Diligis me?

In case you or someone close to you needs a reminder of how high the bar is set for attaining sainthood in this life, gentle reader, (or, conversely, a reminder of how far we have sunk in regards to the same) I share below a list, taken from the yellow and brittle pages of a German-language devotional manual originally published in 1849, entitled:

Qualities and Habits

of a

Lover of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus

It lists 31 such qualities and habits, divided into three categories but in no particular order. A note attached to the list reads:

Here is a rod by which you can measure, o Christian soul, the distance between you and the perfect love of Jesus.

Towards God

1. A great purity of heart, and hatred, not merely for great, but also for small sins.
2. A great confidence and childlike trust in Jesus, the Savior of Mankind.
3. A steady diligence to do that which pleases Jesus and to avoid that which is abhorrent to the Spirit of God and the voice of conscience.
4. An always consistent and steady disposition in both pleasant and unpleasant fortuities and circumstances.
5. An insuperable patience in great pains and trials.
6. A steady contentment, and complete acquiescence of oneself to the will of God.
7. An interior desire to suffer for the sake of Jesus, and to be forgotten by others and scorned for the love of Jesus.
8. An utter contempt for all the vain delights and honors of this world.
9. A great love of solitude.
10. A great esteem for purity of body, and an aversion to everything which is contrary to it.
11. An ardent zeal for promoting the honor and love of Jesus, and the experience of grief when Jesus is offended and disregarded.
12. A continual mindfulness of Jesus, an eagerness to speak of and to hear about Him, to converse with Him in prayer and to always desire Him.
13. An insatiable hunger to enjoy Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament.

Towards Oneself

1. To think little of oneself, and to take pleasure in being scorned by others for the love of Jesus.
2. To hate one's own flesh, and to deny it all gratification and beguilement.
3. To refuse oneself everything tending to sensuousness; to bridle the five senses and prevent them from being occupied with unnecessary things; to neither watch, listen to nor speak about anything other than that which serves to either edify oneself, to serve God, or to fulfill the obligations of one's occupation.
4. To always curb one's appetite in eating and drinking, and to be satisfied with little food of modest quality.
5. To mortify one's flesh through fasting, watching and working.
6. To endure heat and cold and other seasonal discomforts so that one's service to God and the fulfillment of one's duties are not thereby disrupted.
7. To suppress the perverted inclinations of nature and to root out one's inborn and acquired vices.
8. To leave none of one's own mistakes unpunished.

Towards Others

1. To bear the mistakes and vices of one's neighbor.
2. To display a compassionate heart to every man, and to assist him with advice and action when he requires help.
3. To never resent the well-being of one's neighbor, but rather to take pleasure therein, and to grieve at his misfortune, preventing the same whenever possible.
4. To inflict not even the slightest harm upon one's neighbor, even if much could be gained thereby.
5. To never exalt oneself above one's neighbor, but rather to eagerly place oneself beneath him.
6. To ignore one's own advantage when required in order to help one's neighbor, and to give willingly in order to help a neighbor in need.
7. To never become angered by or seek revenge for insult, injury or persecution, but rather to have sincere compassion with one's enemies, to speak well of them, to pray for them, and to show them kindness and helpfulness.
8. To never assume the worst in one's neighbor, or to become distrustful, but rather to assume good faith in the doings of another as far as is possible, and to pardon him generously, both to oneself and to others.
9. To grieve when one's neighbor offends God, but to rejoice when he serves God.
10. To believe the good in, to hope the best for, and to patiently endure the evil of one's neighbor.

Victims with Christ

Nineteenth and Final Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by

 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

There is an apostleship of suffering as well as an apostleship of word and prayer. A priest is officially commissioned to exercise this triple apostleship. Participating in the priesthood of Jesus Christ, he must himself be like Christ, not only a priest, a sacrificer, but also a victim. As watchman, ambassador, shepherd, teacher, sower and reaper, he must not only labor and pray for souls, he must also be willing to suffer for them. Many are found faithfully spending their strength in quest of the strayed sheep of their flocks, but alas! not all are willing to suffer, not all have the spirit of unreserved self-oblation. Our blessed Saviour therefore seeks elsewhere to supply this want.

He seeks victims, especially among souls still radiant with their baptismal innocence, or who having lost that pearl of rare price have recovered it in the deep waters of penance and tears. He finds them sometimes on the highways of the world, but more frequently in the enclosed gardens of religious communities. And finding souls thus generous to enter into His life of sacrifice, He pours out upon them an abundance of griefs and sorrows.

He communicates to them the spirit of prayer, the love of humiliations, of sufferings and deprivations. He roots out of their hearts pride and its succulent branches, the love of approval and esteem, jealousy, self-sufficiency, ambition, and human respect, and plants instead a profound humility and a veneration for authority.

Some of them our blessed Saviour ordains to suffer for infidels, others for heretics and schismatics, others again for sinners in general, or for souls in purgatory, for the conversion of a certain country, for this or that parish, family or individual. Finally, our Lord ordains some to suffer for the sanctification of priests and the multiplication of earnest workmen in His vineyard, which vocation - next to that of the ministry - is the noblest that can be entrusted to souls. Such special victims we know to have been Saints Catherine of Sienna, Mary Magdalen of Pazzi, Aloysius Gonzaga, Rose of Lima, Blessed Margaret Mary, and many others who, innocent themselves, suffered for the guilty.

But when our Lord revealed Himself to Blessed Margaret Mary and bade her promote the Devotion to His Sacred Heart, He certainly did not design to make of all those who should practice this devotion special victims, such as I have described. Out on the broad fields of the world and in the narrower sphere of religion He meant to inflame ordinary Christian souls with divine love, and to appeal to them to make some reparation for the insults, the negligences and coldness that He suffers from men in the Sacrament of His love; and though He complained that what grieved Him most was the treatment He received from some hearts consecrated to Him, yet He imposed no great sacrifices, suggested no heroic expiation, asked no victims of immolation. He taught Blessed Margaret Mary only three special ways of honoring and pleasing Him. These were, first, the Holy Hour, secondly, frequent reception of Holy Communion, particularly on Fridays, and lastly, the institution of a Feast in honor of His Sacred Heart. He further enjoined that on this feast a public act of reparation was to be made to atone for the insults heaped upon Him while exposed on the altar during the Octave of Corpus Christi.

Those were the only new special practices He taught her, practices that could without great difficulty be devoutly observed by the faithful at large, as by souls specially consecrated to God. I say, they were the only new practices He suggested, for there was one other familiar way of serving Him that He never tired of impressing upon the disciple and apostle of His Sacred Heart, and that was absolute fidelity to the duties of her state of life, unconditional, unexceptional obedience to rules and precepts, careful sanctification of every daily action. Whenever His wishes and commands conflicted with those of the Mother Superior, Margaret Mary was always to obey the latter; she was to prefer the fulfillment of the slightest duty ordained by Rule, to the sacred joy of communing with Him in the Blessed Sacrament; strongly did He reprimand and punish the least infraction of discipline, even though it were committed under the false idea of sanctifying herself or giving pleasure to her divine Spouse. In this way He prepared her to instruct others and gradually to become herself a special victim of His love for souls.

Do we not desire to make reparation, at least for our own sins? Do we not also long to make ourselves pleasing to the Sacred Heart by discharging every debt that stands against us? And is there any one amongst us so cold, so devoid of apostolic spirit as not to wish to aid in saving the souls of his brethren? Ah, then, let us labor, first of all, to become faithful Christians, faithful observers of all the obligations of our state of life. Faithful observance of every duty implies a moral martyrdom. Many saints lived ordinary lives and never attempted extraordinary things: their aim was to do ordinary things extraordinarily well. In this wise we shall cancel many a debt, secure assistance for others and console the Heart of our Eucharistic Lord.

But is not our love generous enough to undertake a little more? Once again, who is so rich, so powerful, and withal, so good and beautiful as He? He is the fairest of the children of men, whiter than the lily, gentler than the lamb, the poorest of the poor, the lowliest of the lowly, the humblest of the humble, the Beloved who will not break the bruised reed or extinguish the smoking flax, so patient, forbearing, running after the wayward sheep, pressing the prodigal to His Heart, yet at the same time the King of ages, the Wonderful, the Holy One, the Light of light, the Judge of the living and the dead, the Emmanuel, yea, the mighty God! He is Love itself: how can we then resist His love?

