Sermons on the Song of Songs

“Return: be like, my Beloved, to a roe or a young hart on the mountains of Bethel.”

“Return, my Beloved,” cries the Spouse. It is evident that He Whom she thus recalls is not now present, yet has been with her, and that but a short time ago. For she is calling Him back, as it seems, whilst He is still in the act of retiring. That He is so soon solicited to return is a proof both of the greatness of her love and of the attraction of His amiability. But who are these fervent votaries of charity? Who are these tireless devotees of love, of whom the one is pursued and the other driven forward by the ungovernable force of affection? For my part, I must fulfil the promise which I made you in my last discourse, and which I have not forgotten, that is, to interpret this passage of the Word and the individual soul. Yet to accomplish such a task in anything like a worthy manner is, I acknowledge, quite beyond my power, unless I am assisted by the Word Himself. In truth an exposition of this verse would come more fittingly from one better versed and more experienced than I can claim to be in the ways of mystical and holy love. Nevertheless, I must discharge my duty and endeavour to satisfy your desires. I see the danger before me, yet I do not turn aside, because you, my brethren, compel me to go forward. You compel me, I say, to walk “in great matters and in wonderful things above me.” Alas for me! I tremble lest I should hear myself addressed in the words of reproach, “Why dost thou declare the delights of My love, and take My secrets in thy mouth?” Yet listen to me as to a man who is afraid to speak, but may not keep silence. Perchance my fears may serve as an excuse for the rashness of my undertaking, and still more the fruit of edification to you, if indeed there should be any. And these tears which flow from my eyes—haply to these also God will have regard.

“Return, my Beloved,” entreats the Spouse. Very well. He was going away: He is recalled. Who shall explain to me this mystery of divine mutability? Who shall enable me to comprehend rightly what is meant by the retiring and returning of the Word? Shall we suppose that the Bridegroom is here acting with fickle inconstancy? He Whose immensity fills all space, whence can He be said to come, or whither to go or to return? Besides He is a Spirit, and what manner of locomotion is a pure spirit capable of? Finally, how can He Who is God admit of any kind of motion, since God is absolutely and essentially immutable?

However, “he that can understand, let him understand” these things. But let us, my brethren, proceeding with simplicity and caution in this exposition of a sacred and mystical utterance, accommodate ourselves to the usage of Holy Scripture, which, in our human words, “speaketh wisdom hidden in a mystery”; which, commends the Divinity to our love by investing Him with human affections; and which, from the familiar images of earthly objects, as from chalices of vile material, gives our human minds to drink things rare and precious, even the mysterious and invisible things of God. Let us, I say, follow the precedent of the chaste Scriptural narrative, and let us say that the Word of God, as the Divine Bridegroom of the soul, visits her and departs from her according to His good pleasure. Only we must remember that in all this there is question, not of any change or motion in the Word, but merely in the feelings of the soul herself. For example, whenever she experiences the consolations of grace, she acknowledges the presence of her Bridegroom. When she is deprived of such consolation, she complains of His absence, and begs Him to come back to her, saying with the Psalmist, “My heart hath said to Thee: my face hath sought Thee: Thy Face, O Lord, will I still seek.” Why indeed should she not seek Him? Surely, after having been separated from so sweet a Bridegroom, she is incapable—I will not say of desiring, but even—of thinking of anything else. Therefore she cannot but seek Him when He is absent from her, and recall Him when He is going away. The Word, consequently, is recalled; He is recalled by the desire of the soul, yet only of that soul which He has once permitted to taste of His sweetness. Is not her desire a cry of the soul? Yea, and a strong cry. “The Lord hath heard the desire of the poor,” as the Psalmist sings. Hence, when the Bridegroom withdraws, the soul, by her continuous desire of Him, keeps up one uninterrupted cry, as it were, one uninterrupted “Return, my Beloved,” until He comes back to console her.

And now, my brethren, give me the soul that is wont to be visited often by her Divine Bridegroom, the soul that has daring from familiarity, a relish for spiritual delights from her experience of the same, and a sufficiency of leisure from her contempt of the world—show me such a soul and I will unhesitatingly assign to her both the voice and the name of the Spouse. Neither should I suppose it impossible to regard the words now under consideration as spoken by her. Indeed, it is a soul of this kind that is introduced here as speaker. For the fact of her recalling the Bridegroom proves beyond a doubt that she has already merited to enjoy His presence, although not to her heart’s content. Otherwise, instead of asking Him to return, she would simply have asked Him to come. But the word she makes use of—revertere—signifies to come back or to return. And perhaps the reason of His retiring was in order that He might be more fervently recalled and clasped more strongly. For we read how once of old “He made as if He would go farther,” not that He really desired to leave the disciples, but because He wanted to hear them say to Him, “Stay with us, Lord, because it is towards evening.” On another occasion also He came walking upon the sea, whilst the apostles were plying the oars and “labouring in rowing”; and He made as if He would pass them by, although He had no such intention, but only wished to try their faith and to excite them to pray. For, as the Evangelist goes on to say, “They thought it was an apparition and they cried out; for they all saw Him and were troubled.” Therefore the same kind of pious simulation, or rather call it the same kind of salutary dispensation, which the Word in the flesh then visibly practised, the Word in the Spirit never ceases to exercise with unwearied diligence, yet in a spiritual way, in regard to the soul that is devoted to Him. When passing her by, He desires that she would lay hold of Him; and when going away, He wishes to be called back. For He is by no means an irrevocable Word. He goes away and He comes back according to His pleasure, visiting the soul “in the early morning and suddenly proving” her. His departure is always part of His special providence over her, whilst His return is ever due to the influence of His love. Both His goings and His comings are regulated by divine prudence. But the special motive of each is known only to Himself.