Philokalia Ministries

The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter II, Part IV

There is something almost incomprehensible in this passage from St. Anastasios and St. Maximos because it reveals just how surrounded we are by mercy while continuing to behave as though condemnation were wisdom. The Fathers do not merely tell us not to judge. They overwhelm us with reasons not to judge. They show us a universe saturated with the patience of God, the intercession of angels, the prayers of saints, the tears of repentance, the mystery of hidden transformation, the power of baptism, the healing of affliction, the medicine of chastisement, the compassion of Christ, and the joy of Heaven itself over the salvation of even one sinner. And still we condemn. That is the horror. We condemn while standing inside the greatest revelation of mercy the world has ever known. St. Anastasios says plainly: you do not know what has happened between God and that soul after the moment you witnessed his sin. Not five years later. Not tomorrow. Ten steps later. That is how quickly grace can act. A man may fall publicly and repent secretly. A woman may appear outwardly shattered while inwardly clinging to God with tears unknown to the world. A soul everyone has dismissed may already be visited by the Holy Spirit. And the Fathers insist that we understand this: we know almost nothing. We see fragments and imagine ourselves judges of the whole human being. We see behavior but not wounds. Actions but not warfare. Falls but not repentance. Scandal but not tears. Weakness but not humility. Temptation but not hidden prayer. Worst of all, we do not see what God Himself is doing inside another person. The Fathers say there are souls purified through illness. Souls purified through humiliation. Souls purified through temptation. Souls purified through demonic assault endured with thanksgiving. Souls saved through the prayers of others. Souls restored in their final moments. Souls secretly reconciled to God before death. How then dare we speak so confidently about anyone? The terrifying thing is that we do this while calling ourselves Christians. Christians. Those who claim to worship the God who became man for sinners. The Incarnation alone should silence every condemning tongue forever. The angels themselves longed to behold this mystery: that God would unite Himself to fallen humanity. Not to idealized humanity. Not to polished humanity. Fallen humanity. Christ assumed the very flesh we despise in one another. He entered the human condition completely apart from sin so that no sinner could ever again say: “God does not know what I am.” He knows. He entered it willingly. And Heaven never ceased rejoicing over this mystery. St. Anastasios says the angels love mankind precisely because they beheld God become man. Imagine that. The bodiless powers who never fell into flesh are astonished by what humanity has become through Christ. Meanwhile we, who were baptized into Him, often despise one another mercilessly. The Fathers remind us that every baptized person has been entrusted to an angel. Every baptized person has been sealed by the Spirit. Every baptized person has become the object of heavenly concern. The angels themselves plead for us. Think of that. While we gossip about one another, the angels intercede for one another. While we expose each other’s failures, Heaven labors for each other’s salvation. While we speak words that crush souls, the saints and angels beg God to heal them. And still we continue as though condemnation were normal. St. Maximos says Heaven is astonished at this. Astounded. The earth quakes. But we are “insensible and unabashed.” Insensible because we no longer perceive the mystery of redemption correctly. Unabashed because we condemn others without trembling. The saints trembled before judging another human being because they knew that judgment belongs to Christ alone. To judge another is not merely to commit a moral fault. St. Anastasios says it is to usurp the office of the Lord Himself. This is why the Fathers speak so fiercely. The judging heart has forgotten the Gospel. It has forgotten the thief entering Paradise in a single moment. It has forgotten Rahab the harlot. It has forgotten the Publican justified by a sigh. It has forgotten Manasses forgiven after decades of horror. It has forgotten Peter restored after denial. It has forgotten that Judas stood among the Apostles while the thief hung among murderers, and yet by evening their places were reversed. The saints understood something we resist with all our strength: human beings are not static creatures. A single moment of real repentance can alter eternity. And because of this, the saints became exceedingly merciful. Not naïve about evil. Not indifferent to sin. But deeply aware that every person stands inside a battle for salvation surrounded by mysteries unseen to human eyes. The demons accuse. Christ heals. The demons reduce persons to failures. Christ beholds the image buried beneath the ruin. The demons delight in exposure. Christ covers nakedness. And the terrible thing is how often religious people unknowingly participate in the work of accusation while imagining themselves defenders of righteousness. The Fathers knew better. This is why the holiest among them became gentlest toward sinners and harshest toward themselves. Because the closer one comes to God, the more clearly one sees that he himself survives only by mercy. And once a man truly knows this, condemnation becomes impossible. He no longer stands above humanity. He stands beside it, beating his breast, praying: “To You, O Lord, belongs mercy.” --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:05 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/nazareth-and-the-hidden-life 00:34:49 Julie: It feels like there is no rest 00:35:43 Julie: With the senses I mean, to cut the thought straight away 00:36:19 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 18 paragraph 1 00:36:31 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "P. 18 paragraph 1" with 👍 00:52:58 Janine: I always wondered if everyone has a Guardian angel or only the baptized… 00:59:22 Julie: Beautiful 01:06:50 Fr Martin, Arizona: When I was in my early twenties, i kept trying to figure out a way to live on an even keel, a constant peace. My spiritual father again and again suggest that life is ebb and flow. Forty years later I've still not been able to smooth out the spiritual path. The readings today make sense to me. 01:07:41 Anna: I have filled voicemail, phone noises off, and yes totally do not disturb and I love it!!! 😁❤️ 01:08:21 Julie: I feel the silence is sometimes louder, so reading or listening to prayers slows them down 01:09:37 Andrew Zakhari: Isaiah 26:4-“trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord is the rock eternal.” 01:10:04 Danny Moulton: There is a part of me that wants to push back against the idea that we should NEVER judge others. (Jesus gave explicit instructions on how to deal with those who sin against us (Mt. 18), and it does not entail remaining silent.) But the reality is that the challenge I face is the 99.9% of the time when my tendency to judge is motivated by self- righteousness. It’s so predominant, that the case for judging from a po...

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The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily XII & XIII

