The Cloister of Hellfde (continued 2)

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God asks the Soul what She brings, and She Answereth.

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How the Soul praises God for Seven Things, and God praiseth the Soul who loves Him.

Then doth God praise the soul, and the words of His praise sound sweetly, thus—

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The soul saith—

The soul saith—

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A fivefold Song of the Soul to God, and how God is a Robe of the Soul, and the Soul a robe of God.

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The Lord giveth a tenfold Honour to the Soul.

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Between God and the Soul only Love.

How God maketh the Soul to be Free and Wise in His Love.

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The Road wherein the Soul leadeth the Senses, and where the Soul is Free from Care.

How the Bride casts away the Solace of Created Things, and seeks only the Comfort of God.

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Of Love, the Handmaiden of the Soul, and of the Soul whom Love hath Smitten.

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Be thou in Suffering a Lamb, a Dove, and a Bride.

Of the Two Golden Chalices of Sorrow and of Comfort.

I, slothful sinner that I am, knelt down at my hour of prayer, and it seemed to me as if God were unwilling to give me the least measure of His grace. Then would I fain have wept and mourned, because of my sinful desires; for it seemed to me that they were the hindrance to my spiritual gladness.

But no, said my soul, think rather of the faithfulness of God, and praise Him for His goodness. Glory be to God in the highest!

And as I praised, there shone a great light into my soul; and in the light, God showed Himself to me in great majesty, and in unspeakable [89] glory. And it was as if He held up in His hands two golden chalices, and both were full of living wine. In the left hand was the red wine, the wine of sorrow, and in the right hand the most holy consolation. Then did the Lord say, “There are some who drink of this wine alone, although I pour out both in My divine love. Yet the golden wine is in itself the noblest, and most noble are those who drink of both, the red wine and the golden.”

The Working of Blessed Love.

It were bitterer than death to me if ever I did that which is good, without God.

This is the nature of the great love which is of God. She does not flow forth in tears, but burns in the great fire of heavenly glory. And thus she spreads to the farthest distances, and yet remains in herself steadfast and still. She rises up into the nearest converse with God, and remains in herself in the lowest measure. She grasps the most, and retains the least.

O blessed Love, who are they who know thee? They are those through whom the light of God glows and burns. They dwell not in themselves. The more they are tried, the stronger they grow. Why so? Because the longer [90] they are in conflict, yet abiding in love, the more glorious is God to their souls, and the more do they see themselves to be unworthy and vile.

Why so? Because the greater the love, the greater is holy fear; and the fuller the comfort, the stronger the dread of sin. The loving soul does not fear with terror, but she fears nobly. There are two things over which I cannot mourn enough—one is, that God is so forgotten in the world; the other, that His people are so imperfect. Therefore many fall, because the godly have fallen before them.

How God speaks to the Soul in Three Places.

In the first of these places does the devil also speak, which he cannot do in the other two.

The first place is the mind of man, and this stands open not to God only, but to the devil and to all creatures, who enter in as they will, and hold converse with the soul through the mind.

The second place in which God speaks, is in the soul itself. And into the soul none can enter but God only. When God speaks to the soul, it is without the aid of the senses. It is in a mighty, strong, and swift communication, in a speech the mind cannot comprehend, unless [91] the mind is so humbled as to take the lowest place amongst created things.

The third place where God speaks with the soul is in heaven, when God draws the soul up thither, and brings her into His secret place, where He shows her all His wonders.

Of False Love.

All, who do not in all things cleave to the truth of God, must fall with bitter loss. For love, which has not humility for her mother, and holy fear for her father, will be a barren love.

Matilda’s Faith.

Thus far in the five first books of Matilda’s writings can we trace the history of her soul before she found her last refuge in the convent of Hellfde.

Preger’s remarks are valuable as showing how Matilda, in expressions which she borrowed from the common stock of the writings of the mystics, as well as in expressions of her own, might appear to have wandered into the regions of Pantheism. That she herself attached a meaning to these expressions, which those who were simply mystics, and not believers in Christ as their Saviour, could not understand, seems, [92] however, clear. But the expressions were open to the danger of being thus misunderstood. To those who were mystics, and nothing more, intercourse with God was a vague sentiment; and what they called the love of God, was merely a name given to their own human thoughts of God, the God of their imagination.

But Matilda insisted strongly upon the truth, that there is no way to God but through the Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of sinners. That otherwise all communication between the soul and God is cut off, “the bolt fastened by Adam” holding fast the door between God and men.

In speaking of some (no doubt the “Brethren of the Free Spirit”), she mentions as the greatest sin, and as the highest degree of unbelief, that “men should think to enter into the presence of the eternal God, passing by the holy Manhood of our Lord Jesus Christ. When such people imagine themselves to have entered into communication with the being of God, they enter instead into eternal condemnation. And yet by that means they intend to become holier than others. They set at nought and deride the words of God, which are written regarding the Manhood of our Lord.”

Thus to an unbelieving mystic, the term [93] “union with God” was familiar, and meant nothing better than the dreams of a Buddhist. But to Matilda, though she did not, and no doubt could not, clearly define it, the truth was revealed, expressed in so few words in the fifth chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians, where, with reference to Christ and the Church, it is written, “He that loveth his wife loveth himself. For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth it and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the Church: for we are members of His body, of His flesh, and of His bones. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. This is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the Church.” And again, in 1 Cor. xii. 12, “As the body is one, and hath many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ.”

That this truth, taught so plainly in many passages of Scripture, notably by the Lord Himself in the one word which smote the heart of Paul, “Why persecutest thou Me?” was the truth Matilda believed, seems to be clear. But she was apt to use, when speaking of it, the stereotyped expression “union with [94] God,” not perceiving that this is untrue, and incapable of being symbolised, as in Ephesians, by the figure of Adam and Eve. It is not Christ as God, but as the second Adam, who is there symbolised.

Many such incorrect expressions may, no doubt, be found now in modern Protestant books.^[9]

Preger further remarks, “If we would describe religious life, as shown in Matilda, by its distinctive features, we should remark, in the first place, that she is seeking after a consciousness, or is, in fact, conscious of being in immediate intercourse with God. Whilst the majority of her contemporaries knew of no relation with God, except through culture or learning, or the medium of saints, or the ordinances of the Church, and were satisfied to know no more, Matilda looked upon all these things merely as helps to personal and immediate communion with God. This alone could satisfy her.

“And further, she was aware that into this communion with God she could only be [95] brought through God’s free grace. And only by free grace could she retain it. It is true she speaks of human merit, and alludes to the intercession of Mary, but in so doing was rather expressing the ruling thoughts of her age than her own innermost convictions. For it is only in speaking of others that she admits the merit of human works; she has another law for herself, finding, as she says, no peace in the good works of the saints, ‘and as for me, unhappily I have no good works to find peace in.’

“That which is the important matter with regard to Matilda’s faith is this—she grounds her peace not on imparted, but on imputed righteousness. ‘It is a fathomless mystery,’ she says, ‘that God can look upon a sinner as a converted man.’

“But in spite of this evangelical tendency in her writings, we cannot but receive the impression that in the heights of her communion with God she at times loses the safe path. The reason of this is, that the subordinate place which she gives to all relations between God and men by Church ordinances is also given more or less to the knowledge of God by means of the written Word. It does not appear to be the ring in which her new life is [96] set; it would seem as though she endeavoured to soar above it, in order to assure herself more firmly of her state of grace by immediate communications from God to her soul.

