All that ye endure, my dear sisters, and all the good you ever do and all that you suffer is penance, and that, strong penance. It is all like martyrdom to you in so strict an order, for ye are night and day upon our Lord’s cross. Glad may ye ever be thereof. For, as St. Paul saith, As ye share with him in his suffering on earth, ye shall also share with him in his blessedness in heaven. “Wherefore,” St. Paul saith, “God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” All our joy must be in the cross of Jesus Christ. This saying belongs especially to anchoresses, whose joy ought to be wholly in our Lord’s cross. I will begin from a higher point, and so come down to this part of the subject. Now pay good attention, for it is nearly all from the Sentences of St. Bernard.

The elect of God on earth are of three kinds: one kind may be compared to good pilgrims, another to the dead, the third to men suspended voluntarily upon the cross of Jesus Christ. The first are good, the second are better, the third are best of all.

To the first St. Peter crieth earnestly and saith, “I beseech you, as strangers and pilgrims, that ye abstain from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul.” The good pilgrim holds always on his way straight forward; although he see or hear idle sports and wonders by the way, he doth not stop as fools do, but holds on his route, and hasteneth toward his inn where he is to lodge; neither doth he carry any treasure with him but barely for his expenses, nor garments either, except one which he needeth. These are holy men who, though they are in the world, are but in it as pilgrims, and by leading a good life go toward the kingdom of heaven, and say, with the Apostle, “We have no dwelling-place here, but we seek another dwelling-place;” and they are satisfied with the smallest accommodation possible, and neither have, nor make any account of any worldly pleasure, though they are in their journey through the world, as I said above of pilgrims, but they have their heart always heaven-ward. And they ought well to have it, for other pilgrims go with toil to seek a holy man’s bones, as of St. James, or St. Giles, but these pilgrims who go toward heaven go to be sainted, and to find God himself, and all his holy saints living in blessedness, and to live with them for ever in endless joy. Surely they find St. Juliań s inn, which wayfaring men diligently seek.

Now these are good, but the next are still better. For, although, as I said before, all pilgrims go ever forward, and do not become citizens in the world’s city, yet they are sometimes delighted with the things they see by the way, and stand still a while, though not altogether, and many things happen to them whereby they are hindered, so that, — the more is the harm —some come home late, some never. Who then are safer and more out of the world than pilgrims are? that is to say, than those men who have worldly things and love them not, but give them away as they come to them, and go unburdened and light, as pilgrims, toward heaven. Who are better than they? God knoweth! they are better to whom the Apostle saith in his epistle, “Ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ. When he that is your life appeareth and springeth as the dawn after the darkness of the night, ye also shall spring with him, brighter than the sun, into eternal blessedness, who now are thus dead.” Their course of life is nobler, for a pilgrim is subject to manifold evils. Though the dead lie unburied, and rot upon the ground, he is unconscious of it. Praise him, blame him, put him to shame by deed or word, all is equally agreeable to him. It is a happy death which thus removeth a man or a woman out of the world, while they are alive. And surely, she who is thus dead in herself, God liveth in her heart, for this is that which the Apostle saith, “I live, not I, but Christ liveth in me;” which is as if he said, Worldly speech, worldly sight, and every worldly thing findeth me dead; but whatsoever relates to Christ, that I see, and hear, and do as one who lives. Thus is every religious man and woman dead to the world, and alive in Christ. This is a high degree; but there is one still higher; and who stood ever in that? God knows he who said, “But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ; by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world.” This is what I said above, Christ shield me from having any delight in this world, but in Jesus Christ’s cross, my Lord, through whom the world is worthless to me, and I am worthless to it, as a man that is crucified. Ah, Lord! how high did he stand who spoke in this wise? And this is the anchoress’s degree, who should say thus, God forbid that I should glory, etc. In nothing let me delight but in God’s cross, that I suffer wrong and am accounted worthless, as God was on the cross. Observe, dear sisters, how this degree is higher than any of the others are. The pilgrim in the world’s way, though he is going forward toward the home of heaven, seeth and heareth sometimes vain things, and sometimes speaketh them. He is provoked to anger by wrongs, and many things may hinder him from pursuing his journey. The dead are no more conscious of reproach than of honour, of hard than of soft; for he feeleth neither, and therefore he earns neither sorrow nor joy. But he that is on the cross, and hath delight in it, turneth reproach to honour, and sorrow into joy, and earneth, therefore, a double reward. Such are they who are never glad-hearted except when they are suffering some grief or some reproach with Jesus on his cross; for this is the greatest happiness on earth when any one can, for the love of God, bear reproach and pain. Thus observe, that true anchoresses are not merely pilgrims, nor yet merely dead, but they are of the third class. For all their delight is to be suspended painfully and ignominiously with Jesus on his cross. They may sing gladly with the holy Church, “It behoves us to glory in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ;” that is, as I said before, whatever may be the case with others: they place their happiness, some in carnal pleasures, some in the deceitful vanities of the world, some in the evil that befalls others; but we must glory in the cross of Jesus Christ, that is, in the ignominy and pain that he endured on the cross. Many might be willing to suffer in some measure bodily hardships, and to be meanly accounted of, but not to endure ignominy. He is only in part upon God’s cross who is not ready to endure them both.

