Showing posts with label Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian. Show all posts

Thursday, October 30, 2025

New podcast from Wednesday’s St. Isaac the Syrian group!



New podcast from Wednesday’s St. Isaac the Syrian group! Listen and sign up for weekly emails on the website - www.philokaliaministries.org.


If you are a regular listener, or enjoy any of the content produced by Philokalia Ministries, we humbly ask that you consider becoming a supporter of the ministry. You can learn more about our funding needs at: www.philokaliaministries.org/support-philokalia. 


Please note that Philokalia Ministries, LLC is NOT a 501c3 non-profit organization, and that contributions are not tax deductible. Supporting Philokalia Ministries is just like supporting your other favorite podcasters and content creators, and all proceeds pay the production bills, make it possible for us to pay our content manager, and provide a living stipend for Father Charbel.

Wednesday, October 29, 2025

The Nearness of Divine Providence and the Folly of Trusting in God Alone

Synopsis of Tonight’s Group on The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian, Homily 5:12–18



St. Isaac writes with the clarity of one who has walked through the fire of trial and found the peace that follows surrender. His words do not flatter the soul or soften the edges of the truth. They are meant to awaken us to the living reality of divine love. He shows that what we call faith must be tested, and what we call trust must be purified, until both rest entirely in God.


He begins with the martyrs who endured every torment that flesh can bear. They suffered, he says, through a “secret strength” that came from God. Their pain did not prove divine absence but revealed divine nearness. The angels themselves appeared to them, not as symbols but as real presences sent to encourage and to shame the cruelty of their persecutors. The endurance of the martyrs becomes the measure of faith. Where human nature reaches its limit, divine power begins to act. Their calm in suffering, their peace under torture, proclaim that the providence of God surrounds those who love Him even when the world rages.


St. Isaac then turns to the ascetics and hermits who made the desert a dwelling place of angels. These men and women renounced the world not in bitterness but in longing. They exchanged earthly things for heavenly communion. The angels, seeing in them kindred souls, visited them continually. They taught them, guided them, strengthened them when hunger or sickness overcame their bodies. They brought them bread, healed their wounds, foretold their deaths. The desert became a city where heaven and earth met in silence. For those who abandoned the noise of the world, the unseen world became near and familiar.


This leads St. Isaac to the heart of his teaching. If we truly believe that God provides for us, why do we remain anxious? Anxiety is born of unbelief. To trust in ourselves is to live in misery, but to cast our care upon the Lord is to enter into peace. The one who has surrendered everything to God walks through life with a restful mind. He is not careless but free. His rest is not laziness but confidence born of faith.


Isaac describes the path to this inner freedom. The soul must learn non-possessiveness, for without it the mind is filled with turmoil. She must learn stillness of the senses, for without stillness there is no peace of heart. She must endure temptations, for without them there is no wisdom. She must read and meditate, for without this she gains no refinement of thought. She must experience the protection of God in struggle, for without that experience she cannot hope in Him with boldness. Only when she has tasted the sufferings of Christ consciously can she have communion with Him.


Finally, Isaac defines the true servant of God as one who has become poor for His sake and compassionate toward all. Such a person mortifies even natural desires so that nothing distracts from love. To give to the poor is to entrust one’s life to God’s care. To become poor for His sake is to discover inexhaustible treasure.


Here St. Isaac’s realism becomes luminous. He is not describing a harsh ideal but the hidden logic of divine love. God draws near to those who entrust themselves wholly to Him. Angels surround those who choose the path of surrender. The heart that abandons anxiety finds itself upheld by grace. This is the holy folly of trust. It is the wisdom of those who live as though God alone is enough and who discover in that surrender a peace that cannot be taken away.

WEDNESDAY at 7:30pm EDT via Zoom - "On keeping remote from the world and all that disquiets the mind"

 


Tuesday, October 28, 2025

Reflection on St. Isaac the Syrian: The Beauty of Hesychia and the Vigil of the Heart


Mt. Tabor Monks of Holy Transfiguration Monastery Discussion of The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian Homily 19 paragraphs 3-7 and Homily 20 paragraphs 1-3:


In these passages, St. Isaac the Syrian opens a window into the heart of the ascetical life, revealing the beauty, delicacy, and fragility of hesychia, the silence of the heart that allows the soul to drink deeply of divine sweetness. This silence is not mere withdrawal but a communion, a tasting of that wine of divine love which causes the heart to cry out with the psalmist, “My soul thirsted for Thee, the mighty, the living God.” For St. Isaac, such moments of divine visitation mark the soul forever. Once tasted, their absence becomes a wound, a grief sharper than any earthly loss. The one who has been enflamed by divine intimacy and then falls into laxity knows how terrible is the darkness that follows, how painful the dulling of the heart that once burned with unceasing prayer.


