# Hunolt Sermons/Volume 12/Sermon 68

On The Holy Virgins And Widows
SIXTY-EIGHTH SERMON
ON ST. AGNES AS A TEACHER OF WISDOM.
Subject.
The child Agnes with wonderful wisdom teaches us what belongs to God, and what to the world: namely, to the world a sovereign contempt; to the Lord God a perfect, zealous love. Preached on the feast of St. Agnes.
Text.
" And five of them were foolish, and five wise." (Matt 25:2)
Introduction.
I must bring you with me into school to-day, my dear brethren; you and I shall be the scholars, and a child the mistress who is to teach us. Be not ashamed when you hear the name of a child to go into that school to learn. For it is a child of wonderful wisdom, who is capable of teaching the wisest and most learned in the world what they have perhaps hitherto neither learned nor been able to understand. I speak of the holy virgin and martyr Agnes, in years a child of thirteen, in wisdom an accomplished mistress. " Let men stand amazed," says St. Ambrose, when speaking of her; "let not children despair; let the married be astonished; let the unmarried imitate her." Come here, all of you! exclaims St. Maxim us, and learn in this school. What! "Learn from that young child the fer vent love of Christ, and to esteem as filth all the delights of the world." This is the teaching in which all Christian wisdom consists, which she will now explain to us, partly by word, partly by her example.
Plan of Discourse.
St. Agnes, a child of wonderful wisdom, teaches us what be longs to the world, and what to God: namely, to the world a generous contempt; to God a perfect and zealous love. By the first she puts to shame the folly of worldlings; by the second our tepidity and sloth in the divine service.
Both to the undying renown of St. Agnes, both to the profit of our souls, which we hope to attain to-day, by the intercession of St. Agnes, mistress of this wisdom, and especially by that of the Queen of virgins, Mary, who is the seat of wisdom. Holy angels, help us herein, that we may reap all the more profit from our visit to this school.
We must first go to school and study diligently, and then become masters; such is the proper way, and the one generally followed. But to teach what we have never learned is either a ridiculous presumption or else a sign of an extraordinary, infused wisdom. For an old, worn-out man of sound mind who has spent many years in different parts, and experienced all sorts of events and circumstances, and grown weary of the world for him to judge harshly of the world, and describe it and its goods as worthless, and to long for better things in heaven is not so very astonishing; for such a man, by virtue of his long experience, has a sufficient knowledge of the inconstancy, vanity, and deceitfulness of worldly things, and can easily tell others how little those things are to be valued, and how they deserve to be despised. See, he can say, when I was young I thought great things of the world. was like a little senseless child who, when it hap pens sometimes to see a high mountain, thinks the sky is on the top of it, and that if it could only climb so far it would be able to grasp it in its hands, and to wash them in the clouds; but when, after long climbing, it at last reaches the top, it sees then how grossly it was deceived, and that the sky is still a long way off. Oh, it then says, would I were down below again; but that will cost some trouble! Such, too, were my thoughts, such the deceit I learned to detect by experience. I heard people speak of treasures and riches, of honor and glory, of pleasures and delights; I saw some, splendidly clad, sitting on high, waited on by many zealous attendants, eating, drinking, and amusing themselves as they pleased; oh, I thought, what a high mountain of happiness they have reached! Would that I were as high as they; would that I had that property, that position, that office; if I could possess that creature I should have a heaven of joys and pleasure on earth! Ah, it is easy to talk of heaven! I climbed with a great deal of trouble to the top of the mountain; after much care and labor I became possessed of the desired good, the coveted position and office; and what have I now from it all? Nothing but an increase of care and worry. I was not long content with that property; I wanted more; the position I gained redoubled my cares and labor; the friend, the person on whom I set all my hopes was taken from me by death, and left me a legacy of sorrow. In a word, everything in the world is vanity and folly; it is and always will be a vale of tears, in which joys and consolations come singly and rarely, while miseries and troubles flock in by the dozen, nay, by the hundred. The only sensible thing one can do is to hold fast by the Almighty God always, and to seek the true joys of heaven. That, I say, such should be the views of one who has learned by long experience is to me not at all surprising.
