St. Teresa of Jesus considered him “one of the purest and holiest souls that God had raised up in His Church.” This “half friar” of slight build was great in faith, a bastion of the Discalced Carmelites, and of the Counter-Reformation.
Our pragmatic century seems to believe that the most effective approach for solving the world’s problems mainly involves adopting concrete plans in the field of action, implementing diplomatic strategies, technological resources, treaties, laws, or educational policies.
Indeed, many problems can be resolved by these means. But faith provides a different perspective, teaching us that history is under God’s provident gaze, and He governs it according to eternal designs. Everything is submitted to His plans, especially that which concerns the salvation of souls.
On the avant-garde of the Counter-reform
The Holy Catholic Church, throughout its two thousand years of existence, has often witnessed a singular marvel: men of prayer, leading a life of recollection, who are called to change the course of history. Following the example of Our Lady, whose desires brought Redemption to mankind, the righteous move the heart of God. Without any risk of exaggeration, holiness may be considered the propelling force behind events.
As one theologian commented, “there are heroic souls who refuse Love nothing. God raises them infinitely above themselves, divinizes them, and configures them in the image of his only Son. […] Their most insignificant everyday tasks, like those of the Mother of God, acquire an almost infinite value. The entire Church benefits from them, and their co-redemptive life pours out its radiance on all men, bearing fruits of salvation.”1
Those who consider reality according to earthly criteria may be surprised to see their judgements disproven, because “the history of the universe is reduced, in short, to the advances and the retreats of these divine missions [in souls]. Everything else is secondary and comes to naught.”2
When the Lutheran pseudo-reformation rose up against the Laws of God and of the Church, a cry of loyalty arose within the ranks of the Mystical Spouse of Christ, from her finest children. Among these, an illustrious role was played by two Spanish contemplatives, whose names are cherished with special veneration by the faithful to this day: St. Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross.
Aided and chosen by Our Lady
John de Yepes was born in 1542 in the small village of Fontiveros, set among the vast plains of Castile. His father, Gonzalo de Yepes, was a member of Toledo nobility who relinquished his birthrights to marry Catherine Álvarez, a humble weaver. From this union were born three children, of whom John was the youngest.
The cross—which this boy would one day choose with utmost devotion to qualify his own name—would accompany him since his early years. The successive business failures of his parents reduced the family to a situation of abject poverty, which the couple was able to only partially remedy with the returns from their weaving.
However, when the Saint was two years old, even greater misfortune struck with the death of his father, who fell victim to a painful illness. The widow, with no other recourse than the protection of Providence, was thrown into a superhuman struggle for the survival of the family. With the innocent eyes of her children fixed on her, filled with questions about their future, she moved the family from one village to another until finally settling in Medina del Campo, in search of improved compensation for her labours. These years marked by trial left John but one precious memory: the Blessed Virgin Mary’s unfailing care for the forsaken.
One day, while playing with his friends close to the edge of a muddy lake, John lost his balance and fell in, sinking deep into the murky water. He soon resurfaced, but started to sink again, and as he struggled to keep his head above water, he saw a Lady of celestial beauty, smiling and extending her arm to rescue him. But seeing himself so soiled with mud he did not wish to mar her perfect whiteness, and would not take her hand. Finally, a farm hand arrived on the scene and held out a branch for him to grasp and soon pulled him to shore.
This episode signalled the beginning of a deep-rooted and life-long bond between the boy and the Blessed Virgin, which would, years later, lead him to enter a Marian Order, as a token of his gratitude.
The first glimmer of his vocation
At a charitable institute in Medina del Campo, John learned the rudiments of Catholic doctrine, to serve as acolyte for Mass, and to tend to the sacristy, among other functions. The performance of such duties was his greatest joy, for close to the altar, his soul gave itself over to colloquies with his Crucified Lord, in Whose company he forgot all his hardships.
Some benefactors, noting the unblemished purity of this soul, as well as his academic aptitude, sponsored the youth’s entry into the Jesuit college. He remained there for several years, applying himself to arduous studies, while earnestly seeking to discern his vocation. When this became clear to him, he knocked at the doors of the Carmelite Monastery without delay, requesting the habit of Our Lady.