5d ago00:59:05Tap to summarize

What is striking in these homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian is not severity, though there is severity in them. Nor is it simply the exalted vision of hesychasm as the path of stillness and inner watchfulness. What pierces the heart most deeply is the tenderness hidden beneath the fierceness. Isaac speaks as one who knows the fragility of the human soul. He knows darkness. He knows instability. He knows how often the mind wanders, how quickly fervor cools, how easily discouragement enters the heart. And yet he never ceases to hold before us hope. For Isaac, the spiritual life unfolds gradually. There is the beginner, whose heart is still deeply entangled in the passions. There is the intermediate soul, divided between light and darkness, grace and temptation, longing and exhaustion. Then there is the perfect, whose heart has become transparent to God. But Isaac does not present these stages in order to discourage us. He presents them to free us from illusion. Most Christians imagine holiness as a sudden transformation. Isaac does not. He sees the greater part of human life as lived in the middle country — between bondage and freedom, between Egypt and the Promised Land. The soul experiences moments of illumination, yet also long stretches of obscurity. Thoughts from the “right hand” and the “left” move within us at once. We desire God sincerely, and yet remain painfully fragmented. This honesty is itself merciful. The great temptation in the spiritual life is despair over our instability. We imagine that because we have not become saints quickly, we are failures. But Isaac says something astonishing: even the one who dies still hoping for holiness, still longing for God, still searching from afar for the Kingdom he has never fully seen, may inherit with the righteous. This changes everything. The Christian life is not built upon spiritual achievement but upon fidelity of desire. Isaac does not glorify failure or excuse negligence. He calls for vigilance, prayer, reading of the Scriptures and the Fathers, watchfulness over thoughts, and perseverance in stillness. Hesychasm is not passivity. It is fierce labor. It is the continual turning of the heart toward God. Yet beneath all of this effort stands something greater: the mercy of God who sees the hidden inclination of the soul. A man may never attain great visions. He may never know deep spiritual consolation. He may die with weakness still within him. But if his heart remained turned toward God, if he struggled to guard the flame, if he hoped from afar and refused to surrender himself to cynicism or despair, Isaac dares to say that such a soul belongs among the righteous. This is profoundly important for our age. Many Christians today live with inward exhaustion. The noise of the modern world scatters the mind. Images flood the imagination. Anxiety fragments attention. Prayer often feels dry and impossible. And because people do not experience immediate spiritual transformation, they quietly abandon the inner life altogether. They assume contemplation belongs only to monks, or to the spiritually gifted. But Isaac refuses this conclusion. Hesychasm is not merely a monastic technique. It is the vocation of the baptized heart. Every Christian is called to interior stillness, to remembrance of God, to watchfulness over thoughts, to the guarding of the heart, to prayer within the depths of the soul. The outer form may differ according to one’s state of life, but the call itself is universal. The command of Christ — “abide in Me” — is the foundation of hesychasm. Isaac especially insists that the soul must not surrender during periods of darkness. There are moments when grace seems hidden, when prayer becomes heavy, when the mind feels clouded and the heart cold. The inexperienced soul believes something has gone wrong. Isaac says otherwise. Darkness is part of the journey. And what is his counsel? Read the Scriptures. Read the Fathers. Continue praying even without consolation. Refuse despondency. Wait patiently for help from God. This is deeply beautiful because Isaac understands that grace often returns quietly and unexpectedly. Like sunlight emerging through clouds, prayer slowly scatters the passions and restores clarity to the soul. Not through violence. Not through self-hatred. But through patient endurance beneath the mercy of God. Again and again Isaac returns to humility. Mysteries are revealed to the humble because humility alone can endure reality. The proud demand experiences, certainty, attainment, visible success. The humble man simply remains before God. He knows his poverty. He knows he cannot save himself. And because he no longer trusts in himself, he begins at last to trust in divine mercy. In this sense, these homilies are not ultimately about technique, but about hope. The one who remains turned toward God, even in weakness, even amid confusion, even without having “seen the land from close at hand,” has already begun to live the hidden life of the Kingdom. And perhaps this is the deepest word Isaac offers us: God does not despise the soul that longs for Him from afar. Even longing itself can become prayer. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:07 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/nazareth-and-the-hidden-life 00:01:15 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 198 00:01:33 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 198 Homily 12 00:09:25 susan: did we finish homily 11? 00:16:48 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 198 Homily 12 00:31:13 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 199 paragraph 3 00:36:24 Wayne: again need to leave early today.. 00:42:44 Larry Ruggiero: Stay on the course of love for God. Continue 00:43:20 Larry Ruggiero: Continue to surrending all I am to God 00:50:30 Jessica McHale: When it comes to Scripture, I often feel pulled in two directions: I want to engage in Lectio Divina for spiritual formation, but I also have a strong desire for deep intellectual study, not "hearing" His Word" necesarily, at that time. 00:58:24 David Swiderski, WI: There is a wonderful series Ancient Christian Commentary of the Scripture which has really slowed down my reading and lots of commentaries from the early fathers which is helpful. Some passages seem to be a prism of meaning after reading the insights from the fathers. 01:07:34 Joan Chakonas: I highly recommend St Cyril of Alexandria’s Commentary on the gospel of Luke. 01:12:49 Erick Chastain: I saw a recent talk on Cassian's influence on st Thomas aquinas 01:13:59 Janine: Yes 01:14:03 Erick Chastain: heard of fr faber 01:15:26 Aaron: Thank you Father! :) 01:15:49 Joan Chakonas: How is it 8:30 already?????!!!! 01:16:08 David Swiderski, WI: Thank you Father may God bless you, your Mother and this group. 01:16:09 Andrew Adams: Thanks be to God! Thank you, Father! 01:16:10 Jessica McHale: So much gratitude! Praying for you!!!! 01:16:12 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:16:22 iPhone (2): Outstanding 01:16:28 iPhone (2): Thank you.

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The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter II, Part III

