Epistle.
St. James i. 17-21.

Dearly beloved:
Every best gift, and every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no change nor shadow of vicissitude. For of his own will hath he begotten us by the word of truth, that we might be some beginning of his creatures. You know, my dearest brethren, and let every man be swift to hear, but slow to speak, and slow to anger. For the anger of man worketh not the justice of God. Wherefore casting away all uncleanness, and abundance of malice, with meekness receive the engrafted word, which is able to save your souls.

Gospel.
St. John xvi. 5-14.

At that time: Jesus said to his disciples: I go to him that sent me, and none of you asketh me: Whither goest thou? But because I have spoken these things to you, sorrow hath filled your heart. But I tell you the truth: it is expedient to you that I go: for if I go not, the Paraclete will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you. And when he shall come, he will convince the world of sin, and of justice, and of judgment. Of sin indeed: because they have not believed in me. And of justice: because I go to the Father; and you shall see me no longer. And of judgment: because the prince of this world is already judged. I have yet many things to say to you: but you cannot bear them now. But when he, the Spirit of truth, shall come, he will teach you all truth. For he shall not speak of himself: but what things soever he shall hear, he shall speak, and the things that are to come he shall show you. He shall glorify me: because he shall receive of mine, and will declare it to you.

Sermon LXX.

I tell you the truth:
it is expedient for you that I go, …
But I will see you again,
and your heart shall rejoice;
and your joy no man shall take from you.
—St. John xvi. 7, 22.

We all know, dear brethren, what place our Lord was speaking about and to which he was soon to go. He was soon to leave his disciples and go to heaven. To that place we all hope to go also, that we may see him there, where, as he promises further on in the same discourse, our hearts shall rejoice, and where our joy no man shall take from us.

Now, there are three joys, it seems to me, which go to make up the happiness of heaven. First, we shall be consoled; second, we shall be satisfied; and, last and best of all, we shall see God.

We shall be consoled for all the evils we have suffered in this world. Oftentimes we have to fight pretty hard against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and we have received, perhaps, many a grievous wound in mind and heart. Then, again, we have endured much sickness, experienced many a bitter pang, undergone many a heavy trial. Once we are in heaven we shall be consoled for all these things there; our wounds will be healed, our sins forgiven, our hearts comforted. There we shall see the fruits of our penance, there we shall be solaced for all we have borne. He who leads his flock like a shepherd and carries the lambs in his bosom will come to us; he will fold us in his holy arms, and for evermore we shall be at peace.

Again, we shall be satisfied. Here we love certain places and their surroundings; we love creatures; we love all that is beautiful. But we are not satisfied, for all these things either leave us or we are forced to leave them. Now, in heaven exists all the beauty and loveliness of earth, only in a degree infinitely higher and fairer. There we shall have all things we can desire, and possess them without fear of change or loss. There we feel all the sweetness of prayer, all the delights of sensible devotion, all that the saints on earth felt when rapt in ecstasy, and more. Here there is always something to disappoint us, something that makes us restless and uncomfortable. There everything will exceed our highest hopes, our best desires—in a word, in heaven, and in heaven alone, we shall be perfectly satisfied.

Then, lastly, O joy of joys! we shall see God. We shall see him face to face. We shall see the beauty of God. We shall behold his wisdom and his everlasting glory. Yes, brethren, these poor eyes, that have shed so many tears, they shall see God. The poor eyes so weary from watch and vigil, so tired of looking up into heaven after Jesus and Mary, so sick of looking around on earth, so terrified from looking down into hell—these eyes shall see God. We shall gaze on all the blessed. We shall see Jesus, and Mary, and Joseph. Our eyes will look upon the golden pavement of the celestial streets, the gates of pearl, and the walls of amethyst. We shall see all the brightness and glory of heaven, for we shall see God.

Brethren, these joys are waiting for you. Every baptized member of Christ's mystical body has a right to a home in that land of peace! Ah! then be careful, I pray you, not to lose the way. See where the Standard-bearer leads! See the cross that he bears. Oh! you all want to go to heaven, I am sure you do. There is only one thing that can keep you out, and that is mortal sin. Stain your soul with mortal sin by grievous violation of any one of the commandments, and that is enough, should you die impenitent, to keep you for ever from being consoled, from enjoying eternal happiness, from seeing God. Ah! then, brethren, walk in the narrow road. Be faithful and loving children of the church, and then one day you will leave this poor, weary, sinful world and go to dwell for ever within the walls of the City of Peace.

Rev. Algernon A. Brown.

Sermon LXXI.

Let every man be swift to hear,
but slow to speak.
—St. James i. 19.

I think that every one of you, my dear friends, will agree with me that this would be a much happier world than it is if this recommendation of St. James, in the Epistle of to-day, were carried out. For it is quite plain, I think, to every one of you that other people talk too much. If they would only say less, and listen more to what you have to say, things would go on much better. If they would only be swift to hear, but slow to speak, the world would get much more benefit from your wisdom and experience than is now the case.

But, unfortunately, this general conviction, in which, I think, we all share more or less, does not tend to produce the desired result, but rather the contrary; for it makes everybody more anxious to speak and to be listened to, and more unwilling to listen themselves. We all want everybody except ourselves to keep St. James's rule, but do not set them a good example. So our example does harm, while our conviction does no good; and things are worse than if we did not agree with St. James at all.

Now, would it not be a good idea if each one would try, if it were only for the sake of good example, to be less willing to talk and more willing to listen? And perhaps, after all, even we ourselves do sometimes say a word or two which is hardly worth saying, or perhaps a great deal better unsaid.

