Saint Pius V: Pope of The Holy Rosary. By C. M. Antony. Part 1.

CHAPTER I. THE MODEL NOVICE. (1504-1528.)

Vision of St. Pius V

The cloudless sky and blazing noontide sun of early summer in Italy : a little flock of sheep nibbling the short grass by the roadside along the edge of the wood: in the shadow of a great tree an eager-faced boy, his curved hand shadowing his eyes, gazing earnestly up the dusty, glaring road at two white-robed approaching figures,—Dominican friars making their way home by the little village of Bosco, hidden away just below among the trees.

The shepherd-boy was Michael Ghislieri, the future Dominican, Cardinal, Pope, and Saint; the man who in ruling Christendom was to stir it to its depths, and alter the course of history.

Michael Ghislieri was born and baptized on 17 January, 1504 (Feast of St. Antony, Abbot), at the little village of Bosco near Alessandria, a town about half-way between Turin and Genoa, in the Duchy of Milan, and diocese of Tortona. His parents, though very poor, were of ancient and noble family. His father, Paolo, was grandson of that Sebastian Ghislieri who in 1445 was with his entire family driven out of Bologna by a cruel decree of the Senate during a civil war. Exiled for political reasons, a few of the family went to Rome. 1 The rest separated, Antonio, the eldest son, settling down at Bosco as a peasant-proprietor, for practically nothing had been saved out of the wreck of the family fortunes.

Of Michael's mother, Domenica Augeria, we know only that she was to her little son all that a good mother should be; that as soon as he could speak she taught him to lisp the holy names of Jesus and Mary: that from his babyhood she instilled into him a great love for Our Lady; that she taught him to be regular and diligent in his prayers.

They were very poor, for Paolo only possessed a small vineyard and a flock of sheep; but their history was known, and the family was loved and respected. The tiny cottage was a happy home—so happy, so poor, that it has been compared by an old writer to the stable at Bethlehem. From his earliest childhood Michael loved to be alone. The noisy games of the village children did not amuse him in the least. His greatest delight was to be in church, where he prayed regularly, morning and evening, meditating and hearing Mass daily. Never did he pass the church-door without entering to spend a few moments in the presence of his Maker. The foundations of the spiritual life of St. Pius V were laid at his mother's knee, and in the old church at Bosco. No wonder that throughout his life his tenderest memories centred round the little, unknown village.

When Michael was not in church he was at school, for he had a thirst for knowledge. Prayer and study were to him the only things worth living for, and his parents were wise enough not to thwart or repress the tendencies of this boy who was not like other boys. When at the age of twelve they were reluctantly obliged to take him from school to help on the tiny farm, Michael had probably learnt all that his master could teach him, but it was a great grief to him to leave. His parents, especially his mother, longed to send him to college, but it was impossible. They were too poor. Michael must face the prospect of a trade as soon as the other children grew big enough to look after the sheep and help with the vines. His father proposed one or two plans to him, but the boy begged him not to decide on any calling for a year or two. Meantime he watched his father's sheep, and spent hours in prayer, continually reciting the Rosary, to which he ever had a great devotion. In his heart he had decided to enter religion. He had no love for the world; his one desire was to serve God by prayer and study in the habit of one of the great Orders,—he knew not which, for he did not know any of them, and there was no monastery at Bosco. And Our Lady, to whom he prayed, and whom, as Chief Pastor of Christ's Holy Church he was so greatly to glorify as Help of Christians, did not fail him. But it was more than two years later when, as he was saying his Rosary under a great tree, surrounded by his sheep, he saw the two Dominicans coming towards him as the angels came to Abraham of old under the shadow of the oak.

Michael ran to them—he understood that this was his opportunity—but his sensitive shyness almost overcame him, and he spoke to them timidly, though so respectfully and earnestly that they were struck first with his manner and then with his personality. They asked him questions, and he told them his simple story, asking them if they thought it possible that he should ever enter religion. The two friars were deeply touched; the boy showed such " simplicity., candour, uprightness and innocence" that they were much attracted by him. In the conversation which followed they were so impressed by his answers, by his evident gifts of mind as well as of heart, and by his angelic aspect (of which every biographer speaks particularly), that they offered, if he could obtain his parents' consent, to take him with them to their convent of Voghera, seven miles distant, whither they were now returning; where they promised " to take care of him," to allow him to study to his heart's content, and if he was a good boy and a diligent scholar to clothe him after a certain time in the white habit of St. Dominic.

Michael's heart overflowed. This was the answer to his prayer! Running home, he implored his father and mother on his knees to give their consent. Perhaps they were taken by storm by their boy's eagerness; perhaps, the signs of vocation being so abundantly evident, they had long looked forward to a sacrifice like this. They consented with tears, but gladly, and the mother embraced her son, whether for the last time his history does not tell us, at any rate for ten years. The Dominicans were awaiting him under a tree just outside the village. He ran to them, turning often to wave his hand, his mother doubtless watching him out of sight, as he set out with his new friends for Voghera, " with a firm and light footstep," holding a fold of the habit of one of the friars. He was not yet fourteen and a half, 2 tall for his age, slight, with a line, clear-cut face and luminous eyes, full of intelligence, enthusiasm, and zeal.

From the moment of his entrance into the monastery at Voghera, where the Prior received him with true fatherly kindness and affection, Michael was able to indulge his two great desires,—to give himself wholly to God in the Order of St. Dominic, and to study. Every one in the monastery loved the clever, attractive, modest boy, who worked so hard, and absorbed so eagerly the spirit of the Order. Though Voghera was not a novitiate-house a father was specially appointed to teach him Latin and instruct him in spiritual things. And Michael himself, praying and studying to his heart's content, daily serving several Masses in succession (to which practice he had a great devotion), and flitting about the sunny, peaceful cloister, was perfectly and serenely happy. He probably looked back upon these two years and his subsequent novitiate as the happiest in his life. He used them to such good purpose that in 1520 the Prior felt the time had come for so much diligence and zeal to be rewarded. An old French writer speaks of the boys " passion for learning anything that would help him to become a Friar Preacher He had completely mastered the Latin language, and his favourite study was the Divine Office, which he always loved. It was probably in May that he received the holy habit from the hands of the Prior of Voghera, in the Conventual Church of Our Lady of Sorrows. He asked to be allowed to retain his baptismal name. 3 It was then the custom for the novice-friar to add to his own name that of the village or town whence he came. The Provincial put the question to Michael " I am from Bosco," said the boy. " But no one has ever heard of Bosco! " cried the Provincial; " you must be called Alexandrin, 4 as you come from the neighbourhood of Alessandria." The name thus given him was retained by the holy Friar throughout his life, until his succession to the Pontificate.

Next day he was sent to Vigevano, the novitiate-house of the Dominican Province of Lombardy, not very far from Voghera, and seven leagues from Milan. " Never was seen a novice more humble, more obedient, more modest, a greater lover of prayer, of retreat, of penance." He was intensely in earnest. In the Profession-book at Vigevano are these words: " Frater Michael Ghisilerius, Alexandrinus de terra Boschi, die 18 Maii 1521 fecit Solemnem professionem in manibus P. Fr.: Jacobini de Viglevano nomine conventus Vogheriensis".

After his profession he remained for a short time at Voghera before beginning the work of instructing others for which the Fathers of the Order considered him eminently and peculiarly fitted. It was a terrible time for Italy. Torn by foreign and civil wars, she was an easy prey to religious dissension and even heresy, especially in Lombardy, Michael's native land. Cradled as he was in war and bloodshed, no doubt he had often heard as a child of the dreaded Cazzari or Patareni, identical with the Albigenses in France against whom St. Dominic had so valiantly fought with that simple weapon, the Holy Rosary. He must have heard, too, of the new Protestant ideas which had already infected Switzerland, and were now attacking many districts of Northern Italy.

Michael, a true son of St. Dominic, determined to be worthily prepared for the battle against heresy. So earnestly did he study, and so promising a pupil was he, that not only did his superiors send him to the famous University of Bologna, to take his degree in theology and philosophy, but as soon as he had done so he was appointed Professor of Philosophy for the province. " The very Fathers who had been his guides now looked upon him as their model" His lectures were crowded. He sought not only to teach philosophy, but to lead the minds of his pupils to heavenly things, and this he did even more by his example than his eloquence. As well now as in later years he was a living illustration of the words : " Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also

After his course of Philosophy, made according to the custom of the Order, he became Professor of Theology (S.T.L.) to the great joy of the religious of the Province; and this office he held for sixteen years. " He treated the Divine Science divinely," says an old writer, " ever mingling with the thorns of learning the thorns of Calvary, and leading his pupils to the foot of the Cross." Thus passed the next seven years of his life, in the friaries of Fermo, Pavia, Ravenna, and Reggio.

After receiving minor orders, together with the subdiaconate and diaconate, Michael was ordered by his superiors to prepare for the priesthood.

On hearing the news he wrote a long and humble letter to the Provincial, pointing out his own unworthiness and unfitness for the State which demanded such supernatural purity and holiness that angels themselves might dread it But his earnest pleading only confirmed his superiors in their determination. After the long retreat preparatory to his ordination, during which he solemnly renewed the sacrifice he had made of his entire being to Almighty God in the Dominican Order, he received the priesthood at Genoa, in the early part of 1528, " with the love and humility of a Saint". He was in his twenty-fifth year. He had not been home or seen his parents since the day he left Bosco ten years before, and the Provincial, with tactful kindness, desired the young priest to say his first Mass in the old parish church in his native village. Father Michael set off joyfully at once to walk to Bosco. He pictured to himself the old home—the meeting with his mother—his first Mass at the altar where he had first received Holy Communion. . . .

He found the village—what was left of it—burnt to the ground by the French troops 5 some months before; his little home half-ruined; the church desecrated and roofless. All the inhabitants had fled. This was his home-coming. Was it to teach his courageous soul a still sharper lesson of detachment? He accepted the blow without a murmur. Hearing that his family and friends had taken refuge at the little village of Sezze, 1 a few miles away, he sought them there, across the trampled and desolate fields. It was at Sezze, in the little church which had escaped the fate of Bosco, that he celebrated the Holy Mysteries for the first time among his own people—perhaps in the presence of his father and mother—while the Pope was still the Emperor's prisoner in Rome, and terrible tales of war and misery were in everyone's mouth. But in the young priest who stood at dawn at the altar of the little church of Sezze, God was raising up a man after His own heart, one who in virtue of his Divine commission should assert the authority of the Church over mighty princes, and rule Christ's kingdom without fear or favour.

