| Songs in the Night by a Poor Clare Colettine “It is not hard to despise all human comfort when we have divine, but it is much, very much, to want all comfort, both human and divine.” And it is in this and in the withdrawal of all sense of the Presence of God that this desolation consists. God is hidden, absent, gone! All light has gone out of life with Him. All brightness, interior and exterior, has faded away. No glamour is left. There is no sense of any “beyond” but a hope for, nothing desirable. That which is beautiful has lost its enchantment, its inner meaning, its personal appeal, and the soul feels itself to be left alone by all creation. Yes, the loving soul tastes to the full what real loneliness is, for God is gone. The solitude within the soul which the Presence of the Beloved rendered so sweet is now empty and dark. The silence is sterile. The generous ardour with which the soul suffered for Him, the zest with which it sacrificed everything for Him, has grown as cold as dead ashes. It no longer hears His call, doubts if He ever has called. It turns to lean on Him, and leans on – nothing. It seeks to take hold of Him, and takes hold of – nothing. It believes. Does the soul indeed believe? Does it love? Does it even live? Thoughts suggested to the soul, sacred words, words which used to thrill and stimulate to great desires, high ideals, to love, to joy, to adoration, are now powerless to produce any effect. This famine for God, the sense of loss and the craving that is part of it – this is prayer – prayer reduced to its essence, bare of all accessories, and the soul, thus forcibly detached, stripped and alone, is one with its prayer. Christ has gone down into an abyss of loneliness unthought of by mind of man, nor could the soul descend into depths of desolation so great, but it will find Him already there. The loving soul now knows that it is held fast in the unimaginable embrace of the Crucified Word of God, in an embrace which is an agony, a glory, and a joy. |
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