De arte praedicatoria

To spiritual joy these authorities and reasons can invite a man: Rejoice in the Lord and exult, you righteous.¹ Likewise: Rejoice, because your names are written in heaven.² Likewise: We will exult and rejoice in you.³ Likewise: Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice.⁴ Likewise: Shout with joy to God, all the earth; serve the Lord in gladness.⁵ By these authorities we are urged toward spiritual gladness of mind, which is not brought about by abundance of riches, nor by the deceptive glory of the world, nor by worldly power, nor by fruitfulness of offspring, nor by health of body, but by purity of conscience and cleanness of life. No misery interrupts this joy, no adversity destroys this prosperity, no bitterness mingles itself with this sweetness. O happy delight of a pure conscience! which shuts out the inner worm, frees reason from the prison of pain, purges the mind from filth.

This is the paradise of delights, planted with the various trees of good works, adorned with the various flowers of the virtues, watered by the fountain of heavenly grace. This purity of conscience is the image of eternal life, and the preface to the kingdom of heaven. Against this serenity of mind, no storm of fortune has any power; against these ramparts of the mind, the instruments of the world are of no avail. Whoever has purity of conscience rejoices in the midst of pains, laughs in the midst of lamentations, is happy amid adversities.

This is the house of Solomon, filled with various perfumes, because in purity of heart the sweet gifts of grace give off a fragrance. This is the bridal chamber of God, the palace of Christ, the bed of the heavenly bridegroom. There the bride, that is, the soul, rests with Christ her bridegroom. There Rebecca meets Isaac as he comes from the field. There Jacob delights in the pleasing embraces of Rachel. There Mary Magdalene offers her most precious ointments to Christ. Oh, if the happiness of a pure conscience is so great, how great is the misery of a seared mind? before which judge no guilty man is acquitted, where the worm of conscience constantly gnaws at the mind. Where the harsh day of the soul flies about it on unresting wings. Where monsters meet it, the beasts of sins. This is the handwritten book of the devil, disfigured with the foulest markings, where the paper is the mind conscious of evil; where the pen is the freedom of the will, where the ink is the enormity of sin. There, o man, you recall most wretchedly whatever you have written since your earliest years, by which you offended God, in which you wronged your neighbor, in which you harmed yourself. O damnable book, in which are written not songs, but lamentations and woe. But now, o man, erase through confession what you wrote through false speech; erase through contrition what you wrote through evil thought; erase through satisfaction what you wrote through wicked action; erase the book of a perverse conscience, lest reason read there something to condemn you, lest the devil find there something to accuse you, lest God see there something by which to judge you, so that you may thus return to the spiritual joy of the mind, so that you may return to yourself, so that you may hasten back to God.