is to be taken strictly or not, has been much discussed; our tradition
has been that a priest making a solitary Retreat at a religious house
satisfies the obligation, though making a Retreat at one's own house
does not. The new Codex, however, seems in this respect stricter than
our Synodal Law, and provides definitely for the common clergy Retreat
unless special exception be made for a just cause by the Bishop
himself. Hence it would appear that ordinarily at least every three
years the common Retreat is obligatory.

But apart from strict obligation, there is every reason that, except
in special circumstances, the priests should join in the common
diocesan Retreat. There are indeed some persons who find it a
difficulty, and who can make a better Retreat in private; but they are
the exception. At any rate, it is necessary for the Bishop to give
leave in any particular case. In making application, at least let the
priest bear in mind that at best he will lose the graces attached to
the corporate act, and will not be helping his fellow clergy as he
might be, so that only a strong reason should induce him to apply; for
very naturally a Bishop would be slow to give a negative answer. On
the other hand, a priest who willingly conforms brings consolation to
his Bishop and helps in the sanctification of the diocesan clergy as a
whole.

In order to bring about the possibility of a general Retreat, it is
sometimes necessary that the parish services should be curtailed or
omitted during that week. Let there be no hesitation in, if necessary,
reducing the week-day masses or omitting them altogether or omitting
evening services. The people will fully enter into the reason,
provided it is explained to them, and will willingly join in prayer
for the blessing of God on the Retreat.

In the next place, if we properly esteem the Retreat, and wish to draw
down God's blessing on it, we should show our esteem by making up our
minds in good time beforehand that we will make it. The experience of
a curate returning from his holiday on a Saturday, discussing his
plans on Sunday, and making up his mind not till Monday morning that
he will join the diocesan Retreat would seem to indicate his view of
it as a disagreeable duty to be performed because it is ordered. No
one would treat an important or attractive work in this way. What
wonder that he arrives on the scene without thought or preparation,
spends most of the Tuesday resting himself, and finds he is slack on
the remaining two and a half days? And can he wonder that the special
graces to be looked for come to him only sparingly? Even those who
have made up their minds to join the Retreat, often spend the whole of
Monday at their ordinary work, till the very last minute before
starting; or even arrive late and thus emphasise a bad beginning.
"Before prayer, prepare thy soul," says the holy writer, "and be not
as a man that tempteth God." [3] One who is in earnest about what is
before him will break off his ordinary occupation, except such as is
absolutely necessary, all Monday, so as to be ready to begin the work
of the Retreat in the evening.

Similar conditions hold as to the ending of the Retreat. Formerly this
was not till the Saturday morning after the general Communion. In
recent years, however, it has been customary to finish early in the
afternoon of Friday. But a considerable number do not stop for the
end, and we often see a priest who thinks nothing of returning from
his holiday at a late hour, sometimes not far from midnight, at the
end of a Retreat wishing to be back "in good time" and cutting short
the Retreat accordingly. Or sometimes a priest will return early on
the plea of doing his Friday evening service. This ought not to be so,
and a rule against doing any pastoral work whatever on the Friday
would remove the temptation.

With respect to the body of the Retreat, let each one determine what
is necessary for himself to go through it with real profit. Certainly
a mere attendance at the discourses is not enough. The work to be done
is a real and active one. The Jesuits realise this, and they do not
usually use the word Retreat, which connotes its negative side, but
prefer to use the expression "spiritual exercises," which connotes its
positive side. In truth, the _ennui_ of the Retreat, from which so
many suffer, comes from looking exclusively on the negative side. If
we are properly active and at work, the time will pass rapidly and
will appear all too short. This is for the modern priest undoubtedly
far the most important aspect of the Retreat. It is indeed a help to
keep silence and to be away from one's work and distractions, but that
will not benefit us unless we have other work to replace that which we
have put away. And this will save us from the temptation to use our
time in preparing sermons or instructions for the next Sunday or two.
Let it be remembered that even for the following one we shall have the
Saturday at our disposal for such preparation.

The keeping of silence indeed, helpful though it may be, is not of the
essence of the Retreat. Considering how seldom we meet our fellow
clergy, some intercourse will be in many ways desirable. It is well,
if possible, to regulate this, and the modern custom of having an
hour's recreation at the dinner has much to recommend it.

