The Master Beadsman

By way of encouragement, I wanted to relate a story to you from my recent journeys in the spiritual life. Of course, we all know that the great mystics of both the Christian East and West tell us that if we want to make serious progress in the spiritual life, we have to have a spiritual director (mother or father). This person needs to have a great deal of experience in the spiritual life. He or she does not need to be a priest or religious - although having a priest as your spiritual director can also provide the added benefit of being your confessor - nor do the necessarily need to be educated. But they do need to be people of holiness, who have a great deal of experience on the path of spiritual progress.

That's a tall order to expect from a spiritual director, especially in our day and age. Even in what we perceive to be the "golden ages" of Christianity, the saints of those times grieved over the lack of holiness in the world and said that it would be nearly impossible to find one person in a thousand that had the requisite experience to be a spiritual director. If that was true for their times, how much more so for ours!

Nevertheless, it seems to me that God puts the right people in our path along this journey at the right time. I've been fortunate enough to have a few spiritual directors, and a number of other encounters with holy people, that have come into my life at key moments. Throughout my struggles as a teenager I was fortunate enough to have Fr. Nestor, an Australian priest who had studied at the John Paul II Institute for Studies in Marriage and Family, and was serving as an assistant pastor at my home parish. He help guide me through the years of "teenage angst" with all its struggles to discover one's purpose and vocation, to maintain one's chastity, to learn one's identity in Christ, and to develop a new sense of purpose and responsibility as one enters adulthood.

An congregation of priests, The Fathers of Mercy, in southern Kentucky were all very helpful in forming me in the Faith through retreats that they preached at local parishes near my home in Indiana. Fr. William Casey, the Minister General of the order at the time, one year invited me to come to their annual priests retreat. I was 17 at the time and actually had to leave the retreat a couple days early because I was flying to Ireland for a music competition. I don't particularly know why God put it on Fr. Bill's heart to invite me down for that retreat; all I remember is being both the youngest person there, and the only layperson. The retreat was lead by Fr. Benedict Groeschell, a Franciscan priest, author, lecturer, and psychologist who is widely known in the Catholic world thanks to his television programs on EWTN. It was Fr. Benedict who really helped me to embrace my personality. Up to that point I really didn't want to be myself. I felt that others were more talented, smarter, better-looking, or whatever than I was and that I had nothing really special to offer the world. But Fr. Benedict, with his background in psychology, helped me to discover who I am in a way that had never been revealed to me before. I was afterward able to embrace my personality and have since been working to develop myself along the lines of the great saints who had similar personalities. I only had the one meeting with Fr. Benedict, so I suppose my encounter with him could be likened to the pilgrims going out into the deserts of the Middle East or the woodlands of Russian to seek a "word" from the hermits and poustiniki who lived there, and then carry that word with them through their lives.

Out of all the directors I've had in the past, however, there is one that has probably had more influence on me than the others; Fr. Giles. Fr. Giles is a Dominican priest. He was a professor of mine while I was attending university at Franciscan University of Steubenville, and for some reason he took an interest in me. We used to share meals together, pray the Liturgy of the Hours together, talk about spiritual matters that were going on in my life at the time, and he would regularly hear my confession. One of the major themes that I learned from Fr. Giles is one that I have spoken of a number of times on this blog; patience. Calm down. Relax. It's going to be okay. Be patient. These were things Fr. Giles would say to me almost every time we would meet for direction. For me, the hardest part of graduating from college was leaving my spiritual father and going out into the world on my own.

God seemed to have different plans. When I moved to Ann Arbor, MI. to help my fiance prepare for our wedding, it wasn't long before Fr. Giles was transferred by his Minister General to serve the Dominican Sisters in Ann Arbor. About a year or two after my wife and I moved to Northern Virginia, I got a call from Fr. Giles informing me that he was being transferred to teach at the Dominican House of Studies in Washington, D.C. - about twenty minutes up the road from where I was living at the time. In both cases it was good to be able to meet with my spiritual father to talk over matters that had been coming up in my prayer life and to seek his guidance. Sadly, shortly before my wife and I moved to Northern Kentucky, Fr. Giles was transferred to another part of Virginia. I don't know remember being able to meet with him before he left due to my work schedule.

Now that we have been settled in Northern Kentucky for a couple of years, I have noticed some themes that keep coming up in my prayer life. They are themes that seem to require some sort of action, but I'm not sure what, and I don't really know where to turn. So I have been praying for some time now that God would send me another spiritual director. I had been thinking of writing a bishop that I know and have had direction from in the past, but I know that he is busy and I don't want to importune him. I had also been thinking of speaking with a subdeacon at my parish, but again I know that he is busy and I didn't want to importune him either. Every time I would pray that God would send me a spiritual director I would hear this voice in the back of my head, "Be patient, Phillip. Calm down. It's all right."

One day, as I was driving a car to the local gas station to fuel it up for delivery, I turned on the local Catholic radio station. Mass was on. Usually I just skip through because I don't really like listening to Mass over the radio. But this time I thought to myself, "Well, even if I can't participate in the Liturgy, I can always learn something simply by listening to the prayers." It reached the point in the Mass where, during the Eucharistic Prayers, the concelebrating priests all take different parts of the prayer. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice over the airwaves. I didn't recognize it at first, and even when I didn't I couldn't believe it. Could it be that Fr. Giles has been transferred to Cincinnati, just across the river from me?! You see, Mass is broadcast from the local Dominican parish, so I suppose it wasn't a complete impossibility, but still a highly unlikely scenario.

When I arrived home that night I immediately jumped onto the internet to see if Fr. Giles' name had been listed at the local Dominican parish. Sure enough, he is there helping out with the novices. Naturally I immediately sent an email to him and have since met with him, with plans to meet again regularly in the future. As we spoke at our most recent meeting, we came to the conclusion that he had only been in town here for a couple of days before that broadcast. Isn't it funny how God works.

What's my point in sharing this story? We often despair over finding a spiritual director. We morn the fact that there are very few holy people left in this world that are capable of giving us solid guidance as we try to make our way along the inner path of holiness. But do we let that stop us from seeking guidance? And, above all, do we let that stop us from praying with sincere faith that God will send us a guide, trusting that He will send us one in His time? Or do we use this as an excuse not to seek spiritual guidance or to stop the search for a spiritual guide? Even if God sends you just one guide that you only get to meet with once for a brief moment, even that would be worth years of persistent prayer for the sake of growing in holiness. May heaven consume us!

In the struggle that is the spiritual life, dealing with the myriad of temptations that arise can often become overwhelming. There are temptations that arise from outside of us, and there are temptations that arise from the disordered passions within us. It seems everywhere we turn there is a new thing that is there to tempt us in some way or another. Listening to the news can often tempt us to anger or despair. Modern advertising often gives rise to temptations of unchastity, of greed, of hoarding, of covetousness, etc. There are temptations to judge people simply by the way they look or talk. We can be tempted to withdraw from humanity, not in order to pray for humanity out of love, but out of despair for the human race. With all the things going on in the world today, we can easily be tempted to fear, anxiety, lack of trust in God's loving kindness. The list can go on and on.

Adding to the temptations that arise simply from the world around us, we have the temptations that arise from within us; from our passions and disordered impulses. We have bad habits that we have formed over the years that, as we struggle to overcome them, still beckon to us and allure us. Perhaps you struggle with anger and it seems to arise spontaneously within you even over little things that don't merit an angry response. Perhaps you struggle with sadness and melancholy and have a difficult time offering gratitude for the blessings that God has placed in your life. Perhaps you struggle with a sense of self-righteousness, a "holier-than-thou" mentality.

Whatever temptations that arise from the world around you or from the world within you, the struggle against those temptations can become overwhelming. Oftentimes, as we walk on the sea of life and journey to reach out and grasp the hand of Christ, we, like Peter, take our eyes off of Christ and see only the storms, tempests and tumult around us. How easily we begin to drown in life's vast ocean. How easily the confusion of the world sets in within us when we take our eyes off of Christ. How easily we fall...

We shouldn't, however, fear temptation. Temptation, St. Isaac of Nineveh (a.k.a. "The Syrian") points out, is given to us in order to test our will. Temptation arises in order to test our resolve on the path of holiness, of "excellence." Temptations reveal to us the disorders of our nature, and so spur us on to humility. Temptations call us to turn to God for help and to rely on His aid to deliver us.

We shouldn't seek out temptations. In fact, because of our weakness we ought to avoid all "near occasions of sin." But neither should we despair over temptations when they inevitably arise. Temptation, because of our fallen nature, is a part of life. In fact, we could argue that temptation was a part of life even prior to the fall. Adam and Eve weren't tempted because they fell. They were tempted and then they fell. They fell because they didn't call out to God for deliverance in time of temptation.

Sometimes God allows temptations and impulses to remain in us simply to keep us humble. We are all familiar with St. Paul talking about the "thorn in the flesh" with which he struggled and constantly asked God to remove from him. St. Isaac of Ninevah admonishes us to imitate the importune widow. In times of temptation we must continually cry out to the Just Judge until He delivers us, if for no other reason than because of our importunity.

What are the methods for dealing with temptation? The same methods required for growth in the spiritual life. We must work, meditate and pray. First of all, we must keep ourselves active. We mustn't allow ourselves to be idle. "Idleness is the playground of the devil," I've often heard it said. Keep busy with something, particularly with developing the virtues. Perform all acts with great love. St. Therese of Lisieux was famous for her "little way." Not everyone is necessarily called to great and heroic acts of virtue. But we are all called to perform little acts of virtue with great and heroic love. Do you hate taking out the garbage? Do you hate washing the dishes? Do you hate going to the same dead-end job every day? Do you hate the fact that it seems like house-cleaning is a never-ending task; as soon as you get something cleaned the kids come through like a tornado and before you know it your entire home looks like a toy-bomb went off inside of it? These are all opportunities for us to do little things with great love.

Secondly we must meditate on God's Word constantly. The saints, without exception, urge us to read the Scriptures and the writings of the Church Fathers and mystics every day. We must learn to keep the mysteries of our Faith continually before our mind's eye. We must take the opportunity on a daily basis to read the Bible and the writings of some great saint. We should also avail ourselves of the opportunity to read and meditate on the lives of the saints; to learn from their lives and apply the lessons of their lives to our own lives. Perhaps you have one saint in particular that is a great inspiration to you. Study that saint's life. Learn to imitate that saint.

In our day and age there is almost no excuse for not making time every day to read the Scriptures, the writings of the saints, or their lives. Books are more easily available today than at any time in history. Many of the writings of the Early Church Fathers are available for free online. One can purchase a Bible for next to nothing and begin reading it immediately. And with modern technology we have an even greater access to information today than at any time in the past. Do you listen to the radio while you're driving to and from work every day? Why not listen to a CD program on the Faith, a talk on Christian spirituality, or a lecture on becoming a better father, mother, husband, wife, etc.? As Christians who are on fire for the Lord, we should be looking for every opportunity to hear His Word and meditate on it.

