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← Sermones super Cantica Canticorum (Sermons on the Song of Songs)/Book 1 · Sermones super Cantica Canticorum
Chapter 26SermC.1.26

Sermo 26

Black as Kedar, Beautiful as Solomon

The preacher introduces the Song of Songs image of blackness and beauty and begins weighing how each part of the bride’s likeness should be read.

Like the tents of Cedar, like the curtains of Solomon.✦ This is where I must begin, because the previous discussion ended here. What you're expecting to hear is what this means and how it connects to the matter treated in the nearest chapter — because it is a likeness. For it's possible that this was added in such a way that each part of the likeness corresponds to only the one thing that had come before it: 'I am black.'✦ And it's also possible that those two correspond to these two — that is, each one to each one individually. The former sense is simpler; the latter is more obscure. But let's try both — and first the one that seems more difficult. The difficulty isn't in the first two, but only in the last two.

The Body as the Tent of Kedar

The body is figured as a soldier’s tent and pilgrim’s shelter, a place of exile that darkens the soul and keeps it from seeing God’s light face to face.

For the name Kedar, which means darkness, clearly matches blackness well enough; but Solomon's skins, with their beauty, do not.✦ Besides, who wouldn't see that the tents fit together in the same way? For what are tents except our bodies, in which we are strangers? We don't have a lasting city here, but we look for one that is to come.✦ But we also serve as soldiers in them, as in tents, violent ones pressing toward the kingdom. In short, the life of man on earth is a soldier's service; and as long as we serve as soldiers in this body, we are strangers from the Lord, that is, from the light. For the Lord is light; and to whatever degree anyone is not with him, to that degree he is in darkness, that is, in Kedar.✦ Let that voice, then, recognize its own lamentable cry: 'Alas for me, because my dwelling is prolonged!'✦ I have lived among those who dwell in Kedar, and my soul has been a stranger for a long time. So this dwelling of our body is not the settled home of a citizen or a native household, but rather the tent of a soldier on campaign or the roadside shelter of a traveler. This body, I say, is a tent — a tent of Kedar — which, by its very presence, robs the soul of the boundless light it longs for; it doesn't let the soul see that light at all, except indeed through a mirror and in an enigma, but not face to face.

Why the Bride Is Black and Beautiful

Even the most beautiful souls bear some stain in this life, longing to be freed from the body’s weight, yet the bride still paradoxically bears the beauty of Solomon.

Do you see where the Church's blackness comes from — how even the most beautiful souls have caught some stain? From the tent of Kedar, to be sure — from the exertion of a grueling military service, from the length of a wretched sojourn, from the hardships of a painful exile, and finally from the body itself, frail and heavy: because the body that is corrupted weighs down the soul, and this earthly dwelling presses down on a mind that thinks about many things. And that is why they long to be set free — so that, lightened of the body, they may fly away into Christ's embrace. And so one of them, groaning over these miseries, used to say: 'Wretched man that I am!' 'Who will free me from this body of death?'✦ She knows full well — she who is in this condition — that in the tent of Kedar she cannot be entirely free of stain or wrinkle, or of any trace of blackness whatsoever; and she longs to go out, so that she might strip it all off. And this is the reason the bride said she was black, like the tents of Kedar.✦ But then how can she be beautiful, like the skins of Solomon?✦

The Sacred Hides of Solomon

The preacher stands in awe before the hidden divine beauty under lowly forms, warning against rash curiosity and commending humble prayer instead.

But I don't know what sublime and sacred thing I sense wrapped in these hides — something I wouldn't dare touch at all, except at the bidding of the one himself who stored it away and sealed it.12 I have surely read: 'Whoever searches into majesty will be overwhelmed by glory.'3 So I hold back and defer. In the meantime, it will be your concern to win favor through your usual prayers, so that the more confident we become, the more eagerly we may return to that which requires more attentive hearts.4 And perhaps the devout suppliant will find what the rash searcher could not. And yet I grieve — the end commands it, and the suffering I endure.5

Hidden Fire and Funeral Tears

Grief over a lost companion burns inwardly, breaking into funeral rites and revealing how deeply the preacher’s heart has been wounded.

How long, then, must I keep hiding and conceal the fire I've buried within myself — while it burns my heavy heart and feeds on my inward parts? Shut in, it spreads wider and rages more fiercely. What does this song have to do with me, since I'm steeped in bitterness? The force of my pain pulls my attention away, and the Lord's indignation will drink up my spirit. I'm taken away from the one through whom my studies in the Lord used to enjoy some freedom — and at the same time my heart has abandoned me. But I've forced my mind and held everything back up to this point, so that emotion wouldn't seem to overpower faith. In the end, while the others wept — as you could see — I followed the hated funeral with dry eyes; with dry eyes I stood at the tomb until all the funeral rites were completed. Clothed in priestly vestments, I said the customary prayers at the tomb with my own lips; I cast earth with my hands, as is the custom, over the beloved body — earth soon to be his home.

Dry Eyes, Then a Broken Heart

He struggled to keep faith from being overpowered by feeling, but at last confesses himself conquered and calls his brothers to share his grief.

Those who were looking at me wept, and they were amazed that I myself did not weep, since everyone pitied not him, but rather me, who had lost him. For whose heart of stone — even a brazen breast — would not be moved there over me, when they saw him as Girardus surviving?6 It was a common loss, but it was not counted as misfortune beside my own.7 But I was struggling against my feelings with whatever strength of faith I could muster, striving — or rather unwilling — not to be moved, in vain, by the pull of nature, by the debt owed to the community, by the demands of my condition, by the command of the One in power, by the judgment of the Just One, by the terrible scourge, by the will of the Lord.8 Because of this, from that time on and ever since I drove myself not to indulge too much weeping — yet I was deeply troubled and sorrowful. Nor could I command my sadness as I could my tears; but as it is written: I am troubled, and I have not spoken.✦9 But suppressed grief took root more deeply within and, I feel, grew more bitter to the extent that it was not allowed to find an outlet.10 I confess it: I am conquered. What I'm suffering inside has to come out. So let it reach the eyes of the brothers: those who know my loss will grieve for it more tenderly, and comfort me more gently.

The Companion Deserted on the Road

He celebrates the excellence of the departed friend and laments the bitter divorce of death between two who were one soul.

You know, O children, how justified my pain is, how much my wound deserves to be mourned. You can see, surely, what a companion deserted me on this road I was walking along, how not sluggish he was toward work, how gentle toward my ways. Who is so deeply necessary to me? To whom am I equally beloved? He was a brother by birth, but more genuine in the religious life. Grieve, I beg you, for my sake, you to whom these things are known. I was weak in body, and he carried me; I was small in heart, and he strengthened me; I was sluggish and negligent, and he stirred me up; I was improvident and forgetful, and he reminded me. Why have you been torn away from me? How have you been torn from my hands — a man of one soul with me, a man after my own heart?✦ We loved each other in life; how have we been torn apart in death? A most bitter separation! And one that nothing could have brought about but death. For when would you have abandoned me alive and still living? Truly the work of death — a dreadful divorce. For who would not have spared so sweet a bond of our shared love, if not death, the enemy of all that is tender? Well done, death — furious, you destroy two by snatching one away.

A Living Death Without Him

Surviving without his friend feels worse than death itself, since the shared labor and fruitfulness of their life together have been torn away.

Isn't death also a loss to me? On the contrary, it's all the more painful to me, since the life that's been spared to me is more miserable than any death. I'm alive so that I might die while still alive — and would I even call this a life? How much more gently you would have stripped me away, harsh death, by the use of life than by its fruit! For a life without fruit is something worse than death. In the end, a twofold punishment is prepared for the unfruitful tree: the axe and the fire. So out of envy toward my labors, you took away from me the friend and companion whose eager devotion — when it was present at all — made those labors fruitful. It would have been better for me, Girard, to risk losing my life than to lose your presence — you who were so anxious to stir me on in my studies in the Lord, a faithful helper, a careful examiner of what was mine.

One Lost, the Other Exchanged

The friend has gained the greater good by departing, while the one left behind loses every delight and finds no consolation but the hope of divine recompense.

