Treatise on the Love of GodBook VII. The union of the soul with its god as perfected by prayer

I AM not now speaking of a general union of the heart to God, but of certain individual acts and aspirations which the recollected soul makes in prayer, the better to unite itself with His Divine Goodness. Assuredly there is a difference between uniting or joining one thing to another, and drawing -or pressing them closely together. For the first end it will suffice to put the things together so that they may touch, just as we unite our vines or jessamines to the trelliswork of a garden arbour; but in drawing or binding them we apply a strong pressure which greatly promotes union, even as ivy unites itself to a tree, not merely hanging on it, but drawing so forcibly -to it as actually to penetrate the bark. ' The purity and innocence of a little child’s love for its mother is an instance. See that lovely babe as its mother offers it the breast, how it throws itself with all the energy of its tiny frame into her lap, nestling up to her ‘tender bosom, while the mother presses it closely to her, kissing and fondling it. ‘Mother and babe seem to have but one existence between them, so fondly does he co-operate in that clinging embrace, as though he was fain .to bury himself in the maternal bosom whence he drew his life. And so this union is perfect, it is equal as regards both mother and child; and yet it originates actually with the mother, for it was she that attracted the babe, she that first drew it into her arms and pressed it to her bosom, nor could the feeble child have clung so tightly to her of itself. Yet the frail little being does all it can, and clings with all its might to the maternal breast, not merely accepting the union its mother offers, but heartily co-operating with its baby powers. Baby powers indeed, for they are so weak as to be rather attempts at union than union itself.

Even so our Dear Lord offers the breast of His Divine Love to the devout soul; He draws, gathers it into the lap of His more than motherly Tenderness, and then, burning with love, He embraces the soul, presses it to His Heart, kisses it with the sacred kisses of His Mouth, makes it taste of that love which is better than wine.” And so the soul, intoxicated with delight, not merely consents and yields to this Divine union, but co-operates with all its might thereto, while all the time it thoroughly realises that its union with this Heavenly Sweetness depends wholly upon His Will, without the grace of which it would be totally unable to make the smallest attempt at union.

When any great beauty, or exquisite melody, or marvellous eloquence absorbs the attention of men, we say that it fixes their gaze, or ravishes their ear, or masters their heart. What does this mean, save that the senses and their faculties are drawn and pressed to the absorbing object? Even so the soul presses and cleaves when it greatly loves, for pressure is but the progress of union. Even in common things we use such language: “He presses me to do this; he presses me to abide,” i.e. he is not content with persuasion or intreats, but he employs urgency and effort, like to the disciples at Emmaus, who not only intreated the Lord to abide with them, but forcibly pressed Him, “constraining Him” with loving violence.

Now in prayer union is often attained by means of -tiny but frequent upliftings of the soul to God. And -so if you watch a babe nestling to its mother’s breast, you will see it frequently quiver with, so to say, fresh spasms of delight. Thus the soul that is united to God in prayer makes fresh efforts whereby it presses up closer and closer to His Gracious Love, crying out, “Lord, I am Thine, wholly, utterly! and I would be Thine ever more and more. O Sweet Jesus, draw me closer and closer to Thee, until I be altogether swallowed up of love !”

But at other times this union increases not so much by these efforts as by a continual though unconscious pressure and advance made by the heart upon God’s Goodness. Just as we have seen a heavy mass of lead or stone create such a pressure on the ground where it lies that without any extraneous aid it becomes fairly buried in the soil after awhile; so the heart once joined to God, if it abide undisturbed, will go on insensibly sinking deeper in that union, until at last it be altogether lost in Him, by reason of the sacred longing for ever-increasing nearness to God which holy love inspires.

It was said by the great Apostle of Frances that love is a unitive virtue, i.e. one which tends to perfect union with our Sovereign Good. And inasmuch as it is an unquestionable truth that so long as we are in this world Divine Love is a movement, or at anyrate an activity tending thereto, it does not cease to act because it has attained to simple union, but goes on, however imperceptibly, striving to confirm and perfect its union.

Thus trees which bear transplanting spread forth their roots and penetrate the soil which is their element and aliment, though no one sees aught save the result. And the heart of man, transplanted into God from out the world by Heavenly Love, and fervent in prayer, will assuredly spread itself out and come closer to Him, being more and more united with Him, yet by such imperceptible progress, that it cannot be discerned while making, but only in its result. If you drink some powerful cordial it becomes part of your- .self by the mere act of swallowing, since in this case reception and union are the same thing; but gradually this union will sensibly increase, for the virtue of the cordial will penetrate your system, invigorating and cheering it. And in like wise an impulse—say -of dilection, such as, “How good is God !”—having entered the heart, a simple union exists at first, but having been fostered as a precious guest, it speedily penetrates the soul, it spreads and expands the will, -taking possession of the mind, drawing us closer and closer to God, and He to us. This is what David means when he says that God’s Words are “sweeter than honey,”! for all men know that honey becomes sweeter by prolonged tasting, and that if we hold it in the. mouth, or swallow it slowly, it takes more entire possession of the organ of taste. Just so let a loving heart grasp such a sense of Divine Love as is expressed in S. Bruno’s cry, “O Goodness!” or S. Thomas’s, “My Lord and my God!” or the Magdalene’s, “Hail, Master!” or S. Francis’, “My God and my All!” and lingering there, it will spread and penetrate through the mind, impregnating it with its own flavour, practically increasing union, just as balm, or any other precious oil, dropped upon cotton wool, spreads gradually until you scarce can say whether the cotton be perfumed or perfume itself. Blessed indeed is the soul which lovingly preserves the sacred consciousness of the Presence of God within itself. The union of that soul with God will be ever increasing, however insensibly, and it will penetrate and imbue every corner of his being with its priceless sweetness. And by this holy consciousness of God’s Presence I here mean, not a sensible consciousness, but that which dwells in the superior part of the mind where Divine Love reigns and acts.

Sometimes union is accomplished without any co-operation of ours save a simple yielding to Divine Goodness, just as a weary babe which can make no effort to go to its mother, but which nevertheless rejoices to be enfolded in her arms and pressed to her bosom.

