Monthly Archives: January 2021

Humility at the Center

Reading the pages of Giustiniani on annihilation, we are reminded of Saint John of the Cross, who describes the soul that is purified and ready for union with God in these terms: “In this detachment the spiritual soul finds its quiet and repose; for, since it covets nothing, nothing wearies it when it is lifted up, and nothing oppresses it when it is cast down, because it is in the center of its humility; but when it covets anything, at that very moment it becomes wearied.”

The whole purpose of the solitary life is to bring the soul into “the center of her humility” and to keep it there. The hermit does not pretend to have acquired any esoteric secret or any exalted technique by which he penetrates into the mystery of God. His only secret is the humility and poverty of Christ and the knowledge that God lifts up those who have fallen: Dominus erigit elisos. Without this humility, the contemplative can be a prey to “all the illusions.” For “the true servants of Christ love God with all their being, and do not love themselves at all. They keep themselves so perfectly under the guardianship of humility as to be known by God alone, but unknown to men.”  —Blessed Paul Giustiniani

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Deeper love of God

How many there are who believe they are spiritual and wish to enjoy bodily and spiritual rest in God, not for love of God but for love of themselves. They prefer their illusory consolations to works of obedience and fraternal charity. They dislike whatever deprives them of the rest they think they find in God, but which they really seek in themselves. Their whole concern is to find peace: not, it is true, in things inferior to themselves nor in themselves, but in God. Yet that peace is desired for love of themselves, not for God’s glory. On the contrary, souls that have attained perfect love no longer desire for themselves either virtues, or sensible devotion, or tears, or spiritual consolations, or ecstasies, or prophecies. If they have such gifts, they value them lightly; if they have them not, they do not seek them, for it suffices them to love God alone in God.

There are spiritual men who pass for saints and who rejoice in the progress of their order or their monastery. But so far as their neighbor goes, they are not exactly sad at his progress — for that would be a crime — but they rejoice less at it than at that which concerns themselves. If they will examine their attitude they will discover that they desire their progress or that of their monastery more than God’s glory: they do not love God in Himself.

The soul which rejoices in God and in Him alone is willing to do without any consolation. If it could love God a bit more on condition that it never feel any actual devotion, spiritual tranquillity, or sweetness, and be deprived of all hope of these gifts in this life or the next, it would accept this exchange. For it loves God no less when it feels no consolation, no actual devotion. These are gifts of God, and we love Him equally whether we feel them or are deprived of them. If, by hypothesis, we even had to lose God for His glory rather than lessening His glory by possessing Him, then the soul consumed with love would desire that by its damnation God received a bit more glory. —Blessed Paul Giustiniani

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Hidden self-love

After ruthlessly denouncing the subtle self-love that separates us from God, the pride that eats away at our hearts and vitiates our best actions, Giustiniani again shows that the only true path of return to God is humility, the humility that was perfectly exemplified in Christ.

Our hidden self-love brings forth all manner of illusions: ecstasies, visions, revelations, prophecies, abstinences impossible to human strength; the experience of Christ’s sufferings, the wound in the side, the stigmata, knowledge acquired without study, speaking in strange languages, the desire to be damned for the love of Christ; extraordinary humiliations, sublime confessions, fasting from all food except the blessed Eucharist, vigils beyond human strength, unduly prolonged prayer, knowledge of the secrets of hearts, miracles, and cures. All these marvels are, in some instances, nothing but the work of him who said, and would like to induce us to say: “I shall be like the Most High. I shall do what He does….” I think that these saints under the influence of Lucifer are much more numerous, or rather much better known and more admired by the world, than the true saints, who do nothing in order to be known by the world, but stay hidden. Christ’s true servants love God totally and not themselves. So sheltered are they by humility that they are known to God and not to men.  –Blessed Paul Giustiniani