But for a child who has hardly had an opportunity of seeing the world, and learning anything of it; for a child who has not had time to learn the hollowness and falsehood of the goods of the world; for a child who, moreover, lived in circumstances and occasions that all tended to inspire it with the love of the world and of creatures, while youth of itself requires little to deceive it in those matters, since children, through want of good sense, consideration, and reflection, and through the weakness of their nature, the pleasing disposition peculiar to their years, the novelty of the things that attract their attention, the curiosity of the senses, are generally inclined to judge of everything by its out ward appearance, and take the accident for the substance and essence, a blind color, a glittering show, a worthless toy for an incomparable treasure; while they allow themselves to be attracted by every sweetness, to be allured by every flattery, to be befooled by every external beauty; for a child, I say, in spite of all this to have such a clear knowledge of the nothingness of the world, and to give such a sublime example of contemning it that is indeed a rare and prodigious instance of wisdom, which goes far beyond the usual powers of nature; a wisdom that can come only from the special influence of the Holy Ghost; a wisdom that even the sage Solomon in his years of manhood seems not to have attained to. At least he gave no proof of having done so; for, as the Scripture says, he allowed himself to be completely befooled by the love of creatures and sensual delights; and although in his youth he had received from God a great knowledge of natural things, yet it was only in his old age that he pronounced that sentence on the vanity of the world, after enjoyment and satiety had. rendered its goods insipid and disgusting in his sight; then only he said: " Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity."
In the holy virgin and martyr Agnes we have an example of this extraordinary wisdom in a child. St. Ambrose says of her that he has no ideas nor words with which to express her praises worthily. "Her devotion," he says, "was beyond her age; her virtue above nature. She filled the office of a mistress of virtue, although by her age she could not yet be mistress of herself." This maiden of twelve years of age (for she was in her thirteenth year when she shed her blood for Christ) seemed to be a true favorite of the world, which had set forth all its charms to attract her heart. At her first entry into life great riches, honors, and comforts were at her command, for she was born of a noble Roman family. Rare personal beauty, an agreeable manner, a friendly and affable disposition were the gifts she had received from her Creator; by their means she attracted attention, excited admiration, and filled the hearts of all with affection for her. What dangerous circumstances to be placed in I. will not say for an inexperienced girl, but even for the strongest and wisest man; for our nature is frail, and liable even of its own accord to be perverted by the love of a sensual world.
Now when in addition to these allurements and occasions there are temptations and assaults as well, who could dare to say that he will stand firm, and not allow himself to be overcome? Yet such was the experience of Agnes. To say nothing of the period of her martyrdom, when her virginal honor was exposed to the utmost peril and escaped unhurt, what a hateful and yet alluring violence was offered her by the son of a Roman praetor, who, captivated by the love of her, endeavored, by promises and caresses, by the most costly presents, and by the persuasion of her parents and friends, to obtain her as his wife! A circumstance, indeed, that, in the judgment of the world, would have been considered as most fortunate for her, and would not have been contrary to her honor or to the divine law. I need not dwell on the description of this, for the history of her life is no doubt frequently read and well known in this place.
But how did the child Agnes act? All the goods we have heard of, and the treasures, honors, and pleasures offered to her she esteemed as mere clay and filth, to use the words of St. Maximus. Her sole thought, and the only one she would speak of, was Jesus the crucified; her whole business was to hide her self in His wounds; her only consolation and comfort was to meditate on His bitter sufferings and death. Hear how this child speaks, as we learn from St. Ambrose, when rejecting the address es of her suitor: " Depart from me, food of death I" said she, throwing down the ornaments of gold arid precious stones he had presented to her, " for my heart is already occupied by another Lover; you are too low for me; another has offered Himself to me, and I have accepted Him as my Spouse; He offers me far more precious treasures than you or the whole city of Rome can give; His beauty is incomparable, His power irresistible, His wisdom inscrutable, His riches inexhaustible; at His nod sun, moon, stare, the earth, the heavens, the angels stand in awe, ready to obey Him. What are you thinking of? The treasure you offer me is a stone dug out of the earth, what my Beloved will give to me is an eternal good; the honor you promise me is a breath of vapor that passes, while my Bridegroom will give mean unfading crown of glory; the pleasure I have to expect from you is momentary, and mixed with sorrow and pain, while He has promised me unending joys. Your love is transitory, my Beloved is unchangeable; you will be taken away by death, He will never die; you will become the food of worms, He to whom I have given my heart will live forever. Think not that for the sake of pleasing a wretched mortal I will be unfaithful to Him; I will be true to Him whom I love; to Him will I give all the affection of my heart; Him will I possess, and still remain a virgin."
