Saint Bernard On Consideration

S/. Reward sympathizes ivtt/j the “Pope in his many cares

i . Well, then, where shall I begin? I prefer to begin with your occupations, because it is in these that I most chiefly share your sorrow. Share, 1 say, for I take it for granted that you have sorrow; otherwise I ought rather to have said ‘I sorrow’, since where there is no sorrow one cannot share it. Accordingly, if you grieve, I grieve with you; if you do not, still I grieve, and deeply, because I know that the member which is past feeling is all the farther from health, and that the sick man who is unconscious of his sickness is in the more dangerous condition. But God forbid that I should have any such suspicion about you. I know how keenly, not long ago, you used to enjoy the luxury of a quiet life. You cannot so soon have changed your habits; you cannot all at once extinguish your regret for the pleasures so recently taken from you. The fresh wound must be painful. The wound has not already hardened, or in so short a time become past feeling. However this may be, unless you dissemble, your daily losses are sufficient reason for continual grief. If I am not mistaken, you are reluctantly torn from the embraces of your Rachel, and as often as that befalls you your sorrow must be renewed. But when does that not happen? How often do you wish, and in vain? How often do you move, but not move forward? How often do you attempt, and without result? strive, and do not obtain? How often are you in labour, and do not bring forth? venture out to sea, but drift away? where you begin, there make an end? Just as you are beginning to grow, do they not cut you down? ‘The children have come to the birth/ saith the prophet, ‘and there is not strength to bring forth.’ Do you know this? No one better. You are a man of shameless face, and like the heifer, Ephraim, have learnt to love treading out the corn, if, with your consent, things go thus with you. God forbid! This is the portion of him who is given over to a reprobate sense. I certainly long for you to have peace away from these, not in their company. There is nothing I dread more for you than that peace. Do you wonder if such peace could ever be yours? Yes, I tell you, if, as mostly happens, habit passes into heedlessness.