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Do You Hear the Wind Blowing?
Can you imagine standing in the wind without noticing it at all? Do you think the Spirit can take complete possession of you without your experiencing it?
Motovilov’s Story
“It was a snowy day; the ground was covered with a thick layer of snow and great flakes were falling when Father Seraphim made me sit beside him on a tree trunk in a clearing of the wood. ‘The Lord has shown me’, he said, ‘that in your childhood you wanted to know the goal of the Christian life. You were told to go to church, to pray, and to do good works, for that, you were told, was the aim of the Christian life. No answer satisfied you. Well, prayer, fasting, and all other Christian undertakings are good in themselves; however, the performing of these things is not the end of our life because they are only the means. The true goal of the Christian life is to acquire the Holy Spirit.”
“ ‘Father,’ I said, ‘you are always talking about the Holy Spirit and saying that we must acquire it, but how and where can I see it? Good works are manifest, but how can the Holy Spirit be seen? How can I know whether he is in me or not?’
“ ‘The grace of the Holy Spirit given to us at the moment of our baptism shines in our hearts in spite of our falls and in spite of the darkness that envelops us. He appears as an ineffable light to all those in whom God manifests his action. The holy apostles were sensibly aware of the presence of the Holy Spirit.’
“I asked him, ‘How can I myself witness it?’
“Then Father Seraphim put his arm around me and said, ‘My friend, both of us are in the Holy Spirit, you and I. Why won’t you look at me?’
“ ‘Father, I can’t look at you, because your face has become brighter than the sun and it dazzles my eyes.’
“ ‘Don’t be afraid, friend of God, for you too have now become bright as I. You yourself are now in the plenitude of the Holy Spirit although you do not think you can look at me.’
“Then I looked at him and was terror-struck. Picture for yourself the sun’s orb and, in the brightest part of its noonday shining, the face of a man who talks to you. You can see his lips moving, see the expression in his eyes, and hear his voice; you can feel his arm round your shoulders but can neither see this arm or face, but only a blinding light that shines all around you, illumining with its light the layer of snow that is reflecting its brightness and the fine flakes that are falling like gold dust.
“ ‘What do you feel?’ Asked Father Seraphim.
“ ‘A calm and peace that I cannot describe.’
“ ‘What else do you feel?’
“ ‘An ineffable joy that fills my whole heart.’
“ ‘The joy you feel now is nothing compared to that of which it is said, “What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Cor 2:9). The first-fruits of this joy are given us, but who can speak of the joy itself? What more do you feel, friend of God?’
“ ‘An ineffable warmth.’
“ ‘What, my friend! We are in the woods, it is winter, and there is snow under our feet. . . . What warmth is this that you feel?’
“ ‘It is as though I were in a warm bath. Moreover I can smell a scent unlike anything I have ever known before.’
“ ‘I know, I know, that was why I asked you. This pervading scent is of the Spirit of God, and the warmth that you tell me about is not in the air but within us. Warmed by it, hermits have no fear of the rigours of winter, protected as they are by grace which serves as clothing. The kingdom of God is within us. The state in which we now find ourselves is the proof of it. Now you see what it means to be in the plenitude of the Holy Spirit.’ ”1
The Meaning of Feelings and Experience
Ancient philosophy did not place very much value on man’s feelings. It regarded the emotional life of man as insignificant. According to Aristotle (384–322 B.C.), Thomas Aquinas and all Scholastic philosophy, what is characteristically human is that man is endowed with will and reason.
Naturally, these philosophers and theologians also knew that man has desires and fears, that he is happy and sad. But these feelings are called passiones (passions) and actually belong to the “animal” level in man, that which he has in common with the animals.
Philosophers in our time, on the other hand, reflect on the meaning of emotion. Martin Heidegger (1889–1976) points out that emotion always entails a relationship with reality as a whole. When you think and work, you direct yourself and your energies toward a small part. Your horizon is limited, and you live in a fragment of reality. But emotion restores contact with the whole. It reveals how you relate to reality in its entirety.
“This morning I am merely birth” (Ce matin je ne suis que naissance), writes André Malraux (1901–1976). In the joy that Malraux expresses with these words, he experiences that existence is light, that all reality is kind, that there is a future, and that nothing is impossible. The joy that was caused by a simple event, perhaps that he slept well and was awakened by the sun and the chirping of birds, affects his relationship to reality as such. Everything becomes different.
And the opposite is also true: for example, a little adversity—perhaps you were looking for a job and were turned down—brings about a radical change in your way of perceiving reality. You feel like life is against you, that existence is sad, and that there is no longer any future for you. Everything is hopeless.
If Heidegger’s analysis is correct—and do we not all recognize ourselves in it?—we cannot maintain that emotion is some kind of accidental phenomenon without any meaning. It is emotion that decides how you experience reality, how you experience God.
