SERMON III.
THE DISGUSTS ACCOMPANYING VIRTUE.
"Then the Jews took up stones again, to stone him." — John x. 31.
Behold then, my brethren, the marks of gratitude which Jesus Christ receives from men; behold the consolations which heaven prepares for him in the painful exercise of his ministry. There he is treated as a Samaritan, and as one possessed by the devil: here they take up stones to stone him. It is thus that the Son of God has passed all the time of his mortal life, continually exposed to the most obstinate contradiction, finding only hearts insensible to his kindnesses, and rebellious to the truths which he announced to them: yet never did he allow the smallest sign of impatience, or the least complaint to escape him.
And we, my brethren, we, his members and his disciples, alas! the smallest disgusts, the smallest contradictions we experience in the practice of virtue, revolt our delicacy. From the moment we cease to relish those attractions, that sensibility which softens every thing to be found painful in duty, there is nothing but complaint and murmurs: troubled, discouraged, we are tempted almost to abandon God, and to return to the world, as a more agreeable and commodious master. In a word, we would wish to find nothing in the service of God but pleasure and consolation.
But our divine Master, in calling us to his service, has he not declared, in express terms, that the kingdom of heaven is only to be gained by conquest; and that none but those who do violence upon themselves can force it? And what do these words signify, unless that, entering into the service of God, we are not to promise ourselves that we shall always find in it a certain sweetness, a certain relish, which deprives it of all pain, and causes it to be loved? On the contrary, it is almost certain, that in it we shall experience disgusts and contradictions which will exercise our patience, and put our fidelity to frequent trials; that we shall often feel the weight of the yoke, without feeling the unction of grace which renders it light and easy, because piety essentially opposes the gratification of our former tastes and original inclinations, for which we always preserve some unhappy remains of tenderness, and which we cannot mortify without making the heart suffer; that, besides, we shall have to undergo the eternal caprices of an inconstant and volatile heart, so difficult to fix, that, without reason or foundation, it is disgusted in a moment with what it formerly loved most. Behold, my brethren, what we ought to have expected when we embraced the cause of virtue. Here, it is the time of combat and
