Meditations on “The Little Way” of Following Jesusनमूना

The Way of Perfection

You ask me for a method of obtaining perfection. I know of love—and love only! Our hearts are made for this alone. Sometimes I endeavor to find some other word for love, but in a land of exile, “words which have a beginning and an end” [St. Augustine] are quite unable to render adequately the emotions of the soul, and so we must keep to the one simple word—LOVE.

But on whom shall our poor hearts lavish this love, and who will be worthy of this treasure? Is there anyone who will understand it, and—above all—is there anyone who will be able to repay?… Jesus alone understands love; He alone can give back all—yes, infinitely more than the utmost we can give.

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As our Lord is now in heaven, I can only follow Him by the footprints He has left—footprints full of life, full of fragrance. I have only to open the Holy Gospels, and at once I breathe the perfume of Jesus, and then I know which way to run; and it is not to the first place, but to the last, that I hasten. I leave the Pharisee to go up, and, full of confidence, I repeat the humble prayer of the publican. Above all, I follow Magdalene, for the amazing—rather, I should say, the loving—audacity that delights the heart of Jesus has cast its spell upon mine... I feel that even if I had on my conscience every crime one could commit, I would lose nothing of my confidence. My heart, broken with sorrow, I would throw myself into the arms of my Savior. I know that He loves the Prodigal Son; I have heard His words to St. Mary Magdalene, to the woman taken in adultery, and to the woman of Samaria. No one could frighten me, for I know what to believe concerning His mercy and His love. And I know that all that multitude of sins would disappear in an instant, even as a drop of water cast into a flaming furnace.

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I used to ask myself how, in days to come, I could more clearly understand the true meaning of perfection. At that time, I imagined I understood it completely, but I soon came to realize that the more one advances along this path, the farther one seems from the goal, and now I am resigned always to be imperfect, and I even find joy in that.

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It seems to me that God has no need of years to perfect His labor of love in a soul. One ray from His heart can in an instant make His flower blossom forth, never to fade.

Thought: I wish to be holy, but, knowing how helpless I am, I beseech You, my God, to be Yourself my holiness.