Verses 17–24

The third letter, “gimel,” means camel.

The camel is the most enduring beast of burden. In this respect, those who labor on the path of the commandments resemble it, so long as they have not yet come to savor that life. St. Anthony the Great, speaking of such persons, applies to them the words of another psalm: “I became as a beast before You” (Ps. 72:22), in the sense that they bear the labors of life lived for God, yet do not yet taste its fruits—they pull this yoke like a draught animal. Such a condition in beginners seems all but universal; exceptions are very rare. But it also comes upon those who have already begun to experience the goodness of a God-pleasing life—specifically at those times when there are no good thoughts, no good feelings, no good desires: the soul seems to have gone numb, and looking around it finds itself estranged from all and foreign to all. To this is sometimes added the onslaught of external troubles, which weigh down the already poor interior state. All of this is overcome by faithfulness to one’s given word and vow, together with patient, hopeful endurance.

All of this the prophet portrays in the present octave, which may be titled: “On the hardships encountered on the good path”—both interior and exterior—or on the heavy states experienced along the way.

Ps. 118:17. Deal bountifully with Your servant, that I may live and keep Your word.

“Deal bountifully”—not in the sense of repaying something, as if for labors undertaken, but of giving by grace what is needful, and giving it abundantly, with overflow, as is said elsewhere in Scripture: “forget not all His benefits” (Ps. 102:2)—all His abundant good gifts—or “grace upon grace” (Jn. 1:16). The one who speaks thus is conscious of being a servant of God, and sees no instance when he has acted contrary to conscience or stepped outside God’s will; yet he sees a depletion of spiritual life within himself: the soul has grown numb, thoughts have darkened, and so he cries out: “deal bountifully”—give again the good that has departed, restore what was lost, fill me who have become empty. Thus these words may be applied to the whole octave. The prophet speaks as if to say: the good was present and has gone away; restore it again—“quicken me,” enlighten my eyes, “take away reproach” and contempt.

“Quicken me…” A sinner, so long as he remains in sin, is dead to God and to life according to God—even though in other modes of life he may be very active and learned. When God’s grace awakens him, the first stirrings of spiritual life begin within him; and when, having repented, he resolves to live from now on by God’s commandments, life itself begins. Yet in the early stages it is barely perceptible. The deadness of sin is still so palpable all around that it does not allow one to feel the vitality in the spirit. In time, this sense of life in the Lord comes, accompanied by the joy of life. But it does not continue uninterruptedly; it proceeds in alternating fashion and is often cut off. When it is cut off, the soul falls into deadness, becomes entirely as though dead, and a deathly cold emanates from it—no manifestation of spiritual life whatsoever. This is both unpleasant and frightening, for when what is spiritual falls dormant, the carnal and sinful comes alive; the enemy is at hand—how long before a fall? It is of this state that the prophet speaks.

“Deal bountifully with Your servant… and quicken me”—Your servant—this is, of course, the same petition. A person has not one life but three: bodily, soulish, and spiritual. Over all of them stands rational-free consciousness. When the spirit is awakened by the action of God’s Spirit, the person, through consciousness and freedom, passes into the spirit—onto the side of the spirit—and fixes his dwelling in this rank of life by a vow, either in baptism or in repentance: in the first saying, “I renounce Satan and all his works, and I unite myself to Christ the Lord,” and in the second, “I have sinned; I will not do so again.” In the state the prophet describes, the soul has gone numb; the movements of spiritual life are not visible; yet consciousness together with freedom, through the hidden action of conscience, holds to the side of the spirit. They confess themselves to be servants of the Lord and have no thought of stepping out of this rank or crossing its boundary toward the adversaries—they simply do not perceive beneath themselves the usual manifestations of life according to God. This interior fidelity to the Lord gives them the boldness to cry out to the Lord: “quicken me,” and to nourish the hope that He will quicken them.

The state of the soul’s deadness is otherwise called the state of insensibility. Nothing stirs it: neither the good draws it, nor the fearful frightens it. What then is to be done? — Endure and pray, confessing one’s weakness.

This state is an exact experiential image of what a person is in himself, apart from the action of grace. Grace withdraws a little, and the person becomes utterly worthless. And this happens precisely so that the person may learn firmly, and never forget, that even when he is in a good state, he is of himself still utterly worthless—and if he appears to possess something, it is not his own but has been given to him from without, though in such a way that it may remain in him forever, if he does not fall into the sin of claiming another’s gift as his own.