What does He ask of us? First, He pleads that we will give Him entrance into our hearts in Holy Communion, that we will receive Him often.

My delight is to be with the children of men.

And shall we not give Him that delight? What can be easier? Oh! how is it possible for Christians to stay away from Him for an entire year? Is He not the Bread of our souls? Where is faith, love, self-interest? Receive Him, then, often; if not oftener than at present, at least with more fervent love and more generous preparation.

What else does He ask? That we stay with Him occasionally. Can you forget the Garden of Gethsemane? Remember the complaint made to Peter.

Simon, sleepest thou? Couldst thou not watch one hour?

In the Tabernacle also our Lord is alone. Few believe in Him. He is amongst His own as of yore, and His own receive Him not. Throngs pass to and fro before His churches, giving no thought to the sacred Presence there. Men are busy with their vain occupations, they speak of projects and success and failure as if they are to live forever, yet never think of the gentle Saviour who is in their midst. He sustains them, He gives them light of understanding and warmth of heart, He fills their days with sunshine and their nights with whole some rest, He is their God, their future Judge, their eternal bliss: but He is abandoned, as He was in the night of suffering, He is left alone with naught to keep Him company save the dim light of the modest sanctuary lamp.

Couldst thou not watch one hour?

Is there aught else our Lord asks of those devoted to His Heart? Yes, He asks their help in the work of saving souls. Many a human being is this moment on his death-bed. On the cot of a hospital ward, in a den of sin, on the prairies of the west, in the woods of Africa, out on the rough waves of an ocean-storm, perhaps unknown, alone, unconscious, a sinner is slowly breathing out his life. A few moments more, and all will be over for a never-ending eternity. Oh, how many of the dying are dead in sin! How many there are whose souls are laden with ten thousand deeds of darkness! How many cold and reckless, how many struggling in despair! Shall our Lord's blood bear no ransom? Shall His Heart have loved in vain? Shall He be deprived of the glory that He so justly claims? Oh, pray with Him, suffer with Him! Have you the courage of love? Then offer yourself a victim to Him. Let the lamp of your life be burnt out for Him. Let sorrow darken your pathway and thorns be strewn over its sod. Let anguish of spirit be yours, since so often it was His. One day the good Master will meet you with a welcome and rest your weary head upon His bosom, and there let you be inebriated with the joy of His own living Heart.

The Application of Christ's Salvation

Eighteenth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by

 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

Our Lord's satisfaction was perfect; He atoned for all sins. He suffered for all men. Yet, despite the fullness of His atonement, all men are not forgiven, and, even when sin is forgiven, reparation frequently remains due. Christ's satisfaction, then, must be applied to men in certain ways, under certain conditions. The Holy Scripture renders ample testimony to the truth of this teaching.

In his epistle to the Ephesians (1:23) and again in that to the Colossians, Saint Paul touches upon a profound mystery. He says that the Church is a mystical body of which we are the members, but Christ is the Head, and the Holy Ghost the Soul of that body. The life of the Head becomes the life of the members, and it is the Holy Ghost who transmits to the members this life of the Head, its virtues, its powers, its merits, its graces. The members do not live and cannot live except by reason of the Head, just as the branches cannot live and bear fruit except by reason of the vine and its sap. "Without Me you can do nothing," says our blessed Saviour.

Observe, however, that immediately after comparing the Church to a perfect organism, Saint Paul lays down this other truth: that the members must labor in union with the Head for the growth of the whole body. These are his words:

By doing the truth in charity, we may in all things grow up in Him who is the head, Christ; from whom the whole body being compacted and fitly joined together, by what every joint supplieth, according to the operation in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in charity.

Faith without good works is dead and of no avail; it must be a living faith. The just man liveth by faith. And if, after being justified, he falls into sin, he must repent of his sin and acknowledge it in the tribunal of penance, otherwise life will not be returned to his soul. That is to say, each member of that mystical body must participate in the life of its Head. Jesus prayed, man too must pray; Jesus labored, man too must labor. Ordinarily speaking, on adults the graces of the sacraments will not be bestowed, unless the recipient does his share by way of preparation. Jesus did penance, man too must do works of penance. 

Unless you do penance, you shall all likewise perish.

Jesus denied Himself; man, too, must deny himself. Jesus suffered; man, too, must suffer.

If any man will come after Me, let him take up his cross daily, and follow Me.

But must this be voluntary suffering? That is, must every Christian of his own accord, inflict some species of pain upon himself? It is sufficiently evident that we must practice self-denial in order to fortify our souls for temptations, that we must separate ourselves from occasions of sin, that we must fulfill the various duties of our state of life, that we must observe the laws of the Church and of all duly appointed authority, that we must accomplish the penances imposed upon us in Sacramental Confession, that we must endure the annoyances, sicknesses and afflictions which are incident to human life: all this is evident enough: but are we bound under pain of sin to do more,to gain indulgences, for instance, in order to remove the punishment still due to our forgiven sins? I do not know of any theologian who maintains this opinion. We are not bound under pain of sin to make for ourselves a purgatory in this world. God is so good that He does not bind us under penalty of new sin to remove all the punishment remaining due to pardoned sins: yet it is equally true that He wills us to satisfy for our sins, that He wills us to unite our satisfactions to those of His beloved Son, that He is pleased to see us enter into the designs of His justice and seek to satisfy it, and that, though He loves the soul which must wing its flight to purgatory, He necessarily loves more tenderly that soul which owes nothing to His justice, for He loves His justice as He loves His mercy.

He is the God who desires order and harmony, He is the Father who wishes to unite His children to Himself in heaven, and He must necessarily be displeased with all that breathes of disorder and hate every obstacle between Him and those He loves. How true, therefore, these words of Saint Gregory the Great, which the Church requires every priest to read in the office of the fourth Sunday of Advent.

Bring forth worthy fruits of penance. I say worthy fruits of penance, for he who has sinned much should repent much, and in as far as he has allowed himself illicit things, in so far should he deprive himself of licit things.

Whoever, therefore, has once sinned mortally against his Creator, can never punish himself too severely for his crime, and, if he will, he can justly deprive himself of every comfort and pleasure.

So far, we have seen that adults must exert themselves in various ways in order that the merits of Christ's death be applied to their souls. But does this rule also hold, if we wish to benefit the souls of others? Is penance, expiation, reparation, necessary, that we draw down graces upon those who do not repent of their sins and offer atonement for them?

Labor is necessary, that is evident. Even the apostles had to travel from place to place, to preach in season and out of season, to reproach, correct, reprove, without ceasing, to be ridiculed, hated, persecuted, imprisoned. Labor is equally necessary in these latter days. Priests are not only the dispensers of the mysteries of God, they are also preachers, teachers, shepherds, guardians, rulers of their flocks. A ceaseless round of external duties engages the attention of those who are charged with the care of souls.

Prayer likewise is necessary. The apostles ordained deacons that they might give themselves more freely to prayer and preaching. Saint Paul begs for himself the prayers of the faithful. Again and again, the Holy Ghost by the voice of the Scriptures exhorts us to pray for one another, to pray for all men.

Is suffering also necessary that the merits of Christ be applied to our souls? Yes. I prove it, first, from the fact that the Church is a mystical body. We are the members. We must, then, assist one another; the strong must help the weak; the agile must support the lame and the halt, every joint supplieth and maketh increase of the body to the edifying itself unto charity. When one organ of a body suffers, all the other organs do their utmost to relieve the sufferings of the wounded member.

I prove it, secondly, from the words and conduct of Saint Paul. He tells us he makes up for what is wanting of the sufferings of Christ, that the Church may grow and that sinners may be converted. The sufferings of Christ are wanting, are deficient according to the Apostle. He, too, must suffer in many watchings, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness, in prisons, in stripes, In death. Why? To save the souls of Jews and Gentiles.