“Therefore she seems in some passages to regard the written Word and the Divine Word spoken to her as distinct, and on the same level. Thus, as in mysticism generally, the safe path is lost, and the soul is cast forth upon the wide sea of subjective self-consciousness.

“We feel the presentiment of this danger, and the need of a safer path, in which the security of Divine teaching is ours. This can only be when the written Word is the seed of Divine knowledge, and the faculties of man the ground in which the seed takes root.”

So far Preger. It may also be remarked, that whilst Matilda evidently grounded her salvation and enjoyment of God upon the atoning work of Christ, she does not allude to it very frequently. We must remember that amongst all the errors of mediæval Catholicism, the blood-shedding of Christ was still regarded as the means by which sin was expiated. It was still an article of faith, though disfigured, and often kept out of sight by all that man had added to the Scriptures.

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Matilda, therefore, regarded it as an understood necessity in Christian faith, and as not demanding frequent assertion or proof. Had she lived in our days it might have been otherwise.

That “Christ once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God,” was a truth known and believed amongst the “Friends of God,” Catholic or Waldensian. That “it is the Blood that maketh atonement for the soul,” that “without shedding of Blood there is no remission,” that on Christ, the Lamb who was slain, did “the Lord lay the iniquity of us all,” they knew, and rejoiced to know. However overlaid in Roman Catholicism by the teaching of human merit, and of the mediation and intercession of the saints, this truth was preserved through God’s great mercy in the corruption of the Church. It may be found yet as the anchor of the soul in the confession of faith of many an ignorant and unlearned Roman Catholic, who know little of the doctrines of their Church, but who do know from their service-books that “Christ died for our sins.”

The three have ever borne witness on earth, the Spirit, the Water, and the Blood, and these three agree in one—a witness never silenced through the darkest ages of the Church.

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It was during the last years of Matilda’s life that she wrote for “the children of the world” a call to Christ.

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The Echo of the Book.

Matilda had a friend, called Jutta von Sangershausen. A relation of hers, Anno von Sangershausen, was the Grand-Master of the Teutonic Order of Knights. Other members of the family had offered their services to the order in defence of their country from the invasions of the heathen Prussians.

Jutta’s husband had died on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Her children entered various convents. Jutta then joined herself to the Béguines, and was employed for a time in nursing the sick, especially those afflicted with leprosy. In the year 1260 she determined to go forth as a missionary amongst the Prussians. She took up her abode in a forest near Culm, where she lived as a hermitess, making known the faith of Christ by word and example.

Matilda for a time resolved to go also as a missionary to the heathen. But she was now growing old, and worn-out by labours and persecutions. It was evident that she no longer had the needful strength. She was grieved to the heart that she could not thus make Christ known, and she laid the matter before the Lord.

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He consoled her, and showed her that as He had sent Jutta to the heathen, so had He also given her His message, which should be sent far and wide in the book which she was writing.

And so it proved, as her book was widely known and read for a considerable time after her death. Even now it may be that the words so lately brought to light in the convent of Einsiedeln may lead some weary souls to Christ. And still the reflection of the light which shone into the heart of Matilda shines forth more faintly in the poem known and read through so many ages, and in so many lands—the great poem of Dante.

It is now more than seventy years ago that a young man travelling in Italy employed himself at Venice in reading the Divine Commedia, for the sake of learning Italian. He had cared till then for the things of this world only, but he left Venice with the first beginning of a love which was to shape his long life, and make him the means of life to many.

It was from the poem of Dante, he said, that he had first learnt to know Christ as his Saviour. He may be known to many as the writer of the hymn so often sung—

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a distant echo of Matilda’s voice sounding in many places still.

What was it that Dante learnt, or believed that he learnt, from the lady whose joyful singing sounded to him across the river of forgetfulness, whose eyes shone with a light greater than that of earthly love?

She explained to him her joy by the words of that psalm, the ninety-second, which forms a key-note to the poems of the Béguine Matilda, of her to whom the Lord had taught “the song and the music of heaven,” whom He had made glad through His work, who triumphed in the work of His hands.

It was in the work “wrought in the land of the Jews,” the great work that “loosed the bolt with which Adam had barred the heavenly door,” that Matilda the Béguine rejoiced, showing forth the Lord’s lovingkindness in the morning, and his faithfulness every night—the work which “the brutish man knoweth not, neither doth the fool understand it,” for “the preaching of the Cross is to them that [102] perish foolishness,” “the foolishness of God that is wiser than men.”

In the work which brought her into the “sweet garden of Paradise,” where she was no more a stranger, which had won for her the right to eat of the Tree of Life, which is in the midst of the Paradise of God, and to pluck the flowers, which were hers, because they were Christ’s.

It may truly be said that if there is anything distinctive in the writing of Matilda the Béguine, it is that she wrote from her own experience of the gladness of the heavenly place, revealed to her whilst yet in the body on the earth. She had learnt that there is an “earthly Paradise,” earthly not because it is of the earth, but because it is a foretaste and earnest of the heavenly, given to those who are still pilgrims upon the earth.

To reach it the river had to be crossed, wherein the old things pass away, and all things become new; where the things that are behind are forgotten, and the things that are before become the possession, by faith, of the redeemed soul. Her sins were amongst the forgotten things, for God remembered them no more, and the sorrow of the earth was [103] forgotten, swallowed up in the tide of eternal joy, and

Thus, in the poem of Dante, does Matelda draw him through the water of the river at the moment when the remembrance of his sin had stung him at the heart, so that he fell overpowered and helpless and ashamed. It needed that the sin should be left behind amongst the former things that had passed away.

Those who have known the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, the Fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness, will gladly own that this is the true Christian experience of the saints of God—the land of Canaan beyond the river, reached and entered before the warfare and the trial of faith are over; the Father’s house become a familiar place before the murmuring of the self-righteous is for ever silenced.

Did Dante know it as the Béguine knew it? Was it in his case but a vague sense of a place of joy and beauty which the soul might find on this side of heaven? Did he know that the river was a river of death—the death which is the death of deaths, “in the land of the Jews” so long ago?

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We cannot know. It needs the simple faith of those who have become fools that they may be wise. Then does the garden of the Lord become a blessed reality, no dreamland, but an eternal inheritance.

The Béguine had seen by faith her name engraved on the pierced Hands and Feet of Christ. Should she not rejoice and sing? Should she not praise Him that He was wounded for her transgressions, that He was bruised for her iniquities, that the chastisement of her peace was upon Him, that by His stripes she was healed? And thus she knew that her “robe was white, for Christ’s was white, and brighter than the sun.”

How far this was the experience of Dante, his poem does not tell us. But he knew that there was an earthly Paradise, and it seems all but certain that in Matilda’s book he had found one who was rejoicing there with unspeakable joy.

The remarks of Preger in his lecture on Dante’s Matelda confirm the thought that this is the true key to his description of the beautiful lady, whose appearance formed the great era in his spiritual life. The song taken from the words of the fifty-first Psalm, “Wash me and [105] I shall be whiter than snow,” the introduction into the knowledge of heavenly things, are but an echo of the songs of the Béguine.