Contempt and ill usage; these two things, ignominy and pain, as St. Bernard saith, are the two arms of the ladder which reach up to heaven, and between those arms are fixed the staves or steps of all the virtues by which men climb up to the blessedness of heaven. And because David had the two arms of this ladder, though he was king, he climbed upward, and said boldly to our Lord, “Behold, and see my humility and my labour, and forgive me all my sins.” Mark well these two words which David joineth together—labour and humility: labour, in pain and grief, in anxiety and sorrow; humility, against the unjust ignominy which a man endures who is despised. “Behold in me both of these,” saith David the beloved of God, “I have these two arms of the ladder.” Leave behind me,” saith he, “and cast away from me all my offences,” that I may be lightened of their weight, and may mount up lightly to heaven by the arms of this ladder.

These two things, grief and ignominy, joined together, are Elijah’s wheels that were of fire, as we are told, and bore him up to Paradise, where he still liveth. Fire is hot and red. By the heat is meant every pain that hurts the flesh. Ignominy is meant by the redness; and it well may be so. They are here rolling like wheels that revolve quickly, and soon pass away. The same is also signified by the sword of the cherubim before the gates of Paradise, which was of flame and revolving and turning about. None come into Paradise but through this flaming sword, which was hot and red; and in Elijah’s chariot of fire, that is, through pain and ignominy, which turn round lightly and quickly pass away. And was not God’s cross coloured and reddened by his precious blood, to shew in himself that pain and sorrow and anguish should be stained with ignominy? Is it not written of himself, “He was obedient to his Father, not only to death, but to death on the cross”? In that he saith first “to death,” pain is to be understood; and in that he subjoins, “to death on the cross,” ignominy is meant; for such was God’s death on the

cross — painful and ignominious above all others. Whosoever dieth in God and on God’s cross must suffer these two things for him—ignominy and pain. I account it ignominy to be always reckoned contemptible, and to beg one’s food, if need be, like a vagabond, and to be another’s bedesman, as ye are, dear sisters, and often bear the arrogance of such as might be your bond servants. That of which I am speaking is blessed ignominy. Pain is not wanting in these two things, in which all penitence consists. Be happy and glad, for in requital of these two, twofold joys are prepared for you — in requital of ignominy, honour, and in requital of pain, happiness and rest without end. Isaiah saith, “They shall in their own land possess double joy for the double sorrow that they endure here.” Upon the Epistle of St. James, for, as “the bad have no lot in heaven, nor have the good any lot on earth,” in their own land they shall enjoy happiness — two kinds of reward for twofold sorrow. As if he had said, “Think it no marvel though they suffer here as in a strange land, and in a strange soil, among foreigners, both shame and sorrow; for so doth many a nobleman who is a stranger in a foreign land.” Men must endure toil abroad, and enjoy rest at home. And is not he a foolish knight who seeketh rest in the combat, and repose in the lists? “All this life here on earth is as a fight,” as Job witnesseth; but after this fight here, if we fight well, honour and repose await us at home, in our own land, which is the kingdom of heaven. Observe, now, with what certainty our Lord himself saith, “When I sit to judge, ye shall sit with me, and judge with me all the world, which shall be judged, kings and emperors, knights and clerks.” St. Bernard. By the sitting, rest and ease is signified, in opposition to the toil that is in this world, and by the honour of the judgment which they shall judge is to be understood the most honourable dignity, in opposition to the shame and humiliation which they patiently endure here for the love of God.