I prove it, thirdly, from the history of God's dealings with individuals and nations. He required not only prayer, a sorrow for the past and a newness of life, but a prayer and a sorrow that impelled to works of penance, and of steadfast penance. Job did penance in dust and ashes, so did David, Manasses, and the Ninivites. In the prophecy of Joel, "The Lord saith: Be converted to Me with all your heart in fasting, in weeping and in mourning." And you remember when Amalec fought against Israel in Raphidim, Moses prayed with uplifted hands. When he be sought God thus, Israel overcame, but "if he let them down a little, Amalec overcame." All day did Moses pray thus and his arms grew weary, but Aaron and Hur stayed them up on both sides. The prayer of penance was mighty, the enemy fled, and victory crowned the arms of Israel.

Yes, penance was necessary. The same truth may be proved from the constant tradition in the Church, and from the practice and maxims of all the saints. How often do we not read in the lives of the servants of God that when they desired to convert a hardened sinner, to remove a grievous scandal, or to obtain a signal grace, they not only prayed, but fasted, deprived themselves of sleep, scourged themselves to blood, and then imitated the example of our Lord, "Who in the days of His flesh with a strong cry and tears" offered Himself to His Father that for men He might be "the cause of eternal salvation."

He loved us and delivered Himself for us to be our example in time and our blest reward in eternity. Truth is the same yesterday, today and forever: its principles have their source in Him who is the Immutable. The infinite Majesty, having been outraged by sin, must be appeased in every age, and by every man born into the world. God exacts atonement in the Person of His Son, and He exacts it of all upon whom rests the curse in Adam. Penance, reparation is what our Eucharistic Lord requires.

Weep not over Me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.

Fill up those things which are wanting of the sufferings of Christ. As of old, so now, do penance. Of old all the people cried to the Lord with great earnestness and they humbled their souls in fastings and prayers, both they and their wives. And the priests put on haircloth and they caused the little children to lie prostrate before the temple of the Lord, and the altar of the Lord they covered with haircloth. And they cried to the Lord,  the God of Israel, with one accord, that their children might not be made a prey, and their wives carried off, and their cities destroyed, and their Holy Things profaned, and that they might not be made a reproach to the Gentiles. And God had mercy with regard to the evil which He had said that He would do to them, and He did it not.

If we, too, would avert the evils impending because of our iniquities, we must take up our cross and look out for the Divine footprints as we ascend the mountain of life's sacrifice. We must climb its rugged heights in our day, even as the servants of God have ever done.

The law of suffering is a bitter yoke and its burden is a weary weight to bear, but we may find strength for our faltering steps along our cross-strewn way! Again and again, let us rest our thoughts upon the Sacred Heart; let us study Its hatred of sin, Its devotedness, Its self-sacrifice; let us meditate upon that love which lays down life for a friend; let us understand Its all-absorbing love for the Father and for that Father's will and glory. Devotion to the Sacred Heart will cast a ray of beautiful light through the valleys of grief, tinge with heavenly brightness the rugged mountain paths of self-denial and abnegation, and help us to look out with larger trust for the promised rewards of God. Yes, under the influence of devotion to the Sacred Heart, prayer is a more intimate communion of heart with heart, labor imparts new dignity to our life, and penance becomes a bundle of myrrh precious to him who bears it, and precious and comforting as soothing balm to the Heart pierced for us on Calvary.

The Satisfaction for Sin

Seventeenth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by

 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

The malice of sin is objectively infinite, illimitable; and as we advance with our studies, we realize in fuller measure what a fearful injury is done to God by every mortal offense. How appalling is the revelation that sin is without bounds, without limits, indeed infinite. The question then arises: How can the sinner ever obtain his forgiveness, how can he ever undo the evil he has wrought? When the angels committed their first sin, they were probably hurled at once into the abyss of hell without a moment's time for repentance. Man pollutes his soul with mortal sin, with many sins, sins that cry to heaven for vengeance, and he still lives, because God wishes to spare him and therefore gives him time for repentance. Here many questions present themselves for solution.

Why did not the Most High spare the angels? Why does He spare man? Could He have immediately abandoned the human race after the fall of Adam? Could He have eternally punished the race because of the guilt consequent upon the first sin? Could He forgive sin absolutely without demanding any reparation, and inflicting any punishment? Or could He forgive sin without requiring full satisfaction? For example, could He have pardoned the sinner after the sinner had cancelled only a part of the debt contracted? In other words, was it absolutely required that sin be fully atoned for, before God could pardon it?

These questions are deeply interesting, and, in all ages, have offered a broad field of inquiry to the Catholic philosopher and theologian. For our present purpose it is needless to discuss these points. The fact is that God did not abandon the human race, nor does He forgive sin without satisfaction, nay, He requires ample satisfaction. Saint Thomas explains why it is more becoming that God should not forgive sin without having received due satisfaction for it. It is evident that His infinite justice is manifested pre-eminently by demanding reparation and restitution. His infinite mercy is manifested more strikingly, because to pardon without reparation is not so honorable to the sinner as to pardon him after he has paid his debt. His infinite wisdom is also manifested, in a higher degree, because to pardon man only after fitting reparation has been made is more humiliating to Satan who first lured man into sin, and whose forfeited place man is to occupy. The divine justice, mercy and wisdom all render it more becoming that sin should not be pardoned, unless the malice of sin, the injury done to God by sin, is fully repaired.

But how is this to be accomplished? Can man ever undo an infinite injury? Man's life is like a flower that blooms for awhile, then withers and falls to the dust. He lives today, tomorrow he is seen no more. And his mind is so feeble, his will so fickle, his heart so frail, his powers so finite; can the finite ever propitiate the Infinite?

Evidently, man can never - singly or collectively - give adequate satisfaction for even one grievous sin. If man cannot, no creature as mere creature can, for every creature is finite. Consequently, only a being equal to God can repair completely the injury of sin. But on the one hand, God alone is infinite; He alone is equal to Himself. There is none like to Him: all things are before Him as if they were not, all things are absolutely His, there is nothing that was not made by Him. And on the other hand, God cannot apologize to Himself, He cannot suffer, He cannot change; as He was from eternity, so He always is; He cannot deny His own sovereign, infinite majesty, yet He is the one offended. Apparently, therefore, an adequate reparation for sin seems impossible. Yet God's justice, mercy and wisdom fitly require complete satisfaction for sin: moreover, He has signified that without this complete satisfaction He is unwilling to forgive.

There was only one thing possible in this overwhelming difficulty. If the offended God demanded full satisfaction, it was necessary that He Himself should become a creature, that He should remain God, and at the same time assume in His personality a created nature, that in His created nature He should render the Godhead honor, praise and obedience, and thus atone for His creature's guilt. And therefore "The Word was made flesh and dwelt amongst us." He was bruised for our sins and wounded for our iniquities; He was as a worm trodden under foot, the outcast of His own people, the lamb who opened not His mouth when He was led to the slaughter. By His wounds we are healed, by His bruises we are saved, by His blood we are ransomed from eternal perdition. And in heaven all the multitude which no man can number, the angels and the saints, the ancients and prophets, standing before the throne and in sight of the Lamb, clothed in white robes and with palms in their hands, all cry aloud:

To Him that sitteth on the throne and to the Lamb, benediction and honor and glory and power forever and ever because Thou wast slain and hast redeemed us to God in Thy blood, out of every tribe and tongue and people and nation.

Here again many questions might be raised and many difficulties proposed. One reason why the satisfaction of our Lord was so perfect is because it was so entirely free. All His sufferings were voluntarily borne, His death voluntarily embraced, because His whole human nature and all the laws that governed it were entirely under His command. It is true, the martyr's sufferings are also voluntary, but, as has been frequently stated, while the martyr is being tortured, he cannot help feeling the pain that fire and sword inflict upon him: the wounds are made, the members are cut, the nerves and bones laid bare. But at any moment our Lord could have suspended the pain, removed the nails from His hands and feet, and descended from the wood of the cross. Hence, as was said before, His sufferings and death were doubly meritorious because so absolutely free.

I lay down My life. No man taketh it away from Me: but I lay it down of Myself, and I have power to lay it down: and I have power to take it up again.

He was led like a lamb to the slaughter because He willed it. Yet that very freedom of His atonement offers a striking difficulty. The eternal Father commands His Son to suffer. Jesus Himself said: "This commandment I have received from My Father." It was necessary, then, for our Lord to obey: had He disobeyed the mandate, sin would have been committed. But an obedience which is necessary appears to lose much of meritoriousness; it can furnish satispassion, can it offer satisfaction? For satisfaction, an act must be free. Here is a difficulty. Thank God, as Cardinal Newman has so luminously remarked, difficulties and doubts are not correlative: a thousand difficulties do not authorize one doubt.

But the question before us does present a difficulty. How is it answered? Theologians offer various solutions, but the best answer is apparently this simple one. The will is not free because it has the power to commit sin. God is free, yet He can never be unholy; the Blessed in heaven are free, still they have not the power of again yielding to temptation, they are confirmed in their love of God. The possibility of doing wrong is, as philosophers express it, a defect of liberty, a defect which is essential to every free creature while in a probationary state. Our Lord assumed our human nature, but not this defect, since it is a blemish incompatible with His holiness as Man-God. He was free then, absolutely free, but His sanctity and His love of His Father would never permit Him to go counter to that will. Propterea exaltavit ilium Deus, "for this reason did God lift Him up," factus est, obediens usque ad mortem, mortem autem crucis, "because He was obedient unto death, even unto the death of the cross."

Another reason why the satisfaction made by our Lord was so perfect is found in the intense, universal and peculiar sufferings He endured. First, in the intensity of His sufferings. Saint Thomas gives four reasons for maintaining that the pains our Lord endured in body and soul were the most acute that man can suffer on earth. They can be summed up perhaps in this one reason as signed by St. Bonaventure, that our Lord's body and soul were divinely framed for suffering, and that He permitted each power to act and endure independent of every other; it was because of this, we know, that He refused to take the wine and gall offered Him on the cross: He wished to die naturally in the full consciousness of all His excruciating torments.

Secondly, His sufferings were quasi universal. Saint Thomas shows how our Lord suffered at the hands of prince and pauper, priest and Levite, Jew and Gentile, man and woman; how He suffered in all His members and in all His senses; how, finally, He died struck by His Father, by men spit upon, mocked, bereft of His very clothing: the outcast of His people, as a worm trodden under foot.

Thirdly, His death was peculiarly shameful and accursed. The Mosaic Scriptures even had said: "He is accursed of God that hangeth on a tree!" By the fruit of the tree sin had come into the world: He was to make restitution for sin, and therefore had Himself suspended to the tree of the cross, restoring what had been robbed; according to these words of the Psalmist, "Then did I pay that which I took not away."

Can we marvel that the saints call the crucifix the book which they never weary of studying and from which they learn all wisdom? Jesus dead upon the cross is the measure of the malice of sin, of our personal sin. That blood-shedding, that agony, that fearful death: all is truly, really our work. Oh, if His Passion had never been repeated since the consummatum est on Calvary's Mount! It is renewed each time a soul yields to mortal sin. Yet the arms of Jesus are ever open to embrace us, His head is ever inclined to give us the kiss of peace, His ear is ever ready to hearken to our woes. When we weep, His loving Heart becomes our blessed retreat, when we tell Him of our guilt, His gentle voice breathes in the calm, "Go, penitent hearts, and sin no more."

Ah, loving Saviour! How merciful is Thy heart for us. Standing beside Thy cross, we ask: What may we do to prove our love for Thee? Heart ever-tender and compassionate! Filled with infinite love, broken by our ingratitude and pierced by our sins, accept the full oblation that we now make to Thee. Take us, Lord, with all our hopes, our joys, our griefs; draw us ever nearer to Thy wounded side and teach us all Thy blessed ways.

The Malice of Sin

Sixteenth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by
 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

In creating the world, God necessarily had an end in view. That end was His own glory. The Scriptures accordingly tell us that He made all things for Himself. He was free to create, but, having determined to create, He could not create but to manifest His glory. We exist ultimately for that. His majesty, His love, His wisdom, all require that we serve to that end, and that all our interests, spiritual and temporal, private and public, be subordinate to His honor and glory. His end as Creator is necessarily our end as creatures; hence, we are not to serve God solely with a view to our own salvation, but above all, to promote His interests, His glory. Yet, how it can be truly said that God created the world out of love, and that He made all things for man's sake, would involve long explanations and thus lead too far from our present subject. Only let it be well understood that the glory of God is the end of creation, and that all creatures exist for that end.

Now, what is sin? Sin is a violation of this supreme law of creation that all things must tend to God's greater glory. The sinner breaks through the order that divine wisdom has necessarily established; he virtually makes for himself another end; he relegates God, the supreme Good, to an inferior place, and practically substitutes for God a created thing, by living for it as his end. Sin is likewise an act of disobedience to the highest Lawgiver, an ingratitude to our greatest Benefactor, an impiety to our best Father, a folly because a surrendering of our true peace and happiness. But the quintessence of sin lies in the offense given to God, the wrong done to Him, by making a creature occupy the place that is and must be His. He must be the highest, the first and the last, He must be the end for which all creation exists, lives and moves. To deny it by substituting a creature in His place is a species of idolatry, it is casting Him from His throne, it is necessarily a wrong done Him, an insult offered Him. True, God cannot be deprived of His own infinite peace and happiness; and because supremely wise and powerful, He can draw good out of evil. He can, even in hell, force the sinner to acknowledge His justice and might and holiness. Yet it is also true that sin virtually desires the destruction, the annihilation of God. To reduce the Supreme Being to the order of a creature, to put Him after a creature, is to dethrone Him, to destroy, to annihilate Him. That is precisely what sin does. In effect - that is, in reality - it cannot destroy God, but in desire, as far as possible, it does destroy God. Here we have the very essence of sin.

At this point, the question arises: Is this offense, which constitutes every mortal sin, infinite? Every mortal sin is an insult offered to God, an injury inflicted upon Him. Is this insult, this injury, infinite? To answer this question correctly, we must carefully distinguish between what theologians now call active and passive injury.

Active injury is the act itself which inflicts injury. Sin, taken in this sense, is not infinite. Sin often requires but a moment for its commission, then it becomes a thing of the past. The act is transitory, the act of a creature, and limited and therefore finite. The so-called stain that sin leaves upon the soul is also finite, for that stain is nothing else than the deprivation of grace, and grace is something created, something finite. The turning to a creature as to its end is likewise finite, for that creature is finite. Hence, we say, the offense which constitutes mortal sin is finite in as far as it is an act.

But there is also a passive offense, a passive injury. Passive injury is the wrong which the person who is injured suffers. An illustration may reflect a stronger light upon the truth of this statement. I injure my neighbor by destroying his dwelling. My guilt may be increased or lessened by circumstances. It may have been carelessness on my part, or vindictiveness; the crime may have been committed consciously, with great deliberation, or in a fit of passion, etc., etc. Circumstances of time, place, manner, motive, all affect the measure of my active injury. But there is also the damage inflicted on my neighbor. That damage is independent of my guilt: it may be to the amount of one or five thousand dollars; its magnitude is not influenced by my personal culpability. He suffers an injury; that injury is called a passive injury.

Thus we see the offense of sin, as an act, is not infinite. But, we ask, is the offense, the wrong which God suffers from mortal sin infinite? Sound theology answers, yes. For the magnitude of an offense is measured, first, by the worth, the dignity, the greatness of the one offended. The more elevated the person offended, the greater the insult which is offered him. And since God's dignity and excellence are unlimited, since His rights to the creature's submission are boundless, since His sovereignty, His goodness, His perfections are simply infinite, the insult by which His majesty is outraged, and a creature substituted as last end, must consequently be infinite. Such is the argument of Saint Thomas: He who commits mortal sin loves the creature more than he loves God. Loving the creature more, he prefers it to God. But to prefer the less worthy to the more worthy is to offend the more worthy, and the offense is the greater, the greater the difference between the two. Consequently, mortal sin, in a sense, is an infinite offense because of the infinite majesty of God.

