Hieromonk Macarius : Pride is the headquarters of the devil in the soul Bashny.Net

Fatal failure, destruction, choking in sin, the collapse of hopes and illusions, limit suffering, shame, full of weakness – they often become the soil out of which grows a miracle: the arrogance, the "great mute", finally despairs to herself and starts to scream. Hieromonk Macarius (Markish): Pride is the headquarters of the devil in the soul a long time ago I told the tale (who wrote – do not know still, if someone reading name of the author, I'd appreciate it), which often think...

Went once three brothers to look for happiness. Look in the hole, and her happiness is sitting. Glad they. Happiness says, "Wishes to make a will? Come on!..". The older brother wanted to be the richest, gave him money, the whole bag – own!





Average wanted to be the smartest, gave him happiness book, thick – read, wise up! And said happiness Junior: "Well, what do you want?". And the response to happiness: "And what are you doing?".

Happiness was surprised – no one that is not asked. And said, "Yes, I would just out of the pit to get out...". The younger brother gave him a hand, helped out, dusted himself off and went on his way. But happiness ran after him.

Different people retelling this tale, in personal conversations, from the pulpit, thinking about it, I focused on these brethren, that unselfishly made good makes people happy, and so on...

And now the more I think about the fourth character, the happiness. It did good to all – but it sat in the pit, no use to him for all these unselfish miracles did not bring, from harm, from destruction in the pit, not delivered...

And out of the hole they pulled him out just in vain. Fortunately I found someone to ask... and could not be found. The phenomenon of the younger brother, the Savior is the real miracle.

Who might symbolize a younger brother in the tale of Christ the Savior? It is true, of course, saves us. Only here simple fact complicates things and opens new abyss, from which a mortal shrinks heart: the fact that He saved us by the cross and resurrection, but we often continue to die.

Unbelievable, but hell does exist. We ourselves are building it for yourself and in yourself, your will corrupted, your sinful passions – I, at least, it is exactly. I know for sure: I'm in hell, one foot – exactly. Hell, have me by the...

I once objected to this: but God will govern for the good of all of our dirt, as they say, will make the candy! Not any, I said. According to my observations, only that which I allow. And if you do not allow?

 

Rape my will, He will not. I remember that place from Brodsky dialogues with Volkov, Brodsky where he talked about his faith, talked sparingly, hard-won and carefully. And he said something like: I don't believe in a God who forgave me in that time, as I myself don't forgive... That is the logic that leads to hell, to the flour. And what do you do about it?

This is the logic of pride. I myself know well: when the pride you at least a thousand good deeds a day to do, all to no avail for you... the Whole world by the word of the gospel can and will gain and lose his own soul what?

I, for example, friends sometimes say: what do you toil such questions and doubts! You won a priest, serve, help people, consolation, Christ was sent. In fact, that is to say, blessed are the center of the world – the Church... You're also a poet, poems are what I write, much like in many of your poems, the soul comes to life... Yes, I say.

But I do SOMETHING that does not help... Mechanisms of pride all this turn into utter trash. Before all my "good deeds" was a boost to my vanity, the reason secretly admire themselves – and now it is not, the last stupor of illusions somewhere from the age of polymerise, a void that gordinni logic that leads to hell...

I made someone out there something good on the post of priest or just because it happened – well, them and good. And to me it is not easier... I am the happiness fairy tale, I continue in the pit to sit on.

But to remain forever in the pit – don't want to. I don't want to die. I really don't. And, the more you make attempts to escape, over and over again falling down to the bottom, Stripping the blood elbows and knees, appearing again to his neck in foul-smelling liquid mud, the more clearly understand: to all.

Need someone to save you. Need a miracle – something about what you can't say "need" to be hoped for, but you can't count. Because the Savior saved – nothing. No way.

Faith is a "gift" in me vanishingly weak – just because we largely do not know God as He is, and projected on Him their own dispensation. I don't know how to love selflessly – and not believe that we can love unselfishly and me. Don't believe – they don't ask about anything younger brother...

My pit is the pit, which was mentioned by Dostoevsky: the first man to sink to the bottom, so, in desperation, pushed off from him, to somehow start to go up.

And in this sense (do not take my word heresy, I'm just trying to put into words what I feel, and know what it feels like not only me, there are others who will understand what I mean): dying in the pit in complete impotence for me is a very special, incredible benefit.

Fortunately, who did not want another, it is very much hard. Fatal failure, destruction, choking in sin, the collapse of hopes and illusions, limit suffering, shame, full of weakness – they often become the soil out of which grows a miracle: the arrogance, the "great mute", finally despairs to herself and starts to scream.

 

To call for help. Shake the bars of the cell his self and call out, finally – outside: help! She, as a character in the painting Munch seems to be that she's screaming into the void – but this scream always responds to the One who saves nothing. Unpredictable, out of the blue.

While the name of the Savior, and he is in itself is not really in It, and require (in the prescribed prayer, borrowed words, for example) – nothing happens. God looks through the words in the heart. And while there, in the heart, not choke and drown in the mud past the illusion of self, yet not truly start dying, gasping for breath, yet hellish, sickening purple and green circles won't float before my eyes – the help would not be able to get close to you. Only when you finally leave the forces that you fought off saving your hands. Not saying that all is invariably so because people are stunningly rich, with all their sameness, but I say that I know for myself and some I have met people...

The coming of the Saviour, saving gift – a miracle. And the second miracle here is the human death call. Where does it come from in man, when sin, suffering, death, buried it under the dirt tightly, and self, it would seem, finally drove a stake into his grave?

From not even, but the desire to call where a crazy hope that you heard? For many of the venerable Orthodox, well-read in patristic literature, this may be stating the obvious here, but for me it is a mystery.

The first is the mystery of God, the second – the mystery of man truly fearfully and wonderfully arranged. And those two mysteries – two of the mystery of love. published

Author: priest Sergy Kruglov, P. S. And remember, just changing your mind — together we change the world! © Join us at Facebook , Vkontakte, Odnoklassniki

Source: pravmir.ru/logika-gordyini/