St. Bernard said, "He who puts his trust in any
wisdom other than the virtue
of humility is not only a fool but a madman."

A true reformer

By Rawley Myers

n St. Bernard of Clairvaux brought great reform to the Church, unlike the 16th century reformers who left the Church to reform the Church. He lived in the 12th century and the Church badly needed reform, but it never once entered his mind to leave the Church founded by Christ.

In the first place, he had a deep devotion to the Blessed Mother, Mother of Love, and looked to her for light and strength and comfort in his efforts to make the people in the Church more holy, high and low. As with all the saints, Bernard knew that real reform is to change hearts not change things. And so Bernard prayed to Mary and confided in her. She was his beloved, his advocate. He said, "There is no better way of honoring Jesus than to praise his most sweet Mother." He became the "loving singer of Mary." This love taught him so much about Jesus and Jesus taught him so much about what was truly needed.

Love is the motive-power of life. This monk wanted to spread the love of God. In a lyrical, heartfelt beautiful style Bernard wrote, "My God, my love, how you love me! How you love me!" It was for him to convince people of this. And it is for us today to do the same. We must tell people over and over again that Jesus loves them with all his heart. For our society is skeptical and cynical and many, even good Catholics, are not fully convinced of how much they are loved by God.

Bernard was successful in his reform because he was humble. God cannot get into the hearts of the proud because they are cluttered up with egotism. But the humble he can use wonderfully; the humble are the channels of his grace. Bernard wrote, "It is not surprising that I who am but a leaf in the wind, a piece of straw, should often lose my footing and stumble." One is reminded of the great St. Thomas Aquinas who stopped writing after having a vision of heaven; when asked why, he replied, "All my writing seems as straw." Bernard put all his trust in God, he knew he could do nothing without him. Contrast this with some of our modern gurus, self-anointed, who, prayerless wonders, seem to think they can renew the Church with psychology and sociology.

Bernard wrote, "He who is filled with the love of God, is moved by everything about the Word made flesh. At prayer, the sacred image of the man-God is constantly before his eyes; he sees him at birth, sees him grow to manhood, sees him teach, sees him die in agony for us and rise from the dead and return to Heaven." Prayer is first, for in prayer we grow closer to Christ. We come to be more fully aware that Jesus is our guide in life and our comfort in death. He was crucified for us. He is the Way, our teacher, the Savior, our only true joy. The great adventure of life is to pursue Jesus.

Bernard endured severe trials, sometimes most of all from the clergy. He suffered humiliation, was cruelly calumniated, and had bodily ailments as well. Comfort-loving prelates accused him of being fanatical, proud and vain. Some of his monks complained, for he was the abbot, saying his rule was too severe and austere. But he quoted Scripture, "Smite thy son with a rod and thou shall deliver his soul from hell" (Prov. 23:13); and again, "It is where He loves that the Lord bestows correction" (Heb. 12:6); and again, "The wounds of a friend are better than the deceitful kisses of an enemy" (Prov. 27:6). One wonders if those who tell today a comfort-loving people what they want to hear, pretending to be their friends, are not, in fact, "the deceitful kisses of an enemy."

Bernard suffered grief. He had great love for his family and especially for his brother, Gerard, a monk at the monastery and his secretary, who suddenly died. Bernard said, "How deep is my grief for my brother who has been taken from me. Who was as dear to me as he? Those of you who understand how great is my suffering, pray for me. When I was weak, he sustained me; cast down in spirit, he consoled me; indolent and negligent, he spurred me on; improvident and heedless, he admonished me. Why should we be separated in death? Oh, cruel separation, which only death could effect!" And yet Bernard knew this suffering purified his soul. As with all true reformers, he had to reform himself before he could reform others. We have too many these days trying to change everyone else except themselves. Once our heart is reformed, God uses us wonderfully in the reform of other people.

Bernard knew that reform is a battle. He said we must fight for truth which means to fight for Christ and his heavenly message. We must fight even though it is not the popular thing to do. Too many of the clergy want to be popular today.

Nothing could ever take the place of Christ in Bernard's heart. He spoke out boldly for Christ when many wanted to water down his teachings. He was, of course, called foolhardy, but he knew he stood with Christ and he would never give ground.

The abbot would have much preferred to stay in his monastery, but he was often called away to renew the Church in places where it had become too worldly. Like a knight-errant of Christ his sword was ever ready to defend Christ against pleasure-seeking Christians and muddle-minded men who wanted to have a crossless Christianity.

Bernard trod the roads of Christendom on lonely journeys, ever the voice of conscience. He wrote back to his monks, "Pray, pray that the Church may have spiritual health and peace." He knew this was possible only by being faithful to Jesus. He urged the monks, "Let your lives be such that your prayers will be heard!"

Like St. Paul, Bernard was a fighter. No wimp, he was a warrior of the Lord. He spoke up when it was entirely imprudent, but entirely necessary. He respected those in authority but when they were doing wrong he never hesitated to tell them so, boldly and in no uncertain terms. He was fearless when it came to fighting for Christ. He did not count the cost. His love for Jesus demanded that he be forthright. His all-absorbing love for Christ demanded that sin, high and low in the Church, be vigorously denounced. Would that we had a Bernard today!

This brave saint spared no efforts for the truth of Christ, Christ whole, as Charles Peguy put it. He could never be a half-hearted disciple. With a noble impatience he spoke out. He would never abandon the world to the forces of evil. With his whole heart he worked for the words of the Our Father, "Thy kingdom come on earth as it is in Heaven."

When it came to compromise in regard to Christ, he could never do so. He threw himself into the conflicts body and soul. Though often ill and in pain and emaciated, Bernard never spared himself when it came to the cause of Christ, even when there were severe trials and reverses.

A bold and courageous fighter, still Bernard was so compassionate that he would often weep at funerals; he loved animals. But he had no pity for liars and evil-doers.

Bernard, like many saints, had a keen sense of humor. This comes from having common sense. He enjoyed most of all jokes about himself. He said of one spiritual victory, "We were two against one; with a person like myself it would have been surprising if God had not worked extra to defeat the devil."

Like all saints he was humble. He wrote to the Pope, "I am an insignificant nobody, a child of no standing. I say a child, not because I am youthful in years but young in merit."

But when truth was at stake he was like a lion. He denounced the Romans for being blind and foolish, the laughingstock of the world. "What is Rome," he wrote, "but today a body without a head, deprived of vision, living in darkness."

Bernard knew that he could not love God if he would steel his heart against the needs of his neighbors. He was always helping someone.

His only model was he who was "obedient unto death on the cross." He told his monks, "He who puts his trust in any wisdom other than the virtue of humility is not only a fool but a madman." Wise, wise words for us in the Church today where many are proud and where our renewal seems to be going nowhere. n