MIICI IQCENTJ

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Pr€CIOUS

BoDI€S

Rl CHARD A. W ELFLE S-

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TheQueen'sJ/ork
3742 West Pine Boulevard

ST. LOUIS. MO.



Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2016

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Our Precious Bodies

BY

Rickard A. Welfle, S. J.

THE QUEEN’S WORK

3742 West Pine Boulevard

ST. LOUIS 8, MO.



Imprimi potest :

Samuel Horine, S. J.

Praep. Prov. Missourians

Nihil obstat:

F. J. Holweck

Censor Librorum

Imprimatur

:

P Joannes J. Glennon

Archiepiscopus Sti. Ludovici

Sti. Ludovici, die 8 Januarii 1934

Ninth printing, July 1945

Any 'financial profit made by

the Central Office of the Sodality

will be used for the advancement

of the Sodality Movement and the

cause of Catholic Action.

Copyright, 1935

THE QUEEN’S WORK, Inc.

teackffiacf



Our Precious Bodies

EN, we must see Benares,” Ann de-

clared, as she finished reading, in

her tourist’s guide, the brief sketch of this

ancient stronghold of paganism. “Look. It’s

called here ‘The Rome of Hinduism,’ and it

says that no one has really seen India if

he hasn’t spent at least a day in “The Sacred

City on the Ganges’.”

A momentous change had recently come

into Ken’s life. For it was now scarcely

more than a month since he and Ann had

entered into a life partnership as Mr. and

Mrs. Kenneth Hollis. The event had taken

place in St. Patrick’s Cathedral, back in

New York, and that same evening, when the

Berengaria dropped down the Hudson and

headed out to sea, Ken and Ann were on

board, starting on their world tour. They

were now doing India, traveling north from

Bombay in a compartment to themselves

on the Punjab Mail, and Ken still found

himself in the stage of acquiescence.

“Why, by all means we’ll see Benares.

The trip is yours, Ann. We’ll spend to-

morrow in Agra, take a look-see at the

Taj Mahal, and then the next stop will be

Benares. Right?”

By

RICHARD A. WELFLE, S. J.

3



“Ken, you’re a darling,” Ann cooed.

“I know it,” said Ken unblushingly. “And

a year from now I hope you won't forget

you admitted it.”

Temples, Temples Everywhere

The Hindu pantheon, it seems, can always

make room for one more divinity, but surely

it approaches the absolute limit in Benares.

As Ken and Ann followed their Hindu guide

through the narrow and torturous dirty lanes,

they encountered at every' few yards an-

other temple or shrine, surmounted by

Vishnu’s gilded trident or the symbol of

some other equally prominent Hindu god,

where worshiping pilgrims from every part

of India sprinkled their holy Ganges water

and offered garlands of golden marigolds or

crimson hibiscus flowers to their idols.

“There are some fifteen hundred temples

here in Benares,” boasted their Hindu guide,

and Ken and Ann were quite willing to

accept his figure unchallenged. “And that

doesn’t include all these smaller wayside

shrines built in the walls and set up under

the sacred pipul trees.

“Let us now go down to the ghats along

the Ganges,” the guide proposed. And Ann

clung close to Ken as they .passed by ugly

grotesque gods and goddesses, ash-smeared

sadhus and half-naked fakirs, holy cows and

goats and sacred bulls that wandered loose

in the streets.

They halted near Manikarnika Ghat, which

— 4 —



was apparently the center of activity and

which commanded an unobstructed view up

and down the sacred river.

Hindus Burn Their Dead

“Gads, what a sight!” Ken exclaimed, as .

he and Ann took in the strange scene with

wide-eyed amazement.

And indeed it was a scene to call forth

exclamations. There were more shrines on

the stone piers and terraces that ran down

to the water’s edge; temples partially sub-

merged in the stream; filthy, reeking temples

on the ghat steps. There were Brahmans

with sleek bronze bodies, and sannyasis with

only a cloth wrapped about their loins

—

holy men all, lost in contemplation or

muttering their mantras. Large, palmleaf

umbrellas, like overgrown toadstools, dotted

the shore and sheltered devout bathers as

they came up from the river to perform

“puja” (worship) and mark their bodies

with the signs of Shiva or Vishnu. The

women’s bathing ghat, with the brilliant

reds and greens and yellows of their sarees

(dresses), showed up like a multicolored

flower garden. Several sacred bulls were

strutting about, mingling with the crowds

and snatching at the garlands of marigolds

worn by the pious pilgrims, or munching the

flowers strewn around the innumerable

shrines. Pigeons went fluttering overhead

among the gilded spires of the temples, and

goats Were clambering unmolested on their

stone steps.

