Part 27

This is a true picture of the sinner who has thrown off the holy yoke of God, and has enslaved himself to his passions. How earnestly ought every Christian to pray that God may always so strengthen his resolution with his grace, that he may never receive any other than his sweet and holy law? What completes the misfortune of the habitual sinner is, that few who have fallen into that gulf ever sincerely rise again. The very afflictions which converted the prodigal son throw thousands into despair. God’s powerful graces are weakened after having been long contemned; and habits grow stronger than reason. When the poison of sin has sunk deep into the heart, it is not expelled by an ordinary grace. Of such a sinner that curse is pronounced, that even in his old age, if he ever arrive at it, his bones shall be filled with the vices of his youth, and they shall descend with him into the grave, and shall sleep with him in the dust.[246] Christ indeed came from heaven to save all such; in his tender compassion for their miseries he invites them to return to him, and for their encouragement has shown a remarkable example of his mercy in our saint. Having considered in the image of the prodigal son, the unhappy steps by which she fell, we shall, with greater edification, take a view of the circumstances which have given so great a lustre to her repentance.

Jesus, not long after he had raised to life the son of a widow at Naim, a town in Galilee, was invited to dinner by a certain Pharisee called Simon, who seems to have lived in the same town, or some neighboring city, as Calmet shows. Our Lord was pleased to accept his invitation, chiefly that he might confound the pride of the Pharisees by manifesting the power of his grace in the wonderful conversion of this abandoned sinner. His bowels had yearned over her spiritual miseries, and he spread upon her soul a beam of his divine light which penetrated her understanding and her heart so effectually, that, listening to the interior voice of his grace, she saw the abominable filth and miseries in which she was plunged, was filled with confusion and horror, and conceived the most sincere detestation of her ingratitude and baseness. Our Lord went to the banquet in great joy to wait for this soul, which he himself had secretly wounded with his holy love, and which he was pleased to draw to him in the midst of a great assembly, that by her public repentance she might repair the scandal she had given, and he might give to all succeeding ages an illustrious instance of his mercy towards all repenting sinners. She began her conversion by entering into herself. As her fall was owing to inconsideration, so doubtless her first step towards repentance was serious reflection on the misery of her present condition, the happiness she had forfeited, and the punishment she was to expect. From these considerations she raised her thoughts to others higher and more noble, those of divine love, reflecting who He is whom she had so grievously offended, and how excessive and incomprehensible his goodness is, which she had so long and so basely slighted. This motive of love, to which Christ ascribed her conversion, drew from her eyes a torrent of tears, and made her cry out with the prodigal son, that she had sinned against heaven. That model of true penitents forgot his corporeal miseries and all other circumstances of his fall, being full of this reflection alone, how he could be capable of offending so good a parent. He acknowledged himself unworthy to be again called a child; yet he deferred not a moment to restore his heart to him to whom he owed it, and, confiding in his indulgence, threw himself upon his mercy, hoping by his goodness to be admitted among his hired servants.

In the like dispositions does our penitent raise her heart to God. She hearkens not to the suggestions of worldly prudence which might seem to require some time for deliberation, for settling her concerns, or for taking proper measures about her conversion itself; the least delay appears to her a new crime, a fresh aggravation of her misfortune. She was informed that our Divine Redeemer was at table in the house of the Pharisee. She did not so much as think of the disgrace to which she exposed herself by appearing before a numerous and honorable assembly, of the reproaches and disdain she was to expect from the Pharisee, or the fear of moving Christ himself to indignation by an unseasonable importunate address. One moment’s delay in seeking her physician seemed too much, because her heart was now wounded with divine love. Sinners who, in returning to God, think too nicely that they have temporal interests to provide for, friends to please, and opportunities to wait for, are far from the dispositions of this happy penitent. She found mercy because she sought it before all things. Had she dallied with grace, it would have been justly withdrawn; had she been for compounding with her passions, they would have again enslaved her more strongly than ever. She found all difficulties vanish in a moment, because her conversion was sincere and perfect; by one steady resolution the work is done. What further deliberation can one that has sinned require than that the gate of mercy is yet open to him? Let him at all rates make haste to find it, though for this he should sacrifice every thing else. So insupportable to this holy penitent was the stench of her own filth, and the load of her guilt, that she could not defer the remedy an hour longer to wait for a better opportunity, or to inquire if our Lord was at leisure to hear her; and a firm confidence in his boundless mercy was her encouragement, and her strong assurance that he would not reject her tears.

When the prodigal son said to himself, _I will arise, and will go to my Father_, we might have asked him, says St. Peter Chrysologus, what he trusted to for his pardon? upon what he grounded his confidence? upon what hope or assurance he presumed to appear in the presence of him whom he had so heinously offended? His answer would have been, “This is the assured ground of my confidence, that he is my Father. I have forfeited all title to the name or rank of his son; but he hath not lost the quality or affection of a parent. I want no stranger to intercede with a father. The tender affection of his own breast pleads powerfully within him, and is sure to incline him in my favor. His paternal bowels are moved, and yearn to restore to a son by pardon that life which he formerly gave him by birth.”[247] In like sentiments this penitent woman seeks her Almighty Physician, professing herself altogether undeserving and unworthy of mercy, and therefore alleges nothing on her side to recommend her to his compassion, except only that she was the work of his hands, though an unnatural and rebellious child, in whom that title was only a grievous exaggeration of her guilt; but she confidently appeals to his infinite goodness and mercy, and begs that for his own sake he will save her, in whom he still discovers, though frightfully disfigured, the traces of his divine image which his own omnipotent hand had formed, and which it is in his power easily to repair and perfect.

In these dispositions she bolted into the chamber where Jesus was at dinner with the Pharisee, and, regardless of what others thought or said of her past life or of her present boldness,[248] she made up to her Redeemer and Physician. She durst not appear before his face, and therefore went behind him; and the nearer she approached his sacred person streams gushed more abundantly from her eyes. She reflected how basely she had defiled and sought to destroy her own soul, and how impiously she had robbed Christ of many other souls whilst he was come from heaven, and was ready to sacrifice himself on the cross for her and them; and at this and other like considerations she was not able to moderate her grief. The inward confusion she felt at the sight of her sins and baseness made her despise all the confusion which she could receive before men, or rather rejoice in it to meet that contempt which she acknowledged herself most justly to deserve from all creatures. Attentive only on Christ, from whom she sought her health and salvation, standing at his feet, she watered them with her tears, wiped them with her hair, most respectfully kissed them, and anointed them with rich perfumes and sweet-scented essences which she had brought in an alabaster box. She now defaces or consecrates to penance whatever had formerly been an instrument of sin; her eyes, which had been full of dangerous charms, are now converted into fountains of tears to cleanse the stains of her soul; and her hair, once dressed in tresses and curls to ensnare souls, now hangs loose and dishevelled, and serves for a towel to wipe our Lord’s feet, which she kisses with her lips, and scents with her perfumes, formerly the incentives of vice. The penitent must consecrate his riches to Christ in the poor which are his feet; must employ his eyes in tears, and his lips in supplications for mercy, and must make all that serve to charity and mortification which before served self-love. These exterior offerings must be accompanied with the interior sacrifice of the heart, by humble confidence in the divine mercy, by lively faith and ardent love, with which the soul of a sinner approaches to Jesus, and is reconciled to him. Our holy penitent prepared as it were an altar at the feet of our Lord, on which she offered to him the true sacrifice of a contrite and humble heart. There losing the use of her speech whilst grief intercepted her words, she spoke only by her tears; but before Him to whom the secrets of her heart were open, these sighs, and this silence itself, was a louder cry than that of any words could have been. Thus she earnestly begged of God’s pure mercy, that pardon which she confessed herself most unworthy to obtain.

Jesus, who had himself inspired her with these dispositions, cast on her a favorable eye of mercy. He was come to the Pharisee’s banquet exulting with holy joy, which sprung from his foreknowledge of the conversion of this soul; the mainspring of all he did and suffered on earth being that insatiable thirst for the salvation of sinners which brought him from heaven, and which was not to be satisfied but by his sufferings on the cross, and by the last drop of his blood poured out for them upon it. In these sentiments he had testified that it was his delight to converse with sinners, out of compassion for their miseries, being desirous to draw them out of that gulf into which they had blindly plunged themselves. This he expressed by many moving parables, especially that of the prodigal son, where he paints his mercy in the strongest coloring by the manner in which he represents the good old father receiving him upon his return. From the time of his going astray the tender parent never allowed himself any respite in his tears, inquiries, and search: at length, from an eminence in which he looked about on every side, still hoping he should one day see him return, he descried him at a distance. He saw only a disfigured, languishing, and frightful spectre; the wretched remains of a debauchee and rake worn out by riots and revellings: his features horrid and defaced, his body resembling a walking skeleton, but half covered with a few filthy rags. Yet, under this disguise, his eye, directed by love, discovered him at a great distance, and before any other could see him, knew that it was his son. Far from being disgusted at such a spectacle, he ran to meet him, affection giving vigor to his enfeebled age. He remembered no longer his past behavior, but rushing to his embraces, kissed him, and bathed his head and face with floods of tears which joy drew from his eyes, and which he mingled with the tears of sincere grief and affection which the penitent son abundantly poured forth. The good father wiped them off his face, prevented his confusion, restored him to his former rank, called for, and gave him the best robe; a ring upon his finger (a symbol of dignity), and shoes on his feet. He, moreover, ordered a fatted calf to be forthwith killed, and gave a splendid entertainment with music, inviting all to rejoice with him and make merry, because his son whom he lamented as dead was come to life again, and he that had been lost was found. If the birth of this son, when he was first brought to life, had been to him a subject of great joy, how much more reason had he to rejoice seeing him now restored by a second birth, so much the more joyful, as it wiped away his tears, and changed his grievous sorrow into comfort? Thus doth our loving God and Redeemer receive the penitent sinner; thus is there joy in heaven upon one sinner that doth penance. The Holy Ghost clothes him with the robe of sanctifying grace, puts a ring on his hand, the emblem of his divine gifts, and gives shoes to his feet, that is, fortifies him with strength to tread on the venomous aspick and basilisk, and to trample upon the raging lion and dragon.

The Pharisee who had invited Jesus to his table, was shocked to see an infamous sinner well known in that city, admitted by our Lord to stand at his feet, and secretly said within himself that He could not be a prophet, or know that she was a scandalous person. To inculcate our strict obligation of shunning bad company, God commanded all intimacy with public sinners to be avoided, lest the sound should be infected by the contagion of their vices. The haughty Pharisees construed this law according to the false maxims of their pride, as if it were a part of virtue to despise sinners, and as if that respect and charity which we owe to all men, were not due to such; but the humble man, whilst he shuns the snare of wicked company, places himself below the worst of sinners, as the most ungrateful of all creatures; discharges all offices of charity, and spares neither tears nor pains to reclaim those that are gone astray. The contempt of any one is always the height of pride, which degrades a man in the sight of God beneath that sinner whom he undervalues. This was the case of the Pharisee; and such was the disorder of his pride that it betrayed him into a rash judgment by which he condemned a penitent who was then a saint; and, arraigning the goodness and mercy of God, blasphemously censured the sanctity of our Redeemer. Nothing is more wonderful in the conduct of the Son of God on earth, than the patience and meekness with which he bore the contradictions, murmurings, and blasphemies of men in most unjustly condemning his charity itself. We cannot form any idea unless we have experienced it, what force such injurious treatment has to make men abandon the good which they have begun, and cease bestowing favors on those that murmur against them. Christ has encouraged us by his example to this heroic practice of virtue, teaching us that the most effectual means of confounding slanderers is to instruct them by silence, meekness, perseverance in good works, and a constant return of sincere kind offices; he shows how we must still persevere steadfastly to regulate our intentions and actions according to the maxims of piety, and give ourselves no trouble about what men will say of us.

Christ sought indirectly by a parable, to cure the pride and rash judgment of this Pharisee, and convince him that she to whom much had been forgiven, then loved God the more; consequently was more acceptable to him. Some interpreters understand his words, that much was forgiven this penitent, because her love and sorrow were great and sincere; others take the meaning to be, that gratitude would make her after this mercy more fervent in love. Each interpretation is undoubtedly true; but, as A. Lapide shows, the first seems most agreeable to the context. The conversion of sinners is usually begun by motives of fear, but is always perfected by those of love; and the fervor of their love will be the measure of the grace which they will receive. By the love of vanity the soul falls from Christ; and by his divine love she returns to him. How fervent was this love in our devout penitent! By it she is become at once insensible of the reproaches and judgment of men; she defers not her sacrifice a single moment, and allows not herself the least mitigation in it; she cuts off all her engagements, extirpating them to the very root both in her heart and actions; she renounces for ever all dangerous occasions of her disorders. With what courage and resolution does she embrace all the most heroic practices of penance? confessing publicly her crimes: looking upon the utmost humiliation as her due and her gain, and as falling far short of what she deserves; chastising sin in herself without mercy, in order to excite the divine compassion; making the number and enormity of her sins the measure of her penance, or rather desiring to set no bounds to it, as the malice of her offences went beyond all bounds; and devoting the remainder of her life to tears, prayer, and every exercise of virtue and divine love. She is the first to confess Jesus Christ publicly before men, and in the presence of his enemies. By these dispositions she deserved that her Lord should take upon him her defence, and declare himself her protector. Happy are those sinners who by the sincerity and fervor of their repentance will have at the last day their Judge, Redeemer, and God, for their advocate and patron! The first and most important grace which the Church teaches us in her litany most earnestly to ask of God is, that He vouchsafe, in his mercy, to bring us to this true penance.

Mercy is the property and the favorite attribute of our divine Redeemer; and tinder is not so soon kindled by fire when applied to it, as the divine mercy blots out all sin when it is implored with a heart full of confusion and truly penitent. Hence Christ assured this humble sinner that her offences were cancelled, and that her lively faith, animated by ardent charity, which drew from her eyes tears of repentance, had saved her; and he insured to her that solid and happy peace which is the fruit of such a repentance. The pious cardinal Berulle admires the happy intercourse between the heart of this holy penitent and that of Jesus; the first employed in the most perfect sentiments of compunction, love, and entire sacrifice; the second, in the tender motions of mercy, love, and goodness: the penitent offers floods of tears; these Jesus repays with treasures of graces and mercy, by which he makes her soul a heaven on earth, as bright and pure as the angels, and the throne of the whole blessed Trinity. The hearts of the penitent and of Jesus are two sources which perpetually answer each other; the more the penitent pours forth her heart in contrition, the more abundantly does Jesus in return bestow on her his infinite graces. It is at the feet of Jesus that these wonders are wrought; witness this example, and that of the sister of Lazarus, in the house of Simon the Leper in Bethania. It is good for us to make this our dwelling in spirit. The adorable feet of Jesus so often wearied in seeking sinners, and at last bored on the cross for their salvation, are the source of all blessings. Here this true penitent consecrates to him her heart, her mind, her actions, her perfumes, all she is or has; and here he cleanses her soul, and kindles in her his love, which the rebel angel lost in heaven. All his attention is taken up on her, he entertains her alone, forgetting the master of the feast, and others that were seated with him at table. He even gave the Pharisee sensible proofs how much her fervor and penance surpassed in the sight of God his pretended justice and charity, though it were presumed real. Perseverance in this fervor completed her happiness. Gratitude to God for so great a mercy, and so distinguished a grace, was to her a fresh spur to advance every day in this love with greater ardor and fidelity. Thus the greater the debts were which had been forgiven her, the more earnestly she strove with all her powers to love him who vouchsafed to accept her humble sacrifice. This same motive of gratitude ought to have no less weight with those who, by God’s singular grace, have always preserved their innocence; for, whether God shows mercy by pardoning sins or by preventing them in us, we are totally indebted to Him for the grace which we receive. Upon this great principle, St. Austin addresses the Pharisee who despised our holy penitent, in the following words:[249] “O Pharisee! to say you are less indebted to the divine mercy, because less was forgiven you, is a capital ingratitude and pride. For by whom were you preserved from those crimes which you did not commit? One who hath sinned much, stands indebted for the gracious pardon of exceeding great debts. Another who hath sinned less, owes to God the benefit, that he hath not defiled himself with grievous sins. You have not fallen into adultery; but God saith to you, it is owing to me who governed and protected you. If no tempter ever enticed you, this was the effect of my special care and providence in your favor. If you escaped the occasions of dangers from time and place, this likewise was ordained by me. Perhaps a temptation and an opportunity of sinning occurred; yet I withheld you by wholesome fear, that you did not consent to the evil. You are indebted to me for your preservation from all the crimes which you did not commit; for there is no sin that one committeth, which another person might not commit if he were not preserved by him who made man.” We cannot sufficiently admire and praise the excess of the divine goodness towards men who were born children of wrath, and vessels of weakness and corruption. Wonderful is his mercy in those whom he preserves from the contagion of vice and mortal sin; but its influence appears with the greatest lustre in sinners whom by repentance it not only cleanses from their guilt, but exalts to the highest places in his favor. Of this our fervent penitent is an instance, who, after her conversion, surpassed others in the ardor of her charity, with which she gave herself up entirely to the service of her Redeemer.