Be not overcome by despair, O my soul, for thou hast heard of the faith of the woman of Canaan . . . Cry out from the depth of thy heart, “Save me also, Son of David,” as she once cried to Christ (9.29).
The more deeply the penitent voluntarily sinks into death and hell, the more he encounters Christ. With my whole heart I cried to the all-compassionate God: and he heard me from the lowest depths of hell, and brought my life out of corruption (Ode 6, irmos). One thinks of Christ’s words to St Silouan: “Keep thy mind in hell, and despair not.”
In the course of St Andrew’s long poem, a trembling trust steadily develops. It asserts itself in the very first ode, even though this is mainly dedicated to Adam’s mourning and grief, and it returns throughout, like a leitmotif. It is no longer a case of defending oneself as in a lawsuit—or, indeed, of condemning oneself—but of taking refuge in God’s mercy. Enter not into judgment with me, bringing before me the things I should have done, examining my words and correcting my impulses. But in thy mercy overlook my sins and save me, O Lord almighty (1.23). For, by his incarnation, by his humiliation unto death and death on the Cross, God has proved that he is the Lover of mankind, who desirest that all men shall be saved (2.27). And here is the key phrase, so Pauline in tone: in thee shall I be justified, O Savior (3.7). Yet God’s grace does not remain external; it enters into us and transforms us, for in the Eucharist the incarnate God gives himself to us as food: For me thou art the Fountain of life and the Destroyer of death (3.10).
Olivier Clement
“Song of Tears”
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