Longing for God
Longing for God 'Seek his face always.' Bernard echoes the Greek Fathers, when he says that even when a soul has found God it will not cease to seek him, because the finding simply increases the desire. Even in heaven there will always be more to discover, 'deeper in and wider out'.
So there will be no end to the desire, no end to the search.
It has been said that he belongs to the 'Positive Way', the Cistercian 'Way of Light'. Yet he too, like the brethren he speaks of, experienced God's 'absence', dryness and weariness of soul. In spite of all his monastic observance, he writes, 'My soul is as dry as earth without water'. The desert experience reminds us that union with God is primarily a union of wills. But love too has to do with the will, and the desert is also the meeting place of God and the beloved.
Though it is God who is sought, and not the experience of God, Bernard and his monks long for a personal knowledge of God. Like such spiritual things as loveliness or loneliness, God can only really be known through personal experience. We are not of course speaking of such things as ecstasy, but rather of the knowledge that comes about through love for the Other; a love that is born of commitment made in faith and trust; a trust that is as radical as anything required by John of the Cross.
Seeking God It is a great good to seek God; in my opinion the soul knows no greater blessing. It is the first of its gifts and the final stage in its progress. This gift is inferior to none and yields place to none. What could be superior to it, when nothing has a higher place? ... What virtue can be attributed to anyone who does not seek God? What boundary can be set for anyone who does seek him? The psalmist says: "Seek his face always.' Nor, I think, will a soul cease to seek him even when it has found him.
It is not with steps of the feet that God is sought but with the desire of the heart; and when the soul happily finds him its desire is not quenched but kindled ... there will be a fulness of joy, but there will be no end to desire, and therefore no end to the search.
Think if you can, of this eagerness to see God as not caused by his absence, for he is always present; and think of the desire for God as without fear of failure, for grace is abundantly present.
Dryness Iam not ashamed to admit that very often I myself, especially in the early days of my conversion, experienced coldness and hardness of heart, while deep in my being I sought for him whom I longed to love. I could not yet love him since I had not yet really found him; at best my love was less than it should have been, and for that very reason I sought to increase it, for I would not have sought him if I did not already love him to some degree. I sought him that in him my numbed and languid spirit might find warmth and repose, for nowhere could I find a friend to help me, whose love would thaw the wintery cold that chilled my inward being, and bring back again the feeling of spring-like bliss and spiritual delight.
But my weariness only increased, my soul melted away for sorrow, even to the verge of despair. All I could do was to repeat softly to myself: "Who can stand before his cold?' Then at times when I least expected, at the word of a good or holy man, at the memory of a dead or absent friend, he set his wind blowing and the waters flowing. For me there was no anointing, but rather the experience that came through another's mediation.
The Complaint of the Spouse Let us suppose that those whom I have called the friends of the Bridegroom have come on a visit to greet the Spouse.
Finding her discontented they wonder what the cause can be and ask her: 'What has happened? Are you afraid you will be called upon to answer for the sins of your past life which you hoped had been forgiven?' 'No indeed, but I cannot rest until he kisses me with the kiss of his Mouth. I am not ungrateful but — I love.
'For many years for his sake, I have been careful to lead a chaste and sober life; I have applied myself to spiritual reading; I have resisted my unruly passions; I have watched against temptation; and have been constant in prayer. As far as I could I have lived a good community life, and been obedient .
. I have not coveted my neighbour's goods, but rather given him my own and myself with them. In the sweat of my brow have I eaten my bread. Yet in all these exercises I have felt nothing save the monotonous drudgery of routine, unseasoned with sweetness. I am perhaps, in some way faithfully observing the commandments, yet even in that observance, my soul is as dry as earth without water.
Let him, I beg, "Kiss me with the kiss of his mouth''.'
Longing for the Holy Spirit Many of you, as I recall, in our private conversations, complain of this languor and dryness of soul, this heaviness and dullness of mind, devoid of the power to penetrate the profound and hidden truths of God, devoid too, entirely or for the most part, of the sweetness of the Spirit. What is that my Brothers, but a longing to be kissed?
