Sermon XI. St. Paul, The Divine Orator. (For The Patronal Festival.)

2 Cor. xii. 9. "Gladly, therefore, will I glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may dwell in me."

The Church and the world are agreed in the estimate formed of St. Paul as a preacher. By a common judgment, the name of this great apostle has been inscribed at the head of the illustrious list of teachers of doctrine. His renown increases as time goes on, and in our own day his personal character, life, and writings have been made the subject of an extraordinary amount of discussion, and have elicited newer and higher eulogiums.

There is this difference, however, in the judgments formed by the Church and the world of the prince of Christian preachers. The world's panegyric is illogical, being made in direct contradiction to its principles and the lessons which it has ever inculcated as necessary to an orator's success. The Church alone, by the aid of the supernatural principles of faith, is able to explain the true secret of the wonderful power he wielded in life, and the miraculous influence of his words upon the nations of the earth during the many centuries which have elapsed since he ceased to speak face to face with men.

What, indeed, are these words of his, "I will glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may dwell in me," but foolishness to human wisdom, or, at best, an enigma without solution! But it is precisely these infirmities of which he boasts that gave him the power he possessed, and laid the foundation of all his glory. "When I am weak," he says again, "then am I powerful." Nonsense to human reason, but divine wisdom to faith.

If, therefore, I would praise St. Paul, as is befitting on this day, I must praise hid infirmities—weaknesses which the world calls misfortunes, and deficiencies upon which none but saints ever rest their hopes of success.

To judge after the manner of man, we would ordinarily expect to find in one who is an orator of great power certain personal qualifications which, in the very nature of things, would serve to impress and win his audience. We would seek for great polish in the style, and consummate art in the preparation and delivery of his discourses. For one who aims at swaying not only a chance multitude who, for the moment, comes within the sound of his voice, but at conquering their souls, and winning them to the point of making most heroic sacrifices; who not only preaches to his hearers, but commands them with the air of one having authority, we would look for the favorable, popular verdict shown in honors and dignities showered upon him, in credit and influence, and his having reached that summit where men vie with one another in giving him place, and when even his enemies fear to gainsay or persecute him.

Such, indeed, are the orators whom the world crowns with its laurels. But in all these St. Paul was lacking; and yet, by the world's own confession, he has surpassed them all. To meditate upon this mystery of Divine Providence, which makes use of the weak things of this world to confound the strong, and the foolish to confound the wise, cannot fail to enlighten and edify us.

We who, like the world in general, have known the great Apostle chiefly from the sublime picture which his unparalleled success presents, have doubtless imagined him to be a person of tall and majestic stature, of pleasing address and magisterial deportment; being, as we say, a man of fine presence, whose appearance was alone sufficient to bring forth plaudits from his auditory, and enforce at once a respectful and submissive hearing. Such are, indeed, the ideal portraits of him with which we please ourselves, and such have the masters in art represented him. But from various allusions he makes in his writings to himself, it is certain that he was frail in body, of a diffident and submissive bearing, and altogether wanting in that air of decision and self-assertion which naturally overawes the multitude.

When he, with his companion apostle, St. Barnabas, healed the cripple at Lystra, the people imagined them to be gods; but in calling St. Barnabas, rather than St. Paul, Jupiter, it is evident that other apostle far surpassed St. Paul in the dignity and majesty of his person. He can write boldly, he says, but "in presence is lowly"; [Footnote 70] and, again, he affirms the truth of what people said of him, that "his bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible;" and the frequent contrasts he draws between his personal infirmities and his spiritual power and graces, leave the fact beyond doubt that he was by no means a man of dignified aspect or commanding mien.

We might be tempted to think he would feel this infirmity most keenly as a serious drawback to his success as an orator, as we ourselves would judge it to be. But no. He will rather glory in his infirmities as the source of his power; and here at the outset we get an insight into the whole spirit of this champion of the Gospel. From the instant of his miraculous conversion, he appears to be wholly absorbed in the contemplation of the sublime mystery of the voluntary abasement of God in concealing the awful majesty and splendor of his Divine Being in human nature, that what he, with apostolic hardihood, calls the "foolishness of God" and the "weakness of God," might subdue and atone for the sinful pride and vainglory of men. He rejoices, therefore, that he has nothing in himself which might cause the admiration of men and make void the humility of Jesus and His cross—a thought which so fills his soul that he says he knows nothing else besides. The less he has in himself to glory in, the greater is his consciousness of the power of the Gospel of the Crucified, which he only lives to preach. "Power is made perfect in infirmity," was the revelation made to him when caught up to the third heaven. "I will glory, therefore," he exclaims, "in my infirmities." I am glad that I am weak in bodily presence and contemptible in speech. Freed from this temptation of human vanity, which in turn would divert the souls of my hearers from the Gospel to the preacher of the Gospel, the power of Christ will dwell more fully in me. "When I am weak, then am I powerful." When I, Paul the Apostle, am nothing, then will the victory of grace be complete in the souls who, through me, believe and are converted—when I have nothing in me to please and attract the sight, men will see only the Cross which I hold up to their gaze.

