Archive, Readings
Desert Fathers 44
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At a certain point Abba Poemen went into the land of Egypt to dwell there. It happened that there was, living next to him, a brother who had a woman. The elder knew about it, but did not put the brother to shame. It came to pass that one night the woman gave birth. Knowing what was going one, the elder summoned a young brother and said: ‘Take a jug of wine and give it to the neighbour, for today he has need of it.’ His brothers did not know what was going on. The brother [next door], though, was greatly profited. He repented. After some days he sent the woman away, giving her absolutely everything she needed. Then he came to the elder and said: ‘Abba, from today I will begin a new life.’ He came and built a cell for himself right next to that of the elder, going to see him often. And the elder shed light upon him. Pointing out the way that leads to God, he gained [his brother].
We have all faced this dilemma in one way or another. Someone close to us, someone we care for, does something reprehensible. We wonder whether we should try to put him right. If we decide to have a go, the still thornier question arises: how?
For our own sake the temptation is to bulldoze in and lay down the law. It is, after all, satisfying to be in the right. By making our point strongly, without mincing words, we affirm ourselves; what is more, we sense that justice is done to high principles. But will the other person receive what is given?
A correction made with anger, be the passion ever so subliminal, is likely to call anger forth, and resistance. There is a chance the door will be slammed in our face. We may then think: ‘At least now he knows!’ But will there be benefit ensuing? Do I correct my brother to feel good about it, or because I hope for his change of heart? If my intervention causes a hardening instead, I shall be responsible, and answerable, for it.
Special care must be taken when trespasses observed concern matters of the heart. We are vulnerable in this area, where all sorts of interconnections overlap. A slight slip of the surgeon’s scalpel risks affecting a vital function. Further, in such matters there is often a second party involved, who may carry no guilt at all, indeed, who may be the situation’s victim. Their integrity must be respected.
Poemen’s course of action is exemplary. It provides us with a paradigm applicable in a range of circumstances. In the story Poemen arrives abroad into a settlement where people are living with established habits. His move may be connected with bandit raids we know caused havoc in Scetis in the early fifth century, driving a number of monks to seek a new home elsewhere. Having found a convenient spot for his cell, Poemen observes the monastic neighbourhood. He sees that the next brother is living a double life. Outwardly a solitary, he is conducting an affair. The text says he ‘had a woman’. Poemen, a revered authority, could have raised an outcry: ‘Brothers, in our midst is one who brings shame on our profession!’
He does not do that. When a religious or priest fails in celibacy, there is often great sadness involved: loneliness, a sense of purposelessness, a loss of direction. Poemen is not satisfied to upbraid his neighbour; he is concerned for his salvation. In addition he cares for the woman, great with child. None of the other brothers knew what was going on. The couple were good at concealing their relationship. Poemen, meanwhile, was a true monk with eyes trained to see beyond appearance, into the secrets of the heart. He bided his time, waited for the opportune moment.
The day came for the woman to give birth. Poemen asked his assistant to call next door with a gift of wine. For us today, a bottle of wine in a smart gift bag is a gesture of celebration. I do not think this was the intent of Poemen’s gift. He sent it to his brother ‘for today he has need of it’. The wine was intended as sustenance after labour; it may have served hygienic purposes, as when the Good Samaritan poured ‘oil and wine’ on the wounds of the beaten-up man in the ditch, by way of first aid. Be that as it may, the erring brother received it as a sign of tenderness. He, who had thought his fault was secret, realised that Poemen, the great ascetic, has known about it long, yet had not spoken a censorious word or given an angry look. Instead he graced him, in his hour of testing, with a kind, much-needed gift. This was the impetus he needed to renounce duplicity and return to the path of his profession.
And the woman? We are not told much about her. She will have had her own tale to tell, her own wounds to be bound up. The monk did give her ‘everything she needed’, trying to provide for her justly. Should he have followed her into town? She may not have wanted it. He could have made her unhappy. There is material here for a Tolstoyan novel. We must content ourselves with what we know, however. The monk, having learnt the hard way what may happen when a man directs himself, entrusted himself to Poemen. Poemen, alive with the Spirit, ‘shed light upon him’, tracing out for him the way that leads to God. That way he ‘gained’ him, a turn of phrase that makes us think of the parable of the Prodigal Son. That is the end fraternal correction must always seek to reach. May we never forget it.
Francis Hayman, The Good Samaritan. Wikimedia Commons.