Christian Art | George Herbert | Sepulchre | The Church | Content
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Content
Peace mutt’ring thoughts, and do not grudge to keep
Within the walls of your own breast:
Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep,
Can on anothers hardly rest.
Gad not abroad at ev’ry quest and call
Of an untrained hope or passion.
To court each place or fortune that doth fall,
Is wantonnesse in contemplation.
Mark how the fire in flints doth quiet lie,
Content and warm t’ it self alone:
But when it would appeare to others eye,
Without a knock it never shone.
Give me the pliant minde, whose gentle measure
Complies and suits with all estates;
Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with pleasure
Take up within a cloisters gates.
This soul doth span the world, and hang content
From either pole unto the centre:
Where in each room of the well-furnisht tent
He lies warm, and without adventure.
The brags of life are but a nine dayes wonder;
And after death the fumes that spring
From private bodies, make as big a thunder,
As those which rise from a huge King.
Onely thy Chronicle is lost; and yet
Better by worms be all once spent,
Then to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret
Thy name in books, which may not rent.
When all thy deeds, whose brunt thou feel’st alone,
Are chaw’d by others pens and tongue;
And as their wit is, their digestion,
Thy nourisht fame is weak or strong.
Then cease discoursing soul, till thine own ground,
Do not thy self or friends importune.
He that by seeking hath himself once found,
Hath euer found a happie fortune.
George Herbert | The Temple | The Church | Content
Herbert’s poem unfolds as meditation on inner peace and spiritual discipline, crafted through precise imagery and reflective admonition. Herbert begins with a command to restless thoughts, urging them to remain within confines of their own being. This invocation sets the tone for the poem as both a prayer and an internal dialogue, where the soul seeks to reconcile its innate restlessness with a divine imperative for order and calm. This act of addressing thoughts directly implies their unruliness, underscoring tension between human inclination toward distraction and spiritual call to stillness.
The poem’s exploration of restlessness expands into a critique of worldly desires. The metaphor of ‘gadding abroad’, connoting aimless wandering, portrays hope and passion as untrained forces, apt to pursue fleeting pleasures or ungrounded ambitions. This imagery suggests a spiritual wantonness, where contemplation becomes diluted by external pursuits rather than concentrated on divine truths. Herbert contrasts this with fire hidden within flint, content in its quiet potential until summoned. This fire represents a disciplined, self-contained soul, illuminating virtue of internalized strength and purpose over outward demonstration. Juxtaposition of restlessness and hidden fire reinforces the idea that true peace stems from alignment with divine calling, not from external validation.
Herbert draws from the natural world and human experience to articulate spiritual truths. The pliant mind, adaptable to both the opulence of a crown and the austerity of a cloister, embodies a balance of humility and resilience. This adaptability is not a sign of compromise but of spiritual maturity, wherein the soul can find contentment in any state because it rests ultimately in God. The image of the world as a well-furnished tent further emphasizes impermanence; the soul spans this temporary space without seeking adventure, signifying transcendence over worldly concerns. Herbert’s conception of contentment is not merely passive acceptance but an active alignment with divine providence, allowing the soul to rise above the temporal and the fleeting.
The poem also critiques vanity of human achievement and fame. The ‘brags of life’ are dismissed as ephemeral, their significance reduced to the ‘nine days’ wonder’ that fades into obscurity. Herbert juxtaposes the physical decay of the body with the intellectual decay of one’s deeds as they are consumed and reinterpreted by others. This critique extends to a chronicling of human accomplishments, which Herbert views as vulnerable to distortion and, ultimately, inconsequential in the divine scheme. By framing the body’s inevitable return to dust as preferable to the continual erosion of reputation by ‘hellish moths’, Herbert underscores futility of seeking immortality through human recognition.
The final stanzas of the poem return to the soul, urging it to cease its external distractions and focus inward. The conclusion—that self-discovery is the gateway to true fortune—distills Herbert’s central message: spiritual peace arises not from external achievement but from an inward alignment with God’s will. The soul that finds itself in God achieves a fortune not tied to temporal success but to eternal rest. This alignment reflects Herbert’s theological commitment to the idea that the human soul, though fraught with restlessness and vanity, finds ultimate purpose and fulfillment only in its Creator.
The poem’s structure mirrors its themes, with its disciplined quatrains reflecting the order and containment it advocates. The progression from addressing thoughts to critiquing worldly distractions and concluding with inward focus parallels the soul’s journey toward spiritual maturity. Herbert’s use of metaphor, rich in theological and philosophical resonance, elevates the poem beyond mere moral instruction. The fire, the pliant mind, the furnished tent, and the dust all serve as multifaceted symbols, offering layers of meaning that intertwine the temporal and the eternal.
Theologically, the poem aligns with Christian teachings on humility, contentment, and the fleeting nature of earthly life. Yet it also engages with broader philosophical traditions, echoing Stoic ideals of self-mastery and internal peace while reinterpreting them through a distinctly Christian lens. The pliant mind, for instance, recalls Stoic equanimity but is rooted in submission to divine will rather than self-sufficiency. Similarly, the critique of fame resonates with the Christian emphasis on spiritual rather than worldly legacy, where true worth is measured by one’s alignment with God rather than human acclaim.
Herbert’s meditation ultimately transcends its immediate context to address universal concerns: the tension between restlessness and peace, the allure of worldly achievements versus the call to spiritual humility, and the impermanence of life in contrast to the eternal. By presenting these themes through such vivid imagery and measured structure, Herbert invites the reader not only to reflect but to internalize the discipline and contentment he extols. The poem becomes both a prayer and a guide, offering a pathway to peace that rests in the unchanging foundation of divine providence.
