Into the Dark Night

By David Torkington

By Marie Ellenreider Kneides (Wikimedia Commons)

For many of us the first brief glimpses of God came through His creation. It might have been through a beautiful sunset, a breathtaking stretch of countryside. It might have come through gazing upon a single blade of grass, an insect crawling through the undergrowth, or a caterpillar climbing up a rose bush. When your contemplation of creation enabled you to experience the Creator, you found yourself drawn inward. It was as if some soothing sedative stilled your mind and heart and made you mourn for your Maker, as for a lost friend. And yet this strange melancholy was as sweet as it was sad and you wanted it to go on and on to envelop you more and more completely. Once this had happened, you no longer needed to gaze at the scene before you, you could close your eyes and still savour the mysterious presence. The physical senses and the feelings and emotions that depend upon them have no part in what now becomes a predominantly spiritual experience.

When the experience vanishes, as it always will, the heart mourns for what has been lost. The restless heart that yearns for love unlimited is a commonplace experience for the young, who have been ‘touched’ in this way. When, like St Augustine they eventually begin to realise, or are taught, that the fullness of God’s love on earth is ultimately to be found in His Masterwork Jesus Christ, it is the beginning of a new departure in their spiritual journey.

St Jerome said that, “to be ignorant of the scriptures is to be ignorant of Christ,” so it is now the time to turn to the sacred scriptures, and follow the practice of the Desert Fathers and the most ancient and hallowed traditions of our faith, reading and re-reading everything that Jesus said and did in the Gospels. This is the only way to come to know and love the Father, made flesh and blood, in the Son, for as William of Thierry said, “You cannot love someone unless you know them”, but he adds, “You will never really know them unless you love them.”

Continue reading at David Torkington.

When the turtledove no longer sings…

by Patricia

Turtledove (Photo Credit: Wikimedia Commons).

Yesterday morning, I woke up to the sound of joyful voices praising God’s Goodness. My mp3 player is chock full of Catholic radio podcasts.

Instead of being uplifted, I felt a deep loneliness. That used to be me, I thought. I felt broken – sort of like Humpty Dumpty was broken, all shattered. Only on the inside.

I’ve been feeling like this for years, but it seems to grow worse over time. I claim to love God deeply.  I believe in His Love for me. But, I don’t feel a shred of devotion or affection for Him. Anymore.  Yet, just the thought of Him once took my breath away.

Every Tuesday, I sit before His Eucharistic Presence for two hours struggling to pray. I am happy to be with Him. I love the peace. But I cannot meditate or pray mentally at all. I try to remember how thoughts of Him once flooded my mind and heart like an embrace of warm waves washing over me.

I tell Him that I love Him (because I do), but avoid terms of endearment which once tumbled out of my entire being in a litany of praise and adoration. Such passion would seem hollow, even phony now. And I am sad for it.

I am aware of Him in every choice that I make. Is it for or against Him? I try to do what would please Him, but it’s more like habit than love. And I don’t want to go to hell — I who once dreamed of rushing into the arms of my Savior after breathing my last. No fear then.

I have long since given up trying to find out Why. I have turned my life inside out looking for a reason. I cannot find one. It is as though I have fallen into a deep dark well, and there is no way out. And not one ray of light.

I have asked a few different priests what they thought, but in the rush of a few moments in the confessional, or a 20 minute exchange on retreat, they have not understood, and I cannot blame them.  But I thank them for listening.

Is it the dark night?

“Dark night of the soul,"  a holy nun with the gift of healing told me. “But,” she added, “IF you are praying.”  So, all bets are off.

Am I praying? What is prayer now? There is no question that I could pray more, much more. How much do I have to pray to be in the purification of a dark night rather than the lukewarmness of a soul who has left the narrow way and wandered onto the wide road?

I tell Jesus that I believe it will always be this way now. I no longer allow myself to hope that I will ever again experience His Presence, or my own heart leaping within me at the sound of His Name. I am so very grateful for those memories.

He has given me more than I could have ever hoped for. It is His to give, and His to take away. If I have driven away His favors by my lack of generosity, I pray, as best I can now pray, that I will not one day cause Him to leave me too.

My prayer  is simple now. It is that of the dying thief: “Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.”


Patricia originally posted this at her blog  I Want to See God.  I have posted this in full here, in the hope that it can help others who are struggling.

Share with us: Have you experienced difficulties in prayer? How have you dealt with them? Are you in a dark place now?