The conduct of the Child Jesus in His pilgrimage. Of the deep and still well-being. That one must love God more than all.
The Hundred and Thirty-first Letter.
The conduct of the Child Jesus in His pilgrimage. Of the deep and still well-being. That one must love God more than all.
In the childhood of Jesus, beloved sister!
How wonderfully must the little Child Jesus let Himself be led! In a strange land He is born; soon He is carried into the Temple, thence back again to Bethlehem, then even into Egypt; afterward they bring Him back to Nazareth; and amid all these changes He remains what He is — namely, a little Child that thinks not of the changes, but stays, unchanged, given over to His heavenly Father. How beautiful and needful this form would be for us also, which I have often wished for myself, too, amid my contrary manner of life.
Yesterday I came home from a journey, after I had been away four days and had to trouble myself with all sorts of things; here I find letters and callers again, so that I have barely been able to read over your (to me most welcome) letters, let alone answer them. Tomorrow or the day after I must perhaps go for a couple of days to C., where a dearly loved sister is mortally ill and would still gladly see me; yet I do not yet know for certain whether I shall be able to do it. I know, and sometimes see it in spirit, that in your place and circumstances it goes for you almost just as wonderfully and changeably in the outward. Ah God! might we only, at all times and in everything, remain detached and inward children, according to the precious calling of God over us! — which my soul wishes for you especially.
Time does not allow of answering your earlier letter in detail; but I will yet say a little, for your reassurance: first of all, though, I entreat that you no longer use the expressions, I lay it upon your conscience, and the like. Such expressions make one timid. I do not at all give out my writing or speaking as Words of God — except in so far as God will make use of them, out of condescension; but that I otherwise, after light received from above, desire in all faithfulness to speak and to counsel in matters of conscience — of that you will surely be convinced anyway.
I say, then, that your present inner state is good, and from God, though it is not yet firm and spiritual enough. In the peace you feel there is no deception. A deep well-being can none work but God alone, and it is so much the better the more this peace can subsist under the burdens and sufferings of nature — yes, is sometimes nourished thereby. The deep and still well-being, I say once more, that is God's work. Let yourself be quite taken in and penetrated by this peace; give yourself over without fear; it makes the whole man, and the outward walk, unperceived, peaceable, gentle, and virtuous. The sensory, or moveable, up-welling part that is present does indeed spring out of the former; but to that one must not so give oneself, nor let oneself be carried away by it — yet also not fear that same sensitivity, but only observe and nourish the essential, which lies in the still ground, by remaining-with and surrendering, that you may be strengthened in faith for future trials.
For the rest, love God more than all that He can give; love Him at all times equally and heartily, for He is in Himself unchangeable — the Good that is wholly good, and makes all things good, for whose sake to suffer is a paradise upon earth and a more-than-angelic blessedness. Let us flee no sufferings nor burdens under which we stand, or into which He leads! We have not much longer the happiness of bearing a little cross for the Lord's sake. But otherwise, do not resist the inclination to solitude, though outwardly it neither can nor should yet be carried out; this inclination is from grace, that we may be lured, amid the tumult, to the inner solitude with God. Ah God! how few hermits hast Thou at this time! Make us then detached from all, that the spirit may occupy itself only in Thee and with Thee! Amen. He bless you eternally!
Your fellow-pilgrim to eternity.
Mülheim, the 25th of January 1733.
German
Der hundertundeinunddreißigste Brief.
Das Verhalten des Kindeleins JEsu in seiner Pilgrimschaft. Von dem tiefen und stillen Wohlseyn. Daß man GOtt mehr als alles lieben müsse.
In der Kindheit JEsu geliebte Schwester!
Wie muß sich das Kindlein JEsus nicht so wunderlich führen lassen! in der Fremde wird es geboren; bald wird es in den Tempel getragen, von dannen wieder nach Bethlehem, dann gar in Egypten; hernach bringt man's wieder nach Nazareth; und bei allen Veränderungen bleibt es …
— Opening lines of the original German. The complete transcription of all 605 letters appears in the forthcoming Encounter Press critical edition; Brief 1 is shown in full as a sample.
German text: public domain (1773–75 first edition / 1845 Gesammelte Schriften).
Translator’s notes
What this letter is. A longer letter of direction, written 25 January 1733 to Christiana Maria Griesenbeck — the seventh in this run of letters to her. Its three-part heading is a fair table of contents: it is about the pilgrimage of the Child Jesus, the "deep and still well-being" of the soul at peace, and loving God above all things. Coming just after Christmas, it opens by keeping company with the infant Christ — but for a very Tersteegen purpose. He traces the Child's constant displacement: "born in a strange land … carried to the Temple … back to Bethlehem … even into Egypt … back to Nazareth" — and draws the point that matters to him: through every upheaval "He remains what He is, namely a little Child that thinks not of the changes, but stays, unchanged, given over to His heavenly Father." That is the "form" he wishes for himself and for her: an inner constancy that outward turbulence cannot touch.
He is candid about his own turbulent week (just back from a four-day journey; a beloved sister lying mortally ill at "C." — Krefeld), and he assumes hers is no calmer. Then two pastoral moves. First, a gentle correction: he asks her to stop writing "I lay it upon your conscience" — "such expressions make one timid" — and disclaims any pretense of speaking infallibly ("I do not give out my writing as Words of God"). Second, the reassurance she evidently needed: her inner state is "good, and from God"; the quiet peace she feels is no self-deception, "for a deep well-being can none work but God alone," and it is all the more genuine for holding "under the burdens and sufferings of nature." His counsel is to let that peace sink in and not be alarmed by the restless, "up-welling" feelings that ride on top of it — neither indulging them nor fearing them, but tending "only the essential, which lies in the still ground." The letter ends on its third theme, rising into prayer: "love God more than all that He can give," for He is "the Good that is wholly good," "for whose sake to suffer is a paradise upon earth" — and a sigh for more souls drawn to "the inner solitude with God": "Ah God! how few hermits hast Thou at this time!"
A few words and echoes.
- The Child's pilgrimage. The opening image — the infant Jesus carried from place to place (Temple, Bethlehem, Egypt, Nazareth; Luke 2, Matthew 2), yet inwardly unmoved, "given over to His heavenly Father." A picture of constancy amid change.
- "The deep and still well-being." Tersteegen's phrase (das tiefe und stille Wohlseyn) for the settled peace of God in the ground of the soul — something "none can work but God alone," and the more real for surviving under suffering (an echo of "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding," Philippians 4:7).
- The still ground. The "essential, which lies in the still ground" (the Seelengrund, the soul's ground) — to be observed and nourished beneath the surface stir of feelings.
- "I lay it upon your conscience." The phrase he asks her to drop — a small but telling piece of spiritual courtesy: he will not have his counsel weaponize her conscience, and refuses to pose as an oracle.
- "Love God more than all that He can give." The letter's summit — to love the Giver above every gift; God as "the Good that is wholly good," unchangeable in Himself (an echo of "the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness," James 1:17; and of the great commandment, Matthew 22:37).
- A paradise to suffer for His sake. The startling claim that "to suffer for His sake is a paradise upon earth" — the cross carried "for the Lord's sake" (Matthew 16:24) transfigured by love.
- "How few hermits hast Thou." The closing sigh for solitude — not literal withdrawal ("outwardly it cannot yet be carried out"), but "the inner solitude with God" amid the tumult, which he calls a gift of grace.
trans. Jarred Fenlason · gerhardtersteegen.com/letters/bdi-thi-131 · all rights reservedEnglish translation © Jarred Fenlason · All rights reserved · gerhardtersteegen.com.