1 quietly all the days of my life in the bitterness of my soul. 16. Lord, to
THIRD SERMON
Isaiah 38
1 5. What shall I say? He who spoke it has also done it. I shall walk
quietly all the days of my life in the bitterness of my soul. 16. Lord, to
all who will live on, the life of my spirit will be made known in them, in that
you have made me sleep, and have brought me to life. 17. Behold, in my
prosperity bitterness was bitter to me; and you have loved my soul so as to
draw it back from the grave, since you have cast my sins behind your back.
We have already shown earlier that good King Hezekiah, complaining
that it is God who persecutes him, is more confounded on that account than
he would be if he had all the men of the world as enemies, and they had
conspired to torment him—for it is a far harder thing, one that ought to
astonish us beyond comparison more, if God rises up against us than if all
creatures made war on us. This is why Hezekiah remains confounded and
troubled, feeling that what God had declared to him through his prophet
Isaiah is now accomplished in him. For this too touches us more keenly
when we compare the word of God with what we feel of his judgments. If
God simply struck us, we might be stunned by it—but when he adds his
word to rebuke us, so that we know it is he who chastises us, indeed
because of our sins, this causes all the greater confusion.
So Hezekiah says specifically that as God spoke, so he has also done. And
on this he concludes that he has no reply to make. For when dealing with
mortal men, we might well voice our complaints—but when it comes to
accusing God, he will always win his case. We may plead for a time, but he
will always be justified after condemning us. It is, then, wasted time to
imagine we can improve our situation if we do not accept condemnation
before God, but instead try to resist and resort to murmuring and
complaints. All that will do is aggravate our trouble, until we are utterly
overwhelmed. Let our mouths, then, be closed, as it is said in Job—for this
is what good King Hezekiah understood in this passage.
He then adds that all the time of his life he will walk with a trembling
gait, moving gently like a man cast down, dragging his legs, indeed in the
bitterness of his soul. Here Hezekiah declares that God has so engraved the
feeling of this correction, and imprinted it so deeply in his heart, that the
memory of it will never be erased. It may often happen (and we experience
it more than we should) that when God presses us, we are utterly
astonished, we groan; further, when it comes to confessing our faults with
humility, it is a marvel to hear us. In short, we are not sparing with words,
whether to show the greatness of our suffering, or to declare our faults, or to
bless the name of God. But we merely shake our ear, as they say, shortly
after, and from one day to the next, once God has given us some relief or
rest, we think no more of it.
This, then, is how men are: they seek God (as is said in the prophet) while
he draws them as if by force—then they call upon him and confess their
debt, as we have said—but as soon as God spares them, there they are as
before; they lift their heads like stags, they do nothing but play, whereas
before they were so utterly cast down, with such a terrified face; in short,
there was nothing but anguish, and immediately afterward it is all feasting;
they return to their pleasures, and what is more, it seems they wish openly
to defy God. We see, then, this inconstancy, this fickleness and lightness, in
almost all men. In contrast, Hezekiah says here that it is not only for the
present time that he knows God chastises him, but that as long as he lives in
the world he will always remember the chastisement he has received, and
will walk, as it were, with a trembling gait. For the word he uses sometimes
means "to go gently," and sometimes means "to be shaken." In sum, he
means that he will never again have a firm, steady step, but will be so
weakened that it will be as if a man had been pulled from the grave—like
one who has been sick a long time and can scarcely drag his limbs; even if
he shows himself in the streets, one can see clearly that he is spent; and
even when he stands, he will nearly always have a tottering way about him.
We see now, in sum, what King Hezekiah meant to say. By this we are
admonished not to find it strange if God sometimes afflicts us far more
harshly than we would wish—for we have not yet profited enough from his
rods until we are truly humbled for the whole of our life. Who among us
will find this true of himself? Let each of us now examine whether, a month
after God has shown him mercy, he has still recognised his faults and still
trembles at them. On the contrary, as I have already said, we ask for nothing
but to erase all memory of it, for it seems to us a matter for melancholy.
