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M hUTS I-. rtDlTATfOK fi . 6m IKS VII









Alinute Meditations—Series VII

Thoughts on

His Life and Lessons





Thoughts on

Ills Xiife and JQessons

By

J. E. Moffatt, S.J.

THE BRUCE PUBLISHING CO.

MILWAUKEE



Imprimi potest: Walter J. Fitzgerald, SJ.

Praep. Prov. Oregoniensis

Nihil obstat: H. B. Ries, Censor librorum

Imprimatur: Samuel A. Stritch,

Archiepiscopus Milwaukiensis

Copyright, 1938

The Bruce Publishing Company

Printed in the U. S. A.



TO

MY FATHER AND MOTHER

AT HOME

WITH GOD





FOREWORD

It is an uncontested truth that we are

inevitably affected for good or for ill by

those with whom we habitually associate.

If my companion’s heart is noble and his

conduct always worthy of praise, I shall

unquestionably be blessedly influenced by

frequent contact with him and gradually

grow unto his likeness. If, unhappily, I

find myself the constant associate of one

whose life has been contaminated by the

base things of the world, I too shall soon

have caught the dread contagion and

share with him his ugly malady.

If this be true of our everyday relations

with our fellow men, no less true is it of

our spiritual relations with Christ Jesus.

We cannot live long in close intimacy

with Him without in some degree taking

on His likeness. To study the details of

His conduct, to ponder the words that

fall from His lips, to con over the lessons

He teaches— this will inevitably, little by
little, effect in me that which is the holy



ambition of every worthy Christian, a

transformation into “Another Christ.”

That this little volume of Thoughts on

His Life and Lessons, the seventh in the

series of “Minute Meditations,” may aid

some souls to attain this blessed trans-

formation is the prayerful hope of the

Author.

May the Adorable Master for whose

love these simple thoughts have been col-

lected bless them with His holy unction

and grant abundant grace to those who

use them.

J. E. M.

Feast of the Purification, 1938

4 8 )*



CONTENTS

Foreword 7

What Is Meditation 11

Where and When to Meditate . . n

How to Proceed 12

The Master’s Life Story 17

At the Portal 19

A Serious Prayer 21

Thirst 23

Lonely Suffering 25

Not I, but Christ 27

Thou Shalt Not Steal 29

When Love Is Real 31

Seeing the Master 33

It Is the Master 35

Come 37

With Christ 39

Betrayed 41

Obliged
43

Transformation 45



Charity Is Patient 47

Charity Is Kind 49

Wholehearted .51

Exiled 53

Toward Evening 55

Loneliness 57

The Acceptable Time 59

Gratitude 61

A Sad Complaint 63

Magnifying God 65

Prophecy 67

Being Extreme 69

The Charity of Christ ..... 71
Prayerful Pondering ...... 73
Homeward Bound 75

To Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament
. 77

Offering for the Dying 78

Prayer to the Sacred Heart .... 78
Indulgenced Aspirations 79

*3f 10 ^



WHAT IS MEDITATION?

Meditation, in a broad use of the term,

means simply a serious reflection on any

subject. All of us do this constantly in the

commonplaces of daily life. As a form of

prayer, meditation is a serious reflection

on some religious truth or event for the

purpose of exciting in us sentiments of

contrition, humility, faith, hope, and love,

and to move our will to form good resolu-

tions for the bettering of our lives.

WHERE AND WHEN TO
MEDITATE

We can meditate, as St. Alphonsus

tells us, in every place— at home or else-
where, even when walking and at our

work. How many there are who, not

having any better opportunity, raise their

hearts to God and apply their minds to

mental prayer without leaving their oc-

cupation. He who seeks God will find

Him everywhere and at all times.



HOW TO PROCEED

First: At the beginning make an act

of the presence of God and adore His

Divine Majesty. Thus: “O my God, I

firmly believe that Thou art present and

I adore Thee with all my heart.”

Second: Make an offering of your

meditation to God. Thus: “O my God,

I offer this meditation for Thy greater

honor and glory and for the good of my

soul.”

Third: Fix in your imagination some

picture appropriate to the meditation you

are about to make. In the meditations in

this booklet you will represent to yourself

our Blessed Lord or our Blessed Mother,

as the subject matter of each meditation

will suggest. This picture in your imag-

ination will help to recall your thoughts

to the subject of your meditation should

you become distracted, as also to remind

you of it during the day.

Fourth: Ask for the special grace you

wish to gain through the meditation.

4 12



Thus: “O my God, through this medita-

tion deign to grant me the grace of . .

The grace will vary with the subjects of

your meditation. For example, if you are

about to meditate on the patience of Jesus,

you will ask for the virtue of patience;

if your meditation is on the charity of

Christ, you will ask for the virtue of

charity, and so on. Through the medita-

tions in this booklet you will wish to gain

the grace of a greater knowledge and

love of Jesus in order that you may fol-

low Him more faithfully. You may also

ask for some special grace.

Fifth: Read the meditation carefully,

fixing its principal thought deeply in

your mind. Those who can afford more

time for meditation should read very

slowly and pause after every few words,

dwelling upon their meaning, eliciting

acts of love, sorrow, repentance, desire,

and so on, and making practical resolu-

tions. Persons whose time is too limited

to make this leisurely prayer will strive

to accomplish the same results during



their “Minute Meditations” throughout

the day.

Sixth

:

Lift up your heart in prayer to

God, to our Blessed Mother, or to the

saints, using your own words or choosing

a brief ejaculation that you may recall

during the day.

^ 14



Thoughts on

fits Xnfe and JQessons





THE MASTER’S LIFE STORY

l^^HREE years had Peter spent in in-

timate companionship with Jesus. Three

precious years had seen him seldom long

out of sight or hearing of Him who had

won his heart’s strong affection. Day

after day had he walked by His side

along the dusty roads and through the

fields. Day after day had he sat at His

feet to harken to His words of wisdom.

He had been with Him in the halls of

the mighty and in the hovels of the

wretched and lowly. He had witnessed

His dealings with those who loved Him

dearly and with those whose hearts were

bitter in their hatred. Surely if anyone

had reason to know the Master it was

Peter. And it was Peter who, at the end,

told the story of his Master’s life in the

brief, meaningful sentence: “He went

about doing good.”

“He went about doing good.” Such

was the sweet life story of Jesus. Such,

too, are the lives of those goodly folk

< 17



whose love of the Master has transformed

them into His likeness. No mere avoid-

ance of evil can satisfy these noble hearts;

positive good in rich abundance is ever

found in the wake of their passing. From

dawn of day till dark they wend their

way of kindly-doing. Now it is a sooth-

ing word to one whose heart is sorely

bruised, or a smile of generous encourage-

ment to light a life that has been clouded

darkly. Now a helping hand is offered

to sustain a fellow toiler along life’s weary

journey or a bit of another’s burden is

unselfishly borne lest it crush him utterly.

