Letter CCXXXIII. To John, Abbot of Bu/AY, who had Left his Abbey and Betaken Himself to Solitude
Bernard kindly recalls him from his retirement.1
To his beloved son JOHN, Brother BERNARD entreats that he walk in the Spirit, and not lay aside fear of the Lord.
1. I cannot say with what bitterness of soul, and sorrow of heart I write to you, dear John, now that I see that I gain nothing by all that I have written, and that my words have no effect upon you. I have written once and again, if I mistake not; and because of my sins my labour has brought me no answer. Now a third time I sow my seed, with prayer to Almighty God, that it may not return to me empty, but may prosper, do that for which I send it forth, and rejoice me at some time or other with the fruit of your obedience and salvation. If you listen to me, nay, rather, if God listen to me, I shall have gained my son. If not 1 will turn me again to my wonted arms, viz., prayers and tears, not against you, but for you. I have mourned, I still mourn, and draw deep sighs from the bottom of my heart for my offspring. Who will grant to me that you as my brother shall again suck the breasts of my mother? Who will recall you for me into that quietness of mind, that community of life, that fellowship of spirit, and tranquillity of conscience which once kept you fast bound to us?
2. And, it anything on my side is causing you loss or keeping you back, I ask you not to doubt that that report is false, which I hear you have been made to believe by some false tongues or other; viz., that I, without any reason or trial, was thinking of removing you from the care of the souls of your brethren that I had entrusted to you. This is not true; but in a word or two hear what is. Even if I had wished to do this, it would not have been lawful; and if it had been lawful (I speak on my conscience) I should never have wished it. This is the truth. If, then, this was the only reason why your heart has been turned, now that the truth has been made known, what remains but that you regain your wisdom, return to yourself, return to me, and moreover condemn yourself for your hastiness and thoughtless cruelty? For if one accursed suspicion had such power to alienate you, and cast you down headlong, how much more power now ought absolute certainty to have to set you up again, and bring you back to us! It would be disgraceful to you if you could be seduced by falsehood, and could not be brought back by truth. You may perhaps be forgiven for having yielded for a time to a disguised falsehood, but now that it has been found out and laid bare, it would be to your shame if you are not greatly angry at it, to say nothing of still giving it credence. Therefore, be angry and sin not, unless you wish me, or rather God, to be angry. For as to that which you have lost, it deserves our pity rather than our indignation. Of course you are a man, making your own way, like the whole human race, across this great and wide sea2 wherein are things creeping innumerable. Who can boast that while on it he is never driven by winds, nor tossed by the waves? You know that you have been shipwrecked by them, that you have fallen amongst false brethren. I repeat it, this is the truth. You have been deceived, and a lying spirit in the mouth of false prophets has beguiled you.
3. But now falsehood has been dispersed by the bright beams of the risen truth. If, which God forbid, you still persist in your obstinacy, I will not in the meanwhile judge you; there is One that seeketh and judgeth. But I spare you, hiding my indignation, and delaying to come to you with a rod. Further, I will endeavour, if I can, to draw you by compassion and a spirit of meekness; for I feel that I am more familiar with that, and I do not doubt that it will more easily gain you. I will not indeed delay to unsheath against you that sword which lies hidden in my well-nigh motherly breast, viz., a continuous sorrow in my heart, and frequent lamentations to God for you until you come back. But if, according to your hardness and impenitent heart, you turn aside all the blows of this sword so lovingly striking you, yet it cannot be but that at some time or other your soul will say, " I am wounded with love." For now it is not only truth, but also charity, which shall set me free. But what am I saying? How, unhappy that3 am, how shall I be free when my heart is bleeding from the loss of my son? My affection shall not rest though no effect follow; my grief shall not be appeased; my tears shall not cease. I will show myself to you while I live like another Samuel; be not to me another Saul. I will pray you, I will pray for you, that you return. Come to me, come before 1 die, that I, who loved you in life, in death may not be separated from you.
Footnotes
Chapter 233 of 491