Comforter

Comforter
We read that Jesus said at the Last Supper, “It is rather your heart full of sorrow that I told you. But I’m telling you the truth: It’s better for you that I left. If I do not go away, the Comforter will not come to you. If I go out, I will send him to you” (John 16:6-7).
We are often sad. This feeling comes from the belief that the world should not be bad or worse. So it’s a kind of hatred for facts. The saving grief is repentance. If, however, we fall into the despair of life as such because of others, it is then a lack of faith in Providence, in the goodness of God, which is shown on his part.
However, overcoming carelessness is not simple. If it works for small problems, we can overcome them with natural pleasures and some fun. Still, if they come with severe suffering, adversity, and persecution, we feel weak and helpless face-to-face with such a large cross. Alone, Jesus foretold his suffering in the Garden of Olives; he was sad to death (cf. Mt 26:38), so an angel appeared from heaven and gave him strength (cf. Lk 22:43).
In the oldest Christian documents, the Holy Spirit is called “Angel.” “Angel” is a Greek word meaning “messenger.” Christ sends the Holy Spirit as his messenger to the grieving, for only he can reveal to them the positive meaning of the cross and, therefore, comfort them where natural consolations disappoint. The modern reader is surprised to read in the writings of ancient monks how they strongly condemned jokes, laughter, and baggage. These judgments are undoubtedly exaggerated and sometimes unjust. But we can understand why they were reported. The ascetics understood that true joy could not be enforced by “confiscation to forget ourselves. Unshakable joy springs only from within, and the Spirit Comforter comforts us from within. The narrative in Kvítek is instructive in this respect: St. Francis of Assisi, called “Where is the true joy?” explains this to his brother Leo. The saint explains this concept to his brother Leo. They were returning from a long journey, soaked and brittle, but already close to their monastery. “But,” said Francis, “If they don’t open the gate for us, if they drive us out and we will not be grieved for this, behold, it is a true joy!” Not being able to be saddened in such situations is beyond human power, but a saint believed that the Spirit could give it to us.
Fire
Ancient nations considered fire a divine element. Even in the Bible, revelations of God are accompanied by the seeing of fire: in the burning bush (cf. Ex 3:3n); at the top of Mount Sinai (cf. Ex 19:18); the prophet Elijah has taken away to heaven in a chariot of fire (cf. 2 Kings 2:11); and Jesus, according to John the Baptist, must be baptized with the Holy Spirit and by fire (cf. Mt 3:11). After all, at the sending of the Spirit, fiery tongues appeared above the heads of the apostles (cf. Acts 2:3). The image of fire offers many interpretations. To be transferred into the spiritual life means, above all, zeal for good and for the glory of God. In this meaning, it is said of the prophet Elijah that his zeal was like fire, and it burned like a torch (cf. Sir 48.1).
Even in human activity, we see how beneficial it is when someone is enthusiastic about studying, art, or my job. He does it well and with great pleasure. Zeal is the opposite of a mistake called “lukewarmness.” According to St. Bernard, it secretes the “shadow of death.” A lukewarm man resembles an uncultivated vineyard, a house.
Without doors, without locks. Negligence robs a person of joy. It, therefore, increases the effort of everyday life. It is the worm at the root, devouring from the inside, though everything from the outside
continues as usual. The Greek Fathers referred to lukewarmness in divine things as stenocardia. The Father’s words in the book of Revelation applied to such a man with a stubborn, “sclerotic” heart: “I know your deeds: you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were cold or hot! This way, however, because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.” (Rev. 3: 15-16). Evagrius calls this vice “a demon noon” (cf. Zl 91: 6), enthusiasm, “at noon of life,” “many feel tired and lose the desire to work for the good.” The author is convinced that this vice is a very dangerous demon “because a disgusted and lazy person has no will to resist. On the contrary, the Holy Spirit keeps a Christian’s heart youthful in enthusiasm and joyful in willingness to do good whenever the opportunity arises. Saint Martin had already died, but when he saw how sad his disciples were, he begged, “Sir, if I may still be useful, I will not refuse. Russian writer Tolstoy published this as a nice testimony of her aunt, who replaced their dead mother: she always served everyone, but her face showed how much luck it was to love and realize that love. So the saints in the service of God appeared; the fire of the Holy Spirit shone in their eyes.

Dove
As seen at Jesus’ baptism, she became a dove, the most famous image of the Holy Spirit (cf. Mi 3:16). When interpreting the scene, it is natural to remember the text in Genesis about the first creature that says the Spirit of God hovered over the waters; baptism is the “second creature.” The doves were the only birds allowed to be sacrificed in the Jerusalem temple. They symbolized purity and simplicity (cf. Mt 10:16). As doves flew from above and soared into the sky, they became a symbol of prayer for spiritual authors. When we pray, we enter an eternal conversation among the three divine Persons, which would not be possible without the Holy Spirit’s contribution. Theophane Zatvornik explains the threefold division of man, as the Fathers know it, in this sense: We have a body, a soul, and a spirit of the saint. The body feeds, breathes, and moves. The soul thinks
what he wants; he feels. The characteristic activity of the Spirit is lithium, which can be called “breathing of the Spirit.” Through breathing, oxygen enters the blood and carries the secret throughout the body. In the same way, the Holy Spirit absorbs prayer, giving it the power to penetrate all our activities. The spirit is like a fire burning in the heart. That fire does not go out without air. Prayer stirs up this flame. In the liturgy, it is used after the words of the transformation of bread and wine, also called epiklesis, the explicit invocation of the Holy Spirit to descend on the gifts laid on the altar and on people standing around. This expresses the basic truth that no prayer—not even the Eucharistic prayer – would be effective if, as Origen says, the Holy Spirit Himself did not turn with our words to the Father, if he had not cried in secret, “Abba, the Father” (cf. Gal 4:6).
He calls more powerfully than we do, his voice almost overlapping our weak call. In this way, Origen explains that in every prayer we ask for better things than we can understand ourselves. So it belongs to every prayer: epiclesis, supplication, and desire for the Holy Spirit to pray with us. It is sung in the most important rites of the liturgy as the hymn “Come, O Holy Spirit!” Every prayer, even the shortest, therefore has an infinite perspective. Through a human word or a pious, heartfelt feeling, we penetrate the life of the Holy Trinity, into a divine world where only happiness rules and where the destinies of the whole universe are decided with our cooperation.