1 have cut off my days like a weaver: he has oppressed me with sickness.
SECOND SERMON
Isaiah 38
1 2. My life has departed; it has been changed like a shepherd's tent. I
have cut off my days like a weaver: he has oppressed me with sickness.
From morning to night you will consume me. 13. I reckoned to go until
morning; he has broken my bones like a lion. From morning to night you
will destroy me, and undo me. 14. I chattered like the crane and the
swallow; I moaned like a dove; my eyes were lifted up and failed. Trouble
presses me; Lord, relieve me. 15. What shall I say? He who spoke it has
also done it.
Continuing the discourse begun yesterday, Hezekiah says here that his life
has been changed like a shepherd's tent. By this comparison he shows that
there is no fixed permanence in the life of men, and that he experienced it
himself—for he was as if at rest, and in a moment, God withdrew him from
this world. When we compare our bodies to the houses in which we are
lodged, it might seem that the body of man, being more than the house,
ought to have some permanence—for what is a house but an accessory to
the body? Houses are built for the use of men, so the one who dwells in a
building ought to be valued above the house, just as the body is valued
above clothing and all adornments. Now here Hezekiah says that he has
been lodged in this world like a shepherd who has his little tent, which he
drags and carries here and there. He speaks according to the custom of his
country, where flocks are penned, and a shepherd carries his tent as easily
as one would carry something quite light here. He shows, in sum, that his
life has been nothing but a wandering, and that God suddenly changed it.
He speaks according to the opinion he had conceived, for he was as it were
at the edge of his grave. And indeed he had good reason to prepare himself
to die, since God had sent him such a message, as we said. In short, he
speaks as if the thing had already happened.
He then returns to the cause of his affliction and confesses himself guilty
of it. He says that he himself has cut off his days, as if a weaver, having
cloth on his loom, cut it all off. "I must not," says Hezekiah, "accuse
anyone else, for this evil must be imputed to me alone, for I have provoked
the wrath of God, I have deprived myself of his blessing—I must therefore
now attribute it all to myself." Now although this is spoken of a single man,
we nevertheless have here a good admonition about the brevity of our life.
It is true that this is a well-known thing, but we think of it very poorly—for
after confessing that present life is but a shadow, we become so entangled
in it that each of us thinks only of how he will provide for himself up to a
hundred years. In short, it seems we never intend to leave here, so occupied
are we with what belongs to the world. All the more, then, must we call to
mind what Scripture shows us about the fragility of our life—as Saint Paul
also says that we are now lodged under a mere hut. The body of man is not
a house that deserves to be called a building or an edifice, for there is
nothing in it but frailty. Let us groan, then, waiting to be fully restored, and
let us not be so held back in this world that we fail to press forward. For
unbelievers, whatever happens, will come to their end—but meanwhile they
draw no nearer to God; rather they are stuck fast in this world, and instead
of advancing they sink ever deeper. Let us learn, then, to walk forward—
that is, to be so disposed to follow when God calls us that death never
comes before its time.
As for Hezekiah saying that he was the cause of his own affliction, let us
likewise practice this doctrine whenever it pleases God to afflict us. We see
that we are prone to murmuring, and even when convicted of our faults, we
do not cease to be aggrieved, as if God had gone too far. Let us then confess
with true humility that God justly punishes us in all the afflictions he sends,
speaking as Hezekiah did: "It is I who have caused all this evil." It is true
that presently he attributes it to God, but the two agree very well—namely,
that man is the author of all the miseries he endures, while God works as
Judge. For when a wrongdoer is punished, he must not complain of his
judge; rather, seeing that he himself has offended against the laws, he
condemns himself. And then he recognises that God, too, by the authority of
justice, brings him to just chastisement. So must we do likewise: first,
recognising that if God afflicts us, it is not that he takes pleasure in
tormenting us, but that he must repay us according to what we have
deserved—though even then he does not deal with us according to the full
measure of our offences, for what would become of us? We would be a
hundred thousand times overwhelmed if he wished to deal with us in strict
rigour; but he chastises us according to what he knows is good for us.
