By DONALD DeMARCO
A man had four friends whom he loved with varying degrees of intensity. His first love was nearly always on his mind and he served him with unwavering dedication. The second earned a different kind of love and elicited in him a strong sense of gratitude. Next came a weaker love because this third friend did not always reciprocate our protagonist’s affection.
Finally, the least vigorous of his loves was directed to a friend who was more of a liability than an asset, one who gained more than he gave, received more than he returned.
The day came when this man was called before the throne of the king to answer a complaint. He called upon his first friend to serve as an advocate, but this friend was nowhere to be found. The second explained why he was unable to help him since he was bound by other duties. The third was willing to accompany him to the palace gates, but not any further.
The man was about to surrender to despair when he asked his fourth friend. To his surprise, the least of his loves not only served as his advocate but gained his acquittal.
The first love was money, and being a mere phantasm, was completely unable to offer any assistance. Money, of course, is not capable of returning affection. Love for money is a one-way street. The second was pleasure which, being self-seeking, lacked any element of altruism. Love for pleasure remains a self-directed preoccupation. The third were his relatives who were willing to accompany him to the gravesite, but could go no further. They could pray for him, but they were not able to win him a mansion in Heaven.
The least of his loves proved most advantageous. They were his good works that earned him his eternal reward. They were the absolute confirmation that it is more blessed to give than to receive.
The man who is the center of our fable could have been more attentive to his good works. Nonetheless, his charity was noticed and worked toward his salvation. As St. Ignatius of Antioch once wrote in a letter to St. Polycarp, “Let your works be deposits, so that you may receive the sum that is due you.”
The Catholic poet Richard Crashaw echoed these sentiments centuries later when, in his Hymn to St. Teresa, he stated, “All thy works which went before/ And waited for thee at the door,/ Shall own thee there.”
It is not only more blessed to give than to receive, but it is also more meritorious.
Jeremy Taylor, frequently cited as one in the greatest prose writers of the English language could have had our friend in mind when he stated the following:
“Some friendships are made by nature, some by contract, some by interest, and some by souls.”
We contract for money and are interested in pleasure. But these, of course, are fickle friends and do not serve us in the end. The kindred souls with whom we are bound in friendship can do only so much for us. They cannot merit for us the rewards of the Kingdom.
Only I, with the grace of God, can merit salvation. I must freely choose what is good and no one can make that choice for me. When we are true to our nature, we are true to that spring of generosity that lies deep within ourselves. Then, we perform the good works that please God and ensure our eternal friendship with Him.
An old Jewish adage reads: “God counts the tears of women.” It may also be said that He tallies up the sum total of our good works and uses them for our lasting benefit. We are the laborers, God is the accountant. Giving back requires a certain amount of giving up. If I can set aside my interest in money and pleasure for the sake of giving something of value to others, I am richer for it.
Jean-Jacques Rousseau thought he could barge his way into Heaven on the merits of his Confessions. On the first page of that celebrated book, he wrote, “Let the trumpet of the last judgment sound when it will, I shall come to appear before the sovereign judge with this book in my hand.”
“Gather round me the countless multitudes of my fellow creatures,” Jean-Jacques went on to say, “let them hear my confession, let them lament my infamies, let them blush for my meannesses. Let each of them in his turn disclose his heart at the foot of Your throne with the same sincerity, and then let but one of them say, if he dare, ‘I was better than that man’.”
The difference between a good book and good works is all the difference there is in the moral universe. Good works are expressions of charity; a good book is the product of a clever mind.
Christ never wrote anything, according to St. Thomas Aquinas, because of the excellence of his teaching method. He impressed his wisdom not on parchment or papyrus, but on the hearts of His hearers. Moreover, sincerity is not love of neighbor.
Rousseau thought he could enter Paradise on his own terms. But God commands us to love, and our good works are the testimony of that love. Heaven is a place where Love welcomes love. Good works, in this regard, are truly man’s best friend.
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(Dr. Donald DeMarco is a senior fellow of Human Life International. He is professor emeritus at St. Jerome’s University in Waterloo, Ontario, an adjunct professor at Holy Apostles College in Cromwell, Conn., and a regular columnist for St. Austin Review. His latest works, How to Remain Sane in a World That is Going Mad; Poetry That Enters the Mind and Warms the Heart; and How to Flourish in a Fallen World are available through Amazon.com.
(Some of his recent writings may be found at Human Life International’s Truth and Charity Forum. He is the 2015 Catholic Civil Rights League recipient of the prestigious Exner Award.)
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