12. Practicing the Presence of God

The soul that is faithful in exercising itself in love and affection to its God is all amazed when it feels how, little by little, He gets the entire possession of it. His presence becomes now so easy to the soul that it can no more be without it; through exercise this has become a habit, just as prayer has become a habit. The soul gradually feels the calm and serenity prevailing upon it; the silence makes up its whole prayer, and God gives it an inspired love, which is the beginning of an unspeakable happiness. Oh, were I permitted to proceed and declare the infinite degrees that follow! But here I must stop, because I write only for beginners, waiting till God shall be pleased to bring forth what may be suitable for all states.

Suffice it to say that it is of great importance to cease from all self-activity so that God alone may act in us. “Be still, and acknowledge that I am God,” is His advice to us through David. Ps. 46:10. But the creature is so fond of what it does itself that it believes it does nothing if it does not feel, know, and distinguish its own activity. It does not see that the swiftness of its motion hinders it from perceiving its steps, and that as God’s operation increases, the activity of the creature is swallowed up—even as we see that the sun, as it rises, gradually swallows up all the light of the stars, which were very distinct before it appeared. It is not for want of light that we cannot distinguish the stars, but for the excess of light.

The case is the same here: the creature cannot distinguish its own activity, because a universal and strong Light absorbs all its little individual lights, and by His surpassing splendor and brightness makes them entirely disappear. They who charge this sort of prayer with idleness are very much mistaken; and it is for want of experience that they say so. Oh, if only they would take the trouble to put it to the test! They would in a very little while know by experience the truth of what I say.

I tell you, therefore, that this abatement of self-activity proceeds not from want but from abundance, as any that will make the experiment will clearly perceive. They will discover that it is not an unfruitful silence, occasioned through want, but a silence anointed and full, proceeding from abundance.

Two sorts of persons are silent—the one because he has nothing to say, and the other because he has too much to say. The case is the same in this stage of prayer. They are silent not for want, but through fullness and excess, the soul experiencing far more than it could possibly express.

Water can cause death in two very different ways: One dies of thirst, and the other is drowned; one dies through the want of it, and the other through the abundance of it. Even so here. It is the abundance that causes all activity to cease. Therefore it is of great importance at this stage for one to remain in as much silence as he possibly can.

An infant at its mother’s breast gives us a good demonstration of this. It begins to move its tender lips that it may cause the milk to flow; but when the milk comes in abundance, it is content to swallow it down without making any perceptible motion; if it should make any, it would but harm itself by choking on the milk, and so be obliged to vomit.

Just so at the beginning of prayer. We ought first of all to move the lips of our affection; but when the milk of grace flows, there is nothing for us to do but abide in stillness and repose, gently swallowing down what is given; and when the milk ceases to come, to move again the affection a little, as the infant does its lips. To do otherwise cannot profit us. The grace here communicated is intended to draw the soul into the repose of love, and not to stimulate the multiplicity of its own motions.

But what becomes of this child that swallows the milk so gently and in peace, without moving or stirring? Who could believe that it was nourished in this manner? What is it, I say, that happens to this child? It falls asleep at its mother’s breast; likewise, the soul that is quiet and peaceful in prayer falls oftentimes into a spiritual (or inward) slumber, wherein all the faculties and powers hereof are silent, until they are prepared to enter into the essence of that of which they have already been given a foretaste. You see how the soul is here led in a way that is wholly natural—without violence, without study, without human ingenuity.

The inward ground is not a stronghold that is to be taken by cannon and storm; it is a kingdom of peace that is gained only by love; thus, if anyone will but sweetly follow in this train, he shall quickly arrive at intuitive prayer. God does not require anything that is extraordinary or too difficult. On the contrary, a simple, child-like way, of proceeding pleases Him best.

That which is greatest and most eminent in religion is indeed the easiest of all. The most necessary of the sacred things are also the easiest. This is true in natural things as well. Would you go to sea? Then take a boat upon a river, and you shall get there without trouble. Would you go to God? Take this so very sweet and easy way, and you shall shortly come to Him in a manner that will even surprise you.

Oh, if you would but try, you would soon be convinced that we have told you but very little of it; for then your own experience would go far beyond all that we have said! What are you afraid of? Why don’t you readily cast yourself into the arms of Love, Who stretched them forth upon the cross just so that He might receive you? What danger can there be in trusting God and simply surrendering yourself to Him? Ah! He will not deceive you, unless it be in a very agreeable manner—namely, by giving you much more than you expect; whereas they who expect anything from themselves may come to hear that rebuke which God gives them by the mouth of the prophet Isaiah: “You hast wearied yourself in the multiplicity of your ways, and yet you have never said, let me rest in peace.”