Fr. Roger J. Landry
The Anchor
Putting Into the Deep
June 11, 2010
Approaching his death, St. Paul wrote to his spiritual son, St. Timothy,” I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.” Those words could easily sum up the earthly valedictory of St. John Vianney, whose faith moved him to continue fighting heroically for souls with tremendous urgency and stamina until his last breath.
Despite his growing frailty and the request of many of his friends to slow down, the love of God and others continued to push him to give all he had left. The last year of his life was his busiest, as Ars was inundated with the largest crowds ever. More than 100,000 pilgrims came in 1858, and they did not allow the pastor any respite. Even though missionary priests were now available in the Church to hear the confessions of those who might be in a hurry, the vast majority of pilgrims chose to wait six days for five minutes with Fr. Vianney.
The future patron saint of priests didn’t mind the work. He said to those who wanted him to slow down, “If a priest were to die in consequence of his labors and sufferings for the glory of God and the salvation of souls, it wouldn’t be a bad thing!” To those who noted the obvious, that four decades of barely any sleep had taken a toll, he said, “We shall rest in the next world!” Even though his growing weakness made it harder for him to maintain his sprint toward the finish line, his desire for others kept him going. One day when his aches and pains could not be hidden, he candidly admitted, “This morning I would have liked to stay in bed, but I didn’t hesitate to get up: the salvation of souls is so important!”
Some things did change. At the insistence of his curate, Fr. Toccanier, he agreed to pray his breviary sitting down, rather than on his knees as he had done since he was a seminarian. His preaching changed as well, because his voice had grown so frail that he could barely be heard from the pulpit. His homilies remained eloquent, however, thanks to his body language of copious tears and regular loving gestures referring everyone to Jesus in the tabernacle.
With humility and a sense of humor, he was aware he was pushing himself to the limit. “The sinners will end up by killing the poor sinner!,” he joked to Fr. Toccanier. One morning he collapsed four times on the short walk to the Church. Some nights he would return to the rectory after a hard day’s work, barely be able to get his fatigued frame into a chair, and exclaim, “This is laughable!” He would add, with an honest smile, “I can do no more!”
On several occasions he gave evidence that he had received a divine premonition about when he would die. After the Easter season, he met all those who had made their Easter duties and lamented, referring to the seven members of the village of 650 who hadn’t confessed and received Holy Communion, “There are still some sinners in the parish. It’s necessary for me to go so that another may convert them!” They took it as a farewell. To a benefactor who gave him something to be used for the Corpus Christi procession, he thanked him and said, “I shall not use it twice!” To a penitent who had come to see him every year but who, because of her infirmity told him she would probably never see him again, he replied, “Yes, my child, we shall meet again in three weeks’ time!” She had no idea what he was talking about, but three weeks later both of them had died were in the presence of the Lord. To another penitent, he confided, “I have only a few days to live,” asked her to run some errands for him, and told him she would return in time for his funeral.
On July 29, he arose at one in the morning to head to the confessional, but when he got there, he couldn’t breathe because of a burning fever. He insisted on trying to preach the catechism at 11 am, but, like Pope John Paul II at the Easter Angelus the Sunday before he died, no one could hear him and everyone could see that the end was near. That night, as he was shivering in bed despite the stifling summer heat, he asked his housekeeper to send for his confessor, Fr. Louis Beau, pastor of Jassans.
Fr. Vianney had once preached, “How sweet it is to die if one has lived on the cross!” After his confession, he put that truth on display. Earlier in his life, he had repeatedly stated that he wanted to have at least two years in a monastery before he died to weep over his “poor life” and prepare himself for death. That wish was never granted, but his cruciform existence until the end gave him a chance to make prayer and reparations with his whole body and soul. Even on his deathbed, he told one of the religious who was keeping vigil not to bother swatting away the flies attracted to his sweaty face. Mortified to the end, he said, “Leave me with my poor flies. The only vexatious thing is sin.”
Everyone wanted to come to see him before his transitus. Penitents came to confess at his bedside and various priests, religious, lay friends and parishioners came to ask him for his final blessing. Although he could no longer speak, he would lovingly raise his hand in benediction. Once word began to spread that he was in his agony, people started swarming from everywhere such that it was no longer possible for everyone to enter the presbytery. In order to satisfy their demands for a final blessing and prayer, every so often a bell would be rung from the bedroom; as the crowd fell to its knees outside the rectory, Fr. Vianney, with assistance, would make the priestly sign of the cross.
On August 2, he asked Fr. Beau to bring him viaticum and anoint him. As the young priest brought Jesus from the tabernacle to the Church, the Church bells were rung. Fr. Vianney began to weep copiously. When asked why he was crying, he indicated it was both tears of sadness and joy. “It is sad,” he whispered, “to receive Holy Communion for the last time!” He added, however, “How kind the good God is! When we are no longer able to go to him, he himself comes to us!” When the Blessed Sacrament was brought into his room, he valiantly raised himself to a sitting posture and folded his hands in prayer to receive the One who had always been the center and supreme love of his life. Bishop Langalerie arrived later that night and kept vigil with the priests, religious and close friends until at 2 am on August 4, St. John Vianney passed into the arms of the Lord.
News soon spread through all of France that the Curé of Ars had died. His wake lasted a continuous 48 hours, after which his coffin was taken to the square in front of the Church. There Bishop Langalerie preached about him on the theme generally taken from the rite of beatification, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord” (Mt 25:21). His requiem Mass, attended by 300 priests and religious, took place in the tiny Church immediately afterward.
His cause for canonization was begun in 1862. It went along expeditiously by the standards of the time. Pope Pius X, like Fr. Vianney originally a parish priest, beatified him on January 8, 1905 and Pope Pius XI canonized him on May 31, 1925. Four years later, Pius XI named him the patron saint of parish priests. When his body was exhumed, it was discovered he was incorrupt. His intact heart was removed and, as a palpable sign of how his priesthood beat with the love of the heart of Jesus, now often travels the world — as it came to Boston in 2006 — in order to inspire priests and faithful to love like he did.