So, again, we co-operate, when, being drawn, we run willingly after the Loving Power Which draws and binds us by the strength of love. Another time we seem to begin pressing close to God before He draws near to us, because we feel the movement on our own side, and do not feel that of God, which nevertheless is continually preventing us, although we are often unconscious of it. For verily, did He not unite Himself to us, we could never unite ourselves to Him; He chooses and claims us before we choose or claim Him. But when, following His imperceptible drawings, we begin to unite ourselves to Him, He sometimes speeds our progress, strengthening our weakness, and drawing so near to us that we seem to feel Him entering in and filling our heart with untold sweetness. Sometimes, again, His aid is given as insensibly as His first drawing, and we, knowing not how so mighty a union was made, only knowing that we had no power of ourselves to make it, are led to believe that a Hidden Power has wrought insensibly in us; even as a pilot whose ship is laden with iron, when he sees it move vigorously without a strong breeze, knows that it must be near some hidden loadstone which attracts it. Thus when we are conscious that our mind is increasingly united to God by our own feeble effort, while acknowledging that we are not sailing under any self-raised breeze, we know that the Lover of souls is sweetly drawing us, although He does it imperceptibly, so that we may not waste our time on the means, but give our whole attention to the result. At other times this union arises so imperceptibly that the heart feels neither the Divine workings nor any co-operation of its own, but it wakes up to an already existing union, like Jacob, who found himself unconsciously married to Leah; or rather like a new Samson, bound with the cords of holy union unawares. Or it may be we realise the operation, this union being accomplished by conscious movement on God’s part and on our own.

Sometimes union is achieved by our own will, which, again, may draw the understanding, and fix it in strong delight upon the object of love, just as love is wont to fix our bodily vision upon that which we love.

Sometimes this union embraces all the faculties of the soul, concentrating them on the will, not in order to unite themselves to God, for they are incapable of that, but rather to make it ‘easier to the will to make such union. For if the faculties be distracted, each in its own channel, the soul cannot uninterruptedly seek its union with God. Great is the variety of such unions.

Consider S. Martial, who is believed to have been the happy child taken by our Lord into His Arms." Blessed child, to be thus borne and taken to the breast of thy Saviour, receiving the embrace of His Love without any co-operation on thine own part, save that of unresisting readiness! S. Simeon, on the other hand, pressed our Lord to his breast, while He apparently had no share in the union, although verily, as the Church sings, “the old man carried the Child, but the Child ruled the man.”? -™ Mark ix. 36. ,

2 sari sae for the “Magnificat" at 1st Vespers of the Purification: “Senex puerum portabat, purer autem seem regebat.”

S. Bonaventura, in his deep humility, not only did not unite himself to his Lord, but withdrew from His Sacramental Presence, until one day, as he heard Mass, our Lord Himself gave him the Blessed Sacrament. Who can conceive the love with which that saintly soul clasped his Saviour to his breast after such a union! S. Catherine of Sienna, on the contrary, so intensely longed after the Lord in Holy Communion, so fervently craved after Him, that He gave Himself into her mouth. Thus He took the initiative with S. Bonaventura, while S. Catherine seemed to take it with Him. The Bride of the Canticles refers to both kinds of union: “I am my Beloved's, and His desire is toward me.”' I have united myself to Him, and He has in like manner turned towards me to unite Himself to me, and be wholly mine. “A bundle of myrrh is my Well-Beloved unto me; He shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.”?. And David says with like meaning, “My soul hangeth upon Thee; Thy right Hand hath upholden me.”3

In another passage the Bride describes her union as anticipated, “My Beloved is mine, and I am His ”4— He unites Himself to me, and I to Him—and in token that all union is of God’s Grace drawing and kindling us, she cries out, “Draw me!” while, to prove that it is no inert mass or reluctant culprit that is to be drawn, but one ready to co-operate with all her powers, however feeble, she adds, “We will run after Thee.” The Bridegroom draws one only, but many run after Him. God requires but the will, yet all the other faculties run after it to share its union with Him.

It was to such union that the Bridegroom stimulated “His beloved Sulamite: “Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm.”© When we want to make the impression of a seal upon wax, we are not content with merely joining the two; we press them forcibly together. And in like manner He would have us united to Him so closely and urgently as to bear the impress of His Likeness: “The Love of Christ constraineth us.”⁷ O marvellous illustration of the highest union! He had joined Himself to human nature by grace, as a vine to the elm, thereby making it partaker of His fruit. But seeing that this union was defeated by Adam’s sin, He contracted a yet closer, more urgent union through the Incarnation, by which human nature was for ever united to the Person of the Godhead. And in order that not human nature only, but each and all men, might be closely united to His Boundless Love, He instituted the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, through which every one may partake and unite himself to his Lord by feeding on that Heavenly Food. Surely such a sacramental union must be the most powerful of stimulants towards that spiritual union of which we are treating.

Be the soul’s union with God conscious or unconscious, He is alike its Author, and none can approach or attain Him “except the Father draw him:”?¹ “Draw me, we will run after Thee.”3 Now the perfection of this union lies in two points—purity and strength. If I approach any one in order to speak to him, to see him, to obtain somewhat of him, or lean upon him, I certainly draw near, but my main object is not so much union with him, as to promote whatever may be my immediate object. But if I approach with no other end in view than to enjoy his immediate presence, this is simply and purely to seek union with him.

There were many who drew near to our Lord thus: to hearken, like Mary; to be healed, like the sick woman in the Gospel; to worship, like the Magi; to serve Him, like Martha; to satisfy their doubts, like Thomas; to anoint Him, like the Magdalene, Joseph, and Nicodemus. But the Bride seeks that she may find Him only; and having found Him, she cares only to cleave to Him: “I held Him, and would not let Him go.” S. Bernard notices that whereas Jacob exclaimed, “I will not let Thee go except Thou bless me!” the Bride, seeking rather the God of all blessings Himself than His actual blessings, would not let Him go however He might load her with blessings. “Whom have I in Heaven but Thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire in comparison of Thee... . Thou art the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.”?

In such a mind it was that His Blessed Mother stood by His Cross seeking her Son, seeking to be near Him amid the saddest scenes, because it was Himself, not any mere delight in Him, that she craved.

