Sermons on the Song of Songs

But the Spouse goes on, “He set in order charity in me.” A most necessary thing. Zeal without knowledge is a thing insupportable. And the more ardent the zeal, the greater is the necessity that it be accompanied by discretion, to which it belongs to regulate charity. Zeal without knowledge, instead of being efficacious or useful, generally turns out to be extremely pernicious. Consequently, my brethren, according as our zeal grows hotter, our fervour more intense, and our charity fuller, it is necessary that the light of knowledge also should proportionately increase. For it is the function of knowledge to moderate zeal, to regulate fervour, and to set charity in order. The Spouse, therefore, lest she should be feared as excessive and insufferable, especially by the young maidens, on account of that impetuosity of spirit which she appears to have brought forth from the wine-cellar, makes haste to assure them that she has also received what is the effect of discretion, namely, the setting in order of charity. Indeed, it is discretion that sets all the virtues in order, from which order are derived both their limits and their loveliness, yea, even their stability. For it is written, “By Thy ordinance the day goeth on,” where by “day” the Psalmist means virtue. Discretion, consequently, is not so much a distinct virtue as the governor and guide of every virtue, the regulator of the affections, and the teacher of morals. Take away this, and virtue becomes vice. Take this away, and the very affections implanted in us for the perfection of our nature, turning aside from their destiny, begin at once to work for the disturbance and the ruin of our nature. “He set in order charity in me.” This the Bridegroom did when, in the Church, “He gave some apostles, and some prophets, and other some evangelists, and other some pastors and doctors, for the perfecting of the saints.” But all these ought to be bound together by the one same bond of charity, in order that all may be gathered into the unity of the Body of Christ. Now, charity cannot thus give order to other things unless it first be set in order itself. For if each one follows the impulse of his own will, according to the spirit which he has received, and applies himself to everything indifferently, making feeling his guide instead of the judgment of reason, the result must be that none is content with the department assigned him, but all functions are indiscriminately and simultaneously undertaken by all, so that in place of the unity of order, there is now nothing but confusion.

“He set in order charity in me.” Would to God that my own little stock of charity were likewise set in order by Him Who gave it, the Lord Jesus! So should I keep faithful watch over all His interests, but in such a way that what I recognise as belonging most particularly to my duty and office, should have my first attention. Yet although this must engage me before everything else, there are many other matters which, whilst not concerning me personally in any especial way, ought nevertheless to appeal more strongly to my affections. For that which ought to be the first object of our solicitude need not always of necessity have the strongest claim to our love. Indeed, it is often the case that what should get precedence as regards our care and attention, is less conducive to our advancement, and must, therefore, be less attractive to our love. In other words, our reason must often give second place in esteem to what duty requires us to put first in solicitude. But that which obtains the preference from right reason, rightly ordered charity would have us embrace more affectionately. For example, am I not obliged, in virtue of my position, to have care of you all? Now, were I to devote myself to any other object with so much attention that I could no longer exercise properly the office of superior, by discharging the duties appertaining thereto in as worthy and profitable a manner as my best endeavours can reach, I should most certainly offend against the claims of good order; even though I appeared to be actuated by a motive of charity. On the contrary, if I am faithful in giving my first attention, as I am bound to do, to the duties of my office, yet do not experience a greater joy at the greater progress in divine love which I observe another to be making, it is plain that my charity is in one part rightly ordered, wrongly in the other. But if I make that for which I am most specially responsible the object of my most special solicitude, and at the same time feel myself more strongly attracted to what appears to be possessed of more intrinsic nobility, then, without doubt, my charity shall be found perfectly regulated, and there shall be nothing to prevent me from saying, “He set in order charity in me.”

But perhaps you will tell me that it is difficult to feel more satisfaction at the greater good of one’s neighbour than at the lesser belonging to oneself. I answer that this very fact demonstrates the excellence of the grace given to the Spouse, and also how few are those who can affirm with her, “He set in order charity in me.” “Why is the countenance of” some of you “fallen” at this word? The deep sighs you heave bear witness to the sadness of your souls and the heaviness of your hearts. For when “we measure ourselves by ourselves,” some of us realise, from the experience of our own imperfection, how rare a virtue it is not to envy the virtue of others, to say nothing about rejoicing at their progress in perfection, to say nothing of our delight growing greater according as we see them advancing beyond ourselves. But “a little light is yet among” us, as many of us, I mean, as recognise this disposition to be their own. Let us “walk whilst” we “have the light, that the darkness overtake us not.” To walk is to advance. The Apostle was walking when he said, “I do not count myself to have apprehended. But (there is) one thing: forgetting the things that are behind, and stretching forth myself to those that are before, I press towards the mark.” What does he mean by the words, “There is one thing”? He desires to inform us that there still remains to him one remedy, one hope, one consolation. What is that? He tells us himself: “forgetting the things that are behind, and stretching forth myself to those that are before, I press towards the mark.” Admirable confidence! The great “Vessel of Election,” whilst admitting that he has not yet attained perfection, claims nevertheless to be making progress thereto. As for me, who instead of walking in the light am still sitting down, there is danger that I shall be overtaken by the darkness of death. For who sits down but the man that has no desire to go forward? My brethren, be on your guard against such relaxation. Then to each of you may be applied what is written, “The just man, if he be prevented with death, shall be in rest.” Then can you say to God, “Thy eyes did see my imperfection.” And yet you may add, “And in Thy book all shall be written.” All of whom? All who shall be found possessed with the desire of advancing. For the Psalmist goes on, “Days shall be formed, and no one in them”—supply, “shall perish.” By “days” we are to understand here those persons who are making progress in virtue, and who, “if prevented with death,” shall have made up to them that wherein they may be found wanting. They “shall be formed and no one in them” shall appear imperfect.