Preview: Part Three of Three: Newman on "The Greatness and Littleness of Human Life"

On Monday, June 24, we'll conclude our series on Newman's "The Greatness and Littleness of Human Life" with the final paragraphs in which he sums up the purposes of the sermon. I'll be on the Son Rise Morning Show at my usual time, about 6:50 a.m. Central/7:50 a.m. Eastern. Please listen live here or listen to the podcast later.

It's good to remember that the power of Newman's preaching at the time was not through rhetorical flourishes, raising and lowering his voice--mostly, he used the pause to add emphasis. Otherwise, he read his Parochial and Plain Sermons and looked mostly at his text, not at his congregation. It was his words that captivated people (even those who never shared his faith in God), his imaginative style of helping us spiritual things and ideas in new ways. Newman took as one of his models the great Roman orator Cicero, but he took the Holy Bible and, when he was an Anglican, the "Church Catholic" as he called it, searching for the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church as his guides for truth and content.

The concluding paragraphs of this sermon demonstrate Newman's skill in reaching the souls of his congregation as he exhorts them to prepare to see Jesus in Heaven and their loved ones too more truly than they ever have on earth. 

Let us then thus account of our present state: it is precious as revealing to us, amid shadows and figures, the existence and attributes of Almighty God and His elect people: it is precious, because it enables us to hold intercourse with immortal souls who are on their trial, as we are. It is momentous, as being the scene and means of our trial; but beyond this it has no claims upon us. "Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, all is vanity." We may be poor or rich, young or old, honoured {223} or slighted, and it ought to affect us no more, neither to elate us nor depress us, than if we were actors in a play, who know that the characters they represent are not their own, and that though they may appear to be superior one to another, to be kings or to be peasants, they are in reality all on a level. The one desire which should move us should be, first of all, that of seeing Him face to face, who is now hid from us; and next of enjoying eternal and direct communion, in and through Him, with our friends around us, whom at present we know only through the medium of sense, by precarious and partial channels, which give us little insight into their hearts.

While he challenges them to see their lives in the right perspective, he also shows them how "this attractive but deceitful world"--God's Creation!--in its beauty and glory is preparing them for even greater glory and splendor:

These are suitable feelings towards this attractive but deceitful world. What have we to do with its gifts and honours, who, having been already baptized into the world to come, are no longer citizens of this? Why should we be anxious for a long life, or wealth, or credit, or comfort, who know that the next world will be every thing which our hearts can wish, and that not in appearance only, but truly and everlastingly? Why should we rest in this world, when it is the token and promise of another? Why should we be content with its surface, instead of appropriating what is stored beneath it? To those who live by faith, every thing they see speaks of that future world; the very glories of nature, the sun, moon, and stars, and the richness and the beauty of the earth, are as types and figures witnessing and teaching the invisible things of God. All that we see is destined one day to burst forth into a heavenly bloom, and to be transfigured into immortal glory. Heaven at present is out of sight, but in due time, as snow melts and discovers {224} what it lay upon, so will this visible creation fade away before those greater splendours which are behind it, and on which at present it depends. In that day shadows will retire, and the substance show itself. The sun will grow pale and be lost in the sky, but it will be before the radiance of Him whom it does but image, the Sun of Righteousness, with healing on His wings, who will come forth in visible form, as a bridegroom out of his chamber, as His perishable type decays. The stars which surround it will be replaced by Saints and Angels circling His throne. Above and below, the clouds of the air, the trees of the field, the waters of the great deep will be found impregnated with the forms of everlasting spirits, the servants of God which do His pleasure. And our own mortal bodies will then be found in like manner to contain within them an inner man, which will then receive its due proportions, as the soul's harmonious organ, instead of that gross mass of flesh and blood which sight and touch are sensible of. For this glorious manifestation the whole creation is at present in travail, earnestly desiring that it may be accomplished in its season.

