The Why? (third draft)

It’s advent. It is a season filled with hope and faith that gets sadly overshadowed by the commercialization of this holiday. The giving inflates and the reasons get moved aside like that last end-piece of the fruitcake at the party. What’s so important about this season is that it’s representative of the word “coming” in two unique ways. One, we are celebrating the first coming of Christ, the excitement and joy that is found in His birth on Christmas. And two, the word “coming” is what engages our faith and hope. We are declaring that we indeed desire His second coming. Though we may say we desire Him, the proof is in the plum pudding, so to speak. We must behave and believe we want Him to return to us. The philokalia project is preparation and improving readiness to fortify this declaration.

It’s advent. And in May of this year I tried to start this blog and got through 2 posts and paused. Okay, I paused for months and months. I was paralyzed by the thought of these posts not getting to the true meaning and perfect articulation of what I wanted to express about this project. But as I live and suffer through this lesson, I’m learning that it is when I embrace my humanness, my very imperfect self that I can invite the Holy Spirit into my life to heal my wounds. I’ll need to tell myself this over and over for days on end and years to come but I’m the only one who thinks I need to be perfect. God for certain knows I’m not. And the ones who love me truly see I’m not. Our imperfections don’t define us. So in the spirit of Christmas (the hopefulness of Christ’s return) I’m going to blast through the devil’s attempt to hold me up. I’m going to blast through the fear of posting an imperfect post. Even more, I’m going to leave up my previous posts for which this was meant to be yet another draft. (As writers, we should love our imperfect first (and second) drafts.) I’m going to begin this project, as I’ve wanted to do for months now, and struggle through it with prayer, study and my faith.

The Why? (second draft)

Recently I read the account of St Ignatius’ St. Paul-like conversion to a Christian way of life. The image conscious and fame seeking man suffered a devastating injury to his legs in battle leaving him rather unable to pull off the trendy tight leggings of the royal courts in that time. His vanity got the better of him and he decided on a cosmetic surgery, quite elective for the time, to fix his legs. While he lay there healing for months, he read Vitu Jesu Christi and Flos Sanctorum among others. His conversion thereafter was actually rather unlike St. Paul’s in quickness but similar in significance and completeness from start to finish. It’s as if a small seed was planted upon those readings in Iñigo’s heart, one that first needed to grow strong roots before any blossom could come forth. St Ignatius went on to be the author of Spiritual Exercises, the founder of the Jesuits and a teacher, both by example and word, of Christianity. Inspired by his faith he spread the Word of God.

It’s no small thing to do but as my Christian faith has so far taught me, it’s an ultimate example and representation of oneself. Reading of his conversion I wondered what work of the Holy Spirit struck with him and drove out the darkness in his soul to take on such a dramatic change. I wondered and longed for the same connection in Christ to live Christianity. I feel silly dreaming of being a saint and trying to find some common ground there. The common ground is only that we were both made in the image and likeness of God and born with Original Sin. Our times, our opportunities, our minds, are all different. But just as Christ lives, so does the burning desire in our souls to find Him in our hearts. I share that desire with St. Ignatius and I believe that others living now do too. The philokalia is to act as my itinerary in guiding me towards that consciousness with Christ. I’m inviting my readers (or reader as I think it is now) to join in prayer for this journey of mine and the journey’s of others who have yet to be lead toward Christ or are in the current moments of doing so now. It’s epic. And I’m happy to share my struggles and successes here.

The Why? (first draft)

I can't help but think that even though I've been raised a good (Roman) Catholic girl, attend mass regularly, and attempt on a near daily basis to live the life of a Christian I've somewhere gone astray. Have we all just answered the question by convention that a Christian is one who participates in a Church and lives charitably? Is that the standard? Does it seem good enough to be in and out of practicing Christianity, to say that I'm a follower of Christ and yet exhibit few or little signs in the passing days that I am what I say? The words that expose me as Christian are very simply just words. I fear no one would mark me as the kind of person I expect and desire to be were they to be asked of my reputation. I should add, too, that I am by no means a poor Christian. The work to follow the commandments and practice moral virtues is not what I here bring into question. My 'inner' spiritual self (an explanation that will be elaborated on next and is representing in the introduction of the Philokalia) is the true concern; my devotion. Of all the hours in the day I participate very little in reminding myself of God's presence and meaning. And though I may practice in obvious action what seems to be fine behavior, my contributions and sacrifice for my spiritual well-being, which has the utmost value, has fallen short. In the end, and as always, I believe that Christianity is the answer. My belief and spirit ought match in fervor. I'm looking to bridge that gap. Here I will take a genuine step. My first mindful effort towards a union with God from each present moment, where I reach out my hand to God and prove that it is my wish to return to Him (Jeremiah 24:7). Enter Philokalia.

I wanted something pure, something raw, something old. I wanted something I knew would be true as I read it. Nothing by someone who had too much to say that really ended up being more about them and less about what they wrote. I wanted what would immediately resonate and continue to live in me like throbbing embers of a fire. I was standing there in the Christianity section with flint and dry grass holed in my heart waiting for a text to strike the stone. I stared along the bindings of books, up and down shelves for rows and rows. A truly boring looking book caught my eye. The plain cover was promising; one muted color and black lettering. It wasn't trying to sell itself. This book needed no persuasion. You are either drawn to it and what's inside, or it's not for you. I shut it nearly just as quick as I opened it. I only needed a glimpse of the page to notice how the words were joined with such ease and flawlessness, and yet revealed (so immediately) such profound simplistic truths. Sparks flew. None lit just yet but I hadn't given it a chance. This thing deserved my full, undivided attention.

Thus, The Philokalia Project. I've read my fair share of books on contemplative prayer and Christianity, even Orthodoxy; Thomas Merton, Thomas a Kempis, Kallistos Ware, Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, etc. I've devoted a relatively small amount of time to its practice and an even smaller amount of time to thinking about what it means to be a Christian...until now.

The Jesus Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

This prayer is the roots upon which the Philokalia and Christianity live. In perhaps the shortest combination of words to do so, it speaks the whole Truth and all we need to remember (perpetually) as members of the Church. It also represents the beginnings of my introduction to the Philokalia. I came to it as most do to Christ, in the hour of my deepest need. If ever there is a perfect time to know that you are and always will be a child of Christ, it is during the moments of darkness when you are haunted relentlessly by the enemy and led so deliberately close to the edge of doubt. It was suggested to me during a period of such blackness that the Jesus Prayer be my 'worm'; the words I would utter endlessly throughout my days in pursuit of perspective and hope. I would later settle on both it and the second half of the Hail Mary. (Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.) These recitations work. I'm not sure where I will be after my trip through the Philokalia. I'd imagine work, in the accomplished sense of the word, will take on a much different meaning for me by the end. But for now (and in the darkness) work only means having me live to see another day - still a sheep among the heard.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Amen.