«Dispone domui tuae, quia morieris, et non vives» — "Set your house in order, for you shall die and not live" (Isa. 38:1).
Point I
Imagine yourself present beside a sick man who has but a few hours of life left. Poor sick man — see how he is oppressed by pains, by fainting fits, by suffocation of the chest, by want of breath, by cold sweat, with his head so clouded that he feels little, understands little, and can hardly speak. Among his miseries the greatest is that he already stands near to death, and instead of thinking of his soul and preparing his accounts for eternity, he thinks only of doctors and of remedies to free himself from the illness and the pains that are killing him. «Nihil aliud quam de se cogitare sufficiunt» — "They can think of nothing but themselves," says St. Lawrence Justinian, speaking of such dying men. At least his relatives and friends should warn him of the dangerous state in which he lies; but no — among all his relatives and friends there is not one who has the heart to give him the news of death and to advise him to receive the Sacraments; everyone refuses to tell him, so as not to displease him.
(O my God, from now on I thank You that at death You will have me assisted by my dear Brothers of my Congregation, who will then have no other interest than my eternal salvation, and who will all help me to die well).
Meanwhile, although the warning of death is not given, nevertheless the sick man, seeing the household in turmoil, the consultations of the doctors repeated, the remedies multiplied, frequent and violent, that are employed — the poor dying man stands in confusion and terror amid the assaults of fears, of remorse, and of misgivings, saying within himself: Alas, who knows whether the end of my years has already arrived? Now, what will the sick man's feeling be when he at last receives the news of his death? «Dispone domui tuae, quia morieris, et non vives» — "Set your house in order, for you shall die and not live." What anguish he will feel at hearing it said to him: Sir, your illness is mortal; you must receive the Sacraments, unite yourself with God, and take your leave of the world. Take leave of the world? How? Must he take leave of everything? Of that house, that villa, those relatives, friends, conversations, games, amusements? Yes, of everything. The notary has already come and writes this act of leave-taking: «I leave, I leave». And what does he carry with him? Nothing but a miserable rag, which in a little while must rot away together with him inside the grave.
Oh, what melancholy and turmoil will the sight of the servants' tears and the silence of friends — who in his presence keep silent and have not the heart to speak — bring to the dying man then! But the greatest pains for him will be the remorses of conscience, which in that storm will make themselves felt more keenly, on account of the disordered life led until then, after so many calls and divine lights, after so many warnings from spiritual fathers, and after so many resolutions made but either never carried out or afterwards neglected. He will then say: Oh, wretched me! I have had so many lights from God, so much time to set my conscience in order, and I have not done it; and behold, now I have already arrived at death! What would it have cost me to flee that occasion, to detach myself from that friendship, to confess every week? And even if it had cost me much, I ought to have done everything to save my soul, which mattered above all. Oh, if I had put into execution that good resolution I had made; if I had persevered as I then began, how content I would now find myself! But I did not do it, and now there is no more time to do it. The sentiments of such dying men, who in life have been negligent of conscience, are like those of the damned, who in hell also grieve for their sins as the cause of their punishment, but without fruit and without remedy.
Affections and Prayers
Lord, if at this moment the news of my approaching death were brought to me, these are the sentiments of sorrow that would be mine. I thank You that You give me this light and give me time to amend. No, my God, I will flee from You no more. It is enough that You have pursued me so long. Justly must I now fear that, if I do not now surrender to You and still resist, You will abandon me.
You gave me a heart to love You, and I have employed it so badly; I have loved creatures, and have not loved You, my Creator and Redeemer, who gave Your life for me! Instead of loving You, how many times have I offended You, despised You, turned my back on You! I already knew that with that sin I was causing You great displeasure, and yet I did it. My Jesus, I repent of it, I am sorry for it with all my heart; I will change my life. I renounce all the pleasures of the world, to love and to give pleasure to You, God of my soul. You have shown me great signs of Your love; I too would wish, before I die, to show You some sign of my love.
