Of the means by which God began to rouse her soul, to give it light in its great darkness, and to strengthen her virtues, so that she should not offend Him
MY soul had now become weary. But the wretched habits it had contracted did not let it rest, though it wished to. It happened one day, however, that as I went into the oratory I saw an image which they had procured for a certain festival that was observed in the house, and which they had placed there. It was of Christ terribly wounded and it was so moving that when I looked at it the very sight of Him shook me, for it clearly showed what He suffered for us. So strongly did I feel what a poor return I had made for those wounds, that my heart seemed to break, and I threw myself on the ground before Him in a great flood of tears, imploring Him to give me strength once and for all not to offend Him again.
I had a very deep veneration for the glorious Magdalen, and very often thought of her conversion, especially when I was taking Communion. As I then knew for certain that the Lord was within me, I would place myself at His feet, thinking that my tears would not be rejected. I did not know what I was saying, but He did great things for me in allowing them to flow, seeing that I so quickly forgot my grief again. But then I used to recommend myself to that glorious saint so that she might win me pardon.
But on this last occasion, before the image I have spoken of, I seem to have done better, because I had quite lost my trust in myself and put all my confidence in God. I think I said to Him then that I would not rise up until He granted me my prayer. I certainly believe that this benefited me, for from that time I have begun greatly to improve. This was my method of praying: – Since I could not meditate intellectually, I would try to call up the picture of Christ within me, and I found myself the better, as I believe, for dwelling on those moments in His life when He was most lonely. It seemed to me that when He was alone and afflicted he must, like anyone in trouble, admit me. I had many of these simple thoughts, and I was particularly fond of the prayer in the Garden, where I could accompany Him in His Agony. I thought of the sweat and affliction that He endured there. I only wished that I could have wiped away that painful sweat. But I remember that, in my prayer, I never dared make up my mind to do so, for then my sins appeared before me in all their gravity. I would stay with Him there as long as my thoughts allowed me. But I had many tormenting thoughts.
For many years, almost every night before I went to sleep, as I commended myself to God in order to sleep well, I would always dwell for a while on this scene of the prayer in the Garden; and this even before I became a nun, since I had been told pardon for many sins was to be gained in this way. I am sure that my soul gained greatly from it, because I began to adopt the habit of prayer without knowing what it was; and it became so usual with me that I could no more have omitted it than the practice of crossing myself before going to sleep.
But to return to what I was saying about the torture that my thoughts inflicted on me. This method of prayer without intellectual meditation brings the soul either great profit or great loss – I mean by the wandering of the attention. If it benefits it benefits greatly, since it is moved by love. But to attain this state is very costly except to those whom the Lord wishes to bring very quickly to the prayer of quiet – and I know of some. For those who tread this path a book is useful as a means of prompt recollection. I also found it helpful to look at fields, water, or flowers. These reminded me of the Creator. I mean that they woke me, and brought me to a recollected state, and served me as a book. They reminded me also of my ingratitude and my sins. My mind was so stupid that I could never call up heavenly or exalted thoughts on any occasion until the Lord had presented them to me in another way.
I had so little aptitude for picturing things in my mind that, if I did not actually see a thing, I could make no use at all of my imagination in the way that others do who can induce recollection by calling up mental images. Of Christ as a Man I could think, but never in such a way as to call up His picture in my mind. Although I read of His beauty and looked at images of Him, I was like a person who is blind or in the dark. He may be talking to someone and feel that he is with him because he knows for certain this man is there – I mean he understands and believes him to be there – but he cannot see him. It was like this with me when I thought of Our Lord. This is why I was so fond of pictures. I pity those who are so wretched as to have lost this fondness, through their own fault. It is very clear that they do not love the Lord, because if they did they would enjoy looking at His picture in the same way as worldly men enjoy gazing on portraits of those whom they love.
At this time I was given St Augustine’s Confessions, seemingly by the ordainment of the Lord. I did not ask for it myself, nor had I ever seen it. I am most devoted to St Augustine, because the convent in which I lived before taking my vows was of his Order, and also because he had been a sinner. I derived great comfort from those saints who have sinned and yet whom the Lord has drawn to Himself. I thought that I could obtain help from them, and that as the Lord had pardoned them he might pardon me. But one thing that I have already mentioned disturbed me. The Lord had called them only once and they had not sinned again, but my relapses were so many that it distressed me. Yet when I remembered the love He bore me I took fresh courage, for I never doubted His mercy, though I very often doubted myself.
O my Lord, I am amazed that my soul was so stubborn when I received such help from You! It frightens me to think how little I could do by myself and of those attachments that hindered my resolution to give myself entirely to God. When I began to read the Confessions I seemed to see myself portrayed there, and I began to commend myself frequently to that glorious saint. When I came to the tale of his conversion, and read how he heard the voice in the garden,1 it seemed exactly as if the Lord had spoken to me. So I felt in my heart. For some time I was dissolved in tears, in great inward affliction and distress. How a soul suffers, O my Lord, by losing its liberty! Once it was mistress of itself, and now what torments it endures! I am amazed to-day that I was ever able to live under such torture. Praise be to God, who gave me life to escape from so absolute a death.
I believe that my soul gained great strength from His Divine Majesty, and that He must have heard my lamentations and taken pity on all my tears. A desire to spend more time with Him began to grow in me. I longed to remove from my sight all opportunities for sin; and once they had gone I returned immediately to love of His Majesty. I clearly understood that I loved Him – or at least I thought that I did. But I did not understand as I should have done, what the love of God really is. I do not think that I had yet prepared myself to seek His service when His Majesty began to grant me favours once more. He seems deliberately to have contrived to make me accept what others labour with great efforts to acquire – I mean the joys and comforts that He gave me in these latter years. I never presumed to beg for these gifts or for sweetness in devotion. I only demanded the grace not to offend Him again, and pardon for my great sins. When I saw how great they were, I never ventured deliberately to desire joys or comforts. He showed me sufficient compassion, I think – and truly He was most merciful to me – in allowing me to approach Him and drawing me into His presence. I saw that except by His agency I should not have come there.
Only once in my life do I remember asking Him for consolation, and that was when I was very dry. But when I observed what I was doing, I was so upset that my very distress at finding myself so lacking in humility gave me just what I had ventured to ask for. I knew quite well that it was lawful for me to pray for it. But it seemed to me to be lawful only for those who are ready and who have tried with all their strength to attain true devotion by not offending God, and by a resolute disposition to do what is right. These tears of mine seemed to me womanish and feeble, since they did not gain me what I desired. All the same, I believe that they helped me, because, as I say, especially after these two occasions when they caused me great compunction and distress of heart, I began to give myself more constantly to prayer, and to be less taken up with those things that did me harm. Nevertheless, I did not abandon them altogether. But God, as I say, helped to turn me from them. As His Majesty was only waiting for some preparation on my part, the spiritual graces went on growing in me in a way that I shall describe. But it is not usual for Our Lord to give them to those whose conscience is as clouded as mine was.