Arkiv, Høytlesning
Desert Fathers 11
Below is the text of the eleventh episode in the series Desert Fathers in a Year. You can find it in video format here – a dedicated page – and pick it up in audio wherever you listen to podcasts. On YouTube, the full range of episodes can be found here.
Abba Mark said to Abba Arsenius: ‘Why do you flee from us?’ The elder said to him: ‘God knows that I love you. But I cannot be with God and with people. The myriads and chiliads on high have one will; human beings meanwhile have many wills. Therefore I cannot abandon God in order to walk among people.’
Arsenius cuts a dashing figure in the desert landscape. We know quite a lot about him. Born in Rome in the 350s into a Christian family, he received a fine education, acquiring great mastery in both Latin and Greek. Arsenius was ordained a deacon, set on a Roman clerical path. Then something unexpected happened. The emperor Theodosios heard of him and thought he would make a suitable tutor for his sons, the future emperors Arcadius and Honorius.
Arsenius was less than keen, but Pope Damasus encouraged him; so off he went to Constantinople, finding himself an honoured member of the imperial household, living in luxury. Arsenius gave himself fully to his task. Still, yearning for a different life, he felt out of sorts. In prayer he asked, ‘Lord, show me how I can be saved!’ He heard a voice that told him: ‘Arsenius, flee from human beings and you will be saved.’ Arsenius heeded. He left his secure position, status and wealth, and retired to the Egyptian desert. From being a grand personage, he became a nobody. He sought obscurity. The Fathers were sceptical at first. Would this cultivated la-di-da intellectual put up with the hardships of monastic life? Not only did they ascertain that he could. Arsenius was soon held in awe on account of his voluntary poverty, silence, self-exertion, and fervent prayer.
The pursuit of hesychia, ascetic peace, was his hallmark. The voice heard in Constantinople spoke to him in the wilderness, too: ‘Arsenius, flee, be silent, pursue peace, for these are the roots of sinlessness.’ Once an esteemed archbishop came out to see him, asking for a word. Arsenius asked, ‘If I do speak, will you follow what I say?’ The archbishop said, ‘Of course!’ Arsenius retorted, ‘Wherever you hear Arsenius is, don’t go there.’ Archbishops can be tenacious. This one later sent a servant ahead to ask Abba Arsenius if he would be received. Arsenius replied, ‘If you come, I shall open to you; if I open to you, I shall open to everyone. And then I shall not go on living here.’ The penny dropped. The archbishop left him in peace.
Admirable though Arsenius’s commitment is, we may ask if it is Christian to live like this. What about the commandments of love and service? Arsenius knew himself bound by them. When Abba Mark, puzzled, perhaps hurt, asked, ‘Why do you flee from us?’, the first thing Arsenius said was, ‘God knows that I love you!’ His was not a misanthropic flight. He made it clear that he would of course open the door to anyone who knocked, to offer hospitality and refreshment; only, he knew that what God asked of him was something different, a single-minded attention that life in a crowd would not allow. He sought the unification of his will, knowing he was vulnerable to distraction. Here his former life must be taken into consideration.
Arsenius was literate and articulate, of courtly habits. He knew how to please. Wishing to be a poor follower of the poor Christ, he was suspicious of these qualities, useful in their proper setting, but potentially obstacles to one summoned to a life of self-oblation. That is why God inspired in him the counsel: ‘flee, be silent, pursue peace’. From it we can draw two lessons. First we learn that natural gifts may at time stand in the way of supernatural maturing. If I am very good at something, and recognised by others as being good, I am tempted to define myself in terms of this gift. The gift is a blessing; but once I display it as a possession in search of admiration or power it may exercise corrupting influence. It takes purity of heart to negotiate great talent.
Arsenius was wary of his way with words, of his charm. So he withdrew to be cleansed, turned towards God’s purifying fire. The second lesson is this: God sometimes distils a particular vocation in a single imperative. To Arsenius the word was given: ‘Flee!’ Others may be told: ‘Cast off your chain!’, ‘Leave bitterness!’, ‘Forgive!’ It is good to pray at times: ‘Lord, what is your call to me?’ Then to listen, and obey.
Arsenius became, by staying true to his call, a transformed man. A brother who once passed by his cell happened to see Arsenius through the window. The old man was ‘entirely like a flame’. Amazed, the observer knocked. Arsenius came out. Seeing the brother marvelling, he asked, I’d think a little gruffly, ‘Have you been knocking long? Did you see anything?’ The other said, ‘No.’ So he talked with him a while and sent him away. His humility had become connatural. He kept his graces hidden. That is not to say that they did not bear fruit for the Church. St Paul reminds us that the Church is a body: ‘if one member is honoured, all rejoice together.’
An ancient liturgical poem celebrates the fruitfulness of Arsenius’s singular life:
By a flood of tears you made the desert fertile, and your longing for God brought forth fruits in abundance. By the radiance of miracles you illumined the whole universe! O our holy father Arsenius, pray to Christ our God to save our souls!
Amen to that.