Plainly, such persons are sighing and yearning after the Spirit of wisdom and insight. Insight that they may attain to what they long for, wisdom in order to savour what the mind apprehends. With such feelings the prophet prayed when he said, 'My soul will feast most richly, on my lips a song of joy and in my mouth, praise.'
The kiss of the Holy Spirit was surely what he sought for, that kiss at whose touch the lips are so bedewed with the richness of spiritual grace; thus was fulfilled his wish, spoken in another context: 'Let my mouth be filled with your praise, that I may sing of your glory, of your splendour all the day long'. Then no sooner has he tasted than he cries out, 'How great is the abundance of your goodness Lord, reserved for these who revere you.'
The Holy Spirit: the Kiss 'Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth.' Do you wish to see the newly-chosen bride receiving this unprecedented kiss, given not by the mouth but by the kiss of the mouth?
Then look at Jesus in the presence of his Apostles: "He breathed on them, and he said, "Receive the Holy Spirit''.'
That favour given to the newly chosen Church, was indeed a kiss. 'That?' you say. "That corporal breathing?' O no, but rather the invisible Spirit, who is so bestowed in that breath of the Lord that he is understood to proceed from him equally as from the Father; truly the kiss is common both to the Father who kisses, and to the Son who is kissed.
So the Bride is satisfied to receive the kiss of the Bridegroom, though she be not kissed with his mouth. For her it is no mean thing to be kissed by the kiss, because this is nothing less than the gift of the Holy Spirit. If, the Father is he who kisses, and the Son is he who is kissed, then it cannot be wrong to see in the kiss the Holy Spirit, for he is the imperturbable peace of the Father and the Son, their unshakable bond, their undivided love, their indivisible unity.
Knowing the Trinity When the Son said: 'No-one knows the Son except the Father, just as no-one knows the Father except the Son,' he added: 'and those to whom the Son chooses to reveal him.'
But the Bride has no doubt that if he will reveal himself to anybody, it will be to her. Therefore, she dares to ask for this kiss. She asks for that Spirit in whom both the Father and the Son will reveal themselves to her. For it is not possible that one of these could be known without the other.
When the Bride asks for the kiss therefore, she asks to be filled with the grace of this threefold knowledge. She asks to be filled to the utmost capacity of mortal flesh. But it is the Son whom she approaches, since it is by him it is to be revealed, and to whom he wills. And it is certain that he makes this revelation through the kiss, that is through the Holy Spirit.
It is by giving the Spirit, through whom he reveals, that he shows us himself.
. Furthermore, this revelation which is made through the Holy Spirit, not only conveys the light of knowledge but also lights the fire of love, as St Paul testifies:
'The love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.'
The Man of Desires.
I If any of us, like the holy prophet, find that it is good to cling close to God, and — that I may make my meaning clear
— if any of us is so filled with desire that he wants to depart and to be with Christ, with a desire that is intense, with a thirst ever burning, with an application that never flags, he will certainly meet the Word in the guise of a Bridegroom on whatever day he comes.
At such an hour he will find himself locked, interiorly, in the arms of wisdom; he will experience how sweet divine love is as it flows into his heart. His heart's desire will be given to him, even while still a pilgrim on earth, though not in its fulness and only for a time, a short time. For when after vigils and a great deal of tears, he who was sought presents himself, suddenly he is gone again, just when we think we hold him fast. But he will present himself anew to the soul that pursues him with tears, he will allow himself to be taken hold of but not detained, for suddenly for a second time he flees from between our hands.
The Man of Desires II And if the fervent soul persists with prayers and tears, the Bridegroom will return each time and not defraud him of his express desire, but only to disappear soon again and not to return again unless he is sought for with all one's heart.
And so, even in this body we can often enjoy the happiness of the Bridegroom's presence, but it is a happiness that is never complete because the joy of his visit is followed by the pain of his departure. The beloved has no choice but to endure this state until the hour when she lays down the body's weary weight, and raised aloft by the wings of desire, freely traverses the meadows of contemplation, and in spirit follows the One she loves without restraint wherever he goes.
