Epistle.
1 Corinthians xii. 2-11.
Brethren:
You know that when you were heathens you went to dumb idols, according as you were led. Wherefore I give you to understand, that no man, speaking by the Spirit of God, saith Anathema to Jesus. And no man can say, The Lord Jesus, but by the Holy Ghost. Now there are diversities of graces, but the same Spirit; and there are diversities of ministries, but the same Lord. And there are diversities of operations, but the same God, who worketh all in all. But the manifestation of the Spirit is given to every man unto profit. To one, indeed, by the Spirit, is given the word of wisdom: to another, the word of knowledge according to the same Spirit: to another, faith in the same Spirit: to another, the grace of healing in one Spirit: to another, the working of miracles: to another, prophecy: to another, the discerning of spirits: to another, divers kinds of tongues: to another, interpretation of speeches: but all these things one and the same Spirit worketh, dividing to every one as he will.
Gospel.
St. Luke xviii. 9-14.
At that time:
To some who trusted in themselves as just, and despised others, Jesus spoke this parable: Two men went up into the temple to pray: the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican. The Pharisee, standing, prayed thus with himself: O God, I give thee thanks that I am not as the rest of men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, nor such as this publican. I fast twice in the week: I give tithes of all that I possess. And the publican, standing afar off, would not so much as lift up his eyes towards heaven; but struck his breast, saying: O God, be merciful to me a sinner! I say to you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; because every one that exalteth himself shall be humbled: and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.

Sermon CVIII.
Sympathy for Sinners.

O God, I give thee thanks
that I am not as the rest of men,
extortioners, unjust, adulterers,
nor such as this publican.
—St. Luke xviii. 11.

Did you never notice that pride and hardness of heart go together? That miserable Pharisee could not enjoy his self-glorification without condemning his neighbor, a person, as it happened, far more deserving than himself. Indeed, the worst vices seem to love each other's company as if they were all blood relatives. Coveting our neighbor's goods, for example, goes along with stinginess of our own; gluttony and lust are twins. Almost the same may be said of oppressing others and disobeying lawful authority; and in this hateful Pharisee we behold the union of pride in one's self and contempt for one's neighbor. The sinner seems to be bound with a chain every link of which is double.

Now, brethren, this is a fault often found in far better souls than this haughty Pharisee. Many of us have too little sympathy for persons whom we know to be in mortal sin. To be sure, it is no harm to rejoice that we are at friendship with heaven. But the worst of it is that some of us are never really happy at the thought of our own virtues till we are quite miserable over our neighbor's wickedness; and when we say with our lips, How wicked So-and-So is! our heart whispers, And how good I am!

The spirit of correction possesses many good people—a spirit commonly the sign of hidden pride. No sooner do we take the first steps in amendment of life than we are divided between rejoicing in our own goodness and lamenting over other folk's vice. I know not what we good people should do for something to talk about were it not for our neighbor's shortcomings.

Brethren, this vanity is very foolish and very dangerous. Who dare say that he has nothing to fear from the judgments of God? Who can count himself safe so much as one day from his own natural feebleness, or from the wiles of Satan, or from human respect? And if we do rightly trust in God's favor, how can we forget that progress in virtue is a necessary condition of our remaining virtuous at all? Now this progress means simply a right knowledge of our remaining defects and a solid purpose to overcome them; something with which the vice of the Pharisee is quite incompatible. Nothing so blinds us to our own little faults as too much regard for our neighbor's big ones. Doubtless it would have been just as difficult for the Pharisee to correct his harshness of voice, or his lofty bearing, or his patronizing airs as to overcome his great sin of pride itself; and such is the case with many of us. The beam in our neighbor's eye looks so shocking that we quite forget that we have quite a squint in our own eye from various little motes in it.

Be certain, therefore, brethren, that, if you find hard feelings in your heart toward sinners, you have no long journey to make before you discover the capital sin of pride in your own. Why can we not leave judgment to God, and treat poor sinners after our Lord's example, praying and suffering for them? I do not mean to say that we should forget to mention to them the awful chastisements of God; indeed, a truer friend does not exist than one who warns us of our future destruction, and some, such as parents, are in duty bound to give such admonition. But in the treatment of moral maladies we should bear in mind that bitter words and harsh looks spoil good medicine. And especially should we bear in mind that we have had our own wicked days.

Let us, therefore, regard sinners with much tenderness, dropping out of our view while we deal with them our own darling selves. Let us realize that we ourselves are poor souls, quite capable, but for God's singular favor, of falling into the worst state of sinfulness.

Sermon CIX.
Morning Prayers.

Two men went up into the temple to pray.
—From the Gospel of the Sunday.

The lesson of this day's Gospel, my brethren, is prayer; its necessity and its humility. Our short sermon must be contented with a little corner of this great field—that is to say, morning prayers.

Suppose that your child is sick, what is your first word in the morning? It is, How is the baby this morning? Then follows much more: I think it is a little better to-day; it seems easier; or it passed a bad night; I hope the day will be cool, for it suffers from heat. So, anxiety for your poor little child consecrates your first thoughts and words to its welfare. And do you not know that your poor soul is either sick or runs the risk of catching a deadly sickness every day you live? There are bad sights on the streets that tend to sicken it; there are snares of the devil, such as cursing and foul-talking companions, bad reading and saloons; there is a spiritual cancer within—I mean the temptation of the flesh—which can only be kept from destroying the soul's life by constant and severe treatment. Now, thoughts and words do your sick child little good; but they are the very best things for the soul, especially early in the morning. The man or woman who kneels down and says the morning prayer guards against temptation, heads off the noon-day demon, and provides that happiest of evenings, that is to say, the one which follows an innocent day.

