More Hidden Than Before

There is a quiet law that runs through the desert like a hidden stream: guard your heart, and guard your tongue even more. The fathers say that a man who has tasted grace should bury the memory of it in the earth of silence, lest the evil one snatch it away or the ego feed upon it like sweet poison. They say that one who has glimpsed the things of God should walk with his head bowed, as if carrying a fragile vessel that could be shattered by the faintest breath of pride.

Abba Poemen said that the moment we speak of our struggles the demons rejoice, for they know that the very telling weakens us. Others said that it is better to cast one’s writings into the fire than to seek a name among men. They did not despise words, but they feared the corruption that so easily clings to them when the heart is not wholly crucified.

The fathers speak of silence as the guardian of mysteries. They knew how quickly the ego awakens when one begins to teach, how subtly it twists even holy things into fuel for self-regard. The man who teaches too soon becomes like a traveler who tries to lead others through a wilderness he has not yet crossed; he is the first to fall into a pit. The elders would rather a man mourn his sins in secret for decades than speak prematurely of God’s mercy.

St. Isaac says that those who have seen the invisible should become more hidden than before, for the soul is still tender and cannot bear the weight of admiration or the wound of misunderstanding. Elder Aimilianos spoke of the spiritual life as a secret marriage between the soul and God; only adulterers make public what ought to be concealed. He said that grace withdraws when spoken of, because God desires the heart to live in purity, not to gather disciples.

St. Sophrony warned that to speak of divine things without burning from within is to profane them. He said there are two ways of losing grace: sin and speech. Sin drives grace away violently, but speech allows it to evaporate slowly, one unguarded word at a time. The Jesus Prayer itself, he taught, must be hidden from the curiosity of others, for to expose the most intimate things of God is to betray the secret chamber of the heart.

The elders lived by the conviction that the soul must be shaped in the furnace of obedience and long suffering before it can bear the weight of teaching. They trembled at the thought of becoming spiritual guides. They fled honor, avoided praise, refused the role of instructor unless obedience demanded it. When they spoke, they spoke reluctantly, like men driven by necessity rather than desire.

Even the saints who wrote only did so with tears, fearing that their words might harm someone, or worse, inflate themselves. St. Silouan hid his experiences for years, revealing them only under the strict obedience of St. Sophrony, and even then with trembling. Most spiritual knowledge remains unwritten because it cannot be written without distorting the truth.

There is a purity in hiddenness that cannot be maintained once one begins to speak. The moment we share our personal experiences with God, they cease to belong wholly to Him. They become exposed to the air, and the heart begins to glance sideways: to see who is listening, who is approving, who admires our depth or envies our prayer.

The fathers knew this is death to the soul.

Better to be a fool who prays in secret than a teacher who draws applause. Better to be an unknown sinner who weeps in his cell than a celebrated writer whose words carry no fragrance of repentance. Better to lose every consolation than to lose humility.

There is only one safe path: to remain hidden in Christ.

To write only when compelled by obedience.

To speak only when silence itself would be disobedience.

To share only those things that purify the hearer and crucify the speaker.

To guard everything else in the deep, wordless places where God alone sees.

For the mysteries of God are like incense: once scattered in the open air, their fragrance fades. But kept in the censer of the heart, sealed in silence, they rise like a hidden offering before the face of the Almighty.