There is a remarkable clarity in these sayings and stories a piercing simplicity that both unsettles and consoles. The Evergetinos places before us the most difficult and necessary truth. The evil done to us is not a detour on the spiritual path but the path itself. Wickedness does not destroy wickedness. Resentment never cures resentment. Anger never frees us from anger. Only goodness that is unmerited and uncalculating has the power to unmake what evil intends to build. It is a truth we often admire in abstraction and dread in practice. The Fathers do not theorize about forgiveness. They reveal what forgiveness becomes when enfleshed. A man betrayed unto martyrdom thanks his betrayer for delivering him to blessing. A brother who has been stealing bread from a starving elder receives not reproach but gratitude. The monk who finds his life endangered cries out to warn the very man who led him into danger and would have robbed him. These stories do not soften the challenge but intensify it. The gospel is not a philosophical proposition but a cruciform way of being. And the cross is never abstract. It always has a name and a face and a voice that has wounded us. It is in the seventh story that the Fathers hand us the key for understanding the rest. The one who injures me is not merely an adversary but a physician. The one who slanders or ignores or mocks me reveals the wound of my vainglory. The one who takes what is mine uncovers my greed. The encounter that disturbs my peace does not create the sickness. It unmasks it. To resent the one who exposes it is to reject the medicine of Christ. It is to say to the Healer not this way not through this pain not at this cost. Yet without accepting what is bitter there can be no cure. Such a word lands upon the heart with weight. It does not flatter our natural instincts or offer comforting sentiment. It is a summons to a death of self that cannot be faked and cannot be delayed without consequence. But if these stories demand much they give even more. The elder who kissed the hands of the thief died with the joy of one who knew the road to the Kingdom was paved by the mercy he showed to others. The patriarch who ransomed the man who robbed him knew the sweetness of compassion that does not remember wrongs. The elder who visited his accuser in prison tasted the freedom of one whose heart was no longer governed by injury. There is joy here not the fleeting spark of vindication but the deep quiet illumination that comes when the soul sees that nothing done to us can keep us from the Kingdom if we allow grace to transfigure it. To forgive is not merely to release another. It is to be released. To bless those who curse us is to breathe a different air. To see those who injure us as agents of healing is to discover that the road into God is not guarded by our enemies but escorted by them. The Evergetinos does not give us a map but it reveals the terrain of the heart. It shows that the spiritual life depends less on what happens to us than on how we respond. And in doing so it opens before us not just a path but a promise. Mercy is not only an obligation but a liberation. Love is not only commanded but possible. And the wounds we receive if we accept them in Christ become the very places where the Kingdom dawns. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:17 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 321 00:01:23 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Number 2 00:04:20 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:09:55 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 321 section E, # 2 00:12:45 Catherine Opie: Apologies for being late where are we? 00:12:53 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 321 section E, # 2 00:21:21 John Burmeister: are we talking money or a material item 00:25:16 Forrest: The Greek words in the passage for what to give is is μικρὰν εὐλογίαν, which is a literally "small good word."  that, is, a small good blessing. 00:25:49 Una’s iPhone: Simone Weil? 00:26:02 John Burmeister: Reacted to "The Greek words in t..." with 👍 00:26:14 Una’

St. Isaac speaks as one who knows the earthquake at the root of the soul where pride fractures us from God and humility alone builds a refuge strong enough to endure the storm. His words are not gentle suggestions for the religiously inclined. They are fire. They are rope flung into deep water. They are an indictment of every heart that waits for suffering to discover prayer for temptation to discover the need for mercy for collapse to remember God. “Before the war begins, seek after your ally.”This is the secret. The humbled man begins today when there is no battle when the sea is calm and the sky soft. He builds his ark plank by plank small obediences simple prayers hidden acts of self abasement not because the flood is visible but because he knows it is certain. This is the wisdom of the saints: that peace is the time for labor not repose. The iniquitous drown because they mock preparation. They call upon God after pride has stripped them of confidence. Their throat is tight when they pray because they never bent it before in the dust. Humility is the timber that keeps the soul afloat when the heavens split open. St. Isaac dares to tell us that a good heart weeps with joy in prayer. Not from sentimentality not from sorrow alone but from the unbearable nearness of God. Tears become proof that the heart has softened enough to feel Him. A proud heart however disciplined outwardly prays like a clenched fist. It asks but it does not need. It petitions but does not depend. A humble heart begs like a man drowning and this is why God hears him. “Voluntary and steadfast endurance of injustice purifies the heart.”Here the Saint wounds our sensibilities. He tells us that we cannot become like Christ unless we willingly stand beneath the blow and let it fall without retaliation without argument without self defense. Only those for whom the world has died can endure this with joy. For the world’s children honor is oxygen. To be slandered or forgotten is death. But when the world is already a corpse to us when reputation comfort applause identity have all been buried then injustice becomes not humiliation but purification. Not defeat but ascent. This virtue is rare he says too rare to be found among one’s own people one’s familiar circles one’s comfortable life. To learn it often requires exile the stripping away of all natural support so that only God remains. He alone becomes the witness of one’s patience. He alone becomes consolation. He alone becomes vindication. And then comes the heart of St. Isaac’s blow: “As grace accompanies humility so do painful incidents accompany pride.”Humility is the magnet of mercy. Pride is the invitation to destruction. God Himself turns His face toward the humble not in pity but in delight. Their nothingness is spacious enough for Him to enter. He fills emptiness not fullness. He pours glory into the vessel that has shattered self importance. But when pride rises like a tower God sends winds against it not to annihilate us but to collapse what we build against Him. The humble man does not seek honor for he knows what it costs the soul. He bows first greets first yields first. His greatness is hidden like an ember under ash but heaven sees it glowing. Divine honor chases him like a hound. It is the proud who chase praise and never catch it but the self emptying who flee honor and find it placed upon them by the hand of God. “Be contemptible in your own eyes and you will see the glory of God in yourself.”Not self hatred but truth. Not despair but sobriety. Not rejection of one’s humanity but recognition that without God we have no light no love no breath. When we descend beneath ourselves God descends to meet us. When we stop defending our wounds He heals them. Humility is not psychological abasement but the unveiling of reality: only God is great and the one who knows this sees God everywhere even within his own nothingness. Blessed truly blessed is the man who seems worthless to others yet

There is a single thread running through these lives and sayings, like a hidden vein of gold through rough stone. It is the fierce and terrifying command of Christ to love those who wrong us, to turn every injury into an open door to the Kingdom, and to see in every enemy the physician of our soul. In Saint Longinos we see what it means when love has completely displaced fear. He receives the men sent to kill him as honored guests. He feeds them, questions them gently, and when he learns they are to be his executioners, his heart does not recoil. He does not expose them, does not flee, does not calculate how to save his life. He rejoices. He calls them bearers of good things. He sees their swords as the keys that will unlock the true homeland, the Jerusalem on high. The hospitality he offers them becomes the doorway to his martyrdom, and his martyrdom becomes the consummation of that hospitality. He has so fully handed his life to Christ that those who come to destroy him are welcomed as friends. In Saint Theodora, there is a quieter, but no less burning, heroism. Those who envy her virtue set a trap for her and quietly send her into danger at night, hoping she will be devoured by beasts. God turns the malice back on itself. A wild animal guides her like a gentle servant and later nearly kills the doorkeeper, whom she then rescues, heals, and restores. When the superior asks who sent her into such danger, she protects her brothers and hides their sin. She will not expose them, even when the truth would justify her and reveal their cruelty. She bears their malice in silence and lets grace fall on those who had wished her dead. Her humility is as great a wonder as the miracle. Abba Motios shows us what reconciliation looks like in a heart that has allowed grace to ripen over time. He has been opposed, wounded, and driven away. Yet when he hears that the very brother who grieved him has come, he does not hesitate. He breaks down the door of his own hermitage in his eagerness to meet him. He prostrates, embraces, entertains, and rejoices in the one who had been the cause of his exile. The one who injured him becomes the occasion of his elevation to the episcopacy. The doorway to deeper sanctity is opened not by separation, but by reconciliation freely embraced. The conclusion is inescapable and sobering. To keep a grudge is to consent to spiritual death. To hold tightly to injury is to loosen our hold on Christ. Rancor darkens the mind, gives demons room to rest, and drives true spiritual knowledge away, like smoke driving out bees. Yet the same stories also breathe hope. Every wrong remembered can be turned into prayer. Every face that stirs distress can become the face for whom I beg mercy. Every memory of injury can be transformed into an occasion for thanksgiving, if I accept it as medicine from the hand of Christ. The elders tell me to send a gift to the one who insults me, to pray fervently for the one who harms me, to keep my countenance joyful when meeting those who speak against me, to refuse even the secret delight when misfortune falls on someone who has hurt me. This is not softness. It is crucifixion. It is the slow, deliberate choice to let Christ’s mind and heart take shape in me, until I can look at those who betray me and say with truth: you are the cause of blessings for me. If I want to belong to Christ, then I must learn to see every enemy as a hidden benefactor, every wound as a gate, every slight as a purifying fire. The saints do not simply tell me to let go of resentment. They show me how far love can go, and how much is at stake. Between Longinos and those who killed him, between Theodora and her envious brothers, I am being asked to choose which heart will become my own. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:49 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Volume II Page 317 Section C 00:03:37 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:08:36 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Volume II Page 317 Section C 00:10:2

