Today is Maundy Thursday. This evening we will remember Jesus’ Last Supper with his disciples and the agony He experienced afterward in the Garden of Gethsemane. Those of us who desire prayer, who really want to learn how to pray, would do well to meditate on Christ’s experience and example in Gethsemane. As one of my favorite Holy Week hymns says, “Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter’s power, / Your redeemer’s conflict see, watch with Him one bitter hour, /Turn not from His griefs away, learn of Jesus Christ to pray.“

Learn of Jesus Christ to pray. When Jesus’ disciples asked Him to teach them to pray, He responded by giving them the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father . . . Thy will be done . . . and lead us not into temptation. . .” Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane embodies the same principles. “When He arrived at the place, He said to them, ‘Pray that you may not enter into temptation.’ And He withdrew from them about a stone’s throw and He knelt down and began to pray, saying, ‘Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done‘” (Luke 22:40-42 NASB).  When we repeat the Lord’s Prayer regularly, we say these words as though they are easy. But Gethsemane displays the difficulty in saying “Thy will be done.” To submit our will fully to God is to experience an agonizing surrender.

Expanding upon this teaching of Jesus, Evagrios the Solitary taught that we should not pray for the fulfillment of our own desires, instead asking that God’s will would be done, trusting that God’s will truly is good. Many of Evagrios’ teachings fit well in the context of Gethsemane: Angels appear to strengthen Jesus in prayer (“On Prayer” no 81; Luke 22:43). Jesus prays and then is promptly attacked by evil (“On Prayer” no. 49; Luke 22:47).  But these are merely finer details in the larger portrait of Jesus submitting His will fully to the Father. Jesus desires for this cup of suffering to be removed from Him. He does not desire the cross. Yet He does not pray for the fulfillment of His own wishes, because they may not accord with the will of God.  Because the Father desires what is good and profitable for His Son, Jesus surrenders His will to the Father. This submission is a decisive moment. The angel appears in Gethsemane after Jesus has surrendered His will to the Father (Luke 22:43). And after Jesus is strengthened, He sweats blood. Both the sweetness and the pain of the scene increase when Jesus surrenders His will.

Evagrios writes, “Do not be distressed if you do not at once receive from God what you ask. He wishes to give you something better – to make you persevere in your prayer. For what is better than to enjoy the love of God and to be in communion with him?” (“On Prayer” no. 34). Jesus’ own communion with the Father meant submitting to the Father’s will.  Though it meant suffering, this obedience was rewarded in communion through His resurrection and exaltation to the right hand of the Father. Jesus desired that this cup of suffering would pass from Him. The Father desired something better. But something better could not come without Christ’s agony and cross.

This leads to perhaps the most important question for those of us who are learning to pray from Christ in the Garden: Do we really trust that God’s will is good? We think we know what is good for us, but Evagrios and Jesus both ask “What is good, except God?” Our will is generally inclined toward what is comfortable, pleasant, easy. But as Jesus and Evagrios show us, the way to everlasting life is not comfortable. Trusting God’s goodness may mean more suffering, or more of what feels like suffering now, so that our joy in the fulfillment of God’s will may be even greater. Our prayers for the Lord’s will to be done may lead us to the cross, but never without the hope of resurrection.

Learn of Jesus Christ to pray. “Always entreat Him in this way – that His will be done. For He desires what is good and profitable for you, whereas you do not always ask for this.“ Lord, teach us to pray. Not our will, but Yours be done.

]]> http://houseofstmichaelthearchangel.org/2013/03/learn-of-jesus-christ-to-pray/feed/ 0 http://houseofstmichaelthearchangel.org/2013/02/on-fasting-and-vigiling/ http://houseofstmichaelthearchangel.org/2013/02/on-fasting-and-vigiling/#comments Tue, 26 Feb 2013 00:45:04 +0000 Lauren Burdette http://houseofstmichaelthearchangel.org/?p=689 In the House of St. Michael, we make devotional commitments each year. These are patterns of life, ways that we hear God inviting us to pursue him. Part of our commitment is to read The Philokalia together. And in the way of the writers of The Philokalia, we are encouraged to include a monthly fast and a mini-vigil as part of our commitments. Evagrios, who we read this month, said, “Man cannot drive away impassioned thoughts unless he watches over his desire and incensive power. He destroys desire through fasting, vigils and sleeping on the ground, and he tames his incensive power through long-suffering, forbearance, forgiveness and acts of compassion.” Like many of the other monks, Evagrios sees fasting and vigiling as some of our most powerful tools in fighting the passions and clarifying our vision of God.

Intellectually that makes sense to me, but I have always struggled with the spiritual practices of fasting and vigiling. I am a stay-at-home mom of two young boys. I rarely sit down to eat breakfast and lunch; instead I grab a bite of food here and there in between caring for my sons. Isn’t that fasting enough? On a good night, I am up with my infant son at least three times during the night. Isn’t that vigil enough? Why would I want to add something to my routine that makes daily life more difficult? I have read and received what the monks have to say about the clarity and beauty that they have in their relationship with God, and I hear their encouragement of fasting and vigiling as a way to attain that, but my honest heart response has been: that’s good for them, but I don’t think it’s for me.

A little book called Poverty of Spirit by Johannes Baptist Metz is beginning to shift that for me. Metz talks about poverty of spirit as embracing and accepting our humanity, our limitedness as humans, our total dependence on God. He writes, “becoming human involves proclaiming the poverty of the human spirit in the face of the total claims of a transcendent God.” Contemplating poverty of spirit as embracing my humanity has opened up my heart. Like Metz, I’ve come to see Jesus as the ultimate model of humanity. He never tried to escape who he was. He was present to his time. He rejected the devil’s invitations in the desert, accepting instead his human limitations. Unlike Jesus, we desire to reject our limits. We want to be gods: all-knowing, all-powerful, all-beautiful, immortal. Our culture encourages us to pursue these false and impossible dreams. I see it in myself, in so many ways, such as the way I hate criticism because I desire to be perfect. We seek that false divinity instead of unity with the one God, because unity with him who is fully God and fully human means living into our own humanity.

And this is where I am now hearing a whispered invitation to fasting and vigiling. It is not an invitation to take on a super-human feat of spiritual prowess. It is an invitation to enter my humanity more fully. To feel hungry, to feel tired, to be weak. To experience my utter lack – my poverty – when I stand alone. To be present in a clearer way to my dependence on God. Maybe then I will be, like the monks, more receptive to what God desires to give. Metz calls poverty of spirit the greatest gift we as humans have. I am asking God to help me receive that gift this year.

This time through, however, I think the story might be different. Not because I have suddenly developed a penchant for staying up late into the night in prayer between my days of nursing school. But because it has occurred to me that it is possible for Evagrios to be speaking to me without necessarily speaking about me. There is a lovely bit toward the end of Evagrios’ injunction to the solitaries that they must not take servants:

Even if you have the idea that taking a servant would be for the servant’s benefit, do not accept it. For this is not our work; it is the work of others, of the holy Fathers who live in communities and not as solitaries. Think only of what is best for yourself, and safeguard the way of stillness.

“This is not our work; it is the work of others.” There is work to be done in the Church that is outside the scope of Evagrios’ own practice and teaching. There are people in the church whom Evagrios recognizes as called and faithful who do not practice the life of ascetical solitude.

There are people to whom Evagrios’ words about cities do not apply:

If possible, do not visit a town at all. For you will find there nothing of benefit, nothing useful, nothing profitable for your way of life.

I live in a city. We all here, I think, live in the city. And while we are free to interpret Evagrios’ words allegorically and to try to avoid participating in the evil, worldly, invisible and spiritual city while still living inPittsburgh, I don’t think we’re obliged to turn to that sort of allegorical interpretation. I think, that were Evagrios here, he would leave us free to look at that particular teaching and say, “No, that’s not for me.”

Because to say of a certain kind of discipline, “No, that’s not for me,” is to bring one’s heart in line with a teaching he cherishes more deeply.

Think only of what is best for yourself, and safeguard the way of stillness.

And again,

Be like an astute business man: make stillness your criterion for testing the value of everything, and choose always what contributes to it.

What leads your heart to stillness?

I do not believe that I could find stillness by spending my life in the exile of the desert, although it may be helpful for me to retreat there from time to time. The callings that God has placed on my life are to use my hands to serve those in need and to use my mind and lips to teach. I find stillness through those labors – not necessarily ease, for those of us who are called to live in communities have our own battles to fight – but a sort of wholeness and rest that I am not certain could exist for me elsewhere. I, like Evagrios and the psalmist, have seen violence and strife in the city. But my calling is to move toward that strife in love, not to flee from it.

What leads your heart to stillness?

For Lauren, I think that having a servant is a real and legitimate part of what leads her to stillness. I work for her, for a few hours a week, taking care of her children so that she can be more free to pursue her work as a spiritual director. When Lauren reads the injunction not to take a servant for the sake of bodily ease, I think she’s free to say, “No, that’s not for me.” Because being free of the bodily responsibility of caring for her children for a period of time frees her to pursue a higher calling than mere physical self discipline.

What leads your heart to stillness?

Our real calling through our disciplines, whatever they may be, is to freedom – that we may be, as Evagrios puts it, unhindered on our chosen path. Our deepest calling is to unhindered devotion to Jesus.

It doesn’t do the Father’s justice to get so tied up in their description of ascetical tools that we miss their efforts to point us toward the higher goal of communion with God. To reduce them to being teachers of a certain pattern of life – although they are teachers of a very specific pattern of life – makes them less wise than they are.

As I was reading in preparation to write this reflection, I saw a picture in my mind of people walking toward a city. Evagrios came to them, catching their wrists with his hands, stepping in front of them, trying to prevent them from leaving the desert to go. I was also walking with the people, and when Evagrios turned to look at me he said, “Sister, go in peace.” And bowed.

Thank you, wise teacher. I look forward to our next meeting.

A few of the holy people who wrote The Philokalia have titles appended to their names. For example, St. Mark is the Ascetic, and St. Hesychios is the Priest. Notice that Evagrius bears the title the Solitary.  He’s not “Evagrius the Lonely.” He had relationships, as evidenced by his practical wisdom and sharing of these teachings. But Evagrius also sought solitude because time alone and time with others both served for him the same solitary purpose: the pursuit of stillness.

Stillness, for the writers of The Philokalia, refers to the inner quietness or mental peace which is produced through prayer and watchfulness.  This state of peace and nearness to God is so desirable that Evagrius urges his reader to “Be like an astute business man: make stillness your criterion for testing the value of everything; and choose always what contributes to it” (p. 33). This principle led Evagrius to advise that we be calculating in every relational encounter, testing the value of interactions with other people based on their effect on our pursuit of stillness.

I am neither a monk or a hermit, but I long to apply this teaching from Evagrius in my life.  I deeply desire simplicity of relationships. A shift at the cafe where I work leaves my head spinning after literally hundreds of interactions with customers whom I casually know. I deeply love my church, but I find it challenging to keep up with the ever-expanding community of people who worship with us. With a baby on the way, I find myself wanting more and more to invest my relational energy in my family, rather than scattering it about in conversations in which my “intellect becomes distracted.”

As a married man and pastor of a church, Evagrius’ words surely require translation for my present context. But I think all of the principles behind Evagrius’ advice apply just as much to my life in the world and can be practiced in ways that support and enable healthy relationships at work and in the Church.  These principles, as I would summarize them, are (1) seek simplicity in relationships, (2) avoid relationships which entice us to sin, (3) seek relationships that serve the purpose of growth in sanctification, (4) seek saintly friendships.

(1) Seek simplicity in relationships: “If you have friends, avoid constant meetings with them,” writes Evagrius. More is not always better. “Quality time” with others is like a fine meal. The right amount is delicious and nourishing. But gluttony leads to sickness and distraction. Recognizing this, I’ve started managing my schedule in such a way that I avoid unnecessary meetings or communications. I prepare more deliberately for time that I spend with others, seeking fewer but richer encounters, so that even “rare occasions” of getting together benefit all involved. The challenge goes beyond scheduled meetings, though. In our context, though, technology provides the greatest challenge to simplicity in relationships. With computers or smartphones we can engage in relationships with anyone, anywhere, at any time. This has potential both for tremendous good and tremendous ill.  Though they are beneficial tools for communication and fellowship, the randomness and intensity of posts appearing one’s Facebook home page or Twitter feed lend themselves to relational dissipation. So, I’m disciplining my use of social media in order to see fewer posts which distract me from Christ and more that propel me toward Him.