Then he closes with a call to repentance and the desire for God's grace and forgiveness:

These are thoughts to make us eagerly and devoutly say, "Come, Lord Jesus, to end the time of waiting, of darkness, of turbulence, of disputing, of sorrow, of care." These are thoughts to lead us to rejoice in every day and hour that passes, as bringing us nearer the time of His appearing, and the termination of sin and misery. They are thoughts which ought thus to affect us; and so they would, were it not for the load of guilt which weighs upon us, for sins committed against light and grace. O that it were otherwise with us! O that we were fitted {225} duly to receive this lesson which the world gives us, and had so improved the gifts of life, that while we felt it to be perishing, we might rejoice in it as precious! O that we were not conscious of deep stains upon our souls, the accumulations of past years, and of infirmities continually besetting us! Were it not for all this,—were it not for our unprepared state, as in one sense it may truly be called, how gladly should we hail each new month and year as a token that our Saviour is so much nearer to us than He ever has been yet! May He grant His grace abundantly to us, to make us meet for His presence, that we may not be ashamed before Him at His coming! May He vouchsafe to us the full grace of His ordinances: may He feed us with His choicest gifts: may He expel the poison from our souls: may He wash us clean in His precious blood, and give us the fulness of faith, love, and hope, as foretastes of the heavenly portion which He destines for us!

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let Your perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of all the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen.

Saint John Henry Newman, pray for us!

Preview: Part Two of Three: Newman on "The Greatness and Littleness of Human Life"

On Monday, June 17, we'll continue our discussion of Newman's "The Greatness and Littleness of Human Life" on the Son Rise Morning Show. I'll be on at my usual time about 6:50 a.m. Central/7:50 a.m. Eastern. Please listen live here or listen to the podcast later.

To remind you of last week's introduction to this Parochial and Plain Sermon: Newman had answered one question: why Jacob spoke of his life, at his advanced age, as being shorter than his ancestors, and in spite of the blessing of many sons and wealth, as being "evil". That's just how human life is, Newman concludes, full of promise, disappointing, and yet inspiring the hope for something more. 

In this next section, he helps someone who has never thought of this idea before imagine it by describing how we might see it happen before our eyes:

This is a thought which will come upon us not always, but under circumstances. And many perhaps of those who at first hearing may think they never felt it, may recognize what I mean, while I describe it.

And then Newman does he does so well: he helps us picture an event and our thoughts about it so it becomes real to us!

Newman fleshes out the circumstances of one human life--of one person we think well of--who is dying and what we might think of him or her:

I mean, when one sees some excellent person, whose graces we know, whose kindliness, affectionateness, tenderness, and generosity,—when we see him dying (let him have lived ever so long; I am not supposing a premature death; let him live out his days), the thought is forced upon us with a sort of surprise; "Surely, he is not to die yet; he has not yet had any opportunity of exercising duly those excellent gifts with which God has endowed him." Let him have lived seventy or eighty years, yet it seems as if he had done nothing at all, and his life were scarcely begun. . . . His days have been but few and evil [like Jacob's], and have become old unseasonably, compared with his capabilities; and we are driven by a sense of them, to look on to a future state as a time when they will be brought out and come into effect. . . . The very greatness of our powers makes this life look pitiful; the very pitifulness of this life forces on our thoughts to another; and the prospect of another gives a dignity and value to this life which promises it; and thus this life is at once great and little, and we rightly contemn it while we exalt its importance.

And Newman has been at deathbeds and knows the truth of them: 

True Christians die as other men. One dies by a sudden accident, another in battle, another without friends to see how he dies, a fourth is insensible or not himself. Thus the opportunity seems thrown away, and we are forcibly reminded that "the manifestation of the sons of God" [Rom. viii. 19.] is hereafter; that "the earnest expectation of the creature" is but waiting for it; that this life is unequal to the burden of so great an office as the due exhibition of those secret ones who shall one day "shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of their Father." [Matt. xiii. 43.]

