True Facts

“If we speak truth it is because we have borrowed it from the One who is true” (Fenelon). We suffer from a common deception in our fallen existence: facts, data, masquerade as truth. Facts can be true, but not necessarily. Facts often lie. Correct data easily yield to the agenda of the presenter, making appear true what is mere vanity. Beware of facts. Beware of carefully reasoned syllogism. Gifts of God’s grace and tools for navigating God’s creation, careful observation and sound reason, when wielded by a true and honest heart, produce trustworthy facts and reliable logic. But when the heart is perverse, twisted by wounds and by wounding, driven by fear of want and will to power, then the twistings of the heart bend the observations of the eye and lead the reasonings of the mind down a skewed pathway. There is but one who is true, and this One is known by the humble, not the wise, not the well informed. The heart is like a bow that shoots arrows of fact or reason. If the bow is true, the arrows fly true; if the bow is crooked, the straightest arrows fly off course.

Falling Off the Ladder

Beginning with Jacob in the Old Testament, the ladder has been used as a picture of human transformation. This metaphor is helpful, as we have seen applying it to the Beatitudes. It is helpful in that it enables us to focus on one spiritual struggle at a time instead of continually feeling overwhelmed with the enormity of the task: total transformation into the image of Christ. When we become overwhelmed, we give up. We feel as though there were nothing that we can do to cooperate with our own salvation. Looking at our spiritual journey as a series of steps, we find a specific place to begin when we are confronted with the commands of Christ and the seeming impossibility of fully living them out in our lives. Furthermore, the ladder metaphor helps us recognize movements and changes in our spiritual lives. We are not surprised by seasons of Grace, of shifts in the focus of our spiritual labor. However, viewing spiritual life as an ascent up a ladder does have a downside.

When we view our spiritual life as a ladder, it is possible to become too self conscious of our spiritual life, as though we could actually gage “where” we are on the ladder of spiritual ascent. While there may be many sins and distractions that may keep us from climbing the ladder of the Beatitudes, the one sin that will most certainly cause us to fall from the ladder is pride. Pride is a subtle sin. Theft, fornication or murder, for example, are manifest outside of us and are consequently much more easily recognizable—although many a man and woman has so justified their actions to themselves that even externally manifest sins are not recognized. But pride is a thousand times more difficult to recognize, for pride is nothing more than a perspective, a way of viewing oneself and the universe. In fact, you might even say that pride is viewing oneself. It is the ultimate delusion. When we imagine that we can look at ourselves “objectively,” we are most deceived.

We are creatures. We are finite. We do not have the ability to escape ourselves to stand outside ourselves and evaluate ourselves. Yes, we can see some things. I can see what I have done, but I never know all of the reasons—conscious and subconscious—why I do the things I do. I can see, for example, that I became angry when someone suddenly cut into my lane on the freeway without signaling. But why it makes me angry, why I think it is okay to get angry, and what the mental-emotional processes are by which this takes place, all of this is subconscious. And not only do I know very little about why I do what I do, I generally see very little of what I do; or I see only of myself what I want to see. One of the reasons why we need community is that it is only in the reactions and responses of others that we are able to see some of the uglier bits of ourselves, bits that we would rather imagine do not exist. And, to extend this matter a little further, if I know only some of the reasons why I do what I do, I know even less (generally much, much less) why others do what they do. When I begin to think I know why others do what they do or when I begin to think that I can judge myself (for example, where I am in my spiritual journey), then I can be pretty certain that I have fallen off the ladder completely. (Warning: There may be times when I can be pretty sure that I have fallen off the ladder, but I can never judge the spiritual state of another.)

God has created us to keep our focus on Him, not ourselves. To use the words of the book of Hebrews, when we “look to Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith,” we are able to run the course of our life with endurance. We grow by looking at Christ, not ourselves. Children are wonderful examples of freedom from self-consciousness. Children do not notice themselves growing up. In this way we too must become like children if we are going to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

You might be thinking right about now that falling off the ladder of the Beatitudes is very common. If pride knocks us off the ladder, perhaps you are even wondering if you have ever really climbed the ladder at all. Good. The first rung on the ladder is humility, poverty of spirit. To admit that you have fallen off the ladder, or that perhaps you have never really climbed the ladder at all, is to begin climbing the ladder again. Remember, we never leave the first step even as we climb to higher steps. “A broken and contrite heart” is the foundation of all righteousness, all mercy, all purity of heart. In a sense, the daily death, the daily taking up of our cross and following Christ is the daily (sometimes moment by moment) acknowledgment of our failure. The Christian life is a life of falling down and getting back up again, day by day and moment by moment.

Correction

Some of you may have noticed that in my last post I attached the reward of step eight to step seven: one of the dangers of writing about a text without having it open before you. Step seven, being peacemakers, reveals the children of God. On the ladder of the beatitudes, poverty and mourning draw the grace of the Holy Spirit who produces meekness and hunger and thirst for righteousness. Righteousness, because it is nothing else but the love for God, leads to mercy, the willing sharing in the pain of others, because the love for God leads to the love for neighbour. Mercy purifies the heart so that we can see God there. Seeing God makes us like God: we are transformed into peacemakers bringing the light and peace of God where ever we go and thus we are called children of God. This is the fullness, the seventh step.

The eighth step is persecution for righteousness sake. St. John Chrysostom says that Jesus added this verse so that we would not think that one should seek peace (lack of conflict) at all costs. Chrysostom goes on to clarify that when we help others we are being righteous.

