Since last spring, I have been publishing a series of articles that have dealt in sequence with St. Ignatius’s rules for the discernment of spirits.
Some weeks ago, I realized that the article on Rule 4, in which Ignatius describes spiritual desolation as “darkness of soul, turmoil of spirit . . . restlessness rising from many disturbances and temptations which lead to lack of hope, lack of love,” would be published in our Ignatian Discernment Institute newsletter ten days before Christmas. “Ugh,” I thought. “How inappropriate.” I seriously considered interrupting the usual sequence of articles to avoid such a melancholy topic during a season of joy. But then I remembered the faces of the people I greet each year as they depart after Mass on Christmas Day.
Those faces display the entire gamut of human emotions—from little children eager to open or return to their gifts, to adults who have experienced tragedy during the past year. Though it is not always clear whether the latter are experiencing spiritual desolation as Ignatius describes it, their sadness is obvious, and it is often amplified by contrast with the joy that is normally connected to the feast.
We do well to begin by remembering that Christmas is a season. It will begin with the octave from December 25 to January 1 (the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God), and will end on January 11, the feast of the Baptism of the Lord. Those 18 days amount to a period that is only one week shorter than our present Advent. If we are without consolation on Christmas Day, it will most likely return at some time during the season, perhaps when we least expect.
It will help us also to recall Ignatius’s “principal reasons why we suffer from desolation.” The first is “because we have been tepid and slothful or negligent in our exercises of piety, and so through our own fault consolation has been taken away from us.” While we should not overlook this possible cause (e.g., if I skip Advent, I shouldn’t be surprised if consolation escapes me on Christmas), Ignatius adds that there are other possible reasons for desolation that have nothing to do with personal culpability. The second reason why God allows desolation, he says, is to see “how much we will advance in His service and praise when left without the generous reward of consolations and signal favors.” In the context of Christmas, desolation can reveal which truly means more to us: the infant Savior who rescued our eternity, or the feelings of happiness that He usually brings. If the two always came together, we would never know for sure.
In this respect, the Grinch who stole Christmas unwittingly performed a great service for Whoville. By taking away their decorations, presents, Christmas trees, and even pilfering the roast beast, he gave the people of Whoville the occasion to express their love for the giver—and each other—rather than the gifts. Their song on Christmas morning was utterly unexpected by the Grinch, who was certain that by taking away all their natural causes for celebration, he would necessarily ruin their Christmas.
Such is the wisdom of God, who allows the enemy to bring desolation because it is sometimes more conducive to our salvation. If lived well, such times of desolation can yield a harvest of consolation that begins here and finds its fruition in eternity. The classic Advent hymn People, Look East expresses this well: “Furrows be glad, though earth is bare; one more seed is planted there.”
Perhaps we need to put less pressure on ourselves to feel a certain way on December 25. The reality is that we have no more direct control over spiritual consolation than we have over a white Christmas. We do much better to focus on the Giver. We can love and serve Him—and his children—in consolation, desolation, and the times of tranquility that lie between them.
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This post was first published on the Ignatian Disernment Institute and is reprinted here with permission.
