Philokalia Ministries

The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter V, Part II, VI, and VII, Part I

The Fathers are extraordinarily subtle here because they know that the human heart is subtle. They refuse the comforting simplicity by which we divide the world into good people and bad people, good deeds and evil deeds, the righteous and the guilty. Not because such distinctions are meaningless, but because they do not yet reach deeply enough. Beneath the visible act lies the intention. Beneath the intention lies desire. And beneath desire there may be movements of the heart so quiet, so mixed, and so carefully concealed that we ourselves scarcely recognize them. A man praises his neighbor, yet his praise conceals envy. Another remains silent under reproach, and his silence appears humble, yet rancor is gathering within him. One speaks the truth, but uses truth as a weapon. Another defends his neighbor, yet secretly delights in appearing more merciful than those around him. The external act may be correct while the heart remains divided. This is why the Fathers speak so severely about guile. Guile is not simply telling a lie. It is the creation of a distance between what appears and what is. The lips move in one direction while the heart moves in another. We learn to present ourselves even to ourselves in ways that protect us from the truth. The terrifying possibility raised in these passages is that a person may fulfill a commandment and yet fail to acquire the virtue toward which the commandment was leading him. “Fulfilling a commandment is one thing and practicing a virtue is another.” This distinction is essential. I may refrain from speaking and still possess no meekness. I may give alms and still possess no mercy. I may defend the truth and yet have no love for the person whom I correct. I may rejoice publicly at another’s success while inwardly grieving that the good was given to him rather than to me. The commandment has been observed outwardly. The heart has not yet become true. Yet the Fathers do not expose this complexity in order to drive us into endless introspection or suspicion of every motive. They are forming the conscience in relation to Christ. The Christian conscience is not meant to become a tribunal before which we endlessly prosecute ourselves. It is an organ of perception. Purified by grace, it learns to recognize what is consonant with Christ and what is alien to Him. It asks not merely, “Was this permitted?” or even, “Did I fulfill the commandment?” It begins to ask a more searching question: Was I living in conformity with the truth? And for the Christian, the Truth is not an abstraction. The Truth has a face. Christ becomes the measure of the heart. This is why intention matters so profoundly. God sees the deed from within. He sees the hidden resentment beneath the silence and the hidden mercy beneath the awkward word. He sees the desire to love when weakness prevents us from acting. He also sees the secret consent to evil before the body has carried it out. “The law of freedom exists in the mind prior to any action.” We live before the gaze of One from whom nothing is hidden. This could terrify us if God’s gaze were merely forensic. But the Fathers understand His gaze as the gaze of the Physician. The heart is uncovered so that it may become whole. Christ brings into the light the envy concealed beneath praise, the vainglory concealed beneath humility, and the vengeance concealed beneath zeal for truth—not to humiliate us, but to free us from the exhausting necessity of pretending. Even the troubling account of St. Gregory the Wonderworker must be read within this severe spiritual world. The story is meant to awaken us to the gravity of making falsehood our habitation. The men who attempt to deceive the Saint are not simply performing a clever trick. They enact a lie with their bodies. One feigns death. The other feigns grief. Compassion itself is manipulated for gain. The entire scene is an inversion of reality. And suddenly the falsehood becomes terribly real. The story shocks us because the Fathers want to disturb our casual relationship with duplicity. We often imagine that what is hidden is therefore insignificant. They insist upon the opposite. What is hidden may be precisely where our deepest formation is taking place. The question, then, is not whether our hearts are perfectly pure. If that were the requirement, none of us could stand. The question is whether we are willing to live in the light. Can I acknowledge envy when I see it? Can I recognize that my righteous indignation contains wounded pride? Can I admit that my silence is not peace but resentment? Can I allow Christ to show me that even my virtues remain mixed with passions? This requires profound humility. But it also produces profound freedom. The Fathers give us a remarkably concrete remedy for envy: rejoice with the one whom you envy. Grieve with him when he grieves. Do not wait until your heart spontaneously becomes pure. Place yourself deliberately within the truth of communion. The one I envy is not my rival. His joy does not diminish me. His gifts are not accusations against my poverty. To rejoice with him is to begin teaching the heart the truth. This is how conscience is formed. Not by obsessively watching ourselves, but by repeatedly bringing the movements of the heart into the presence of Christ and allowing His life to become our measure. Slowly, painfully, the distance between appearance and reality begins to close. We become less interested in appearing humble and begin to desire humility. Less interested in appearing merciful and begin to desire mercy. Less interested in being seen as truthful and begin to desire the Truth. Perhaps this is what the Fathers mean by virtue. The commandment is no longer merely something I do. By grace, it begins to reveal what I am becoming. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:00:59 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 43 paragraph 3 00:03:28 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 43, first #3 00:13:19 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 43, first #3 00:18:27 Larry Ruggiero: Christina Nun Part 5 Chapter 2 paragraph 3 ( page 401 in the 4 volume set). 00:19:58 Larry Ruggiero: correction page 411 00:25:22 James Hickman: A question for Abba Mark paragraph 1: is the line “he is / will be punished more severely?” understood during, after, or a combination perhaps during and after life? 00:27:35 James Hickman: Thank you! 00:28:34 Maureen Cunningham: Page 44 it ends 00:33:45 Danny Moulton: Don't mess with St. Gregory! 00:34:26 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 47, # 4 00:37:14 Forrest: This story of St. Peter is in Acts of the Apostles chapter 5. 00:38:18 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 47, B 00:41:26 Forrest: And in this hypothesis, it is also shown that companionship with the wicked can be deadly. 00:44:25 Catherine Opie: I often have become very angry when people have taken advantage of my generous nature in the past and this made me hard hearted and reluctant to continue to be generous. Now, thanks to the grace of God and these sessions, I understand that I should continue to be generous, even more than before, pity anyone who takes advantage of that and pray for them begging the Lord to have mercy on them and me. I am slow to learn... 00:53:44 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 48, A 00:58:26 Rebecca Thérèse: I think Scripture can be understood at different levels. Using it symbolically to illustrate a spiritual point doesn't negate a more literalistic interpretation. St John of the Cross uses Scripture like this. 00:59:23 Catherine Opie: My footnote says this is not from St Gregory but an anonymous author 00:59:45 Forrest: The Greek says anonymous elder. 01:00:03 Kate: The footnote is on p 50 01:04:20 Forrest: ψυχικῶς - "at heart" 01:04:45 James Hickman: Gregory of Nyssa in The Life of Moses seems to interpret Moses’s striking down t...

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The Name Above Every Name, Conference One