The Delicacy of Stillness


Hesychia is like a tender blossom, the bloom of virtue nourished by repentance and softened by tears. St. Isaac compares its growth to a fruit tree nourished by living water, yet this growth is easily destroyed by the frost of worldly contact. Even brief and seemingly innocent conversation, he warns, can chill the soul and scatter the warmth of divine contemplation. For one who lives in stillness, distractions are not neutral. They strike at the very root of the virtues just beginning to flower. The world, with its noise and vanity, becomes a subtle poison that seeps into the mind through the senses, making it turbid and unfit to receive divine knowledge. Thus St. Isaac insists that the hesychast must guard his solitude as one would guard a holy flame, for its light can be quickly extinguished by the winds of human chatter and curiosity.


The Blindness of Pride


At the heart of this loss of grace lies pride, the refusal to walk in the path of humility. Pride darkens the intellect and blinds the soul to the light of divine wisdom. The proud man, even when he speaks of spiritual things, walks in darkness, mistaking his own thoughts for divine illumination. God hides His will from such a one, for he has chosen to live apart from the humble knowledge that is born of silence, repentance, and vigil. The hesychast, by contrast, descends into humility and there discovers the true knowledge of God, for the divine mysteries are revealed only to the lowly of heart.


The Vigil of the Angels


In the continuation from Homily 20, St. Isaac turns to the crown of the hesychast’s life, the night vigil. He calls it “the work of the angelic estate,” for in keeping watch through the night, the monk participates in the ceaseless praise of heaven. Vigil is both the fruit and the guardian of hesychia. By it the mind is purified of darkness, the heart kept alert, and the soul made capable of divine vision. The one who labors in vigil with discernment will find his mind light and buoyant, able to take flight as on wings and behold the glory of God. Such a man, St. Isaac says, will not be left without great gifts from God, for the Lord cannot but honor those who seek Him in the long hours of the night when all creation sleeps.


The Cost of Neglect


Yet St. Isaac also warns that vigils without watchfulness of heart are fruitless. To rise in the night while the mind remains distracted by worldly concerns is to sow seeds without harvest. The monk who labors in psalmody yet allows his thoughts to wander will find only fatigue and weariness. True vigil demands not only wakefulness of body but the vigilance of the inner man, a guarding of the heart from the disturbances of the day so that the mind may stand wholly before God. Without this purity, the night becomes toil without fruit, and the sweetness of hesychia is lost.


The Wisdom of the Desert


Together these homilies reveal the coherence of St. Isaac’s vision. The life of stillness, tears, humility, and vigil forms one unbroken movement toward God. Hesychia prepares the soil, tears water it, humility roots it, and vigil brings it to fruition. But the soul must guard this hidden garden with great care. For just as a single frost can destroy a season’s growth, so too a moment of distraction, pride, or worldly curiosity can undo months of silent labor. The hesychast’s life is thus one of continual repentance and interior watchfulness, where every glance and word are weighed against the desire to appear before the face of the Lord.


In the end, St. Isaac’s teaching is both severe and tender. He knows the frailty of man and yet points to the divine beauty that awaits those who persevere. To live in hesychia is to live already in the borderlands of heaven, to taste that angelic state of ceaseless prayer and light. Yet it is also to carry within oneself a deep sorrow for every moment that veils this vision. The loss of silence becomes a kind of exile. The return to stillness, a homecoming. For the heart created for God can find rest nowhere else.

New Podcast Up from Last Wednesday’s St. Isaac the Syrian Group

 
New podcast from Wednesday’s St. Isaac the Syrian group! Listen and sign up for weekly emails on the website - www.philokaliaministries.org.


If you are a regular listener, or enjoy any of the content produced by Philokalia Ministries, we humbly ask that you consider becoming a supporter of the ministry. You can learn more about our funding needs at: www.philokaliaministries.org/support-philokalia. 


