Verses 25–32

The fourth octave is characterized by the letter “dalet”—“door.”

With this word come to mind the tender hymns of the Church: “Open to me the doors of repentance, O Giver of Life,” or: “Open to us the doors of mercy, O blessed Theotokos.” Repentance is indeed the content of the present octave. Didymus says: “The prophet here takes up the person of a repentant sinner” and leads him through the entire path of conversion—from the first awakening of conscience to the decisive entry upon the path of the commandments—so that, should anyone decide to repent, he might see the way to be followed in this most important matter.

In the work of the spiritual life there are many doors. Each stage of it has its own door, through which one cannot enter without passing. The initial ones are: the door out of sin, and the door of entry into the right path. These appear so inseparable that the departure from one life and the entry into another seem to occur through one and the same door; yet in fact they are some distance apart—sometimes a very considerable one. Between them lies a passage that must be traversed carefully, like a dark corridor. These three moments are expounded in the present octave. The door of repentance—verses 25–27; the passage—verses 28–29; the door into the righteous life—verses 30–32.

Ps. 118:25. My soul cleaves to the dust: quicken You me according to Your word.

This is the first cry of the sinner upon awakening from the sleep of sin. Sin and the passions have their seat and support in the flesh, and find their nourishment—which satisfies them—in sensory, earthly things and in the vain, seductive customs of this present age. The sinner is drawn into all of this, and so long as he serves sin, he can neither feel nor even see how unnatural his condition is. But when he is awakened from his stupor by God’s grace, the first thing that presses itself into his consciousness is the degradation to which his God-like soul has been subjected within him: “To what have I brought myself! I ought to be moving in heaven, in God and in divine things—yet I am creeping along the ground, wallowing in the earthly, and have no desire to tear myself away from it.”

The norm of human life is life in God through the spirit, which draws the life of the soul and body there as well. The spirit bears the image of God. It is attested by the action of the fear of God and of conscience, and by dissatisfaction with anything earthly. These are the demands of spiritual life. They are fulfilled by the actions of soul and body, and when they are fulfilled, the whole human being ascends in his nature toward the divine likeness; but when they are not fulfilled, the soulish-bodily nature gains the upper hand, and the demands of the spirit grow weaker and weaker—until they seem altogether dormant—and the person becomes as if no longer human, as if only bodily life remains in him. How the spirit then awakens is a mystery of God. But once awakened, it raises its voice triumphantly; the formerly dominant soulish-bodily nature is humbled and falls silent, leaving full scope for the awareness that, while under its domination, the person was not what he ought to have been. Thence the cry: “Alas! My soul cleaves to the dust!” This is very like the complaint of the prodigal son who came to himself: “I perish with hunger” (Lk. 15:17).

St. Ambrose describes this state beautifully, in the person of our fallen first father. “By earth is understood the material. The man, having turned away from the commandment of God, turned toward the material and the carnal, and the love of this present age filled him. Cast out for this from paradise, that enchanting place of delight, into this wretched earth, Adam laments over himself, saying: ‘My soul cleaves to the dust.’ Elsewhere the prophet expresses the same thing thus: ‘My soul is humbled into the dust, my belly cleaves to the earth’ (Ps. 43:26). This is the voice of one doing penance. Before, dwelling in blessedness and fed on heavenly things, he knew nothing of worldly cares and needs; but now he is bent under the weight of the sorrows of this age, drawn by the lusts of the flesh and by covetousness. The fallen one would remain always chained to the earth in this way, unable to rise above all that is sensory, had not Christ lifted him by His cross. And to this day such is everyone who withdraws from Christ. But one who has heeded the voice of Christ—‘Come, follow Me’—will no longer cleave to the earth. The earth—the flesh and the spirit of the world—captivates us with certain harlot-like allurements, rouging the face of the passions with the pleasures of the flesh, in order to conceal an unattractive reality and to deceive those who draw near by a fair outward appearance. But when the inward eye of the mind, for a time deceived, shakes off the dust that had darkened it, the mask falls from the passions, and it is seen how illusory are the charms of this age. Therefore do not draw your soul down into the dust of death—the soul which God has honored with a certain natural elevation and has given power to rouse itself and soar upward. In the union of soul with body there is hidden the natural mystery of our life, and the soul clings as if involuntarily to the earth and the earthly—partly because it is our temporal dwelling, and partly because our body is from the earth. But stand firm and pray with the apostle to be delivered ‘from the body of this death’ (Rom. 7:24). Let us walk in the will of God, so that it may be said of us that we are united to God. Whoever lives by the impulse of the flesh is flesh, and whoever lives by God’s commandments is spirit. Let our soul, then, not be flesh; let us not permit it to be said of us as well: they are flesh — as was said of those who drew upon themselves the punishment of the flood (Gen. 6:3). Rather let our flesh become soulish, earning this name by its submission to the soul’s commands. Those who shun the lusts of the flesh are rightly likened to angels. They are flesh, but they are not in the flesh—they are in the spirit, such as were those to whom the apostle said: you are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit (Rom. 8:9). So then, having felt the degradation of the soul brought low by the lusts even to the dust, pray that it may be quickened by the word of the Lord, who draws souls to Himself, drawing them away from the earth. That soul is quickened which has gone the way of Christ. It has become dead to sin and alive to God, having been buried together with Christ and become righteous in Him.”

Blessed Augustine sees here not the cry of a person converting from sin for the first time, but of one already walking the path of virtue and feeling the assaults of carnal and earthly impulses. “Before,” he says, “the prophet said: ‘Your servant did meditate in Your statutes—Your testimonies are my delight’; and here he says: ‘My soul cleaves to the dust.’ Should we not understand from this that, however far anyone may have advanced in the ordinances of the Lord, there always remains in him the clinging of mortal flesh to the earthly—on account of which ‘the life of man upon earth is a warfare’ (Job 7:1)—and that from this deadening earthliness, if one does not cease to advance, he revives more and more each day, being quickened by the One by whose grace the inner man is renewed day by day (2 Cor. 4:16)? When the apostle said that while living in the body we are absent from the Lord (2 Cor. 5:6), and when he himself desired to depart and be with Christ (Phil. 1:23), was he not pointing to precisely this clinging to the earth? Therefore it is not out of place here to understand by earth the body—as being from the earth—in the prophet’s word as well. And of it, insofar as it is still corruptible and burdens the soul (Wis. 9:15), one may complain to God: ‘My soul cleaves to the dust; quicken You me!’ True, we shall not be without our bodies even in eternity with Christ (1 Thess. 4:13–17); but then, being no longer corruptible, they will not burden the souls. There it will not be the souls that cling to the bodies, but the bodies to the souls, while the souls will cling to God. There the bodies will live from the souls, clinging to them, while the souls will live from God, to whom to cling is good for them—as the prophet assures us elsewhere: ‘It is good for me to draw near to God’ (Ps. 72:28). The prophet, moreover, is not lamenting the union of soul with body, but the fleshly lust that wars through the body against the spirit (Gal. 5:17)—and in thus crying out, he does not desire release from the body, but only that this lust should diminish more and more, while the power of the spirit over it should increase more and more, until at last the former is altogether exhausted and the latter has attained to the measure of the perfection given us by the Holy Spirit.”