Why then — I ask you — have we loved, or have we lost ourselves? A harsh condition — but my pitiable lot, and not his! For you, dear brother, if you have lost those dear to you, you have certainly received back those even dearer. But as for me — what consolation now remains for this wretched man, after you, my one and only solace? The companionship of bodies was equally welcome to both in exchange for harmony of character — but the separation has wounded only me. What was shared brought pleasure; what was sorrowful and grievous was mine: angers have passed into me, fury has settled in me. To both of us, each other's presence was welcome, our fellowship sweet, our conversation pleasant — but I have lost such great delights on both sides, while you have only exchanged them. And indeed, for those who remain unchanged, there is abundant recompense.

Christ’s Presence, Angelic Joy

The departed brother now enjoys Christ’s presence and the choirs of angels, transformed into divine affection so that he can taste nothing but God.

With what great return of joys and heap of blessings you fail us today, dearest brother! Surely you have stored up for yourself Christ's presence in place of so small a thing as me; and you feel no loss from your absence from us, now that you've been joined to the choirs of angels. So there's no reason for you to complain about our presence as if it had been withdrawn from you, since the Lord of majesty has granted you the abundance of himself and his own gifts in full measure. But what about me — what have I for your sake? How I wish I knew what you now think of me — that one who was uniquely yours — now that you've been abandoned, with your wavering cares and pains, and left me as the staff of your weakness! If it's still allowed to think of the wretched — once someone has entered the abyss of light and been swallowed up in that sea of eternal happiness. For perhaps even though you once knew us according to the flesh, now you no longer know us; and since you've entered into the powers of the Lord, you're mindful only of his justice, forgetful of us. But whoever clings to God becomes one spirit with him, and is wholly transformed into a certain divine affection, and can no longer feel or taste anything except God — and what God feels and tastes — filled with God.✦

God’s Mercy, Changed Affection, and Unfailing Love

Because God is love and cannot suffer yet can share in suffering, the friend’s affection is transformed, not destroyed, and love assures that he will not forget.

God, however, is love, and the more closely anyone is united to God, the fuller of love they are.✦ Furthermore, God cannot suffer, but is not unable to share in suffering — it is proper to God always to show mercy and to spare.11 So then you, too, must be merciful, since you cling to the Merciful One — wretched though you now are in the least way — and though you do not suffer, you nevertheless share in suffering.12 So your affection is not diminished but transformed; and since you have put on God, you have stripped yourself of care for us — for God's very care is about us.✦13 What is weak you have cast off, but not what is devout. Love never falls away; you will not forget me in the end.✦✦14

No One to Help, No One to Counsel

The mourner feels abandoned and helpless, remembering how his friend used to guide, protect, and shield him from distractions and demands.

I seem to hear my brother saying: Can a mother forget the child of her womb?✦ Even if she forgets, I won't forget you.✦ It's no use at all. You know where I am, where I lie, where you left me; there's no one to reach out a hand. For every difficulty that arises, I look to Girard as I used to, and he's not there. Alas! Then I groan in misery, like a man with no one to help him. Whom shall I take counsel from in my uncertainty? Who can I trust when things go wrong? Who will carry the burdens? Who will ward off the dangers? Didn't Girard's eyes go before me everywhere I walked? Didn't your heart, Girard, know my troubles more intimately than my own ever did, pressing in on me more familiarly, weighing on me more sharply? Didn't you, with that calming and powerful tongue of yours, time and again shield me from the talk of the world, and give your friend the gift of silence? The Lord had given him a skilled tongue, so that he would know when to speak. And so finally, through the wisdom of his responses, through the grace given him from above, I could meet the needs of those close to me and those outside, with the result that almost no one came looking for me — Girard had already gotten to them first.

The Faithful Servant of the House

Girard is remembered as industrious, charitable, self-giving, and obedient, bearing the burdens of service even when he longed for rest.

He would step out to meet those coming, putting himself forward so they wouldn't suddenly break into my leisure. If there were some who truly couldn't satisfy by their own efforts, he would bring them to me, and send the others away. What an industrious man! What a faithful friend! He treated his friend with habitual care, and never failed in the duties of love. Who left him with an empty hand? If someone was rich, he brought back counsel; if someone was poor, he brought back support. He didn't seek his own interests, but threw himself into the midst of my cares, so that I might be free. He was hoping, for — given how deeply humble he was — there would be greater fruit for our rest than if he himself were free to rest. Yet at times he would ask to be released and to yield to another, as if that person could provide better oversight. But where could such a person be found? Nor was he kept back by some petulant person's attachment to the duties of that role, as often happens, but only by the gaze of love.15 Indeed, he worked harder than everyone and received less than everyone, so that often, when he was ministering necessities to others, he himself went without much — food or clothing, for instance. Finally, when he sensed that his departure was near, 'God,' he said, 'you know that as far as it lay in me, I have always longed for rest — to set my mind on you, to be free for you.' But he was held back — by reverence for you, by the will of the brothers, and by the commitment to obedience; above all, by the abbot's and the brother's genuine love.16 So it is.

My Right Hand, My Voice, My Heart

The preacher confesses that all his own usefulness and security depended on Girard, who was his active hand, clear eye, and wise voice.

Thanks be to you, brother, for every fruit of my efforts, if there is any, in the Lord. I owe it to you, if I've made any progress, if I've been of any use. You were caught up in things, and I, freed by your help, sat at ease — or rather, I was more wholly given to sacred duties, or more usefully applied myself to teaching the brothers. For why wouldn't I feel secure within, when I knew you were active out there — my right hand, the light of my eyes, my heart, and my voice? Indeed, an untiring hand, a clear eye, a heart of counsel, a voice speaking judgment — as it is written: The mouth of the just will meditate on wisdom, and their tongue will speak judgment.✦

Great in All Things, Humble in His Own Eyes

Girard excelled both in spiritual gifts and practical skills, yet remained profoundly humble, unlike those who are wise in their own sight.

But what did I mean by saying he was active outwardly? As if Girardus didn't know the interior life, and lacked spiritual gifts! Those who know him know how spiritual his words are — how his speech breathes his spirit. His companions know that his way of life and his pursuits don't taste of the flesh but burn with spirit. Who is stricter than he is in guarding discipline? Who is more austere in disciplining his own body, more intent, more exalted in contemplation, more penetrating in conversation? How often, talking with him, have I learned things I didn't know — and I came to be taught, yet left taught even more than I expected? And it's no surprise in my case, since great and wise men themselves testify that the very same thing has happened to them through him. He didn't know literature, but he had the insight of its creator, and he had the Spirit to illuminate him. And he wasn't great only in the greatest things, but in the smallest things he was greatest. What, for instance, didn't he know about buildings, fields, gardens, waters—in short, about all the skills and labors of country people? What, I ask, or in what line of work did Girard lack expertise? To stonemasons, smiths, farmers, gardeners, cobblers, and weavers, he was easily a master. And since by everyone's judgment he was wiser than everyone else, he was wise in his own eyes alone. If only that curse didn't touch so many who, even if they're less wise, are still worse: Woe to you who are wise in your own eyes!✦17 I'm saying this to people who know it, and to them I say even more about him—and greater things to those who have experienced them.

Useful in Everything, Buried in One Stroke

The friend was useful in every sphere of life, so his removal leaves behind only anxiety, loneliness, and the desire not to outlive him in misery.

I spare him, though, because he's my flesh and my brother.18 I'll add this with confidence, though: he was useful to me in everything and before everything; he was useful in small things and great, in private matters and public, outside and within.19 Rightly did I hang entirely on him, since he was everything to me.20 He had almost left me only the honor and name of the provider, for he did the work himself.21 I was called abbot, but he presided in anxiety.22 Rightly my spirit rested in him, through whom I was allowed to delight in the Lord, to preach more freely, to pray more securely.23 Through you, I say to you, my brother, came a sober mind and welcome rest, more effective speech, richer prayer, more frequent reading, and more fervent affection.24 Alas! You've been taken away, and all of this at once. With you, every one of my delights and my joys has left at the same time. Now anxieties rush in, now troubles pound at me from every side, and distresses have found me alone — they're all that remain for me now that you've gone away — and I groan, alone, under the weight. I must either lay this down or be crushed by it, because you've pulled your shoulders away. Would someone grant me a quick death after you. For I wouldn't want to go on living at your expense, or to rob you of your glory. What's more, surviving you would mean nothing but labor and grief.

Living in Bitterness, Crying for Mercy

The preacher resolves to live in grief, yet reaches for God’s hand, calls for tears of compunction, and hopes that mourning will lead to comfort.

I will live, as long as I live, in bitterness; I will live in grief — and let this be my consolation: that I am afflicted by my grieving. I won't hold back — I'll stretch out the hand of the Lord; for the hand of the Lord has touched me. Me — I tell you — he touched and struck, not the one he called to rest; he killed me when he cut that one down. For would anyone call 'killed' the one he planted in life? But what was a door of life to him is clearly death to me; and I would call myself dead by that death — not this one, who fell asleep in the Lord. Come out, come out, tears that have so long longed to flow — come out, because the one who blocked your passage has passed through. Let the floodgates of this wretched head be opened, and let springs of water burst forth — if perhaps they may be enough to wash away the filth of the faults by which I have deserved wrath. When the Lord has comforted me, then perhaps I too may deserve to be comforted — if, that is, I have not spared myself from grief; for those who mourn will themselves be comforted.

Holy Grief, Not Worldly Vanity

He distinguishes his sorrow from the fruitless mourning of the world, insisting that he grieves spiritual loss, not worldly glory or hardship.

For that reason, let every holy person stoop to me, and let whoever is spiritual sustain me in a spirit of gentleness as I grieve. I beg you: let my grief be weighed by heartfelt attachment, not by habit. Surely we see people mourn their dead every day: much weeping, and no fruit at all. We don't blame the feeling, unless it goes beyond due measure — but we do blame the cause. That grief, plainly, belongs to nature, and its turmoil is the punishment of sin; but this grief is vanity and sin. For indeed, unless I'm mistaken, the only losses wept over there are the loss of bodily glory and the hardships of the present life. And of lamenting — those who lament like this. Am I like that? The feeling is similar in me, but the cause is different, and the intention unlike. I truly have no complaint about anything in the world. What I grieve, in these things that are God's, is the loss of faithful help and saving counsel. I mourn Girard: Girard is the cause, a brother in the flesh, but a close companion in spirit, a partner in purpose.

One Heart Torn in Two

The two friends were joined in one soul by spiritual fellowship, so that death, in taking the better half, has left the survivor cut off and grieving.

My soul has cleaved to his soul; and he made one from two — not by blood relationship, but by oneness of heart. The bond of the flesh was not lacking; but the fellowship of the spirit joined us more — the agreement of our minds, the likeness of our ways. Since then we were one heart and one soul, a sword pierced through this soul of mine and his alike, and cleaving it, placed the half of it in heaven, and abandoned the half in the mud. I, I — that wretched portion lying in the mud, cut off from part of myself, and from the better part; and it is said to me: Do not weep? My own insides have been torn from me; and it is said to me: Do not feel it? I feel it, I feel it — even against my will, because the strength of stones is not my strength, nor is my flesh made of bronze; I feel it completely, and I grieve, and my grief is always before my eyes. Surely the one who strikes us will not be able to accuse us of hardness and of being unable to feel — not as he does those of whom he says: I struck them, and they did not grieve.✦ I have confessed my affection, and I have not denied it.

Human Feeling, Divine Chastisement

He confesses his humanity and natural affection, yet submits to God’s just chastisement, acknowledging that the reward has gone to one and punishment to the other.

Anyone who'd call me carnal—I don't deny I'm human, any more than I deny I'm a person. And if that's not enough, I wouldn't even deny I'm carnal. For I am carnal too—sold under sin, enslaved to death, and liable to punishments and hardships. I'm not, I confess, unfeeling toward punishments; I shudder at the death of my own and of those I love. Girard was mine—completely mine. How could he not be mine—he was my brother by blood, my son by religious profession, my father in care, my companion in spirit, my closest and dearest in affection? He has departed from me—I feel it, I am wounded, and deeply. Forgive me, children — or rather, if you are indeed children, grieve for a father's loss. Have mercy on me, have mercy on me — at least you, my friends, who surely consider how severe the blows I have received from the hand of the Lord on account of my sins. With the rod of his indignation he struck me — deservedly, given my merits; harshly, given my strength.✦ Would anyone call it a light thing for me to live without Girard — unless they have no idea what Girard meant to me? And yet I don't argue against the words of the saint, nor do I challenge the judgment by which each one receives what he is due: the other, the crown he earned; I, the punishment I deserved.✦ Because I feel the pain, does that mean I reject the sentence? The one response is only human; the other would be impious. It is human, I say, and unavoidable to be moved by those we love — whether with joy when they are at our side, or with distress when they are taken from us.

Grieving for Myself, Not for Him

The preacher insists that he does not grieve for the blessed dead, but for himself, who alone must drink the cup of bitterness.

Companionship among friends won't be idle, especially between friends; and the dread of separation shows what mutual love has accomplished when they are together, just as the grief over being separated from each other does. I grieve for you, dearest Gerard, not because you're to be pitied, but because you've been taken away. And so perhaps I should rather grieve for myself, who drink the cup of bitterness.✦ And I alone am to be pitied, because I drink alone; for you don't drink it too. I alone suffer what those who love each other typically suffer together, when they lose each other.

Sent Ahead to Praise

The friend has gone ahead into heavenly praise, exulting in death and mocking its power, so that his departure becomes a triumph rather than a defeat.

I wish I hadn't lost you, but had sent you ahead instead! I wish I could follow you, even if late, wherever you've gone! There's no doubt you've gone to those whom you were inviting to praise in the dead of your night, when with face and voice full of exultation you suddenly burst forth into that Davidic song before those standing by in wonder: Praise the Lord from the heavens, praise him in the highest.✦25 Already for you, my brother, while it was still midnight, day was dawning, and night was being lit up like day — completely. That night was your illumination within your delights. I have been called to this wonder: to see a man exulting in death and mocking death. Where is your victory, O death? Where is your sting, O death? Now it's not a sting, but a shout of joy.

Death Overcome, Spirit Commended

Death is taunted and disarmed as the faithful friend passes through it rejoicing, finally committing his spirit into the Father’s hands.

Now a person dies singing, and sings dying. You are taken over for joy, mother of grief; taken over for glory, enemy of glory; taken over for the entrance to the kingdom, gate of the underworld—and the pit of perdition—for the discovery of salvation: and that by a sinful person.2627 Justly enough, because you unjustly usurped reckless power against an innocent and just person.28 You are dead, O death, and pierced by the hook which you greedily swallowed unguarded—whose voice is in the prophet: O death, I will be your death; I will be your sting, O underworld.✦2930 Pierced by that hook, I say, for the faithful passing through your midst you spread wide a joyful path to life.31 Girard does not fear you, spectral mask that you are.32 Girard passes through the very jaws of your throat to his homeland—not only unafraid, but rejoicing and praising.33 When therefore I had come up, and he was now finishing the last parts of the psalm with a clear voice as I listened, looking up into heaven he said: Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.✦3435

Sons of God, Turned Grief to Song

Even in mourning, the preacher glimpses the glory of divine sonship and briefly finds his grief almost turned into song by the friend’s joy.

And repeating the same sermon, frequently reiterating it: 'Father, Father,' he turned to me, his face filled with joy: 'How great,' he said, 'is the dignity of God, to be the father of men!' How great is the glory of men, to be sons of God and heirs! For if we are sons, then also heirs. So he sang — the one we mourn — and in him he turned my grief, I confess, almost into song, while, intent on his glory, I forget my own misery.

Weeping Over the Living, Not the Dead

Reason now forbids weeping over the blessed friend; instead, the preacher turns his tears toward himself, the ruined house, and the perils of the living.

But pain pricks me, calling me back to myself, and easily rouses me from that calm gaze as if from a light sleep, striking me with anxiety. So I will weep — but over myself, because reason now forbids me to weep over him. I think that if the opportunity arose, he would say to us right now: 'Do not weep over me, but weep over yourselves.' David rightly wept over his parricidal son, whose way out from the grip of death he knew was forever blocked by the sheer weight of his crime. Rightly over Saul and over Jonathan too; for once they were both swallowed up at once, there is no hope now of any rising again. And yes, they will rise again — but not to life. Or rather, to a life so that, living on in death, they may die more unhappily still. Although, as for Jonathan, one might not unjustly hold a different view. But for me — even if that reason for weeping is not available to me — it is not for that reason nonexistent.

