From the Thebaid of Egypt, to the caves and
cells of Mount Athos, and even beyond to the vast forests of northern Russia, these are
the Chronicles of the Desert. “Man’s purpose, from the moment he is
born, is to find God,” wrote Saint Joseph the Hesychast. “‘In Him we live and move.’ Unfortunately, the passions have shut the
eyes of our soul and we cannot see.” But as our very loving God keeps calling us
to Himself, “then we awake as if from sleep and begin to seek salvation.” Joseph spoke from experience, being once such
a young man in the port of Piraeus near Athens, Greece when God called him from out of the
busyness and dissipation of the world to a life of sanctification and stillness. His heart burned with divine love as he read
from the lives of the saints and hoped to find such ascetics one day. Many years later, after becoming a monk and
forming a brotherhood on Mount Athos, Joseph would share similar stories with his monks
so as to warm up the fervor of their souls whenever they fell into drowsiness and negligence. “Only such things as readings and stories
of spiritual worth,” he said, “are able to banish forgetfulness and restore the old
edifice.” Some of the stories Joseph told were really
eyewitness accounts from when in 1921, as a young man named Francis, he journeyed to
the Holy Mountain in search of a spiritual father that could teach him prayer of the
heart and watchfulness, or inner wakefulness, much like he read about in patristic books
and the lives of the saints. At first, Joseph found only monks concerned
with handicrafts and who spoke from worldly knowledge. But, as he journeyed further into the Athonite
desert, he discovered austere and grace filled ascetics, who through purification of the
heart and mind, the nous, had gained stillness and attained to theoria, the vision of God. Francis met one such man, who practiced unceasing
prayer of the heart in a cave, who cried seven times a day before passing the entire night
in tears. Once, Francis asked him, “Elder, why do
you cry so much?” “My child,” the Elder replied, “when
man beholds God, he sheds tears out of love and cannot contain himself.” These words further kindled the fire within
Francis. He too wanted to experience the joy-filled
sadness that comes with a visit of grace bringing recognition of one’s own sinfulness and
the tears. This is what St. Symeon the New Theologian
calls a second baptism. Francis also met Elder Kallinikos, an old
ascetic who lived in seclusion for forty years after first purifying himself bodily through
the practical virtues. Now, through vigilance and ascetic work he
thrived on the sweetness of grace and divine love. Another was blind Papa-Ignatius, an old ascetic
who due to his unceasing prayer spoke words accompanied by a divine fragrance. “Whoever works in his youth will have sustenance
in his old age,” said Papa-Ignatius as Francis drew closer to smell his spirit filled breath. “Now when you are young, pray, fast, live
ascetically, and do prostrations, so that you will have sustenance when you grow old.” Francis discovered another blind elder in
Katounakia, one who kept unceasing prayer, sometimes out loud and sometimes with his
nous. When Francis went to him for advice and to
confess his thoughts the elder would only say, “My child, my child, the prayer! Say the prayer, my child! Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” Then there was the profoundly silent Elder
Daniel the Hesychast, who lived in the cave of Saint Peter the Athonite near the Great
Lavra. Elder Daniel served the Divine Liturgy every
day for sixty years and soaked the ground with his tears as he intoned the petitions
with great compunction. Francis would later call it a fearsome and
divine spectacle. Elder Daniel recognized Francis to be a chosen
vessel and agreed to hear his confessions. The Elder often read his thoughts beforehand
and responded first, so that discussions would be brief. Sometimes, the Elder, moved by grace, would
share a saying such as the one from Saint Syncletike: “The lamp illuminates, but its
lips burn,” thus reminding Francis that superfluous speech opens a door to pride and
causes the withdrawal of grace. Elder Daniel knew the hearts of others with
precision, and provided Francis with his first beneficial prayer schedule. But he was unwilling to take on a disciple. Step by step, Francis wandered along the cliffs
and into caves seeking out these “holy lilies who perfumed the wilderness,” to witness
their wondrous feats and learn about how they ate, lived, and prayed. But he could not find a spiritual father,
as most were unwilling to lose stillness, since much order and precision is required
to preserve it. Francis also encountered indifference among
some monks and laypeople over his aspiration to struggle against the passions and practice
noetic prayer. “In our times,” he later said, “people
do not occupy themselves with such things as they are preoccupied with cares and material
worries. Now, every passion has taken the place of
an idol. And if you reprove or critique the passion
you see overcoming each person, they all shout, ‘Stone him, because he reviled our gods!’” When Francis became a monk, he faced condemnation
and accusations of being deluded, even by monks. But through it all he kept silence, prayed,
and did not respond, considering this temptation as part of his ascesis. “I don’t cease praying for the fathers
day and night and saying that they are right,” he explained. “Only I am at fault because I scandalize
them, since they see with whatever eyes God gave them. Wouldn’t it be unjust and unfair for me
to say, ‘Why don’t they see as I can see?’” But a tree is known by its fruit. As his spiritual child Elder Ephraim of Arizona
would later write, “It was not possible for a person — no matter how passionate
