The Fire That Is Love I have always been interested in Purgatory. Ii makes complete sense to me, and I believe it is a place of healing, joy, as well as pain, because healing seems to involve pain of some sort. When I pray for the world, I often think of Catherine’s fire. I think of the places in my own heart that still resist God, and how gently He continues to burn away what does not belong to Him. And I think of the countless souls — living and dead — who are being drawn, slowly and steadily, into that same healing flame. Her teaching gives me hope. It tells me that God’s mercy is not limited by our weakness. It tells me that purification is not something to fear, but something to welcome. And it tells me that the love we offer in prayer becomes part of God’s work of making all things new. Below is something on this subject from the internet. BrMD The Fire That Is Love: A Reflection on Catherine of Genoa’s Teaching on Purgatory There are saints who teach with words, and saints who teach with their lives. Catherine of Genoa does both. When she speaks about purgatory, she is not describing a place on a map of the afterlife. She is describing what happened inside her own soul when God’s love seized her so completely that everything in her that was not love began to burn away. Her teaching is startling in its simplicity: purgatory is not God’s punishment — it is God’s mercy. It is the soul finally letting itself be loved all the way through. 1. The Soul’s Joy in Being Purified Catherine insists that the souls in purgatory are filled with joy, not fear. They suffer, yes — but it is the suffering of healing, not the suffering of despair. She uses the image of a person who has been wounded and is finally receiving the painful treatment that will make them whole. The soul sees God with perfect clarity, and in that light it sees its own remaining shadows. And instead of shrinking back, it runs toward the fire that will make it capable of love. There is no resentment in purgatory. No bargaining. No “Why is this happening to me?” Only a soul saying, “At last, I am becoming who I was made to be.” 2. The Fire Is God Himself Catherine is bold: the fire of purgatory is the same fire as heaven — the fire of God’s love. The difference is not in God, but in us. When a soul is still carrying the residue of selfishness, fear, or sin, that same love which will one day be bliss is experienced as purification. The soul is not being punished for sin; it is being healed from sin. God is not the jailer. God is the physician. This is why Catherine can say that the souls in purgatory would not shorten their purification even if they could. They want the fire, because they want God. 3. Purgatory Begins on Earth Catherine’s own life is the key to her teaching. She experienced a sudden, overwhelming conversion in which God’s love pierced her so deeply that she saw her whole life in a new light. From that moment on, she lived in a kind of interior purgatory — a joyful burning that purified her desires, her attachments, her pride, her self-will. For her, purgatory was not a distant doctrine. It was the daily work of surrender. And this is where her teaching becomes personal for us. Every time we let God’s love touch a place in us that resists Him — a wound, a habit, a fear — we are already entering the purifying fire. Every act of humility, every moment of forgiveness, every surrender of control is a small purgatory, a small dying into love. 4. A Mercy for the World Catherine’s vision makes purgatory not a threat but a promise. It means that God never gives up on us. It means that even after death, His mercy continues its work. It means that love has the last word. And for those of us who pray for the world — for the wounded, the lost, the hardened, the despairing — her teaching is a consolation. Our prayers join God’s own desire to purify and heal every soul. Nothing is wasted. No heart is beyond reach. The fire of divine love is patient, relentless, and tender.
A beautiful, clear presentation on Purgatory. I appreciate that you mention that our daily spiritual life should always be open to this purgative element: for [St. Catherine of Genoa] ...every time we let God’s love touch a place in us that resists Him — a wound, a habit, a fear — we are already entering the purifying fire. Every act of humility, every moment of forgiveness, every surrender of control is a small purgatory, a small dying into love. For me it is a reminder to include those undergoing such purification in my prayers. Even though the beautiful gift of indulgences is clothed in the language of "days and years", ultimately the poor souls are simply some of the many in the Church who need my sincere attention and prayers. It can all be summed up in loving each and every member of the Communion of Saints. But it is also a wonderful reminder to invite and allow the Holy Spirit to perform surgery on myself as well. Thank you, Brother Mark, for dropping in now and then!
When we suffer in this life, we are always subject to the temptation to think that God has abandoned us and to fail to take advantage of any purifying aspect of suffering when it is united to the Cross of Christ. We also often witness people who become distressed when remembering sins that have already been forgiven in confession, because it is often difficult to forgive oneself. In both cases, purgatory allows the soul to contemplate, in a visible way, a process of purification conducted directly by God. Thus, the soul has no doubt that it has been forgiven and that divine grace has reached it, because it stands in the antechamber of Heaven. There is also no doubt about God’s love—as can tragically happen to us in moments of tribulation in life—for if we are immersed in God’s purifying fire and not in eternal separation from Him, it is precisely because He has loved us.
I met a soul one time at night who was in the deepest part of Purgatory and had been there since the 16th century. I was shown a little of his life and he had been a really, really nasty individual indeed. Very proud, arrogant and he treated people around him , his inferiors like they were cow manure. In addition to this he had been a soldier a very violent individual indeed. It was amazing to me that he had been saved at all but it was due to the prayers of his old Catholic mother that he had been saved from hell by the skin of his teeth. But I will mention what he looked like. It was the middle of the night in the bedroom and totally dark but he was a patch of darkness that was even darker than the night. Not in the way that the devil is dark he was simply black, no evil. But he reminded me of the trees round here. There was a great fire here in the summer and many of the trees were brunt. He reminded me of a burnt tree. So deep in purgatory he was buried in the dark. A moving burnt tree. Someone had Gregorian masses offered for him and he is in heaven now. But anyway looking at the way he led his life I can see the Justice of it all. He certainly had it coming to him. But we should never give up hope that any soul might be saved. There is always hope. There is always hope.
I met a person once who spoke in the same manner regarding the souls in purgatory. He said he saw his family members, completely blackened, their bodies skinny and frail. They came out to hug him in gratitude for his prayers. A burnt tree is a great metaphor. Reminds me of the purification example St. John of the Cross used regarding the burnt log.