From this moment I accept all the infirmities, the crosses, the scorn, and the disgusts that I shall receive from men; give me strength to suffer them in peace, for I wish to bear them all for love of You. I love You, infinite goodness; I love You above every good. Give me more love, and give me holy perseverance.
Mary, my hope, pray to Jesus for me.
Point II
O how at the point of death the truths of faith become known, but to the greater torment of that dying man who has lived ill; and especially if he was a person consecrated to God, so that he had greater facility in serving Him, more time, more examples, and more inspirations. O God, what pain he will feel in thinking and saying: I admonished others, and then I did worse than they! I left the world, and then I lived attached to the pleasures, the vanities, and the loves of the world! What a remorse it will be for him to think that with the lights he received from God, even a pagan would have become a saint! What pain he will feel in remembering that he despised in others the practices of piety, as weaknesses of spirit, and that he praised certain maxims of the world, of self-esteem, or of self-love: that is, never to let anyone get the better of him, never to put up with an offense, and to take all the amusements that present themselves!
«Desiderium peccatorum peribit» — "The desire of sinners shall perish" (Ps. 111:10). At death, how greatly will that time be desired which is now wasted! St. Gregory relates in his Dialogues that there was a certain Chrysantius, a rich man but of evil habits, who, when brought to the point of death, cried out against the devils, who visibly appeared to him to take him: "Give me time, give me time until tomorrow." And they answered: "O fool, now you ask for time? You had so much of it and you lost it, and you spent it in sinning; and now you ask for time? Now there is no more time." The wretch went on crying out and begging for help. There happened to be there a son of his, a monk named Maximus, and the dying man said to his son: "My son, help me; my Maximus, help me." And meanwhile, with his face all on fire, he flung himself furiously from one side of the bed to the other; and thus tossing about and crying out in despair, he miserably breathed forth his soul.
Alas! These fools love their folly in life, but in death they open their eyes and confess that they have been fools; but then that serves only to increase their distrust of remedying the evil done; and dying thus, they leave great uncertainty about their eternal salvation.
My brother, now that you are reading this point, I think that you too say: So it is. But if it is so, your folly and your misfortune would be all the greater if, already knowing these truths in life, you did not remedy the matter in time. This very thing that you have read would be for you a sword of sorrow in death.
Come then, since you still have time to avoid so frightful a death, apply the remedy quickly; do not wait for that time when there will no longer be a fit time to remedy it. Wait not for next month, nor for next week. Who knows whether this light, which God now gives you in His mercy, may be the last light and the last call for you? It is folly not to be willing to think of death, which is certain, and on which eternity depends; but it is a greater folly to think of it and not to prepare oneself for death. Make now those reflections and those resolutions which you would make then: now with fruit, then without fruit; now with confidence of saving yourself, then with great misgiving about your eternal salvation. When a certain gentleman was taking leave of the court of Charles V in order to live solely for God, the emperor asked him why he was leaving the court. He answered: It is necessary, in order to be saved, that between a disordered life and death there should intervene some space for penance.
Affections and Prayers
No, my God, I will no longer abuse Your mercy. I thank You for the light that You now give me, and I promise You to change my life. I see already that You can bear with me no longer. And do I wish to wait until You Yourself send me to hell? Or until You abandon me to a lost life, which would be for me a greater punishment than death itself? Behold, I cast myself at Your feet; receive me into Your grace. I do not deserve it; but You have said: «Impietas impii non nocebit ei, in quacunque die conversus fuerit» — "The wickedness of the wicked shall not hurt him, on whatsoever day he shall be converted" (Ezek. 33:12).
If then, my Jesus, in time past I have offended Your infinite goodness, now I repent of it with all my heart, and I hope for pardon from You. I will say to You with St. Anselm: Ah, do not permit my soul to be lost through its sins, since You have redeemed it with Your blood. Look not upon my ingratitude, but look upon the love that made You die for me. If I have lost Your grace, You have not lost the power of restoring it to me. Have pity on me, then, O my beloved Redeemer. Forgive me, and give me the grace to love You; for from this day forward I promise You that I will love none but You. You, among so many possible creatures, have chosen me to love You; I choose You, O sovereign Good, to love You above every other good. You go before me with Your cross; I will not cease to follow You with that cross which You will give me to carry. I embrace whatever mortifications and pains shall come to me from You. It is enough that You do not deprive me of Your grace, and I am content.