Having recognized his unnatural clinging to the earth, the spirit cries out to God: “quicken You me.” One who is bound by the chains of death and feels his own deadness seeks vivification. The prophet says the same thing by this: “I am dead—quicken You me.” The cleaving to the earth and to earthly things is the death of the spirit; but the spirit is already crying out, already in motion, already alive—alive, however, only to the extent of recognizing the deadness of sin and passion that shackles it. It has not yet the strength to break these bonds; it desires to break free from them but feels that they are strong enough that it cannot overcome them on its own—and therefore prays to God for a life-giving power. This is the second step toward the opening door of repentance. Grace comes and awakens; the awakened one recognizes the wretchedness of his condition; the action of grace for the first time is confined to this. Beyond this, the spirit itself must desire to come out of its wretched state; having desired it—must resolve; having resolved—must take the necessary measures, and then set about the actual work. The desiring, the resolving, the readiness for all measures—all this proceeds well in the spirit, in the rational acts of the soul; but the moment one must actually set to work, there proves to be insufficient energy in the moral powers of the person to carry out what he has conceived and decided. “Quicken You me”—this is the prayer for an influx of gracious powers to animate the spirit and fill it with effective energy to resist earthly impulses and habits. God’s grace is always at hand—and all the more so the grace that has already awakened the spirit—but it does not enter the soul by force so long as the soul has not opened the door to it through recognition of its own helplessness and a God-surrendering prayer. “Quicken You me; I am ready; I thirst for You as a dry land thirsts for rain.”

“According to Your word” means the same as “according to Your promise,” says Blessed Augustine. “When,” explains Anthimus, “having transgressed the commandment, I sinned—‘my soul cleaves to the dust,’ and death came over me by reason of separation from You and division from You, O Lord, Giver of Life. But behold, I repent; quicken You me therefore according to Your word that You will be merciful to those who repent, not desiring the death of a sinner.”

Ps. 118:26. I have declared my ways, and You heard me: teach me Your statutes.

The one who has sought vivification is ready to be filled by God’s grace with its life-giving power. But in the Kingdom of God, in the life that God builds, all things take place in their proper order and in their due time. The life of grace is renewed in the soul of the sinner only after he has confessed his sins and received absolution in the mystery of repentance. The sinner, awakened by grace, yearns for a pure, God-pleasing life; to that end, having reviewed all his transgressions, he mourns them in his heart and with contrition confesses them to the resolver of moral bonds appointed by God, resolving firmly to walk from now on unswervingly in God’s commandments. Under the action of the absolution, God’s grace visits the heart that had been empty by reason of sin, and spiritual life revives. Having received this gracious renewal, in the sense of strength in the Lord, he is now ready for every God-pleasing deed and every such labor—if only he may know that such and such is truly pleasing to God and saving. All these changes, or turns, in the spirit of the repentant, the prophet portrays in the present verse. “I have declared my ways”—that is, I have confessed my sins; “You heard me”—You, O Lord, did receive my confession and have forgiven me all my sins; “teach me” now “Your statutes”—show me exactly what to do, that I may not err, and I am ready, having already received Your gracious help.

“I have declared my ways”—evil ways, then, as Blessed Augustine observes. A person’s own ways are those by which he walks in the service of himself and his desires—ways contrary to the ways of God, along which he who travels must necessarily go against himself and his inclinations and habits. St. Ambrose writes: “One must know what it means to walk in one’s own ways, and what it means to walk in God’s ways. One who does the will of the flesh and lives in the pleasures of this world walks in his own ways, takes delight in them, and is glad of them; but one who seeks not what is desirable to himself but what is pleasing to God—he walks in the way of the Lord. Thus it is clear that our ways are one thing, and God’s ways are another. Whoever wishes to walk in God’s ways should know that he must first leave his own ways—the ways of the flesh and all the wisdom of this age—and in leaving them, confess them before God, holding nothing back.” Thus, says St. Hilary, “this declaration in the words ‘I have declared my ways’ is not a boast but a penitential confession of one’s sins. He confessed his sins so that, after this confession, he might become capable of receiving and learning God’s statutes.”

The one who confesses his sins receives forgiveness: “and You heard me.” Elsewhere the prophet describes this ineffable mercy of God more fully: “I acknowledged my iniquity, and my sin I did not cover; I said: I will confess my transgression to the Lord, and You forgave the iniquity of my heart” (Ps. 31:5). This gracious promise of God was later inscribed as a law of the Spirit’s utterances, as St. Isaiah declares from the Lord’s own lips: “Tell of your transgressions first, that you may be justified” (Is. 43:26). The condition of forgiveness is the sincerity of the confession—one that is merciless to itself, that conceals nothing, that exposes the self in complete nakedness, presenting the repentant person as the conscience—stirred and enlightened by grace—sees him. Only in such a confession is there hope for subsequent correction.

“Leaving his sins,” says St. Ambrose, “David declares them before God, holding nothing back, confessing without concealing his falls. One who does not cover his sins in this way evidently grieves within himself over what he has done, and casts back at the devil what the devil suggested. One who condemns himself is a sinner, yet has already begun to be righteous—for he speaks the truth about himself without sparing himself, and in this he confesses the righteousness of God, before which he does not consider it possible to conceal anything. Oh, would that Adam had willed to accuse himself rather than to conceal!”

The assurance of pardon stands at the threshold of the righteous life. One must pass through this door of mercy in order to enter upon the path of life according to God. One who has not experienced it is crushed by hopelessness, which kills every shoot of life. In the one who has experienced it, the heart is enlarged and all the powers come into tension. This is the consequence not only of moral changes, but also, as already stated, of an influx of gracious powers—to which the absolution opens the door into the heart that was emptied beforehand by sincere confession. The one confessing says: “I have sinned; I will not do so again—only do You help me and not forsake me.” Having felt the overshadowing of God’s power following the absolution of his sins, he cries in joy: “and You heard me.”

“Teach me Your statutes.” The door has swung open; the arena of a new life lies revealed, yet it is threaded with manifold paths. Not every path is appointed for every person, but for each there are those proper to him, those suited to his condition. Which paths are those? — Those known only to the One Who is the Architect of this entire saving way. But who can point them out, save He alone? Hence the cry: “Teach me Your statutes”—teach me not only where to go and what to do, but how to go and how to do it.

“It is not enough to confess our sins,” says Saint Ambrose; “we desire also to amend ourselves, and therefore we ask God to teach us His statutes, lest we err again in some way. The Prophet asks to be taught by the Lord, because He alone is our Teacher, in His own words” (Matt. 23:8). Augustine adds to this: “I have confessed to You, O Lord, my evil ways. You have forgiven me; now teach me Your ways—teach me in such a manner that I may not merely know but also do what must be done. As it is said of the Lord that He knew no sin (2 Cor. 5:21) in the sense that He did not commit it, so, by contrast, he who does and fulfills righteousness must be esteemed as one who truly knows it.”

