Although he was himself very easily moved to tears, he did not set any
specially high value on what is called the gift of tears, except when it
proceeds, not from nature, but directly from the Father of light, who sends
His rain upon the earth from the clouds. He told me once that, just as
it would be contrary to physical laws for rain, in place of falling from
heaven to earth, to rise from earth to heaven; so it was against all order
that sensible devotion should produce that which is supernatural. For this
would be for nature to produce grace. He compared tears shed, in moments of
mental excitement, by persons gifted with a strong power of imagination,
to hot rains which fall during the most sultry days of summer, and which
scorch rather than refresh vegetation. But when supernatural devotion,
seated in the higher powers of the soul, breaking down all restraining
banks, spreads itself over the whole being of man, he compared the tears
it causes him to shed to a mighty, irresistible and fertilising torrent,
making glad the City of God. Tears of this sort, he thought much to be
desired, seeing that they give great glory to God and profit to the soul.
Of those who shed such tears, he said, the Gospel Beatitude speaks when it
tells us that: _Blessed are they that weep_.[1]
In one of his letters he writes as follows: "I say nothing, my good
daughter, about your imagining yourself hard of heart, because you have no
tears to shed. No, my child, your heart has nothing to do with this. Your
lack of tears proceeds not from any want of affectionate resolve to love,
God, but from the absence of sensible devotion, which does not depend at
all upon our heart, but upon our natural temperament, which we are unable
to change. For just as in this world it is impossible for us to make rain
to fall when we want it, or to stop it at our own good pleasure, so also it
is not in our power to weep from a feeling of devotion when we want to do
so, or, on the other hand, not to weep when carried away by our emotion.
Our remaining unmoved at prayer and meditation proceeds, not from any fault
of ours, but from the providence of God, who wishes us to travel by land,
and often by desert land, rather than by water, and who wills to accustom
us to labour and hardship in our spiritual life." On this same subject
I once heard him make one of his delightful remarks: "What!" he cried,
"are not dry sweetmeats quite as good as sweet drinks? Indeed they have
one special advantage. You can carry them about with you in your pocket,
whereas the sweet drink must be disposed of on the spot. It is childish
to refuse to eat your food when none other is to be had, because it is
quite dry. The sea is God's, for He made it, but His hands also laid the
foundations of the dry land, that is to say, of the earth. We are land
animals, not fish. One goes to heaven by land as easily as by water. God
does not send the deluge every day. Great floods are not less to be feared
than great droughts!"
[Footnote 1: Matt. v. 5.]