But the heavenly things of Dante are far more clouded with the evil teaching of his age than the heavenly experiences of Matilda of Magdeburg. The glory of the Catholic Church, rather than the glory of Christ, is the light that lightens his heavenly Paradise. It was the Lamb who was the light of Matilda’s heaven. In the bewildering medley of Catholic and heathen mythologies in Dante’s poem, it is only here and there that a gleam of the true light can make its way. But Matilda the Béguine rose above the clouds and mists of man’s imagination, and she saw Jesus.

Preger refers us to the ordinary explanation of Matelda and Beatrice; namely, that like Leah and Rachel in mediæval theology, they represent the life of action and the life of contemplation.

This theory as regards Matelda was, as Preger observes, founded on the idea that the Countess Matilda of Tuscany was the Matelda of Dante. That the warlike countess was a fair specimen of activity, we cannot doubt; but that it had any resemblance to Christian [106] activity, is more than doubtful. Probably the identity of name was the only foundation of this idea.

“It is true,” writes Preger, “that Dante saw these two women prefigured in a dream as Leah and Rachel, and that Leah said, referring to her sister, ‘Her seeing, and me doing, satisfies.’ But that therefore doing and seeing are the only characteristics of these women is a conclusion to which Dante did not advance, nor need we do so. They both looked in the mirror, but Leah first crowned herself with flowers; and it was after hearing the call, ‘Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,’ that this dream presented itself to Dante.”

Matelda, who corresponds to Leah in the dream, conducts Dante into the earthly Paradise, and the place accords with the guide. She was not yet in heaven, the working-day was not yet over, but Matelda was rejoicing, not in her work, but in the work of God. She was glad that the flowers of His garden were her crown of beauty.

So wrote Matilda the Béguine—

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It was a place in which the flowers of the earth had never grown, and it needed the washing which makes whiter than snow to fit the soul for that garden of God upon the earth. Therefore the song which came to Dante across the river was the ancient song of the soul that is washed from sin: “Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven, whose sins are covered.” Virgil never crossed the river.

However clouded may have been the faith of mediæval Christendom, the need of Christ was felt. The distinction between a Christian and a heathen was acknowledged as one which told upon the eternal destiny of men. By means of Christ the Saviour could the Christian man pass on, washed and sanctified, into the land beyond the river. A “land beyond,” was that Paradise to men of the world of sense and of earthly knowledge, but without the knowledge of God, and of Jesus Christ, whom He has sent. And singing the song of the forgiven, whilst she made garlands of the flowers, Matelda appeared to Dante, separated from him at first by the river of forgetfulness. She drew near to him as one who dances. She spoke to him of the nature of the mysterious wind that moved the branches of the [108] trees which grew in the land “given as the earnest of eternal peace”—the earnest whilst here on earth of heavenly things, of the flowers that grew from no earthly seed, and of the river that flows from no earthly source, and of the other river which divides the earthly Paradise from the heavenly, as the river Lethe divided it from all that was before.

And we see that Matelda is to Dante the medium of supernatural revelations, just as afterwards, Beatrice.

Matelda, then, in the earthly Paradise appears as the representative of the insight into the heavenly joy whilst still on earth, Beatrice as the beholding of it when the earthly life is past. And this knowledge of the heavenly things was to be brought back by him who had seen them whilst still in the body, as the palm-leaves upon the staff of the pilgrim who had been within the boundary of the holy land.

And it was Matelda who drew Dante through the river into that land whilst still upon the earth—the land where he should hear the singing, and know the sweetness, and learn more in the Paradise here of the Paradise hereafter.

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It was the earnest of the inheritance which was given to him through Matelda.

And truly this is the message and mission of the Béguine, not as Matelda’s, to Dante only, but to us also, who can receive the message without the bewildering counter teaching of the corrupted Church. It is true the message, more clearly given, is in the Bible we have known so long; and it was through the blessed teaching of that Bible that Matilda the Béguine learnt it. But it is well for us not only to read the glorious promises of God, but to meet with those to whom they have been fulfilled, the sharers of the like precious faith with us, who now believe in Jesus. Now, from the holy women of Hellfde have the clouds passed away which at times hid from them the brightness of the glory, but the words of love spoken to their hearts by the mouth of their Beloved remain to them as an everlasting possession.

And are not the same words still spoken day by day to those who have ears to hear? And in the midst of this sorrowful world, is there not still a blessed company who have entered the same Paradise, and learnt the same songs, taught by the lips of Christ?

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It will not render us less fit for the common earthly life, that we have been there, in the garden where the Lord God walks, and His own are not afraid. In truth, it is only those who have been there who have the healing leaves for the sick and the suffering ones around them. It is only those who see the Son, and believe on Him, who are thus brought back to the garden of the Lord, to feed upon the fruit of the tree of life. And these are they who are again sent forth as His messengers into the world of man’s exile.

“As My Father hath sent Me into the world, even so have I also sent them into the world.”

Thus the Lord spake of all who believe on His Name. The message sent long ago by Matilda the Béguine has been heard again after the silence of ages, and it is once more a call to the sinful, the sorrowful, and the fearful, who have been living in ignorance of the marvellous love which is unchanged, and which answers to the great need of our age, as to that of the thirteenth century. May God the Holy Ghost open the hearts of many to hear and to rejoice.

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Matilda’s Last Years.

Matilda was fifty-three years old when, in the year 1265, she took refuge in the convent of Hellfde.

Gertrude von Hackeborn was not one who would refuse admission to a persecuted “Friend of God.” Gertrude had now been abbess fourteen years, and was in the prime of her life and activity. Mechthild von Hackeborn, “the maiden so marvellously lovable,” as they said in the convent, was then twenty-five. The little Gertrude, who was to be the brightest star amongst the sisters of Hellfde, was only nine.

But during the twelve remaining years of the life of Matilda of Magdeburg there was time enough for some good seed to be sown in the heart of Gertrude, which should one day spring up and bear much fruit.

Soon after Matilda’s entrance into the convent she had a severe and painful illness. But she was tended with loving care, and found amongst her sisters of Hellfde a happy and peaceful home. She in her turn was regarded by them as an honoured teacher, and her influence made itself quickly felt.

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It was at Hellfde that she wrote the two remaining books, “rich,” says Preger, “in light and instruction.” When she had finished the sixth book she thought that her task was done. She therefore concluded it with a word of farewell—“This book was begun in love, it shall also end in love; for there is nought so wise, nor so holy, nor so beautiful, nor so strong, nor so perfect as love.”

But afterwards Matilda felt herself led to write “more of that which God had shown her,” although she had prayed that she might now lay down her pen and cease from her labours.^[10]

In the last years of her life she was obliged to write by dictation, her eyes and hands having failed her. The following extracts from the last two books will show an advance in the knowledge of Him she loved, and for whom she laboured to the last.

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The Labour of the Lord.

The Lord showed me in a parable that which He has ever done, and will ever do, to fulfil to me the meaning thereof.

I saw a poor man rise up from the ground where he was sitting. He was dressed like a workman, in common linen clothing, and he had a crowbar in his hand, which he thrust under a heavy burden that was as large as the earth.

I said to him, “Good man, what is it you are lifting?”

“I am going to lift and carry your sorrows,” said he. “Try it thyself,” he said; “with all thy might, lift and carry.”

Then did I answer Him, for I knew Him, “Lord, I am so poor, I have no strength.”

And He answered me, “So did I teach My disciples. I said, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit.’”

And my soul spake to Him, and I said, “O Lord, it is Thyself. Turn Thou Thy face to me that I may know Thee.”

And He answered, “Learn to know Me inwardly.”

I said, “O Lord, if I saw Thee amongst thousands, I could not but know Thee.”

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And then I said further, “This burden is too heavy for me.”

And He answered me, “I will lay it so close to Myself, that thou mayest easily bear it. Follow Me, and see how I stood before My Father on the Cross, sustaining all.”

Then did I ask Him to bless me; and He said, “I always bless thee. Thy sorrow shall turn to a good blessing for thee.”

And I said no more but this, “O Lord, come Thou thus to the help of all who love to suffer for Thee.”

The Prayer of the Longing Heart.

There was one who for a long while, amidst the mercies of God, and also many sorrows, longed continually that God would release the soul and take her to Himself. And the Lord said to her, “Wait.” Then did the suffering one answer, “Lord, I cannot cease from longing. Oh, how gladly would I be with Thee!” Then said the Lord—

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Prayers.

Give me, O Lord, and take from me all that Thou willest, and leave me but the desire to pass away to Thee in Thy love, and to Thy love. O well is me, and I thank Thee, King of Heaven and Son of God, that whilst I was in the world Thou didst choose me, and call me out of the world. For this will I thank Thee eternally. Thy holy sorrow, all that Thou hast suffered for me, is mine. Therefore all that I suffer I offer up to Thee, though how little is my suffering like to Thine! Keep me always in Thy love, that for ever I may praise Thee, Jesus, my most beloved; and I pray Thee to loosen the cords, and let me be for ever with Thee.

O Thou beloved Lord Jesus Christ, Thou Eternal God, one with the Eternal Father, think upon me. I thank Thee, Lord, for the grace of Thine Atonement, wherewith Thou hast touched the depths of my heart, and pierced me through with the power of Thy love. But when Thou dost touch my heart with Thine awful, Thy holy tenderness, which flows through soul and body, I fear lest I, who am so unworthy of Thee, should be overwhelmed with the blessedness of Thy love.

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Therefore I turn at times to pray for others more than for myself, and withdraw myself, as it were, from the fulness of the joy, through love to Thee and Christian faithfulness. For I fear the rising up within my heart of the pride which cast down the most glorious of the angels of heaven, and the voice of the serpent who deceived Eve with the promise of vainglory.

I pray, O my God, that in continual love I may receive and enjoy the gifts Thou givest. I ask for the fulness of Thy love, that shame and pain and bitterness may be sweet to me, and that I may desire Thy will and not mine, and that the fire of my love may burn in me to all eternity.

Of the Good Works of Men, how They Shine by the Work of the Lord.

How it is that the works of godly men shall shine and glow in the glory of heaven, understand from these words.

Wherein we were innocent of aught, in this our innocence, the pure holiness of God shines and glows.

In so far that we laboured in good works, the holy working of God shines forth.

In so far as we clave to God with trustful [117] hearts, the tenderness and faithfulness of God shines brightly.

In so far as we receive our sorrows thankfully, do the sufferings of Christ shine forth.

In so far as we wrought diligently in holy graces, does the holy grace of God shine and glow in manifold brightness to all eternity.

And as here we loved, and as here we shed forth the light of a holy life, in this does the love of God burn and shine, more and more unto the perfect eternal day.

For all that shone forth from us was the light of the eternal Godhead. The good works we did were given to us through the holy Manhood of the Son of God, and we wrought them by the power of the Holy Ghost. Thus all our works, our love, our sufferings, flow back thither whence they came, from the Three in One, to His eternal praise.

The Soul that Loveth Speaketh to her Lord.

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Seven Things known to the Longing of Love.

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Of a Sin that is Worse than all Other Sins.

I have heard men speak of a sin, and I thank God that I have not known it, for it seems to me, and it is, more sinful than all other sins, for it is the height of unbelief. I grieve over it with body and soul, and with all my five senses, from the depth of my heart, and I thank the living Son of God that into my heart it never came.

This sin did not have its source in Christian people, but the vile enemy of God has by [120] means of it deceived the simple. For, led by him, they would fain be so holy as to enter into the depths of the eternal Godhead, and to sound the secret abyss of the eternal sacred Manhood of the Lord. If thus they became blinded with pride, they bring themselves under the eternal curse. They would attain to a holiness which is reached by mocking at the written Word of God, which speaks to us of the Manhood of our Lord.

Thou poorest of the poor! didst thou indeed know and confess truly the eternal God, then wouldst thou also confess of necessity the eternal Manhood that dwelleth in the Godhead, and thou wouldst of necessity confess the Holy Ghost, who enlightens the heart of the Christian, who is the source of all his blessedness and joy, and who teaches the mind of man far better than all other teachers, and leads us to confess in humility that which He has taught us to know of the perfection of God.

How Love was seen with her Handmaidens—A Parable.

In the night I spoke thus to our Lord, “Lord, I live in a land that is called Misery; it is this evil world, for all that is in it cannot [121] comfort me, nor give me joy unmixed with sorrow. In this land I have a house, which is called Painful. It is the house in which my soul lives, namely, my body. This house is old, and small, and dark. In this house I have a bed, which is called Unrest, for all things are a grief to me which have not to do with God. Near this bed I have a chair, called Discomfort, wherein I hear of sins committed by others in which I had no part. Before this chair I have a table, that is called Distress, for I am grieved to find so few spiritual people. On this table lies a clean tablecloth, which is called Poverty, that has much good in it, and if it were rightly used it would be dear to those who use it. On this table my food is placed for me; it is called the Bitterness of sin, and Willing suffering. The drink is called ‘Scanty Praise,’ because, alas! I have far too few good works to be remembered.”

All this I saw as it were dimly in my soul. And then was the true Love of God revealed to me. She stood before me as a noble and royal maiden, of stately presence, fair, and with the roses of her youth, and around her stood many maidens, who were the graces of the Spirit, and they were come to be my handmaidens [122] if I desired to have them as mine, for they were willing to serve me. They wore crowns brighter than shining gold, and their clothing was of green sendal.

And as I beheld her my dark house was lighted up, so that I could see all that was therein, and all that happened there. And I knew the damsel well, for she had often been my dear companion, and her face was familiar to me. But as I have written of her oftentimes in this book, I will not speak of her further.

Then said I to her, “O beloved damsel, that art a thousandfold higher than I am, yet thou dost serve me with honour and reverence, as if I were greater than an empress.”

And she said, “When I saw that it was thy desire to renounce earthly things I desired to be thy constant handmaiden, for I was seeking those who from the love of God turned away from the things on earth.”

And I said, “Beloved damsel, so long hast thou served me, I would gladly give thee for thy service all that I have or might have on the earth.”

She answered, “I have gathered up thy gift, and will restore it to thee at last with glory and honour.”

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Then said I, “Lady, I know not what more to give but myself.”

“And that,” she said, “I have long desired, and now at last thou hast given me my desire....”

The parable proceeds to relate the service of each handmaiden bestowed by Love upon the soul, first True Repentance—then the maiden called Humility—Gentleness—Obedience, Tenderness (who was to give her help in tending the sick, and in making coarse food and hard labour sweet to her who served). Then came the “beloved damsel” Purity, then Patience, Holiness, Hope, and the “glorious and holy maiden called Faith.” Then Watchfulness, Moderation, Contentment, “the dear maiden who made the hard bed soft, and the coarse food pleasant.” Then the mistress of the maidens, Wisdom, and a “maiden unwillingly praised,” called Bashfulness. And lastly came Fear and Constancy.

And these all being ready to serve, the soul gave thanks, “O thou dear Love of God, I thank Thee that Thou hast brought to me so many helpers on my way to heaven.” And the soul saw how all the saints and angels bowed down in the wonderful glory of God, because all they were, and all they did, was a [124] gift of grace from God to them. “The saints kneel down and bow themselves before God in blessed love, and in joyful longing. They thank God that His grace was ready and waiting to bring them through this earthly need, and to bear their sorrows.”

Four Things that Belong to Faith.

That we believe in Christ as God, loving God from the heart, truly confessing Jesus Christ, and faithfully following His teaching even unto death. I think that in these four things we find eternal life.

But our faith must be a Christian faith, not the faith of Jews, or of unbelieving Christians, who also profess to believe in one God, but who believe not in the holy works which He has wrought. His work they despise, as we grieve to know. But for us, our belief is that God sent His only-begotten Son into the world, and that it was His Will to do so. We believe in the work and death of our Lord Jesus Christ, whereby He has redeemed our souls. We believe in the Holy Ghost, who has perfected our blessedness in the Father and in the Son, and who brings forth in us all the works that are pleasing to God.

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From a Friend to a Friend.

Great and overflowing is the love of God, that never standeth still, but floweth on for ever and without ceasing, with no labour or effort, but freely and fully, so that our little vessel is full and over-full. If we do not stop the channel by our self-will it will never slacken in its flowing, but the gift of God will ever make our cup to run over.

Lord, Thou art full of grace, and therewith Thou fillest us. But Thou art great, and we are small, how then can we receive that which Thou givest? Lord, whilst Thou givest to us, it is for us to give to others. Truly our vessel that Thou hast filled is a small one, but a small one can be emptied and filled anew, till it has filled a large one.

The great vessel is full sufficiency of grace, but we, alas! are so small, that one little word from God, one little verse of the Holy Scriptures, so fills us, that we can contain no more. Let us then empty forth the little vessel into the great vessel, that is, God. How are we to do this? We should pour forth that which we have received in holy longing and desire for the salvation of sinners. Then will the little [126] vessel be filled again. Let us empty it forth anew on the imperfections of the people of God, that they may fight more valiantly, and may become perfected in grace. Let us pour it forth in holy pity for the need of the Christian Church, that is sunk so deeply in sin.

God has first loved us, first laboured for us, first suffered for us, let us therefore be followers of Him, and restore to Him in the way that I have described that which He gave. Our Lord suffered for us unto death, but a very small suffering of ours seems great to us. But the thoughts of God and those of the loving soul meet together, as the air and the sunlight are mingled by the mighty power of God in sweet union, so that the sun overcomes the frost and the darkness, one knows not how. It comes all and alone from the sun. So comes our blessedness from the joy of God. God grant us, and preserve to us, this blessedness! Amen.

Something of Paradise.

It was shown to me, and in my mind I saw, what manner of place is Paradise. Of its breadth and length I could see no end. First came I to a place that was between this world and the beginning of Paradise.

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There saw I trees with much shade and fair green grass, but weeds were there none. Some trees bore fruit, but most of them only beautiful and sweet smelling leaves. Swift streams of water divided the ground, and warm south winds moved onward towards the north. In the waters were mingled earthly sweetness and heavenly delight. The air was sweet and soft beyond all words. Yet were no birds or beasts in that place; for God had prepared it for men only, that they might be there in stillness and in peace.... I saw a twofold Paradise. It is of the earthly one that I have spoken. The heavenly Paradise is in the heights above, and shields the earthly from all harm. But of the heavenly Paradise Matilda only says that it is for a time, and that it is the place wherein the souls who have had no purgatory await the Kingdom of the Lord, “they move in sweet delight, as the air moves in the sunshine,” and will one day have their crowns of glory, and will reign with Christ.

The End of the Journey.

It was evident to Matilda that her end was near. Her age was what would be called old age in the Middle Ages, when life was so much [128] shorter than in our time. “I asked the Lord,” she said, “how I should conduct myself in these last days of my life. He answered me, ‘Thou shouldst do in thy last days as in thy first days. Love and longing, repentance and fear, these four things were the beginning of thy course, and must therefore be the end also.’

“Then said I, ‘Beloved Lord, where, then, are the two things that are the foundation and crown of heavenly blessedness, where are faith and full assurance?’

“Then said our Lord, ‘Thy faith becometh knowledge, and thy longing is turned into full assurance.’ This I understood from the speaking of the Lord to me, and I know it also in my heart.

“I am a wonder to myself, and am indeed a wonder. For when I think of death, my soul rejoices so mightily in the thought of going forth from earthly life, that my body is lulled, as it were, in an inexpressible supernatural quietness, soft and sweet, and my mind is awakened to see the unspeakable wonders that attend the going forth of the soul. Meanwhile I would desire most to die at the time which God has before appointed. Yet at the [129] same time I would willingly live till the last great day. And my heart longs oftentimes to live in the days of the martyrs, that I might shed my sinful blood in true Christian faith for Jesus my Beloved.

“That I dare to say I love God, is a gift of His pure grace. For it is when my sins and sufferings are before my eyes that my soul begins to burn in the fire of the true love of God, and the sweetness is so surpassing, that even my body shares in the Divine blessedness. I write this as it were by compulsion, for I would rather hold my peace, because I live in fear and dread of secret tendency to vainglory. Yet I am more afraid, when God has been so gracious to me, that I, poor and empty as I am, have kept silence too often and too long.

“From my childhood onwards I was troubled with fear, dread, and constant sorrow of heart in thinking of my end. Now in my last days God has given me peace. And I have said to Him, ‘Lord, it likes me well to think of the light and blessedness of thy heavenly glory, of which I am so unworthy, but I still have a great fear as to how my soul shall pass from my body.’ And the Lord answered, ‘It shall be thus—I draw My breath, and the soul will [130] follow on to Me, as the needle to the magnet stone.’”

And again she prayed that at that last moment the Lord would come to her, as “the dearest Friend,” as the “Confessor,” as the Father.

In these prayers and longings we find no thought of purgatory. Yet as an article of her creed Matilda believed in it. Nor did any thought of superior holiness make her overlook it in her own case. But the true spiritual instinct of the new nature was stronger than the force of education and of the authority of the Church. How true is it that in spiritual matters the head is no match for the heart.

So in the case of saint-worship—Matilda had never renounced it, yet we see her heart turn instinctively to God, as the needle to the pole.

The waiting time was one of suffering, but cheered by the love and tenderness of the sisters, who delighted to wait upon her.

“Thus does a beggar woman speak in her [131] prayers to God—Lord, I thank Thee that since in Thy love Thou hast taken from me all earthly riches, Thou now feedest and clothest me by the means of others; for everything which I can now call my own, and all that gives joy to my heart, must now come to me from strangers.

“Lord, I thank Thee that since Thou hast taken away the power of sight from mine eyes, Thou hast appointed other eyes to serve me. Lord, I thank Thee that since Thou hast taken the strength from my hands, Thou servest me with other hands. Lord, I thank Thee that since Thou hast taken away the strength of my heart, Thou servest me now by the hearts of strangers. Lord, I pray Thee reward them here on earth with Thy divine love, and grant to them to serve Thee faithfully till they reach a blessed end.”

