First Spiritual Retreat

Blessed Claude La Colombiere

(Taken from "Faithful Servant" published by B. Herder
Book Co.,  1960.)

HAVE BEGUN, I THINK, with a firm determination, by
God's grace, to  follow all the inspirations of the
Holy Spirit and without any  attachment which might
cause me to be afraid of belonging to God  without
reserve. Resolved to suffer for God all the dryness and
all  the interior desolation which may come upon me and
which I have only  too well deserved by the abuse I
have made of the lights and  consolations I have
received in the past, I have determined on the
following:

1. To make the Exercises as though for the last time
and as though I  were to die immediately after.

2. To be very faithful and sincere in them, and to
overcome on this  point the pride which causes me such
repugnance in laying open my  heart.

3. To make no account of myself or my own efforts.

This is why I have made it a rule to read no writing or
spiritual  book that deals with the extraordinary, even
though I have a great  longing for some that treat of
the spiritual life on a higher level,  such as the
works of St. Teresa, the Interior Christian and others.
I  think that God will help me to find in the points
given to me by my  spiritual father and in the books
which he will furnish me, all that  He wishes me to
find and understand in this retreat. I am quite at
ease about this unconcern, and I thank God for having
inspired me to  make this sacrifice, which was the
greatest I could have made on this  occasion.

I am deeply confused over the fact that I have spent so
great a part  of my life not only without loving God
but even in offending Him,  after He did me the honor
of destining me to love Him. I have  admired, with a
feeling of great sweetness, the infinite patience and
mercy of the same God. He saw the contempt in which I
held so  glorious an end, the consequence being that I
was not any good for  Him in the world, but on the
contrary harmful to His interests. Yet  He never ceased
to allow me to remain in it and to wait until I  should
be willing to think better of why I was here, and even
to  remind me of it from time to time. I have felt no
difficulty in  promising Him to live in the future only
to serve and glorify Him.

Any work, any place, any condition that may befall me
physically:  health, sickness, imprisonment, life,
death, are all by God's grace,  most indifferent to me.
I even feel that I am envious of those whom  blindness
or some other habitual handicap prevents from having
any  dealings with the world, obliging them to live as
though they were  already dead. I am not sure that it
is the thought of the struggle I  foresee I shall have
to undertake for the rest of my life that makes  me
find an attraction in such conditions, when I could
live perhaps  in a greater respose and a detachment
which would be mine at a much  smaller cost. When a man
wants to live with God at any cost, it is  easy to
understand how he desires the strangest means, when
they  appear to him to be the surest. In the ardent
desire that God gives  me never to love anything but
Him, and to keep my heart free of all  attachment to
creatures, life imprisonment, to which a calumny had
condemned me, would seem an incomparable stroke of good
fortune. I do  not think that with heaven's help I
would ever grow tired of it.

When I reflected on the second of our rules, I did not
discover a  very strong zeal to work for the salvation
of the neighbor I think  that I had more earlier. I may
be mistaken, but I feel that what  chills me on this
point is only the fear that in these works that are
productive of zeal, I am seeking myself. For there
doesn't seem to be  anything in which nature does not
count on her own, especially when  one succeeds, as one
should wish to do for God's glory. There is need  of a
great grace and of great strength to resist the
satisfaction we  find in working a change in hearts and
in the confidence placed in us  by persons whom we have
moved.

Sin must be something most horrible since it has
obliged God to  condemn creatures as perfect and as
lovable as the angels. But what  then must your mercy
be, dear God, to bear with me after so many  crimes,
with me who am no more than a handful of mire, and to
recall  me to You without any wish to destroy me! How
great must Your love be  to outweigh, to overcome this
dreadful aversion which You naturally  have for sin!
Really, this consideration pierces my heart, and fills
me, I think, with a very tender love for God.

After the sight of my disorders, a sweet thought has
succeeded the  confusion which I felt as a result of
them. It concerned the  greatness of the matter on
which God's mercy could be exercised, and  a most firm
hope that He would be glorified in forgiving me. "This
hope is laid up in my bosom" (John 19:29). This hope is
so firmly  fixed in my heart that with God's grace I
would yield up my life  before surrendering it.

Then I cast myself into the arms of the Blessed Virgin.
She received  me, I thought, with a readiness and a
sweetness that were wonderful.  And what touches me
most about this is that I am conscious of being  at
fault in having up to now served her ill. But I have
come here[1]  with a great purpose of overlooking
nothing this year which would  help me to conceive a
great love of her, and to draw up a plan of  devotion
towards her which I shall try to keep all my life. I am
much  consoled by the thought that I will have the
leisure to work at this  and that with the help of the
same Blessed Virgin I will succeed. Our  Lady having
received me so readily, presented me, I thought, to her
Son who out of consideration for her, looked fixedly at
me and opened  His arms to me as though I had been the
most innocent of men.[2]

Before making the "Meditation on Death," I had a
conversation which  threw me into some uneasiness,
brought about on the one hand by the  fear I had of
satisfying my vanity in it, and on the other by the
dread lest what I had said would be a source of
confusion to me.  Going to the chapel full of these
emotions, it took me a half-hour to  fight against them
and recover the peace of soul of which they had  robbed
me. But at last turning suddenly on the one hand to
God's  mercy for the fault I had committed, and on the
other, having  accepted all the mortification it could
bring upon me, I determined  to anticipate it and go in
search of it. In an instant so great a  peace ensued in
my heart that I felt that I had found God whom I was
seeking. This gave me for a moment the sweetest joy I
have known in  my life. From that time on, I felt that
I was very much strengthened  against human respect and
the judgments of men, and capable of  mastering the
repugnance I felt to make known my weaknesses.

Next, reflecting on the condition to which death
reduces us with  regard to all created things, I felt
that it would cause me but  little pain, since I was
not attached to anything at all I put this  question to
myself: because it would cause me no pain to die at
this  moment, and consequently be deprived forever of
all that could give  me any pleasure or honor in this
life, why should I not resolve  henceforth to live as
though I were actually dead? I answered that I  would
have no trouble in actually separating myself from all
things,  in the sense that I could pass the rest of my
days in a tomb or  prison, with every possible
discomfort. But I foresee that I shall  have to engage
in many other combats if I wish to live in a perfect
detachment of affection in the midst of the world where
our  employments will keep us occupied. I have
resolved, however, to do so  with God's grace, for He
alone can bring about this miracle in me.

Finally, turning my thought to what makes death
difficult, that is,  past sins and pains to come, a
course was at once presented to my  mind which I
accepted with all my heart and with great consolation
of  soul. It was that at this last moment, I would make
a mass of all the  sins of which I was conscious, known
and unknown, and cast it at the  feet of our Savior,
there to be consumed by the fire of His mercy.  The
greater. their number, the more enormous they appeared,
the more  readily would I offer them to be consumed,
because what I was asking  would be all the more worthy
of that mercy. I felt that I could do  nothing more
reasonable, nor anything more glorious to God. And in
the idea I had conceived of His goodness, I would have
no more  difficulty in deciding to do that, because I
felt my whole self  carried on to it. As to purgatory,
when I thought that I would be  wronging God's mercy to
have the least fear of hell, since I had  deserved it
more than all the demons, I had no fear of purgatory at
all. I could well wish not to have deserved it, since
that cannot be  done without displeasing God. But since
it is a reality, I was elated  at the thought of going
there to satisfy His justice in the most  rigorous
manner imaginable, and that to the day of judgment. I
know  that its torments are fearful. But I also know
that they honor God  and can do no harm to souls; that
there one is certain of never  opposing God's will;
that one will never be able to find fault with  His
severity; that one will even love His severity; that
one will  patiently wait until all 1S fully satisfied.
So, I have most  willingly given all my satisfactions
to the souls in purgatory, and  surrendered to others
even all the suffrages that will be offered for  me
after my death, so that God will be glorified in heaven
by souls  which shall have merited to be raised there
to a higher glory than  mine.[3] In this First Week I
have also been firmly convinced that men  are not able
to satisfy God's justice for the slightest fault This
has given me joy, first, because it frees me from the
everlasting  uneasiness that would be mine as to
whether I had done enough for my  sins; for, I should
always be saying to myself: No, you have not done
enough. For the fault, it is not in your power, there
is need of  God's blood to wipe it out. for the
penalty, there is need of an  eternity, or the
sufferings of Jesus Christ. Now this blood and these
sufferings are in our own hands. Secondly, we must
never cease  expiating by penance the disorders of our
lives, and that without  uneasiness, because the worst
that can happen if one has good will  and is under
obedience, IS to be a long time in purgatory, and one
can say, I think in a good sense, that that is not a
very great  misfortune. Moreover, I would rather owe my
grace to God's mercy than  to my own efforts, because
that would be more glorious to God and  make Him much
more lovable to me.

I am very glad for having had to regulate my penances.
That saves me  either from vanity or indiscretion, or
the uneasiness which the fear  that I was indulging
myself would have caused me. Unmistakably I  should
have fallen into one or another of these snares, and
perhaps  into all three of them.

At the judgment it will be a great confusion for vain
persons who  have placed all their happiness in being
esteemed by men and who have  sought in everything to
make themselves noticed to find themselves  mingling
with the commonest of crowds and the object of the most
incredible contempt on the part of those who have most
esteemed them  in life. On the contrary, what a joy it
will be for those humble  souls who for God's love have
chosen a common and obscure life, to  see themselves
drawn out of and separated from the crowd, to be set
apart in the greatest light that ever was, without
there being any  more reason to fear for their virtue.

I find that the best of all times for meriting is that
of spiritual  dryness and desolation. A soul that is
seeking God bears this plight  bravely, and easily
raises itself above all that goes on in its
imagination and its lower faculties, where the greater
part of  consolations is found. Such a soul never
ceases to love God, to  humble itself, to accept this
condition even perpetually. Nothing is  so suspect as
these sweetnesses, and nothing so dangerous. Sometimes
we grow attached to them, and frequently, after they
have passed, we  do not feel any more fervor for good,
but quite the contrary. Rather,  for me it is a solid
consolation to think in the midst of aridities  and
temptations, to think, I say, that I have a heart that
is free,  and that it is only through this heart that I
can merit or demerit,  and that I neither please nor
displease God by things that are not in  my power, such
as sensible relish and the importunate thoughts that
are present in the mind in spite of myself. Hence, in
such a  condition, I say to God: "Dear God, let the
world or the demon  himself have for himself what I
cannot take away from him, that of  which I am not the
master. But they will never share in that part of  my
heart which You have wished to place in my own hands.
You know  that, You see that. For the rest, You can
take it; it belongs only to  You, You will do so when
it pleases You." The man to whom God gives a  true
desire to serve Him should never be troubled about
anything.  "Peace to men of good will" (Luke 2:14).
Again, this gives me hope,  with God's grace, to make
acts of true contrition, because I can  almost perceive
the selfish motives which can bring us to sorrow for
our sins. With all my will and with full deliberation I
renounce all  these motives. I am convinced that God is
infinitely lovable, that He  alone deserves to be
considered, that it is just for us to sacrifice  to Him
all our interests to think only of His glory. This is
possible  or it is not. If it were impossible God would
never counsel me or  command me to do it. If it is
possible, with His grace I am doing it,  for I am doing
and I wish sincerely to do all that I can.

I don't think that I have ever had such consolation as
in the  "Meditation on the Blessed Sacrament," which
was the last of the  First Week. From the first moment
I was in the chapel and gave a good  look at this
mystery, I felt penetrated with gentle movements of
wonder and gratitude for the goodness God has shown us
in this  sacrament. Truly, I have received great
graces, and I have felt so  sensibly the effect of this
Bread of Angels that I cannot think of it  without
being at once moved by a feeling of great gratitude. I
have  never felt so great a confidence of persevering
In good and in the  desire I have of belonging to God
notwithstanding the fearful  difficulties which I fancy
will beset me in life. I will say Mass  every day. This
will be my sole resource. Jesus Christ will do enough
if He sustains me from one day to another. He will not
fail to  reproach me for my cowardice just as soon as I
begin to abandon  myself to Him. Every day He will give
me fresh advice, new strength.  He will instruct me,
encourage me, and will grant that I obtain  through His
sacrifice all the graces I ask of Him.

If I do not see that He is present, I sense it. I feel
that I am like  those blind men who cast themselves at
His feet, and did not doubt  that He would touch them
although they did not see Him. I feel that  this
meditation has greatly increased my faith in this
mystery.

I was deeply moved both in considering the thoughts
Jesus Christ  could have of me while I held Him in my
hands, and in considering  those He has, that is, the
disposition of His heart, His desire, His  plans, and
so forth. What delights, what graces a soul that is
well  prepared, purified and detached, would receive in
this sacrament!

In the morning of the seventh day, I felt myself
attacked by thoughts  of discouragement with regard to
the plan of life I had made for the  future. I saw
great difficulties in it. Every other form of life
seemed to be easy to live holily, and the more austere,
solitary,  hidden, separated from all intercourse, the
sweeter It seemed. For  everything which is ordinarily
fear-inspiring to nature, like  imprisonment, chronic
illness, death itself,--all this seemed  pleasant in
comparison with this eternal war against self this
watchfulness against being taken off-guard by the
world. When I think  of that, it appears that life is
frightfully long, and that death  will never come soon
enough. I understood the words of St. Augustine:  "The
man who lives patiently, dies gladly" Again I
understood that  the life chosen by Jesus Christ is
surely the most perfect and that  it is impossible to
give a loftier idea of sanctity than that of a  perfect
Jesuit. That had a good effect on me, which fully
convinces  me that if up to the present I had practiced
some detachment, even  very imperfectly, I was far from
doing it by myself, and that in the  future it is God
who must put His hand to the work if He wishes to
accomplish some good through me. I am well aware how
impossible it is  for me to do anything without His
grace.

I observe that there is many a step to take before
reaching holiness,  and that at each step we take we
think that that is all there is to  do. After we have
taken it we find out that it is nothing, and that  we
have not yet begun. A man who is going to leave the
world thinks  that after he has done so there will be
nothing more to do. But when  he finds himself in
religion, with all his passions, and that he has
simply changed their object while he is wordily outside
the world, he  learns that he is far out in his
reckoning. There is then another  step to take, which
is to detach himself from objects from which his  state
has not yet entirely detached him, and to seek only God
in God  Himself; and not to seek any temporal interest
in holiness. This  would be a gross imperfection, and
we must not even seek our own  spiritual interests in
this detachment, but rather should seek in it  only the
pure interests of God. To come to that, dear God, You
Yourself must labor strenuously, for how could a
creature by itself  reach such a degree of purity? "Who
can make him clean that is  conceived of unclean seed?
Is it not Thou who only art?" (Job 14:4.)

One thought which consoles me much and can, I think,
with God's  grace, partly calm my troubles is to know
whether one is attached  humanly to things in which
obedience has engaged us --whether we  displease God,
for example, in making use of the necessities of life,
or in the enjoyment of a good reputation, of the renown
which follows  on our labors, of the pleasure there is
in conversing even in a holy  manner, and so forth. To
know, I say, whether something human doesn't  slip into
all these things, we must not judge them by our
feelings,  because it is usually as impossible not to
feel the pleasure that  such things bring with them as
not to feel the fire when it is  applied to our
sensitive members. But I must examine, first, whether
I have in any way sought the pleasure I enjoy;
secondly, whether it  would cause me some pain to give
it up; thirdly, whether God's glory  being equal, and
we being free to choose, we should rather prefer
things that are disagreeable and hidden. It seems to me
that when we  are in this disposition, we should labor
with great liberty and great  courage at the work of
God, and despise all the doubt and all the  scruples
which could either stop us or worry us.

SECOND WEEK

In the first meditation I was disturbed by a few
thoughts about a  weakness into which I had fallen the
day before. But when I  discovered, I think, the reason
why God permitted the fault which I  committed--which
was to cure me of a vain esteem which I had begun to
conceive of myself--this thought produced a peace and a
joy that were  very sensible. I have learned with a
pleasure that surely is not  natural that I was not
what I thought I was, and I do not recall ever  having
discovered any truth with so much satisfaction as
accompanied  the discovery of my wretchedness in this
experience.

<The Incarnation>. I find here only self-abasement and
humility. The  angel humbles himself before a young
girl; Mary assumes the quality  of a servant; the Word
becomes a slave, and Jesus Christ, conceived  in the
womb of His Mother, humbles Himself before God in the
most  sincere and profound manner imaginable. Dear God,
the beautiful sight  for You to behold such excellent
persons humble themselves in Your  eyes in so perfect a
manner and at a time when You honor them with  the
rarest favors! What a pleasure it was to consider the
interior  thoughts of these divine Persons, but above
all the profound  humiliation by which Jesus Christ
began to glorify His Father and to  repair all the
wrong which the pride of men had committed against His
majesty! I could not humiliate myself at this sight,
for wherever I  turned there I found Jesus Christ
reduced to nothingness. Here indeed  is something to
humble my pride-- the Son of God reduced to nothing
before His Father! I never understood until this moment
the word of  St. Bernard: "What insolence for a worm to
swell with pride where the  only Son of the Father
humbles and abases Himself!"

<The Circumcision>. I realized that the life of an
apostle requires  great mortification. Without it God
does not communicate Himself, and  we do not edify the
neighbor. A man who curtails his pleasures and  who
ceaselessly works to repress his passions speaks with
much more  authority and makes a much better
impression. As I have a natural  leaning to the love of
pleasure, I have resolved to keep watch over  this evil
inclination.

<The Flight into Egypt> seems quite hard and quite
unreasonable, if  we consult merely human prudence.
What were they to do among an  unknown and idolatrous
people? But as it is God who wishes it, it  must be
expedient. To reason about obedience, however
extravagant a  command may appear, is to mistrust God's
prudence. It is to think  that with all His wisdom
there are commands which He cannot bring  into line
with His glory and our profit. When there is question
of a  command which human reason does not in the least
understand, a man of  faith should be glad in the
thought that it is God alone who is  acting and that He
is preparing for us all the more blessings which  He
has to send by secret ways--blessings which we cannot
foresee. I  have no difficulty with that, God be
thanked since I have learned  from experience.

<The Presentation>. What an offering! And how well it
was made, both  on the part of Jesus and the part of
Mary! What an honor was given to  God in this meeting!
I make the same offering at Mass, if I make it  with
the same sentiments, the same desire of pleasing God. I
take  pleasure in considering, in Simeon's canticle,
the clear and distinct  prophecy of the conversion of
the pagans: "Thy salvation which thou  hast prepared
before the face of all the peoples, a light to the
revelation of the Gentiles" (Luke 2:30-32). The holy
man was indeed  enlightened. He must have had great
holiness to merit so signal a  favor. There are few
genuine saints; but there are some,  nevertheless, as
there have been at all times.

I omitted the <Nativity>, in which I recall that I
asked God with  great fervor throughout nearly a half-
hour for the perfect detachment  of which Jesus gives
us an example. I asked it through the  intercession of
St. Joseph, of the Blessed Virgin, and through Jesus
Christ Himself. Among my devotions to the Blessed
Virgin, I have  resolved never to ask God anything in
any prayer in which I do not  have recourse to the
intercession of Mary.

"Why did you seek me?" (Luke 2:49.) In this meditation
I was deeply  moved by the sorrow which the Blessed
Virgin felt throughout the  three days during which she
was deprived of the presence of her Son;  but more
still by her peace of heart which was undisturbed on
this  occasion. In seeking Jesus she exercised acts of
resignation which  were more submissive and heroic than
any ever exercised. "About My  Father's business" (Luke
2:51). In these words I found great lessons  for
myself. Even if the whole earth should rebel against
me, scoff at  me, complain and condemn me, I should do
all that God commands me,  all that He inspires me to
do for His greater glory. I have made this  promise and
I hope with the help of His grace to keep it. This will
require great watchfulness without which one might
allow oneself to  be easily surprised by human respect,
especially one who is as weak  as I am.

"And He was subject to them" (Luke 2:51). "He grew in
age and wisdom"  (Luke 2:52). I reflected that instead
of growing in virtue as we  advance in age, we
frequently enough diminish, especially in fervor,
regarding outward humiliations and dependence in our
spiritual  guidance. I was struck when I recognized
that our love and gratitude  grew weak in proportion as
God's blessings increased. Why do we drop  the virtues
of novices? I confess that they do not suffice and that
we should add others. But there is quite a difference
between  acquiring new virtues and dropping the old. We
should strengthen the  first rather than give them up.

In the second place, this love of solitude seemed to me
to be quite  in conformity with the spirit of God. It
is the spirit of the world  which puts us in such a
hurry, which makes us seek to make our way  and
persuades us that we shall never get there soon enough.
The  spirit of God moves us in the opposite direction;
thirty years  unknown, despite all the specious
pretexts which God's glory might  have furnished to a
zeal that was less enlightened! I will remain in
solitude as long as obedience permits me. No visits of
mere courtesy,  especially to women; no special
relationships with anyone in the  world--at least I
will not seek any--and I will do nothing to  encourage
them, unless it is perfectly plain that the interests
of  God's glory require that I act otherwise. This is
one of my  resolutions.

In the third place, this interior life of Jesus Christ
which sets  forth the lowliness of His action has led
me to discover, I think,  the true way to holiness. In
the kind of life I have embraced, that  is the only way
of distinguishing oneself before God, because
everything that is outward is common. I also feel
myself strongly  drawn to it, to apply myself
henceforth to do the smallest things  with a great
intention, to practice frequently in the secret of my
heart acts of the most perfect virtue of abasement
before God, of  desire to procure His glory, of
confidence, of love, of resignation,  of perfect
sacrifice. These can be done anywhere, even when one
has  nothing to do.

Everything we do to procure God's glory is little
enough, and  although this external glory we give Him
is a very slight benefit in  His eyes, it is, however,
not so slight that the Eternal Word has not  wished to
become incarnate for it. What is wonderful is that,
being  able by Himself to convert the whole world, He
has preferred to do it  through His disciples. He took
all His life to train them. It seems  that of all the
things necessary for the conversion of the world, He
has chosen for Himself only the thorns, like death, and
left to men  the glory. What love He must have had for
some men to wish to make  use of them in sanctifying
others, although He could have done it  easily without
them!

<At the Baptism> I thought that a man who is called to
the conversion  of men has need of great virtues,
especially of great humility and of  a wonderful
obedience. There are occasions when we can imitate this
example, and we must not allow them to escape; to give
matters such a  turn that we seem to be following the
advice we give, and to be only  the instrument when we
are really the worker. This facilitates the  doing of
things and is a help to humility. I have no trouble in
attributing everything to God. How could I by myself do
anything for  the sanctification of others, seeing that
I am conscious of such  inability to cure the least of
my imperfections, although I  recognize, although I
have, so to say, within my grasp a thousand  weapons
with which to fight them? I have resolved to be all my
life  as obedient as a child, especially with regard to
matters that have  to do with the advancement of God's
service; because, without it,  there is danger of my
seeking only myself. What an illusion it is to  think
that one is serving and glorifying God either more or
otherwise  than He wishes! If you were the greatest man
in the world, what a  difficulty it would be to obey a
man in everything. Yet, he is the  man of God. You do
well to obey a bell!

In addition, I will honor those who work for the
salvation of souls.  I will support their ministry as
far as I can; I will maintain a  great union with them
and rejoice at their success. Behavior contrary  to
this is most ridiculous, most imperfect, most vain, the
farthest  removed from the spirit of God that a man who
is employed in the  salvation of souls could possibly
adopt.

<In the Desert>. It seems that thirty years of
preparation would have  been enough. But no. Jesus
Christ no sooner has the mission from His  Father than
the Holy Spirit leads Him to the desert, there to
practice the mortification and other virtues necessary
to the calling  of an apostle. I have proposed to flee
every kind of delicacy in  food, in clothes, never to
ask for more in the way of food when  preaching and
never to complain about anything. "Not in bread alone
does man live" (Luke 4:4). Secondly, never to have
anything special  in the way of clothing, even in the
country, and to do all my  traveling, as far as
possible, on foot. It is easy to do this without  much
inconvenience; and that besides other good effects,
humbles the  spirit.

I have again resolved to make my spiritual exercises
and all my  retreats with an inviolable fidelity, and
with all possible fervor;  to mediate much on the life
of Jesus Christ who is the model of our  own life.

I understood the saying of Berchmans, "The common life
is my greatest  mortification." It mortifies the body
and the mind. All the rest is  often no more than an
effect of vanity which seeks to distinguish  itself. In
any event, before doing anything extraordinary I will
do  all the ordinary things, and do them in all the
circumstances which  the rules require. That goes a
long way, and leads to a wonderful  holiness. Reading
our rules I felt a great desire to keep them all  with
God's grace. This requires a great fidelity, as I
understand it,  great courage, great simplicity, great
recollection, great strength  and great constancy, and
above all great grace from God.

Jesus Christ chose for apostles, first of all, men who
were poor,  ignorant men; and, to judge humanly, men
little suited to His plans.  Not that it is necessary
to be of obscure birth and without education  to work
for the salvation of souls; but, to make all those who
are  called to this work understand how little
necessary are their  talents, natural or acquired, and
that they are not the cause of any  success that may
attend the use of them. Again, He chose sinners, to
show us that there is no work here for the dainty, that
one must meet  with a thousand fatigues and be prepared
for the roughest kind of  work. I felt ready, thanks be
to God. No work causes me any fear. I  would gladly die
at such work. But I feel so unworthy of this grace
that I do not know that God would even wish to use me
for anything at  all.

<"Blessed are the poor in spirit, the meek, the clean
of heart">  (Matt. 3:5 f.). It seems to me that there
is some connection between  these three beatitudes, and
one cannot exist without the other. I  well understand
that they are truly blessed who are detached from all
things, and who have torn all vicious inclinations from
their hearts.  But I am certainly far removed from that
state. I felt towards the  end of this Second Week that
the inclination to vainglory is still in  my heart
almost as alive as ever, although it does not have the
same  effects, and with grace I repress its movements.
I don't think I have  ever known myself so well, but I
know that I am so wretched that I am  ashamed of
myself. This sight causes me from time to time such an
attack of sadness that I would be carried to despair if
God did not  sustain me. In this condition nothing
gives me so much consolation as  the reflection I make
that this very sadness is itself an effect of  great
vanity; that this knowledge and this appreciation of my
misery  are a great grace from God who will not permit
me to be lost provided  I hope in Him and am faithful
to Him in opposing nature. I submit to  His will in
everything, and I am ready, if He so wishes, to spend
my  life in this stubborn conflict, provided that He
will by His grace  keep me from succumbing to it. I
think, however, that I can stifle  this appetite for
vainglory by repressing its movements. One stifles  at
last the remorse of conscience, although in such
movements one has  had to battle against nature and
grace and education.

<The Three Degrees of Humility>. Besides feeling with
much sweetness,  confidence and fear that God is
calling me to the Third Degree, which  consists in even
repressing evil inclinations and loving all that the
world hates; besides seeing that I would be the most
wretched of men  if I allowed myself to be satisfied
with anything less, I was  persuaded by a thousand
reasons that I should try for it with all my  strength.
First, God has loved me too much for me to bargain with
Him  any more. The very thought fills me with horror.
What! Not belong  entirely to God after all the mercy
He has shown me? Keep something  back after all I have
received from Him? Never will my heart consent  to take
such a stand. Secondly, when I see how small I am, and
the  little I am able to do for God's glory, even if I
work solely in His  service, I blush at the very
thought of withholding something from  Him. Thirdly, it
will not be safe for me to take a middle course. I
know myself. I should soon come to a bad end. Fourthly,
only those  who belong unreservedly to God should
expect to die happily. Fifthly,  it is only they who
can expect to lead a quiet and peaceful life.  Sixthly,
to do a great deal for God one must belong entirely to
Him.  The less you deny yourself the less fit you
become to do great things  for the neighbor. Seventhly,
it is in this state that we preserve a  living faith
and a firm hope and ask confidently of God and
infallibly obtain what we ask.

<The Meditation on the Three Classes>. I have resolved,
I think, with  sufficient good faith, thanks be to God,
to be of those who wish to  be cured at any price. As I
know well that my predominant passion is  vainglory, I
have made a firm resolution to avoid no humiliation of
all those which I can secure without violation of rule,
in never  fleeing those that present themselves. I have
observed that this  continual attention to humiliation
and mortification in all things  produces at times a
natural sadness which makes me slothful and less
disposed to serve God. It is a temptation I can
overcome, I fancy, by  thinking that God asks it of me
out of friendship; that we can grow  attached to this
exercise just as a good friend tries at every  meeting
to please his friend, or a good son to serve and
gladden his  good father, without any need of a
strained effort, while he  preserves a certain liberty
of soul in the midst of the most pressing  and trifling
cares. This liberty is one of the most perceptible
signs  of true love. We do with pleasure what we think
is acceptable to the  person we really love.

<Repetition of the last two Meditations>. I began at
once with a  fairly lively feeling, with the thought, I
should say, of the pride  which a fully deliberate sin
contains, and the blindness of men who  enter on the
deliberation as to whether they should limit themselves
to the avoidance of mortal sin, and so on, as though a
greater good  should not be preferred without weighing
it against a smaller good.  These two movements were
arrested, as it were, by a thought of vain  complacence
which came upon me and which I had to resist. I cannot
say how much that humiliated me. I passed all the rest
of the prayer  in the continual sight of my nothingness
and of my unworthiness  regarding every kind of grace
and consolation. I have accepted with  complete
submission the privation of this kind of blessing for
the  whole of my life, and to be until I die the target
and plaything of  devils and the object of every kind
of temptation. I think that I  have recognized, with
the feelings of the Canaanite woman, that I  should
have no share in the bread of the children All I have
asked of  God is what is exactly necessary to keep me
from offending Him. I do  not give up hope, however, of
arriving at that degree of holiness  which my vocation
demands. But that is something which I foresee will
take a long time. Well then, I am determined, thanks be
to God, to a  long period of constancy. Holiness is
something so great and so  precious that no price is
too high to pay for it.

It is at this juncture that, urged to carry out a plan
of life which  I have been thinking of for about three
or four years, and with the  approval of my director, I
have given myself for good to You, O my  God. How great
are Your mercies to me, God of majesty! Alas, who am I
that You should deign to accept the sacrifice of my
heart! It will  then be entirely Yours! Creatures will
have no part in it. They are  not worth troubling
about. Be You then, loving Jesus, my father, my
friend, my master, my all, since You are willing to be
satisfied with  my heart, would it not be unreasonable
of it not to be satisfied with  Yours?[4] Henceforth I
wish to live only for You, and to live a long  time if
it is Your good pleasure, in order to suffer more. I do
not  ask for death, which would shorten my miseries. It
is not Your will  that I die at the same age as You
died. Be You blessed for that! At  least I see some
justice in beginning to live for You and through You
at the age at which You died for all men and for me in
particular,  for me who have so often made myself
unworthy of so great a grace.  Accept, therefore,
loving Savior of men, this sacrifice which the  most
thankless of all men makes You to repair the wrong
which up to  this hour I have not ceased to do You in
offending you.[5]

IDEA OF A vow

"I have sworn and am determined to keep the judgments
of thy justice"  (Ps. 118:106). I feel myself moved to
vow to God the keeping of our  <Constitutions>, our
<Common Rules>, the <Rules of Religious  Decorum>, and
the <Rules of the Priests>, in the following manner.

<Summary of the Constitutions>

I. To labor all my life at my personal perfection by
the observance  of the rules, and for the
sanctification of the neighbor by profiting  from every
occasion which obedience and Providence will give me to
exercise my zeal without violence to the rules of
discretion and  Christian prudence.

II. To go indifferently, without exception or excuse,
wherever  obedience sends me.

III. To consult with superiors about external penances,
and without  necessity not to omit those that I have
found beneficial; to make the  general confession every
year, the examen twice a day, to have a  fixed
confessor and to lay my conscience fully open to him.

IV. To love my relatives only in Jesus Christ. I think
that by God's  grace I am already in this disposition,
and so this point will cause  me no trouble.

V. To accept reprehensions in good part, and to have my
superiors  informed of my faults, and to inform them of
the faults of my  brethren in case I judge that I am
obliged to do so by rule.

VI. To desire abuse, to be overwhelmed with calumnies
and wrongs, to  be considered as a fool, without
however giving any occasion for it  and provided God be
not offended thereby. I think that all I have to  do is
to ask God, through His infinite mercy, to preserve the
sentiments He had already given me.

VII. With regard to greater self-abnegation and
continual  mortification, I think that with our Lord's
grace I can vow:

1st. Never to have any efficacious will regarding life
and death, health, prosperity, adversity, employment,
place of residence, except as this will is conformed to
His.

2nd. To desire, as far as I can, all that will be
contrary to my natural inclinations, supposing that
this is not contrary to His greater glory. I think that
He has almost placed me in this disposition.

3rd. Never to seek what flatters the senses, such as
shows, concerts, sweet odors, things agreeable to the
taste, or what can  satisfy vanity. Never to seek it, I
mean, in my talk or in my  actions; and to be satisfied
with what is given me in the way of  furniture and
clothing, unless obedience or the rule concerning
health should oblige me to act otherwise.

4th. Never to avoid any mortification that presents
itself, unless I  judge before God that for some sound
reason I should act otherwise.

5th. Never to relish any pleasure in those actions
which are  necessary, such as eating, drinking,
sleeping, or those which can  hardly be avoided in the
Society without some affectation or  singularity, such
as recreations, extraordinary dishes, and so forth.
Never to take them from the pleasure that nature finds
in them, but  to renounce them in my heart, and
actually to mortify myself as often  as God inspires me
and I can do so without drawing too much attention  to
myself.

VIII. The four[6] following rules are included in all
the others. For  the seventeenth which deals with
purity of intention, I think I can  vow:

1st. Without our Lord's help, never to do anything
except for God's  glory, at least upon reflection.

2nd. Never to do or omit anything through human
respect. This last  point especially pleases me, and I
think will establish in me a great  interior peace.

IX. This present vow includes, if I mistake not, the
observance of  the nineteenth (rule).

X. For the twenty-first I can vow:

1st. Never to fail to make my meditation, and to
observe, both in the  preparation and the meditation
itself, the <Additions> of St.  Ignatius, unless for
some reason either of necessity or of charity,  or some
other equally good, I feel I am justified in dispensing
myself from some of these points.

2nd. With regard to the Mass and the Divine Office, I
will keep the  <Rules of the Priests>.

XI. As to poverty, I have already made a vow to observe
all the rules  that St. Ignatius has given us regarding
it.

XII. As to chastity, never to look at an object that
can suggest  thoughts contrary to this virtue, at least
of deliberate purpose, or  without an indispensable
need. Neither to read nor to listen to  anything that
is not chaste, unless charity or the requirements of my
employment oblige me to; to keep the Rules of the
Priests regarding  the hearing of confessions and
visits to women.

XIII. Always to eat with temperance, modesty, and good
manners; to  say grace before and after meals with
respect and devotion.

XIV. As to obedience, I have already vowed to practice
it according  to our rules.

XV. To observe whatever superiors wish to be observed
with regard to  incoming or outgoing letters.

XVI. To give an account of conscience according to the
formula  contained in the <Constitutions>.

XVII. Never to keep anything hidden from my confessor,
at least  anything he should know for my guidance.

XVIII. What regards union and fraternal charity,
matters that are  purely secular, the care of health,
present no difficulty for me, nor  does the manner of
acting we should follow when we are ill.

<Common Rules>

Every day to make the Examen of Conscience twice
together with the  Particular Examen, and to mark down
progress according to the  instruction given by St.
Ignatius. To make spiritual reading when I  can. When I
am at home, not to absent myself from sermons without
leave. To confess only to my ordinary confessor. To
observe Friday  abstinence. Not to preach without the
approval of superiors. The next  three rules deal with
poverty; all the others seem to be without  difficulty.
I should think one could take a vow never to dispense
with them without permission.

