A good sort of playing this. . . . A good sort of playing which is ridiculous to human reason but a very beautiful sight to the angels. I say it is a good sort of playing by which we become an object of reproach to the rich and of ridicule to the proud. In fact, what else do seculars think we are doing but playing when what they desire most on earth, we fly from and what they fly from, we desire? We are like acrobats and jugglers, heads down and feet in the air, standing or walking on their hands, drawing all eyes to themselves. But this is not a game for children or the theater where lust is excited by the effeminate and indecent contortions of the actors. It is a joyous game, decent, graceful and admirable, delighting the gaze of the heavenly onlookers. This pure and holy game he plays who says, "We have become a spectacle to angels and humans." And we, too, play this game that we may be ridiculed, discomforted, humbled until he comes who puts down 'the mighty from their seat and exalts the humble. May he gladden us and glorify us forever.
To Canon Oger, Letter 87.12
When I look for an example to illustrate this disburdening burden, nothing occurs to me more apt than the wings of a bird, for they, in an extraordinary way render the body both greater and yet more nimble. What a wonderful thing that a body should be made proportionately lighter by its very increase in size so that the more it increases in bulk the more it decreases in density. Here we have a clear illustration of the sweet burden of Christ which carries those who carry it.
To Rainald, Abbot of Foigny, Letter 72.2
No one knows what is in us save our own human spirit that is within us. We see only on the surface, God alone can search the heart. Yet you have been able to weigh and mutually to compare our affection for each other so as to deliver a verdict not only on the state of your own heart but even on that of another. I wonder how or on what grounds you have been able to do this and I cannot wonder enough. It is an error to which the human mind is ever prone not only to consider good to be evil, what is true to be false and what is false to be true but also to be doubtful about what is certain and certain about what is doubtful. You may be right when you say that my affection for you is less than yours is for me but I am certainly certain that you cannot be certain. How can you know for certain what it is certain you cannot be certain about? . . . But wonderful to say, you have been able to assert, with I know not what grounds for your confidence, "My affection for you is greater than yours is for me.". . .
Because your charity is greater than mine, that is all the more reason why you should not despise my smaller capacity because, although you love more than I do, you do not love more than you are able. And I, too, although I love you less than I should, yet I love you as much as I can according to the power that has been given me. Draw me after you that I may reach you and with you receive more fully from whence comes the power to love.
Why do you try to reach me and complain that you are not able? You could reach me if you but considered what I am and you can reach me still whenever you wish, if you are content to find me as I am and not as you wish me to be. I cannot think what else you see in me besides what I am, what it is you are chasing which is not me. You do not overtake it because it is not me, because I am not able to be what you would like me to be. To use your own words, I do not fail you, it is God in me who fails you.
And now if all this trifling pleases you, tell me and I will give you more
To William, Abbot of St. Thierry, Letter 85
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