— 5—



Ann had already begun to feel that she

had had about enough of Benares. Some-

thing now met her gaze that left no further

doubt about it. For, a short distance down

along the river, she caught sight of the

burning ghats, black with soot and columns

of dense blue smoke rising from the funeral

pyres. And close by, stretched out along

the sacred stream, lay the corpses on their

crudely constructed biers of bamboo.

“Come, Ken,” said Ann limply. “Let us

go back to the hotel.”

Off for Darjeeling

The following morning, Ken and Ann, glad

that they were leaving Benares behind, and

fully convinced that it had nothing in

common with Rome, even though it was

given in the guide book as ‘The Rome of

Hinduism/ entrained for Darjeeling, a moun-

tain resort, consisting chiefly of a pic-

turesque cluster of red roofs and glistening

white walls, clinging to a ridge some seven

thousand feet up in the foothills of the

Himalayas, and overlooking broad deep

valleys, whose slopes are green with fields

of tea.

They traveled all morning across the sun-

baked plains of ancient Hindustan, and

found it exceedingly tedious. But shortly

after dinner the train stopped at a fairly

large station, and as Ken and Ann surveyed

from their compartment window the color-

ful Eastern crowd on the platform, they

beheld a tall stalwart figure wearing a

— 6—



white sun-helmet and a light, white cassock

working his way through the throng up

along the train, evidently looking for a

vacant seat in the overcrowded carriages.

Enter Father Farrell

“I’ll bet he’s a missionary.” Ann guessed

correctly. “Let’s invite him in with us.”

“Right!” Ken agreed, and immediately

called out: “Father, there’s plenty of room

in here.”

The white-clad missionary acknowledged

the invitation with a smile that lit up his

deeply tanned features, and approaching the

compartment, he glanced at the lettering on

the side of the carriage.

“First class,” he observed. “My ticket is

only good for third.”

“But we have the compartment chartered,

Father,” Ann promptly assured him. “And

we’ll be delighted to have you with us.”

There must have been something familiar

in Ann’s voice that stirred the missionary,

for his deep-blue eyes suddenly kindled.

“Tell me,” he said eagerly, “are you

young folks from God’s country?”

“If you mean America, Father, you’re

right. How did you guess it?”

“Your speech betrays you.” The priest

laughed as he stepped into the car. “I

happen to hail from Chicago myself. I’m

Father Farrell.”

And the train pulled out of the station

— 7—



with the compartment ringing with rejoic-

ings over this entirely unexpected meeting.

The Church's Attitude

“How long have you been out here in

India, Father?" Ken inquired, when the

first burst of enthusiasm had quieted down.

“Going on six years," Father Farrell re-

plied simply. “I’ve got a flourishing little

mission over here north of the Ganges and

I find it great fun showing these poor pagans

the way to heaven. I hated to leave them,

even for these two weeks, to go up to the

hills for my annual retreat. I’ll bet you

wouldn’t mind staying out here in India

yourselves. Now would you?"

“I certainly would," Ann protested vig-

orously. “Father, we’ve just come from

Benares, and we couldn’t get away fast

enough."

Father Farrell suspected he knew why.

“Did you see the burning ghats?" he

asked.

“We did, Father. And the sight of them

gave me the willies. They’re horrible!"

Ann shuddered at the recollection of those

smoking funeral pyres.

“I agree perfectly," Father Farrell ad-

mitted. “Six years here in India haven’t

diminished my dislike for that unchristian

practice one bit."

“The Church forbids cremation, doesn’t

it. Father?" said Ann.

•— 8 —



“Yes, it does. And rather emphatically

too."
•

Ken wasn’t so sure that he knew the

reason for this.

“Why precisely?" he asked. “Is it simply

because the thing is so repulsive in itself?"

“Well, that’s one reason. Burning, if not

positively inhuman, is certainly very ir-

reverent at least. It is a violent destruction

of the body, whereas the process of decom-

position which takes place after burial is

according to nature. And of course, for a

Catholic this irreverence is increased im-

measurably. Our bodies are holy. They are

the temples of the Holy Ghost, as St. Paul

assures us, for they have been sanctified by

the reception of the sacraments, and in par-

ticular they have been nourished by the

body and blood of Our Lord."

Another Reason

“But as a matter of fact," Ken urged,

“cremation isn’t restricted to pagan coun-

tries. There are plenty of crematories in

Europe and back home in America."

“Well I know it," Father Farrell replied.

