* * *
As
the loving creature progresses he will find himself ceasing to live in things,
or thoughts of things or of persons, but his whole mind and heart will be
concentrated upon the thought of God alone. Now Jesus, now the High Christ, now
the Father, but never away from one of the aspects or personalities of God,
though his conditions of nearness will vary. For at times he will be in a
condition of great nearness, at times in a condition of some farness, or, more
properly speaking, of obscurity. He will be in a condition of waiting (this
exceedingly frequent, the most frequent of all); a condition of amazing
happiness; a condition of pain, of desolation at being still upon the earth
instead of with God. He will be in a condition of giving love to God, or a
condition of receiving love, of remembrance and attention. He will be in a
condition of immeasurable glamour, an extraordinary illumination of every
faculty, not by any act of his own, but poured through him until he is filled
with the elixir of some new form of life, and feels himself before these
experiences never to have lived—he but existed as a part of Nature. But now,
although he is become more united to Nature than ever before, he also is mysteriously
drawn apart from her, without being in any way presumptuous, he feels to be
above her, not by any merits but by intention of Another. He is become lifted
up into the spirit and essence of Nature, and the heavy and more obvious parts
of her bind him no more. He is in a condition of freedom, he is frequently in a
condition of great splendour, and is wrapped perpetually round about with that
most glorious mantle—God-consciousness.
These
are man's right and proper conditions. These are the lovely will of God for us.
And too many of us have the will to go contrary to Him. Oh, the tragedy
of it! If the whole world of men and women could be gathered and lifted into
this garden of love! Persuaded to rise from lesser loves into the bosom of His
mighty Love!
For
the truly loving soul here on earth there are no longer heavens, nor conditions
of heavens, nor grades, nor crowns, nor angels, nor archangels, nor saints, nor
holy spirits; but, going out and up and on, we reach at last THE ONE, and for
marvellous unspeakably glorious moments KNOW HIM.
This
is life: to be in Him and He in us, and know it.
* * *
These
beautiful flights of the soul cannot be taken through idleness, though they are
taken in what would outwardly appear to be a great stillness. This stillness is
but the necessary abstraction from physical activity, even from physical
consciousness; but inwardly the spirit is in a great activity, a very ferment
of secret work. This, to the writer, is frequently produced by the beautiful in
Nature, the spirit involuntarily passing at sight of beauty into a passionate
admiration for the Maker of it. This high, pure emotion, which is also an intense
activity of the spirit, would seem so to etherealise the creature that
instantly the delicate soul is able to escape her loosened bonds and flies
towards her home, filled with ineffable, incomparable delight, praising,
singing, and joying in her Lord and God until the body can endure no more, and
swiftly she must return to bondage in it. But the most wonderful flights of the
soul are made during a high adoring contemplation of God. We are in high
contemplation when the heart, mind, and soul, having dropped consciousness of
all earthly matters, have been brought to a full concentration upon God—God
totally invisible, totally unimaged, and yet focussed to a centre-point by
the great power of love. The soul, whilst she is able to maintain this most
difficult height of contemplation, may be visited by an intensely vivid
perception, inward vision, and knowledge of God's attributes or perfections,
very brief; and this as a gift, for she is not able to will such a
felicity to herself, but being given such she is instantly consumed with
adoration, and enters ecstasy.
Having
achieved these degrees of progress, the heart and mind will say: "Now I
may surely repose, for I have attained!" And so we may repose, but not in
idleness, which is to say, not without abundance of prayer. For only by prayer
is our condition maintained and renewed; but without prayer, by which I mean an
incessant inward communion, quickly our condition changes and wears away. No
matter to what degree of love we have attained, we need to pray for more;
without persistent but short prayer for faith and love we might fall back into
strange woeful periods of cold obscurity.
To
the accomplished lover great and wonderful is prayer; the more completely the
mind and heart are lifted up in it, the slower the wording. The greater the
prayer, the shorter in words, though the longer the saying of it, for each
syllable will needs be held up upon the soul before God, slowly and, as it
were, in a casket of fire, and with marvellous joy. And there are prayers
without words, and others without even thoughts, in which the soul in a great
stillness passes up like an incense to the Most High. This is very pure, great
love; wonderful, high bliss.
* * *
In
the earlier stages of progress, when the heart and mind suffer from frequent
inconstancy, loss of warmth, even total losses of love, set the heart and mind
to recall to themselves by reading or thinking some favourite aspect of their
Lord Jesus Christ. It may be His gentleness, or His marvellous forgiveness, as
to Peter when "He turned and looked at him" after the denial; for so
He turns and looks upon ourselves. Or it may be His sweetness that most draws
us. But let us fasten the heart and mind upon whichever it may be, and in the
warmth of admiration love will return to us.
* * *
The
mode of entrance into active contemplation I would try to convey in this way.
The body must be placed either sitting or kneeling, and supported, or flat on
the back as though dead. Now the mind must commence to fold itself, closing
forwards as an open rose might close her petals to a bud again, for every
thought and image must be laid away and nothing left but a great forward-moving
love intention. Out glides the mind all smooth and swift, and plunges deep,
then takes an upward curve and up and on till willingly it faints, the creature
dies, and consciousness is taken over by the soul, which, quickly coming to the
trysting-place, spreads herself and there awaits the revelations of her
God. To my feeling this final complete passing over of consciousness from the
mind to the soul is by act and will of God only, and cannot be performed by
will of the creature, and is the fundamental difference between the
contemplation of Nature and the contemplation of God. The creature worships,
but the soul alone knows contact. And yet the mode of contemplation is a far
simpler thing than all these words—it is the very essence of simplicity itself;
and in this sublime adventure we are really conscious of no mode nor plan nor
flight, nought but the mighty need of spirit to Spirit and love to Love.
* * *
The
picking out and choosing of certain persons, and the naming of them "elect"
and "chosen" souls, when I first read of it, filled me with such a
sinking that I tried, when coming upon the words, not to admit the meaning of
them into myself; for that some should be chosen and some not I felt to be
favouritism, and could not understand or see the justice of it. I never ask
questions. He left me in this condition for eighteen months. Then He led me to
an explanation sufficient for me. The way He showed it me was not by
comparisons with great things—angels and saints and holy persons; but by that
humble creature, man's friend, the dog, He showed me the elect creature. It was
this way.
One
evening as I passed through the city I had one of those sudden strong impulses
(by which He guides us) to go to a certain and particular cinematograph
exhibition. I was very tired, and tried to put away the thought, but it pressed
in the way that I know, and I knew it better to go. I sat for an hour seeing
things that had no interest for me, and wondering why I should have had to
come, when at last a film was shown of war-dogs in training—dogs trained
especially to assist men and to carry their messages.
These
dogs were especially selected, not for their charm of outward appearance, but
for their inward capacities; not for an especial love of the dog (or
favouritism), but for that which they were willing to learn how to do. The
qualifications for (s)election were willingness, obedience, fidelity,
endurance. Once chosen they were set apart. Then commenced the training, and we
were shown how man put his will through the dog: he was able to do this only
because of the willingness of the dog. The purport of the training was to
carry a message for his master wherever his master willed. He must go instantly
and at full speed; he must leap any obstacle; he must turn away from his own
kind if they should entice him to linger on the way; he must subdue all his
natural desires and instincts entirely to his master's desires; he must be
indifferent to danger. And to secure this he was fired over by numbers of men,
difficulties were set for him, and he was distracted from his straight course
by a number of tests. Yet we saw the brave and faithful creatures running on
their way at their fullest speed until, exhausted and breathless but filled
with joy of love and willingness, they reached the journey's end, to be
caressed and cared for beyond other dogs until the next occasion should arise.
Then we were shown the dog in his fully-trained condition. His master could now
always rely upon him. A dog always ready, always faithful and self-forgetful,
was then set apart into a still smaller and more (s)elect group and surrounded
with most especial care and love. Never would it want for anything. In this
there was justice. Forsaking all their natural ways, these dogs had submitted
themselves wholly, in loving willingness, to their master's will, and he in
return would lavish all his best on them. It was but just. Oh, how my heart
leaped over it! At last I understood—for as the dog, so the human creature. We
become chosen souls, not for our own sakes (which had always seemed to me such
favouritism), but for our willingness to learn our Master's Will. And what is
His will and what is His work? Of many, many kinds, and this is shown to the
soul in her training. But the hardest to learn is not that of the worker, but
of the messenger and lover. As the messenger, to take His messages, in whatever
direction, instantly and correctly, and to take back the answer from man to
Himself—which is to say, to hold before Him the needs of man on the fire of the
soul, known to most persons under the name of prayer. And as the lover, to sing
to Him with never-failing joyful love and thanks.
But
the learning and work of the soul is not so simple as that of the dog, who
carries the message in writing upon his collar. The soul can have no written
paper to assist her, and long and painful is her training; and exquisitely
sweet it is when, having swiftly and accurately taken the message, she waits
before Him for the rapture of those caresses that she knows so well.
How
I was spurred! For I said, "Shall dogs outdo us in love and
devotion?" Only in a condition of total submission, self-forgetfulness,
self-abnegation, can the soul either receive or deliver her message. In this
way she is justified of the joys of her election. The dog, faithful in all ways
to his master, receives in return all praise and all meats, whatever he
desires. The faithful soul also receives all praise and all meats, both
spiritual and carnal, for nothing of earthly needs will lack her if she asks;
and without asking, her needs are mysteriously and completely given her. Her
spiritual meats are, in this world, peace, joy, ecstasy, rapture; and of the
world to come it is written that eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have
entered into the heart of man, the things that God has prepared for them that
love Him.
It
might be supposed that only persons filled with public charities and social
improvements, ardent and painstaking church workers, might most surely and
easily learn to be messengers. But all these persons pursue and follow their
own line of thought, the promptings of their own minds and hearts. They are
admirable workers, but not messengers. For the hound of God must have in his
heart no plan of his own. It is hard for the heart to say, "I have no
wishes of my own; I have no interests, no plans, no ambitions, no schemes, no
desires, no loves, no will. Thy will is my will. Thy desire is my desire. Thy
love is my all. I am empty of all things, that I may be a channel for the stream
of Thy will."
With
what patience, what tenderness, what inexpressible endearments He helps the
soul, training her by love!—which is not to say that she is trained without
much suffering of the creature. So we are trained by two opposite ways—by
suffering and by joys; and the whole under an attitude of passionate and
devoted attention on our part. The sufferings of the soul baffle all
description with their strange intensities.
Our
encouragements are great and extraordinary sweetnesses, urgings, and joyful
uplifting of the spirit. So that when we would stop, we are pressed forward;
when we are exhausted, we are filled with the wine of sweetness; when we are in
tears, we are embraced into the Holy Spirit.
Source: Project Gutenberg
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