Fr. Roger J. Landry
The Anchor
Putting Into the Deep
May 7, 2010
One of the most humbling events in the life of St. John Vianney occurred in May 1845 when Fr. Henri-Dominique Lacordaire, the famous Dominican whose homilies at Paris’ Notre Dame Cathedral established him as one of the greatest ecclesiastical orators of all time, came to Ars. He had heard so much about the saintly Curé of Ars that he wanted to meet him and witness his ministry in action. While staying in Lyons for a few days, he arranged to make a trip to Ars-en-Dombe.
He tried to make the trip as a humble disciple, incognito. Someone, however, caught sight of his white habit underneath his black coat and word began to spread that the most famous person in France had come to Ars. After receiving quiet hospitality from the Châtelaine the night before, he arose at dawn and went to the Church at dawn to celebrate Mass. He introduced himself to Fr. Vianney, who couldn’t contain his joy in meeting him. At first he couldn’t understand how the famous Dominican had been detoured to his tiny village; it didn’t even cross his mind that Fr. Lacordaire had come to meet and hear him. Fr. Vianney excitedly got out the best vestments and most precious chalice he had for Fr. Lacordaire to use, and then headed back to reconcile penitents.
At the time of the main Sunday Mass at 10 am, Fr. Vianney was moved to see Fr. Lacordaire sitting in the pews with the Châtelaine. Fr. Lacordaire listened in a spirit of humble recollection to the pastor preach on the Gifts of the Holy Spirit. He later said that Fr. Vianney “uttered in a striking way a thought in connection with the Holy Spirit that I myself have been pondering for a long time.”
After Mass, Fr. Vianney begged Fr. Lacordaire to go up to the pulpit to preach. Fr. Lacordaire replied that he had come to listen, to ask advice and be edified, not to speak. Fr. Vianney, however, refused to take no for an answer. He wanted his parishioners to hear him and be converted by him. He announced to them and to the pilgrims that at Vespers that evening someone else would preach who “will speak much better than I can.” They knew to whom he was referring. At Evening Prayer, Fr. Lacordaire mounted the pulpit and preached to a packed crowd. He admitted to being humbled to have been asked to preach in the same pulpit where the Curé of Ars preached. The people of Ars were filled with a holy pride as the most celebrated preacher in French history ranked himself below their Curé.
After the homily, Fr. Vianney was ebullient at having heard Fr. Lacordaire. As he often did whenever anyone else preached, he pronounced himself converted. But he also knew that there was something special about Fr. Lacordaire’s charism to convert hearts. Fr. Vianney quipped, without any attempt at flattery, “I don’t dare appear in that pulpit any more. I am like the man who met the Pope and had him mount his horse. After that he didn’t dare mount his own horse any more.” He later asked someone, “Do you know the thought that came to me during Father Lacordaire’s visit? It was this: he who is greatest in knowledge came to humble himself before the one who is lowliest in ignorance. The two extremes met.”
A few days later, Fr. Lacordaire was the guest of honor at a clergy gathering in Lyons and mentioned that he had been in Ars and had heard the Fr. Vianney preach. One of the priests said, “You must not have thought the Curé of Ars very eloquent.” Fr. Lacordaire forcefully replied to the haughty insult against Fr. Vianney: “This holy priest and I do not speak the same language. But I am happy to be able to give this testimony on my own behalf: our sentiments are the same, even though we do not say the same things.” He added, summarily, “He preached as a good pastor should preach.”
Last week we took up the subject of the preaching of the Curé of Ars and how much of a challenge preparing and delivering sermons constituted for him. Notwithstanding Fr. Vianney’s many debilities in the pulpit, however, Fr. Lacordaire considered him a model to be imitated by all parish priests. This is a striking comment, considering that Lacordaire well knew that many of the parish priests of France were trying to model themselves — unsuccessfully — on him, not on Vianney. These priests focused on the “language” and style of the Dominican rather than the “sentiments” that inspired Vianney and him both. It led to a concentration on rhetorical beauty rather than effective communication toward conversion and holiness. It’s hard not to think that the devil was behind this misunderstanding of preaching. Once, during an exorcism, the devil spoke to Vianney, saying, “Why do you preach so simply? It makes you pass for an ignorant man. Why not preach in the big style, like they do in the towns?” Lacordaire, for one, was happy that Vianney never succumbed to that temptation.
One of the aspects of Fr. Vianney’s preaching that we need to look at a little more deeply is length. As I mentioned last week, he used to preach each Sunday for a solid hour, which is a point that priests and faithful today should both ponder. There’s an informal preaching motto among certain contemporary homiletic professors, which runs, “Be succinct, be sincere, be seated.” Some of these seminary professors claim that Catholic listeners today can only pay attention for about ten minutes, so anything beyond that is not only wasted but counterproductive.
But I think the patron saint of priests would have a huge problem with such notions. To a fellow pastor who once complained to him that his curate was too long-winded, Fr. Vianney somewhat vividly corrected him. The assistant, he said, puts the people “into ecstasy,” literally lifting them up to God, “but you do not even given them time to sit down!” He would question whether short preachers really have the proper goal in mind: If the goal of a homily or sermon is merely to give people a spiritual thought to consider during the week, or to enlighten them about one part of the Gospel, or to encourage them toward a specific moral action, it may be possible to do that in under ten minutes. But if the goal of preaching, as the Second Vatican Council stressed, is “conversion and holiness,” Vianney would be hard pressed to think that even the greatest preachers would be able to do that effectively in such a short period. St. Augustine wasn’t able to do it. Neither was St. John Chrysostom, nor Fr. Lacordaire, nor Archbishop Sheen. Vianney knew he certainly couldn’t do it. To bring people to a reform of their life and to total adhesion to Christ, a preacher needs to be able to go beyond the intellect to reach the will and the emotions of his listener. He also has to clear away the various forms of spiritual debris that are obstacles to that total change of direction. Doing so simply takes time.
Vianney, moreover, would likely challenge the notion of the supposedly limited attention span of today’s Catholics as well. His people were uneducated peasants. Over time, he was able to get them not just to stay awake but to give full attention to the hour-long sermons of an ineloquent man with a shrill voice. Today’s Catholics, priests and faithful both, are on average much more educated and should be far more capable of such attention.
We also should note that Protestant Christians — who grow up in the same culture, attend the same hour-long classes in schools or lectures in university, watch the same two-hour uninterrupted movies as Catholics — are somehow able to listen to their ministers preach for 45 minutes or more at their Sunday services.
The patron saint of priests is obviously not supposed to be imitated literally in every detail, but in terms of his understanding of the purpose of sacred preaching and the time, direct language and holy sentiments it takes to achieve it, Fr. Lacordaire was clearly on to something, however controversial it might be today, even in ecclesiastical circles: Fr. Vianney preached as a good pastor should.