Jul 1301:39:33Tap to summarize

The Name Above Every Name Conference One Receiving the Name The Gift Before the Method “At the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth.” — Philippians 2:10 There is perhaps no prayer more beloved in the Christian East than the Jesus Prayer. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.” It is spoken by monks in their cells, by hermits in the desert, by laborers at their work, by the elderly in nursing homes, by the sick in their hospital beds, and by countless hidden souls who have learned to carry the Name of Christ as their constant companion. Yet before we speak of the prayer itself, we must ask a more fundamental question. Why this Name? Not simply why this prayer, but why this Name? Our age has become fascinated with methods. We search for techniques that promise peace, concentration, or spiritual experience. We want to know how many repetitions to make, how to regulate our breathing, how to quiet the mind, how to pray without distraction. These questions are not unimportant. The Fathers address them with great sobriety. But they are never their starting point. The Christian life does not begin with a method. It begins with a Person. The Apostles did not first receive a prayer rule. They encountered Christ. Everything else followed from that encounter. This is the first lesson that Archimandrite Zacharias never tires of repeating. The Name of Jesus is not a sacred formula. It is not a mantra. It possesses no power apart from the living Person whom it reveals. When we invoke the Name, we are not repeating syllables. We are standing before the living God who has become man for our salvation. This changes everything. Prayer is no longer something we accomplish. It becomes Someone whom we meet. The whole mystery of Christianity is contained within this movement. We do not ascend toward God through our own efforts. God has descended to us. The eternal Word has taken flesh. The invisible God has received a human face. The unknowable One has given us His Name. The Name is therefore a gift before it is a practice. Christ Himself places it upon our lips. He gives us His own Name because He desires communion with us. The initiative always belongs to Him. This is why every genuine spiritual life begins with gratitude rather than achievement. We do not earn the Name. We receive it. ⸻⸻⸻ The Scriptures reveal something astonishing about the Name of God. 2 Throughout the Old Testament the divine Name remains veiled in mystery. Moses encounters the burning bush and asks, “What is your Name?” The answer is both revelation and concealment. “I AM WHO I AM.” God makes Himself known while remaining infinitely beyond comprehension. Then, in the fullness of time, something utterly new occurs. The Angel commands Joseph: “You shall call His Name Jesus.” The infinite God now bears a human Name. The One whom no man could behold enters history as an infant carried in His mother’s arms. The Name Jesus is not merely a title. It is the revelation of the humility of God. The Almighty has made Himself accessible. He has entered our weakness. He has become One whom we may call upon in every circumstance of life. The Name itself proclaims the Gospel. Every time we whisper it, we confess that God has come near. ⸻⸻⸻ The Fathers teach us that there is an inseparable bond between the Name and the Person. To invoke the Name with faith is already to stand before Christ. This is why the Church surrounds His Name with such reverence. 3 The Apostle tells us that God has bestowed upon Christ “the Name which is above every name.” Not because the sound of the word possesses magical power, but because the Person who bears that Name is the eternal Son of God. When we pray, “Lord Jesus Christ...” we are already making a confession of faith. “Lord.” He is God. “Jesus.” He is the Savior who entered history. “Christ.” He is the Anointed One promised by the prophets. “Son of God.” He shares eternally in the Father’s divine life. Everything is already contained within these few words. The prayer is theology condensed into love. ⸻⸻⸻ Archimandrite Zacharias repeatedly reminds us that the Jesus Prayer is fundamentally relational. This may sound obvious, but it is easily forgotten. We often reduce prayer to something we do. The Fathers speak instead of Someone before whom we stand. 4 The heart of prayer is presence. Not first our awareness of God. But God’s faithful presence before us. Long before we began seeking Him, He sought us. Long before we learned His Name, He knew ours. Long before we loved Him, He loved us. Prayer is our answer to a love that has already preceded us. This protects us from one of the greatest temptations in the spiritual life. We begin to measure prayer by our experience. Was it peaceful? Was it distracted? Did I feel anything? Did grace seem close? The Fathers ask another question. Did you remain before Christ? If so, then prayer has already begun. Faithfulness is greater than consolation. Love is greater than feelings. Presence is greater than success. ⸻⸻⸻ This understanding also transforms repentance. Many people imagine repentance as a movement away from themselves toward God. 5 The Gospel reveals the opposite. Repentance is the discovery that Christ has already come searching for us. Adam hid. God sought him. The prodigal wandered. The Father watched the road. Peter denied Christ. Christ looked upon Peter. Everything begins with God’s movement toward us. When we whisper, “Have mercy on me,” we are not persuading Christ to become merciful. We are awakening to the mercy that has already embraced us. The prayer does not change God’s heart. It gradually changes ours. ⸻⸻⸻ Because the Name is a gift, it must be received with reverence. The Fathers never speak of the Jesus Prayer casually. It is entrusted to the humble. Not because God withholds Himself from others, but because pride cannot receive what humility gladly welcomes. A proud heart uses prayer. 6 A humble heart receives it. There is all the difference in the world. Perhaps this is why the prayer becomes simpler as one matures. At first we seek to master it. Later we discover that it is slowly mastering us. At first we imagine we are carrying the Name. Eventually we discover that the Name has been carrying us all along. ⸻⸻⸻ As we begin this retreat, let us lay aside every desire for extraordinary experiences. Let us not seek methods before seeking Christ. Let us not become preoccupied with progress. The greatest grace would simply be this: To receive the Name once again as though hearing it for the first time. To whisper it with reverence. To hold it gently within the heart. To allow it to accompany every joy and every sorrow. To believe that every sincere invocation of the Name is already an encounter with the living Christ. The whole Christian life begins here. Not with our search for God. But with God’s immeasurable gift of Himself. And because He has given us His Name, we need never fear that He is far away. 7 The Name upon our lips is already the sign that Christ stands at the door of the heart and knocks. May we open to Him with humility, faith, and love. 8

