A few years ago I was talking to a monk I've known since I was a child. This man may have single-handedly gotten me through many a rough time, usually inadvertently, in the form of some talk, or a kind word, or just by walking nearby. This particular time the monk revealed to me that he had been an alcoholic when he was younger. He said this casually, without a second thought, as if he had fallen off his bike when he was little and hurt his knee.
Within a few seconds my mind went through a swirl of emotions: shock that it had happened to him, the briefest flash of anger as my worldview changed, however slightly, and finally(!!!) sympathy. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Father!" I told him, with there being no discernible pause. "That must have been so hard". And I meant it. I've known many addicts, lived with some, and had to struggle with my own predilections, even if they're not actual addictions. And then there's my lovely PTSD, which has suggested a whole host of coping mechanisms that are truly horrific. Life can be very difficult without addiction; with it life sounds almost unbearable. I was proud of this monk for having gotten through that process. It made me admire him even more.
His voice had just a touch of indignation, although that may have been my imagination. "Oh, I'm not sorry at all!"
That took me a noticeable second. "You're not?"
With a warmth and genuineness that stung he reiterated. "I'm not, not at all. It led me to God, to Christ. Without my alcoholism I would not have found the peace that I have.
Obviously that's stuck with me since. How many religions hold up an instrument of murder, of torture, and horror as the gold standard of life? Christianity does not transcend as we think of it: we do not ignore what happened to us and go away from it. And we say that we get it. Our crosses are the source of our peace. But I've never heard someone say so with such assurance and peace as that monk did, that day. Never before. Never since. His struggle with alcohol had led him to Christ and he was glad it did. Not even a hint of bitterness was in his voice. And I marvel at it.
Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.
Enemies have driven me into your embrace more than friends have.
Friends have bound me to earth, enemies have loosed me from earth and have demolished all my aspirations in the world.
Enemies have made me a stranger in worldly realms and an extraneous inhabitant of the world. Just as a hunted animal finds safer shelter than an unhunted animal does, so have I, persecuted by enemies, found the safest sanctuary, having ensconced myself beneath your tabernacle, where neither friends nor enemies can slay my soul.
Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.
They, rather than I, have confessed my sins before the world.
They have punished me, whenever I have hesitated to punish myself.
They have tormented me, whenever I have tried to flee torments.
They have scolded me, whenever I have flattered myself.
They have spat upon me, whenever I have filled myself with arrogance.
Bless my enemies, O Lord, Even I bless them and do not curse them.
Whenever I have made myself wise, they have called me foolish.
Whenever I have made myself mighty, they have mocked me as though I were a dwarf.
Whenever I have wanted to lead people, they have shoved me into the background.
Whenever I have rushed to enrich myself, they have prevented me with an iron hand.
Whenever I thought that I would sleep peacefully, they have wakened me from sleep.
Whenever I have tried to build a home for a long and tranquil life, they have demolished it and driven me out.
Truly, enemies have cut me loose from the world and have stretched out my hands to the hem of your garment.
Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.
Bless them and multiply them; multiply them and make them even more bitterly against me:
so that my fleeing to You may have no return;
so that all hope in men may be scattered like cobwebs;
so that absolute serenity may begin to reign in my soul;
so that my heart may become the grave of my two evil twins, arrogance and anger;
so that I might amass all my treasure in heaven;
ah, so that I may for once be freed from self-deception, which has entangled me in the dreadful web of illusory life.
Enemies have taught me to know what hardly anyone knows, that a person has no enemies in the world except himself.
One hates his enemies only when he fails to realize that they are not enemies, but cruel friends.
It is truly difficult for me to say who has done me more good and who has done me more evil in the world: friends or enemies.
Therefore bless, O Lord, both my friends and enemies.
A slave curses enemies, for he does not understand. But a son blesses them, for he understands.
For a son knows that his enemies cannot touch his life.
Therefore he freely steps among them and prays to God for them.
St. Nikolai Velimirovich
I look at the things that I struggle with and find that my words of thanksgiving for them are hollow. I hate my trauma, even as I find that I need it to be able to face the world. I hate my pain and find I am scared without it. I run away from God and everything else the instant it's gone so that way I do not hurt again. And so our Lord, in His patience, returns the pain and awfulness to me, to return me to sanity. Without pain I am not me. God made pain. And yes, the peace of God is something I try to focus on and find.
But I can boast in nothing except the cross given me. That is mine. My cross. My torture. My slow bleeding out. My annunciation, nativity, theophany, transfiguration, dormition, and resurrection are delivered via that cross. I think it fitting that the first feast of the year is about the prelude of light: darkness given to twilight. Because the thing that the rest of the year hinges on is that cross. While the feastday may have been started for political reasons its spiritual meaning seems very clear to me: by the cross life comes.
Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.
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