To Die Before You Die

This morning Psalm 49 rose up from the page and looked me in the eye. It was not a psalm to be admired but one to be endured, or rather, entered. “Man cannot buy his own ransom, nor pay a price to God for his life.” The words were stripped of comfort, bare as bone. I could not pass over them quickly. They waited, patient and unyielding, until I stopped resisting and let them speak.

There was no threat in them, only truth. The remembrance of death came as grace, not fear. It quieted the noise inside me, the endless calculations of what must still be done or resolved. Suddenly I saw how fragile it all is, how every effort to secure myself, every attachment, every imagined certainty, is already dust in motion.

“Wise men and fools perish alike,” the psalm says. It sounds harsh until it breaks open the heart. Then you see it is a kind of mercy, because it frees you from the illusion that you can keep anything. Nothing belongs to me. Not the work, not the reputation, not even the body that trembles when I pray. Only love lasts, and love must be purified of every possession before it can be real.

Lately the nearness of death feels like a shadow that walks beside me. It comes in the night when sleep will not stay, in the ache of the body, in the silence of unanswered prayers. Yet it is not cruel. It is strangely familiar, a presence that teaches surrender. To die before you die means to release what was never yours to begin with, to stand before God with empty hands and let Him fill them.

When the psalmist says, “God will redeem my life from the grasp of death,” I no longer hear escape. I hear fulfillment. Death does not have the final word because it has already been invited in, already tasted in the little deaths of pride, control, and fear. Each surrender becomes a small resurrection, a flicker of freedom.

To die before you die is to stop pretending that you have endless time. It is to let every breath become a confession, every act a prayer, every silence an offering. It is to live as though eternity has already begun, because in truth it has.

This morning I asked for the grace to remember this not only when I pray but when I forget, to let the remembrance of death keep my heart awake, stripped of illusion, burning quietly for the One who alone endures.

Meditation on Psalm 103: "The Breath of Life and the Tenderness of God"

“Bless the Lord, my soul; all my being, bless his holy name.”

— Psalm 103 (Grail)

How brief and passing is our life beneath the sun. The years unfold like shadows, our labors rise like smoke, shaping nothing that endures. The monuments we build, the words we speak, the plans we devise, all are carried off by the wind as if they had never been. Yet within this vanishing world there is a flame that does not fade. The Lord breathes His mercy into what is dust, and dust becomes praise.

The psalmist beholds the mystery of this mercy. The Lord remembers we are but clay, yet He crowns us with love and compassion. The human heart, so easily scattered among vain concerns, finds its home only in this remembrance. When fear stirs about the unknown, when anxious thought consumes the hours, the soul must turn back to the One who knows all things, who governs life with a tenderness deeper than any wisdom of our own.

It is not the strength of our labor that preserves us, but His steadfast love. It is not our vigilance that guards the day, but His mercy that wakes us each morning and lays us to rest each night. The passing of time, the decay of all that we build, become teachers whispering that only love endures.

Let every breath, every heartbeat, every fleeting hour become a hymn to that truth. Bless the Lord, O my soul, for He forgives, He heals, He redeems. He renews your youth like the eagle’s, not by erasing your frailty but by transforming it into praise.

So let go of the sorrow for time lost. Let go of anxiety over what lies ahead. All is known to Him who is Love. Let the only desire of your heart be to serve His providence, to walk in the peace of His will, and to rest like a child in the arms of the Father whose mercy endures forever.

Meditation on Psalm 90 “O Lord, You Have Been Our Refuge”

When I pray this psalm, light pierces the heart—gentle, sorrowful, and clear. I see before me the fleeting breath of my life, the faces of those I have loved and lost, and the fragile moments that have slipped like water through my fingers. Time gathers us all into its tide, carrying away youth, strength, and every illusion of permanence. We are swept away like grass that blossoms in the morning and withers by nightfall. It is humbling, even terrifying, to face how brief and uncertain our days truly are.

Yet within this realization, something eternal awakens. The psalm is not a lament of despair but a cry of trust: “O Lord, You have been our refuge from generation to generation.” Beneath the decay and transience of this world lies a steadfast Presence—One who is before all things and in whom nothing is lost. Every sorrow, every fleeting joy, every act of love entrusted to Him is gathered into a radiance that does not fade.

In the darkness of suffering, when the heart feels old before its time and the weight of mortality presses heavily, the Lord whispers through the psalm: “Make us know the shortness of our life, that we may gain wisdom of heart.” The wisdom He offers is not the cold acceptance of death but the luminous peace that flows from communion with Him who is Life itself. In His gaze, the brevity of our days becomes the doorway to eternity.

So I pray:

Teach me to measure my life not by length of years but by depth of love.

Let every sorrow drive me more deeply into Your mercy.

Let every remembrance of the dead become a confession of trust in Your resurrection.

You do not abandon the work of Your hands; You redeem it in Your boundless compassion.

When the shadows lengthen and the final evening comes, may I rest in You who were my dwelling all along.

And when the dawn of Your glory breaks, may all whom I have loved and all for whom I have prayed rise with me to behold the light that no darkness can overcome.

“Let the favor of the Lord be upon us;

give success to the work of our hands,

give success to the work of our hands.”

From the Journal of a Disciple

The Illness of the Body, the Healing of the Soul

It began again this week. The ache in my throat, the heaviness in my chest. A small thing, hardly worth mention. But it is enough to stir the old fear. I listen to every cough like a sentry waiting for the enemy’s first move. Each twinge, each flutter in the lungs, becomes a whisper of mortality. It is absurd, I know. Others suffer far more and speak of it far less. Yet here I am, tracing every sensation as though my body were a fragile machine on the verge of breaking down.

I came to the elder ashamed. I told him I feared sickness more than I feared sin. That I had become a hypochondriac of the soul, so obsessed with the body’s frailty that I had forgotten the true Physician. He listened without surprise, as though I had simply named a common demon.

⸻

The Elder’s Word

“You fear the loss of your rhythm,” he said. “The order that you believe holds you together. But it is God who holds you together, not the pattern of your days, not the soundness of your lungs.

“Many come to the monastery seeking stillness but carry within them a restlessness far greater than the world’s. They are preoccupied with their stomach, their digestion, their fatigue. They think holiness requires a finely tuned body. Yet even the desert’s greatest ascetics grew sick, broke bones, went blind. Some could barely lift their heads from their mats.

“But they learned that the cell of the sickbed can be holier than the chapel if the heart offers itself to God there.”

He paused and then said quietly, “Sickness is the great equalizer. It strips away the illusion of control. The Fathers called it a visitation, not a punishment. A place where pride is dissolved and the soul learns humility through necessity.”

⸻

That night, I lay awake thinking about those words, the cell of the sickbed. How many times had I treated sickness as exile from God rather than His visitation? I had murmured, Why now, Lord? as though He had interrupted my plans instead of fulfilling them in a hidden way.

St. Isaac wrote, “A man who has dedicated himself once and for all to God goes through life with a restful mind. Without non-possessiveness, the soul cannot be freed from the turmoil of thoughts.” My fear of illness, then, is not about illness at all. It is possessiveness. I cling to health as though it were mine by right. I cling to control as though I could command the seasons.

⸻

Another Word from the Elder

“When the body weakens,” he told me, “the soul has two roads: despair or surrender. Despair says, ‘I am useless, forgotten, forsaken.’ Surrender says, ‘I am Yours, even in this.’ The difference is everything.

“Do not think your prayer has failed when your strength fails. It is only changing form. When you cannot stand, you pray with your breath. When you cannot speak, your endurance becomes your psalm. The Saints called this the prayer of the cross, silent, stretched out, and redeeming.”

Then he looked at me sharply. “Do not waste your weakness. The world fears it; the monk must not. Weakness is the chalice in which divine strength is poured.”

⸻

After leaving his cell, I walked in the cold evening air. The sun was sinking behind the ridge and a mist was rising from the fields. My body still ached, and I was still afraid, but the fear had a strange gentleness to it now, as if it had been seen through.

I remembered a line from the Evergetinos: “He who remembers death will never grow sick with fear when sickness comes, for he has already died to himself.” Perhaps that is what I am learning, to die before dying, to let each weakness become a small rehearsal for the final surrender.

⸻

Night Prayer

O Lord, when my body trembles, let my heart be still.

When I feel the shadow of fever or the fog of weakness, let me remember You.

Teach me to bless You in illness as in strength.

Let no fear of death rob me of the life of faith.

If I am to lie still, let me lie still before You.

If I am to ache, let the ache be a psalm.

If I am to live, let it be as one already risen.

⸻

The elder says the body’s fragility is not our enemy but our reminder, that we are clay meant to hold fire. And clay must crack for the light to shine through.

Maybe that is why Christ allowed sickness to touch even the saints, to show that the divine life is not bound to health or strength or comfort. It burns even in weakness, perhaps most brightly there.

So I will stop counting symptoms and start counting mercies.

Even this cough, this weariness, this trembling, perhaps it is the Lord’s gentle hand pressing on my chest saying,

“Do not fear. I am nearer to your weakness than to your strength.”

Ladder of Divine Ascent - Step Twenty Five On Humility

There is something very misleading about "reading about humility" as if one could learn about true humility from a book.  In fact, St. John says this precisely: "Do you imagine that talk of such matters will mean anything to someone who has never experienced them?  If you think so, then you will be like a man who with words and examples tries to convey the sweetness of honey to people who have never tasted it.  He talks uselessly.  Indeed I would say he is simply prattling.  Our theme sets before us as a touchstone a treasure stored safely in earthen vessels, that is, in our bodies.  This treasure is of such quality that it eludes adequate description.  It carries an inscription of heavenly origin which is therefore incomprehensible so that anyone seeking for words for it is faced with a great and endless task.  The inscription reads as follows: Holy Humility."

            Therefore, St. John approaches this step with some concern.  His hesitancy to write about humility stems from at least two sources.  First, as he insists, humility is a virtue won through struggle.  There is a very real sense in which humility can only be learned existentially - through the experience of the struggle for God.  In the context of this struggle, we are taught by God Himself what it means for us to be humble.  It is one thing to write about it and to give mental assent to it.  But how many of us really know that this is true, how many of us feel that it is true, how many of us experience the torturous presence of pride moment to moment?  There is only one way to learn: life-long struggle with oneself.

            Second, it is difficult to write about it because humility expresses itself in different ways in different people.  Since humility is a grace of God in the soul, learned existentially in the context of my own individual struggle to find God, it is inescapably personal.  What it means for me to be humble is tied to who I am, where I have come from, where I am going and how I am supposed to get there.  The uniqueness of my own road to God means that humility is going to be different for me than for anyone else.  Furthermore, as I grow older and my life changes, humility will take on new meaning and new expression.

            However, as beginners we are in need of some direction.  St. John gives us general guidelines to follow in the specifics of our own struggle.  First, he reminds us that the struggle for humility is the most important struggle of our spiritual lives.  Humility is victory over every passion, a love of prayer, and the guardian of all other virtues.

            Second, he teaches us how to recognize the presence of humility in our hearts.  (Remember: his purpose in giving us these "signs of humility" is not to make us proud because they are there, but to make us humble because they are not!)  Sign number one of humility is "the delighted readiness of the soul to accept indignity, to receive it with open arms, to welcome it as something that relieves and cauterizes diseases of the soul and grievous sins."  Sign number two is "the wiping out of anger - - and modesty over the fact that it has subsided."  Sign number three is "the honest distrust of one's own virtues, together with an unending desire to learn more."

            Third, he teaches us how to cultivate the presence of humility in our hearts.  Here St. John reminds us that there is not one way to humility.  The heights of humility may be scaled from various vantage points: 1) We can develop humility by reminding ourselves often of our sins.  Nothing keeps us from thinking that we are "holy" like the remembrance of what we have done and are doing wrong, 2) We can develop humility by reminding ourselves of how much grace we have received.  If we cannot "handle" the constant remembrance of our sins or if this grace has not been given to us, then perhaps we can humble ourselves by the constant remembrance of God's mercy and grace.  True gratitude leads to humility, 3) We can develop humility by reminding ourselves of how weak and vulnerable to sin we are.  If we cannot continuously remind ourselves of our sin, and if we cannot remain continuously thankful, at least we should be able to remember at all times how easy it is for us to fall.  We are not strong in and of ourselves; we are vulnerable, we cannot defend ourselves spiritually or physically.  Let us be humbled.  This is why the holy fathers say that physical labor, vigils, fasting, etc. are important aids to humility.  They reveal the weakness of our flesh, so that we might put no trust in it.  Recognition of our own mortality and frailty leads to humility.

1-12            In these opening paragraphs St. John speaks of his hesitancy in writing about this virtue.  Humility, he explains, can only be understood through experience and is expressed differently from person to person and changes with the passage of time.