Please note that Philokalia Ministries, LLC is NOT a 501c3 non-profit organization, and that contributions are not tax deductible. Supporting Philokalia Ministries is just like supporting your other favorite podcasters and content creators, and all proceeds pay the production bills, make it possible for us to pay our content manager, and provide a living stipend for Father Charbel.

Wednesday, October 22, 2025

The Medicine of the Soul in the Writing of St. Isaac the Syrian



Synopsis of Tonight’s Group on The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian Homily 5 paragraphs 8-11:


In this section of Homily Five, St. Isaac draws deeply from the ancient well of ascetical wisdom, weaving together the practical counsel of St. Ephraim with his own luminous vision of divine providence. His teaching moves with precision from the diagnosis of sin to the healing of the soul, from the vigilance of self-knowledge to the vision of God’s mercy revealed through trial.


St. Ephraim’s words set the tone: every spiritual illness must be treated by its proper remedy. One cannot overcome a vice through random struggle or general good intentions, but only by applying a medicine suited to the disease. Just as heat is not fought with more heat, so envy, pride, and wrath are not healed through self-will or argument, but through the contrary virtues: humility, patience, and mercy. For St. Isaac, this is the beginning of ascetic discernment. The wise man learns to recognize the first stirrings of passion, and “plucks it up while it is still small,” knowing that what begins as a passing thought can quickly become a tyrant ruling the soul. Negligence is the mother of bondage.


From this root teaching springs one of St. Isaac’s central themes: the blessedness of patient endurance. The one who can suffer wrong with joy, though he has the means to defend himself, has entered into the mystery of the Cross. To bear insult without resentment, to be accused unjustly and respond with humility—these, he says, are the highest forms of virtue, admired even by the angels. Such endurance is not weakness but divine strength, the quiet radiance of faith proven by trial. Here we find the echo of the Beatitudes and of the Apostle’s words, “When I am weak, then I am strong.”


St. Isaac then warns against a subtler danger: self-confidence. “Do not believe yourself to be strong until you are tempted and find yourself superior to change.” Virtue untested is unproven. To imagine oneself firm before temptation is to invite a fall, for pride blinds the soul to its own frailty. True strength is born only from humility, the knowledge of one’s dependence upon God. Likewise, knowledge itself can become a snare when it is not rooted in meekness. A “meek tongue” and “sweet lips” reveal a heart governed by peace rather than pride. Those who do not boast of their struggles or their gifts are preserved from shame, while those who glory in their works are permitted to stumble, that humility may be learned through experience.


The culmination of this passage is the vision of divine providence, which St. Isaac presents not as an abstract doctrine but as an experience granted to the purified heart. God’s care, he says, surrounds all, yet it is seen only by those who have cleansed themselves of sin and fixed their gaze upon Him. In times of trial, when the soul stands for the truth, this providence becomes radiant and tangible—as though seen with bodily eyes. God reveals Himself most clearly in suffering, granting His servants courage and consolation. As He strengthened Jacob, Joshua, the Three Youths, and Peter, so too He anoints all who endure affliction for His sake.


In these paragraphs, St. Isaac sketches the entire map of the ascetical path. The soul begins with vigilance, pulling up the roots of passion before they grow. It advances through endurance, learning the joy hidden in unjust suffering. It is tested in humility, discovering that self-reliance is the greatest enemy. And finally, it arrives at the vision of providence, seeing that all things—even trials and delays—are instruments of divine love.


The warfare is inward, but the victory is divine. The heart that ceases to rely on itself learns to rest in God, and the eyes once blinded by passion come to behold His mercy shining through every storm. This is the medicine of the soul and the peace of those who have learned the wisdom of the Cross.


Thursday, October 16, 2025

New podcast from Wednesday’s St. Isaac the Syrian group!


New podcast from Wednesday’s St. Isaac the Syrian group! Listen and sign up for weekly emails on the website - www.philokaliaministries.org.


If you are a regular listener, or enjoy any of the content produced by Philokalia Ministries, we humbly ask that you consider becoming a supporter of the ministry. You can learn more about our funding needs at: www.philokaliaministries.org/support-philokalia. 


Please note that Philokalia Ministries, LLC is NOT a 501c3 non-profit organization, and that contributions are not tax deductible. Supporting Philokalia Ministries is just like supporting your other favorite podcasters and content creators, and all proceeds pay the production bills, make it possible for us to pay our content manager, and provide a living stipend for Father Charbel.

