Mother Teresa’s Long Dark Night

For more than fifty years following her initial visions and locutions, Mother Teresa was wrapped in a dark, pitiless silence.

She only once more heard the voice of God, and she believed the doors of heaven had been closed and bolted against her. The more she longed for some sign of his presence, the more empty and desolate she became.

We always saw her smiling. She had a playful smile, mischievous, as if privy to some secret joke. Especially when she was around children, she beamed with delight. In private, she had a quick, self-deprecating sense of humor, and sometimes doubled over from laughing so hard. So many people who spent time with her came away saying that she was the most joyful person they had ever met.

Now we know that in secret her life was a living hell. As she confided to her spiritual director in 1957:

In the darkness . . . Lord, my God, who am I that you should forsake me? The child of your love — and now become as the most hated one. The one — you have thrown away as unwanted — unloved. I call, I cling, I want, and there is no one to answer . . . Where I try to raise my thoughts to heaven, there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives and hurt my very soul. Love — the word — it brings nothing. I am told God lives in me — and yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul.

Mother Teresa lived in a spiritual desert, panicked that God had rejected her, or worse, that he was there in the dark hiding from her. As if by some strange formula, the greater her success and public adulation, the more abandoned, humiliated, and desperate she felt.

There was a brief period, one month in 1958, when she was able to pierce the darkness. Her light came during a requiem Mass celebrated the day after the death of Pope Pius XII, the pope who had granted her permission to leave Loreto and go among the poor. “There and then disappeared that long darkness, that pain of loss, of loneliness, of that strange suffering of ten years,” she wrote. “Today my soul is filled with love, with joy untold, with an unbroken union of love.” Four weeks later, the darkness had descended: “He is gone again, leaving me alone.” She lived in this darkness until the end of her life.

The Long Dark Night

This article is from a chapter in THE LOVE THAT MADE MOTHER TERESA. Click image to preview or order.

Other saints have told of their spiritual torments and feelings of abandonment by God. In the sixteenth century, St. John of the Cross described the experience as “the dark night of the soul.” But we would be hard-pressed to find another saint who suffered a darkness so thick or a night so long as Mother Teresa suffered.

John of the Cross and others wrote poems and spiritual canticles to describe their sufferings in God’s absence and their frus­trated longings for the embrace of his love. Mother Teresa never did. In fact, only her spiritual directors knew of her anguish. A few of her letters to them have been made public. And using lines drawn from these letters, we can piece together the stanzas of a sort of spiritual canticle depicting Mother Teresa’s dark night of the soul:

I did not know that love could make one suffer so much . . . of pain human but caused by the divine. The more I want him, the less I am wanted. I want to love him as he has not been loved, and yet there is that separation, that terrible emptiness, that feeling of absence of God.

They say people in hell suffer eternal pain because of the loss of God . . .

In my soul I feel just this terrible pain of loss, of God not wanting me, of God not being God, of God not really existing.

That terrible longing keeps growing, and I feel as if something will break in me one day.

Heaven from every side is closed.

I feel like refusing God.

Pray for me that I may not turn a Judas to Jesus in this painful darkness.

Never before perhaps in the history of the saints have we been given such an honest and plainspoken account of the dark night of a soul.

In Mother Teresa’s dark night, we can hear all the anguish of her century — the desolation of the poor, the cries of the unwanted children, of the atheist, of all those who can’t murmur a prayer or feel to love anymore. It was as if in some way she was bearing their sufferings. And in this she seemed in some way to be sharing too in the sufferings of Christ.

“In you, today, he wants to relive his complete submission to his Father,” she wrote in 1974 to a priest suffering his own spiritual blackness. “It does not matter what you feel, but what he feels in you . . . You and I must let him live in us and through us in the world.”

We now see these words as beautifully autobiographical, reflecting her awareness that in her emptiness and poverty she was being mystically grafted onto the life of Christ — being emptied as he was in assuming our humanity and being crucified as he was in offering himself for our sins.

