She continues the story of the foundation of this house of our glorious father, St Joseph, and of the way in which the Lord ordained that holy poverty should be observed there. She gives her reasons for leaving the lady with whom she was living, and describes several other things that happened to her
WHILE I was with this lady of whom I have spoken, and with whom I stayed for more than six months, the Lord ordained that a blessed woman of our Order,1 who lived more than two hundred miles away, should hear of me and, happening to travel in that direction, turn some miles out of her way to have a talk with me. The Lord had moved her, in the same month and year as He had moved me, to found another convent of this Order; and when He gave her this desire she had sold all that she had and walked barefoot to Rome to get a patent. She is a woman much given to penance and prayer, to whom the Lord has granted many favours.
Our Lady had appeared to her and commanded her to perform this task, and she had done so much more than I in the service of the Lord that I was ashamed to come into her presence. She showed me the patents that she had brought from Rome, and in the fortnight that we were together we laid our plans for the foundation of these convents. Before I spoke to her, I had never known that before our Rule had been relaxed it had required us to have no possessions. So far it had never occurred to me to found a convent without revenue, my idea being that we ought to have no anxieties about our bare necessities. I had not thought of all the anxieties that arise from the possession of property. This blessed woman was unable to read, yet she knew very well by the Lord’s instruction, things that I was ignorant of, although I had read through the Constitutions very often. When she told me this, I thought it quite right. But I was afraid that no one would agree with me, that everyone would call this foolishness, and that I should be told not to do a thing which would cause suffering to others. If I had been the only person involved, nothing on earth would have held me back. On the contrary, it would have been a real joy to me to think that I was following the advice of Christ, Our Lord, for His Majesty had already given me great desires for poverty. For myself I had never doubted that poverty was best, and for days I had been wishing that it were possible for one in my position to go about begging alms for the love of God, and to have no house or other possessions. But I was afraid that if the Lord had not given the same desires to the other sisters they would live in a state of discontent, also that our poverty might be the cause of distractions. I had seen some poor convents which were not places of great recollection, and it had seemed to me that their distracted state arose from their poverty, rather than their poverty from their distracted state. Distraction does not make for riches, nor does God ever fail those who serve Him. In fact my faith was weak, which was not the case with that other servant of God.
I took the opinions of a great many people, but found almost none who agreed with me; certainly not my confessor or the other learned men whom I consulted. They advanced so many arguments against me that I did not know what to do. But now that I knew poverty to be in the Rule, and that it was the most perfect way, I could not persuade myself to accept a revenue. Sometimes, indeed, they convinced me, but when I returned to prayer and saw Christ so poor and naked on His Cross, I could not bear to be rich, and begged Him with tears so to dispose things that I should be as poor as He.
I found the possession of a revenue to be attended by so many inconveniences, and to be the cause of so much disquiet, and even distraction, that I could not stop disputing with the scholars. I sent my arguments in writing to that Dominican friar1 who was helping us, and he answered me with two sheets of refutation and theology, in which he told me that he had considered the matter carefully and urged me against it I replied that I had no wish to resort to theology and could feel no gratitude for his learning in this matter if it meant that I was not to follow my vocation, or fulfil the vow of poverty that I had made, or observe Christ’s precepts with due perfection. If I found anyone to help me, I was delighted. The lady with whom I was staying was of great assistance to me here. Some people began by telling me that they approved of my plan, but afterwards, when they looked into it further, they found so many drawbacks that they strongly urged me once more to give it up. I told them that, in view of the speed with which they changed their opinions, I preferred to stick to mine. I. Brother Ibáñez. It was at this time that, through my entreaties – for my hostess had never seen him – the blessed friar Peter of Alcántara came, at the Lord’s pleasure, to visit her house. As a great lover of poverty who had practised it for very many years, he knew what riches there are in it, and so he was a great help to me. He commanded me on no account to abandon my plan. Once I had his opinion and backing, I decided to go no further in search of advice, which no one was better fitted to give than he, since he possessed knowledge based on long experience.
