This was written 150 years ago, and by someone who never dominated with elegance the Spanish language. The rest, from the epoch of the baroque, the language of spirituality had become recharged and, sometimes sticky and “sentimental”. Perhaps today it may be close the mode of expression of Paul of Tarsus: “I live, but it’s not me that live, but it is Christ who lives in me” (Gal 2, 20), or rather, “for me life is Christ and death is a gain” (Phil 1, 21).
What dominates these expressions of Claret is the “passion”, the affection, a heart filled to the top that finds it difficult to describe what dwells within it. Take note of the mention of love at the beginning and at the end of the phrase, and at its centre is the joy. 20 years ago an interviewer asked the well-known Bishop Casaldaliga if he was happy, and he responded with emphasis: “almost happy”. He didn’t explain more, but from the tone and the context was understood: he is very sensitive to human suffering, but with the conviction and gospel experience of the immeasurable love of God for all His creatures.
Situations like that of Claret no one gets there in two days, but after many years of searching, of prayer, of immersion into the divine. The fruit is described by Saint John of the Cross in insuperable verses: “In the interior cellar / I drank of my love, and when I left / of all that meadow / I knew nothing more / and I lost cattle that I followed before” (Spiritual canticle).
Claret, John of the Cross and many others, left for us the testimony of a life immersed in God and joy. Claret only understands of love, of life in Christ; the holy Carmelite goes on like someone drunk, and with existence simplified in the maxim: “I no longer keep livestock / neither do I have any other job, / my only exercise is to love” (Spiritual canticle).
And one last observation: they were men of flesh and bone, like us.