A page from his celebrated Dark Night allows us to glimpse the resolutions with which he entered the religious life: “Ah, my God and Lord! How many are there that go to seek in Thee their own consolation and pleasure, and desire Thee to grant them favours and gifts; but those who long to do Thee pleasure and to give Thee something at their cost, setting their own interests last, are very few. The failure, my God, is not in Thy unwillingness to grant us new favours, but in our neglect to use those that we have received in Thy service alone, in order to constrain Thee to grant them to us continually.”3
A providential encounter
In the Carmel of Medina del Campo he received the tonsure, and embraced the rule of the Order under the name of Friar John of St. Matthias. It was his custom to spend long hours before the tabernacle, and to serve at Mass with untold delight, until, from there, his superiors sent him to the novitiate in Salamanca.
The legendary university of this city was in its day of glory, with masters of vast erudition and about seven thousand students. There, the future Doctor of the Church took his place among the students to learn from these wise professors, while surpassing them in virtue, penance, and recollection. Within this climate of avid philosophical and theological interest, he became acquainted with the doctrine of St. Thomas Aquinas, which he would later put to use in the formation of the Discalced Carmelites and employ in his writings, investing them with particular cogency.
In the city’s old cathedral, Friar John of St. Matthias received his priestly anointing at 25 years, and in a truly angelic state of soul. However, his yearnings for contemplation were clamouring within him for a much closer contact with God. As he returned to Medina del Campo, he was pondering making a switch from Carmel to the Carthusians, where he felt his self-oblation would be greater.
It was at this juncture that he first met St. Teresa of Avila. The great reformer had come to Medina in 1567 to found a convent of discalced nuns and realized that the time had come to extend the reform to the masculine branch, a step for which she had already been authorized by the General of the Order to take.
In a decisive interview with Friar John, in which another Friar, Antonio de Heredia was also present, Madre Teresa invited him to take part in this holy venture, for her discernment identified him as “one of the purest and holiest souls that God had raised up in his Church.”4 While the foundress set about obtaining a house for the first discalced friars, Friar John, flexible to the promptings of the Holy Spirit, promised to consider the proposal, while asking her, with the characteristic empressement of the Saints, not to delay long in finding one…
Interestingly, Friar Antonio was a man of imposing stature, in contrast with Friar John, who was slightly built. The encounter left the Madre enthused, as she manifested when talking to her nuns: “Help me, my daughters, to give thanks to our Lord God, for we already have a friar and a half to begin the reform of the friars.”5
The ideal of the Carmelite reform
From then on, Teresa of Jesus could rely on the invaluable help of Friar John, and “under the joint action of these two fiery souls, the reform movement spread like an oil slick.”6 In monasteries where they worked, concessions to the spirit of the world and mitigations in the fulfilment of the rule were banished, and the enclosure was observed in all of its rigour. Life was lived with the intention of making reparation for the infidelities committed against the Church at the time, and this heroic purpose brought together vigorous vocations: “The authority and the fervour of the discalced friars attracted many men of the best character; the austere grandeur of the new observance impressed them.”7
Friar John of the Cross—as he came to be called—was the protagonist in the stirring pages of the foundational years registered in the annals of the Discalced Carmelites, where we find him involved in a thousand miraculous Fioretti. Once, while he was conversing with St. Teresa, the two were visited by the double gift of ecstasy and levitation. A sister who had walked through the parlour several times in search of them, finally found them by looking upwards.
On the other hand, Friar John was not spared the fury of hell. He was imprisoned for nine months by the unreformed Carmelites, and at the end of his life, he was stripped of all his offices and relegated to a monastery where the superior mistreated him. Someone less practised in the love of God would have succumbed under the weight of such physical and moral suffering, but he bore all with equanimity, even using the time of his imprisonment to compose some of the poems that later became the origin of his literary work.
Eminent spiritual director
Anyone who leafs through a history of the Mystical Doctor will notice that he held a variety of positions: he was novice master, prior, university dean and a Chapter member with administrative duties. He was always a docile instrument in the hands of superiors, serving on all fronts and in every circumstance.
But his wisdom seems to have evinced itself particularly in the direction of souls. By the work of grace, St. John of the Cross was led to the heights of the unitive way, being called to instruct his sons on the secrets of friendship with God. He devoted all the time required to his penitents, whether religious or secular; his presence was discreet, and of perceptible modesty and meekness, but his penetrating analyses saw to the depths of consciences, as if they were made of clear glass. When he heard a penitent’s self-accusations, he immediately recognized the core of that soul’s trouble, and, inspired by the Holy Spirit, he had the right word for each one. All his penitents left the confessional with redoubled courage to face the struggle against sin and to make swift progress in the ways of salvation, because for St. John of the Cross, on the way of perfection, “not to go forward is to turn back, and not to be gaining is to be losing.”8
One of his most emphatic counsels, repeated to all who placed themselves under his guidance over the years, was to give first place to the interior life: “Let those men of zeal, who think by their preaching and exterior works to convert the world, consider that they would be much more edifying to the Church, and more pleasing unto God—setting aside the good example they would give if they would spend at least one half their time in prayer. […] Certainly they would do more, and with less trouble, by one single good work than by a thousand: because of the merit of their prayer, and the spiritual strength it supplies. To act otherwise is to beat the air, to do little more than nothing, sometimes nothing and occasionally even mischief.”9
Mystical Doctor
The chief legacy of the reformer to the Carmelite Family and the Church is undoubtedly his mystical life. God, Who did not spare this son the most atrocious sufferings, gave him great reward already on this earth. As the Saint purified his soul, God invited this faithful servant to enjoy His intimacy, as He does with His best friends.
Fruit of the exemplary correspondence of St. John of the Cross with the favours he received, his rich and fecund spiritual journey reveals a sure school in which souls are instructed, both within and outside of monasteries. The ascent to the peak of Mount Carmel, image of the state of perfection attained through purification and the dark night of the soul, became one of the best-known symbols of sanctity in Catholic piety.
This treasure is contained in his written work, especially in the major treatises and poems: Ascent of Mount Carmel, followed by Dark Night of the Soul, Spiritual Canticle and Living Flame of Love. The latter two, difficult to understand for beginners, are comparable to a fine liqueur, which requires refined taste in those who savour it. It is poetry at once “angelic, heavenly, and divine, which seems to be no longer of this world, nor can it be measured by literary criteria. […] For the spirit of God passed through it, beautifying and sanctifying everything.”10
Matins in the presence of God!
In the year of his death, St. John of the Cross confided to his brother, Francis de Yepes, that he had asked Our Lord for the grace to suffer more for Him and to be despised.11 His wish was granted, for from then on, the few months of life remaining to him were marked by terrible trials. A lucid counsel which the Saint delivered during a Chapter of the Order, in June of 1591, provoked the indignation of Friar Nicholas Doria, the superior general. The latter divested the Saint of all his offices and sent him as a simple friar to a distant convent, as he would have done with a wicked son.
At 49, Friar John no longer expected anything of this world; he only desired to be consumed like a living flame of love. A virulent inflammation in his right leg took on alarming proportions in September of that year, and in just over three months, it spread throughout his body. In Úbeda, Andalusia, he edified the community with his acceptance of all his pains, and received the revelation of the moment of his death: midnight of December 14. A few minutes before the indicated time, he exclaimed to the friar infirmarian: “At that hour, I will be before our Lord God to pray Matins!”12 And as midnight struck, he expired in complete peace.
This eminent Doctor of the Church left behind him a privileged way to reach Heaven, followed by legions of souls who embrace sacrifice as a means of atonement for the faults of sinful humanity. His longing to make return to God, as was his desire when entering the venerable Order of Mount Carmel, was entirely fulfilled: “This is the great satisfaction and contentment of the soul, to see that it is giving to God more than it is in itself and is in itself worth, with that same divine light and divine warmth which He gives to it.”13 ◊
