The Catholic Priest

CHAPTER I. 4INTRODUCTION CHAPTER II. 11THEY ARE "THE LIGHT or THE WORLD" CHAPTER III. 41THEY ARE "THE SALT OP THE EARTH" CHAPTER IV. 48THEIR POWER OVER THE MYSTIC BODY OF CHRIST CHAPTER V. 66THE POWER OF THE PRIEST OVER CHRIST'S OWN BODY CHAPTER VI. 80THE CATHOLIC PRIEST THE FATHER AND FRIEND OF THE PEOPLE CHAPTER VII. 102OBLIGATIONS OF THE PEOPLE TO THE CATHOLIC PRIEST Excerpt: More than fifteen hundred years ago there hung in the Catacombs of Rome a lamp shaped in the form of a ship, at whose helm sat St. Peter, steering with one hand, and with the other giving his blessing. On one side of this miniature ship were engraved the words, "Peter dies not," and on the other the words of our dear Saviour: "I have prayed for thee." (Luke xxii. 32.) There could not be a more beautiful symbol of the papacy and the hierarchy of the Catholic Church. This hierarchy is a lamp which illumines all darkness, and furnishes us with the brilliant light of truth; the Church is a ship which carries this light safely through the storms of ages to the ends of the earth, bringing with it blessings to the nations, and gathering into its apostolic net, as it sails along, the perishing children of men. And at the helm sits the poor fisherman of Galilee, the Pope, together with his assistants the Catholic bishops and priests directing the course of the vessel, now to this, now to that distressed country, now to this, now to that sorrowing people, to bring them not gold, not silver, but what is infinitely more precious Faith; and with faith, true civilization, based upon the unchangeable principles of supernatural morality, true prosperity, true happiness, and peace on earth and for eternity. One thousand eight hundred and forty-odd years ago, a poor, meanly-clad wanderer went to the Capital of the world the wealthy, magnificent city of Rome. He passes its gates, and threads his way unobserved through its populous streets. On every side he beholds splendid palaces raised at the expense of down-trodden nationalities; he beholds stately temples dedicated to as many false gods as nations were congregated in Rome; he beholds public baths and amphitheatres devoted to pleasure and to cruelty; he beholds statues, monuments, and triumphal arches raised to the memory of blood-thirsty tyrants. He passes warriors and senators, beggars and cripples, effeminate and dissolute women, gladiators and slaves, merchants and statesmen, orators and philosophers, all classes, all ranks, all conditions of men of every language and color under the sun. Everywhere he sees a maddening race for pleasure, everywhere the impress of luxury, everywhere the full growth of crime, side by side with indescribable suffering, diabolical cruelty and barbarity. And this poor, meanly-clad wanderer, was St. Peter. Oh! How the noble heart of the poor fisherman of Galilee must have bled when he observed the empire of Satan so supreme when he witnessed the shocking licentiousness of the temple and the homestead, when he saw the fearful degradation of woman groaning under the load of her own infamy, when he saw the heart-rending inhumanity which slew the innocent babes, and threw them into the Tiber, when he saw how prisoners of war, slaves, soldiers, were trained for bloody fights, and entered the arena of the amphitheatre and strove whole days to strangle one another, for the special entertainment of the Roman people. Here, then, was to be the scene of his labors: into this foul mass, into this carcass of a rotten society, St. Peter was come to infuse a new life, to lay the foundation of a new Rome...