1w ago00:59:13Tap to summarize

There is a fierce honesty in the fathers that modern Christians often find difficult to endure. They do not allow us the comfort of remaining spectators to the Fall. We prefer to think of Adam’s transgression as history, tragedy, doctrine, or inherited condition. But the fathers insist upon something far more painful: Adam’s sin is repeated in us daily. Not first through sensuality. Not first through disobedience. But through judgment. Abba Mark says something astonishing: the tree of the knowledge of good and evil is our constant distinction between “good” brethren and “bad” brethren. The Fall occurs whenever we separate ourselves inwardly from another human being through contempt, condemnation, suspicion, derision, or hidden hatred. We imagine ourselves discerning spiritually, morally, psychologically, or ecclesially, while in reality we are tasting again the forbidden fruit. This is why the fathers fear judgment more than humiliation. The modern mind often reduces sin to the violation of rules. But the fathers understand sin as the darkening of vision. The moment we begin to look upon another person without mercy, without reverence, without grief for our own condition, our sight becomes corrupted. We no longer behold the image of God. We behold instead the projection of our own passions. And this is why Abba Mark says: “In the eyes of one whose heart is possessed by the passions, no man is sanctified.” The impure heart cannot see purely. A man filled with anger sees enemies everywhere. A vain man sees inferiors. A lustful man sees objects. A fearful man sees threats. A proud man sees fools. The world slowly takes on the shape of our inner disorder. How terrifying this is for our age. We live in a culture built almost entirely upon commentary, denunciation, suspicion, exposure, ridicule, factionalism, and perpetual judgment. Men and women sit before glowing screens daily eating the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, deciding endlessly who is worthy and who is contemptible. Entire identities are now constructed around outrage. Even religious discourse often becomes little more than sanctified accusation. One no longer needs to enter a battlefield to lose one’s soul. One need only remain online. The fathers would tremble at the atmosphere we inhabit. Not because they were naïve about evil, but because they understood something we do not: judgment wounds first the one who judges. The punishment is already contained within the act itself. The moment brotherly love dies, spiritual perception begins to die with it. Abba Mark says that once the mind tastes this fruit, it falls into the very sins it condemned. This is one of the great spiritual laws confirmed by centuries of ascetical experience. The one who delights in exposing others becomes inwardly exposed himself. The one obsessed with impurity becomes inwardly contaminated by the images he condemns. The one who cannot forgive slowly becomes incapable of receiving mercy. And yet the fathers do not say these things to crush us. They speak this way because they have seen Christ. This is what modern readers often miss. The fierce severity of the desert fathers is born from the overwhelming revelation of divine mercy. They have seen the humility of God in Christ. They have seen the Innocent One forgive His murderers, descend into our corruption, bear our nakedness, and unite Himself even to those who abandoned Him. Therefore every movement of contempt within themselves becomes unbearable to them. Their tears are not moralism. They are astonishment before mercy. The fathers know that no man truly sees his own sins and continues comfortably condemning others. When Isaiah saw the glory of God, he did not cry: “Those people are unclean.” He cried: “I am a man of unclean lips.” This is why humility and compassion always deepen together. The modern world confuses humility with low self-esteem or emotional softness. But the fathers understand humility as truthfulness before God. The humble man no longer needs enemies in order to preserve himself psychologically. He no longer builds identity through comparison. He no longer secures righteousness through accusation. He knows too much about the abyss within his own heart. And strangely, this knowledge makes him gentler. Not permissive. Not morally indifferent. But merciful. The fathers never deny evil. They simply refuse to stand outside the human condition while speaking about it. This is especially important today because modern Christians are tempted toward two opposite distortions. One side abandons discernment entirely in the name of compassion. The other weaponizes discernment in the service of hidden hatred. The fathers accept neither path. They see clearly. Fiercely clearly. Yet they weep over what they see. The true ascetic is not shocked by human weakness because he has descended into his own heart and found there every seed of corruption. He knows that apart from grace he is capable of every sin. Therefore he approaches others not from superiority but from shared poverty. This is why the fathers continually command: “Busy yourself with your own faults.” Not because the sins of others are unreal. But because self-knowledge is salvific while judgment is intoxicating. And this teaching becomes even more radical in the light of Christ’s revelation that the true battlefield lies within the hidden man of the heart. The spiritual law judges not only external acts but secret thoughts, inward movements, concealed fantasies, silent condemnations, and hidden resentments. A man may appear peaceful outwardly while inwardly conducting trials against the entire world. Modern life makes this almost constant. We judge politically. Ecclesially. Morally. Psychologically. Liturgically. Socially. Intellectually. And often we do so while imagining ourselves defenders of truth. But the fathers ask a far more frightening question: “What has happened to your heart while you were defending truth?” Abba Mark says there is only one true goal: to rejoice when wronged because we are thereby given opportunity to forgive. This sounds almost impossible to modern ears because our entire culture is organized around self-protection, self-assertion, self-expression, and vindication. Yet the fathers understand that every injury endured without hatred enlarges the heart’s capacity for God. This does not mean enabling abuse or denying justice. The fathers are not preaching psychological passivity. Rather, they are revealing that the deepest freedom is freedom from hatred. And this freedom is impossible without grace. That is why Abba Mark says that Christ Himself fights within us after Baptism. The battle is interior. The warfare is largely invisible. Pride, vainglory, pleasure, resentment, self-justification, condemnation, fantasy, and rage move continually through the thoughts. No merely human technique can heal this fragmentation. Only Christ hidden within the heart can do battle there. The fathers therefore call us not to moral performance but to radical cooperation with grace: through prayer, through repentance, through patience, through forgiveness, through refusal of judgment, through bearing humiliation, through hidden struggle, through learning slowly to love. And perhaps nowhere is this teaching more needed than now, in an age where almost every system around us profits from outrage, comparison, suspicion, and exposure. The fathers remind us that the soul does not become luminous through winning arguments or exposing others. It becomes luminous through mercy. For in the end, purity of heart is nothing other than learning to see others as Christ sees them: not sentimentally, not blindly, but through the terrible and beautiful light of compassion. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:03:31 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 13 Hypothesis II number 3 00:03:46 Bob Čihák, AZ: Vol. 3, p. 13, #3 00:08:55 Lorraine: Here is a link to the book you mentioned last week, Father 00:09:04 Lorraine: https://archive.org/d...

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The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily XI, Part II

2w ago00:59:09Tap to summarize

There is something striking in the way that St. Isaac the Syrian speaks about the monastic life. He does not speak of it romantically. There is no sentimentalism in him. No fascination with externals. No praise of extraordinary feats meant to astonish the imagination. What he describes is hiddenness. Poverty of spirit. Chastity. Vigilance. Tears. Silence. Freedom from worldly rumor. Perseverance in prayer. The steady remembrance of one’s true country. And yet he calls these things beauty. This is important. Because the world has almost entirely lost the capacity to recognize spiritual beauty. We are trained to admire visibility, influence, accomplishment, charisma, productivity, youth, power. Even within religious life, we often admire the gifted personality more than the purified heart. We praise success more readily than humility. We are impressed by what shines outwardly while remaining almost blind to the soul that quietly dies to itself in love for God. But Isaac sees differently. For him, the true beauty of the monk is not found in appearance, status, or achievement. It is found in a human being becoming transparent to grace. A person who no longer lives from the compulsions of the fallen self but from communion with God. This is why his teaching cannot be reduced merely to anchorites living in caves or hermits hidden in the desert. Certainly, Isaac is speaking directly to monks. But what he describes is nothing less than the flowering of baptism itself. The monk becomes for Isaac an icon of what every Christian life is meant to reveal. Because Christianity is not merely moral improvement. It is not religious affiliation. It is not the management of behavior through rules and obligations. The Gospel reveals something infinitely greater and more terrifying than that. Man is created in the image and likeness of God. And through Christ, man is drawn into the very life of God. This is the great vision underlying all authentic asceticism. The struggle is not an end in itself. Fasting is not the goal. Silence is not the goal. Vigilance is not the goal. The goal is communion. Participation. The purification of the heart so that the human being might become capable of receiving divine life. Theosis. To modern ears, Isaac’s words can sound severe. “To weep without pause day and night.” “To have a sad and furrowed countenance.” “To divorce himself from worldly rumors.” But Isaac is not describing psychological misery. He is describing a soul awakening from intoxication. The tears of the saints are not despair. They are the breaking open of the heart before Love itself. A man who begins to see reality truthfully cannot remain superficial. He begins to perceive how fragmented his heart has become through vanity, distraction, gluttony, lust, self-love, and the endless noise of the world. He sees how easily he lives outside himself. How little of his life is actually rooted in God. And so mourning begins. But this mourning is luminous. Because the very pain of repentance becomes the place where grace descends. Isaac’s monk is beautiful because he has stopped fleeing. He stands before God as he is. He no longer seeks refuge in reputation, entertainment, argument, possession, or pleasure. He allows the fire of divine love to reveal everything false within him. And gradually another life begins to emerge. Prayer becomes simpler. The heart becomes quieter. The need to be seen diminishes. Compassion deepens. Chastity ceases to be repression and becomes freedom to love rightly. Silence ceases to be emptiness and becomes communion. A human being slowly becomes whole. This is why Isaac insists upon examining each virtue specifically. Not because Christianity is legalistic bookkeeping, but because the heart is subtle in its self-deception. A man must learn where he is still divided. Where he still clings to the world. Where he still seeks himself rather than God. The ascetical life is ultimately an act of honesty. And this honesty is beautiful because it restores us to reality. The monk, then, is not simply a religious specialist. He becomes a sign of humanity healed. A witness to what man looks like when he begins truly to live from God rather than from the ego-self. His life becomes a proclamation that communion with God is not fantasy but the very purpose of human existence. And in truth, every baptized Christian carries this same calling within them. The mother caring for her child in exhaustion. The old man praying quietly in hiddenness. The laborer struggling to keep his heart free from bitterness. The priest battling vainglory. The solitary widow learning to trust God in silence. The young man resisting the fragmentation of lust and distraction. The Christian who quietly forgives an enemy instead of condemning him. All of them are standing within this same mystery. The outer forms differ. The heart of the calling does not. For the Gospel itself is monastic in its deepest ethos. It calls man beyond possession, beyond self-exaltation, beyond the tyranny of appetite, beyond worldly identity, into participation in divine life. Into Christ. And so Isaac’s words remain enduringly radiant because they reveal what human life becomes when grace is allowed to act deeply within it. Not merely disciplined. Not merely moral. But transfigured. A human being becoming by grace what Christ is by nature. And this alone is the true beauty that does not perish. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:02 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Homily 11 page 196 bottom of the page 00:16:05 Bob Čihák, AZ: Homily 11 page 196 bottom of the page 00:17:18 Gwen’s iPhone: We have had blizzards in May. 00:20:29 Bob Čihák, AZ: Homily 11 page 196 bottom of the page 00:20:45 una: Being in Love: A Practical Guide to Christian Prayer by William Johnston (available at Thriftbooks.com) 00:41:54 Daniel Allen: On the “plucky fighter”… I recently read a story about a young monk that went to his spiritual father and said that he couldn’t take it anymore he had to sin. So the older monk told him ok and he’d go with him. They went to a brothel and when they got there the older monk said to let him enter first. He went in and gave money to the woman and then said “a younger monk is about to come in, I am giving you this money but before anything else tell him that you both must make 50 prostrations before sinning.” Then he walked out. The young monk entered, she told him as she had been instructed to, and before the 50 prostrations were done the young monk fled the brothel and returned to the monastery with the elder and was never plagued by temptations like that again. The moral of the story was that it’s hard to proceed with any sort of sin after making prostrations, and so when tempted in any way make a physical (not just mental) effort to pray and temptations will flee. Very stark example. 00:44:34 Wayne: need to leave now... 00:45:07 Erick Chastain: Nektarios 00:57:32 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 197, paragraph 4, first full paragraph 01:01:54 Erick Chastain: What does he mean by orderly discipline of the senses? 01:02:49 susan: what was the title of the psychologist you just mentioned? 01:03:38 Daniel Allen: It is so odd that modernity which tells man he’s an accidental random outcome of the universe seems to have ensnared the minds of most, when Christianity says “you are made in the image of God.” I don’t know how it is that the obviously elevated view of man isn’t universally embraced. 01:03:46 Aaron: Orthodox Psychotherapy, by Metropolitan Hierotheos of Nafpaktos (Vlachos) 01:08:24 Erick Chastain: To weep without pause day and night as he asks, how can one do this? 01:08:37 David Swiderski, WI: On a silent retreat I found it really interesting a priest focused a talk on using the senses to our benefit. He had us find a stone that fit our hand from the lakeshore and use it when we prayed, To use incense when doing spiritual reading, obvious have icons and crosses around the house and carry a hold card of Mary close to your heart near to your wallet. It is amazing how these senses can ...