he was — to live beside Elder Joseph and not be cured of his passions, as long as he
was obedient. That heavenly man knew how to cure his disciples’
passions with much discernment. All they had to do was remain beside him in
obedience to become like new men.” Elder Joseph’s brotherhood and all that
they accomplished after his repose are witness to his teachings and sanctity. Before all this though, the young Francis
remained without such a teacher even while benefiting from the counsel and prayers of
many grace-filled ascetics. One day, he moved to the hut of Holy Protection
near the Great Lavra. Fr. Hariton lived there and accepted a small sum
from Francis in exchange for a room. Francis, still a layman, was free to pray
and practice as he wished as Fr. Hariton often travelled around Mount Athos. Francis fasted and struggled with much contrition
and repentance, humbling his un-submissive body and making his soul more receptive to
the freely given grace of God. These efforts may seem extreme, but they were
an expression of his great love for God and the desire to keep the commandments. Then one day, Fr. Fr. Hariton became stern with Francis and gave
him penances and restrictions. Discouraged, Francis wept and prayed in the
wilderness for several hours. He repeated the Jesus Prayer out loud each
day because he still did not know how to say it with his nous. He begged the Mother of God and the Lord to
give him the grace to say the prayer noetically just as he had read in The Philokalia. One day, Francis invited a priest to the hut
to bless his cell. Afterward, he brought a tray with some tea
and sugar to the priest. Just then, Fr. Hariton entered and, when he saw what Francis
was doing, struck the tray from underneath causing everything to crash to the floor. Francis lowered his head, did a prostration,
and said, “Bless, Father.” Even with such a humble victory, Francis again
felt discouraged. He went into a nearby cave and wept and prayed
for twelve hours. It was not the insult that caused him to weep but rather frustration over not finding a teacher. “Even in the wilderness I encounter passion,”
thought Francis. That same night, he sat exhausted and gazed
at the chapel of the Transfiguration which rests upon the summit of Mount Athos. “Oh Lord, as you were transfigured to Your
disciples,” he prayed, “Transfigure Yourself also in my soul! Stop the passions and bring peace to my heart! Grant prayer to him who prays and restrain
my unrestrained nous!” He continued praying with pain of heart and
humility, when suddenly a gentle breeze full of fragrance came from the chapel. His soul filled with joy, illumination, and
divine love as the prayer flowed from within his heart with such bliss that he thought,
“This is paradise! I don’t need any other Paradise.” He marveled at how the prayer, which he once
said with his mouth was now being said within his heart like a clock with much precision
and without any effort. “What’s happening to me now?” wondered Francis. Is this the light?” He entered the cave and synchronized the prayer
with his breathing, until suddenly his nous was caught up into theoria, the first of many
times in his life. Totally beside himself, he bent his head upon
his chest and tasted the sweet spiritual honey that gushed forth. He was beyond the rocks and walls, beyond
all volition, without body and in deep tranquility and extraordinary light. His only thought, “May I never return to
the body, but remain here forever.” When Francis finally returned from this mystical
communion with the divine presence which transcended even time and space, he found that the prayer
continued within his heart and did so unceasingly until his final breath almost forty years
later. This gift of being taught by God is rare,
much like that received by St. Symeon the New Theologian and St. Maximos the Hut-Burner. Although God’s grace is freely given, He
often waits to see if a person is willing to exert himself. Francis had followed the road of repentance
all the way to the Athonite desert. He sought advice with humility and pursued
God through self-denial, pain of heart, and many tears, and now, through God’s grace,
his heart continuously cried out, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” Many years later, after Francis became the
monk known as Joseph, after enduring numerous trials, afflictions, and temptations from
demons, even while ascending step-by-step the ladder of Christ-like virtues, and after
forming a brotherhood with his co-struggler Fr. Arsenios, one of his spiritual children asked,
“Elder, why do you still fast after so much exhaustion?" “I fast now, my child, so that our good
God may give His grace to all of you.” Such divine eros and longing for God dwelled
in the Elder’s heart, that he could go without food but not without prayer. He prayed for others out of love even to the
point of enduring the same temptations and warfare from which they suffered. He so purified his heart as to be counted
worthy of the gifts of discernment, clairvoyance, and clear-sight. Yet, he remained humble and even up to his
final day he wept for his sins. St. Joseph “was unlettered as far as secular
schooling was concerned,” recalled Elder Ephraim. “But he was wise in things divine, for he
was tutored by God. The University of the Wilderness taught him
what we basically need: the Divine. And in the vastness of that silence he could
hear the whispers of grace. So let us, like St. Joseph, seek the Lord
with our whole heart. Let us cry out to Him with love and faith,
for He is everywhere present and willing to purify us of the passions and bring us His
peace if only we repent, if only we struggle and endure temptations, if only we say with
humility, Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.
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