Christ Weeps With Us

He defends his tears by appealing to Samuel, David, and especially Christ, who wept over Jerusalem and at Lazarus’s tomb, showing that holy grief is compatible with faith.

I weep first over my own wound, and over the ruin of this house; I weep next over the hardships of the poor, whose father was Girard; I weep indeed and over the whole state of our order and our profession, which from your zeal, Girard, and from your counsel and example was drawing no moderate strength; I weep finally, even if not over you, yet because of you. From this, utterly, I am deeply moved, because I love intensely. And let no one trouble me by saying that I ought not to be affected this way, since gentle Samuel satisfied his feeling for the wretched king, and merciful David for the parricidal son — and that not to the harm of faith, nor as a mockery of heavenly judgment.✦36 'Absalom, my son,' holy David said, 'my son Absalom' — and behold, this is more than Absalom.37 The Savior too, seeing the city of Jerusalem and foreseeing that it would fall, wept over it.✦38 And should I not feel my own desolation, the one that is right here and now? Should I not grieve over my own fresh and heavy wound? He wept in sympathy, and I, suffering, should not dare to?39 And surely at the tomb of Lazarus he doesn't scold those who weep, he doesn't hold them back from their weeping — he goes further and weeps alongside those who weep: 'Jesus wept,' it says.✦ Those tears were truly witnesses to our nature, not signs of distrust. And so the one who was dead came back to life soon at the voice of the one who called him, so you wouldn't immediately think that grief was a prejudice against faith.✦40

Mercy and Judgment

His words are full of pain but not complaint, as he resolves to sing of both God’s mercy to Gerard and God’s just judgment on himself.

So our weeping is not a sign of unfaithfulness, but a mark of our condition: I don't weep because I'm stricken and so accuse the one who struck me — I call out to mercy, and I strive to bend severity. And so my words are full of pain, yet not of murmuring. Haven't I spoken with full justice, since by one sentence's fulfillment the one who deserved punishment has been punished, and the one who deserved reward has been crowned? And I'll go on: the sweet and upright Lord did both well. I will sing of mercy and judgment to you, Lord. Let mercy sing to you, the mercy you showed your servant Gerard; and let judgment sing, the judgment we bear. In the one you will be praised as good, in the other as just. Or is the praise only of goodness? It's also a matter of justice. You are just, Lord, and your judgment is right. You gave us Girard, and you took Girard away. And if we grieve at his being taken, still we don't forget that he was given, and we give thanks that we deserved to have him — we don't want to be without him to such a degree, to the degree that it's not good for us.

Covenant, Mercy, and the Final Entrustment

Remembering God’s covenant and mercy, he recalls the fear of losing his friend on pilgrimage, the surrender of that fear, and the final breakdown of words before God.

I remember, Lord, my covenant and your mercy, so that you may be proved more just in your words and may prevail when you are judged. When we were at Viterbo the past year on a matter for the Church, that man fell ill, and as his weakness grew worse, since his dying hour now seemed near — I bore it most reluctantly, the fellow pilgrim I was to lose, and him my companion, in a foreign land, and not to hand him over to those who had entrusted him to me along with themselves, because he was loved by everyone, as indeed he was deeply lovable — turned to prayer with weeping and groaning. Wait, I say, Lord, until I return. Now take him back, restored to his friends, if you wish — and I won't complain. You have heard me, God. He has grown strong again; we have completed the work you enjoined on us, and we have returned with joy, bringing back sheaves of peace. And yet I've nearly forgotten my own pledge — but you haven't. I'm ashamed of these sobs of mine — of those who accuse me of having gone back on my word. What more is there to say? You have reclaimed the one you entrusted to me; you have received what was your own. Tears show the limits of words; you, Lord, set their boundary and measure.

Read the original Latin

Sicut tabernacula Cedar, sicut pelles Salomonis. Hinc incipiendum, quia hic desiit sermo superior. Hoc exspectatis audire quid sit, et qualiter ei quod proximo tractatum est capitulo coaptetur, quia similitudo est. Potest enim hoc ita subiunctum fuisse, ut utraque pars similitudinis ad id solum respondeat, quod ibi praecesserat: Nigra sum. Potest et ita, ut duobus illis duo ista, id est singula singulis, referantur. Ille sensus simplicior, iste obscurior est. Sed tentemus utrumque: et prius quidem hunc, qui difficilior apparet. Non autem in duobus primis, sed in duobus duntaxat extremis difficultas est.

Nam Cedar quidem, quod interpretatur tenebrae, aperte satis cum nigredine convenire videtur; sed pelles Salomonis cum formositate non ita. Porro tabernacula in eamdem nihilominus concurrere convenientiam quis non videat? Quid enim tabernacula, nisi nostra sunt corpora, in quibus peregrinamur? Nec enim habemus hic manentem civitatem, sed futuram inquirimus. Sed et militamus in eis, tanquam in tabernaculis; prorsas violenti ad regnum. Denique militia est vita hominis super terram; et quandiu militamus in hoc corpore, peregrinamur a Domino, id est a luce. Nam Dominus lux est; et in quantum quisque cum eo non est, in tantum in tenebris est, hoc est in Cedar. Flebilem proinde vocem illam agnoscat suam: Heu mihi quia incolatus meus prolongatus est!

habitavi cum habitantibus Cedar, multum incola fuit anima mea. Est ergo hoc habitaculum nostri corporis, non civis mansio, aut domus indigenae; sed aut tabernaculum militantis, aut stabulum viatoris. Est, inquam, hoc corpus tabernaculum, et tabernaculum Cedar, quod nimirum animam, quasi obiectu sui, incircumscripti luminis interim nunc fraudat aspectu; nec sinit omnino videre illud, nisi per speculum quidem et in aenigmate, non autem facie ad faciem.

Videsne unde Ecclesiae nigredo, unde pulcherrimis quoque animabus nonnulla rubigo inhaeserit? De tabernaculo profecto Cedar, de exercitio laboriosae militiae, de diuturnitate miseri incolatus, de angustiis aerumnosi exsilii, de corpore denique fragili et gravi; quia corpus quod corrumpitur, aggravat animam, et deprimit terrena inhabitatio sensum multa cogitantem. Propterea et cupiunt dissolvi, ut corpore levatae, Christi avolent in amplexus. Unde et gemens una de miseris aiebat: Infelix ego homo! quis me liberabit de corpore mortis huius? Scit nimirum quae huiusmodi est, quod non possit in tabernaculo Cedar carere ad purum macula aut ruga, non quantulacunque nigredine; et cupit exire, ut se possit exuere. Et haec ratio, cur sponsa nigram se dixerit sicut tabernacula Cedar. Sed enim quomodo formosa, sicut pelles Salomonis?

At nescio quid sublime ac sacrum sentio in his pellibus involutum, quod minime ausim omnino contingere, nisi ad nutum sane ipsius, qui reposuit et signavit. Legi nimirum: Qui scrutator est maiestatis, opprimetur a gloria. Supersedeo igitur et differo. Vobis interim curae erit solito impetrare favorem vestris precibus; ut eo alacriores, quo fidentiores redeamus ad id, quod attentioribus eget animis. Et fortassis inveniet pius pulsator, quod temerarius scrutator non posset. Quanquam et moeror finem imperat, et calamitas quam patior.

Quousque enim dissimulo, et ignis quem intra me ipsum abscondo, triste pectus adurit, interiora depascitur? Clausus latius serpit, saevit acrius. Quid mihi et cantico huic, qui in amaritudine sum? Vis doloris abducit intentionem, et indignatio Domini ebibit spiritum meum. Subtracto siquidem illo, per quem mea in Domino studia utcunque libera esse solebant, simul et cor meum dereliquit me. Sed feci vim animo, ac dissimulavi usque huc; ne affectus fidem vincere videretur. Denique plorantibus aliis, ego, ut advertere potuistis, siccis oculis secutus sum invisum funus, siccis oculis steti ad tumulum, quousque cuncta peracta sunt exsequiarum solemnia. Indutus sacerdotalibus, solitas in cum orationes proprio ore complevi, terram meis manibus ex more ieci super dilecti corpus, terram mox futurum.

