John of the Cross

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John of the Cross (born Juan de Yepes y Alvarez) (1542 – 1591), venerated as Saint John of the Cross, was a Spanish Catholic priest, mystic, friar and poet. 

John was born in a small town near Avila to accountant Gonzalo and weaver Catalina. When John was three, forcing Catalina to take him and his surviving brother to Medina del Campo where she could find work. There, he entered a school for poor children, mostly orphans, to receive a basic education, mostly in Christian doctrine. Growing up, John studied humanities at a Jesuit school,  before joining the Carmelite Order and studying theology and philosophy at Salamanca University.

In 1567, he returned to Medina, where he met the influential Carmelite nun, Teresa of Avila. Teresa was opening up a new convent, and convinced John to join her in helping reform the Carmelite order. After a brief spell by her side, learning her principles, John left to found a new monastery for Carmelite friars and changed his name to "John of the Cross."

He joined Teresa on several trips during the next few years to establish new religious communities across Spain before settling in Avila. There, the reformists encountered numerous tensions between their community and the traditional Carmelite friars who were opposed to reform. The tensions soon heightened, and John was shortly imprisoned thereafter in a monastery in Toledo. It was here, while facing extreme cruelty and hardship—which included public lashings, severe isolation, and malnourishment—that he secretly composed much of his famous poem Spiritual Canticle, as well as several shorter poems.

Eight months later, John had managed to escape, and after a period of recovery, resumed his reform activities.

On a darkened night,

Anxious, by love inflamed,

-- O happy chance! --

Unnoticed, I took flight,

My house at last at peace and quiet.

Safe, disguised by the night,

By the secret ladder I took flight,

-- O happy chance! --

Cloaked by darkness, I scaled the height,

My house at last at peace and quiet.

On that blessed night,

In secret, and seen by none,

None in sight,

I saw with no other guide or light,

But the one burning in my heart bright.

This guide, this light,

Brighter than the midday sun,

Led me to the waiting One

I knew so well -- my delight!

To a place with none in sight.

O night! O guide!

O night more loving than the dawn!

O night that joined

The lover with the Beloved;

Transformed, the lover into the Beloved drawn!

Upon my flowered breast,

For him alone kept fair,

There he slept,

There I caressed,

There the cedars gave us air.

I drank the turret's cool air,

Spreading playfully his hair.

And his hand, so serene,

Cut my throat. Drained

Of senses, I dropped unaware.

Lost to myself and yet remaining,

Inclined so only the Beloved I spy.

All has ceased, all rests,

Even my cares, even I;

Lost among the lilies, there I die.

O love's living flame,
so softly do you sear
the deepest center of my soul!
Now that you no longer shy away,
end this game, I beg of you, today:

Rip open the veil separating us
in this sweet rendezvous!

O tender burn!
O burning boon!
O gentle hand!
O delicate caress,
that infers eternal life
and renders all debts paid!
Killing, death into life you have made!

O beacons of fire,
in whose splendor
the blind, dark
deep grottoes
of the senses,
with strange and stately art,
warm and enlighten,
and win my love!

How tenderly is your memory
cherished in my breast,
where you alone reside and in secret rest:
Here I taste in your perfumed breath
goodness aflood with glory--

How gracefully you've won my love!

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English version by Ivan M. Granger

Creation forgotten,

Creator only known,

Attention turned inward

In love with the Beloved alone.