Now, then, there is nothing for us but to suffer gladly; for it is written of God himself, “Through ignominious pain he came to the glory of a blessed resurrection.” It is no marvel, therefore, if we wretched sinners suffer pains here, if we would arise joyfully at the day of judgment; and this we may do, through His grace, if we earnestly desire it. This is St. Paul’s saying, who speaketh always so well. “If we be planted to the likeness of God’s death, we shall be planted to the likeness of his resurrection that is to say, if we live in ignominy and pain through love of him, in which two he died, we shall be like him in his joyful resurrection — our body bright as his is, world without end, as St. Paul testifieth, “We look for the Saviour, who shall change our vile body that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body.” Let others adorn their body who run on beforehand; and let us wait for our Saviour, who shall adorn ours after the fashion of his own. “If we suffer with him, we shall be in bliss with him.” Is not this a good covenant? Christ knows he is not a good nor a trusty partner who will not take part in the loss, as well as afterwards in the profit. Gloss: “God shed his blood for all men, but it is efficacious to them only who abstain from carnal pleasure, and mortify themselves.” And is that any wonder? Is not God our head, and all we his members, and is not every member pained when the head is in pain? His member, then, he is not who hath no ache under such a painfully aching head. When the head sweats well, is it not an evil sign of the member that doth not sweat? He who is our head did sweat the sweat of blood for our sickness, and to heal us of that epidemic disease in which all lands lay, and in which many are still lying. That member, therefore, which doth not sweat in laborious suffering fir love of him, God knows, remaineth in its sickness; and there is nothing to be done but to cut it off, though it seem painful to God; for a finger off is better than one always aching. Now, doth he please God who thus dismembers him of himself, because he is unwilling to sweat? St. Mary have mercy! It was necessary, we are told, “that Christ should endure pain and suffering, and thus have entrance into his kingdom.” Observe well what he saith, “thus have entrance into his kingdom.” Thus, and no otherwise! And we wretched sinners would mount up with ease to heaven, which is so high above us, and of such excellent worth! And yet we cannot, without labour, erect a little cottage; nor obtain a pair of shoes with thongs without buying them! Either we, who think that we may buy everlasting joy for a mere trifle, are fools, or the blessed saints are, who bought it so dear. Were not St. Peter and St. Andrew, for that cause, extended on the cross, and St. Lawrence on the gridiron; and had not innocent maidens their paps cut off, and were whirled on wheels, and beheaded? But our folly is evident; and they were like those artful children of rich parents who purposely tear their clothes that they may have new ones. Our old kirtle is the flesh, which we have from Adam, our old father; we shall receive the new from God, our rich Father, in the resurrection on the day of judgment, when our flesh shall shine brighter than the sun, because it is now torn here with tribulation and distress. Of them who tear their kirtle in this manner, Isaiah saith, “A people dismembered and torn, a terrible people, shall make of themselves a gift to our Lord.” A people dismembered and torn with a hard and austere life he calleth a terrible people. For the fiend is afraid and terrified of such; and because Job was such he complained of him and said, “He will give skin for skin, the old for the new.” As if he had said, “I shall gain nothing by attacking him, for he is one of the torn people, who tears his old kirtle, and rendeth the old cloak of his mortal skin.” For that skin is immortal which in the new resurrection shall shine seven times brighter than the sun. Ease and carnal enjoyment are the devil’s marks. When he sees these marks in man or woman he knows that the castle is his, and goeth boldly in where he sees such banners erected as are usual in a castle. But, in the torn people, he misseth his marks, and among them he seeth God’s banner erected, which is a hard life, which the devil is much afraid of, as Isaiah testifieth.

