One of the Fathers Told A Story

One of my favorite spiritual books is Thomas Merton’s translation The Wisdom of the Desert: Some Sayings of the Desert Fathers. It’s a selection of stories from the medieval anthology, the Verba Senorum, telling of hermits who lived in the fourth century Egyptian desert.

There are more scholarly translations; most people seem to cite Helen Waddell’s work as particularly good. And I’ve dipped into these. But I find I continuously return to Merton, probably because he seems to have what in Zen circles is sometimes called the “eye.” He has a deft touch and a sense for what might actually help us today as we attempt our own path toward wisdom.

I’m so taken with this collection over the years I’ve cited one passage or another in my Monkey Mind column any number of times. Here’s another.

One of the Fathers told a story of a certain elder who was in his cell busily at work and wearing a hairshirt when Abbot Ammonas came to him. When Abbot Ammonas saw him wearing a hairshirt he said: That thing won’t do you a bit of good. The elder said: Three thoughts are troubling me. The first impels me to withdraw somewhere into the wilderness. The second, to seek a foreign land where no one knows me. The third, to wall myself into this cell and see no one and eat only every second day. Abbot Ammonas said to him: None of these three will do you a bit of good. But rather sit in your cell, and eat a little every day, and have always in your heart the words which are read in the Gospel and were said by the Publican, and thus you can be saved.

Merton ads a small footnote to that passage about the words said by the Publican, “Lord have mercy on me a sinner.” These will eventually morph into the Eastern Christian mantra practice that includes variations on that phrase. “Lord Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner,” “Jesus, have mercy on me,” and often simply, “Jesus.” it’s an ancient practice and quite powerful.

I’m deeply intrigued by this anecdote, which can even be thought of as a Christian koan, that is a statement about reality and an invitation to manifestation.

First, I love that the sage suggests the motivations that led the monk to that cave and the hairshirt were wrong, or perhaps more accurately not sufficient to win the goal. I suspect most of us take on the spiritual path for reasons that make less and less sense over time.
Although some are more compelling than others from the get go. Needing to relax is hardly ever a sustaining motive for taking on a spiritual discipline. (They’re usually just too hard…) Wanting to understand the hurt around my mother’s death is stronger. But, ultimately, every
story becomes a little too much, and we need, it appears, to put down that load and continue with empty hands.

But rather more important I think, after the abbot’s suggestion that extreme asceticism isn’t going to do it, either; he outlines three things. I suggest these three things might be useful for any of us who are looking for an authentic spiritual discipline.

The first is to sit quietly. I suspect this is the universal solvent of the spiritual way. It doesn’t take special robes or equipment. Just sit quietly. I would add it seems important to do this regularly, perhaps daily, and to give it a little time each day. Unpacking what “sit” really means, and I would add what “quietly” really means is the stuff of the practice.

Second that, “eat a little every day.” The real path appears to be one of moderation. Too little is as bad as too much. I suspect this extends from our choice of eating habits to our choice in clothing and on to the whole range of our lifestyle. A harmonious, simple way does appear to be the stuff of that authentic spiritual path.

And last, finding a way to open the heart. Calling on Jesus’ name is a powerful Christian practice. I’ve seen people go deep and wise with this discipline. In my wandering years after leaving the Buddhist monastery as I tried to find the best way to reclaim my Western heritage and Christian roots I spent several years using this prayer. Ultimately I found the Zen practices of shikantaza and koan study my baseline. But I have no doubt it is a complete discipline and I commend it to anyone with a heart affinity for Jesus and the Christian way. I suggest we all have an affinity with some heart full discipline. I would only suggest it is deepened best
when undertaken beside a guide who has herself or himself walked that path for a very long time. Such a thing helps us to not turn our practice into a garden of ego, but rather into a garden of love.

Or, so it seems to me.