- The Spirit does not flee — it waits for the right moment
- Start with absence
- The Power of the Mind: Why You Must Be Convinced of It
- The Spirit has not forgotten you
- Desire: the crucible of the soul, the antechamber of the Spirit
- Trust, consolation, and promise: the faithfulness of the Spirit
- «"He will not abandon you."»
- «"None of those who invoke him end up deprived of his consolation."»
- Trust as a theological act
- To experience concretely the expectation of the Spirit
- Embracing drought as a training ground
- Naming and nurturing desire
- Revising one's understanding of the Holy Spirit
- Supporting confidence in long waits
- ✝ Biblical references
There are mornings when prayer feels like sending a letter into the void. We kneel, open our hands, wait—and nothing comes. No warmth, no consolation, not even that inner stirring we sometimes recognize as the presence of the Spirit. Just silence, and that question that gently arises: Am I praying in vain?
This 16th-century Andalusian priest—born into a converted Jewish family, who died in 1569 in the odor of sanctity, and was canonized and proclaimed a Doctor of the Church in 2012—spent his life accompanying souls in spiritual distress. He knew this experience of absence. And he made it into a school. Not a school of resignation, but a school of desire.
The text we will meditate on together is one of his spiritual letters, translated into French by Max de Longchamp for Magnificat. In a few dense paragraphs, John of Avila unfolds a complete theology of waiting for the Spirit. It is short, but as deep as a well. Let us explore it together.
The Spirit does not flee — it waits for the right moment
Start with absence
The first sentence of John of Avila is a gentle slap in the face: «"For the Holy Spirit to come into our souls, we must first greatly feel its absence."»
This overturns our usual reflex. Spontaneously, we think that the path to the Spirit is to accumulate the right conditions: pray more, go to confession, read the Gospel, make that retreat we've been putting off for three years. All of this isn't bad. But John of Avila points to something more fundamental: to feel the absence. This is not a step to be bypassed — it is the starting point.
Why? Because those who do not feel the absence of the Spirit will not truly seek it. They will live in comfortable religiosity, a superficial practice, self-satisfied. They will fulfill their obligations without ever burning with passion. John of Avila, however, speaks to souls who suffer not to feel God. And he said to them: this suffering is already a grace.
There is a luminous paradox here that the mystical tradition has often explored. Bernard of Clairvaux, whose works John of Avila read avidly, wrote that the soul cannot desire what it has never had, or what it has never tasted. If you feel the absence of the Spirit, it is because you have, in one way or another, already tasted to its presence. Absence presupposes a previously known presence. Lack reveals desire. And desire reveals memory.
This deserves serious reflection. When a believer says «"I no longer feel God"», that's not the same as an atheist who says «"God does not exist."» The believer suffers from a lack. He knows what he lacks. And this painful knowledge is precious — it is proof of a relationship that existed, and that can begin again.
The Power of the Mind: Why You Must Be Convinced of It
John of Avila doesn't stop there. He adds a second condition: «"We must be convinced of its great power."» This is a crucial point. One can feel the absence of the Spirit and yet doubt its ability to fill that void. One can desire a presence while doubting its real, transformative, and effective nature.
This persuasion that John of Avila speaks of is what the New Testament calls faith. Not faith as a feeling, but as a deeply rooted conviction. Jesus himself, speaking of the Spirit to his disciples, said: «If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!» (Lk 11:13). The logic is simple: God wants to give the Spirit more than we want to receive it.
John of Avila repeatedly emphasizes this point: the Spirit does not come because we deserve it, it comes because it wills it. But for its coming to be fruitful, we must at least have this minimal conviction: He can do anything. This is not presumption—it is sound theology. The Spirit is dynamics, Power. He is the one who, in the beginning, hovered over the waters of chaos and brought them into being (Genesis 1:2). He is the one who brought the risen Jesus into the room with the closed doors. He is not contained by our weaknesses.
This twofold openness—feeling absence, believing in power—creates an inner space. Not yet presence, but the space where presence can arise. That is already a great deal.
The Spirit has not forgotten you
At the heart of his letter, John of Avila utters a phrase that should be copied and displayed on one's desk: «"If he doesn't come, it's not because he doesn't want to come, nor because he's forgotten you."»
This is the heart of the problem for many of us. In the silence of prayer, in spiritual dryness, an insidious thought eventually takes root: What if I were the exception? What if the Spirit did not come to me? What if I were too damaged, too lukewarm, too unworthy? This is not humility — it is despair disguised as humility. John of Avila sees this very well.
His answer is both firm and tender. He categorically denies that the Spirit can forget. It is not in its nature. It is the Paraclete, The Advocate, the One who is called to us. There is in this Greek word an image of urgency and closeness: the Paraclete does not move away, he draws near. He does not forget—he waits for the right moment.
And this is where Avila's theology becomes fascinating: «"He will come when he sees that it's time to fulfill you."» Herein lies an affirmation of the sovereignty of the Spirit that might shock our modern mindsets, accustomed as they are to controlling the agenda. The Spirit comes according to its own timetable. Not ours. It sees things we do not see—it sees if our heart is truly ready, if our desire is deep enough, if the time has come.
This is exactly what the apostles experienced on the evening of the Ascension. Jesus had ascended to the Father. The Spirit had not yet come. What did they do? «"They all joined together constantly in prayer."» (Acts 1:14). Ten days. Ten days of waiting in prayer, between the Ascension and Pentecost. John of Avila knew this passage by heart. The Spirit did not come the day after the Ascension. He came when it was her hour.
Desire: the crucible of the soul, the antechamber of the Spirit
Desire as active preparation
We are now touching on the heart of Avila's spirituality. John of Avila writes: «"The Holy Spirit will not come into you if you do not hunger for him, if you do not desire him."» And further on: «"The desires of God that are within you prepare for his coming and are a sign that he will soon arrive."»
Two proposals that deserve careful consideration.
The first is a requirement: without desire, there is no coming. It's not that the Spirit is capricious. It's that desire creates the capacity to receive. A closed vessel cannot be filled. A heart that does not desire the Spirit is not ready to receive it, even if the Spirit were to knock at its door. John of Avila does not say that God withholds his grace as punishment—he says that the absence of desire is a form of spiritual imperviousness.
Let's consider a simple example. You can place a dry sponge under a running tap, and the water will flow through without the sponge retaining anything—if it's hardened, if it's saturated with something else. The desire of the Spirit is what makes the sponge porous. It's what disposes it to absorb. Desire isn't the condition God would impose for meriting his grace; it's the inner structure that allows us to receive it.
The second proposal is even bolder: God's desires within you are a sign that He will soon arrive. In other words, your desire for the Spirit is not your own desire—it is already the Spirit working within you. This is a profoundly Pauline insight. Paul writes to the Romans: «"The Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words."» (Romans 8:26). The Spirit prays in us, with us, even before we know how to pray. The desire for God that rises within you is already a discreet presence of the One you desire.
John of Avila thus reverses the logic of absence. You think you are seeking the Spirit and that it is absent. In reality, the Spirit is already there—it is in the very desire you have for it. Your thirst is its imprint. Your hunger is its trace.
Persevere when waiting seems pointless
But John of Avila is too good a teacher to dwell on this theological consolation. He knows that in practical matters, desire falters. He writes with remarkable clarity: «"Do not tire of desiring him, and even if it seems to you that your waiting does not bring him, that you call to him and he does not answer you, persevere in your desire."»
There is a beauty in the frankness of this advice. John of Avila does not promise that desire will be immediately rewarded by a sensual experience. He does not say: Desire, and you will be comforted within the hour. He said: persevere, even if it seems futile. It is a mature spirituality, made for long distances, not sprints.
This perseverance in desire is what spiritual people call...’prayer of a simple glance or the naked faith. We feel nothing, we see nothing, we hear nothing—but we remain there, longing, waiting, like a lookout. John of the Cross will call this the night of the senses and the night of the mind. John of Avila, who was his contemporary and compatriot (both were Andalusians, both lived in the same environment of ecclesiastical reform), spoke the same language with different words.
There is something very concrete here for daily prayer life. How many times have we abandoned a prayer habit because we felt nothing Inner dryness is one of the main causes of abandoning the spiritual life. John of Avila knew this. And his answer is firm: apparent sterility is not a sign of failure—it is an invitation to deepen the desire.
The expanding heart
John of Avila then introduces a magnificent image, which is perhaps the most beautiful phrase in his letter: «"Your heart must expand."» He writes that if the Spirit does not come immediately, it is «"so that you may persevere in your desire, and by persevering, become capable of receiving it."»
Waiting, from this perspective, is not a dead time. It is a time of expansion. The heart grows in anticipation, like a pocket gently stretched to allow it to hold more. Here we find an echo of Augustinian theology: «"Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in You."», said Augustine at the beginning of his Confessions. For Augustine as for Avila, the capacity to receive God is proportional to the intensity of desire and the duration of waiting.
In other words, the Spirit you receive after ten years of earnest desire will be greater than it would have been if you had received it on your first request. Not that the Spirit is more — it is still the same infinite Spirit — but because you will be better able to receive it. The cup will have been enlarged.
This is a remarkable pedagogical insight. John of Avila was a spiritual director before he was a theologian. He spoke to real people, with real lives and often disappointing prayers. And he told them: all this time that seems wasted waiting is not wasted time. It is time of formation. It is God shaping you from within so that one day you may be able to contain what He wants to give you.
Trust, consolation, and promise: the faithfulness of the Spirit
«"He will not abandon you."»
John of Avila's tone shifts slightly in the final part of his letter. He moves from exhortation to promise. And it is a significant promise: «"He will not abandon you."»
This word, abandon, is very strong in the spiritual tradition. It evokes the cry of Jesus on the cross: «"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"» (Mt 27:46, quoting Ps 22:2). John of Avila knows that his readers may experience something similar in spiritual dryness—that vertigo of abandonment, that terrifying feeling that God has withdrawn forever. And he cuts short this temptation with an unambiguous affirmation: no, he will not abandon you.
On what does this certainty rest? Not on a feeling, not on Avila's personal experience — but on the fidelity constitutive of the Spirit. The Spirit is the donum Dei, the ultimate gift from God. And the gifts of God, Paul affirms, are without regret (Romans 11:29). God does not take back what he has given. The Spirit he placed in you at your baptism is not a capricious guest who would leave if you didn't entertain him sufficiently. He is a dwelling place. He is your home.
John of Avila emphasizes this with fraternal gentleness. He addresses his reader with the word brother — «"Yes, brother, have faith in him."» It is not the tone of the theologian that corrects the dogmatic error. It is the tone of the fellow traveler who walks beside you and says: Take heart, I've seen others go through this, and they came out the other side.
«"None of those who invoke him end up deprived of his consolation."»
The last sentence of the letter is a universal promise, and it is the most audacious in the entire text: «"I assure you that, as far as he is concerned, none of those who invoke him end up without his consolation."»
The key word here is finished. John of Avila did not say «"None will ever be without consolation."» He said «"None of them end up private."» Consolation will come. Not necessarily when you hope, not necessarily in the form you expect—but it will come. This is not a vague promise. It is a theological guarantee.
It rests on the very nature of the Spirit as Comforter — Paracletes In Greek, a term that can also be translated as Advocate, Defender, the one who is called to our aid. Jesus himself, on the night of Holy Thursday, said to his disciples who were worried about his departure: «"I will send you the Paraclete."» (John 16:7). This is not a metaphor—it is a contractual promise. The Spirit is sent to console. His mission is the consolation of souls. He cannot fail in his mission without Christ himself being found at fault.
John of Avila accompanied hundreds of souls throughout his pastoral life. He guided brilliant minds—Teresa of Avila submitted the account of her mystical experiences to him for discernment, Francis de Sales read it and drew sustenance from it. He speaks here with the authority of someone who has seen This promise is being verified in real lives. He is not engaging in abstract theology. He is bearing witness.
Trust as a theological act
This letter places remarkable emphasis on the trust. John of Avila exhorted him several times: «"Have faith in him."» In Avilian spirituality, trust is not a pleasant feeling that one cultivates to feel better. It is a theological act, on the same level as faith, hope and charity. It is a posture of the whole soul towards God.
This confidence is also linked in his case to the knowledge of God's heart. We can only trust someone whose benevolence we know. And Avila never tires of affirming the benevolence of the Spirit toward the human soul. The Spirit wanna to come. He seeks open souls with more ardor than those souls seek him themselves.
There is a complete role reversal occurring here. In our spontaneous representation, it is We We who seek God, and God who waits patiently in his serene eternity. John of Avila reverses this: It is the Spirit that seeks, it is the Spirit that waits for the right moment, it is the Spirit that watches for the opening. We are not the only seekers in this relationship — we are the ones being sought.
To experience concretely the expectation of the Spirit
John of Avila's insights are not meant to remain confined to libraries. They possess a striking modernity, applicable today in our hectic lives and often distracted prayers. Here's how to put them into practice.
Embracing drought as a training ground
The first application is to changing our perspective on spiritual dryness. Instead of experiencing it as a failure or divine abandonment, learn to see it as John of Avila teaches: a time of expansion, an invisible inner work. When you pray and feel nothing, tell yourself: My heart is expanding right now. I am becoming capable of more.
This shift in perspective isn't a personal development technique. It's a theological conversion. It's moving from a spirituality of immediate results to a spirituality of patient trust. In practical terms, this might mean keeping a spiritual journal where you record not your consolations, but your desires—even the humblest, even the most hesitant. Tonight, I didn't feel anything while praying, but I still felt like praying. That's already huge. It's a wish of Avila.
Naming and nurturing desire
The second application is to actively work on desire. John of Avila said: «"Never tire of desiring it."» This implies that desire requires effort, attention, and nourishment. The desire of the Spirit cannot sustain itself in a world saturated with stimuli.
How to nurture this desire? Through regular practice that creates space: a daily moment of silence, even a short one (ten minutes is enough), where you express Explicitly express your desire for the Spirit. Not necessarily with elaborate words. Sometimes just: «"Come, Holy Spirit."» The Pentecost liturgy begins exactly like this — Veni, Sancte Spiritus. This is the shortest and most effective prayer for maintaining desire.
We can also nurture this desire by reading the testimonies of those who have experienced the coming of the Spirit: the Acts of the Apostles, the mystics (John of Avila himself, Teresa of Avila, Francis de Sales), and contemporary conversions. These accounts act like embers on ashes—they rekindle what was smoldering without a flame.
Revising one's understanding of the Holy Spirit
The third application touches on something more fundamental: to be convinced of the great power of the Spirit. John of Avila makes this a sine qua non condition. And it must be acknowledged that our representation of the Holy Spirit is often the poorest of our representations of the Trinity. We picture the Father, we picture the incarnate Son—but the Spirit often remains vague, reduced to a dove or symbolic flames.
It is helpful to reread the passages in the New Testament that speak of the concrete action of the Spirit: he inspires the prophets, he guides the decisions of the nascent Church, he gives courage to the martyrs, he prays within us «"with inexpressible groans"» (Rom 8:26). The Spirit is not an abstract force — it is a divine Person with intention, direction, and power to act.
This rediscovery of the Spirit as a living and personal power is probably the most urgent spiritual task for many practicing Christians. John of Avila made it the central focus of his teaching.
Supporting confidence in long waits
Finally, the fourth application concerns the duration. John of Avila writes for people who have been waiting for a long time. Perhaps you are in this situation. You have been praying for years, you have longed for the Spirit for years, and the great consolation that the mystics speak of always seems to be postponed.
Avila's response to this situation is neither a promise of magical imminence, nor an invitation to lower your expectations. It is a statement: «"None of those who invoke him end up deprived of his consolation."» Consolation will come. Keep your faith not as naivety, but as a a theological certainty based on God's faithfulness.
During these long periods, it can be helpful to reread the psalms of waiting—Psalm 22, Psalm 63, and Psalm 130. These texts have been prayed by generations of believers who waited in the night. They testify that long waiting is not an anomaly of the spiritual life—it is one of its most authentic forms.
John of Avila wrote this text for a specific recipient, in a specific context—Spain during the Council of Trent, where the reform of the Church demanded strong souls, capable of interiority and perseverance. But his words have a scope that far transcends this context. They speak to anyone who has ever prayed in silence and waited for an answer that was slow in coming.
What John of Avila ultimately offers us is not a recipe for force the coming of the Spirit. It is a pedagogy of trust. It teaches us to live waiting — not as a pointless corridor where we tread water, but as a place of formation, expansion, preparation for something greater than we could imagine.
The Spirit is coming. He has not forgotten you. And the desire you have for him is already his trace within you.
John of Avila, Spiritual Letter on the Expectation of the Holy Spirit.
✝ Biblical references
5 passages · 5 books
You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you… you will be my witnesses. (Acts 1:8)
The birth and expansion of the Church from Jerusalem to Rome under the action of the Spirit.
→ Explore the Codex Acts of the Apostles- From Dar es Salaam to Tashkent: The Missionary Geography of Leo XIV
- «One in Christ, united in mission»: the Pontifical Mission Societies at a time of courage and conversion
- Madrid, gateway to the world: Leo XIV, Spain and the refusal to be used as a tool
- Ascension Thursday no longer exists in America — and that's a theological problem.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. (Genesis 1:1)
First book of the Bible: creation of the world, fall, patriarchs from Abraham to Joseph.
→ Explore the Genesis Codex- An encyclical without an owner: Magnifica Humanitas and the American mirror
- Magnifica Humanitas: when the Church speaks to all humanity, in its own language
- Dying with dignity or dying by choice: what the Senate told France
- Listening to the earth and the poor: ecological conversion at the heart of the Catholic faith
The Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost. (Luke 19:10)
The Gospel of Mercy: Jesus close to the poor, women and sinners.
→ Explore the Codex Luc- He who is not with me is against me (Luke 11:14-23)
- To this generation there will be given only the sign of Jonah the prophet (Lk 11:29-32)
- This generation will have to answer for the blood of all the prophets, from the blood of Abel to the blood of Zechariah (Luke 11:47-54)
- Woe to you Pharisees! Woe to you also, teachers of the law! (Luke 11:42-46)
- Rather, give as alms what you have, and then everything will be clean for you (Lk 11:37-41)
Behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age. (Matthew 28:20)
The Gospel of the King: Jesus, the new Moses, fulfills the Scriptures for Israel and the nations.
→ Explore the Matthew Codex
The righteous will live by faith. (Romans 1:17)
Paul's great theological synthesis: sin, grace, justification, and life in the Spirit.
→ Explore the Roman Codex- The Spirit intercedes with groanings too deep for words (Romans 8:22-27)
- Proclaim the Gospel to all creation (Mark 16:15-20)
- The Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you (Romans 8:8-11)
- No creature can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ (Romans 8:31b-39)
- When people love God, he himself works all things together for their good (Romans 8:26-30)
- «"He makes his sun rise on all" — Clement of Alexandria and the light that does not choose its recipients
- When love comes first: Thérèse of the Child Jesus and the God who always comes first
- «The woman who gives birth is in pain» — Adam of Perseigne and the mysterious fruitfulness of charity
- The Holy Spirit is given only to those who truly desire it.
- When God is silent: Jesus' delay is not his abandonment
