The interior life has its periods of light and darkness. Sometimes prayer seems natural, God feels close, and we carry out our spiritual duties with energy and conviction. At other times the horizon grows dim. Prayer becomes laborious, the truths of faith no longer move us as they once did, and the enthusiasm that marked an earlier stage of our vocation seems to have disappeared. These changes should not surprise us. They are part of the ordinary journey by which God purifies our love and teaches us to seek Him for His own sake rather than for the consolation we may receive in His service.
The exodus of the people of Israel provides a fitting image of this journey. After God freed them from slavery in Egypt, they did not immediately enter the Promised Land. They first had to cross the desert and endure a pilgrimage that lasted forty years. The road was long, the landscape often barren, and the people repeatedly became discouraged because they could not see clearly where God was leading them. Yet the desert was not a departure from His plan. It was the path by which He formed them, taught them to trust Him and prepared them to receive the land He had promised.
Our own pilgrimage towards heaven also takes us through changing spiritual landscapes. There are periods when everything appears beautiful and faith brings an almost tangible joy. At other times the way seems monotonous or obscured, and we may wonder whether we are making any progress. Christian writers have long recognised this pattern. At the beginning of the spiritual life, God often allows us to experience a certain sweetness in prayer so that we may glimpse the beauty of the life to which He is calling us. These consolations encourage us to begin, strengthen our first resolutions and help us overcome the resistance of a nature that has not yet learned to live by faith. Later, He may withdraw this sensible support so that we do not attribute our progress to ourselves or confuse holiness with spiritual satisfaction.
St. Josemaría compared the interior life to a sea voyage. At times God grants us fair weather. Our personal defects seem less troublesome, external difficulties temporarily subside, and we experience the beauty and power of divine grace. Faith becomes easier and the soul enjoys a sense of peace. God may lead us in this way for a considerable period, particularly at the beginning, because He knows our weakness and does not ask us to carry burdens for which we are not yet prepared. Like newborn children, we need to be strengthened gradually.
As time passes, however, the initial fervour often diminishes. God remains a consuming fire, but we do not always feel the flame of His love. The soul may enter a strange period in which it appears to be making little progress. Former enthusiasm gives way to routine, and prayer no longer produces the consolations we once experienced. We may continue doing the same things, but they seem less alive. This can become a source of confusion if we have unconsciously assumed that the strength of our spiritual life can be measured by the intensity of our feelings.
St. Josemaría spoke candidly about this from his own experience. After many years of service to God, he could say that his perseverance had not depended upon a succession of spiritual consolations. He continued because he knew that the path he was following was God’s will. He was not unhappy, but neither did he base his fidelity upon personal satisfaction. It would be a poor kind of love, he observed, if we did things only because we enjoyed them. Duty alone is not the fullness of Christian life, but love often expresses itself precisely by remaining faithful when the pleasure once associated with our duties has disappeared.
We must therefore continue with or without enthusiasm. Whether we experience great fervour or possess only the firm determination to remain faithful, we can still gain ground each day. Christ said that He came to cast fire upon the earth, and He desires that this fire should be kindled in us. Yet fire does not always burn in the same way. A pile of straw may produce a dramatic flame that rises quickly and soon dies away. A thick log burns more slowly, often without attracting attention, but it gives steady heat for a long time. The spiritual life may follow a similar course. What matters is not that we always experience an intense flame, but that we do not allow the fire of love to go out.
A lasting fire is built gradually. Dry leaves or paper may be needed to ignite it, but more solid fuel must then be added. Once the fire takes hold, it forms a bed of embers that continues to give heat even when few flames are visible. A gust of wind may occasionally cause the fire to blaze up again, but much of its work is done beneath the ashes. Someone who looks only for flames may conclude that the fire has died, while beneath the surface the embers remain intensely hot.
