The Prayer of St. Ephraim the Syrian #
By Bishop Mikhail (Semyonov)
“O Lord and Master of my life, drive away from me the spirit of despondency, negligence, avarice, and idle talk…”
There is hardly a prayer (after the Lord’s Prayer) that moves the soul more than the Lenten prayer of St. Ephraim.
But how strange, it seems, are its petitions. To ask deliverance from the spirit of despondency and idle talk — are these really the gravest and most dangerous of the passions? What about hatred, greed, and the like?
Yes, St. Ephraim in his prayer pointed out — or rather, gathered together — precisely those things that pose the greatest danger to the soul and to its salvation.
St. Ephraim begins his prayer by asking to be delivered from the spirit of despondency. For despondency is the very first cause that can prevent one from beginning the Lord’s work. Some do not labor for the Lord because they are distracted by the vanity of the world; others — because the demon has instilled in them a spirit of despair, of despondency. Their hands fall limp at the work of the Lord. It seems to them that they are powerless, incapable. Evil and sin — both outside of them and within — appear to them as insurmountable.
A foreign writer who passed away just recently wrote a short story called The Head of Medusa. It offers a good description of those who, through a careless fascination with the world, become idle, and of those possessed by a spirit of despondency.
In ancient times (according to Greek legend), there lived the Gorgon Medusa. Upon her head were not hair, but snakes — and anyone who looked upon her was turned to stone by her dreadful gaze. Only Perseus was able to defeat the Gorgon, for he looked not directly at her, but at her reflection in the bright surface of his shield…
At times, a person finds the terrible eyes of Medusa fixed upon him. Medusa is a symbol of all the evil that fills the world, and of the sin that enslaves the soul.
People respond to this vision of evil — in which, according to the Apostle, the world lies — in different ways. Some try to shield themselves from the face of the Gorgon with the vanities of the world, by chasing after its goods and glittering honors.
They give no thought to the work of God, to the struggle with external evil and the sin within the soul — they do not see the face of the Gorgon. Others do see it, but lacking hope in God, the Conqueror of all evil, they become frightened by both their own sin and the evil of the world — and they too let their hands fall.
Remember those who sit weeping at the foot of the ladder, never even attempting to climb the first step.
It is from this destructive spirit of despondent inaction that we pray to be delivered in the prayer of St. Ephraim the Syrian. We pray that God may instill in us hope in His almighty help — so that evil and sin may appear to us, as in the shield of Perseus, dreadful, yes, but conquerable — calling us to do battle with them.
Yet here also is a prayer for deliverance from the spirit of idle talk. But idle talk — is that really such a grave sin, that it should be placed at the beginning of our prayer?
No, not quite.
There is a story told about a certain holy elder — Abba Pambo of Nitria. This servant of God was illiterate and would go to one of the brethren to be taught. They were reading the Psalter. And soon after beginning his “education,” something happened. The two elders opened the holy book and began to read… They opened to Psalm 38 (39 in the Hebrew):
“I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue.”
Pambo interrupted the reading and silently returned to his cell. Six months later, his teacher met him and asked, “Why have you not come to me for so long?” — Pambo replied, “I have not yet learned (meaning, of course, in practice) the words of David: I said, I will take heed to my ways, that I sin not with my tongue.” And for a full nineteen years, he “studied” those words — in which he saw the beginning of wisdom.
And indeed — is idle talk really such a trifle?
In mountainous regions, when travelers are ascending to high peaks, guides forbid them to speak even a word. The reason is that a single word can trigger a terrible disturbance in the air, which may in turn cause entire avalanches of snow to collapse upon the travelers. Idle words endanger life.
But does not idle talk in the “valleys” pose the same danger — not to the body, but to the soul? A single word can cause great and irreversible harm. Idle gossip has often poisoned a human soul with its venom — even leading to murder.
How many times has an idle word surrounded an innocent person with the dark fog of false accusations, shattered his life, and utterly destroyed the peace and happiness of a family? And so on, and so forth.
That is why, at the dreadful Judgment of Christ, we shall have to answer for every idle word.
