Yet, despite Saint Francis' intuition and what has been said until now, if one examines the subject closely, one can conclude that the above-mentioned Christian patience--which consists, as we have seen, in sharing the Passion and death of Christ--is still far from being already Perfect Joy: at most it is only the way, though the quickest and the surest and the only one, to attain it. And, since it seems impossible to equate Perfect Joy and Christian patience, perhaps it would be more correct to say that the latter is the final step to be climbed before achieving the former. 

            For Perfect Joy cannot consist in suffering, however much it is borne for the sake of the Beloved and with the Beloved; Perfect Joy is to be found only in the feeling that follows the act of suffering and dying with Him. Hence the distinction the Apostle is careful to make between the goal and the way, apropos of communion with the sufferings of Christ: 

            So that I may know Him (Christ) and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his sufferings; become like to Him in his death, in the hope that somehow I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this, or already have been made perfect, but I press on hoping that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has laid hold of me. Brethren, I do not consider that I have laid hold of it already. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind, I strain forward to what lies ahead, I press on towards the goal (Phil 3: 10-14).

            As one can see, communion in the sufferings of Christ is, according to the Apostle, the step prior to attaining resurrection; only that. The intuitions of St. Francis of Assisi are therefore correct--although they need to be nuanced as regards what precisely the last step consists in. St. John of the Cross, who, over the course of his life, knew a lot about joys and sorrows, arrives at the same conclusion in the last stanza of his Dark Night:

I remained, lost in oblivion;,

My face I reclined on the Beloved;

All ceased, and I abandoned myself,

Leaving my cares

Among the lilies to be forgotten.

            Here, there can be no doubt: the cares mean pains and sufferings for the sake of the Beloved. These have now ceased and have been forgotten; all that remains now is to stay with and alongside the Beloved, reclining one's face on Him. This is something which is also hinted at in the first stanza of the same poem:

On a dark night,

Inflamed with yearnings of love,

O venture of delight!,

I went forth unobserved,

My house being now at rest.

            Clearly, if the house is already completely at rest, it is because suffering –in all its forms: persecution, temptation, dryness, absence, yearning, darkness—has been left behind. That is why he speaks of his venture of delight.

                        At early dawn still rosy

                        I set out to search with quick and hurried pace

                        The one who enamours me;

                        And upon seeing his face,

                        I forgot my sorrowing

                        Then and there, in the sweet and love-filled morning.

                        Come to me; be with me; stay.

                        while brisk North winds gust over the high meadow;

                        leave the flock to find its way,

                        whisper to me, faint and low,

                        that you feel wounded by my love’s tender blow.

            And the bride of the Song, as she must, comes to recognize the same thing, speaking to the Bridegroom (Song 2: 4-6):

He has brought me to the banqueting hall,

And his banner over me is love.

Feed me with raisins, refresh me with apples;

For I am sick with love.

His left hand is under my head,

His right arm embraces me.

                        What trace can be found here of the sufferings and yearnings that were part of her passionate search for the Bridegroom?  Are they not definitively a thing of the past, cast among the lilies to be forgotten, as St. John of the Cross puts it? Now that everything has ceased, once the winter is past (Song 2: 11), the moment has finally come when, definitely and forever, the  Bridegroom rests his left hand under the bride's head and his right hand embraces her. For just as it is impossible to be the prey of pain when one is with the Bridegroom, it is also true that hope no longer applies once one attains what one has desired and sought (Rom 8:24). The Baptist knew this very well, and therefore proclaimed: He who has the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices exceedingly at the voice of the bridegroom. This my joy, therefore, is made full (Jn 3:29).