The soul should not say her vocal prayers without joining them to mental prayer, that is to say that while she is reciting, she should endeavour to elevate her mind in My love.

(God the Father to St. Catherine of Siena, Dialogue 66)

We have no direct record indicating that St. Catherine of Siena was familiar with the Rosary, but we can tell by her writings on prayer that she truly understood the essential interplay between vocal and mental prayer. Because of this, she has a great deal to teach us about the beautiful graces we can receive by praying the Rosary.

Caterina lived a century after St. Dominic is said to have popularized the Angelic Psalter, the devotion that developed into the Rosary. In the Middle Ages, the Hail Mary consisted of the angelic salutation coupled with St. Elizabeth’s greeting to Mary: Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb. The last part of the Hail Mary as we now pray it wasn’t known in Caterina’s day—it was officially added two hundred years later, although it was informally introduced before the sixteenth century:

[The second half of the Hail Mary] was not introduced until the latter part of the Middle Ages. Since it seizes upon the two decisive moments of life: ‘now’ and ‘at the hour of our death,’ it suggests the spontaneous outcry of people in great calamity. The Black Death, which ravaged all Europe and wiped out one-third of its population, prompted the faithful to cry out to the Mother of Our Lord to protect them at a time when the present moment and death were almost one.

(Bishop Fulton Sheen, The World’s First Love)

When Caterina was born in the fourteenth century, the Angelic Psalter (also called the Marian Psalter) wasn’t yet widespread. Even so, Caterina held a fervent devotion to the Blessed Mother, walking with her often in visions and ecstasies, enjoying her mystical presence. In one vision Mary gave Caterina the infant Child to cuddle to her breast, while in another our Lady presented her Son to Caterina as Divine Bridegroom.

Even though Caterina may not have been familiar with the Rosary, we can find traces of the devotion within many of her writings. Sparkling examples of how Caterina prayed—and taught others to pray—can be found in a variety of her letters as well as her book, the Dialogue. She emphasizes that mental prayer is superior over vocal prayer, but that the two season each other to produce rich spiritual fruits. God the Father reveals:

But if you should ask Me whether one should abandon vocal prayer, since it seems not everyone is drawn to mental prayer, the answer is no. A person has to walk step by step. I know well that, because the soul is imperfect before she is perfect, her prayer is imperfect as well. She should certainly, while she is imperfect, stay with vocal prayer so as not to fall into laziness, but she should not omit mental prayer. In other words, while she says the words she should make an effort to concentrate on My love, pondering at the same time her own sins and the Blood of my only-begotten Son.

(Dialogue 66)

The Rosary isn’t about reciting a series of rote prayers with a goal of saying the words simply to get through the entire string of beads. Rather, the true power of the Rosary rests in the mental prayer beneath the vocal—the meditations on the Mysteries of our Lord’s life so we can concentrate on His love, pondering the balance of our sin and the infinite divine mercy He holds within His sacred heart.

Caterina goes even further. Through her close union with God she receives the wisdom to understand the true secret to prayer. Although vocal prayers, such as the Our Father, Glory Be and Hail Mary, are essential stepping stones, when God seeks to speak to us in mental prayer we must stop our vocal prayer and listen to His words of loving grace.

Vocal prayer … is saying the Office or other prayer with the tongue. Its purpose is to bring us to mental prayer. We arrive at this when we wisely and humbly exercise our mind in vocal prayer. That is, when we speak with our tongue, our heart is not far from God. But we have to make an effort to establish and stabilize our heart in the affection of divine charity. And when we sense that our spirit is being visited by God—that is, when we are in some way drawn to think of our Creator—we should abandon vocal prayer and set our mind with love’s affection on what we sense as God’s visitation.

(Letter T353)

We shouldn’t pray the Rosary just to get through it, to say we recited five (or fifteen) decades and now our “duty” is done. Being fixated on the number of vocal prayers we recite can actually be a trap of the evil one, who is intent on preventing us from drawing closer to God. The Father reveals to Caterina:

If [the soul] looks only to the completion of her tally of prayers, or if she abandons mental prayer for vocal, she will never advance. A soul may set herself to say a certain number of oral prayers. But I may visit her spirit in one way or another, sometimes with a flash of self-knowledge or contrition for her sinfulness, sometimes in the greatness of my love setting before her mind the presence of My Truth in different ways, depending on My pleasure or her longings. And sometimes the soul will be so foolish as to abandon My visitation which she senses within her spirit, in order to complete her tally …

This is not the way she should act. If she did, she would be a dupe of the devil. No. As soon as she senses her spirit ready for my visitation, she ought to abandon vocal prayer. Then, after the mental prayer, if she has time, she can resume what she had set herself to say. If she does not have time she ought not worry or be annoyed or confounded in spirit …

Such prayer, made in the way I have told you, will bring her to perfection. This is why she should not abandon vocal prayer, whatever its form, but should advance step by step. Thus, with practice and perseverance she will experience prayer in truth.

(Dialogue 66)

The one exception is the Divine Office for those in a religious vocation. “Clerics and religious are obliged to say it, and sin if they do not say it.”

God reminds us all through St. Caterina that perfect prayer is achieved not with many words but with loving desire … In this way she will have vocal and mental prayer at the same time, for the two stand together like the active life and the contemplative life … courageously, then, should the soul spur herself on with prayer as her mother.

Perfect prayer consists in loving God, resting in His Truth, and allowing the Holy Ghost to infuse us with the grace of His presence. The prayers of the Holy Rosary act as a bridge between vocal prayer to mental prayer; from the sacred words of vocal prayer we can achieve higher levels of mental prayer, thereby enjoying true intimacy with our Lord.

If God graces us with His presence and we’re drawn into an intimate communion with Him—whether that be in conversation, thought, or remorse for sin—we shouldn’t cling to a certain number of repetitions of vocal prayer. Learning when to stop vocal prayer and allowing ourselves to sink into mental prayer will help us rise above everything within ourselves that is not of God so we may become “united with God in affectional love. In the light of understanding we see and know the truth and are clothed in it” (Letter T26). We become as a fish in the sea. “For then the soul is in God and God in the soul, just as the fish is in the sea and the sea in the fish” (Dialogue 2).

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Discernment of spirits is often difficult, especially for those who cling to spiritual consolations and crumble when God-given aridity hits. Although we have St. Ignatius as a profound guide, it can still be challenging to know whether our thoughts and inspirations come from the Holy Ghost or from the temptation of the evil one.

Even when a consolation seems good and holy, it may not be from God. The devil doesn’t always tempt us through vice or darkness—for those who try to be faithful to God, the devil arrives under a pretext of what seems to be light. Sometimes our seemingly-good inspirations are actually tricks—distractions to keep us from accomplishing the true will of God, or to yank us from the path of humility so we succumb to spiritual pride.

St. Catherine of Siena dictated her book—simply called The Dialogue—in 1377 while in mystical ecstasy. Speaking intimately with God over a span of several months, Caterina’s soul rose up with desire and a longing to hear her Beloved’s responses to her varied questions. At one point she asks about discernment: How can we tell if a consolation comes from God or from the devil?

The first—and most crucial—thing we must do if we’re to properly discern spirits is to remain humble. God gives us His graces in various ways, making His presence known through consolations as well as spiritual aridity. The aridity isn’t punishment, but rather a gift to increase our thirst for sanctity and our desire for union with God. The Father tells Caterina:

Sometimes I give the pleasure of a spiritual gladness; sometimes contrition and contempt for sin, which will make it seem as if the spirit is inwardly troubled. Sometimes I am in the soul without her sensing my presence …

All this I do out of love, to support her and make her grow in the virtue of humility and in perseverance and to teach her that she should not try to lay down rules for Me and that her goal is not consolation but only virtue built on Me. I want her to accept humbly, in season and out, with loving affection, the affection with which I give to her … Her beginning and end should be in the love of My charity, and in this charity she should accept pleasure and its absence in terms of My will rather than her own. This is the way to avoid delusion.

(Dialogue 68, Noffke translation)

Everything God gives or takes from us is accomplished to make us holy (1 Thess. 4:3), and the foundation of holiness is humility. Without humility, discernment is crippled; it becomes impossible to have the “eyes to see” or the “ears to hear” the spiritual truths our Lord is sending us (Matt. 13:16).

It’s a delusion to desire an experience of God according to our own conceptions or wishes. We must always humbly submit to His way, whether it comes in the form of consolation or God-willed aridity. Certainly when we’re in spiritual aridity we can pray for relief, but if that relief doesn’t arrive immediately—and if the aridity isn’t caused by a fault of our own—then we should accept what God is giving us in the present moment.

An example of aridity being the fault of our sin rather than a grace from God is given in Dialogue 69. God explains to Caterina—and to us—that some people yearn for His consolation to such a degree that they become spiritually greedy.

These people find all their pleasure in seeking their own spiritual consolation—so much so that often they see their neighbors in spiritual or temporal need and refuse to help them. Under the pretense of virtue they say, “It would make me lose my spiritual peace and quiet, and I would not be able to say my Hours at the proper time’ … But they are deceived by their own spiritual pleasure, and they offend me more by not coming to the help of their neighbors’ need than if they had abandoned all their consolations … When their charity for their neighbors is diminished, so is My love for them. And when My love is diminished, so is consolation.

The desire for consolations only, rather than accepting all phases of the spiritual journey, can also become selfish when we fall into bitterness or irritation during the times when consolations are withdrawn.

