Venerable Pope Pius XII called St. Bernard of Clairvaux, “the last of the Fathers,” and so he is regarded by most as marking in his person the end of an era. He lived from 1090 to 1153. He is viewed as the quintessential monastic theologian whose thinking and prayer remained united through his way of life. As such, his theology sours to the heights of mystical contemplation and, yet, is deeply practical. He was a man who was integrated in a degree we often find impossible. By grace, he bore that quality many of us find admirable: competence in multiple spheres of expertise, practical and abstract. He was a great reformer, a founder, and an inspired reader of Scripture, and one of the greatest expositors of the glories of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
He is best known as the Doctor Mellifluus which means the sweet doctor because his words were elegantly composed and delivered, as well as his spirit was sweet and brought pleasure to those around it. In the Middle Ages his most common nickname was Theodidaktos, which, unlike many of us who are self-taught in the subjects we are most intrigued by (autodidactics), means he was “taught by God.” Surely St. Bernard’s teaching was sweet to the reader who desired something written in the true spirit of our faith, the Holy Spirit. His words are regarded like honey, and he the diligent worker bee, who extracted the sweet essence of the Fathers and the Holy Scriptures, and in praying with their works refined, synthesized, and re-presented their heart in his writings.
Bernard’s writings were not simply saccharine piety. As a diligent bee he knew when to sting, but, as a saint, he only stung when it was appropriate. He writes compellingly turning away his readers from spiritual danger toward pursuing the good and avoiding harm to the Church. All this “stinging” was more like the loving action of a doctor removing infection. His rhetoric toward those he saw as wolves is riveting. Like a man who only calls it like he sees it he minces no words, led by a fervent zeal for the salvation of souls. As Christopher Rengers said in his account of the saint’s life, “He was always essentially lovable and loving, but the gesture of truth sometimes has to be not a pointing finger, but a mailed fist…[It was those teaching contrary to the Church] who entered the ring and set himself up for the knockdown” (The 35 Doctors of the Church, 284).
But the most famous example of this knockdown was in confrontation with the famous theologian, Peter of Abelard. Abelard had been teaching erroneously and Bernard had called him out for it. At first Bernard sought to reveal to him the error of his teachings in private, but Abelard refused insisting it must be in a public debate. Abelard was an expert debater and rhetorician. Abelard had even publicly DESTROYED (to use the current way debates are described online…) his own teacher. Bernard was not a debater. He was not a public performer. He was instead a smart man whose insights were mostly contained in intuition and meditation upon the scriptures and great writings of the Fathers who came before him. As such, he wasn’t eager to debate. But his archbishop insisted. Bernard wrote to this successor of the apostles to dissuade the archbishop’s resolve saying, “Where all flee before his [Abelard’s] face, why should he [Abelard] pick me out for single combat: I am but a child, and he a man of war from his youth.” Nonetheless, despite his beautiful protestations, Bernard was compelled to accept the debate. Bernard defeated Abelard with a stance of pure humility. As Abelard strode valiantly before the crowd, Bernard humbly bowed his head. He simply opened a case full of the passages Abelard needed to retract. Abelard, in a manner out of character of his usual style and mastery of the stage, simply cried out for Bernard to stop reading. The debate was over. Abelard’s friends reported his recounting later with what had happened that day many years after Abelard’s recanting his position and reconciling with Bernard saying, “his memory failed him, his understanding faltered, and he lost his presence of mind.” Bernard’s might was not in himself, but in the providence of God.
By all accounts he had a charming personality and many strong friendships. In this sense Bernard is deeply relatable. He was an affable and loving man. He was a middle child of six and had a keen sense of humor. As most middle children do. Yet he also worked a remarkable amount of miracles in his lifetime. In his travels to Germany he worked dozens of miracles each day. These were not, “Look, my toast looks like Jesus” scenarios. He cured the blind, the lame, the insane, the possessed by merely giving a blessing, some simply by touching the hem of his garment. He is reported to have raised more than 100 people from the dead. Despite all this, he remained humble. He knew he was one thing, his reputation and the great deeds God worked through him were another. When he was dying of dropsy at his home monastery he would only get out of bed to offer mass at the altar. He truly lived for the Lord and not himself.
Why did the Lord work so greatly through this man? Bernard was a man who desired what Christ desired: aid to the sick, solace to the afflicted, peace, and instruction of the ignorant in the faith. He didn’t pick and choose how to serve according to his fancy, instead, he went where he was needed, where he was called. As such Bernard’s story is a great one with many twists and turns. He was a great monastic, a great theologian, a great commentator and spiritual author, a negotiator of peace with nobles, a confidant of popes, he refused the bishopric multiple times (even escaping the fervent desires of a diocese on speedily horseback!), he preached at the Second Crusade, and, amidst this all, wrote some of the most beautiful works of Christian piety that we have.
Two of his must reads are his On the Necessity of Loving God and The Degrees of Humility. But soaring above them all is the font of sweetest honey that is his sermons. The greatest of these are his sermons on the Song of Songs. Even now there is not a student of that great work of the Bible who doesn’t consult Bernard’s faithful reflections and exhortations on the subject to receive wisdom from his feet. They capture, in essence, his understanding of the spiritual journey of the Christian in love of Jesus.
It was fitting then for Dante Alighieri, who wrote his masterpiece The Divine Comedy, to place Bernard in a special role in Paradise. Bernard, whose love and devotion was able to capture the essence of spiritual transformation, God’s pursuit of the soul, and the greatest expression of this in the Blessed Virgin Mary, is Dante’s final guide at the last steps of his journey in Heaven. Bernard is the only soul who can lead Dante to meet Our Lady. So St. Bernard shaped not only the Church’s understanding of prayer, meditation, and spiritual growth with his great writings, witness, and sermons, but also has left his mark in the greatest literary work capturing the Catholic world view.
If this has not wet your pallet to taste the great honey of the Gallic Bee, the Mellifluus Doctor, then I can say no more to convince. I only ask that even if you never read a word from his pen that you ask for his aid in your spiritual journey.
St. Bernard of Clairvaux, pray for us.
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