When I think about monks and hermits living alone to ‘find’ God I wonder about Jesus’ command in Matthew 28:18-20, also spoken of as the great commission.
I reckon that there’s space enough and people enough that both can happen simultaneously. Just maybe not in the same person.
I can see the need for evangelism, and I can see the need for quiet, for deep contemplation.
I suppose that we are all called out of ourselves (our selfishness, our interests, our wants and desires) but how that manifests is different depending on the person.
It’s also interesting that the lives here depicted are solitary, but even then they run up against other people who experience them and then witness about them—perhaps even evangelizing. God will use the hermit, too, in His own time and in His own way.
‘Let us assume that there are seven educated preachers who live holy lives. Their rhetorical skill is unparalleled. Each has a parish with ten thousand parishioners. Each day their words are heard by seventy thousand people. Thousands who hear them are moved to repentance and return to Christ. Whole families are saved. Nevertheless, one monk whom no one sees and who sits in a cave somewhere has a much greater effect with his humble prayer. One produces a greater effect than seven. That is what I see: I am sure of it.’
The way the Great Commission often worked for the saints was, instead of going out preaching, they would get so close to God that people would hear of their sanctity and go to inquire of them. I didn't say this was an easy way.
Lovely to read this on an April morning. We all seemed to sleep poorly, it is snowing outside, and no one is excited to leave the house for school or work. But the birds are singing in that cloudy morning light and as I read your story I feel a little lighter and somehow blessed 🥰
Thank you, Paul. Since last summer, we have been listening while you have been working through the next phase of the journey. This account, like the others, is rich food for contemplating that next phase. (Both the Lives of Saints and Holy Wells projects seem highly appropriate to me as works that help in contemplating the next phase.) After your Machine essays concluded, everyone has been asking, so what do we do?—a question that almost drove me mad for a few months last year. In the videos of your talks in America at the Front Porch conference, everyone asked the same question. That was when I realized that no one knows the answer. The answer is not simple because as you point out many times, we are all trapped in the Machine, all cooked barbarians to one degree or another, mostly ranging from medium to well done, a few of us conscientiously straining to be medium rare. But this saint is not cooked at all; totally raw. I am content for now to follow your thoughts as I contemplate this myself. Thank you for helping me think. And pray.
Beautiful. I'm convinced that the true sign of a good book, poem, film, short story etc. is that it makes you want to pray. Mission accomplished. It feels almost too audacious to hope to become a Saint. But that I might find some small measure of true prayer and peace. Peace for myself and peace for those around me.
I met one once, someone who knew stuff about me that defied belief, and yet... It was in the '70s, I think. He was hitchhiking under an overpass in Austin, Texas and I offered him a ride. He was aged, but ageless, thin, white tousled hair almost flowing, dressed in nondescript old clothes. His eyes were uncommonly kind, yet piercing. He carried a small umbrella, odd-looking, almost comical. He also had what I think was a well-worn, heavily written-in spiral-bound notebook with bits of paper and notes hodge-podged within it, sticking out all over. I remember a note referencing a Cardinal So-and-So from who-knows where. And he knew about me. To the point that it brought tears to my eyes, almost sobbing, asking, "Who are you? Are you Jesus?" His answer was vague and I didn't see any scars. I don't remember where he was going but our time together was soon over. It wasn't long. I looked for him on the side of the road for many years and thought I saw him once but upon turning around, he was gone.
Wonderful, wonderful. That phrase, "covered in birds" brought to mind a most beautiful song about Mary sung by Patty Griffin. It's worth reading her luminous lyrics too.
Wonderful story, Paul. You probably already know the Seamus Heaney poem "St. Kevin and the Blackbird," which is in Selected Poems 1988-2013. I was always inspired by his story, which didn't mean I could actually imagine holding a nest of birds in my outstretched hand even for a few hours. But even the Church-attested feats found in the lives of the saints are hard for me to imagine. But I can at least work on things like non-judgmentalism, or how about love?
Never trust monks - they’re full of made-up stories. The walking icons, the fantastical miracles … nevertheless, there’s something enchanting about this story. It put me in mind of stories of Saint Seraphim of Sarov.
I love this. Thank you 🙏🏻❤️
When I think about monks and hermits living alone to ‘find’ God I wonder about Jesus’ command in Matthew 28:18-20, also spoken of as the great commission.
I reckon that there’s space enough and people enough that both can happen simultaneously. Just maybe not in the same person.
I can see the need for evangelism, and I can see the need for quiet, for deep contemplation.
I suppose that we are all called out of ourselves (our selfishness, our interests, our wants and desires) but how that manifests is different depending on the person.
