Russian Monk

a word from the desert

2009-05-06T13:25:00.000-07:00

An Athonite elder said: For anyone to obtain help, he needs to have his ear's receiver turned on, in order to receive someone else's signals. When the heart is not receptive, one must ask God to turn it on first so that His divine word can be received.

from an Athonite Gerontikon

The 'Divine Darkness' in Gregory of Nyssa

2008-08-14T18:49:00.000-07:00

Gregory of Nyssa: Luminous Darkness

‘Since Moses was alone, by having been stripped as it were of the people’s fear, he boldly approached the very darkness itself and entered the invisible things where he was no longer seen by those watching. After he entered the inner sanctuary of the divine mystical doctrine, there, while not being seen, he was in company with the Invisible. He teaches, I think, by the things he did that the one who is going to associate intimately with God must go beyond all that is visible and—lifting up his own mind, as to a mountaintop, to the invisible and incomprehensible—believe that the divine is there where the understanding does not reach.’
—Gregory of Nyssa

Life of Moses, §46
That knowledge is cognitive is perhaps the first assumption with which one must do away, if he is to properly understand St. Gregory of Nyssa’s concept of the divine darkness. Yet it is an assumption so basic to modern scientific thought that its influence is hardly given consideration—it is taken entirely as a base fact in the general arena of learning. Yet it is this very idea which Gregory addresses: the entire way of knowing with which we approach a knowledge of God. His is a knowing that goes beyond the confines and limitations of cognition, with its inherent inability to comprehend the transcendent. It is a knowing that plunges into the negative, into the darkness of that place ‘where the understanding does not reach,’ and there finds the height of true knowledge.

Gregory’s concept of mystical knowing is best expressed in his image of the divine darkness: a symbol that is perhaps one of his greatest gifts to the realm of Christian thought. It is presented most clearly in his famous text, The Life of Moses, and it is primarily from that text that this brief examination shall be made.
Divine Ascent: the Mountain.
The Life of Moses presents us with one of the early Church’s most elegant efforts at symbolic interpretation of Scripture. Gregory discusses the story of Moses and the Jewish exodus from its historical perspective, effectively paraphrasing the Exodus account, then moves on to a ‘spiritual interpretation’—a contemplative examination of its inner meaning. The entire motion of Moses’ life, from his first hearing and heeding the calling of the Lord, to his guidance of the Chosen People out of bondage and into freedom, to his ascent up Sinai to receive the Law from God; all is seen as a great and progressive symbol for the spiritual life of the Christian believer.

One must begin a discussion of the divine darkness with an acknowledgement that, in Gregory’s writing, it is not the only way of knowing. Indeed, it is not even the first. In the story of Moses, Gregory makes plain the fact that much indeed preceded the patriarch’s ascent of Sinai. So, too, must much precede the Christian’s entrance into the darkness of divine knowledge.

Again the Scripture leads our understanding upward to the higher levels of virtue. For the man who received strength from the food and showed his power in fighting with his enemies and was the victor over his opponents is then led to the ineffable knowledge of God. Scripture teaches us by these things the nature and the number of things one must accomplish in life before he would at some time dare to approach in his understanding the mountain of the knowledge of God. [1]

The history of Moses is not a collection of stories, Gregory seems to say, but one great story of progression and development. Moses was not chosen immediately to climb the mountain, but first to be a shepherd and a soldier; and only when having completed the necessary precursors was he to hide in the cleft of the rock and see God. One finds in Gregory’s symbolic interpretation of this text an insistence upon a progression of knowledge, and further of an intimation of knowledge in types. There was a time when Moses knew God from story, then from His guidance in battle, then from His leadership into victory. And then there was the time when knowledge came ineffably, and Moses truly knew God.

In fact, Gregory presents three principal ‘ways’ within the spiritual life, and as J. Daniélou rightly notes, they are somewhat different from those generally encountered. [2] One seee them most clearly in a passage from the Commentary on the Canticle of Canticles:

Moses’ vision of God began with light; afterwards God spoke to him in a cloud. But when Moses rose higher and became more perfect, he saw God in the darkness.