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

Jul 1301:08:05Tap to summarize

This passage can easily be misunderstood as a catalogue of monastic etiquette or a list of ancient customs that no longer matter. Yet St. Isaac is doing something far deeper. As we noted earlier, he is acting first as a physician of attention before he becomes a teacher of prayer. He knows that the human heart cannot be united to God while it remains scattered among a thousand impulses. Every small discipline he prescribes is ordered toward healing the fragmentation of the soul. The remarkable thing is that Isaac never begins with mystical experience. He begins with the eyes. Our fall almost always begins with a glance. The Fathers understood that attention is the doorway through which everything enters the heart. Before lust there is an undisciplined gaze. Before envy there is comparison. Before anger there is the unnoticed conversation rehearsed within the mind. Before pride there is the subtle desire to place ourselves at the center of every room. Isaac therefore seeks to reclaim the very movements that most people consider insignificant. He knows there are no insignificant movements. The Kingdom is lost and found in such moments. Notice how often he speaks of restraint: not looking everywhere, not speaking unnecessarily, not choosing preferred foods, not exposing oneself, not examining another’s belongings, not rushing ahead, not interrupting, not insisting on one’s own place. At first glance this seems restrictive. In reality it is profoundly liberating. Modern people often imagine freedom to consist in following every inclination. Isaac understands that such a life eventually becomes slavery. Every impulse obeyed strengthens the tyranny of the passions. Every impulse gently offered back to God enlarges the heart’s freedom. The monk is not learning how to suppress himself but how to cease being ruled by himself. This explains why Isaac’s concern extends even to walking, sitting, coughing, opening a door, or entering another’s cell. None of these actions is morally significant in itself. Rather, each reveals whether the heart has become peaceful or remains agitated. A hurried body often reveals a hurried soul. A wandering eye often reveals a wandering mind. Carelessness in little things usually uncovers carelessness before God. His teaching also protects something we have almost forgotten: reverence for persons. He tells the monk not to inspect another’s cell, not to notice where possessions are kept, not to stare into another’s face, not to become overly familiar, to wait patiently while a companion speaks, and to regard oneself as the servant of all. These are not merely rules of courtesy. They preserve the mystery of the other person. They refuse to reduce another to an object of curiosity, judgment, or possession. How much suffering enters the world because we cannot leave another person untouched by our curiosity? How many relationships are damaged because we feel entitled to know, to inspect, to analyze, to possess? Isaac trains the monk to stand before another with the same reverence with which he stands before the sanctuary. The humility he seeks is therefore not psychological self-deprecation but freedom from self-preoccupation. The one who always considers himself the servant no longer needs to defend his dignity, compete for recognition, or insist upon preference. His attention has quietly shifted away from himself. Perhaps most striking is the hiddenness that runs through the entire passage. Nothing here seeks to attract notice. Every instruction moves the monk toward simplicity, modesty, and invisibility. One senses that Isaac wishes the monk to pass through the world without disturbing its peace. His presence should become gentle enough that others encounter not his personality but the quiet fragrance of Christ. This is why these seemingly insignificant counsels remain astonishingly relevant. Our age is built upon distraction, display, speed, consumption, and constant exposure. Isaac proposes the opposite movement: recollection, hiddenness, moderation, silence, and attentiveness. He is not asking us to become antiquated. He is inviting us to become whole. The physician begins with the smallest gestures because he knows they reveal the deepest illnesses. If the eye can become steady, the tongue restrained, the appetite moderate, the body reverent, and the heart humble, then attention gradually gathers itself into one place. Only then does the soul become capable of what Isaac desires above all else: to stand quietly before God with an undivided heart. For Isaac, this is the true rule of life. Not a collection of external observances, but the slow restoration of a human being whose every movement—outward and inward—has become an expression of love. Only such a heart can pray without ceasing, because it has finally learned to live without scattering itself among countless desires. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:50 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: This entire homily becomes one long exercise in guarding what later fathers would call the “watchfulness” (nepsis) of the heart. Isaac is teaching us to become so inwardly gathered that nothing unnecessarily enters the soul, nothing escapes from it carelessly, and everything is quietly offered to God. This chapter also reveals something that I think is easy to overlook in Isaac as a whole. Before he becomes the great theologian of divine mercy, he is first a master physician of attention. He knows that a heart incapable of attention is incapable of wonder. Only the recollected heart can truly perceive the inexhaustible beauty of God. In that sense, this homily is laying the groundwork for everything that follows in his writings. It is not an end in itself but the preparation of the soil in which divine love can take root and flourish. 00:16:16 Bob Čihák, AZ: Homily 17 Page 214 00:33:32 Maureen Cunningham: Rabbi do not gaze in women eyes 00:35:13 Ryan Ngeve: Father could this acquisition of the chaste rule for sleep also apply the opposite, i.e sleeping way too little and not letting the body get adequate rest? 00:36:02 una: Can you define familiarity more precisely? 00:37:19 Maureen Cunningham: What does the military do ? Sleep and when they are in battle? 00:42:50 James Hickman: I’ve never been meaner than when I’ve spoken to my own mother, father, and sisters. It’s a sad reality of my life, but it’s almost as though I’m not worried they’ll cut me off, yet that’s perhaps another sign I’ve all the more taken them for granted, like a sin of presumption in the domestic church. 00:53:05 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 214, #3 00:59:51 Julie: That happens to me at MAs when people are walk in and around or distracting, I close my eye in prayer till they pass 00:59:59 Julie: Mass 01:06:52 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 215, #4, first paragraph 01:07:49 James Hickman: Mary makes haste — she doesn’t hurry 01:10:17 Erick Chastain: How do you prevent attention to movements around you? 01:13:41 Julie: Sorry have to go. God bless all✞🙏🫠 01:13:43 una: A lot of this is just good manners. But good manners came from Christianity. 01:17:06 Sr Barbara Jean Mihalchick: Sounds a lot like my postulancy and the novitiate which built on home training... 01:17:45 James Hickman: Reacted to "Sounds a lot like my postulancy and the novitiate which built on home training..." with 💯 01:20:16 James Hickman: I think this was our table reading one month in novitiate Sister Mary Mercedes O.P. A Book of Courtesy: The Art of Living with Yourself and Others https://www.amazon.com/Book-Courtesy-Living-Yourself-Others/dp/0062517589 01:20:28 Maureen Cunningham: I was thinking of Princess Dianna , 01:23:37 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:23:38 Bob Čihák, AZ: God bless you, Father.

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

Jul 701:04:38Tap to summarize

The Fathers insist that the spiritual life is decided long before words are spoken or actions are taken. It is decided in the hidden conversation of the heart. Every thought arrives carrying a question: Where have I come from, and where will I lead you? Most of us are far more careful about what enters our homes than what enters our minds. Yet a single unexamined thought can become a passion, a passion can become a habit, and a habit can slowly become our character. This is why the desert fathers watched their thoughts with such sobriety. They knew that not every thought deserved hospitality. Some thoughts came from grace and awakened gratitude. Others came from pride, fear, resentment, or the enemy himself. The tragedy is not that these thoughts appear. The tragedy is that we welcome them without interrogation, allowing them to settle into the heart until we can no longer distinguish their voice from our own. The holy elders possessed a remarkable gift: they could transform every circumstance into a call to God. A successful businessman became a lesson in zeal. A builder became a reminder to build the dwelling place of God within the soul. Even the sight of an actress moved Abba Pambo not to judgment but to tears for his own lack of love. The purified heart instinctively translates earthly events into heavenly instruction. The impure heart does exactly the opposite. It converts every blessing into comparison, every success into competition, every disappointment into accusation. Few passions reveal this distortion more clearly than guile. Guile is not merely deception. It is the division of the heart. It is smiling while secretly resenting, praising while inwardly competing, speaking peace while quietly nourishing suspicion. Such a soul gradually loses the capacity for prayer because prayer demands truth. We cannot stand honestly before God while wearing masks before one another. The Fathers therefore speak with startling severity: every spiritual labor is endangered when the heart becomes divided. Not because God withdraws His mercy, but because we ourselves have become strangers to simplicity. Then comes envy, perhaps the most hidden of all passions. Envy is sorrow at another’s good. It cannot rejoice because someone else has received a gift. It quietly interprets another’s blessing as a personal loss. Left unchecked, it poisons relationships, communities, and even prayer itself. The envious person eventually sees enemies where there are none and offenses where none were intended. Yet the astonishing wisdom of St. Maximos the Confessor goes even further. He does not merely tell us to endure the envious person. He tells us to protect him. This is extraordinarily difficult because envy is often irrational. It does not respond to logic because it was not born of logic. At times love requires us to conceal what would unnecessarily inflame another’s weakness, not because the passion is justified, but because the person is precious. We do not accommodate sin; we make every reasonable effort to prevent a brother from being consumed by it. This requires profound humility. It means surrendering the need always to be understood, always to defend ourselves, always to insist upon our rights. There are moments when charity quietly accepts misunderstanding if doing so protects a weaker soul from falling deeper into darkness. Such restraint is not weakness. It is cruciform love. Of course, there are limits. The Fathers never ask us to cooperate with falsehood or deprive many for the sake of one person’s passion. Truth remains truth. The common good must still be served. But within those boundaries, love willingly bears burdens that reason alone would reject. Perhaps this is one of the hardest lessons in the Christian life. Our responsibility is not merely to conquer our own passions but also to walk carefully enough that we do not become occasions for another’s destruction. We cannot heal another’s envy, but we can refuse to feed it. We cannot remove another’s guile, but we can answer it without becoming guileful ourselves. We cannot prevent every misunderstanding, but we can choose humility over self-vindication whenever love allows. The spiritual life is therefore not simply about becoming holy. It is about becoming safe. A heart purified by Christ becomes a place where others are not provoked toward darkness but quietly invited toward light. Such a soul examines every thought before believing it, every word before speaking it, every action before defending it. It asks not only, “Is this true?” but also, “What will this produce in me and in my brother?” For every thought has a destination. Every hidden movement of the heart is already becoming tomorrow’s life. The wise Christian learns to discern the path while it is still only a whisper. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:28:19 James Hickman: No disagreement here, but sometimes I wonder why the elders don’t go and repent on her behalf or go preach to her or something named in the story. He’s just sad, it seems, that her soul is lost. But I think there must be more. 00:28:21 Forrest: The Greek has "lecherous men", not "dregs of humanity" 00:29:57 James Hickman: Yes, that makes sense. 00:31:41 Danny Moulton: St. Jghn Chrysostom had a lot to say about the theater. Apparently there were also alot of theater goers back then. 00:37:27 Julie: It’s like as if death we regard as far off or spend our time planning for this life and not as much or more for our souls destiny 00:40:44 Danny Moulton: Does God sometimes use big egos to create things of great beauty that serves generations of the faithful? I'm think of some of the great classical artists/ sculptors, but it might be other things like certain lasting institutions. I hope they all had loe of God, but ego seemed to play a large role for some of them. 00:43:06 James Hickman: The artist’s art seems to reveal the interior life that might be hidden on the surface by a man’s rough edges 00:43:28 Kathryn Rose: Reacted to "The artist’s art ..." with ❤️ 00:44:08 Julie: Like Caravaggio 00:44:36 James Hickman: Chiesa Nuova 00:45:14 Julie: I can’t turn camera around 00:46:16 John ‘Jack’: St Hildegard was known as quite an artist 00:47:48 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 42, A. 00:56:02 James Hickman: Re: secret contempt for your brother: My friends said they put all their kids in the same bedroom to force them to deal with their emotions. They can’t just storm back to their own bedroom when frustrated. The kids learn to process and forgive/ask forgiveness. It made me think of the Rule of St. Benedict having all the monks sleep in the same dormitory. 00:57:19 Danny Moulton: Sons of THunder 01:03:53 Danny Moulton: actually referring to the snoring 01:04:12 James Hickman: Reacted to "actually referring to the snoring" with 😅 01:08:45 James Hickman: Yes on the family!! 01:15:17 Forrest: The Greek "object of their envy" προτέρημά is not limited to material things. It can mean any advantage, or virtue, even. 01:15:20 Catherine Opie: So would one encourage them to celebrate the success of others? 01:20:28 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:20:48 Catherine Opie: Thank you sorry for the tech issues my end

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

Jul 701:01:56Tap to summarize

The Christian life is not first the struggle to become better people, but the gradual unveiling of what we have already become through Christ. We have been fashioned to be the dwelling place of the living God. Every act of repentance, every hidden prayer, every battle against the passions, every tear shed in sincerity serves this one purpose: that the heart might become a temple in which God delights to dwell. For St. Isaac, holiness is never an end in itself. He does not call us to a perfection rooted in fear or spiritual achievement, but to the purification of the heart so that it may receive the divine Guest. As one cleans and adorns a sanctuary before the arrival of a beloved friend, so we are called to cleanse the inner chamber of the soul through humility, watchfulness, and prayer. The goal is always communion. God does not seek servants who merely obey Him outwardly; He desires children whose hearts have become His resting place. Seen in this light, repentance is transformed. It is no longer the anxious rehearsal of failures, nor the despairing gaze of one consumed by guilt. It is learning to see life beneath the light of eternity. Isaac continually asks us to remember that we will one day stand before Christ, not because he wishes to frighten us, but because only in that light do we begin to understand what truly endures. The honors we pursued, the comforts we clung to, and the anxieties that consumed us will all pass away. What remains is love. Whom did we comfort? Whom did we forgive? For whose sake did we endure hardship? Into whose hands did we entrust our heart? These are the questions that reveal whether we have already begun to live in the Kingdom. This vision gives extraordinary dignity to the hidden life. Every unnoticed act of patience, every quiet sacrifice, every refusal to judge another, every secret prayer offered for the world becomes part of the adornment of the temple. The soul is gradually made spacious enough for God. Holiness is formed less by extraordinary deeds than by thousands of small acts of fidelity that no one but Christ may ever see. Perhaps nowhere does Isaac’s tenderness appear more clearly than in his understanding of tears. He knows that true repentance cannot be manufactured. We cannot force ourselves to feel sorrow, nor produce compunction by sheer effort. Even repentance is a gift. Therefore the heart finally prays with complete honesty: “I have no repentance. I have no tears. My heart has grown cold.” Such a confession is itself the beginning of healing, for it abandons every illusion of self-sufficiency. The soul no longer presents achievements to God, but poverty. And this poverty becomes the place where grace quietly enters. The prayer that follows reveals the very heart of the Gospel. Every wound of Christ becomes healing for our wounds. His Passion heals our passions. His Blood purifies our corruption. His Cross raises the mind that has been dragged downward by sin. His pierced hands lift us from the abyss into communion with the Father. Salvation is not merely the forgiveness of sins but the gradual healing and transfiguration of our entire humanity through participation in the life of the crucified and risen Christ. This is why Isaac never leaves us gazing at ourselves. Even after the deepest self-examination, he directs every thought toward Christ. The purpose of seeing our poverty is not discouragement but desire. We discover our need so that we may discover the inexhaustible mercy of God. The deeper the wound is known, the more wondrous the Physician appears. In the end, the Christian life is astonishingly simple. We become what we behold. We learn to welcome Christ into every corner of the heart until His presence becomes our peace, His humility our strength, His tears our repentance, His love our very life. Then the promise of the Apostle is fulfilled. The temple is no longer empty. The cloud of divine glory overshadows the soul, the light of Christ quietly dawns within, and the heart discovers the joy for which it was created from the beginning: to become the dwelling place of the living God. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:03:48 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/philokalia-ministries-summer-retreat 00:09:56 susan: US plays at 8 tonight I will miss the first part to hear you Father 00:10:58 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/philokalia-ministries-summer-retreat 00:19:48 David Swiderski, WI: Does anyone have the page I was on vacation near Lake Superior last week and forgot my book. 00:32:02 Kate: Could you explain what he means by “words which give rest to your God…” 00:33:26 David Swiderski, WI: I am reminded of something my Grandfather used to say revelation did not stop 2000 years ago it occurs everyday, in every person, we meet every moment and each day we are called to learn to reach for the divine. 00:38:15 Julie: These passages feel like the most beautiful tools to awaken in us how to get closer to what God wants from us…all love, to see our unworthiness our wretched selves 00:39:03 John ‘Jack’: I find the more I feel “touched by God” or have a God moment, the less I can share it, because I KNOW what I’ve experienced, and if I share it with another that hasn’t it is often lost on them and o find myself somehow disappointed at the lack of communion over the moment. 00:42:18 John ‘Jack’: Replying to "I find the more I feel “touched by God” or have a God moment, the less I can share it, because I KNOW what I’ve experienced, and if I share it with another that hasn’t it is often lost on them and o find myself somehow disappointed at the lack of communion over the moment." I keep a LOT to myself now 00:44:35 David Swiderski, WI: This is so true one can't really explain in language the love for their children, loved ones without it seeming transactional to others. Even the northern lights one can't explain without experiencing them sometimes it is best to just leave it vague it shines, awesome, amazing. 00:48:25 Erick Chastain: So that works by love of Christ? Or how does it work? 00:48:41 Erick Chastain: (The passion curing our passions) 00:49:02 David Swiderski, WI: Father I had been reading a lot on the meditation of the 5 wounds in fact this is on every altar, the Jerusalem cross when did this tradition go away. I have been trying to take on this practice on Fridays in adoration 00:53:50 David Swiderski, WI: https://www.fisheaters.com/5wounds.html 00:54:42 David Swiderski, WI: Once I started doing it I had to buy a new crucifix. ha ha 00:56:17 David Swiderski, WI: Even some of the wounds have disappeared in modern art. I love the Latin American versions very expressive in churches 00:59:46 Maureen Cunningham: Shoulder Of Christ from carrying the cross 01:12:48 David Swiderski, WI: I have realized in the past few years my efforts still lead to faults it is only begging let me love you more that grace seems to come and while I cherish it I know I am full of faults daily.. I just keep the hand outstretched hoping to be more than I am. 01:14:22 John ‘Jack’: Reacted to "I have realized in the past few years my efforts still lead to faults it is only begging let me love you more that grace seems to come and while I cherish it I know I am full of faults daily.. I just keep the hand outstretched hoping to be more than I am." with 👍 01:16:50 David Swiderski, WI: Every morning rise with gratitude and thanks giving and every night with asking for forgiveness for any faults and humility. Day by day. 01:17:14 Jesssica Imanaka: Reacted to "Every morning rise w..." with 👍 01:17:15 David Swiderski, WI: Another saying from Grandpa Fabro 01:19:41 Maureen Cunningham: Thank you 01:20:17 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:20:22 Bob Čihák, AZ: Bless you and love you, Father. 01:20:23 Janine: Thank you Father 01:20:27 Rachel: Thank you 01:20:29 David Swiderski, WI: Thank you Father may God bless you Ren and your mother 01:20:29 Jesssica Imanaka: Thank you, Father!

