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Philokalia Ministries

Father David Abernethy

Philokalia Ministries is the fruit of 30 years spent at the feet of the Fathers of the Church. Led by Father David Abernethy, Philokalia (Philo: Love of the Kalia: Beautiful) Ministries exists to re-form hearts and minds according to the mold of the Desert Fathers through the ascetic life, the example of the early Saints, the way of stillness, prayer, and purity of heart, the practice of the Jesus Prayer, and spiritual reading. Those who are involved in Philokalia Ministries - the podcasts, videos, social media posts, spiritual direction and online groups - are exposed to writings that make up the ancient, shared spiritual heritage of East and West: The Ladder of Divine Ascent, Saint Augustine, the Philokalia, the Conferences of Saint John Cassian, the Ascetical Homilies of Saint Isaac the Syrian, and the Evergetinos. In addition to these, more recent authors and writings, which draw deeply from the well of the desert, are read and discussed: Lorenzo Scupoli, Saint Theophan the Recluse, anonymous writings from Mount Athos, the Cloud of Unknowing, Saint John of the Cross, Thomas a Kempis, and many more.

Philokalia Ministries is offered to all, free of charge. However, there are real and immediate needs associated with it. You can support Philokalia Ministries with one-time, or recurring monthly donations, which are most appreciated. Your support truly makes this ministry possible. May Almighty God, who created you and fashioned you in His own Divine Image, restore you through His grace and make of you a true icon of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

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  • S8 · E73
    August 28 · 1 hr 7 min

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

    There is a sentence here from St. Isaac that overturns almost everything we are inclined to think about asceticism: You suppose these things were ordained simply to oblige you to labor. We imagine the vigil primarily as something difficult. Sleep is surrendered. The body is constrained. Psalms are prayed while the world sleeps. Nature protests and the monk remains standing before God. Looked at from the outside, it appears to be an extraordinary act of discipline. But Isaac tells us that if this is all we see, we have not yet understood the vigil. The question is not how much a man can endure for God. The question is what begins to happen within the heart of a man who desires God enough to seek Him in the night. Something is born there. This is why Isaac speaks so fiercely about the following day. The tragedy would not simply be that we failed in some ascetical rule. The tragedy would be that we received something precious and then lived carelessly enough to lose it. Seeking the One Who Has Already Come to Us The night vigil is born from desire. The monk rises because Someone is there. This is what distinguishes Christian asceticism from mere religious exertion. We are not trying to force our way toward an absent God. We are responding to the God who has already drawn near, already called us, already awakened desire within us. The Beloved has come seeking us. And eventually the heart begins seeking Him. There comes a moment in the spiritual life when prayer is no longer adequately described as obligation. The language of duty becomes too small. A man discovers within himself a hunger for silence because silence allows him to hear more clearly. He desires solitude because solitude removes the thousand competing claims upon his attention. He rises in the night because there are hours when the world has become quiet enough for the heart to recognize what it has always desired. Isaac knows this experience. This is why he speaks of Scripture as well. Reading is not merely preparation for prayer or the acquisition of religious knowledge. Scripture “sows” something within the soul. It gathers the scattered mind. It irrigates prayer. It plants the remembrance of God. It makes the understanding subtle enough to perceive things that previously escaped it. Scripture, silence, prayer, vigil—all begin converging upon the one thing necessary. Christ Himself. And once the heart begins to taste this, the whole ordering of life must change. The Day Must Become the Guardian of the Night Here Isaac becomes extraordinarily demanding. What sense is there, he asks, in sowing throughout the night only to scatter the seed during the day? We stand before God in darkness, struggling to gather the mind. Perhaps after a long while the thoughts settle. Something softens. The Name descends more deeply. Scripture opens itself in a way that cannot easily be explained. A stillness appears that we could never manufacture. Then morning comes. And we throw ourselves back into dispersion. Conversation. Curiosity. News. Opinions. Tasks that did not need to be done. Encounters that did not need to occur. Words that did not need to be spoken. The endless grazing of the mind among things. Isaac’s question is devastatingly simple: Why would you do this? Why labor through the night to gather what you willingly scatter during the day? This reveals something essential about the monastic heart. Vigil cannot be isolated from the rest of life. There cannot be one life before God and another life afterward. Isaac says that we must place “no wall of separation” between the night and the day. That phrase is astonishing. The stillness of the night is meant to flow into the day. The remembrance of God cultivated in darkness must become the hidden atmosphere in which we move beneath the light of the sun. The silence of the cell must follow us. The Name must remain near. Our encounters, our speech, our work, even the manner in which we allow ourselves to think must begin to be governed by one question: Will this help me remain with the One whom I have found? This is not narrowness. It is love. Love Makes a Man Careful When something becomes precious to us, we become careful around it. This perhaps explains Isaac’s asceticism better than almost anything else. The Fathers guard the senses because something precious has been entrusted to the heart. They guard speech because words can disturb what silence has gathered. They flee unnecessary encounters because the mind can quickly become populated by images, arguments, memories, anxieties, and judgments. They restrain curiosity because the heart cannot gaze simultaneously in every direction and remain simple before God. From outside, such a life may appear severe. From within, it is tenderness. A man in love does not experience every renunciation as deprivation. Some things simply become less interesting because something infinitely more beautiful has appeared. This is why the ascetical life is so counterintuitive. We ordinarily construct our days around what must be accomplished and then attempt to fit prayer somewhere within them. Isaac reverses the order. Order the day around what must not be lost. What if the most important thing that happened today occurred while the world was sleeping? What if the deepest work was not something we accomplished but the quiet gathering of the heart before God? What if the purpose of tomorrow were, in part, simply not to lose it? Then discernment changes. We begin asking not merely whether something is sinful, permissible, useful, interesting, or productive. We begin asking whether it preserves the heart’s capacity for God. This is a much more demanding question. “You Would Have Embraced Jesus’ Bosom” And then Isaac says something almost unbearably beautiful. Had the monk allowed his daytime life to correspond to the meditation of the night, had he placed no division between them, Isaac says that “in a short time you would have embraced Jesus’ bosom.” Here the entire meaning of vigil is unveiled. Not achievement. Not spiritual heroism. Not mastery over sleep. The bosom of Jesus. Communion. Intimacy. Rest in the Beloved. Everything else exists for this. We constrain ourselves because we desire freedom from everything that prevents love. We become silent because we desire to hear. We remain awake because we desire to see. We read because we desire the mind of Christ. We guard ourselves because we have discovered something worth guarding. Even the night itself becomes sacramental in this sense. The darkness strips things of their urgency. The machinery of the world slows. The identities we carry during the day become less important. There is less to perform and less to defend. There is simply the creature before the Creator. The beloved before the Beloved. And the Name. Lord Jesus Christ. The New Life Begins in the Night Isaac finally speaks of those who desire “knowledge of the new life.” That is what vigil opens before us. A new life. Not merely a more disciplined version of the old one. Perhaps this is why the call to stillness can become stronger rather than weaker as the spiritual life deepens. The field of vision narrows. Things once regarded as indispensable reveal themselves as secondary. Activities that once seemed important begin to feel strangely weightless. Even good works must find their proper place. Not because love has diminished. Because desire has become concentrated. One thing is necessary. The night teaches this with a clarity the day rarely permits. And so perhaps Isaac’s teaching on vigil reaches far beyond the question of how many hours we sleep. He is teaching us how to construct an entire life around the remembrance of God. Receive the night as gift. Read until the mind is gathered. Call upon the Name. Stand before God when nothing seems to be happening. Remain. And when something begins to awaken within you—some tenderness, some compunction, some clarity, some quiet awareness of the One who has been waiting for you—do not rush away from it. Guard it. Carry it into the morning. Let your speech become quieter because of it. Let your choices become simpler. Let unnecessary things fall away. Let the day itself become an extension of the vigil. For the purpose of the vigil was never simply that we should remain awake. It was that we should awaken. And having awakened, that we should refuse to return to sleep. The Fathers went into the night because they had begun to glimpse the astonishing truth hidden beneath all asceticism: God is worth seeking. God is worth waiting for. God is worth arranging an entire life around. And once the heart has begun to discover Him in the silence, wisdom consists largely in learning not to lose during the day what Love has given us in the night. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:21:49 Ambrose Little: It’s supposed to make your head hurt. 😄 00:23:34 Ryan Ngeve: Father could reading itself become a distraction from prayer 00:25:11 Maureen Cunningham: The :ight to mind 00:28:16 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 223, # 5, middle paragraph on page 00:37:28 Ben: Anna: My eldest daughter and I were chatting this morning and she remarked that some babies take longer to talk or walk if their parents are living in a constant state of stress, and it brought me to wondering how much a life of contemplative prayer would help parents to keep their peace in the midst of the trials that inevitably come. 00:41:46 Nypaver Clan: St. Charbel’s mother sang to him as a baby, “May he love fasting, may he love prayer….” 00:44:09 Nancy Pagan: Back then, raising my kids and doing my wifely chores of everyday life, while calling on the Lord constantly all day. at night by the time I sat alone to Practice, I didn’t have to search too much He was already there. However didn’t happen always. I apologize if this is confusing. 00:54:46 Julie: Father a retreat on night vigil would be great 00:57:39 jonathan: I always fell asleep during adoration, for some reason, the church has always been the most peaceful place on earth to nod off. Its like falling asleep on your parents lap. 00:59:59 jonathan: I am also guilty of falling asleep during these lessons, but no better way to fall asleep than listening to the words of the fathers. 01:01:57 Ben: Anna: Father Matteo Crawley-Boevey was promoting night adoration in the home for those not able to make it somewhere in a church. (My other question was answered by your answer to Julie) 01:07:33 Julie: So if Vigils are so pleasing to God we should be preparing our day around them for the graces receive during the day for our life and family how much more planting the seeds for the day 01:08:32 Erick Chastain: How do we deal with the effect of sleep deprivation from vigils on the increase in temptations? 01:10:06 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "How do we deal with the effect of sleep deprivation from vigils on the increase in temptations?" with 👍 01:10:32 David Swiderski: I used to get up every night to feed both of my son's. My oldest was a baby during the first Iraq war. It was amazing I didn't think about the news, or anything the house was quite and often felt it was the "between" time. The past day ended the next had not begun. They were some of my favorite moments and when I do vigil I feel the same as when I used to hold them close to God and Love. 01:11:09 Julie: Reacted to "I used to get up every night to feed both of my son's. My oldest was a baby during the first Iraq war. It was amazing I didn't think about the news, or anything the house was quite and often felt it was the "between" time. The past day ended the next had not begun. They were some of my favorite moments and when I do vigil I feel the same as when I used to hold them close to God and Love." with ❤️ 01:11:12 Eleana Urrego: Reacted to "I used to get up every night to feed both of my son's. My oldest was a baby during the first Iraq war. It was amazing I didn't think about the news, or anything the house was quite and often felt it was the "between" time. The past day ended the next had not begun. They were some of my favorite moments and when I do vigil I feel the same as when I used to hold them close to God and Love." with ❤️ 01:11:40 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "I used to get up every night to feed both of my son's. My oldest was a baby during the first Iraq war. It was amazing I didn't think about the news, or anything the house was quite and often felt it was the "between" time. The past day ended the next had not begun. They were some of my favorite moments and when I do vigil I feel the same as when I used to hold them close to God and Love." with ❤️ 01:13:58 Ben: Anna: When is a vigil a vigil? After 10pm? before 4am? Is getting up an hour early a vigil? 01:14:42 Jesssica Imanaka: Replying to "Anna: When is a vigi..." Great questions. Thanks! 01:18:19 David Swiderski: Thank you Father may God bless you, your mother, Ren and her Husband and everyone in this group. 01:18:29 jonathan: God bless father! 01:18:29 Jesssica Imanaka: Reacted to "Thank you Father may..." with ❤️ 01:18:29 Nancy Pagan: Thank U 01:18:30 Maureen Cunningham: Thank you 01:18:37 Nancy Pagan: Hehe

