Today I Begin

The Last Grace of the Spiritual Life

“An old man became a monk and said, ‘Today I begin.’”

— Saying of the Desert Fathers

There is a great sorrow that can overtake a person in old age. It is not the sorrow of weakness, illness, or approaching death. It is the sorrow of becoming fixed. One ceases to be a disciple. One begins to live upon memory, upon reputation, upon all that has been accomplished and suffered. The heart quietly says, “I already know.”

Nothing dies more quickly than a heart that no longer begins.

The old man in the saying had years behind him. Perhaps he had buried friends, endured failures, seen kingdoms rise and fall, prayed for decades, and acquired a measure of wisdom. Yet when he entered the monastery, he did not say, “At last I have arrived.” He said, “Today I begin.”

This is the language of humility.

The desert fathers teach us that the beginning of repentance is not found in youth but in poverty of spirit. A person may be twenty and ancient in pride. Another may be eighty and young before God because he still allows himself to be taught.

How difficult this becomes as we grow older.

We know what we like. We know our opinions. We know how we pray and work and think. We know what has wounded us and what we believe God wants of us. Gradually, without noticing it, our knowledge can become a fortress. We cease to be pliable in God’s hands.

The fathers feared this more than ignorance.

An old monk once said, “I have seen young men who were old and old men who were young.” The young are those who remain capable of wonder, capable of obedience, capable of being surprised by grace.

The elderly monk who says, “Today I begin,” lays aside every claim upon God. He does not appeal to years of labor, tears, or sacrifice. He does not demand that his experience be honored. He becomes a child once more.

This is perhaps the last and hardest lesson of the spiritual life.

To begin again.

To begin prayer again.

To begin repentance again.

To begin forgiveness again.

To begin loving again.

To begin trusting again.

To begin after every failure and every success.

To begin when the body is tired and the heart bears the memory of countless disappointments.

To begin when there are few years left.

Indeed, there is something profoundly beautiful about the old man who says, “Today I begin.” He has ceased bargaining with life. He no longer seeks greatness. He has no need to be seen as holy or wise. He simply places himself before God empty-handed and says, “Teach me once more how to be Your child.”

The modern elders speak similarly. They tell us that until our final breath, we remain apprentices in love. We never graduate from discipleship. We never cease learning how to pray. We never become experts in God.

The saints die as beginners.

Perhaps this is why the elderly monk’s words shine with such purity. They are the words of one who has finally discovered that the Kingdom does not belong to the accomplished, the experienced, or even the virtuous.

It belongs to those who, every morning and every evening, stand before Christ and whisper with simplicity:

“Today, Lord, I begin.”