Since, then, we so easily forget the rods of God, it should not astonish us if,
having chastised us once, he returns to do so a second time, showing
himself so harsh that we do not know what to do. What we must do, then, is
this: during corrections, and when we are in anguish, let us bear the rigor of
God patiently, knowing that it is not without cause that he deals with us
with such excessive harshness, but because he knows we need it. This for
one point.
And for the second: let us strive to rouse ourselves on account of the
laziness that is in us, for we are so slack and so cold that it is a pity. Let us,
then, think carefully during affliction about all our offenses, so as to have a
feeling and an apprehension of them engraved deep in our hearts. And when
God has delivered us, let us still think of this, so that the sense of our
wrongdoing is not merely for a day or a short while—but, as we desire that
God bear with us and grant us some leisure to bless his Name and rejoice in
him, let us so conduct ourselves that he is not compelled always to strike us
as if we were donkeys, seeing our indifference and our slowness. Let us,
then, get ahead of the rods of God, unless we wish them to remain forever
fixed on our backs.
Meanwhile, note that Hezekiah, though he trembled so, did not fail to be
sustained by the hand of God, and to seek relief in God, knowing well that
God was favourable to him. But these two things agree well together: that
on the one hand the faithful are always anxious, fearing to stumble a second
and third time when there has already been a fatal fall; and yet, on the other
hand, that they take courage, and trust in God to walk forward boldly,
knowing that he will never fail them.
This, then, is what we must practice: on the one hand, thinking of our sins
and offenses, being moved with horror at seeing that we have deserved to
have God rise up against us, so that this makes us bow down, gives us a
trembling gait, so that we can scarcely walk. This is how we ought to be
cast down and humbled under the hand of God. For it is not a matter here of
being too stubborn—rather, we must recognise that the chief virtue of the
faithful, when God afflicts and punishes them, is to be as if annihilated, and
yet, while dragging our limbs, to still keep moving forward, since it pleases
God to show us mercy, and knowing that even though we have offended
him, he nevertheless wishes to continue his goodness toward us, wanting to
give us courage—and that on the other hand we should therefore be
cheerful. This, in sum, is what we must retain here from Hezekiah.
Afterward he adds that bitterness came bitterly to him in his prosperity.
Here he aggravates the suffering he felt, since he had been seized by it
suddenly, thinking himself at rest and free from affliction—whereas, on the
contrary, we know that what is foreseen from afar will be borne more
patiently. For what is it that discourages us in affliction, if not that each of
us, during prosperity, persuades himself that all will go well? If a man
thought of the death of his father, or his wife, or his children, if he thought
his whole life subject to so many calamities, he would certainly be armed
against every temptation and would not be so terrified when they came—
but because each of us deceives himself with vain hope, this is what
troubles us beyond measure when our Lord sends us some adversity. Now
Hezekiah confesses that this is what happened to him, and that is why he
says his bitterness was all the more bitter because it came to him in his
prosperity. For we have already seen how God had afflicted him to the
utmost—when he was stripped of his kingdom, and the whole country was
plundered by his enemies. He was besieged in the city of Jerusalem,
harassed there, mocked, subjected to every insult and reproach possible—
even the name of God was vilely blasphemed. Hezekiah, then, was utterly
confounded. Then God delivered him miraculously, as if descending from
heaven to his aid. Seeing this great defeat wrought by the hand of the
Angel, he rejoiced, and not without reason—for God gave him cause,
having shown such a sign of favour toward him, as if he had reformed the
whole world at his word. But there was a fault nonetheless: he no longer
thought of his past affliction, and rested too much—that is, he grew
careless. That is why he now says that his bitterness came upon him in the
midst of his peace and prosperity.
