“Of twisted scarlet, the work of an artist, with precious stones cut and set on gold ...” (Ecclesiasticus, XLV. 13). Nor this nor any text, inspired word of God, can be too high for these, his Saints, canonised or uncanonised, to whom He gave the great gift of martyrdom.

In early times, the Church rightly set her precious stones in the Mass, cut them out in the first Litanies, wove their scarlet threads of love and fame into and out of the histories of the first great basilicas, in Rome and elsewhere. We bless and revere the practice of the Church, then as now, and in all humility follow it, in speaking of our own later Martyrs, since there is no time with God . . . “Jesus Christ yesterday, and to-day and for ever.”

It is true that we in these islands would not have the Faith, humanly speaking, did not in God’s Providence some early missionary bring and preach it to our forefathers; but it is as least as true that we could never have kept the Faith were it not kept for us by those whom we have come to call the English Martyrs. This name is peculiar to that company of men and women who were put to death for their Faith, and for that only, between the years 1535 and 1689; that is, from the beginning of Henry VIII’s hist claim to be Head of the Church, to the Titus Oates Plot and the wave of anti-Catholic feeling in the reign of Charles II.

In a sketch of this nature much must be passed over. Pierre Acarie’s banishment from Paris, the extreme want to which his family was reduced, and the valiant and continued efforts— finally successful—made by his wife for the complete restoration of the family fortunes and the return of her husband, can be hut mentioned. Gladly she endured poverty, many insults, and much suffering, so that she might redeem her husband’s good name and property. Yet from the time of Pierre’s return his temper seems to have become sharper. It has been pointed out by some biographers that this change occurred in Pierre Acarie in direct proportion to his wife’s increase in holiness. Without going so far it may be said, perhaps, that Pierre’s increasing ill-humour, caused to a certain extent, no doubt, by his many reverses, the triumph of all that he abhorred, and the upset of his dearest political plans, was used by God in the sanctification of his wife. Women who sanctify themselves in marriage, as Barbe Acarie did, give to those they love, a love which is extremely pure for it is deprived of all element of self. They love, perhaps, no more than other wives, but surely they love better. For, to be able to live “in one flesh”, without that life becoming a veritable prison for the soul requires harmony of spirit. And such harmony is not attained without sacrifice. Barbe loved her husband, and the pursuit of perfection in no wise decreased her love.

After a painful illness of nearly three months there died, at the age of fifty-two, on the Wednesday in Easter week (April 18, 1618), in the Carmelite convent of the reform of St. Teresa at Pontoise, soeur Marie de l’Incarnation, a lay sister, five years professed. Dr. André Duval, who wrote her life, has left some account of the manner of her death. “I arrived at Pontoise,” he says, “at about half-past five in the morning . . . when I got to the courtyard I met the turn sister looking for the chaplain to come and give extreme unction . . . they told the prioress that I had arrived, and she sent me at once a surplice and a stole; I went straightway to the infirmary . . . the doctor told me that it was advisable to anoint her and thereupon I began it; as I was doing so she breathed her last. The doctor having informed me that she was dead I ceased the anointing and began the anthem Subvenite with the prayers which follow . . .”.

This matter of fact account by the grave doctor of the Sorbonne hides the great reverence he had for her at whose deathbed he was present. Indeed we may wonder why he should trouble to journey through the night from Paris to minister to a lay sister in a provincial convent, even though he was one of the ecclesiastical superiors of that and all the other Carmelite convents in France.

The benefit and dignity conferred on man by God through this sovereign Mystery.

So wonderful was the means chosen by Divine Wisdom for our salvation that from every point of view we shall always learn how appropriate and suitable it was and what blessings it brings us. Firstly, the Eternal Father thus provided us with a most perfect and faithful Mediator between Himself and the human race, who could make firm and eternal peace between offended God and guilty man, for a perfect mediator must be trusty and pleasing to both parties. Then who could be more faithful than the Son of God, trustworthy and pleasing to God because He was true God; faithful and pleasing to men for He was true Man?

Dear Sister, the ceremonies of your profession are themselves so lovely a sermon that you can have no need of further words. Yet it is a joy to speak a little of your joy, and in particular to think over with you the particularly lovely antiphon which you are soon to sing: I have chosen to be an outcast in the house oh my Lord.

I have chosen. Our Lord once said to his disciples: You have not chosen me, but I have chosen you. And yet God in his mercy when he calls us to his service, gives us the power to give him back his gift. Your vocation is his choosing of you; yet it is also your choice of him; an act of your own will. And that is why we are told that a religious profession is something that wipes wholly away whatever there was of darkness, of sin, in the past; it is a complete renewal of heart and soul, a complete cleansing—why? Because it is a complete act of love. But to have that effect it must be a perfect act. It is not enough to say I have chosen to be in the house of my Lord. You have to say, as you do say, I have chosen to be an outcast. Abiecta: it means thrown aside, poor, unnoticed, forlorn.

The glories of Divine goodness shown in this work of our Redemption.

These foundations having been laid, we will begin to explain how divine goodness shows forth in our Redemption. We said that it is the nature of goodness to communicate itself to all things; that is, with regard to men to make them good and happy. We said that the highest grade of goodness was to suffer in order to make others good, and the greater the suffering, the higher the grade of goodness. Therefore the Son of God, desirous of making us good and happy like himself, saw that there was no other means under heaven more effectual than that he should descend to earth, clad in human flesh, and suffer in it death and Passion for the sake of the inestimable fruits that would result for us, and the splendid example it would give us in all the virtues, besides the immense and precious graces it would gain for us. Seeing this, our Lord, overcome by the power of his love and desire, thought nothing of the heavy burden he was taking on him, but only of our remedy. This reveals how immense was the goodness in offering to undergo such severe trials and to give his life for that cause. For, as our Saviour said: “Greater love than this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” We can say that there is no stronger proof of goodness than that a man should die to make others good, especially when his death entails so many insults and torments.

There has been a ‘marked change in liturgical writing in the last few years. It can hardly be called a change for the better, for that would imply disrespect for the great liturgical work of the beginning of the century. A great deal of the work immediately connected with the liturgical movement has not in- ‘ deed merited deep respect in so far as it has indulged in a facile andover-naturalistic philosophising which ill becomes the humble worshipper. But the great historians of the liturgy, men like Neale, Brightman, Bishop or Fortescue, performed the scholarly task of research without which our modern writers would have nothing to say. The previous work still continues in such important studies as Mr. Dugmore’s researches into the Jewish ancestry of the Divine Office). In this book the author has done for the Divine Office what Oesterley, in his study of Jewish origins, did for theEucharistic worship. He has moreover opened a new way of approach in the more neglected study of the non-eucharistic parts of Christian worship. He shows not only that the Pro-Anaphora or Mass of the Catechumens was often celebrated in the early church apart from the Eucharist and so formed a service like that of the synagogue of prayers, lessons and psalms distinct from the central liturgical act, but also that the three daily prayers of Jewish worship begot three or at least two Christian assemblies a day of like nature. This means that the Divine Office is not simply an expansion of the first part of the Mass, which all agree is itself of Jewish origin, but that the day was sanctified by more than one assembly for prayer even before the Mass was celebrated daily, and that this early form of Divine Office was directly inherited from the synagogue. This work on the early shape and ancestry of our official prayer is in the best tradition of liturgical study.

To avoid confusion, I must first make clear that this paper does not concern Catholic Action, the need for which is so stressed by the Hierarchy. Here we are left in no doubt as to What we should do. But I have often wondered when, why and how individual Catholics have been most active—what makes the difference between a preacher and a contemplative, and in what respects they are the same—and this represents the results of these wonderings.

What do we mean by an active Catholic? A complication arises at once, because there are obviously two sorts, both equally deserving of the name:

For the purpose of this paper, the term Active Catholic will mean what I have described as the Professional Catholic, as his work involves more definite physical action than that of the Living Catholic, whom we will dismiss with the comment that his state is that to which everyone without exception should aspire.

[Vitoria’s commentary on the Summa includes an elaborate discussion of the duty of almsgiving (on II-II, 32, 5). It is in many ways of great interest, but is too long and sometimes too intricate to encourage detailed translation here. I give in brief paraphrase the main steps of the reasoning, neglect some bypaths of argument, and translate in full one particularly vigorous passage. Actual quotations are given in inverted commas. I have thought it best throughout to render extrema nécessitas by ‘desperate need’. The term is technical, and is used of a state where without immediate help the sufferer is likely to die; gravis necessitas (‘serious need’) is something short of this, and may cover cases which common parlance would call ‘extreme’ *]

§1. St. Thomas maintains these four positions, (a) Some almsgiving is of precept, (b) Almsgiving from one’s superfluity is sometimes of precept, (c) In desperate need, almsgiving is of precept. (d) In other cases, almsgiving is of counsel.

§2. Further points are much disputed. In particular there are two questions, (a) In a case of desperate need, is a man bound to give from what is necessary for his status? For instance, his status requires him to ride. If the poor are starving and he can relieve them only by selling his horses, is he bound to do so and go about on foot? (b) If a man has superfluity (i.e., more than he needs for livelihood and status), is he bound to give alms from this, not in desperate need only (on which there is no dispute) but in serious need also?

1. When the holy Gospel was being read, we heard how the Lord was received by a good woman, named Martha, who was working busily to serve him, while her sister Mary sat at the Lord’s feet, hearing his word. Martha worked, Mary sat at leisure; Martha spent herself, Mary received her fill. Yet Martha, working hard at her serving, appealed to the Lord, complaining that her sister gave her no help. But the Lord replied on Mary’s behalf, and, although he was called upon as her judge, himself became her advocate. Martha, he said, thou art busy about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the better part which shall not be taken away from her (Luke X, 41, 42). We have heard both the appeal to the Judge and his verdict: that verdict both answered the plaintiff and upheld the defendant. For Mary was absorbed in the sweet savour of the Lord’s words. Martha was intent upon how she should feed the Lord; Mary upon how the Lord would feed her. Martha was making ready for the Lord a feast which Mary was already enjoying. She was listening with delight, and receiving her fill with eagerly waiting heart. How much then must she have feared that the Lord might say to her at her sister’s appeal: “Arise, help your sister”? For she was enthralled by a wonderful sweetness of the mind, far greater than that of the body. But she was defended, and sat at ease.

The Early English Text Society have presented the public with a critical edition of the original text of The Cloud of Unknowing and The Epistle of Privy Counsel. The work is that of Dr Phyllis Hodgson. Dr. Hodgson has done her work thoroughly with a description and discussion of the MSS, an elaborate analysis of the language, all in the best traditions of the Society. To this she has added a discussion of the subject-matter, the sources and the author of these two mystical writings, which are the most important in the English language. There is little fresh light to be thrown on the authorship, which remains as unknown as before in spite of much research. But Dr. Hodgson has been more rewarded in her exploration of the sources, for she has established in particular the direct influence of the treatise De Adhaerendo Deo, upon The Cloud and The Epistle of Privy Counsel. This work was formerly attributed simply to S. Albert the Great, but is now regarded as having been amplified by a Benedictine at a later date; it teaches the same doctrine as The Cloud in very much the same style—a guarantee, if one were needed, that the English work is no esoteric, over-spiritualised attempt to short-cut the way of Christ which is the way of the Church. Then there are the direct borrowings from Richard of S. Victor’s Benjamin Major which shows how the author of The Cloud swam in the full stream of mystical doctrine, beginning with the Pseudo-Aropagite whom he specifically acknowledges as his master, and proceeding through the Victorines to the great movement of the 14th century.

Explains in greater detail the immensity of Christ’s love for souls.

What, then, must have been the Lord’s delight at the glorious sight of this vast number of souls beautified by the abundance of gifts and graces he would merit for them by the Sacrifice of his Passion! Saint Chrysostom says that there is no man in the world so enamoured of a woman, even though he is bewitched by her, whose love is so strong as Christ’s for a pure, humble soul, dead to the world and living only for God. Then, if this Lord feels such an affection for a single soul, what must he feel for the numberless souls who are perfect and holy and possess every virtue and sanctity? When in the beginning God created each thing, he “saw that it was good “, but when creation was accomplished “God saw all the things that he had made” and He saw that they were not merely good, but “very good”. Therefore if he cherishes one pure soul so tenderly, what must Christ’s love be for many such souls if not stronger in proportion for each soul? How joyfully would he have offered his life, and a thousand lives if he had had them, that he might sanctify and beautify so many! Classical writers extol the beauty of Queen Helen, for whom Troy was lost, and say that the Princes of Troy and King Priam himself were not acting unworthily in fighting the Greeks for so many years for this beautiful queen.

How all the Divine perfections, particularly that of goodness, show forth with greater splendour in our Lord's Passion than in all His other works.

We see, then, that the Passion of Christ our Saviour serves for the glory of God (which we put first), as it makes perfect satisfaction for offences committed against the Divine Majesty and gives Him honour that surpasses the offence rendered Him by sin.

But it did not glorify Him only in this way, for in the sacred Passion the divine grandeur and perfections shine forth more than in all His other actions together.