Wednesday, October 15, 2025

“When the Battle Begins Within”



Synopsis of Tonight’s Group on The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian Homily 5 paragraphs 4-7


St. Isaac speaks with a stark honesty that strips away every illusion about the spiritual life. To choose the good is to summon the battle. Every true beginning draws the adversary’s attention. God allows this not to crush the soul but to test its resolve and to purify its love. Without that fire, virtue remains unproven and fragile.


The one who doubts that God is his helper collapses under his own shadow. Fear itself becomes the enemy. Such a person starves amid plenty and drowns in calm waters, undone not by external trials but by the absence of trust. St. Isaac’s words expose this inner poverty: faith without endurance is only sentiment. The steadfast heart, confident in God, is revealed in trial and shines before friend and foe alike.


The commandments are not burdens but treasures. They conceal the presence of the Lord Himself. The one who carries them within finds God as chamberlain, waking and sleeping. Fear of sin becomes illumination, and even darkness turns transparent. The soul that trembles at evil walks with light before and within, guided by mercy that steadies every faltering step.


St. Isaac ends with a fierce precision. There is no substitution in repentance. What is lost must be restored by the same means through which it was forfeited. God will not take a pearl for a penny, nor alms in place of purity. Greed is uprooted only by mercy, not by any other virtue. He will not be deceived by offerings that leave corruption untouched.


This is the hard edge of Isaac’s wisdom: grace demands truth. The path to God is not through sentiment or display but through the narrow way where every false comfort is stripped away, and only the tested heart endures.


Comforting the Image of God




St. Isaac’s saying pierces like light through a narrow crack.

God has no need of anything. But He is gladdened whenever He sees a man comforting His image and honoring it for His sake. (Homily 5)


How strange and beautiful that the Infinite should rejoice in the tenderness of the finite.

God, who is perfect and lacking nothing, allows Himself to be moved by compassion shown to another.

The mystery is that we do not only comfort the poor, the suffering, or the broken; we comfort God Himself, whose image they bear.


Every act of mercy becomes a small caress offered to the face of the Creator.

The hungry one, the lonely one, the one who wounds me with his need, each carries the secret likeness of the Beloved.

When I offer a word, a listening silence, or the patience to endure contradiction without bitterness, I am not performing charity from above.

I am entering into God’s own compassion, learning the tenderness by which He sustains the world.


Our poverty also consoles Him.

When we accept the emptiness that humbles us, when we cling to Him without demand, our trust becomes His joy.

In this way charity and poverty become two faces of the same faith.

The first is the outward movement that serves His image in others, and the second is the inward surrender that allows Him to act within us.


To comfort the image of God is to enter the mystery of His heart, to touch the love that bends down to our weakness, and to let that love move through us without resistance.

This is the sweetness of St. Isaac’s vision.

The Almighty permits Himself to be comforted by the mercy of His creatures, and in that exchange heaven and earth meet in quiet joy.

Wednesday, October 8, 2025

Synopsis of Tonight's Group on The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian




Synopsis of Tonight’s Group on The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian - Homily 4 :33-37 and 5:1-3


St. Isaac’s words reveal that communion with God requires remoteness from distraction and a renunciation of whatever disquiets the heart. This is not something reserved for monks alone, though they live it most radically, but it is a law of the Christian life as a whole. For Isaac, the fruits of renunciation are not abstract but very real: tears, compunction, a fountain of sweetness welling up from the heart, light dawning within. These are given not to the distracted soul but to the one who bows like a convict before the Cross, empty-handed and intent upon nothing else. Renunciation is not simply turning away from sin but from every movement that agitates the mind. He calls it a kind of death, both of the outer man in worldly deeds and occupations, and of the inner man in thoughts, passions, and self-will. It is this dying that makes room for the Spirit to raise one into true life.


For the monk, this call is lived in visible and total form: silence, enclosure, vigils, fasting, the cutting away of unnecessary speech and activity. Leaving behind the noise of the world, the monk learns to dwell continually before God. For them Isaac’s words are direct and literal, for one cannot hold onto worldly cares and at the same time enter into the madness of divine love. Stillness is the path by which grace rushes into the heart.


