‘Just one or two pages, just a taste, of St John of the Cross each day would give you some repose in the midst of your exhausting work…’ That is how Charles de Foucauld saw it anyway. What follows is a look at the context of that advice.
Charles de Foucauld (1858-1916) had been ordained priest for the diocese of Viviers near Lyon on 9th June 1901. His bishop had accepted him for the mission in Morocco, where his ecclesiastical superior would be Mgr Guérin, apostolic prefect for the Sahara. The tricky bit was that Catholic priests were barred from entry to Morocco, so Charles would set up in western Algiers near the Moroccan frontier, and be on the lookout for an opportunity. Fr Charles was duly appointed to the settlement at Béni-Abbès; hot, arid, blue-skied, an oasis in the middle of the Sahara. There he would administer the sacraments to the French soldiers; and he wanted above all ‘to do as much good as possible right now to the Muslim population, which is so numerous and so neglected. This will mean bringing Jesus into their midst, Jesus in the most Holy Sacrament, as the most holy Virgin sanctified John the Baptist in bringing Jesus near to him.’[1]
Fr Charles reached Béni-Abbès in October 1901. It was, to use an inapt metaphor, a watershed moment: fifteen years since his conversion to wholehearted discipleship, fifteen years before he was murdered in Tamanrasset. If in his earlier life he had carved his own furrow, now he had reached a level of surrender which deeply impressed Mgr Guérin: ‘Like those whom the Spirit of God directs, he has a wonderful gift for valuing the moment’.[2] So too, ‘his unfailing gentleness, his inexhaustible charity, and with that his joyful character have absolutely won everyone’s heart. I am no longer as worried as I was about the solitude he is in.’[3] Charles himself wrote to his cousin Marie de Bondy, ‘I’ll adjust to the circumstances and to what is possible’.[4]
De Foucauld was no stranger to North Africa. He had achieved celebrity in France through his exploration and mapping in Morocco in 1883-1884, although the fame was tarnished by his free-wheeling lifestyle. He had found important assistance for that geographical work in the studies of another explorer, Henry de Castries (1850-1927), an expert on Morocco, who had good connections in Paris, North Africa, and with the army. De Castries left the army in 1887, and committed himself to political and civil work back home. Though maintaining links with French North Africa, de Castries was councillor for Maine-en-Loire in 1902-1903, when the French government was working to expel religious. That is the context of Charles’s letter to him from Béni-Abbès 13 juillet 1903.[5]
Heading the letter is Charles’s recently-minted graphic, Iesus Caritas and a drawing in the shape of a heart with a cross upon it. Henry is addressed as ‘Mon bien cher ami’, and there is indeed a beautiful intimacy and frankness in Charles’s letter. He apologises for his delay in answering Henry’s previous correspondence, waiting as Charles has been for some definite news to report. As for his situation, although local militia and raiding bands may be afflicting Algeria and Morocco, the Béni-Abbès oasis itself is a haven of ‘calm and peace, for as long as God wills’. The French soldiers relate well to the locals, except where the Bataillon d’Afrique is present, causing unrest and giving France a bad name. Huff!
“Just one or two pages, just a taste, of St John of the Cross each day would give you some repose in the midst of your exhausting work in Morocco; it would be like a little fresh water for you in the middle of a hot day travelling.”
Charles then devotes a couple of paragraphs encouraging Henry in his efforts to defend the Catholic community from secular French Government assaults: What blindness! You’d think a trip to Rome would cure the politicians of their pretensions. […] Rome where empire after empire has ended up in ruins. In contrast, ‘dear friend, you can see how here at Béni-Abbès there is always a brotherly peace, a great joy, here where God is thanked for his great glory and we experience a serene delight at GOD being GOD. From this place one looks out with unfailing confidence.’
It is at this point that Charles suggests some reading for Henry, in the midst of the stress of administration in anti-Catholic France, and the exhaustion that work for North Africa surely brings him. Here is St Charles de Foucauld’s advice:
‘One of my best books is St John of the Cross. I often think of you as I read it. You who know the scholastic theologians so well, have you read the mystics? … Just one or two pages, just a taste, of St John of the Cross each day would give you some repose in the midst of your exhausting work in Morocco; it would be like a little fresh water for you in the middle of a hot day travelling. There are many things you would like, many that would speak to your heart…’ [6]
Here is a saint advising a fellow former-soldier, now administrator and politician, at home in France and in North Africa, to read the mystics.[7] Henry is not without formation (‘the scholastic theologians’), but there is a treasure trove waiting to be discovered in the mystics; these will speak to his soul.
You don’t need to read much, Charles suggests; you don’t need to wade through chapter after chapter. This is because John of the Cross writes truth, speaks from the love of the risen Christ who is giving Himself, communicates the living water John himself is tasting. As John wrote to Ana de Jesús, ‘although your Reverence is not practised in scholastic theology, through which we understand divine truths, you have no lack of experience in mystical theology, which is known through love, which enables us not only to know, but to taste.’ (Canticle Prologue 3).
I find so helpful the permission given by Charles to read just a little, just to take a sip; in the confidence that, with this kind of simplicity, one can truly meet John of the Cross. One may of course read more; or, sip by sip, one may end up reading all the works, again and again. But the invitation from the Saharan saint is to let oneself be refreshed by the encounter with the mystic’s transparency to the Gospel.
