|
What
men stand most in need of, is the knowledge of God. They know, to be sure, by
dint of reading, that history gives an account of a certain series of miracles
and marked providences; they have reflected seriously on the corruption and
instability of worldly things; they are even, perhaps, convinced that the
reformation of their lives on certain principles of morality is desirable in
order to their salvation; but the whole of the edifice is destitute of
foundation; this pious and Christian exterior possesses no soul. The living
principle which animates every true believer, God, the all and in all, the
author and the sovereign of all, is wanting. He is, in all things,
infinite—in wisdom power and love,—and what wonder, if everything
that comes from his hand should partake of the same infinite character and set
at nought the efforts of human reason. When He works, his ways and his thoughts
are declared by the prophet to be as far above our ways and our thoughts as the
heavens are above the earth (Isaiah iv. 9). He makes no effort when He would
execute what He has decreed; for to Him all things are equally easy; He speaks
and causes the heavens and the earth to be created out of nothing, with as
little difficulty as he causes water to descend or a stone to fall to the
ground. His power is co-extensive with his will; when He wills, the thing is
already accomplished. When the Scriptures represent Him as speaking in the
creation of the world, it is not to be understood as signifying that it was
necessary that the word of command should issue from Him, in order that the
universe he was about to create should hear and obey his will; that word was
simple and interior, neither more nor less than the thought which he conceived
of what He was about to do and the will to do it. The thought was fertile, and
without being rendered exterior, begat from Him as the fountain of all life, the
sum of the things that are. His mercy, too, is but his pure will; He loved us
before the creation of the world; He saw and knew us, and prepared his blessings
for us; He loved and chose us from all Eternity. Every new blessing we receive
is derived from this Eternal origin; He forms no new will respecting us; it is
not He that changes, but we. When we are righteous and good, we are conformable
to his will and agreeable to Him; when we depart from well doing and cease to be
good, we cease to be conformable to Him and to please Him. This is the immutable
standard which the changeable creature is continually approaching and leaving.
His justice against the wicked and his love towards the righteous are the same
thing; it is the same quality that unites Him to everything that is good, and is
incompatible with everything that is evil. Mercy is the goodness of God,
beholding our wickedness and striving to make us good; perceived by us in time,
it has its source in the eternal love of God for his creature. From Him alone
proceeds true goodness; alas! for that presumptuous soul that seeks it in
itself! It is God’s love towards us that gives us everything; but the richest
of his gifts is that we may love Him with that love which is his due. When He is
able by his love to produce that love in us, He reigns within; He constitutes
there our life, our peace, our happiness, and we then already begin to taste
that blissful existence which He enjoys. His love towards us is stamped with his
own character of infinity: it is not like ours, bounded and constrained; when He
loves, all the measures of his love are infinite. He comes down from Heaven to
earth to seek the creature of clay whom he loves; He becomes creature and clay
with him; He gives him his flesh to eat. These are the prodigies of Divine love
in which the Infinite outstrips all the affection we can manifest. He loves like
a God, with a love utterly incomprehensible. It is the height of folly to seek
to measure infinite love by human wisdom. Far from losing any element of its
greatness in these excesses, He impresses upon his love the stamp of his own
grandeur, while He manifests a delight in us bounded only by the infinite. O!
how great and lovely is He in his mysteries! But we want eyes to see them, and
have no desire to behold God in everything.
It
is not astonishing that men do so little for God and that the little which they
do costs them so much. They do not know Him; scarcely do they believe that He
exists; and the impression they have is rather a blind deference for general
opinion than a lively and distinct conviction of the Divinity. They suppose it
is so, because they do not dare to examine, and because they are indifferent in
the matter, their souls being distracted by the inclination of their affections
and passions for other objects; but their only idea of Him is of something
wonderful, far off and unconnected with us. They think of Him as a stern and
powerful Being, ever making requisitions upon us, thwarting our inclinations,
threatening us with great evils, and against whose terrible judgment it behooves
every one to be on his guard. Such is the inward thought of those who think
seriously about religion, and their number even is small enough. “He is one
who fears God,” say they; and in truth such an one fears only, but does not
love; as the child is in awe of the master who punishes him, or as the servant
is in dread of the blows of one whom he serves from fear, and of whose interests
is he utterly regardless. Would he like to be treated by a son or a servant as
he treats God? It is because God is not known; if He were known, He would be
loved. God is love, says the apostle John (1 John iv. 8, 16); he who
loves Him not, does not know Him, for how could we know love without loving it?
It is plain, then, that all those who have hitherto only feared God, have not
known Him.
But
who shall know Thee, O! my God? He who shall seek with his whole heart to know
Thee, who shall know himself with approbation no longer, and to whom all that is
not Thou shall be as though it were not! The world cannot receive this saying
because it is full of self, and vanity, and lies, and is empty of God; but I
trust that there will always be souls hungering for God, who will relish the
truth which I am about to set forth.
O
my God! before Thou madest the Heavens and the earth, there was none other but
Thee. Thou wert, because of thy years there was no beginning; but Thou wert
alone. Out of Thee there was nothing, and Thou did’st rejoice in this blessed
solitude; Thou are all sufficient in Thyself, and thou hadst no need of anything
out of Thyself, for none can give unto Thee, and it is Thou that givest to all
by thine all-powerful word, that is, by thy simple will. To it, nothing is
difficult, and it doeth whatsoever it will from its own labor. Thou didst cause
that this world, which was not as yet, should begin to be; not as the workmen of
the earth, who find the materials for their work ready made to their hands, and
whose art consists in bringing them together, and arranging them by slow degrees
in the requisite order; Thou didst find nothing ready made, but didst create all
the materials for thy work. It was to nothing that Thou didst say, “Let the
world be,” and it was. Thou didst only speak and it was done.
But
why didst Thou create all these things? They were all made for man and man was
made for Thee. This is the order which is of thine appointment, and woe to him
who inverts it, who would that all should be for him and shuts himself in self!
He breaks the fundamental law of creation.
No!
Lord, Thou canst not yield the essential prerogatives of a creator; it would
degrade Thee. Thou canst pardon the guilty soul that has warred against Thee,
because Thou canst fill it with thy pure love; but thou canst not cease to be at
variance with the soul which refers all thy gifts to itself, and refuses to
embrace Thee as its Creator with a sincere and disinterested affection. To have
no feeling but fear, is not to refer to itself to Thee, but on the contrary, to
think of Thee solely with reference to self. To love Thee with a single eye to
the good Thou canst bestow, is not to lose one’s self in Thee, but to lose
Thee in self! What then must be done in order that we may be lost in Thee? We
must renounce, forget and forever lose sight of self, take part with Thee and
shine, O God, against ourselves and ours; have no longer any will, glory or
peace, but thine only; in a word, we must love Thee without loving self except
in and for Thee.
God
who made us out of nothing, re-creates us, as it were, every moment. It does not
follow that because we were yesterday, we shall of course be to-day; we should
cease to exist and return into the nothingness out of which He formed us, did
not the same all-powerful hand prevent. Of ourselves we are nothing; we are but
what God has made us, and for so long time only as He pleases. He has but to
withdraw the hand that sustains us and we plunge into the abyss of annihilation,
as a stone held in the air falls by its own weight when its support is removed.
Existence and life, then, are only ours because they are conferred by God.
There
are blessings, however, of a purer and higher order than these; a well-ordered
life is better than life; virtue is of higher price than health; uprightness of
heart and the love of God are as far above temporal goods as the heavens are
above the earth. If then these lower and baser gifts are held only through the
mercy and at the pleasure of God, with how much more reason must it be true of
the sublime gift of his love!
They
know Thee not, then, O my God, who regard Thee as an all-powerful Being,
separate from themselves, giving laws to all nature, and creator of everything
which we behold; they know Thee but in part! they know not that which is most
marvelous and which most nearly concerns thy rational creatures! To know that
Thou art the God of my heart, that Thou there doest what pleaseth Thee, this it
is that elevates and affects me! When I am good, it is because Thou renderest me
so; not only dost Thou turn my heart as pleaseth Thee, but Thou givest me one
like thine own! It is Thyself that Thou lovest in me; Thou art the life of my
soul as my soul is the life of my body; Thou art more intimately present to me
than I am to myself; this I, to which I am so attached and which I have so
ardently loved, ought to be strange to me in comparison with Thee; Thou art the
bestower of it; without Thee it never would have been; therefore it is that Thou
desirest that I should love Thee better than it.
O
incomprehensible power of my Creator! O rights of the Creator over the creature
which the creature will never sufficiently comprehend! O prodigy of love which
God alone could perform! God interposes himself as it were, between me and
myself; He separates me from myself; He desires to be nearer to me by his pure
love than I am to myself. He would have me look upon this “me” as a
stranger; He would have me escape from its walls, sacrifice it whole to Him,
returning it absolutely and unconditionally to Him from whom I received it. What
I am ought certainly to be less precious to me than He by whom I am. He made me
for himself and not to be my own; that is, to love Him and to will what He
wills, and not to seek my own will. Does any one feel his heart revolt at this
total sacrifice of self to Him who has created us? I weep for his blindness; I
compassionate his bondage to self, and pray God to deliver him from it, by
teaching him to love Him above every other object.
O
my God! in these souls, offended at thy pure love, I behold the darkness and
rebellion resulting from the fall! Thou didst not make man’s heart will this
monstrous passion of appropriation. The uprightness wherein the scriptures teach
us he was originally created consisted in this, that he had no claim upon
himself but acknowledged that he belonged to his Creator. O Father! thy children
are sadly changed, and no longer bear thine image! They are enraged, they are
discouraged when they are told they should belong to Thee as Thou belongest to
Thyself! They desire to reverse this holy order, and would madly raise
themselves into Gods; they desire to be their own, to do everything for self, or
at least, to surrender themselves with certain reservations and conditions, and
for their own advantage. O monstrous usurpation! O unknown rights of God! O the
ingratitude and insolence of the creature! Miserable nothing! what hast thou to
keep for thyself! What hast thou which belongs to thee? What hast thou which did
not come from on high, and ought not to return thither? Everything, yea, even
this I which would divide with God his gifts, is a gift of God, and was only
made for Him; everything within thee cries out against thee and for thy Creator.
