Brother Paphnutius - an ongoing parable (Part III)

"Then said Jesus unto the twelve, Will ye also go away? Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life." (John 6:67-68)

366 A.D. - The Egyptian desert

Over the years, this very thought had occurred to Br. Paphnutius on a continuing basis, especially during the long night vigils. The unimpeded life can be a frightfully honest thing. When we have time to think and reflect, are we going to be comfortable with everything that the conscious mind churns up from the fertile soil of the subconscious? Are we really the person that we present to others; that we have convinced ourselves that we are or "need" to be? We can fill pages and conversations with sage advice lifted and digested from various sources and blended together with our own experience, but does it really mean anything to the one who is speaking or writing? We can practice lectio divina all day long, but do we really believe what we read? Does it make a difference? Do we really care? Self-deception is terribly easy to come by, particularly when you live alone.

Br. Paphnutius, who by now is considered an "experienced" monk (meaning that he has been struggling in his vocation longer than some of his brethren in the nearby cells have been alive), has spent the greater portion of his life alone. Sure, he was surrounded by other students in school and almost married at one point, but even there among those casually social and emotionally intimate relationships, there was a part of him that he just couldn't give away to the other person. Not that he didn't want to (and he was good at pretending that he had), it was just something deeper than he could reach and it remains incommunicable to this very day. The only One Who truly knows Paphnutius is the Creator of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen. That is the root of his vocation. Here in the desert, bereft of all pretence and illusion, he can simply be himself and rest assured that he is in fact known and loved, and that that will never change.

To get back to the question at hand, though. What if he weren't a monk? Would he have success as a merchant or other businessman, a scribe or philosopher, a family man? As much as he knows he is not called to be a father and husband, what a great blessing and a joy it is for him to observe family life. Though, if we are being honest, it causes a pang of regret from time to time in his heart as well.

To take it one step deeper, would he even be a Christian? "Last year" when we were first introduced to Br. Paphnutius it was noted that in his twenties he tried and found wanting a monastic community while he was still filled with youth and enthusiasm. However, the abbot of the place found that Paphnutius did not fit into his preconceived notions of what an obedient novice monk ought to be. Paphnutius, at the time still so inexperienced, did not have the good sense to take things in stride and understand that there are some who have a pathological need to wield "power" over others, even in the Church. That, together with the overemphasis on "rules" and "regulations" in that particular community (a situation where obedience to the letter of the law was prized almost to the exclusion of obedience to its spirit lived in a humane way) and the coming scandal that would rock the Church and shake the faith of her most ardent members was quite enough. At that time he had come to consider himself (and watch out, here's another great opportunity where self-delusion rears its ugly head) an ardent traditionalist who believed the party line simply because it was the party line. In short, he had become the worst sort of "true believer" willing to throw others under the bus rather than deviate from the "rules". The most pernicious thing about that, aside from the cold attitude it engenders, is that it wasn't even apparent to Paphnutius what he was becoming.

These days, those who like to categorise people in simplistic ways and struggle valiantly but vainly to "clean up" the messiness of life (good luck with that!) would consider him something of a soft old liberal. And, you know what, he's okay with that. Through his experiences (and believe me, he has been around the block a few times!) he has come to accept what he always knew to be true about himself, not warring in his heart to try and force himself to be what he is not out of a false sense of belonging and fear of rejection.

Okay, after that detour, Paphnutius once told me: "Brother, I can honestly say that had it not been for the former occupant of this cave I would probably have abandoned the way of Jesus Christ. Even now there is much ignorance in the Church which is really good at pushing people away. I have learned to just let things be, trust in God and worry about my own belief and condition. Everything else will follow."

The moral of (this part) of the story: I don't know that there really is one this time. If you haven't guessed by now, many of the details present in these stories are a compendium of real life experiences of the author. I have rearranged some events, added humorous details and the hindsight of lived experience together with Biblical references, but there is a lot of me in these accounts. In part, telling these stories is a way for me to exorcise some of my own demons. Perhaps what I have to say may prove useful for you on your journey.

To be continued...



Being devoured

Jeremiah 31:1-14     1 Peter 5:5-11     Luke 15:1-10

 

"[Y]our adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour." This portion of today's Epistle served as part of the short lesson at the Office of Compline in both the Roman and Monastic breviaries until their reform in recent decades. This exhortation to spiritual vigilance was one of the last things members of the clergy were to bear in mind as their work came to an end for the day. One of the reasons that monks have traditionally taken to keeping vigil in the night hours is that it is believed God's presence is particularly to be found in silence. It also allows them to be in solidarity with those whose occupations require them to work during the night hours, those who are unable to rest peacefully due to mental or physical illness, those who use the cover of darkness to perpetrate evil and those who are afraid of what the dawn will bring for them. Inasmuch as we are all called to be saints, according to First Corinthians 1:2 ("...to them that are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, with all that in every place call upon the name of Jesus Christ our Lord..."), here is a perfect example of the communion of the saints. The monks offer their prayer and sacrifice in union both with those who rejoice and those who are in trouble. Beautiful!


There are a couple of striking things in this selection from First St. Peter: the roaring lion and the use of the word "devour". Doing a bit of research, I discovered that lions only roar as part of a group. They tend to remain mostly silent if they are on their own. So the roar serves as a way to communicate with the other lions as well as a way to indicate to the others that they are staking a claim on a particular territory. In the context of today's Epistle, that is a rather frightening concept. We are reading here that Satan is working to stake a claim upon us. Ever since the disobedience of Original Sin evil gained a foothold among the creation of God. Friends, this is the situation that we are up against. And it is not just that the devil roars after us, but that he wishes to devour us. According to Webster's, the verb 'devour' means not just a ravenous consumption, but even "to seize upon and destroy...to annihilate." He does indeed wish that we be consumed by our sins, that our hearts overflow with pride and pleasure to the exclusion of all else. In that way, we will become more and more like him until finally the last spark of divine life is extinguished in us and we consign ourselves to the everlasting torments of our own decision for hell, where the love of God is a distant and loathsome remembrance and where we will be inescapably surrounded by other narcissists, the ultimate punishment for the self-absorbed. It is no wonder, then, that we cry out in The Litany: "[F]rom the crafts and assaults of the devil; from thy wrath, and from everlasting damnation, Good Lord deliver us."


