with thy gifts, and, in consequence of them, capable of works worthy of eternity! What a life is that life which, in reality, is nothing, has nothing in view, and fills up a time which is decisive of its eternal destiny, in doing nothing, and reckoning as well passed those days and hours which imperceptibly slip away!
But if inutility be opposite to the price of time, irregularity and multiplicity of occupations are not less so to the proper order of time, and to the Christian use we ought to make of it. You have just seen the dangers of a slothful, and I will now lay before you the inconveniences of a hurried life.
Part II. — To every thing we have hitherto said, my brethren, the majority of those who listen to me have, no doubt, secretly opposed, that their life is any thing but slothful and useless; that scarcely can they suffice for the duties, good offices, and endless engagements of their stations; that they live in an eternal vicissitude of occupations and business which absorbs their whole life;. and that they think themselves happy when they can accomplish a moment for themselves, and enjoy, at leisure, the situation which their fortune denies to them.
Now this, my brethren is a new way of abusing time, still more dangerous than even inutility and indolence. In effect, the Christian use of time is not merely the filling up of all its moments; it is that of filling them up in order, and according to the will of the Lord, who gives them to us. The life of faith is a life of regularity and wisdom: fancy, passion, pride, and cupidity, are false prinples of conduct, since they themselves are only a derangement of the mind and heart; and that order and reason ought to be our only guides.
Nevertheless, the life of the majority of men is a life always occupied and always useless; always laborious, and always void: their passions give birth to all their motions: these are the great springs which agitate men; make them run here and there like madmen; and leave them not a single moment's tranquillity; and, in filling up all their moments, they seek not to fulfil their duties, but to deliver themselves up to their restlessness, and to satisfy their iniquitous desires.
But in what does this order consist, which ought to regulate the measure of our occupations and to sanctify the use of our time? It consists, in the first place, in limiting ourselves to the occupations attached to our stations; in not seeking places and situations which may multiply them; and in not reckoning, among our duties, the cares and embarrassments which anxiety, or our passions, alone generate within us. Secondly, however agitated may be our situations, amidst all our occupations, to regard as the most essential, and the most privileged, those we owe to our salvation.
I say, in the first place, not to reckon, amongst the occupations which sanctify the use of our time, those which restlessness or the passions alone generate.
Restlessness! Yes, my brethren, we all wish to avoid ourselves.
