THE MORNING WATCH
153
his
iniquities, the penitent cries, "The remembrance of them is
grievous unto us, the burden of them is intolerable."
As
a rule he was
able to say "the remembrance of them is grievous unto us" with
adequate sincerity; but it was seldom that he could feel, at the
particular moment he felt required to feel, that "the burden of them
is intolerable." It wasn't anywhere near intolerable, no matter how
much it ought to be. At first he had been able to say it in the
realization that it was intolerable to his soul, whether or not he in
his
mind and feelings was capable of feeling it just then, and that
prayers are said by and for the soul, not the mind or the feelings; but
in this he came to feel that he was mistaken: for it was, he noticed,
only when he believed and felt deeply with his mind or his emotions
that he was able to be aware that his soul, ,as such, existed. But that
isn't true, he now thought with alarm. No matter what I think or
feel, the soul is always there and always alive unless it has been
killed by impenitence for mortal sin. The hardening of the heart
toward God. I'm only trying to suit myself, he told himself; not my
soul, and not God.
But how can you say things when you only ought to mean them
and don't really mean them at
all?
Have mercy upon us 0 God have mercy upon us, he found him–
self praying. These were the words of the Confession which followed
"the burden of them is intolerable," and always, as now, he was able
to mean them when he spoke them.
But not "that with Thy Saints I may praise Thee."
Now it occurred to Richard that perhaps
this
prayer had been
written by a saint or by someone near sainthood, who was able to
mean every extreme thing that was said; and he knew that anyone
who could fully mean those things, and who could mean them every
time they were said, was to be humbly respected. But in that case
it
w.as a prayer which was good only for saints and near saints to say,
not for ordinary people, no matter how good they hoped to be.
Nobody's got any business even hoping he can be a saint, he told
himself.
God no! he exclaimed to himself, for now suddenly it became
vivid and shameful in his memory that he himself had for a while
cherished, more secretly even than
his
lust, exactly this inordinate