  • S6 · E252
    August 28 · 1 hr 6 min

    The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter IX, Part IV

    There is something almost frightening about the stories preserved for us in the Evergetinos. They are frightening not because they portray extraordinary wickedness, but because they reveal how quietly the heart can change. The monk described by Palladios is not a beginner. He is a man of profound silence and prayer, one who has surrendered himself so completely to God that even the necessities of his bodily life have been entrusted to Providence. His life has become contemplation. Prayer is his delight. God provides for him in a miraculous manner. He has tasted something of the life of the age to come. And yet the beginning of his fall is almost imperceptible. He sleeps a little longer. His prayer becomes somewhat shorter. His attention wanders. Earthly concerns begin to occupy a little more space within him. Thoughts once immediately rejected are permitted to remain for a moment. Nothing, at first, seems catastrophic. That is precisely the warning. The Fathers understood that the great falls of the spiritual life rarely begin as great falls. They begin with small permissions. Something formerly guarded carefully is treated casually. Something that once troubled the conscience is dismissed as insignificant. A thought is entertained rather than rejected. Prayer is postponed. Vigilance relaxes. A little comfort is allowed to become necessary. The heart whispers that such things hardly matter. But they matter because the heart matters. There is something extraordinarily precious hidden within the human person: the place of communion with God. The Fathers speak of guarding the heart so insistently because they know what has been entrusted to us. Grace has entered there. The Name has been received there. Desire for God has been awakened there. A fire has been kindled that does not originate in ourselves. The spiritual life, therefore, is not primarily the anxious avoidance of infractions. It is the guarding of a treasure. This changes how we understand vigilance. We do not guard ourselves because God is waiting to punish the smallest mistake. We guard ourselves because love is delicate. Communion can be obscured. Desire can cool. The eye of the heart can become clouded. What has become luminous through prayer can gradually become opaque again. The evil one understands this very well. He does not always attempt to tear a person immediately away from God. With someone who has given himself deeply to prayer, such an assault might be too obvious. Instead, he waits. He works through what appears negligible. A little negligence. A little self-confidence. A little relaxation of watchfulness. A thought that seems harmless enough to entertain. The enemy is patient because he knows that a heart need not renounce God explicitly in order gradually to lose sight of Him. Palladios gives us an extraordinary image of this darkening in the bread. At first the monk receives heavenly bread, pure and provided by God. As his interior life becomes disordered, the bread appears grimy and gnawed. Later it is almost entirely spoiled. What is happening visibly to the bread corresponds to what is happening invisibly within the monk. The gift has not ceased to be gift, but his capacity to receive it has become corrupted. The tragedy is not simply that temptation has appeared. Temptation comes to everyone. The decisive moment comes earlier: he notices the diminishment and does not respond to it. He regards the first symptoms as trivial. This is one of the most penetrating insights in the story. The monk does not suddenly decide to abandon his vocation. He fails to take seriously the cooling of his love. The Fathers would have us become sensitive to precisely this. When prayer becomes burdensome, notice. When mercy toward another begins to disappear, notice. When resentment becomes pleasurable, notice. When the imagination begins feeding upon something we would once have rejected, notice. When silence becomes uncomfortable and distraction increasingly necessary, notice. When we begin excusing in ourselves what once brought us immediately to repentance, notice. Not because every movement of weakness is a catastrophe, but because small movements reveal the direction in which the heart is turning. The story attributed to St. Maximos makes the warning still more sobering. The young monk possesses astonishing spiritual authority. Even wild animals obey him. Those around him naturally interpret such gifts as evidence of sanctity. St. Anthony is less impressed. He sees a ship filled with precious cargo and says, in effect: Yes—but will it reach the harbor? Everything is contained in that image. Grace received is not yet grace preserved. Virtue acquired is not yet virtue safely possessed. Spiritual gifts are not guarantees. Years of asceticism are not guarantees. Miracles are not guarantees. The harbor is reached only through perseverance. This is why Maximos interprets the command to “turn away from evil, and do good” as something more than the avoidance of sin. We must fight to diminish the passions; we must labor to acquire the virtues; and then—we must remain awake in order to preserve what has been given. He connects this with Adam’s vocation in Eden: to cultivate and to keep. The heart is a garden. Grace cultivates it with us. Prayer waters it. Tears soften its soil. The remembrance of God makes it fruitful. Virtue slowly becomes something beautiful and living within us. But the garden must also be kept. Perhaps this is why the Fathers can appear severe about things modern people consider insignificant. Their severity is not necessarily born from fear. At its deepest, it arises from wonder. They know what the heart can become. They have seen human beings filled with God. They have seen the mind made luminous through prayer, the passions transfigured, the hardened heart made merciful, and ordinary human beings become bearers of the Holy Spirit. Having seen such things, they cannot regard anything that gradually extinguishes that life as trivial. The treasure is too precious. And yet neither story finally teaches despair. Palladios’ monk awakens. Remarkably, his awakening comes while he is teaching others. He hears himself speaking truths that he has ceased to live, and suddenly sees himself. The contradiction becomes unbearable. He runs back into the desert, casts himself upon the ground, and repents. God receives him. The angel’s words are filled with mercy: “God has accepted your repentance and has had mercy on you.” Something has nevertheless changed. The miraculous bread does not return. His remaining years are marked by mourning. This is not because God refuses forgiveness. Rather, the story preserves the terrible seriousness of freedom. Forgiveness is complete, yet our choices are real. Grace is not magic, and repentance does not make our history unreal. The Fathers hold together what we so often separate: immense mercy and immense seriousness. Never despair. But never presume. Never imagine that a fall places you beyond the mercy of God. But never imagine that what darkens the heart is therefore insignificant. The Christian life is lived between these truths. Perhaps the most important question, then, is not simply, Have I committed some great sin? It may be much quieter: What is happening to my desire for God? Is the flame growing brighter or dimmer? Is prayer becoming more truthful or merely habitual? Is my heart becoming softer or harder? Am I becoming freer to love, or increasingly absorbed in myself? Have I begun calling “small” those things that slowly make me forget the One whom I love? The evil one is willing to wait. He knows that great falls can grow from tiny seeds of forgetfulness. We too must learn to wait—but differently. We remain before God. We keep the heart. We cultivate the garden. We guard the treasure. And when we discover even the smallest cooling of love, we do not panic and we do not despair. We turn again toward Christ. Immediately. Simply. Humbly. For vigilance, rightly understood, is not living in terror that we might lose God. It is living with the knowledge that nothing is more precious than having found Him. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:08:19 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 61 Section C 00:14:06 Jacqulyn Dudasko: I received my books today! Even had a bit of time to start reading! 🙂 00:17:08 James Hickman: This will be my only day for a while: I’ll be working with the parish on Wednesday evenings, but I should be able to keep up on Mondays. 00:18:49 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 61 Section C 00:58:18 James Hickman: The Lord in his strange yet beautiful goodness bestows on this fallen monk the great gift of compunction, bathing him with his tears. Our Father gives us “the revenge of mercy” (Archimandrite Mark Malone of Holy Transfiguration in McLean preached yesterday of this revenge of divine mercy). 01:10:14 Larry: Dont put off confession today 01:10:30 Nancy Pagan: Many concerns 01:11:47 James Hickman: Can we read it in an alternative light? He, if sincere, desired forgiveness. The Lord in mercy reduced his earthly suffering by five days, taking him, perhaps to heaven, a little early. In hope, can we lean on the Lord’s mercy for this young monk? 01:13:03 Larry: We have confession every day except Sunday and always long lines of people waiting. 01:13:06 James Hickman: Certainly for me I don’t want to presume for me. But for others deep hope. 01:13:08 Anna: It's a great suffering when priests aren't willing to be present for confession outside the line that's so minimal weekly. 01:19:15 Nancy Pagan: Christ the King Monastery in Cullman AL everyday before 8am Mass. 01:23:21 Anna: If we all were radically accessible for souls, wow what graces 01:24:34 Maureen Cunningham: Thank You, Blessing 01:24:39 Janine: Thank you Father! 01:24:51 Nancy Pagan: Thank you Fr

  • S8 · E72
    August 28 · 1 hr 2 min

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

    There are passages in St. Isaac that can sound almost impossible to modern ears. His words on vigil are among them. “Do not imagine,” he tells us, “that among all the works of monastics there is any practice greater than night vigil.” We hear such words and immediately think of sleep deprivation, bodily exhaustion, long hours of psalmody, standing in darkness while the rest of the world sleeps. We wonder whether such a practice belongs to another age, another kind of human being, perhaps even another understanding of the spiritual life. But this is precisely where we can misunderstand Isaac. Vigil becomes incomprehensible when it is separated from desire. If we begin with asceticism, vigil appears severe. If we begin with love, it begins to make sense. The lover understands the night. There are moments when we do not want an evening to end because we are with someone we love. There are conversations in which we cease looking at the clock. A mother remains awake beside a sick child without calculating the sacrifice. Someone awaiting the return of the beloved listens for every sound in the night. Love changes our experience of time. And so it is with the saints. They did not remain awake because they despised sleep. They remained awake because they had discovered Someone for whom it was worth losing sleep. This is the secret of vigil. “That I May Be With You” The Fathers understood the spiritual life far less as the fulfillment of religious obligations than as the awakening of desire. Beneath fasting, silence, solitude, tears, prostrations, psalmody, and vigil lies a single movement of the heart: I want God. Not merely His gifts. Not consolation. Not religious experiences. Not even virtue considered as a possession. God Himself. This is why St. Isaac describes the mind of the one who keeps vigil as becoming light and buoyant, taking flight “as it were on wings.” The ascetic is not merely staying awake. Something within him is being released. During the day the mind is scattered among a thousand things. We speak. We answer. We plan. We remember. We anticipate. We defend ourselves. We attend to necessities. Even when these things are good, the heart becomes divided among them. Then comes the night. The voices diminish. The demands cease. The world grows quiet. And the soul discovers again the One whom it has been seeking beneath everything else. This is why vigil was so precious to the Desert Fathers and remains so in the teaching of the great modern elders. It creates a space in which the heart can become undivided. The night says: There is nowhere else I need to go. There is nothing I need to accomplish. There is no one before whom I need to justify myself. There is only God. And I am here. The Recovery of Wonder Yet there is something even deeper in Isaac’s teaching. Vigil is not merely about attention. It is about wonder. Isaac tells us that the one who perseveres in vigil begins to “gaze upon” heavenly realities. His language is deliberately extravagant: the soul comes to possess “the eyes of Cherubim.” What does this mean? It means that purification changes how we see. The tragedy of fallen existence is not simply that we commit sins. It is that we gradually cease to be astonished by God. We become accustomed to everything. Accustomed to the Gospel. Accustomed to the Eucharist. Accustomed to the name of Jesus. Accustomed to the Cross. Accustomed even to the astonishing claim that the Creator of heaven and earth desires communion with us. And when wonder disappears, desire soon weakens with it. The Fathers knew that the heart must be awakened again. This is one reason vigil has such power. In the silence of the night, familiar words can suddenly become new. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God…” We may have spoken those words ten thousand times. Yet in the stillness something can happen. Jesus. The Name becomes luminous. God is here. God sees me. God desires me. God has called me into existence that I might share His life. And suddenly prayer is no longer something we are performing. It is encounter. Wonder gives birth to desire, and desire gives birth to greater attention. Then the soul begins to understand why the saints stayed awake. The Vigil of the Lover This is why we must be careful not to turn Isaac’s teaching into another spiritual program. Stay awake longer. Say more psalms. Sleep less. Accumulate hours. Isaac himself warns against precisely this distortion. A person may endure “prolonged psalmody,” weariness of the tongue, and “night-long standing,” and yet receive little fruit because the mind is elsewhere. The body is standing before God while the heart is wandering through the world. Isaac asks, with characteristic directness: Why sow so much seed if we continually prevent it from bearing fruit? Vigil without attention becomes habit. Vigil without desire becomes endurance. Vigil without love becomes religious achievement. And religious achievement can quietly feed the very ego that asceticism is meant to dismantle. The true vigil begins somewhere deeper. Stay with Me. This is the invitation hidden within the night. Christ in Gethsemane asked His disciples, “Could you not watch with me one hour?” Perhaps every vigil is, in some mysterious way, our answer to that question. Yes, Lord. I will stay. Not because I am strong. Not because I am an ascetic. Not because I want to imagine myself among the saints. I stay because You are here. Why Vigil Requires the Day This also explains something that Isaac emphasizes strongly and that can easily be overlooked. The vigil cannot be separated from the way we live during the day. If we spend the day deliberately filling the mind with noise, agitation, curiosity, argument, distraction, and endless encounters, we should not be surprised if those same things accompany us into prayer at night. Isaac therefore insists that the monk who desires the fruit of vigil must guard himself from unnecessary disturbance during the day. This is not contempt for the world. It is custody of the heart. The Fathers understood something about human consciousness that our age desperately needs to rediscover: what we give ourselves to leaves traces within us. Everything enters the heart. Images. Conversations. Arguments. News. Resentments. Fantasies. Fears. The opinions of others. The desire to be seen. The need to respond. The mind carries these things into silence. Thus vigil actually begins long before nightfall. It begins with how we guard the heart throughout the day. The School of Freedom This is one reason the disappearance of vigil from much contemporary Christian life is significant. We have not merely lost an ascetical practice. We have lost one of the great schools of desire, attention, and freedom. The modern world teaches us to flee silence. It places a device in our hand capable of filling every empty moment. It trains the eyes to seek novelty and the mind to expect constant stimulation. The Fathers move in precisely the opposite direction. Be still. Remain. Watch. Wait. Listen. Do not flee the emptiness. Because eventually you may discover that it was never empty. Someone was waiting for you there. The purpose of vigil is not to prove that we can conquer the body. It is to become free enough to recognize the presence of the Beloved. “I Sleep, but My Heart Is Awake” The goal, then, is ultimately something greater than remaining physically awake. The goal is wakefulness of heart. “I sleep, but my heart is awake,” says the Bride in the Song of Songs. There is the mystery. The deepest vigil eventually becomes a state of the soul. A person begins to live before God. The Jesus Prayer continues beneath thought. The remembrance of God becomes increasingly continuous. The heart waits for Him. Looks toward Him. Listens for Him. Desires Him. This is the angelic quality Isaac sees in vigil. The angels do not merely “stay awake.” They exist in ceaseless attention to God. Their life is beholding. And Isaac dares to say that through vigil the human person begins to participate in this same movement. The eyes of the heart open. Wonder returns. Desire intensifies. Prayer deepens. The mind grows light. And gradually the soul discovers that the ascetical life is not fundamentally a life of deprivation. It is a life of fascination. The Night Is Not Empty Perhaps this is what we most need to recover from Isaac. We will never understand the asceticism of the Fathers if we begin with what they gave up. We must begin with what they saw. They saw a Beauty before which the beauties of the world grew pale. They tasted a sweetness that made lesser consolations seem small. They discovered a Love so immense that solitude became communion, silence became fullness, fasting became hunger for God, and vigil became the refusal to leave the presence of the Beloved. This is why the teaching on vigil belongs so naturally beside the language of desire and wonder. The ascetic does not remain awake merely because a rule commands it. He has glimpsed something. And because he has glimpsed it, he wants to see more. Wonder awakens desire. Desire gathers the scattered heart. The gathered heart becomes attentive. Attention becomes prayer. And prayer becomes communion. Then something remarkable happens. What once appeared burdensome becomes precious. The night that once seemed long becomes too short. Silence that once frightened us becomes the place we long to enter. And the prayer that once seemed an obligation becomes something from which we are reluctant to depart. The saints kept vigil because they discovered that the night was not empty. The Beloved was there. And once the heart knows this, the deepest question is no longer: Why would anyone remain awake to pray? It becomes: How could love not want to remain? --- Text of chat during the group: 00:18:08 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 222, Homily 20 00:23:28 David Swiderski: The last time we discussed this and sleeping 8 hours straight and for most of time people at least in Europe slept "2" times I went back to my Grandfather's diary and it appears the wood stoves in Northern Wisconsin only lasted 4hrs and you would need to get up and feed the fire so they naturally did vigils and took advantage of the break in sleep. In Spain and Latina America they have a nap in some areas due to the heat (2 hour lunch) and are up till 1 or 2 am. It seems modern western society is a new adaptation of what was a practice for hundreds of years. 00:25:10 Ryan Ngeve: Father what is one to do if these practices and deprivations make us more agitated/irritated and downcast, especially towards others, as they tend to do? 00:39:01 Gwen’s iPhone: my cat does! 00:39:24 James Hickman: Is it safe to call vigils a means to the end, which is nearness to the Lord, such that a super practical means to find closeness with the Lord is this watching for him when there are fewer distractions (not that we are safe from distractions in the night, but that the many combating us in the day are perhaps different in kind or number than those distractions of the night)? 00:42:15 Rod Castillo: I pray my daily rosary at 2 am. It’s the only time the house is quiet enough to allow me to devote myself completely to it. 00:43:46 James Hickman: Reacted to "I pray my daily rosary at 2 am. It’s the only time the house is quiet enough to allow me to devote myself completely to it." with 🫡 00:48:52 David Swiderski: Just one other thing I am embarrassed about. A protestant friend and I were discussing the real presence in the tabernacle and adoration and he bluntly told me if you really believed that why don't you stop at any church during the day just to say hello and ask for forgiveness. I really felt a lot of shame he is right. This was really common when I lived in Mexico people would just stop after lunch, on the way home for traffic to die down and do a short prayer along the way. Made me really think and have been trying to do this more when possible. My mind makes it out to be such a huge disruption but I have been going to stores closer to where they have adoration and always feel better after just 5 minutes which I waste all the time in traffic or other things and still struggle to do this more. It seemed easier in Mexico where all my friends and even some clients would just drop in but there 95% of churches are catholic so you don't need to look far. 00:49:14 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "I pray my daily rosa..." with ❤️ 00:52:49 Tracey Fredman: For those who say we shouldn't read the desert fathers might not be aware that the Rule of St. Benedict mentions them: "As for those who are hurrying toward the perfection of conversation, there are the teachings of the fathers whose observance may lead a person to the heights of perfection. For what page or what word of divine authority in the Old or New Testament is not the most perfect standard of human life? Or what book of the holy, catholic fathers does not resound with this, so that we may, by this straight path, reach our Creator? 5 Are there not the Conferences of the Fathers and their Institutes and Lives as well as the Rule of our Holy Father Basil?" 00:53:56 Tracey Fredman: Benedictine Oblates study the rule, even today. 00:56:07 James Hickman: Father, your chapter for priest pastors in The Monastic Heart really made me think so many American pastors need to take a week off and read that one chapter a few times. 00:56:25 James Hickman: The chapter after The Domestic Church 00:57:18 James Hickman: Reacted to "Benedictine Oblates study the rule, even today." with 💯 00:59:16 Maureen Cunningham: I Knew a man he was 85 he would awake art 3:00 am for years he had so much joy and he always said why would"t you get up. It is all joy 01:08:11 Janine: I feel like this was a retreat! 01:08:53 Eleana Urrego: Thank you 01:08:53 David Swiderski: I have been practicing psalmody on a holy hour on Friday and have looped through the sections (orthodox) a few times. It seems when I love others or make sacrifices it is like I see something else I never saw before. While some are repetitious a lot depends what I did during the week. 01:10:04 David Swiderski: My Mom used to call me David or Beloved interchangeably and since the psalms are from David well it really hits me 01:11:03 Janine: Yes! It’s beautiful 01:11:11 Janine: Lent 01:11:18 Melanie: It’s been my experience that anxiety about lack of sleep is much more tiring than actual lack of sleep. This is relevant in my work as a lactation consultant… helping moms to see that waking at night to feed their babies will not make them perish of exhaustion. Similar with vigils. <3 01:15:25 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:15:29 Maureen Cunningham: Thank you sure please send it PDf

  • S6 · E251
    August 28 · 56 min

    The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter IX, Part III

    There is something almost relentless about the teaching of the Fathers on watchfulness. They will not allow us to imagine that there comes a point in the spiritual life when vigilance is no longer necessary. Age does not free us from it. Knowledge does not free us from it. Years of prayer do not free us from it. Even great spiritual gifts do not free us from it. “As long as you are in the body, do not leave your heart unguarded.” Until the last breath. At first this can sound severe. The image given by Abba Isaiah is striking: he is like a sparrow tied by the foot. It may fly upward and imagine itself free, but the cord remains. A single tug can bring it back to the earth. Likewise, the Fathers tell us that the enemy waits at the crossroads, lays traps along the path, makes use of small thoughts and seemingly insignificant compromises, and patiently seeks an opening into the heart. Yet if we read these sayings merely as a catalogue of demonic strategies, we have misunderstood their purpose. The Evergetinos is not trying to make us fascinated with evil. Nor are the Fathers trying to produce souls that are perpetually looking over their shoulders, anxiously examining every movement of the heart. They are teaching us watchfulness because they desire something infinitely greater for us. They want us to discover how precious the heart is to God. Indeed, hidden within these rather frightening descriptions is one of the most beautiful statements in the entire passage. The enemy himself is forced to confess concerning the monks: “You and your fellow-servants have a good Master, Who speaks to you gently and watches over you as His own children.” A good Master. One who speaks gently. One who watches over us as His own children. This is the heart of the teaching. We guard the heart because God guards the heart. Our vigilance is meant to become a participation in His vigilance over us. The commandments, prayer, repentance, the remembrance of God, the cutting off of thoughts—all of these are expressions of a divine solicitude that surrounds the human person. God desires to protect within us that which He has created for Himself. He desires that nothing should enter the heart that diminishes its freedom, darkens its vision, wounds its capacity for love, or turns its desire away from Him. The Fathers therefore teach us to recognize temptations, but recognition is not the end. We do not study the passions in order to become experts in the passions. We learn their movements so that we might become free to love. This distinction is everything. One can become extraordinarily knowledgeable about the spiritual life and still remain outside of its mystery. Abba Isaiah goes so far as to say that a man might possess knowledge, perform miracles, endure hardships, and yet still find himself vulnerable. None of these things constitutes the final security of the soul. Only love does. And so the passage unexpectedly opens into the words of the Apostle: “Love never faileth… but beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.” Here the teaching reaches its true center. The Fathers are not leading us toward an ever more sophisticated fear of temptation. They are leading us toward perfect love. Watchfulness exists for love. Asceticism exists for love. The guarding of the heart exists for love. Repentance exists for love. Even the fear of God, rightly understood, is gradually drawing the soul toward that love in which fear itself is transformed. This is why the smallest thoughts matter. Not because God is fastidious or because the Christian life consists in anxiously avoiding infractions. The smallest things matter because love notices what interferes with communion. When one loves another deeply, one becomes sensitive to anything that introduces distance. So too with God. The vigilant heart begins to recognize thoughts of resentment, vainglory, judgment, self-pity, lust, anger, curiosity, or self-will not simply as violations of a rule but as movements that draw the heart away from the One whom it loves. The Fathers repeatedly tell us that great falls ordinarily begin very quietly. A thought is entertained. Then revisited. Then befriended. What first appeared insignificant gradually acquires familiarity, and familiarity acquires power. “The Devil disdains small sins; yet without them, he cannot lead man into greater sins.” But precisely the opposite is also true. Small acts of fidelity gather strength. A thought rejected for Christ. A moment of irritation surrendered. A judgment withheld. A temptation met immediately with the Jesus Prayer. A movement of vainglory quietly ignored. A moment of fear answered by trust. A suffering borne without abandoning God. These things too form habits of the heart. Grace upon grace. Fidelity upon fidelity. Love answering Love. This is why the teaching about vigilance should never leave us preoccupied with the enemy. Abba Makarios does not continue his journey thinking about the devil. He gives thanks to God and goes on his way rejoicing. That detail is extraordinarily important. The fruit of true watchfulness is not anxiety. It is thanksgiving. It is the growing realization that we are being kept. The Elder who asked to see the demons surrounding men discovered something similar. He saw them “like bees,” gnashing their teeth. Yet among them stood the Angel of the Lord rebuking them. The revelation was not given so that the Elder might become terrified by the number of demons. It revealed something far greater: the mercy of God was already there. Before we perceive the danger, God sees it. Before we understand the temptation, God knows it. Before we cry out, He has already drawn near. This is why the proper response to our weakness is not self-reliance but the prayer Abba Isaiah places continually upon our lips: Help me. Have mercy upon me. Perhaps this is one of the deepest lessons the desert has to teach us. Watchfulness eventually reveals not how strong we are but how utterly dependent we are upon God. The vigilant man discovers more and more clearly that he cannot preserve himself. And strangely, this discovery becomes peace. St. Isaac the Syrian understood this profoundly. The knowledge of one’s weakness is itself a doorway into the knowledge of divine mercy. When a man begins to understand how fragile he is, he ceases trusting in himself and casts himself upon God. Then prayer becomes less an accomplishment and more a cry of the heart. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Not because God is reluctant to give mercy. Because mercy is already rushing toward us. This also changes the meaning of constancy. We remain vigilant until death not because God stands waiting for us to make one final mistake. We remain vigilant because love desires to remain with the Beloved until the end. The question becomes less, How do I avoid falling? And more: How do I remain with Him? This is the deeper meaning of guarding the heart. To remain. To abide. To keep the inner door turned toward Christ. To allow nothing to become more compelling than His presence. There will always be thoughts. There will always be temptations. There will always be some cord around the foot of the sparrow as long as we remain in this present life. The Fathers are remarkably sober about this. There is no moment when we may say, “Now I am beyond danger.” But neither is there a moment when we are beyond mercy. And perhaps that is what gives watchfulness its tenderness. We do not stand guard alone. The One who tells us to watch is Himself watching over us. The One who tells us to guard the heart has already claimed that heart as His dwelling. The One who warns us against the snares of the enemy does so because He desires our freedom infinitely more than we do. He does not expose the traps in order to frighten His children. He exposes them because He loves His children. And gradually the spiritual life becomes less and less a struggle to defend ourselves and more an abandonment to this love. We discover that the safest place for the heart is not in its own vigilance, strength, knowledge, or experience. It is in Him. So until the last breath we watch. Until the last breath we repent. Until the last breath we cry out. Until the last breath we refuse the thought that would carry us away. But beneath all of this there is something deeper and quieter: we allow ourselves to be drawn. Drawn by mercy. Drawn by beauty. Drawn by the gentleness of the good Master. Drawn by the One who has watched over us as His children from the beginning. And perhaps, in the end, perfect watchfulness is simply this: to love Him so deeply that the heart no longer wishes to go anywhere else. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:24:33 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 59, first paragraph on page, above #9 00:27:52 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 59, #10 00:31:33 James Hickman: The tug doesn’t seem to be with the most tremendous force either, for the feeling or illusion of freedom or thinking in pride that we have overcome our vices, we get a tiny jerk on the rope and get caught off guard, falling hard. I see in my own life, I think a certain sin is behind me and then seemingly out of nowhere a tiny tug sends me hurling down, crashing and burning. 00:32:26 Forrest: Reacted to "The tug doesn’t seem to be with the most tremendous force either, for the feeling or illusion of freedom or thinking in pride that we have overcome our vices, we get a tiny jerk on the rope and get caught off guard, falling hard. I see in my own life, I think a certain sin is behind me and then seemingly out of nowhere a tiny tug sends me hurling down, crashing and burning." with 👍 00:32:54 Nancy Pagan: Even beautiful thoughts? And “ wonderful” new ideas…right? When trying to pra 00:33:10 Nancy Pagan: Practice 00:41:59 Danny Moulton: Putting on Christ seems to be essential if we are to avoid self-hatred for repeated falls. I think seeing ourselves as God sees us is just as important as seeing others as God sees them. 00:51:48 Una: John of the Cross also uses the image of a bird tethered by the thinest of threads is still tethered and not free. 00:55:28 Nancy Pagan: Even down to his last garment… does that mean his last attachment that is his own .. not Gods? Or something else? 01:01:47 James Hickman: Like a black hole, avoid like the plague or the precipice 01:05:54 Maureen Cunningham: Does the word addiction means to say to 01:06:23 James Hickman: Diction 01:06:25 James Hickman: Ad