After her death, it was disclosed that in her early missionary days, long before hearing her call to the poor, Mother Teresa had quietly made a private vow of spiritual espousal — to be all for Jesus and to refuse him nothing.

From her letters, we can see that she understood her darkness as an ordeal, a divine trial. In the dark night, her vow of self-offering was being put to the test. Would she really refuse him nothing, drink the cup her Lord drank, lay down her life as he had laid down his life, offer herself as he did, completely and without reserve? In her dark night, Jesus was claiming Mother Teresa for his own, pledging himself to his spiritual bride, pruning away her self-love and pride, purifying her in heart, mind, and intention, stripping away all that would keep her from total union with him.

And again using lines from her private letters, we can compose the final stanzas of Mother Teresa’s spiritual canticle, her response to her Lord and her dark night. These lines form a final prayer of self-oblation, an act of faith in which she makes herself a total gift — to share in Jesus’ Passion and in his burning thirst for souls:

For my meditation I am using the Passion of Jesus.

I am afraid I make no meditation, but only look at Jesus suffer and keep repeating,

Let me share with you this pain!

If my pain and suffering, my darkness and separation, give you a drop of consolation, my own Jesus, do with me as you wish.

I am your own.

Imprint on my soul and life the suffering of your heart.

If my separation from you brings others to you . . .

I am willing with all my heart to suffer all that I suffer. Your happiness is all that I want . . .

I have begun to love my darkness, for I believe now that it is a part, a very small part, of Jesus’ darkness and pain on the earth.

I want to satiate your thirst with every single drop of blood that you can find in me. Please do not take the trouble to return soon.

I am ready to wait for you for all eternity.

Following St. Thérèse into the Night and Dawn

Jesus came for her on September 5, 1997. She had been an apostle of joy and light in the dark final hours of the second Chris­tian millennium.

She died almost one hundred years to the day after her patron St. Thérèse, the Little Flower of Lisieux. And their lives form spiritual brackets around the twentieth century. Thérèse, too, experienced a “night of nothingness” — on her deathbed, she heard demonic voices telling her that heaven was just a figment of her imagination.

Following Thérèse into this night of nothingness, Mother Teresa too sought the Holy Face of the Crucified in the crushed and the dying, walked the path of spiritual childhood in the small, ordinary realities of her days, and lived her life one little act of love at a time.

On the day Mother Teresa died, her sisters laid her in state beneath Our Lady of Fatima, a statue of the Blessed Mother depicted as she appeared to the children at Fatima. It was fitting in a way that no one could have known at the time.

Few knew that she had been guided all these years by apparitions and a voice heard one summer long ago. And few knew that she was trying to be a living expression of Mary’s love for her children, to show us the blessed fruit of Mary’s womb, Jesus. We can now see that Mother Teresa was among the firstfruits of the pope’s consecrationof the world to Mary’s Immaculate Heart. The child called Gonxha “flower bud” — became the first bud of new Christian life, flowering from the century’s bloody soil of wars, famines, and persecutions.

Mother Teresa had followed the call of the gospel and done all that had been asked of her by Jesus and Mary in those earlier visions. They were visions for which her whole life had prepared her — and visions that she lived out for all generations to come. Kept secret during her lifetime, these things have been disclosed to us now in the early days of the new millennium so that we might understand more fully the meaning of Mother Teresa and the revolution of love that God was working in our midst.

She was our mother, coming to us in the dark night of our times to give us comfort and prove to us that we had not been orphaned by God. She taught us to call on our Father in all our desolations and diminishments, to cry out as she did — as children of his love, born of his desire, never out of his care, destined to love and be loved.

These were the lessons she was teaching every day in Nirmal Hriday. For the despised and unwanted, for those who had defiled themselves in sin and bad living, she wanted to prove the love of God, “to make the mercy of God very real and to induce the dying person to turn to God with filial confidence.”

Helping others to die, she was teaching us how to live — with the confidence of children finding their way back to the loving arms of their Father.