If their desire and searching is fixed only on consolations and visions, then they will fall into spiritual bitterness and weariness when they find themselves deprived of these. They think they have lost grace when sometimes I withdraw from their mind. Now I do often grant My servants consolations and visions. But I have told you how I go away from the soul and then return. I go away in feeling only, not in grace, and this to bring the soul to perfection. But this plunges these souls into bitterness …

They should not be foolish or let themselves be so deceived by that spiritual selfishness which does not know the truth. Rather they should know Me in themselves, that I am that supreme Good who supports their good will in time of conflict lest for the sake of pleasure they turn back. So they should humble themselves ... and this is precisely why I withdraw from them: to humble them and to make them know my charity toward them when they find it in the good will I support in them in time of conflict.

(Dialogue 70)

The devil delights in taking advantage of the soul plunged in spiritual selfishness. Taking on the guise of goodness and light, he gives whatever he sees the mind disposed to desire and receive. So when he sees the mind gluttonous, with its desire set only on spiritual visions and consolations … the devil presents himself to that mind under the appearance of light. He does this in different ways: now as an angel, now under the guise of my Truth, now as one or the other of my saints. And this he does to catch the soul with the hook of that very spiritual pleasure she has sought in visions and spiritual delight. And unless she rouses herself with true humility, scorning all pleasure, she will be caught on this hook in the devil’s hands. But let her humbly disdain pleasure and cling to love not for the gift but for Me, the giver. For the devil for all his pride cannot tolerate a humble spirit (Dialogue 71).

So how can we know if our spiritual consolation is from God or a trick of the evil one? God the Father gives us a simple and distinct rule of discernment.

If it is the devil who has come to visit the mind under the guise of light, the soul experiences gladness at his coming. But the longer he stays, the more gladness gives way to weariness and darkness and pricking as the mind becomes clouded over by his presence within. But when the soul is truly visited by Me, eternal Truth, she experiences holy fear at the first encounter. And with this fear comes gladness and security, along with a gentle prudence that does not doubt even while it doubts, but through self-knowledge considers itself unworthy. So the soul says, ‘I am not worthy to receive your visitation—but how can I be worthy?’ Then she turns to the greatness of My charity, knowing and seeing that I can grant it. For I look not to her unworthiness but to My worth, and so make her worthy to receive Me. For I do not scorn the longing with which she calls to Me … She emerges from the course of prayer and My visitation with spiritual gladness and joy, in humility considering herself unworthy, and in charity acknowledging that it was from Me.

(Dialogue 71)

The key to discernment is humility and a hunger for virtue. If spiritual consolation leaves us filled with humility and gratitude for God’s graces, and if our thirst for doing God’s will in all things increases—regardless of the circumstances, in both consolation and aridity—then we can discern that the consolations come from the Holy Ghost. If, however, the so-called “consolations” leave us feeling puffed with pride for our supposed spiritual advancement, or clouded with a sense of foreboding or spiritual confusion, the “consolation” is a spiritual trick and temptation.

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If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

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Today I had the honor of having my book reviewed by Paloma & Fig, a site dedicated to creative Catholic evangelization. Titled “Novel As Veneration: Jenny DuBay’s World Between Worlds” lead editor Franci Revel Eckensberger reflects:

In duBay’s vivid Siena, we’re placed in a medieval atmosphere of church bells and incense drifting on the air, candles flickering over a tumultuous childbirth, the austerity of the curia a setting all its own. Plague stalks the entire work and infuses the mystical with inevitable mortality. We touch the raw wool that Catherine’s father dyes for a living and feel the arid heat of a city in perpetual drought, inhabited by a people marked by war and political turmoil. Though focused on Catherine’s young life, World Between Worlds lays the foundation for everything that is to follow.

duBay’s writing is epic, fervent and painterly in its detail, tender and moving in individual scenes and in overall effect. Historical novels, especially those set in medieval times, can so often feel canned or ballooning with facts, lacking the power we ask of fiction to go beyond information and into transformation. This one does not. duBay has inhabited the world and mind of her character such that her extensive research has emulsified into a living story. Its heart has a beat, and it’s almost like novel as veneration. Honest and dramatic, it both educated me and moved me to tears on more than one occasion, particularly when it dipped into such achingly reverent, personal language from Catherine to Christ that I felt almost forced to stop reading and begin praying myself.

For this reason, I’m inclined to also call it novel as evangelization.

In his Letter to Women, St. John Paul II named Catherine directly, holding her up alongside Teresa of Ávila as evidence of what he called the feminine genius, the particular gift women bring to the Church and to the world. He wrote that women see persons “with their hearts,” independently of systems or ideologies. Catherine did this, and as a novelist, duBay does, too.

I’m grateful for this chance to be reviewed by Paloma & Fig, and I’m pleased to share the review with my readers.

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If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

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I admit it—I’m a bit behind the times, and I like it that way. When I was a teenager I developed a deep appreciation for Simon and Garfunkel, despite the fact that they’d been popular many decades before I discovered them. I then dove into the solo career of Paul Simon, finding delight in his artistic lyrics and ever-evolving musical style. Despite the fact that he’s 84 years old, even time can’t stop Rhymin’ Simon—he’s on tour yet again, so to prepare for the upcoming concert this summer, my husband and I have been listening to his music with a renewed appreciation.

Bridge Over Troubled Water has always been one of my favorite songs, and while listening to the lyrics the other day, I began thinking about St. Catherine of Siena. Okay, so when am I ever not thinking about my lovely saint? Still, the song took on new meaning as I began meditating upon St. Catherine’s teaching of Christ as our Bridge over the turbulent waters of sin—the Bridge that unites heaven to earth with its salvific grace.

In the Dialogue God the Father speaks to St. Catherine and, by extension, to all of us:

With sin there came at once the flood of a stormy river that beat against them constantly with its waves, bringing weariness and troubles from themselves as well as from the devil and the world. You were all drowning … But I wanted to undo these great troubles of yours. So I gave you a Bridge, My Son, so that you could cross over the river, the stormy sea of this darksome life, without being drowned (D21).

Our great Lord also speaks the same message through secular music. Imagine Him singing these words over you:

When you’re weary
Feeling small
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all

I’m on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can’t be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Christ lays down on the wood of the Cross; raised high for our salvation, He is the Bridge we must travel in order to reach eternal life.

Even when I was away from the Church and mired deep in sin, the Holy Spirit imprinted this truth deep into my heart. Although it took me years to finally get the message through my thick skull and into my hardened heart, He never gave up His gentle message of love and salvation.

When I was away from the Church for all those long, dark years a recurring dream frequently haunted me, a dream consisting of turbulent water, a bridge, sin and redemption. I hadn’t yet learned about St. Catherine of Siena, and was completely ignorant of her teachings or for my dire need of salvation. Even so, God spoke to me in ways similar to the message He conveyed to her.

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As a coastal girl, I know the rhythms of the tides well; the undulating swell of waves, the whisper or shout of the water’s unceasing voice. In my frequent dream it was always night, yet my surroundings were easily visible because of the glowing full moon above my head.

The tide was high, and the pull of the moon—coupled with a recent storm—caused the water to rise more than usual. As I walked down the road with a few companions, we suddenly came upon a large washed-out section stretching ahead of us. An inlet of the ocean spread on both sides, and the path before us had vanished. The water looked deep, turbulent and intimidating. Not knowing how to swim, I shrank back in fear of drowning.

No words were spoken between myself and my companions. They were all behind me; apparently I had to lead. But how? I was too terrified of the water, of its power to pull me under and keep me there until no life-breath remained.

As I stood, wondering what to do, an inner Voice of reassurance promised that if I had faith, I wouldn’t drown. There was a bridge just below the water, and if I trusted, I could simply walk across the bridge to the other side, where dry land awaited.

Taking the first step was frightening. Water surrounded me on both sides, yet I knew I had to keep going. I had to have faith that Someone larger than myself was directing me, so I moved forward. As I continued walking, joy and relief washed over my body—there was indeed a bridge just beneath the surface, causing the water to rise only to my ankles.

After reaching the other side, I turned around to let my companions know that they, too, could easily cross—only to discover that the water had receded and was no longer covering the bridge. Visible to all, dry and sturdy, the bridge over troubled waters had turned out to be the Bridge of safety and salvation.

I now understand so much more about this recurring dream than I did twenty years ago when God was calling me home to Him. Back then, lost and drowning in my lack of faith, I didn’t know St. Caterina or her teaching on Christ as the Bridge stretching from heaven to earth. I didn’t realize the turbulent water represented my sin, or that the Holy Spirit was calling me to regain my faith in Jesus, God’s only begotten Son. Despite my stubborn ignorance and insistent sin, Christ refused to give up on me.

Such is the mystery of faith, and the powerful shadow of Divine Mercy.

God was perpetually singing to me:

When you’re down and out
When you’re on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you

I’ll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Christ has made of Himself a Bridge, a Bridge made of the wood the most holy Cross.

The breadth and length and height and depth of the Supreme Deity stooped to earth in Christ’s humanity, bridging the wide and otherwise insurmountable gap between God and man that occurred with original sin.

And why should He have made of Himself a roadway? So that you might in truth come to the same joy as the angels. But My Son’s having made of Himself a Bridge for you could not bring you to life unless you make your way along that Bridge.

If I’d refused God’s invitation to faith, if I’d allowed my sin and fear to keep me hunkered on the wrong side of the road, the waves would have eventually engulfed me. Jesus is a chivalrous gentleman—He never forces or coerces. We must listen to that still, soft inner Voice urging us to deeper and greater faith, then we must step out, despite anxiety or hesitation, and embrace the wood of the Cross, the Bridge uniting us to the Father.

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

Here the eternal Truth was showing that, although He had created us without our help, He will not save us without our help. He wants us to set our wills with full freedom to spending our time in true virtue.

