Sermons on the Song of Songs

It seems to me, however, that, by a secret dispensation, this destiny, on account of its greatness, was providentially reserved to the Spouse, so that she, and not Moses, might grow into a mighty people. For it would not be right for the friend of the Bridegroom to snatch away the blessing that belonged to the Bride. Therefore, not to Moses, but to the newly-wed Bride, was it said, “Go ye into the whole world and preach the Gospel to every creature.” She, I say, was certainly sent to grow into a great nation. Could she, indeed, have been destined to expand into a greater than the whole? And as she came bearing peace and offering grace, the whole world readily yielded to her sway. But not as grace, so also the law. With how great a difference of aspect the sweetness of the former and the austerity of the latter present themselves to the conscience of each! Surely no one can regard with the same sentiments that which condemns and that which consoles, that which holds to account and that which pardons, that which punishes with severity and that which embraces with love. We have not an equal welcome for the shadow and for the light, for wrath and for peace, for judgment and for mercy, for the figure and for the substance, for the rod and for the inheritance, for the curb and for the kiss. Heavy are the hands of Moses, as Aaron and Hur can bear witness.” Heavy, too, is the yoke of the law, according to the testimony of the apostles, who declared that neither themselves nor their fathers could bear it. A heavy burden and a light reward, since it is the earth that is promised! Therefore Moses was not destined to grow into a great people. But thou, O mother Church, “having the promise of the life which now is and of that which is to come,” dost easily win acceptance from all, by reason of thy twofold offer of a sweet yoke here and a supernal kingdom hereafter. Driven forth from Jerusalem, thou art received by the world, because thy promises are more attractive than thy laws are repelling. Why dost thou still lament the loss of a single vineyard, for which thou hast been so superabundantly compensated? “Because thou wast forsaken, and hated, and there was none that passed through thee,” saith the Lord, by His Prophet Isaias, “I will make thee to be an everlasting glory, a joy unto generation and generation; and thou shalt suck the milk of the gentiles, and thou shalt be nursed with the milk of kings; and thou shalt know that I am the Lord, thy Saviour, and thy Redeemer, the Mighty One of Jacob.” It is in this sense, therefore, the Spouse declares that she has been made keeper in the vineyards, and that she has not kept her vineyard.

Whenever I read these words, my brethren, I am wont to reprove myself for undertaking the charge of other souls, who am not able to take care of my own. For I take vineyards as signifying souls. If this interpretation approves itself to you, consider whether I may not also and consequentially regard faith as the vine, the virtues as the branches, good works as the grapes, and devotion as the wine. For as the branches cannot be without the vine, so neither can the virtues exist without faith. “Without faith,” says St. Paul, “it is impossible to please God,” and perhaps impossible to avoid displeasing Him; “for all that is not of faith is sin,” as St. Paul teaches. Therefore, those who “made me keeper in the vineyards” should have considered this, viz., how I had kept my own. But, alas! how long a time it lay neglected, forsaken, and reduced to a wilderness! Certainly, no wine was produced in it, the branches of virtue having withered on the barren stock of faith. For faith was still there, but dead. How could it be otherwise without works? Such was I when living in the world. After my conversion to the Lord, I confess that I began to keep my vineyard somewhat better, yet still not as I ought. For who is sufficient for this? Not even the holy Psalmist, since he declares that “Unless the Lord keep the city, he watcheth in vain that keepeth it.” To what snares I remember to have even then exposed myself, snares set by him, whose practice it is “to shoot in secret the undefiled”! How much of the produce was carried off from the vineyard of my soul by various cunning artifices, at that very time when I began to apply myself with greater vigilance to the keeping and the caring of it! How many clusters of the excellent grapes of good works were either blighted by anger, lost by boasting, or begrimed with the smoke of vainglory! How many temptations I endured from gluttony, from the spirit of sloth, “from pusillanimity of spirit and the storm”! Such was I then. And, nevertheless, they “made me keeper in the vineyards,” not considering what I was doing or had done with my own, nor attending to the master, St. Paul, who censured their conduct with the words, “But if a man know not how to rule his own house, how shall he take care of the Church of God?”

I am amazed, my brethren, at the audacity of some, who, as we see, can gather nothing in their own vineyards but “thorns and briers,” and who yet have the daring to intrude themselves into the vineyards of the Lord. No keepers, no husbandmen they, but “thieves and robbers.” Let us say no more about them. But alas for me even now, because of the danger to my vineyard! Nay, the danger is now greater than ever before, because, having to watch over many, I am compelled to be less diligent and less solicitous with regard to my own. I am not permitted to “make a hedge round about it” nor to “dig in it a press.” Alas! “the hedge thereof” is “broken down, so that all who pass by the way do pluck it”! It lies exposed to sadness; it is open to anger and to impatience. The busy “little foxes” of “present necessities” lay it waste. Anxieties, suspicions, and solicitudes rush in upon it from every side. Rarely has it an hour’s respite from wrangling crowds and vexatious disputes. I have no power to prevent, no means of avoiding such invasions I have not so much as time to pray. With what rair of tears shall I be able to irrigate “the sterility of my soul”? I meant to say “the sterility of my vineyard,” but the familiar words of the psalm slipped from my tongue. However, the sense is the same. Nor do I regret a mistake which reminds me that the language I am using is figurative, and that there is question here, not of a material vineyard, but of a spiritual soul. Therefore understand “soul” when you hear “vineyard.” For the sterility of the former is bewailed under the image and name of the latter. Therefore, with what tears, I ask, shall I irrigate the sterility of my vineyard? All its branches are withered “through poverty.” They hang without fruit, because of the lack of moisture. O good Jesus! Thou knowest what faggots of dry twigs I make of them and burn in daily sacrifice to Thee with the fire of a contrite heart. Let “an afflicted spirit” be a sacrifice to Thee, I implore. “A contrite and humbled heart, O God,” do “not despise.”