“Teach”—in this sense means: train. As children are taught to walk by being taken by the hands and guided to step with their little feet, so grace trains a man in the steps of the spiritual life—steps that are sure and unerringly directed to the goal. One condition is required: attentiveness to oneself and surrender to invisible guidance. What is promised is unfailingly true: they shall all be taught of God (John 6:45). All of God’s elect, whose radiant lives fill us with wonder, were directly taught and guided by the Spirit of God; and therefore they walked straight, turning neither to the right nor to the left. And this is most remarkable: looking at them from without, we cannot but marvel at the hardships of their journey; yet they themselves scarcely noticed any roughness in the path—they walked calmly, even with delight. The power of life in Christ Jesus absorbed everything that might have seemed unpleasant.

But why is not such teaching given to everyone? Why is not such training, such lightening guidance, granted to all? Grace seems to carry some on its arms, while we feel as though abandoned. No—it is not that we have been abandoned, but that we have abandoned. Adopt the same self-denial and distrust of yourself and of everything save God; surrender yourself wholly to the will of God, placing yourself in the hands of God’s grace—and it will carry you just as it carried those wondrous saints whom you revere. The hand was extended to you: you took it, walked for a little while guided and upheld by it, suffering no unpleasantness from the marshes or the thorns; then, concluding that you could now walk on your own and choose your own road, you let go of the mighty hand that sustained you, and were left alone with your own reasonings and conjectures. And so you wander amid thorns and swamps, sinking and wounding yourself—and who is to blame? You toil and sweat, yet to no avail. All this comes from self-will, self-reliance, and the false sense of strength in oneself rather than in the Lord. Is that the way of the saints? Why marvel, then, that the fruit is not the same? God wills all to be saved; but not all are willing to be saved in the way God wills to save them.

The Blessed Patriarch of Jerusalem, Anthimus, depicts the whole content of this verse thus: “He who is given over to carnal passions and walks in the way of his own desires makes his own paths; but he who bridles them and lives with sobriety walks the path that leads to God. Yet when a man who has fallen and recognized his sins lays open before God his evil ways, then God, hearing his prayer, forgives him all his former iniquities and leads him to righteousness, teaching him His statutes.”

Ps. 118:27. Make me to understand the way of Your statutes, and I will meditate on Your wondrous works.

What does the Prophet ask when he asks to be made to understand the way of the statutes?

One may suppose that he asks for a deeper and more detailed knowledge of the saving path—knowledge of all that pertains to it, knowledge of the various aspects and parts of a life pleasing to God.

First, so as to be able to discern good from evil and to unmask the apparent good beneath which evil lurks—to notice the ill-disposed feelings that arise during good deeds and at once to put them aside and correct one’s doing of good; to know the order in which the affairs of the spiritual life should be conducted, for it is not always fitting to do everything at once—a beginner ought not to attempt what is only within reach of those already perfected. So teach Saint John Chrysostom, Theodoret, and Saint Ambrose. The thought of Saint Chrysostom is quoted by Zigabenus in his Commentary: “The Prophet rightly prays to partake of Divine understanding, so that he may discern the upright path aright, lest he err and lay hold of evil instead of good; for evil is often like good.” Theodoret writes: “We have need of Divine understanding, in order to advance in virtue according to the law of God—so that he who is guided by love of his neighbor may have no thought of vainglory, that the ascetic may not seek human praise, that the chaste man may preserve chastity not out of shame for an intemperate life but out of love of virtue. Therefore the Prophet rightly implores to be made a partaker of Divine understanding and to know the path of righteousness.” Saint Ambrose says: “He does not count it enough that the Lord our God teach him His statutes, but adds: ‘the way of Your statutes,’ and so on. Observe the order! First one must learn the Lord’s statutes, then discern the gradation and order of the statutes’ demands—what must come first and what afterward; for to know what to do and not to know the order of doing it is not to have perfect knowledge. Men stumble most often because they act not as they should, not in proper order.” Different things are fitting in worldly society and in a life of renunciation; different things at the beginning and in progress; different things in community life and in solitude; different things in the outward order and in the inner life of a Christian. To everything there is its own time and place. Even what is good is fully good only in its proper time and place.

Second, by “the way of the statutes” one may understand here, as Blessed Augustine supposes, “the highest statutes themselves, which the holy Prophet desires to attain as he advances further and further, and which he calls the wondrous works of God; for among the statutes—the Divine commandments—and the works of a life lived according to God, there are some so marvelous that those who, through human weakness, have not passed through them in practice cannot believe that they can ever be attained.” Such are: love of enemies, not as an outward act but as an inward, living, and sincere feeling; the courage of the martyrs—not merely a state of calm in the spirit during torments, but a state of praise-filled joy and blessed gladness; unceasing prayer, with all its essential qualities, so incomprehensible that recourse is had to allegory to describe it, yet which in reality exists and constitutes an inalienable quality of those who have become one spirit with the Lord; perfect freedom from care—not in feeling only, but in deed, in surrender to the will of God, in accordance with the word of His promise, all these things shall be added to you (Matt. 6:33), by which the Lord graciously accepted those who trusted in it and abundantly nourished His servants from His abundance; detachment from bodily needs to the point of forgetting them, yet without exhausting the body, which remained both healthy and sufficiently vigorous to perform its ordinary duties and labors. All this and the like are the wonders of the moral-Christian life, built up by the grace of the Holy Spirit in Christ Jesus our Lord. One cannot but marvel at these wonders.

Third, one may understand here, with Saint Hilary, a desire to see through the Old Testament ordinances of justification so as to behold the true justification in the Redeemer of all who is prefigured by them. Hilary writes: “These words (that is, ‘make me to understand the way of Your statutes’) draw a distinction between the statutes and their way. Moreover, it is self-evident that what one strives to reach by a certain path is not the same as the path itself by which one strives. Dwelling in the Law, he asked not to be taught what was then performed in the material worship of God, for that was already visible—but to be taught those future mysteries which lay hidden beneath the image of the present visible material ordinances. He remembered that the statutes of the Law present a shadow of the true Divine statutes. The prescriptions of the Law are therefore, as it were, a way leading to what they prefigure. It is in order to understand this way of the statutes—that is, to pass from the shadow to the true body—that the Prophet prays, so that, having understood it, he may plunge into the contemplation of these wonders of God (the wondrous plans of the economy of our salvation in the Lord). The Law was established precisely to be a mirror of the good things to come (which those under the Law awaited).”