A story is told of a crazy man who, in some very lucid interval, asked a friend if he could tell the difference between himself and the people who were considered to be of sound mind. His friend, curious to see what he would say, said: "No; what is it?" "Well," said the crazy man, "it is that I say all that comes into my head, while you other people keep most of it to yourselves."

My friends, I am afraid the crazy man was about right, but he was too complimentary in his judgment of others. By his rule there would be a great many people in the asylum who are now at large. Really, it seems as if it never occurred to some persons who are supposed to be in their right minds whether their thoughts had better be given to the world or not. Out they must come, no matter whether wise or foolish, good or bad.

Yes, the madman, for once in his life, was pretty nearly right. One who talks without consideration, who says everything that comes into his or her head, is about as much a lunatic as those who are commonly called so; for such will have one day to give an account for all their foolish and inconsiderate words, long after they themselves have forgotten them. And to carelessly run up this account is a very crazy thing.

A little instrument has lately been invented, as you no doubt have heard, which will take down everything you say; it is called the phonograph. It makes little marks on a sheet of tinfoil, and by means of these it will repeat for you all you have said, though it may have quite passed out of your own mind. There are a great many uses to which this little instrument may be put; but I think that one of the best would be to make people more careful of what they say. They would think before they spoke, if a phonograph was around. Few people would like to have a record kept of their talk, all ready to be turned off at a moment's notice. It would sound rather silly, if no worse, when it was a day or two old.

Perhaps the phonograph will never be used in this way; but there is a record of all your words on something more durable than a sheet of tinfoil. This record is in the book from which you will be judged at the last day. Our Lord has told us that at that day we shall have not only to hear but to give an account for all the idle words spoken in our lives.

Should not, then, this thought restrain our tongues, and make us rather be swift to hear than to speak?—more especially as it is generally only by hearing that one can learn to speak well.

But what should you be swift to hear? Not the foolish or sinful talk of others no more careful than yourselves. Be willing, indeed, to listen to all with humility, believing them to be wiser or better than you are; but seek the company and conversation of those whom you know to be so. Nothing better can come out of your heads than what is put into them. You will be like those with whom you converse.

And therefore, above all, seek silence, that in it you may converse with Almighty God, and hear what he has to say to you. He is the one above all others whom you should be swift to hear. When you get in the way of listening to him you will be slow enough to speak. There is nothing so sure to prevent idle words as the habit of conversation with God.

Sermon LXXII.

Let every man be … slow to anger.
For the anger of man
worketh not the justice of God.
—St. James i. 19, 20.

What is the reason, my brethren, that people sin by anger so much? There is no temptation, it seems to me, that is more often given way to. Other ones, though frequently consented to, are also frequently resisted, even by those most subject to them; but with this it seems as if we were like gunpowder: touch the match to us, and off we go; if any one does us an injury or says an insulting word, we flare up at once and give back all we got, and more.

Afterward, perhaps, we are sorry; but that seems to do no good. Next time it is just the same. And so it goes on, till perhaps we begin to think that we really are like gunpowder; that God made us so that we cannot help going off when the match of provocation is applied.

But that is not true. It will never do to make God the cause of our sins. It is our own fault. But what is the fault? What is the matter that this temptation is not resisted like others?

I will tell you what I think the matter is. It is that the temptation to anger does not seem to be a temptation at the time. The angry word seems to you all right when you utter it. It is not so with other things—sins of impurity, for instance. You know they are wrong, and that you ought to resist them, even when they are on you; and sometimes you make up your mind to do so. But it is not so in this sin of anger.

And why does it not seem to be a temptation? Why do you think it no sin to say the angry word, to flare up when you are provoked? It is because your mind is confused at the time, so that you cannot tell what is sin and what is not.

That is the truth, if I am not mistaken. It is just the peculiar danger of this temptation that it disturbs and confuses the mind more than any other one. You cannot tell what really is right when you are under it; it is not safe to do anything at all. You are for the time like one who is drunk or crazy.

When a man has drank too much, if he have any sense left he will keep out of the way of other people until he is sobered. For he knows he is not fit to do or say anything when he is intoxicated, and that he will only make a fool of himself if he tries.

That is common sense and prudence; and many men, oven when drunk, have enough common sense and prudence left to follow this course. But very few have when under the passing drunkenness of anger. Most angry people do not know enough to hold their tongues. They ought to. They ought to have learned by experience. Well, then, this being the matter, the fault of angry people is plain enough. It is this: that they do not try to guard themselves against this temptation in the only way they can—that is, by remembering and acting on these words of St. James which I read to you from the Epistle of to-day: "The anger of man worketh not the justice of God." It always works injustice; that is, it always makes a mistake and does what is wrong. It has not sense enough to do what is right.

The only way to avoid the sin, then, is the one that St. James gives. Be slow to anger. Don't trust it, however sure you may be that it advises you rightly. It is a fool; don't listen to it. Wait till you get cool, till reason can have fair play.

I say this is the only way you can avoid this sin. I mean that nothing else will cure you of it unless you do this. Confession and Communion, prayer, penance, and other things, will help you; but this is indispensable. You know when you are under the influence of anger well enough. When you are, hold your tongue and hold your hand. You may have to do or say something afterwards, but very seldom there and then. God will not be likely to give you grace that is not needed; and you will not have the grace to do what is right when your duty is to do nothing, and wait till the temptation passes by. Remember that you are a fool when you are angry, if you do not want to act like one and be sorry for it afterwards.