  • S8 · E71
    August 17 · 1 hr 4 min

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

    There is a danger in reading passages such as this one from St. Isaac and hearing primarily a warning: Do not become negligent. Do not allow yourself to grow lax. Guard your solitude. Avoid unnecessary conversation. Do not permit the mind to become scattered. Certainly Isaac is warning us. His language is deliberately severe because he knows how fragile the beginnings of prayer can be. A heart newly awakened to God is like the tender blossom of a fruit tree. It possesses within itself the promise of fruit, but it can still be injured by a sudden frost. The mind that has begun to discover stillness can quickly become dispersed again. The heart that has tasted the sweetness of prayer can become strangely cold. But if we hear only the warning, we may miss something much more beautiful in Isaac’s words. The great concern of Homily 19 is not simply that we avoid negligence. It is that we recognize what has been given to us and take hold of it. Isaac is speaking to men and women who have tasted something. They have tasted God. “If fiery thoughts arise in you,” he writes, “through the consuming flame of divine things,” and you “enjoy a taste of God,” then guard what has been given to you. That changes everything. The ascetical life is not primarily the anxious preservation of spiritual discipline. It is the response of the heart to a gift. We guard prayer because we have discovered Someone in prayer. We seek stillness because within stillness we have begun to hear the voice of the Beloved. We withdraw from unnecessary occupations not because created things are evil, but because something infinitely more precious has begun to draw the heart. This is why Isaac can speak so dramatically about the loss of fervor. “Only the man who drinks deeply of this wine, and afterward is deprived of it, only he knows to what misery he has been abandoned.” One cannot miss the language of desire here. The tragedy is not simply that the monk has broken his rule. The tragedy is that he has allowed himself to become separated from something he has tasted and loved. He knows the wine. He remembers its sweetness. And now he thirsts. This is the deeper meaning of vigilance. Negligence Is Forgetfulness Negligence in the spiritual life is rarely simply laziness. At its deepest level it is forgetfulness. The heart forgets what it desires. Isaac tells us that through excessive conversation, unnecessary occupations, sensory dispersion, and involvement in countless affairs, “the object of her desire is blotted out from her mind.” That sentence may be the key to the entire passage. The object of her desire is blotted out. The danger of distraction is not merely that it wastes time. It obscures desire. We begin to forget why we are alive. We may continue doing many good things. We may remain religious. We may fulfill responsibilities. We may even continue praying. Yet somewhere beneath all this activity, the memory of God can grow faint. And once that memory fades, lesser desires begin to fill the empty space. The Fathers understood this with extraordinary psychological depth. The heart cannot remain without desire. If it ceases to be gathered toward God, it will inevitably become scattered among countless lesser things. This is why Isaac says: “Do not multiply your occupations, and you will not find turmoil in your mind, or in your prayer.” He is not preaching inactivity. He is teaching simplicity of heart. The question becomes: What possesses my attention because it possesses my desire? Take Hold of Grace There is another danger, however, subtler than negligence. We may imagine that because everything depends upon grace, we need only wait passively for God to act. Isaac knows nothing of such passivity. When grace visits the heart, take hold of it. When prayer becomes warm, remain there. When tears come, do not hurry away from them. When desire for God awakens, feed it. When silence begins to gather the mind, protect that silence. When the Name of Jesus descends even slightly from the lips toward the heart, treasure it. Not because grace can be possessed or controlled, but because love asks for a response. There is a holy cooperation between divine grace and human freedom. God awakens the heart, and the heart turns toward Him. God gives the thirst, and we begin to drink. God lights the flame, and we cease throwing cold water upon it through negligence. This is why the Fathers can sound simultaneously so uncompromising about asceticism and so utterly dependent upon grace. There is no contradiction. Asceticism is what love looks like when freedom responds to grace. The Stronger Attraction And here we reach something even deeper. Isaac does not ultimately believe that the Christian life is sustained by fear of distraction. It is sustained by attraction. The lesser things of life pull upon us. Conversation pulls upon us. Curiosity pulls upon us. Responsibilities pull upon us. Memories, anxieties, pleasures, opinions, news, recognition, work—all of these exert a gravitational force upon the heart. But there is another gravity. Divine love. And it is stronger. The spiritual life matures when we discover that holiness is not primarily a heroic attempt to tear ourselves away from the world. It is allowing ourselves to be drawn increasingly by the beauty of God. The Psalmist does not cry: My soul has disciplined itself for Thee. He cries: “My soul thirsted for Thee.” Thirst is attraction. Desire is attraction. Love is attraction. The heart has glimpsed the Face for which it was created, and suddenly everything else begins to reveal its proper measure. This is why the saints sometimes appear almost incomprehensible to us. Their detachment can look severe from the outside. But from within, something very different is happening. They are being drawn. Christ has become more beautiful than everything they have relinquished. The Memory of the Wine Perhaps this is why God sometimes permits us to experience the loss Isaac describes. We have known moments when prayer was alive. Moments when the Name of Jesus seemed to contain everything. Moments when silence was not empty but filled with Presence. Moments when tears came without effort. Moments when we knew—not merely intellectually, but existentially—that God was near. And then the heart became cold. We became distracted. We multiplied our occupations. We returned to noise. The temptation is to despair over this. Isaac gives us another way. Remember the wine. The memory of grace itself can become a summons. Not nostalgia for a spiritual experience, but remembrance of the One who gave Himself within it. The coldness reveals the thirst. The absence reveals the desire. And the heart begins again: Where are You? Why have I wandered so far from what my soul desires? When shall I come and appear before Your face? Even our sorrow over having lost the sweetness of prayer can become prayer. “If You Will” There is something here that echoes the great saying of Abba Joseph: “If you will, you can become all flame.” Not because we manufacture the fire. The fire is God. The desire is awakened by God. The grace is given by God. The attraction originates in God. But the human will must consent to being consumed. This is the dignity and trembling mystery of our freedom. Grace comes and says: Remain. And we must choose whether to remain. Love draws and says: Come. And we must choose whether to follow. The flame rises and says: Give yourself. And we must decide whether we will continue protecting the thousand little things that keep us divided, or allow ourselves finally to belong to the One who desires the whole heart. Isaac’s severity therefore conceals extraordinary tenderness. He is not telling us merely: Be careful what you lose. He is telling us: Look at what you have found. You have tasted something more precious than everything that distracts you. You have discovered the hidden wine. You have felt the beginnings of the fire. You have heard within yourself the ancient cry: “My soul thirsted for Thee, the mighty, the living God.” Do not be afraid merely of negligence. Be afraid of forgetting what your heart has discovered. And then turn again. Take hold of the grace that has taken hold of you. For beneath all our seeking is a greater seeking. Beneath our thirst is a deeper thirst. Beneath our desire for God is the immeasurably greater desire of God for us. In the end, it is not our weak attraction toward Him that will carry us home. It is the stronger pull of His love. Our task is to cease resisting it. To remain. To consent. And, if we will, to become all flame. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:03:04 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 219, paragraph 2 00:10:34 Janine: Oh great Miles is back! 00:12:04 James Hickman: I came across this today. It’s from April 10, so the group might already be familiar. Professor Matthew Minerd a Ruthenian Catholic scholar offers positive reasons for following the approach of The Evergetinos and the Apophthegmata among others as great models of theology for the dialectics and holy anecdotes. https://www.athomist.com/articles/monastic-stories-casuistry 00:12:16 Alan Henderson: Which work is Myles discussing 00:12:40 James Hickman: “Monastic Stories as a Method of Ascetical Casuistry” 00:13:25 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "Oh great Miles is ba..." with ❤️ 00:13:37 Janine: Oh that looks great! Thx James 00:13:38 Myles Davidson: Replying to "Which work is Myles ..." The Brothers Karamazov 00:14:46 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 219, paragraph 2 00:29:41 James Hickman: Driving is stillness lol 00:29:45 Sr Barbara Jean Mihalchick: Matthew Kelly's new book is THE CONTENT DIET 00:30:04 Sr Barbara Jean Mihalchick: Lots of practical helps... 00:30:18 Anna: No TV in my house for over a decade 00:30:35 Jesssica Imanaka: Reacted to "No TV in my house fo..." with 👍 00:42:17 Janine: Even religious videos which are compelling need to go! 00:42:48 Myles Davidson: YouTube is my guilty pleasure I must admit 00:44:00 Jesssica Imanaka: Should it be at 3am? 00:44:17 Jesssica Imanaka: I mean the retreat! 00:45:01 Bob Čihák, AZ: Replying to "YouTube is my guilty pleasure I must admit" I agree. I do enjoy the many, modern, blessed short moratlity tales. 00:45:24 Bob Čihák, AZ: Replying to "YouTube is my guilty pleasure I must admit" oops blessedly 00:46:13 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "I agree. I do enjoy ..." with 😁 00:49:09 Una: Can you give a kinder interpretation of "laymen"? 00:49:37 Una: Perhaps those uninterested in religion? 00:49:52 Myles Davidson: Replying to "YouTube is my guilty..." @Bob Čihák, AZ yes me too 🙂 00:51:33 Una: Great analogy, Maureen. 00:52:21 Myles Davidson: Would you say there is a ‘muscle memory’ aspect to hesychasm, in that if one loses it one can gain it again quickly? 00:52:36 Una: Reacted to "No TV in my house ..." with 👍 00:52:42 Eleana Urrego: Reacted to "No TV in my house for over a decade" with 👍🏼 00:59:30 Jesssica Imanaka: I struggle with these exact issue at work all the time. The other day, I was bringing these very concerns to my spiritual director. In the university one has to do a lot of talking and many people are not faithful, to the say the least. How to keep returning to God during the flood of all this? 01:01:04 Jesssica Imanaka: I mean: exact issues... 01:03:07 James Hickman: Clausewitz was centuries late on the fog of war as Isaac describes here the inner spiritual struggle, the battle from within. The monk with self-control doesn’t win. He recognizes his need to call for heavy artillery, divine assistance from above. 01:03:37 James Hickman: The self-controlling monk does not win on his own* 01:05:00 Eleana Urrego: What about scapular or Benedict cross? when I go to work in mental health with families in their home I return literally drained 01:05:11 Jesssica Imanaka: Reacted to "What about scapular ..." with 👍 01:08:34 Anna: I would never go without blessed items. Keep them on you always. 01:09:06 James Hickman: Reacted to "I would never go without blessed items. Keep them on you always. " with 💯 01:10:55 Anna: Lol we're all hypocrites. No worries 01:11:24 Wayne: When involved in social work and going into situations that you describe, I found I would pray for protection and pray after and cleanse myself emotionally. 01:11:50 Jesssica Imanaka: Replying to "Lol we're all hypocr..." Thank you. 01:13:18 Jesssica Imanaka: I want to start getting into prostrations. 01:13:36 Joan Chakonas: I think it’s a good thing to display sacramentals and especially seeing religious in their habits and collars. Their physical presence is a reminder of God no matter where they are. They make God sense perceptible. 01:13:45 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "I want to start gett..." with 👍 01:13:52 Eleana Urrego: Reacted to "I think it’s a good thing to display sacramentals and especially seeing religious in their habits and collars. Their physical presence is a reminder of God no matter where they are. They make God sense perceptible." with ❤️ 01:13:54 Jesssica Imanaka: Reacted to "I think it’s a good ..." with ❤️ 01:17:33 Jose E's iPad: Reacted to "I think it’s a good thing to display sacramentals and especially seeing religious in their habits and collars. Their physical presence is a reminder of God no matter where they are. They make God sense perceptible." with ❤️ 01:17:35 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:17:37 Jesssica Imanaka: God preserve your health! 01:17:37 David Swiderski: Thank you Father may God bless you, your mother and everyone in this group. 01:17:40 Maureen Cunningham: Thank You Father 01:17:48 Jesssica Imanaka: Reacted to "Thank you Father may..." with ❤️ 01:17:53 Janine: Thank you Father 01:17:53 Gwen’s iPhone: Thank you 01:17:53 James Hickman: The image of extreme humility page 539 01:18:22 Janine: I wrote and it hasn’t appeared yet

  • S6 · E250
    August 11 · 1 hr 1 min

    The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter IX, Part II

    There is a great mercy hidden within these unsettling sayings from the Evergetinos. The Desert Fathers do not speak to us about spiritual warfare in order to make us preoccupied with the devil. They speak about it so that we might become sober, humble, and utterly dependent upon Christ. This is one of the great blessings the Desert Fathers continue to offer the Church. They expose what ordinarily remains hidden. Modern man tends to imagine temptation almost exclusively in terms of dramatic moral choices. We think of sin as something obvious placed before the will: Will I do this or will I not? But the Fathers understood the human heart far more subtly. Long before the temptation becomes an obvious choice, something has often already begun moving within us: a thought entertained, an irritation indulged, a desire awakened, an image cherished, a conversation replayed, praise secretly enjoyed, an injury remembered, a judgment formed, prayer postponed. The enemy rarely begins by asking us to renounce God. He asks only that we become slightly inattentive. And so Abba Simon gives us one of the most important sentences in tonight’s reading: “Keep watch inside your cell, and keep watch outside it.” The brother cannot understand why he leaves his cell, becomes caught up in the distraction of others, laughs when they laugh, talks when they talk, and then discovers upon returning that the peace he formerly possessed has disappeared. He wants to move between recollection and distraction without consequence. Abba Simon tells him gently but firmly: That is impossible. The heart carries within itself what it consents to. This is why nepsis—watchfulness—is so central to the spirituality of the desert. The Fathers discovered that the cell is not merely a physical room. Ultimately, the cell is the heart. We must learn to inhabit it wherever we are. Solitude without vigilance will not save us, nor will activity necessarily destroy us. What matters is whether the heart remains awake before God. The modern elders say the same. St. Porphyrios continually warned against becoming fascinated with darkness. We do not overcome darkness by staring at it. We turn toward Christ. St. Paisios likewise spoke with great realism about the suggestions of the enemy, yet his emphasis was always upon humility and trust in God. St. Silouan and St. Sophrony understood perhaps most deeply that spiritual warfare is finally a battle over where the heart will abide: in itself or in Christ. This is precisely why these passages must never be read merely intellectually. We can study the taxonomy of temptation and still remain utterly blind to ourselves. Indeed, that may itself become another temptation. The moment I read these sayings and begin identifying the passions of other people, I have already missed their purpose. The proper response is much simpler: There but for the grace of God go I. “Satan Is Not Dead” Perhaps the most sobering saying tonight is the Elder’s response to the man who declares, “I am dead to the world.” “You may say that you are dead, but Satan is not dead.” What extraordinary spiritual realism. The Fathers distrust premature declarations about ourselves. I have conquered this passion. I am beyond that temptation. This no longer affects me. I have reached dispassion. I understand myself now. No. The desert teaches us never to presume upon yesterday’s victory. This is not because the Fathers are pessimistic about grace. Quite the opposite. They are so convinced of the power of grace that they refuse to confuse grace with human self-confidence. A man who knows his weakness can be extraordinarily strong because he clings to Christ. A man convinced of his strength is already standing dangerously alone. This is why the account of the dying monk is so striking. Satan says, “You have eluded me,” and even then the Elder replies: “I do not yet know whether I have eluded you.” There is no spiritual swagger here. No confidence in accomplishments. No inventory of virtues. Only vigilance until the final breath. The Trembling of Agathon Then comes Abba Agathon. He has spent his life seeking God. Yet as death approaches and the brothers ask whether he is confident that his deeds have been pleasing to God, he answers: “God’s judgment is one thing, man’s another.” This is not neurotic scrupulosity. It is humility purified of illusion. Agathon knows something we continually forget: we cannot finally stand outside ourselves and judge our own souls. Even our virtues may contain admixtures we cannot perceive. Generosity may conceal a hunger to be needed. Zeal may conceal anger. Orthodoxy may conceal pride. Asceticism may conceal self-reliance. Service may conceal the desire for recognition. Even repentance itself can become subtly self-absorbed. Therefore Agathon places himself entirely before God. And notice how the story ends. He dies in joy. This is crucial. The humility of the Desert Fathers does not lead to despair. It leads to freedom. Agathon has nothing left to defend. Nothing to prove. Nothing to claim for himself. He places everything into the hands of God and ascends “as one who greets his friends and loved ones.” True humility ends in joy because it has surrendered the impossible burden of saving itself. The Vessels of the Enemy The extraordinary vision of Abba Makarios brings all of this together. The devil appears covered with vessels containing different means of temptation. One attacks prayer with drowsiness. Another Scripture with physical discomfort. Another obedience. Another chastity. Another speech. Another appetite. Another humility through pride. Another virtue through vainglory. Another remembrance of eternity through forgetfulness. The image may seem strange to us, but its psychological and spiritual insight is profound. The enemy studies where we are vulnerable. He does not tempt everyone identically. And more importantly, he frequently attacks us precisely where we are seeking God. When we pray, suddenly we become tired. When we seek silence, a hundred apparently urgent thoughts arise. When we begin fasting, food occupies our imagination. When we perform some good work, we begin wondering whether anyone noticed. When God gives us spiritual insight, we subtly begin thinking ourselves spiritually insightful. When we experience grace, we may begin secretly believing that the grace belongs to us. Even virtue can become the material of temptation. This is why Makarios sees vessels around the devil’s neck filled with pride and human glory. The enemy does not care whether he captures us through obvious vice or apparent virtue. He cares only that the gaze of the heart moves away from Christ and returns to itself. And perhaps the most frightening vessel is the one containing forgetfulness. The enemy makes “the memory of these things disappear.” Forgetfulness is not simply poor memory. In the language of the Fathers, it is an existential forgetfulness of God. We forget who we are. We forget whose we are. We forget death. We forget judgment. We forget mercy. We forget the Kingdom. We forget the presence of Christ. And once remembrance disappears, almost anything can enter. This is why the Jesus Prayer is so powerful. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.” It is remembrance restored. The Name gathers the scattered heart. The Name interrupts the conversation with the logismoi. The Name returns us to Presence. Sitting With the Fathers This is why we need to journey with the Desert Fathers rather than merely read them. Their sayings are not curiosities from an exotic period of Christian history. They are maps of the human heart. We should read them slowly enough that they begin reading us. Where am I inattentive? Where have I become confident in myself? What thought do I repeatedly entertain? Where do I seek human approval? What happens to my heart after certain conversations? What destroys my recollection? What makes prayer difficult? Where has forgetfulness entered? And above all: Where am I relying upon myself rather than Christ? These questions should not produce anxiety. They should produce humility. The Desert Fathers were not obsessed with demons. They were captivated by God. Precisely because they desired God so intensely, they learned to recognize everything that sought to draw the heart away from Him. And they knew they did not fight alone. We live within the communion of the Church. The angels surround us. The saints intercede for us. The Mother of God shelters us. The prayers of the Church carry us. Our guardian angel accompanies us. And the Name of Jesus is placed upon our lips. The evil one may indeed be relentless. But he is not sovereign. Christ is. Makarios can interrogate the devil precisely because Christ has already conquered him. The powers of darkness are exposed because the Light has come into the world. And so vigilance is not fearfully watching for Satan behind every movement of life. Vigilance is keeping the heart turned toward Christ. The safest person spiritually is therefore not the one who thinks, I would never fall into that. It is the one who whispers: Lord, without You I could fall into anything. Keep me. Guard my heart. Give me remembrance of You. Send Your holy angels to protect me. Through the prayers of Your saints, preserve me from deception. And then we understand why we must keep returning to the desert. The Fathers know the terrain. They have watched thoughts arise and disappear. They have suffered temptation. They have fallen and risen. They have learned the terrible danger of self-confidence and the astonishing strength hidden in humility. They take us by the hand and teach us to watch. Inside the cell. Outside the cell. Until our final breath. Not because we are terrified of the darkness, but because we have discovered something infinitely more beautiful that we do not wish to lose sight of: the face of Christ. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:08:04 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Volume 3 page 54 number 3 00:56:55 James Hickman: In the past year or so, certain Catholic exorcists have come under attack for describing a bit of their healing ministry. For instance, some attack the priests for revealing that the devil has told them x, y, or z. The attackers, who only seem to attack the priests behind their backs, say that the priests are either lying or that they’ve been misled by the devil, for the demons can’t be trusted. I trust these priests, and here Abba Macarius is just one more witness to the power of the Church to compel the demons, if it be God’s holy will, to share what otherwise we wouldn’t know. I suppose I’m sharing this hoping more of us will pray for these exorcists and for priests in general. Abba Macarius, pray for us! 01:04:00 Forrest: The appearance of the Devil in this story reminds me of an earlier hypothesis where a great saint laughed at a group of demons struggling to lift a single feather. How hard it was for them! Here the Prince of Demons wears many vessels with feathers attached. 01:04:25 Adam Paige: The 35 Doctors of the Church: Revised Edition by Rev. Christopher Rengers, O.F.M. Cap 01:18:27 Rebecca Thérèse: Uriah the Hittite 01:20:25 Julie: Thank you 🙏🏼 01:21:03 Maureen Cunningham: Thank You , 01:21:10 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️