“And that fact is just one more reason why

the Church condemns cremation. Perhaps

it’s the most cogent one too, for outside af

pagan countries cremation is generally

equivalent to a public profession of irreligion

and materialism. When cremation was in-

troduced into Europe back in the nineteenth

century, the motive behind the movement

was to do away with Christian burial as

— 9 —



being too apt to inculcate the truths of the

immortality of the soul and the Catholic

doctrine of the resurrection of the body.

Catholic cemeteries with their crosses and

crucifixes were so many eyesores to the

enemies of the Church. These sacred sym-

bols of our salvation were too prominent

reminders of the Church’s beautiful and con-

soling doctrine that we shall one day rise

again with Christ. It is well to remember

that it was the Freemasons and other so-

cieties inimical to the Church who intro-

duced cremation into Europe, and you may

be pretty sure that among those who ad-

vocate cremation today our faith in the

resurrection of the body is repudiated. But

to deny that, according to St. Paul, leads to

a denial of our entire faith. Little wonder

then that the Church, in order to safeguard

one of her fundamental dogmas, has con-

demned the burning of the dead, except

when absolutely necesary, as, say, during

plagues.”

“Really, Father,” said Ken, “I’m glad this

subject came up. I had almost forgotten

that we Catholics actually do believe in the

resurrection of the body.”

“Why, Ken!” Ann gasped, midly scandal-

ized, “you ought to hang your head for say-

ing such a thing.”

“Well, what I meant to say,” Ken hastened

to explain, “was that I never attached so

much importance to our resurrection as

Father says St. Paul did. Please go on,

Father.”

— 10



Tone and Color

Father Farrell removed a New Testament

from his traveling bag.

“You’re getting me started on a pet sub-

ject of mine,” he remarked, still smiling at

Ken’s confusion. And he picked out the

fifteenth chapter of St. Paul’s first epistle

to the Corinthians, with a facility that

argued familiarity with the passage. '‘But

then St. Paul seems to have been rather

fond of the subject too. I believe, if we

grasped the significance of this article of

our faith more fully, it would give tone and

color to our lives and foster in us a deeper

sense of Christian hope, together with a

higher esteem for those precious bodies

of ours.

“The poor pagan who looks forward to

an endless series of rebirths and perhaps

hopes for the final attainment of Nirvana,

whatever that may mean for him, is badly

off. And the atheist, the agnostic, the

materialist, the rationalist and nonbelievers

in general are worse off. Perpetual sleep,

annihilation, absorption into ‘the absolute,’

that sort of thing isn’t very apt to engender

hope and confidence, is it? One need not

be surprised at the despair in the world

with such hollow creeds in vogue. Even

the heaven of the Mohammedan, with the

sensual pleasures it promises, isn’t a very

flattering enticement for a high-minded soul.

“The Catholic, however, has something

very definite and eminently desirable to look

forward to after death; he is buoyed up with

— 11—



the joyous anticipation of an eternity of

glory, not only for his soul, but for his body

as well/’

Ken and Ann were rapidly becoming con-

vinced that Father Farrell really was on his

pet subject.

Important

“To St. Paul our resurrection is a pivotal

dogma of our entire faith. He argues like

this: ‘If there be no resurrection of the

dead, then Christ is not risen again. And if

Christ be not risen again, then is our preach-

ing vain, and your faith is also vain.'

“So you see he unites our own resurrec-

tion by an indissoluble bond to Christ’s

resurrection. In other words, Christ’s triumph

over death is our triumph. The two are

inseparably linked together, and therefore

to deny that we shall rise again is at the

same time to deny that Christ rose from the

dead. But the dogma of Christ’s resurrec-

tion is the very foundation of our entire

faith. Once that is undermined, our faith

topples to the ground. Hence the importance

of our resurrection too.’’

Ken, who had been following closely,

wasn’t quite satisfied.

“Father,” he said, “I see why we must

by all means hold on to the resurrection

of Christ; that was the seal to His divinity,

as it were. Everything depends on it. But

that isn’t the point here. The question here

is our resurrection, isn’t it? And you say

St, Paul proves it by inseparably uniting

— 12—



our resurrection to Christ’s. But why? Does

St. Paul show this union?”

“That’s no little point,” Father Farrell

assured him. “Indeed St. Paul makes a

great deal of it.

Redemption

“But,” Father Farrell continued, “in order

to understand better why St. Paul unites

our resurrection with Christ’s, let us first

see how our resurrection fits into the scheme

of our redemption. For our victory over

death is after all one of the chief factors

in our redemption.

“We may ask how did death come about?

What caused it?

