THEOSISAugustine of Hippo
Observe a humble man who fervently prays aloud, allowing us to discern his identity. Is he not the one spoken of in Scripture, “Though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that ye through His poverty might be enriched”? If this is indeed Him, why is He depicted as poor? How can one who is unable to see possess wealth? Who could be wealthier than the very Creator of riches, including those which are devoid of true value? Through Him, we also receive abundance—in ability, memory, character, bodily health, senses, and the very structure of our being. When these are secured, even the impoverished find abundance. Through Him, we also attain great treasures such as faith, devotion, justice, love, purity, and good conduct; for none can possess these except through Him who grants righteousness to the ungodly.
What extraordinary wealth this is! How do we behold such riches in this destitute man? He lamented, “I ate ashes as bread, and mixed my drink with weeping.” Is such incongruity not striking? The first fortune is lofty, the latter lowly. Yet, let us discern whether this poor man is indeed He, for the Word became flesh and dwelt among us. Additionally, He stated, “I am your servant, and the son of your servant.” Take note: this servant is chaste, a virgin, and a mother. In taking on our poverty, He clothed Himself in the form of a servant, emptying Himself, so as not to frighten us with His riches and cause us to hesitate in our destitution when approaching Him. Thus, He donned the form of a servant and embraced our impoverishment; through Him, He became poor, and we became enriched.
We are beginning to grasp these truths about Him, yet we must refrain from speaking too boldly. Let Him add poverty to poverty; let Him transfigure our humble bodies; let Him be our Head, and we His members, that the two may become one flesh. For He has chosen to regard us as His members. The repentant also belong as His members. They are not marginalized from His body, nor would He have taken the Church as His bride had it not been for the proclamation, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”
Let us therefore heed the communion of voice from the Head and the body, the Bridegroom and the Bride, Christ and the Church, which are one united person. The Word and the flesh are distinct, while the Father and the Word are unified; just as Christ and the Church form one person, one complete being in His fullness. Let us therefore listen to Christ, who is poor within us and among us and for us, for His very title signifies the impoverished.
Finally, I recognize who that poor man is: let us attune our ears to His prayer and acknowledge His identity; do not be misled by anything that cannot be ascribed to His Head. It is crucial to understand that the words in this description emerge from the frailty of the body, that we might hear the voice of the members within the Head. His title is “The Prayer of the Afflicted Man,” as he was tormented and poured out his prayer to the Lord. This is the same poor man who laments elsewhere, “From the ends of the earth I will call upon Thee when my heart is in travail.” He suffers because he is also Christ, who, as the Prophet states, embodies both the Bridegroom and the Bride, “He hath put a diadem upon me as the bridegroom, and adorned me with jewels as the bride.”
He identified Himself as the Bridegroom, and as the Bride; what does this signify if not that the Bridegroom refers to the Head, and the Bride represents the body? They share one voice, for they are one flesh. Let us heed and identify ourselves within these words; if we find ourselves distant, let us strive to draw near.
"O Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come to Thee." “Hear my prayer, Lord,” conveys the same sentiment as, “Let my cry come to Thee,” revealing the earnestness of the supplicant in such repetition. “Turn not away Thy face from me.” When did God ever turn His face away from His Son? When did the Father abandon Christ? Yet, for the sake of my limited members, do not turn Thy face from me. In whatever day I mourn, incline Thine ear unto me.
You are in distress now; I am in distress; others tomorrow will face trouble, as will future generations. To the end of the earth, all who are afflicted in my body, I too am troubled. Peter prayed, Paul prayed, the rest of the Apostles prayed; the faithful prayed in those times, and they continue to pray even now, drawing in generations to come. Therefore, I urgently ask for that which You are willing to give to me.
I do not ask for earthly gain, as a mere mortal would; rather, redeemed from prior captivity, I yearn for the heavenly kingdom. Hear me quickly, for it is solely with such longing that You declared, “Even while Thou speakest, I will say, Here am I.” For what purpose do you call for assistance? In what sorrow? In what need? O destitute one before the gates of God, who is altogether abundant, what longing stirs within you? From what necessity do you plead for relief? From what plight do you knock, seeking the gates to open?
"My days have vanished like smoke." O days! If day is acknowledged, there light is comprehended. My days and my times are like smoke, not different from the arrogance that puffs up. Observe how smoke, akin to pride, rises, swells, and ultimately dissipates: thus, deserving of fading away, being transient.
“My bones are burnt as in a furnace.” My bones and my strength are not exempt from sorrow, nor devoid of agony. Are the bones of Christ’s body not found in the strength of the holy apostles? Yet, you see their bones are burned. Who is offended, and I am not consumed? “Who is weak, and I am not weak?” They are courageous, faithful, and capable interpreters and proclaimers of the Word, living in accordance with their preaching and proclaiming as they live. They are undeniably valiant, yet all who take offense serve as a furnace to them. Within them lies love, deeply rooted even in the bones.
