Fr. Michael shares reflections from his presentation on Theosis at the Orthodox Institute, held earlier this month at Antiochian Village. This is Part 2.

Fr. Michael shares reflections from his presentation on Theosis at the Orthodox Institute, held earlier this month at Antiochian Village. This is Part 3.

Fr. Michael shares reflections from his presentation on Theosis at the Orthodox Institute, held earlier this month at Antiochian Village. This is Part 4.

Fr. Michael shares reflections from his presentation on Theosis at the Orthodox Institute, held last month at Antiochian Village. This is Part 5.

Fr. Michael concludes his reflections from his presentation on Theosis at the Orthodox Institute, held last month at Antiochian Village. This is Part 6. Here is a link to the written text of his presentation: holynativity.blogspot.com/2014/11/st-isaacs-three-degrees-of-knowledge.html.

Fr. Michael shares about lessons learned from a poem by author Beatrix Potter and why he doesn't have a bucket list.

Fr. Michael shares his reflections from Abbess Thaisia: An Autobiography. Visit his blog.

Fr. Michael shares from St. Isaac the Syrian, "How one speaks of spiritual things is perhaps more important than the very spiritual matters themselves."

Fr. Michael talks about the Orthodox Church understanding of Paradise and our encounter with Paradise.

Fr. Michael shares his concerns with the familiar "Poop in the Brownies" story and offers some positive alternatives to talking about purity with children.

Fr. Michael continues his discussion from last week. "We should not teach our children that anything outside us can defile us.... The defilement is already in our hearts and what we avoid, we avoid because it stirs up the disordered passions of my heart."

Fr. Michael shares about the paradox of being sinners, but not sinning.

Fr. Michael reflects on the life and death, and continuing life, of Annie, the grandmother of one of his parishioners.

Fr. Michael shares helpful words for the beginning of Great Lent from Chapter 21 of the Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian.

Have you felt a lack of love from church leaders? Fr. Michael responds to a reader of his blog about a question related to his recent podcast about Abbess Thaisia: "I am struggling with much of the same issue in your excerpt posted from Thaisia in regards to discouragement with those in church leadership and a lack of love by those in the church."

At this point in Great Lent, are you frustrated with your ability to draw near to God? Fr. Michael reminds us that we are not alone, and shares encouragement from St. Isaac the Syrian.

Fr. Michael shares his thoughts about how Christians can respond to violence in our world. "One cannot help being deeply troubled by the latest wave of persecution against Christians perpetrated by the ISIS movement. It is a terrible situation that demands from Christians everywhere some sort of response. To do nothing seems intolerable. We feel we must respond, but how?"

"One of my big confusions during the first few years of my journey as an Orthodox Christian was caused by an assumption I had that words used by different Orthodox spiritual writers would refer to the same thing. It took me a few years and abundant consternation to finally figure out that, ... sometimes words take on slightly different meanings in one context than they have in another. Figuring this out the hard way cost me several years of headache wondering why apples sometimes looked more like oranges."

Fr. Michael shares from Homily 24 from St. Isaac the Syrian. "“Everything that can be perceived by the senses, whether an action or a word, is a manifestation of something hidden within.”

Fr. Michael shares from St. Isaac the Syrian. "St. Isaac advises us that when we find ourselves confronting either tedium or despondency, we need to call to mind why we are doing what we are doing. Why do I pray? Why do I read my bible? Why do I do any spiritual discipline that I do? I do it because I desire the hidden, spiritual realities. I desire to know God. St. Isaac tells us that we must allow this desire to generate expectation in us: expectation that God will come to my aid, expectation that soon something hidden will indeed be revealed to me; expectation that this simple act of being diligent and hanging in there will indeed bear fruit."

"In Homily 27, St. Isaac the Syrian speaks of two kinds of confidence. The first kind of confidence is what we generally mean when we say someone is confident. That is, the person is sure about what he or she is doing or saying. St. Isaac tells us that this kind of confidence is spiritually dangerous. It is dangerous because we live in an age of changeability, or 'ununiformity' as it is translated in the Holy Transfiguration edition of St. Isaac’s text. This ununiformity refers to the mutability or inconstancy we experience in this world. Things and people don't stay the same."

