And that which happens individually to the faithful children of God takes place on a larger scale with respect to God's Church. The children of this world, those who have set their heart on temporal things, or who, through wilful error have deviated from the right path to things eternal, never cease from pursuing and persecuting the Church of God. They hate the Church and attack it unceasingly. Like the perverse and blinded Jews of old who reviled the Saviour and His words and deeds, who pursued Him and put Him to death, these ever-living and ever-active enemies of light and truth never abate in their fury against the chosen friends of Christ, and against His holy Church. But need we be surprised at this? Was it not foretold? Did not our blessed Shepherd, speaking in the beginning to His little flock, warn them that men would deliver them up in councils and scourge them? Did He not say to them plainly, "And you shall be hated by all men for my name's sake; but he that shall persevere unto the end, he shall be saved. And when they persecute you in this city, flee into another.... The disciple is not above the master, nor the servant above his lord. It is enough for the disciple that he be as his master, and the servant as his lord. If they have called the good man of the house Beelzebub, how much more them of his household."(37)

It happens, therefore, that fidelity to God, and careful adherence to the paths of justice and holiness, can frequently be the occasion of perils and sufferings for us individually, as they also are the excuse for a vaster persecution of the Church in general. All holy persons and holy things are signs of contradiction. They are not of the world, they do not fit in with it; and between them and the world there will be strife and contention until the renovation comes.

But the enemies that lie along the ways of life, that beset and threaten even the most righteous paths of our pilgrimage, are not all from without—the most numerous and menacing are perhaps from within. "The enemies of a man," says the inspired writer, "are those of his own household."(38) That is to say, the most potent evils which we suffer, the chiefest foes to our present and future welfare are from ourselves—our own waywardness, our tendencies to evil, our wilfulness, our self-love and self-seeking, our own sins. It is from these and like causes that we suffer most. Hard and trying it surely is to bear persecutions and contradictions from others; severe is the strain to nature when, in the face of our noblest efforts, proceeding from noblest motives, we meet with misunderstanding and even condemnation; but to the upright, religious heart that is sincerely and truly seeking God amid the shadows and pitfalls of life, the sorest of all trials and the fiercest of all enemies are one's own temptations and passions and inclinations to evil. Easier it were to conquer the whole external world of foes, than to reign supreme over the little world within. Of Alexander the Great it is said, that while he actually subdued the whole known world of his time, he nevertheless yielded in defeat before his own passions. He could overcome his external enemies, but surrendered miserably in the battle with self.

This, then, is our greatest warfare, the struggle with ourselves; and this our greatest victory, a triumph over self. "If each year," says the Imitation, "we could uproot but one evil inclination, how soon we should be perfect men!"(39) But it is not for us to be free from enemies and perils, both from without and from within, during our earthly sojourn. They are a part of our lot here below, they are necessarily bound up with the darkened regions through which the Shepherd must lead his flock; and hence, entire safety there shall never be before the journey's end, until we say farewell to present woes, and hail "the happy fields, where joy forever dwells."

In our present state, therefore, it is important for us to realize our dangers and to be prepared for conflict. There is no way of escape from crosses, and perils, and dreadful battles for all those who wish to win the crown of victory. They must follow the Shepherd as he leads the way, and hence our Lord has said, "if any man will come after me, let him take up his cross daily and follow me."(40) Yes, it is the following of the Shepherd, it is his leadership, his constant presence, that give comfort to the sheep, and dispel the dread and fear of perils. And though we pass through the valley and shadow of death, we need fear no evil, for He is with us. At times, frequently perhaps, as we sail the sea of life, the waves roll over and deluge us so completely that we are all but smothered. The clouds gather, thick and black, and overcast the sky of our souls; the sorrows of death surround us, and the pains of the pit encompass us;(41) we are overwhelmed with sadness and plunged in darkness. We think of God, we remember Him, but He seems afar off. The evil which weighs us down—the pain of body, the agony of soul, the sadness and dejection of heart and mind, "the madness that worketh in the brain," muffle the voice and all but still the trembling pulse, and we are not able so much as to lift our drooping heads and tear-dimmed eyes to see the gentle Shepherd standing faithfully at our side. It is our failure to discern and apprehend Him that causes extreme agony. If at these times of utter desolation, when the soul is swept by the winds of sorrow, we could only raise our eyes and thoughts to Him, with faith and hope and child-like trust, the spell would be broken; and we should see the clouds lift and part and float away on the wind, only to let in God's cheerful sun to raise the drooping spirit, and warm and soothe the troubled soul.

But it is difficult, when oppressed by sorrow and affliction, to lift the heart and mind to things above. Nature of itself tends downward, and unless it has learned to discipline itself and to engage with the enemy in sturdy battle, it is not yet prepared for life. For the world is a battlefield and life a warfare, even from a natural point of view, and only they can hope to win in life's hard contest who have learned to brave the battle, who have prepared themselves for conflict. But who is ready for the struggle, and how shall we be able to encounter our foes? Left to ourselves and to our own resources, we shall surely go down in defeat. The opposing forces are too gigantic, too numerous. They throng from near and from afar. They swarm from within and from without; from our own nature and from others, from the world around, and from our own household; from those at home, and from them that are abroad. Frequently during life we are, of a certainty, encompassed round with perils; we hardly know where to turn or what to do, we are breathless with fright; but even then, if we have proper faith, we shall grow calm, like the shepherd's flock in the midst of devouring animals and beasts of prey, for our Saviour and Shepherd is with us, and no evil can befall us. Even when we think Him farthest, He is often nearest; when we think Him sleeping, His heart is watching. He loves us, His weak and timid sheep; we are the objects of His heart's affection and ever active solicitude; He will not let perish, if we trust Him, the price of His precious Blood.

And the training we are to receive, and the preparation we are to make, in order worthily and victoriously to engage in the battle of life are nothing, therefore, but lessons of love and trust in the constant goodness and faithfulness of our divine Saviour. Unless we viciously drive Him away by deliberate, grievous sin, He is really never absent from us, and least of all when we need Him most. It is our fault, if we do not by faith discern Him, if we do not feel His ever-gracious presence. We need to discipline ourselves in acts and deeds of faith and love, and then we shall realize that He is always near us, even in the darkness of the shadow of death.

We must try to know our Shepherd, first of all; we must endeavor intimately to understand Him. For to have faith in Him, to trust Him, to believe in His power and goodness, in His overruling care for us and our interests, presuppose a knowledge of Him, just as faith and confidence in an earthly friend follow upon an intimate acquaintance with that friend. But this close knowledge of our Master, so necessary to our present peace and future happiness, will never be ours unless we make Him our confidant, unless we accustom ourselves to live in His presence, to look to Him, to speak to Him often, to listen to His gracious direction. And this intimate relationship with our Saviour, this habitual communion with Him, will enkindle in our souls the fire of love. Once we know Him, we will trust Him, and having faith and confidence in Him, we will link our poor lives to His divine life by the strong cords of heavenly charity. Fear and uncertainty will then be impossible, even in the darkest hours.

It is love, above all, that directs our life—love, indeed, which is born of knowledge. We do not, it is true, love anything before we have some knowledge of it; this would be an impossibility; but once the soul has caught the vision, it is love that drives the life and stimulates and enriches the knowledge. The objects of our affections are the interpreters of our life and actions. If we love the world, we are led by the world; if we love God, it is God that leads and directs us. Where the treasure is, there will the heart be also;(42) and where the heart is, thither will the life make its way. But if God is the object of our love, we shall fear no evil; for "God is charity," says St. John, "and he that abideth in charity, abideth in God, and God in him ... Fear is not in charity; but perfect charity casteth out fear, because fear hath pain."(43)

It is only the love of God, therefore, that will steady our lives, and bear us up in the thick of tribulations. It is the confident assurance that we, although so unworthy, are the objects of divine complacency that awakens in our hearts a return of burning charity, and enables us to say, with the Psalmist, when the day is darkest "The Lord is my light and salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the protector of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?"(44) We are not to fear men, said our Lord, who, when they have destroyed the body, can do no more;(45) neither shall we be in dread of our Master, if armed with the gift of His love, "for fear hath pain, but love casteth out fear." Rather shall we, like the martyrs of old, mindful of the gift of God, go bravely forth to the battle of life, or to the slaughter, calmly, hopefully, cheerfully. While humbly, but steadfastly trustful of the Shepherd that leads us, we shall not be disturbed or troubled; the present shall be shorn of its terrors, the future of its forebodings. This truly is the triumph of life, when love, not fear, has come to rule us. This is the broader, larger life—the forerunner of life eternal in which our days are passed in calm serenity—in which we press on with undaunted tread, alike under frowning clouds, or under a star-lit sky; alike with the joys of friendship around us, or alone amidst the graves of the dead.

We must not infer from this that the love of God which is our strength, the source of our courage, will blunt our feelings or harden our lives. It does not seal up the fountain of tears, or make us insensible to the pains and sorrows of life, which belong to the lot of all. In a certain sense it is likely true that those suffer most in life who are most united to God; for they feel most the coldness of the world and its desolation, its want of love and sympathy, its degradation and its misery. Hence it would be a mistake to think that the friends of God in this life are either exempted from pain and sorrow, or made insensible to them, either in themselves or in others. Of these and other evils they are truly more keenly aware than worldly men, if for no other reason than because of the superior refinement of their nature and the spiritual outlook of their vision. It is sin, after all, that hardens while it weakens. Sin closes the heart to love, it renders its victims cold, unsympathetic and selfish; whereas the gifts of grace and holiness are tenderness, mercy, strength. But though all have to suffer, both the holy and the unholy, the difference between them is this, that the ungodly are borne down and overcome by their sorrows and crosses, while the spiritual are always triumphing even in the midst of apparent defeat. To the foolish they seem to be vanquished, yet they conquer; often they seem on the verge of surrender, when they emerge in victory; they seem to die, when behold they live!(46)

The spiritual man, then, does suffer; he suffers in the cause of God; he suffers for others and for himself. More than this, it is doubtless true that he feels his crosses more keenly, he grieves more profoundly, than do the children of the world; but through it all he remembers his Saviour and is comforted. He knows that the tribulations of the just are many, and that from all these the Lord will soon deliver him,(47) and he shall not be confounded forever.



VIII. THY ROD AND THY STAFF THEY COMFORT ME.

It is already plain to us that the sorrows and sufferings of the present life are, without doubt, the result and consequence of sin. That we should pass our mortal days so full of pain and tears, that our fellow-man, that the beasts of the field and the elements, which we need and use as helpers and servants, and most of all that our own nature, with its passions and evil tendencies, should rise up against us and oppose us, was assuredly not a part of the original plan. As a wise and all-powerful Designer and Creator, God founded the world after a masterful fashion—devoid of evil, free from defect, perfect according to the plans framed in Heaven. The hills and mountains He founded and set on their bases; the streams and rivers and valleys He formed, all rich and lovely, intended for the comfort and happiness of man; the blue deep He constructed and beautified with its millions of shining wonders; and in all these stupendous creations, in all the diverse works of His mighty, omnipotent hands there was in the beginning no trace of fault, of defect, of error or sin. The upheaval came when man disobeyed and wrought the commencement of all our woe. And hence it is to man's first disobedience and the fruit of that forbidden tree, that we owe all the evils from which our nature suffers and to which our flesh is heir.

But although we know the source of our sorrows and feel the guilt of our sins, this does not make our burden lighter or shorten the path of our pilgrimage. We are confronted by the problem of labor and suffering as soon as we enter the world. No one is entirely exempted; and, strange as it is, we see that it frequently happens, that those are most afflicted who are farthest removed from the wickedness of the world and purest in the sight of God. "Many are the tribulations of the just;" and how true is it that the very fidelity of the servants of God is often an occasion of their sufferings! It is not wonderful that sorrow and fear should be the portion of sinners throughout the length of their days, for "contrition and unhappiness are in their ways, and the way of peace they have not known;"(48) but that all, even the saints of God, should suffer alike and be oppressed with miseries is, at first sight, a problem and a baffling mystery.

It is something, indeed, to feel in our suffering that we are paying the debt of our sins, whether personal, or original, or both; it is much to know that our crosses, severe and inevitable as they are, are a curb to our wayward nature, and a restraint against further sins; it is assuredly a great privilege and a high honor that we, unworthy and unfaithful servants of our Master, should, through our tears and sorrows and sufferings, be enabled to conform our poor lives to the tearful and sorrowful life of our Saviour; it is a comfort that words cannot tell to be assured by our faith that in the midst of pains and perils the Shepherd of our souls is ever near to shield, to guard, and to save—all this is surely much—enough to encourage and strengthen us daily to take up our cross and joyfully follow our Redeemer, even to the hill of Calvary, even to the death of the cross. But this is not all. A deeper meaning lies hidden behind the veil of tears, beneath the cloak of pain and sorrow. The miseries of life are not a mere inheritance, neither is their value of a purely negative character. We instinctively feel that somehow, somewhere beyond the scope of mortal ken, there is a higher explanation and a more valid justification for all the failures and pains and sorrows of life, than that which appears on the surface of things, or issues in results that are only negative. Suffering for its own sake was never intended; and we were not made to suffer. We were not created for misery, but for happiness; not for failure, but for victory; not for death, but for life; not for time, but for eternity. And hence there is a deeper meaning, a higher explanation for all the failures and miseries of the present life than those that are apparent to the casual observer.

In the title of this chapter the Psalmist, referring to the shepherd's care for his sheep, says: "Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." The staff the shepherd uses, as already explained, is to assist the sheep along their perilous journeys, and the rod to protect them in case of attack. The rod and the staff are necessary for the welfare of the flock, necessary to guide and shield them in their wanderings, and to bring them safely home. So too, it is with us, the children of God. To be properly protected and guided to our happy end we have need of the rod of affliction and adversity, and likewise of the staff of mercy.

Although human miseries—pain, poverty, suffering and death—are, as we know, the consequences, just and equitable, of original sin, it is a shortsighted faith and a defective vision that find in these crosses only chastisement for sin. Truly, they should not have been, had we never sinned; but as God, in His mercy, draws good out of evil, so has He made these inevitable results of our transgression serve a higher purpose and minister to noble ends. The Saviour came that we might have life, that we might progress and advance to ever fuller and more abundant life.(49) His aim, and the aim and purpose of His heavenly Father, since the very dawn of our creation, has been to lead us to happiness—to perfect, abundant, eternal happiness. It would be of little account to be happy here, unless we are also to rejoice eternally. It would be a poor exchange and a paltry satisfaction, to be present at the feasts of men, only to forfeit our place at the banquet of angels. But our heavenly reward and our celestial crown are to be merited and won here below; they are to follow upon our earthly labors. "Only he shall be crowned," says St. Paul, "who has legitimately engaged in the battle."(50) And did not the Master say Himself, "Let him who wishes to come after me deny himself and take up his cross and follow me?"(51) Did He not declare that we must die to live? that we must surrender our life here, if we would keep it eternally? "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless the grain of wheat falling into the ground die, itself remaineth alone. But if it die it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world, keepeth it unto life eternal."(52) We cannot serve two masters, we cannot serve God and mammon. If we would seek to avoid all pain and sorrow, and spend our lives in the pleasures of sense, we must be prepared to forego the future joys of the soul; if we would pass our days indulging the flesh and chasing the phantoms of time, we must needs make ready for the death of the spirit and the forfeit of all that is lasting.

