Catching up…

“Abba, we have been looking for you!” The young monk was out of breath and leaned against the tree, his lungs heaving from running.

“What is wrong that you would come with such haste?” the old man said. The old man noticed that the child was no where to be seen. “Perhaps he is off chasing the butterflies again,” he thought to himself.

“Abba, the child of Nicodemus, has died. And Nicodemus is distraught and filled with grief.”

“And what would you have me do? Why are you not praying for the child?”

“Our brothers are praying, but they do not know how to console Nicodemus.”

The old man let his chin rest to his chest. He was pained to hear the latter news from the young monk. Slowly, with the support of his staff, the old monk stood up, an increasingly painful endeavor.

With stern conviction, in a low voice, the old man said, “What do you mean they do not know how to console Nicodemus? Is not the child now dead to sin?”

“Well, of course abba, she is dead.”

“Is she dead to sin?! Is she not dead to the sin of the world, its trials and pain?”

“Yes, abba.”

“Then her soul is also dead to sin, right?”

“Abba, I don’t understand.”

The old monk’s patience was waning; now he understood the Christ when He questioned, “How long am I to be with you?” Taking a deep breath to slow and calm himself down, he said, “My son, she was but a mere child, unknowing of sin, pure and innocent. Her youthful soul was dead to sin…therefore, her soul was not eternally corrupted. Is this not true? Is this not what we believe?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Our Father, Ambrose, maintained that bodily death was the completion of the present life. He also told us that bodily death was necessary to free the soul…to free it from the prison of the body…and enable the soul to enjoy the eternal joy of heaven.

“That Nicodemus is grieving is good, it is natural. From his grief will come joy, just as it did for the Holy Mother at the cross of our Saviour. From his grief will come joy if he is true to his faith and the teaching of our Father Ambrose.”

“But abba, I thought Augustine and Aquinas….” At hearing the pending argument the old monk raised his staff and brought it down, forcefully, to the ground. A small torrent of dust was kicked up. The young monk knew what the action meant. He lowered his head saying nothing.

“My brother,” the old man said, “Augustine and Aquinas may be saints, but even saints can be wrong; they are, after all, human. Death is not bad as they have portrayed it. Yes, man was not meant to die. But die he does. And die he will…as well you, if you do not learn!” The old man’s patience had long since faded as he raised his voice.

The young monk knew he had best be silent…and learn.

A moment of silence to the old man, an eternity to the young monk, passed between the two of them. Finally, the old man said, “Our Father, Ambrose of Milan, was Orthodox, right in faith.”

“Go and be with Nicodemus. Let him grieve. Stay beside him, assist him. Grief has its rightful place. When the time is right, teach him of the wisdom of our Father Ambrose.”

“Yes, Master.” And with that, the young monk ran down the hill toward the monastery, holding his cassock high so as to not trip.

The old man was watching the young monk as he ran when he heard the voice of the child beside him, “Who is Ambrose?”

Startled the old man turned around to see the child holding out his hand with a brightly colored butterfly on his finger. The old man smiled.

“My child, where have you been? Who was Ambrose? He was the Roman governor in Milan. When the Arian bishop Auxentius died, there was strife in the city between the Orthodox and Arians. Tension prevailed when an assembly gathered together to elect a successor. At the assembly, Ambrose appealed for peace. During his speech a child’s voice cried out, ‘Ambrose for bishop.’ The assembly took up the slogan chanting it until Ambrose, despite his protestations, was elected. Within one week Ambrose was baptized and consecrated as a bishop.

“Ambrose was a great defender of the faith and Church. He defeated Arianism, told the emperor Valentinian that he was in the Church, not above it, publicly admonished Emperor Theodosius making him do public penance, and encouraged monasticism.

“The brilliance of Ambrose, my child, was his ability in De bono mortis to unite Christian and Platonic piety, and metaphysics into a single vision – a vision on the meaning of human death.”

After speaking, the old man realized that he was talking to a mere child and perhaps he had spoken beyond the child’s comprehension.

The child was looking at the old monk with a look of wonderment when he said, “I know the child.”