Probably the most controversial teaching of St. Isaac the Syrian is his teaching on Gehenna, or hell. Homily 27 begins with the following statement and explanation of St. Isaac’s thoughts on sin, Gehenna, and death: "Sin, Gehenna, and death do not exist at all with God, for they are effects [or acts], not substances."

One of the perennial struggles I have in the spiritual life comes from a form of pride that is lodged fast in me and manifests itself in an "all or nothing" attitude toward spiritual life and other life disciplines. It can take various forms in different arenas of my life, but it always follows a similar pattern. The pattern goes like this: I set a goal or rule or ideal for myself, one that I could easily achieve if I only apply myself a little. This goal could be a goal for work or for prayer; it could be a rule for conduct (such as how much computer time I will allow myself or how much and what I will or will not eat or drink); or it could be an ideal such as what a priest should look or act like. Any such goal or rule or ideal I set for myself I tell myself is reasonable and attainable if I only push a little, if I only apply myself.

“What must I do to be saved?” This is a natural question when we reach the stage of our spiritual journey at which we begin to realize that something is wrong, something is wrong between me and God. It is a natural question, but it is the wrong question, at least according to Archimandrite Aimilianos of Simonopetra (monastery on Mt. Athos).

Fr. Michael shares on Thomas Sunday, "Those who doubt, those who fear, those who hide and shut the doors are not cut off from the One who appears in rooms with closed doors."

Archimandrite Aimilianos of Simonopetra Monastery, in the first half of a transcribed (and then translated) speech called “The Progression of the Soul” speaks of stages to the beginning of the spiritual journey. Archimandrite Aimilianos tells us that strength really is about standing naked before God and before ourselves. Faithful application of strength and the power of the will is to deny our self-justifying delusions and unlike our forefathers and foremothers to step naked out of the bushes and to present ourselves to God without excuse, without prettying ourselves up first, embracing all of our weakness, all of our shadows, all of our inability and insignificance.

“This is the fiercest struggle, the struggle that resists a man unto blood, wherein free will is tested as to the singleness of his love for the virtues….It is here that we manifest our patience, my beloved brethren, our struggle and our zeal. For this is the time of unseen martyrdom…” What is this struggle that St. Isaac speaks of and how can it be overcome?

It is difficult for some of us who were raised on a theology of substitutionary atonement, those of us Protestant converts to holy Orthodoxy, it is difficult for us to accept that our final judgement will involve anything more than the forgiveness of sins. But the Church teaches us otherwise. Parables such as the Rich Man and Lazarus, and the Separation of the Sheep and the Goats play a huge role in the hymnology of the Orthodox Church and in its understanding of what our judgement before God will look like. That is, judgement before God is not merely about forgiveness of sin. But rather, the judgement of the Age to Come is also about comfort and torment; or as Christ puts it in the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Father Abraham speaking to the Rich Man who is in torment), “Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted and you are tormented.”

Many people hit a roadblock in their relationship with God when the weight of their sins catches up to them, when they realize they are trapped in a cycle of sin or habit of ungodly behaviour that they cannot control.

In one of his talks, St. Theophan speaks of the glories of life in a monastery and then he makes a the following statement: “Of course, many inconsistencies occur here, too…” Ah, there’s the rub. There’s the bit that throws us off, “many inconsistencies occur here, too.” And the saint says, “of course,” as though we should have never expected things to be consistent. But we do. We do expect things to be consistent and we are offended when they are not.

If we want to see God, where do we begin? Archimandrite Aimilianos says that we must begin with what we can do. We can seek; we can come to God with longing. In other words, if you want to see God, you have to want to see God. I’m not being redundant. There is wanting, and then there is wanting. I can want to become a doctor, for example; but if I don’t want to become a doctor more than I want to play video games, more than I want to hang out with my friends and more than just about anything else, I will never become a doctor. There is wanting, and then there is really wanting: wanting so much that it is pretty much all I want. And so we might say that if you want to see God, you have to want to see God more than just about anything else.

