Four ways to water a garden
How much of prayer is a person's own labour, and how much is simply given? Teresa answers by watching the gardener's work shrink to nothing.
Prayer, for Teresa, begins as friendship: time spent, often alone, with the one we know loves us. Its growth she maps as four ways of watering a garden. Buckets hauled from a well are the beginner's toil, a waterwheel yields more for less effort, a stream running in leaves the gardener little to do, and rain, sent by God, does all the work. Against books that told advanced souls to leave every bodily image behind, she insists the road runs through Christ's human life, never around it.
- prayer
- contemplation
- divine grace
- grace
- perseverance
- mystical experience
- devotion
- faith
Enter a dialogue
- Your garden of prayer is watered first by buckets from a well, last by rain. What is left for the gardener to do once it rains?
- Someone starts to pray and finds it as hard as hauling buckets up a deep well. Why do you urge them not to stop?
- Some books told advanced souls to set aside every bodily image, even Christ's humanity. Why does that road, for you, leave people dry as a stick?
- Little donkeys turning a waterwheel with their eyes shut, you write, draw more water than a diligent gardener. What do they know that he does not?
- Even after God's rain, the ground can dry out again and the garden be lost. How can so great a grace go to waste?