Finally, in order to combat temptation we must develop the habit of continual prayer. We shouldn't only turn to God when we need deliverance from temptation - although God often uses temptation to wake us up and turn us to Him. Rather, we should be constantly turning to God and remembering His presence with us throughout every moment of every day. Maintaining a daily rule of prayer, praying the Jesus Prayer or the Rosary throughout the day, and remembering to thank God for His blessings help to cultivate continual prayer within us. Make it a habit to turn to God and talk to Him throughout the day, just as you would talk to a friend who was visit your home. Most importantly, set aside time in the morning or in the evening that you can devote 100% to prayer.

Even when we "do all the right things," so to speak, we will still fall. We are, after all, weakened by the effects of our personal sin in our life. When we fall, we mustn't lose heart, but should get up and continue fighting to overcome the enemy. I've heard it said before that a saint isn't someone who never falls, but someone who continues to get up after falling. St. Isaac of Nineveh, reference Theodore of Mopsuestia, says: "To abandon hope profits not. It is more expedient for us to be judged on account of special sins than on account of complete abandonment (of the struggle against sin)." In other words, it is better for us to show up before the judgment seat of Christ battered, bloodied and bruised from our struggle against our sins, than it is to show up without any sign of putting up a fight against our sinfulness. So in your struggle, do not lose hope even if you fall a hundred times. God gave us the Sacrament of Confession for a reason. His mercy is eternal, and His love is infinite. Turn to God in times of temptation. Turn to God when you fall. Trust in His love and mercy. Rely on His delivering power. As we pray in the Maronite tradition:

"Lord, may the eyes of our hearts be illumined by your light, and the rising of your day be the source of all good. May our minds be focused on your love. In your kindness you free us from the darkness of night and draw us to the light of day; by the power of your word disperse the evils that come to us. Thus, through your wisdom we will conquer the snares of the evil one who dons the garb of an angel of light. Guard us from works of darkness, and keep our gaze fixed on your resplendent light."

May heaven consume us!

Anyone who is seriously pursuing progress in the spiritual life knows that there are ups and downs along the way. We go through periods of great joy and consolation, and we go through periods of great dryness and desolation. Even the lives and writings of the saints attest to this. Anyone with even an introductory knowledge of saints such as Therese of Lisieux or Blessed Teresa of Calcutta know the great trials that the saints have endured in order to achieve the highest goals of the spiritual life. The question becomes, therefore, not whether or not we ourselves will experience these ups and downs, but why do we experience them and how do we deal with them. As always, turning to the wisdom and experience found in the lives and writings of the saints is the best way to find our answers.

Here I would like to turn to the homilies of St. Isaac of Nineveh (a.k.a. "the Syrian") for a little illumination. In his homily "On the Different Ways of Wise Guidance for the Instruction of Disciples" (homily 29 according to A.J. Wensinck, or 30 according to Holy Transfiguration Monastery), St. Isaac reminds us that a loving father does not always deal in the same ways with his child, but adjust his actions and behavior towards his child so as to instruct the child and to teach him right and wrong. St. Isaac says:

"Now the Father of truth deals with His sons in different ways. For the profit of His sons He restrains Himself from uniformity that consists in always showing to them the same face. Nay rather, to discipline them, He secretly withdraws His love. Thus He displays the appearance of a state that does not really exist; but that which He is, He restrains."

Certainly this does not mean that our loving Father, our Abba, withholds His love from us at any given time. But He does manifest His love in different ways so as to help us grow to maturity in the spiritual life. We may experience times of trial and hardship, times of spiritual dryness, times of great suffering, as a withdrawal of God's love, but we must acknowledge that such is not the case. Our heavenly Father's love remains constant. But just as a child must be weened from its mother's breast so as to receive the nourishment of solid food in order to grow to physical maturity, so too must we be weened from the milk of spiritual consolation in order to grow to spiritual maturity through the solid food of pure prayer. And, again, just as the infant experiences this as a painful separation from its mother, so too we will feel this growth as being an absence of God's presence with us along the journey.

St. Isaac reminds us:

"A wise son recognizes his father's care for him as well as his discerning love in the changes of his behavior toward him. The activity of true love, when rightly understood, will appear twofold: in what causes joy but also in what causes sorrow."

Being "wise sons/daughters" of our heavenly Father, we must learn to see our Father's loving care for us in all the joys and sorrows of this life. We are being taught to "love the Giver, not the gift." Our Father gives us good things, but He desires the best for us. And the best gift that He could possibly give us is the gift of Himself. How can we receive such a gift if our attention is focused on these lesser gifts that He bestows upon us? And so, in His love, He must teach us to turn from these lesser gifts - which are still, in fact, very good - so as to turn to the greater Gift. We must learn to be detached from the gifts of this life - including the spiritual gifts that are bestowed on us in this life for our instruction - in order to attach ourselves more fully to the one Gift that truly matters.

But still there is the temptation to view the periods of suffering and dryness as acts of cruelty from our Father. We today have such a low image of fatherhood. Blame it on the culture, blame it on society, blame it on the media, blame it on whoever you want, but our culture teaches us that fathers, if they are not complete buffoons, are little more than cruel tyrants dominating and suppressing those under them in order to maintain some semblance of power over another. How often we carry this skewed image over into our view of God, our loving Abba! And so when sufferings come upon us, when times of spiritual dryness dominate our spiritual life, we receive this as validating our view of our Father as tyrannically exercising arbitrary power over us. It's as if we hear Him say, "Okay, I've given you enough happiness for awhile. It's time for you to suffer." We then completely misunderstand the writings of the saints when they tell us that it is God's good pleasure that we should experience suffering. God doesn't take some sort of sick pleasure in watching us suffer. No parent, seeing their child severely ill, stands by and takes delight in their child's illness. As parents, our first instinct in seeing our child suffer is to work to relieve that suffering. What makes us think that our Abba is not the same? As Christ tells us, "If you who are evil know how to give good things to your children, how much more your Father Who is in heaven" (I may be paraphrasing here, of course)?"

Turning again to St. Isaac, listen to what he has to tell us about our Abba's love:

"Love is constantly ready to give pleasure to its beloved; yet sometimes it causes its beloved to suffer for the very reason that it loves much, and it suffers with its beloved even as it causes suffering. It firmly resists the stirrings of natural compassion, fearing lest its beloved should be harmed afterward."

There is the love of our Abba! In order that we might grow to spiritual maturity, our Abba instructs us and allows us to experience difficulties and hardships, as well as joys in our spiritual life. But, as any good parent, when our Abba sees us struggling and suffering His "natural urge," if you will, is to compassion. As we suffer He suffers with us because He doesn't want to see us suffer. He allows the difficulties and the sufferings because He knows that they are for our own good and that, once we have borne them, we will be closer to Him in the end. And yet we can say that our Father suffers with us because what parent doesn't suffer when their child is struggling! At the same time, what parent hasn't restrained themselves from that natural urge, those "stirrings of natural compassion," to intervene in their child's life when they see their beloved one suffering.

Allow me to give a personal example. My son loves chocolate. I know, I know. You may be thinking, "Everyone loves chocolate." No. My son LOVES chocolate. He loves it to the point that we use it as a motivator for potty training, and he is horrified of the toilette for some reason. But if I let my boy eat chocolate whenever he wanted, then he'd develop a whole host of health issues. He wouldn't live a long and healthy life, but would most likely develop some form of diabetes or cancer or heart disease at a very young age. So what do I do as a father who loves his son more than anything? I tell him "no, you cannot have chocolate right now." He can't wake up in the morning and start chowing down on a candy bar. Of course, being two years old, he throws a fit and cries, throwing himself around on the floor. In my heart I don't want him to be so upset and I don't want to see him "suffer" like that. He doesn't understand that too much chocolate isn't good for him. He just knows that chocolate is really REALLY tasty. It's my job, as his father, to teach him what is good for him and what will allow him to lead a long and healthy life. It is my job to help him develop good habits and to avoid or uproot bad habits. It is my job to help him to become the "best-version-of-himself," as the author and speaker Matthew Kelly would say. But that doesn't change the fact that I suffer with my child even when I am, for lack of a better term, causing him suffering by denying him certain things that may not be good for him at the time.

It may seem like such a silly analogy, but it is apt. Remember, we are children in the spiritual life. We like to think of ourselves as mature adults, but really when was the last time you joyfully bore a suffering, a trial, some difficulty, or a setback in your life? When was the last time that you endured suffering without kicking and screaming the whole time? "God, why are you doing this to me?""God, where are you? Why aren't you helping me?""Lord, why don't you fix this?" I know nine times out of ten these are my first reactions upon entering into some sort of hardship. So often we like to quote Christ on the cross saying, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me," but then we forget that that Psalm in particular is a Psalm of hope and joyful expectation, not a Psalm of abandonment. If we stick through to the end and endure with patient endurance, we will see the hand of love and the compassion of our Abba even in the midst of our suffering.

There is a famous saying among Eastern Christians that "The Church is a hospital, not a courtroom." Bearing this image in mind, listen to these final words from St. Isaac:

"It is unbecoming to the wisdom of love to give the identical kind of sustenance to its beloved in times of both health and sickness... The man who kills his son by feeding him honey does not differ from the man who kills him with a dagger."

So what are we to take from this? We need to bear in mind always, in times of joy and in times of sorrow, that God is our loving Abba. As the Church prays in the Maronite tradition, we must keep our minds focused on the love of our Abba. In order to mature in the spiritual life we must see our Abba's love for us even in the midst of severe difficulties and sufferings, just as we see and experience His love for us in times of great joy and consolation. God doesn't delight in our sufferings, but He allows them because He knows, as any good father knows, that through trials and difficulties come growth and ultimate victory. May heaven consume us!

God is our Abba, and we keep our minds focused on His love.

There is a great temptation in our spiritual life to think of progress in prayer and in the spiritual life as a series of stages that we pass through and then leave behind. This is in no small way thanks to the efforts of mystical theology to define or identify certain moments that appear universal throughout the spiritual life. Anyone acquainted with the writings of the great mystics, East or West, knows of the three major stages spoken of by nearly all of them: purgative, illuminative, and unitive. Although these three terms grew specifically out of the Carmelite mystical tradition, the realities that they convey are every bit as present in the writings of the great Eastern mystics. St. Isaac of Nineveh, for example, speaks of three degrees in the spiritual life: the novitiate, the "middle one," and perfection. But so often in our spiritual lives, however, we get caught up in which stage we may be in, and that becomes our primary focus. All the mystics explain that this should not be the case. The "three stages" are meant simply as guideposts that we glance down at so that we can then continue our journey.

And here is the main point I'd like to make today. Our spiritual life is truly a journey. Although the guides and maps that the saints provide us for the journey are certainly useful and absolutely necessary to keep at hand, we must bear in mind, nevertheless, that this is our journey and we must make it. We can't substitute the relationship the saints have with God for the relationship that we must also have. Although we keep their writings near at hand for guidance, we must ultimately allow the Lord to grasp our hand and lead us on the spiritual way that He calls each one of us to individually. The goal may seem far off, but it is worth the trip. "A thousand mile journey begins with a single step."

The Catechism of the Catholic Church provided me with a great source of comfort as I came to this realization over the last couple of weeks. In paragraph 2599 we are told that Jesus Himself, in His human nature, also had to learn to pray. Can you imagine! The Son of God, Who is "Light from Light, and true God from true God," had to learn in His human nature to commune with His heavenly Father! Jesus had to be formed in prayer over time. He Himself had to enter the school of prayer. He had to learn the basics of prayer so that He could then go out and make that spiritual journey to which all of us are called. And what was the school of prayer in which Christ was formed? Essentially, we are told, Christ's prayer and spiritual life were formed within the domestic church, and through the rhythms and formulas of the public liturgical life of the Temple.

Jesus "learns the formulas of prayer from his mother, who kept in her heart and meditated upon all the "great things" done by the Almighty. Mary taught Jesus to ponder God's acts throughout history as those acts are contained in the Scriptures and celebrated in the liturgy of the Temple. Here we find two important things we must keep in mind. First of all, Jesus learned specific formulas for prayer. Psychologically speaking formulas and their repetition are extremely necessary. There is a saying, "You become what you think about most of the time." By learning the formulas of prayer and repeating them over and over again, we gradually become what we are thinking about. If the goal of the Christian life is to become "little Christs" (that is the original meaning of the word "Christian"), to put on the mind of Christ as St. Paul tells us, then we must allow our minds to be formed by the repetition of the various formulas our Mother, the Church, gives us. As our minds are formed through this repetition, gradually our hearts begin to change, to be transformed by the realities that we ponder. And here we come to the second point. We must learn to "descend with the mind into the heart," as St. Theophan tells us. We mustn't allow the formulas we repeat and the realities that we study in the Scriptures to remain "head knowledge," but rather must allow those realities to descend into the very core of our being. We must learn to meditate on these things in our hearts so that we can be transformed at the core. Christ tells us that it is not that which is outside that defiles a man, but that which is within. Why? Because our outward actions flow from our inner state of being. Again, you become what you think about most of the time. As our hearts are transformed, so too will our lives be.

The other school of prayer at which Jesus learned to pray was in the rhythms of the prayers in the synagogue and the Temple. While we learn at home to ponder these things in our hearts, it is the liturgy that provides the structure for pondering. We find that there is a daily, a weekly, an annual, and a life-cycle rhythm of prayer at which we, just like Jesus, learn to pray, or rather are formed in prayer. We are trained by the liturgical life of the Church to "pray without ceasing." Even our private devotions resonate and echo with the liturgical rhythms of the Church. As I've mentioned in other posts, both the Western Rosary and the Eastern Jesus Prayer grew out of the daily liturgical cycle for those monastics who were either unable to read the Psalter, or who, for various reasons, could not celebrate the Hours with their monastic brethren. These two great devotions to this day maintain that liturgical connection.

So we are formed in the domestic church, and we are formed in the liturgical life of the Church at large. There is one more thing to keep in mind here. Jesus was formed in these two things for 33 years before He went out and began His public ministry! So often we read or hear about these great mystics who seemed to have been given the gift of pure prayer almost instantaneously. All they had to do was ask for it and, BOOM, they're going into ecstasy and praying for hours on end without the slightest awareness of the amount of time that passed. In the meantime, we set aside 15 minutes a day for prayer and, after we feel like we've been there for hours, glance over at the clock only to realize that a mere two minutes have passed. The instantaneous gift of pure prayer, however, is not the norm. It is so much not the norm that not even the Son of God incarnate experienced this! Again, we are taught that He was gradually formed in prayer, and that after 33 years of this formation He finally went out to complete the mission for which He was sent by His heavenly Father. So often we hear that Christ entered fully into our humanity, and even took on all the sufferings of our humanity. How true even in the struggles of our prayer life.

Prayer and the spiritual life are a journey. They are a life-long journey. We know our goal and we hope to one day reach that goal. But our purpose here is to continue on that journey, whether we feel like we are running forward leaping around like a deer, or are trudging through the mud and muck of daily troubles. The point isn't the speed at which we make the journey. The point is that we keep moving forward, allowing ourselves to be formed by our Mother, the Church, through Her liturgical life, and by pondering God's saving work in our hearts. May heaven consume us!

One of the most popular phrases quoted from St. Seraphim of Sarov is as follows: "Acquire the Spirit of peace, and a thousand around you will be saved." I've heard this phrase translated a number of ways, but what is implied in the various translations always seems to be the same; the goal of the spiritual life is to acquire the Holy Spirit. I do not here want to disagree with that statement, but I would like to offer a corrective to the common understanding of that statement.

In his book In His Spirit, Fr. Richard Howard S.J. points out that there is a mentality in the Western world to think of God as something/someone who dwells outside of us, and that we draw closer to God through our own efforts. I would venture to say that this is true not only of Western Christians in general (both Roman Catholic and Protestant), but also of Eastern Christians (both Eastern Catholic and Orthodox), at least those Eastern Christians living in the western world. It is interesting to note, however, that such a concept and approach to God and to the spiritual life are not only contradictory to the Scriptures, but also to the liturgical, spiritual, and theological traditions of both the East and West. Perhaps in the future I will be able to delve into the liturgical texts of the various traditions, particularly that Baptismal texts, to illustrate the point that I am about to make.

What we see from the beginning in the account of God's creation of man is that God breathes His very own life into man. Man's life, from the first moment that he becomes a living being, is the Holy Spirit Himself! God is not something/someone that dwells outside of man, but is Himself the very Source of life within man. At the center of man's being, therefore, is the Holy Spirit!

In his marvelous work The Spiritual Life and How to be Attuned to It, St. Theophan the Recluse, referencing St. Diadocus of Photiki, points out that because of man's fall from grace, the Holy Spirit was removed from man, or rather man drove the Spirit out of him through his first sin. Sin, then, came to dwell at man's core. And thus we get the mentality that man is completely depraved at the very core of his being; that man is always drawn to sin and that his actions always stem from in inner self-interest. This is certainly true of fallen man, but Christ has introduced to us a new order of things. St. Theophan points out that, due to the very nature of our Baptism and Chrismation, the Holy Spirit has again been restored as the Source of life within us, within the very depths of our being, and it is now sin that works outside of us seeking to gain entrance.

The baptismal texts are replete with references to "regeneration," death and resurrection, and rebirth. The various exorcisms prayed over the candidate for Baptism are all geared at driving the Devil and his ways out of the candidate in order that the candidate might be united to Christ! This is a union that takes place within, at the very core of the person. It is interesting to note that in the Byzantine tradition the priest, mirroring the actions of God at the first creation of man, breathes on the candidates mouth three times in the form of a Cross while praying, "Drive out from him every evil and unclean spirit hiding and making its lair within his heart..." What is the breath if not the Holy Spirit, the Breath of Life being breathed anew into the candidate and driving out all the powers of darkness that, to this point, dwelt within the him because of the fall of our first parents!

The point I am trying to make here is that in our struggles in the spiritual life, we are not so much trying to acquire the Holy Spirit, so much as to kindle the Divine Spark that is already alive within us by virtue of our Baptism and Chrismation. This is why, when praying the Jesus Prayer, we try to seek that central and deepest place within us - that place which is traditionally known as "the heart" - in order to find there dwelling within us the presence of the Spirit that we so often ignore, and to fan into a raging fire the Divine Love that we encounter at the very center of our being! This flame, that begins in our hearts, will eventually ignite our lives so that our thoughts, words, and actions all radiate the fire of Divine Love that wells up from within us.

Hopefully I will be able to say more on this in future posts. May heaven consume us!

Many folks like to argue that the East is "mystical" and the West is "rational" (as though those two are actually opposed to one another). I've argued time and again that anyone who actually believes such a statement has little to no grasp of either tradition. But the more I read the writings of the Fathers, and the closer I pay attention to what is prayed at the Liturgy, the more I realize that East and West are both incarnational! If at times one tradition has emphasized mystical experience while the other emphasized logical argument, this has only been in response to the historical and cultural circumstances at the time. In fact, however, both the mystical and the rational are "subservient," so to speak, to the incarnational. Both seek to find an adequate expression for, and a deeper encounter with, the truth of God-made-man, the Word made flesh.

Ultimately we can never fully express, understand, or experience this great mystery in this life. We are given moments. Moments where we encounter this mystery in a new and powerful way. Moments where we hear the Word speak to us where He dwells in the depths of our hearts. Moments where time stops and the only thing before us is the great mystery of Emmanuel, God with us! We are compelled, then, to give expression to these moments. We are compelled, as Fr. Thomas Loya would say, to make the invisible visible through the physical. Is this not what we are called to do as human persons made in God's image and likeness? At the first moment of creation God makes Himself, the Invisible One, visible through His physical creation, particularly His creation of the communion of persons in man and woman. All of creation manifests God to us and is stamped with His fingerprint. So when we encounter the reality of the Incarnation, we too feel that we must again make this reality present to us here and now. And so we write poems, hymns, and songs; we build churches and create artwork; we use the God-given capacity of our human reason to think through the logical consequences of the realities proclaimed to us in the Scriptures and revealed to us through the Word made flesh. All of this is nothing more or less than our limited way of trying to touch again the very flesh of God-made-man.

What we so often end up doing is focusing so much on the divinity of Christ (and He is indeed divine), that we are blinded to the reality of His humanity. When was the last time you stopped and contemplated the humanity of Christ? I know for me it has been quite some time. When was the last time you have looked into the turmoil within your own heart and then looked to Christ, confident that He understands your pain because He Himself has experienced that same pain? When was the last time you turned to Christ in your joy and invited Him to share that joy with you, know full well that He Himself rejoiced and feasted with His friends and family during His time on earth?

We like to think of "Christ the King," the "Ancient of Days," the "Incomprehensible One," the "Alpha and the Omega," the "Son of God," and a host of other exalted titles. Jesus is certainly all of these things. But He is also "Word-made-flesh,""God-with-us," the "Son of Mary,""Jesus the man," a man! He became one of us and lived like one of us. God became just another face that could easily get lost in a crowd. Imagine that! Jesus walking down a busy modern city street and nobody notices Him because He looks just like everybody else! Jesus, through Whom all things were made, gets lost in the crowd of people who were made in His image!