“Well, we know that death made its

entrance into the world hard upon the heels

of sin. It is one of the bitter fruits of

Adam’s transgression; the punishment of his

sin. And just as every man born of Adam

participates in his disobedience by that

solidarity of the human race which makes

us one with Adam, so too we must all taste

death, which his sin brought into the world.

But Christ, the second Adam, our Redeemer,

has come to us. Through His crucifixion we

have overcome original sin in baptism. So

through His resurrection shall we triumph

over death, which was inflicted as a punish-

ment of original sin. In other words, our

resurrection is a part of our redemption; it

completes Christ’s work of redemption in

the case of each individual. St. Paul says:

‘By a man came death, and by a Man the

— 13 —



resurrection of the dead. And as in Adam

all die, so also in Christ all shall be made

alive . . . And the enemy, death, shall be

destroyed last.”

One With Christ

“Now,” Father Farrell went on, “from

all this we get a hint why St. Paul unites

our resurrection with Christ’s. Because of

the union of the human race with Adam all

men partake in Adam’s sin and must suffer

its punishment of death, and now, in a

similiar way, all who are baptized become

spiritually reborn and one with Christ. There

is a union between Adam and the rest

of mankind; similarly there is a union

between Christ and the faithful. And just

as all must die because of Adam’s sin, so

will all who remain faithfully united to

Christ most surely overcome death with

Christ. For by baptism we have been in-

corporated as members into the mystical

body of Christ. And since He, the Head of

that mystical body, has risen from the dead,

so we, the members, shall not taste death

forever. ‘Know you not,’ says St. Paul, ‘that

all who are baptized in Christ Jesus are

baptized in his death? For we are buried

together with Him by baptism into death;

that, as Christ is risen from the dead by the

glory of the Father, so we also may walk

in newness of life. For if we have been

planted together in the likeness of His

death, we shall be also in the likeness of

His resurrection.’ And the reason is,”

Father Farrell commented, “because we be-

—
'

14—



long to the same Mystical Body of which

Christ is the Head, and the Head cannot

rise without the members; it would be in-

complete.”

Father Farrell paused, for he noticed a

question mark in Ken’s look.

This Same Body

“So, then, Father,” said Ken, “does that

mean that this same body of mine, once

death has claimed it for its own, is actually

to take on life once more? Is that to be

taken literally?”

“It is,” Father Farrell replied. “Undoubt-

edly. We have Christ’s own word for it.

He has even given us the Holy Eucharist

as a pledge. T am the living bread which

came down from heaven,’ He says; ‘if any

man eat of this bread, he shall live forever

... He that eateth my flesh and drinketh

my blood hath everlasting life, and I will

raise him up at the last day.’ Now Christ

doesn’t say that He will raise some other

body up, but that body which partakes of

His body and blood. It must be that same

body; otherwise the very notion of the

resurrection is destroyed. For the resurrec-

tion doesn’t mean the acquiring of a new

body, but the reunion of this same body with

the soul which gave it life here on earth.

“Besides it wouldn’t be just that these

bodies which we now possess should labor

and suffer and assist the soul in serving

God? and then another body get the reward.

Christ’s risen body bore the radiant wounds

— 15—



by which He had glorified His Father upon

the cross. And it was the same body which

participated in His glorious victory over

death. Those glorified wounds of our Savior

are an eternal source of joy to Him. And

in the same way our sufferings borne with

patience and resignation for love of Him

will become for us so many sources of glory

and happiness that will last forever. Yes,

these same precious bodies of ours will rise

again.

Reasonable

“In a way,” Father Farrell continued,

“reason seems to demand that our bodies

should be united with our souls again after

death, for the soul by itself is not a com-

plete human being, but only the chief con-

stituent in humanity. Man is a composite

of body and soul. It is the very nature

of a soul to dwell in a body and vitalize it,

and this nature is not altered by death. So,

even after its separation from the body, the

soul still retains this inclination to be

united with the body which it once inhabited

and which was its coworker and companion

during its earthly existence. Thus, although

the soul cannot strictly demand its reunion

with the body and could be active and

happy without it, nevertheless the eternal

privation of it would seem to be contrary

to its nature. And if the body faithfully

serves the soul in glorifying God here on

earth, why shouldn’t it share in the heavenly

reward ?

“This is why a Catholic can smile at

— 16 —



suffering, and even at death itself. He can

interpret misfortune and adversity in their

true light. For him trials and afflictions

are often positive graces to wean him from

the petty vanities of this world, which is not

his true home, and in any case he is sure

that all ‘the sufferings of this life are not

worthy to be compared with the joy to

come.’ For him death is not the end of all;

it is but the beginning of an eternity of glory

for the body as well as for the soul.”

Oriental

Our resurrection had never meant so much

to Ken and Ann before. They were begin-

ning to appreciate what a beautifully consol-

ing and inspiring truth it really is.

But their attention was presently diverted.

For the train was now pulling into a station,

and still unaccustomed to the strange ways

and the hubbub of a vociferating Eastern

crowd, Ken and Ann gazed in bewilderment

at the motley throng which surged on the

platform before them.

What a mixture of races and what odd

styles of dress! There were Europeans and

Anglo - Indians, wearing sun - helmets and

khaki shorts, and pretentious Bengali babus

with betel-stained lips and sporting canes

in imitation of the English sahib. There

were dark-skinned and sullen-eyed Hindus

and beady-eyed sons of Islam, whose apparel

ranged from the coolie’s scanty lap-lap about

the loins and turbans of every color of the

rainbow to the Mohammedan’s red fez and

— 17 —



full-length skirt or baggy pantaloons. Two

tall, fine-looking fellows, clad in white paja-

ma-like trousers, tight-fitting velvet vests

and yellow turbans, Father Farrell identi-

fied for Ken and Ann as Punjabis from over

near the Afgan border.

“Baksheesh, Sahib!”

And the Babel of tongues that rent the

air! Ken and Ann were able to make out

only the broken English of the babus, but

there were also Hindustani and Urdu and

Bengali, with a number of other dialects

thrown in for good measure. There were

the strident cries of the coolies quarreling

over the baggage and the monotonous,

mournful wails of the beggars, many of

them maimed and blind and others infected

with disease, who pestered the passengers

with their plaintive pleadings: “Baksheesh,

sahib! Bakssheesh, dijiye!” which being in-

terpreted means something like “Please,

mister, give me a tip!”

As the train steamed out of the station,

Ken caught sight of a strange-looking figure

out on the edge of the crowd.

“What’s that fellow doing over there?”

he quickly asked of Father Farrell.

The man in question was innocent of all

clothing save for the merest strip about the

loins and he was squatting cross-legged, mo-

tionless as a statue, with one arm raised in

the air. And the arm appeared to be slightly

withered.

“Oh, he’s a yogi,” Father Farrell explained.

— 18



\

“He’s doing penance. And by the looks of

that arm he’s been doing it for a good long

time too.”

“Ye gods!” was all Ken could manage to

utter.

Subjection

Ann, however, seemed to have been rather

favorably impressed by the yogi’s strange

performance.

“That isn’t so silly, Ken,” she said. “We

do penance too. Perhaps not in such an

outlandish way; but even at that some of

the saints did things almost as queer.

Didn’t they, Father?”

Father Farrell was smiling.

“Did you ever hear of the famous ascetic

Simeon Stylites?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, he was pretty original in his

method of mortification. He fasted rigor-

ously and lived on top of a pillar for I don’t

know how many years.”

“See!” Ann triumphed. “Ken, you’re simply

too worldly-minded to appreciate such

things.”

“All right,” said Ken dryly. “When we get

back home and settle down to light house-

keeping, we’ll rent the mooring mast on top

of the Empire State, and then we’ll see how

long your appreciation lasts.”

Poor Ann’s feeble attempt at a retort was

— 19 —

-



drowned in an outburst of laughter. But

Father Farrell came to her rescue.

“In the first place,” he said, “it isn’t

likely that yogi back there is performing

his penance with the same motive that

prompted the saints. Our bodies are not to

be treated as though they were something

evil in themselves. They are intended to

be helpmates to our souls in working out

our salvation. However, some mortification

is good for us, even necessary, in order that

our bodies may not fall a prey to con-

cupiscence and thus be robbed of their

future glory. For this reason we are taught

to bring our bodies into subjection, for that

unruly law of our members which St. Paul

speaks of and which would have us do what

reason and our better selves forbid, is an-

other consequence of original sin which we

must overcome. The Catholic who is faith-

ful to all his obligations and who accepts

trials and afflictions with patience and

resignation will generally find abundant

mortification to bring his body with its re-

bellious inclinations into subjection. And

at the same time he is preparing the glory

which will be the body’s reward for faith-

fully serving the soul on its pilgrimage to

heaven.”

Immortality

There was a brief period of silence.

“Father,” Ken began, “a little while ago,

you said that these same bodies of ours will

rise again, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

— 20—



“And once they rise, they are to remain

in glory forever/’

“Correct.”

“But how is that possible? These bodies

of ours are material. How can they become

immortal?”

