A Dialogue With Abba Arsenius

On the Call to Absolute Stillness

The disciple approached slowly, as though unwilling to disturb even the dust beneath his feet. Arsenius sat in the doorway of his cell, head bowed, hands resting motionless upon his knees. The desert wind whispered against the reeds, but the old man’s stillness fell like a deeper quiet upon all things.

Disciple:

Father, for many years I have labored, prayed, confessed, and sought counsel. Through trials, failures, small obediences, and unexpected mercy, one thing has remained constant. A call has awakened in me, faint at first, then stronger. It is a call to silence… to stillness in all things. It has stretched across decades. I am afraid to name it, yet afraid not to. How does one discern whether such a call is from God and not from the deceit of the heart?

Abba Arsenius:

My son, if you are asking such a question, you already stand at the edge of holy ground. For the call to silence is not born of the flesh. The flesh prefers noise, accomplishment, and being noticed. Silence is a sword that wounds the ego. Only God gives such a wound.

Disciple:

But Father, often my heart doubts. I fear I am deceiving myself. I have walked many paths thinking they were God’s only to discover they were shadows of my own desire. How does a man know when the call to stillness is true?

Arsenius:

First, know this:

Silence is not sought because it appears holy.

Silence is sought because the heart cannot bear anything else.

If the call has grown in you not from irritation with men, not from weariness of work, nor from sadness or pride, but from a deep longing for God Himself, then it is a seed planted by His hand. When God calls a man into stillness, the heart becomes like land thirsting for rain. It longs not merely to escape but to receive.

Tell me, does your longing accuse others? Or does it accuse yourself?

Disciple:

It accuses only me, Father. It shows me my distractions, the wounds I have not healed, the ego that has shaped even my spiritual works. It shows me my poverty. It makes me want to slip away into a quiet place where God can make me whole.

Arsenius:

Then take courage.

For the longing that humbles a man more than it exalts him is from the Holy Spirit.

Disciple:

Yet, Father, even in ministry I find that words have become heavy. Teaching feels dangerous. To speak of mysteries I barely understand feels like a burden upon the soul. I see more clearly that silence flowing from a healed heart is more beneficial than many words from a wounded one.

Arsenius:

You have touched the edge of truth. St. Isaac said that a man who teaches before he is healed harms both himself and those who hear him. There is a time to speak, but only after the heart has been brought low in the furnace of repentance. If your conscience grows weak when you speak, take that weakness as a lamp from God, guiding you back into yourself.

Disciple:

But when the call deepens… when it becomes almost a necessity… how does one respond?

How did you respond, Father?

How did you know to flee from the courts and embrace silence?

Arsenius:

I did not know.

I only trembled.

When I prayed, “Lord, lead me to salvation,” a voice answered, “Arsenius, flee, and keep silence, and be still.” I did not ask where. I did not ask when. I fled not out of confidence but out of fear, fear of losing God by clinging to the world.

A true call is known by its constancy and its cost.

Does this call cost you?

Does it strip you?

Does it leave you with nothing to defend except your desire for God?

Disciple:

Yes, Father. It strips everything. The identities I built. The roles I carried. Even the desire to be useful in the eyes of others. It has left me almost nameless.

Arsenius:

Then you are close to the truth.

For God writes names not upon the tongues of men but upon the heart that has been emptied for Him.

Tell me, does this stillness draw you toward God, or merely away from people?

Disciple:

It draws me to God, Father.

It is not escape.

It is ache.

Arsenius:

Then listen well.

Stillness is not chosen.

Stillness chooses.

A man may desire holiness for many reasons, but stillness visits only the one whom God desires to bury deep in His own silence. If God is calling you, He will create within you a need for silence more urgent than breath. Not merely peace, but communion. Not merely absence of noise, but presence of God.

Disciple:

How then should I walk, Father? I fear to run ahead of grace, but I fear more to ignore the voice that has been whispering for years.

Arsenius:

Walk slowly.

Walk humbly.

Walk with fear and trembling.

The man who rushes breaks himself. The man who hides starves himself. But the man who follows the call step by step, without seeking to define or defend it, will be led by God Himself into the measure prepared for him.

Guard your heart.

Withdraw when the senses grow restless.

Speak little.

Pray much.

Let the Scriptures imprint themselves upon your soul.

And above all, do nothing from your own desire.

If the call is from God, it will increase without your feeding it.

It will burn without your stirring it.

It will become the only place you can live without losing your soul.

Disciple:

Father… pray for me, that I may not resist Him.

Arsenius:

I pray that you resist yourself.

For when the self dies, the silence of God floods the heart.

And then, my son, you will know,

not by reasoning,

not by signs,

but by the peace that follows the crucifixion of your will:

that the call was from Him all along.

The disciple bowed low, and Arsenius lifted his hand in blessing.

And the desert, as though listening, fell into an even deeper silence.