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The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter II, Part II

2w ago01:03:06Tap to summarize

There is something in us that wants to make the spiritual life clear, manageable, and measurable. We fast. We give alms. We pray. We examine ourselves. And quietly, almost imperceptibly, something begins to form beneath it all: A self that stands. A self that knows. A self that can look at another and say, “At least I am not like that.” The Evergetinos tears this apart without mercy. ⸻ A brother hears something about his neighbor and believes it. Of course he does. Because it confirms something already living in his heart. A readiness to see another as fallen, compromised, lesser. The Elder does not argue facts. He strikes at the root. If God Himself did not judge without seeing, why do you? This is not about caution. It is about a refusal to participate in the hidden violence of the fallen heart. Because judgment is never neutral. It is a movement away. ⸻ The Elder takes a wisp of straw. Then he points to a beam. This is not a moral exaggeration meant to humble us. It is a revelation of reality. The one who sees clearly does not see himself as slightly better than others. He sees himself as the one most in need of mercy. Not as an idea. Not as a pious posture. But as something that crushes comparison entirely. ⸻ We think the problem is that we judge too harshly. The Fathers say something far more disturbing. The problem is that we see ourselves as separate. As individuals standing before God, each with our own moral ledger. This is not Christianity. ⸻ We have become something new. Not improved individuals. Not morally refined versions of ourselves. But members of a Body. A single life. A single love. A single Christ. To judge another is not simply to misjudge. It is to tear the Body. It is to reject a member of Christ. It is to step outside love. ⸻ Abba Pambo says nothing for four days. Because the question itself is wrong. Am I saved by this? Am I saved by that? The mind wants metrics. God waits for the heart. And when he finally speaks, the answer is devastating in its simplicity: Guard your heart from anger toward your brother. Everything else is secondary. Fasting will not save you. Almsgiving will not save you. Even great labors will not save you. If your heart stands against your brother, you remain outside the life you seek. ⸻ We have reduced the faith to morality because it is easier. It allows us to measure. To compare. To justify ourselves. But love cannot be measured. And so we avoid it. ⸻ Abba Isaiah gives the image that exposes us completely. We are all in a waiting room. Each one wounded. Each one diseased in a different way. And what do we do? We turn to the one crying out in pain and ask, “Why are you like this?” It is madness. Because if I truly felt my own wound, I would not have the strength to judge another. Judgment is always a sign of distance from one’s own heart. ⸻ The Fathers go further. They say that when you judge, you take the sin of the other upon yourself. Not symbolically. But actually. Because you have stepped out of mercy and into the place of God. And having abandoned mercy, you are left exposed. ⸻ This is why the holy man weeps when he sees another fall. Not out of sentiment. But out of knowledge. He has fallen today. I will fall tomorrow. This is the only safe ground. Not confidence. Not vigilance in the moral sense. But a kind of trembling solidarity. ⸻ We do not know how to live this. Because we do not yet believe what we are. We are not individuals trying to become good. We are beings brought into Love. Beings in Love. And the only way to exist within that reality is to relate to every other person from within that same love. Not because they deserve it. Not because we have judged them worthy. But because there is no other way to remain in Christ. ⸻ To judge is to step out. To love is to remain. ⸻ And this is where the teaching becomes unbearable. Because it leaves us with no ground. No superiority. No identity. No hidden place to stand. Only this: You are wounded. Your brother is wounded. Christ alone is the physician. Stay in the waiting room. Attend to your own disease. And when you look at another, do so as one who shares the same life, the same fall, the same desperate need for mercy. ⸻ Anything less is not Christianity. It is a religion of the self. And it cannot save. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:06:23 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Volume III page 10 Section 4 00:15:01 John ‘Jack’: Good evening Father 00:18:09 Bob Čihák, AZ: Volume III page 10 Section 4 00:18:14 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Volume III page 10 Section 4 00:31:13 Julie: Sometimes I find myself thinking I’m discerning but I’m really judging 00:31:35 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "Sometimes I find mys..." with 👍 00:33:17 Bob Čihák, AZ: I once had expectations of others, which actually just reflected my own vainglory. 00:33:51 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "I once had expectati..." with 👍 00:37:25 forrest: The Greek has "become a perfect monk" in two places. 00:43:21 forrest: The Greek has "stand in virtue" 00:47:24 Bob Čihák, AZ: Replying to "The Greek has "stand..." Thank you, X2 + 00:48:44 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 12, C 00:52:03 Fr Martin, Arizona: 37 “Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven...,, For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you...