We have no choice, then; if we would succeed eternally, we must follow the way of the cross. This is the only way to life—to that abundant, celestial life which our Creator has wished us to live. And it is the bearing of our cross, patiently and resignedly to the will of God, together with our other good works, that enables us to merit, in so far as we can, the joys of the kingdom of Heaven. But the sufferings and labors, so inevitable and necessary to our earthly state, which serve as a means to supernal rewards, have still another, deeper meaning, and serve another purpose. We cannot evade them, we must encounter them. They are not only unavoidable, but necessary to our dearest interests, as we see, since they are strewn as thorns and brambles all along the narrow way that leads to eternal life. We cannot choose them or lay them aside at will. We may, indeed, if we be foolish and impious enough, refuse to walk the narrow way of the just and choose the broad road that leadeth to destruction; but we shall not even thus escape the pains and perils inseparable from this mortal life. Or again, we may, in our folly, rebel against the crosses and labors that confront and pursue us; but whether we go this way or that, whether we will it or not, we can no more eschew all the evils of life than escape from the air that we breathe. The pressure, it is true, is not always upon us; we are not, without ceasing, weighed down by our labors and groaning to be delivered from the body of this death. There is interruption, there is passing pleasure, a rift in the clouds and a smile of the sunshine even for the darkest and poorest life. And yet withal, we know and we are conscious that we are ever under the sentence of death, that life is a fleeting shadow, that like

"A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, Man passes from life to his rest in the grave."

There is no evading the conclusion, therefore, that the days of man in this world are few and full of miseries. "The life of man upon earth is a warfare, and his days are like the days of a hireling. He cometh forth like a flower, and is destroyed, and fleeth as a shadow."(53) "For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory thereof as the flower of grass. The grass is withered, and the flower thereof is fallen away."(54) To the natural man all this is appalling, and how frequently it finds its solution in unbridled self-indulgence, in mental unbalance, and self-destruction! But the saints, and all the truly wise, have viewed the problem of human suffering in a vastly different light. They have discerned it, first of all, as really distinctive of the road to Heaven, and as essentially pertaining to the royal way of the cross. They have understood that it extinguishes the wrath of the heavenly Father, that it atones for sin and makes the soul conformable to our suffering Saviour, and therefore have they loved it. And more than this, those who have been led by the wisdom of God have found, not only that the crosses of life are essentially connected with the way of salvation, but that by them and through them alone we are often positively driven to God. We may try to avoid them, and at times, perhaps, succeed; we may flee from them or endeavor to still the voice of their pain; or, when unable to escape them, we may, in our wrath and desperation, rise up against them and rebuke them: but they persistently remain, they continue to haunt, as if to woo and to win us to penetrate their deeper meaning, and discover the treasure that in them lies concealed. The very breakdown of human things, the severing of human ties and relationships, the loss of health and wealth, of treasures and friends, and of all that life holds dear, are really meant, in the deepest sense, to drive us to the divine. This is the meaning of those tears and sorrows, those pains and sufferings, that loneliness, that grief, that agony of heart and soul which belong to this world of tears. All these are intended to teach us that here below, on this crumbling shore of time, we have no abiding city, or home, or life, or love; but seek a city, a home, a life, a love that hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God.(55)

We need God, we were made for God, and our nature, with all its longings and powers, cries out for Him. And therefore has God so arranged the world, in spite of all its evils, and in spite of all our sinfulness, that, if we do not prevent it, it will lead us out to happiness—lead us out to Himself. It was our sin that despoiled the face of the world; but God, in His mercy, has drawn good out of evil, He has made the effects of sin minister to our advantage, if we will but have it so. We may, forsooth, refuse, because we are free; we may object, and rebel, and oppose our lot; we may take our destiny out of the hands of our Creator and attempt to shape it for ourselves; we may deride and despise the humble, the lowly of heart, the patient, the mortified and the suffering; we may upbraid the Providence of God and its workings, and refuse to submit to the rule of the Creator; we may hold in derision and contempt the little band that is sweetly marching the way of the cross, preferring for ourselves the company of the multitude that knows not God—all this can we do, because we are free; but if such be our choice, and if we persevere in it, our portion is fixed, and we shall have at last only to say with the wicked: "Therefore we have erred from the way of truth, and the light of justice hath not shined unto us, and the sun of understanding hath not risen upon us. We wearied ourselves in the way of iniquity and destruction, and have walked through hard ways, but the way of the Lord we have not known. What hath pride profited us? or what advantage hath the boasting of riches brought us? All those things are passed away like a shadow, and like a post that runneth on."(56)

Sufferings, therefore, are common to all, to the good and the bad, to the wise and the foolish, to the children of light and to the children of darkness. But only those who are directed by grace and light from above are able to pierce the deeper meaning of the cross. All have to bear it, but not all understand it; all feel the weight of it, but all do not know the power of it. Like fortune, it knocks at every door, into every heart it endeavors to enter and make known its deeper significance, its hidden secrets, lest any of us should suffer in vain, and our lives be altogether a failure. To be able to suffer patiently and gladly for God's sake, is thus a great wisdom; it is a sign of future blessedness. It is the wisdom of God, which is foolishness to men. "If thou hadst the science of all the astronomers," says Eternal Wisdom; "if thou couldst speak and discourse about God as fully and well as all angels and men; if thou alone were as learned as the whole body of doctors; all this would not bestow on thee so much holiness of life as if, in the afflictions that come upon thee, thou art able to be resigned to Me and to abandon thyself to Me. The former is common to good and bad, but the latter belongs to My elect alone."

We know that our Saviour took upon Himself the cross of sorrow and suffering, not alone that He might satisfy for our transgressions and be our ransom from bondage, but also that He might be unto us an example and a leader. And knowing that our unfaithfulness had incurred severest maladies from which none could escape, He bore our infirmities and carried our sorrows for us, in order that we, in our time, might bear our inevitable afflictions for His sake, for love of Him, and thereby attain to unending glory with Him. "For the spirit himself giveth testimony to our spirit, that we are the sons of God. And if sons, heirs also; heirs, indeed of God, and joint heirs with Christ: yet so, if we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified with him."(57) "If you partake of the sufferings of Christ," says St. Peter, "rejoice that when his glory shall be revealed, you may also be glad with exceeding joy."(58) The chains of sorrow which bind us here below, our Shepherd thus would turn to golden cords of love, which draw and hold us to Himself. We cannot, as we see, ascend to Heaven, rise to blessedness, except by the way of the cross. And our degree of glory in Heaven, the eternal happiness which we shall enjoy, will be in proportion to the degree of charity or love of God which our souls possess at death; and this divine charity, which is to measure our future beatitude, is acquired and augmented by faithfully doing the will of God—by patiently and lovingly bearing the cross of life. Sacrifice is the test of love. And hence the more we do and suffer for Christ's sake, the more we prove our love for Him and the greater shall be our happiness in the kingdom of His Father. All holy writers, all the masters of the spiritual life agree in teaching that God particularly chastises those whom He loves with a special love. He proves the elect to find if they are worthy of Himself.(59) He does not spare them now, that He may spare them hereafter; He tries them for a time, that He may reward them forever; He seems harsh with them here, during the time of probation, only that He may draw them closer to Himself everlastingly.

The devoted friends of God and the ardent lovers of things spiritual have deeply pondered these momentous truths. They have realized that our days here, though few and fast-flying, are really to determine our lot and condition throughout the eternal years. They have known that the passing present is the price of the lasting future; that this is the seeding time, and hereafter the harvest. And because our future happiness is to be in accord with our merits here acquired, jealously have they sought and embraced every present occasion to increase their merits and their worthiness for the glory that is to come. This is why they have loved the cross, the symbol of salvation, the emblem of victory; this, too, is why they have felt disturbed and full of fear when the cross was absent from them. Unlike the unenlightened sufferer, who sees only punishment in his pains, the saints of God have ever accepted their crosses as a sign of special love, a divine visitation, a preparation for the great communion.

We see now how it is that the rod of chastisement and the staff of mercy are able to give joy and comfort to God's chosen friends; and thus are they designed to console and comfort everyone who is truly led by faith and love. Sufferings are really a blessing, but the eye of faith alone discerns it. They keep us from present pleasures, from hurtful occasions, from alluring vanities; they direct us into the way of salvation, they drive us to God, they increase the glory of our eternal blessedness. What are the trials of earth when compared with the joys of Heaven? Rather, how precious are they! since, if we use them aright, they lead us out into a higher life, to a closer friendship with God. And if, through the mercy of our heavenly Father, we permit the cross to lead us to His knees and enrich our lives with His love, who can speak its infinite value? What treasure can be likened to it? Surely nothing that we know can surpass it in worth. We might, indeed, enjoy all that life can give; we might possess all riches, all health, all success; we might have honor, fame, glory, power; the praise and love of men, the treasures of earthly friendship and earthly affection—the whole world we might gain and enjoy; but if through all these, or in spite of all, we should not be led to the love and friendship of God, we should know only vanity, and life for us would in its issue be nothing but a dismal failure.

