Cultivating Intimacy with Jesus, Hearing His Voice, and Living Perpetual Prayer

A Repeated New Testament Requirement

The invitation to pray without ceasing runs through the New Testament. Saint Paul expresses it at least three times in separate letters: “Pray without ceasing” (1 Thess 5:17), “Pray at all times in the Spirit” (Eph 6:18), “Persevere in prayer” (Col 4:2). Jesus Himself gives the explicit instruction: “Be vigilant at all times and pray” (Lk 21:36). Twice over, He speaks of the “necessity to pray always without becoming weary” (Lk 18:1).

The Catechism takes these verses seriously and devotes an entire section to them at the close of its fourth part. The title is unambiguous: “Praying Without Ceasing”^[6]. The argument is simple:

“This untiring fervor can come only from love. Against our dullness and laziness, the battle of prayer is that of humble, trusting, and persevering love. […] He who prays without ceasing unites prayer to works and works to prayer.” — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2742^[7]

The fundamental argument is that “it is always possible to pray”^[8]:

“The Christian's time is that of the risen Christ who is ‘with us always’ (Mt 28:20), whatever the storms. Our time is in the hand of God: It is possible, even in the market-place or in a solitary walk, or sitting in one's shop, or buying or selling, or even cooking, to make frequent and fervent prayer.” — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2743 (quoting Saint John Chrysostom)^[9]

Prayer, the Life of the New Heart

The Catechism refuses to reduce prayer to separate moments. It makes it the very breathing of the Christian:

“Prayer is the life of the new heart. It ought to animate us at every moment. But we tend to forget Him who is our life and our all. […] But we cannot ‘pray at all times’ if we do not pray at specific times, consciously willing it.” — Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2697^[10]

The text thus articulates two complementary requirements: set times of prayer (daily mental prayer, liturgy, sacraments) and a continual abiding that extends those times into the whole of life. Each nourishes the other. Without dedicated times of prayer, perpetual prayer dies out; but if times of prayer do not overflow into the rest of the day, they remain barren.

Abiding in Christ: the Johannine Promise

The Christological foundation of this doctrine is found in the discourse after the Last Supper: “Abide in Me, as I in you” (Jn 15:4). Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, a young Carmelite who died in 1906 at twenty-six, unfolded it as no other modern author has, giving voice to Jesus in a famous letter:

“Abide in Me, not for a few moments, a few hours which must pass, but ‘abide…’ in a permanent, habitual way. Abide in Me, pray in Me, adore in Me, love in Me, suffer in Me, work, act in Me. Abide in Me to present yourself to every person or to every thing, penetrate ever further into this depth.” — Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, Letter 191 (to Madame de Bobet, 1906)^[11]

The Greek word menô in John 15 (“to abide”) expresses both spatial stability and duration. This is not a visit, but a continual dwelling. It is this dwelling that the whole spiritual tradition, from the Desert Fathers to modern mystics, seeks to teach.

If Jesus is “more in us than we ourselves”, as He confides to Gabrielle Bossis^[12], and if — as Luisa Piccarreta, Servant of God (1865-1947), for whom “living in the Divine Will” means not merely doing God's will but letting God Himself live and act in the soul, writes — “God is present absolutely everywhere”^[13], then intimacy with Him does not depend on a place, a schedule, or an outward posture. It depends on a habitual awareness, cultivated through three simple yet demanding keys.

Withdrawing into the Inner Room

Jesus gave this counsel in the Sermon on the Mount: “But when you pray, go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you” (Mt 6:6)^[14]. This “inner room” may be material — a prayer corner, a nearby chapel. But the whole mystical tradition has also seen in it an inner chamber, a sanctuary at the very depth of the soul where God dwells.

The Sanctuary of the Soul in the Mystical Tradition

This image runs through the centuries. Saint Teresa of Avila opens Le Château intérieur with the vision of a soul of which she says:

“Let us consider that our soul is like a castle made of a single diamond or of a very clear crystal, in which there are many mansions, as there are many mansions in Heaven. […] In the center, in the midst of them all, is the one where the most secret exchanges between God and the soul take place.” — Saint Teresa of Avila, Le Château intérieur, First Mansion, ch. 1^[15]

Before her, John Tauler, a 14th-century Rhineland Dominican, gave in substance this counsel: do not scatter oneself outward, but remain within oneself, with attention fixed on the depths of the soul where the Lord sits enthroned, so that this interior throne is not broken and peace does not diminish^[16].

To modern mystics, Jesus speaks in the same sense. To Sister Benigna Consolata Ferrero, an Italian religious who died in 1916:

“The soul must find within itself that highest peak… the place where silence reigns, for it is there that God speaks and communicates Himself.” — Jesus to Sister Benigna Consolata Ferrero^[17]

To the Polish mystic Alice Lenczewska, whose spiritual journal (1989-2010) received the imprimatur of Bishop Henryk Wejman, Bishop of Szczecin (Poland), on 20 July 2015, and was published in French by Éditions des Béatitudes:

“I want to lead you far into the depths. There, into the sanctuary of your soul. Where no one has access, because I alone dwell there.” — Word reported to Alice Lenczewska, Reviens au sanctuaire de ton âme^[18]

One may call this place the secret place, the interior cloister, the cell of the heart. The names vary; the reality is one. It is there that the voice of God lets itself be heard, because it is there that He dwells.

Asking God to Dwell in This Sanctuary

The interior sanctuary is not a construction of the soul. It is a gift of the divine presence, which must be asked for. The purest prayer of this tradition is that of Elizabeth of the Trinity, composed on 21 November 1904 at the Carmel of Dijon^[19]:

“O my God, Trinity whom I adore… Pacify my soul, make of it Your heaven, Your beloved dwelling and the place of Your rest. May I never leave You there alone, but may I be there wholly, wholly vigilant in my faith, wholly adoring, wholly given over to Your creative Action.” — Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, Ô mon Dieu, Trinité que j'adore, 21 November 1904^[20]

The soul asks to become the heaven of God — that is, the place of His rest. This reversal is typical of Trinitarian mysticism: it is not man who must ascend to heaven, it is Heaven that must descend into his heart. Jesus says it Himself to Luisa Piccarreta in a word that condenses the whole doctrine:

“I am here with you. Do not look elsewhere to find Me. I rest in you and I watch over you.” — Jesus to Luisa Piccarreta, Le Livre du Ciel, volume 1, § 101^[21]

A Place to Be Renewed at Every Hour

The practical use of the interior sanctuary is immediate. When turmoil rises — irritation, fear, quarrel, outward agitation — the soul can plunge within itself to find Jesus there again. Léandre Lachance, a Quebec layman who long directed a large insurance company and authored spiritual writings (no ecclesial decision cited), experienced this:

“Entering into our inner room to find there peace, joy and Love. Otherwise, the aggressiveness of wounded people or those under the influence of evil spirits, and tribulations of every kind, risk dragging us into a whirlwind.” — Léandre Lachance, Pour le bonheur des Miens, mes choisis, vol. 1^[22]

Each person may seek an image that makes this place more tangible: a flowered garden, a silent cloister, a mountain hermitage, a grotto of prayer. Jesus Himself may reveal to the soul the image suited to it. The function of these images is not decorative: it helps memory and imagination fold back inward, like a door being closed.

Developing Familiarity with Jesus, Under His Gaze

The second key is to live under the gaze of Christ as one lives under that of a spouse or a very close friend. This familiarity has nothing disrespectful about it: it is exactly what God desires.

The Beggar-Christ at the Door of the Heart

Too often, the Christian leaves Jesus at the door of daily life. He invites Him to Sunday Mass, to a quarter-hour of prayer, to a great distress — then dismisses Him. Father Mateo Crawley-Boevey, a Peruvian priest of the Sacred Hearts (born in Arequipa in 1875) and great apostle of the enthronement of the Sacred Heart in homes, forcefully denounces this lukewarmness: in too many houses, he writes in substance, Jesus is left at the door like a beggar, received with embarrassment and as a stranger, with no true familiarity — He who loves us with a mad love^[23].

Jesus Himself, in the writings of Marcel Van, a young Vietnamese Redemptorist religious (1928-1959), Servant of God, whose cause for beatification was opened in the diocese of Belley-Ars on 26 March 1997^[24], answers this coldness with an almost excessive tenderness:

“Believe firmly that I am not far away; I am always with you, pressing you in My arms and covering your cheeks with kisses.” — Jesus to Marcel Van, Colloques, Éditions des Amis de Van, 2017, p. 48^[25]

The common objection — “is such familiarity fitting?” — receives its answer in a word addressed to Marcel Van:

“There are many who only know how to listen to what I say without daring to converse quite simply with Me like children, on the pretext that it is not fitting… Tell them firmly that I listen very willingly to ordinary conversations, even the simplest, and that I take pleasure in hearing them. That is all I expect from souls who love Me…” — Jesus to Marcel Van, Colloques, p. 27^[26]

Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection: the Practice of the Presence

The great Western master of daily familiarity with God is Nicholas Herman (1614-1691), a lay brother of the Paris Carmel, better known by his religious name: Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection. A cook, then a cobbler in his monastery, he had worked out a very simple method, collected after his death by Abbot Joseph de Beaufort and published under the title La Pratique de la présence de Dieu^[27]. On 2 December 2025, in the plane bringing him back from Beirut to Rome, Pope Leo XIV, asked about the book — after Saint Augustine — that would make it possible to understand who he is, cited La Pratique de la présence de Dieu, which according to him describes a way of simply placing one's life in the Lord's hands^[28] — a sign of the timeliness of this teaching.

Brother Lawrence held — and this point is central — that it is illusory to think that times of prayer must be different from other times. His day knew no break: he stayed with God washing dishes as at prayer.

Four principles structure his method:

1. Being aware of God's presence, within and outside formal times of prayer. A word reported to Alice Lenczewska puts it in these terms: “There should ceaselessly be in your consciousness the sense of My presence with you and in you. Speak to Me and contemplate Me at every instant of your life, whatever you do and wherever you are.”^[29]

2. Doing all work as for the Lord. No act is too humble to become prayer if done out of love. Saint Teresa of Avila teaches her sisters: “When obedience obliges you to be occupied with material matters, for example cooking, reflect that the Lord is also in the midst of the pots and pans and that He helps you inwardly and outwardly.”^[30] No time is lost with Jesus: when love is put into an act, it takes on supernatural value.

3. Having short conversations with Jesus throughout the day. “With Me, be simple as in a family,” Jesus says to Gabrielle Bossis^[31].

4. Practicing spontaneous praise and thanksgiving. Praising, adoring, giving thanks on every occasion, as a natural movement of the heart turned toward God.

Living Under the Gaze of Jesus

Forgetting God is not only the lot of unbelievers: it is the habitual condition of every sinner, even the fervent one. To combat it, tradition proposes a very concrete exercise: imagining where Jesus stands and how He looks in each ordinary action.

Are you cooking? Is He sitting beside you? Is He helping you? Is it the child Jesus playing at your feet? Are you driving? Does He speak to you softly during the journey? Are you working at your desk? Does He watch over your shoulder?

Even more than through imagination, one can ask Jesus to reveal Himself: what His posture is at this instant, how He looks, what He thinks of the situation. This exercise imperceptibly shifts one from awareness of an abstract presence to a truly lived relationship.

The Empty Chair

A traditional story illustrates this practice. An old man, who all his life had found prayer complicated, went to see a priest for advice. “Set an empty chair beside you,” the priest replied. “Imagine Jesus is sitting there and speak to Him as to a friend.” The old man took the habit of placing a chair beside his armchair or his bed, and of speaking to Jesus while turning toward it. One evening, his daughter found him peacefully deceased. Moved, she said to the priest: “It's strange… I found Papa with an empty chair placed quite close to his bed. It looked as though he had leaned his head against it before leaving…”^[32]

This story — an anecdote popularized by Father James Keller in the 20th century — obviously has no dogmatic value. It remains a pedagogical emblem: Jesus, become the intimate friend, accompanies us to the threshold of death.

Speaking to Jesus with Complete Simplicity

The third key to intimacy is simple speech. Not theological speech, not a formula, not an effort. A child's speech.

A Family Conversation

Gabrielle Bossis (1874-1950), a French actress and author of religious plays, received interior words from Jesus for thirty years, gathered under the title Lui et moi (reported words, with no known ecclesial approval; see Gabrielle Bossis and "Lui et moi"). Five passages condense the doctrine of familiar conversation:

“Your conversation with Me? Short little words, you understand? Without effort.” — Jesus to Gabrielle Bossis, Lui et moi, volume 1, no. 150, p. 5^[33]

“Why do you speak to Me as if I were very far away? I am quite near… in your heart.” — Jesus to Gabrielle Bossis, Lui et moi, volume 1, no. 73, p. 38^[34]

“So is it that hard to speak with Me? Everything that interests you, everything that makes up your life, tell it to Me. I will listen to you with such joy. Such attention… if you only knew… Tell them to be with Me as with the intimate friend who knows the secret.” — Jesus to Gabrielle Bossis, Lui et moi, volume 1, no. 239, pp. 66-67^[35]