There is perhaps here also an invitation to simplicity in prayer. Charles expresses his own sense of John’s teaching like this: ‘There are many things you would like, many that would speak to your heart in these pages where all speaks of forgetfulness of creatureliness in order to lose oneself in the immense, the only, the eternal good’. Here is the voice of someone who had spent years not forgetting nor being forgotten by ‘creatureliness’. He seems now to find in John of the Cross one who speaks his new language: who endorses for Charles the joy of the Spirit, the freedom from enslavement which Christ’s love brings. Charles’s words evoke the immensity of the desert sky at night.
Yet there is more to John. The Carmelite’s gift to us also includes his joy in creation; the promise of becoming more oneself by becoming more Christ’s; the delight not only in the one, but in the Three, in the togetherness, the dance of the Trinity.
Another voice, then, can supplement the picture. René Voillaume (1905-2003), founder of the Little Brothers of Jesus, the congregation inspired by the vision of St Charles de Foucauld, refers to John of the Cross as the Brothers’ ‘grand maître’ in prayer;[8] you go to adoration, he tells them in unmistakably sanjuanist terms, ‘to deliver your whole being to God in the night’.[9] This statement occurs in his address, ‘Persevering in prayer’.[10] In another address, ‘The prayer of the poor’,[11] Voillaume seeks to help the brothers as they combine hard physical or industrial labour with contemplative love for Jesus. He recognises how, after a day’s work, the shop-floor equivalent to the Saharan heat, a brother will be so dog-tired by labour or frazzled by industrial noise that a studied meditation is going to be impossible. ‘How can you meditate? You cannot. But you can do this, if you have the courage and are persistent enough: with the simplest, plainest acts of faith and love, you can place yourselves before God, open your being to Him down to the bottom and just as you are, await Him there. This will be an expectancy coupled with the desire of His company, but above all, with the consciousness of your impotence, of your misery and of the insufficiency of your courage.’[12]
The plainest acts of faith and love: just so, St John of the Cross points to believing, hoping, loving, even – especially – in darkness, as that which unites us to the God who is giving Godself; He who is immediately present where we are most ourselves. ‘Seek Him in faith and in love’. ‘Desire Him there; adore Him there.’ (Canticle 1:11,8).
‘Just a taste, of St John of the Cross each day would give you some repose in the midst of your exhausting work…’ It is like prayer, where Christ, the living water, is constantly offering himself to the lips of our soul. What makes a drop from the mystical doctor so sufficient is that everything speaks – yes – of believing, hoping, loving. In each drop of faith, hope, love the whole mystery is contained. Believing, you are united with God; hoping, the Trinity is your home; loving, you are one with the Bridegroom.[13] Just a sip, and you and He unite.
[1] Quoted in Charles de Foucauld Lettres et carnets ed. Jean-François Six, Editions du Seuil, Paris, 1966, pages 159-160. For biographical information, see Cathy Wright LSJ Saint Charles de Foucauld: His life and spirituality Pauline Books 2022.
[2] ‘Il sait, comme ceux que dirige l’Esprit de Dieu, merveilleusement apprécier les circonstances.’ Quoted in Charles de Foucauld Lettres à son ami Henry de Castries 1901-1916 ed Brigitte Cuisinier & Jean-François Six, Nouvelle Cité, Bruyères-le-Châtel 2011, page 124. Translations from French mine, unless otherwise stated.
[3] ‘Son inaltérable douceur, son inépuisable charité, et avec cela son joyeux caractère lui ont absolument gagné tous les coeurs. Sa solitude ne m’effraye plus autant qu’autrefois.’ Ibid. p.118.
[4] ‘Je me réglerai sur les circonstances et les possibilités.’ Letter 22nd August 1903, ibid. p.118.
[5] Ibid, p. 126.
[6] Charles de Foucauld Lettres à son ami Henry de Castries 1901-1916 ed Brigitte Cuisinier & Jean-François Six, Nouvelle Cité, Bruyères-le-Châtel 2011, page 126. ‘Un de mes livres les plus chers est St Jean de la Croix. Je pense souvent à vous en le lisant. Vous qui connaissez si bien les Scolastiques, avez-vous lu les mystiques?… Une page ou deux – une goutte – de St Jean de la Croix, chaque jour, vous reposerait un peu dans vos travaux si fatigants du Maroc; ce serait un peu d’eau fraîche au milieu d’une chaude journée de voyage. Bien des choses vous iraient, réepondraient à votre coeur, dans ces pages où tout parle d’oublier tout le créé pour se perdre dans l’immense, l’unique et l’éternel bien.’
[7] The ‘du Maroc’ in the previous footnote is ambiguous. ‘In Marocco’ should be ‘au Maroc’; but Charles seems to be thinking of Henry making journeys under the exhausting Moroccan sun.
[8] René Voillaume Au coeur des masses Cerf 1961, 234.
[9] Ibid. 239.
[10] Permanents de la Prière ibid. 231-255.
[11] La prière des pauvres gens ibid. 121-135.
[12] René Voillaume In the midst of men Fides Notre Dame 1966 pp.27-28.
[13] See John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel, Bk 2, ch. 9, no.1; Bk 3, ch. 7, no. 2; Living Flame of Love, stanza 1, no.13.