A similar thought can be significant for us Christians as well. We have our own outward order of justification, which every person seeking reconciliation with the Lord—whom the multitude of recognized sins has offended—must pass through. We have the fast before Communion, the fast proper, the standing in prayer at church, solitude and withdrawal from worldly affairs, confession of sins, the acceptance of a penance and the labors of performing it. Everyone passes through this path. Its fittingness for its purpose is proven by the experience of all ages. But the power lies not in the outward course of affairs, but in the inward dispositions that must be enkindled in the heart throughout, and it is the succession of these very dispositions that is the way of justification—not the succession of the outward actions described. One can pass through all of them and receive nothing. For this reason there is a pressing need, when approaching them and passing through them, to entreat the Lord to grant us to walk this path truly, wholeheartedly, and fruitfully—so that in the end we may obtain in deed what we seek, and then wonder and never cease to wonder at the marvels of God’s boundless mercy toward repentant sinners.

What does it mean: “and I will meditate on Your wondrous works”? — Evidently the Prophet here indicates what he promises to do upon receiving the understanding he seeks. But what exactly is that? The word “to meditate” (in its Church Slavonic form) has taken on a different meaning among us than the corresponding Greek word carries. In the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, this word is translated as: “to sit by, to be assiduously occupied with something—for example, to sit by reading, by contemplation of God, by mental prayer, by handiwork,” and the like.

Saint Ambrose writes: “‘I will meditate’ denotes a sustained kind of reflection and unrelenting absorption of the mind in something, as well as diligent exercise in something—whether of soul or body—with the aim of acquiring a habit of it.” Thus there is intellectual abiding, and there is active abiding. Which of the two is meant here by the Prophet? — Both. He who has received understanding of the way of God’s statutes cannot but plunge into them through reflection and contemplation. Moreover, since understanding is given concerning active life, and then, in turn, so as to give proper direction to life and activity, he who has received understanding cannot remain idle, but at once takes up the work and, abiding in it, continually acquires a habit of it.

“Thus, says Saint Ambrose, he who has come to know the mysteries of God plunges in contemplation into the wonders of God that are revealed in them.” According to Zigabenus, the Prophet speaks to the Lord in this way: “I will often reflect on the wondrous works You have wrought, so as to find delight in their comprehension, which You do grant me.” But he must not content himself with this alone; rather, “as one preparing for a contest in the arena trains his limbs at length so that they may learn the movements and grow strong, so too, Saint Ambrose teaches, one must actively abide in what Scripture points out, in order to grasp the hidden mysteries and counsels of God contained in it.”

Others understand the word “I will meditate” to mean: I will carry on extended discourse about the wonders of Your mercy and righteousness: My tongue shall speak of Your righteousness (Ps. 50:16); I will everywhere extol both the wondrous ways of Your statutes and You who ordain them. Didymus says: “I will tell everyone of Your wonders.” Saint Athanasius writes: “Having acquired understanding of the mysteries contained in Your statutes, and the capacity to walk in their path, I shall be able to speak and discourse about the wonders of these statutes.”

Ps. 118:28. My soul has slumbered from weariness; strengthen me in Your words.

The labor is long, the road is far, the seeking is prolonged. The interval between turning onto the path of the commandments and walking freely along it passes in a state half-bitter and half-comforting, half-alive and half-dead. For one person it is longer, for another shorter, but it comes to everyone. Such is the law of God’s justice in the ordering of our salvation. The baptized man or the one who has sincerely repented is already a son and heir; but one must pass through the full course of upbringing, and another through only a lawful penance. The end of this state comes when the soul is cleansed and its activity on the good path becomes swift and light, as though seeing no obstacles or hindrances. Until that time there is striving and labor: the toiler must experience much.

Two chief blows befall him: the first is the weakening of moral energy; the second is a strong assault of wrong inward movements and evil external provocations. Of the first, which is despondency, the present verse speaks; of the second, the following verse.

Despondency is tedium in one’s work. When it attacks, everything drags. Before it comes, everything is done willingly, the work prospers, and time passes unnoticed at one’s labor. But when despondency strikes, the one working begins to look about, doing a little and then stopping—seized by the desire to put it all down as quickly as possible. This happens in everyday life and in the spiritual life alike. The desire to stand in church, to pray to God at home, to read, to fulfill ordinary acts of goodness—all of this falls away. The toiler begins to grow bored with all of it; and therefore, even when doing these things, it is as if he does nothing, and no profit comes from such doing. He is exactly like a half-asleep person from whose hands the work keeps slipping. This state is what the Prophet describes in the words: “My soul has slumbered from weariness.”

Slumbering is only a stopping of activity, not a doing of evil; yet it is itself a bad thing. In bodily life it is natural; in the spiritual life it ought not to be, for there the inescapable obligation is to be sober and vigilant. It is bad as a stopping, since we are obliged to press ceaselessly forward; it is bad also because it borders on evil action. One who dozes off may fall and be hurt; he may be seized by an enemy and suffer wounds and afflictions, even mortal ones. Therefore he who has dozed off spiritually in despondency, recognizing his drowsiness, cannot but reproach himself and be afraid for himself. Hence the cry for awakening and revival: no one can manage himself alone at such a time.

Blessed Augustine writes: “Undergoing labors in the acquiring of virtues and in a certain measure wearied by them, he said: ‘My soul has slumbered from weariness.’ What does it mean that ‘the soul slumbered,’ if not that it grew cold in the hope of soon attaining virtue? So he prays, fearing lest, having slumbered, he fall away from those virtues in which he thought he had already made progress.” “He,” adds Saint Hilary, “calls himself slumbering, not sleeping. He who is asleep is in the state of sleep, overcome by sleep; but he who slumbers has not yet fallen asleep, but stands in the vestibule of sleep. The Prophet slumbers but does not sleep, and prays lest, having dozed off, he fall fast asleep.”

Zigabenus quotes the view of Hesychius: when the soul slumbers, sin does not sleep, but creeps up and endeavors to draw the soul away and attract it to itself. “The beginning of sleep,” he says, “is slumbering, and the beginning of a fall is the loosening and enervation of the soul through despondency. As one who slumbers is drawn toward sleep, so one who is morally weakened is drawn toward sin.”

One of the Western commentators on the Psalter (Bellarmine) also describes this state well: “In the pilgrimage of this life, scarcely a person is to be found who does not grow weak and, wearied of the constant struggle the spirit wages against the flesh, does not grow cold toward it and doze off when it becomes tedious to walk the laborious path on which the flesh wars against the spirit.”

Here are the words of Blessed Theodoret: “The frequent assault of sin often weakens the power of one’s thoughts, causes the ascetic to begin to tire, and produces in him what is called despondency; the weakening soul then inclines toward sleep, and sleep brings death. Therefore the Prophet asks to be confirmed and strengthened. He says the same in another place: Lighten mine eyes, lest I sleep in death (Ps. 12:4)—calling sin death.”

How, then, is one to act in this unhealthy state? — First, to pray; second, to remain firmly in established routines and the tasks already begun, even when the taste for them has vanished; third, to meditate on the wondrous ways of God revealed in His word. All these means are contained in the Prophet’s prayer: “Strengthen me in Your words.”