The Last Poem.

Thus speaks the suffering body to the patient soul.

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Then doth the Soul make answer.

How did Matilda die? We know no more. Her death is mentioned in the Mechthild Book, Matilda von Hackeborn being one of those present at her death. But, alas! as it often happens in the search for mediæval facts, we are met instead by a relation of visions and dreams. Matilda von Hackeborn tells us no more than how she beheld in a vision the departure of the soul of her namesake.^[11]

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The difficulty is to realise that in these imaginary histories we are reading the writings of some who, like Matilda of Hackeborn, had, in spite of their visions, real intercourse with God.

That Matilda of Magdeburg had this true intercourse, based upon the written Word of God, that she was one of those of whom the Lord Jesus said, “I will love him, and will manifest Myself to him,” there can be no doubt in any Christian mind. It was the time of the conflict of light with darkness, of the prejudices of early education with the experiences of communion with the living God. The heart received much that contradicted the nominal belief, and this inconsistency was not remarked by the recipient of the truth, because the mind was not called upon to act in the matter. It was left in inert subjection to the teaching of the Church.

When nearly three hundred years later the mind asserted its rights, and the Reformers gave at length Scriptural proofs of that which [134] the “Friends of God” had experienced, all might have been well. But, alas! the weight was shifted to the other side, and that which had been a matter of the heart became after a while a matter of the reason, to be discussed and assented to by those who had no heart in the question. We have to suffer for this in our days. Let us learn not to be contented with proofs in black and white, valuable as they are. We need that communion of heart with God by the power of the Holy Ghost, which needs no proof, and which is the only remedy for our lukewarmness, our worldliness, and our joylessness.

The Nun Gertrude.

It is of interest to trace in the convent of Hellfde the results of the work and the teaching of the Abbess Gertrude and of the Béguine Matilda. It was not in vain that the abbess had given to the Scriptures such a place of honour, and had so diligently studied them, and insisted upon their study. Nor was it in vain that Matilda of Magdeburg had spoken and written of the free grace of God, and of the love of Christ that passeth knowledge.

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This teaching was the beginning of a stream of life and light, which became deeper and wider as it flowed along. And we find in the next book written in the convent a clearer and fuller confession of the truth. This book, written in part by the Nun Gertrude, in part by an unnamed sister, consists of five separate books, together called Insinuationes divinæ pietatis. Of four of these books little can be said, except that they consist chiefly of the visions and revelations of the authoress, and accounts of visions seen by the Nun Gertrude. It is in the second of the five books, the only one written by Gertrude herself, that we find that which repays the trouble of sifting the true from the false, and the gems of marvellous lustre from the dust-heaps in which they lie buried.

A translation of some of the most remarkable passages in this second book has already been given, as mentioned above, in the book, “Trees Planted by the River.” But a few more short extracts will perhaps add to the proof of Gertrude’s clear and simple trust in Christ, as revealed in the Gospel.

“When I consider,” she writes, “the character of my life from the beginning and onwards [136] I have to confess in truth it is a history of nothing but grace, grace without the smallest deserving on the part of one so unworthy as I am. For Thou didst of Thy free grace bestow upon me clearer light in the knowledge of Thyself, and Thou didst lead me on by the alluring sweetness of Thy love and kindness. I was more attracted by Thy love, than I could have been driven by the punishment which, on the part of Thy holy justice, was due to me.”

“The great power and sound strength of Gertrude’s mind,” writes Preger, “could not allow her to satisfy herself with the visions in which she had a share. She sought a firmer foothold for her new life, a source which should lastingly and invariably satisfy her inmost being. And with the whole energy of the mind, which had formerly been absorbed in secular learning, she gave herself to the study of the Holy Scriptures, and of such commentaries as she could find to explain them, amongst others those of Augustine and Bernard.

“How deeply she felt the value of the treasures laid up for her in the Scriptures, we learn from the joyful inspiration which filled [137] her soul when reading them. ‘She could not,’ writes the unnamed nun, ‘drink in enough each day of the wonderful sweetness she found in meditating on the Word of God, and in searching for the hidden light which she found in it. It was sweeter to her than honey, and more lovely than the sound of the organ, and consequently it seemed as though her heart was filled with an almost unceasing joy.’

“‘She copied out from the Scriptures and from commentators whole books of extracts, which she wrote for the convent sisters; and was often employed from early in the morning till late at night in endeavouring to write explanations of difficult passages, so as to render them more intelligible to her sisters. For it was a part of her nature to lead on others in the same path, and to work for those around her, so as to exercise a wholesome influence, forming them and helping them.

“‘She also provided other convents which had few books with extracts from the Bible. Thus the Scriptures were the Alpha and Omega of her thoughts. All her reflections, warnings, and consolations had a Bible passage as their source. It was astonishing, her friend said, how invariably the right word from the Scriptures [138] was ready to hand in each case; and whether she reproved or counselled, she made use of the witness of Holy Scripture as that which no one might dare to gainsay.

“‘This universal tendency of her mind to draw others into the enjoyment of that which she possessed, and to work for this end, explains how instantly and willingly she would tear herself away from silent contemplation, to use any occasion that presented itself for active work for others. To return to contemplation again was then easy for her.’

“We perceive from this remark the breadth, and at the same time the strength, of her mind, as well as the harmony of her inner and outer life. This is not contradicted by the fact that her friend mentions as her chief fault a certain impatience and vehemence, for which she often blamed herself. It arose from her strong impulse to work for others.”

Preger further remarks: “It was in the ninth year after her conversion, 1289 and 1290, that she wrote that remarkable book which forms the second of the five books of the Insinuationes. It consists of confessions in forcible language, from the heights of the strongest feeling and the clearest perception. [139] At the same time, the great gifts with which she was endowed shine the more brightly from their accompaniment of the most touching humility. This book, together with her ‘Practices of Piety,’ a book of prayers, belong to the most beautiful products of mystical literature.

“In her case, a progress from legal bondage to ever-increasing liberty of spirit is clearly marked. When once her new spiritual life had had its beginning in evangelical faith, it followed from the strength and wholesome soundness of her mind, that the unfolding of this spiritual freedom should proceed in spite of the opposition of religious tradition, and should prove victorious. It is of the greatest interest to trace this progress as far as we have the means of doing so.”

This onward path from asceticism, self-chastisement, and bitter sorrow over the fallen Church, to calm and happy communion with Christ, was remarked by others, and the passage from bondage to liberty was a cause of joyful thanksgiving to herself.

“At all times,” writes her anonymous friend, “she rejoiced in such assured confidence, that neither calamity, nor loss, nor any other [140] hindrance, nay, not even her sins or shortcomings, could overcloud it; for she had always the full and firm assurance of the rich grace and mercy of God. If she felt herself stained by daily sins, it was her custom to take refuge at the feet of Christ, to be washed in His Blood from all spot and stain.”

It will be remarked that Gertrude had not yet fully apprehended the great truth that the worshipper once purged has no more conscience of sin, that “by one offering Christ hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified,” and that for this reason there is no repetition of sacrifice. For “without shedding of Blood is no remission,” and the Blood of expiation once shed, can be shed no more for ever.

