Father Grigorie, monastic life, viewed as a prophetic ministry through the practising of virtues and the sharing of divine grace, also fulfils an important missionary aspect, in particular, by the need for living examples in the lives of those who set out on the paths of salvation. How do we view spiritual guidance in a society that proposes the existence of a diversity of ‘centres’ for almost every level of development and existence in life?
Monasticism has always been a reality in the life of the Church; it has been and remains one of the forms in which the life of the Church has taken shape and manifested itself, having no other ideal than that of the Church, nor any other means of attaining this ideal than those which the Church itself has had and continues to have; and these means are embodied in what the Saviour succinctly expresses as ‘the narrow gate’ (Matthew 7:13–14)—a path that, whilst narrow, is sure, leaving no room for straying.
We need examples to follow, and we need prayer. If Orthodoxy bears witness to the truth, then it needs ‘centres of Christian life’, of teaching and inspiration to sustain it. Monasticism has always been the unseen strength of the Church, and our desacralised times call for precisely those things that only monastic life knows how to offer: prayer, asceticism, discipline, the Liturgy, ministry, holiness.
The priority that monasticism places on the service of God draws attention, both within the Church and throughout the world, to the fact that unless the Divine Liturgy and service through prayer once again become the centres of our lives, the world will not be united and transfigured. It will be powerless to overcome its divisions, its lack of balance, its emptiness and its ruin… despite the arrogant plans and systems that seek to improve it. Once again, monasticism reminds us that the Divine Liturgy and the ministry of prayer are not merely incidental aspects of our lives, but their very centre, the source of their renewal and their complete fulfilment.
We need genuine spiritual guidance; we need the very best the Church has to offer; and the only true response to the challenge of secularism lies not in words, but in deeds.
Monasteries are places of spiritual renewal, laboratories of holiness and preparation for the Resurrection, and in Orthodoxy there is the most beautiful tradition of symbiosis, collaboration and fellowship between parish and monastery.
Monasteries are places of spiritual renewal, laboratories of holiness and preparation for the Resurrection, and in Orthodoxy there is the most beautiful tradition of symbiosis, collaboration and fellowship between the parish and the monastery. Our parishes have been greatly influenced by the monasteries, and the monasteries have not confined themselves merely to their own activities, but have often carried out exceptional pastoral work for the lay faithful through the way they welcome the faithful into the monastery, how they help them in their troubles and, above all, how they pray for the needs of their Christian lives.
Through their vows, monks dedicate their lives to the service of God. This is the commandment of our Saviour Christ: to be the light and salt of the earth, that is, to set a good example through the life one leads, both within the monastery and outside it.
To be a good example, the light and salt of the earth, spiritual discipline is necessary, as is the total commitment to the ascetic life in order to fulfil the monk’s mission: the service of God. However, things unfold gradually, beginning with the novitiate period, followed by the tonsure into monastic life… What does the moment that marks the beginning of a monk’s spiritual ascent represent for him?
The rite of tonsure, a constitutive element of the tradition, possesses for monks all the elements of a Rule, without being a Rule as such. It binds the monk to a place—to the monastery where he undergoes the ceremony, to the community with which he becomes united, to the abbot who becomes his Father and who also gives him a new name, as in a true birth— to the church services, to the three vows, to the habit which he receives piece by piece, with the symbol of each one revealed, to the Jesus Prayer, which is given to him along with the prostrations, and to the instruction on how to use them.
Entering the monastic family is like a pact that binds one for life. There is no permission to leave monastic life. It is a total commitment, and the service itself reveals both the spiritual heights towards which the monk strives to ascend in order to attain his salvation, and the undertaking, in complete freedom, of this ascetic endeavour. The rite of tonsure is the true monastic rule, the same for all. Its author is unknown. It is a creation of great philosophical depth, positioning one before life, before death and before God. It is like a response to the Last Judgement. It is an oath before the greatest Judge. It is a declaration of conscience, a covenant for life and death.
The tonsure ritual is the true monastic rule, the same for everyone. Its author is unknown. It is a work of great philosophical depth, addressing life, death and God.