The same can happen in our relationship with God. We may no longer display the enthusiasm that marked the beginning of our vocation, yet our love may have become deeper and more stable. St. Josemaría warned against assuming that there is no fire merely because we cannot see flames. A glowing ember is enough to give warmth and to set other things alight. A mature spiritual life may be less emotionally striking than its beginnings, but it can be more firmly rooted in faith and more capable of sustaining generous service.
Young people often possess the flame of first enthusiasm. Their ideals are fresh and their generosity readily expresses itself. This is good and should be encouraged. Yet the first fervour has not normally been tested by years of struggle, disappointment and perseverance. Those who have spent much of their lives in God’s service may no longer appear to burn with the same visible intensity. They may think little of themselves and be painfully aware of their defects, but their fidelity has become like a bed of embers capable of warming everyone around them. Their holiness is found not in display but in the accumulated love of countless ordinary days.
It is normal, even taking the action of grace fully into account, for the initial ardour of the spiritual life to change. Our efforts may become less noticeable outwardly, while inwardly they become more reflective and more supernatural. We understand more clearly that we cannot rely upon ourselves and begin to appreciate St. Paul’s desire to glory in his weakness so that the power of Christ may rest upon him. Our prayer, apostolate and daily struggle may in fact be bearing greater fruit, even though we are left with the impression that they amount to very little. We become conscious of the distance between our poor response and the love that God and souls deserve.
This awareness should lead us to humility rather than discouragement. St. Josemaría said that the conclusion of his daily examination of conscience was often that he was a poor and humble servant, and sometimes that he was not very pleased with his own conduct. Such self-knowledge is not incompatible with peace. We can recognise our failures honestly while continuing to trust the God who called us. In periods of difficulty, trial or spiritual dryness, His grace is never absent. Like a wind that blows away the ashes and revives the embers beneath them, grace strengthens faith and renews our loyalty when we most need it.
During these periods we must remain faithful to our usual practices of piety. Prayer, the Mass, Holy Communion, devotion to Our Lady and recourse to the guardian angels continue to sanctify us even when we receive little sensible consolation from them. We do not understand all the ways in which the Holy Spirit forms a soul, nor is it necessary that we should. When we gave ourselves to God, we placed the guidance of our lives and the work of our sanctification in His hands. Our part is to persevere with a firm and effective determination, continuing to seek Him through the means by which He has taught us to find Him.
Spiritual dryness should not be confused with lukewarmness. The two may look similar from the outside, but they are fundamentally different. A lukewarm person has allowed love to weaken through carelessness, compromise or resistance to grace. He performs spiritual duties without real desire for conversion and may gradually cease to struggle against his defects. In dryness, by contrast, the soul may desire God sincerely and remain faithful even though it feels nothing. A dry field can appear lifeless, yet a little rain at the proper time may cause it to produce abundant flowers and fruit. Its dryness is not death. Life remains hidden within it.
This distinction is important because a faithful person experiencing dryness may wrongly accuse himself of lukewarmness. He sees that prayer has become difficult and assumes that he has lost his love for God. Yet love is proved more securely by fidelity than by feeling. If we continue to pray when prayer offers no consolation, attend Mass with reverence, resist temptation and fulfil our duties out of love for God, our apparent poverty may contain a very pure form of charity. We are no longer serving God mainly because of what His service gives us. We are choosing Him because He is worthy of our love.
Times of dryness also teach us to pay greater attention to the calls of God hidden within each day. We may long for a dramatic spiritual experience while overlooking the grace contained in an ordinary duty, an interruption or an opportunity to serve. God is waiting for us in the present circumstances of our lives. Docility means responding to Him there, rather than insisting that He should meet us in the particular way we would prefer. The person who remains faithful in small things during a period of darkness may be growing more than he realises.
Our attitude should therefore be one of trust. We must be ready to begin again each day, and as often during the day as necessary, without allowing our defects to hold us back. Humility enables us to accept ourselves as we truly are while resting in the love of God. This is not complacency. We continue struggling to overcome our faults, but we do not make our peace depend upon the speed of our progress. God knows the material with which He is working, and He does not become discouraged by our weakness.