But if, on the contrary, through the sufferings and losses, the deficiencies and limitations of life, we have been led to make God our dearest friend, if we have been taught, by the coldness and harshness of men, to take refuge in His love, how blessed are we! how cheaply the purchase has been made, even though it has meant the loss of every passing good, of all that the world can give, even the pouring out of our own life's blood!

Teach me, O my Master, in the day of sorrow and tribulation, to understand the meaning of the cross, to know the value of my sufferings, to grasp the power and the secret of Thy rod and Thy staff. Assist me to see Thee through the darkness that surrounds me; and give me to feel, in the midst of loneliness and perils, amid pain and desolation, the nearness to my soul of Thy loving-kindness, and the strength of Thy merciful presence.



IX. THOU SPREADEST BEFORE ME A TABLE IN THE PRESENCE OF MINE ENEMIES.

In the preceding verses of the Shepherd Psalm the Psalmist has described the constant care of the shepherd for his sheep—the rest and refreshment, the protection and comfort he provides for them. And now, in the present verse, he speaks of a feast he has prepared for them, which is to be likened to a bountiful banquet—a banquet which they are to enjoy, a feast which they are to consume, in the sight of their enemies, in the presence of the evils that afflict them. He refers, at first, to the manner of preparing or spreading a table in the Orient. Often the custom of olden times was not much different from that which prevails among the Arabs even today. To prepare a table means with them simply to spread a skin or a cloth or a mat on the ground.

And it is to this kind of table that the Psalmist refers when he sings of the feast of the sheep. He means nothing more than that he has provided for his flock in the face of their enemies a rich pasture, a spreading slope, where they shall feed with contentment and peace, in spite of the evils that surround them.

But the quiet and peace which the sheep enjoy, while partaking of their spread-out banquet, are entirely owing to the protecting presence of the shepherd. And it frequently happens that here again the utmost skill and diligence of the shepherd are called into play in thus securing the peace and safety of his flock. The most abundant pastures are many times interspersed with noxious weeds and plants, which, if eaten, would sicken and poison the herd; while around the feeding places and grazing grounds very often lie hid, in thickets and holes and caves in the hillsides, wild animals, such as jackals, wolves and panthers, ready to spring out, at the critical moment, and devour the innocent sheep. The shepherd is aware of all these evils and enemies of his tender flock; and he goes ahead and prepares the way, avoiding the poisonous grasses, and driving away, or slaying, if need be, the beasts that menace the peace and security of the pasture. The evils are not entirely dispelled, but only sufficiently removed or held in check so as not to imperil the flock.

Such is the table prepared for the sheep by their provident and watchful shepherd; and such is the feast of which they partake with quiet joy in the sight and presence of their enemies. But, as just said, the tranquil joy which is theirs comes not from the fact that danger has been all removed, nor from the fact that they have become hardened and used to its presence. They know it is always near; and they are conscious, as far as animals can be, of their own utter helplessness, if left to themselves, to survive an attack of their powerful enemies. But they do not fear, they are not disturbed or anxious, solely for the reason that they feel their shepherd is present, and they know he will guard and protect them. Hence the Psalmist is speaking for the sheep when he says to the shepherd with a tone of confident joy, "Thou spreadest before me a table in the presence of mine enemies."

The spiritual meaning of this, like the other verses of the Shepherd Psalm, is peculiarly descriptive of our Lord, the Good Shepherd of human souls. He, in a manner altogether divine, precedes His elect, and prepares them the way of salvation. He does not deliver them from enemies and dangers, which would be unnatural in the present state, but He makes use of evils, as said before, to increase the perfection of His chosen souls. Gradually, step by step, from a natural He leads them to a higher state—from diffidence to trust, from fear to love, from sorrow and anguish to peace and joy.

The change in the soul is rarely at once and immediate; it does not come of a sudden. At first it is difficult and repugnant to nature to find joy in sorrow and pleasure in pain, to see gladness in tears and rest in disturbance, to find peace in the midst of our enemies; but God, in His omnipotent goodness, so disposes and provides for the souls of His elect that sooner or later they penetrate to the meaning of things, and find there their hidden treasure. When the fabric of life itself has crumbled to its native dust, when friends have gone and charms departed, when the very earth we tread seems trembling beneath our feet, and every dream of earthly bliss is fled, when enemies sit where loved ones sat, and the heart has all but ceased to beat, then is the acceptable time and propitious moment, for the devout and faithful soul, that has washed its garments in the blood of the Lamb, to look up to Heaven with expectant joy. The thrilling vision of eternal love so much desired, so long perhaps delayed, is then, indeed, about to dawn.

The sweetness of God and the peace of His spirit are not to be found in the market place, nor in the noise and clamor of the busy street. It is not at the banquets of earthly kings that we taste of the joys of the Saviour's feast. It is not amid honors and riches and the pleasures of sense that the calm dews of Heaven refresh the soul. We were made for a higher friendship, for a more intimate union, for a sweeter companionship than any that earth can provide. And it is only when the door has been shut to the outer world, when the vanities of time have ceased to be sought, that the soul is ready for the wedding garment, and able to prepare for the marriage feast. It is in the inner sanctuary and alone, divested of fleshy trammels and freed from the bondage of earthly attachments, that the soul is able to meet its God and hold intimate converse with Him.

There are few, comparatively, out of the multitude of souls that are called to the feast which is spread for them, that ever sit down at the Master's table. Many are invited, and the servant is sent out at the hour of supper to say to them that were called, that all things are ready, and that they should come; but they tarry, they are not ready, they begin to make excuses and wish to be held excused. Some are entangled in perishable riches and cannot leave their possessions; others are preoccupied with worldly affairs and must not neglect their business; still others are pursuing the pleasures of earth, and have no time for the things of Heaven. But the feast is not for these, after all. The Master invites them, He calls them, He sends His ministers in search of them, He reproves and chides them, He thunders against them to make them hear and obey; but they will not come, they shall never taste of His banquet. He has not spread a table for the proud, the haughty, the arrogant; He cannot meet in loving communion the worldly, the sensuous, the lovers of ease and hurtful pleasures. Such as these are not prepared to meet Him; they would be out of place and ill at ease in His company, they do not like His society.(60)

To be able to come to the Master and to sit at His feast there is need of preparation. The garments of the world must be changed for the garments of Heaven, the ways of men must be made to yield to the ways of God. For what is wisdom with men is foolishness with God,(61) the weak things of earth are the strong things of Heaven, the outcast of the world are the chosen of the Father Almighty. And hence our Saviour under the figure of the master in the parable who prepared a great supper, says of all those who will not hear Him, who neglect His divine inspirations and despise the call of His ministers, that they shall never taste of His feast. But who, then, shall sit down at His table? for whom has He prepared the banquet? He tells us Himself, that those who shall partake of His supper are the lowly, the humble, the poor, the lame, and the blind; the despised of men and the outcast of the people; those who have known sorrow and suffering and penance, who have found the way of the cross and embraced it; who, for the kingdom of Heaven and the love of Christ crucified, have given up father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren and sisters; yea, and their own life also, that they might inherit everlasting crowns that fade not away.(62)

St. Paul was one of these masterful spirits, who surrendered all that he had, all that he prized most dearly for love of Christ and His service. "The things that were gain to me," he says, "the same have I counted loss for Christ. Furthermore, I count all things to be but loss for the excellent knowledge of Jesus Christ my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but as waste, that I may gain Christ."(63) What a struggle, too, was that which St. Augustine describes, speaking of his own conversion! The parting with those sinful delights which had hitherto held him in chains was like the forfeiture of all he possessed, and it seemed to him that life thereafter would not be worth living; yet he generously and vigorously gave them up that Christ might become his possession. He has also described for us the change. "How sweet," he says, "did it at once become to me to want the sweetness of those trifles, which to lose had been my fear, but which to have lost was now a joy! Thou didst cast them forth from me, oh Thou true and highest sweetness! Thou didst cast them forth, and in their stead didst enter in Thyself, sweeter than all pleasure!"(64)

It is such as these, heroic souls, who for the sake of God and His kingdom, have made the world their enemy, that compose the company of the elect. And for these alone it is that the Shepherd of souls has spread a table of rest and peace, even in this life, of which they partake in the sight of their enemies, in the presence of those who think evil of them, who despise and deride them, in the sight of the world which hates them. These holy souls, the elect of God, whom the Father has chosen for Himself, have learned, through the trials and losses of life, the lessons of peace and detachment which crosses are intended to teach. They have learned, by exclusion and retirement from worldly festivities and pernicious delights, to draw near to God, out of love for His beauty and mercy, or if only to ease their breaking hearts and dispel the loneliness of their forsaken lives. In the words of the Psalmist, they have tasted and seen that the Lord is sweet, and that there is no one like unto God.(65) With the image of the Crucified before their eyes and conscious of the presence of their loving Shepherd, they greet with delight the sufferings that oppress them, and they feast in peace in the presence of their enemies. They know that all is arranged or permitted by the hand that guards them, and by the One that loves them; and, though He slay them, yet will they trust Him.(66) For what can happen to those that love God? what evil can befall them? Angels have charge over them to keep them in all their ways.(67)

It is confidence, therefore, in their Saviour and God that gives peace and tranquillity to the souls of the just. To know Him, to love Him, to trust Him, to dwell in His presence and to please Him, throughout all the vicissitudes and evils of life, are the objects of their constant actions and the highest aspirations of their fervid souls. Confident of the favor and protection of God, and rooted in His love, they despise all pain and the threats of men; and in the midst of the battle of life they rejoice in a peace of mind and soul of which the worldling cannot dream. The pasture in which they feed, the banquet of which they partake are nothing else than the love and friendship of God which nourishes and refreshes their spirits when to every mortal eye they seem destitute, abandoned and alone. And this peace of God, which surpasseth all understanding,(68) develops in souls truly spiritual a habit of mind and a character of life that even here below partake of the stability and calm sense of victory which, in their perfection, belong only to the state of the blessed in Heaven. They feel that all things are possible to them through Him that strengtheneth them,(69) and that no temporal affliction, no power of man or any creature shall wrest from them the feast which they enjoy. And hence they are able to ask, in the confident words of the Apostle, "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or famine, or nakedness; or danger, or persecution, or the sword ... In all these things we overcome, because of him that hath loved us. Therefore we are sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor might, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus, our Lord."(70)



X. THOU ANOINTEST MY HEAD WITH OIL; MY CUP RUNNETH OVER.

In these words the Psalmist alludes to one of the most touching offices performed by the good shepherd towards his sheep. The day is drawing to a close, the golden orb of light has sunk to rest, and the shadows are creeping up the hills. The hush of night is falling round, and the shepherd must gather his flock into the fold. The labors, the journeys, the trials, the wanderings of the day are over, and now comes the time for rest. It is a scene full of peace, and the sheep greet its approach with feelings of restful anticipation. Many of them are foot-sore and lame; many have received bruises and scratches during the journeyings of the day; some have gaping and bleeding wounds from the attacks of wild beasts; while others are simply tired out and exhausted from the long walks and steep climbing of hills. The shepherd knows all this, and before leading them into rest he takes care to see that the wounds of all are dressed and soothed, so that nothing shall disturb the sweet repose of their sleep. For this purpose he stands at the door of the fold as the sheep pass in. He has olive oil and cedar-tar to use as healing ointments for their wounds, and he has cool, refreshing water for those that are worn and weary. Lovingly and tenderly he regards each member, as one by one they enter into rest; and they that are wounded or over-weary he holds back with his rod, till their scars and sores are duly cared for and made ready for the night's repose.

How closely these offices performed for the sheep by the shepherd resemble the care of our Father and Saviour providing at the end for the souls that He loves! He has been with them all through life, leading, guiding, guarding, shepherding them at all times, going before them with the blessings of goodness. And when at length the end approaches, they feel the need of His loving-kindness perhaps more than ever before. Like the shepherd's flock, their needs are many and various. Some souls there are who, through the special grace of God, are able to pass their lives in innocence and holiness, living in the world, yet not of it, dwelling in the midst of men and in the sight of their wickedness and sin, yet undefiled withal, beautiful witnesses of the power and love of Him that strengthens and preserves them.

But the majority are not thus favored. Notwithstanding all their graces, they have been subject to falls—perhaps to many grievous falls; they have suffered many wounds and bruises, they have had many tears to shed. Multitudes there are, in fact, who come down to the verge of life, to the very gate of death, sin-stained, racked and wounded, their life blood ebbing out through sores and wounds which they themselves have made by wilful open friendship with sin and vice, the deadly foes of their souls. We have many varying examples of these straying souls. There is the type of Mary Magdalen, of St. Peter, of St. Paul, of St. Augustine, who passed a portion, brief or prolonged, of their mortal days far from the Father's home, feeding on the husks of swine; but who, while yet in the vigor of life, felt the touch of the merciful hand and heard the sound of the loving voice, leading them, calling them back to God, back to the "beauty ever ancient and ever new." Such souls as these, it is true, constitute one class of erring, but repenting sinners; but there is another class whose plight is far more pitiable. They are those long-delayed, but finally repentant sinners, men and women who have lived their lives away from the Church and its sacraments, who have grown old and gray in the sins of their youth, and now, at the last, when death is coming, are moved, by a special grace from Heaven, to weep for their sins and wasted years before they enter their eternal abode.

For each and all of these how important it is that the Shepherd should stand at the door of the fold and bind up their wounds with His tender grace before they pass through the portals of death! Scarred and wayward children, victims of evil circumstances, creatures of vanity and of folly, they realize at the end how impotent they are, how helpless in the presence of the coldness of death to redeem or make sure the years that are fled, unless He draw near and assist them who has sustained them in life, and who is at once the author and the master of both life and death!

But for all, without exception, the need of the Shepherd is imperative at the end. The victory, the happy issue of life's struggle, "is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy."(71) All may run, all may strive, indeed, for the prize of eternal life, but none can be sure, short of the mercy of God, that he will be saved; none can merit this crowning glory of life. Whether young or old, whether favored or neglected, whether innocent or guilty, whether the life has been dowered with special blessings and never known the stain of grievous sin, or whether it has been eked out amidst deepest misery and defiled with hateful crimes, the same uncertainty for all remains as to the manner in which the end shall come. Men may reason and conjecture, from what they see and know, that this one or that is in God's favor, and shall so persevere to the end; that the members of a certain family, or class, or station in life, are sure to be saved, and shall never fall short; but that those of another class or condition shall, on the contrary, die as they have lived, in the filth of their sins, to be forever in torment. But these are the reasonings of men, which are of no avail in the sight of God. It is only the Father in Heaven who knows the elect. He alone is able to tell who shall remain to be crowned, and who is to be condemned. Perseverance is a gratuitous gift of God, we cannot merit it. All our good actions and holy deeds, which are performed in the state of grace and out of a motive of charity, do, it is true, merit a reward in Heaven, they tend to increase our blessedness hereafter; but just as it is not in our power to merit the first grace, by which we are raised from a state of sin, so are we utterly unable to do anything which shall secure for a certainty the final grace, by which alone we can be saved. Wherefore the Preacher said: "All these things have I considered in my heart, that I might carefully understand them: there are just men and wise men, and their works are in the hand of God; and yet man knoweth not whether he be worthy of love or hatred. But all things are kept uncertain for the time to come, because all things equally happen to the just and to the wicked, to the good and to the evil, to the clean and to the unclean, to him that offereth victims, and to him that despiseth sacrifices. As the good is, so also is the sinner; as the perjured, so he also that sweareth truth."(72)

This uncertainty as to the end of life, and of the gift of final perseverance, all holy souls have felt. To die in the friendship of God, and thence to enjoy His presence forever, is a gift of so transcendent a nature, so far above our natural powers and utmost deserts that no creature, which can at all conceive it, would dare claim it as a right. It was this conviction that made the saints tremble to think of it. This it was that prompted St. Paul to admonish the Philippians to work out their salvation with fear and trembling,(73) and that also evoked from the same Apostle those candid words concerning himself: "I chastise my body, and bring it into subjection; lest, perhaps, when I have preached to others, I myself should become a castaway."(74)