It is true, you can shake yourself out of it and try to convince yourself that emotion is deceptive, that existence is not as bleak as you perceive it to be. But what good does that do if your feelings are as black as night? You cannot believe it, and even if you do believe it, it does not affect your perception of reality. You still feel just as desperate and sad.
Emotion can be so strong, so overwhelming, that one feels helplessly at its mercy. Life can “feel” so totally meaningless that even a deep faith is not enough to prevent a person from doing great harm to himself. Feelings have a power that far exceeds the will. Feelings can drive us to actions we could never carry out with willpower alone.
Freud realized that Descartes (1596–1650) was mistaken when he said: “I think, therefore I am.” Instead, it ought to be: “I feel, therefore I am.” He has shown how carefully we must deal with our feelings. If we trample on them, they will trample on us. Repressed feelings have an extremely destructive power.
What Does the Gospel Say?
Christianity is a religion of revelation. We believe that God has revealed himself, that is, that he has entered into our reality. He has not only come with a teaching, with an explanation of reality or a moral. He has let himself be known. It is obvious that this is something we ought to be able to experience.
Jesus has never said that our life should be a desert journey. If we understand the Christian life in this way, it should not surprise us that many turn their backs on the Church and Christianity and instead go to other traditions that promise peace, joy, and a full life. This is a reaction, not against Christianity as such, but against a type of Christianity that has lost its authenticity.
Jesus promises peace, joy, and life to all who follow him. Peace and joy are things we experience and feel. Can a joy of which we are in no way conscious or able to experience be real joy?
Those who come to Jesus with their troubles hear that he will give them relief and rest (Mt 11:28). What kind of relief is it that cannot be felt?
But many other things promised and described in the New Testament should also normally be regarded as things we can experience. For example, the streams of living water of which Jesus speaks (Jn 7:38) or the fact that he who is in Christ is a new creation, as Saint Paul writes (2 Cor 5:17). Can we be a new creation and not eventual
ly have some experience of it?
We have become accustomed to interpreting these passages in a minimalistic way, as though they were about things we must accept in naked faith but that we cannot experience. There is no reason to give these passages such a strange and artificial interpretation.
From where does this interpretation come? Perhaps from the fact that many of us do not experience this peace, joy, and relief. To quiet our conscience, we rationalize the actual situation. We make a virtue of necessity. Instead of honestly admitting that something is missing in our life, we say that the non-feeling faith we have is normal.
The Risks of Love
But is it not risky to put too much emphasis on experience? Yes, of course it is risky! And the very ones who have had the most experience of God, namely, the mystics, warn us, as much as they can, not to be attached to experiences.
But is there not also this risk in the love between human beings? And are we not rather unafraid when it is a question of taking that particular risk? What would be left of literature and art if everything that had to do with the joys and sorrows related to the beloved were placed in parentheses? The Song of Songs is not afraid to speak about the intoxication of love between the bridegroom and the bride.
God has created us in such a way that our being is one great cry for him. He wants to fill that insatiable need. Can we feel anything but joy when he begins to do that? Is it wrong to feel this joy, to taste it? Are we sure it is completely wrong to long for it? The Church prays constantly: “Let your face shine, that we may be saved!” (Ps 80:3, 7, 19).
All who have experienced something of God know that this changes their entire lives. To have been on Tabor is something one does not forget. It leaves its imprint.
Why Do Only a Few Hear the Wind Blowing?
Despite the promises of Jesus, we cannot dispute the fact that there is far too little peace and joy among Christians. Only a small chosen lot seems to have a concrete perception of the Spirit’s presence and work in them. To experience God, which is the definition of mysticism, seems to be granted only to a few. Why is this so?
The reason cannot be in God. Jesus has given certain promises, and these promises are the norm for the Christian life. If these promises are not realized, it cannot be God’s fault. The reason must be that one does not fulfill the conditions or take these promises seriously.
For many Christians, faith in the Holy Spirit is something that does not affect or hardly affects their lives. They do not turn to him when they need to make a decision. They are not conscious of the fact that there is a continuous, unspeakable prayer going on within them. Though the Spirit lives in them, they live as though the house stood empty.
A faith that is merely a theoretical acceptance of a few truths can never bloom into experience. When Saint Paul writes: “For I know whom I have believed” (2 Tim 1:12), he means: “I know him to whom I have entrusted myself, whose hands carry me.” He believes, not in truths, but in a Person.
An abstract faith does not expect anything from God. And we know that the great principle in the Gospel is that we receive according to the measure of our expectation. If we expect little from him, we will receive little. If, on the other hand, we believe that all of his promises shall be fulfilled, and we remain in that faith, we will receive the peace and joy that he has promised.
A Stunted Emotional Life
I believe there is a reason why more Christians do not “hear the wind blowing”.
The emotional life of many people, particularly here in Scandinavia, is greatly inhibited and sometimes completely blocked. In our culture, it is often regarded as ill-mannered to express one’s feelings spontaneously. And if, at the same time, one has been oppressed as a child and has never had an outlet for his rage, then those stifled feelings may well have been transformed into bitterness, self-hatred, and maybe an indefinable sorrow that makes one unable ever to feel truly happy.
