CHAPTER VII.
_His love of God._
1. THE sentiments M. _De Renty_ had of the love of God, he thus exprest in a letter to his director; “In all I read in the scripture, I neither understand nor find any thing but this Love. The very _end of the commandment is love, out of a sincere heart_. And this is acquired by faith in _Christ Jesus_, as the apostle observes in the following words. Faith uniteth us to him, whereby we sacrifice our souls and bodies, thro’ his spirit; which conducteth us to the compleat end of the law, to deliver us up to God and bring him down to us in charity, and a gracious inexplicable union; to whom be praise for ever! _Amen!_”
2. Writing to another, he says, “I thank our Lord, who hath disposed you to a perfect self-denial. This is the way to love; and our love of God is shewn, not so much in receiving gifts and graces from him, as in forgetting ourselves, in renouncing all things, and suffering constantly and courageously for him.”
3. So inflamed was M. _De Renty_ with this love, that all his thoughts, words and works, were the fruits of it. All his virtues drew their original from this: it was the beginning, and motive, and end of all. “I cannot conceal from you, said he to a friend, that I have a fire in my heart, which burns and consumes without ceasing.” And this divine fire was so ardent in his soul, that the flames thereof often burst forth into his exterior; and he hath owned, that whenever he pronounced the name of God, he tasted such a sweetness as could not be exprest.
4. One of his friends assures us, “he has often seen him so inflamed with love, that he appeared like one beside himself: and that he has told him, when these transports were upon him, he was ready to cast himself into the fire, to testify his love to God.” And one of his letters he concludes thus: “I must now hold my peace; yet when I cease to speak, the fire within that consumes me will not let me rest. Let us burn then, and burn wholly and in every part for God. Since we have no being but by him, why do we not live to him? I speak it aloud and it would be my crown of glory, to seal it with my blood.”
*5. To another he writes thus: “I know not what your intent was, in writing those words, ‘_My |God| and my all!_’ Only you incite me thereby to return the same to you and to all creatures, ‘My God and my all! My God and my all! My God and my all!’ Is your heart full of it, and think you it possible I should be silent on such an invitation! Be it known to you, that he is my God and my all; and if you doubt of it, I shall speak it a hundred times over. I shall add no more, for any thing else is superfluous to him that is truly penetrated with ‘My God and my all’.”
*6. This love of God wrought in him an incredible zeal for his honour, which he thus expresses to his director; “One day being transported with an earnest desire to be all devoted to God, and all consumed for him, I offered up to him all I could, yea, and all I could not. I would willingly, if they had been mine, have made a deed of gift to him of heaven and earth: and in another way, I would gladly have been the lowest of all mankind. Yea, and if supported by his grace, I could have been content, to advance his glory, to have suffered the pains of the damn’d. In this disposition of a calm zeal, there is no sort of martyrdom, no degree of greatness or littleness, honour or dishonour, that passed not through my soul, and that I would not readily have embraced for the advancement of his glory. It is impossible to express one circumstance of what I felt. All I could do was, to give up my liberty to God, writing the deed in paper and signing it with my blood.”
7. See here the zeal of a man all on fire with the love of God! And the surest proof of love, conformity to his will. This intimate union of his will with God’s, the object and end of all his actions, was indeed one of his singular graces, as it is the sum of all perfection. He writ thus to one concerning the Countess of _Chatres_, with whom he had the strictest friendship; “I must own, that during my absence from her, my heart was tenderly sensible of her pain. But my desire submits to the will of God, and when that is signified, he gives me grace to obey. I was not at _Paris_, but at _Citry_, when she departed; I was sent for post but came two hours too late. Entering the town, I soon heard the news of her death. Presently I fixt myself to the will of God; whereupon I found no more alteration in my soul, than if she had been alive. I see his order in this, that I assisted her not at her death, and doubt not but he permitted it for her advantage.”
