Letter to Leander, Bishop of Spain

Letter to St. Gregory the Great (Double Words) to Leander, Bishop of Spain - this is evidence of the inner state of the soul of a shepherd, burdened with the worries and temptations of the world. The saint confesses his spiritual burden, admitting that, having risen in the external, he has lost much in the internal. He complains of constant worries that interfere with his spiritual contemplation, and asks Leander for prayerful support, comparing himself to a shipwrecked person in need of a saving board. The letter also mentions the illness of St. Gregory and his consolation in the knowledge that the suffering of the body can atone for sins. I received a letter from your holiness, which was written with the pen of one love; for you drew from your heart what you poured out on paper. While reading this letter, I happened to meet virtuous and prudent men who were touched to the depths of their souls by it. Everyone embraced you in a friendly manner in their hearts; because in that letter the kindness of your soul was expressed so much that one could not only hear, but also see it. Everyone was inflamed, everyone was surprised; and this fervor of those who heard it proved the fervor of the one who wrote: for it is impossible to ignite others without first kindling the flame in oneself. Thus, we felt how great love your soul burned, when it could ignite others who did not know your life at all (which I always remember with deep respect), but who, in humility, saw the height of your spirit. In your letter you call my life worthy of imitation for everyone: but although this is in fact not as it is said, it is nevertheless desirable that it be so, because it is said, so that the one who spoke, contrary to his custom, would not tell a lie. At the same time, it is fitting for me to repeat the words of one virtuous wife: do not call me Naomi, i.e. beautiful; but call me Mara, for I am filled with bitterness (Ruth. 1:20). I am no longer the same as you once knew me, virtuous husband. I confess that while I succeeded in the external, I lost a lot in the internal, and therefore I fear whether I belong to the number of those people about whom it is written: You cast them down when they were exalted (Psalm 72:18). For whoever gains honor and loses good morals falls in his exaltation. Following the path of my life, I judged myself to be the reproach of men and the humiliation of people, and strove to receive the lot of man, about which the Psalmist says: set in your heart the ascents in the deplorable valleys (Psalm 83:6,7), so that i.e. the more surely it is for me to rise internally, the deeper I fall externally into a more deplorable vale. But now the painful honor oppresses me greatly, countless worries arouse me, and when my spirit rushes to God, they amaze him with their compulsions, as if with some kind of dreams. There is no peace in my heart, cast down and suppressed by the weight of my own thoughts. It either never, or very rarely flies to heights on the wings of contemplation. My spirit becomes stagnant in inaction, and amid the rebellion of temporary worries, brought almost to the point of numbness, it is forced to think about earthly things, to deal with matters concerning the flesh, and sometimes, at the request of arrogance, to even decide on something criminal. And why talk a lot? Overwhelmed by his own burden, he bleeds. So, if the crime should not have been called blood, then the psalmist would not have said: deliver me from blood (Psalm 50:16). By adding crime to crime, we also commit what is said by the Prophet: blood is mixed with blood (Hos. 4:2). Blood mixes with blood when crime is added to crime, causing the vileness of wickedness to increase. Being in such a state, I beg you by Almighty God, support me, fallen into the waves of turmoil, with the hand of your prayers. When I was living a quiet life in the monastery, I was sailing, so to speak, under a favorable wind: but a suddenly rising, strong storm carried me away with its gust, and the safe sailing path was already lost by me; for having lost my peace of mind, I suffered a mental shipwreck. Now I am rushing among the waves and asking you to give me a board of your help, so that I, not having earned the happiness of sailing on an undamaged ship with a rich cargo, after suffering damage, could at least reach the shore on a board. You write, holy man, that you suffer from aching pain in your legs; I myself suffer greatly from this same incessant illness. But we will easily find consolation if, while suffering punishment, we remember our sins. The suffering of the flesh, having the power to atone for sins committed to please the flesh, will then seem to us not a punishment, but a benefit. With this, with the blessing of Blessed Peter, the Supreme Apostle, we send you the Pallium to wear during solemn services. By sending it, I am obliged to give instructions on how you should spend your life; but I refrain from speaking, because by your morals you have prevented the word. May Almighty God preserve you with His mercy and bring you into the inheritance of the heavenly Fatherland with the abundant fruit of the souls you shepherd! The brevity of the letter, in which I have little conversation with the one whom I love so much, may serve as evidence to you of the extent to which my studies burden me and my illness oppresses me.