The image of the craftsman can help us understand His patience. We are made of fragile clay, easily cracked and apparently of little value. Yet God intends to fashion something beautiful from this poor material and to give it a share in His own divine life. He asks us to remain faithful even when we cannot see the form His work is taking. We may not understand the tools He uses or the reason He permits certain trials, but the work belongs to Him. Our confidence rests not in the quality of the clay but in the skill and love of the craftsman.
For the person who loves Christ, prayer remains the place of encounter even when it is dry. We may enter prayer with reluctance and find it difficult to remain attentive, yet we go because the Lord awaits us there. The prayer itself may seem bitter, but fidelity gradually produces a deeper sweetness. St. Josemaría compared it to a child who eagerly seeks a piece of sugar after taking unpleasant medicine. The consolation may not come during the prayer or in a form we recognise, but contact with Christ restores the soul and keeps it from becoming isolated within its own sadness.
When we live in this way, we can remain at peace even during periods of extreme dryness. The light may return suddenly, whenever God chooses, but we do not make our fidelity conditional upon its return. We continue doing what we can, trusting that He is at work. Feelings come and go, while the will can remain anchored in love. The apparent darkness may even purify our faith by teaching us to walk without constantly needing to see the road ahead.
Periods of consolation should nevertheless be used well. When God gives us light and allows us to see things clearly, we should store up those graces for the more difficult days that may follow. St. Josemaría used the example of engineers who build a reservoir during times of abundant rain. The water is preserved so that it will be available during a drought for drinking, irrigation and the production of power. In the same way, during periods of spiritual clarity we should make firm resolutions, deepen our convictions and remember what God has shown us. When darkness returns, we can draw upon that stored light.
This does not mean trying to reproduce past feelings. Spiritual consolations cannot be preserved like emotional memories and summoned at will. What remains is the truth we recognised and the commitment we made under the action of grace. We can recall that God was faithful, that our vocation came from Him and that His promises do not change because our feelings have changed. What we understood in the light remains true in the darkness.
Our Lady is especially close to us during these times. We may not feel her presence, but she does not abandon us. A mother sometimes extends her arms behind a small child who is learning to walk, allowing him to take a few steps without holding his hand. The child may think for a moment that he is alone, yet his mother remains near enough to catch him if he falls. Something similar occurs in our spiritual life. We may no longer feel the reassurance we once experienced, but Mary continues to watch over us and accompany our hesitant steps.
The absence of consolation is not the absence of God. He may be closer to us than ever while asking us to rely less upon what we feel. Mary stood beneath the Cross when everything appeared to contradict the promises she had received. She remained faithful without understanding fully how God would bring life from death. She can teach us to persevere when our own path becomes obscure.
Spiritual dryness is therefore not an interruption of the interior life but one of the ways in which it matures. Through it, God separates love from mere satisfaction, strengthens the will and teaches us to rely upon grace. The first flame may diminish, but a deeper fire can remain beneath the ashes. Our task is to protect that fire through prayer, the sacraments and daily fidelity, trusting that the breath of the Holy Spirit will revive it whenever He wills.
We should not measure our love by what we feel but by our willingness to remain with Christ. We continue to pray, fulfil our duties and serve those around us because He is our Lord and because we love Him, however poorly. When we fail, we begin again. When the road is dark, we keep walking. When our strength seems insufficient, we trust that His grace is already supporting us.
God will not waste these periods of apparent sterility. In His hands, the dry land will bear fruit and the hidden embers will give warmth. One day we may discover that the times when we thought we were accomplishing least were among the periods in which He was working most deeply within us. Until then, we remain faithful, invoking the help of Mary and remembering that we are never alone. Even when we cannot feel her hand in ours, our Mother is beside us, watching over each uncertain step and leading us towards her Son.
*By the Via Virtutis team
Photo by redcharlie on Unsplash
