Getting Drunk with St. Macarius

The Makarian Homilies were attributed to St. Macarius of Egypt, a fourth-century desert father. In the eleventh century they were paraphrased by St. Symeon Metaphrastis. It is this text that appears in the Philokalia.

Like much of Eastern Christian spirituality he considers individual effort (heroic virtue) essential to spiritual perfection: We receive salvation by grace and as a divine gift of the Spirit. But to attain the full measure of virtue we need also to possess faith and love, and to struggle to excercise our free will with integrity. (1)

But, St. Macarius adds that through much prayer and faith, and by turning completely to God, we are able, with the help of the Spirit, to conquer the passions and root out sin (3). This is what distinguishes him from most Eastern Fathers. He emphasizes communion with the Holy Spirit and the need for more than human effort. In fact, he considers asceticism without the joy of the Holy Spirit to be empty:

[The Christian] may have fasted, kept vigils, chanted the Psalms, carried out every ascetic practice and acquired every virtue; but if the mystic working of the Spirit has not been consummated by grace with full consciousness and spiritual peace on the altar of his heart, all his ascetic practice is ineffectual and virtually fruitless, for the joy of the Spirit is not mystically active in his heart. (113)

To bear fruit, according to Macarius, requires participation in the Holy Spirit. He calls the Spirit a heavenly treasure and admonishes his reader to aquire it (87). For those who experience this release of the joy and love of the Holy Spirit, "Sometimes it seems they are in some realm greatly rejoicing and drunk with the inexpressible drunkenness of the mysteries of the Spirit, and then at other times they are full of grief, weeping and lamenting as they intercede for men's salvation." (89)

His descriptions of communion with the Holy Spirit sound very much like my experience in the Charismatic Renewal. I've seen similar emotional and physical reactions to the Spirit at prayer meetings. So, what we see is that such experience is not foreign to Eastern spiritual life. Of course, St. Macarius lived during the golden age of Church history before spontanaety succumbed to institutionalism.

Later, St. Macarius describes that the spirit-filled person at prayer, "...experiences an ineffible and measureless delight; his intellect wholly suspended and ravished, is overwhelmed, and during the time he is in this state he is mindless of every worldly concern. For his thoughts are filled with numberless incomprehensible realities and are taken captive by them. In that hour his soul through prayer becomes one with his prayer and is carried away with it." (91)

Those who have experienced the release of the Holy Spirit in their life know this delight and feeling of being carried away by love. The Charismatic Renewal did not invent this kind of prayer and worship, nor did we borrow it from Protestant Pentecostals--it was part of the undivided Church in the East and West.

What we see today is a rediscovery of refreshing, dynamic, active life in Communion with God the Holy Spirit. To my brothers and sisters in the Eastern Rite, I invite you to enter into joyful communion with the Holy Spirit by following the admonision of St. Macarius of Egypt:

We should eagerly drink spiritual wine and become drunk with a sober-minded drunkenness so that, just as those glutted with ordinary wine become more talkative, we too, brim-full with this spiritual wine, may speak of the divine mysteries. (99)

~David Samuel Thomas

*Quotations from "The Philokalia, Vol III". Palmer, Sherrard, & Ware, ed. trans. London: Faber & Faber, 1984

Cup-O-Camel

I take my relationship with Christ seriously. But it's the kind of "seriousness" that children exhibit when they play. Intensity and absorption mingled with abandonment and joy. As G.K. Chesterton said, "It is the test of a good religion whether you can joke about it."

There is a kind of "seriousness" that is poison. It leads to legalism and even depression. That was the problem the pharisees had. They were so uptight that they served God out of duty rather than love.

This "tainted seriousness" is not just found in religion, but also in politics and everyday living. Rigidness is one manifestation. Another is to believe that things are actually as bad as you imagine they are.

So what's the antidote? One is to just lighten up. Another is to exaggerate circumstances until they are so ridiculous that you can't help but laugh. St. Francis of Asissi was good at this as exemplified in a conversation he had with friar while walking in a cold winter storm:

"When we come to St. Mary of the Angels (monastery) soaked by the rain and frozen by the cold, all soiled with mud and suffering from hunger, and we ring at the gate of the place and the brother porter comes out and says angrily: 'Who are you?' and we say: 'We are two of your brothers.' And he contradicts us, saying, 'You are not telling the truth. Rather you are two rascals who go around deceiving people and stealing what they give to the poor. Go away!' And he does not open for us, but makes us stand outside in the snow and rain, cold and hungry, until night falls--then if we endure all those insults and cruel rebuffs patiently, without being troubled and without complaining, and if we reflect humbly and charitably that the porter really knows us and that God makes him speak against us, oh, Brother Leo, write that perfect joy is there."

By imagining such an extreme scenario, he could walk in the snow and rain with joy rather than complaint and despair. Plus, even if such a thing happened, he was already prepared to be joyful.

Jesus offered the cure of exaggeration to the pharisees. They were blind to justice, mercy, and faith because of their "seriousness". Our Lord said that they "strain out a gnat and swallow a camel!" (Matthew 23:24). What an absurd image, but it showed how ridiculous their legalism was. Then he continued with images of cups that are clean on the outside but filled with filth, of whitewashed tombs that contain decaying bodies.

Take the horrendous tragedies in your life and look at them in a way that will make you laugh. If you are taking life too seriously, have a bowl of camel soup.

Desire for God

In the days of the Desert Fathers, a young monk sought out an elder monk who was known for his great holiness. The elder agreed to teach the young man everything he knew about prayer and the spiritual life.

He took the young man to a river and instructed him to immerse himself. The young man did and immediately the older man pushed the young man’s head under the water and held him down. The young man submitted to this for a short time, but then he became frightened that he was going to drown. He began to struggle against the old monk’s grip, fighting for air.

Finally, when the young man thought his lungs would burst, the old man released him. The young man stood up, gasping for air, looking at the old man in astonishment.

The elder monk looked at him calmly. “What did you experience while you were under the water?”

“I thought I was going to die,” he spluttered.

“Why were you going to die?”

The young man was angry. “Old man,” he spat, “I needed to breathe. I came here to learn the ways of God, and of prayer. And instead you tried to murder me!”

“You wanted that breath of air more than anything else?”

“Of course.”

“When you desire God as much as you desired that breath of air, then you will understand.”