But it may be that Gertrude, like many now, confused the recalling of that blood-shedding which put away sin, a recalling which gives comfort when we feel that we have sinned afresh, with the actual cleansing, once and for ever, in the precious Blood of Christ—the actual cleansing never to be repeated, but the comfort and peace founded upon it a constant experience, which the heart may rejoice in on every fresh occasion of the confession of sin.

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“When she felt,” continues her friend, “the marvellous power of the grace of God, she did not betake herself to penances, but, committing herself freely to the drawing of that grace, she yielded herself as an instrument for loving service, free to receive all that God gave, and to be used by Him for His work.”

It is further remarked that she looked upon God’s gift of grace in His Son as so immeasurable and marvellous, that all human endeavour and doings vanished to a point when compared with it, and were not worth mentioning.

And with regard to her own assurance of faith, she saw that also was a gift of God’s free grace bestowed on her in spite of her undeservings. It would seem as if this strong faith and sense of God’s unutterable love, had led her entirely beyond the land of bondage in which her fellow-Christians were living. She was as a child at liberty in the Father’s home.

On one occasion when taking a walk, she fell down a steep place, and getting up unhurt, she said, “O my beloved Jesus, how well it had been for me had that fall brought me quickly home to Thee!” And when the sisters [142] who were with her said in wonderment, “Would you not be afraid to die without the sacrament?” she answered, “I would desire the sacrament if I were dying, but far, far more do I desire the will of my God and His appointment for me. That is the best preparation for death; for however I die, my hope is in the mercy that will never fail me. Without that I should be lost, whether I died suddenly, or with a sure knowledge beforehand that the time was come.”

For she no longer regarded herself as apart from Christ, but as in Him, and as one in whom He dwelt, and therefore looked upon herself as belonging to Him, and, consequently, instead of mortifying her body, she looked upon taking food or rest as something done for the Lord.

“Not,” says Preger, “that in regard to others she had fully cast aside the prevailing belief in the merit of works, but in her own case she saw but her own sin and God’s free grace. And with regard to the works of others, she considered no value attached to them if they were done with a view to reward. Those good works, she said, which people do from habit, have a black mark set against them; those [143] done for Christ’s sake, and by His power, a red mark. But the red mark has a black mark across it, if there is any thought of gaining merit by those works. They have a golden mark when they are done simply for His honour, with no other aim in view.”

It should be remarked also that Gertrude entertained strong misgivings with regard to the common practices of exciting devotion by appeals to the senses. The erection of mangers at Christmas, and the representations in pictures and images of the sufferings and the death of Christ, appeared to her useless and dangerous. She feared that true personal intercourse with God in the Spirit and in truth, would be hindered by these means.

Nor did she share the devotion of her contemporaries to relics of any sort. “The Lord has shown me,” she said, “that the most worthy relics which remain of Him are His Words.”

“In such a soul,” writes Preger, “in which Christ was so entirely the central point, it was natural that Mary should recede into the background. It is true that the spirit of the age was not wanting in the influence brought to bear upon her, and the cult of Mary does not [144] disappear, therefore, from the pages of her book. But she tells us that she was filled with bitter grief when, on one of the festivals of the Virgin, she heard a sermon which contained nothing but the praises of Mary, and of the value of the Incarnation of the Lord not a word. After this sermon, as she passed by the altar of the Virgin, she could not feel in her heart the sweet devotion to her which she had sometimes known. She was roused into a sort of displeasure with Mary herself, because she seemed to her to stand in the way of her Beloved.”

It is a painful example of the arguing of an enlightened conscience with a conscience shackled and enslaved by superstition. She imagined the Lord would have her salute His Mother, and her heart answered “Never.” And at last she resolved the difficulty by the belief that in doing that which she was unwilling to do, rather than that which would have satisfied her heart, she was pleasing the Lord Himself.

It is useful for us to follow these conflicts of a heart devoted to Christ, with the awful power of generally accepted evil teaching. The spirit of the age is not at any time the [145] Spirit of God. How much power does the spirit of unbelief, of lukewarmness, of corrupted Christianity, exercise upon us?

It matters little that the errors are of a different order. If Mary stood in the way of Christ in the days of Gertrude, is there nothing that amongst “enlightened Protestants” stands now between the soul and the Saviour? Is there nothing believed and taught amongst us which blinds the eyes of lost and helpless sinners to their need of a Saviour? nothing which blinds the guilty to their need of the Atoning Blood? nothing which turns the eyes from Christ, the Coming One, to look for a millennium, not of His Presence, but rather a time when grapes grow on thorns, and figs on thistles?

To return to Gertrude, groping her way from the dim twilight around her to the glorious Gospel day. She was once told that there was to be an indulgence of many years proclaimed to those who were willing to sacrifice their riches to buy it. For a moment Gertrude wished she had “many pounds of gold and silver.” But the Lord spoke to her heart and said, “Hearken! By virtue of My authority receive thou perfect and full forgiveness of all [146] thy sins and shortcomings.” And she saw at that moment that her soul in the eyes of God was whiter than snow.

When, some days later, this confidence still filled her with joy, she began to fear lest she had deceived herself. “For,” she thought, “if the Lord really gave me that white raiment, surely I must have stained it many times since then by my many faults.” But the Lord comforted her, saying, “Is it not true that I always retain in My hand a greater power than I bestow upon My creatures? Hast thou not seen how the sun by the power of its heat draws out the spots and stains from the white linen that it bleaches, and makes it whiter than it was before? How much more can I, the Creator of the sun, keep in stainless whiteness the soul upon whom I have had mercy, pouring forth upon it the warmth of my burning love?”

Here, again, we see that Gertrude arrived at the right sense of perfect forgiveness, though it was rather the Love of Christ than His bloodshedding which gave her this assurance. She no doubt had an unclouded belief in the expiation made by His blood, as we see from other passages in her book. But in resting her [147] assurance on His love, if that were (as happily it was not) the whole ground of her confidence, she would have failed in the possession of unchanging peace. She would have rejoiced at the moments when she realised His great love, and have feared and trembled when the sense of it was overclouded by sin and infirmity. The Christian taught of God looks back to see how Christ once bore his sins in His own body on the cross, and looks up to see Christ in glory as the proof that those sins are for ever put away. He rests upon these unchangeable facts—all the more, therefore, realising the marvellous love of the Divine Saviour who died for him, and rose again for his justification.

Gertrude did seek and find this solid foundation. “The longing for certainty,” writes Preger, “characterises her inner life. Her powerful mind could only be satisfied in the firm grasping of evident truth. This led her to feel the necessity of immediate intercourse with God.” And when she had the assurance of knowing the will of God, she acted, therefore, with an extraordinary decision and promptness. The sisters were astonished at the suddenness of her determinations, and the [148] speed with which she carried them out. They suspected at first that she was self-willed, but they came afterwards to the conclusion that she was carrying out the will of God.

In the last years of her life her longing to depart and to be with Christ became so intense, that she fought against it as a mark of an impatient spirit. “But,” says Preger, “to what clearness and assurance of Divine truth she had been led, we see from the joyful confidence with which she looked forward to death and judgment.” In the last chapters of her book of prayers, before mentioned, we find a passage with which it is well to conclude the history of her spiritual life.

“O Truth, Thou hast for Thine inseparable companions Justice and Equity. In number, measure, and weight Thy judgment stands firm. That which Thou weighest, Thou weighest in a perfect balance. Woe is me, a thousandfold woe, if I fall into Thine hands and there should be found no substitute to take my place.

