The Heart That Learns to Carry Everyone

From Consolation Received to Consolation Given

“Who comforts us in all our sorrows, so that we can offer others, in their sorrows, the consolation that we have received from God ourselves.”

— 2 Corinthians 1:4

One of the subtle dangers in the spiritual life is that we can become preoccupied with ourselves.

Our prayer becomes focused on my struggles, my wounds, my temptations, my salvation, my peace. Even our repentance can become strangely self-centered. We stare so intently at our own heart that we forget why God is purifying it in the first place.

The Fathers never understood the spiritual life in this way.

The Desert Fathers entered the desert to discover God, but also to discover the mystery of humanity. They descended into their own hearts only to find the whole world there.

The great elders speak of the heart expanding by grace. Not expanding in sentimentality or vague humanitarianism, but expanding through participation in the very life of Christ. A heart united to Christ cannot remain narrow. It cannot remain occupied only with itself. Christ carries the entire Adam within Himself. Therefore, whoever begins to acquire the mind and heart of Christ begins to carry others as well.

St. Silouan wept for the whole world.

St. Sophrony taught that true prayer becomes hypostatic, embracing all mankind in love.

St. Isaac the Syrian said that a merciful heart burns for every creature, even for demons.

This is the measure toward which grace leads us.

Notice what St. Paul says. God comforts us in our sorrows, but not simply so that we may feel better. He comforts us so that we may become capable of comforting others.

Nothing received from God is meant to terminate in ourselves.

The mercy we receive becomes mercy offered.

The patience shown to us becomes patience shown to others.

The forgiveness we receive becomes forgiveness extended.

The consolation given to us becomes consolation poured out.

The Christian does not become a reservoir. He becomes a channel.

Many of us have suffered deeply. We have known grief, loneliness, disappointment, betrayal, illness, anxiety, temptation, and failure. The temptation is to ask, “Why did God permit this?”

Sometimes the answer only becomes clear years later.

We discover that our wounds have made us capable of recognizing the wounds of another.

The tears we once shed alone become the source of compassion for someone else.

The darkness through which we walked enables us to stand beside another without fear when they enter their own night.

God wastes nothing.

The sorrow that is united to Christ becomes a ministry.

This is why the saints are such a consolation to the world. They are not necessarily people who suffered less than others. Often they suffered more. The difference is that their suffering widened their hearts. Instead of becoming bitter, they became spacious.

Their pain ceased to belong only to them.

It became a place where others could rest.

Perhaps this is one of the surest signs that grace is at work within us. We become less interested in our own spiritual progress and more concerned for the salvation, healing, and perseverance of others. We begin to pray differently. Not merely, “Lord, help me,” but, “Lord, remember everyone.”

The heart slowly learns to carry the entire Adam.

This is not something we can manufacture through effort. It is the work of the Holy Spirit. But we can cooperate with it. We can resist the constant tendency to curve inward upon ourselves. We can allow our wounds to become openings rather than walls.

Then the comfort of God begins to overflow.

Not only into our own lives, but into the lives of everyone whom God places before us.

And perhaps in the end, this is what salvation looks like: a heart becoming so united to Christ that it can no longer bear to live for itself alone.