Our Blessed Father considered that mortification without prayer is like a
body without a soul; and prayer without mortification like a soul without
a body. He desired that the two should never be separated, but that, like
Martha and Mary, they should without disputing, nay, in perfect harmony,
unite in serving our Lord. He compared them to the scales in a balance, one
of which goes down when the other goes up. In order to raise the soul by
prayer, we must lower the body by mortification, otherwise the flesh will
weigh down the soul and hinder it from rising up to God, whose spirit will
not dwell with a man sunk in gross material delights or cares.
The lily and the rose of prayer and contemplation can only grow and
flourish among the thorns of mortification. We cannot reach the hill of
incense, the symbol of prayer, except by the steep ascent on which we
find the myrrh of mortification, needed to preserve our bodies from the
corruption of sin.
Just as incense, which in Scripture represents prayer, does not give forth
its perfume until it is burned, neither can prayer ascend to Heaven unless
it proceeds from a mortified heart. Mortification averts temptations, and
prayer becomes easy when we are sheltered under the protecting wings of
mortification. When we are dead to ourselves and to our passions we begin
to live to God. He begins to feed us in prayer with the bread of life and
understanding, and with the manna of His inspirations. In fine, we become
like that pillar of aromatic smoke to which the Bride is compared,
compounded of all the spices of the perfumer.[1]
Our Blessed Father's maxim on this subject was that: "We ought to live in
this world as if our soul were in heaven and our body in the tomb."
[Footnote 1: Cant. iii. 6.]