“And I will keep Your word…” — even then he does not cease to keep them, but heartlessly, like a machine. Like a machine he stands at prayer; like a machine he fulfills the other deeds of the commandments that present themselves. For states of this kind, the rule is: in nothing and in no way depart from the established order; endure and pray. If you endure, renewal of life will come again from the Lord, and you will begin once more to keep the words of God—not as a machine, but as a living person, from the heart, by willing initiative, with willing and pleasant effort in their fulfillment.

Ps. 118:18. Open You mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of Your law.

The human spirit, which is appointed to live in God and to draw the whole person there, is blind after the Fall. Although within it there indelibly exists the conviction of God’s existence, together with a sense of total dependence upon Him and the obligation to please Him in all things by unfailing obedience to the promptings of conscience, and with the hope of a life after death commensurate with one’s labors—although all these elements of spiritual life exist within it, as we see from all the pagan religions—yet they are all covered with such darkness and indefiniteness that, on the basis of them, one can more accurately say this: the human spirit carries an unshakeable conviction and instinct that there is something higher and more perfect, that there exists an order of things and deeds that is most pure and most blessed—but what exactly it is, the spirit does not know; it only seeks it with the certainty that this seeking is not in vain. A kind of veil lies upon it and hinders it from seeing the truth of those things. It is therefore altogether natural for it to pray: “Open You mine eyes.”

When a person draws near to the Lord, the veil is lifted from his spirit, and he sees clearly all that he had sought by conjecture. The blessedness granted by this illumination cannot be described, as those who have experienced it attest. But just as one who has come out into the light from a dark place at first considers even a small light very bright, yet after looking about begins to find it moderate—so too with the spirit: having dwelt for a time in the spiritual light initially opened to it, it comes to feel that, though it now sees, it sees “through a glass darkly,” as St. Paul testified (1 Cor. 13:12). Therefore even for one enlightened in Christ Jesus, the prayer “Open You mine eyes” is by no means superfluous.

But in keeping with the character of this octave, one may understand here a certain other covering of the spiritual eyes—namely, a temporary darkening and blinding of the mind’s eye that comes upon people living according to God, either as a chastisement or as a teaching. A person may be blinded either with regard to himself, or with regard to others, or with regard to the current course of events—and he believes that things are as they seem to him, stands by that, and conducts himself according to such a conviction; whereas in reality it is not so: the truth is hidden from him, a veil lies upon his eyes, and therefore he does not see. Afterward the truth is revealed, and the one who had walked right beside it without seeing it marvels at himself in bewilderment for having seen and not seen, and learns from such an experience not to trust his own vision. And so, even while walking in light, he sincerely and with heartfelt pain prays to the Giver of Light: “Open You mine eyes”—grant me to see the truth about myself, about others, and about all that surrounds me, so that in my feelings and deeds I may conduct myself in the truly proper order, not a merely apparent one.

A particular form of temporary spiritual blindness is “forgetfulness.” St. Mark the Ascetic repeatedly complains bitterly of this enemy and warns others of its wiles. The enemy comes and carries away from one’s attention saving, arousing, and cautionary thoughts; a person forgets who he is, where he is going, what awaits him, whom he serves, under whose gaze he lives and acts—and on account of such forgetfulness he begins to act like a thoughtless, frivolous child. This is not always accompanied by great mistakes, but it invariably causes the interior energy to fall and the whole spiritual order to be disrupted. Here then is reason for prayer by those who sincerely seek perfection: “Open You mine eyes”—grant me always to hold before the eyes of my mind, in my attention, that I am an accountable sinner, that Your eye is always turned upon me and sees me entirely, that death is at hand and I must enter the dark places of judgment and then stand before You and hear Your sentence upon me—grant me to remember this, so that I may work tirelessly for my salvation while there is still time, and hold more firmly to the saving cross, in whose power is all my hope.

One whose eyes are open sees what surrounds him as it truly is. One whose spiritual eyes are open sees God and the divine order of things, and understands what it consists in and what it requires of us. This is what the holy prophet means when he says: “and I will behold wondrous things out of Your law.”

Ps. 118:19. I am a stranger on the earth: hide not Your commandments from me.

“I am a stranger on the earth”—this thought everyone must carry in his heart: I have here no abiding city, but I seek one to come; my homeland is not here; I am here by accident, for a time, a sojourner. The direct consequence of this is: if I am a stranger, then I ought not to be establishing everything here for long years or forever; I must relate to all earthly things as foreign to me and not concerning me, keeping myself here as in an inn—merely resting, and then again on my way. I must do all things in passing and receive all things as passing, having but one thought and desire: to journey without interruption along the sure path to my homeland.

This thought, if it does not always give birth to the desire for conversion and zeal for salvation, at least always sustains and fans such a desire once kindled. But once the resolve to work out one’s salvation through a God-pleasing life has been formed, this thought becomes a necessary element of moral-spiritual life. One who has set out on this path is enrolled in actual fact among the citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem and begins, so to speak, to breathe its air. If this is so, then the sense of earthly pilgrimage ought not to depart from him; for the moment it departs, the person steps out of his proper rank—from the heavenly, in heart, he becomes earthly, and ceasing to breathe the heavenly air, he grows numb, with only the appearance of being alive, while in reality he is dead.

Nothing is so destructive to life according to God as forgetting this foundational truth—yet nothing is forgotten more readily than this same truth. All of us, without exception, do not even think that we live here for a time, and we lay up all things for the long term, or care for all earthly things as though this life would never end. One ought to pray: “Hide not from us, O Lord, that truth—that all is earth and shall return to earth; do not allow it to be covered over in the mind and memory by vain, manifold anxieties.” But even this prayer does not come to mind; praying about everything, we never pray about this. Such is the greatness of our blindness in this regard! Some have even come to imagine that eternal life will be on earth and that the same relationships that now prevail will continue then. A crude ignorance of the matter!

Another thought closely connected with our pilgrimage is the ignorance of how to act, and the hostilities one encounters in a foreign land. When someone comes into a foreign country, unknown to anyone and himself knowing no one, not knowing the foreign customs—he is looked upon as an outsider, without warmth, and with suspicion.

We are strangers on the earth, and it would seem that we ought not to know how to live here—yet in practice, who understands this better than we do? But in that case we are no longer strangers, but at home on earth; we become strangers only when a drawing toward our heavenly homeland is reborn in us and we begin to become detached from everything here below. Along with that, there arises the concern to know how to be, how to conduct oneself, so as not to become entangled again in earthly things, but by word and deed to show that we are strangers and sojourners. It is precisely this perplexity that the holy prophet sees in the soul of the sojourner, and into which he places the fervent prayer: “Hide not from me Your commandments”—that is, show me how in general I ought to act, and how to conduct myself in every case, so as not to step outside Your will!

One who has become a sojourner in spirit will always encounter hostility. Those who attack openly—who press in, who persecute—are not so dangerous as the invisible enemies who act upon the mind and heart and cover their ruinous suggestions with a semblance of goodness. Falsehood, passion, and blatant sin are easy to discern; but plausible-seeming suggestions are not always easy to unravel—one does not always see what lies hidden beneath them. How to act for one’s salvation is known to God alone, and only He can uncover the ruinous entanglement—either directly, or through other experienced persons. It is this that is felt most strongly in the prophet’s prayer. I am a stranger, he says, enemies are everywhere; one says go this way, another says go that way; You alone, O Lord, know all: do not hide from me how I ought best to act; tell me what Your will is for me in the present circumstances, lest I fall into an ambush!

St. Mark the Ascetic, after insensibility and forgetfulness accompanied by blindness, often complains also of ignorance, holding it to be the source of many of our errors, falls, and deviations from the straight path in our journey to our heavenly homeland.

Ps. 118:20. My soul has longed to desire Your judgments at all times.

