After a long while in the Egyptian desert, Anthony said, “Now I no longer fear God, I love him, for love casts out fear.”
by the Rev. Buddy Stallings
When Scott first asked me to write a brief meditation on a teaching of one of the Desert Fathers, my response was, “Do you have any idea how long it has been since I have thought of a Desert Father?” In his inimitably kind way, he chuckled gently and told me the deadline for having it written.
When Scott first asked me to write a brief meditation on a teaching of one of the Desert Fathers, my response was, “Do you have any idea how long it has been since I have thought of a Desert Father?” In his inimitably kind way, he chuckled gently and told me the deadline for having it written.
To tell the truth, even when I studied the Desert Fathers long ago in seminary, I didn’t think about them a great deal. None of them, not one, seemed like someone I would enjoy getting to know or certainly one with whom I would want to share a meal. Asceticism by definition does not elicit imaginings of culinary excellence. And, yet, even then, I was insightful enough to know that my real resistance was that I suspected they were on to something in their search for God that I most likely would never have the nerve or strength to engage: long, seriously long episodes of silence and solitude. I am not talking about a well-preached about silent retreat once a year, usually in my case a long weekend in a beautiful spot that to the Desert Fathers would have looked like the Spa at Canyon Ranch. It is ironic that I am facing them again, this group of odd loners, this time in the midst of an isolating pandemic.
Several lifetimes ago, i.e., in early March, it began to dawn on me that what was coming would have profound spiritual significance in our lives, quite beyond the issue of what products we would find or not find in our local markets. Though it is a bit on the nose to suggest that our current circumstances have catapulted us into desert spirituality, there is no doubt that the sudden disruption of everything we call normal has shaken us to the core, pushing all but the most highly defended among us to ask some of the hardest questions we may ever have faced. In what does our security truly lie? Is it the financial market, the presumption of health, or the easy warmth of physical contact? Is it the casual availability of every product we can imagine or the unrestricted movement to and from anywhere our resources allow us to go? Is it in the symphony (or cacophony) of our treasured gatherings, sacred and otherwise?
Anthony said, “Now I no longer fear God, I love him, for love casts out fear.” His arrival at that place of love over fear did not come easily. Tales of his dealing with his demons are legend among the Desert Fathers. Somewhere in the dark night of his soul, hounded by all sorts of agonizing worries and questions, he came to see that loving God is different from fearing God. Rowan Williams summarizes this desert learning as coming to see that “the real meaning of the fear of God is discovered in radical self-judgment, not a fear of punishment, but the awe that arises in the presence of what is beyond our imagination and understanding.” [1]
To what place of awe might our imagination take us?
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ReplyDeleteStill learning how to operate this blog thing! Here is the comment I was trying to make. I've never been particularly partial to the Desert Fathers either; more like the dessert fathers if anything! However, remembering that loving God is different than fearing God is a worthwhile lesson in these times. Where, indeed, might we go if focused on loving God during fearful times.
Delete"In what does our security truly lie?" is a great question. Thank you for making us think, Buddy. (Hello from Brooklyn. xoxo)
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