The Evergetinos: Book Three - Chapter II, Part VI

The Desert Fathers knew something that many of us have forgotten. The greatest danger to the spiritual life is not always the obvious sins we can name. Often it is the secret satisfaction we feel when we discover the weakness of another. There is something in the fallen heart that delights in comparison. The moment another stumbles, we instinctively move ourselves a little higher. We become observers, commentators, judges, analysts. We speak about “discernment” while quietly nourishing condemnation. We discuss another’s failures while remaining remarkably blind to our own. Abba Poimen cuts through all of this with terrifying simplicity: “Who am I? And judge no one.” That is the beginning of monasticism. It is also the beginning of Christianity. Notice how often the Fathers return to the same theme. A brother falls. Another brother is tempted. Someone has a concubine. Someone frequents the baths. Someone neglects his duties. Yet the holy elders are almost never interested in discussing the sin itself. They are interested in the response of those who witness it. The real question is not, “What did he do?” The real question is, “What happened in your heart when you saw it?” The Presbyter of Pelousion stripped eleven brothers of the schema because of their failures. Later his conscience tormented him. Why? Because he discovered something humiliating: the same old man lived in him. The same fallen nature. The same capacity for sin. The Fathers never deny the existence of sin. They deny our right to stand above sinners. That is an entirely different thing. Again and again the Fathers teach that when we expose another’s wound, we expose our own. When we delight in uncovering another’s failure, God permits us to see the sickness hidden within ourselves. Timothy advised that a tempted brother be expelled, and shortly afterward the very temptation he condemned descended upon him. Why? Because God wanted to punish him? No. Because God wanted to heal him. Nothing teaches compassion like discovering that the line between saint and sinner runs directly through one’s own heart. The most moving story in this collection may be the one about the brother abandoned in the ravine. The anchorite’s solution was simple: “Expel him.” Abba Poimen’s solution was different. He sought him. He called him. He embraced him. He fed him. He restored hope to him. The brother had already condemned himself. He did not need another judge. He needed a father. The Church has never lacked judges. What she continually lacks are fathers. A father sees the wound beneath the sin. A father sees the despair beneath the failure. A father sees the battle that nobody else sees. And because he sees it, he goes after the lost sheep. The Fathers teach us something even more demanding than refusing to judge. They teach us to actively support the struggling brother. One brother tells Abba Poimen that he enjoys the company of virtuous men but avoids those with bad reputations. The Elder’s answer is astonishing: “If you do a little good to the good one, you ought to do twice as much good to the one about whose sin you have heard.” Twice as much. Not less. Not avoidance. Not suspicion. Not gossip disguised as concern. Twice as much. Because he is sick. <p style="text-al