Sermons on the Song of Songs

It would be strange, my brethren, if neither from the fig-tree nor from the vine we could obtain for ourselves any fruit of edification. And so it seems to me that this passage is also susceptible of a moral interpretation. I say, then, that, “by the grace of God which is in us,” we have here amongst us both vines and fig-trees. By the fig-trees I mean those religious who are distinguished for their sweetness of disposition. The vines are those who excel in fervour of spirit. Every individual who practises faithfully amongst us the social and domestic virtues, who not only lives in the community “without blame,” but with unfailing sweetness puts himself at the service of each of his brethren, for all the offices of charity—every such religious, I say, is most certainly worthy of being compared to the fig-tree. Yet he must first have put forth his green figs. That is to say, he ought to have got rid of the fear of judgment, which “charity casteth out”; and of the afflicting recollection of his sins, which must yield to the tranquillising influence of a good confession, to the infusion of grace, and to the frequent outpouring of tears; and of all other such imperfections, which, like the green figs, precede the sweet and perfect fruit, but which I will not specify, leaving you to discover them by your own meditation. However, I will make one further remark which occurs to me, and is connected herewith. Do you not suppose that even the endowments of knowledge, prophecy, the gift of tongues, and the like, may be reckoned amongst the green figs? For, like the green figs, they also are destined to fall off and to give place to things better. The Apostle assures us of this when he says “Prophecies shall be made void, tongues shall cease, (and) knowledge shall be destroyed.” Faith, too, shall be excluded by understanding and hope must yield to vision. “For what a man seeth, why doth he hope for?” Only “Charity never falleth away,” and that charity only whereby we love God with our whole heart, with our whole soul, and with all our strength. Consequently, I would by no means regard this virtue as one of the green figs. I would not even consider it as belonging to the fig-tree at all, but rather to the vine. Now, they that are vines in the mystical sense exhibit in their conduct more severity than sweetness, borne on by the spirit of ardour, full of zeal for discipline extremely sharp in correcting abuses, and in short, appropriating to themselves the words of the Psalmist, “Have I not hated them, O Lord, that hated Thee, and pined away because of Thy enemies?” And this also, “The zeal of Thy house hath eaten me up.” As it seems to me, such religious are particularly given up to the love of God; whereas, it is love of their neighbour that characterises the former class whom I have likened to fig-trees. But let us rest here, my brethren, under this vine and this fig-tree, in the shadow of the love of God and man. Both loves I exercise when I love Thee, my Lord Jesus Christ, Who art truly my Neighbour, because Thou art truly man and “hast dealt mercifully with me,” and nevertheless art also over all things, God blessed for ever. Amen.