Inward Crucifixion and Adverse Circumstances

The inwardly crucified man receives with entire acquiescence and peace of spirit all adverse occurrences of whatever nature, the misrepresentations and rebukes of his fellow-men, the various injuries of body and estate, the disappointments of broken friendship and violated faith, the natural and unavoidable disruptions of social and family ties, and whatever other forms of human affliction exist. Whatever comes upon him, he feels that he deserves it. He opens not his mouth, except to praise the hand that is laid upon him. Satan, it is true, avails himself of the trials of his situation, and tempts him to evil thoughts; but he is enabled with divine assistance to resist them and to triumph over them. It seems to him a light thing to suffer any thing which God sees fit to impose. It is true, that the trials which he endures sometimes occasion sorrow and even deep sorrow; but it is a sorrow which is consistent with reconciliation to his lot and even happiness; a sorrow without repining, grief without bitterness.

— from The Life of Faith, Part 2, Chapter 12.

Smallpox & Sorrow

Reflections on
the Life of
Madame Jeanne de la Mothe Guyon.

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Attacked by the smallpox. Treatment experienced from her stepmother. Death of her youngest son. Her feelings.

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The first thing [God] did was to smite her beauty with that dreadful scourge of the human race, the small-pox. The summer was over; her ear no longer listened to the waters of the Loire; the festivities of St Cloud and Paris had passed away. On the 4th of October, 1670, (she is particular to mark the month and the day,) the blow came upon her like lightning from heaven. This dreadful disease was not then shorn of its terrors by that merciful Providence, which directed the philosophic mind of Jenner in the discovery of its wonderful preventive. And she was thus smitten when she was a little-more than twenty-two years of age, — a period of life when beauty of person does not cease to be prized. When it was discovered that the hand of the Lord was thus upon her, her friends, not excluding those in all probability who had endeavored to lead her into the follies of fashionable life, exhibited great emotion. They came around her bedside, and almost forgetting that her life was in danger, deplored in feeling language the mysterious and fatal attack, which was thus made upon charms which had been so much celebrated.

Domestic Sorrows

Reflections on
the Life of
Madame Jeanne de la Mothe Guyon.

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Reflections on her conversion.

 

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The sorrow, therefore, which pained her life before her conversion, remained afterward. It was a wound of the heart, deep and terrible, but which cannot well be appreciated or expressed. To a woman who possesses those confiding and affectionate inclinations which characterize and adorn the sex, there is no compensation, there can be no compensation, for an absence of love, — least of all, in that sacred and ennobling relation, in which she gives up her heart, in the fond expectation of a heart's return. It is true, that it was a marriage, in the first instance, without much acquaintance; but still it was not without some degree of confidence, and still less without hope. But it ought to be said that Madame Guyon always refers to this painful subject with dignity and candor, — not condemning others with severity; and willing to take a full share of blame to herself. These trials would never have been known from her pen, had they not been written at the express and positive command of her Spiritual Director, whom she regarded it a religious duty to obey. At the time of her writing she had no expectation that her statements would be made public. We do not think it necessary to repeat every thing that is said on this subject in her Life; it is perhaps best, that it should pass away and be forgotten. Only one or two statements more will be given.

The waiting-maid, who had gained so much influence over her husband,

...became, every day more haughty. It seemed as if Satan were in her, to incite her to torment me. And what enraged her most of all was, that her vexatious treatment, her fretfulness, and her impertinent complaints and rebukes, had ceased to trouble me as they once did. Inwardly supported, I remained silent. It was then that she thought, that if she could hinder me from going to partake of the holy Sacrament, she would give me the greatest of all vexations. She was not mistaken, O divine Spouse of holy souls! since the only satisfaction of my life was to receive and honor Thee. The church at which I worshiped, was called the Magdalen Church. I loved to visit it. I had done something to ornament it, and to furnish it with the silver plates and chalices of the Communion service. It was there, when things were in such a situation at my house as to allow me to do it, that I retired and spent hours in prayer. It was there, with a heart filled with love, that I  partook of the holy Sacrament. This girl, who knew where my affections were and how to wound them, took it into her head to watch me daily. Sometimes I evaded her, and had my seasons of retirement .and prayer. Whenever it was otherwise, and she discovered my going thither, she immediately ran to tell my mother-in-law and my husband.

One of their alleged grounds of complaint was the length of time which I spent in religious services. Accordingly, when the maid servant informed them, that I had gone to the church, it was enough to excite their angry feelings. Whenever this took place, I had no rest from their reproofs and invectives that day. If I said anything in my own justification, it was enough to make them speak against me as guilty and sacrilegious, and to cry out against all devotion. If I remained silent and made no answer at all, the result was merely to heighten their indignation, and to make them say the most unpleasant things they could devise. If I were out of health, which was not unfrequently the case, they took occasion to come and quarrel with me at my bedside, saying that my prayers and my sacramental communions were the occasions of my sickness. As if there were nothing else which could make me ill, but my devotions to Thee, O my Lord!

