St. John of the Cross: A Patron for the Hurting
At one point in my life, I was trying to read The Ascent of Mount Carmel, by St. John of the Cross. I really wanted to read his Dark Night of the Soul, being such an intriguing topic, but I knew if I wanted to make sense of it, I had to read the previous book. As often the case, I would pick it up and put it down, so it had been several years, and I hadn’t even finished the book. Then in the winter of 2011, I slipped on a patch of ice and dislocated my left knee. It was Lent, and I remember saying “I gave up walking for Lent” and that “God assigned me my penance that Lent!” In any case, I read the entirety of the Collected Works of St. John of the Cross, with this wonderful, gentle saint as my companion during my recovery!
The writings of this little, humble saint aren’t easy to read. His poetry is beautiful—I’m told, some of the most beautiful poems ever written in Spanish. And his commentaries on the poems are rather dry and long. However, if one scratches the surface of the lengthy commentary, there is a fire burning beneath. There is the presence of a God who is always pouring Himself out to the hungry soul. The problem is that we distract ourselves so much from the world and our problems that we don’t realize just how hungry we really are. It took a traumatic knee injury for me to stop and realize how much I needed God.
Pain, trauma, addictions, broken relationships, … all the different experiences of life that wound us dreadfully become the opportunities for either encountering God or turning away from Him. St. John is counting on these “God-moments” to be times to turn to Him. And when we do, we find a God who pours Himself out to the hungry soul. St. John encourages, “If the person is seeking God, much more is her Beloved seeking her.” In order to receive Him, we must make space in our soul for Him.
The journey to God often looks like a mountain for us, or sometimes like a living flame setting us on fire. It may seem arduous at times, seeking a God who is always moving away, drawing us more and more, to the extent that we can’t run away. Running away would mean a living death when an encounter with Him would mean an abundant life. This is a lover’s quest: themes from The Song of Songs echo everywhere throughout John’s writings. There becomes no other way. And all else that attracts us in the world and in our fallen flesh become pointless, useless, empty, nada. We must find out obstacles towards this great good of pursuing and finding Him. And we get to the point that whenever substitutes are presented to us—even good and holy images, ideas, thoughts, etc.—we want to say, “No, I don’t need this; I need You.”
All the pain, the sufferings, all become a night journey to Him. It is as if we are climbing the mountain at night, with stars in the night sky directing us upward. We must let the night speak, for there is beauty in the suffering and the confusion, if only we could be still enough to see and hear it. Our sufferings become nothing more than a self-giving God encountering us, the divine breaking in to our limited world, and throwing us into confusion and pain because we are entering into foreign territory. The night journey leads us along this strange path to Him. And it requires silence and stillness, something we may not have practiced up to now. (It took me a traumatic, knee injury to figure this out.) This is a healing darkness, one that opens up into the light and love of God. We must trust the One who leads us on this journey. We must trust the One who holds my life in His hands, and that He will turn it into a blessing.
If you want to read the writings of St. John of the Cross, I recommend starting with a book about him: The Impact of God by Iain Matthew. That will help orient his writings to understand where to start. And discover a friend in heaven who can accompany you through the moments of darkness in your own life.