Meditations on Death is a soul-stirring work from Thomas à Kempis, published in English for the first time. To keep eternity before our eyes is one of the greatest secrets to sanctity, orienting our every decision toward Heaven. This excerpt guides readers through three moving meditations on death, the horrors of Hell, and the glories of Heaven.
Meditation On Death
My friend, whenever you are plagued by some difficulty or adversity, or tested by some temptation, or find that your enthusiasm for good works is fading or waning, or divine worship begins to seem tedious and irksome to you, there is a sure and effective remedy for you! And I shall now tell you what this secret remedy to all spiritual tepidity is.
First, sit yourself in your private room, close the door, and recollect your mind and your senses to yourself, putting aside all distraction. Then think of the day of your own death. Imagine yourself lying there on your bed, in the throes of death, perhaps laboring with some fatal illness, and knowing that your earthly life is now very quickly drawing its last moment.
My friend, contemplate the horrendous struggle which you shall sooner or later encounter! Imagine yourself upon the very point of death, about to cross that irremeable threshold into the world to come. This is an event which may not in any way be escaped whatsoever, not by anyone—it is the one certainty of our human life. And, for all you know, it may well be today that the final bell tolls for you!
Imagine to yourself what will be your thoughts and your words in those dying moments. Now, imagine the sinner about to face death.
Meditation On Hell
Summon up before the eye of your mind, therefore, a horrible and swirling chaos, or a lightless and sinister subterranean cavern, fuming with every kind of unspeakable foulness and swarming with hideous phantasms, or a burning and bottomless pit, completely suffused with scorching, acrid, and inextinguishable fires.
Alternatively, you may imagine a great and immense city populated entirely by the damned and by devils, where the atmosphere is permeated by an invisible, black fire. This invisible but all-pervading fire burns with a searing intensity but emits no light or luminescence whatsoever. And over this infernal metropolis—which is the capital of hell—there is an unfathomable, opaque darkness, whereby both the senses and the mind are suffocated and reduced to a state of perpetual, tormented confusion.
The air there is filled with the dire resonance of the ceaseless groans, laments, squeals, and wailings of the inhabitants. For all of the damned souls cry out in pain and despair over the varied tortures and miseries they endure, while the demons (whose role it is to torment those condemned) issue forth their own malevolent cacophony of cruel taunts, callous derision, and sinister, diabolical laughter.
Canticle On The Joys Of Heaven
How great the joy, what sweet delights,
Which shall abound in heaven’s heights!
There Christ the Lord and Mary mild,
Bestow, in grace, peace undefiled.
In palaces of azure cloud,
The angel hosts give voice to loud
Eternal hymns, in countless choirs,
With all the joy which love inspires.
Their hearts enrapt in waves of bliss,
Receiving God’s most holy kiss.
On lyric harp and crystal flute
And silver shawm and gold-strung lute,
They resonate a rhapsody
Of glory to the Trinity.
They lithely fly on mystic wing,
In honeyed voice their hymns to sing.
Acclaim they thus in tones sublime,
“Thrice-holy God, O King divine!”
And in that realm, no pain abides,
Nor mourning lurks, nor sorrow hides.
The seraphim, in awe, adore;
through light-filled vaults, they fleetly soar.
And cherubim, on bended knee,
Give glory to God’s majesty.
Then come the Thrones, Dominions, Powers,
And Virtues next, whose splendor towers,
With vibrant glow and roaring thunder,
Resounding in celestial wonder.
Come Princes next, archangels bright,
Then angel hosts, in dove-winged flight.
In heaven’s court they contemplate
God’s holy face, His marvels great.
On earth below, they watch and guide,
As gentle guards, walk by our side.
O star-girt realm of bliss supreme,
Be thou our hope, be thou our dream!
In thy vast halls, O city blest,
Is untold peace, high heaven’s rest.
There shines pure light ineffably,
And souls exult, forever free.
To God alone be homage paid,
Whose wondrous love such things has made!
ooo
This article is taken from a chapter in Meditations on Death by Thomas à Kempis which is available from TAN Books.