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Pentecost Retreat - Session Four

2w ago01:47:08Tap to summarize

The Fire That Remains Life in the Spirit After the Collapse of the Religious Self Week IV — The Heart That Bears the World Love, Intercession, and the Hidden Life in the Spirit ⸻ Opening Invocation O Heavenly King, Comforter, Spirit of Truth, Who art everywhere present and fillest all things, Treasury of blessings and Giver of life, Come and dwell in us, Cleanse us from every impurity, And save our souls, O Good One. ⸻ I. The Return — But Nothing Is the Same At the beginning, the Spirit leads a man inward. Into exposure. Into poverty. Into silence. And it can seem as though the path is one of withdrawal. A leaving behind. A diminishing. But this is not the end. Because the same Spirit who leads a man into the desert of his own heart leads him back again. 1 Not outward in the old way. Not into activity rooted in self. But into a different kind of presence. The man returns to the world. But he does not return as he was. ⸻ II. The End of Living for Oneself Something has been broken. Quietly. Deeply. The constant reference to self. The need to interpret everything in relation to oneself. The subtle movement of: How does this affect me? What does this mean for me? Where do I stand? These begin to loosen. And with this a space opens. A freedom. Where others can begin to exist without being filtered through the self. This is the beginning of love. Not as an emotion. 2 Not as an effort. But as a way of being. “Love seeketh not her own.” (1 Corinthians 13:5) And for the first time this is not an ideal. It is something that begins to happen. ⸻ III. The Heart Enlarged by the Spirit The heart changes. Not outwardly. Not visibly. But in capacity. It begins to hold more. Not by effort. But by grace. You begin to feel: The weight of others. The pain of others. The confusion of others. Not in a way that overwhelms. But in a way that includes. The boundaries of the self soften. And the heart becomes... spacious. 3 “My heart is enlarged.” (Psalm 118/119) This is not sentimentality. It is not emotionalism. It is participation. A sharing in something greater than yourself. ⸻ IV. Intercession That Is Not Chosen Prayer changes again. Not in method. But in direction. Before, you struggled to pray. Then prayer began to live within you. Now something else happens: Others begin to appear in your prayer. Not because you decide to pray for them. But because they are given to you. A face. A name. A burden. And it remains. Quietly. Persistently. 4 You carry them. Sometimes without words. Sometimes without understanding. And this is intercession. Not as an activity. But as a participation in the love of Christ. “I could wish that myself were accursed for my brethren...” (Romans 9:3) A love that does not calculate. A love that bears. ⸻ V. The Hidden Nature of This Life And yet, outwardly, very little may change. You may still live in the same place. Do the same tasks. Speak with the same people. There is no need to appear different. No need to manifest anything. Because this life is hidden. Deep within. And this hiddenness is essential. Because the moment it becomes something seen something recognized something affirmed 5 the old self begins to stir. So the Spirit preserves this life in obscurity. In simplicity. In what appears to be ordinariness. “Your life is hid with Christ in God.” (Colossians 3:3) And this hiddenness is protection. ⸻ VI. Love Without Self-Consciousness There is a further purification. Even love becomes purified. Because at first we can become aware of loving. We notice it. We reflect on it. We take some subtle satisfaction in it. But here, even this begins to fall away. Love becomes unselfconscious. It acts without referring back to itself. It gives without knowing that it gives. It responds without constructing meaning. 6 And this is freedom. Because the self is no longer at the center even of what is good. ⸻ VII. The Bearing of Suffering As the heart expands so does its capacity to suffer. Not in a destructive way. But in a participatory way. You begin to feel more. To see more. To carry more. And yet there is no resistance. Because this suffering is no longer meaningless. It is no longer isolated. It is held within something greater. Within the life of Christ. “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2) This is not something you choose. It is something you are drawn into. ⸻ 7 VIII. The Absence of Claims At this point something remarkable appears. Or rather something disappears. The need to claim anything. You no longer need to: Define your state. Explain your path. Assert your identity. Even inwardly. You do not need to know where you are. You do not need to measure. You do not need to conclude. You simply live. Before God. With others. And this simplicity is a great freedom. ⸻ IX. The Life That Becomes Prayer Everything begins to unify. Prayer is no longer separate from life. Life is no longer separate from prayer. 8 Silence speaks. Speech can remain rooted in silence. Action flows from stillness. There is less division. Less fragmentation. More wholeness. And this is not something you maintain. It is something given. Sustained quietly. By the Spirit. “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.” (Galatians 2:20) Not as an idea. But as a mystery slowly becoming real. ⸻ X. Closing Exhortation Do not seek this. Do not attempt to become this. Do not imitate what has been described. Remain faithful to what has been given to you. Remain in poverty. Remain in prayer. Remain in truth. And the Spirit will do His work. 9 Quietly. Hidden. Beyond your understanding. And what will emerge will not be something you have made. But a life. A heart. Capable of bearing others. Because it is held within Christ. ⸻ Closing Prayer Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Thou who didst bear the sins of the world in Thy Body, grant us the grace to bear one another in love. Enlarge our hearts. Purify our love. Deliver us from ourselves. And grant that, hidden in Thee, we may become a place where others are held in Thy mercy. For Thou art the Lover of mankind. Amen. 10

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The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily XI, Part I

