Office Of Readings | Friday, Lent Week 1 | From The Mirror Of Love By Saint Aelred, Abbot
‘Christ, the model of brotherly love.’
Who Was Saint Aelred Of Rievaulx?
Saint Aelred of Rievaulx presents the highest expression of Christian love: the love of one’s enemies. His reflection is deeply rooted in the Gospel, particularly in Christ’s own example on the cross, where Jesus prays, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” For Aelred, this moment encapsulates the essence of divine love—self-giving, patient, and without retaliation. Aelred was a 12th-century Cistercian monk and abbot of Rievaulx Abbey, known for his writings on Christian friendship and love. His spirituality was deeply influenced by Saint Augustine, Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, and the monastic tradition, particularly in its focus on the imitation of Christ. This reading is a reflection of Aelred’s broader theological vision, where love is not merely an emotion but a profound act of spiritual transformation, a means of becoming Christ-like.
Aelred emphasizes Christ’s willingness to endure humiliation and suffering without anger or resistance. Jesus allows himself to be spat upon, blindfolded, scourged, and crowned with thorns—acts of extreme cruelty—yet Christ responds with silence and peace. He is mocked and crucified, yet he prays for his persecutors. Jesus offers not only forgiveness but also an excuse for the actions of those who tormented him: “they do not know what they are doing.” This extraordinary response defies human instinct, which seeks justice and retribution. Aelred sees in Christ’s attitude the perfect model for the Christian life—one that transforms suffering into love. Aelred’s words echo the call of Isaiah, where the Suffering Servant is “like a lamb led to the slaughter, silent before his shearers.” Aelred invites the reader not just to admire Christ’s patience, but to embody it in their own struggles.
Aelred’s theology of love is drawn from both Augustinian and Cistercian thought. Like Augustine, Aelred sees love as the ultimate path to God, and like Bernard of Clairvaux, he understands love as an active response to divine grace. Aelred extends this concept to love for one’s enemies, arguing that true love must be universal because if love excludes enemies, it remains incomplete. Forgiveness is not weakness but strength, overcoming hatred by transforming the heart. The fire of divine love must not grow cold, for resentment and injury should never diminish the Christian’s ability to love. This idea resonates with Saint Paul’s exhortation to bless persecutors and overcome evil with good. Aelred presents this not as an idealistic aspiration but as an essential mark of Christian holiness.
Aelred’s words challenge believers to examine their own attitudes toward forgiveness and reconciliation. Many individuals struggle with resentment, past wounds, and a sense of justice, yet Aelred reminds Christians that true spiritual freedom comes not from revenge but from the ability to love as Christ loved. His teaching is especially relevant in a world marked by division, hostility, and conflict. To live this teaching requires a conscious decision to forgive, even when forgiveness feels undeserved, a focus on Christ’s example, keeping one’s spiritual eyes on Jesus’ patience and gentleness, and a heart open to grace, allowing God to soften any areas hardened by pain.
For Aelred, Christian perfection is found in imitating Christ’s love on the cross. To love one’s enemies is to participate in the very life of God, for as the Apostle John declares, “God is love.” This reading encapsulates Aelred’s monastic and theological vision, in which love is not merely a virtue but the summation of Christian perfection. Love, when extended even to one’s enemies, makes a person like Christ. Love is the path to holiness, the fire that purifies the soul, and the mark of a true disciple. In this reflection, Aelred does not offer abstract philosophy but a deeply practical and demanding call to live as Christ lived.
From The Mirror Of Love By Saint Aelred, Abbot
The perfection of brotherly love lies in the love of one’s enemies. We can find no greater inspiration for this than grateful remembrance of the wonderful patience of Christ. He who is more fair than all the sons of men offered his fair face to be spat upon by sinful men; he allowed those eyes that rule the universe to be blindfolded by wicked men; he bared his back to the scourges; he submitted that head which strikes terror in principalities and powers to the sharpness of the thorns; he gave himself up to be mocked and reviled, and at the end endured the cross, the nails, the lance, the gall, the vinegar, remaining always gentle, meek and full of peace.
In short, he was led like a sheep to the slaughter, and like a lamb before the shearers he kept silent, and did not open his mouth.
Who could listen to that wonderful prayer, so full of warmth, of love, of unshakeable serenity – Father, forgive them – and hesitate to embrace his enemies with overflowing love? Father, he says, forgive them. Is any gentleness, any love, lacking in this prayer?
Yet he put into it something more. It was not enough to pray for them: he wanted also to make excuses for them. Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing. They are great sinners, yes, but they have little judgement; therefore, Father, forgive them. They are nailing me to the cross, but they do not know who it is that they are nailing to the cross: if they had known, they would never have crucified the Lord of glory; therefore, Father, forgive them. They think it is a lawbreaker, an impostor claiming to be God, a seducer of the people. I have hidden my face from them, and they do not recognise my glory; therefore, Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.
If someone wishes to love himself he must not allow himself to be corrupted by indulging his sinful nature. If he wishes to resist the promptings of his sinful nature he must enlarge the whole horizon of his love to contemplate the loving gentleness of the humanity of the Lord. Further, if he wishes to savour the joy of brotherly love with greater perfection and delight, he must extend even to his enemies the embrace of true love.
But if he wishes to prevent this fire of divine love from growing cold because of injuries received, let him keep the eyes of his soul always fixed on the serene patience of his beloved Lord and Saviour.
Sometimes, when I read my Bible, I pause in the reading and say to myself: ‘This bit’s real.’ It would be fair to say, I have issues with Mary, because, contrary to what we are taught to say, Mary isn’t my mother. Rather: Mum is. One bit of the Bible-text says this: And when his family heard it, they went out to seize him, for people were saying, “He is beside himself.” … And his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside they sent to him and called him. And a crowd was sitting about him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers are outside, asking for you.” And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking around on those who sat about him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother, and sister, and mother.” (Mark 3: 21; 31-35.) Here she comes. She is in considerable distress. I can imagine that. I can relate to that. To save her boy from whatever he’s got himself into this time. And you’re not telling me there isn’t something inside that. Her boy is beside himself. Radical. Radicalized. Radicalizing. A misunderstood word. /ˈradɪk(ə)l/ adjective & noun. 1 Forming the root, basis, or foundation; original, primary. 2a Inherent in the nature of a thing or person; fundamental. b Of action, change, an idea: going to the root or origin; far-reaching, thorough. c Advocating thorough or far-reaching change. d Characterized by departure from tradition; progressive; unorthodox. ‘He has a demon! And he is mad!’ – thus ‘the Jews’. (e.g. John 10: 20.) Come home! It’s all she wants. His family want him back now. But it is an exclusive cult: there is an inside and there is an outside; and on the outside, they are not meant to understand, lest they be converted. He has defined himself as different from anything she was. Only at the end does Jesus say to his Mum – and with savage, bitter irony: ‘Woman, behold your son.’ And then he dies. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. We ask that we might find Mary in our hearts as a Yes! place for Jesus. It is also recommended that we pray to Jesus that we may be further in oneness with Mary. It is self-emptying, such that we only exist insofar as we are responsive to God’s Word. * Last term, and put-out to pasture, the old Archbishop Emeritus came over to stay for a few days and did the odd class with us. He spoke of Yes! as the meaning of Mary’s virginity. And we were not very nice about him. One or two took umbrage. One or two got the hump. In a sense, his Grace, the Arch, basically wanted to move anyone he’d ever known from a high-place – a mountain – received theological ‘truth’ – to an imminent, human plane. Earthing the spiritual. Recalibrating metrics of life’s believability toward a spiritual sense of things. He might have asked the impermissible question: what happened? His Grace described it. God’s love as a cloud. This descended upon Mary – and subsumed her. Within the cloud, Mary capitulated utterly. She became only and purely a response to God’s love. As he spoke, the Arch cradled her. He carried her in his lap – in his hands. His Grace was a consecrated bishop. He was faith. He sat squat, a rounded man, hands cupped and ankles crossed, fingers interlocked, with parted thighs. Rumpled, washed, speckled. A lifetime’s skin… There could be no doubt His Grace spoke through long-term personal relationship with Mary. It was Julian went for him: ‘So are you saying Mary was a Virgin? Or are you not saying Mary was a Virgin?’ Nasty. No, it wasn’t pretty. Julian twisting his silver ring. For a moment, what Julian had said to the Arch simply failed to communicate. No, for a moment, that dumped on the air meant nothing. Then His Grace said: ‘There is a range of possible meanings we may understand in the question of Mary’s virginity. For example, there are understandings of the word virginity entailed in the action of giving birth.’ Julian said: ‘Duh! So had she had sex or hadn’t she?’ Trigger words. No, it wasn’t pretty. On that went for a little while. At length, Julian’s point seemed reluctantly conceded. Then the Arch told us a new story, an additionally human event, the more to baffle us. Controversially, he told us that Mary could not have been Joseph’s first wife, for this would not have been the way of things in the society of that time. His belief was that Joseph must have taken Mary into his household through pity. That would be normal, he said, for Joseph to bring a young, vulnerable girl, who is about to have a baby, within his protection, not meaning to enjoy with her marital relations, but through kindness. ‘And this story of the inn and stable,’ the Archbishop said, ‘it can’t have been like that really. Joseph has travelled with Mary to stay with his family, at home in Bethlehem, and they don’t want Mary in their house, for reasons which I am sure we can understand. It must have been there was considerable resistance to Mary. But Mary gives birth, and who can resist a baby? That’s what happened. It must have been. ‘I’m convinced that must have been how it happened really.’ Later that term, toward the beginning of Advent, we met boys who had been here before, in Valladolid, and now were in regular seminary. They had heard and recited verbatim all the Archbishop had said to them. Their spot-on impressions of each of the fathers were scathing. […]
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