Thus they go their kindly way, these

lovable imitators of the lovable Master—
everywhere, always doing good. And

what a blessing is their presence! But am

I of their number?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



AT THE PORTAL

DID not know that it could be so

sweet to die.” So spoke the dying lips

of the venerated priest of God to those

who stood about to comfort him as life's

flickering flame grew every moment

fainter. Long years had this veteran son

of the Soldier-Saint Ignatius battled

bravely for the cause of his Captain

Christ, and now that taps were sounding

at the close of life’s toilsome day his

priestly heart was glad with an unex-

pected gladness.

“I did not know that it could be so

sweet to die.” Blessed sentiment to well

spontaneously from the dying heart on

the threshold of eternity! Blessed, indeed,

but possible to him alone whose life has

merited so sweet a closing.

There will be sweetness in life’s latest

hour if from dawn till dusk of life’s brief

day each thought and word and work

shall have been nicely attuned to the

ultimate purpose of our earthly tarrying.



There will be joy in the thought of meet'

ing God when we are nearing our jour-

ney’s end if all along the way we shall

have demeaned ourselves as those who

know that earth is but a testing place to

prove our worthiness of dwelling eter-

nally in our Father’s home.

Yes, it will be sweet, indeed, to die,

but only if the sweetness of dying has

been purchased by sweetness of living. If

in a reeking world of sin I shall have

kept my heart’s sweet purity untainted;

if sweetness in all my words and ways

shall have brought something of the sweet-

ness of Christ into my life, then will I,

too, be able to say with the holy priest

of God as he was setting forth on his

eternal journey: “I did not know that it

could be so sweet to die.” Could I say

that now if this were the hour of my

dying?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.

<( 20 ^



A SERIOUS PRAYER

^J^T IS the hour of the Morning Sac-

rifice. God’s vested priest, with voice

hushed to reverent stillness, prays before

the Holy of Holies. Thrice has the sil-

very tongue of the Sanctus Bell echoed

through the holy place its blessed warn-

ing of the quick approach of the sacred

moment when the re-enactment of the

Miracle of Love shall bring God once

again upon the altar.

Swift fly the moments. Eagerly Christ’s

minister expects the coming of his Maker.

But ere he bows him down to breathe

the awful words that shall change bread

into his Creator, he pauses and prays

pleadingly a prayer that well may make

us also pause and ponder. “Grant,” he

pleads, “that we may be rescued from

eternal damnation and counted within

the fold of Thine elect.”

“That we may be rescued from eternal

damnation.” Oh, that is a frighteningly

serious prayer, is it not? Eternal damna-

4 21



tion! A sickening, horrifying thought,

and yet a possibility for me! From life’s

early dawning till our latest dying breath

we are never far from the brink of the

bottomless abyss. Forces of surpassing

vastness spend themselves for our unend-

ing ruin. Hell’s mighty hordes are ever

grimly massed for the attack upon our

soul. Skulking fiends of darkness lurk at

every turning of life’s pathway, and

Satan’s cunning emissaries plot and plan

and treacherously lay snares for our

destruction.

Yes, eternal damnation is a grimly

horrifying possibility. Life has its joys, in-

deed, and the heart of man should blend

in harmonious chorus with the blessed-

ness about him, yet in the midst of his

exulting joyfulness it will be right health-

ful to pause betimes and, with God’s

priestly minister, humbly pray the prayer:

Grant, O Lord, that we may be rescued

from eternal damnation and counted

within the fold of Thine elect.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, . . .



THIRST

C^jHIRST can be a very dreadful trial

when it is great and there is naught

wherewith to stay its seething ardors.

Out on the scorching desert sands, or in

the maddening clutch of a fever bed,

what tragic horrors follow in the wake

of the dread specter!

That is the physical thirst that tortures

the body. But there is another thirst, the

thirst of the spirit, and it can be no less

terrible. There is within the heart of man

an innate craving for happiness, a burn-

ing thirst that knows no quenching, and

tragic it is, indeed, when the questing

soul loses the way that leads to the Oasis

in life’s desert.

Some there are who seek to slake the

thirsting of their spirit at the stagnant

pools of earth’s vapid amusements, or

who drink deep draughts from the deadly

cup of the world’s empty honors. But

the fever raging in their soul grows ever

fiercer as they drink the deeper. Or some



there are who press their lips to the lur-

ing founts of creature-love or sip from the

poisoned springs of forbidden pleasures.

Yet is there no surcease of the burning

thirst that tortures their spirit. Ah, no,

indeed! For the heart of man has God

for its end, and vain it is to seek to re-

place Him with creature substitutes.

Life’s sorry wrecks that strew earth’s

every highway like bleaching bones upon

a desert waste, all tell the tragic story of

thirst-maddened souls frantically seeking,

and never finding, the one sweet Oasis

whence they may “draw waters with joy

from the fountains of the Saviour.”

And all the while, in accents sweetly

alluring, comes the voice of the Master

gendy inviting: “If any man thirst let

him come to Me and drink.”

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.

- >
ti

-

24



LONELY SUFFERING

SUFFER at all is a thing from

which our nature shrinks instinctively.

But to suffer alone, ah! that is to make

the suffering doubly to be dreaded. Com-

panionship in my hour of trial is a very

precious boon. When sorrow has come to

harrow my soul or when ills of body

shackle my tortured limbs to a bed of

pain, how good beyond all telling, to find

by my side a friend to pour the balm of

his strong affection upon the wound that

gnaws at my heart or, by his comforting

presence, hearten my failing courage to

bear my physical sufferings.

Yes, friendly companionship is a pre-

cious thing in the hour of suffering. But

what of those other hours when we must

suffer alone? What of those hours when

the anguish of my soul lies hidden in

such secret closets that even my dearest

earthly friend is utterly excluded from its

sharing? What of those hours when the

forms that pass my bed of pain are

<25^



stranger forms and the eyes that look

upon my suffering are unkindled with

the light of friendly sympathy? What

then? Ah, then, if I would bear my

suffering in Christian wise, then must I

go in spirit to the moonlit Olive Garden

and kneel by the side of the loneliest of

all lonely sufferers, Christ Jesus. He who

bore in awful solitude the horrors of

Gethsemane’s midnight agony— the soul-
torturing and the crushing physical pain,

will understand full well my lonely suffer-

ing and, by His loving sympathy, soothe

the hurts that sear my spirit or shore me

up to bear in manful wise the fierce ar-

dors of the relentless fever or the cruel

agony of tingling nerves.

Yes, life will have its suffering, for

such is our lot here below, yet there will

be sweetness mingled with the cup of

bitterness whose dregs I must drain if

only I drink it with Jesus as He drinks,

in lonely abandonment, Gethsemane’s

chalice of untellable woe.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, . . .

*$26^



NOT I, BUT CHRIST

Jk LIVE now, not I, but Christ liveth
in me.” A strong statement, that, yet

true on the lips of St. Paul who had

made himself so thoroughly one with

Christ by perfect charity.