3w ago01:03:01Tap to summarize

There is something in this word from Isaac the Syrian that unsettles us a little. Because it speaks of a beauty that is not crafted, not projected, not explained. A beauty that simply… shines. He does not describe a monk as someone who teaches, persuades, or convinces. He speaks of a life so permeated by grace that even the enemies of truth, simply by looking, are pierced. Not by argument. Not by brilliance. But by something that cannot be imitated. The beauty of a life in Christ. And this is where the word becomes very personal. Because what he is describing is not first a role. It is not even limited to the monastic state in an external sense. It is the inner life that has begun to be born within a person when grace is no longer treated as an idea, but as something living… something fragile… something holy. Something that must be protected. There is a tendency in us to think of holiness as something we build. Virtue as something we accumulate. A kind of visible coherence. But Isaac speaks of something else entirely. He speaks of a life that has become transparent. Where nothing blocks the light. Where the heart has been so simplified, so purified, so stripped of its constant grasping, that what is within begins to radiate without effort. And yet, the way he describes this is striking. Silence. Watchfulness. Non-possession. Guarding the senses. Cutting off contention. Brevity of speech. Forgetfulness of wrongs. At first glance, it can feel severe. Even excessive. But it is not severity. It is protection. Because something has been born. And it is easily lost. Grace does not impose itself. It does not force its way to the surface of our lives. It is given quietly. Almost secretly. It begins like a small flame in the heart. And everything Isaac names is not meant to produce that flame. It is meant to guard it. To keep it from being extinguished by the winds that constantly move through us—distraction, judgment, curiosity, the need to be seen, the need to speak, the need to defend ourselves, the subtle violence of opinion, the constant turning outward. This is why he speaks of watchfulness over the eyes. Because what we allow in, shapes what remains within. This is why he speaks of brevity in speech. Because words, when unguarded, scatter the heart. This is why he speaks of cutting off contention. Because even when we are right, we can lose what is infinitely more precious than being right. There is something in us that resists this. It feels like diminishment. Like becoming smaller. Less engaged. Less visible. Less… alive. But the opposite is true. What he describes is the birth of a life that is no longer dependent on being seen, affirmed, or justified. A life that has begun to live from another source. And this is the mystery. The more this life is hidden, the more it becomes luminous. The more it is protected, the more it becomes a refuge. The more it is guarded in silence, the more it begins to speak—without words—to the world. This is why he can say that the monk becomes a place others run to. Not because he is accessible. But because he is real. Because there is something in him that has not been compromised. Something that has not been traded away. Something that has been kept. And this is where the word becomes a question. Very quietly. Very honestly. What in your life have you not protected? What has been given to you… that you have allowed to be scattered? What has been born in moments of prayer, of stillness, of suffering, of grace… that was real… that was alive… and yet was lost because it was not guarded? Not out of malice. But out of forgetfulness. The Fathers are not calling us to severity. They are calling us to reverence. Toward what God Himself has begun within us. Because the tragedy is not that we are weak. The tragedy is that we do not recognize what has been given. And so we treat lightly what is holy. The monk, in Isaac’s vision, is simply the one who refuses to do that. Who begins—slowly, imperfectly—to live as though what has been planted in the heart is more precious than anything else. More precious than being understood. More precious than being right. More precious than being known. And in doing so, something begins to happen. The life of Christ is no longer something he believes in. It becomes something that can be seen. Not dramatically. Not visibly in the way the world measures things. But quietly. Like light through a window. And others… even without knowing why… begin to feel it. This is the beauty Isaac speaks of. Not an aesthetic. Not a perfection. But a life so carefully guarded, so gently protected, that it remains alive. And because it remains alive… it becomes light. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:11:10 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Homily 11 page 196 00:35:17 Dan: It’s interesting, the thought of silence and interior monasticism. I took my oldest son to the NFL draft, and while walking downtown there were some street preachers with a microphone. Nobody paid any attention, nobody even made fun of them. Literally nobody cared. Real life examples seem to prove that striving to allow one’s life to be transformed by grace is the only witness the world will even take notice of - especially in a world where the currency of words has been hyperinflated and devalued by social media, the 24/7 news cycle, and so on. 00:36:09 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "It’s interesting, th..." with 👍 00:41:31 John ‘Jack’: I don’t entirely know why, but the verse; “I must become less so that he can become more “ 00:42:18 Julie: Talking about silence Yesterday I watch the most beautiful movie “ Into the silence” by Phillip Gronings 2005 00:46:19 Anna: What's the movie? 00:46:30 Anna: Thanks 00:49:19 Tracey Fredman: "Into Great Silence" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJMB7rfWkFA 01:03:06 David Swiderski, WI: I really struggle with these kinds of passages sometimes. I remember an Ethiopian and then a Coptic/Egyptian taxi driver who I had hr long+ conversations with. When I told them I was Catholic they mentioned how much better they thought Catholics were when they came with so many social services, food kitchens, volunteering without asking anyone to convert while their churches in their perspective were just social / ethnic clubs who did little or nothing for anyone else. They were critical of their own churches and seemed to feel the fruits what they experienced as immigrants drew them more to...

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The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter I, Part III and II, Part I

3w ago01:08:54Tap to summarize

There are sins that shock us. And there are sins we commit while feeling righteous. The Fathers place condemnation among the most dangerous of all, because it disguises itself as discernment, zeal, clarity, moral seriousness, concern for truth, or defense of virtue. It allows the soul to remain dark while imagining itself full of light. The monk in Tyre publicly takes the prostitute Porphyria by the hand to save her soul. He does not protect his image. He does not manage appearances. He does not consult public opinion. He risks slander to rescue a human being. The city immediately does what cities always do. It interprets evil. It invents details. It delights in scandal. It spreads rumor as if rumor were truth. This is the ancient world. It is also the modern one. People love condemnation because it relieves them of repentance. If another is filthy, then I feel cleaner. If another is hypocritical, then I need not examine my own hypocrisy. If another has fallen, then I may remain standing in my own imagination. The Evergetinos says something brutal and true: corrupt people readily believe corrupt things because they assume others are like themselves. The suspicious man is often revealing himself more than exposing anyone else. The monk bears this slander silently. He saves the woman, has her tonsured as a nun, entrusts her to the monastic life, and accepts years of false judgment. Only at death does God vindicate him through the miracle of the burning coals. Why then? Because God often waits until the end to expose the blindness of men. How many people have we judged who were secretly dear to God? How many motives have we misread? How many stories have we narrated from fragments and vanity? Abba Isaiah brings the matter into ordinary life. You need something from your brother. Instead of asking simply, you brood. You resent that he did not anticipate your need. You accuse him silently. The Elder says plainly: you are the one at fault. This is devastating because so much of our inner life is built on unspoken expectations. We punish others for failing standards we never voiced. Then we call ourselves wounded. St. Maximos the Confessor goes deeper still. Whoever busies himself with the sins of others has not yet begun repentance. Not advanced repentance. Not deep repentance. Begun. This means many religious people who speak constantly of the failures of the Church, society, clergy, family, culture, and enemies may not yet have entered the first room of spiritual life. They know outrage. They know commentary. They know denunciation. But they do not know repentance. The Gerontikon exposes another horror. A brother obsessed with impurity suspects two monks of sin. The Elder says the passion is in him. This is ascetic psychology of the highest order. What we compulsively detect in others often reveals what is active in ourselves. The lustful see lust everywhere. The proud detect pride everywhere. The deceitful suspect hidden motives everywhere. The bitter interpret everything through offense. They are reading their own soul onto the world. Abba Poimen adds one of the fiercest counsels in the tradition. Even if you think you touched the evidence with your own hands, do not be quick to condemn. The brother who thought he discovered fornication found only two bundles of wheat. This is not comic relief. It is revelation. You do not see clearly. You think you do. That is the danger. The section on St. John the Merciful reveals another blindness. We know the public sin. We do not know the secret repentance. The one we condemn today may already be weeping before God tonight. The one whose fall we discuss may already be rising while we remain unchanged. And here is the sharpest word of all from Abba John the Short: there is no greater virtue than not disparaging others. Why would he say this? Because the man who stops condemning is finally free to begin working on himself. The modern world feeds on accusation. Social media monetizes it. News cycles depend on it. Religious factions organize around it. Whole identities are formed through shared contempt. The Fathers would call this mass demonic pedagogy. You become what you repeatedly contemplate. If you feed daily on the faults of others, you slowly become a soul incapable of compunction. So what is the path? Speak less. Assume less. Ask plainly. Interpret slowly. Pray for the one you are tempted to judge. Return attention to your own sins. Let hidden things remain hidden unless duty truly requires action. And if genuine wrongdoing must be addressed, do so with sobriety, evidence, tears, and fear for your own soul. Here is the fierce conclusion: The soul that needs others to be guilty in order to feel innocent has not yet met God. Because the one who has stood honestly before God loses appetite for condemnation. He has too much to repent of. The Fathers do not ask you to become naive. They ask you to become clean. And cleanliness begins when you stop making a home for suspicion. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:57 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 5 Volume III - section 3 00:22:10 vanessa s (vanessa s): My daughter was supposed to go to Israel this summer but Air Canada cancelled all flights due to security issues. 00:22:20 vanessa s (vanessa s): :( 00:27:45 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 5 Volume III - section 3 00:35:22 Julie: Our Imagination can trick us when we start judging …our senses can be hijacked by our Assumptions 00:35:38 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "Our Imagination can ..." with 👍 00:43:19 Forrest: This is such a common temptation in marriages, even good healthy marriages! 00:54:33 Julie: Someone might look sinful to hide their virtue from the world and to test whether others have love or judgment in their hearts.♥️ 00:57:52 Lee Graham: We believe what we want to believe 01:11:27 Julie: We might be condemning someone who has already been forgiven by God 01:19:30 Forrest: "Of whom I am the first" 01:20:33 Danny Moulton: Jesus also said. “Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment.“ (John 7:24). Is it possible that the Desert Fathers' teaching of complete avoidance of judging others is overshooting the balanced teachings of Christ? 01:22:51 Julie: We have to be careful… When someone believes themselves to be good they begin to see their brother as “evil” 01:23:01 Nypaver Clan: SAMUEL 16:7 01:36:22 Andrew Adams: Thanks be to God! Thank you Father! 01:36:22 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:36:24 Bob Čihák, AZ: Thank you, bless you & Love you, Father. 01:36:33 Jessica McHale: Many prayers! 01:36:35 Danny Moulton: THank you!

