Augustine of Hippo

But there is no greater proof of charity in Christ’s church than when the very honor which seems so important on a human level is despised. This is why Solomon’s wise attempt to prevent the limbs of the infant being cut in two is like our efforts to prevent Christian infirmity from being torn to shreds by the break-up of unity. The apostle says that he had shown himself like a mother to the little ones among whom he had done the good work of the gospel, not he but the grace of God in him. The harlot could call nothing her own but her sins, whereas her ability to bear children came from God. And the Lord says beautifully about a harlot, “she to whom much is forgiven loves much.” So the apostle Paul says, “I became a little one among you, like a nurse fondling her children.” But when it comes to the danger of the little one being cut in two, when the insincere woman claims for herself a spurious dignity of motherhood and is prepared to break up unity, the mother despises her proper dignity provided she may see her son whole and preserve him alive. She is afraid that if she insists too obstinately on the dignity due to her motherhood, she may give insincerity a chance to divide the feeble limbs with the sword of schism. So indeed let mother Charity say “Give her the boy.”

See Paul ascending: “I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago (whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows) was caught up to the third heaven and heard unutterable words which it is not granted to man to speak.” You heard him ascending; hear him descending: “I could not speak to you as spiritual men but only as carnal, as to little ones in Christ. I gave you milk to drink, not solid food.” Look, he who had ascended descended. Seek where he had ascended: “Up to the third heaven.” Seek where he had descended: To giving milk to little ones. Hear that he descended: “I became a little one,” he says, “in your midst, as if a nurse were fondling her own children.” For we see both nurses and mothers de-scend to little ones; and though they know how to speak Latin, they clip their words and somehow switch their speech so that they may be able to communicate their desires through simple language; for if they should speak in a mature, grammatically correct fashion, the in-fant does not hear with understanding. Neither does he benefit. And some eloquent father, though he be a great orator, thundering with his tongue and rattling the magistrates’ platforms, if he should have a son, when he returns home, he puts aside the legal eloquence by which he had ascended and with childish language he de-scends to his little one.

While Scripture is spiritual in itself, nonetheless it often, so to say, adapts itself to carnal, materialistic people in a carnal, materialistic way. But it doesn’t want them to remain carnal and materialistic. A mother, too, loves to nurse her infant, but she doesn’t love it so that it will always remain a baby. She holds it in her bosom, she cuddles it with her hands, she comforts it with caresses, she feeds it with her milk. She does all this for the baby, but she wants it to grow, so that she won’t be doing this sort of thing forever. Now look at the apostle. We can fix our eyes on him all the more suitably because he wasn’t above calling himself a mother. He writes “I became like a baby in your midst, like a nurse fondling her children.” There are of course nurses who fondle babies that are not their own children. And on the other hand there are mothers who give their children to nurses and don’t fondle them themselves. The apostle, however, full of genuine, juicy feelings of love, takes on the role both of nurse when he says “fondling” and of mother when he completes it with “her children.”

There you are then; persecution had increased so much, and tribulation so much, that the psalmist was even weary of living. See how fear and trembling had come upon him and darkness had covered him, as you heard when it was said in the psalm. It’s the voice, you see, of the body of Christ, the voice of Christ’s members. Do you want to recognize your own voice there? Be a member of Christ. “Fear,” it says, “and trembling fell upon me, and darkness covered me. And I said, Who will give me wings like a dove’s, and I will fly away and take my rest?” … The psalmist felt weariness, after a fashion, from the earthly heaviness and decay of the flesh, when he wanted to fly away to Christ; a plethora of tribulations was infesting the way but not blocking it altogether. He was weary of living but not of the eternal life about which he says, “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” But because he was held down here by charity, how does he go on? “If, though, to live in the flesh here is the fruit of my work—and which I should choose I do not know. But I am being torn both ways, having a longing to cast off and be with Christ.” … “But to remain in the flesh is necessary on your account.” He had given in to the cheepings of his chicks. He was covering them with the spread of his wings, cherishing his chicks, as he says himself: “I became a little one in your midst, like a nurse cherishing her children.”

We may compare the manner in which our own word is made as it were the speech produced by our body, through assuming that speech as a means of displaying itself to human senses, with the assumption of flesh by the Word of God as a means of displaying himself to human senses. Even as our human words are human thoughts not yet not changed into speech, so the Word of God was made flesh, but most assuredly not changed into flesh. Our words become vocalized. So the divine Word becomes flesh by an assumption of the outward form and not by a transformation of one thing into another. He, therefore, who desires to arrive at some sort of likeness—unlike as it must be at many points—of the Word of God, should not regard as final the human word that sounds upon the ear, either in its vocal utterance or in the unspoken thinking of it. The words of every audible language may also be the subject of thought without being vocalized. Poems may be repeated mentally, while the bodily mouth remains silent. Not only the series of syllables but the notes of tunes, material as they are, and addressed to the material sense which we call hearing, may be presented through their material images to the thinking mind which rehearses them all in silence. We must go beyond all this to arrive at the human word which may furnish some small measure of likeness for comprehending, as in an enigma, the Word of God. We speak here not of that word which came to one or another of the prophets, of which it is said that “the word of God grew and multiplied”; or again that “faith comes of hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ”2; or again: “when you received from us the word of the hearing of God, you received it not as the word of men but as it is in truth, the word of God.” There are numberless instances in the Scriptures where similar statements are made about the word of God, which is scattered in the sounds of many different languages through the hearts and minds of men. But it is called the word of God, therefore, because a divine and not a human doctrine is handed down.

But every discourse on this topic, where one’s goal is that what is said may not only be believed but also understood and known, is burdensome for those still spiritually immature. These the apostle says are carnal, needing to be nourished with milk, as they do not have the strength to perceive such things and are more easily frustrated than fed. Because of this it happens that spiritual men do not in all circumstances refuse to discuss these things with the carnal, on account of the Catholic faith, which must be preached to all. Yet, having the desire to transmit some degree of truth to understandings not capable of a secure grasp, they take care to transmit these in a way that does not cause their discourse to be regarded with disdain and the truth contained therein to be completely ignored. Thus, in order to continue to nourish them despite their immaturity, [the apostle], writing to the Colossians, says, “Even if I am absent in body, in spirit I am with you, rejoicing and beholding your order and that which is lacking to your faith in Christ.” And to the Thessalonians, “Night and day,” he says, “more abundantly praying that we may see your face and may supply the things that are lacking to your faith.”

There are, then, many kinds of lusts for this or that, but when the word is used by itself without specification it suggests to most people the lust for sexual excitement. Such lust does not merely invade the whole body and outward members. It takes such complete and passionate possession of the whole man, both physically and emotionally, that what results is the keenest of all pleasures on the level of sensation. And at the crisis of excitement, it practically paralyzes all power of deliberate thought.This is so true that it creates a problem for every lover of wisdom and holy joys, who is both committed to a married life and also conscious of the apostolic ideal, that every one should “learn how to possess his vessel in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God.” Any such person would prefer, if this were possible, to beget his children without suffering disordered passion. He could wish that, just as all his other members obey his reason in the performance of their appointed tasks, so the genital organs, too, might function in obedience to the orders of will and not be inordinately excited by the ardors of lust.