Passages from Medieval Sermons. 41 house alone escaped, known by the scarlet thread, type of the blood of Jesus, and that was the house of a harlot. "Gideon went against the Midianites with thirty-two thousand men. The host of Midian was without number, as the sand of the sea-side for multitude. How many of these thirty-two thousand men did God suffer Gideon to lead into victory? Three hundred only. Many, even thirty-two thousand men, were called; three hundred chosen. "Type and figure this of the many enrolled into the Church's army, of whom so few go on to 'fight the good fight of faith.' "Of the tribes of Israel twelve men only were chosen to be apostles; and of those twelve, one was a traitor, one doubtful, one denied His Master, all forsook Him. "How many rulers were there among the Jews when Christ came; but one only went to Him, and he by night! "How many rich men were there when our blessed Lord walked this earth? but one only ministered unto Him, and he only in His burial. "How many peasants were there in the country when Christ went to die? but one only was deemed worthy to bear His cross, and he bore it by constraint. "How many thieves were there in Judaa when Christ was there? but one only entered Paradise, and he was converted in his last hour. "How many centurions were there scattered over the province and one only saw and believed, and he by cruelly piercing the Saviour's side. "How many harlots were there in that wicked and adulterous generation? but one only washed His feet with tears, and wiped them with the hair of her head. Truly 'Many are called, but few are chosen." ST BERNARD-A.D. 1091-1153. St Bernard stands out by far the most conspicuous preacher of the middle ages. He was born of noble parentage, at Fontaines, near Dijon, in Burgundy. He was the St Chrysostom of his age; but, if possible, more picturesque and vehement. Like St Chrysostom and St Augustine, he owed much to his mother, named Alice. He was a sort of Elijah, bold, austere, uncompromising; ready to persecute and slay to the uttermost those who differed from him, and at the same time discoursing on the Song of Solomon with almost feminine softness. He denounced the frailties of churchmen and laity alike with unsparing hand. The following passages may be taken as specimens of his style. Mark how he satirizes :— The Gluttony, Vanity, and Hypocrisy of Cluniac Monks. "Who could say, to speak of nothing else, in how many forms eggs are cooked and worked up? with what care they are turned in and out, made hard or soft, or chopped fine; now fried, now roasted, now stuffed; now they are served mixed with other things, now by themselves; even the external appearance of the dishes is such that the eye, as well as the taste, is charmed; and when even the stomach complains that it is full, curiosity is still alive. So also what shall I say about water-drinking, when even wine and water is despised? We, all of us, it appears, directly we become monks, are afflicted with weak stomachs, and the important advice of the apostle to use wine, we, in a praiseworthy manner, endeavour to follow; St Bernard's Sermons. 43 but for some unexplained reason, the condition of a little is usually omitted. . . . "You say, religion is in the heart; true, but when you are about to buy a cowl you rush over to the towns, visit the markets, examine the fairs, dive into the houses of the merchants, turn over all their goods, undo their bundles of cloth, feel it with your fingers, hold it to your eyes, or to the rays of the sun, and if anything coarse or faded appears, you reject it; but if you are pleased with any object of unusual beauty or brightness, you buy it, whatever the price. Does this come from your heart, or your simplicity? I wonder that our abbots allow these things, unless it arises from the fact, that no one is apt to blame any error with confidence, if he cannot trust to his own freedom from the same. 66 Again, with our bellies full of beans, and our minds of pride, we condemn those who are full of meat, as if it were not better to eat a little fat on occasion than to be gorged, even to belching, with windy vegetables. "The church's walls are resplendent, but the poor are not there. . . . . . The curious find wherewith to amuse themselves; the wretched find no stay for them in their misery. Why, at least, do we not reverence the images of the saints, with which the very pavement we walk on is covered? Often an angel's mouth is spit into, and the face of some saint trodden on by the passers-by. . . . . But if we cannot do without the images, why can we not spare the brilliant colours? What has all this to do with monks, with professors of poverty, with men of spiritual minds? .... 66 Again, in the cloisters, what is the meaning of those ridiculous monsters, of that deformed beauty, that beautiful deformity, before the very eyes of the brethren when 44 St Bernard's Sermons. reading? What are disgusting monkeys there for, or ferocious lions, or horrible centaurs, or spotted tigers, or fighting soldiers, or huntsmen sounding the bugle? You may see there one head with many bodies, or one body with numerous heads. Here is a quadruped with a serpent's tail; there is a fish with a beast's head; there a creature, in front a horse, behind a goat; another has horns at one end, and a horse's tail at the other. In fact, such an endless variety of forms appears everywhere, that it is more pleasant to read in the stonework than in books, and to spend the day in admiring those oddities than in meditating on the law of God. Good God! if we are not ashamed of these absurdities, why do we not grieve at the cost of them ?" The following gem belongs to another style of thought and emotion. To feel it fully, one should wander alone in the deep embowering woods which surround the ruins. of Fountain's Abbey, in Yorkshire, undisturbed by vulgar tourists and insatiable guides. The imagination, kindling in the hushed and haunted groves, should go back to the time when the stillness and dimness that precede the dawn were broken by the voices of the brethren at matins, and the dim light of the tapers twinkling through the storied windows of the convent chapel. We should behold in vision some old hermit, once a mighty manslayer, illfamed for the dishonour of women and the lust of blood, now winning barren lands, subduing them for the husbandman, and himself turned to the Lord with full purpose of heart. He kneels devoutly on his knees as the bell summons the brethren. He is now ready to be offered. is worn down with fasting and penitences, the time of his departure is at hand. Some MSS., traced in artistic and He St Bernard's Sermons. 45 reverent devices by the scriptores of the cloister, lie before him. He opens one and peruses the burning words of the great founder and master of his order, translating into intelligible vocables the yearning of that hermit's "But who can grasp the magnitude of delight comprehended in that short word? God will be all in all. Not to speak of the body, I perceive three things in the soulreason, will, memory; and these three make up the soul. How much each of these in this present world lacks of completion and perfectness, is felt by every one who walketh in the Spirit. Wherefore is this, except because God is not yet all in all? Therefore it is that our reason falters in judgment, that our will is feeble and distracted, that our memory confounds us by its forgetfulness. We are subjected unwillingly to this threefold weakness, but hope abides. For He who fills with good things the desires of the soul, He himself will be to the reason the fulness of light; to the will, the abundance of peace; to the memory, the unbroken smoothness of eternity. O truth! O charity! O eternity! O blessed and blessing Trinity to Thee my miserable trinity miserably groans, while it is in exile from Thee. Departing from Thee, in what errors, griefs, and fears is it involved! what a trinity have we exchanged Thee away! My heart is disturbed, and hence my grief; my strength has forsaken me, and hence my fear; the light of my eyes is not with me, and hence my error. O trinity of my soul! what a changed trinity dost thou show me in mine exile! Alas, for "But why art thou cast down, O my soul! and why art |