What Has Been Said Is Confirmed by Some Examples

PETER OF CLUNY relates that there was in the Carthusian Order a religious of holy and approved life, whom our Lord preserved so chaste, pure, and undefiled that he never suffered any illusion even in his dreams. As the hour of his death approached, and all the religious were assisting by his pillow, the prior, who was also there, commanded him to tell them what was the thing in which he thought he had most pleased our Lord in this life. He answered: “Father, it is a hard thing that you bid me, and I would nowise tell it if obedience did not oblige me thereto. From my childhood I have been much afflicted and persecuted by the devil; but according to the multitude of pains and tribulations that my heart has suffered, my soul has been refreshed by many consolations which Christ and the Virgin Mary, His Mother, have sent me. Being thus one day much afflicted and fatigued by great temptations of the devil, the sovereign Virgin appeared to me, and at her presence all the devils fled and all their temptations ceased. After having consoled and encouraged me to persevere and go on in virtue and perfection, she said to me: ‘And that thou mayest do that the better, I will tell thee in particular, out of the treasures of my Son, three manners or practices of humility, by exercising which thou wilt greatly please God and vanquish thine enemy. They are that thou shouldst humble thyself always in these three things: in thy diet, in thy dress, and in the duties that thou dost. Thus in eating thou shouldst desire and contrive to get the cheapest foods; in dress, the poorest and coarsest habit; and in duties seek ever the lowliest and most humble, taking it for a great honor and gain to be busied always in the meanest and most abject offices, which others disdain and shun.’

So saying, she disappeared, and left imprinted on my heart the virtue and efficacy of these words, to do henceforth according as she had taught me, and thereby I felt in my soul great improvement.”

Cassian relates of the Abbot Pinufius that, being a monk of Egypt and abbot of his monastery, esteemed and honored by his monks as a father and master for his venerable white hair and admirable life, he took it ill to receive such honor and desired to see himself humbled and forgotten. So one night he stole out of his monastery and, putting on a secular dress, he set out for the monastery of Pacomius, which was at a great distance from his own, and famous at that time for rigor and fervor of holiness. His object was that, not being known, they might treat him as a novice and make little of him. So he stood at the gate many days, humbly begging the habit, prostrating himself and kneeling before all the monks. Then they purposely made game of him and insulted him, saying that after having had his fill of enjoying the world, in old age he came to the service of God, where it was plain that he came more out of necessity and to get his livelihood than out of desire of the divine service. At last they received him, giving him charge of the garden of the monastery and assigning another for his superior, whom he was to obey in all things. Doing his office with great exactitude and humility, he contrived to do all that the rest refused, which was the most troublesome work of the house; and not content with what he did in the daytime, he used to get up secretly at night and put in order the things of the house—all he could without being seen—so that in the morning everybody wondered, not knowing who had done it. So he spent three years, very well satisfied with the fine occasion that he had in hand to work and be made little of, which was what he had so much desired. But his monks deeply felt the absence of their father, and some of them went out to seek him in divers places. When they had now lost all hope of finding him, at the end of three years, one of Pinufius’ monks, passing by the monastery of Pacomius, with very little thought of finding him, recognized the saint after all spreading dung on the soil. He threw himself at his feet: the beholders. were much astonished thereat; but when they came to know who he was by the fame that reached their ears of him and his doings, they begged his pardon. The holy old man wept over his misfortune in having been discovered by the envy of the devil, and losing the treasure that he had found there. They carried him off then by force and welcomed him with joy in his own monastery, and from that time kept good watch over him very diligently. But in that they were no match for him, so that he failed not to get out another night—such was the great desire that he had of being despised and unknown and his relish and taste for that humble life which he had led in the other monastery. So by prearrangement he took ship for Palestine, which was a long way off, and doing so he came to land near the monastery of Cassian. But our Lord, Who is careful to exalt the humble, ordained it so that he was discovered by other monks of his own, who had come to visit the Holy Places; and hereby it came about that the holy man’s reputation went up still higher.

In the lives of the Fathers there is a story of a monk who had lived a long time in the desert in solitude in great penance and prayer. There came to him one day an idea that he ought by this time to be perfect. So he put himself in prayer and made this request to God: “Lord, show me what is wanting in me to perfection.” God wishing to teach him humbler thoughts, he heard a voice which told him: “Go to such and such a person”—he was a man who kept swine—“and do what he tells you.” At the same time it was made known by revelation to the other that this soli tary was coming to speak to him, and that he should tell him to take the whip and keep the swine. The old solitary came and, after saluting him, said: “I greatly desire to serve God; tell me in charity what I am to do to that end.” He asked him: “Will you do what I tell you?” The old man answered Yes; whereupon he said to him: “Take this whip, and go keep the pigs.” He obeyed, because he greatly desired to serve God and gain what was wanting in him to perfection. And the good old man went with his whip keeping swine; and those who knew him—and there were many, so great was the fame of his sanctity in that country—seeing him keeping swine, said: “Have you seen that old solitary, about whom we have heard tell of so many things, how he has gone off his head and taken to keeping pigs? Surely his long fasts and great penance must have dried up his brain, and he has gone mad.” The old man, who heard these things said, bore them with great patience and humility, and so went on for several days. And God, seeing his humility and with what good will he bore these affronts and words of blame, bade him afresh go back to his place.

