This sacred desire would also consume every kind of deliberate sin, whether great or small. This is the language of a heart that longs after divine love. "Oh! how can I admit this, it is sinful; it will cool away the fervor of my soul, it will prevent me from making that near approach to God's love which I so much covet." Cursing and swearing, lying, slandering, pilfering, and every form of dishonesty, all immodesty in deed, word or thought, anger and foolish pride—how would these all disappear before such a fervent desire! And all this would be accomplished without any violence to the soul, quietly, but powerfully and effectually, and even with delight and satisfaction. For is it not a joy to follow where our heart's desires lead? But this holy desire leads toward God, and away from sin.
Again, this ardent desire to love God more and more will make it easy and pleasant to us to perform all our duties. We cannot work without a motive, without proposing something to ourselves which appears good in our eyes. If the work to be done is arduous or difficult, the motive or inducement must be a strong one. Such a strong motive will render what is difficult easy. How easy it is for men to take the longest journeys, endure the greatest labors, when their souls are fired with the desire of providing for their beloved ones at home, or with a noble ambition to serve their country, or even for the miserable pursuit of gain. Only hold out the prospect of success, and any amount of labor seems light to them. Cannot the motive of God's love do as much? Is it not as great? Can it not fill the soul as much as any other? For an answer to these questions, look at what the Saints, holy men and women, have done. Urged and animated by this all-absorbing love, they have not counted life even as dear to them, but given it up freely and gladly under the most frightful torments. Look at the labors and sufferings of others, for example, of a St. Francis Xavier, enough in his case, one would suppose, to kill twenty ordinary men, all endured with the most heroic cheerfulness and joy. No, depend upon it, the labors and duties of ordinary life will seem trifling in the eyes of the Christian who longs for the love of Jesus Christ. His soul burns for opportunities. What shall I do? he says. 'Why do I stand here idle? Lord, send me something to do.' The cares, duties, and responsibilities of every-day life are the first things to be done; sent by the Lord to be done for his sake. Therefore the soul, instead of finding in them a source of complaint, finds an outlet for that activity which she desires to exercise for God. Suppose one would only say to himself, I want to do something to please God and increase in his love. Now, I have not to search for it; it is here before my face. To take care of my family, endure fatigue and exertion for them, to discharge with fidelity this office or employment committed to me, by which I earn my bread. I will set right to work to do it. It is little indeed that is required of me, but that little, and nothing else, is what God requires of me now. Thanks be to Him who has made my way plain before my face. In this way do things naturally distasteful and irksome become agreeable, when the love of God is spread over them.
This desire for God's love will also moderate all excessive desire for the pleasures of the world. I do not speak now so much of sinful pleasures, as of allowing the heart to go too much after such as are allowed. Such liberty leads to sin by a short road. Our life is too important to be trifled away. God requires of us not to set our hearts on the pleasures or pomp of this world, because then it is sure to forget, what is of so much more importance, Himself. Now, as soon as the soul in earnest perceives that indulgence is producing this effect, that she is losing the relish for the love of God and spiritual things, she is startled, and cannot but feel afflicted. What, she says, shall I barter away so immense a good for such trifles? The very pain this reflection causes weans her away from pleasure. She judges, and judges rightly, that a small enjoyment neglected for so high a motive, will bring a higher and better happiness. We all know this in every-day affairs. Most men prefer to neglect the pleasure of the moment when they see that they gain a greater one for themselves in the future. How provident, how temperate they are in early life to lay up an abundance for old age! What old age can compare with eternity? How strong then the motive of the soul to moderate all her earthly desires, that she may have time and opportunity to look out for that eternity. The ardent lover of God looks at every thing in such a light. Pleasure becomes irksome to him very soon, because he has something so much more important on his mind, that he cannot, and will not rest easy, unless it be attended to. He is no longer a little child, and cannot amuse himself with running after butterflies the whole day. Besides, a greater pleasure has engrossed and filled up his soul, and leaves no room for trifles. It is the happiness of uniting himself to God. There is no drawback to this. After a day spent in trying, with all his heart, to please his God, he feels no regret for it at night, when he lies down on his pillow. He is not left uneasy, restless, and dissatisfied, as when pleasure, ease, and self-indulgence were his aim, but is full of tranquillity, full of hope, and full of the desire that his whole life may be thus spent in the same, or greater efforts, to please God. The pleasures of the world soon grow to be worthless in the eyes of such a man. With St. Paul he says: "I account all things as dung, so that I may win Christ." [Footnote 120]
[Footnote 120: Phil. iii. 8.]
It is not hard to part with what we esteem so little. The joy of the heart amply compensates for all sacrifices, so that instead of a long face, a melancholy and soured heart, such a one enjoys deep gladness and satisfaction of mind, which grows deeper and more complete, in proportion as he is weaned away from the pleasures of the world.
Finally, all those things which are naturally disagreeable, such as misfortunes, pains, sickness, trials of all kinds, become easy and even agreeable through such a strong desire. The Martyrs smiled in the midst of their torments. Did they not feel them? Most certainly they had the same flesh and blood as ourselves. But their souls had a sight of Jesus, surrounded by his Angels, and this distracted their attention from all their torments. So St. Stephen, when he saw this sight, became radiant with joy, and his face shone like the face of an Angel. Sufferings, tribulations and trials are things that force the soul to look steadfastly upon Jesus, and the sight of Him takes from them all their bitterness. So we read that an old hermit of the desert complained when his yearly sickness failed to come upon him, that the Lord had neglected to visit him. The soul that earnestly desires God's love needs only to be told that pain of body or mind, borne patiently, as coming from God's hand, is the surest means of obtaining its desire. Pain is accepted then with alacrity, and with pleasure. To be sure, the first pangs may be exceedingly hard to bear; the soul may require a little time to recollect herself, and gather force to overcome the repugnance of nature. But a little reflection puts every thing in its proper place. Shall I, she says, reject the very things I have longed for, the opportunities of making rapid progress in the love of God? If this does not still the tumult of nature, prayers are resorted to, and in the end comes victory and triumph, a wonderful vigor and refreshment of the soul.
This is not merely for Martyrs and canonized Saints; it is a thing that belongs to every-day life—the grand remedy for all the ills we are subject to: "Take up my yoke," says the Saviour, "for my yoke is easy and my burden light, and ye shall find rest for your souls." [Footnote 121]
[Footnote 121: St. Matt, xi., 29.]