Salesian Literature

Chapter 16  :  Fear that is rooted in love

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Picture to yourself, Theotimus, the perfect bride.  Her love is beyond compare, not only in its perfection, but also in the variety of emotions and dispositions that bear it such delightful company.  It is modest as well as chaste, graceful in its strength, tender while intense, respectful as well as passionate, fearful no less than devoted, obedient in its boldness; while any fear is blended with a delightful trust.

 

The fear experienced by a soul which possesses perfect charity is exactly the same; you may be sure of that.  The soul has such guarantees of the bridegroom’s goodness, it has no fear of losing him.  However, it greatly fears failure to enjoy his presence sufficiently, or that something may momentarily deprive it of that presence.  It is confident of never displeasing him, but afraid of not pleasing him to the extent love demands.  Its love is too intrepid for it ever to have the slightest suspicion of falling into disgrace, yet so solicitous that it is afraid of failing to achieve the closest possible union.  Why, the soul sometimes reaches such perfection that it is no longer afraid of not being close enough; it fears only that union may not be as pure, sincere and eager as its love would wish.

 

It was this spark of loving fear that touched off the hearts of such great souls as St. Paul, St. Francis of Assisi, St. Catherine of Genoa.  Unadulterated they meant their love to be; thus they strove to make it so pure, so sincere, so perfect that neither consolations, nor even virtues, should ever come between their hearts and God.  that is why they could utter such ecstatic expressions as: I am alive; or rather, not I; it is Christ that lives in me (Gal. 2:20).  “God is everything to me.”[1]  “All but God is nothing to me; Christ is my life” (cf. Phil. 1:21, Col. 3:4).  “My love is crucified.”[2]

 

Such fear of God as beginners feel proceeds from genuine love, but a love that is still delicate, fragile, incipient; filial fear proceeds from love that is solid, strong, already tending towards perfection; the fear that lovers know, however, springs from love at its highest, most perfect, love experienced in all its fullness.  Fear that is servile or mercenary does not really result from love; it usually precedes love as its harbinger (as I have said elsewhere[3]) and often proves to be a great help.

 

You will meet fine ladies sometimes who are not content to go through life eating and sleeping (Prov. 31:27), any more than the woman Solomon praised.  They will embroider pretty flowers on white satin with multicoloured silks, enriching them here and there with a touch of silver or gold.  For this work they use a needle to pull the silk, or threads of gold and silver, through the material.  Once that is done, the needle is no longer needed.  So God, in his goodness – when he means to embroider a variety of virtues on the human soul, and finally to enrich it with charity – uses the needle of servile or mercenary fear to open the heart.  As the virtues are drawn in behind it, to overlay the soul, so servile, mercenary fear departs – as St. John assures us: love drives out fear, when it is perfect love (1 Jn. 4:18).

 

No doubt of it: for the fear of being damned, of losing heaven is so frightful, so agonizing, could there be a place for it with charity, which is utterly delightful, utterly charming?

 

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[1]  Cf. Book 10, Chapter 4.

[2]  Cf. Book 1, Chapter 14.

[3]  Book 2, Chapter 18.

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