“Christ liveth in me.” Would those

words on my lips have as true a ring as

when they were spoken by the Great

Apostle ?

“Christ liveth in me.” In the attitude I

bear toward life, in my estimation of

values, the worth I set on the good things

of time as measured up against the things

of eternity, would anyone knowing me

intimately, judge that “Christ liveth in

me”?

The thoughts that habitually form the

subject of my musings, the images that

linger on the screen of my imagination,

my hopes and plans and aspirations—
are they always such as one would expect

to find in him in whom “Christ liveth”?

And when I come and go amongst my

< 27 ]»•



fellow men, be it out where the milling

masses toil for daily bread or be it

amongst the precious ones who gather

with me about the family hearth, with

stranger folk or with the dear ones who

are a very part of my life, is all my con-

duct in every detail such as to make

quite clearly manifest that the noble,

gende, kindly Christ liveth in me?

“Christ liveth in me.” Looks through

my eyes? Or would He withdraw blush-

ingly from things my eyes are not afraid

to rest upon? Listens with my ears? Or

would He turn aside from much in

which I find delight? Speaks with my

lips? Or would He not very, very often

be still where I bandy words about in

thoughtless, sometimes merciless wise?

“Christ liveth in me.” Could I honesdy

say that? I wonder.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



THOU SHALT NOT STEAL

^J^RITTEN by the finger of God on

a table of stone, nor yet less lastingly

graved on the fleshy tablet of each human

heart, we read the everlasting Law of

rightful regard for others* goods: “Thou

shalt not steal.*’

“Thou shalt not steal.” By God’s good

grace we know full well that we would

never dream of aught so base as filching

from the treasures of our fellow men.

That were too mean a thing for one who

bears the Christian name and we would

never stain our soul with such shameful

perfidy. That which another holds as

rightfully his own we will respect un-

failingly.

So we tell ourselves, indeed, and yet I

wonder if a bit of honest self-examining

would not reveal a deal of ugly pilfering?

The heaped-up gold and precious stones

that others hoard and hold— that would
I never touch; but treasures richer far

beyond compare, what of my attitude to-

<29 fr



ward them? What of my fellow man’s

fair name, his goodly standing in the

circle of his friends, that priceless jewel

which, by the poisoned word maliciously

let fall or by the cruel insinuation, I de-

spoil him of? What of the wealth of God-

given joy that floods his heart and sends

him blithely on a path that else were

thickly strewn with thorns— am I not
guilty of reaching thieving hands to

others’ goods when by my unkind ways

I bring sorrow into his life? Or am I

not stealing shamefully when I withhold

from him the love he has a sacred right

to share and I as stern a duty to bestow

on him?

“Thou shalt not steal.” No thief am I

who fain would steal my neighbor’s

purse, ah, no, but what does my con-

science tell me of the safety of his more

precious treasures from my pilfering?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.

<3o>



WHEN LOVE IS REAL

(l^HE sufferings of one whom I love
are no more painful to him than they are

painful to me. Be it a trial of serious

moment that weighs him down or a

passing shadow that dims the sunshine of

joy in his life, I cannot but be deeply

affected by his affliction if my friendship

be true.

Thus it is ever between earthly friends

and thus, too, is it between the Gende

Master and those who really love Him.

To these it is no matter of indifference

that the tender Heart of Jesus is made

to bleed by His ungrateful children. No,

if He is saddened by the thoughtlessness

of those whose minds are seldom raised

to Him throughout the livelong day, then

will these ardent lovers of Jesus strive to

comfort His sadness by keeping His mem-

ory ever bright as the brief hours wing

their swift flight to the closing of life’s

day. If others find the dim solitude of

His sanctuary home an unlovely tarrying



place and leave the lonely Prisoner of the

tabernacle to count off the weary hours

all alone, then will those whose hearts are

really warm with love for the Gentle

Master encroach generously upon their

hours of rest or play to wear away the

step of His home by frequent calling

upon Him. If Jesus, their Friend, is

ruthlessly expelled from His lawful throne

in countless human hearts and a rival of

creature love set up in His stead, then

will His devoted lovers strive to make

repair by ridding their own hearts utterly

of every attachment to earthly vanity to

prove the loyalty of their devotion.

Oh, yes, to those who really love our

Lord His sufferings are ever a matter of

deep concern. Could I call myself a real

lover of Christ judged by that standard?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



SEEING THE MASTER

t^HEY had obeyed the Stranger’s com-
mand, had the weary Apostles after their

fruitless night of toil on the lake, and the

miraculous draught of fishes had been

their rich compensation. With feverish

ardor they tugged at the nets and filled

the boat well nigh to sinking. Yet in the

midst of the general excitement, one,

John, the Virgin Disciple, could not with-

draw his gaze from the form of the

Stranger who stood on the shore kindly

intent on their happy labors. Scarce could

he believe it, yet— yes, now he was cer-
tain! Then stooping to Peter, he whis-

pered excitedly: “It is the Master.”

A beautiful scene, and not without

profit might we tarry upon it. Seven

there were in the little boat that eventful

morning yet one only, the Virgin Disciple,

saw through the Stranger’s disguise and

discovered the Master. “Blessed,” Jesus

had said long ago, “are the pure of heart

for they shall see God.”

<( 33



How true it is! All of us who know

aught of the lovableness of Jesus long to

see more of Him, long for closer familiar-

ity with His adorable Person. We, too,

like His dear sainted ones whom we con-

template with holy envy, would know

the joy that comes of walking through

life hand clasped in hand with Christ

Jesus.

Ah, yes! But do we forget that to see

Jesus clearly there must be naught to

blur our spiritual vision? that to experi-

ence the sweetness of His love there must

be naught to vitiate our taste for food so

precious? that to enjoy the privilege of

familiar intimacy with the Gentle Master

there must be no rival stealing our heart’s

affection?

Is that, perchance, why Jesus is still

somewhat of a Stranger to me? Some-

thing to think on, surely!

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



IT IS THE MASTER

^J^T IS the Master.” John knew it

must be He whose simple command, as

simply obeyed, had wrought such a mar-

velous miracle. Their own efforts, labori-

ous, night-long, had left their nets empty;

surely, then, it must be the Master to

whom was due their belated success.

“It is the Master.” If only we, too, like

the Beloved Disciple, would ever give

credit where credit is due! If only we,

too, in humble simplicity would ever see

in the happy event of our cherished en-

deavors the hand of the Master! Yet how

often we fail to do so! When by some

preventing grace of God our stupid clum-

siness has not spoiled utterly the task set

for our doing, how quick we are to take

the glory to ourselves, magnifying out of

all proportions the microscopic worth that

escaped our awkwardness, and all the

while forgetting that “it is the Master”

who has saved the work from ugly ruin.

Oh, yes, indeed, it is a needful lesson



to learn if I would not be shamefully

mean in pilfering from God the glory

that is His due. If it be that I am pos-

sessed of gifts of mind and heart that

set me a bit apart from my less favored

companions, if strength and grace of body

be mine, if wisdom to plan and power

to do are numbered amongst my endow-

ments, then must I bear myself in hum-

ble wise, mindful that “it is the Master”

to whom belong these treasures of which

I am but the custodian. To hold them as

my own were ugly arrogance. And yet,

if I am honest with myself, must I not

admit that over and over again I seem

to forget completely my native nothing-

ness and deal with God’s property quite

highhandedly?

What says my conscience?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



COME

INHERE He stood, calmly poised upon
the angry waters, facing the little boat as

it struggled in the clutches of the raging

tempest. Peter believed it was the Master

whose familiar voice through the roar of

the storm spoke words of encouragement,

yet would he have undeniable proof. “If

it be Thou,” he cried in the excess of his

boundless trust that the Master’s com-

mand could effect the impossible, “If it

be Thou, bid me come to Thee walking

upon the water.” And the Master said:

“Come.”

“Come.” To us also, over and over

again, the same Gentle Master speaks a

like invitation. Over and over again in

the depths of our soul we hear the

whispered urge to draw closer to Jesus

— to leave the ways of ordinary goodness
and take the path that leads to sanctity.

But have we always the goodly ardor that

sent Peter over the side of the boat at

least to attempt the seeming impossible?



“Come.” But the winds are strong and

the waves dash high and we fear to step

forth on the treacherous waters. Jesus

stands there and we long to be near Him,

but we shrink from braving the obstacles.

To come close to the Master— to reach
holiness— will call for manly self-con-
quering. My ugly pride and stupid vanity

must needs be ruthlessly trampled upon,

and there must be a deal of pitiless vio-

lence done to my sensual nature. Worldly

ways and worldly views must go, and

there must be a fearless acceptance of the

“hard sayings” that nature shrinks from

— mortification of my vagrant senses, a
bit of penance now and then, and much,

much more of prayer must run through

the skein of my life.

Hard? Yes, but the Master says:

“Come!” Can I refuse at least to try?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



WITH CHRIST

07ITH Christ I am nailed to the cross.”
Thus did St. Paul tell the story of his

life of hardship, and as with him, so too

with most of us, life is not all sunshine.

How often the clouds of suffering wrap

us round and the way we have to tread

becomes a painful “Way of the Cross”

leading ever to another Calvary where

some new cross holds forth stark arms to

embrace us!

Today the ruthless sundering, by death

or infidelity, of bonds that bound me

close to one who meant the very world

to me, has left me crushed and broken.

Or, perchance, my reputation has been

shamefully defamed by lips that copiously

distill the bitterness of an unloving heart.

Failure, too, when I have put my very

best into a work I longed to do for God,

or cold indifference from one for whom

I have unstintingly spent myself— just
such as these, and many, many other

trials that gall and vex, make life a series



of oft-repeated crucifixions and I find

myself wretchedly pining away upon a

cross of unavoidable human woe.

Yes, much of life must be a crucifixion.

And yet it need not be the very dreadful

thing I am so prone to make it. Indeed,

if only with the wisdom of the Great

Apostle I would frequently remind my-

self that WITH CHRIST I AM NAILED TO THE

cross, then would life’s painful places be-

come its most precious portions. Nailed

to the cross with christ! Ah! That

makes all the difference in the world!

Be it sickness of body that pinions me

upon a bed of suffering or sickness of

soul that grips me in crushing embrace,

whatsoever form the trial may take, yet

will my strong sustaining comfort be that,

with christ I am nailed to the cross.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



BETRAYED

Tt WAS in the courtyard of the High
Priest’s house. Peter, who had followed

the Master “afar off,” stood warming

himself at the fire in the midst of a

group of soldiers and servants. The com-

pany was hostile and he carefully strove

to conceal his identity. But his efforts

were futile. That he was one of the

Master’s disciples was increasingly evi-

dent. Twice had he boldly denied the

charge, foresworn all acquaintance with

Jesus. Then came one whose well-tuned

ear had caught the telltale accent of the

Galilean and with firm assurance flung

the accusation full in the face of the

cringing Apostle: “Thou also art one of

them for even thy speech doth betray

thee.”

“Thy speech doth betray thee.” How

true it is! And, when I pause to think

of it, what a matter for prayerful

reflection!

Peter’s speech betrayed him as a close

<4i



companion of Jesus. Would my speech

bear like witness to my relationship with

the Gentle Master? Does every word that

falls from my lips bespeak a life deeply

dyed with His lovable spirit? Would

anyone hearing me speak know quite

certainly that I am walking the way of

life hand in hand with Christ Jesus?

“Thy speech doth betray thee.” What

does my speech betray of me when the

character of a fellow man is the theme

of my discoursing? What does my speech

betray when the speech of another has

dug a painful wound in my soul or when

a cruel injustice has set my injured na-

ture clamoring for a righting of the

wrong?

In hours of suffering of body or spirit,

when the nerves are all atingle and the

soul is quite crushed, in disappointment

and failure, or in the dangerous hour of

success, what does my speech betray? A
close companion of Jesus? Does it? I

wonder ?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, . . .



OBLIGED

©O THOSE who do me favors I
freely own myself obliged. A kindness

done calls for a kindness in return. A

thoughtful act that proves my friend’s

unselfish love must be repaid in kind.

He who has made me share his goods

or who has given of his strength to shore

me up when the burdens of life were

crushing me down may rightfully hope

to find me by his side to lend a helping

hand in his hour of need. That is just

the ordinary way with Christian folk and

to act otherwise were to degrade myself

in shameful wise.

Yes, such is our way of dealing with

our creature friends, but with our Divine

Friend, Christ Jesus, we seem to forget

all the canons of good breeding.

Who, of all the dear ones whom I

call my friends, has done a hundredth

part as much for me as has the “Son of

God who loved me and delivered Him-

self for me”? And yet how little obliged



to Him I seem to feel, at least if my

ordinary conduct may be taken as an

expression of my attitude toward Him!

All that I am and all that I have He

has given to me— body and soul and life
itself. Faith, too, and the wonderful Sac-

raments, and coundess personal gifts, but

supremest of all, His very Self immolated

for me on Calvary’s shameful tree! All

this has He done for me, and yet I seem

so little concerned to make Him a fitting

return!

A trifling service, a petty gift from an
earthly friend, and I am all astir to prove

my gratitude. But, though Jesus gave me

His life, died in torments for me, yet

can I find it in my heart to turn my back

when He asks a bit of service of me.

Strange friend, am I not?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



TRANSFORMATION

XT WAS on the summit of Tabor.
Thither had the Divine Master led the

favored three, Peter, James, and John,

that in the vision of His glorious Trans-

figuration they might lay up a store of

strength to sustain them in the tragic

hour of His shame. “And as He prayed

He was transfigured, and His face did

shine as the sun and His garments be-

came white as snow.” Thus the Evangelist

describes the glorious scene.

“As He prayed He was transfigured.”