“You know which child?” The old man was now the one with a questioning look, not comprehending the child’s statement. Certainly he could not know the child of Nicodemus?

“I know the child who said, ‘Ambrose for bishop.’”

With that pronouncement, the child took off running chasing another butterfly.

“Father, tell me about the Devil.”

“My son, the Devil is all that is evil. He has many names:
Beelzebub,
Apollyon,
Lucifer, the
Prince of darkness, the
Evil One, the
Enemy of God, the
Enemy of Man,
Arch-fiend, the
Old Serpent, and the
Arch-enemy.

“Whatever name he goes by, his proper name is Satan, the supreme spirit of evil, and the arch-foe of God and all that is holy.

“The Devil’s role is to corrupt mankind, to shackle and bind man within hell. He is devious and enlists men to commit the sin of Lucifer in an attempt to dethrone God and His place on earth. These men are filled with Satan’s pride – the primal sin, resulting in his downfall from heaven as told by Isaiah. The earthly soldiers of the Devil are as proud as Lucifer. These Lucifering people are themselves damned for eternity.”

The monk was now getting upset and it was the child, standing next to the seated old man, who was making an effort to calm him down. The old man took a deep breath.

“Thank you my child. But the Devil and his angels are very real – they are all about us, waiting for an opportunity to beguile and cause us injury.”

The child looked all about, wondering what tree might the Devil be behind, knowing they were safe beneath the dogwood.

The boy had been silent for a while, although he was still chasing butterflies, he stopped only to look at the pink dogwood trees. Finally tired, he sat beneath a dogwood that was in full bloom. While the shade was minimal, it was cool nevertheless.

When the old man finally caught up with the child, he, too, sat down.

“Father, I know the devil is real, but is he really real?” This was a question only a child could ask.

“The answer, my son, is simple: he is really real.” With that answer, the boy’s increased attentiveness was apparent.

“There are three categories of people when it comes to the devil and God.”

“The first category are those who believe the devil is not real. These people have already succumbed to the devil. They believe exactly what he wants them to believe. Unfortunately, this category of people also do not believe in the existence of God. Their beliefs are the source of all of their troubles.”

“Second, there are others who believe in God, but do not believe in the devil.” The monk shook his head in obvious disdain. “These poor devils…uh, people…are truly confused. The one question they cannot answer is: ‘if they don’t believe in the devil, who is the source of all that is evil, then why do they believe in God, who is the source of all good.?”

The monk paused to watch a butterfly land on the boy’s hand. The child had a gift.

“The third category of people are those persons who believe in God and the devil. They recognize there is a cosmic war between the forces of good and evil. They also recognize that man is in the midst of this war, choosing sides every day with everything he is doing – every action, every deed.”

“My son, the devil is really real.
All that you say,
all that you do,
is either for God or the devil.
There is no action that is in-between
God and Satan.
Those who believe that things are
complicated, meaning that actions can reside between
God and Satan,
are a people who are uncourageous.”

The child had been deep in thought when he finally said, “Father, tell me about the cross. Is it a pagan symbol?”

“My child, the cross has been with us
since the beginning.
Those who say it is a pagan symbol
are in error.
Those who believe it is unique to Christ’s new testament
are mistaken.

“The cross has
always reflected and, today, still reflects
the power of the Lord and
His love for man.

“Recall Isaac carried wood
on his back
to a hilltop
to be sacrificed.
So, too, did our Lord God and Saviour carry wood
on his back,
to a hilltop,
to be sacrificed.

“It was the arms of Jonah,
extended outward, that
formed a bodily cross.
And when he prayed
he was freed from the whale’s captivity.
Moses did likewise with his arms
enabling the Israelites to defeat Amalek.
Joshua, too, did the same
to stop the moon and sun.
Finally, it was the Incarnate Son
who willing extended His arms outward
to defeat death.
Thus it was the Evil One,
who had used the fruit of the wood
to deceive mankind,
who was deceived and defeated
by the wood of the tree – the cross,
saving mankind.

“My child, let no one tell you
the cross is a pagan symbol.
The cross has been with us
since the beginning,
a part of the Father’s plan
to save man and
to restore him to his rightful place.”

