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Chapter XI
In the highways and byways

A certain blind man sat by the wayside, begging. And when he heard the multitude passing by, he asked what this meant. And they told him that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by. Luke 18, 35-37.

There are some men and women who have the privilege of living a cloistered life, a life hidden in You, O Lord. And only those who do not know can consider such a life as useless or inhuman.

But most men and woman are called to “go out,” to come in contact with the “outside.” This day which I should like to spend with You, O Jesus, requires comings and goings in what they call the “world.”

This contact with the outside world can, and indeed must, be a contact with You, a divine meeting as real as the one which I succeed in obtaining in an oratory, in a monk’s cell, or in a bedroom.

To the question asked by the blind man who was begging in the outskirts of Jericho, they answered that “Jesus of Nazareth was passing by.”

Every time I go out, the experience should be that of the passage of Jesus. And that in a twofold way. Wherever others pass by, I should feel, O Lord, that it is You who are passing by. Wherever I Pass by, I should be such that others sense that it is You who are passing by.

“Thou has taught in our streets.” Lord, You put these words on the lips of many who “seek to enter and shall not be able.”

They are related in Your preaching in the cities and small towns of Palestine. But, Lord, are You still present in our streets? Yes, Master, You are still preaching today amidst the multitude. “After that He appeared in another shape.” It is only a question of recognizing that, in that shape, in so many other shapes, it is still, it is always, Jesus of Nazareth who passes by.

Why go out of the house? To meet Jesus. To give Jesus. To receive Jesus. By means of men and woman who cross my path and who will be, consciously or not, either receivers or givers of Christ.

I will go out into the street. I walk, and behold, O Lord, You are walking beside me.

Or rather You are walking in front of me and I follow You, as Your disciples followed You.

You remain invisible to the eyes of my body, but the eyes of my faith perceive Your Presence. It seems to me to advance in the light. I experience joy and strength at feeling that You are there, very near.

I know where I am going and I have the impression that it is You who are leading me. You speak to me I answer You. Or often both of us go on in silence; and speech at this moment is useless because what flows from Your heart fills up my heart.

We are not alone. In this street there are men and women; there is all the activity of modern life. I pass these beings in whom you are. I do not know them and yet I recognize them. It is You whom I recognize in them.

The child Elizabeth bore in her womb leapt for joy at the coming of Mary who herself was invisibly bearing Jesus. “What is of God” in every being, leaps when it feels “what is of God” in another being.

And the man who has fallen the lowest is not without the divine spark. That man or woman whom I meet probably does not know that You are with them and in them (without the difference between the Creator and His creature ever being obliterated).

But I adore You in them, O Saviour, You who are passing by at this very moment on our roads. Whether with me and in me, or with them and in them, it is Jesus of Nazareth who is passing by.

I get into a train or a bus. Everyone there appears to be stranger or indifferent to me. Lord, knock down this wall of separation.

Let me give them this Presence which is with me. Allow me to receive this Presence of which they too are the bearers. How do we establish rapport?

Sometimes a word will be the instrument of contact. It is not the apparent contents of the words which matter then. It is their hidden contents, the intention, the intonation, the facial expression, the smile, the secret fervor of the soul.

If I speak to these other people, no matter what I say to them, it is You whom I address. If they speak to me, no matter what they say to me, it is You whom I hear.

It is You who are found beyond the spoken word, often in spite of this word. Most of the time these strangers and I will never speak to each other. A glance can then establish the contact, if this glance is sincere, pure and deep.

Then that glance, which I either receive or direct, takes possession of my being or of the being I should like to approach. If the glance is lacking, the movement of the Spirit in us produces the same effect. We communicate in You. We participate in Jesus.

There are beings through whom I see You pass as through a transparent being. I remember that unknown woman whose face expressed such peace, such a radiant transfiguration, that I could not prevent myself from going toward her and saying to her: “Where does that peace which you seem to possess come from?” She answered me: “It is the joy of the Gospel.” It was then that I felt You passing by . . .

But those others from whom no radiance seems to emanate, and those suffering faces, the hardened and bitter faces, the troubled faces choked with sensuality . . . it is especially on these faces that I silently call for Your blessing, Your help and Your Presence.

And also upon little children whose faces reflect Your clarity. On the other hand, I sense You in them as the guest whom they love or as the prisoner whom they ill-treat, and I call to myself, I draw to myself that other aspect of Your Presence which is manifested in them. O wonderful exchange through which – without our hearing You – “You teach in our streets!”

And it is also in the streets of Your country that man’s grief was laid at Your feet. “They began to carry about in beds those that were sick, where they heard He was.

And whithersoever He entered, into towns or into villages or cities, they laid the sick in the streets and besought Him that they might touch but the hem of His garment.”