Meanwhile let our mouths be closed, let no murmur escape us. And further,
when we recognise that we have provoked his wrath, let us know that we
must not look outside ourselves to say who caused it, but simply accuse
ourselves. This, in sum, is what we must retain from this passage.
There follows: "From morning to night you will undo me." By this
Hezekiah shows how terrible the fury of God is—for he signifies that God
need not scheme this or that when he wishes to avenge himself on men; if
he but speaks the word, the thing is done at once. In short, he shows here
both the power of God and, on the other hand, the frailty of men. This is
meant to strip us of all the foolish notions we conceive, making ourselves
believe we might escape. We see how men always draw back, and even
when God presses them, it seems to them they will find some way to flee.
In short, we push time back with our shoulder, as they say, and give
ourselves extensions; and even when the rope is drawn tight, we still
conceive some vain hope. And what causes this? We do not consider our
own frailty—for there is not a minute in which death does not threaten us,
and though we stand now, it takes but the turn of a hand for us to fall. On
the other hand, we do not recognise the infinite power of God—for if he
once lays his hand upon us, he need not strike twice; it suffices that he
merely breathe, and we are entirely annihilated. It is not, then, without
cause that Hezekiah says here that from morning to night he will be undone.
For we understand also that we are sustained only insofar as God gives us
strength—but if he withdraws his spirit, we shall at once fail and be thrown
into confusion. And if he shows himself against us and persecutes us, we
shall be all the more cast down. Following, then, Hezekiah's admonition, let
us often consider how weak we are, recognising what we are made of—
namely, that from minute to minute God sustains us, but that meanwhile
death besieges us, and it takes no great assault to ruin us; a single breath
suffices, and we are withered like grass, as we shall see in the fortieth
chapter. And let us know what the wrath of God is when it is armed against
us. For God is not like creatures who need to arm themselves and make
great preparations; as soon as he speaks the word, we are immediately
abolished by his word alone. Since this is so, let us learn to walk in
watchfulness, let us commit our lives into his hands, let us recognise that
we are nothing at all except insofar as we subsist in him; and whatever
measure of respite he grants us, let us attribute it wholly to his grace when
he thus prolongs our life—for we would be as good as failing if he
displayed even a single drop of his power against us. This, then, is what we
must observe in this passage, where it speaks of "from morning to night."
Now he adds that he chattered like a crane or a swallow and moaned like
a dove. By this he signifies that anguish held him so tightly bound that he
did not even have free speech to express his feelings. If a man cries out and
laments, voices his complaints and declares his trouble, one must already
say he is greatly pressed—but when a man is so cast down that he cannot
even declare what he needs, that he mutters to himself, unable to force out a
single word to show how vehement his passion is, that he sighs, saying half
a word while the rest is held back as if his throat were gripped shut—this is
indeed a great extremity. Hezekiah, then, says this was his condition. There
is no doubt he looks chiefly to God: as if he said that men had well
perceived the sadness in which he was held, but that when he wished to
form some request to God, he was as if mute—pressed on one side by the
affliction itself, and yet unable to properly express what he needed, so that
he was caught between two extremities: on the one hand so constricted
within that scarcely a complaint could be drawn from him; and on the other
hand so pressed by such vehement passions that he did not know where to
begin his prayer.
Now one might find it strange that Hezekiah, who had previously shown
such great virtue in himself, should now be so undone, indeed almost
entirely annihilated—but this is because he was engaged in a spiritual
struggle, feeling his sins and knowing that God was his Judge. For, as we
touched on yesterday, this affliction surpasses all others. It is likely that
Hezekiah suffered an extremely severe pain, by which he was greatly cast
down—one may even conjecture it was something like a burning plague.