Be still, then, thou who, having been created, wouldst deny thy Creator, and
surrender thyself wholly to Him.
But
alas! O my God! what a consolation is it to know that everything within as well
as without me, is the work of thy hand! Thou art ever with me. When I do wrong,
Thou are within me, reproaching me with the evil which I do, raising within me
regrets for the good which I abandon, and opening to me thine arms of mercy.
When I do good, Thou inspirest the desire, and doest it in me and with me; it is
Thou who lovest good and hatest evil in my heart, who sufferest and prayest, who
doest good to the neighbor and givest alms: I do all these things but by thy
means; Thou causest me to do them; it is Thou who puttest them in me. These good
works, which are thy gifts, become my works; but they do not cease to be thy
gifts; and they cease to be good works if I look at them for a moment as
emanating from myself, or if I forget that they are good only because they come
from Thee.
Thou,
then, (it is my delight to believe it!) art incessantly working within me; there
Thou laborest invisibly like a miner in the bowels of the earth. Thou doest
everything and yet the world beholds Thee not, attributes nothing to Thee; and
even I myself wandered everywhere vainly searching for Thee outside of myself; I
ran over all the wonders of nature that I might form some conception of thy
greatness; I asked thy creatures of Thee and not once thought of finding Thee in
the depths of my heart where Thou hadst never ceased to dwell. No, O my God! it
is not necessary to descent into the depths nor to pass beyond the seas; it is
not necessary to ascend into the heavens to find Thee; Thou art nearer to us
than we are to ourselves.
O
my God! who art at once so great and so condescending, so high above the heavens
and so accommodating to the misery of the creature, so infinite and so
intimately enclosed in the depths of my heart, so terrible and so lovely, so
jealous and so easy to be entreated of those who converse with Thee with the
familiarity of pure love, when will thy children cease to be ignorant of Thee?
Where shall I find a voice loud enough to reproach the whole world with its
blindness, and to tell it with authority all that Thou art? When we bid men look
for Thee in their own hearts, it is as though we bade them search for Thee in
the remotest and most unknown lands! What territory is more distant or more
unknown to the greater part of them, vain and dissipated as they are, than the
ground of their own hearts? Do they ever know what it is to enter within
themselves? Have they ever endeavored to find the way? Can they even form the
most distant conception of the nature of that interior sanctuary, that
impenetrable depth of the soul where Thou desirest to be worshipped in spirit
and in truth? They are ever outside of themselves in the objects of their
ambition or of their pleasure. Alas! how can they understand heavenly truths,
since, as our Lord says, they cannot even comprehend those which are earthly?
(John iii. 12.) They cannot conceive what it is to enter within themselves by
serious reflexion; what would they say if they were told bid to come out of
themselves that they might be lost in God?
As
for me, my Creator, I shut my eyes to all exterior things, which are but vanity
and vexation of spirit, (Eccles. i. 14,) that I may enjoy in the deepest
recesses of my heart an intimate companionship with Thee through Jesus Christ
thy Son, who is thy Wisdom and Eternal Understanding. He became a child that by
his childhood and the folly of his cross, he might put to shame our vain and
lying wisdom. Cost what it may, and in spite of my fears and speculations, I
desire to become lowly and a fool, still more despicable in my own eyes than in
those of the wise in their own conceit. Like the apostles, I would become drunk
with the Holy Spirit, and be content with them to become the sport of the world.
I
find Thee everywhere within. It is Thou that doest every good thing which I seem
to do. I have a thousand times experienced that I could not of myself govern my
temper, overcome my habits, subdue my pride, follow my reason nor will again the
good which I had once willed. It is Thou that must both bestow the will and
preserve it pure; without Thee I am but a reed shaken by the wind. Thou art the
author of all the courage, the uprightness and the truth which I possess; Thou
has given me a new heart which longs after thy righteousness, and which is
athirst for thine eternal truth; Thou has taken away the old man full of filth
and corruption, and which was jealous, vain, ambitious, restless, unrighteous
and devoted to its own pleasure. In what a state of misery did I live. Ah! could
I ever have believed that I should be enabled thus to turn to Thee, and shake
off the yoke of my tyrannical passions?
But,
behold a marvel that eclipses all the rest! Who but Thee could ever have
snatched me from myself, and turned all my hatred and contempt against mine own
bosom? I have not done this; for it is not by our own power that we depart from
self; no! Thou, O Lord, didst shine with thine own light into the depth of my
heart which could not be reached by any other, and didst there reveal the whole
of my foulness. I know that, even after beholding, I have not changed it; that I
am still filthy in thy sight, that my eyes have not been able to discover the
extent of my pollution; but I have, at least, seen a part, and I desire to
behold the whole. I am despised in my own sight, but the hope that I have in
Thee causes me to live in peace; for I will neither flatter my defects nor
suffer them to discourage me. I take thy side, O God, against myself; it is only
by thy strength that I am able to do this. Behold what hath God wrought within
me! and Thou continuest thy work from day to day in cleansing me from the old
Adam and in building up the new. This is the new creation which is gradually
going on.
I
leave myself, Father, in thy hands; make and re-make this clay, shape it or
grind it to atoms; it is thine own, it has nought to say; only let it always be
subservient to thine ever-blessed designs, and let nothing in me oppose thy good
pleasure for which I was created. Require, command, forbid; what wouldst Thou
have me do? what not do? Exalted, or abased, rejoicing or suffering, doing thy
work or laid aside, I will always praise Thee alike, ever yielding up all my own
will to Thine! Nothing remains for me but to adopt the language of Mary:
“Be it unto me according to thy words,” (Luke i. 38.)
Let
me, O my God, stifle forever in my heart, every thought that would tempt me to
doubt thy goodness. I know that Thou canst not but be good. O merciful Father!
let me no longer reason about grace, but silently abandon myself to its
operation. Grace performs everything in us, but does it with and through us; it
is by it, therefore, that I act, that I forbear, that I suffer, that I wait,
that I resist, that I believe, that I hope, and that I love, all in co-operation
with grace. Following its guidance, it will do all things in me, and I shall do
all things through it; it moves the heart, but the heart must move; there is no
salvation without man’s action. I must work, then, without losing a moment,
that I may put no hinderance in the way of that grace which is incessantly
working within me. All the good is of grace, all the evil is of self; when I do
right, it is grace that does it; when I do wrong, it is because I resist grace.
I pray God that I may not seek to know more than this; all else will but serve
to nourish a presumptuous curiosity. O my God! keep me ever in the number of
those babes to whom Thou revealest thy mysteries, while Thou concealest them
from the wise and prudent!
Thou
causest me clearly to understand that Thou makest use of the evils and
imperfections of the creature to do the good which thou hast determined
beforehand. Thou concealest thyself under the importunate visitor, who intrudes
upon the occupation of thy impatient child, that he may learn not to be
impatient, and that he may die to the gratification of being free to study or
work as he pleases. Thou availest thyself of slanderous tongues to destroy the
reputation of thine innocent children, that, beside their innocence, they may
offer Thee the sacrifice of their too highly-cherished reputation. By the
cunning artifices of the envious, Thou layest low the fortunes of those whose
were too much set upon their prosperity. It is thy hand that sends death upon
him to whom life is a constant source of danger, and the tomb a harbor of
refuge. It is Thou that makest his death a remedy, bitter enough, it is true,
but effectual, for those who were too fondly attached to him, and thus, while
saving one, by removing him from life, Thou preparest the others, by that very
act, for a happy death. Thus Thou mercifully strewest bitterness over everything
that is not Thyself, to the end that our hearts, formed to love Thee and to
exist upon thy love, may be, as it were, constrained to return to Thee by a want
of satisfaction in everything else.
And
this is because Thou art all Love, and consequently all Jealousy. O jealous God!
(for thus art thou called!) a divided heart displeases Thee; a wandering one
excites thy pity. Thou art infinite in all things, in love as well as in wisdom
and power. Thou lovest like an infinite God when thou lovest; Thou movest heaven
and earth to save thy loved ones; Thou becomest man, a babe, the vilest of men,
covered with reproaches, dying with infamy and under the pangs of the cross; all
this is not too much for an infinite love. Our finite love and limited wisdom
cannot understand it; how should the finite comprehend the Infinite? it has
neither eyes to see it nor a heart to take it in; the debased and narrowed soul
of man and his vain wisdom are offended, and can perceive no trace of God in
this excess of love. But for myself, it is by this very character of infinity
that I recognize it: this is the love that does all things; that brings to pass
even the evils we suffer, so shaping them that they are but the instruments of
preparing the good which, as yet, has not arrived.
But
ah! when shall we return love for Love? When shall we seek Him who seeks us and
constantly carries us in his arms? When He bears us along in his tender and
paternal bosom, then it is that we forget Him; in the sweetness of his gifts, we
forget the Giver; his ceaseless blessings, instead of melting us into love,
distract our attention and turn it away from Him.
The
Lord hath made all things for Himself (Prov. xvi. 4), says the Scripture; everything
belongs to Him, and He will never release his right to anything. Free and
intelligent creatures are his as much as those which are otherwise. He refers
every unintelligent thing totally and absolutely to Himself, and He desires that
his intelligent creatures should voluntarily make the same disposition of
themselves. It is true that He desires our happiness, but that is neither the
chief end of his work, nor an end to be compared with that of his glory. It is
for his glory only that He wills our happiness; the latter is a subordinate
consideration, which He refers to the final and essential end of his glory.
