IT was not, Richard says, for the study of the natural sciences, or of the law, that he had come to Oxford, but rather for the study of theology, and of the Holy Scriptures. And it would seem that he gave much time to study, and became well acquainted with the Latin tongue, possibly also with Greek and Hebrew. And new thoughts came to him, and wide unexplored fields of knowledge opened out before him, and it was like a land of wonders at which he first marveled, and which he then began in a measure to understand, and yet the more he understood the more there seemed to be which he understood not.
And the teaching which he had, seemed at times to enlighten him, and at times to bewilder him, and darken the light that he had. And, in his hours of study, he was often disturbed and distracted by the games, and noise, and jests, and tricks, of his companions; and he was also at times assailed by strange longings, for the pleasures of sin; and it seemed to him that he was being carried away by a great torrent of temptation, and he would go back to his books and seek for that which would not only be light to him, but power; and yet when he had been reading the great books of theology and the disquisitions of the theologians, he seemed to have been wandering in a dry and barren land of reasonings and of subtleties, and he became very weary and sorrowful.
And then it came to pass that in the midst of all these strivings and reasonings, there came to him he knew not how, something which was not light, or skill, or knowledge, but which was Love. It came to him, he said, “as a sound and mirth of Heaven;” and it drew his heart and soul away from the enchanted gardens of temptation, and from the dry bare fields of theology; and he scarce knew what it was, for it was something which he did not possess, but which possessed him, and transformed him into another man.
And it was with him always, but less when he was in the schools amongst the dusty books, or in his noisy room amongst the scholars, than far away in the woods and the meadows, when he was all alone.
For there were many quiet places out of reach of the clamour of the great city, where he could lie down in green pastures, beside still waters, and see all around him the beautiful and joyful things which God had made. Perhaps even now, as in days not long past, some of those quiet places remain. For there were still not many years ago, in the sunny Oxfordshire meadows, shady banks under the tall arching reeds, through which the golden sunshine fell upon the white water-lilies of the meadow trenches.
And all along beside the banks, amongst yellow flags and water-mint, the dragonflies lit upon the tall pink flowering rushes, and the lilac spikes of the water-violet, and the dark-eyed water-soldier. And down in the trenches amongst the white and yellow lilies, were the white frosted bog-bean and the yellow Villartia with its marvelous silken fringe, and the beautiful little Utricularia.
And the meadows were gay in the spring days with yellow tulips, and cowslips, and fritillaries; and along the borders by the river side, with thick beds of large forget-me-nots.
And there were no sounds that reached the ear but the song of larks and other birds, and the far-away bells of Oxford. One of those ancient bells still rings out with a solemn sound—the great Tom of Christchurch, which was once amongst the bells of Osney Abbey, Hautclere, Douce, Clement, Austin, Mary, Gabriel, and John. The name of Thomas was given to one of these, recast after the dissolution of Osney Abbey.
And as Richard sat alone in the meadows, or in the woods of Cumnor and of Bagley, he heard other sounds which reached not the ear but the soul within; “a song, inexpressibly sweet, of everlasting praise, for,” he said, “the Lord, when He had drawn me away from the sin and all the busy doings of earth, sent into the mouth of my heart and of my body a new song, that is the melody of the tone of Heaven.” And when this joy filled him, and this love encompassed him, he knew that it was JESUS.
“For,” he said, “howsoever it is of other comforts and sweetness, methinks that the sweetness which is sicker and soothfast is felt by mighty forsaking and loathing of all sin, and by inward sight of Jesus. And no comfort or sweetness, or any other manner of feeling, except if it may help and lead unto this end, to cleanness of conscience and spiritual desire of God, can be full sicker for any to rest upon.
“And what is this desire? Now soothly nothing but a loathing of all this world’s bliss, of all fleshly likings in the heart, and an earnest longing, with a thirsty yearning, to heavenly joy and endless bliss. Look after,” he wrote to a “dear friend” in later days, “no other bodily sweetness, neither sound nor savor, nor wonderful light, nor vision of angels, nor if our Lord Himself as unto thy sight should appear to thee bodily-make but little of this, but let all thy business be that thou might feel soothfastly in thy thought a loathing and a full forsaking of sin and of uncleanness, with a spiritual sight of how foul, how ugly, and how painful it is; so wilt thou turn away from wickedness of all worldly vanity, with steadfast faith, meek hope, and full desire to God.”
Thus began the revelation of Christ to the soul of Richard Rolle, and thenceforward amongst the many voices in the busy streets and halls, One voice spoke continually to him, and to Him who spoke did his heart turn with a “thirsty yearning.”
“But now you may ask,” he wrote, “whether this desire be loved of God. As unto this, I say that this desire is not properly love, but it is a beginning, for love is properly a full coupling of the loving and the loved together into one.” We with our clearer light, know that the “coupling,” the union of the soul with Christ, is not that we love Him, but that He loved us, and that by His Spirit is each member baptized into His body as the consequence of His precious blood shedding for us, and our faith in Him.
And we know that it is the sense of this, and the realization of it, of which Richard Rolle spoke, for he possessed the blessed love and joy which the sense of it gives, before he understood that the marvelous fact of the eternal union with Christ, was the underlying foundation.
And bearing in mind that it is of the realization of it that he speaks, our hearts will respond to the words that follow.
“This coupling may not be had fully in this life, but only in desire and longing thereto. For as long as we are in this life our Lord is absent from us, that we neither see Him, nor hear Him, nor feel Him as He is, and therefore we may not have the sight of His love here below in its fullness. But we have a great desire and a great yearning to be present with Him, for to see Him in His bliss, made one with Him in love.
“S. Paul saith that as long as we are in this body we are pilgrims from our Lord, that we are absent from Heaven in this exile, we walk by truth” (faith) “not by sight; that is, we live in truth, not in bodily feeling, and we dare and have goodwill to be absent from the body and present with the Lord.
“Nevertheless, for that we may not yet, we strive, whether we be absent or present, for to please Him, and to burn in this desire all things that let us from Him.”
“Can a man,” he asks, “have this desire continually in his heart or not? Thou, dear friend, thinkest ‘Nay.’ But as to this I say as me think, that so it may be. If thou were sick, thou shouldst have, as such man has, a kindly desire of bodily health continually in thy heart, whatsoever thou doest, whether thou sleep or thou wake; but not at all times alike, for if thou sleep or else waking think of some worldly thing, then hast thou this desire only in habit, not in working; but when thou thinkest of thy sickness, and of thy bodily health, then hast thou it in using. Right so spiritually is it of desire to God.”
And thus was this desire awakened, and thus did it deepen day by day as Richard was studying the ancient tongues, and wandering forth alone into “sweet and solitary places.”
And often when he went forth into the woods and meadows, he carried with him some of the words of the book in which he delighted, and which he called the “Book of the Hymns of Christ.” To us it is known as the Book of Psalms.
“For great abundance,” he said, “of ghostly comfort, and joy in God, comes in the hearts of them that says or sings the Psalms in praise of Jesus Christ. They drop sweetness in men’s souls, and pour out delight in their thoughts, and kindle their wills with the fire of love, making their hearts to burn within, so that they are fair and lovely in the eyes of Christ.”