On arriving at a house one should remember to ask these
permissions  from superiors:

1. To have books.

2. To see the sick frequently, unless it is the custom
to ask  permission each time one goes to see them.

3. To enter momentarily the rooms of certain persons on
certain  occasions, such as to get a light or return a
book, and so on.

4. To speak at home with externs and to call them, if
there be need.

5. To do little errands for those outside the house to
those within,  and for those within to those outside,
when I am asked, and I judge  that there is nothing
extraordinary involved.

6. To write letters (it being understood, of course,
that they will  be shown to him who is appointed to see
them), unless it is customary  to ask permission each
time one wishes to write.

<Rules of Religious Decorum and of Priests>

The <Rules of Religious Decorum> are so drawn up as to
cause me no  trouble.

<The Rules of the Priests> do not, I think, contain
anything which  might cause me any trouble. That which
recommends the instruction of  children imposes no
greater obligation, as I see it, than that which  is
contained in the vow taken by the professed.

I could vow the rules of particular offices to the
extent that I will  be employed in them.

MOTIVES FOR THIS VOW

1. To impose on myself an indispensable necessity of
fulfilling, as  far as possible, the duties of our
state of life, and of being  faithful to God even in
the smallest things.

2. To break at a single stroke the chains of self-love,
and to remove  forever the hope of satisfying it on any
occasion, a hope which seems  to me to be always alive
in whatever stage of mortification one may  possibly
be.

3. To acquire at one stroke the merit of a very long
life, in the  extreme uncertainty we are of living for
only a day, and to put me in  a state of never fearing
that death will come to sweep away the means  of
glorifying God longer. For this desire we have of doing
so forever  can never fail to be taken as accomplished,
since it obliges us so  strictly to accomplish it.

4. To repair past irregularities by the necessity I am
under of being  regular for as long a time as God is
pleased to give me life. This  motive interests me
considerably and has more weight with me than all  the
others.

5. To recognize in some way the infinite mercies that
God has shown  me by engaging myself to carry out His
slightest commands.

6. Out of reverence for God's will which should be
fulfilled under  pain of eternal damnation, although
God in His infinite goodness does  not always bind us
under such heavy penalties.

7. To do on my part what I can to belong to God without
reserve; to  detach my heart from all creatures, and to
love Him with all my  strength, at least with an
effective love.

SOME CONSIDERATIONS WHICH INDUCE ME TO TAKE THIS VOW

1. I do not find it harder to observe all that the vow
includes than  a man who is naturally drawn to pleasure
should find it difficult to  observe chastity, which
requires of him so many conflicts and so much
vigilance.

2. God, who inspired St. Ignatius with our rules,
intended that they  be observed. Therefore, it is not
impossible to do so, not even  morally impossible. Now
the vow, far from making the observance more
difficult, makes it on the contrary easier, not only
because it  removes temptations owing to the fear of
committing a serious sin,  but still more because it
moves God to give greater help when  occasion demands
it.

3. Berchmans spent five years in the Society without
his conscience  reproaching him with the infraction of
a single rule. Why, with God's  grace, could I not do
so at an age when a man is stronger and less  exposed
to human respect, which is the most dangerous enemy he
will  have to face?

4. I have no fear that it will rob me of peace of soul
and be a stone  of scandal for me: "Much peace have
they that love thy law; and to  them there is no
stumbling block" (Ps. 118:165). It is an article of
faith, and consequently the more a man loves the law
the more  peaceful he is. "And I walked at large;
because I have sought after  thy commandments" (Ps.
118:45). This exact carefulness of obeying the  least
observance sets the spirit free instead of causing it
constraint.

5. I think that for some time now I have been living as
I shall have  to live after I have taken this vow. It
is rather from the desire of  engaging myself to
persevere than of doing something new and
extraordinary that I have got this idea.[7]

6. I feel that the mere thought of taking this vow
detaches me from  everything in the world, almost as if
I felt death approaching.

7. I rely not on my own resoluteness, nor my own
strength, but on the  goodness of God which is
infinite, and on His grace which He will  never fail to
communicate in abundant measure, and that all the more
the more I try to do in His service. "And none of them
that trust in  Him shall offend" (Ps. 33:23).

8. I think that this engages me only to a little more
diligence than  I have had, for at this moment I do not
think that I should wish  deliberately to break any of
these rules.

9. To anticipate scruples, I cannot engage myself in
anything that is  doubtful.

10. I can engage myself under this condition, that if
after some time  this vow causes me worry, the
obligation will cease; otherwise it  will end with my
life.

11. When one has permission, one does not break the
rule, at least in  matters of external rule. For one
would have to be quite unfortunate  to prefer to break
a rule and displease God than to speak a word to the
superior, even when there is no obligation binding
under mortal sin.

12. I do not intend to oblige myself to anything on
those occasions  when another could dispense with the
rule without acting against his  perfection.

13. The thought of this obligation, far from
frightening me, gladdens  me. I feel that far from
becoming a slave, I am going to enter the  kingdom of
liberty and peace. Self-love will not dare to pester me
any longer when the danger in following its movements
will be so  great. I feel that I have reached happiness
when I have finally found  the treasure for which I
should give all.

14. This is not a passing fit of fervor. I have been
thinking of this  plan for a long time, but I was
always waiting for this opportunity  to examine it
thoroughly, and the nearer the time approaches for
carrying it out, the easier I find it to be.

15. Notwithstanding all this, I will await the decision
of Your  Reverence before going further. That is why I
beg of you to consider  this paper a moment, and give
some thought especially to the last  considerations, in
which you will find perhaps the signs of the  spirit of
God. If you do not, all you need do is to tell me that
you  do not think it opportune for me to carry out this
project, and I  will have the same deference for your
opinion as I owe to the word of  God.

























*<The Meditation on the Sending of the Apostles>. I am
beginning, I  think, to understand my vocation and the
spirit of the Society. And  by God's grace I think I am
also beginning to perceive that this  spirit is born
and strengthened in me either because of a peculiar
affection and deep esteem I feel for all the rules, or
because my  zeal is apparently growing and purifying
itself.

Concerning the word which comprises the sending of the
apostles,  "Teach all men" (Matt. 28:19), I understood
that we are sent to all  persons, and that wherever a
Jesuit is, in whatever company he may be, he is as it
were sent by God in the interest  of the salvation of
those with whom he meets. If he doesn't speak of  this
mission, if he doesn't improve every occasion to
advance it, he  betrays his ministry and makes himself
unworthy of the name he bears.  I have determined,
therefore, to remember that, and to study the  means of
turning the conversation to subjects that will be
spiritually profitable to anyone I meet, so that no one
will ever  leave me without a better knowledge of God
than he had when he came,  and a greater desire if
possible for his own salvation.

<The Meditation on Zeal>. Here the disinterestedness
and the  indifference which he (the apostle) ought to
have, keeps me occupied  all the time. I thank God that
I do not find in myself any repugnance  to spend my
time in the instruction of children and the poor. On
the  contrary, I think that I should welcome these
employments with  pleasure. They are not exposed to
vanity, and they are, for the most  part, more
fruitful. After all, the soul of a poor man is as dear
to  Jesus Christ as the soul of a king, and it makes
little difference  who they are who fill heaven. Among
the proofs that Jesus Christ gave  of His mission this
was one of the first: "The poor have the Gospel
preached to them" (Matt. 10:5). It was by this sign
that one could  recognize that it was the spirit of God
who founded the Society, for  the teaching of catechism
and the care of the poor are its first  cares. The
Constitution recommend nothing so much as these. I
think  that we have reason to hope that we are sent by
God, and that it is  He whom we seek, when we have this
indifference. This is why I have  made up my mind,
whether by hearing confessions or by preaching, to
love the service of the poor, and, when I am given a
choice, to  prefer them even to the rich. The rich will
never lack people to look  after them.

<The Meditation on Apostolic Poverty>. I have resolved
all my life to  find an honor and a pleasure in this
virtue, and to have the  consolation of always being
able to say, "I have nothing," where the  world and
self-love find so much satisfaction in having and in
counting their possessions. Especially no books. That
will oblige me  to read much and well those books that
I judge to be necessary. I  shall have no trouble in
passing up all the rest.

<On Mortification>. I realized that an apostle is not
called to a  soft life, nor to one of repose. He will
have to sweat and tire  himself, to fear neither heat
nor cold, nor fasts nor loss of sleep.  He must use up
his strength in this work. The worst that can happen
is to die while serving God and the neighbor. I do not
see that that  should cause anyone to fear. For me
health and life are something at  least of little
concern. But sickness or death, when they come after  I
have worked for the salvation of souls, will be
pleasant and  precious.

This very day after dinner, having read in the story of
Berchmans the  death of this holy young man, I was
deeply touched by what he then  said, namely, that it
was a great consolation to him never to have  broken
any rule. And thinking about the answer I should have
to make  on this point if I had to give an account to
God, I felt suddenly so  great a sorrow for having
observed my rules so ill, that I burst into  a flood of
tears. I then made my meditation, in which I took a
firm  resolution to be a better Jesuit than I had been
up to this. I  confidently invoked this blessed young
man, and I begged of him  through the Blessed Virgin
whom he loved so much and the Society to  which he had
been so faithful, to obtain for me the grace to live
until death, as he had lived during five years. All the
rest of the  day I was penetrated with grief, keeping
before my eyes the rules I  had so often set at nought
and broken. Three or four times I wept,  and I thought
that with God's grace it would be no longer easy for me
to break them. But I remained inconsolable over the
past. I had never  understood the wrong I had done. I
thought that if someone wanted to  tempt Berchmans to
break a rule at the hour of his death, there would  be
no consideration which would bring him to commit such a
fault,  since he had spent his life without once having
failed in their  observance. Now, we have just as many
reasons for resisting all  temptations of this nature.
In breaking silence today, I did not less  displease
God; I disregarded a command with which the Holy

Spirit inspired our holy founder. It isn't my fault
that regularity  is not utterly destroyed, and this
rule is not so slight a thing but  the good of the
whole body depends on it.

To obtain contempt of the world, I think that the
practice of the  presence of God is quite effective. It
is a thought from St. Basil  that a man who has a king
and a lackey as witnesses of what he is  doing, does
not think only of the lackey, but only to have the
approval of the sovereign. It is a strange and quite
unhappy  servitude for a man to seek to please other
men. When will I be able  to say: "The world is
crucified to me, and I to the world"? (Gal.  6:14.) I
earnestly begged this disposition of Jesus Christ and
the  Blessed Virgin.

<The Meditation on Humility>. It is true, and I
understand that  humility ought to be great in an
apostolic man, and the fear of not  having enough of it
will keep me, I think, in great dread.  Nevertheless, I
feel that all I need is to be on my guard and avoid
thoughtlessness. For, whoever gives a thought to what
he is, or what  he has been, or what he can do by
himself, is in a bad way if he  attributes anything to
himself. To burst pride open all one has to do  is to
remember that the first mark of virtue is to have no
esteem at  all for oneself. Secondly, he should
sincerely fix his gaze on Jesus  Christ humbled, who
admits before God that He is nothing, and that  all
that gives Him glory is owing only to His Father.

But people praise me. They are mistaken. It's an
injustice done  against God. It is as though an actor
were praised for the verses he  recites which someone
else wrote. Besides, people don't think as much  of us
as we suppose. They know all our faults, even those
that escape  our notice. At least, they do not think of
us. But we wish to do  great things, or, to put it
better, we wish that God do great things  through us.
He is indeed worthy of admiration and of praise to make
good use of such worthless tools. But I am none the
better for that,  and it is possible for God to damn me
after having saved many by  means of me, just as it
happens that a painter throws a coal into the  fire
after he has used it to draw a beautiful design and
some very  excellent features. The way of the Blessed
Virgin is admirable. She  sincerely confesses that God
has done great things in her, and that  this will draw
upon her the praises of all the ages. But instead of
being raised on high " . . . my soul cloth magnify the
Lord."

<Repetition of this same Meditation>. After I
recognized and  confessed that before God I am nothing,
and that by myself I have  done nothing, I understood
how just it is that God alone be  glorified, and I
thought that a man who happens to be praised for  some
virtue and some good action should be as ashamed as
would be a  man of honor who was taken for another and
praised for something he  had not done. But if we are
so vain as to be puffed up because of  those qualities,
whether they are natural or supernatural, which do  not
belong to us, what meanness, what confusion, when on
the Day of  Judgment God will bring forth this man, let
all the world see all  that he has received and all
that he has of himself, and then ask him  while
reproaching his vanity: "What have you that you have
not  received, and if you have received why do you
glory?" (I Cor. 4:6.) I  thought I saw a rogue who,
having passed himself off for some time as  an honest
man under the protection of a cloak he had stolen, was
unmasked in good company and fell into horrible
confusion. But it  will be much worse, dear God, when
You make me see that not only have  I had nothing about
which to boast, but that I will have nothing  about
which to boast when You lay open my hypocrisy, the
abuse I have  made of Your graces, my interior
miseries, and, so on. On this  occasion God made me see
myself so deformed, so wretched, so wanting  in all
merit, in all virtue, that truly I have never been so
disgusted with myself. I thought that I heard Him in
the depth of my  heart, going over all the virtues and
making me see clearly that I  did not have any of them.
I begged Him earnestly ever to keep me in  this light.
I confess that I found that this self-knowledge, which
daily grows in me, weakens or at least moderates a
certain steady  confidence which I have had for a long
time in God's mercy. I do not  any more dare raise my
eyes to heaven; I find myself so unworthy of  His
graces that I hardly know whether I have not closed all
access to  them. This feeling comes upon me especially
from the comparison I  make between my life, my
offenses, and my pride, with the innocence  and
humility of our saints.

<The Meditation on Self-distrust>. After the preceding
meditation I  found nothing so easy as this. When we
know what it is to save a  soul, and what we ourselves
are, we are soon persuaded that we can do  nothing.
What folly it is to think that with a few passing words
we  can do what has cost Jesus Christ so dearly! You
talk, and a soul is  converted. It's like a puppet
show. The attendant bids the doll to  dance, and the
operator moves it by pulling the strings. The command
accomplished nothing at all. "Depart from me, for I am
a sinful man,  O Lord" (Luke 5:8). The beautiful
thought in a soul in whom or by  means of whom God
accomplishes something out of the ordinary!

<The Meditation on Prayer>. As, by God's mercy, I feel
a sufficient  drawing to prayer, I asked God with great
confidence, through the  intercession of the Blessed
Virgin, to grant me the grace of loving  this holy
exercise ever more until death. It is the only means of
purifying us, of uniting us to God and of having God
unite Himself  with us to do something for His glory.
We must pray to obtain the  apostolic virtues; we must
pray to make them profitable for the  neighbor; we must
pray so as not to lose them in the service of the
neighbor. This counsel, or this command, "Pray always,"
seems to me  to be most sweet and by no means
impossible. It includes the practice  of the presence
of God. I wish, with our Lord's help, to try to  follow
it. We have always need of God; we should therefore,
pray  always. The more we pray, the more we please Him,
the more we obtain.  I do not ask for those sweetnesses
in prayer which God grants to  certain souls. I am not
worthy of them. I have not enough strength to  bear
them. Extraordinary graces are not good for me. To give
them to  me would be to build upon the sand. It would
be to pour a costly  liqueur into a leaking cask which
could hold nothing. I ask of God a  prayer that is
solid, simple, that will glorify Him and not puff me
up. Dryness and desolation, accompanied with God's
grace, are very  good for me, I think. I then make with
pleasure acts of the most  excellent virtues. I work
against an evil disposition, and I try to  be faithful
to God, and so on.

<Conformity with God's Will>. From the beginning of
prayer, I feel  myself borne on to make acts of prayer.
I make them without effort,  because in fact by God's
grace I do not feel the effort in any state.  I think
that with the same grace I would accept the most
annoying  happenings that Providence could permit to
befall me. At least, I  feel sufficiently determined
to, if God does not abandon me. I am  especially
resigned to sanctify myself by the way that is pleasing
to  God, by the withdrawing of all sensible
sweetnesses, if He so wishes,  by interior pains, by
continual struggle against my passions. This is  what
is most rugged for me in life. I submit, however, with
all my  heart, and all the more willingly that I
understand that this way is  the surest, the least
subject to illusions, the shortest for  acquiring
perfect purity of heart, a very great love of God and
very  great

THIRD WEEK

IN THE FIRST MEDITATION of the Third Week, which is a
<Preparation  for the Passion>, at the thought of the
ardent desire Jesus Christ  has to suffer, my soul was
at once seized with the desire the saints  have had of
dying. This thought gives death an inexplicable charm
in  their eyes. It is the effect, I think, of an
inviolable fidelity in  responding to all of God's
graces and in doing all the good they can  for Him
through many years. This thought has enkindled in my
heart a  great desire not to lose a moment of time, to
do all the good I can  as soon as I can, with the
purpose of being in a condition to desire  death and to
welcome it with joy. I went on then to think that a man
who honestly desires to suffer much for Jesus Christ is
like a person  suffering from extreme hunger or thirst,
who while waiting to be  presented with something from
which he can have his fill, seizes in  the meantime on
any scrap of food or drink that is at hand. I feel so
great a desire to suffer for God that I do not see any
kind of pain I  would not welcome--so I think--with
great joy. But I judge that this  is a grace which God
gives only to His friends, and I find myself so
unworthy that I do not think that God would ever grant
me such a  favor.

<Jesus Christ is Arrested>. Two things have moved me
deeply and have  occupied my mind throughout the whole
time. The first is the  disposition with which Jesus
Christ advanced to meet those who came  in search of
Him, with the same steadfastness, courage and demeanor
as though His soul were in perfect peace. His heart is
plunged in a  terrible bitterness, all the passions are
unchained within Him, and  nature is baffled; yet
behind all these disorders, all these  temptations, the
heart goes straight to God, without taking one false
step; it does not hesitate to take the side which
virtue, the highest  virtue, suggests. This is a
miracle which only the Spirit of God is  capable of
working in a heart. War and peace, disturbance and
calm,  are brought to agreement. There results a
certain manly fervor which  nature, the demons, and
even God Himself, who may seem to be armed  against us,
or at least to abandon us, cannot cause to waver.

