SNC

Hours of the Vigil

NO ONE IS JUST ONE PERSON. YOU, FOR EXAMPLE,
ARE BOTH CAIN AND ABEL. Cain by José Saramago, tr. Margaret Jull Costa

Tonight is the vigil of the Transfiguration. Christ stands upon the mountain-top with the Law and the Prophets, and there he is transfigured between them, shining forth the glory of the name of God. Christ has not come to abolish the Law of Moses or the Prophecy of Elijah. Rather, it is he who comforts them. For prophecy cannot prophesy, nor law bring about sanctification, unless it be comforted by that still small voice in which all holiness shines. Here is the Voice of peace. Here is the Prince of peace. Alleluia.

What is peace, which we inherit, setting our hearts on God? Peace culminates beauty. Peace never dies. Peace both empowers love and is the sweetest of its fruits. Peace is the death of the one who justifies themself against another, and new and endless life for those who are justified together. For in peace, we are bone of each other's bones and flesh of each other's flesh, siblings of one mother and one father, neighbours and friends, inhabitants of one self. In peace we find no joy in our elevation over against one another, and find unspeakable joy in the elevation of all others. Peace is the condition of our enjoyment of all things, taking all blessings to all people to be as a blessing to ourselves. Peace is the only kingdom in which God will see fit to dwell with us.

What should one repent for? To be at peace with God, and so through God to be at peace with all people. There is no fear of punishment nor hope of one's own gain. There is only the knowledge that outside this peace one wanders derelict and alone, knowledge that this peace is freely given and brought not of our own hand, and knowledge that when we eschew that peace we give up the greatest gift we can hope to be given. Therefore is there remorse, therefore is there contrition, and therefore is there always forgiveness. For though that peace is purifying and demands to make us whole, we know that it is not we who have brought forth the peace for ourselves. It has shone upon us from a face we thought we knew, caught us unawares upon the mount.

We were not able, were not enough, to come to the kingdom of peace. Yet it was peace which provisioned us and sent us on our way. As we have walked toward peace, we have been given the food we need to go where were not strong enough to go. As we have come to peace, we have drawn sweet water out of rivers of joy, and have reaped sweet grapes from vineyards of glory. Who can believe this peace? Who can hope to come into it? Only the one who forgives all offences, blesses all people, holds no one in debt, is an enemy to no human being, repents, and sets their heart on God.

Lord, I am not strong enough. Help me to attain it!

Peace is also quietness. Shall we hold our peace? God shall not hold his peace, for he seeks to share it with all of humankind, and with all creation. If God does not speak, and does not break the silence, the silence is dead and without merit. But if God does speak, silence is a wonderful thing, and greatly to be praised. Yet when God speaks, his voice is little, gentle and tender. In the end, the earthquake and the tempest are not the voice of God's peace. But God whispers, and is made manifest when we shut out all other sounds for a time. Then, after we have been silent and listened to the voice of God, then will we open our mouths again and say, quietly, "How can I keep from singing?"

So we should hold our peace, for a while. There is a Desert Father who was asked whether it is a good thing to say a good word to their neighbour, and was told, it is a better thing to say nothing at all. This cannot be the case in all cases, but for a monk, asking about saying a good word to another monk, it may well be so. Because there is nothing we can do to redeem our neighbour, and no word we can speak can grant eternal life. Yet the Word of God is life everlasting, and where God may speak, we should not deign to speak ourselves.

There will come a day when all things are revealed, and all the worst aspects of our hearts, all our private sins taken when no one saw us or in our own heads, will be revealed to those we sinned against. Should we, then, wander about revealing these things in this life, apologizing for all things and aiming to set them right? No, we cannot, because our reconciliation with all people can only come on the Day of Judgement, as our ultimate redemption, and this we cannot accomplish. But all our private sins we should confess to God, for our ungrateful rejection of his peace, and he will heal us, that we hurt no one anymore. And on the Day of Judgement, the one who stands alongside their God will be full of praises and thanksgivings even in light of many sinful thoughts conceived against them, because the weakness of sin and the powerlessness of Satan will be revealed and mocked before the Prince of Peace. "Death, where is your sting?"

