She continues, and describes some great favours which the Lord showed her, relating also what the Lord said to her, to reassure her and enable her to answer those who argued against her
I HAVE wandered far from my subject. I was trying to explain the reasons why this kind of vision cannot be the work of the imagination. For, how could we picture Christ’s Humanity merely through having dwelt on it, or compose His great beauty out of our own heads? If such a conception were to be anything like the original, it would take quite a long time to build up. One can indeed construct such a picture from the imagination, and can spend quite a while regarding it, and reflecting on the form and brightness of it. One can gradually perfect this picture and commit it to the memory. What is there to prevent this, since it is the work of the intelligence? But when it comes to the visions I am speaking of, there is no way of building them up. We have to look at them when the Lord is pleased to show them to us – to look as He wishes and at what He wishes. We can neither add nor subtract anything, nor can we obtain a vision by any actions of our own. We cannot look at it when we like or refrain from looking at it; if we try to look at any particular feature of it, we immediately lose Christ.
For two and a half years, God granted me this favour at frequent intervals. But more than three years ago He took it from me, in this form of a continual experience, and gave me something of a higher kind, of which I shall perhaps speak later. During all that time, though I saw that He was speaking to me, though I gazed on His very great beauty, and felt the sweetness with which those words of His, which were sometimes stern, issued from His fair and divine mouth, and though, at the same time, I greatly longed to see the colour of His eyes, or His stature, so as to be able to describe them later, I was never worthy enough to see them, nor was it any good my trying to do so. On the contrary, these efforts lost me the vision altogether. Though I sometimes see Him looking at me with compassion, His gaze is so powerful that my soul cannot endure it. It is caught in so sublime a rapture that it loses this lovely vision in order to increase its enjoyment of the whole. So here there is no question of willingness or unwillingness. It is clear that all the Lord wants of us is humility and shame, and that we shall accept what is given us, with praise for the Giver.
This is true of all visions without exception. There is nothing that we can do about them; no effort of ours makes us see more or less, or calls up or dispels a vision. The Lord desires us to see very clearly that this work is not ours but His Majesty’s. We are the less able, therefore, to take pride in it; on the contrary it makes us humble and afraid, when we see that just as the Lord takes away our power of seeing what we will, so He can also remove these favours and His grace, with the result that we are utterly lost. Let us always walk in fear therefore, so long as we are living in this exile.
Almost always Our Lord appeared to me as He rose from the dead, and it was the same when I saw Him in the Host. Only occasionally, to hearten me if I was in tribulation, He would show me His wounds, and then He would appear sometimes on the Cross and sometimes as He was in the Garden. Sometimes too, but rarely, I saw Him wearing the crown of thorns, and sometimes carrying His Cross as well, because of my deeds, let me say, and those of others. But always His body was glorified. Many were the reproaches and trials that I suffered when I spoke of this, and many were my fears and persecutions. They felt so certain of my being possessed by a devil that some of them wanted to exorcize me. This did not worry me much, but I was distressed when I found my confessors unwilling to hear my confession, or when I heard that people were talking to them about me. Nevertheless, I could not be sorry that I had seen these celestial visions. I would not have exchanged a single one of them for all the blessings and delights in the world. I always regarded them as a grand mercy from the Lord, and I think they were a very great treasure. Often the Lord Himself would reassure me, and I found my love for Him growing exceedingly. I would go and complain to Him about all my trials, and I always emerged from prayer comforted and with new strength. But I did not dare to contradict my critics, for I saw that this made things worse, since they attributed my arguments to lack of humility. I discussed things with my confessor, however, and he never failed to give me great comfort if he saw that I was worried.
