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All the great procession of prophets, saints and martyrs, all true warriors of all ages, have found flowers in the wood. St. Paul found them. Perhaps he felt spiritually walled that night in the castle, after the racket and crush of the day, and above all because of the quick word he had flung at his furious enemies like a bone to a pack of dogs, a word which had set them snarling at one another.{13} For the “clever” and the spiritual are poles apart, and the man who is used to breathing the pure air of the heights cannot endure, even for a moment, another, lower air. So St. Paul must have been sad; tired out and very sad. And then, just then, the dearest consolation that could be his was given to him: The Lord stood by him, and said, Be of good cheer, Paul: for as thou hast testified of Me in Jerusalem so must thou bear witness also at Rome. He that openeth and no man shutteth had opened a window.
How like our blessed Master this story is. No one who did not know Him could have invented it. Not even in the Land of Flowers shall we find a dearer flower than this which we find when we are tired and sorry, and Love meets us with generous words of cheer, and more—with the last proof of love, the assurance that we are trusted to serve again.
Sometimes we fear lest the voice of a stranger deceive us. “They know not the voice of strangers”—but may not the heart be deceived? Following the manner of Ramon Lull I would quench that fear with very simple words: The Lover asked his Beloved, “How may I know that Thou and not another art speaking with me?” The Beloved answered the Lover, “Would any other bring to thee the comfort that I have brought?”
The Lord make us more like Him in our dealings with souls. The servants are often hard on one another, but never, never is the Master hard. (His words are flames that shrivel insincerity, but that is different.) “Thou hast wrought kindly with Thy servant O Lord; teach me kindness.”{14} Let the prayer of Thy loving Francis of Assisi be my prayer too: “Make me an instrument of Thy peace. Where there is hatred let me sow love, where there is sadness let me sow joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love.”
One unkind thought of another, one belittling thought even, unless instantly rejected and forbidden, is enough to bring us crashing down. The outward life of victory is very closely related to the inward life of love.