Advent Day 10: John of the Cross
A ray of dark
In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.
Advent Day 10: John of the Cross (1542-1591)
Even if you’ve never heard of 16th century Spanish poet-priest John of the Cross, you probably know the title of his most famous poem, Dark Night of the Soul. This phrase has become shorthand for those times we are pulled under the waves of depression, anxiety, fear, loss and grief—when the lives we’ve so carefully crafted fall apart and nothing makes sense, and our old tricks and coping mechanisms—spiritual and otherwise—fail to save us from sinking in a sea of despair.
Years before John of the Cross became the patron saint of dark nights, he was born into a family of conversos, Spanish Jews who converted to Christianity under threat of the Inquisition. His family, already poor, was plunged even deeper into poverty after his father’s death when John was just a few months old. From childhood, John was spiritually intuitive and compassionate, his poverty instilling in him an endurance for hardship and a lovingkindness for all creatures who suffered.
In 1563, at age twenty, John entered the Carmelite order. After his ordination several years later, he decided to live as a hermit. However, those best-laid plans were waylaid by famed reformer nun Teresa of Ávila. In John, Teresa saw something that he could not yet see in himself: a gift for spiritual leadership that, she feared, would be lost if he went off to the mountains. Instead, she enlisted him into her campaign to rid their order of corruption and restore it to its humble, contemplative roots.
For the next year, they traveled around Spain founding new convents and monasteries. In many ways, they were a study in opposites. Teresa was lively, chatty, and always the center of attention. John was quiet, reserved and gentle. These opposing qualities, far from being barriers to relationship, enhanced their bond. Soon, what began as a quasi-business partnership blossomed into a great spiritual friendship.
As with reforms in all times and places, John and Teresa’s campaign drew harsh resistance. While Teresa was targeted by the Inquisition, John was hounded from within the Carmelite community. In December 1577, during Advent, anti-reform friars kidnapped him and hauled him off to their monastery in Toledo. There, they locked him in a tiny cell that doubled as a latrine.
For months, he was allowed no clothing other than the coarse brown habit he’d been wearing when he was kidnapped. He was given no food but bread and the occasional scrap of fish. His only break from the putrid cell was when the friars took him out into the street for a public flogging.
As days turned to weeks, John began to lose hope that Teresa, his others friends and his family would ever find him. For a while, Teresa was even at a nearby convent she’d founded, with no idea he was so close.
As weeks turned to months, even the God to whom John had always felt so close seemed to have forsaken him. When John prayed, he felt plunged into spiritual darkness. Like the apostle Paul, he despaired of life itself.
It was then that a sympathetic friar slipped him a piece of paper and pencil. With these tools, John began to write.
What emerged was Dark Night Of The Soul. This mystical masterpiece tells the tale of a soul slipping out of a house under cover of night to go searching for God, the Beloved, who has gone missing. With only the soul’s longing, and the yearning memory of love, the soul roams from place to place seeking and, finally, finding. Reunited,
My face I reclined on the Beloved. All ceased and I abandoned myself, Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies.
Love hadn’t abandoned the soul after all but was there all the time waiting to be discovered.
One night, months after his kidnapping, John was left temporarily unguarded. Quietly, he pried open his cell door and lowered himself through a window. In the dark, he found his way to Teresa’s convent where the nuns nursed him back to health. When he was well enough to travel, he snuck out of Toledo in disguise. Liberated, John and Teresa resumed their reforms while John also continued the writing he had started during his imprisonment.
In his commentary on Dark Night Of The Soul, John reflected on the months he was held captive. With some distance, he came to understand that the Beloved had never failed him. What had failed were his old ways of connecting to the Life-Light: the prayers at which he excelled, the religious dogmas he’d clung to with such vigor, the creeds he recited so loudly. His competence, intelligence, energy and piety—all those things for which he’d been recognized—in prison were tossed on the bonfire of spiritual death. Only when his dependence on his old ways were burned to ash and he was completely empty, in a state of utter surrender, did he begin to sense the faint flickers of a ray of dark glimmering in his soul. Like the apostle Paul, he found his greatest strength in what, to the world, looked like weakness and defeat.