  • S8 · E70
    August 7 · 1 hr 11 min

    The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily XVIII, Part II & XIX, Part I

    There is a temptation in every generation to believe that the spiritual life consists primarily in learning new methods, acquiring hidden knowledge, or discovering techniques that promise quick access to God. St. Isaac the Syrian gently dismantles this illusion. When he speaks of the deeper forms of prayer, he deliberately refuses to satisfy our curiosity. It is a remarkable act of humility. He knows that the mysteries of prayer cannot be communicated as information because they are received only as a gift. They belong not to those who seek extraordinary experiences but to those who have quietly consented to be transformed through long obedience. This restraint reveals something profoundly important. The deepest prayer is never mastered. It is given. One does not arrive there through spiritual cleverness but by allowing grace to accomplish its hidden work over time. “Sit in your cell,” the ancient saying declares, “and your cell will teach you everything.” The cell becomes the place where the restless search for novelty dies, where the heart gradually ceases to seek explanations and begins instead to seek only Christ Himself. For Isaac, stillness is therefore not an escape from the world but the creation of an interior space where the face of Christ can finally be seen without distortion. This is why he speaks so forcefully about abstention from many concerns. The problem is not simply that busyness consumes our time. Far more dangerously, it fragments our attention. It scatters the heart among a thousand anxieties until it loses the capacity to remain before the Lord with loving simplicity. How striking that Isaac does not first speak about outward activity but about the inability to remain “directly before the face of God.” The Christian life begins here. Before there is ministry, teaching, writing, service, or even ascetic labor, there is the gaze of love. The Father turns His face toward us in His Son, and little by little we learn to return that gaze. Prayer is not first our speaking to God but our remaining before Him long enough for His presence to heal what has been wounded within us. This changes the whole character of spiritual struggle. We often imagine that holiness is achieved by greater effort, tighter control, or stricter discipline. Certainly there is ascetic labor, and Isaac never minimizes it. Yet its purpose is not self-perfection. It is to remove whatever prevents us from remaining peacefully before Christ. The battle is not ultimately against activity itself but against everything that steals our attention from the One who alone can heal the heart. Only in such stillness do we begin to notice the subtle movements of the soul. Isaac says that the monk learns to distinguish “what enters into and what comes out” of him. Here we discover the extraordinary psychological and spiritual depth of the desert tradition. Before modern psychology attempted to map the interior world, the Desert Fathers had already entered its hidden landscape. They understood that thoughts, desires, fears, fantasies, and memories continually seek entrance into the heart. Unless one lives before the face of Christ, these movements remain confused and unexamined. But in the light of His countenance they become discernible. His gaze exposes nothing in order to condemn; it reveals everything in order to heal. This is why the entire ascetical life must remain Christ-centered. Stillness divorced from Christ easily becomes isolation. Silence without Christ becomes emptiness. Solitude without Christ can become merely another form of self-absorption. But when every moment of silence is filled with the awareness of His presence, stillness becomes communion. The heart is no longer occupied with itself but quietly captivated by the beauty of the Lord. Here, I believe, we begin to understand what I have called throughout these writings desire and wonder. As the heart becomes less driven by endless concerns, it does not become emotionally barren. Quite the opposite. It awakens. Desire is purified because it is no longer dispersed among countless lesser loves but gathered into a single longing for Christ. Wonder returns because His presence is never exhausted. Every moment before Him becomes fresh. Every prayer becomes an invitation into a mystery that can never be possessed, only received. Perhaps this is the hidden fruit of Isaac’s refusal to explain the higher forms of prayer. He wishes to protect us from seeking experiences rather than seeking Christ. For if we truly stand before His face day after day, if we patiently guard the heart, if we willingly relinquish the tyranny of unnecessary concerns, then prayer itself will teach us. Not because we have become experts, but because Love Himself has become our teacher. In the end, the goal is beautifully simple. To become men and women whose hearts are no longer scattered but wholly gathered before the Face that has always been turned toward us. And in that Face we discover that every true desire finds its fulfillment, every fear loses its power, and wonder becomes the atmosphere in which the soul learns to live. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:04:23 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 218 mid paragraph 4 00:07:02 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/the-name-above-every-name 00:07:22 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 218 mid paragraph 4 00:10:21 Linda Frasier: may I share the link with a friend? 00:10:31 Janine: Father…whatever happened to the gentleman from New Zealand who used to join? 00:10:35 Linda Frasier: thx 00:11:03 Janine: His dad wasn’t well 00:11:12 Janine: Yes I was wondering 00:11:53 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/the-name-above-every-name 00:12:39 Linda Frasier: already ordered Monastic Heart—arriving Monday!! 00:14:14 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/the-name-above-every-name 00:15:37 Janine: The baby has joined! 00:27:32 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 218, paragraph 5, bottom of page 00:37:26 Kate: Footnote 1 on page 219 is quite convicting! 00:40:13 Adam Paige: Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be, And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 'Twill be in the valley of love and delight. When true simplicity is gained, To bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed, To turn, turn will be our delight, Till by turning, turning we come 'round right. 00:58:25 Bob Čihák, AZ: Re: story of Martha and Mary taking the “better path”: Christ doesn’t specify what that better path might be. Many, including St. Augustine, say that it’s the path of contemplation. I think it could be that “the better path” is the path for that person fulfilling the will of God, in that place, at that time. We all have different immediate paths to take, at different times. Obviously, Martha earned Christ’s gentle rebuke which to me suggests that she should consider that her role at that time and place might be providing hospitality. 01:06:19 Nancy Pagan: Why if we can learn by ourselves some desert fathers insist in having a staret?I I really believe we can but I should not trust myself that way? 01:06:27 Nancy Pagan: Sorry 01:07:22 Lee Graham: “Without distractions the devil has no means of entering the soul” the footnote #1 01:13:29 Art: I gain a lot of peace of heart and mind from the Benedictine motto “to work is to pray”. I’ve also seen “Prayer is my work”. Work is my prayer”. It helps me accept whatever it is I need to do 01:13:42 David Swiderski: In loving one another's God is us is made flesh. Simple not complicates but I have this written on my bedroom door because I forget and it has guided me for years. I rise and remember to be simple and the goal clear in the day. I think less words help the most as my grandfather left with me as a high school education tut taught me more than Aquinas or any spiritual father. As my mother said love few and profoundly. As I age I find all the answers where at my hands but I got lost at some times in my life. 01:13:53 James Hickman: Father, is there any distinction between unadulterated entertainment vs perhaps a cultural experience by watching a series or movie not too different from sitting down to read a novel or go to a play performed live? It might be an opportunity for leisure. I think of PBS Masterpiece where I can watch a high quality production of Les Miserables or The Count of Monte Cristo and ponder mysteries of forgiveness or the vices in my life. Certainly I’m not saying this is of greater value than spending two hours in stillness. I’m maybe admitting my weakness here, but I do wonder: is there a place for this in my life? Are there any good distractions? In moderation? 01:17:58 David Swiderski: Amen seeking beauty and what is good shapes our lives and our goals. 01:18:47 James Hickman: I breathe a sigh of relief 😀 01:20:53 Nancy Pagan: Does St Isaac, or another give a plan to live this interior life? I guess it is different for each, but is there a minimum? My experience was a radical unknown calling. Can that be ok and possible maybe even necessary ? 01:26:22 David Swiderski: You feel the presence when someone loves you unconditionally. There is something in their eyes a feeling in your heart that never goes away. At least in my life only two priest or religious have had that impact. Life wave of the ocean what is true returns over and over. 01:26:46 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/the-name-above-every-name 01:26:53 Jesssica Imanaka: I ordered it today! 01:28:19 Aaron: Thank you Father 01:28:21 David Swiderski: Thank you Father may God bless you your mother, Ren and her husband and everyone in this group you are very much appreciated and loved. 01:28:22 Nancy Pagan: 🙏 01:28:23 Jesssica Imanaka: God bless you, Father Charbel, and your mother. Thank you and here's praying for you every day! 01:29:03 Maureen Cunningham: Blessing 01:29:38 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:29:47 Lorraine Green: Thank you!

  • S6 · E249
    August 4 · 1 hr 2 min

    The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter VIII, Part II & IX, Part I

    The Fathers never speak of the spiritual life as though it were merely the acquisition of virtues or the mastery of disciplines. At its heart, it is the slow awakening of a human being who learns once again to see. The battlefield is not first the world around us but the hidden kingdom within us. It is there, in the silence of the heart, that every thought seeks entrance, every desire asks for consent, and every movement of the soul quietly bends either toward God or away from Him. It is therefore no accident that this section of the Evergetinos begins with the conscience. The Fathers do not present conscience as a private opinion, nor as a passing feeling of guilt or innocence. They speak of it as “nature’s book,” a living text written by the Creator Himself within the human heart. Before there were libraries, before there were theological treatises, before there were even spiritual fathers to guide us, God had already inscribed His law upon the depths of our being. The conscience remains that quiet witness which never ceases to speak, even when every other voice has fallen silent. St. Maximos therefore urges us not to despise it. Every time we ignore that gentle movement toward truth, every time we silence its warnings because they are inconvenient or uncomfortable, we do not simply reject an inner feeling. We reject a gift through which God Himself seeks to lead us. Yet the Fathers also understand that conscience is not formed automatically. Like every faculty of the soul, it can become clouded through neglect, distorted through the passions, or nearly inaudible beneath the constant noise of our own thoughts. Thus prayer and conscience belong together. A purified conscience gives birth to pure prayer, while genuine prayer steadily purifies the conscience. Each heals and strengthens the other until the heart gradually becomes transparent before God. This is why the Fathers place such extraordinary emphasis upon vigilance. The ascetic life is not one of anxious self-analysis but of loving attentiveness. One learns to ask, “From where has this thought arisen? Toward whom does it lead me? Does it draw me toward Christ, toward humility, toward peace, toward love, or does it leave me agitated, suspicious, self-absorbed, fearful, or filled with hidden resentment?” Such questions are not psychological exercises. They are acts of spiritual discernment. How beautiful that the Evergetinos allows us here to hear the voice of St. Synkletike. Her presence reminds us that the wisdom of the desert is not confined to the fathers alone. The mothers stand beside them as equal witnesses to the Gospel lived with radical seriousness. Their lives reveal dimensions of spiritual perception that enrich the whole Church. To hear Synkletike is to hear a mother whose authority has been forged in prayer, suffering, and long experience of the hidden warfare of the heart. Her image of the ship is unforgettable. Storms from without may batter the vessel, yet the greater danger often lies beneath the surface, where unnoticed water slowly fills the hold while everyone sleeps. So too the Christian is often preoccupied with visible temptations, external conflicts, and the sins of the world, while paying little attention to the quiet accumulation of interior movements that slowly weigh down the soul. A single grievance carefully preserved, a subtle spirit of self-importance, an unnoticed judgment against another, a conversation endlessly replayed within the imagination—these may appear insignificant, yet left unattended they become the hidden water that eventually sinks the ship. The modern elders speak with precisely the same realism. St. Sophrony taught that every thought should first be brought before Christ before it is welcomed into the heart. Elder Aimilianos describes the spiritual life as learning to stand watch over the entrance of the heart with peaceful sobriety. Elder Thaddeus reminds us that “our thoughts determine our lives,” not because thoughts possess magical power, but because every thought eventually shapes the disposition of the heart from which all our actions flow. The enemy rarely begins by demanding great sins. He is content to suggest one small thought that is entertained rather than examined, one interior conversation that slowly becomes an identity, one fear that quietly replaces trust in God. The Desert Fathers therefore become extraordinary physicians of attention. They teach us that the first victory is often not found in dramatic acts of asceticism but in recognizing a thought before it becomes a passion. The battle is won while the spark is still small, before it has become a consuming fire. Yet all of this vigilance must be understood correctly. It is never a turning inward born of fear. The goal is not endless introspection. The Fathers are not asking us to become preoccupied with ourselves but to become increasingly available to Christ. We guard the heart because it has become His dwelling place. We examine our thoughts because we desire that His voice, rather than every competing voice, might become the one we recognize most readily. Perhaps this is why Abba Bessarion’s final words were that the monk should become “all eyes.” He was not describing suspicion but wakefulness. He envisioned a heart so illumined by grace that nothing enters unnoticed and nothing is judged apart from the light of Christ. In our own age, this teaching may be more urgent than ever. Never has the human heart been so relentlessly surrounded by competing voices, endless images, constant information, and unceasing commentary. Discernment has become one of the greatest ascetical tasks of our generation. We must learn once again to distinguish between the voice of conscience and the voice of shame, between the prompting of the Holy Spirit and the agitation of fear, between divine conviction and the endless accusations of the evil one. Only a heart that has grown quiet through prayer can make such distinctions. And perhaps that is where the Evergetinos gently leaves us. Not with fear of the battle, but with hope. God has not abandoned us to navigate these waters alone. He has placed within us the witness of conscience. He has given us the wisdom of the Fathers and Mothers. He has surrounded us with the prayers of the saints. Above all, He has given us His own Spirit, who patiently teaches us to recognize His voice amid every other voice. The vigilant heart is not merely watchful. It is a heart that has learned whom it is listening for. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:11 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 52 saying 5 00:07:28 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/coming-soon-the-name-above-every-name 00:08:08 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 52 saying 5 00:12:59 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/coming-soon-the-name-above-every-name 00:15:22 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 52 saying 5 00:16:17 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/coming-soon-the-name-above-every-name 00:28:30 Una: Can you give an example? 00:28:44 Una: Of acting with conscience in a difficult situation. 00:32:01 Janine: 🤚 00:37:59 James Hickman: Rachel Fulton Brown, professor at U Chicago, wrote on the medieval person being fully immersed through the Lady’s Office (as an example) — not merely reading, but by hitting both intellect and passions and other aspects of the person. She wrote on how it worked for the medieval person and decided to listen to her own research and begin praying the liturgy the same way, deeply immersing herself. She loves the change it’s had on her life — not it, but the change God has had on her life through immersion in the liturgy. She teaches classes that include deep dives into Tolkien’s poetry. Her description of this change reminds me of the effect of praying The Jesus Prayer — a real encounter, but it involves the intellect and passions. Not just academic and not just a “fun” experience of spiritual matters. https://history.uchicago.edu/directory/rachel-fulton-brown 01:03:21 James Hickman: To whom much is given much will be demanded 01:10:20 Maureen Cunningham: Alma's 01:14:40 Maureen Cunningham: Is it on your web page ,so we can bless you 01:15:20 Chukwurah Edmund: Good day everyone 01:15:26 Joan Chakonas: Father would you ever consider creating a group with your writings- you reading your book? 01:17:21 Joan Chakonas: Avoid social media like the plague 01:17:54 Joan Chakonas: Reacted to "Father would you ever consider creating a group with your writings- you reading your book?" with 😭 01:18:15 Una: My budgie likes your voice. She sings along 01:18:25 Joan Chakonas: Reacted to "My budgie likes your voice. She sings along" with 😍 01:18:37 Sheila Applegate: Reacted to My budgie likes your... with "❤️" 01:19:29 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️