            Do you imagine that plain words can precisely or truly or appropriately or clearly or sincerely describe the love of the Lord, humility, blessed purity, divine enlightenment, fear of God, and assurance of the heart?  Do you imagine that talk of such matters will mean anything to someone who has never experienced them?  If you think so then you will be like a man who with words and examples tries to convey the sweetness of honey to people who have never tasted it.  He talks uselessly.  Indeed I would say he is simply prattling.  The same applies in the first instance.  A man stands revealed as either having had no experience of what he is talking about or as having fallen into the grip of vainglory.

            Our theme sets before us as a touchstone a treasure stored safely in earthen vessels, that is, in our bodies.  This treasure is of a quality that eludes adequate description.  It carries an inscription of heavenly origin which is therefore incomprehensible so that anyone seeking words for it is faced with a great and endless task.  The inscription reads as follows: "Holy Humility."

            Humility is a grace in the soul and with a name known only to those who have had experience of it.  It is indescribable wealth, a name and a gift from God.  "Learn from me," He said; that is, not from an angel, not from a man, not from a book, but "from Me," that is, from My dwelling within you, from My illumination and action within you, for "I am gentle and meek of heart" (Matt. 11:29) in thought and in spirit, and your souls will find rest from conflicts and relief from evil thoughts.

            The appearance of this sacred vine is one thing during the winter of passions, another in the springtime of flowering, and still another in the harvest time of all the virtues. . .  . As soon as the cluster of holy humility begins to flower within us, we come, after hard work, to hate all earthly praise and glory.  We rid ourselves of rage and fury; and the more this queen of virtues spreads within our souls through spiritual growth, the more we begin to regard all our good deeds as of no consequence, in fact as loathsome.  For every day we somehow imagine that we are adding to our burden by an ignorant scattering, that the very abundance of God's gifts to us is so much in excess of what we deserve that the punishment due to us becomes thereby all the greater.

13-34            The distinguishing characteristics, signs, and value of humility.  St. John also speaks in these paragraphs about the importance of self-knowledge and self-examination for those who desire humility.  Those who truly desire this virtue will use every means available to obtain it.

            Where there is humility there will be no sign of hatred, no species of quarrelsomeness, no whiff of disobedience . . .  . The man with humility for his bride will be gentle, kind, inclined to compunction, sympathetic, calm in every situation, radiant, easy to get along with, inoffensive, alert and active.  In a word, free from passion.  "The Lord remembered us in our humility and delivered us from our enemies" (Ps 135:23-24), that is, from our passions and from our impurities.

            The sun lights up everything visible.  Humility reaches across everything done according to reason.  Where there is no light, all is in darkness.  Where there is no humility, all is rotten.

            A man truly humble within himself will never find his tongue betraying him.  What is not in the treasury cannot be brought out through the door.

            A solitary horse can often imagine itself to be at full gallop, but when it finds itself in a herd it then discovers how slow it actually is.

            A first sign of emerging health is when our thoughts are no longer filled with a proud sense of our aptitudes.  As long as the stench of pride lingers in the nose, the fragrance of myrrh will go unnoticed.

            Holy humility had this to say: "The one who loves me will not condemn someone, or pass judgment on anyone, or lord it over someone else, or show off his wisdom . . .  .

            You will know that you have this holy gift within you and not be led astray when you experience an abundance of unspeakable light together with an indescribable love of prayer.  Even before reaching this stage, you may have it, if in your heart you pass no judgment on the faults of others.  And a precursor of what we have described is hatred of all vainglory.

            The man who has come to know himself with the full awareness of his soul has sown in good ground.  However, anyone who has not sown in this way cannot expect humility to flower within him.  And anyone who has acquired knowledge of self has come to understand the fear of the Lord, and walking with the help of this fear, he has arrived at the doorway of love.  For humility is the door to the kingdom, opening up to those who come near.

            Those of us who wish to gain understanding must never stop examining ourselves and if in the perception of your soul you realize that your neighbor is superior to you in all respects, then the mercy of God is surely near at hand.

            Whoever is eager for the peaceful haven of humility will never cease to do all he possibly can to get there, and with words and thoughts, with considerations and explanations, with questionings and probings, with every device, with prayer and supplication, with meditation and reflection, he will push onward, helped by God, humiliated and despised and toiling mightily, and he will sail the ship of his soul out from the ever-stormy ocean of vainglory.