Qui me intuebantur flebant, et mirabantur quod non flerem ipse, cum non illum quidem, sed me potius, qui illum amisissem, omnes miserarentur. Cuius enim vel ferreum pectus super me ibi non moveretur, quem videret Girardo superstitem? Commune damnum; sed prae meo non reputabatur infortunio. At ego quibus poteram viribus fidei, reluctabar affectui, nitens vel invitus non moveri frustra addictione naturae, universitatis debito, conditionis usu, potentis iussu, iudicio iusti, flagello terribilis, Domini voluntate. Pro huiusmodi semper extunc et deinceps exegi a memetipso non indulgere multo fletui, multum tamen turbatus et moestus. Nec potui imperare tristitiae, qui potui lacrymae; sed, ut scriptum est: Turbatus sum, et non sum locutus. At suppressus dolor altius introrsum radicavit, eo, ut sentio, acerbior factus, quo non est exire permissus. Fateor, victus sum.

Exeat necesse est foras quod intus patior. Exeat sane ad oculos filiorum, qui scientes incommodum, planctum humanius aestiment, dulcius consolentur.

Scitis, o filii, quam iustus sit dolor meus, quam dolenda plaga mea. Cernitis nempe quam comes deseruit me in via hac qua ambulabam, quam non segnis ad opus, quam suavis ad mores. Quis ita mihi pernecessarius? cui aeque dilectus ego? Frater erat genere, sed religione germanior. Dolete, quaeso, vicem meam vos, quibus haec nota sunt. Infirmus corpore eram, et ille portabat me; pusillus corde eram, et confortabat me; piger et negligens, et excitabat me; improvidus et obliviosus, et commonebat me. Quo mihi avulsus es?

quo mihi raptus e manibus, homo unanimis, homo secundum cor meum? Amavimus nos in vita; quomodo in morte sumus separati? Amarissima separatio! et quam non posset omnino efficere nisi mors. Quando enim me vivus vivum desereres? Omnino opus mortis, horrendum divortium. Quis enim tam suavi vinculo mutui nostri non pepercisset amoris, nisi totius suavitatis inimica mors? Bene mors, quae unum rapiendo, duos furiosa peremit.

An non mors etiam mihi? Imo plus mihi, cui utique omni morte infelicior vita servata est. Vivo ut vivens moriar; et hoc dixerim vitam? Quam mitius me privares, o austera mors, vitae usu, quam fructu! nam vita sine fructu gravior mors. Denique duplex malum ligno paratur infructuoso, securis et ignis. Ergo meis laboribus invidens, elongasti a me amicum et proximum, per cuius maxime studium erant, si quando erant, fructuosi. Satius proinde mihi fuisset periclitari vita, quam tua, o Girarde, praesentia, qui meorum in Domino studiorum eras sollicitus incitator, fidelis adiutor, cautus examinator.

Cur, quaeso, aut amavimus, aut amisimus nos? Dura conditio, sed mea miseranda fortuna, et non illius! Nam tu, chare frater, si charos amisisti, chariores utique recepisti. Me vero quaenam iam miserum consolatio manet post te unicum solatium meum? Placita fuit pariter utrique societas corporum pro morum concordia; sed solum me divisio vulneravit. Commune quod libuit; quod triste et lugubre, meum: in me transierunt irae, in me confirmatus est furor. Erat ambobus alterutrum grata praesentia, dulce consortium, suave colloquium; sed tantas utriusque delicias ego perdidi, tu mutuasti. Et quidem immutatis illis retributio multa.

Quanto fenore gaudiorum ac benedictionum cumulo cares hodie nobis, frater charissime! Habes certe pro me tantillo repositam tibi Christi praesentiam; nec dispendium sentis absentiae a nobis tuae, angelorum admistus choris. Non est igitur quod causeris tu de nostra quasi subtracta tibi praesentia, cui affatim sui suorumque copiam Dominus maiestatis indulsit. At ego pro te quid? Quam vellem scire quidnam sentias nunc de me illo unico tuo, mediis nutante curis et poenis, destituto te baculo imbecillitatis meae! si tamen licet adhuc cogitare de miseris, ingresso abyssum luminis, atque illo pelago aeternae felicitatis absorpto. Forte enim etsi nosti nos secundum carnem, sed nunc iam non nosti: et quoniam introisti in potentias Domini, memoraris iustitiae eius solius, immemor nostri. Caeterum qui adhaeret Deo, unus spiritus est, et in divinum quemdam totus immutatur affectum, nec potest iam sentire aut sapere nisi Deum, et quod sentit et sapit Deus, plenus Deo.

Deus autem charitas est, et quanto quis coniunctior Deo, tanto plenior charitate. Porro impassibilis est Deus, sed non incompassibilis, cui proprium est misereri semper et parcere. Ergo et te necesse est misericordem esse, qui inhaeres misericordi, quamvis iam minime miser sis: et qui non pateris, compateris tamen. Affectus proinde tuus non est imminutus, sed immutatus; nec, quoniam Deum induisti, nostri cura te exuisti; et ipsi enim cura est de nobis. Quod infirmum est abiecisti, sed non quod pium. Charitas denique nunquam excidit : non oblivisceris me in finem.

Videor mihi quasi audire fratrem meum dicentem: Nunquid mater oblivisci poterit filii uteri sui? Etsi illa oblita fuerit, ego tamen non obliviscar tui. Non expedit prorsus. Scis ubi verser, ubi iaceam, ubi reliqueris me; non est qui porrigat manum. Ad omne quod emerserit, respicio ad Girardum ut consueveram, et non est. Heu! tunc ingemisco miser, sicut homo sine adiutorio. Quem consulam ambiguis?

cui in adversis fidam? quis portabit onera? quis pericula propulsabit? Nonne ubique gressus meos Girardi oculi anteibant? Nonne tuum, Girarde, pectus curae meae notius, quam meum ipsius habebant, familiarius incursabant, acrius urgebant? Nonne in lingua tua illa placabili et potenti meam a sermonibus saeculi frequentissime vindicabas, et amico reddebas silentio? Dominus dederat illi linguam eruditam, ut sciret quando deberet proferre sermonem. Ita denique in prudentia responsorum suorum, et in gratia data sibi desuper, et domesticis satisfacieba et exteris, ut pene me nemo requireret, cui prior forte Girardus occurrisset.

Occurrebat autem adventantibus, opponens se, ne subito meum otium incursarent. Si quibus sane per se satisfacere non quibat, hos perducebat ad me, caeteros emittebat. O virum industrium! o amicum fidelem! et amico gerebat morem, et officiis charitatis non deerat. Quis vacua ab eo recessit manu? Si dives, consilium; si pauper, subsidium reportabat. Nec quaerebat quae sua sunt, qui se mediis ingerebat curis, ut ego vacarem.

Sperabat enim, sicut erat humillimus, maiorem de nostra quiete fructum, quam si vacaret ipse. Interdum tamen postulabat absolvi, et alteri cedere, quasi qui melius provideret. Sed ubi ille inveniretur? Nec petulanti aliquo, ut assolet, in eo officii detinebatur affectu, sed solo intuitu charitatis. Siquidem plus omnibus laborabat, et minus omnibus accipiebat; ita ut saepe, cum aliis necessaria ministraret, egeret ipse in pluribus, verbi causa, cibo aut veste. Denique cum se sentiret decessui propinquare: 'Deus,' inquit, 'tu scis quod quantum in me fuit, semper optavi quietem; mihi intendere, tibi vacare. Sed implicitum tenuit timor tuus, voluntas fratrum, et studium obediendi, super omnia abbatis pariter et fratris germana dilectio.' Ita est.

Gratias tibi, frater, de omni fructu meorum, si quis est, in Domino studiorum. Tibi debeo si profeci, si profui. Tu intricabaris, et ego tuo beneficio feriatus sedebam mihi, aut certe divinis obsequiis sanctius occupabar, aut doctrinae filiorum utilius intendebam. Cur enim securus intus non essem, cum te scirem agentem foris manum dexteram meam, lumen oculorum meorum, pectus meum, et linguam meam? Et quidem indefessa manus, oculus simplex, pectus consilii, lingua loquens iudicium, sicut scriptum est: Os iusti meditabitur sapientiam, et lingua eius loquetur iudicium.