Now here we have a very useful admonition: that when we recognise the
graces of God, we ought indeed to rejoice, but without forgetting the past,
and keeping our true condition always before our eyes for the future—
namely, that it takes but the turn of a hand for our life to become death, and
our light darkness, as we see the various changes in this frail life. In short,
let us magnify the goodness of God so greatly, when he assures us that he
will maintain us in peace and ease, that we still always consider our own
frailty, and are not so dazzled when God blesses us and sends us everything
to our liking that it lulls us too much to sleep—but let each of us be
prepared, whenever it pleases him to send us some change, to receive
whatever he wishes to send in fear, humility, and full patience. If we do this,
we shall not find the hand of God as grievous or heavy as we are
accustomed to think. But when we grow too drowsy, even while
recognizing the grace of God we presently enjoy, he will have to wake us,
indeed pull our ear quite roughly, or even strike us hard blows. We have the
example of this here in King Hezekiah, as also in David. For in Psalm
thirty, David confesses that he had become so intoxicated that his prosperity
had made him forget his condition: "I said in my abundance, I shall never
be shaken." And how could that be? David had had so many goads to prick
him, had been so thoroughly trained always to think about what human life
is, and had made such good use of it—for he had been for a long time as if
in the shadow of death, persecuted by the whole people, held captive among
his enemies, scarcely having a moment's rest. Yet when God set him upon
the royal seat, he concluded that he would never be moved, and would
dwell there in peace forever.
If David—having the Spirit of God in such excellence as we know, having
had so many trials to be entirely devoted to God—could nevertheless so
forget himself, what will become of us? He then adds: "It was upon your
free goodness that I leaned, Lord; you had established me as upon a
mountain, but you turned away your face, and here I am troubled." Thus he
shows his own ingratitude in this—for although he had not entirely
forgotten the blessings he had received from the hand of God, he still did
not think: "God has delivered me once, so that I should always have
recourse to him," recognizing that his life hangs as if by a thread, unless its
foundation rests in God's goodness, which works from minute to minute—
and confessing that it would soon be over for him if God did not continue to
help him. David did not think of this—and so he recognises that he had
failed, and then adds: "Lord, you have hidden your face, and here I am
troubled." So it is with Hezekiah. He is at peace, and suddenly God wounds
him, so that the wound is mortal, and he can conceive nothing but such
terror, as if God had struck him with lightning from heaven. He must, then,
receive a terrible bitterness.
Now let us apply this doctrine for our profit and not wait for God to make
us recognise our weakness by force of blows—but even while he spares us,
and has pity on our frailty, let us not fail to think of him, and to fear him,
keeping ourselves hidden as under his wings, knowing that we could not
survive a single minute except by his help. And further, if we are sometimes
caught by surprise, let us recognise that it is because we had grown far too
drowsy.
He then adds that God has delivered his soul. But he uses an expression
that carries even more force. He says: "You have loved my soul," or "you
took your good pleasure in it," so as to draw it back from the grave. By this
circumstance he magnifies the goodness of God all the more, because God
came seeking him even into the grave. For if God merely sustains us, it is
true we recognise that we are indebted to him, but rather coldly—but if he
delivers us from death, then we perceive far better how good he is, in that in
such extremity he descended, as it were, even to us. For it seems to us there
is hardly any great obligation if God merely preserves us in this life,
because we take that as a natural order of things. It is true we ought all the
more, when he spares us, to feel his fatherly goodness—but we do not; and
so, because of our dullness, God must work in a different way.
So then, as I have already said, if God draws us back as if from the grave,
if we have been as it were abandoned for a time, and it seemed we were cut
off from all hope, even that men would not deign to look at us, as though
we were poor rotting carcasses—if, in that state, God has pity on us, in this
he gives all the greater lustre to his mercy, and we have all the more
occasion to recognise what infinite goodness and justice it is that God has
thus drawn us back from death. This is what Hezekiah meant to say. "Lord,"
he says, "you have loved my soul." And how could that be? Was there
anything in it that could incite God to love it? Alas, no—for it was nothing
but a shadow, a dead thing. "I was," he says, "in the grave, and it was then
that you declared your love toward me." When, then, we are utterly
disfigured, and God nevertheless deigns to cast his eye upon us and care for
us, we ought all the more to be inflamed to bless his name, and to render
him such praise as good King Hezekiah renders here. This, then, in sum, is
what we must retain from this passage: since God sees that we are not
sufficiently moved by the good he does us and by his graces, it is necessary
that we be so cast down, and in such extremity, that there is no more hope
of life—and even when we are as if rejected by him and by men, that then
he receive us into mercy. This is how we are truly moved to give him
thanks, knowing that he found in us nothing but our miseries when he
displayed his mercy.