That
we may enter into his designs in this respect, we must prefer God before
ourselves, and endeavor to will our own happiness for his glory; in any other
case, we invert the order of things. And we must not desire his glory on account
of our own salvation, but, on the other hand, the desire for his glory should
impel us to seek our own happiness as a thing which He has been pleased to make
a part of his glory. It is true that all holy souls are not capable of
exercising this explicit preference for God over themselves, but there must at
least be an implicit preference; the former, which is more perfect, is reserved
for those whom God has endowed with light and strength to prefer Him to
themselves, to such a degree as to desire their own happiness simply because it
adds to his glory.
Men
have a great repugnance to this truth, and consider it to be a very hard saying,
because they are lovers of self from self-interest. They understand, in a
general and superficial way, that they must love God more than all his
creatures, but they have no conception of loving God more than themselves, and
loving themselves only for Him. They can utter these great words without
difficulty, because they do not enter into their meaning, but they shudder when
it is explained to them, that God and his glory are to be preferred before
ourselves and everything else to such a degree that we must love his glory more
than our own happiness, and must refer the latter to the former, as a
subordinate means to an end.
1.
True prayer is only another name for the love of God. Its excellence does not
consist in the multitude of our words; for our Father knoweth what things we
have need of before we ask Him. The true prayer is that of the heart, and the
heart prays only for what it desires. To pray, then is to desire—but
to desire what God would have us desire. He who asks what he does not from the
bottom of his heart desire, is mistaken in thinking that he prays. Let him spend
days in reciting prayers, in meditation or in inciting himself to pious
exercises, he prays not once truly, if he really desire not the things he
pretends to ask.
2.
O! how few there are who pray! for how few are they who desire what is truly
good! Crosses, external and internal humiliation, renouncement of our own wills,
the death of self and the establishment of God’s throne upon the ruins of self
love, these are indeed good; not to desire these, is not to pray; to desire them
seriously, soberly, constantly, and with reference to all the details of life,
this is true prayer; not to desire them, and yet to suppose we pray, is an
illusion like that of the wretched who dream themselves happy. Alas! how many
souls full of self, and of an imaginary desire for perfection in the midst of
hosts of voluntary imperfections, have never yet uttered this true prayer of the
heart! It is in reference to this that St. Augustine says: He that loveth
little, prayeth little; he that loveth much, prayeth much.
3.
On the other hand, that heart in which the true love of God and true desire
exist, never ceases to pray. Love, hid in the bottom of the soul, prays without
ceasing, even when the mind is drawn another way. God continually beholds the
desire which He has himself implanted in the soul, though it may at times be
unconscious of its existence; his heart is touched by it; it ceaselessly
attracts his mercies; it is that Spirit which, according to St. Paul, helpeth
our infirmities and maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be
uttered. (Rom. viii. 26.)
4.
Love desires of God that he would give us what we need, and that He would have
less regard to our frailty than to the purity of our intentions. It even covers
over our trifling defects, and purifies us like a consuming fire; “He
maketh intercession for the Saints, according to the will of God. (Rom.
viii. 27.) For “we know not what we should pray for as we ought,” and,
in our ignorance, frequently request what would be injurious; we should like
fervor of devotion, distinct sensible joys and apparent perfections, which would
serve to nourish within us the life of self and a confidence in our own
strength; but love leads us on, abandons us to all the operations of grace, puts
us entirely at the disposal of God’s will, and thus prepares us for all his
secret designs.
5.
Then we will all things and yet nothing. What God gives, is precisely what we
should have desired to ask; for we will whatever He wills and only that. Thus,
this state contains all prayer: it is a work of the heart which includes all
desire. The Spirit prays within us for those very things which the Spirit
himself wills to give us. Even when we are occupied with outward things, and our
thoughts drawn off by the providential engagements of our position, we still
carry within us a constantly burning fire, which not only cannot be
extinguished, but nourishes a secret prayer, and is like a lamp continually
lighted before the throne of God, “I sleep but my heart waketh.” (Sol.
Song v. 2.) “Blessed are those servants, whom the Lord when he cometh,
shall find watching.” (Luke xii. 37.)
6.
There are two principal points of attention necessary for the preservation of
this constant spirit of prayer which unites us with God: we must continually
seek to cherish it, and we must avoid everything that tends to make us lose it.
In
order to cherish it, we should pursue a regulated course of reading; we must
have appointed seasons of secret prayer, and frequent states of recollection
during the day; we should make use of retirement when we feel the need of it, or
when it is advised by those of greater experience, and unite in the ordinances
appropriate to our condition.
We
should greatly fear and be exceedingly cautious to avoid all things that have a
tendency to make us lose this state of prayer. Thus we should decline those
worldly occupations and associates which dissipate the mind, pleasures which
excite the passions, and everything calculated to awaken the love of the world
and those old inclinations that have caused us so much trouble.
There
is an infinity of detail in these two heads; general directions only can be
given, because each individual case presents features peculiar to itself.
7.
We should choose those works for reading which instruct us in our duty and in
our faults; which, while they point out the greatness of God, teach us what is
our duty to Him, and how very far we are from performing it; not those barren
productions which melt and sentimentalize the heart; the tree must bear
fruit; we can only judge of the life of the root by its fecundity.
8.
The first effect of a sincere love is an earnest desire to know all that we
ought to do to gratify the object of our affection. Any other desire is a proof
that we love ourselves under a pretence of loving God; that we are seeking an
empty and deceitful consolation in Him; that we would use God as an instrument
for our pleasure, instead of sacrificing that for his glory. God forbid that his
children should so love Him! Cost what it may, we must both know and do without
reservation what he requires of us.
9.
Seasons of secret prayer must be regulated by the leisure, the disposition, the
condition, and the inward impulse of each individual.
Meditation
is not prayer, but it is its necessary foundation; it brings to mind the truths
which God has revealed. We should be conversant not only with all the mysteries
of Jesus Christ, and the truths of his Gospel, but also with everything they
ought to operate in us for our regeneration; we should be colored and penetrated
by them as wool is by the dye.
10.
So familiar should they become to us, that, in consequence of seeing them at all
times and ever near to us, we may acquire the habit of forming no judgment
except in their light; that they may be to us our only guide in matters of
practice, as the rays of the sun are our only light in matters of perception.
When
these truths are once, as it were, incorporated in us, then it is that our
praying begins to be real and fruitful. Up to that point it was but the shadow;
we thought we had penetrated to the inmost recesses of the gospel, when we had
barely set foot upon the vestibule—all our most tender and lively
feelings, all our firmest resolutions, all our clearest and farthest views, were
but the rough and shapeless mass from which God would hew in us his likeness.
11.
When his celestial rays begin to shine within us, then we see in the true light;
then there is no truth to which we do not instantaneously assent, as we admit,
without any process of reasoning, the splendor of the sun, the moment we behold
his rising beams. Our union with God must be the result of our faithfulness in
doing and suffering all his will.
12.
Our meditations should become every day deeper and more interior. I say deeper,
because by frequent and humble meditation upon God’s truth, we penetrate
farther and farther in search of new treasures; and more interior,
because as we sink more and more to enter into these truths, they also descend
to penetrate the very substance of our souls. Then it is that a simple word goes
farther than whole sermons.
13.
The very things which had been, fruitlessly and coldly, heard a hundred times
before, now nourish the soul with a hidden manna, having an infinite variety of
flavors for days in succession. Let us beware, too, of ceasing to meditate upon
truths which have heretofore been blessed to us, so long as there remains any
nourishment in them, so long as they yet yield us anything; it is a certain sign
that we still need their ministration; we derive instruction from them without
receiving any precise or distinct impression; there is an indescribable
something in them, which helps us more than all our reasonings. We behold a
truth, we love it and repose upon it; it strengthens the soul and detaches us
from ourselves; let us dwell upon it in peace as long as possible.
14.
As to the manner of meditating, it should not be subtle, nor composed of long
reasonings; simple and natural reflections derived immediately from the subject
of our thoughts are all that is required.
We
need take a few truths; meditate upon these without hurry, without effort, and
without seeking for far-fetched reflections.
Every
truth should be considered with reference to its practical bearing. To receive
it without employing all means to put it faithfully in practice at whatever
cost, is to desire “to hold the truth in unrighteousness” (Rom. i.
18); it is a resistance to the truth impressed upon us, and of course, to the
Holy Spirit. This is the most terrible of all unfaithfulness.
15.
As to a method in prayer, each one must be guided by his own experience. Those
who find themselves profited in using a strict method, need not depart from it,
while those who cannot so confine themselves, may make use of their own mode,
without ceasing to respect that which has been useful to many, and which so many
pious and experienced persons have highly recommended. A method is intended to
assist; if it be found to embarrass, instead of assisting, the sooner it is
discarded the better.
16.
The most natural mode, at first, is to take a book, and to cease reading
whenever we feel so inclined by the passage upon which we are engaged, and,
whenever that no longer ministers to our interior nourishment, to begin again.
As a general rule, those truths which we highly relish, and which shed a degree
of practical light upon the things which we are required to give up for God, are
leadings of Divine Grace, which we should follow without hesitation. The
Spirit bloweth where it listeth, (John iii. 8,) and where the Spirit of
the Lord is, there is liberty. (2 Cor. iii. 17.)
In
the course of time the proportion of reflections and reasonings will diminish,
and that of tender feelings, affecting views and desires, will increase as we
become sufficiently instructed and convinced by the Holy Spirit. The heart is
satisfied, nourished, warmed, set on fire; a word only will give it employment
for a long time.
17.