One cannot assess Gregory’s concept of the divine darkness in exclusion from this full design of upward motion. The way of light, the way of knowledge ‘as if in a cloud,’ and the darkness at the peak of the mountaintop are all interconnected, building one upon the next in the faithful seeker’s quest for union with God. The mountain of knowledge is a steep climb, and while the view from the top is worlds apart from that at the bottom, the mountain is still a single monument.

The way of light, which one encounters at the beginning of the spiritual journey, is the most common way of knowing. Gregory is realistic in his assertion that the great majority of people do not climb to the top of the symbolic mountain of knowledge:

The knowledge of God is a mountain steep indeed and difficult to climb—the majority of people scarcely reach its base. [3]
It is not in the darkness, but in the light that the majority of humanity rests in its knowledge. This, indeed, is the realm of cognition. One is stripped of his ignorance when he grows in the light; and through such an illumination he begins to see more clearly the world around him. To this degree, one begins to see more clearly, too, the nature of God. Moses first saw God as light, radiating from the bush at the base of the mountain, and through this light was revealed not only a new knowledge of the Creator, but a heightened knowledge of the human person, and what must be done to grow further still in true knowledge.

That light [of the burning bush] teaches us what we must do to stand within the rays of the true light: Sandaled feet cannot ascend that height where the light of truth is seen, but the dead and earthly covering of skins, which was placed around our nature at the beginning when we were found naked because of disobedience to the divine will, must be removed from the feet of the soul. When we do this, the knowledge of the truth will result and manifest itself. [4]

The way of knowing through the light involves a process of purification, of stripping away what Gregory often refers to as the ‘garment of skin’—not skin in its biological sense, but in its symbolic sense of that which covers and hides the true essence of human nature. Daniélou writes of the light, ‘This way is marked by the purification of the soul from all foreign elements and by the restoration of the image of God.’ [5]

This process, then, leads into the second way of knowing: that which brings about a knowledge of God ‘within the mirror of the soul’, as in a cloud. Here are the first hints of a truly mystical knowing, if one takes that term to mean knowledge by direct experience, as opposed to mere cognition. Having purified one’s self of the perversion of the passions (Daniélou correctly notes that it is not the passions and bodily inclinations themselves that are to be purified in Gregory’s thought, but rather their perversion), [6] the soul begins to come into the knowledge of the unseen. In the Commentary on the Canticle of Canticles, Gregory compares this to a cloud: as the cloud descends upon a person (or, perhaps more accurately, as a person ascends into the cloud), the vision of the senses begins to blur. No longer is knowledge purely a sensory, cognitive act, but the cloud begins to accustom the soul to seek inwards for the knowledge that is hidden. This abandonment of a reliance upon the senses is noted also in The Life of Moses, when the great patriarch drives the animals away before climbing the mountain.

When this had been accomplished and the herd of irrational animals had been driven as far from the mountain as possible, Moses then approached the ascent to loft perceptions. That none of the irrational animals was allowed to appear on the mountain signifies, in my opinion, that in the contemplation of the intelligibles we surpass the knowledge which originates with the senses. [7]

When this knowledge that originates with the senses is surpassed, one begins to know through the soul itself, ‘as through a mirror.’ In Gregory, this concept is based upon a fundamental Christian theme: the indwelling of the Trinity within the human person. As the godhead dwells within the soul, so is the soul able to relate to the person a knowledge of it, in a manner of knowing that is no longer sensory. The soul acts as a mirror, which projects into one’s knowledge the very nature of God.

The contemplation of God is not effected by sight and hearing, nor is it comprehended by any of the customary perceptions of the mind. For no eye has seen, and no ear has heard, nor does it belong to those things which usually enter into the heart of man. [8]

This is the beginning of a knowledge of God by the heart—by the intimate presence of God Himself. Yet it is only faint, and is still blurred, as one would expect within a cloud. The soul must still be purified, and must become ever more accustomed to this new way of knowing. It must, indeed, shed its reliance upon cognition, and embrace the seeming groundlessness of an ‘ineffable knowledge.’ The person
must wash from his understanding every opinion derived from some preconception and withdraw himself from his customary intercourse with his own companion, that is, with his sense perceptions, which are, as it were, wedded to our nature as its companion. When he is so purified, then he assaults the mountain. [9]