Now he says further, on another point: "Lord, those who live on will
know that the life of my spirit has been prolonged." It is true that this
passage, being very brief, is obscure—for it is not a sentence laid out fully,
but consists almost of broken words. In sum, he says: "Lord, they will live
among themselves, and in them all, the life of my spirit; you have made me
sleep, and you have brought me to life." Because he does not speak here of
years at the start of the verse, and does not specify who will live on, this
causes the brevity—but when we look closely, it is certain that Hezekiah
meant that the miracle worked in his own person would be known not only
for a day, but even after his death. Some interpret this as meaning that God
will likewise prolong the life of others—but that would not fit the sense at
all. For Hezekiah did not mean to say this was some common or ordinary
blessing; rather, he sensed that God had worked toward him in an
extraordinary way. This, then, is the drift of his statement: that this miracle
of God will never be trampled underfoot, but that even after he is dead,
people will still speak of it. Earlier he had said, "I shall remember all the
days of my life that I was chastised, and shall feel the blows, for I shall go
about as one trembling." Now he extends what he had said more broadly
and fully—namely, that not only will he be humbled before God, but that
the whole world will have occasion to say, "Here is an act worthy of
everlasting memory that God has done for a man." For we too ought to
desire that all the good things God bestows upon us be made known to
others, so that they may take example from them and be edified by them.
And we see that when God wishes to be moved to answer our requests, he
almost always adds this reasoning: that everyone will consider it, that the
good will be edified by it, and the wicked confounded. "Lord," one says,
"when it is seen that you thus assist your own, all who call upon you will
rejoice, and be all the more confirmed, awaiting the same for themselves—
and then the wicked will be confounded; and though they now mock the
trust I place in you, seeing that you have afflicted me, if they see that I was
not disappointed in having recourse to you, they will be astonished."
Hezekiah likewise says as much now—namely, that this miracle of God
will profit not only himself but everyone else, as indeed it has become
known and notorious everywhere. And he further amplifies that this will not
be for a short time only, but that even after his death, since his life was thus
prolonged, it will be spoken of forever—"for," he says, "you have made me
sleep." This word "made to sleep" implies that he was as if in the grave, and
then that he was brought to life—just as, indeed, this miracle is still
celebrated today in the Church of God and will be until the end of the
world.
Thus we see how this did not benefit one person alone, but was a
confirmation in general to all the faithful, so that they might expect God to
have pity on them in their need and come to their aid—and that even if he
does not prolong their life in the same manner, he will nevertheless keep
them until the end, and if he sees them cast down, he will raise them up; he
will give them some sign of his compassion, so that in life and in death they
will always feel him to be their Savior, and will know that they have not
been forsaken or abandoned by him. This, too, is the purpose this Song has
served, and the intention with which it was composed.