This, then, was his affliction, great in itself; but it was nothing compared to
this apprehension of God's wrath, when he looked upon his faults and
recognised that God was armed to be his adversary, and that it was God
himself pursuing him—and this too is what so terrifies him. And indeed,
when one comes to that point, all courage and all magnanimity must fail—
for what constancy could a man have to resist the wrath of God? It would
take more than madness and rage for a man even to think he could. It is true
that a man may show constancy in bearing afflictions God sends him—but
how? Only insofar as he is fortified by God. And then, if men trouble and
molest him, he considers that he deals only with creatures; if he suffers
some evil at their hands, well, he grits his teeth. But when God summons
us, and makes us feel that we are guilty before him, that the time has now
come to render account, that our sins threaten us, and that meanwhile we
perceive eternal death prepared for us—there, as I have said, could we have
any strength to hold firm? We would have to be more than raving mad.
Let us not find it strange, then, if Hezekiah is so cast down—for it is not a
question of resisting pain, or repelling wrongs done to him by men, or
shrugging off some affliction, but of doing battle against God himself. And
how could he possibly manage that? He must, then, be entirely as if
dissolving into water. This is why he could form no complaint to express his
suffering, and yet he could not stay silent. This is also why David says that
sometimes he kept silent, and shortly after began to cry out and groan,
finding no relief. We see that David's passions were like those of good King
Hezekiah—indeed he adds that his sins troubled him, and that he was
terrified by the wrath of God. He kept no rule or measure, but sometimes
burst out, rose up, and then afterwards was so cast down that he could not
catch his breath, while the affliction continued always. And in another
passage he says he had kept silent as if he had bridled himself, resolving
within himself to say not a word. "No," he says, "I will be there like a mute
creature, I will not speak, I will not utter a syllable"—but meanwhile, he
says, he felt the pain increasing, even kindling, like a fire that, if well
caught and enclosed, exerts itself all the more and shows greater force,
bursting out. So David declares that in his anguish, when he had resolved to
keep quiet and say nothing, it was then that he was compelled to show what
was hidden in his heart, even if not in well-ordered words. In short, those
who truly know what the wrath of God is will speak and cry out plenty; yet
they do not know where to begin—and then when they fall silent, they do
not know why; but still they are always in anguish.
We see a notable example of all this in good King Hezekiah. It is true that
God will not bring us all equally to such a trial—for if he tests us, it will be
according to our weakness; he considers that we would not be able to
endure such blows and assaults, so he spares us. But when it pleases him to
prove us in such a way (as we read here in the example of King Hezekiah),
we must already be equipped with this doctrine. This, in sum, is what we
must retain.
And further, let us learn what all the constancy of men amounts to. They
may well show some sign of virtue when God does not display his power
against them—but as soon as he calls us to account, all the strength we
thought we had must dissolve and vanish. This is what we must practice for
our instruction in true humility—for we know that men always remain in
their presumption and trust in themselves. And what causes this, if not that
each of us measures himself against his neighbour? This is how we come to
think ourselves quite capable—but we ought instead to raise our minds to
God, for there we shall find that as soon as he turns toward us, we are
nothing at all. Let us recognise, then, that we could be plunged into ruin in a
single minute, as soon as God makes us feel his wrath; let us recognise, too,
that until we are stripped of all confidence in ourselves, we cannot be
brought to true humility. For as long as men have some good opinion of
themselves, thinking they are capable of this or that, they certainly rob God
of what belongs to him. And when they thus exalt themselves without any
foundation, it is only to break their own necks.