The Divine Darkness.
We arrive, then, at the darkness. At the mountain’s peak, when one has ascended to the heart of the cloud, he find himself in the darkness of night. Now all light is gone, and the cloud has become so thick that one at last sees nothing at all. In this place, where the senses cease their sensing, the soul is left to pure contemplation, ‘and there it sees God’. [10]

This notion of darkness being the highest form of knowledge at first seems at odds with Gregory’s earlier discussions of knowledge as light and the escape from ignorance as the escape from darkness. Gregory himself addresses this seeming paradox:

Scripture teaches by this that religious knowledge comes at first to those who receive it as light. Therefore what is perceived to be contrary to religion is darkness, and the escape from darkness comes about when one participates in light. But as the mind progresses and, through an ever greater and more perfect diligence, comes to apprehend reality, as it approaches more nearly to contemplation, it sees more clearly what of the divine nature is uncontemplated. [11]

One finds here clear reference to the different ways of knowing implicit in Gregory’s works. Knowledge is as light when we are ‘babes in the faith’—when one’s understanding is relatively weak and knowledge consists in its expansion. Then it is as light added to a room, which clears away the darkness that the contents may be freely seen. Then comes the mirror of the soul as in a cloud, and finally, the darkness.

The image of the darkness is the capstone of Gregory’s spiritual theology. It consists of the final stage on the ascent of knowledge: in fully shedding the senses and cognitive reason as sources of truth, in finally realising—in a direct and personal way—their inability to grasp the transcendent and ineffable, and coming to know God by a grasp of His unknowability.

Leaving behind everything that is observed, not only what sense comprehends but also what the intelligence thinks it sees, it keeps on penetrating deeper until by the intelligence’s yearning for understanding it gains access to the invisible and incomprehensible, and there it sees God. This is the true knowledge of what is sought; this is the seeing that consists in not seeing, because that which is sought transcends all knowledge, being separated on all sides by incomprehensibility as by a kind of darkness. [12]

And again,
When, therefore, Moses grew in knowledge, he declared that he had seen God in the darkness, that is, that he had then come to know that what is divine is beyond all knowledge and comprehension. [13]

One of Gregory’s greatest contributions to the understanding of personal spirituality and mystical knowledge, was his admission and embrace of the utter transcendence of God. Humans are creatures of knowledge and may grow in their understanding of the Creator; yet there must come a point when they realise that even knowledge is a gift, and a gift greatly transcended by its Giver. When one has ascended far enough up the mountain of knowing, he finally comes to understand that God is beyond knowing, for He is beyond all faculties by which one’s knowing is wrought. Sight and sound, thought and reason may tell us part of what there is to know about God, but they can never tell all. One of the greatest steps the Christian can take in his knowledge of God is that in which he dismisses his cognitive faculties as the end-all of the climb. Moses did not truly see God until he stepped out of the light of seeing, and into the thick darkness of truly knowing.

Yet Gregory’s symbol of the divine darkness is not simply a mere abandonment of positive reason. This would leave his theology essentially empty, and ultimately devoid of meaning. It is easy to read his account of Moses withdrawing into the darkness and understand it to mean a simple resignation of knowledge into ignorance. Yet this is emphatically not Gregory’s message. The darkness is not an emptiness (and thus a meaninglessness), but rather the ultimate fullness. It is, indeed, a darkness that is ‘the effect of an excess of light’ [14] —by the presence of God so complete and so pure that its ineffability comes as a blindness to the senses. Yet it is a blindness only to the customary way of knowing; in the spiritual realm, it is the beginning of true sight. It is ‘to come to know that what is divine is beyond all knowledge and comprehension,’ and thus to be fully in the presence of the ‘fullness of divine existence’. [15] Moses knew God in Egypt, in the desert, and in the wilderness; but it was only in the darkness of the mountaintop that he saw Him.

The Growth of the Soul as the Way of Perfection.
In this short essay we have been concerned with Gregory’s use of the symbol of divine darkness and its significance to his overall understanding of the spiritual life. The limitations of this task have kept us from delving into another, closely-related theme in the Life of Moses and Gregory’s other works: that of spiritual progression. Some intimation of it has been found in the discussion of the threefold progress of knowledge (light, the mirror of the soul, and darkness), yet the extent to which Gregory sees the spiritual life as an entity of constant growth could not be adequately treated within the scope of this paper. We would fail to truly understand his concept of the darkness, however, if we did not make some small mention of it in closing.

When Moses reached the peak of Sinai and was enveloped in the ‘thick darkness where God was’ (Exodus 20.21), he had reached the summit of his climb. His physical journey could go no further. One might be tempted, then, to assume that this is also where his spiritual journey met its climax: the darkness has been reached, and perfection has been attained.

Yet to Gregory’s mind, perfection has here only been attained inasmuch as the mountain peak is but the beginning. The climb up the mountain of knowledge has reached its summit, and it is now time for the spiritual journey to begin anew.

For this reason we also say that the great Moses, as he was becoming ever greater, at no time stopped in his ascent, nor did he set a limit for himself in his upward course. [16]

The divine darkness, that which is found at the peak of the mountain, brings the person to an intimate knowledge of God’s transcendence of knowledge; and this in turn leads to an ever greater desire to know God more closely. As such experiential knowledge increases, so does the desire. The result is an ever increasing movement upwards, inwards. The soul is ever satisfied; but in the very moment of satisfaction, new desire grows. Every moment of the spiritual way of knowing is characterised by its newness; every point on the journey is a starting point, and the very perfection of the way consists of its eternal progression. Gregory writes,

Indeed God would not have shown Himself to His servant if the vision would have been such as to terminate Moses’ desire; for the true vision of God consists rather in this, that the soul that looks up to God never ceases to desire Him. (…) The man who thinks that God can be known does not really have life; for he has been falsely diverted from true Being to something devised by his own imagination. For true Being is true Life, and cannot be known by us. If then this life-giving nature transcends knowledge, what our minds attain in this case is surely not life (…).

Thus it is that Moses’ desire is filled by the very fact that it remains unfulfilled (…) And this is the real meaning of seeing God: never to have this desire satisfied. [17]

The darkness is the Being of God, and its effect upon man is renewed longing and desire for his Creator. The ascent into darkness begins a continual development in which the human person constantly evolves into a deep awareness of God, and is ever evolved ‘toward what is better, being transformed from glory to glory.’ [18]

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY:
Commentary & Study:
Balthasar, Hans Urs von. Présence et pensé – essai sur la philosophie religieuse de Grégoire de Nysse. London: Ignatius Press, 1995. (Also English translation).
Daniélou, J. Platonisme et théologie mystique – essai sur la doctrine spirituelle de saint Grégoire de Nysse. Paris: Editions Montaigne, 1953.
Daniélou, J. & Musurillo, H. From Glory to Glory: Texts from Gregory of Nyssa’s Mystical Writings. London: John Murray, 1962.
Meredith, Anthony. Gregory of Nyssa. London: Routledge, 1999.
Texts:
Editions du Serf: La vie de Moïse – ou traité de la perfection en matière de vertu (text in French and Greek). Paris, 1968.
Malherbe, A.J. & Ferguson, E. The Life of Moses, from The Classics of Western Spirituality (series). New York: Paulist Press, 1978.
Wace, Henry & Schaff, Philip (Ed.). Gregory of Nyssa: Dogmatic Treatises, Etc, from A Select Library of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (series). Oxford: Parker and Co., MDCCCXCIII.

NOTES:
[1] Life of Moses, §152.
[2] Daniélou, Introduction to From Glory to Glory, p.23.
[3] Life of Moses, §158.
[4] Life of Moses, §22.
[5] Daniélou, p.23.
[6] Daniélou, pp.23-4.
[7] Life of Moses, §156.
[8] Life of Moses, §157.
[9] Life of Moses, §157.
[10] Life of Moses, §163.
[11] Life of Moses, §162.
[12] Life of Moses, §163.
[13] Life of Moses, §164.
[14] This poetic phrase belongs to Daniélou, p.37.
[15] Daniélou, p.32.
[16] Life of Moses, §227.
[17] Life of Moses, P.G. 44.404(A-D).
[18] On Perfection, P.G. 46.285(B-C).

"The Lord does not want us to live in the world and go to church, but to live in the church and go to the world."--- Peter Williamson

a word from the desert

2008-08-14T18:45:00.000-07:00

One of the fathers said that there were two neighboring bishops who had an altercation with each other. One was rich and the other was more lowly. The rich one sought to do the other a mischief. The lowly bishop heard of this and, knowing what he was going to do said to his clergy: “We shall triumph, by the grace of Christ.” They said to him, “My lord, who could possibly prevail against that one?” He said to them, “Wait and you shall see.”
He bided his time and when his fellow bishop was celebrating a feast in honor of some holy martyrs, he gathered his clergy and said to them, “Follow me, and we shall triumph.” They said to themselves, “What can he be going to do?” He came to the other bishop, and when he came near in the liturgical procession, the lowly bishop fell at his feet together with the clergy, saying, “For give us; we are your lordship’s humble servants.” The other bishop was amazed at what he had done and a stab of remorse went through his soul. God gave him a change of heart, and he now grasped his colleague’s feet, saying, “It is you who are my lord and father.” From that time on, there was a strong bond of love between them.
The lowly bishop said to his said to his clergy, “Did I not tell you that we should triumph, by the grace of God? When there is any ill feeling between you, do you likewise – and triumph.” The elder also said that a humble man has more glory than the emperor himself; for the emperor is only praised in his presence, whereas a humble man is praised and said to be blessed both in and out of his presence.

John Moschos, Leimonarion (The Spiritual Meadow) 210

Pilgrimage

2008-08-10T16:39:00.000-07:00

One of us asked Abba Sisoes, "What is pilgrimage, Abba?" He answered, "Keep silent; and wherever you go, say, 'I am at peace with all men.' That is pilgrimage."

A word from the desert

2008-08-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

Abba Theodore of Scetis said, "A thought comes to me which troubles me and does not leave me free, but not being able to lead me to act, it simply stops me progressing in virtue; but a vigilant man would cut it off and get up to pray."

Value of a Man

2008-07-24T20:29:00.000-07:00

"We are accustomed to the works of God, and therefore value them but little; we do not, for instance, value even man as we ought to - that greatest work and miracle of God's omnipotence and grace. Look upon every man, whether he is one of your household, or a stranger to you, as upon something perpetually new in God's world, as upon the greatest miracle of God's omnipotence and grace, and do not let the fact of your being accustomed to him serve as a reason for you to neglect him. Esteem and love him as your own self, constantly, and uchangeably."

St. John of Kronstadt.

"It is better to sin against God than against our father"

2008-07-23T23:17:00.000-07:00

Ladder of Divine Ascent (e.g. 4:121), "It is better to sin against God than against our father"

Reading the Fathers shows us a variety of Rules of life. All of them are based on the gradual abandonment of my own will. As I abandon what "I want," I will become more vulnerable to God's actiovity to form His Will within me, that I may do what He wants.

Cenobitic (monastic community, within a monastery) life stresses absolute obedience to the Abbot. A long period of being an Observer, Postulant and Novice precedes tha taking of final vows. The entire process can take as long as twelve years, or as short as seven.

The phrase needs to be seen as a "koan" a seemingly-contradictory phrase. The key to it is absolute trust in God, and the suspicion of my own will to the extent that I am not really competent to discern if I am disobeying God, and if I think I am, I'm probably wrong. After all, He has led me to this vocation and this monastery, so I must trust that His Will is being expressed through the Abbot.

All cenobitic rules have this in common. On the other hand, most of the anchorites (individual monks who live indiviodual Rules and co-operate in loose and informal community) refused to take this sort of responsibility. The ultimate anchoritic response to a reresponsibility. When asked to do a younger monk's thinking for him, their advice-of-choice was, "Go sit in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything."

The "Ladder" was written by a very experienced, very advanced ascetic. It needs to be read with extreme caution.

So Your Child Wants to become a Monastic

2008-07-23T15:14:00.000-07:00

I should like to ask you to think of something you may not have onsidered before; how would you feel if your son or daughter expressed the desire to enter a monastery? You may be an Orthodox Christian, and very devout; you may be diligent in attending services and reading spiritual books; you may have tried your best to raise your children in an Orthodox Tewahedo manner; you may even admire Monasticism. Nonetheless, how would you really feel?

We live in a time and society quite different from years ago where monasticism was a visible and acceptable part of every day life. It was not uncommon for entire families to make pilgrimages to monasteries. Few people today, in the Western world, however, have any significant exposure to Monasticism and it is little wonder that in our un-Orthodox and even anti-Christian society, the very thought of one's child becoming a monastic, Monk or Nun, can seem very threatening.

There are a number of reasons one can give for such a reaction. Lack of familiarity breeds fear. Not a few people imagine Monasticism to be very grim and even inhuman. They may envision their child locked behind a grating and subsisting for the rest of his or her life on bread and water. The other extreme is an equally- erroneous view of a romanticized spiritual state in which the child spends his days floating above the ground in an exalted state of endless holiness. In both cases it is imagined that entering a monastery presupposes leaving behind the human race. The reality of the monastic life is a far cry from either of these extremes. Your son or daughter—who is always late, leaves socks and soda bottles everywhere and is generally infuriating--will not turn into an instant holy man or woman. Anyone who leaves the world for the monastery brings all of his/her weaknesses and defects with them. He may learn to overcome some of them; others he will have to live with. In any case, if your child becomes a monastic, he or she will not be living without human warmth and human relationships, and in spite of everything, you will still recognize them as being one of your own progeny.

Whatever your initial reaction to the issue of Monasticism and your child, it depends to a great extent on how you as a parent view the Orthodox family and your position as an Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo individual in the contemporary secular world. Surrounded as we are by worldly standards and a materialist culture, we forget that the Lord Jesus Christ calls all of His followers to separate themselves from the world: Be not of this world. This is the trumpet call of Monasticism. With this understanding, you should be more ready to peacefully acquiesce to the son or daughter who has found it in his heart to answer this call by taking upon himself the Monastic yoke.

We are, however, the unfortunate products of our fallen nature, and it is rare that even a pious Orthodox Tewahedo parent is thrilled to hear that their offspring desires to enter a Monastery. More often there arise some very strong reactions in the heart which, however innocent and well-intentioned, are nonetheless aspects of our fallen emotional and psychological nature – and a sad reflection of our un-Orthodox background and environment. With this in mind we can examine some of the emotional responses which this issue so often evokes.

Verbally, the various emotions stem from the pivotal question, "Why?" Why does anyone leave the world to enter a Monastery? If the reason is legitimate, it is because in spite of all his failings and weaknesses, your child loves God more than anyone or anything in the world--more than the life you helped shape him for, more than his automobile, more than the school to which you were going to send him, more than his family... And here the very natural feeling of jealousy arises. As parents you may endeavor to replace God as being central in your child's affections and persuade him to forsake Monasticism, if you succeed, you will only make the child unhappy, and if you fail, you are going to feel very hurt.

Secondly; you may feel estranged or shut out from your child's life. If your daughter goes to a Monastery, and it's a life you have not shared, you may feel you can't relate to her. If she married, even if she moved a thousand miles away, you would very likely feel that you were still more a part of her life than if she became a nun and lived 50 miles away. A married daughter would still need advice on how to cope with the children's illnesses or how to manage a tight budget. On the other hand, if she were in a Convent, you could hardly give her advice on how to do Matins, and even if you are Orthodox, you might feel emotionally adrift and very awkward with this suddenly foreign someone in black whose life is so different from your own. Then there is also the fact that most parents look forward to being grandparents, this is a big issue, especially with mothers.

You may feel threatened. You spend your whole life nurturing the well-being of your children: you feed them and worry over them; you help them to discover their abilities and you encourage them to develop their talents. Perhaps your son is a natural musician or your daughter a born lawyer, and you spend your life supporting them--emotionally and financially--and preparing them to be successful in the world. And after all these years of effort and anxiety, they suddenly decide they want no part of it, they don't want the world, or the life that you envisioned for them. This can be a very threatening and painful revelation. Very often parents feel that in rejecting the world, their child is also rejecting them. This is not necessarily true at all, but this feeling sparks most of the disputes between parents and their children over the issue of Monasticism. Here also parents may feel they have failed in some way in their raising of the child, that he or she should choose such an "aberrant" path in life. This is also a painful thought.

The rather heated emotions which may arise over the issue of Monasticism and one's child frequently result in a barrage of reproaches. The following examples are not in the least hypothetical; they come from a list of actual remarks made by real mothers and fathers, some of whom consider themselves to be devout Orthodox. Their responses illumine the essence of the dispute as it is felt in the heart of those who are Orthodox and yet live in the world. They've said that we are not taking responsibility for ourselves; that we are just leaning on someone else so as to avoid having to make our own decisions. They say that if we love our neighbor we should be working to improve society and not dropping out of it into some euphoric dream. We often hear that Monasticism is mere ostentation, some kind of fake spirituality: "Why don't you stick it out in the world like the rest of us, where you have to deal with real life and real problems?" They say Monasticism is selfish, egocentric, it divides and ruins the family; Monasticism is "financially unstable": What about your future security? Why don't you just get a good job and send them all the money?

While these remarks are quite varied, there is a common denominator, and that is worldliness. They are all rooted in a very worldly orientation. It is the complete and absolute rejection of this perspective on the part of the monastic aspirant which often makes the dispute between parents and child so violent, Although perhaps unconscious, the parents' message underlying all this is: Conform yourself to the world; fit in; get a secure job; settle down; do what everyone else does...; spirituality is fine, but there's no need to be extreme. We have already seen, however, that Christianity is otherworldly; by it’s very notate it is extreme: if you lose your life you shall gain it; if you try to hang onto it you will lose it; God became man that men might become gods. What could be more extreme?

Seek ye first the kingdom of God

The Orthodox faith is the means by which we ascend unto God, through surrendering our own ego and self-will. Orthodoxy means war--against one's fallen nature, against the devil, and against the world. This applies to all Orthodox Christians. Even those who live in the world--who have children and hold jobs--are required to keep themselves in some sense apart from the world. And there can be no compromise. The world is not and cannot be our home, and whether we choose to marry Christ or an earthly spouse, we can in no sense marry' the world. We see, however, that it is precisely this desire--to have both God and the world--that is at the rooter the conflict evoked by the child's entrance into Monasticism. Experiencing their own reaction to the child's rejection of the world may make the parents realize, perhaps as never before, their own attachment to the world, and how unwilling they are to sever themselves from the values and desires of the anti-Christian society in which they live.

It is especially difficult to struggle against the accepted view of the family which in this country has received a pseudo-religious status; youngsters are often all but worshipped as gods by their parents who see them as fulfilling their own egos. This is not Orthodox; it is, in fact, very destructive of our Orthodoxy which teaches that children are not the possession of their mothers and fathers: they are not playthings of their parents' imaginations. Children are given by God for a time that they may be raised up in the knowledge of Him, and after that He summons them as He will. The duty of parents is not to prepare children to settle comfortably in the world, but to shepherd their souls, to prepare them to battle against the fallen world. Those who choose to fight in the front lines are those who hear the monastic calling. If your child wants to enlist in that war, he will swear before God and man that despite his sinfulness and frailties that overwhelm him at every hour of the day, he cannot find rest apart from God.

If such is the inclination of your child, do not hold him back, however logical your reasons for wanting to do so may be. If the desire for Monasticism is simply a fanciful notion, they will find out soon enough, and nothing will be harmed by their trying. If, however, such a desire has indeed been planted by God as a means of their achieving salvation, don't thwart it by trying to persuade him first to finish school or experience life in the world. Bring to mind the countless number of Monastics, both men and women, whose spiritual legacy has so greatly enriched our holy Ethiopian Orthodox Church. If your child has the desire and determination to follow in their steps, however weakly, bless him, let him go. And may this blessing be also unto your own salvation and that of others.