DEDICATION
To John Mogabgab
CONTENTS
Dedication
PrologueSOLITUDESILENCEPRAYEREPILOGUEAcknowledgmentsNotes
About the AuthorCreditsCopyrightAbout the Publisher
PROLOGUE
IN TWENTY YEARS we will celebrate the second millennium of the ChristianEra. But the question is: “Will there be anything to celebrate?” Many voiceswonder if humanity can survive its own destructive powers. As we reflecton the increasing poverty and hunger, the rapidly spreading hatred andviolence within as well as between countries, and the frightening buildup ofnuclear weapons systems, we come to realize that our world has embarkedon a suicidal journey. We are painfully reminded of the words of John theEvangelist:
The Word . . . the true light . . . was coming into the world . . . thathad its being through him, and the world did not know him. Hecame to his own domain and his own people did not accept him(John 1:9–11).
It seems that the darkness is thicker than ever, that the powers of evil aremore blatantly visible than ever, and that the children of God are beingtested more severely than ever.
During the last few years I have been wondering what it means to be aminister in such a situation. What is required of men and women who wantto bring light into the darkness, “to bring good news to the poor, to proclaimliberty to captives and to the blind new sight, to set the downtrodden free, toproclaim the Lord’s year of favor” (Luke 4:18–19)? What is required of aman or a woman who is called to enter fully into the turmoil and agony ofthe times and speak a word of hope?
It is not difficult to see that in this fearful and painful period of ourhistory we who minister in parishes, schools, universities, hospitals, andprisons are having a difficult time fulfilling our task of making the light ofChrist shine into the darkness. Many of us have adapted ourselves too wellto the general mood of lethargy. Others among us have become tired,exhausted, disappointed, bitter, resentful, or simply bored. Still others have
remained active and involved—but have ended up living more in their ownname than in the Name of Jesus Christ. This is not so strange. The pressuresin the ministry are enormous, the demands are increasing, and thesatisfactions diminishing. How can we expect to remain full of creativevitality, of zeal for the Word of God, of desire to serve, and of motivation toinspire our often numbed congregations? Where are we supposed to findnurture and strength? How can we alleviate our own spiritual hunger andthirst?
These are the concerns I should like to address in the following pages. Ihope to offer some ideas and some disciplines that may be of help in ourefforts to remain vital witnesses of Christ in the coming years; years that nodoubt will be filled with temptations to unfaithfulness, a comfortable self-centeredness, and despair.
But where shall we turn? To Jacques Ellul, William Stringfellow,Thomas Merton, Teilhard de Chardin? They all have much to say, but I aminterested in a more primitive source of inspiration, which by its directness,simplicity and concreteness, can lead us without any byways to the core ofour struggle. This source is the Apophthegmata Patrum, the Sayings of theDesert Fathers. The Desert Fathers, who lived in the Egyptian desert duringthe fourth and fifth centuries, can offer us a very important perspective onour life as ministers living at the end of the twentieth century. The DesertFathers—and there were Mothers, too—were Christians who searched for anew form of martyrdom. Once the persecutions had ceased, it was no longerpossible to witness for Christ by following him as a blood witness. Yet theend of the persecutions did not mean that the world had accepted the idealsof Christ and altered its ways; the world continued to prefer the darkness tothe light (John 3:19). But if the world was no longer the enemy of theChristian, then the Christian had to become the enemy of the dark world.The flight to the desert was the way to escape a tempting conformity to theworld. Anthony, Agathon, Macarius, Poemen, Theodora, Sarah, andSyncletica became spiritual leaders in the desert. Here they became a newkind of martyr: witnesses against the destructive powers of evil, witnessesfor the saving power of Jesus Christ.
Their spiritual commentaries, their counsel to visitors, and their veryconcrete ascetical practices form the basis of my reflections about thespiritual life of the minister in our day. Like the Desert Fathers andMothers, we have to find a practical and workable response to Paul’s
exhortation: “Do not model yourselves on the behavior of the world aroundyou, but let your behavior change, modeled by your new mind. This is theonly way to discover the will of God and know what is good, what it is thatGod wants, what is the perfect thing to do” (Romans 12:2).
To structure my reflections, I will use a story told about Abba Arsenius.Arsenius was a well-educated Roman of senatorial rank who lived at thecourt of Emperor Theodosius as tutor to the princes Arcadius and Honorius.“While still living in the palace, Abba Arsenius prayed to God in thesewords, ‘Lord, lead me in the way of salvation.’ And a voice came saying tohim, ‘Arsenius, flee from the world and you will be saved.’ Having sailedsecretly from Rome to Alexandria and having withdrawn to the solitary life(in the desert) Arsenius prayed again: ‘Lord, lead me in the way ofsalvation’ and again he heard a voice saying, ‘Arsenius, flee, be silent, prayalways, for these are the sources of sinlessness.’”1 The words flee, be silentand pray summarize the spirituality of the desert. They indicate the threeways of preventing the world from shaping us in its image and are thus thethree ways to life in the Spirit.
My first task is to explore what it means for us to flee from the world.This raises the question of solitude. My second task is to define silence asan essential element of a spirituality of ministry. Finally, I want to challengeyou with the vocation to pray always.
1
Solitude
IntroductionST. ANTHONY, THE “FATHER of monks,” is the best guide in our attempt tounderstand the role of solitude in ministry. Born around 251, Anthony wasthe son of Egyptian peasants. When he was about eighteen years old heheard in church the Gospel words, “Go and sell what you own and give themoney to the poor . . . then come and follow me” (Matthew 19:21).Anthony realized that these words were meant for him personally. After aperiod of living as a poor laborer at the edge of his village, he withdrew intothe desert, where for twenty years he lived in complete solitude. Duringthese years Anthony experienced a terrible trial. The shell of his superficialsecurities was cracked and the abyss of iniquity was opened to him. But hecame out of this trial victoriously—not because of his own willpower orascetic exploits, but because of his unconditional surrender to the Lordshipof Jesus Christ. When he emerged from his solitude, people recognized inhim the qualities of an authentic “healthy” man, whole in body, mind, andsoul. They flocked to him for healing, comfort, and direction. In his old age,Anthony retired to an even deeper solitude to be totally absorbed in directcommunion with God. He died in the year 356, when he was about onehundred and six years old.
The story of St. Anthony, as told by St. Athanasius, shows that we mustbe made aware of the call to let our false, compulsive self be transformedinto the new self of Jesus Christ. It also shows that solitude is the furnace inwhich this transformation takes place. Finally, it reveals that it is from thistransformed or converted self that real ministry flows. I therefore propose toexplore these three aspects of St. Anthony’s life in the hope of uncoveringthe problems as well as the opportunities in our ministry.
The Compulsive MinisterTHOMAS MERTON WRITES in the introduction to his The Wisdom of the Desert:
Society . . . was regarded [by the Desert Fathers] as a shipwreckfrom which each single individual man had to swim for his life. . . .These were men who believed that to let oneself drift along,passively accepting the tenets and values of what they knew associety, was purely and simply a disaster.1
This observation leads us straight to the core of the problem. Oursociety is not a community radiant with the love of Christ, but a dangerousnetwork of domination and manipulation in which we can easily getentangled and lose our soul. The basic question is whether we ministers ofJesus Christ have not already been so deeply molded by the seductivepowers of our dark world that we have become blind to our own and otherpeople’s fatal state and have lost the power and motivation to swim for ourlives.
Just look for a moment at our daily routine. In general we are very busypeople. We have many meetings to attend, many visits to make, manyservices to lead. Our calendars are filled with appointments, our days andweeks filled with engagements, and our years filled with plans and projects.There is seldom a period in which we do not know what to do, and wemove through life in such a distracted way that we do not even take the timeand rest to wonder if any of the things we think, say, or do are worththinking, saying, or doing. We simply go along with the many “musts” and“oughts” that have been handed on to us, and we live with them as if theywere authentic translations of the Gospel of our Lord. People must bemotivated to come to church, youth must be entertained, money must beraised, and above all everyone must be happy. Moreover, we ought to be ongood terms with the church and civil authorities; we ought to be liked or atleast respected by a fair majority of our parishioners; we ought to move upin the ranks according to schedule; and we ought to have enough vacationand salary to live a comfortable life. Thus we are busy people just like allother busy people, rewarded with the rewards which are rewarded to busypeople!
All this is simply to suggest how horrendously secular our ministeriallives tend to be. Why is this so? Why do we children of the light so easily
become conspirators with the darkness? The answer is quite simple. Ouridentity, our sense of self, is at stake. Secularity is a way of being dependenton the responses of our milieu. The secular or false self is the self which isfabricated, as Thomas Merton says, by social compulsions. “Compulsive” isindeed the best adjective for the false self. It points to the need for ongoingand increasing affirmation. Who am I? I am the one who is liked, praised,admired, disliked, hated or despised. Whether I am a pianist, a businessmanor a minister, what matters is how I am perceived by my world. If beingbusy is a good thing, then I must be busy. If having money is a sign of realfreedom, then I must claim my money. If knowing many people proves myimportance, I will have to make the necessary contacts. The compulsionmanifests itself in the lurking fear of failing and the steady urge to preventthis by gathering more of the same—more work, more money, more friends.
These very compulsions are at the basis of the two main enemies of thespiritual life: anger and greed. They are the inner side of a secular life, thesour fruits of our worldly dependencies. What else is anger than theimpulsive response to the experience of being deprived? When my sense ofself depends on what others say of me, anger is a quite natural reaction to acritical word. And when my sense of self depends on what I can acquire,greed flares up when my desires are frustrated. Thus greed and anger are thebrother and sister of a false self fabricated by the social compulsions of anunredeemed world.
Anger in particular seems close to a professional vice in thecontemporary ministry. Pastors are angry at their leaders for not leading andat their followers for not following. They are angry at those who do notcome to church for not coming and angry at those who do come for comingwithout enthusiasm. They are angry at their families, who make them feelguilty, and angry at themselves for not being who they want to be. This isnot an open, blatant, roaring anger, but an anger hidden behind the smoothword, the smiling face, and the polite handshake. It is a frozen anger, ananger which settles into a biting resentment and slowly paralyzes agenerous heart. If there is anything that makes the ministry look grim anddull, it is this dark, insidious anger in the servants of Christ.