How great is the humility and generosity of God! Such glorious titles we give Him, and yet He loves us enough to become one of us and to be born in the lowliest of circumstances. The Maronite tradition captures this reality beautifully when it sings on the Sunday before Christmas (Genealogy Sunday):

"Infant Jesus, the Son of God,
has been wrapped in swaddling clothes.
Though a great and a mighty King,
in a manger he now lies.
God, whom heavens cannot hold
nor the seraphim behold,
is embraced in Mary's arms and is fed so lovingly."

At the same Liturgy we have another awe-inspiring example of God's humility. Have you ever thought about Jesus learning to pray? We recall easily the words from the Gospel, "Lord, teach us to pray," but do you have stop to ask, "who taught Jesus to pray?" I always just presumed that Jesus is God and so prayer was natural to Him; literally prayer was a part of Jesus' nature as the second Person of the Trinity dwelling in eternal communion with the Father and the Holy Spirit. But according to His humanity, Jesus would've had to learn to pray like anyone else. Jesus had to learn to relate to the Father and the Holy Spirit in his humanity, in the very flesh that he had assumed. So who taught Jesus to pray? His mother! In the Hoosoyo of Genealogy Sunday the deacon sings:

"You enriched creation, yet you have become poor, and your mother sang spiritual songs to you as she carried you in her arms."

What a beautiful image! Imagine Mary carrying the infant Jesus in her arms, bouncing and swaying with Him, nursing Him and singing spiritual songs to Him as He fell asleep in her arms. Now think of how this Child, Who is "God from all eternity" as we pray in the Byzantine tradition, learns from His human mother how to relate to God through His humanity! So great is His generosity that He was willing to be stripped of all His divine glory in order to be with us! So great is His generosity that He was willing to be denied any human glory and to be born in a cave! So great is His generosity that He was willing to be stripped even of His dignity as a human person and to be hung naked on a cross after having had His flesh ripped from His bones and having been abandoned by His friends.

So remember these things the next time that you feel God is removed from our "reality" or from your personal "reality." He is not removed from them. He is closer to our reality - to my reality and to your reality - than we are to that same reality. The next time you feel that God is above and beyond this world, that He is totally "transcendent," remember that He willed to strip Himself of His transcendence and to be born in a cave. He willed to become one of us in all things but sin. He has felt your pain because He has experienced human pain Himself. He has felt your joys because He has experienced human joy itself. He even knows our struggles in learning to pray because He Himself had to learn to pray in His humanity. God is not far from us. God is with us! Chirst is in our midst! He is and always will be!

It is good to know what we are after in the spiritual life. Where are we headed? What is the goal? It is good to examine our hearts, our intentions; to ask ourselves some honest questions and search within our hearts for honest answers. Why do I pray? What am I seeking? Such questions enable us to come face-to-face with ourselves and provide the opportunity for us to purify our hearts of any wrong intentions.

In St. Matthew's Gospel (Mt. 6: 5,6, 16,17) Jesus gives us the example of folks who stand on street corners to pray so that they may be seen by men. He then goes on to speak of others who make themselves look gloomy and downcast while they are fasting so that others will know they are fasting. He then goes on to warn us that these people have had they're reward. Why do you pray? Why do I pray?

These examples may seem a little far-fetched to us today. How many people do you see standing on street corners and praying so that they might be seen and obtain the favor of men? How many people do you know who perform intense fasting and go about announcing it to others? Although such things are rare today, they still exist. Examine your own heart and discern whether they exist in you. We are all in need of constant purification.

So what do we seek in prayer? Over the past week I have been examining books and videos on the Jesus Prayer, and some of what has been presented I have found disturbing to say the least. The Jesus Prayer is often presented as an end in and of itself. To it is often attributed a power that it does not have in and of itself. Sometimes it is presented as if all we need to do is pray the Jesus Prayer and everything in our spiritual life will turn out right. Anyone with even a cursory knowledge of the writings of St. Theophan the Recluse, St. Ignatius Brianchaninov, or any of the other great Fathers of the Byzantine East know that this is not the case.

For other people the Jesus Prayer is a means to some sort of "mystical experience." Saying the Jesus Prayer gives them some sort of transcendent experience that has an ethereal or surreal quality about it. It takes them to the "mystical" in the sense that it removes them from themselves and from the world for a moment. It helps them escape from the world.

For still other folks saying the Jesus Prayer is about stillness, inner peace. Saying the Jesus Prayer calms their mind. All of us know how our thoughts can at times run away from us. Our mind just races out of control until all we want to do is pull out our hair. We often wish we could just flip a switch and shut our brain down for a bit. For some people, the Jesus Prayer is that switch.

But these things are not what the Jesus Prayer - or any other prayer for that matter - is all about. The Jesus Prayer is about communion, just as all prayer is about communion. We seek communion with God. We seek to enter into relationship with God. We seek the face of God. We seek to know God. True prayer, as the saints point out, isn't about the words that we pray, but about developing a relationship with God. The words that we pray, in a sense, mediate that relationship. The words lay the foundation for building our relationship with God. But at some point, the words must cease, even if only for a moment. St. Isaac (the Syrian) if Nineveh points out that the highest form of prayer moves beyond words, to the point that the words of prayer themselves can become a distraction. This is not a permanent state, and one eventually has to return to the words of prayer, but at the moment that the soul moves beyond words all words must cease otherwise prayer itself ceases.

Prayer is about communion with God Who dwells in us by virtue of our Baptism. As we work to deepen this communion, as we struggle to remain always in God's presence, then we are given the gifts mentioned above. Prayer, true prayer, can lead to inner peace, stillness, "mystical experiences," a drawing up out of the troubles of this world, but these things are not the goal of prayer themselves and they cannot be forced. Peace, stillness, transcendence, etc., are all gifts from God. Our duty is not to seek those gifts, but to seek the Giver. Prayer is the struggle to seek the Giver, to seek an ever-deepening relationship with the One Who is "all in all."

Ultimately prayer leads us back into ourselves and purifies us, because in drawing closer to the fire of God's love all that is imperfect must be melted away. Prayer too leads us back into the world so that, ignited by the fire of God's love, we can be the light in the world and set the world on fire, as Jesus so desired. Prayer doesn't lead us away from ourselves, from others, from the world. Prayer, rather, makes us more sensitive to our need for the purifying fire of God's love in our lives and throughout the world. The power of the Jesus Prayer, as Fr. Lev Gillet points out in his wonderful little book, On the Invocation of the Name of Jesus, is that through it we can invoke the name of God upon all of mankind and all of creation. Invoking God's name is the same as invoking His very presence. And so by invoking the name of Jesus in our lives and in all of creation, we invoke the very presence of God, thereby transforming all of creation into prayer, into relationship with God.

We seek God's presence. We seek his presence in our lives and in our world. God's presence will purify our hearts. His Presence will purify our world. Only the presence of God will bring peace, joy, love, and unity. Only His presence will bring His kingdom. And how blessed is the kingdom of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit! May heaven consume us.

In reading the writings of the great mystics, both those of the East and those of the West, it is not uncommon to find the saints morning the lack of experienced spiritual elders and guides in their times. The temptation is to believe that since such guides were lacking in the days of the saints - the supposed "golden age" of the Church (whatever age we define that as being) - then they must be absolutely non-existent in our own day and age, marked as it is by such rampant sinfulness. There are a number of problems with this viewpoint that ought to be addressed.

The first issue is the presumption that there is a "golden age" of the Church at some point in the past, and that everything in the Church since then has been in a state of decay and corruption. An honest look at Church history quickly disproves this presumption. There were sinners in the Church in the past, just as there are sinners (of whom I am the first) in the Church today. There were saints in the Church in the past, just as there are saints in the Church today. This notion of a "golden age" in the Church often completely ignores the holy people in the Church today; not only the great luminaries that we often hear about in the news, but those holy and humble men and women that we encounter in our parishes Sunday after Sunday. If we truly wish to find a guide for our spiritual life, then we can't ignore the fact that holy men and women exist among us today, just as they existed within the Church in the past.

The second issue that we find here is ignorance over what constitutes a qualified spiritual elder or guide. So often what we are looking for is a wise and aged monk or hermit who sits alone in his cell and prays the Jesus Prayer all day long, doling out pithy spiritual gems to pilgrims who come to him for "a word" as though he is a spiritual Pez dispenser. We seek a St. Seraphim of Sarov, an Optina elder, a Padre Pio, or a St. John Vianney, when often times the very person we ought to be talking to is the housewife who goes about her daily tasks for the love of God, or the gentleman sitting in the cubicle next to ours faithfully fulfilling his daily tasks. Dan Burke, in his wonderful little book on spiritual direction Navigating the Interior Life, has this to say:

"The committed Catholic or seasoned Christian warrior may be seeking the wise old priest-sage who prays four hours a day and has the gift of seeing souls, when they may need a holy layperson who may not have a doctorate in dogmatic theology, but who clearly understands the path of humility and what it means to have a vibrant relationship with Christ." (pg. 20)

Here too we see a misunderstanding of the word "elder." In Greek "geron" (staretz in Russian, or elder in English) does not necessarily refer to a person who is older in years, but to a person who's soul has gained a certain maturity through spiritual experience. The soul could be one of any number of people. They could be older than us, younger than us, or around our same age. The could be a monk or nun, a parish priest, or simply a humble lay person. Really, anyone who has more experience than ourselves in the spiritual life could be considered our spiritual elder. The question becomes, do we have the necessary humility to seek guidance from the day-to-day elders around us whom we may take for granted?

The final issue here is often the presumption that we can make absolutely no progress in the spiritual life without an elder of some sort. Such a presumption flies in the face of the writings of the great mystics. Universally they proclaim to us that it is indeed possible to make progress without an elder, although it is much more difficult. In the absence of an elder, we are told that what is needed above everything else is a spirit of humility. This spirit is brought up again and again in the writings of St. John Climacus, St. Isaac of Nineveh, St. Theophan the Recluse, and St. Ignatius Brianchaninov, to name but a few.

St. John Climacus gives us the following advice for maintaining a sense of humility in our prayer life:

"In your prayers there is no need for high-flown words, for it is the simple and unsophisticated babblings of children that has more often won the heart of the Father in heaven." (Ladder of Divine Ascent, pg. 275)

St. Ignatius Brianchaninov tells us that even without a spiritual guide it is still possible to be given the prayer of the heart, so long as we cling to humility and child-like simplicity. In the absence of a spiritual elder, these ought to be our guides.

What are the characteristics of child-like simplicity? Openness, honesty. a lack of subtleties. This is where we find the genius of the Jesus Prayer: Lord Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner. One could lengthen this slightly to read: "As man I have sinned, Lord Jesus as God have mercy on me."