One day, when I was earnestly commending my project to God, the Lord told me to let nothing dissuade me from my purpose of founding the convent in poverty, for that was His Father’s will and His own, and He would help me. I was in a profound rapture at the time, the effects of which were so great that I could not doubt its divine origin. On another occasion He told me that money led to confusion and said other things in praise of poverty. He assured me that anyone who served Him would not go short of the necessities of life. But this was a danger that, as I have said, I never feared. The Lord also changed the heart of the licentiate1 – I mean of the Dominican friar – who, as I have said, had written counselling me to make no foundation without the necessary money. I was delighted to hear this, and with the opinions in my favour. Once I had decided to live on the love of God, it seemed to me that I possessed all the riches in the world.
About this time my Provincial2 revoked his order, and released me from the obedience which had compelled me to stay in that place. He now left it to me to do as I liked. I could depart if I wished, and if I wished to stay I could do so for a certain time. But during that time elections would be held in my convent, and I was warned that many of the sisters wanted to confer on me the onerous office of Superior. The mere thought of this was such a torment to me that, though I was resolved cheerfully to undergo any martyrdom for God’s sake, I could not possibly persuade myself to accept this. For apart from such reasons as the heavy labour involved, owing to the large number of nuns, I had always disliked such work and had never wanted any office – indeed I had always refused such posts as were offered me – since I thought that it would put my conscience in great danger. So I praised God that I was not there, and wrote to my friends asking them not to vote for me.
Just as I was feeling delighted at not being mixed up in this turmoil, the Lord told me that I must on no account fail to go. If I wanted a cross, He said, here was a good one ready for me, which I must not reject. On the contrary, I must take courage, for He would help me, and so I must depart. I was very much upset and did nothing but weep, for I thought that my cross was to be the office of Superior and, as I have said, I could not convince myself that it would be of the least good to my soul, or see any way in which it might be. I talked to my confessor, and he told me to prepare for my immediate departure, since this was clearly the way of greatest perfection. But he added that it would be enough if I arrived there in time for the election and that, as the weather was very hot, I might stay for a few more days longer, so as not to fall ill on the road. But the Lord had disposed otherwise, and I had to leave forthwith. For I was afflicted with a great inner disquiet, and was unable to pray. I felt that I was failing the Lord’s command, and that I was too easy and comfortable where I was to be willing to go and offer myself for the work. I feared that I was giving God only lip-service. How could I neglect a chance like this to lead a life of greater perfection? If I had to die, so be it. With these thoughts an oppression fell on my soul, and the Lord robbed me of all my pleasure in prayer. In fact I was in such a torment that I begged my hostess kindly to let me go, which was what my confessor advised me to do when he saw me in this state. For God moved him as He did me.
She was very sorry that I should go, and this was a further trial. For it had cost her considerable trouble and all kinds of importunities to win the Provincial’s consent to my coming. Considering her feelings, I thought it a very great thing that she should agree to my departure. But she was a most God-fearing woman; and as I told her that my going might be a great service to God, and gave her other reasons of this kind, and as I also held out the hope that I might possibly come back and visit her again, she consented to my departure, though with great sorrow.
