III. THIRD MEANS. — The joy and true sweetness which are inseparable from the exercise of true mortification and of sincere humility.
There is no devotion, without universal, generous, and constant mortification. There is none without sincere humility. But is it possible to speak of humility and continual mortification, without terrifying persons who perhaps have some desire to gain an ardent love of Jesus Christ? Do they not immediately tremble at the thought of so uncomfortable a condition ?
Who can look upon a life full of crosses, without feeling horror ? To thwart our natural inclinations in everything, to deny our senses every satisfaction that is not absolutely necessary, to live in retirement and silence, without seeking the esteem of men, taking pleasure in their praises, or feeling regret at their contempt, — is not this, we may say, to lead a very unhappy life ? All, however, who live in this manner, declare that they are perfectly happy. The world says that this kind of life is insupportable ; but Jesus Christ Himself says that it is sweet and easy, full of joy and consolation. The world — that is to say, those who know nothing about this life — say one thing ; and all who have experienced it, say quite the contrary. St. Francis of Sales calls this sort of life the sweetness of sweetnesses. St. Ephrem, whilst practising a most mortified life, cried out, full of consolation, " It is enough, my God, it is enough ! Do not load me with Thy benefits. Moderate Thy liberality, if Thou wouldst not have me die, for the ineffable sweetness which I taste in Thy service is enough to cause my death." " I am in a country," says St. Francis Xavier, writing from Japan to his brethren in Europe, " where I am in want of all the conveniences of life. But nevertheless, I feel so much interior consolation, that there is danger of my losing my sight through weeping with joy." Can so many thousands of Saints, whom we acknowledge to have been so wise and so sincere, have agreed to say exactly opposite to what they thought and experienced ?
But if we are so unhappy, as worldly persons think, in this exercise of continual mortification, how is it that those we see to be most mortified are always the most contented ? How is it that we find no persons on earth perfectly contented, perfectly happy, but those who are most mortified ? If this mortified life does not itself produce this unalterable joy, by what artifice do these persons preserve themselves until death, in a sweetness and tranquillity which no misfortune of life can ever disturb ? If they merely feign it, how is it that persons of the world, who know so well the art of dissimulation, have never as yet been able to conceal their uneasiness and their regrets, though they pass the greater part of their life in pleasure and amusement ? Virtue alone, says St. Augustin, though it seems austere, gives true pleasure. There is no perfect felicity in this world, except for virtuous persons, who seriously labour at their sanctification. Exempt as they are from the disturbance of those cruel passions which tyrannise over the wicked, they experience more sweetness in their life, and less regret. Perfectly submissive to God's will, they enjoy a calm and profound peace which the world cannot give. This sweet tranquility of conscience is the ordinary result of virtue. The more we belong to God, the more do we enjoy it. The more we keep back from God, the less do we participate in this sweetness.
What might we not say of the secret unction by which Almighty God lightens the yoke of His law; of those happy moments in which He makes Himself heard by just souls; of that sweet hope, which makes them feel in anticipation the joys of heaven; of those rays of light, which show them so clearly the vanity of the world; of those tears of consolation, which they sometimes shed at the foot of the crucifix, when they experience a purer and more exquisite joy than the most delightful pleasures of the world can afford? This joy and this interior sweetness, which surpasses all imagination, is a hidden mystery to tepid souls. It is for them an unknown language. But give me, says St. Augustin, a fervent soul, one truly humble and mortified, a heart full of the love of Jesus Christ; such a one will understand what I say. "Da amantem et sentiet quod dico." It is true, that to be perfect, it is not necessary to be altogether insensible to the misfortunes of life. Disasters may cause some agitation to the just, but they do not overpower him. He has always in his virtues a strong rock of support. In the broad way in which the imperfect walk, even though it had on crosses of its own, everything would contribute to raise them up around. Whereas, in the path followed by those who have an ardent love of Jesus Christ, whatever crosses there are, heaven and earth conspire, as it were, to sweeten them. The Son of God Himself carries them with us, to lighten their weight. Finally, the mere thought of death is enough of itself to alarm the happiest worldlings, whereas it serves but to console and rejoice the virtuous. Was there ever anyone at the point of death, at that moment when so correct a judgment is formed of everything, who was sorry for having practised mortification, or for having led a perfect life ? Or rather, is there anyone, on the contrary, who has not felt a deep regret for not having done so ?