(2) Avoid relationships which harm us spiritually: Evagrius’s words regarding this lesson are fairly straightforward. He uses verbs like avoid and shun. It’s important to note that this is different, though, from running away from people who bother us.  John Cassian wrote that “When we are angry with others we should not seek solitude on the grounds that there, at least, no one will provoke us to anger. . . Self-reform and peace are not acheived through the patience which others show us, but through our own long-suffering towards our neighbour” (The Philokalia, “On the Eight Vices,” p. 85).  Difficult relationships are opportunities for practicing the virtues. It is more spiritually beneficial to remain present with someone and learn forgiveness or forbearance than to run to solitude only to seethe with bitterness. This leads to the next principle.

(3) See all relationships as opportunities for growth in sanctification: The challenge for those of us in the world, I’ve realized, is to recognize every relationship as an opportunity for sanctification. So, to be like an astute business person in every relational encounter, I’m learning to constantly ask, How might God use the time I spend with this person to shape each of us more into the likeness of Christ?  Perhaps its someone who will teach me directly about life spent seeking the Kingdom.  More likely, this person will create situations which God can use to each us indirectly: opportunities to grow in patience, forgiveness, gentleness, and love. A mind shaped by the pursuit of stillness to recognized these opportunities when they come and a heart of constant prayer will recognize them and offer them up to God for Him to consecrate and do with as He pleases.

(4) Seek saintly friendships: Evagrius advises his readers to “Let the labour and longing of your heart be for the faithful of the earth, to become like them in mourning. For ‘my eyes will be on the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me’ (Ps. 101:6).”  The “faithful of the land” include not just the present friends and leaders who guide us deeper into the life of Christ, but the great saints of the history of the Church as well.  We set our eyes on the faithful of the land as much when we read the words of works like The Philokalia as when we sit in the presence of a brother or sister in Christ who verbally speaks God’s Word to us. Accordingly, I’m learning to do the same: to truly treasure the relationships I presently  have in my family, in my church, in the House of St. Michael, while also seeking fellowship with saints like St. Mark the Ascetic and the blessed Charles de Foucauld.  Knowing how these friendships with those who “walk in the blameless way” (Ps. 101:6b) have already been of benefit to me, I trust that they will be of benefit not just to me, but to all the friends the Lord places in my life.

The revelation of Jesus Christ is his unveiling. It removes the veil and calls us to enter into something hidden, something beyond what’s readily apparent, into the reality of who this man Jesus Christ really is.

And when we see Jesus with the veil removed, what do we do? Do we ignore him? Do we avoid him? Do we try to control him?

Or do we fall on our faces because our weak knees can’t handle the power of his magnificent love and the triumph of his majesty? Do we stand back in awe and reverence because the love of Jesus Christ is more overwhelming than anything else we can imagine?

This is a man who has come back from the dead. This is a man who stands before us absolutely triumphant, holding in his hand the keys to death and hell. This is a man who does not fear death because he’s tasted it, defeated it, and taken it from the enemy. Now death belongs to Jesus.

So the saints are told to wait. They’re told to wait just a little longer, until the number is completed of their fellow servants and brothers who were to be killed. They’re told to wait not because Jesus is out-of-control, but because Jesus is in such total control, because he possesses all the power in the world.

The Book of Revelation begins:

The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show his servants what must soon take place. He made it known by sending his angel to his servant John, who testifies to everything he saw – that is, the Word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ.

John testifies to everything he saw in the vision he received. What he saw was the Word of God and the testimony of Jesus. This testimony comes from the word the tradition uses for martyrs and martyrdom, since martyrs are ones who testify unto death and receive death on behalf of their testimony. Martyrs bear a resolute and inextinguishable testimony – the testimony of their death – and so they live the complete martyrdom.

At the unveiling of Jesus Christ, when the veil is pulled back and what is hidden is seen, John saw the Word of God and the martyrdom of Jesus Christ. He received a vision of the Word who became flesh, the Word who is the inner logic of history, a vision of the Lamb who suffered and so entered into his glory.

The revelation of Jesus Christ is an unveiling of the hidden reality behind history. It’s an unveiling of what lies hidden behind the collision between Jesus Christ and the Roman Empire. If the Book of Revelation has anything to do with the Roman Empire (and I’m inclined to think it does), then it has to do with what happened when the Word became flesh, when the Lamb who was slain before the foundations of the world came into the world and ascended his cross and rode it into glory, straight into death and hell, straight into his victory over the world.

John seems to be saying that what happened when Jesus collided with the Roman Empire wasn’t something entirely straightforward or easy to understand. It’s like he’s saying that when Jesus collided with the ancient Roman world, that ancient pagan world of idolatry, power, might, prestige, and violence, that there was a battle and that battle was an exorcism. It was an exorcism of the demons behind idolatry and persecution, the demons behind sexual immorality, drunkenness, and blasphemy.

The unveiling of Jesus Christ reveals the spiritual conflict going on behind the veil. It reveals what happened when the Word became flesh and the Lamb entered his glory.

The arena of this conflict is worship. What John sees when he enters behind the veil is the glorious and never-ending worship that the saints and holy angels give to the Lord forever and ever. Throughout Revelation worship is on-going – it surrounds the beginning and end of the vision, and it also fills the middle, where things are the most graphic and disturbing. And when we look, we see that the most graphic things that happen come from the worship of the Lord.

In Revelation 8:5, the peals of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightening, and earthquake come from the censer the angel filled with fire from the heavenly altar and threw to the earth, which the angel did surrounded by smoke from the incense and the prayers of the saints.

In Revelation 14:19, the great winepress of God’s wrath begins when angels swing their sickles on the earth according to the direction of other angels who come from the heavenly temple and the worship at its altar.

In Revelation 15:6, the seven angels with the seven plagues follow upon the song of Moses and the song of the Lamb. The plagues themselves coincide with smoke from the glory of God filling the temple and rendering it inaccessible.

When John takes us behind the veil, what we see is that the worship of the Lord is an act of direct conflict with the spirits of idolatry, blasphemy, and immorality. It’s like the worship of the Lamb rouses the angelic host and makes it excitable and extremely zealous. And this angelic zeal is a staggering thing to imagine and a terrifying thing to oppose. No evil has more boldness, strength, or power than the angelic host consumed by doxology.

Perhaps Satan is more frightening. Perhaps the devil himself is more terrifying than the holy angelic host. Perhaps. Though perhaps not. In John’s vision, Satan is cast from heaven by Michael and his company of angels, who overcome him by the word of their testimony, which is the great hymn of the heavenly multitude:

Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!

The power of Michael’s doxology opposes Satan and overcomes him and casts him down. His doxology has power because it declares that Jesus Christ is the one who is worthy to receive power, since Jesus Christ is the Lamb who was slain.

When John takes us behind the veil, we see that the further we enter into worship, the more we’re able to see that worship is more important than we can imagine. We also see that blasphemy, idolatry, and false worship are far worse than we can imagine.

In Revelation 13:5-6, the worship of the dragon and the beast, and the beast’s blasphemy against God, are the engines behind the beast making war against the saints. It’s like the conflict in John’s vision revolves around the power of worship, like the great enemy of the Lord is blasphemy, idolatry, false worship, and mockery. And mockery may be the worst of all.

Throughout his vision, John opens our eyes to the terrible reality of mockery that lies hidden behind the veil – the mockery that distorts, confuses, disfigures, and hates the glory and beauty of God. We find this in the whore of Babylon in Revelation 17, who stands as a direct mockery of the woman clothed with the sun, the woman who gives birth to Jesus in Revelation 12.

The woman clothed with the sun is taken into the desert where she’s rescued from the dragon. The whore of Babylon, however, has always lived in the desert, but the desert isn’t where she’s saved, it’s where she dies. The woman clothed with the sun receives the two wings of a great eagle for protection and care. The whore of Babylon, however, rides a horrible beast that hates her, brings her to ruin, leaves her naked, eats her flesh, and burns her with fire. The woman clothed with the sun gives birth to Jesus and those who obey God’s commands and hold to the testimony of Jesus. The whore of Babylon is said to be a mother as well, but rather than the mother of the saints, she’s the mother of prostitutes and abominations of the earth.

What John shows us is that the enemy responds to God’s holy things with mockery and that the whore of Babylon is a mockery of Jesus’ mother. The whore looks like his mother and acts like his mother, but distorts her, disfigures her, and mocks her.

This mockery goes on throughout John’s vision. So we also see in Revelation 13:11 that the Lamb who was slain is mocked by the beast that looks like a lamb, but talks like a dragon.

The things of Satan look like Jesus, but they sound like Satan, like they’re filled with the sound of the voice of mockery. When John leads us behind the veil, what we see is that the enemies of God don’t have any true power. The only power they have is the power of mockery.

The enemy mocks us. Jesus never does. Jesus rebukes and corrects, he warns and admonishes, and he calls us to repentance, but he doesn’t mock us. Jesus forgives us. He doesn’t ridicule us or embarrass us or ignore us because his voice isn’t the voice of mockery. The voices we listen to are enormously important.

What voices mock us? What voices tell us how worthless we are, how ugly we are, how disappointing we are, how stupid we are, how cowardly we are, how lazy, how fat, how skinny, how weak, how small, how dumb, how poor, how hopeless? How we’re a joke? How we’ve got a past we’ll never escape and a future that’s always forsaken, forever without beauty, joy, peace, and love?

What voices mock us? Not the voice of Jesus. Jesus may be firm and hard and direct and what he says may hurt, but his voice is one of respect. It’s a voice of utter seriousness and it’s a voice that’s sincere, kind, and wise. Jesus doesn’t mock us. The enemies of God are the ones who mock us. They’re the ones who carry weapons of mockery because mockery is their only hope.

And the greatest mockery of the enemies of God is the claim that they’re the ones who control death, that they can use death to defeat the saints, that there’s nothing behind the veil, that they’re the ones who can oppose Jesus, that they’re the ones who can conquer him. Their greatest mockery is the claim that Jesus is weak and out-of-control.

But Jesus Christ cannot be conquered and he cannot be defeated because death belongs to him. He’s tasted it and defeated it. He’s defeated death. He’s defeated defeat. Now death and defeat belong to Jesus. Jesus will not be mocked.

When John takes us behind the veil, we see that the worst thing you can do to the saints isn’t kill them. The saints praise the Lord when they’re alive and they praise the Lord when they’re dead.

The worst thing you can do to the saints is silence their song.

It’s the worst thing you can do because the song of the saints is the power of God. But the saints cannot be silenced and their songs will never end.

In Revelation 18:21-22, nearing the end of his vision, John tells us:

With such violence the great city of Babylon will be thrown down, never to be found again. The music of harpists and musicians, flute players and trumpeters, will never be found in you again.

When Babylon is thrown down and defeated, there’s no music in Babylon anymore. There’s no more singing and no more worship. No noise. No praise. No celebration. No joy. No gladness.

The end of the enemies of God is the silencing of their songs. There can be no singing and no music in the things God rejects and condemns. So there’s no music and no singing in Babylon, when Babylon is thrown down.

And then John tells us this in Revelation 19:1-7:

And after I saw Babylon thrown down I heard what sounded like the roar of a great multitude in heaven shouting: “Hallelujah! Salvation and glory and power belong to our God” ….  And again they shouted: “Hallelujah!” …. And they cried: “Amen, Hallelujah!” Then a voice came from the throne, saying: “Praise our God, all you his servants, you who fear him, both small and great!” Then I heard what sounded like a great multitude, like the roar of rushing waters and like loud peals of thunder, shouting: “Hallelujah! For our Lord God Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory! For the wedding of the Lamb has come, and his bride has made herself ready.”

From behind the veil, John calls us to make ourselves ready for the Lamb. He calls us to enter into worship with eyes to see hidden things. He calls us to be overtaken by beauty, splendor, and wonder, to be consumed by the worship of the Lord, to be filled with the power of doxology. The revelation of Jesus Christ is an unveiling that the doxology of the saints is their victory, for the Lamb is the one who is victorious and the Lamb is the one who is worthy to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise forever and ever. Amen.

-St Isaiah the Solitary

Death to self is difficult. But it is something that must be done. This can only be done in the city, and the city is prayer. What the demons want is for something to latch on to. If we are dead to everything but Christ we are covered in the oil of the Holy Spirit and thus their dark fingers find nowhere to hold on.

Do not be fooled by thinking that the attainment of some level of holiness automatically makes the demons flee. On the contrary, since they are drawn to dead things, we of all people are marked for their attack. “Wherever the dead body is, there the vultures will be gathered.” (Matthew 24:28) However, when they attempt to trick us with their deceitful schemes they are deceived. What they thought was death they discover to be the indestructible life of Jesus Christ transforming all things into a mighty doxology.

Of course the demons are defeated because they are weak and unimpressive, but don’t become elated that they must submit to the name of Jesus Christ that dwells within you. They will only use this pride as a point of grip.  Stay in the city through humility and joy.  Remember, your name is written in Heaven, in the Lamb’s book of life.

Stay humble through repentance. Confess your sins with tears. Be ever vigilant to put sin to death when it arises in your heart. Remember that God is nearer than your own breath. He knows the secret recesses of your heart. He sees the internal battle and comes when you call on His mercy. Never stop crying for His mercy.

When you pass through water or fire stand bold in His nearness, but not over-confident in your conformity to His will. Do not avoid the pain of purification for it leads to the vision of God and thus the unity of your own conflicted life.

Worship in purity of heart, not with sin in your heart or hatred of neighbor in your soul. If you attempt to worship while indulging your every desire this will only strengthen your self-will and insensitivity to the Holy Spirit. Thus, you will be overcome by distractions and laziness. Then the demons will be able to defile you and you will only experience more dissipation of mind, soul, and body. Your end will be destruction.

But, if you seek to lose your life and conform to God’s will you will be blessed with an overwhelming desire for Him.  This will lead to purification and a vision of His glory. Your end will be intimate communion with the Lord Jesus Christ and His Father in the unity of His Holy Spirit.

Refraining from sin is merely the first step towards the knowledge of God. You must guard your heart from all evil at all times. But do not let your first seven years of labor be discouraging when you only gain Leah. Continue on that you may attain the true prize of Rachel, that beautiful shepherdess. For by our labors we gain entrance into the bridal chamber of the Bridegroom, the true Shepherd.

Ask for mercy. Be attentive to your own heart. Know God’s nearness and draw near to Him.

 Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that, whether I come and see you or am absent and hear about you, I will know that you are standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel, and are in no way intimidated by your opponents. For them this is evidence of their destruction, but of your salvation. And this is God’s doing. For he has graciously granted you the privilege not only of believing in Christ, but of suffering for him as well— since you are having the same struggle that you saw I had and now hear that I still have.

St Paul the Apostle, Philippians 1:27-30

When we focus on virginity today, it seems like our tendency is to frame things in terms of either morality and delay or social ineptitude and failure. With Christians in particular, the praise given to virginity seems often to revolve around what virginity can offer to married sexuality. Over the years, I’ve heard it regularly claimed that virginity is important because it leads to better married sex and brings less emotional and physical baggage into marriage.

Whether eliciting social shame or spiritual pride, current approaches to virginity seem to center largely on absence, on what virgins don’t have. And for Christians, the posture can often be a defensive one – virginity defends against certain things as it waits for what it lacks.

Not so for Ephrem. Where we think defense, he thinks offense. Even reading Ephrem’s Hymns on Virginity can be offensive to us, since his vision conflicts with any approach to sexuality that revolves around physical gratification or emotional and social fulfillment.

Ephrem’s vision can also be confusing. In the process of writing about virginity, he turns to things that appear to be miscellaneous – the relationship between anointing oil and the Anointed One, the relationship between the old and new covenants, the sacraments, the inclusion of the gentiles, etc.

It’s not insignificant that Ephrem’s Hymns on Virginity has a second, fuller title: Hymns on Virginity and on the Symbols of the Lord. There seems to be a reason that he pairs the two – virginity and the symbols of the Lord – and a reason that he distinguishes them. When Ephrem discusses virginity, he doesn’t focus on delay or the benefits to married sex. Instead, his understanding centers on communion with God.

For Ephrem, the symbols of the Lord constitute the Church’s present experience with her heavenly Bridegroom. They anticipate the wedding supper of the Lamb and offer a taste of the coming consummation between the Bridegroom and his virgin bride.

Marriage between a husband and a wife symbolizes this reality. The role of a husband or wife is to attend to this symbol so that it might be a true sign of the intimacy and love Jesus shares with his beloved. And while marriage can be a bent and distorted sign that mocks the wedding supper of the Lamb, it can also be a true sign that directs the world to its Savior, bearing forth the image of God.

In his Hymns on Virginity, Ephrem praises virginity without disdaining married sex as a result. So he writes:

Therefore, [oil is] like God, Who loves virginity: / the daughter of the symbol of the house of Michael and kinswoman of the house of Gabriel. / [Oil] consoles the barren women like Sarah and Rebekah and Rachel. / It also strengthens those who bring forth [children] / like Leah, Zilpah and Bilhah, since to [oil] marriage is pure, / since [marriage] is a vine planted on earth, and like fruits the babes hang on it. (Hymn 5, p285 in the Classics of Western Spirituality volume)

Ephrem here honors women who are virgins as well as women who aren’t, whether barren or fertile. He doesn’t denounce women for having sex as if he thought it was inherently wrong or morally corrupt; he even calls marriage “pure.” Yet Ephrem still holds virginity in higher regard than marriage. The difference between the two is somewhat subtle, though nonetheless significant.

It seems that marriage involves attending to a symbol while virginity entails communing with the reality itself. A husband is to direct his desire towards his wife and focus on caring for her. A virgin, however, is to direct her desire towards God and focus on receiving God’s care alone. The virgin thus embraces the reality of what marriage symbolizes and seeks satisfaction only in the Church’s Bridegroom, the one who is the true goal of all desire, married or virginal.

For Ephrem, virginity enables one to experience the wedding supper of the Lamb more completely than does marriage. This is why he refers to virginity as “the daughter of the symbol of the house of Michael and kinswoman of the house of Gabriel.” Virginity demonstrates an angelic-like existence that shows forth a life fully consecrated to communion with God, unmoved from the reality and intimate with the Bridegroom alone. So Ephrem writes:

The Anointed enriches the lamps of the virgins espoused to Him. / …….  / Since the time of the Bridegroom is not revealed to us, you virgins have become our Watchers [a Syriac term for angels] / so that your lamps might gladden, and your hosannas might glorify. (Hymn 5, p284)

For Ephrem, the call to virginity is a call to be a Watcher, to watch for the arrival of the Bridegroom and to attend to his coming without distraction. Ephrem writes:

Blessed are you, O bride, espoused to the Living One, / you who do not long for a mortal man. / Foolish is the bride who is proud / of the ephemeral crown that will be gone tomorrow. / Blessed is your heart, captivated by the love / of a beauty portrayed in your mind. / You have exchanged the transitory bridal couch for the bridal couch / whose blessings are unceasing. (Hymn 24, p366)

For Ephrem, the virgin receives the coming of the Bridegroom because she has “exchanged the transitory bridal couch for the bridal couch whose blessings are unceasing.” As a result of exchanging bridal couches, the virgin is able to be captivated exclusively by the love of the beauty of the Living One. Thus Ephrem writes of Mary Magdalene and the prophetess Anna:

Blessed are you if you will be a daughter to Mary [Magdalene] / whose eye scorned all persons. / She turned her face away from everything / to gaze on one beauty alone. / Blessed is her love that was intoxicated, not sober, / so that she sat at His feet to gaze at Him. / Let you also portray the Messiah in your heart / and love Him in your mind. / ……. / Blessed is your beauty – free and not laboring at / the unending service of [your] Betrothed. / You chose the Bridegroom Whose splendor would adorn you / and Whose dew would refresh you. / ……. / Blessed also is that Anna who hated / her house and loved the Temple of her Lord. / She gazed intently at hidden beauty / for eighty years but was not sated. / Blessed is her gaze that she concentrated on the One. (Hymn 24, p367)

Ephrem recognizes in Mary Magdalene and Anna women whose minds and hearts were filled with the presence of Christ and who devoted themselves to the true Bridegroom and directed their desire solely towards him. Husbands and wives are unable to do this, given that their commission is to desire each other, neither of whom are the Lord. Mary and Anna, however, reserve their desire for the Lord alone and so receive its fulfillment more completely and exclusively.

For Ephrem, virgins are called to direct the imagination of the Church to the final consummation of all things, to the Church’s true identity as the pure and spotless virgin bride. And in so doing, virgins make known that human desire is complete only in the wedding supper of the Lamb. The state of virginity then, according to Ephrem, is what we might refer to as an eschatologically advanced calling. And it’s one that’s offensive to say the least.

As we conclude, we should note a few things. First, Ephrem’s vision of virginity incorporates sexual healing. He writes:

O you, virginity, your destruction is simple for all, / but your restoration is easy only for the Lord of all. (Hymn 2, p267)

Whether someone’s virginity is taken or given, Ephrem recognizes that the Lord is able and desirous to restore, purify, and heal.

Second, Ephrem doesn’t think every virgin should refrain from marriage (as some of his contemporaries did) and he’s well aware of the difficulty inherent in remaining a virgin. Thus he writes:

The Evil One stole the weak from marriage in the name of conversion, / ……. / Ashamed to assume the condition of marriage, / they fell into the snares of sin. (Hymn 1, p263)

The desire for marriage isn’t inherently wrong, according to Ephrem. And conversely he isn’t naïve to the struggle of a virginal life.

Third, alongside virginity, Ephrem also praises chaste marriages, wherein husbands and wives refrain permanently from sex – living in marriage, yet functioning sexually as virgins.

Certainly there are resonances between Ephrem’s approach to virginity and Paul’s counsel in 1 Corinthians. Both consider virginity to be preferable to marriage, yet both think marriage is acceptable in order to avoid what Ephrem calls “the snares of sin.” Although when we get to chaste marriages, there seems to be a conflict. Paul advises married couples to have sexual relations while Ephrem praises those who don’t. If a conflict indeed exists, it’s noteworthy that Paul counsels married couples to refrain from sex during times of prayer and fasting. And according to Ephrem, a life of prayer and fasting is precisely what it means to be a Watcher, attendant to the coming of Christ and sustained by communion with God alone. Thus, following Ephrem, married couples refraining from sex in order to pray and fast would do so for the purpose of directing their desire exclusively to intimate communion with God, a communion that their marriages are called to symbolize.

A shift in perspective, experience of scripture, and beauty of our hope.

St. Ephrem the Syrian, even in translation, is one of the most powerful writers and profoundly beautiful poets I have ever read.  The way the Holy Spirit illumines Scripture through his writings has opened up the horizons of my heart and mind in ways I did not foresee.  He has brought about for me a change in how I think about several things.  So rather than exploring extensively one of his writings or even a topic he directly addresses, I want to share how he has changed my perspective on three areas:  Typology, Scripture, and Apologetics.

Ephrem and Typology: a shift in perspective

When I used to think about typology, I basically had a technological framework in mind.  That is, I thought of Old Testament types like the prototype of an invention:  a trial run or a first attempt requiring modifications or upgrades to be what was actually intended.  I think I used to think that typology played out scripturally by saying something like:  Jesus is like (fill in the blank with your choice of Old Testament figures), because he (does something like them or fulfills/completes something they began).  Or perhaps, it’s saying something like this:  the Exodus (or another Old Testament event) has the one and only benefit of foreshadowing what it will be like to be rescued by Jesus from the dominion of sin, indicating that it doesn’t actually matter that God’s chosen people were rescued out of the land of slavery.  I think these ways of thinking are not altogether helpful or entirely faithful.  And that’s how I (mis)understood typology, and why I variously downplayed it, disregarded it, and/or was very wary of it.  Maybe I’m the only one, but I suspect many Protestants think that typology itself is somehow dubious, and/or they have a dubious understanding of typology, like I did.

St. Ephrem brought about a shift in perspective for me, and helped illumine Scriptural occurrences of typology as well.  In Hymn 8 from Ephrem’s Hymns on Virginity (translated by Kathleen McVey), he writes this in strophe 3: “[Jesus Christ’s] diadem is portrayed by kings, and by prophets His truth, His atonement by priests.”  Note that Ephrem has switched my above ‘typical’ understanding of typology.  He does not say that Jesus has inherited the crown of the kings, the truth of the prophets, and the atonement of the priests.  Similarly, in strophe 15, he writes, “On the tribes of Jacob Your twelve are imprinted:  on Judah your robe, and on Levi your censer, and Your dispensation on Joseph.”  Again, Jesus’ royal robe goes to Judah, Jesus’ priestly censer to Levi, and the distribution of his Spirit for prophecy to Joseph.  Here’s the primary difference between my previous understanding of typology and Ephrem’s: Jesus does not base his role or activity on the history of Israel, rather, Israel and its history is based on who Jesus always has been.  This is not to say that the history of Israel is inconsequential.  Just the opposite!  Because Jesus has always been faithful to his people before they were faithful to him – and therefore always in the business of redemption – so the Hebrews were freed.  Because Jesus has always been High Priest and sacrifice, so the Levitical priesthood was established.  Because Jesus was always the Word of God, so the prophets received by the Spirit a partial revelation of that Word.  And because Jesus is King of kings and Lord of lords, so Jacob said, “the scepter will not depart from Judah, nor the ruler’s staff from between his feet, until he comes to whom it belongs and the obedience of the nations is his” (Gen 49:10, NIV).

Jesus is both the Alpha and the Omega.  He is the starting point and reality behind these “shadows” (cf. Col 2:17; Heb 8:5; 10:1).  He is also their completion, because only when he appeared was it possible to fully understand their meaning, importance, and source.  Or as Ephrem asks Jesus about Isaac, “Are You his symbol or is he Your type?  Do You resemble Isaac, or, indeed, does he resemble You?” (Hymns on the Nativity, 13:17).

Ephrem’s Experience of Scripture

I suspect that most – hopefully all – Christians believe that the Holy Bible is important, though the related questions of “why?” and “how important?” would receive widely varying responses, today.  The discussion of those questions will inevitably lead to the question:  what is Scripture?  But I do not want to ask Ephrem about that, here.  Ephrem is clearly steeped in Scripture, and reading his hymns have deepened my understanding of what Scripture can do.  And this is what I want to ask Ephrem about, here.

Dr. Partee helpfully suggests, in his book coauthored with Dr. Purves, that the Church might benefit from redirecting our divisive discussion about Scripture to focus on its use rather than its nature (Encountering God: Christian Faith in Turbulent Times [Louisville, KY: WJK Press, 2000], 129, 131).  How do we – or should we – use Scripture properly?  But I don’t even want to ask that question, here.  I would like to take it a step further and ask: how does God use Scripture?  In Hymns on Paradise (translated by Sebastian Brock), Ephrem rarely says anything about what Scripture is (V:2?).  He does include a few stanzas about how it can be used appropriately or inappropriately (I:2; V:7; XI:7).  Ephrem obviously quotes and alludes to Scriptural passages in every hymn, but when he writes about the Bible itself, he mostly reflects on his experience of Scripture!  That is, Scripture does something!  My question for Ephrem, here, is: what does Scripture do?

Scripture bears witness to the Creator (V:2).  Likewise, it has “made the Creator perceptible and transmitted His actions; it has envisioned all His craftsmanship, made manifest His works of art” (VI:1).  Scripture can fill us with joy, as Ephrem experienced in reading Genesis, “for its verses and lines spread out their arms to welcome me; the first rushed out and kissed me, and led me to its companion; and when I reached that verse wherein is written the story of Paradise, it lifted me up and transported me from the bosom of the book to the very bosom of Paradise” (V:3).  By the Holy Spirit, Scripture is able to transport one’s mind “as over a bridge” (V:4) right “to the gate of Paradise” (VI:2; cp. V:5).  In Ephrem’s final strophe of his last Hymn on Paradise, he writes: “All this, and similar things that I have read in the Scriptures, have helped depict in my mind that Garden of Life” (XV:17).

I, for one, am challenged by Ephrem’s account of Scripture’s action in his life with Christ, and I now desire to so be open to the Holy Spirit that I may fully experience God’s gift of Scripture to his Church.  As Ephrem writes, “In the Church [God] implanted the Word which causes rejoicing with its promises, which causes fear with its warning: he who despises the Word, perishes, he who takes warning, lives” (VI:7).  May Scripture cause the Church to rejoice and take warning that we may truly live in the Word, and all that that means.

Ephrem and Apologetics: the beauty of our hope

Lastly, reading Ephrem’s hymns have given me a taste for what Christian apologetics can be.  “Apologetics” comes from the Greek word apologia in 1 Peter 3:15.  The term is frequently used in a legal sense as a statement of “defense” or a “reply.”  In 1 Peter 3:15, apologia is used in conjunction with the word logos, which most basically means “word,” but can have a wide range of derivative meanings, including an “account” or “reckoning” of something done, or “reason” as in the “reason for or cause of something” (BDAG, s.v. logos, 2.d.)  In our cultural context, combining this sense of a legal “defense” with “reason” resulted in many, including myself, to practice an apologetics that tried to logically prove the existence of the Christian God.  As I read Ephrem, I don’t get the sense that that’s what he’s doing even when he defends “the claims of Christianity against criticisms” (McVey, Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns, p.128).  Instead, his apologia seems to plumb the depths of the mystery and beauty of the gospel.  1 Peter 3:15 reads:  “But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord.  Always be prepared to give an answer (apologia) to everyone who asks you to give the reason (logos) for the hope that you have.  But do this with gentleness and respect” (NIV).  Let us not perpetuate the ‘Enlightenment’ or ‘Modern’ model of apologetics, like mine above, which easily short-circuits this passage’s meaning.  Instead, let us “pay more careful attention…to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away” (Hebrews 2:1)…

Two things to note about 1 Peter 3:15:  1) it assumes that we are living in such a way that we will be questioned about why we’re living that way; 2) this way of living is marked by hope.  In Acts, Paul says that his hope is in the coming resurrection because of Jesus, and it is because of his hope that he’s in chains and on trial (24:15, 21; 26:6, 7; 28:20).  Brothers and sisters, may we not cast our hope on our ability to reason or logically explain things.  Our only hope is in Jesus Christ!  Our true apologia, then, is the proclamation of the gospel, namely: Jesus is Lord!  He died for our sins and rose again from the dead!  Though it is “foolishness to those who are perishing” (1 Cor 1:18), it is in the gospel that we discover and declare the beauty of our Savior and the riches of his grace.

Ephrem does not try to explain away or ‘apologize’ for the mystery of the gospel, as if God is an elderly woman who needs assistance.  Rather he dives into the gospel headfirst and brings the reader along for the ride, swimming to the depths and beauty of the types and mystery he’s experienced in Scripture.  In U2’s song Stand Up Comedy, Bono sings, “The DNA lottery may have left you smart / But can you stand up to beauty, dictator of the heart / I can stand up for hope, faith, love / But while I’m getting over certainty / Stop helping God across the road like a little old lady / Out from under your beds / C’mon ye people / Stand up for your love.”  May we ‘stand up’ for our love, Jesus, by living a life of bold love in hope of the resurrection, declaring the reason for our hope (i.e., the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ), and how we have experienced his love, mercy and “peace that transcends all understanding” (Php 4:7).  I leave you with Ephrem, Hymn 23 of his Hymns on the Nativity (str. 1, 3, 6, 14):

Amen! May we make Ephrem’s, Paul’s and Peter’s hope our own (cf. 1 Peter 1:3; 13; 18-21), and may we fully live into the hope we have in Jesus Christ, proclaiming his gospel as our apologia.

