On St. Alphonsus
Rodriguez
In honour of
St. Alphonsus Rodriguez
Laybrother of the Society of
Jesus
Honour is flashed off
exploit, so we say;
And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield
Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,
And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day.
On Christ they do and on the martyr may;
But be the war within, the brand we wield
Unseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled,
Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray.
And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield
Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,
And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day.
On Christ they do and on the martyr may;
But be the war within, the brand we wield
Unseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled,
Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray.
Yet God (that hews mountain
and continent,
Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,
Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)
Could crowd career with conquest while there went
Those years and years by of world without event
That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.
Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,
Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)
Could crowd career with conquest while there went
Those years and years by of world without event
That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.
We crave glory in action, to be seen as victors, crowned
with the laurel or the oak and hailed in the streets (or on the Internet). If we die for a cause, we hope to be
immortalized in song and story.
It’s human nature, to want to do brave deeds and to be rewarded for our
doing, and we are diligent to reward our heroes.
Gerard Manley Hopkins recognizes this in the first five
lines of his sonnet in honor of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez: it’s the warrior’s
exploits that we say give off the fire of glory; his “scarred flesh” and
“scored shield” should record his deeds as worthy and keep them in
memory. However, he seems to be not completely confident, the phrase
“so we say” suggesting that perhaps the assertion is at least open to
question: we say that glory “flames off exploit,” but is
this always the case? Yes, he asserts with confidence, the scars of
Christ do indeed bring Him glory, but the scars of the martyrs only “may” do so;
it is not a certainty.
Why his hesitancy to assign this glory to the martyrs?
Because there is a kind of battle men engage in that no one sees. Some martyrs die very public deaths for
Christ, their “gashed flesh” a testament to their faith, but “the war
within” is unseen and unsung, however intense it may be. This
warrior of the heart carries no tangible sword, wears no steel armor, makes no
resounding battle-cry, even in the “fiercest
fray.” Certainly the world neither sees his scars nor rewards his
victories.
But God sees. The God who created the earth
itself with its most immense features – mountains, continents; the God who
created the most delicate details of nature – the incremental growth of a tree,
the veins of a violet . . . this God sees the inner conflict. And He
cares: He “crowds career with conquest”; He gives victory in these battles,
even when they last a lifetime, “years and years” while little else goes on in
the world and the warrior merely watches a door which is never challenged.
It was said, Hopkins told his friend Robert Bridges, that Alphonsus
Rodriguez was often "bedeviled by evil spirits," but also "much
favored by God" with visions of heavenly light. By all accounts, Alphonsus (1533-1617) had a difficult life. Recalled from school to take over the
family’s thriving textile business in his early 20s, he lost his mother, wife,
and daughter in the space of three years, had to sell the business and move
into his sister’s home, and then lost his son. He desired to join the Jesuits but was rejected because of
his poor education; at last he was taken in as a lay brother (a lay brother
cannot study for the priesthood).
For some 45 years he “watched the door” at the Jesuit college in
Majorca, his duties simple and seemingly mundane: open the door to visitors, take messages, run errands, and
distribute alms.
Throughout this time, he was continually beset with inner
temptations – the nature of which I have not found described – which drove him
to continual prayer. Perhaps these
were temptations to despair and discouragement (look at the losses he endured
and his lowly status), perhaps a critical spirit, perhaps far worse. But they were temptations known only to
himself and the few priests in whom he would have confided, as his spiritual
director and confessors.
Yet he became a beloved inspiration to the students of the
college, who often sought him out for advice and consolation, and who spoke of
him with loving admiration throughout their lives; and he became the patron
saint of Majorca, where he was known for his love for all – rich, poor, black,
white, slave, free. And those to
whom he confessed his temptations chose him to preach sermons to the priests at
their meals on feast days because of his good works, done in the faith and
prayer that led to his holiness.
He pursued holiness in the midst of temptations by, as he
described it, “taking the sweet for the bitter and the bitter for the
sweet.” He would imagine himself
before the crucified Lord and consider how much he was loved, how much Christ
suffered for him, and that his love for the Lord should lead him to accept his
own suffering as a sharing in Christ’s – thus leading the bitterness of
suffering to become sweet for Christ’s sake. At the same time, the world’s sweets – its esteem and
pleasures – became bitter in the light of Christ’s love. This meditation, he wrote, would help
his “whole heart [to be] centered solely on God.” And when the bell rang at the door, he would envision God
awaiting entrance and call out, “I’m coming, Lord!”
Alphonsus’ struggles only became widely known among the
Jesuits after his death. And so Hopkins
celebrates, gives honor to, the one whose battle was not seen and honored by
the world or even by most of those close to him, and does so in a way to
encourage all of us who endure such private struggles. God, he says, “could crowd career with
conquest” – give victories enough to “crowd” one’s entire life – no matter who
else sees, gives victories as great as any in literal battles to those who
suffer in heart and soul. Nothing
happened while Alphonsus watched the door – no wars, no plagues, no suppressions
– just endless errands run and messages delivered . . . but the battle raged
and God gave victory throughout the years.
What remarkable encouragement, to be reminded that the
world’s honor is not what we need to seek, or our own honor at all. We should seek the honor of the Lord we
serve; after all, the honor we give to Christ and His martyrs is for His sake,
not theirs. But if there are no
outward deeds of heroism to be done that may earn outward honor for Him, there
are heroic deeds aplenty to accomplish in the depths of our own hearts as we
pursue holiness. And if only our
very closest counselors ever know of the struggle, yet God knows and He is
pleased with us when we turn to Him in our need and in our gratefulness, so
that He may give the victory.
Hope should spring from this realization. Few of
us, in the end, will do great deeds to be memorialized in song; few of us will
become well-known martyrs for the faith. But all of us will battle
inner demons: sinful thoughts and desires, discouragement and
despair. While Satan himself may well torment us, even without his
harassment there will be plenty to battle. I find myself so easily
leaping to anger, unjustified criticism, guilt true or false, loss of
hope. It is all too easy to give in to these enemies, to dwell on
them.
But this is not who I am. It is who I was, and
the patterns reassert themselves when I lose sight of my real identity: a
daughter of the King, a servant of the Lord God. In Him, I am the
one who can repent of my sin and seek reconciliation with God and man; I am the
one who can offer patient love to one who irritates me; I am the one who sees
beauty everywhere, who finds joy in the darkest hours. I am the one
who wakes in the middle of the night with the words “I love you, Father”
inexplicably echoing in my mind and heart, and who understands that Christ in
me speaks those words – and because I am hidden in Him, cloaked in His love,
they are my honest words as well.
And although too often I am fearfully ensconced in my
worldly comfort, I desire to pray with Alphonsus, “Through Your most holy
passion and death, I beg of You, Lord, to grant me a most holy life, and a most
complete death to all my vices and passions and self-love, and to grant me
sight of Your holy faith, hope, and charity."
Certainly, until He returns or I am removed to His presence
through death, I will struggle with the sinful and dispiriting patterns of the
old man. But I will
struggle: I will fight the battle and know that victory is already
mine – I am made new in Christ who lives in me, and however fiercely the battle
rages at times, He is my Champion, and even in this life I may at least begin
to see the fruit of refusing to lay down my arms in despair. No
matter what others see or know, I can know that He sees it all, and upholds and
strengthens me, and will give me whatever due reward He Himself has earned for
me.