Christian Art | A Boy At Prayer Receives Communion | Eucharist | Jesus Saves Office Of Readings | Easter Saturday | A Reading From The Instructions To The Newly Baptized At Jerusalem | The Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation ‘The bread of heaven and the cup of salvation.’ Commentary on the Jerusalem Catechesis | The Instructions To The Newly Baptized At Jerusalem The Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation The reading from the Jerusalem Catecheses offers a luminous and powerful reflection on the mystery of the Eucharist, the sacrament at the very heart of Christian life. Attributed traditionally to Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, these catecheses were designed to unfold the hidden mysteries of the faith to those who had newly received baptism and first communion at the Easter Vigil. The context is important: these were not casual theological musings, but careful, pastoral teachings meant to anchor the newly-initiated in the life-giving truths they had just entered into. The heart of this passage is the unwavering assertion of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. Cyril does not argue cautiously; he proclaims boldly: ‘Since Christ himself has declared the bread to be his body, who can have any further doubt?’ In an era where some were tempted to interpret Christ’s words metaphorically, Cyril insists on a straightforward, literal faith. Christ’s own words — ‘This is my body… this is my blood’ — are treated as sufficient warrant for full-hearted belief. There is no room for skepticism: to doubt the Eucharist is, by implication, to doubt Christ himself. This teaching reflects a deep continuity with the apostolic faith. Already in the New Testament, St. Paul affirms, ‘The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?’ (1 Corinthians 10:16) The Eucharist is not a mere symbol among symbols, but a sacramental participation in the living Christ. Saint Cyril continues this tradition, reinforcing that the Eucharistic elements, though appearing to human senses as bread and wine, are indeed the body and blood of the Lord. This appeals directly to the primacy of faith over sight, recalling Paul’s teaching that Christians ‘walk by faith, not by sight’ (2 Corinthians 5:7). Moreover, the catechesis emphasizes the transformative power of the Eucharist. In receiving Christ’s body and blood, the believer is made a ‘bearer of Christ’ — a Christophoros. Here, the early Church’s mystical understanding of the sacraments is beautifully clear: to receive the Eucharist is not only to commemorate Christ, but to be conformed to him, to be transfigured into his likeness. Saint Peter’s phrase that Christians are made ‘partakers of the divine nature’ (2 Peter 1:4) finds vivid application here: the Eucharist draws us into the very life of God. Cyril is also careful to explain how the Old Testament prefigurations — the showbread in the Temple, the manna in the desert — point to the fullness of the Eucharist. The showbread, which had meaning under the old covenant, gave way before the true ‘bread from heaven’ that Christ provides (John 6:32-35). This biblical typology strengthens the catechesis, showing that the Eucharist was not a novelty, but the culmination of God’s long preparation of his people. What was hinted at in figures has now been given in fullness. The dual effect of the Eucharist — sanctifying both body and soul — is also beautifully emphasized. The bread sanctifies the body; the Word sanctifies the soul. This integrated vision of human nature, so typical of patristic thought, avoids any dualism that would prize the soul over the body. Salvation in Christ is for the whole person. The Eucharist thus nourishes human beings at every level, preparing them not just for a spiritual existence, but for the resurrection of the body and life everlasting. The passage ends with a tender exhortation to interior purity. Echoing Paul’s words that Christians should examine themselves before receiving the body and blood of the Lord (1 Corinthians 11:28), Cyril urges his hearers to cleanse their consciences. Only with a pure heart can the Christian ‘be transformed from glory to glory’ — an allusion to 2 Corinthians 3:18 — contemplating the Lord’s glory and being conformed more and more to his image. This Holy Saturday reading, poised on the edge of the Easter Vigil, is profoundly fitting. The catechumen, freshly baptized and anointed, stands ready to partake of the Eucharist for the first time. The reading calls him or her — and by extension, all of us — to approach the altar with wonder, reverence, and firm faith, recognizing that in the humble forms of bread and wine is contained the infinite love and life of God. As the Church sings at every Mass: ‘Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.’ In the Eucharist, the word has been spoken; the healing has been given; the divine life has been offered. To Christ Jesus, true bread from heaven, be all glory and praise, now and forever. Amen. Living Memory | Pope Francis And The Eucharistic Mystery The spirit of the Jerusalem Catecheses finds a vibrant echo in the teaching of Pope Francis, who often returns to the centrality of the Eucharist in Christian life. In his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (2013), Francis calls the Eucharist ‘not a prize for the perfect but a powerful medicine and nourishment for the weak’ (§47). This insight harmonizes deeply with the tone of the early Church’s catechesis: the Eucharist is offered not as a reward for the righteous but as the necessary food for pilgrims on the journey of faith — those who, like the neophytes of Jerusalem, are continually being transformed by grace. Moreover, Pope Francis stresses that the Eucharist is an encounter with Christ that transforms the believer into a living member of his Body. In a 2018 homily on the Feast of Corpus Christi, he spoke these striking words: ‘The Eucharist is simple food, like […]
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. […]
With Chapter 13 of Matthew’s Gospel begins the Discourse of the Parables, which concerns the Christian mystery of the Kingdom Of God present in life now. The parables draw us to Jesus, whose divinity is the central fact of the parables. Christ is the veiled truth of each parable. As we uncover the meaning of each of the parables we discover Jesus [ … ]
