Sermons on the Song of Songs

It seems to me that I hear my brother answering and saying, “Can a mother forget her infant so as not to have pity on the son of her womb? And if she should forget, yet will not I forget thee.” It surely is not expedient that I should be forgotten by thee. Thou knowest how I am situated, where I lie prostrate, in what a plight thou hast left me. And now there is none to reach me a helping hand. In every emergency I still, as was my wont, look around for Gerard, but he is nowhere to be seen. Then, alas! I groan with misery, as “a man without help.” Whom shall I henceforth consult in my doubts? On whom shall I lean when misfortune overtakes me? Who will bear my burdens? Who will deliver me from dangers? Were not my steps in every undertaking directed by the eyes of Gerard? Was not my own breast, O Gerard, less intimately acquainted with my cares than was thine, less frequently invaded, less sharply tormented? With that persuasive and eloquent tongue of thine, how often hast thou saved me from the distraction of worldly discourses, and restored me to my dearly loved silence! For the Lord had given him “a learned tongue,” that he might know when he ought to utter speech. So, by the prudence of his answers, and by the grace given him from above, he gave such satisfaction both to his brethren and to strangers, that I might almost say nobody had ever any need to speak to me when Gerard had first been consulted. He would go to meet visitors, opposing himself as a rampart against their incursions, to prevent them from breaking in upon my leisure. If any there were whom he himself could not satisfy, these he conducted to me, sending the others away contented. What shall I say of his wonderful industry? Or what of his loyalty to his friends? Well he knew both how to gratify his brother, and how to fulfil the duties of charity. Whom did he ever send away empty? For the rich he had counsel, and for the poor relief. Surely he did not seek what was his own, who, in order to deliver me from care, was willing that himself should be overwhelmed with cares. For in his profound humility, he hoped to derive more abundant fruit from my leisure than from any studies of his own. Yet he sometimes begged to be removed from his office of procurator, and to be replaced by some other more worthy to fill it. But where was such a one to be found? Nor was he attached to that office (as so often happens) by any inordinate affection, since he discharged its functions from the sole motive of charity; and whereas he laboured more than any other, he received less than any other, so that often, whilst providing others with what they needed, he himself was wanting in many things necessary, such as food and clothing. Hence, when he perceived the approach of death, “O God,” he protested, “Thou knowest that, so far as depended on me, I have always desired solitude, to be at leisure to attend to Thee and to myself. But I have been forced to remain in distracting occupations by the fear of Thee, by the will of my brethren, by the duty of obedience, and especially by my sincere affection for him who is at once my abbot and my brother.” Such indeed was the case. Thanks to thee, O my brother, for all the fruit (if there has been any) of my studies in the Lord. Whatever progress I have made myself, and whatever help I may have given to others, all is due to thee. Thou wert overburdened with temporal affairs whilst I, at thy expense, was enjoying repose, or at least occupied with the more sacred duties of the divine service, or with the more profitable employment of instructing my spiritual children. For how could I be otherwise than perfectly at ease within, when I knew that thou wert busying thyself without, as my own right hand, the light of my eyes, my heart and my tongue? And indeed thou wert to me an unwearied hand, and a “simple eye,” and a heart full of prudence, and a tongue speaking judgment, as it is written, “The mouth of the just shall meditate wisdom, and his tongue shall speak judgment.”

But why have I spoken of his exterior employments, as if Gerard were inexperienced in the interior life, as if he were a stranger to spiritual gifts? Those spiritual persons who knew him, knew also how redolent of the Spirit his words were. His brethren knew how his thoughts and his actions savoured not of the flesh, but were animated all with spiritual fervour. Who was more strict than he in the observance of the Rule? Who more austere in bodily mortification, more rapt and exalted in divine contemplation, or more subtle and profound in discourse than was Gerard? How often in discussion with him have I not learned truths which had hitherto escaped me! And I, who had come as the teacher, went away as the one taught. Do not be surprised that this has been my experience, since even great and wise men testify that the same thing has happened to themselves in conversation with Gerard. He did not indeed possess book-learning, but he possessed the intelligence which is its source and author, and he also possessed the light of the Holy Spirit. Both in the greatest things and in the least he showed himself equally wise and resourceful. For instance, with regard to building operations, to agriculture, to horticulture, to waterworks, indeed to all the different arts and trades which belong to country life—in all this variety of business was there anything, I ask, to which Gerard’s skill and resource were not equal? His universal knowledge of practical affairs enabled him easily to superintend the quarrymen, the workers in wood and iron, the farm-labourers, the gardeners, the shoemakers, and the weavers. Wisest of all in the estimation of each of his brethren, he still looked upon himself as altogether devoid of wisdom. Would to God that many, although less wise than he, were not more deserving of the malediction, “Woe to you that are wise in your own eyes”! I am speaking to persons who are aware of all this. But I might say still more of him, and greater things than what is generally known. However, I will refrain, for he is my flesh and my brother. Yet this I confidently affirm, that to me he was useful in all things and in a degree beyond all others. He made himself useful in little things as in great, in private as in public, both at home and abroad. On him I depended wholly, not without reason, since he was my all. He left to me hardly anything more than the name and the honour of superior, for he did all the work himself. I bore the title of abbot, but he had the largest share of the solicitudes of government. Deservedly, therefore, did “my spirit rest upon him,” to whom it was owing that I could “delight in the Lord,” preach the word with freedom, and give myself up to prayer with an easy mind. Yes, to thee, O my brother, to thee I owe a more tranquil peace of mind than my office would permit without thee, sweeter delights in repose, richer results from my preaching, greater devotion at my prayers, more frequent opportunities for reading, a stronger affection of divine love.