“Ah, ha! Listen to that!” cried Father

Farrell. “There’s something to that.”

“My, I’m proud of you, Ken!” Ann con-

tributed teasingly. “I don’t think I’ll leave

you after all.”

“This miserable body of mine,” Father

Farrell went on, “subject to every infirmity,

how can it partake of a life of immortality?

That’s the difficulty, isn’t it? Now, if you

don’t mind, let me answer it by reading

something at you.”

He removed a badly worn notebook from

his traveling bag.

The How of It

“I always glance through this during the

days of my annual retreat. It’s a sort of

spiritual scrapbook of mine,” Father Farrell

explained. “Now here are some jottings

which I copied from a volume of St. John

Chrysostom years ago, when I was still a

student in the seminary. Chrysostom is here

addressing the doubters and nonbelievers of

his day. He says:

“
‘Shall He who for thy sake maketh the

corn to grow not be able to reawaken thee

for His own sake? . . . Can it be that man,

— 21



who alone on earth knows and honors God,

is destined to perish forever? Yet thou

doubtest whether thy body can be restored

after death, since it will decay. Tell me, O

man, what wast thou before thy mother

conceived thee? Nothing, absolutely nothing;

and cannot God, who created thee out of

nothing, even more easily restore thee out

of something? It is easier to restore that

which once existed than to bring into being

that which never existed at all. God, who

created thee in thy mother’s womb, can

surely renew thy being from the womb of

earth. Art thou afraid lest thy dry bones

could not again be clothed with flesh? Cease

to measure God’s omnipotence by the stand-

ard of thy weakness.’

“Now that of course answers the difficulty

in a w a y,” Father Farrell commented.

“Nothing is impossible with God. However,

the precise manner in which our resurrec-

tion will be effected must ever remain a

mystery for us. We find it almost impossible
even to imagine a natural organic body

which is eternally incorruptible. But St.

Paul has some beautiful and illuminating

things to say about this. Here’s what he

tells us

:

Christ the Second Adam

“
‘The trumpet shall sound, and the dead

shall rise again incorruptible; and we shall

be changed. For this corruptible must put

on incorruption; and this mortal must put

on immortality. And when this mortal hath

— 22—



put on immortality, then shall come to pass

the saying that is written: Death is swal-

lowed up in victory. O death, where is thy

victory? O death, where is thy sting?”

“A fine passage that, isn’t it? And now,

just before this, he states more explicitly

the changes that the body will undergo:

“
‘It is sovrn in corruption; it shall rise

in incorruption. It is sown in dishonor; it

shall rise in glory. It is sown a natural

body; it shall rise a spiritual body.’

“We shall receive from Christ, the second

Adam, a celestial body. True, it will be the

same body which we inherited from the

first Adam, but it will be glorified.

A Little Less Than the Angels

“Then we’ll become angels,” Ann reflected.

“Won’t we?”

Father Farrell enjoyed this.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “St. Luke

tells us: ‘They that shall be accounted

worthy of . . . the resurrection . . . are equal

to the angels.’ But I think this must be

properly understood. For the angels are pure

spirits; they never had to bother with

bodies, whereas it is the very nature of our

souls to be united to a body. So, strictly, we

shall not become angels; essentially our

personality will not be changed. Neverthe-

less we shall become only a little less than

the angels. For our glorified bodies will no

longer be subject to humiliating necessities

and infirmities and limitations of nature.

They will rise in honor, worthy of the

— 23



highest esteem; in power, masters over time

and space, immune from every suffering, and

enjoying perfect freedom of action; they

will become spiritualized bodies, shining like

the noonday sun and clothed in an immortal

splendor, resembling the glorified body of

the risen Christ.

Surfeited With Sin

“A moment ago,” Father Farrell contin-

ued, “we were discussing the necessity of

subjecting one’s body and of mastering our

passions. Now that of course constitutes a

stumbling-block of the first magnitude for

one without faith in our resurrection. Why

shouldn’t such a one gratify his natural im-

pulses to the full? Sheer decency might

restrain him, but if he’s logical, since the

grave is the ultimate goal, he’ll indulge his

body and get all the thrill out of life that he

can. St. Paul himself says: ‘If I fought

with wild beasts at Ephesus, what doth it

profit me if the dead rise not again? Let us

eat and drink, for tomorrow we shall die/

“But such a wantonness of indulgence is

sure to have disastrous consequences. You

know, there is such a thing as contempt of

death. It was rather common among the

pagans of old. And I have no doubt there

are modern pagans to whom life is nothing

more than a plaything and who likewise

gradually come to develop a cynical con-

tempt of death.