Now we too ought to have a disposition like Hezekiah's—namely, that as
far as it lies in us, we strive to make the graces of God known to the whole
world, even when they concern us personally. For when God does good to
each one of us, we must not merely thank him in secret, feeling ourselves
indebted to him, but strive to make this known publicly, so that others may
be confirmed and hope in God, seeing such approval of his goodness
toward those who call upon him—and also so that praise for it may be
rendered to him in common, as Saint Paul says that when the faithful
everywhere praise God for someone's deliverance, and this thanksgiving
resounds, this will be a reason for God to deliver that person all the more,
so that praise may likewise be rendered to him by many. It is true that we
will often preach the graces of God as we have felt them ourselves, but
many will do so as much out of ambition as hypocrisy—for while
pretending to magnify the name of God, they draw a portion of the praise to
themselves. Let us guard against this, and have a right and pure disposition,
so that each may learn to look to God and place his hope entirely in him—
and further, that we may have such zeal and ardour that all creatures keep us
company when it comes to blessing the name of God. And further, when
God has as it were put us to death, and then brought us back to life again by
his grace, let this move us all the more to praise him. It is true there is no
good so small that it does not merit thanksgiving; and even if we devoted
all our senses to thanking God merely for nourishing us, we still could not
discharge even the hundredth part of our duty. But if God uses a more
remarkable way to declare his favour toward us, and the good things he
does for us are almost wondrous and incomprehensible to men, our
obligation grows all the greater, and we have all the less excuse unless we
are then inflamed to praise him with full voice, and to proclaim everywhere
the goodness he has made us feel.
After this, Hezekiah adds that God has cast his sins behind his back. Here
he brings us back to what we saw earlier—namely, that what he endured
was the payment owed for his faults, and that now, God being favourable to
him, this was because God had hidden and buried his offenses, which had
brought him all this suffering. Now this statement well deserves to be noted
—for, as we explained earlier, even though we know well that adversities
do not come upon us by chance, but that it is the hand of God that strikes
us, we still cannot come to the cause of it as we should. This is partly
because each of us flatters himself in his vices, and partly because we do
not enter into judgment or examination of our life to know whether it is
well ordered—for it displeases us to be tormented of our own accord. And
yet we must come to this, for it is the true sign of repentance when men, of
themselves, search out their sins, not waiting for God to force them to it, but
presenting themselves before him and summoning themselves, needing
neither sergeant nor officer, but examining themselves to say: "Alas! How
have I lived? How do I stand with God?" When, then, men of their own
accord come to such self-knowledge, they thereby show that God has
touched them by his Holy Spirit—but this, as I have said, is a rare thing.
For on the one hand, hypocrisy prevents us from examining our vices and
having them uncovered—we always want to flee that shame, and we even
hide our wrongdoing; indeed, we call evil good, and persuade ourselves we
have not offended God, or else we minimize our faults as if they were
nothing, as if it were enough merely to wipe our mouths. This is how we are
carried away by the pride and ambition rooted in our nature, when we do
not come straightforwardly to God, recognizing what we are.
And on the other hand, we wish to flee all sadness, as this is naturally an
unpleasant thing. Now there is no sadness so great as when we think that
God is our Judge, and that we are wrongdoers before him—for there we
feel what was said earlier, that he breaks our bones like a lion; the wrath of
God is so terrible a thing that it is no wonder we flee from it. And yet this is
a vice nonetheless, for we must not resemble those who are so dulled that
they refuse entirely to think about what they have deserved from God—that
is, the chastisements they merit. For this reason, all the more must we note
this teaching, where Hezekiah, by his example, leads us back to recognise
our sins whenever our Lord deals harshly with us—that we should know
not only that it is his hand that afflicts us, but also that he is then bringing
his case against us, rebuking us for the offenses we have committed; and
since we were unwilling of our own accord to come and accept
condemnation before him and ask his pardon, he must draw us to it by
force. This is the first thing we must retain from this passage.
Now the second is that when God withdraws his hand, which we had seen
weighing heavily upon us, this is a sign showing us that he is favourable to
us, and no longer wishes to hold our sins against us. It is true that
sometimes God, after having afflicted the wicked and the reprobate, will
simply leave them there, and they will make merry more than before, as we
have already said—but here Hezekiah shows us how we ought to feel the
goodness of God when he grants us some relief, when he raises us up from
some illness, delivers us from some danger, relieves us in poverty, and
when, having had some trouble or vexation, he draws us out of it. If, then,
we are distressed and grieved, it is not enough merely to feel the trouble—
we must look to the main point, and come, as it were, to the source. A small
child, when it cries, is appeased as soon as it is given the breast. And why?
