Sermons on the Song of Songs

True, the Father overlooks, the Benefactor pardons; but not so the Lord and the Creator. He Who as Father spares His child, will not as Creator spare His creature, will not as Lord have compassion on a wicked servant. Think, my brethren, what a dreadful, what a horrible thing it is to have despised your Maker and the Creator of all, to have offended the Lord of Majesty! Fear is inspired by majesty, and fear is inspired by lordship, but especially by the Divine Majesty and the Divine Lordship. And if the penalty of death is imposed by human laws upon those who offend against human majesty, what shall be the fate of such as despise the Divine Omnipotence? “He toucheth the mountains and they smoke,” and does a little sack of vile dust, which may be scattered in a moment by a single breath beyond the possibility of recall, does such a thing dare to provoke so tremendous a Majesty? He, my brethren, He indeed ought to fill us with dread, “Who, after He hath killed hath power to cast into hell.” Ah, it is hell that makes me afraid. I fear the wrathful Countenance of the Judge, which strikes terror even into the angelic spirits. I tremble when I call to mind the anger of the Omnipotent, and the face of His fury, and the crashing of a universe tottering to destruction, and the conflagration of the elements, and the mighty tempest, and the voice of the Archangel, and “the sharp word” of final reprobation. Horror overpowers me at the thought of the fangs of the infernal beast, of the bottomless abyss below, of the “lions roaring, ready for their prey.” I shudder with affright whenever I think of the gnawing worm that “dieth not,” of the cataracts of fire, of the smoke, of the black enveloping vapours, of the sulphur, of the “storm of winds,” and of the “exterior darkness.” “Who will give water to my head, and a fountain of tears to my eyes,” that by weeping over my sins now I may prevent eternal weeping in the future, and escape the gnashing of teeth and the cruel fetters for hands and feet, and the oppressive weight of chains, galling, cramping, burning, but not consuming? Woe, woe is me, O my mother! Oh, why didst thou bring me forth, to be a child of sorrow and bitterness, of eternal wrath, of everlasting lamentation? Oh, why didst thou take upon thy knees and suckle at thy breast one that is but born to be fuel for the fire, destined for the burning?

He that is thus affected, my brethren, has without doubt recovered his sense of feeling; and in this twofold fear, viz., of God as Creator and as Lord, added to the previously mentioned twofold shame of Him as Father and as Benefactor, he has four of the seven “gapings.” The three which remain, he will find in the voice of confession, so that it shall no longer be said of him that “there is neither voice nor feeling.” If yet that voice of confession proceeds from a simple, humble, and trustful heart. Therefore, let him confess humbly, sincerely, and trustfully whatever troubles his conscience, and so he will have done what is required of him in this matter. There are some “who are glad when they have done evil, and rejoice in most wicked things.” It is of such Isaias speaks where he says, “They have proclaimed abroad their sin as Sodom.” But these, as being worldlings, I exclude from further consideration in my present discourse, for what have we to do with those “who are without”?

Yet even amongst persons who wear the religious habit and have made the monastic vows, I have occasionally heard some recounting and shamelessly boasting of the sins of their past. They proudly talk, for instance, of the great courage they gave evidence of in the duels which they fought whilst living in the world; or of their skill in verbal disputations, or of other such exploits, honourable according to the vanity of the world, but hurtful, pernicious, ruinous to the interests of the soul. Such language betrays a worldly spirit. The humble habit of religion worn by these people, instead of being a sign that they have put on the new man of sanctity, is nothing but a cloak for the old man of sin. Others make mention of the same things as if in sorrow and penitence. But since they aim at self-glorification in their intention, they only deceive themselves, whilst their guilt remains. For “God is not mocked.” They have not put off the old man, but they hide him under the new. The old leaven is neither given up nor cast forth by such a confession as this, but rather strengthened, according to the words: “Because I was silent, my bones grew old, whilst I cried out all the day long.” I am ashamed to speak of the impudence of some who are brazen enough to boast exultantly of what ought to be expiated with tears of compunctiom, how, even after they were clothed in the sacred livery, they cleverly overreached such a brother; how they outwitted another; how they retaliated on such as injured them by word or deed. That is to say, they make it matter for boasting to have requited evil with evil, reproach with reproach!

There is still another kind of confession which is all the more dangerous in proportion as the vanity concealed in it is the more subtle and difficult to detect. I allude to that in which we have the boldness to reveal our crimes and abominations, not because we are humble, but because we desire to appear so. But to seek the praise of humility is not the virtue, but rather the subversion of humility. The really humble man is anxious not to be acclaimed for his humility, but to be reputed as vile. He rejoices in contempt, and glories in nothing but in his contempt of praise. What, my brethren, can be more perverse, what more unworthy than that confession of sin, the very guardian of humility, should be pressed into the service of pride, and that you should wish to be reputed saints on account of that precisely which makes you to appear sinners? This is surely a most extraordinary manner of boasting, as if one could not otherwise acquire a reputation for sanctity than by exhibiting himself as a criminal! But as it has only the appearance, not the reality of humility, far from obtaining pardon, it even provokes the divine anger. Did it avail Saul anything to acknowledge his sin, when reproved by Samuel? Doubtless, that confession must have been itself sinful, seeing that it did not merit the forgiveness of sin. For when did the Master of humility, Whose nature inclines Him to grant His grace to the humble, ever reject an humble confession? No, He could not but be appeased, if only the humble sentiments which sounded on the lips were found also to be entertained in the heart. This is the reason why I have said confession must be humble.