Mother Alexandra, formally Princess Ileana of Romania, back in 1960 wrote a little booklet called “Our Father: Meditations on The Lord’s Prayer.” The booklet is divided into fourteen prayers each focusing on a phrase from the Lord’s Prayer and arranged to be prayed with one’s morning and evening prayers over a week (so there’s a morning and an evening prayer for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc.). In the very last prayer, the prayer for Sunday evening, the prayer contains this sentence: “Only this have I to recommend me, that Thou has made me; nothing have I to give Thee, for all I have has come of Thee; only my love is mine to give or to withhold.” “Only my love is mine to give or to withhold.” What a powerful thought.

“So there you are on the heights, surveying the earth below and the sky above. Your intellect [nous] now begins to feel its freedom and wants to fly.” I enjoy reading spiritual literature from holy people in the Orthodox Christian tradition. I like it because I often catch glimpses of myself, of my own struggles and my own triumphs. In many ways, books have been like a surrogate spiritual father to me. However, there is also a great danger in reading books for spiritual guidance. Often—actually, just about always in my experience—the writers of spiritual books, especially the classical spiritual books of the Orthodox tradition such as The Ascetic Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian, The Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John of Sinai, and the the writings found in the Philokalia, these were written to be read by monastic men and women who have already attained to a high degree of spiritual life. They was written, we might say, for those who have already attained the foothills and have now set their eyes on the heights.

This morning my wife and I took one of our occasional half-day vacations. It’s a warmish 19 degree day (68 Fahrenheit) with the sun poking through the clouds. We walked a mile or so up a trail in the hills and then afterward stopped by a country tea and scone place for a bite and a chat and just some quite time together, Bonnie working on her knitting project and I reading a book (what else would I be doing?). Bonnie asked me what I was reading, so I read her a little quote from from Archimandrite Aimilianos. What does it mean to be dispassionate? It means turning exclusively to God, with all your strength, energy, power, and love. There is no turning aside to anything else whatsoever….

Young people, my daughters included, often say that there are no good candidates among the Orthodox Christians they know. I understand this problem. Often Orthodox Christian churches are small and choices are limited.

It is frightening to be held up by God. It is frightening to look into the abyss of our own darkness and sin. It is frightening and it is glorious. Or at least it can be glorious, once you learn to relax in God’s embrace, once you learn to trust the One who has held you from the your mother’s womb, the One whose love never fails. Once you learn to trust, then it can be glorious, then you can see not only your sin, but also the amazing and glorious works of God despite your sin.

On the Last Day, it’s not what we have done for Christ that will matter. What will matter is that we have known Him. What will matter is that we have focused on the one thing needful, on the hidden man of the heart.

Fr. Michael reflects on this quote from St. Isaac the Syrian (Homily 36), "A small affliction borne for God’s sake is better before God than a great work performed without tribulation; for affliction willingly borne brings to light the proof of love…."

"Truly, O Lord, if we do not humble ourselves, You do not cease to humble us. Real humility is the fruit of knowledge; and true knowledge, the fruit of trials." St. Isaac the Syrian Homily 36

In 1851, an anonymous monk on Mount Athos wrote a book on prayer. The title of the book has been translated as The Watchful Mind: Teachings on the Prayer of the Heart. It is a book that I cannot recommend for most people because, like much classic Orthodox spiritual writing (the Philokalia, The Ladder of Divine Ascent, The Ascetical Homilies of St. Isaac the Syrian, to name a few), it was written for people pursuing the spiritual life, a life in communion with God, in a very specific monastic setting, a setting that exists in very few places in the world today, or some might say—indeed have said—in a setting that does not exist at all in the world any more. And yet, these texts are nonetheless compelling for us because they bear witness to a relationship with God, an intensity of relationship with God, that many people in the world today long for.

Many of us have had mountain-top experiences at one time in our life or another. We have had times when God seemed right there, so close that, at that moment it seemed like nothing to offer God everything, to sacrifice all for the sake of Christ. These mountain-top experiences, at least for me, are very few and far between. It is a kind of miracle when this happens. But like most miracles, it happens not so that we don’t have to suffer, don’t have to slog through the rest of life on the plains. Rather, God gives us these moments as signs, as encouragement to keep us on the way, as a foretaste so that we know what the coming main meal will be. But the wonderful experience of nearness to God soon passes and we find ourselves back in the world, back in the arena of our salvation, back now having to fulfill the promise of giving our life to God. On the mountain top it seemed that it would be so easy, but on the plains, in the mud and snirt (a Canadian term referring to snow mixed with dirt), in the messiness of the lives we actually live, giving our life to God is much more difficult and messy than we ever imagined it would be.

