Where we come from can sometimes be a good indication of what we are like: our manners, our way of viewing the world, our habits, even our way of speaking. As my mother might sometimes say of my father, “You can take the man out of the Whiterock, but you can’t take the Whiterock out of the man!” But it can also be a compliment — “You are a credit to your parents” and so on. It might also be the case that we can be marked, understood, and even judged by the place that we are headed.

For St Philip, although at once the most Florentine of men (or so he is called), he was also to be judged by that fact he was clearly a citizen of heaven. He had heaven daily before his eyes, measured all things by their relation to that heavenly goal and cultivated in his life a longing for heaven that was a kind of homesickness. His last blessing to his sons at his death, Fr Faber imagines, was “One half from earth, one half from heaven…just as his life had been. One half in heaven, one half on earth, of earthly toil and heavenly mirth: a wondrous woven scene!” No surprise, then, that he should have as one of his maxims — and probably often quoted by his spiritual children — “The true servant of God acknowledges no other country but heaven.” (16 August)

That longing for heaven, that homesickness, that desire for a return to a place we have been promised and not yet seen, is a peculiar mark of the Christian. To long for somewhere is to live as if we are already there, to be shaped by our longing for it. It is a kind of refusal to let go of it. And when we think of heaven, well, the refusal to let go of it should fill our lives with the qualities of that place — “earthly toil and heavenly mirth: a wondrous woven scene!” In another hymn, which has a lovely poetic expression of what heaven is like, we are invited to view it as a place which is, “all jubilant with song, and bright with many an angel, and all the martyr throng; the Prince is ever with them; the daylight is serene.” We too are invited to be jubilant with song, to be conscious of the merits and our closeness to the saints and to have the Lord, the Prince, ever with us, in the midst of our life. If he is, a measure of that heavenly serenity is ours, a serenity that can handle whatever the world throws at us.

Today we keep a sublime feast of one who is the most serene in the face of the difficulties of the world, our Blessed Lady. Her Assumption, body and soul, into heaven is testament to the totality of her belonging to that place. Just as her life was shaped by her trust in God’s promises, just as it was united to her divine Son, so her life was formed by the place where all this would lead her: heaven.

Life in the world can sometimes make us feel that putting heaven first in our life, or acknowledging no other country but heaven, is asking a lot of us. But when we think about it, why would we want any other country? Acknowledging heaven as our only country brings with it the assurance, joy, comfort and hope that we need in this passing life. It helps us treat others with the dignity and love that is becoming of fellow citizens of that place, and it helps us see that trials are certainly passing and that heaven is eternal and so whatever life throws at us, we can get through it until that day when, with Our Lady, at the feet of her Divine Son, we are reigning too in that happiness that knows no end.

St Philip’s sayings and teachings were originally delivered in Italian, and perhaps a few in Latin, and so when translated into English — by Fr Faber and by others — difference have sometimes crept in. Each translator has to decide how to translate a particular word or phrase. One of this week’s maxims (August 6) has come down to us in two slightly different versions:

There is no time for sleep, for Paradise is not made for sluggards.

and

We have no time to go to sleep here, for Paradise is not made for poltroons.

A “sluggard” is a lazy or slothful person; a “poltroon” is an old-fashioned word for “coward”. Both versions display the simple, practical and effective common-sense of our Saint, and both are perhaps strong medicine for some us who might be looking forward to rest, recreation and laziness over the summer holidays.

St Philip began his ministry among the young men of Rome, who had too much money to need to work for a living, and not enough to keep them occupied. To keep them out of mischief, Philip gathered them for holy recreation, the sacraments, prayer, visiting churches, spiritual conferences, sacred concerts, works of mercy, picnics in the Roman hills. He was even known to run races with them — anything to keep them busy and away from sin, knowing that when we don’t have anything good to do, we often end up doing bad things instead.

Sloth is a dangerous vice that “crushes all the virtues”. We can put in much time and effort developing the virtues but if we neglect to preserve them through laziness then what good has that effort done us? The virtues are like muscles: the more we exercise them the stronger they become. The more we practice kindness, patience, charity, prayer, the more we become kind, patient, charitable and prayerful. Rest and recreation are necessary for our physical and mental health — and therefore our spiritual health — but when we waste precious time sleeping-in, slouched on the sofa or doom-scrolling on our mobile phones, our acquired virtues grow weak and flabby. An early disciple of St Philip’s, Fr Giovanni Matteo Ancina, brother of the more famous Blessed Juvenal Ancina, advised that in order to avoid idleness, “we should read a little, pray a little, and labour a little, that so the hours may pass happily”. 

Often it takes more than just effort to get up and do something good — it takes some courage. The “heroic virtue” to which we are called as potential saints does not only mean martyrdom or giving up all we have or preaching the Gospel to the ends of the earth. It takes real courage to tackle a bad habit or besetting sin we might have. It is not easy to visit or call someone we find a bit difficult, or stop and talk to the beggar on the street. There is bravery in deciding to give more in charity when we don’t have very much to spare. Setting the alarm clock a few minutes earlier and actually getting out of bed when it rings to start the day in prayer might not seem that impressive, but it can be truly heroic on a cold, dark morning.