The efforts of the step-mother were not limited to attempts to dissociate the affections of her husband; she endeavored also to alienate from her the respect and affections of her eldest son. And she too well succeeded; although there is reason to think that he came to better dispositions in after life. There was something in this, so deep and sacred is a mother's love, which seems to have affected the feelings of Madame Guyon more keenly than anything else in her domestic afflictions.

The heaviest cross, which I was called to bear, was the loss of my eldest son's affections and his open revolt against me. He exhibited so great disregard and contempt of me, that I could not see him without causing me severe grief.

She says, that she conversed with one of her pious friends in relation to this strange and heavy trial, whose advice was, that since she could not remedy it, she must suffer it patiently, and leave every thing to God.

— edited from The Life of Madam Guyon (1877) Volume 1, Chapter 8.

Consolation in the Gospel

"That, we might have a strong consolation, who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope  set  before us: which hope we have as an anchor of the soul both sure and steadfast." — Heb. 6.18, 19.

How beautiful, as fades the gloom of night,
How beautiful the early sunbeams fall
In long and level'd lines of light, o'er  all
The wide expanse of plain and vale and height,
And clothe them with a young and purple bloom!
So, when my heart environ'd is with sorrow,
And from the earth no ray of hope can borrow,
The Gospel's glory dissipates its gloom.
That Gospel plants a sun within my breast,
Which hath the power to change dark shades to day;
Unchanged, unfailing, it transmits its ray,
And e'en in sorrow makes my bosom blest.
The vales throw off their shades, the mists take wing,
The flowers unfold their leaves, the birds start up and sing.

 — The Religious Offering (1835) XX.

Turning to God Anew

Reflections on
the Life of
Madame Jeanne de la Mothe Guyon.

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Her statement of some of her early trials:

"It was then I began to eat the bread of sorrow, and mingle my drink with tears."

Such are the expressions which convey to us her sense of her trials. It was in this extremity that it occurred to her, (alas, that we learn this lesson so often from sorrows alone,) that, in the deficiency of all hope in creatures, there might be hope and help in God. It is true, that she had turned away from him; and having sought for solace where she had not found it, and where she ought not to have sought it, she felt ashamed to go back.

But borne down by the burdens of a hidden providence, (a providence which she did not then love because she did not then understand it,) she yielded to the pressure that was upon her, and began to look to him, in whom alone there is true assistance.

— edited from The Life of Madam Guyon Volume 1, Chapter 6.

Going Home

How pleasant 'tis, when life is run,
And never more our steps shall roam,
To say with joy, our work is done,
And we are going home.

How pleasant 'tis, our sorrows past,
With better, brighter worlds in view,
To give one parting look, the last.
And say with joy, Adieu!

The sting of death hath lost its power
To him who lives and never dies;
And death is the transition hour
Which leads him to the skies.

Oh live, oh reign, departing one!
Though gone from earth, to thee 'tis given,
With trials past, and victory won.
To gain the life of heaven.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) LXXVIII.

Faith — Not Emotion

There is another class of persons, whose experience is something more than intellectual; but which, just so far as it exists independently of faith as its basis, cannot safely or justly be regarded, as a true religious experience. We refer to those, whose religious life is characterized chiefly or exclusively by strong emotions. These cases are in some respects more difficult to be rightly estimated than those which have just been mentioned. It is well known, that many persons find it difficult to form an idea of religion separate from feeling; and they are very apt to consider great feeling and great religion as very much the same thing. In many minds religion and feeling are almost identical. But it will be noticed in the proposition, which we have laid down, that we do not condemn feeling, that we do not exclude feeling as a part of religious experience, but only that we condemn and exclude from religious experience all that feeling, which exists independently of faith as its basis.

Endeavor to Behold the Hand of God

Reflections on
the Life of
Madame Jeanne de la Mothe Guyon.

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Viewed in the light of subsequent events, she saw that everything had been ordered in mercy. Addressing the person at whose suggestion and under whose direction she wrote her Life, she says, in relation to the trials and persecutions she endured,

I should have some difficulty in writing these things to you, which cannot be done without apparently giving offense to charity, if you had not required me to give a full account, without omitting anything. But there is one thing which I feel it a duty to request. And that is, that in these things, which thus took place, we must endeavor to behold the hand of God, and not look at them merely on the side of the creature. I would not give any undue or exaggerated idea of the defects of those persons by whom God had permitted me to be afflicted. My mother-in-law was not destitute of moral principles; my husband appeared to have some religious sentiments, and certainly was not addicted to open vices. It is necessary to look at everything on the side of God, who permitted these things only because they were connected with my salvation, and because he would not have me perish. Such was the strength of my natural pride, that nothing but some dispensation of sorrow would have broken down my spirit, and turned me to God.

 And again she says, near the conclusion of the same chapter in her Life,

Thou hast ordered these things, oh my God, for my salvation! In goodness thou hast afflicted me. Enlightened by the result, I have since clearly seen, that these dealings of thy providence were necessary, in order to make me die to my vain and haughty nature. I had not power in myself to extirpate the evils within me. It was thy providence that subdued them.

— from The Life of Madame Guyon Volume 1, Chapter 5.

The Distant Near

On earth we meet with friends and part;
And parting bear a sorrowed heart.
They come, they go; there's nothing sure;
All full of doubt; all insecure.

But  when on earth our heaven we find
By having God within the mind;
The sorrow, which we felt before,
At parting friends, we feel no more.

However far our footsteps rove,
We always meet in God's great love;
However wide our travels run,
Our journey and our joys are one.

God is our home, and in that state
We cannot so far separate,
As not to make the distant near,
And know the lov'd are always here.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) LXXII.

Although Affliction Smites My Heart

Although affliction smites my heart,
And earthly pleasures flee,
There is one bliss that ne'er shall part,
My joy, Oh God, in Thee.

That joy is like the orb of day,
When clouds its track pursue;
The shades and darkness throng its way,
But sunlight struggles through.

Oh Thou, my everlasting light,
On whom my hopes rely;
With Thee the darkest path is bright,
And fears and sorrows die.

— Religious Maxims (1846).

Parental Bereavement

"Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand  of God,  that He may exalt you in due time; casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you." 1 Peter, v. 6, 7.

I've lost my loved, my cherished little one,
Who smiling, prattling, clasped  her  Father's knee.
Alas!  Her  transient hour of life is run,
And her sweet tone and smile are nought to me.
The  grave hath claimed her. Oft I seem to hear
Her  blessed voice charming the vacant air.
I listen; but my own fond fancy's ear
Frames the sweet sound. My loved one is not there.
Onward, to where yon green tree waves its shade,
I look, when summer's sultry sun is high;
There, in her days of life and health, she played;
In  vain I thither turn my weeping eye.
God in his mercy took her; and 'tis mine
To  feel his ways  are  right, nor let my heart repine.

— American Cottage Life (1850) XXXV.

Kinds of Sorrow

There are different kinds of sorrow. There is  a godly sorrow, and a worldly sorrow; a sorrow which works life and a sorrow which works death. The one is the product of man's unsanctified nature; the other is inspired by the Holy Ghost. The one is the companion of self-seeking, envy, and avarice; the other is the associate of humility, of love of the truth, and of desires after holiness. The one is sorrow, because we have offended God; the other is sorrow because we have not gained the world.

— Religious Maxims (1846) CLXXXI.

'Tis Not in Vain the Mind

'Tis not in vain the mind,
By many a tempest driven,
Shall seek a resting-place to find,
A calm like that of heaven.

The weak one and dismayed,
Scarce knowing where to flee,
How happy, when he finds the aid
That comes alone from Thee!

In Thee, oh God, is REST! —
Rest from the world's desires,
From pride that agitates the breast,
From passion's angry fires.

In Thee is rest from fear,
That brings its strange alarm;
And sorrow, with its rising tear,
Thou hast the power to calm.

— from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 8, Chapter 1.

The State of Continual Prayer

He, who can say from a full and sincere heart, THY WILL BE DONE, is in a state of continual prayer. And it is a prayer, which, although it is general in its form, may be regarded as realizing and including in itself all particular and specific prayer. He, who is the subject of it, sympathising as he does with the divine mind, prays for everything which God requires him to pray for. He can as really pray for all the objects of prayer without specifically knowing them, as he can adore all the purposes of God without knowing them. There is no sinner in all lands and no sorrow in the wide world, which he does not virtually and at the same time really present before God. It should be remembered, however, that this sublime state of mind, which exists much less frequently than it should do, is entirely consistent with specific prayer, and that it really lays the best foundation for it.

— Religious Maxims (1846) CLX.

Sorrow for Sin

"And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger. I  will  arise and go to my father, and  will  say unto him, Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son."
Luke xv. 17, 18, 19.

