303. Fifteenth Saturday of Ordinary Time
Meditations no. 283 (unofficial computer-aided translation)
In the interior life there are periods of light and of darkness.
And the people of Israel journeyed from Rameses to Succoth, about six hundred thousand men on foot, besides women and children. A mixed multitude also went up with them, and very many cattle, both flocks and herds. This is the beginning of the account of the exodus of the Jewish people, after God freed them from slavery in Egypt. They had to undergo a long journey of forty years through the desert before they could take possession of the land God had promised them.
This long journey prefigures the path which the faithful soul has to follow on earth before reaching the true promised land of heaven. On a long journey one passes through different types of countryside: delightful places where everything is beautiful and pleasing, and other less attractive ones where the spiritual horizon seems to cloud over. It is a well-known phenomenon in the life of the Church. One fifth-century writer expressed it as follows: At the beginning of the interior life the Holy Spirit allows the soul to feel divine sweetness in all its vigour and fullness, so that the minds of the saints may know clearly the great prize in store for them as a reward for their efforts. But very soon he hides from us the magnificence and greatness of this life-giving gift, so that we may not presume too highly of ourselves, even though we practise all the virtues.
Our Father tells us in one of his Letters: On the voyages of the interior life and of manâs spiritual toil, God sometimes grants his apostles spells of fair weather, when all the elements, oneâs own deficiencies and the external difficulties, are all, as it were, stilled: the soul rejoices, both inwardly and outwardly, in the beauty and power of the divine; it is filled with contentment and peace, and its hesitant faith is strengthened. God tends to lead souls, above all at the beginning, and sometimes perhaps for years, through less stormy seas, in order to consolidate them in their initial decision, without asking them at the beginning for what they cannot give, because they are still sicut modo geniti infantes, like new-born babes.
With the passage of the years, before we reach old age or even maturity, our initial impulses begin to die down. Our God is always a consuming fire, but he doesnât always cause the soul to be ablaze with great feelings of fervour or detectable satisfaction. The soul may find itself in a state of apparent darkness, and in a strange situation: it seems to be making no progress, and it no longer experiences its former fervour. It is as if the fire of enthusiasm has died out and the drive that characterized the early days has been replaced by a sense of routine.
Look, my children, I have been in Opus Dei for over forty years. Have I enjoyed it? Have I had what people call personal satisfaction, sighing away like a devout old woman? There was a time when I used to think that all those old ladies who sigh in the darkness of a church were rather grotesque; now, though, they arouse a lot of devotion in me. However, in my years in Opus Dei I have had very little experience of the sighs of those devout and saintly old women.
These forty years have been for the most part devoid of that sort of thing. I keep going because I know it is Godâs way. And I donât feel unhappy. It would be a pity if we were to do things simply because we liked them. We have to do them because it is our duty, and Love leads us on.
With or without enthusiasm, with great fervour or with just the determination to be faithful to our Lord, we strive to gain a little ground every day, constantly rekindling in our hearts the fire of Godâs love. I came, our Lord said, to cast fire upon the earth; and would that it were already kindled! But there are many ways of burning: with a bright but short-lived flame, like a pile of straw or a brilliant firework; or like a massive log that burns slowly in the hearth, silently giving off heat to its surroundings. What we cannot do is allow ourselves to grow cold and die out; we cannot ever cease to be the light of the world lit by God with our vocation so as to give light to all in the house.
Perseverance in fulfilling the Norms.
In order to light a great fire, it is first necessary to set fire to a small amount of dry leaves or paper. Then, once it is burning away, some more solid material has to be added, and although this may take a while to get going, once the fire takes hold it produces a mass of glowing coals that provide a permanent flow of warmth to the surroundings. The coals donât tend to produce very big flames; just occasionally, if some particularly inflammable material is thrown on, or if a strong gust of wind blows, then the fire blazes up and gives off a shower of sparks. At times the coals scarcely give any light at all: they are a pile of embers, a source of heat hidden beneath the apparent coldness of the ashes.
Something similar happens in the interior life. There are people who, if they donât see flames, think that there isnât any fire. And they are often mistaken. In order to give off heat and set things on fire, big flames arenât needed: a red hot ember is enough.
Ordinarily, what one finds in young people is this more transient flame, the bonfire that will later leave a mass of glowing embers behind it. It is typical of the initial phase of self-giving, the fervour of the first hour. Older people, by contrast, perhaps donât blaze in the same way, but they do have embers which set on fire and burn everything around them.
Young people can appear to be saints, and older people very often do not However, normally, the young ones havenât yet achieved the holiness they seek; while the older ones, who have spent their lives in Godâs service, and who humbly think that they are not saints at all and never will be, but are doing what they can to achieve it, these are really the ones who lead holy lives.
In the interior life, even allowing for the effect of grace, it is normal for our initial ardour to disappear gradually. But even though our efforts may not show so much on the outside, they are in fact more supernatural and reflective. We experience a greater need to trust in God, and begin to appreciate St Paulâs aspiration: I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Despite the fact that, objectively speaking, our interior struggle and apostolate may be effective, nevertheless we are left with the impression that they amount to very little, and that they are not at all in keeping with what the Love of God and souls requires of us. The conclusion I come to every day at the examination of conscience, our Father said to us, is always: pauper servus et humilis! A poor and humble servant! That is, when I donât have to say instead: Lord, JosemarĂa is not very happy with JosemarĂa.
We are in no danger in moments of difficulty, trial or adversity, because the breath of Godâs grace, which is never lacking, blows away the ashes and fans the embers, radiating the warmth of love and the brightness of faith, and stoking up the fires of loyalty which can withstand any storm or tempest.
In moments of spiritual dryness we persevere in doing the Norms, which sanctify us - the prayer, the Mass, Holy Communion, devotion to our Lady and the Guardian Angels - knowing that God tests the soul that pleases him. It is not for us to understand how we are led by the Holy Spirit, who alone fashions souls. In giving ourselves to God we have left the guidance of our life and our sanctification in his hands. We have renounced self in order to concern ourselves solely with the things of God: he will look after us.
Persevere in your life of piety, willingly and with love, even if you feel arid. Donât worry if you find yourself counting the minutes or days still to go before you finish that act of piety or that job of work, with the turbid delight of the lazy schoolboy who in a similar situation is looking forward to the end of term; or of the petty criminal who canât wait to get back to his tricks once he is out of jail again.
Persevere, I insist, with a real and effective determination. Donât cease, even for a moment, to want to fulfil and benefit from those means of piety.
How to behave during times of dryness.
In times of darkness we should not become discouraged. We can be certain that our Father God, who is the craftsman, is going to make of our soul a work of art. From that cheap, fragile, insubstantial and brittle clay of which we are made, he will fashion something divine. He only requires us to be faithful in our vocation, and not to falter even though we may not know the way or see the goal clearly. Interior dryness is not lukewarmness. When a person is lukewarm the waters of grace slide over him without being soaked in. In contrast, there are dry lands which seem arid but which, with a few drops of rain at the right time, yield abundant flowers and delicious fruit.
That is why I ask: When are we going to be convinced? How important it is to be docile to the divine calls which come at each moment of the day, because it is precisely there that God is awaiting us!
Our attitude should be one of love, of total trust. The really important thing is to be ready to begin each day as often as is necessary, to seek our Lord without letting anything, even our own defects, hold us back. We should also have the humility and filial simplicity to accept ourselves as we are and rest in his love. And we should turn constantly to our Norms, where our Lord awaits us: For one who loves Jesus, prayer, even prayer with dryness, is the sweetness that always puts an end to sorrow: one goes to prayer with the eagerness of a child going for sugar, after taking a bitter dose of medicine.
If we behave like that we will always be at peace, even if our Lord allows us to experience times of extreme dryness. And, if we are faithful, the light that had faded will all at once shine brightly again, whenever God wants. In the meantime we should do all that we can to put into practice the advice our Father gave: During peaceful periods in the spiritual life, periods of good divinization, do what engineers do: they make a reservoir to store the good, clean, abundant water from the mountains, so that in times of drought there is no shortage of water for drinking, for irrigation, and for generating electric power and light. Now, when you can see things very clearly, and your heart is filled with the desire to be faithful, make the firm resolution to have recourse to that brightness, invoking the help of our Mother Mary, if some day our Lord allows you to think you are surrounded by darkness.
At times like that, as at all times, our Lady does not abandon us. You are not alone. - Suffer tribulation cheerfully. - Itâs true, poor child, that you donât feel your Motherâs hand in yours. - But⌠have you never seen mothers in this world, with arms outstretched, following their little ones, when they venture forth, trembling to take their first steps without help from anyone? - You are not alone: Mary is beside you.