The Night of the Senses
Most people do not enter contemplation through a sudden, overwhelming experience of divine presence. Instead, the transformation unfolds gradually, often unnoticed, as one deepens in faith and interior stillness. “It is more ordinary for the spirit to learn contemplation from God not in a sudden flash but imperceptibly, by very gradual steps.” [1] This gradual unfolding mirrors the way God often works in the human heart—like the slow, hidden growth of a seed in the earth (Mark 4:26-29). While rare moments of intense clarity may occur, they are not the foundation of contemplative life. True contemplation is formed through consistency and surrender, rather than waiting for extraordinary experiences to validate one’s journey. The prophet Elijah did not encounter God in the wind, earthquake, or fire, but in a “still small voice” (1 Kings 19:11-12), teaching us that divine presence is often recognized not in spectacle but in silence.
Spiritual deepening can often feel like failure, leading to frustration and self-doubt. As God’s presence becomes more hidden, one may fear that something is wrong. “When God begins to infuse His light of knowledge and understanding into the spirit of a man drawn to contemplation, the experience is often not so much one of fulfillment as of defeat.” [1] This paradox is essential to the journey—progress often appears as struggle, and the loss of past spiritual comforts can feel like regression (Job 23:8-9). However, this perceived failure is actually a sign of purification, as attachment to previous consolations is stripped away. Christ Himself cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46), reminding us that even the most profound spiritual journeys pass through darkness before resurrection.
The contemplative path leads through a necessary darkness, where certainty dissolves, and familiar spiritual markers disappear. “The spirit enters a wilderness and travels blindly in directions that seem to lead away from vision, away from God, away from all fulfillment and joy.” [1] This experience can feel unbearable, as the mind, heart, and soul encounter an absence where they once found light. The seeming loss of connection to the divine is not an abandonment but an invitation into a deeper trust (Isaiah 50:10). Just as the Israelites wandered through the desert without knowing when they would reach the Promised Land (Exodus 13:17-18), so too must the contemplative soul journey through the unknown, trusting that God is present even when unseen.
Many people resist this path because they equate spiritual progress with clarity, emotional intensity, and visible outcomes. “Convinced that perfection is to be measured by brilliant intuitions of God and fervent resolutions of a will on fire with love, persuaded that sanctity is a matter of sensible fervor and tangible results, they will have nothing to do with a contemplation that does not delight their reason.” [1] This false expectation leads people to seek comfort in external religious practices rather than embracing the surrender required for true transformation (Matthew 6:1-6). While external devotion has value, it can become an escape from the deeper, more demanding work of interior purification. The Pharisees in Jesus’ time meticulously observed religious rituals but failed to recognize the deeper call to inner transformation (Matthew 23:25-28). Likewise, the contemplative must learn that true sanctity is not measured by outward fervor but by an interior openness to God.
The heart of contemplation is found not in effort but in stillness and surrender. “Something prompts them to keep still, to trust in God, to be quiet and listen for His voice; to be patient and not to get excited.” [1] When the soul stops striving for feelings of connection and allows itself to rest in the mystery of God’s presence, transformation can unfold in ways beyond human comprehension (Psalm 46:10). Learning to trust in the unknown is one of the greatest challenges of the contemplative path, but it is also its greatest gift. Mary, in receiving the angel’s message, did not demand certainty but responded with trust: “Let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). This same trust is required of the contemplative, who must surrender the desire for control and rest in divine mystery.
True peace is not the result of striving but of surrendering to the mystery of God’s presence. “Yet at the same time, when they stay quiet in the muteness of naked truth, resting in a simple and open-eyed awareness, attentive to the darkness which baffles them, a subtle and indefinable peace begins to seep into their souls.” [1] This peace is not the emotional comfort many seek but rather a deep, unshakable grounding in the reality of divine love (Philippians 4:7). It is a peace that emerges not from intellectual understanding but from allowing oneself to be held in the unknown. Jesus reassured His disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you” (John 14:27). The contemplative must come to know this peace—a peace that is not dependent on external circumstances but is born from resting in divine presence.
Contemplation ultimately moves beyond thoughts and emotions, leading one into a deeper awareness that transcends ordinary experience. “This satisfaction is tenuous and dark. It cannot be grasped or identified. It slips out of focus and gets away. Yet it is there.” [1] The divine presence is no longer something to be grasped or felt in a tangible way; it simply is (Exodus 3:14). This realization is both unsettling and liberating, as one learns that God is not an object to be understood but a reality to be lived within. As Paul wrote, “We walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). The contemplative life is not about possessing God, but about surrendering to the One who has always been present.
[1] Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation