Life of St Teresa of Jesus, Teresa of Avila [top ten books to read TXT] 📗

bore so long with me, who was so

wicked—and it is plain that it was by prayer all my evil was

corrected—why should any one, how wicked soever he may be, have

any fear? Let him be ever so wicked, he will not remain in his

wickedness so many years as I did, after receiving so many graces

from our Lord. Is there any one who can despair, when He bore so

long with me, only because I desired and contrived to find some

place and some opportunities for Him to be alone with me—and

that very often against my will? for I did violence to myself, or

rather our Lord Himself did violence to me.

12. If, then, to those who do not serve God, but rather offend

Him, prayer be all this, and so necessary, and if no one can

really find out any harm it can do him, and if the omission of it

be not a still greater harm, why, then, should they abstain from

it who serve and desire to serve God? Certainly I cannot

comprehend it, unless it be that men have a mind to go through

the troubles of this life in greater misery, and to shut the door

in the face of God, so that He shall give them no comfort in it.

I am most truly sorry for them, because they serve God at their

own cost; for of those who pray, God Himself defrays the charges,

seeing that for a little trouble He gives sweetness, in order

that, by the help it supplies, they may bear their trials.

13. But because I have much to say hereafter of this sweetness,

which our Lord gives to those who persevere in prayer, [5] I do

not speak of it here; only this will I say: prayer is the door to

those great graces which our Lord bestowed upon me. If this door

be shut, I do not see how He can bestow them; for even if He

entered into a soul to take His delight therein, and to make that

soul also delight in Him, there is no way by which He can do so;

for His will is, that such a soul should be lonely and pure, with

a great desire to receive His graces. If we put many hindrances

in the way, and take no pains whatever to remove them, how can He

come to us, and how can we have any desire that He should show us

His great mercies?

14. I will speak now—for it is very important to understand

it—of the assaults which Satan directs against a soul for the

purpose of taking it, and of the contrivances and compassion

wherewith our Lord labours to convert it to Himself, in order

that men may behold His mercy, and the great good it was for me

that I did not give up prayer and spiritual reading, and that

they may be on their guard against the dangers against which I

was not on my guard myself. And, above all, I implore them for

the love of our Lord, and for the great love with which He goeth

about seeking our conversion to Himself, to beware of the

occasions of sin; for once placed therein, we have no ground to

rest on—so many enemies then assail us, and our own weakness is

such, that we cannot defend ourselves.

15. Oh, that I knew how to describe the captivity of my soul in

those days! I understood perfectly that I was in captivity, but

I could not understand the nature of it; neither could I entirely

believe that those things which my confessors did not make so

much of were so wrong as I in my soul felt them to be. One of

them—I had gone to him with a scruple—told me that, even if I

were raised to high contemplation, those occasions and

conversations were not unfitting for me. This was towards the

end, when, by the grace of God, I was withdrawing more and more

from those great dangers, but not wholly from the occasions

of them.

16. When they saw my good desires, and how I occupied myself in

prayer, I seemed to them to have done much; but my soul knew that

this was not doing what I was bound to do for Him to Whom I owed

so much. I am sorry for my poor soul even now, because of its

great sufferings, and the little help it had from any one except

God, and for the wide door that man opened for it, that it might

go forth to its pastimes and pleasures, when they said that these

things were lawful.

17. Then there was the torture of sermons, and that not a slight

one; for I was very fond of them. If I heard any one preach well

and with unction, I felt, without my seeking it, a particular

affection for him, neither do I know whence it came. Thus, no

sermon ever seemed to me so bad, but that I listened to it with

pleasure; though, according to others who heard it, the preaching

was not good. If it was a good sermon, it was to me a most

special refreshment. To speak of God, or to hear Him spoken of,

never wearied me. I am speaking of the time after I gave myself

to prayer. At one time I had great comfort in sermons, at

another they distressed me, because they made me feel that I was

very far from being what I ought to have been.

18. I used to pray to our Lord for help; but, as it now seems to

me, I must have committed the fault of not putting my whole trust

in His Majesty, and of not thoroughly distrusting myself.

I sought for help, took great pains; but it must be that I did

not understand how all is of little profit if we do not root out

all confidence in ourselves, and place it wholly in God. I wished

to live, but I saw clearly that I was not living, but rather

wrestling with the shadow of death; there was no one to give me

life, and I was not able to take it. He Who could have given it

me had good reasons for not coming to my aid, seeing that He had

brought me back to Himself so many times, and I as often had

left Him.

1. Ch. ix. § 10.

2. § 1, above.

3. Ch. vii. § 17; ch. xix. § 8.

4. Ezech. xviii. 21: “Si autem impius egerit poenitentiam, . . .

vita vivet, et non morietur. Omnium iniquitatum ejus . . .

non recordabor.”

5. See ch. x. § 2, and ch. xi. § 22.

Chapter IX.

The Means Whereby Our Lord Quickened Her Soul, Gave Her Light in

Her Darkness, and Made Her Strong in Goodness.

1. My soul was now grown weary; and the miserable habits it had

contracted would not suffer it to rest, though it was desirous of

doing so. It came to pass one day, when I went into the oratory,

that I saw a picture which they had put by there, and which had

been procured for a certain feast observed in the house. It was

a representation of Christ most grievously wounded; and so

devotional, that the very sight of it, when I saw it, moved

me—so well did it show forth that which He suffered for us.

So keenly did I feel the evil return I had made for those wounds,

that I thought my heart was breaking. I threw myself on the

ground beside it, my tears flowing plenteously, and implored Him

to strengthen me once for all, so that I might never offend Him

any more.

2. I had a very great devotion to the glorious Magdalene, and

very frequently used to think of her conversion—especially when

I went to Communion. As I knew for certain that our Lord was

then within me, I used to place myself at His feet, thinking that

my tears would not be despised. I did not know what I was

saying; only He did great things for me, in that He was pleased I

should shed those tears, seeing that I so soon forgot that

impression. I used to recommend myself to that glorious Saint,

that she might obtain my pardon.

3. But this last time, before that picture of which I am

speaking, I seem to have made greater progress; for I was now

very distrustful of myself, placing all my confidence in God.

It seems to me that I said to Him then that I would not rise up

till He granted my petition. I do certainly believe that this

was of great service to me, because I have grown better

ever since. [1]

4. This was my method of prayer: as I could not make reflections

with my understanding, I contrived to picture Christ as within

me; [2] and I used to find myself the better for thinking of

those mysteries of His life during which He was most lonely.

It seemed to me that the being alone and afflicted, like a person

in trouble, must needs permit me to come near unto Him.

5. I did many simple things of this kind; and in particular I

used to find myself most at home in the prayer in the Garden,

whither I went in His company. I thought of the bloody sweat,

and of the affliction He endured there; I wished, if it had been

possible, to wipe away that painful sweat from His face; but I

remember that I never dared to form such a resolution—my sins

stood before me so grievously. I used to remain with Him there

as long as my thoughts allowed me, and I had many thoughts to

torment me. For many years, nearly every night before I fell

asleep, when I recommended myself to God, that I might sleep in

peace, I used always to think a little of this mystery of the

prayer in the Garden—yea, even before I was a nun, because I had

been told that many indulgences were to be gained thereby.

For my part, I believe that my soul gained very much in this way,

because I began to practise prayer without knowing what it was;

and now that it had become my constant habit, I was saved from

omitting it, as I was from omitting to bless myself with the sign

of the cross before I slept.

6. And now to go back to what I was saying of the torture which

my thoughts inflicted upon me. This method of praying, in which

the understanding makes no reflections, hath this property: the

soul must gain much, or lose. I mean, that those who advance

without meditation, make great progress, because it is done by

love. But to attain to this involves great labour, except to

those persons whom it is our Lord’s good pleasure to lead quickly

to the prayer of quiet. I know of some. For those who walk in

this way, a book is profitable, that by the help thereof they may

the more quickly recollect themselves. It was a help to me also

to look on fields, water, and flowers. [3] In them I saw traces

of the Creator—I mean, that the sight of these things was as a

book unto me; it roused me, made me recollected, and reminded me

of my ingratitude and of my sins. My understanding was so dull,

that I could never represent in the imagination either heavenly

or high things in any form whatever until our Lord placed them

before me in another way. [4]

7. I was so