“Has longed to desire”—that is, my soul has greatly desired always to be a willing fulfiller of Your holy will, of all that You ordain for me to do. In this case the verse presents the reason why the ill states mentioned just before—insensibility, blindness or forgetfulness, and ignorance—so distress the one who prays. “I,” he says, “greatly desire to be faithful before You at all times, but these states hinder me, halt me, interrupt me, draw me to one side. That is what disturbs me, and why I pray and cry out for deliverance from them.” But to notice such states and to feel all the hindrance they cause in the spiritual life is possible only for one who has greatly desired perfection in it—and not only desired it, but advanced in it to some degree and experienced the opposite states. Only such a person, when the aforementioned states appear, can notice that an inner change has occurred, and a change for the worse. This is most palpably seen in the deadening of feeling, or the state of insensibility; there it is as though life itself is cut off. But for those who have no such desire and no even slight experience, it would not even occur to them that this state is a bad one. It is constant in them; and if it changes in some way, it is within a like range of changes, since spiritual insensibility does not hinder sensitivity to outward things—especially to striking phenomena in the realm of beauty. Spiritual blindness and forgetfulness do not hinder the spreading wide of curiosity and the enjoyment of its all-sided satisfaction. Spiritual ignorance does not hinder one from being an expert in the external affairs of the day and a reliable judge of them in his own way. Such conspicuous manifestations of a seemingly spiritual life conceal the truly spiritual side of our existence and do not allow one to notice its absence. Therefore there is no concern about restoring it to adequate strength. On the contrary, one who had it but lost it cannot fail to notice its absence—and since he has desired it with all his desire, he cannot but be troubled, fear for himself, and strive for the return of what was and should be, but is not, as his truthful conscience assures him.

Such is the relation of this verse to the preceding three, if “I have longed to desire” is taken in the sense of “I have greatly desired.” But Blessed Augustine gives these words the following sense: “My rational will presses urgently upon me to desire; but the desire is absent—just as a sick person rationally desires to take food, yet has no appetite and the stomach refuses food. The prophet speaks as if to say: I know that I ought to desire to walk in Your judgments, and rationally I demand this of myself, and I have resolved to do so—but my soul does not respond and has no desire.” Here he presents, as it were, his spiritual sickness before God, hoping for healing. In this sense the present verse continues the portrayal of the difficulties and obstacles encountered on the path of spiritual life. On this path certain blows, as it were, strike the soul’s powers from time to time, and they refuse to act according to the spirit’s demands. When the feeling is struck, the state of insensibility appears; when the mind is struck, it either goes blind or forgets; when the will is struck, the person falls into a state of listlessness and immobility with regard to the deeds the spirit requires. The first two were mentioned in the preceding verse; but was the last left out? It is perhaps for the completeness of the portrayal of these blows that it is better, with Blessed Augustine, to see in the present verse a reference to the wounding of the will by unwillingness.

St. Mark the Ascetic, each time he touches on these blows, sets forth three—ignorance or forgetfulness, insensibility, and listlessness. The starting point varies, but most often it begins with forgetfulness. From forgetfulness—insensibility; from both together—listlessness or negligence. This is a complete apoplectic stroke of the soul. But it must be kept in mind that all this happens to people who stand on the good path—it is of them that the holy prophet speaks. In those who live according to the passions, these three constantly exist but are not noticed by them. But those of whom the prophet properly speaks notice their changes for the worse, grieve over them, and pray—which means they are not among those who serve the passions. They have come out of that bondage and have fallen into these ill states accidentally. The fault is surely in them, yet rarely can anyone say precisely why these states come upon them. The Lord however is merciful, and whoever, having noticed such wretchedness in himself, comes to Him with contrition—to him He soon shows His goodwill and restores his inner state to its proper order.

Ps. 118:21. You have rebuked the proud that are cursed, which do err from Your commandments.

“You have rebuked”—that is, You have said: do not be proud—and said it with severity, with threat, with the pronouncement of strict punishment. Why is this mentioned here? Perhaps the prophet continues his discourse on the obstacles to progress in spiritual life; having spoken above of the wounding of the soul’s powers by inaction, he now speaks of how even the most vigorous activity may be struck as if with leprosy by pride, and he warns against it. He speaks as if to say: I know, O Lord, how ruinous pride is and how abhorrent it is to You; therefore I pray: deliver me from it; otherwise, on account of it, You will withdraw Your grace, and without grace fall upon fall will come upon me, and I shall be numbered among those who always err from Your commandments and shall fall under the curse You have pronounced upon them—for “cursed is every one that abides not in all the things written in the law, to do them” (Deut. 27:26).

