To the only God be glory and honor.
I am keeping vigil; I am sitting on the floor. I find myself to be very unworthy in every vigil of mine. Now I am keeping company with my beloved little Jesus prayer; it is my sweet consolation and joy.
I am reflecting how mysteriously and incomprehensibly the nous is led to make contact with the other world. What can I name keeping vigil in one’s cell, for it becomes the cause for a monk to rise so high, to escape the earthly, material realm and reach the beyond, where he is initiated in the darkness beyond light of the divine presence? I think that I am not wrong in calling vigil in one’s cell a starting point of the Divine Spirit, and a station and launching pad of spiritual missiles, with the aim of landing in the world of the Spirit.
Our Holy Fathers, with their eyes constantly wet with tears and their fiery prayer, fired the spiritual missile—the nous—and through it they entered the divine darkness with unknowing. They freed their nous of images, shapes, and thoughts, and thus completely bare they led it to the infinitude and incomprehensibility of God.
But what can you think about God when you find yourself before Him! Words completely vanish and one remains speechlessly marveling [at] the darkness beyond the light of the divine covering. The supremely radiant light is the glory of His nature. The Divine Nature is and will always be unapproachable, invisible, incomprehensible. “No man shall see My face and live” (Ex. 33:20), said God to Moses.
The Apostles at the Holy Transfiguration saw the uncreated divine glory of the Divinity of Christ as much as they were able, and they fell down due to the brilliance. Therefore, seeing the utterly unknowable Divinity is unthinkable. The glory of the supremely radiant nature is only communicated. “Thy knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is mighty, I cannot attain to it” (Ps. 138:6), the Prophet David cried out in ecstasy.
Attracted by God-inspired theology, the Watchful fathers practiced hesychia in their little cells. They kept vigil, wept with unseen laments, and thus they raised their souls from the death of ignorance and reached places that we are unable to imagine.
St. Arsenios the Great had his sanctified little hands raised in prayer during the entire vigil (as did St. Irene Chrysovalantou), while his nous was inside the divine darkness in divine theorias and smelled the inexpressible fragrance of God, which is why he didn’t feel the fatigue of keeping his hands raised.
Behold the fruit of vigil, hesychia, tears, abstinence, and freedom from care for earthly things subject to decay. Since we (and I, first) have not struggled accordingly, we lack these supernatural gifts.
But just the stillness of vigil in the cell with a little prayer relaxes and invigorates the soul. Even the short vigil in church along with the monastic prayer rule (doing metanoias [prostrations] and the Jesus prayer with crosses) has some worth.
This is why we must force ourselves and work diligently at this work that is so salvific. God wants to see man’s good intentions and forcefulness in accordance with his strength. When he does so with humility, God undertakes the completion of the good work, and out of His goodness He gives man the whole reward for the completed work to console him, but also to put the devil to shame.
The cognitive vigil engenders consolation of soul, fills the heart with joy, makes the nous as light as air, and gives it wings to fly the noetic heights and the various theorias, by which one’s soul becomes rich with the beauty of divine knowledge.
However, if one does not keep vigil out of laziness and irregularity, he will always lack consolation, his heart remains empty, empty of joy, while his nous is darkened and full of dirty thoughts; this emptiness is due to the absence of God’s grace [and it] pushes him to idle talk, judging others, and boldness in order to unwind, relax, and have some consolation—not realizing that he is taking spiritual poison, with uncertain results.
While the devil on the one hand celebrates and dances with a crazy joy when he sends unwary people to hell who stay up all night and “keep vigil” at the night clubs and back alleys of sin, on the other hand he is filled with bitterness and rage against the monk (or the Christian) whom he sees in his solitary little cell keeping vigil, censing God with the incense of his powerful prayers and tears, working at the virtues, sanctifying his soul, and helping the world.
I am keeping vigil. I am making an effort. I have no strength. I am wretched and weak. Sometimes, I don’t know how God remembers and sends me with great condescension, a small ray of light and divine love. Oh, then! What bliss, what tears flow and flow as if from a fountain, watering the heart, the nous, and the body.
How much I am thinking about all of you at this hour! It is my great desire that you participate in this beautiful state. At the same time, though, I feel sorry for all those who do not force themselves in general and especially in vigil and are thus deprived of this progress in grace.
The years are passing, departing. When will we start forcing ourselves? When will we be reborn? Death is at our doorstep. A fearsome tribunal awaits us. When the impartial Judge, our Christ, asks us, “My dear monk, what did you do with the time free of cares I gave you in the monastery to procure riches for your soul? Let Me see what you have brought Me as spiritual merchandise.” Oh, then! What shame and disgrace will cover my face! For I have wasted the precious money of time in indolence, in judging others, endless idle talk, and day-dreaming! The angels and my guardian angel, seeing me mute and thunderstruck, will feel sorrow and pain out of their love.
By meditating on this and many other things, I offer mourning and tears to God, the just Judge. May He be merciful to me, the miserable wretch.
O thrice-holy Master and Father, have pity on me, Your weak child, and before You take me from this temporal world, settle the account of my soul with You as completely as possible, so that it will not be hindered in its ascent by the evil tax-collecting demons at the toll-houses.
I give you boundless thanks for everything, my Holy Father and God.