Chapter XVII

Caritas omnia sustinet.

He who loves Jesus Christ with a strong love does not cease to love him in the midst of all temptations and all desolations.

The sufferings that most afflict the souls who love God in this life are not poverty, sickness, dishonor, or persecution, but temptations and desolations of spirit. When a soul enjoys the loving presence of God, then all pains, humiliations, and mistreatments from men, instead of afflicting it, rather console it, giving it occasion to offer God some pledge of its love: they are, in short, wood that further kindles the fire. But to find itself driven by temptations to lose divine grace, or to fear in desolation that it has already lost it — these are pains too bitter for one who loves Jesus Christ from the heart. Yet love itself gives such souls the strength to suffer them with patience and to continue on the path of perfection they have undertaken. And oh, how greatly souls advance through such trials by which God is accustomed to prove their love!

On Temptations

For souls that love Jesus Christ there is no more tormenting pain than temptation. All other evils drive them to unite themselves more closely with God by accepting them with resignation; but temptations to sin drive them, as we have said above, to separate themselves from Jesus Christ, and for this reason they become more bitter than all other torments. We must understand, however, that although all temptations that induce to evil never come from God but from the devil or from our own evil inclinations — Deus enim intentator malorum est, ipse autem neminem tentat (Iac. I, 13) — nevertheless the Lord sometimes permits that the souls most dear to him be the most strongly tempted.

First, so that through temptations they may come to know more fully their own weakness and their need for divine help in order not to fall. When a soul finds itself favored by God with divine consolations, it seems to itself capable of overcoming every assault of the enemy and of carrying out every enterprise for the glory of God. But when it finds itself fiercely tempted and sees itself on the edge of the precipice and near to falling, then it better knows its own wretchedness and its powerlessness to resist unless God comes to its aid. This is exactly what happened to St. Paul, who wrote that the Lord had permitted him to be greatly troubled by a sensual temptation, so that he would not become vain on account of the revelations with which God had favored him: Et ne magnitudo revelationum extollat me, datus est mihi stimulus carnis meae, angelus satanae, qui me colaphizet (II Cor. XII, 7).

Furthermore, God permits temptations so that we may live more detached from this earth and desire with greater ardor to go and see him in paradise. Hence it is that good souls, seeing themselves so besieged in this life day and night by so many enemies, grow weary of life and exclaim: Heu mihi, quia incolatus meus prolongatus est (Ps. CXIX, 5). And they sigh for the hour when they can say: Laqueus contritus est et nos liberati sumus (Ps. CXXIII, 7). The soul would fly to God, but while it lives on this earth it is bound by a chain that holds it here below, where it is continually assailed by temptations. This chain is not broken except by death; and therefore loving souls sigh for the death that frees them from the danger of losing God.

Moreover, God permits us to be tempted in order to make us richer in merits, as was said to Tobias: Et quia acceptus eras Deo, necesse fuit ut tentatio probaret te (Tob. XII, 13). Therefore a soul should not fear, because it is tempted, that it is in the disfavor of God; rather, it should hope all the more to be loved by God. It is a deception of the devil to make timid souls believe that temptations are sins that stain the soul. It is not evil thoughts that make us lose God, but evil consents. However violent the suggestions of the devil may be, however vivid the impure images that crowd our mind, when we do not will them, they do not stain the soul at all — rather they make it more pure, more strong, and more dear to God. St. Bernard says that every time we overcome temptation we acquire a new crown: Quoties vincimus, toties coronamur. An angel once appeared to a certain Cistercian monk and placed a crown in his hand, with instructions to carry it to another religious and tell him that he had merited it by the temptation he had just overcome. Nor should it frighten us to see that the evil thought does not leave our mind and continues to torment us; it is enough that we abhor it and try to drive it away.