It is indeed true that for those who have begun to make progress, the most dangerous enemy is self-conceit and pride, linked with the judging and contemning of others. Good is so attractive and precious in the eyes of the soul that, having noticed even the first beginnings of it in herself, she already knows no measure. Yet by this she reveals only her inexperience and poverty, and is quickly exposed through God’s righteous judgment. The Lord is near and instructs. The one who has formed a high opinion of himself stumbles almost at once over something—sometimes not very significant. If he comes to his senses, no further correction follows; but if he does not, the shameful passions are permitted to rise up, so that he may feel more palpably that the hand of God which had covered him has been withdrawn and the enemies have free access to him. This is not a condemnation to fall, but an inner shaming before oneself for a high opinion of oneself. One who takes heed turns in repentance to the Deliverer and, entering the rank of the humble, recovers the gracious covering as well; but one who does not take heed not infrequently falls—a bitter lesson in humiliation!

Thus this verse may also be understood in this way; but it seems more straightforward to understand it not as speaking of interior temptations through pride, but of exterior temptations from the proud. In that case the order within this octave would be as follows: the first four verses speak of interior hindrances to progress, while the last four speak of the external unfavorabilities to such progress, whose source is the pride of the sons of this world, who look with disdain upon the humble laborers in God’s work. In that case “You have rebuked” should be read as “rebuke”—in keeping with the following “take away.”

The proud, according to the holy prophet, are regarded as exemplary transgressors of the law, for they transgress “exceedingly” (Ps. 118:51). For those who are zealous for the fulfillment of every righteousness of God, one might think the proud would be of no concern—for they draw their impulse toward life according to God, and its sustenance, from an entirely different source, not from any attention of the worldly; and the latter would do better to keep the same attitude toward the former. But they cannot hold back: they always intrude into the ways of God’s people—sometimes with questions, asking why this or that is done and maintained; and not infrequently with demands that they abandon those ways of life that are an offense to them. This is what leads many of the zealous for piety to leave common life and withdraw to mountains and deserts, there to live more freely—alone or in brotherhood—in labors of salvation and pleasing God. But for others such withdrawal is inconvenient, and of necessity they remain in common life with people of a contrary spirit, suffering all its inconveniences, above all in the spiritual but often also in the worldly realm. It is on behalf of these that the holy prophet cries: “Rebuke the proud”—make it so that they, if there is no hope of their changing for the better, at least do not touch us; and since they cannot be instructed by words, give them some external correction. Then, seeing Your protection over us and ready punishment upon themselves, they will—if not out of reverence for You, nor out of respect for Your law and its zealots, then at least out of fear of suffering some unforeseen evil—leave us in peace.

The words “cursed are those who err from Your commandments” are translated in another way: rebuke the proud—those who fall under the curse for erring from Your commandments—or: those who err from Your commandments and thereby bring upon themselves the curse appointed for that. This translation seems to fit the flow of the discourse somewhat better, yet the usual translation presents no difficulty either. The sense would be: rebuke the proud—for already Your righteousness has decreed that those who err from Your commandments should be under a curse.

Ps. 118:22. Remove from me reproach and contempt; for I have kept Your testimonies.

The people of the world at first pay no attention to God’s people, showing toward them only a coldness mixed with contempt and an ill-concealed displeasure at meeting such persons; but then they begin to reproach and demean them—especially those among them who are closer to them and more visibly display steadfastness in following the manner of life once adopted. God’s people are ready to endure all of this, and endure it in silence, so long as it does no harm to the very path of God along which they walk. But when matters come to that, they raise their voice—not before men, but before the One who oversees all the paths of men—and ask Him to remove reproach and contempt from them, for the sake of His testimonies which they seek, upon which that reproach reflects as well.

The words “for I have kept Your testimonies” may be connected also with “remove.” Remove the reproach, because I seek Your testimonies; I am Your, I follow Your will, I fulfill Your commandments—defend me then, for You have promised not to let Your own be wronged. They may also be connected with “reproach and contempt”: because I follow Your testimonies exactly, I am reproached and contemned in every way—deliver me from this, for thereby Your path is blasphemed.

A prayer that is pure is only in the latter sense; yet it is not out of place in the first sense either—not only on account of the weaknesses of our nature, but also on account of moral necessities. Who does not know what a crushing burden reproach lays upon the soul! It undermines the energy of the most energetic, and weakens the hands and feet of even the most industrious. And so, as one who is pressed naturally seeks room to breathe, this soul cries out: Remove, O Lord, this burden! It binds my hands and feet, and I cannot move forward. And this is said not because there is no patience—for the reproach is already being endured—but only because an escape from an unpleasant situation is sought, and is sought precisely where alone it can be sought, that is, from the One in whose hand are the fates of all people. Such a prayer is not the fruit of impatience, but a testimony of faith and hope. On the other hand, it is also possible that the burden will undermine one’s energy for life according to God, and that from this undermining the dormant passions and habits will be roused and rise up. One who fears falling thus cries: Deliver me; I seek Your testimonies, but I also fear lest I weaken and fall.

There is yet another possible meaning in this cry: remove the crushing effect of reproach and contempt; grant strength to be indifferent to it and to carry oneself as though it were not there. If such an interpretation of the prayer is not out of place, then, to sustain the courageous bearing of dishonor, one may gather in the mind images capable of strengthening such a resolve and giving courage. Earthly reproach delivers from shame at the Last Judgment. To the extent that you endure this undeserved wrong here, to that extent you prepare blessing for yourself there. The path of reproach is no abandoned trail that only a few traverse; it is thronged with those who walk it. All the saints have passed along it, and at the fore of all is the Lord Himself, the Captain; therefore to walk it need not be cheerless. Moreover, no poultice draws out the bad humors of the festering ulcer of vainglory, self-exaltation, and pride so quickly as reproach. Holding all this in mind, one may pray: Remove the disquieting power from reproach—but let them reproach as they will. I will sit covered in this dishonor as if wrapped in a poultice. This will in the end make me more capable of fulfilling Your testimonies, O Lord, which I have sought with all my soul.

Ps. 118:23. Princes also did sit and speak against me: but Your servant did meditate in Your statutes.

This is the third degree of hostile relations between the sons of this age and the sons of God. After reproach and contempt there follow deliberate schemes, the gathering of slanders—doubtless for no good purpose. The Wise Man interprets these councils of the princes of this age thus: “Let us hide in the earth a righteous man unjustly, and let us swallow him alive like Hades, and take away the remembrance of him from the earth” (Prov. 1:11–12).

Although they know that they rise up against a righteous man unjustly, yet, wishing to give their wickedness the appearance of justice, they gather slanders. Thus false witnesses were also gathered against Christ the Savior. Whomever human malice has marked, it will not cease to pursue to the end: it is inflamed by the enemy of all good, and it has no rest until it achieves what it desires—to be filled with its evil deed.

But let our lips speak not of the deeds of men! May the Lord deliver everyone from such crying wrongs! What then should those do who are threatened with something of the sort? This: “But Your servant,” says the prophet, “did meditate in Your statutes.” He is no longer praying “remove” or “turn away,” but has in his heart surrendered himself as a sacrifice to willful malice, and paying it no heed, goes about his own work—zealously studying God’s ordinances in order to fulfill them more exactly. This is how everyone ought to act: let malice rage, but you do your own work: “Fear God and keep His commandments” (Eccl. 12:13).

From the holy prophet’s attitude toward undeserved wrongs there flows the conviction that the most powerful support for enduring them is the testimony of conscience that no occasion has been given for such attacks. Whoever can say within himself before the face of God: I study Your ordinances, I compare my life with them, and I find no guilt in myself—such a person should be positively gladdened by undeserved wrongs, as the holy Apostle Peter explains: “If you be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are you; for the spirit of glory and of God rests upon you: on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified. But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men’s matters. Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf” (1 Pet. 4:14–16). For what should he glorify God? — Because, by His decree, “blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,” and “blessed” are those “whom men shall revile, and persecute, and shall say all manner of evil” (Matt. 5:10–11) against them for the Lord’s sake. For them a great reward is already laid up in heaven, in assurance of which they may even here rejoice and be glad—not in self-deception.

Yet on the other hand, these same ordinances of God testify that there is no man without sin, and that while in certain circumstances conscience may rightly testify to one’s innocence of a specific charge, it cannot declare anyone wholly innocent in general. If not now, something was done before that calls for due requital; and that requital has arrived in the guise of an undeserved wrong. God’s mercy has so arranged it in order to subject a person to a purifying suffering here, in time, and to deliver him from punishment in eternity. Outsiders cannot see such a correspondence between the external and the internal—all this is discerned and confessed in the inner sanctuary of conscience, before the face of the All-seeing God. But one who has discerned this and confessed God’s righteousness in the present, while also discerning its connection with the eternal, cannot but rejoice in meeting undeserved wrongs, however bitter they may be. The invisible and the future he embraces as present, and through the abundance of the hoped-for blessedness he does not feel all the bitterness of his present afflictions. And this good grows in those who endure sorrows and trials in proportion as they go deeper into God’s ordinances. There they clearly behold these laws of God’s righteousness and find in them their consolation.

