Psalms 119:103

Consider then what follows: "O how sweet are Your words unto my throat!" [Psalm 119:103]. Or, as it is more literally rendered from the Greek, "Your utterances, above honey and the honeycomb unto my mouth." This is that sweetness which the Lord gives, "So that the earth yield her increase:" that we do good truly in a good spirit, that is, not from the dread of carnal evil, but from the gladness of spiritual good. Some copies indeed do not read "honeycomb:" but the majority do. Now the open teaching of wisdom is like honey; but that is like the comb which is squeezed from the more recondite mysteries, as if from cells of wax, by the mouth of the teacher, as if he were chewing it: but it is sweet to the mouth of the heart, not to the mouth of the flesh.

The soul presses forward for a glimpse of hidden mysteries, to the very abode of the Word, to the very dwelling place of that highest Good, and his light and brightness. In that bosom and secret dwelling place of the Father the soul hastens to hear his words, and having heard them, it finds them sweeter than all things. Let the prophet who has tasted this sweetness teach you, when he says, "How sweet are your words to my lips, above honeycomb to my mouth." What else can a soul desire when it has once tasted the sweetness of the Word, when it has once seen its brightness? When Moses remained on the mountain forty days to receive the law, he had no need of food for the body. Elijah, resting [under a broom tree], asked that his life be taken away from him. Even Peter, foreseeing on the mountain the glory of the Lord's resurrection, did not wish to come down and said, "Lord, it is good for us to be here." How great is the glory of that divine Essence, how great the graces of the Word at which even angels wish to gaze!

I say that in this mystical number the children of Israel came to Marah, where they were not able to draw water because of its bitterness—for the spring had water but no sweetness; it was delightful in appearance, but not sound for tasting—but when Moses threw in a piece of wood they drank the water made sweet in its smoothness, for the mystery of the cross took away the harshness which the noxious water carried. I think that this occurred to provide a type. I think that the bitter water of Marah is the law of the Old Testament, which was a harsh law until it was moderated by the cross of the Lord. It ordered, "An eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth," and offered no consolation of mercy with these harsh commands. But indeed where it was tempered with the wood of the gospel's suffering, at once it changed its bitterness into sweetness and offered its sweetened self for all to drink, just as the prophet says, "how sweet are your eloquent sayings to my throat, more than honey and honeycomb to my mouth." Sweet indeed are those eloquent things which they command: "If someone strikes you on the jaw, offer him also the other; if someone takes your tunic, give him also your cloak." Therefore, this is that bitterness which was changed into sweetness, that is, the austerity of the law was tempered by the grace of the gospel. The letter of the law is bitter apart from the mystery of the cross. The apostle speaks of this: "The letter kills." But where the sacraments of the passion are joined to it, every bitterness is spiritually suppressed. And the apostle says concerning it, "But the Spirit makes alive."