Finally, increase of prayer is indicated by an increase of simplicity and
steadiness in our views, a great multitude of objects and considerations being
no longer necessary. Our intercourse with God resembles that with a friend; at
first, there are a thousand things to be told, and as many to be asked; but
after a time, these diminish, while the pleasure of being together does not.
Everything has been said, but the satisfaction of seeing each other, of feeling
that one is near the other, or reposing in the enjoyment of a pure and sweet
friendship, can be felt without conversation; the silence is eloquent and
mutually understood. Each feels that the other is in perfect sympathy with him,
and that their two hearts are incessantly poured one into the other, and
constitute but one.
18.
Thus it is that in prayer, our communion with God becomes a simple and familiar
union, far beyond the need of words. But let it be remembered that God himself
must alone institute this prayer within us; nothing would be more rash nor more
dangerous, than to dare to attempt it of ourselves. We must suffer ourselves to
be led step by step, by some one conversant with the ways of God, who may lay
the immovable foundations of correct teaching, and of the complete death of self
in everything.
19.
As regards retirement and attending upon ordinances, we must be governed by the
advice of some one in whom we have confidence. Our own necessities, the effect
produced upon us, and many other circumstances, are to be taken into
consideration.
20.
Our leisure and our needs must regulate our retirements; our needs, because
it is with the soul as with the body; when we can no longer work without
nourishment, we must take it; we shall otherwise be in danger of fainting. Our
leisure, because, this absolute necessity of food excepted, we must attend
to duty before we seek enjoyment in spiritual exercises. The man who has public
duties and spends the time appropriate to them in meditating in retirement,
would miss of God while he was seeking to be united to Him. True union with God
is to do his will without ceasing, in spite of all our natural disinclination
and in every duty of life, however disagreeable or mortifying.
21.
As precautions against wanderings we must avoid close and intimate intercourse
with those who are not pious, especially when we have been before led astray by
their infectious maxims. They will open our wounds afresh: they have a secret
correspondence deep in our souls; there is there a soft and insinuating
counsellor who is always ready to blind and deceive us.
22.
Would you judge of a man? says the Holy Spirit. (Prov. xiii. 20.) Observe who
are his companions. How can he who loves God, and who loves nothing except in
and for God, enjoy the intimate companionship of those who neither love, nor
know God, and who look upon love to Him as a weakness? Can a heart full of God
and sensible of its own frailty, ever rest, and be at ease with those who have
no feelings in common with it, but are ever seeking to rob it of its treasure?
Their delights, and the pleasures of which Faith is the source, are
incompatible.
23.
I am well aware that we cannot, nay, that we ought not to break with those
friends to whom we are bound by esteem of their natural amiability, by their
services, by the tie of sincere friendship, or by the regard consequent upon
mutual good offices. Friends whom we have treated with a certain familiarity and
confidence, would be wounded to the quick, were we to separate from them
entirely; we must gently and imperceptibly diminish our intercourse with them,
without abruptly declaring our alteration of sentiment; we may see them in
private, distinguish them from our less intimate friends, and confide to them
those matters in which their integrity and friendship enable them to give us
good advice, and to think with us, although our reasons for so thinking are more
pure and elevated than theirs. In short, we may continue to serve them, and to
manifest all the attentions of a cordial friendship, without suffering our
hearts to be embarrassed by them.
24.
How perilous is our state without this precaution! If we do not, from the first,
boldly adopt all measures to render our piety entirely free and independent of
our unregenerate friends, it is threatened with a speedy downfall. If a man
surrounded by such companions be of a yielding disposition and inflammable
passions, it is certain that his friends, even the best-intentioned ones, will
lead him astray. They may be good, honest, faithful, and possessed of all those
qualities which render friendship perfect in the eye of the world; but, for him,
they are infected, and their amiability only increases the danger. Those who
have not this estimable character, should be sacrificed at once; blessed are we,
when a sacrifice that ought to cost us so little, may avail to give us so
precious a security for our eternal salvation!
25.
Not only, then, should we be exceedingly careful whom we will see, but we must
also reserve the necessary time that we may see God alone in prayer. Those who
have stations of importance to fill, have generally so many indispensable duties
to perform, that without the greatest care in the management of their time, none
will be left to be alone with God. If they have ever so little inclination for
dissipation, the hours that belong to God and their neighbor disappear
altogether.
We
must be firm in observing our rules. This strictness seems excessive, but
without it everything falls into confusion; we become dissipated, relaxed and
lose strength; we insensibly separate from God, surrender ourselves to all our
pleasures, and only then begin to perceive that we have wandered, when it is
almost hopeless to think of endeavoring to return.
Prayer,
prayer! this is our only safety. “Blessed be God which hath not turned away
my prayer, nor his mercy from me.” (Ps. 116:20.) And to be faithful in
prayer it is indispensable that we should dispose all the employments of the
day, with a regularity nothing can disturb.
We
must imitate Jesus; live as He lived, think as He thought, and be conformed to
his image, which is the seal of our sanctification.
What
a contrast! Nothingness strives to be something, and the Omnipotent becomes
nothing! I will be nothing with Thee, my Lord! I offer Thee the pride and vanity
which have possessed me hitherto. Help Thou my will; remove from me occasions of
my stumbling; turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity (Psalm cxviii.
37); let me behold nothing but Thee and myself in thy presence, that I may
understand what I am and what Thou art.
Jesus
Christ was born in a stable; he was obliged to fly into Egypt; thirty years of
his life were spent in a workshop; he suffered hunger, thirst, and weariness; he
was poor, despised and miserable; he taught the doctrines of Heaven, and no one
would listen. The great and the wise persecuted and took him, subjected him to
frightful torments, treated him as a slave and put him to death between two
malefactors, having preferred to give liberty to a robber, rather than to suffer
him to escape. Such was the life which our Lord chose; while we are horrified at
any kind of humiliation, and cannot bear the slightest appearance of contempt.
Let
us compare our lives with that of Jesus Christ, reflecting that he was the
Master and that we are the servants; that He was all-powerful, and that we are
but weakness; that he was abased and that we are exalted. Let us so constantly
bear our wretchedness in mind, that we may have nothing but contempt for
ourselves. With what face can we despise others, and dwell upon their faults,
when we ourselves are filled with nothing else? Let us begin to walk in the path
which our Saviour has marked out, for it is the only one that can lead us to
Him.
And
how can we expect to find Jesus if we do not seek Him in the states of his
earthly life, in loneliness and silence, in poverty and suffering, in
persecution and contempt, in annihilation and the cross? The saints find him in
heaven, in the splendors of glory and in unspeakable pleasures; but it is only
after having dwelt with Him on earth in reproaches, in pain and in humiliation.
To be a Christian is to be an imitator of Jesus Christ. In what can we imitate
Him if not in his humiliation? Nothing else can bring us near to Him. We may
adore him as Omnipotent, fear him as just, love him with all our heart as good
and merciful,—but we can only imitate him as humble, submissive, poor and
despised.
Let
us not imagine that we can do this by our own efforts; everything that is
written is opposed to it; but we may rejoice in the presence of God. Jesus has
chosen to be made partaker of all our weaknesses; He is a compassionate
high-priest who has voluntarily submitted to be tempted in all points like as we
are; let us, then, have all our strength in Him who became weak that he might
strengthen us; let us enrich ourselves out of his poverty, confidently
exclaiming, I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. (Philip.
iv. 13.)
Let
me follow in thy footsteps, O Jesus! I would imitate Thee, but cannot without
the aid of thy grace! O humble and lowly Saviour, grant me the knowledge of the
true Christian, and that I may willingly despise myself; let me learn the
lesson, so incomprehensible to the mind of man, that I must die to myself by an
abandonment that shall produce true humility.
Let
us earnestly engage in this work, and change this hard heart, so rebellious to
the heart of Jesus Christ. Let us make some approaches toward the holy soul of
Jesus; let Him animate our souls and destroy all our repugnances. O lovely
Jesus! who hast suffered so many injuries and reproaches for my sake, let me
esteem and love them for thine, and let me desire to share thy life of
humiliation!
What
a mercy is humiliation to a soul that receives it with a steadfast faith! There
are a thousand blessings in it for ourselves and for others; for our Lord
bestows his grace upon the humble. Humility renders us charitable towards our
neighbor; nothing will make us so tender and indulgent to the faults of others
as a view of our own.
Two
things produce humility when combined; the first is a sight of the abyss of
wretchedness from which the all-powerful hand of God has snatched us, and over
which he still holds us, as it were, suspected in the air, and the other is the
presence of that God who is ALL.
Our
faults, even those most difficult to bear, will all be of service to us, if we
make use of them for our humiliation, without relaxing our efforts to correct
them. It does no good to be discouraged; it is the result of a disappointed and
despairing self-love. The true method of profiting by the humiliation of our
faults, is to behold them in all their deformity, without losing our hope in
God, and without having any confidence in ourselves.
We
must bear with ourselves without either flattery or discouragement, a mean
seldom attained; for we either expect great things of ourselves and of our good
intentions, or wholly despair. We must hope nothing for self, but wait for
everything from God. Utter despair of ourselves, in consequence of a conviction
of our helplessness, and unbounded confidence in God, are the true foundations
of the spiritual edifice.
That
is a false humility, which, acknowledging itself unworthy of the gifts of God,
dares not confidently expect them; true humility consists in a deep view of our
utter unworthiness, and in an absolute abandonment to God, without the slightest
doubt that He will do the greatest things in us.
Those
who are truly humble, will be surprised to hear anything exalted of themselves.
They are mild and peaceful, of a contrite and humble heart, merciful and
compassionate; they are quiet, cheerful, obedient, watchful, fervent in spirit
and incapable of strife; they always take the lowest place, rejoice when they
are despised, and consider every one superior to themselves; they are lenient to
the faults of others in view of their own, and very far from preferring
themselves before any one. We may judge of our advancement in humility, by the
delight we have in humiliations and contempt.
