CONTINUES THE SAME SUBJECT: EXPLAINS THE PRAYER OF UNION BY A DELICATE
COMPARISON AND SPEAKS OF THE EFFECTS IT LEAVES UPON THE SOUL. THIS CHAPTER
SHOULD RECEIVE GREAT ATTENTION.
1. The soul compared to a butterfly. 2. The grandeurs of creation. 3. Symbol
of the soul and the silkworm. 4. Preparation of the soul for God's
indwelling. 5. Mystic death of the silkworm. 6. Effects of divine union. 7.
Increase of fervour and detachment. 8. Trials succeeding the prayer of
union. 9. Longing for death and zeal for God's honour. 10. This zeal
supernatural. 11. God alone works this grace. 12. The same zeal as that felt
by our Lord on earth. 13. Christ's keenest suffering.
1. You may imagine that there is no more left to be described of the
contents of this mansion, but a great deal remains to be told, for as I
said, it contains favours of various degrees. I think there is nothing to
add about the prayer of union, but when the soul on which God bestows this
grace disposes itself for their reception, I could tell you much about the
marvels our Lord works in it. I will describe some of them in my own way,
also the state in which they leave the soul, and will use a suitable
comparison to elucidate the matter, explaining that though we can take no
active part in this work of God within us, [173] yet we may do much to
prepare ourselves to receive this grace. You have heard how wonderfully silk
is made--in a way such as God alone could plan--how it all comes from an egg
resembling a tiny pepper-corn. Not having seen it myself, I only know of it
by hearsay, so if the facts are inaccurate the fault will not be mine. When,
in the warm weather, the mulberry trees come into leaf, the little egg which
was lifeless before its food was ready, begins to live. The caterpillar
nourishes itself upon the mulberry leaves until, when it has grown large,
people place near it small twigs upon which, of its own accord, it spins
silk from its tiny mouth until it has made a narrow little cocoon in which
it buries itself. Then this large and ugly worm leaves the cocoon as a
lovely little white butterfly.
2. If we had not seen this but had only heard of it as an old legend, who
could believe it? Could we persuade ourselves that insects so utterly
without the use of reason as a silkworm or a bee would work with such
industry and skill in our service that the poor little silkworm loses its
life over the task? This would suffice for a short meditation, sisters,
without my adding more, for you may learn from it the wonders and the wisdom
of God. How if we knew the properties of all things? It is most profitable
to ponder over the grandeurs of creation and to exult in being the brides of
such a wise and mighty King.
3. Let us return to our subject. The silkworm symbolizes the soul which
begins to live when, kindled by the Holy Spirit, it commences using the
ordinary aids given by God to all, and applies the remedies left by Him in
His Church, such as regular confession, religious hooks, and sermons; these
are the cure for a soul dead in its negligence and sins and liable to fall
into temptation. Then it comes to life and continues nourishing itself on
this food and on devout meditation until it has attained full vigour, which
is the essential point, for I attach no importance to the rest. When the
silkworm is full-grown as I told you in the first part of this chapter, it
begins to spin silk and to build the house wherein it must die. By this
house, when speaking of the soul, I mean Christ. I think I read or heard
somewhere, either that our life is hid in Christ, or in God (which means the
same thing) or that Christ is our life. [174] It makes little difference
to my meaning which of these quotations is correct.
4. This shows, my daughters, how much, by God's grace, we can do, by
preparing this home for ourselves, towards making Him our dwelling-place as
He is in the prayer of union. You will suppose that I mean we can take away
from or add something to God when I say that He is our home, and that we can
make this home and dwell in it by our own power. Indeed we can: though we
can neither deprive God of anything nor add aught to Him, yet we can take
away from and add to ourselves, like the silkworms. The little we can do
will hardly have been accomplished when this insignificant work of ours,
which amounts to nothing at all, will be united by God to His greatness and
thus enhanced with such immense value that our Lord Himself will be the
reward of our toil. Although He has had the greatest share in it, He will
join our trifling pains to the bitter sufferings He endured for us and make
them one.
5. Forward then, my daughters! hasten over your work and build the little
cocoon. Let us renounce self-love and self-will, [175] care for nothing
earthly, do penance, pray, mortify ourselves, be obedient, and perform all
the other good works of which you know. Act up to your light; you have been
taught your duties. Die! die as the silkworm does when it has fulfilled the
office of its creation, and you will see God and be immersed in His
greatness, as the little silkworm is enveloped in its cocoon. Understand
that when I say 'you will see God,' I mean in the manner described, in which
He manifests Himself in this kind of union.
6. Now let us see what becomes of the 'silkworm,' for all I have been saying
leads to this. As soon as, by means of this prayer, the soul has become
entirely dead to the world, it comes forth like a lovely little white
butterfly! [176] Oh, how great God is! How beautiful is the soul after
having been immersed in God's grandeur and united closely to Him for but a
short time! Indeed, I do not think it is ever as long as half an hour. [177]
Truly, the spirit does not recognize itself, being as different from what
it was as is the white butterfly from the repulsive caterpillar. It does not
know how it can have merited so great a good, or rather, whence this grace
came [178] which it well knows it merits not. The soul desires to praise
our Lord God and longs to sacrifice itself and die a thousand deaths for
Him. It feels an unconquerable desire for great crosses and would like to
perform the most severe penances; it sighs for solitude and would have all
men know God, while it is bitterly grieved at seeing them offend Him. These
matters will be described more fully in the next mansion; there they are of
the same nature, yet in a more advanced state the effects are far stronger,
because, as I told you, if; after the soul has received these favours, it
strives to make still farther progress, it will experience great things. Oh,
to see the restlessness of this charming little butterfly, although never in
its life has it been more tranquil and at peace! May God be praised! It
knows not where to stay nor take its rest; everything on earth disgusts it
after what it has experienced, particularly when God has often given it this
wine which leaves fresh graces behind it at every draught.
7. It despises the work it did while yet a caterpillar--the slow weaving of
its cocoon thread by thread--its wings have grown and it can fly; could it be
content to crawl? All that it can do for God seems nothing to the soul
compared with its desire. It no longer wonders at what the saints bore for
Him, knowing by experience how our Lord aids and transforms the soul until
it no longer seems the same in character and appearance. Formerly it feared
penance, now it is strong: it wanted courage to forsake relations, friends,
or possessions: neither its actions, its resolutions, nor separation from
those it loved could detach the soul, but rather seemed to increase its
fondness. Now it finds even their rightful claims a burden, [179] fearing
contact with them lest it should offend God. It wearies of everything,
realizing that no true rest can be found in creatures.
8. I seem to have enlarged on this subject, yet far more might be said about
it; those who have received this favour will think I have treated it too
briefly. No wonder this pretty butterfly, estranged from earthly things,
seeks repose elsewhere. Where can the poor little creature go? It cannot
return to whence it came, for as I told you, that is not in the soul's
power, do what it will, but depends upon God's pleasure. Alas, what fresh
trials begin to afflict the mind! Who would expect this after such a sublime
grace? [180] In fact in one way or another we must carry the cross all our
lives. If people told me that ever since attaining to the prayer of union
they had enjoyed constant peace and consolation, I should reply that they
could never have reached that state, but that, at the most, if they had
arrived as far as the last mansion, their emotion must have been some
spiritual satisfaction joined to physical debility. It might even have been
a false sweetness caused by the devil, who gives peace for a time only to
wage far fiercer war later on. I do not mean that those who reach this stage
possess no peace; they do so in a very high degree, for their sorrows,
though extremely severe, are so beneficial and proceed from so good a source
as to procure both peace and happiness.
9. Discontent with this world gives such a painful longing to quit it that,
if the heart finds comfort, it is solely from the thought that God wishes it
to remain here in banishment. Even this is not enough to reconcile it to
fate, for after all the gifts received, it is not yet so entirely
surrendered to the will of God as it afterwards becomes. Here, although
conformed to His will, the soul feels an unconquerable reluctance to submit,
for our Lord has not given it higher grace. During prayer this grief breaks
forth in floods of tears, probably from the great pain felt at seeing God
offended and at thinking how many souls, both heretics and heathens, are
lost eternally, and keenest grief of all, Christians also! The soul realizes
the greatness of God's mercy and knows that however wicked men are, they may
still repent and be saved; yet it fears that many precipitate themselves
into hell.
10. Oh, infinite greatness of God! A few years ago--indeed, perhaps but a few
days--this soul thought of nothing but itself. Who has made it feel such
tormenting cares? If we tried for many years to obtain such sorrow by means
of meditation, we could not succeed.