Mary, my hope, obtain for me from God holy perseverance and the grace to love Him; and nothing more do I ask of You.
Point III
To the dying man who in life has been careless about the good of his soul, all the things that will present themselves to him will be thorns: a thorn the memory of the pleasures he has taken, of the points of honor he has satisfied, and of the pomp he has displayed; thorns the friends who will come to visit him, with everything they will remind him of; thorns the spiritual fathers who will assist him by turns; thorns the Sacraments that he will have to receive — confession, Holy Communion, and Extreme Unction; even the Crucifix that will be placed beside him will become a thorn to him, as he reads in that image the ill correspondence he has given to the love of a God who died to save him.
O fool that I have been! the poor sick man will then say. I could have made myself a saint with so many lights and advantages that God has given me; I could have led a happy life in the grace of God; and now what do I find in all these years that I have had, if not torments, misgivings, fears, remorse of conscience, and accounts to render to God? And I shall hardly be saved. And when will he say this? When the oil is already failing in the lamp, and the scene of this world is closing for him, and he already finds himself in sight of the two eternities, the happy and the unhappy; and he is already drawing near to that last opening of the mouth, on which it depends whether he shall be blessed or despairing forever, as long as God shall be God. How much would he then pay to have another year, or another month, or at least another week of time, with a sound head! For being then, with that dizziness of the head, oppression of the chest, and want of breath, he can do nothing, he cannot reflect, he cannot apply his mind to make a good act: he finds himself as though shut up in a dark pit of confusion, where he can conceive nothing but a great ruin hanging over him, which he sees himself unable to remedy. Hence he would fain have time; but he will be told: «Proficiscere» — "Depart." Quick, settle your accounts in this brief space, as best you can, and be gone; do you not know that death waits for no one, and shows respect to none?
O what a terror it will be to him then to think and say: This morning I am alive; this evening I may well be dead! Today I am in this room; tomorrow I shall be in a grave! And where will my soul be? What a terror, when he shall see the candle prepared! When he shall see the cold sweat of death come forth! When he shall hear it ordered to his relatives to leave the room and not to enter it again! When he shall begin to lose his sight, his eyes growing dim! What a terror, finally, when the candle is already lighted, because death is already near! O candle, candle, how many truths you will then disclose! O how you will then make things appear different from what they now seem! How you will make it known that all the goods of this world are vanities, follies, and deceits! But what will it avail to understand these truths, when the time for remedying them is at an end?
Affections and Prayers
Ah, my God, You do not will my death, but You desire that I be converted and live. I thank You that You have waited for me until this time; and I thank You for the light that You now give me. I know the error I committed in postponing Your friendship to goods so vile and miserable, for which I have despised You. I repent and am grieved with all my heart for having done You so great a wrong. Ah, do not fail, in this life that remains to me, to assist me with Your light and grace to know and to do what I must do to amend my life. What will it avail me to know these truths, when the time for remedying them shall be taken from me? «Ne tradas bestiis animas confitentes tibi» — "Do not deliver to the beasts the souls that confess to You."
When the devil shall tempt me to offend You again, ah, I beseech You, my Jesus, by the merits of Your passion, stretch forth Your hand, and deliver me from falling into sin and from being once more made a slave of the enemy. Grant that I may then always have recourse to You, and never cease to commend myself to You so long as the temptation lasts. Your blood is my hope; and Your goodness is my love. I love You, my God, worthy of infinite love; grant that I may always love You. Make me know from what things I must detach myself in order to be wholly Yours, for I wish to do it; but do You give me the strength to carry it out.
O Queen of heaven, O Mother of God, pray for me, a sinner; grant that in temptations I may never fail to have recourse to Jesus and to You, who by Your intercession deliver from falling everyone who has recourse to You.