In his Sixth Rule, Saint Ignatius highlighted various ways we can practically push against desolation to maintain and strengthen our current commitments, and more quickly move out of spiritual desolation. In the Seventh Rule, St. Ignatius cautions us against relying on natural human feelings and perceptions to determine whether God is present and reminds us that God’s help is always waiting for us in desolation.
Seventh Rule. Let him who is in desolation consider how the Lord has left him in trial in his natural powers, in order to resist the different agitations and temptations of the enemy; since he can with the Divine help, which always remains to him, though he does not clearly perceive it: because the Lord has taken from him his great fervor, great love and intense grace, leaving him, however, grace enough for eternal salvation (source).
In this rule, we are reminded that God is always present. His help is always available and His grace is always sufficient—even in desolation when we perceive the opposite.
In light of this, St. Ignatius stresses in Rule Seven that God’s presence does not depend on our feelings or senses. Feelings change and are not reliable in gauging what is true. Using feelings to determine God’s closeness is like using a thermometer to measure distance. It is simply the wrong tool. Our human emotions and senses are a function of the natural world; they can never thoroughly communicate God’s supernatural presence or help. Thus, when we feel abandoned or perceive that God is distant, it does not mean that God is absent or ignoring us. It simply means that His ever-present help and His love look different than we might expect in a given situation.
As the Catechism reminds us, “Strong feelings are not decisive for the morality or the holiness of persons; they are simply the inexhaustible reservoir of images and affections in which the moral life is expressed. …Emotions and feelings can be taken up into the virtues or perverted by the vices.” (CCC 1768). In short, feelings themselves are morally neutral; it is how we respond to them that counts.
Recently I had to complete a difficult task. This recurring task requires help from others and has been a real invitation to greater humility on my part. After several weeks of battling my vanity and pride, I finally felt truly joyful and grateful one day on the drive there. Even though life was still filled with difficulty, God’s grace felt palpable, and everything around me seemed to reflect my joy—even the morning sunlight glinting off the mountaintops while bathing them in a supernatural radiance. I praised the Lord, heart bursting with gratitude at His goodness and help.
By late afternoon, however, I had slipped into a funk. My heartfelt dismal and heavy, the Lord seemed distant, and the world was now a weary, toilsome place. I wondered how I could have felt such joy mere hours before. I returned internally to my dialogue with the Lord and directed my bleak thoughts toward Him—one part question, one part forlorn cry for help.
In response came a new thought: when did these feelings start? I realized I had been letting my emotions run off with me but I hadn’t even considered what triggered the change. As I thought back through the day, it became clear. I had started making calls to try and address mounting pain from a dental issue that had cropped up. I was worried about the treatment, the timing, and the financial impact. Not only that, but a similar issue the year prior had led to months of overwhelming pain and suffering, and had even made several other health issues worse.
Immediately, I was able to acknowledge all that was going on beneath the surface. I am terrified and on the verge of despair. I think that all of this will happen again, that there will be no end in sight, and that God won’t come through for me—or provide the grace for me to bear it.
I redirected the onslaught of fears to the Lord and asked for His help. Within moments I was breathing easier. While the situation hadn’t changed and I was still far from the exuberance I’d felt that morning, the heaviest part of the desolation had lifted. I’d remembered that God was present and that His help was—and would be—available to me, even in this trial. That alone brought hope and peace.
In his teaching on the Seventh Rule of Discernment, Father Timothy Gallagher shares what he calls the “Litany of Desolation.” It sounds something like this:
I can’t.
I can’t.
I can’t.
I can’t.
Based on personal experience, I might also add, there’s no hope.
Our natural feelings are affected by events and relationships in our daily life. When these bring uncertainty, upheaval, or tension, the enemy tries to capitalize on our turbulent feelings to draw us away from God into spiritual desolation. Satan suggests that God has abandoned us or does not care enough help us, which seems to confirm our natural feelings of fear, isolation, or confusion. If we accept these feelings as a measure of “truth,” then our response becomes one of despair, unhealthy escape, or fruitless grasping for control.
It is all too easy to allow ourselves to be swept along by the current of our feelings in desolation, failing to remember God’s presence or seek His help in spiritual desolation. We have all been there countless times—a situation or season seems impossible and hopeless, and we cannot fathom finding the strength to get through it.
This is why practicing the Sixth Rule is so important—it teaches us to practically take action and push against the desolation. We can employ tactics like persevering in prayer for an extra minute, or using our intellect and will to rebuke lies that God has abandoned us in our struggles. These actions remind us of God’s presence, His caring help, and His greater plan—despite our contrary feelings and limited senses. Often these small but heroic efforts in desolation can do more to strengthen our faith and grow our virtue than a hundred holy hours spent in consolation.
A wise priest once shared this analogy: imagine a small plant sitting on a table, growing toward the sunlight streaming through the window. From the plant’s point of view facing the sun, it experiences quite a of light and consolation. If it remains there, however, it will grow at an angle instead of straight and strong; the roots will become strained, and the plant may eventually topple over.
Now let us imagine that a plant enthusiast comes along and picks up the plant, turns it around, and places it on the windowsill. The plant—now facing away from the sun—perceives that it is in darkness and desolation. Yet it is now closer to the sun, the source of its continued life and strength. Not only that, but because of the plant’s efforts to resist the darkness, it will now begin to grow straight and strong again, and be able to withstand far greater trials that may tax it in the future.
So it is with us in spiritual desolation. Often God’s presence is more impactful and His help closer to us in the darkness than in times of consolation. While you may not perceive God’s love and presence, your every effort to act against desolation strengthens your spiritual “roots” and draws you toward the Source of all life and strength, which is God’s sustaining love.
We will all face desolation, especially when we are growing closer to the Lord, but there is great hope in knowing that you are not powerless in this desolation. Continue to ask His help—a simple Jesus, help me, Lord, I’m scared, or Come Holy Spirit, will suffice—and make an act of faith that His grace is sufficient for this present moment.
These efforts will recall His love and faithfulness, help desolation lift sooner, and help you to persevere with patience in until it does (as we will discuss in the Eighth Rule). Ultimately, this recollection will strengthen you so that the Litany of Desolation becomes less prominent, and its declaration of “I can’t” becomes a new litany—one of discernment that proclaims, “with God, I can.”
________________________________________________
Find out more about Discernment of Spirits with this free video series by Dan Burke.
Image: Unsplash
