Consideration VII - THE SENTIMENTS OF A CARELESS DYING MAN WHO HAS GIVEN LITTLE THOUGHT TO DEATH

"Dispone domui tuae, quia morieris, et non vives" (Is. 38:1).

Point I

Imagine yourself present at the bedside of a sick man who has but a few hours of life remaining. Poor invalid — see how he is oppressed by pains, by fainting spells, suffocation of the chest, shortness of breath, cold sweats, with his head so dizzy that he scarcely hears, scarcely understands, and can scarcely speak. Amid his miseries, the greatest is this: that he is already close to death, and instead of thinking of his soul and preparing his accounts for eternity, he thinks of nothing but doctors and remedies to free himself from the illness and the pains that are killing him. "Nihil aliud quam de se cogitare sufficiunt," says St. Lawrence Justinian, speaking of such dying persons. If only his relatives and friends would warn him of the dangerous state in which he finds himself! But no — there is not one among all his relatives and friends 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 cause him distress.

(O my God, from this moment I thank You that at my death You will have me assisted by my dear Brothers of my Congregation, who will have no other concern then but my eternal salvation, and who will all help me to die well.)

But meanwhile, although the news of death is not given, nevertheless the sick man, seeing the household in turmoil, the consultations of doctors being repeated, the remedies multiplied, frequent, and violent — the poor dying man is in confusion and terror amid the assaults of fears, remorse, and despair, saying within himself: Alas, who knows whether the end of my years has already arrived? And then what will be the feeling of the sick man when he actually receives the news of his death? "Dispone domui tuae, quia morieris, et non vives." What pain it will be to hear himself told: Sir, your illness is mortal; you must receive the Sacraments, unite yourself with God, and begin to take your leave of the world. Take leave of the world? What? Must he take leave of everything? Of that house, that villa, those relatives, friends, gatherings, games, amusements? Yes, of everything. The notary has already come and writes this farewell: "I leave, I leave." And what does he take with him? Nothing but a miserable rag, which will soon have to rot together with him in the grave.

Oh, what melancholy and disturbance the sight of the tears of the household and the silence of friends will bring to the dying man — friends who in his presence are silent and do not have the heart to speak! But the greatest pains will be the remorse of his conscience, which in that tempest will make itself felt all the more, for the disordered life led until then, after so many divine calls and lights, after so many admonitions from spiritual fathers, and after so many resolutions made but either never carried out or afterward neglected. He will say then: Oh, poor 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 now I have already arrived at death! What would it have cost me to avoid that occasion, to break off that friendship, to go to confession every week? And even if it had cost me much, I ought to have done everything to save my soul, which mattered more than all. Oh, if I had only put into practice that good resolution I once made! If I had continued as I then began, how content I would now be! But I did not do it, and now there is no more time. The sentiments of such dying persons, who in life were negligent of their conscience, are like those of the damned, who in hell also grieve over 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 for giving me this light, and for giving me time to amend. No, my God, I will flee from You no longer. Enough of Your pursuing me. I rightly ought now to fear that if I do not surrender to You now and continue to resist, You will abandon me.

You gave me a heart to love You, and I have so ill employed it; I have loved creatures, and I 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 by that sin I was giving You great displeasure, and yet I committed it. My Jesus, I repent, I am sorry with all my heart; I wish to change my life. I renounce all the pleasures of the world, in order to love and please You, God of my soul. You have shown me great signs of Your love; I too would like, before I die, to show You some sign of my love.

From now on I accept all illnesses, crosses, contempt, and displeasures that I shall receive from men; give me strength to bear them in peace, for I wish to endure 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

Oh, how at the point of death the truths of the faith make themselves known — but for the greater torment of that dying person who has lived badly, and especially if he was a person consecrated to God, who thus had greater ease to serve Him, more time, more examples, and more inspirations! O God, what pain he will have 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 delights, vanities, and loves of the world! What remorse it will be to think that with the lights he received from God, even a pagan would have become a saint! What pain to remember having despised in others the practices of piety as weaknesses of spirit, and having praised certain worldly maxims of self-esteem and self-love — of not letting anyone get ahead of you, of not letting yourself suffer, and of taking every amusement that presents itself!

"Desiderium peccatorum peribit" (Ps. 111:10). At death, how greatly will that time now being wasted be desired! St. Gregory relates in his Dialogues that there was a certain Chrysaorius, a rich man but of evil habits, who, reduced to the point of death, cried out against the demons, who visibly appeared to seize him: "Give me time, give me time until tomorrow!" And they answered: O fool, now you ask for time? You have had so much of it and you have wasted it, and you have spent it sinning — and now you ask for time? Now there is no more time. The wretch continued to cry out and beg for help. His son, a monk named Maximus, was there, and the dying man said to his son: "My son, help me! My Maximus, help me!" And meanwhile, with his face on fire, he threw himself furiously from one side of the bed to the other, and so, thrashing about and crying out in desperation, he breathed forth his soul in misery.

Alas, these fools love their folly in life, but at death they open their eyes and confess that they have been fools — but then this serves only to increase their despair of remedying the evil done; and dying in this way, they leave much uncertainty as to their salvation.

My brother, now as you read this point, I think you too say: So it is. But if this is so, your folly and misfortune would be far greater if, knowing these truths in life, you did not remedy them in time. This very thing you have read would be a sword of sorrow for you at death.

Come then, since you are still in time to avoid so frightful a death, make amends quickly; do not wait for a time that will no longer be opportune for amending. Do not wait for next month, or next week. Who knows whether this light that God now gives you by His mercy may be the last light and the last call for you? It is foolish not to think about death, which is certain and on which eternity depends; but it is greater foolishness to think about it and not prepare for death. Make now the reflections and resolutions you would make then: now with fruit, then without fruit; now with confidence of saving yourself, then with great distrust of your salvation. A gentleman, taking leave of the court of Charles V to live for God alone, was asked by the emperor why he was leaving the court. He replied: "It is necessary for salvation that between a disordered life and death there intervene some space of penance."

Affections and Prayers

No, my God, I will no longer abuse Your mercy. I thank You for the light You now give me, and I promise You to change my life. I see already that You can bear with me no longer. And what am I waiting for — that You Yourself should send me to hell? Or abandon me to a ruined life, which would be a greater punishment than death itself? Here I throw 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" (Ezek. 33:12).

If then in the past, my Jesus, 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 with St. Anselm: Ah, do not permit my soul to be lost for its sins, since You have redeemed it with Your blood. Do not look at my ingratitude, but look at the love that made You die for me. If I have lost Your grace, You have not lost the power to restore it to me. Have pity on me, then, O my dear Redeemer. Pardon me and give me the grace to love You; for from this day forward I promise to love no one but You. You, among so many possible creatures, chose me to love You; I choose You, supreme Good, to love You above every other good. You go before me with Your cross; I will not fail to follow You with the cross You will give me to bear. I embrace whatever mortifications and pains shall come to me from You. Only do not deprive me of Your grace, and I am content.

Mary, my hope, obtain for me from God perseverance and the grace to love Him; and I ask nothing more of you.

Point III

For the dying man who in life was negligent of the good of his soul, everything that presents itself to him will be a thorn: a thorn the memory of the pleasures taken, the points of honor won, the display made; thorns the friends who come to visit him with everything they recall to him; thorns the spiritual fathers who attend him in turn; thorns the Sacraments he must receive — confession, communion, and extreme unction; a thorn even the Crucifix placed beside him, reading in that image the poor response he has shown to the love of a God who died to save him.

Oh, what a fool I have been! the poor sick man will then say. I could have made myself a saint with the many lights and opportunities God gave me; I could have led a happy life in the grace of God — and now, in so many years I have had, what do I find but torments, distrust, fears, remorse of conscience, and accounts to render to God? And it will be hard for me to be saved. And when will he say this? When the oil in the lamp is already running out, when the scene of this world is closing for him, and he finds himself already in sight of the two eternities, happy and unhappy; and he is already approaching that last gasp, on which depends being blessed or in despair forever, as long as God is God. How much would he pay then for another year, or month, or at least another week of time, with a clear head! For standing then with that dizziness of head, oppression of chest, and shortness of breath, he can do nothing, he cannot reflect, he cannot focus his mind to make one good act. He finds himself as if shut up in a dark pit of confusion, where he conceives of nothing but a great ruin that looms over him, which he sees himself unable to remedy. So he would like time, but he will be told: "Proficiscere"; quickly, settle your accounts in this brief span as best you can, and depart — do you not know that death waits for no one and shows respect to none?

Oh, what a terror it will then be for him 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 my soul — where will it be? What terror, when he sees the candle being prepared! When he sees the cold sweat of death appear! When he hears orders given that the relatives leave the room and enter no more! When his sight begins to fail, his eyes growing dark! What terror, finally, when the candle is already lit, because death is near! O candle, candle, how many truths you will then reveal! Oh, how you will then show things to be different from what they now appear! How you will make known that all the goods of this world are vanity, folly, and deceit! But what good will it do to understand these truths when the time to remedy them has ended?

Affections and Prayers

Ah, my God, You do not wish my death, but You desire that I be converted and live. I thank You for having waited for me until this time, and I thank You for the light You now give me. I know the error I committed in setting aside Your friendship for goods so vile and wretched, for which I despised You. I repent and grieve with all my heart for having done You so great a wrong. Ah, during this life that remains to me, do not cease to assist me with Your light and grace, to know and do what I must to amend my life. What good will it do me to know these truths when the time to remedy them has been taken from me? "Ne tradas bestiis animas confitentes tibi."

When the devil tempts me to offend You again, I beg You, my Jesus, by the merits of Your Passion, to stretch out Your hand and deliver me from falling into sin and becoming once more the slave of my enemies. Grant that I may then always have recourse to You, and that I may not cease to commend myself to You as 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 understand what things I must detach myself from to be entirely Yours, for I wish to do it; but 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 all who have recourse to you.