1 They took the name of Consigliari, retaining, however, the family arms. Under this name they became illustrious, and later resumed that of Ghislieri.

2 There is a good deal of confusion among his biographers as to dates, at this point. Gabutius, writing in 1605, says Michael was fourteen when he arrived at Voghera, which would tlx the year at 1518. Touron, whose history is founded on the process for the canonization of St. Pius, says he was scarcely fourteen when he received the holy habit. As the date of his profession is fixed beyond a doubt (18 May, 1521) it is practically certain that he remained for two years as student and postulant at Voghera, being clothed there, May, 1520. This supposition is borne out by all the details of his story.

3 "Suo retente nomine, Sanctissimi Dominicani ordinis habitum induit" (Gabutius, bk. I, c. 1, p. 5).

4  Alessandrino.

5 The sack of Rome by the Imperial troops took place in 1527, the previous year. The Battle of Pavia was just over.

July 16.--ST. SIMON STOCK. (butlers 1894 saint of the day)

SIMON was born in the county of Kent, England, and left his home when he was but twelve years of age, to live as a hermit in the hollow trunk of a tree, whence he was known as Simon of the Stock. Here he passed twenty years in penance and prayer, and learned from Our Lady that he was to join an Order not then known in England. He waited in patience till the White Friars came, and then entered the Order of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. His great holiness moved his brethren in the general chapter held at Aylesford, near Rochester, in 1245, to choose him prior-general of the Order. In the many persecutions raised against the new religious, Simon went with filial confidence to the Blessed Mother of God. As he knelt in prayer in the White Friars' convent at Cambridge, on July 16, 1251, she appeared before him and presented him with the scapular, in assurance of her protection. The devotion to the blessed habit spread quickly throughout the Christian world. Pope after Pope enriched it with indulgences, and miracles innumerable put their seal upon its efficacy. The first of them was worked at Winchester on a man dying in despair, who at once asked for the Sacraments, when the scapular was laid upon him by St. Simon Stock. In the year 1636, M. de Guge, a cornet in a cavalry regiment, was mortally wounded at the engagement of Tobin, a bullet having lodged near his heart. He was then in a state of grievous sin, but had time left him to make his confession, and with his own hands wrote his last testament. When this was done, the surgeon probed his wound, and the bullet was found to have driven his scapular into his heart. On its being withdrawn, he presently expired, making profound acts of gratitude to the Blessed Virgin, who had prolonged his life miraculously, and thus preserved him from eternal death. St. Simon Stock died at Bordeaux in 1265.
Reflection.--To enjoy the privileges of the scapular, it is sufficient that it be received lawfully and worn devoutly. How, then, can any one fail to profit by a devotion so easy, so simple, and so wonderfully blessed? "He that shall overcome, shall thus be clothed in white garments, and I will not blot out his name out of the book of life, and I will confess his name before My Father and before His angels" (Apoc. iii. 5) .

Why The Daily Rosary?

Our Lady has 117 titles. She selected this title at Fatima: "I am the Lady of the Rosary". St. Francis de Sales said the greatest method of praying is: "Pray the Rosary" St. Thomas Aquinas preached 40 straight days in Rome, Italy on just the Hail Mary. St. John Vianney, patron of priests, was seldom seen without a rosary in his hand. "The rosary is the scourge of the devil" - Pope Adrian VI. "The rosary is a treasure of graces" - Pope Paul V. Padre Pio the stigmatic priest said: "The rosary is THE WEAPON" Pope Leo XIII wrote 9 encyclicals on the rosary. Pope John XXIII spoke 38 times about our Lady and the Rosary. He prayed 15 decades daily. St. Louis Marie Grignion de Montfort wrote: "The rosary is the most powerful weapon to touch the Heart of Jesus, Our Redeemer, who so loves His Mother." If you wish to obtain a favor: Pray THE "54-day ROSARY NOVENA"... - Pray 3 nine day rosary novenas - 27 days of petition; - Pray 3 nine day rosary novenas - 27 days of thanksgiving. Will you give 1% of 1440 minutes each day to God? If so, pray the daily rosary in 15 minutes - 1% of 24 hours. Later on, give 3% and pray entire 15 decade rosary. Joyful, Sorrowful and Glorious Mysteries.

Rosary of the Holy Wounds of Our Lord Jesus Christ

(or the Chaplet of Mercy, not to be confused with the Chaplet of Divine Mercy) It may be said on the Rosary Beads. On the large beads: Eternal Father, I offer Thee the WOUNDS of Our Lord Jesus Christ -- To heal the wounds of our souls. 300 days indulgence each time On the small beads: My Jesus, pardon and mercy -- Through the merits of Thy HOLY WOUNDS. 300 days indulgence each time Sacred Penetentiary, January 15, 1924. These two invocations were taught by Our Lord to Sr. M. Martha Chambon, deceased, in the Visitation of Chambery, France, March 21, 1907. The Sister received from Our Lord a double "Mission": Constantly to invoke the HOLY WOUNDS herself, and to revive this devotion in the world. Promises of Our Lord to Sr. Mary Martha: "I will grant all that is asked of me by the invocation of My HOLY WOUNDS. You must spread the devotion.

OUR SACRAMENTAL LIFE Rev. H. A. Johnston, S.J.

THE FOOD OF OUR SOULS

THE sacraments, as we know, are outward signs; and they give the grace which they signify. The Blessed Eucharist is received under the outward form of eating and drinking, and this signifies that the effect produced in our souls is like that produced in our bodies and in our natural life by the food and drink which we take. Through the sacrament of Baptism we received supernatural life. Confirmation ratified the consecration given to our souls in Baptism, brought us into closer union with God, and called us to higher responsibilities in the supernatural order. Now every living being needs food, and the more active it is the more its energy needs to be restored and maintained by regular and suitable nourishment. This is none the less true of the supernatural life of the soul. We must grow in grace; we must have strength to practise high and difficult virtues; we must be able to resist those evil influences which are within us and all around us; and we must counteract what we may call the ordinary wear and tear to which we are subject—even spiritually—so long as we are on trial in this world. We may, in a true sense, say that all sanctifying grace which we receive from God is food for our souls, because. by it our souls are strengthened and our supernatural life intensified. But God has given us one particular sacrament which is in a special sense the food of our souls, and the food which we receive in this sacrament is really and truly God Himself. Suppose that we had been allowed to plan for ourselves, and arrange the spiritual helps that were to be given to us to enable us to lead a holy life. Could we ever have dreamt that it would be possible for us to have our souls nourished by the very substance of Jesus Christ Himself' And even if the possibility of such a thing had crossed our minds, could we have dared to hope or expect that God would give us such a gift? Even though His infinite goodness and love were known to us, could we have imagined that God, Who had taken our nature in order to be more closely united with us, would go still further and give Himself to each of us, individually, under the appearance of corporal food?

DO WE REALISE?

Let us imagine that we are telling this truth to someone who has never heard it before, a visitor—let us suppose— from another world. We first explain the conditions of our life on earth—our dependence on God, the absolute necessity of serving Him, and thus saving our souls, the difficulties, temptations, and dangers, to which we are exposed. The picture would, no doubt, appear a gloomy one, and our visitor might well judge our task to be a difficult one. But then we might go on to tell how it was possible for each Catholic to receive God Himself—Jesus Christ, true God and true Man—under the form of bodily food, and thus bring about a marvellously close union between God and his soul; and this, not once only, but over and over again—even daily. This hypothetical stranger might well say, "What, then, have you to complain of? If God Himself will come and make Himself one with you like that; if, weak and foolish as you may be, you can bring the strength and wisdom of God into your souls, surely that must make a great difference in your lives, and compens ate for all its difficulties." Have we fully realised this truth yet? We read that the prophet Elias once fled into the wilderness from the wicked Jezebel. After travelling for a day, he threw himself down to die, and fell asleep under a juniper tree. While he slept an angel called him and said, "Arise and eat" He looked and saw a hearth cake and a vessel of water. He ate and drank, and fell asleep again. A second time the angel called him and said, "Arise and eat, for you have still a long way to go." He ate and drank the second time, and then, we are told, "he walked in the strength of that food for forty days and forty nights till he reached the mountain of God, Horeb" (II Kings xix., 8). We are all travelling through the wilderness of this world to an eternal home. Lest we faint of hunger, God has provided us with food far more wonderful than that which sustained the courage and strength of the prophet till he reached the mountain of God. We have, therefore, a spiritual food, than which no more perfect can be imagined, and no more perfect is possible. A nd this food is available for all. There are many people in the world, unfortunately, who cannot always get good food for their bodies, or cannot get enough; but no one need go hungry for this food of the soul. Perhaps we have not realised all that God has done for us in giving us 'this sacrament. It may be that, just because we have always known of the gift of the Blessed Eucharist, having been familiar with it since childhood, we have come to take it too much for granted, and consequently do not appreciate either God's Incomprehensible goodness in giving us this sacrament or the incalculable value it is to us.

WE MUST EAT TO LIVE

What does food do for us? It first of all keeps us alive. Deprive a living thing of food and it soon dies. When Our Lord first spoke of the Blessed Eucharist, He spoke of it as food and as giving life to the soul "'The bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. . . . I am the bread of life. He that comes to Me shall not hunger, and he that believes in Me shall never thirst.. . . I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate manna in the desert, and they are dead. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, that whoever eats of it may not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread he shall live for ever; and the bread that I shall give is My flesh, for the life of the world. . . . Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood you shall not have life in you. He that eats My flesh and drinks My blood has everlasting life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For My flesh is food indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. . . . As the living Father sent Me and I live by the Father, so he that eats Me shall also live by Me. . . . He that eats this bread shall live for ever" (St John vi., 33-59). We see how Our Lord insists on the necessity of eating this divine food if our supernatural life is to be maintained. As supernatural life is so much more precious to us than our natural life, we should be all the more ca reful that our souls are not deprived of the nourishment which God in His goodness has provided for them. Food also makes us grow, so long as we have not attained our full natural size. In the same way, the Blessed Eucharist makes our souls grow in virtue. But while natural growth comes to an end when we reach a certain age, spiritual growth, fostered by the Blessed Sacrament, can—and should —go on as long as life lasts. Every Holy Communion we receive should help us to gro w in supernatural virtue and in likeness to Jesus Christ, and thus make us more dear to God. As this growth will cease whe n our life on earth comes to an end, we should be greedy (we might almost say) to receive this sacred food as often as we possibly can.