Ah, yes, “as he prayed”! Surely we can

never exaggerate the transforming power

of prayer. And yet how many, even of

those whose aspirations reach out to holi-

ness, sadly underestimate its priceless

worth! Laboriously they toil at the pain-

ful task of shaping themselves unto god-

liness. With merciless zeal they probe

and examine and analyze, subjecting each

hidden corner of their soul to microscopic

scrutiny. Learned works of sainted lore

< 45 >



are diligently searched, and complicated

plans of life are drawn up by which they

hope to reach the summit of the mount of

sanctity. Yet how often the returns from

their painful toil fall sadly short of their

fond expectations! And why? May it not

be because they quite forget that, “as He

prayed He was transfigured”?

“As He prayed.” Not, indeed, that

there must be no toil in our soul’s sanc-

tifying, but that with the toil there must

be more of prayer, more childlike plead-

ing with the Gentle Master who alone

holds the key to the treasure house of

holiness, more frequent basking in the

light and warmth of His sweet presence,

more close companioning with Him from

whom goes forth contagiously the pre-

cious atmosphere of holiness.

Yes, “as He prayed He was trans-

figured.” So was it with Jesus. So shall

it be with me if only I submit myself to

prayer’s transforming influence.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



CHARITY IS PATIENT

J*yT. PAUL had sounded the meaning

of Charity to its deepest depths. And one

of his findings is that “Charity is patient.”

I like to think that I am charitable.

But I wonder if the quality of my char-

ity, my love of God and my neighbor,

would not suffer a bit by comparison

with the sterling quality of that described

by St. Paul when he tells me: “Charity

is patient”?

Let me apply the test. “Charity is pa-

tient.” What of my patience, my ability,

and my willingness to endure the painful

things that come to me from God or

from my fellow men? When I hold

pleading hands to my Father in Heaven

and urgendy beg His favor for my tem-

poral or for my eternal interests and He

keeps me waiting— what of my pa-
tience then? Then, too, am I not often

childishly petulant with Him when He

deems it best to let me grow by slow

degrees unto the stature of true likeness

4 47



to Him rather than, by a miracle of

grace, to make me a saint in a day? And

when I tell Him the story of my suffer-

ings of body or soul, or the story of the

sufferings of those who are dear to me,

and He seems a bit tardy in lifting a

burden He sees to be a sanctifying thing,

do I not often pout like a spoiled child

and show the lack of patient charity in

my heart?

And with my neighbor? When his

peculiarities ride roughshod over my

sensitive soul, or when, perchance, he

shrinks not from laying the cutting lash

of ridicule or criticism or injustice merci-

lessly across my life— in such hours of
trial, what of my charity? How does it

bear the test applied by St. Paul: “Char-

ity is patient”?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



CHARITY IS KIND

(^HARITY is kind.” Ah, yes, indeed,

if that which bears the stamp of charity

be not a shameful counterfeit, it will be

run through and through with that God-

like quality of kindness.

“Charity is kind.” Not merely in a

negative sense whereby I refrain from do-

ing aught to pain or vex my fellow men;

not merely in the cutting remark with-

held or the deliberate cruelty avoided —
that there must be, indeed, but if charity

be real there must be, too, a positive

kindness reaching to its every nook and

cranny just as the precious perfume, when

the alabaster box had been broken, filled

all the house with its delicious aroma.

“Charity is kind.” If I be truly char-

itable then would the thoughts of my

neighbor that lie hidden in the secret

closets of my mind be a distinct source

of joy and comfort were it given him to

read my intimate appreciation of his

worth.

< 49



“Charity is kind.” Not only in thought,

but there will be also the largess of kindly

words unstintingly dispensed as I journey

the highways of life. And, oh, what a

precious gem is a kindly word! A tiny

thing, yet like a ray of golden sunlight

it will penetrate the gloom that enshrouds

a sorrowing soul and bring joy and glad-

ness where the darkness and sadness of

death have held tyrannical sway.

“Charity is kind.” In words, yes, but

more in deed! Strange charity that, or

better, no charity at all, which finds its

duty done with the offering of the

honeyed word or highly polished phrase.

Ah, no! True charity will prove its ster-

ling worth in kindly deeds— in deeds
that cost in the doing.

Such is the charity of which St. Paul

speaks, such is the charity of Christ Jesus.

Can I honestly say: Such, too, is mine?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.

4. 50



WHOLEHEARTED

^^HOU shalt love the Lord thy God
with thy whole heart.” A serious com-

mand; indeed, on the testimony of Jesus

Himself, the “greatest and first” of all

God’s commands. And yet I wonder how

many of us observe its behest with any-

thing approaching perfection.

“With thy whole heart.” Oh, we love

the good God, of course we do. Not to

do so were to brand ourselves as utterly

renegade to our most sacred obligation.

But is that love wholehearted as God

demands that it should be?

“With thy whole heart.” Literally giv-

ing Him every nook and corner of it;

suffering no rivals to a love that He, with

right divine, demands all for Himself. Is

it really thus that I love God, my Father?

Oh, would that it were so! And yet does

not my conscience blushingly bear dam-

aging witness against me?

“With thy whole heart.” If so, then

would there surely be more diligent pre-



occupation, in true wholehearted lover

wise, with the memory of my God

throughout my waking hours, with the

things that make for His good pleasure,

with the things that further His glory.

Then would there be less shameful neg-

ligence in fulfilling His personal requests,

less disregard of His precious gifts of

grace, less weariness in His presence

when I meet Him in prayer, less eager-

ness to leave Him to give myself to my

creature friends.

“With thy whole heart.” Oh, no, in-

deed, I dare not claim as mine so perfect

a love of my heavenly Father. A little

love, yes, enough to save me from com-

pletely forfeiting His friendship, but such

a shabby, weighed and measured thing,

such a paltry, petty portion of a heart

which, if given wholly, were all too small

to give to Him who, being God, yet gives

Himself to me.

Strange lover, am I not!

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



EXILED

over the unfriendly desert sands

in dead of night they flee away— Mary
and Joseph and their Baby Boy. Strange,

piteous sight! The fragile Maiden-Mother,

the helpless newborn Babe, and Joseph,

the Just Man, with frightened eyes lead-

ing their fugitive way through the gloom

with hastening steps into an unknown

foreign land! Strange sight, indeed, yet

stranger still its tragic cause— a tyrant's
jealous hate that would do death to our

loving Lord whose coming to this sinful

world was the painful purchase price of

life eternal for mankind!

That was shameful treatment for the

Gentle Master and the thought of it

awakens just indignation in our soul.

Yes, but were it not well for us to pause

and examine ourselves to see if there is

not at times something quite as shameful

in our own treatment of Jesus?

Herod's cruelty exiled Jesus from His

native land; yes, but is it less cruel on



our part or less painful to the Gentle

Master to exile Him from the sanctuary

of our heart? And yet what else am I

guilty of when by sin I open that heart

of mine to His archenemy Satan?