Reading the next paragraphs, I cannot help but think of Newman's later (Catholic) poetic meditation on death and the afterlife, The Dream of Gerontius:

But further (if it be allowable to speculate), one can conceive even the same kind of feeling, and a most transporting one, to come over the soul of the faithful Christian, when just separated from the body, and conscious that his trial is once for all over. Though his life has been a long and painful discipline, yet when it is over, we may suppose him to feel at the moment the same sort of surprise at its being ended, as generally follows any exertion in this life, when the object is gained and the anticipation over. . . . Such, but without any {221} mixture of pain, without any lassitude, dulness, or disappointment, may be the happy contemplation of the disembodied spirit; as if it said to itself, "So all is now over; this is what I have so long waited for; for which I have nerved myself; against which I have prepared, fasted, prayed, and wrought righteousness. Death is come and gone,—it is over. Ah! is it possible? What an easy trial, what a cheap price for eternal glory! A few sharp sicknesses, or some acute pain awhile, or some few and evil years, or some struggles of mind, dreary desolateness for a season, fightings and fears, afflicting bereavements, or the scorn and ill-usage of the world,—how they fretted me, how much I thought of them, yet how little really they are! How contemptible a thing is human life,—contemptible in itself, yet in its effects invaluable! for it has been to me like a small seed of easy purchase, germinating and ripening into bliss everlasting." . . . 

The regenerate soul is taken into communion with Saints and Angels, and its "life is hid with Christ in God;" [Col. iii. 3.] it has a place in God's court, and is not of this world,—looking into this world as a spectator might look at some show or pageant, except when called from time to time to take a part. And while it obeys the instinct of the senses, it does so for God's sake, and it submits itself to things of time so far as to be brought to perfection by them, that, when the veil is withdrawn and it sees itself to be, where it ever has been, in God's kingdom, it may be found worthy to enjoy it. It is this view of life, which removes from us all surprise and disappointment that it is so incomplete: as well might we expect any chance event which happens in the course of it to be complete, any casual conversation with a stranger, or the toil or amusement of an hour.

After death, the Soul of Gerontius speculates:

I went to sleep; and now I am refresh'd,
A strange refreshment: for I feel in me
An inexpressive lightness, and a sense {332}
Of freedom, as I were at length myself,
And ne'er had been before. How still it is!
I hear no more the busy beat of time,
No, nor my fluttering breath, nor struggling pulse;
Nor does one moment differ from the next.
I had a dream; yes:—some one softly said
"He's gone;" and then a sigh went round the
room.
And then I surely heard a priestly voice
Cry "Subvenite;" and they knelt in prayer.
I seem to hear him still; but thin and low,
And fainter and more faint the accents come,
As at an ever-widening interval.

And after the Soul has become conscious of the presence of the Angel:

Now know I surely that I am at length
Out of the body; had I part with earth,
I never could have drunk those accents in,
And not have worshipp'd as a god the voice
That was so musical; but now I am
So whole of heart, so calm, so self-possess'd,
With such a full content, and with a sense
So apprehensive and discriminant,
As no temptation can intoxicate.
Nor have I even terror at the thought
That I am clasp'd by such a saintliness.

Next week: The conclusion of the sermon.

Image credit (Public Domain): "The Death of the Good Old Man" by William Blake

Preview: Part One of Three: Newman's "The Greatness and Littleness of Human Life"

For the next three Mondays in June, I'll be on the Son Rise Morning Show (SRMS) with Anna Mitchell or Matt Swaim to explore this Parochial and Plain Sermon of St. John Henry Newman: "The Greatness and Littleness of Human Life". 

The Newman sermon reading group I attend at our local IHM Convent read and discussed this sermon not too long ago. It is beautifully composed sermon, filled with human sympathy and significance and deserves more attention than a single five or six minute segment! I encourage you to read it through because I will be excerpting passages for each segment on June 10, 17, and 24.

So I'll be on the air at my usual time (about 6:50 a.m. Central/7:50 a.m. Eastern) Monday, June 10 to start our discussion: please listen live here or catch the podcast later here. And remember, if you subscribe to the SRMS email, you'll get a reminder every morning of who is on, discussing what!

Newman takes as his verse Jacob's answer to Pharaoh's question ("And being asked by him: How many are the days of the years of thy life?" Genesis 47:8) in Egypt:

"The days of my pilgrimage are a hundred and thirty years, few, and evil, and they are not come up to the days of the pilgrimage of my fathers." (Genesis 47:9) (Image Credit (Public Domain): Joseph and his brothers, Jacob in front of Pharaoh. From the Haggadah for Passover (the 'Sister Haggadah'))

[If you need to, you could refresh your memory of Jacob/Israel's life with this article from the Catholic Encyclopedia!]

First, Newman contrasts Jacob's answer to the circumstances of his life, which had been long and blessed in many ways: 

{214} WHY did the aged Patriarch call his days few, who had lived twice as long as men now live, when he spoke? why did he call them evil, seeing he had on the whole lived in riches and honour, and, what is more, in God's favour? yet he described his time as short, his days as evil, and his life as but a pilgrimage. Or if we allow that his afflictions were such as to make him reasonably think cheaply of his life, in spite of the blessings which attended it, yet that he should call it short, considering he had so much more time for the highest purposes of his being than we have, is at first sight surprising. He alludes indeed to the longer life which had been granted to his fathers, and perhaps felt a decrepitude greater than theirs had been; yet this difference between him and them could hardly be the real ground of his complaint in the text, or more than a confirmation or occasion of it. It was not because Abraham had lived one {215} hundred and seventy-five years, and Isaac one hundred and eighty, and he himself, whose life was not yet finished, but one hundred and thirty, that he made this mournful speech. For it matters not, when time is gone, what length it has been; and this doubtless was the real cause why the Patriarch spoke as he did, not because his life was shorter than his fathers', but because it was well nigh over. When life is past, it is all one whether it has lasted two hundred years or fifty. And it is this characteristic, stamped on human life in the day of its birth, viz. that it is mortal, which makes it under all circumstances and in every form equally feeble and despicable. All the points in which men differ, health and strength, high or low estate, happiness or misery, vanish before this common lot, mortality. Pass a few years, and the longest-lived will be gone; nor will what is past profit him then, except in its consequences. . . .

Newman then focuses on how we view an individual human life in the context of experience and memory, as we see in someone's life the promise it held and the balance of failure and success in that promise's fulfillment:

. . . This is what we all feel, though at first sight it seems a contradiction, that even though the days as they go be slow, and be laden with many events, or with sorrows or dreariness, lengthening them out and making them tedious, yet the year passes quick though the hours tarry, and time bygone is as a dream, though we thought it would never go while it was going. And the reason seems to be this; that, when we contemplate human life in itself, in however small a portion of it, we see implied in it the presence of a soul, {216} the energy of a spiritual existence, of an accountable being; consciousness tells us this concerning it every moment. But when we look back on it in memory, we view it but externally, as a mere lapse of time, as a mere earthly history. And the longest duration of this external world is as dust and weighs nothing, against one moment's life of the world within. Thus we are ever expecting great things from life, from our internal consciousness every moment of our having souls; and we are ever being disappointed, on considering what we have gained from time past, and can hope from time to come. And life is ever promising and never fulfilling; and hence, however long it be, our days are few and evil. This is the particular view of the subject on which I shall now dwell.

Because we believe and know each person we meet and admire in some way has an immortal soul, we begin, Newman suggests, to see the difference between their lives on earth and the life to come. Even though there have been disappointments and sorrows in their lives, there must be more; it cannot be that a Good God created them for nothing:

Our earthly life then gives promise of what it does not accomplish. It promises immortality, yet it is mortal; it contains life in death and eternity in time; and it attracts us by beginnings which faith alone brings to an end. I mean, when we take into account the powers with which our souls are gifted as Christians, the very consciousness of these fills us with a certainty that they must last beyond this life; that is in the case of good and holy men, whose present state I say, is to them who know them well, an earnest of immortality. The greatness of their gifts, contrasted with their scanty time for exercising them, forces the mind forward to the thought of another life, as almost the necessary counterpart and consequence of this life, and certainly implied in this life, provided there be a righteous Governor of the world, who does not make man for nought. {217}

We'll end with this selection on Monday, June 10, in which Newman has laid out the puzzle, the difficulty we see in our lives and every human life--although he does not doubt the value of each life, nor God's purposes for our happiness through Him, with Him, and in Him!

Newman explores these issues of greatness and littleness of human life further in the next paragraphs (our June 17 episode) and then of course applies those lessons to us in the course of our lives now (our June 24 episode).

I chose two portraits of Newman to bracket this first section, one as a handsome young man and one as an old Cardinal: he lived a long life (1801 to 1890, 89 years and six months!).

Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us!

Saint Jacob, pray for us!

Saint John Henry Newman, pray for us!