“My dear sir,” some one may say, “is it wisdom now for a man or woman thus to afflict themselves?” Do thou also answer me this: Of two men, both of whom are sick, which is the wiser? The one abstains from all the things that he desires, both meat and drink, and drinketh bitter sabraz, in order to recover his health; the other followeth all his inclinations, and feedeth his lusts, contrary to his sickness, and soon loseth his life. Whether of these two is wiser? Which is the better friend to himself? Which of them loveth himself more? And who is there that is not sick of sin? For our sickness, God drank a poisonous drink upon the cross. And will not we taste any bitter remedy for ourselves? It must not be so. It is not so. His follower must surely follow him in his sufferings, with bodily pain. Let no one think that he can ascend to the stars with luxurious ease.

“Now, sir,” some one saith again, and will God avenge himself so severely upon sin? Yes, O man, or woman, for consider now how greatly he hateth it. How would a man beat the thing itself if he found it, who for his great hatred of it beat the shadow, and every thing that had any resemblance to it? How bitterly did God the Father Almighty beat his dear Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who never did any sin, but merely because he bore flesh like our flesh, that is full of sin! And shall we be spared who bear upon us his Son’s death — the weapons that slew him, which were our sins? And he who had no sin, but only the shadow of it, was in that shadow so ignominiously punished, and so wofully tormented, that before it carne to this, when it was only threatening him, he prayed for mercy from his Father. “I feel great horror,” saith our Lord, “at the prospect of my sufferings. My Father, if now it be possible, spare me at this time; nevertheless Thy will and not mine be ever fulfilled.” His dear Father did not on that account forbear, but laid on him so bitterly that he began to cry with a sorrowful voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,” “My God, my God, my dear Father! hast thou altogether cast me off?” me, thine only Son, that thou beatest me thus severely? Yet, for all this, he left not off, but beat him so long and so very fiercely that he died on the cross. Saith Isaiah, “thus our beating fell upon him,” for he placed himself between us and his Father, who was threatening to smite us, as the mother who is full of pity placeth herself between her child and the angry stern father when he is about to beat him. Thus did our Lord Jesus Christ. He met the death-blow himself, to shield us thereby, thanked be his mercy! Where a great blow is given, it reboundeth again, upon those who stand nigh. Truly, whosoever is nigh him who met the heavy blows, they will rebound upon him, and he will never complain; because this is the proof that he stands nigh him, and the rebounding stroke is very easy to bear out of love to him who received such heavy blows to protect us from the devil’s staff in the pains of hell.

Still, saith many a one, “What is God profited though I afflict myself for his love?” Dear man, or woman, God is pleased with our good. Our good is that we do what we ought. Pay attention to this example. If a man had travelled a long way, and some one came and told him that his dear wife was grieving so much for him that she had no pleasure in any thing without him, but for thinking of his love was become lean and pallid; would it not please him better than if it were told him that she was merry and sportive, and had wedded another man, and was living in pleasure? Even so our Lord, who is the soul’s husband, and seeth all that she doth, though he sits on high, is full well pleased that she longeth for him, and will hasten to her so much the sooner, with the gift of his grace, or he will go and bring her to him once for all, to glory without end.

Let not any one handle herself too gently, lest she deceive herself. She will not be able, for her life, to keep herself pure, nor to maintain herself aright in chastity without two things, as Saint Ailred wrote to his sister. The one is, giving pain to the flesh by fasting, by watching, by flagellations, by wearing coarse garments, by a hard bed, with sickness, with much labour. The other thing is the moral qualities of the heart, as devotion, compassion, mercy, pity, charity, humility, and other virtues of this kind. “Sir,” thou answerest me, “doth God sell his grace? Is not grace a free gift? “My dear sisters, although purity is not bought of God, but is given freely, ingratitude resisteth it, and renders those unworthy to possess so excellent a thing who will not cheerfully submit to labour for it. Amidst pleasures and ease, and carnal abundance, who was ever chaste? Who ever carried fire within her that did not burn? Shall not a pot that boileth rapidly be emptied of some of the water, or have cold water cast into it, and the burning fuel withdrawn? The pot of the belly that is always boiling with food, and especially with drink, is so nigh a neighbour to that ill-disciplined member that it imparts to it the fire of its heat. Yet many anchoresses, more is the harm, are of such fleshly wisdom, and so exceedingly afraid lest their head ache, and lest their body should be too much enfeebled, and are so careful of their health, that the spirit is weakened and sickeneth in sin, and they who ought alone to heal their soul, with contrition of heart and mortification of the flesh, become physicians and healers of the body. Did Saint Agatha so? who answered and said to our Lord’s messenger who brought her salve to heal her breasts, “Fleshly medicine I never applied to myself.”