But when the word of God is in our mouths, then should we not be silent, for it is not we who speak, but God who speaks through us. I have been dwelling, after Sunday's sermon, on the case of that blessed martyr, saint, and bishop who ran into the coliseum and cried out that the fighting be put to an end, who was stoned and struck down by the crowd, but who attained his design. Glory be to God that he did not keep his peace, but shared it! Faced with a crime for which he was not guilty, he implicated himself, and received peace in his flesh in giving up his life. For the peace of God surpasses all things, and does not remain in our hearts alone, but being given to all people, flows outward with such force that it may break us. But when we are broken for each other, we should be glad, and give thanks. The broken body does not rest in peace alone.

Would the Son of God have died for one person? The strength of his mercy tells that he would. Yet the strength of his mercy also tells that one person cannot contain his salvation, and that he has been glorified for all the world, that his peace may dwell in the Earth. The Psalms tell of the fields full of the harvest of God, the rivers out of which God's bounty is drawn, all the nations of the world brought together for the worship of the Lord. What has not been redeemed in God? Where has his peace not dwelt? Even in the matter of the planet, in the mindless stones and insensate earth, the peace of God resounds. The plants, even the qiqayon vine under which Jonah sat, are inheritors of peace, for God provides for their roots; and the animals, even the beasts of Nineveh, are given even greater shares of peace. And then among humankind is peace which passes understanding, so greatly beyond our comprehension that we marvel at it just as much as the stones and the vines and the beasts. Who can draw the bounds of this peace? We cannot fathom where it might be found.

Yet just as the Psalms tell of all things brought to the worship of God, they also tell of destruction, and a great chaos upon the Earth. Peace makes new and beautiful, and peace also destroys. How can this be? What portion is destroyed, and what portion is saved? Who can draw the line within the limits of the agency of peace, when we cannot even imagine how far the domain of peace extends? But all things are doubled, both sheep and goat as one, Cain and Abel locked in an embrace. In all things Abel is slain forever, and Cain asks in all things, "Am I my brother's keeper?" An entire history of salvation has been plotted out to put these two at peace. Therefore will there be a great destruction of bows and arrows, and of ships and chariots, for all things marshal within themselves great armies under the orders of Cain, and Cain will lament all these are laughed to scorn. But what is destroyed has never really lived; creation is not thrown away and started again, as though it were never good, but is made new by the death of death. For the death of death is peace.

When we inveigh against the enemy, we inveigh against the inner Cain with the outer one. When we pray for the salvation of ourselves, we pray for the outer Abel as well as the inner. Cain lets in a host of demons for his armies, and marshalls up troops against his brother. But who can look upon the Light of light, the glory of God shone forth on the mountain, and continue to believe in the powers of the hosts of Hell? They vanish, they clear away, they go down into the pit. And as for Cain himself? He lives, he is not permitted to be slain. For Cain, who has gone after evil, is a creature and may nevertheless be redeemed. The offerings of Abel are a glory for all time, and we rejoice in them; the offerings of Cain are a black mark, but forgiven, we marvel in them as well, for the sin has become a sign of wondrous grace. Though the former sacrifice is better, the latter may be made whole, that in the end of time two sacrifices might lie on the altar of God.

I am my brother's keeper, and therefore I must pray to be saved with my brother, whether I am Cain or whether I am Abel. I am my brother's keeper, and therefore I must look to the mountain, where the face which looks like mine, the human face which God has taken, shines forth with the radiance that redeems my kind. Glory out of beauty; glory out of ugliness; glory shining out between the Law and the Prophets on the holy hill. Glory for the one and for the other, and by giving glory to the one and to the other, peace.

Nevertheless, there is the wrath of God, concordant with his peace. How can this be? It must be, because if Cain rejects himself as his brother's keeper, it is not true that Abel is not kept. It is not ill to be kept by one's sibling, for we have been made to keep each other like so, but the one who is forsaken by humankind is faithfully kept by God. The one who is not avenged by any person on Earth must not be thought to be without an avenger, as though it were up to humankind who should be avenged and who should be downtrodden. But God will be their avenger, and so the wrath of God is truly incited by the sin that one commits against another.

