Category: Humility

In the Desert of the Heart By Paul Kingnorth

For see, you were inside, and I was outside, but I sought you there. Unlovely, I rushed without thinking among the things of beauty you made. You were with me, but I was not with you.’

St Augustine of Hippo

Sometimes it is difficult for me to write anything, because all I want to do is to be quiet. I have wanted this for years, and sometimes I achieve it, but it is fleeting. Maybe less fleeting by the year, though. Maybe the pull is growing, and the will and the ability. Growing slowly, like moss on a stone.

‘If anyone wants to learn the will of God’ said the Russian Orthodox priest Father Alexander Men, in one of his Lenten sermons¹, ‘let him seek silence.’ Christians have known this forever. They have fled to deserts and caves, monasteries and sketes. They have taken up residence on the tops of pillars and in the boles of hollow trees. They knew that the voice of God was both still and small² and could only be heard in silence, would only settle in a peaceful heart. 

Silence – or at least, quiet; peace – is the natural environment of the Spirit of God, it seems, and we live in the world which appears purposefully designed to make this a great struggle. The roar of traffic, the planes crossing the skies, the hum of the electric wires, the black rectangles in our pockets which fragment our attention, stimulate our passions and take us anywhere but the place where we stand. Whatever the world is it makes silence, or even quiet, almost an impossibility. That means we cannot hear God. And when we cannot hear God, we are lost.

Most of us will never get the opportunity to live in the bole of a hollow tree, and probably wouldn’t much like it if we did. But it is possible to be distracted by outward appearances. If you live in the middle of a city, a desert or a forest may seem an attractive haven of peace, but of course it is possible to flee to the wilderness and take your restless, neurotic, world-tangled heart with you. Probably it is quite common. Silence, a peaceful heart, the landing strip of the Holy Spirit, is not achieved simply by fleeing external noise, though this certainly helps. Most of the noise comes from within.

Last Sunday was the second Sunday of Lent in the Orthodox Church. Each Lenten Sunday is built around a different theme, usually around one of the Church Fathers or a story from the Gospels, each designed to take us deeper into what is sometimes called the ‘bright sadness’ of the Lenten descent. The second Sunday is dedicated to the memory of St Gregory Palamas, the fourteenth-century monk who is celebrated in the Orthodox Church for his defence of the spiritual tradition of ‘hesychasm’, which today forms the core of the contemplative spirituality of the Christian East. 

Hesychasm is one of those Greek words often encountered in Christian Orthodoxy which has no direct English translation; it is usually rendered as ‘stillness’. Hesychastic prayer is the pursuit of inner stillness, not for its own sake, but because this is the opening move of the entire purpose of Orthodox Christian spirituality, which is to seek theosis. This is another one of those Greek words, usually translated as ‘union with God.’ Theosis, according to the hesychasts, is achieved in silence, through solitary prayer and living, the aim of which is to offer up a peaceful heart for the Holy Spirit to dwell within. ‘The Holy Spirit is extremely meek,” wrote the Coptic monk Matthew the Poor. ‘He finds no rest in cries and confusion, or in a heart that is cruel, unjust, wrathful, irascible, or proud.’³ Hesychasm seeks to create the conditions for the Spirit to settle in our hearts; something He can only do if our hearts are at peace. 

St Gregory Palamas is celebrated for the intellectual battle he waged in the early 1300s with an Italian Orthodox monk named Barlaam, who had visited Mount Athos, seen the practice of hesychasm at first hand and been scandalised by it. Barlaam, it is said, had been trained in the Western Scholastic tradition, and was horrified by what today he might call the ‘woo’ of Eastern Christian mysticism. He nicknamed the hesychasts omphaloscopoi, our third Greek word of the day, which translates as ‘navel gazers’. Barlaam thought that the hesychasts were deluded and blasphemous; a position I still hear occasionally today from some Protestants. St Gregory took him on, and his defence of hesychasm won the day in the East. In the process, he helped cement its place at the heart of Orthodox spirituality, where it remains today.

The practice most commonly associated with the hesychastic tradition is that of the Jesus Prayer, which all Orthodox Christians – and plenty of non-Orthodox ones for that matter – are familiar with, and which many of us practice daily, either in the boles of trees or in suburban homes before work or after dinner. It is not, of course, necessary to live in a desert or on Mount Athos to pursue inner silence, though again it may help. It is probably not true that it can be found as easily in the midst of a megacity as it can in a forest, at least for most of us: the temptations, and the distractions, are simply greater, which is why people flee in the first place. Still, the principle is clear, and is much enunciated by the Fathers of the Christian Church: the Spirit of God will only settle in a peaceful heart. Outer peace makes it easier to achieve inner peace, but it doesn’t create it. Inner peace is achievable in central London, just as neurotic self-obsession is possible in a desert cave. 

This subject has obsessed me for years: the subject of silence, of stillness. I once wrote a book about the need to pursue it, and the difficulty of pursuing it as a writer. That book, Savage Gods, was a work of neurotic self-obsession if ever there was one, but it worried away at a question that had grown in me for years. It first arose, I think, when I began practicing Chan Buddhism at the age of forty: a practice which turned out to be a gateway drug to Eastern Christianity, just as soon as I was able to ask Christ to open the gate for me. Buddhism, like hesychasm, begins with the search for inner stillness, which it sees as a necessary precursor to understanding the delusions we tend to call ‘reality.’ This is entirely in accordance with Christian teaching, and indeed with modern understandings of human psychology. 

The thing is, once you begin to examine those delusions, you see that one of the most pernicious is the construction of a self-identity. This is necessary to survive in the world, probably, but soon enough it becomes a yoke around the neck. This construction labelled ‘Paul Kingsnorth’, for example, now has a public reputation as a writer with certain opinions and a particular history. His future work, and indeed his income, is in some way reliant on keeping this fiction going. It is not a ‘fiction’ in the sense of it being a deliberate falsehood, but it is a construction, which means it is a story, which means that the actual me has ended up stuck inside it, as well do with our stories in the end. 

Things are particularly bad for this ‘Paul Kingsnorth’ character, because he makes his living writing articles like this one. Not only does he need to do this to eat, but more existentially, he has written for so long that he now sees the world almost entirely through the lens of the written word. Even if he wasn’t getting paid to write things down, he would be writing them down anyway, which would just continue to encrust the artificial world around the artificial self, and make it harder to escape from both.

Whether we are writers or not, we create these personal fictions we call ‘identities’, and the older we get, the harder it is for that simple, primal stillness which is the precursor to true prayer to break back through. Back when I practiced Buddhism, I remember seeing with crystal clarity, at a level far deeper than the intellect, that if I wanted to progress spiritually I had to stop pumping out all these words. This was not because language itself was inherently bad – it is hardly avoidable – but because of something at once fuzzier and clearer, which even now I find it hard to explain. It was that words were part of the fiction of the world. It was so clear then – and it remains clear now – that spiritual progress, that work of theosis, requires us to drop all of our illusions. To smash through the cement of words and concepts and identities and opinions. To see ourselves naked before God. To make ourselves simple again.

Jesus, in more than one of the Gospels, talks about children, and what they have to teach us. In Luke’s Gospel⁴, when the disciples attempt to shoo away groups of parents who want him to bless their babies, Jesus rounds on them. ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them’, he says, ‘for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’

In Matthew’s Gospel, meanwhile, the disciples are jostling amongst themselves to achieve Jesus’s favour – or perhaps they are just anxious for some clear guidance. ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ they ask Him.⁵ In response, Jesus calls a child over to them. ‘Truly I tell you,’ he says, ‘unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.’

The ‘kingdom of heaven’, then, belongs to those who ‘become like little children’. In fact, unless we ‘change’, and learn to ‘receive the kingdom of God like a little child’, we will ‘never enter it.’ Jesus says this twice, and very emphatically. What does it mean?

Simplify, I think. To become childlike means to return again to the state in which God created us. To drop those self-created ‘personalities’. Children do not have strong opinions about the world. They do not – yet – have self-created egos which will trap them. They tend to move through the world wide-eyed, and to accept its magic. To become like a child is also to become like the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, a pair of striking images which Jesus uses elsewhere to urge his followers away from complexity and towards simplicity;⁶ away from words and towards experience; away from noise and towards silence. 

I have been struck repeatedly over the years by the fact that some of my favourite Christian saints were ‘uneducated’ people, in the world’s terms. The holiest of them, those who practiced straightforward Christian love with no frills, so often seem to have barely attended school. Some of them could barely read. I don’t think this is a coincidence. 

In his little book Do You Know Yourself?⁷, a collection of talks on Christianity and psychology, the late Fr Symeon Kragiopoulos, a Greek Bishop with a reputation as a ‘profound anatomist of the soul’, anatomises those of us who have what he calls ‘complications’ within: a description which I would guess applies to most modern people, and perhaps most pre-modern ones as well. ‘Someone who has complications within him, who has been blocked internally … can’t live the spiritual life,’ he writes, starkly. 

‘The harm that has happened to humanity,’ he goes on to say, ‘and particularly to contemporary humanity – that is, to us – it’s so great that in our effort to disentangle the complications that exist inside us we tangle them up even more.’ Humans, he says, begin life with ‘this blue sky in their souls, this clear heaven, this purity and holiness.’ In the beginning we are children, as Jesus tells his disciples to be again. But we complicate everything as we grow, with our stories, with our egotistic scrabbling, with all the stuff of life from which there is no escape. We build necessary shells to protect ourselves, and ‘the heaven of [our] souls is clouded and darkened.’ This is what it means to be ‘Fallen.’ 

What can help us, then? Christianity we say – if we are Christians, that is – but Fr Symeon is not convinced. ‘I’d dare to say that even Christianity is getting tangled up inside us and is itself getting mixed up,’ he says. Those of us who call ourselves ‘Christians’ do not have the simple, childlike souls we are called to embrace. ‘In the final analysis,’ he says, ‘while a person is Christian, while he believes in the Gospel, while he believes in Jesus Christ, while he confesses and receives communion, he is blocked.’ The blockage comes from the fact that so many of us are influenced more by ‘the spirit of western Christianity, which we perhaps call Christian civilisation, than by the Christianity of the Gospel and the Fathers, by that Christianity that really redeems a human being, that cleanses man and releases him from all those parasites and from all those pitfalls and makes it pure and clean.’

All of which, I suppose, takes us back to where we started: the silence. I have just written 2,500 words of noise to try and get at the matter of silence, and of course have not achieved it, because it is not achieved this way. Lent is a strange journey of deepening: I have learned this very slowly over the years. I am far from being any kind of ascetic, and my Lenten discipline regularly disappoints me, but even so, something seems to happen every year. This year, I have not wanted to say much for weeks. Even when I write, I write about silence. Something is calling me away. I am still not sure where to go, or how.

It took me a long time as a Christian to even begin to understand that much of the work, at least for beginners, is simply in shutting up. There is no point in worrying about whether you are silent or childlike or holy enough, or in trying to make yourself some kind of holy ascetic through force of will. Force of will doesn’t get you that far. You can run off to the forest or the desert if you like: some people are called to that life and some people are not. But we are all called to make a desert of our hearts. The Holy Spirit will alight there, we are told, when it finds a peace to welcome it. 

However, we do it, so much of the work, I think now, is struggling to allow silence a place to grow. When we do that, much of our overcomplicated, worldly nonsense just falls away, even if only for a second. The cement cracks, our stories shatter, and we begin to see how to walk away from ourselves. In the silence, perhaps we discover how to be children again.

Father Symeon should have the last word, I think, because I have written too many already:

‘Spiritual work happens secretly in the heart. Externally, let everything else threaten us. Like the sea: The wind blows, waves rise. But deep down it’s all quiet, peaceful, serene.

