Fire from the Holy Mountain The Diary of Elder Ephraim [1978]
Prologue “...I want to and love to help you pray. I want you to become men of prayer, even though I do not have prayer. But I know a man of prayer, and this is why I sometimes read to you parts of my prayer diary so that we, too, will learn how to pray and will see the fruit of prayer and thus acquire the appetite, the desire, the spiritual yearning, and longing to be united with God. We, too, should come to know through spiritual experience how this union occurs and what fruit the soul tastes from this union of man’s finite nous with the infinite Nous, God. So this paternal desire of mine makes me read something to you, especially now that for several days God has sent me a little prayer, which is, of course, nothing but the fruit of Elder Joseph, who is up in heaven, and with the boldness he has, he sends down his blessings to us...” November 3, 1978 Oh, how beautiful the soul feels when it celebrates—or rather, when it participates in the angelic festival of the heavenly realm of the angels! How much I would have liked for there to have been no disquiet, so that this so precious and rare enjoyment of the spiritual world in my soul would not be interrupted! All my belongings that are not my God are my poverty. Only then shall I be filled, when I see Your glory so dear to me, my Father and my God. Without You, my love, my God, everything is shadows and torment to me. None of my material goods can satisfy me except for You, the true and Ultimate Good. How awful I would feel if I didn’t know You, or if You hadn’t shown me Your divine face, O my Father! How joyless I feel my life to be down here when I do not feel the presence of the One beyond comprehension along with His love! Oh, what discomfort I feel then! Save me, Your guilty son, my Father, and do not hide from me, because then I suffer terribly.
November 4, 1978 I lose myself in my infinitesimal nothingness the more I approach the grandeur of my infinite God beyond comprehension. The downpour of tears confirm the incredible nothingness of man who is nevertheless puffed up. He is governed only by the Invisible, Incomprehensible One however He wills. How fearsome it is to feel that God is inside and outside of you, like the presence of a real spirit that looks you straight in the eyes and sees everything even down to your bone marrow, and observes you with the finest detail, without you realizing it! What a fearsome truth! And simultaneously, what faith and security it gives to the poor faithful to be escorted and protected by such a tremendous presence and guard!!! Beauty of soul and feeling follow all the above, and a spiritual person boasts of the truth of the beautiful, incomprehensible God, Whose truth is as plain as day. November 5, 1978 The night, when keeping vigil alone in one’s cell, provides the best hours for keeping company with the invisible God with the dear Jesus prayer. The flowing tears truly water the tree of the soul and produce divine fruits that please God so much. The fruits of the soul watered with the tears coming from contact with God are the theorias granted only by God and not by the effort of worthless man. During the hours of the night, with invigorating prayer the soul flourishes, fills with divine dew, is nourished inexpressibly, and adds hope to hope until it rests its salvation comfortably in the arms of the Heavenly Father, Who freely gives to wretched man out of His riches that are infinite by nature, whenever He decides and as much as He wants. My sweetest Father, I leave You for now, but tomorrow night do not forget to cast a paternal, affectionate glance into my little heart that looks to You “as the handmaid looks unto the hands of her mistress.” (cf. Ps. 122:2). I kiss You very sweetly, My dear Father and God. November 6, 1978 The holy angels are dazzling in their beauty and divine grace. They overflow with brilliance and divine eros. I marvel how their heart withstands and doesn’t break under the pressure of divine love, and how their minds don’t stop before the abyss of the abundance of extraordinary theorias. When they chanted praises to God before His incarnation, their heart burned, was aflame, afire with the keen and unbearable yearning to see what God’s nature is, and to see the face of Him Whom they worship so much and Who made them angels with so many gifts and divine delight. They had a holy desire to embrace their Beloved, to be at rest and be soothed by embracing Him. The divine darkness beyond light1 intensified their wonder. Their longing to behold God was heard like a fiery prayer. The fall of man brought about what they so greatly desired.
The infinite love of God incarnated in human form to save wretched and impious man. Our Christ is the theanthropic form. He sits upon His divine throne and looks upon the abysses (Dan. 3:55). The angels look and look, marvel, enjoy, delight in the myriad paradises of the divine face.2 They are grateful for man’s fall which brought them the greatest of divine beauties. They try to reciprocate by fighting by our side like bigger brothers with boldness in their prayers beside God’s throne. My dear angels, I bid you farewell. Until we meet again. 1) Sts. Dionysios the Areopagite, Gregory of Nyssa, and other Church Fathers use the word (darkness) to describe the Light of God’s essence because it is unapproachable and unknowable to man. They use the word to describe this “darkness” because this word has the double meaning of “supremely radiant” and “beyond light.” This darkness is “supremely radiant” because it is the most advanced theoria of God Himself, Who is Light. It is “beyond light” because this darkness is seen following theorias of God as light. 2) According to St. ?, God’s face is more beautiful than a myriad paradises. November 7, 1978 A constant request in my poor prayer is to entreat ardently my God and Father to feel sorry for me the worthless one by counting me worthy to have the end of my life Christian, painless, and peaceful, and at the dreadful hour of my judgement to have a defense that will save my soul. But unfortunately, my deeds are miserable and deplorable! At times, how much I am afraid! Fear overcomes me as I ponder what the end of my sinful life will be. My only consolation is mourning and weeping. When I am praying and have good contact with my Beloved, my Father beyond comprehension, I entreat and beg and beg with all my soul’s might that He will forgive me everything I have done in my life as a mere human. Oh! How much I feel the boundless forgiveness of God then! How much I am relieved is beyond description. I see how easily a sinner is forgiven when He falls at God’s feet with tears and contrition. I spoke very intimately with God. What grandeur there is then! How much the realization of the Heavenly Father’s care for my soul relieves me! Often His affection is so great that I noetically embrace Him as much as is possible. I weep in His divine arms. Oh, what hope I have then! Everything gloomy departs and the divine tenderness reigns and overcomes me, and I feel so secure resting upon Him. I beseech You, my Father, support me, because I am inconceivably weak and ready to fall. The “old Adam” (cf. Rom. 6:6) is still alive and constantly threatens me. So do not take my guardian, my angel, away from me at all. Glory to Your glory and love, my sweet, invisible presence. I thank You for everything and kiss You, Your helpless child. November 8, 1978
God counted me worthy also tonight to sit in my quiet little cell and speak with Him. Everyone is absent; only He is with me (by nature)—the Invisible, Incomprehensible, Unapproachable One. God, my Father, is my companion inside and outside of me. I stand before His magnificence, before His most holy nature, before His fragrance, before His omnipotence which is full of grace but fearsome to see. I—the insignificant zero, the invisible microbe who have sinned foolishly, with no fear of God, and so thoughtlessly—stand before Him, and I wonder why He didn’t destroy me as the filthy rebel that I am. Here the magnificence of the God with infinite tolerance is evident. His forbearance has no limits. His love has rendered us all guilty. All of us, and I first, have wounded this sweet love full of fragrance and graces. Here we fall apart with no defense. My sweetest Father, I, the poor one, am amazed considering Your wonders beyond comprehension and understanding. What can I say! Come, my joy, my Father, my pure and tender expectation. Come and touch my heart and everything will exult. Come, the breeze of the divine Spirit. Come, the stillness of the Incomprehensible One. I wait for You with a burning expectation and indescribable yearning; with sweet tears I welcome You, Your Majesty, worthy of all adoration and worship. I embrace You, I noetically kiss You with a sacred and holy kiss. Now the wooden talanton is striking for church, and I feel as if someone is mercilessly striking at my heart with a hammer. Oh, I wish nothing would disturb the stillness of God within me! I wish I could spend hours and hours like this with God, with the hesychia of His Spirit. I don’t want anything to happen to me that would take me out of the tranquility of the Divine Spirit. I feel great misery then. My grief is beyond words. For the sake of formalities, I am forced to give up the essence—personal contact with the source of the Divine Spirit of peace. What a loss I consider this to be! Patience, my little soul; God your Father is with you. He is your sweet companion. Amen. Forever. So be it. November 9, 1978 Holy is my God, holy Mighty, my sweet Father, holy Immortal, my worship. May the tears of my love for God my Father clean my filthy heart, so that I may love Him divinely as He deserves. But is it possible to love Him as much as He deserves? No, a million times no. We love Him with as much love as we are given from His own self. So He Who is, Who lives and rules over all, is selfglorified. I open my arms to embrace You. I melt when I feel Your love. O my Light and Father, when, I wonder, shall I see You fill my heart empty of joy? Despite this yearning and my feelings in response to Your love, I persist in foolishly and carelessly grieving You.