God is faithful, says the Apostle: he does not allow us to be tempted beyond our strength: Fidelis autem Deus est qui non patietur vos tentari supra id quod potestis, sed faciet etiam cum tentatione proventum (I Cor. X, 13). He who resists temptation, therefore, not only does not lose by it, but gains greatly — sed faciet cum tentatione proventum. And for this reason the Lord often permits the souls dearest to him to be more tempted, so that they may gain more merit on earth and more glory in heaven. Standing water that does not move soon becomes stagnant. And so the soul, standing idle without temptations and without battles, is in danger of being lost through some vain complacency in its own merit, perhaps thinking it has already reached perfection; and so it has little fear, and therefore little recourse to God, and makes little effort to secure its salvation. But when it is agitated by temptations and sees itself in danger of falling into sin, then it turns to God, turns to the divine Mother, renews its resolve to die rather than sin, humbles itself and abandons itself into the arms of divine mercy: and so it acquires more strength and draws closer to God, as experience shows.

We should not, however, desire temptations on this account; rather we should always pray to God to free us from temptations, and especially from those by which God foresees we would be overcome — this is the meaning of that prayer in the Our Father: Et ne nos inducas in tentationem — but when God permits them to assail us, we must then, without growing anxious over those evil thoughts and without becoming discouraged, trust in Jesus Christ and ask his help; and he will certainly not fail to give us the strength to resist. St. Augustine says: Proiice te in eum, noli metuere; non se subtrahet ut cadas (Conf. lib. 8, c. 11). Cast yourself upon God and do not fear, for if he places you in battle, he will certainly not leave you alone to fall.

Let us now come to the means we must use to overcome temptations.

The masters of the spiritual life assign many, but the most necessary and most certain — this alone I wish to speak about here — is to have recourse immediately to God with humility and confidence, saying:

Deus, in adiutorium meum intende; Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina (Ps. LXIX, 2): Lord, help me, and help me quickly. This single prayer will suffice to make us overcome the assaults of all the demons of hell that might come to attack us, because God is infinitely stronger than all the demons. God already knows that we do not have the strength to resist the temptations of the infernal powers; hence the most learned Cardinal Gotti says that when we are assailed and are in danger of being overcome, God is obliged to give us sufficient help to resist, provided we ask him for it.

And how can we fear that Jesus Christ will not help us, when we have so many promises from him in the sacred Scriptures? Venite ad me omnes qui laboratis et onerati estis, et ego reficiam vos (Matth. XI, 28). Come, you who labor in battling temptations, and I will restore your strength. Et invoca me in die tribulationis, eruam te, et honorificabis me (Ps. XLIX, 15). When you see yourself afflicted by enemies, call upon me, and I will deliver you from danger, and you will praise me. Tunc invocabis et Dominus exaudiet. Clamabis, et dicet: Ecce adsum (Is. LVIII, 9). Then you will call upon the Lord for help, and he will hear you. You will cry out: Quickly, Lord, help me; and he will say: Here I am, present to help you. Quis invocavit eum et despexit illum? (Eccli. II, 12). And who, says the prophet, has ever called upon God and been scorned by him without receiving help? David, by this means of prayer, held it for certain that he would never be overcome by his enemies, saying: I will call upon the Lord praising him, and I shall be saved from my enemies: Laudans invocabo Dominum et ab inimicis meis salvus ero (Ps. XVII, 4). For he already knew that God draws near to everyone who calls upon him for help: Prope est Dominus omnibus invocantibus eum (Ps. CXLIV, 18). And St. Paul adds that the Lord is not miserly but rich in graces toward all who call upon him: Dives in omnes qui invocant illum (Rom. X, 12).