This is how a man who trusts in God lives. There might be a wild rage out there, but deep down nothing hinders the soul from having a mystical communion with God, a mystical love for God. Quietly and mystically, in a special way that the heart perceives, the Lord is whispering: “Don’t be afraid. I am here. Keep walking this path. Keep loving me, keep believing in me, keep following me”.

It’s not enough to suffer myriad things in life. When, though, you believe in God and accept all these – whatever it is that happens to you – gladly, for the love of God, God will make a saint out of you.’⁸

1

Fr Men’s Lenten homilies are collected in Awake To Life, published in 1996 by Oakwood Publications, California

2

1 Kings 19:12

3

Quoted from Guidelines For Prayer by Matthew the Poor, St Macarius Press, 2021

4

Luke 18:15

5

Matthew 18:1 – 5

6

Matthew 6:26 – 34

7

Published by Divine Ascent Press, California, in 2010.

8

‘Christians of Comfort.’ https://www.orthodoxpath.org/spiritual-life/christians-of-comfort/

u were inside, and I was outside, but I sought you there. Unlovely, I rushed without thinking among the things of beauty you made. You were with me, but I was not with you.’

St Augustine of Hippo

Sometimes it is difficult for me to write anything, because all I want to do is to be quiet. I have wanted this for years, and sometimes I achieve it, but it is fleeting. Maybe less fleeting by the year, though. Maybe the pull is growing, and the will and the ability. Growing slowly, like moss on a stone.

‘If anyone wants to learn the will of God’ said the Russian Orthodox priest Father Alexander Men, in one of his Lenten sermons¹, ‘let him seek silence.’ Christians have known this forever. They have fled to deserts and caves, monasteries and sketes. They have taken up residence on the tops of pillars and in the boles of hollow trees. They knew that the voice of God was both still and small² and could only be heard in silence, would only settle in a peaceful heart. 

Silence – or at least, quiet; peace – is the natural environment of the Spirit of God, it seems, and we live in the world which appears purposefully designed to make this a great struggle. The roar of traffic, the planes crossing the skies, the hum of the electric wires, the black rectangles in our pockets which fragment our attention, stimulate our passions and take us anywhere but the place where we stand. Whatever the world is it makes silence, or even quiet, almost an impossibility. That means we cannot hear God. And when we cannot hear God, we are lost.

Most of us will never get the opportunity to live in the bole of a hollow tree, and probably wouldn’t much like it if we did. But it is possible to be distracted by outward appearances. If you live in the middle of a city, a desert or a forest may seem an attractive haven of peace, but of course it is possible to flee to the wilderness and take your restless, neurotic, world-tangled heart with you. Probably it is quite common. Silence, a peaceful heart, the landing strip of the Holy Spirit, is not achieved simply by fleeing external noise, though this certainly helps. Most of the noise comes from within.

Last Sunday was the second Sunday of Lent in the Orthodox Church. Each Lenten Sunday is built around a different theme, usually around one of the Church Fathers or a story from the Gospels, each designed to take us deeper into what is sometimes called the ‘bright sadness’ of the Lenten descent. The second Sunday is dedicated to the memory of St Gregory Palamas, the fourteenth-century monk who is celebrated in the Orthodox Church for his defence of the spiritual tradition of ‘hesychasm’, which today forms the core of the contemplative spirituality of the Christian East. 

Hesychasm is one of those Greek words often encountered in Christian Orthodoxy which has no direct English translation; it is usually rendered as ‘stillness’. Hesychastic prayer is the pursuit of inner stillness, not for its own sake, but because this is the opening move of the entire purpose of Orthodox Christian spirituality, which is to seek theosis. This is another one of those Greek words, usually translated as ‘union with God.’ Theosis, according to the hesychasts, is achieved in silence, through solitary prayer and living, the aim of which is to offer up a peaceful heart for the Holy Spirit to dwell within. ‘The Holy Spirit is extremely meek,” wrote the Coptic monk Matthew the Poor. ‘He finds no rest in cries and confusion, or in a heart that is cruel, unjust, wrathful, irascible, or proud.’³ Hesychasm seeks to create the conditions for the Spirit to settle in our hearts; something He can only do if our hearts are at peace. 

St Gregory Palamas is celebrated for the intellectual battle he waged in the early 1300s with an Italian Orthodox monk named Barlaam, who had visited Mount Athos, seen the practice of hesychasm at first hand and been scandalised by it. Barlaam, it is said, had been trained in the Western Scholastic tradition, and was horrified by what today he might call the ‘woo’ of Eastern Christian mysticism. He nicknamed the hesychasts omphaloscopoi, our third Greek word of the day, which translates as ‘navel gazers’. Barlaam thought that the hesychasts were deluded and blasphemous; a position I still hear occasionally today from some Protestants. St Gregory took him on, and his defence of hesychasm won the day in the East. In the process, he helped cement its place at the heart of Orthodox spirituality, where it remains today.

The practice most commonly associated with the hesychastic tradition is that of the Jesus Prayer, which all Orthodox Christians – and plenty of non-Orthodox ones for that matter – are familiar with, and which many of us practice daily, either in the boles of trees or in suburban homes before work or after dinner. It is not, of course, necessary to live in a desert or on Mount Athos to pursue inner silence, though again it may help. It is probably not true that it can be found as easily in the midst of a megacity as it can in a forest, at least for most of us: the temptations, and the distractions, are simply greater, which is why people flee in the first place. Still, the principle is clear, and is much enunciated by the Fathers of the Christian Church: the Spirit of God will only settle in a peaceful heart. Outer peace makes it easier to achieve inner peace, but it doesn’t create it. Inner peace is achievable in central London, just as neurotic self-obsession is possible in a desert cave. 

This subject has obsessed me for years: the subject of silence, of stillness. I once wrote a book about the need to pursue it, and the difficulty of pursuing it as a writer. That book, Savage Gods, was a work of neurotic self-obsession if ever there was one, but it worried away at a question that had grown in me for years. It first arose, I think, when I began practicing Chan Buddhism at the age of forty: a practice which turned out to be a gateway drug to Eastern Christianity, just as soon as I was able to ask Christ to open the gate for me. Buddhism, like hesychasm, begins with the search for inner stillness, which it sees as a necessary precursor to understanding the delusions we tend to call ‘reality.’ This is entirely in accordance with Christian teaching, and indeed with modern understandings of human psychology. 

The thing is, once you begin to examine those delusions, you see that one of the most pernicious is the construction of a self-identity. This is necessary to survive in the world, probably, but soon enough it becomes a yoke around the neck. This construction labelled ‘Paul Kingsnorth’, for example, now has a public reputation as a writer with certain opinions and a particular history. His future work, and indeed his income, is in some way reliant on keeping this fiction going. It is not a ‘fiction’ in the sense of it being a deliberate falsehood, but it is a construction, which means it is a story, which means that the actual me has ended up stuck inside it, as well do with our stories in the end. 

Things are particularly bad for this ‘Paul Kingsnorth’ character, because he makes his living writing articles like this one. Not only does he need to do this to eat, but more existentially, he has written for so long that he now sees the world almost entirely through the lens of the written word. Even if he wasn’t getting paid to write things down, he would be writing them down anyway, which would just continue to encrust the artificial world around the artificial self, and make it harder to escape from both.

Whether we are writers or not, we create these personal fictions we call ‘identities’, and the older we get, the harder it is for that simple, primal stillness which is the precursor to true prayer to break back through. Back when I practiced Buddhism, I remember seeing with crystal clarity, at a level far deeper than the intellect, that if I wanted to progress spiritually I had to stop pumping out all these words. This was not because language itself was inherently bad – it is hardly avoidable – but because of something at once fuzzier and clearer, which even now I find it hard to explain. It was that words were part of the fiction of the world. It was so clear then – and it remains clear now – that spiritual progress, that work of theosis, requires us to drop all of our illusions. To smash through the cement of words and concepts and identities and opinions. To see ourselves naked before God. To make ourselves simple again.

Jesus, in more than one of the Gospels, talks about children, and what they have to teach us. In Luke’s Gospel⁴, when the disciples attempt to shoo away groups of parents who want him to bless their babies, Jesus rounds on them. ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them’, he says, ‘for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’

In Matthew’s Gospel, meanwhile, the disciples are jostling amongst themselves to achieve Jesus’s favour – or perhaps they are just anxious for some clear guidance. ‘Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?’ they ask Him.⁵ In response, Jesus calls a child over to them. ‘Truly I tell you,’ he says, ‘unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.’

The ‘kingdom of heaven’, then, belongs to those who ‘become like little children’. In fact, unless we ‘change’, and learn to ‘receive the kingdom of God like a little child’, we will ‘never enter it.’ Jesus says this twice, and very emphatically. What does it mean?

Simplify, I think. To become childlike means to return again to the state in which God created us. To drop those self-created ‘personalities’. Children do not have strong opinions about the world. They do not – yet – have self-created egos which will trap them. They tend to move through the world wide-eyed, and to accept its magic. To become like a child is also to become like the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, a pair of striking images which Jesus uses elsewhere to urge his followers away from complexity and towards simplicity;⁶ away from words and towards experience; away from noise and towards silence. 

I have been struck repeatedly over the years by the fact that some of my favourite Christian saints were ‘uneducated’ people, in the world’s terms. The holiest of them, those who practiced straightforward Christian love with no frills, so often seem to have barely attended school. Some of them could barely read. I don’t think this is a coincidence. 

In his little book Do You Know Yourself?⁷, a collection of talks on Christianity and psychology, the late Fr Symeon Kragiopoulos, a Greek Bishop with a reputation as a ‘profound anatomist of the soul’, anatomises those of us who have what he calls ‘complications’ within: a description which I would guess applies to most modern people, and perhaps most pre-modern ones as well. ‘Someone who has complications within him, who has been blocked internally … can’t live the spiritual life,’ he writes, starkly. 

‘The harm that has happened to humanity,’ he goes on to say, ‘and particularly to contemporary humanity – that is, to us – it’s so great that in our effort to disentangle the complications that exist inside us we tangle them up even more.’ Humans, he says, begin life with ‘this blue sky in their souls, this clear heaven, this purity and holiness.’ In the beginning we are children, as Jesus tells his disciples to be again. But we complicate everything as we grow, with our stories, with our egotistic scrabbling, with all the stuff of life from which there is no escape. We build necessary shells to protect ourselves, and ‘the heaven of [our] souls is clouded and darkened.’ This is what it means to be ‘Fallen.’ 

What can help us, then? Christianity we say – if we are Christians, that is – but Fr Symeon is not convinced. ‘I’d dare to say that even Christianity is getting tangled up inside us and is itself getting mixed up,’ he says. Those of us who call ourselves ‘Christians’ do not have the simple, childlike souls we are called to embrace. ‘In the final analysis,’ he says, ‘while a person is Christian, while he believes in the Gospel, while he believes in Jesus Christ, while he confesses and receives communion, he is blocked.’ The blockage comes from the fact that so many of us are influenced more by ‘the spirit of western Christianity, which we perhaps call Christian civilisation, than by the Christianity of the Gospel and the Fathers, by that Christianity that really redeems a human being, that cleanses man and releases him from all those parasites and from all those pitfalls and makes it pure and clean.’

All of which, I suppose, takes us back to where we started: the silence. I have just written 2,500 words of noise to try and get at the matter of silence, and of course have not achieved it, because it is not achieved this way. Lent is a strange journey of deepening: I have learned this very slowly over the years. I am far from being any kind of ascetic, and my Lenten discipline regularly disappoints me, but even so, something seems to happen every year. This year, I have not wanted to say much for weeks. Even when I write, I write about silence. Something is calling me away. I am still not sure where to go, or how.