In speaking of Jesus in today's Gospel, the Pharisees and scribes are heard to proclaim: "This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." Commenting on this reaction to Jesus, St. Gregory the Great says: "[I]n dryness of heart they rebuked the very fountain of mercy. But they were sick, so sick that they were unaware of it. To make them realize that they were sick, the heavenly physician tends them with a gentle remedy, laying before them this gracious parable." Indeed both of the people in this parable, the shepherd and the woman, have a great personal stake in finding what has been lost. If that is the case for things that have been entrusted to us, how much more so is it the case of the Lord God Who created us, sustains us in life and desires nothing more than that we allow ourselves to be loved by Him and to come into His presence for everlasting life? Contrast that with the schemes of the devil as he roars to proclaim our self destruction. The One gently draws us to Himself, never coercing. The other laughs at the pathetic way in which we despise the great gift of our Creator and pointlessly throw away our inheritance for a mess of suffering and eternal self-loathing.

So, it seems we have two options here: either acknowledging our need to be found or refusing to admit that there is even such a thing as being lost. To put this in the context of our own day, there has been much in the news lately about issues of 'gender identity'. Rather than seeing the symptoms as the manifestation of a deeper pathology in need of treatment, now woundedness is treated as a spectacle to be paraded around in order to strike awe and regard into the onlookers. Contrast that with Mark, chapter 2, vs. 1-5 (the healing of the paralytic who is let in through the roof by his friends). Four men are here giving necessary assistance to one who was sick, so much that he could not even move a great distance under his own power, let alone seek a remedy to what ailed him. With just this alone, there are at least two significant theological points to be discerned: 1. an overwhelmingly generous amount of assistance is available to the sick man and 2. he is just not able to do anything to help himself.

Think about that first point, then think about the Incarnation, the Cross and the Resurrection. "And the word was made flesh, and dwelt among us" (Jn. 1:14). This is the very essence of generosity. As to the second point, the sick man's helplessness, I think he is a perfect illustration of the teaching of Canon 19 of the Second Council of Orange: "That a man can be saved only when God shows mercy. Human nature, even though it remained in that sound state in which it was created, could by no means save itself, without the assistance of the Creator; hence since man cannot safe-guard his salvation without the grace of God, which is a gift, how will be be able to restore what he has lost without the grace of God?"

Finally, what a great grace that this sick man is willing to have his friends help him out. He needs help. He knows it. They are honest enough to accept his cry for help. He is willing to expose his need to those about him, trusting in their friendship and good will. That is a beautiful thing. In our own day, there is certainly plenty of opportunity for 'self-exposure'. Whether it is Facebook or Twitter, blogs or newspapers, there is a great compulsion to reveal (however carefully edited) our neediness. What is lacking, however, is the desire to have anything done about it. There is a perverse need to proclaim to anyone who is listening: 'look at my disfigurement, isn't it horrific? And it's all mine.'

In our Church bulletin during Lent, there was an insert that read, in part: "God loves us enough to accept us as we are, but too much to leave us as we are." Thus, the sick man in this narrative lends a good example and stands in stark contrast to the cultivated selfishness that is so much on display now. Let me just say that I am in no way intending to cast aspersions on particular individuals. What is truly called for, as evidenced by the Prodigal Son, is honesty and compassion; meeting people where they are at, but not being content to leave them there.

"Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." (Lk. 15:10) Do you know what follows immediately upon today's selection from St. Luke? The story of the Prodigal Son. It clearly illustrates in depth what Jesus is trying to get across to His hearers by means of the two preceeding examples and it is a lesson in the necessity of self-awareness. "This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." So the question is, do we take this as a complaint in the manner of the scribes and Pharisees in today's Gospel (which is the attitude as well of the older brother) or do we take this as an opportunity (as both the father and the younger son do)? Are we going to be needlessly devoured and consumed, put on display for all the world to see our disfigurement? Or shall we rather embrace the Cross, not as an end in itself, but as the means to give us our bearings, to give purpose to our wounds, to call us to obedience to the Father Who loves us, to save us from devouring ourselves in the sight of a deceitful master who only wants us to spite the One he decisively rejected long ago. Yes, indeed – the Lord Jesus receives sinners and eats with us. And thank God for that.

Once more, in the words of Fr. Henri Nouwen: "It might sound strange, but God wants to find me as much as, if not more than, I want to find God....[He] is not the patriarch who stays home, doesn't move, and expects his children to come to him, apologize for their aberrant behaviour, beg for forgiveness, and promise to do better. To the contrary, he leaves the house, ignoring his dignity by running toward them, pays no heed to apologies and promises of change, and brings them to the table richly prepared for them. I am beginning now to see how radically the character of my spiritual journey will change when I no longer think of God as hiding out and making it as difficult as possible for me to find him, but, instead, as the one who is looking for me while I am doing the hiding."

In summary then, from the Old Testament lesson at today's morning prayer: "The Lord hath appeared of old unto me, saying, Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee....For the Lord hath redeemed Jacob, and ransomed him from the hand of him that was stronger than he." (Jer. 31: 3, 11)