For those living in the world, this teaching does not mean the rejection of responsibilities, but rather the careful discernment of what is indispensable and what is merely disquieting. Isaac himself acknowledges that not all can practice stillness in its fullness, but warns that one should not abandon the path altogether. Instead, there are ways of living the same spirit in daily life: simplicity, which renounces excess possessions, amusements, and chatter that scatter the heart; sobriety of senses, which guards against overindulgence and constant stimulation; interior watchfulness, which makes room for compunction and prayer in the ordinary rhythms of the day; trust in God’s providence, which loosens the grip of anxiety over outcomes. For the layperson, renunciation looks like choosing silence over noise, prayer over distraction, mercy over greed, humility over self-exaltation. In these small dyings the heart is opened to the same fountain of sweetness, even if not in the same intensity as in the solitary monk.


Isaac reminds us that whoever does not voluntarily withdraw from the causes of the passions will be carried away by them in the end. Whether monk or layperson, if the heart is constantly fed on the world’s noise, possessions, and anxieties, it will inevitably be drawn off course. But if one begins to renounce even in small ways, the Spirit quickly comes to give aid, comforting the soul and granting grace. The lesson is clear: every Christian is called to some measure of renunciation, not as loss, but as the doorway to joy and divine consolation. The monk may live it to the depths, but each person in Christ is summoned to taste it in their own measure.

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

The Ascetical Homilies of Saint Isaac the Syrian - Homily Forty-six Part II and Homily Forty-seven Part I

Tonight we concluded Homily 46. St. Isaac again expresses the centrality of the holy Eucharist in giving us the strength to live and love as Christ desires. It is through the love that we receive at his hand that we are transformed. In Christ, the sinful, the sick and the hopeless find the desire for holiness, healing and trust in the promise of the Kingdom. In Homily 47 St Isaac begins to discuss the distinction between natural and spiritual knowledge. We have all been gifted with the capacity to discern between good and evil. This natural knowledge, pursued and fostered, prepares us to receive the gift of faith and so the knowledge of God. If neglected however we will find ourselves impoverished, less than what we are to be as human beings; more like animals than those who have been made sons and daughters of God. We must live in a constant state of repentance, allowing it to draw us back to God and to the full measure of our humanity. Only then can we be raised up to share in the fullness of the life of God and experience the hope of eternity.

Ancient Christian Writers Series at The Pittsburgh Oratory


Friday, February 23, 2018

St. Isaac the Syrian - Humility is the End, the Final Goal


We come now to the denouement of Abbot Vasileios' reflections on St. Isaac the Syrian.  All that Vasileios writes comes together as a portrait of a man utterly transformed by the grace of God;  Abba Isaac is not lost to us in the 7th century but is ever so present - loving us, comforting us and giving us hope.  Having become a partaker of the ineffable joy of the age to come, he has not become absent to us.  His final teaching is the wisdom that unites us to him and God - while in this world we must struggle on for the final Sabbath for us comes only in the grave.  What we must seek and what has the greatest value for us in this world is humility.  It is in humility alone that we find rest and consolation and are protected from all enemies.  Humility must become our final end, our final goal.

Abba Isaac does far more that write about humility or exhort us to embrace it.  Through humility he becomes ever-present to us, bound to us - friend!  He would journey with us until all has been accomplished, death has been destroyed and Eternal Love alone remains.  

In order to express the ineffable, St. Isaac inevitably speaks in oxymorons, in negative terms.  He uses human terminology, concepts and values that have been broken and torn apart.

What can possibly be said about the state in which the intellect comes to a halt and the sense cease?  How can he convert the Incomprehensible and Uncreated using created elements? "There is no perfect or true name whatever for things of the age to come, but a simple state of knowing only, surpassing every appellation, every rudimentary element, form, color, shape and composite denomination."

This is why he speaks only of derangement, foolishness, inebriation; the loss of senses, of fear, shame, and free will; of disorder, measurelessness, nonexistence.  It is because he wants to express the true sobriety, perception, freedom and existence, the "new and simple world" which has received him.  

He has attained to the likeness of God.  He has become Godlike and God-minded.

All those things which before were essential (fear, shame, moderation, order . . . ), on which the Abba is so insistent, now flee; they leave him, they become an obstacle to him in his strange progress on high where Another acts, moves, and guides.  They cannot endure the fire of divinity which tests everything and makes it new.

And when he loses everything, that is when he finds everything in a way that is divine and unitary.  

He is taken up.  He disappears.  And he is truly to be found in a different place, in a different manner. "He is exalted above servitude to things earthly into the realm of its Creator."  He is given by grace "all power both in heaven and earth."  "He wields all the natures of creation even as God . . .  and  many times he can brings forth all from non-existence."

He shows us what a human being can attain.  What can be born from within him.  How this being can be extended.  "What treasures his soul has hidden within herself."  How he can be lost completely and found indeed.

He knows that one in a thousand may reach that point, may break through the bounds of corruption and be found worth of that mystery.

But insofar as even one person of the same nature as ours has reached that point, in his person we too have arrived by the grace of God.  And we become partakers of the ineffable joy of the age to come, which even now floods the souls and bodies of our deified brethren.

And these deified brethren are many.  And their multitude is defined not by a numerical value, but by the one truth and power which sums up the longings of all and satisfies the eager expectation of creation.


While he has reached that point and passed beyond the bounds of corruption, he knows that "while we are enclosed in the confines of the body", the work of repentance has not ended.  And he takes precautions against "the treachery of the demons and of those who preach the immutable perfection can be attained in this passionate and aberrant world."

And "the perfection of the perfect is truly without completion."  This is why "a man must not only work until he sees the fruit, but must struggle until his departure.  For often ripe fruit is suddenly destroyed by a hailstorm."

"Our sabbath is the day of our burial."

"The true Sabbath, the Sabbath that is not a similitude, is the tomb . . . the whole man, both soul and body, there keeps Sabbath."

Only in the grave does one find a Sabbath rest from the passions.  The end is the tomb.

And during the time one is alive, it is only in humility that one finds rest.  It is in this alone that he places his trust:

"The man who carries the pearl of chastity and journeys in the world on the road of his enemies has no hope of safety from thieves . . . until he reaches the sanctuary of the tomb, which is the land of certainty."

And "if, before you have entered into the city of humility, you observe in yourself that you have found rest from the importunity of the passions, do not believe it . . . You will not find rest from your toil, nor will you have relief from the enemy's treacherous designs, until you reach the abode of holy humility."

Humility is safety and certainty.  The humble man has the ethos and dignity of the sleeping and the dead.  He has the freedom and ease of one who does not exist.  He is "like a man that has not come into being."

He does not disturb anyone.  He is not disturbed by anyone.  He is unseen and unknown, as the soul is unseen and unknown.  And he is the soul and the consolation of the world.

Everyone loves the humble man.  They all want to be near him.  However much he shuns glory, it pursues him.

He wounds no one.  He is incapable of inflicting a wound.  And no one can wound him or do him any harm.  "He loves all and is loved by all."  He approaches wild beasts and they lose their savagery and come up to him as their master "and lick his hands and feet, for they smell coming from him that same scent that exhaled from Adam before the fall."

"For even the demons . . . become like dust as soon as they come before him."

Everyone reveres him, because they see in him the image of the Son of God who, in becoming man, put on humility as a garment.  And this divine grace clothes him about - "it is the raiment of the God-head" - and makes him inwardly alive and gives him wisdom.  "All men . . . see him as an angel of light . . . And every man waits on his words even as on the words of God."

Humility is the end, the final goal.

All the struggles, the asceticism, the virtues, have the goal of bringing us to humility.  "Without humility all our works are in vain, every virtue and every righteous labor."

The saints do not receive a reward for their virtue or toil in pursuit of virtue, but because of the humility it engenders.

"If humility becomes ours, she will make us sons of God, and even without good works she will present us to God."  "But without her, works are of no profit to us, and rather prepare us for many evils."

This is the fullness of the Kingdom; "the time appointed for the promise and the fulfillment of hope."

"Humility is a certain mysterious power which perfected saints receive when they have completed the whole course of their discipline."

"This virtue includes all in itself."  It is the power that the Apostles received at Pentecost.

It was concerning this that the Lord commanded: "Do not depart from Jerusalem, until you are clothed with power from on high."  Jerusalem is virtue; the power is humility.

In fact, it can be said that Abba Isaac is the great mystagogue of the mystery of humility.  All his ascetical homilies have this as their goal and their source.  All spiritual struggles flow out into the wide sea of humility.  And from humility proceeds the divine rest which restores the beauty in which man was first created.  "Anything whatsoever possessing humility is of its nature comely."

He recognizes humility as deification ("the humble-minded man is reckoned by all as God") and when he is about to speak of it, he hesitates and "is filled with fear" like one who knows that it means speaking about God.

This sacred hesitation and divine sensitivity rises from every page of his book, because Abba overflows with the gift of humility.

And "this it is which has sweetened the fragrance of the race of men."


Abba Isaac is the consolation of us all.