It is a ‘crucifixion’ of one’s own will through the taking of monastic vows, with a view to acquiring virtues…
The three monastic virtues are: poverty, chastity and obedience. Observance of the vows is the starting point from which the monk sets out to fulfil other virtues, through which we are led towards holiness.
Just as the theological virtues are the foundation and strength of Christian virtues in general, so too are the monastic vows the foundation of the monk’s entire spiritual development. This is because the monk is a consistent person: consistent with the Gospel, in which he finds the motivation for choosing this way of life; consistent with his response to God’s call; consistent with himself; and consistent in observing the vows.
Breaching any one of the vows taken will cause him to fall, if not formally, then certainly morally, in effect, from the angelic state – the state of monastic grace. He will prefer to remain a solitary figure, but by no means will he any longer be an angelic figure, nor a monk (‘beautiful elder’); a state, a quality and a characteristic (moral beauty) lost through the breach of his vows. The title of monk, or ‘beautiful elder’, has nothing to do with lies, pretence or a career. There is no such thing as a ‘monastic career’, but rather a vocation consecrated by the Church. Thus, observance of the monastic vows—not an obsession with them—forms the foundation of all the other virtues that make up the monk’s angelic countenance.
You cannot be obedient unless you are humble, just as you cannot be chaste unless you fast and guard your senses and thoughts, just as you cannot be poor unless you discipline your memory and your aspirations. You cannot be virtuous without patience, without discernment, without vigilance and prayer…
Virtues reveal the spiritual ascent, but also the fulfilment of monastic duties. What duties do you still have when you are bound only to God?
The monk is, and will always remain, a man of prayer, a man who seeks God, a man who lives in the light of God, who devotes himself to God. Monastic duties concern, first and foremost, loving God with all one’s heart, as one’s Father, and fearing Him as one’s Lord. Secondly, to bear witness to this love by fulfilling all His commandments, and to this fear by taking care not to provoke Him to anger. Of course, it is important to do good to one’s neighbour in all things, for God’s sake; to deny oneself by mortifying one’s own will and submitting it to the will of God and of one’s superiors; to root out evil both from oneself and from others: from oneself by putting the passions to death, and from others by restraining them from evil deeds.
It is also your duty to cultivate evangelical piety, both within yourself and in others; in yourself, through the diligent hearing and reading of the Word of God, and through repentance to the point of tears – with the devout reception of the Holy Mysteries of Christ as often as possible; and in others through a good example, spiritual counsel and fervent prayer to God.
It is our duty and endeavour to follow the saints…
It is, indeed, the endeavour to imitate and be like those in heaven, for a monk strives to become like Adam before the Fall, just as the angels are. But monasticism is by no means separate from the lives of people in general. In fact, monks fulfil, in a certain profound and complete manner, what is required of everyone: the perfection to which Christ calls us.
Moreover, through monasticism, the Church will continue not only to live but also to grow, to be revitalised and to be perfected in the spirit of the Gospel. Given this authentic and living example of self-sacrificing life and self-denial, as borne witness to by the monastic community, the Church has at its disposal a real and solid standard by which to measure and reorient its work.
Monasticism has become a natural part of Christian life, visibly anticipating, in this earthly life, the religious ideal that is to be realised on the eighth day, seeking a kind of foretaste of eternal life in the present age. For this reason, monastic life has been called from the very beginning ‘the angelic life’. It is not a form of despair, flight, escape or renunciation of life, but, on the contrary, it is a charism, a vocation freely chosen under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Therefore, it is not resignation, but a surge of enthusiasm…
An elation that is constantly accompanied by the need for repentance…
Repentance reveals our profound responsibility, not only towards the ontological and moral order of existence, but also, more vividly, directly and personally, towards Someone, towards the living God. Strictly speaking, responsibility is always personal, not merely towards ‘something’, but above all towards ‘Someone’.
Repentance is the virtuous work of the soul but also the work of grace, for, as Father Galeriu said, in the light of grace, of the divine order, I see, I recognise myself, what I am in my very being, in my authentic unity as the ‘image of God in this world’, and the state to which sin leads me. Grace marks the beginning of our first creation, as well as of our salvation’. It builds us up and shapes us spiritually, in the life-giving image of Christ in the Holy Spirit. Consumed by the grace of ceaseless growth, Christ the Saviour is the icon, the supreme and infinite model of our creation. And it is incumbent upon us never to forget for a single moment that we are His image, and destined for endless likeness to Him. That we must, through grace in the Spirit, take on His divine icon, His divine image.