When the union of the soul with God is very close and urgent, it is technically called inherency or adhesion, because the soul becomes so identified with God that it can scarce be separated from Him. Take the case of a man who is rapt by the spell of music, or even the mere gambler fascinated by his cards, and see how hard it is to tear him thence even for actual necessities! And how much rather should the loving soul be rapt in its God, when permitted to approach His Divine Perfection? Even so S. Paul said, “I am crucified with Christ that I might live unto God,”? as also he affirmed that nothing, not even death itself, could separate him from his Master. Jonathan’s soul, we read, “was knit with the soul of David,”4 and it was an axiom among the Fathers that friendship which could have an end is no real friendship.

Look upon the babe, how it clings to its mother

z Cant. iii. 4. 2 Ps, Ixxiii. 24, 25.

when any one offers to take it away! If one little hand is loosened, how the other grasps her! How the child cries when removed! how it calls for her till it sinks to sleep at last! Just so the soul which is truly united to God can only be dragged loose with bitter force; it will not let Him go. If the imagination be distracted it holds on with the understanding; if that be disturbed the will still cleaves to Him; and if even that be for a moment disturbed, it reverts eagerly to the Beloved, tightening its bonds more closely than ever, while realising the “strait betwixt two desires” of which S. Paul speaks to the Philippians ;³ longing to leave all outward things and abide solely with Christ, yet also desiring to follow up the work of obedience which that very union inculcates.

S. Teresa says that when union with our Lord has reached this point it is the same as rapture or suspension of the faculties. It is called union or suspension when brief, extasy or rapture when prolonged; and that because when the soul is so powerfully united to God as to be with difficulty separated, it lives no longer in self, but in God, as a crucified body hangs not on itself but on the cross, or as ivy becomes part of the wall on which it grows.

Love is a bond, “the bond of perfectness,”? and he who loves most is most closely bound to God. And by this I do not mean the habitual, permanent union which exists whether we sleep or wake, but of that active union which is the result and utterance of love. Suppose that S. Paul, S. Denys, S. Augustine, S. Bernard, S. Francis, S. Catherine, were once more on earth, but sleeping in very weariness after their great works for the love of God, while, on the other hand, you take some devout soul less holy than they, absorbed in unitive prayer: which is most closely united to God? Surely those great Saints, for their love is greatest, and albeit their faculties slumber, they are more inseparably bound to Him. Do you ask how a soul plunged in the extatic union of prayer can be less united than saints who sleep? I reply, that while it is foremost in the actual practice of union, they are foremost in a union already attained and perfected. ;

Such practice of union with God is greatly to be promoted by brief but frequent ejaculatory prayer: “Lord Jesus, grant me to be like-minded to Thee! Teach me to renounce all creature-bonds for Thee! Thou, O my God, art my All! Mighty Lover of souls, draw me wholly to Thyself! Thou art wholly mine; when shall I be wholly Thine! Be Thou the loadstone of my heart; draw me to Thyself for ever! I was made for Thee, wherefore have I not attained to Thee? Swallow up the drop which Thou hast created within the ocean of Thy Love! ‘Draw me, and I will run after Thee ;’ I will cast myself into the arms of Thy Mercy, and abide there to all eternity!” Amen.

Rapture is called rapture because by it God: draws and raises us to Himself; and rapture is called extasy because it carries us forcibly out of ourselves and unites us to God. The attractions whereby God draws us are marvellously sweet; yet at the same time the power with which His Divine Beauty and Goodness act upon the soul is so intense, that it ravishes and carries it away, while the eagerness with which the raptured soul yields to His attractions causes it not merely to rise up, but to rush, so to say, out of itself. into the Bosom of its God. There is a corresponding evil attraction whereby sin draws the soul from its rightful spiritual elevation through the lines of fleshly lusts; and such lusts so powerfully influence the mind and upset its balance, that philosophers have likened the man who is subject to them to an epileptic patient, so utterly he is lost. O man, how long will ye degrade yourself to the level of brutes!

There are three manner of holy extasies: that of the understanding, which comes of illumination, and results in marvelling admiration; that of the affections, which proceeds from fervour, and results in devotion; and that of action, which results in practical operations. Admiration is kindled by the realisation of some hitherto unknown and unexpected truth; and when that truth combines beauty and worth, admiration is intensified, as in the case of the Queen of Sheba on finding Solomon’s grandeur so far beyond her expectations, or of the Jews when they were “astonished” at our Lord’s Wisdom and His mighty Works.? And so when it pleases God to give the mind any special enlightenment, by which it attains an unusually exalted contemplation of the Divine Mysteries, it discovers unforeseen beauties therein, and is rapt in admiration.

Such admiration forcibly attaches the mind to the admired object, so that it is never weary of contemplation; and sometimes God further gives the soul an ever-increasing perceptive light, by which, like those who search a gold-mine, the understanding continues to penetrate deeper and deeper in the knowledge of its Divine attraction. Such admiration has ever been the source and motive-power of philosophy and natural science, and it is not less so of mystic theology; and inasmuch as this admiration, when strong, carries men out of themselves, and beyond their natural level in the consideration of heavenly things, it tends to produce extasy.

Beauty and inconceivable Goodness, which combine to make One Supreme Divinity of Infinite Perfection. All creation is designed for goodness and beauty; all things tend thereto. Goodness and beauty are desirable and attractive to all, and whatever has power to will or to act is influenced thereby. It is the property of beauty to attract and call all things to itself, and therefore the Greeks describe it by a word the root of which is to call.*

So again the true symbol of good is light, the property of which is to absorb all things into itself; wherefore in like manner the Greeks have a name for the sun which implies its power of ingathering and compressing. Even so goodness assimilates all with itself, being not merely sovereign unity, but supremely unifying, inasmuch as all things acknowledge and seek it as their beginning, preservation, and end. Practically, indeed, beauty and goodness are one and the same thing. Herein I am almost literally quoting S. Denys the Areopagite.

There is nothing created so beautiful or beneficent as the sun, which indeed is the accepted symbol of both beauty and goodness. Both of these compose its light, without which there were nothing either good or beautiful in our physical world. Its beauty lights up all things; its goodness kindles and vivifies. By the first it attracts every mortal eye; by the second it attracts all bodily appetites and inclinations. 1 It affects all natural exhalations and productions; all physical generation is influenced by the vital warmth of the sun.

