The Clergy and the Pulpit in Their Relations to the People. Isidore Mullois
is called the feeble sex. True, when she does not love; but when love takes possession of her soul, she becomes the strong, the able, the devoted sex. She then looks difficulties in the face which would make men tremble.
An orator of high intellectual powers occupies a pulpit, and leaves scarcely any results behind him. He is succeeded by one of ordinary attainments, who draws wondering crowds and converts many. The local sceptics are amazed. "This man's logic and style," say they, "are weak; how comes it that he is so attractive?" It comes from this, that he has a heart; that he loves and is loved in return. So when a venerable superior of missionaries [Footnote 7] wished to learn what success a priest had met with on his tour, he generally asked, "Did you really love your congregations?" If the answer was in the affirmative, the pious man remarked—"Then your mission has been a good one."
[Footnote 7: This clearly refers to Home Missionaries. ED.]
Have a heart, then, in dealing with the people; have charity; love, and cause others to love, to feel, to thrill, to weep, if you wish to be listened to, and to escape the criticisms of the learned as well as the ignorant. Then let them say what they like, let them criticise and inveigh as they please, you will possess an invincible power. What a grand mission, what a glorious heritage is that of loving our fellow-men! Let others seek to lord it over them, and to win their applause; for my part, I prefer holding-out a hand to them, to bless and to pity them, convinced by a secret instinct that it is the best way to save them.
I have already remarked that our language has not always breathed this broad and tender charity. The injustice and unreason which we have had to encounter have made us somewhat querulous, and we have become champions when we should have remained fathers and pastors. We have followed the world too much into the arena of discussion. We have fancied that it was enough to prove a truth in order to secure its adoption into the habits of life. We have forgotten that Saint François de Sales converted 70,000 Protestants by the sweetness of his charity, and not one by argument. Nevertheless, strange enough, much is urged on the young clergyman as regards the necessity and mode of proving a truth and of constructing a sermon, but scarcely any thing on the necessity and manner of loving his audience.
Just look at the young priest on his entrance upon the sacred ministry. He is armed cap-à-pie with arguments, he speaks only by syllogisms. His discourse bristles with now, therefore, consequently. He is dogmatic, peremptory. One might fancy him a nephew of one of those old bearded doctors of the middle ages, such as Petit Jean or Courte-Cuisse. He is disposed to transfix by his words every opponent, and to give quarter to none. He thrusts, cuts, overturns relentlessly. My friend, lay aside a part of your heavy artillery. Take your young man's, your young priest's heart, and place it in the van before your audience, and after that you may resort to your batteries if they are needed. Make yourself beloved—be a father. Preach affectionately, and your speech, instead of gliding over hearts hardened by pride, will pierce even to the dividing of the joints and marrow; and then that may come to be remarked of you which was said of another priest by a man of genius who had recently been reclaimed to a Christian life:—"I almost regret my restoration, so much would it have gratified me to have been converted by so affectionate a preacher."
I do not mean to say that the truth should not be set forth with power and energy. God forbid! but it should be seasoned throughout with abundant charity. It is only those, indeed, who love much and are themselves beloved, who possess the prerogative of delivering severe truths in an effectual manner. The people pardon every thing in those to whom they are attached, and receive home, without recoiling, the sternest truths and reproofs addressed to them by a beloved preacher.
Let your preaching, then, be the effusion of a heart full of love and truth. Skilfully disconnect vices and errors from individuals. Place the latter apart, and then assail the former: be merciless, close up all loop-holes, allow no scope for the resistance of bad passions; tread the evil under foot. But raise up the vicious and erring, stretch out a hand to them, pour confidence and good-will into their souls, address them in language such as will make them hail their own defeat:—"Brethren, I speak to you as I love you, from the bottom of my heart." "Permit us to declare unto you the whole truth; suffer us to be apostles; suffer us to address you in words enlivened by charity; suffer us to save you. … "
Thus have we endeavored to describe the nature, the power, and the triumphs of apostolical preaching; which should be the same now as it was in olden time.
But apostolical eloquence is no longer well understood. It is now made to consist of I hardly know what: the utterance of truths without any order, in a happy-go-lucky fashion, extravagant self-excitement, bawling, and thumping on the pulpit. There is a tendency in this respect to follow the injunctions of an old divine of the sixteenth century to a young bachelor of arts:—"Percute cathedram fortiter; respice Crucifixum torvis oculis; nil diu ad propositnm, et bene prcedicabis."
It is evident that any thing so congenial to indolence cannot be apostolical eloquence, which consists of an admixture of truth, frankness, and charity. To be an apostle one must love, suffer, and be devoted.
For, what is an apostle? To use the language of one who was worthy to define the meaning of the word, and who exemplified the definition in his own life: [Footnote 8] "An apostle is fervent charity personified. … The apostle is eager for work, eager to endure. He yearns to wean his brethren from error, to enlighten, console, sustain, and to make them partakers of the happiness of Christianity. The apostle is a hero; he is a martyr; he is a divine, a father; he, is indomitable, yet humble; austere, yet pure; he is sympathizing, tender. … The apostle is grand, eloquent, sublime, holy. He entertains large views, and is assiduous in carrying them out for the regeneration and salvation of mankind."
[Footnote 8: Père Ravignan.]
We must return, then, to this broad and tender benevolence. Let our congregations feel it, read it; see it in our persons, in our features, in our words, in our minutest actions. Let them understand that the priest is, before all others, their best, their most faithful friend. Nothing must disconcert our charity. Our heart must be enlarged, and soar above the frail ties, the prejudices, and the vices of humanity. Did not Saint Paul say: "I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ," for the sake of his erring brethren? And did not Moses elect to be blotted out from the book of life rather than see his cowardly, ungrateful, fickle countrymen stricken by the hand of the Almighty? The weaker men are, the more need have they to be loved.
Such love does good to all. It cheers the heart of the preacher. It also creates sympathy, and those electric currents which go from the speaker to the hearts of the faithful, and from the hearts of the faithful back to the speaker. It reveals what should be said, and, above all, supplies the appropriate accent wherein to express it. Saint Augustine writes: "Love first, and then you may do what you choose." We may subjoin: "Love first, and then you may say what you please;" for affectionate speech fortifies the mind, removes obstacles, disposes to self-sacrifice, makes the unwilling willing, and elevates the character as well as the mind.
Charity is the great desideratum of the present time. It is constantly being remarked that the age in which we live requires this and that. What the age really wants is this:—It needs to be loved. … It needs to be drawn out of that egotism which frets and consumes it. It needs a little esteem and kindly treatment to make good all its deficiencies. How silly we are, then, to go so far in search of the desired object, overlooking the fact that the kingdom of God is within us—in our hearts.
Be it ours, therefore, to love the people. … Is it not to that end that we have no family ties? … Let us prevent their hate, which is so harmful to them. Let love be present with us always, according to the saying of Saint Augustine:—"Let us love in speaking, and speak in love. Let there be love in our remonstrances … love also in our reproofs. Let the mouth speak, but let the heart love." Yes, let us learn to love, to endure, to be devoted. What! do we not belong to the same family as those excellent and self-denying men who leave country and home to seek and to save souls beyond the ocean? Were we not brought up at the same school? They love infidels, they love pagans and savages sufficiently well to sacrifice every thing for them. … Are not our pagans in France worth as much as the pagans of Oceania? Are not our French little