“Father, what is sin?”

The old man, with a heavy heart, said:
“Sin is the gravest malady
oppressing and afflicting man.
It is the wall between man and the Lord.
It is a wall that can be overcome,
but man must climb the towering wall.

“Sin is the consequence of man’s evil deeds.
Only man is subjected to this fate.
The remainder of God’s creation,
all that surrounds us,
is free from sin.

“Sin came about when man disobeyed God,
falling away from Him.
Since the fall,
man has been in exile,
filled with shame,
living in a foreign land,
a distant land,
far from his Father.

” Sin consumes man,
it occupies him throughout the day,
every day of his life.
He must struggle mightily to escape sin.
Sin surrounds man as though it were an enemy army,
assaulting,
weakening, and
distracting him from God and all that is good in this life.

“Sin is barrenness and futility.
In sin,
man’s life is a fiction.
He lives his life for sin and not for God.
The glory of life is missing.

“In sin,
death is real and forever.
Hope is lost.
Grace is non-existent.
God’s mercy is unknown.

“Sin is also on the path to salvation,
assuming man recognizes his sin,
repents,
humbles himself, and
returns to the Father.

“Sin makes a fool of man.
I am a fool,
a wretched fool,
for having exiled myself.
For that I wander.
My heart is afflicted and in pain.
Behold I am returning to You O’Lord.
Behold my tears.
Despise me not.
Embrace me O’Lord and
have mercy on my miserable soul.”

The boy turned to the old man, who was walking a few steps behind him, and asked, “Was the Holy Mother an ascetic?”

The monk stopped and gazed at the boy, wondering where these questions came from…and why the boy was asking.

“My boy, from where do you get these questions?”

The now animated child persisted, “Well? Was she an ascetic?”

“Yes, I believe she was an ascetic…

“We know from an early age she was given over to the temple by her parents, Joachim and Anna…

“We know that once in the temple she, along with other maidens, were dedicated to serving the Lord and maintaining their virginal purity…dedicated to the Lord…

“Prayer was central to her life, within the temple as a child and beyond its confines as an adult…

“Prayer was manifested by more than our Mother’s words. Her entire life was a prayer, thus she prayed unceasingly…

“Fasting was a major part of her life. This we can know from our readings and the role fasting played in the Jewish life…

“She was obedient to the Lord saying “Thy will be done” – love answered Love…

“Austerity was central to her life…certainly it was so in the temple as it must have been with Joseph and throughout the remainder of her life…

“Indeed, our Mother must have lived in her own desert – apart from humanity, knowing she was the Mother of God…it would have been difficult to live in this world knowing her son, the Son, was not of this world…

“Her heart must have been bright – illuminated and pure to bear the Christ.  There could not have been darkness within her for He Who is the source of Light to become incarnate…

“Her life and very essence glorified God. So profound and dedicated was her life that no saint has lived whose life can compare to the Holy Mother’s life.”

“Yes, the Holy Mother was an ascetic. She is the ascetic to be imitated.”

Finishing the old man turned to look for the boy; he was chasing butterflies.

The old man was tired. The day had been a long one. He lowered himself ever so carefully to sit on the ground . Over the years, this effort had become more of a challenge. Once on the ground, he knew he would be there for a while. Rising in the morning would be tougher.

The small fire lit the faces of the old monk and the boy. The light was warmth and comfort.

The boy had been staring at the fire, watching the flames jump and following the flickering embers as they rose in the air. Seemingly out of nowhere the boy asked, “What is asceticism?” In doing so, he broke the old man’s concentration. He, too, had been staring at the fire.

“Asceticism?” The old man cleared his throat. “Asceticism is a very simple word…and a simple concept. It is most challenging for man, too trying for many.”

The monk continued. “Asceticism comes from the Greek word askēsis, an old word, meaning ‘preparation.’ The ‘preparation’ to which the word originally referred to is athletic preparation. Before athletes go to the games, the best engage in a very strict and vigorous preparation. And, perhaps, if they do it well, they might win. Their preparation consists a difficult regimen of repetitive practices and, often, very strict denials. They rise early…eat well – only the right foods…practice at specific times – sometimes many times in a day…and even their sleep is limited. Some athletes do this for months and years. When they reach the event for which they have been training the athlete competes against other athletes with all of their strength and might.”