The Greek word “to call” is kalein, and “beauty” is 7d xaddv.

Even so God, the Father of Light, the Sovereign Good and Beauty, attracts man's understanding to contemplate Him by His Beauty, while His Goodness wins him to love. His Beauty, as it entrances the intellect, pours love into the will; His Goodness, filling the will with love, kindles the understanding to contemplation. So love excites contemplation, and contemplation love. Thus it follows that ecstasy and rapture depend wholly upon love; and we may fairly assert with S. Denys that Divine Love is extatic, and does not suffer those who are animated by it to belong to themselves, but solely to the Beloved. It was under the influence of this extatic love that S. Paul exclaimed, “I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.”? He had gone forth from himself, so to say, into God, and lived a life which was. not his own, but that of his Beloved. .

This rapture affects the will thus: God touches it with His Sweetness, and then, as a needle touched by the magnet turns to the pole, so the will, attracted by the loadstone of Divine Love, is powerfully drawn, and sinks into a rapture, not of knowledge, but of joy; not of admiration, but of affection; not of theory, but of experience; not of sight, but of fruition. At times, indeed, the understanding may be filled with admiration, beholding the holy delight which the will experiences, even as the will delights in the admiration which absorbs the understanding; so that these two faculties sustain one another, the sight of beauty. rousing love for it, while love causes men to gaze upon it. We do not feel the warmth of the sun without seeing its light, nor do we enjoy that light without feeling its warmth. Love renders admiration easy, and admiration facilitates love.

Nevertheless the extasy of the understanding and: of the will are not so inevitably linked together but that one may often exist without the other. Heathen. philosophers often attained much farther in knowledge than in love, while good Christians often have more love than knowledge; whence we may fairly infer that fulness of knowledge does not necessarily produce an excess of love, while that excess of love is not necessarily accompanied by that of knowledge. Nor does a mere extasy of admiration make a man better. S. Paul, who had been “caught up” into Paradise, yet says, “If I understand all mysteries, and all knowledge .. . and have not charity, I am nothing ;”² while the devil himself can bring about false extasy, and cause the intellect to be rapt through deceitful, carnal delusions. But that real extasy of the will, whereby it cleaves wholly and solely to God, can come only from the Holy Spirit, by Whom “the Love of God is shed abroad in our hearts.” ?

Even in our own time there have been people who honestly believed themselves, and were believed by others, to be subject to ecstasy, and who yet proved to be under mere delusions of the devil. There was a priest in S. Augustine’s time who could throw himself into extasy when he would, and who, when in that state, was insensible even to fire, and his respiration was arrested; and philosophers say that there are certain natural forms of extasy, the result of excessive application of the mind. So we need not marvel if the Evil One, seeking to deceive souls, should “transform himself into an angel of light,”3 and produce false rapture in frail, ignorant people. Theologians have given rules whereby to distinguish real and unreal extasies. Two signs of that which is real will suffice our purpose. The first is, that extasy which is of God affects the will more than the intellect, so that where we find more light than warmth, more speculation than affection, we should be suspicious. Doubtless there may be even prophetic vision without charity, as there may be intense love without rapture or vision; but wherever there is mere light without a will to love, we may fear that there is more of that which “puffeth up than that which edifieth,” and that its subject is, like Saul, Balaam, and Caiphas, “among the prophets,”² yet numbered with the reprobate.

The second sign of a true extasy is to be found in its action upon the life, the extasy of a holy, pure living. Human nature is not capable of a perfect performance of all God’s Commandments, but it is in accordance with the light of reason, so that when living up to His Commandments we are not in opposition to our natural inclination. But beyond these there are counsels of perfection in order to which not only we need God’s uplifting Grace, but also that He lift us above our natural instincts and inclinations; because although these are not contrary to our human reason, they go beyond it. And therefore, when a man leads not merely a respectable, honest, Christian life, but a life which is supernatural, spiritual, and wholly devout, that life is extatic, i.e. one altogether without and above his natural condition.

Man’s natural reason bids him live without stealing, lying, or impurity; it bids him honour his parents, worship God, and the like. But to renounce worldly goods for the sake of poverty, to rejoice in shame, contempt, persecution, and martyrdom; to embrace absolute continency, and to live in the world a life diametrically opposed to all its precepts and maxims, a life of self-renunciation and abnegation,—this is not human, but superhuman. He who lives thus lives not in himself, but without and above himself. And inasmuch as no one can rise thus beyond himself “except the Father draw him,” such a life becomes practically a perpetual rapture, a continuous extasy in act.

“Ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God,” S. Paul says to the Colossians. Death separates the soul from the body and its trammels, and so speaking the Apostle seems to say, “Ye live no more in yourselves, or in your natural state; your soul has risen above itself.” The phoenix is said to extinguish its own life in the sun’s burning rays, that it may rise from out the ashes to a better and more vigorous life; the silkworm turns into a butterfly; the bee begins its existence as a grub. And so it is with the spiritual life. We leave our mere earthly life for another of a higher stamp, “hiding” this new life “with Christ in God,” Who alone sees, knows, and confess it. Our new life is Divine Love vivifying and kindling the soul, and this love is “hidden in God with Christ.” We read in the Gospel that our Lord as He ascended suffered His disciples to see Him at first, until “a cloud received Him out of their sight.” Since that He is hidden in Heaven in God, and since He is our Love, and love is the soul’s life, our life too is “hidden with Christ in God ;” and so “when Christ, Who is our Life, shall appear” at the last Great Day, we too “shall appear with Him in glory,”? for He Who is our Love will glorify us in His Own splendour and beatitude.

Movements; Aristotle says that it is the principle by which we live, feel, and understand. Hence it follows that these movements in their diversity are the expression of our various kinds of life, and where there is no natural movement there is no life. So love

¥ Col. iii. 3. * Col. iii. 4.

is the motive-power of that spiritual life by which we live, move, and feel; and our spiritual life will be whatever the movements of our affections are. A heart without movement and affection has no love, and no heart that loves can be devoid of affective movements. Therefore when we fix our love on Jesus Christ we have anchored our spiritual life in Him. But He is now hid in God above, as God was hid in Him on earth; and therefore our life is hid in Him, and when He shall appear in glory our life and love will appear with Him in God.