It is not so strange that Anthony and his fellow monks considered it aspiritual disaster to accept passively the tenets and values of their society.They had come to appreciate how hard it is not only for the individualChristian but also for the church itself to escape the seductive compulsions
of the world. What was their response? They escaped from the sinking shipand swam for their lives. And the place of salvation is called desert, theplace of solitude. Let us now see what this solitude did to them.
The Furnace of TransformationWHEN ANTHONY HEARD the word of Jesus, “Go and sell what you own andgive the money to the poor . . . then come and follow me,” he took it as acall to escape from the compulsions of his world. He moved away from hisfamily, lived in poverty in a hut on the edge of his village, and occupiedhimself with manual work and prayer. But soon he realized that more wasrequired of him. He had to face his enemies—anger and greed—head-onand let himself be totally transformed into a new being. His old, false selfhad to die and a new self had to be born. For this Anthony withdrew intothe complete solitude of the desert.
Solitude is the furnace of transformation. Without solitude we remainvictims of our society and continue to be entangled in the illusions of thefalse self. Jesus himself entered into this furnace. There he was temptedwith the three compulsions of the world: to be relevant (“turn stones intoloaves”), to be spectacular (“throw yourself down”), and to be powerful (“Iwill give you all these kingdoms”). There he affirmed God as the onlysource of his identity (“You must worship the Lord your God and serve himalone”). Solitude is the place of the great struggle and the great encounter—the struggle against the compulsions of the false self, and the encounterwith the loving God who offers himself as the substance of the new self.
This might sound rather forbidding. It might even evoke images ofmedieval ascetical pursuits from which Luther and Calvin have happilysaved us. But once we have given these fantasies their due and let themwander off, we will see that we are dealing here with that holy place whereministry and spirituality embrace each other. It is the place called solitude.
In order to understand the meaning of solitude, we must first unmaskthe ways in which the idea of solitude has been distorted by our world. Wesay to each other that we need some solitude in our lives. What we reallyare thinking of, however, is a time and a place for ourselves in which we arenot bothered by other people, can think our own thoughts, express our owncomplaints, and do our own thing, whatever it may be. For us, solitude mostoften means privacy. We have come to the dubious conviction that we all
have a right to privacy. Solitude thus becomes like a spiritual property forwhich we can compete on the free market of spiritual goods. But there ismore. We also think of solitude as a station where we can recharge ourbatteries, or as the corner of the boxing ring where our wounds are oiled,our muscles massaged, and our courage restored by fitting slogans. In short,we think of solitude as a place where we gather new strength to continue theongoing competition in life.
But that is not the solitude of St. John the Baptist, of St. Anthony or St.Benedict, of Charles de Foucauld or the brothers of Taizé. For them solitudeis not a private therapeutic place. Rather, it is the place of conversion, theplace where the old self dies and the new self is born, the place where theemergence of the new man and the new woman occurs.
How can we gain a clearer understanding of this transforming solitude?Let me try to describe in more detail the struggle as well as the encounterthat takes place in this solitude.
In solitude I get rid of my scaffolding: no friends to talk with, notelephone calls to make, no meetings to attend, no music to entertain, nobooks to distract, just me—naked, vulnerable, weak, sinful, deprived,broken—nothing. It is this nothingness that I have to face in my solitude, anothingness so dreadful that everything in me wants to run to my friends,my work, and my distractions so that I can forget my nothingness and makemyself believe that I am worth something. But that is not all. As soon as Idecide to stay in my solitude, confusing ideas, disturbing images, wildfantasies, and weird associations jump about in my mind like monkeys in abanana tree. Anger and greed begin to show their ugly faces. I give long,hostile speeches to my enemies and dream lustful dreams in which I amwealthy, influential, and very attractive—or poor, ugly, and in need ofimmediate consolation. Thus I try again to run from the dark abyss of mynothingness and restore my false self in all its vainglory.
The task is to persevere in my solitude, to stay in my cell until all myseductive visitors get tired of pounding on my door and leave me alone. The“Isenheim Altar” painted by Grünewald shows with frightening realism theugly faces of the many demons who tempted Anthony in his solitude. Thestruggle is real because the danger is real. It is the danger of living thewhole of our life as one long defense against the reality of our condition,one restless effort to convince ourselves of our virtuousness. Yet Jesus “didnot come to call the virtuous, but sinners” (Matthew 9:13).
That is the struggle. It is the struggle to die to the false self. But thisstruggle is far, far beyond our own strength. Anyone who wants to fight hisdemons with his own weapons is a fool. The wisdom of the desert is that theconfrontation with our own frightening nothingness forces us to surrenderourselves totally and unconditionally to the Lord Jesus Christ. Alone, wecannot face “the mystery of iniquity” with impunity. Only Christ canovercome the powers of evil. Only in and through him can we survive thetrials of our solitude. This is beautifully illustrated by Abba Elias, who said:“An old man was living in a temple and the demons came to say to him,‘Leave this place which belongs to us,’ and the old man said, ‘No placebelongs to you.’ Then they began to scatter his palm leaves about, one byone, and the old man went on gathering them together with persistence. Alittle later the devil took his hand and pulled him to the door. When the oldman reached the door, he seized the lintel with the other hand crying out,‘Jesus, save me.’ Immediately the devil fled away. Then the old man beganto weep. Then the Lord said to him, ‘Why are you weeping?’ and the oldman said, ‘Because the devils have dared to seize a man and treat him likethis.’ The Lord said to him, ‘You had been careless. As soon as you turnedto me again, you see I was beside you.’”2 This story shows that only in thecontext of the great encounter with Jesus Christ himself can a real authenticstruggle take place. The encounter with Christ does not take place before,after, or beyond the struggle with our false self and its demons. No, it isprecisely in the midst of this struggle that our Lord comes to us and says, ashe said to the old man in the story: “As soon as you turned to me again, yousee I was beside you.”
We enter into solitude first of all to meet our Lord and to be with himand him alone. Our primary task in solitude, therefore, is not to pay undueattention to the many faces which assail us, but to keep the eyes of our mindand heart on him who is our divine savior. Only in the context of grace canwe face our sin; only in the place of healing do we dare to show ourwounds; only with a single-minded attention to Christ can we give up ourclinging fears and face our own true nature. As we come to realize that it isnot we who live, but Christ who lives in us, that he is our true self, we canslowly let our compulsions melt away and begin to experience the freedomof the children of God. And then we can look back with a smile and realizethat we aren’t even angry or greedy any more.
What does all of this mean for us in our daily life? Even when we arenot called to the monastic life, or do not have the physical constitution tosurvive the rigors of the desert, we are still responsible for our own solitude.Precisely because our secular milieu offers us so few spiritual disciplines,we have to develop our own. We have, indeed, to fashion our own desertwhere we can withdraw every day, shake off our compulsions, and dwell inthe gentle healing presence of our Lord. Without such a desert we will loseour own soul while preaching the gospel to others. But with such a spiritualabode, we will become increasingly conformed to him in whose Name weminister.
The very first thing we need to do is set apart a time and a place to bewith God and him alone. The concrete shape of this discipline of solitudewill be different for each person depending on individual character,ministerial task, and milieu. But a real discipline never remains vague orgeneral. It is as concrete and specific as daily life itself. When I visitedMother Teresa of Calcutta a few years ago and asked her how to live out myvocation as a priest, she simply said: “Spend one hour a day in adoration ofyour Lord and never do anything you know is wrong, and you will be allright.” She might have said something else to a married person with youngchildren and something else again to someone who lives in a largercommunity. But like all great disciples of Jesus, Mother Teresa affirmedagain the truth that ministry can be fruitful only if it grows out of a directand intimate encounter with our Lord. Thus the opening words of St. John’sfirst letter echo down through history: “Something . . . we have heard, andwe have seen with our own eyes; that we have watched and touched withour hands: the Word, who is life—this is our subject” (1 John 1:1).
Solitude is thus the place of purification and transformation, the place ofthe great struggle and the great encounter. Solitude is not simply a means toan end. Solitude is its own end. It is the place where Christ remodels us inhis own image and frees us from the victimizing compulsions of the world.Solitude is the place of our salvation. Hence, it is the place where we wantto lead all who are seeking the light in this dark world. St. Anthony spenttwenty years in isolation. When he left it he took his solitude with him andshared it with all who came to him. Those who saw him described him asbalanced, gentle, and caring. He had become so Christlike, so radiant withGod’s love, that his entire being was ministry.
Let me now try to show how a compassionate ministry flows from atransformed self.
A Compassionate MinistryANTHONY’S LIFE AFTER he had emerged from his period of total isolation wasblessed by a rich and varied ministry. People from many walks of life cameto him and asked for advice. The solitude that at first had required physicalisolation had now become a quality of his heart, an inner disposition thatcould no longer be disturbed by those who needed his guidance. Somehowhis solitude had become an infinite space into which anyone could beinvited. His advice was simple, direct, and concrete: “Someone asked him:‘What must one do in order to please God?’ The old man replied, ‘Payattention to what I tell you: whoever you may be, always have God beforeyour eyes; whatever you do, do it according to the testimony of the holyScriptures; in whatever place you live, do not easily leave it. Keep thesethree precepts and you will be saved.’”3
To Abba Pambo, who asked him, “What ought I to do?” the old mansaid: “Do not trust in your own righteousness, do not worry about the past,but control your tongue and your stomach.” And looking into the future,Anthony said with words which have an eerie timeliness: “A time is comingwhen men will go mad, and when they see someone who is not mad, theywill attack him saying, ‘You are mad, you are not like us.’”4 Through thestruggle with his demons and the encounter with his Lord, Anthony hadlearned to diagnose the hearts of people and the mood of his time and thusto offer insight, comfort, and consolation. Solitude had made him acompassionate man.
Here we reach the point where ministry and spirituality touch eachother. It is compassion. Compassion is the fruit of solitude and the basis ofall ministry. The purification and transformation that take place in solitudemanifest themselves in compassion.
Let us not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate.Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go withothers to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. Butthis is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is todo away with suffering by fleeing from it or finding a quick cure for it. Asbusy, active, relevant ministers, we want to earn our bread by making a real
contribution. This means first and foremost doing something to show thatour presence makes a difference. And so we ignore our greatest gift, whichis our ability to enter into solidarity with those who suffer.
It is in solitude that this compassionate solidarity grows. In solitude werealize that nothing human is alien to us, that the roots of all conflict, war,injustice, cruelty, hatred, jealousy, and envy are deeply anchored in our ownheart. In solitude our heart of stone can be turned into a heart of flesh, arebellious heart into a contrite heart, and a closed heart into a heart that canopen itself to all suffering people in a gesture of solidarity.
If you would ask the Desert Fathers why solitude gives birth tocompassion, they would say, “Because it makes us die to our neighbor.” Atfirst this answer seems quite disturbing to a modern mind. But when wegive it a closer look we can see that in order to be of service to others wehave to die to them; that is, we have to give up measuring our meaning andvalue with the yardstick of others. To die to our neighbors means to stopjudging them, to stop evaluating them, and thus to become free to becompassionate. Compassion can never coexist with judgment becausejudgment creates the distance, the distinction, which prevents us from reallybeing with the other.
Much of our ministry is pervaded with judgments. Often quiteunconsciously we classify our people as very good, good, neutral, bad, andvery bad. These judgments influence deeply the thoughts, words, andactions of our ministry. Before we know it, we fall into the trap of the self-fulfilling prophecy. Those whom we consider lazy, indifferent, hostile, orobnoxious we treat as such, forcing them in this way to live up to our ownviews. And so, much of our ministry is limited by the snares of our ownjudgments. These self-created limits prevent us from being available topeople and shrivel up our compassion.
“Do not judge and you will not be judged yourselves” is a word of Jesusthat is indeed very hard to live up to. But it contains the secret of acompassionate ministry. This becomes clear in many stories from the desert.Abba Moses, one of St. Anthony’s followers, said to a brother: “To die toone’s neighbor is this. To bear your own faults and not to pay attention toanyone else wondering whether they are good or bad. Do no harm toanyone, do not think anything bad in your heart towards anyone, do notscorn the man who does evil, do not put confidence in him who does wrongto his neighbor, do not rejoice with him who injures his neighbor. . . . Do
not have hostile feelings towards anyone and do not let dislike dominateyour heart.”5 And with the typically graphic imagery of the desert,everything is summarized with the words: “It is folly for a man who has adead person in his house to leave him there and go to weep over hisneighbor’s dead.”6
Solitude leads to the awareness of the dead person in our own house andkeeps us from making judgments about other people’s sins. In this way realforgiveness becomes possible. The following desert story offers a goodillustration: “A brother . . . committed a fault. A council was called to whichAbba Moses was invited, but he refused to go to it. Then the priest sentsomeone to say to him, ‘Come, for everyone is waiting for you.’ So he gotup and went. He took a leaking jug, filled it with water, and carried it withhim. The others came out to meet him and said to him, ‘What is this,Father?’ The old man said to them, ‘My sins run out behind me, and I donot see them, and today I am coming to judge the error of another.’ Whenthey heard that they said no more to the brother but forgave him.”7
What becomes visible here is that solitude molds selfrighteous peopleinto gentle, caring, forgiving persons who are so deeply convinced of theirown great sinfulness and so fully aware of God’s even greater mercy thattheir life itself becomes ministry. In such a ministry there is hardly anydifference left between doing and being. When we are filled with God’smerciful presence, we can do nothing other than minister because our wholebeing witnesses to the light that has come into the darkness. Here are twodesert stories that show this tender, compassionate ministry.
“Of Abba Ammonas, a disciple of Anthony, it is said that in his solitudehe ‘advanced to the point where his goodness was so great that he took nonotice of wickedness.’ Thus, having become bishop, someone brought ayoung girl who was pregnant to him, saying, ‘See what this unhappy wretchhas done; give her a penance.’ But he, having marked the young girl’swomb with the sign of the cross, commanded that six pairs of fine linensheets should be given her, saying, ‘It is for fear that, when she comes togive birth, she may die, she or the child, and have nothing for the burial.’But her accusers resumed, ‘Why did you do that? Give her a punishment.’But he said to them, ‘Look, brothers, she is near to death; what am I to do?’Then he sent her away and no old man dared accuse anyone any more.”8
This story illustrates beautifully how the compassionate person is soaware of the suffering of others that it is not even possible for him or her to
dwell on their sins. The second story makes clear how extremely carefuland sensitive is a compassionate minister.
“Three old men, of whom one had a bad reputation, came one day toAbba Achilles. The first asked him, ‘Father, make me a fishing-net.’ ‘I willnot make you one,’ he replied. Then the second said, ‘Of your charity makeone, so that we have a souvenir of you in the monastery.’ But he said, ‘I donot have time.’ Then the third one, who had a bad reputation, said, ‘Makeme a fishing-net, so that I may have something from your hands, Father.’Abba Achilles answered him at once, ‘For you, I will make one.’ Then thetwo other old men asked him privately, ‘Why did you not want to do whatwe asked you, but you promised to do what he asked?’ The old man gavethem this answer, ‘I told you I would not make one, and you were notdisappointed, since you thought that I had no time. But if I had not madeone for him, he would have said, “The old man has heard about my sin, andthat is why he does not want to make me anything,” and so our relationshipwould have broken down. But now I have cheered his soul, so that he willnot be overcome with grief.’”9
Here indeed is ministry in its purest form, a compassionate ministryborn of solitude. Anthony and his followers, who escaped the compulsionsof the world, did so not out of disdain for people but in order to be able tosave them. Thomas Merton, who described these monks as people whoswam for their life in order not to drown in the sinking ship of their society,remarks:
They knew that they were helpless to do any good for others as longas they floundered about in the wreckage. But once they got afoothold on solid ground, things were different. Then they had notonly the power but even the obligation to pull the whole world tosafety after them.”10
Thus in and through solitude we do not move away from people. On thecontrary, we move closer to them through compassionate ministry.
ConclusionIN A WORLD that victimizes us by its compulsions, we are called to solitudewhere we can struggle against our anger and greed and let our new self beborn in the loving encounter with Jesus Christ. It is in this solitude that we
become compassionate people, deeply aware of our solidarity in brokennesswith all of humanity and ready to reach out to anyone in need.
The end of Anthony’s story shows him, after years of compassionateministry, returning to his solitude to be totally absorbed in directcommunion with God. One of the desert stories tells us about a certain oldman who asked God to let him see the Fathers. God heard his prayer and theold man saw them all except Anthony. “So he asked his guide, ‘Where isAbba Anthony?’ He told him in reply that in the place where God is, thereAnthony would be.”11 It is very important for us to realize that Anthonyconcluded his life in total absorption in God. The goal of our life is notpeople. It is God. Only in him shall we find the rest we seek. It is thereforeto solitude that we must return, not alone, but with all those whom weembrace through our ministry. This return continues until the time when thesame Lord who sent us into the world calls us back to be with him in anever-ending communion.
2
Silence
IntroductionWHEN ARSENIUS, THE Roman educator who exchanged his status and wealthfor the solitude of the Egyptian desert, prayed, “Lord, lead me into the wayof salvation,” he heard a voice saying, “Be silent.” Silence completes andintensifies solitude. This is the conviction shared by the Desert Fathers. Acharming story about Abbot Macarius makes the point quite well. “Once theabbot Macarius, after he had given the benediction to the brethren in thechurch at Scete, said to them, ‘Brethren, fly.’ One of the elders answeredhim, ‘How can we fly further than this, seeing we are here in the desert?’Then Macarius placed his finger on his mouth and said, ‘Fly from this.’ Sosaying, he entered his cell and shut the door.”1
Silence is the way to make solitude a reality. The Desert Fathers praisesilence as the safest way to God. “I have often repented of having spoken,”Arsenius said, “but never of having remained silent.” One day ArchbishopTheophilus came to the desert to visit Abba Pambo. But Abba Pambo didnot speak to him. When the brethren finally said to Pambo, “Father, saysomething to the archbishop, so that he may be edified,” he replied: “If he isnot edified by my silence, he will not be edified by my speech.”2
Silence is an indispensable discipline in the spiritual life. Ever sinceJames described the tongue as a “whole wicked world in itself” and silenceas putting a bit into the horse’s mouth (James 3:3, 6) Christians have tried topractice silence as the way to self-control. Clearly silence is a disciplineneeded in many different situations: in teaching and learning, in preachingand worship, in visiting and counseling. Silence is a very concrete,practical, and useful discipline in all our ministerial tasks. It can be seen asa portable cell taken with us from the solitary place into the midst of ourministry. Silence is solitude practiced in action.
In this reflection I would like first to show how wordy our world hasbecome. Then I want to describe the great value of silence in this wordyworld. Finally I hope to indicate how silence can be a sign of God’spresence in the different forms of ministry.
Our Wordy WorldOVER THE LAST few decades we have been inundated by a torrent of words.Wherever we go we are surrounded by words: words softly whispered,loudly proclaimed, or angrily screamed; words spoken, recited, or sung;words on records, in books, on walls, or in the sky; words in many sounds,many colors, or many forms; words to be heard, read, seen, or glanced at;words which flicker off and on, move slowly, dance, jump, or wiggle.Words, words, words! They form the floor, the walls, and the ceiling of ourexistence.
It has not always been this way. There was a time not too long agowithout radios and televisions, stop signs, yield signs, merge signs, bumperstickers, and the ever-present announcements indicating price increases orspecial sales. There was a time without the advertisements which now coverwhole cities with words.
Recently I was driving through Los Angeles, and suddenly I had thestrange sensation of driving through a huge dictionary. Wherever I lookedthere were words trying to take my eyes from the road. They said, “Use me,take me, buy me, drink me, smell me, touch me, kiss me, sleep with me.” Insuch a world who can maintain respect for words?
All this is to suggest that words, my own included, have lost theircreative power. Their limitless multiplication has made us lose confidencein words and caused us to think, more often than not, “They are just words.”
Teachers speak to students for six, twelve, eighteen, and sometimestwenty-four years. But the students often emerge from the experience withthe feeling, “They were just words.” Preachers preach their sermons weekafter week and year after year. But their parishioners remain the same andoften think, “They are just words.” Politicians, businessmen, ayatollahs, andpopes give speeches and make statements “in season and out of season,” butthose who listen say: “They are just words . . . just another distraction.”
The result of this is that the main function of the word, which iscommunication, is no longer realized. The word no longer communicates,
no longer fosters communion, no longer creates community, and thereforeno longer gives life. The word no longer offers trustworthy ground onwhich people can meet each other and build society.
Do I exaggerate? Let us focus for a moment on theological education.What else is the goal of theological education than to bring us closer to theLord our God so that we may be more faithful to the great commandment tolove him with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind, and ourneighbor as ourselves (Matthew 22:37)? Seminaries and divinity schoolsmust lead theology students into an ever-growing communion with God,with each other, and with their fellow human beings. Theological educationis meant to form our whole person toward an increasing conformity with themind of Christ so that our way of praying and our way of believing will beone.
But is this what takes place? Often it seems that we who study or teachtheology find ourselves entangled in such a complex network ofdiscussions, debates, and arguments about God and “God-issues” that asimple conversation with God or a simple presence to God has becomepractically impossible. Our heightened verbal ability, which enables us tomake many distinctions, has sometimes become a poor substitute for asingle-minded commitment to the Word who is life. If there is a crisis intheological education, it is first and foremost a crisis of the word. This is notto say that critical intellectual work and the subtle distinctions it requireshave no place in theological training. But when our words are no longer areflection of the divine Word in and through whom the world has beencreated and redeemed, they lose their grounding and become as seductiveand misleading as the words used to sell Geritol.
There was a time when the obvious milieu for theological education wasthe monastery. There words were born out of silence and could lead onedeeper into silence. Although monasteries are no longer the most commonplaces of theological education, silence remains as indispensable today as itwas in the past. The Word of God is born out of the eternal silence of God,and it is to this Word out of silence that we want to be witnesses.
SilenceSILENCE IS THE home of the word. Silence gives strength and fruitfulness tothe word. We can even say that words are meant to disclose the mystery of
the silence from which they come.The Taoist philosopher Chuang Tzu expresses this well in the following
way:
The purpose of a fish trap is to catch fish and when the fish arecaught, the trap is forgotten. The purpose of a rabbit snare is to catchrabbits. When the rabbits are caught, the snare is forgotten. Thepurpose of the word is to convey ideas. When the ideas are grasped,the words are forgotten. Where can I find a man who has forgottenwords? He is the one I would like to talk to.3
“I would like to talk to the man who has forgotten words.” That couldhave been said by one of the Desert Fathers. For them, the word is theinstrument of the present world and silence is the mystery of the futureworld. If a word is to bear fruit it must be spoken from the future world intothe present world. The Desert Fathers therefore considered their going intothe silence of the desert to be a first step into the future world. From thatworld their words could bear fruit, because there they could be filled withthe power of God’s silence.
In the sayings of the Desert Fathers, we can distinguish three aspects ofsilence. All of them deepen and strengthen the central idea that silence isthe mystery of the future world. First, silence makes us pilgrims. Secondly,silence guards the fire within. Thirdly, silence teaches us to speak.
SILENCE MAKES US PILGRIMSAbba Tithoes once said, “Pilgrimage means that a man should control histongue.” The expression “To be on pilgrimage is to be silent” (peregrinatioest tacere), expresses the conviction of the Desert Fathers that silence is thebest anticipation of the future world.4 The most frequent argument forsilence is simply that words lead to sin. Not speaking, therefore, is the mostobvious way to stay away from sin. This connection is clearly expressed bythe apostle James: “. . . every one of us does something wrong, over andover again; the only man who could reach perfection would be someonewho never said anything wrong—he would be able to control every part ofhimself” (James 3:2).
James leaves little doubt that speaking without sinning is very difficultand that, if we want to remain untouched by the sins of the world on ourjourney to our eternal home, silence is the safest way. Thus, silence became
one of the central disciplines of the spiritual life. St. Benedict, the father ofthe monastic life in the West and the patron saint of Europe, puts greatemphasis on silence in his Rule. He quotes the Psalmist who says, “I willkeep a muzzle on my mouth . . . I will watch how I behave and not let mytongue lead me into sin” (Psalm 39:1). St. Benedict not only warns hisbrothers against evil talk, but also tells them to avoid good, holy, edifyingwords because, as it is written in the book of Proverbs, “A flood of words isnever without its faults” (Proverbs 10:19). Speaking is dangerous and easilyleads us away from the right path.
The central idea underlying these ascetic teachings is that speaking getsus involved in the affairs of the world, and it is very hard to be involvedwithout becoming entangled in and polluted by the world. The DesertFathers and all who followed in their footsteps “knew that everyconversation tended to interest them in this world, to make them in heartless of strangers here and more of citizens.”5
This might sound too unworldly to us, but let us at least recognize howoften we come out of a conversation, a discussion, a social gathering, or abusiness meeting with a bad taste in our mouth. How seldom have longtalks proved to be good and fruitful? Would not many if not most of thewords we use be better left unspoken? We speak about the events of theworld, but how often do we really change them for the better? We speakabout people and their ways, but how often do our words do them or us anygood? We speak about our ideas and feelings as if everyone were interestedin them, but how often do we really feel understood? We speak a great dealabout God and religion, but how often does it bring us or others realinsight? Words often leave us with a sense of inner defeat. They can evencreate a sense of numbness and a feeling of being bogged down in swampyground. Often they leave us in a slight depression, or in a fog that clouds thewindow of our mind. In short, words can give us the feeling of havingstopped too long at one of the little villages that we pass on our journey, ofhaving been motivated more by curiosity than by service. Words often makeus forget that we are pilgrims called to invite others to join us on thejourney. Peregrinatio est tacere. “To be silent keeps us pilgrims.”
SILENCE GUARDS THE FIRE WITHINA second, more positive, meaning of silence is that it protects the inner fire.Silence guards the inner heat of religious emotions. This inner heat is the
life of the Holy Spirit within us. Thus, silence is the discipline by which theinner fire of God is tended and kept alive.
Diadochus of Photiki offers us a very concrete image: “When the doorof the steambath is continually left open, the heat inside rapidly escapesthrough it; likewise the soul, in its desire to say many things, dissipates itsremembrance of God through the door of speech, even though everything itsays may be good. Thereafter the intellect, though lacking appropriateideas, pours out a welter of confused thoughts to anyone it meets, as it nolonger has the Holy Spirit to keep its understanding free from fantasy. Ideasof value always shun verbosity, being foreign to confusion and fantasy.Timely silence, then, is precious, for it is nothing less than the mother of thewisest thoughts.”6
These words of Diadochus go against the grain of our contemporarylife-style, in which “sharing” has become one of the greatest virtues. Wehave been made to believe that feelings, emotions, and even the innerstirrings of our soul have to be shared with others. Expressions such as“Thanks for sharing this with me,” or “It was good to share this with you,”show that the door of our steambath is open most of the time. In fact, peoplewho prefer to keep to themselves and do not expose their interior life tendto create uneasiness and are often considered inhibited, asocial, or simplyodd. But let us at least raise the question of whether our lavish ways ofsharing are not more compulsive than virtuous; that instead of creatingcommunity they tend to flatten out our life together. Often we come homefrom a sharing session with a feeling that something precious has beentaken away from us or that holy ground has been trodden upon. JamesHannay, commenting on the sayings of the Desert Fathers, writes:
The mouth is not a door through which any evil enters. The ears aresuch doors as are the eyes. The mouth is a door only for exit. Whatwas it that they [the Desert Fathers] feared to let go out? What was itwhich someone might steal out of their hearts, as a thief takes thesteed from the stable when the door is left open? It can have beennothing else than the force of religious emotion.7
What needs to be guarded is the life of the Spirit within us. Especiallywe who want to witness to the presence of God’s Spirit in the world need totend the fire within with utmost care. It is not so strange that many ministers
have become burnt-out cases, people who say many words and share manyexperiences, but in whom the fire of God’s Spirit has died and from whomnot much more comes forth than their own boring, petty ideas and feelings.Sometimes it seems that our many words are more an expression of ourdoubt than of our faith. It is as if we are not sure that God’s Spirit can touchthe hearts of people: we have to help him out and, with many words,convince others of his power. But it is precisely this wordy unbelief thatquenches the fire.
Our first and foremost task is faithfully to care for the inward fire so thatwhen it is really needed it can offer warmth and light to lost travelers.Nobody expressed this with more conviction than the Dutch painter Vincentvan Gogh:
There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes towarm himself at it, and the passersby only see a wisp of smokecoming through the chimney, and go along their way. Look here,now what must be done? Must one tend the inner fire, have salt inoneself, wait patiently yet with how much impatience for the hourwhen somebody will come and sit down—maybe to stay? Let himwho believes in God wait for the hour that will come sooner orlater.8
Vincent van Gogh speaks here with the mind and heart of the DesertFathers. He knew about the temptation to open all the doors so thatpassersby could see the fire and not just the smoke coming through thechimney. But he also realized that if this happened, the fire would die andnobody would find warmth and new strength. His own life is a powerfulexample of faithfulness to the inner fire. During his life nobody came to sitdown at his fire, but today thousands have found comfort and consolation inhis drawings, paintings, and letters.
As ministers our greatest temptation is toward too many words. Theyweaken our faith and make us lukewarm. But silence is a sacred discipline,a guard of the Holy Spirit.
SILENCE TEACHES US TO SPEAKThe third way that silence reveals itself as the mystery of the future world isby teaching us to speak. A word with power is a word that comes out ofsilence. A word that bears fruit is a word that emerges from the silence and
returns to it. It is a word that reminds us of the silence from which it comesand leads us back to that silence. A word that is not rooted in silence is aweak, powerless word that sounds like a “clashing cymbal or a boominggong” (1 Corinthians 13:1).
All this is true only when the silence from which the word comes forthis not emptiness and absence, but fullness and presence, not the humansilence of embarrassment, shame, or guilt, but the divine silence in whichlove rests secure.
Here we can glimpse the great mystery in which we participate throughsilence and the Word, the mystery of God’s own speaking. Out of his eternalsilence God spoke the Word, and through this Word created and recreatedthe world. In the beginning God spoke the land, the sea, and the sky. Hespoke the sun, the moon, and the stars. He spoke plants, birds, fish, animalswild and tame. Finally, he spoke man and woman. Then, in the fullness oftime, God’s Word, through whom all had been created, became flesh andgave power to all who believe to become the children of God. In all this, theWord of God does not break the silence of God, but rather unfolds theimmeasurable richness of his silence.
By entering into the Egyptian desert, the monks wanted to participate inthe divine silence. By speaking out of this silence to the needs of theirpeople, they sought to participate in the creative and recreative power of thedivine Word.
Words can only create communion and thus new life when they embodythe silence from which they emerge. As soon as we begin to take hold ofeach other by our words, and use words to defend ourselves or offendothers, the word no longer speaks of silence. But when the word calls forththe healing and restoring stillness of its own silence, few words are needed:much can be said without much being spoken.
Thus silence is the mystery of the future world. It keeps us pilgrims andprevents us from becoming entangled in the cares of this age. It guards thefire of the Holy Spirit who dwells within us. It allows us to speak a wordthat participates in the creative and recreative power of God’s own Word.
The Ministry of SilenceWE ARE NOW left with the question of how to practice a ministry of silence inwhich our word has the power to represent the fullness of God’s silence.
This is an important question because we have become so contaminated byour wordy world that we hold to the deceptive opinion that our words aremore important than our silence. Therefore it requires a strenuous disciplineto make our ministry one that leads our people into the silence of God. Thatis the task Jesus has given us. The whole of Jesus’ ministry pointed awayfrom himself to the Father who had sent him. To his disciples Jesus said,“The words I say to you I do not speak as from myself; it is the Father,living in me, who is doing this work” (John 14:10). Jesus, the Word of Godmade flesh, spoke not to attract attention to himself but to show the way tohis Father: “I came from the Father and have come into the world and now Ileave the world to go to the Father (John 16:28). I am going to prepare aplace for you . . . so that where I am you may be too” (John 14:2–3). Inorder to be a ministry in the Name of Jesus, our ministry must also pointbeyond our words to the unspeakable mystery of God.
One of our main problems is that in this chatty society, silence hasbecome a very fearful thing. For most people, silence creates itchiness andnervousness. Many experience silence not as full and rich, but as empty andhollow. For them silence is like a gaping abyss which can swallow them up.As soon as a minister says during a worship service, “Let us be silent for afew moments,” people tend to become restless and preoccupied with onlyone thought: “When will this be over?” Imposed silence often createshostility and resentment. Many ministers who have experimented withsilence in their services have soon found out that silence can be moredemonic than divine and have quickly picked up the signals that weresaying: “Please keep talking.” It is quite understandable that most forms ofministry avoid silence precisely so as to ward off the anxiety it provokes.
But isn’t the purpose of all ministry to reveal that God is not a God offear but a God of love? And couldn’t this be accomplished by gently andcarefully converting the empty silence into a full silence, the anxioussilence into a peaceful silence, and the restless silence into a restful silence,so that in this converted silence a real encounter with the loving Fathercould take place? What a power our word would have if it could enablepeople to befriend their silence! Let me describe a few concrete ways inwhich this might happen.
SILENCE AND PREACHINGOur preaching, when it is good, is interesting or moving, and sometimesboth. It stimulates mind and heart and thus leads to a new insight or a new
feeling. This is both valuable and necessary. But there is another option, onewhich is especially appropriate when we work with small groups. There is away of preaching in which the word of Scripture is repeated quietly andregularly, with a short comment here and there, in order to let that wordcreate an inner space where we can listen to our Lord. If it is true that theword of Scripture should lead us into the silence of God, then we must becareful to use that word not simply as an interesting or motivating word, butas a word that creates the boundaries within which we can listen to theloving, caring, gentle presence of God.
Most people who listen to a sermon keep their eyes directed toward thepreacher, and rightly so, because he or she asks for attention to the wordthat is being spoken. But is it also possible for the word to be spoken insuch a way that it slowly moves attention away from the pulpit to the heartof the listener and reveals there an inner silence in which it is safe to dwell.
The simple words “The Lord is my shepherd” can be spoken quietly andpersistently in such a way that they become like a hedge around a garden inwhich God’s shepherding can be sensed. These words, which at first mightseem to be no more than an interesting metaphor, can slowly descend fromthe mind into the heart. There they may offer the context in which an innertransformation, by the God who transcends all human words and concepts,can take place. Thus, the words “The Lord is my shepherd” lead to thesilent pastures where we can dwell in the loving presence of him in whoseName the preacher speaks. This meditative preaching is one way to practicethe ministry of silence.
SILENCE AND COUNSELINGCounseling is understood by many to be a way in which one person listensto another and guides him or her to better self-understanding and greateremotional independence. But it is also possible to experience therelationship between pastor and counselee as a way of entering together intothe loving silence of God and waiting there for the healing Word. The HolySpirit is called the divine Counselor. He is actively present in the lives ofthose who come together to discern God’s will. This is why humancounselors should see as their primary task the work of helping theirparishioners to become aware of the movements of the divine Counselorand encouraging them to follow these movements without fear. In thisperspective, pastoral counseling is the attempt to lead fearful parishioners
into the silence of God, and to help them feel at home there, trusting thatthey will slowly discover the healing presence of the Spirit.
This suggests that the human counselor needs to be very sensitive to thewords of Scripture as words emerging from God’s silence and directed tospecific people in specific circumstances. When a word from Scripture isspoken by a counselor at that particular moment when the parishioner isable to hear it, it can indeed shatter huge walls of fear and open upunexpected perspectives. Such a word then brings with it the divine silencefrom which it came and to which it returns.
SILENCE AND ORGANIZINGFinally, I would like to stress the importance of silence in the ways aminister organizes his own life and that of others. In a society in whichentertainment and distraction are such important preoccupations, ministersare also tempted to join the ranks of those who consider it their primary taskto keep other people busy. It is easy to perceive the young and the elderly aspeople who need to be kept off the streets or on the streets. And ministersfrequently find themselves in fierce competition with people andinstitutions who offer something more exciting to do than they do.
But our task is the opposite of distraction. Our task is to help peopleconcentrate on the real but often hidden event of God’s active presence intheir lives. Hence, the question that must guide all organizing activity in aparish is not how to keep people busy, but how to keep them from being sobusy that they can no longer hear the voice of God who speaks in silence.
Calling people together, therefore, means calling them away from thefragmenting and distracting wordiness of the dark world to that silence inwhich they can discover themselves, each other, and God. Thus organizingcan be seen as the creation of a space where communion becomes possibleand community can develop.
These examples of silence in preaching, counseling, and organizing aremeant to illustrate how silence can help to determine the practical shape ofour ministry. But let us not be too literal about silence. After all, silence ofthe heart is much more important than silence of the mouth. Abba Poemensaid: “A man may seem to be silent, but if his heart is condemning others heis babbling ceaselessly. But there may be another who talks from morningtill night and yet he is truly silent.”9
Silence is primarily a quality of the heart that leads to ever-growingcharity. Once a visitor said to a hermit, “Sorry for making you break your
rule.” But the monk answered, “My rule is to practice the virtue ofhospitality towards those who come to see me and send them home inpeace.”10
Charity, not silence, is the purpose of the spiritual life and of ministry.About this all the Desert Fathers are unanimous.
ConclusionTHIS BRINGS ME to the end of my reflection on silence. In our chatty world, inwhich the word has lost its power to communicate, silence helps us to keepour mind and heart anchored in the future world and allows us to speakfrom there a creative and recreative word to the present world. Thus silencecan also give us concrete guidance in the practice of our ministry.
There is little doubt that the Desert Fathers believed that simply notspeaking is a very important practice. Too often our words are superfluous,inauthentic, and shallow. It is a good discipline to wonder in each newsituation if people wouldn’t be better served by our silence than by ourwords. But having acknowledged this, a more important message from thedesert is that silence is above all a quality of the heart that can stay with useven in our conversation with others. It is a portable cell that we carry withus wherever we go. From it we speak to those in need and to it we returnafter our words have born fruit.
It is in this portable cell that we find ourselves immersed in the divinesilence. The final question concerning our ministry of silence is not whetherwe say much or little, but whether our words call forth the caring silence ofGod himself. It is to this silence that we all are called: words are theinstrument of the present world, but silence is the mystery of the futureworld.
3
Prayer
IntroductionWHEN ARSENIUS HAD asked for the second time, “Lord, lead me to the way ofsalvation,” the voice that spoke to him not only said, “Be silent” but also,“Pray always.” To pray always—this is the real purpose of the desert life.Solitude and silence can never be separated from the call to unceasingprayer. If solitude were primarily an escape from a busy job, and silenceprimarily an escape from a noisy milieu, they could easily become veryself-centered forms of asceticism. But solitude and silence are for prayer.The Desert Fathers did not think of solitude as being alone, but as beingalone with God. They did not think of silence as not speaking, but aslistening to God. Solitude and silence are the context within which prayer ispracticed.
The literal translation of the words “pray always” is “come to rest.” TheGreek word for rest is hesychia, and hesychasm is the term which refers tothe spirituality of the desert. A hesychast is a man or a woman who seekssolitude and silence as the ways to unceasing prayer. The prayer of thehesychasts is a prayer of rest. This rest, however, has little to do with theabsence of conflict or pain. It is a rest in God in the midst of a very intensedaily struggle. Abba Anthony even says to a fellow monk that it belongs “tothe great work of a man . . . to expect temptations to his last breath.”Hesychia, the rest which flows from unceasing prayer, needs to be sought atall costs, even when the flesh is itchy, the world alluring, and the demonsnoisy. Mother Theodora, one of the Desert Mothers, makes this very clear:“. . . you should realize that as soon as you intend to live in peace, at onceevil comes and weighs down your soul through accidie [sense of boredom],faintheartedness, and evil thoughts. It also attacks your body throughsickness, debility, weakening of the knees, and all the members. It
dissipates the strength of soul and body, so that one believes one is ill andno longer able to pray. But if we are vigilant, all these temptations fallaway.”1
Although weakness of the knees is not likely to be our main complaint,we ministers have no lack of excuses, often very sophisticated ones, forstaying away from prayer. For us, however, prayer is as important as it wasfor the early Desert Fathers. Let me therefore explore the role of prayer inour daily lives. I will first express my suspicion that we tend to see prayerprimarily as an activity of the mind. Then I would like to present the prayerof the hesychasts as a prayer of the heart. Finally, I want to show how thisprayer of the heart calls for a discipline in order to make it the center of ourdaily ministry.
The Prayer of the MindVERY FEW MINISTERS will deny that prayer is important. They will not evendeny that prayer is the most important dimension of their lives. But the factis that most ministers pray very little or not at all. They realize that theyshould not forget to pray, that they should take time to pray, and that prayershould be a priority in their lives. But all these “shoulds” do not have thepower to carry them over the enormous obstacle of their activism. There isalways one more phone call, one more letter, one more visit, one moremeeting, one more book, and one more party. Together these form aninsurmountable pile of activities. The contrast between the great support forthe idea of prayer and the lack of support for the practice of it is so blatantlyvisible that it becomes quite easy to believe in the ruses of the evil onewhich Amma Theodora described in such vivid detail.
One of these demonic ruses is to make us think of prayer primarily as anactivity of the mind that involves above all else our intellectual capacities.This prejudice reduces prayer to speaking with God or thinking about God.
For many of us prayer means nothing more than speaking with God.And since it usually seems to be a quite one-sided affair, prayer simplymeans talking to God. This idea is enough to create great frustrations. If Ipresent a problem, I expect a solution; if I formulate a question, I expect ananswer; if I ask for guidance, I expect a response. And when it seems,increasingly, that I am talking into the dark, it is not so strange that I soon
begin to suspect that my dialogue with God is in fact a monologue. Then Imay begin to ask myself: To whom am I really speaking, God or myself?
Sometimes the absence of an answer makes us wonder if we might havesaid the wrong kind of prayers, but mostly we feel taken, cheated, andquickly stop “this whole silly thing.” It is quite understandable that weshould experience speaking with real people, who need a word and whooffer a response, as much more meaningful than speaking with a God whoseems to be an expert at hide-and-seek.
But there is another viewpoint that can lead to similar frustrations. Thisis the viewpoint that restricts the meaning of prayer to thinking about God.Whether we call this prayer or meditation makes little difference. The basicconviction is that what is needed is to think thoughts about God and hismysteries. Prayer therefore requires hard mental work and is quite fatiguing,especially if reflective thinking is not one of our strengths. Since we alreadyhave so many other practical and pressing things on our minds, thinkingabout God becomes one more demanding burden. This is especially truebecause thinking about God is not a spontaneous event, while thinkingabout pressing concerns comes quite naturally.
Thinking about God makes God into a subject that needs to bescrutinized or analyzed. Successful prayer is thus prayer that leads to newintellectual discoveries about God. Just as a psychologist studies a case andseeks to gain insight by trying to find coherence in all the available data, sosomeone who prays well should come to understand God better by thinkingdeeply about all that is known about him.
In thinking about God, as with speaking to God, our frustrationtolerance is quite low, and it does not take much to stop praying altogether.Reading a book or writing an article or sermon is a lot more satisfying thanthis mental wandering into the unknown.
Both these views of prayer are the products of a culture in which highvalue is placed on mastering the world through the intellect. Thedominating idea has been that everything can be understood and that whatcan be understood can be controlled. God, too, is a problem that has asolution, and by strenuous efforts of the mind we will find it. It is thereforenot so strange that the academic gown is the official garb of the minister,and that one of the main criteria for admission to the pulpit is a universitydegree.
This, of course, does not mean that the intellect has no place in the lifeof prayer, or that theological reflection and prayer are mutually exclusive.But we should not underestimate the intellectualism of the mainstreamNorth American churches. If the public prayers of ministers inside as wellas outside of church buildings are any indication of their prayer life, God iscertainly busy attending seminars. How can we possibly expect anyone tofind real nurture, comfort, and consolation from a prayer life that taxes themind beyond its limits and adds one more exhausting activity to the manyalready scheduled ones?
During the last decade, many have discovered the limits of the intellect.More and more people have realized that what they need is much more thaninteresting sermons and interesting prayers. They wonder how they mightreally experience God. The charismatic movement is an obvious response tothis new search for prayer. The popularity of Zen and the experimentationwith encounter techniques in the churches are also indicative of a newdesire to experience God. Suddenly we find ourselves surrounded by peoplesaying, “Teach us to pray.” And suddenly we become aware that we arebeing asked to show the way through a region that we do not knowourselves. The crisis of our prayer life is that our minds may be filled withideas of God while our hearts remain far from him. Real prayer comes fromthe heart. It is about this prayer of the heart that the Desert Fathers teach us.
The Prayer of the HeartHESYCHASTIC PRAYER, WHICH leads to that rest where the soul can dwell withGod, is prayer of the heart. For us who are so mind-oriented it is of specialimportance to learn to pray with and from the heart. The Desert Fathers canshow us the way. Although they do not offer any theory about prayer, theirconcrete stories and counsels offer the stones with which the later Orthodoxspiritual writers have built a very impressive spirituality. The spiritualwriters of Mount Sinai, Mount Athos, and the startsi of nineteenth-centuryRussia are all anchored in the tradition of the desert. We find the bestformulation of the prayer of the heart in the words of the Russian mysticTheophan the Recluse: “To pray is to descend with the mind into the heart,and there to stand before the face of the Lord, ever-present, all-seeing,within you.”2 All through the centuries, this view of prayer has been centralin hesychasm. Prayer is standing in the presence of God with the mind in
the heart; that is, at that point of our being where there are no divisions ordistinctions and where we are totally one. There God’s Spirit dwells andthere the great encounter takes place. There heart speaks to heart, becausethere we stand before the face of the Lord, all-seeing, within us.
We have to realize that here the word heart is used in its full biblicalmeaning. In our milieu the word heart has become a soft word. It refers tothe seat of the sentimental life. Expressions such as “heartbroken” and“heartfelt” show that we often think of the heart as the warm place wherethe emotions are located in contrast to the cool intellect where our thoughtsfind their home. But the word heart in the Jewish-Christian tradition refersto the source of all physical, emotional, intellectual, volitional, and moralenergies.
From the heart arise unknowable impulses as well as conscious feelings,moods, and wishes. The heart, too, has its reasons and is the center ofperception and understanding. Finally, the heart is the seat of the will: itmakes plans and comes to good decisions. Thus the heart is the central andunifying organ of our personal life. Our heart determines our personality,and is therefore not only the place where God dwells but also the place towhich Satan directs his fiercest attacks. It is this heart that is the place ofprayer. The prayer of the heart is a prayer that directs itself to God from thecenter of the person and thus affects the whole of our humanness.
One of the Desert Fathers, Macarius the Great, says, “The chief task ofthe athlete [that is, the monk] is to enter into his heart.”3 This does not meanthat the monk should try to fill his prayer with feeling, but that he shouldstrive to let his prayer remodel the whole of his person. The most profoundinsight of the Desert Fathers is that entering into the heart is entering intothe kingdom of God. In other words, the way to God is through the heart.Isaac the Syrian writes: “Try to enter the treasure chamber . . . that is withinyou and then you will discover the treasure chamber of heaven. For they areone and the same. If you succeed in entering one, you will see both. Theladder to this Kingdom is hidden inside you, in your soul. If you wash yoursoul clean of sin you will see there the rungs of the ladder which you mayclimb.”4 And John Carpathios says: “It takes great effort and struggle inprayer to reach that state of mind which is free from all disturbance; it is aheaven within the heart [literally ‘endocardial’], the place, as the Apostleassures us, ‘where Christ dwells in us’ (2 Cor. 13:5).”5
The Desert Fathers in their sayings point us toward a very holistic viewof prayer. They pull us away from our intellectualizing practices, in whichGod becomes one of the many problems we have to address. They show usthat real prayer penetrates to the marrow of our soul and leaves nothinguntouched. The prayer of the heart is a prayer that does not allow us to limitour relationship with God to interesting words or pious emotions. By itsvery nature such prayer transforms our whole being into Christ preciselybecause it opens the eyes of our soul to the truth of ourselves as well as tothe truth of God. In our heart we come to see ourselves as sinners embracedby the mercy of God. It is this vision that makes us cry out, “Lord JesusChrist, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” The prayer ofthe heart challenges us to hide absolutely nothing from God and tosurrender ourselves unconditionally to his mercy.
Thus the prayer of the heart is the prayer of truth. It unmasks the manyillusions about ourselves and about God and leads us into the truerelationship of the sinner to the merciful God. This truth is what gives usthe “rest” of the hesychast. To the degree that this truth anchors itself in ourheart, we will be less distracted by worldly thoughts and more single-mindedly directed toward the Lord of both our hearts and the universe.Thus the words of Jesus, “Happy the pure in heart: they shall see God”(Matthew 5:8), will become real in our prayer. Temptations and struggleswill remain to the end of our lives, but with a pure heart we will be restfuleven in the midst of a restless existence.
This raises the question of how to practice the prayer of the heart in avery restless ministry. It is to this question of discipline that we must nowturn our attention.
Prayer and MinistryHOW CAN WE, who are not monks and do not live in the desert, practice theprayer of the heart? How does the prayer of the heart affect our dailyministry?
The answer to these questions lies in the formulation of a definitediscipline, a rule of prayer. There are three characteristics of the prayer ofthe heart that can help us to formulate this discipline:
• The prayer of the heart is nurtured by short, simple prayers.• The prayer of the heart is unceasing.
• The prayer of the heart is all-inclusive.
NURTURED BY SHORT PRAYERSIn the context of our verbose culture it is significant to hear the DesertFathers discouraging us from using too many words: “Abba Macarius wasasked ‘How should one pray?’ The old man said, ‘There is no need at all tomake long discourses; it is enough to stretch out one’s hand and say, “Lord,as you will, and as you know, have mercy.” And if the conflict grows fiercersay: “Lord, help.” He knows very well what we need and he shows us hismercy.’”6
John Climacus is even more explicit: “When you pray do not try toexpress yourself in fancy words, for often it is the simple, repetitiousphrases of a little child that our Father in heaven finds most irresistible. Donot strive for verbosity lest your mind be distracted from devotion by asearch for words. One phrase on the lips of the tax collector was enough towin God’s mercy; one humble request made with faith was enough to savethe good thief. Wordiness in prayer often subjects the mind to fantasy anddissipation; single words of their very nature tend to concentrate the mind.When you find satisfaction or compunction in a certain word of your prayer,stop at that point.”7
This is a very helpful suggestion for us, people who depend so much onverbal ability. The quiet repetition of a single word can help us to descendwith the mind into the heart. This repetition has nothing to do with magic. Itis not meant to throw a spell on God or to force him into hearing us. On thecontrary, a word or sentence repeated frequently can help us to concentrate,to move to the center, to create an inner stillness and thus to listen to thevoice of God. When we simply try to sit silently and wait for God to speakto us, we find ourselves bombarded with endless conflicting thoughts andideas. But when we use a very simple sentence such as “O God, come to myassistance,” or “Jesus, master, have mercy on me,” or a word such as“Lord” or “Jesus,” it is easier to let the many distractions pass by withoutbeing misled by them. Such a simple, easily repeated prayer can slowlyempty out our crowded interior life and create the quiet space where we candwell with God. It can be like a ladder along which we can descend into theheart and ascend to God. Our choice of words depends on our needs and thecircumstances of the moment, but it is best to use words from Scripture.
This way of simple prayer, when we are faithful to it and practice it atregular times, slowly leads us to an experience of rest and opens us to God’s
active presence. Moreover, we can take this prayer with us into a very busyday. When, for instance, we have spent twenty minutes in the early morningsitting in the presence of God with the words “The Lord is my Shepherd”they may slowly build a little nest for themselves in our heart and stay therefor the rest of our busy day. Even while we are talking, studying, gardening,or building, the prayer can continue in our heart and keep us aware of God’sever-present guidance. The discipline is not directed toward coming to adeeper insight into what it means that God is called our Shepherd, buttoward coming to the inner experience of God’s shepherding action inwhatever we think, say, or do.
UNCEASINGThe second characteristic of the prayer of the heart is that it is unceasing.The question of how to follow Paul’s command to “pray without ceasing”has had a central place in hesychasm from the time of the Desert Fathers tonineteenth-century Russia. There are many examples of this concern fromboth ends of the hesychastic tradition.
During the period of the Desert Fathers, there was a pietistic sect calledthe Messalians. These were people who had an overly spiritualizedapproach to prayer and considered manual work condemnable for a monk.Some of the monks of this sect went to see Abba Lucius. “The old manasked them, ‘What is your manual work?’ They said, ‘We do not touchmanual work but as the Apostle says, we pray without ceasing.’ The oldman asked them if they did not eat and they replied they did. So he said tothem, ‘When you are eating who prays for you then?’ Again he asked themif they did not sleep and they replied they did. And he said to them, ‘Whenyou are asleep, who prays for you then?’ They could not find any answer togive him. He said to them, ‘Forgive me, but you do not act as you speak. Iwill show you how, while doing my manual work, I pray withoutinterruption. I sit down with God, soaking my reeds and plaiting my ropes,and I say, “God, have mercy on me; according to your great goodness andaccording to the multitude of your mercies, save me from my sins.”’ So heasked them if this were not prayer and they replied it was. Then he said tothem, ‘So when I have spent the whole day working and praying, makingthirteen pieces of money more or less, I put two pieces of money outside thedoor and I pay for my food with the rest of the money. He who takes thetwo pieces of money prays for me when I am eating and when I am
sleeping; so, by the grace of God, I fulfill the precept to pray withoutceasing.’”8
This story offers a very practical answer to the question “How can Ipray without ceasing while I am busy with many other things?” The answerinvolves the neighbor. Through my charity my neighbor becomes a partnerin my prayer and makes it into unceasing prayer.
In the nineteenth century, when the problems with the Messalians didnot exist, a more mystical response was given. We find it in the famousstory about a Russian peasant called The Way of the Pilgrim. It begins asfollows: “By the grace of God I am a Christian man, but by my actions agreat sinner . . . On the twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost I went tochurch to say my prayers there during the Liturgy. The first Epistle of St.Paul to the Thessalonians was being read, and among other words I heardthese—’Pray without ceasing’ [1 Thessalonians 5:17]. It was this text, morethan any other, which forced itself upon my mind, and I began to think howit was possible to pray without ceasing, since a man has to concern himselfwith other things also in order to make a living.”9 The peasant went fromchurch to church to listen to sermons but did not find the answer he desired.Finally he met a holy staretz who said to him: “‘Ceaseless interior prayer isa continual yearning of the human spirit towards God. To succeed in thisconsoling exercise we must pray more often to God to teach us to praywithout ceasing. Pray more, and pray more fervently. It is prayer itselfwhich will reveal to you how it can be achieved unceasingly; but it will takesome time.’”10 Then the holy staretz taught the peasant the Jesus Prayer:“Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” While traveling as a pilgrimthrough Russia, the peasant repeats this prayer thousands of times with hislips. He even considers the Jesus Prayer to be his true companion. And thenone day he has the feeling that the prayer by its own action passes from hislips to his heart. He says: “. . . it seemed as though my heart in its ordinarybeating began to say the words of the Prayer within at each beat . . . I gaveup saying the Prayer with my lips. I simply listened carefully to what myheart was saying.”11
Here we learn of another way of arriving at unceasing prayer. Theprayer continues to pray within me even when I am talking with others orconcentrating on manual work. The prayer has become the active presenceof God’s Spirit guiding me through life.
Thus we see how, through charity and the activity of the Prayer of Jesusin our heart, our whole day can become a continual prayer. I am notsuggesting that we should imitate the monk Lucius or the Russian pilgrim,but I do suggest that we, too, in our busy ministry should be concerned topray without ceasing, so that whatever we eat, whatever we drink, whateverwe do at all, we do for the glory of God. (See 1 Cor. 10:31). To love andwork for the glory of God cannot remain an idea about which we think oncein a while. It must become an interior, unceasing doxology.
ALL-INCLUSIVEA final characteristic of the prayer of the heart is that it includes all ourconcerns. When we enter with our mind into our heart and there stand in thepresence of God, then all our mental preoccupations become prayer. Thepower of the prayer of the heart is precisely that through it all that is on ourmind becomes prayer.
When we say to people, “I will pray for you,” we make a very importantcommitment. The sad thing is that this remark often remains nothing but awell-meant expression of concern. But when we learn to descend with ourmind into our heart, then all those who have become part of our lives are ledinto the healing presence of God and are touched by him in the center of ourbeing. We are speaking here about a mystery for which words areinadequate. It is the mystery that the heart, which is the center of our being,is transformed by God into his own heart, a heart large enough to embracethe entire universe. Through prayer we can carry in our heart all human painand sorrow, all conflicts and agonies, all torture and war, all hunger,loneliness, and misery, not because of some great psychological oremotional capacity, but because God’s heart has become one with ours.
Here we catch sight of the meaning of Jesus’ words, “Shoulder my yokeand learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will findrest for your souls. Yes, my yoke is easy and my burden light” (Matthew11:29–30). Jesus invites us to accept his burden, which is the burden of thewhole world, a burden that includes human suffering in all times and places.But this divine burden is light, and we can carry it when our heart has beentransformed into the gentle and humble heart of our Lord.
Here we can see the intimate relationship between prayer and ministry.The discipline of leading all our people with their struggles into the gentleand humble heart of God is the discipline of prayer as well as the disciplineof ministry. As long as ministry only means that we worry a lot about
people and their problems; as long as it means an endless number ofactivities which we can hardly coordinate, we are still very much dependenton our own narrow and anxious heart. But when our worries are led to theheart of God and there become prayer, then ministry and prayer become twomanifestations of the same all-embracing love of God.
We have seen how the prayer of the heart is nurtured by short prayers, isunceasing and all-inclusive. These three characteristics show how theprayer of the heart is the breath of the spiritual life and of all ministry.Indeed, this prayer is not simply an important activity, but the very center ofthe new life which we want to represent and to which we want to introduceour people. It is clear from the characteristics of the prayer of the heart thatit requires a personal discipline. To live a prayerful life we cannot dowithout specific prayers. We need to say them in such a way that we canlisten better to the Spirit praying in us. We need to continue to include inour prayer all the people with and for whom we live and work. Thisdiscipline will help us to move from a distracting, fragmentary, and oftenfrustrating ministry toward an integrating, holistic, and very gratifyingministry. It will not make ministry easy, but simple; it will not make it sweetand pious, but spiritual; it will not make it painless and without struggles,but restful in the true hesychastic sense.
ConclusionIN OUR MIND-ORIENTED world, we will need a serious discipline to come to aprayer of the heart in which we can listen to the guidance of Him who praysin us. The great emphasis on prayer in ministry is not meant as an incentiveto be less involved with people or to leave untouched our society with itsmany struggles. Prayer as understood by the hesychasts helps us to discernwhich of our ministerial activities are indeed for the glory of God andwhich are primarily for the glory of our unconverted ego. The prayer of theheart offers us a new sensitivity that enables us to separate the chaff fromthe wheat in our ministry and thus to become much less ambiguouswitnesses of Jesus Christ.