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Know Thyself

Lord Jesus, who are the light without which nothing is enlightened, who alone see the darkness that surrounds me, I dare not say: give me the light to see Your light. It is enough for me that You make me see my darkness. I am so blind that I cannot see it. I even take it for light. I am so deeply in error that I do not perceive my error: I mistake falsehood for truth. Death has advanced upon me so far that, wounded and all covered with sores, I no longer feel my pain and my wounds. Bring me back to myself: for in my misery I have strayed not only from You but also from myself; I have become a stranger to myself. Bring me back to myself in order that I may then go towards You. Make me know my darkness, so that I may then look at the Light: if I do not know my own misery, I will not have recourse to Your mercy. Because of my sins I am reduced to nothing in the sight of Your Majesty: grant that I may be reduced to nothing in my own eyes also; grant that I may despise myself completely, that I may gauge the extent of my impurity. I am nothing in Your sight until I am brought to nothing in my own eyes. I cannot arise from my wretchedness as long as I do not see it. And so I do not say to You with Moses: “Show Thyself to me”; I only say to You: “Show me to myself.”  –Paul Giustiniani

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Nothing to Show

There is nothing I have to show you,
To impress, nor to make things new,
Minimalist negation, the silence of hooves,
Pounding, a parade of ghosts, a mental procession,
I broke my back dancing to the edge of the world, babe,
I don’t want to see anything, nor meet anyone,
No refined dinners. No concerts or shows.
No personalities. No global celebrities.
No worldly entertainment. No. No. No.
Repudiation providing a path, detachment, abrogation,
I fell, bruised knees, countless times bumbling,
Meditating, I tried to frame what I saw,
With my fingers forming, no shape nor despair,
Theological virtues: faith, hope, and love,
Cascading, an image of the saint I was not,
Fearfully reciting, surpassing unspoken words, usurping,
Nervous, left to recesses lacking imagination, a multitude of voids,
A bridge forming, built upon breaths, leading away,
Waves coming and going, an undercurrent dispatching to the deep,
Abandonment, disconnected, blocked,  concrete walls dissolving,
What’s that? You can’t hear my whisper?
I can’t speak up, the blinding light,
Darkness enveloping, too much light, I can’t see,
Saturation, a blending, all things converging into rejection,
NO! I will sit still. Aware. I will be still.
Doing nothing, nothing to be done.
Here I am! Allowing, immovable for now,
Answering the quiet, the repeating undefined questions,
I am numb. I am dumb.
Everyone else is clever. I don’t mind,
The shop unattended, motionless,
Within, the mobile spins to its collision.
A life, an identity, a beginning, an end,

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Contemplative life

…Most men find their balance in life through action or creation. A totally contemplative life demands a special grace and a special faithfulness. It also requires a maturity, a richness of soul not often found among the converts. At least this seems to be the case from our experience. But to contemplate, in the first sense of the word, i.e. to gaze upon God while staying immobile, repose and purity being both the condition and the result of such a gaze, is truly speaking the real life, the eternal life for which we have been created.” –Carthusian spirituality

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A Call for Concentration

“Ah! and outside it, all is the same to me, and nothing matters to me,” he cried. And he groaned, knowing that he should never more succeed in interesting himself in all that makes the joy of men. The uselessness of caring about any other thing than Mysticism and the liturgy, of thinking about aught else save God, implanted itself in him so firmly that he asked himself what would become of him at Paris with such ideas.

“Ah! and outside it, all is the same to me, and nothing matters to me,” he cried. And he groaned, knowing that he should never more succeed in interesting himself in all that makes the joy of men. The uselessness of caring about any other thing than Mysticism and the liturgy, of thinking about aught else save God, implanted itself in him so firmly that he asked himself what would become of him at Paris with such ideas.

He saw himself submitting to the confusion of controversies, the cowardice of conventionality, the vanity of declarations, the inanity of proofs. He saw himself bruised and thrust aside by the reflections of everybody, obliged henceforward to advance or retire, dispute or hold his tongue?

In any case peace was for ever lost. How in fact was he to rally and recover when he was obliged to dwell in a place of passage, in a soul open to all winds, visited by a crowd of public thoughts? His contempt for relations, his disgust for acquaintances grew on him.

“No……….

JK Huysmans ‘Enroute’

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