Yet when I encounter the apostles and they lead me to Jesus, I pause. I pause and I stop because Jesus looks different when he’s surrounded by his saints than he does when he’s alone in my mind, standing at a distance. Alone in my mind, I gaze upon him with joy. But alongside his saints, I lose sight of him and begin only to see myself – my own inhibition, my own reluctance, my own unwillingness to receive Jesus completely.

On my own, Jesus is one thing. I know him, I love him, I desire him, I give him everything.

But when I venture beyond my frontier, I find myself lost and in need of a guide. In his great mercy, the Lord provides. He gives to me his servant Luke, the evangelist, the one who leads me beyond my capacity and into the desire of his own heart, into his own great love, the Lord Jesus Christ.

Jesus appears different here than he did before. I see him more clearly and as a result I’m filled with regretful ambivalence. This isn’t the Jesus I want and it’s not the Jesus I know, at least not intimately, not the one who stands in my mind alone and at a distance, appearing dimly as he comes near.

This Jesus makes me pause and stop and he pierces my heart because I no longer know my Savior; they have taken him and Luke has led the way, in front of them all, heralding the good news of my regretful ambivalence.

Nonetheless I make my approach, though only to be turned back. Jesus turns and reveals himself to me, and I turn away in confusion as he says:

“You cannot follow me.”

This word is familiar – the word I always knew somehow, yet always dismissed and hoped never to hear. Jesus has shattered me. I now lay beside him, broken, waiting for someone to carry me away, away from Jesus and into the kingdom of my fantasies. I wait an eternity. Ages pass beyond ages and Jesus stands with me shattered at his feet. Finally, Luke came and knelt beside me and said:

“Large crowds were traveling with Jesus and Jesus turned to them and said: ‘Anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. Anyone who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.’”

I had ears. And I could hear. And Luke’s words shattered me even more. I lay beside him with shame, clinging to the dust, my eyes shut with tears I shed only for myself.

Then Jesus spoke again as I hid in the dust, as I dreamt alone in my mind of one who would truly love me. Yet Jesus continued and said:

“The servant who knows his master’s will and does not get ready or does not do what his master wants will be beaten with many blows. Do not be mistaken, the ones who didn’t want me to be king over them, they will be brought before me and killed in my presence.”

So I shuddered. I trembled not with fear, but with sadness that I could be so conflicted – in love with a Savior who stands at a distance and shattered before one who threatens as I draw near. Luke had led me beyond my frontier and into his own heart, where I lay dismantled, in need of repair.

But the repair I wanted never came. Instead I remained with Jesus, who turned to me, heard my cry, and said:

“Leave everything. Then come and follow me.”

My desire was to follow, not leave. I sought to come, but with everything. So I conjured the words in my mind, “But who can?” I knew this was true, that none could. Yet I fell further, crushed even more, when I heard Luke reply:

“We have left all we had to follow you, Jesus. We have nothing left to give, but take what we do have.”  

It was then that my sadness left. Lying at Jesus’ feet, folded in ambivalence, I turned from the dust and at last I gazed again upon Jesus. What I saw was wondrous. The heart of Luke was a cavernous expanse where Jesus’ brightness went unhindered. I saw how near Jesus had become and I saw him clearer than before. So I shook, then I stood and looked at Jesus, who said to me:

“I have come to call sinners to repentance.”

The call was to repentance. I saw that the apostles had left everything and I knew it was true. I saw the apostles had come near to Jesus and allowed him to come near to them. The call was to repentance and a battle-line drawn over control – to yield or to resist; to give everything and follow and so bear the presence of the Almighty or to fall and lie shattered at the feet of Jesus whose nearness in the saints becomes the unbearable dismantling of the world.

I want control of Jesus, at a distance, alone in my mind. But Jesus demands control of me, unlimited. Jesus must be unlimited. I must relent and give way and enter the heart of Jesus in the vast expanse of the saints. There the sweetness and beauty of Jesus fills all things unhindered. In the heart of the saints I draw near to Jesus, where I stand, only to fall out of reverence before him, consumed by the brilliance of his radiant love.

I write to you in contemplation of our deaths, “for we are convinced that One has died for all; therefore, all have died.” And I write to you in contemplation of our Life, for “He died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for Him who died and was raised for them.” According to Paul, all have died, but not all have been raised to life. If we are among those who live, we live in and for Jesus. There is no other life. Life apart from Christ is not life: it is living death. The only true life is to join Jesus, here and now, in His resurrection.

What does it mean to live as resurrected people in the midst of our earthly life? It means to stand as the risen Jesus stood, nail marks in our hands and feet. Our Lord Jesus lives as one who has died – and not just His own death, but the death to which the whole creation stood condemned. He, having taken death upon Himself, bears its marks forever in His body – for the Lamb in the midst of the throne stands slain. And we who live our lives in His do so in the midst of that death, always carrying in the body the death of Jesus. As there is no death to die but Jesus’ death, there is no life to live but Jesus’ life. And there is no way to live Jesus’ life save from participation in His death.

And the Light in darkness, the Life in death, that comes from our sharing in the Resurrection life of Christ is our witness to the world, our calling to those who are dead to come to life. “For we are always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our bodies. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed. For while we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh.”

In our death in Christ, we are not preserved from dying the death of the world. Instead, as Jesus took on death to show that it was possible to rise, He gives us over to death that people might come to faith by witnessing our resurrection life. The Christian life is not a life without affliction, perplexity, persecution and being struck down: it is a life in which affliction, perplexity, persecution and being struck down are revealed as the weak things they are, unable to overcome the Life in us. The miracle is not that the phoenix does not burn – it is that it is born anew from the ashes.

If this seems difficult, be comforted that it is not we who makes ourselves live in the midst of the death in our lives: it is Jesus, by His Spirit. The same Spirit who is a guarantee that we will one day be clothed with a heavenly dwelling is even now beginning to clothe us with God. He who, in the midst of the “slight momentary affliction[,]” is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, is making us even now – even today – glorious in the midst of death.

Walk confidently into the mystery of that, my friends. And walk forth as mystery, as living sacraments of the crucified and risen Lord. Remember that One has died for all, and therefore you have died. And therefore you live. So that the world may know whence your life comes – whence all true Life comes – take on the world’s death with Christ and stand triumphant whatever befalls you – be it affliction, perplexity, persecution, or being struck down – to the glory of God the Father.

Amen.