  • S100 · E30
    August 4 · 1 hr 46 min

    The Name Above Every Name, Conference Four

    The Name Above Every Name Conference Four Becoming Prayer When the Name Becomes Our Life “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” — Galatians 2:20 Over these past conferences we have spoken of receiving the holy Name, guarding the heart, and learning to stand before God with a broken spirit. All of these are necessary. Yet none of them is the destination. The Jesus Prayer is not an achievement. It is not even the highest form of prayer. It is a road. It leads somewhere. Or rather, it leads to Someone. Its purpose is not that we should become occupied with prayer. Its purpose is that we should become occupied with Christ. Everything else is secondary. ⸻⸻⸻ When the Fathers speak of unceasing prayer, they do not imagine a person anxiously repeating words every moment of the day. Such an understanding would quickly become exhausting. Rather, they speak of a heart that has learned never to depart from Christ. The words remain precious. They accompany us throughout our life. Yet gradually the relationship they express becomes more important than the words themselves. The prayer begins on our lips. It descends into the mind. It finds rest in the heart. Finally, it becomes the atmosphere in which we live. Not because we are continually conscious of it. But because Christ has quietly become the center of everything. ⸻⸻⸻ This is why Archimandrite Zacharias insists that the measure of prayer is not extraordinary experiences. The measure is love. Has the heart become more patient? More forgiving? More merciful? More truthful? More humble? If not, then no matter how many prayers have been recited, the purpose has been missed. The true miracle of the Jesus Prayer is not mystical phenomena. It is the slow transformation of a human being into the likeness of Christ. ⸻⸻⸻ 2 There is a temptation that comes even in the spiritual life. We begin to love prayer more than we love God. We become attached to certain feelings. Certain consolations. Certain moments of peace. When they disappear, we imagine we have lost everything. The Fathers quietly remind us that God sometimes removes sensible consolation so that we may seek Him alone. The Bride must learn to love the Bridegroom more than His gifts. Only then does love become pure. ⸻⸻⸻ One of the most beautiful teachings of St. Silouan, so often repeated by Elder Sophrony and Archimandrite Zacharias, is that the heart gradually becomes capable of embracing the whole Adam. At first we pray for ourselves. Then for those closest to us. Then for those we love. Eventually, grace begins to enlarge the heart. We discover ourselves praying for strangers. For enemies. For those who have forgotten God. For those who have wounded us. For those who have never known love. 3 The circle widens until there are no longer any outsiders. This is not something we accomplish. It is something Christ accomplishes within us. His own love begins to beat within the human heart. ⸻⸻⸻ The Jesus Prayer therefore has a profoundly priestly character. Every baptized Christian is called to stand before God on behalf of the world. We bring before Him those who cannot pray. Those who no longer believe. Those crushed by despair. Those trapped in addiction. Those overwhelmed by grief. Those who have forgotten even their own dignity. We carry them quietly within our hearts. Not because we are strong enough. But because Christ carries them within His. Prayer becomes participation in His own intercession before the Father. ⸻⸻⸻ There is another fruit that often goes unnoticed. The heart becomes grateful. Not merely thankful when life is pleasant. 4 Grateful always. The one who continually invokes the Name slowly discovers that every breath is gift. Every sunrise. Every meal. Every encounter. Every sorrow. Even suffering becomes a place where Christ may be found. Thanksgiving begins to permeate ordinary life. The Eucharist extends into every hour of the day. ⸻⸻⸻ The Fathers speak often of stillness. Many misunderstand this word. Stillness is not merely external silence. Nor is it freedom from activity. Stillness is the quiet confidence that Christ is present. A person may live in a monastery or in a crowded city. He may spend his days alone or surrounded by people. Stillness is possible wherever the heart has learned to remain with Christ. The Jesus Prayer becomes the guardian of this hidden peace. ⸻⸻⸻ As years pass, the prayer itself often becomes simpler. Sometimes the full prayer is spoken. 5 Sometimes only the holy Name. Sometimes no words at all. Only the silent awareness of His presence. The Fathers do not prescribe these movements. Grace teaches each soul according to its need. The important thing is never to abandon humility. The closer we draw to Christ, the more clearly we perceive that everything is gift. Nothing has been earned. Everything has been received. ⸻⸻⸻ Perhaps this explains why the greatest saints seem so ordinary. They do not appear remarkable. They seldom speak about themselves. They rarely attract attention. Having forgotten themselves, they have become transparent to Christ. People leave their presence remembering Him rather than them. This is the hidden victory of the Jesus Prayer. Not that we become known as holy. But that Christ alone becomes visible. ⸻⸻⸻ When we first began this retreat, we asked a simple question. 6 Why this Name? Now perhaps we may answer it. Because within this Name dwells the whole mystery of our salvation. The humility of Bethlehem. The obedience of Nazareth. The compassion shown to sinners. The tears shed over Jerusalem. The Cross. The silence of Holy Saturday. The glory of the Resurrection. The fire of Pentecost. Everything is contained within the Person whose Name we invoke. Each time we whisper, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me,” we stand before the whole mystery of the Gospel. Nothing essential is absent. ⸻⸻⸻ Soon this retreat will end. We shall return to our homes. To our families. To our work. To our responsibilities. 7 The hidden battle will continue. Distractions will return. Weakness will remain. But now the holy Name goes with us. It accompanies every step. It enters every conversation. It sanctifies every sorrow. It illumines every joy. Little by little, almost unnoticed, Christ Himself begins to gather the scattered fragments of our lives into a single offering to the Father. This is the true work of the Jesus Prayer. Not escape from the world. But the transfiguration of the heart within the world. ⸻⸻⸻ Let us therefore ask for no extraordinary gifts. Let us ask only for faithfulness. May the Name of Jesus remain upon our lips in times of joy and in times of grief. May it guard us in temptation. Strengthen us in weakness. Console us in loneliness. Humble us in success. Sustain us in suffering. 8 And at the hour of our death, when every earthly support has fallen away, may the holy Name still be found within our hearts—not as a formula we have mastered, but as the living presence of the Friend who has walked beside us all our lives. For in the end, the greatest fruit of the Jesus Prayer is not that we have learned to repeat the Name of Christ. It is that, through His infinite mercy, the Name of Christ has slowly written itself upon our hearts. And when that has happened, prayer has become life, and life itself has become an unending hymn of love to the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit. Amen. 9

  • S100 · E29
    July 30 · 1 hr 35 min

    The Name Above Every Name, Conference Three

    The Name Above Every Name Conference Three The Broken Heart and the Descent into the Heart Learning to Stand Before God “The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise.” — Psalm 51:17 There comes a moment in every authentic spiritual life when we discover that we cannot pray as we imagined we would. We begin with generous resolutions. We set aside time. We struggle to be faithful. We seek recollection. Yet gradually another discovery is made. The deepest obstacle to prayer is not distraction. It is ourselves. Not because we are evil. But because our hearts have become divided. Part of us longs for God. Another part clings to the world. Part of us desires silence. Another part fears it. Part of us seeks Christ. Another part still wishes to preserve itself. Prayer slowly uncovers this division. Not to discourage us. But to heal us. ⸻⸻⸻ Archimandrite Zacharias often says that the purpose of the spiritual life is not simply to become moral. It is to acquire a heart capable of standing before the living God. That is a very different thing. Many people imagine holiness as flawless behavior. The saints speak instead of relationship. A man may appear outwardly blameless while never allowing God near his heart. Another may come before God in tears, unable even to lift up his eyes, and return home justified. The difference is not perfection. It is truth. God can only fill the heart that has ceased pretending. ⸻⸻⸻ This is why repentance occupies such a central place in the Jesus Prayer. “Have mercy on me.” These words are not born of self-hatred. Nor are they the cry of someone obsessed with guilt. They are the language of love. 2 Only someone who has glimpsed the beauty of Christ can grieve over the ways he has turned from Him. Repentance is therefore not primarily looking at ourselves. It is looking at Christ. His light reveals everything. Not harshly. Tenderly. Like the rising sun that slowly illumines a valley still covered in morning mist. Nothing is forced. Everything is revealed in love. ⸻⸻⸻ The Fathers distinguish between remorse and repentance. Remorse circles endlessly around itself. Repentance turns toward God. Remorse says, “I have failed.” Repentance says, “Lord, have mercy.” Remorse ends in discouragement. Repentance opens the door to hope. This distinction is essential. Many sincere Christians carry burdens Christ never asked them to carry. 3 They believe continual self-accusation is humility. It is not. True humility forgets itself because it has become absorbed in Christ. The humble man knows his poverty. But he knows God’s mercy even more. ⸻⸻⸻ Archimandrite Zacharias writes often about standing before God. This expression appears again and again. It is wonderfully simple. Prayer is not first speaking. Nor thinking. Nor even feeling. Prayer is standing. Standing before the Face of Christ. Standing in truth. Standing in poverty. Standing in hope. Everything else gradually unfolds from this. Sometimes words disappear. Sometimes thoughts become quiet. Sometimes only tears remain. 4 The Fathers are not disturbed by this. The heart has begun to speak. ⸻⸻⸻ One of the greatest gifts God grants us is the knowledge of our own weakness. Strangely, we usually resist this gift. We prefer strength. Competence. Success. Spiritual progress. God often gives something different. He allows us to encounter ourselves. Not to humiliate us. But to make us truthful. Without this knowledge, compassion remains shallow. We judge others because we have never seen ourselves. Once we have stood honestly before God, judgment becomes almost impossible. We recognize the same poverty within ourselves. And mercy begins to flow naturally. ⸻⸻⸻ The publican in the Temple becomes the icon of this prayer. He possesses nothing. No arguments. 5 No achievements. No excuses. He simply stands. “God, be merciful to me.” Nothing more. The Fathers never tire of returning to this image because it reveals the true posture of prayer. The Kingdom belongs to those who have nothing left except God. ⸻⸻⸻ There is another mystery hidden here. As repentance deepens, the heart begins to enlarge. This seems impossible. One might imagine continual repentance making a person smaller. The opposite occurs. Pride narrows the heart. Humility expands it. The more we stand honestly before Christ, the more room He creates within us. We begin to carry others. Their grief no longer feels foreign. Their wounds become our concern. Prayer quietly widens until it embraces the whole Adam. This is why the saints wept. 6 Not because they despaired. But because their hearts had become vast. ⸻⸻⸻ Archimandrite Zacharias frequently speaks of bearing shame. This language can trouble modern ears. Yet he uses it with profound care. The shame he describes is not humiliation inflicted by others. Nor is it psychological self-contempt. It is the willingness to stand before God without hiding. Adam covered himself. The saints uncover themselves before Christ. Nothing remains concealed. Nothing defended. Nothing explained away. And because everything is brought into the light, everything becomes capable of healing. The heart finally stops fleeing. It remains. ⸻⸻⸻ This is perhaps the deepest work of the Jesus Prayer. Not continual repetition. Continual return. 7 Every invocation is another act of trust. Another refusal to hide. Another opening of the heart. The prayer slowly becomes the place where Christ and the soul meet. No visions are required. No extraordinary experiences. Only faithfulness. Day after day. Year after year. Until standing before Christ becomes more natural than standing before ourselves. ⸻⸻⸻ There comes a point when prayer grows wonderfully simple. The words become fewer. The heart quieter. Silence itself begins to speak. This is not emptiness. It is fullness. The Presence for which words were preparing us has quietly arrived. The Fathers never encourage us to seek such moments. They teach us simply to remain faithful. Grace knows its own time. The flower does not open because we command it. 8 It opens because spring has come. So too the heart. ⸻⸻⸻ Perhaps this is the greatest lesson Archimandrite Zacharias offers us. The Jesus Prayer is not given so that we may become experts in prayer. It is given so that we may become truthful before God. The heart that continually cries, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me,” gradually loses the need to defend itself. It no longer fears weakness. It no longer hides failure. It no longer seeks admiration. It desires only to remain before Christ. And this is already the beginning of heaven. For heaven is nothing other than the soul standing unveiled before the Face of the One who has loved it from all eternity. As we leave this conference, let us ask for only one grace. Not extraordinary prayer. Not lofty experiences. Simply the courage to remain before Christ without masks. To allow His light to reveal us. To allow His mercy to heal us. 9 To allow His love to enlarge our hearts until they become capable of bearing both our own poverty and the suffering of the whole world. For this is the hidden work of the holy Name. It leads us, not away from ourselves, but through the truth of ourselves into the inexhaustible mercy of God. 10