Hear this child speaking, my dear brethren, but not in a childish manner. Her words are marked by a wisdom that all the teachers and universities in the world, with all their theological learning, could not surpass. Who taught that maiden such things? He who taught the fire to force itself up on high from the earth; He who by the mouths of babes and sucklings knows how to announce His praises, as the Prophet says: "Out of the mouths of infants and of sucklings Thou hast perfected praise; " namely, Jesus, to whom Agnes gave herself completely at the first dawn of reason, and to whose love she devoted all the powers of her heart and mind. So that the world, with all its goods, could have no influence on this child, a fact which deserves all our admiration. Let us see if it had better success with threats.
Oh, let the world act as it pleases; let it turn all its flattery and caresses into threats and outbursts of wrath; the child Agnes will not be frightened by them. Come, ye executioners, bring forward all the instruments of torture that tyranny has ever been able to invent; the child Agnes will only laugh at them. Load here with chains and fetters, shut her up in a dungeon, cast torments, her into the most infamous den of shame, throw her into the flames, and see whether you will be able I do not say to make her renounce Christ, but even to sacrifice her virginal purity by making a promise of marriage. The child Agnes will put all your efforts to shame. Her body is so small and tender that St. Ambrose asks whether there is really room in it to receive a wound from a sword. The child Agnes will offer it, tender and weak as it is, to all the torments in the world for Christ's sake; the more tender her limbs the greater the courage with which she will put to shame all your wrath and cruelty. Where are your bonds and fetters? She is ready to stretch out her hands and feet to them, and even to put them on herself, if necessary. Have you rods and whips, and at the same time strength to use them? This child is ready to receive the blows. Have you swords and axes? This child is willing to stretch forth her head to be cut off; her neck to receive the stroke. Do you threaten her with fire? You will not be so eager to kindle it as she will be to offer herself to the flames, with smiling countenance, and every expression of joy, as she showed in reality. In a word, do all you can and you will not be able to overcome her. Although she is so young and delicate as hardly to be fit for the torture, yet she is able to gain the victory. She has only one heart, but if she had a thousand to dispose of they would all be devoted to the service of Jesus, her Spouse. So little does Agnes care for all the world can offer her; so little does she fear its threats and the harm it can do her; so clearly does she know what is due to her God, what a great Lord He is, and how worthy of all love. Oh, truly, a wonderful example of true Christian wisdom in one so young!
"Learn," I repeat with St. Maximus, " learn from her to love Christ with fervor, and to despise all the goods of the world as mere filth. " Learn, no matter what your state in life may be, or your sex, or your age, learn, great and small, young and old, learn from this teacher how to love your God and to condemn the world. Learn from this child, you, especially, vain children of the world, and be ashamed of your folly, which you try to pass off as wisdom; inasmuch as you so eagerly desire, so laboriously seek, so carefully keep, so fervently and exclusively love what the world esteems as beautiful, noble, and costly, while you do so little to secure eternal goods, and think as rarely of God and heaven as if you were created, not for God, but for the world. Children of the world, I say; for they deserve no other name who, like senseless children, place their happiness in things in which it cannot be found, while they neglect those true goods in which alone happiness is. Show to a child a beautiful painting, a costly golden vessel; it will indeed look at it and examine it; but since it does not know the value of such things, it will take no further notice; but show him an apple, a nut, a doll, and he will stretch forth both hands to grasp it; and if you do not give it to him he will cry most piteously. Is it not so with most people in the world? " children, how long will you love childishness," complains the Lord by the wise Solomon, "and fools covet those things which are hurtful to themselves?" How long will the children of the world love its toys? God shows us heavenly joys, which shall be ours if we only love Him; how do most people act with regard to them? Ah, they have no taste for them, because they have never seen or experienced them. We bite eagerly at the apples and pears, that is, at the transitory goods of the world, that come before our eyes and other senses; our hearts and desires go out altogether to them; we grasp at them; we work day and night for them, and for their sake we often give up God and heaven. If there is question of a fashion, of a custom of the world,, as to whether one should adopt it, and dress and converse in the style favored by others, then is the world preferred, and Jesus and His holy gospel must give way. folly! " how long will you love childishness, and fools covet those things which are hurtful to themselves, and the unwise hate knowledge?"