The second thing is the disposition of this same Heart
towards Judas  who betrayed Him, towards the apostles
who shamefully abandoned Him,  towards the priests and
others who were responsible for the  persecution He was
suffering. It is certain that none of these evils
could arouse in Him the slightest feeling of resentment
or hatred or  indignation. In no way did these lessen
the love He had for His  disciples and for His
persecutors. He was extremely and sincerely  afflicted
at the harm they were doing themselves, and His
sufferings,  far from disturbing Him, alleviated in
some way His pain, because He  saw that His pains could
be a remedy for the ills of His enemies. I  represented
to myself, therefore, this Heart without rancor,
without  bitterness, full of genuine tenderness for His
enemies, which no  treachery, no ill-treatment could
move to hatred. Then, turning to  Mary to ask of her
the grace to place my heart in the same  disposition, I
noticed that her heart was in that disposition
perfectly, that it was overwhelmed with grief without
doing anything  that was unbecoming; that she remained
in full possession of her  judgment in such terrible
circumstances; that she wished no evil to  the
tormentors of her Son; that, on the contrary, she loved
them and  offered Him for them. I confess that this
spectacle filled me with  joy, and that it gave me an
incredible love for virtue and produced  in me the
greatest pleasure I was capable of feeling.

O Hearts truly worthy of possessing all hearts, of
reigning over all  hearts of angels and of men!
Henceforth, you shall be my rule, and on  like
occasions I will try to make your sentiments my own. I
desire  that henceforth my heart be only in the hearts
of Jesus and Mary, or  that the hearts of Jesus and
Mary be in mine, so that they will  communicate their
movements to it, so that it will not act, will not  be
stirred, except in conformity with the impression it
receives from  these hearts.

<The Repetition>. "Friend!" It is true that Jesus loved
him. He would  not have called him His friend if he
were not. Jesus Christ really  had the desire to
convert Judas. He had chosen His arrow well, and  the
heart of Judas was pierced with it. But with him it was
as with  those desperate invalids to whom the strongest
remedies are given.  They produce their effect, but the
sick man has not strength enough  to survive the
operation and gives up his life in giving up his
mortal fluids. Everything is wonderful. Jesus Christ
dragged along,  Jesus Christ before the Judge, in the
witness stand, accused and  keeping silent! I think
that if with the grace of God I were to  suffer, to be
calumniated and treated as a criminal, I would find
there the complete undoing of self-love. I think that
on a like  occasion I would thank God with all my
heart, and that I would  eagerly ask to be allowed to
die in that condition. But it is a waste  of time to
think about it. I know that that is not a favor for me.
One must be a saint for something like that. I must try
to profit  from the occasions that I find, and to be
careful that while I am  entertaining these entirely
vain desires I do not meanwhile run after  the
vainglory of the world and let slip these little
occasions that  present themselves.

Meditating on the <Fall of St. Peter>, I realized with
surprise and  dread how weak we are. It made me
tremble. I have within myself the  sources and the
seeds of all the vices. There is not one that I am  not
capable of committing. Between myself and the abyss of
all  disorders there is only God's grace which prevents
me from falling.  How humiliating! This thought should
give even the saintliest souls a  certain confusion!
That is why St. Paul said, "In fear and trembling.  .
" (Phil. 2:12). Jesus Christ passed that whole night
bound, the  sport of the insolent soldiers. What a
beautiful subject for  meditation are the thoughts of
Jesus through all that night! What  could be more
astounding than to see wisdom incarnate, Jesus Christ,
treated as a fool by Herod and all his court? The world
has not yet  changed its opinion with regard to the Son
of God. With it He still  passes for a fool! What
courage in Jesus Christ for having despised  all the
glory, all the honor He could so easily have drawn from
this  whole court! But to have been so willing to leave
the prince and all  his officers with the conviction
that He was without common sense!  What a sacrifice to
offer His Father! That indeed is glorious. And  what
cowards are we, we who make so much of the opinion of
men, and  who make ourselves slaves to their thoughts!
When will we shake off  this shameful yoke? When will
we raise ourselves above the world? How  worthy it is
of a Christian soul to suffer a humiliation which could
have been avoided, and to be satisfied to have God
alone as a witness  to a truth that is to our credit!
Dear God, I wish to make myself  holy between You and
me, and to hold in contempt every humiliation  that
would not lessen the esteem that You might have for me.
The  sight of these generous acts, which are so far
above nature, raises  my soul, I feel, above itself and
all created things.

What a sight it is to behold Jesus Christ led back to
Pilate, across  Jerusalem, clothed in the garments of a
fool! Pilate condemns Him to  be scourged. What an
injustice! Jesus Christ does not complain,  although He
sees the cause of it in the jealousy of the priests and
the evasive compliance of the judge; even though he
foresees the  cruelty of this suffering. I compared
this procedure with our own  conduct when we do wrong
in something. How can we complain when we  look upon
this example? I was deeply confused at the remembrance
of  the past. Dear God, the fine opportunities I have
frittered away!  They shall never return. I am not
worthy of them. I am convinced that  however I am
treated it will never be unjustly.

Nothing stirs me more than the scourging and the
contempt there shown  for Jesus Christ. The most
criminal of all men meets with compassion  when he is
condemned to torture. The executioner is stoned if he
makes the thief or the murderer suffer too much. And
here is Jesus  given up to the caprice of the soldiers,
who tear Him, who add pain  to pain, who treat Him as
they please with impunity, as though he  were not a
man! He makes no complaint; He places Himself still
lower  in the presence of His Father, He accepts all
these pains from His  hand; He is glad to be able to
render Him a supreme service by this  frightful
abasement. They place a crown of thorns upon His head.
This  is to expiate that horrible passion of those who
wish to play the  king, to excel, to surpass all others
in everything.

Pilate brought Him forth: "Behold the Man!" He must
have been in a  pitiable condition. It was for those
who love the great theaters, the  cheering throngs.
They prefer Barabbas to Him. This is what is  strange:
we complain of the advantages given to others, but
Jesus  Christ has no complaint to make. He even placed
Himself lower than  they have placed Him by this unjust
comparison. At the same time He  said in His heart to
His Father: "I am a worm and no man" (Ps. 21:7).  They
cried out: "Crucify Him!" (John 19:6); and He consented
with a  full heart. Are there in the world Christians
after this example,  this model? If every time we broke
a rule through human respect we  thought that we
preferred a man to God, I believe that it would not  be
done so often. This thought has moved me, and I think
that for the  future I will be inflexible on this
point. Men have seemed to me to  be so small a thing
that I cannot understand why we take such pains  to
please some of them, God being the witness of our
actions. But,  alas, dear God! Will not all these fine
feelings vanish on the first  occasion?

I am not too much surprised at the injustice of Pilate
who condemned  Christ. But I am deeply moved to see
Jesus Christ who submits to this  unjust judgment, who
takes the burden of His cross with a humility, a
meekness, a resignation that are admirable; who, having
arrived at  the top of the hill, permits Himself to be
stripped, stretches  Himself upon the cross, extends
His hands and His feet and offers  Himself to His
Father with sentiments which only He is capable of
forming. It is true that this sight makes the cross so
lovable to me  that I think I could never be happy
without it. I look with respect  on those whom God
visits with humiliations, adversities of any nature
whatsoever. Without doubt they are His favorites. To
humble me I have  only to compare myself with them as
long as I am enjoying prosperity.  Thinking of Jesus
dying upon the cross, I have found that the old man  is
still very much alive in me, and that if God did not
support me  with great grace, I would be after thirty
days of retreat and  meditation as weak as before. God
must work a great miracle in me to  make me die
entirely to myself: "The old man is still alive in me;
he  is not perfectly dead; he stirs up interior wars
and will not allow  the kingdom of the soul to be at
peace." I have noticed that every  time God has given
me this lively feeling of my miseries, and I began
prayer after some fault or some weakness which gave me
a better  knowledge of my imperfections, I have been
consoled towards the end  of the prayer, and came from
it much stronger; "Thou wert angry and  took pity on
me" (Ps. 59:3); "Your anger has ceased and you have
consoled me" (Isa. 12:1). This happens even outside of
prayer, after  I have with God's grace overcome the
temptation. It happened even in  this. I left it with
an entirely new resolution never to give quarter  to my
self-love and to be on my guard against being surprised
by it.  I asked this grace of God with strong feeling,
laying before Him my  miseries and my weaknesses, which
I discover to be greater every day.

<The Burial>. Seeing how far I was from being in the
condition to  which Jesus Christ was reduced to honor
His Father and to save me, I  said with great feeling:
"Dear God, is it possible that so much pain,  so
profound a humiliation, so cruel and shameful a death,
that all  that, I say, had to be endured to turn Your
anger away from me, and  to draw down upon me Your
graces and blessings, and that nevertheless  I am still
so imperfect! Eternal Father, has not enough been done
to  make me a saint? How is it that I do not feel in me
a change much  more closely proportioned to such great
efforts? Yes, it is a great  sum, but permit me to say
to You that I think that You have not yet  given me the
graces that answer to this price. I am awaiting great
effects from the zeal of Your Son, but I do not yet
feel that they  are such as I think I have reason to
expect. Perhaps it is because I  do not wish to
experience them. But, dear God, do I not offer You the
death of Your Son and the sacrifice of the Mass to feel
the effects  of them? One does not use means so
powerful as these when one does  not desire to obtain
something. I must live as though I were already  dead
and buried. "I am forgotten as one dead from the heart"
(Ps.  30:13). A man of whom one no longer thinks, who
is no longer anything  in the world, who is nothing,
this is the condition in which I must  be in the
future, as far as possible, and in which, as a matter
of  fact, I desire to be altogether.

FOURTH WEEK

WHAT JOY FOR THOSE who had suffered with Jesus Christ
and who had  been truly moved by His pains, as Mary,
St. John, Magdalen, and the  others. There were others,
however, who took as little share in this  feast as
they had taken in the sorrowful mysteries which
preceded it.  With what pleasure, and with what
abundance, does God recompense them  for the pains and
ignominy of His Son! In heaven He is greatly
glorified; but on earth for one Judas who sold Him, how
many millions  of men strip themselves of everything to
possess Him! For one  thankless and sacrilegious city
which disowned Him as its king, how  many kingdoms and
empires have submitted to His power! He beheld  Himself
denied by St. Peter. How many millions of martyrs
suffered  death rather than deny Him! How many altars
have replaced the  prisoner's dock! For that purple
cloak and white robe, with what  wealth do we not
clothe His temples and His altars!

While meditating on the impassability of Jesus Christ,
I examined, I  looked into something that can still
move me. I have felt an extreme  repugnance to obey in
certain circumstances. By God's grace I  overcame it
and am ready for anything. I reflected that it is
dangerous to make plans, even in matters of slight
importance, unless  one be quite resolved to drop
everything in order to obey or practice  charity. Every
occupation which one leaves with difficulty and which
one would rather keep than do anything else, or even to
do nothing,  if God should so wish, offers the danger
of human attachment. I have  really resolved to be on
my guard on this point. I must have this  consolation,
with God's grace, of yielding nothing to nature. With
God's help I must, before coming to a decision on
anything at all, on  any proposal that is made to me, I
must, I say, consult God, and  accustom myself to
anticipate the movement which things produce in my
soul, by elevating my mind to God, and seeing what
thought I ought to  have about it according to the
gospel. Unless I am careful about  this, it is
impossible to preserve peace of heart and to keep from
falling into many faults, because everything that
happens appears  either agreeable or disagreeable to
nature, and it is not from this  angle that we must
take our view. To keep from doing so there is no  means
other than this manner of raising my mind to Him to
whom  everything I observe should be referred.

St. Ignatius' method of making an examen or a
recollection at the  beginning of each action, and
especially of those where there is more  danger of
committing a fault, this method, I say, is beyond
compare.  I have resolved to make use of it. In time it
cannot fail to produce  a very great purity and to
maintain great tranquillity in my  conscience. With
God's grace this isn't going to be too difficult, no
more than the examen which should follow the same
action. When we  have a great interest in our
perfection we strive for it quite  naturally and as it
were without thinking of it.

The fine expression, "I have finished the work which
You gave me to  do," Jesus and Mary could use at this
moment and at the moment of  death. I have noticed that
when I made up my mind to imitate Jesus  Christ in this
matter, I felt that nature underwent some surprise at
the prospect, and that right now I feel stronger to do
it, and to  resolve, for example, to spend this month,
this year, in doing all I  can to make my actions more
acceptable to God and as perfect as  possible. For that
I will need great vigilance and the practice of  the
Rules of Election and frequent examens together with
prayer, to  obtain a larger number of graces.

<The Repetition of the Ascension>. I noticed that Jesus
Christ after  having suffered, having died and risen,
left Jerusalem, went to the  top of the mountain, and
after so many trials entirely detached from  the world
and the earth, ascended without effort into heaven.
What  prevents us from following Him is that we are
still living a natural  life, either buried in sin, or
taken up with the business of the  world, or attached
to the earth where we still find our happiness.  St.
Paul said: "Our conversation is in heaven" (Phil.
3:20). Happy  they who can say the same thing! As for
myself, I ask of God, to be  able to live between
heaven and earth, without enjoying any of the
pleasures of here below, or those of heaven, in a
universal  detachment, being bound to Him alone whom we
find everywhere. It is  ours to withdraw from all the
pleasures of earth, at least not to  seek any of them
out of a motive of pleasure, but to detach the heart
from them if we cannot actually renounce them; to go to
some trouble  because of the ardent desire we have of
doing without them for the  love of God. As to those of
heaven, we must leave God to act who  knows our
strength and who has His own plans, and live in great
unconcern, quite willing to do without them.

<Meditation on the Love of God>. I have been deeply
moved at the  sight of the blessings I have received
from God from the first moment  of my life down to the
present. What goodness! What care! What  patience! What
sweetness! Surely, I have not gone to the trouble of
giving myself entirely to Him, or at least to desire
with all my  heart to belong to Him, for I do not yet
dare flatter myself that I  have quite made the
sacrifice. Experience alone can reassure me on  this
point. The truth is that I would think myself the most
ungrateful, the most unhappy of all men if I kept back
anything at  all for myself. I see that I must belong
to Him absolutely, and that  I could never consent to
any division. But I must see whether in my  practice I
should have the strength and the constancy to keep up
this  beautiful thought. I am indeed weak. I am quite
unable to do it by  myself. I am close to the truth
there. If I am faithful, dear God,  You will have all
the glory. But I do not know how it will happen
without my giving myself some credit. I must forget all
about myself.

<Second Meditation on the Love of God>. God, I think,
has made me  penetrate this truth and see it clearly:
first, that He is in all  creatures; secondly, that He
is all there is of good in them;  thirdly, that He
gives us all the good that we receive from them. I
thought I saw this King of glory and of majesty at
work, warming us  in our clothes, refreshing us in the
air, nourishing us in our food,  making us glad in
pleasant sounds and objects, producing in us all  the
movements necessary to life and action. How marvelous!
Who am I,  O my God, to be so served by You at all
times, and with so much  attention and love! He works
in the same way in all other creatures.  But all of
that is for me. He is like a zealous and watchful
attendant who sees that work for his king goes on in
all parts of the  kingdom. What is more wonderful is
that God does this for all men,  although no one thinks
of it, unless some chosen, holy soul. I should  at
least think about it and be thankful. I imagine that as
God has  His glory as the last end of all His actions,
He does all these  things principally for love of those
who think of it and admire His  goodness in it; are
grateful to Him and seize the occasion to love  Him.
Others receive the same blessings, but as it were by
chance and  good luck, almost as, when at a feast a
serenade is given to someone,  a thousand people enjoy
the pleasure because they happen to be in the  house
with the person for whom it is done. To this we can
refer what  God said to St. Teresa, that if He had not
made the world, He would  create it for love of her.

On the third repetition I reflected that all these
services which God  pays His creatures ought to keep us
in great confusion and great  recollection. When a
valet serves us we frequently receive the  service
while engaged in something else. We chat with someone,
or we  doze. But if a person of some consequence lowers
himself to be  willing to do us a favor, certainly that
should keep us wide awake:  "Lord, do You wash my
feet?;' (John 13:6.) That is astonishing to one  who
understands a little who God is and what we are.

God ceaselessly refers to us the being, the life, the
activity of  every created thing in the universe. That
is His occupation in  nature. Ours should be endlessly
to receive what He sends us from all  parts, and send
it back to Him by thanking Him, by praising Him and
recognizing in Him the author of all things. I have
promised God to  do as much of this as I can. It is a
wonderfully useful exercise like  that of the presence
of God. But we can say that it is a very  singular gift
of God to continue it with that sweetness without which
it would become harmful. Now, I ask of God only His
grace and His  love, and a love that has more of
solidity than of sweetness and  show. What I have
promised to do, with His grace, is never to begin  an
action without recalling that He is my witness, and
that it is He  who does it with me and who gives me the
means of doing it: and never  to finish an action
without taking the same thought, offering Him  this
action as though it were His, and in the course of the
action  every time that the thought presents itself to
pause a moment and  renew the desire of pleasing Him.

At the words, "Give me Thy love alone,"[8] I find
myself ready for the  rest of my life to do without
consolation, even spiritual. I am  satisfied to serve
God with great fidelity in aridity or in the midst  of
temptations.

To accept as I should what I see nature fears, I must
recall that if  it comes to pass, I have asked God for
it. It is a clear sign that He  loves me, and I have
great reason to hope for everything from His  goodness.
It is a sequel which will confirm me in the sweet
thought  that what has taken place up to now has taken
place by a very special  providence. I am making a vow
to accept it as I would the most  agreeable thing in
the world, without giving a sign to anyone at all  of
my natural inclinations.