Cain is not always the same as Cain. There is a heart in which Cain is ascendant, and is always slaying Abel. And there is a heart in which Abel has died and Cain wanders aimlessly. And finally, there is a heart set upon the Day of Judgement, where Abel is alive again and Cain's murder has no sting. The first of these three is a wicked heart, and much in need of chastening. The second of these hearts is the chastening of God, the wrath exacted upon him. The third of these, however, is the heart of peace, and of redemption. It is the heart of peace, though the same matter may not be so peaceful on the Day of Judgement, for if Cain stands beside Abel on that day in fact while still holding to his murder inwardly, how can he be redeemed? The wrath of God avenges for Abel, and leads to a great deal of wandering, but if Cain wanders in punishment for his crime, will he not rejoice when he sees that his crime is of no effect? The first heart, then, leads to damnation without any end, while the second is apt to lead to everlasting life.

Who should fear the wrath of God! Only the person who does not know that far more destructive wrath which they enact upon themselves in the murder of their brother. The wrath of God is that fire through which a person passes with their work, where Abel walks with his offering intact, where the offering of Cain burns to ash, yet through which Cain and Abel may both reach the other side. But Cain's own wrath contains Hell in itself, and burns with a fire which does not cease and leads to everlasting death. May we then bless and glorify and exult the wrath of God! On the day of judgement, whoever's heart already knows that their murder is of no effect will be glad indeed when they see their sibling, tormented and remorseful for the brother they killed, learn that theirs is meaningless as well. But the contrite heart will be sad indeed if they see a sibling of theirs die from their sin, and commit on themselves the murder which they design upon another, and so be damned quite pointlessly, for sins which after all have come to nought. Abel is always spared, and we may have hope for Cain, but only the life of Cain is in fact at risk.

But the will of the saints is not that the sinner may suffer wrath, but that they might repent from sin, acquire that third manner of heart, and be spared. For the good and the purpose of God's wrath is not the punishment, but the redemption.

But who is it that flanks Jesus on the mountain on which he is transfigured? An avenging angel is not present: the wrath of God has no figure of its own. Rather, there are Moses and Elijah, Law and Prophecy, and in each of these is at once both wrath and peace. For the Law is a reproof unto death for the transgressor, and brings about judgement for sin and for offence which must be made pure. Yet the Law is also an opportunity for sanctification, as when Josiah discovered the Law and set Judah into its proper condition after it had fallen into lawlessness. Nevertheless, this sanctification is not enough, for Judah could not be saved from the enemy by the hand of Josiah. Likewise, the Prophets rebuke all sin, and make apparent the wrath of God that is coming, and by this means may at times deliver those whose listen from wrath, as in Nineveh. But again, in the end, all the Prophets of Israel and Judah could not prevent the destruction of either, and they were killed and afflicted. The wrath of God appears not in itself, but in the companions of Christ. But the companions of Christ are insufficient except in Christ.

What does it mean to bring peace to the Law? What does it mean to bring peace to the Prophets? The former we learn from Jeremiah: the Law is freed in the New Covenant which is written on the heart, which no longer is lost and found and lost again but is written where it cannot be forgotten. The latter we learn from Elijah: that the prophet himself be taken up into Heaven, where he cannot be killed or afflicted, but his share of power in God remain and pass on to others. In the transfiguration of Christ, the power of the prophets and the lawful heart are reflected in the faces of Elijah and Moses, and passed on. The letter of the Law and the Prophets is fulfilled in the body of the Word, which is fit to encompass every letter, and sufficient to hold far more than all the Scriptures. The spirit of the Law and the Prophets emanates from the Word, and shines forth its beams into the eye which looks onward. They are received in a perfect and sufficient peace.

Abraham says to the rich man in Hell that one who does not listen to the Law and the Prophets will not repent, even in the face of Lazarus risen from the dead. In the Transfiguration, this much is obvious, because who can see the Risen One without Moses and Elijah at his sides? It is sufficient that peace be imparted in the manner of these two, the Law written upon the heart and prophetic power upon the lips. The miracles of Elisha and his preachings of repentance are the outward signs of Heavenly peace, a peace which overflows into works like these that it might be shared. The lowly and contrite heart in which the Law is written is the inward sign of this very peace.

But the Law and the Prophets are only until the end of the age, while their peace endures forever by the love of God.