This, then, is what we must retain: that all human self-confidence, when
men trust in their own virtues, is nothing but a dream, since they do not
look to God, nor stop there to be stripped of all vain presumption. And
further, when we hear here of such chattering, and Hezekiah confesses he
could not utter a single word but only muttered, scarcely knowing what he
ought to say, let us recognise that when our Lord presses us so hard that we
cannot form a request or offer a well-ordered prayer, the door is
nevertheless not closed to us in coming to him. I say this because this
particular temptation is dangerous. It is true that if we do not perceive in
ourselves a zeal to pray to God, and a disposition to meditate on the
promises he gives us, and boldness to approach him, this ought to displease
us—we ought to feel that we are indeed far from where we should be. But
nevertheless, we must still overcome this temptation.
When then, a man finds himself in such distress that he cannot draw out a
single word in praying to God, so overwhelmed that he does not know
where to begin, he must still pray regardless. And in what way? That we at
least chatter—that is, that we utter sighs and groans that show some
excessive passion, as if we were on the rack. And God hears these groans—
as we see Saint Paul say, that the Holy Spirit stirs us to groanings that
cannot be uttered, that is, which cannot be put into words.
If, then, one wished to turn the prayers of the faithful into an art of
rhetoric, this would be an abuse—for our Lord humbles us in this very
point, so that we should not think to obtain anything from him by fine
display. He wants us rather to be so confounded that we have not a single
skilful word in our prayers, but that we pour out our groans and gasps, and
then remain there utterly speechless: "Alas, my God! Alas, what shall I
do?"—and when we thus groan, that we be so tangled up that there is
neither beginning nor end to it. When we come to that point, our Lord
understands this language, even though we ourselves do not understand it,
and though our perplexities prevent us from setting out a coherent thought,
and though men too cannot tell what we mean to say—still God, as we have
already said, will indeed hear us. This, then, is what we must retain from
this passage: that if anguish presses us, however much Satan tries by this
means to shut us out entirely so that we do not pray to God at all, but
wander lost from him, let us not fail to bring these groanings to God,
confused though they may be.
Now Hezekiah goes on to say that he reckoned until evening, and that
God broke all his bones, as if he were in the jaws and between the paws of a
lion. In saying he reckoned— "well, I will see what happens until night"—
but, he says, the affliction overcame him, for he had not yet fully known the
terrible and dreadful power of God when he rises up against a poor creature.
Now here we must remember that although we have been taught by the
word of God what his power is, and have even felt it by experience, we
grasp only the smallest portion of it. For God will rise up in such a way that
we shall see all we had thought of him before was but a faint shadow. Let us
learn, then, to consider what the power of God is, and to apply all our
thoughts and study to it, and to be so moved by it that we walk in fear of
him and dread his majesty, knowing that even now he lets us feel only the
smallest taste of his power—for if he wished to press us in earnest, we
would find that what we had thought before was but distant, almost as if we
had only dreamed it. This, then, is what good King Hezekiah wished to
express, so that by his example we might learn not to reckon without our
host, but to know that the judgments of God, and the corrections he sends to
punish the sins of men, are a marvellous thing. Let us not think, then, that
we have grasped it all, for our capacity is far too small—rather let us always
be led further, so that when God corrects and chastises us, though we are
already seized with fear, and even though we are dull of understanding, he
still makes us feel something of his majesty and power; let us understand
that it is a hundred thousand times greater than our minds can conceive, and
that under this we should be all the more moved to fear him.
Now as for this comparison to a lion, it might indeed seem that Hezekiah
does God some wrong here—for it is not speaking of him with the
reverence he deserves, to compare him to a cruel beast that devours, breaks,
crushes, tears, and destroys everything. Now we know that Scripture
preaches to us the very opposite of this—namely, that God is kind,
compassionate, patient, full of mercy, full of equity and gentleness; in short,
that he bears such love for men that he asks only to hold them tenderly as
his own children. Since, then, God declares himself to be such, it might
seem that Hezekiah blasphemes in comparing him to a lion. But here the
good king did not intend to contend against God; he only declared his own
feelings, and did not do so to preach his own praises (as we saw earlier), but
preferred to bear this shame until the end of the world, so that his frailty
might be known, and that we might draw profitable instruction from it.
