Be Still, My Heart

I admit it. I am completely infatuated with Sir Piers Rudde, a noble Englishman of the thirteenth century, a virtuous knight who pledged his life and his heart to Countess Theodora of Aquino, the vivacious, unattainable sister of St Thomas Aquinas.

Interestingly, I discovered why I am so smitten as I serendipitously/providentially listened to EWTN Live this evening while I was cleaning, two things I rarely do. In describing his understanding of marital relationships, Dr. Philip Mango told Fr. Mitch that every woman longs for her husband to be a knight, to be a strong and valiant man who will protect her from all danger.

So, that explains it. But that's not what this post is about.

My daughter Elena has been begging me to read The Quiet Light: A Novel about St Thomas Aquinas by Louis de Wohl ever since she finished it last spring. It's taken me this long to acquiesce. I am so grateful that I finally did. I love this book. Not only is it the only place I could ever encounter Sir Piers (making my heart go pitty-pat), but its rich, beautiful writing weaves a moving story set in a fascinating period of Church history. St Thomas is the humble, gentle giant of a saint who emerges out of this story.

But that's not what this post is about either.

Today, I was unusually struck by a particular passage, a dialogue between Sir Piers and Mother Maria of Gethsemani, the oldest sister of St Thomas. I read it a few times over, and I thought of it later when I read this post by my dear friend, a sister pilgrim who struggles against many of the same demons I battle.

"My brother Thomas taught me to be content only with the supreme Good. With nothing less than that."

"Mother Maria," said Piers with a twinkle,"where is your humility, pray?"

"Just that is humility," said the nun simply.

He shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Think then...what does it mean to be content only with the supreme Good? In other words, to want God, God Himself, nothing less? It means that you must recognize first that you are in need, in a great and dire and terrible need of Him, so much so that nothing else matters. Then that in this need of yours you cannot help yourself at all...that you need the help of Another, of God. Then, that you have no claim on such help...none, none whatever. And worse still, that you are unworthy of that help. Domine, non sum dignus. And thus, you empty yourself until nothing is left, no desire, no wish, no hope, except for Him alone. You die to the world; there is nothing left in you but that which awaits Him; you are a vessel to be filled but with Him. Our Lord himself...as Man...emptied Himself in such a way, obedient...even He...unto death. His was the supreme humility, and Him we must imitate. But there can be no true humility unless you aspire to the supreme Good." [emphasis mine]

Later she tells Sir Piers,

"You are a most honorable man, Sir Piers, and God must love you very dearly. Most likely your life is itself the answer to your question of how a layman could follow the way I was talking about. What humility demands is the renunciation of the self and also a readiness to serve. And surely you are fulfilling both demands."

I'm not sure I can put into words exactly how this passage relates to the struggles of my friend Margaret or myself, except to say that surely we are striving to fulfill both demands. We can have the best plans and ideas in the world, and then we can beat ourselves up for not achieving them, but if they are not His plans, then what does it matter? He is present and calling us to Himself in our weakness, in our sadness, in our selfishness, and in our pain. He is holding us, molding us, shouldering us in our darkest moments. If only we could remember to turn our face to His.

To reiterate Mother Maria's words above, we must empty ourselves until nothing is left, no desire, no wish, no hope, except for Him alone. We must die to the world, until there is nothing left in us but that which awaits Him; we are vessels to be filled but with Him.

I'm praying for you.