For myself, I was no longer sorry to go. I realized that this was the more perfect course, and would be the more serviceable to God; and so, as it always pleases me to please Him, I bore the pain of leaving my hostess, though I saw that she was suffering, and of leaving others to whom I was greatly indebted, my confessor in particular, a priest of the Society of Jesus with whom I was on very good terms. But the greater the comforts I gave up for the Lord’s sake, the gladder I was to forego them. I could not understand how this was possible, for it was quite clear to me that I was moved by two contrary feelings; I was rejoicing, that is to say, and finding joy and comfort in something that was oppressing my soul. But I was calmed and consoled, and had opportunities for many hours of solitary prayer. I saw that I was about to plunge into a fire, for the Lord had told me this already when He said that I was to bear a heavy cross. But I never thought that it would be as heavy as it proved. Yet, despite everything, I set out gladly, only distressed that, since the Lord wished me to take part in the battle, He was not plunging me straight in. Thus His Majesty was sending me strength and founding it on my weakness.1
As I said, I could not understand how this was possible, but I thought of the following comparison. If I possess a jewel or something else that affords me great pleasure, and I happen to learn that it is desired by someone whom I love better than myself and whose pleasure I prefer to my own contentment, then I shall gain greater happiness by pleasing that person than ever I had in the possession of my jewel. Moreover, as my pleasure in pleasing that person will transcend my joy of possession, so my regret at not having this jewel, or some other object that I like, and at losing my original pleasure, will disappear. In the same way, although I wanted to be sorry when I found myself saying goodbye to people who were so sorry to see me go, and although I have a very grateful nature which would have been enough to upset me very much under other circumstances, on this occasion I could feel no sorrow at all, much though I wished to.
Another day’s delay would have had such important effects on the affairs of this blessed house that I do not know how they would have been settled if I had stayed any longer. O how great God is! I am often astounded when I reflect on this, and think how particularly anxious His Majesty was to help me deal with the business of this little corner of God’s kingdom – for such I think it is – or of thais dwelling in which His Majesty takes His delight as He once told me in prayer, when He spoke of this house as the paradise of His delight So it seems that His Majesty has chosen the souls he has drawn to Himself, in whose company I live in very deep shame. For I could never have asked for better companions with whom to live this life of strict enclosure, poverty, and prayer. They live it so joyfully and contentedly that not one of them thinks herself deserving of her place in the house; and this is especially true of some whom the Lord has called from all the show and vanity of the world, whose customs they might have followed and in which they might have been happy. But here the Lord has so multiplied their happiness that, as they clearly recognize, in exchange for one thing forsaken He has rewarded them a hundredfold, and they can never give His Majesty enough thanks. Others who were good, He has made better. To those who are young He gives fortitude and knowledge, so that they may desire nothing else and understand that to live apart from all the things of this life is to live in greater peace, even here upon earth. To those who are older and poor in health, He has given – and continues to give – strength to endure the same austerities and penances as the rest.
O my Lord, how abundantly You display Your power! There is no need to seek reasons for Your will, for You transcend all natural reason and make all things possible. Thus You show us that we need do no more than truly love You, and truly forsake everything for You, and that You, my Lord, will then make everything easy. Here the saying is apposite that You pretend to make Your law difficult,1 for I do not see and I cannot understand how the way that leads to You can be narrow. It is no path but a royal road, and when anyone seriously sets out along it he travels in safety. Mountain passes and rocks that might fall on him – by which I mean occasions for sin – are far away. What I call a path – a wretched path and a very narrow road – is one that has a deep gorge into which one may fall on one side, and a precipice on the other. A single careless step, and one falls and is dashed to pieces. Anyone who loves You truly, O my Lord, walks in safety along the broad, royal road, far away from the precipice. If he makes the slightest stumble, You put Your hand upon Him. One fall – indeed many falls – will not be enough to destroy him. If he loves You and not the things of this world, he will be walking along the valley of humility. I cannot understand what makes people afraid of setting out on the way of perfection. May the Lord, of His mercy, make us see how unsafe we are among the manifest perils that beset us when we walk with the crowd, and that our true safety lies in trying to press far ahead on God’s road. We must fix our eyes on Him, and have no fear that this Sun of Justice will set, or that He will allow us to travel by night and lose ourselves, unless we first forsake Him.
People are not afraid of going among lions, each one of which seems eager to tear them to pieces – I mean among honours and delights and suchlike pleasures, as the world calls them. The devil seems to be frightening us with bogeys here. This has astounded me a thousand times, and ten thousand times I long to weep till I have no more tears, and to cry aloud to everyone, telling them of my great blindness and wickedness, in the hope that this may do something to open their eyes. May He open them, as in His goodness He can, and may He never allow mine to become blind again. Amen.