This, then, is how Hezekiah did not spare himself, but set himself before us
as an example, so that we might see how he was seized with terror, and
thereby be taught to fear God, and to arm ourselves also with his promises
when we come into such troubles, so that we persist in calling upon him.
And even if we utterly fail and are confounded, let us nonetheless retain
this: to offer ourselves to God and direct our sighs and groans to him. This,
then, is what we must retain.
Now it is not without cause that Hezekiah compares God to a lion—for, as
we have already seen, all the pains we feel in our bodies, and all the
troubles we can conceive, are nothing compared to this apprehension of the
wrath of God. That is why we say that spiritual struggles are far more
difficult than any temptations we may have. We call spiritual struggles
those in which God compels us to look at our sins, and, on the other hand,
awakens us in such a way that he makes us think what his wrath is, so that
we conceive of him there as our Judge, summoned before him to render
account. This, then, is what we call a spiritual struggle, far heavier and
more dreadful than all the troubles, anguish, fears, torments, doubts, and
perplexities we might have regarding the world. Now when we have come
to that point, we should not be astonished that God seems to us like a lion—
at least as far as we are able to perceive him—for it is not here a question of
this word as applied to the nature of God itself. And when he thus
tormented King Hezekiah, it was not that he had forgotten his goodness and
mercy, which he shows him elsewhere—but it was necessary that Hezekiah
know himself to be in the hands of God as between the paws and in the
jaws of a lion. And we too must come to this point, as I have already said,
for otherwise God cannot win us over. There is such arrogance in us that we
always think ourselves strong and robust, and can never be brought low
except by a great thunderclap, indeed by lightning itself. And we cannot
magnify the power of God as we ought—we will speak of it enough, and
think something of it too, but not so as to attribute to him an infinite
greatness, to be as it were carried away when we think of it, occupying all
our senses as it should. Our Lord must, so to speak, transfigure himself—
that is, render himself more terrifying than all the lions in the world, and
reveal himself to us with such power that we are utterly terrified, as if we
saw a hundred deaths before us. For the wrath of God is not merely to make
us die, but we see the pits of hell opened when God shows himself as our
Judge. It is no wonder, then, if we are seized with such terror, as if a lion
were tearing us between its paws and breaking our bones with its teeth, and
if we conceive such horror when God is against us.
And this too is the source of all the complaints we see in the Psalms.
Those who are not tried in these struggles, these troubles and perplexities,
think that David wished to make his suffering seem much greater than it
was, or else it seems to them he was too delicate. But when we come to the
test ourselves, we feel that there is not a single superfluous word—for the
terrors that the faithful feel, when God truly probes them to the quick,
surpass anything that can be expressed by the mouth. Let us not think, then,
that this comparison used here by King Hezekiah is excessive—for we shall
find the majesty of God far more terrifying than all the evils contained here
can express, when it pleases him to call us to account and make us feel that
he is our Judge. For if the mountains tremble before him and melt away,
how shall we, who are nothing, be able to stand?
Let us note well, then, that whenever God takes from us the taste of his
goodness, and we imagine ourselves cut off from his kingdom, and we
perceive nothing but our sins—like great piles of wood to kindle the fire of
his wrath—let us consider that, being almighty, he must also strike us down
and overwhelm us. When we feel these things, we must indeed be utterly
overwhelmed, until he raises us up again. And indeed, in a single moment
we would be plunged to the very depths of hell, were it not that he holds us
firmly by the hand, and that in some secret way we are held back by him,
even though we do not see how. Here, then, is a doctrine that should serve
us on the one hand to humble us, so that we forget whatever virtue men
think they have in themselves, and submit to the majesty of God, being
utterly cast down beneath it; and, on the other hand, that we recognise the
need and necessity we have of his holding us—indeed in a way beyond our
comprehension. And when we think ourselves entirely abandoned by him,
forgotten by him, let us be assured that he still holds us by the hand—we
may not perceive it, but he does it, nonetheless. And indeed, we could never
come out of such a labyrinth except that by his infinite mercy he draws us
out of it—just as it is certain that Hezekiah would never have been raised
up had God not sustained him inwardly by his Holy Spirit and given him
light, while he was in such great troubles.