Many
are tempted to believe that they no longer pray, when they cease to enjoy a
certain pleasure in the act of prayer. But, if they will reflect that perfect
prayer is only another name for love to God, they will be undeceived.
Prayer,
then, does not consist in sweet feelings, nor in the charms of an excited
imagination, nor in that illumination of the intellect that traces with ease the
sublimest truths in God; nor even in a certain consolation in the view of God:
all these things are external gifts from his hand, in the absence of which, love
may exist even more purely, as the soul may then attach itself immediately and
solely to God, instead of to his mercies.
This
is that love by naked faith which is the death of nature, because it
leaves it no support; and when we are convinced that all is lost, that very
conviction is the evidence that all is gained.
Pure
love is in the will alone; it is no sentimental love, for the imagination has no
part in it; it loves, if we may so express it, without feeling, as faith
believes without seeing. We need not fear that this love is an imaginary
thing—nothing can be less so than the mere will separate from all
imagination: the more purely intellectual and spiritual are the operations of
our minds, the nearer are they, not only to reality but to the perfection which
God requires of us: their working is more perfect; faith is in full exercise
while humility is preserved.
Such
love is chaste: for it is the love of God in and for God; we are attached to
Him, but not for the pleasure which he bestows on us; we follow Him, but not for
the loaves and fishes.
What!
some may say, can it be that a simple will to be united with God, is the whole
of piety? How can we be assured that this will is not a mere idea, a trick of
the imagination, instead of a true willing of the soul?
I
should indeed believe that it was a deception, if it were not the parent of
faithfulness on all proper occasions; for a good tree bringeth forth good fruit;
and a true will makes us truly earnest and diligent in doing the will of God;
but it is still compatible in this life with little failings which are permitted
by God that the soul may be humbled. If, then, we experience only these little
daily frailties, let us not be discouraged, but extract from them their proper
fruit, humility.
True
virtue and pure love reside in the will alone. Is it not a great matter always
to desire the Supreme Good whenever He is seen; to keep the mind steadily turned
towards Him, and to bring it back whenever it is perceived to wander; to will
nothing advisedly but according to his order; in short, in the absence of all
sensible enjoyment, still to remain the same in the spirit of a submissive,
irreclaimable burnt-offering? Think you it is nothing to repress all the uneasy
reflections of self-love; to press forward continually without knowing whither
we go, and yet without stopping; to cease from self-satisfied thoughts of self,
or at least, to think of ourselves as we would of another; to fulfill the
indications of Providence for the moment, and no further? Is not this more
likely to be the death of the Old Adam than fine sentiments, in which we are, in
fact, thinking only of self, or external acts, in the performance of which we
congratulate self on our advancement?
It
is a sort of infidelity to simple faith when we desire to be continually assured
that we are doing well; it is, in fact, to desire to know what we are doing,
which we shall never know, and of which it is the will of God that we should be
ignorant. It is trifling by the way in order to reason about the way. The safest
and shortest course is to renounce, forget and abandon self, and through
faithfulness to God to think no more of it. This is the whole of
religion—to get out of self and of self-love in order to get into God.
As
to involuntary wanderings, they are no hinderance to love, inasmuch as love is
in the will, and the will only wanders when it wills to wander. As soon as we
perceive that they have occurred, we drop them instantly and return to God, and
thus, while the external senses of the spouse are asleep, the heart is watching;
its love knows no intermission. A tender parent does not always bear his son
distinctly in mind; he thinks and imagines a thousand things disconnected with
him, but they do not interfere with the paternal affection; the moment that his
thoughts rest again upon his child, he loves, and feels in the depths of his
soul that though he has ceased to think of him he has not for an instant failed
to love him. Such should be our love to our Heavenly Father; a love simple,
trustful, confident and without anxiety.
If
our imagination take wing and our thoughts wander, let us not be perplexed; all
these things are not that “hidden man of the heart in that which is not
corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit,” of which St.
Peter speaks. (1 Pet. iii. 4.) Let us only turn our thoughts, whenever we can,
towards the face of the Well-beloved without being troubled at our wanderings.
When He shall see fit to enable us to preserve a more constant sense of his
presence with us, He will do so.
He
sometimes removes it for our advancement; it amuses us with too many reflections
which are true distractions, diverting the mind from a simple and direct look
toward God and withdrawing us from the shades of naked faith.
We
often seek in these reflections a resting-place for our self-love and
consolation in the testimony we endeavor to extract from them for self; and thus
the warmth of our feelings causes us to wander. On the contrary, we never pray
so purely as when we are tempted to believe that we do not pray at all; we fear
that we pray ill, but we should only fear being left to the desolation of sinful
nature, to a philosophical infidelity, seeking perpetually a demonstration of
its own operations in faith; in short, to impatient desires for consolation in
sight and feeling.
There
is no more bitter penance than this state of pure faith without sensible
support; and hence it seems to me the most effective, the most crucifying, and
the least illusive. Strange temptation! We look impatiently for sensible
consolation from the fear of not being penitent enough! Ah! why do we not
consider the renouncement of that consolation which we are so strongly tempted
to seek, as a proof of our penitence? Remember our Lord abandoned by his Father
on the cross: all feeling, all reflection withdrawn that his God might be hidden
from him; this was indeed the last blow that fell upon the man of sorrows, the
consummation of the sacrifice!
Never
should we so abandon ourselves to God as when He seems to abandon us. Let us
enjoy light and consolation when it is his pleasure to give it to us, but let us
not attach ourselves to his gifts, but to Him; and when He plunges us into the
night of Pure Faith, let us still press on through the agonizing darkness.
Moments
are worth days in this tribulation; the soul is troubled and yet at peace; not
only is God hidden from it, but it is hidden from itself, that all may be
of faith; it is discouraged, but feels nevertheless an immovable will to bear
all that God may choose to inflict; it wills all, accepts all, even the troubles
that try its faith, and thus in the very height of the tempest, the waters
beneath are secretly calm and at peace, because its Will is one with God’s.
Blessed be the Lord who performeth such great things in us, notwithstanding our
unworthiness!
When
the solid foundations of a perfect conversion of heart, a scrupulous repentance
and a serious meditation of all the Christian virtues have been laid, both
theoretically and practically, we become gradually so accustomed to these
truths, that we regard them at last with a simple and steady look, without the
necessity of going back to examine and convince ourselves of each of them in
detail. They are then all embraced in a certain enjoyment of God, so pure and so
intimate, that we find everything in Him. It is no longer the intellect that
examines and reasons; it is the will which loves and plunges into the infinite
Good.
But
this is not your state. You must walk for a long while in the way of the sinners
who are beginning to seek God; ordinary meditation is your lot, too happy that
God condescends to admit you to it.
Walk
then in the spirit, like Abraham, without knowing whither you go; be content
with your daily bread, and remember that in the desert the manna of to-day could
not be preserved until to-morrow without corrupting. The children of God must be
shut up to the grace of the present moment, without desiring to foresee the
designs of Providence concerning them.
Meditate,
then, since now is your opportunity, upon all the mysteries of Jesus Christ and
upon all the Gospel truths which you have for so long a time ignored and
rejected. When God shall have entirely effaced from your mind the impression of
all your worldly maxims, and the Spirit shall have left there no trace of your
old prejudices, then it will be necessary to ascertain the direction in which
you are attracted by grace, and to follow step by step without anticipating.
In
the meantime, dwell in peace in the bosom of God, like a little child on the
breast of its mother; be satisfied with thinking on your chosen subject simply
and easily; suffer yourself to be led gently to the truths which affect you, and
which you find to nourish your heart. Avoid all exertions that excite the
intellect, which often tempt us to believe that there is more piety in a
dangerous vivacity of the imagination, than in a pure and upright intention of
abandonment to God. Avoid likewise all refined speculation; confine yourself to
simple reflections, and recur to them frequently. Those who pass too rapidly
from one truth to another, feed their curiosity and restlessness; they even
distract their intellect by too great a multiplicity of views.
Give
every truth time to send down deep roots into the heart; the main point
is—to love. Nothing gives rise to such severe fits of indigestion as
eating too much and too hastily. Digest every truth leisurely, if you would
extract the essence of it for your nourishment, but let there be no restless
self-reflective acts. Be sure that your exercise will not be acceptable unless
performed without agitation or tumult.
I
am well aware that you will have distractions enough; bear them without
impatience, dismiss them and recur quietly to your subject as soon as you
perceive that your imagination has wandered. In this way these involuntary
distractions will produce no injurious effects, and the patience with which you
bear them without being discouraged, will advance you farther than a more
continuous meditation, in which you might take more self-satisfaction. The true
method of conquering wandering thoughts, is never to attack them directly with
bitterness, and never to be discouraged by their frequency or duration.
Suffer
yourself, then, to be quietly occupied by the subject you have chosen; only let
the exercise be as holy as you can make it, to which end take the following
directions:
Do
not encumber yourself with a great number of thoughts upon a subject; but dwell
upon each sufficiently long to allow it to afford its proper nourishment to the
heart. You will gradually become accustomed to regard each truth steadily by
itself, without flitting from one to another; this habit will serve to fix them
deeply in your soul. You will thus, also, acquire a habit of dwelling upon your
themes with pleasure and peaceful acquiescence, instead of considering them
rapidly and intellectually as most persons do. Thus the foundations will be
firmly laid for all that God intends to do in you; he will thus mortify the
natural activity of the mind, that ever inclines it to seek novelties, instead
of deeply imprinting the truths already in some degree familiar. You must not,
however, forcibly restrain your mind to a subject which no longer seems to
afford any nourishment; I would advise only that you should not abandon it so
long as it still ministers food.