But a Christian, going deeper into God’s ordinances, finds there something greater compared to what was given in the Old Testament—namely, the commandment of love for enemies. Love for enemies is commanded not only toward those whose attacks have passed and are partly forgotten, but toward those whose malice is being presently experienced—love is commanded at the very moment of being struck, cut down, and plundered; and not in the way that some say: “I wish him no evil and do him none, I simply cannot bear the sight of him”—but to love with all the qualities of the feeling of love. Whoever, going deeper into God’s ordinances, encounters this feeling will draw from it such magnanimity that it will drive away every trace of bitterness and hostility, so that not a shadow of it remains. We see examples of this in many martyrs. They existed in every age, and if one looks around, they will be found even now.

Ps. 118:24. Your testimonies also are my delight and my counselors.

The holy prophet gives the reason why, when he sees that enemies are weaving slanders against him for his harm, he goes deeper into God’s ordinances: such is my rule, he says—to meditate there and to seek counsel there.

The word “delight” translates a word that properly signifies: to turn over sweetly in the mind, or to repeat on the tongue, the sayings of the Divine Word, and consequently to find consolation in them.

“Counselors”—advisors, or an assembly deliberating on some matter. The holy prophet, in contrast to the council of the princes of this age, establishes his own—presided over by the fear of God and conscience—in which the mind finds in the word of God the answer to what manner of action is to be set against the evil schemes of enemies. Thus the testimonies and ordinances of God, the word of God in general, serve him both as consolation and as guiding instruction amid the hardships encountered on the path of a God-pleasing life.

Need one say that no better way of acting could be devised? In both interior and exterior straits, go to the word of God: it will lead you out onto a bright and open road, teaching you how to navigate the difficulties that have arisen without harm. To this one need add only a little from oneself—complete submission to God’s commands, and a readiness, whatever they demand, to sacrifice everything in their fulfillment. Such a disposition is the channel through which from the word of God there flows into the soul what it needs at any given time—for present too is the One who uttered that word, who sees the needs of those who seek guidance in it and knows how to imprint upon the mind and conscience the lessons of His wondrous wisdom. St. Isaac the Syrian says: “Those who in their life are led by divine grace toward enlightenment always feel as though an intelligent ray passes through the lines of what is written, distinguishing for the mind bore words from what is said to the soul’s knowledge with great thought” (Isaac the Syrian, Discourse 1). “If the mind,” he continues, “swims on the surface of the sea of the Divine Scriptures and cannot penetrate in thought to the very depths of Scripture, to comprehend all the treasures hidden in its depths—even that the mind is occupied with zeal to understand Scripture is sufficient for it to bind its thoughts firmly with a single thought about the wondrous guidance of God and hinder them; whereas the heart is weak and cannot endure the injuries (evil thoughts brought by external objects that stir the passions) encountered in exterior and interior warfare.”

Although this verse is visibly connected only with the preceding one, its force may be extended to the whole octave—for in the word of God there is hidden a remedy also against the interior blows mentioned above: blindness, forgetfulness, insensibility, negligence or listlessness. It is the word of God that enables one to notice them and to bring to mind the thought that they are present in the soul; and then the same word helps one to come out of these ill states, both by the power of its influence and by needful directions. Equally in all external hindrances to the path of God, it gives the wisdom to know how to be. How well, therefore, do those do who devote a portion of every day to reading the Divine Scripture, illumined by attentive prayer! Without even noticing it themselves, they are built up and attuned to God-pleasing action, or lay up in store thoughts which, in the hour of need, will themselves come forth from the heart and indicate the appropriate word and deed for that occasion.

And so the third octave falls naturally into order around a single idea. Thus the inference that all the octaves are composed in the same manner gains considerably in credibility. All in all, this lays upon us the obligation to seek a unity in each octave, and when we do not find it, to attribute that to our own insufficient attentiveness, rather than to the supposition that it does not in fact exist.