How can a person live in peace, when the world does not permit it? How can one satisfy God with long life, if one's life is cut short? The author of the Book of Job is quite right that on Earth there is no guarantee of the rewards of righteousness, and one's peace may be easily disturbed by all manner of afflictions. One life is cut short by the wicked, and of these we can they that it will be avenged: but what of the life which is cut short by chance, by no one at all? I am not completely convinced that these afflictions have no relation with the wickedness of our hearts, as I have written before, but still, what can one do? How can one keep peace when it is not provided?

I would look again to the Law and to the Prophets. These things are bound to pass away, but their peace endures. The Law and the Prophets, considered in light of God and not in themselves, have a being which cannot die, even though the letter falls away in the end. If one takes the Law and the Prophets falsely, one merely holds the covenant on one's tongue without holding it in one's heart, and there is no eternity within it. But the Spirit of God speaks in the Law and the Prophets, and the Spirit preserves forever. As it is with the Law and the Prophets, can it not also be with Creation? It is said that the Heavens and the Earth wear out like garments and shall be replaced, and so they are not eternal. Yet if one enjoys the Heavens and the Earth in light of God, looking upon the mountain where the glory of God shines forth, is this enjoyment temporal? Not only God but also the remembrance of God is eternal. What is enjoyed in light of God is enjoyed forever.

Thomas Traherne writes in his Centuries of Meditation of a pig eating its food, and the angels looking on. The pig derives what little pleasure there is in tasteless food by means of its body. But the angels, who have no fleshly bodies, derive much greater pleasure in seeing the work of God shown forth in this eating, in how the food fulfills its many functions in the sustenance of the pig by the grace of its ultimate Source. A human being may enjoy in either manner, or in both at once. If we enjoy like the angels enjoy, what does it matter if our bodies die? The angels are bodiless. If we look at Creation not with desire to possess it bodily, but in recognition of divinity at work in a spirit of thanksgiving and praise, how can that joy pass away? And if we litter our lives with enjoyments of this kind, gradually our lives become lives not limited by the body, lives which cannot pass away. As Spinoza writes, we occupy ourselves more and more with eternal things, and so derive eternal life.

This, I believe, is how the soul endures before the resurrection of the body. We are not meant to have only this kind of life: we are not the angels, and must become embodied again. But the offerings of Abel do not pass away, and so he stands with God even before his resurrection, and satisfies God with a long and peaceful life even having been cut off. Similarly, the death of that aforementioned saint, and of all the martyrs, ensure that these dead are never wholly dead. Having witnessed to the truth by their death, full of the Spirit which is in the Law and the Prophets, their death is conquered by an angelic sort of life, as well as by the hope of their coming again.

This is the peace and the joy of Abel. But it strikes me that it may well be a sign of fearful tidings for the person who has only been Abel by way of murdering themself as Cain. If anyone was wholly Cain, they would have no means of existence between their death and their resurrection. But I do not believe anyone is only Cain. A person who has been Abel and Cain, but has identified with the killing of the Abel within themself, must exist between death and resurrection too, for Abel's sake. Yet if they are marked by Cain, this existence must be in the justice that is owed, in the avenging of Abel which did not occur in life. Therefore I fear such a person, like the rich man who did nothing for Lazarus, resides for a time in the fire, waiting for their ultimate judgement. Though such chastening, in fact, is nothing to fear.

There is nothing to boast of in the peace of God, save only that face which beams with light on the mountain, as well as the good fruit it brings forth. The saints do not fuse into each other; they retain their distinctiveness by way of their difference of bodies. I admit that I do not know how the angels remain distinct. My favourite portrayal of the angels is Gustav Doré's depiction of the Empyrean, and what I like most about them there is how they meld together into a flock of feathers. Yet while the saints themselves are distinct, responsibility for the works of each is accounted to all the saints, as all the saints make intercession for each other. This much is demonstrated readily by the words of the Gloria: "Glory be to God on high, and in Earth peace, goodwill towards men." A saint is a person who has really and truly attained this consciousness, and therefore must shine forth with goodwill towards all the saints at all times, both and unknown. When anyone does any good thing, this goodwill implies that every saint supports them in even the smallest trivialities, each petitioning the Father and asking that it might be done. If any open themselves to the workings of a saint, that saint will undoubtedly comply by virtue of what sainthood is, and every act in accordance with Heavenly peace is a gate and a door. Because of these many intercessions, none has any reason for pride in their own workings, but only in Christ, who has brought them to have a share in the workings of all.

Scripture speaks of how the angels are appointed over divers natural phenomena, over winds and fires and similar things. This is no surprise, for it is in the nature of angels to appreciate thoroughly all the creatures of the natural world as signs of God, and being perfectly in alignment with these creatures, why would they not go about with them on their ways? Of the saints taking similar measures I do not know of any reference, and perhaps this is due to the distinction between angels and human beings: that angels have no material bodies of their own, and so are appointed over other bodies; while human beings have their own bodies, and so are tethered to these. That much can't be more than speculation. One could also speculate as to how, if angels appoint themselves over natural elements, it is possible for these elements to do things which are evil to us. The classical answer would probably be that a fallen angel, a demon, is presiding over them, and rebelling against God by attempting to do evil with them. In the end, of course, we know that death has no sting, and so this evil cannot endure. But a fallen world allows it to appear for a time. But I am no more certain of this point than of the distinction of angelic and human saints.

But if angels can be thought of in terms of their appointments in nature, human saints can be thought of in terms of the promises given to them for the inheritance of heathen lands. I would read Canaan for Cain, and a heathen land for anywhere where Cain presides and governs, whether some part of the world or some physical body. A saint has a hold over all these things, by virtue of their way of loving them. A saint does not need to possess to enjoy, and is full of everlasting joy even while wandering as a stranger, because the remembrance of God sweetens all the world to think upon. Abel attains this life; Cain does not, for the fallen human nature must possess and covet and guard with violence what it hopes to take pleasure in. "To those who have much will more be given, but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away." The one whose defence is God overcomes the one whose defence is armies, and comes to dwell in a land beyond all necessity, while the one who is unseated is one whose lusts can never be satisfied. So the saint, who is full of joy without a body, can expect to be resurrected again and rejoice all the more, while the ungodly whose pleasure is only in their body can expect no pleasure in rising again. The resurrection is joy only for the one who learns to find joy in peace. I hope that in the end all people will.

The Lord is the living God and God of the living, not a god of death. If the dead, who are not risen, rest in peace, it is because they benefit from the peace that is in their lives. In just the manner that sin carries a Hell within itself, virtue carries a Heaven in its bosom, and it is here where the saints reside. One praises God with everlasting praises while one has one's being, and not after, and it is with these praises that one echoes through eternity. But what of the creature whose life is of a different sort? Animals, plants, and inorganic things are spoken of as praising God: are their praises not eternal, though human praises are? Do stones attain eternal life in the same manner as human saints? If not, then how can these things praise God?

It is written that a saint is not burned by the sun by day or by the moon by night. The saint, who loves the creatures of the world, is kept by God in a state of concord with them. It is also written that Jerusalem is built as a city at unity with itself, where all the tribes may go to worship together in peace. Where the saints worship together is like Jerusalem, and so not only the Heavenly Jerusalem, but also Creation itself bears resemblance to the city. Finally, it is also written that in the presence of God the hills and the mountains melted like wax. The presence of God causes the world to whirl, causes the elements to dance and to change their places. I believe these three writings constitute the essentials of natural praise.

Can saints who praise God go about their praises in a world which does not praise God? If they did, the sun would burn them up and the moon would scorch their flesh. The place in which the saints can worship must be a place at unity with itself, so that the enjoyment of the remembrance of God may have its objects in the things of the world. Praise is at unity with praise, and thanksgiving with thanksgiving, and so for a people full of a spirit of praise and thanksgiving is given a land which praises and gives thanks. How can this land be brought about? It occurs through the presence of God, before which it is not possible for the natural world to be silent. God speaks in that still small voice, quiet enough not to be noticed by one who is not listening, but insistent enough to be heard wherever one might think to seek it. The peace of God is not without its tremors: it tremors forth in all creatures. But the praises these creatures give to God are not inspired of themselves, but occur because they are enjoined. When the nation of God comes first into the Holy Land, Psalm 114 tells of how both the Jordan and the Mediterranean tried to flee away, for which they were reproved by the Psalmist and told instead to whirl, to imitate the rock of flint that was turned into a spring. Though all Creation is already good, God teaches Creation to praise in a manner beyond what it should be capable of. He does this for our sake.