But beyond this — even if your idle talk harms no one else — it does irreparable harm to your own self. It keeps you from gathering your thoughts, from collecting your soul. Idle chatter robs you of those precious moments when you might have been alone with your soul and with God — and grown fearful of the false and sinful paths upon which you walk.
II.
“But the spirit of chastity, humility, patience, and love bestow upon me, Thy servant. Yea, O Lord and King, grant me to see mine own transgressions, and not to judge my brother…”
We have already spoken of the spirit of patience in our conversation about the ladder to heaven. I said: I will watch my ways, that I sin not with my tongue. Let us not repeat ourselves here.
Patience is, above all, perseverance — steadfastness in the ways of righteousness… I slip, I fall — I, a sinner. I get up, I go on… I fall again, and again I rise. Having fallen, I do not remain in the mud forever. I do not make peace with sin.
This is the essence of patience…
Patience cultivates the gift of chastity, and at the same time is cultivated by it. Chastity — in Greek, sōphrosynē — is not chastity in our narrow, modern sense. It is not merely the bodily purity preserved from defilement by fornication. Chastity is the health of the spirit in the broadest sense. It is the safeguarding of the soul, its wholeness, from the rust of sin — through a special watchfulness, a special care of the conscience.
Have you ever noticed how a child protects a new garment on the first day of wearing it? The child, in his innocence, is completely on guard… Every little spot causes pain, feels like a misfortune.
In the same way should the soul relate to sin. A sensitive soul should respond to every stain with acute pain, should recoil at the touch of sin — like the eyelid, which instinctively shuts when a flame is brought near the eye. This vigilance of the soul, this highly developed power of resistance to sin — this is chastity.
But it is clear that one cannot attain chastity without humility. The spirit of humility — this is the same as poverty of spirit. A person who is satisfied with himself, who does not consider himself spiritually naked, “poor,” cannot seek the healing of his soul.
The healthy man — or rather, the one who mistakenly believes himself to be healthy — will not go to the doctor, will not place himself on a regimen (and the regimen of the soul is the spirit of chastity). Only the one who sincerely says within himself, “I am naked. I am poor. O Lord, give me raiment. Help me. Clothe me with Thy grace,” — only he will do these things.
That is why we are so in need of the spirit of humility. And a person who has recognized his sinfulness, who vigilantly guards the wholeness of his soul, may pray also for the spirit of love — and may even attain to this, the highest of Christian virtues.
A man who sees himself as a sinner does not judge others, he has compassion on every “one who has slipped.” He will know how to understand, to justify in his conscience, and to forgive every enemy and offender — and thus, to love all in a truly Christian manner.
We said that the spirit of humility is the awareness of one’s sinfulness — and this awareness gives birth to the spirit of forgiveness. The importance of “poverty of spirit” and “forgiveness” for the beginning of the Christian spiritual life is so great that St. Ephraim prays once more for the same thing: “Grant me to see mine own transgressions, and not to judge my brother.”
“One memory,” says a preacher, “I have kept from my childhood.
In the backyard, there lay a stone slab. Sometimes we would go over and lift it. And underneath — there were woodlice, spiders, all sorts of creeping things. And we would quickly close the slab again in fright, so as not to see them.”
We do exactly the same thing all the time. Sometimes, the thought arises to lift the “slab” of our conscience and to look into the depths of our soul. But we rarely dare to remain alone for long with our exposed conscience and its wounds. Fearing the abyss of our sin, we hurry to shut the slab again, to justify ourselves before ourselves, to “explain away the guilt of our sins.”
Of course, under such conditions, true repentance is impossible… In order to heal wounds, they must be exposed — not hidden. Yet we hide the wounds of the soul not only from others, but even from ourselves. And naturally, our wounds do not diminish, but only grow.
Even when a person reveals his wounds before a spiritual father, he often inwardly tries to justify himself, to cast a veil over the sin — not for the confessor’s sake, but for his own — and thus, covering the depths of his soul with a slab, he is not horrified by his spiritual state, does not approach the analogion in fear before the darkness of his sin, but in hypocritical self-justification — and leaves uncleansed.
This is why the Church so fervently prays — both in the prayer of Ephraim the Syrian and in other prayers: “O Lord, grant us to see our transgressions, grant us the strength not to conceal them from ourselves, not to invent excuses for sin.”
1909