On Quiet

Forget your anxieties. The important thing is not to sadden your brother, for you are a monk. – An elder

Since my most recent trip to Gethsemani, I have been reading Orthodox and Desert Fathers literature. Primarily, I've been reading Thomas Merton's The Wisdom of the Desert. He writes in his introduction that the important thing is not to think of these stories as abstract didactic tales, but, rather, we must remember that these early, ordinary desert dwellers did these things. With this directive in mind, the realness of these stories shakes me to my core. Brothers come to their elders asking if they're owed money what they should do? Ask once, then let it go—don't make your brother sin. If you sell something and receive less than you're owed? Don't mention it to the buyer for it may cause him to purger himself—don't make your brother sin. Elders tell disciples to pray for temptations so they can mature, to show hospitality to everyone, to treasure nothing so much that they wouldn't readily give it away.

I'm not there.

And because I'm not there, the wisdom of monastics appeals to me very much. If for no other reason because it allows me a glimpse into genuine, soul-shaping solitude. The early desert dwelling ascetics knew how to be alone yet fully participate in the communion of the saints and in the presence of God. I wonder if that sort of communion is possible today. It's said that John Climacus knew the age of the desert ascetics was drawing to an end, so he wrote Ladder of Divine Ascent in order to record the ethos of the Desert. I've not read it, but I wonder if it would speak to the lives of 21st century Americans. Perhaps I should investigate...

For now, though, I'm camped out in a corner JJ's Market, seeking quiet as I prepare for a week full of social responsibilities. Time to calm, center myself. It strikes me that moments like this are indeed formative. The events of the week don't matter. I feel moved to write, so I write. I'm able to read about the Desert Fathers, and so I read. I'm able to breath the Jesus Prayer, reminding myself that God is near, that that God is merciful, that God is in control. Quiet is good. 

And it seems, to answer my earlier wondering, that contemplative solitude is possible today. But it must be intentional. For the first time in my life I think I understand how very intentional quiet must be. I could have gone any number of places before meeting friends for dinner tonight, but something moved inside me to want solitude. Perhaps my reading of the Fathers has taught me the necessity of seeking solitude.

And, at this very moment, I am experiencing interior silence. The kind of silence that diminishes thought and allows one to listen. The mystery is knowing what to listen for, but it seems that Merton's prayer, which hopes that the desire to please God does in fact please God, can ease any anxiety in listening. 

At any rate, I sit here in quiet thankful for the quiet and wishing it would never go away.

Lord Jesus Christ,

Have mercy on me.