"Far be it from me to glory or rejoice, except in the
cross of our  Lord Jesus Christ" (Gal. 6:4).

"But to me it is a very small thing to be judged by you
or by any  man's day; . . .but he that judgeth me is
the Lord" (I Cor. 4: 3)

To live from day to day ....

To hope that I will die doing what I have in my hands
to do.

Truly humble persons are never scandalized, because
their weakness is  perfectly known to them. They see
themselves so close to the  precipice, and they fear so
much to fall over, that they are not  surprised when
others fall over.

"What honor is there in preaching if God is not pleased
to have me do  so?" asked Father Balthasar Alvarez. How
can there be anything low  and contemptible if only I
please God by undertaking such  employments?

God must be satisfied at any price![9]

It is strange how many enemies we have to encounter the
moment we  take the resolution of becoming a saint.[10]
Everything it seems is  unloosed against us; the demon
with his temptations, nature by the  resistance which
she sets up against our good desires; the praises of
the good; the scoffing of the wicked, the feast of the
Apostle.  entreaties of the tepid. If God visits you,
there is vanity to fear.  If He withdraws, timidity and
despair may follow close upon the  greatest fervor. Our
friends are a source of temptation because of  the
desire we habitually have to please them; mere
acquaintances, by  our fear of displeasing them.
Indiscretion is to be feared if we are  moderate, and
self-love always. What, then, is to be done? "There is
no one to battle for us except you, our God." "Not
knowing what we  should do, this alone is left to us,
to turn our eyes to you." Above  all, holiness does not
consist in being faithful for a day, or a  year, but in
persevering and growing until death. God must be our
shield, but a shield that surrounds us, because we are
being attacked  from all sides. "He shall compass thee
with a shield" (Ps. 90:5). God  must do all. All the
better for us. We must not fear that He will  fail in
anything. All we have to do is to recognize our
impotence,  and to be fervent and constant in asking
for help through the  intercession of Mary, to whom He
refuses nothing. But we cannot do  even that without a
great grace, or rather many great graces from  God.

I think I feel a little stronger, through the infinite
mercy of our  Lord, against the temptations of
vainglory. The same objects are  present, but with much
less strength; they no longer make such an  impression.
They begin to bore me and appear less charming. Reasons
which help me to see their vanity are indeed stronger
than they have  been hitherto. This is especially so
since I made a sincere resolve  to renounce them
altogether by a way that is extremely efficacious  and
unfailing. The resolution was quite formed in my mind,
and it  wasn't my fault, with God's grace, if I did not
carry it out the very  next day; but, as I had
foreseen, I was given to understand that I  should not
think about it.[11]

"When will one be well off without Him, or badly off
with Him?" When  we feel a certain restlessness in
prayer which causes us to find the  time long, or to be
in a hurry to pass on to some other occupation,  we can
say to ourselves with profit:

"Well, my soul, are you tired of being with your God?
Are you not  satisfied with Him? You possess Him, and
you look for something else?  Or could you be better
off than in His company? Or could you do  something
more profitable?" I have made trial of this and find
that  it soothes the spirit and unites it with God.

As perfection consists in seeking to please God, and
only God, in all  things, I have become more than
ordinarily convinced that we should  not waver on those
occasions when we can please God at the expense of
displeasing men, and acquire some esteem in His eyes
while we lose  some of that which men have for us. That
is why I have resolved never  to waver on those
occasions that present themselves of humiliating
myself and of letting myself be known to men for what I
am and have  been. This will give me no trouble if God
gives me the grace to  remember that the less one is
esteemed by men the more one will be  esteemed by God,
and that it is He alone whom I wish to please. If I
were to be taken as a criminal, and that reputation
would not  increase my merits, I should look upon it as
something indifferent,  seeing that it is not among men
that I want to make my way. But if it  were to advance
me in the presence of God, I should consider it a
great blessing. I have once more understood that it is
a great  happiness to belong altogether to God, seeing
that His greatness is  infinite. God indeed honors us
in calling us to holiness. I have  understood this from
the comparison of a king who chose one of his  subjects
to be solely his, and who would not allow him to give
any  service to anyone other than to his own person, as
he wished his  friendship entire, especially if the
prince is of great merit.

One loves the king, even though one has never seen him;
one should  always love him, even though he does not
love us, even though he is  unaware of our feelings,
and does not know us, and even if he should  make no
account of us. And God, whom we have never seen and
whom in  truth we shall see forever, who sees us, who
loves us, who does us  good, who is witness of all our
thoughts--we cannot love Him! The  king is our master--
and God, is He not even much more so, our  Creator, our
Father. . . ?

If God reigns in us everything will obey Him,
everything will fulfill  the least of His commandments,
nothing will be done but what He  commands. More, we
shall try to please Him in everything, we shall  study
His inclinations, we shall anticipate His desires, we
shall do  always and in all things what we think will
please Him most. For  these are the two things we have
with regard to kings, a blind  submission and an
extreme desire to please. We must therefore do what
pleases God and what pleases Him most.

God's grace is a seed which we must not smother, but
which we must  neither leave open to too much exposure.
It must be nourished in the  heart and not made to
appear too much in the eyes of men. There are  two
kinds of graces, small in appearance, but from which
nevertheless  our perfection and our salvation may
depend. First, there is the  light which unveils a
truth to us. We must tend it carefully and be  on our
guard lest it go out through our own fault. We must use
it as  a rule in all our actions, to see to what it
leads us, and so on.  Secondly, it is a movement which
carries us on to some act of virtue  on certain
occasions. We must be faithful to these movements,
because  this fidelity is sometimes the key to our
happiness. A mortification  which God inspires us to
practice in certain circumstances, if we  listen to His
voice, will perhaps produce great fruits of holiness in
us. Whereas, the contempt we may have for this little
grace can have  very fatal consequences, as has
happened when favorites fell into  disgrace for having
failed in compliance in very small things.

Having suffered with annoyance a small mortification
which I was not  expecting, I was greatly confused
because of it, recognizing thereby  the little love I
had for the cross. The result was that I had reason  to
believe that all the desires I had felt on different
occasions to  suffer pain and humiliation were only
apparent, or at least I had  imagined in these setbacks
something else than God and the cross of  Jesus Christ.
As our Lord continued in His infinite mercy to take
occasion of my own ingratitude to give me fresh graces,
He saw to it  that a light came in the wake of this
confusion which made me  understand that the love of
the cross is the first step we must take  to be
pleasing to Him, and that I had yet to begin, since I
am so far  removed from the feelings of the saints who
rejoiced over the  occasions which God sent them to
suffer. What cowardice! To grumble  in the presence of
our Lord when receiving a tiny mortification which  He
sends us. All these thoughts produced in me a kind of
strength I  had never felt before, even to go in search
of what did not present  itself. I thought that that
had cured me of some timidity, of a  certain delicacy
which made me fear, among other things, the rigors  of
the season and being fond of certain comforts which
without great  danger I could dispense with. May the
infinite goodness of God be  forever praised who, far
from punishing me for my faults as I  deserved, made me
find in them such great treasures of grace!

<The Feast of St. Andrew>,[12] <O bona crux>![13] I was
touched at seeing  this saint suddenly prostrate at the
sight of the cross, not able to  contain his joy,
letting it burst forth in such impassioned speech.
<Bona>--useful, honorable, agreeable. It is all his
good. It is the  only good that moves him. "Long
desired," not only did he desire it,  but he desired it
ardently. Hence was it that the time lagged for  him.
"Long the object of a love full of solicitude"; love
cannot  exist without care. The saint sought the cross
with the eagerness and  the fear of a man who is afraid
of not finding it, and who cannot  find it soon enough.
You would thus say that he had found a treasure.  The
moment he finds it, the transport he displays is that
of an  impassioned lover who has come to possess a
great love. "Sought  without intermission." Behold our
Rule. And it was by that means he  deserved to find it.
"And found at last," this phrase denotes a great
desire. He must have loved Jesus Christ well to have
found so much  pleasure in the cross. Sometimes men are
loved because of the  fortunes they possess; but to
love their misfortunes for love of them  is something
unheard of. It is a wonder if they are not hated
because  of their misfortunes. "Greater love no man
hath than that he lay down  his life for his friends."
But there are degrees in this sacrifice,  for to die
with this joy, with this eagerness, is a love without
compare. What faith!

<The Feast of St. Francis Xavier>. The saint spoke of
God to every  one he met and to all sorts of persons.
His first thought, wherever  he was, was what service
can I render my neighbor? There are a  hundred
occasions of bringing men to God, and frequently one
succeeds  better here than by preaching. No one ever
had anything to do with  Berchmans without being all
inflamed. At least let us have this zeal  for one
another. What shall we talk about with seculars? In our
recreations do we talk as Jesuits? I speak little of
You, my God. Is  it because I think little of You, is
it because I have no love for  You?

We can do so by example as Berchmans, Blessed Aloysius
Gonzaga,  Brother Alphonsus Rodriguez; by our modesty
with outsiders, with  those of the community; by our
regularity and our practice of all the  virtues. Am I
not on the contrary a stone of scandal? If my example
were followed, would there be any regularity, any
mortification in  the house? It isn't my fault that the
Society is not a collection of  very free and sensual
men.

We can do so by our prayers and good works. Without
grace preaching  is useless, and grace is obtained only
by prayer. St. Xavier always  began with it. Witness
the whole Lent which he passed in such fearful
austerities that he was sick for a month, to obtain the
conversion of  three soldiers who were leading
disorderly lives. Without it, would  he in fact have
gathered so much fruit? So many preachers have come
after him who have not preached less, but who have
gathered less  fruit. If there are so few conversions
among Christians it is because  there are so few who
pray, although there are many of them who  preach. How
acceptable are these prayers to God! It is like praying
a  mother to forgive her son.

The obedience of St. Francis Xavier seems well worthy
of our  admiration. They speak to him about making a
voyage of six thousand  leagues; he is ready as soon as
they speak to him. St. Ignatius told  him simply, "You
are to go." He doesn't resist a moment. He has to
leave his friends, his relatives, the comforts of home,
to go by  himself to another world. There is no need of
speeches to win his  consent. He leaves without
traveling expenses, without baggage,  without books,
and so forth. Is my obedience like that? Am I ready to
act so, even when I am commanded to do things that are
difficult? I  have taken a vow and still it isn't done.
Is it not in God's name  that they speak to me?

St. Francis does it joyfully. He throws himself at the
feet of St.  Ignatius. He thinks himself fortunate that
the choice falls on him,  and thanks him for it. It is
an opportunity for great merit. He  believes that God
speaks to him through his lips. We murmur if we are
bidden things that are difficult or opposed to our
inclinations. We  grumble when we do them. We think
that the superior bears a grudge  against us, and we
take it ill. However, we should look upon it as a
grace. We obey only when we are commanded what we like,
and not  because we are commanded.

A true religious submits his judgment. What likelihood
is there of  recalling to Europe the Apostle of the
Indies, the support of  religion in half of the world,
and at the very moment that he is on  the point of
getting into China? There is no reason for exposing a
life so precious. And so, he does not expect it. When
we are in a  place where we are comfortable, or think
that we are doing good, at a  task at which we are
succeeding, in a house where we are useful, what  would
we say about the orders that called us elsewhere? It is
then  that we must obey. It is God who is acting
against all human reason,  for reasons unknown to us,
but very profitable. The trouble is that  we do not
trust Him. But that climate, that superior, that job!
Go,  in God's name, "Casting all your care upon Him,
for He hath care of  you" (I Peter 5:7).

St. Xavier thought it unworthy to obtain anything from
God by  himself. He made use of the merits of St.
Ignatius, the prayers of  his brethren, those of little
children. He looked upon himself as a  great sinner,
and attributed to his sins the obstacles that were in
the way of the propagation of the faith. This was from
a feeling of  humility. What a miracle of humility in
so great a man! But is not  pride in us a still greater
miracle? What have we done that can be  compared to
what this great man has done? What a difference in the
manner of doing the same things! What confusion to see
ourselves so  different! But if notwithstanding this
difference we are vain, we  have only another reason
for being more confused.

He thought well of others, St. Ignatius, those who
wrote him from  Europe, other ecclesiastics. He
esteemed everybody, spoke to them  with wonderful
kindness and goodness, served them, performing for
them even the meanest offices. We have no reason to
despise anyone. A  humble man sees only his own faults.
It is a sign of little virtue to  notice the
imperfections of others. The man who is imperfect
today,  may, recognizing himself, rise to high holiness
in a few days.  Moreover, our rule obliges us to look
upon all others as our  superiors: "From this are born
esteem, respect, and an eager  willingness to serve
each and all."

When we recognize that we are quite wretched, we do not
take it ill  that we are little thought of, because we
see that it is just. That  is why St. Francis accepted
with patience, and even with a very great  joy, the
contempt and the insults of the bonzes, never growing
angry  with them, but answering them gently. A poor
beggar is not put out at  seeing himself refused, or if
he is not greeted, or if he is given  rubbish. A humble
man believes that he is justly treated whatever ill
treatment he gets. Men do not look up to him; they are
right. In this  they agree with God and His angels. A
man who deserves hell thinks  that contempt is really
his due portion.

"God is wonderful in His saints" (Ps. 67:36). "O Lord .
. thou art  glorious in holiness" (Exod. 67:11). It
is not St. Xavier whom I  admire, it is God, who can
accomplish such great things with a man,  that is,
raise him to so high a virtue, give him so great a gift
of  contemplation, such great conversions, and such
great miracles. I  think this has given me a great idea
of God, and has made me  understand that it is a great
glory to serve Him. It is strange that  we are careless
about the service of so great a Master, that so few
wish to give themselves entirely to His service. What a
marvel that  conversions which should have been so
difficult were made in so short  a time, by an ill-clad
stranger, traveling on foot, by himself,  unacquainted
with the languages of the nations to whom he is
preaching! This man brought about a change in morals
and religion in  kings, learned men, and the people in
one-half of the world, in ten  years; in people who
were separated by distances so astounding that  it
seems unbelievable that he could hurry from one to the
other in so  short a time. I felt a great desire for
the conversion of these  abandoned peoples. I prayed
God that if it should be His will I  should go to bring
them the light of the gospel, that He would have  the
goodness to open the way for me. If not, that He would
train  workers who would be worthy of so great an honor
of which I saw  myself to be altogether unworthy.

I felt a strong desire to make God known and loved on
every occasion  and by all the means possible to my
weakness, sustained by God's  grace, strengthened by
the example of this great saint and his  powerful
intercession before God. For I said to him, if you had
so  much zeal for an unknown barbarian as to go to the
end of the world  in search of him, would you reject
one of your own brothers, would  you overlook his
salvation? Help me, great apostle, to save myself,  and
I will never forget to help in the salvation of others.
Suddenly  a great light shone in my soul. I thought I
saw myself loaded with  irons and chains and dragged to
prison, accused and condemned because  I had preached
Jesus Christ crucified and dishonored by sinners. At
the same time I conceived a great desire for the
salvation of the  poor souls who are living in error. I
thought that I would be willing  to give the last drop
of my blood to draw a single soul from hell!  What an
honor for me, if at the hour of my death I could say to
Jesus  Christ: "You have shed Your blood for the
salvation of sinners, and I  have prevented this one or
that one from rendering it useless." But  what shall I
say myself if, dreaming of the conversion of others, I
do not convert myself? Shall I labor to people heaven
and go myself  to people hell? No, dear God, You are
too good. You will help me to  save myself, You will
strengthen me in the labors by means of which I  desire
to merit heaven. Must I die by the hand of an
executioner?  Must I be dishonored by some calumny? At
this all my body trembled,  and I felt as though I were
gripped by terror. Will God judge me  worthy of
suffering something sensational for His honor and for
His  glory? I saw no likelihood of that. But if God
does me this honor, I  will welcome it whatever it be,
prison, calumny, insults, contempt,  sickness. All that
will be to my taste; and it is only our sufferings
that please Him. I feel, and perhaps I am deceived, but
I think that  God is preparing some hardship for me to
endure. Send me these  hardships, my lovable Savior!
Obtain them for me, great apostle, and  I will
everlastingly thank God for them and praise you.
"Blessed are  you when men hate and persecute you"
(Matt. 5:11). Send them to me,  Lord, and I will
undergo them gladly.

<Feast of the Immaculate Conception>. I am resolved so
to abandon  myself to God who is always in me and in
whom I am and live, that I  will in no wise be anxious
about my behavior, inwardly or outwardly,  reposing
softly in His arms without fear of temptation or
illusion,  or prosperity, or adversity, or my evil
inclinations, or even my  faults, hoping that He will
guide all by His goodness and infinite  wisdom, with
the result that all will redound to His glory. I shall
not wish either to be loved or sustained by anyone,
desiring to have  in Him both my father and my mother,
my brothers and friends, and all  who could have any
feeling of tenderness for me. I think that one is
quite at one's ease in so safe and so sweet an asylum,
and that there  I will have no fear of men or demons or
myself or of life or death.  If only God bears with me
I am only too happy. I think that here I  have found
the secret of a contented life and that henceforth all
that I fear in the spiritual life should not cause me
fear any more.

