St. John of the Cross

St. John of the cross.. .


St. John was a mystic and after his death and subsequent sainthood, he was made a doctor of the church for his writings:

dark night of the soul

the ascent

spiritual canticle. . .

So what exactly is a dark night of the soul?

Iit is a time of great despair . . .it is Rachel weeping for her children, it is a lonely teen reaching for drugs, it is a friendship betrayed.

As you may recall, it is in my song gethsemane . . .

& I quote; "in this soul's dark night, he said, I believe my time has come"

Jesus, I believe, had a dark night at gethsemane . . .

John had his dark night when his fellow monks threw him in to prison because they disagreed with his teachings and ideas . . . he was cold, alone and betrayed.

There, he wrote dark night of the soul . . .

It is a beautiful poem that has been studied time and time again.

Eventually he escaped from prison and went to stay with St. Theresa of Avila and her sisters. . .

Here is the poem by St. John of the cross . . . the dark night of the soul.

(He uses a lot of imagery here.... love of course is Jesus.  But many many scholars have spent years and years studying this poem.)


Prologue to the Dark Night:

One dark night
fired with love's urgent longings
-ah the sheer grace!
I went out unseen,
my house being now all stilled;
In darkness and secure
by the secret ladder, disguised,
-ah the sheer grace!
in darkness and concealment, my house being now all stilled;
On that glad night
in secret, for no one saw me,
nor did I look at anything, with no other light or guide, than the one that burned in my heart;
This guided me
more surely than the light of noon
to where he was awaiting me
-him I knew so well-
there in a place where no one appeared.
o guiding night!
o night more lovely than the dawn!
the Lover with his beloved,
transforming the beloved in her lover.
upon my flowering breast
which I kept wholly for him alone,
there he lay sleeping
and I caressing him
there in a breeze from the fanning cedars.
when the breeze blew from the turret,
as I parted his hair
it wounded my neck
with its gentle had,
suspending all my senses.
I abandoned and forgot myself
laying my face on my Beloved;
all things ceased; I went out from myself,
leaving my cares, forgotten among the lilies.


* remember, volumes upon volumes have been written about this passage.

-Jamie Dillon