However, subjective repentance, without confession, is a heart-rending inner struggle without end, without light, without fruit; it is neither liberation nor victory. You realise your sin, but you remain with it within you, with its torment. It is only the decision to confess one’s sins that marks the moment of my movement away from the state and place of the fall, as the psalmist says: ‘I have acknowledged my sin, and I have not concealed my iniquity; against myself’ (Ps. XXXI, 5). To recognise sin is the beginning of enlightenment; to confess it is already ‘the dawn of repentance’. To merely recognise it and not confess it is to keep it ‘against yourself’, like a ‘thorn’, an ‘angel of Satan’ (2 Cor. 12:7). That is why the psalmist continues: ‘I will confess my iniquity to the Lord; and you have forgiven the guilt of my sin’ (Ps. XXXI, 6). And again, as Saint Paul the Apostle teaches: ‘For it is with the heart that one believes and is justified, and with the mouth that one confesses and is saved’ (Rom. 10:10).
Confession must bring to light, in the penitent’s conscience, the absurdity and nonsense of sin, set against the life-giving meaning of life in Christ.
What does confession bring to light, and what transformation does it bring about in the heart of the one who repents of their sins?
Confession must bring to light, in the penitent’s conscience, the absurdity and nonsense of sin, set against the life-giving meaning of life in Christ. It must bring about a transformation, an enlightenment, a change. Sin establishes a world of its own, a world of pleasure and devotion to pleasure, from which we must break free. That is why repentance and confession are necessary. To the question: ‘Does God not know what I have done? What more do I need to tell Him? But I do not need to know these things myself, for it is possible that I do not know them, do not recognise them as such, do not know myself: that I have a false impression of being healthy, whilst at the same time harbouring an old illness within me.”
Confession reveals at once repentance, self-knowledge, resolve, and the promise not to sin again, which is sealed by absolution. There is a deep connection between repentance, confession and the absolution granted by the spiritual father in the name of Christ.
The grace that shines forth in repentance, grace from the grace of God. Sin turns me, a living member of the Church, into an element of corruption within her. The Sacrament of Confession restores me, as a living stone in her edifice, restoring the health of my spirit so that I may serve.
The ability to observe and discern the penitent’s spiritual states, their level of repentance, their understanding, and the inner workings of their thoughts is a hallmark of a true spiritual father. His scrutiny must delve into the finer details. Realistically speaking, we are not sinless; we cannot avoid sin entirely. Christ alone is sinless and He who has conquered sin for us, so that we too may acquire the mind of Christ and do the will of God.
In the Paterikon, we read that a brother asked a wise elder: ‘What deed brings rest and peace? — ‘My son,’ replied the elder, ‘the most beneficial and restful deed is this: the union of man’s will with the will of God… so that you may say to yourself: Lord, from now on I unite my whole will with Yours, so that from now on my will may neither oppose nor doubt Yours, but whatever it desires that is in accordance with Your will, that it may desire and love Your will as well’.” To do the will of the Creator is to make yourself, in all things, a creator, a doer of good deeds. This is the purpose of the Sacrament.
We also recall Saint John Chrysostom, who teaches that ‘in the Church, the pure find joy, the troubled find peace, and the sorrowful find comfort. In the Church, the afflicted find comfort, and the weary find rest. The Lord says: ‘Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest!’ (Matthew 11:28). What in this world is more beautiful and more desirable than these words? The Lord calls you to the Church for a sumptuous feast’…
This call is not merely an eschatological one, for in liturgical life we receive the pledge of eternal life. However, amidst the turmoil of daily concerns, the lack of participation in liturgical life is justified by a need to place God ‘in the heart’, which, from the perspective of these interpretations, causes real trauma in spiritual life. What, then, is the gift, the riches, the spiritual heritage that we actually acquire?