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Nazareth and The Hidden Life, Session Four

Jun 3001:53:24Tap to summarize

Nazareth and the Hidden Life Retreat Reflection IV The Hidden Life and the Healing of Desire Epigraph “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” — St. Matthew 5:8 “Paradise is the love of God.” — Saint Isaac the Syrian ⸻ At the center of every human life there is desire. Not simply desire for pleasure, though pleasure is part of it. Not simply desire for comfort, recognition, intimacy, or meaning. Deeper still there is a longing for communion. The human person was created not merely to exist, but to participate in divine life. We are beings fashioned for relationship, for love, for beauty, for self- offering, for union with God. The fathers understand this with tremendous seriousness. Human desire is not treated by them as something shameful in itself. Desire belongs to our creation in the image of God. The tragedy is not that we desire. The tragedy is that desire has become fragmented. This fragmentation lies beneath so much of modern suffering. People hunger endlessly yet do not know for what they hunger. They seek intimacy yet fear vulnerability. They seek pleasure yet remain restless afterward. They seek visibility yet feel unseen. They seek stimulation yet become emotionally numb. They seek escape yet remain inwardly trapped. 1 The modern world intensifies this confusion constantly because it trains desire outward continually. We are surrounded by invitations to consume: images, experiences, identities, bodies, possessions, attention, recognition. The soul gradually becomes dispersed among countless impulses and fantasies. Desire loses depth because it no longer knows how to remain still long enough to encounter its true object. And thus many people experience life as a continual cycle of longing and disappointment. The fathers would say that the heart has forgotten where it belongs. This is why purity of heart is so important in the Christian tradition. Purity does not mean emotional sterility or repression. It means the gradual healing and reunification of desire. The pure heart becomes capable once more of seeing rightly because it is no longer divided continually among competing passions. Christ reveals this purity perfectly. And astonishingly, He reveals it first not through miracles or preaching, but through the hidden life of Nazareth. This matters deeply. The hidden years reveal desire completely at rest within the will of the Father. Christ does not grasp at visibility. He does not seek identity through recognition. He does not consume experience in order to feel alive. He remains rooted entirely within communion. This is why the silence of Nazareth possesses such healing power. Modern humanity suffers from exhaustion partly because desire has become detached from communion. We seek endlessly yet remain inwardly unsatisfied because the heart cannot be nourished by consumption alone. Human beings were created not for endless stimulation but for participation in divine love. 2 And yet the modern person often no longer knows how to receive love except through fantasy, control, performance, or emotional intensity. This distortion affects every dimension of life: relationships, sexuality, prayer, work, friendship, even the way we imagine God. Many people secretly approach God Himself through the logic of performance. We imagine we must construct a spiritual identity worthy of love. We attempt to secure ourselves through achievement, moral success, productivity, usefulness, or emotional experiences. Even repentance can become subtly performative. But Nazareth dismantles these illusions slowly. The hidden Christ reveals a form of existence rooted not in self-construction but in communion. He does not need to prove Himself continually because His identity rests entirely in the Father. And this freedom allows Him to remain hidden peacefully. This exposes something painful within ourselves. Much of our restlessness comes from trying continually to establish ourselves apart from communion with God. The ego seeks to secure existence through: recognition, desire, admiration, sexual validation, success, spiritual intensity, or being needed by others. But none of these finally heal the heart because the deepest human longing is not for self-expansion but for union. This is why the saints become increasingly peaceful. Not because desire disappears. But because desire becomes purified. 3 The fragmented heart slowly becomes whole. This purification usually unfolds through hidden struggle rather than dramatic experiences. The fathers speak continually about watchfulness because they understand that the battle occurs largely within attention and desire itself. Thoughts arise. Fantasies emerge. Memories awaken passions. The imagination drifts continually toward self-protection, possession, resentment, vanity, lust, and fear. And the person slowly learns: not hatred of desire, but discernment. The ascetical life is therefore not rejection of humanity. It is the healing of humanity. Fasting teaches desire not to rule tyrannically. Silence teaches desire to listen. Prayer teaches desire to remain before God. Hiddenness weakens the craving for recognition. Repentance heals the fragmentation caused by shame. Love slowly restores communion. All of this unfolds gradually. Modern people often become discouraged because they expect immediate transformation. We want healing quickly. We want prayer to become easy. We want temptation to disappear. We want certainty. But the fathers describe purification as long, hidden, patient work. And much of this work occurs precisely within ordinary life. This is another revelation of Nazareth. Christ heals human existence not only through dramatic moments but through daily hidden fidelity. The years of ordinary labor are not spiritually empty. The hidden life itself becomes salvific because Christ fills ordinary existence with divine presence. And perhaps this is where many souls begin finally to breathe again. When they realize that holiness is not primarily the construction of an extraordinary spiritual identity. 4 It is communion. The mother caring for an aging parent. The monk remaining faithfully in dryness. The husband learning patience slowly. The woman enduring hidden loneliness without bitterness. The person returning quietly to prayer after failure. The exhausted soul continuing simply to offer small acts of love. All of this belongs to the hidden life of Christ. This does not romanticize suffering or ordinary life. Nazareth was not sentimental. Hiddenness can feel humiliating. Repetition can feel empty. Desire does not become purified without struggle. The false self resists relinquishment continually. And yet beneath this struggle something beautiful slowly emerges: the heart begins to simplify. One no longer needs constant stimulation. One no longer seeks identity through performance so desperately. One becomes more capable of silence, presence, attention, gratitude, and tenderness. The soul begins slowly to recover the capacity to behold. This is profoundly important because modern life trains us primarily to consume. We look quickly, use quickly, discard quickly. The gaze itself becomes restless and acquisitive. But the pure heart learns another way of seeing: reverently, patiently, eucharistically. Persons cease to become objects. Ordinary moments cease to feel disposable. Even suffering becomes capable of communion. And perhaps this is ultimately what Nazareth reveals: 5 that salvation is not escape from human life but the transfiguration of human life from within. Christ enters ordinary existence fully in order to heal desire at its roots. Not by destroying longing, but by leading longing home. For the deepest hunger of the human heart is not finally for pleasure, recognition, intensity, or even relief from suffering. It is for God. And every fragmented desire is ultimately healed only when the soul begins once more to rest in Him.

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Nazareth and The Hidden Life, Session Three

Jun 3001:41:39Tap to summarize

Nazareth and the Hidden Life Retreat Reflection III The Silence of Nazareth and the False Self Epigraph “He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause His voice to be heard in the street.” — Isaiah 42:2 “Go, sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything.” — Abba Moses the Black ⸻ One of the most frightening things about silence is that eventually it begins to tell the truth. At first silence feels peaceful to us because we imagine it as relief from noise, pressure, and obligation. We dream of quiet places, slower days, hidden monasteries, cabins in the woods, empty churches, long evenings without interruption. We imagine silence as rest. And sometimes it is. But if a person remains within silence long enough, another dimension begins to emerge. The distractions weaken. The constant stimulation subsides. The usual methods of self-maintenance no longer function in the same way. And gradually hidden things begin to surface: anxiety, fantasy, anger, loneliness, grief, resentment, compulsions, memories, self-hatred, and the deep fear of being nobody. This is why so many people flee silence almost immediately. 1 Not because they hate peace. But because silence exposes the instability of the self we have constructed. The fathers understood this profoundly. When the Desert Fathers speak about entering the cell, they are not romanticizing solitude. The cell is not merely a room. It is the place where illusions begin to collapse. A man enters silence expecting holiness and instead encounters himself. The hidden passions rise into consciousness. The noise within becomes audible. One begins to discover how fragmented the heart truly is. And yet the fathers insist: remain there. Do not flee. Do not panic. Do not construct a new image of yourself. Do not despair. Remain. Modern humanity finds this extraordinarily difficult because we live in an age almost entirely organized around avoiding interior exposure. Noise surrounds us constantly. Even solitude has become saturated with stimulation. A person can sit alone for hours without ever truly entering silence because the mind remains flooded with images, conversations, music, scrolling, distraction, fantasy, and self-construction. The modern self is rarely still enough to encounter itself honestly. And this has profound spiritual consequences because much of what we call “identity” is actually performance. We learn gradually to create versions of ourselves for different audiences: competent selves, religious selves, intellectual selves, desirable selves, successful selves, helpful selves, wounded selves, 2 special selves. Some of these identities become so deeply ingrained that we no longer recognize them as constructions. We experience them instead as who we are. But silence threatens these structures. This is one reason hidden life feels so unsettling. The ego survives partly through reflection from others. We know ourselves through response, recognition, affirmation, usefulness, accomplishment, attention, and comparison. Hiddenness interrupts these reinforcements. The false self begins to weaken because fewer mirrors remain available to sustain it. And this weakening often feels initially like death. A person may enter a quieter life expecting peace and instead encounter profound restlessness: the urge continually to check, to speak, to explain oneself, to seek affirmation, to fantasize, to escape, to become visible again somehow. The fathers would not be surprised by this. They knew that much human activity functions defensively. We remain busy not only because life requires labor, but because movement protects us from encountering our deeper poverty. Constant activity allows the ego to preserve itself through usefulness and distraction. Nazareth dismantles this slowly. The hidden Christ remains almost entirely outside visibility. He does not announce Himself continually. He does not seek recognition. He does not construct identity through public affirmation. The silence of Nazareth becomes a revelation of divine humility itself. This is deeply threatening to the ego because the ego wants to secure existence through visibility. To be unseen feels almost like annihilation. 3 This is especially true in modern technological culture where visibility itself has become a form of psychological survival. Many people now experience themselves largely through presentation. Identity becomes increasingly externalized: how one appears, how one is perceived, how one performs, how one is received. And thus silence becomes terrifying because it removes the external reinforcement through which the self remains stabilized. The fathers call us into something radically different. Not the destruction of personality. Not emotional emptiness. Not passivity. But the gradual surrender of the false self built upon performance, fantasy, comparison, and self-construction. This surrender is painful because the false self often develops precisely to protect vulnerability. Human beings construct identities partly to avoid shame, helplessness, rejection, and dependency. The ego creates structures through which the person feels more secure, more admirable, more protected from exposure. But these structures also isolate us. One cannot truly love while continually performing. Nor can one encounter God deeply while remaining hidden behind spiritual self- constructions. This is why the saints become so simple. Not simplistic. Simple. The fragmentation gradually diminishes. The inner divisions weaken. One no longer needs continually to present oneself, justify oneself, or maintain identity 4 through performance. There emerges instead a quieter, poorer, more transparent way of existing before God. The path toward this simplicity is rarely dramatic. Usually it unfolds through hidden humiliations. The failure that exposes our weakness. The years that dismantle our fantasies. The obscurity that wounds vanity. The prayer that feels empty. The relationships that reveal our selfishness. The repetitive duties that strip away grandiosity. The hidden life that slowly confronts us with ourselves. This is why Nazareth matters so profoundly. Christ enters fully into hidden existence without resistance. He consents to ordinariness. He consents to gradualness. He consents to years that appear outwardly uneventful. The eternal Logos lives within silence, labor, family life, repetition, and obscurity. And in doing so, He sanctifies the very places where the ego most resists dying. Many people secretly believe holiness should feel emotionally elevated or spiritually impressive. But often the deeper work of God feels instead like simplification. One becomes less dramatic internally. Less fascinated with oneself. Less dependent upon emotional intensity. Less driven by comparison. Less hungry to secure identity through being exceptional. This can feel disappointing initially because the ego experiences simplification as diminishment. But in reality it is liberation. The soul slowly discovers the freedom of no longer needing to construct itself continually before others. This is why the fathers speak so highly of hiddenness. Not because hiddenness itself is magical, but because hiddenness deprives the ego of many of its usual methods of self-preservation. The soul gradually learns to exist more directly before God rather than through performance. 5 And perhaps this is one reason modern people find ordinary hidden life so difficult: it confronts us with the terrifying possibility that we are loved not because we are impressive, visible, productive, or extraordinary, but simply because God is merciful. That kind of love dismantles the false self completely. For if I do not need to earn existence through performance, if I do not need to secure myself continually through recognition, if I do not need to become extraordinary in order to matter, then I can begin at last simply to remain before God truthfully. This is the silence of Nazareth. Not emptiness. Not absence. Communion without spectacle. And perhaps the hidden years of Christ reveal that the deepest transformation often occurs not when we become extraordinary, but when we finally stop trying to save ourselves through the images we construct.

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

Jun 3001:11:10Tap to summarize

The Fathers understood something that we have almost entirely forgotten: very few souls fall suddenly. Almost every great collapse begins with something so small that it escapes notice—a hidden expectation, a wounded pride, an unspoken resentment, an interior complaint, a passing judgment, or a thought left unchallenged. What appears insignificant is often the first movement of the heart away from God. This is why the Evergetinos spends so much time speaking about ordinary conversations, simple requests, disappointments, misunderstandings, and the countless interactions that make up our days. We imagine that holiness is determined by extraordinary moments. The Fathers insist that it is determined by the invisible disposition we carry into ordinary ones. How revealing it is that they tell us to prepare ourselves before asking another person for something. Not merely to think about what we will say, but to prepare ourselves interiorly for the possibility of hearing “no.” They know that disappointment is often less dangerous than the thoughts that follow it. “He doesn’t care about me.” “I would have helped him.” “Why am I always treated this way?” Within moments the imagination begins weaving a story that has little to do with reality and everything to do with our passions. We assign motives. We judge hearts. We nurture resentment. We quietly withdraw from love. Yet the Elder teaches something almost scandalously simple: perhaps the person cannot help you. Perhaps he truly needs what you requested. Perhaps God did not permit it because it would not benefit you. How rarely we allow such thoughts to enter our minds. Instead, we become advocates for ourselves and prosecutors of everyone else. The Fathers would say that this is how hell begins—not with hatred, but with interpretation. The same honesty is demanded when we ourselves possess what another seeks. If we truly need it, we should simply say so. If we deny our need out of pride, wanting to appear detached, generous, or spiritually advanced, then we are to return and confess our deception immediately. How foreign this is to us. We carefully manage impressions. We curate virtue. We protect the image of ourselves we hope others will admire. The Elder is interested in none of this. Better an embarrassing confession than a hidden lie. Better humility than reputation. One heals the heart. The other slowly poisons it. Even more searching is the teaching on scandal. We often imagine scandal to consist only in dramatic moral failures. The Fathers understand something much subtler. We become occasions of stumbling every time our pride, impatience, sarcasm, coldness, gossip, or self-importance weakens another’s courage or burdens another’s heart. How many souls leave communities not because doctrine failed them, but because charity did. How many people stop praying because Christians made God appear severe rather than merciful. How many children quietly abandon faith after years of watching resentment flourish beneath religious language. We rarely recognize how much weight our ordinary demeanor carries. Then comes one of the most astonishing scenes in all of the Evergetinos. A courtesan passes before a gathering of bishops. Most lower their eyes in horror at her immodesty. Bishop Nonnos does not deny her sin, but he sees beyond it. Instead of condemning her, he condemns himself. He sees a woman who labors tirelessly to beautify what will perish. He sees himself neglecting what will live forever. The others saw an object of judgment. He saw a mirror. That is the difference between a proud heart and a purified one. The proud heart encounters every person asking, “What is wrong with them?” The humble heart asks, “Lord, what are You showing me about myself?” This single movement changes everything. The proud leave every conversation confirmed in their righteousness. The humble leave every encounter more repentant, more grateful, and more compassionate. Perhaps this is why the saints become incapable of condemning others. They are simply too occupied by the work God is accomplishing within their own hearts. The tragedy of our age is not merely that we sin openly. It is that we have become almost completely unaware of these hidden movements within us. We speak carelessly. We assume motives. We interpret silence. We cultivate grievances. We justify irritation. We rehearse conversations that never happened. We allow passing thoughts to become settled convictions. And then we wonder why peace disappears. The Fathers would tell us to return to the beginning—to the very first thought. Guard that. Question that. Humble that. For the first movement of the heart is often the only place where the battle can still be won. Once the thought is welcomed, entertained, defended, and repeated, it gradually becomes our character. The Kingdom of God and the kingdom of darkness both begin there—in the hidden places where no one but God can see. --- 00:05:30 Janine: Hello Father! 00:05:47 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/philokalia-ministries-summer-retreat 00:05:57 Janine: I’m fine! Isn’t your birthday soon! 00:06:43 Janine: Yes…the older the faster! Me too Mrs A! 00:07:28 Janine: Yes…the retreats are so essential now! 00:08:20 Janine: No….not at all! We all look forward to it and I’m sorry when it ends 00:08:35 Janine: So it was great you announced the next! 00:09:52 Janine: That is perfect for me…I started the Jesus prayer NOV 2022 00:10:00 Janine: I wrote it down 00:10:23 Janine: No….i wrote when I started it 00:10:57 Janine: It was after I reread The Way of the Pilgrim 00:11:25 Janine: It was the third time and it suddenly spoke it me 00:13:41 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/philokalia-ministries-summer-retreat 00:14:11 Janine: There is a young man in our church in Watervliet NY who has spent time at your monastery…apparently he is going to visit again soon… 00:15:24 Janine: basil Gutch 00:16:01 Janine: I just found this out…his dad is our Deacon…. 00:16:11 Janine: Ukrainian Catholic Church 00:16:44 James Hickman: This might be old news, but Audible now has several recordings of Fr. Zacharias Zacharou’s books available. 00:17:21 una: You can also listen on YouTube, "Athonite Audio" 00:18:08 una: It 00:18:11 Janine: Athonite has so so many good talks 00:18:12 una: It is great! 00:18:18 Janine: I listen all the time 00:18:27 una: Me too! 00:18:49 una: The latest for me is The Angelic Life by Fr. Ephraim of Arizona 00:20:44 Anna: Glory forever! 00:22:33 Joseph Muir: Is the volume level all over the place yet consistently low for anyone else, or just me?😫 00:23:47 Forrest: Replying to "Is the volume level all over the place yet consistently low for anyone else, or just me?😫" OK for me. 00:23:58 Janine: Replying to "Is the volume level all over the place yet consistently low for anyone else, or just me?😫" Ok here too 00:26:51 Julie: Can asking be feeding our ego 01:10:55 Julie: How do you make them captive 01:15:47 Anthony Rago: There has got to be a way to appreciate human and human-made beauty, while decoupling it from concupiscence. 01:21:34 James Hickman: Is there anythi...

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

Jun 3001:03:08Tap to summarize

One of the most striking characteristics of St. Isaac’s writings is that he never asks us to renounce the world because the world is evil. Rather, he continually places before us something infinitely more beautiful. He speaks so often of the sweetness of communion with God, the boldness of prayer, the radiance of divine light, and the immeasurable mercy of Christ that worldly pleasures gradually lose their attraction by comparison. For Isaac, the spiritual life is not sustained by fear but by love. Yet because he knows the human heart so well, he also warns us with remarkable honesty. The heart is changeable. We imagine ourselves steadfast, yet we are easily drawn away. A single hour of distraction can cool the warmth of prayer. Idle conversation, endless amusement, frivolity, curiosity, and the restless pursuit of novelty slowly scatter the attention that had been gathered before God. This is why the anonymous elder can say that when he lives in stillness, his hunger diminishes, his prayer becomes bold, and his soul delights in the divine light. But after only a brief conversation, he immediately notices the change. His appetite increases, his rule weakens, and the clarity of prayer fades. Isaac is not describing a rule. He is describing a law of the heart. Whatever fills the mind eventually governs the heart. Our own age makes his words even more urgent. We no longer need companions to distract us. We carry distraction in our pockets. We wake to it and fall asleep with it. News, entertainment, endless commentary, social media, notifications, and perpetual noise have become so ordinary that many no longer recognize how profoundly they shape the soul. We often wonder why prayer feels difficult while rarely questioning the thousands of impressions that fill our imagination throughout the day. The demons need not persuade us to abandon Christ outright. They need only keep us endlessly occupied. This is why Isaac joins stillness to humility. The deepest obstacle to prayer is not simply noise but pride. Pride always seeks stimulation because it continually seeks itself. Humility, however, is content to disappear. It has no need to be seen, entertained, admired, or constantly occupied. The humble heart finds its rest in God alone. For this reason Isaac’s final exhortation is so beautiful. He does not tell us merely to become more disciplined. He tells us to imitate the humility of Christ. Christ Himself entered silence, accepted obscurity, embraced poverty, endured misunderstanding, and descended into the deepest humiliation out of love for the Father and for us. Only that same humility can preserve the fire of divine love within us. The Christian life is therefore not primarily about giving things up. It is about guarding a flame. Every choice either shelters that flame or exposes it to the winds of distraction. Every act of recollection gathers the heart toward God; every needless dissipation scatters it again. Isaac continually returns us to this single question: What helps the heart remain before God? Everything that deepens humility, stillness, repentance, and love should be embraced. Everything that leaves the heart agitated, distracted, self-absorbed, or spiritually numb should be gently but resolutely laid aside. In the end, the goal is wonderfully simple. To become so captivated by the beauty of Christ that nothing in this passing world seems worth exchanging for His presence. The one thing necessary is not found by striving after extraordinary experiences, but by quietly protecting the heart in which Christ has chosen to dwell. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:35 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 208 paragraph 18 00:56:00 Aaron: To be honest, this seems difficult for me to grasp, given how easily a person like myself may be carried away by the concerns and distractions of the world. When God is remembered, things appear clearer; when that remembrance fades, even passing matters can begin to seem important, and the One Thing necessary is easily forgotten. How might this be lived out by those in the laity while fulfilling their responsibilities in the world? 00:56:30 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "To be honest, this s..." with 👍 00:56:41 Erick Chastain: The humility of christ does he speak about ways one might best imitate this? 00:56:48 Julie: A stumbling block for other, can you give me an example Father.. 00:57:28 Ryan Ngeve: Father how does one force themselves to “imitate the humility of Christ “ 01:04:46 una: Can you talk about daydreams? 01:05:47 una: I'm a fiction writer. In a way, daydreams are part of this work. What's the difference? 01:06:23 Julie: Reacted to "A stumbling block for other, can you give me an example Father.." with 🙏 01:09:42 Larry Ruggiero: Sometimes when it’s not working like I thought it would I just go before God in silence and the prayer flows at times and at other times I only get credit for showing up. 01:11:08 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "Sometimes when it’s ..." with 🙏 01:12:52 Julie: That’s so beautiful ❤️ 01:13:12 Aaron: How might one find balance between the fear of God and seriousness of sin on one hand, and trust in His mercy and forgiveness on sincere repentance on the other, without falling into despair or presumption? It can feel like two ends of a scale that keep swinging back and forth, making it hard to understand how both belong together. 01:13:13 Sr Barbara Jean Mihalchick: jn The Jesus Prayer helps with this 01:14:36 Julie: Reacted to "jn The Jesus Prayer helps with this" with 🙏 01:15:21 Maureen Cunningham: Help of Holy Spirit 01:18:32 James Hickman: His name really does heal 01:20:09 Sr Barbara Jean Mihalchick: There is an article or booklet with the title "the Power of the Name" that is powerful 01:20:30 Sr Barbara Jean Mihalchick: I think it's by the Monk of the Eastern church 01:20:34 Aaron: Reacted to "There is an article or booklet with the title "the Power of the Name" that is powerful" with 👍 01:20:51 James Hickman: Yes, please!! 01:22:08 Maureen Cunningham: Blessing thank you 01:22:10 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:22:12 Bob Čihák, AZ: Thank you, and bless you, Father! 01:22:21 Aaron: Thank you father! 01:22:56 David Swiderski: Thank you Father may God bless Ren and her husband, you , your mother and this group 01:23:16 James Hickman: Which Zachary Zacharou book on the Jesus Prayer were you referencing?