But though these praises be evoked for us, could they not still benefit those creatures which praise? If in the praising of God is eternity, what kind of eternity could these creatures hope for? We see that, in fact, there are promises made to creatures other than human beings. The covenant for which the rainbow is the sign extends not only to human beings, but to all flesh. Christ goes a step further, as Paul writes of him reconciling not all people, but all things to himself. I do not think we can know what to make of these promises, only to know that God's promises do not pass away. We can venture to guess, however, that inasmuch as Creation inherits eternity, it does so through its participation in the peace of the Heavenly Jerusalem. Our days are carried in Creation's, but its eternity is carried in our own.

Yet the world is not Jerusalem, and cannot be Jerusalem. What is special about Jerusalem is that it is a peace to which people are called outside, to which the many tribes which do not dwell there come up to worship the Lord. By its design, there is something Heavenly about the Earthly Jerusalem, though from dozens of historical tragedies continuing up to this day it is apparent that the Heaven of this city is marred and afflicted. Yet the Biblical Jerusalem, the Jerusalem in which can be found the Temple and the Presence of God, is a place which exists implicit in the Law, a haven to which a person who follows the Law is repeatedly called up from wherever they live. Jerusalem is a place which unsettles the whole world, because what can be done in Jerusalem cannot be done elsewhere, and so the one under the Law cannot fulfill all the commandments from anywhere they please, but only in Jerusalem. Jerusalem is not named in the Law, but the Law cannot wholly be followed without Jerusalem.

One who seeks the peace of God may seek it in all places, but not in all places fully. To a person who takes Christ as their Temple, only in the Heavenly Jerusalem where one dwells with Christ can the Covenant be fulfilled completely. It is not possible to follow all the commandments without the Temple, who is Christ, and so the commandments must lead eventually to the Heavenly Jerusalem. Therefore while all places may be endued with the praises of God, it is not permissible to pray toward all these things, and so a saint on Earth is to some extent a sojourner. Where these two Jerusalems differ is that in the former, the Law points to a place on Earth, albeit not one where the Temple resides today. The latter Jerusalem, however, is the mystical operation of the Church which has no place on Earth except implicit in the heart, which is always located further Eastward, always where the sun will rise.

The peace of God is always half a wanderer. This much is required for the ungodly and the godly to live together. The ungodly may ask for a tyrant, and therefore receive one; but the godly will not be allowed to be ruled by a tyrant, lest it cause them to sin. Where these differences must coexist, they coexist through the extraterritoriality of God, whose Kingship puts one at a detachment from all Earthly kingships. Where a fallen world does not show forth the praises of God, one who seeks the peace of God must point to a set of laws which do not compromise with the world, which are pure of its compromise with sin through unconditional love and forgiveness. These are the laws which it is not possible to follow without the Temple, which only by the sanctification of Christ can be undertaken. Where the world is grievously afflicted and at odds with itself, the Paradise of Christ preserves its peace.

All the saints lift up their hearts in order to give thanks, and look to the holy place which cannot be found on Earth. But if the Kingdom is present in your heart, that does not mean you must not build it in fact. It is of the nature of sainthood that a saint comes before the Kingdom, not because the Kingdom shall not come, but because it is coming. David named his son Absalom, meaning, the Father of Peace. Will the Father of Peace have peace on Earth? No, because he has come to establish it, not to enjoy it. Consider also the Benedictus, in which the last word said on the work of St. John the Baptist is, "To lighten them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death / and to guide our feet into the way of peace." If we are called to guide each other into the way of peace, our role is then to prepare what we and others will but do not yet enjoy. And we will enjoy peace on Earth—we must. The Resurrection is bodily, and so the Kingdom must be a Kingdom of bodies. If it is abstracted to exist merely in Heaven, we lose the resurrection and the life, and betray that oft-repeated phrase: "Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven."

When two or three people who know the peace of God come together, their charge is to establish the Kingdom. This charge can only mean to do the work of God, which is described very overtly again and again. "[God] helpeth them to right that suffer wrong; who feedeth the hungry. The Lord looseth men out of prison; the Lord giveth sight to the blind. The Lord careth for the strangers; he defendeth the fatherless and the widow; as for the way of the ungodly, he turneth it upside down" Psalm 146:6-9. All of this must be done, as literally as possible, and wherever the children of the Church do so, there is the true and visible Church. Where the Church does not strive to do so, it rejects the Kingship of God in deed, and therefore ceases to be the Church at all.