And have we not sometimes witnessed instances which, so far as man can judge, give ground for this fear as to perseverance, and emphasize the great truth that to die in God's favor is, indeed, a singular and a gratuitous gift? How many have we not known who started well, but terminated ill! How many are innocent and holy in youth and give every promise of splendid manhood, but fade and drop, like poisoned flowers, ere the age of maturity has dawned! How many are able to pass through the most critical period of their lives, unshaken and undefiled, full of faith, hope, love, purity; but who, when the age of security is thought to have come, lose the grip which seemed so firm, turn to evil, yield to vicious habits, and die reprobates of God! Look at King Solomon! Who was ever more promising than he in his youth? Who ever gave fairer prospects of continued holiness and of a beautiful end? He was so lovely, so amiable, so favored of God in the morning of life; graced with such high perfections, not knowing evil, a stranger to vice, a lover of sanctity, of wisdom, and of grace. It would seem that he could never fall—he who was the object of such unwonted favors, who dwelt so supremely in the smile of Heaven. But lo, and behold the end of him who had received so many graces, who chose wisdom as his handmaid that he might be guided aright! Behold that youthful figure, so full of promise and goodly hope, praying to God that he might never deviate from the ways of grace; and then see the gray-haired apostate tottering to the grave, borne down by the weight of his sins and of his years! And how many more there have been, like King Saul, like Renan and Voltaire, and numerous others that we ourselves perhaps have known, who were great and good in youth, and for a term of years, but whose end was a miserable failure!

Our perseverance, then, or the favor to die in the state of grace, is not of ourselves, not the reward of our efforts, or of our good works, "but of God that sheweth mercy." We must do all in our power to merit eternal life; we must press on to the mark, waging ceaseless battle in behalf of God and of our souls, even to the last moment; but for the happy end of it all we must perforce rely on the tender mercy of God. This is why our Lord, before He departed from earth, prayed to His heavenly Father for His disciples: "Holy Father, keep them in Thy name whom Thou hast given me; ... I pray not that thou shouldst take them out of the world; but that thou shouldst keep them from evil."(75) This same truth the Psalmist also had in mind when he prayed: "Perfect thou my goings in thy paths, that my footsteps be not moved."(76)

It is this appalling uncertainty about the end and outcome of life, together with our own inability to make them secure, that makes death so terrible to the minds and thoughts of multitudes, even of Christians and well-living persons. They fear to fall into the hands of the living God. For them the present life may be not so attractive; on the contrary, it is likely replete with pain and toil; but somehow they wish to linger here, preferring that which is certain, although so miserable, to that which is doubtful, perhaps awful and irreparable. So long as they continue in this present world there is chance for change, there is hope of improvement. But when death intervenes, and the soul is removed to the other life, all hopes of change are swept away, and the lot of the soul is fixed for eternity. There is, of course, a fear of death which is altogether natural. Many dread death who pretend not to believe in a future life, or even in the existence of God. And many there are whose lives are holy, and who have not whereof they ought to fear, but for whom, nevertheless, the very thought of death is fraught with all manner of terrors. As some are naturally afraid in the absence of light, and tremble with fear at being alone in a dark and lonely dwelling, or spot, or place, so there are many who, without assignable reason, other than a native tendency, are appalled at the thought of death.

But when all due allowances have been made for the uncertainty of final perseverance, and for the anxiety arising from natural temperament, it seems not too much to say that, for the most part, the fear and dread of death which haunts so many Christians can be reduced to two causes: a defect of faith or a love of the world. It is one of these causes, or both of them together, which alone can explain, in the majority of cases, why such numbers of Christians and Catholics are unwilling to surrender the present life, and are disturbed at the very thought of dying. Either they do not realize by faith the surpassing glories of the life beyond—doubting its reality, questioning its nature, misunderstanding the goodness and mercy of God; or else they are so attached to the present existence that all serious thought and desire for a better life are excluded from their minds and hearts. Fenelon says that the condition of our spiritual life is indicated by the answers we give to the following questions: "Do I love to think of God? Am I willing to suffer for God? Does my desire to be with Him destroy my fear of death?" We do not fear to meet or to be with one whom we really love, for "love casteth out fear." There is no dread at the coming of the parent or friend whom we truly love, unless, perchance, we have offended him, and lack full faith that we have been forgiven and reinstated in his favor and friendship.

So it is with God. If we are unwilling to meet Him, or filled with fear at the approach of His coming, it seems of a certainty that our faith is at fault. Why should we not wish to meet Him who has made us, who loves us, who has washed away our sins with His own blood, who alone can comfort our trembling souls and fill us with every good? Perhaps we have sinned and betrayed our Maker many times and grievously in our lives, and the voices of those sins are haunting us, and bidding us beware of the hour of death and of the judgment that follows. Perhaps there is a lurking suspicion that we have not been forgiven, a temptation that we are not sincere, a feeling that our sins are too grave to be pardoned, a conviction that we do not belong to the company of the elect. We may have notions, moreover, altogether severe, of the nature of God and of His justice; we feel His immensity and sanctity, we have heard so much of His ineffable beauty, that, weighed down with a sense of our nothingness, of our poverty and misery and sinfulness, we cannot but shudder at the thought of appearing in His presence. These and similar terrors may take hold of us and fill us with a dread of death; but is it not clear that, whatever their cause, these fears are born of a lack of faith? We do not trust, as we ought, the Shepherd that loves us, we are not convinced of His mercy and kindness, if we do not believe with child-like confidence that He stands ready ever to forgive and bless the least of His children that humbly and sincerely seek Him, asking for the help they need. The severity of God toward sinners endures only so long as they refuse to acknowledge their guilt. His harshness with them, like that of Joseph with his brethren, is but love in disguise; and as soon as they are brought to own their guilt, that which before was the anger of God is swiftly turned into His love and mercy. Christ did not come to destroy, but to save. He will not crush the broken reed, nor extinguish the smoking flax.(77) "As a father hath compassion on his children, so hath the Lord compassion on them that fear him; for he knoweth our frame, he remembereth that we are dust."(78)

But there is also the love of the world, which enslaves so many. So numerous and so bewitching are the attractions of the present life that they are loath to leave them. It is a beautiful world, this universe of ours, so deep, so wide, so vast! It is filled with pleasures and allurements and graced with myriad charms; and he, indeed, seems cold of heart who can easily turn from its enchanting beauties, and close his ear to its manifold voices. Ponder for a moment the richness of nature, its similarity and variety, its sameness and its diversity; consider the abundance of the harvest—the glowing fruits, the green and golden crops, the sweet-scented flowers and gift-bearing grasses; see the stars above and the waters beneath—all the wonders of earth and sky; and then when you have ranged over fields and waves and mountains, when you have climbed up the steeps of the sky and gazed on the marvels of the heavens, descend again to earth and consider the human form—the chiefest work of the Almighty hand, and the crown of the natural world. What beauties are here concealed! What a mingling of material and spiritual, of human and almost divine! What words can express, what lines portray the beauty of the human countenance? Who can describe or adequately define the loveliness that streams from human eyes, or echoes from the human voice? And yet these are but the outer fringes and dimmest glimpses of the beauties of the soul that dwells within.

How painful, then, it is for the worldly to forsake the beauties and pleasures of this present life. Bound down to their beds of clay by the things of sense, they are grieved to part with a life so full of diverse attractions. How can they think undismayed of closing forever their eyes and ears to these charms of color and sound! It is such a difficult thing, and so hard to nature, to abandon these scenes of enticing pleasure, to bid farewell to those that are dear and be hurried away alone and forlorn to the chill and gloom of the grave.

So reason the children of the world; but are not their reasonings and feelings a proof of their little faith, and of their poor conceptions of spiritual and eternal interests? They do not want to leave the world, because they love it; and they love the world, because their faith is too weak to raise them to a vision of higher things. The plain on which they stand is too low clearly to see the things of Heaven. How poor and trifling at best is the earth and all it contains to Him who beholds with a vivid faith the world above that is to come! How gladly does he lay down his life and give up the struggle with ceaseless battles, who sees by faith, just beyond the portals of death, the great home of the blessed, spread out like a city on the mountains, bathed in light inaccessible, full of joy and unending gladness, where "death shall be no more, nor mourning, nor crying, nor sorrow shall be any more."(79)

The man of faith, therefore, is in no wise straightened or disturbed by the approach of death. He has learned to know and to trust the good Master whom he serves. Like the Apostle, he is only concerned that Christ should be glorified in him at all times and in all things, "whether it be by life or by death;" for to him also, "to live is Christ, and to die is gain."(80) He lives in the world, but is not of it; he treads the ways of earth, but he really belongs to the kingdom above. Hence his cup of interior peace is ever running over. Though surrounded by many evils, he does not faint; though tempted exceedingly, he does not yield; but is joyous and peaceful withal; because at all times and in all things he feels himself to be the faithful servant of God, "in much patience, in tribulation, in necessities, in distresses, in strifes, in prisons, in seditions, in labors, in watchings, in fastings, in chastity, in knowledge, in long-suffering, in sweetness, in the Holy Ghost, in charity unfeigned; ... as dying, and yet living; as chastised, and not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as needy, yet enriching many; as having nothing, yet possessing all things."(81)

"Precious in the sight of God is the death of His Saints." As they have lived for Christ, they gladly welcome the summons that calls them home to rest. Calmly and fearlessly they go down to death; joyously and with feelings of exultation they hail the coming of Him on whom their thoughts have rested throughout life, of Him whom they have ever seen by faith, whom they have loved, whom they have trusted, whom they have chosen for their own. Confident of the power and goodness of their faithful Shepherd, pain daunts them not, the enemy frets them not. The last hour for them is not one of darkness, but of light; it is not a time for lamentations, but for joyous and gladsome strains. The end may be sudden, or it may be gradual in its approach; it may come early, or late in life; it may be at home or abroad; it may be in the winter, or it may be in summer; on the sea or on the land; but to the just and spiritual it can never be a surprise, it can never be lonely, never sad. It is the time for which they have always longed—a time of liberation, of emancipation from the trammels of earth and flesh, the end of continuous dying and the beginning of lasting life. What a supreme moment, what a joyous event is death for a just and holy soul! What sweet emotions must thrill the spirit, as the Saviour stoops over the bed of death to wipe away forever the last of earthly tears! Mary is there to hush the voice of reproach and to whisper words of peace; Jesus has come to claim the soul and take it to Himself, and flights of angels are waiting to sing it to its rest.



XI. SURELY GOODNESS AND MERCY SHALL FOLLOW ME ALL THE DAYS OF MY LIFE; AND I SHALL DWELL IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD UNTO LENGTH OF DAYS.

If the tender lambs and timid sheep of the shepherd's flock could speak the sentiments of their innocent hearts, each one would certainly voice the words which here the Psalmist has uttered for them all. Throughout the live-long day, throughout all the days of their lives, they experience the shepherd's goodness, they are the objects of his constant mercy. He has been caring for them since their birth; he has led them out each morning, since first they were able to walk; he has provided them with food, and led them to water; and he has ever been present to shield them from harm, and to protect them from their enemies. After such repeated experiences and trials of his loving-kindness, they have grown accustomed to his faithfulness and are filled with love of his goodness and mercy. And while they have not the power of speech, and cannot by words express their feelings, they do by the louder voice of action—by their quiet trust in his care, by their habitual mildness and gentleness and quick response to his every word, by the absence of solicitude and fear in view of his presence—by these and all the other actions that speak their simple hearts they show their love for their shepherd. Though often wounded and bleeding and exhausted from the roughness and length of their journeys, they have no distrust about the future, no fear for the morrow. In the midst of distress the shepherd, they know, will provide. The Psalmist, therefore, in the closing words of the shepherd song, gives utterance to the feelings of the sheep when he sings: "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord unto length of days."

But here, as in the opening verse of the Shepherd Psalm, the words of the sacred Singer, although truly expressive of the sentiments of the sheep, are more directly the expression of his own inner feelings, and of the feelings of all faithful souls towards the Lord who rules and guides them. All those whose lives have been really and sincerely led by faith, have, like the shepherd's flock, grown trustfully accustomed, in the course of years, to the goodness and mercy, to the faithfulness and love of the hand that provides for them. As they look into their lives, and retrace the steps they have taken, they cannot fail to see how God has been always with them, patiently enduring their faults, mercifully binding up their wounds and hurts, and lovingly leading, drawing them to Himself. They can see their advancement, slow perhaps as it has been; and they know it is God who has given the increase. Looking now at their lives through the perspective of the years that are gone, how many problems they are able to solve! for how many apparent mysteries they have found an explanation! All those crosses and trials, all those struggles and battles with the enemy, all those attacks from within and assaults from without, all, in fact, that they have ever endured, their sins alone excepted, they now can trace, through the light of faith, back to the hand of their Father in Heaven. Not everything, forsooth, has yet been explained, but enough, indeed, is sufficiently clear to remove every doubt from the faithful soul as to the goodness and Providence of God. And hence she exclaims with the Psalmist, out of the abundance of her faith and confidence, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

It is doubtless a lack of implicit trust in God and divine Providence which, more than anything else, accounts for the unhappiness and spiritual barrenness of so many Christian and religious lives. Poor and scanty is the fruit they yield, simply because they have no depth of soil, they are not deeply and firmly rooted in faith and confidence in God. Like reeds shaken by the wind, like houses built on the sand, they tremble and shake with every blast, they are all but overturned by every tempest that rises.

Nor is it wonderful that this should be so. The higher gifts of the spirit come from God, and hence the good fruit which the spirit yields is also traceable back to Him. "We do not gather grapes from thorns nor figs from thistles; and as a good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, so neither can an evil tree bring forth good fruit."(82) And just because the abundance of the harvest of the spiritual life is dependent upon God as its giver, is it strange that any distrust of Him and His Providence should be a great hindrance to the soul's advancement, and to the bestowal of the constant help it needs? Can God be pleased with those who do not confide in Him, and who do not trust Him? Our Lord's own chiding words to His disciples are a proof of His displeasure at any distrust in His power and goodness. How often did He rebuke them for their want of confidence in Him! How often did He accuse them reproachfully of their "little faith,"(83) of being "slow of heart,"(84) of being an "unbelieving and perverse generation!"(85) He was constantly pointing to their lack of faith, reminding them that it was the source of their weakness, the cause of their ignorance in things spiritual, the reason of their powerlessness in the face of difficulties and against the enemies of their souls. It is clear that Almighty God, being a generous and loving Father, must be offended at those of His children who do not trust Him; and their want of faith in Him is consequently the reason for His denying to them the help which is the life of their souls, and without which they are powerless to be useful servants in His vineyard.

And this failure to confide in the goodness of God betrays itself in other ways. Besides sealing up the fountains of special graces and closing the door on divine generosity, besides a general unfruitfulness in the spiritual life, and the lack of all greater works for God and for souls, which are its immediate consequences, it also penetrates into the interior sanctuary of the spirit, and weakens at their source the springs of spiritual action. The results are manifest. Not only is there no yielding of fruit, but growth is likewise wanting. And if, under fairer conditions, there has ever been any progress, it is soon perceived to wither and wane in a soul devoid of living faith. All the exercises and practices of the Christian life participate in the baneful effects. Prayer and the use of the sacraments are either seriously neglected or gradually given up, and the blighting influences of irreligion rapidly spread and overrun all the departments of life. The view one takes of God, the faith or lack of faith and trust one has in Providence, have their effect on the character and give a direction to all one's ways of thinking, feeling, acting, in regard to the world we live in, in regard to mankind in general, in regard to the causes, purposes, and destinies of all things.