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If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

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St. Catherine of Siena doesn’t mince words. Her writings are bold, daring, forthright and to the point. She doesn’t water down the truth of Christianity or the effects of sin, and she constantly urges her disciples not to fall into lukewarm faith. Our souls are in constant motion, she teaches, and if “they don’t move forward they necessarily go backward,” as she explains to her spiritual director, Frate Raimondo da Capua (Letter T272).

In Letter T139 to her cousin Tommaso della Fonte, written in December 1375, Caterina says, “How I long to see you massacred on the tree of the sweet beloved cross—but not without me!”

That image, along with the word massacred, is a jolt to the senses, providing a visual awareness of what it takes to persevere in the spiritual life. To be crucified with Christ is to give our all, our everything, our very lives to Divine Will—no matter what God may ask of us. Jesus’ death is the ultimate sacrifice of self-will, something we’re all called to imitate on a spiritual level, not once but each and every moment of our lives.

Jesus had to undergo the most radical transformation, the most extreme example of Divine Will, so that us regular folks could get it through our rock-hard brains, so we could begin to understand how we’re meant to live our lives. Even so, we continually deny the Christ-like beauty within ourselves by failing to listen to the Holy Spirit’s guidance.

We tend to sacrifice only what feels comfortable to us. We’re often terrified of going too far, which blocks us from continuing on the path that leads to a mystical death on the cross, which is true unity with God.

To be “nailed fast to the cross,” as Caterina so often says, is to completely surrender, to release ourselves to Divine Will and to place our complete trust in the blessings that are sure to follow. It’s to realize on the deepest, most intuitive level that the spiritual path is far from easy, yet always of the utmost reward: the fruits always profoundly outweigh the sacrifice, as we see in the Resurrection. Had Jesus not been willing to give everything to His Father’s will, we never would have seen the mystery of the Resurrection nor been offered ultimate salvation.

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Jesus’ sacrifice was God’s will because of the fruits. The crucifixion shows us that we need to give our all—no matter what that “all” turns out to be—and fully trust in the momentum of the Holy Spirit. Whatever God asks of us, no matter how difficult or strenuous it may initially seem, is always for the best, most powerful, and highest good. It will always produce the most fruits, and those fruits will always be lush and juicy. This is a Spirit-given guarantee.

As Caterina explains to Raimondo, referring to herself in the third person:

She saw in the abyss of God’s charity that He was supreme eternal Goodness, and how for love alone He had created all people and redeemed them with the blood of His Son. And with this very same love He has given whatever He has given, difficulties as well as consolation. Everything is given for love and to provide for our salvation, and for no other reason.

(Letter T272)

Yet truly believing in the power of Divine Will may be a challenge. It’s not difficult tell God, “Not my will, but Yours be done” as we sit in our comfortable homes with a full belly and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s a far different matter to lose our job and our house in the same week, and not panic but rather feel at peace while repeating, “God’s will be done.” When we can’t see that a better job and an ideal home are waiting for us around the corner, depression or desperation tends to set in. One of our primary lessons in life is to stop questioning, to release in faith, and to let God work fully in our lives.

Caterina taught that to be crucified with Christ means to allow Jesus to dwell in us at all times, in every circumstance, particularly the ones in which we feel as if we’re being massacred; to annihilate our self-will to such a degree that fear and doubt have no place in our lives. It’s to trust God fully, absolutely, and without reservation even when life throws us the toughest curve-balls. It’s to surrender to Divine Will, to release ourselves so we may be filled with resurrected Light.

When we break the word massacred down, that blessed Light suddenly emerges. We realize that by giving up the surface-self, by allowing God’s will to envelope us, we emerge from feeling massacred to being sacred. We are resurrected, in body and soul.

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If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

Caterina of Siena—more commonly known as Catherine, the English version of her name—was a bold Italian mystic of the 14th century who died in 1380, was canonized as a saint by Pope Pius II in 1461, and was named a Doctor of the Church by Pope Paul VI in 1970. For their protection and well-being, women in the medieval world were expected to either join a convent or marry, yet Caterina did neither. Realizing her call was to a spiritual life, yet also recognizing that her mission wasn’t to remain secluded but rather to teach God’s graces to others, Caterina did what no one of her young age (not quite 20) had yet to do—she joined the Mantellate.

The Mantellate were a Third Order of Dominican women who, although they wore a habit to distinguish their calling, were not nuns. This group of women, plentiful in the Tuscan region of Caterina’s birth, consisted of older ladies who lived in their own homes while maintaining a spiritual lifestyle of what I call the “Trinity of C’s”—charity, chastity, and community.

They vowed to give their all to God, meaning they served their community in whatever way they were able, such as charitable hospital work, ministering to the poor, and other deeds we’d now call “community service.” The chastity bit was a given—they were all older widows, and didn’t go gadding about with foolish young gentlemen. They were over that already.

However, there are two things we need to understand about the Mantellate in order to fully grasp Caterina’s out-of-the-box mission and why her lifestyle was constantly criticized (she was at risk for being condemned as a heretic on several occasions—and it was her own order, the Dominicans, who were in charge of the Inquisitional judgments).

First, although the Dominicans are known as the “Order of Preachers,” women didn’t liturgically preach—instead, their strengths rested in tending to the physical needs of others, providing emotional support, and even in private spiritual counsel. Even though, after three years of seclusion which allowed her to develop spiritual unity and strength, Caterina began her public life caring for the sick and poor, she soon realized her calling was much broader than the hospital walls of the Santa Maria della Scala in Siena, or even the walls of Siena itself.

Caterina was being called to do more, to teach and guide not only to her large group of close followers whom she began to call her spiritual famiglia, but also queens (such as Giovanna, Queen of Naples), vicious mercenaries (such as the Englishman, John Hawkwood), prostitutes and hermits, government officials, and even the pope himself (two, actually—Gregory XI and Urban VI).

Preaching and teaching was something women in the fourteenth century did not often do—yet Caterina did, and she did it well.

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Another issue with the Mantellate was that this Third Order consisted of widows and elderly women only; no flighty young people were allowed. A young person hadn’t gained enough wisdom (or so the theory went) and besides, she would be too much of a beautiful temptation to men. Since the Mantellate weren’t cloistered, the risk of scandal should a young member be discovered snatching kisses behind the Duomo was too great.

As was her custom, Caterina broke all boundaries. Although she was a lovely young woman with a brilliant smile which many of her contemporaries couldn’t help but comment upon, she managed to convince the Mantellate superiors to accept her into their order. Through expressing her spiritual wisdom and firm theological knowledge—and also by conveniently contracting smallpox, which left her disfigured long enough to convince the Mantellate that she was too ugly to be a sexual threat—she was accepted into the Order at the ripe young age of eighteen (or thereabouts).

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Becoming a Mantellate gave Caterina the protection she would have enjoyed if she’d married. It also allowed her a freedom she never could have had if she’d she entered a convent. It was the best of both worlds—at least for her calling.

As was her custom, Caterina ignored all social boundaries, much to the dismay of proper old ladies and certain stuffy church folk —and much to the delight of everyone else.

Even so, to become a spiritual director to many—including men—wasn’t something she was supposed to do, yet as was her habit she ignored human-made boundaries and continued to follow the will of God without question. As always happens when we devote ourselves to God’s will without reservation or question, things began to fall into place for Caterina, and her deeply-spiritual (yet also political) mission began to take on a God-willed life of its own. She even she helped convince Pope Gregory XI to return to Rome during a time when the papacy had been lounging in Avignon.

Because of her mission, which led her to spiritually teach both laymen and religious prelates, Caterina’s experience of spiritual direction was both vast and profound. Through it all, the core of her teaching rested on one principal—surrender to Divine Will. Caterina has been described as being as rich and profound as Tuscan wine, and certainly her contagious spirituality rested largely in the fact that she taught only what she herself practiced. Those teachings left her followers feeling intoxicated with Divine grace.

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Early in her career, as she was still spiritually developing, Caterina had a vision in which God said to her, “Do you know who you are?” Silent, waiting, anticipating, Caterina then felt God continue, “You are she who is not. I am the One Who Is.”

I Am Who I Am (Exodus 3:14).

Caterina took this to heart. All we have, all we are, all we are given, are gifts from God. In ourselves we are nothing, we have no existence. Everything can be traced back to God’s blessings, and in order to take full advantage of a life of grace, we must fully surrender to Divine Will. From that point forward Caterina developed an astute ability to see God’s will in all things, a lesson she never forgot.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

I used to be like that dove, hiding in the clefts of my own isolation. It felt too scary to go out into the world—a world where once I’d allowed myself to be lovingly vulnerable, only to have my gift of vulnerability trampled upon.

If you’ve ever endured any sort of trauma, you may be able to relate. It often becomes easier to hide away. Yes, it’s lonely inside that bubble of self-isolation, but at least it feels safer.

Yet Jesus doesn’t want that sort of life for us. In His infinite love, He desires that we not merely survive this life, gripping on in fear of what might come next, but He longs for us to thrive. He calls us out of our hiding place—out of ourselves, and into Him. He is calling, singing to each and every one of us.

To open our ears to God’s call is a grace and a blessing. He speaks in a variety of ways, depending upon our own unique personality, charisms, and situations in life. Sometimes He’ll sing His song over us through the voice of others, sometimes in books, music, or art. At other times He speaks directly to the soul, infusing her with supernatural peace. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid,” Jesus reminds us (John 14:27).

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Once I began to more actively seek His graces, I discovered the voice of my Bridegroom was often difficult to hear. My internal turmoil was still too noisy; that “still, small Voice” was easily drowned out by interior bustle, worries and anxieties, negative self-talk and doubt. All that internal chatter was making havoc of my vineyard, the place where my soul dwells with God. I knew I needed to catch those wily foxes, the darting thoughts and worrisome reflections that took up too much room in my head.

Quieting the mind can be difficult, and as with all things I have to continually ask for the grace to be still. St. Teresa of Avila recommends beginning each prayer time with “the examination of conscience, the act of contrition, and the sign of the cross” (The Way of Perfection, ch. 26). Learning to recite these prayers not in rote repetition but slowly and thoughtfully brings them—and myself—directly into the presence of the Bridegroom. I visualize Him with me, knowing He is truly there. When my mind inevitably wanders yet again, I have to recollect myself by bringing my intellect back to the presence of Jesus. Patience with myself is also a virtue I’m learning to cultivate, because bringing my thoughts back to God is something I have to do often.

The unknown author of the fourteenth century text, The Cloud of Unknowing, puts it this way: “Lift up your heart towards God with a humble stirring of love; and think of Himself, not of any good to be gained from Him. See, too, that you refuse to think of anything but Him, so that nothing acts in your intellect or will but God Himself.”

That’s a hard task to sustain for any length of time, with my whizzing mind all awhirl, but through His grace it can be done.

Simply repeating the divine name of Jesus every time my mind strays helps to keep it centered on Christ. With enough patience, persistence, and prayers for grace, the ears of my soul are learning how to shut the gate of my vineyard so the foxes can’t creep in. Only Jesus is allowed within my interior vineyard, as He softly sings His healing words to my soul.

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One of the devil’s biggest traps—a temptation he employs frequently—is that of discouragement. When we become discouraged, emotional exhaustion and spiritual apathy settle in. If we don’t recognize discouragement for what it is—a temptation to be avoided—and if we don’t fight against it through means of constant humble prayer, we are likely to sink lower into despondency.

I once gave in to discouragement. My life held a great deal of grief and trauma, and I could see no way out. Confusion, chaos, gaslighting and verbal tirades had left me exhausted to the utmost. Although I still prayed, I also sunk into discouragement, a crushing discouragement that pulled me away from my true self and what God wanted me to do. Instead, I was immersed in fear and hopelessness—I was not who God wanted me to be. My soul moved backward.

If I’d rooted myself in what St. Catherine of Siena calls the “house of self-knowledge,” despair wouldn’t have found a foothold within my soul. If I had focused on the One Who Is rather than on my misery, the trap would not have closed in upon me.

The house of self- knowledge consists of the knowledge of ourselves—that without God, we are nothing—seasoned with the knowledge of God within us—that we are made in His image and likeness and redeemed by the Precious Blood of His Son.

So indeed it is true that of ourselves we are nothing ... This ought to make us always lowly and humble.

But it would not be good to dwell exclusively in this knowledge of ourselves because we would become discouraged and weary, and from discouragement we would end up in despair. Now the devil wants nothing more than to lead us to discouragement, so that he can eventually bring us to despair. So we ought to dwell in knowledge of God’s goodness within us, realizing that He has created us in His own image and likeness and created us anew to grace in the Blood of His only-begotten Son, the gentle Word incarnate, and that God’s goodness is continually at work in us. But note, on the other hand, that it wouldn’t be good to dwell excessively in this knowledge of God, because we would become proud and presumptuous. So the one knowledge should always be combined with the knowledge of ourselves. Then we will be humble, patient, and meek.

( St. Catherine of Siena, Letter T23)

In other words, the house of self-knowledge consists of the knowledge that we are black but lovely (Song of Songs 1:5). We have become blackened with sin, shame and weakness, yet because we have been made in God’s image and redeemed by Our Bridegroom, He can truly say to us, “How beautiful you are my love, how beautiful you are!” (Sg 4:1)

Yet it can be difficult to remember God’s truth about ourselves. There are times we doubt His word, or feel such dryness in prayer that the beauty of Scripture reaches our heads but not our hearts. Perhaps the impact of the world feels too great of a burden, as once it did for me. Those are the times we mut be on our guard against discouragement. Our purely human discouragement can all too quickly open the door to the temptation of spiritual despair.

The faithful can’t be tempted with overt vices and evil, such as lust or gluttony or any of the other deadly sins. Instead, the devil must be more covert, “the most crafty of all the creatures” (Gen. 3:1). That’s why he tries to use discouragement to lead the faithful astray and into despair. He doesn’t want us to dwell in our house of self-knowledge or realize how beautiful we are as God continuously gazes at us.

[The devil] cannot trick God’s servants with what is obviously evil or with an excessively broad conscience, so he tries to trick them with scrupulosity and unwarranted discouragement, under the pretext of virtue … The devil cannot use what is obviously evil to make God’s servants fall, so he tries to use the appearance of virtue to make them fall. And so he gains more ground with them by means of discouragement than in any other way.

(St. Catherine of Siena, Letter T335)

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The key to avoiding discouragement is to remain in our house of self-knowledge, grounded in the humble truth of who we are as children of our heavenly Father, enveloped with the peaceful knowledge that of ourselves we can do nothing, but in Christ we can do all things (Phil. 4:13).

Understand that God allows these ordeals only so that we may test in ourselves the virtues of patience and courage and perseverance. These virtues have their wellspring in self-knowledge … Wise people realize this, and they are happy in time of struggle because they see that God allows it to make them grow into greater and more proven virtue. For virtue is tested and seen to be truly virtue only through what is contrary to it.

Remaining in prayer during times of discouragement—especially if prayer seems dry and lifeless—gives us the stamina of spirit that is required to continue the soul’s journey toward God. By not giving up on prayer and not giving in to desolation, we open our souls to receive the shower of graces our Lord longs to give us. By this persistence in prayer, our Divine Bridegroom will see how much we love and desire Him—which greatly consoles His Sacred Heart.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

Our souls are vineyards planted by God the Father and watered by the precious Blood of His Son.

We are all called to be an unsullied garden, but we were also given free will—and we often make the wrong choices, choices which leave the gate of our soul open to intrusions of the evil one. The foxes enter, “the little foxes that make havoc of the vineyards” just when “our vineyards are in flower” (Song of Songs 2:15). The foxes seek to trample our flowers, those blossoms of grace that will grow into rich fruit if we are steadfast and diligent, determined to catch anything that might lessen our fervor for a relationship with God.

The “worker” of the vineyard is our free will; God longs to fully dwell in our vineyard, but He’ll only do so if we align our free will to His holy eternal will. When we align with His will, we open the gate of our vineyard to receive the graces He longs to cultivate within us. The Divine Mercy of God has given us all the sustenance we need for a rich harvest; the vines are nurtured and watered by the precious Blood of His Son. “In the center of the vineyard the Master has put a jug, the heart, filled with the Blood to irrigate the plants so they will not wither.”

If we don’t align our free will with God’s will—if the worker doesn’t cultivate the vineyard rightly and well—we’ll yield wild grapes only (Isa. 5:2). If we don’t open the gates of our souls to God’s nourishing cultivation our vineyards will become a wasteland, “not pruned or hoed, and briers and thorns shall grow up” (Isa. 5:6).

Again quoting St. Catherine of Siena, if we allow “the venom of selfish love” to poison and corrupt the worker of the vineyard, it “produces either deadly fruit or wild and sour fruit.” This causes the vineyard to become “disgustingly ugly … a thicket, with thorns of pride and avarice, with brambles of anger and impatience … this garden isn’t enclosed but wide open, and so the enemies, the devils, come in as if it were their home.” This is the opposite of how we should be; when our vineyard is healthy and our worker immersed in God’s charity, rejecting all selfish self-will, then our Bridegroom can truly say to our soul:

“She is a garden enclosed, my sister, my promised bride; a garden enclosed, a sealed fountain.

(Song of Songs 4:12)

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When we allow the Gardner to place seeds of truth in our hands, when we follow His will and plant where and how He so lovingly asks, the seeds will sprout in abundance. Nourished by the holy Blood, they obtain all they need to grow into plump, sweet grapes. At harvest the Gardner becomes the Divine Winemaker. We give to Him the grapes that we, through His grace, have harvested. He crushes them under His precious feet, extracting the bountiful juice, turning our empty nothingness into wine—rich, intoxicating wine to be poured out for the benefit of our neighbors, to all those wedding guests in need of our Lord’s nourishing goodness.

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World Between Worlds, my historical novel on the early life of St. Catherine of Siena, is set in the chaotic and tumultuous era of the fourteenth century. I’ve consistently heard from readers how they instantly felt like they were in Caterina’s world while reading my novel: they could smell the scents, feel the stone, see the rolling Tuscan hills and gorgeous cathedrals.

Here’s my secret: I was able to so vividly describe the world of Caterina of Siena because I’ve been there. Obviously not in the fourteenth century (that would be a bit daft), but I’ve traveled to the places Caterina lived in order to better grasp her personality, lifestyle, theology, and social outlook on life.

When I first began researching the life and times of St. Catherine of Siena, I intended to write just one novel based on her life. Yet the tumult and triumph of the fourteenth century—and Caterina’s impactful contribution to Church and society—proved to be so involved, so intriguing, and so intense that I soon realized I couldn’t put it all in one novel.

I’m now hard at work on the sequel to World Between Worlds, with a goal of crafting a story as vivid, poetic, and engaging as the first. With that goal in mind, on October 6 I’ll embark on another pilgrimage / research trip to Europe. Enjoying the companionship of my trusted chauffeur and beloved sidekick (a.k.a. my husband), I’ll once again be following in the footsteps of Caterina, the spirited little woman from Siena. She traveled to Avignon, so we’ll be traveling to Avignon. She spent time in Florence, Pisa and Lucca, so off we go to explore those cities. My husband’s patron saint is Francis of Assisi, so we’ll also head over to Umbria and pay our respects to St. Francis and St. Clare, as well as Sts. Carlo Acutis, Angela of Foligno, Clare of Montefalco, and Agnes of Montepulciano.