Or if, perchance, by God’s good grace,

I would not be guilty of ought so wicked

as that, if Jesus is not an utter outcast

from my heart, still must I not confess

that my treatment of our Lord must make

Him often feel far from welcome in His

chosen home? Must not the shabby way

I meet His requests, the listless indiffer-

ence I manifest in His cherished interests,

my lack of eagerness to have Him make

my heart His home, and my undisguised

weariness of His company— must not all
this make Jesus feel quite like a stranger

in this heart of mine?

Not quite like Herod, indeed, yet cer-

tainly shamefully unloving toward Jesus!

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



TOWARD EVENING

J®yTAY with us because it is toward

evening and the day is now far spent.”

A happy thought, that, of the two dis-

ciples as they walked by the side of the

Stranger on the highroad to Emmaus.

A happy thought, indeed, that kindly in-

vitation, and richly was it rewarded when

they recognized the Stranger in the Break-

ing of the Bread.

“Stay with us.” Well for us, too, will

it be to make that invitation our own

and, as we travel the highroad of life,

pleadingly whisper it over and over again

into the ear of the Gentle Master: Stay

with us, Lord!

“It is toward evening.” Ah, yes, life’s

day is nearing its close. It is even now

far spent. Soon the shadows of death’s

dark night will close in about us. Well

for us then will it be, in life’s latest hour,

if along the way we shall have kept the

Gentle Master as our constant Companion.

Well for us will it be if by close com-

< 55 >



panioning with Him we shall have grown

unto His likeness— shall have come to
think His thoughts, to speak His lan-

guage, to view life’s joys and sorrows, to

estimate life’s worth and meaning accord-

ing to His standards!

“It is toward evening and the day is

now far spent.” Yes, for life’s evening

hours press close upon the steps of life’s

earliest dawning. Scarce have we entered

on the journey than the end is reached

and the portals of eternity loom before

us. And as we stand trembling on the

threshold of that vast uncharted region,

how we shall need the presence of Christ

Jesus to guide our faltering steps aright

and see us safely through a pass which

none may venture unattended.

Then, let us often pray the prayer:

Stay with us, Lord, for it is toward

evening!

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.

4 56



LONELINESS

\ ^ONELINESS can be a very painful

trial. How eagerly the patient pinioned

to a bed of suffering listens for the dis-

tant footfall that bespeaks the coming of

a friend who will break the lonely soli-

tude and help him speed the dragging

hours! To find oneself abandoned by the

very ones whose close companionship had

once made life’s weary pilgrimage a sweet

and blessed thing is a grievous test of our

courage and well it is if we are not utterly

unmanned by it.

To be lovingly remembered when dis-

tance separates us from those whose

hearts have been bound close to ours by

bonds of warm affection is a quite natural

longing, and there is little more crush-

ingly bitter to bear than the sad awaken-

ing to the truth that we have been for-

gotten and that other loves have gradually

replaced our own.

So is it with ourselves, and so, too, is

it with Jesus, our dearest Friend. “Re-



member Me and visit Me” is the plead-

ing cry that rises from the depths of His

wounded Heart, and is it not sadly

strange that there should be need for

such a pitiful plaint? Strange is it not

that we could forget our dearest, sweetest

Friend, that Friend whose love for us is

so immeasurably vast that death itself was

not too great a sacrifice for Him when

He would prove to us its vastness?

“Remember Me.” And yet, perhaps, we

let the hours pass without so much as a

thought of Him!

“And visit Me.” And swifdy we pass

His door without pausing even for a

momentary chat with Him!

Full faithfully we keep fresh the mem-

ory of our creature friends; right fre-

quently we travel the path that leads to

their door; but as for Jesus, our Friend

Divine— well, is it not shamefully
different?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



THE ACCEPTABLE TIME

|^OW is the acceptable time.” What
wisdom in the words! Procrastination is

a disastrous thing even in the ordinary

walks of daily life, but in the spiritual

life it can be an irreparable catastrophe.

How swiftly life’s precious minutes

speed by to lose themselves in an endless

eternity! And each precious minute as it

wings its fleeting way goes richly laden

with golden opportunities of wondrous

worth. And is it not greatly to be feared

that for some of us at least many of those

golden opportunities are lost irretrievably

because of our procrastinating spirit?

Oh, yes, indeed, we tell ourselves, we

will begin that life of greater holiness,

that life of generosity with God, that life

of otherworldliness and mortification and

prayer. We will, yes, but like the young
man of the Gospel who would go first

and bury his father and then come and

follow Jesus, so, too, we plead for delay

— we ask God to wait. Tomorrow, yes,

< 59 >



we promise it, tomorrow shall see us

setting bravely, boldly forth on the glori-

ous quest for sanctity.

Tomorrow! Fatal word! Tomorrow,

then again tomorrow, and all the while,

with lightning speed, the precious present

which alone holds possibility for actual

accomplishment, flashes by bearing away

forever graces that, if used, would have

made saints of us!

“Now is the acceptable time.” Oh, let

us learn the wisdom of the word and in

the living present use the precious graces

for whose using the morrow will be all

too late.

“Now is the acceptable time.” The ac-

ceptable time to cleanse my soul of the

stains of sin, to speak the pardoning word,

to repair the injury done, to set aright my

every account with God and man.

“Now is the acceptable time.” Oh, let us

seize upon that precious now lest tomor-

row be a time of bitter, useless regretting.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, . . .

4 60



GRATITUDE

J®yWIFTLY, yet reverently, the Sacred

Mysteries proceed. In the still hush of the

crimson dawn Christ’s anointed minister,

with loving awe, tabernacles in his breast

the Body of Him who has come into his

trembling hands at his whispered com-

mand and now, with thirsting soul, he

is about to purple his lips from the golden

cup that chalices the Blood of his God.

Yet a moment he pauses. A mighty tide

of grateful love floods over his soul. A

sweetly piercing pain forces from his

inmost spirit a cry of eager, ardent long-

ing to render to God a fitting return for

all His boundless giving. “What shall I

render unto the Lord,” comes the prayer-

ful sigh of his soul, “for all He has ren-

dered unto me?”

What shall I render? What return shall

I make? Oh, that is a goodly question

to ask, a goodly question not only for

God’s vested priest as he gazes out over

the immeasurable reaches of God’s in-



finite giving, no, but a goodly question

for each of us whatsoever be our rank

or station.

Ingratitude is such an ugly thing, and

yet most of us are so ungrateful. With

grasping hand we take God’s gifts yet

seldom think to tell Him: Thank You.

Life, and the dear ones to whom under

God we owe it, all the blessed ones of

the family hearth and the loving friends

whose worth no weight of gold could

ever equal; all the joyful things of life,

and the sad things, too, that help so to

my sanctifying, and then the greatest,

grandest Gift of all— Jesus Himself as
my Redeemer, Jesus as my sweet Com-

panion on life’s journey, Jesus as the

Eucharistic nourishment of my soul— for
all the limitless giving of His infinite

bounty, what return shall I make?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



A SAD COMPLAINT

o MY people, whe-t ave I done to
thee or wherein have I molested thee?