The eighth step has the most explanation: it goes on for three verses. Persecution is expanded to include reviling and evil speaking. “Rejoice and be exceedingly glad” Jesus exhorts us, “for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” This eighth step is the eschatological step, the new day, the day transcending all days, the day that colors all days. Persecution, misunderstanding, slander: these are the ways we bear with Christ the burdens of our neighbour. We share in the sufferings of Christ; we truly are His body.

We are surprised when those we love do not see what we see, when what brings us so much joy and peace is perceived only as a threat. How could it be any other way? Christ came to His own and His own did not receive him: as with the head, so with the body. It is in bearing the death of rejection that we with Christ conquer death. It is in passing through suffering that we shine with the Light of the Transfiguration so that in the end even our persecutors (perhaps especially our persecutors) see the light—whether in this life or the next.

Blessed are the Peacemakers

Please notice that it does not say, “Blessed are the good negotiators.” Peacemaking is not about negotiating resolution between hostile parties. Peacemaking is about being peace. Now, the ability to negotiate the end of a dispute is a great gift and I do not disparage it, but this is not what this beatitude is talking about. One need not be a Christian at all to be a good negotiator, one who can bring about the cessation of hostilities, and certainly this can be called peace. We might even call it the peace of this world. But Jesus offers us a different kind of peace: “My peace I give to you, not as the world gives” (John 14:27).

The peace that Jesus gives is himself, “He is our peace” (Ephesians 2:14). The peace of Christ passes understanding; it is a reconciliation of our very being with God and neighbor and even with the various forces that we find at work within ourselves. The peace of God is a peace of heart that does not necessarily translate into a cessation of external hostility, as the next verse will tell us. The peace of God is the fruit of righteousness: right relationship with God and neighbor. It is the rest we enter when we cease from our own labor. A person filled with such peace makes peace wherever he or she goes.

Jesus tells his disciples that when they enter a house, their peace will come upon it, if the house is worthy to receive it. Peacemakers bring peace with them. St. James says that peacemakers sow the fruit of righteousness in peace. Their hearts are free from envy, self seeking, partiality or hypocrisy so they are full of a wisdom that is pure, peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, and full of mercy and good fruits: what St. James calls the “wisdom from above” (James 3:13-18). Such a peacemaker is a man or woman with a pure heart, who has seen God and from whom the life of God radiates.

But peacemaking has a cost. Jesus made peace through his flesh, suffering the unjust attacks of those whom he loved. St. Paul in his letter to the Ephesians says that Jesus made peace by breaking down the wall that separates men, “to create in himself one new man” (Eph. 2:15). However, not everyone wants peace. Those who fear put their trust in walls, and those who tear them down become a threat to them. The peaceful man or woman will tear down walls, not necessarily by any external action, but by merely being themselves, full of the life, light and love of God. Consequently, they will be persecuted by those who put their trust in walls.

Advice on Prayer

Prayer requires a certain longing of the heart. Certainly discipline is involved; but, and this is merely my opinion, forcing yourself to say prayers may not be the answer either. People seem to make too big a deal about prayer rules. Like the Sabbath keeping that made some of the Jews miss Christ in their midst, so I think prayer rules sometimes keep us from growing in our relationship with Christ. A prayer rule exists to help us, we do not exist to keep the prayer rule. If my prayer rule is not working, I change it.

The goal of a prayer rule is to produce prayer, not merely to say prayers. Jesus tells us that we are not heard because of our many words in prayer. A prayer rule that is drudgery and continually dry is no prayer rule at all, for it is not producing prayer. Prayer is communion with God, not saying words. Words are useful, they can help us pray; but what our soul longs for is connection—communion—with God. Sometimes (and this may go on for several days at a time) all I can do during my prayer time is stand before my icons and say “Lord have mercy.” I say “Lord have mercy” again and again until my heart is pained and I feel a little sadness, a little longing for God in my heart. If this feeling doesn’t come, then I kiss my icons, ask the forgiveness of Christ and all of the Saints and go on with my day gently repeating “Lord have mercy” and carrying a little sadness that I have not been able to connect with God. Sometimes, I need to read an inspiring book or passage to help me pray. There are times when I spend my whole prayer time reading, which creates a longing in me and produces prayer that stays in my heart throughout the day.

Keep in mind that the “ideal” prayer life that seems to influence most of us is based on a very regulated life, a life based on a monastic pattern. Most of us do not live such a life. And even in a monastery, not everyone attends every service (someone has to be cooking dinner during vespers) and not every season is the same (when the monks have to do hard manual labor, the prayers are greatly shortened, and sleep and food are increased). And yes, even monks fall asleep during services or saying the Jesus Prayer in their cells. We read the stories about saints who after a lifetime of labor (and with their unique graces and calling) are able to keep vigilant prayer alive in their hearts at all times. Who are we? We are beginners. We haven’t even yet begun to learn how to repent. In fact, it is only as we accept our failure, our inability to make ourselves pray, that we can start to know our dependence on God for help. This is where repentance begins: in accepting our failure. So long as we keep saying to ourselves, “I just have to try harder,” we are only extending our miserable delusion. Once we allow our hearts to be broken by our weakness, our lack of love, our inability to pray, then we can begin to find God’s help.

It wouldn’t hurt most of us who struggle in prayer to repeat continually the words of psalm 50, “A broken and a contrite heart You will not despise.” Let your own weakness break your heart, and God will accept that as an offering of much greater worth than any mechanically pumped out prayer rule.