It suckles, and there it is content—for it has no thought beyond its hunger,
does not even know where the milk comes from, and feels no gratitude
toward the one who gives it sustenance, for it has neither sense nor reason.
But a man who has already come to the age of discretion, when he sees his
father angry with him, saying, "Go, wretch, get out of my house," certainly
feels this regret pierce him more to the quick—being thus rejected by his
father—than enduring hunger and thirst and every poverty imaginable. Now
if the father afterward forgives him, at the request of some friends, or is
moved to it seeing his son displeased at having offended him, and says to
him, "Come back, have dinner"—if the child has any sense, he will care
less about dining than about being restored to his father's grace and love, so
that he would rather fast and endure hunger and thirst than ever give his
father occasion to reject him again; and he is far more pleased that his
father has forgiven him than he would be by eating and drinking his fill.
Let us now apply this to our own use. Most people are like small children:
if God is quickly appeased toward them, and withdraws his hand so that
they no longer have outward cause for grief, then they rejoice, and say,
"Praised be God, who has delivered me from this illness"—but in saying
"praised be God," they do not think of him at all; they do not come to any
recognition of their sins, and do not consider the reason why God had
afflicted them; nor do they recognise, when they are relieved, that it is
because he loves them and is favourable to them. And yet this is where all
their joy ought to be directed, rather than simply saying, "Here I am, feeling
better." One who has been in some danger, if he sees himself delivered from
it, is glad no longer to be in that torment he was in—but does he consider
that the chief good and the sovereign happiness of men is to be reconciled
to God? No—that never comes to mind. All the more, then, must we hold
on to this teaching, where Hezekiah does not merely say, "I am now
standing again, and God has raised me up, my life has been prolonged," as
he had said earlier—but he stops there entirely to say, in effect: "God has
forgiven my faults, he has received me into mercy, he does not hold against
me the offenses I have committed; he has granted me such remission that
now I am pleasing to him. He no longer wishes to bring a case against me
as my Judge, for he has forgotten all my sins, and has cast them behind his
back."
This, then, is where Hezekiah leads us by his example. And so, whenever
we are afflicted by the hand of God, let us learn always to examine our sins
—and when we ask God to deliver us, let us not put the cart before the
horse, but pray that he receive us into mercy. And though we may have
deserved a thousand times more affliction than he makes us endure, let us
know that he does not fail to be favourable to us nonetheless—and when he
has restored us, let us render him praise, not only for the good he does us in
body, but for what is far more precious: that he has forgotten all our
offenses, and has so fully returned to grace with us that he accepts us as his
own children, because he turns his face away from our sins. For as long as
God looks upon our sins, he can regard us only with disdain, and there is
nothing but horror in it. It is necessary, then, that in order to look upon us
with a favourable and gracious face, God must first have forgotten our sins,
and think of them no more. It is true that when we speak of God in this way,
it is in the manner of human speech—for we know that everything is
present before God. But when we say that he must forget our sins, that he
no longer looks upon them, this is to express that he no longer wishes to
call us to account for them, but loves us as if we had never offended him.