St. Isaac speaks as one who knows the earthquake at the root of the soul where pride fractures us from God and humility alone builds a refuge strong enough to endure the storm. His words are not gentle suggestions for the religiously inclined. They are fire. They are rope flung into deep water. They are an indictment of every heart that waits for suffering to discover prayer for temptation to discover the need for mercy for collapse to remember God. “Before the war begins, seek after your ally.”This is the secret. The humbled man begins today when there is no battle when the sea is calm and the sky soft. He builds his ark plank by plank small obediences simple prayers hidden acts of self abasement not because the flood is visible but because he knows it is certain. This is the wisdom of the saints: that peace is the time for labor not repose. The iniquitous drown because they mock preparation. They call upon God after pride has stripped them of confidence. Their throat is tight when they pray because they never bent it before in the dust. Humility is the timber that keeps the soul afloat when the heavens split open. St. Isaac dares to tell us that a good heart weeps with joy in prayer. Not from sentimentality not from sorrow alone but from the unbearable nearness of God. Tears become proof that the heart has softened enough to feel Him. A proud heart however disciplined outwardly prays like a clenched fist. It asks but it does not need. It petitions but does not depend. A humble heart begs like a man drowning and this is why God hears him. “Voluntary and steadfast endurance of injustice purifies the heart.”Here the Saint wounds our sensibilities. He tells us that we cannot become like Christ unless we willingly stand beneath the blow and let it fall without retaliation without argument without self defense. Only those for whom the world has died can endure this with joy. For the world’s children honor is oxygen. To be slandered or forgotten is death. But when the world is already a corpse to us when reputation comfort applause identity have all been buried then injustice becomes not humiliation but purification. Not defeat but ascent. This virtue is rare he says too rare to be found among one’s own people one’s familiar circles one’s comfortable life. To learn it often requires exile the stripping away of all natural support so that only God remains. He alone becomes the witness of one’s patience. He alone becomes consolation. He alone becomes vindication. And then comes the heart of St. Isaac’s blow: “As grace accompanies humility so do painful incidents accompany pride.”Humility is the magnet of mercy. Pride is the invitation to destruction. God Himself turns His face toward the humble not in pity but in delight. Their nothingness is spacious enough for Him to enter. He fills emptiness not fullness. He pours glory into the vessel that has shattered self importance. But when pride rises like a tower God sends winds against it not to annihilate us but to collapse what we build against Him. The humble man does not seek honor for he knows what it costs the soul. He bows first greets first yields first. His greatness is hidden like an ember under ash but heaven sees it glowing. Divine honor chases him like a hound. It is the proud who chase praise and never catch it but the self emptying who flee honor and find it placed upon them by the hand of God. “Be contemptible in your own eyes and you will see the glory of God in yourself.”Not self hatred but truth. Not despair but sobriety. Not rejection of one’s humanity but recognition that without God we have no light no love no breath. When we descend beneath ourselves God descends to meet us. When we stop defending our wounds He heals them. Humility is not psychological abasement but the unveiling of reality: only God is great and the one who knows this sees God everywhere even within his own nothingness. Blessed truly blessed is the man who seems worthless to others yet

The Evergetinos gathers these stories around a single, unsettling truth:those who endure injustice with gratitude and refuse to avenge themselves become truly rich, and God Himself becomes their defender. Abba Mark says it simply and without comfort: “He who is wronged by someone, and does not seek redress, truly believes in Christ, and receives a hundredfold in this life and eternal life in the age to come.” The measure is not whether we suffer wrong, but what we do with it. Injustice is assumed. The question is whether we turn it into a weapon or an altar. Gelasios endures theft and humiliation at the hands of Vacatos. He stands his ground about the monastic cell for God’s sake, but he does not pursue his abuser, does not drag him to court, does not stir up others to defend him. He lets God see. And God does see. Symeon unveils Vacatos’ hidden intent, and the man’s own journey to prosecute the “man of God” becomes the road of his judgment. The Elder does nothing, yet everything is revealed. His stillness becomes the place where the truth about both men is made manifest. Pior works three years without wages. Each time he labors, each time he is sent away empty-handed, and each time he returns quietly to his monastery. His silence is not cowardice; it is poverty of spirit. The employer’s house, not Pior’s heart, collapses under injustice. Only when calamity has broken him does he go searching for the monk, wages in hand, begging forgiveness and confessing, “The Lord paid me back.” Pior will not even reclaim what is his. He allows it to be given to the Church, because his life is no longer measured by what he is owed. He has stepped out of the economy of recompense into the freedom of God. The Elder whose cell is robbed twice endures in an even more piercing way. First he leaves a note: “Leave me half for my needs.” Then, when all is taken, he still does not accuse. Only when the thief lies dying, tortured in soul and unable to depart, does he confess and call for the Elder. As soon as the Elder prays, his soul is released. The one who was wronged becomes the priest at the threshold of death. The one who stole cannot die in peace until he passes under the mercy of the man he robbed. Here judgment is revealed as truth entering the heart, and God’s “avenging” consists in turning the wound of the innocent into medicine for the guilty. In Menas, this same mystery ripens into martyrdom. Menas stands literally on bones, his flesh cut away, and chants, “My foot hath stood in uprightness.” His body is mutilated, but his praise is whole. The attempt to silence him only reveals where his life truly rests. In the end even his persecutor becomes a believer and shares his martyrdom. In Menas, injustice is not merely endured; it becomes the final gift by which God crowns His friends. Peter’s discourse with Clement names the inner logic of all this. Those who wrong others, he says, actually wrong themselves most deeply, while those who are wronged, if they endure with love, gain purification and forgiveness. Possessions become occasions of sin; their unjust loss, when borne rightly, becomes the removal of sins. Enemies, for a brief time, maltreat those they hate—but in God’s providence they become the cause of their victims’ deliverance from eternal punishment. Seen this way, those who harm us are, in a hidden manner, our benefactors. Only the one who loves God greatly can bear to see this and respond with love instead of resentment. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:03:52 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 310 Volume II - Section B 00:08:56 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 310 Volume II - Section B 00:10:20 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:18:09 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 310 Volume II - Section B 00:18:15 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: http://Philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:21:46 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 310 section B 00:32:59 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 312 # 2 00:34:19 Anthony: Witholding wages is one of the few sins that cry out to h

