Oh, the glorious history, the beautiful book, which the Holy Spirit is now writing! It is in press, holy souls; and not a day passes in which type is not set, ink applied, and sheets of it printed. But we are in the night of faith: the paper is blacker than the ink; the characters are confused; it is the language of another world; we understand it not; we shall only read its gospel in heaven. Oh, if we could but see this life of God in all creatures, in all things, and learn to regard them, not in themselves, but as the instruments of His will! If we could see how the divine action impels them hither and thither, unites them, disperses them, opposes them, and leads them by contrary ways to the same end, we should recognize that all things have their purpose, their reason, their proportion, their relations in this divine work. But how shall we read this book with its hidden, innumerable, contradictory, and obscure characters? If the combinations of twenty-seven letters are incomprehensible to us and suffice to form an unlimited number of different volumes, each admirable of its kind, who can express what God does in His universe? Who can read and comprehend a book so vast, in which there is not a letter which has not its own significance and does not contain in its littleness profound mysteries? Mysteries are neither seen nor felt; they are the subjects of faith. Faith judges their worth and truth only by their source, for they are so obscure in themselves that all their external appearances only serve to conceal them, and mislead those who judge by reason alone.
Teach me, O divine Spirit, to read in this book of life! I would become Thy disciple, and like a little child believe what I cannot see. It sufficeth that my Master speaks. He tells me this, He proclaims that; His words are arranged in one form. He interprets them in another: that sufficeth me; I receive all as He presents it; I see not the reason thereof, but I know He is the infallible Truth. His words, His actions, are truth. He wills that these letters should form a word; such a number, another. They are but three, but six; yet no more are required, and less would mar the sense. He alone who knows all thought can combine the characters to express it. Everything is significant; everything has a perfect meaning. This line purposely ends here; there is not a comma lacking therein, nor one useless point. I believe it now; but on that glorious day, when so many mysteries will be revealed me, I will see what I now only confusedly comprehend; and that which appears so obscure, so perplexing, so contradictory to reason, so vague, so visionary, will enrapture and delight me to all eternity with the beauty, the order, the meaning, the wisdom, and the inconceivable marvels I shall discover therein.
[CHAPTER VI.]
Divine Love is communicated to us through the Veil of Creatures, as Jesus communicates Himself to us through the Veil of the Eucharistic Species.
What sublime truths are hidden even from Christians who believe themselves most enlightened! How many are there who realize that every cross, every action, every attraction in the order of God gives Him to us in a manner which cannot be better explained than by comparison with the august mystery of the Eucharist! Yet what is more certain? Does not reason, as well as faith, reveal to us the real presence of divine love in all creatures, in all the events of life, as infallibly as the word of Christ and His Church reveal to us the presence of the sacred Body of the Saviour under the Eucharistic species? Do we not know that the divine love seeks to communicate itself to us through all creatures and through all events?—that it has effected, ordered, or permitted all our surroundings, all that befalls us, only in view of this union which is the sole end of all God’s designs?—that for this end He makes use of the worst as well as the best creatures, of the most grievous as well as the most pleasing events?—and that our union with Him is even the more meritorious that the means which serve to make the union closer are of a nature repugnant to us? But if all this be true, why should not each moment be a form of communion in which we receive divine love; and why should not this communion of every moment be as profitable to our souls as that in which we receive the Body and Blood of the Son of God? This latter, it is true, possesses sacramental grace, which the other does not; but, on the other hand, how much more frequently may not this first form of communion be repeated, and how greatly may its merit be increased, by the perfection of the dispositions with which it is accomplished! Therefore how true it is that the holiest life is mysterious in its simplicity and apparent lowliness! O heavenly banquet! O never-ending feast! A God always given, and always received; not in sublime splendor or glorious light, but in utter infirmity, weakness, and nothingness! That which the natural man condemns, and human reason rejects, God chooses, and makes thereof mysteries, sacraments of love, giving Himself to souls through that which would seem to injure them most, and in proportion to their faith which finds Him in all things.
[CHAPTER VII.]
The Divine Action, the Will of God, is as unworthily treated and disregarded in its Daily Manifestation by many Christians as was Jesus in the Flesh by the Jews.
What infidelity we find in the world! How unworthily men think of God! They criticise His divine action as they would not dare to criticise the work of the humblest artisan. They would force Him to act within the narrow limits of their weak reason and follow its rules. They pretend to reform all things. They unceasingly complain and murmur.
They are shocked at the treatment Jesus received at the hands of the Jews. Ah! Divine Love! Adorable Will! Infallible Action! How do they look upon Thee? Can the divine will err? Can anything it sends be amiss? But I have this to do; I need such a thing; I have been deprived of the necessary means; that man thwarts me in such good works; is not this most unreasonable?—this sickness overtakes me when I absolutely need my health. No, dear souls, the will of God is all that is absolutely necessary to you, therefore you do not need what He withholds from you—you lack nothing. If you could read aright these things which you call accidents, disappointments, misfortunes, contradictions, which you find unreasonable, untimely, you would blush with confusion; you would regard your murmurs as blasphemies: but you do not reflect that all these things are simply the will of God. This adorable will is blasphemed by His dear children who fail to recognize it.
When Thou wert upon earth, O my Jesus! the Jews treated Thee as a sorcerer, called Thee a Samaritan; and now that Thou livest in all ages, how do we regard Thy adorable will forever worthy of praise and blessing? Has there been a moment from the creation to this present one in which we live, and will there be one to the last day, in which the holy Name of God is not worthy of praise?—that Name which fills all time, and all the events of time; that Name which renders all things salutary!