Oh, would to God that all men had recourse to him when they are tempted to offend him — certainly no one would offend him! The wretched fall because, allured by their evil appetites, in order not to lose those brief pleasures, they consent to lose the supreme good, which is God. Experience shows all too well that whoever has recourse to God in temptations does not fall, and whoever does not have recourse, falls — and especially in temptations against chastity. Solomon said that he well knew he could not be continent unless God granted it; and therefore in temptations he had recourse to God with prayers: Et ut scivi quoniam aliter non possem esse continens, nisi Deus det... adii Dominum et deprecatus sum illum (Sap. VIII, 21). In such temptations of impurity — and the same holds for temptations against faith — the rule is not to fight the temptation face to face, but one should try at the beginning to drive it away indirectly by making a good act of love for God or of sorrow for sin, or by applying oneself to some indifferent distracting activity. As soon as we become aware of some thought that has a malicious appearance, we must immediately dismiss it, close the door in its face, so to speak, and deny it entrance into the mind, without stopping to decipher what it says or what it wants. Such evil suggestions must be shaken off at once, as one shakes off sparks of fire that land on one's clothing.

If, however, the impure temptation has already entered the mind and has made plain what it wants and is already stirring the senses, then, says St. Jerome: Statim ut libido titillaverit sensum, erumpamus in vocem: Domine, auxiliator meus. As soon as the senses are aroused, the saint says, we must have recourse to God and say: Lord, help me — invoking the most holy names of Jesus and Mary, which have a particular power to suppress this kind of temptation. St. Francis de Sales says that children, seeing the wolf, immediately run into the arms of their father and mother, and there they feel safe. So must we do likewise: immediately run to Jesus and Mary, invoking them. I repeat, immediately have recourse, without giving a hearing to the temptation or entering into discourse with it. It is told in the book of the Sayings of the Fathers that St. Pachomius one day heard a demon boasting that he had often made a certain monk fall, because that monk, when tempted, gave him a hearing and did not turn to God. On the other hand, he heard another demon complaining and saying: "As for me, I can do nothing with my monk, because he immediately has recourse to God, and he always wins."

If then the temptation persists in molesting us, let us guard against growing anxious and angry with it, because from such disturbance the devil could draw strength to make us fall. We should then humbly resign ourselves to the will of God, who permits us to be thus tormented by that foul thought, saying: "Lord, I deserve this — to be molested by such filth as punishment for the offenses I have committed against you; but you must help and deliver me." And therefore, if the temptation continues to molest us, let us continue to invoke Jesus and Mary. It is very helpful, when the temptation continues to torment us, to renew our promise to God to endure every torment and die a thousand deaths rather than offend him; and at the same time let us not cease asking him for help. And when the temptation is so strong that we see ourselves in great danger of consenting, then we must intensify our prayers, turn to the Blessed Sacrament, throw ourselves at the foot of a crucifix or of an image of the Blessed Virgin, and pray with greater fervor, groan, weep, seeking help. It is true that God is prompt to hear whoever prays to him, and it is he — not our own diligence — who must give us the strength to resist; but sometimes the Lord requires these efforts from us, and he then supplies for our weakness and makes us obtain the victory.

It is also helpful, when we are tempted, to sign our forehead and breast repeatedly with the sign of the holy cross. It is also very helpful to reveal the temptation to the spiritual director. St. Philip Neri used to say that a temptation disclosed is half conquered. But here it is well to note that it is a doctrine commonly approved by theologians, even of the stricter school, that persons who have for a long time led a spiritual life and are very fearful of God, whenever they are in doubt and not certain of having given consent to some grave fault, should hold it for certain that they have not lost divine grace; since it is morally impossible that a will confirmed for a long time in good resolutions should suddenly change and consent to a mortal sin without clearly recognizing it. The reason is that mortal sin is so horrible a monster that it cannot enter a soul which has long abhorred it without making itself clearly known. St. Teresa said: "No one is lost without knowing it; and no one is deceived without wishing to be deceived."

Hence, for certain souls of delicate conscience who are well established in virtue but are timid and troubled by temptations — especially if these are against faith or chastity — it will sometimes be expedient for the director to forbid them to disclose them and to speak of them, because in having to reveal them they will need to reflect on how those thoughts entered, and whether there was then delight in dwelling on them, or complacency, or consent; and thus, by reflecting more upon them, those evil fantasies become more deeply impressed and the soul becomes more disturbed. When the confessor is morally certain that such a person does not consent to those suggestions, it is better for him to give the command not to speak of them. And I find that this was precisely the practice of St. Jane Frances de Chantal. She relates of herself that, having been agitated for many years by horrible storms of temptations and never having had knowledge of consent to them, she had never confessed them, but had continued to guide herself by the rule given her by her director. She says: "I have never had clear knowledge of consent" — thus, in speaking so, she gives us to understand that some scruple of agitation remained over those temptations, but notwithstanding this she kept herself at peace through the obedience given her by her director not to confess such doubts. For the rest, generally speaking, it is very helpful for calming temptations to reveal them to the confessor, as we have said above.

But I repeat: among all the remedies against temptation, the most efficacious and most necessary — the remedy of remedies — is to pray to God for help and to continue praying as long as the temptation persists. Often the Lord will have destined the victory not to the first prayer, but to the second, the third, the fourth. In short, we must persuade ourselves that on prayer depends all our good; on prayer depends the amendment of life; on prayer depends the victory over temptations; on prayer depends obtaining divine love, perfection, perseverance, and eternal salvation.

To some who may have read my spiritual works I shall perhaps have made myself tedious by recommending too often the importance and necessity of continually having recourse to God through prayer. But it seems to me that I have said not too much, but very little. I know that all of us, day and night, are assailed by the temptations of hell, and that the devil leaves no opportunity to make us fall. I know that without divine help we have no strength to resist the assaults of the demons, and that therefore the Apostle exhorts us to clothe ourselves with the armor of God: Induite vos armaturam Dei, ut possitis stare adversus insidias diaboli; quoniam non est nobis colluctatio adversus carnem et sanguinem, sed adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum (Eph. VI, 11-12). And what are these arms with which St. Paul teaches us to arm ourselves in order to resist the demons? Here they are: Per omnem orationem et obsecrationem, orantes omni tempore in spiritu, et in ipso vigilantes in omni instantia (Ibid. 18). These arms are continual and fervent prayers to God that he may help us and that we may not be overcome. I know, moreover, that all the Scriptures, of both the Old and the New Testament, do nothing but urge us to pray: Invoca me... eruam te (Ps. XLIX, 15). Clama ad me, et exaudiam te (Ier. XXXIII, 3). Oportet semper orare et non deficere (Luc. XVIII, 1). Petite et dabitur vobis (Matth. VII, 7). Vigilate et orate (Matth. XXVI, 41). Sine intermissione orate (I Thes. V, 17). Hence it does not seem to me that I have spoken too much about prayer, but very little.

I would desire that all preachers recommend nothing so much to their listeners as prayer; that all confessors exhort nothing with greater fervor to their penitents than prayer; that all spiritual writers speak of nothing more abundantly than prayer. But of this I complain, and I believe it is a punishment for our sins, that so many preachers, confessors, and writers speak so little of prayer. There is no doubt that sermons, meditations, communions, and mortifications are of great benefit to the spiritual life; but if when temptations come we do not commend ourselves to God, we shall fall despite all the sermons, all the meditations, all the communions, all the penances, and all the good resolutions we have made. Therefore, if we wish to be saved, let us always pray and commend ourselves to our Redeemer Jesus Christ, and especially when we are being tempted; and let us ask him not only for holy perseverance, but also for the grace to always pray to him. And let us always commend ourselves also to the divine Mother, who is the dispensatrix of graces, as St. Bernard says: Quaeramus gratiam et per Mariam quaeramus. The same saint informs us that it is the will of God that we should not receive any grace that does not pass through the hands of Mary: Nihil Deus habere nos voluit quod per manus Mariae non transiret.