Answer thou Me.” Strange, pitiful cry of

the Heavenly Father wounded by the

waywardness of His rebellious children!

Strange, indeed, yet stranger still that

same sad lament on the lips of the Gentle

Master!

“What have I done to thee? Wherein

have I molested thee?” Our Friend

Divine, our Heavenly Benefactor, kind,

with more than a father’s strong kind-

ness, loving, with more than a mother’s

tender love, prodigal in His bountiful

giving even to the last drop of His own

life’s blood— and yet His very children
treat Him as if He were a tyrant who

by wanton cruelty has deserved their

hatred

!

And myself? True, I may not have to

accuse myself of anything so wicked as

that. I love our Lord, of course I do, and

yet I cannot deny that He has ample



cause to address to me that heartbroken

query: “What have I done to thee?”

With creature friends I take such care

to give no cause for pain, but with

Jesus— well, at times I just seem not
to care. His precious love I set at naught

to take a creature’s love instead. His

gifts, unstintingly bestowed, I grasp with

scarce a word of thanks— at times I
even use those very gifts to wound Him.

The promises I sometimes make, I break

at will, and even shrink not from an

utter disregard of His commands. His

company I seldom seek, and when I do

I am so very rude. And when He comes

to visit me I act almost as if He were a

nuisance in my life.

Ah! Worthy indeed am I of that sad

complaint: What have I done to thee?

And what shall I answer?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.

4 64



MAGNIFYING GOD

^JL£Y SOUL doth magnify the Lord.”

Soft fell the words from Mother Mary’s

lips as she stood within the shelter of

Elizabeth’s home and harkened to her

cousin’s eager cry of praise. It was no

empty flattery, but true appreciation of

the little Maiden-Mother’s God-wrought

blessedness that stirred the saintly ma-

tron’s soul. And Mary’s sweet humility

did not deny her precious blessedness but,

in simple, self-effacing wise, gave the

glory to Him to whom the glory was due:

“My soul,” she said, “doth magnify the

Lord.” How true it was! With what re-

splendent brilliancy did Mary’s soul reflect

the image of her Maker! How beautifully

in her did God’s own beauty find

expression!

“My soul doth magnify the Lord.” Can

I quite honestly say the same? Oh, not

indeed with all the beauteous depth of

meaning with which Mother Mary said

the words; that I know full well could



never be, and yet God does expect a deal

of glory from me, too. Indeed my life in

every least detail should “magnify the

Lord,” should be a praise of Him from

whom I came. But is it truly so? Has

God much reason to be proud of me?

Am I really a credit to my Heavenly
Father?

“My soul doth magnify the Lord.” As

He looks down upon His handiwork

does He see His own fair image repro-

duced quite perfectly in the object of His

fashioning? My secret thoughts and plans,

my hiddenmost desires, the words that

fall so freely from my lips, my every ac-

tion, the way I deal with God and with

my fellow men— could I, in view of all
as seen by God’s unerring eye and as my

conscience bears unfailing witness, could

I unblushingly make Mother Mary’s

words my own and say: My soul doth

magnify the Lord? Could I? I wonder.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.



PROPHECY

generations shall call me blessed."

No vain self-magnifying, that, on Mother

Mary’s part, but humble prophecy of what

the future held for her through God’s

great goodness and to His own glory.

And how perfectly the litde village Maid’s

prophetic words have been fulfilled! Age

follows age as the vast procession of

earth’s weary voyagers ever presses on its

ceaseless way, but as generation yields to

generation, with unfailing constancy the

hymn of praise to Nazareth’s Maiden-

Mother wakens echoes that ring unend-

ingly to tell of Mary’s blessedness.

“All generations shall call me blessed.”

I would not, indeed, yield to dreams of

future earthly glory. That were ugly

vanity, and stupid beyond all telling in

such as I, and yet the fact remains that

there should be ever in my life such

godliness that, with just reason, future

generations might hold my name in

benediction.



As I wend my steps along life’s de-

vious highways I should scatter such

abundant largess of Christlike kindliness

in words and ways that when I shall have

passed beyond the veil there will remain

behind in the hearts of those with whom

I have companioned a precious inspira-

tion to noble living awakened by my

passing.

Life’s every day and each day’s least

detail should be so thoroughly run through

and through with saintliness that the

memory of me, when I shall have gone

home to God, will quite inevitably lift

men’s minds from earth’s sordid vanities

and fix their hearts on heaven’s priceless

treasures.

“All generations shall call me blessed.”

So has it been with Mother Mary, so, too,

in real though lesser measure, with those

sainted folk who have molded their lives

on that of the sweet Maid of Nazareth,

so should it be with me. What does my

present conduct promise?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, . . .



BEING EXTREME

a COMMON and all too often de-
vastating experience that must be ex-

pected by all who strive manfully in the

spiritual life is that of being considered

extreme. Well-meaning people often prove

themselves thoroughgoing agents of Satan

by their uncalled-for solicitude lest their

fellow men go beyond bounds in their

service of God. A bit more than ordinary

in the matter of prayer or penance, a

trifling self-denial in some legitimate in-

dulgence to nature, greater recollection

and less ugly worldliness, and a hue and

cry is raised against the horrors of fanat-

icism in things religious, and the dread

disaster wrought by spiritual extremists

is graphically portrayed. And too often

the frightened victim of the assault aban-

dons his precious beginnings which, per-

severed in, would have led him to glori-

ous heights on the mount of sanctity, and

takes the much-lauded “middle course”

to shameful mediocrity.

69 !->



Indeed, there must be prudence in my

efforts for sanctification, but it must be

supernatural prudence, the prudence of

the saints, and not the human prudence

of the worldling that makes for a life of

laxity. There must be moderation, too,

and I must remember what St. Paul says

about a “reasonable service,” indeed I

must, but I must not, as in effect the

tempter would have me do, allow my

“reasonable service,” my moderation, to

degenerate into slothfully following the

line of least resistance, or pampering, in

cowardly wise, my sensual nature.

Prudence indeed! Moderation surely!

And yet I must not forget that there

never was a saint who was not an “ex-

tremist” in a very glorious sense, because

there never was nor could be a saint who

did not model his life on that of the

Divine Extremist, Christ Jesus. And, in

view of Calvary, He was a bit extreme,

was He not?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



THE CHARITY OF CHRIST

^yHE charity of Christ urgeth us.” A
blessed confession, that, of St. Paul, and

well it were for each of us if we could

truthfully say the same of ourselves.

The charity of Christ urgeth us—drives
us on! Yes, so should it be with all of

us; so it is in very deed with those gen-

erous friends of the Gentle Master who

have come to know the sweet lovableness

of His adorable person. We meet them

along the way of life and there is about

them a blessed something that tells us

of a mighty, overmastering urge driving

them ever up and on to the glorious

heights where saints are made. In the

early dawn their hurrying footsteps past

our door tell of the loving urge in their

heart to greet their God at break of day

in His earthly home before they set their

hands to duty’s round of toil. And as the

weary hours are counted off, the calm

serenity of their ways, their patient en-

durance of the petty annoyances that fret

<7i>



and gall, remind us of the sweedy im-

pelling force of Christ’s strong love that

rules their lives.