It's probable that no one reading this has ever spent nine months locked in a latrine. But we’ve all been mowed down by a death, diagnosis, depression, divorce, or disillusion. We do not need to go looking for these things. They are part of being human. Often then, when tragedy strikes, our old coping/soothing strategies fail. No prayer or pick-me-up can clear the storm clouds. We feel, like John, the divine spark in our souls has been snuffed out.
This is terrible while it lasts. And for some it lasts a long time. John counsels that if we can hold on through the suffering of spiritual death there comes the possibility of resurrection. From the ashes rise a deeper sense of self, a deeper union with all creation. The empty heart may brim once again with greater love, greater compassion.
This is the diamond in the dung heap. It is the gift we don’t want. The truth that, if anyone tries to tell us about it while we are in the depths of our despair, will feel like a lie. There is no believing it. It must be lived. This is where the mystics can help when we hit bottom. For John, resurrection wasn’t dogma, platitude or cheap self-help. It was lived experience.
In the years following his imprisonment, John persisted in his work to reform the Carmelites, traveling around Spain, founding new monasteries modeled on contemplative silence and community service. But after Teresa’s death in 1582, the conservative opposition grew bold. John was eventually shunned by many of his fellow brothers, stripped of his leadership and banished to a remote monastery in Úbeda where he fell ill.
He died on December 14, 1591, during Advent. While jealousy and church politics meant that few fellow Carmelites mourned his passing, the public knew a good thing when they saw it. The day after his death, the people of Úbeda forced their way into the monastery where they held an impromptu celebration of life for the humble friar.
Though many of John’s fellow Carmelites were rough on him, time has been kind. Today he is a Doctor of the Catholic church, one of Spain’s greatest poets, and among history’s foremost mystics—a man who, in his most desperate hour, was guided by the Life-Light of the Beloved, remembered, trusted and hoped for. This is the Advent Light we turn toward this time of year, just beyond the horizon, but every day a little bit closer.
Practice
One of my favorite John of the Cross quotes is:
To love is to be transformed into what we love. To love God is therefore to be transformed into God.
Pair this with Teresa of Avila’s quote,
Christ has no body but yours.
How do you understand John and Teresa’s words? What does it mean to be transformed into what we love. What does it mean to be Christ’s body? Do you find these words and concepts challenging? Empowering? Confusing? Reflect on these questions, and whatever others might come up for you, through meditation, journaling or a dedicated time of silence.
Holiday Happenings at Life In The City
All in-person gatherings are at 205 East Monroe Street in Austin, Texas.
Sun. Dec. 8, 11:15am: LITC's original holiday musical, Make Room In Your Heart. Sat. Dec. 21, 6:00pm: Blue Christmas, an intimate gathering on the longest night. Mon. Dec. 23, 6:00pm: Christmas Eve-Eve candlelight service...an LITC tradition! Sun. Dec. 29, 11:15am: Welcome 2025 with a fun casual service that includes, coffee, cookies, conversation and resolution-setting.
Contemplation In The City
Life In The City’s contemplative community meets regularly to practice sacred traditions like Lectio Divina and Centering Prayer. If you’re in Austin, consider joining us. Upcoming gatherings are Jan. 14, Feb. 4, Mar. 4, Apr. 8, May 6. We meet at 205 East Monroe Street in Austin. Doors open at 6pm for coffee and conversation, service from 7-8pm. . You might also enjoy our monthly newsletter in which we wrestle with how to live a spiritually-engaged life in the modern world. Read more here.
Ready For More?
Read the Introduction to the 2022 edition, to find out how my experience of September 11, 2001 became my gateway to Advent.
Find more mystics, saints and prophets in our Archive.
Feedback
Catch a typo? Have suggestions for mystics, saints and prophets for a future year? Leave feedback in the Comments below or email Greg Durham at greg@litcaustin.org.