Learn from this child, you, too, servants of God, how to love Him truly and zealously. We sometimes love God; but how? and for how long? We should be ashamed of our laziness and sloth when we consider St. Agnes. She loved God, and God alone; she allowed no other lover a place in her heart; to Him she gave herself altogether, without exception, body and soul. Our hearts and love and affection are directed to God; but in how many parts they are often divided! Sometimes a part is given to this creature, at other times to that; and it is sold, as it were, to the one that offers the most; just as little children act who smile kindly at all who please them, without distinction, and are just as friendly to the servants in the house as to their own brothers and sisters. Agnes showed her love even amid fire and sword. St. Ambrose says: " No bride hastens so eagerly to the marriage as this virgin joyfully set out for the place of torture and martyrdom." We love; but how? and how long? When everything goes according to our wish, when we are filled with interior consolations then we love God; but there is no great art required for that. A true, sincere love is never better known than in adversity; that is the touchstone to prove and test it. We often say with the lips that we love God, and indeed that we love Him above all things; and yet a small contradiction or difficulty is often enough to deprive us of all energy and fervor in the service of God; if a slight cross comes in our way we begin to grow discontented, displeased, down-hearted, cowardly just as little children begin to cry when they see the rod. We sometimes offer ourselves to God, and profess our willingness to endure all for His sake, for His honor and glory; but this offering, this willingness lasts only as long as we feel that we have nothing to suffer. If we happen to be visited by a cross (not to speak of some serious trial, such as a long sickness, great misfortune in temporal things, the unforeseen death of a dear friend), if we only hear a word of contradiction from one or the other whom we do not like; if anything is refused, no matter how small it may be, that we have set our heart on oh, then, where is our virtue? where our willingness and readiness to suffer for God's sake? Agnes loved God always from her infancy; she offered her life to Him in the first bloom of her years, which made the offering all the more pleasing; we love and serve God, but when did we begin to do so? How long had the Lord to wait for our service? Perhaps many of us deserved in our conversion the reproof: " Thou hast prostituted thyself to many lovers; nevertheless return to Me, and I will receive thee." Thou comest to Me after having played Me false with many; thou art now willing to serve Me, after having spent long years in the service of others; the bloom of thy youth thou hast given to the vain, transitory world, to the flesh, to the devil; and I am to have what is left? Nevertheless, come, and I will receive thee. Oh, truly, a painful thought for me! Lord, I am ashamed, and I must acknowledge, with the humble and penitent St. Augustine: Late have I loved Thee, God of beauty and love! Late have I loved Thee!
What a consolation it would be to me if, with those souls who have loved Thee from infancy like Agnes, and who, after having despised and abandoned the world, have devoted themselves to Thy service, of whom I see some now before me; what a consolation if I could say with them: God of my love, I am Thine totally, and have always been Thine; I turned my back on the world before I had any experience of its hollowness and dangers! The days of my life I have spent in this sacred solitude, in Thy service alone; I will continue, with Thy grace, as I have begun, to sacrifice my understanding and will to Thee by obedience, my goods by poverty, my body by chastity, my whole self by a long martyrdom, renouncing any hope and desire of worldly honors and pleasures. It is indeed little to offer such a great Lord; but it is all I have; all Thou hast given me. I expect no reward except, with St. Agnes, Thee, my Beloved. Oh, what a consolation for a soul! Continue to enjoy it! And I will at least learn from the child Agnes what I have not done hitherto: to despise all temporal things, and to love Thee, my God, constantly above all. Amen.