Affections and Prayers

O my Jesus, my Redeemer, I trust in your blood that you have pardoned the offenses I have committed against you; and I hope to come and thank you forever in paradise: Misericordias Domini in aeternum cantabo (Ps. LXXXVIII, 2). I see that in the past I have miserably fallen and fallen again, because I was negligent in asking you for holy perseverance. This perseverance I now ask of you: Ne permittas me separari a te. And I resolve to ask it of you always, and especially when I see myself tempted to offend you. So I resolve and promise; but of what use will this resolve and promise be to me, if you do not give me the grace to have recourse to your feet? Ah, by the merits of your Passion, grant me this grace: always to commend myself to you in all my needs.

My Queen and Mother Mary, I beseech you, by the love you bear to Jesus Christ, obtain for me this grace: to have recourse always to your Son and to you throughout my whole life.

On Desolations

"It is a deception," says St. Francis de Sales, "to want to measure devotion by the consolations we experience. True devotion in the way of God consists in having a resolute will to carry out all that pleases God." God draws the souls dearest to him closer to himself through aridity. What prevents true union with God is the attachment to our disordered inclinations; hence the Lord, when he wishes to draw a soul to his perfect love, seeks to detach it from all the affections for created goods. And so, first he gradually removes temporal goods, worldly pleasures, possessions, honors, friends, relatives, and bodily health; and by such means of losses, vexations, contempt, deaths, and sickness, he goes on detaching it from all created things so that it may place all its affections in him.

Then, to attach it to spiritual goods, at first he gives it many consolations to taste, with an abundance of tears and tenderness; and the soul then strives to detach itself from sensual pleasures and even seeks to macerate itself with penances, fasts, hairshirts, and disciplines. But then the director must hold it in check and refuse it permission to perform mortifications — at least all those it asks for — because the person, driven by that sensible fervor, could easily through indiscretion ruin its health. This is an art of the devil: when he sees someone give himself to God, and perceives that God is consoling him with the caresses usually given to beginners, the enemy tries to make him lose his health through indiscreet penances, so that afterward, when infirmities come, he will abandon not only the penances but also prayer, communions, and all devout exercises, and return to his former life. Therefore the director, with these souls who are beginning the spiritual life and seeking penances, should be very sparing in granting them, and should rather exhort them to mortify themselves interiorly — by patiently bearing contempt and things contrary to their will, by obeying superiors, by refraining from the curiosity of seeing or hearing things, and the like — and tell them that when they have acquired the good habit of practicing such interior mortifications, they will then be worthy to practice exterior ones.

For the rest, it is a great error to say, as some do, that exterior mortifications are of no use or of little use. There is no doubt that interior mortifications are more necessary for perfection, but this does not mean that exterior ones are not also necessary. St. Vincent de Paul used to say that whoever does not practice exterior mortifications will be mortified neither exteriorly nor interiorly. And St. John of the Cross added that a director who despises the macerations of the flesh, even if he were to work miracles, should not be believed.

But let us return to the point. The soul, then, in the beginning when it gives itself to God and tastes the sweetness of those sensible consolations by which the Lord seeks to attract it and thus detach it from earthly pleasures — the soul goes on detaching itself from creatures and attaching itself to God; but it attaches itself with a defect, driven more by the sensibility of those spiritual consolations than by a true will to please God, and it deceives itself into thinking that the more pleasure it finds in its devotions, the more it loves God. And from this it follows that when it is disturbed in those exercises where it found nourishment, and is employed in other works of obedience or charity or the obligations of its state, it grows uneasy and troubled — this is a universal defect of our miserable human nature, to seek in every action our own satisfaction — or when in those devout exercises it does not find the relish it has tasted, it either leaves them or at least diminishes them, and, diminishing them day by day, it finally abandons them all. And this misfortune befalls many souls who, called by God to his love, begin to walk in the way of perfection and make some progress while the spiritual sweetness lasts, but when it ceases, they leave everything and return to their former life. But we must be persuaded that love for God and perfection do not consist in feeling tenderness and consolations, but in conquering self-love and following the divine will. St. Francis de Sales says: "God is as lovable when he afflicts us as when he consoles us."

