Prayers Before the Iconostasis - II

Before the Icon of Saint John Cassian

O holy Father Cassian, you came to me quietly.

Not with thunder.

Not with visions.

Not with the noise of those who speak much and know little.

You came with the desert in your hands.

You opened the mouths of the ancient fathers, and from them there flowed a wisdom severe and merciful, simple and fathomless. Through you I first heard men speak who had nothing left but God. Men stripped of argument, reputation, distraction, and self-love. Men who had gone into the furnace and emerged with clear eyes.

When I first read your Conferences, I felt not that I was reading a book, but that I had been led to a cell and made to sit on the floor.

There I heard the great word: purity of heart.

Not success.

Not influence.

Not usefulness.

Not spiritual experiences.

Not the admiration of men.

Purity of heart.

To have a heart no longer divided.

To have a heart not bargaining with God.

To have a heart no longer feeding secretly on vanity.

To have a heart made single, transparent, poor, and aflame with love.

Father Cassian, how many seek the Kingdom while protecting their idols. How many pray while refusing surrender. How many speak of holiness while preserving self-will in the hidden chamber.

You expose us without cruelty.

You teach that the immediate goal is purity of heart because without it the eye cannot see God. A muddy spring cannot reflect heaven. A restless heart cannot receive peace. A crowded soul cannot hear the whisper of the Spirit.

And you taught me of prayer.

Not prayer as performance.

Not prayer as emotion.

Not prayer as religious activity.

But prayer becoming breath.

Prayer descending beneath words.

Prayer abiding in the heart through night and dryness and labor and tears.

You handed on the cry of the fathers, brief enough to carry always, deep enough to fill eternity. You knew that the mind wanders because it loves many things. You knew that a man prays poorly because he lives scatteredly. You knew that unceasing prayer is not technique, but the fruit of a life gathered into God.

O Saint Cassian, stand beside me in this small chapel.

When my thoughts multiply, make me simple.

When my desires scatter me, make me one.

When I seek consolation, turn me toward repentance.

When I seek recognition, hide me.

When I seek many words, teach me silence.

When I grow weary, teach me to remain.

Let the heart be cleansed.

Let the mind descend.

Let the Name become life.

Let Christ become all.

For what use is it to gain the world of noise and lose the inward cell?

Holy Father Cassian, friend of the desert and teacher of the Church, pray that I may begin.