There is an objection urged against this conclusion, the refutation of which will throw light upon the utility of the distinction between active and passive injury. The matter may present some difficulties, but the attempt to solve them will without doubt enable us to understand a long series of practical truths. The objection is as follows: The injury inflicted grows indeed with the dignity of the person offended, but not in arithmetical proportion, that is to say, not altogether in the same degree. For otherwise we might also argue thus: the excellence of an act grows with the excellence of its object; the object of an act of divine love, God, is infinitely excellent; hence an act of divine love is an act of infinite excellence, which would be false. Therefore, it is said, the argument of Saint Thomas is illogical and false. The answer to this objection is plain. An act is not yet infinitely excellent, because its object is infinitely excellent; a great many factors may enter to make that act more or less perfect. If you say, for example, to the farmer: "The more corn you sow, the more you will reap", he will admit it. But say to him: "Sow double the amount of corn, and you will reap double the amount", he will laugh at you, for the success of his act of sowing will depend upon a great many contingent factors, on the quality of soil, weather, labor, etc. But the status of the question is different when you speak, not of an act, but the injury done by an act. When I do another an injury, that injury must not be measured by my personal culpability alone, but by the amount of damage that the other suffers. A man can throw a diamond into the ocean, or a child can do this, but in either case the diamond is lost, the loss inflicted upon the owner is equally great. In like manner, when Saint Thomas argues that the injury of sin is infinite, he speaks of passive injury, of the injury that God suffers, the wrong that is done Him, the insult that is offered Him. The sinner who commits mortal sin, may be more or less guilty. But in every case, the insult offered is infinite, because, to repeat once more, in desire at least, God is annihilated and a creature chosen as His substitute.

As by one man sin entered into this world, and by sin, death, so death passed upon all men, in whom all have sinned.

And we have our own personal sins; how many, God only knows! Who can pay our tremendous debt? What reparation is necessary? How can we make it? That, we shall study in our next conference. May God bless our efforts that the truth make us in more than one sense free!

Reparation

Fifteenth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by

 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

We have seen that the devotion to the Sacred Heart is a devotion of love to love; hence, these conferences on the Sacred Heart would not be complete unless we dwelt for a brief space on the subject of reparation. For, our divine Lord, in revealing His Heart to Blessed Margaret Mary, spoke not only of His love, but of His outraged love, and desired in return not only love, but also reparation. He complained that He received from the greater part of men only ingratitude, coldness and neglect; that what pained Him most of all, was that some hearts consecrated to Him should treat Him thus: and, therefore, He bade her receive Holy Communion often in the spirit of atonement and manifested His desire that a special Feast of the Sacred Heart be instituted, in order that public acts of reparation might be offered to Him. Love is indeed the formal object of the devotion to the Sacred Heart, as already stated, but it is a love that impels to reparation.

Let us endeavor to arrive at a clear understanding of the nature of reparation; in other words, let us study what is meant precisely by reparation. The matter may be a little abstruse, yet, I think, we shall be rewarded for our effort when we discover that well defined truths are the foundations of this devotion.

We will begin by reflecting that reparation is not merely punishment; satisfaction is not satispassion. Sound philosophy tells us that punishment is medicinal, deterrent and retributive. It is medicinal when it is calculated to mend the ways of the culprit; it it deterrent when it is calculated to deter others from similar violations of law; it is retributive when it is intended simply to make the criminal suffer for what he has done.

When a wrong has been committed, it is proper that the offender suffer for it, not simply that he may be taught not to repeat the wrong - in this way we correct animals, - nor simply that others may be deterred from doing likewise - in this way we save the community, - but it is fitting that he suffer because he has disturbed the order of things, he has violated justice, he has unduly appropriated to himself pleasures not lawful for him, he has unjustly lifted himself above others. He must, then, be made to realize his usurpation, to keep his place, he must be deprived of what is not his, and, to a degree, of what is his, - the balance must be restored, the order of things must be maintained, - restitution, retribution must be made. This is done by retributive punishment.

Thus, instinctively we feel pained and indignant when an atrocious crime escapes punishment; we experience universally a sentiment of relief when a criminal has expiated his offense on the gallows. For, although there is not such a thing as vengeance for private wrong, since God has said, "Vengeance is Mine," yet the principle of retribution for wrong committed, as well as for good done, is right: upon it rests chiefly the justification of eternal punishment.

Now, observe, an offender may have suffered adequately for the injustice he has committed, and still there may not be in this suffering what is called reparation. In other words, there may be, as philosophers term it, satispassion, but there is not satisfaction. Satisfaction supposes something more. Satisfaction, or reparation, aims at undoing, destroying, repairing an offense; it desires reconciliation, it seeks to regain the good will and affection of the one who has been offended, it wishes to undo the evil committed, mainly as an act of justice, but also as an act of love. It is urged thereto by love. It knows that the one injured is rightfully displeased, that, in consequence, there is a separation, a chasm between them; love induces it to remove this obstacle, to close up this chasm, to atone for this offense by apology, by voluntary suffering, or by sacrifices which are the promptings of love. This is what is called reparation.

The first difference, therefore, between satisfaction and satispassion, or in other words, between reparation and punishment, is this: reparation is voluntary, punishment is not so. Retributive justice requires that the order disturbed be restored, and it does restore that order by the infliction of punishment. By means of punishment the offender is made to suffer because he allowed himself illegitimate pleasure; he is lowered because he unjustly elevated himself. That is satispassion. But if the offender willingly inflicts the same punishment upon himself, if he himself satisfies retributive justice, then we have reparation. In the first instance, it is the judge who decrees the amount of punishment and inflicts the same; in the second instance, it is the offender himself who satisfies justice.

The second difference between reparation and punishment is found in the end that both strive to attain. Punishment as such does not seek to remove the offense given, but rather the disorder, the unlawfulness, the self-inflation inherent in every offense. The judge inflicts punishment to restore the order violated, not precisely to restore honor, for honor cannot be recovered by simple punishment. But reparation aims at removing the offense itself, and returning every honor to the person offended. Reparation therefore accomplishes far more than punishment; reparation not only re-establishes order where there existed disorder, but moreover removes the offense itself, effects reconciliation, and restores peace and friendship between the offender and the person offended.

To impress this distinction more deeply and to show the importance of this distinction between satisfaction and satispassion, that is, between reparation and punishment, let us consider the nature of our Blessed Saviour's atonement for sin. Was that atonement a real satisfaction for sin, or was it only a satispassion for sin? According to Protestant teaching, the essence of our Lord's atonement consisted in this: that He took upon Himself all the punishment of our guilt. He satisfied for sin by suffering for sin. He made Himself the victim of the Divine wrath, He was a child pierced by the darts of His Father's vengeance. That is to say, His atonement was only a satispassion, for He did not seek to honor and glorify His Father; He did not aim to satisfy for the offense itself, by giving Him as much honor as sin had taken from Him, but He wished merely to satisfy His anger, His justice, by enduring the punishment that sin deserved. This is the Protestant theory.

But according to Catholic teaching, our Lord's atonement was a veritable satisfaction. "He was bruised for our iniquities, He was wounded for our sins," that we might be reconciled to His Father, not merely that we might not suffer. Of His own accord, He was led like a lamb to the slaughter. He assumed all our debt through love of His Father and in obedience to the Divine Will, and by that love and obedience, even unto death, He glorified His Father as much as sin had dishonored Him, nay, the homage rendered was greater than the malice of sin, because it was the oblation of the Infinite to the Infinite. Saint Thomas lucidly explains this doctrine in these words:

He truly satisfies for an offense who offers to the offended person something which the latter esteems in an equal or higher degree than he hates the offense. But Christ suffering through love and obedience offered God something more than was demanded by the malice of the offense of the entire human race: first, because of the greatness of the love with which He suffered; secondly, because of the worth of His life, it being the life of God and man; thirdly, because of the universality of His suffering and the greatness of His pains. And therefore His Passion was not only a sufficient, but a superabundant satisfaction for the sins of the human race.

This passage from Saint Thomas casts light upon the distinction that I have endeavored to point out, viz.: that satisfaction is more than satispassion; that reparation is more than mere suffering or punishment; that punishment contents justice, while reparation contents justice and love; that punishment removes the disorders consequent upon, or inherent in every offense, while reparation removes both the disorders and the offense; that punishment springs from necessity, while reparation springs from a desire of regaining the esteem and love of the person offended.

May our good Master deign to penetrate us more and more with the spirit of reparation. Let us pray that He will imprint upon our hearts the holy maxims of penance and self-denial, that He may thus find in us devoted repairers of His injured love, generous spouses and faithful apostles of His Sacred Heart!