And, of course, we’ll be back in Siena.

I won’t be writing articles during this October pilgrimage, so you won’t hear from me again for several weeks. In the meantime, please know that I appreciate all of my faithful readers, and will be keeping you all in my prayers. If you have any specific prayer requests you’d like me bring to the various sacred sites I’ll be visiting, please let me know either in the comments below, or through a direct message. I’ve been compiling a document of all prayer requests so I can bring them to the sacred saint of your choice, for their holy intercession.

If you want to travel with me on this glorious journey, I plan to post photos and updates on my social media. Follow me here on Substack, as well as on Instagram and Facebook. The content will be different for each site, so following all of my social media will give you the full experience.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

During her years of formation, when St. Catherine of Siena was immersing herself in prayer, holy study, and growth in virtue, she experienced a vivid vision in which Christ appeared to her and took out her beating heart. In the words of Raimondo of Capua, Caterina’s primary confessor:

Coming to her in the now accustomed way, [Christ] seemed to open her left side, take out her heart, and carry it away. The vision was so realistic, and so confirmed by the evidence of her own physical condition, that when she went to confession afterwards she told her confessor that she no longer had a heart within her breast. He only laughed at this, and then seriously took her to task for saying such a thing. But she emphatically repeated it, saying ‘It is a fact, Father. As far as I can judge from what I feel in my body, I seem no longer to have any heart in it.’

This tale is a bit odd to our modern mindsets. How can we understand Caterina’s insistence that she lived without a heart for three days before Christ deposited His own heart within the cavity of her chest?

We must understand that medieval people lived in a sacramental worldview in which all things held sublime meanings beyond the obvious. To speak in what sounds like literal terms was the only way Caterina could express the totality of her experience in a supernatural—and superabundant—way.

In medieval theology, the heart was thought to be the literal ‘seat of the soul’; the soul physically dwelled in the heart and in the blood. Christ appearing to Caterina and taking her heart from her body—in answer to her insistent and persistent three-year prayer (‘Create in me a clean heart, O God)—means He completely emptied her soul of all that was not of Him.

Christ allowed Caterina to live in this holy emptiness for three days (comparable to three days in the tomb) in order to complete her purification before He fully entered and possessed her heart, taking it to Himself. During those three days Caterina was in a sort of World Between Worlds (hence the title of my novel based on the life of Caterina). In Il Libro (the Dialogue) she records God the Father describing her experience in this way:

“She does not seem to be in the world, because she is in fact not there; nor does she seem to be in Me, because she has no feeling at all other than that her will does not want to sin.”

(Dialogue 144)

After the three days, Christ again appeared to Caterina in a mystical vision and gave her His heart by filling the empty jug of her own heart with His most holy and precious Blood. Since the soul dwells in the heart and blood, Christ’s soul now inhabited Caterina’s body in not just a spiritual, but in a physical way. That’s why she described this intense mystical union in a seemingly literal manner—it was the only way to even begin reaching the intensity of what happened when she opened herself to fully uniting her free will with Divine Will.

Diving deeper into Caterina’s intriguing theology of the heart, in several of her letters she compared the heart to a lamp, based on the parable of the ten virgins in Mathew 25:1-13.

The lamp symbolizes our heart. You can see that a lamp is wide on the top and narrow lower down. This is how your heart is shaped as well, to symbolize that we ought always to keep it wide at the top in affection of Christ crucified.

Our hearts should be expansive, loving Him and holding onto Him with true and holy determination. There you will find the fire of divine charity revealed to you in Christ’s wounds, and His open side will show you the secret of His heart, that what He has given and done for us He has done in simple love. This is where you will find deep and sincere humility, which is the oil that feeds the flame and light in the heart of Christ’s bride.

I said that a lamp is narrow lower down, and so should our heart be. The meaning of this is that our heart ought to be narrow where these earthly things are concerned by not desiring or loving them inordinately. We should not hanker after more than God chooses to give us, but should always be thanking Him, seeing how tenderly He provides for us so we never want for anything.

(Letters T23 and 112)

When the vessel of the heart is totally filled with Christ’s life-giving Blood, it can’t contain itself with such an infusion of intense love. It pours itself out to its neighbors, like rich intoxicating wine. We should all strive to be like the wine vessels of Cana, empty and waiting for the infusion of God’s Love, eager for our meager water to be transformed to the richest wine, desiring to be poured out for the sanctification of others.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

I recently had the honor of being interviewed by Dominic de Souza on the Legend Fiction Show about my book, World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena. It was such a fun, engaging interview in which we discussed how I came to write the book, how to understand St. Caterina through a medieval worldview, and more.

You can watch the video here, and below is Dominic’s commentary on our conversation:

Jenny duBay never set out to write a saint’s life. She just stumbled on a footnote about a strange woman who fasted and convinced a pope to come back to Rome—and something in her lit up. Years later, after research, prayer, and walking Siena’s streets, that spark turned into her first novel, World Between Worlds.

It’s the story of St. Catherine of Siena, told as if you could smell the incense, hear the bells, feel her wrestling with God. Jenny calls it 'bringing the mystics back to life,' because their words don’t come fully alive until you step into their world.

For her, Catherine was the one who dragged her back to the Church. For her readers, Catherine becomes a voice on fire, reminding us that union with God is flesh, blood, and the hard work of surrender.

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Jenny duBay

Jenny duBay’s story begins in a dark place.

A survivor of domestic abuse and betrayal trauma, she had walked through what she called her “dark years.” She trained as a certified trauma-informed coach, determined to help other women find a path forward. Suffering, she believed, could either be a dead end or a doorway. She found a way to open the door.

But, even while coaching, fiction remained her first love.

She had been writing stories since childhood, pestering her mother for spelling help at the age of four to finish her first little book. Fiction didn’t always pay the bills, but it kept her heart alive. Coaching gave her freedom, such as her own hours, her own clients, while writing gave her soul the fire to create.

That fire eventually found its fuel in a surprising place: the life of St. Catherine of Siena.

Surprised by Siena

Jenny admitted she hadn’t grown up knowing much about the saints, even though she was raised Catholic. She had drifted away from the church as an adult, but her interest in Christian mysticism lingered.

One day, while reading Barbara Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror, a history of the fourteenth century, a name leapt out at her: a young woman who had persuaded the pope to return to Rome. The reference was brief, but it lit something in Jenny.

“I could physically feel a spark,” she recalled. Who was this woman? Why had she never heard of her? She had to know.

What she discovered was both unsettling and irresistible. Catherine fasted severely, starved herself, and spoke often of blood and ‘vomiting sin.’

At first Jenny thought, this woman sounds strange. But the strangeness pulled her in. Catherine, she realized, was living in a world whose mindset was different to modern readers. To understand her, Jenny would have to inhabit that world.

Into the Medieval Mind

So she did. She spent four years reading, researching, and praying. She wrote her first draft of World Between Worlds nearly a decade ago, but then set it aside. Only later, with fresh conviction and inspiration, did she pull it back out, revise it, and begin to pursue publication.

Along the way she traveled to Siena multiple times, even staying in a hotel built into Catherine’s childhood home. She walked the streets, listened to the cathedral bells roll across the hills, and imagined the girl who had once heard those same bells centuries before.

“It’s in my soul now,” she said. “Because I could put myself there, I could put my readers there.”

The result was a debut novel of nearly 500 pages. It did not cover Catherine’s entire life, only her beginnings: the vision at age six that sealed her devotion to Christ, her decision to resist the expectations of marriage or convent, and the years she spent locked in prayer before being called out into a turbulent world.

Jenny ended the novel just as Catherine was about to begin her public ministry. The sequel, she promised, would tell the rest.

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Readers responded with awe. Again and again, they told her, “I felt like I was there.” They smelled the smoke, heard the bells, walked the hills. Jenny had managed to translate a medieval mystic into a living presence.

That act of translation was not simple. Catherine’s words could be bewildering to modern ears. She spoke often of blood, urging readers to “drown in the blood of Christ,” “drink the blood of Christ,” “immerse yourself.”

At first, Jenny recoiled. But as she dug into medieval beliefs, she saw what Catherine meant.

In that world, the soul was thought to reside in the heart, and the heart gave blood. Breathing in the atmosphere around you meant mingling spirits through the blood.

For Catherine, union with Christ was not a metaphor. It was like a mystical blood transfusion. Jenny explained, “If Catherine had known about blood transfusions, she would have said, ‘That’s it—that’s what I mean.’”

Finding Catherine’s Voice

Jenny wanted readers to hear Catherine in her own voice rather than through layers of modern commentary. She prayed before writing, asking for the saint’s intercession, and then let the words come.

She revised carefully, resisting the temptation to polish so much that her own style would replace Catherine’s. The novel, she felt, was more than hers alone, it was Catherine’s.

Her website tagline captured that mission: “Bringing medieval mystics back to life.”

For Jenny, that meant more than novelizing Catherine’s visions. It meant immersing herself in the medieval world until she could tease out what the mystics were really saying.

She believed modern readers too often held mystics at arm’s length, like we’re wearing oven mitts, afraid to take them seriously. By entering their world, she hoped to show their radical wisdom in fresh light.

The Words of Christ

The process changed her. Catherine’s voice, she explained, was the one that called her back to the church. Her sayings still haunted Jenny. Chief among them was the dialogue where Catherine heard God say: “My daughter, do you know who you are? You are she who is not. I am the one who is.”