It’s also interesting that the lives here depicted are solitary, but even then they run up against other people who experience them and then witness about them—perhaps even evangelizing. God will use the hermit, too, in His own time and in His own way.
And nobody, as here, leaves the wood untouched.
Jesus had his alone time, as did his cousin, John the Baptist.
‘Let us assume that there are seven educated preachers who live holy lives. Their rhetorical skill is unparalleled. Each has a parish with ten thousand parishioners. Each day their words are heard by seventy thousand people. Thousands who hear them are moved to repentance and return to Christ. Whole families are saved. Nevertheless, one monk whom no one sees and who sits in a cave somewhere has a much greater effect with his humble prayer. One produces a greater effect than seven. That is what I see: I am sure of it.’
- St Porphyrios of Kavsokalyvia
It would seem, at least, that the monk is called to evangelize a baby.
The way the Great Commission often worked for the saints was, instead of going out preaching, they would get so close to God that people would hear of their sanctity and go to inquire of them. I didn't say this was an easy way.
"If the Mountain won't come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the Mountain." Either way it goes, the meeting takes place.
As seen in the story, the example of monk-saints is a very effective form of evangelism.
Thank you for such a beautiful telling!
This is so lovely. Thank you.
Lovely to read this on an April morning. We all seemed to sleep poorly, it is snowing outside, and no one is excited to leave the house for school or work. But the birds are singing in that cloudy morning light and as I read your story I feel a little lighter and somehow blessed 🥰
How beautiful! Thank you!!!!
Thank you, Paul. Since last summer, we have been listening while you have been working through the next phase of the journey. This account, like the others, is rich food for contemplating that next phase. (Both the Lives of Saints and Holy Wells projects seem highly appropriate to me as works that help in contemplating the next phase.) After your Machine essays concluded, everyone has been asking, so what do we do?—a question that almost drove me mad for a few months last year. In the videos of your talks in America at the Front Porch conference, everyone asked the same question. That was when I realized that no one knows the answer. The answer is not simple because as you point out many times, we are all trapped in the Machine, all cooked barbarians to one degree or another, mostly ranging from medium to well done, a few of us conscientiously straining to be medium rare. But this saint is not cooked at all; totally raw. I am content for now to follow your thoughts as I contemplate this myself. Thank you for helping me think. And pray.
Beautiful. I'm convinced that the true sign of a good book, poem, film, short story etc. is that it makes you want to pray. Mission accomplished. It feels almost too audacious to hope to become a Saint. But that I might find some small measure of true prayer and peace. Peace for myself and peace for those around me.
Thank you for this gift, Paul... Much to ponder...
I met one once, someone who knew stuff about me that defied belief, and yet... It was in the '70s, I think. He was hitchhiking under an overpass in Austin, Texas and I offered him a ride. He was aged, but ageless, thin, white tousled hair almost flowing, dressed in nondescript old clothes. His eyes were uncommonly kind, yet piercing. He carried a small umbrella, odd-looking, almost comical. He also had what I think was a well-worn, heavily written-in spiral-bound notebook with bits of paper and notes hodge-podged within it, sticking out all over. I remember a note referencing a Cardinal So-and-So from who-knows where. And he knew about me. To the point that it brought tears to my eyes, almost sobbing, asking, "Who are you? Are you Jesus?" His answer was vague and I didn't see any scars. I don't remember where he was going but our time together was soon over. It wasn't long. I looked for him on the side of the road for many years and thought I saw him once but upon turning around, he was gone.
Wonderful, wonderful. That phrase, "covered in birds" brought to mind a most beautiful song about Mary sung by Patty Griffin. It's worth reading her luminous lyrics too.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLcRRolgffA&ab_channel=PattyGriffin-Topic
Thanks for the link - loved the song!
Wonderful story, Paul. You probably already know the Seamus Heaney poem "St. Kevin and the Blackbird," which is in Selected Poems 1988-2013. I was always inspired by his story, which didn't mean I could actually imagine holding a nest of birds in my outstretched hand even for a few hours. But even the Church-attested feats found in the lives of the saints are hard for me to imagine. But I can at least work on things like non-judgmentalism, or how about love?
Reading this in the context of Way of the Pilgrim. Beautifully told.
Never trust monks - they’re full of made-up stories. The walking icons, the fantastical miracles … nevertheless, there’s something enchanting about this story. It put me in mind of stories of Saint Seraphim of Sarov.
A blessed fifth week of Great Lent to you. Thanks; I look forward to a book of these saints someday.
Inspiring!