He Abideth With Us

Fourteenth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by

 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

In the consecrated Host, Jesus is really present under the species of bread. His divinity and His humanity, His body and His soul, His flesh and His blood: all are there as really, as truly, as substantially, as they are this moment in heaven. Within the little circle of that white Host is the human intellect, the human will, the human memory of Jesus. That old love with all its human and impassioned tenderness, which made Him weep over the children of Jerusalem because they spurned the gift of salvation He came to offer them, that old love is still there in the Eucharist throbbing and trembling in the same kind human Heart. The body which Mary cradled on her bosom that far-off Christmas night, the lips which breathed to the Magdalen, "Go in peace and sin no more," the eyes which rested lovingly upon the rich young man who turned from his high vocation, the hand which blessed little children and traced the mystic writing on the sand, the brow which bled beneath the crown of thorns, the members which yielded to the piercing nails, the gaping wound which told of a heart broken for the sins of men; all are there in the Host which abides ever in its tabernacle home.

When we kneel before the altar, the meek eyes of Jesus are fixed upon us as once they were upon Simon Peter. He reads our poor hearts and He knows if we love Him. With His human ears, He heard the cry of the penitent thief, "Lord, remember me, when Thou comest into Thy kingdom." With these same human ears, he hears every prayer that falters on our lips. "I will not leave you orphans," our Lord said to his apostles. He has kept His word. He has not left us, He is with us forever, to welcome our coming, to listen to our pleadings, to breathe sweet comfort to our weary souls.

There is never a moment that we may not speak to Him, heart to heart. "Behold I am with you all days even to the consummation of the world." We may take to Him the burden of our sorrows, we may confide to Him the secret of our cares. We may choose our own time, and we may linger in His Presence as our love inclines. If our hearts are cold and dry, and we know not what to say, He will take delight even in our silence. He loves us, therefore our mere companionship is a comfort and a joy to this Lover of human souls.

He is our chief Priest: we can confess to Him our sins, our shameful falls, our manifold transgressions, our humiliating weaknesses, our cowardly shrinkings from the claims of duty. 

He is our Judge: before Him, we can examine, unblinded by self-love, our daily lives with all their hidden tendencies to the base things of earth.

He is our Father: trustful as little children, we can reveal to Him our most cherished hopes, our loftiest aspirations.

He is our Counselor: we can ask Him for light to guide us in the perplexing questions that demand from us prudence and decision.

He is our Good Shepherd: when we have strayed away from His loving care and have fed our hungry souls on husks of sin, we can return to Him in sorrow, assured of receiving from His blessed lips the kiss of pardon and peace.

He is our Spouse: He belongs to us, and we belong to Him. Dilectus meus mihi, et ego illi! "Neither is there any other nation so great that hath its gods so nigh unto them, as our God is present to us!"

He is our God: how completely, then, we can annihilate ourselves before Him, worshipping His infinite Perfections, acknowledging Him to be the Master, the Creator, the Lord of life and death - in a word, giving to Him the homage of our soul's profoundest adoration.

How can all this be explained, save by love? There are no obstacles that love cannot surmount, no chains that it cannot sever, no sacrifices that it cannot embrace, in truth, nothing is impossible to love. It requires a miracle for Jesus to be present in all the consecrated Hosts, and in every part of each Host: love works that miracle. It requires a miracle for a body to be without weight, color and extension: love works that miracle. It requires a miracle for flesh and blood to nourish a soul: love works that miracle. It requires a miracle to have the outward appearances of bread without the substance of bread, to have the species of wine without the substance of wine: love works that miracle. It requires a miracle for a human body to be placed at once in different positions, to be borne to the right and to the left, to be laid in linen folds and to be held up before the gaze of the worshippers, to remain in the chalice and to enter the breast of the communicant, but love works that miracle as well.

"Love is stronger than death," and the wounded Heart of Jesus is a victim of love. No wonder that He says by the mouth of His prophet: Deliciae meae esse cum filiis hominum. "My delight is to be with the sons of men." And even though they abandon and despise Him, wandering far into paths of sin, yet does He remain ever in the tabernacle watching for the return of His prodigal sons. This is the reason of the Real Presence in our midst.

The saints understood this. All, without exception, had an intense attraction for the Blessed Sacrament, finding their delight to be in Its presence. Saint Liguori recounts many touching instances of devotion to the Holy Eucharist. At one time for some reason, Saint Aloysius was forbidden to remain long in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament. But whenever he passed before It, he felt himself so drawn by the sweet attractions of our Lord, that only with the greatest efforts could he tear himself away; and when constrained to de part he would cry: "O Lord! Let me go. O Lord! Let me go!"

There it was also that Saint Francis Xavier found refreshment in the midst of his arduous labors in India. During the day, he was engaged in traveling, preaching, instructing, visiting the sick and administering the sacraments. At times, indeed, he was so exhausted that it was necessary to support his weary arm while he baptized the Indian neophyte. Yet, at night, he was wont to pass hour after hour before the Blessed Sacrament.

Saint Francis Regis had the same tender love for Jesus on the altar. Ofttimes on finding the church closed, he remained at the door on his knees, exposed to the elements, and there he worshipped our God hidden in the Host.

How tender, above all, was the devotion of Saint Wenceslaus to the Blessed Sacrament! It was his custom to gather the wheat and the grapes to make, with his own hands, the wafers and wine to be used in the Holy Sacrifice. Even on winter nights he frequently sought a church to visit the divine Guest of the tabernacle. These visits, says Saint Liguori, enkindled in his fervent soul such flames of holy love, that this ardor imparted itself to his very body, taking from the snow upon which he walked, its wonted cold; for it is related that the servant who accompanied him on those nightly excursions suffered much from the rigors of the season. On one occasion the holy king, perceiving this, was so moved to compassion, that he ordered the attendant to follow in the foot steps; the servant obeyed and marvelous was the result, for at once a genial warmth was diffused through all his frame.

Oh, how dear every chapel should be to the Christian heart. It is our Lord's dwelling-place; there He remains day after day, to console, enlighten, protect and defend us, to nourish and strengthen our famished souls. Each sacramental shrine is the home and the heaven of myriads of angels who ever surround, like a faithful guard, our patient Eucharistic King. Why may not the children of men find likewise there a paradise of pure delights? Si scires donum Dei. "If thou didst know the gift of God."

O Faith! O Love! I draw near, and weep with angels in the shadow of Christ's altar throne. "Could you not watch one hour with Me?" That voice, trembling down the ages, gives its echo to the silence which lingers around the sanctuary. The generations of earth pass heedlessly by, unconscious of the Prisoner waiting there, bound by chains of love divine. Illumined by His grace, we have seen behind the veil which shrouds Him from the worldling's gaze. We have heard the pleadings of His Sacred Heart. We know His longings to repair the glory of His Father, we know His yearnings to reclaim the souls that stray in paths of sin. 

"Behold this Heart which hath so loved men, that It has exhausted and consumed Itself to testify to them Its love." With these words sounding in our hearts, let us offer ourselves to our injured God as victims of reparation and of love. With generosity of spirit let us promise Him to give and not to count the cost, to fight and not to heed the wounds, to toil and not to seek for rest, to labor with the holy joy of knowing that we do His ever blessed will, and that one day He will be our exceeding great reward.

The Sacrifice

Thirteenth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by
 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

The Blessed Eucharist is not only a Memorial and a Sacrament, it is also a Sacrifice, and in instituting it as such, our Lord gave another proof of His love for man. What is a sacrifice? Instead of offering you the definition commonly given by theologians, let me rather describe it.

Man must acknowledge that God has absolute dominion over all things, that He can give and take life as He in His adorable wisdom sees fit. Moreover, as a sinner, man must acknowledge his iniquities and show himself willing to submit to any punishment the divine justice may inflict. How do we make this solemn, public recognition of our dependence and sinfulness? By means of sacrifice.