I sweetly kiss You, my God. My heart is on fire; refresh it, O lovely Nature full of grace. I find no words to tell You what I want to say—what Your divine love dictates to me. I leave You, lovely beauty, my Father. Whenever You want, come back to speak to me as much as You want and say whatever You want. I thank You humanly, Your child. Until we meet again. November 10, 1978 Your invisible presence, my dear, sustains me, vitalizes me, and nourishes me, and the sweet tears You give me fall like raindrops on the dry earth of my heart, spreading a beautiful fragrance of relief. Listen now, the small bell for church is ringing, and it seems as if my heart is being beaten with a hammer. My soul suffers and pushes away the hit. Oh, what delight the hesychia of the nous is, on its journey through the inexplicable theorias of God! Earthly things here in this world make so much racket. This is why the soul finds rest only in God, for it is His breath by nature. Fill my soul with goodness, my Father, and do not turn Your face away from Your poor child, because my misery will eat away at my heart. Misfortune for me the weakling is to be deprived of our love and the sweet tears that You take care to send me out of Your extreme condescension. O sweet love of my Holy Father and God, protect me in Your arms so that I will not taste the venom of Your divine aversion. At the mere thought of it, horror overcomes me, the wretched and worthless one. My Father and my love, I kiss Your divine little hand and get Your blessing until tomorrow. Forgive me for everything I have sinned against You. November 11, 1978 Most holy Love, divine and most pure, do not abandon me the wretch, lest my heart love and incline towards another unhealthy and sinful love. The devil is dirty. This is how he wants to make man, too, especially through carnal sins. My vigilant Guard, my God and Father, guard my heart from the fire of dirty filth. Divine Purveyor, fill me with the excellent, heavenly food of Your heart so that my heart becomes entirely transformed and that the devil’s offers seem disgusting, execrable, and torturous to me. My God, how weak I am! Brace me on You. Become a rock for me to stand on so that I am not shaken. I tremble like an autumn leaf; that is how frail I am.
“O foundation of those who trust in Thee,” make me firm so that I remain unshakeable at every gust of sin and that the devil may not sweep me away like a dry, dead leaf. I fervently thank You for everything. Your divine blessing. Your faithful follower. November 12, 1978 When the nous is enlightened, clear, graced by God, and sees high above in the heaven the stars—those countless heavenly bodies with their massive weight—knowing that the galaxies are clouds of an infinite multitude of stars, suns, etc., my soul feels, sees with the eyes of faith (I do not know how) the incomprehensible nature of God the Father, and that He has created and easily supports them in the vacuum in a miraculous way as if it were nothing. In the midst of this wonder and amazement, the soul remains speechless, mute, unable to express what it feels for God. Enlightened thoughts about all of creation follow, and everything speaks in its own tongue about the glory of God and says that they all came to be through God for the pleasure of man. I am reminiscing about once long ago, when we were at New Skete. I had taken a break from my handicraft, and I went outside to the courtyard for a little while saying the prayer, and I came to the feeling of God. Everything spoke to me about God; the trees, the little birds, the flowers, the clean atmosphere, etc. I felt as Adam did when he was in Paradise. I marveled at everything. Everything was speaking to me about the glory and magnificence of God, and saying that the love and providence of God created them for man. My little soul felt inconceivable bliss of God! How beautiful my soul looked to my noetic eyes. If these earthly things cause so much divine amazement and grace, I wonder what there is in the other, eternal world, where the luxury of God’s wisdom is! The expression of my eyes, the tears, confirm the authenticity of this divine revelation. The result of this vision is for the soul to cry out: “My sweet Father, my life and joy, save me, your wretched and pitiable child.” I love you tremendously. I have sinned. November 13, 1978 My soul today is tight. Fear of death overcomes me. The tears serve as a small consolation. I weep, pondering how I will find God up above. As soon as the grace of God leaves, the soul cringes and fear of the things to come approaches it. How will my soul depart? I wonder, will it be saved? By what kind of death will God take me? What will be the pains of my death? Alas, what awaits me!