  • S8 · E69
    July 30 · 1 hr 8 min

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

    There is a temptation to read St. Isaac’s description of the ascetic life as though he were outlining a ladder by which we ascend to God through effort. Nothing could be further from his mind. The ascetical life is not an achievement but a preparation. It removes what clouds the eyes of the heart so that grace may reveal what has always been present: the inexhaustible love of God. Isaac begins with struggle. The soul embraces fasting, watchfulness, vigil, prayer, reading, prostrations, and stillness with determination. Yet these labors are never an end in themselves. They are medicine. They quiet the tyranny of the passions and gather together the scattered powers of the soul. Little by little the heart becomes still enough to receive what no human effort can produce. Then grace begins to act in a new way. The mind is granted what Isaac calls the faculty of sight—not physical vision, nor intellectual understanding, but a purified perception of reality. The eyes of the heart begin to open. One starts to see as God sees. The mysteries of faith are no longer merely believed; they begin to be tasted. Scripture becomes transparent with divine life. Every created thing becomes luminous with the presence of the Creator. This is the healing of sight. What is seen first is not extraordinary visions but the overwhelming depth of God’s love. The soul discovers that grace has always preceded it, surrounded it, and carried it. What once appeared ordinary now becomes radiant with mercy. Every remembrance of Christ reveals a love deeper than previously imagined. Every prayer uncovers a tenderness that had always been waiting. From this vision arises what Isaac calls fervor. But this is not emotional excitement or religious intensity. It is the heart set ablaze because it has finally glimpsed something infinitely beautiful. One cannot behold divine love without being drawn toward it. And here wonder is born. Wonder is the soul’s astonishment before a Love that continually exceeds every expectation. It is the childlike gaze restored after years of blindness. The more one sees, the more one realizes how little has yet been seen. Every new glimpse enlarges the heart’s capacity for awe. Wonder, in turn, gives birth to desire. This desire is no longer restless striving for spiritual experiences. It is the quiet longing to remain forever with the One whose beauty has captivated the heart. Desire has been healed because sight has been healed. One seeks God not from fear or obligation but because Love has become irresistible. The tears Isaac describes arise naturally from this transformation. They are the language of a heart becoming transparent before God. As tears deepen into abiding peace, the warfare of thoughts gradually subsides. From this peace comes purity. From purity comes clearer vision. From clearer vision comes still greater wonder. From wonder comes deeper desire. Thus the soul moves, as St. Paul says, “from glory to glory,” or, as the Fathers loved to say, from grace to grace. Even the ascetical practices themselves are transformed. Vigils, fasting, prostrations, and prayer are no longer burdens to be endured but expressions of love. One remains in prayer because one has discovered the Beloved there. Whether prayer multiplies into countless prostrations or becomes gathered into a single wordless contemplation, both are gifts of the same grace working according to the measure God gives. For Isaac, the entire spiritual life is nothing other than the gradual restoration of vision. We do not become different people so much as truly human. The veil over the heart is lifted. We begin to behold the Kingdom already present. We discover that God has loved us long before we learned to seek Him. Every genuine ascetical labor serves this one purpose: that our sight may be healed, our wonder awakened, our desire purified, and our hearts transformed ever more deeply into the likeness of Christ. The journey never ends, for the love that is revealed is infinite. Each grace prepares the soul for another grace. Each glimpse opens onto a greater horizon. And so the heart continues its pilgrimage—not driven by fear, but drawn onward forever by the inexhaustible beauty of Divine Love. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:00 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 217 Homily 18 00:04:21 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/a-new-book-from-city-a-desert-press 00:04:57 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.amazon.com/Monastic-Heart-Future-Church-Fragmentation-ebook/dp/B0H83PJB6R/ref=sr_1_2?crid=CA7O6MNLKS2B&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.UxrtdZ72KKP0IBe2nG2QKWoekj-tDWub-JRHV70F3o_9D8FKLwu3XJQwvaPRSOwXyoLeEkoM3pnCnEfXghYaecmDIjPMYikocLL4oOyECpNa633QwCLIRNEvGeBomRANfezyyKgZUNE_8KLrXsTDyDINbIELyJ_JDlSyMQ366ADfOF8Ko7V9c8zpgjxI-NXGJ8OXoZir32kRKTRw1hzIvS79rq-XnDOglQHeZ3C0ypk.jSo9ogtwHZA38QhTVKjumOyVWU5SWx0imIAZKw7pOPU&dib_tag=se&keywords=the+monastic+heart&qid=1785019600&sprefix=%2Caps%2C111&sr=8-2 00:06:15 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-monastic-heart-and-the-future-of-the-church-charbel-abernethy/1150670922?ean=9798996766413 00:08:19 Aaron: Good evening everyone. Hope you’re all well 00:32:02 Maureen Cunningham: When you see your lack, how do you not have self hate for what you see with in yourself 00:44:45 Ryan Ngeve: Father regarding the last line from the previous paragraph, what purposes does it serve for the tears the overcome a man, leave him, and the come again unceasingly? 00:45:48 James Hickman: Re: the prodigal son, the Father’s fatted calf was always there for either son to enjoy, the fatted calf being the sweet Christ. 00:45:57 Kathryn Rose: Myrrhic tears 00:46:53 James Hickman: The slaughtered fatted calf is like that peace from warfare 00:48:57 Erick Chastain: page #? 01:00:25 David Swiderski: The veil between heaven and earth is thinnest at night. I can't remember the Saint but learned this from someone in Spain in the Picos de Europa looking at the milky way and the sea of Biscay in the distance. I still like to do a vigil looking out a window or outside (in summer) 01:04:19 Aaron: How can one recognise their own limits in spiritual practice so they don’t push themselves beyond what their body can bear? 01:05:07 David Swiderski: I will try. It was a comment from a friend I was so caught up in the moment I cant remember 01:05:19 Julie: Reacted to "I will try. It was a comment from a friend I was so caught up in the moment I cant remember" with 🙏 01:09:02 David Swiderski: My Dad has prostrate issues so he has no problem with that and milk and cookies. In Latin America people don't even have dinner till 11pm but they take naps. Lots of options 01:10:01 Rebecca Thérèse: Before the industrial revolution everyone split the night into two sleeps. Everyone got up at night to work, socialise and visit others. For monks or hermits they were just following social customs rising during the night. Although some still practise this, most of us have different habits of waking and sleeping these days. 01:10:25 David Swiderski: Reacted to "Before the industrial revolution everyone split the night into two sleeps. Everyone got up at night to work, socialise and visit others. For monks or hermits they were just following social customs rising during the night. Although some still practise this, most of us have different habits of waking and sleeping these days." with 👍 01:16:03 Gwen’s iPhone: Get a cat. Better than rooster. lol 01:16:41 Wayne: Reacted to "Get a cat. Better than rooster. lol" with 👍 01:16:44 James Hickman: Reacted to "Get a cat. Better than rooster. lol" with 😂 01:17:03 Erick Chastain: How does one engage in the never-ending torrent of tears he describes? Genuine question 01:17:10 John ‘Jack’: I’m a power napping extraordinaire; 8 min feels like a full night, 🤷🏽‍♂️ 01:21:13 Maureen Cunningham: Grief brings many tears ,the lost of a love one, In time the tears are less it could be years later you still weep but not as much as you did .could the tears that your speaking of be similar 01:22:26 David Swiderski: It might be a tradition not a saint- Norther Spain is Celtic so a lot in common with Ireland. In the Celtic Christian tradition there’s a saying that heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in “thin places” they’re even closer 01:24:59 una: It is IRish. I grew up with that saying 01:26:04 David Swiderski: Thank you Father. May God bless you, your mother, Ren and her husband and everyone in this group. 01:26:27 Joan Chakonas: Reacted to "Thank you Father. May God bless you, your mother, Ren and her husband and everyone in this group." with ❤️ 01:26:28 Maureen Cunningham: Thank you Blessing, 01:26:46 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️

  • S8 · E68
    July 30 · 1 hr 6 min

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

    There is a temptation when reading the closing section of Homily 17 to see it as little more than a long list of prohibitions. Do not quarrel. Do not lie. Speak little. Avoid pride. Flee idle disputes. Endure injustice. Keep away from the powerful. Be moderate. At first glance, it can seem as though Isaac is describing a life of relentless restraint. Yet nothing could be further from his intention. The asceticism Isaac describes is never an end in itself. It is not a spiritual achievement, nor a demonstration of discipline. It is medicine. Every command is given for one purpose alone: to heal the heart until it can see again. The passions do not simply lead us into sin; they cloud our vision. Anger, pride, gluttony, argumentativeness, ambition, and constant speech scatter the soul. They fragment our attention until we can no longer perceive the quiet movements of grace. We remain busy with ourselves while becoming strangers to the Kingdom already present within us. This is why Isaac warns so carefully about seemingly ordinary things. Much talk extinguishes the noetic movements of the heart. Pride drives away the gentle energy of the Holy Spirit. Endless disputes over doctrine can become more about victory than truth. Even legitimate concerns can consume the heart until it loses its capacity for wonder. Asceticism, then, is not primarily about saying no. It is about making room for a greater yes. As the heart is purified, something extraordinary begins to emerge. Desire awakens—not the restless desire that seeks to possess, but the deep longing placed within us by God from the beginning. Wonder returns. The world ceases to be merely useful or threatening and becomes transparent to divine love. We begin to recognize that every act of humility, every silence embraced, every injury patiently endured is quietly removing another veil from the eyes of the heart. Then Isaac arrives at the astonishing conclusion toward which the entire homily has been moving: “Your soul will see the light of Christ in herself.” This is not poetic exaggeration. Nor is it a mystical privilege reserved for a few extraordinary souls. It is the destiny of every human being. The One whom we have sought in prayer, in Scripture, in the sacraments, and in the wilderness is discovered dwelling within the heart itself. The ascetical life has not brought Christ near; it has healed our blindness so that we may finally behold the One who has never departed. Here desire reaches its fulfillment. Wonder is no longer merely a response to creation but to the Creator living within His creature. Love recognizes Love. The heart discovers that beneath all its restless searching there has always been an eternal Presence waiting in silence. The Desert Fathers never practiced asceticism because they despised the world. They practiced it because they longed to see. Every fast, every vigil, every hidden act of humility was an act of hope that the eyes of the heart might become clear enough to behold Christ shining from within. Perhaps this is why Isaac ends not with another command but with a promise. The goal is not a perfectly disciplined life. The goal is a luminous heart. For when the heart is healed, it does not merely believe that Christ dwells within. It begins to see Him there. And in that vision, desire finds its home, wonder becomes ceaseless, and the soul enters even now into the eternal light that can never again be overcome by darkness. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:13 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/philokalia-ministries-summer-retreat 00:10:02 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/where-silence-learns-to-speak 00:11:13 Larry Ruggiero: Can you send the ISBN# of the book you are reading from. I’m having a difficult time following in my book translated by Nun Christina 00:11:35 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Above link is the Charter for City a Desert Press 00:13:17 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 216 para 7 mid paragraph 00:15:34 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/where-silence-learns-to-speak 00:29:23 James Hickman: Father, no disagreement here, but could you please share a few concrete examples of what Saint Isaac means by “something pertaining to the soul”? I can see why we don’t want to hurt the soul. What does Isaac have in mind that pertains to the soul though? 00:33:23 James Hickman: Thank you 00:46:01 Maureen Cunningham: I put an icon in my car when get urge for fries I look at the Icon of the Holy Face of Jesus 00:46:57 paul g.: ✔️ 00:47:42 James Hickman: The Thomistic Institue just released a podcast recording of a retreat talk on forgiveness by Fr. Andrew Hofer, OP, where he reminds us of the patristic interpretation of the fatted calf as Christ. The saints denied themselves of delicious food because they’ve tasted and seen how good and sweet the Lord is. Far tastier than any food made by human hands is the Fatted Calf. 00:52:57 Maureen Cunningham: Not passed by FDA only baby product 00:53:49 Rebecca Thérèse: Is the supplement research conducted by pharmaceutical companies? 01:04:38 Erick Chastain: this set of passages seems to make the argument you should not often be on social media 01:17:09 John ‘Jack’: They sanctify us 01:20:59 Joan Chakonas: I used to seek truth in economics and current events back in my secular days- but upon finding my faith I know Seeking truth with the help of the desert fathers is all i ever needed 01:21:07 Julie: Thank you Father🙏🏼 01:21:39 Gwen’s iPhone: Thank you. 01:21:41 Maureen Cunningham: Thank You, everyone and Father Love what you read about the church Fathers 01:21:43 Kevin Burke: Thank You Father! 01:22:21 Joan Chakonas: This site is spiritual gold 01:22:32 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:22:37 Jesssica Imanaka: Thank you! 01:22:44 Kevin Burke: Reacted to "This site is spiritual gold" with ❤️

  • S6 · E248
    July 21 · 1 hr 4 min

    The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter VIII, Part I

    One of the striking features of the desert tradition is the extraordinary seriousness with which the Fathers speak about the conscience. Modern readers can easily mistake conscience for little more than an inner feeling, a private moral opinion, or an emotional sense of guilt. The Fathers know nothing of this reduction. For them, the conscience is something infinitely more profound. It is the hidden sanctuary where God quietly addresses the human heart. It is the place where divine love first encounters human freedom. This explains why they are far less interested in outward accomplishment than in the movements of the heart. God does not merely examine what we do. He examines why we do it. The Evergetinos reminds us that fasting, vigils, prayer, psalmody, almsgiving, and hospitality are all good by their very nature. Yet these same holy works can become empty when they spring from vanity, fear, ambition, or the longing to be admired. The act itself may appear beautiful before men while the heart quietly seeks itself rather than God. The Fathers understand something that remains deeply relevant in every age: the human heart possesses an astonishing ability to hide its motives even from itself. For this reason the spiritual life demands something more than discipline. It demands truthfulness. St. Isaac the Syrian brings the matter to its deepest point when he writes that virtue is not primarily found in many bodily labors but in “a heart rendered most wise by its hope in God.” Everything begins here. The body may perform countless good works, but unless the heart is slowly purified, those works cannot bear their full fruit. This is not because God is difficult to please. It is because God desires not our performance but our communion. Throughout these passages one senses that the conscience is not presented as an accuser waiting to condemn us but as a faithful companion seeking to preserve our freedom. St. Isaiah calls it our guardian. St. Mark tells us that whoever wishes to heal the soul must first learn to obey it. Abba Agathon goes so far as to say that the monk should never allow his conscience to accuse him in anything. Such words can easily be misunderstood. The Fathers are not asking us to become scrupulous or anxious. Nor are they inviting us into endless self-analysis. Rather, they are describing the gradual restoration of an inner harmony in which thought, desire, intention, and action become one. This harmony is one of the great signs of healing. The image preserved in the Gerontikon is especially beautiful. The conscience is compared to a spring. If one continually digs deeper, the water becomes clearer. If one fills it with earth, the spring is slowly destroyed. How often this happens almost unnoticed. The first compromise rarely appears serious. One ignores a small prompting toward kindness. One excuses an act of impatience. One refuses an invitation to forgiveness. One silences an uncomfortable truth because it interferes with a cherished attachment. None of these seems decisive. Yet every refusal places another handful of earth into the spring. Eventually the water grows cloudy. Not because God has withdrawn. But because we have gradually lost the ability to hear Him. The opposite is equally true. Every small act of obedience clears the water a little more. Every hidden act of honesty enlarges the heart. Every quiet surrender to truth makes the conscience more luminous and more peaceful. Here we begin to see why the Fathers connect conscience so closely with spiritual knowledge. Knowledge of God is not merely the accumulation of theological ideas. It is born from a heart that has become transparent enough to recognize His presence. This is where desire and conscience meet. Much of our suffering arises because our desires have become divided. We seek God while simultaneously clinging to lesser loves that promise security, recognition, or control. The conscience gently exposes this division. It does not shame us for having desires. Rather, it patiently teaches us which desires lead toward life and which quietly imprison us. The conscience is therefore one of God’s greatest gifts to the wounded heart. It protects wonder. For wonder can only flourish where there is truth. A heart that continually ignores its deepest convictions gradually becomes cynical. It begins to distrust goodness because it has learned to distrust itself. But when a person begins again to live honestly before God—even imperfectly—a different kind of vision slowly emerges. Gratitude becomes possible. Simplicity returns. One discovers that obedience does not diminish freedom but restores it. The Fathers never separate conscience from hope. Even when it reproves us, its purpose is always restoration. Its voice is not that of an executioner but of a physician. It wounds only in order to heal. Perhaps this is why the saints possessed such extraordinary peace. They did not become holy because they never struggled. They became holy because they refused to make peace with falsehood. They listened to the quiet voice within before it became drowned out by louder voices. Little by little the conscience became not merely a judge of their actions but a window through which they learned to behold the face of Christ Himself. In an age filled with noise, distraction, and endless external judgments, the Fathers quietly invite us back to this hidden sanctuary. There, beneath all our fears and ambitions, God still speaks. And every time we answer that gentle voice with sincerity, the spring becomes clear again. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:19 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 49 paragraph 9 00:01:58 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/philokalia-ministries-summer-retreat 00:02:37 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/a-new-book-from-city-a-desert-press 00:07:50 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 49, # 9 00:13:18 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 49 paragraph 9 00:16:01 Nancy Pagan: Hello everyone. New here 00:16:25 Jacqulyn Dudasko: Reacted to "Hello everyone. New here" with 👍 00:16:33 Forrest: Reacted to "Hello everyone. New here" with 👍 00:17:07 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Reacted to "Hello everyone. New..." with 👍 00:17:34 Nancy Pagan: Hi 00:18:10 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 49, # 9 00:26:30 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 50, B 00:30:20 James Hickman: It seems that the good intention is like the ear of the heart is listening to and obeying the indwelling Trinity. It’s cooperating. The bad intention is not a cooperation. I know we speak of the eye of the heart, but it seems stillness allows for an ear of the heart. Maybe I’m being silly, but that’s what comes to mind here in Isaac. 00:37:18 Nypaver Clan: My copy says, “must NOT allow conscience to accuse.” 00:38:29 Bob Čihák, AZ: Reacted to "My copy says, “must NOT allow conscience to accuse.”" with 👍 00:40:55 Catherine Opie: Is this speaking about scrupulosity? 00:41:51 Catherine Opie: Ah yes I'm a bit slow sorry 00:51:31 Joan Chakonas: Wow. Delivered to adversary. What food for thought 00:57:55 James Hickman: This talk of enemies (the passions) and the adversary (the conscience) makes me think of the afraid boy who flees to protection. Don’t attempt to fight. Seek the savior. Be ok being afraid and weak and turn to God for his divine assistance 01:00:22 Forrest: The Greek word used here for "enemies" ἐχθρός (echthros) has a root in "hate". ,,,,We will be turned over to what we hate. 01:16:10 Bob Čihák, AZ: Link to Peter Kreeft excerpt I mentioned: https://notthebee.com/article/this-marriage-advice-from-catholic-apologist-peter-kreeft-is-hitting-the-internet-right-in-the-feels 01:16:55 James Hickman: Reacted to "Hello everyone. New here" with 🤝 01:19:46 James Hickman: lol 01:21:05 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:21:31 Bob Čihák, AZ: We forgive you!!! 01:21:39 Nancy Pagan: Thx