HEALTH AND PROTECTION AGAINST DISEASE

Food, if it is good and abundant enough, makes us robust and healthy. Doctors tell us that a suitable and sufficient diet is the chief factor in securing good health. The Blessed Eucharist can do for our souls more than the most perfect natural food can do for our bodies. No one particular kind of natural food can be said to provide all that the body needs. But all the needs of our souls are fully provided for in this divine food which has been granted to us. Faith, hope, and charity, and all the other virtues whose presence shows that the soul is in a healthy state, are fostered and strengthened by reception of the Blessed Eucharist. Through this sacrament we obtain the spiritual vigour which makes us able to practise difficult virtues and work hard in God's service. Obstacles that would ordinarily prove insurmountable become almost negligible for one who is well nourished with the "bread of the strong" which Christ provides at His banquet-table. Good health carries with it the power to resist disease. Those who are ill-fed or run-down are the first to fall vic- tims in an epidemic. The same thing happens to the soul. We are always liable to be infected by sin, by false prin- ciples, by wrong ideas, and by bad example; and bad habits easily take hold of us. But if our spiritual life is vigorous and healthy we are in less danger. That is why the Blessed Eucharist is the best protection against all those spiritual maladies to which we are subject. It is a real tonic for the soul, and is of particular value in strengthening and safeguarding those who are exposed to special difficulties or temptations. In every part of our body there is constant waste going on, and this has to be made good by the food which we eat. Through the processes of digestion, food is changed into our living substance, and thus the different parts of our organism receive what is necessary for their renewal. In this respect the analogy between the Blessed Eucharist and our natural food is not exact. The various substances that make up our ordinary food are assimilated by us and thus changed into something different, and something of a higher kind. But we do not, of course, change Jesus Christ; rather does He change us into something better than we were, making us more like Himself by communicating to us some share in His divine life and virtues.

THE SACRAMENT OF JOY

Another effect of good food is that it produces cheerfulness and a general feeling of well-being, which contribute a great deal to our happiness in life. You do not expect one who is habitually hungry or under-fed to be very bright and happy. Soldiers without rations are not likely to have the courage that wins battles. The spirit of cheerfulness and joy is very necessary in the spiritual life also. Without it we shall not be able to continue for long practising virtues that are hard for human nature, and showing energy and generosity in God's service. "A merry heart goes all the way, your sad tires in a mile-a," as Shakespeare says. But there is nothing which can so comfort and strengthen the heart and inspire such supernatural courage and joy, as the Blessed Sacrament. Through intimate association with Jesus Christ which Holy Communion brings, we gain a taste for spiritual things and an appreciation of the supernatural, which in turn enable us to resist the fascination of what is purely natural and earthly. "O sacrum convivium," "O Sacred banquet," are words which the Church uses about the Blessed Eucharist, and this banquet of Jesus Christ, while giving nourishment to our souls, also fills us with the spirit of cheerfulness, which makes it easy for us to bear our burdens gladly and serve God joyfully. It is obvious that the Blessed Eucharist brings us into closest union with Jesus Christ, God and Man. The union we are thinking of is not the mere physical union, which lasts only a short time after we have received Holy Communion, but a spiritual, sacramental union between our souls and Jesus Christ, which lasts, and grows stronger and more intimate, every time we come to the Holy Table. It is this union which produces what is the most notable effect of this sacrament, an increase of love of Jesus Christ. There is nothing which can so powerfully help us to know and love Our Lord as to receive Him frequently and devoutly in Holy Communion. The love which is thus developed is no mere love of sentiment or feeling, but that true love which impels us to follow in the footsteps of our Master and work generously for the spread of His Kingdom.

ONCE MORE, DO WE REALISE?

If, therefore, we want our lives to be holy, happy, and truly successful, we have only to make good use of the wonderful food which Jesus Christ has provided for us. To starve through lack of food is a sad fate. But sadder still is to starve in the midst of plenty. While, therefore, we must sympathise with those who—through no fault of their own— are outside the true Fold and are thus deprived of this heavenly food, we must at the same time make sure that we ourselves appreciate it as we should. Since the beginning of the reign of Pope Pius X, the Church has been trying to re-establish among her children the practice of daily Communion, where it is possible. For a great many, of course, this is not possible; but once we even begin to realise the sublime nature of the gift, and the marvellous love and goodness of Him who has given it to us, the only answer we can give to the question, "How often should I receive Holy Communion?" is, "As often as I possibly can." What would non-Catholics think of our conduct if, believing what we do about the Blessed Eucharist, we were to show ourselves indifferent to this wonderful gift, and to the love which prompted it? And how foolish we should be, from the point of view of our own interests if through negligence, we were to deny ourselves the help and grace which this sacrament can give, and which we so badly need!

A DIFFICULTY

But here a difficulty might present itself. If all that we have said about the value of sacrament is true (and how could a Catholic deny it?), how does it come about that, in spite of frequent Communions, we do not see the manifest effects in our lives? There are two answers to be given. First, the effects produced may be very real and very noteworthy without our being able always to recognise them. Spiritual results are not always easy to estimate, and a wise director must be consulted before we decide that our Holy Communions are not doing us any good. But if it is true that we are not receiving from frequent Communion all the benefit that we should receive, we must bear in mind that the fault is not in the food, but in the one that eats it. There is a striking passage early in the sixth chapter of St. Mark's Gospel. Our Lord had gone, in the course of His public life, on a visit to Nazareth. We may be sure that He had a special affection for this town and for its people, among whom He had lived for so many years. We should have expected that He would work His greatest miracles here. But He did not. St. Mark makes the extraordinary statement that "He could not do any miracles there, only that He cured a few that were sick." Why could He not work miracles in Nazareth, as elsewhere? Was He not all-powerful? The answer is given immediately in the sentence that follows, "He wondered because of their unbelief."

THE ANSWER

If, then, Jesus comes to us frequently, and yet there are no miracles of grace worked in our souls, we have to see whether in our case, too, the explanation is not that there is something wanting in our dispositions. Besides frequent Communion, we must insist on fervent Communions. The mere physical presence of Jesus Christ within us is not suf- ficient to sanctify us. Even a sinner can receive Holy Communion and profit nothing by it; instead, in the strong words of St. Paul, he "eats judgment of condemnation." What benefits us is the sacramental union between our souls and Jesus Christ, and this is the closer and the more productive of results, the more perfect are our dispositions. We should, therefore, when we come to Holy Communion, make a real effort to excite within us a vivid faith, a deep humility, a strong tryst, and an earnest desire. The number of those who receive this sacrament is great, but very different are the results which are produced in different souls. Why is that? The sacrament is the same for all, and the power and love of Christ can never be exhausted; but the dispositions of the recipients vary very much, and with the dispositions the graces which the sacrament confers. We read in the Gospels that Our Lord was once making His way through a great crowd which had gathered to hear and see Him. A woman who was there, and who had been afflicted with an ailment for twelve years, spending all her money on doctors without result, said to herself that if she could only get close and touch His cloak she would be healed. She made her way through the crowd and as He passed stretched out her hand and touched the hem of His cloak; and instantly she was cured. Our Lord turned and said, "Who is it that touched Me?" Peter and others replied, "What do You mean by that, Lord? See, the crowd is pressing close about You on all sides." But Jesus said, "Someone has touched Me, for I feel that power has gone out from Me." It was true that many were touching Our Lord; but one woman touched Him with firm faith and earnest desire, and at once the divine power produced effects in her which none of the others experienced. It is with the same faith and desire that we must try to receive Our Lord when He comes to us in Holy Communion. Then we, too, shall experience the effects of His power in our souls.

FREQUENT COMMUNION AT SCHOOL

A word of special warning may be useful for boys and girls in Catholic boarding-schools. For them, frequent and daily Communion is easy; they have to make, ordinarily, no particular effort or sacrifice in order to receive Our Lord as often as they wish. This opportunity for frequent Communion is, without doubt, a great blessing. But it also has its dangers. What we can get too easily we may not value highly enough. When it costs us little trouble to receive the sacraments there is danger that we may find ourselves receiving them through routine, just because we have got into the habit of it, and not because of the value which we set upon the sacraments and the positive desire for them which we have. If this happened at school, the result would be, in the first place, that the sacraments would not produce, at a most important period of life, all the fruits that they could produce, because the dispositions of the recipients would be very imperfect; and, furthermore, when school days were past and it was not so easy to receive the sacraments, little effort, perhaps, might be made to keep up frequent Communion. It is important, therefore, that those who, at school, have abundant opportunities of receiving the sacraments should develop a real, personal, and independent appreciation of them for their own sake, and not allow this appreciation to be overgrown by habit and routine.

PREPARATION AND THANKSGIVING

It is clear, then, that if we are to profit by our Holy Communions we must be diligent in preparation. We owe this duty, also, out of respect for and gratitude to Jesus Christ. When Our Lord once dined with a Pharisee named Simon, He drew attention to the fact that His host had not given Him any of the signs of respect and courtesy commonly shown to guests. We must take care that we do not merit the same reproach when He comes to us in Holy Com- munion, and must be ready to show Him all the respect and love of which we are capable. It requires an effort in order to excite within us the dispositions of faith, humility, and desire with which we should receive Holy Communion, but if we think of the dignity and the generosity of the Guest Who is coming to us, surely the effort will not be so hard to make. Our thanksgiving after Holy Communion we should regard as a sacred duty. It is not right, in ordinary circumstances, to leave the church immediately after a Mass at which we have received Holy Communion. Our first thoughts should be for Our Lord Himself, as we adore Him, thank Him, humble ourselves before Him, renew our loyalty to Him, and make acts of self-surrender. Then we may recall what wonderful results the sacrament is meant to produce in our souls, and excite our desires and our confidence. This time immediately after Holy Communion is very precious, for never in this life shall we have Our Lord closer to us. But our preparation for Holy Communion and our thanksgiving afterwards should not be confined to a short period immediately before and after the reception of the sacrament. The more we can extend them, the better will be our dispositions and the greater our profit. When going about our ordinary duties, and at our ordinary prayers, we can look forward to our next Holy Communion with sentiments like these: "O Jesus, I am going to receive You tomorrow (or next Sunday, or whatever the day may be). I long to be united to You. I need You. Prepare me to receive You." In the same way, we can look back to our last Communion and try to realise better Our Lord's great love for us, and the graces He has given us, and resolve to do our part to bring about the fulfilment of His promise, "He that eats Me shall live by Me."

THE ABIDING PRESENCE

The Blessed Eucharist differs from other sacraments in that the others are passing actions which leave only their effects behind, whereas in the' Blessed Eucharist there is something permanent, the abiding presence of Our Lord— Emmanuel, God with us. As God, Jesus Christ is everywhere, but as Man He is in heaven and wherever the Blessed Sacrament is reserved. We believe this, of course, but we must make sure that our belief has an influence on our life and actions. We may sometimes be inclined to envy the shepherds who came and found the Infant God in a stable at Bethlehem, or the people who lived near the Holy Family in Nazareth, or those who listened to the teaching of Jesus Christ on the hill-slopes and by the Lake of Galilee, or the sick who were carried to Him that He might lay His hands upon them. But we need not envy them. The same Jesus Christ lives with us, hidden indeed, but really present—with the same loving heart and the same divine power to bless and help. Should our faith not impel us to visit the Blessed Sacrament frequently, with love and confidence? Think of how people flocked to Him while He was on earth in visible form. We cannot see Him, of course, as they did, but He has told us Himself that we are all the more blessed on that account, because of the merit which faith brings us.

SUMMARY

The excellence of this divine food. The difference it should make in our lives. The effects of food: It maintains life; It makes us grow; It gives health and protection against disease; It makes good the wastage that goes on in our organs; It promotes a feeling of well-being. The Blessed Eucharist brings us into closest touch with Jesus Christ, and increases love. How often should we receive Holy Communion? A difficulty and its answer. Frequent Communion at school. Preparation and thanksgiving. The abiding presence of Our Lord with us in the Blessed Sacrament.

THE ADMINISTRATION OF HOLY COMMUNION

Holy Communion is an integral part of the sacrifice of the Mass. The priest must consume the Sacred Host and the Precious Blood when offering the sacrifice, and in early times all those who assisted at Mass partook of the Victim there offered. The normal time for receiving Holy Communion, therefore, is during Mass, and in this way we share most intimately in the Holy Sacrifice. When Holy Communion is to be distributed during Mass, after the priest has consumed the Precious Blood the server bows down and recites the Confiteor in the name of those who are to receive the sacrament The priest then takes the ciborium from the tabernacle and, turning towards the people, says: May Almighty God have mercy on you, and forgiving you all your sins lead you to eternal life. Amen. May mercy, absolution, and remission of your sins be granted you by the almighty and merciful Lord. Amen. (Then, taking the ciborium and holding up a Host, that it may be seen by all, the priest says:) Here is the Lamb of God, Who takes away the sins of the world. Lord, I am not worthy that You should enter under my roof, but only say a word and my soul will be healed (three times). (When placing the Host on the tongue of the recipient, the priest says:) May the Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ guard your soul for everlasting life. (If Holy Communion is not being distributed during Mass, but immediately before or after, or at some other time, the following prayers are added:) O sacred banquet, in which Christ is received, the memory of His Passion is recalled, the soul is filled with grace, and a pledge of future glory is given us. You have given them bread from heaven. (Answer) Having in it all kind of delight. O Lord, hear my prayer. (Answer) And let my cry come to You. The Lord be with you. (Answer) And with you. Let us pray. O God, You have given us under a wonderful sacrament a memorial of Your Passion; grant us, we pray, so to venerate the sacred mysteries of Your Body and Blood that we may constantly experience in us the fruit of Your redemption, living and reigning for ever and ever. Amen. (When the tabernacle door has been closed, the priest gives the following blessing:) May the blessing of Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, come down upon you and remain always. Amen.

SPIRITUAL COMMUNION

Besides sacramental Communion there is what is called "spiritual Communion," which means receiving Holy Communion in desire when it is not possible to receive it actually. A spiritual Communion can, be made at Mass when it is not possible to receive sacramentally, when one is visiting the Blessed Sacrament, or at any other time. No particular form of words is required. This may serve as an example: "O Jesus, I believe that You are really present in the Blessed Eucharist; I wish I could now receive You sacramentally; come into my soul and fill it with Your grace." Just as with sacramental Communion, so with spiritual Communion, we profit the more by it the better are the dispositions which we excite within us. Spiritual Communion is a good preparation for sacramental Communion, and an excellent way of carrying on our thanksgiving afterwards. It is a particularly useful practice for those who have few opportunities of sacramental Communion.

REQUISITE DISPOSITIONS

Food cannot benefit the dead, and Holy Communion can be profitably received only by one who is in the state of grace. To receive Holy Communion deliberately in the state of mortal sin is to commit a great sacrilege. Fur- thermore, if mortal sin has been committed. sacramental confession must precede reception of the Blessed Euch- arist; an act of perfect contrition, though restoring sanctifying grace, would not suffice as preparation for Holy Communion. Nothing whatever in the nature of food or drink must have been taken during the prescribed fast if a person wishes to receive Holy Communion. It does not matter whether it is taken intentionally or unintentionally. This law is to be interpreted strictly, but not in a foolish or scrupulous manner. Where there is a difference between local time, true solar time and standard time, we may follow whichever we like in estimating midnight. In certain circumstances Holy Communion may be received by one who has not kept the fast. Two practical cases are: 1. When Holy Communion is received as Viaticum the law of fast does not bind. It should also be noted that Viaticum may be received by one who has already received Holy Communion in the ordinary way the same day. 2. If a person has been laid-up for a month, and has no certain expectation of speedy recovery, Holy Communion may be received—on the prudent advice of the confessor —once or twice a week, even if medicine (liquid or solid) or liquid food has been taken.

PART OF THE DECREE ON FREQUENT COMMUNION (December 20th, 1905.)

Frequent and daily Communion, as a thing most earnestly desired by Christ Our Lord and by the Catholic Church, should be open to all the faithful, of whatever rank and condition of life; so that no one who is in the state of grace, and who approaches the Holy Table with a right and devout intention, can lawfully be hindered therefrom. A right intention consists in this, that he who approaches the Holy Table should do so, not out of routine, or vainglory, or human respect, but for the purpose of pleasing God, of being more closely united with Him by charity, and of seeking this divine remedy for his weaknesses and defects. Although it is most expedient that those who communicate frequently or daily should be free from venial sins, at least from such as are fully deliberate, and from any affection thereto, nevertheless it is sufficient that they be free from mortal sin, with the purpose of never sinning in future; and if they have this sincere purpose, it is impossible but that daily communicants should gradually free themselves even from venial sins, and from all affection thereto. But whereas the Sacraments of the New Law, though they ,take effect of their own intrinsic power,* neverthe- less produce a greater effect in proportion as the dispositions of the recipient are better, therefore care is to be taken that Holy Communion be preceded by careful preparation, and followed by a suitable thanksgiving, according to each one's strength, circumstances, and duties. That the practice of frequent and daily Communion may be carried out with greater prudence and more abundant merit, the confessor's advice should be asked. Confessors, however, are to be careful not to dissuade anyone from frequent and daily Communion, provided that he is in the state of grace and approaches with a right intention. But since it is plain that, by the frequent or daily reception of the Holy Eucharist, union with Christ is fostered, the spiritual life more abundantly sustained, the soul more richly endowed with virtues, and an even surer pledge of everlasting happiness bestowed on the recipient, therefore parish priests, confessors, and preachers, in accordance with the approved teaching of the Roman Catechism, are frequently, and with great zeal, to exhort the faithful to this devout and salutary practice. *The technical expression is, ex opera operate

POINTS FOR CONSIDERATION OR DISCUSSION

If I were allowed by God to choose food for my soul, could I find anything better than the food He has actually given me? In what part of the Gospels does Our Lord tell us of the Blessed Eucharist and its effects? We do not neglect our bodily food. Are we as careful to attend to the nourishment of our souls? Is it more important to have a healthy body or a healthy soul? There are many virtues hard to practice. Do I think it will make a difference if I often bring Our Lord into close union with my soul in Holy Communion? Am I really convinced of the value of the Blessed Eucharist to my soul? Do I show it by receiving Holy Communion as often as I can? "But I don't feel any better when I receive Holy Communion." What have I to say in answer to this objection? Could I quote from the Gospels examples to show that Our Lord requires certain dispositions in the recipients of His favours? My preparation and thanksgiving—are they in accord with what I believe about the Blessed Eucharist? It is often found that many in our congregations who have received Holy Communion leave the church imme- diately after Mass is over. What do I think of such conduct? Do I frequently—or ever—make spiritual Communions? Am I clear about the law of fasting before Holy Communion, and do I know any common exceptions? The six paragraphs quoted from the Decree on Frequent Communion all provide useful matter for consideration. They give the authoritative teaching of the Church on the subject. Do I see any connection between the Blessed Eucharist—where the children of God eat the same food at the same table—and the virtue of charity? I can reflect on the following verse of one of the eucharistic hymns of St. Thomas Aquinas. It is a summing up of what Our Lord is to us: At birth He gave Himself as our companion, at table as our food, in death as the price of redemption, in glory He gives Himself as reward. . Se nascens dedit socium, Convescens in edulium, Se moriens in pretium, Se regnans dat in praemium. The Sacrifice of the Mass* The offering of the sacrifice of the Mass is the most important action which takes place on this earth. Yet this is a fact which often is not recognised. Let us, therefore, make an effort to understand the Mass and its importance. * We see, therefore, that sacrifice is an act of worship which can be paid to God alone.

THE NATURE OF SACRIFICE

A sacrament, as we have seen, is an outward sign which indicates and produces a spiritual effect—namely, the sanctification of souls. A sacrifice is an outward rite which indicates a consecration or dedication of ourselves to God. Sacrifice is the greatest act of worship which men can offer to God. We are bound, as creatures, to make open acknowledgment of God's unique position as Creator, which involves His supreme rights over us and our entire de- pendence on Him, and to pay Him honour as the one self-existent Being, infinitely perfect and the source of all reality and all good. In sacrifice man takes something that he Prizes and surrenders it or makes it over to God, meaning by the surrender and consecration of his gift to symbolise his own consecration to God and thus to acknowledge that man, with everything that he has, belongs entirely to God, and is completely at His disposal, and also to make reparation for offences which he has committed against God. There is only one God, Creator and Lord of all things, and to Him alone this supreme act of worship can be offered. We can admire and praise creatures; we can ask their help and express gratitude to them; but we offer sacrifice and adoration to God alone. *The Blessed Eucharist is a sacrament; but it is a sacrament which comes to us through the sacrifice of the Mass; and the reception of the Blessed Eucharist is an, integral part of that sacrifice. Hence it is that a talk on the sacrifice of the Mass naturally finds a place among these talks on the Sacraments. *Properly speaking, sacrifice is a public act of external worship, offered by a duly appointed and authorised official, a priest.

ANCIENT SACRIFICES

Going back in history, we find that sacrifice has always been offered, even among those who had only an imperfect knowledge of God and of His nature. The ancient Egyptians. Greeks, and Romans, all had temples and altars of sacrifice. As soon as men realised, however imperfectly, the existence and rights of a Supreme Being, at once nature impelled them to offer to this Being a peculiar mark of homage and respect, which took the form of sacrifice. The offering of sacrifice, therefore, is something that is natural to man. The very first pages of Holy Scripture show us men offering sacrifice. When, later in human history, God had chosen one particular people as the guardian of the revelation which He made to mankind. Sacrifice occupied a most important place in the organised worship of God. Very precise instructions were given by God concerning the sacrifices to be offered by the Jews, the rites which were to accompany them, and the priests who were to offer them. These sacrifices of the Old Law—oxen, sheep, and goats, and the fruits of the field—were, of course, very imperfect, and far from worthy of the God to Whom they were offered. But they were the best that man could offer, and when they were offered with the right dispositions God accepted them, partly out of consideration for the good- will of those who offered them, but chiefly because these sacrifices looked forward to and prepared the way for another, a perfect sacrifice, that was to come.

A PERFECT SACRIFICE

A perfect sacrifice! Could this ideal be realised? Could man, with all his limitations and imperfections, ever hope to offer a perfect sacrifice to his Creator? Yet a worthy sacrifice was needed. Through original sin the human family had been estranged from God, and had lost the very precious supernatural gifts which He had bestowed. How could that sin be atoned for and the lost heritage regained? Man by himself was powerless to recover what had been lost. "O the depth of the riches and of the wisdom and of the knowledge of God! How inscrutable are His judgments, and how untraceable His ways!" (Rom. xi., 33.) God had a plan by which mankind should be able to offer a perfect sacrifice to God's majesty, and thus make complete reparation for sin and bring about peace between the creature and his Creator. The Second Person of the Blessed Trinity became Man in order to offer to Almighty God, as high-priest and re- presentative of the human race, a perfect sacrifice, the sacrifice of Himself, the Lamb without spot. He was Man, and therefore could speak and act for us; He was also Son of God, and therefore all His actions were supremely acceptable to His Father. His sacrifice was an absolutely perfect sacrifice, and of infinite value, because the priest who offered it was God as well as Man,and because the Victim offered was divine.

OUR SACRIFICE

Through that perfect sacrifice of Jesus Christ on Calvary atonement was made for the sin of mankind, peace was restored between God and man, the treasures of divine grace were opened to us, and we obtained a right to eternal life with Jesus Christ in the kingdom of His Father. Our Lord might have wished His sacrifice to end there (for nothing could be added to that perfect sacrifice), and leave us the memory of it, together with the graces it had won for us. But, in His great love for us, He determined to make it possible for His children throughout all time to associate themselves in the most intimate way with the great sacrifice of redemption. And so, having made Himself a Victim on the Cross, it was His plan to remain a Victim always, and to continue to offer Himself in sacrifice every day through the priests of His Church, to whom He gave the power of doing what He, the great high-priest, had done.

THE MASS AND CALVARY

It was at the Last Supper that this sacrifice of the New Law was instituted. There Jesus Christ changed bread and wine into His body and blood, using expressions that were associated with the offering of sacrifice: "This is My body which is given for you," and "This is My blood of the New Covenant which is poured out for you for the remission of sins" (Matt. xxvi., 28; Luke xxii., 19). Thus He looked forward to the actual shedding of His blood, which _ was to take place next day, and made then, in anticipation, the bloodless offering of the Victim which would be immolated on the Cross. At the same time He charged His Apostles to do what He had done—that is, to make the same offering in the same way, in memory of Him. In obedience to that command the sacrifice of the Mass is offered daily on our altars, and will be offered without cessation till the end of time. From this it will be clear that the Mass is not a different sacrifice from that of the Supper and Calvary. Just as that offering at the Last Supper of the Victim to be immolated next day made one sacrifice with Calvary, so our offering of the same Victim at Mass, in the same way as Christ offered and at His command, makes one sacrifice with Calvary. The Mass presupposes the immolation on the Cross, and as a sacrifice would be meaningless and profitless without it. For the same reason there is no question of adding anything to the sacrifice of Calvary; that would be both un- necessary and impossible. But Our Lord has put it in our power to offer this same sacrifice again and again, by remaining always our Victim, and being really present on our altars as a Victim, in order that we might be able to get closer to our Redeemer and share more fully in the merits of redemption. Just as there is only one sun, but it must shine every day, so there is only one sacrifice of redemption, but that we offer and make our own every day.

THE MEANING OF THE MASS

The first thing, then, about the Mass which we have to realise and keep clearly before us is that it is a sacrifice, and consequently the greatest and holiest act of religion which we could perform. We must guard against the mistake of looking upon it merely as a devotional exercise, as a set of prayers, or even as an opportunity for adoring and honouring Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. This would be to misunderstand its real meaning and value. The mention of sacrifice sends some people's minds back immediately to the Old Testament, as if sacrifices belonged only to it and came to an end with it. Those sacrifices were only types and promises; we have the great reality to which they were leading. If someone stopped me on the way to Mass and asked me what I was going to do, the right answer would be, "I am going to offer sacrifice to God." Even a sympathetic Protestant writer (Augustine Birrell) was struck by the grandeur and helpfulness of this doctrine. "If," he once wrote, "the Incarnation be indeed the one divine event to which the whole creation moves, the miracle of the altar may well seem its restful shadow cast over a dry and thirsty land for the help of man, who is apt to be discouraged if perpetually told that everything really important and interesting happened, once for all, long ago, in a chill historic past." Secondly, the sacrifice which we offer is the one great sacrifice by which Christ redeemed us. We could not all be an Calvary when Christ died for us (and perhaps it is as well that we were not there, for most of those present were there to scoff), but we can all be at Mass—and not once but many times. When we are at Mass, it is just the same, in reality, as if we were kneeling beneath the Cross on which Christ died for us. The surroundings are different; the reality is the same. The same Victim is being offered to God, and the same great Priest is offering the sacrifice through the hands of the Church and of the human priest, whom He has appointed to carry on His work in His name. We have, therefore, in the holy sacrifice of the Mass a treasure which we could never exhaust, and one whose value, in spite of all our efforts, we shall never fully appreciate.

THE FOUNDATION OF OUR FAITH.

This wonderful sacrifice of the New Law had been foretold long before. Malachy, the last of the prophets, about 400 years before the birth of Christ, had reproached the Jewish people, in God's name, for their ingratitude and infidelity, and their priests for negligence in offering the prescribed sacrifices. He foretold that a new sacrifice, a bloodless oblation, would be offered to God among the Gentiles (that is, outside the Jewish race), in every part of the world, from the rising to the setting of the sun (Mal. i., 11). The sacrifice of the Mass is the fulfilment of that prophecy. We could at this point turn to the early Christian writers and find evidence that the sacrifice of the Mass was the chief act of worship of the Church from the very beginning. We could, as in the case of the doctrine of the Real Presence, point to the fact that the Nestorians and Monophysites, for example, who left the Church in the first half of the fifth century, hold the same doctrine about the Mass as the Catholic Church. But once more I want to insist—for it is a point of supreme importance—that the ordinary Christian cannot be expected to be able to weigh arguments from early Church history or be a learned Scripture scholar. If, in order to find the truth which Christ taught, everyone had to decide for himself the correct interpretation of Scripture texts, and investigate such questions as the history of the Monophysites and Nestorians, most of us would have to reconcile ourselves to remaining in ignorance. Why is there so much confusion in the religious world today? Simply because people have been deceived by the introduction of the false principle of private judgment. God's plan for teaching us the truth is different. He established a Church to which He gave the commission, "Teach all nations to observe the things which I have commanded"; and this commission was to hold good till the end of the world. Since Christ was God, and able to do what He promised, you may be sure that you will find His. Church today speaking with one voice and with authority, and conveying to us the clear, definite, and unchanging truth which Christ taught. Therefore it is on the teaching of Christ's Church that we chiefly rely when we believe that the Saviour of the world at the Last Supper instituted the Mass as the sacrifice of the New Law.

WHY SACRIFICE IS OFFERED

Sacrifice is offered for four main ends: to adore and praise God, to thank Him for His infinite goodness, to make satisfaction for our sins, and to obtain from God all that we need. As creatures, our first duty is to adore and reverence God, our Creator. But since no effort of ours could ever show the honour and reverence which are really due to the Divine Majesty, Jesus Christ, our Saviour, comes to our assistance in the holy sacrifice of the Mass. Every act of worship He offers is infinitely pleasing to His Father; and thus in the Mass we have the means of honouring God as He deserves to be honoured, when we offer to Him in sacrifice a Victim fully worthy of His acceptance. We have also to thank God for all His goodness and mercy. But how can we possibly pay the debt of gratitude which we owe? Our weakness and poverty are again an obstacle. But in the Mass Jesus Christ offers to God, and we offer, a gift that is precious enough to pay all our debt. It is, of course, through God's own bounty that we are able to offer a gift,* but yet He takes what Christ has enabled us to offer as coming from us. Again, we have insulted and dishonoured God by disobedience and sin. The distance between Creator and creature, which magnifies the enormity of the sin, at the same time prevents us making due reparation. Nothing we could do would make adequate satisfaction to God for our wickedness and ingratitude. Once more Jesus Christ has come to our help. He has always done His Father's will most perfectly, and has no sin of His own to atone for; and in the Mass He continues the offering of Himself, begun in His earthly life, as a Victim of reparation for our sins. He asks His Father, out of regard for the perfect obedience and submission which He always showed, to pardon us all our offences. We all have, indeed, much to atone for, and much reparation to make before we could be worthy to be admitted to the presence of God; but in the sacrifice of the Mass we can rejoice in having the opportunity of making complete satisfaction to God for all our misdeeds. We depend on the bounty of God, and must look to Him for all those gifts and graces which we so badly need. But we have, at the same time, little claim on God's goodness, since we have been ungrateful in the past and have misused many of God's gifts. But, again, in our daily sacrifice Jesus Christ takes our place and pleads for us. Though our prayers might well be ineffectual on account of our unworthiness, anything He asks will be granted. And on our altars He is at once Priest and Victim, "always living to make intercession for us" (Hebr. vii., 25). The Mass is, indeed, a treasure, and an inexhaustible treasure. There is no limit to the graces we may receive through it if we offer our sacrifice with the right dispositions, remembering what Jesus Christ is doing for us on the altar, and uniting our will and intention with His. *Compare the prayer which immediately follows the Consecration at Mass: "We offer to Your Supreme Majesty, of Your own gift and granting, a pure Victim, a holy Victim, an unspotted Victim. . . ."

MASS AND HOLY COMMUNION.

Holy Communion is an integral part of the sacrifice of the Mass. In the Old Law, when the sacrifice was of the kind called a peace-offering, those who offered the sacrifice always ate part of the victim. In this way they were iden- tified more closely with the victim and became guests, so to speak, at God's table. It might be thought that in our great sacrifice such a thing would be impossible: But, though the Victim which we offer is such a holy one, we, too, are allowed, when we offer sacrifice, to approach the altar and partake of the Victim. In this way we share more fully in the sacrifice, identify ourselves more closely with the Victim offered, and are brought into closer union with God. That is why it is the wish of the Church that, when possible, we should receive Holy Communion when we hear Mass. And then, when we go away from Mass after receiving Holy Communion, we should remember that, as we have been not merely offerers of this great sacrifice along with Jesus Christ, but also victims, in a sense, with Him, our lives are, therefore, consecrated in a new way to God and to His glory. Through Mass and Holy Communion we are drawn into closer fellowship with Jesus Christ— become more identified with Him; and it is for this that God has created us.

OBLIGATION OF HEARING MASS.

When we understand the nature of the sacrifice of the Mass, we can see why the Church imposes on Catholics as one of their chief obligations attendance at Mass on Sundays and Holydays. Let us suppose that a king took pity on a section of his people that gained a precarious living in a barren region of his dominions and transferred them to a fruitful island that had formed a part of the royal domains. He appointed his son their prince, and gave them their lands free. But each year, on the appointed day, they were to assemble, and through their prince do homage to the king and present a gift in token of their indebtedness. If any deliberately stayed away from this assembly, it would be taken as a refusal to acknowledge the king's authority and show the gratitude due to his generosity. So it is with Sunday Mass. We owe more honour and gratitude to God than we could tell. The Church bids us come together each Sunday and offer to the infinitely great and good God, through His Son, the homage of sacrifice. To be absent through our own fault is not only to disobey the Church but to fail in our chief duty of reverence and gratitude to our Creator.

WEEK-DAY MASS.

At the same time we should not regard the hearing of Mass merely as an obligation to be fulfilled; nor should we be satisfied with doing merely what is of strict obligation. Since the Mass is such a treasure, and such a sublime and holy thing, surely it is natural that we should be anxious to be present at the offering of this great sacrifice as often as possible. It may cost us something; but if we realise the generosity of Jesus Christ in making Himself a Victim for us, and realise the sublimity of this sacrifice itself, we should think little of the trouble it may cost us to be present sometimes at week-day Mass. If we can offer Mass every day, so much the better. There is nothing holier that we could do, and there is no other act that will bring such a blessing upon our lives. There are many, indeed, who do make use of their opportunities of attending daily Mass. But there are others who have opportunities, but never think of going to Mass except on Sundays. Why? It is because they have never really understood, or have never seriously considered, what the Mass really is. Their faith is not real enough. If we cannot be at Mass every day, but only occasionally, we should remember that every Mass is precious and we should not miss any opportunity. There are many who lead busy lives, but think nothing of staying up half the night, or longer, for purposes of amusement. Is it too much to expect them to get up three-quarters of an hour earlier than usual, occasionally, in order to join with Jesus Christ in the great act of worship which He is offering for them?

THE MASS IN OUR LIVES.

Those who find that they cannot hear Mass more frequently than they have been doing can at least make sure that in future they will hear Mass with more devotion, based on a deeper understanding and appreciation of its real worth. The Mass is the greatest thing in the world. A Catholic should, therefore, esteem the Mass above everything else. Whatever devotions we may cultivate as a help to our spiritual life, first of all must come a true devotion to the Mass. It is because the Son of God made Himself a Victim for us and for our salvation that we now possess supernatural life and the blessings which accompany it, and can look forward to an eternity of happiness -with God. From Jesus Christ and from His sacrifice comes every grace we have received ever shall receive. Therefore the Mass, being not the mere memorial of the sacrifice by which our redemption was accomplished, but that sacrifice itself perpetuated, should be the very centre of our lives. Through that holy sacrifice we can best fulfil our duty of worshipping God; through it we can best pay the incalculable debt of gratitude which we owe; through it we can best make reparation for ingratitude and sin; and through it we can best secure those graces which we need that we may faithfully do God's will and save our souls.

SUMMARY.

What sacrifice is. Sacrifices of the Old Law. The sacrifice of Jesus Christ. The sacrifice which we offer. Relation between the Mass and Calvary. What the Mass is. Why we believe the doctrine of the Mass. Why we offer sacrifice. Relation between Holy Communion and Mass. Obligation of hearing Mass. Daily Mass.

THE OBLIGATION OF HEARING MASS.

As the worship of God is the chief duty of a creature, and the offering of sacrifice is the chief expression of that worship, we are bound to take part in the offering of the sacrifice of the Mass. The Church makes the obligation more precise and determined by binding us to assist at Mass on Sundays and on some other important festivals. This is our primary duty as Catholics, and it is one which we should fulfil with great fidelity, and even with enthusiasm. While it is true that we substantially fulfil our obligation by hearing the main portion of the Mass, still it should be kept in mind that we are bound to hear the whole Mass. To miss even a lesser portion of Sunday Mass deliberately or through carelessness is a venial sin. The law of hearing Mass on Sundays does not bind when there is a proportionately grave reason to excuse us. Illness, necessity of looking after the sick or young children, and distance, are some examples of excusing reasons. The distance that will excuse varies, of course, with circumstances. A journey that would be a serious difficulty if made on foot might be nothing at all in a motor car. A reasonable estimate is that in ordinary circumstances a walk of three miles or so, or a journey of about an hour, would be sufficient to excuse a person from going to Mass. But a good Catholic, who regards the hearing of Mass not merely as an obligation but as the greatest of privileges, will not look eagerly for excuses for staying away from Mass. His spirit will be, not to calculate how little he need do in order to avoid breaking the law, but rather to do all he possibly can to avoid missing the chance of sharing in Christ's sacrifice.

POINTS FOR CONSIDERATION OR DISCUSSION.

Can I point out one notable difference between a sacrament and a sacrifice? Have I a fairly clear idea of the meaning of sacrifice? Was sacrifice a more important part of the religion of the Old Law than it is of that of the New? How does it come about that it is possible for mankind to offer to God a sacrifice that is really worthy of Him? Is the Mass merely a commemoration of Calvary? "The Mass is the greatest act that takes place on earth." Do I believe that statement? Could I show that it is true? If a non-Catholic asked why I believed in the sacrifice of the Mass, what is the chief reason I should give? Let me take each of the four chief ends of sacrifice and consider how the sacrifice of the Mass fulfils them. Have I got an appreciation of Holy Communion as a special participation in Our Lord's sacrifice, or do I consider only its sacramental character? Is the obligation of hearing Mass merely a precept of the Church? Have I any considered opinion about the value of daily Mass, or of hearing Mass oftener than on Sundays? Am I less careful about being in good time for Mass than about being punctual at a social engagement? Three men live at a considerable distance from the church. One has no means of conveyance, one has a horse- drawn vehicle, and one has a motor car. Are they in the same condition when the distance has to be considered as a reason for not going to Mass? Do I think that peace in the world would be promoted if all peoples understood the meaning of the Mass, and joined with unanimity in its offering? Nihil Obstat: P. Jones, Censor Deputatus. Imprimatur: + D. Mannix, Archiepiscopus Melbournensis.

MATT TALBOT By Eily MacADAM

Gentili Vault

Since this booklet was first published, the fame of Matt Talbot, humble Dublin workman, has continued to spread far and wide. The crowds who visit the simple room in Rutland Street in which he lived for the last twenty-five years of his life, continue to grow and his vault in Glasnevin is a place of constant pilgrimage. This is not the grave in which, in 1925, the body of an obscure Dublin workman was laid. That humble grave attracted many who heard of the holy life of Matt Talbot and came to seek his intercession. Then, in 1952, with due ceremony, as part of the Apostolic Process in the Cause, the body was exhumed and laid in the O’Connell Circle, in a vault known as the Gentili Tomb, from the fact that the great Italian missioner of the Famine times, Fr. Aloysius Gentili, was buried there until the Fathers of Charity took the body to the mother-house in Omeath. It is to the Gentili vault that the fervent pilgrims now make their way to seek Matt Talbot’s prayers and to pray that, if it is God’s will, the divine seal of miracle may be set on the Cause of the Servant of God. Even in his life time, there were people who set great value on the prayers of the hardworking poor man, whose real work only became known to most people when Sir Joseph Glynn, (R.I.P.) heard the story of the charities and the fasts of the man who had collapsed and died in a city street—as many a worn-out old person has done before—and decided to write the life of Matt Talbot. The publication aroused great interest, which has never flagged. Will it be ours to see the Church gratify the wishes of many by declaring Blessed the humble worker? We know so little. We go down the stream of days so quickly to the end that is the beginning. Yet we are wise to try to know something of ourselves and our fellow-travellers as we go. There may be something to be learned that way, if we manage our voyage always with the end in view. That is not easy. It helps if we can observe the doing of it by another, especially if that other has met contrary winds and come through perils. We can follow and observe, notice how he steered by the stars God has hung out for our guidance, how he used every forwarding wave and evaded rocks and quicksands. We will follow Matt Talbot because we think his voyage ended happily on the shore to which he steered. We are perhaps not such sturdy mariners but we can realise how hard the struggle was and learn what courage and a fatigue- watching of the Eternal Stars can accomplish.  

The story of this voyage?—A simple story.  
At Aldborough Court, off the North Circular Road, in Dublin, a son was born in 1856 to Charles Talbot and his wife Elizabeth (neé Bagnal). Both were Dublin people, Charles Talbot working as foreman in charge of bonded stores for the Port and Docks Board. His father and his grandfather had held the same position, and Charles Talbot had a pride in his job and in his family and in his Church. Both he and the girl he married were Confraternity members at Gardiner Street Jesuit Church. The son, who was born on May 2nd, 1856, was baptised at the Pro-Cathedral in Marlborough Street and given the name Matthew. That name was to be uttered in a mother’s anguished prayers and later was to have a glow around it, be written in many languages and go to Rome as that of a candidate for sainthood. But the pious young mother knew nothing of all these things when she held her baby in her arms. She began to find him a bit of a handful when schooldays came and he and a younger brother—two of a total family of twelve—made it their chief study to escape when she led them to school at North Richmond Street. Well, the best of boys don’t love school but, alas, Matt was not to be the best of boys to that mother of his. Schooldays over—he was twelve-and-a-half—his father found him a job as messenger with a firm of wine merchants. It was probably a happy day in the Talbot home when Matt got his first job. It is not easy to keep a big family on thirty shillings a week, which was Charles Talbot’s wage. It was probably difficult even in that older Dublin. Matt was to live on into the more modern Dublin and ultimately to earn twice his father’s wages, but we shall come to those days. Meanwhile we picture Matt as a boy carrying his basket to this house and that, learning to know his Dublin—a fact those people forget who write of him as if he saw no more of the city than lay within the compass of his walks from home to work and to church that were the limit of his travels in later days when the world had ceased to matter. It is Matt Talbot’s value that he lived in an Irish city of today, met the sort of people we all meet, saw what we see. To picture him otherwise is to remove him from us when we need him near at hand. Did he ever note the passing of the seasons?—some writers ask the question and note that he saw nature’s glories only dimly in the city streets. Did these same writers ever see the springtime come to Mountjoy Square?; ever see golden sunshine shaft between tall Georgian houses?; ever see the Custom House with snow on it and the river heavy with snow? Leave us, please, one touch of nature that makes us kin. On the last day of Matt Talbot’s life he probably crossed Mountjoy Square on his way to meet death in Granby Lane. It was June that morning. Was the sun shining golden on the wide peace of the Square as he went— slowly—for he had been ill and he was old and wore that heavy penitential chain about his waist and the lesser ones on his legs and arms. He had the kindly words of a neighbour in his ears, for a friend had spoken to him as he left the house, telling him he should not go out till he was rested a bit. That fact too holds the precious value of kinship with us. So might a kindly neighbour speak to any of us. But we have been carried away from our story. We were to follow Matt Talbot as he went his way through life. We had, however, first to make sure we were not going to lose him in the cold mists of an inhuman aloofness. Now, having as it were, fallen into step again let us return to the lad in his first job and the first touch of tragedy. Young Matt, in the course of his work at the wine merchants, assisted at bottling stout. Somehow Matt began to taste the stout and he liked it apparently. One night he was not sober when he came home to that good mother and the upright father. He was caned, removed from the job and a position found for him in the bonded stores of which his father had charge. It was soon evident that Matt was going to be a heartbreak. He began to drink whiskey and his poor father had the terrible knowledge that somehow that whiskey was coming out of the stores of which he was in charge. More canings followed. Matt got himself a new job, after four years in which his father had tried every means to keep him straight. Matt became a bricklayer’s labourer. He was now seventeen and for several years he worked for different building contractors, and ultimately got a permanent job with Messrs. T. & C. Martin at the North Wall where for the rest of his life he worked loading carts, unloading timber, etc., until ultimately he became storekeeper. The wages of the seventeen-year-old boy would have been very useful in the home but they never got so far. He was a good worker, never late, but he drank what he earned. He had no other vices, no, not a trace. The friends who told so frankly to his biographers all this story of his degradation were one and all unanimous that drink was his only failing. In drink the real man shows. Matt was never quarrelsome, never objectionable. He was simply wasting his life, working for money to drink and then home stupidly to bed. Poor Elizabeth Talbot, she must have suffered watching her son, and seeing too with added horror the younger boys follow in his footsteps. Once Matt came home in his socks. He had sold his boots for drink. One week, too, the good workman in him failed. He stayed away from work. Payday came but there was no pay for Matt. That was bad, because he wanted a drink. Often before he had been without a drink and had pledged his spare clothes to get one. There had been a merry evening too, once upon a time, when a fiddler had been of the drinking company and when funds ran short Matt and his pals had thought it the cream of the joke to pawn the fiddle and drink the proceeds, leaving the fiddler minus his means of livelihood. However on this particular payday when there was no pay Matt wasn’t worrying. He dressed himself and with a younger brother stood at a corner where the men coming out from the timber-yard would pass. Picture him there, a slight young man, neat and clean without being well-dressed, a young man who had spent many an evening and shilling with his pals and was counting on being included today even though he had no money. The men came out. One after another they passed. They greeted the brothers. That was all. “I’m going home,” said Matt. “It’s too early,” said his brother. He went home that day. His mother greeted him with a remark about his early return. “And you’re sober,” she added. He said nothing but when he had eaten his dinner he dressed himself. He was going to take the pledge, he said. We know nothing of what was working in his soul that day. With a gentle smile his mother bade him be sure he meant to keep it before he took it. He went out, up to Holy Cross College, Clonliffe Road, made the first Confession in three years and took the pledge for three months. He was not very sure of himself. He was twenty-eight now. He had been drinking for fifteen years, lost to all else. It was going to be hard. It was. But now we see strange things happening. On Monday morning Matt Talbot is at 5 o’clock Mass and every morning after and the Church becomes his evening refuge to keep the enemy at bay. Oh, it was hard. “It’s no use, mother,” he said. “When the three months are up I’ll drink again.” He was wrong. He never drank again. There is no further need to apologise for Matt Talbot. He is only twenty-eight. What remains of his youth is to be given to God and he is to soar beyond our following. But remember he is still young, still working in the timber-yard, still meeting the same work-mates, passing the public houses where they used to be merry. He remembers the one in which they seized the fiddle. In later years he searches Dublin for that fiddler to make restitution. He never finds him, but he offers Masses and prayers for the man who had been wronged. If we let ourselves forget that Matt Talbot was young when he entered on his fight we miss the thrill of it. Old men pray more easily. The body is less fond of activity, more biddable. Matt had to fight and pray for forty years. It became easier because his first prayers were for the gift of prayer and it was later given him. How logical was this unlearned man who had left school at twelve-and-a-half. Prayer could save him but he could not pray, so he asked for the gift of prayer. How logical too in his subduing of the body that had led him astray with its craving for drink. It was to be severely disciplined indeed until it became the eager servant of the soul, no longer dragging against the spirit but one with it in the service of God. That is surely how we see this man as he was in the later years of his life, so far as our human eyes can see. He fought. We think he won. It was apparently one of Matt’s sorrows that he had been a bad example to his brothers, and he spoke to them, trying to reclaim them. That was not like Matt, for he had no wish to set himself up as a paragon, even in the later years when he must have been very close to God. But he felt responsible for his brothers probably to some extent. They, it seems, would not listen, and Matt, possibly because it hurt to see them as he had once been, took a room and went to live in Gloucester Street, a drab Street that is not brighter for being re-named Sean MacDermott Street—not so far as the eye perceives—but possibly it helps, for there are dreamers even in drab streets, and lame Sean MacDermott went very happily to face the firing squad on that May morning in 1916. In that drab street that did not then bear the patriot name, Matt Talbot found that necessity of the saints, quiet. He lived alone, a sister coming in to prepare his food and tidy up. From that time forward he was always to live alone, except for the last sixteen years of his mother’s life. His father died in 1899 when Matt was forty-three, and, dutifully, he gave his mother a home. That was when he lived at 18 Upper Rutland Street, to which he removed from Gloucester Street and in which he resided for the last twenty-five years of his life. He need not have lived alone. He was, from the day he stopped drinking, a steady man, in constant work, a neat, if shabby man, well enough looking, with fine eyes. There are plenty of good girls who would be glad of such a husband. Matt indeed met one of them. Those who related the story, as was proper, never told her name, but she was employed as a cook in a house to which Matt and other workmen were sent to carry out some repairs. She liked Matt, appreciated his quiet ways, and that she trusted him is evident from the fact that she told him of her liking and suggested marriage. She had money saved, she told him. We are grateful for that story. It gives us Matt as a woman saw him when he was still a vigorous man. It enshrines a picture of a shy man, a trustworthy man. Gravely Matt promised to consider the matter, and one can believe she accepted his answer with dignity. He had prayed, he told her, and he was not to marry. But her entrance had its value for us. Matt was not to marry. Nothing was to disturb the mode of life he had now settled, into. He was to continue the daily round of prayer and fasting, the austere days empty of comfort for body, filled with prayer, each day practically alike outwardly, but what of inward glory they brought is not known to us. Matt talked little of that life of his. Let us, however, watch him live a day of it. We will begin when he knocks off work. There were twenty-four hours in Matt’s day. In the timber-yard the whistle blows. Hastily Matt rushes to the little shed where he kept a change of clothes. He doffs his working garb quickly. He has an appointment with One whom he respects. He shows his respect. Out of the yard he goes and straight to the nearby Church of St. Laurence O’Toole to pray. Then home to 18 Upper Rutland Street, taking, probably the short cuts through very drab streets indeed. His sister has cocoa prepared and perhaps a bit of fish, but if it is one of Matt’s fasting times he takes nothing but cocoa and dry bread. That has already been his breakfast and his lunch. He does not go straight to table as a hungry man does. He goes on his knees, having first removed his jacket and had a wash. He prays and then, still kneeling, eats his meal. His sister leaves. He is alone, yet not alone. In prayer he converses with God. In books he shares the thoughts of the saints. For Matt, uneducated though he is, reads books that would deter many a widely-read person. He prays for light to understand what he reads and on scraps of papers or in note- books he roughly notes the things that strike him, writing them in schoolboy hand, in schoolboy spelling. They are a revelation to us of a mind in tune with the deeply spiritual. “In meditation, the mind labours, operating with its power, but in contemplation it is God Himself Who operates and the soul merely receives the infused gifts.” Did he recognise in those words a stage to which he had attained? And other words are written too—words that are the workingman’s reassurance of his place in the scheme of things. Nobody, he notes, has the right to starve the poor. We know he sought assurance of the justice of the workers’ fight in 1913 against a terrible display of the employers’ determination to break Trade Unionism. He got the assurance from a Jesuit priest. Thereafter he was not troubled by any doubt on that score. On another scrap of paper he writes words setting forth that true nobility derives from the Blood of Christ. How much of justice, of dignity, was in the mind that chose these things to make note of. His reading comprised Newman, Faber, St. Francis de Sales, St. Alphonsus Liguori and many other religious writers whose names convey nothing to the ordinary person. Many books he bought himself. His store was great. But he borrowed a lot also, so we do not really know the extent of his reading. That he always had friends who understood him is evident from the fact of those borrowings, and some of them have told of conversations in that humble room in which time passed on enchanted wings while the poor unlettered man spoke of God. Yet on the whole he talked little. He told an old friend of some of his early struggles of the first days of reform. He told of those days when he could not pray and of a Sunday morning when the demon of despair would not allow him to approach the altar but drove him out of Berkeley Road Church, out of Gardiner Street Church, to wander for three hours crazy with despair, and how at last he flung himself on the steps of Gardiner Street Church, with arms outstretched, caring nothing for people who stared. Peace came then and he went to receive his God. To people who forget that the mind is as real as the body the tragedy of that story will not be apparent, but tragic it is. Every night at 10.30 Matt went to bed to his plank couch with the wooden pillow and single blanket. He rose again at 2.30. He prayed till 4 o’clock. Then he lay down again until it was time to prepare for 5 o’clock Mass. In later years Mass was changed to 6.15 but Matt still went to Gardiner Street at 5 a.m., kneeling on the Church or Convent steps till the door was opened. Then he went in and, kneeling perfectly upright and unsupported, heard Mass and received Holy Communion. After his thanksgiving he went home to his cocoa and then on to work, leaving a margin of time that he might visit St. Laurence O’Toole’s on the way. He worked all day, and when there was an interval between loads he went into his shed to pray. If irreverent words were used he blessed himself, and if religion came up for discussion, or any part of Christian duty, he took a fearless stand. If the topic happened, he told stories of the saints, but he never made himself conspicuous as a champion of good. Two pins carelessly crossed on his sleeve were a reminder of days when his tongue was loose and he spoke sacred names without reverence. The pins were inconspicuous too— stuck there as if for use. Some of the men respected Matt’s horror of bad language. Others delighted to shock him. Matt simply stole away to recite the Divine Praises. He never wore his heart on his sleeve. He apparently had no particular spiritual director. A Jesuit is said to have known most of him, but he died before Matt, and though the latter was a Franciscan Tertiary and member of several Confraternities in Gardiner Street and St. Saviour’s, Dominick Street, he never drew any notice to himself. His charities were endless. His wages rose as the years passed till at last he had £3-1-6 per week. He spent the barest minimum on himself, the rest went to charity, always quietly, usually anonymously. The Missions were his pet charity; to spread the word of God most important of all works. So he moved through life, shabbily dressed, fasting, praying. He kept black fast every day in Lent, every day in June, in honour of the Sacred Heart, and other times. Nine months of his year was a fast time. He wore his chains, he slit the knees of his trousers lengthwise, so that it would not show, in order to kneel bare-kneed on the Church steps at morning. Most wonderful of all. He kept it up, day in, day out, all the years. Sunday was his great day, and his joy was to attend every possible Mass, returning home only when he had received the Benediction after twelve o’clock Mass. Then he ate the first meal of the day, the eternal cocoa. For sixteen years Elizabeth Talbot, widow, watched the manner of life of this son who had once been her cross. She woke at night sometimes in her bed in the corner of that humble room and fingering her beads watched quietly as Matt prayed, his arms outspread. At those times she saw his face filled with a light that made it other than the face she knew. She was not talkative, this pious woman. Few knew what went on in that poor room. Only the sisters, Susan and Mary (Mrs. Fylan and Mrs. Andrews) knew how their brother lived, and they, one gathers, were somewhat in awe of him. In 1915 Mrs. Talbot died, and here is a point worthy of notice. She was, as has been said, a member of a Confraternity in the Jesuit Church; that of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. After her death the spiritual director spoke to the members of her life, quoting it as exemplary. There is pleasure in the thought. Matt Talbot was to live alone once more, still carrying out his fixed programme of fasts and prayer, still distrustful of that body that had led him into drunkenness, still finding all his joy in God. Nineteen-sixteen came, Easter Week; while men fought, others looted, there was turmoil; the world of Dublin was upside down. But God does not change. A quiet figure made its way from Rutland Street to Dominick Street or Gardiner Street, caring little for military barricades. The same figure made its way to work and to Mass through all the alarms from 1918 to 1923. But the time was coming when the chain-laden body was to grow feeble, not perhaps because of its chains or its privations, but because man is mortal. The plank bed and the wooden pillow had led to partial deafness and one side of his face had become numb, when in 1923 he became ill and was admitted to the Mater Hospital in Eccles Street. He removed his chains before he went there. He had no wish to call attention to his fight with himself. He was very ill indeed and three days after admission received the Last Sacraments. His via dolorosa was not yet to end, however, for he recovered sufficiently to be allowed out of bed. At once he went to the chapel, there to spend all the time available in thanking God that he was spared to suffer more. In the hospital he never asked for any particular attention. When the priest came to give Holy Communion he received it, but he asked for no privileges—he whose life was the Sacrament of the Altar. No doubt, too, he accepted hospital diet without a word of his fasts, because even when in good health he took whatever was offered in the house of another, not caring to draw attention to himself. To eat what was given then became a sort of discipline in itself. Matt, in fact, was one of those gentlemen the working people of Dublin often produce. Are they producing less? You, young man, who possibly had a worthy father, where did you learn those words you use at the street-corner? And, child with the blue innocent eyes, who put on your lips those words that denote things too awful for you to realise? Alas, alas, fellow-citizens of Matt Talbot’s city, you bring horror into his streets. But the worthy citizens are there too—young and old. May all, worthy and unworthy, think at times of the quiet figure who kept his eyes to himself and possibly his ears as he went one June morning to keep a tryst with death. He had already heard Mass that Sunday morning and received Holy Communion, but, being now old and ill, he could no longer fast till 2 o’clock. He had therefore gone home to have his cocoa and had come out again at nine o’clock to attend further Masses. In Granby Lane, within sight of the Dominican Church of St. Saviour, he fell to the ground. When people ran to assist him he was dead. It is not a very unusual occurrence in cities, but the people were of course full of pity for the poor old fellow. A Corporation ambulance came and the body of an old man was taken to the mortuary of Jervis Street Hospital. There the Sisters of Mercy are in charge at the mortuary, and where nuns are, there is respect for every temple of the Holy Ghost whatever its condition. The poor clothes made no difference. A nun, Sister Ignatius, prepared the body for burial. As she cut off the poor clothes of this man who had no wish for better, and who was identified as Matthew Talbot, her scissors encountered a hard substance. Cause for wonder; the chains were exposed. Poor Matt, his secret was out—in the designs of God. A heavy rosary around the neck and medal attached to the chains spoke of some holy motive. Wisely the nun and her assistants decided that a statement of what they had found should be prepared and signed by two of them. It was done. The chains had worn into the flesh. The body was scrupulously clean. Reverently the last offices were done and three days later the funeral left Gardiner Street Church for Glasnevin. The end had come. But it was the beginning. People had been silent out of deference to Matt’s desire to be unknown. One of his friends, a man who had known him for a quarter of a century, happened to speak to Sir Joseph Glynn of the dead man. Sir Joseph was interested and became more so as the story unfolded. Matt Talbot’s friend suggested that this workman’s life, if written, might be productive of good. Sir Joseph Glynn wrote it, interviewing Matt’s surviving sister and many of his workmates. The simple story was written and since then, we, of the scribbling fraternity, have been interested, seeking new facts, striving to catch the full value of that life lived so humbly, so austerely. Now the scope of interest has widened. The great Catholic Church is thinking of that hidden life. Rome has heard of Matt Talbot and prayers go daily to heaven asking that if it be God’s Will Matt should one day wear the crown of sainthood. The most fervent of prayers go up front that room in 18 Rutland Street where visitors from many parts call to kneel before the crucifix there and pray that God may give this glory to the Irish working men, the glory of having produced a saint, and that, at least, we may all profit from the lesson he preached in his sixty-nine years of life, the lesson that to fall is human, to rise again a thing of divine grace, given only to those who strive and watch and pray. Few of us may attain to the heights that Matt attained, but we can try to walk near him and watch his homely face grow radiant as his mother saw it when he spoke to God. It will be radiant surely if that day comes when Mother Church hails her humble son as Blessed. In 1931, the Ordinary or Informative Process was begun by Most Rev. Dr. Byrne, the then Archbishop of Dublin, when witnesses, who had known Matt Talbot were questioned, on oath, on all relevant matters. In 1937, Rome having meantime examined the evidence tendered, a Papal Decree was signed formally introducing the Cause of Matt Talbot. Ten years later, in 1947, His Holiness the Pope signed the Latin Decree announcing that the Cause had been officially opened by the Sacred Congregation of Rites. In 1948 followed the next step, the opening of the Apostolic Process in Dublin and the examination, on oath, of forty witnesses. This evidence was also sent to Rome. In 1952, as part of the Apostolic Process, the remains were exhumed, in the presence of His Grace the Archbishop and many distinguished people and then sealed in a special double coffin and re-interred in the Gentili Vault in Glasnevin Cemetery. Now it remains for those many who desire to see Matt Talbot honoured by the Church to pray that Rome may declare him “of heroic virtue” and that God may grant miracles through his intercession. Let us pray.

PRAYER

O Jesus, true friend of the humble worker, Thou hast given us in Thy servant, Matthew, a wonderful example of victory over vice, a model of penance and of love for Thy Holy Eucharist, grant, we beseech Thee, that we, Thy servants, may overcome all our wicked passions and sanctify our lives with penance and love like his. And if it be in accordance with Thy adorable designs that Thy pious servant should be glorified by the Church, deign to manifest by Thy heavenly favours the power he enjoys in Thy sight, who livest and reignest for ever and ever. Amen.

(The above prayer, issued and approved by the Archbishop of Dublin, carries with it an indulgence of 100 days for each time recited.)

PROTESTATION

In obedience to the decree of Pope Urban VIII, the writer and publishers protest that all that is written in this book has no other authority or credit than such as is grounded on human evidence. Hence no expression or statement is intended to assume or forestall the decision of the Church. Nihil Obstat: Domnallus O’Lehane. Imprimatur: JACOBUS JOSEPH, Episcopus Ardachadinn et Cluanennis. ********