The great foil to the Kingdom of God is the empty and lying tongue. The Kingdom is two or three gathered together; the tongue speaks alone. Whatever is done in the Kingdom is done by the prayers of all the saints; whatever is said by the tongue is spoken for itself. And the Kingdom does not know the many words known to the tongue, but purposes to speak at all times nothing but the Word. The empty and lying tongue is a great foil because it so readily springs into action, and convinces itself so easily that what it says is right and pure and good. This tongue must be bridled, and must hold its peace. The only speech which is acceptable is that which is readily spoken before the face of God.

If silence is so good, why don't I hold my peace? In other words, why don't I shut up? I have written a great deal tonight, and have written quite a lot on this website already, and intend to write more. Why should I open my mouth, when as the Desert Father says, silence is better than good words?

Well, I am not a monk, and even this monk's advice has come to me by the fact that he said it. And there are worthy causes to open one's mouth. First among these is the praise of God, in which is eternal life. "O Lord, open thou our lips, and our mouth shall show forth thy praise." Yet this much can be done without the devising of any novel words. Scripture and liturgy and psalms and prayers are sufficient to praise the Lord, and run little risk of error, unless they be used improperly. So if something is required beyond praise, what might it be? To speak is useful also for kindnesses and for chastenings. To have a concrete view of the Kingdom of Heaven requires that we understand some matters to call down the wrath of God, and so to rebuke the prince of this present darkness which works in these sayings. And likewise, the Kingdom of Heaven comes with good news and blessings, and these one must also speak of to others, to let the joy which is prepared for them be known. But this blog does not by any means engage specifically in those two actions. So then what?

It is not sufficient to say, "to help in the construction of the Kingdom of God." It is the wicked who purpose to get the victory by their tongue; the Kingdom of God must be established in deed. It is not a bad thing at all to discuss what one ought to do, but only insofar as one strives to do it, and that I cannot showcase here nor put into practice on the page. Nor is it sufficient to say that my words do not risk being harmful. The enemy is one who, faced with talk of peace, prepares for battle, and I know that what I write here is not intended to be hypocritical. But I know also that there is a Cain as well as an Abel in me, and I may well write to my own condemnation in the part of myself that twists my words. I may well speak wickedly when I ought to be silent. It may be so.

If I write, I have two supports. First is the saying, "Sing unto the Lord a new song." The Lord does not desire that only old words be used, but has charged us to add to his work and bring something new to the vaults of Paradise. It is possible to write Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam, though it is also possible to break the peace by doing so. My second support is the comfortable remembrance of divine wrath. If I speak in the manner of Cain, I know God will grant me his wrath and reproof, and I may beg for his mercy and be corrected in his sight. If my words were allowed to judge me on their own, as they would by their own devising, I could not write or speak at length or I would surely be condemned. Yet because of the wrath of God which saves me from the wrath of my sins, I may expect to be chastened lovingly, and so may hope to venture some new offering to God. If it is the offering of Cain, may God restrain me from any harm that I might do! If I accept reproof, it may be as Abel's someday.

But over all, I am grateful for prayer, of myself and of others. Not to speak or to write without praying, not to debate or criticize others without first praying for their blessing, not to approach any matter without giving thanks to God for its existence, and not to go about any day without praising my God. Let every idea be one that comes to me on my knees.

But here is the blessing of God: there shall come a time when words shall cease. What we say in this life exists to be cemented in action, and to right our hearts. There comes a time when our hearts will be righted, and there is nothing left in need of saying. The disciples did not tell of the Transfiguration. What is there to say? The light of God pierces into the inner-being, and heals it; the promise of glory is set forth, not by description, but by sight. It is enough to say nothing and be silent after this vision. All words incline to what has been fulfilled.

To go out, with the Spirit of God in you, is an honour without peer. To dwell in the Spirit of God is everlasting joy. The saints, dwelling in the Spirit, dwell altogether in peace, and by the Spirit the operation of their love is made perfect, and their powers wax beyond the need to testify. "Hope is vanished into sight, faith is emptied in delight." Only the perpetual strivings of love are left intact, to which all barriers are removed by Heavenly peace. And from love, being of the nature of God, springs forth Creation's majesty.