S. Ignatius expressed this when he said, “My love is crucified ;” as though he said, “That natural earthly love, and all the passions appertaining thereto, hangs on the Cross. 1 gave it up to death because it was mortal. But as my Saviour gave up His mortal life to rise to Life Immortal, so, dying spiritually with Him in that which was the natural life of my soul, I rise to the supernatural life of a heavenly and immortal love.”

Whenever, then, we see any one given to ecstasies and raptures in prayer who nevertheless has no ecstasy of life—that is, no supernatural renunciation of worldly desires, no mortification of the will by interior gentleness, humility, and specially charity—then we may be sure that such raptures are very questionable; they may dazzle men, but they will not cause sanctification. What does a soul gain by being rapt in prayer, if in daily life and conversation it be absorbed in low, earthly affections? To be above one’s natural level in prayer, and beneath it in life and act; to be angelic in meditation and earthly in conversation, is to “halt between two opinions,”¹ and is a sure sign that the Evil One is deluding his victim. Happy they who live a supernatural life, raised, rapt above their mere earthly selves, although they be not gifted with raptures in prayer! There is many a saint in Heaven who never experienced such a rapture, many a martyr who was content with ordinary devotion and fervour; . ! x Kings xviii. 27. | but there was never yet a saint whose life did not undergo the ecstasy and rapture of which I speak in the shape of rising above self and natural inclination.

S. Paul explains this still further when he tells the Romans that “our old man is crucified with Christ,” that “we be dead unto sin” with Him, and raised with Him “to walk in newness of life, that henceforth we should not serve sin.”² Herein it seems that we each have two beings and two lives—the old man, whose life is old, the new man, whose life is new; even as the eagle, which loses its. power of flight as its wings grow old, until such time as, shaking the old feathers off into the sea, it takes new wing on its freshly-grown pinions. Our first life, then, we live after the old man; with the faults, frailties and infirmities inherited from Adam, and through his sin our life is subject unto death. But in the second life we live after the new man; according to the grace, favour, and mercy of our Saviour, a life of. salvation and redemption, a life essentially vital and vivid. But whoever would attain to this new life must pass to it through the death of the old man “crucifying the flesh, with its affections and lusts,”? burying them beneath the waters of Holy Baptism and in penitence, even as Naaman went down into the waters of Jordan to cast off his old leprous life, and received a new pure life. He was no longer the old Naaman, but a new man, dead to his leprosy, alive to health and purity; and whosoever is raised to this new Christ-like life lives no more to himself, nor for nor in himself, but to his Saviour, in and for his Saviour. “Reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” 3

No one has ever used such earnest and convincing arguments on behalf of this supernatural life, wherein all action becomes raised, so to say, to extasy, as S. Paul. Kindled, rapt with love to his Master, he says, and we each must learn to say, “The Love of Christ constraineth us.”¹ Nothing so forcibly affects man’s heart as love. We are eager to love those that love us, but when it is a question of the humble returning the love of the great, or a subject that of his king, the urgency is tenfold. If, then, we consider that Jesus Christ, the Eternal, All-powerful God, loved us unto the death, even the death of the Cross, is not this a “constraining” cause of love, and of a love as urgent as it is tender? But what is it in our Dear Lord that constrains us thus? “The Love of Christ constraineth us,” His Apostle says, “because we thus judge ;” i.e. His Love is urgent when we consider, weigh, and ponder the greatness of what He has done for us. And what is it that we are so to consider? See how gradually S. Paul leads us on: “That if One died for all, then were all dead; and that He died for all.”? The process is perfect: if One, even Christ, died for all, then are all dead in the Person of that Saviour Who died for them, and the merits of His Death are justly imputed to them, inasmuch as He underwent it on their behalf.

What follows? Hear S. Paul again. It follows “that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him Which died for them, and rose again.” What more forcible argument were possible? Jesus Christ died for us; He gave us life through His Death, and we live only by reason of His Death, because He died for us, to us, and in us. Therefore our life is no longer ours: no longer in us, but in Him; no longer for ourselves, but for Him.

There was once a maiden of Sestos who had fondly raised a young eagle, the which, as it grew strong of wing and followed its natural instincts of pursuit, never failed to bring its prey in grateful fealty to its mistress. At length it so fell out that the maiden died, and according to the wont of her land she was laid upon a funeral pile to be burned; when, just as the flames were kindling, the poor bird came hovering over the pile, and, terror-struck, dropped its prey and lighted on the body of its beloved mistress, striving to shield her with its wings from the fire. And so great was the power of its love, that even those fierce flames could not drive it away, but cleaving closer to the body of her it loved, the noble bird became the victim of its unconquerable gratitude and love.

Can we not read our own history in this? Our Dear Lord brought us up from infancy; Heboreand fashioned us, even as a nurse cherisheth her children. He made us His Own by Baptism, and has fed us, body and soul, with His Body and Blood through His unutterable Love, while that we might live He endured death for us. What, indeed, can we say, but that we which live should not henceforth live unto ourselves, but unto Him Who died for us; that we should dedicate every moment, every desire, every thought and act, every power and impulse of our soul to Him and His Love. Behold that Divine Redeemer stretched upon the Cross as on a funeral pile, dying for love of us, of a love stronger than death, a death more full of love than we can conceive. Why cannot we too cast ourselves upon that Cross and die with Him, consumed in the flames of His Love like the eagle of that Greek story? “My Beloved is mine, and I am His;” I will live and die in His Bosom. “Neither death nor life shall be able to separate me from Him.” Surely this is the true extasy of love, when a man has learnt to live no longer after the things and fashions of: this world, but above them, solely after the inspirations and leading of the Blessed Saviour of souls. '

“Love is strong as death.”* Death severs the soul from the body, and from all earthly bonds; so heavenly love severs the soul of the lover from all that is earthly and sensual. The only difference is that in the one case the severance is visible, in the other it is spiritual; though, indeed, sacred love has been known so intense as to cause a blessed and precious death to saints.