We commonly take things which are adapted to represent or sustain the life of man, and offer them in a public manner to our Maker with a real or equivalent destruction. The things which are offered and destroyed are generally precious, and bear some relation to the life of man, for we wish thereby to express our willingness to consecrate our lives to the service of our Maker, nay, surrender them as an atonement for our guilt. Thus, in the Old Law, living creatures such as kine, lambs and birds were offered, or inanimate objects such as wine, wheat and barley, and, in general, the first fruits of the earth. For instance, they slew a lamb, sprinkled its blood over the altar and the people, and burned its flesh.

Among all nations of antiquity, owing to some vestiges of primitive traditions, there were similar oblations, even among idolatrous people, where virgins and babes were sacrificed. At all times the object offered was destroyed, or at least changed, to show that God is Master of life and death, and to acknowledge that He is the Supreme Sovereign of all things, and that we are absolutely dependent upon Him; in other words, to confess and profess that, as He made all creatures out of nothing, so He has power and right to destroy them, and that we ought to be ready at all times to be treated by Him in whatsoever manner He pleases. Every sacrifice is, therefore, a public recognition of God's dominion over us, and of our total dependence upon Him.

Whenever a sensible object is thus offered and destroyed by a priest in his own name and in the name of his people, it is as much as to acknowledge before the whole world that God is our Master, that He can do with us as He wills, that we are in His hands, as clay in the hands of the potter. And this is the very essence of religion, for all religion, true and false, public and private, interior and exterior, has for object the giving to God the honor due Him the recognition of His absolute sovereignty and dominion. A religion which has no Sacrifice as its chief and central act falls short of a perfect religion and cannot be a divine religion, for it would have in it no act which is distinctively divine; its worship could not strictly be called divine worship. Prayer, thanksgiving, praise, homage, all enter into the object of religion, but these can be offered to a creature. A divine religion ought to embrace an act which can be offered to God alone. Such an act is Sacrifice. Therefore Sacrifice belongs necessarily and essentially to every true religion; there can be no divine public worship without it.

We have, then, need of a Sacrifice. Our divine Lord knew this. For, though His bloody Sacrifice on Mount Calvary was all-sufficient to wash away the sins of the world, and was a full and ample satisfaction for every injury done to God, yet we are bound to pray and deny ourselves, we are bound to receive the sacraments, in order that the merits of our Saviour's death may be applied to our souls and that the graces which He acquired may be bestowed according to our wants and dispositions. Though Jesus suffered and died for us, we cannot be saved unless, by good works, prayers and the sacraments, we apply the fruits of His sufferings and death to our souls.

In like manner, though the Sacrifice of the Cross is the source and the only source of all grace, yet a continual Sacrifice is necessary that the merits of the first Sacrifice may be applied to our souls, and that, to the end of time, we may have a means of approaching God, and of publicly offering Him our supreme homage and adoration. Our Lord, with infinite goodness, made provision for our needs: He instituted the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

Now, let us consider how the Mass is a real Sacrifice; by so doing we shall realize more and more the ineffable love of the Sacred Heart for man, and we shall find that words have no power to express our wonder at the goodness and mercy of that ever adorable Heart.

According to the sacred traditions of every country and every race, a sacrifice was considered the more perfect the more fully it embraced the following conditions:

1. if the victim was real and external;
2. if the victim was innocent and mild;
3. if the victim was destroyed or changed;
4. if the victim was offered by a properly appointed priest;
5. if some shared in the oblation by partaking of what was sacrificed.

Our Lord, in instituting a Sacrifice, would certainly institute a perfect Sacrifice. The Sacrifice of the Mass can be shown to embrace all these five conditions.

First, is the Victim in the Mass something real and external? Yes, it is our Lord Himself, not only as God, but as man. He is there as truly, as really, as substantially as He was on Mount Calvary. Beneath the thin appearances of bread is the body that hung on the cross, beneath the ruddy flash of seeming wine is the blood that trickled from His wounded side. Many saints have beheld Him in the Host as a smiling babe. Though we have not the privilege of seeing Him thus with our eyes of flesh, we do behold Him with the eyes of Faith: we know He is there.

Secondly, is the Victim of our altar innocent? Oh! He is innocence itself. He never knew sin: He is holy, spotless, undefiled. He is the Son in whom the Father is well pleased. Mary was innocent, but innocent by redemption. Jesus alone is innocent by nature: and He is our sin-offering, He is the Victim of sin. "He was wounded for our iniquities," says Isaias, "He was bruised for our sins: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and by His bruises we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray, everyone hath turned aside into his own way: and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all." And is the Victim of our altar mild? He is mildness and sweetness itself. "Learn of Me, because I am meek and humble of heart." He is the Lamb of God! The priest takes Him in his hand and lays Him on the right, and He remains there. He lays Him on the left and He remains there. He places Him on the tongue of the saint or of the sacrilegious communicant, and like a lamb led to slaughter the Victim opens not His mouth. Behold the Lamb of God!

Thirdly, is the Victim destroyed or changed in the Mass? Yes. He is mystically destroyed by the separate consecration of bread and wine: for the form of bread represents the body, the form of wine represents the blood, and the bread and the wine, being separately consecrated and lying separately on the altar, represent the real separation of Christ's blood from His body: the consecration is, therefore, a mystical destruction of the Victim. The Victim is also really changed, because His body and blood are changed into food, not merely into ordinary food, but changed still more, i.e., from a material food into a spiritual food for the soul. This sacramental state of existence borders on annihilation. In the Incarnation, He clothed Himself with the garment of man's mortal flesh. In His sacrifice on the cross, that garment of His flesh was rent from head to foot. In His sacrifice on the altar, that Body is wrapped in the swaddling clothes of the sacred species; it lies helpless and speechless like a child, nay more, it is as if dead, and the species are, as it were, its shroud; still further, it exists and lives, and yet appears to have not even a corporal existence. What an emptying! What an annihilation of self!

Fourthly, who is the priest in the sacrifice of the Mass? On Calvary, Christ was the priest and the victim. In the Mass also, Christ is the priest and the victim. He is the priest, for it is in His name, and by His power, and because of His institution, that the ministers of the Catholic Church can change bread and wine into His adorable flesh and blood. The priest at the altar does not say, 'This is the body of Christ, This is the blood of Christ,' but: "This is My body," and "This is My blood." Christ is the priest forever.

Fifthly, that which is offered and sacrificed should be participated in and partly, at least, consumed by the priest or the people. In the Old Law, even when the victim, called the holocaust, was completely burned, a cake was offered with the holocaust, in order that man might eat and thus communicate in the sacrifice. You know there is such a participation and communion in every Mass. If the people do not communicate, at least the priest does. He always consumes the flesh and the blood of the adorable Victim before him.

Is not all this wonderful? Is not every one of these five conditions an inexplicable mystery of love? Is it surprising that, through the prophet in the Old Law, God glories in this new, clean oblation? How little we reflect upon this sublime truth! With what awe and love and gratitude should we assist at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass! A certain writer says beautifully, and with his words I shall conclude:

The angels were present at Calvary. Angels also are present at the Mass. If we cannot assist with the seraphic love and rapt attention of the angelic spirits, let us worship at least with the simple devotion of the shepherds of Bethlehem, and the unswerving faith of the Magi.

Let us offer to our God the gift of a heart full of love for Him, full of sorrow for our sins, and full of the incense of adoration, praise and thanksgiving for mercies flowing from that Heart Divine, which having loved its own, loved them unto the end.

The Bread of Life

Twelfth Conference on the Most Sacred Heart

 by

 Fr. Henry Brinkmeyer

It is an axiom admitted by all that love ever tends to union. This springs from the very nature of love; for love is nothing else than an effusion and an impulse of the heart by which it tends to the being loved. We naturally desire to be with those who are dear to us, and when we are obliged to separate from them, our inmost being seems, as it were, torn asunder, and tears in voluntarily spring to our eyes. And when again we meet dear friends from whom we have been long parted, when a mother, for example, meets her child who has been far away, does she not eagerly fly to clasp him to her bosom? Love, then, essentially tends to union, first of all to a spiritual union, though of actual presence. Consequently, since the Sacred Heart is consuming itself with love for man, it has devised a means to be united to man. Oh, how admirable are the artifices of Christ's love! Behold that union marvelously and sweetly effected in the Blessed Sacrament.

