Who Am I?

The Prayer That Opens the Heart

“If you want to find rest, both here below and in the age to come, in every situation say, ‘Who am I?’ and do not judge anyone.”

— Abba Poemen

The older I become, the more I am convinced that most of our suffering comes from forgetting these two things: who we are and who God is.

The Desert Fathers understood this.

A brother comes to Abba Poemen asking what sounds like a profound spiritual question: “How can I become a monk?” He is asking about prayer, holiness, asceticism, salvation, the spiritual life itself.

Poemen’s answer is almost disappointing in its simplicity.

“Who am I?”

That is all.

Not techniques. Not methods. Not spiritual experiences. Not lofty theology.

Who am I?

The Fathers knew that nearly every passion grows from a false answer to that question.

I become angry because I think I am someone.

I become offended because I think I deserve something.

I become jealous because I think I should possess what another has.

I become anxious because I think everything depends upon me.

I become proud because I imagine myself wiser than I am.

I become despairing because I believe my story is the center of the universe.

The question “Who am I?” is not psychological self-analysis. It is an axe laid at the root of illusion.

Stand before God honestly and ask it.

Who am I?

Dust.

Breath.

A creature whose heart beats because God wills it to beat.

A sinner who survives entirely on mercy.

A man who owns nothing, controls little, understands less than he imagines, and will one day stand before God empty-handed.

The Fathers are not trying to humiliate us. They are trying to free us.

There is enormous rest in no longer having to be important.

The modern world is built upon the opposite principle.

Everywhere we are taught to construct an identity, protect an identity, market an identity, defend an identity, project an identity.

The desert says:

Who are you beneath all that?

The question slowly dismantles the false self.

Yet there is another question hidden inside the first.

Whenever the Fathers speak about humility, they are never merely reducing a man. They are creating space for God.

The question “Who am I?” eventually gives birth to a second question.

Who are You, Lord?

In many ways this may be the perfect prayer.

Who am I?

Who are You?

The first question reveals my poverty.

The second reveals His abundance.

The first reveals my weakness.

The second reveals His mercy.

The first reveals that I am not God.

The second reveals that God is infinitely more beautiful than I ever imagined.

St. Sophrony often taught that true knowledge of self and true knowledge of God grow together. The deeper a man sees his own poverty, the more clearly he perceives divine love. The more clearly he perceives divine love, the more honestly he can bear the truth about himself.

The two questions belong together.

Without “Who am I?” spirituality becomes pride.

Without “Who are You?” humility becomes despair.

Together they become prayer.

And then comes the second part of Poemen’s counsel:

“Do not judge anyone.”

The connection is not accidental.

The man who truly asks “Who am I?” has little time left to judge his neighbor.

He is too occupied standing before God.

He has discovered too much darkness in his own heart.

He has received too much mercy.

The person who constantly judges others has usually stopped asking the first question.

The saints become merciful because they know themselves.

Not theoretically.

Painfully.

Honestly.

Deeply.

At the end of life, I suspect the spiritual journey becomes simpler than we imagine.

Many things fall away.

Arguments.

Opinions.

Achievements.

Religious identities.

Reputations.

What remains may be nothing more than standing before God with empty hands and whispering:

Who am I, Lord?

And who are You?

If we learn to pray those two questions from the heart, we may discover that Abba Poemen was right.

In them is found rest.

Both here below.

And in the age to come.