It took me a long time as a Christian to even begin to understand that much of the work, at least for beginners, is simply in shutting up. There is no point in worrying about whether you are silent or childlike or holy enough, or in trying to make yourself some kind of holy ascetic through force of will. Force of will doesn’t get you that far. You can run off to the forest or the desert if you like: some people are called to that life and some people are not. But we are all called to make a desert of our hearts. The Holy Spirit will alight there, we are told, when it finds a peace to welcome it. 

However, we do it, so much of the work, I think now, is struggling to allow silence a place to grow. When we do that, much of our overcomplicated, worldly nonsense just falls away, even if only for a second. The cement cracks, our stories shatter, and we begin to see how to walk away from ourselves. In the silence, perhaps we discover how to be children again.

Father Symeon should have the last word, I think, because I have written too many already:

‘Spiritual work happens secretly in the heart. Externally, let everything else threaten us. Like the sea: The wind blows, waves rise. But deep down it’s all quiet, peaceful, serene.

This is how a man who trusts in God lives. There might be a wild rage out there, but deep down nothing hinders the soul from having a mystical communion with God, a mystical love for God. Quietly and mystically, in a special way that the heart perceives, the Lord is whispering: “Don’t be afraid. I am here. Keep walking this path. Keep loving me, keep believing in me, keep following me”.

It’s not enough to suffer myriad things in life. When, though, you believe in God and accept all these – whatever it is that happens to you – gladly, for the love of God, God will make a saint out of you.’⁸

If you appreciated this piece of writing, please consider a subscription or a one-off donation. It will allow me to keep offering these words for free, and will help those unable to pay. Thank you!

Make a donation

1

Fr Men’s Lenten homilies are collected in Awake To Life, published in 1996 by Oakwood Publications, California

2

1 Kings 19:12

3

Quoted from Guidelines For Prayer by Matthew the Poor, St Macarius Press, 2021

4

Luke 18:15

5

Matthew 18:1 – 5

6

Matthew 6:26 – 34

7

Published by Divine Ascent Press, California, in 2010.

8

‘Christians of Comfort.’ https://www.orthodoxpath.org/spiritual-life/christians-of-comfort/

St. Augustine Quotations

In his homily last Sunday, Father Gabe talked about the importance of St. Augustine of Hippo. I thought this compilation of some of his most well known quotes organized into broad topics might be a good way of helping us more deeply connect to this great saint.

Life and Wisdom

“Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity”.

“Patience is the companion of wisdom”.

“It was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels”.

“Become what you are not yet.”

“In doing what we ought we deserve no praise, because it is our duty”. 

“Free curiosity is a greater encouragement to learning than frightened compulsion.” (Conf 1,14)

Love and Character

To fall in love with God is the greatest romance; to seek him the greatest adventure; to find him, the greatest human achievement”.

“It matters not as much how much you know, but how much you love.”

“You can judge how much progress you are making by the degree to which you prefer the common good to your own individual interests”.

“Love has hands to help others”.

“Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation”.

“If you are to be filled with what is good, then you must pour out what is evil”.

“The confession of evil works is the first beginning of good works”

Humility

“Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility.”

“Let us, you and I lay aside all arrogance. Let neither of us pretend to have found the truth. Let us seek it as something unknown to both of us. Then we may seek it with love and sincerity, when neither of us has the rashness or presumption to believe that we already possess it.”

“I watch over you by virtue of my office, but I also wish to be watched over by you. I am a pastor for you, under the Pastor. From that position I address you as one who teaches, but with you I am a disciple in the school of the one Master”.

Interiority

“Return to yourself. Withdraw from all the din. Look inside yourself to find a pleasant, private corner in your consciousness…” (Sermon 52,22)

“Always examine yourselves without self-deception, without flattery, without buttering yourselves up. After all, there is nobody inside you before whom you need feel ashamed, or whom you need to impress. There is someone there, but one who is pleased with humility. Let Him test you. And you, too, test yourself.” (Sermon 169.18)

“Late have I loved you, O Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you. For see, you were within and I was without, and I sought you out there. Unlovely, I rushed heedlessly among the lovely things you have made. You were with me, but I was not with you.” (Confessions 10,27,38)

“When teachers have explained, using words, all those subjects which they profess to teach, even the science of virtue and wisdom, then the ones we call pupils consider within themselves whether what they have heard is true. This they do by gazing attentively at that interior truth, so far as they are able. Then it is that they learn, when within themselves they discover that what has been taught is true…” (The Teacher 14.45

“You are closer to me than I am to myself.”

“Let me know myself that I may know You.” (Soliloquies 2,1,1)

Community

“Honour God in each other.” (Rule 1,8)

“Before all else, beloved, love God and then your neighbour, for these are the chief commandments given to us.” (Rule 1,1)

“God does not demand much of you. He asks back what he gave you, and from him you take what is enough for you. The excesses of the rich are the necessities of the poor. When you possess more than you need, you possess what belongs to others.” (On Psalm 147.12)

“Friendship should not be bounded by narrow limits…. It extends beyond those to whom we owe affection and love, even to enemies, for whom we are commanded to pray. There is no one in the human race to whom we do not owe love, even if not out of mutual love, at least on account of our sharing in a common nature.” (Letter 130.13)

“I admit that when I am wearied by the scandals of the world, I abandon my whole self to the love of friends. I find rest in their love and I can stop worrying, for God is in that person to whom I abandon myself and with whom I feel secure and find rest. Their friendship eases my fear, fear about the incertitude of tomorrow that stems from human fragility…”(Letter 73:10)

‘In an orchestra there are many different instruments. But all are tuned so carefully and played in harmony that the audience only hears one melody. This must be our ideal: to be one orchestra for the Lord.’ (On Psalm 150,8)

Restless Search for Truth

“You have made us for Yourself, O Lord and our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” (Confessions 1,1)

Truth conquers and “the victory of truth is love.” (Sermon 358,1) 

“Let our searching be such that we can be sure of finding and let our finding be such that we may go on searching.” (The Trinity 9.1,1)

We “understand in order to believe; we believe in order to understand.” (Sermon 43.9)

“Every illness of the soul finds its medicine in the Scriptures.”

“Accordingly, dear reader, whenever you are as certain about something as I am go forward with me; whenever you stick equally fast seek with me; whenever you notice that you have gone wrong come back to me; or that I have, call me back to you.” (The Trinity 1,5,1)

Ongoing Conversion

“It is necessary for a person to let themselves be seized by the Word and change their life.” 

“You can judge how much progress you are making by the degree to which you prefer the common good to your own individual interests.” (Rule 5,2) 

“Hope has two beautiful daughters: their names are anger and courage. Anger that things are the way they are. Courage to make them the way they ought to be.” 

“When the truth is eagerly sought, finding it produces greater enjoyment. Found, it is sought again with renewed desire.” (The Trinity 15,2,2) 

“As pilgrims on the way, sing in hope, but keep on marching. Are we making progress in good works, in true faith, in right living? 

‘‘Bad time, troubled times’, these people say. Let our lives be good, and the times will be good. We make our times; as we are, so are the times.” (Sermon 80,8) 

Teaching and Education

“Teach that students may become their own teacher. Let us feed our pupils with the right food so that time will come when they will be able to provide their own food.” (Serm.155,3,3)

“The first subject students learn is the teacher. Teachers offer themselves for imitation. This is the essence of what people call teaching.” (De musica 1,6)

“Let our searching be such that we can be sure of finding, and let our finding be such that we may go on searching.” (De Trin.9.1,1)

“Take care of your body as if you were going to live forever; and take care of your soul as if you were going to die tomorrow.”

“Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you.”

“God provides the wind, Man must raise the sail.”

“A thing is not necessarily true because badly uttered, nor false because spoken magnificently.”

“God is always trying to give good things to us, but our hands are too full to receive them.”

“God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.”

“If you believe what you like in the Gospel, and reject what you don’t like, it is not the Gospel you believe, but yourself.”

“Let us leave a little room for reflection and room too, for silence.”

A Modern Lent By Father Stephen Freeman

Few things are as difficult in the modern world as fasting. It is not simply the action of changing our eating habits that we find problematic – it’s the whole concept of fasting and what it truly entails. It comes from another world.

We understand dieting – changing how we eat in order to improve how we look or how we feel. But changing how we eat in order to know God or to rightly keep a feast of the Church – this is foreign. Our first question is often, “How does that work?” For we live in a culture of utility – we want to know the use of things. Underneath the question of utility is the demand that something make sense to me, and that I be able to ultimately take charge of it, use it as I see fit and shape it according to my own desires. Perhaps the fast could be improved?

Our modern self-understanding sees people primarily as individual centers of choice and decision. A person is seen as the product of their choices and decisions – our lives are self-authenticated. As such, we are managers.

Of course there are many problems with this world-view from the perspective of Classical Christianity. Though we are free to make choices and decisions, our freedom is not unlimited. The largest part of our lives is not self-determined. Much of the rhetoric of modernity is aimed towards those with wealth and power. It privileges their stories and mocks the weakness of those without power with promises that are rarely, if ever, fulfilled.

Our lives are a gift from God and not of our own making. The Classical Christian spiritual life is not marked by choice and self-determination: it is characterized by self-emptying and the way of the Cross.

When a modern Christian confronts the season of Lent – the question often becomes: “What do I want to give up for Lent?” The intention is good, but the question is wrong. Lent quickly becomes yet another life-choice, a consumer’s fast.

The practice of the traditional fast has been greatly diminished over the past few centuries. The Catholic Church has modified its requirements and streamlined Lenten fasting (today it includes only abstaining from meat on the Fridays of Lent – which makes them similar to all the other Fridays of the year). The Protestant Churches that observe the season of Lent offer no formal guidelines for Lenten practice. The individual is left on their own.

Orthodoxy continues to have in place the full traditional fast, which is frequently modified in its application (the “rules” themselves are generally recognized as written for monastics). It is essentially a vegan diet (no meat, fish, wine, dairy). Some limit the number of meals and their manner of cooking. Of course, having the fast in place and “keeping the fast” are two very different things. I know of no study on how Orthodox in the modern world actually fast. My pastoral experience tells me that people generally make a good effort.

Does any of this matter? Why should Christians in the modern world concern themselves with a traditional practice?

What is at stake in the modern world is our humanity. The notion that we are self-authenticating individuals is simply false. We obviously do not bring ourselves into existence – it is a gift. And the larger part of what constitutes our lives is simply a given – a gift. It is not always a gift that someone is happy with – we would like ourselves to be other than we are. But the myth of the modern world is that we, in fact, do create ourselves and our lives – our identities are imagined to be of our own making. We are only who we choose to be. It is a myth that is extremely well-suited for undergirding a culture built on consumption. Identity can be had at a price. The wealthy have a far greater range of identities available to them – the poor are largely stuck with being who they really are.

But the only truly authentic human life is the one we receive as a gift from God. The spirituality of choice and consumption under the guise of freedom is an emptiness. The identity we create is an ephemera, a product of imagination and the market. The habits of the marketplace serve to enslave us – Lent is a call to freedom.

 A Modern Lent

Thus, a beginning for a modern Lent is to repent from the modern world itself. By this, I mean renouncing the notion that you are a self-generated, self-authenticating individual. You are not defined by your choices and decisions, much less by your career and your shopping. You begin by acknowledging that God alone is Lord (and you are not). Your life has meaning and purpose only in relation to God. The most fundamental practice of such God-centered living is the giving of thanks.

  • Renounce trying to improve yourself and become something. You are not a work in progress. If you are a work – then you are God’s work. “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in” (Eph 2:10).
  • Do not plan to have a “good Lent” or imagine what a “good Lent” would be. Give up judging – especially judging yourself. Get out of the center of your world. Lent is not about you. It is about Christ and His Pascha.
  • Fast according to the Tradition instead of according to your own ideas and designs.This might be hard for some if they are not part of the traditional Church and thus have no fasting tradition. Most Catholics have differing rules for fasting than the Orthodox. If you’re Catholic, fast like a Catholic. Don’t admire other people’s fasting.