In receiving the Holy Eucharist, Jesus is united to us. That is the first effect and the first aim of Holy Communion. And that union is of the closest possible nature. No earthly alliance is comparable to it. Men may love one another on earth, but their souls are ever separated. Heart cannot melt into heart. But in the Holy Eucharist, there is nothing, absolutely nothing between the soul of Jesus and our own: our soul rests on His. The most intimate material connection known to us is that existing between us and our food. It becomes our flesh, our blood, our bone. It becomes part of the heart with which we love, and part of the brain with which we think. Similarly, in Holy Communion Jesus unites Himself so intimately to us that He lives in us and we in Him:

He who eateth My flesh and drinketh My blood, abideth in Me, and I in him.

But there is a vast difference: we absorb our food, it changes into us. The reverse takes place in Holy Communion; here, the stronger life absorbs the weaker, our being is transformed into His, not His into ours. I do not mean to say, however, that the substance of our soul is changed into His, but His life, His spirit, His virtues, His divine inclinations enter into our souls.

I live by the Father: he that eateth Me, the same shall also live by Me. 

The same shall live by Me. 

He who eateth My flesh [...] abideth, remaineth in Me.

These utterances indicate something more than a transitory, temporal union with Jesus. They point out a permanent union, a continued indwelling of our Lord in the soul that has eaten His flesh. How can this be, since it is certain that the Body and Blood of Jesus leave in a few moments after our reception of Holy Communion? Some theologians explain this by saying that even after the Body of our Lord disappears, which takes place as soon as the outward appearances of the bread undergo a change, that even then, though the Body is gone, His adorable soul remains and continues the real union which was contracted when we received the flesh and blood, the soul and the divinity of Jesus. Try to understand this, it is a most beautiful explanation of the words of our Lord:

He that eateth My flesh [...] abideth in Me and I in him.

And:

He that eateth Me, the same shall live by Me. 

And again, when we receive Holy Communion we receive the living flesh and blood, the human soul and the divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ. His flesh and blood are with us but a short time, a few minutes; for as soon as the species, that is, the appearances of bread are changed, the flesh and blood are no longer there. Yet, according to this teaching, the human soul of Jesus remains, and remains united to our soul in all reality. It penetrates into the depth of our being, it penetrates the deeper, the more fervent our Communion is, and it will not leave us entirely unless we fall into mortal sin. Our Divine Lord's blessed soul takes possession more and more of our whole nature, speaks with our lips, thinks with our brain, and moves in all our actions. In proportion as our old human life disappears before His influence, human views and feelings grow less, and the thoughts and desires of Jesus are substituted for them. Instead of the love of ease comes the thirst for suffering; instead of selfishness, a devoted zeal, instead of indifference, a tender piety like that of Jesus, who lives more and more completely within us, because our old self is dying beneath the Sacramental touch, and the word of Scripture is realized in us:

I live; no, not I, but Christ liveth in me.

This truth is beautifully illustrated by that old legend of the monk who, while our Lord was entertaining him with a gracious vision of Himself, heard the bell ring that called him to his appointed task. Duty's claim fulfilled, he returned to find his God awaiting him, not as the Holy Child, but as grown to man's estate. Thus had Jesus developed in the heart of the faithful monk, while he was performing the duty of the hour, and thus does He grow in us, and become, as it were, another Christ in our lives by His intimacy with our souls in the Holy Eucharist.

But even if the created soul of our Lord does not continue its actual presence, His graces do remain. How could he come and go without leaving a benediction on our lives? Even though He remains but a little while, He assuredly confers signal gifts upon the soul. And such is the doctrine of the Church: she teaches us, that besides the wonderful union of Jesus with our soul which Holy Communion effects, it moreover bestows special graces of its own. The Blessed Sacrament is indeed the chief fountain of grace. Other sacraments infuse grace into our souls, but in the Blessed Sacrament we possess Him who contains in Himself the source and the plenitude of all grace. I will not speak of the increase of sanctifying grace which Holy Communion, like every other sacrament, produces; that, I fear, would occupy too much time. But Holy Communion, like every other sacrament, has also a grace peculiar to itself, and which the other sacraments are not intended to confer. What is this special grace of the Blessed Sacrament? It is difficult to express it in a few words, yet a brief explanation may not prove useless.

We are supposed, when receiving Holy Communion, to be in the state of sanctifying grace, and Holy Communion augments this grace. But sanctifying grace is not enough; the soul must utilize it. A power is of no avail if allowed to remain inactive. A man may have great talents, a talent for painting, for music, for philosophy, for science, but of what profit are these gifts if not exercised because of his negligence, sloth, or other passions? He must stimulate himself to action, then he will derive benefit from them. In like manner, sanctifying grace may reach immense heights in our souls, but if it remain dormant, it will prove almost fruitless; and, indeed, we incur imminent risk of losing it forever. Hence, sanctifying grace with its attendant virtues must be stimulated to exercise by actual grace. 

What then is the actual grace given us in Holy Communion? The actual grace given us in Holy Communion is precisely the causing of habitual charity to break out into actual charity; like a fire fallen from heaven, it kindles into a bright flame the sanctifying grace which lies, as it were, like unconsumed fuel in the bottom of our souls. It makes our cold hearts burn with an unwonted fervor, which may be very brief, yet none the less real. We are able to sur mount obstacles that before we could not overcome; sometimes things appear easy which but lately seemed impossible to our sluggish, cowardly nature; occasionally even a sudden gush of feeling may spring up in our hearts so as to cause us to break out into acts of love, and to impel us to generous resolutions. All this does not come from ourselves. It comes from Jesus within us, it is the actual grace of Holy Communion.

At times we feel spiritually refreshed, a kind of sweetness and holy joy embalms our souls; we experience anew a relish for heavenly things, we arm ourselves once more for the stern battle of life. What is all this but the unction of actual grace? The poor sinner who commits deeds for which he hates himself, who has so keen a sense of the beauty of virtue and of the degradation of guilt, yet ever follows a course that fills him with bitterest remorse, who painfully feels the shame of sin, until he is driven to the verge of despair, that poor sinner kneels again and again at the altar to receive his God. This perseverance in drinking at the fountain of grace will gradually but surely cool down the blighting fever of sin; evil images and tendencies will depart from his mind, slowly his falls become less frequent and less weakening; in the most awful temptations he will sometimes be victorious. Spiritual joy, so long a stranger, at last dawns upon his soul, habits of vice are uprooted, contrary habits of virtue are established, and, thank God, that sinner falls no more! Again, what is all this but the actual grace conferred by Jesus in Holy Communion?

Oh, how wrong are they who deprecate the frequent reception of Holy Communion! How many sinners, groping in darkness, would turn to paths of virtue if they were encouraged to kneel often at the table of the Lord! How many souls there are who ought to communicate frequently, yet who refrain from approaching our Lord because they do not understand the nature of love, and have erroneous ideas concerning the effects of this Sacrament! Oh, the Sacred Heart of Jesus is burning with love, it is intensely longing to enter the hearts of creatures.

With desire I have desired to eat this Pasch with you.

Why, then, refuse to give Him entrance into our hearts and the hearts of others?

Absolutely speaking, no creature is worthy to receive Him. Even the angels are not pure in His sight. But He is willing to come to every one whose soul is not dead in mortal sin, and whose heart makes fitting preparation to receive Him. The confessor, of course, will judge how often it is expedient for us to eat the Bread of Life; he will discern whether our preparation be reasonably sufficient to justify our approach to the Lord's banquet table. All should, however, remember that weekly communion is not frequent communion. Every adult Christian who is sincerely desirous of avoiding mortal sin or who is laboring to correct the criminal habits he has contracted, may once a week, partake of the food of the strong and drink the wine that germinates virgins.

Except you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you shall not have life in you.

Let the sinner, the worldling, the imperfect, the child approach Him. He loves them unutterably! Let them receive Him often, the oftener the better, if they have but the approbation of the guides of their souls. The road they have to traverse is so difficult, their daily occupations so absorbing, their temptations so intense, their faults so numerous, how shall they ever reach the goal except in the strength of a Bread Divine?

Arise and eat: for thou hast yet a great way to go.

As the living Father hath sent Me, and I live by the Father, so he that eateth Me, the same shall also live by Me.