Just as the Lord, by the necessity of the office we have undertaken, demands of us the duty of speaking, so also He requires of you, dearly beloved, the disposition of hearing. It is (I say) to your charity's advantage to obey the things we say for your salvation, just as it lies upon us not to be silent. For if we fear offence from silence, how much more ought you to dread it from contempt? If, I say, it is a grave peril for us not to reprove the sins of others, how much more perilous is it to be unwilling to correct one's own? The blessed Apostle says in a certain place: 'See your calling, brethren' (1 Cor. 1). Wherefore, most beloved, let us too see our calling.
For it does not profit enough that we have sought out this place, if we are such as we could have been in the world. For if we look well, not only does this solicitude constrain us to the necessity of perfection, but the very multitude of the congregation binds us. For just as it is precious and excellent, when placed in the midst of many, to act well and to incite very many to the advancement of good work, so it is perilous and pernicious, by acting more negligently, to break the faith of many and to corrupt the souls of many. Just as, I say, it is fruitful, when placed in the midst of many, to live commendably, so it is perilous to have done anything of destruction. But why do I say this?
Because we more easily find what is worse, and we pursue the things that are baser rather than those that are better. For human frailty is prone to the imitation of evil. Wherefore let us not believe it sufficient for us that we perceive ourselves gathered onto this island (in this school), because the perfection we have professed the more vehemently condemns our negligences—which it condemns even in those who have not taken it up. For, according to the faith of Scripture, of those to whom much is entrusted, much needs to be required. O to how many the opportuneness of this place and the occasion of a fitting dwelling will profit, and to how many, on the contrary, it will harm! For in this place it is not to have spoken well that is praiseworthy, but to have acted well in this place.
Look again: does the seclusion of this dwelling profit us anything at all, when malice reigns in us with a tyrannical dominion? when anger rides over us? when the human eye instills in us greater fear than the divine? when we believe ourselves to be outside the world in a praiseworthy life, yet through the vices of diverse passions hold the world shut up within us? So that we who thought we were succouring the world itself by our prayers, may almost of necessity find that we rather stand in need of the world's intercessions. For there is no doubt that the soul which by the concupiscence of worldly pleasures becomes the possession of a worldly manner of life cannot be made the kingdom of the Godhead.
Therefore, brethren, see your calling. To come to the desert is indeed the highest perfection, but not to live perfectly in the desert is the highest damnation. What does it profit if a quiet place is held only bodily, while unquiet is kept in the heart? What, I say, does it profit, if in the dwelling there is silence, but in the dwellers there is a tumult of vices and a wrestling of passions? If our outward parts hold serenity, but our inward parts a tempest? For we did not come together to this place that the world might wait upon us, that abounding in all things we might enjoy all repose.
Certainly not for rest nor for security, but for battle have we come hither; to the contest we have advanced, to wage wars with the vices we have hastened; that we may blunt the swords of the tongue, that we may not only not inflict injuries upon one another, but not even feel those inflicted. This belongs especially to our profession: to seek in this life nothing of consolation, nothing of rest, nor to wish to receive good things in one's lifetime, but to flee honours, to rejoice in subjection and abjection, to seek the pursuit of poverty, and to root out of our hearts not only possessions but even the desires themselves. For to have nothing is sometimes a matter of necessity; to desire nothing through avarice is a matter of virtue.
And therefore the religious man ought especially to set himself this measure: to have only as much as necessity demands, not as much as desire covets. For the love of having, unless it be cut back to the whole, is more burning in small things, and men are more tormented in the least things. And unless you are poor with your whole heart and affection, poverty itself is to be judged not a virtue but a misery. Know therefore, brethren, that it profits nothing if we afflict (mortify) our flesh with fasts and vigils, and do not amend our mind, or do not care for the things that are within. For what does bodily affliction profit, if we pollute the tongue with wickedness and detractions? Are not all our labours reduced to nothing?
Does not all our work vanish like smoke and shadow, and like the spark of tow is reduced to nothing? O how many and how long-lasting labours of ours suddenly perish, and how great goods, often already acquired and stored up, are snatched from our hand, while we neglect to seek, or to increase, or to guard that which we had striven to seek! Wherefore we flatter ourselves in vain about the cross of the body and the affliction of the breast, if our outer man is exercised with holy labours, yet the inner is not cared for in its passions. It is just as if someone should make a statue golden on the outside, or as if a house magnificently built by art and painted on the outside with most beautiful colours should appear fair, yet within be full of serpents and scorpions.
What does it profit that you afflict your body, when your heart has profited nothing? It is a very hard and most lamentable condition to expend the labour of one's zeal with all intention, and to receive no fruit after the labour. To fast and to keep vigil, and not to correct one's morals, is just as if someone should grub up or cultivate outside the vineyard, yet leave the vineyard itself deserted and untilled, so that it puts forth thorns and thistles—the vineyard which, had the cultivator been diligent, could have brought forth from itself most pleasant fruits. Acknowledge therefore, most beloved brethren, that for the acquiring of perpetual salvation bodily abstinence alone does not suffice, unless the fasting of the soul also, through abstinence from vices, be joined to it.
For what does it avail if someone be chaste in body yet defiled in mind—whom malice depraves, whom the fury of wrath drives on with its firebrands, whom pride strips of every grace of God, whom the tongue stains with lies or curses? Does he not deceive himself? Does he not mock and beguile himself, if he believes that he can be sanctified by his own fasts and vigils without the remaining virtues? And therefore, dearly beloved, let us so exercise the body with fasts that we may purge the mind of vices. Let us unceasingly ponder the coming of that Judge, who—would that He may find us so prepared, as no one can doubt that He will come! But if you should ask how He will come:
He will come in that very body which was taken up for our salvation, born for our absolution, and pierced with lance and nails for the healing of our wounds. For the first thing against the guilty will be an intolerable sentence: the presence of those venerable scars. What then shall we do at that time, when against the bruises of that crucified Lord the marks of our sins and the stains of our lusts shall be brought forth? Or with what countenance, do you think, will our Redemption look upon our perdition? Human offences will be all the graver, the greater the divine benefits shall have shown themselves to be. And it is to be feared that He may utter even in His judgment, against the vessels of iniquity, that voice which the tokens of the precious cross of resurrection attest:
'Put thy finger hither, and see my hands; and bring hither thy hand, and put it into my side' (John 20)—and acknowledge what the divine mercy has suffered for thee, ungodly one. Those marks of the nails are indeed salutary to the good, terrible to the wicked, which shall not be blotted out until the day of judgment. And after these things, what follows but that dreadful chaos and vast gulf set between the living and the dead; the outer darkness of those shut out from the nature of the living; the harsh separation from the sweet sight of the saints and from the fellowship of the blessed; and, on the contrary, to go among the tearful groans and wailings of mourners, and the sad company of the wretched, and before the blessed fatherland to undergo the eternal exile of most hideous death.
How mournful it will be for a man to see the Lord and to lose Him, and to perish before the sight of his own Creator! And therefore, most beloved brethren, while there is time, pondering these things and calling to mind the benefits of our Redeemer, let us so labour with God's help by unwearied zeal, that what He offered us when He was judged, our Lord Jesus Christ, who is to be the Judge, may find whole within us—He who with the Father and the Holy Spirit comes and reigns unto ages of ages. Amen.