This simplicity in prayer must be accompanied by a certain simplicity in the way we live our lives. Nil Sorsky tells us that in the absence of a spiritual guide, we ought to simply dedicate ourselves to the work of God as found in our particular vocations. If you are a monastic, then live your vocation whole-heartedly. If you are a parish priest, strive to ever more fully live your unique calling. If you are a married person, be dedicated to living your vocation in joy and love, not looking for greener pastures elsewhere. By living our vocations, according to Nil, God Himself will guide us into purity of heart and pure prayer.

"We must always in all our activities seek to do all in soul and body, in word or deed and thought as far as our strength allows, to do all godly activities with God and in God... The mind must always be focused positively on God with deep reverence, devotion, and trust in order to do all unto God's good pleasure and not out of vainglory or to please other human beings." (Nil Sorsky: The Complete Writings, pg. 68)

Of course, none of what has been said above means that we ought not to seek a spiritual guide. We ought to seek a guide because such guidance makes progress in the spiritual life much quicker and easier. All of this is just to say that when seeking a spiritual guide we must first acknowledge that such people exist even in our own times: second, we must be humble in our search and be willing to look for a guide in places we hadn't even considered previously: and third, while looking for a spiritual guide we must continue to strive in humility for progress in the spiritual life and not put off such striving. God, our loving Father, will reward our efforts. May heaven consume us!

Christ is risen!

Recently, as I've been meditating on the Passion and Resurrection of Christ, a thought has occurred to me. I have spent the past couple of weekends watching videos on the Shroud of Turin. This amazing artifact is, potentially, a physical witness not only to the death of Christ, but also to the moment of His Resurrection. I say "potentially" because the scientific studies conducted on the Shroud are not completely conclusive. I personally believe that the evidence supports the belief that the Shroud is actually Jesus' burial cloth. I encourage you to check out some videos about it. The entire subject is very fascinating.

As I've been studying the subject of the Shroud and meditating on the image the Shroud contains, I came to a realization. In the Christian East there is a strong understanding that mankind was made in God's image and likeness, keeping in mind that there is a distinction between "image" and "likeness." After the fall mankind lost its likeness to God, and the image of God in man was distorted. Now, it is understood that being made in the image of God means that man was fashioned after the pattern of the Logos/Word of God, Jesus. We were originally created as a reflection of Christ. Think of it this way. We often apply the saying of St. John the Baptist, "He must increase and I must decrease," to our spiritual lives. Christ Jesus must increase in us, and our fallen sinful nature must decrease, because only when Christ lives in us are we truly living as we were created to be. In the beginning, mankind was called to be transparent to Christ, to show forth the glory of God in creation simply by living after the manner and pattern in which they were created. As Christ the Logos is pure "yes" to the Father, mankind too was called to be a pure "yes" to the Father after the pattern of Christ. But at the fall man said "no," and so we lost our likeness to God and distorted the image of the Logos within us.

Jesus came to restore our likeness to God and renew the image of God in us. How does He go about doing this? By assuming our own humanity, taking it upon himself even in its fallen state. Jesus became like us in all things but sin, as the Scriptures say. This means that, while He did not sin, He did take on our fallen nature. St. Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 5:21 that Christ became sin, not in the sense that He sinned Himself, but in the sense that He assumed what is ours so that He might redeem it and elevate it. There is a beautiful prayer in the Maronite tradition:

"You have united, O Lord, your divinity with our humanity, and our humanity with your divinity; your life with our mortality, and our mortality with your life. You have assumed what is ours, and you have given us what is yours for the life and salvation of our souls."

What am I trying to get at here? Well, as I meditated on the image of the Shroud I came to realize that through His passion and death Christ became the physical image of our fallen spiritual condition. If you want a sense of what it means that the image of God is distorted in us by sin, then look no further than Christ's passion! If you want a sense of what the tyranny of sin looks like, then look at how the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Roman soldiers treated Jesus during His passion. If you want to have a sense of what the oppression of sin looks like, then look at how Jesus was beaten to a pulp and then forced to carry a cross beam that weighed nearly 200 pounds.

I believe that we have become so accustomed to hearing about the crucifixion of Jesus that it has, in a very real sense, lost its "shock value," so to speak. Similarly we have become so accustomed to hearing about sin that we are missing the horrifying reality of sin in our own lives. When we forget the horrifying reality of sin in our lives, and when the Cross no longer shakes us to our very core, then we cannot possibly hope to grasp and experience the immense love of God for us, and the great hope that is the glory of the Resurrection! Without grasping the love of God for us, and without the hope of the Resurrection, we very easily forget our dignity as men and women created in God's own image and likeness. Without the hope of the Resurrection, we cannot be fully alive so as to show forth the glory of God once more to all creation. This is why Holy Week and the Paschal Season are so central to the life of the Church! May the hope of the risen Christ be with us all.

Christ is risen! Truly He is risen!

A thought occurred to me recently. As part of my daily routine, I've begun praying a 5-decade Rosary followed by 100 repetitions of the Jesus Prayer while on my lunch break. I do this while I take a half-hour walk on the grounds of my workplace. This is in part for the physical exercise, and in part in imitation of the nuns of the Divyevo convent, who walk around their monastery walls praying the Rule of the Theotokos given to them by St. Seraphim of Sarov.

In other posts I've attempted to demonstrate the similarities between the Jesus Prayer and the Rosary in terms of their liturgical connections, particularly their connection to the Divine Office. This past week, however, it occurred to me that there is a deeper theological connection between these two forms of prayer.

The first connection that occurred to me is the element of meditation. By "meditation" here I do not mean that common misunderstanding of meditation as an exercise of the imagination. I've heard many Eastern/Byzantine Catholic and Orthodox Christians all but condemn the Rosary because of the supposed method of meditation that it encourages. By this they refer to that method of imaginative meditation that is presented in St. Ignatius of Loyola's Spiritual Exercises. This form of meditation would have one imagine oneself in a particular Biblical scene - usually a scene from the life of Christ - and imagine what one would see and hear, how one would feel, how one would react, etc. to a particular event or saying. This, however, is not necessarily the form of meditation that the Rosary encourages - nor is it completely condemned by the Eastern Fathers (it is seen as very much a beginner's form of meditation, and potentially dangerous if taken to extreme or confused for the heights of spirituality).

The form of meditation encouraged by both the Rosary and the Jesus Prayer is a basic pondering in the heart over the mysteries of salvation; a mulling or internal "chewing" on those mysteries until they become rooted in the depths of our person and become a part of who we are. In essence, this mulling or pondering over the mysteries of salvation take root in the heart, and then guide everything we think, say and do. One need simply take a quick glance through the writings of St. Theophan the Recluse or the Philokalia to see that this practice of calling to mind and mulling over the mysteries of our salvation is a practiced strongly encouraged by the great mystics of the Christian East.

I also realized that there is a strong theological connection between the Jesus Prayer itself and the Hail Mary. This is a connection that I would like to explore in more detail in my next post because I believe that a detailed exploration may get somewhat lengthy. At this point all I will say is that both prayers beautifully summarize in their own ways the core beliefs of the "catholic Faith of the orthodox Church" ("catholic" and "orthodox" have been deliberately written that way in order to emphasize the Faith, and not one particular Church over another). May Heaven consume us!

In my previous post I began a series on the theological parallels between the Western Hail Mary and the Eastern Jesus Prayer. As I was waking up this morning it struck me that I ought to kick off this exploration by beginning with the central theme of both prayers: the Name and Person of Jesus Christ. At even the most cursory glance it is blatantly obvious that the Jesus Prayer is about invoking the Name and Person of Jesus. But isn't the Hail Mary about invoking the person of Mary, the Mother of God? Isn't the Hail Mary all about beseeching her intercession? The easy answer? Yes and no.

The Hail Mary is certainly about invoking the intercession of the Blessed Mother/Theotokos, but there is a much deeper aspect to this that can be found in the very construct of the prayer itself. The prayer can be divided into two parts: the first I will call "the glories," and the second I will call "the petition:"

1) Glories - Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you! Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb...

2) Petition - Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.

Uniting these two parts is the Name of Jesus. Although I left it out in the quote above for the sake of highlighting this point, the Name of Jesus comes immediately after the phrase "fruit of your womb..." and acts as the link between the the "Glories" and the "Petition." In fact, built into the second part is an implicit reference directly back to the Name and Person of Jesus that appears in the first part. In the "Petition" we refer to Mary as "Mother of God" or "Theotokos." Mary is the Mother of God because she bore Jesus - the Second Person of the Trinity - in her womb, gave birth to Him, raised Him, in short she fully participated in the Divine plan of salvation. By calling her "Mother of God" or "Theotokos" we are submerged directly in the mystery of the Incarnation of Jesus in her womb, and so we are submerged in the mystery of the very Person of Jesus.

Even though the Name of Jesus is not always directly invoked in the most common Byzantine versions of this prayer, it can be assumed or implied because in those versions we still refer to Mary as "Mother of God" or "Theotokos." The person of Jesus is also implied at the end of these versions when we refer to the fruit of Mary's womb as "Savior of our souls." Again, through this phrase we are calling to mind the Divine plan of salvation, Mary's participation in that plan, and the very Incarnation of the Second Person of the Trinity. "Savior," being one of the titles given to Jesus, can also be considered an implicit invocation of the Holy Name.

For an even broader perspective it is worth pointing out that the Churches of the Syriac tradition have a version of the Hail Mary that is virtually identical to the Western version. There are a few slight differences, but it's practically the same. You can view a version of it here. Again, the central theme is the Name, Person and action of Jesus. Mary simply participates in the saving actions of her Divine Son.

So is the Hail Mary focused on invoking the intercession of the Theotokos? Sure it is! But we only invoke her intercession because of her participation in the saving actions of Jesus. Hence, we call upon the Name of Jesus while at the same time praying for Mary's intercession. Mary points us to her Son as we see in nearly every one of her icons. Therefore, any prayer to her is still a prayer centered on the person of Jesus Christ. Without Him we have no reason to pray to her. May heaven consume us.

I realize it has been quite some time since I've written or posted anything on this blog. To anyone who has been anxiously awaiting, I apologize. Over the last six months or so I have been brainstorming over what direction I want to take this blog. Obviously, the blog itself is dedicated to spirituality according to the Eastern Christian tradition - particularly how it is expressed through the Jesus Prayer. However, I've been struggling to figure out what that means for those of us who have a non-monastic vocation.

I've often heard it said that "Eastern Christian spirituality is monastic." Essentially meaning that the closer a non-monastic's spirituality mirrors monastic spirituality, the better. Monasticism, in this sense, is held up as the ideal vocation to which all Christians ought to strive. Those of us who choose non-monastic vocations are left feeling like we chose a lesser of two vocations; like somehow we're not living the Christian/Gospel life to its fullest. Nothing could be further from the truth.