If you’re Protestant but would like to live more traditionally, think about becoming Orthodox. Short of that, covenant with others (family, friends) to keep the traditional fast. Don’t be too strict or too lenient, and if possible keep the fast in a manner that is mutually agreed rather than privately designed. Be accountable but not guilty.

  • Pray. Fasting without praying is called “the Fast of Demons,” because demons never eat, but they never pray. We fast as a means of drawing closer to God. Your fasting and your prayer should be balanced as much as possible. If you fast in a strict manner, then you should pray for extended periods. If you fast lightly, then your prayers may be lighter as well. The point is to be single – for prayer and fasting to be a single thing.
  • To our prayer and fasting should be added mercy (giving stuff away, especially money). You cannot be too generous. Your mercy should be as invisible as possible to others, except in your kindness to all. Spend less, give away more.

Eating, drinking, praying and generosity are very natural activities. Look at your life. How natural is your eating? Is your diet driven by manufactured, processed foods (especially as served in restaurants and fast food places)? These can be very inhuman ways of eating. Eating should take time. It is not a waste of time to spend as much as six hours in twenty-four preparing, sharing, eating and cleaning up. Even animals take time to eat.

  • Go to Church a lot more (if your Church has additional Lenten services, go to them). This can be problematic for Protestants, in that most Protestant worship is quite modern, i.e. focused on the individual rather than directed to God, well-meant but antithetical to worship. If your Church isn’t boring, it’s probably modern. This is not to say that Classical Christianity is inherently boring – it’s just experienced as such by people trained to be consumers. Classical Christianity worships according to Tradition and focuses its attention on God. It is not there for you to “get something out of it.”
  • Entertain yourself less. In traditional Orthodox lands, amusements are often given up during the Lenten period. This can be very difficult for modern people in that we live to consume and are thus caught in a cycle of pain and pleasure. Normal pleasures such as exercise or walking are not what I have in mind – although it strikes me as altogether modern that there should be businesses dedicated to helping us do something normal (like walking or exercising), such that even our normal activities become a commodity to consume.
  • Fast from watching/reading the news and having/expressing opinions. The news is not presented in order to keep you informed. It is often inaccurate and serves the primary purpose of political propaganda and consumer frenzy. Neither are good for the soul. Opinions can be deeply destructive to the soul’s health. Most opinions are not properly considered, necessary beliefs. They are passions that pass themselves off as thoughts or beliefs. The need to express them reveals their passionate nature. Though opinions are a necessary part of life – they easily come to dominate us. Reducing the need to express how we feel about everything that comes our way (as opposed to silently weighing and considering and patiently speaking what we know to be true) is an important part of ascesis and self-control.

I could well imagine that a modern person, reading through such a list, might feel overwhelmed and wonder what is left. What is left is being human. That so much in our lives is not particularly human but an ephemeral distraction goes far to explain much of our exhaustion and anxiety. There is no food  for us in what is not human.

And so the words of Isaiah come to mind:

Ho! Everyone who thirsts, Come to the waters; And you who have no money, Come, buy and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk Without money and without price. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, And your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, And let your soul delight itself in fatness (Isa 55:1-2).

“Let your soul delight itself in fatness…” the irony of Lent.

Nativity Class #6 – The Cross Of Righteous Suffering – Victory Of The Cross By St. Dumitru Stăniloae

In our final Nativity class as we draw close to the birth of Christ, it is good for us to remember how even Christ’s birth reflects this cross of the righteous suffering. Perhaps you, like me, might be tempted to believe that if I’m trying to do the right thing with God … why is this so hard … why wasn’t there room at the inn … why did even finding a place to lay His head become a struggle? So often my life in Christ is complicated by the doubts of my expectations and desires. And, if I’m honest, placing myself on His throne … playing God by imposing my will … instead of accepting His and trusting that as I participate in His will I deepen an experience of God He desires that unites me to Him and reflects His Goodness. Perhaps in the final class, we need to be reminded of the question of the condition of my heart and St. Dumitru’s explanation of God’s purpose for us:

The fathers emphasized the goodness of God as the motive behind creation … God created all things in order that they might share in his Love, that is, full communion with God … the Good, as scripture testifies, produced everything and is the ultimately perfect Cause… God created the world for the sake of humanity, that the world be led towards the purpose of full communion with Him … only humans in a conscious way can rejoice more and more in the love of God and become God’s partners … The world serves this movement of raising ourselves to our ultimate meaning of achieving our fullness in communion with the personal God. All things impose on us a responsibility before God and before the world itself, and it is by the exercise of this responsibility that we increase in our communion with God and with our fellow human beings.

The Experience of God – Vol 2: The World: Creation & Deification (p.17-18) By Dumitru Staniloae

There is a transcendent mystery to our life in Christ .. one that forces us out of the comfort zone of our own understanding. And our life in Christ will reflect this cross if we live it with the daily willingness he is very clear will be presented to us:

If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me 

Luke 9:23

Let’s have St. Dumitru use the life of Job to help us more deeply understand this cross of righteous suffering from his booklet ‘Victory of the Cross’ we’ve studied through Nativity.

In the end it is God alone who can explain the sufferings of the righteous, and he does it through the many questions which he asks Job, all of which draw Job’s attention to the Giver of gifts. God in effect says to Job, ‘All my gifts are wonderful, but the intention of their wonder is to reveal the infinite wisdom and greatness of the one who gives them all’.

Then Job answered the Lord and said: I know that thou canst do everything, and that no thought can be withheld from thee … I have uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not … I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear; but now mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.

Job 42: 1-3; 5-6

This means to say that up until this moment Job had always thought of God in much the same terms in which others had spoken of him; now he begins to understand God himself, beyond all his gifts, the Giver of everything. In order to gain this supreme treasure he had for a while to lose all his possessions. He lost the respect of others, he lost his health, his wealth—all things—in order to see God in all his greatness and wisdom and marvellous nature. In losing all things he did not doubt God and thus he came to see the apophatic, inexpressible character of God who is beyond all human understanding. He saw God in a higher way than is possible merely through his gifts. He saw him immediately through his suffering.

The believer continually needs to make abstraction of the things of this world, needs to put the things of this world into brackets of forgetfulness, in order to think of God who is above all human understanding. But sometimes it is necessary that God himself should intervene in order to throw into relief the little value of the things of this world in comparison with God, their transitory, passing nature in contrast to the eternity of God, in order to show us more clearly God’s infinite transcendence of his gifts and his ineffable presence with us. In such cases it seems to us that God himself abandons us. This is because sometimes we become so attached to things that we can no longer see God. Sometimes we make so close a link between God and the things which he gives, that we identify God with these things and totally forget God in himself, and then if God no longer shows his interest in us by giving us gifts it seems to us that he has abandoned us. For this reason the cross often seems to us a sign of our being abandoned by God. But it can also happen that God does really withdraw himself from our vision in order to prove and strengthen the tenacity of our love for him. Even our Lord Jesus Christ on the cross had this feeling of complete abandonment by God. But even the Lord Jesus never weakened in his love for God.

In reality, God never abandons us in whatever situation we find ourselves. It is possible that he may disappear for a time, for a moment, from our horizon, from our understanding. But the God whom we habitually think of in terms of creation will then appear to us in the true greatness of his glory which is indefinable and inexpressible in human thoughts and words. This is why in the Song of Songs it is said that sometimes God hides himself, and then again reveals himself in a higher and more glorious way:

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth; I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth; I sought him, but I found him not. The watchmen that go about the city found me, to whom I said: Saw ye him whom my soul loveth? It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth. I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother’s house and into the chamber of her who conceived me. (Song of Songs 3: 1- 4)

It is only then that we enter into a relationship with God which is truly personal, a relationship which is above all created things. This relationship with God is one no longer dominated by material images. Our ideas about things and about the gifts which God gives altogether disappear in the light of God himself. Thus purified we give ourselves wholly to God; and we are raised into the dialogue of love exclusively with him. Then we feel that God is infinitely greater than all his gifts and all his creatures, and that in this relationship with him we are raised to a different spiritual level at which we regain in him all that we had lost.

The Christian who has the love of God in him and who thus has love for every person—that love which is an imperishable and inexhaustible reality—feels a greater joy than all the joys which the things of this world can procure, a greater joy than his own existence lived as an isolated individual could ever give him. This is the fact which the righteous discover in their suffering. This cross is given to a man in order that he himself may come to discover God at another level, at an apophatic depth, but also in order to show to other men that there are those who can be attached to God in this way even when all their possessions are taken from them, and even when God himself seems to disappear from their view.

The Cross as the Mystery of Love

The mystery of the cross of the just is the mystery of love between men as eternal persons, the mystery of love for God, and also of the love which above all things must be affirmed amongst men. Truly to love a person means to love them for themselves even when they no longer give us anything, when they no longer seem to have goodwill towards us, even when they seem to show us an incomprehensible coldness or hostility which is altogether contrary to the goodness which they showed to us earlier, even when it seems that the other person has abandoned us even to death. For if we remain firm in our love towards others despite their incomprehensible hardness towards us, we make a true proof of love, of the love which we have for them. This is the love which God himself forms in us and which does indeed raise us from death. When love confronts even death, then it conquers death itself.

He who accepts the death which God gives, with the declaration of love on his lips, gives a supreme proof of a love which will never fail, a love which is given to the person himself and not to his gifts. It is in this supreme love for God that we find the mystery of the cross which is carried by the just, of whom God has given the perfect example in the person of Jesus Christ, and in the earthly suffering which he underwent for the love of God. The Son of God in becoming man accepted the cross first of all to show his love for men, despite their hatred and incomprehension of him which were to be the cause of his death in this world. But then by his death on the cross he has given us the example of a man in whom love for God has resisted to the end, even to being given up to death.

…The world has value only in so far as through it we see and receive the revelations and the energies of the person of God who in himself, in his essence, cannot be described, but whose energies are already at work in all creation and will be fully revealed in the transfigured world of the age to come. Until the last day God is at work in this world, leading it towards its resurrection, above all by means of the cross.

Thus the cross is the sign and the means of the salvation of the world. All the world is a gift of God, and by the cross all the world has to be transcended in God. Only in Christ is this meaning of the cross fully revealed. In the cross of Christ the salvation of the world is founded, and the salvation of the whole cosmos, because by the cross the tendency of the whole cosmos to transcend itself in God is accomplished. One cannot conceive of a world which is not saved, a world which would always remain in suffering, enclosed in itself, a world in which the cross would not fully fulfil the destiny of the world. Suffering would have no meaning at all unless it was leading the world towards its salvation in God. The hell of an eternal suffering is no longer ‘a world’, properly speaking, but simply fragments detached from the world without meaning and without solidarity amongst themselves, shadowy, phantasmagoric fragments of the world. In hell suffering is eternal and would finally swallow up the gift. In the kingdom of God the world has been transfigured by the cross through which God himself is finally revealed and glorified.

Lord, Bless My Enemies – A Prayer By St Nikolai of Orchrid

How do we face the cross of our enemies? Does this cross take us closer or further away from our communion and union with God? Let’s look at how a 20th century saint from Serbia who taught and died at St. Tikhon’s Monastery in PA resolved this question.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Enemies have driven me into Thy embrace more than friends have. 

Friends have bound me to earth, enemies have loosed me from earth and have demolished all my aspirations in the world. 

Enemies have made me a stranger in worldly realms and an extraneous inhabitant of the world. 

