THEOSISAugustine of Hippo
Behold, a humble man prays, his voice raised not in silence. We may hear him, and discern his identity: could he be the one of whom the apostle speaks, “Though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be enriched”? If this is indeed He, then why does He bear such poverty? How can the one who created all riches, including those that are false, be impoverished? Through Him, we possess those true blessings: wisdom, memory, virtue, bodily health, our senses, and the organization of our very being; for when these are assured, even the poor are enriched. In Him we also find profound treasures: faith, reverence, justice, love, purity, and good conduct—none can possess these apart from Him who redeems the unrighteous. Behold the abundance! How do we identify these words with this opulent figure? “I ate ashes like bread, and mixed my drink with weeping.” Is it possible that such immense wealth has led to this state? The initial fortune is lofty, while this condition appears lowly. Yet we must discern if this humble figure is He; since indeed, “The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.” Reflect also on these words: “I am your servant, and the son of your servant.” This servant, pure, chaste, and maternal, assumed our poverty, taking on the form of a servant while emptying Himself, so that we would not be intimidated by His wealth, but feel welcomed despite our own destitution. There, He assumed the guise of a servant, bearing our impoverishment; there He became poor, and we were made rich. As we draw closer to understanding these truths about Him, we must refrain from presumptuous declarations.
Let Him then add further poverty to His state: let Him transform our frail bodies to be like His own: let Him serve as our Head, we as His members, so that the two may exist as one flesh. For He desires to consider us as His body. The repentant share in this body too, for they are not severed from His Church; He would not have chosen to unite Himself with her if it were not for His calling: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Let us therefore lend an ear to what the Head and the body, the Bridegroom and the bride, Christ and the Church—these united in one Person—offer in prayer. The Word and the flesh are distinct, but the Father and the Word are one. Christ and the Church represent one perfect man in the fullness of His being. Let us attentively listen to Christ, who is poor among us, with us, and for us. The very title speaks of the impoverished. In closing, recall the identity of that impoverished man, listen to His prayer, and recognize His figure; do not misinterpret anything that cannot be attributed to His Head. Therefore, what you hear in this description should be recognized as the lament of the frail body, the voice of the members within the Head. This is titled “The Prayer of the Afflicted One,” who, while tormented, poured forth his prayer before the Lord. This is the same humble man who elsewhere declares, “From the ends of the earth I will call upon Thee when my heart is in anguish.” He suffers because He is also Christ, who, as the Prophet states, identifies Himself as both the Bridegroom and the Bride: “He hath put a diadem upon me as the bridegroom, and as the bride hath adorned me with jewels.” He refers to Himself as the Bridegroom and the Bride; for what does this imply but that the Bridegroom signifies the Head and the Bride signifies the body? In unison, they produce one voice because they are joined as one flesh. Let us listen and find ourselves in these words; and if we recognize ourselves as being outside, let us strive diligently to enter in.
“Hear my prayer, O Lord, and let my cry come unto Thee.” “Hear my prayer, Lord,” is synonymous with, “Let my cry come unto Thee,” as the urgency of the petitioner is manifested through repetition. “Turn not Thy face away from me.” When did God turn His gaze from His Son? When did the Father forsake Christ? “But for the sake of the scarcity of my members, turn not Thy face away from me; in whatever day I mourn, incline Thy ear unto me.” You are in distress now; I too am in distress; others after you shall be in trouble; down through the ages, others will suffer; until the end of the world, anyone suffering within my body means I too am in distress. Apostles like Peter and Paul prayed; the faithful of their time prayed and will pray, and those who will come after them shall pray as well. Immediately I ask for that which Thou art already prepared to provide. I do not seek earthly treasures as does a worldly man; rather, redeemed from past bondage, I yearn for the heavenly kingdom. “Hear me soon;” for You have declared: “Even while Thou talkest, I will reply, Here am I.” To what do you call? What sorrow prompts your request? O impoverished one, standing at the gates of the Almighty, what longing drives your desire? What need compels you to seek relief?
“For my days have vanished like smoke.” O days! If days carry weight, then where the day is discerned, there light is understood. My days, my times; thus, like smoke—could it not derive from the pride that inflates? Observe, as smoke, akin to pride, rises, swells, and fades: thus it justly dissipates, not enduring. “And my bones are burnt as in a furnace.” My bones, my strength harbor not just sorrow, but a burning agony. The bones of Christ’s body, the fortitude of His being—what could surpass that of the holy apostles? Yet you see that even their bones endure the fire. Who is offended, and I remain unscathed? “For when one is troubled, am I not troubled?” They arise as courageous, faithful interpreters and proclaimers of the Word, living as they speak and speaking as they hear; evidently bold, yet all who take offense serve as a furnace for them. For love exists there, and even more so in the bones—the very bones that support this flesh. But should anyone suffer offense and put his soul in jeopardy; the bone bears the burden reflecting the extent of its satisfaction.