I came to realize that the reason many people think that Eastern Christian spirituality is inherently monastic (by the way, one could say the same of Western/Roman Catholic spirituality) is because all of the literature on spirituality in the East was written by monastics, and the vast majority of it was written with monastics as their primary audience. We get glimpses, however, of non-monastic spirituality when we look closely at a few different texts: St. John Chrysostom's writings on marriage, St. Theophan the Recluse's letters to a young noblewoman found in the book The Spiritual Life and How to be Attuned to It, and even The Way of the Pilgrim. Although I haven't yet had the opportunity to read the book, my guess is that Paul Evdokimov's book The Sacrament of Love will give us a penetrating look into non-monastic spirituality in the Eastern Christian tradition.

There are, of course, similarities between monastic and non-monastic vocations and spirituality. Like St. Therese of Lisieux wisely pointed out, the Christian vocation is to love. Love requires self-emptying, self-sacrifice, purification from the passions. Only when we are free from our selfish desires are we truly free to love. Love requires that we follow Christ in his kenosis, that we take up our Cross daily. St. Paul tells us to "live in a manner worthy of the call you have received" (Eph. 4:1). This, of course, can be interpreted in the broad sense of living in a manner worthy of the Christian vocation - the call to decrease so that Christ might increase in us and radiate to others through our lives. But to this broad, general sense can be added a more specific sense of personal vocation. How do we live the general Christian vocation in the unique personal vocation/calling that I have received?

To use more "Eastern" terminology, St. Isaac the Syrian tells us in his 74th homily, "This life has been given to you for repentance, do not squander it in vain living." Essentially he is saying the same thing here that was said above. Repentance is not about beating our breast in guilt and saying "woe is me. I'm such a sinner." Repentance recognizes sin and the passions that dwell within us, of course. But it goes beyond that to challenge us to change our ways. To turn from the old man and be clothed in the new! To cast of the mind of the world and put on the mind of Christ! Essentially repentance is the call to self-emptying, kenosis, so that we may be filled with Christ. It is the call to empty ourselves of our passions, sinfulness and sinful inclinations, and everything that keeps us from living "in a manner worthy of the call" we have received. It is a call to reject that which keeps us from living life to its fullest.

The unique vocation to which each individual is called is the arena in which he will work out this self-emptying in order to be filled with the love of Christ, the power of the Holy Spirit. If I am called to monasticism, that is where I will live out the general Christian calling in my life. If I am called to marriage, that is where I will experience the best opportunities to practice self-emptying love and be filled with the Holy Spirit.

These are themes that I would like to continue to explore moving forward. In doing so, I hope I remain faithful to the tradition that has been passed down to Eastern Christians for generations. In particular I hope to remain faithful to my own Maronite-Syriac tradition. May heaven consume us.

One of the defining characteristics of Eastern Christian spirituality is the need for/emphasis on having a spiritual father or mother; someone to guide us on the path of the spiritual life. For those of us who dive deeply into the mystical writings of the Christian East, I think it's only natural that we should desire to find such a spiritual guide to whom we can submit ourselves in obedience. I certainly appreciate this desire and absolutely agree with it for folks still living a single life, celibate parish priests, and above all for monastics. However, I question whether or not married couples should be seeking a "traditional" form of spiritual guide - and perhaps here even "traditional" isn't the right word because, as I think we'll find, there is another path that is just as ancient but less spoken of. Allow me to explain.

As I examine the writings of the great Eastern mystics, particularly the Desert Fathers, one of the primary reasons I've found that they encourage having a spiritual guide is that we all need someone to submit ourselves to in obedience. Why? Because we're all plagued by self-will. We want what we want and we want it now regardless of whether or not it's actually for our own good. Even when we have the best of intentions for our spiritual growth, often what we desire is not actually for our good, but an indulgence of our self-well. We often don't see things, especially ourselves, the way they really are. I may wish to pray for eight hours a day. That amount of time in prayer is obviously good... for those who have been given that vocation. But if I, as a husband and father, were to spend that much time a day in prayer, I'd be neglecting the calling that I've received from God to be a holy husband and father. I'd be neglecting the physical, emotional and spiritual needs of my wife and children. Not good.

So we all need someone to help us break that self-will. We all need someone to whom we can submit in obedience. For monastics, many of whom spend a great deal of time alone, this "someone" comes primarily in the form of a spiritual father or mother. I say primarily because often, while having a spiritual father or mother, the Desert Fathers would often turn to other elders as well for a different perspective on issues than what their spiritual father would give them; and often the spiritual father himself would send his children to another elder who could provide more insight into certain issues than he himself was able to provide. We can see here the importance of community.

In truth, the vocation to marriage has this "someone" built in. St. Paul tells us in Ephesians, "Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ (other translations have "submit yourselves to one another..." the point is this is a free submission of the self to another, of the spouses to one another). Wives should be subordinate to your husbands as to the Lord... (notice here that St. Paul is just telling the wives again what he told both spouses to do in the last sentence!) Husbands, love your wives even as Christ loved the Church and handed himself over for her..." (husbands, are you dying to your self-will the way Christ himself died for the love of his bride: "Father, not as I will, but as you will...") Ultimately this mutual submission of husbands and wives to one another, this obedience that they freely give to one another, is a crushing of our own self-will. The primary purpose of the spiritual father or mother is built directly into the vocation of marriage! That should take some pressure off for finding the venerated geron to guide you in obedience!

This being said, as witnessed by the Desert Fathers, it's still good to get other perspectives. It's good to have spiritual friends, and even a wise spiritual guide to walk the path with you. It's good to have someone to whom you can turn to get another perspective. My wife is always encouraging me to go and visit a priest-friend of mine whom I do consider my spiritual father. Why? Because she knows when I'm having difficulties in certain areas of life, he can give me a different perspective that will resonate more deeply in me than anything she could say. She also knows that he has greater experience in some areas of life than she does herself.

Is this path of obedience easy? Absolutely not. Whether you're submitting yourself to a spouse or a spiritual father or mother, the road of obedience is one of the most difficult you will ever walk. But then again, the road Christ tread from Jerusalem to Calvary was the most difficult road that anyone in history ever walked. In the end, that road leads to the joy of the Resurrection. May heaven consume us.

For Catholics, Eastern and Roman, we now find ourselves between the Feasts of the Ascension and Pentecost; we are at the end of the great season of the Resurrection. I've always experienced the Feast of the Ascension as a sort-of neglected Feast. Traditionally falling on a Thursday, the Roman Catholic Church in the U.S. tends to push the celebration of this Feast to the Sunday following what would traditionally be "Ascension Thursday." I used to scoff at this until the difficulties of adult life prevented me from attending Divine Liturgy on Holy Days that fall in the middle of the work week. Thank God that I can still enter into this Feast through the celebration of the Divine Office.

As I prayed Safro/Morning Prayer for the Feast of the Ascension this past Thursday, it finally dawned on me that this feast is not just about Jesus' ascension to the right hand of the Father in order to prepare a place for us. That's certainly a huge part of the celebration, but I'd never really stopped to absorb what that actually means. This Feast is about the fulfillment of the deepest desires of the human heart! First of all, Jesus ascended in body into heaven! The Feast of the Ascension is, in a very real sense, the completion of our re-creation begun at Jesus' Incarnation. Our full human nature - body, soul and spirit - have been restored to the presence of God, to walking with Him in the cool of Paradise, as we read in Genesis.

Secondly, Jesus has gone to prepare a place for us alongside him. This is the great hope of our Faith; that Jesus Christ, through his Incarnation, Passion, Death, Resurrection, and Ascension, has not only restored our fallen nature, but has transfigured it and brought it to that final destination that we were meant to enter into from the beginning. We are invited to enter into this restoration and transfiguration by participating in the life of Christ through His body, the Church, here on earth.

So we live now in this tension between the "already" and the "not yet." Jesus has "already" restored our fallen nature and elevated it up to the right hand of the Father, but as long as we are in this life we still feel within ourselves the effects of the original fall. As Jesus prepares a place for us in heaven, we are preparing ourselves to enter into that place, to receive that final dwelling. It is our job in this life, according to our Baptism, to put the old man to death in order that we might live in newness of life here on earth, and receive fullness of life after we pass on from this life. In other words, in order to prepare ourselves to enter into the heavenly glory that our Lord is preparing for us, we must first daily live out the reality of the Death, Resurrection and Ascension of Christ in our own lives.

In this week between the Feasts of Ascension and Pentecost, I hope to offer at least one further reflection on the tension between the "already" and the "not yet" that is set before us by Jesus' Ascension. In particular, I want to show how - at least for the Maronite tradition - this Feast reveals to us the deepest longing of our hearts, as well as the path to obtaining/receiving that deepest longing through faith, hope, the mercy of God, and the consolation of the Holy Spirit.

Until then, let's reflect on the words of the Proemion of the Hoosoyo for Safro/Morning Prayer:

"Praise, glory and honor to the One who descended into the
depths of the earth
in order to raise us to the heights of heaven.
He clothed our corruptible bodies with incorruptibility
and our mortal bodies with immortality..." (emphasis mine)

And in the words of one of my favorite prayers from the Holy Qurbono/Mass:

"You have united, O Lord, your divinity with our humanity, and our humanity with your divinity. Your life with our mortality, and our mortality with your life. You have assumed what is ours and given us what is yours, for the life and salvation of our souls..."

It never ceases to amaze me how God reveals Himself during the most unusual times. My four-year old son loves to help me make my morning coffee. Even better if he can just make it for me himself. By this I mean that he loves to scoop the whole coffee beans into my hand-cranked coffee grinder, and grind the beans up for me. I do the actual brewing.

This morning - after I'd already had one morning cup of joe - he suddenly burst out, "Oh my gosh! I forgot to make your coffee! Daddy, can I make you some coffee?" I wasn't really in the mood for another cup, but I decided to let him go ahead and do his thing. I pulled the coffee beans and grinder down, got him a scoop, and away he went. Then I went off to the bathroom, leaving the door open so I could keep an eye on him and his little 15-month old sister.

The two of them sat there, hovering over the coffee grinder, slowly grinding the beans down. As they were working, I heard my son talking to my daughter, teaching her the art of grinding coffee beans. Of course, he's only four, so his words and method of teaching weren't exactly on point, and it certainly wasn't the greatest use of English grammar I've ever heard. But he certainly managed to make his point and actually did a great job teaching his little sister how to make coffee.

This got me to thinking, isn't this exactly how it is when we talk about God; whether we're talking "high" theology or just about our day-to-day, sometimes mundane contemplative encounters with the Almighty? For as much as folks clamor for precision and clarity when talking theology, ultimately aren't we all just like the four-year old trying to teach his little sister how to grind coffee beans? Our language inevitably falls short, our methods are not perfect, but in the long run we get our point - or rather God's point - across.

