On the solemnity of the Assumption, we entered one of the three penitential seasons traditionally recognized by the Church, that of Saint Michael’s Lent (the other two being Advent and Lent). These are times when we should consider again the task of accepting mortification and ascetical disciplines. Who better to learn from than St. John of the Cross?
He is famous for his absolutism regarding mastery of the appetites. Many people seeking enlightenment from the Spanish saint and Doctor of the Church make the perilous move of beginning with The Ascent of Mount Carmel (AMC). I did, many years ago, and was daunted to say the least, to read, “He that journeys on the road and makes the ascent to God must needs be habitually careful to quell and mortify the desires …. Until these be quelled, [the soul] cannot reach the end, however much it practice the virtues.” AMC I.5.6.
His directions are grounded in sound psychology. Following Aquinas (Summa Theologica I.II, q. 13, a. 1), St. John of the Cross acknowledged that we all experience natural appetites, which are simply stirrings in the emotions arising from our fallen human nature, and which can never be totally silenced in this life. The danger is in the “voluntary appetites,” the desires that engage the will and thus move us to action. As to these appetites, “whether they be of mortal sin, which are the gravest, or venial sin, which are less grave, or whether they be only of imperfections, which are the least grave of all, [they] must be driven away, every one.” AMC I.11.2. In his famous metaphor, a bird can be restrained as readily by a single hair as by a stout cord. AMC I.11.4.
But take heart: the Saint’s fundamental position on these matters is not necessarily the message he would give to laypeople and real beginners like us. He was writing for Carmelite nuns in religious life, who already had accepted severe obligations of asceticism. He found that many of them nonetheless clung to small preferences, to pastimes and vanities they managed to maintain in the convent. Even Carmelite nuns had work to do in this area.
So yes, we must buckle down and accept the more strenuous aspects of the spiritual life. When I first tried seriously to practice fasting, farther into my adult years than I should have waited, it looked something like this:
- Pick one thing that I will really miss if I have to give it up for a time.
- Try my best to power through the cravings while the fast is going on.
- While fasting, slip in a few extra indulgences on the side to anesthetize the cravings.
- As soon as the fast is over, heartily indulge in the pleasure that I had been missing.
- Repeat.
This kind of fasting reflects a fundamental desire to strike a deal with God: I do these things for God, and He gives me something in return, like approval or favors. Deeper self-examination can reveal that negotiations with God pervade our spiritual life. We see them in our preoccupation with social justice at the expense of personal piety, and in our neglect of prayer in favor of corporal works of mercy. The truth is that it does my soul little good to go to do any of these things for petty and selfish reasons.
Good works are essential, of course, to our salvation, as St. James reminds us. Jas 2:17. But all our works are unavailing without the superabundant merits of Christ’s passion and death for our sake. For the same reason, all mortification is futile, unless it is mystically joined to the redemption He wrought. The point of contact is love.
Earthly examples might illustrate: If you have ever been a parent tasked with pulling children in a wagon somewhere, you know that this can be a most arduous labor at times. When the weather is hot, and the hill is steep, and the sidewalk is cracked and has been frequented by dogs without conscientious masters carrying plastic bags, then a certain malaise can set in. The effort can become most irksome and put you out of sorts. But then you see the children’s smiling faces, and you hear their laughter, and you keep you going. You accept the discomfort with patience, and even with gratitude, for the sake of the joy you see. In the spiritual life, too, our efforts give Heaven cause to celebrate. God does not have moods, but in some mysterious way, we can make Him happy.
So there is a harmony between holy love and suffering gladly accepted. The warmth of this kind of love is directly proportional to the willingness to endure, and the relationship is critical to the spiritual life. Whenever my willingness to accept mortifications dwindles, it’s likely that the fault is not in my powers of self-discipline, but in my intimacy with God. If I truly was in love with Jesus, then I would welcome every chance to show that love.
How do I find this love within myself? St. John of the Cross tells us that the Holy Spirit touches the prepared soul and sets it on fire with love. The soul is transformed and becomes capable of interior acts of love, which “merit more in one moment and are worth more than all the works done in a whole lifetime without this transformation.” Living Flame of Love, 1.3
So let us welcome mortifications, not to show how tough we are, but how tender. That’s what love does.
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Photo by Sam Mgrdichian on Unsplash
