Sermons on the Song of Songs

Therefore, whilst such pestilential rains were prevailing on the earth and submerging it beneath their waters, the vineyards had not yet their season, nor was the time come for summoning forth the Spouse to the work of pruning. But when these waters cleared away, and the dry land appeared, then appeared also the flowers, indicating that the time of pruning had at last arrived. Do you ask, my brethren, when this was? Surely it could only have been at the time when Christ’s “Flesh flourished again” in His Resurrection. For He is the first and the most beautiful of the flowers which “have appeared in our land.” “Christ, risen from the dead, is the first-fruits of them that sleep,” says the Apostle. “The Flower of the field, and the Lily of the valleys,” is, I say, “Jesus Himself (as it was supposed) the Son of Joseph” of Nazareth. He therefore appeared as the first Flower, yet appeared not alone. For with Him “many bodies of the saints that had slept arose,” and they also as most brilliant “flowers appeared in our land.” Hence the Evangelist says that “they came into the holy city and appeared to many.” Flowers also were those of the people who were first to believe, the early spring-flowers of the saints. Their miracles too were flowers, because, like flowers, they were followed by the fruit of faith in the spectators. For when the rain of unbelief was “over and gone,” altogether or in some degree, the “free rain which God hath set aside for His inheritance,” immediately descended, and “the flowers appeared in our land.” “The Lord gave goodness and our earth yielded her” flowers, in such profusion that in one day three thousand, in another five thousand, of the people professed the faith. So rapid was the increase in the number of the flowers, that is to say, in the multitude of believers. And the frost of malice could neither blight the flowers as they made their appearance, nor prevent them, as it is wont to do, from bringing forth the fruit which they promised.

All who believed were “endued with power from on high” and there arose amongst them some who, “strong in faith,” despised the threats of the wicked. They had to endure contradictions beyond counting. Still they yielded not, neither did they dissemble, but continued to perform and to proclaim the wonderful works of God. That is to say, they fulfilled in a spiritual manner what is written in the psalm, “They sowed their seeds, and they planted vineyards, and they yielded fruit of birth.” In course of time, the storm of persecution abated and peace was restored to the earth. Then the vineyards grew, and increased, and expanded, and “were multiplied beyond numbers.” And at length the time came for inviting the Spouse forth, not to plant, but to prune what was already planted. Very seasonably was she summoned then, since the time of peace is the time for pruning. How indeed could such a work be done whilst the persecutions were raging against her? For to prune the vines is to “take the two-edged sword in hand, to execute vengeance upon the nations, chastisements among the people, to bind their kings with fetters and their nobles with manacles of iron, to execute upon them the judgment that is written.” Even in times of peace these things can scarcely be done in peace. I have now said enough in connection with this matter.

The sermon also might have ended here, only that I have not yet admonished each one of you, according to my custom, of the careful attention due to his own particular vineyard. Which of us, my brethren, has so completely cut away from himself every superfluity, that he can now discover nothing whereon to use the pruning-knife? Take my word for it: vices, when pruned, will grow again; when driven out, will come back; when extinguished, will revive; when lulled to sleep, will reawaken. It is not enough to have once pruned your vineyards. You must often prune, aye, and be always pruning, if that is possible. For if you be honest with yourselves, you shall always find something which ought to be cut off. Whatever progress you may have made, so long as you abide in the flesh, you are mistaken if you suppose your passions to be dead and not merely dormant. Whether you will or no, they shall dwell within you, as the “Jebusite dwelt in Jerusalem with the sons of Benjamin.” You may conquer, but you cannot exterminate them. “I know,” says the Apostle, “that there dwelleth not in me that which is good.” But it is not enough to disclaim what is good without acknowledging besides the presence of evil. Therefore he continues, “For the good which I will, I do not; but the evil which I will not, that I do. Now if I do that which I will not, it is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in me.” Thou, therefore, my brother, must either have the daring to prefer thyself to St. Paul, who makes this confession of himself, or else thou must avow that in thee also there are vices dwelling. Virtue itself holds the golden mean between the extremes of vice, and hence thou hast need, not only of constant pruning, but even of circumcision. Otherwise there is reason to fear lest thy virtues, surrounded as they are by contiguous and corrupting vices, should lose their vigour little by little, whilst thou art unaware, and at last be overgrown and suffocated. In such danger, thy only wisdom is to keep a close and constant watch; and as soon as ever the pruned passions begin again to sprout, to use the knife with prompt severity. It is impossible for virtue and vice to increase together. Therefore, if the former is to flourish, the latter must be held in check. Remove what is superfluous, and thou shalt see an increase of what is good and necessary. What thou subtractest from superfluity is added to utility. Let us therefore apply ourselves to the business of pruning. Let us cut away cupidity in order to strengthen virtue.

For us, my brethren, the time of pruning is always present, because there is always something in us which it is necessary to cut away. And I trust that for us the “winter is now past.” Do you understand what I mean by winter? The winter I am speaking of now is that fear which consists not with charity, which is for all “the beginning of wisdom,” but leads none to the consummation thereof, because charity supervenes; and “perfect charity casteth out fear,” as summer excludes winter. For charity is the spiritual summer. If this summer has come,—rather let me say, because it has come (as I have reason to believe) to the souls of many amongst you, it must have dried up in you all the wintry rain, that is to say, all the anxious tears which the bitter memory of your sins and the fear of the judgment were formerly wont to excite. As regards many of you, therefore, if not indeed for all, I have no hesitation in saying that this “rain is over and gone”; since the “flowers have appeared in our land,” as the fruit of a more genial moisture. For summer has its rain also, but a more pleasant and prolific rain. What indeed can be more delightful than the tears of holy love? Charity weeps indeed, but weeps from the sweetness of love rather than from the bitterness of sorrow. It weeps from the desire of the Beloved. It weeps also “with them that weep.” I have no doubt that your acts of obedience are irrigated abundantly with this rain. I am most happy to behold them, not blackened, so to speak, with murmuring, not discoloured with sadness, but brightened and blooming with spiritual joy.