Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/100

 with that  strength  and  faith  which  even  the  most  tender  and  watchful piety  sometimes  cannot  give? You would  wish  passions  flattered, nourished,  and  strengthened,  to  remain  tractable,  quiet,  and cold, in  the  presence  of  objects  most  capable  of  lighting  them  up? Those which,  after  years  of  austerities,  and  a  life  devoted  to  prayer and watching,  awake  sometimes  in  a  moment,  far  even  from  danger, and,  by  melancholy  examples,  make  the  most  upright  feel  that we never  should  be  off  our  guard,  and  that  the  highest  point  of virtue  is  sometimes  the  instant  which  precedes  a  departure  from and total  loss  of  it. Such is  our  lot,  my  brethren,  to  be  quick-sighted  only  toward  the  dangers  which  regard  our  fortune  or  our life, and  not  even  to  know  those  which  threaten  our  salvation. But let us  undeceive  ourselves. To shun  guilt,  something  more  is  required than  the  lukewarmness  and  indolence  of  virtue;  and  vigilance is  the  only  mean  left  us  by  our  Saviour  to  preserve  our  innocence.— First  reflection.

A second  reflection  to  be  made  on  this  truth  is,  that  the  passions, daily strengthening  in  a  lukewarm  and  infidel  life,  not  only  duty finds in  us  insurmountable  repugnances,  but  guilt  likewise,  as  I  may say, polishes  itself;  and  at  last  we  feel  no  more  repugnance  to  it than  to  the  simplest  fault. Indeed, by  these  daily  infidelities  inseparable from  lukewarmness,  the  heart,  as  if  by  insensible  steps,  at last  arrives  at  those  dangerous  limits,  which,  by  a  single  line,  separate life  from  death,  guilt  from  innocence,  and  makes  the  final  step almost without  perceiving  it;  only  a  little  way  remaining  for  him to go,  and  having  no  occasion  for  any  new  exertion  to  accomplish it, he  does  not  believe  he  has  exceeded  his  former  bounds. He had replenished  himself  with  dispositions  so  nearly  bordering  on guilt,  that  he  has  brought  forth  iniquity  without  pain,  repugnance, visible movement,  or  even  perceiving  it  himself. Similar to  a dying  person,  whom  the  languors  of  a  long  and  painful  malady have so  attenuated,  and  so  nearly  approached  to  his  end,  that  the departing sigh  resembles  those  which  have  preceded  it,  costs  him no greater  effort  than  the  others,  and  even  leaves  the  spectators uncertain whether  his  last  moment  is  come,  or  if%he  still  breathes. And this  is  what  renders  the  state  of  a  lukewarm  and  infidel soul still  more  dangerous,  that  they  are  commonly  dead  to  grace, without knowing  it  themselves;  they  become  enemies  to  God, while they  still  live  with  him  as  with  a  friend;  they  are  still  in  the commerce of  holy  things,  when  they  have  lost  the  grace  which  entitles us  to  approach  them.

Thus, let  those  souls  whom  this  Discourse  regards,  no  longer deceive themselves,  because  they  believe  to  have  hitherto  avoided a gross  departure  from  virtue:  their  state  before  God  is  undoubtedly only  more  dangerous. Perhaps the  most  formidable  danger  of lukewarmness  is,  that  already  dead  in  the  sight  of  God,  they  live, in their  opinion,  without  any  visible  or  marked  guilt;  that  they compose themselves  tranquilly  in  death,  depending  on  an  appearance of  life  which  comforts  them;  that  to  the  danger  of  their  situation they  add  a  false  peace,  which  confirms  them  in  this  path  of