Simone Weil, that strange and beautiful philosopher, simply called it “attention.” That was the key to the heart of things for her; “attention,” the mark of genuine Christianity, genuine philosophy, genuine religion. It was, for her, the only way to open oneself to the divine, everything else being something of a sham. “The quality of attention counts for much in the quality of prayer,” she said. “Warmth of heart cannot make up for it.”[1]
This, of course, is simply ancient wisdom, the biblical wisdom that we must be still before we can know, the wisdom of God found in silence instead of noise.[2] There is a silence necessary to achieve what some of the old desert monks called “formless” prayer, that perfect wordless prayer, that prayer that becomes seeing: God, the Father, his uncreated light—that rare gift offered to all but received by few.[3] That’s what she meant by “attention,” that quiet silent stillness without which there is no such thing as Christianity and no knowledge of God at all.
But it’s difficult, isn’t it? Attention of any sort is difficult. Distraction has become a theme of the age; our already short attention span shortened even further by our phones. Some of us even get bored in church; we can’t focus very much past the first reading; God bless us if we make it through the homily, long as those can get. We lose the thread very easily these days. Ours is not an age for attention. That’s what we tell ourselves, what we say.
Yet it’s not all that modern a problem. People have complained about the length of sermons for centuries. Paul killed a man preaching once; he went on so long the poor man fell asleep and broke his neck. Paul had to perform a miracle and raise him back to life, just to get out of there with his reputation.[4] If you’ll read many of the ancient Christian writers, the ancient desert fathers and monastics especially, you’ll discover that so much of their struggle was simply a struggle to focus, a battle against boredom. What they were after was “steadfastness of heart,” the calm of prayer come only to those who stilled the “wanderings of heart.”[5]
So, you see it’s not just a modern problem, more simply a human one. The distracted mind, the disheveled soul: none of it’s new; rather it belongs to the human condition. They struggled then, we today, and in much the same way. Struggling for stillness: that’s what we’re after. It’s what we’ve been after all along.
Now the reason this struggle is important (this is where I think the ancients are wiser) is that when you lose focus, “attention,” “steadfastness,” well then (as the desert fathers would put it), the demons come. These are the demons of the mind, the logismoi, the “wicked thoughts;” they called them “demons,” the demon of anger, the demon of lust, the demon of greed, the demon of pride. This is why Christians should strive for “steadfastness of heart;” because otherwise, the demons come, the mind conquered by all the evil of the world. In centuries past they wrestled with demons in the desert; now we wrestle with them online. Nonetheless, the battle is the same, so too the strategy. The reason we should strive for “steadfastness of heart” is because if we don’t, the demons come. It’s that so many of us don’t see this that’s the problem.
But how do we fight distraction? What can we do when temptation comes? The ancients developed what they called the “antirrhêtic” method (which just means “talking back”); the idea was that whenever you had a bad thought enter your mind, you would (to quote Saint Benedict) “dash them against Christ.”[6] Many of the fathers would assign various verses of scripture for particular temptations. John Cassian, for example, liked the verse, “O God, make speed to save me: O Lord, make haste to help me.” He said you should write it on the door of your mouth and nail it to the wall of your heart, for it was good for almost every challenge.[7]
Now this is really practical advice, not esoteric at all. Answering temptations with the words and wisdom of scripture, dashing wicked thoughts against Christ: it’s not a bad idea; in many ways it really works. And it’s what Jesus did, battling Satan in the desert. “It is written,” he says to the devil each time he opens his mouth, until the devil left him and “angels came and ministered to him.”[8] As Simone Weil said, “If at the moment when the soul is invaded by evil the attention can be turned toward a thing of perfect purity.”[9] This, in the Christian tradition, means scripture, the word of God, sacramental beauty. And it’s how the ancient story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness is all the sudden relevant, because here we discover what Jesus wants us to do in the face of temptation. And that’s rely on him and on the power of his word, and nothing else.
But here are the crucial questions: Do you know the word of God? Do you know scripture? What’s your verbal environment? What’s the media you have bouncing around in your head, the Bible or ESPN; Facebook or adoration? Can you tell me all about the latest series on Netflix you’re “binge-watching” but nothing substantial about the gospels? How much of your mind, your attention, have you actually given to God?
It’s not uncommon for me to meet someone in some sort of spiritual crisis, doubting God or the faith or something like that. And almost always, the most honest thing I can say is, “Well, it makes sense.” I mean, of course you’ve fallen into doubt and despair, stupidity and sin—look at what you’ve been looking at. “If at the moment when the soul is invaded by evil the attention can be turned toward a thing of perfect purity.” But you’ve never read the Bible; the most you can say is something like, “I went to Catholic school” like it’s some sort of mantra or extended warranty.
What’s your verbal environment? Do you really know the word of God? There’s a reason the devil plays you like a punk; because you’re in the desert, and you’ve forgotten the word of God. That’s our modern dilemma: not smart phones or politics, it’s that we’ve lost the vernacular, the idioms, the grammar of God; it’s that we don’t speak the Christian language anymore and are therefore cut off from the moral and spiritual resources necessary to be human, much less Christian. It’s that we can no longer focus on truth, only noise.
These then are the first questions of Lent: Do you know the word of God? Can you focus upon the word of God? Even a little? Have you ever tried? These are the first invitations of Lent, and likewise the first fair warnings of Lent. Live upon the word of God, upon “every word that comes from the mouth of God,” Jesus told the devil.[10] This is still good advice. It’s actually very important advice, important for everyone in here.
Because whether you know it or not, you’re in the desert, and the demons have come. And how will you be able to call upon the angels for help if you don’t speak the language? Amen.
[1] Simone Weil, Waiting for God, 105
[2] Psalm 46:11
[3] Evagrius Ponticus, Chapters on Prayer 117 passim
[4] Acts 20:7-12
[5] John Cassian, The Conferences 10.14
[6] Jean-Charles Nault, The Noonday Devil, 40; The Rule of Saint Benedict 4.50
[7] The Conferences 10.10
[8] Matthew 4:1-11
[9] Waiting for God, 190
[10] Matthew 4:4
© 2020 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield
