Reading from the Letter of Saint Paul the Apostle to the Romans

Brothers,
    I know that good does not dwell in me,
that is to say in the being of flesh that I am.
Indeed, what is within my reach is to want good,
but not to accomplish it.
    I do not do the good that I would like,
but I commit the evil I would not.
    If I do the evil that I would not,
so it is no longer me who acts like this,
but sin dwells in me.
    I who would like to do good,
I therefore observe, in myself, this law:
what is within my reach is evil.
    Deep inside myself,
I delight in the law of God.
    But, in the members of my body,
I discover another law,
who fights against the law that my reason follows
and makes me captive to the law of sin present in my body.
    Unhappy man that I am!
Who will deliver me from this body that is dragging me to death?
    But thanks be to God
through Jesus Christ our Lord!

            – Word of the Lord.

Freedom Beyond the Inner Struggle: Breaking Out of the Prison of Sin

How Saint Paul reveals to us the path to authentic liberation from the moral turmoil that runs through every human existence

You know that heartbreaking feeling: sincerely wanting the good, yet falling back into the same dead ends, the same compromises, the same weaknesses. In Saint Paul's cry of distress to the Romans, "Who will deliver me from this body which is leading me to death?" resonates the universal experience of inner struggle. This biblical text does not merely describe a psychological conflict: it exposes the fundamental human condition and announces a radical liberation. For all those who aspire to coherence between their beliefs and their lives, this passage opens a new path of hope.

We will first explore the theological context of this major letter from Paul, then analyze the paradoxical dynamics of sin that inhabits man. Three axes will then unfold the existential scope of this text: lucidity about our condition, recognition of our powerlessness, and openness to liberating grace. Finally, we will explore how to concretely embody this liberation in daily and spiritual life.

Context

The Letter to the Romans, written around 57 or 58 AD, represents Saint Paul's most systematic theological exposition. Written from Corinth, this letter is addressed to a Christian community that Paul did not found, but which he wishes to visit. In it, he develops his understanding of the salvation offered by Christ, justification by faith, and the human condition in the face of sin.

Chapter 7 is a crucial section in which Paul exposes the complex relationship between the Mosaic Law, sin, and grace. After establishing that faith in Christ frees one from the obligation to keep the Jewish Law in order to be saved, Paul responds to a potential objection: Is the Law therefore evil? No, he emphatically replies. The Law is holy, just, and good. But it reveals sin without being able to deliver it.

The passage we are examining constitutes the dramatic climax of this reflection. In it, Paul describes a harrowing inner experience that commentators have long debated: Is he speaking of his personal experience before his conversion? Is he describing the condition of the believer himself? Is he adopting a rhetorical "I" to describe all humanity? The majority of contemporary exegetes lean toward the latter interpretation: Paul uses the first person to universalize an experience that every human being experiences, believer or not.

This liturgical use of this text in the Catholic Church often occurs during Ordinary Time readings, particularly when the liturgy explores the themes of conversion, spiritual warfare, and new life in Christ. This text resonates deeply with the sacramental experience of confession and the desire for inner transformation.

The text itself reveals a remarkable dramatic structure. Paul first describes helplessness: "I know that good does not dwell in me." This radical statement might seem pessimistic, but it reflects extraordinary spiritual insight. Paul then distinguishes between willing and doing: "What is within my power is to will the good, but not to accomplish it." This dissociation between intention and action manifests the inner division that characterizes man.

The text then progresses to the identification of the cause: "If I do the evil I do not want, then it is no longer I who do it, but sin, which dwells in me." Paul personifies sin as an autonomous force, almost like a foreign power that occupies the inner territory of man. This vision goes beyond simple psychology to reach a theological anthropology: man is divided against himself by a reality that surpasses him.

The climax comes with the cry of distress: "O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body which is dragging me to death?" This exclamation is not absolute despair but a recognition of helplessness opening onto the expectation of a liberator. And immediately, Paul responds: "But thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" This final thanksgiving reverses the whole picture: the battle described is not without a way out, a liberation exists.

Analysis

The central idea of this Pauline passage lies in the paradox of a good will trapped in a radical inability to accomplish the good it desires. This tension is not accidental but structural: it reveals the fundamental human condition since the Fall. Paul is not describing a personal psychological problem but a universal law of human existence not yet fully transformed by grace.

The text sets out three essential movements that follow one another logically. First, the lucid recognition: "I know that good does not dwell in me." This affirmation does not deny human dignity or the image of God in man. It simply notes that after original sin, human nature is wounded, inclined toward evil, incapable of fully realizing the good it conceives. Paul makes a fine distinction between willing and doing: the will remains oriented toward good, but execution is lacking. This distinction reveals that the problem is not primarily intellectual or intentional, but ontological.

Then, the existential diagnosis: "I discover another law, which fights against the law that my reason follows." Paul uses the legal vocabulary of "law" to describe two antagonistic forces in man. The law of reason corresponds to the moral law, to the conscience of good, to the authentic desire to do what is right. The other law, that of sin in the members, represents the heaviness of the flesh, the attraction toward evil, the ease of transgression. This inner struggle is not metaphorical: it is the daily experience of every human being who is honest with himself.

Finally, the Christological conclusion: "Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" This seemingly abrupt conclusion actually reveals the entire dynamic of the text. Paul deliberately painted a dark picture of human helplessness in order to make Christ's grace shine more brightly. Without this grace, man remains a prisoner of sin. With it, liberation becomes possible, not through his own effort but through a free gift.

The theological significance of this passage is immense. Paul establishes that the Law, despite its holiness, cannot save. It reveals sin, it shows the way to goodness, but it does not provide the strength to accomplish it. This revelation overturns any moralistic or voluntarist approach to salvation. Man is not saved by his own efforts, even virtuous ones. He is saved by grace that comes from elsewhere, that transforms from within, that truly liberates.

This Pauline vision runs through all subsequent Christian anthropology. It underpins the Augustinian theology of grace, Protestant reflection on justification by faith alone, and even the Catholic understanding of spiritual combat and the necessity of the sacraments. Man is simultaneously capable of conceiving the good and incapable of fully accomplishing it on his own: this tension defines our condition as pilgrims toward holiness.

On an existential level, this text frees us from sterile guilt. If sin is a force beyond our control, if inner division is structural, then our repeated failures are not primarily personal moral failings but manifestations of our wounded condition. This recognition does not justify evil, but it shifts the gaze: from moral judgment to a call for grace, from self-accusation to trusting humility.

Spiritual lucidity in the face of indwelling sin

The first fundamental axis of this Pauline text concerns spiritual lucidity, this capacity to clearly see the reality of our inner condition without illusion or denial. When Paul affirms "I know that good does not dwell in me," he is not giving in to pessimism but is practicing what spiritual people call self-knowledge. This lucidity paradoxically represents the first step towards liberation.

In our contemporary culture saturated with psychological optimism and positive thinking, acknowledging one's own moral weakness can seem counterproductive. We are constantly told to believe in ourselves, cultivate self-esteem, and affirm our worth. These encouragements have their place, but Paul invites us to a deeper and truer approach: to look honestly at what is happening within us, without pretense. This radical honesty is not masochism but spiritual realism.

Pauline lucidity identifies precisely where the problem lies: not in the intention, but in the execution. "What is within my reach is to will the good, but not to accomplish it." This subtle distinction reveals that man is not totally corrupt in his fundamental aspirations. His desire remains oriented toward the good, his will retains an initial rectitude. The problem arises at the moment of concrete realization, when it comes to translating the intention into action.

This analysis sheds light on countless everyday situations. How many times have we sincerely decided to change a behavior, correct a flaw, or adopt a new virtuous practice, only to find a few days or weeks later that we have returned to our old habits? The smoker who wants to quit, the angry person who wishes to become patient, the Christian who decides to pray more each morning: all know this gap between resolution and accomplishment.

Paul does not psychologize this phenomenon, but theologizes it. He does not say, "I lack willpower" or "I lack self-discipline." He says, "Sin dwells within me." This personification of sin as a quasi-autonomous force may surprise our modern mentalities. Yet, it captures a universal experience: that of a power within us that seems to act against our will, pushing us toward behaviors we consciously disapprove of.

The Desert Fathers, those monks of the first Christian centuries who systematically explored the interior life, spoke of "thoughts" or "logismoi": those interior suggestions that tempt the soul, diverting it from its spiritual resolution. They recognized, like Paul, that these thoughts are not simply neutral psychological productions but manifestations of an objective spiritual reality: the presence and action of evil in the world and in man.

This spiritual clarity also involves recognizing the inner division itself. Paul speaks of two conflicting laws: "In the members of my body I discover another law, which wars against the law of my mind." This legal metaphor describes an inner civil war. Man is not a homogeneous bloc, but a battlefield where opposing forces clash.

The Christian spiritual tradition has commented extensively on this division. Saint Augustine, in his Confessions, describes how his will was "chained" by the habit of sin, creating a "hard servitude." Even intellectually converted to Christianity, Augustine was unable to take the step of total commitment, held back by his disordered attachments. This Augustinian experience perfectly illustrates Paul's point.

Lucidity does not lead to despair but to humility. Objectively recognizing our powerlessness to save ourselves means abandoning the proud illusion of moral self-sufficiency. It means accepting our status as wounded creatures in need of a Savior. This humility is not humiliation but truth: it correctly situates us in the relationship between creature and Creator, between sinner and Redeemer.

Concretely, this lucidity transforms our spiritual life. Instead of exhausting ourselves in heroic resolutions destined to fail, we learn to rely on grace. Instead of cultivating fruitless guilt after each relapse, we simply return to God with confidence, knowing that our weakness is known and forgiveness is offered. Instead of harshly judging others for their weaknesses, we recognize in them the same inner struggle we ourselves are waging.

Radical Powerlessness as a Gateway to Grace

The second major axis of this text explores human powerlessness in the face of sin, not as a despairing inevitability but as a prerequisite for accepting divine grace. When Paul cries out, "O wretched man that I am!" he is not wallowing in self-pity but expressing the painful recognition of an absolute limit: man alone cannot free himself.

This recognition of powerlessness deeply offends our contemporary culture. We live in an era that celebrates autonomy, empowerment, and the individual ability to overcome all obstacles. Motivational slogans hammer us with the message: "You can accomplish anything," "Only your will matters," "Create your own reality." Faced with this ideology of personal omnipotence, Paul asserts something radically different: no, you cannot do everything on your own, and this powerlessness is not a weakness to be overcome but a reality to be accepted.

Pauline impotence does not concern ordinary natural abilities. Paul does not say that man cannot accomplish anything in the natural order: build civilizations, create works of art, develop sciences, exercise natural virtues. The impotence he speaks of is of a spiritual and soteriological order: man cannot save himself, radically transform himself, definitively overcome the sin that inhabits him.

This distinction is crucial to avoid any quietism or fatalism. Recognizing our spiritual impotence does not mean renouncing all effort, abdicating all responsibility, or falling into passivity. It means understanding that our efforts must be articulated with the action of grace, that our will must collaborate with the divine will, that our freedom finds its fullness not in autonomy but in communion with God.

The cry "Who will deliver me?" expresses this powerlessness while opening up to its overcoming. Paul does not say "No one can deliver me" but "Who will deliver me?", thus manifesting the expectation of an external liberator. This expectation is not resignation but active hope. It recognizes that salvation comes from elsewhere, that it is a gift before being a conquest, grace before being merit.

The Christian tradition has constantly pondered this dialectic of human impotence and divine omnipotence. Saint Thomas Aquinas, synthesizing Catholic theology, teaches that man, in his state of fallen nature, cannot by his own strength fulfill all the natural law, avoid all grave sins, or love God above all things in a lasting way. He needs habitual grace, which heals and elevates his nature.

Carmelite spirituality, exemplified by Saint Teresa of Avila and Saint John of the Cross, places particular emphasis on the need to recognize our powerlessness to welcome God's action. Teresa spoke of her "nothingness" not out of false humility but out of spiritual lucidity: without God, she can do nothing; with God, everything becomes possible. John of the Cross describes the spiritual path as a progressive stripping away of any pretension to self-salvation.

This recognition of powerlessness revolutionizes sacramental practice. The sacrament of reconciliation, confession, takes on its full meaning: not as a humiliating exercise in self-accusation, but as a joyful recognition that we need divine forgiveness, that we cannot absolve ourselves. The Eucharist becomes indispensable nourishment, not an optional supplement: the Christian recognizes that he cannot live spiritually on his own strength but needs to be nourished by the Body of Christ.

Prayer itself is transformed. Instead of being a spiritual performance in which we demonstrate our fervor, it becomes a confident begging: "Lord, I need You. Without You, I can do nothing. Come to my aid." The prayer of petition, sometimes scorned as inferior spirituality, regains its fundamental dignity: it expresses the truth of our dependent condition.

This acknowledged helplessness also frees us from sterile comparisons. If no one can save themselves, then all are equal before the need for grace. The saint is not the one who has succeeded by their own effort but the one who has welcomed God's action within them with particular docility. This fundamental equality in helplessness nourishes mutual humility and compassion.

Paradoxically, accepting our powerlessness makes us more spiritually powerful. As long as we rely on our own strength, we remain limited to our natural abilities. When we accept to depend totally on God, his omnipotence can operate in us. Saint Paul affirms elsewhere: "When I am weak, then I am strong," because in his acknowledged weakness, the power of Christ can be fully deployed.

Liberation Offered: From Law to Grace

The third central axis explores the response to helplessness: "Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!" This opening exclamation of thanks reverses the entire previous picture. After depicting confinement, Paul proclaims liberation. But this liberation does not come from redoubled human effort, a better moral strategy, or a stronger will: it comes from Jesus Christ.

This Christological dimension is absolutely central to Pauline thought. Christ is not simply a moral example to be imitated, a wise man whose teachings we follow. He is the Liberator who effectively breaks the chains of sin. His death and resurrection objectively defeated the power of sin and death. Through baptism, the believer participates in this victory, dies and rises with Christ, and receives new life.

This new life is neither automatic nor magical. It remains a life of faith, spiritual combat, and progressive growth. But it is part of a transformed reality: the believer is no longer under the domination of sin, even if he continues to sin. He now belongs to a new order, that of grace, where final victory is assured even if the path remains demanding.

Christian liberation is radically different from all purely human or psychological forms of liberation. It is not liberation through knowledge (gnosis), nor through moral effort (Pelagianism), nor through the denial of evil (naive optimism). It is liberation through grace, that is, through a free gift from God that truly transforms the human being from within.

This transformation takes place through the Holy Spirit, whom the risen Christ pours out into the hearts of believers. The Spirit is the "new law" of which Paul speaks elsewhere: no longer a law written on tablets of stone or paper, but a law inscribed in hearts, an inner divine presence that guides, enlightens, and strengthens. The Spirit gives the strength to accomplish what mere human will could not achieve.

Concretely, how is this liberation experienced in the Christian life? First, through a fundamental inner peace. Despite relapses and persistent struggles, the Christian knows that he is forgiven, accepted, and loved unconditionally by God. This certainty of salvation in Christ frees one from the anguish of judgment, from the obsession with sin, from the spiral of guilt. The awareness of sin remains, but it no longer crushes: it simply leads to a confident return to the merciful Father.

Then, through a new capacity to resist evil and practice good. This capacity does not eliminate the struggle, but it changes the dynamic. Instead of fighting alone with his own strength against a superior enemy, the Christian fights with the strength of the Spirit. Temptations remain present, but their hold gradually diminishes. Virtues, which seemed impossible to practice sustainably, gradually become natural, fruits of grace rather than products of the will.

This liberation also transforms the relationship with the Law. Paul explains at length in Romans and Galatians that the Christian is no longer "under the Law" but "under grace." This does not mean antinomianism, the abolition of all moral norms. It means that the moral law is no longer a crushing burden impossible to bear, but an expression of love that the Spirit makes possible. The Christian fulfills the law not by external constraint but by the inner dynamism of love.

The saints wonderfully illustrate this liberation. They are not moral supermen who have succeeded by exceptional willpower in perfectly observing all the commandments. They are men and women who have allowed grace to operate fully in them, who have collaborated docilely with the action of the Spirit, who have welcomed divine mercy with total trust. Their holiness is not their work but the work of God in them.

Saint Thérèse of Lisieux, with her "little way," perfectly expresses this logic of grace. Aware of her weakness, she renounces climbing the "staircase of perfection" by her own effort and allows herself to be carried in the arms of the Father. Her holiness does not consist in accomplishing spiritual exploits but in abandoning herself totally to merciful love. This path of spiritual childhood is a pure application of the Pauline theology of grace.

The liturgical and sacramental life of the Church makes this liberation present. Each sacrament is a channel of grace, a means by which Christ communicates his divine life. Baptism gives us birth to new life, confirmation strengthens us with the Spirit, the Eucharist nourishes us with the Body of the Risen One, reconciliation renews us in forgiveness, the anointing of the sick unites us with the Passion of Christ, and marriage and holy orders consecrate us for specific missions. All these sacraments demonstrate that grace is not an abstract idea but a concrete reality, a real communication of divine life.

This liberation, finally, is already real but not yet complete. Theology speaks of "inaugurated eschatology": the Kingdom has already begun in Christ, but not yet fully manifested. Likewise, our liberation from sin is already effective, but its fullness awaits the final resurrection. This tension between "already" and "not yet" explains why the spiritual struggle persists, why we continue to sin even when justified. But it also assures us that the final victory is certain, that our hope is not in vain, that what has been begun will be completed.

Tradition

This text from Romans 7 has profoundly influenced the entire Christian tradition, giving rise to countless commentaries, theological controversies, and spiritual applications. Its resonance spans the centuries, illustrating its ongoing relevance to human experience and the Christian faith.

Saint Augustine of Hippo was particularly struck by this passage. In his controversy with Pelagius, who affirmed the human capacity to accomplish good through self-effort without special grace, Augustine relied heavily on Romans 7 to demonstrate the radical impotence of man without grace. For Augustine, this text authentically describes the condition of every man, even a believer, as long as he remains in this world. The battle between flesh and spirit continues until death, even if grace brings gradual victory.

The Eastern and Western monastic tradition has made this text a foundation of its spiritual anthropology. The Desert Fathers recognized in the Pauline description their own experience of the struggle against thoughts, passions, and demons. Their ascetic practice aimed precisely to purify the heart of this inner division, not by its own strength but by collaboration with divine grace, notably through the continual prayer of the name of Jesus.

Medieval theology, particularly that of Thomas Aquinas, integrated this Pauline vision into a sophisticated anthropology. Thomas carefully distinguishes between nature and grace: human nature, even fallen, retains its fundamental goodness and its own capacities, but it needs grace for its supernatural fulfillment. Original sin wounded but did not destroy human nature, creating the division Paul speaks of between reason and concupiscence.

The Protestant Reformation placed Romans at the heart of its theology. Luther, in particular, found in this seventh chapter the perfect description of the justified believer who nevertheless remains a sinner. His formula "simul justus et peccator" (simultaneously righteous and sinner) is directly inspired by the Pauline tension. For Luther, the believer always remains internally divided, but is declared righteous by faith in Christ, covered by his righteousness.

Carmelite spirituality, with Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, deeply meditated on this human powerlessness as an indispensable prelude to mystical union. John of the Cross, in his Dark Night, describes how God gradually purifies the soul of all its disordered attachments, leading it to recognize its nothingness in order to open itself completely to transforming grace.

Contemporary Catholic theology, particularly since the Second Vatican Council, has renewed the reading of this text by emphasizing the universal call to holiness. If all the baptized are called to the perfection of charity, it is not by their own capacity but by the grace of the Spirit who dwells within them. The struggle described by Paul is not inevitable but an obligatory passage towards progressive transformation in Christ.

In the liturgy, this text resonates particularly during the season of Lent, a time of conversion and spiritual combat. It reminds the faithful that their penance is not aimed at earning salvation through their own efforts, but at opening themselves more fully to the transforming action of grace. Easter confession, traditionally encouraged during Lent, concretely manifests this recognition of powerlessness and this acceptance of liberating forgiveness.

Meditations

How can we concretely experience this liberation announced by Saint Paul? Here is a path of meditation and spiritual practice inspired by Romans 7, articulated in seven progressive steps to embody this message in daily life.

Practice daily examination of conscience. Every evening, for ten minutes, revisit your day with compassionate clarity. Identify the moments when you intended to do good but were unable to accomplish it. Don't judge yourself harshly, but simply acknowledge the reality of this inner struggle. End by thanking God for his patience and mercy.

Accepting helplessness as a spiritual path. When you notice a recurring weakness, a persistent defect, or a repeated fall, resist the temptation to become discouraged or to become willfully stubborn. Simply say, "Lord, I cannot do it alone. Come to my aid." This prayer of helplessness is very powerful spiritually.

Receive the sacrament of reconciliation regularly. Don't see confession as a humiliating chore, but as a liberating encounter with divine mercy. Prepare yourself by rereading Romans 7, identifying not only your faults but also your inability to avoid them alone. Accept absolution as the effective word that truly sets you free.

Nourish the interior life through the Eucharist. Receive Communion as often as possible, knowing that you need this spiritual nourishment. Before receiving Communion, pray: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I will be healed.” This prayer manifests an awareness of our unworthiness and trust in the transforming power of Christ.

Cultivate the prayer of the name of Jesus. In times of temptation or inner struggle, simply invoke: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." This ancient prayer from the Eastern tradition perfectly expresses the recognition of our need and the call to the liberator. Repeated with faith, it pacifies the heart and strengthens against temptation.

Spiritually accompany and be accompanied. Share your inner struggle with a priest, a spiritual director, or a trusted Christian friend. This transparency breaks the isolation of sin and allows you to receive encouragement, advice, and fellowship. It concretely demonstrates that we are not alone in our struggle.

Meditate regularly on Romans 7 in lectio divina. Take this text as the basis for your monthly meditation. Read it slowly, identify the verse that resonates most, ruminate on it, pray with it, and let it dwell in your heart. This familiarity with the Pauline text anchors within you a true awareness of your condition and the grace that saves you.

Conclusion

Saint Paul's cry, "Who will deliver me from this body which is leading me to death?" reaches across the centuries to every human being who is honest with themselves. This existential question finds its answer not in our heroic efforts but in the liberating grace of Jesus Christ.

The revolutionary force of this message lies precisely in this reversal: our weakness becomes a door to salvation, our helplessness opens onto divine omnipotence, our inner struggle manifests our need for the Savior. Far from being fatalism, this recognition is authentic liberation. It delivers us from the proud illusion of self-sufficiency, from the exhaustion of sterile efforts, from paralyzing guilt.

Living this Pauline truth radically transforms Christian existence. The spiritual life is no longer an exhausting race toward unattainable perfection, but a confident acceptance of the grace that works in us what we cannot accomplish alone. The moral struggle does not disappear, but it shifts: from solitary struggle to collaboration with the Spirit, from strenuous effort to trusting abandonment, from merit to gift.

This conversion of outlook and heart bears concrete fruits: inner peace despite our imperfections, patience with our spiritual slowness, compassion for the weaknesses of others, joyful fidelity to the sacramental life, invincible hope despite relapses. The Christian gradually learns to live in the logic of grace rather than that of moral performance.

The urgency of this message for our time is evident. Faced with the contemporary ideology of personal omnipotence, absolute autonomy, and self-construction, Paul announces a radically different wisdom: we need to be saved, liberated, and transformed by a power beyond ourselves. This dependence is not infantilization but liberating truth.

The final call resounds powerfully: accept your helplessness, welcome grace, let yourself be transformed by the Spirit. Do not remain prisoners of your own efforts, your guilt, your repeated failures. Cry out like Paul: "Who will deliver me?" And receive the answer in faith: "Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!"

This liberation offered awaits only your humble and trusting consent. It is experienced in daily prayer, sacramental life, and the gradual abandonment of any pretense of saving yourself. It is manifested by a paradoxical joy: that of knowing that in our very weaknesses, the power of God is deployed and leads us to the fullness of life in Christ.

Practical

• Examine your heart every night by identifying your inner divisions without judgment, simply with lucidity and trust in divine mercy which renews each day.
• Confess monthly by preparing for the sacrament by reading Romans 7, recognizing your need for liberating forgiveness rather than your ability to correct yourself alone.
• Call on the name of Jesus daily in times of temptation, saying: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me a sinner, come to my aid.”
• Take Communion every Sunday and more if possible, with the awareness that this spiritual food gives you the inner strength that your will alone cannot produce.
• Meditate on Romans 7 monthly in lectio divina, letting this text gradually shape your understanding of yourself and the action of grace in your life.
• Share your spiritual struggle with a trusted Christian companion or friend, thus breaking isolation and receiving encouragement in the common faith.
• Abandon all moral perfectionism joyfully accepting that your holiness will be God's work in you rather than your own production, thus freeing you from spiritual anxiety.

References

Biblical texts : Letter of Saint Paul to the Romans, chapters 6-8 (complete context of Paul's theology of grace and sin); Letter to the Galatians, chapter 5 (battle between flesh and spirit).

Fathers of the Church : Saint Augustine, Confessions (books VII-VIII, on conversion and the impotence of the will); Saint Augustine, Grace and Free Will (fundamental theological treatise on grace).

Medieval Theology : Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Prima Secundae, questions 109-114 (treatise on necessary grace); Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, chapter 7.

Carmelite spirituality : Saint Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle (especially the first dwellings); Saint John of the Cross, The Dark Night of the Soul (on passive purification).

Contemporary Theology : Hans Urs von Balthasar, The Divine Drama (theological anthropology); Karl Rahner, Fundamental Treatise on Faith (on grace and human freedom).

Church documents : Council of Trent, Decree on Justification (1547); Catechism of the Catholic Church, paragraphs 1987-2029 (grace); John Paul II, Veritatis Splendor (1993, on morality and grace).