A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManJoyce, James
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A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Joyce, James
Artists -- Fiction; Autobiographical fiction; Bildungsromans; Dublin (Ireland) -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
—A sin, an instant of rebellious pride of the intellect, made Lucifer
and a third part of the cohort of angels fall from their glory. A sin,
an instant of folly and weakness, drove Adam and Eve out of Eden and
brought death and suffering into the world. To retrieve the
consequences of that sin the Only Begotten Son of God came down to
earth, lived and suffered and died a most painful death, hanging for
three hours on the cross.
—O, my dear little brethren in Christ Jesus, will we then offend that
good Redeemer and provoke His anger? Will we trample again upon that
torn and mangled corpse? Will we spit upon that face so full of sorrow
and love? Will we too, like the cruel jews and the brutal soldiers,
mock that gentle and compassionate Saviour Who trod alone for our sake
the awful winepress of sorrow? Every word of sin is a wound in His
tender side. Every sinful act is a thorn piercing His head. Every
impure thought, deliberately yielded to, is a keen lance transfixing
that sacred and loving heart. No, no. It is impossible for any human
being to do that which offends so deeply the divine Majesty, that which
is punished by an eternity of agony, that which crucifies again the Son
of God and makes a mockery of Him.
—I pray to God that my poor words may have availed today to confirm in
holiness those who are in a state of grace, to strengthen the wavering,
to lead back to the state of grace the poor soul that has strayed if
any such be among you. I pray to God, and do you pray with me, that we
may repent of our sins. I will ask you now, all of you, to repeat after
me the act of contrition, kneeling here in this humble chapel in the
presence of God. He is there in the tabernacle burning with love for
mankind, ready to comfort the afflicted. Be not afraid. No matter how
many or how foul the sins if you only repent of them they will be
forgiven you. Let no worldly shame hold you back. God is still the
merciful Lord who wishes not the eternal death of the sinner but rather
that he be converted and live.
—He calls you to Him. You are His. He made you out of nothing. He loved
you as only a God can love. His arms are open to receive you even
though you have sinned against Him. Come to Him, poor sinner, poor vain
and erring sinner. Now is the acceptable time. Now is the hour.
The priest rose and, turning towards the altar, knelt upon the step
before the tabernacle in the fallen gloom. He waited till all in the
chapel had knelt and every least noise was still. Then, raising his
head, he repeated the act of contrition, phrase by phrase, with
fervour. The boys answered him phrase by phrase. Stephen, his tongue
cleaving to his palate, bowed his head, praying with his heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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