Jenny prayed into that often, finding both humility and strength in it. Catherine’s other famous line echoed through her work: “If you are who you ought to be, you will set the world on fire.”

Jenny believed those truths weren’t meant only for fourteenth-century Tuscany. They were meant for readers now, who lived in their own times of turmoil and hunger for God. “Who are we meant to be?” she asked. “We are nothing on our own. But with him, we can do all things.”

As World Between Worlds is published, Jenny already prepares for the sequel. She has planned more trips through Italy and France, tracing Catherine’s journeys to Pisa, Lucca, Avignon, and even the cave of Mary Magdalene.

On Substack, Jenny duBay | Create Soul Space, she writes shorter reflections—some on trauma recovery, some on Catherine and other mystics, weaving together the two threads of her life: healing and story.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

St. Catherine of Siena’s astounding spiritual life didn’t begin with education, theological degrees, or social prestige. It began in the heart—the open heart, the childlike heart, a heart unafraid to receive love and longing to love in return.

At the age of six, Caterina was infused with a mystical vision that filled her soul with the richness of Christ’s love. When walking home from her elder sister’s house one evening, she beheld an amazing vision of Christ and His saints above San Domenico basilica, the church located just a few paces from her home. This is how I describe the scene in World Between Worlds, my novel on the life of St. Catherine of Siena. From Caterina’s point of view:

Waiting silently, I suddenly looked up into the sky. Within the splashing fresco of the late afternoon sun I saw things that shouldn’t be glimpsed, at least not with bodily eyes. Indeed, I didn’t see in the same way I gaze at a grape or olive, my mother’s chiding smile or Papà’s dye-stained fingertips. Instead, I envisioned with my soul, so deep it’s impossible to explain with words limited by tongue and intellect. A spread of light stretched across the sky above the basilica, distinct from the sunset yet mingling with the clouds in such a way that no one would notice, unless they saw from within. A breath whispered, halted, whispered again: a message from the Spirit, implanted directly above my soul, ready to descend.

There was the Christ, clothed in transfigured white, as stunning as a beam of late-day sun through a recalcitrant cloud. In His left hand He held a crozier, a sign of benediction, a crook of protection. Behind Him I could sense a presence, or rather several, as if a spiritual army stood at the ready, prepared to fight any demons that may attack.

The vision was there, in my soul, in the twist of cloud and expanse of clear sky as it overwhelmed the red bricks of San Domenico, spraying the valley below with supernatural graces. I felt as if I, too, had received this blessing, as if I, too, were being baptized anew by this shuddering light. It pierced my bodily eyes, the sun nearly too fervent as it descended; it pierced my soul, again too bright, but delicious in its dazzling discomfort.

I allowed the message to descend, infusing my soul. I could see nothing else; I could hear no sound. There was only Christ, and He alone.

Divine fire was ignited within Caterina’s heart. No words, no profound mystical revelations were relayed during this vision. Rather, it was the sheer glory of Christ, His loving presence, His desire to reveal Himself and awaken love in return—that was the message of the vision.

Caterina desired to love—and that was all God was asking of her.

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The profound and authentic stirring of love caused her soul to rise up, restless with a tremendous desire for God’s will and the salvation of souls.

St. Caterina desired to kiss her beloved Bridegroom with the kisses of her mouth. In other words, to unite her free will wholly and completely to the divine will of God—in all things, without exception or reservation. Yet getting to that profound level of spiritual intimacy was not instantaneous, nor was it easy. It took vigilance, prayer, and a continuously renewed desire to give all and be all for her divine Bridegroom, Jesus Christ.

This is something we can all aspire to. We can all be great saints, if we let Him work His grace within our souls.

Let Him kiss me with the kisses of His mouth! Your love is more delightful than wine.

(Song of Songs 1:2)

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Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

Why does God allow tragedy and trauma? This is a question that has been plaguing humanity since the beginning of time, one that we all strive to understand—especially during times of great catastrophe and loss. God has given us all free will, but why does He allow the free will of others to infect us so greatly? How can we begin to understand the necessity of His permissive will?

St. Catherine of Siena lived in a time of extreme turmoil. From recurring deadly plague to wars both internal and without, the fourteenth century was a time of calamity and upheaval. Loss and tragedy were topics Caterina was very familiar with, and I can well imagine how she may have responded to our continued cries for understanding.

St. Caterina was an avid letter writer. Over 380 of her letters still exist, but we know she wrote far more than what we have today. These epistles are treasures to all devotees of Caterina, for unlike Raimondo of Capua’s account her life, they speak in her voice and reveal more of her personality than we find in Raimondo’s hagiography.

In 1375 Caterina was asked by the ruler of Pisa to visit the city, and while there she stayed with the Buonconti family, where she became close friends with Nella, the matriarch of the family. Below is a fictionalized letter Caterina writes to Nella, based firmly on our saint’s theology and insight. Although I wrote this letter in Caterina’s voice, the passages in bold are direct quotes from an actual letter she wrote to Nella not long after the death of her husband (Letter T151a, translation by Suzanne Noffke).

To Nella Buonconti of Pisa:

I Caterina, servant and slave of the servants of Jesus Christ, am writing to you in His precious Blood. I long to see you grounded in true perfect patience, since there is no other way we can be pleasing to God.

I am sorry to hear of the great misfortune which has overcome you. In these times of very many trials and troublesome chaos, we must keep in mind one thing: the goodness of Christ crucified, His sweet fragrance of grace and mercy.

Where is this mercy to be found? When our souls are darksome due to earthly trials, this is indeed a question that often vexes us, for mercy seems far off to our human comprehension. This is because our lives are a rich, multi-layered tapestry, full of vibrant colors and delightful scenes—yet the scenes of our lives cannot be made without shadows, for shadows balance the light and create texture and depth. Our human vision can only see one corner—nay, one thread—of the tapestry of our lives, while God—the Creator of the tapestry—can see the entire grandeur. When our vision is darksome because we are gazing at a shadowed thread within the scene of our lives we are tempted to despair, thinking the entire tapestry must thereby be in shadow.

This is not so! We must strive to look beyond, and pray for the grace to develop the eyes to see. Lord, heal my eyesight! Clear my vision, that I may see as You see, and will as You will!

We must remember the goodness of God, understand His rich blessings, and with the hand of free will we must desire all He desires for us—whether riches or poverty, health or ill, joy or sorrow. God wants nothing but our sanctification, and in all things He brings forth our ability to grow in virtue and love.

What must be the foundation of this clear vision? The house of our vision must be built upon two pillars, the very foundation of our interior life: humility and patience.

Oh, sweet patience, you are a fruit of life! In your sweet juice I rejoice, and find nourishment of soul. In you I find justice and grace. Oh, sweet humility! Without you I fall into despair, or selfish self-will. Without you I cannot see the true vision of God, for I am she who is not. God is the One Who Is.

Oh true, oh lovely patience! You are the virtue that is never overcome. No, it is you who triumph. You give us hope for glory. You dissolve hatred and animosity in the heart and liberate us from contempt for our neighbors. You free our soul from pain. You make the heavy weight of hardships light, and because of you bitter things become sweet. In you, patience, we discover life.

My dearest mother, patience truly is the most essential of all virtues, when seasoned with humility. We cannot cross this sea of life without waves battering us, churning us this way and that, and quite often crashing us to a shoreline we do not desire to visit. And when we are battered, the devil takes advantage by tempting us to despondency. And more: what the devil can’t do himself he does by using other people. He takes up his position on the tongues and in the hearts of his servants and before their mind’s eye. He makes them see what doesn’t exist. So they conceive within their hearts all sorts of evil thoughts and resentments regarding their neighbors—often regarding those they most love. Once they have conceived these things within, the devil takes up his position on their tongue and causes them to give birth to them in words. Words lead to actions, and this is how he divides those who love each other. This is the source of the impatience and antipathy and hatred that deprive people of the unity of love.

Do not believe the lies of the evil one and those he tempts to be his ambassadors! Renounce and reject, for these lies are the enemy of Truth. We must defend ourselves against this dangerous wave, this assault to our spirit and our very beinghood. And how do we mount the chariot of defense against evil assaults? We must open our mind’s eye to God’s goodness, to His holy will. Why does He permit these assaults, why does He allow the devil’s messengers to plague us?

God has given us free will, which He will never violate. Yet we violate our own free will when we use it unjustly, when we allow our will to be dictated not by God’s goodness, but by the evil one. And why does God allow our neighbor’s evil free will to infect us? Because virtue is tested in its opposite. We cannot taste the fruit of virtue without first ingesting the bitterness of vice. Impatience leads us to strive for the peace of patience, pride hollows our souls with restlessness and causes us to seek spiritual fulfillment in humility.

Remember the tapestry of our lives. We must not look at one thread in the tapestry, but must strive to have faith that there is far more we cannot yet see. For God neither wants nor seeks anything but that we be made holy. He allows the devil to cause others to torment and harass us only to prove the virtues of love and true patience within us, and so that our imperfect love may become perfect. For the virtue of love is proved and strengthened in interaction with our neighbors.

This is not to say we should tolerate abuse and mistreatment. No, quite the opposite! Patience teaches us to love ourselves for God’s sake. We must be patient with ourselves. Patience also teaches us to love our neighbors for God’s sake, not for our own profit or for the joy or pleasure we may find in them but because God created them and loves them. And how do we show this love for neighbor? By not allowing them to sin against us. Instead, remain steadfast in the truth of who God created you to be: a child of the Father, a bride of the Divine Bridegroom, a vessel of the Holy Spirit.

I’ll say no more. Keep living in God’s holy and tender love. Gentle Jesus! Jesus love!