Just as it is the lot of the reprobate to die in sin, so is it that of God’s elect to die in His Love and Grace. The faithful never die suddenly, for death can never be unforeseen to him who has steadily pursued his Christian course to the end; but he may die by a sudden death, and therefore the Church in her Litanies teaches us to ask, not merely to be delivered from “sudden” death, but from a “sudden and unprepared death.”

Had mere worldly men beheld the fire from heaven fall upon and consume S. Simeon Stylites, they would doubtless have imagined it to be in judgment rather than the final scene of his life’s consecration, as the Abbot Julian, though at a distance, saw it in a vision to be. S. Homobonus of Cremona, kneeling in deep

© Cant, viii. 6. 7

'Unfortunately the English version. of the Litany in our Prayer Book has lost this very beautiful and significant shape. _ We only say, “From sudden death, Good Lord, deliver us ;": but the original Litany has it as S. Francis says— _ as ‘“A subitanea et improvisa morte, etc.

devotion at Mass, rose not, as is wont, at the Gospel, and it was only thus that the bystanders found him to be dead. Many holy people have died in Church or in the Confessional, or as they left the pulpit where they had been preaching God’s Word; others die of apoplexy, in coma, in delirium, or with the loss of reason, or sundry other kinds of death, which are indeed materially sudden, but not spiritually unforeseen. These all died in God’s Grace, even though unable to think of Him as they passed hence, and that you will readily see, with a moment’s reflection. For consider: wise men do not lose their knowledge when they sleep, else were they fain to begin anew each time they wake; so habitual prudence, temperance, faith, hope, love, are ever present in the good man’s heart, albeit not always active. When a man sleeps all his wonted habits sleep with him, waking when he wakes; and even so when the good man meets with death in a sudden form, be it accidental or other, he may not die in the external practice of Divine Love, but he none the less dies in God’s Love, as the Wise Man saith, “Though the righteous be prevented with death, yet shall he be in rest,” for the means to eternal life is, that death find a man living in habitual love and charity.

Other saints, again, have died, not only in such habitual frame, but in its active exercise; as S. Augustine, who died making an act of contrition, which is love; S. Jerome, exhorting his spiritual children to love and holiness; S. Ambrose, in sweet converse with His Lord, Whom he had just received in the Blessed Sacrament; S. Anthony, singing the Magnificat; S. Thomas Aquinas, with clasped hands and uplifted eyes, fervently uttering that passage of the Canticles (the last on which he had preached), “Come, my Beloved, let us go forth into the field”? The

™ Vulgate: ‘Justus autem si more praeoccupatus fuerit, in refrigerio merit” (Wisd. iv. 7). Apostles and many martyrs died in prayer; the Venerable Bede, to whom the season of his death was revealed (it was vespertide on the Festival of the Ascension), went into Choir, and, standing in his stall, ended his life together with the vesper psalm, following his Master to that endless morning where no shadows fall. Gerson, Chancellor of the University of Paris, of whom Sixtus of Sienna says it is hard to say whether his wisdom or his saintliness were most remarkable, commented upon the fifty properties of Divine Love set forth in the Canticles, and three days after died, without seeming ill, ejaculating, “Thy Love is strong as death.”

S. Martin died rapt in prayer; S. Louis, that saintliest of kings, struck down with pestilence, ceased not to pray, until, having received the Viaticum, he stretched forth his arms as if on the cross, and expired breathing forth the trustful words, “As for me, I will come unto Thine house, and in Thy fear will I worship toward Thy holy temple.” S. Peter Celestinus, after enduring untold trials, met his end singing like a dying swan the glorious strain, “Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord!” S. Eusebia (surnamed the Stranger) died kneeling in fervent prayer; S. Peter Martyr, writing his confession of faith with his own blood, and saying, “Lord, into Thy Hands I commend my spirit ;” and S. Francis Xavier, the great Apostle of the Indies, breathed his last embracing the Crucifix, and bursting forth in fervent cries of “O Jesus, God of my heart !”

The martyrs died for God’s Love—not for a dead, but for a living faith, which comes of love— and their confession of faith was more an act of love than of the intellect. When S. Peter denied his Lord, on Whom he believed nevertheless in his heart, he let go his hold of love. , But there have been martyrs who died for charity alone, as S. John Baptist, who was a martyr to his boldness in rebuking vice, or S. Peter and S. Paul. S. Stanislaus and S. Thomas of Canterbury were martyrs of love rather than faith, and many holy virgins were put to death through their persistent adherence to their Divine Bridegroom.

Again, there are souls which give themselves up so wholly to Divine Love that it seems to consume them; they forget to eat and drink in their sorrow at seeing God offended, and worldly men think that they die of sorrow, whereas it is really that the fire of heavenly love devours their vital force, so that death ensues. Surely this is a blessed death! How sweet the incurable wound of sacred love, which is ever loosening the weary strings of earthly life! By such a beautiful death S. Catherine of Sienna, S. Stanislas Kotzka, S. Charles, and many others, passed hence in their youth. S.-Francis, after he had received the stigmata, became more an image of death than a living, breathing man.

Thus all the elect die in habitual love, and some in, some for, some through such love. But there is a yet higher degree by which some there are who die of love, not merely as wounded or languishing, but pierced, transfixed, and done to instant death by love. The soul, forcibly attracted by the sweetness of its Beloved, rushes towards Him with such impetus that the body, being unable to follow, is left behind, while the immaterial part speeds its way like a dove to the Bosom of its Lord. He draws it irresistibly to Himself; and as a man “leaves father and mother to cleave to his wife,” so the pure Bride of Christ forsakes the flesh to cleave to Him. But so powerful an effort can only there be made where all earthly, carnal affections have been very thoroughly stripped off already, and the refining fire of love has purged the heart of all passion and self-will, so that at last the soul is meet for a death so precious in the sight of the Lord, an entrance into eternal glory. . _ §. Francis, our very ideal of heavenly love, did not merely die through the exhaustion of the mighty love with which God filled his heart; he was raised up as a very miracle of love to die, not only for love, but of love. As his last moments drew on he caused himself to be laid naked on the ground, and then, receiving a covering as alms, he addressed his brethren on the love and fear of God, and zeal for the Church, bade them read the Passion to him, and then fervently repeated the 142nd Psalm: “I cried unto the Lord with my voice; yea, even unto the Lord did I make my supplication,” till, having uttered the last verse: “Bring my soul out of prison, that I may give thanks unto Thy Name,” he expired, in the forty-fifth year of his age.

S. Magdalene lived for thirty years in a cave in Provence (yet to be seen), in continual raptures and visions of angels, until one Sunday her dear friend ‘the Bishop S. Maximin, finding her in church fixed in contemplation, her hands uplifted and her eyes full of tears, he communicated her, and she forthwith yielded up her saintly spirit, which speeded to dwell for ever at the Feet of that Lord Whom she had chosen as the “better part” even on earth.

S. Basil had a certain dear friend, a Jewish physician, whom he greatly desired to convert, but never could succeed; until at last, worn out with labours and austerities, he lay at the point of death, when, asking the physician how long he had to live, this friend replied that he must certainly die ere sunset. “What would you say,” the sick man asked, “were I to be still alive to-morrow ?”: “I would become a Christian,” was the answer. Whereupon S. Basil pleaded earnestly with God, and obtained the prolongation of his life and the conversion of his friend; so that S. Basil rose up, and going to church, baptised the Jew and all his household, and then, returning to his bed, he communed long with God, piously exhorted those around, and at length, beholding the angels awaiting him, softly said, “My God, into Thy Hands I commend my spirit,” and died. Then the convert, embracing him with tears, exclaimed, “O great Basil, thou servant of God, if thou hadst asked it, neither wouldest thou have died to-day !”

S. Teresa made it known after her death that it was caused by so vehement an outburst of love, that, overpowering all natural limits, her soul fled away to the Beloved of her heart.

I have heard a tale, which, albeit marvellous, is not incredible to those who love, the rather that, as S. Paul says, “charity believeth all things,” i.e. is not ready to suppose other men false; and where testimony seems good, charity is wont to believe, especially where God’s Love to men, or theirs to Him, is concerned. All the more because Charity, the queen of virtue, delights in all that confirms her empire.

S. Augustine says that the most glorious miracles are often scarce known, even on the spot; but they need not the less be true, nor need the devout soul stumble at what seems hard to believe.

This story, then, as told by S. Bernard of Sienna, is as follows. A certain nobleman of devout life went to Palestine to visit the Holy Places, and after due confession and communion he reached Nazareth, the scene of the Annunciation, where he meditated the mystery of God’s redeeming Grace. Thence he passed to Bethlehem, where he kissed the sacred ground whereon the Saviour of the world was born; and coming to the Jordan, he too plunged into the waters wherein his Lord was baptised. Thence he went into the desert, where his devout imagination vividly depicted the Temptation, and the angels ministering to their Lord when He had overcome Satan. The scene of the Transfiguration, that of the Upper Chamber where the Holy Eucharist was instituted, the brook Kedron, the Garden of Gethsemane, and all the successive scenes of the Passion, he devoutly traced, realising with inconceivable earnestness each step, and shedding an ocean of tears on the soil watered by his Saviour’s Blood. From the Sepulchre he went to Emmaus; and finally, coming to Mount Olivet, and following in thought as in scene the marvellous Ascension of the Lord, this devout Christian gathered himself together as an archer draws his bow, and lifting hands and eyes to heaven, exclaimed, “O most Dear Lord, I know not how any further to follow Thee on earth; grant me then, Dearest Saviour, to follow Thee in Heaven!” having said which, he discharged his soul thitherwards, even as the arrow speeds from the well-strung bow.

Those around him were greatly marvelling, when the physician summoned, after due inquiry as to his temperament and habits, pronounced that his heart had burst from excess of fervour and love; and opening his body, truly they found it so, and on that noble heart were written the words, “Jesus, my Love.” Love had taken death’s office, and parted body and soul asunder.

Another author, whose name we know not, records, in a book called the “Spiritual Mirror,” how a certain noble of Provence, a very pious man, and of a special devotion to the Blessed Sacrament, was taken very ill, and by reason of continual sickness was unable to receive Holy Communion. He, longing greatly for It, besought the Priest to lay the Blessed Sacrament on his breast, which being done, that loving breast opened and swallowed up the Beloved One, and at the same instant life departed.

I grant that this is a very marvellous story, and one that needs strong testimony, but after the well-known and verified history of S. Clara of Monfalcone, and of the stigmata of S. Francis, I can find no difficulty in believing any wonders of Divine Love.

We cannot doubt but that S. Joseph died before the Passion, or our Lord would scarce have committed His Mother to S. John. Neither can we doubt but that he was ministered to in his last hours by his beloved foster-Son. “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” What love and tenderness S. Joseph had borne to the Divine Babe, and who can question but that it was restored to him a hundredfold at the end?) Who does not remember the beautiful type of filial and parental love which we see in the stork, the parent birds being carried in their old age, even as they had borne their young while in the fulness of strength? How often had S. Joseph and the Blessed Virgin carried the Infant Saviour in their arms, as they journeyed in this world; and surely He in His turn bore His foster-father to Abraham’s bosom, and thence to His Own ascended Glory? So loving a saint could scarce die save of love; and having completed the task assigned him, we can but fancy him saying in the Saviour’s Own words, “Father, I have finished the work which Thou gavest Me to do,” and then committing his spirit into the Hands of Jesus, even as the infant form of that same Jesus had been committed into his hands when born.