A word may be added on the importance of regularity at all the
exercises. It may be that some of them appeal to our personal taste
less than others. Some persons prefer saying their Office in private
in place of the public recitation usual in clergy retreats. Others are
inclined to avoid the Stations of the Cross; and so on. But surely a
Retreat is of all times one in which to sink our personal tastes, so
as to join in the corporate act. The same applies to taking our share
in the community duties, such as reading in Refectory, or serving at
the altar, or taking special part such as e.g. a Lesson in the Office,
or other duties. To avoid them is a sign of selfishness. To be willing
to sacrifice oneself in small ways is a powerful means to bring a
blessing on the Retreat and the example to others will not be thrown
away.

The old habit of refraining from saying mass during the Retreat has
now almost gone out, and Benediction is commonly given not only at the
conclusion as formerly but every evening of the Retreat. It would seem
hardly too much to ask that at least one mass be set aside for the
intentions of the Retreat for ourselves and others; for considering
how much of the success of the year's work depends on the Retreat
being made well, every effort should be made to secure God's blessing
on it. In the Society of Jesus, it is part of the rule after the first
years of priesthood to devote a whole year to a second novitiate:
those doing so are known as tertians, as they are going through a
third year as novices. It is easy to see what special value such
additional novitiate may have, after the priest has been sufficiently
long time in active work to realise and appreciate its value. We may
well envy them in having this opportunity of entering into themselves
so thoroughly. The only thing that we seculars have to compare with it
is the periodical Retreat. It is little enough, lasting only a few
days compared with a whole year of the tertianship. Let us learn to
esteem that little more, and to make it the opportunity of overhauling
our whole life, and making good resolutions for the future. Let us
always remember that some day we shall make a Retreat which will prove
to be our last serious preparation for death. We have been frequent
witnesses of this in others: one day it will happen to ourselves. Yet
when we are making the Retreat, we probably shall not know such to be
the case. We may be well and strong, and with a good prospect of life
before us: yet God may know that this is our last great opportunity.
Surely this thought, if no other, should stimulate us to make the
Retreat well, so as not to have it ever said against us that we had
the power given us of making a full preparation for our last passage,
but omitted to use it.


[1] "Singuli sacerdotes teneantur, quoque saltem biennio, exercitia
spiritualia quae Episcopus providebit, adire" (_I. Westmonast_, xxiv.
7).

[2] "Omnes sacerdotes saeculares debent tertio saltem anno
spirituajibus exercitiis, per tempus a proprio Ordinario
determinandum, in pia aliqua religiosave domo, ab eodem designata
vacare; neque ab eis quisquam eximatur, nisi in casu particulari,
justa de causa, ac de expressa ejusdem Ordinarii licentia" (Canon
126).

[3] Ecclus. xviii. 23.



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.

Here it may be permitted to put in a strong plea, if a nurse is
wanted, to have a Catholic one. Many priests would prefer a nun, even
though her medical qualifications were less than those of a
professional nurse--which is far from being always the case. If,
however, we yield so far as to have a lay woman, at least let her be
one of our faith. It is astonishing how frequently even good Catholics
impose a non-Catholic nurse on a priest on the plea that nursing has
nothing to do with religion. There is really no reason to do so.
Plenty of Catholic nurses are to be had. It means some little
additional trouble, but that is all. Yet the gain in comfort to the
sick man is immense; in the case of a mental illness it is supreme.
There are scores of little ways of daily occurrence in which the
Catholic nurse may help the devotion of the priest, and minister to
his spiritual as well as his bodily wants. There is indeed something
unseemly in the question of whether the patient is fit to say mass or
not being regulated by a person to whom the mass means nothing, and
who cannot possibly estimate the reasons in favour of that consolation
being granted. In the meantime, the poor patient is helpless. He has
to accept what others provide for him, and has no power to make his
own wish felt, for in such matters an invalid is often treated with
strange want of consideration. In many cases the hired nurse thinks
little or nothing of the patient's feelings, so long as she keeps the
sick room neat from a professional point of view, and so pleases the
doctor. "I must not let you get bed-sores," a nurse once said, "or
what will the doctor say?" The question "What will the patient say?"
did not seem to enter her head; yet he was the chief person concerned.

Every serious illness has a crisis--sometimes of considerable
duration--which is followed either by a recovery more or less gradual,
or by a gradual sinking. Let us follow the former alternative first.