Our conceptions of Providence are vital, therefore. They really determine what our life is to be, and they are an index to the life that is finished. It is impossible that we should be quite the same whether we try to eliminate God from our lives, or allow His blessed influence to cheer and lead us on; whether we look upon Him as a cold Master, waiting to exact and to punish, or as a kind Father and Shepherd, seeking to spare and to save; whether we regard Him as hid far in the heavens, caring naught for the creatures and the world He has made, or whether we conceive Him as intimately bound up with all the works of His hands, although distinct from them, as guiding and regulating everything, as tenderly loving and providing for all the needs of our souls.

Another most harmful result of deficient faith and confidence in God is that it leads us to trust in creatures. It causes us to reverse the proper order of things. We are dependent beings, and we instinctively feel our deficiencies and the need of some one, or something on which to lean, at times, and to which we can look for assistance. We may not be entirely and always conscious of this tendency in us, we may be too proud or too blind to admit it, or we may wish we could overcome it and rid our lives of so constant a need; but whether we see it and acknowledge it or not, whether we encourage it or try to repress it, the need is always there, deeply engraved in our nature as creatures, and we cannot but seek to satisfy it. There is none of us, frail beings that we are, who is entirely sufficient unto himself. Sometimes, of course, the voice of our needs is silent, and we feel that we shall never want; "I said in my abundance," observes the Psalmist, "I shall not be moved forever;"(86) but when the tide begins to ebb and prosperity subsides, how soon do we remember that we are dust! How frequently in times of trouble, in times of illness and poverty and suffering, when face to face with our foes, or when death steps in and slaughters, are we made aware of our insufficiency, and of our utter helplessness to live our lives alone and meet single-handed the burdens and misfortunes of earth! It takes but a little frost to nip the root of all our greatness, and then when our high-blown pride breaks under us we quickly realize how fragile and insecure are the personal foundations of our lives. Naturally and reasonably, therefore, did the pagan philosophers conclude that friendship and friends were necessary to man.

Profoundly aware of this fundamental need of help and support which is a result of our nature, we habitually stretch out our hands to others, not only during the years of infancy and childhood, but to a greater or less extent throughout the whole period of our earthly existence. At first, of course, it is to creatures that we necessarily look—to parents, relatives, guardians, teachers, and later on, to friends and acquaintances. Our needs in the beginning and in early years, though many and imperative, are comparatively simple; they can be satisfied by those around us. But as we advance to maturity and take in more completely the meaning of our lives, and consider not so much the needs of the body as the demands of the soul, we find that the multiple requirements of infancy and youth, which were able to be supplied by those that were near, have given way to the fewer, but vast and unlimited, claims of age, which express the wants of the spirit. It is when we appeal to creatures for the complete and permanent satisfaction of these latter necessities of our being, that we seriously err, and open the way to disappointment and sorrow. Not that we are to have no cherished and chosen friends, or that we should despise the needs and gifts, the privileges and blessings of friendship, which in truth our nature requires; nor again that we are to regard with skeptical, disdainful eyes the world and human nature; but we must not deceive ourselves by trying to find in any created being that which it does not possess. We must not endeavor to get from any creature that perfect satisfaction which we need, and which the Creator alone can give. Neither must we seek to fill the unlimited capacity of our souls with those gifts only, poor and defective at best, which frail mortals like ourselves are able to supply. It is folly in the highest degree to expect from anyone less than God that which only God can afford.

The mistake, therefore, is made when creatures of any kind are allowed to take the place of God; when they are sought and reposed in as an end in themselves, and as sufficient satisfaction for the needs of the human spirit. Unwise, indeed, is this mode of action, and bitter are the sorrows of soul to which it inevitably leads! One man trusts in riches, another in glory, another in the esteem of men; one leans upon his friends and companions, another upon his relatives—all forgetful of the frail and unsubstantial nature of every earthly prop. Frequently they never awaken to the peril of their state until they find themselves face to face with their doom and the awful disillusionment. The crash may be delayed, but the day must come sooner or later for all of us, who have advanced but a little beyond maturity, when all the natural lights of life go out, when every human prop is removed, and we find ourselves out alone and in the dark, so far as depends on the world and creatures. How miserable then shall we be if we have put our trust in men! if we have tried to make creatures play the part in our lives which only God can play! When we need them most they fail us, when we fain would find beneath their protection a shield against the fiery darts of life, behold they wither like the ivy of Jonas and leave us alone in our want!(87) How vain, therefore, and groundless is that confidence which is put in men, and how wretched that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! "Thou trustest in money," says St. Augustine, "thou holdest to vanity; thou trustest in honor, and in some eminence of human power, thou holdest to vanity; thou trustest in some principal friend, thou holdest to vanity. When thou trustest in all these things, either thou diest and leavest them here, or in thy lifetime they all perish, and thou failest in thy trust."(88)

It is no despisal, then, of the needs and helps of earthly friends and of our fellow-creatures to say that we should not put entire trust in them for all the wants and demands of our being. They are good, they were made by God, they are oftentimes able to assist us—nay, we need them to a certain extent; but they are utterly unable to satisfy us completely, they cannot if they would, simply because of the extent of our wants. And even if creatures could give us a partial contentment, as at times they seem to do, we know that it cannot last, and in the midst of our joy and pleasure we are haunted by the thought that some day, soon at latest, it all must pass away. We are seeking for rest, for peace, for happiness, and that unending; we want something to steady our lives and satisfy the yearnings of our souls forever: but we must not look for these things in the world, for the world at best is passing away. There is no stability to human things; the cloud and the storm swiftly follow the sunshine; we have not here below a lasting habitation. Today we are sitting at the banquet of pleasure, tomorrow we are draining the cup of sorrow; today we receive the applause of men, tomorrow we may be the objects of their scorn; today we put forth the tender leaves of hope, tomorrow there comes a killing frost that ruins all our prospects.

Such, then, is the lot of man when considered in his relations to creatures and to the world. It is a lot full of uncertainty, of instability, of vicissitude; but this should not make us skeptical or cynical; it affords no justification for pessimism. It is a condition arising, on the one hand, from the very nature of limited beings, and on the other, from the vast potentialities of our souls, which, while they are limited in giving to others, cannot be appeased except by the God who made them. There is a craving in the heart of man for something which the world cannot give. He clutches for the things that are passing, he toils, he labors, he struggles; he strives for money, for power, for place, for honor, not that any of these things are in themselves what he desires, but only because he conceives them as means and helps to the satisfaction, to the stillness of mind, and peace of heart, and rest of soul and body for which his nature longs. Peace and happiness and contentment of life are the objects of all our dreams, of our persistent efforts, of our ambitions and aims; but until we give up the hope of finding these things in the world, in our fellow-mortals, in anything short of God, we shall never know the blessedness for which we yearn. If we would ever attain to the state which we covet, we must learn the lesson, even though it be through tears and sorrow, that God alone, who made our souls with all their vast desires, is able to comfort us and steady our lives amid the storms and distresses of earth.

It is futile to trust in men, or "in the children of men, in whom there is no salvation."(89) The peace and blessedness which we seek are "not as the world giveth;"(90) and unless we turn away from the world and cease to torture our lives with its vanities, our portion can never be other than heartaches, secret loathing, consuming thirst. "For many friends cannot profit," says Thomas a'Kempis, "nor strong helpers assist, nor prudent counsellors give a profitable answer, nor the books of the learned afford comfort, nor any precious substance deliver, nor any place, however retired and lovely, give shelter, unless thou thyself dost assist, help, strengthen, console, instruct, and guard us."(91) Such has been the history of the race, and such is the experience of every individual in the race that has placed his hope and trust in anything created.

We are confronted, therefore, on the one side by the inherent weakness of our own nature and the constant needs that arise therefrom; and on the other side, we are assured by the history of the race, if not by our own experience, that so long as we strive to satisfy our wants by an appeal to anything but God we are doomed to disappointment and sorrow. It is unfortunate that most people must first be crushed by the world and creatures which they serve before they grasp the fundamental truth that creatures are not their God. Comparatively few of those who enjoy the world are ever brought to realize the dignity and divine purpose of their souls until the world and its allurements, like a false pageant on a false stage, give way beneath them, and they fall helpless and alone. It is commonly only after repeated awful experiences, when worn out and exhausted by years of fruitless quest for peace and happiness and contentment, that men wake up to the simple fact that the treasures which they seek are not in the world, nor as the world giveth.