As
to your affections, retain all which the view of your subject naturally and
quietly induces; but do not attempt to stir yourself up to great efforts, for
they will exhaust and agitate you, and even cause aridities; they will occupy
you too much with your own exertions, and implant a dangerous confidence in your
own power; in short, they will attach you too firmly to sensible pleasures, and
will thus prepare you great trouble in a time of dryness. Be content, then, to
follow with simplicity, and without too many reflections, the emotions which God
shall excite in view of your subject, or of any other truth. As for higher
things, have no thoughts of them; there is a time for everything, and it is of
the greatest importance that nothing should be precipitated.
One
of the cardinal rules of the spiritual life is, that we are to live exclusively
in the present moment, without casting a look beyond. You remember that the
Israelites in the desert followed the pillar of fire, or of cloud, without
knowing whither it was leading them; they had a supply of manna but for one day;
all above that became useless. There is no necessity now for moving rapidly;
think only of laying a solid foundation; see that it is deep and broad by an
absolute renunciation of self, and by an abandonment without reserve to the
requirements of God. Let God, then, raise upon this foundation such a building
as He pleases. Shut your eyes and commit yourself to Him. How wonderful is this
walking with Abraham in pure faith, not knowing whither we go! and how full of
blessings is the path!
God
will then be your guide; He himself will travel with you, as we are told He did
with the Israelites, to bring them step by step across the desert to the
promised land. Ah! what will be your blessedness if you will but surrender
yourself into the hands of God, permitting him to do whatever He will, not
according to your desires, but according to His own good pleasure!
God
calls us hourly and momentarily to the exercise of mortification; but nothing
can be more false than the maxim that we should always choose that which
mortifies us the most. Such a plan would soon destroy our health, our
reputation, our business, our intercourse with our relatives and friends, and
the good works which Providence requires of us. I have no hesitation in saying
that we ought to avoid certain things which experience has shown us to injure
our health, such as certain kinds of food, etc. This course will, no doubt,
spare us some suffering; but it does not tend to pamper the body nor require the
employment of expensive or delicious substitutes; on the contrary, it conduces
to a sober, and, therefore, in many respects, mortified life.
Failures
in regimen are owing to a want of mortification; they are not due either to
courage in enduring pain, or to indifference to life, but to a weak hankering
for pleasure, and impatience of anything that annoys. Submitting to regimen for
the purpose of preserving health, is a great constraint; we would much rather
suffer and be sick, than be constantly restraining our appetites; we love
liberty and pleasure more than health. But God arranges all that in the heart
which is devoted to Him; He causes us to fall in quietly with every regulation,
and takes away a certain want of pliability in the will, and a dangerous
confidence in ourselves; He blunts the desires, cools the passions, and detaches
the man, not only from exterior things, but from self, renders him mild,
amiable, simple, lowly, ready to will or not, according to His good pleasure.
Let it be so with us; God desires it, and is ready to effect it; let us not
resist his will. The mortification which comes in the order of God, is more
serviceable than any enjoyment in devotion which should result from our own
affection and choice.
In
regard to austerities, every one must regard his attraction, his state, his need
and his temperament. A simple mortification, consisting in nothing more than an
unshaken fidelity in providential crosses, is often far more valuable than
severe austerities which render the life more marked, and tempt to a vain
self-complacency. Whoever will refuse nothing which comes in the order of God,
and seek nothing out of that order, need never fear to finish his day’s work
without partaking of the cross of Jesus Christ. There is an indispensable
Providence for crosses as well as for the necessities of life; they are a part
of our daily bread; God never will suffer it to fail. It is sometimes a very
useful mortification to certain fervent souls, to give up their own plans of
mortification, and adopt with cheerfulness those which are momentarily revealed
in the order of God.
When
a soul is not faithful in providential mortifications, there is reason to fear
some illusion in those which are sought through the fervor of devotion; such
warmth is often deceitful, and it seems to me that a soul in this case would do
well to examine its faithfulness under the daily crosses allotted by Providence.
If
you would fully comprehend the meaning of self-abandonment,[1]
recall the interior difficulty which you felt, and which you very naturally
testified when I directed you always to count as nothing this self which
is so dear to us. To abandon one’s self is to count one’s self as
nought; and he who has perceived the difficulty of doing it, has already learned
what that renunciation is, which so revolts our nature. Since you have felt the
blow, it is evident that it has fallen upon the sore spot in your heart; let the
all-powerful hand of God work in you as he well knows how, to tear you from
yourself.
The
origin of our trouble is, that we love ourselves with a blind passion that
amounts to idolatry. If we love anything beyond, it is only for our own sakes.
We must be undeceived respecting all those generous friendships, in which it
appears as though we so far forgot ourselves as to think only of the interests
of our friend. If the motive of our friendship be not low and gross, it is
nevertheless still selfish; and the more delicate, the more concealed, and the
more proper in the eyes of the world it is, the more dangerous does it become,
and the more likely to poison us by feeding our self-love.
In
those friendships which appear, both to ourselves and to the world, so generous
and disinterested, we seek, in short, the pleasure of loving without recompense,
and by the indulgence of so noble a sentiment, of raising ourselves above the
weak and sordid of our race. Besides the tribute which we pay to our own pride,
we seek from the world the reputation of disinterestedness and generosity; we
desire to be loved by our friends, although we do not desire to be served by
them; we hope that they will be charmed with what we do for them without any
expectation of return; and in this way we get that very return which we seem to
despise: for what is more delicious to a delicate self-love, than to hear itself
applauded for not being self-love?
You
may have seen some one who seemed to think of every one but himself, who was the
delight of good people, who was well disciplined, and seemed entirely forgetful
of self. The self-oblivion is so great that self-love even would imitate it, and
finds no glory equal to that of seeming to seek none at all. This moderation and
self-renunciation which, if genuine, would be the death of nature, become, on
the other hand, the most subtle and imperceptible food of a pride which despises
all ordinary forms of glory, and desires only that which is to be secured by
trampling under foot all the gross objects of ambition which captivate ordinary
minds.
But
it is not a difficult matter to unmask this modest arrogance—this pride
which seems no pride at all, so much does it appear to have renounced all the
ordinary objects of desire. Condemn it and it cannot bear to be found fault
with; let those whom it loves fail to repay it with friendship, esteem, and
confidence, and it is stung to the quick. It is easy to see that it is not
disinterested, though it tries so hard to seem so: it does not indeed accept
payment in as gross coin as others; it does not desire insipid praise, or money,
or that good fortune which consists in office and dignities. It must be paid,
nevertheless; it is greedy of the esteem of good people; it loves that it may be
loved again and be admired for its disinterestedness; it seems to forget self,
that, by that means, it may draw the attention of the whole world upon self
alone.
It
does not, indeed, make all these reflections in full detail; it does not say in
so many words, I will deceive the whole world with my generosity, in order that
the world may love and admire me; no, it would not dare to address such a gross
and unworthy language to itself; it deceives itself with the rest of the world;
it admires itself in its generosity, as a belle admires her beauty in a mirror;
it is affected by perceiving that it is more generous and more disinterested
than the rest of mankind; the illusion it prepares for others extends to itself;
it passes with itself for what it passes itself upon others, that is, for
generosity, and this is what pleases it more than anything else.
However
little we may have looked within to study the occasions of our pleasure and our
grief, we shall have no difficulty in admitting that pride, as it is more or
less delicate, has various tastes. But give it what taste you will, it is still
pride; and that which appears the most restrained and the most reasonable is the
most devilish; in esteeming itself, it despises others; it pities those who are
pleased with foolish vanities; it recognizes the emptiness of greatness and
rank; it cannot abide those who are intoxicated with good fortune; it would, by
its moderation, be above fortune, and thus raise itself to a new height, by
putting under foot all the false glory of men; like Lucifer, it would become
like to the Most High. It would be a sort of divinity, above all human passions
and interests, and it does not perceive that it seeks to place itself above men
by this deceitful pride which blinds it.
We
may be sure, then, that it is the love of God only that can make us come out of
self. If his powerful hand did not sustain us, we should not know how to take
the first step in that direction.
There
is no middle course; we must refer everything either to God or to self; if to
self, we have no other God than self; if to God, we are then in order, and
regarding ourselves only as one among the other creatures of God, without
selfish interests, and with a single eye to accomplish his will, we enter into
that self-abandonment which you desire so earnestly to understand.
But
let me say again, that nothing will so shut your heart against the grace of
abandonment, as that philosophic pride and self love in the disguise of worldly
generosity, of which you should be especially in fear, on account of your
natural disposition towards it. The greater our inherent endowment of frankness,
disinteredness, pleasure in doing good, delicacy of feeling, love of honor, and
generous friendship, the more lively should be our distrust of self, and our
fear lest we take complacency in these gifts of nature.
The
reason why no creature can draw us out of ourselves is, that there is none that
deserves to be preferred before ourselves. There is none which has the right so
to detach us, nor the perfection which would be necessary to unite us to them
without reference to ourselves, nor the power to satisfy the soul in such an
attachment. Hence it is that we love nothing out of ourselves, except for the
reference it has to self; we choose under the direction of our coarse and brutal
passions, if we are low and boorish, or under the guidance of a refined desire
for glory, if we are so delicate as not to be satisfied with what is gross and
vulgar.
But
God does two things, which He only has the power to do. He reveals himself to
us, with all his rights over the creature, and in all the charms of his
goodness. Then we feel that, not having made ourselves, we are not made for
ourselves; that we are created for the glory of Him whom it has pleased to form
us; that He is too great to make anything except for Himself, and that thus all
our perfection and our happiness should be to be lost in Him.
