There is one person particular I knew who, the two words that would be constantly reiterated is, “Thank God.”
No matter what the question was, no matter what the situation was, “How are you feeling?”
“Thank God.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. Are you well?”
“Thank God.”
“But, that’s not what I’m asking, that’s not the answer to my question.”
And then as you know the person more and more, you realize, well actually, it is the answer to my question. We say it in the Prayer of Thanksgiving every day. We thank You for every condition, concerning every condition, and in every condition.
How can you be thankful for illness? Because it’s been given to me. Because I know that everything I have is either from God’s hand or by His permission. Either from His hand directly or by His permission. If it’s from His hand directly, it must be good. And if it’s by His permission, it can’t harm me.
—H.G. Bishop Angaelos – How obstacles become stepping stones
Category: FAITH
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Even at the Hour of Death! There was a very devout woman who was ill with cancer. She turned to God with prayers, and Communion and fasts were held for her. The cancer entered a very critical stage and when her final hour approached she called for me. At that time I was a bishop, and was able to visit people more than I can now, so I went to her and stood beside her bed listening to her complaints. She told me, “I am very sad because many doubts are going round in my thoughts about whether prayer, fasting and Communion are of any value, and where is God’s mercy and response?! So often I have prayed for these thoughts to leave me but they persist and I get anxious and say, ‘Shall I lose my life now, and lose my chance of eternal life too, because of these doubts?… So I said to her, “Do not be anxious, for they are not your thoughts. They are just doubts which the Devil casts into your mind. Your prayers prove that you do not accept them and that these thoughts are not from you. God will not allow a good woman like you to suffer here and in eternity as well. You are like Lazarus who received his full share of misfortunes on earth, but was deemed worthy to go to the arms of Abraham on his way to a happy eternity with God… If God wants to take you to Him, this is not against His mercy nor against prayer, for eternity is a delight which the Saints eagerly desire.” Then I read an absolution for her and she relaxed and departed, to the amazement of the devils who fight the Saints even at the hour of death!
—H.H. Pope Shenouda III, Experiences in Life
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But how unhappy are those poor, weak souls, who are divided between God and the world! They will and they do not will; they are lacerated at once by their passions and their remorse; they are afraid of the judgments of God and of the opinions of men; they dislike the evil, but are ashamed of the good.
—Francois Fenelon, Spiritual Progress
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104. We savor pleasure and joy to the degree to which we taste affliction. One does not drink with pleasure unless one is thirsty, nor eat with pleasure unless hungry, nor sleep soundly unless very drowsy, nor feel joy without grief beforehand. Likewise we shall not enjoy eternal blessings unless we despise transient things.
St. Anthony the Great: On the Character of Men and on the Virtuous Life: One Hundred and Seventy Texts
Philokalia -
He talks about healing a wound, and does not stop irritating it. He complains of sickness, and does not stop eating what is harmful. He prays against it, and immediately goes and does it. And when he has done it, he is angry with himself; and the wretched man is not ashamed of his own words. “I am doing wrong,” he cries, and eagerly continues to do so. His mouth prays against his passion, and his body struggles for it. He philosophizes about death, but he behaves as if he were immortal. He groans over the separation of soul and body, but drowses along as if he were eternal. He talks of temperance and self-control, but he lives for gluttony. He reads about the judgment and begins to smile. He reads about vainglory, and is vainglorious while actually reading. He repeats what he has learned about vigil, and drops asleep on the spot. He praises prayer, but runs from it as from the plague. He blesses obedience, but he is the first to disobey. He praises detachment, but he is not ashamed to be spiteful and to fight for a rag. When angered he gets bitter, and he is angered again at his bitterness; and he does not feel that after one defeat he is suffering another. Having overeaten he repents, and a little later again gives way to it. He blesses silence, and praises it with a spate of words. He teaches meekness, and during the actual teaching frequently gets angry. Having woken from passion he sighs, and shaking his head, he again yields to passion. He condemns laughter, and lectures on mourning with a smile on his face. Before others he blames himself for being vainglorious, and in blaming himself is only angling for glory for himself. He looks people in the face with passion, and talks about chastity. While frequenting the world, he praises the solitary life, without realizing that he shames himself. He extols almsgivers, and reviles beggars. All the time he is his own accuser, and he does not want to come to his senses—I will not say cannot.
—St. John Climacus, The Ladder of Divine Ascent -
Our Longing for Home
IT is important to read Jesus’s parable of the lost son in the context of the whole of Luke, chapter 15, but the story has an eVen larger context. If we read the narratiVe in light of the Bible’s sweeping theme of exile and homecoming we will understand that Jesus has given us more than a moving account of individual redemption. He has retold the story of the whole human race, and promised nothing less than hope for the world.
In Jesus’s parable the younger brother goes off into a distant country expecting a better life but is disappointed. He begins to long for home, remembering the food in his father’s house. So do we all.
“Home” exercises a powerful influence oVer human life. Foreign-born Americans spend billions annually to visit the communities in which they were born. Children who neVer find a place where they feel they belOng carry an incapacity for attachment into their adult lives. Many of us have fond memories of times, people, and places where we felt we were truly home. However, if we ever have an opportunity to get back to the places we remember so fondly, we are usually disappointed. For thirty-nine years my wife, Kathy, spent summers with her family in a ramshackle cottage on the shores of Lake Erie. The very memory of that place is nourishing to Kathy’s spirit. But returning to the actual, now-dilapidated property is a gut-wrenching experience. It won’t be much different if someone buys it and puts up new condos on it. An actual visit to the place will always present her with a sense of loss.
Home, then, is a powerful but elusive concept. The strong feelings that surround it reveal some deep longing within us for a place that absolutely fits and suits us, where we can be, or perhaps find, our true selves. Yet it seems that no real place or actual family ever satisfies these yearnings, though many situations arouse them. In his novel A Separate Peace, John Knowles’s central character discovers that Summer mornings in New Hampshire give him “some feeling so hopelessly promising that I would fall back in my bed to guard against it . . . I wanted to break out crying from stabs of hopeless joy, or intolerable promise, or because those mornings were too full of beauty for me.” In East of Eden, John Steinbeck similarly says of the mountains of central California that he wanted “to climb into their warm foothills almost as you want to climb into the lap of a beloved mother.”
The memory of home seems to be powerfully evoked by certain sights, sounds, and even smells. But they can only arouse a desire they can’t fulfill. Many of the people in my church have shared with me how disappointing Christmas and Thanksgiving are to them. They prepare for holidays hoping that, finally, this year, the gathering of the family at that important place will deliver the experience of warmth, joy, comfort, and love that they want from it. But these events almost always fail, crushed under the weight of our impossible expectations.
There is a German word that gets at this concept— the word Sehnsucht. Dictionaries will tell you that there is no simple English synonym. It denotes profound homesickness or longing, but with transcendent overtones. The writer who spoke most of this “spiritual homesickness” was C. S. Lewis, in his famous sermon “The Weight of Glory.” He refers to many similar experiences like those described by Steinbeck and Knowles, and then he says:
Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter. Wordsworth’s expedient was to identify it with certain moments in his own past. But all this is a cheat. If Wordsworth had gone back to those moments in the past, he would not have found the thing itself, but only the reminder of it; what he remembered would turn out to be itself a remembering. The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself. . . . Now we wake to find . . . we have been mere spectators. Beauty has smiled, but not to welcome us; her face was turned in our direction, but not to see us. We have not been accepted, welcomed, or taken in. . . . Our life-long nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation.
There seems to be a sense, then, in which we are all like the younger brother. We are all exiles, always longing for home. We are always traveling, never arriving. The houses and families we actually inhabit are only inns along the way, but they aren’t home. Home continues to evade us.
Timothy Keller, The Prodigal Son
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Our continual mistake is that we do not concentrate upon the present day, the actual hour, of our life; we live in the past or the future; we are continually expecting the coming of some special moment when our life will unfold itself in its full significance. And we do not notice that life is flowing like water through our fingers, sifting like precious grain from a loosely fastened bag.
Constantly, each day, each hour, God is sending us people, circumstances, tasks, which should mark the beginning of our renewal; yet we pay them no attention, and thus continually we resist God’s will for us. Indeed, how can God help us? Only by sending us in our daily life certain people, and certain coincidences of circumstance. If we accepted every hour of our life as the hour of God’s will for us, as the decisive, most important, unique hour of our life – what sources of joy, love, strength, as yet hidden from us, would spring from the depth of our soul!
Let us then be serious in our attitude towards each person we meet in our life, towards every opportunity of performing a good deed; be sure that you will then fulfill God’s will for you in these very circumstances, on that very day, in that very hour.
—Alexander Elchaninov, The Diary of a Russian Priest
There are zero coincidences, right? If I understand the whole universe is operating under God’s provision, then actually, there are literally no coincidences. So that’s why, actually, even from an Orthodox perspective, how should I look at things? There are really no coincidences. Things are, you know, planned, or things are, at least, are happening, if not with God’s, you know, explicit desire and will, but with his permission.
Every encounter is an encounter in God and in his sight. We are sent everyone we meet on our way, either to give or to receive, sometimes without even knowing it. It is for us to be Christʼs presence on earth, sometimes victorious and sometimes crucified. We must be able to be quiet and meditative, look calmly at all the things that puzzle us, for we will not be able to understand everything until we see Godʼs whole plan… Human wisdom must give way to the capacity to contemplate the mystery before us, to try and discern the invisible hand of God whose wisdom is so different from human wisdom. But his wisdom is in the human heart…. We must learn to wait till we understand. We must try and discern Godʼs plan by attentive prayer and silent meditation….
—Metropolitan Anthony Bloom, Courage to Pray
“Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special attention to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstances, are brought into closer connection with you.”
“Every person you meet, God has sent your way for your spiritual benefit — if you realise how you can benefit from them. The righteous man offers you a good example and a blessing, and from the evil man you can benefit endurance, patience and forgiveness of others.”
—H.H. Pope Shenouda III -
“To stand firm in certain painful circumstances can demand much courage: the long night of waiting, the loneliness of not being understood, unjust treatment, poor health, personal defects, etc. We have to know how to stand firm in pure faith when we seem to be only weakness, seem to be only sin. We have to consent in advance to all that, to the desert of the desert. We have to desire the purity which suffering alone can teach.
It seems to me perseverance is a great school of humility: a gradual coming to know this self which persist in time, whose features become defined, whose character traits recur, whose limits take shape. Through trial one discovers one’s own heart, and becomes an authentic person situated in the real.
We are at times reduced to a material or animal perseverance, or even simply to being there, like a rock, without really knowing why, nor to what purpose. It is like a narrow room without light or air. Still, one goes on by a sort of gravitational law. Later, one realizes that perseverance is a pure grace, independent of personal merit. Then, the Spirit once again breathes life into our dried bones; we get up and go on.”
SO GOOD QUOTES 