And so, above all, pray. The despondent Prophet turns to God. Together with him, lift yourself there too, you who are weak, and ask that the same fervor be kindled in you again—that fervor in which every labor was no labor to you before; ask that the fire of grace return to you, and that, stirred by it, you may not cease to walk with zeal on the path of the Lord’s commandments.

While praying, do not leave off anything you did before. Let there be no taste for it—compel yourself; by force of will, bow your neck and your whole frame under the yoke you have taken up. Blessed Augustine paraphrases the Prophet’s prayer thus: “Strengthen me in those Your words which I already hold, which I already fulfill, so that from them, advancing little by little, I may move toward others.” According to Saint Ambrose: “The Prophet here asks to be strengthened in the words of God, ‘that his feet not be moved’ (Ps. 16:5) and ‘his steps not slip’ (Ps. 72:2). This will not befall him who stands firm and bravely in the uprightness of heart. Like a tree that has sent its roots deep down, he holds himself immovable against every alien assault and pressure.”

While doing both these things, intensify your God-directed meditation on the wondrous ways of God. In another psalm the Prophet says plainly that when his spirit was downcast within him, he, in order to drive it away, recalled the days of old and began to ponder God’s wondrous works. What came of this? — The soul became like parched earth—that is, thirsting; spiritual tastes and longings were awakened, and the soul, slain by despondency, came to life. The same applies here. According to Saint Athanasius, the Prophet teaches that it is impossible to drive out the spirit of despondency otherwise than by meditation on the Divine words. Therefore one must be sober and vigilant according to the word of the Lord: Watch and pray (Mark 14:38).

Saint Hilary writes: “‘Strengthen me in Your words,’ so that, being strengthened by understanding of all Your ways, I may not only not sleep but not even give way to slumber, but may unceasingly remain in every vigilance.”

The same thought is in Zigabenus: “‘Strengthen me in Your words’—that is, in meditating on Your commandments, so that I may always exercise myself in this; for through this I hope to drive away the slumber of despondency.”

Saint Ambrose writes more fully about this: “The perfect man, directing his mind toward the Divine mysteries, does not slumber but is ever vigilant: and though sometimes he sleeps in body, yet in heart he keeps watch. In another place the Prophet says: I will not give sleep to mine eyes or slumber to mine eyelids (until I build a temple for God) (Ps. 131:4). Thus he does not slumber who has resolved to build a temple for the Lord—not of stones, but of good thoughts, feelings, and dispositions, kindled and formed by heavenly words. The word of God disperses despondency—the sleep of the soul and the drowsiness of the mind. Sleep comes from the cares and sorrows of the age. But he who cleaves to God flees such cares; his delight he finds in the knowledge of the eternal order of things, undisturbed by any change in earthly things.”

Blessed Anthimus notes that “in the fifth and sixth edition (of the Bible translation) and in Symmachus, instead of ‘slumbered’ the reading is—‘to drip, to become saturated’; by this it is indicated that the soul of a righteous man is compactly and firmly composed, while the soul of a sinner becomes disordered and riddled with holes, leaking; and therefore it stands in need of being joined together and bound by God.”

Saint Ambrose, mentioning this reading, finds two thoughts in the Prophet’s word: the first—the soul has begun to drip, has begun to receive within itself something alien that gives it no rest and drives it outward; the second—the soul has begun to seep through, to let out of itself the saving word previously received, filling itself, in its place, with thoughts harmful to the soul. Here are his words: “Others read not ‘slumbered’ but ‘to drip,’ meaning—it has begun to drip, to let moisture through. The thought would be this: the soul of a perfect man, being well arranged and bound together, does not drip, like vaults and ceilings that are firmly and solidly built. It is said: ‘A continual dripping drives a man out of his house in a stormy day’ (Prov. 27:15). Therefore we must bind our soul so that it does not drip; we must firmly compact it by the indivisible union of the virtues, so that it may keep the secret of the eternal King—like the holy Mary, who kept all these words in her heart, lest any of them should pour out of it through the lips: he who is quick with words, like an overflowing vessel pouring this way and that, empties his inner life and is flooded with outward attachments, unable either to roof himself over or to preserve safely the word he has received. That soul has no corruption (no holes or cracks) which by magnanimous patience sustains within itself the ceiling of righteousness and the walls of the other virtues. Therefore it does not drip, does not pour, does not overflow: there is no looseness in it, no capricious instability, no careless negligence; nothing is wrested out of it through the hole of the tongue.”

Ps. 118:29. Remove from me the way of falsehood, and grant me Your law graciously.

The second blow encountered by the toiler who is passing through the state of penance is the arousal of sinfulness that occurs from time to time—whether from within of itself, or from external provocations, or from the action of the envious enemy. It can be so dark and troubling that the one experiencing it seems as though he had already committed fornication, denied God, and fallen into misanthropy; he feels that his soul is filled with evils and his life has drawn near to hades (Ps. 87:4). As long as a person lives in negligence and love of sin, sinful impulses continually arise in his soul and he immediately inclines toward satisfying them, yet this does not trouble him in the least. But when he repents and sincerely pledges to indulge himself no longer—and especially when he has already somewhat settled down and grown unaccustomed to his passionate deeds—then assaults of this kind cannot but trouble him, cannot but arouse pain and apprehension. Hence the cry to the Lord: “Remove from me the way of falsehood.”

What is this way of falsehood? It is the passionate movements that arise in the soul and lead to every kind of falsehood and sin. They have fastened themselves and clung to the soul; he asks that they be torn away from it and flung far off—that they may be outside, not inside, so that one might pass through them without experiencing any harm, just as a person without a predisposition to a contagious disease feels no harm from it. Saint Hilary writes: “The way of falsehood is the way of sin. The Prophet entreats God to remove from him the way of sin—the way that leads straight to sin—to take away all the stirrings of carnal passions, to make it so that no temptation from lust presses upon him, along which, as along a road, one walks to sin.”

Saint Ambrose continues the same thought: “He did not say—remove me from the way of falsehood, but—remove from me the way of falsehood, acknowledging that it is in him and active within him. And indeed, as long as we lead an evil life, the way of falsehood remains within us and does not depart from us. But he who has repented takes care to put it far from himself. Since the hereditary infection of falsehood has entered us from without, there is need of an outside deliverer from it. Hence the prayer: ‘Remove the way of falsehood.’ Pray, you too, saying: O wretched man that I am! Who shall remove from me the way of falsehood? — and you shall hear: the grace of God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Didymus understands here any assault of sin whatsoever, not any particular one; but this is not alien to the meaning of this verse. He says: “He who has willfully departed from the way of falsehood and has desired to draw near to the law of God prays that this may be brought to completion by God, Who brings all good beginnings to their end. Likewise, he who has come to hate his former ignorance and has desired the knowledge opposed to it, being unable by his own strength to drive out ignorance and to be enlightened by knowledge, cries out to the one Teacher of all: Remove ignorance from me, and by Your knowledge have mercy on me!”

“Grant me Your law graciously.” But by what law? — “By the law of Your love for mankind,” says Zigabenus; “for the law of God’s love for mankind consists precisely in this: that God has mercy on him who repents and turns to Him with his whole soul and flees to Him.” Justice demands punishment for the violator of righteousness; but God’s love for mankind intercedes for mercy. This is the chief law in the present period of our existence. He who suffers attacks from sin cannot but acknowledge that he himself formerly gave sin such power over him, that he himself nursed this serpent within himself—and therefore rightly suffers; and if he rightly suffers, where is his salvation if not in the love for mankind? So he prays with this meaning: “I am myself to blame, I rightly suffer these attacks—but show me mercy, O Lord; remove this way of falsehood, according to the law of Your love for mankind.”

The words — by Your law — can also mean: as Your law commands or requires. As a sick person, seeking help from a physician, hopes from him for recovery according to the laws of medical science, so here too. God heals spiritual infirmities; but there is a proper law for this healing, without which the healing cannot take place. “By what law, then, does he seek mercy?” asks Blessed Augustine. “By no other than the law of faith. The law of faith consists in this: that we pray to have granted to us by grace what we ourselves are not capable of doing.”

“Grant me Your law graciously”—means, again, the same as “bless me with such-and-such a thing”—that is, give me such-and-such a thing as a blessing. Thus the meaning becomes: show me mercy by the gift of Your law; uproot the wrong movements from my heart, and in their place write there, impress, implant Your law—so that it may penetrate my whole being, govern all the movements of my faculties, take possession of all the outpourings of my life and actions, and I, knowing this, may with sincerity confess the law of my God within my heart. This meaning is the most fitting of all and encompasses all the others. And the Hebrew text says: grant me the grace of Your law, count me worthy of the law.

Saint Hilary gives this thought: “Give me by the confession of Your law to be counted worthy of Your mercy and to be blessed in the fullness of it. The Prophet prays that God would have mercy on him by His law. Mercy is drawn by the law of God, according to Scripture, in this way: And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear the Lord your God, to walk in all His ways, and to love Him, and to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, to keep the commandments of the Lord your God and His statutes, which I command you this day, that it may be well with you (Deut. 10:12–13). So if the law teaches us to walk in God’s ways so that it may be well with those who walk in them, then when the Prophet prays that God would have mercy on him by the law, he prays for what is contained in the law—that is, walking in God’s ways, to attain blessedness.”

Ps. 118:30. I have chosen the way of truth, and have not forgotten Your judgments.

The dark passage is over. The penitent enters the state of free, willing, and spontaneous walking in the commandments. When this comes to pass, the soul experiences what a man experiences when he passes from a dim corridor into bright and adorned chambers. This luminous state the Prophet depicts in the last three verses of the present octet (Ps. 118:30, 31, 32).

One cannot help but notice the particular fullness of this depiction and the harmony in the interrelation of the various aspects of the structure of spiritual life at this season. On one side there is a series of expressions of freedom toward the commandments; on the other, a series of grace-filled effects experienced by the soul. In the first, we have—“I have chosen”—I have elected, “I have cleaved”—I have loved with all my heart, “I have run”—I actively work toward fulfillment; in the second—“I have not forgotten Your judgments”—I have taken into my conviction the entire essence of Your economy in the ordering of salvation; further—“do not put me to shame”—I rest all my hope upon You, “You have enlarged my heart”—I have felt an inflow of Your life-giving grace-filled workings. It is self-evident that the goal of everything lies in “I have run” and in “when You did enlarge my heart”: Your grace overflowed in me, my heart was enlarged, and I walked the path of Your commandments, noticing no hindrances and suffering no stumbling. All the other indications are only the path and the support of this last thing, says Saint Hilary.

“The way of truth…” Everyone who lives and acts already has his own path, but not everyone has the true path. The Savior too distinguished two paths—the broad and the narrow—and assessed them according to the end to which each leads. Every traveler walks a certain path, and many think their path is straight and true, when in reality it is crooked and illusory—it only seems to be a path, and a straight one at that, but in reality is not. The Prophet says that all this manifold illusion of paths has been laid bare before him; I, he says, have seen that there is only one true path, and I have chosen it. Saint Ambrose writes: “The Prophet speaks thus in order to show that he has sincerely turned. The miser cannot speak in this way, nor can the man attached to the worldly and material—for how can this path be the way of truth when the rich man of this age cannot take his wealth with him from here, and after death becomes poorer than the poor Lazarus? Equally, worldly glory and the sorrow of this age cannot be regarded as the way of truth. Truth lies in the eternal; the temporal is illusory. If we desire to walk in the way of truth, let us become strangers to the world and begin to live by faith. He who lives by faith lives in God, Who alone truly is; while he who is given over to the world ‘walks in a vain show’ (Ps. 38:7), and truth (reality) will soon expose him.”

What then is the way of truth for us? — Life according to the Gospel, in the spirit of Christian faith. Our Lord Jesus Christ is both the Truth and the Way. Follow after the Lord Christ, and you shall walk in the way of truth. But make it so that this is so in actual deed, and not merely in name. Not every one who says to me, Lord, Lord, shall enter the kingdom, but he who does the will of my heavenly Father (Matt. 7:21). Enter truly upon the way of truth, and do not merely appear to be walking upon it.

“I have chosen the way of truth”—chosen with my whole will; my whole will is in it, and it no longer wavers this way and that. Before one has grown habituated to good, before the light of truth has gained the mastery within, the will continues to be divided. In every matter that presents itself, the conscience—already enlightened and enlivened by the light of the Gospel and of grace—points out the God-pleasing manner of acting; yet one feels that from somewhere unknown come proposals utterly opposed to it, and someone enters into dispute with the conscience. Mindful of the condition of forgiveness in repentance—the vow to be faithful to God’s will—the will, though far from consenting to these alien proposals, still glances back, with a certain drawing toward the fleshpots of Egypt (Exod. 16:3)—it is divided, in other words. This division is a sign that within, in the depths of our being, the work of conversion is not yet complete; there still remain deposits of an alien life, like sprouts that have been pressed down but are ready to burst forth the moment they are given room. Until now the state of penance is not yet ended, and consequently the work of repentance is not yet accomplished, and the comforting inner voice is not yet heard: your sins are forgiven you (Matt. 9:2). But when this passes, when all that is unclean evaporates, self-indulgence is extinguished, and the passions fall silent—then there is no more division; then for every good deed presented to one, one chooses with the fullness of the will. It is of this very thing that the Prophet makes mention, apparently in spiritual gladness and rejoicing.

“And have not forgotten Your judgments.” “Having chosen,” says Blessed Augustine, “the way of truth along which to run, he has not forgotten Your judgments by which to run.” In remembrance of God’s judgments lies both the incentive and the support of the choice of the true path. Contemplation of God’s judgments impresses upon the consciousness the inescapability of precisely this path and binds the will. Therefore the will chooses it decisively, without wavering; it lays upon itself the law of walking undeviatingly in this path.

But what are these judgments? — The entire course of God’s judgments, or the decrees of God’s providential will concerning us, from the moment when it pleased God to reveal them to the moment when each person enters by means of his consciousness into full contemplation of them—not excluding from this compass what he sees as having been accomplished in himself; or, in other words, the entire economy of salvation of our race and of that particular person who speaks these words. These judgments of God are visible at the beginning of repentance as well, but in outlines that are too general. But when the penitent conscientiously passes through the state of penance, they become ever clearer and, as they clarify, they become united with the consciousness—both in what concerns all those being saved, and in what concerns the very person who is being purified. At last, all is clearly seen and is blended with the consciousness to such a degree as to constitute an inalienable part of it. Just as one who clearly recognizes himself as a human being is aware of both himself and everything around him, so clearly does the purified person see the whole order of God’s judgments and his own place within them. All of this together presses so tightly upon his consciousness that he cannot even forget it. Just as he remembers God and himself in God, so he remembers God’s judgments. “They,” says Anthimus, “never leave his mind; they are ever before the eyes of his understanding.”

The preceding “I have chosen” stands in a direct relationship to this “I have not forgotten”—as a necessary consequence, in the spirit of moral necessity. He who enters into the knowledge of God’s judgments is convinced to the point of irresistible clarity that everything is ordered according to God’s will, and that this will, having determined something, brings it to pass: no one and nothing is strong enough to change or revoke it. It has decreed the structure of salvation in such and such a way, and nothing can shake this decree. Act therefore either as decreed, or remain outside those being saved and consequently go to perdition. When this conviction occupies the consciousness with the same force as the daytime awareness that it is day, or the nighttime awareness that it is night, then the person who has a living sense of self-preservation—as a penitent must—cannot waver. He passes entirely over to the side of God’s decrees, aligns himself with them, chooses them—and wavering is at an end. Floggings, scraping with iron claws, burning furnaces—all are as nothing! His whole being is encompassed by the truth that one must either hold firm and be saved, or totter and perish. Such is the power of moral necessity! The visible world stands firm, bound by physical necessity; the moral world flows in an order bound by moral necessity, imprinted in the consciousness and will of the elect by the all-governing right hand of the All-good God, Who wills all to be saved—precisely in this way, and no other.

Ps. 118:31. I have cleaved to Your testimonies, O Lord; put me not to shame.

The division of the will ends at the time when all sympathies with sin and passion disappear. War on sin and the passions is declared at the moment of repentance; but this occurs in the higher will, while the heart does not quickly detach itself from its habitual pleasures. Whether the eye sees, or the ear hears, or to mind comes something of what was before—a sympathetic response to it stirs in the heart, though the spirit—the higher side of our nature—noticing this, immediately reproaches the heart for it. But it is not possible to tear oneself away decisively all at once. The constancy of resistance to evil gradually suppresses this sympathy ever more and more, generating in its place a dislike, irritation, and anger toward the sinful impulses that arise again. At last, anger and indignation cover the entire realm of passion. This is a sign that all the threads binding the heart to sin have been cut. This severing of the heart from sin never takes place alone, but is always accompanied by adherence to the opposing good. They go together, and in proportion as the one is strong, the other grows stronger. The heart cannot be without attachment: this is its nature. Detaching from one thing, it attaches to another, and it is impossible to tell whether the adherence produces the detachment, or the detachment sets the adherence free. And so when all sinful sympathies are torn from the heart—as is evidenced by anger against everything sinful—at the same time complete adherence to everything good is also accomplished.

An elder was once asked: by what is it evidenced that someone’s sins have been forgiven? The elder replied: “By this—if he has come to hate them.” Basil the Great offers the same resolution. If this hatred is simultaneous with adherence to good, and if a person can say of himself that he has cleaved to all that is good, then he may fully rest assured that his sins are forgiven. The burden of penances is over… In ancient accounts we read that when someone who had sinned greatly repented and, having confessed his sins to the elders and asked for healing, was led by them into a secluded cell and, after receiving the rule, was shut in it. A certain time would pass; the penance would accomplish its work; and the one under penance would hear aloud: “The Lord has accepted your repentance; your sins are forgiven.” The same thing is accomplished inwardly in him who, having come to hate sin, has cleaved to the testimonies of God. Not from without, but from within him should be heard the assurance—given from above in the conscience—that his sins are remitted; and such a person shall not be put to shame. Here is what Saint Ambrose writes on this subject: “He who, though he has done much that is shameful, has yet obtained forgiveness of it from Christ the Lord, shall not be put to shame; for to such a one it is said: ‘Your sins are forgiven you… go in peace.’ He shall not be put to shame when the remission of sins is accomplished in him as a reality—when not only sin but the sinful passion itself is taken away from him—when righteousness repels all unrighteousness, courage repels fear, sobriety repels impurity—so that the remission (the uprooting) of sins may be not for a time only, but forever. Christ shall enter into your soul, Jesus shall abide in your mind, and in the tabernacle of your heart there shall no longer be any room for sin.”

The words of Saint Ambrose transfer our attention to the age to come, before the throne of God’s judgment. Blessed Anthimus of Jerusalem expresses this more plainly: “He who has so cleaved to the testimonies of God shall not be put to shame by the Lord on the day of judgment.” In this sense the words “put me not to shame” express the unshakeable hope of the believer who has labored diligently over himself: “And You will not put me to shame, O Lord.” This hope is an inalienable property of the spirit of one who is being saved. Without it, the work of salvation cannot even begin, still less continue. But there it was in seed, while now it has matured. If it is true that the marks of sins and passionate inclinations are imprinted upon the soul—that it is, as it were, written all over with them—so that if it were to appear, stripped of the body that covers it, before those capable of seeing it, they would read it whole without any special indication—then what shame awaits souls that have not been cleansed when they appear before the assembly of angels and saints, seeing their own shame themselves and knowing that all around them see it too. This we cannot even imagine now; and the Savior did not describe it, but only said that it will be so heavy for them that they will wish to be crushed by mountains rather than stand in such shame before the eyes of all. This is why the Prophet, having received assurance of the uprooting from his nature of all impurities and knowing that everywhere within him the love of all-round good holds sway, witnesses in spiritual joy his unashamed hope: “Put me not to shame!” — and I am certain I shall not be put to shame. The pure eyes of the saints will thereafter see nothing shameful in me, and I shall not be ashamed to stand in their assembly. Saint Hilary writes: “He receives forgiveness of former sins who has cleaved to the testimonies of God. In the word of the Lord it is thus said: I have blotted out, as a thick cloud, your transgressions, and, as a cloud, your sins (Isa. 44:22). God is able to put far from us everything that serves for our shame and disgrace, if we too can conscientiously say: ‘I have cleaved to Your testimonies.’”

