We are leaving Philokalia for a while to re-read the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. With the exception of the Bible, writes Bishop Kallistos Ware in the introduction of this book, there is no other book as influential and foundational for Orthodox spirituality as the Ladder of Divine Ascent by St. John Climacus. While addressed to monastics, it embodies the transformational journey that all Christians are capable of, and have a right to, from the tumult of passions and fragmentation to wholeness, inner stillness and unity with God.
Mourning as Gateway to Life
We live our lives trying to minimize discomfort and avoid sorrow. We consider our happiness, safety, achievements, comfort and others’ respect as our indisputable rights. This shared worldview makes sense to us.
The world seen through the eyes of God, however, applies a different kind of logic that turns the logic of the world upside down. If you think that modern schools of thought, like nihilism or deconstructionism, are revolutionary, think again.
Mourning, John tells us in the beginning of this chapter, could be a melancholy of the soul, an anguished heart; futile longing for something that will never be obtained. This sounds logical to us. But then John suggests a different possibility for viewing it. “Alternatively,” he tells us: “mourning is a golden spur within a soul that has been stripped of all bonds and ties, set by holy sorrow to keep watch over the heart.” (p. 136, Penguin edition)
What does this mean? Instead of spelling it out, John relies on a series of paradoxes to gradually reveal its significance and implications. True mourning is the gateway to love and freedom, while the single-minded pursuit of bodily pleasures leads to emptiness and despair. Mourning, paradoxically,
We live our lives trying to minimize discomfort and avoid sorrow. We consider our happiness, safety, achievements, comfort and others’ respect as our indisputable rights. This shared worldview makes sense to us.
The world seen through the eyes of God, however, applies a different kind of logic that turns the logic of the world upside down. If you think that modern schools of thought, like nihilism or deconstructionism, are revolutionary, think again.
Mourning, John tells us in the beginning of this chapter, could be a melancholy of the soul, an anguished heart; futile longing for something that will never be obtained. This sounds logical to us. But then John suggests a different possibility for viewing it. “Alternatively,” he tells us: “mourning is a golden spur within a soul that has been stripped of all bonds and ties, set by holy sorrow to keep watch over the heart.” (p. 136, Penguin edition)
What does this mean? Instead of spelling it out, John relies on a series of paradoxes to gradually reveal its significance and implications. True mourning is the gateway to love and freedom, while the single-minded pursuit of bodily pleasures leads to emptiness and despair. Mourning, paradoxically, cleanses us and opens our hearts so that delight and a spirit of celebration arrive unexpectedly to fill our daily lives. Conversely those who pursue shallow pleasures through indulgence, glory or material goods can never satisfy their thirst and are led to despair. Achievement and status can only bring about shallow, inauthentic and passing moments of pleasure if we have not acknowledged, and repented for, the destructive passions that still weigh on our souls. Contrition paves the way to real, deep and unforced joy.
Groans and sadness cry out to the Lord, trembling tears intercede for us and the tears shed out of all holy love show that our prayer has been accepted.” P. 137
Mourning is not antithetical to joy. Surprisingly, those unable to mourn cannot experience true, inner joy.
The man who mourns constantly in a way that pleases God does not seize to celebrate daily, but tears without end are in store for him who him who does not abandon bodily celebration. P. 140
Mourning requires humility; surrender of the heart to God rather than intellectual understanding of Him. Theology and mourning do not go together, according to John. One sits on a professorial chair and the other “passes his days in rags on a dung heap.” Christ did not teach us from the heights and safety of heaven. He became one of us and willingly experienced the full extent of suffering as a man to save us. Through mourning we go from talking the talk to walking the walk, and from the head to the heart.
Mourning is, in fact, a gateway to life.
“If you find yourself unable to mourn, then lament that very fact,” John tells us.
This is a powerful image and a stunning possibility to contemplate. Can you imagine living without the capacity for empathy that would allow you to be touched by others’ struggles and experience love and sorrow for them? Or being unable to experience regret and, hence, to find redemption and experience transformation? This is why the ability to mourn is a gift:
True mourning penetrates the depths of our soul, freeing us from the need to show off, control or yearn for wealth and prestige that block us from openness to love and union with God:
He who has the gift of spiritual tears will be able to mourn anywhere. But if it is all outward show, there will be no end to his discussion of places and means.
Tears alone do not constitute mourning, however. There are, in fact, good tears and bad tears. We may cry because of a sense of entitlement and self-pity for lacking the rewards we feel entitled to. Or good tears may turn into bad tears when we become proud of them and feel superior to others.
Silly men take pride in their tears, and this is why some are not granted the gift of mourning…” When mourning is deep-rooted, it leaves no room for efforts to garner raise or reap rewards from God. Paradoxically, this is exactly when Christ comes uninvited to a heart that is open and cleansed through mourning.
Mourning, John tells us, is freedom from passions and anguish, a state of humility and inner stillness, an experience of love and union with God and man.
When the heart is filled with sorrow and weeps, it is full of tenderness and all this without having striven for it. …”the Lord has arrived uninvited and is holding out to us the sponge of loving sorrow, the cool waters of blessed sadness with which to wipe away the sadness of our sings.
Readings in Philokalia 