He refuses to force our will. He takes what we give him but does not ive himself to us wholly until he sees that we are giving ourselves wholly to him.
Saint Teresa of Jesus
This blog has been going for five years now. Hopefully in that time I’ve learned how to write better. (Some of the first posts are dreadful in terms of style.) In that time, I’ve met many people thanks to this blog, and I’m very glad for that. It is important to “go to heaven together with others,” as we learn from the documentation for the canonization of Saint John of the Cross, and the internet is no exception to this rule.
In the past five years, I’ve also expanded my horizons considerably and learned from a lot more saints, blesseds, and men and women of God. For this present, medium-length post, I want to go back to where I began for a moment and meditate on that. There are two quotes with which I started off this blog, and I think they are still highly relevant. They inspire and set a very robust framework.
is frequently the treasure of persons hidden in the world… souls who live by it in all simplicity, without visions, without miracles, but with such a flame of love for God and neighbour that good happens all around them without noise and without agitation.
And Father Lallemant says this:
Without contemplation we will never advance far toward virtue… we will never break free of our weaknesses and our imperfections. We will always be attached to the earth, and will never raise ourselves much above the sentiments of nature. We will never be able to offer a perfect service to God. But with contemplation we will do more in a month, for ourselves and for others, than we would have been able to do without it in ten years. It produces… acts of sublime love for God such as one can hardly ever accomplish without this gift… and finally, it perfects faith and all the virtues.
Contemplation on the muddy roads of this world is something that we need, but it is also something that the world needs in order to better realize both its own internal, historical ends and its supernatural, surpahistorical ends. Without contemplation, we just grind along. Things do not roll as they should. Hearts are rent. Vocies are cracked. The caverns into which God wishes to enter do not open up. But with contemplation – I mean the contemplation that we have on the road and not only the contemplation that is had in the cloister – God’s plans are efficacious, and the world opens up, in ways that may be visible but which also may pass unnoticed except for briefs glimpses, to the evangelical light that is trying to shine into every crevice of this twisted, but detailed, world.
Let not your imperfections discourage you; your God does not despise you because you are imperfect and infirm. On the contrary, he loves you because you desire to cure your ills. He will come to your assistance and make you more perfect than you would have dared to hope, and adorned by his Hand, your beauty will be unequalled, like his own goodness.
Louis de Blois OSB (1506–1566)
I do not believe that it is possible to put into practice the commandments of Jesus and to become perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect [cf. Mt 5:48] without a certain degree of contemplation of Christ. Every saint is, in some manner or another, a true contemplator of Christ. We could never divide saints into active and contemplative saints according to the relationship to Jesus, but only according to their state of life, their outward disposition. Even Saint Ignatius [of Loyola] insisted that every great active is a great contemplative.
René Voillaume (1905–2003)
One of the biggest questions confronting spirituality for laypeople is the question of austerity, mortification, penitential acts, silence, distance from creatures. There is no doubt that these things, united to Jesus and his Cross, are good. Even suffering itself, while bad in itself, is good when united to Jesus and his Cross. So still more is austerity in living good.
Even more, the three evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience are suggested to all, so they must imply goodness. Of course, sovereign love itself demands that many of us do not take certain counsels in their exact form, because we have other duties of care (even to our own health or our parents’, to society, and so on). But each of us is required to cultivate the spirit of poverty (detachment), the spirit of chastity (in spirit if not in body), and the spirit of obedience (in general providence if not to a specific superior). That much is not optional. Detachment is required even in the midst of plenty: “Let those who deal with the world [do so] as though they had no dealings with it” (cf. 1 Cor 7:30).
So how does a layperson live this?
That is a big question. Laypeople cannot cut themselves off from creatures, create vast spaces of silence, harm themselves somewhat with fasts, etc. like monks. That is out of the question. Duties prevent it. We have duties to families, friends, employers, and rare is the layperson who, with such duties, could achieve great acts of austerity, great acts of penance, great acts of mortification, and great physical silence.
So then, where is holiness to be found? To be sure, it is found in charity, in love of God and neighbour. But the means of great austerity, helpful to attain great charity, are removed.
This reminds me of the stories of two famous persons. One is the Buddha. One is Blessed Henry Suso.
The Buddha, before his enlightenment, sought a way of great austerity and self-mortification. I’ve written about this before. I find it interesting. Of course, I do not think that the goals of Buddhist meditation and of Christian prayer are the same, but I still find this parallel interesting. The Buddha fasted much. But in the end, that was not the way. Because, of course, then he grew attached to fasting. He was attached to a very means of getting better. And that won’t do. Christians think similarly. Fasting is but a means. It is not the goal. To become attached to the means would be folly.
Henry Suso also pursued extreme fasting, mortification, and penitential acts. First he slept oddly. Then he wore much in the way of uncomfortable clothes. Then he bore a cross on his back, complete with nails piercing his skin. Then he denied himself water except for one glass a day. He pursued each practice sequentially. At the end of a certain period of each practice, God showed him that this was not the real way. It was insufficient. It might have tamed his body and soul somewhat. But it was not deep enough. When he realized this, he would move on to a new austerity. This continued for some time. Then came a breaking point. He realized that each of his austere practices and any more that he might ever be inclined to in the future was insufficient and that a new step had to be taken. At that point, he wrote in the book of his Life:
God showed him that all this austerity and all these practices were nothing more than a good beginning, and a breaking through his uncrushed natural man; and he saw that he must press on still further in quite another way, if he wished to reach perfection.
If such an austere first step is possible, given one’s life circumstances, then it may perhaps be taken. But it is only a first step. The real goal is to curb the deeper parts of our will. We must resist ourselves, and we must let God do even greater work on his own. In a later chapter in his Life, Blessed Henry describes this as “a perpetual giving up of self, as far as human frailty will allow.” He gets past human strength and speaks of human frailty. And not only that. He gets past human actions and gets to the heart of the issue: giving up our self, so that God can fill it with himself.
Austere penance, great physical silence, and immense mortification can be good, and no one should say that they are to be avoided by all. But even for those to whom they are possible, they are only a beginning. They tame the “old man.” They are not necessarily manifestations of the “new man.” It is that new created being that we are after. And that is something that lay spirituality can pursue, regardless of how much mortification, penance, silence, and austerity we are able to adopt.