One of the greatest frustrations in my spiritual life has been caused by a passion for certainty. You might call it a need to know, a need to know what God is doing in my life, a need to have some explanation for or feeling for why my life is the way it is right now. When I don’t know—or when I don’t have some explanation that I can tell myself is the reason why things are happening to me and around me the way they are happening—if I don’t have something I can say to myself that gives reason and explanation to the pain and apparent arbitrariness of my experience, then because I don’t know, I have a great deal of inner turmoil. And it often happens that the inner turmoil of not knowing—or not thinking that I know—why things are the way they are or what God is doing in my life and in the lives of those around me through the painful, unfair and unbearable circumstances I or we are experiencing, the pain of this not knowing is more tormenting than the actual suffering I experience from the circumstance.

As an Evangelical, I had been taught that everything that is really important (spiritually speaking) has to do introducing people to Jesus Christ. Presenting Christ was almost everything. I believed that once one was reconciled with God through Christ–which I understood to be a legal transaction–everything that was really important in one’s relationship with God had been taken care of. This assumption, or something very like it, pervades Evangelical writing.

We don’t clean ourselves up before we pray—then we would never pray (or we would only pray the prayers of the Pharisees). We come to God in prayer bringing all of our weaknesses with us, even, perhaps glorying in our weaknesses. We glory in our weaknesses because we know that any deliverance we experience, any good that comes from our lives will only be evidence of God’s great love and power to save even the most screwed up, even the chief of sinners. We glory in our weakness because we know that our weakness is only another opportunity for God to reveal His greatness.

Over the past several months, I have been reading up on the Lord’s Prayer. Basically what I have been doing is reading homilies written by ancient and contemporary fathers (and in a couple of cases, mothers) of the Church. In the next few podcasts, I’m going to share some of the ideas about the Lord’s Prayer that I found most useful along with the connections that I formed regarding them.

The Orthodox Divine Liturgy presents an introductory phrase in the form of prayer—as is typical in Orthodox Christianity, there is the prayer before the prayer. It goes like this: "And grant, O Lord, that with boldness and without condemnation we may dare to call upon you the Heavenly God as Father and to say." Why is it a daring thing to say the Lord’s Prayer? Why is it daring to call God "Our Father in heaven"?

People sometimes flee the Church because they encounter abusive people or situations there. And yes, we need to love, minister to, care for and most of all be patient with those who flee the church because of the bad experiences they have had. But still, there are no Lone-Ranger Christians. We are not taught to pray to “My Father in heaven,” but “Our Father in heaven.” God is the God who sees. God sees our suffering. God knows what we have been through. And God wants us to find our safety in Him. But this safe place in God is not a place far away from the Church—after all, all you have to do is pick up a newspaper to realize that the Church has no monopoly on the abusive use of power. There is no place on earth to flee in order to escape the risk of being abused by people with power. There is no place on earth, but there is a place in heaven. And so Jesus teaches his disciples to pray, “Our Father in heaven.”

After the introductory address of “Our Father in heaven,” the Lord taught His disciples to make three commands.

Fr. Michael shares his reflections on St. Isaac the Syrian's response to the question, "If, after a man has greatly toiled, laboured, and struggled, the thought of pride shamelessly assails him—taking occasion from the beauty of his virtues—and reckons up the magnitude of his toil, by what means should he restrain his thoughts and achieve such security in his soul as not to be persuaded by it?"

I had a conversation recently in which I couldn’t explain very clearly a comment I made several times, and as a result there was a certain amount of misunderstanding. I realize that perhaps many people have this same misunderstanding, and since it has to do with the Kingdom of Heaven, and how it “comes” or how we actually enter and live the life of the Kingdom of Heaven while we are still on earth, I thought that discussing this misunderstanding and how to overcome might be a good way to begin our discussion of “Let Your Kingdom come (as in heaven, so also on earth).”