In dust and ashes let me humbled lie,
For I have sinned against my God and friend;
Nor ever upward lift my troubled eye,
But only tears let fall and groanings send.
And wilt Thou hear, who, merciful as just,
Dost pity on the bleeding bosom take?
Yes, Thou wilt mark the suppliant in the dust,
The bowed and bruised reed Thou wilt not break!
Here is my hope, and it is only here;
For I have sinned — how much God only knows;
Thy law have broken, put away thy fear,
And caused the sneer and scoffings of thy foes.
Low in the dust my worthless head I lay,
Till God shall hear my prayer, and take my guilt away.

— American Cottage Life (1850) XXIV.

External Crosses

God sometimes sees fit to impose upon his beloved children, internal, as well as external crosses. There seems to be almost a necessity for this. "The life, which they now live, they live by faith on the Son of God." The Christian life is truly and emphatically a life of faith. A life of faith is necessarily the opposite of a life of direct vision. And how can the principle of faith operate, much more how can it acquire strength, unless God shall at times withdraw himself from the direct vision, and leave the soul to its own obscurity? If a man, wishing to test the spirit of obedience in his son, commands the son to follow him in a certain direction, does he not render his own test unavailable, by taking him by the hand and dragging him along? And so our heavenly Father, if he wishes to test and to strengthen our faith, must he not sometimes take us out of the region of openness and clearness of sight, and place us in the midst of entanglements, uncertainties, and shadows? What we need, what we must have, what is absolutely indispensable to our interior salvation, is faith; faith which gives the victory; faith strong, unwavering, adamantine. It was by want of faith that we fell; it is by want of faith that we are kept in continual bondage; and it is only by the restoration of faith that we can sunder the chains that shackle us, and walk forth in spiritual freedom. But faith can never arise to that degree of invigoration, which our necessities so imperiously demand, while we are permitted to walk continually in the field of open vision and under the sunlight of present manifestations. Hence there seems to be a necessity, that he who has made us and who loves us with an infinity of love, should, nevertheless, sometimes wrap himself in the majesty of uncreated darkness, in order that we may learn the great lesson of following God without seeing Him, and of appreciating his uttered word, his simple declaration, at the same value with his manifested realities and acts.

Sorrows of the Sanctified Life

There is some reason to believe, that those, who love most, will suffer most; that those, who are the strongest in the Lord, will have the heaviest burden to bear.

They are afflicted in view of the condition of the Church. With all disposition to be grateful for what amount of piety there is, and also to make all due allowance for the deficiencies that exist, they perceive and cannot help perceiving, that the Church is, to a considerable extent, in bondage. They see very distinctly, that she lives far below her duties and privileges; those duties and privileges to which her God calls her. It is their sympathy with the Divine mind, as well as their sorrow for the Church, which affects them. How can they possibly be without grief, in view of the insulted honor and the disregarded beneficence of the God whom they love? And if this were possible, as it certainly cannot be, how is it possible for them to refrain from weeping, when the Church, for whom their bleeding Savior has purchased garments of light, voluntarily walk in sordid and defiled habiliments?

The Joys of Pentitence

FAREWELL! Thine earthly strife is o'er;

Thine earthly sorrows past;

Jesus, thy friend, hath gone before;

And thou art free at last.

No more the solitude and pain;

No more the bitter tear;

A better land thy soul shall gain,

Than that, which held thee here.

Earth's children did not understand

The sorrows of thy heart;

But spirits of the heavenly land

Shall judge thee as thou art.

A soul that erred, a soul restored,

A soul that sinned, a soul forgiven;

Dear to the Christ, the loving Lord,

And safe, at last, in heaven.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) XXXV.

Confidence In God in Bereavements

"A  voice was heard in, Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rachel, weeping for her children, refused to be comforted for her children, because they were not." — Jer. xxxi. 15.

Why has my child, my darling child departed?
Why has my God in wrath that loved one taken?
Leaving me desolate and broken-hearted,
O'erwhelmed and prostrate, hopeless and forsaken.
And is it all in wrath that I am smitten,
And pressed with burdens heavy to be borne?
Hope yet, my soul, in God, for he hath written
With his own finger, blessed are they who mourn.
Perhaps I loved my child more than my God,
Neglecting and forgetting every other,
And He in mercy sent the chastening rod,
And took away the child to save the mother.
Farewell, then earth! Why should I look below?
I too will take my staff, and weeping heavenward go.

— American Cottage Life (1850) IX.

The True Rest

'Tis not in vain the mind,
By many a tempest driven,
Shall seek a resting-place to find,
A calm like that of heaven.

The weak one and dismayed,
Scarce knowing where to flee,
How happy, when he finds the aid,
That comes alone from Thee.

In Thee, O God, is REST;
Rest from the world's desires,
From pride that agitates the breast,
From passion's angry fires.

In Thee is rest from fear,
That brings its strange alarm,
And sorrow, with its rising tear,
Thou hast the power to calm.

— American Cottage Life (1850).