She was an apostle sent to us in our time of dying, to a culture in which death had become the last refuge of the living. Hers was a ministry of final moments and last chances. She believed in death­bed conversions, that we were never too old to learn the lessons of spiritual childhood, that on this side of death it was never too late for any of us — or for the world.

“I am convinced,” she said, “that even one moment is enough to ransom an entire miserable existence, an existence perhaps believed to be useless.”

She once said, “All of us are but his instruments, who do our little bit and pass by.” The little bit she did, she did with grace. But what she accomplished in her life was only partial. The accomplishments of the saints always are. They await their fulfillment in the lives of those who follow, in your life and in mine.

She turned our heads as she passed by, made us want to come and see what she saw, to follow where she was going.

image: Mother Teresa receiving the père Marquette Discovery Medal in 1981 via Marquette University / Flickr

Editor’s note: This article was adapted from a chapter in David Scott’s The Love that Made Mother Teresa which is available from Sophia Institute Press. 

David Scott


David Scott is the current Vice Chancellor of Communications in the Archdiocese of Los Angeles and former Editor of Our Sunday Visitor. Scott has published several books, including studies of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta and Dorothy Day. Hundreds of his essays and articles have appeared in journals and periodicals throughout the world, including the Vatican newspaper, L'Osservatore Romano, as well as National Review, Commonweal, Crisis, Inside the Vatican, National Catholic Register, Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, and elsewhere. Scott holds a master's degree in religion and scripture from Pittsburgh Theological Seminary.

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  • Jane Ellen Hautanen

    Sorry, I didn’t think much of Mother Theresa

  • Don Syriac

    Jane, I can understand that. I don’t know why, but some of the most wonderful of human beings can leave us untouched. I am that way with John Paul II.
    My experience of Mother Teresa is quite different. I shook her hand and talked with her briefly after an address she gave here in Memphis. My family and I were not people of any note, just people waiting for the crowds to disperse and were fortunate enough to walk side by side with her as she left the coliseum with other of her sisters. I found her to be approachable and easy to fall in love with. I count that day as one of the most fortunate days of my life.

  • melanie statom

    A non-believing relative met her eyes in a hospital hallway in San Diego during a time they were both undergoing treatment. He wept at the telling of this wordless encounter with uncommon holiness.

  • Michael J. Lichens

    Don, I think Jane meant she doesn’t like Mother Teresa (Jane: Do correct me if I’m wrong on that and feel free to elaborate. Or not, whatever you prefer, I welcome your thoughts).

    Now, to my own personal experience: I never gave much thought to Mother Teresa. I never met her in person so I was not aware of the power of her presence. I respected her, sure, but I didn’t grow up Catholic so I respected her the same way I’d respect any other Nobel Prize winner. Even after I entered the Church, I would say I held her in high esteem but just didn’t think much.

    It wasn’t until I found out about her inner struggles and realized how human she was that I grew a fondness for her. The same would later happen for me with The Little Flower. For whatever odd reason, with these saints, I only got the whitewashed version where it seemed like it was impossible for them to even be grumpy, much less be in a living Hell.

    While my own “dark night” was not as severe, I am diagnosed a particularly frustrating form of depression and anxiety (which I’ve written about here). To read Mother Teresa, a woman who so did truly did a great deal of work to help those around her, had been living with this was a relief. Sometimes it seemed that my disposition kept me from being a good Catholic and that is why I am glad for the examples of saints who endured similar struggles that we have and yet they became “more than conquerors,” to use St. Paul’s words. So, yeah, she’s one of my adopted patrons now.

  • Christine Cook

    Mother Teresa, I read a book, Mother Teresa of Calcutta, back around 1998/99 . It changed my life forever. How could one love so much,have such great wisdom, unless that one had been touched by God. I know that Christ through her touched my life deeply.

