Before the gate of the temple, an old monk bows low. His back, once straight in youth, now bends like a reed in the wind. Yet in that frailty there is a beauty beyond strength. His whole body prays, not with words, but with surrender. The years have stripped him of labor, speed, and ambition; but what remains is pure offering.
The Psalmist once cried, “Even to old age and gray hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to all generations” (Ps. 71:18). The proclamation now is not with the tongue but with the posture of the heart. Age becomes its own homily; teaching patience, humility, gratitude, and the secret wisdom of one who has endured the long warfare of life.
St. Isaac the Syrian wrote that when a man’s powers decline, God gives him the grace of stillness. He no longer ascends the mountain by effort, but rests in the mercy that has always carried him. The breaking of the body becomes the body’s last obedience; weakness teaches the soul what strength could never reveal; that God alone is Life.
Elder Aimilianos once said that old age is a return to the childlike state of pure dependence upon the Father. The elder who can no longer serve outwardly now offers the most hidden service: intercession. The Church rests upon the sighs of the old and the broken-hearted. Their prayers are not fiery words but silent tears, their offering not activity but endurance in faith.
To those who grieve the loss of a spouse or feel useless in their solitude, the saints whisper: You are not forgotten. You are being purified of every illusion that love is something you give or receive through strength. The Lord keeps you here because He is not finished loving the world through you. Your hidden suffering, your slow patience, your prayers in the night, these are the unseen roots watering the garden of the Church.
Look again at the bowed monk before the Theotokos. He does not stand tall, but the heavens bend toward him. He teaches that holiness is not in doing, but in being before God; poor, weary, and beloved. Every breath becomes a prayer: “Into Your hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.”
When all that is visible fades, the soul at last begins to shine.
No comments:
Post a Comment