“May it not be a weariness to pray. Why do you give yourself so much trouble? Let it be all simple, all good, a family conversation.” — Jesus to Gabrielle Bossis, Lui et moi, volume 1, no. 138, p. 48^[36]

Father Gaston Courtois (1897-1970), a priest of the Sons of Charity and director of Éditions Fleurus, collected in the same vein interior words published under the title Quand le Seigneur parle au cœur (reported words, with no known approval):

“Tell Me about your day. I know it, certainly, but I love hearing you narrate it to Me, as a mother loves the babble of her child back from school. Set before Me your desires, your plans, your troubles, your difficulties. Am I not able to help you overcome them?” — Fr. Gaston Courtois, Quand le Seigneur parle au cœur, no. 12^[37]

“Let your life be an unceasing conversation with Me. […] Speak to Me quite simply — without paying attention to the construction of your sentences. I look far more at what you want to express than at the words used to do so.” — Fr. Gaston Courtois, Quand le Seigneur parle au cœur, no. 20^[38]

The key word is spontaneity. Any literary correction of prayer extinguishes its flame: Jesus is less sensitive to the quality of sentences than to the movement of the heart that prompts them.

Marcel Van's Method: “Jesus, I Love You in…”

There are times when one literally has nothing left to say to Jesus. Marcel Van knew this emptiness, and recounts a very concrete answer:

“I remember that one day, when I had absolutely nothing to say to little Jesus, I kept looking at Him, filled with disgust, trying to meditate but not knowing how to go about it. Seeing me in this state, little Jesus called me to teach me a way of amusing myself with Him. He first told me to look at the bench and He added: ‘Little brother, say: “Jesus, I love You in the bench.”’ He then told me to look at everything in the oratory and to repeat for each thing: ‘Jesus, I love You in… the dust, in the fly, in the windowpane, in the foot of the bench, in the flower, in the plant, in the flowerpot, in the earth the pot contains, in the shelf on which it is placed, in the brick, in the column; I love You in the bird, in the song of the bird, in the frog, in the white tree-frog, in the cry of the tree-frog, in the airplane, in the car, etc.’” — Marcel Van, Colloques, Éditions des Amis de Van, 2017^[39]

Jesus draws a rule from it for him:

“Little brother, you can always use this method and, thus, you will be able, while resting, to pray continually. Moreover, this method will help you never to commit a fault, in your distractions; where your mind leads you, there also your love leads you, so that I am loved by you in every place.” — Jesus to Marcel Van, Colloques^[40]

This method is typical of the Catholic mysticism of the Incarnation: God is not found by fleeing the world, but by traversing it with love. Every object seen becomes an occasion for an act of love; every distraction is converted; prayer becomes continual, almost without effort.

Intimacy is not a monologue. If it does not become dialogue, it stays affective and risks turning into illusion. The second great question is therefore: does Jesus truly speak? And if so, how to hear Him, and how to discern that it is He?

Disposing Oneself to Listen

Jesus Is the Word, Never Silent

The first reflex to acquire is to recall that Jesus is the Word — the Speech (Jn 1:1). He cannot, by nature, be silent. Father Gaston Courtois has Him say:

“I am the Word. He who is ceaselessly, silently, in a state of Speech. If one were willing to pay attention, one would perceive My Voice through the humblest things, as through the greatest of nature, through the most different beings, through the most everyday circumstances. […] If one lived more for Me than for oneself, one would be drawn by the light murmur of My interior Voice and intimacy could be established more easily, with its manifold exchanges.” — Fr. Gaston Courtois, Quand le Seigneur parle au cœur, no. 21^[41]

It is for man — and not for God — to learn to “pay attention.”

The Four Channels Through Which God Speaks

Spiritual tradition distinguishes four channels through which Jesus addresses the soul:

• Through events and creation. In Hebrew, the word dabar means both word and event. God speaks through what happens. The sun recalls that He gives warmth and light to all beings; the rain, that He purifies; a forced wait in a queue, that He Himself waits patiently at the door of hearts. Saint Paul already wrote: “His invisible perfections […] are made visible to the mind through His works” (Rom 1:20).
• Through others. A friend's word, a stranger's remark, a sermon, a book read by chance can carry a precise divine intention.
• Through the Bible and spiritual writings. Any prayerful reading of a revealed text or an authorized spiritual author can become the place of a personal word (CCC §2705-2708).
• Directly, in silent prayer, through an interior inspiration, a motion of the Spirit, a given thought.