  • Maria 3

    The first canonized woman saint from India , St.Alphonsa of The Immaculate Conception , burned her feet accidently, in order to escape marriage, to devote her life to The Lord, in the convent ; the miracles for her canonization were of children getting healed of ailments of the feet , such as club feet ..
    Blessed Mo Teresa too , unsure if her zeal to work for the poor , dying destitute had led her into dangerous paths ; her first home for dying having been adjacent to a Hindu temple dedicated to the goddess of destruction – the city of Caluctta ( Kali Ghatt ) itself named after same and was a much more troubled city at one time, esp. with militant atheism /communism, that had also afflicted the land of birth of the Mother .
    Hearts that face the darkness of being far removed from the awareness of the Father’s love , desperate in the inner emptiness of not being able to love The Father , with the Heart of The Son – the very Bread of Life that we are made to live by ; she walked into their midst , like The Lord, coming into the lives of the demoniacs may be .

    The Lord allowed her to taste what He himself possibly tasted on The Cross , may be even in the Agony – Bl.Emmerich mentions how it is the distaste, the normal human aversion towards suffering , that He asked The Father to remove from Him, not the suffering per se .
    Her funeral, coming right after the death of Princess Diana , captivated persons world over , with the balm of comfort of seeing the goodness of a life well lived – The Lord thus already amply rewarding her , for her work with the dying and the poor ,
    The co incidence of the two deaths ,as though to frame her compassion for the
    poor rich, who too often starve for the Bread ; she with her own trials , thus possibly was able to give them a taste of The Lord ‘ s compassion, even while taking upon the emptiness in countless lives that she longed to help and heal , from the darkness of alienation to The Lord and each other !
    Blessed Mother Teresa , help us and those in our lives, to persevere , trusting in
    The Father’s love for us each , till our own hearts are filled with love for The Father ,
    as The Bread of Life and help to free us from any forces that keep us way from The Lord !

  • L Almaraz

    What profound words! “In Mother Theresa dark night we can hear all the anguish of her century”. Indeed. It seems like Jesus took her love which enabled him to live In her the desolation and rejection he experienced in his humanity. As Jesus, his humanity and divinity now resides in Heaven and he no longer walks the earth as man. But his ardent love flames on for humanity. These victim souls refuse him nothing, and so they endured these dark nights in him and for him. What great love this must be and how much are they needed in this dark times! Offer prayers for these hidden souls who will be responsible for many souls coming to Jesus and perhaps for the lessing of any chastiments the world might be facing.

  • sjme2002

    I think she asked for a “purity” in her love. To love without receiving any consolation.

    Pure love is to suffer even…without any consolation. No feeling. No sense of elation.

    And God granted her prayer.

    That’s a wonderful prayer, if she did make it, very hard, and all the more reason she possessed heroic virtue.

  • mparks12

    She asked God to see and serve him and touch him in the poor. She did.

  • First look inwards

    I’m no way even close to the suffering she had endured, but after reading this I can’t help but wonder why I feel like she did and how many others are going through life feeling a sense of abandonment. In a world that is so upside down, what is right is wrong and wrong right. Not knowing if what your doing maters but struggle to hold on to hope that you do matter or that the dim light you have doesn’t completely go out. Thank you Mother Teresa you are hope

  • BHG

    Tomas Halek has an interesting take of the Little Flower’s experience in his book Patience with God. He points out that if we are to enter Heaven, only love survives, for faith and hope naturally pass away in the presence of God; perhaps in the two Teresas we see what that looks like in the here and now.

  • Charles Saliba

    Colossians 3:1-11 Since you have been brought back to true life with Christ, you must look for the things that are in heaven, where Christ is, sitting at God’s right hand. Let your thoughts be on heavenly things, not on the things that are on the earth, because you have died, and now the life you have is hidden with Christ in God. But when Christ is revealed – and he is your life – you too will be revealed in all your glory with him.

    The above was the first reading of today’s holy mass.

    Mother Teresa lived the above readings word to word:

    She lived a true life with Christ.
    She looked for the things that are in heaven where Christ is.

    She thought on heavenly things.
    She never thought on the things that are on the earth.
    She died, and the life she had was hidden with Christ in God.
    And for sure:

    Christ was revealed -and she too was revealed in all her glory with him.