Faith and Desire Because we cannot yet contemplate the reality of God nor fully embrace him by love, he feeds us on that hidden manna of which the Apostle says: 'Your life is hid with Christ in God', allowing us to taste him by faith and seek him by desire. By these two, faith in him and desire for him, we are brought a second time from a state of nothingness to a state of being, and we begin to be once more, after a fashion, creatures of God, to pass at last into the perfect man, 'into the measure of the age of the fulness of Christ'.
And this will come about when faith will be turned into understanding or when the justice that arises from faith is transformed into the judgement that comes from full knowledge, and the desire experienced in exile is changed into fulness of love.
If faith in God and desire for him start the' exile off on the way, they culminate in understanding and love when he is there. As faith leads to full knowledge, so desire leads to perfect love. If you do not desire God ardently, you will not love him perfectly. Understanding is therefore the fruit of faith, and perfect love the fruit of desire.
Visits of the Word I want to tell you of my own experience as I promised. I admit that the Word has also come to me — and has come many times. But although he has come to me, I have never been conscious of the moment of his coming. I perceived his presence, I remembered afterwards that he had been with me; sometimes I had a presentiment that he would come, but I was never conscious of his coming or his going. And where he comes from when he visits my soul, and where he goes, and by what means he enters and goes out, I admit that I do not know even now.
The coming of the Word was not perceptible to my eyes, nor to my ears; his coming was not tasted by the mouth, nor could he be known by the sense of touch. How then did he enter? Perhaps he did not enter because he does not come from outside? Yet he does not come from within me, for he is good, and I know there is no good in me. If I looked outside myself, I saw him stretching away beyond the furthest I could see; and if I looked within, he was yet further within. Then I knew the truth of what I had read, 'In him we live and move and have our being'. And blessed is the man in whom he has his-being, who lives for the Word and is moved by him.
The Presence of the Word You ask then how I knew he was present when his ways can in no way be traced? He is life and power, and as soon as he enters in, he awakens my slumbering soul. He stirs and soothes and pierces my heart, for before it was hard as stone, and diseased. So he has begun to pluck out and destroy, to build up and to plant, to water dry places and illumine dark ones; to open what was closed and to warm what was cold, so that my soul may bless the Lord, and all that is within me may praise his holy name.
So when the Word came to me, he never made known his coming by any signs, not by sight, not by sound, not by touch. It was not by any movement of his that I perceived his coming; only by the movement of my heart did I perceive his presence. I knew the power of his might because my faults were put to flight and my human yearnings brought into subjection. But when he has left me, all these spiritual powers become weak and faint and begin to grow cold. As often as he slips away from me, so often shall I call him back. As long as I live the word 'return', for the recall of the Word, will be on my lips.
Enjoying the Word There may be someone who will ask me, 'What does it mean to enjoy the Word?' I would answer that he must find someone who has experience of it and ask him. Do you suppose that if I had had that experience I could describe it to you?
I may have been granted this experience but I do not speak of it. I have made allowance in what I have said, so that you could understand me. Oh, whoever is curious to know what it means to enjoy the Word, make ready your heart, not your ear! The tongue does not teach this, grace does. It is hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed to children.
Humility, my brothers, is a great virtue, great and sublime.
It can attain to what it cannot learn; it is counted worthy to possess what it has not the power to possess; it is worthy to conceive by the Word and from the Word, what it cannot explain in words.
Why is this? Not because it deserves to do so, but because it pleases the Father of the Word, the Bridegroom of the soul,
Jesus Christ our Lord who is God above all, blessed for ever.
Amen.
To Love with the Whole Heart The stream of love does not flow equally from her who loves and from him who is love, the soul and the Word, the Bride and the Bridegroom, the Creator and the creature — any more than a thirsty man can be compared to a fountain. Will the Bride's vow then perish because she cannot equal the brightness of the sun, and the charity of him who is Charity itself? No. Although the creature loves less, being a lesser being, yet if it loves with its whole heart nothing is lacking, for it has given all.
