The Door Into the Greater Silence

St. Charbel on Solitude, Hidden Warfare, and the Fear of Being Alone with God

“When the abbot appointed Charbel as hermit, he warned the brethren not to regard it as an honor. For the desert is not a throne but a cross.”

A disciple once asked St. Charbel:

“Father, is it true that when you were chosen to live as a hermit, the abbot told the brethren not to think of it as a reward?”

The old saint looked at him quietly.

“Yes.”

The disciple seemed surprised.

“But surely it was an honor. You had lived faithfully in the monastery for many years. You were entrusted with the life of greater silence.”

Charbel shook his head.

“My son, men often mistake crosses for crowns.”

The disciple waited.

“The abbot was wise. He knew that the brethren might look upon the hermitage and imagine freedom. They might imagine peace. They might imagine a life beyond struggle.”

“And is it not so?” asked the disciple.

The saint smiled gently.

“It is not so.”

For a long while neither spoke.

At last Charbel said:

“When a man lives among others, many of his wounds remain hidden. The noise of life conceals them. Duties conceal them. Conversations conceal them.”

“But in solitude?”

“In solitude there is nothing left to hide behind.”

The disciple lowered his eyes.

“The desert strips a man naked.”

“Naked before whom?” he asked.

“Before God. Before the demons. Before himself.”

The disciple felt uneasy.

“Then why seek solitude at all?”

“Because truth is found there.”

The saint’s eyes became distant.

“Many desire silence because they think silence is peaceful. They imagine a quiet room, a lamp, a prayer rope, and sweetness.”

He laughed softly.

“But when a man first enters true silence, he discovers that he carries an entire world within him.”

“A world?”

“Voices. Memories. Fantasies. Regrets. Angers. Fears. Desires. Judgments. The faces of those who wounded him. The faces of those he wounded. All of them emerge from the darkness.”

The disciple nodded.

“I have seen a little of this.”

“A little is enough to frighten most men away.”

The saint became silent again.

“The greater the solitude, the less escape remains.”

The disciple asked:

“Then the hermit enters a greater battle than the monk in the monastery?”

“Often.”

“Why?”

“Because there is nowhere left to run.”

The words fell heavily between them.

After some time the disciple asked:

“Father, what is the greatest temptation of the hermit?”

The saint answered immediately.

“To seek consolation instead of God.”

The disciple looked puzzled.

“Are they not the same?”

“No.”

Charbel’s voice grew firm.

“A man can desire spiritual sweetness while avoiding God Himself.”

“How?”

“He wants peace without surrender. Prayer without repentance. Light without the Cross.”

The disciple sat quietly.

“The Lord often removes these comforts from the hermit. Not because He is cruel, but because He desires something greater.”

“What is greater?”

“God Himself.”

The disciple reflected on this.

“Then the deeper silence is a deeper purification.”

“Yes.”

The saint pointed toward the mountains.

“When a tree is planted on a high ridge, the winds strike it from every side.”

“And yet it remains.”

“If its roots go deep enough.”

The disciple smiled.

“So the hermitage is where God deepens the roots.”

“Exactly.”

The saint’s face softened.

“Do not envy those who live in greater solitude.”

“Why not?”

“Because you do not know what they carry.”

The disciple remembered the abbot’s warning.

“That is why he told the brethren not to think it a reward.”

“Yes.”

The saint looked toward the chapel.

“Men see a hermit disappearing into silence and imagine he is leaving the battle.”

He paused.

“In reality he is moving toward its center.”

The disciple felt a holy fear.

“And what lies at the center of the battle?”

For a long time St. Charbel did not answer.

Finally he said:

“The place where a man must choose whether he truly wants God.”

“Only that?”

The saint smiled.

“My son, there is no greater battle than that.”

Again silence descended between them.

The disciple eventually whispered:

“Father, what is found on the far side of such silence?”

The old hermit closed his eyes.

“Not visions.”

“Not revelations?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then what?”

A deep peace settled over his face.

“The gradual disappearance of everything that is not love.”

And neither spoke again.