When the visions became more frequent, one of those who had helped me before, and who had taken my confession sometimes when the minister could not, began to say that clearly I was being deceived by the devil. He ordered me, since I had no power of resistance, always to make the sign of the Cross when I had a vision, and to snap my fingers at it, in the firm conviction that this was the devil’s work. Then it would not come again. He told me to have no fear, for God would protect me and take the vision away. This command greatly distressed me, for I could not think that the vision came from anything but God. It was a terrible thing for me to do; and, as I have said, I could not possibly wish my vision to be taken from me. However, in the end I obeyed him. I prayed God frequently to free me from deception; indeed, I did so continually, with many tears, and I also invoked St Peter and St Paul. For the Lord had told me, when He first appeared to me on their festival, that they would preserve me from being deceived. I used often to see them very clearly, on my left, and that was no imaginary vision. These glorious saints were my very true lords.
The duty of snapping my fingers when I had this vision of the Lord deeply distressed me. For when I saw Him before me, I would willingly have been hacked to death rather than believe that this was of the devil. It was a heavy kind of penance for me, and so that I need not be so continually crossing myself, I used to go about with a crucifix in my hand. I carried it almost continually, but I did not snap my fingers very often, because that hurt me too much. It reminded me of the insults He had suffered from the Jews, and I begged Him to pardon me, since I was only acting out of obedience to one who was in His place, and not to blame me, seeing that he was one of the ministers whom He had Himself placed in His Church. He told me not to worry, since I was quite right to obey, and that He would Himself show them the truth. When they forbade me to pray, He seemed to me to be angry. He told me to say to them that this was tyranny. He showed me ways of making sure that these visions were not of the devil, and I will give some of them later.
Once when I was holding the cross of a rosary in my hand, He took it from me into His own; and when He returned it to me, it consisted of four large stones much more precious than diamonds – incomparably so for it is, of course, impossible to make comparisons between things seen supernaturally and the precious stones of this world; diamonds seem imperfect counterfeits beside the precious stones of a vision. On these were exquisitely incised the five wounds of Christ. He told me that henceforth this cross would appear so to me always, and so it has. I have never been able to see the wood of which it was made but only these stones. However, they have been seen by no one but myself. Once they started telling me to test my visions and resist them, these favours became much more frequent. In my efforts to divert my attention, I never ceased praying, and I seemed to be in a state of prayer even when asleep. For now my love was growing, and I would complain to the Lord, saying that I could not bear it. But desire and strive though I might to cease thinking of Him, it was beyond my power; I was as obedient as possible in every way, but I could do little or nothing about it. The Lord never released me from my obedience. But though He told me to do as I was told, He reassured me in another way by telling me how to answer my critics; and this He still does. The arguments He gave me were so strong that I felt perfectly secure.
Shortly afterwards, His Majesty began, as He had promised, to make it even plainer that it was He. There grew so great a love of God within me that I did not know who had planted it there. It was entirely supernatural; I had made no efforts to obtain it. I found myself dying of the desire to see God, and I knew no way of seeking that other life except through death. This love came to me in mighty impulses which, although less unbearable and less valuable than those that I have described before, robbed me of all power of action. Nothing gave me satisfaction, and I could not contain myself; I really felt as if my soul were being torn from me. O supreme cunning of the Lord, with what delicate skill did You work on Your miserable slave! You hid Yourself from me, and out of Your love You afflicted me with so delectable a death that my soul desired it never to cease.
No one who has not experienced these mighty impulses can possibly understand that this is no emotional unrest, nor one of those fits of uncontrollable devotion that frequently occur and seem to overwhelm the spirit. These are very low forms of prayer. Indeed, such quickenings should be checked by a gentle endeavour to become recollected, and to calm the soul. Such prayer is like the violent sobbing of children. They seem to be going to choke, but their rush of emotion is immediately checked if they are given something to drink. In the same way here, reason must step in and take command, for this may merely be a display of temperament. With reflection there comes a fear that there is some imperfection here, which may be largely physical. So the child must be quieted with a loving caress, which will draw out its love in a gentle way and not, as they say, bludgeon it. This love must flow into interior reflection, not boil over like a cooking-pot that has been put on too fierce a fire, and so spills its contents. The source of the fire must be controlled. An endeavour must be made to quench its flames with gentle tears, and not with that painful weeping that springs from the feelings I have described, and does so much damage. I used at first to shed tears of this kind which left my mind so confused and my spirit so weary that I was not fit to resume my prayers for a day or more. Great discretion is needed at first, therefore, so that everything may go on smoothly, and so that spiritual transformations may take place within. All exterior demonstrations should be carefully prevented.
The true impulses are very different. We do not pile the wood beneath the fire ourselves; it is rather as if it were already burning and we were suddenly thrown in to be consumed. The soul makes no effort to feel the pain caused it by the Lord’s presence, but is pierced to the depths of its entrails, or sometimes to the heart, by an arrow, so that it does not know what is wrong or what it desires. It knows quite well that it desires God. and that the arrow seems to have been tipped with some poison which makes it so hate itself out of love of the Lord that it is willing to give up its life for Him. It is impossible to describe or explain the way in which God wounds the soul, or the very great pain He inflicts on it, so that it hardly knows what it is doing. But this is so sweet a pain that no delight in the whole world can be more pleasing. The soul, as I have said, would be glad always to be dying of this ill.
This combination of joy and sorrow so bewildered me that I could not understand how such a thing could be. O what it is to see a soul wounded! I mean one that sufficiently understands its condition as to be able to call itself wounded, and for so excellent a cause. It clearly sees that this love has come to it through no action of its own, but that out of the very great love that the Lord has for it a spark seems suddenly to have fallen on it and set it all on fire. O how often, when I am in this state, do I remember that verse of David, As the heart panteth after the water brooks,1 which I seem to see literally fulfilled in myself.
When these impulses are not very strong, things appear to calm down a little, or at least the soul seeks some respite, for it does not know what to do. It performs certain penances, but hardly feels them; even if it draws blood it is no more conscious of pain than if the body were dead. It seeks ways and means to express some of its feelings for the love of God, but its initial pain is so great that I know of no physical torture that could drown it. Such medicines can bring no relief; they are on too low a level for so high a disease. But there is some alleviation and a little of the pain passes if the soul prays God to give it some remedy for its suffering, though it can see no way except death by which it can expect to enjoy its blessing complete. But there are other times when the impulses are so strong that it can do absolutely nothing. The entire body contracts; neither foot nor arm can be moved. If one is standing at the time, one falls into a sitting position as though transported, and cannot even take a breath. One only utters a few slight moans, not aloud, for that is impossible, but inwardly, out of pain.
Our Lord was pleased that I should sometimes see a vision of this kind. Beside me, on the left hand, appeared an angel in bodily form, such as I am not in the habit of seeing except very rarely. Though I often have visions of angels, I do not see them. They come to me only after the manner of the first type of vision that I described. But it was our Lord’s will that I should see this angel in the following way. He was not tall but short, and very beautiful; and his face was so aflame that he appeared to be one of the highest rank of angels, who seem to be all on fire. They must be of the kind called cherubim, but they do not tell me their names. I know very well that there is a great difference between some angels and others, and between these and others still, but I could not possibly explain it. In his hands I saw a great golden spear, and at the iron tip there appeared to be a point of fire. This he plunged into my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails. When he pulled it out, I felt that he took them with it, and left me utterly consumed by the great love of God. The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans. The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one’s soul then content with anything but God. This is not a physical, but a spiritual pain, though the body has some share in it – even a considerable share. So gentle is this wooing which takes place between God and the soul that if anyone thinks I am lying, I pray God, in His goodness, to grant him some experience of it.
Throughout the days that this lasted I went about in a kind of stupor. I had no wish to look or to speak, only to embrace my pain, which was a greater bliss than all created things could give me. On several occasions when I was in this state the Lord was pleased that I should experience raptures so deep that I could not resist them even though I was not alone. Greatly to my distress, therefore, my raptures began to be talked about. Since I have had them, I have ceased to feel this pain so much, though I still feel the pain that I spoke of in a previous chapter – I do not remember which.1 The latter is very different in many respects, and much more valuable. But when this pain of which I am now speaking begins, the Lord seems to transport the soul and throw it into an ecstasy. So there is no opportunity for it to feel its pain or suffering, for the enjoyment comes immediately. May He be blessed for ever, who has granted so many favours to one who has so ill repaid these great benefits.