I wonder, where is my soul’s previous boldness? Where is the divine eros, the honey-flowing tears, and the nous’ theorias? How clear it is that everything is given from God to poor man, and out of ignorance and inexperience, he thinks that it is due to his struggles and virtues that God sends His gifts. Everything is arranged by the dispensation and providence of our good God, so that we learn humility and it becomes second nature to believe in our nothingness. The heart needs to vomit all its egotistical illness so that it may be counted worthy of this most holy humility. May my God and Father enlighten my darkness so that I love Him with limitless humility and selfknowledge. Death threatens me; my Father, save in this hour. November 16, 1978 For three or four days now I have been suffering many bitter distresses because of temptations coming from the fathers. The days are evil and full of turmoil. I was deprived of my God’s visitation and felt unbearable pain. But tonight in my vigil alone, my Father and God came. He showed me how much He has cared for me ever since I was a small child named Johnny and from how many things he rescued me. I felt all His fatherhood (as much as is possible) with feeling of soul. I felt like a little child beside Him. This feeling brought me profuse tears that relieved my soul from its spiritual fatigue of the tumultuous days’ temptations and from the deprivation of grace. With feeling I felt how God created everything. I saw His magnificence and I was stunned! What an awesome thing God is! Likewise, what extreme humility He had at His Passion on the Cross. “Great art Thou, O Lord, and wondrous are Thy works, and no words suffice to praise Thy wonders.” Wonders follow upon wonders with God’s things. “What God is as great as our God!” (Ps. 76:13) The sweet and profuse tears crown the visitation of the thrice-holy God, Who is hymned visibly and invisibly by every created thing. Glory to Thy magnificence, O incomprehensible Lord. My Father, forgive me my sins. Come at the hour of my death with Thy wondrous help. Leave me not alone. Thank you. I trust in Your divine mercy. November 18, 1978 I arose from sleep for my vigil and my nous was clear. How much I doubt in everything! Man will progress in prayer however God wills. Nothing is immutable. My dear Father, oh how sweet You are in Your incomprehensible nature! The more incomprehensible I perceive You and know You to be, the more sweet You seem to me. Count me worthy to see You. I kiss You mentally with a very sweet heart. I weep because I love You. You are the one Who gives me this love; it is Yours. Whenever You want, You take it and I remain cold,
frigid. Then I suffer terribly because I am unable to live without You, now that You have opened the eyes of my soul a little and I saw You. What thanks can I offer You? Unfortunately, I find no words to thank You for looking upon me with a paternal, cheerful, caressing eye. I kiss You ever so sweetly, my Father. I open my arms, thinking that in this way I shall embrace You and be a little relieved. Forgive me for these things I do and say to You. I do not know why I do them; I believe that You dictate them to me, because when You do not look upon me, I am cold and callous. I leave You my joy and my dear Father. Make me safe with salvific self-knowledge of my infinitesimal nothingness. Amen. Come once again, O most compassionate Sweetheart. I am waiting for You like a new-born little bird waits for its mother. Until we meet again. November 19, 1978 I sat down to do my beloved prayer. My nous was moved to theoria of God, Whose nature is invisible. God is the Spirit of spirit, invisible to all. The nature of His divinity is incomprehensible. Since the nature of the human nous is incomprehensible (since we only know of its activity), what can we say about the divine, invisible, impervious, most supreme Nous! By the activity of the human nous, man creates in his imagination what God created in His omnipotence. The nature of the nous cannot be seen, so can a mortal, finite man see in His spiritual nature God, Who is above spirit? Materially minded people say, “Show me where God is so that I can see Him. Why doesn’t He appear to us to make us believe in Him?” But see how God is clearly manifest in the University of His creation. The structure of man is an entire school in itself. Just as the human nous with its miraculous activity is able to travel with inconceivable speed through the whole world, with the brain as its seat, likewise the Nous of nouses, God, with light as His seat, “Who dwelleth in unapproachable light,” is noetically diffused everywhere by nature. Everywhere present and filling all things. With unimaginable ease He supports, provides for, maintains, governs, and knows everything. Everything he created is within His existence, in His hands, in His head. He continuously reveals Himself to His angels and He brings them to ecstasies and theorias, and He still has not shown them anything of His real self. But after all, what is God? Deep calleth unto deep (Ps. 41:7). He Who is will remain known only to Himself unto the ages of ages. Yes, my golden Father. You deserve to remain as You are. This is what God means. Your incomprehensibility is Your honor and glory.
My sweet and awesome God, I am waiting. November 20, 1978 Today is Sunday. My weak and clumsy prayer started with profuse sweet tears for Him “Who covereth Himself with light as with a garment” (Ps. 103:2). Oh, how much I worship my crucified Jesus at such moments! My, how much my soul noetically embraces Him! “Love knows no modesty.” God is simple, and He accepts simple hearts and expressions simply and tenderly. What a sweet, pleasant, holy, virginal love there is when God is un-nailed amongst the band of His disciples in the theanthropic form of Jesus. The beloved Jesus prayer continues. Distraction is trying to make itself present, even though it is always ready to assault an empty nous and lead it so incoherently that one is baffled at how light and easily carried away it is without the heaviness of God’s grace. A vivid feeling of the remembrance of death overcame me. I entreated my invisible Father extremely fervently that the end of my wretched life may be painless and shameless, and that I will give a good defense before Him. Oh! May His tender, paternal heart not forget me at the difficult hour of my death! My dear God, come take me peacefully and calmly beside Yourself. I have sinned! What demands do I, the wretched beast, have! Have mercy, my Lord, have mercy on my helpless soul’s lack of boldness. I hope and hope and hope. “Hope does not disappoint” (Rom. 5:5) Amen. November 21, 1978 Today is the Entrance of the Virgin. I woke up before the talanton struck for the vigil in church in order to say the prayer a little, and now I, the mortal man of clay, and God my Father, the invisible and immortal One, are together in the stillness of my cell. With tears of pain I am entreating Him to forgive me for anything I have done that has grieved Him. I beg to see Him. My, my! What a longing I have to see Him! But He is what He is. “Who shall see My face and live?” (cf. Ex. 33:20). He is in His unapproachable nature. However, He also has His revelations that He allows. I yearn for Him to manifest Himself to me in such manner. Oh, how much I would thank Him then! My God, my God, how sweet is Your companionship! You know how many things I say to You here in our stillness. Your infinite nature is Your heart as well as Your sleepless eye. This heart loves me, and that tranquil eye observes me. O inexpressible and most desired One, what can I, the wretched and worthless one, say
about You! Accept my tears as words, as thanks, as gratitude for what You are as an awesome Being, full of goodness and love. I want nothing and live for nothing but to be found some day where You are in order to enjoy You, because this is the purpose of man’s existence You have given him. Unfortunately, sin changed things, and I find myself born in this dangerous exile here. My Inexpressible One, I leave you. Count me worthy to keep company with You again. Now I am going down to the church to praise our most pure Panagia along with my fathers. November 22, 1978 Distraction overcame me before beginning my vigil. What an evil sickness and spiritual disease the wandering of the mind is! How much it upset me today! It wasted so much of my time. But see, God had pity on me, He looked upon me with His natural serene eyes and sweetened my sad little heart. Glory to Your incomprehensible, O Lord! This is what Divinity is: for everything to exist within Him and operate with divine precision, while He Himself remains unseen, invisible, unintelligible. Is it possible for the Infinite to fit inside the finite? For an eye of flesh to see the Divinity’s supremely radiant light? Or for a material nose to smell the fragrance of God and live? Glory to Your magnificence, O super-brilliant darkness! We find ourselves before the Lord’s incarnation. What will happen with the holy angels’ unbearable yearning who want to see the face of God? “But what is God?,” they wondered. “What form does He have? We are burning with an immense love for Him—we can bear it no longer. Show us, O utterly unknowable Master who You are.” The Omniscient One knew all these thoughts of theirs and did not ignore their just request, desire, love, flame, etc., and behold how He provided for His sweet praisers: The mercy of His infinite love led Him to take on flesh, to receive a human form, to descend to the land of exile, to speak with rebellious, exiled man, to redeem him with His divine blood, to reconcile with him, to save him. So once He accomplished the primary goal of His incarnation, the salvation of man, the time came to achieve the secondary goal—the satisfaction of the angels’ longing to see the face of God. After Jesus the God-man completed His work on earth, one day He set out to accomplish His secondary goal. He ascended into the heavens to satisfy His angels. For how could He let them suffer with an unbearable holy pain! His heart couldn’t withstand it; He couldn’t but thank them, since they stand in obedience to Him so humbly. As soon as the angels saw Him ascending and sitting upon the awesome throne of divine glory, they reflected on His consideration of their excruciating desire to see His theanthropic form, and their minds were nearly shaken. Their eyes were dazzled; their hearts almost stopped due to the electrifying flow of divine love; their minds were caught up into theorias and illumination. Now the angels are in their glory. They see their God. They stand around His awesome throne. They stand beside Him like an honorary guard and as His closest servants. They look admiringly at their King. They gaze at Him and are intoxicated by His divine beauty. My! What bliss these holy beings feel! Woe to me the wretched sinner. “When shall I come and appear before the face of my God?” (cf. Ps. 41:2). My
tears constantly beseech and bessech: “I seek and yearn to see my God and to be filled and satisfied with Him.” I am not worthy for anything. I have sinned, my Lord, forgive me. I am brash in my expressions, since I do not have the spiritual state corresponding to my requests. May my God have pity on me. November 24, 1978 Yesterday, my God, You forgot me. Various demons visited me and wasted my prayer time. No matter how much I tried, it was in vain. Without Your help, there is only a frigid cold. Welcome back, my dear Father and God, most lovely, most sweet, most almighty, most honored, most gorgeous, sweeter than honey, whiter than milk and snow, superior to all glory and every earthly possession. Yes, my joy and my light, brighten my soul blackened by passions and sins. May Your ineffable and extraordinary fragrance give life to my heart killed by the odor of dishonorable passions of the old man. I have eagerly desired to see You. O extremely most white light, glory of my Father’s whiteness, with which You cover Your unapproachable divine nature. Come to me, O most white light, into my poor little soul. Come so that I may see You and enjoy You and be whitened. I lack words, my joy, to express myself to You Who are inexpressible even to Your angels. Oh, what poverty scourges me the wretch! Grant me words and expressions to tell You how I feel You. O white light beyond all whiteness of milk and snow. I kiss you, I kiss You, O white glory of the God of true glory. My, what He has in store in the worlds of His heavenly luxury! My most glorified Lord, deliver me from every passionate movement of my soul. My God Who is free of arrogance, free me from the demon of filthy pride. But what do I have to give me haughty thoughts since I see my plight? I weep and lament, seeking mercy and forgiveness from God. I have an extreme desire for theology. O fount of theology for me, water the depths of my being. I long for nothing in this world but to know and see my God, His glory, His grandeur, because He is totally worthy and because I will live with Him unto the ages of ages. O extremely most white light of God my Father, come within me. I am Your heir, my father, through the sacrifice of Your Son and my brother Jesus. O the depth of divine knowledge! I am a weakling, and I lose myself. O nothing of nothingness! My white light, may we have a good meeting again, whenever and however You want. Count me worthy to remain with You in love. Hail, my sweet and life-giving light of God my Father. Farewell, live unto the endless ages. Au revoir. November 28, 1978
With the help of God my holy Father, I woke up today for my vigil of private prayer. Experience has taught me once and for all that nothing is achieved without God wanting it, to Whom everything is subjugated at His mere nod. I began my little prayer. In the beginning the remembrance of death brought mourning to my little soul. Oh, how much i wanted to see God as He is! How necessary my soul feels such a contact to be these days. I have no trust or self-confidence that my resolute will shall bring this about. Only if God wills will He show something of Himself. Otherwise, the effort to pray will end up fruitless. I started saying the Jesus prayer very timidly with pain and longing, so that His heart would comfort me with His infinite love, as He is wont to do from time to time. My Father and God had pity on me, like a forlorn little bird, and He tossed me a few small seeds. Oh, how wonderful it was in His domain! I shed profuse sweet tears at His approach. My God is holy, holy, holy mighty, and immortal. But what isn’t He? Sweetness, joy, divine beauty, light supremely radiant and very white. This light is His glory with which He covers Himself. His nature, though, is completely foreign and unknown. This is how He will remain forever. This is what God means. Glory, my love, my God, to Your magnificence and to Your unknown (to us) nature. My dear Father and my joy, forgive me my sins and count me worthy like Abimelech (vid. Judg. 9:50-54) to sleep a painless death, freeing me from the horror of death. Have pity on me, your poor and wretched child. My holy angels, to you I turn the eyes of my soul and beg you not to stop chanting to our thrice-holy God, because basically you are the only ones left to thank him, to please Him, and to give Him joy with your life. We men, and I first, have thoroughly embittered and wounded His lovely heart with our impious life and with the horrible way we ignore Him. The more we grieve Him, the more you must chant t mitigate our poison in His little heart. I thank You, my Father, for the rest You gave me, the unworthy one. I kiss You sweetly, Your child. November 30, 1978 Blessed be the name of our good God. I tried to communicate today with the invisible God, forgetting everything else, every other created, material, perceptible, and intelligible thing. I wanted, I longed for the Creator of all to bless this voluntary effort. Everything disappeared, everything was forgotten as if they didn’t exist. I entered the realm, the place of the Infinite, the Invisible, the Incomprehensible One. My soul, my heart constantly held on to the prayer like a steering wheel and a safety power of caution. Oh, what the nous sees and in what divine mysteries it is instructed when it finds itself in this aura and at this height of God! Peace, tranquility, and divine, indescribable stillness. The sweet, profuse tears flowing freely and the testimony of the heart attest that the nous is shooting in the right direction. High up there, what it marvels at is the magnificence, the majesty of God. Due to the wonder of revelations of
knowledge about God, words and expressions are completely lost, and one is left speechless, marvelling at the unintelligible God. God is the good cause of everything. It doesn’t matter if one says many or few words, because man cannot understand God with his mind and his intellect and because He is incomparably above and beyond everything. In spite of this, He is not hidden, but He truly reveals Himself only to those who pass by everything that is unclean, raise above the clean, and transcend all sanctity. I am reflecting on Moses, how first he and his people were purified, and then he heard the trumpets, he saw lights like lightning, he entered the supremely radiant cloud of unknowing (vid. Ex. 19:10-20), and his holy face shone so much that the people could not look at him because of his brightness, and they had to use a veil (vid. Ex. 34:29-35). But the hermits of the New Covenant of Grace through prayer and with their tremendous mental powers (due to their ascesis) regularly found themselves in the place of God. The place of God is the lofty theorias that transcend the nous and subjugate man’s reason. Now I am taking a break. I got up from the floor and went to the window for a physical and mental change of pace, and behold, I see the bright moon and the stars strewn throughout the sky full of grace and beauty. I gaze and gaze and can’t get my fill. How much they tell me about God! “When the stars were made, all the angels cried out with a loud voice” (cf. Job 38:7) out of their great joy and wonder at the wisdom and might of God. I am contemplating their size, their weight (as solid bodies), their wondrous and amazing operation, and it is as if I see the invisible power of God supporting them as if they were nothing. Millions of heavenly bodies stand in the vacuum by the providence and power of God. All the stars with their beauty and grace boast, swank, speak, and cry out on their own about the super-brilliant and obvious existence of God. And now my thoughts are proceeding to man. Man, the elect creation of God, the breath of God, with a dual nature, is born on this planet, the earth, and gradually he dies physically some day, completely incapable of keeping himself alive. Conceit blows him up like a balloon, and then with one illness like a needle, he bursts and dies. He has no power over himself. Without realizing it, he is governed by another’s will and command, while he is led away involuntarily, completely helpless to resist. What are you, O man, that you boast and brag, imagining outrageous things about yourself? Behold, an invisible microbe attacks you, and at once you feel ill, fall sick, and go to your grave. O conceited mortal, you see that death is coming and that you will depart to unknown land and yield to it with no ability to object. Are you able to refuse, to resist, to escape what is going to happen to you at that fearsome hour? Not at all! Helplessness and captivity. Yet despite all this unshakeable reality, wretched man, in his anger and fury, blasphemes God, His Creator, for trivial things. He becomes atrocious and wretched. But God sees him, listens to him, and like a father with a divine, affectionate heart, He endures and continues loving him and taking care of him so that he lacks nothing in life. Oh, the depth of the infinite love and compassion of God! I am proud of You, my Father, because You prove to be majestic and worthy of love.