Lord, You want me to bring You the dying, the sick, unbelievers and sinners, the afflicted and the desolate, all those who are in special need of Your help. I cannot do so in a material way. That becomes possible in me, in my thoughts and prayers.

Lord, I measure with sadness how much my prayers of intercession are superficial, and I shall even say unreal. I mention rapidly a few names and this is what I call “interceding,” “praying for . . .!”

To pray for another is “carrying” him to You, carrying him on my shoulders or in my arms, by means of unremitting attention and an unflinching sympathy. “Do not try to carry me if you cannot carry me right to the end,” a sinful man said to me one day (and I did not know how to carry him right to the end).

Praying for another is putting him in Your Presence. To do that, first of all, I must myself draw near You until I feel “Jesus passing by.” Praying for another is establishing personal contact – touching him from the hem of the garment – between You and the one in question.

Were it only in my soul, it is a question of discovering the unique and intimate rapport, the junction-point which makes You say to each one “No one is dearer to Me than you,” or at least: “You are dear to Me in a way which is different from any other man.” Mary and Martha said to You: “He whom Thou lovest is sick.”

By an intuition of grace, I must perceive in what sense I can consider each one as “the one whom Thou lovest,” with a love which is not met again anywhere else.

And it is this love, unique in every case, responding in each case to a unique need, of which I must make the point of departure and the base of operations for all intercession that does not come about without effort.

Lord, may none of my “goings out” into the street – or, if I don’t go out physically, may no exodus of my thoughts to the world around me – be accomplished without my “really” bringing to You and placing at Your feet all the sufferings and infirmities of body and soul which my physical senses or my mind will have come upon!

I go out not only “in the streets,” in the places where I come upon men. I also go into the fields and gardens. No day passes without my having some direct contact with “nature.” I find You also in the fields.

“It came to pass again, as the Lord walked through the corn fields . . .” Every time I walk through the fields, I see You clearing a way with Your disciples through the ears of corn.

And I follow You . . . You said to the Eleven: “Go ye into the whole world and preach the Gospel to every creature.”

The Greek work ktisis goes beyond the meaning of “rational creature”: it evokes the general idea of “creation,” of all that has been created. I have no doubt that when You passed through the corn fields, You evangelized nature.

How so? By giving their meaning to the inarticulate aspirations of the plants and animals, of the earth and other worlds. Your Apostle Paul in particular knew how to explain the sighs and groans of this nature which sin has subjected to the Prince of this world and which awaits deliverance. You yourself have expressed by preference the reflection of the beauty and goodness of the Father in the work of His hands.

At those times when the awareness of Your Presence is not granted to me, I see especially in nature, as Paul did, a slavery and a waiting. But when I pass “through the corn” with You, I also announce with You the good news to all creation.

I proclaim to creation, in song rather than in speech, that at this very moment it is meeting that Jesus toward whom it tends with all its strength and who crowns its whole being. For creation is only an immense parable of the kingdom of God.

Lord, I do not know how to speak as I should to men and to nature. In the streets as well as in the fields, I am, if not deaf and dumb, then at least hard of hearing and a stammerer.

I don’t know how to hear or what to say. Put Your hand upon me as You did on the sick man of the Decapolis.
Put Your fingers in my ears.
Touch my tongue with Your saliva.
Pronounce Your Ephpheta, “which is, be thou opened.”
Grant that not only my ears may hear, not only that my tongue may be loosed, but that my heart and my whole being may be opened to Your Spirit and to men, so that Jesus of Nazareth may pass among us, pass from one to the other and be communicated to each one by each one.


Your saliva touched a human tongue. This saliva which was on Your tongue loosed another tongue. A divine and transforming contact. An extraordinary contact.

Yet by what humble means – a little saliva! When Jesus of Nazareth passes, when He loosens my ears and my tongue, I do not see Him as the glorious Messias, as the triumphant risen Saviour. He uses only the poorest means.

The multitude calls Him who is passing by Jesus “of Nazareth,” and this designation of His origin evokes the years of His hidden and laborious life. Later You will show Yourself as the King of glory.

Now, in the streets and through the fields I shall recognize You and shall be able to follow You only if I seek You in Your true place – in the last place.

Already very often Jesus of Nazareth has passed in my life. Oh that He might never cease to pass! Above all in my hours of cowardice and weakness, pass, Jesus, pass again!

Wherever Your Presence is not generally noticed, grant that I may feel it and announce to others that it is You who are there.

When my soul leaves the earth, may the luminous vision come again to me and one last time may I hear – as the best of the good news – the words of the Gospel: “that Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.”

Then with the blind man from Jericho I shall cry out: “Jesus, have mercy on me.” And the blind man saw You.