Life of St Teresa of Jesus - Teresa of Avila (classic books for 11 year olds TXT) 📗

thought it impossible to forsake

Thee so utterly; and now that I have forsaken Thee so often, I

cannot help being afraid; for when Thou didst withdraw but a

little from me, I fell down to the ground at once. Blessed for

ever be Thou! Though I have forsaken Thee, Thou hast not

forsaken me so utterly but that Thou hast come again and raised

me up, giving me Thy hand always. Very often, O Lord, I would

not take it: very often I would not listen when Thou wert calling

me again, as I am going to show.

1. March 25, 1537.

2. Ch. v. § 17. The Saint left her monastery in 1535; and in the

spring of 1536 went from her sister’s house to Bezadas; and in

July of that year was brought back to her father’s house in

Avila, wherein she remained till Palm Sunday, 1537, when she

returned to the Monastery of the Incarnation. She had been

seized with paralysis there, and laboured under it nearly three

years, from 1536 to 1539, when she was miraculously healed

through the intercession of St. Joseph (Bolland, n. 100, 101).

The dates of the Chronicler are different from these.

3. Of the devotion to St. Joseph, F. Faber (The Blessed

Sacrament, bk. ii. p. 199, 3rd ed.) says that it took its rise in

the West, in a confraternity in Avignon. “Then it spread over

the church. Gerson was raised up to be its doctor and theologian,

and St. Teresa to be its Saint, and St. Francis of Sales to be

its popular teacher and missionary. The houses of Carmel were

like the holy house of Nazareth to it; and the colleges of the

Jesuits, its peaceful sojourns in dark Egypt.”

4. Galat. ii. 20: “Vivo autem, jam non ego; vivit vero in

me Christus.”

Chapter VII.

Lukewarmness. The Loss of Grace. Inconvenience of Laxity in

Religious Houses.

1. So, then, going on from pastime to pastime, from vanity to

vanity, from one occasion of sin to another, I began to expose

myself exceedingly to the very greatest dangers: my soul was so

distracted by many vanities, that I was ashamed to draw near unto

God in an act of such special friendship as that of prayer. [1]

As my sins multiplied, I began to lose the pleasure and comfort I

had in virtuous things: and that loss contributed to the

abandonment of prayer. I see now most clearly, O my Lord, that

this comfort departed from me because I had departed from Thee.

2. It was the most fearful delusion into which Satan could plunge

me—to give up prayer under the pretence of humility. I began to

be afraid of giving myself to prayer, because I saw myself so

lost. I thought it would be better for me, seeing that in my

wickedness I was one of the most wicked, to live like the

multitude—to say the prayers which I was bound to say, and that

vocally: not to practise mental prayer nor commune with God so

much; for I deserved to be with the devils, and was deceiving

those who were about me, because I made an outward show of

goodness; and therefore the community in which I dwelt is not to

be blamed; for with my cunning I so managed matters, that all had

a good opinion of me; and yet I did not seek this deliberately by

simulating devotion; for in all that relates to hypocrisy and

ostentation—glory be to God!—I do not remember that I ever

offended Him, [2] so far as I know. The very first movements

herein gave me such pain, that the devil would depart from me

with loss, and the gain remained with me; and thus, accordingly,

he never tempted me much in this way. Perhaps, however, if God

had permitted Satan to tempt me as sharply herein as he tempted

me in other things, I should have fallen also into this; but His

Majesty has preserved me until now. May He be blessed for

evermore! It was rather a heavy affliction to me that I should

be thought so well of; for I knew my own secret.

3. The reason why they thought I was not so wicked was this: they

saw that I, who was so young, and exposed to so many occasions of

sin, withdrew myself so often into solitude for prayer, read

much, spoke of God, that I liked to have His image painted in

many places, to have an oratory of my own, and furnish it with

objects of devotion, that I spoke ill of no one, and other things

of the same kind in me which have the appearance of virtue. Yet

all the while—I was so vain—I knew how to procure respect for

myself by doing those things which in the world are usually

regarded with respect.

4. In consequence of this, they gave me as much liberty as they

did to the oldest nuns, and even more, and had great confidence

in me; for as to taking any liberty for myself, or doing anything

without leave—such as conversing through the door, or in secret,

or by night—I do not think I could have brought myself to speak

with anybody in the monastery in that way, and I never did it;

for our Lord held me back. It seemed to me—for I considered

many things carefully and of set purpose—that it would be a very

evil deed on my part, wicked as I was, to risk the credit of so

many nuns, who were all good—as if everything else I did was

well done! In truth, the evil I did was not the result of

deliberation, as this would have been, if I had done it, although

it was too much so.

5. Therefore, I think that it did me much harm to be in a

monastery not enclosed. The liberty which those who were good

might have with advantage—they not being obliged to do more than

they do, because they had not bound themselves to

enclosure—would certainly have led me, who am wicked, straight

to hell, if our Lord, by so many remedies and means of His most

singular mercy, had not delivered me out of that danger—and it

is, I believe, the very greatest danger—namely, a monastery of

women unenclosed—yea, more, I think it is, for those who will be

wicked, a road to hell, rather than a help to their weakness.

This is not to be understood of my monastery; for there are so

many there who in the utmost sincerity, and in great perfection,

serve our Lord, so that His Majesty, according to His goodness,

cannot but be gracious unto them; neither is it one of those

which are most open for all religious observances are kept in it;

and I am speaking only of others which I have seen and known.

6. I am exceedingly sorry for these houses, because our Lord must

of necessity send His special inspirations not merely once, but

many times, if the nuns therein are to be saved, seeing that the

honours and amusements of the world are allowed among them, and

the obligations of their state are so ill-understood. God grant

they may not count that to be virtue which is sin, as I did so

often! It is very difficult to make people understand this; it

is necessary our Lord Himself should take the matter seriously

into His own hands.

7. If parents would take my advice, now that they are at no pains

to place their daughters where they may walk in the way of

salvation without incurring a greater risk than they would do if

they were left in the world, let them look at least at that which

concerns their good name. Let them marry them to persons of a

much lower degree, rather than place them in monasteries of this

kind, unless they be of extremely good inclinations, and God

grant that these inclinations may come to good! or let them keep

them at home. If they will be wicked at home, their evil life

can be hidden only for a short time; but in monasteries it can be

hidden long, and, in the end, it is our Lord that discovers it.

They injure not only themselves, but all the nuns also. And all

the while the poor things are not in fault; for they walk in the

way that is shown them. Many of them are to be pitied; for they

wished to withdraw from the world, and, thinking to escape from

the dangers of it, and that they were going to serve our Lord,

have found themselves in ten worlds at once, without knowing what

to do, or how to help themselves. Youth and sensuality and the

devil invite them and incline them to follow certain ways which

are of the essence of worldliness. They see these ways, so to

speak, considered as safe there.

8. Now, these seem to me to be in some degree like those wretched

heretics who will make themselves blind, and who will consider

that which they do to be good, and so believe, but without really

believing; for they have within themselves something that tells

them it is wrong.

9. Oh, what utter ruin! utter ruin of religious persons—I am not

speaking now more of women than of men—where the rules of the

Order are not kept; where the same monastery offers two roads:

one of virtue and observance, the other of inobservance, and both

equally frequented! I have spoken incorrectly: they are not

equally frequented; for, on account of our sins, the way of the

greatest imperfection is the most frequented; and because it is

the broadest, it is also the most in favour. The way of

religious observance is so little used, that the friar and the

nun who would really begin to follow their vocation thoroughly

have reason to fear the members of their communities more than

all the devils together. They must be more cautious, and

dissemble more, when they would speak of that friendship with God

which they desire to have, than when they would speak of those

friendships and affections which the devil arranges in

monasteries. I know not why we are astonished that the Church is

in so much trouble, when we see those, who ought to be an example

of every virtue to others, so disfigure the work which the spirit

of the Saints departed wrought in their Orders. May it please

His Divine Majesty to apply a remedy to this, as He sees it to be

needful! Amen.

10. So, then, when I began to indulge in these conversations, I

did not think, seeing they were customary, that my soul must be

injured and dissipated, as I afterwards found it must be, by such

conversations. I thought that, as receiving visits was so common

in many monasteries, no more harm would befall me thereby than

befell others, whom I knew to be good. I did not observe that

they were much better than I was, and that an act which was

perilous for me was not so perilous for them; and yet I have no

doubt there was some danger in it, were it nothing else but a

waste of time.

11. I was once with a person—it was at the very beginning of my

acquaintance with her when our Lord was pleased to show me that

these friendships were not good for me: to warn me also, and in

my blindness, which was so great, to give me light. Christ stood

before me, stern and grave, giving me to understand what in my

conduct was offensive to Him. I