One of the predominant thoughts in time of serious illness is looking
back on the days of one's health and strength with a feeling of regret
for the poor use we made of them, and a longing to have the same
advantage again, if but for a short time, to make some small amends
for past shortcomings, or at least to show our goodwill. Canon
Keatinge tells a touching story of a dying priest, one of whose arms
had been amputated, who assured him that he would willingly part with
the other arm also, if only he could have the privilege of saying mass
once more. [1] Yet he had spent forty years of his life as a
missionary, during which time he had said mass almost every day. A
feeling somewhat akin to this is probably within the memory of most
priests who have passed through serious illness. The recollection of
their past priestly life passes through their mind, and they long to
have once again the opportunities which formerly were so plentiful.
When real convalescence has set in, they know that God in His mercy
has heard their prayer, and they are to have another chance. This
thought cannot but fill them with joy.

Yet convalescence is a time which requires in some sense greater
patience than the crisis of an illness. It is essential for its
completion that work shall not be resumed too soon. In grave illness
nature asserts itself irresistibly in this matter, the very suffering
and weakness overshadowing some of the tedium and _ennui_. But in the
case of convalescence, it devolves on us to put voluntarily restraint
on ourselves, and to omit doing many things which singly might not be
beyond our actual physical power, but which would <DW44> or even
prevent proper recovery. It devolves on us to "kill time" in a manner
that in health would be almost sinful. Literature of the lightest is
indulged in, and wisely so, and any pastime such as a game of cards
comes as a relief, when one longs to be once more up and doing. Day
after day--week after week--we have to occupy ourselves as best we
can, while our nature slowly recuperates itself. It is real wisdom to
wait patiently for the day of our emancipation from the control of
doctor and nurse. We may have the consolation of saying mass, if not
every day, at least frequently; and the time may come when we may
resume our Office, though until we are sure that we are able to say it
all, we are not bound to say any. Then perhaps we may be well enough
to be taken to the seaside or other health resort to complete the
cure, and this forms a little excitement: but soon that dies down, in
the heavy atmosphere of doing nothing, and we require all the stimulus
we can get for our patience.

At length, however, the day dawns when we go forth, pronounced well
enough for work, and we resume that life which we once thought had
finally passed from us. Then is the time to gather up the fruits of
our illness, and to show by the spirit with which we now approach our
duties that the lesson of illness has not been lost on us. No feeling
of high spirits at the events of life such as starting for a holiday
or the prospect of enjoyment will compare with the feeling of elation
at finding oneself once more leading the life of a priest in the midst
of his people.

But not all illness leads to convalescence, and if the malady is
taking a serious turn, the priest of all men has a right to be told.
He has been so long familiar with death-beds that even the feeling of
shock, so often put forward as a plea for concealing an invalid's
state, is not to be apprehended in his case; and he knows as no one
else does how to prepare himself to face this last passage. Alas! very
often he has to do it for himself; he has frequently been the support
and consolation of others, but he may live in a lonely mission and
find no one to minister to him in his own time of need. He may have to
go without Confession or Extreme Unction, and only secure Viaticum by
getting a layman to open the Tabernacle, and bring up the Ciborium so
that the patient can communicate himself. Or he may live in a populous
city and have the same assistance as others. But in either case he has
no reason for discouragement. If he has given his whole life to the
service of his Divine Master, he need have no fear but that in return
he will have the grace of dying as a priest should.

Once a priest always a priest, and there is no time in life when a
man's priesthood is more prominent than when he lies on his bed of
death, while his parishioners going about their daily duties remember
him continually in their prayers. Thus truly they are grouped around
him in spirit, as the sheep around their shepherd. "I know mine and
mine know Me." He has been intimate with them, has shown how he knows
and sympathises with their difficulties and trials and dangers; now it
is their turn to show that they also know him, perhaps better than he
knows himself, which they show by the very certainty they entertain as
to his final lot. It may be that the priest himself, knowing his own
frailty, is tempted to despondency as he lies so helpless on his bed
of suffering. He may be as the man who "revolved these things within
himself, saying: 'If I did but know that I should still persevere';
and presently he heard an answer from God; 'And if thou didst know
this, what wouldst thou do? Do now what thou wouldst then do, and thou
shalt be very secure.' And immediately being comforted and
strengthened, he committed himself to the divine will and his anxious
wavering ceased." [2] What more can the sick man do, but "commit
himself to the divine will"? Then in union with that divine will,
surrounded by those praying around him, he goes forth from the world
as a priest of God, this being the concluding act of his priestly
vocation.


[1] _The Priest, etc._, p. 60.

[2] _Imitation_, I, xxv. 2.



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