Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/156

 to render  us  watchful  of  our  last  hour,  even  lulls  our  vigilance. We never  think  on  death,  because  we  know  not  exactly  in  what  age of life  to  place  it:  we  even  regard  not  old  age  as  the  term,  at  least sure and  inevitable:  the  doubt  of  ever  reaching  that  period,  which surely ought  to  fix  and  limit  our  hopes  to  this  side  of  decrepitude, serves only  to  stretch  them  beyond  it. Unable to  settle  itself  on any  thing  certain,  our  dread  becomes  a  vague  and  confused  feeling, which fixes  on  nothing;  insomuch  that  the  uncertainty,  which ought only  to  dwell  on  the  length  or  brevity  of  it,  renders  us  tranquil on  our  existence  itself.

Now I  say,  in  the  first  place,  that  of  all  dispositions,  this  is  the rashest and  most  imprudent;  I  appeal  to  yourselves  for  this  truth. Is an  evil  which  may  take  place  every  day,  to  be  more  disregarded than another  which  threatens  you  only  at  the  expiration  of  a  number of  years? What! because your  soul  may  every  moment  be recalled,  you  would  tranquilly  live  as  though  you  were  never  to  lose it? Because the  danger  is  always  present,  circumspection  becomes less necessary? But in  what  other  situation  or  circumstance  of life,  except  that  of  our  eternal  salvation,  does  uncertainty  become an excuse  for  security  and  neglect? Does the  conduct  of  that  servant in  the  gospel,  who,  under  pretence  that  his  master  delayed  to return,  and  that  he  knew  not  the  hour  when  he  should  arrive,  applied his  property  to  his  own  purposes,  as  if  he  never  were  to  render account  of  it,  appear  to  you  a  prudent  discharge  of  his  duty? What other  motives  has  Jesus  Christ  made  use  of  to  exhort  us  to incessant  watching? and what  in  religion  is  more  proper  to  awake our vigilance  than  the  uncertainty  of  this  last  day?

Ah! my brethren,  were  the  hour  unalterably  marked  for  each  of us;  were  the  kingdom  of  God,  like  the  stars,  to  come  at  a  known and fixed  revolution;  at  our  birth,  were  our  portions  written  on our  foreheads,  the  number  of  our  years,  and  the  fatal  day  which shall terminate  them;  that  fixed  and  certain  object,  however  distant, would  incessantly  employ  our  thoughts,  would  agitate  and  deprive us  of  every  tranquil  moment;  we  would  always  regard  the interval before  us  as  too  short;  that  object,  in  spite  of  us,  always present to  our  mind,  would  disgust  us  with  every  thing;  would render every  pleasure  insipid,  fortune  indifferent,  and  the  whole world tiresome  and  a  burden:  that  terrible  moment,  which  we would  no  more  lose  sight  of,  would  repress  our  passions,  extinguish our animosities,  disarm  revenge,  calm  the  revolts  of  the  flesh,  and mingle itself  in  all  our  schemes;  and  our  life,  thus  limited  to  a  certain number  of  days,  fixed  and  known,  would  be  only  a  preparation for that  last  moment. Are we  in  our  senses,  my  brethren? Death seen at  a  distance,  at  a  sure  and  fixed  point,  would  fill  us  with dread, detach  us  from  the  world  and  ourselves,  call  us  to  God,  and incessantly occupy  our  thoughts;  and  this  same  death,  uncertain, which may  happen  every  day,  every  instant, — this  same  death, which must  surprise  us  when  we  least  expect  it,  which  is  perhaps at the  gate,  engages  not  our  attention,  and  leaves  us  tranquil, — what do  I  say? — leaves us  all  our  passions,  our  criminal  attach-