Christian Art | George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Sighs and Grones
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Sighs and Grones
O do not use me
After my sinnes! look not on my desert,
But on thy glorie! then thou wilt reform
And not refuse me: for thou onely art
The mightie God, but I a sillie worm;
O do not bruise me!
O do not urge me!
For what account can thy ill steward make?
I have abus’d thy stock, destroy’d thy woods,
Suckt all thy magazens: my head did ake,
Till it found out how to consume thy goods:
O do not scourge me!
O do not blinde me!
I have deserv’d that an Egyptian night
Should thicken all my powers; because my lust
Hath still sow’d fig-leaves to exclude thy light:
But I am frailtie, and already dust;
O do not grinde me!
O do not fill me
With the turn’d viall of thy bitter wrath!
For thou hast other vessels full of bloud,
A part wherof my Saviour empti’d hath,
Ev’n unto death: since he di’d for my good,
O do not kill me!
But O reprieve me!
For thou hast life and death at thy command;
Thou art both Judge and Saviour, feast and rod,
Cordiall and Corrosive: put not thy hand
Into the bitter box; but O my God,
My God, relieve me!
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Sighs and Grones
The poem offers Herbert’s desperate plea for divine mercy, structured as a series of direct appeals to God. The repeated cries of ‘O do not’ introduce a layered exploration of sin, justice, and grace, where Herbert acknowledges personal failure while seeking deliverance.
The first stanza establishes Herbert’s profound self-abasement. He acknowledges his unworthiness before God, calling himself a ‘silly worm’ in contrast to God’s might. The image of a ‘worm’ emphasizes human frailty and insignificance. Yet, Herbert asks God not to deal with him according to his sins but instead according to divine glory, implying that God’s justice and mercy are inseparable from divinity.
In the second stanza, Herbert shifts to the metaphor of stewardship. He confesses having mismanaged the gifts entrusted to him – ‘abused thy stock, destroyed thy woods’ – suggesting spiritual neglect or moral wastefulness. The phrase ‘my head did ache’ underscores Herbert’s guilt, implying both emotional torment and a realization of wrongdoing. Despite this failure, the plea is for correction rather than destruction — a call for divine discipline over total condemnation.
The third stanza introduces the metaphor of blindness, drawing from biblical imagery of spiritual darkness. The ‘Egyptian night’ recalls the plague of darkness from Exodus, a divine punishment for rebellion against God. Herbert equates his sinful state with a similar darkness, where moral corruption has obscured divine light. The phrase ‘fig leaves to exclude thy light’ echoes the Fall in Genesis, where Adam and Eve used fig leaves to hide their shame. Herbert admits his vulnerability, describing himself as ‘frailty’ and ‘dust’, emphasizing human mortality and dependence on divine mercy.
The fourth stanza introduces the imagery of divine wrath as a ‘turned vial’ filled with bitterness, a reference to the biblical concept of God’s judgment being poured out from a cup or vial (Revelation 16). Herbert appeals to the atoning sacrifice of Christ, who ‘emptied’ a vessel of suffering on humanity’s behalf. By referencing Christ’s bloodshed ‘even unto death’, Herbert makes a theological argument for mercy grounded in the completed work of redemption, highlighting substitutionary atonement as the basis for his plea.
The final stanza presents a tension between God’s dual roles as ‘Judge and Saviour, feast and rod, cordial and corrosive’. These paired contrasts reflect the complexity of divine justice and mercy. Herbert does not ask for a denial of divine authority but pleads for its merciful application. The ‘bitter box’ image suggests a container of severe punishment, but the closing repetition of ‘my God, relieve me!’ resolves the poem with a direct, heartfelt cry for deliverance.
Through the poem, Herbert’s tone remains reverent yet urgent, emphasizing dependence on divine mercy rather than entitlement to grace. The repetitive structure heightens this emotional intensity, while consistent use of biblical references underscores the theological grounding of the plea. Herbert highlights a paradox of divine justice—both severe and compassionate—while emphasizing hope of grace through Christ’s sacrifice. The poem explores the profound human need for forgiveness in the face of divine holiness.