Perfect mortification must assuredly have charms that we know not, because we are not perfectly mortified. Our weakness lets us do only enough to feel the difficulty, but not enough to taste the sweetness. It seems as though we mistrusted what is told us by the virtuous, and what Jesus Christ Himself promises us. We would have Him pay us in advance. We forget that in this, it is only the first step that is difficult. All the difficulty lies in resolving to mortify ourselves. Taste, says the Prophet, and see. In this matter, the eye is deceived ; we must judge by the taste alone. Those who had seen the land of promise only from afar, were frightened, and said that it devoured its inhabitants. But those who had been there, said quite the contrary, and declared that it was a land flowing with milk and honey. Let us make this perfect sacrifice for a fortnight, at least. A thing must be indeed of little value, if it is not worth the trial. If, after a fortnight of continual and perfect mortification, we do not taste that sweetness which others experience, I am content, said a great servant of God, that it should be said, that the life of those who truly love Jesus Christ is irksome, and that the yoke of our Lord is heavy.
Is it not strange, that men should require so much to convince them that they can be happy in the exercise of constant mortification, when they see daily so many persons pensive and uneasy amidst the greatest dissipation, ? If there are sufferings which are unseen, is it impossible that there should be a hidden sweetness ? There is such, certainly, and it depends on ourselves to experience it.
Fr. la Colombiere had made a vow, with the leave of his superiors, to observe all his rules, and he had bound himself in particular to a continual mortification in all things. What will those to whom the three essential vows of religion seem an insupportable burden, think of this great servant of God ? Would they not consider him unhappy ? But see what he himself has written in his Spiritual Retreats, in which, as is commonly the practice of persons of solid virtue, who are resolved on making constant progress in the way of perfection, he has noted the sentiments given him by God, and the graces which He granted him, in order to remind himself to thank Him for them, and to encourage himself to love Him more every day.
"On the sixth day," he says, " making a consideration on the particular vow I have made, I was filled with gratitude to God, who has granted me the grace to make this vow. I had never had time to consider it thoroughly. I felt great joy in seeing myself bound thus by a thousand chains to do the will of God. The thought of this obligation is so far from alarming me, that it fills me with joy. It seems to me, that, in place of being a slave, I have entered into the kingdom of liberty and peace."
"When I am quite alone," he says elsewhere, "I feel, by the infinite mercy of God, a liberty of heart that causes me incomparable joy. I feel myself attached to nothing, at least at the time. This does not hinder me from feeling every day the emotions of almost all the passions. But a moment's reflection serves to calm them.
"I have often felt great interior joy in the thought that I was in God's service. I have felt that this was worth more than all the favour of kings. The occupations of worldly persons appeared to me most contemptible, compared with what is done for God. I feel myself exalted above all the kings of the earth by the honour of belonging to God.
"I feel continually a greater desire to apply to the observance of my rules. I feel the greatest delight in practising them. The more exact I am in them, the more I seem to enter into perfect liberty. It is certain that this does not cause me any uneasiness. On the contrary, this yoke makes me, as it were, much lighter. I look on this as the greatest grace I have ever received in my life.
"It cannot be doubted that this great servant of God practised continual mortification in all things after making an express vow to do so. Thus he was seen in his last illness, when his infirmity would allow him to leave his bed, passing many hours of the day on a seat without any kind of support, persevering in this manner until death in the practice of universal mortification. This mortified life filled him with such consolation and so great interior joy. that he confesses that it may indeed be felt, but cannot possibly be described. "
The sight of Jesus Christ," he says, " makes the cross so pleasant to me, that it seems as if I could not be happy without it. I look with respect on those whom God visits with humiliations and adversities, of what kind soever they be. They are without doubt His favourites. To humble myself I have only to compare myself with them whilst I am in prosperity."
"The following words," he continues, " never come into my mind, but light, peace, liberty, meekness, and love enter in, as it seems to me, at the same time with them : ' Simplicity,' ' confidence,' ' humility,' ' self-abandonment,' ' absence of all reserve,' 'the will of God,' ' my rules.' "
The experience of this great servant of God shows us, that not only have the Saints who have preceded us found so much sweetness in the exercise of universal and constant mortification, but that even those with whom we live experience the same, as soon as they have the generosity to mortify themselves continually.
http://cathom.blogspot.com/2009/01/joy-and-true-sweetness-which-are.html
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