In the fourth year of my undergrad, I took a course titled “Prayer in the Christian Tradition.” In this course, we looked at various figures, praying styles, and books referring to prayer (a number of which I have referenced in my previous articles). One that caught my attention was a figure named St. Athanasius of Alexandria. Now, Athanasius is not typically known for prayer in theological and Christian circles; he’s typically known for his treatise on the Incarnation, titled “On the Incarnation.” Most Western Christians and Seminarians are introduced to this hard theological Athanasius, but I was not. I was introduced to St. Athanasius who prays the Psalms. After college, I purchased a copy of Athanasius’ letter to Marcellinus, in which he speaks about the Psalms. At the beginning of the book, there is a story of St. Antony (or St. Anthony as Western Christians referred to him), and it invited me to reflect on my own faith.
St. Athanasius’ hagiography on his friend St. Antony tells the story of a rich man having his world transformed greatly by the words of Christ and being led by the Spirit to go into the desert to live a life as a monastic. The miracles that he performed sparked wonder in all who saw and heard of them, from healing a little girl with a skin disease to crossing a river infested with crocodiles. A constant throughout all of his stories is how he relies on God—even during his temptations, which are a major part of his story. However, as you read about his life, it’s not the miracles that invite you to reflect on yourself; it’s the posture that he took—just like many of the Desert Fathers and Mothers—that invites reflection. I would go so far as to say that there are no others humbler than the Desert Fathers and Mothers.
St. Antony did not regard himself as the greatest monk (he offered that title to St. Paul of Thebes); he held himself as a man who simply followed our Saviour’s words: “If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasures in heaven.”[1] Humility was a spiritual discipline for them, and what encouraged them was the struggle of living a life that was so simple: to eat only bread, drink only water, and live in exile, focusing solely on walking with the Spirit through prayer, fasting, and the mediation of Scripture. Like Christ, they empty themselves. Taking on the form of a slave, they humbled themselves and became obedient to the point of death.[2]
For Antony, this was not a quick thing to learn. Rather, he was a disciple of zealous men outside his village. These men taught him the importance of prayer, grace, freedom from anger, and the human concern for another. Antony spends the first few years with these men before he goes off into the desert to pursue a hermit life. Not much is known about this period of his life, but it seems to have been very beneficial for Antony, as this time taught him about true discipleship. This time in St. Antony’s life invites us to look at what humility is: dependance. In order for us to look at humility, we must look at discipleship, dependence, and trust. They are not separate things, but rather conjoined. It’s one of the things that invites Antony into the desert, as Athanasius says, “he considered while he walked how the apostles, forsaking everything, followed the Saviour, and how in Acts some sold what they possessed and took the proceeds and placed them at the feet of the apostles for distribution among those in need, and what great hope is stored up for such people in heaven.”[3]
For the Disciples, to have nothing and to follow Christ made them rely on the community around them—and on Christ himself. They left everything behind to simply learn and trust that everything would be for the better. For the Church in Acts, they gave everything to care for the poor, and trusted that the Apostles and the Church would care for them as well. Likewise, St. Antony trusted in his community, in the Church, and in the Spirit to provide and guide him in his simple yet difficult life.
Though St. Antony eventually withdrew from a larger community to live alone, he is not separate from the Body of Christ. In fact, he is intimately a part of the Body of Christ. For the Desert Fathers and Mothers, the Church is very important to them; it is a part of their whole being. As Athanasius reminds us,
“Through the sort of man he was, he honoured the rule of the Church with extreme care, and he wanted every cleric to be held in higher regard than himself. He felt no shame at bowing his head to the bishops and priests; if even a deacon came to him for assistance, he discussed the things that are beneficial and gave place to him in prayer, not being embarrassed to put himself in a position to learn. For indeed, often he would raise questions and ask to hear from those with him. And he acknowledged that he was helped if someone said anything useful.”[4]
In our very Western world, we can be like Ryan from The Office when he says, “I want leadership. But don’t just, like, boss me around, you know? Like, lead me. Lead me… when I’m in the mood to be led.” But Antony is not western by any means; he is a person of his time—Coptic in the 3rd century. Hierarchy, especially church hierarchy, was a very important thing for the people of their day. For Antony, there is no monastic life without the Church, and there is no Church without bishops, deacons, and clergy. In a time with persecution and instability, Antony and other lay people relied heavily on the teachings from the bishops—especially when education was not available for all people. For us in our modern period, we may not understand this, but we live in a time when instability and uncertainty exist, and we need to trust in our bishops, clergy, and deacons. Our roles as disciples, like Antony, are to learn and serve, and it takes humility to be led.
If I may be personal, over this year I have been serving at All Saints Anglican Church as an intern. I have 15 years of Church Ministry experience; I have worked and led in church and para-church ministries across 6 different denominations. I went to college and got a BA in Christian Ministry and a minor in Biblical Studies. I would like to think that I know a thing or two about what it means to serve in the Church. But, every week, I make my way to All Saints, and simply do as I am told and trust that what I am learning will benefit me in my discipleship. In my internship, I am called to lessen myself and grow from others. I make myself available, not to lead, but to be led. I regularly have to put my pride aside and simply do as I am asked because it takes humility to be led.
We often want to do things ourselves, but for the Desert Fathers and Mothers, a reliance on others points us toward humility. Their focus was on the calling of the Spirit, and the Spirit calls us and them to be with one another and to be in the Body of Christ. St. Antony’s transformation starts in the Church and continues in the Church. His transformation inspires the Church to look toward the one who transforms—toward the one who came and was humbled so that we might be humbled. Let us take the form of a servant and live simple lives that focus on the good things and the important things: the things of God.
[1] Matthew 19:21.
[2] Philippians 2:7-8.
[3] Athanasius, The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus, trans. Robert C. Gregg (New York: Paulist Press, 1980), 31.
[4] Athanasius, The Life of Antony, 81.