None of these channels is reserved for saints. Giuliana Buttini, an Italian mother who received interior words published in French by Éditions du Parvis (reported words, with no known approval), reports in substance this questioning of Jesus: how would God not have the right to speak to His creatures?^[42]

A Baptismal Prophetic Vocation

The most frequent objection is: “Hearing the voice of Jesus is reserved for mystics.” Yet the Church teaches the opposite. Through baptism, the Christian is configured to Christ as priest, prophet, and king. The Catechism affirms it plainly: “The whole Christian life shares in the threefold priestly, prophetic, and royal office of Christ” (CCC §783-786). Yet the prophet, by definition, is the one who hears God in order to repeat Him — first to himself, then to others.

Jesus specifies to Gabrielle Bossis: “To whoever would seek to hear Me, I would speak. To whoever would desire Me, I would come.”^[43]

And it is reported to Giuliana Buttini in substance: Jesus comes to each person; some hear Him, others do not — depending on whether the heart welcomes Him and makes Him a nest of love, or does not know how to hear Him^[44].

Listening is therefore not a privilege — it is a disposition, to be acquired.

Prompting Answers

What does the voice of Jesus sound like? How to distinguish it from one's own thoughts? A very simple exercise helps enter into the question. Pronounce your first name inwardly. That voice is the voice through which Jesus speaks most often: the voice of your interior thought, but used by Him. At times another voice is perceived distinctly — a phenomenon typical of mysticism — but the ordinary case is more discreet.

To make listening easier, it is helpful to ask concrete questions, especially at the start, in a calm moment of prayer. For example:

• Jesus, what do You want to tell me right now?
• How do You love me, how do You look at me right now?
• What do You think of this situation?
• What do You want me to do?

After asking the question, follow the first inspiration — the first word, the first image, the first feeling. This is the method used by lectio divina in its second stage, when one writes: “Today, the Lord tells me: ‘First name, …’”. Note down the answer, even if it is vague. The more one listens, the more one refines; the more one refines, the more distinctly one recognizes the voice. To Elizabeth Kindelmann, a Hungarian mystic whose original Hungarian Journal spirituel received imprimatur no. 494-4/2009 from Cardinal Péter Erdő on 5 June 2009^[45], Jesus made this promise:

“There will come a time when you will hear My voice not only in the depths of your heart, but you will hear it loud and clear, and it will bless you.” — Jesus to Elizabeth Kindelmann, Le Journal spirituel, Parvis, 2018, p. 46^[46]

Discerning the Voice of Jesus

There remains the anxious objection: “What if it were my imagination? Worse: what if it were the demon?”

Catholic spiritual theology, since Saint Ignatius of Loyola, distinguishes three sources of interior inspiration:

• Good supernatural inspiration: from God, an angel, a saint.
• Bad supernatural inspiration: from the demon.
• Natural inspiration: from imagination, memory, affects.

This grid is ancient and constant. Saint Teresa of Avila, in chapter 30 of her Vie, expresses it in substance: words that come from God fill the soul with light and leave it in great peace, with humility as the touchstone; those that are mere illusions of the demon cause anxiety and trouble^[47].

Jesus Himself gives Luisa Piccarreta a complementary rule founded on the divine nature:

“My daughter, to detect whether it is Me or not, your attention must focus on the interior effects you feel, asking yourself whether they impel you to virtue or to vice. For, being virtue, My Nature can communicate to My children nothing other than virtuous things.” — Jesus to Luisa Piccarreta, Le Livre du Ciel, volume 3, 4 November 1899^[48]

Not Locking Oneself in Fear

A common drift consists in granting the demon more power than he has, out of fear of being deceived — and ending up no longer daring to listen to God at all. Catholic tradition firmly combats this drift. The Curé of Ars, following Saint Augustine, compared the demon to a big dog on a chain: it barks and makes a great noise, but bites only those who come too close^[49]; he therefore has only the power man gives him through his will. If the soul sincerely asks Jesus to speak, it can trust: God rejoices too much in answering to let the demon interfere lastingly. And even when doubt persists, the rule for discerning interior motions is simple:

“God never speaks through fear, but always in peace.”

This is a rule of discernment, not an absolute without exception: it tells how to recognize God's voice in interior motions — by the peace, humility, and charity they leave — not that God would never permit reverent awe or trial. What leads to peace, humility, and charity comes from God. What troubles and swells pride comes from the demon. What passes without leaving fruit is of the imagination. The criterion is not only the source — often undetectable — but the fruit produced; it is exactly the Gospel rule: “You will know them by their fruits” (Mt 7:16).

Once intimacy is cultivated and the voice heard, prayer naturally overflows set times and becomes continuous. The saints identified three pillars of this perpetual prayer, which complement one another without excluding each other: the prayer of the heart, ejaculatory prayers, and interior silence.

The Prayer of the Heart

A First Patristic Tradition

The practice of a short invocation repeated continually was born in the Egyptian desert in the 4th century. John Cassian (c. 360-435), a monk who became founder of monasteries in Marseilles, reports in Conférence X the teaching of Abbot Isaac: “One must take a short verse and repeat it ceaselessly.” The verse Cassian himself recommends is drawn from Psalm 70: “Deus, in adiutorium meum intende; Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina” — “O God, come to my aid; O Lord, make haste to help me”^[50]. This formula was retained by Saint Benedict as the opening of each hour of the Divine Office in the 6th-century Règle; every Catholic monk still pronounces it seven times a day today.

In the East, tradition favored another formula, fixed in the Hesychast era: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” At the start of the 14th century, Saint Gregory of Sinai spread it on Mount Athos, attuned to the rhythm of breathing and the beating of the heart^[51]. In the 14th century, Saint Gregory Palamas defended it theologically against the monk Barlaam: through this prayer, man can “sense” grace in his heart, without illusion or contempt for the body. The practice spread throughout Orthodoxy via the Philocalie compiled in the 18th century.

The Way of a Russian Pilgrim

The Jesus Prayer gained considerable popularity in the West from the 19th century onward thanks to an anonymous Russian text: Récits d'un pèlerin russe. A pilgrim, hearing read in church Saint Paul's exhortation “Pray without ceasing” (1 Thess 5:17), wonders: how is this possible? He meets a starets, a spiritual monk, who gives him this key:

“Say with your breathing: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner,’ softly, or simply in your mind. Strive to drive away all thoughts, be patient and repeat this exercise often.” — Récits d'un pèlerin russe, French trans. Jean Laloy, Éditions de la Baconnière / Seuil, 1978^[52]

The pilgrim obeys. At first it is laborious. Then prayer becomes natural. He murmurs it while walking, working, resting. It ends up welling forth of itself, even in sleep:

“When a violent cold seized me, I recited the prayer with greater attention and soon I was all warmed. […] When someone offended me, I thought only of the beneficent prayer of Jesus; at once, anger or pain disappeared and I forgot everything. My mind became quite simple.” — Récits d'un pèlerin russe, trans. Jean Laloy^[53]

The mechanism is exactly the one described by Cassian fifteen centuries earlier: a short formula, repeated until it descends into the heart and becomes the breathing of the soul.

The Power of the Name of Jesus

The name of Jesus is at the heart of these two traditions. It has a value of its own. In Hebrew, Yeshua means “God saves” (Mt 1:21). Saint Peter affirms: “There is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12).

Saint Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153) devoted to it a great page of his Sermon 15 sur le Cantique des Cantiques, which became famous:

“The name of Jesus is light, food, and remedy. Light, when it is proclaimed; food, when one thinks of it; remedy, when one invokes it… The name of Jesus is like oil poured out: it furnishes at once light and warmth; it is food and it is remedy.” — Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons sur le Cantique des Cantiques, no. 15^[54]

This power is not only spiritual: the Church has always taught that the Name invoked with faith obtains help and deliverance. This is what Saint Paul writes: “At the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth” (Phil 2:10).

Forging One's Own Invocation

The Eastern tradition holds to a fixed formula. The Western tradition is more flexible. The Benedictines teach each person to forge his own invocation, the one that most meets his deep identity. A few documented examples:

• “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner” — classic formula (Hesychasm).
• “Jesus, I love You” — very short formula, particularly suited to overwhelmed laypeople.
• “Jesus, meek and humble of heart, make my heart like unto Thine” — Litany of Humility (Cardinal Merry del Val, early 20th c.).
• “Jesus, I trust in You” — Saint Faustina Kowalska, Petit Journal, no. 47 (22 February 1931)^[55].
• “I welcome You, Lord Jesus, and I offer myself to You” — formulation received by Léandre Lachance, attuned to inhaling and exhaling^[56].