St Isaac reveals a truth that is both luminous and frightening. He tells us plainly that nothing shapes the soul more profoundly than the afflictions God allows. In prosperity, the heart drifts. It forgets that it is a creature, and begins to imagine that the strength of its own hand has gained these things. In comfort, the soul becomes dull. In praise, it becomes intoxicated. And in success it begins, slowly, almost imperceptibly, to enthrone itself. So God, in His mercy, disrupts this illusion. He sends the tutors of grief and the teachers of fear. Not because He delights in suffering, but because He knows what the soul becomes without it. St Isaac speaks with severity because he has seen the madness of those who, having tasted power, wealth, or health, forgot the One who gave them breath and dared to call themselves gods. Nothing is more lethal to the spiritual life than a life free from the memory of God. Thus God places the soul in the crucible of adversity so that remembrance might be rekindled. He stirs us with the fear of things hostile, not to crush us, but to drive us toward the gate of His mercy. And when He delivers us, His deliverance becomes a seed of love. When He comforts us, His comfort becomes a memory of His providence. When He saves us, His salvation becomes the ground of gratitude. This is the strange and paradoxical path St Isaac sets before us:afflictions become the birthplace of divine sonship.Within their furnace the soul learns who God is, learns how He cares, learns how to love and to give thanks. But St Isaac pushes further. Affliction alone is insufficient if the soul does not respond with remembrance. Forgetfulness is the true death, the soul’s quiet apostasy. Thus he commands:Seat yourself before the Lord continually.Do not let your heart wander into trivial anxieties lest, when the hour of trial comes, you find yourself unable to speak boldly before the One you barely remember. Intimacy with God is born of continual conversing with Him. Forgetting Him is not merely a lapse but a rupture in the bond of trust. And then he reveals the fruit: from long abiding in this remembrance, the soul is drawn into wonder. The heart that seeks the Lord begins to rejoice. The condemned become strengthened. The repentant become purified by the brightness of His face. Finally, St Isaac places before us the two paths, both simple and searching.The sinner who returns will not stumble over his sins; the Lord will not remember them.The righteous man who falls and persists in his sin cannot rely on his former virtues; he will die in the darkness he has chosen. Everything depends on the present turning of the heart. St Isaac’s words strike with the clarity of desert fire. Affliction is not the enemy but the womb of remembrance. Suffering is not punishment but invitation. Every grief becomes a gate. And the soul that accepts the discipline of remembrance, that seats itself continually before God, finds that even the darkest circumstances become a field where the seeds of divine love take root and flower. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:03:23 Sam: Hi Fr. Greetings from hot and humid oz. Could you please let me know your email address. I'll reach out and let you know of my schedule as keen to travel to Pittsburg. Thanks Sam 00:03:57 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: philokaliaministries@gmail.com 00:04:04 Sam: Thanks 00:12:07 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 162 paragraph 24 00:12:28 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:14:50 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:14:52 Thomas: Good 00:14:59 Thomas: In library for study tables so can’t talk 00:15:17 Thomas: Fall season is over but we’ve got lifts and conditions now 00:15:29 Thomas: Yeah it’s not great 00:16:05 Thomas: That has happened a couple times 00:16:42 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:16:43 susan: how is laurie recovering? 00:33:56 Maureen Cunningham: Brother Lawrence 00:36:59 Maure

There are moments when the Evergetinos confronts us with a vision so stark and so luminous that it seems almost uninhabitable. It is not a juridical vision of justice. It is not a measured discourse about the protection of innocents. It does not weigh competing moral claims or concerns about equity or rights. What it reveals is something else entirely. It opens before us the divine ethos, the mode of being that belongs to those who have been seized by God, transformed by grace, and re-shaped through hesychia into a likeness of Christ that defies all earthly logic. It is the unvarnished gospel in its rawest form. When the philosophers insult the monk from the Libyan desert, and he rushes toward them with eagerness, offering his cheek to their hands, it is not a lesson in social ethics. It is not a prescription for how a parent is to protect a child or how a citizen must respond to injustice. It is a revelation of the interior world of a man who watches over his mind and hopes only in the grace of God. The philosophers fast. The philosophers keep vigil. They practice disciplines that appear nearly identical. What they cannot do—what they admit they cannot do—is guard the mind in purity and allow insults to pass through the heart without stirring anger. In this they recognize the divine in the monk. They bow to him because a man who can endure injustice without disturbance is living from a realm they cannot inhabit. The Evergetinos offers no apologies for this. It does not soften its witness. When the elder watches his garden destroyed and asks only to keep a single root so he might cook for the one who has wrecked the rest, he is not giving us a moral theory. He is revealing what the human heart becomes when it rests in the Spirit. The elder who lights a lamp for thieves and joyfully hands them his last coins is not attempting to reform criminal behavior, nor is he calculating social consequences. His joy is not naivete. It is the fire of Christ’s own meekness living in him. And yet we must be honest. These stories do not address the complexities of the world in which most people live. They do not speak directly to the father protecting his family, the mother guarding her children, the priest shepherding a wounded community, or the layperson navigating systems of injustice. The Evergetinos does not pause to balance competing goods. It does not acknowledge the dangers that arise when evil is left unchecked. It is not a handbook for civil society. It is something far more dangerous. It presents us with the highest vision of a human heart purified by grace, a life transfigured to such a degree that it can absorb wrongs as Christ absorbed them. The gospel is not diluted. In fact, it becomes unbearable in its purity. The elder who prays for the grace to respond to thieves with joy receives exactly what he asks for. God answers him not with consolation but with thieves at his door. He lights a lamp, welcomes them, opens his coffers, and blesses them as they leave with everything he owns. He asks for nothing in return, not even their repentance. When asked whether they came back like the thieves in the story, he laughs and says he preferred that they did not. He was not following a legal principle. He was walking the path he had begged God to let him walk. The suffering he endured was not a loss. It was the fruit of a longing for likeness with Christ. And then there are the stories of divine recompense, e.g., St. John the Merciful and the miraculous jars of honey that turn to gold, the injustices endured by monks which become occasions for God to act as avenger. These are not examples of magical thinking. They are testimonies that God sees everything, that the meek are not abandoned, that those who refuse to avenge themselves have placed their trust in the only One capable of true judgment. The elders are not naïve about injustice. They simply refuse to litigate their own wounds. They trust that God Himself will set things

The Evergetinos sets the bar of freedom in a surprising place: anger without cause is not when we flare up over trifles, but whenever we react to any ill-treatment aimed at us. Abba Poimen sharpens the point: even if a brother were to gouge out an eye or cut off a hand, anger would still be without cause—unless he were separating us from God. In other words, the only justified “anger” is zeal for communion with God; all other indignation binds us to the injury and darkens the nous. From this first edge, the text moves to the Christ-likeness of suffering injustice. One who willingly bears wrongs and forgives becomes “like Jesus”; one who neither wrongs nor suffers wrong is merely “like Adam”; one who wrongs is “like the Devil.” The goal is not moral equilibrium but kenosis: to descend into the humility of Christ who “was reviled and did not revile in return.” The Evergetinos then baptizes our imagination with stories. Abba Gelasios’ costly book is stolen; he neither exposes the thief nor reclaims it, but quietly commends the buyer to purchase it. His silence pricks the thief’s conscience more effectively than accusation; repentance follows, and the thief remains to be formed by the elder’s life. Abba Evprepios helps thieves carry his goods; noticing a robber’s staff left behind, he runs after them to return it. Abba John the Persian offers to wash the feet of intruders; shame breaks their hardness more swiftly than punishment. Abba Makarios not only helps a thief load a camel with his own belongings; when the animal refuses to rise, he adds the missing tool and blesses the thief’s going—only then does the camel sit again, until everything is returned. These vignettes train the heart to a habitual non-resistance that is anything but passivity; it is a deliberate, creative meekness that seeks the other’s salvation. Not all the stories end with goods restored. Sometimes the elder simply rejoices to have been counted worthy to lose. One monk prays to be given the chance to imitate such forbearance; when thieves finally come, he lights a lamp, shows them everything, even discloses the hidden coins. He does not wish them to bring anything back. Here dispossession becomes doxology. “We brought nothing into the world” and “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away” are not verses to be quoted at funerals only; they are the grammar of freedom in the face of loss. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:05:09 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 304 Letter E 00:05:25 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:10:42 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 304 Letter E 00:14:35 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:16:03 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 304, letter E, # 1 00:26:24 Forrest: I am really feeling a great challenge of these writings. Can you help integrate what is in the daily mass readings today: Luke 17:3 "Be on your guard!* If your brother sins, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him."  The paragraphs that we are reading here do not even counsel rebuke. 00:33:05 Kate : Would you say that this habitual non-resistance is necessary for the practice of repentance, the continual turning of the mind and heart to God?  That without this non-resistance, then our repentance is not yet where it needs to be. 00:34:04 Joan Chakonas: Its been my experience that suffering injustice is actually easier than attempting correction or pushing back. 00:34:34 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "Its been my experien..." with ❤️ 00:36:54 Joan Chakonas: My worst qualities arise when I engage in conflict or corrective confrontation.  I’m working on this 00:38:36 Joan Chakonas: I’m pretty old so I got this perspective from experience 00:39:00 Nypaver Clan: Reacted to "I’m pretty old so I ..." with 😃 00:39:59 Forrest: Reacted to "I’m pretty old so I ..." with 👍 00:40:04 Anthony: I wish we had available St Francis relationship with his family after his traumatic break. There is an account of a story with his brother, but did they all eve