Consider Adam, from whom humanity stems. From him, despair spread; from him, this inherited poverty extends. Let him who once tasted despair in the flesh, now that he is incorporated into Christ’s body, say in hope, “My heart is afflicted and withered like grass.” This is just, for all flesh is like grass. But how did this transpire? “Because I forgot to eat my bread.” For God gave His command regarding bread. What, then, constitutes the bread of the soul? The serpent tempted, and the woman sinned as she touched the forbidden fruit; having forgotten the commandment, her heart was struck as warranted, withering like grass because she neglected to consume her bread. Forgetting her bread, she ingested poison; her heart was crushed and withered like grass. Now eat that bread which you have neglected. This very Bread is here; in its body, you may recall the echo of your forgetfulness, appealing for wealth amidst your poverty. Now partake, for He declares, “I am the living bread which came down from heaven.” You have disregarded your bread; yet after His crucifixion, all corners of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord. After forgetting, let remembrance return; let us partake of heavenly bread so that we may live—not the manna they consumed, which led to their demise; but the bread of which it is said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.”
“From the voice of my groaning, my bones have cleaved to my flesh.” Many groan, and I too groan; I groan even regarding this, because they lament a wrongful act. When one loses a coin, he grieves; yet if he loses faith, he scarcely mourns. I weigh money against faith and find far greater cause to mourn for those who do not grieve as they ought or do not grieve at all. They engage in deceit and revel. What gain arises from this? What loss follows? He has acquired money, yet forfeited righteousness. Hence, those who know how to grieve truly will mourn; they who remain close to the Head, who cling righteously to the Body of Christ, will do so. The carnal man groans not for this reason; they fabricate their own lament as it is not for this reason that they grieve; and we cannot scorn them, even if they do not anguish at all, or grieve for the wrong reason. We aim to correct them, to guide them, and when that proves futile, we mourn; and in our grief, we do not separate from them.
“I have become like a pelican in the wilderness and like an owl among the ruins.” Here are three birds in three locations: the pelican, the owl, and the sparrow; and each holds significance in its environment: the pelican in the wilderness, the owl in the broken walls, and the sparrow on the roof. First, let us elucidate the significance of the pelican: it is birthed in a remote place, particularly on the banks of the Nile in Egypt. Whatever kind of bird it is, let us consider what the Psalm states about it. The text notes it lives in the wilderness. Why delve into its shape, its limbs, its voice, or its behavior? As the Psalm informs us, it is a solitary bird. The owl prefers the night. “Ruined walls” denote barriers without roofs, devoid of inhabitants—this is the owl's dwelling place. And you know the roofs and sparrows well. Hence, I recognize within the body of Christ a preacher of the Word, compassionately engaging with the weak, striving for the victories of Christ, and mindful of his eternal Master.
Do such figures approach the unconverted? He is a pelican in the wilderness. If he engages with believers and then recedes, he becomes an owl amid ruins; for he does not forsake the darkness enveloping those who dwell in night, but seeks their salvation. If he does not reach out to believers who dwell in the house, as though they had not believed or had forsaken what they profess yet walk fervently in faith, then the sparrow calls out to them. Not in the wilderness, as they are Christians; nor in the ruins, as they have not crumbled; rather, under the roof, under flesh. The sparrow calls above the flesh and does not shrink from God's commandments, nor compromise its divine calling.
What is uttered in secret should be declared openly. There are three birds and three spaces; one individual may embody all three birds, and three persons can each symbolize an individual bird; the wilderness, the ruined walls, and the roof are composites of different groups of people.
Let us examine the qualities attributed to the pelican; not claiming too quickly, but attentively considering the text's implications. It is said that these birds, upon inadvertently harming their young with their beaks, mourn for three days before restoring life to them—a notion that may hold truth or be false. But if it is accurate, it resembles Him who grants us life through His blood, reflecting the maternal flesh that gives life to her children. He likened Himself to a hen brooding over her chicks. If this notion holds, then this bird closely parallels the flesh of Christ, through whose blood we are restored to life. But how does it maintain adherence to Christ that a bird could slay its own offspring? Isn’t it consistent? “I kill and make alive; I wound and heal.” Would Saul the persecutor have perished if he had not been struck down from heaven, or would the preacher have been restored if life had not been imparted through His blood? Let those who have conjectured on this matter be heedful; we ought not to base our understanding on uncertain foundations.