In that state of consolation it is no great virtue to leave sensual pleasures and to bear affronts and things contrary to our will. In the midst of those sweetnesses the soul bears everything, but such endurance often comes more from those sweetnesses tasted than from the strength of true love for God. And therefore the Lord, in order to establish it solidly in virtue, withdraws and removes those sensible pleasures, in order to remove every attachment of self-love that fed upon those pleasures. And so it happens that where before the soul felt joy in making acts of offering, of confidence, and of love, afterward, when the spring has dried up, it makes these acts with coldness and pain, and feels weariness in the most devout exercises — in prayer, in spiritual reading, and in communion; indeed, it finds nothing but darkness and fears, and it seems that all is lost. It prays and prays again, and is afflicted, for it seems that God does not want to hear it.

Let us now come to the practical guidance of what we must do on our part.

When the Lord, in his mercy, consoles us with loving visits and makes us feel the presence of his grace, it is not good to reject those divine consolations, as certain false mystics would have it; let us accept them with thanksgiving. But let us be careful not to dwell on savoring and taking complacency in the sensible feeling of those spiritual tendernesses: this is called by St. John of the Cross spiritual gluttony, which is defective and displeasing to God. Let us attend then to driving from our mind the sensible complacency of those sweetnesses; and especially let us beware of believing that God shows us those kindnesses because we behave better than others, for such a thought of vanity would compel the Lord to withdraw entirely from us and leave us in our miseries. We must indeed thank him fervently, because such spiritual consolations are great gifts that God gives to souls, far greater than all temporal riches and honors; but in that time let us not labor to take delight in those sensible pleasures, but rather humble ourselves by placing before our eyes the sins of our past life. We must then believe that those loving attentions are pure effects of God's goodness, and that perhaps the Lord is consoling us in advance so that we may then bear with patience some great tribulation he intends to send us. And therefore let us offer ourselves then to endure every pain, external or internal, that may come — every sickness, every persecution, every desolation of spirit — saying: "My Lord, here I am; do with me and with my things whatever you please. Give me the grace to love you and to fulfill your will perfectly, and I ask nothing more."

When the soul is then morally certain of being in the grace of God, although deprived both of the pleasures of the world and of those of God, it remains content with its state, knowing that it loves God and is loved by God. But God, who wishes to see it more purified and stripped of every sensible satisfaction so as to unite it entirely to himself through pure love — what does he do? He places it in the crucible of desolation, which is a pain more bitter than all the internal and external pains a person can suffer. He deprives it of the knowledge of being in grace, and leaves it in thick darkness, in the midst of which the soul seems no longer to find God. Indeed, sometimes God permits it to be assailed by strong temptations of the senses accompanied by evil movements of the lower nature, or by thoughts of unbelief or despair, and even of hatred toward God, so that it seems the Lord has cast it away from himself and no longer hears its prayers. And because on the one hand the suggestions of the devil are vehement and the concupiscence of the person is aroused, while on the other hand, finding itself in that great darkness, the soul, although it resists with the will, cannot discern well enough whether it resists those temptations as it should or consents to them — this increases all the more its fear of having lost God, and that God, justly, because of its infidelities in these combats, has entirely abandoned it. Hence it seems to itself that it has already arrived at utter ruin, that it no longer loves God, and that God hates it. St. Teresa experienced this pain well, and the saint confesses that in such a state, solitude no longer consoled her but was a torment, and when she went to prayer it seemed to her that she found a hell.

When this happens to a soul that loves God, let it not be dismayed, nor let the director who guides it be alarmed. Those sensual movements, those temptations against faith, those mistrusts, and those impulses that drive it to hate God are fears, are torments of the soul, efforts of the enemy — but they are not voluntary acts and therefore are not sins. The soul that truly loves Jesus Christ does indeed resist then and dissents from such suggestions; but because of the darkness that engulfs it, it cannot discern this, and it remains confused. And because it finds itself left without the felt presence of grace, it fears and grieves. But it can be seen clearly that in these souls, thus tried by God, everything is fright and apprehension, not reality: ask them, even while they find themselves so bereft, whether they would ever commit a single venial sin with open eyes, and they would resolutely answer that they are ready to suffer not one but a thousand deaths rather than deliberately cause God that displeasure.