  • S100 · E28
    July 21 · 2 hr 1 min

    The Name Above Every Name, Conference Two

    The Name Above Every Name Conference Two Guarding the Heart with the Name The Jesus Prayer and the Hidden Battle “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.” — Proverbs 4:23 When we begin to pray the Jesus Prayer with any measure of faithfulness, we often encounter something unexpected. Rather than becoming peaceful, we become distracted. Rather than discovering silence, we discover noise. Rather than finding purity, we become painfully aware of the confusion within us. Many become discouraged at this point. They imagine they are failing. The Fathers tell us something very different. For the first time, we are beginning to see. The purpose of the Jesus Prayer is not merely to console us. It is to bring us into the light of Christ. And whenever light enters a darkened room, it reveals what has long been hidden. The heart is no different. The Jesus Prayer does not create our distractions. It uncovers them. It does not produce our passions. It reveals how deeply they have already taken root. This is why the beginning of prayer can feel more difficult than life before prayer. Grace has begun its work. ⸻⸻⸻ Archimandrite Zacharias often reminds us that God grants us His light gradually because He knows our weakness. If He were to reveal our heart all at once, we could not bear the sight. Instead, He teaches us gently. He uncovers one attachment. Then another. He exposes one fear. Then another. He reveals one hidden wound. Then another. Not to condemn us. But to heal us. This is the great difference between the accusation of the enemy and the illumination of the Holy Spirit. The enemy exposes in order to produce despair. Christ reveals in order to restore communion. The one drives us inward. The other draws us toward repentance. This distinction must never be forgotten. 2 ⸻⸻⸻ The Fathers speak constantly of watchfulness. This is not suspicion. It is not anxiety. It is not becoming preoccupied with ourselves. Watchfulness is simply the refusal to live asleep. Most of us spend our lives reacting. A word is spoken. A memory arises. An anxiety appears. A desire awakens. Without reflection we follow it. The Fathers ask us to pause. Not to analyze. Not to condemn. But to stand before Christ. The Jesus Prayer gradually creates this holy pause. Instead of immediately following every thought, we return to the Name. Again and again. Not violently. Not anxiously. Simply and quietly. 3 Like a child returning home. The Name becomes the place where the heart learns to remain. ⸻⸻⸻ One of the greatest misunderstandings of the Philokalia is the belief that thoughts themselves are the enemy. The Fathers never teach this. Thoughts come and go. Many arise without our consent. Temptation is not sin. Memories are not sin. Emotions are not sin. Even powerful images may arise without our choosing them. The hidden battle begins only when the heart gives consent. This is why the Fathers devote so much attention to freedom. Between the arising of a thought and our agreement with it there exists a sacred space. The Jesus Prayer enlarges that space. It restores our freedom. We are no longer carried wherever every thought wishes to lead us. We become capable of remaining with Christ. This is one of the greatest miracles of grace. ⸻⸻⸻ The enemy has always sought to scatter the human heart. 4 Our age makes this easier than ever. Never before have so many voices demanded our attention. Never before have we carried so much noise in our pockets. Never before have we been so easily distracted from the one thing necessary. The tragedy is not merely that we become distracted. It is that we gradually lose the capacity for recollection. We become strangers to our own hearts. The Jesus Prayer quietly gathers what has been scattered. Like a shepherd calling sheep from every hillside, the Name summons the fragments of our life back into unity. Thought by thought. Breath by breath. Day by day. The heart slowly becomes one. ⸻⸻⸻ This battle cannot be won by force. Many begin the spiritual life with enormous determination. They resolve to conquer every passion. To eliminate every distraction. To achieve uninterrupted prayer. Such zeal often ends in exhaustion. The Fathers counsel another way. 5 Humility. When distractions arise, we do not become angry. When thoughts return a hundred times, we return to Christ a hundred and one times. The victory lies less in never wandering than in always returning. The prayer itself teaches us this rhythm. Return. Remain. Return again. Eventually we discover that perseverance is stronger than intensity. ⸻⸻⸻ Archimandrite Zacharias repeatedly insists that humility attracts grace. This is why every sincere invocation of the Name weakens the dominion of pride. “Have mercy on me.” These words leave little room for self-sufficiency. They are the language of one who knows he cannot save himself. Strangely, this becomes the beginning of true freedom. Only the humble can receive help. Only the poor can receive riches. Only the empty can be filled. The Jesus Prayer continually places us in this blessed poverty. ⸻⸻⸻ 6 The hidden battle is therefore not primarily against demons. Nor is it first against thoughts. It is against forgetfulness. Adam forgot God. Israel forgot God. We forget God. Everything else follows from this forgetting. The Jesus Prayer becomes an act of remembrance. Not merely remembering a doctrine. But remembering a Person. The heart learns to live in His presence. As remembrance deepens, many passions lose their strength. Not because we have crushed them. But because Christ has become more beautiful than the things that once captivated us. Love quietly accomplishes what fear never could. ⸻⸻⸻ The Fathers speak of purity of heart. Our world often misunderstands this expression. Purity is not emotional perfection. Nor is it psychological simplicity. It is singleness. One heart. 7 One desire. One Lord. This is why Christ says, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” Only a unified heart can truly behold Him. The Jesus Prayer slowly gathers every divided affection into this one desire. Christ Himself becomes the center around which every thought, memory, sorrow, and joy begins to find its proper place. ⸻⸻⸻ Perhaps the greatest surprise of the spiritual life is that victory often feels like weakness. The proud imagine victory as mastery. The saints experience it as dependence. They become less confident in themselves. More confident in Christ. Less interested in their own progress. More attentive to His mercy. The Name accomplishes this quietly over many years. Not dramatically. Almost imperceptibly. Until one day we discover that we no longer rely upon our own strength. We instinctively turn toward Christ in every circumstance. The prayer has become the movement of the heart. 8 ⸻⸻⸻ As we continue this retreat, let us not become discouraged by the hidden battle. The very struggle is already a sign that grace is at work. If we now see distractions that once escaped our notice, give thanks. If we recognize passions that once ruled us unnoticed, give thanks. If we discover our weakness, give thanks. For Christ has not come to condemn what He reveals. He has come to heal it. Let us therefore guard the heart—not with fear, but with hope. Let us return again and again to the holy Name. For every sincere return, however small, is already a victory of grace. And slowly, often without our noticing, the heart that was once scattered among a thousand desires begins to rest in the One whose Name is above every name. 9

  • S8 · E67
    July 21 · 1 hr 10 min

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

    “One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.” — Psalm 27:4 Few passages in St. Isaac the Syrian can be as easily misunderstood as this one. Read superficially, it can sound severe, even offensive to modern ears. His warnings about women, nuns, relatives, and young companions may appear to reflect suspicion toward persons rather than wisdom about the spiritual life. Yet such a reading overlooks both the monastic setting in which Isaac writes and the deeper concern that governs every line of his counsel. Isaac is not teaching that women are a source of evil, nor is he diminishing the goodness of family or friendship. Throughout his writings, his attention is never fixed upon others as dangers in themselves. His gaze remains fixed upon the heart and its extraordinary capacity both for communion with God and for subtle distraction. The repeated refrain of this passage reveals its true center: “lest your heart be chilled from the love of God.” This is the thread that binds together everything he says. The heart, once awakened to divine love, must be protected, not because God is fragile, but because we are. Human desire is easily dispersed. Our attention becomes fragmented. Emotional attachments, conversations, familiarities, anxieties, ambitions, and countless innocent occupations can gradually occupy the inner sanctuary that belongs to Christ alone. Rarely does this happen through great acts of rebellion. More often it happens through slow diffusion, until the fire quietly burns less brightly than before. For this reason Isaac begins, not with avoidance, but with humility. Refuse no lowly task. Judge no one. Consider yourself accountable for another’s fall. Hide your spiritual struggles. Seek only one wise and God-fearing confidant. Live quietly. Every one of these counsels gathers the heart inward. They free it from the endless outward movement of self-assertion and return it to the simplicity of standing before God. His counsel regarding relationships belongs within this same ascetical vision. He is writing to monks who have embraced a radical vocation of celibacy and solitude, where even legitimate human affections must be carefully ordered lest they become substitutes for the all-consuming love of Christ. His language reflects the rigor of that calling and the assumptions of his own historical and monastic world. It should not be detached from that context or mechanically applied to every Christian life. Yet beneath these historically conditioned expressions lies a spiritual principle of enduring importance. Every disciple of Christ must ask what quietly draws the heart away from its first love. For some, it may indeed be disordered relationships. For others, it is success, constant activity, endless news, resentment, comfort, or the subtle desire to be admired. The forms differ from person to person, but the interior movement remains the same. Anything that gradually occupies the deepest affection of the heart risks cooling the love that belongs to Christ. Isaac’s asceticism is therefore not an asceticism of fear but of love. He is not constructing walls around the monk because the world is unclean. He is protecting a flame. The one who has begun to taste the sweetness of communion with God discovers that there is nothing more precious than preserving that intimacy. Every act of vigilance becomes an expression of love. Every renunciation becomes the joyful refusal to exchange what is eternal for what is passing. Paradoxically, this vigilance does not diminish our capacity to love others. It purifies it. Detached from possessiveness and emotional need, the heart becomes capable of a deeper tenderness, one that seeks the good of the other without making the other the source of its life. The more wholly the heart belongs to Christ, the more freely it can belong to everyone else. This is where Isaac is leading us. Not toward fear of the world, nor toward suspicion of human relationships, but toward that simplicity of heart in which nothing is loved apart from God and everything is loved within Him. Only such a heart remains truly free. Only such a heart can receive every person as gift without ever losing the Giver. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:53 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 215 paragraph 5 00:09:59 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/post/a-new-book-from-city-a-desert-press 00:14:47 Maureen Cunningham: How do I find Christina the Nun I was telling a friend 00:15:00 John ‘Jack’: ❤️ 00:15:26 James Hickman: Second Sunday of Easter (or Sunday of Divine Mercy) https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/041226.cfm 00:15:37 Adam Paige: search "Nun Christina" on Amazon 00:15:40 Ambrose Little: Hi, Ren! 00:15:52 Ren Horcher: Reacted to "Hi, Ren!" with ❤️ 00:18:31 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 215, #5, second paragraph 00:21:52 Bob Čihák, AZ: Reacted to "Hi, Ren!" with ❤️ 00:35:13 Aaron: What would ‘linger’ and ‘gaze’? Do those terms have different meanings? 00:35:32 Aaron: What would ‘linger’ and ‘gaze’ mean?* 00:37:06 David Swiderski: A spiritual director I had always said when you stop seeing Christ look away back towards him 00:38:19 Bob Čihák, AZ: P 215, #5, second paragraph 00:39:29 Rebecca Thérèse: I've spent a lot of time travelling alone in Morocco wearing Muslim clothing so I would not stand out. Muslim men do not look directly at women who they are not related to. This felt a little unusual at first but eventually I felt very respected by it. They listened very attentively to me and were very helpful but they never looked at me at all after the first glance. (Moroccan women looked at me and would also touch my hands and my clothing). 00:40:33 Rebecca Thérèse: The attitude of Muslim men is that they do not have the right to look at women. 00:53:04 Aaron: What does St. Isaac mean when he says ‘one who is poor in his place of dwelling’ ? 00:54:40 John ‘Jack’: One of my very closest confidants is a dear freind who has Glioblastoma Brian cancer 26 years ago, was given 24 hours to live. He’s had 7 years of Hama radiation abs a lobotomy, he’s one of the most sincere followers I know, and makes a wonderful confidant as he has a HORRIBLE memory as he literally only has about 1/2 a brain, he’s a beautiful man 00:55:31 John ‘Jack’: I love him dearly 00:55:34 James Hickman: Unless a side fall and die 00:55:43 James Hickman: Seed 00:59:49 Maureen Cunningham: Wow he looks perfect 01:11:46 James Hickman: We can judge those we are closest with, for the tempter wants to trap us in that familiarity 01:15:48 Maureen Cunningham: Seem the world hate Christians we can easily join in 01:15:48 Adam Paige: I found Fr Charbel's upcoming volume as a Kobo e-book, and you can read a 26-page preview (Author's Note and Prologue): https://kobo.com/en/ebook/the-monastic-heart-and-the-future-of-the-church 01:17:44 Rachel: Yes! So beautiful 01:18:19 Ben: Anna: These paragraphs are heavy and my inclination is to turn away from them as something for someone else. 01:18:24 James Hickman: Will this be an audiobook? 01:19:16 Sr Barbara Jean Mihalchick: For me it's shades of novitiate training... 01:20:41 John ‘Jack’: Be plucky 01:21:00 Joan Chakonas: Books are the deposit of the faith- essential 01:22:12 Joan Chakonas: I think where would we be without all of these pages of wisdom? 01:25:25 David Swiderski: Thank you Father may God bless you, your mother and Ren and her husband 01:25:28 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:25:34 Art: Thank you! 01:26:08 Rachel: Thank you! 01:26:08 Aaron: Thank you Father 01:26:11 Gwen’s iPhone: Ty

  • S6 · E247
    July 21 · 1 hr 4 min

    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 the Egyptian as a struggle in prayer to guard his soul against the enemies of contemplation. The Egyptian here is not merely the guy who walked near Moses in Egypt…it’s the war within. Paragraphs 310-312 in that book www.newhumanityinstitute.org/pdf-articles/Gregory-of-Nyssa-The-Life-of-Moses.pdf 01:12:22 Forrest: I think this paragraph echoes paragraph 5 benefitting at heart ψυχικῶς without actually performing the good dead. 01:15:03 Maureen Cunningham: Thank You, always a Blessing 01:16:18 Rebecca Thérèse: Thank you☺️ 01:16:24 Danny Moulton: THank You! 01:16:30 Catherine Opie: God bless, its freezing here 01:16:33 John ‘Jack’: 🤟🏼

  • S100 · E27
    July 13 · 1 hr 39 min

    The Name Above Every Name, Conference One

    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

  • S8 · E66
    July 13 · 1 hr 8 min

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

    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.

  • S6 · E246
    July 7 · 1 hr 4 min

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

    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

  • S8 · E65
    July 7 · 1 hr 1 min

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

    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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