“But you are those who continued with Me in My trials, and I bestow upon you a kingdom, just as My Father bestowed one upon Me, that you may eat and drink at My table in My kingdom” (Luke 22:28)
“It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh profits nothing. The words that I speak to you are spirit, and they are life” (John 6:63)
Oh, what a promise! To enjoy the bliss of fellowship that one feels at a banquet—not any banquet, but that which awaits us after this lifetime is over, and to sit with the saints, “those who continued with Me in My trials,” and most of all with Him, our loving Lord. This is the glorious promise of the Kingdom of heaven. But we have not endured anything like the apostles. What right have we to be there? Jesus is saying that it has nothing to do with our deeds, but everything to do with His love. Like the famous invitation read at every Pascha night, even those who have come at the eleventh hour should not hesitate or be reluctant because of their unworthiness. Knowing what awaits us, why then do we fear death? Why cling to our bodies, as though they are of value? “The flesh profits nothing,” He said in another place. “It is the spirit who gives life.”
If we then vow to live by the spirit, what does it mean? Obviously to stop indulging ourselves with the cravings of the flesh. Food, clothing, leisure, and sex—all these are of little value in comparison with the life in the spirit. St. Paul spells it out in several places, notably in Galatians 5. Monastics know all this and live as best they can by carrying out its implications. Orthodox Christians are in some sense pseudo-monastics, or at least during the Great Lent. We try our best to live by the spirit and struggle against the claims of the flesh that constantly beset us.
In perusing the shelves of libraries and bookstores, I’m struck by the number of religious self-help and guidance publications offered to the public. They come from New Age writers, inspirational authors, lecturers and television personalities of all sorts. I keep looking for what will eventually be marketed by the popular series using the unfortunate designation “Dummies.” Perhaps “Salvation for Dummies.” What are all too rare are authentic teachings from the spiritual fathers of the desert and monasteries of Orthodoxy. They have yet to be discovered.
The other problem is that traditionally the great monastic saints were reluctant to advertise their spiritual experiences both out of humility and from the perception that the revelations given to them came from years of penitence, prayer, fasting and reflection. Such is not for everybody. Indeed, most of their scant writings are intended only for monastics like themselves. Not that they resented or even ignored Christians in the secular world, but it was natural for them to write to colleagues in the intense spiritual quest. This is not for dabblers or dilettantes.
One fortunate recording of a mystical experience comes from a man named Motovilov, a devotee of St. Seraphim of Sarov. It was 1831. They sat together in the forest. St. Seraphim had spent years in total silence, but he had healed the young Motovilov who asked the saint how one could know he was in the presence of the Holy Spirit. Realizing words wouldn’t help, Seraphim became transfigured before him, bathed in light so brilliant that Motovilov’s eyes were blinded. “We are now both in the Spirit. Why are you not looking at me?” “Father, I cannot. Your face is flashing at me brighter than the sun.” “Don’t be afraid. You also are shining as brightly as I. We are both in the Spirit. Otherwise you could not see me. Be brave. God is with us.” The event continues in the writings of Motovilov. But you can see why so little is written from such transcendent experiences. They are hard enough to believe, harder to comprehend, even by us Orthodox Christians, much less by the general public.