Why was there such great purity in Mary? Because her
womb was to be  the abode of the Son of God. If she had
not been purer than the  angels, the Word could not
have come to her with propriety. He would  not have
come with pleasure. He would not have brought those
precious  gifts with which He filled her at the moment
she conceived Him. In  the Blessed Sacrament of the
Altar we receive the same Jesus Christ  whom Mary
carried nine months in her bosom. What is our purity?
What  care do we take to prepare our soul? What
rubbish? We commit faults  on the eve, on the day, in
the very action itself. And yet He comes!  What
goodness! We go to Him. What rashness! "Depart from me,
O Lord,  for I am a sinful man" (Luke 5:8). But does
this God of goodness come  with pleasure? Let us
examine what our thought ought to be. Is He not
repelled by the sight of such corruption? And we go
boldly,  impudently to Him, without confusion, without
contrition, without  penance! I want to try to prepare
my heart so that You will take  pleasure in it, so that
You will find Your delight in it, O my God,  so as not
to oppose the immense graces I would receive, if I took
the  trouble to purify myself, if I knew what I was
losing. But, dear God,  my ignorance is little excuse
for my negligence! Am I ignorant of  what propriety
demands of me when I have to deal with men? Besides
what I have been taught and, so to say, made to suck
with my mother's  milk, how much time has been wasted
in instructing me! And all that  to please one who a
moment later will make fun of me. And perhaps I  have
never even thought of what I should avoid in order not
to  displease You. What is it, I ask, never really to
have thought about  what is my duty towards You? And
have I only given it a thought? What  do I expect,
ingrate and disloyal man that I am? That You think of
me? And when did You ever cease to do so? Shall I wait
until my  waywardness obliges You to think no more of
me? Ah, my kind Savior,  do not hold me to account. I
have given you so many reasons for  forgetting me, for
holding me in contempt, for not remembering me,  except
to hurl me into hell! You have not done so, dear God. I
thank  You for that, and earnestly wish for the future
to pay You reverence.  By the trouble I take to purify
myself, I will place myself in a  condition to profit
from Your visits and to induce You to come to me  with
pleasure. Come to me, dear God, and with Your holy
grace You  will find my heart purer and cleaner. But if
only once it should  please You, great God, carry it
away, for fear that creatures will  steal it from You.
I will never consent to that, because I wish to  belong
only to You. I fear myself more than my most
redoubtable  enemies. I entrust myself solely to You.
"I can do all things in Him  who strengtheneth me"
(Phil. 4:13).

Yesterday evening after my prayer, reflecting on what
had almost  shattered my resolutions, I realized that I
had not yet smothered  this vain fear of men. I mean
human respect, and although, by a great  effort of Your
infinite mercy, my God, I have come off successful in
a number of encounters, with the aid of Your all-
powerful grace, I  recognize, however, my misery, and I
feel that it is You alone who  have done every good in
me. I should be offending You at every  moment, and
that grievously, if You did not extend Your hand to
draw  me out of the mire into which my inclinations
were carrying me, and  in which my too compliant nature
would involve me, if You did not use  in my regard that
sovereign domain which You have over all creatures.
But, dear God, what thanks shall I give You for all the
blessings You  have given me? However unworthy and
however unthankful I have been  for them, I will praise
You, my Savior, and I will proclaim  everywhere that
You alone are worthy of being loved, served, and
praised. In order to establish me in this truth You
have given me to  know that human respect brings us to
commit the fault of being afraid  of not pleasing men
and that it is responsible for our doing good in  order
to please them. As a matter of fact, I notice that out
of a  fear of not pleasing men we give without
permission, we break  silence, we listen to slander and
complaints, and do not inform  superiors when it is our
duty to do so. Strange thing, that we should  prefer to
draw down upon us the indignation of God to run the
risk of  vexing a man! "To whom have you likened me?"
(Isa. 40:18.) Confusion  and sorrow in the sight of
God, notwithstanding His promises and  threats! What do
I expect from this man? Isn't it true that in  religion
it is impossible not to have good desires frequently?
But  what is strange is that frequently we fail to
carry them into effect  for fear of men. What will men
say if I wish to lead an exact, a  devout, a mortified
life? I have taken up a certain way of life. If I  had
to begin over again I would do otherwise. But I would
be taken  for a bigot. I would do this and this, if I
dared: "He who is ashamed  of me before men . . ."
(Luke 9:26), and St. Frontine, "He so feared  God that
he was feared by men." Would I have less strength, less
knowledge, and less resoluteness than Brother Ximenes
who, on his way  to become a Jesuit, took this vow: "My
God, I promise Thee that I  will never do anything but
for love of Thee. For I do not know where  to go to
serve anyone but Thee who art my God and my Lord." If
we are  not careful we shall waste nearly all our lives
in the desire to  please men. What obligations have we
to them, what return do we  expect from them? In this
we are more unfortunate and more miserable  than those
who labor to earn money. But what is my mistake? These
men  whom I foolishly fear in religion expect to see me
practice all the  virtue which I am afraid to do before
them. And when I fail they  treat me as a fool and a
senseless man. They know that it is to be  virtuous and
devout and mortified that I have retired from the
world,  and they see that I am not. "Here," they say,
"is a foolish person  who withdraws from his end. If he
wished to live like that why didn't  he stay in the
world, where he could be without blame what he now is
in religion at the risk of being lost." This is the
judgment of me  which they will have whose judgment I
fear. Am I not wretched, dear  God, to displease You
without pleasing men? If I did as much for You,  You
would judge me favorably, and men would not have the
contempt  they now have for my behavior. For, when all
is said, every sensible  man has an esteem for virtue
even though he does not practice it.

When I consider my inconstancy,[14] I tremble and fear
to be among the  number of the reprobate. Dear God,
what disorder, what complete  changes of front! Now
gay, now sad. Today everybody's friend,  tomorrow like
a porcupine, which one cannot touch without being
pricked. It is a sign of little virtue that nature
still reigns in  us, that our passions are in no wise
mortified. A truly virtuous man  is always the same. If
I do something good, it is rather out of  inclination
than virtue. A man who finds his support in God, who is
motionless, cannot be perturbed, said Father Caraffa.
He is content  no matter what happens that may be
annoying, because he has no other  will than God's. O
happy state! O peace! O calm! But to reach it one  must
struggle.

I recognize it, dear God, and experience teaches me the
same only too  well. One day one is good, and bad
another, and he slackens  unconsciously. How does it
happen that I am no longer what I was in  the
novitiate? Is it because I think we have paid enough
for God and  paradise? Let us compare our merits with
those of the saints. We have  received new graces and
must therefore increase our thanksgiving. We  are
nearer death, we are more reasonable, more enlightened.
What,  then, has brought about this change? Reason
should make me return.  The slightest occasion makes me
forget my good resolutions. How am I  to provide for
them? How am I to behave, and so on?

<Feast of St. John Baptist>.[15] Although innocent, St.
John spent his  life in continual penance. That is the
spirit of Christianity.  Because we have sinned we
should never give up the practice of this  virtue. When
we have practiced it but once, we do not know whether
God has pardoned us. And even if we knew it, St. Peter
and St.  Magdalen wept until they died. I have deserved
hell. I have crucified  my God. That should keep me
humble and nourish in my heart a holy  hatred against
myself. I sin daily. I hardly perform an action, even
a holy one, in which there is not something which
deserves purgatory.  This is why the frequent use of
confession is necessary and very  profitable. St.
Ignatius made an examen after every action. I commit
more faults than he, and I hardly ever think of doing
so. What  blindness!

I am still capable of sinning! Wretched condition of
life! This  danger makes life bitter for me and for all
those who love God and  know the value of grace. But
penance and mortification will make it  pleasant to
them, for they are such efficacious means of preventing
this misfortune. Penance holds the flesh in check,
weakens nature,  removes occasions, takes many objects
away, and so on. Holy penance!  Sweet penance!

The thought of the virtues of our brethren ought to
inspire those who  have true charity with sentiments of
joy because they have these  virtues, because God is
glorified in them, "Rejoiceth not in  iniquity, but
rejoiceth with the truth" (I Cor. 13:6). Are we not
cast down by them? We should praise God for them, thank
Him for them,  beg of Him their perseverance and
perfection. They are a means of  having a share in the
good they do, in confessions, mortifications,  sermons,
missions, and so on, and sometimes even a greater share
than  they themselves because of the abuses of selfish
interest. St.  Augustine said: "Are you jealous because
your brother is more  mortified than you? Rejoice
rather in his mortification and from then  on it is
yours." No, dear God, I am not jealous of the virtues
of my  brothers: "She is our sister; may she grow!"[16]
On the contrary, I  humble myself and am confused when
I compare myself with them. There  are few of them in
whom I do not find something excellent which I  have
not. Possibly, they have their faults, but they are for
the most  part involuntary, and a sinner like me should
hardly notice them, but  excuse them, and keep my eyes
fixed on my own. Their virtues are for  the most part
true virtues. It is for us to maintain ourselves in
humility, respect, charity. Am I doing so? No; a sign
of pride.  Instead of this jealousy, enkindle in me,
dear God, a holy desire to  imitate them and to profit
from their example. They will condemn me  at the
judgment. Today they ought to arouse me and encourage
me. This  is the sensible advice which God gives me:
"And cannot you do what  they do?" The example of the
ancient saints should have less  influence on me than
that of our brothers whom we have daily before  our
eyes. I behold them exercising a great reserve though
their  temperaments are ardent, and practicing the most
repulsive  humiliations though their birth is
distinguished. I behold them  austere and mortified
although their constitutions are delicate. What  a
shame it is for me to have examples of such great
humility in men  of quality, of such rugged
mortification in bodies that have been  brought up so
delicately! And I draw no profit from them to become
better!

God is in our midst, and it seems that we do not
recognize Him. He is  in our brethren, and He wishes to
be served and loved and honored in  them, and He will
give us a greater reward for that than if we served
Him in person. How do I behave? Do I love, do I honor
all my  brethren? If I except a single one, it is not
Jesus Christ whom I see  in them. It seems that I do
not know Him in them. If I love them, it  is for their
sakes, to be loved, considered by them, because their
character is like mine. Each one should consider our
Lord Jesus  Christ in his brother.

He is in our midst in the Blessed Sacrament. What a
consolation to  live in the same house with Jesus
Christ! But won't one say that we  do not know our
happiness? Do we visit Him often? Do we go to Him in
our needs? Do we consult Him in our plans? Do we bring
Him our little  disappointments, instead of seeking
advice from friends, of  complaining, of murmuring, and
so forth? "But there hath stood one in  the midst of
you whom you knew not" (John 1:26).

God is in the midst of us, or rather we are in the
midst of Him.  Wherever we are He sees us, He touches
us; in prayer, at work, at  table, in conversation. We
do not think of that; for how would we  perform our
actions, with what fervor, with what devotion! If when
I  am busy with my study, my prayer, or any other work,
I thought that a  superior was looking at me from some
place where he was hidden. . . !  Let us make frequent
acts of faith. Let us say frequently, God sees  me, He
is here present. Never do anything alone which I would
not  wish to do in the sight of all mankind.

(Here begins a series of remarkable contemplations on
God. They  delight those who read them attentively and
show to what heights of  contemplation the Sacred Heart
had raised the fervent apostle of His  devotion after
having revealed his mission to him. )

<Christmas Day>. I have considered with a most
delightful relish and  a very clear view the excellence
of the acts which the Blessed Virgin  practiced at the
birth of her Son. I admired the purity of heart and
the love with which she burned for her divine Infant;
for nothing  natural had spoiled her purity, and yet
she surpassed in warmth and  tenderness all the natural
loves of all the mothers of the world. I  thought I saw
the movements of her heart, and I was enraptured by the
sight.

Since Christmas Eve I have been busy with a very
consoling thought,  which has led me to practice the
following acts frequently and with  much sweetness:

Of joy, on thinking that throughout all the Christian
world the  majority of the faithful are thinking of
honoring God and of  sanctifying themselves, especially
holy persons, fervent religious,  many chosen seculars
who live in a very perfect manner, and who spend
especially the eve and the day of Christmas in most
holy exercises. I  thought that the air was fragrant
with their devotion, and that all  the virtues joined
together made something like a wonderful perfume  which
rose to heaven and made it infinitely glad.

Of thanksgiving for the favors which God has bestowed
on holy souls  and on all Christians.

Of petition, that God be pleased to purify and inflame
their  sacrifice. You come, dear God, to bring this
holy fire, and what do  You desire but that it be
enkindled, and that all the world be set  ablaze by it?
All Your faithful servants toil fervently and
constantly to merit some spark of it, and You reward
their holy  toils. For myself, God of mercy, I do not
ask any reward; in fact,  what have I done thus far to
merit any reward? All I ask of You, God  almighty and I
reduced to nothing, is that You do not treat me
severely. Pardon my infidelities because of all the
good my brethren  do who serve You so religiously. Or,
if my weakness and my  waywardness have irritated You
against me, punish me in this world. I  have a body
which is good only to suffer. Let it feel the weight of
Your justice, I will not complain. But at the highest
point of  illness or of false accusation, in prison and
in disgrace, I will  praise and bless You with the
three youths of Babylon, confident that  if You have
the goodness to punish me in this world, You will spare
me in the next.

I felt in myself a great desire to imitate the fervor
of holy  religious by spending these days in continual
communication with this  God, humbled and reduced to
nothing; of offering to God some heroic
mortifications, of remaining united with God become an
infant, and I  felt myself so drawn to it that I could
not without difficulty busy  myself with other
thoughts. I turned even to distractions, so carried
away was I with this thought. Cease, my sovereign and
lovable Master,  to fill me with Your favors. I realize
how unworthy I am of them. You  will make me accustomed
to serve You for selfish motives, or You will  involve
me in excesses. For what would I not do, if You did not
oblige me to obey my director, to merit a moment of
those sweetnesses  with which You fill me! Senseless
man! What am I saying, to merit?  Forgive me this word,
my kind Father. I am upset by the excess of  Your
goodness and I do not know what I am saying. Am I able
to merit  these ineffable graces and consolations with
which You anticipate me  and fill me? No, dear God, it
is You alone who by Your sufferings  have earned for me
in the presence of Your Father all the favors that  I
receive. May You be everlastingly blessed for that, and
fill me  with misfortunes and misery in order to give
me some share in Yours.  I will not believe that You
love me unless You make me suffer, and  that much, and
for a long time. I have committed the fault. Is it
just that the son be punished instead of the servant?

Nothing was so pure as the confinement of Mary. She
brought forth  Jesus Christ without loss to her
integrity. No spot, no stain  tarnished the purity of
her childbirth. It is thus that apostolic  persons
ought to bring forth Jesus Christ in their hearts. It
sometimes happens that one is soiled in purifying
others. It is even  something quite ordinary. It is a
kind of miracle to see a man who  loses none of his
humility, none of his holiness in his works of  zeal,
and in them seeks God alone.

God has allowed us to fall into an abyss of misery so
as to be able  to manifest His love for us. But our
miseries, no matter how great  they are, are not beyond
the reach of His zeal. All that was needed  to cure us
was a drop of His blood. But His love could not be
satisfied with so little. He drained all His veins.
That was not  necessary for the cure of our ills, but
it was to Him for the  manifestation of His love.

I find some consolation in setting up God's judgment
against the  opinion of men, who esteem us and think us
of some worth; in the  presence of God we are but
atoms, who to Him are needed for nothing  at all, and
with whom He could dispense as easily as though we had
never existed. Even without us He will do well indeed
all that He has  a mind to do; for He has a thousand
servants more zealous, more  faithful, more acceptable
in His eyes; He who could create in a  moment an
infinite number of others more accomplished still; and
who  could make use of the most miserable of men to
carry out the most  magnificent plans. What a marvel, O
all-lovable God, if one day You  should wish to make
use of my weakness to rescue some poor man from  the
gates of death![17] If all that is needed is to wish
it, I do wish  it with all my heart. It is true that
one must be holy to make others  holy, and my very
weighty faults let me know how far removed I am  from
holiness. But, make me holy, dear God, and do not spare
me in  making me good, for I wish to become so at any
cost.

If, regarding this truth that there is a God, and that
God is a being  that has nothing of nonbeing, who can
lose nothing, gain nothing, who  enfolds in Himself all
being, who is the source of all being, who  cannot
depend on any other in any sense at all, neither for
His being  nor His better being; if I have been
penetrated with a profound  reverence for this
incomprehensible greatness, I do not think that I  have
ever understood so well the nothingness of all things
as when  considered against this idea. The angels, the
great saints, the  Blessed Virgin herself, the holy
humanity of Jesus Christ, which of  themselves are
nothing, which depend altogether upon God, all that
seemed nothing to me in comparison with God. My
astonishment was  extreme when I reflected that God,
being so great and so independent  as I saw Him to be,
deigned to think of men, so amuse Himself, so to  say,
in hearing their prayers, in requiring their service,
in  weighing their defects. I thought I was looking at
a great king who  had assumed care of an anthill. If He
condemned us, if He annihilated  us all, without other
reason than his good pleasure, it would be as  though a
man amused himself in killing flies or crushing ants.
What  brought me back from my astonishment was that He
is as good, as  merciful, as bountiful as He is great.
This it was that encouraged me  to hope, to venture to
approach Him, to speak to Him. Without this  point of
view it seems to me that I would not even venture to
think  of God. I will think of You, dear God, but not
to know You. I must  not cling to this earth to know
You, and I realize how much my heart  still turns to
the things of earth. So many desires of being
esteemed, loved and praised, although glory and praise
are due only  to You; so much love of my own comfort
makes me groan; for the more I  think, under cover of
my cunning, of my self-love, I find that it has  taken
me by surprise, and that to my shame and confusion it
has made  a plaything of me. Open my eyes, therefore, O
lovable Jesus: "Lord,  grant that I may see." I do not
ask to see You nor to know You; give  me only the light
that will reveal myself to me, because as soon as I
know myself well, I will infallibly know You: <Noverim
me, noverim  Te> ("I cannot know myself without knowing
You"). My imperfections  will give me an ardent desire
of knowing something better than the  creature. And
what is there above the creature that is worth more
than the Creator? <Ad te omne desiderium meum> ("To
Thee is all my  longing directed"). Everything else
displeases me, and myself more  than everything else,
because I do not know of anything more worthy  of being
cast off, more contemptible, more pitiful.

This thought of the greatness and the independence of
God on the one  hand and, on the other, of the
nothingness of all creatures, has  revealed to me the
baseness and the cowardice of those who make
themselves dependent on other men, and the generosity
and happiness  of those who wish to depend on God
alone. There is but one means of  drawing us from the
melancholy nothingness in which we live, and that  is
to attach ourselves to God: "But he who is joined to
the Lord is  one spirit" (I Cor. 6:17). In this way we
lift ourselves out of the  dust and become in some way
like to God.

In the thought of God's spirituality, I have conceived
how it is that  God who is entirely spirit, can be
tasted, heard, seen, embraced by  the spiritual senses.
This view has been a strong, interior  conviction of
the presence of God which faith makes perceptible to
the soul in such a way that it has no doubt of it, and
that there is  no need of doing itself violence or of
reasoning to be convinced of  it. This disposition in
which I find myself has given me a great  desire to
mortify the external senses, the disorders and the
operations of which are the only obstacle which the
soul meets with  in the use of its spiritual senses:
"But the sensual man perceiveth  not those things that
are of the spirit of God" (I Cor. 2:14). I am  not
surprised that carnal men do not recognize God. It is
because God  is a spirit, and the spirit in a carnal
man is dead, or at least  deadened.

God's simplicity seems to me to be something wonderful.
This nature  which excludes all composition of parts,
whether they be essential or  integral or accidental,
which is all things and still one only, which  is its
own existence, which is all that it possesses, its
wisdom, its  goodness, its eternity, its power, and so
on! I represent to myself a  flower which has the
perfumes of all flowers. We might be able to  make a
composition in which there would be all these perfumes,
but  what a wonder it would be if one flower had them
all, and in all its  parts, and in the greatest
possible perfection. A fruit which would  contain all
tastes, a precious stone which would have all the
colors  of the others, a plant which would have all the
good qualities of  other plants, and so forth. "If you
had all blessings in yourself  alone, we should not let
you go." I felt myself drawn to imitate this
simplicity of God:

First. In my affections, loving God alone, and
receiving for myself  this sole love. That is not hard,
for I find in God all that I can  find elsewhere, and
so my love will be, as the Scripture says of God,
"Holy, unique and multiple." But my friends, they love
me, I love  them. You see that, and I know it. Dear
God, alone good, alone  lovable, must I sacrifice them
to You, since You wish me to be Yours  entirely? I will
make the sacrifice which will cost me more dearly  than
the first I made on leaving my father and my mother. I
will  make, therefore, this sacrifice' and I make it
cheerfully, since You  forbid me to give a share of my
friendship to any creature. Accept  this harsh
sacrifice. But in exchange, my divine Savior, be You
their  friend. As You wish to take their place with me,
do You take my place  with them. Daily I will remind
You of them in my prayers and of what  You owe them in
promising to take my place with them. Happy they if
they will profit from this privilege! I will importune
You so much  that I will force You to make them know
and esteem the blessing that  is theirs in the command
You have given me to have no more friends so  that I
can be entirely Yours. Be, therefore, their friend,
Jesus,  their one and true friend. Be mine, since You
command me to be Yours.

Secondly. In my intentions: "If thy eye is simple, thy
whole body  will be lightsome" (Matt. 6:22). To seek
only God, not even to seek  His gifts, His graces, the
advantages to be found in His service,  such as peace,
joy, and so forth, but only Him alone.

An excellent means of detaching the heart from all
things is  frequently to change one's place and work.
Insensibly we become  attached and take root, which can
be seen from the pain we suffer  when we feel the
separation. It is a kind of death to leave one place
where we are known and where we have a number of
friends. What will  always enable me to bear this
separation without pain is the thought  that God will
be with me everywhere, and that I will find the same
Lord in the place to which I have to go. In this
respect I don't make  any change. He is the same to
whom I pray here, who knows me, who  loves me, and whom
alone I wish to love.

"He only hath immortality" (I Tim. 6:16). Only God is
immortal.  Everything else dies: kings, relatives,
friends, those who esteem us  or whom we have bound to
us will withdraw from us, either by death or  by their
absence. We will withdraw from them. The remembrance of
our  favors, their esteem, their friendship, their
gratitude die with  them. Persons whom we love die, or
at least their beauty, innocence,  youth, prudence do;
their voice, the sight of them, and so on, all  that
dies with them. The pleasures of sense have, so to say,
only a  moment of life; God alone is immortal in every
way. As He is most  simple, He cannot die by the
separation of parts which compose Him;  as He is most
independent, He cannot fail by the withdrawal of an
external concursus which preserves Him. Moreover, He
cannot stand  aloof, nor change. He is always
reasonable, always beautiful,  liberal, loveable,
powerful, wise and perfect in every way. The  pleasure
we taste in possessing Him is a pleasure that never
passes.  It is unchangeable. It depends neither on time
nor place. It will  never pall. On the contrary, it
becomes always more delightful in  proportion as we
enjoy it.

God is perfect in every sense. It is impossible to find
in Him  anything that is not infinitely good. He is
wise, prudent, liberal,  beautiful, gentle, never
despising anything of all that He has  created, making
account of us, governing us gently and always
reverently. He is patient, free of all ill-regulated
stirrings of the  passions. He has all that we love in
creatures. He has none of the  defects which shock us,
which repel us, which disgust us in created  objects.
How is it then that we do not love Him alone? What is
there  that can justify this dislike? When we find
something very perfect in  any order, we cannot bear
with all the rest. A beautiful voice well  modulated
gives us a strange dislike for bad singers. A man who
is  experienced in painting and who has studied for
some time the  originals of Raphael and Titian doesn't
deign to let his eyes rest on  the work of other
painters. When we have lived among good people and  men
of polished manners we cannot grow accustomed to an
association  less delicate and refined.

God is not only perfect, but He is also the source of
all  perfections. It is only in Him that we can borrow
them, and that is  done by studying Him and
contemplating Him: "We shall be like to Him  because we
shall see Him as He is" (I John 3:2). That will be in
heaven, and in this life we approach this resemblance
the more we  contemplate Him. We have a great
obligation to be perfect, because in  a man who
preaches virtue and who makes profession of it,
imperfections do more harm to the neighbor than his
virtue does them  good. They give occasion for the
belief that there is no real  holiness, that perfection
is something impossible and that it is only  an
illusion and a sham. If imperfections do not suggest
these  thoughts, they persuade the tepid that one can
have them and be holy  at the same time. It is enough
to lull an imperfect man and to  nourish in his heart a
passion which flatters him that he loves, if  only he
notices some shadow in a man who has the reputation of
being  good. He thinks that he is thereby authorized to
continue his self- love and think that he is not less
holy for that.

Thinking of God's eternity, I represented it to myself
as an  immovable rock on the banks of a stream from
which the Lord saw all  creatures passing without His
moving and without stirring Himself.  All men who were
attached to created things appeared to me to be like
people who were being carried by the current, some
clinging to a  plank, others to the trunk of a tree,
others to a mass of foam which  they took for something
solid. Everything was carried on by the  torrent.
Friends died, health failed, life passed, one arrived
at  eternity carried on by those transient supports,
just as at the open  sea you cannot be prevented from
entering and being lost. I saw how  imprudent a man
would be in not clinging to the rock, to the Eternal.
One tried to make his way back, but the waves had
carried him too  far; return is impossible. There is
nothing left but to perish with  these perishable
things. Whereas a man who clings to God sees the  peril
without fear, and the loss of all the others. Whatever
happens,  whatever surprising changes take place, he is
always on his rock. God  cannot let him escape. He has
embraced only Him, he finds himself  always in His
arms. Adversity only gives him reason to rejoice over
the good choice he has made. He is always in possession
of his God.  The death of his friends, his relatives,
of those who esteem and help  him, absence, the change
of work or of place, old age, sickness,  death, take
away nothing of his God. He is always equally
satisfied,  saying in the peace and joy of his soul:
"But it is good for me to  adhere to my God, to put my
hope in the Lord God" (Ps. 72:28). This  consideration
has moved me deeply. I think that I have understood
this truth, and that God has given me the grace of
being persuaded of  it in a certain way which gives me
great courage and much ease in  detaching myself from
everything and in seeking only God's will in  all my
life, by all the ways He will be pleased to employ me,
never  giving any sign of an inclination or repugnance,
receiving blindly  every work that my superiors shall
appoint. And if it should happen  that sometime they
give me the choice, I promise, dear God, and I  hope by
Your holy grace to keep the promise. If it happens, I
say,  that if my superiors should leave the choice to
me, I promise to  renew the vow which You have inspired
me to take of choosing always  the employment and the
place to which I feel the most repugnance, and  where I
think, according to God and in very truth, I shall have
the  most to suffer. My lovable Jesus, You have given
me the example. And  as far as I can, I wish to rule
myself by Your example and Your  principles which alone
can lead me to You and draw me from the narrow  straits
of ignorance and error into which my passions might
hurry me.

ENDNOTES

1 St. Joseph's at Lyons. This convent was situated near
the confluence of the Rhane and the Saone, and was used
for the tertianship. Blessed Claude pronounced his last
vows there February 2, 1675, and a few days later, left
to be superior of the house at Paray-le-Monial.

2 Is there in all this something of the extraordinary
and sensible order? The words of the religious do not
warrant an absolute affirmation. But the thoughts here
disclosed certainly agree with those of the man who
seven months later is going to consecrate himself
completely to the Sacred Heart.

3 This act by which one resigns all one's expiatory
merit is called in the Church the "heroic act."

4 This grace from this time prepared the apostle of the
Sacred Heart by establishing those close bonds which
united his heart with the Heart of Jesus.

5 Father La Colombiere, therefore, took this vow
towards the end of the Second Week of the Exercises,
shortly before November 1, perhaps even on All Saints
Day. He was thirty-three years, nine and a half months
of age.

6 That is, the 13th, 14th, 15th and-16th Rules of the
Summary.

7 Here Father Claude gives a simple proof of his
holiness.

8 These words are taken from the admirable prayer that
St. Ignatius places on the lips of the retreatant in
the last meditation of the Exercises, to which he has
given the title, "Contemplation for Obtaining Love."

After recalling that love consists more in works than
in words and that it brings about a real interchange of
possessions between those who, love, St. Ignatius
places before the eyes of him who wishes to obtain this
love of God all that God has done for him. That is, the
complete gift which the Lord has made of himself and he
urges the retreatant to make a return by offering
himself entirely to Him in the words: "Take, O Lord,
and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding
and all my will, everything that I own and possess. You
have given them to me, O Lord, to You do I restore
them. They are all Yours. Dispose of them according to
Your will. Give me Your love and Your grace, and this
will be enough."

9 Those acquainted with the <Exercises> of St.
Ignatius, know that they end with this "Contemplation
to Obtain Divine Love." From this fact we must conclude
that the notes added to the Third Repetition of this
"Exercise for Obtaining Divine Love," are the last that
Blessed Claude wrote in the course of his long retreat
We see that he ends it heroically with this resolution:
"God must be satisfied at any price!"

The notes which follow are those which Blessed Claude
wrote in his <Journal of Retreat> after the retreat
itself was over. In fact, they are a continuation of it
and it is for this reason that the first editors added
them to the notes on the <Exercises> themselves.

This observation admitted, as one of the notes bears
the date of the feast of St. Andrew, we must also admit
that Blessed Claude made the Exercises of St. Ignatius
so that they ended eight or nine days before November
30, that is, that he probably made them from the 18th
of October to the 21st of November.

10 Here begins the series of notes which Blessed Claude
added successively to those of the retreat. The notes
preceding that which is dated on the feast of St.
Andrew were written down each day from the end of the
retreat to the feast of the Apostle.

11 It is not known what this heroic resolution was.
Some think that it was an offer to become a lay brother
in the Society, w~ich is most improbable.

12 November 30, 1674, probably nine days after
finishing the <Exercises>.

13 "O good Cross!" Words of St. Andrew at the sight of
the cross on which he was to die.

14 This note and the following seem to belong to the
time when Blessed Claude was superior at Paray-le-
Monial, that is, between February and June 24, 1675.

15 This feast of St. John Baptist was the 24th of June
1675, three days after Claude consecrated himself to
the Sacred Heart.

16 An allusion to the words of the brothers of Rebecca,
when she left them to go to marry Isaac.

17 A prayer generously granted, especially at London.

SECOND SPIRITUAL RETREAT

(Made at London, 1677)

NOTE

Those who take the trouble of reading this retreat will
find some  difficulty in it if their attention is not
called to the memorandum  of which Father La Colombiere
speaks on the third and fifth days of  this Journal of
his Spiritual Exercises. This memorandum was given  him
as he left France for England as preacher to Her Royal
Highness,  the Duchess of York. The honesty and virtue
of the person (St.  Margaret Mary) who gave him this
paper induced the Father to preserve  it carefully.
There are only three points which should be set down
here word for word as they are copied without any
addition, from the  original.

1. Father La Colombiere's talent is to bring souls to
God; that is  why the demons will work against him.
Even persons consecrated to God  will cause him trouble
and will not approve of what he says in his  sermons to
lead them to God. But His goodness will be his support
in  his crosses, so far as he trusts in Him.

2. He should have a sympathetic gentleness for sinners
and resort to  strong measures only when God will make
it known to him to do so.

3. He should be very careful never to draw the good
from its source.  This word is brief, but it contains
much. God will give him  understanding according to the
application he makes of it.

AT THE MOMENT I find myself in a disposition quite
opposed to that  which I had two years ago.[1] Fear had
complete possession of me, and I  felt in no way drawn
to works of zeal because of my fear of not being  able
to escape the pitfalls of the active life in which I
saw that my  vocation was going to employ me. Today
this fear has disappeared, and  all that is in me leads
me to work for the salvation and  sanctification of
souls. I feel that I love life only for that, and  that
I love sanctification because it is a wonderful means
of gaining  many hearts for Jesus Christ.

I think that the reason for my being in this
disposition is that I no  longer feel the passion of
vainglory. It is a miracle which God alone  could work
in me. Brilliant employments do not stir me as they did
heretofore. I think that I am seeking nothing but
souls, and that  those in small places and even
villages are as dear to me as the  others. Besides, by
God's mercy, the praise and the esteem of men are  very
far from affecting me as they once did, although on
this point I  am still only too sensitive. But formerly
I was so beset by this  temptation that it robbed me of
all courage and caused me almost to  lose hope of being
able to achieve my own salvation while busying  myself
with that of others. As a result, had I been free, I do
not  doubt that I should have passed my days in some
solitude.

This temptation began to weaken at a word which Sister
Margaret Mary  said to me one day. She told me that
while praying to God for me, our  Lord had given her to
understand that my soul was dear to Him and  that He
would have a special care of it. I answered her, "Alas,
Sister Margaret Mary, how can that agree with what I
feel within  myself? Would our Lord love a person as
vain as I am, a person who  seeks only to please men,
to make himself well thought of, who is  filled with
human respect?" "Oh, my father," she answered, "all
that  does not dwell in you." Truly indeed this word
quieted me, and I  began to be less troubled by my
temptations, and they began to weaken  and be less
frequent.

But nothing, I think, has so contributed to give me
this desire of  working for souls as two things: the
little success which God has  been pleased to give to
the slight efforts I made at Paray-le-Monial,  and what
Sister Margaret Mary through Mother de Saumaise told me
on  my departure and which Sister gave me in writing.
Every day I see  things which give me reason to believe
that there has been no  mistake. May God grant me the
grace to make good use of so many  blessings of which I
had made myself so unworthy.

The thought that God had done everything to me for
Himself raised me,  I think, above creatures, and gave
me a liberty and independence  which produced a great
deal of peace in my heart and a great desire  to wear
myself out in His service. I could well wish, were it
possible, never to resist the will of God. I feel a
great desire to  follow all His inspirations,
especially since a person who enjoys  great familiarity
with God told me that our Lord had given her to
understand that I was resisting Him for a long time in
a matter on  which I was hesitating, so I believed,
because of my fear of not  acting prudently.

The third day of my retreat I perceived that the first
point on the  paper which had been given me on my
departure for London, which point  has been clearly
confirmed in a letter which I received two months
ago,[2] I perceived, I say, that it was only too true.
For, after I  left Paris the demon laid five or six
snares which worried me, and  from which I escaped by a
very special grace, after having been  guilty of a
number of acts of cowardice. I do not know why I did
not  notice the trouble which these things caused me.
It was not that the  objects themselves were absolutely
evil, but it was a case of my  doubting which of the
two was the better. The part taken by nature  was so
strongly fortified by the demon that I was prevented
from  seeing the more perfect, or at least I was
deprived of the strength  to embrace it, so that I
remained in great worry and uneasiness,  which have
ceased, God be thanked, through the grace which our
Lord  granted me in making me see the truth and having
me embrace it.

On the fifth day God gave me, if I mistake not, an
understanding of  that point of the memorandum which I
brought from France: "He should  be very careful not to
draw the good from its source. This word is  brief, but
it contains much, and God will give him an
understanding  of it according to the application he
makes of it." It is true that I  had frequently studied
this word. "Draw the good from its source,"  without
being able to penetrate its meaning. Today, having
meditated  that God must give me understanding
according to the application I  make of it, I have
meditated on it a rather long time, without  finding
any other meaning than this, that I should refer to God
all  the good He deigns to do through me, since He is
its only source. But  after having laboriously turned
my thought from this consideration,  suddenly it became
as light as day in my mind and I saw clearly that  it
was the solving of the doubt that troubled me the first
two or  three days of my retreat about the use I should
make of my pension. I  understood that this word
contained much, because it led to the  perfection of
evangelical poverty, to a great detachment from all
vainglory, to the perfect observance of the rules, and
that it is the  source of a great inward and outward
peace and of very many edifying  actions, instead of
following another counsel, a fine pretext behind  which
I could have hidden:

1st. I would find myself removed from the perfection of
poverty.

2nd. I would have had to ask for unnecessary
dispensations.

3rd. I would have given vainglory and self-love some
very delicate  nourishment.

4th. I would have exposed myself to external cares
which would have  kept me very much occupied.

5th. I ran the risk of scandalizing people in France
and of inspiring  them with a love of the world, and at
least deprive some in England  of good example.

6th. I was going to hand myself over to all the thorns
which usually  accompany avarice, and I was beginning
to be quite upset by them.  What is wonderful in this
and makes me see that You are good, dear  God, is that
You have given me the grace to bind myself by vow to
follow this advice even before giving me an
understanding of it. I  would not be able to say what
joy, what feelings of gratitude, what  confidence in
God, what courage this insight has given me. There are
still some points to which I have not extended the vow,
because it  was too far removed. But, indeed, if it
pleases our Lord, I will be  quite at ease in that
regard for the rest of my life. Praised a  thousand and
a thousand times be our Lord who has wished to give me
this knowledge through His own mercy and the holiness
of the person  through whom he deigned to give me this
warning![3]

Again, in the second paragraph I find a remedy against
a temptation  since I came here. I find there very
clearly indicated the conduct I  should observe with
regard to a person whose actions are displeasing  to
me. I do not know why I did not understand it sooner.
But God be  praised who has made me understand it. This
paper contained exactly  the rules I had need of to
draw me away from the pitfall of the  demon. There is
only one point the execution of which God will permit
at His good pleasure. All my confidence is in Him.

On the sixth day, as I made my meditation on the vow I
had taken, I  was moved by a great feeling of gratitude
to God who had given me the  grace of taking this vow.
I have never had so much leisure to  consider it. It
gave me great joy to see myself thus bound by a
thousand chains to do God's will. I have not been
frightened at the  sight of so many obligations so
strict and so particular, because I  think that God has
filled me with a great confidence that I have done  His
will in undertaking these obligations, and that He will
help me  to keep my word. It is quite plain that
without a very special grace  it would be really
impossible to keep this vow. I have renewed it  with
all my heart, and I hope that our Lord will never
permit me to  violate it.

Today, the seventh day, I noticed that although God has
given me many  graces during this retreat, they have
not come in the course of my  meditations. On the
contrary, I have found more than the usual  trouble
with them. I am not sure that this does not arise from
the  fact that I wanted to follow closely the usual
points, for which I  felt no attraction. I would have
spent, I think, many hours, without  exhausting or
wearying myself in considering God about me and within
me, sustaining me and helping me; in praising His
mercies and  entertaining myself with feelings of
confidence, in desires of  belonging to Him without
reserve and in annihilating in myself all  that belongs
to self, in desires of glorifying Him and having others
glorify Him, in the sight of my impotence and the great
need I have  of help from on high, in being pleased
with all that God might wish  whether in my own regard
or in regard to persons with whom I have  some
connection. And yet, when I wanted to consider a
mystery, I was  tired at once and had to rack my brains
to such an extent that I can  say that I never had less
devotion than at meditation. I thought it  would not be
a bad thing for me to continue in the future as I have
done in the past, unite myself by an act of faith with
God present,  and then by acts of the virtues to which
I felt more drawn. This  matter is not subject to
illusion, it would seem, because nothing is  truer than
that God is within us and that we are in Him, and that
this presence of God is a great motive of respect,
confidence, love,  joy, and fervor, especially as the
imagination has no part in the  effort we make to
represent this truth, since we make use only of the
light of faith.

This eighth day I think I have found a great treasure,
if only I know  how to profit from it. It is a firm
confidence in God, founded on His  infinite goodness,
on the experience I have had that He never fails  us
within the limits of our needs. Moreover, I find in the
memorandum  that was given me when I left France that
He promised to be my  strength in proportion to the
confidence I placed in Him. This is why  I am
determined to place no limits to my confidence and to
extend it  to everything. I think that in the future I
must use our Lord as a  shield which covers me on all
sides and which I hold up against the  shafts of my
enemies. Therefore, You shall be my strength, dear God,
You shall by my guide, my director, my adviser, my
patience, my  knowledge, my peace, my justice and my
prudence. I will have recourse  to You in all my
temptations, in all my aridities, in my vexations,  in
my fears; or rather, I do not wish to fear again either
illusions  or the tricks of the demon or my own
weakness or my indiscretions or  even my diffidence.
For You must be my strength in all my crosses.  You
promise me that You will be with me in proportion to my
confidence, and, what is wonderful, dear God, at the
same time that  You lay down this condition, You seem
to give me confidence. Be You  forever loved and
praised by all Your creatures, O my most lovable
Savior! What should I do, alas, if You were not my
strength? But  being so, how do You assure me of it,
and what would I not do for  Your glory? "I can do all
things in Him who strengtheneth me" (Phil.  4:14). You
are everywhere in me and I in You. Therefore, wherever
I  am, whatever danger, whatever enemy threatens me, I
have my strength  with me. This thought can scatter all
my worries in a moment, and  especially any recurrence
of nature which I find so strong at certain  moments
and on account of which I cannot help trembling and
shivering  at the prospect of the absolute privation to
which God is giving me  the grace of calling me. Every
text of Scripture which speaks of hope  consoles and
strengthens me: "In Thee, O Lord, I have hoped; I shall
not be confounded." "In peace and in the selfsame I
will sleep and  take my rest, because Thou, O Lord,
hast singularly established me in  hope." "I shall love
Thee, O Lord, my strength . . . the Lord is my
firmament and my refuge . . . The Lord is my light and
my salvation,  whom shall I fear?" "The Lord is my
praise and my strength." He will  be my thanksgiving,
if it pleases Him.

As I finish this retreat full of confidence in God's
mercy, I have  laid a law upon myself to procure by
every possible means the  carrying out of what was
prescribed me on the part of my adorable  Savior with
regard to His precious body in the Blessed Sacrament of
the Altar, where I believe that He is truly and really
present. Moved  by compassion for those blinded people
who are unwilling to submit to  the belief in this
ineffable mystery, I would gladly shed my blood to
convince them of the truth which I believe and profess.
In this  country where one makes it a point of honor to
doubt Your real  presence in this august Sacrament I
feel a great consolation in  making, frequently
throughout the day, acts of faith in the reality  of
Your adorable body present under the species of bread
and wine. My  heart expands every time I try to make
acts of faith taught by the  Roman Church, which is the
only true Church and outside of which  there is no hope
of salvation. My heart, I say, on such occasions
expands and is conscious of the sweetness which I
cannot help tasting  and receiving from the mercy of my
God without being able to explain  it. You are good
indeed, dear God, to communicate Yourself with such
bounty to the most thankless of Your creatures and the
most unworthy  of Your servants. May You be forever
blessed and praised!

I recognized that God wishes me to serve Him by
procuring the  fulfillment of His desires regarding the
devotion He suggested to a  person to whom He
communicates with great confidence, and for which  He
has been willing to make use of my weakness. I have
already  suggested it to a good many people in England,
and I have written to  France to ask one of my friends
to recommend it where he is. It will  be very
profitable there, and the large number of chosen souls
in  that community makes me think that the practice in
that holy house  will be very pleasing to God. Why
cannot I be everywhere, dear God,  and make it known
that You are waiting for Your servants and friends!

God, then, revealed this to the person who--I have
reason to believe  from the graces He has given her--is
according to His Heart. She  explained it to me, and I
obliged her to put down in writing what she  told me.
But I wished to write it down myself in the journal of
my  retreats, because the good God wishes in the
carrying out of this  purpose to make use of my feeble
efforts.

"Being," said this holy soul, "before the Blessed
Sacrament one day  of the octave, I received from my
God extraordinary graces of His  love. Moved as I was
by the desire of making some return and of  giving love
for love, He told me: 'You cannot show Me greater love
than by doing what I have so often asked of you.' And
showing me His  divine heart, 'Behold the Heart which
has loved men so much that it  has spared nothing, even
to draining itself and consuming itself to  bear
witness to its love. And as thanks I receive from the
larger  number only ingratitude, contempt, irreverence,
sacrilege, and  coldness which they have for Me in this
Sacrament of love. But what  is more revolting still is
that this comes from hearts that are  consecrated to
Me. It is for this reason that I have asked you that
the first Friday after the octave of Corpus Christi be
dedicated as a  special feast to honor My heart by
making it a reparation of honor by  means of an <amende
honorable>, receiving communion on this day to  repair
the indignities it has received during the time it has
been  exposed on the altar. And I promise that My heart
will expand to  spread abundantly the influence of its
divine love over those who  render it this honor.'"

"But, my Lord, to whom are You applying? To so wretched
a creature  and poor sinner that her unworthiness
itself would be even capable of  preventing the
fulfillment of Your design. 'Ah, poor innocent that
you are, do you not know that I make use of the weakest
of men to  confound the strong, that it is usually the
smallest and the poor in  spirit in whom I make My
power visible with greater brilliance, so  that they
will not attribute anything to themselves?' Give, me
then,  the means of doing what You command. It was then
He added, 'Apply to  My Servant N. [Father Claude La
Colombiere], and tell him from Me to  do all he can to
establish this devotion and to give this pleasure to
My divine heart. Tell him not to be discouraged because
of the  difficulties he will meet with, for he will not
lack them. But he  must know that he is all-powerful
who mistrusts himself entirely to  put his trust in Me
alone.' "

In this retreat which I am finishing today,[4] I think
that the lights  that God has been pleased to give me
have been shorter, but also, by  His mercy, clearer
than formerly. The most ordinary feeling I have  had
has been a desire to abandon myself and to forget
myself  completely, according to the advice which was
given me on the part of  God, as I believe, by the
person whom God has used to give me many  graces. I
think that at times I have glimpsed what this perfect
self- forgetfulness consists in, and the condition of a
soul who has no  further reserves with God. This state
which has frightened me for so  long is beginning to
please me, and I hope that with God's grace I  shall
try to reach it. Sometimes I surprise myself by feeling
quite  opposed to this abandonment, and that causes me
some confusion  indeed.

When I am quite myself, I feel, by God's infinite
mercy, a liberty of  heart which causes me a joy beyond
compare. I feel that nothing could  make me unhappy. I
am not attached to anything, at least during that
time, but that doesn't prevent me from feeling daily
certain  movements of nearly all the passions. But one
moment of reflection  and peace is restored.

I have often tasted a great inward joy from the thought
that I am in  God's service. I felt that that was worth
much more than all the  favor of kings. The occupations
of people of the world seemed most  contemptible to me
in comparison with what is done for God.

I find myself above all the kings of the earth by the
honor that is  mine in belonging to God. It seems to me
that it is better to know  Him and to love Him than to
reign; and although sometimes I have  thoughts of
ambition and vainglory, it is certain that all the
glory  of the world apart from the knowledge of God and
His love would not  tempt me. I feel a deep compassion
for those who are not satisfied  with God, even though
they have their heart's desire apart from Him.

I have discovered, and daily continue to discover fresh
illusions in  zeal, and I have felt a great desire to
purify that with which God  inspires me and which I see
increasing every day.

I still have feelings of deep confusion over my past
life; a very  strong and a very clear conviction of the
little contribution we make  to the conversion of
souls, and a very distinct insight into my own
nothingness.

I have become aware of the necessity there is of moving
with great  circumspection and great humility and self-
diffidence in the  directing of souls and in one's own
spiritual behavior. One must be  detached from too
great a desire of making great progress through a
feeling of self-love. That could cause one to fall into
great  illusions and might engage one in matters that
are indiscreet. The  love of humility, of abjection, of
a hidden and obscure life is a  great remedy for all
these ills. We unconsciously and very  ridiculously
compare ourselves with the greatest saints and do from
motives that are very imperfect what they have done by
the pure  movement of the Holy Spirit. We want to do in
a day in ourselves and  in others what has cost them
many years. We have neither their  prudence nor their
experience nor their talents nor their  supernatural
gifts. In a word, they were saints, and we are far from
that, and yet we are presumptuous enough to believe
that we are able  to do what they have done.

There is no peace except in perfect forgetfulness of
self. We must be  resolved to forget even our spiritual
interests, so as to seek only  the pure glory of God.

I feel an ever greater desire to strive for the perfect
observance of  my rules. It gives me a very great
pleasure to practice them, and the  more exact I
become, the more I think I am entering into perfect
liberty. It is certain that observance does not cramp
me. On the  contrary, this yoke makes me, so to say,
lighter. I regard it as the  greatest grace I have ever
received in my life.

I find myself miserable on a point which I cannot
express: my  imagination is foolish and extravagant.
All the passions knock my  heart about, and hardly a
day passes that one or another doesn't  awaken the most
disorderly movements. Sometimes it is a real object
that arouses them, sometimes an imaginary one. It is
true that by  God's mercy I suffer all this without
contributing much to it and  without any consent. But
at every moment I catch up with these mad  passions
which disquiet this poor heart. This self-love flees
from  corner to corner and always has some hiding
place. I have much pity  for myself, but I do not get
angry or impatient. What would I do  then? I ask God to
let me know what I ought to do to serve Him and to
purify myself, and I am resolved to wait meekly until
it pleases Him  to work this wonder, for I am quite
convinced that only He can do it.  "Who can make him
clean that is conceived of unclean seed? Is it not
thou who only art?" (Job 14:4.) If only I can go to God
with great  simplicity and great confidence, I am too
happy. Dear God, grant that  I may always keep this
thought in mind.

I think that I have a great desire to do good, and that
I know the  means, and that I shall not often fail if
only I reflect. But this  reflection is a great grace
from God, from whom I very humbly ask it.

These words are never present to my mind but light,
peace, liberty,  meekness and love also enter at the
same time: <Simplicity,  Confidence, Humility, Complete
Abandonment, No Reserve, God's Will,  My Rules.>

I do not taste any joy like that of discovering some
new infirmity  hitherto hidden from me. I have often
had this pleasure in this  retreat, and I shall have it
as often as God is pleased to share His  light with me
in the reflections I make upon myself. I firmly
believe, and I have great pleasure in believing, that
God leads those  who surrender themselves to His
guidance and that He has a care of  little things.

Every day I feel more devotion to St. Francis de Sales.
I pray our  Lord to give me the grace of often
remembering this saint, to invoke  him and to imitate
him.

ENDNOTES

1 The Father was then making his third year of
probation. He interrupted it in February 1675 to become
superior of the college at Paray-le Monial.

2 Towards the end of November, 1676. See Letter 21,
dated November 20, 1676, p. 164.

3 St. Margaret Mary.

4 January 27 to February 8, 1677.

END OF THE SPIRITUAL RETREATS

OFFERING TO THE SACRED HEART OF JESUS

THIS OFFERING is made to honor the divine Heart, the
seat of all the  virtues, the source of all blessings
and the retreat of all holy  souls.

The principal virtues which we propose to honor in Him
are: first, a  most ardent love of God His Father,
joined to the deepest possible  reverence and the
greatest possible humility: secondly, an infinite
patience in evils, a contrition and deep sorrow for the
sins with  which He was burdened, the confidence of a
most tender Son joined  with the confusion of a very
great sinner: thirdly, a most sensitive  compassion for
our wretchedness and an immeasurable love. We propose
these despite our wretchedness and notwithstanding all
the movements,  each one of which was at the highest
possible point, an unalterable  equality caused by so
perfect a conformity with God's will that He  could not
be disturbed by any event however opposed it might
appear  to His zeal and His humility and even to His
love, and to all the  other dispositions of His soul.

This Heart is still, as far as possible, in the same
sentiments, and  especially always burning with love
for men, always open to lavish  every kind of grace and
blessing, always moved by our misfortunes,  always
eager with the desire of sharing its treasures with us,
and of  giving itself to us, always disposed to receive
us and to serve as an  asylum, a dwelling, a paradise
even in this life.

In return for all this He finds in the hearts of men
only hardness,  only forgetfulness, only contempt, only
ingratitude. He loves and He  is not loved. Even His
love is not known, because we do not deign to  receive
the gifts by which He wishes to bear witness to it, nor
to  hear the tender and sweet declarations He would
like to make to our  heart.

"To make reparation for so many outrages and such cruel
ingratitude,  O most adorable and lovable Heart of my
lovable Jesus, and to avoid  falling, as far as it is
in my power to do so, into a like  misfortune, I offer
You my heart with all the movements of which it  is
capable. I give myself entirely to You, and from this
hour I  protest most sincerely, I think, that I desire
to forget myself and  all that can have any connection
with me. I wish to remove the  obstacle which could
prevent my entering into this divine Heart which  You
have had the goodness to open to me, and into which I
desire to  enter, there to live and die with Your
faithful servants, entirely  penetrated and inflamed
with Your love. I offer to this Heart all the  merit,
all the satisfaction of all the Masses, of all the
prayers, of  all the mortifications, of all the
religious practices, of all the  acts of zeal, of
humility, of obedience and of all the other virtues
which I shall practice up to the last moment of my
life. Not only all  this will be to honor the Heart of
Jesus and its wonderful  dispositions, but again I pray
Him to accept the complete gift which  I make to Him to
dispose of as He pleases, and in favor of whomsoever
He pleases. As I have already yielded to the holy souls
in purgatory  all that there is in my actions that is
capable of satisfying the  divine justice, I desire
that this will be distributed to them  according to the
good pleasure of the Heart of Jesus.

This will not prevent me from discharging the
obligations I have of  saying Masses and of praying for
certain intentions which obedience  prescribes; or from
giving through charity Masses to poor people or  to my
brethren or friends who may ask them of me. But as I
shall then  be making use of a good that does not
belong to me, I intend, as it  is only just, that
obedience, charity and other virtues which I shall
practice on these occasions, belong to the Heart of
Jesus, in which I  shall find the strength to practice
these virtues, which consequently  will belong to Him
without reserve.

Sacred Heart of Jesus, teach me perfect forgetfulness
of self, since  that is the only way by which one can
find entrance into You. As all  that I shall do in the
future shall be Yours, grant that I do nothing  that
will be unworthy of You. Teach me what I ought to do to
come to  the purity of Your love, the desire of which
you have breathed into  me. I feel in myself a
tremendous inclination to please You, and a  great
impotence of succeeding without a great light and a
most  special help which I can expect only from You.
Lord, do Your will in  me. I well know that I oppose
it. But I dearly wish, I think, not to  oppose it. It
is Yours to do all, divine Heart of Jesus Christ. You
alone will have all the glory of my sanctification if I
become holy.  That seems to me clearer than the day.
But for You it will be a great  glory, and it is for
that reason alone that I would desire to be  perfect.
Amen. Amen!"[1]

1 Pere Croiset affirms that this formula of
consecration to the  Sacred Heart is save for a few
modifications, the consecration which  Blessed Claude
made at Paray-le Monial, June 21, 1675.

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