35-64            St. John then describes how to cultivate the presence of humility within our hearts.  The truly humble, he teaches, will never trust in himself or his own strength.  He who has genuine humility will not sin voluntarily.  Through his lowly self-abasing actions he will seek to form this virtue in his soul.  Humble is as humble does!

            Some drive out empty pride by thinking to the end of their lives of their past misdeeds, for which they were forgiven and which now serve as a spur to humility.  Others, remembering the passion of Christ, think of themselves as eternally in debt.  Others hold themselves in contempt when they think of their daily lapses.  Others come to possess this mother of graces by way of their continuous temptations, weaknesses, and sins. There are some - and I cannot say if they are to be found nowadays - who humble themselves in proportion to the gifts they receive from God and live with a sense of their unworthiness to have such wealth bestowed on them, so that each day they think of themselves as sinking further into debt. That is real humility, real beatitude, a real reward!  And you may be sure that it is by this particularly blessed route that anyone has traveled who in a few short years has arrived at the summit of dispassion.

            . . . God is delighted when He sees us courting dishonor for the purpose of crushing, striking, and destroying our empty esteem.  And virtue of this sort comes only from a complete abandonment of the world and only the really great can endure the derision of their own folk.

            A lemon tree naturally lifts its branches upwards when it has no fruit.  The more its branches bend, the more fruit you will find there.  The meaning of this will be clear to the man disposed to understand it. 

            Just as birds fear the sight of a hawk, those who practice humility fear the sound of an argument.

            A humble man will always hate his own will as a cause of error.  In his petitions to the Lord which he makes with unwavering faith he learns what he should do and obeys.  He does not spend his time scrutinizing the lifestyle of his superiors.  He lays all his burden on the God Who used an ass to teach Balaam what had to be done.  All the acts, thoughts, and words of such a man are directed to the will of God and he never trusts himself.  Indeed, to a humble man, self-confidence is as much a thorn and a burden as the orders of someone else are to a proud man.

            Humility cannot be genuine and at one and the same time have a worldly strain.  Genuine humility is not in us if we fall into voluntary sin, and this is the sign that there is something material still within us.

            The Lord understood that the virtue of the soul is shaped by our outward behavior.  He therefore took a towel and showed us how to walk by the road of humility (cf. John 13:4).  The soul indeed is molded by the doings of the body, conforming to and taking shape from what it does.

            A man who sits on a throne acts in one way, and the man who sits on a dunghill acts in another.  That, perhaps, is the reason why that great and just man sat on the dunghill outside the city.  Totally humbled, he said in all sincerity, "I despise myself, waste away" (Job 42:6), and have regarded myself as dust and ashes.

            Humility has its signs.  It also has its sinews and its ways, and these are as follows - - poverty, withdrawal from the world, the concealment of one's wisdom, simplicity of speech, the seeking of alms, the disguising of one's nobility, the exclusion of free and easy relationships, the banishment of idle talk.

            Nothing can ever so humble the soul as destitution and the subsistence of a beggar.  We will show ourselves true lovers of wisdom and of God if we stubbornly run away from all possibility of aggrandizement.

65-66            St. John concludes by reminding us once again that humility is not a virtue that one obtains through struggle alone, but it is given by God and comes through loving union with Him.

            Someone discovered in his heart how beautiful humility is, and in his amazement he asked her to reveal here parent's name.  Humility smiled, joyous and serene: "Why are you in such a rush to learn the name of my begetter?  He has no name, nor will I reveal him to you until you have God for your possession.  To Whom be glory forever."  Amen.

  

Ladder of Divine Ascent - Step Twenty Two on Vainglory

             I am sure that each one of us can easily relate to what St. John is describing in this step.  Vainglory is the beginning of pride; it is the congratulation of self for work well done.  It is the desire to be recognized by others; the love of praise.  St. John writes: "The spirit of despair exults at the sight of mounting vice, the spirit of vainglory at the sight of the growing treasures of virtue."

            What are the signs that we have succumbed to this passion and been overwhelmed by this demon?  St. John list several.  Vainglory enters our lives when we grow concerned about what other people think about us.  It puts down its roots into our hearts when we begin to worry about their disapproval and to be pleased by their approval.  It captures our hearts when we enjoy their words of praise.  It takes over our hearts when we begin to work for these words of praise that bring us joy.