Life would be richer if we could experience a healthy anger instead of breaking out now and then into a violent rage that is not at all in proportion to the circumstances. We seldom meet with genuine meekness in people who are kind to an exaggerated degree. Kindness is often a shield behind which one hides a large amount of aggression.
Would a genuine fury not be preferable to false kindness? With Saint Paul there is a clear connection between truth and anger. “Therefore, putting away falsehood, let every one speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members of one another. Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger” (Eph 4:25–26). There is clearly an anger that is not a sin but is instead a healthy anger!
So the first step is: I dare to be angry. Later it can become: I do not need to be angry. When we are deeply anchored in God and have found security in him and when we know that nothing can separate us from the love of God (Rom 8:38–39), there is no need to defend ourselves. But it is risky to play the saint when one is not yet a saint.
You shall love God and your neighbor with all your strength, not only in will and action. Even the feelings must be drawn in. If the emotional life is not a part of love, life in some way becomes a lie. Then even your relationship with God will lack the quality of reality that can only be brought about by the feelings. We know, of course, that feelings decide how we interpret reality.
Your whole being—spirit, soul, and body—should become a song of praise to God and a visible revelation of the Spirit’s power in you.
A poor or blocked emotional life is not a good instrument on which the Spirit is to play. How will he be able to share his own joy with you if the roads to your feelings are blockaded?
And what we call dryness in prayer, could it not be largely due to the general dryness in feelings that characterizes the lives of so many? Why would we have rich and beautiful feelings in our relationship with God when our relationships with others are cold and meager?
Perhaps genuine mystical experiences would occur more often if the emotional life of many believing Christians were not so blocked. God works in every person. But if one has never experienced his own feelings because he has systematically repressed them, he should not be surprised if he does not experience something of God’s presence, either. God can certainly break through all the blockades, and sometimes he does, in an almost spectacular way. But this is not very common and is not something we should anticipate.
Peripheral and Deep Feelings
It is not enough, however, to dislodge all the blockages and set the emotional life free. There must be something more. The great principle that only those who lose their life will save it (Mk 8:35) is also true of the feelings. Even your emotional life must die to be able to rise up again. The emotional life, like the rest of your being, needs an inner transformation.
How does this transformation come about? By discovering and exploring deeper levels of your being. Instead of living exclusively on the level of feelings, you seek contact with your “heart”.
The “heart” is the place in you where you have your roots, where you are completely yourself, and where, without lying, you can say “I”. It is the place, above all, where you say “You, You”. I am speaking of the true heart, which Ezekiel calls “a heart of flesh” as opposed to a heart of stone (11:19).
Most people are not aware of their “heart”. We could say that it belongs to their “subconscious”, as long as we do not understand that word in its current psychological sense. The “heart” lies even deeper than what psychology calls the subconscious. It is a metaphysical reality.
If you wish to find your heart, you must temporarily leave the peripheral feelings behind. It is not possible to be in two places at the same time, at least not in the beginning.
This distancing is traditionally called self-denial or asceticism. It can result in a period of emotional dryness, which is not caused by repression but is due to a crisis period through which you are passing. The distancing should not take place too soon, however. For a person who has spent his whole life repressing his feel
ings, it would not be advisable to distance himself from what he feels. Let him first become a little freer! But for someone with a healthy emotional life, it can be pointed out that there are deeper “feelings” to discover, that it is necessary to sacrifice what lies on the surface if he wants to have access to his “heart”.
The closer you come to your heart, where you are the temple of the Holy Spirit, the more you will come in contact with what we can call, for lack of a better word, the basic or primary feelings.
Just as we can distinguish between three Persons in God, so we can distinguish between three primary feelings. To come to know the Father leads to a basic feeling of security. To come in contact with the Son, which Saint John calls the Logos, that is, both word and meaning, fills existence with meaning. And to encounter the Holy Spirit, who is the Spirit of unity and love, gives a basic feeling of solidarity, union, love, and the constant companion of love: joy.
These three basic feelings are one, like the three Persons in God are one. Each “feeling” points to the other two. Without love, there is neither security nor meaning. For many people in our secularized world today, these three basic feelings are almost unknown. Instead of security, meaning, and love, they experience anguish, meaninglessness, and loneliness.
Growing Integration
These primary feelings are a firm foundation for the peripheral feelings, which thanks to this foundation can more easily be themselves. The one who feels secure dares to delve into difficult feelings. At the same time, these basic feelings have such a radiance that they penetrate all the peripheral feelings and leave their imprint on them. Later on, the previously very restless feelings become characterized by a greater peace. They have a greater weight, a new seriousness. They become more sensitive and “spiritual”.
The Holy Spirit, Fire of Divine Love Page 8