Further, by this manner of speaking that Hezekiah uses, we see what the
remission of our sins truly is—namely, that God casts them behind his back,
and casts them there in such a way that he no longer punishes us for them
and demands no vengeance for them; and this is well worth noting. For the
devil has always striven to obscure this doctrine, because it is the chief
point of our salvation, and (as Scripture shows us) there is no other
righteousness or holiness than this free remission of sins. "Blessed is the
man," says David, "whose sins are forgiven." Saint Paul says that by this
we see what our righteousness is, and that David made a brief summary of
it. For this reason, the devil has always tried, by subtle means, to divert men
from this, so that they would not recognise how much they need this
remission of sins. As in the Papacy, we see on the one hand that they say
when God forgives our sins, it is only along with repentance and
confession, and beyond that, we must still bring some recompense—and
that if God forgives the guilt, he reserves the punishment as Judge; and that
it would derogate from his majesty if we said he forgave purely and fully,
and that he must always show some rigor along with his mercy, or else it
would strip him of his nature. This is how the Papists have argued about the
remission of sins, such that if one tells them God forgives our faults out of
his pure goodness, this seems to them a blasphemy. For, they say, we must
bring our own satisfactions. And what are these? Works beyond measure,
which we do over and above what God commands in his Law. These are
truly detestable notions—but be that as it may, the poor world has been thus
intoxicated by such sorceries. All the more, then, must we carefully note the
passages where it is said that God, in receiving us into mercy, no longer
wishes to enter into any account with us, as Hezekiah says here: "You have
put my sins behind your back." It is true that God has neither a back nor a
stomach, for we know his essence is infinite and spiritual—but he uses this
figure of speech to signify that he forgives our sins; just as when it is said
that he casts them into the depths of the sea, it is as if he no longer wished
to remember them, nor have them spoken of, nor make any mention of them
at all.
We see, then, in sum, that when God receives us, being reconciled with
us, it is not only to forgive us the guilt (as the Papists have imagined, and as
they babble without reason), but it is so as to make us feel his favour in
every way, and to pursue us no more—and instead of our being afflicted by
his hand, which gave testimony of his wrath, he now makes us know, on the
contrary, that he holds us as his children, and wishes to treat us tenderly,
showing the love he bears us. This, in sum, is what Hezekiah meant, using
this manner of speaking, that God had put all his sins behind his back.
Now it is true that often, even though God has forgiven our faults, he will
not fail to chastise us, as happened to David—but he does this only for our
good and profit, so that we may walk all the more carefully in the future. I
have already said that God sends his punishments in such a way that some
mark always remains, to make us remember. God, then, will indeed afflict
us even while being favourable to us—but these two things are not
incompatible: that he puts our sins behind his back, receives us into mercy
at the same time, and makes us prosper by his blessing, while nevertheless
not wishing to nourish us in our laziness, but rather to awaken us and make
us feel some sign of his displeasure, so as to forestall worse. And yet, if he
wishes to declare to us fully the remission of our sins, he will indeed
sometimes give us outward signs of it—that is, he will give us such a taste
of his goodness that we shall perceive he has truly shown us mercy, and that
it would be impossible for him to treat us with such grace and kindness
unless he no longer wished to examine our faults, but released us fully and
completely, asking only that we walk with him in agreement, truly
reconciled to his majesty.
This, then, is how God declares to us the remission of our sins—not only
by his word, and inwardly by his Holy Spirit, but also by the fruits, that is,
when by his blessing he makes us prosper, and treats us so gently that we
are convinced he deals with us in fatherly goodness. When, then, we have
these signs, let us boldly conclude that God has forgiven our sins, and has
put them behind his back, never to examine them again, nor ever remember
them. Thus, then, whenever we are afflicted by the hand of God, let us
remember that he has shown himself good not only toward those he has
drawn back from this world, who at other times endured harsh and painful
afflictions, but that he has also forgiven them their sins—and let us know
that he will show the same goodness toward us. In doing so, we shall learn
to humble ourselves for the future, and the grace of God will shine all the
brighter, in that he will not only have treated us with all gentleness in body,
but will also not have held our faults against us, showing us that although
we had provoked his wrath, and given him occasion to leave us forever in
our miseries, he nevertheless does not wish to treat us with rigor, but wishes
to draw us to himself by his infinite goodness and mercy.
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, and that this may humble us in such a way that, coming to him, we
bring nothing but a pure and simple confession of our sins; and that
meanwhile he may give us such a taste of his goodness that we do not cease
to have recourse to him, even when our consciences accuse and condemn
us, so that we embrace the grace he has promised us in the name of our
Lord Jesus Christ; and whenever he makes us feel it by experience, that we
know how to profit from it, and be so armed against every temptation that
we never fail beneath the burden, however grievous and heavy it may be.
May it please him to grant this grace not only to us, but to all peoples, etc.