Catherine of Siena

  Descriptions by eye-witnesses of the miracles associated with the saints in their lifetimes are just as dependable and clear as any other evidence of historical events. There is no ground to reject them other than a dogmatic belief that there is no Almighty God who is able to alter the course of an individual life. No biographer has ever been more conscientious than Raimondo. He always gives the source of all his information—what he had heard from Catherine herself, what he himself had experienced, what he had heard from others, and who these others were and whether they were still alive. But after he had sifted the whole of his vast material and arranged it with immense care and love, he had to confess that it was beyond him to understand completely Catherine’s inner life.

  At the best, we can come to an approximate understanding of the way in which the inner life of a saint affected the saint’s body. It is true that in our own day we know a little more of how mental conditions affect the physical functions of even quite ordinary people living quite ordinary lives, than did the old doctors who looked after the health of our grandparents. We know that blood pressure, indigestion and disturbances of the senses can be connected with depression or mental strain. We know that the consciousness of inferiority, of an inability to cope with a given situation, can create a physical illness which provides the patient with an excuse for escaping from the unequal fight. All such knowledge explains something of the fact that the mechanism of our bodies is to a very great extent subordinated to the movements of the mind, although of course it tells us nothing of the life of the soul—for example, of whether an immortal soul has any definite functions. We must take this problem to other sources and ask what a man is.

  Like so many other saints Catherine was restrained by the insufficiency of human speech when she tried to bring her fellow-men the message which her Lord had entrusted to her. The accumulated knowledge absorbed by the senses involuntarily becomes the medium with which one tries to express the discoveries of the soul when the eternal reality which lies beyond the mortal realities of this world has been made known to it. The seer must use images and similes borrowed from the common experience of mankind. The visionaries had to speak analogously of seeing, hearing, smelling, even when their visions and the process by which mystical knowledge was poured into their souls was not accompanied by “shewings”, as Julian of Norwich called her visions; or when God’s voice in the soul did not take the form of audible words.

  The object of Catherine’s contemplation was God who became man and died on the cross out of love for the souls of mankind: it filled her mind with pictures of blood and fire which fell like cleansing rain on an earth scorched to barrenness on every side by the flames of unholy passions. Her firm belief that the source of eternal life flows perpetually from the wounded side of Jesus Christ caused her to receive with burning gratitude His invitation—that she should put her lips to this wound and drink of that drink which would make her invincible in the fight for the kingdom of heaven and for the Church which is the Mystical Body of Christ on earth. In order to make known to others how deeply she loved God, and at the same time how well she realised that such love as hers was but a tiny spark from the furnace of God’s love for mankind, she had to use the language of human love—the love between man and woman, between a mother and her child—for all love here on earth is but a feeble ray from the sun of Eternal Life. Such rays may light up a soul until it mirrors God, as calm and clear water reflects the sky, or they may disappear like rays of the sun striking onto turbid marsh water. The natural talents of this Tuscan girl helped her to speak of indescribable mysteries in clearer and more lucid pictures than most mystics have used, but we can be sure that Raimondo told no more than the truth when he said that Catherine’s spiritual life was unutterably more beautiful and ardent than she was able to reveal in the writings which became her gift to Christendom.

  Because her soul rose ceaselessly beyond the barriers of physical life and returned from each flight into eternity bearing some new burden—some task imposed by grace and love, which she had to carry out with her miserable body as her only tool—it is only natural that Catherine Benincasa’s life in the body was different from that which we consider normal for ordinary people. The lovely young girl whom her family had hoped to marry off so that they could all benefit from the match, had been strong and full of vitality. The spiritual tension of many years, the strict self-denial and the continual chastising of the body had given her a basis of physical toughness upon which supernatural grace could work, so that Catherine at the age of a little over twenty could achieve feats—whether it was housework all night, nursing the sick, or travelling on foot or on a donkey over the miserable country roads of medieval Italy—which few women in our own day could manage, even though they had done everything possible to ensure their good health. Right up to the last weeks of her life Catherine’s wasted body obeyed her supernaturally strong will each time an inspiration bade her rise from her sick-bed and go out on some errand for her divine Master.

  At this time—about 1370—she was completely unable to eat any solid food. For periods which became longer and longer she could take no nourishment except that of the Body of Christ in the Eucharist. “My Lord fills me at Holy Communion, I can eat no other food.” Fra Tommaso della Fonte, who was still her spiritual director, was much worried about this extraordinary condition. He doubted whether this unnatural abstinence from food could really be what God wished; it might be a temptation of the devil, and ruinous for a sound religious life. So he told her to eat something every day, but before long he had to admit that she suffered so terribly when she tried to obey him that in the end he gave in to her. “Do as the Holy Spirit commands you.” But Fra Tommaso had known Catherine since she was a little girl, and had had many opportunities of seeing that as a rule it was she who was right when she disagreed with him about the advice he gave her. She was a vessel which the Lord had chosen for a special purpose. Tommaso had only to look at the notes which he had made over the course of years on his penitent’s daily progress to be convinced of this fact.

  There were others who were not so easily dissuaded from their doubts about Catherine’s much discussed holiness. And when the scandal-mongers of the town busied themselves with rumours that Catherine took absolutely no nourishment there were many excellent priests and monks who could not imagine what the point was. . . . Did she want to be more holy than Our Lord Himself—for everyone knows that He both ate and drank, and moreover in the company of both good people and those who were not so good. Had not many of the saints, canonised by Holy Church, warned against “peculiarities”? and this “peculiarity” of Catherine’s was presumably nothing more than vanity. Some muttered that she probably fasted publicly and stuffed herself with food in secret. Later Catherine complained sometimes that she wished with all her heart that she could eat like other people, so that she could avoid causing annoyance. When it gave her the most terrible pain to swallow anything, and her stomach could not retain anything that she forced into it, she said that she believed it must be a punishment for her sins, and especially for the sin of gluttony, for she had been so greedy for fruit when she was little. . . .

  Many took exception to the fact that she went so often to Communion. This was not usual at that time, for many were afraid that the devotion and awe due to the great mystery which is the Blessed Sacrament would be lessened if one received it too often. Even pious monks seldom received the Blessed Sacrament more than once or twice a week, and it had not yet become the custom for priests to celebrate Mass every day. Many of her sisters in the order, and also many of the Dominican monks, did all they could to try to lessen Catherine’s desire to take Communion so often—partly because they thought that such a violent hunger for the Sacrament could not be completely sincere, and partly because they disliked the sensation caused by her ecstasies, which followed after she had communicated. The curious came to stare at the ecstatic virgin, the enemies of religion scoffed, and simple and pious people were disturbed in
their devotions.

  The fact that she met with so little sympathy among her brothers and sisters in the Dominican order worried Catherine’s sensitive conscience. But whatever they said about her, and whatever they did against her, she refused to regard them as anything but her faithful friends or to see anything in their unfriendliness except concern for the health of her soul.

  The evening before St. Alexis’ day, July 17, Catherine prepared herself to receive Holy Communion the following morning—that is to say, if she were allowed by the monk who said the Mass, and by the sisters. As a reply to her prayer that her heart might be washed clean, a voice in her soul replied that to-morrow she should surely receive the Body of the Lord, and when she prayed even more fervently to be made worthy, she felt as though a rain of blood and fire streamed down upon her soul and filled it with supernatural love and warmth. It was as though it cleansed her to the innermost corners of her being. But when the morning came she was apparently so ill that no one thought she would be able to walk a step. Catherine believed unconditionally in the promise which her Saviour had given her when she prayed the evening before. To the immense astonishment of all the friends who were with her, she got up and went to church.

  She had been forbidden to receive the Sacrament from the hands of any other priest than her confessor. But when she came to the Capella della Volte she saw no sign that Mass was to be celebrated that day, and could see nothing of Fra Tommaso. He confessed later that he had not felt in the humour to say Mass that day, and had no idea that Catherine had come to church—he knew that she was at home, and very ill. Suddenly he felt that Christ touched his heart, and he was seized with a burning desire to say Mass. When Catherine received the Host from his hand, Fra Tommaso saw how her face glowed and seemed to be covered with tiny drops of sweat and tears, and the priest felt that her intense devotion pierced his own heart with light. After Communion she lay long in ecstasy. But even after she regained consciousness she was unable to speak a word to anyone the whole day.

  But when Fra Tommaso tried later to talk to her of what she had experienced that day she said it was impossible to describe. No, she had no idea what she looked like, whether she had been pale or flushed. No, human words could not express what she had seen and experienced—it would be blasphemy to attempt it. She could only say that she had tasted a sweetness so unutterable that all earthly things appeared as mud and offal, and not only physical things, but even the spiritual consolation for which she usually prayed. “I prayed that this too might be taken from me if I could be pleasing to my Lord and finally be able to possess Him. Because of this I bade my Lord take from me my own will and give me His will instead. He was so gracious as to reply to me, ‘See, My dear daughter, I shall give you My will, and it shall make you so strong that nothing that may happen to you can ever touch or alter you!’ ” “And so it was”, said Fra Tommaso, and he confirms that from that day Catherine was always happy and contented, whatever happened to her.

  The same day Catherine was meditating over the words of the prophet, “Cor mundum crea in me, Domine”, and as she prayed for God to take away her own heart, in which her self-will was rooted, she saw a vision. Her heavenly Bridegroom came to her, opened her left side, took out her heart, and carried it away in His hand. This impression was so strong and was accompanied by such a physical reaction that Catherine told Fra Tommaso at confession that she had no heart in her body. The monk could not help laughing, “Now, now, no one can live without a heart. . . . ” But Catherine was adamant. “But it’s true, Father, I would have to distrust my own senses if I were to doubt that I now have no heart in my body. It is certain that with God nothing is impossible.”

  A day or two later Catherine had been to Mass in the Capella della Volte and remained in the church to pray long after all the others had left. Suddenly Christ appeared to her; in His hand He carried a human heart, deep red and sparkling with light. When Catherine saw how it shone she fell on her face. But again Our Lord opened her left side, and put the burning heart into her body. “My dear daughter, the other day I took away your heart. To-day I give you My heart, which will give you eternal life.”

  Her most intimate friends assured her biographer that they had with their own eyes seen the scar under her left breast where this exchange of hearts had taken place. From now on Catherine no longer prayed, “Lord, I offer You my heart”, but “Lord, I offer You Your heart.” And often when she received the Blessed Sacrament, the heart beat so violently and so jubilantly in her breast that those who stood near her heard it and were amazed.

  Catherine also often saw when she took Communion how the Host was transformed when it had been consecrated by the priest: an unutterably beautiful Child was carried down from heaven by angels and laid in the hands of the priest; or else she saw a glimpse of a radiant Man’s figure, or sometimes only fire which fell from heaven. It seems as though she saw these visions before she fell into ecstasy, while she wavered between consciousness and unconsciousness. When she had received the Body of the Lord she was always carried into that kingdom where no impression from outside could enter or disturb her in her company with the Beloved. She knelt as unmoving as a statue, while sometimes her friends heard that she whispered quietly “Vidi arcana Dei”—I have seen the secrets of God. Raimondo says that he heard this himself, but when, after she had regained consciousness, he asked her to tell him more, she begged to be excused—she could not. Even though she often talked with Raimondo about her mystical experiences—sometimes when he had not asked about them—this time she could not; this time it was impossible.