Just as a hunted animal finds safer shelter than an unhunted animal does, so have I, persecuted by enemies, found the safest sanctuary, having ensconced myself beneath Thy tabernacle, where neither friends nor enemies can slay my soul. 

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them. 

They, rather than I, have confessed my sins before the world. 

They have punished me, whenever I have hesitated to punish myself. 

They have tormented me, whenever I have tried to flee torments. 

They have scolded me, whenever I have flattered myself They have spat upon me, whenever I have filled myself with arrogance. 

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Whenever I have made myself wise, they have called me foolish. 

Whenever I have made myself mighty, they have mocked me as though I were a dwarf. 

Whenever I have wanted to lead people, they have shoved me into the background. 

Whenever I have rushed to enrich myself, they have prevented me with an iron hand. 

Whenever I thought that I would sleep peacefully, they have wakened me from sleep. 

Whenever I have tried to build a home for a long and tranquil life,they have demolished it and driven me out. 

Truly, enemies have cut me loose from the world and have stretched out my hands to the hem of Thy garment.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Bless them and multiply them; multiply them and make them even more bitterly against me: 

so that my fleeing to Thee may have no return; 

so that all hope in men may be scattered like cobwebs; 

so that absolute serenity may begin to reign in my soul; 

so that my heart may become the grave of my two evil twins: arrogance and anger; 

so that I might amass all my treasure in heaven; 

ah, so that I may for once be freed from self deception, which has entangled me in the dreadful web of illusory life. 

Enemies have taught me to know what hardly anyone knows, that a person has no enemies in the world except himself. 

One hates his enemies only when he fails to realize that they are not enemies, but cruel friends. 

It is truly difficult for me to say who has done me more good and who has done me more evil in the world: friends or enemies. 

Therefore bless, O Lord, both my friends and my enemies. 

A slave curses enemies, for he does not understand. 

But a son blesses them, for he understands. For a son knows that his enemies cannot touch his life. Therefore he freely steps among them and prays to God for them. 

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them. 

Amen

Father Gabe’s Rich Young Ruler Homily December 1st 2024 Audio & Transcript

Father Gabe’s Rich Young Ruler Homily 12-1-2024

So, we all try really, really hard to avoid the uncomfortable truth of this story.

So, in the interest of time, let’s get right to it.

This story is not simply a diatribe against having wealth. We are all wealthy. Some of us with money, most of us not with money. But with something, we all have wealth. St. John Chrysostom, the Golden Mouth, tells us that giving away possessions is the least of Christ’s instructions in this passage. Indeed, for some people, giving up all their possessions is actually a great relief and would not actually be all that difficult for them.

The true message of this story cuts much deeper. So, that message is this.

Every single one of us, without exception, possesses something or some things that we value more highly than the kingdom of heaven. Things for which we would be willing to abandon God. And by abandoning God, I don’t mean that we become open enemies of God. But rather that we willingly choose something or someone else, something or someone other than God, with which or with whom to become unified.

If we were in the place of the rich young ruler and Jesus asked us to give away or give up X in order to draw closer to Him, we too would walk away sorrowfully, but willingly.

God does not want to see us make this horrible trade.

So, this story is begging us for our own sakes to figure out what X is in each of our lives. So, this thing or things, this could be people, places, goals, expectations, pursuits of respect, honor, glory. This certainly happens within the church as well.  This will be different for each one of us, and they may likely shift over time.

I remember myself, my earliest thing that I wouldn’t give up to follow God, was to be famous in a band. It was going to happen. I know it doesn’t happen to most people, but it was going to happen for me. My intentions were pure. I just wanted to make beautiful music. No, no; I wanted to be famous. I wanted to have glory. Riches would come along with that. And I wasn’t willing to give that up until it became very clear that this was not going to happen.

So, I then started a company and tried to make all of those same things happen through the company. And it did, sort of. And then God makes that seem hollow and fleeting.

And oftentimes we have to go through it. We have to learn the hard way. The things that we think we should unify ourselves with will actually destroy us. And usually it takes them destroying us in some way for us to realize that God asked us to trade up long ago.

And so at its core, this gospel is a good, true fatherly exhortation to wisely spend our limited time and energy in the pursuit of true freedom.

God is here leading us to become like He is, to become completely unbound by anything, completely free and completely happy. This prospect terrifies most of us because it means becoming an entirely different creature, which is not an easy process. It’s a really big deal.

And thus God is very, very patient with us.

But be that as it may be, out of true love, God always keeps this transformative task directly before us. We must find the courage which without His help is impossible. We must find the courage to let go of the things that we would trade for the Kingdom of Heaven. To let go of the corruptible things that we would choose to unify with instead of unifying with God.

We have to remember, if we choose to unify with that which corrupts and decays, then we also corrupt and decay. Simple math. If we choose to unify with that which is eternal and divine, then we too become eternal and divine.

This is the cross. And crosses really hurt. But they bring us into union with God. This is salvation.

In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Nativity Fast Class #3 – Repentance Through Thanksgiving

We’re going to break away from our focus on the ‘Victory Of The Cross’ this Thanksgiving week. As you may know, Cynthia Oquendo’s son Wilder will be baptized Sunday morning beginning at 9:30am. I’d like us to attend this important sacrament so we’ll make this an abbreviated class. Further, we’re likely to have lots of folks who are out of town this holiday weekend.

My topic for this class is repentance through thanksgiving. We’ll be using an extract from Chapter 2 of the book “The Engraving of Christ in Man’s Heart” written by Archimandrite Zacharias as our source material. As we enter Thanksgiving week, I thought it might be useful to explore thanksgiving as a means of repentance. Many of us may elevate repentance to this difficult place that we intend to move towards but we can’t seem to find a way to get started. I think the prescription of using gratitude and thanks as a means of practicing repentance can help us begin today on this journey of repentance. Archimandrite Zacharias is alive and a monk at the Monastery of St. John the Baptist in Essex, England. He is a frequent visitor to the U.S. and a disciple of St. Sophrony who was his spiritual father.

We’ll address these three questions in the class:

  • How can thanksgiving help us overcome our pride?
  • How can thanksgiving help us overcome our despair?
  • How is thanksgiving practiced in the Divine Liturgy

You can also access the fuller contents of this extract by clicking here.

How can thanksgiving help us overcome our pride?

The way of thanksgiving heals us from the passion of pride, and strengthens us against the temptation to despair. Thanksgiving and gratitude equal humility, which can be inferred from the word of the Apostle Paul: ‘Now we have received, not the (proud) spirit of the world, but the (humble) spirit which is of God; that we might (gratefully) know the things that are freely given to us of God.’ 15 It is important, consequently, to remember that the blessing and the grace of God increase within us through humility and particularly through thanksgiving. Holy Scripture, both Old and New, confirms this saying, ‘God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble’. 16 When we enter the grace of thanksgiving, we acquire the right kind of godly zeal, which befits the children of God.

How can thanksgiving help us overcome our despair?

Those who thank God never fall into despair and their heart is never empty of His consolation. This is illustrated by the example of a Christian man who once made a confession that he wanted to commit suicide because there was nothing but pain in his life. His spiritual father responded by asking him if there was anything good in his life, if, for instance, he was breathing and alive at that moment. His reply was positive, after which his spiritual father told him, ‘Start thanking God for the breath He gives you, for your physical life, and then for anything else God reveals that you have received as a gift from Him.’ The man started to thank God that he could breathe and that he was alive, and began to feel stronger within. Then he thanked God for knowing His Name, and that he received consolation from prayer in His Holy Name. Finally, his thanksgiving was so sincere and fervent, that he completely forgot about his despair and thoughts of suicide, and escaped this demonic temptation. 

According to the teaching of the Holy Fathers, there is no greater virtue in the sight of God, than the giving of thanks while going through ill-health, persecution, injustice, or rejection. It pleases God when we are in pain and say, ‘Glory to Thee O God! I thank Thee, Lord, for all that Thou hast done for me.’ When guards were dragging Saint John Chrysostom into exile, sick, much afflicted, and maltreated, they passed by a church. The Saint asked them to let him stay for a while in front of the Holy Altar, on which he leaned and said to God, ‘Glory be to Thee, O Lord, for everything’, and at that moment he committed his holy soul into the hands of God. When our life is in danger, there is no attitude more pleasing to God than thanksgiving. If in that moment of pain, we cling to God with our mind and say to Him, ‘I thank Thee Lord, for everything. Neither death, nor any other sorrow can separate me from Thee, for Thou art He that doth overcome death’, then this proves that our faith has become stronger than the death which threatens us. This is a great feat in the sight of God which carries us over to the other shore. In other words, it leads us into a dynamic life, into the blessed communion of all the Saints, into an everlasting doxology and thanksgiving to God throughout all ages in His Kingdom.

The Divine Liturgy is a great means given to us of fighting the passion of despondency, so that we can overcome the spiritual death which preys upon our life. In the Liturgy we learn to do what the Apostle Paul describes in his Epistle to the Philippians, that is, first to offer up mighty thanksgiving to God, and then humbly, with shame because of our spiritual weakness, to make our petitions for all that we need of Him. 17 This is well pleasing to God, so He gives His grace, and gradually light and the feeling of His presence increases in the heart. This small light shines more and more until it breaks forth into a perfect day in our heart, 18 as the Prophet Solomon says, and Christ dwells in our heart by faith. 19

How is thanksgiving practiced in the Divine Liturgy?

In the Divine Liturgy, we are taught to give perfect thanks to the almighty and beloved God in a manner worthy of Him. The Divine Liturgy is the Cross and the Resurrection at the same time, because the Body and the Blood of the Lord which we receive contain the same grace and the same blessing which His Body had after the Resurrection, when He ascended into heaven. The Divine Liturgy is the expression of our gratitude for the Passion, the Cross and the Resurrection of the Lord. This is why in the heart of the Liturgy we hear, ‘Take, eat; this is my Body.’ ‘This is the Body’, the Lord says, ‘which I offered, lifted up upon the Cross, led into the grave and raised up into the heavens resurrected; but I also left this Body on the earth on the night of the Last Supper so that you may partake in it and in all the grace which accompanies it, because in it dwells the fulness of Divinity.’ And then he continues, ‘Drink ye all of it; this is my Blood. The Blood which I shed on the Cross as a ransom for the sins, and for the salvation of the whole world.’ Therefore, when we repeat these words at every Liturgy, it is as if we are saying to Him, ‘To Thee, O Lord, is due all thanksgiving, all glory, every blessing, for Thou hast offered Thy Body and Thy Blood as nourishment for us so that we may be saved and live for all eternity.’ Of course, in heaven and on earth, there is no other matter or vision that occupies the souls of the Saints, than Christ’s saving sacrifice. The study of God’s indescribable love towards us strengthens the souls of the righteous to remain always in an everlasting doxology of joy, thanksgiving, and love worthy of God, Who is holy and good. 

The Apostle Paul writes, ‘For every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving.’ 20 Everything in our life is sanctified if we receive it with gratitude. When we offer thanksgiving to God, all things, every object and every creature, become a means of salvation for us. God’s words are, ‘Take, eat…, drink ye all of it; this is my Blood.’ The Divine Liturgy is founded on these words and then follows the prayer that God may come and fill everything with the Holy Spirit, just as He fulfilled these great and saving mysteries which remain forever. In response, at the end of the Liturgy we can chant a new and triumphal hymn, ‘We have seen the true Light. We have received the heavenly Spirit. We have found the true faith. We worship the undivided Trinity; for the same hath saved us.’ This is the ‘new song’ of the children of God, which they chant every day out of gratitude and love. 21 Such is the zeal and inspiration of Christians who have been born again through the Divine Liturgy. 

In order for the children of God, who represent the Cherubim and Seraphim at the Divine Liturgy, not to ‘draw back’, 22 their thanksgiving must be replete and offered with ever increasing tension: ‘We thank Thee for all whereof we know and whereof we know not; for benefits both manifest and hid which Thou hast wrought upon us.’ 23 Of course, the things that God has done for us which we cannot see are greater in number, because the eyes of our soul are not open and enlightened. Yet we believe in what we are taught by the Church and in the prayer of the Divine Liturgy. This is why the Liturgy has such warmth; it is a flame of thanksgiving and gratitude. In the central hymn of the Divine Liturgy we chant, ‘We hymn Thee, we bless Thee, we give thanks unto Thee, O Lord, and we pray unto Thee, our God.’ Three verbs of thanksgiving and glory and one of entreaty are used here, because God the Saviour has already accomplished everything for us; He has given us all that we need for our soul to remain united with His Spirit, and for us to enter His never-ending blessedness. The only thing that is left is for our body to become incorrupt, and this He will grant us in the age to come, where we will be like the Angels of God in His Kingdom, as the Lord said to the Sadducees. 24 

Despite all this, we must not forget that our participation in the abundance of life which the Lord offers us in the Liturgy, depends not only upon how much we have prepared in our ‘closet’ 25 the day before, but every day as well. Our whole life ought to be a single preparation to present ourselves worthily before God in His house, and to thank Him for what we owe Him with all our heart, and in a manner befitting Him. The Apostle Paul says that we are all members of the Body of Christ. 26 When we graft a wild olive it grows into a cultivated olive. The Church does the same through baptism; it grafts us onto the Body of Christ. In order for us, however, to be living members of the Body, each one must preserve the gift received from God. The Apostle Paul says that, ‘Every man hath his proper gift of God’. 27 Each member has his unique gift, which he must cultivate in order to continue as a living member of this Body. Our preparation before the Liturgy is our cultivation of the gift God gave us to become a Christian. One way of preparing is by praying on our own for a period of time before the Liturgy, and then going to Church with our heart full of warmth, faith, love, hope, in expectation of the Lord’s mercy, and full of spiritual dispositions. That is an offering we bring to God and the Church, a gift to the assembly of the brethren who have gathered together in the temple.

Footnotes

1 Rom. 8: 7. 2 Jas. 4: 4. 3 1 Cor. 15: 32. 4 Cf. Matt. 6: 21 5 1 Thess. 4: 13. 6 John 17: 3. 7 Eps. 3: 12. 8 Cf. Job 7: 17-18. 9 Rom. 8: 32. 10 Eph. 1: 4. 11 Saint Maximus the Confessor, ‘Various Texts on Theology, the Divine Economy, and Virtue and Vice’ in The Philokalia, trans. and ed. G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, Kallistos Ware (London & Boston: Faber & Faber, 1995), Vol. 2, 3: 29, p. 216. 12 See Prayer of the Great Blessing of the Waters, ‘Thou hast poured forth the air that living things may breathe’. 13 Luke 17: 10. 14 Cf. 2 Cor. 7: 1. 15 See 1 Cor. 2: 12. 16 Cf. Prov. 3: 34 (LXX); Jas. 4: 6; 1 Pet. 5: 5. 17 Phil. 4: 6. 18 Cf. Prov. 4: 18. 19 Eph. 3: 17. 20 1 Tim. 4: 4-5. 21 Ps. 33: 3. 22 Heb. 10: 39. 23 Anaphora, Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom and Saint Basil. 24 Matt. 22: 30. 25 Matt. 6: 6. 26 1 Cor. 12: 27. 27 1 Cor. 7: 7. 28 Lity of Theophany. 29 

Repentance Through Thanksgiving – The Engraving Of Christ In Man’s Heart (From Chapter 2) By Archimandrite Zacharias Zacharou

As we enter Thanksgiving week, I thought it might be useful to explore thanksgiving as a means of repentance. Many of us may elevate repentance to this difficult place that we intend to move towards but we can’t seem to find a way to get started. I think the prescription of using gratitude and thanks as a means of practicing repentance can help us begin today on this journey of repentance. Archimandrite Zacharias is alive and a monk at the Monastery of St. John the Baptist in Essex, England. He is a frequent visitor to the U.S. and a disciple of St. Sophrony who was his spiritual father. I hope you find this article a great way of combining repentance and Thanksgiving …adding substance and meaning to this holiday – Bruce M.

What theory and which thoughts contribute to this greatest miracle known to the created world, namely, the union of the heart of man with the Spirit of God?

We are given this theory in Holy Scripture, where we learn that from the excess of His goodness, God formed man’s heart in a unique way, and it was the target of His visitation from evening until morning and from morning until evening. 8 It was made to be suitable for and capable of receiving its Creator when He would come into the world for the salvation of all. In order to take care of man and make him in the image of His Son, that is, a god according to grace, He conceived such a great plan for him, that He even ‘spared not His own Son’ 9 in order to fulfil it. Certainly, if man occupied the Mind of God ‘before the foundation of the world’, 10 then he must indeed be sublime in his origin and his destination, and extraordinary in the potential hidden in his nature which is made in the image of God.

This theory inspires faith which is activated by love and gratitude. Through thanksgiving to God for His merciful providence, the believer is enriched with spiritual gifts. We receive grace in proportion to the gratitude we show. As the great Saint Maximus says, God measures out His gifts to men according to the gratitude with which they receive them. 11 Thus we enter the blessed fulness of God’s grace: the greater the gratitude and glory we offer Him, the more abundant is the measure of His gifts to us. By thanksgiving, man acquires a hypostasis in the sight of God and his life has value in eternity, so that in the day of His glorious coming he will be able to stand in His unshakeable presence.

Moreover, with the gifts that he has, the believer enters into the communion of the gifts of the other members of the Body of Christ, the Saints and all of the Lord’s elect upon earth. In this rich assembly of grace, which the believer enters through thanksgiving and gratitude, he forgets about the smaller gifts he has received, and reaches out to a greater fulness of love and perfection, hungry and thirsty for the gift of God. Anyone who thanks God is a stranger to despondency, yet is overcome by a blessed sadness, because he cannot thank God for all His benefits in a manner worthy of Him, even for every breath of air which He pours out upon the face of the earth. 12 Consequently, thanksgiving such as this, leads to true repentance of which there is no end in this life. Then we understand why, in His Gospel, the Lord places self-condemnation arising from gratitude above all the commandments, deeming that we are useless and unworthy even when we have fulfilled all His commandments. ‘So likewise ye, when ye shall have done all those things which are commanded you, say, we are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do.’ 13 Such a spirit preserves divine grace fervent in the lives of the faithful, and this leads to inspiration that saves, by sending away deathly despondency and giving strength daily to ‘perfect holiness in the fear of God’. 14

The way of thanksgiving heals us from the passion of pride, and strengthens us against the temptation to despair. Thanksgiving and gratitude equal humility, which can be inferred from the word of the Apostle Paul: ‘Now we have received, not the (proud) spirit of the world, but the (humble) spirit which is of God; that we might (gratefully) know the things that are freely given to us of God.’ 15 It is important, consequently, to remember that the blessing and the grace of God increase within us through humility and particularly through thanksgiving. Holy Scripture, both Old and New, confirms this saying, ‘God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble’. 16 When we enter the grace of thanksgiving, we acquire the right kind of godly zeal, which befits the children of God.

Those who thank God never fall into despair and their heart is never empty of His consolation. This is illustrated by the example of a Christian man who once made a confession that he wanted to commit suicide because there was nothing but pain in his life. His spiritual father responded by asking him if there was anything good in his life, if, for instance, he was breathing and alive at that moment. His reply was positive, after which his spiritual father told him, ‘Start thanking God for the breath He gives you, for your physical life, and then for anything else God reveals that you have received as a gift from Him.’ The man started to thank God that he could breathe and that he was alive, and began to feel stronger within. Then he thanked God for knowing His Name, and that he received consolation from prayer in His Holy Name. Finally, his thanksgiving was so sincere and fervent, that he completely forgot about his despair and thoughts of suicide, and escaped this demonic temptation.

According to the teaching of the Holy Fathers, there is no greater virtue in the sight of God, than the giving of thanks while going through ill-health, persecution, injustice, or rejection. It pleases God when we are in pain and say, ‘Glory to Thee O God! I thank Thee, Lord, for all that Thou hast done for me.’ When guards were dragging Saint John Chrysostom into exile, sick, much afflicted, and maltreated, they passed by a church. The Saint asked them to let him stay for a while in front of the Holy Altar, on which he leaned and said to God, ‘Glory be to Thee, O Lord, for everything’, and at that moment he committed his holy soul into the hands of God. When our life is in danger, there is no attitude more pleasing to God than thanksgiving. If in that moment of pain, we cling to God with our mind and say to Him, ‘I thank Thee Lord, for everything. Neither death, nor any other sorrow can separate me from Thee, for Thou art He that doth overcome death’, then this proves that our faith has become stronger than the death which threatens us. This is a great feat in the sight of God which carries us over to the other shore. In other words, it leads us into a dynamic life, into the blessed communion of all the Saints, into an everlasting doxology and thanksgiving to God throughout all ages in His Kingdom.

The Divine Liturgy is a great means given to us of fighting the passion of despondency, so that we can overcome the spiritual death which preys upon our life. In the Liturgy we learn to do what the Apostle Paul describes in his Epistle to the Philippians, that is, first to offer up mighty thanksgiving to God, and then humbly, with shame because of our spiritual weakness, to make our petitions for all that we need of Him. 17 This is well pleasing to God, so He gives His grace, and gradually light and the feeling of His presence increases in the heart. This small light shines more and more until it breaks forth into a perfect day in our heart, 18 as the Prophet Solomon says, and Christ dwells in our heart by faith. 19

In the Divine Liturgy, we are taught to give perfect thanks to the almighty and beloved God in a manner worthy of Him. The Divine Liturgy is the Cross and the Resurrection at the same time, because the Body and the Blood of the Lord which we receive contain the same grace and the same blessing which His Body had after the Resurrection, when He ascended into heaven. The Divine Liturgy is the expression of our gratitude for the Passion, the Cross and the Resurrection of the Lord. This is why in the heart of the Liturgy we hear, ‘Take, eat; this is my Body.’ ‘This is the Body’, the Lord says, ‘which I offered, lifted up upon the Cross, led into the grave and raised up into the heavens resurrected; but I also left this Body on the earth on the night of the Last Supper so that you may partake in it and in all the grace which accompanies it, because in it dwells the fulness of Divinity.’ And then he continues, ‘Drink ye all of it; this is my Blood. The Blood which I shed on the Cross as a ransom for the sins, and for the salvation of the whole world.’ Therefore, when we repeat these words at every Liturgy, it is as if we are saying to Him, ‘To Thee, O Lord, is due all thanksgiving, all glory, every blessing, for Thou hast offered Thy Body and Thy Blood as nourishment for us so that we may be saved and live for all eternity.’ Of course, in heaven and on earth, there is no other matter or vision that occupies the souls of the Saints, than Christ’s saving sacrifice. The study of God’s indescribable love towards us strengthens the souls of the righteous to remain always in an everlasting doxology of joy, thanksgiving, and love worthy of God, Who is holy and good.

The Apostle Paul writes, ‘For every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving.’ 20 Everything in our life is sanctified if we receive it with gratitude. When we offer thanksgiving to God, all things, every object and every creature, become a means of salvation for us. God’s words are, ‘Take, eat…, drink ye all of it; this is my Blood.’ The Divine Liturgy is founded on these words and then follows the prayer that God may come and fill everything with the Holy Spirit, just as He fulfilled these great and saving mysteries which remain forever. In response, at the end of the Liturgy we can chant a new and triumphal hymn, ‘We have seen the true Light. We have received the heavenly Spirit. We have found the true faith. We worship the undivided Trinity; for the same hath saved us.’ This is the ‘new song’ of the children of God, which they chant every day out of gratitude and love. 21 Such is the zeal and inspiration of Christians who have been born again through the Divine Liturgy.