God has no need of anything, yet St. Isaac tells us that He rejoices whenever a man comforts His image and honors it for His sake. The divine joy is found not in what is given but in the mercy that reflects His own. When the poor come to us, it is not their need that is the test but our response to the image of God standing before us. To refuse them is to turn away grace itself, to pass by the honor of having been found worthy to console another. The poor will not be abandoned—God will provide for them—but the one who closes his heart has turned aside the gift of participating in God’s own generosity. When we give, we should bless God who has sent us the opportunity; when we have nothing to give, we should bless Him even more for allowing us to share in the poverty of Christ and the saints who walked this same path of want and trust. Illness, too, is a visitation of mercy. God sends sickness for the healing of the soul, as a physician would apply bitter medicine to draw out hidden corruption. A monk who grows careless in his service, St. Isaac says, will be visited by temptation or affliction so that he may not sink deeper into idleness. God does not abandon those who love Him, but when He sees them drifting toward forgetfulness, He sends a trial to awaken them, to make them wise again. And though they may cry out to Him, He delays His response, waiting until they understand that their sufferings arise not from divine neglect but from their own sloth and negligence. His silence is not absence but instruction, a sign that He wishes the soul to seek Him with greater purity and perseverance. Why, we might ask, does the merciful Lord not always answer those who pray with tears? St. Isaac, quoting the prophet, answers: “The Lord’s hand is not shortened that it cannot save, but our sins have separated us from Him.” It is not that God cannot hear, but that our hearts have become deafened by self-love. The remedy is remembrance—unceasing recollection of God in all things. When the heart remembers God, He remembers us in the hour of trouble, and what once seemed a wall of silence becomes the threshold of communion. Temptations, St. Isaac says, are as near to us as our own eyelids. They arise not only from without but from within, springing up from the depths of our nature. Yet even this nearness is arranged by divine wisdom so that we might be compelled to knock at His door continually, that through fear and affliction the memory of God might be sown deep within us. The soul learns to pray, not to escape suffering, but to dwell in the presence of the One who alone delivers. Through long entreaty and endurance, we come to perceive that God Himself sustains and forms us, and that this world, with its griefs and trials, is a teacher preparing us for the world to come, our true home and inheritance. God does not make us immune to what is grievous, for such immunity would lead to pride. If we were never wounded, we would imagine ourselves divine and fall into the same delusion as the adversary. It is the burden of the flesh, the uncertainty of our days, the constant approach of temptation, that keeps us humble and dependent upon mercy. Thus, for St. Isaac, every circumstance—whether abundance or lack, health or sickness, prayer answered or unanswered—is arranged by a wisdom beyond our knowing. The goal is always the same: that we might remember God, that our hearts might be softened, and that our lives might be drawn into the rhythm of His compassionate love. The divine mercy, then, is not sentimental but purifying. It allows affliction so that grace may take deeper root. It permits delay so that desire for God might grow more ardent. To the one who endures with thanksgiving, every sorrow becomes a revelation: God, who fashioned and sustains us, is both our Chastiser and our Healer, our Teacher in this passing world and our Father who awaits us in the eternal one. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:20 Fr. Charbel Abernethy

The Evergetinos continues to unveil through the lives of the saints the beauty and power of a heart freed from anger and the desire for vengeance. In the story of Saint Spyridon and the deceitful shipowner we see how divine simplicity disarms deceit. The Saint entrusted his gold to another with pure confidence and without suspicion, and when that trust was betrayed he did not rage or demand justice. Instead he allowed truth to reveal itself in silence. The emptiness of the box became the mirror of the man’s soul, and the words of the Saint, spoken without bitterness, pierced him more deeply than any accusation. You are defrauding yourself, not me, he said. The gentleness of the holy man became the instrument of repentance. By leaving judgment to God and refusing anger, he brought a sinner back to truth and left a testimony of meekness that is stronger than any earthly power. Saint Evthymios the New of Madytos embodied the same spirit. When thieves broke into his church and desecrated what was sacred, he prevented others from punishing them and instead took them into his home. He fed them, freed them, and sent them away forgiven. The wrath of men would have destroyed them, but his mercy broke their hearts and restored them to life. Later when he found other men stealing wheat during a famine he did not rebuke them but joined in their labor, taking the place of the accomplice who had fled. The thief, seeing later who had helped him, was overcome with fear and awe. For Evthymios, compassion was the only response to human need. His heart was so formed by divine love that he no longer regarded anything as his own. He had been freed from the possessiveness that feeds anger and from the blindness that makes us see others as enemies. All these holy ones teach that freedom is born of meekness. Anger enslaves the heart to the one who offends it, while forgiveness releases the soul into the hands of God. To bear injustice without vengeance is not weakness but participation in the strength of Christ who on the cross asked forgiveness for His murderers. To the eyes of the world these men seem defeated, yet they are the victors in the only battle that matters, the struggle against the passions. O Lord, grant me this peace of the saints. When I am wronged, let me remember Saint Spyridon’s quiet mercy, Saint Evthymios’ compassion, and the Elders’ serene acceptance. Let me not defend myself with anger or words but entrust all things to You who judge with truth. Let me see in every loss the chance to become poor in spirit, in every insult the seed of humility, in every theft the call to freedom. Teach me to bless those who wrong me and to keep my hope unshaken, for You alone are my refuge and my portion. May my only vengeance be love, my only wealth contentment, and my only victory the peace that comes from Your presence. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:03:12 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:03:34 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 301, # 3 00:05:35 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:07:52 iPhone (6): Just letting you know new participant Joan Chakonas has joined the group. 00:09:21 iPhone (6): I’ll try to figure out how to change my id from “iphone6” if you see what I see 00:11:21 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:13:09 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 301 section 3 00:16:13 Janine: Sensus fidelium has been around for a long time 00:16:26 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://www.philokaliaministries.org/blog 00:16:38 Janine: It started with FSSP priests 00:16:57 jonathan: Reacted to "https://www.philokal..." with ❤️ 00:17:01 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "It started with FSSP..." with 👍 00:31:17 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 302,  D 00:55:19 Jerimy Spencer: Aloha Father, I’ve often wrestled with the idea of stewardship vs ownership as a multi-instrumentalist, I guard these gifts (and instruments) very carefully, but also feel when I can play, they belong to everyone 0

