PHILOKALIA MINISTRIES

The disciple came at dusk, the sky bruised with purple and fading gold. He sat at the elder’s feet because the weight in his chest was too heavy to stand beneath. The elder waited. He did not ask why the disciple had come. He could see it in the eyes: sorrow, hunger, and something like fear. ⸻ Disciple:  Father, my heart feels as if it has been split open. Longing burns through me like fire, yet I walk still in the desert, not knowing when or if I will ever cross into rest. S

To love is to suffer. Everyone says this, yet no one really believes it until the truth begins to bruise the heart. To love the Church, to give yourself over to her with the simplicity of a child and the seriousness of a vow, is to suffer at her hands. They never tell you this in seminary. There are no courses on how to bear praise without pride or how to endure humiliation without despair. They speak of kenosis and self emptying love. They teach the vocabulary. But no format