And have ye never heard the story of the three holy men, of whom one was wont, for his cold stomach, to use hot spices, and was more interested about meat and drink than the other two, who, even if they were sick, took no heed of what was wholesome and what was unwholesome to eat or to drink, but always took directly whatever God sent them, nor ever made much ado about ginger, or valerian, or cloves? One day, when the three were fallen asleep, and the third, of whom I spoke above, lay between these two, the Queen of Heaven came, and two maidens with her, one of whom bare what seemed an electuary, the other bare a spoon of good gold. Our Lady took some of it with the spoon, and put it into the mouth of one, and the maidens passed on to the middlemost. “Nay,” said our Lady, “he is his own physician, go over to the third.” A holy man stood not far off and beheld all this. When a sick man hath at hand any thing that will do him good, he may piously use it; but to be so anxious about it is not pleasing to God, and especially for one of such a religious profession to be anxious is not pleasing to God. God and his disciples speak of the art of healing the soul; Hippocrates and Galen of the health of the body. He who was the most learned of the disciples of Jesus Christ, saith that “the wisdom of the flesh is the death of the soul.” “We smell the battle afar off,” as Job saith. Thus we often dread a bodily disease before it come. The soul disease attacks us and we bear it, to escape from the bodily disease, as if it were better to endure the fire of lust than headache, or the grumbling of a disordered stomach. And which of these two is better, in sickness to be a free child of God, than in bodily health to be a bond-servant under sin?

And I do not say this as if wisdom and discretion were not always joined. Wisdom is the mother and the nurse of all virtues; but we often call that wisdom which is not wisdom. For it is true wisdom to prefer the health of the soul to that of the body; and when we cannot have them both together, to choose bodily hurt rather than, by too powerful temptations, the destruction of the soul. We are told that Nicodemus brought for the anointing of our Lord an hundred pounds of myrrh and of aloes, which are bitter spices, and betoken toilsome labour, and mortification of the flesh. A hundred is a complete number and denotes perfection, that is, a complete work, to signify that we ought to perfect the mortification of the flesh as far as may reasonably be endured. By the weight is signified discretion and wisdom—that every man should weigh with wisdom what he is able to do, and not be so exceedingly spiritual as to neglect the body, nor, on the other hand, so indulgent to the body that it might become disorderly, and make the spirit its servant. Now most of what has just been said is concerning external bitterness. Let us now say something of bitterness internal; for, of these two bitternesses ariseth sweetness, even in this world, and not in heaven only.

As I said just now that Nicodemus brought ointments wherewith to anoint our Lord, even so the three Marys brought precious spices wherewith to anoint his body. Take good heed now, my dear sisters: these three Marys denote three bitternesses; for this name, Mary, meaneth bitterness, as do Mararaht and Merariht, of which I have already spoken. The first bitterness is remorse and making amends for sin, when the sinner is first converted to our Lord. This is to be understood by the first Mary, Mary Magdalene; and with good reason, for she, in great remorse and in great bitterness of heart, left off her sins and turned to our Lord. But because some through too much bitterness might fall into despair, Magdalene, which signifieth the height of a tower, is likened (lit, joined) to Mary, by which is signified hope of great mercy, and of the joy of heaven. The second bitterness is in wrestling and struggling against temptations, and this bitterness is denoted by the other Mary, Mary the mother of Jacob; for Jacob meaneth wrestler. This wrestling is very bitter to many who are well advanced in the way to heaven, because they still sometimes waver in temptations, which are the devil’s casts, against which they must wrestle with vigorous efforts. For, as St. Austin saith, Pharaoh when despised was roused to punish the affront. As long as the people of Israel were in Egypt in subjection to Pharaoh, he never led an army against them. But when they fled from him, then he pursued them with all his forces. Wherefore it is necessary always to fight bitterly against Pharaoh, that is, against the devil. For, as Ezekiel saith, “Thou shalt flee from blood, and blood shall pursue thee.” Flee from sin, and sin will always follow after thee. It has been sufficiently shewn above how the good man is never safe from all temptations. As soon as he hath overcome one, he immediately meets with another. The third bitterness consists in longing for heaven, and weariness of this world, when one is of such exalted piety that his heart is at rest with regard to the war against vice, and he is, as it were, in the gates of heaven, and all worldly things seem bitter to him. And this bitterness is to be understood by Mary Salome, the third Mary. For Salome signifieth peace, and they who have peace and the repose of a pure conscience, have in their heart bitterness of this life, which detains them from blessedness which they long for, and from God whom they love. Thus we see that in every state bitterness prevails: first, in the beginning, when we are reconciled to God — in the progress of a good life — and in the last end. Who, then, is on God’s side who desireth in this world ease or abundance?

But now, observe here, my dear sisters, how after bitterness cometh sweetness. Bitterness buyeth it, for, as the Gospel saith, those three Marys bought sweet-smelling spices, to anoint our Lord with. By spices, which are sweet, is to be understood the sweetness of a devout heart. Those three Marys buy it, that is, through bitterness we arrive at sweetness. By this name, Mary, always understand bitterness. Through Mary’s request and entreaty at the marriage, water was changed to wine, which is thus to be understood, that, through the prayer of bitterness that we suffer here for God, the heart, which was watery, tasteless, and felt no savour of God, no more than of water, shall then be changed to wine, that is, that heart shall find a taste in him sweet above all wines. Wherefore, saith the wise man, “The patient man bears that which is bitter for a while, because he shall soon afterwards have a return of joy.” And Anna, in Tobias, saith of our Lord, “Blessed be thou, O Lord, who makest a calm after a storm, and after weeping and tears bestowest mirth and joy.” Solomon saith, “If thou hungerest after the sweet, thou must first, surely, eat of the bitter.” In the Canticles, “I will go,” saith God’s dear spouse, “to the hill of frankincense by the mountain of myrrh.” Observe: Which is the way to the sweetness of frankincense? By the myrrh of bitterness. And again in the same love-book: “Who is she that goeth up by the desert, as a pillar of smoke of aromatical spices, of myrrh and frankincense? “Aromatic spices are composed of myrrh, and of frankincense. And myrrh he placeth before, and frankincense cometh after. “Of aromatical spices, myrrh and frankincense.” Now, some one complaineth that she cannot have sweetness — neither of God nor sweetness within. Let her not wonder, if she is not Mary; for she must buy it with bitterness without; but not with every bitterness, for some causeth to go away from God, as every worldly pain which is not for the health of the soul. Wherefore, in the Gospel it is written of the three Marys in this manner, “That coming, they might anoint Jesus, but not going.” These three Marys, it is said, that is, these bitternesses, were coming to anoint our Lord. Those sufferings are coming to anoint our Lord which we endure for his sake. He stretcheth himself toward us as a thing that is anointed, and maketh himself tender and soft to handle.

And was he not himself shut up in the maiden’s womb? These two things belong to an anchoress, narrowness and bitterness. For a womb is a narrow dwelling, where our Lord was shut up. And this word Mary, as has often been said, signifieth bitterness. If ye, then, in a narrow place endure bitterness, ye are like him— shut up, as he was in Mary’s womb. Then, do ye, in a narrow place, endure bitterness, as he did in Mary’s womb, when ye are confined within four large walls, and he in a narrow cradle — nailed to the cross — and in a tomb of stone closely confined. Mary’s womb and this tomb were his anchorite houses, and in neither was he a man of this world, but, as it were, out of the world, to shew anchoresses that they ought to have nothing in common with the world. “Nay,” thou answerest me and sagest, “but our Lord went out of both.” Nay, go thou also out of both thine anchoress houses, as he did, without breaking out, and leave them both whole. That shall be when the spirit goeth out at last, without breach and without blemish, from his two houses. The one is the body, the other is the external house, which is as the outward wall about the castle.