Now after speaking thus, he adds: "Lord, trouble presses me; relieve me.
But what shall I say? He has done it, just as he said." Here Hezekiah
confesses, in sum, that he is defeated as far as he himself is concerned, and
that there is no remedy left except that God intervene and stand as his
surety. The word he uses sometimes means "to answer," which we here call
"to stand surety." One might express it: "Lord, be my surety in this
extremity, for I can do no more. You see there is no longer any capacity left
in me; you must therefore answer in my place." This word appears also
among the complaints of Job—but it also means "to relieve," and it all
comes to the same thing: as we have already noted, Hezekiah recognises
that he has no strength left, and that he must fail as far as he himself is
concerned—as if a man declared he had nothing with which to pay what he
owes, and so has recourse to God.
Now here we have again a good admonition: that we cannot call upon
God as we ought, except when we are brought to the point of utterly
emptying ourselves. For as long as men retain some residue of self-reliance,
they will certainly call upon God only half-heartedly. We must, then, be so
subdued that, being entirely stripped bare, our destitution compels us to
seek in God what is lacking in ourselves. This, then, for one point.
Meanwhile, we are warned not to lose heart when God has thus stripped
us bare and emptied us of all strength—for we can still address our words to
him, following Hezekiah's path: "Lord, I can do no more; I pray you,
relieve me." This, then, is what we must retain from this passage. It is true
we are not always pressed in the same way as Hezekiah was—but whatever
the case, even if the constraint is not so violent, we must still be stripped
and emptied of all false confidence in our own strength, so that God may be
glorified as he deserves. And meanwhile, as I have said, let us continue our
prayers and petitions; and after being convinced that we have no strength
left in ourselves, let us still have recourse to our God, and he will give us
what we lack, since in him lies the fullness of all good things.
Now he adds further: "And what shall I say? For he who has spoken, he
has also done it." Here some have thought that Hezekiah wished now to
rejoice, sensing the deliverance God had sent him, and that he breaks off all
the complaints he had made, now opening his mouth to confess the
goodness of God. But the thread of the text does not support this—rather,
Hezekiah breaks off his speech to show the anguish that prevents him from
continuing as he would have wished. We see many such examples
throughout the Psalms, where there is some account of the chastisements
God sent to David or his other servants. When God has harshly afflicted his
people, there have been such petitions in which the faithful always weave in
something, as it were, as if they were at a loss. So it is now with Hezekiah.
And there is an entirely similar example in Psalm 39, which we have
already cited, for there David likewise recognises that he deals with God. It
already meant a great deal to know that men were persecuting him—but
when he sees that the hand of God is against him: "I must not," he says,
"come here to plead or bring a case; there is nothing better than to be utterly
silent and accept my condemnation." And in Job too we see many such
complaints.
Now let us come to Hezekiah's intent. "What shall I say? It is he who
spoke it, and he has also done it." Earlier he lamented—yet not like those
who find no hope at all, for such people will cry out "alas" enough, but all
their sighs vanish into the air. In contrast, Hezekiah shows us here that if we
want God to hear us, we must lay out all our passions and sorrows before
him, so that we may be relieved of them, as is said in the Psalm. Now up to
this point Hezekiah has followed this order—laying out the perplexities and
anxieties he endured, as if placing them in God's lap. Now he catches
himself. "Alas," he says, "what am I to do? For it is God himself who has
spoken it and done it. He has sent me this message by his prophet, that there
is no more hope of life—so it is in vain that I pray to him. What good will
all my prayers do? What shall I do? I do not know if he will have pity on
me." We see now how Hezekiah is vexed with himself.