            How can we conquer vainglory?  St. John is very clear in his instructions.  "The first step is overcoming vainglory is to remain silent and accept dishonor gladly.  The middle step is to check every act of vainglory while it is still in thought.  The end (insofar as one may talk of an end to an abyss) is to be able to accept humiliation before others without actually feeling it."  These words are so easy to type and to read - - but not so easy to put into practice.

            John knows that we must work to gradually change our intentions.  His advice as always is very practical.  "If ever we seek glory, if it comes our way uninvited, or if we plan some course of action because of vainglory, we should think of our mourning and of the blessed fear on us as we stood alone in prayer before God.  If we do this we will assuredly outflank shameless vainglory, that is, if our wish for true prayer is genuine.  This may be insufficient.  In which case let us briefly remember that we must die.  Should this also prove ineffective, let us at least go in fear of the shame that always comes after honor, for assuredly he who exalts himself will be humbled not only there but here also.  When those who praise us, or rather, those who lead us astray begin to exalt us, we should briefly remember the multitude of our sins and in this way we will discover that we do not deserve whatever is said or done in our honor."

            It is very interesting that St. John insists that the battle against pride is either won or lost here.  "A worm, fully grown, often sprouts wings and can fly up high.  Vainglory, fully grown, can give birth to pride, which is the beginning and the end of all evil."  What a valuable insight for the spiritual life.  What a great source of hope it is to know that we can deal a fatal blow to our pride by working on our attachment to the praise of others.  Each day we can take small steps; asking ourselves difficult but honest questions:  "Does my behavior change when no one can see me and when no one is around?" "Do I find myself telling others about all my spiritual efforts and blessings?"  "Do I find myself replaying what others have said to me or what I have said to them over and over again in my mind?"  "Do I act and talk as if I have experiential knowledge of spiritual truths that I have only read about?"  "Do I become discouraged and quit when no one notices what I do or when I do not receive the praise and thanksgiving I think I deserve?"  "Do I hide my sins and failings from others, even to the point of lying or shading the truth so that my true faults are not discovered by others?"  "Do I become defensive when I am criticized?  Do I feel the need to always make sure that everyone knows why I did something?"

            Again, this is not easy.  But the promise St. John holds out should be enough to make us keep trying: "Anyone free from this sickness is close to salvation."

1-6            Vainglory defined and its qualities described.  It is a vice that touches every occupation and work and is a form of idolatry - self worship.

            From the point of view of form, vainglory is a change of nature, a perversion of character, a taking note of criticism.  As for its quality, it is a waste of work and sweat, a betrayal of treasure, an offspring of unbelief, a harbinger of pride, shipwreck in port, the ant on the threshing floor, small and yet with designs on all the fruit of one's labor.  The ant waits until the wheat is in, vainglory until the riches of excellence are gathered; the one a thief, the other a wastrel.

            The spirit of despair exults at the sight of mounting vice, the spirit of vainglory at the sight of the growing treasures of virtue.  The door for the one is a mass of wounds, while the gateway for the other is the wealth of hard work done.

            A vainglorious man is a believer - and an idolator.  Apparently honoring God, he actually is out to please not God but men.  To be a showoff is to be vainglorious, and the fast of such a man is unrewarded and his prayer futile, since he is practicing both to win praise.  A vainglorious ascetic doubly cheats himself, wearying his body and getting no reward.

7-9            Flattery often opens to the door to vainglory and therefore should be avoided.

            The Lord frequently hides from us even the perfections we have obtained.  But the man who praises us, or, rather, who misleads us, opens our eyes with his words and once our eyes are opened our treasures vanish.

            The flatterer is a servant of the devils, a teacher of pride, the destroyer of contrition, a vandal of excellence, a perverse guide.  The prophet says this: "Those who honor you deceive you" (Isaiah 3:12).

            Men of high spirit endure offense nobly and willingly.  But only the holy and the saintly can pass unscathed through praise.

            "No one knows the thoughts of a man except the spirit within him" (1 Cor. 2:11).  Hence those who want to praise us to our face should be ashamed and silent.

10-16            St. John describes how to respond when praised or denounced by men or when tempted by demons to think more of ourselves than we should.

            When you hear that your neighbor or your friend has denounced you behind your back or indeed in your presence, show him love and try to compliment him.

            It is a great achievement to shrug the praise of men off one's soul.  Greater still is to reject the praise of demons.