Sed quid dixi foris agentem illum? quasi interna Girardus nesciret, ac spiritualium expers esset donorum. Norunt qui illum norunt spirituales, quam verba eius spiritum redolerent. Norunt contubernales, quam mores eius et studia non carnem saperent, sed ferverent spiritu. Quis illo rigidior in custodia disciplinae? quis in castigando corpus suum districtior, suspensior vel sublimior in contemplando, subtilior in disserendo? Quoties cum eo disserens ea didici quae nesciebam; et qui docturus adveneram, doctus magis abscessi? Nec mirum de me, cum magni ac sapientes viri id ipsum nihilominus ex illo sibi accidisse testentur.

Non cognovit litteraturam; sed habuit litterarum inventorem sensum, habuit et illuminantem Spiritum. Nec in maximis tantum, sed in minimis maximus erat. Quid, verbi causa, in aedificiis, in agris, hortis, aquis, cunctis denique artibus seu operibus rusticorum? quid, inquam, vel in hoc rerum genere Girardi subterfugit peritiam? Caementariis, fabris, agricolis, hortulanis, sutoribus, atque textoribus facile magister erat. Cumque omnium iudicio omnibus esset sapientior, solis in suis oculis non erat sapiens. Utinam multos, etsi minus sapientes, non plus tangeret illa maledictio: Vae qui sapientes estis in oculis vestris! Scientibus ista loquor, et adhuc plura his de illo, et maiora compertis.

Parco tamen, quia caro mea, et frater est. Hoc tamen securus addo: mihi utilis in omnibus, et prae omnibus; fuit utilis in parvis et magnis, in privatis et publicis, foris et intus. Merito ex eo pendebam totus, qui mihi totum erat. Solum pene reliquerat mihi provisoris honorem et nomen: nam opus ipse faciebat. Ego vocitabar abbas, sed ille praeerat in sollicitudine. Merito requievit in illo spiritus meus, per quem licebat delectari in Domino, praedicare liberius, orare securius. Per te, inquam, mihi, frater mi, mens sobria et grata quies, sermo efficacior, pinguior oratio, frequentior lectio et ferventior affectus.

Heu! sublatus es, et haec omnia simul. Tecam omnes pariter abiere deliciae, et laetitiae meae. Iam curae irruunt, iam molestiae hinc inde pulsant, et angustiae undique solum me repererunt, solae mihi te abeunte remanserunt, solus sub sarcina gemo. Aut ponere, aut opprimi necesse est, quia tu tuos humeros subduxisti. Quis mihi tribuat cito mori post te? Nam pro te nolim, nec te tua fraudare gloria. Porro supervivere tibi, labor et dolor.

Vivam, quoad vivam, in amaritudine; vivam in moerore: et haec sit mihi consolatio, ut moerendo affligar. Non parcam; et iuvabo manum Domini: etenim manus Domini tetigit me. Me, inquam, tetigit et percussit, non illum, quem vocavit ad requiem; me occidit, cum succidit illum. Nunquid enim occisum quis dixerit, quem plantavit in vita? At quod illi vitae ianua fuit, mihi plane est mors; meque illa morte mortuum dixerim, non hunc qui obdormivit in Domino. Exite, exite, lacrymae iampridem cupientes; exite, quia is qui vobis meatum obstruxerat, commeavit. Aperiantur cataractae miseri capitis; et erumpant fontes aquarum, si forte sufficiant sordes diluere culparum, quibus iram merui. Cum consolatus fuerit super me Dominus, tunc fortassis et ego merear consolari, si tamen non pepercero a moerore: nam, qui lugent, ipsi consolabuntur.

Propterea condescendat mihi omnis sanctus, et in spiritu lenitatis qui spiritualis est, sustineat lamentantem. Luctus meus humano, quaeso, pensetur affectu, non usu. Videmus nempe mortuos quotidie plangere mortuos suos: fletum multum, et fructum nullum. Non culpamus affectum, nisi cum excedit modum; sed causam. Ille nimirum naturae est, et eius turbatio poena peccati: haec vanitas et peccatum. Etenim ibi sola, nisi fallor, plorantur damna gloriae carnis, vitae praesentis incommoda. Et plorandi qui ita plorant. Nunquid ego sic?

Similis mihi affectus, sed altera causa, dissimilisque intentio. Nulla mihi sane querela de omnibus quae sunt mundi. In his profecto quae sunt Dei, ademptum doleo fidele auxilium, salutare consilium. Girardum lugeo: Girardus est in causa, frater carne, sed proximus spiritu, socius proposito.

Adhaesit anima mea animae illius; et unam fecit de duabus, non consanguinitas, sed unanimitas. Carnis quidem necessitudo non defuit; sed plus iunxit societas spiritus, consensus animorum, morum conformitas. Cum ergo essemus cor unum et anima una, hanc meam pariter atque ipsius animam pertransivit gladius, et scindens, mediam partem locavit in coelo, partem in coeno deseruit. Ego, ego illa portio misera in luto iacens, truncata parte sui, et parte potiori; et dicitur mihi: Ne fleveris? Avulsa sunt viscera mea a me; et dicitur mihi: Ne senseris? Sentio, sentio vel invitus, quia nec fortitudo lapidum fortitudo mea, nec caro mea aenea est; sentio prorsus et doleo, et dolor meus in conspectu meo semper. Non sane nos poterit duritiae et insensibilitatis arguere ille qui verberat, quomodo illos de quibus ait: Percussi eos, et non doluerunt. Affectum meum confessus sum, et non negavi.

Carnalem quis dixerit: ego humanum non nego, sicut nec me hominem. Si nec hoc sufficit, nec carnalem negaverim. Nam et ego carnalis sum, venundatus sub peccato, addictus morti, poenis et aerumnis obnoxius. Non sum, fateor, insensibilis ad poenas, mortem horreo meam et meorum. Meus Girardus erat, meus plane. An non meus, qui frater sanguine fuit, professione filius, sollicitudine pater, consors spiritu, intimus affectu? Is recessit a me; sentio, laesus sum, et graviter.

Ignoscite, filii: imo si filii, vicem dolete paternam. Miseremini mei, miseremini mei, saltem vos amici mei, qui certe consideratis quam gravia pro peccatis recepi de manu Domini. In virga indignationis suae percussit me, digne pro meritis, dure pro viribus. An leve quis dixerit vivere me absque Girardo, nisi qui ignorat quid mihi cum Girardo? Nec tamen contradico sermonibus sancti; nec reprehendo iudicium, quo recepit quisque quo dignus est: ille, coronam quam meruit; ego, quam debui poenam. Nunquid quia sentio poenam, reprehendo sententiam? Humanum est illud, hoc impium. Humanum, inquam, et necesse affici erga charos, sive delectabiliter cum praesto sunt, sive cum absunt, moleste.

Non erit otiosa socialis conversatio, praesertim inter amicos: et quid effecerit mutuus amor in sibi praesentibus, horror indicat separationis, et dolor de invicem separatis. Doleo super te, Girarde charissime, non quia dolendus, sed quia ablatus. Et ideo fortassis dolendum mihi potius super me, qui bibo calicem amaritudinis. Et solus dolendus, quia solus bibo: non enim et tu. Solus ego patior quod solent pariter pati qui se diligunt, cum se amittunt.

Utinam non te amiserim, sed praemiserim! utinam vel tarde aliquando sequar te quocunque ieris! Non enim dubium quin ad illos ieris, quos circa medium extremae noctis tuae invitabas ad laudem, cum in vultu et voce exsultationis subito erupisti in illud Davidicum, stupentibus qui assistebant: Laudate Dominum de coelis, laudate eum in excelsis. Iam tibi, frater mi, nocte adhuc media diescebat, et nox sicut dies illuminabatur Prorsus illa nox illuminatio tua in deliciis tuis. Accitus sum ego ad id miraculi, videre exsultantem in morte hominem, et insultantem morti. Ubi est, mors, victoria tua? ubi est, mors, stimulus tuus? Iam non stimulus, sed iubilus.

Iam cantando moritur homo, et moriendo cantat. Usurparis ad laetitiam, mater moeroris; usurparis ad gloriam, gloriae inimica; usurparis ad introitum regni, porta inferi; et fovea perditionis, ad inventionem salutis: idque ab homine peccatore. Iuste nimirum, quia tu inique in hominem innocentem et iustum potestatem temeraria usurpasti. Mortua es, o mors, et perforata hamo quem incauta glutiisti, cuius illa vox est in propheta: O mors, ero mors tua; morsus tuus ero, inferne. Illo, inquam, hamo perforata, transeuntibus per medium tui fidelibus latum laetumque exitum pandis ad vitam. Girardus te non formidat, larvalis effigies. Girardus per medias fauces tuas transit ad patriam, non modo securus, sed et laetabundus et laudans. Cum ergo supervenissem, et extrema iam psalmi, me audiente, clara voce complesset, suspiciens in coelum, ait: Pater, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum.

Et repetens eumdem sermonem, ac frequenter ingeminans: Pater, Pater, conversus ad me, exhilarata quidem facie: 'Quanta,' inquit, 'dignatio Dei, patrem hominum esse! quanta hominum gloria, Dei filios Dei esse et haeredes! Nam si filii, et haeredes.' Sic cantabat quem nos lugemus: in quo et meum, fateor, luctum pene in cantum convertit, dum intentus gloriae eius, propriae fere miseriae obliviscor.

Sed revocat me ad me pungens dolor, facileque a sereno illo intuitu, tanquam a levi excitat somno perstringens anxietas. Plangam igitur, sed super me, quia super illum iam vetat ratio. Puto enim, si opportunitas daretur, modo diceret nobis: Nolite flere super me, sed super vos ipsos flete. Planxit merito David super parricida filio, cui perpetuo sciret obstructum exitum de ventre mortis mole criminis. Merito super Saul et super Ionatham; quibus aeque absorptis semel, emersio iam non speratur. Et quidem resurgent, sed non ad vitam; imo ad vitam, ut vivi in morte infelicius moriantur. Quanquam de Ionatha possit non immerito haerere sententia. At mihi etsi non ista suppetit plangendi ratio, non tamen nulla.

Plango primum super mea ipsius plaga, atque huius iactura domus; plango deinde super pauperum necessitatibus, quorum Girardus pater erat; plango certe et super universo statu nostri ordinis nostraeque professionis, qui de tuo, Girarde, zelo, consilio et exemplo robur non mediocre capiebat; plango postremo, etsi non super te, propter te tamen. Hinc prorsus, hinc afficior graviter, quia vehementer amo. Et nemo mihi molestus sit, dicens non debere sic affici; cum benignus Samuel super reprobo rege, et pius David super parricida filio satisfecerint affectioni, et non ad iniuriam fidei, non in superni suggillationem iudicii. Absalon fili mi, ait sanctus David, fili mi Absalon : et ecce plus quam Absalon hic. Salvator quoque videns civitatem Ierusalem, et praevidens ruituram, flevit super eam. Et ego propriam, et quae in praesenti est desolationem non sentiam? Plagam meam recentem, et gravem non doleam? Ille flevit compatiendo, et ego patiendo non audeam?

Et certe ad tumulum Lazari nec flentes arguit, nec a fletu prohibuit, insuper et flevit cum flentibus: Et lacrymatus est, inquit, Iesus. Fuerunt lacrymae illae testes profecto naturae, non indices diffidentiae. Denique et prodiit mox ad vocem eius qui erat mortuus, ne continuo putes fidei praeiudicium dolentis affectum.

Sic nec fletus utique noster infidelitatis est signum, sed conditionis indicium; nec quia percussus ploro, arguo ferientem, sed provoco pietatem, severitatem flectere satago. Unde et verba mea dolore sunt plena, non tamen et murmure. Nunquid non plenum iustitiae protuli, quod unius sententiae complemento et punitus est qui debuit, et coronatus qui meruit? Et adhuc dico: Bene utrumque fecit dulcis et rectus Dominus. Misericordiam et iudicium cantabo tibi, Domine. Cantet tibi misericordia, quam fecisti cum servo tuo Girardo; cantet et iudicium, quod nos portamus. In altero bonus, in altero iustus laudaberis. An solius laus bonitatis?

Est et iustitiae. Iustus es, Domine, et rectum iudicium tuum. Girardum tu dedisti, Girardum tu abstulisti: et si dolemus ablatum, non tamen obliviscimur quod datus fuit, et gratias agimus quod habere illum meruimus, quo carere in tantum non volumus, in quantum non expedit.

Recordor, Domine, pacti mei et miserationis tuae, ut magis iustificeris in sermonibus tuis, et vincas cum iudicaris. Cum pro causa Ecclesiae anno praeterito Viterbii essemus, aegrotavit ille, et invalescente languore, cum iam proxima videretur vocatio, ego aegerrime ferens comitem peregrinationis, et illum comitem in terra relinquere aliena, nec resignare his qui mihi cum commiserant, quoniam amabatur ab omnibus, sicut erat amabilis valde; conversus ad orationem cum fletu et gemitu: Exspecta, inquam, Domine, usque ad reditum. Restitutum amicis tolle iam eum, si vis, et non causabor. Exaudisti me, Deus: convaluit, opus perfecimus quod iniunxeras, redivimus cum exsultatione reportantes manipulos pacis. Porro ego oblitus pene sum meae conventionis, sed non tu. Pudet singultuum horum, qui praevaricationis me arguunt. Quid plura? Repetiisti commendatum, recepisti tuum.

Finem verborum indicunt lacrymae; tu illis, Domine, finem modumque indixeris.

Scripture echoes

  1. ↩Song.1.5 — I am dark and lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.
  2. ↩Song.1.5 — I am dark and lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.
  3. ↩Song.1.5 — I am dark and lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.
  4. ↩Heb.13.14 — For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the one that is coming.
  5. ↩1John.1.5 — And this is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all.
  6. ↩Ps.120.5 — Woe is me, for I have sojourned in Meshech; I have dwelt among the tents of Kedar.
  7. ↩Rom.7.24 — Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?
  8. ↩Song.1.5 — I am dark and lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.
  9. ↩Song.1.5 — I am dark and lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.
  10. ↩Ps.76.4 — There he shattered the flashing arrows, the shield and sword and battle. Selah.
  11. ↩1Sam.18.1;2Sam.1.26 — And when David had finished speaking to Saul, Jonathan's soul was knit to David's soul, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. 2Sam.1.26 — I am distressed for you, my brother Jonathan; you were very pleasant to me; your love to me was extraordinary, surpassing the love of women.
  12. ↩1Cor.6.17 — But the one who is joined to the Lord is one spirit with him.
  13. ↩1John.4.8 — The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love.
  14. ↩Gal.3.27 — For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.
  15. ↩1Cor.13.8 — Love never fails. But as for prophecies, they will be done away with; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will be done away with.
  16. ↩Ps.137.1 — By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, and we wept when we remembered Zion.
  17. ↩Isa.49.15 — Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.
  18. ↩Isa.49.15 — Can a woman forget her nursing child, that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.
  19. ↩Ps.37.30 — The mouth of the righteous utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks justice.
  20. ↩Isa.5.21 — Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, and shrewd in their own sight.
  21. ↩Jer.5.3 — O LORD, do Your eyes not look for faithfulness? You have struck them, but they felt no pain; You have consumed them, but they refused to accept correction. They have made their faces harder than rock; they have refused to return.
  22. ↩Job.9.34;Job.21.9 — Let him remove his rod from me, and let his terror not frighten me. Job.21.9 — Their houses are safe from fear, and the rod of God is not upon them.
  23. ↩2Tim.4.8 — From now on, there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on that day — and not only to me, but also to all who have loved his appearing.
  24. ↩Ps.75.8;Isa.51.17 — For God is the judge: he brings low one and lifts up another. Isa.51.17 — Awake, awake, stand up, O Jerusalem, you who have drunk from the hand of the LORD the cup of his wrath; the chalice of staggering you have drunk, you have drained.
  25. ↩Ps.147.1 — Praise the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for praise is delightful and fitting.
  26. ↩Hos.13.14 — From the hand of Sheol I will ransom them; from death I will redeem them. Where are your plagues, O Death? Where is your sting, O Sheol? Repentance shall be hidden from my eyes.
  27. ↩Luke.23.46;Ps.30.6 — And Jesus, crying out with a loud voice, said, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." Having said this, he breathed his last. Ps.30.6 — For His anger is but a moment; His favor, a lifetime. Weeping may lodge for the night, but joy comes with the morning.
  28. ↩1Sam.15.35;1Sam.16.1 — And Samuel did not see Saul again until the day of his death, for Samuel grieved over Saul, and the LORD regretted that he had made Saul king over Israel. 1Sam.16.1 — The LORD said to Samuel, "How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him from being king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil, and go; I will send you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have seen among his sons a king for myself."
  29. ↩Luke.19.41 — And as he drew near, when he saw the city, he wept over it,
  30. ↩John.11.35 — Jesus wept.
  31. ↩John.11.43-John.11.44 — And after he had said these things, he cried out with a loud voice, 'Lazarus, come out!' John.11.44 — The dead man came out, his feet and hands bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, 'Unbind him, and let him go.'