Now it is true that such an inner dispute proceeds from unbelief—but it is
also necessary that there be some unbelief in us, so that our faith may be all
the better tested. And this is not to say, properly speaking, that we are
unbelievers when we are thus troubled with anxiety, but rather that our faith
is weak, and that our Lord exercises us in such a way that we come to
know, meanwhile, who we are, and that without him we would be defeated
a hundred thousand times every hour. This, in sum, is what Hezekiah meant
to express here. "What shall I say? For I do not feel that the prayer I might
offer would be of any use. And why? God presses me hard, and I feel no
relief; I am afraid to present myself before him." Yet nevertheless he still
hopes his request will not be rejected by God—although he truly knows that
when God spoke through the mouth of his prophet, he displayed his hand at
the same time; and he experiences that this message is not like some
childish threat, but that God has declared and announced war against him,
waged as if by fire and sword, so that it seems there is no remedy left.
Now here we have again a good passage showing us that we must defy
Satan and all unbelief when it comes to praying to God—so that even if we
had a hundred thousand doubts, we should not fail to conclude: "Still I will
overcome every obstacle by the power of my God; I will still seek him,
even if he repels me, and even if it seems there are a hundred armies to cast
me far away, still I will come to him." This, I say, is how we must be armed
when it comes to praying to God—for just as we need, in every extremity,
to have recourse to our God, so too we must recognise that Satan makes
every effort to prevent us from having access to God, and there is not one of
the faithful who does not feel this more than he would wish—but
nevertheless, knowing the sickness, let us take the remedy given to us here
by God. So, when the devil suggests to us, "What good would it do you to
pray to God? Do you think that, in all the poverty you feel in yourself, he
would want to help you? And what do you think, miserable creature? To
whom are you addressing yourself? Is it not God himself who persecutes
you?"—let us press on nonetheless, and strive to break through all such
hindrances, trampling underfoot all such extravagant arguments.
Further, it will happen that even when we are somewhat at rest, if we lift
our thoughts to God, this immediately comes to mind: "Alas, who are we?
Would we dare now address ourselves to God? How many times have we
offended him?" And on this basis, we sometimes resolve to hold back. Yet
such inner disputes are quite harmful—for they amount to so many
blasphemies, were God to hold them against us; just as when we enter into
question or doubt whether we shall be heard or not, this is certainly a mortal
offence, and if God did not bear with us in our weaknesses, we could be
overwhelmed by it. But whatever the case, after condemning ourselves,
after feeling that our spirit is entangled in many doubts—in short, that it is a
labyrinth—let us nevertheless take courage, and after saying, "Alas, what
shall I do?" let us break off that thought to say instead: "Still I must pray
and seek my God—and why? For he has said that he will hear those who
call upon him, even from the depths of the abyss. Now here I am; this, then,
is the fitting time to address myself to him." This, then, is what we must
retain from this teaching of Hezekiah: when we see these broken-off
statements, this chattering, when we see his passions so excessive that they
trouble him, let us recognise that God wished here to show us a mirror in
which we might contemplate our own weaknesses and the temptations to
which we are subject, so as to fight against them, and to persevere always
until we feel the relief he promises us—as indeed we shall feel it, provided
there is true perseverance, and that we do not fail through our own laziness
and sloth in the middle of the way.
Now let us prostrate ourselves before the majesty of our good God,
acknowledging our faults, praying that he may more and more make us feel
them, until we are truly stripped of them. And though there is always much
to be found wanting in us, let us nevertheless not cease to hope in his
mercy; and may he grant that we taste it so fully, in the name of our Lord
Jesus Christ, that it may give us true patience in all our afflictions, and that
we may be so held in his obedience that we ask nothing other than to offer
ourselves to him and be wholly sanctified in him. May it please him to grant
this grace not only to us, but to all peoples and nations, etc.