(LifeSiteNews) — As more serious Catholics realize that Vatican II itself contributed to the crisis in the Church, some of the Council’s defenders still insist that its “universal call to holiness” compensates for its defects. Ironically, though, one of the most disastrous fruits of the Vatican II revolution has been a widespread loss of the beliefs and practices that have always encouraged Catholics to pursue holiness. The resulting rise in unholiness among Catholics continually deepens the crisis, which in turn increases the need for saints to help us combat the worsening evils around us.
And yet we know that God has not abandoned His Church, nor deprived it of the means to form great saints. The key to becoming a saint remains the same as it has always been, even though the Church’s enemies try to tell us otherwise. As Lent approaches, it is worth recalling the simple lesson that all the saints knew.
Archbishop Goodier on what we are called to give God
In his Overcoming Worldly Concerns, Archbishop Alban Goodier dedicated a chapter to considering what we are called to give God: “You Are Called to Give God Your Very Self.” In that chapter, he distinguished between three types of men who embark upon the spiritual life. For each, the beginning is generally smooth:
At the outset, the spiritual life is often smooth enough and offers little opportunity for seeing differences. We begin with our first notions of what is good and right. With these first notions, human nature easily concurs, for, in spite of all that is said against it, human nature in itself is good and tends toward goodness. . . . But grace has a way of being troublesome. It never leaves a soul quite satisfied with itself or with the smooth and easy path it is treading. It is forever asking for more. It is not content with an oblation that costs the giver nothing. It tells the soul that receives it that the only gift to God worth giving is the gift that He Himself desires — that is the only gift worthy of a man. When that is realized, then comes the rub; then we can begin to see to which type a soul makes up its mind to belong. (p. 108)
Archbishop Goodier’s expression that “grace has a way of being troublesome” might make little sense to those who follow the inspirations of Francis’s new Synodal Church, where the sinner is “accompanied” in his sins. But those who actually strive to do God’s will recognize truth in the idea that God’s grace often calls us to go beyond our comfortable preferences. The first type of man described by Archbishop Goodier always finds a reason to delay responding to that call of grace:
[T]he first type is of those who never make up their minds at all. There is a calling of grace in their hearts, but its words convey no meaning to their minds. They hear it, as it were, at a distance, but they make no effort to draw nearer. They may suspect its message, but they cannot be quite sure, and they prefer to remain in doubt. If they listened more carefully, they might know, but they suspect that the knowledge might, just here and now, be inconvenient. Of course, they do not utterly wish to reject the call; they would not be accused of throwing God’s grace away. Someday they mean to be better men; someday they will set about it in good earnest. (p. 108)
The “someday” never comes for this first type of man. Francis’s Synodal Church may hold him up to be the ideal member of the People of God — perhaps even a “saint” — but he will do little to actually win his salvation, even if God’s mercy ultimately leads him to Heaven.
The second type of man is far more common among those who strive to do God’s will:
There is a second type of spiritual-mindedness, the one that makes most show of being in earnest, but also the one that is most apt to proclaim its disappointment and failure. The man belonging to this type has grasped quite well the meaning, and the fascination, and the glory, and the fruitfulness of the supernatural life. . . . He will take hold of the spiritual, of the supernatural. He will bring it into his life. He will adapt his life to this perspective. He will advance in spiritual experience, in prayer, in mortification, in good works, in self-sacrifice, and in knowledge and love of God. Indeed, he has long since done so. Already he has made many an effort. (p. 109)
Thus far, there is nothing in this description of the second type of man that would make him more apt to fail, but Archbishop Goodier proceeded to describe the danger he faces:
A man of this caliber is exposed to one great danger, and few indeed are those who escape it. It pursues everyone who aspires to the spiritual end; it pursues everyone to their end. Not only does it hide itself successfully, but it pleads with a pathos that can scarcely be resisted that it is no danger, that it is human nature’s rightful rest. One who can determine what he will do can also determine what he will not. He can make up his mind that he will win, but he can also settle with himself what shall be the price beyond which he will not go. . . And he can tell himself, without using any words, almost without letting himself know that he is hinting at it, that there are certain things, there is as least one certain thing, he cannot forgo, no matter what may be the prize at stake. . . . Some things, he says, are now part of himself, or at least part of the oneness of his life. To part with them would not be generosity; it would be foolish, almost suicidal, perhaps even tempting God. In any case, God cannot be so hard as to demand this superhuman sacrifice. Other things he can bring himself to surrender; he can even give God an equivalent in kind. This one thing he cannot. (p. 110)
This may be the most thought-provoking passage in Archbishop Goodier’s book, for it likely resonates with many of us who strive to do God’s will. We may be willing to give God almost anything, but we keep some part of our lives off limits. Archbishop Goodier continued by describing the disappointments that often follow for this type of man:
So he goes on from beginning to end. In most cases he will not be distinguishable from others. He will make progress in his way; he will be a ‘good’ man ‘according to his lights,’ as the phrase goes. If he fails in this point or that, it will be put down to the weakness of human nature. In all this, he will be like his fellowmen. Even the saints must be given some kind of margin; and whether or not he responds to the one grace that matters, who can tell? None but his own soul can answer that; and even his own soul, if he is persistent and determined, can be put to silence. If he will refuse to hear, there will come at last a time when hearing is scarcely possible. . . Such is the second type — the type of failures, great and small. It has many grades, from great sinners who will do all but give up their dominating passion, to those on the verge of sanctity who fail because of some trifling bondage to step across the border. But for all alike, whether they be sinners or potential saints, it is unworthy. (p. 111)
This may seem like a harsh assessment of the second type of man, but Archbishop Goodier’s description of the third type of man helps us understand why the second type falls short:
The third type alone is noble. It is no less ambitious than its predecessor; indeed, it is more. . . But it differs from the other in this: it must put no limit to the price that may be demanded. It has no secret possession of its own; no heirloom or treasure with which it will not part. It has lost itself and its own claims in the vast otherness of this world and the next; or, rather, it has lost itself, and this world, besides, in the vast otherness of the next. . . Such a life does not merely [not] keep back anything for itself; it forgets that there is anything to keep, or that there is a self to serve. Man loves and honors selflessness. There is no selflessness to match that which has drowned itself in eternity. (pp. 111-112)
This type of man is a saint because he is willing to give everything to God. His approach to the spiritual life is summed up well in the “Oblation of St. Ignatius of Loyola”:
Take, O Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will, all that I have and possess. Thou hast given all to me. To thee, O Lord, I return it. All is Thine; dispose of it wholly according to Thy will. Give me Thy love and Thy grace. With these I am rich enough, and I ask for nothing more.
The ability to truly mean these words is what distinguishes the second and third types of men described by Archbishop Goodier.
Words of those who have decided to give all to God
St. Robert Southwell wrote his Epistle of Comfort as an encouragement to those who were being persecuted for their Catholic Faith in England. The entire epistle is worth reading, but one passage in particular emphasizes what Christians are called to give God:
God gave you all you have; you must not be unwilling to forgo it for Him. It is folly to think that God can [accept] as an excuse, the loss of a little pelf, when the soul, which He bought with His dear blood, is lost for the saving of it. Christ saith, that whosoever loveth father, mother, riches, wife or children, more than Him, is not worthy of Him; that whoso gathereth not with Him, scattereth; that he who is not with Him, is against Him; that such as deny Him here, shall be denied by Him in the next world; and that whosoever confesseth Him here, shall be acknowledged by Him in the day of judgment.
Most of us will probably not follow St. Robert Southwell in martyrdom, but his willingness to give everything to God is something we are all called to emulate. If martyrs such as St. Robert Southwell were willing to take Our Lord’s counsels to the utmost limits in suffering brutal deaths, we should strive to have the same generosity with God in our daily trials.
In his Christ, The Ideal of the Monk, Blessed Columba Marmion wrote of the way in which God assists those who resolve to offer everything to God:
‘When we are thoroughly resolved,’ wrote a soul who had understood how God is everything, and knew faithfully how to seek God alone, ‘it is only the first steps that count; for from the moment that our well beloved Saviour sees our good will, He does all the rest. I will refuse nothing to Jesus Whose love urges me. You know how eloquent is the voice of Jesus. Besides, no one is foolish enough to give up the whole for a part. The love of Jesus, that is the whole; the rest, whatever one may think, is but a negligible quantity, despicable even, in contrast with our unique treasure. I am resolved to surrender myself to the love of Christ. I am indifferent to everything else; I wish to love Him even to follow; men may break and crush my will and understanding, all that you will, but I do not intend to let go of the sole good, our Divine Jesus, or rather I feel that it is He Who will not let me go. It is needful that our souls should please Jesus, but no other person.’ (pp. 14-15)
We do not need to have the strength of the saints to take the first steps toward becoming one. If we truly resolve to give everything to God, He will give us the grace to persevere. This testimony also echoes the words of St. Paul, who clearly understood the folly of withholding anything from God: “Furthermore I count all things to be but loss for the excellent knowledge of Jesus Christ my Lord; for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but as dung, that I may gain Christ” (Philippians 3:8).
As Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre wrote in The Mystery of Jesus, though, we may naturally hesitate to offer everything to God:
Our Lord is not far from us. He is with us: He is in us. Ultimately, everything depends upon the attitude we have towards our Lord. Of course, everything depends upon the grace of God, but everything depends upon our disposition to receive our Lord in us. Are we disposed to receive Him, or is there some part of us (a secret part) in which we would prefer that our Lord not enter, that His gaze not penetrate? We are disposed to receive Him up to a certain point: in our mind. ‘May the Lord enlighten me, may He help my will.’ But in my heart? Are there things which I love and which I know are displeasing to our Lord? I would prefer that He not come; I would prefer that my heart not be illuminated by His gaze. I would risk seeing within myself things that I cannot keep. This does not sit well with our Lord. (p. 95)
This stinginess with God separates the second and third types of men described by Archbishop Goodier, and it seems probable that most of us have often had this same disposition. But even those of us who may have this same lack of generosity with God can see the wisdom of what St. Alphonsus de Liguori wrote in his Uniformity with God’s Will:
If, devout soul, it is your will to please God and live a life of serenity in this world, unite yourself always and in all things to the divine will. . . . Form the habit of offering yourself frequently to God by saying, ‘My God, behold me in Thy presence; do with me and all that I have as Thou pleasest.’ This was the constant practice of St. Teresa. At least fifty times a day she offered herself to God, placing herself at His entire disposition and good pleasure. How fortunate you, kind reader, if you too act thus! You will surely become a saint. Your life will be calm and peaceful; your death will be happy. At death all our hope of salvation will come from the testimony of our conscience as to whether or not we are dying resigned to God’s will. If during life we have embraced everything as coming from God’s hands, and if at death we embrace death in fulfillment of God’s holy will, we shall certainly save our souls and die the death of saints. Let us then abandon everything to God’s good pleasure, because being infinitely wise, He knows what is best for us; and being all-good and all-loving—having given His life for us—He wills what is best for us. Let us, as St. Basil counsels us, rest secure in the conviction that beyond the possibility of a doubt, God works to effect our welfare, infinitely better than we could ever hope to accomplish or desire it ourselves. (pp. 16-17)
However difficult it would be to part ways with whatever we do not yet want to offer God, we surely understand that we will wish we had been more generous with Jesus when we face Him at our judgment.
Moreover, as St. Alphonsus explained, this is not merely a disposition that would help us at the moment of death. Because God knows what is best for us, every aspect of our lives would be better if we trustingly and generously offered everything to Him — in other words, everything would be better if we truly made Christ the King of our own lives. And, as we face evils that have never been greater, this is also the disposition of those who will become the saints the world desperately needs today. Immaculate Heart of Mary, pray for us!