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

This is one of St. Catherine of Siena’s most famous sayings, yet rarely is the source of the quote mentioned. We can read Caterina's Dialogue from cover to cover, scouring each page for a hint of her famous line, but we won't find the sentence anywhere. Where does it come from, and why is it so popular?

St. Catherine of Siena (Caterina in her native tongue) is best known for encouraging Pope Gregory XI to return to Rome, as well as for her unexpected role in medieval society and politics. Many people are familiar with her Dialogue, yet lesser known are her astounding letters.

Caterina was an avid writer, transcribing epistles to cardinals and popes (Gregory XI and Urban VI), nuns and friars, merchants and tradesmen, wives and even prostitutes. No one was immune to the beauty of her gift of eloquence. 382 of her letters survive, although we know by her references that she wrote many more. However, not many English-speaking people have read them all, in part because of limited availability.

Beginning in 2000, Dominican sister Suzanne Noffke undertook the immense task of translating and publishing all of Caterina’s letters, and in 2008 she completed her task; yet sadly her the volume set is out of print, and it's very difficult to find copies—as well as quite expensive.

This is unfortunate, because it's through her letters that we truly get a sense of Caterina's personality, fiery spirit and blunt love for humanity.

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On December 9, 1379 Caterina wrote a letter to one of her closest disciples, Stefano di Corrado Maconi. Stefano was a young man who, like Caterina, was born in 1347. He was also a local Sienese, and was so devoted to “Mamma Caterina” that he was widely mocked as being Caterinato (“Caterinated”). He acted as her chief scribe when they were together—which they often were, since Stefano traveled to Florence, Avignon and Rome with Caterina and her other disciples. When they were apart, Stefano was the disciple she knew she could count on to perform even the most difficult tasks.

In this 1379 letter, Caterina was writing from Rome, where she’d been sent at the behest of Pope Urban VI to act as peacemaker and spiritual prophet for the papacy. Stefano remained in Siena because his mother was more than a bit attached to him, and was grumpy about all his recent travels. He would later go to Rome to be with his spiritual Mamma,but in the meantime he felt an obligation to be with his physical family.

Caterina was distraught because her beloved city of Siena wasn’t supportive of Pope Urban VI during the tumultuous opening years of the Great Schism. There was much debate over who the true pope was—the duly-elected Roman pontiff, Urban VI, or on the French anti-pope (as we now call him) Clement VII, who resided in Avignon.

Enclosed in the letter to Stefano was another, this one addressed to the governing officials of Siena. Caterina asked her friend to read this letter to the men who held power and authority in Siena. In a burst of encouragement, at the end of Stefano’s letter she wrote:

Speak to them at length about the information the letters contain, asking each one in the name of Christ crucified and in my name to do very conscientiously what they can with the Signori and anyone else whose responsibility it is, so that whatever ought to be done regarding holy Church and the vicar of Christ, Pope Urban VI, will be done. Tell them very seriously for me that they should please commit themselves in this matter for God’s honor and for the spiritual and temporal good of the city. See that you are not lukewarm but on fire in this affair and in prodding the brothers and your elders in the company to do whatever they can about what I write. If you are what you ought to be, you will light a fire not only there, but in all of Italy.

This must have taken immense courage on Stefano's part—and well did Caterina know that. Although charity and a burning desire to reform souls was at the heart of everything Caterina did, said and wrote, she never hesitated to tell the bold and blunt truth—even if that truth would be difficult to hear.

It goes without saying that governments tend to lean toward corruption. When people gain certain levels of authority they tend to crave ever-increasing levels of power if their souls aren’t rightly ordered. The governors of the Commune of Siena were no different. Having grasped some power, they lorded it over others in ways both selfish and unmerciful. Caterina wrote candidly to them in the letter she asked Stefano to read aloud in their presence:

Those who look out only for themselves live with little fear of God. They do not observe justice but in fact violate it and commit many injustices. They let themselves be tainted by human flattery—sometimes for money, and sometimes in order to please those who demand their service when it would be unjust to give it. Sometimes, to avoid punishing an offense, they free the perpetrator when they ought to bring down the rod of justice. They are acting wickedly in this and deserve the same punishment they should have inflicted on the one they have freed for the sake of money. To the poor, on the other hand, who haven’t been guilty of one-thousandth of that offense, they mercilessly met out harsh punishments. The wretches appointed to govern the city (but who can’t even govern themselves) often turn away to keep from seeing when poor women and men are being robbed … I’m not surprised that such people commit injustice, since they are obviously cruel even to themselves, living in such indecency that there is no difference at all between them and pigs wallowing in the mud!1

Our beloved saint certainly makes her feelings known with fortitude and undaunted determination. Caterina didn’t beat around the bush, because she realized our earthly time is limited. Time doesn’t wait for us, so we shouldn’t wait for time. When we sugar-coat the state of reality, we do an injustice to ourselves and to our God.

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The letter then goes on to plea for justice and for the governors to “be faithful servants to holy Church, obedient to Pope Urban VI as true and faithful Christians, since he is truly pope, Christ’s vicar on earth.”2

We can only imagine how difficult it must have been for Stefano to utter such blunt words to the men in control of Siena, yet such a request wasn’t unique to this incident. From 1375 until 1378 the city of Florence was in open rebellion to the papacy, known as the War of the Eight Saints. Certain Florentine members of the Guelf party (those who backed the pope) urged Caterina to travel to Florence to act as peacemaker between the warring factions. Unable to personally travel to Florence at that time, she sent Stefano in her place.

Once there, Stefano delivered Caterina’s message, urging peace and papal reconciliation to the Florentine government—but to little success. A rumor spread around Florence that Stefano was determined to convince the government to subject themselves to Pope Gregory XI. This enraged the populace, who began to riot and “would without doubt have assailed him, had not the authority of most influential men intervened … events that were to render all immediate prospects of peace out of the question.”3

Given that he was attacked and nearly injured for delivering Caterina’s previous message, we can well imagine Stefano wasn’t eager for a repeat incident within his own city. Even so, trusting that the breath of God spoke through his beloved friend, Stefano successfully agreed to the task.

How does this return to “lighting a fire in all the world”? Although confronting the Sienese government must have been daunting, Stefano trusted in the Spirit-led mission of Caterina. When we follow the path our Lord sets out for us, when we follow His footsteps and run toward His holy will, we become who we ought to be, which brings joy to God and graces to the talents He has given us. We may never know what seeds we’re planting in all the world when we act according to His will, yet we can be reassured that those God-given seeds always blossom into ripe, rich fruits.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

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You are wholly beautiful, My love, and without blemish.

(Song of Songs 4:7)

Sacred Scripture is inerrant, and every word God sings over us is truth. Yet how can my Divine Bridegroom say such a seemingly absurd thing? When I look in the mirror, I see plenty of blemishes; not just physical defects, but a multitude of spiritual and emotional ones. I am far from blemish-free!

Yet Jesus, our Divine Bridegroom, claims otherwise. I have to believe Him, for He is Truth incarnate. The question is, how?

When I opened St. Catherine of Siena’s Dialogue at random, I was given the answer. God the Father told Caterina:

“And if anyone should ask me what this soul is, I would say: she is another me, made so by the union of love … Oh, how lovely, how lovely beyond all loveliness, is the dwelling place of the soul’s perfect union with Me! Not even the soul’s own will stands between us, because she has become one thing with Me. She gives forth a fragrance to the whole wide world, the fruit of constant humble prayers” (Dialogue 96).

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The Kiss of His Mouth

In the Song of Songs, the divine union of the soul with Christ the Bridegroom is revealed to us right from the outset: “Let Him kiss me with the kisses of His mouth” (Song of Songs 1:2). The soul united to Christ in the kiss of peace resembles Him to such a degree that truly He can call out in delight, You are wholly beautiful and without blemish! Our human failings are washed clean by His unitive embrace; His Light surrounds, envelopes, and subsumes our paltry light. In Him, through Him, by Him we become truly beautiful.

St. Caterina teaches that the only way to reach the mouth of Christ and receive His kiss is through His Sacred Heart. Climbing the body of Christ like a staircase, we first kneel at His feet in submissive and contrite love, then spiritually progress to His pierced side, where His heart is exposed in Divine Mercy. Through the heart of Christ we reach the fullness of His loving embrace, where in unity and wholeness we receive His divine kiss.

We can interpret the mouth in the Song of Songs as representing our soul.

“So it is with the soul,” God the Father instructed St. Caterina. “First she speaks to Me with the tongue of holy and constant prayer that is in the mouth of her holy desire. This tongue has an external and an interior language. Interiorly, the soul offers Me tender loving desires for the salvation of souls. Externally, she proclaims the teaching of My Truth … she has found her spiritual peace and quiet in the mouth … the soul finds such a peace that there is nothing that can disturb her” (Dialogue 76).

And now we’ve come full circle. It’s when we accept the kiss of peace, the kiss Jesus longs and desires to give us, that we’re transformed into a creature wholly beautiful in His sight. When we give our selfish self-will to our Bridegroom, and allow Him to transform our will into complete alignment with Divine Will, our blemishes vanish and we are embraced fully by His powerful love.

Let Him kiss you with the kisses of His mouth, let His kiss of peace transform you into who you are meant to be!

In this episode, Bernhard and I discussed my book, World Between Worlds: A novel based on the early life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena. He asked about the origins of the book—how I came to write it, and the research I did to ensure its historical accuracy. We also discussed Catherine’s vision for her life, based on Divine Will, and the opposition she experienced from family and clergy alike. Her theology, mystical experiences, and devotion to the blood of Christ rounded out our conversation.