Such love, as I have said is marriage, for a soul cannot love like this and not be beloved; complete and perfect marriage consists in the exchange of love. No-one can doubt that the soul is first loved, and loved more intensely by the Word; for it is anticipated and surpassed in its love. Happy the soul who is permitted to be anticipated in blessedness so sweet.
For it is nothing other than love, holy and chaste, full of sweetness and delight, love utterly serene and true, mutual and deep, which joins two beings, not in one flesh, but in one spirit, making them no longer two but one.
Pat The Day So often our thoughts stop short of the object of all our striving heaven, and all it implies: the close presence and sight of God, the companionship of those who have gone on before. Bernard, commenting on the 'Canticle', writes magnificently of that Day on which the sun never sets on a land that is richer and more fertile than any we have ever known. A place where there is no fear, no more violence or squalor or want, no more oppression or misery.
It will be a day without evening, but which had its dawn when the Virgin conceived God in her womb by the power of the Holy
Spirit. It had its sunrise early on that morning when night was swallowed up in the victory of the Resurrection. Bernard writes of its noontime: 'Lord, tell me where you pasture your flock at noontide, show me this place that I too may gaze upon you in your light and your beauty, ... Lord, I do seek your face, your face which is the noontide.'
It is a day, the Day which unites heaven and earth.
Heaven The sun, however, even though it increases in warmth and strength, though it extends its rays over the whole course of our mortal loves — for it will be with us even to the end of the world — it will not attain to its noontide splendour, nor be seen here below in that fulness which it will show hereafter. O true noontide, fulness of warmth and light, trysting place of the sun; noontide that blots out the shadows, that dries up the marshes, that banishes evil odours! O perpetual solstice, day that will never decline to evening! O noontide light, with your springtime freshness, your summer-like gracefulness, your autumnal fruitfulness and your winter of quiescence and leisure.
All things here below fall short of perfection, many are beyond the reach of my desires, and nothing is safe. When will you fill me with the joy of your presence? Lord, I do seek your face. Your face is the noontide. Tell me where you pasture your flock, where you make it lie down at. noon.
Show. me this place, where there is so much brightness and peace and fulness, so that just as Jacob while still in this life saw the Lord face to face, I too may merit the grace of contemplating you in your light and beauty.
The Mystical Noontide Let us make haste, my Sons, let us make haste to a place that is safer, to a pasture that is sweeter, to a land that is richer and more fertile. To a place where we may dwell without fear, where we may abound and never want, where we may feast and never weary. O Lord of Hosts, you feed in security and with fairness all who dwell in that place, you who are at the same time the Lord of armies and shepherd of sheep.
You feed your flock therefore and at the same time make them rest, but not here below.
'Show me where you pasture your flock, where you make it lie down at noon', that is the whole day long: for that noon is a day that knows no evening. So a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere, because its sun never sets.
But perhaps it had a sunrise when that holy day first dawned upon us through the tender mercy of our God, in which the Rising Sun visited us from heaven. Truly then we received your mercy, O God, when as you rose out of the shadow of death, the morning light shone over us, and in the dawn we saw the glory of God.
The Day The dawning of this day began when the Sun of righteousness was announced to the earth by the Archangel Gabriel; when the Virgin conceived God in her womb by the power of the Holy Spirit, and still remaining a virgin gave birth to him; and it continued as long as he was seen on earth and lived among men. For during all that time only a feeble light, just like the dusk of dawn, was visible, so that almost the whole world failed to realise that daytime for mankind had come.
The dawn then, was the whole life of Christ upon earth, until he died and rose again to put the dawn to flight by the clearer light of his glorious presence. With the coming of sunrise, night was swallowed up in victory. And so we are told that very early on the Sunday morning, just after sunrise, they came to the tomb. Surely it was morning when the Sun had risen? But the resurrection endowed it with a new beauty, with a more serene light than usual, because though we once knew him according to the flesh, we know him thus no longer. He shook off the frailties of the flesh like cloudlets and put on the robe of glory. Since then the Sun is risen indeed and has gradually poured down its rays over the earth.