            It is not the self-critical who reveals his humility (for does not everyone have somehow to put up with himself?).  Rather it is the man who continues to love the person who has criticized him. 

            Ignore him [a demon] when he tells you to accept the office of bishop or abbot or teacher.  It hard to drive a dog from a butcher's counter.

            When he notices that someone has achieved a measure of interior calm, he immediately suggest to him the need to return from the desert to the world, in order to save those who are perishing.

17-22            What vainglory induces in a soul.  How it seeks to cause honor or dishonor depending upon one's vulnerability and how it encourages one to lead a double life.

            Vainglory induces pride in the favored and resentment in those who are slighted.  Often it causes dishonor instead of honor, because it brings great shame to its angry disciples.  It makes the quick-tempered look mild before men.  It thrives amid talent and frequently brings catastrophe on those enslaved to it.

            The servant of vainglory leads a double life.  To outward appearance, he lives with monks; but in his heart of hearts he is in the world.

23-25            St. John teaches that we must in humility see ourselves as debtors before God, who in His mercy has bestowed gifts upon his unworthy servants.  We must never yield to the temptation to show off our virtues. 

            A man who takes pride in natural abilities - I mean cleverness, the ability to learn, skill in reading, good diction, quick grasp, and all such skills as we possess without having to work for them - this man, I say, will never receive the blessings of heaven, since the man who is unfaithful in little is unfaithful and vainglorious in much.  And there are men who wear out their bodies to no purpose in the pursuit of total dispassion, heavenly treasures, miracle working, and prophetic ability, and the poor fools do not realize that humility, not hard work, is the mother of such things.  The man who seeks a quid pro quo from God builds on uncertainty, whereas the man who considers himself a debtor will receive sudden and unexpected riches.

            When the winnower tells you to show off your virtues for the benefit of an audience, do not yield to him.  "What shall it profit a man to gain the whole world and destroy himself?" (Matt. 16:26).

26-28            How the demon works on us.

            A man of insight told me this: "I was once sitting at an assembly," he said.  "The demon of vainglory and the demon of pride came to sit on either side of me.  One poked me with the finger of vainglory and encouraged me to talk publicly about some vision or labor of mine in the desert.  I shook him off with the words: `Let those who wish me harm be driven back and let them blush' (Ps. 39:15).  Then the demon on my left at once said in my ear: `Well done!  Well done!  You have become great by conquering my shameless mother.'  Turning to him I answered appropriately, making use of the rest of the verse: `Defeat and shame on all who say, "Well done!  Well done!"'"  And how is it, I asked him, that vainglory is the mother of pride.  His answer was this: "Praise exalts and puffs me up, and when the soul is exalted, pride lifts it up as high as heaven - and then throws it down into the abyss."

29-32            St. John then describes how vainglory is overcome through accepting dishonor and humiliation, checking one's thoughts, mourning and the blessed fear of God, remembrance of death, fear of shame, and the remembrance of the multitude of one's sins.

            The Lord often humbles the vainglorious by causing some dishonor to befall them.  And indeed the first step in overcoming vainglory is to remain silent and to accept dishonor gladly.  The middle stage is to check every act of vainglory while it is still in thought.  The end - insofar as one may talk of an end to an abyss - is to be able to accept humiliation before others without actually feeling it.

            If ever we seek glory, if it comes our way uninvited, or if we plan some course of action because of our vainglory, we should think of our mourning and of the blessed fear on us as we stood alone in prayer before God.  If we do this we will assuredly outflank shameless vainglory, that is if our wish for true prayer is genuine.  This may be insufficient.  In which case let us briefly remember that we must die.  Should this also prove ineffective, let us at least go in fear of the shame that always comes after honor, for assuredly he who exalts himself will be humbled not only there but here also.

            When those who praise us, or, rather, those who lead us astray, begin to exalt us, we should briefly remember the multitude of our sins and in this way we will discover that we do not deserve whatever is said or done in our honor.

33-37            In conclusion, St. John tells us that the battle with pride is either lost or won by how we address vainglory. 

            A worm, fully grown, often sprouts wings and can fly up high.  Vainglory, fully grown, can give birth to pride, which is the beginning and the end of all evil.

            Anyone free of this sickness is close to salvation.  Anyone affected by it is far removed from the glory of the saints.

            Such, then, is the twenty-second step.  The man untouched by vainglory will not tumble into that senseless pride which is so detestable to God.