To begin with His goodness, which in our understanding is the greatest and thaton which God sets the highest store: where is it more resplendent than in the sacred Passion? To make this clear we must first explain the disposition and nature of goodness. “It is’’, says Saint Dionysius, “generous both of itself and all it owns’’. (De Div. Norn. Cap. IV). We see this in the sun, which is a most noble creature. It illumines the whole world, so that nothing is hidden from its light and strength. And the better a thing is, and the more advanced in goodness, the more will it communicate itself. Consequently, God being supremely good, will be supremely communicative of Himself and His perfections to all His creatures: to some more, to others less according to their condition and capacity, as the same Saint declares. And since man has the capacity of goodness and beatitude, God ardently desires (as is natural to Him) to make men good and blessed, like Himself—and this with no self-interest, but from the disposition and nature of His goodness. This is what He sought to show us specially in the work of our Redemption.

Let us now see what moved this Lord to suffer such exquisite torture, and whether there was any self-interest in it. In reply I will quote a notable saying of Avicena Moro referred to by Saint Thomas Aquinas, which declares that God is by nature absolutely generous, and that no creature possesses this virtue in perfection. (I Dis. 18, art. 3 in corp.) For no one does good without any prospect of gaining by it, and the perfection gained by the creature when it acts solely according to its nature suffices for that. The Creator alone possesses this pre-eminence that by nothing he has done, or does, in this world has he acquired any new perfection. He is naturally and perfectly liberal because all he gives and does is done gratis, without reward. Therefore let us seek no other cause for God’s actions but his goodness alone.

This being so, let us ask our Lord why he drank a chalice of such sorrows. Thou, Lord, whose riches, whose glory, whose bliss, whose joys are so immense that though Thou shouldst create a thousand worlds they could not be augmented, why didst Thou will to subject Thyself to such tortures? Why choose to drink of this most bitter cbalice? Why should this most sublime, most simple Substance clothe Itself with flesh and incur the trials of our mortality? And if that was little, what hadst thou to do with prisons, stripes, blows and insults, thorns and nails and the Cross? Why didst Thou will to sink to such unfathomable depths?

Men can judge from this how they should love that Lord who, wicked as they were, and his deadly enemies, forestalled them with his mercy and resolved to bestow on them this signal favour. Saint John, in his Epistle, extols this divine prevention, exhorting us to love our Bedeemer, for he first loved us; that is, he determined to redeem those who were lost before we, being sons of wrath, could love him meritoriously since He had first to give us the power by the grace of the Bedemption. Saint John extols this by the divine words, “God so loved the world as to give his only begotten Son”, (John., Ill, 16). And ‘to give’ him was to deliver him up to the most severe sufferings ever endured. If God had said that he gave Christ solely as King, or as Master, or as an example and model of all the virtues, (as in fact he did give him), we should not have been so astonished, for it is natural to that supreme Goodness to do good and to communicate himself to his creatures, but to “give him” meant to deliver Him over to the worst cruelty and insults ever known. This is what paralyses the minds of those who meditate upon it. For there was no other reason for it except that the Eternal Father knew what great asd unspeakable benefits to mankind would ensue. God’s love for us and desire for our welfare were so intense that he did not think the blood and death of his only Son too dear a price to pay for it.

I said that the reason why the Saviour redeemed us with such intense suffering was that inestimable and priceless fruit that would result to us from this special remedy. I will speak of this later on. At present let us dwell upon three of the chief ones. To understand the first it should be understood, as Saint Maximus says, that the Christian life, if led conformably with the laws of the Gospel, is a perpetual cross. Our Saviour himself declared this, as Saint Mark tells us: “If any man will follow me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me”. (St. Mark VIII, 34).

The Saviour here specifies three things, each of them difficult enough. For what is more difficult than to deny ourselves, to oppose all our disordered desires and self-will, and take up our cross; to be ready for anything, to prepare for the trials of a,good life, and follow Christ, who in this earthly life walked on no easy road of comfort, but on a hard, a humble, and laborious one? This being so, the Christian life may rightly be called the way of the Cross.

This is so because the Christian life is virtuous and virtue is surrounded by difficulties and trials. For as it is natural to fire to hold heat, so virtue is annexed to difficulty and labour, and without this we do not practice virtue. Therefore I think, though the comparison may be commonplace, that virtue is like the chestnuts on the tree, which are full of prickles like a hedgehog and must be removed before eating the fruit.