p. 82Homily on the Gospel for the Twenty-First Sunday After Pentecost

O God, forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us! The good God will forgive those who have forgiven: that is the law. There are some who carry their folly so far as not to say this part of the Lord’s Prayer; as if God did not see the bottom of the heart, and paid attention only to the movements of the lips!

The saints have no hatred, no bitterness; they forgive every thing, and think they deserve much more for their offences against the good God. But bad Christians are revengeful.

The moment we hate our neighbour, God gives us back this hatred; it is an arrow which turns back against ourselves. I said one day to some one: “But then, you do not wish to go to heaven, as you will not see that man?” “Oh, yes; … but we shall try to keep far from each other, that we may not see each other.” They will not have that trouble, for the gates of heaven are closed against hatred. In heaven there is no rancour. Good and humble hearts, who receive insults and calumnies with joy or indifference, begin their paradise in this world; and those who bear malice are unhappy,—their face is careworn, and their eyes seem ready to devour every thing.

There are people who, with a pious exterior, are offended at the smallest insult, at the least calumny. One might be such a saint as to work miracles, but if one has not charity, one will not go to heaven. A religious at the point of death, who had led an ordinary life, and had not been given to great austerities, was yet in great tranquillity. His superior expressed to him his astonishment. The religious answered him: “I have always forgotten all the evil that has been done to me; I have forgiven it with all my heart; and I hope the good God will forgive me.”

The way to overcome the devil, when he excites in us thoughts of hatred against those who do us evil, is to pray immediately for their conversion.

That is the way we shall attain to overcoming evil with good, and that is what the saints do. But these Christians in appearance will not bear any thing; every thing vexes them: they answer sharp words with sharp words. When we begin to let ourselves loose, we pour out our hatred. Our heart is like a reservoir full of gall, which we are always ready to discharge upon those who are nearest to us.

It is self-love that leads us always to believe we deserve praise; while we ought to seek only for the insults that are our due. But I am innocent, you say; I do not deserve to be treated in such a way. You do not deserve it for what you have done to-day, but you deserve it for what you did yesterday. You deserve it for your other sins, and you ought to thank the good God for letting you expiate them.

The devil leaves bad Christians very quiet—nobody takes any notice of them; but against those who do good he stirs up a thousand calumnies, a thousand outrages. This is a source of great merits. …

In the country, where I was a curate, there was a person who occupied herself in placing out poor girls. It often happened that people came to reproach her; then she always humbled herself, took it all in good part, and made excuses. So people said of her, “Oh! as for her, she is a saint!” Indeed, saints are like that. That is true devotion. … It is like St. John of God, who made himself pass for a madman. When some one had written to the superior of the hospice where he was, to be careful, for that he had a saint who made himself pass for mad, the superior made apologies to him: and the saint had only one regret—that he had been recognised, and had no longer to endure the humiliations, the blows, and the disagreeable remedies adapted to his pretended malady, and under which he practised unfailing obedience.

A woman whose son had been carried off by the Moors, came to a priest to impart to him her grief. Having no means of ransoming the prisoner, the good missioner was very much embarrassed. After having reflected for a moment, he said to the poor mother: “I shall go and take the place of your child; sell me for his ransom.” She was not willing; but, persuaded by the entreaties of the missioner, she consented. The child was restored to his mother, and the missioner became a slave among the Turks, who were not sparing in their ill-treatment of him. He had indeed perfect charity; he preferred his neighbour to himself. We, on the contrary, are vexed at the good fortune of others.

If one of your friends is praised, and nothing is said of you, it makes you sad. If you see some one who has been converted, and is making rapid progress in virtue, and who has arrived in a short time at a high degree of perfection, it gives you pain to see yourself so far behind. If he is praised, you are grieved, and say, “Oh! but he was not always like that. He was just like other people. He committed such a fault, and again such a fault.” All that is pride. And nothing is so contrary to charity as pride; they are fire and water.

The good Christian is very different, my children; he is compared to a dove, because he has no bitterness; he loves all men—the good because they are good, the wicked out of compassion, because he hopes by loving them to make them better, and because he sees in them souls redeemed by the Blood of Jesus Christ. He prays for sinners, and says to our Lord, “O God, do not permit those poor souls to perish!” Thus it is that we attain to heaven. While those who think they are worth something, because they keep up certain pious practices, but who are constantly a prey to jealousy and hatred, will find themselves quite unprovided at the last day.

We ought to hate nothing but the devil, sin, and ourselves.

We should have the charity of St. Augustine, who rejoiced when he saw any very good person: “At least,” he said, “there is one who will make amends to the good God for my little love.”

A man of quality, in crossing a wood, met the murderer of one of his relations; he had several times promised himself revenge: when he saw him, he drew his sword. The other immediately threw himself at his feet, and said to him, “For the love of God, pardon me!” At the name of God, his enemy could not strike; he sheathed his sword again, and said, “I pardon thee.” The next day he went to church, and said to the good God, “Thou wilt surely pardon me, since I have pardoned?” There was a large crucifix there, which bowed its head in token of assent.

A man who had been taken to prison, unjustly accused of stealing some cattle, was in despair. An angel appeared to him, and said to him: “It is true thou art not guilty of the theft of which thou art accused; but dost thou not remember that thou couldst have saved that man who was drowning? and thou didst not do it. It is for this thou art now suffering.”