After a moment’s thought, the old man once again gently stoked the flames, now beginning to subside. “When a person continuously practices askēsis he is considered an ascetic. Some people are ascetics for a short time, others for an entire life. Monastics are ascetics…though they are not athletes of the olympic kind.” The monk was now laughing to himself and rubbing his slightly rotund belly. “No, monastics are athletes of a different kind. Unlike athletes of the games who compete against each other, the monastics are not in competition, except, perhaps, with themselves. Athletes compete for medals and recognition. Monastics are challenging themselves, denying their passions, avoiding temptations, and the material comforts of this world. So monastics also practice asceticism and they, too, like the athletes must rise early…eat the right food…pray many times in a day…and their sleep is limited.”

The flames had long since given up. What remained were glowing embers, radiating as though possessing a pulse. “Monastics, at least most of them, are ascetics practicing asceticism. They have given up this world in pursuit of the next. Life, today, is serving and glorifying our Saviour in the hopes of His mercy that they might be with Him in the next…the eternal life. Because their religious life is so rigorous, these monastics are called ’spiritual athletes.’ With God’s mercy and compassion, they might reach ‘deification’ – union with God’s energies and sanctification. We learned from St Athanasius who told us that ‘God became man, that man might become God’”

The monk, now tired, contemplated his words; had he said them or just thought he’d said them? The old man gave his final sigh of the day, it was time to sleep. He turned to the boy and saw that he was curled up on the ground, quite asleep. The old man smiled to himself, wondering if the boy had heard anything.

One star above the old man and the boy shined vibrantly, more so than the others. It provided warmth and comfort.

The sun began to warm the hilltop on which sat the old man and the child. The morning mist settling into the valley below was quickly dissipating. The monk and the child were finishing the hymn to the Theotokos.

“Rejoice, O Virgin, Theotokos! Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you! Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, for you have borne the Savior of our souls! “

The old man surveyed the meadows surrounding them. The birds were beginning to sing. Life was stirring all about them.

The boy was chasing a butterfly.

Time passed; neither the child nor the old man took note of the sun’s climb into the sky.

The boy appeared beside the monk. Once again he was inquisitive. “What did Mary do at the Cross?”

“At the Cross? Well, the book does not say what she did…but I believe we can guess.”

“Was she in sorrow?” The boy had not forgotten the word.

“Yes, yes. She was in a deep sorrow. We can imagine that her heart was broken…she was crying…probably pulling at her hair…perhaps beating her chest. She was in pain. She felt helpless and could not save her son, the Son.”

The boy took in the old man’s words. “Why did she pull at her hair and beat her chest?”

“Well, that is part of the culture in that region of the world. It is not an unusual for grieving mothers to pull out their hair and beat their chests.”

A moment passed when the monk, looking at the child said, “What are you doing?”

“I’m pulling my hair and it hurts.” The monk laughed and patted the boy’s hand to stop.

The old man continued, “There is nothing that can console a mother’s grief when a child is lost. You see, Mary gave herself to the Lord. She accepted His calling and submitted to His will. She raised Jesus, protected Him, soothed his childhood wounds, and stayed with Him throughout His life. She trusted the Lord and was hurt when her child died. Her sorrow was deep…and painful.”

Time once again stopped.

The old monk had tears in his eyes. The boy, too, was sad. The child finally asked,”How long did she sorrow?”

“Well, she must have sorrowed for the next three days.”

“You mean when Jesus rose again?”

“Yes, the Holy Mother must have been elated…she, like the Apostles, probably thought she was seeing a ghost. But when she realized He was alive, I suppose she cried again – this time tears of joy. Her joy must have been beyond description. I have to believe Mary held Him close and kissed Him. From sorrow came joy. Her tears…well, her tears at the birth of the infant child, the Son…her tears at the Cross…and her tears at His resurrection have, in many ways, become a symbol of this life – our sorrows and joy.”

The child reached a child-like, yet profound, conclusion, “That’s why she’s special to us.”

The old man smiled, “Yes, my child, that is why she is special.”

The mist was soft, almost weightless. The stones were glistening as though polished. The grass was vibrantly green. And the sun appeared to be floating overhead. Reaching the hilltop, the old man and the boy were concluding their prayers.

“Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. Father, bless.”

The old man then gave his blessing to the child. “May Christ our true God bless you my child, have mercy on you…” and the sound of his voice faded across the hillside.

The mist was beginning to break under the power of the sun; morning light was breaking the hold of darkness.

“Father, why do we cry?”

“Cry? There are many reasons for crying…we cry because we sorrow…we cry out of joy.”

The boy thought for a moment then said, “What is sorrow?”

“Sorrow is sadness – a deep sadness. We experience sadness when we lose something…or someone whom we truly love.”

The boy was quiet as he walked along side the monk. After a moment’s silence, he asked, “Why do we sorrow?”

The monk, taking a few steps, replied, “We sorrow because we are filled with love. We sorrow because we are human and that means we are weak.”

“Sometimes I do not like being weak. It hurts.”

The old man extended a comforting hand to the boy’s shoulder. “Yes, hurt is not something we like or want. But from the hurt, we can attain joy and comfort.”

“How?” The boy’s curiosity was evident in his eyes.

“Sorrow can become joy if we believe in God. You see, when our heart is filled with pain, we cry…just as Mary shed tears at the Cross. Her tears were caused by sorrow; the pain at the loss of her son, our Lord God and Saviour Jesus Christ.”

The boy interrupted, “Yes, but Jesus rose from the dead.”

“That’s right, He did. So, you see, Mary’s tears, her sorrows at the Cross, were rewarded with tears of joy…when she learned that her son was alive.”

Again the boy interrupted, “And our tears will be rewarded like Mary’s?”

“Yes, we will be rewarded if we learn from Mary and believe in Jesus.”

“Now I understand,” the boy said with animation, “if we believe that Jesus rose from the dead, our tears of sorrow will be followed by tears of joy, like Mary.”

The old man smiled. And the boy skipped ahead.

The young boy turned to the slow walking father and asked, “Why do we pray?”

Moving his walking stick over the rocky ground, the father replied, “Why do we pray? Well, my son, we pray to talk to God.”

“But that’s what I want to know, why do we talk to God?” the boy responded.

The old man stopped and reached into his cassock pocket. Befuddled in his search for a worn cloth, he finally pulled it out and mopped his head. Sitting on a stump of a tree long ago cut down by some unknown woodsman, the man began to think.

The young boy, full of life, danced around the old monk when he came to a sudden stop, “I know, we talk to God when we are in trouble.” The boy continued skipping around the man.

“Huh?” the old man looked at the boy in wonderment, “when we’re in trouble?”

“Yes,” the boy replied, “like when we saw the lion, you blessed it and began to pray. We were in trouble, right?”

The man smiled, “Yes, yes. We were in big trouble.” The man held his arms out widely to emphasize the degree of trouble, then added, “But God answered our prayers didn’t he?”

“Yes, the lion turned and walked away. Do you think God told him to leave us?” The boy was now out of breath and sat on the grass beside the man.

“I suppose God could have spoken to the lion…or perhaps the lion was too tired to chase us and wanted to rest.”

“Even so, God must have made the lion tired because he just walked away like this,” and the boy made his fingers walk on the ground very slowly.

“So, do you believe God answered our prayers?” the monk was now asking the boy.

“Of course He did!” The boy was now walking his fingers through the grass around the old man’s feet.

“How do you know God answered our prayers?”

“Because that is what God does…He listens to our prayers…and then He answers our prayers. He does that every day. Do you think God gets tired of listening to us?”

“Oh no, God cannot get tired; He is God and God never gets tired,” the old monk responded with firmness.

The boy now held his small hands to his face shading his eyes from the sun as he look at the monk’s face, “That means God is not like you.”

The monk, momentarily startled, laughed and rubbed the boy’s head saying, “No, He is not like me.”

Nor is God like you. When was the last time you prayed?