So fearful was he of attracting to himself any personal affection, that he avoided baptizing his own converts and receiving them into the church, lest they should say—I am of Paul, I belong to the Church of St. Paul the Apostle, instead of acknowledging, as he was always doing himself, "By the grace of God, I am what I am—a Christian saved from hell by God's mercy."

Let us look now at his second and greater infirmity—his weakness as an orator. He had a strange, difficult, shocking, and what he terms a scandalous doctrine to preach—the redemption of the world by a crucified God. Surely, this man, who is so lacking in the external qualifications of an effective speaker, possesses at least the magic power of sublime eloquence. He who has such a repulsive truth to announce will seek the most polished phrases, and cover up the hard things which he has to say by flowers of rhetoric, and, with studied art in his tones of speech, will charm his unwilling audience to receive and obey the austere lessons of the Gospel. By no means. Such was his infirmity in this respect that his disciples called his speech contemptible, and he acknowledged the truth of their judgment, and reminds his beloved Corinthians that he was "with them in weakness, and in fear, and in much trembling," adding, "My speech and preaching was not in the persuasive words of human wisdom." [Footnote 71]

Not only do we see in the discourses recorded of him the most simple and unadorned phraseology, but even his writings, full as they are of the most profound and heavenly doctrine, are the most inartificial, disconnected, and poor in imagery that could well be imagined. What a misfortune for an orator! cries the world. "What a glory is mine infirmity!" responds the Apostle of that Gospel which is wisdom hidden from the self-sufficient rich and the insolent magnates of a depraved world, but a revelation of divine truth to babes. And I, who praise St. Paul, will praise this infirmity of his as well, knowing that he has not rested his power as an apostle and his hopes of success upon it in vain.

If St. Paul be unable to use, or disdain in his preaching all rhetorical flourish and tricks of oratory, if his language is almost rude in its plainness and harsh from the total absence of brilliant metaphor or well-rounded period, it is because he has nothing to preach but Jesus Christ and Him crucified. All those harmonious cadences which flatter the ear, all that fanciful imagery in which the orators of human doctrine and science deal so largely and are paid with clapping of hands, are at best but showy tinsel, unworthy of the Incarnate Wisdom, and a vain mockery of the lowly speech and simple words of the Man of Sorrows. What we adore in our Lord's person is His lowliness and humility, mingled with a certain divine and grand simplicity of character. So are all His words, plain and simple; spoken evidently without passionate gesture, and in no loud or clamorous tone. Simple, because all that is divine is simple; all else is human pride and sensuality. Such is what I may call the divine instinct of the Church, the Body of Christ, who also disdains, when she lifts her voice in prayer or praise, all the effeminate and meretricious ornaments of harmony or melody, which are the sources of attraction and admiration in worldly music, and adheres to what is simple in its enunciation, grave in movement, and moderate in tone, as one who reveals divine thoughts, and not the dreamy, overwrought imaginations of impassioned genius, which minister rather to the senses than to the soul.

Behold, therefore, the great Apostle, inspired by this simplicity of Divine truth, going out upon his great mission to become the preacher of that truth to the whole world, but so thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the meek and humble-hearted Jesus that he speaks in weakness, in much fear and trembling, yet with such power that even Greece, that mother of philosophers and orators, forgets the fervid eloquence of her Plato and Demosthenes to drink in the divine lessons of the Gospel from the lips of this unskilled orator; and Rome herself, the mistress of the world, at his word overthrows her idols and consecrates her majestic temples of glory to the worship of a Man crucified at Jerusalem. O glorious Apostle! well mayest thou glory in that which before men is thy weakness! Thine infirmity is thy power. Without human power, thou abandonest thyself wholly to the divine power of Christ, and that—that is more than enough power to conquer the world. That world in its pride will criticise you, and ridicule your want of polish and lack of rhetoric, and your trembling, hesitating gesture, but it will believe in Jesus Christ and Him crucified whom you preach. Its orators will not follow you as a model, but they themselves will beat their breasts, and confess their sins, and do penance at your bidding.