What's even more comforting is that our Heavenly Father watches and listens with delight as His children strive to communicate His ways, just like I listened with delight as my "big" boy taught his little sister how daddy likes his coffee made.

This is certainly not an argument against seeking after precision in our theological language. I think, rather, that it's a call to humility. We have to be honest and humble with ourselves when it comes to communicating infinite mystery, the Infinite Mystery. Human language is simply inadequate. We always reach a point where we simply have to let go of our language, and let God take the reigns. We also have to take comfort in the fact that, despite the shortcomings of our ability to communicate the mysteries of God, He still delights in our attempts. To Him be glory forever!

Changes Coming to the Master Beadsman

Wow...

It's been far too long since I've written anything. I don't know if anyone is reading this blog any more, but if you are, thank you for sticking with me.

I wanted to let you know that, in an effort to resurrect and rebrand this blog, there are going to be some changes to "The Master Beadsman" over the coming weeks.

You may have noticed one of these changes already: rebranding. I've changed the name of the blog from "The Master Beadsman" to "That Eastern Catholic Guy," and given "The Master Beadsman" it's own page within the blog.

Why am I doing this?

Over the years that I haven't been writing, I've been reading and researching extensively, and listening in on various online and offline conversations. I've discovered there are many Catholics (and non-Catholics) out there who don't really have even an introductory knowledge of Eastern Catholicism and what we're all about. So, in addition to continuing to writing about Eastern Catholic spirituality (better "spiritualities"), I wanted to start writing general topics within Eastern Catholicism.

We'll get there eventually, but first...

Coming in 2021...

Beginning in January of 2021 I'll be creating a new series on this blog. The series is called A Year with the Desert Fathers.

2020 has been a difficult year for all of us, I know. What's affected me the most has been all the bad news: pandemics, the elections (always a stressful time regardless of an election's outcome), riots, scandal in the Church at the highest levels... You name it. Several times throughout the year I've had to remove myself from staying up-to-date on my various news sources because I found it wasn't good for my spiritual health.

During my first extended "news fast" toward the beginning of 2020, I read extensively in the Desert Fathers.

About five or six years ago my parish priest asked me to teach a class in our parish about Eastern Christian spirituality. I enthusiastically said "yes," but told him I needed to research further into a more Maronite approach to spirituality (as with Western Catholic spirituality, Eastern Catholics spirituality isn't homogenous, but quite diverse). Knowing that we Maronites claim the Desert tradition as our spiritual roots, that led me to the Desert Fathers.

I've been consistently reading the lives and sayings of the Desert Fathers ever since.

What I've found is that, once you sift through the more obscure sayings and the sayings that only apply to the monastic life, they have a great deal of wisdom to share with those of us living in the world - whether you're a single lay person, married with children, or a parish priest busy tending to the needs of your community.

A Year with the Desert Fathers

So what is this going to be all about?

Apart from reading the Scriptures and the Catechism, I decided that I want to spend 2021 just reading the Desert Fathers for my spiritual reading, spending a whole year immersing myself in their wisdom and sharing that wisdom with others.

This new series is simply a way for me to share what I learn.

Once a week I'll write a new post sharing my reflections on what I've learned and how I think it can apply to our lives in the modern world.

As the year goes on, I may refine the series a bit, but that's going to be the gist of it.

What sources am I going to use?

The first source I'll be working through is a two-volume series called The Paradise of the Holy Fathers. Translated from Syriac by E. A. Wallace Budge, this series is actually a collections of multiple works: The Life of St. Antony by St. Athanasius, the Lausiac Histories by Palladius, A History of the Monks of Egypt, and various collections of sayings and other works.

Supposedly Coptic monks used to say that the only spiritual reading a monk needed to have with him to grow on the path of salvation was the Bible and The Paradise of the Holy Fathers.

Since I've already read The Paradise a couple of times, I thought that would be the best place to start.

From there I have a number of other collections of sayings, as well as the homilies of (pseudo)Macarius that I thought we could tap into. And I'd like to close out 2021 with a series of reflections on the Mystic Treatises of St. Isaac (the Syrian) of Nineveh.

I'm really excited to kick off this new series, and I hope you'll join me in reflecting on the wisdom of the Desert Fathers, especially in these turbulent times.

Peace and Blessings!

I always love returning to the stories and sayings from the lives of the Desert Fathers. It seems every time I do I get some fresh perspectives and fresh insights on my own journey with the Lord.

Today I'd planned on sharing something completely different than what I'm going to share right now. I had grand plans of writing a killer post about spiritual reading according to the Desert Fathers: it's methods, purpose, and what they recommend.

I'm going to have to save that for another time because it seems the Lord had something else in mind for today.

The best laid plans...

I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel like I'd have a much easier time growing in holiness if I'd joined a monastery instead of deciding to get married. Or perhaps it'd be more accurate to say that, while I can grow in holiness as a married man, I feel like I could've only grown in perfection had I become a monk - sacrificing all possessions and embracing a life of severe ascetic discipline.

I know I'm not alone in feeling this way. I've met plenty of other folks who have expressed, either explicitly or implicitly, similar sentiments. Perhaps you've felt this way yourself.

After all, as a married man with kids, I can't fast to any great extent like a friend of mine who's now a Benedictine monk and only eats once a day, or a Maronite monk I once met who only eats once a day and then only vegetables. I can't keep all-night vigils. The nature of my vocation demands that I have possessions and earn money to support my family. And the chastity to which monks and nuns are called is very different from the chastity to which I am called (it'd actually be a violation of my vocation to attempt to live the type of chastity that monks and nuns are called to live).

So what does this mean? Are we lay people and secular clergy to resign ourselves to a sort of lesser perfection when compared to monks and nuns?

Absolutely not!

We simply need to recognize that our pathway to Christian perfection is different from that of monks and nuns.

How so?

Perhaps this story from The Paradise of the Holy Fathers will help:

The Brothers Paesius and Isaiah

There were once two brothers, Paeisus and Isaiah, whose father was a wealthy merchant. When their father died, the brothers spent several days thinking about what they should to do with their inherited wealth.

They both quickly concluded that they didn't want to continue as merchants like their father. They foresaw the cares, concerns, and troubles that such a life would place on them. So they decided to "acquire the life and conversation of the Christians" so that they might both keep their inherited wealth and also work out their eternal salvation.

Pause...

Notice that they didn't mention immediately that they were going to turn to the monastic life. They simply said that they were going to "acquire the life... of the Christians."

Christian life is supposed to be different. It's supposed to set us apart from the rest of the world. People are supposed to see and know that we are followers of Christ simply by how differently we live our lives. I remember reading in the Catechetical Homilies of St. Cyril of Jerusalem a warning to the catechumens that the life they were embracing as new Christians meant a separation from the life they'd lived in the world up to that point.

Christian life demands conversion, which isn't a feeling of guilt for past sins, but specific action. It means we were once living one way, and now we're living another.

If we're not living our lives radically differently as disciples of Christ, whether we're lay folks or secular clergy, then we're not really living the Christian life to the fullest.

Okay. Let's continue the story...

One of the brothers decided to sell off all his possessions and give the money to churches, monasteries, and the poor. He learned a handicraft that he could use to support himself. Then he spent the rest of his life in prayer, fasting, and other ascetic disciplines.

The other brother gathered small following of like-minded men, built a monastery for them, then used his inheritance to provide for the brethren, care for the poor, and help the sick. The Paradise says:

All strangers and poor folk, and all the aged men and sick folk who thronged to him he used to receive and relieve their wants.

So one brother lead a life of severe ascetic discipline. The other brother led a life of hospitality, practicing what the Catholic Church has come to call the "Corporal Works of Mercy."

When the two brothers died, an argument broke out among a bunch of local monks and hermits about which of the two brothers led a life of greater perfection. They went to Abba Pambo (another famous Desert Father) and asked him his opinion.

Abba Pambo's response, to me, is remarkable:

They are both perfect. One man made manifest the work of Abraham by his hospitality, and the other the self-denial of Elijah... Again I say to you that both are equal in merit.

These should be comforting words for those of us who are unable to perform great ascetic labors.

Where does this leave us?

I've become more and more convinced that, as lay people, it's not our calling to attempt great ascetic labors.

Oh of course, we are all called to practice a certain level of asceticism. That's why the Church breaks up the liturgical year with seasons like Lent and Advent - seasons that are traditionally times of intense focus on ascetical practices. It's also why we're encouraged to practice some sort of ascetic discipline on Fridays (and traditionally on Wednesdays as well).

But the great feats of asceticism are not our calling.

I think our calling is to be perfected through the practice of Christian hospitality after the example of Abraham. We are called to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit the imprisoned... as Christ tells us in Matthew's Gospel.

And God knows, those of us who have young kids have plenty of opportunities to practice these works.

So the next time I start to feel down about not being able to fast with great intensity, or pray all night, or get to daily Liturgy, I'm going to change my perspective.

Maybe instead I'll go change another diaper without complaining or without my wife asking me to. Or I can put clothes on my two-year old who has stripped himself naked (again). Or I can take a meal to a family I know could use one.

The opportunities to practice radical Christian hospitality through the Works of Mercy are endless. How will you grow in perfection by practicing Christian hospitality this week?

Do you ever wonder what you should read...

There are so many Catholic, Orthodox, and other Christian books out there that it feels like we have endless options for reading materials to help us grow in our faith...

And more are being published every day!

The sheer number of choices we have feels overwhelming.

I often sit at my computer, scroll through Amazon, and salivate at all the new reading material I discover simply by typing "Catholic" or "Orthodox" into the search bar. I create long "Wish Lists" to house books that I can't afford right now, but would like to buy (and read, of course) at some later date.

To be honest, I often buy books with the best of intentions, and then end up never reading them because I've lost interest and moved on to something else. It's a problem that I've had for some years now. I acquire books quickly, pile them up, read only a handful of them, and the rest just sit there until I decide to donate them to my parish library.

One year I tallied up how much money I spent on books in a year, and was quite convicted and ashamed at the number that flashed onto the calculator in front of me (it wasn't a small number). Since then I've worked to be more intentional about what I read, and by extension what books I buy.

Fortunately, praying through the Desert Fathers has helped me with that.

The "Why" of Spiritual Reading

Your spiritual reading has a purpose. When you stay focused on that purpose, it helps you weed out the books that you don't really need to read - and that could actually prove spiritually harmful to read.