In the Garden Of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed to his Father, seeking strength to face the sacrifice he would soon make for our sins. As Jesus prayed, Jesus experienced sorrow and grief as he fully understood the weight of the sin that he would bear on the Cross [ … ]
Office Of Readings | Tuesday, Lent Week 5 | A Reading From The Sermons Of Pope Saint Leo The Great ‘The cross of Christ is the source of all blessings, the cause of all graces.’ Context And Authority Of The Preacher Pope Saint Leo the Great served as Bishop of Rome from 440 to 461, during a time of both doctrinal dispute and political upheaval in the Western Roman Empire. A formidable theologian and administrator, Leo is perhaps best known for his Tome to Flavian, which played a decisive role at the Council of Chalcedon in 451 in defining the doctrine of Christ’s two natures, divine and human, in one person. In his sermons, Leo combined robust doctrinal teaching with pastoral urgency. His Lenten and Paschal homilies frequently dwell on the mystery of the Passion of Christ—not as an occasion for pity, but as the moment of divine triumph. This sermon reflects that theme with particular clarity, inviting believers to see the cross not as a defeat, but as the very axis around which salvation and history turn. The Hour Of The Cross As The Hour Of Glory Leo begins with the Johannine declaration: ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.’ (John 12:23) This ‘hour’ is the Passion—Jesus’ betrayal, suffering, crucifixion, and death. But for Leo, as for John, this hour is not one of defeat but of exaltation. The cross is the throne from which Christ reigns, the place where he exercises judgment, mercy, and kingship. ‘Now is the judgment of the world,’ Christ says. ‘Now will the prince of this world be cast out.’ (John 12:31) The cross, Leo teaches, is the instrument by which the dominion of sin and the devil is overthrown. It is not merely a historical event, but an ongoing act of cosmic redemption. When Christ is ‘lifted up’, he draws all people to himself—not just by example, but by the objective power of his redemptive act. The Cross As The Fulfilment Of All Sacrifices Leo then turns to the sacrificial character of the cross. In doing so, he places Christ’s Passion in continuity with the sacrificial system of the Old Covenant. The temple rites, the offerings of animals, the ministry of the Levitical priesthood—all of these are fulfilled and transcended in the one perfect sacrifice of Christ. ‘The different sacrifices of animals are no more: the one offering of your body and blood is the fulfilment of all the different sacrificial offerings.’ Here Leo anticipates later Eucharistic theology by linking Christ’s self-offering on the cross with the offering of the Church in the Mass. He draws a typological line from the foreshadowings in the Law of Moses to their perfection in the Paschal mystery. Importantly, Leo emphasizes that the cross did not simply end the old order; it transformed it. There is now a ‘more distinguished order of Levites’, referring to the Christian priesthood, and a ‘greater dignity for the rank of elders’. The Christian sacramental economy flows directly from the cross. The Cross And The Unity Of The Church One of the most profound claims in this sermon is that the cross is not only redemptive but unitive: ‘There is also one kingdom gathered from all peoples.’ This is a subtle but powerful statement of ecclesiology. The cross unites the scattered children of God into one body—the Church. It is through the cross that division, especially between Jew and Gentile, is overcome (cf. Ephesians 2:14–16). Christ’s Passion creates a universal communion, not merely by calling all nations, but by reconciling them through his blood. For Leo, the Church is not an afterthought to the cross but its very fruit and fulfilment. Christ Died For Sinners | The Unmerited Nature Of Grace Leo next turns to the soteriological core of the Christian message: ‘Christ died, not for the righteous or the holy but for the wicked and the sinful.’ This line echoes Romans 5:8 and stresses the unmerited nature of divine mercy. There is no room for self-righteousness or spiritual pride in Leo’s theology. Salvation is the free initiative of God, who meets humanity in its need, not in its strength. Leo uses the language of substitution: though the divine nature cannot suffer, Christ assumed a human nature ‘so that he could offer something on our behalf.’ The idea is not that God required suffering, but that only by taking on our condition could Christ redeem it. His death is a confrontation with death itself—a defeat of death by means of death. The quotation from Hosea 13:14—’O death, I will be your death’—highlights the dramatic reversal: death, once the master of humanity, has been overcome by the dying and rising of Christ. The Cross As The Pattern Of Christian Life While the sermon focuses on the objective power of the cross, its pastoral implication is never far from view. For Leo, the believer is not merely a recipient of the benefits of the cross but is called to share in its pattern. Although Leo does not explore this in detail in this passage, his broader corpus makes clear that the Christian must imitate Christ’s humility, obedience, and love. The cross is not only a source of grace but a template for discipleship. This is particularly relevant during Lent, when the Church contemplates the Passion in preparation for the renewal of baptismal vows at Easter. A Reading From The Sermons Of Pope Saint Leo The Great Our understanding, which is enlightened by the Spirit of truth, should receive with purity and freedom of heart the glory of the cross as it shines in heaven and on earth. It should see with inner vision the meaning of the Lord’s words when he spoke of the imminence of his passion: The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Afterwards he said: Now my soul is troubled, and what am I to say? Father, save me from this hour. But it was for this that I came to this hour. […]
Saint Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444), Patriarch of Alexandria and central figure in early Christological controversies, here articulates a robust theology of redemption grounded in the Incarnation and its sacramental outworking. Writing in the context of his conflict with Nestorius and the doctrinal developments that led to the Council of Ephesus (431), Cyril is concerned above all with affirming the unity of Christ’s divine and human natures, and the salvific power of that union. This excerpt reflects his mature theological vision, especially his emphasis on the death of Christ as the decisive means of defeating death and giving life to humanity through participation in his now-glorified body [ … ]
