Sermons on the Song of Songs

“A little bundle of myrrh is my Beloved to me, He shall abide between my breasts.”

“A little bundle of myrrh is my Beloved to me, He shall abide between my breasts.” Before she called Him “the King,” here He is her “Beloved”; then He took His repose on His own royal Couch of the Father’s Bosom, now He abides between her breasts. Oh, how great, my brethren, must be this virtue of humility, seeing that it can so easily attract and draw down to itself even the Divine Majesty! How quickly the name expressive of reverence has been exchanged for the name inspired by love! With what celerity has He drawn nigh, Who a while since was so far remote! “A little bundle of myrrh is my Beloved to me.” Myrrh, because of its bitterness, is used to denote the poignancy and painfulness of tribulation. The Spouse, then, foreseeing that she shall be called upon to suffer for the sake of her Beloved, speaks these words with a feeling of joy; for she hopes to be able, with His help, to endure every trial with fortitude. Hence we read, “They went from the presence of the Council, rejoicing that they were accounted worthy to suffer reproach for the name of Jesus.” And she calls her Bridegroom, not a large bundle (fascis) but “a little bundle” (fasciculus) to signify that she esteems as light and little all labours and afflictions undergone for His love. Truly He is but a little bundle, since for our sakes He was born as a little Child. He is also a little bundle pressing but lightly upon us, because “the sufferings of this time,” which He requires us to endure, “are not worthy to be compared with the glory to come, which shall be revealed in us.” And the Apostle adds, “For that which is at present momentary and light of our tribulation, worketh for us above measure exceedingly an eternal weight of glory.” Consequently, He Who is to us now as a little bundle of myrrh, on account of the sacrifices demanded by His service, shall one day become for us an immensity of glory. How could He be anything but a little bundle, Whose “yoke is sweet” and “Whose burden is light”? Not that His burden is light in itself—for no light thing is the smarting sense of suffering, no light thing is the bitterness of death—but it becomes light to him who loves. Hence the Spouse does not say absolutely “a little bundle of myrrh is my Beloved,” but “a little bundle of myrrh is my Beloved to me,” because her charity made His burden light. Hence also she calls Him her “Beloved,” in order to indicate that the power of love overcomes the bitterness of all tribulation, and that “love is strong as death.” And to show that she glories not in herself, but in the Lord, and that she looks not to her own virtue, but to the help of God for constancy under trial, she tells us that He will abide between her breasts. Therefore, in another place, she sings to Him with confidence, “Though I should walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils, for Thou art with me.”

In a preceding sermon, as I remember, I interpreted these breasts to mean, the one (which I named Congratulation) a facility for sympathising with joy, the other (called Compassion) a readiness to sympathise with grief, so that the Spouse might appear as fulfilling the injunction of St. Paul, where he says, “Rejoice with them that rejoice, weep with them that weep.” But inasmuch as she is placed between the extremes of prosperity and adversity, and (as she is well aware) dangers are not wanting on either side, therefore she desires to have Him also abiding between these breasts of her, so that, protected against every enemy by His unceasing help, she may neither be unduly lifted up by consolation, not too much cast down by affliction. You, my brethren, if you be wise, will imitate her prudence, and never allow this precious little bundle of myrrh to be taken from the centre of your hearts, even for the space of a single hour; but you will keep constantly before your minds and ponder in assiduous meditation all that Christ suffered for you, so that, like the Spouse, you also may be able to say, “A bundle of myrrh is my Beloved to me, He shall abide between my breasts.”

As for me, my brethren, from the very beginning of my conversion to God, to make up for all the merits which I knew myself to lack, I applied myself with diligence to collect together, and to bind into a bundle, and to place between my breasts, all the cares and sorrows which my Lord had to endure; in the first place the sufferings of His childhood years; then the labours He underwent in preaching, the fatigue of His journeyings, His watchings in prayer, His temptations and fastings, His tears of compassion, the traps laid for Him in His speech; and finally, His perils from false brethren, the revilings, the spittings, the blows, the mockeries, the reproaches, the nails, and all the other myrrhic plants, which, as you know, are plentifully growing for our healing in the evangelical forest. But amongst so many twigs of this odoriferous shrub, I must not omit to mention that other myrrh which He drank on the cross, and that wherewith He was embalmed for burial. The first of these signified His taking upon Himself the bitterness of my sins; the second was meant as a pledge of the future resurrection of my body. As long as I live, I will “publish the memory of the abundance of (this) sweetness.” Thy mercies, O Lord, “I will never forget, for by them Thou hast given me life.”

These, my brethren, are the tender mercies which holy David in times past implored with tears. “Let Thy tender mercies come unto me,” he entreats, “and I shall live” Other saints, also, of the Old Dispensation, sighed for the same, knowing that the “mercies of the Lord are many.” How “many kings and prophets have desired to see and have not seen” the graces bestowed upon us! They have laboured and we “have entered into their labours.” I have gathered the myrrh which they have planted. For me this little bundle has been reserved. No man shall take it away from me, for it shall abide between my breasts. I have said to myself that wisdom consists in meditating on these sufferings of my Saviour. In them I have placed the perfection of justice, the fulness of knowledge, the riches of salvation, the abundance of merits. From them I sometimes drink a draught of salutary bitterness, and sometimes, again, I extract therefrom the soothing oil of consolation. It is they that support me in adversity and sober me in success; and as I journey along the royal but rugged heavenward way, amid the joys and sorrows of this mortal life, it is they that keep me safe from hurt, defending me against the enemies that lurk on every side. They unite me in the bonds of loving friendship to the Eternal Judge of the universe, by representing to me as meek and humble Him in Whose presence the very powers of heaven quake with fear, by showing not only as placable, but even as imitable, Him Who is inaccessible to the celestial principalities, and “terrible with the kings of the earth.” Therefore, as you yourselves can bear witness, I have these mysteries of divine suffering often in my mouth, and God can bear me witness that they never leave my heart. How redolent of the same are all my writings, I have no need to mention. And whilst I live here below my only philosophy shall be “to know Jesus and Him Crucified,” for that is the most sublime of all. I ask not, like the Spouse, where He lieth in the mid-day, since I have the happiness of knowing that He allows me to embrace Him, yea, even abides between my breasts. Nor need I inquire where He feedeth at noon, because I behold Him dying on the cross to save me. More sublime is the privilege solicited by the Spouse, but that bestowed on me has in it more of sweetness. What she requires is the bread of the strong, whilst I, as a mother, have obtained, not bread, but milk, the milk which nourishes the hearts of the little ones, which fills and expands the maternal breasts. Therefore “He shall abide between my breasts.”