In order for the children of God, who represent the Cherubim and Seraphim at the Divine Liturgy, not to ‘draw back’, 22 their thanksgiving must be replete and offered with ever increasing tension: ‘We thank Thee for all whereof we know and whereof we know not; for benefits both manifest and hid which Thou hast wrought upon us.’ 23 Of course, the things that God has done for us which we cannot see are greater in number, because the eyes of our soul are not open and enlightened. Yet we believe in what we are taught by the Church and in the prayer of the Divine Liturgy. This is why the Liturgy has such warmth; it is a flame of thanksgiving and gratitude. In the central hymn of the Divine Liturgy we chant, ‘We hymn Thee, we bless Thee, we give thanks unto Thee, O Lord, and we pray unto Thee, our God.’ Three verbs of thanksgiving and glory and one of entreaty are used here, because God the Saviour has already accomplished everything for us; He has given us all that we need for our soul to remain united with His Spirit, and for us to enter His never-ending blessedness. The only thing that is left is for our body to become incorrupt, and this He will grant us in the age to come, where we will be like the Angels of God in His Kingdom, as the Lord said to the Sadducees. 24

Despite all this, we must not forget that our participation in the abundance of life which the Lord offers us in the Liturgy, depends not only upon how much we have prepared in our ‘closet’ 25 the day before, but every day as well. Our whole life ought to be a single preparation to present ourselves worthily before God in His house, and to thank Him for what we owe Him with all our heart, and in a manner befitting Him. The Apostle Paul says that we are all members of the Body of Christ. 26 When we graft a wild olive it grows into a cultivated olive. The Church does the same through baptism; it grafts us onto the Body of Christ. In order for us, however, to be living members of the Body, each one must preserve the gift received from God. The Apostle Paul says that, ‘Every man hath his proper gift of God’. 27 Each member has his unique gift, which he must cultivate in order to continue as a living member of this Body. Our preparation before the Liturgy is our cultivation of the gift God gave us to become a Christian. One way of preparing is by praying on our own for a period of time before the Liturgy, and then going to Church with our heart full of warmth, faith, love, hope, in expectation of the Lord’s mercy, and full of spiritual dispositions. That is an offering we bring to God and the Church, a gift to the assembly of the brethren who have gathered together in the temple.

The gift that we cultivate when we are alone unites us with the Body of Christ. It leads us into the communion of all the other gifts of the members of Christ’s Body, the Saints in heaven, and also of His elect upon earth so that in truth we become rich. In monasteries, monks also have their daily prayer rule, which they do not consider to be a burden. On the contrary, it is an honour and privilege given to them to help them enter the communion of the grace of God, the communion of the gifts of the brethren who are their fellow strugglers.

Consequently, the more we cultivate our gift when we are alone, the more we shall be prepared when we come to church, to enter this blessed communion of gifts, the blessed communion of those who possess gifts, the blessed communion of the grace of God. For the grace of God stablishes the Church, who, like a mother, helps and inspires the faithful with her prayers and Liturgies, which create an upward impetus, while the Saints, who are the glorified members of the Body of Christ, pull them up with their prayers and intercessions. This is the meaning of the Church: a helpful push from below and a saving pull from above.

Those who offer a ‘sacrifice of love’ in their preparation for the Liturgy, come to the temple bearing gifts for God, which bring inspiration and impart joy, peace and grace to the other brethren. The greater and more attentive our preparation, the purer and stronger will our entry be into the family, that is, the communion of God. In one of the hymns of Theophany, it is written, ‘Where the King is present, there His army also goes.’ 28 That is to say, where Christ is, the King of heaven and earth, there are the orders of the heavenly spirits: His All Holy Mother, the Saints, the Archangels and Angels, and also all the Christians who have received the gift of the Holy Spirit and struggle for their perfection in all the places of His dominion.

By contrast, when we go to the Divine Liturgy without having prepared, we are not being fair to God and our brethren, because we do not have any gifts in our heart to offer God and with which to enter into this marvellous communion with the other members who do come bearing gifts.

Depending on how much they have prepared for the service, those who come to church maintain the warmth of their heart, so that they bear gifts for God and their brethren. We do not mean simply material gifts, like the goats and lambs which the Hebrews brought to God as offerings. Now they bring their heart, full of the warmth of faith, full of the light of God’s word from constant study of the Gospel, and full of the strength which the mystery of God produces in their soul. The hope and expectation they bear within, incites the faithful to exclaim and say to God, ‘Thine own, of Thine own, we offer unto Thee in all and for all’. 29 In other words, these things that are Yours, from the things You have given, when You provided everything we need to live and to be saved, we offer them to You, according to the commandment You have given us. And He receives their gifts, bread and wine, things which are insignificant but which become precious, because the congregation have placed in them all their faith, repentance, love, hope, their expectation in the Holy of Holies, and finally their whole life and humility. The Lord then accepts them, blesses them, and transforms them into His Body and Blood. That is, He also adds to them all the power and grace which were in His Body after the Resurrection and gives them back to us saying, ‘The holy things unto the holy.’ 30 This is the voice of God to His people. If the faithful have placed all their life in the gifts, they will succeed in exchanging them. In return they will receive all God’s life, all His grace, all His blessing, in short, the fulness of salvation.

In order for the door of the grace of God to open again, first of all we must thank Him ‘unto the end’ for all that He has given us until now. In this, we take heed to the words of the Lord, ‘If ye have not been faithful in that which is another man’s, who shall give you that which is your own?’ 31 In other words, man cannot receive a greater fulness of God’s grace if he has not first responded with a gratitude befitting God for all the changes of ‘the right hand of the most High’ in his life up to the present. 32

Thanksgiving, therefore, is the zeal which the children of God ought to possess. It is so pleasing to God, that the great Apostle Paul urges us first to give thanks to God for everything and only then to present our petitions to the Lord, ‘Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God,’ 33 and ‘In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.’ 34

In such a blessed communion of grace, we find true and dynamic divine inspiration which allows no rest on earth, but goes from faith to more perfect faith; from hope to confidence in the Living Jesus Who raises even the dead; from love to a greater fulness of love; and from a single light to the perfect day of His Kingdom that knows no eventide, wherein we will find the eternal rest of our souls with ‘all His Saints’ 35 and the ‘spirits of just men made perfect’. 36

Footnotes: 1 Rom. 8: 7. 2 Jas. 4: 4. 3 1 Cor. 15: 32. 4 Cf. Matt. 6: 21 5 1 Thess. 4: 13. 6 John 17: 3. 7 Eps. 3: 12. 8 Cf. Job 7: 17-18. 9 Rom. 8: 32. 10 Eph. 1: 4. 11 Saint Maximus the Confessor, ‘Various Texts on Theology, the Divine Economy, and Virtue and Vice’ in The Philokalia, trans. and ed. G. E. H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, Kallistos Ware (London & Boston: Faber & Faber, 1995), Vol. 2, 3: 29, p. 216. 12 See Prayer of the Great Blessing of the Waters, ‘Thou hast poured forth the air that living things may breathe’. 13 Luke 17: 10. 14 Cf. 2 Cor. 7: 1. 15 See 1 Cor. 2: 12. 16 Cf. Prov. 3: 34 (LXX); Jas. 4: 6; 1 Pet. 5: 5. 17 Phil. 4: 6. 18 Cf. Prov. 4: 18. 19 Eph. 3: 17. 20 1 Tim. 4: 4-5. 21 Ps. 33: 3. 22 Heb. 10: 39. 23 Anaphora, Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom and Saint Basil. 24 Matt. 22: 30. 25 Matt. 6: 6. 26 1 Cor. 12: 27. 27 1 Cor. 7: 7. 28 Lity of Theophany. 29 

The Cross and God’s Revelation of Its Meaning – Victory Of The Cross By Father Dumitru Stăniloae

This is a 2nd extract from a powerful booklet entitled ‘The Victory Of The Cross’ written by the well known 20th century Romanian Orthodox priest and scholar Father Dumitru Stăniloae. You can find the 1st extract from his booklet here.

In the end it is God alone who can explain the sufferings of the righteous, and he does it through the many questions which he asks Job, all of which draw Job’s attention to the Giver of gifts. God in effect says to Job, ‘All my gifts are wonderful, but the intention of their wonder is to reveal the infinite wisdom and greatness of the one who gives them all’.

Then Job answered the Lord and said: I know that thou canst do everything, and that no thought can be withheld from thee … I have uttered that I understood not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not … I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear; but now mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes.

Job 42: 1-3; 5-6

This means to say that up until this moment Job had always thought of God in much the same terms in which others had spoken of him; now he begins to understand God himself, beyond all his gifts, the Giver of everything. In order to gain this supreme treasure he had for a while to lose all his possessions. He lost the respect of others, he lost his health, his wealth—all things—in order to see God in all his greatness and wisdom and marvellous nature. In losing all things he did not doubt God and thus he came to see the apophatic, inexpressible character of God who is beyond all human understanding. He saw God in a higher way than is possible merely through his gifts. He saw him immediately through his suffering.

The believer continually needs to make abstraction of the things of this world, needs to put the things of this world into brackets of forgetfulness, in order to think of God who is above all human understanding. But sometimes it is necessary that God himself should intervene in order to throw into relief the little value of the things of this world in comparison with God, their transitory, passing nature in contrast to the eternity of God, in order to show us more clearly God’s infinite transcendence of his gifts and his ineffable presence with us. In such cases it seems to us that God himself abandons us. This is because sometimes we become so attached to things that we can no longer see God. Sometimes we make so close a link between God and the things which he gives, that we identify God with these things and totally forget God in himself, and then if God no longer shows his interest in us by giving us gifts it seems to us that he has abandoned us. For this reason the cross often seems to us a sign of our being abandoned by God. But it can also happen that God does really withdraw himself from our vision in order to prove and strengthen the tenacity of our love for him. Even our Lord Jesus Christ on the cross had this feeling of complete abandonment by God. But even the Lord Jesus never weakened in his love for God.

In reality, God never abandons us in whatever situation we find ourselves. It is possible that he may disappear for a time, for a moment, from our horizon, from our understanding. But the God whom we habitually think of in terms of creation will then appear to us in the true greatness of his glory which is indefinable and inexpressible in human thoughts and words. This is why in the Song of Songs it is said that sometimes God hides himself, and then again reveals himself in a higher and more glorious way:

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth; I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth; I sought him, but I found him not. The watchmen that go about the city found me, to whom I said: Saw ye him whom my soul loveth? It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth. I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother’s house and into the chamber of her who conceived me. (Song of Songs 3: 1- 4)

It is only then that we enter into a relationship with God which is truly personal, a relationship which is above all created things. This relationship with God is one no longer dominated by material images. Our ideas about things and about the gifts which God gives altogether disappear in the light of God himself. Thus purified we give ourselves wholly to God; and we are raised into the dialogue of love exclusively with him. Then we feel that God is infinitely greater than all his gifts and all his creatures, and that in this relationship with him we are raised to a different spiritual level at which we regain in him all that we had lost.

The Christian who has the love of God in him and who thus has love for every person—that love which is an imperishable and inexhaustible reality—feels a greater joy than all the joys which the things of this world can procure, a greater joy than his own existence lived as an isolated individual could ever give him. This is the fact which the righteous discover in their suffering. This cross is given to a man in order that he himself may come to discover God at another level, at an apophatic depth, but also in order to show to other men that there are those who can be attached to God in this way even when all their possessions are taken from them, and even when God himself seems to disappear from their view.

