Sermons on the Song of Songs

“Smelling sweet of the best ointments.”

I have already explained to you, my brethren, two of the precious ointments which perfume the breasts of the Spouse, that of Contrition, which “covereth a multitude of sins,” and that of Devotion, which embraces a multitude of benefits. Both are salutary, although not both sweet. The first exhales a pungent odour, because the bitter remembrance of sin excites to compunction and sorrow. The second is more soothing, since the contemplation of the divine goodness is a source of consolation and moderates grief. But there remains a third ointment, which far excels both of these. I have called this the unguent of Piety, because it is extracted from the necessities of the poor, the anxieties of the oppressed, the sorrows of the sad, the sins of the guilty, in a word, from all the miseries of all the miserable, even of those who are our enemies. These elements appear to be contemptible. Yet the ointment produced from them surpasses in value all aromatic spices. It is a healing ointment, since “Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.” Therefore, the materials, from which are produced those “best ointments,” worthy of the breasts of the Spouse, and sweet to the smell of her Beloved, are nothing else than many miseries collected together, and contemplated with the eye of piety. Happy the soul that is careful to enrich and strengthen herself with a goodly store of such aromatic elements, moistening them with the oil of mercy and compounding them into an ointment by means of the fire of charity! Who, think you, is the “acceptable man, that sheweth mercy and lendeth,” that is easily moved to compassion, prompt to succour, “judging it more blessed to give than to receive,” that is quick to forgive and slow to anger, never harbouring resentment, and in everything looking as much to his neighbour’s necessities as to his own? O whosoever thou art that art such, so saturated with the dew of mercy, so abounding in the bowels of piety, so making thyself all things to all, so become to thyself as “a broken vessel” in order to be ready always and everywhere to run to the help and relief of others, in short, so dead to thyself that thou mayst live to all beside—thou assuredly art the happy possessor of this third and most precious ointment! Thy hands have distilled this liquor containing all manner of sweetness! It shall not be dried up in the evil time; neither shall the heat of persecution exhaust it. But God shall be always “mindful of all thy sacrifices and thy whole burnt-offering” shall “be made fat.”

There are men of spiritual wealth in the city of the Lord of virtues. I wish to know if any amongst them are possessed of this ointment. And here, as everywhere else, the first name that occurs to me is the name of St. Paul, the “Vessel of election,” truly a vessel of fragrant spices, a vessel of perfumes, a vessel filled with odoriferous substances of all kinds. He was, indeed, “the good odour of Christ unto God,” in every place. Far and wide did that great heart of his, oppressed as it was by “solicitude for all the churches,” scatter the fragrance of delicious sweetness. See what manner of spices and aromatic elements he gathered together for himself: “I die daily, I protest by your glory,” he says. Again, “Who is weak and I am not weak? Who is scandalised and I am not on fire?” Vast stores of such precious material, exhibited in places known to you all, my brethren, did this wealthy man possess, to be used in confecting the “best ointments.” For it was fitting that those breasts should be redolent of the purest and most excellent unguents; those breasts, I say, which suckled the mystical members of Christ, to whom St. Paul was certainly a mother, being in travail once and a second time, until Christ had been formed in them, and the members brought into conformity with the Head.

I will tell you also of another spiritually rich man, and how he kept a supply of select spices from which to produce these “best ointments.” “The stranger,” says holy Job, “did not stay without, my door was open to the traveller.” And again, “I was an eye to the blind, and a foot to the lame. I was the father of the poor. I broke the jaws of the wicked man, and out of his teeth I took away the prey. If I have denied to the poor what they desired, and have made the eyes of the widow wait; if I have eaten my morsel alone, and the fatherless hath not eaten thereof; if I have despised him that was perishing for want of clothing, and the poor man that had no covering; if his sides have not blessed me, and if he were not warmed with the fleece of my sheep.” With what a sweet perfume this man by his works must have filled the earth! His every act was an aromatic spice. He heaped up his soul with such odoriferous elements in order that the fragrant exhalations of internal sweetness might temper the stench of his rotting flesh.

When Joseph had caused the whole of Egypt to run after him to the odour of his ointments, he also permitted their fragrance to reach even to those who had sold him into slavery. He did, indeed, use words of reproof, and he looked with an angry countenance. Yet the tears which burst forth from the softness of his heart were indicative, not of wrath, but of mercy. Samuel mourned for Saul who was seeking to kill him. His heart, melted within by the fire of that charity which warmed his breast, flowed out in tears of piety through the channels of his eyes. Regarding the pleasant odour of good fame which he scattered on every side, Holy Scripture bears this testimony: “And all Israel, from Dan to Bersabee, knew that Samuel was a faithful prophet of the Lord.” What shall I say of Moses? With what fatness and richness did not he also replenish his soul! Not even that “exasperating house,” in which he lived for a time, with all its murmuring, with all its madness, was able to rub off the oil wherewith his spirit had been anointed once and for all. Hence, amidst constant disputes and daily wranglings, he persevered unmoved in his meekness. Justly, therefore, does the inspired author testify of him that he “was exceeding meek above all men that dwelt upon earth,” for even “with them that hated peace he was peaceful.” So meek, in fact, was he, that not only did he not get angry with an ungrateful and rebellious people, but he even, by his intervention, appeased the anger of God enkindled against them. So it is written: “And He said He would destroy them, had not Moses, His chosen, stood before Him in the breach, to turn away His wrath, lest He should destroy them.” Again, we read of him saying to God, “Either forgive them this trespass, or, if Thou do not, strike me out of the Book of Life which Thou hast written.” Behold a man truly anointed with the unction of mercy! He speaks verily with the affection of a mother who can be contented with no happiness which her children do not share. Suppose, for instance, that a person of wealth said to a poor woman, “Come to my house and have dinner with me, but leave behind that infant which thou bearest in thy arms, lest it should begin to cry and cause us annoyance.” Think you, my brethren, she would accept such an invitation? Would she not rather choose to suffer hunger than, abandoning her beloved child, to dine alone with her rich benefactor? So, neither would Moses be satisfied to “enter into the joy of his Lord,” whilst the people remained without; for, inconstant though they were and ungrateful, yet he clung to them as would a mother to the child of her womb, and with a truly maternal affection. His heart, which they bitterly grieved, was more willing to endure this suffering than to bear the sorrow of seeing them torn from it.