“IPs really the culmination of a wasted

life and the penalty for an immoral indul-

gence of the flesh. The voice of conscience

— 24—



has long since been stifled, they become

surfeited with sin, life has no further attrac-

tion, a cloud of melancholy settles down

upon them with no ray of hope to dispel it;

so one last sneer at death, and then the

end . . .

“It’s really a terrible punishment when

God permits one to lose that salutary fear

of death which is born of the belief in a day

of retribution to come, and which is perhaps

the last thing to go of all that could bring

a reckless sinner around to God.

All Will Rise

Ken was wondering what will happen to

the reprobate.

“What about the fellow who commits sui-

cide, Father,” he asked, “or the wicked in

general? Will their bodies also rise again?”

“Indeed they will,” Father Farrell replied.

“All will rise. But, as St. Paul says, all

will not be changed. Or in the words of

St. John: ‘They that have done good things

shall come forth unto the resurrection of

life; and they that have done evil, unto the

resurrection of judgment/ In other words,

there will be a resurrection of both the just

and the unjust, but only the bodies of the

just will be glorified. This is to be their

recompense for faithful submission and serv-

ice to the soul. Those who unfortunately

have not kept their bodies in subjection, but

have polluted their ‘temples of the Holy

Ghost’ by sin, well, they will get their just

deserts, too—but not in heaven.”
— 25 —



Up in the Foothills

The little train that does the climb in the

mountains had already passed through the

strip of jungle that separates the hills from

the plains, and was now winding in and out

of rugged ravines, skirting precipitous cliffs,

and crossing crystal streams that went

racing down their boulder-strewn beds to

form the twisted silver ribbons gleaming

amidst the dark foliage of the hot, moist val-

leys far below. The lower spurs and ridges,

clad in a wealth of semitropic vegetation,

displayed an exuberance of magnificent

greenery such as Ken and Ann had never

seen before. The trees were lavishly

festooned with tufts of beardlike mosses,

clusters of aerial orchids, lichens and cling-

ing vines, while the ground below was con-

cealed beneath a profusion of plants and

shrubs, trailing creepers, banks of giant

ferns, and flowering rhododendrons.

But higher up all this luxuriant growth

had been ruthlessly cleared away. For here

were the tea gardens. The steep slopes,

worked up into innumerable little terraces,

now took on the appearance of never-ending

stairs, rising from the valley floors to thou-

sands of feet above, each terrace lined with

stubby green bushes of tea. And here and

there, on some picturesque ridge, the red

roof and glistening white walls of a planter's

bungalow appeared among a clump of taper-

ing pines, lending color to the landscape.

Father Farrell glanced at his watch.

‘‘I’m to spend these two weeks,” he re-

— 26 —



marked, “with Father Gilford, who has his

mission among the coolie villages up here

in the tea estates. So we’ll soon be going

our separate ways again.”

But We Shall Meet Again

Both Ken and Ann were wishing they

could enjoy his company longer.

“Father,” said Ann, putting her thoughts

into words, “our meeting has been delight-

ful. I only regret that it must be so brief.”

Father Farrell smiled. “But we shall meet

again,” he said, and Ann guessed what he

meant.

“Well,” she replied, “your words on our

resurrection encourage that hope.”

Father Farrell seemed to grow thoughtful.

“A Catholic has every reason to be the

happiest of mortals,” he said, “even when

his dearest friend takes leave of him.” (Ken

and Ann knew that he was now referring to

that parting which comes when we lay a

loved one to rest.) We know that the sepa-
ration will not be everlasting; we shall meet

again in that glorious realm of unclouded

joy and endless bliss where partings shall be

no more.

“And what an ecstasy of unimaginable

delight they are going to experience who,

having been near and dear to one another

here on earth, shall have risen and meet in

their glorified bodies! What a time of re-

joicing that is going to be! Friends and

acquaintances, brother and sister, husband

— 27—



and wife, mother and son—all now radiant
as the noonday sun!

That First Easter Morn

“When I think of that moment/' Father

Farrell went on, “I like to picture to myself

this joyous scene which must have taken

place on the first Easter morn: It is still

very early; the sun is just tiptoeing out of

the East, and its soft, golden rays are filter-

ing through the latticed window of a little

cottage, where I behold a calm white figure

kneeling in prayer. It is our Blessed Lady,

the mother of Christ, our mother. She is

rapt in quiet contemplation, and as I gaze,

her sweet features appear to be wreathed

in a heavenly smile.