We must therefore distinguish: it is one thing to perform a good act — such as repelling temptation, trusting in God, loving and willing what God wills — and quite another to recognize that we are in fact performing that good act. This second thing, the recognition that we are doing the good act, serves for our enjoyment; but the profit lies in the first — that is, in actually performing the good act. God is content with the first, and deprives the soul of the second — that is, of the knowledge of having performed that good act — in order to remove from it every self-satisfaction, which in truth adds nothing to the act performed; for the Lord seeks our profit more than our satisfaction. St. John of the Cross wrote to a desolate soul to console it, thus: "Never have you been in a better state than the present one, because never have you been so humbled and detached from the world, and never have you recognized yourself so wretched as you now know yourself to be. Nor have you ever been so dispossessed and so far from seeking yourself."

Let us not believe, in short, that when we feel more spiritual tendernesses we are more loved by God; for perfection does not consist in them, but in mortifying our will and uniting it to the divine will.

In the state of desolation, then, the soul must not give a hearing to the devil, who suggests that God has abandoned it, nor must it leave prayer. This is what the devil aims at, in order to make it fall into some precipice. St. Teresa writes: "With aridity and temptations the Lord tests his lovers. Even though aridity should last a whole lifetime, let the soul not leave prayer; the time will come when all will be well repaid." In such a state of pain, the person must humble itself, thinking that it deserves to be treated this way for the offenses it has committed against God: humble itself and resign itself entirely to the divine will, saying: "Here I am, Lord; if you wish to keep me thus desolate and afflicted for my whole life, and even for all eternity, give me your grace, let me love you, and then do with me whatever you please."

And it will be useless then, and perhaps a source of greater disquiet, to try to assure yourself that you are in the grace of God and that this is a trial and not an abandonment by God, because God does not then want you to know this; and he does not want it for your greater profit, so that you may humble yourself more and increase your prayers and acts of confidence in his mercy. You want to see, and God does not want you to see. For the rest, St. Francis de Sales says: "The resolution never to consent to any sin, even the smallest, assures us that we are in the grace of God." But when the soul finds itself in profound desolation, it does not even know this clearly; yet it must not expect in such a state to feel what it wants — it suffices that it wills it with the summit of its will. And so it must abandon itself entirely into the arms of the divine goodness. Oh, how greatly these acts of confidence and resignation in the midst of the darkness of desolation enamor God! Ah, let us trust in a God who, as St. Teresa says, loves us more than we love ourselves.

Let these souls dear to God, then, who are resolved to be entirely his and find themselves at the same time deprived of every consolation, take comfort. Their desolation is a sign that they are much loved by God, and that he has prepared for them a place in paradise where consolations are full and eternal. And let them hold for certain that the more they have been afflicted on this earth, the more they will be consoled in the kingdom of the blessed: Secundum multitudinem dolorum meorum in corde meo, consolationes tuae laetificaverunt animam meam (Ps. XCIII, 19).

For the consolation of desolate souls I wish here to add what is related in the life of St. Jane Frances de Chantal, who for the space of forty-one years was afflicted with terrible interior pains — of temptations, of fears of being in the disfavor of God, and even of being abandoned by God. Her afflictions were so continual and so great that she came to say that the mere thought of death gave her some relief. She said further: "The assaults are so furious that I know not where to shelter my poor spirit. It seems to me at times that patience is about to escape me, and that I am on the point of losing and giving up everything." She said moreover: "The tyrant of temptation is so cruel that there is not an hour of the day when I would not exchange it for the loss of my life. And at times I lose the ability to eat and sleep."