The prayer of the heart is indeed the way to the purity of heart that givesus eyes to see the reality of our existence. This purity of heart allows us tosee more clearly, not only our own needy, distorted, and anxious self butalso the caring face of our compassionate God. When that vision remains
clear and sharp, it will be possible to move into the midst of a tumultuousworld with a heart at rest. It is this restful heart that will attract those whoare groping to find their way through life. When we have found our rest inGod we can do nothing other than minister. God’s rest will be visiblewherever we go and whoever we meet. And before we speak any words, theSpirit of God, praying in us, will make his presence known and gatherpeople into a new body, the body of Christ himself.
EPILOGUE
THE QUESTION WITH which I started this exploration of desert spirituality andcontemporary ministry was: “How can we minister in an apocalypticsituation?” In a period of history dominated by the growing fear of a warthat cannot be won and an increasing sense of impotence, the question ofministry is very urgent.
As a response to this question I have presented the words, “Flee fromthe world, be silent and pray always,” words spoken to the Roman aristocratArsenius who asked God how to be saved. Solitude, silence, and unceasingprayer form the core concepts of the spirituality of the desert. I considerthem to be of great value for us who are ministers as we approach the end ofthe second millennium of Christianity.
Solitude shows us the way to let our behavior be shaped not by thecompulsions of the world but by our new mind, the mind of Christ. Silenceprevents us from being suffocated by our wordy world and teaches us tospeak the Word of God. Finally, unceasing prayer gives solitude and silencetheir real meaning. In unceasing prayer, we descend with the mind into theheart. Thus we enter through our heart into the heart of God, who embracesall of history with his eternally creative and recreative love.
But does not this spirituality of the desert close our eyes to the cruelrealities of our time? No. On the contrary, solitude, silence, and prayerallow us to save ourselves and others from the shipwreck of our self-destructive society. The temptation is to go mad with those who are madand to go around yelling and screaming, telling everyone where to go, whatto do, and how to behave. The temptation is to become so involved in theagonies and ecstasies of the last days that we will drown together with thosewe are trying to save.
Jesus himself has warned us:
“Take care that no one deceives you; because many will come usingmy name and saying, ‘I am the Christ,’ and they will deceive many.
You will hear of wars and rumors of wars; do not be alarmed, forthis is something that must happen, but the end will not be yet. Fornation will fight against nation, and kingdom against kingdom.There will be famines and earthquakes here and there . . . many willfall away; men will betray one another and hate one another. Manyfalse prophets will arise; they will deceive many, and with theincrease of lawlessness, love in most men will grow cold; but thosewho stand firm to the end will be saved. This Good News of thekingdom will be proclaimed to the whole world as a witness to allthe nations. And then the end will come” (Matthew 24:4–14).
These words of Jesus have a striking relevance. It is our great task tostand firm to the end, to proclaim the Good News to the whole world, andto hold on to him who rose victorious from the grave. The raging torrents ofour tumultuous times have made it very hard not to lose sight of the lightand not to let ourselves drift away into the darkness. The powers andprincipalities not only reveal their presence in the unsettling political andeconomic situation of our day but also they show their disruptive presencein the most intimate places of our lives. Our faithfulness in relationships isseverely tested, and our inner sense of belonging is questioned again andagain. Our anger and greed show their strength with added vehemence, andour desire to indulge ourselves in the despairing hedonism of the momentproves to be stronger than ever.
Yes, the dangers are very real. It is not impossible that we might becomefalse prophets shouting, “Look, here is the Christ” or “He is there”(Matthew 24:23). It is not impossible that we might deceive people with ourself-made assurances, and that not only others’ love but also our own mightgrow cold. Our compulsive, wordy, and mind-oriented world has a firm gripon us, and we need a very strong and persistent discipline not to besqueezed to death by it.
By their solitude, silence, and unceasing prayer the Desert Fathers showus the way. These disciplines will teach us to stand firm, to speak words ofsalvation, and to approach the new millennium with hope, courage, andconfidence.
When we have been remodeled into living witnesses of Christ throughsolitude, silence, and prayer, we will no longer have to worry about whether
we are saying the right thing or making the right gesture, because thenChrist will make his presence known even when we are not aware of it.
Let me conclude with one more desert story.“Three Fathers used to go and visit blessed Anthony every year and two
of them used to discuss their thoughts and the salvation of their souls withhim, but the third always remained silent and did not ask him anything.After a long time, Abba Anthony said to him: ‘You often come here to seeme, but you never ask me anything,’ and the other replied, ‘It is enough tosee you, Father.’”1
This story is a fit ending to this book. By the time people feel that justseeing us is ministry, words such as these will no longer be necessary.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS BOOK FOUND its beginning in a seminar at Yale Divinity School on thespirituality of the desert. It was one of the most stimulating seminars I haveever been part of. We were five women and eleven men. We representedvery different religious traditions: Unitarian, Disciples of Christ, Baptist,Presbyterian, Dutch Reformed, Christian Reformed, Episcopalian, RomanCatholic, and Greek Orthodox. In age we ranged from early twenties to lateforties and in geographical background from the United States to Ireland,Holland and Australia. Together we tried to discover what the DesertFathers and Mothers of the fourth century have to say to men and womenwho want to be ministers of Jesus Christ in the twentieth century.
As we exchanged ideas and experiences in response to the stories fromthe desert, we gradually came to see the “way of the heart” as the way thatunited us in spite of our many historical, theological, and psychologicaldifferences. It was this discovery that encouraged me to present “the way ofthe heart” as Convocation lectures at Perkins School of Theology in Dallasand at the National Convention of Pastoral Counselors in Denver. I am verygrateful for the many responses I received during these occasions.
A special word of thanks goes to Virginia Yohe and Carol Plantinga fortheir secretarial assistance, to Stephen Leahy, Phil Zaeder, Fred Bratman,and Robert Moore for their editorial comments, to John Eudes Bambergerfor his encouragement, and to Jim Antal for offering his beautifulphotograph for the jacket.
I would also like to express my deep gratitude to all the members of theseminar: George Anastos, Kim Brown, Colman Cooke, Susan Geissler,Frank Gerry, Christine Koetsveld, Joseph Núñez, Robert Parenteau, DonaldPostema, Kathy Stockton, Marjorie Thompson, Steven Tsichlis, JoshuaWootton, and Mich Zeman. Their many rich and varied responses to thewords from the desert enabled me to present the book as a book for all whoare committed to the Christian ministry.
I dedicate this book to John Mogabgab, who taught the course with me.I do so in gratitude not only for his invaluable contributions to the seminarand this book, but also, and most of all, for the five years during which weworked together at Yale Divinity School. His deep friendship and supporthave made these years a true gift of God.
NOTES
Prologue
1 Benedicta Ward, trans., The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (London & Oxford: Mowbrays, 1975), 8.
1. Solitude
1 Thomas Merton, The Wisdom of the Desert (New York: New Directions Publishing Corp., 1960), 3.2 Benedicta Ward, trans., The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (London & Oxford: Mowbrays, 1975),61.3 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 2.4 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 2–5.5 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 120–21.6 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 120–21.7 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 117.8 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 23.9 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 24–25.10 Merton, Wisdom of the Desert, 23.11 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 6.
2. Silence
1 James O. Hannay, The Wisdom of the Desert (London: Methuen, 1904), 206.2 Benedicta Ward, trans., The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (London & Oxford: Mowbrays, 1975),69.3 Thomas Merton, The Way of Chuang Tzu (New York: New Directions, 1965), 154.4 Ward, The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 198.5 Hannay, Wisdom of the Desert, 205.6 Diadochus of Photiki, “On Spiritual Knowledge and Discrimination: One Hundred Texts,” in ThePhilokalia, vol. 1, compiled by St. Nikodimos of the Holy Mountain and St. Makarios of Corinth,trans., eds., G.E.H. Palmer, Phillip Sherrard, Kallistos Ware (London & Boston: Faber & Faber,1979), 276.7 Hannay, Wisdom of the Desert, 205–6.8 Vincent van Gogh, The Complete Letters of Vincent van Gogh, vol. 1 (Greenwich, Connecticut:New York Graphic Society, 1959), 197.9 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 143.10 Jean Bremond, Les Pères Du Désert, vol. 2 (Paris: Libraire Victor Lecoffre, 1927), 371.
3. Prayer
1 Benedicta Ward, trans., The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (London & Oxford: Mowbrays, 1975),71.2 Timothy Ware, ed. The Art of Prayer: An Orthodox Anthology (London: Faber & Faber, 1966), 110.3 Macarius the Great, cited in Irenée Hausherr, The Name of Jesus, trans. Charles Cummings(Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, Inc. 1978), 314.4 Macarius the Great, cited in Hausherr, The Name of Jesus, 314.5 John Carpathios, cited in Hausherr, The Name of Jesus, 314.6 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 111.7 John Climacus, cited in Hausherr, The Name of Jesus, 286.8 Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, 102.9 R. M. French, trans., The Way of the Pilgrim (New York: The Seabury Press, 1965), 1.10 French, The Way of the Pilgrim, 2–3.11 French, The Way of the Pilgrim, 19–20.
Epilogue
1 Benedicta Ward, trans., The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (London & Oxford: Mowbrays, 1975), 6.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HENRI J. M. NOUWEN (1932–1996), a priest who was born andeducated in the Netherlands, is the author of many books, including OurGreatest Gift, Making All Things New, The Wounded Healer, Gracias, and ALetter of Consolation. To learn more, visit www.henrinouwen.org.
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CREDITS
Cover design: Claudine Mansour
COPYRIGHT
THE WAY OF THE HEART: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers. Copyright © 1981 byHenri J. M. Nouwen. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American CopyrightConventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive,
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Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication DataNouwen, Henri J. M.
The way of the heart : the spirituality of the desert fathers and mothers / Henri J. M. Nouwen.p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references.ISBN 978–0–06–066330–8
EPub Edition June 2016 ISBN 97800619737651. Pastoral theology. 2. Clergy—Office. 3. Spiritual life. 4. Apophthegmata Patrum. 5. Christian
literature, Early. I. Title.[BV4011.N682 1991]
248.8'9—dc20 90–55803
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- Dedication
- Contents
- Prologue
- SOLITUDE
- SILENCE
- PRAYER
- EPILOGUE
- Acknowledgments
- Notes
- About the Author
- Credits
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
