If we were perfectly dead to ourselves, and no wise entangled in our inner hearts, then might we be able to relish things divine, and experience something of heavenly contemplation. (Imitation of Christ, I, 4.)
God is a jealous God. He does not want to be put on an equal with bric-a-brac. When He sees the heart entangled with a thousand useless things, He has no desire to impose His presence. No doubt, if such a soul is in the state of grace, He dwells in it, but He is silent; if we do not deign to notice Him, He remains unnoticed; since we prefer something else He avoids forcing Himself upon us. The more inconsiderate the soul, the more discreet He is.
If, on the contrary, someone clings to Him alone, and counts all else as nothing, He is captivated and must always struggle not to give Himself completely. As soon as He discovers the possibility of communicating Himself to a receptive soul, He opens the flood gates: "Make room, I will come as a torrent," He said to Mother Ponnet of the Visitation order. He will say the same to all of us.
Not that He will generally communicate Himself to us in sensible consolations; they are not always His most precious gifts, and the soul at times profits more by something different. We can entrust ourselves to Him; He will take possession of the first place that is free. We may be able to say with Marie Antoinette de Geuser: "My chalice is full, but I wish it were larger," or "Lord, You possess the whole estate of my heart, but make it larger that you may be more comfortable there."
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Adapted from Meditations for Religious
by Father Raoul Plus, S.J. (© 1939, Frederick Pustet Co.)
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