  It was also during the critical summer of 1370 that once, when Catherine had come to the altar to take Communion, just as the priest approached her with the consecrated Host in his hand, and on behalf of the communicants said the usual words, “Lord I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof”, she heard a voice which answered, “But I, I am worthy to enter you.” As she swallowed the Sacrament it seemed to her that her soul entered into God and God entered into her “as the fish is in the water, and the water is in the fish”. This feeling of being one with God was so intense that she scarcely managed to return to her cell, and when she had sunk down on her hard bed, she remained lying motionless, while those who stood around her (it seems that at this time Catherine was never alone for a moment, at any rate during the day) saw that her body was lifted up and floated without any support. When she once again lay on the hard planks of the bed, they heard her whisper words of love to God, words so beautiful and so blissful that it was like a miracle to listen to them. A little later she began to pray for a number of people, and especially for her confessor. Fra Tommaso told Raimondo later that he had always known when Catherine prayed for him. He might be feeling indifferent or spiritually tired, but suddenly his soul would be filled to the brim with joy and love, and he always discovered later that at that exact moment Catherine had prayed for him.

  It was during the same summer, while she was praying, that Catherine received the first of Our Lord’s stigmata. She had begged Christ to promise her eternal life for Fra Tommaso and for all her friends, and He had replied that He would grant her this request. She asked Him to give her a pledge that He would save all whom she loved—not because she doubted, but so that she should always be reminded of the gift He had promised her. Christ said to her, “Stretch out your hand.” The point of a glowing nail was placed in the middle of her right hand, and pressed into her flesh until it seemed that it pierced right through. There was no visible mark after this event, but the pain in her pierced hand was always with her.

  Scarcely a day of the summer of 1370 passed without visions and revelations flooding Catherine’s soul with supernatural love and desire to serve her Lord; and the more intense these spiritual experiences were, the more they seemed to wear out her body. Her consciousness of the eternal presence of Christ in His Church took the form of an almost continual vision—she saw Him and heard His voice in her heart. She saw His longing for the sa
lvation of every soul springing up like flames, she saw His love to all mankind stream as blood from the wound in His side, she saw the glory of His heavenly majesty. Sometimes He appeared alone, sometimes with His blessed mother and some of the saints. Mary Magdalen and St. Dominic appeared to her: “Dominic’s face is so like Our Lord’s, oval, and full of tenderness; he has fair hair and a fair beard.” While she described St. Dominic’s appearance to Fra Bartolommeo de Dominici one of her brothers went out of the church, and Catherine turned a moment to look at him. Immediately the vision disappeared, and Catherine began to weep bitterly, full of self-reproach that she had allowed herself to be distracted from the vision granted to her by God.

  But all these ecstasies seemed to take such toll of her physical strength that the moment came when her body could stand no more. Catherine had decided to go for the feast of Our Lady’s Assumption to the Cathedral of Santa Maria, for the Mass for that day was always there celebrated with special solemnity, as Siena had long ago chosen the Virgin Mary as its patron saint. Catherine lay in her cell unable to move, but by a miracle she heard the Mass sung from the cathedral and was visited in a vision by Our Lady.

  For many days she remained so weak that she could not move. But most of the time she was in ecstasy, and her friends who listened to her low whispering said afterwards that she seemed transported with bliss; she smiled and laughed softly, while her lips uttered expressions of love to her Bridegroom, talking of her ceaseless longing to be called to that heavenly home where Christ would be hers for ever and no separation could force her back to the world of the senses.

  She was so tired of this body which shut her out from all she desired! But when her Lord said to her that she must not be selfish, He had still work for her which she was to carry out among her fellow-men on earth, she humbly bowed before His will. But she asked that she might be allowed to taste a little, only a very little—as much as she could bear—of the agony He had suffered in His body here on earth for the salvation of mankind. For she knew that then she would be more willing to suffer and bear all things for the sake of her fellows. She was granted this. But when in this way she learned how bitter His pains had been, how boundless was the love which succumbed to such suffering because His heart pitied mankind, then it was as though her own heart broke and the breath of life left her body. . . .