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World Between Worlds, tells the amazing story of one of the most dynamic personalities of the Middle Ages, Catherine of Siena. Set in the tumultuous fourteenth century, World Between Worlds takes readers on a journey across the landscape of medieval Tuscany, through the eyes of a mystic who is entangled in political chaos, social upheaval, and spiritual awakening.

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In my book, World Between Worlds: A Novel of the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena, I attributed the 14^th century text, The Cloud of Unknowing to William Flete, Caterina’s friend and an Augustine monk who lived in a hermitage just outside the walls of Siena. He came from the same area of England as the anonymous author of The Cloud, lived during the time in which the text was composed, and The Cloud mirrors some of Caterina’s teachings, which she could have easily learned from William. In my fiction world, William Flete and The Cloud fit perfectly together.

In truth, we don’t know who wrote The Cloud of Unknowing, but the author doesn’t really matter. Despite it being misrepresented by those with New Age inclinations—such as the founders of Centering Prayer—the book still provides great truths for us to ponder, including a beautiful definition of charity that echoes the Gospels:

For you should understand that Charity means nothing but to love God for Himself above all created beings and to love other human beings equally with your self for God's sake.

This isn't new theology by any means, and I've written about is before many times; yet it's so crucial, so fundamental that I keep returning to it in prayer. The key to that entire sentence is the last bit: for God's sake.

Everything must be done for God's sake. We so often fail to see this as we go about our busy lives, particularly when we're performing mundane tasks. Why must I do the laundry for God's sake? Indeed, that does seem a bit daft. Seriously, does God care whether or not you have an ample supply of clean underwear?

Actually, as odd as it seems, the answer is yes. Yes, God does care about every aspect of our lives, just as a loving parent cares for every aspect of his or her children's lives. What’s critical to remember is that it's not the about the importance of clean laundry, but about performing a task that’s in perfect parallel to God's will.

We need to listen to God’s will in all things, particularly the little things. It's easier to seek prayer for the big issues—Should I get married? Should I buy that house, change jobs, make that investment? When something large looms in our lives, we tend to turn to Someone larger for guidance and assistance. The small things we barely think about—yet we should.

Is it God's will for you to do your laundry right this second, or is it His will that you do something else? In many instances, God does indeed will us to perform our daily tasks, but we should always remember to do so in thanks. How fortunate we are to even have enough clothing to fill the washer! How fortunate we have so much fresh water we barely even think about it! How fortunate that we can afford laundry detergent!

All actions, all tasks, must be performed for God’s sake—in praise of God and the immense blessings He has given us.

Yet there are also those times when it’s God’s will for us to neglect the laundry. Do we listen to those times or are we “too busy”? When our friend calls and asks if we want to go out for coffee, do we say a quick prayer asking God what His will is, and listen quietly for the Holy Spirit to guide us, or do we immediately say no, feeling we’re too busy for such leisurely stuff. We have mountains of laundry to do, and then there’s the grocery shopping …

What we’re not taking into consideration is our friend’s need. Perhaps she wants to go out for coffee merely because she’s bored. Or, perhaps she has something going on in her life and she needs to talk. Perhaps she’s lonely, and needs the physical presence of someone else.

In all things, large and small, we must ask for perfect alignment so our actions match God’s will for us and others, thereby doing everything for God’s sake.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

In a letter written during the Easter season of 1376, St. Caterina (Catherine) of Siena chided a parish priest in the town of Asciano because his behaviors were sinful and not worthy of his priestly station. Yet, in her typical and transformative way, she didn’t refuse to take the plank out of her own eye before removing the speck from his. She wrote:

“So be small and in deep and genuine humility. Look at God, who lowered Himself to your humanity. Don’t make yourself unworthy of what God has made you worthy of—I mean the precious Blood of His Son, by which you were ransomed with such blazing love … When we are in deadly sin we blindly sell ourselves to the devil. I beg you, for love of Christ Crucified: let’s get out of such slavery! I’ll say no more, but let me tell you this much: my own sins are numberless. So I promise you that I will take both mine and yours and make of them a bundle of myrrh which I will keep in my breast with constant bitter weeping.”

In the Song of Songs, the sachet of myrrh lying between the bride’s breasts—in other words, her heart and affections—represents Christ Himself. St. Gregory of Nyssa states that “the Lord Himself … has become myrrh in the sachet of my conscience and dwells in my very heart.”

I’m struck by Caterina’s image of her sins as the bundle of myrrh, rather than Christ as the bundle. Contemplating her imagery, I realize the blessed significance and full weight of her words.

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In 1370 Caterina experienced a mystical vision in which Christ removed her heart and replaced it with His own Sacred Heart. From then onward Caterina lived with the assurance that Christ’s heart dwelled within her, that she trailed His healing fragrance throughout the world for the benefit of other souls who sought to know and love Him.

To make her sins a bundle of myrrh to keep within her heart “with constant bitter weeping” is an offering to the Sacred Heart of Christ. Caterina is taking her sins and placing them on the most Holy Cross so the Blood of Christ can make her—and the priest in need of chiding—new again (Isa. 43:19, Rev. 21:5). Caterina is recognizing how, with repentance, God takes away all our sins and replaces them with the softness of His precious Heart, making us white as snow.

Myrrh holds a somewhat bitter fragrance, though not unpleasant. In order for the perfume to be released the myrrh must be crushed, just as Christ was crushed for our sins—those same sins that crush and injure our souls. In a letter written in 1379 to the count of Fondi Caterina writes that myrrh is “the bitterness of the Cross, that is, of the sufferings borne by God's son.”

When Christ dwells in our hearts, and when we humbly place our sins there for transformation and redemption, His Divine Mercy transforms our bitter vices into a fragrance that is delightful to Him. With Christ truly living within our hearts, we allow our beloved Bridegroom to redeem and renew all things, especially the most soiled and darkened parts.

Special Offer!

If you’re intrigued by the life of St. Catherine of Siena and want to learn more, my adaptation of her early life (part one of a two book series) is currently on sale when you purchase directly from my website.

Learn more about World Between Worlds: A Novel Based on the Early Life of Caterina, the Mystic of Siena.

You can also purchase on Amazon using my affiliate link.

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In 1376, St. Catherine of Siena wrote a letter to her friend and spiritual director, Fr. Raimondo of Capua, in which she stated that Christ is creating us in His image. She didn’t say, as is expected, that we were “created” in God’s image, as if that creation has been completed. Instead, this creation is ongoing, perpetual, and current.

Look at yourselves, for in Him you will find yourselves, and in yourselves, Him. What I mean is that you will find yourselves in Him in that He is creating you in His own image and likeness ... and within yourselves you will discover God’s boundless goodness in having taken on our likeness by the union the divine nature has effected with our human nature. Let our hearts explode wide open, then; as we contemplate a flame and fire of love so great that God has engrafted Himself into us and us into Himself! Oh unimaginable love! It would be enough if we had even appreciated it!

We are constantly being created and recreated, formed and reformed. Because we’ve been given a personal will we have the choice of being formed in God’s image, which is our natural state, or formed in the self-image shaped by our culture, our outward perceptions, our biases and our hurts. We choose whether to be formed with spiritual clay or surface dust.

When we contort ourselves into something unnatural to our authentic spiritual selves, aches and pains and risk of serious injury are sure to follow. We were created to seek ourselves within the shelter of our true beinghood, our spiritual nature, our natural state of existence. We’re designed to do the will of God; we were initially created in God’s image, and that blessed creation never stops. We’re continuously being created through Christ’s graces, if we allow ourselves to blossom forth into the shape and contours of who we truly are—beautiful and blessed children of God.

The choice is wholly ours. We can follow our personal will and contort ourselves into illusion, pain, and non-being, or we can follow God’s will to emerge within the shape He desires for us to take.

St. Caterina’s most famous saying is, “I am she who is not; God is the One Who Is.” We are nothing if not formed by the grace of God. We may try, and struggle, and hope to achieve surface success, but the more we struggle the more we suffer, and the further we get from our authentic selves until, at some point, the vast difference causes us to forget. This state of spiritual forgetfulness is the a foretaste of hell; the willful neglect of our God-self within, the disregard for the Kingdom. A foretaste of hell here on earth is where we dwell when we’ve contorted ourselves to such a degree that perversion and injury become the “norm”—because the true norm has been utterly neglected and rejected.

Before we contort ourselves to such a degree, we need to take a deep breath, unwind our limbs, lie flat in silence, and allow God to wash over us. We need to allow our true image to reform. Even if we’re at the place where we can’t recall why we need to remember our spiritual selves and the image of God within, we need, on faith, to allow God’s cocoon to form around us.

Through rest, through stillness, through contemplation and prayer, the small, still voice of the Holy Spirit will begin to be heard again. When we emerge from our restful cocoon, reshaped and reformed, we have truly been rejuvenated in God’s image. As we live our days in prayer and inner stillness, peace and spiritual clarity, the voice of the Holy Spirit becomes louder than the voice of our surface-selves. It’s then that we find ourselves choosing to be constantly made, each and every moment, in the image Christ gave us through the example of His life, His death, and His Resurrection.

The butterfly emerges, and we are resurrected in Christ. Every day, again and again, we’re made and remade in Christ’s image.

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My novel, World Between Worlds (published by En Route Books & Media), is the unforgettable story of one of the Church’s most dynamic saints, Catherine of Siena. Set in the tumultuous fourteenth century, World Between Worlds takes readers on a journey across the landscape of medieval Tuscany, through the eyes of a mystic who is entangled in political chaos, social upheaval, and spiritual awakening.

For today only (April 29, St. Caterina’s feast day), take 15% off your purchase with coupon code FeastDay29.

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