Page:Sermons by John-Baptist Massillon.djvu/571

 Vain things,  what  offer  ye  to  me  but  an  empty  shadow  of  the  God whom I  seek! What answer  do  ye  make  when  my  softened  heart bends toward  you  to  soothe  its  anxieties? Return, say  you,  to  him who hath  made  us;  we  groan  in  awaiting  his  coming  to  deliver  us from  this  servitude,  which  makes  us  subservient  to  the  passions and to  the  errors  of  men:  seek  him  not  among  us;  thou  wilt  not find him;  he  is  risen;  he  is  no  longer  here:  if  he  appear,  it  is  only to die  again:  recall  the  desires  and  the  affections  which  thou  meant to place  upon  us,  and  turn  them  toward  heaven;  the  Bridegroom hath been  carried  away,  the  earth  is  no  longer  for  a  Christian  now but a  vale  of  mourning  and  tears. Such is  what  they  answer  to  me. What, then,  detains  me  here,  Lord? What are  the  ties  and  the charms which  can  attach  me  to  the  world? Restless in  pleasures, impatient in  absence,  tired  of  the  conversations  and  the  commerce of men;  afraid  of  solitude;  without  relish  for  the  world,  without relish for  virtue;  doing  the  evil  I  would  not,  and  leaving  undone the good  that  I  would, — what  keeps  me  here? What delays  the dissolution of  this  body  of  sin? What prevents  me  from  soaring with the  wings  of  the  dove  upon  the  holy  mountain? I feel  that  I should  then  be  happy;  I  could  then  feast  at  all  times  upon  this delicious bread. I taste  no  real  delight  but  at  the  feet  of  thy  altars: these are,  indeed,  the  happiest  moments  of  my  life:  but  they  are so short,  and  I  must  so  soon  return  to  the  insipidities  and  disgusts of the  world;  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  being  so  long  absent from thee:  no,  Lord,  there  is  no  perfect  happiness  on  the  earth, and death  is  a  gain  to  whoever  knows  to  love  thee.

Are these  our  sentiments,  my  brethren,  when  we  draw  near  to the  altars? Where are  now  the  Christians,  who,  like  the  first believers, await  the  blessed  hope,  and  hasten,  by  their  sighs,  the end of  their  banishment,  and  the  coming  of  Jesus  Christ? This is a  refinement  of  piety  of  which  they  have  no  idea:  it  is  merely  a language  of  the  speculatist:  it  is,  however,  the  groundwork  of religion,  and  the  first  step  of  faith. The necessity  of  dying  is considered  as  a  cruel  punishment;  the  sole  idea  of  death,  with which our  fathers  were  so  comforted,  makes  us  to  shudder:  the end of  life  is  the  term  of  our  pleasures,  in  place  of  being  that  of  our sufferings; the  attention  paid  to  the  body  are  endless;  our  precautions extend  even  to  absurdity;  or,  if  it  sometimes  happen  that this last  moment  is  desired,  it  is  in  consequence  of  being  wearied of life  and  its  chagrins:  it  is  a  disgrace,  a  habitual  infirmity  preying upon  us,  a  revolution  in  our  worldly  matters  which  leaves  no more  pleasures  to  be  expected  here  below,  the  disappointment  of an  establishment,  a  death,  an  accident,  or  lastly,  a  disgust  and  a wish  of  self-love;  we  tire  of  being  unfortunate,  but  we  are  not eager to  go  to  be  reunited  with  Jesus  Christ;  and,  with  all  this, they come  to  eat  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  to  renew  the  remembrance of his  passion  and  to  show  his  death  until  he  shall  come:  what  an outrage!

Secondly. His death  is  shown  in  this  mystery,  because  Judas there finally  determined  upon  delivering  him  up. Now, what  does