St. Isaac writes with the clarity of one who has walked through the fire of trial and found the peace that follows surrender. His words do not flatter the soul or soften the edges of the truth. They are meant to awaken us to the living reality of divine love. He shows that what we call faith must be tested, and what we call trust must be purified, until both rest entirely in God. He begins with the martyrs who endured every torment that flesh can bear. They suffered, he says, through a “secret strength” that came from God. Their pain did not prove divine absence but revealed divine nearness. The angels themselves appeared to them, not as symbols but as real presences sent to encourage and to shame the cruelty of their persecutors. The endurance of the martyrs becomes the measure of faith. Where human nature reaches its limit, divine power begins to act. Their calm in suffering, their peace under torture, proclaim that the providence of God surrounds those who love Him even when the world rages. St. Isaac then turns to the ascetics and hermits who made the desert a dwelling place of angels. These men and women renounced the world not in bitterness but in longing. They exchanged earthly things for heavenly communion. The angels, seeing in them kindred souls, visited them continually. They taught them, guided them, strengthened them when hunger or sickness overcame their bodies. They brought them bread, healed their wounds, foretold their deaths. The desert became a city where heaven and earth met in silence. For those who abandoned the noise of the world, the unseen world became near and familiar. This leads St. Isaac to the heart of his teaching. If we truly believe that God provides for us, why do we remain anxious? Anxiety is born of unbelief. To trust in ourselves is to live in misery, but to cast our care upon the Lord is to enter into peace. The one who has surrendered everything to God walks through life with a restful mind. He is not careless but free. His rest is not laziness but confidence born of faith. Isaac describes the path to this inner freedom. The soul must learn non-possessiveness, for without it the mind is filled with turmoil. She must learn stillness of the senses, for without stillness there is no peace of heart. She must endure temptations, for without them there is no wisdom. She must read and meditate, for without this she gains no refinement of thought. She must experience the protection of God in struggle, for without that experience she cannot hope in Him with boldness. Only when she has tasted the sufferings of Christ consciously can she have communion with Him. Finally, Isaac defines the true servant of God as one who has become poor for His sake and compassionate toward all. Such a person mortifies even natural desires so that nothing distracts from love. To give to the poor is to entrust one’s life to God’s care. To become poor for His sake is to discover inexhaustible treasure. Here St. Isaac’s realism becomes luminous. He is not describing a harsh ideal but the hidden logic of divine love. God draws near to those who entrust themselves wholly to Him. Angels surround those who choose the path of surrender. The heart that abandons anxiety finds itself upheld by grace. This is the holy folly of trust. It is the wisdom of those who live as though God alone is enough and who discover in that surrender a peace that cannot be taken away. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:04:28 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 158 paragraph 12 00:07:21 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:08:29 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 158 paragraph 12 00:09:17 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: http://Philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:12:11 Janine: Congrats and best wishes! REN and Max 00:13:46 Janine: Yes… would love to see the pictures! 00:13:53 Thomas: This may be a strange questions, but Is Natalia Tapsak (formally Wohar) sound familiar 00:14:30 Thomas: She was my Sunday school teacher and changed at my

The stories from the Evergetinos draw us into a vision of holiness that reaches far beyond passive endurance. The saints do not simply bear injustice with patience; they transform it by the power of divine love. Their silence is not weakness, nor their gentleness naivety. It is the strength of souls utterly freed from the tyranny of self, who see in those who wrong them not enemies but brothers blinded by ignorance or fear. Saint Libertinus, robbed and humiliated, offers even the whip that might strike the animal taken from him. His response reveals the freedom of one who has already renounced everything. Possession and loss have become meaningless to him in the light of Christ. His forbearance becomes the instrument through which God corrects the offenders, not by wrath but by wonder. The earth itself bears witness, as the frightened horses refuse to cross the river until restitution is made. The entire creation responds to the humility of a righteous man. Saint Marcian allows himself to be defrauded repeatedly, not because he is unaware, but because his heart sees deeper than the transaction. The fraud of the banker becomes a moment of salvation. The silent goodness of the saint pierces the conscience of the wrongdoer far more deeply than accusation could have done. His hidden act of mercy becomes a living sermon, spoken not with words but with grace. When the banker’s eyes are opened, the saint’s only concern is to avoid vainglory, not to claim vindication. He would rather lose money than lose humility. Saint Spyridon, guileless and compassionate, meets deceit and theft not with censure but with patient truth. His words to the dishonest buyer, “Perhaps you forgot to pay for it,” reveal the tenderness of one who seeks not to shame but to heal. Even to thieves caught in the act, he offers kindness, releasing them from invisible bonds and sending them away with a gift. He teaches by generosity, not severity. The thief’s heart is not crushed but awakened. These lives reveal that true correction flows not from moral superiority but from love purified by humility. The saints’ compassion does not end with forgiveness; it embraces those who harm them, holding them within the prayer of mercy. They see the image of God even in the one who steals or lies. They refuse to reduce a sinner to his sin. For us, these examples uncover how easily we mistake indignation for righteousness. We defend ourselves with words, cling to our sense of justice, and separate ourselves from those whose actions wound us. The Fathers remind us that this self-defense closes the heart. The saint’s freedom lies in entrusting all judgment to God. To suffer wrong with love is not resignation but participation in the meekness of Christ. It is the hidden victory of grace over pride. The Evergetinos teaches that one good deed done in silence can awaken repentance more surely than a thousand admonitions. The holy do not impose virtue; they unveil it through gentleness. They correct not by exposing others’ shame but by bearing their wrongs with dignity. Such love, born of prayer, makes the conscience tremble and the heart turn toward the light. May we learn from them the art of divine tenderness.May we bear injury without bitterness,speak truth without anger,and hold every soul, even the one who wrongs us,in the compassion of Christ who forgave from the Cross. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:08:19 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:09:09 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 297 00:13:16 Sheila Applegate: It was the most perfect homily! 00:14:26 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 297, A 00:25:34 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 298, B 00:34:37 Fr Martin, AZ 480-292-3381: These passages seems authentic and fruitful. The common practice I encounter in our culture of defending one's rights seems to disturb people's way of being and thinking, maybe even making their thinking obtuse in regard to their theosis or healing. I have difficulty in knowing how to gently communic

In this section of Homily Five, St. Isaac draws deeply from the ancient well of ascetical wisdom, weaving together the practical counsel of St. Ephraim with his own luminous vision of divine providence. His teaching moves with precision from the diagnosis of sin to the healing of the soul, from the vigilance of self-knowledge to the vision of God’s mercy revealed through trial. St. Ephraim’s words set the tone: every spiritual illness must be treated by its proper remedy. One cannot overcome a vice through random struggle or general good intentions, but only by applying a medicine suited to the disease. Just as heat is not fought with more heat, so envy, pride, and wrath are not healed through self-will or argument, but through the contrary virtues: humility, patience, and mercy. For St. Isaac, this is the beginning of ascetic discernment. The wise man learns to recognize the first stirrings of passion, and “plucks it up while it is still small,” knowing that what begins as a passing thought can quickly become a tyrant ruling the soul. Negligence is the mother of bondage. From this root teaching springs one of St. Isaac’s central themes: the blessedness of patient endurance. The one who can suffer wrong with joy, though he has the means to defend himself, has entered into the mystery of the Cross. To bear insult without resentment, to be accused unjustly and respond with humility—these, he says, are the highest forms of virtue, admired even by the angels. Such endurance is not weakness but divine strength, the quiet radiance of faith proven by trial. Here we find the echo of the Beatitudes and of the Apostle’s words, “When I am weak, then I am strong.” St. Isaac then warns against a subtler danger: self-confidence. “Do not believe yourself to be strong until you are tempted and find yourself superior to change.” Virtue untested is unproven. To imagine oneself firm before temptation is to invite a fall, for pride blinds the soul to its own frailty. True strength is born only from humility, the knowledge of one’s dependence upon God. Likewise, knowledge itself can become a snare when it is not rooted in meekness. A “meek tongue” and “sweet lips” reveal a heart governed by peace rather than pride. Those who do not boast of their struggles or their gifts are preserved from shame, while those who glory in their works are permitted to stumble, that humility may be learned through experience. The culmination of this passage is the vision of divine providence, which St. Isaac presents not as an abstract doctrine but as an experience granted to the purified heart. God’s care, he says, surrounds all, yet it is seen only by those who have cleansed themselves of sin and fixed their gaze upon Him. In times of trial, when the soul stands for the truth, this providence becomes radiant and tangible—as though seen with bodily eyes. God reveals Himself most clearly in suffering, granting His servants courage and consolation. As He strengthened Jacob, Joshua, the Three Youths, and Peter, so too He anoints all who endure affliction for His sake. In these paragraphs, St. Isaac sketches the entire map of the ascetical path. The soul begins with vigilance, pulling up the roots of passion before they grow. It advances through endurance, learning the joy hidden in unjust suffering. It is tested in humility, discovering that self-reliance is the greatest enemy. And finally, it arrives at the vision of providence, seeing that all things—even trials and delays—are instruments of divine love. The warfare is inward, but the victory is divine. The heart that ceases to rely on itself learns to rest in God, and the eyes once blinded by passion come to behold His mercy shining through every storm. This is the medicine of the soul and the peace of those who have learned the wisdom of the Cross. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:01:25 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: www.philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:02:00 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 156, last line on page, #

This section of The Evergetinos is among the most luminous and convicting in its entire corpus. It speaks with the voice of a Father who has entered deeply into the mind of Christ; where justice is transfigured by mercy, where the love of neighbor becomes inseparable from the love of God, and where even material loss becomes a gate to eternal life. The Elder’s teaching exposes the great inversion of values that defines our time. In an age obsessed with self-preservation, power, and vengeance, the Christian is called not simply to resist these tendencies, but to live from an entirely different center. His measure of life is no longer self-interest or fear, but the eternal horizon of the Kingdom. The Elder begins with a piercing truth: God’s commandments are light. It is only our attachment to self-will that makes them seem heavy. In modern terms, we could say that the weight we feel in forgiving enemies, in relinquishing possessions, or in enduring wrongs, comes not from the Gospel itself, but from our clinging to the illusion of control and possession. The commandment of Christ is light because it is love; and love is only heavy to one still bound by pride. The parable of the gem-engraver is a mirror for us. The man, faced with imminent danger, discards all his treasure to preserve a fleeting life. We, knowing the eternal stakes, cannot part with even trifles to save our souls. The Elder’s irony cuts deeply: a worldly merchant becomes a philosopher in action, while we who claim the Kingdom behave as fools. Has the Christian fallen below the moral and spiritual clarity of the pagans who could endure insult or misfortune with composure? The Elder’s words imply as much, for true wisdom is to value what endures, and to let go of all that perishes. We live amid a civilization that sanctifies vengeance, calls anger justice, and worships material gain. The Christian, if he is truly of Christ, stands as a contradiction to this world. His meekness will appear as weakness; his patience as passivity. Yet the Elder shows that it is precisely this self-emptying love that manifests divine power. To endure injury without resentment is to share in the Cross. To pray for the one who wrongs us is to participate in the compassion of the Crucified. The image of the Body, so carefully developed by the Elder, destroys the illusion of separateness that fuels violence. To harm my brother is to wound Christ Himself; to harbor anger is to cut myself off from the Body’s life. The Christian is thus called to a supernatural realism: to perceive the unity of all in Christ and to respond to injury with the same tenderness one shows a diseased limb of one’s own body. One does not amputate a member in anger; one tends it with healing concern. So must we treat the sinner who has harmed us. In the closing examples, the Elder incarnates this teaching. The monk who relinquishes his books rather than quarrel over them, the ascetic who frees the brigands who attacked him — these are not tales of naiveté but of divine wisdom. They show that peace of heart and fidelity to Christ outweigh any claim to justice or property. The true betrayal, as Abba Poimen tells the frightened hermit, is not the crime of the brigands but the monk’s own fear and loss of faith. The victory of Christ is not in punishing evil but in overcoming fear through love. St. Ephraim’s brief counsel at the end grounds this lofty teaching in ordinary charity. Justice begins in the smallest acts; in returning what is borrowed, in honesty, in remembering that we “owe no man anything, but to love one another.” The ascetical heroism of forgiveness begins with these humble fidelities. In an age of terror, noise, and material excess, the distinctive mark of the Christian is not moral superiority or rhetorical witness, but peace that disarms the world. The Evergetinos reminds us that the Gospel’s revolution lies in meekness; in the refusal to let hatred dictate our actions or possessions define

St. Isaac speaks with a stark honesty that strips away every illusion about the spiritual life. To choose the good is to summon the battle. Every true beginning draws the adversary’s attention. God allows this not to crush the soul but to test its resolve and to purify its love. Without that fire, virtue remains unproven and fragile. The one who doubts that God is his helper collapses under his own shadow. Fear itself becomes the enemy. Such a person starves amid plenty and drowns in calm waters, undone not by external trials but by the absence of trust. St. Isaac’s words expose this inner poverty: faith without endurance is only sentiment. The steadfast heart, confident in God, is revealed in trial and shines before friend and foe alike. The commandments are not burdens but treasures. They conceal the presence of the Lord Himself. The one who carries them within finds God as chamberlain, waking and sleeping. Fear of sin becomes illumination, and even darkness turns transparent. The soul that trembles at evil walks with light before and within, guided by mercy that steadies every faltering step. St. Isaac ends with a fierce precision. There is no substitution in repentance. What is lost must be restored by the same means through which it was forfeited. God will not take a pearl for a penny, nor alms in place of purity. Greed is uprooted only by mercy, not by any other virtue. He will not be deceived by offerings that leave corruption untouched. This is the hard edge of Isaac’s wisdom: grace demands truth. The path to God is not through sentiment or display but through the narrow way where every false comfort is stripped away, and only the tested heart endures. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:05:26 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Homily 5 paragraph 4 page 155 00:05:41 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:07:39 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Homily 5 paragraph 4 page 155 00:13:14 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 155, last paragraph, 4 00:14:30 Una: Nice! 00:17:20 Una: I like the way Anthony puts it: be prepared to be knocked around 00:17:20 Una: I like the way Anthony puts it: be prepared to be knocked around 00:17:33 Anthony: Reacted to I like the way Antho... with "❤️" 00:17:47 Anthony: Replying to "I like the way Antho..."   Thanks :) 00:25:07 Rick Visser: My despondency becomes so great that I cannot move. What am I to do? 00:25:38 Maureen Cunningham: how would you explain the difference between Grace  & Mercy. 00:26:27 Maureen Cunningham: When I have despondency . I put on Bach 00:29:24 Jessica McHale: There is a very short but tremendously helpful book called "Trustful surrender to divine providence: the secret of peace and happiness" (it's so short more like a pamphlet) but it helps so greatly with despondency. I read it every time I feel this struggle with trusting in God in every single tiny thing. 00:30:34 Barbara: The Church/grace is the spiritual hospital. 00:32:19 Anthony: It might be that our passion is the pride of scrupulosity that is revealed by falling to another passion and masked by that passion (a red herring). 00:33:48 Eleana: St. Claude La Colombière, Fr. Jean Baptiste Saint-Jure 00:34:00 Jessica McHale: yes, by Father Jean Baptiste Saint-Jure (the author of the book I mentioned) 00:35:52 Anthony: This is a remedy for the terror of mortal sin. 00:40:23 Ryan Ngeve: Father to what degree is engaging in thoughts that lead to despondency harmful to someone. And if it is how are we supposed to avoid engaging in such thoughts 00:45:55 David Swiderski, WI: I find this prayer helpful in challenging times. At one point in my life I felt great despondency having lost everything I had, living in a country I did not want to live in and largely being alone barely surviving. After a time I realized I only had belief and needed to work on actual faith. 00:46:41 Jessica McHale: Reacted to "Mobile-Litany-of-T..." with ❤️ 00:47:10 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 156, first paragraph, #5 00:50:31 Jessica McHale: Psalm 119 --

The teaching of the Fathers on vengeance and anger does not allow us to linger in the comfortable ambiguities of human justice. It tears at the fabric of self-justification. Their words bring us face to face with the scandal of divine love—the Cross as the only standard by which we are to measure our dealings with others. The heart that desires retribution, or even to “set things right,” cannot bear the full light of that Cross without trembling. St. Diadochus unmasks the subtle ways we clothe self-interest in piety. We say we fear becoming “a cause of sin” for those who wrong us, but in truth we simply wish to protect our possessions, our security, our image of control. Once we let go of blessing and guarding the heart, we begin to move toward the vestibules of the law courts; our concern for righteousness becomes indistinguishable from the world’s hunger for vindication. To stand before such courts is already to have abandoned the tribunal of mercy. The law of God cannot be kept by means of the laws of men, because mercy does not seek the restoration of things but of persons. The one who endures injustice praying for his oppressor becomes an image of the Crucified, who desired not the return of what was taken from Him but the return of those who took it. Abba Isaac pushes the wound even deeper: to fight over what gives comfort after renouncing the world is blindness. The one for whom the world has died accepts insults with joy, not because they are pleasant, but because they reveal how little of the old self remains to defend. It is not the act of being wronged that kills the soul, but the refusal to see in it a call to die before death. Only those who have lost every hope of worldly consolation can bear this pain without resentment. Such poverty of spirit is rare, but in it the mind shines with tranquil radiance. The Gerontikon illustrates the same wisdom through living examples. Blessed Zosimas warns the generous Dionysia that zeal to avenge an insult can destroy every virtue she possesses. Her almsgiving, though abundant, is nothing if it is not shaped by meekness. To lose composure over a trifling thing is to become a slave of that thing; even a needle or a book can master the heart that has not been freed. The true servant of God has one Master alone. All these sayings converge on the Cross. There, vengeance dies and love is revealed in its purest form. Christ prays for His murderers, not from sentiment but from truth; He alone sees that their real torment is not what they do to Him, but what they do to themselves. The disciple who bears wrongs without retaliation participates in this same divine sight. He no longer divides the world into victims and oppressors, but into the healed and the unhealed. To forgive is to choose the side of healing. To live by this ethos is to live cruciformly. It is to judge nothing and no one, to accept every wound as a summons to prayer, and to see in every thief a brother whose salvation God has entrusted to our mercy. The Cross does not destroy reason; it stretches it until it becomes translucent with grace. In that light, vengeance appears not only impossible but absurd. Only love remains—terrible, meek, and eternal. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:02:23 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:10:43 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 289 Hypothesis XXXVII 00:11:44 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:14:16 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: https://philokaliaministries.blogspot.com 00:18:17 Anthony: THEY SHOULD TEACH THIS IN LAW SCHOOL. 00:18:40 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "THEY SHOULD TEACH TH..." with 😁00:26:43 Rick Visser: So there a positive way of stopping others in order to reduce their sin and move toward repentence. 00:27:55 Anthony: Orthodox canon law, such as it is, is a collection called The Rudder, so I'm told. 00:28:47 Rick Visser: So there is a positive way of stopping others in order to reduce their sin and move toward repe

St. Isaac’s words reveal that communion with God requires remoteness from distraction and a renunciation of whatever disquiets the heart. This is not something reserved for monks alone, though they live it most radically, but it is a law of the Christian life as a whole. For Isaac, the fruits of renunciation are not abstract but very real: tears, compunction, a fountain of sweetness welling up from the heart, light dawning within. These are given not to the distracted soul but to the one who bows like a convict before the Cross, empty-handed and intent upon nothing else. Renunciation is not simply turning away from sin but from every movement that agitates the mind. He calls it a kind of death, both of the outer man in worldly deeds and occupations, and of the inner man in thoughts, passions, and self-will. It is this dying that makes room for the Spirit to raise one into true life. For the monk, this call is lived in visible and total form: silence, enclosure, vigils, fasting, the cutting away of unnecessary speech and activity. Leaving behind the noise of the world, the monk learns to dwell continually before God. For them Isaac’s words are direct and literal, for one cannot hold onto worldly cares and at the same time enter into the madness of divine love. Stillness is the path by which grace rushes into the heart. For those living in the world, this teaching does not mean the rejection of responsibilities, but rather the careful discernment of what is indispensable and what is merely disquieting. Isaac himself acknowledges that not all can practice stillness in its fullness, but warns that one should not abandon the path altogether. Instead, there are ways of living the same spirit in daily life: simplicity, which renounces excess possessions, amusements, and chatter that scatter the heart; sobriety of senses, which guards against overindulgence and constant stimulation; interior watchfulness, which makes room for compunction and prayer in the ordinary rhythms of the day; trust in God’s providence, which loosens the grip of anxiety over outcomes. For the layperson, renunciation looks like choosing silence over noise, prayer over distraction, mercy over greed, humility over self-exaltation. In these small dyings the heart is opened to the same fountain of sweetness, even if not in the same intensity as in the solitary monk. Isaac reminds us that whoever does not voluntarily withdraw from the causes of the passions will be carried away by them in the end. Whether monk or layperson, if the heart is constantly fed on the world’s noise, possessions, and anxieties, it will inevitably be drawn off course. But if one begins to renounce even in small ways, the Spirit quickly comes to give aid, comforting the soul and granting grace. The lesson is clear: every Christian is called to some measure of renunciation, not as loss, but as the doorway to joy and divine consolation. The monk may live it to the depths, but each person in Christ is summoned to taste it in their own measure. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:14:30 jonathan: started trying practising paustinia every Wednesday and Friday. Its been far harder trying to abstain from all forms of entertainment than it is from food. Like fr said, the noon day demon feels heavy.00:16:55 Catherine Opie: Ave Maria> What page are we on? 00:17:10 Myles Davidson: Replying to "Ave Maria> What page..." P. 152, last full paragraph on page 00:18:27 Catherine Opie: Reacted to "P. 152, last full pa..." with 🙏🏻 00:31:13 Janine: Rick. Thank you for that! 00:31:22 carolnypaver: Reacted to "Rick. Thank you for ..." with ❤️ 00:31:23 Myles Davidson: Reacted to "Rick. Thank you for ..." with 🙏 00:31:37 paul g.: I believe that.  Thank you Rick! 00:32:10 carolnypaver: Love that perspective, Rick.  Thank you for sharing! 00:32:14 Rick Visser: I go to bed early--7-8 pm. I make way for it. 00:32:21 Bob Čihák, AZ: Reacted to "Rick. Thank you for ..." with 🙏 00:33:19 Rick Visser: It is t

Abba Mark’s teaching pierces the heart because it strips away our worldly sense of “justice” and places us before the wisdom of the Cross. The lawyer’s questions are not unlike our own: What do we do when wronged? What about fairness? What about the law? But the Elder directs him beyond human reasoning toward the spiritual law of Christ. For the world, the offense is external, and the “solution” is measured by punishment and recompense. For the ascetic, the wound of injustice exposes what is hidden in the heart. If resentment rises, then the wrong is ours as much as the other’s. To forgive is not indulgence or naiveté—it is participation in the very judgment of God, who alone knows how to weigh every soul. Vengeance, on the other hand, is a kind of blasphemy: it accuses God of judging wrongly, and so it becomes a heavier sin than the original injury. Here the Evergetinos reveals the paradox of the Gospel: to suffer wrong with gratitude is not weakness but true knowledge. To pray for those who wrong us confounds the demons and makes us sons of the Crucified. The magistrate may punish, but the monk endures; the court may balance debts, but love “endures all things.” The Elder’s words burn away excuses. To forgive is not optional—it is the very condition of our own forgiveness. To harbor vengeance is to live in fantasy, enslaved to illusions of fairness. But to embrace affliction as one’s own and to entrust judgment to God is to step into the reality of mercy, where the only true justice is love. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:06:42 Adam Paige: Philokalia combined volume 1 to 5 by Nun Christina is indeed 825 pages long 00:06:54 Anna: I'm looking for The Philokalia St. Peter of Damascus 00:07:57 Bob Čihák, AZ: One of our current books is “The Ascetical Homilies of Saint Isaac the Syrian, revised 2nd Edition” 2011, published by Holy Transfiguration Monastery, https://www.bostonmonks.com/product_info.php/products_id/635 . This hard-covered book is on the expensive side but of very high quality. 00:09:53 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 287, D 00:17:59 jonathan: st nick 00:18:02 Adam Paige: Jolly ol St Nick 00:18:30 Una: Santa Clause! 00:25:56 Nina and Sparky: It is a hard teaching, but it matches 1 Cor 6:7 Now indeed [then] it is, in any case, a failure on your part that you have lawsuits against one another. Why not rather put up with injustice? Why not rather let yourselves be cheated? 00:26:19 Nina and Sparky: Sorry, It is Forrest! 00:31:35 Rick Visser: Should we not protest injustice? 00:37:44 Anthony: The decision of the Opus Dei Priest in the movie There Be Dragons has been one of my examples 00:38:21 Maureen Cunningham: What happens if you do not like them . How can you love them ?? 00:41:08 Bob Čihák, AZ: Yet Christ threw over the tables of the money changers in the Temple, and maybe did even more? 00:43:35 Maureen Cunningham: Nelson Mandela  when went prisons. They were so hateful 00:44:57 Catherine Opie: I used to be an avid protestor and activist until one day at an anti nuclear protest outside the French Embassy in London I realised I was getting angry with people and pointing the finger at others when I lacked a great deal myself and am far from perfect. So who am I to rage at others?  After my conversion to Catholicism I have realised its not up to me, I certainly am not to participate in evil or condone it and can stand firm in my principles and do positive things to help others. But that it is simply necessary to pray for those who commit evil and injustice to others just as I would pray for those suffering injustice. I find I am less angry and wound up when I know I can offer these things up to God and that its way above my job description to save the world. Activism is such a distraction. And we can be manipulated by the agendas of man through our emotions. 00:46:10 Rick Visser: Simone Weil said: "The greatest and most efficacious vehicle for social and political change is sacrificial love." 00:46:22 Catherine

The Gospel Without Varnish The Desert Fathers present the Gospel in its rawest form. Their words strike the heart not because they soften Christ’s commands but because they echo them without compromise: do not resist the one who is evil, forgive seventy times seven, love your enemies, bless those who curse you. To modern ears, this sounds offensive—even impossible. How can one not seek justice, especially when faced with cruelty, violence, or grave injustice? Yet the Fathers insist: freedom in Christ means clinging to nothing but His love as the one thing necessary. When we are wronged, our sorrow should not be for what has been taken from us, but for the soul of the one who has inflicted harm. Their sin is their true wound. Our calling is not to avenge but to forgive, not to condemn but to pray. Hypothesis XXXVII presses this home with piercing clarity. A struggler carrying a corpse is told: “Bear the living instead.” To shoulder the weakness of our neighbor, to endure his sins and insults, is the harder burden—but also the one that unites us to Christ. The examples unfold like a mirror before us. The elder who restrains himself when boys blaspheme outside his cell reminds his heart: If I cannot bear this small vexation, how will I endure a greater trial? Another, who endures the disobedience of his companion without protest, embraces a hidden martyrdom. Still another teaches: To put up with your neighbor in a difficult moment is equal to the martyrdom of the Three Youths in the furnace. The lesson is relentless: daily forbearance is our Golgotha. To return angry words, to demand repayment, to run to courts for vindication—these reveal hearts still bound to the world. But to endure injustice with patience, to forgive without condition, to pray for those who wrong us—this is to share in Christ’s meekness on the Cross. Abba Isaiah pierces deeper: how can we beg God’s mercy for our sins while refusing mercy to our neighbor? To repay evil for evil is to declare, in effect, that God does not judge rightly. The Fathers show us how far we fall short: Christ bore poverty, betrayal, insult, and death without retaliation—yet we cannot endure even a word of offense without bitterness. Modern sensibilities stumble here. We demand rights, recompense, recognition. But the Fathers summon us to something purer and more terrifyingly beautiful: to love as Christ loves, even when it crucifies us. When wronged, our grief must be for our brother’s soul, not our own loss. His sin wounds him unto death; our response must be prayer for his healing. This is no easy path. It is a crucifixion of the will, a death to self. It cannot be done without grace. Yet in enduring wrong with gentleness, in forgiving when wounded, in praying for those who hurt us, we enter the very marrow of the Gospel. The Desert Fathers offer no compromise. The way of Christ is the way of the Cross. To bear wrongs patiently is to drink His chalice. To forgive without measure is to wear His likeness. And to weep not for what we have lost but for the one who has harmed us—this is the freedom of those who live only in His love. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:15:19 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 284 number five: forbearing those who offend us and not taking vengeance 00:15:29 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 284, 5 00:21:21 Rick Visser: Has this any bearing on social media? A million small vexations......which we very often feel compelled to tell them off? 00:49:55 Catherine Opie: What does one say to someone who justifies anger by pointing to the righteous anger of Jesus driving people out of the temple? This is a common thing that I hear from people who wish to justify their own anger, including myself here. 00:55:34 Anthony: Jesus had already proved Himself to be Lord of the Sabbath, correct?  He demonstrated authority.  Plus they Knew Him from the prophecy of His birth and the disputation in the Temple at age 12/13 01:01:59 Rick Visser: What is the best book on the life of each

St. Isaac does not flatter us with easy consolations. He sets before the monk the radical alternative: almsgiving is like the rearing of children, but stillness is the summit of perfection. One can pour out possessions, but if one’s senses remain open to the world, unbarred gates, then the enemy will always find a way in. It is not enough to scatter coins if the mind is still scattered; the true work is to gather the heart into stillness, where God alone becomes its horizon. Isaac shows us the two wars. The first is fought outside: through sight and hearing, through eating and speech, through the ceaseless tangle of affairs. This “exterior warfare” is exhausting and subtle, for it draws the soul outward, dispersing its strength. But there is another war, fought within. Only when the gates of the senses are shut can one turn inward to confront the deeper enemy: thoughts, passions, memories, and the hidden demons that assault the heart. To reach the “rest in God,” the monk must first cease from unnecessary noise without, in order to learn serenity within. The blessedness of stillness, Isaac tells us, is to translate all one’s activity into the work of prayer. A man who can remain in his cell, moving from divine service to divine service with nothing added, will never lack for what is necessary, because he has made God his sole concern. Even manual work, though permitted, is an accommodation for the weak. The more perfect path is prayer and compunction; prostrations before the Cross, like a convict bound, crying out for mercy without ceasing.It is this interior life and the divine rest the comes through it that St. Isaac will describe for us next week. --- Text of chat during the group: 00:05:45 Fr. Charbel Abernethy: Page 151 mid paragraph 3000:23:40 Rebecca Thérèse: Once the robber knows he has everything, he won't be back to bother you again. There's nothing else to steal and he has no further means of threatening or manipulating you. 00:29:31 Bob Čihák, AZ: P. 151, paragraph 31 at bottom of page 00:30:15 Julie: Reacted to "P. 151, paragraph 31…" with 🙏 00:32:53 Anthony: Father, for me I don't think it's exactly a linear progression. Some people might have the external and internal awareness overlap. 00:40:42 Jessica Imanaka: I worry about acedia/sloth... not so much because of praying offices, but from slipping into endless meditations on spiritual readings to the potential neglect of my schoolwork and housework. It's hard to discern given that my career/life gives me some leeway in what to focus on and when. 00:45:10 Kathryn Rose: We should turn these mundane necessary tasks into types of prayers 00:45:40 Elizabeth Richards: Like Brother Lawrence 🙂 00:45:52 carolnypaver: Reacted to "We should turn these..." with ❤️ 00:46:30 carolnypaver: Replying to "We should turn these..." St. Josemaria Escriva taught this. 00:46:42 Kathryn Rose: Reacted to "St. Josemaria Escriv…" with ❤️ 00:47:38 Diana Cleveland: I have found this to be so true. For years I have wanted to renovate my house, but never had the money. Over the last 20 years or so, as I have watched trends come and go that I could never participate in, the cutting back has served to cultivated an abundance mindset vs scarcity. I always thought the cutting back would make me crave more, but actually cutting back has produced satisfaction in simplicity of life. 00:49:23 Art: Reacted to "We should turn these..." with 👍 00:50:35 Art: This little excerpt has helped me a lot of late.  “Fix your heart on God.  For the time being, you cannot, I admit, apply yourself to prayer or to other exercises of piety: but, with my confidence founded on Christ, I will give you a rule which will enable you to pray without ceasing: He prays always who lives well.  Animate yourself with faith, I beg you; keep yourself in the presence of God in all your actions.”  St. Paul of the Cross 00:52:43 Anthony: Oh I learned by experience not to multiply devotion....burnout and legalism and a lac