The break relaxed me physically and since I see that I still have time, I continue my vigil. I sat down on the floor and continued the refreshing little prayer with luminous knowledge from God. I marveled at the benefit of vigil. My Elder of blessed memory always emphasized that we should work diligently at keeping vigil and that Abba Isaac the Syrian says, “Do not consider him who cognitively keeps vigil as a man, but as an angel of God.” Through vigil, prayer, and careful living, the watchful monk is initiated in divine philosophy and is educated theologically. This education provides such beauty of soul and grace to the student in the theological school of monasticism, that even the holy angels feel much love and joy to be near him in order to help him for greater progress. The opposite happens with those who are worldly educated—who in reality are over-educated and sick with egotism and arrogance—whose education does not give them beauty of soul and unfortunately constantly distances them from God, with the end result of denying Him completely. St. Anthony the Great says, “Men are incorrectly called rational since their deeds are irrational.” Consequently, those who should be called scientists above all are those who philosophize on the divine and eternal things of God. In order to attain this divine Science, it is not necessary to sit at a desk in a university. It suffices to have a quiet cell, to be guided by a spiritual professor, and to do one’s monastic duties perfectly. One will fight many battles, and the struggle against the passions and demons will sometimes reach the point of bloodshed. He will hit and be hit, and then years later, when God approves of his toil, his pains, and his countless tears, He counts him worthy of Theological education through the Holy Spirit. The primary characteristics of this education are perfect (as much as is possible) self-knowledge—which means extreme humility—and divine eros with theological guidance. A monk without a cognitive vigil and without prayer and caution in the daytime is not counted worthy of this honor of the gift of theology that sheds grace upon him and adorns him angelically. Therefore, from all of this we draw the conclusion that without the discipline of keeping vigil and leading a careful monastic life, a monk will remain barren of the lofty and exceptional gifts of God. I have none of these gifts. I have not worked for my God as I should have, and I justly lack His favor. May the worthy prayers of my holy Elder who achieved the heavenly good things deliver me from the eternal death of the soul. I thank You, my God. May the name of the thrice-holy God Be blessed forever unto the ages. December 1, 1978 I am pondering how well praying at night suits a monk. How beautiful the night is with God the Father in the stillness of the Holy Spirit. I am totally enchanted! What tremendous peace and stillness reigns when
one is within God! The soul is nourished wondrously in the serene spirit of the invisible and unapproachable God. He rules over the nous and soul in the stillness of the night. Listen, I hear a nightingale. He harmonizes his charming little voice with the stillness of the night air, and thus the soul and nous rejoice, and the heart feels a beautiful and joyous repose. Oh, how much I would like to remain in this state forever! How difficult it seems to go down to church for the service that lacks the cell’s hesychia and quiet. In church the Lord is also worshipped, but what an incomparable difference there is in yield of grace and spiritual nourishment and growth! I thank You again, my Father, that You heard my unworthy prayer and refreshed my little heart with the relaxing tears that bedew the soul. I beg you to forgive me my sins and count me worthy of grace and mercy at the end of my life. Thank You. Endless thanks I offer You. My love, my God, keep sending me Your love, and protect me like a poor and feeble child of Yours. I noetically kiss You, my Father. Thank You. December 3, 1978 My alarm clock rang. I got up, had a coffee to wake me up, and began my prayer rule. Outside is a full moon. The stars are shining, everything is still. O wilderness, how you enchant me and unite me with Him Who united God’s nature with human nature! As the dolphin glides and delights in the calm sea, so does the nous, the soul, indulge in the stillness of the night and make ascents and meet God. Oh, those contacts with Divinity! What sweet, tender, spiritually nourishing tears the soul sheds then, and the soul is washed and whitened, and it offers thanks as a fragrant incense. Outside the nightingale can be heard far away. How beautiful it is now! Stillness, wilderness, a radiant moon, the stars adorn the sky, a little bird is singing, compunctiously chanting to the Creator of all with its own chant. The nous is calm, serene, illuminated; the soul feels wonderful—everything forms a harmony out of the mercy and goodness of the thrice-holy God. Truly man was created to occupy himself with God without cares. Oh, what felicity it is for man in the stillness of the night to reflect upon what he is revealed! God continuously reveals Himself to His angels, and yet He still hasn’t even begun really revealing Himself. O incomprehensible, thrice-holy, and all-holy Nature! O Light of Light, illumine me with Your radiance. But I am wondering how I will bear this light and not collapse. I open my little arms to embrace Him Whom I love—my Father, God—and since I do not grasp something palpable, I suffer, my heart suffers, my eyes shed and shed tears of love, nostalgia, and pain. “As the hart panteth after the fountains of water, so panteth my soul after Thee, O God. My soul thirsted for Thee, my living God. When shall I come and be counted worthy to see the face of my lovely God?” (cf. Ps. 41:1-2).
You, You, my light, my joy, my Father, I am suffering—help me to embrace You, my dear God. Give rest to me, Your poor little creature. Oh! I feel myself to be nothing but a weakling. My, my, what a nothing I am! Do not misunderstand me, my Lord, for my foolish words with which I express myself to You; I am brainless and worthless. My sins are countless, various. I ask a thousand times for forgiveness for my impiety. I went down to the church. The difference was striking in comparison with the cell’s quiet solitude. My good Father, I leave You for tonight. Whatever You decide will happen to me tomorrow—nothing depends on my preparation. Every human effort is uncertain without Your grace. I rest in Your hands. Give me whatever You want, as much as You want, and whenever You want. Like a nestling I will wait with agony for You to bring life-giving food to my heart so that I may grow spiritually, grow wings, and fly and come find You up high where You are—in the super-brilliant darkness of heavenly theology. I leave You now; I will stop bothering You. Remain in the stillness of Your unapproachable Spirit. Always remember me as Your poorest little child. +May we meet again soon Amen. December 4, 1978 It is Sunday today; the holy great martyr Barbara is celebrated today. How much I love my dear Saint Barbara! It is night now, 10:00pm. With how much longing and love—and fear simultaneously—I wait for this time to come so that I can keep vigil and pray! I feel fear, lest due to my sins I do not feel and experience in my prayer the sacred and tender love of God my Father. As the deer searches with yearning and thirsts to find a spring with cool water to quench its thirst, to refresh its heart, to neutralize the venom it received after eating a poisonous snake, so does my soul thirst, yearn, search, burns, and cries out for You, the living, divine spring, my God, the water springing up that bestows everlasting life upon the thirsty. My tears have become for me like my daily bread (cf. Ps. 41:3) by entreating Him, crying out to Him, and pouring out my soul to Him. My dear father, I want and am burning to see Your sacred face, but when shall I be counted worthy of this honor? When shall I enter the place of Thy wondrous tabernacle (cf. Ps. 41:4), into the darkness beyond light, where the super-brilliant angels are initiated into mysteries and taught godly hymns and compose the angelic choir which is beyond understanding and comprehension. I wonder, when shall I be counted worthy of this gift out of the mercy of Him Who has mercy and feels sorry for my poverty and wretchedness? As a candle melts when it approaches fire, so does my little soul melt and burst into very sweet tears every time it enters the realm of the divine fire.
O Fire that gives warmth and simultaneously refreshes and makes man joyful and a god by grace and participation, oh, melt me in Your fire, my God, and give me a mold so that I may conform to Your heart as You want me to be—as long as I remain faithful to Your love and in obedience to You with genuine humility until the end of my life. Amen; so be it. My lovely Father, I take Your blessing and keep silent. December 5, 1978 How little boldness I feel in my prayer today! I have cringed like a weak, sickly little bird. I continue saying the dear Jesus prayer. My frightened little heart is starting to warm up, to recover, to feel well. It seems that God has had pity on me. I thank You primarily, my Father, because You made the effort to come visit me. Come, my light; come my joy; come O celestial brilliance, O inexpressible, divine, pure eros beyond understanding and comprehension; come, O stillness of the Invisible One; come, O peace which surpasses all understanding (Phil. 4:7); come, O pure and simple humility; come, O supernatural and ineffable fragrance of the holy and divine Nature; come then, O Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and make a home within my little heart. It is not clean, O thrice-hypostatic Ruler of All. Pass it through Your divine fire and bestow upon it the cleanness to become suitable to be a sacred temple of Yours, whence You will hear my unworthy prayers. I do not want to part from You now that I feel so warm beside You. When will all the cheap, earthly things of this life finally end! Oh, how much I envy the angels, who have constant contact with God without any hindrance or noise. Down here, everything is noisy and turbulent. I leave You for now, my sweet warmth, my dear Father. Have pity on me and come back so that we may keep divine company again. I wait in agony. Your blessing. December 9, 1978 By the mercy of my holy God, I have been counted worthy once again to reach the hour of the sacred vigil in my little cell. With many warm tears full of pain I beseeched my God and Father to deliver me from the passionate state of my “old man” (cf. Rom. 6:6)—which is like a fetus living in its mother’s dark womb—and to grant me freely the freedom from passions, life in accordance with Christ—which is like the departure, the birth of the fetus into the world with the sun and light and so many other beautiful things in the world. The burning tears continued like a bouquet of supplications, imploring Him to reveal Himself to me and to let His unspeakable and ineffable fragrance somewhat loose. Ah, how much I beseeched Him for this! I
hope and hope that my tears coming from such great pain and longing will move Him to have mercy on my destitute and miserable soul. Oh, my God, how do the holy of holies in Your holy temple differ from the sacredness of a monk’s cell, since he is initiated in Your supernatural mysteries, just as the priest in the Old Covenant was when he entered the holy of holies once a year to offer a propitiatory sacrifice “for himself and the errors of the people?” (Heb. 9:7) The same God is within the holy temple and in the cell of a hesychast, and You hear their prayers and reveal Your holy will to Your honorable servants. You do not dwell only in temples made with hands, but above all Your dwelling place is the psychosomatic hypostasis of bipartite man, which has instead of the holy table the heart that has received the gift of the Holy Spirit and offers sacrifices and bloodless, spiritual sacrifices in a spirit of hesychia and extreme, divine, mysterious peace. Glory to the only wise God Who does marvellous wonders and gives us the victory by the gift of His grace. I have finished for today with You with these thoughts, my dear Father. Give me a beautiful and sweet meeting with You tomorrow, too. I thank You for everything. December 10, 1978 As soon as my alarm clock rang I got straight out of bed. I always sit down to pray very timidly because I have come to believe that only if God wants will He visit me. And since I am a great sinner, I am afraid that the Lord will not come and will reject me as something disgusting. Once again I see mercy and love. How beautiful the breeze of the Spirit is that reigns in the cell during prayer time! It seems as if it comes out of my soul, and I feel so wonderful and cosy. How holy this state is! Occupying oneself with God is the most permissible, the most appropriate, the most becoming occupation for man. Oh, how sweet, calm, and serene the soul is not only during prayer time, but even afterwards when it takes a break for a mental change of pace! It does not want anything to disturb the calm and the breeze of the divine Spirit that it enjoys. How strongly I feel through faith the presence of God! How much worship my soul devoutly expresses to Him and noetically offers Him! What grandeur meditating on God hides! I am dust and ashes. I have nothing but sins and impiety if God leaves me. I constantly fall into sins and reek. My Father, my God, my sweet worship, I leave You for tonight, and forgive me for anything I, the mindless one, have sinned against You. Live, my joy, unto the ages of ages. Amen. December 11, 1978
My God, my God! How fervently and wholeheartedly, with what pain I implored and begged You to come in the hour of my death to help me escape the fearsome difficulty of this mystery of death. But even You, my Christ, for my sake tasted the bitterness of death: “My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, to the point of death” (Mt. 26:38). Since I am human and have so many sins, I do not know what is in store for me and what Divine Providence will allow. The profuse tears You give me, my dear God, soothe me, comfort me, and give me hope and courage. Oh, how sacred the Holy Spirit makes the hours of prayer at night in the cell! The soul rests, flourishes, is refreshed, fortified, and made spiritual in a strange and mysterious way. Oh, and how wonderful it is to say this golden little Jesus prayer! Yesterday I had a great storm of temptations during the day. How much I was distressed! I was embittered. Glory to God, it passed. Now I wait for another one and another one, for they will never disappear. This is what the “second grace” of experience teaches me and has written indelibly in my soul. O sacred presence of my Father, keep nourishing me so that I will not die without You, my life. Forgive me, the careless one with no fear of God, for whatever I have sinned against You. Like a child I kiss You good-bye. December 12, 1978 This night has also come. I spoke alone with God about matters regarding Him and my wretched soul, which is full of tumors and pains. These appointed hours are consecrated for meeting my Father. How vividly, how tangibly I feel the soul’s nature as something spiritual and that some day it will shed the body as something unnecessary and depart to live another world with incredible beauty and grace. Oh, how much I feel the presence of my God and that I will live together with Him a life without end! And since I will live with God, how much I must prepare myself spiritually with Him, because I do not know when He will notify me to depart. Now I feel no fear of death. I am only thinking how deliriously wonderful and blissfully I will live in the boundless luxury of God my Father. Oh, how blessed is our Jesus, Who came to earth and spoke to us about his Father and our Father and about His heavenly kingdom, the Jerusalem above, and Paradise. My heart is sweetened by the presence of God my Father and dreams of how I will live with him eternally. The tears run and run and nourish my barren little soul like a small tree so that it may bear fruit for God. Tranquility, serenity, and extreme peace in God. Glory to You, my beautiful and incomprehensible Creator. Accept me and permit me to live with You, O blessed Nature.
How is it that You are fearsome, but also sweet and lovely? Everything is fitting for God. Live, my joy. December 13, 1978 I burn with an intense desire for God my father and to see Him, to know Him, to occupy myself with Him, to speak with Him. Oh, how many essential issues of my soul would be solved with solid solutions then! But when will this happen? I beg and beg and entreat my most merciful and compassionate Lord to hear and regard my petitions, which consist of a pure, flaming desire to be united with Him. Oh, what an awesome union! My, my! And how much i await it! My life no longer has any meaning or goal other than to come to know my God as much as possible and to prepare myself for the spiritual world of eternal life. I want and feel the need to have hesychia somewhere completely alone so that i can meditate, so that i can mediate on things about God. Nothing material interests me. I am constantly thinking about my departure to the beyond. We have no place in this world anymore. The spiritual world awaits us all. We are passers-by on the earth. These truths have literally changed me. I constantly live what emanates from them. I try to dedicate all my time to worrying about God and my wretched soul. When I think, when I try to unite myself with God and He has pity on me like a little beggar and receives me within Himself, then death does not frighten me because I am in the arms of my Father, in the massive wealth of His love that casts out fear (cf. 1 Jn. 4:18). Other times, however, when I sadden God, He doesn’t receive me, He doesn’t manifest Himself to me, and then death terrifies me and out of fear I weep and weep and cry out to my Father to have pity on me and not leave me alone in the fearsome hour of death, but to provide for me, His poor little child, by putting a little balm on the bitter cup of death. Always enlighten me, my dear god, so that I do not make mistakes and lose my little soul, which i have been struggling to save, with Your grace, for so many years. I stop here, my joy—but continue guiding me correctly on Your path. At least I will thank You since I cannot please You. December 15, 1978 To the only God be glory and honor. I am keeping vigil; I am sitting on the floor. I find myself to be very unworthy in every vigil of mine. Now I am keeping company with my beloved little Jesus prayer; it is my sweet consolation and joy. I am reflecting how mysteriously and incomprehensibly the nous is led to make contact with the other world. What can I name keeping vigil in one’s cell, for it becomes the cause for a monk to rise so high, to escape the earthly, material realm and reach the beyond, where he is initiated in the darkness beyond light
of the divine presence? I think that I am not wrong in calling vigil in one’s cell a starting point of the Divine Spirit, and a station and launching pad of spiritual missiles, with the aim of landing in the world of the Spirit. Our Holy Fathers, with their eyes constantly wet with tears and their fiery prayer, fired the spiritual missile—the nous—and through it they entered the divine darkness with unknowing. They freed their nous of images, shapes, and thoughts, and thus completely bare they led it to the infinitude and incomprehensibility of God. But what can you think about God when you find yourself before Him! Words completely vanish and one remains speechlessly marvelling the darkness beyond the light of the divine covering. The supremely radiant light is the glory of His nature. The Divine Nature is and will always be unapproachable, invisible, incomprehensible. “No man shall see my face and live” (Ex. 33:20), said God to Moses. The Apostles at the Holy Transfiguration saw the uncreated divine glory of the Divinity of Christ as much as they were able, and they fell down due to the brilliance. Therefore, seeing the utterly unknowable Divinity is unthinkable. The glory of the supremely radiant nature is only communicated. “Thy knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is mighty, I cannot attain to it” (Ps. 138:6), the Prophet David cried out in ecstasy. Attracted by God-inspired theology, the Watchful fathers practised hesychia in their little cells. They kept vigil, wept with unseen laments, and thus they raised their souls from the death of ignorance and reached places that we are unable to imagine. St. Arsenios the Great had his sanctified little hands raised in prayer during the entire vigil (as did St. Irene Chrysovalantou), while his nous was inside the divine darkness in divine theorias and smelled the inexpressible fragrance of God, which is why he didn’t feel the fatigue of keeping his hands raised. Behold the fruit of vigil, hesychia, tears, abstinence, and freedom from care for earthly things subject to decay. Since we (and I, first) have not struggled accordingly, we lack these supernatural gifts. But just the stillness of vigil in the cell with a little prayer relaxes and invigorates the soul. Even the short vigil in church along with the monastic prayer rule (doing metanoias and the Jesus prayer with crosses) has some worth. This is why we must force ourselves and work diligently at this work that is so salvific. God wants to see man’s good intentions and forcefulness in accordance with his strength. When he does so with humility, God undertakes the completion of the good work, and out of His goodness He gives man the whole reward for the completed work to console him, but also to put the devil to shame. The cognitive vigil engenders consolation of soul, fills the heart with joy, makes the nous as light as air, and gives it wings to fly the noetic heights and the various theorias, by which one’s soul becomes rich with the beauty of divine knowledge. However, if one does not keep vigil out of laziness and irregularity, he will always lack consolation, his heart remains empty, empty of joy, while his nous is darkened and full of dirty thoughts; this emptiness is due to the absence of God’s grace pushes him to idle talk, judging others, and boldness in order to
unwind, relax, and have some consolation—not realizing that he is taking spiritual poison, with uncertain results. While the devil on the one hand celebrates and dances with a crazy joy when he sends unwary people to hell who stay up all night and “keep vigil” at the night clubs and back alleys of sin, on the other hand he is filled with bitterness and rage against the monk (or the Christian) whom he sees in his solitary little cell keeping vigil, censing God with the incense of his powerful prayers and tears, working at the virtues, sanctifying his soul, and helping the world. I am keeping vigil. I am making an effort. I have no strength. I am wretched and weak. Sometimes, I don’t know how God remembers and sends me with great condescension, a small ray of light and divine love. Oh, then! What bliss, what tears flow and flow as if from a fountain, watering the heart, the nous, and the body. How much I am thinking about all of you at this hour! It is my great desire that you participate in this beautiful state. At the same time, though, I feel sorry for all those who do not force themselves in general and especially in vigil and are thus deprived of this progress in grace. The years are passing, departing. When will we start forcing ourselves? When will we be reborn? Death is at our doorstep. A fearsome tribunal awaits us. When the impartial Judge, our Christ, asks us, “My dear monk, what did you do with the time free of cares I gave you in the monastery to procure riches for your soul? Let me see what you have brought me as spiritual merchandise.” Oh, then! What shame and disgrace will cover my face! For I have wasted the precious money of time in indolence, in judging others, endless idle talk, and day-dreaming! The angels and my guardian angel, seeing me mute and thunderstruck, will feel sorrow and pain out of their love. By meditating on this and many other things, I offer mourning and tears to God, the just Judge. May He be merciful to me, the miserable wretch. O thrice-holy Master and Father, have pity on me, Your weak child, and before You take me from this temporal world, settle the account of my soul with You as completely as possible, so that it will not be hindered in its ascent by the evil tax-collecting demons at the toll-houses. I give you boundless thanks for everything, My Holy Father and God. December 21, 1978 The clock rang and I got up for my vigil. Glory to the God of the peace and tranquility of the Spirit. I took my prayer-rope and began the dear Jesus prayer for my prayer rule. My soul felt attracted towards theoria. And behold, the devil came to tell me, “Now you’ll have good theoria in your prayer.” But the grace of experience resisted at once and responded, “Whatever God wants will happen, not what I want. God directs the nous and heart however He wills. I am under His authority. I can do nothing spiritually significant on my own.” And by immediately turning all my nous to the prayer, the tempter withdrew empty-handed.