All that I have said concerning the mortification of the flesh is not for you, my dear sisters, who, upon some occasions, suffer more than I could wish, but it is for some one who will give this advice readily enough, who nevertheless handleth herself too softly. Men fence round with thorns young trees, lest beasts should gnaw them while they are tender. Ye are young trees planted in God’s orchard. Thorns are the hardships which I have spoken of, and it is necessary for you that ye be fenced around with them, that the beast of hell, when he comes sneaking towards you to bite you, may hurt himself upon the hardness, and slink away from you. With all this hardness, be glad if ye are little spoken of, and if ye are disesteemed, for a thorn is sharp and disesteemed. With these two things be ye encompassed. Ye ought not to let any evil word proceed from you, for scandal is a mortal sin; and ye ought to let no evil word proceed from you any more than from the dead. And be glad in your heart if ye suffer insolence from Slurry, the cook’s boy, who washeth dishes in the kitchen. Then are ye mountains exalted to heaven; for consider how the lady speaketh in that sweet love-book; “My love cometh,” she saith, “leaping on the mountains, leaping over the hills.” Mountains betoken those that lead the highest life, hills are the lower.

Now, she saith that her love leapeth on the hills (mountains), that is, treadeth upon them, and defileth them, and suffereth them to be trodden upon, and chastises them sharply: sheweth in them the footmarks upon his own person, in which men trode upon him, and they find how he was trodden upon, as the footmarks upon him shew. These are the high mountains, like the mountain of Μοntjoye and the mountains of Armenia. The hills, which are lower, which as the lady saith herself (himself) overleapeth, and doth not trust in them so much, on account of their weakness; because they could not bear to be so trodden upon, and therefore she (he) overleapeth them, and hath patience with them, and avoideth them until they be waxen higher, from hills to mountains. His shadow, however, passeth over and covereth them while he leapeth over them, that is, he layeth upon them some resemblance of his life on earth, as if it were his shadow. But the mountains receive the footmarks of himself, and exhibit in their life what manner of life he led — how and where he went—in how abject a condition—and in what pain he led his life on earth. Such a mountain was the good Paul, who said, “We are cast down, but we perish not; always bearing about in our body the mortification of Jesus, that the life also of Jesus may be made manifest in our bodies.”

“We suffer,” saith St. Paul, “all pain and all shame.” But it is our happiness that we bear in our body the likeness of Jesus Christ’s death, that it may be shewn in us of what nature was his life on earth. God knoweth! they that act thus prove their love towards our Lord. “Lowest thou me? Shew it; for love will shew itself by outward acts.” St. Gregory saith. “The proof of love is the manifestation of its effect.” Nothing is ever so hard that love doth not make tender, and soft, and sweet. “Love maketh all things easy.” What do men and women endure for false love! and would endure more! And what is more to be wondered at is, that the love which is faithful and true, and sweeter than any other love may not overmaster us so much as doth sinful love! Yet, I know a man who weareth at the same time both a heavy cuirass and haircloth, bound with iron about the middle too, and his arms with broad and thick bands, so that to bear the sweat of it is severe suffering; he fasteth, he watcheth, he laboureth, and, Christ knoweth, he complaineth and saith that it doth not oppress him, and often asks me to teach him something wherewith he might give his body pain. God knoweth, yet he, the most sorrowful of men, weepeth to me and saith that God hath quite forgotten him, because he sendeth him no great sickness. Whatever is bitter seems sweet to him for our Lord’s sake. God knoweth, love doth this, because, as he often saith to me, he could never love God the less for any evil thing that He might do to him, even were he to cast him into hell with those who perish. And if any man confidently believe any such thing of him, he is more confounded than a thief taken with his theft. I know also a woman of like mind who suffereth little less. And what remains but to thank God for the strength that he giveth them? And let us humbly acknowledge our own weakness, and love their merit, and thus it becomes our own. “For,” as St. Gregory saith, “love is of so great power that it maketh the merit of others our own without labour.” I think we are now come to the seventh part, which is all of love, which maketh a pure heart.

xcxxcxxc  F ” “ This Webpage was created for a workshop held at Saint Andrew's Abbey, Valyermo, California in 1990....x....  ’ “”.