Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Begin Anew: A Midnight Meditation on the Teaching of St. Francis de Sales

Patience is an elusive virtue for me, and my impatience knows no bounds. Because of this deficiency, I think, I am attracted to people who are patient and kind. My mother has the patience of a saint and is one of the kindest people I know, and both patience and kindness are also two of my wife's crowning virtues. Paul mentions the two virtues in his letter to the Ephesians, "...with all humility and gentleness, with patience, showing tolerance for one another in love" (Eph 4:2).

It is maybe that same attraction that lead me to St. Francis de Sales, bishop and Doctor of the Church, who was known for these virtues, among others. It was said that Francis' unusual patience kept him working. When he set off to bring 60,000 Calvinists back to the Church during the time of the Reformation, no one would listen to him, no one would even open their door. So, Francis found a way to get under the door. He wrote out little pamphlets to explain true Catholic doctrine and slipped them under the doors. The parents wouldn't come to him, so Francis went to the children. When the parents saw how kind he was as he played with the children, they began to talk to him. By the time Francis returned home, it is believed he brought 40,000 people to the Catholic Church.

Truth be told I had never read anything by him until a friend tonight sent me some of his writings. It was enough for me to get out of bed in the middle of the night the spend some time with the words of this doctor of the soul, because his words were like a salve for mine at a time in my life where I desperately needed to hear them. It was also neat to learn that it wasn't until became friends with a widow named Jane de Chantal that they mutually edified each other on their respective paths to sainthood--a kind of catalyst if you will.

From St. Francis' Introduction to the Devout Life (in italics; my commentary beneath):

"One important direction in which to exercise gentleness, is with respect to ourselves, never growing irritated with one's self or one's imperfections; for although it is but reasonable that we should be displeased and grieved at our own faults, yet ought we to guard against a bitter, angry, or peevish feeling about them. Many people fall into the error of being angry because they have been angry, vexed because they have given way to vexation, thus keeping up a chronic state of irritation, which adds to the evil of what is past, and prepares the way for a fresh fall on the first occasion. Moreover, all this anger and irritation against one's self fosters pride, and springs entirely from self-love, which is disturbed and fretted by its own imperfection."

We can be our own harshest critic. "Giving way to vexation" would be a good summary of the past few weeks for me. I simply could not figure out my troubled spirit. My zeal had drained from my spirit as soon as Lent ended the way blood drains from someone's face, creating an ashen and pale disposition. How could this happen, I would think, I don't understand it. Me! But like a mirror, the inverse of any such perceived virtues I may have possessed became strikingly apparent--pride, vanity, self-love "disturbed and fretted by its own imperfection."


"What we want is a quiet, steady, firm displeasure at our own faults. A judge gives sentence more effectually speaking deliberately and calmly than if he be impetuous and passionate (for in the latter case he punishes not so much the actual faults before him, but what they appear to him to be); and so we can chasten ourselves far better by a quiet stedfast repentance, than by eager hasty ways of penitence, which, in fact, are proportioned not by the weight of our faults, but according to our feelings and inclinations."

We don't usually think of judges in terms of comfort, but I was comforted by St. Francis' imagery here: a judge who distributes justice "deliberately and calmly," like a father with a steady hand, who can be trusted to have our best interests at heart. Again, I find that I admire this disposition because it is one I do not possess: I am impassioned and impetuous, ruled by my feelings and inclinations. With the measure I live I tend to judge by, and it doesn't bear well especially when holding myself on trial in my own court of law. I often pray, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me" (Ps 51:10) asking God for this steadfastness rather than hastiness. I am a lousy judge, of others and myself, but long for a "deliberate and calm" distributor of justice to counterbalance my taciturn and hasty self-condemnations.


"Thus one man who specially aims at purity will be intensely vexed with himself at some very trifling fault against it, while he looks upon some gross slander of which he has been guilty as a mere laughing matter.
On the other hand, another will torment himself painfully over some slight exaggeration, while he altogether overlooks some serious offence against purity; and so on with other things. All this arises solely because men do not judge themselves by the light of reason, but under the influence of passion.Believe me, my daughter, as a parent's tender affectionate remonstrance has far more weight with his child than anger and sternness, so, when we judge our own heart guilty, if we treat it gently, rather in a spirit of pity than anger, encouraging it to amendment, its repentance will be much deeper and more lasting than if stirred up in vehemence and wrath."

Exaggeration is a great tactic of the enemy. It also applies to cognitive distortions to which I am prone. We ignore blessings and goodness, and magnify faults and make gross exaggerated claims. Someone forgets to call and we think "this ALWAYS happens to me," or "so-and-so NEVER does such-and-such." When we fall, the enemy will use this line of reasoning to keep us down and self-condemned. "You always fail. You will never get to Heaven." Etc. Repentance born out of wrath, as St. Francis notes, is not nearly as deep or lasting as one that is gentle with faults and pities because of weakness rather than getting angry.


"For instance:--Let me suppose that I am specially seeking to conquer vanity, and yet that I have fallen conspicuously into that sin;--instead of taking myself to task as abominable and wretched, for breaking so many resolutions, calling myself unfit to lift up my eyes to Heaven, as disloyal, faithless, and the like, I would deal pitifully and quietly with myself. "Poor heart! so soon fallen again into the snare! Well now, rise up again bravely and fall no more. Seek God's Mercy, hope in Him, ask Him to keep you from falling again, and begin to tread the pathway of humility afresh. We must be more on our guard henceforth." Such a course will be the surest way to making a stedfast substantial resolution against the special fault, to which should be added any external means suitable, and the advice of one's director. 
If any one does not find this gentle dealing sufficient, let him use sterner self-rebuke and admonition, provided only, that whatever indignation he may rouse against himself, he finally works it all up to a tender loving trust in God, treading in the footsteps of that great penitent who cried out to his troubled soul: "Why art thou so vexed, O my soul, and why art thou so disquieted within me? O put thy trust in God, for I will yet thank Him, Which is the help of my countenance, and my God."

So then, when you have fallen, lift up your heart in quietness, humbling yourself deeply before God by reason of your frailty, without marvelling that you fell;--there is no cause to marvel because weakness is weak, or infirmity infirm. Heartily lament that you should have offended God, and begin anew to cultivate the lacking grace, with a very deep trust in His Mercy, and with a bold, brave heart."

I tend to make a Big Deal out of things. Everything is a big deal. Of course sin is serious, but how rarely do I lift up my heart in quietness, without marveling? "There is no cause to marvel because weakness is weak, infirmity infirm." Are we surprised we fall? Are we surprised at our weakness? Do we forget that we are sinners? Thank God He strikes us down on our horse before we smack ourselves unconscious on the low-hanging branch just up ahead. "Heartily lament...and begin anew."


Remember the Lord's admonition to witholding mercy to others: "In the same way you judge others, you will be judged." (Mt 7:2) Others yes, but ourselves as well! It can be hard to be gentle with oneself, hard to trust in God's mercy, hold ourselves to a different standard and get impatient and disgusted with ourselves. But it is not complicated either. Let us calmly ignore the Enemy's lies, his condemnations, the voices that say we will never amount to anything and we will always fall. Let's steadfastly put our trust in God and His divine mercy, and cultivate gentleness and patience with ourselves.

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