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Pentecost Retreat - Session Three

3w ago01:39:04Tap to summarize

The Fire That Remains Life in the Spirit After the Collapse of the Religious Self Week III — When Prayer Begins to Live Itself The Emergence of the Heart in the Life of the Spirit ⸻ Opening Invocation O Heavenly King, Comforter, Spirit of Truth, Who art everywhere present and fillest all things, Treasury of blessings and Giver of life, Come and dwell in us, Cleanse us from every impurity, And save our souls, O Good One. ⸻ I. After Endurance — Something Begins That You Did Not Initiate There comes a point after long endurance after remaining without clarity after refusing to rebuild when something begins. Not suddenly. Not dramatically. But unmistakably. And the first thing you realize is this: It is not coming from you. You did not produce it. 1 You did not initiate it. You cannot sustain it. It appears. Quietly. Like water beneath the surface beginning to move. This is the beginning of prayer that is no longer merely your effort. But something alive. ⸻ II. The Shift From Doing to Being Drawn Up until now, prayer has largely been something you have done. Even when it was poor. Even when it was dry. Even when it was stripped of feeling. You remained. You turned. You endured. But now something shifts. You begin to sense that prayer is no longer something you initiate. You are being drawn into it. There is a movement within. Gentle. Persistent. Not forcing. Not demanding. 2 But calling. And if you are attentive you will notice: You are not holding prayer. Prayer is beginning to hold you. “No one can say ‘Jesus is Lord’ except by the Holy Spirit.” (1 Corinthians 12:3) Even the simplest turning of the heart is not your own. It is given. ⸻ III. The Warming of the Heart There may come a warmth. But it is not like the warmth you knew before. It is not emotional. It is not something you generate. It is subtle. Steady. Quiet. A sense of life within the heart. A softening. A gathering. Where before the heart was scattered pulled in many directions restless 3 now it begins to collect. To come together. To become one. “Humility collects the soul.” — St. Isaac the Syrian And with this gathering comes a new kind of attention. Not forced. Not strained. But natural. As though the heart has found its place. ⸻ IV. The Prayer That Continues Beneath the Surface You begin to notice something else. Prayer does not end when you stop speaking. It continues. Beneath thought. Beneath activity. Beneath distraction. There is a quiet remembrance. A presence. A turning toward God that does not require constant effort. And this can be confusing at first. 4 Because you are used to measuring prayer by what you do. By words. By attention. By duration. But now prayer is no longer confined to those moments. It begins to permeate. To underlie. To become something like breath. “Pray without ceasing.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17) Not as a command to strive. But as a description of something that begins to happen. ⸻ V. The Guarding of the Heart But this is fragile. Very fragile. Because the old patterns are not gone. The mind still wanders. The ego still seeks to reassert itself. The world still presses in. And so a new kind of vigilance is needed. Not harsh. Not anxious. 5 But attentive. You begin to guard the heart not out of fear but out of love. You begin to notice: What disturbs this quiet? What scatters the heart again? What pulls attention outward in a way that dissipates this life? And slowly without rigidity you begin to choose differently. Not because you must. But because you do not want to lose this. “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.” (Proverbs 4:23) This is the beginning of watchfulness. ⸻ VI. The Subtle Temptation to Possess Grace And here again a danger arises. Very subtle. You begin to recognize what is happening. You begin to value it. You begin to desire its continuation. And without realizing it you begin to try to preserve it. 6 To hold onto it. To repeat it. To secure it. And in doing so you begin to lose it. Because grace cannot be possessed. It can only be received. And received again. And again. The moment you try to make it yours it withdraws. Not as punishment. But because its nature is gift. ⸻ VII. The Deepening of Humility If you remain faithful here something deepens. Not dramatically. But steadily. A humility that is no longer forced. No longer constructed. No longer spoken about. 7 It simply is. You begin to know not as an idea but as a reality: That everything is given. That you cannot produce even the smallest movement toward God. That without Him you return immediately to dispersion. And this does not lead to despair. It leads to gratitude. And a kind of quiet reverence. “Keep thy mind in hell and despair not.” — St. Silouan the Athonite You see your poverty. And yet you are not crushed by it. Because something else is present. ⸻ VIII. The Emergence of the Heart as Person There is a further shift. Difficult to describe. But unmistakable. You begin to exist not as a collection of thoughts or reactions or roles but as a presence. 8 A person. Not defined by activity. Not defined by identity. But simply present before God. And this presence begins to extend. Into your interactions. Into your speech. Into your silence. You become less reactive. Less driven. More able to be with others without needing to assert yourself. This is not something you achieve. It is something that emerges. As the heart becomes unified. ⸻ IX. The Quiet Joy That Has No Object And there may come a joy. But it is unlike the joys you have known. It is not tied to circumstances. Not dependent on outcomes. Not even dependent on consolation. It is quiet. 9 Almost hidden. A sense of rightness. Of being where you are meant to be. Even if outwardly nothing has changed. Even if difficulties remain. Even if suffering continues. This joy does not remove suffering. It coexists with it. And transforms it from within. ⸻ X. Closing Exhortation Do not grasp at this. Do not analyze it. Do not try to secure it. Remain as you have been taught: Poor. Attentive. Open. Receive what is given. Let it come. Let it go. Let it return. Do not make it into something. 10 Do not make it into yourself. Because what is being formed here is not an experience. It is a heart. Alive in the Spirit. ⸻ Closing Prayer Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Thou who hast kindled the fire of Thy Spirit in our hearts, grant that we may not extinguish it through our grasping and our fear. Teach us to receive what Thou givest. To remain where Thou placest us. And to become what Thou art forming within us. That our hearts may live in Thee and Thou in us. Amen. 11