There's a saying against braggarts and promise-breakers that "fine words butter no parsnips." It is not true of words said in charity to our neighbor or in prayer to God. Sincere words addressed to God as the day begins sweeten every morsel of food the livelong day, lighten every burden and weaken every temptation. Why, then, are you so careless about morning prayers? It can only be because you do not appreciate your spiritual weakness or you do not care what becomes of your soul before bedtime. But somebody might say: Father, can't you tell us something to make the morning prayers easy? It is very hard to remember them, and then it is so pleasant to get even five minutes more sleep, especially in the winter time; and, again, I am always in a hurry to get off to work, etc. Now you might as well ask me to tell you something to make you relish a good wash and a clean shirt. If a man does not hate dirt, it is preaching up the chimney to try to make him love to be clean. Prayer cleans the heart. Prayer clothes the soul with the grace of God. Prayer brings down God. Prayer drives away the devil. Or, I might rather say, that for a clean heart, and in order to get the grace of God, and in order to vanquish temptation, prayer is simply and indispensably necessary.

Once a man came to me and said: Father, for years I was addicted to habitual vice of the worst kind (and here he named a fearful sin), but I began some time ago to say the Litany of the Blessed Virgin every morning and the Litany of Jesus every night, and this practice has entirely cured me of that dreadful habit. Some such story as that, my brethren, every man must tell before he can say that he is delivered from sin.

For my own part, I look upon regular morning prayers as a plain mark of predestination to eternal life. "Ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and it shall be opened to you," is our Lord's promise to those that pray; and the best prayer is the morning prayer. Be ready, therefore, to correct yourself for omitting it. The day you forget it go without something you like to eat, put a nickel in the poor-box, double up your night prayers, make a special request to your guardian angel to get you up in good time for morning prayer the following morning. For the "Our Father," "Hail Mary," "Apostles Creed," "Confiteor," and Acts of Faith, Hope, Sorrow, and Charity, that you say in the morning will in the end give you a happy death and the kingdom of heaven.

Sermon CX.
Feast Of St. Mary Magdalen.

Many sins are forgiven her,
because she loved much.
—Gospel of the Day.

My dear brethren, no one who has faith can fail to be more or less anxious as to whether he will in the end save his soul. We all know that our faith alone will not save us; that faith, as St. James tells us, without works is dead. And we know that everything depends on the last moment; that as the tree falls, so will it lie for all eternity. So we tremble to think that perhaps that last moment will find us with our sins unforgiven, and all unprepared to meet our Judge; and that, in spite of our having borne the name of Christ, we may be then cast away from his presence into the outer darkness for ever.

Some people, I know, have a very simple way of reassuring themselves about this all-important matter. They think that, of course, when they come to die they will send for the priest; then, if he gets there in time, of course there can be no question about their salvation. And even if he does not, perhaps they would not altogether despair; certainly their friends will not despair of them. God, they think, will not utterly cast off those who have always believed in him; their prayers and those of their friends will certainly obtain them a place in purgatory, and at last they will save their souls, at least by fire.

But, after all, do not even the most confident of us sometimes have a fear that even the last sacraments may not make our salvation absolutely sure? The last sacraments are not so very different from the others we have received before; and do we always feel fully prepared to die after every Communion which we make? No, there is a haunting fear that something is not right which pursues us even at the altar-rail; we would give much if we could only do something which would take it away altogether.

Let us not be troubled because we have this fear; it is better not to be entirely free from it; above all, let us not stay away from the sacraments because we have it. If we stay away in any case except that of known and certain mortal sin which is not forgiven, we shall only make matters worse. But still this fear is generally a sign of something wrong; it does not altogether come from humility, or from the desire of salvation. It comes from a want of something which we ought to have; from a want of the greatest of all virtues, of that which includes all others, and brings all others with it—from a want of the love of God. Not an entire want of it, but a want of strength in it, a want of affection; a want of that feeling which we have for our friends, and which, above all, we should have for the greatest and best of all.

Yes, perfect love, as St. John tells us, casts out fear. It is the short cut out of all these worries, difficulties, and anxieties which all who are not hardened sinners must have without it. It was the direct and simple road which St. Mary Magdalen took in escaping from sin. She followed the Friend of sinners as he went on his mission of mercy; she saw the miracles of his power and goodness; she saw the love for men which shone in his face and inspired his every word and action, and her heart was touched and melted. She took it away at once and for ever from all those vain things to which it had been attached and gave it truly and entirely to him who had made it, and who had come in sorrow and suffering to win back his own. And her many sins were forgiven because she loved much; because all the powers of earth and of hell cannot put an obstacle between God and the soul that loves him as he should be loved.

If we would only do as she did; if we would put away all these bargainings about just how much we are bound to give to God, and how much we can safely keep for ourselves; if we would love him as she did, not with a mere passing sentiment, but with that devotion and self-sacrificing affection which it is so easy sometimes to give to a mere creature; if we would let him, as he wishes, into our hearts as our dearest and best, and make everything else give place, then fear would pass away, and we should say, "Let God take me when he will; let me suffer what my sins deserve, but surely he will not keep me from loving him." Yes, my brethren, to love God is the one thing necessary; to love him is to save our souls.