What is the purpose of spiritual reading? Here's what St. Athanasius has to say about it in his classic The Life of St. Anthony:

"May our Lord help and strengthen... the reader to read and perform everything which is commanded herein.... that by constant meditation on the following stories your mind may be drawn to perfection, so that you may not be repeating with your mouths only the following triumphs, and others which are like to them, but that also in your persons you may be preachers of the example of these lives and deeds." (Paradise of the Holy Fathers, vol. 1, pg.15)

And further on he says:

"[W]e shall begin to instruct your minds step by step; for the acts of the blessed Anthony form a perfect example for the solitary ascetics. (Paradise, vol. 1, pg. 16)

So what's the purpose of spiritual reading?

Inspiration - that your mind (or heart) - i.e. the very core of who you are - may be drawn to perfection.

Imitation - that through your actions - i.e. how you live your life - the light of Christ may shine through you (you may become a preacher of the Gospel).

Later on in The Paradise, when we come to Palladius'Lausiac History, the author goes to great pains to drive home the point that we shouldn't read Scripture, the lives and writings of the saints, and theological treatises simply to satisfy our curiosity or have something to talk about with our uber-Catholic friends (although we should have such friends!). In fact, doing so can be spiritually dangerous because it can lead to pride.

Like St. Athanasius, Palladius encourages his readers:

"Let us emulate their [the saints] example and endeavor to do with all our might what they did!.... I would rouse up our heavy minds to the contemplation of the things which are spiritually excellent, so that we may strive to imitate the most excellent lives and deeds of the pious men." (Paradise, vol. 1, pg. 83)

Again, inspiration and imitation.

Something that's really hit me lately: You can't "read your way to heaven." At some point, you have to start acting on what you read.

With that in mind, what should we be reading?

The Desert Fathers give us an answer, but I'm going to save that for several upcoming posts. Until then here's a suggestion: When you're looking to buy a new book for spiritual reading, ask yourself, "Is this book just to satisfy my curiosity, or is it something that'll inspire me to act?"

1. Scripture

If you read the lives and sayings of the Desert Fathers, you'll find that they were steeped in Scripture. They read the Scriptures and meditated on them continually. Many of them memorized the Scriptures (I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday!). Most importantly they acted on what they discovered in the Scriptures.

In his spiritual classic, The Life of St. Anthony, St. Athanasius tells the story of how Anthony learned his way of life by reflecting on the example of the Apostles, who abandoned everything to follow Christ, and by applying the words of Christ to his own life:

"If you wish to be perfect, go and sell everything which you have, and give to the poor, and take your cross, and come after me, and there shall be to you treasure in heaven."

For Anthony, that became his call-to-action from Christ. Those words became his mission.

When the Fathers listened to the Scriptures during the liturgical services, or read them in the quiet of their own cells, they listened as though God was speaking directly to them. Again, St. Athanasius says of St. Anthony:

When...he had again entered the church at the time of the reading of the Gospel, he inclined his ear carefully to see what word would come forth for him. (Paradise of the Holy Fathers, vol. 1, pg. 19)

Indeed, after reading through many of the lives and sayings of the Desert Fathers multiple times, I've come to the conclusion that you can't really understand and appreciate them, unless you've first steeped yourself in the Scriptures.

But the Scriptures are often difficult to read, confusing, vague, and in some places downright scandalous (Don't believe me? Read the last few chapters of Judges where a man allows his wife to literally be raped to death, then chops her body up into twelve pieces and sends those pieces throughout Israel).

So how should we - the non-scholarly type who don't read Greek and Hebrew, and can't dedicate our lives to the academic study of the Scriptures - how should we read the Scriptures?

In a talk on the spirituality of St. Therese of Lisieux, Archbishop Fulton Sheen tells a wonderful story. St. Therese had just been appointed sacristan for the convent. She wanted a word from the Lord on how she should approach this new responsibility, so she turned to the Scriptures.

She opened the Scriptures up to Isaiah and began reading...

Now, I don't know if you've ever read Isaiah. It's long. Sixty-six chapters long!

St. Therese read until she was nearly to the end of Isaiah (somewhere in the fifties) before a passage that she knew she could apply to her new responsibilities finally jumped out at her.

Can you imagine the amount of time she must've sat there! And yet she persisted, waiting on the Word of the Lord to speak to her. "She was a true Scripture scholar," Sheen proclaimed at the end of the story.

You and I don't need a degree to read the Bible and seek to apply it. Sure we may need to consult a good commentary from time to time, but that shouldn't stop us from immersing ourselves in God's word, praying with it, and seeking to apply it to our lives.

Lives of the Saints

There are few "best-practices" in the business world that I think can be incorporated into the spiritual life without a great deal of modification or a total change in the underlying motivation. One of those so-called "best-practices" however can.

If you read books like Think and Grow Rich, How to Win Friends and Influence People, or even more recent books like Change Your Thinking, Change Your Life, you'll quickly discover that promoters of "success" (as the world sees it) identify reading biographies of other successful people as a foundational practice for those who want success in the business world.

And that totally makes sense!

After all, if I'm shooting for a certain goal that I know others have hit before, doesn't it make sense for me to study what they did in order to achieve their goals?

The stories and actions of successful people provide a roadmap for those pursuing similar success in the business world.

If this is true in the business world, it's all the more true in the spiritual life. And frankly, I believe the business world hijacked this practice from the spiritual life. In part, I believe this because the Desert Fathers were counseling one another to read the lives of the saints - those who have been "successful" in the spiritual life - centuries before studies like Think and Grow Rich were ever conceived.

The goal of the Christian life is to become a saint - i.e. someone so passionately in love with God that he orients his thoughts and actions according to that love. Few of us, however, personally know a living saint. And so we need to seek examples to follow.

It only makes sense that we would closely examine and deeply meditate on the lives of the saints because by their lives they show us the roadmap we should follow on our journey to heaven.

1. Conversion

It's important that when we read the lives of the saints, we're not just reading to satisfy our curiosity. Unless you're an academic theologian (which poses it's own spiritual challenges) our reading should be for the sake of conversion. St. Theophan the Recluse warns us:

You have a book? Then read it, reflect on what it says, and apply the words to yourself. To apply the content to oneself is the purpose and fruit of reading. If you read without applying what is read to yourself, nothing good will come of it, and even harm may result. Theories will accumulate in the head, leading you to criticize others instead of improving your own life. (The Art of Prayer: An Orthodox Anthology, pg. 130)

We need to apply to our lives what we discover in our spiritual reading. Otherwise the knowledge that we glean from spiritual reading because the "knowledge" that puffs up, like Saint Paul warns us against.

2. Imitation

We all aspire to become something more than what we are. I aspire to become a professional writer, and so I examine authors I admire and try to incorporate their writing practices into my own. Some of us inspire to get in shape, and so we seek out folks who have that ideal body we aspire to, and imitate their workout routine. Athletes all have other athletes that they look up to. Musicians all have other musicians they copy...

The point is, in every walk of life we need good role models: someone whose already either traveled the path we're walking, or are at least further ahead on it than we are.

The Desert Fathers recognized this need.

When you really dive into their stories, you see how many of them would travel from one desert hermit to another, seeking a word of wisdom or an example which they could take back to their own cell and imitate.

Palladius, in his Lausiac History, writes very extensively of his travels. The stories and sayings in the writings of St. John Cassian are all collections of conversations that he had with various monks throughout the wilderness.

Why did these men (and some women) travel around so much?

St. Athanasius, in his biography of Saint Anthony the Great, tells us:

The... monks came (to Saint Anthony) that they might copy the manner of his life and deeds. (Paradise of the Holy Fathers, vol. 1, pg.29)

And later on, after he's shared the story of Saint Anthony's life, Saint Athanasius warns us:

Let all the brethren then who are monks read these things so that they may know how it is right for them to live their lives. (Paradise of the Holy Fathers, vol. 1, pg. 79)

Of course, most of us aren't monks or nuns, and so when we read the Desert Fathers, we have to read with a certain amount of discretion because not everything they say or do will apply to our lives. But there is much in their writings and stories that does apply to us as well.

3. Encouragement

It's easy to get discouraged when the going gets tough.

I remember while learning to play music how discouraging it would feel when I would hear a beautiful melody that I wanted to play, but I just couldn't get my fingers to cooperate. It always helped to hear other musicians who had similar struggles with the same piece of music.

Even better if I was fortunate enough to know the person whose performance inspired me to learn that particular melody. They would often share how they struggled with that same tune before finally mastering.

The encouragement of my teachers, and knowing that they too had to struggle in order to master their instrument is often what encouraged me to keep going.

It's tricky with the lives of the saints though. There's so many biographies out there that make it seem like the saints were either conceived without sin, or were from a completely different planet. Older biographies attempted to make it seem like certain saints were just "born that way."

But when you take an honest look at their lives, you soon find their struggles weren't really any different from ours.

It can be shocking to read the lives of the Desert Fathers and Mothers. They struggled with temptations to sexual sins (including homosexuality), gluttony, covetousness, even violence. I read a story this morning about how in one monastery the brethren used to get into such heated debates that they would start contemplating murdering one another!

I've read stories of hermits who used to steal from other hermits, spiritual fathers who would physically and verbally abuse their directees, even men or women who left their vocations as monks/nuns in order to go into the world and indulge their sexual lusts.

Reading the lives of the saints will reveal to you how human the saints really are. It's encouraging because you'll see that they struggled with the same stuff we all struggle with. And they didn't always come away from a struggle smelling like roses.

4. Attraction/Inspiration

The last reason given in The Paradise of the Holy Fathers for reading the lives of the saints is "attraction" or "inspiration."

Holiness is attractive. Most of us here can recall the vast crowds of people drawn to Pope Saint John Paul II or Mother Teresa.

What drew those crowds to them?

Ultimately it was that they radiated Christ. That's holiness, and holiness is attractive.

Once more, Saint Athanasius reminds us that in reading the lives of the saints, we're not just fulfilling our curiosity. We read so as to imitate, get some encouragement, and change our lives. But we also read their lives because we need that inspiration, that draw...

...by constant meditation on the... stories [of the saints] your mind may be drawn to perfection... (Paradise of the Holy Fathers, vol. 1, pg. 15)

What saints inspire you? I encourage you to really dive into their lives. Study them. Get to know their struggles, their failures, their repentance, and their successes. Find out what made them saints, then go out and do what they did, but according to your vocation.

The Gift of a Spiritual Director

Temptations

The Suffering of Love

Life's a Journey

Acquire the Holy Spirit?

Christ is in Our Midst!

What Do You Seek?

A Lack of Spiritual Guides?

Images, Images, and more Images

The Hail Mary and the Jesus Prayer: Part 1

The Hail Mary and the Jesus Prayer: Part 2

The Christian Calling

Submission, Obedience and the Spiritual Elder

The Ascension and the Heart's Deepest Longing

God in My Coffee

Resurrecting, Refreshing, and Rebranding