XII — INTIMATE INTERCOURSE WITH GOD

Presence of God. — O Lord, though I am so unworthy of it, deign to admit me to Thy intimacy.

Meditation

1 — Meditation, as also meditative reading, is a means of arriving at the center of prayer, which, according to St. Teresa of Jesus, consists in “an intimate friendship, in which the soul frequently converses alone with Him whom she knows loves her” (Life 8, 5). Little does it matter whether one arrives there through meditation or reading, or even through the slow and devout recitation of a vocal prayer: all ways are good, and the best for each soul will be that which leads most swiftly to the end, that is, to intimate intercourse with God. Having thus arrived at the center of prayer, the soul must learn to persevere therein — that is, to linger in “an intimate friendship with the Lord.” Here too the manner will vary according to the attraction and the personal dispositions, which often may change according to the day and the circumstances. Sometimes, as soon as the soul has sufficiently entered into the consideration of God’s love for it, it feels drawn to express its gratitude and its desire to return that love, and spontaneously begins an intimate conversation with the Lord. It tells Him all its thankfulness, declares its desire to be more generous in giving itself to Him, asks pardon for not having been so in the past; it then passes to practical resolutions and thence to asking His help in truly keeping them. This is, naturally, an intimate and wholly personal and spontaneous conversation, without any concern for form or order. This is precisely one of the ways in which, having suspended the reading or meditation that has aroused so many good affections, the soul “lingers to converse alone with God” — returning to the book or reflection only when it has need to draw from them new subjects and new affections with which to nourish its colloquy with the Lord. And it may be said that it is a true colloquy, for the soul is not alone in speaking; often God answers it — not, to be sure, with sensible words, but by sending it graces of light and love through which it understands better the ways of God and feels itself more ardently enkindled to enter them with generosity. It is well, therefore, that the soul should not abound with too many words in its colloquy, but should often suspend it and place itself in interior listening, to perceive the movements of grace, which are precisely God’s answer.

2 — One must not think that, in order to converse intimately with God and to manifest one’s love to Him, it is always necessary to do so in words. On the contrary — and this comes about spontaneously with the progress of the spiritual life — the soul often prefers to be silent, so as to fix undisturbed its gaze upon the Lord, to listen to Him, the interior Master, and to love Him in return in silence. The manifestation of its love thus becomes less impetuous and less vivid, but what it loses in emotion and in external expression it gains in depth. The soul expresses its love more tranquilly, but the movement of its will toward God is far more decided and more earnest. Having laid aside reasoning and words, it concentrates wholly in a synthetic and loving gaze upon God — a gaze which, far better than any reasoning or animated colloquy, causes it to penetrate into the depths of the divine mysteries. Before reaching this point it had read, meditated, analyzed; now, as though savoring the fruit of its inquiries, it pauses to contemplate God in silence and in love. Its colloquy thus becomes a silent, contemplative colloquy, according to the traditional notion of “contemplation” understood as simplex intuitus veritatis — a simple gaze that penetrates into truth. But, I repeat, it is not a speculative gaze; it is a loving gaze that holds the soul in intimate contact with God, in a true commerce of friendship with Him. The more the soul contemplates Him, the more it falls in love with Him; and the more it falls in love, the more it feels the need to make its love concrete in total generosity. And here too, for His part, the Lord responds to the soul’s seeking and love, and allows Himself to be found and felt, illumining it with His light and moving it more intensely toward Himself by His grace.

The soul will not always succeed in persevering for long in this contemplative gaze, in this silent colloquy; from time to time it will need to return to reflection, to the verbal expression of its affections — and indeed, especially when it is not yet accustomed to this manner of prayer, it will be well to do so with a certain frequency, so as to avoid falling into vagueness or distraction. Yet it must bear in mind that it gains more in these silent pauses at the feet of the Lord than in a thousand reasonings and discourses.

Colloquy

“O Lord, grant that the aim of my prayer may be to keep my heart occupied in loving Thee; and since I find no means more suited to the exercise of love than this intimate recollection made in silence and detachment from all creatures, I beseech Thee, my God, to take away my life rather than deprive me of this interior commerce with Thee, which is my little paradise on earth” (cf. St. Leonard of Port Maurice).

“O Lord, to be with us profits Thee nothing; yet Thou lovest us so as to say that to be with us constitutes Thy delight. Why dost Thou love us so as to give Thyself to us more willingly than the things we ask of Thee? And surely I will from this time forward possess nothing else, since with due petition I can obtain Thee, my God, and can treat so intimately with Thee. I will adorn myself with the jewels of the virtues and invite Thee into the chamber of my heart, and there I will repose with Thee. I know well that Thou dost not ask nor will anything else but to visit my soul; Thou desirest to enter and hast long been knocking — wherefore I grieve at having been deprived for so long of so great a good. Therefore I will draw near to Thee in the secret of my heart and say to Thee: I know that Thou lovest me more than I love myself; I will therefore have no further thought of myself, but will draw near to Thee alone and Thou wilt take care of me. I cannot attend to both myself and Thee: and therefore, in exchange, Thou wilt think of me and of my infirmity to relieve it, and I will think of Thy goodness to delight in it. And although I gain greatly by being with Thee, and Thou nothing by being with me, yet I know that Thou art with me more willingly, and dost more willingly help me, than I am with Thee in the enjoyment of Thy goodness. Whence comes this? Surely it comes from this: that I love myself ill, and Thou lovest me well... But if I should wish, O Lord, to revisit all the signs of Thy love, I would fail — for even if I had all the tongues of men and of Angels I could not express the goods of nature, the goods of grace, or the goods of glory that come from Thee... How then, O Lord, can I think or meditate on anything but Thy love? What is there sweeter than Thy love? Why do I desire anything else? And how am I not bound and captivated by love? Thy love surrounds me on every side, and I still do not understand that it is Thy love” (cf. St. Bonaventure).