Such can hardly fail to have been somewhat the manner of departure of that holy man to whom were trusted the most loving and familiar offices towards Jesus that any, save His Blessed Mother, were permitted to render. Nor can we imagine her to have died any other death than that of love, the noblest death, and therefore the most fit end for the noblest life ever created, a death which angels might crave could they die. Surely if the early Christians loved each other so well that they “were of one heart and one soul,”? and if S. Paul no longer himself lived, but Jesus Christ lived in him, through the closeness of union whereby his heart was knit to his Redeemer’s heart, how much more must the Holy Virgin and her Son have had but one heart and one soul and one life? so that that Blessed Mother lived not herself, but her Son lived in her, loving and loved beyond all that is of men or angels, even as the love of a mother and her only son is chiefest among earthly loves. And this was the love of a Mother unlike all other mothers, inasmuch as no earthly father had part in the birth of her Divine Son, and therefore their union was of a sort different to all else. Not even the Chiefest Seraphim could say, “Thou art my Son, and as my true Son I love Thee ;” neither to any other in creation could the Lord say,“Thou art My Mother, and I am indeed thy Son.” If then a loving servant might dare to say that he lived not, but his Master in him, how much more might that Mother say, “I have no life save in my Son; truly He liveth in me”! _ And if this Mother lived in her Son’s Life, surely she died in His Death. We are told that the phoenix, growing old, gathers together on a mountain-top a pile of aromatic wood, and when the sun’s rays are at the hottest, it beats its wings thereon until the wood kindles, and the bird is consumed amid the flames. Even so that Virgin Mother, having with tender memory gathered and pondered all the mysteries of her Son’s Life and Death, and receiving the brightest rays which He the Sun of Righteousness ever sheds upon any created in His Love, fanning such flames with the breeze of her devout contemplation, surely at length Heavenly Love must have consumed her as a living sacrifice, and she must have rendered up her soul into her Son’s Arms. O blessed, life giving death! O holy love, which through death leads to life!

There were other loving souls watching the Lord’s Death, whereof the most loving felt the keenest pangs; for their love was steeped in sorrow, and sorrow in love, and they who loved their Saviour best entered most deeply into His Passion. But His Blessed Mother, who loved more than all, was beyond all pierced with a sharp sword.’ The sorrows of the Son pierced the Mother’s heart, so joined as they were together; yet that Mother's heart sought no cure, but rather cherished the wound, desiring only to depart. as He had departed, He Who, as Holy Scripture tells us, died once a perfect Sacrifice of love for the sins of the whole world.

There is a tradition that Our Lady revealed to S.

Matilda that her death was caused by a violent access of Divine Love; but both S. Bridget and S. John Damascene testified that she died a most peaceful death. I believe both assertions to be true.

The beauty of the stars is wondrous, and most grateful to our eyes; but they seem to shine with a varying, twinkling light, either from the nature of that light, or from the distance intervening between them and us. Even so those saints who died of love passed through many strange vicissitudes, owing to the frailty of their as yet unperfected love, which was unequal to a steady persistence. But it was not so with the Blessed Virgin. Just as we see the sun rise, not by starts, but by a steady progress, so that we are scarce conscious of its motion until it is wholly risen; so heavenly love grew continually in her pure soul, calmly, steadily, without commotion or disturbance, We may not imagine any impetuous agitation in her love, for it is the very nature of love to be gentle, calm, and peaceful, and when it works by the opposite means it is owing to resistance made. But where all the soul’s avenues are freely open to it, love advances peacefully and rapidly. Thus holy love worked calmly and without effort in the Virgin Mother’s heart, for assuredly it met with no resistance there.

A mighty river dashes noisily against the rocks which stem it, but rolls smoothly through the plain; even so Divine Love, when it meets with hindrance and resistance (such as, indeed, in some shape or at some time all men offer to it), becomes vehement, struggles with evil tendencies, and constrains the will after divers fashions, in order to overrule obstacles, and make way for itself.

But everything within the Blessed Virgin seconded the views of Divine Love, which grew in her far more than in any other creature, albeit quietly and gently. Intensely as she loved and suffered beneath the Cross, she did not die there; for, greatly as she felt both grief and love, there was such mingled power and sweetness, such energy and such peace combined, as sustained her through all.

Not but that the soul of the Blessed Virgin, like that of all men, had two parts, and consequently two appetites or desires, one rational and superior, the other sensual and inferior, so that she experienced those natural repugnances and contradictions which exist between the two. Such a struggle our Lord Himself vouchsafed to take on Him with humanity. But all her affections were so regulated that Divine Love held sway within her easily, the repugnances and appetites of nature never developing into sin, not even into venial sin. All such impulses were faithfully used on behalf of Divine Love by promoting the practice of those virtues which can only be attained amid difficulties, hindrance, and contradiction.

We are apt to think that thorns spoil our flowers, and that the world do better without them. S. Ambrose says that but for sin there had been none. But since thorns there are and must be, the wise husbandman utilises them, and converts them into a hedge and shelter for his flocks and fields. Just so the Blessed Virgin, having her part in human infirmities, utilised them to the increase of many virtues, courage, temperance, justice, prudence, humility, and the like; so that, far from proving a hindrance, they forwarded her progress, till she combined Mary’s loving contemplation with Martha’s ardent activity. She had chosen the love of her Son, and nothing could take that from her.

The magnet has a hidden power to attract iron, yet there are five hindrances which hinder this attraction: (1) Too great distance between the parts; (2) the intervention of a diamond; (3) the presence of grease upon the iron; (4) or if it be rubbed with garlic; (5) if the iron be too heavy. In like manner the heart of man is made for God, Who attracts it continually by the power of His Divine Love. But there are five hindrances to His holy attraction: (1) Sin, which separates us from God; (2) the love of riches; (3) sensual pleasure; (4) pride and vanity; (5) self-love, with its crowd of unruly passions, which overwhelm us as a heavy burden.

Now none of these hindrances beset the Blessed Virgin, who was kept from sin, whose poverty was heartfelt, who was pure and humble, who had all her passions under control, and was free from the rebellion of self against God. Therefore, just as iron, when free from all hindrance or excessive weight, is drawn irresistibly by the loadstone, the attraction becoming increasingly powerful in proportion as the two substances are relatively near; so the Holy Mother, being free from all hindrance between her and her Son’s Divine Love, was united to Him in an ineffable union, sweet and pure, taking shape in external act, yet without checking the inward unity. Therefore her death was gentle beyond all idea, her Son “drawing her by the savour of His good ointment,” and she flowing gently into the Bosom of His endless Love. And albeit that sweet soul greatly loved her own most holy and pure body; yet did she leave it without reluctance, like to Judith when she laid aside the cherished garments of her widowhood to go forth victorious over Holofernes; or like Jonathan, when for love of David he stripped off his raiment. Love had laid the supreme pangs of death upon that blessed one beneath the Cross; surely it was but fair that at last death should restore her the supremest bliss of love.

* Cant. i. 3. \

Signified TO US BY HIS COMMANDMENTS,

Counsels, AND INSPIRATIONS.