After finishing my prayer rule, I, the weakling and helpless creature sat down to say the prayer a little to hear what the Lord God will speak in me (cf. Ps. 84:8). And he spoke peace—peace beyond words and thought—to my sinful soul. The tears are flowing and flowing ever so sweetly, softening my heart, making it compassionate, and flooding it beneath the waves of love. I beg, entreat, I fervently beseech my God and Father to come in the hour of my death to rescue me from the terror that occurs then, as of old with the Prophet Baruch, whom God covered so that he would not see the destruction of Jerusalem. By saying the prayer and weeping, the nous becomes keen and very light. My nous is passing me over to the immortality in the other world with the feeling that I am there in reality...Oh, what beauty! Life without end, without sorrows and afflictions; life in the inconceivable fountain of divine bliss. My God, my God! My poor brain stops before the abyss of the concept of Your bliss. O beloved Father of mine, out of Your love what heights You count man worthy to attain! What is man? He is a creature that Your boundless compassion has had mercy on and forgiven. He is a zero, a nothing. But beside You he becomes a small God by grace. I thank You, my lovely and supremely perfect God, for everything You have done for me, since I have done nothing. Time has passed without my realizing it. How much I wanted these hours never to end and not be separated from You! Nevertheless, I must go down to church, so I stop with much pain. Do not forget me my God, O dew of heaven. Remember to drip into my dry and barren heart drops of divine dew so that it may blossom and smell like the dew of Hermon (Ps. 132:3) and of the comforting Spirit. Until we meet again as You will, my Father. Your supplicant and unworthy servant. Remain quietly in Your unapproachable dwelling. December 22, 1978 Today my guardian angel woke me up before the clock rang. Thank you, my God, for putting up with me, the unworthy one, and letting me approach You. I began my prayer rule by doing the Jesus prayer with crosses (I do metanoias at the end of my vigil). Outside, nature is quiet, the moon is bright, the stars are showing off wonderfully. I felt with understanding how God holds them suspended like that, and my heart leapt for joy and wonder. And noetically—I don’t know how—I kissed God for His magnificence. I finished my prayer rule, so I sat down on the floor. My dear Christ regulated the beloved Jesus prayer and it worked like a clock. And my soul—my, my! What thanks it sent up to God’s throne! I shed many tears with sweetness in my heart, while simultaneously lamenting my unworthiness and the filth I have inside myself.
I am preoccupied wondering how the angels’ hearts don’t burst out of the joy and abundance of divine knowledge. My God, how did You make them so durable? I am a useless vessel, because as soon as God drips a bit of His love in me, I can’t bear it and act as if I am crazy. I marvel at my incapacity; I can’t do anything. I am reflecting that no matter how much gratitude I offer You, my Father, I will have done nothing in return for everything You give me completely for free. My tears truly comfort me. May they count as materialized, endless thanks and as a fragrant incense before the glory of Your divine throne that transcends all words. Accept them, my Father, from Your poor child, and do not reject them as useless and unworthy. I, the wretch, am at a loss for words. I can only bend my little head very devoutly before You, venerating You with much adoration, my worship and my love. December 25, 1978 Christmas! Our bells are ringing very joyfully—you would think that they have some special grace today and are sounding out: “Christ is born, glorify Him; Christ comes from heaven, meet Him; Christ is on earth, be exalted; sing unto the Lord, O all the earth, and sing praises in gladness, O peoples, for He is glorified” (Nativity Apolytikion). So, my Christ, welcome. Thank you for laboring on our earth, in our exile. You came to see our awful plight of our disobedience and apostasy. Blessed be Your arrival—Your birth—and Your departure— Your resurrection. You came and emptied Yourself; we praise You with all our soul. The tears run and roll on their own; joy comes and goes. The divine thoughts of God’s kenosis are unbearable due to their delight. My God, what a God You are! And what about this grandeur of Yours! I remain thunderstruck and am led from wonder to wonder. My, my! If the nous is so overcome with awe here in this world, what will happen in the heavenly world? Lowly man will see gorgeous beauty and will be amazed at God’s marvels. Oh, divine Infant! How simply, humbly, and quietly You came beside us! Your birth was quiet, like the gentle morning dew and like the soft snow that falls at night ever so quietly and gives so much whiteness to nature and great joy and delight to man. How many thousands of babies were born that same night! This baby, however, is the incarcerated Truth and Love; it is the God existing before all ages. “Thy nativity, O Christ our God, shone the light knowledge upon the world.” This unique knowledge, like a divine light, dispersed the darkness and abolished the lie. Man acquired a compass. The truth came. The light dawned, and the despairing wayfarer on earth found his bearings. O Light of God! How much You illuminate a man of prayer and make him ecstatic and beside Himself! O Lovely Light! How I long for You, yearn for You and exceedingly love You! When will You come to fill me completely with Your beauty? You don’t know how much I am waiting for You! And this is because I am blind, and I trip and commit all the sins in the world. So, my Christ, noetic Sun, how much the lie of false gods prevailed before You came at Your birth! The dim lights of the Greek philosophers and poets were incapable of diepersing the thick darkness of
polytheism. You, the unique, the unprecedented, the saving light came on that freezing winter night in Bethlehem. You became small to make us big. You became weak to make us strong. You came into the world crying to dry our tears. Oh, how much my soul aches because You didn’t find a place to stay in the whole world—but this was so that we would have a place in the Kingdom of Heaven. Oh, my Jesus! What an awesome kenosis You did for us apostates in order to reconcile us with Your Father, paying our debt with the sacrifice of Your all-holy blood on the Cross! “You humbled Yourself to the point of death, even death on a cross!” (cf. Phil. 2:8) I stand petrified before Your inexpressible humility, because I, who am a humble man by nature, have tons of pride inside me, which reveals the darkness of my ignorance. The dear Jesus prayer continues its work peacefully and silently. My nous is attracted to burst—how sweet You are! What can I say? I am bewildered with You. My heart melts like a little candle because in everything I am unworthy and inept. But when will I see You, my Father? Oh, I’m not about to live if this happens, for what created nature can bear You? Your sweetness transcends every thought and word. O people, praise the nativity of our Christ, leap for joy, because He is the one and only sole Creator of the universe, but also the only one who fills the heart tremendously with love and divine eros. I am amazed, I shudder, I don’t know what to say about God my Father. Oh, what a God we men have, yet we don’t appreciate Him. My poor little soul is celebrating out of joy, weeping in the most holy arms of God my Father. Joy for You, divine Infant And salvation for me. Live forever and be self-glorified.