Who could appeal more the need of ordinary people who are looking for some human warmth and not exasperation?

Who could receive all the tormented children of History more warm-heartedly, or take them into a more saving embrace?

He spoke the language of existential anguish, and his insatiable yearnings were fulfilled.  He found peace.

Who can claim to be a more daring revolutionary and social reformer?  Who can say he has been more demanding in his life and more consistent in his conduct up to the end, than this elder in his cave?

He is such a deep ocean that no disturbance can trouble his waters - "he who is humble in mind is not perturbed, even if the sky should fall and cleave the earth."  And there is none more daring in his exploration of the depths.

If you are looking for human companionship, he gives it to you.  If you need a rest, you can get it.  If you are tormented by problems of faith, of existential anguish; if you are searching inwardly for the meaning of life; if many people have disappointed you and left you on your own, abandoned - make your way to Abba Isaac.  He does not abandon man.  God and find him in the Church.  Sit down beside him.  He knows all you have to endure better than you do yourself.  Everything you are going through, he has gone through before you.  His love is bound up with knowledge.  "Mercy feeds knowledge in the soul."

We can live, we can make progress.  We have someone beside us who understands us. 

We want to be still, to rest and to act.  In him we find it all.  And all alive, evolving, in progress.

He bears these things and lives them in such a way that the end and cessation of all is a blessing and a beginning, where things start to function in a different way which is more spiritual and worth.  "This is the majestical state of the good things to come, which is granted in the freedom of immortal life, in existence after the resurrection."

The serene movement of a flame at the highest temperature and in absolute silence.  The smoke has ceased, and the noise of the wood, "of the elements which will be consumed" "of methods and craftiness," "where there is darkness and the web of thoughts, and also the passions."

Everything has become light, incandescence, a strange magnificence.  Cessation, and a different movement.  The original motionlessness.

Everything has been clothed in glistening radiance and shines with "the unified simplicity of purity."

He loves everyone, and to him all are pure.

"When he sees all men as good and none appears to him to be unclean or defiled, then in truth a man's heart is pure."

His purity is not an individual matter, but an opportunity for all of us to be saved.

All things are revealed to him in a way which is uniform, and he is at peace.  There is nothing that disturbed him.  The remembrance of death kindles joy in his heart.

All is love.  The paradise of the saved, the hell of those enduring punishment.

He would not be complete if he did not love in this way.  Hell is the inability to love.  He has gone on to the greater love.  The burning of his heart melts the whole of creation.  With divine tenderness he embraces all creatures, "the enemies of truth and even the devil himself."

Only then, "when we attain to love, we attain to God.  Our way is ended and we have passed until the isle that lies beyond the world, where is the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit."

In knowing him, you know God.

There is not a God who is both good and bad.  There is not a God who loves His friends and hates his enemies.   He is love from beginning to end.

In the abundance of His mercy He brings all things from non-existence into being.

Even the final judgment He carries out purely for love for all.

"God chastises in love, not for the sake of revenge - far be it! - but seeking to make whole His image. And He does not harbor His wrath for long."

"I also maintain that those who are punished in Gehenna are scourged by the scourge of love . . .

It would be improper to think that sinners in Gehenna are deprived of the love of God.  Love  . . . is given to all in common.  The power of love works in two ways . . .  Thus I say that this is the torment of Gehenna: bitter regret."

He has fallen into the beguilement which surpasses himself.  He has fallen into the love of God which is as strong as death.  He can do no other.

"He who has attained to the love of God no longer wishes to remain in this life."

Does he who loves us want to leave us?

No.  He is simply showing us that distance can no longer separate us.  He is going to prepare a place for us.  He is truly with us and within us.

"Whom have you made your friend in this life, so that he will receive you there on the day of your departure?  he asks somewhere.

And we dare answer:

"We regard you as our friend, Abba, since you have understood us and cared for us."

Those who are silent like Abba Isaac, speak.  Those who are absent are with us in a different way, "in another form."

Their "ignorance" forges new paths of knowledge.

Their "non-existence" keeps us in being.

Their "longing for death as for life" gives us courage to confront, endure and overcomes whatever trials we face.

Death has been abolished.  The void has been filled.  Love has been conquered through them in Christ Jesus, to whom be glory and dominion unto the ages. Amen.


Archimandrite Vasileios
Abbot of Iveron Monastery, Mount Athos
Abba Isaac the Syrian
An Approach to His World