In the last eight or nine years of her life her temptations were far fiercer. Mother de Chatel said that her holy mother de Chantal suffered day and night a continual interior martyrdom — when she prayed, when she worked, and even when she rested — so that she felt extreme compassion for her. The saint was assailed against all the virtues except chastity, with risings of doubts, darkness, and repugnance. Sometimes God deprived her of his lights and appeared to her displeased, as if in the act of casting her away from himself; so that in her terror she would turn her gaze elsewhere to find relief; but, not finding it, she was forced to return to looking upon God and to abandon herself to his mercy. It seemed to her that at the onset of temptations she was about to fall at every moment. The divine assistance did not in fact abandon her, but to her it seemed that God had already abandoned her, since she no longer felt any satisfaction but only weariness and anguish in prayer, in reading spiritual books, in communion, and in all other spiritual exercises. Her guide in such a state of dereliction was nothing other than to gaze upon her God and let him act.

The saint said: "In all my abandonments, my simple way is a new cross to me, and my powerlessness to act is a new increase of the cross." And therefore she said it seemed to her that she was like a sick person overwhelmed with pains, powerless to turn from one side to the other, mute and unable to express his sufferings, and blind, not seeing whether those who come to him bring medicine or poison. Then, weeping copiously, she added: "It seems to me that I am without faith, without hope, and without love for my God." Yet all the while the saint kept a serene countenance, was gentle in conversation, and continually kept her gaze fixed on God, resting in the bosom of the divine will. Hence St. Francis de Sales, her director, who well knew how dear to God was her beautiful soul, wrote of her: "Her heart was like a deaf musician who, though he sang excellently, could derive no pleasure from it." And to her he wrote: "You must serve your Savior solely for the love of his will, with the privation of every consolation, and amid these floods of sadness and terrors." This is how saints are made:

Scalpri salubris ictibus,

Et tunsione plurima,

Fabri polita malleo

Hanc saxa molem construunt,

Aptisque iuncta nexibus,

Locantur in fastigio.

The saints are indeed those chosen stones which, as the Church sings, wrought by blows of the chisel — that is, by temptations, by fears, by darkness, and by other internal and external pains — are made fit to be placed upon the thrones of the blessed kingdom of paradise.

Affections and Prayers

My Jesus, my hope, my love, and sole love of my soul, I do not deserve your consolations and sweetnesses: reserve them for the innocent souls who have always loved you. I, a sinner, do not deserve them nor do I ask for them. What alone I ask of you is this: make me love you, make me fulfill your will for the whole of my life, and then dispose of me as you please.

Poor me! Other darknesses, other terrors, other abandonments would be my due for the injuries I have done you: hell would be my due, where, being forever separated from you and utterly abandoned by you, I would have to weep eternally without being able to love you any more. No, my Jesus, I accept every pain, but not this one. You deserve an infinite love; you have too greatly obliged me to love you; no, I cannot trust myself to live and not love you.

I love you, my supreme good; I love you with all my heart; I love you more than myself; I love you, and I wish for nothing but to love you.

I see already that this good will of mine is entirely a gift of your grace; but, my Lord, complete the work, assist me always until death, do not leave me in my own hands, give me the strength to overcome temptations and to conquer myself, and for this purpose grant that I always commend myself to you.

I wish to be entirely yours. I give you my body, my soul, my will, my freedom. I wish no longer to live for myself but only for you, my Creator, my Redeemer, my love, my all: Deus meus et omnia. I wish to become a saint, and from you I hope for it.

Afflict me as you will, deprive me of everything — only do not deprive me of your grace and your love.

O hope of sinners, Mary, you are so powerful with God; I greatly trust in your intercession. I beseech you, by the love you bear to Jesus Christ, help me and make me a saint.

Farewell, creatures, I leave you content:

No longer am I yours, nor am I my own:

Now freed from all things, I belong to my God.

Yes, I am all yours, my dear Jesus;

My beloved good, accept me.

O lovable Lord, may your holy love

Take full possession of all that I am:

May it reign and govern in this heart of mine

That once unhappily rebelled against you.

O lovable Lord, possess me.