Sermons on the Song of Songs

“Catch us the little foxes that destroy the vines, for our vineyard hath flourished.”

Here I am, my brethren, to fulfil the promise I made you. “Catch us the little foxes that destroy the vines, for our vineyard hath flourished.” These foxes are temptations. Now it is necessary that temptations come, for who shall be crowned “unless he strive lawfully”? And how shall we strive if there be none to oppose us? Therefore, “when thou comest to the service of God, stand in justice and fear, and prepare thy soul for temptation.” For be assured that “all that will live piously in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution.” Moreover, temptations vary according to the variety of the spiritual seasons. At the beginning of our spiritual life, when whatever of good appears in us is only like the tender blossom on a young vine, we are liable to open assaults from the violence of that pestilential frost which I dwelt upon in the preceding discourse, and warned the novices against. But the “contrary powers” will by no means venture to oppose themselves thus manifestly to such as have attained to a high degree of holiness. For persons of this class they are more accustomed to be concealed in ambush, like crafty little foxes, dressing up vices in the clothes of virtues. How many have I known, for instance, who after entering on the “ways of life,” after advancing to better things, after walking and progressing well and securely in the “paths of justice,” have at last—oh, the pity of it!—been shamefully overreached by the cunning of these foxes, and compelled to lament when it was all too late the destruction in themselves of the fruits of virtue!

I behold a religious making rapid strides towards perfection. Suddenly he is met with a thought—rather let me say, with a little fox, which arrests his progress. “If only I were at home,” he begins to say to himself, “to how many others, brethren and relatives, friends and acquaintances, might I not communicate the spiritual treasure which I here enjoy alone! They love me, and would readily yield to my exhortations. ‘To what purpose is this waste?’ I will go to them, therefore; I shall be able to save many of them without compromising my own soul. There is nothing to be feared from the change of place. For, after all, what difference can the place make, provided one is occupied in well-doing? Unless, indeed, that I shall doubtless be safer there where I shall spend my time more fruitfully.” What need to say more? The wretched man quits his monastery, not as an exile returning to the home-land, but rather like a dog going back to his vomit. He goes and perishes miserably. He loses himself, without saving any of his friends. Here, my brethren, is one of the little foxes, the delusive hope which this man entertained of bringing his dear ones to God. You also, if you care to take the trouble, will be able to find or to recognise for yourselves and in yourselves, many other little foxes like unto this one.

Nevertheless, if you desire it, I will show you a second. I will even point out a third and a fourth little fox, on condition, however, that you shall prove yourselves diligent in trying to catch those which from my descriptions you may discover in your own vineyards. Sometimes, then, when a monk is progressing favourably, he feels himself bedewed on a sudden with an unusually generous downpour of heavenly grace. The desire of preaching now enters his soul, not, mind you, to his parents and kindred, for he remembers the words of St. Paul, “Immediately I condescended not to flesh and blood”; but he would announce the Gospel more purely, more profitably, and more courageously to strangers and all, without any distinction. It seems to him the part of prudence to follow such an attraction. For he is afraid of incurring the curse of the Prophet, pronounced against him who should hide from the people the corn he has privately become possessed of. Besides, he fears lest he should be disobeying the command given in the Gospel if he does not “preach upon the house-tops what” he has heard “in the ear.” It is a fox, my brother, and a fox more dangerous than the preceding, in proportion as his coming is more sly. But I will catch him for thee. First of all, there are the words of Moses, “Thou shalt not work with the firstling of an ox,” which St. Paul interprets for us when he says, speaking of the apostolic office and those qualified to fill it, “Not a neophyte, lest, being puffed up with pride, he fall into the judgment of the devil.” The same Apostle writes in another place, “Neither doth any man take the honour to himself, but he that is called by God as Aaron was.” And again he asks, “How shall they preach unless they be sent?” Now we know that it is not the business of a monk to instruct others but to weep over himself. With these and similar testimonies, gathered from Scripture, I can make for myself a net that shall catch this little fox, and prevent him from destroying my vineyard. For the passages I have just quoted make it plain and indubitable that the office of preaching publicly is neither befitting for a monk, nor expedient for a novice, nor permissible for one who has not been sent. How utterly devastated, then, must the vineyard of his conscience be, who allows himself to act against all three: fittingness, expediency, and authority! Whenever, therefore, anything such is suggested to your minds, whether the suggestion comes from your own thought or is inspired by the spirit of malice, recognise it as a guileful little fox, that is to say, as evil masquerading under the appearance of good.

Fix your eyes now, my brethren, on another of the little foxes. How many in the full glow of spiritual fervour have exchanged their monasteries for the desert solitude, only to be thence vomited forth again in a state of tepidity, or if retained, retained without the discipline of the desert, not alone in laxity but in absolute wickedness! Then, at last, from the ruined condition of the vineyards, that is, from the corruption of the life and conscience of such unfortunates, it became apparent that the fox had been busy. These persons fancied that, as they received so many heavenly favours whilst living the common life in the midst of their brethren, they would reap still more abundant spiritual fruit if they lived alone. The thought seemed good to them. But the event has proved that it was really one of the little foxes that destroy the vineyard. And what else but a spoiling fox shall I call that abuse which so often and so gravely disturbs the peace of this very house? I speak of that singular and superstitious abstinence, practised by some amongst us, whereby they render all as disagreeable to themselves as themselves to all. Is not discord such and so general a devastation of the consciences of the persons responsible, and so far as depends on them, the destruction of the magnificent vineyard, which the Lord’s own Right Hand hath planted here? I mean the unity which has bound you all to each other in the bonds of peace. “Woe to the man by whom scandal cometh.” “Whosoever shall scandalise one of these little ones”—too fearful to recite are the words which follow. But how much more terrible is the sentence he deserves, who scandalises not a single believer, but so numerous and so holy a community as ours! Be he who he may, he shall bear a most heavy judgment. But of this elsewhere.