We see them, too, under the spell of

that inward urge, setting aside all thought

of self, in a world where self is God, and

spending themselves without counting the

cost to ransom the souls of their fellow

men. In life’s golden hours, when the

world smiles sweetly and opens wide

alluring arms, we see these ardent lovers

of Christ turning their back upon earth’s

fairest offers to follow the urge of Christ’s

strong love in a life of cloistered prayer

or priestly toil.

Oh, yes, the charity of Christ is a

mighty urge to noble deeds in those who

yield to its sweetly powerful impulse. Am
I of that number?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore

that I may ever love Thee more and more.

< 72



PRAYERFUL PONDERING

^Tt WAS in the temple court. Mary
stood anxiously questioning her Boy

whose “Father’s business” had caused

Him to deal with her so strangely. There

were words of explanation from the lips

of Jesus in answer to His Mother’s plain-

tive query, but they were words that

shrouded a depth of hidden meaning

and, in thoughtful, prayerful wise, Mary,

as St. Luke tells us, “kept all these words

in her heart.”

A goodly lesson for us! Prayerful pon-

dering is a very needful thing in our

lives. “With desolation is the world made

desolate because no man thinketh in his

heart.” Such is the lament of God’s Holy

Spirit. And how true it is! If the millions

that throng the highways of the world,

spurning eternal riches, make the petty

baubles of time, the empty honors and

pleasures of earth the only object of their

seeking and rush in fickle blindness to

the bottomless abyss, it is because men



think not in their heart and therefore

live in guilty ignorance of life’s true pur-

pose. If, with sanctity in reach of all,

only the exceptional few acquire more

than mediocre goodness, is it not because

too many, even of those who make pro-

fession of seeking the better things of

God, fail to delve, by prayerful ponder-

ing, into the hidden treasures of God’s

great truths where the secrets of sanctity

are found ?

If the horror of sin is weak in my soul,

if the thought of God’s eternal prison

house and the rigor of His judgment

leaves me but little affected; if I can hear

unmoved the sweet love story of God’s

tenderness to man— Bethlehem and Cal-
vary and the Eucharistic Mystery of Love

— what reason shall I assign for my
dangerously unhealthy condition save

that, unlike Mother Mary, I do not “keep

all these words in my heart”?

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



HOMEWARD BOUND

|^[VEN though the way be painful the

thought that home lies at our journey’s

end renders the weariness bearable. We

quite forget the uphill straining, and the

rough paths that bruise our feet are but

passingly noted in the all-absorbing joy

of pressing swiftly onward toward the

goal of our questing. Storms may beat

fiercely about us and murky darkness

shroud the way we must tread, but ever

through the gloom we catch the welcom-

ing glow of the home fires warmly blaz-

ing, and above the shriek of the storm

are heard the sweetly familiar tones of

the voices of loved ones whose presence

makes home a haven of happiness. And

so we press bravely, happily on— because
we are going home.

As it is with us when there is ques-

tion of returning to the home of our

earthly sojourning, so, too, is it for those

happy folk who see life in its true mean-

ing, as a journey to their home in heaven.



For such as they the trials that would

make wreckage of other souls are of but

trivial moment, and sufferings that crush

utterly other hearts hold for them scant

terrors. Disappointments come, as come

they must, when hopes long cherished

fade and plans for goodly deeds for God

and man are thwarted by the very ones

who should hold forth a generous hand

to aid. Sharp words from bitter tongues

cut ugly gashes in the soul, and stark

injustice with its tyrant tread leaves havoc

in its trail.

Yes, there are trials aplenty to gall and

fret and, if it could be, overwhelm the

weary pilgrim on his way, but to him

who reads aright life’s meaning these

are but trifling incidents that do but

emphasize, by contrast, the sweetness of

the thought that: Soon we will be home.

O Sweetest Heart of Jesus, I implore
that I may ever love Thee more and more.



TO JESUS IN THE BLESSED
SACRAMENT

Dear Jesus, present in the Sacrament

of the Altar, be forever thanked and

praised. Love, worthy of all celestial and

terrestrial love, who, out of infinite love

for me, ungrateful sinner, didst assume

our human nature, didst shed Thy most

precious blood in the cruel scourging, and

didst expire on a shameful cross for our

eternal welfare! Now, illumined with

lively faith, with the outpouring of my

whole soul and the fervor of my heart,

I humbly beseech Thee, through the in-

finite merits of Thy painful sufferings,

give me strength and courage to destroy

every evil passion which sways my heart,

to bless Thee in my greatest afflictions,

to glorify Thee by the exact fulfillment

of all my duties, supremely to hate all

sin, and thus to become a saint.

(Indulgence of ioo days, once a day. Pius IX,

Jan. i, 1866.)

< 77 >



OFFERING FOR THE DYING

My God, I offer Thee all the Masses

which are being celebrated today through-

out the world, for sinners who are in

their agony and who are to die this day.

May the precious blood of Jesus, their

Redeemer, obtain mercy for them.

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius X,

Dec. 18, 1907.)

PRAYER TO THE SACRED HEART

O most Sacred Heart of Jesus, pour
down Thy blessings abundantly upon

Thy Church, upon the Supreme Pontiff,

and upon all the clergy. Give persever-

ance to the just, convert sinners, enlighten

unbelievers, bless our parents, friends, and

benefactors. Help the dying, free the souls

in purgatory, and extend over all hearts

the sweet empire of Thy love. Amen.

(Indulgence of 300 days, once a day. Pius X,

June 16, 1906.)



INDULGENCED ASPIRATIONS

All for Thee, Most Sacred Heart of

Jesus.

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius X,

Nov. 26, 1908.)

Divine Heart of Jesus, convert sinners,

save the dying, deliver the holy souls

from Purgatory.

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius X,

Nov. 6, 1906.)

My Jesus, mercy!
(Indulgence of 100 days each time. Pius IX,

Sept. 24, 1846.)

Sacred Heart of Jesus, Thy Kingdom

come!

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius X,

May 4, 1906.)

Sweet Heart of my Jesus, make me love

Thee ever more and more.

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius IX,

Nov. 26, 1876.)

Mary sorrowing, Mother of all Chris-

tians, pray for us.

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius X,

June 27, 1906.)



Sweet Heart of Mary, be my salvation.

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius IX,

Sept. 30, 1852.)

Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, pray

for us.

(Indulgence of 100 days each time. Pius X,

July* 9> I904-)

Mary our Hope, have pity on us.

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius X,

Jan. 8, 1906.)

Jesus! Mary!

(Indulgence of 300 days each time. Pius X,

Oct. 10, 1904.)