Bones are fundamental to all flesh, supporting it. Should anyone take offense and endanger their soul, that bone burns in proportion to their affinity. Consider Adam, the source from which humanity emerged. From him, misery spread. From him, this inherited poverty befalls us. Let he who once despaired in his body now, having been incorporated into the body of Christ, say in hope, “My heart is afflicted and withered like grass.” He speaks this justly, for all flesh is grass.
But how did this affliction come upon you? Because I neglected to eat my bread. For what is the bread of the soul? The serpent compelled and the woman sinned; he touched the forbidden fruit, and forgot the commandment. Thus, he deservedly faced a stricken heart that withered like grass because he forgot to nourish himself with his bread. Forgetting his bread, he consumes poison, resulting in a heart that is smitten and wilted like grass.
Now, consume that bread which you've forgotten. For this very Bread has come, in whose body you may remember the call of your forgetfulness, and cry out in your destitution to receive abundance. “I am the living bread which came down from heaven.” You have neglected to eat your bread; yet after His sacrifice, all corners of the earth will remember and return to the Lord. After forgetting, may remembrance rise up; let us partake of the bread from heaven that grants life—not manna, for they partook and died; but that 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.” For many groan, and I too groan. I groan even over this matter because they lament a wrongful act. A man who loses a coin groans; yet he who has lost faith does not lament. I weigh money and faith and find more reason to groan for the one who does not lament as he ought, or who does not groan at all. He commits fraud and finds joy. What gain is there, and what loss? He has acquired wealth but lost righteousness.
For this reason, he knows how to lament, he groans. He who is near the Head, who clings righteously to the body of Christ, groans out of that closeness. Yet the carnal do not groan for this cause, and they compel themselves to grieve; they should not be despised, even if they do not grieve at all or grieve for the wrong reason. For we should strive to remedy them and when we fail, we groan. While we moan, we remain connected to them.
“I have become like a pelican in the wilderness and like an owl among the broken walls.” Here are three birds and locations: the pelican, the owl, and the sparrow; and three distinct places: the wilderness, the ruined walls, and the roof of a house. The pelican resides in the wilderness; the owl dwells among the ruins; and regarding the sparrow and roofs, you are familiar with these.
Let us consider what the pelican represents: it is born in an area that renders it unknown to us. It emerges from hidden places, primarily near the banks of the Nile in Egypt. Regardless of its nature, let us see what the Psalm expresses about it. It declares that it dwells in the wilderness. Why question its form, limbs, voice, or habits? As far as the Psalm explains, it is a bird of solitude. The owl naturally enjoys the night. Ruins or parietines symbolize walls that remain without a roof, without inhabitants; this is the owl’s habitat. In contrast, sparrows known to us dwell under roofs.
Thus, I recognize an individual from the body of Christ, a proclaimer of the Word who shows compassion to the weak, pursuing the conquests of Christ while mindful of his future Lord. What about these three examples guided by His stewardship? Did such a person reach out to non-believers? He is a pelican in the wilderness. Has he approached Christians and withdrawn? He is an owl among the broken walls; he does not forsake even those lost in the night, but seeks to reclaim them.
Has he not reached Christians residing in the house, as if they had ceased to believe, while lightly embracing their faith? The sparrow does not call out to them in the wilderness since they are Christians, nor in ruins as they stand intact; instead, it cries out from the roof of a house. It speaks to them not in the wilderness but under the roof, signifying the flesh. The sparrow, a symbol of the flesh, boldly proclaims, adhering to the commandments of God, while not becoming carnal in order to yield to the flesh. What is heard within the ear should be proclaimed from the rooftops.
There are three birds and three settings; one person may embody three birds, while three distinct persons may also each represent one bird; similarly, the three differing places represent three classes of individuals. The wilderness, the ruined walls, and the house’s roof symbolize three segments of the population.
Let us pause to ponder the description of the pelican. When speaking of its actions—whether true or false—whether it is stated that pelicans strike and kill their chicks with their beaks only to mourn for three days, by which they restore life—it may be factual, or speculative. If true, see how it parallels Him who gives us life through His blood.
He associates Himself vividly with the one who broods over her chicks, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you.” If this is true, the pelican closely resembles the flesh of Christ, through whose blood we are beckoned to life. How can it then align with Christ that the bird would kill its own young? Can this be congruent? “I kill and I bring to life; I wound and I heal.”
Indeed, would Saul, the persecutor, have fallen (if not wounded from heaven); or would the preacher have been revived if life had not been imparted through His blood? Yet, let those who examine this subject handle it carefully; we must not allow our understanding to rest upon uncertain grounds. Let us rather identify this bird in the wilderness, as the Psalm echoes: “The pelican is alone.”