Léandre Lachance explains his personal journey:

“There is nothing more constant in me than my breathing. If I concluded an agreement with Him — whether I am conscious of it or not — to the effect that each time I breathe in, I say: ‘I welcome You, Lord Jesus’… When I breathe out, that I say to Him: ‘I offer myself to You’… As air comes to oxygenate my body, the Love of Jesus comes to oxygenate my soul and my spirit. With this practice, when my last exhalation arrives, it will be to say: ‘I offer myself to You, Lord Jesus.’” — Léandre Lachance, Pour le bonheur des Miens, mes choisis, vol. 1, 12 November 1997^[57]

The fundamental idea is that by dint of repeating the same invocation, it takes root and becomes a spontaneous cry of the heart, present to the mind even without effort. This is the culmination of the prayer of the heart: not an act of the will, but a breathing of the soul.

Ejaculatory Prayers

Etymology and Function

Ejaculatory prayers take their name from the Latin iaculum — dart, javelin. They are short prayers launched toward God, like shafts of love. The Italian Cardinal Giovanni Bona (1609-1674), liturgist and ascetical author, wrote:

“Let us multiply our ejaculatory prayers, launched toward the heart of God like javelins and swift arrows shot toward their mark.” — Cardinal Giovanni Bona, Via compendii ad Deum (1657)^[58]

The distinction from the prayer of the heart is useful:

Saint Francis de Sales (1567-1622) recommends it to laypeople in the Introduction à la vie dévote (II, 13): aspirations and ejaculatory prayers — brief impulses of the heart, praise, invocation, offering — can be woven into all the duties and occupations of the day without hindering them^[59].

A Weapon in Spiritual Combat

Ejaculatory prayers are particularly useful during a temptation, a violent emotion, a discouragement. “O God, come to my aid!”, “Save me!” — these are instantaneous calls for help, like the cry of the disciples in the storm (Mt 8:25). A word reported to Alice Lenczewska restates it in these terms:

“All that you do with your heart, your mind or your hands — if it is to have meaning and value — must begin with prayer, end with prayer, and endure in prayer.” — Word reported to Alice Lenczewska, Reviens au sanctuaire de ton âme, Béatitudes, 2018^[60]

Launching a short prayer before starting an activity — “Jesus, come and work in me”, “Be blessed, Lord” — reinscribes that activity in God's presence.

A Few Formulas from Tradition

The saints left personal formulas that have become classic:

• “My God and my All” — Saint Francis of Assisi (1226).
• “God alone suffices” — Saint Teresa of Avila (Nada te turbe, 1582).
• “My Jesus, mercy!” — Saint Leonard of Port Maurice (1751).
• “Jesus, You alone can content my soul […] My only peace, my only happiness, my only Love, it is You, Lord!” — Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus, poem “Jesus Alone” (stanza 1 and refrain)^[61].
• “O Jesus, King of Love, I trust in Your merciful Goodness” — Mother Yvonne-Aimée of Malestroit (1901-1951)^[62].
• “Blessed be the Name of the Lord!” — Psalm 112:2.

Without Even Words

Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus recalls that an ejaculatory prayer can be mute — a sigh, a glance turned toward heaven, a lived sign of the cross. The Virgin Mary tells her so, in Marcel Van's Colloques:

“Offer little Jesus your breaths too as so many acts of love. Pray in words, pray through your sighs, pray through your desires. Of these three ways of praying, you will be able to use the last two more easily.” — The Virgin Mary to Marcel Van, Colloques, p. 144^[63]

The Trappist Dom André Louf (1929-2010), Abbot of Mont-des-Cats, formulates the same rule of prudence: do not change formulas too often — as long as the one chosen sustains the movement of the heart, one must, he says in substance, hold to it peacefully and let God act^[64].

The formula is not a product one tries out; it is a path one digs down to the heart.

Cultivating Interior Silence

The third foundation is subtler: silencing the thoughts and preoccupations that occupy the heart to make room for the thought of God. “That is perhaps the hardest part,” tradition admits.

Martha and Mary: the Better Part

The Gospel of Luke 10:38-42 contrasts Martha — who “is anxious about many things” — with her sister Mary, “seated at the Lord's feet.” A superficial reading sees in it praise of the contemplative life at the expense of service. A finer reading, inherited from Meister Eckhart and taken up by the whole spiritual tradition, understands that the problem is not service, but anxiety. Martha let her worries invade her heart to the point of losing sight of the One she served. Saint John, the beloved disciple, is the reverse icon: he works with the others but never takes his eyes off the heart of Christ.

To the mystic Lucie Christine (1844-1908) — reported words, with no known approval — it is said in substance that the interior life and the “better part” is He^[65].

Handing Preoccupations Over to God

Interior silence is not a void. As tradition teaches: the soul is made to be filled, and it will be filled either by its own thoughts or by God's thoughts. One must therefore learn to transfer thought, to hand worries over to Jesus, to let an ejaculatory prayer rise in place of an anxiety. Jesus teaches it precisely to Léandre Lachance, an insurance executive and therefore an expert in preoccupations:

“You let yourself be easily distracted by preoccupation with business. You preoccupy yourself with it as if everything rested on you, whereas everything rests on Me, your God. […] You will nourish but one preoccupation, that of abiding wholly Mine, that of letting yourself be loved by Me, and thus you will become Love. […] I did say preoccupations; I did not say you had nothing to do in the world. What I want to teach you is to make the difference clearly between work and preoccupation. Work is your acting, whereas preoccupation engages your heart. And it is your heart that I want wholly Mine.” — Jesus to Léandre Lachance, Pour le bonheur des Miens, mes choisis, vol. 1^[66]

And further on:

“When you give Me a preoccupation, it becomes Mine and I take the opportunity to cut other attachments around you. Thus you become inwardly free.” — Jesus to Léandre Lachance^[67]

This is exactly what Jesus teaches in the Gospel:

“Seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself; let the day's own trouble be sufficient for the day.” — Matthew 6:33-34^[68]

The idea is to take care of Jesus' affairs — loving Him, saving souls — and to leave ours to Him. This does not erase responsibility for work, but it lightens it of the stifling weight of anguish.

The “Martyrdom of Attention”

Sacrificing one's thoughts for those of Jesus is extremely costly: it is a continual interior effort — a true “martyrdom of attention” — more tiring than corporal penances, and more fruitful. Saint Paul already evoked it: “Be fervent in spirit” (Rom 12:11). The Eternal Father confirms it to Saint Catherine of Siena in Le Dialogue:

“Nothing gives more the sweetness and light of truth than humble and continual prayer, founded on the knowledge of God and of oneself. This prayer unites the soul to Him by making it follow in the footsteps of Jesus crucified, and by making it another Himself through the tenderness of desire and the intimacy of love.” — The Eternal Father to Saint Catherine of Siena, Le Dialogue, Traité de la Discrétion, intr. I, 2^[69]

The path of perpetual prayer is not crossed in a day. It takes a whole lifetime. The recurring instruction of the spiritual masters is therefore: do not be discouraged. What counts is not performance, but goodwill, the reiterated desire to be ever more the intimate friend of Jesus. It is this desire that rejoices His Heart, more than success.

And the promise is immense. Jesus, speaking to Gabrielle Bossis, formulated it in one line that sums up the whole doctrine:

“My intimates on earth will be My most intimate in heaven.” — Jesus to Gabrielle Bossis, Lui et moi, volume 1, no. 534^[70]

The intimacy built in this life will not die out with death. It is a foretaste of eternal beatitude, where prayer will become uninterrupted, with no more struggles or distractions, because the soul will see God face to face. The whole spiritual pedagogy of the Church converges toward this vision: “They shall see His face, and His name shall be on their foreheads” (Rev 22:4). Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, dying at twenty-six, gives it its definitive formula:

“Ah, I wish I could tell all souls what sources of strength, of peace, and also of happiness they would find if they consented to live in this intimacy.” — Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity, Letter 302^[71]

Go further with the Via Divina formation — To extend this path of interior life, the formation offers a guided journey on the interior sanctuary, the daily presence of Jesus, listening to His voice, and the prayer of the heart. Discover the Via Divina formation.

• The path of mental prayer: going deep to meet the Triune God — previous lesson, on the method of daily mental prayer.
• Jesus: the relationship in the Eucharist — next lesson, on extending this intimacy into the sacrament.
• Why pray? — the nature and purpose of Christian prayer.
• Living in the Divine Will — the broader doctrine in which this path of intimacy belongs.
• Gabrielle Bossis and "He and I" — the lay mystic cited as a major witness to familiarity with Jesus.
• Marcel Van — the young Vietnamese Redemptorist whose Colloques were abundantly quoted.