“O Love Divine, Thou wilt provide the substitute. Thou wilt answer for me. Thou wilt undertake my cause, that I may live because of Thee.

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“I know what I will do. I will take the cup of salvation. The Cup, which is Jesus, I will place in the empty scale. Thus—thus all my deficiency will be made up, all my sin covered, all my ruin restored, and all my imperfection will become more than perfect.

“Lord, at this hour (six o’clock) Thy Son Jesus was brought to judgment. Thou didst lay upon Him the sin of the whole world, upon Him who was sinless, but who was called to render account for my sin and my guilt. Yea, O my God, I receive Him from Thine hand as my companion in the judgment; I receive Him, the Most Innocent, the Most Beloved, Him who was condemned and slain for love to me, and now Thy gift, O my loving God, to me.

“O blessed Truth, to come before Thee without my Jesus would be my fear and terror, but to come with Him is joy and gladness. O Truth, now mayest Thou sit down on the judgment-seat and bring against me what Thou wilt. I fear nothing. I know—I know that Thy glorious face will have no terror for me, for He is with me, who is all my hope and all my assurance. I would ask, how canst Thou now condemn me when I have my Jesus as [150] mine, that dearest, that truest Saviour, who has borne all my sin and misery that He might win for me eternal pardon.

“My beloved Jesus, blessed Pledge of my redemption, Thou wilt appear before the judgment-seat for me. By Thy side do I stand there. Thou the Judge, and Thou the Substitute also. Then wilt Thou recount what Thou didst become for love of me, how tenderly Thou hast loved me, how dearly Thou hast bought me, that I through Thee might be righteous before God.

“Thou hast betrothed me to Thyself; how could I be lost? Thou hast borne my sins. Thou hast died, that to all eternity I might never die. All that is Thine Thou hast freely given me, that I through Thy deserving might be rich. Even so, in the hour of death, I shall be judged according to that innocence, according to that purity, which Thou hast freely given me, when Thou didst pay the whole debt for me by giving Thyself. Thou wert judged and condemned for my sake, that I, poor and helpless as I am, might be more than rich in all the wealth that is Thine, and mine through Thee.”

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The Voice that for ever Speaks.

Thus to the ear that listens for the One beloved Voice, come from those old times the familiar tones, the household words of the family of God. These souls, so misled, so darkened by the mists of evil teaching, yet by the power of the Holy Ghost saw the Son and believed on Him, and had everlasting life. His sheep followed Him, for they knew His voice, and their souls were filled with love and praise.

Did they not often mistake for His voice the imaginations of their own hearts? Yes, often they did so, and perhaps we do it less often, because less often do we listen for His voice. He speaks and we are deaf, and we go on our way expecting no word from His lips, and therefore there is nothing which we suppose to be that Voice, and our delusions are altogether of another nature.

Our delusion in these days is that there is no immediate, daily, hourly communication between the soul and God. We do not mistake by regarding false coin as true; our mistake is that the true coin has ceased to exist since the days when John and Paul spoke to the Lord [152] and He answered them, and the Holy Spirit spoke, and they listened.

Yet still as of old there are those whose eyes have been anointed with eye-salve and they see Him, and their ears unstopped and they hear Him, and they can bear witness to the truth that the Comforter abides with us for ever, and takes still of the things of Jesus and shows them unto us; and these can recognise in the old histories of the saints of God the same voice and the same teaching, and can trace it back to the written Word, to which it answers as the stamp to the seal.

It is well for us also to bear in mind the delusions, and, to us, inconceivable errors which were mistaken in past ages for the voice of God. That the chief work of Satan has been from the beginning to counterfeit the work of God, we know from revelation. Nor have we to be on our guard against Satanic power alone. The tremendous force of early education, of the general opinion of the world around us, do not act less powerfully upon us than upon those in former days.

It is true that the course of this age is “according to the prince of the power of the [153] air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience.” The course of each age since Adam sinned has been thus shaped. But mere natural tendency to receive what we call truths, without taking the trouble to think, and to form opinions, as well as courses of action, by habit simply and only, can lead us far enough astray without any other misleading force.

The convent of Hellfde is a remarkable proof of the power of Satan, and of the distortion of our nature, acting upon those who were true-hearted believers in the Lord Jesus Christ, true children of God, and truly taught by Him in the midst of many delusions. Had they applied the test of Holy Scripture to all which they believed to be the voice of God, a very small part of it would have stood the test, in the case of the sister, for example, who wrote four of the five parts of the Gertrude Book. The remarkable difference of the second book written by Gertrude herself from the four others, remains as a proof of the fact that the “entrance of the Lord’s Word giveth light and understanding to the simple.”

But in the case of communications regarded as the voice of God, and not standing in [154] opposition to His Word, must not a further distinction be made? Even then the mind may possibly be exercised in simply recalling passages of Scripture, and may be influenced by them as in the case of ordinary writings. Is there nothing more than this which is meant by the statements of the Lord Jesus Christ when speaking of the intercourse between the soul and Himself?

“Why do ye not understand My speech? even because ye cannot hear My word.” There is, then, a hearing of which the unbelieving man is incapable. “He that is of God heareth God’s words. Ye therefore hear them not, because ye are not of God.” Thus there are those who “hear indeed and understand not, and see indeed but perceive not.” On the other hand, there are the sheep of Christ, “who follow Him, for they know His voice.” “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.”

How, then, was it that the true sheep of Christ in the convent of Hellfde followed at times the voice of strangers, and mistook it for His own?^[12] Should we therefore conclude [155] that all they received as His was but the working of their own minds, or a snare of the evil one?

If so, the Lord Himself is no longer the Truth. He has solemnly declared to us, that for ever He would hold intercourse with His saints by the power of the Holy Ghost. He has given us the plain assurance, “Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world (the age).” The saints of all ages have claimed these promises, and have found them true.

But the world cannot receive the Spirit of Truth, because it seeth Him not, neither knoweth Him. Nevertheless “Ye know Him, for He dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you. Yet a little while the world seeth Me no more; but ye see Me: because I live ye shall live also. At that day ye shall know that I am in My Father, and ye in Me, and I in you.” [156] And again, “He that loveth Me shall be loved of My Father, and I will love him, and will manifest Myself to him.”

Thus in spite of delusions caused by the false teaching of the corrupted Church, in spite of the hallucinations caused by unnatural bodily conditions, the Lord was true to His word, and made to His servants that revelation of His love that passeth knowledge, which marks their testimony.

And because it passeth knowledge, and all that it is possible for the heart of man to conceive, we recognise it as His revelation to the soul. The God of Catholicism was a Judge, awful and terrible. Even the thought that the righteous anger of the Father needed to be appeased by the merciful intervention of the Son, gave place in time to the thought that the Son also was but a righteous Judge, in whom was justice without mercy. Therefore it was necessary that His mother should be the hope and refuge of sinners, and that her intercession should incline His heart to pity. And there followed in due time a host of other mediators between God and man, to whom the sinful and the suffering should turn rather than to the great and dreadful God.

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And it was in the face of this teaching that those who knew His voice had the absolute assurance of His immeasurable and unspeakable love. They passed, as it were, through the host of mediators and intercessors to cast themselves at His feet, and to wash them with their tears, and anoint them with the love which the Holy Spirit of God had shed abroad in their hearts.