When I was young in my twenties I used to very often fall into ecstasies and raptures in prayer. Sometimes they were so strong they used to knock me to the ground. It is hard to describe, it was as though a flame of love, a spear or arrows pierced me heart. The pain was exquisite but at the same time a total heavenly delight. It was just that..it was to much to stand. I used to warn the Good Lord that He must be careful or He would kill me and indeed I sometimes thought my heart would give out and I would die, of the joy, the Rapture. However I was always very, very careful that no one would ever see this or guess that it would be going on and asked the Lord to ensure this, no matter what...and so He did. But sometimes whilst receiving communion I might go into one though I tried to hide it. Mostly I succeeded, though once or twice I got odd looks. Later on with Dark night these faded away, thank God. The other night at work though I got hit a bit and could not help myself but cried out with joy and delight, 'Oh my God I love thee!' Then I looked about concerned that someone might have heard me cry. It seems to me that the Holy Spirit is like a stream or river within us. That the deeper it is, very often the less it shows on the surface. Galatians 4:6 Because you are his sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, “Abba, Father.” It is very tempting to put the highest value on things like dreams and visions, miracles, ecstasies and raptures. But these are only peripheral. The essential river of the Spirit is the river of love and which runs at the very centre of the soul very deep down. It transforms us from one degree of Glory into the next into the image of Christ. Hence the essence of prayer is Trinitarian. 2 Corinthians 3:18 But we all, with uncovered face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image, from glory to glory, even as by the Spirit of the Lord. The greatest operation of this comes during the Mass and most especially at the Eucharist. To such a degree that we might, looking back on our lives best see them as series of Holy Masses which we have attended.
Luke 12:48 But he that knew not and committed things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few stripes. For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required; and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more. I am afraid Our Lady had received very little in return for her time and trouble. But she was and is a Good Teacher. I would love to go back in time and watch Saint Anne instruct Mary as a child. It must have been quite something to watch and listen to.
I often think of that scripture Padraig. It is a salutary reminder. I am ashamed of what poor use I have made of all the immense graces I have received.
Was that fire like your heart was going to melt? I had that feeling when I prayed for someone. Didn’t feel like an arrow but a flame inside my chest. I don’t think I imagined it.
I think St Teresa of Avila describes them as , 'Darts of love'. https://www.sacred-texts.com/chr/tic/tic28.htm '2. While the soul is thus inflamed with love, i t often happens that, from a passing thought or spoken word of how death delays its coming, the heart receives, it knows not how or whence, a blow as from a fiery dart. 1 I do not say that this actually is a 'dart,' but, whatever it may be, decidedly it does not come from any part of our being. 2 Neither is it really a 'blow' though I call it one, but it wounds us severely--not, I think, in that part of our nature subject to physical pain but in the very depths and centre of the soul, where this, thunderbolt, in its rapid course, reduces all the earthly part of our nature to powder. At the time we cannot even remember our own existence, for in an instant, the faculties of the soul are so fettered as to be incapable of any action except the power they retain of increasing our torture. Do not think I am exaggerating; indeed I fall short of explaining what happens which cannot be described.'
I didn’t forget my existence, but my heart burned like a furnace. It’s cool that it has a description in mystical literature. Since you can’t see these things with your eyes you often wonder if it’s you just imagining things or being enthusiastic, especially since you can’t will them to happen again.
It reminds me of the words of St Paul about us being treasures in clay Jars. For sometimes the clay jar, the body cannot confine or easily take the fires of the Spirit. 2 Corinthians 4:7-9 Treasure in Jars of Clay 7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. 8 We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; 9 persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; That Jerusalem, as the songs says, is our real home. Jerusalem Jerusalem, my home, Save me! Join me, Don't leave me here! x2 My place is not here, My kingdom is not here, Save me, Come with me! Save, save, save me, Do not leave me here! Save me, save me, save me, Do not leave me here! My place is not here, My kingdom is not here, Save me, Come with Save, save, save me, Do not leave me here! Save me, save me, save me, Do not leave me here!