This
is what no created thing, dazzling though it may be, can make us realize in
respect to itself. Far from finding in them that infinity which so fills and
transports us in God, we discover only a void, a powerlessness to fill our
hearts, an imperfection that continually drives us into ourselves.
The
second miracle which God works is, to operate in our hearts that which He
pleases, after having enlightened our understanding. He is not satisfied with
having displayed his own charms; He makes us love Him by producing, by his
grace, his love in our hearts; and He thus himself performs within us, what He
makes us see we owe to Him.
You
desire, perhaps, to know more in detail in what this self-abandonment consists.
I will endeavor to satisfy you.
There
is little difficulty in comprehending that we must reject criminal pleasures,
unjust gains, and gross vanities, because the renouncement of these things
consists in a contempt which repudiates them absolutely, and forbids our
deriving any enjoyment from them; but it is not so easy to understand that we
must abandon property honestly acquired, the pleasures of a modest and
well-spent life, and the honors derivable from a good reputation, and a virtue
which elevates us above the reach of envy.
The
reason why we do not understand that these things must be given up, is, that we
are not required to discard them with dislike, but, on the contrary, to preserve
them to be used according to the station in which the Divine Providence places
us.
We
have need of the consolation of a mild and peaceful life, to console us under
its troubles; in respect to honors, we must regard “that which is
convenient,” and we must keep the property we possess to supply our wants. How
then are we to renounce these things at the very moment when we are occupied in
the care of preserving them? We are, moderately and without inordinate emotion,
to do what is in our power to retain them, in order to make a sober use of them,
without desiring to enjoy them or placing our hearts upon them.
I
say, a sober use of them, because, when we are not attached to a thing
for the purposes of self-enjoyment and of seeking our happiness in it, we use
only so much of it as we are necessarily obliged to; as you may see a wise and
faithful steward study to appropriate only so much of his master’s property as
is precisely requisite to meet his necessary wants.
The
abandonment of evil things then, consists in refusing them with horror; of good
things, in using them with moderation for our necessities, continually studying
to retrench all those imaginary wants with which greedy nature would flatter
herself.
Remember
that we must not only renounce evil, but also good things; for Jesus has said, “Whatsoever
he be of you that forsaketh not all he hath, he cannot be my disciple.” (Luke
xiv. 33.)
It
follows, then, that the Christian must abandon everything that he has, however
innocent; for, if he do not renounce it, it ceases to be innocent.
He
must abandon those things which it is his duty to guard with the greatest
possible care, such as the good of his family, or his own reputation, for he
must have his heart on none of these things; he must preserve them for a sober
and moderate use; in short, he must be ready to give them all up whenever it is
the will of Providence to deprive him of them.
He
must give up those whom he loves best, and whom it is his duty to love; and his
renouncement of them consists in this, that he is to love them for God only; to
make use of the consolation of their friendship soberly, and for the supply of
his wants; to be ready to part with them whenever God wills it, and never to
seek in them the true repose of his heart. This is that chastity of true
Christian friendship which seeks in the mortal and earthly friend, only the
heavenly spouse. It is thus that we use the world and the creature as not
abusing them, according to Saint Paul. (1 Cor. vii. 31.) We do not desire to
take pleasure in them; we only use what God gives us, what he wills that we
should love, and what we accept with the reserve of a heart, receiving it only
for necessity’s sake, and keeping itself for a more worthy object.
It
is in this sense that Christ would have us leave father and mother, brothers and
sisters, and friends, and that he is come to bring a sword upon earth.
God
is a jealous God; if, in the recesses of your soul, you are attached to any
creature, your heart is not worthy of Him: He must reject it as a spouse that
divides her affections between her bridegroom and a stranger.
Having
abandoned everything exterior, and which is not self, it remains to complete the
sacrifice by renouncing everything interior, including self.
The
renouncement of the body is frightful to most delicate and worldly-minded
persons. They know nothing, so to speak, that is more themselves than this body,
which they flatter and adorn with so much care; and even when deprived of its
graces, they often retain a love for its life amounting to a shameful cowardice,
so that the very name of death makes them shudder.
Your
natural courage raises you above these fears, and I think I hear you say, I
desire neither to flatter my body, nor to hesitate in consenting to its
destruction, whenever it shall be the will of God to waste and consume it to
ashes.
You
may thus renounce the body, and yet there may remain great obstacles in the way
of your renouncing the spirit. The more we are able, by the aid of our natural
courage, to despise the clay tenement, the more apt are we to set a higher value
upon that which it contains, by the aid of which we are enabled to look down
upon it.
We
feel towards our understanding, our wisdom, and our virtue, as a young and
worldly woman feels towards her beauty. We take pleasure in them; it gives us a
satisfaction to feel that we are wise, moderate, and preserved from the
excitement which we see in others; we are intoxicated with the pleasure of not
being intoxicated with pleasure; we renounce with courageous moderation the most
flattering temptations of the world, and content us with the satisfaction
derived from a conviction of our self-control.
What
a dangerous state! What a subtle poison! How recreant are you to God, if you
yield your heart to this refinement of self-love! You must renounce all
satisfaction and all natural complacency in your own wisdom and virtue.
Remember,
the purer and more excellent the gifts of God, the more jealous He is of them.
He
showed mercy to the first human rebel, and denied it to the angels. Both sinned
by the love of self, but as the angel was perfect, and regarded as a sort of
divinity, God punished his unfaithfulness with a fiercer jealousy than He did
man’s disobedience. We may infer from this, that God is more jealous of his
most excellent gifts than He is of the more common ones; He would have us
attached to nothing but Himself, and to regard his gifts, however excellent, as
only the means of uniting us more easily and intimately to Him. Whoever
contemplates the grace of God with a satisfaction and sort of pleasure of
ownership, turns it into poison.
Never
appropriate exterior things to yourself then, such as favor or talents, nor even
things the most interior. Your good will is no less a gift of God’s mercy,
than the life and being which you receive direct from his hands. Live, as it
were, on trust; all that is in you, and all that you are, is only loaned you;
make use of it according to the will of Him who lends it, but never regard it
for a moment as your own.
Herein
consists true self-abandonment; it is this spirit of self-divesting, this
use of ourselves and of ours with a single eye to the movements of God, who
alone is the true proprietor of his creatures.
You
will desire to know, probably, what should be the practice of this renouncement
in detail. But I answer that the feeling is no sooner established in the
interior of the soul, than God himself will take you by the hand, that you may
be exercised in self-renunciation in every event of every day.
Self-abandonment
is not accomplished by means of painful reflections and continual struggles; it
is only by refraining from self-contemplation, and from desiring to master
ourselves in our own way, that we lose ourselves in God.
I
know of but two resources against temptations. One is, faithfully to follow the
interior light in sternly and immediately cutting off everything we are at
liberty to dismiss, and which may excite or strengthen the temptation. I say
everything which we are at liberty to dismiss, because we are not always
permitted to avoid the occasions of evil. Such as are unavoidable connected with
the particular position in which Providence has placed us, are not considered to
be within our power.
The
other expedient consists in turning towards God in every temptation, without
being disturbed or anxious to know if we have not already yielded a sort of half
consent, and without interrupting our immediate recourse to God. By examining
too closely whether we have not been guilty of some unfaithfulness, we incur the
risk of being again entangled in the temptation. The shortest and surest way is
to act like a little child at the breast; when we show it a frightful monster,
it shrinks back and buries its face in its mother’s bosom, that it may no
longer behold it.
The
sovereign remedy is the habit of dwelling continually in the presence of God. He
sustains, consoles, and calms us.
We
must never be astonished at temptations, be they never so outrageous. On this
earth all is temptation. Crosses tempt us by irritating our pride, and
prosperity by flattering it. Our life is a continual combat, but one in which
Jesus Christ fights for us. We must pass on unmoved, while temptations rage
around us, as the traveller, overtaken by a storm, simply wraps his cloak more
closely about him, and pushes on more vigorously towards his destined home.
If
the thought of former sins and wretchedness should be permitted to come before
us, we must remain confounded and abashed before God, quietly enduring in his
adorable presence all the shame and ignominy of our transgressions. We must not,
however, seek to entertain or to call up so dangerous a recollection.
In
conclusion, it may be said that in doing what God wills, there is very little to
be done by us; and yet there is a wonderful work to be accomplished, no less
than that of reserving nothing, and making no resistance for a moment, to that
jealous love, which searches inexorably into the most secret recesses of the
soul for the smallest trace of self, for the slightest intimations of an
affection of which itself is not the author. So, on the other hand, true
progress does not consist in a multitude of views, nor in austerities, trouble
and strife; it is simply willing nothing and everything, without reservation and
without choice, cheerfully performing each day’s journey as Providence
appoints it for us; seeking nothing, refusing nothing; finding everything in the
present moment, and suffering God, who does everything, to do his pleasure in
and by us, without the slightest resistance. O how happy is he who has attained
to this state! and how full of good things is his soul, when it appears emptied
of everything!
Let
us pray the Lord to open to us the whole infinitude of his paternal heart, that
our own may be there submerged and lost, so that it may make but one with His!
Such was the desire of Paul for the faithful, when he longed for them in the
bowels of Jesus Christ.
1.
Two things trouble you; one is, how you may avoid wandering thoughts; the other,
how you may be sustained against dejection. As to the former, you will never
cure them by set reflections; you must not expect to do the work of grace by the
resources and activity of nature. Be simply content to yield your will to God
without reservation; and whenever any state of suffering is brought before you,
accept it as his will, in an absolute abandonment to his guidance.
Do
not go out in search of these crucifixions, but when God permits them to reach
you without your having sought them, they need never pass without your deriving
profit from them.
Receive
everything that God presents to your mind, notwithstanding the shrinking of
nature, as a trial by which He would exercise and strengthen your faith. Never
trouble yourself to inquire whether you will have strength to endure what is
presented, if it should actually come upon you, for the moment of trial will
have its appointed and sufficient grace; that of the present moment is to behold
the afflictions presented tranquilly, and to feel willing to receive them
whenever it should be the will of God to bestow them.
Go
on cheerfully and confidently in this trust. If this state of the will should
not change in consequence of a voluntary attachment to something out of the will
of God, it will continue forever.
Your
imagination will doubtless wander to a thousand matters of vanity; it will be
subject to more or less agitation, according to your situation and the character
of the objects presented to its regard. But what matter? The imagination, as St.
Theresa declares, is the fool of the household; it is constantly busy in making
some bustle or other, to distract the mind which cannot avoid beholding the
images which it exhibits. The attention is inevitable, and is a true
distraction, but, so long as it is involuntary, it does not separate us from
God; nothing can do that but some distraction of the will.
You
will never have wandering thoughts if you never will to have them, and may then
say with truth that you have prayed without ceasing. Whenever you perceive that
you have involuntarily strayed away, return without effort, and you will
tranquilly find God again without any disturbance of soul. As long as you are
not aware of it, it is no wandering of the heart; when it is made manifest, look
to God at once with fidelity, and you will find that this simple faithfulness to
Him will be the occasion of blessing you with his more constant and more
familiar indwelling.
A
frequent and easy recollection is one of the fruits of this faithful readiness
to leave all wanderings as soon as they are perceived; but it must not be
supposed that it can be accomplished by our own labors. Such efforts would
produce trouble, scrupulosity, and restlessness in all those matters in which
you have most occasion to be free. You will be constantly dreading lest you
should lose the presence of God and continually endeavoring to recover it; you
will surround yourself with the creations of your own imagination, and thus, the
presence of God, which ought, by its sweetness and illumination, to assist us in
everything which comes before us in his providence, will have the effect of
keeping us always in a tumult, and render us incapable of performing the
exterior duties of our condition.
Be
never troubled, then, at the loss of the sensible presence of God; but, above
all, beware of seeking to retain Him by a multitude of argumentative and
reflective acts. Be satisfied during the day, and while about the details of
your daily duties, with a general and interior view of God, so that if asked, at
any moment, whither your heart is tending, you may answer with truth that it is
toward God, though the attention of your mind may then be engrossed by something
else. Be not troubled by the wanderings of your imagination which you cannot
restrain; how often do we wander through the fear of wandering and the regret
that we have done so! What would you say of a traveller who, instead of
constantly advancing in his journey, should employ his time in anticipating the
falls which he might suffer, or in weeping over the place where one had
happened? On! on! you would say to him, on! without looking behind or stopping.
We must proceed, as the Apostle bids us, that we may abound more and more. (1
Thess. iv. 1.) The abundance of the love of God will be of more service in
correcting us than all our restlessness and selfish reflections.
This
rule is simple enough; but nature, accustomed to the intricacies of reasoning
and reflection, considers it as altogether too simple. We want to help
ourselves, and to communicate more impulse to our progress; but it is the very
excellency of the precept that it confines us to a state of naked faith,
sustained by God alone in our absolute abandonment to Him, and leads us to the
death of self by stifling all remains of it whatever. In this way we shall not
be led to increase the external devotional practices of such as are exceedingly
occupied, or are feeble in body, but shall be contented with turning them all
into simple love; thus, we shall only act as constrained by love, and shall
never be overburdened, for we shall only do what we love to do.
2.
Dejection often arises from the fact that, in seeking God, we have not so found
Him as to content us. The desire to find Him, is not the desire to possess Him:
it is simply a selfish anxiety to be assured, for our own consolation, that we
do possess Him. Poor Nature, depressed and discouraged, is impatient of the
restraints of naked faith, where every support is withdrawn; it is grieved to be
travelling, as it were, in the air, where it cannot behold its own progress
towards perfection. Its pride is irritated by a view of its defects, and this
sentiment is mistaken for humility. It longs, from self-love, to behold itself
perfect; it is vexed that it is not so already; it is impatient, haughty, and
out of temper with itself and everybody else. Sad state! As though the work of
God could be accomplished by our ill-humor! As though the peace of God could be
attained by means of such interior restlessness!
Martha,
Martha! why art thou troubled and anxious about many things? One thing is
needful, to love Him and to sit attentively at his feet!
When
we are truly abandoned to God, all things are accomplished without the
performance of useless labor; we suffer ourselves to be guided in perfect trust;
for the future, we will whatever God wills, and shut our eyes to everything
else; for the present, we give ourselves up to the fulfillment of his designs.
Sufficient
for every day is the good and the evil thereof. This daily doing of the will of
God is the coming of his kingdom within us, and at the same time our daily
bread. We should be faithless indeed, and guilty of heathen distrust, did we
desire to penetrate the future, which God has hidden from us; leave it to Him:
let Him make it short or long, bitter or sweet; let Him do with it even as it
shall please Himself.
The
most perfect preparation for this future, whatever it may be, is to die to every
will of our own, and yield ourselves wholly up to his; we shall in this frame of
mind, be ready to receive all the grace suitable to whatever state it shall be
the will of God to develop in and around us.
3.
When we are thus prepared for every event, we begin to feel the Rock under our
feet at the very bottom of the abyss; we are ready to suppose every imaginable
evil of ourselves, but we throw ourselves blindly into the arms of God,
forgetting and losing everything else. This forgetfulness of self is the most
perfect renouncement of self and acceptance of God; it is the sacrifice of
self-love; it would be a thousand times more agreeable to accuse and condemn
ourselves, to torment body and mind, rather than to forget.
Such
an abandonment is an annihilation of self-love, in which it no longer finds any
nourishment. Then the heart begins to expand; we begin to feel lighter for
having thrown off the burden of self, which we formerly carried; we are
astounded to behold the simplicity and straightness of the way. We thought there
was a need of strife and constant exertion, but we now perceive that there is
little to do; that it is sufficient to look to God with confidence, without
reasoning either upon the past or the future, regarding Him as a loving Father,
who leads us every moment by the hand. If some distraction or other should hide
Him for a moment, without stopping to look at it, we simply turn again to Him
from whom we had departed. If we commit faults, we repent with a repentance
wholly of love, and, returning to God, he makes us feel whatever we ought. Sin
seems hideous, but we love the humiliation of which it is the cause, and for
which God permitted it.
As
the reflections of our pride upon our defects are bitter, disheartening and
vexatious, so the return of the soul towards God is recollected, peaceful and
sustained by confidence. You will find by experience how much more your progress
will be aided by this simple, peaceful turning to God, than by all your chagrin
and spite at the faults that exist in you. Only be faithful in turning quietly
towards God alone, the moment you perceive what you have done; do not stop to
argue with yourself; you can gain nothing from that quarter; when you accuse
yourself of your misery, I see but you and yourself in consultation; poor wisdom
that will issue from where God is not!
Whose
hand is it that must pluck you out of the mire? Your own? Alas! you are buried
deeper than thought, and cannot help yourself; and more, this very slough is
nothing but self; the whole of your trouble consists in the inability to leave
yourself, and do you expect to increase your chances by dwelling constantly upon
your defects, and feeding your sensitiveness by a view of your folly? You will
in this way only increase your difficulties, while the gentlest look towards God
would calm your heart. It is his presence that causes us to go forth from self,
and when He has accomplished that, we are in peace. But how are we to go forth?
Simply by turning gently towards God, and gradually forming the habit of so
doing, by a faithful persistence in it, whenever we perceive that we have
wandered from Him.
As
to that natural dejection which arises from a melancholic temperament, it
belongs purely to the body, and is the province of the physician. It is true
that it is constantly recurring, but let it be borne in peace, as we receive
from his hands a fever or any other bodily ailment.
The
question is not, what is the state of our feelings, but what is the condition of
our will. Let us will to have what is the condition of our will. Let us will to
have whatever we have, and not to have whatever we have not. We would not even
be delivered from our sufferings, for it is God’s place to apportion to us our
crosses and our joys. In the midst of affliction we rejoice, as did the Apostle;
but it is not joy of the feelings, but of the will. The wicked are wretched in
the midst of their pleasures, because they are never content with their state;
they are always desiring to remove some thorn, or to add some flower to their
present condition. The faithful soul, on the other hand, has a will which is
perfectly free; it accepts, without questioning, whatever bitter blessings God
develops, wills them, from them, and embraces them; it would not be freed from
them, if it could be accomplished by a simple wish; for such a wish would be an
act originating in self, and contrary to its abandonment to Providence, and it
is desirous that this abandonment should be absolutely perfect.
If
there be anything capable of setting a soul in a large place, it is this
absolute abandonment to God. It diffuses in the soul a peace which flows as a
river, and a righteousness which is as the waves of the sea. (Isaiah xlviii.
18.) If there be anything that can render the soul calm, dissipate its scruples
and dispel its fears, sweeten its sufferings by the anointing of love, impart
strength to it in all its actions, and spread abroad the joy of the Holy Spirit
in its countenance and words, it is this simple, free, and child-like repose in
the arms of God.
The
best rule we can ever adopt, is to receive equally, and with the same
submission, everything that God sends us during the day, both within and
without.
Without,
there are things disagreeable that must be met with courage, and things pleasant
that must not be suffered to arrest our affections. We resist the temptations of
the former by accepting them at once, and of the latter by refusing to admit
them into our hearts. The same curse is necessary in regard to the interior
life; whatever is bitter serves to crucify us, and works all its benefit in the
soul, if we receive it simply, with a willingness that knows no bounds, and a
readiness that seeks no alleviation.
Pleasant
gifts, which are intended to support our weakness by giving us a sensible
consolation in our external acts, must be accepted with equal satisfaction, |