The Cross as the Mystery of Love

The mystery of the cross of the just is the mystery of love between men as eternal persons, the mystery of love for God, and also of the love which above all things must be affirmed amongst men. Truly to love a person means to love them for themselves even when they no longer give us anything, when they no longer seem to have goodwill towards us, even when they seem to show us an incomprehensible coldness or hostility which is altogether contrary to the goodness which they showed to us earlier, even when it seems that the other person has abandoned us even to death. For if we remain firm in our love towards others despite their incomprehensible hardness towards us, we make a true proof of love, of the love which we have for them. This is the love which God himself forms in us and which does indeed raise us from death. When love confronts even death, then it conquers death itself.

He who accepts the death which God gives, with the declaration of love on his lips, gives a supreme proof of a love which will never fail, a love which is given to the person himself and not to his gifts. It is in this supreme love for God that we find the mystery of the cross which is carried by the just, of whom God has given the perfect example in the person of Jesus Christ, and in the earthly suffering which he underwent for the love of God. The Son of God in becoming man accepted the cross first of all to show his love for men, despite their hatred and incomprehension of him which were to be the cause of his death in this world. But then by his death on the cross he has given us the example of a man in whom love for God has resisted to the end, even to being given up to death.

In the case of Job we do not have this picture of a love for God which continues even to death, but we feel that this love could have been there unalterable to the end in Job. All the same, in the beginning Job did not understand the reason for his sufferings which in the end were to be a proof of his love for God. It is Christ who first saw the supreme and absolute value of the cross as a proof of love both of God and of men, love of a worth beyond all else. None the less, Job is the type of Christ, and his second and greater fortune is a type or symbol of the resurrection which the just man who accepts death from God will receive in the end.

Love which does not go so far as the love of Job went or, more clearly, as far as the love of Jesus Christ, is not true love but only conditional, a love conditional on things, that is to say a love of oneself and not a true love of others. It does not reveal the true, infinitely greater worth of persons than of any other created things or the eternal basis of their worth in the personal reality of God. In true love a man should transcend himself, go beyond himself, and the supreme act of this transcendence is fulfilled in love for God, who is the Transcendent One.

It is is doubtless true and right that persons reveal their love for one another by their gifts, and this is also true in God’s relationship with men. In this sense we cannot think of the cross without the world as God’s gift. But on the other side we cannot think of the world without the cross. The cross makes this world transparent for God. The cross shows that the world is God’s gift, and as such is a lower and lesser reality than God himself. The cross is the sign of God as a person who is above all his gifts. But it is also the sign of a perfect relationship between God and man. In this sense the cross is specially the sign of the Son of Man in whom this relationship has been perfectly realised. The cross is the sign of the Son of God become man, the sign which he prints on the world by his solidarity with the world.

Without the cross man would be in danger of considering this world as the ultimate reality. Without the cross he would no longer see the world as God’s gift. Without the cross the Son of God incarnate would have simply confirmed the image of the world as it is now as the final reality, and strictly speaking he could have been neither God nor God incarnate. The cross completes the fragmentary meaning of this world which has meaning when it is seen as a gift which has its value, but only a relative and not an absolute value. The cross reveals the destiny of the world as it is drawn towards its transfiguration in God by Christ. For this reason at the end of this stage of the world this sign, ‘the sign of the Son of Man’, will be revealed in the heavens above all the world, as a light, as a meaning, as a destiny which illumines the whole history of man (Matt. 24: 30).

In this way the cross prophetically points to the eschatological, the final destiny of the world. For this reason we associate the sign of the cross with the Holy Trinity, with the Kingdom of God. This is the reason why in the Orthodox Liturgy the cross is printed on the loaf which is used in the Eucharist, bread being at once the sign of God’s gift and of man’s work, the existential expression of the whole of man’s life in this world offered to God. With this sign of the cross the Church blesses, and before all their actions Christians make the sign of the cross in order to dedicate them to God. With this sign the priest blesses the water of Baptism, and also the holy water with which he sprinkles the house, the fields and the whole world in which the Christian lives and works—all is covered with the sign of the cross.

The world has value only in so far as through it we see and receive the revelations and the energies of the person of God who in himself, in his essence, cannot be described, but whose energies are already at work in all creation and will be fully revealed in the transfigured world of the age to come. Until the last day God is at work in this world, leading it towards its resurrection, above all by means of the cross.

Thus the cross is the sign and the means of the salvation of the world. All the world is a gift of God, and by the cross all the world has to be transcended in God. Only in Christ is this meaning of the cross fully revealed. In the cross of Christ the salvation of the world is founded, and the salvation of the whole cosmos, because by the cross the tendency of the whole cosmos to transcend itself in God is accomplished. One cannot conceive of a world which is not saved, a world which would always remain in suffering, enclosed in itself, a world in which the cross would not fully fulfil the destiny of the world. Suffering would have no meaning at all unless it was leading the world towards its salvation in God. The hell of an eternal suffering is no longer ‘a world’, properly speaking, but simply fragments detached from the world without meaning and without solidarity amongst themselves, shadowy, phantasmagoric fragments of the world. In hell suffering is eternal and would finally swallow up the gift. In the kingdom of God the world has been transfigured by the cross through which God himself is finally revealed and glorified.

Born To Set Us Free From Our Infirmities

December 4, 2021 · Fr. Philip LeMasters

Galatians 5:22-6:2; Luke 13:10-17

When Jesus Christ was teaching in a synagogue on the Sabbath, he saw a woman who was bent over and could not straighten up. She had been that way for eighteen years. Imagine how her life had changed due to her disability, how frustrating that chronic illness had to be, especially in a time before modern medicine and physical therapy. The Lord said to her, “Woman, you are loosed from your infirmity.” When He laid hands on her, she was healed. When the woman stood up straight again, she glorified God.

As was often the case when the Savior healed on the Sabbath day, there were those standing around just waiting to criticize Him for working on the day of rest.  He responded to them by noting that people do what is necessary to take care of their animals on the Sabbath.  “So ought not this woman, being a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has bound for eighteen years, be loosed from this bond on the Sabbath?”  The force of His point was so clear that those self-righteous hypocrites were put to shame and the people rejoiced.

In these weeks of the Nativity Fast, we pray, fast, give to the needy, and confess and turn away from our sins as we prepare to celebrate the wonderful news of the Incarnation of the Son of God, of our Lord’s birth at Christmas for the salvation of the world. Today’s gospel text provides a beautiful image of what Jesus Christ has done for us by becoming a human being by uniting divinity and humanity in His own Person.  These weeks of preparation give us all the opportunity to gain the spiritual clarity to see ourselves in that poor woman bent over and bound with chronic, debilitating infirmity.

Though we often do our best to hide it, we are all too well acquainted with illness, pain, and death.  We face chronic challenges of various kinds from which we cannot deliver ourselves or our loved ones. We have diseases of soul, of personality, of behavior, and of relationships that cripple us, that keep us from acting, thinking, and speaking with the joyful freedom of the children of God.  We are all bent over and crippled in profound ways in relation to the Lord, our neighbors, and even ourselves.  We have all fallen short of fulfilling God’s gracious purposes for us, as has every generation since Adam and Eve.

Joachim and Anna knew all about long-term frustration and pain, for like Abraham and Sarah they were childless into their old age.  God heard their prayers, however, and gave them Mary, who would in turn give birth to the Savior Who came to liberate us all from sin and death.  We celebrate in the coming week the feast of St. Anna’s conception of the Theotokos, which foreshadows the coming of the Lord to loose us from the infirmities that hinder our participation even now in the joyful life of the Kingdom.

The story of the Old Testament unfolded through the family of Abraham, who was told by God that he would be the father of a large, blessed family.   Some think of life after death as being accomplished through ongoing generations of children and grandchildren, not by victory over death itself.  If God’s blessings extended no further than the grave, however, then no one would ever be loosed from bondage to the wages of sin, which is death itself. Only a Savior Who is truly divine and human could enter fully into the fatal consequences of our corruption and then rise victorious over them, making it possible for us to participate in the eternal life of the heavenly kingdom.

The history of the Hebrews was preparatory for the coming of the Christ, the Messiah in Whom God’s promises are fulfilled and extended to all who have faith in the Savior, regardless of their ethnic or national heritage.  Christ did not come to promote one nation over another or to set up an earthly kingdom of any kind, but to fulfill our original calling as those created in the image and likeness of God.  He unites divinity and humanity in Himself and makes it possible for us to share in the eternal life of the Holy Trinity as distinct, unique persons who become radiant with the divine glory by grace. God breaks the laws of nature, at least as we know them in our world of corruption, in order to save us, enabling elderly women like Sarah and Anna to conceive and bear children and a young virgin named Mary to become the mother of His Son, Who Himself rose from the dead after three days in the tomb.  He is born at Christmas to work our liberation, to break the bonds of death, and to heal the brokenness of our life in this world of corruption.

The Lord did not treat the woman in today’s reading according to her physical condition as simply an impersonal bundle of disease, even as St. Anna’s fate was not defined by barrenness.  Instead, He revealed her true identity as a beloved person, a daughter of Abraham, by enabling her to stand up straight for the first time in years.   On that particular Sabbath day, Jesus Christ treated her as a unique, cherished child of God who was not created for slavery to a wretched existence of pain, disease, and despair, but for blessing, health, and joy.  She glorified God for this deliverance from bondage, for this restoration of freedom, as did those who saw the miracle.

The good news of Christmas is that the Savior is born to do the same for us all, to set us free from captivity to the decay, corruption, and weakness that have taken root in our souls. He comes to deliver us from being defined by our infirmities so that we can leave behind our bondage and enter into the joyous freedom of the children of God.  He comes to restore us as living icons who manifest His glory and salvation as the unique persons He created us to be.

Our salvation is a process of becoming more fully our true ourselves by embracing Christ’s healing of the human person.  There is no limit to the unique beauty of our souls other than those we impose by our own refusal to unite ourselves to Him in holiness.  The more we share by grace in the life of the Holy Trinity, the more we will see that the process of our fulfillment in God is eternal.  Since our fundamental calling is to become like God in holiness, we become more truly ourselves whenever we turn away from slavery to sin and corruption in order to embrace more fully the new life that Christ has brought to the world.

Most people today probably do not think of Advent and Christmas in relation to liberation from our bondage to sin and death.  More typically, we distort them into opportunities to strengthen our addiction to the love of money and possessions and to excess in food and drink.  Such self-centered indulgence is really nothing but bondage to ourselves, which can easily leave us so weak spiritually that we will never be able to straighten ourselves up.  That is not surprising because, as God’s children, we were not created to find our fulfillment in the passing things of creation or in satisfying self-centered desires for bodily pleasure.  That is why we must resist the cultural temptation to become so busy with shopping, planning, and partying this time of year that we end up ignoring the profound spiritual gravity of our Lord’s Incarnation.  He is born to restore us to the full dignity of His sons and daughters, to make us personal participants in the blessing and joy of the heavenly kingdom.  He comes to loose us all from slavery to sin and death.

In the remaining weeks of the Nativity Fast, let us follow St. Paul’s advice to acquire “the fruit of the Spirit…love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faith, meekness, [and] self-control.” Let us use this season to crucify “the flesh with the passions and the lusts” as we are loosed from the debilitating corruptions of sin by the mercy of the God-Man born for our salvation. As we pray, fast, give to the needy, and confess and repent of our sins this Advent, let us do so with the joyful hope of the woman who could finally stand up straight after eighteen years. For the Savior is born to deliver us from bondage in all its forms. It is time to rise up with Him into the blessed life of holiness He comes to share with us, for we have already had more than enough of pain and infirmity. As daughters and sons of Abraham by faith, let us embrace the healing that is ours in Jesus Christ.