But, powerful as he is in the infirmity of his speech, to fully convince the world of the truth of his awful and austere doctrine, he has yet to measure his strength against a more obstinate and unyielding enemy to the Gospel of the Cross. The mind of man cannot long blind its sight to the illumination of the truth; but who shall subdue and win the hardened heart? O wondrous science of the saints! O divine enigma which no one shall understand who does not write its solution in his own blood! "Regnavit a ligno Deus!" "God hath reigned from the wood of the cross." Even God cannot reign in the kingdom of the hearts of men until He is a crucified man, whose streaming blood cries aloud and pleads, with the irresistible torrent of the eloquence of suffering, to heaven. Yes; to heaven must the voice of suffering preach; for Paul may plant, and Apollos water, but God alone can give the increase. From God alone can come the grace that achieves the consummation of the triumph of the truth, and completes the labor of the Apostle. When was Jesus Christ the Master of the world? Where was it that He drew all things to Himself by the cords of Adam and the bands of love? Was it when He went about doing good, working miracles, preaching His divine doctrine? Ah no! It was when He was lifted up the pleading Victim, whose blood and wounds spoke better things than the blood of Abel, and whose requests could not be denied. Well does the Church say, "Regnavit a ligno Deus!" And what shall we expect, if even Jesus is only powerful from His cross, but that His chosen vessel of election, who shall carry His Gospel to the whole world, first shall say: "I judge myself to know nothing but Jesus Christ and Him crucified"; and that afterwards his life should prove the truth of his same infirmity in himself: "With Christ I am nailed to the cross," [Footnote 72] "I die daily;" that he should be stoned and scourged, and imprisoned and persecuted, and driven from city to city, "in journeyings often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils from the Jews, in perils from the Gentiles, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils from false brethren, in labor and painfulness, in long watchings, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness;" [Footnote 73] and, added to all these sufferings, those interior trials and bitternesses of spirit with which God invariably purifies the souls of His elect. He must preach in the stead of Christ, and therefore he must suffer in His stead. Wherefore he says: "I fill up in my own flesh those things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ." [Footnote 74]

Nor are we surprised, if the world be, that he should please himself in this life of constant suffering in what seems to be, as men judge, failures and losses, and disheartening, conflicting obstacles to his success. The world, to whom the cross of Christ is foolishness, would demand for a preacher who could hope for a success equal to St. Paul's, invariable good health, a well-nourished body, a mind not overtaxed, popular applause, and a career of unvarying triumph. But I, who would praise St. Paul, will praise him for his life of suffering. When he is weak before men, then is he powerful with God. God and the whole court of heaven is the audience of the suffering man; and he who would sway the Divine Mercy must take counsel from the Crucified Incarnate Wisdom, and find an advocate in his own blood.

For thirty long years did this "Victim dear to heaven" suffer a daily death, yet rejoicing always that he was counted worthy to suffer for the name of the Lord Jesus; and as we follow him about from country to country, and from city to city, we can number his successes by the number of his adversities—adversities which had no power to subdue his exalted soul, or shake for one instant the constancy of his superhuman love for Christ and His cross. Hark to that outburst of generous love from his undaunted heart—"Who, then, shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or persecution, or the sword? I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor might, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." [Footnote 75]

Thirty years of restless labor and fatigues, and now this aged and worn-out Apostle, to whom we would fain grant some days of sweet repose for his declining years, must gird up his loins and prepare to meet the crowning suffering of his life—a martyr's death.

Rome, imperial Rome, palace of pride and sensuality, thou boastest that thou art the mistress of the world; that thy name and power is honored and feared by every nation, and none dare refuse thee tribute! Proud throne of the world, tremble! for there is coming into thy gates a conqueror who will humble thee in the dust, who will take away all thine armor in which thou trustest, and compel thee to pay tribute to him; and, through him, constrain thee to bring the world under another Ruler, whose kingdom shall be without end, and whose principality no man shall take away. Go, O captain of many victories! Prospere procede, et regna. Rome will laugh at thy apostolic folly, but thou shalt make her weep. Rome is the world's citadel of error; thou shalt make her the ever-enduring and infallible chair of truth. Rome will bring thee into her as a prisoner in chains, but thou shalt prove her liberator.

Rome will put thee to death, but the voice of thy martyr's blood shall cry to heaven and give her eternal life. Take glory to thyself, O holy Paul! and rejoice and exult in thine infirmities, for now is the hour when thy strength shall be divine!

Though dead, he yet speaketh. From his tomb St. Paul is still the preacher of the truth to the whole world. Still he announces the truth as it is in Christ Jesus and Him crucified. Still he confounds the Gentile philosophies of every age, still draws with irresistible eloquence the hearts of men to the sacrifices of an heroic love for Christ. The text of St. Paul living and suffering was, "Jesus Christ and Him crucified." He who to-day approaches the vast temple beneath whose majestic dome repose the sacred ashes of the divine preacher, descries upon the base of a lofty obelisk that confronts the portals of the Apostle's world-renowned sepulchre the text of St. Paul dead and triumphant:

"Ecce crucem Domini! Fugite partes adversæ." "Behold the Cross of the Lord! Let all its adversaries be put to flight."