11. God help me! If for long days and years I considered how great a wrong
it is that God should be offended, and that lost souls are His children and
my brethren; if I pondered over the dangers of this world and how blessed it
would be to leave this wretched life, would not that suffice? No, daughters,
the pain would not be the same. for this, by the help of God, we can obtain
by such meditation; but it does not seem to penetrate the very depths of our
being like the other which appears to cut the soul to pieces and grind it to
powder through no action--even sometimes with no wish--of its own. What is
this sorrow, then? Whence does it come? I will tell you. Have you not heard
(I quoted the words to you just now, but did not apply to them this meaning)
[181] how the Bride says that God 'brought her into the cellar of wine and
set in order charity in her'? [182] This is what happens here. The soul
has so entirely yielded itself into His hands and is so subdued by love for
Him that it knows or cares for nothing but that God should dispose of it
according to His will. I believe that He only bestows this grace on those He
takes entirely for His own. He desires that, without knowing how, the spirit
should come forth stamped with His seal for indeed it does no more than does
the wax when impressed with the signet. It does not mould itself but need
only be in a fit condition--soft and pliable; even then it does not soften
itself but must merely remain still and submit to the impression.
12. How good Thou art, O God! All is done for us by Thee, Who dost but ask
us to give our wills to Thee that we may be plastic as wax in Thy hands. You
see, sisters, what God does to this soul so that it may know that it is His.
He gives it something of His own--that which His Son possessed when living on
earth--He could bestow on greater gift on us. Who could ever have longed more
eagerly to leave this life than did Christ? As He said at the Last Supper:
'With desire have I desired' [183] this. O Lord! does not that bitter
death Thou art to undergo present itself before Thine eyes in all its pain
and horror? 'No, for My ardent love and My desire to save souls are
immeasurably stronger than the torments. This deeper sorrow I have suffered
and still suffer while living here on earth, makes other pain seem as
nothing in comparison.'
13. I have often meditated on this and I know that the torture a friend of
mine [184] has felt, and still feels, at seeing our Lord sinned against is
so unbearable that she would far rather die than continue in such anguish.
Then I thought that if a soul whose charity is so weak compared to that of
Christ--indeed, in comparison with His this charity might be said not to
exist--experiences this insufferable grief, what must have been the feelings
of our Lord Jesus Christ and what must His life have been? for all things
were present before His eyes and He was the constant witness of the great
offences committed against His Father. I believe without doubt that this
pained Him far more than His most sacred Passion. There, at least, He found
the end of all His trials, while His agony was allayed by the consolation of
gaining our salvation through His death and of proving how He loved His
Father by suffering for Him. Thus, people who, urged by fervent love,
perform great penances hardly feel them but want to do still more and count
even that as little. What, then, must His Majesty have felt at thus publicly
manifesting His perfect obedience to His Father and His love for His
brethren? What joy to suffer in doing God's will! Yet I think the constant
sight of the many sins committed against God and of the numberless souls on
their way to hell must have caused Him such anguish that, had He not been
more than man, one day of such torment would have destroyed not only His
life but many more lives, had they been His.
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[173] Way of Perf. ch. xxv. 3.
[174] Col. iii. 3: 'Vita vestra est abscondita cum Christo in Deo.' Gal. ii.
w: 'Vivo autem, jam on ego; vivit vero in me Christus.'
[175] Way of Perf. ch. i. i 1.
[176] St. Teresa must have been thinking of this simile when she chose
'butterflies' as the pseudonym for her nuns in her letters at the time when
she was obliged to be cautious on account of the troubles of the Reform.
[177] Life, ch. xviii. 16.
[178] Life, ch. xviii. 5-7.
[179] Rel. ix, 11.
[180] Way of Perf. ch. xviii. 1-4. Castle, M. vi ch. i. 3, sqq. M. vii. ch.
iv. 7.
[181] Fifth Mansions, ch. i. 10.
[182] Cant. ii. 4. 'Introduxit me in cellam vinariam, ordinavit in me
caritatem.'
[183] St. Luke xxii. 15: 'Desiderio desideravi hoc pascha manducare
vobiscum, antequam patiar.'
[184] This friend is, of course, St. Teresa herself. See Life, ch. xiii. 14;
xxxii. 9. Way of Perf. ch. i. 3. Castle, M. vii. ch. i. 5, 6. Excl. x. 9.
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