Sermons on the Song of Songs

“Let Him kiss me with the kiss of His Mouth, for Thy Breasts are better than wine.”

Let us now, my brethren, return to our text and explain the words of the Spouse and what follows. These words, spoken abruptly without the least introduction, hang unsteadily so to speak, and loosely swing in air, for want of a beginning or context. It is, therefore, necessary that something be premised to which they may intelligibly cohere. Let us accordingly suppose that those, whom I have called the friends of the Bridegroom, as yesterday and the day before, so also to-day have come on a visit to salute the Spouse. Finding her discontented, and complaining, and out of humour, they wonder what the cause can be, and address her in this manner: “What has happened? How is it we see thee more sad than usual? Wherefore these unexpected complaints and murmurs? Certainly, after returning at length to thy lawful Husband, and only when compelled to do so by the ill-treatment of the other lovers after whom thou hadst gone so disloyally and unfaithfully, certainly, thou didst importune Him with prayers and tears to allow thee even to kiss His Feet. Is it not so?” “Yes,” she answers. “What then? Having obtained thy request, and the pardon of thy infidelities at the same time in the kiss of His Foot, didst thou not again grow discontented? Not satisfied with so much condescension, but desiring greater familiarity, with the same insistence as before thou didst now implore and obtain the second grace, and with the kiss of the Hand wast adorned with virtues neither few in number nor little in importance. Thou dost admit all this?” “I do,” she replies. “Art not thou the one who used to protest and promise that, if ever she was admitted to the kiss of the Hand, this would be enough for her, and thereafter she would ask for nothing more?” “The same,” she confesses. “What then? Perhaps thou wilt complain that some of the graces already bestowed have been taken back?” “No, indeed.” “Or, it may be that thou art afraid thou shalt be called upon to answer for the sins of thy past life, which, it was thy hope, had been forgiven?” “Not even that.” “Well then, tell us what is wrong and how we can help thee.” “I cannot rest,” she exclaims, “until He kisses me with the kiss of His Mouth. I am thankful for being allowed to kiss His Feet. I am grateful for the privilege of kissing His Hand. But if He has any care for me, ‘let Him kiss me with the kiss of His Mouth.’ I am not, I repeat, ungrateful, but—I love. What I have already obtained is, I acknowledge, too much for my desert, yet altogether too little for my desire. I am governed more by desire than by reason. Do not, I beg of you, blame my presumption, since affection urges me on. Modesty remonstrates, but love is supreme. I am not ignorant that ‘the honour of the King loveth judgment.’ But headlong love will not wait for judgment, will not suffer the restraints of counsel, will not be held in check by modesty, will not follow the guidance reason. I beg, I entreat, I implore, ‘let Him kiss me with the kiss of His Mouth.’ Lo! these many years, for His sake, I have been careful to lead a chaste and sober life; I have applied myself with diligence to spiritual reading; I have resisted my evil passions; I have watched against temptation; I have been constant in prayer; I have ‘recounted my years in the bitterness of my soul!’ As far as was possible to me, I have, I think, lived without reproach amongst my brethren. I have been obedient to my superiors, going out and coming in according to the command of authority. So far from coveting my neighbour’s goods, I have rather given him my own and myself with them. In the sweat of my brow have I eaten my bread. Yet in all these painful exercises I have felt nothing save the monotonous drudgery of routine, unseasoned with sweetness. What am I but, according to the Prophet, as ‘the heifer of Ephraim taught to love to tread out the corn’? In the Gospel, he is reputed a useless servant who only does what he is obliged to do. I am, perhaps, in some way faithfully observing the commandments, yet, even in that observance ‘my soul is as earth without water.’ In order, therefore, that my whole burnt-offering may be made fat,’ ‘let Him, I implore, ‘kiss me with the kiss of His Mouth.’”

Many of you, as I remember, in the manifestations of conscience which you make to me privately, are wont to complain of this aridity and languor of soul, this heaviness and dulness of mind, whereby you are rendered incapable of penetrating the profound and hidden things of God, and can experience little or none of the sweetness of the Spirit. What is that, my brethren, but a longing to be kissed? Plainly, such persons are sighing and yearning after the Spirit of Not wisdom and understanding. They want understanding to direct them to the goal. They want wisdom to relish what understanding reveals. It was, I think, with such sentiments the Prophet prayed when he said, “Let my soul be filled as with marrow and fatness, and my mouth shall praise Thee with joyful lips” That is to say, he wanted a kiss, and such a kiss as would by the contact, suffuse his lips with the oil of special grace, and thus bring about the fulfilment of the wish he gives expression to elsewhere: “Let my mouth be filled With praise, that I may sing Thy glory, Thy greatness all the day long.” Then, after tasting, he cries out, “How great is the multitude of Thy sweetness, O Lord, which Thou hast hidden for them that fear Thee!” But, perhaps, I have delayed long enough over this kiss, although, candidly, I doubt as to whether I have as yet spoken anything worthy of the subject. However, since, after all, it is better learned when impressed in act than when expressed in words, we may now pass on.