Entering into a personal relationship with Christ cannot take place anywhere other than in the realm where the unifying and sanctifying grace of the Holy Spirit is present, that is, in the divine worship of the Church and especially through the Holy Sacraments. Every liturgical act, prayer, ritual and word is an eloquent testimony to the presence of Christ, in whom the entire Holy Trinity is present, and we, who take part in the celebration of these sanctifying rites, walk together with Christ along the very path that His humanity traversed. Our church hymns speak of our virtual inclusion in Christ’s salvific acts. Thus, a hymn from the Divine Liturgy of Holy Pascha says: ‘Yesterday I was buried with You, Christ; today I rise with You, the One who has risen. Yesterday I was crucified with You; You Yourself exalt me, O Saviour, in Your kingdom.”
Christ God is the centre around which all His fellow human beings are drawn, so that He may communicate to them (through the Church) His divine life and power, as well as the state of sacrifice, resurrection and glory through which He Himself passed. The Church has always recognised this truth, preached it, defended it and given it form both in the dogmatic definitions of the councils and in the hymns of the services, especially in the prayers composed under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, which the Holy Fathers inserted into the liturgical text to kindle in the hearts of the faithful a burning desire to follow Christ. ‘I have forsaken You, O Lord; do not forsake me,’ says St Isaac the Syrian. ‘I have strayed from You; go out in search of me. Lead me to Your spiritual pasture. Count me among the sheep of Your chosen flock. Nourish me together with them from the sweetness of Your divine Mysteries…’
In general, all the prayers, formulas and outward acts that make up the content of the liturgical services in the Orthodox Church are based on the concept of the union of the divine with the human, of God’s revelation and descent to man, and of man’s ascent through grace to God. They not only represent but also re-enact this act. The One who made this theandric union possible is Jesus Christ – God – Man – the original sacrament and mystery, for His divine-human Person is the unique place of God’s union with His creation: man. He became man so that, through His body, He might extend salvation as divine life within us. He inaugurated a new, spiritual worship which ennobles and sanctifies man.
We thus discover the connection between dogma and worship...
The unity between theology and mysticism, dogma and spirituality in Orthodoxy, shows that one cannot conceive of a theology without mysticism or a dogma devoid of spirituality—a dogma that is not incarnate— the place par excellence for the incarnation of dogma being the Church’s worship. The legacy of Orthodoxy is not so much a doctrinal legacy as the legacy of a way of life. Of course, this way of life is not individualistic or egocentric, nor is it devoid of doctrine; rather, it is structured ecclesially and sacramentally, possessing a distinctly personalist and communal character. The way of life of the Orthodox heritage emphasises communion and the value of the human person in communion, constantly taking the Holy Trinity as its model as the ‘structure of supreme love’.
The way of life of the Orthodox heritage emphasises communion and the value of the human person within communion, taking the Holy Trinity as its constant model as the ‘structure of supreme love’.
If dogma is not grounded in worship and does not become doxology, it risks becoming distant from people’s lives, cold and incomprehensible. In Orthodoxy, worship becomes doxology, and dogmatic tradition becomes a liturgical, doxological tradition, accessible and markedly present in the communal and personal lives of Christians. This relationship between dogma and worship, dogma and the Liturgy, avoids a separation between the rational aspect and the liturgical content of dogmas, with both the rational and the mystical aspects coexisting harmoniously within dogma. Although lex orandi does not replace theology, the fundamental doctrinal aspects of Orthodoxy, before being structured into concepts, were experienced within the ecclesial context through lex orandi. Thus, the Liturgy becomes, par excellence, the existential crucible of theology, being in fact an incarnate theology. Theological reflection in the East has always drawn sustenance from the living tradition of the Church, from its Liturgy, which established the framework for a Christian life where all newly emerging teachings were refined and where heresies were shattered precisely by this liturgical and ecclesial life, rather than by mere words or a Christian system divorced from the experience of the Churchand, ultimately, lifeless. These premises highlight the fact that Theology and Mysticism are not in opposition, nor are they mutually exclusive, but are complementary in the sense that Theology is Mysticism and Mysticism is Theology. The Church’s doctrine is at once Theology and Mysticism, and it is only through a mystical theology that we consciously and truly realise our ecclesial belonging.
Theology and mysticism are not opposed to one another, nor are they mutually exclusive; rather, they are complementary in the sense that theology is mysticism and mysticism is theology.