“But I ask, How can the Mother of Sor-

rows be smiling? How can Mary be happy?

Has not all been lost? Did she not stand

at the foot of the cross and witness with

unutterable anguish the tragic failure of

her divine Son? His crimson blood has been

spilled on Calvary in a most ignominious

death, and with her own hands Mary has

laid His broken body, gaping with wounds,

in the newly hewn tomb of Nicodemus.

What joy, then, can there be for her now?

How is it that I now behold her smiling?

“Mary remembers these words: ‘They

shall deliver Him to the Gentiles to be

mocked, and scourged, and crucified, and on

the third day He shall rise again/ Her own

divine Son had foretold it. Forgetful now

of the fierce hours of anguish, Mary is in-

= 28 —



effably happy in the joyous expectation of

beholding her own dear Son in glory.

"As she dwells on this blessed joy, a

dazzling splendor floods the little room, and

Mary’s heart quickens as the silence is

broken by one sweet word: ‘Mother!’ And

our Blessed Lady turns to gaze upon the

glorified figure of the risen Christ.

"What must have been Mary’s transports

of joy at that moment! She gazed upon the

radiant countenance of her Son. A dazzling

splendor envelopes Him. The wound where

the soldier’s lance had pierced His sacred

side is now streaming with light. The

wounds in His sacred hands and feet are

shedding beams of glory. And, though I

have never seen a picture of our Lord smil-

ing, yet surely He must have smiled as

Mary took Him to her mother’s heart and

tenderly embraced Him . . .

"I believe it’s a joy something like that,’’

Father Farrell added, "which awaits us

when we, too, shall have risen and behold

our loved ones in glory.”

A Remembrance

The train now rounded the shoulder of a

pine-clad ridge and an unsightly little vil-

lage came into view. It consisted of a

group of rickety hovels strung out along the

road and extending down the precipitous

slope, like a colony of swallows’ nests cling-

ing to a canyon wall.

The train slowed up and Father Farrell

prepared to take his leave.

— 29 —



“My mountain villa is somewhere down

there in that valley/’ he said, gazing out of

the window, smiling. “Now I hope you’ll

have a fine view of the snows from Darjeel-

ing. And when you get back home, please

give Lady Liberty a profound salaam for

me.”

“Father,” said Ann, “it isn’t likely we

shall ever meet again here on earth, is it?

But—well, I want to thank you for ”

“For my sermon.” Father Farrell laughed.

He then slipped from his breviary a small

bookmark which he had discovered earlier

in his spiritual scrapbook. “I had a very

encouraging audience,” he said. “So now

you must accept this as a reward for good

conduct and as a slight remembrance of

our chance meeting away out here in India.”

Printed on the card was this simple

quatrain:

Jesus lives. No longer now

Can thy terrors
,
Death

,
appall us.

Jesus lives. By this we know

Thou
, 0 grave , canst not enthrall us.

Glorious

The following morning Ken and Ann were

up at four o’clock, and together with another

party of tourists they climbed the Ghum

ridge, a thousand feet or more above Dar-

jeeling, to view the sunrise on the snows.

It was still dusk when they gained the

summit, but soon the topmost peak of Kan-

chenjunga began to blush with a delicate

pink. All eyes turned to the East, and, save

for a few suppressed sighs of wonderment

— 30 ^



and admiration, a solemn hush fell upon the

enchanted watchers of the dawn. For there

on the far horizon, out of a ruffled sea of

fleecy clouds, a glowing ball of angry red

was slowly rising, setting the eastern sky

aflame.

Ann turned to gaze at the great snowy

wall. The lower pinnacles, still steeped in*

cold gray shade, were chastely clad in

frostecj silver, but all the lofty summits had

now become tipped with tints of roses; and

even as she watched, the light crept slowly

down the snows, deepening into crimson

and scarlet. Then the sun scaled the sky,

leveling its first bright beams across the

sea of clouds, and splashing the glacier-

fluted peaks with burnished gold and fire,

which quickly paled into softer tints of

orange and saffron and amber, until at last

each separate icy spire stood revealed in all

its magnificent splendor.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” said Ken.

Ann, with her head tilted at a saucy angle,

looked at him and smiled.

“It is glorious, Ken,” she said. “And you

know—really, I shouldn’t tell you this—but
just as Old Sol was coming up out of the

clouds, I stole a glance at you, and my! but

you looked handsome there in the soft ruddy

glow of the rising sun.”

Ken grinned and accepted the compliment

with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

“But that was nothing,” he said. “Just

wait till you see me all radiant in the daz-

zling splendor of our glorious resurrection.”

3i—



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