Not wasting the time we have been given, and having the courage to do good even when it is difficult, these are essential elements of our growth in holiness. We are not saved by our efforts and good works: we are saved through faith in Christ by the free gift of a loving God — but as St James reminds us, our faith is shown by our works.

We are celebrating the launch of our new edition of St Philip’s Maxims this summer by exploring some of those maxims together each week.

Mortification is not a concept much in favour these days. To some, it is a reminder of the days when bodily austerities were taken to extremes: the taking of the discipline, or very severe fasts. These practices were once the norm, but today, the business of mortification is, if practised at all, somewhat less punishing. But mortification is indeed necessary, for the opposite is self-indulgence.

St Philip, practised the means of mortification, customary in his day, and reminded his disciples:

Without mortification nothing can be done. (30 July)

Furthermore, he would add, “where there is no great mortification there is no great sanctity.” (4 Nov)  All the same, the kind of mortification he sought to encourage was ‘interior’ rather than corporal. He said: “Oh, how I like those little mortifications that are seen by nobody, such as rising a quarter of an hour sooner, rising for a little while in the night to pray!” You may recall the story of Philip’s friend, Alberto, who asked his permission to wear a hair-shirt, which permission the saint denied him, telling him that he could do so only if he wore it over his clothing. This Alberto did, enduring the endless ribbing of his friends and others, who teased him mercilessly as he cheerfully went about Rome, clad in his weird attire. “Look, here comes Berto of the hair-shirt!”

A phrase Philip was fond of repeating to his friends (which he had taken from Thomas Kempis) was Amare nesciri — “to love to be to unknown.” This injunction lies at the heart of his sense of mortification. For him, the important thing was not to punish the body through long fasts and arduous asceticism. Of far greater value was the mortification of the razionale, that proud and self-important reason common to us all. How often would he say to his penitents, “The sanctity of a man lies in the breadth of three fingers,” (5 Nov) and pointedly lay those fingers on his forehead. You can see this gesture illustrated in the mural above the sacristy door in our church.

The peculiar practical jokes, the daily confessions, the severe and thankless workload he imposed on his sons — everything tended to mortify the intellect and cultivate humility, which was the virtue most dear to him. And for St. Philip, humility found its greatest expression in “loving to be unknown.”

Another saying, which comes to us through his disciple Fr Pietro Consolini, is Vita communis, mortificatio maxima (Community life is the greatest mortification). This is why the saint chose not to leave his Oratorians with any mortifications or penances other than those prescribed by the Church. He understood that living with others brings with it its own challenges and opportunities to practice interior mortification, by suffering with patience and goodwill, the difficulties which will inevitably arise in everyday life. In Philip’s view, it was not necessary to add anything more than that.

St Philip would have us love to be unknown and to be humble, because this ultimately draws us closer to Christ, whose own teaching is reflected in that of our saint. We learn not to bite back or bridle at insults, or to seek the highest or most influential positions. We learn not to impose our will, or to insist on having our own way, nor to be too pleased with ourselves when we have done some good. This is humility; this is love. This is the mortification advocated by our Holy Father St Philip and each day, the Lord gives us ample opportunity to live it.

We are celebrating the launch of our new edition of St Philip’s Maxims this summer by exploring some of those maxims together each week.

Occassionally, some of St Philip’s advice gets split over multiple days in the collection of his Maxims, so that we can take our time to understand each part of what he says. This week’s maxims cover the topic of vain-glory:

We may distinguish three kinds of vain-glory; the first we may call mistress; that is, when vain-glory goes before our works, and we work for the sake of it: the second we may call companion; that is, when a man does not do a work for the sake of vain-glory, but feels complacency in doing it: the third we may call servant; that is, when vain-glory rises in our work, but we instantly repress it. Above all things never let vain-glory be mistress. (23 July)

When vain-glory is companion, it does not take away our merit; but perfection requires that it should be servant. (24 July)

This “vain-glory” is a kind of vanity. It is often what causes us to do good things for the wrong reasons. It is the temptation to say “Look at me, aren’t I holy?” Christ holds the Pharisees up for us as a warning against this kind of behaviour:

Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. Thus, when you give alms, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (Matthew 6:1–6, 6–18)

There is a great danger that if we do good things just so that others see us doing good, we might think it best not to do them at all. If we are very aware that people see us spending time in prayer or serving the homeless, we might think we should stop those things, to prevent any temptations to pride and vanity from arising.

This, of course, is not what we should do. But what if it is impossible for us to do all these good things in secret, as Christ tells us too? There are some good things we have to do that we can’t hide, not matter how much we might like to.

St Philip, as ever, brings some practical common sense to the problem. We certainly shouldn’t do good purely for the sake of the praise and attention of others. But if we are trying to do work for the love of God and neighbour, and this vain-glory appears in the process as “companion”, we shouldn’t let that put us off our good intentions. As he says, “It does not take away our merit.” But with time, we should work to overcome even these tendencies, so that we can work without thought of what people think about us, instantly repressing the temptation.

Cesare Baronio, one of St Philip’s first disciples, first Father of the Oratory and later Cardinal, trained himself so well in faighting vain-glory that not only was he happy to have his good works go unnoticed, he delighted when others took the credit for things he had done. It is possible to put St Philip’s advice into practice, it just might take us a little time.

We are celebrating the launch of our new edition of St Philip’s Maxims this summer by exploring some of those maxims together each week.