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

Jun 3001:04:16Tap to summarize

The Fathers place before us a vision of the human person that is almost unbearable in its simplicity and demands. We do not live with others because we have learned techniques of communication or conflict resolution. We can live with others only to the degree that we fear God and have begun to see all men as one. This is why the Elder says that if we remembered how Lot was saved because he condemned no one, we could live even among wild beasts. The greatest beasts are often not around us but within us: our judgments, our suspicions, our secret comparisons, our readiness to define another by his weaknesses. We imagine that our difficulties with others arise from their faults. The Fathers suggest something far more painful—that we cannot live with others because we have not yet learned to love them. Judgment begins in the mind long before it reaches the lips. St. Ephraim is remarkably precise: “Do not disparage a layman in your mind.” We may preserve an outward courtesy while inwardly diminishing another. We may smile while secretly placing ourselves above them. Yet the Lord alone knows the secrets of the heart. Every judgment is, in some measure, an attempt to occupy God’s place. The Elder who struggled for twenty years to see all men as one reveals something essential about holiness. The spiritual life is not an effort to become extraordinary. It is the gradual dismantling of every illusion of separateness. The one before me is not an interruption of my life, nor an obstacle to my peace, nor an object for my evaluation. He is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. His wound is my wound. His weakness is my weakness. His salvation and mine are mysteriously intertwined. From such a vision arises great care regarding scandal. The Fathers are astonishingly sensitive about harming another’s heart. They ask not merely, “Is this permissible?” but, “Will this burden my brother? Will this put troubling thoughts in his mind? Will this diminish his peace?” Love willingly limits itself for the sake of another’s weakness. At the same time, the Fathers teach us not to become scandalized ourselves. The Egyptian monks judged the brethren of Sketis because they saw them eating hungrily. They knew nothing of their ascetic labors. How often we do the same. We glimpse one action and construct an entire narrative around it. We see a person’s fatigue and call it laziness. We witness their weakness and imagine mediocrity. We know almost nothing, yet judge as though we know everything. Discernment requires humility. We do not excuse sin, but neither do we presume to know the secrets of another’s struggle. Love leaves room for mystery. It says quietly, “Perhaps there is a story here that I do not know.” The Fathers also insist that when we have harmed another, even unintentionally, we should hasten to bring peace to their heart. If our words or actions have troubled our brother, our concern is not our reputation, nor our fear of humiliation, but the healing of communion. We make a prostration because the wound of another cannot be regarded as someone else’s problem. We are one body. To see all men as one is to become incapable of contempt. It is to walk through life gently. It is to guard the minds of others from unnecessary burdens and to guard our own minds from suspicion and judgment. It is to honor every person for the Lord’s sake and to remember that each human being stands before God bearing hidden wounds, secret battles, and unspoken grief. Perhaps the struggle of twenty years described by the Elder is the work of an entire lifetime. Yet this is the path of the Kingdom: to become so united to Christ that we begin to look upon every human face and say, “This one, too, is my own.” --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:42 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 31 paragraph 37 End of Hypothesis II 00:44:23 James Hickman: “Wanted to put them at ease…” Nun Christina translates this line “Learning this, the presbyter sought to heal them.” The healing of discipline puts us at ease — the grace of humility will, it seems, remove us of the ailment of (or passion) of judgment, judging others. 00:47:32 James Hickman: The healing seems to have worked…”The Egyptians repented and left with joy, having been helped by the experience.” 00:53:56 Danny Moulton: I find it can also feel manipulative 00:54:44 Danny Moulton: right 01:05:31 James Hickman: The elder spoke boldly words of rebuke to the visiting monks from Scetis and those monks were healed by his stern correction. It was medicinal. 01:08:56 Forrest: Can I ask James Hickman how Nun Christina has translated these? The Greek word in the text is not παρρησία(FRANKNESS), but Ἐλευθερία (FREEDOM). And I think that shifts the meaning of this last one in particular. There was a previous hypothesis about Parrhesia. 01:09:33 James Hickman: Yes, boldness of speech has been translated by her as freedom the last few paragraphs 01:09:58 Forrest: Freedom seems more appropriate, to me. 01:12:49 John ‘Jack’: It would seem that if we TRULY spoke in love we should be free and bold in speech. 01:15:50 Julie: For me an example, I made scones at 9 pm for my husband, with cream and berry jam all layer out nicely, He ate said nothing walked away and I waited for his thanks 01:16:15 James Hickman: Reacted to "For me an example, I made scones at 9 pm for my husband, with cream and berry jam all layer out nicely, He ate said nothing walked away and I waited for his thanks" with ❤️ 01:16:19 John ‘Jack’: Reacted to "For me an example, I made scones at 9 pm for my husband, with cream and berry jam all layer out nicely, He ate said nothing walked away and I waited for his thanks" with 😒 01:16:27 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "For me an example, I..." with 😂 01:17:36 Bob Čihák, AZ: But can't women read minds, and men can't? 01:17:42 James Hickman: Reacted to "But can't women read minds, and men can't?" with 😂 01:18:04 John ‘Jack’: Reacted to "But can't women read minds, and men can't?" with 😂 01:18:05 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "But can't women read..." with 🤯 01:18:51 Bob Čihák, AZ: Reacted to "But can't women read minds, and men can't?" with 😂 01:18:59 Bob Čihák, AZ: Reacted to "But can't women read minds, and men can't?" with 🤯 01:19:03 Julie: Reacted to "But can't women read minds, and men can't?" with 🙏 01:19:42 Nypaver Clan: We just have eyes in the back of our heads. 👀 01:20:03 Bob Čihák, AZ: Reacted to "We just have eyes in the back of our heads. 👀" with 👍 01:20:11 James Hickman: I definitely needed the other translation to grasp that freedom was meant in this context to see that he’s talking about conversing 01:20:30 James Hickman: Reacted to "We just have eyes in the back of our heads. 👀" with 😂 01:21:05 Maureen Cunningham: Thank You 01:21:54 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:22:04 Joan Chakonas: Fastest hour of the day

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The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter V, Part II, VI, and VII, Part I

The Name Above Every Name, Conference One

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

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

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

Nazareth and The Hidden Life, Session Four

Nazareth and The Hidden Life, Session Three

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

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

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

Philokalia Ministries

All episodes

The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter V, Part II, VI, and VII, Part I

The Name Above Every Name, Conference One

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

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

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

Nazareth and The Hidden Life, Session Four

Nazareth and The Hidden Life, Session Three

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

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

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