But he who says this still lives here, is still on the way, still voyaging, not yet in harbor. Shipwreck can occur even close to shore; robbers can seize and strip one at the very corner of one’s house. As long as a man lives, he cannot but fear the attacks of the enemy and feel the need of help against them. The boldness of the enemy is accustomed to creep back into former souls that harbored him—souls that have already been swept and set in order. In this respect, “put me not to shame” will mean the following: now—thanks be to You, O Lord—all has been set right and ordered according to Your will; but I fear lest the enemy again somehow steal in and overturn all my structure. He well knows how to handle me; do not then put me to shame, O Lord, and do not deliver to the enemies the soul that confesses You. — “Put me not to shame,” continues Blessed Augustine, “that I may run to where I am running, that I may attain what I am striving toward—since this is the matter neither of him that wills nor of him that runs, but of God that shows mercy. I have wholly cleaved to Your commandments and am ready with love to perform every good deed that arises; but the desire and seeking are mine, while the strength is Your. With my whole hope I rest on Your help—always ready for those who seek You—put me not to shame; grant me also to act with the full measure of my adherence to Your commandments; fill me with Your strength, lest in some way there befall me what befalls him who, having begun to build a house, is unable to finish it, or him who, hastening to begin a war, proves unequal to it.”

The hope that He who began the work of salvation in us will bring it to completion—and will successfully lead it through all the unevenness of life to the gates of death and through them to an unshameful dwelling among the glorified—is born from the very beginning of one’s turning to God. Together with the labors of drawing near to God, it grows and rests chiefly on the consciousness that on our part everything within our power has already been put to work. And God does not manifest special assistance as long as a man still has powers of his own that have not been put to use—for those too are from God. The Prophet speaks now as if to say: I have already done everything possible, I have expended the powers You did give me in my nature; I cannot take a single step further, and yet much still remains. Come now to me with special help, and help me to complete the work I have begun—broad, according to Your own design. It would be terrible even to myself if, having begun to act according to so broad a plan, I should stop halfway. This, then, is properly when real action begins—when You, and not I, shall be acting.

Ps. 118:32. I have run the way of Your commandments, when You did enlarge my heart.

“I have run”—that is, I have run along the way of Your commandments; I have broken free, I have come out onto the broad and open road. Before, both hands and feet were tangled, and the road was rough and thorny; now the road is spacious and smooth, and hands and feet are unbound. When the division of the will ceases and the sympathy with sin and the passions dies away, no more hindrances to doing good in the service of God are encountered within. Everyone knows how the passions bind—even if one has not yet received the freedom praised here. Self-interest (I need it for myself) binds generosity; self-pity binds all manner of abstinence; manifold care and preoccupation (there is no time) bind the setting aside of everything for communion with God in prayer. And so every good impulse that arises in the heart is immediately bound by the opposing evil feeling that springs up alongside it, and the matter is either abandoned altogether or brought to a halt for a time. These resistances to good arise from the heart’s sympathy with sin and from the division of the will. But when they die away, the inner resistances cease; and if at times something enters from outside, it has no determining force, and every good deed is carried through as it is intended—willingly, swiftly, vigorously, with pleasure and joy.

The cause of the swift running along the way of the commandments is the gracious enlargement of the heart. The grace of God is present in the heart from the first moment of the sinner’s awakening. In baptism or repentance it enters within and abides in the person, but does not manifest its full action nor reveal itself to the consciousness of the person being saved, until his heart is cleansed—chiefly by grace’s own working, yet as a result of the person’s own efforts. This time is precisely the period of toiling, or the state of penance. Whether a canonical penance is imposed on someone or not, no one escapes the inner one, and no one can determine its term. There everything proceeds of itself, rightly regulated by the mutual relationship of freedom and grace. And when this term comes to an end, grace shines in the heart, and the heart becomes wide—very wide… This occurs simultaneously with the cessation of the division of the will and of the heart’s sympathy with sin, for only then does the heart become pure, a worthy receptacle for the Spirit. A clean heart is created, and a right spirit is renewed within the one being saved.

The holy fathers depict at length these two simultaneous phenomena in the spiritual life. Saint Hilary writes: “Everything with the Prophet proceeds in order. First he said: ‘Remove from me the way of falsehood’; then: ‘I have chosen the way of truth’; then: ‘I have cleaved to Your testimonies’; and now he concludes: ‘I have run the way of Your commandments, when You did enlarge my heart.’ All this has been reached gradually. All that preceded served the purpose of walking freely in the way of God’s commandments. But the path that leads to life is both narrow and sorrowful—narrow, because it must be walked with full attention and caution; sorrowful, because there are many tribulations and deprivations on it. How then does the Prophet boast that he ran on this path? — Not by himself, he says, ‘but I have run, when You did enlarge my heart.’ He walked freely in the way of the Lord after he began to be large of heart; he was not able to run so before having first become himself spacious and a worthy dwelling place of God.”

Blessed Augustine represents the Prophet as though hearing a question from above: “How did you run the way of the Lord’s commandments—did you do so of yourself? — No, O Lord, he replied; ‘I ran, when You did enlarge my heart’—not by my own will alone, as though I had no need of Your help, but because You did enlarge my heart. The enlargement of the heart is the love of the commandments. It is a gift of God when we abide in His commandments not straitened by fear of punishment but enlarged by love and delight in them. God Himself promises us this breadth: I will dwell in them, He says, and walk in them (2 Cor. 6:16). And how spacious is that place where God dwells and walks!… In this spaciousness ‘the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who is given to us!’ (Rom. 5:5)”

Saint Ambrose points to certain other shades of meaning: “He could not run this path if his heart were cramped and constricted. To those who run the path of the Lord, the Apostle, having first said of himself ‘our heart is enlarged,’ says: ‘be you also enlarged’ (2 Cor. 6:11, 13). And see what a distinction: the way that lies ahead is most narrow, while the heart must be most spacious—in order to serve as a dwelling place for the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit—in order that the Word of God, coming and knocking at the door of the heart, might not find it cramped and refuse to abide in it. One must run by the breadth of the inner man, not by the narrowness of outward activity, in order to attain the prize (1 Cor. 9:24). Only he who runs in this manner attains it, and only he can say: ‘I have finished my course’ (2 Tim. 4:7)—he has run to a successful end, for he ran like a good horse.”

A pure heart is filled with the grace of the Spirit; together with it, love too is shed abroad in the heart, manifested by the full, willing, joyful, and living fulfillment of all the commandments. In him who has attained this, the comforting promise is fulfilled: We will come to him and make our abode with him (John 14:23).

Is this then the end of the running? — No; this is only the beginning of the true running, as it must be according to God’s purpose in Christ Jesus. Until now repentance with its state of penance has continued, consisting in gaining mastery over all the means given us in the Lord and in receiving the freedom to act through them without hindrance. Now the actual acting itself must begin—acting that is pure and does not deviate by a hair’s breadth from the designs of Divine Providence, which determines both the fate of all and the manner of each particular person’s participation and action in it. He who has reached this confesses that God is already working in him both to will and to do, and when he acts he says: not I, but the grace of God which is with me (1 Cor. 15:10).