In the “Spiritual Meadow” there is a story of a holy bishop who abandoned his bishopric and his honorable estate and came alone to the holy city of Jerusalem, desiring to be made little of, because nobody knew him there. So he set himself down, shabbily dressed, as a day laborer at the public works, supporting himself by his labor. There was there a count named Ephrem, a pious and prudent man, who had the charge of repairing the public buildings of the city. He at several times saw the holy bishop sleeping on the ground, and saw a pillar of fire rising up from him and reaching to heaven. At this he was much astonished, to see a man so poor and begrimed with the dust of the buildings, with his hair and beard grown long, and living in such a mean and contemptible occupation. At last one day he could no longer contain himself, but took the man apart and asked him who he was. The saint replied that he was one of the poor of the town, and spent his life in that labor to have wherewith to keep himself. The count was not satisfied with this answer, God so desiring to honor His servant by discovering his humility. So the count asked him again and again who he was, with much urgency, till he was forced to discover himself. And so he told him that he would discover himself under two conditions—first, that while he lived nothing of all that he said should be made public; the second, that he was not to ask his name. It was agreed, and he discovered to him that he was a bishop, and that to escape honor and consideration he had taken flight here.

St. John Climacus tells of a leading citizen of Alexandria, who came to be received into a monastery. The abbot, judging by his look and other appearances that he was a rough-tempered man, haughty and puffed up with the vanity of the world, said to him: “If you really are determined to take upon yourself the yoke of Christ, you must let yourself be exercised in the labors of obedience.” He answered that, like the iron in the hands of the blacksmith, submissive to anything that he liked to do with it, “so, Father, I submit to whatever you shall command me.” “I wish, then,” said the abbot, “that you station yourself at the gate of the monastery, and throw yourself at the feet of all who come in and go out, and tell them to pray to God for you, for you are a great sinner.” He fulfilled this obedience right well. And after he had been seven years at this exercise and had gained great humility thereby, the abbot wished to receive him into the monastery in company with the others, and ordain him as one who deserved that honor. But he, employing many intercessors, and among them St. John Climacus himseif, prevailed upon the superior to leave him in the same place and exercise which he had held hitherto, until he should finish his course; and this he said with the air of one signifying or conjecturing that now his last hour was at hand. And so it was, for some days after this the Lord took him to Himself. And seven days afterwards he took with him the porter of the monastery, to whom he had promised in his lifetime that, if after his death he enjoyed any favor with God, he would arrange for him to be his companion very shortly, and so it was. The same saint says that, when he was alive and was practising this exercise of humility, he asked him what he was busy thinking about at that time, and he answered that his practice was to hold himself unworthy of the company of the monastery and of the society and sight of the fathers, or even to lift up his eyes to look at them.

It is related in the Lives of the Fathers that the Abbot John used to tell a story of a philosopher who had a disciple who committed a fault; whereupon his master said to him: “I will not pardon you unless you bear the harsh language of others for three years.” He did so, and then came for his pardon; and the philosopher said to him once more: “I give you no pardon unless for three years more you give money to those who use harsh language to you.” He did so, and then the master pardoned him and said to him: “Now you may go to Athens to learn wisdom.” He went to Athens, and there he encountered a philosopher whose practice it was to pour out harsh language upon all freshmen who attended his lectures, to see whether they had patience. He used such language to this newcomer, and the latter began to laugh. He said to him: “How is it that you laugh when I use this harsh language to you?” He answered: “For three years I have been making gifts to those who used harsh language to me; and now that I have found a man who will use such language to me for nothing, what would you but that I should laugh?” Thereupon the philosopher said to him: “Come in, for you are a good subject for wisdom.” Whence the Abbot John drew the conclusion that patience is the portal of wisdom.

Father Maffeus, in the life that he writes of our blessed Father Ignatius, relates how one day our Father was going on pilgrimage from Venice to Padua along with James Lainez, in garments very old and patched. A shepherd boy caught sight of them, came near, and began to laugh and make fun of them. Our Father very cheerfully stopped short and, when his companion asked him why he did not go on and leave this youngster behind, he answered: “Why should we deprive this child of this amusement and occasion of mirth that has come in his way?” So he stood at ease, that the youngster might have his fill of staring and laughing and joking—he meanwhile getting more satisfaction out of this scorn than worldly people do out of honors and marks of respect.

Of our Father Francis Borgia it is recounted in his Life that he went once on a journey with Father Bustamante for his companion. They came to an inn, where all the sleeping accommodation consisted of a narrow room with two separate mattresses stuffed with straw. The fathers went to bed, and Father Bustamante, who was old and suffering from asthma, did nothing all night long but cough and spit, and thinking that he was spitting against the wall, it so happened by chance that he was spitting on Father Francis, and many times on his face. The father never spoke a word, nor changed his position, nor got out of the way for that. In the morning, when Father Bustamante saw by daylight what he had done, he was horrified and greatly confused; and Father Francis no less joyful and content; and to console him he said: “Be not distressed at this, father, for I do assure you that there was no place in the room more worthy of being spat upon than my person.”