8. Another time he writ thus: “I have these three weeks had a fever, with a defluxion, and an extreme weakness. My frame of mind during this condition, has been a simple adherence to the will of God. I have a heart willing and ready to receive any afflictions that can befall me. I desire whatever is decreed from above, and beg it with all my heart.”
9. In the year 1641, one of his children, whom he tenderly loved died. When the news was brought him, he spoke not one word, nor, shewed the least sign of disturbance: his affection to the child yielding to his absolute conformity with the will of God.
10. At the end of the year 1643, his lady fell desperately sick, so that she was given over by her physicians, and left speechless and without sense. This affected him in the most sensible manner; and he broke out into these words:
“I cannot deny but my nature is deeply affected with the sense of so great a loss. Yet my spirit is filled with so wonderful a joy, to see myself in such a state, as to give up, and sacrifice to my God, a thing so dear to me, that if decency did not forbid it, I would give some open testimony of my readiness thereto.” Hereby he evidenced the will of God to be so absolutely his, that he not only willed whatever God willed, but also willed it as God doth, with pleasure and satisfaction. But it pleased God to restore his lady to her health, with respect (as we may believe) to the carriage of his faithful servant.
11. From this perfect subordination to the will of God, sprung his admirable tranquillity. From this fountain flowed those rivers of peace which he possessed in so great perfection, that on the most sudden surprisals, his spirit was not altered, nor put into any disorder. So that he could say from the abundance of his heart, “I comprehend not that thing you call mortification. He who finds no resistance in his spirit to any thing, is not capable of it. Whoso willeth whatsoever God willeth, is pleased, whatsoever happens.”
12. With this Love of God was joined so deep a reverence of him, as often cast him into trembling. And this unspeakable respect unto God’s greatness caused him often to walk in the fields bare-headed, even in rain, or the heat of the sun: and being asked by a friend, what it was that kept him in that constant awe, and how he attained that wonderful reverence he bore to God at all times, in all places, in all employments, he answered, “The sight of his glorious majesty, which continually seems present by me, keeps me in exceeding awe, with a deep sense of his greatness and my own vileness. A mote in the sun is little, but I am far less in the ♦presence of God.”
♦ “prescence” replaced with “presence”
*13. And sure it is, that this deep sense of his own vileness, before the majesty of God, well becomes not only the greatest of sinners, but the holiest of men upon earth. He that from a valley beholds the sun when it rises, and appears on the point of a high mountain, may think him that stands above to be near it, and almost able to reach it with his hand. But the same man notwithstanding beholds it at a vast distance above his head. And though in reality, he is nearer than the other that stands in the valley, yet the proportion is so small as scarce deserves to be named, in respect to the total distance.
14. This reverence of God occasioned in him a great reverence likewise to whatsoever was devoted to him: as first to all holy places; at his entrance into a church, his demeanor was highly modest and serious. He never sat down there. He would remain in it as long as possibly he could; sometimes seven or eight hours together. If any person spoke to him in church, his answer was short; if a longer was required, he went out and gave it.
15. He had great respect, secondly, to holy persons, especially to priests, whom he highly honoured for their work sake. Whenever he met them, he saluted them with profound humility, and in his travels would alight off his horse to do it. When they visited him, he entertained them with great respect; at their going, waiting on them to the gate: And if any dined at his table, he gave them the upper hand, which civility he observed to his own chaplain.
16. And as he had this reverence for them, so had he an earnest desire, that they might live according to the dignity of their calling. When he saw any that did not, he profest his heart melted into sorrow for them, and that he prostrated himself before our Saviour, and begged with tears some apostolical spirits. He often said, “Give us, O Lord, our poor fishermen, men, simple in appearance, and vile in the eyes of men; but great and holy within, and fit to convert souls by their sanctity, prayers, and restless labours!” And herein I discover a great mistake ordinary in the world, that outward greatness and pomp is the way to keep up men’s credit, and make them more capable of doing good to their neighbours. O, no! It is grace that hath power upon the souls, and an holy and humble life that gaineth hearts!