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The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily X

4w ago01:04:44Tap to summarize

Many will read this homily of St. Isaac the Syrian and hear only threat. They will imagine that he is merely moralizing, merely warning, merely trying to frighten men into behaving. They will hear law where he is speaking mystery. They will hear rules where he is unveiling consecration. Isaac is not obsessed with sin as a legal violation. He is shattered by something far deeper: that those who have been joined to Christ live as though they still belong to the world. He is not saying merely, “Do not break commandments.” He is saying: Do not profane what has become holy. Through the Incarnation, the Son of God took flesh. He entered the very substance of our humanity. He did not save us from afar. He entered our blood, our weakness, our mortality, our death. He carried human nature into the tomb and raised it radiant. What was estranged has been united. What was corruptible has been touched by immortality. And through Baptism of the Lord and our own baptism into Him, through the Eucharistic Body and Blood, through the seal and indwelling of the Holy Spirit, we are not merely instructed people. We are consecrated people. Our eyes are no longer simply eyes. Our hands are no longer simply hands. Our mouths are no longer simply mouths. Our bodies are no longer private possessions. Our life is no longer our own. We have become members of Christ. This is why Isaac speaks with fire. When he recounts Noah’s generation, Sodom, Samson, David, Eli, Baltasar, he is not delighting in punishment narratives. He is showing that sin is never trivial because man is never trivial. To misuse the body is to misuse a mystery. To turn desire against holiness is to drag what was made for communion into fragmentation. To employ consecrated members for impurity, vanity, greed, cruelty, or spiritual indifference is to treat the vessels of the sanctuary as drinking cups at a banquet of death. Baltasar drank from holy vessels and was struck down. Isaac says: look closer. We do this every day when we take what belongs to God and hand it back to the passions. You mouth received the Eucharist. Then you use it for bitterness. Your eyes were anointed for light. Then you train them upon lust and envy. Your mind was illumined for prayer. Then you sell it to distraction. Your heart was made for divine love. Then you offer it to vanity. Your body became a temple. Then you rent rooms to idols. And still we say lightly, “I can repent later.” This is what Isaac tears apart. He is not denying repentance. He is defending it from abuse. He is saying: do not turn mercy into permission. Do not make the patience of God an accomplice to your self-destruction. Do not use the medicine as a reason to keep drinking poison. Modern Christians often reduce everything to psychology or ethics. If we fail, we think only in terms of mistakes, coping, weakness, habits. Isaac sees more deeply. He sees sacrilege and glory side by side. He sees saints living beneath their dignity. He sees temples choosing mud. He sees heirs of the Kingdom amusing themselves with chains. This is why holy fear matters. Not servile terror. Not neurotic dread. But trembling before what grace has made possible. Fear that I might forget who Christ has made me. Fear that I might treat divine intimacy casually. Fear that I might become numb while carrying heaven within me. The Fathers speak fear because love is real. Only what is precious can be desecrated. And they speak repentance because desecration is not the final word. David wept. Peter was restored. Samson, blinded and broken, cried out again. Mercy remains greater than sin. But mercy is not cheap because blood purchased it. The open door of repentance is not there so we may stroll in and out of darkness at will. It is there so that when we have fallen, we may return shattered and be remade. Isaac calls us back to baptismal consciousness. Remember what happened to you. Remember what entered you. Remember whose Body you receive. Remember whose Spirit dwells in you. Remember that your members have been signed for another Kingdom. You are not common. That is the terror and the joy of Christianity. The Christian life is not mainly avoiding bad behavior. It is guarding the flame placed in earthen vessels. It is reverencing what God has claimed. It is allowing every faculty to become liturgy. Eyes that pray. Hands that bless. Speech that heals. Mind that remembers God. Heart that burns cleanly. Body that becomes offering. Isaac thunders because he sees how magnificent you are in Christ, and how cheaply you are tempted to live. Do not use mercy to remain unchanged. Do not use repentance to excuse betrayal. Do not drag consecrated things back into slavery. You have passed through death and resurrection. You have eaten fire. You carry the Spirit. Live like one who has touched the Holy. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:11:55 Andrew Adams: yes 00:15:19 Adam Paige: An Anglican could speak to a priest in the confessional, but they wouldn’t receive absolution 00:17:58 Catherine Opie: I am currently in the UK and its 12.30am! 00:46:44 Wayne: Sorry, need to leave now... 00:56:53 Erick Chastain: In light of St. Isaac's discussion of the consecration of our members and the Eucharist: St. Cyril of Jerusalem (cat. 22, n. 3; M. 33, 1099): “The body and . . . blood are given to you, so that, when you have received the body and blood of Christ, you may be made concorporeal and consanguineous with him. For thus we also become Christ-bearers, his body and blood being distributed through our members. Thus, according to blessed Peter, we become partakers of the divine nature.” 01:01:39 Erick Chastain: scotistic dogmatic theology manual excerpt 01:01:49 Jessica McHale: I have a question about the Eucharist. It's a little off topic, but I am curious about your thoughts: I heard a Jesuit priest say once that "it's silly for someone to run into a burning church just to save the Eucharist in the tabernacle because Jesus already died once for us and He can't be hurt again." I don't know what to make of that. We do protect the Euchatist as best we can from desecration, in any way, but is it true that He can't be "hurt again" so we wouldn't need to "woory" so much abotu it 01:05:52 Julie: This was how different the early martyrs were to now 01:05:56 iPhone: Should we attend Church for Mass when is not revrence. 01:06:24 Ben: Anna: If you find yourself on the lazy/ distracted end of burnout, what does returning to zeal look like? Or is zeal the wrong word? 01:06:52 Gwen’s iPhone: I remember Fr. Groeschel said when he was a little boy when he first saw inside the Tabernacle he expected tiny furniture. Just a thought (off topic ) 01:07:13 Ben: 12 01:07:27 John Burmeister: Reacted to "12" with 👍 01:07:56 Kathryn Rose: Zeal maybe isn't the ideal state to seek out or try to maintain. It seems like Hesychia is what we aim for 01:13:21 Jessica McHale: Reacted to "12" with ❤️ 01:13:26 Ben: Anna: In the stillness, when one sees one's unworthiness before God. How does one remain? 01:18:25 David Swiderski, WI: This is the day the Lord has made (Psalm 118) now comes the treasure hunt for us to find him in the day. One of my 3rd grade students told me this once after seeing the psalm in a chapel we had at the school and I think of it and him often 01:20:24 Maureen Cunningham: Thank You Blessings 01:21:17 Andrew Adams: Thanks be to God! Thank you, Father! 01:21:19 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:21:29 Janine: Thank you Father! 01:21:33 Aaron: thank you father! 01:21:35 Nicola Loynes: Thank you Father 01:21:36 David Swiderski, WI: Thank you Father may God bless you your Mother and this group 01:21:39 Jessica McHale:...

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The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter II, Part IV

The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily XII & XIII

The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter II, Part III

The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily XI, Part II

The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter II, Part II

Pentecost Retreat - Session Four

The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily XI, Part I

The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter I, Part III and II, Part I

Pentecost Retreat - Session Three

The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily X