An Aroma of Christ for God's Sake

St. Paul wrote this aroma-truth to the Corinthians and continued, "both among those who are being saved and those on the way to destruction; to the latter an odor dealing death, to the former a breath bringing life." The New Jerusalem Bible uses the word "incense" rather than "aroma". Either way, we Christians are to not only be lights of Christ, but people ought to be able to smell us--deep-end swimmers, shallow end waders, and those not in the pool at all. We need to be an extra-pungent odor to those in the shallow end and out of the pool, as it takes smelling salts to bring people out of a sluggishness or a dead-faint. We could also be strong, lily-of-the-valley perfume to these, as it might induce them to swoon toward God through initial use of their senses. I suppose we can be pungent and sweet to the deep-enders, also; either scent could be of advantage in spurring or enticing them on to greater spiritual depths.

O, Dear God in Heaven! I've been in some of the most incredible churches for Masses! Yesterday noon was Mass at a small chapel, not easily located, of the convent of the Conceptionists who are of the Franciscan Order, of the 15th century here in Spain. An old, huge statue of St. Anthony of the Desert, Abbott, caught my attention as well as the ancient priest who is a thin, Spanish replica of the late and great Father Bob Fosselman--even to the detail of propping his cane on the altar! Last evening I attended Mass at San Vicente, an 11th century Romanesque beauty built on the site where three young children were martyred in the third century, right here in Avila. I hope to describe this church more in detail in another post. The rosary was being led, prior to Mass, by an old, lovely, devout Spanish woman with a face--forgive me--which I can only describe as one of those carved, dehydrated apple heads. It is amazing how the Spanish people live so long and are naturally weathered in body but more so in spiritual depth and perseverance.

Early in the morning Las Cruzadas offer Mass. The group of women staying here for spiritual formation and renewal sing as choirs of angels during Mass. The tunes are both inspiring and haunting, causing me to rise from my bed this morning even though my pained body fought against the effort. For the love of God and by the grace of God I rose and managed the Holy Mass and silent prayer following. At breakfast, why the edge of weepiness? Was it the pain, or something else? I was considering casting the net more formally--of finding out if I could remain at Tellamar with Las Cruzadas in August.

Yes, my mind is open to the possibility of fitting in with this outstanding group of Catholic lay people, living the ideals of St. Ignatius and St. Teresa and St. John of the Cross as contemplatives active in the world. So I ask two Cruzadas who know some English to ask permission for my remaining at Tellamar in August; they say they will pass on the request to Mariapina who is more or less in charge of this house.

The remainder of the morning and until lunch at 2:15 p.m., I rest in the small bed of my cell; I slouch-sit and read more of St. John's Ascent of Mount Carmel. I take aspirin and later a Tylenol. During lunch the same weepiness creeps behind my unyielding eyes. What is it? Something doesn't feel right. Is it sensations from some soul, such as the new professora? Is it prayer concerns received in e-mails? Or is it the silence at lunch, building with the bodily pain, and the tape en Espanol of spiritual conference talks of which I understand nothing except the language of heaven, the pain which is seeping into me from hidden cisterns.

St. John writes in the Second Book, Chapter 7 of the extreme narrowness of the path leading to eternal life and the denudation and freedom of those who traverse this path. A naked intellect is required. This journey must exclude hindering creatures as well as, and perhaps more difficult, a dispossession and annihilation of the spiritual part of one's nature. Jesus says this pointedly: If anyone wishes to follow My way, let him deny himself, take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his soul will lose it, but whoever loses it for me will gain it.

Many spiritual persons think a certain road is good but ought to be aware of the correct path. St. John explains. "Some are content with a certain degree of virtue, perseverance in prayer, and mortification, but never achieve the nakedness, poverty, selflessness, or spiritual purity (which are all the same) about which the Lord counsels us here. For they still feed and clothe their natural selves with spiritual feelings and consolations instead of divesting and denying themselves of these for God's sake. They think denial of self in worldly matters is sufficient without annihilation and purification in the spiritual domain....Such an attitude is not the hallmark of self-denial and nakedness of spirit but the indication of a spiritual sweet tooth."

He continues. "A genuine spirit seeks rather the distateful in God than the delectable; leans more toward suffering than toward sweet consolation, more toward going without everything for God than toward possession, and toward dryness and affliction than toward sweet consolation....Oh, who can explain the extent of the denial our Lord wishes of us! This negation must be similar to a temporal, natural, and spiritual death in all things; that is, with regard to the esteem the will has for them. It is in the will that all negation takes place."

Again, St. John of the Cross writes: "Those who renounce for Christ all that their wills can both desire and enjoy by choosing what bears closer resemblance to the cross--which our Lord[John 12:25] terms hating one's own soul--these same will gain it." I emphasize for Christ, as in all the annihilation must be for Christ, for Christ's sake--and not to endure, suffer, persevere, or negate self for the sake of other than what is for God, for Christ, for righteousness' sake.

After reading I lie down again and rest. Soon it is time to walk to class, and the fresh air is good but the heat is elevated, making praying the rosary (the Sorrowful Mysteries) an intensified effort as I leave the walled city and head down the valley and up the hillside to Universidad Catholica. Maria Stella meets me at the classroom door, third floor, to give me the news that she has spoken with Mariapina of Las Cruzadas, and I cannot stay with them in August--that it just isn't possible for them to have me.

I am actually relieved--yet dispossessed. Yes, I can now identify acurately the sensation at breakfast and lunch: God is not choosing Las Cruzadas as my stopping point on this journey. My body wasn't cooperating with the pain; my interior senses forewarned that God was not willing, although my desire for security and inclusion had been suggested to Him. Although the realization that I would need to find another place, move on in uncertainty--as a blind woman with her hand on the shoulder of the Little Boy Jesus--frightened me, I also knew God was answering my prayer to make the ascent. This involves in actuality not having consolation, security, acceptance, a place to lay one's head--but rather to exist in the darkness of blind faith.

The class on St. Teresa's Life includes a discussion of this very topic, but from St. Teresa's more practical, colloquialized explanation. At break I notice that my bodily pain has eased. I savor the sensation of physical and spiritual unknowing, and I ask God where He wants to lead me in a decade of days. Maria Stella mentioned I can stay in the flat across the street from the Carmelite convent in Alba de Tormes (where St. Teresa is entombed), or go to an Ignatian Retreat House in Duruelo (quite a remote area), and I interject that Fr. Sibichen has just e-mailed encouragement to come to Wien, Austria and be his guest. Oddly, too, I have had a recent desire to find Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich's place of birth, life, and death near Muenster, Germany.

All of these options will require blindness, as I will have to leave the protection and given of the group, of Tellamar, of Las Cruzadas, of the American-born Maria Stella, now living in Avila. I will have to pack up my things and get on a bus or a train and go, and hope to find a place to stay at night or stay on the train overnight and then some to reach Wien, outside of Vienna. And then to find Fr. Sibichen's parish in Martinister. Or, to find Coesfeld and Dulman near Muenster. Or to be in total solitude and silence (perhaps the most spiritually challenging but least bodily) in the small, Spanish-only Alba de Tormes.

The blind man was joyful; he was confident; he had the shoulder of his darling little boy who he couldn't see--but who could see for him. Yes, I must not only place my hand on Jesus, but I must smell His presence. I must follow His scent, let Him lead, and then we shall be where we shall be. Maybe His scent will be so familiar to me that it will be as if absorbed; and I shall then be an aroma of Christ for God's sake.