PHILOKALIA MINISTRIES

I have come to see with frightening clarity how brief this life is. My life is no more than a breath. Yet when I speak these words Psalm 42 rises up in me. As the deer longs for running streams so my soul longs for you my God. My days pass like mist yet something in me thirsts with a hunger that will not die. My soul thirsts for God the God of my life. Even in this brevity something eternal stirs. God’s hand has been heavy upon me. It breaks open the hardness of my heart. It

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