Notes

  1. 1 ↩reposuit: lemma uncertain between repo-no and repono, both yielding 'stored away / laid up.' Rendering follows the sense of something treasured and hidden by God.
  2. 2 ↩The 'sublime and sacred thing wrapped in hides' is a Christological reading of the 'skins of Solomon' — the divine majesty hidden under the lowly flesh.
  3. 3 ↩Qui scrutator est maiestatis, opprimetur a gloria — not found verbatim in Moses corpus; candidate proverb or echo of apocryphal/devotional tradition. Final resolution deferred.
  4. 4 ↩The correlative eo...quo construction ('the more...the more') is rendered with parallel comparative clauses to preserve the rhetorical force of growing confidence and growing attentiveness.
  5. 5 ↩moeror: lemma uncertain between moereor (to grieve) and mereo (to deserve/obtain); context favors the grieving sense.
  6. 6 ↩Girardo: proper name in uncertain case form (dat./abl. sg.?); sense uncertain. 'Superstitem' could mean 'surviving' or 'present as a witness.' The clause is rhetorically asking who could remain unmoved seeing the speaker survive while grieving.
  7. 7 ↩prae meo: the preposition prae with meo is syntactically uncertain. The translation reads it as 'beside my own [loss]' — i.e., compared to mine, it was not reckoned a misfortune. Alternative: 'because of my [loss].'
  8. 8 ↩addictio is a rare word; rendered here as 'pull' or 'hold' in the sense of an inward attachment or compulsion. The long ablative chain (addictione naturae… voluntate Domini) lists the forces restraining the speaker from giving way to grief.
  9. 9 ↩'Turbatus sum, et non sum locutus' — candidate scriptural quotation. Resembles Psalm 76:4 (Vulgate): 'Turbatus sum, et non sum locutus' (or similar). Final resolution deferred to tx-08 Moses resolution stage.
  10. 10 ↩eo… quo: the correlative construction eo/quo is read here as extent/result ('to the extent that / inasmuch as'). Alternative reading: ablative of means ('by which it was not permitted to go out').
  11. 11 ↩impassibilis/incompassibilis: Latin distinguishes God's inability to suffer (impassibilis) from God's compassionate solidarity (incompassibilis). Rendered 'unable to suffer / unable to share in suffering' to preserve the contrast without implying divine passibility.
  12. 12 ↩quamvis iam minime miser sis: the phrase is compressed. Rendered 'wretched though you now are in the least way' to capture both the concessive force of quamvis and the superlative force of minime miser.
  13. 13 ↩Affectus... non est imminutus, sed immutatus: the contrast is between reduction (imminutus) and change of kind (immutatus). Rendered 'not diminished but transformed' to capture both the quantitative and qualitative force.
  14. 14 ↩non oblivisceris me in finem: the final clause echoes Psalm 137:1 (Vulgate) 'in finem' language and the promise that love does not forsake. Rendered 'in the end' to preserve both temporal and eschatological resonance.
  15. 15 ↩The Latin affectu...detinebatur could also mean 'restrained by affection for the duty itself'; the rendering takes the restraint as coming from others' misplaced attachment to office, contrasting with the pure motivation of love.
  16. 16 ↩timor tuus rendered 'reverence for you' rather than 'fear of you' to capture the devotional sense of timor as reverential awe before God, not mere fright.
  17. 17 ↩The Latin 'non plus tangeret' is elliptical. Rendered to convey that the curse touches them all the more because, despite being less wise, they are still wise in their own eyes.
  18. 18 ↩Caro mea frames the relationship in terms of kinship/blood ties ('my flesh') rather than merely religious brotherhood; the concessive tamen signals the speaker is holding back a harsher judgment.
  19. 19 ↩Securus addo conveys confident, unguarded affirmation; prae omnibus may mean 'above all' or 'before all' in rank/usefulness.
  20. 20 ↩Merito ex eo pendebam totus conveys complete dependence; the imperfect pendebam suggests ongoing, habitual reliance.
  21. 21 ↩Provisoris refers to the one who provides/cares for others; the speaker retains the title while the other performs the actual labor.
  22. 22 ↩Sollicitudine here denotes the burden of care/anxiety of leadership; the contrast is between title and actual responsibility.
  23. 23 ↩Per quem licebat indicates the person as a channel or occasion of spiritual freedom and rest.
  24. 24 ↩Pinguior oratio ('richer/richer in substance prayer') and mens sobria ('sober mind') are paired as interior gifts; ferventior affectus closes the list with heightened devotional warmth.
  25. 25 ↩The quoted words are Psalm 148:1 (Vulgate 147:1), a call to praise from the heavens.
  26. 26 ↩Usurparis carries the paradox that death's domain is 'usurped' or 'appropriated' for the opposite purpose by Christ; rendered as 'taken over' to preserve the polemical force without archaism.
  27. 27 ↩The series of ad + accusative phrases is compressed and elliptical; the repeated 'usurparis' governs multiple objects, and the punctuation around 'porta inferi; et fovea perditionis' is rendered to reflect the layered apposition.
  28. 28 ↩Temeraria could modify potestatem ('reckless power') or function adverbially ('recklessly usurped'); rendered as an adjective modifying 'power' to keep the noun phrase concrete.
  29. 29 ↩Embedded quotation from Hosea 13:14 (Vulgate): 'O mors, ero mors tua; morsus tuus ero, inferne.' Candidate scripture allusion; final resolution deferred.
  30. 30 ↩Perforata agrees with mors (feminine) understood in the vocative; incauta is ambiguous between adverbial ('unguardedly') and adjectival ('incautious death'); rendered with 'greedily swallowed unguarded' to capture both the manner and the recklessness.
  31. 31 ↩Latum laetumque exitum: the -que attaches to laetum, linking 'broad' and 'joyful' as coordinate modifiers of exitum ('path/outcome'); rendered as 'a joyful path' with 'spread wide' capturing latum.
  32. 32 ↩Larvalis effigies: 'spectral image' or 'mask-like apparition'; rendered as 'spectral mask' to capture the sense that death's terrifying appearance is now emptied of real power.
  33. 33 ↩Per medias fauces tuas: literally 'through your midst of jaws/throat'; rendered as 'through the very jaws of your throat' to keep the visceral concrete image.
  34. 34 ↩Quotation of Luke 23:46 (and Psalm 30:6 Vulgate): 'Pater, in manus tuas commendo spiritum meum.' Candidate scripture allusion; final resolution deferred.
  35. 35 ↩Cum ergo supervenissem: temporal cum with pluperfect subjunctive ('when I had arrived/come upon the scene'); ergo adds an inferential connective. Rendered as 'When therefore I had come up' to preserve both the temporal and the logical force.
  36. 36 ↩The phrase 'et non ad iniuriam fidei, non in superni suggillationem iudicii' is rendered to preserve the double negative purpose clause: the speaker's grief does not injure faith nor serve as a reproach against God's judgment. The rare word suggillatio (mockery/insult) is resolved as 'mockery' in context.
  37. 37 ↩Quotation from 2 Samuel 18:33 (Vulgate): 'Absalom fili mi, fili mi Absalon.' The addition 'et ecce plus quam Absalon hic' is the preacher's own exclamation, intensifying the scriptural cry by comparing the present loss to David's.
  38. 38 ↩Allusion to Luke 19:41 — Jesus weeping over Jerusalem before its destruction.
  39. 39 ↩The ablative absolute 'compatiendo' and 'patiendo' frames the contrast: Christ wept while sympathizing (with others' suffering), and the speaker, who is himself suffering, questions why he should not dare to weep. The rhetorical force is that the speaker's own suffering gives him even more reason, not less.
  40. 40 ↩The Latin affectum is ambiguous between 'feeling/emotion' and 'disposition/inclination'; I render it as 'grief' to parallel dolentis, but the sense may extend to the mourner's entire emotional state. The ne-clause is final (negative purpose): the resurrection follows quickly so that grief isn't read as a deficiency of faith.

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