“By this practice, faithfully observed,
you will give Jesus
more glory in a month
than by any other practice, however difficult,
in many years”
(Montfort )
O n February 2 [1952], the feast of the Presentation, I shall have been a slave of Jesus in Mary for a whole year. It seems it was only last month that I went up to Ottawa for this event. How I wish it had been many years ago!
There are two or three people at Madonna House who are soon to put themselves into the same tender keeping of Our Lady. I cannot help envying them, because, in the natural order of things, they will be able to serve her, and her Son, much longer than I shall.
Of course a body never knows. I might live to be a hundred and twenty, and these children may die before they are twenty-five. Yet still I envy them. I wish I had myself to give all over again for the first time. I wish I had given myself into this celestial bondage when I was as young as they are now. I wish I had done so even sooner.
But then, I never heard of St. Louis de Montfort, nor of slavery of Jesus in Mary, until I was nearly sixty – actually middle-aged!
I wonder that I had the privilege at all of giving myself. I keep thinking of my good fortune every now and then. And every once in awhile, when I happen to reread some of St. Louis’ words in True Devotion, an odd feeling, akin to the thrill of remembered first love, takes possession of me.
Last night, for instance, I was rereading these words in what St. Louis calls the ”Wonderful effects”:
”By this practice, faithfully observed, you will give Jesus more glory in a month than by any other practice, however difficult, in many years; and I give the following reasons for it.”
”Because doing your actions by Our Blessed Lady, as this practice teaches you, you abandon your own intentions and operations, although good and known, to lose yourself, so to speak, in the intentions of the Blessed Virgin, although they are unknown. Thus you enter by participation into the sublimity of her intentions, which are so pure that she gives more glory to God by the least of her actions . . . for example, in twirling her distaff or pointing her needle . . . than St. Lawrence by his cruel martyrdom on the gridiron, or even all the saints by their heroic actions put together.”
I stopped there, for a long time, trying to take in all the marvelous things that meant.
Imagine me participating in the sublimity of Our Lady’s intentions – even passively! Imagine me, for that matter, even being noticed by Our Lady, much less being presented by her to her Father, her Son, and her Spouse!
How Catherine [Eddie’s wife] and I happened to select the Feast of the Presentation to present ourselves to Mary, I do not know. Sheer dumb luck, perhaps. It never occurred to us – or it never occurred to me, at the time – that this feast commemorated the day Mary presented her Child to Father, Son, and Holy [Spirit]. It was, to me anyway, the first feast of Mary to approach us after we had determined to make the act of consecration.
How things come back! We went early to Church, the evening of Feb. 1, seeking to find a confessional open. It was almost dinner time. We thought most people would be home, but the priests would be there to hear confessions for the First Friday. It was a Thursday night, if you remember.
There were hundreds of people in the church, however. Hundreds! We established ourselves near a confessional, and waited. We would be among the first penitents. We would have ample time to say our penance and go to dinner. We waited half an hour. Then a priest came toward us. But he didn’t go into the confessional. Uh. uh. He went up into the pulpit; and he began to say the Rosary.
We waited some more. All thoughts of an early dinner left us. We finished the Rosary. The priest said a litany, and started a short sermon. I looked at my watch. Well after seven o’clock.
Eddie Doherty
Eddie Doherty, often referred to as “the star reporter of America,” was a war correspondent, and is the author of over eighteen books, founder of the Medill School of Journalism, movie writer [nominated for an Academy Award for The Fighting Sullivans] and former editor of several large newspapers and magazines. He also made his Act of Total Consecration in 1951.
This article originally graced the Queen of All Hearts Magazine in January 1952. The picture shows him in his role as war correspondent.
The priest finished, and other priests filtered into the big Church through one door or another. All the confessionals were soon filled. That is, all but the one we had singled out. The priest who belonged there must have been out of town that night.
We found a place in the back. There were only twelve or thirteen or fourteen or fifteen or twenty people there. We decided we might have a chance to tell all and get away for dinner by eight. But never in all the history of the Church did sinners take so long to tell their sins, nor priests allow themselves so much time to ask questions, tender advice, and, at last, give absolution.
Oh yes, and then every once in a while some seemingly pious individual kneeling in a back pew cleverly sneaked into the confessional out of turn – or some aged woman or cripple was led in to be shriven ahead of the rest of us.
”Let’s get out of here,” I said. It was 8:45 and I was hungry, weary of standing, disgusted with sinners, angry at everything and everybody, and determined to have done with the whole silly business. Maybe there would be some other church open where we wouldn’t have to wait all night. Maybe we could go to confession before Mass the next morning. ”Let’s call the whole thing off, ” I said.
It was the devil, of course, who had contrived to make the night difficult for us. He almost succeeded in his little plan. He would have succeeded if I had been alone.
But we stuck. It was 9 o’clock when we finally left the church. We were happy, though. We had beaten the devil at his own game. We had waited him out – albeit I did so ungraciously.
He’s never been the same dog since, somehow. I guess you know why.
One full year on Feb. 2! No, it doesn’t seem like a year. Rattle my chains, it doesn’t seem any time at all.
And I guess, no matter how sanguine a man is, nor how pessimistic either, it won’t seem anytime at all until it’s his turn to be presented at the Great Court. The last hour creeps up on one slyly, even if he’s a hundred and twenty- two and in the best of health.
A year? Two? Ten? Twenty? More? Time doesn’t matter. Not only will a man ”enter by participation” into the sublimity of the Blessed Virgin’s intentions – which give more glory to God than St. Lawrence roasting to death on his griddle – and remain ”by participation” in that sublimity ; but he will, someday, soon or late, enter into the presence of the Holy Trinity.
What a presentation that will be, my friends! What a presentation that will be!
THE END
Editors Note: One of the books written by Eddie Doherty is:
