Hospitality in the Desert
The stories and
insights in this chapter are taken from The Wisdom of the Desert, by Thomas
Merton (New York, NY: New Directions, 1960).
In the third and fourth centuries AD, there was a new
movement in Christian life that laid the foundations for a millennium of monastic
life. The “Desert Fathers” and mothers abandoned
the wreck of the Roman Empire and fled into the wilderness to pray – some
alone, some in small communities. There were hermits and monks scattered along
a 250 mile stretch in the Egyptian desert, from the Mediterranean south toward
Lycopolis on the road to Sudan. They were in the mountainous region in the
northern end of the Aegean Sea, around Skete on Mount Athos. They showed up in
the deserts in Palestine, Arabia, and Persia. For over a century, these
fugitives from decadence, pioneers of Christian life, tended the fire of the
Gospel.
The paradox: solitude
and hospitality
In their lives, solitude was fundamental, indispensable,
mandatory. Abbot Anthony said, “Just as fish go back to the sea, we must return
to our cells” (Merton, XI). And Abbot Moses in Skete, asked for a word of
wisdom, suggested a source better than himself: “Go sit in your cell, and your
cell will teach you everything” (Merton, XIII). And yet, this much-sought
solitude was only a tool, a means to an end. The true goal was a deep
relationship with God – which cannot be separated from love of your neighbor.
These men and women struggled with incredible determination to find solitude; but
at the same time, they were profoundly committed to hospitality.
Thomas Merton tells of a man visited a hermit, and stayed
for a period of time. When he left, he apologized for intruding: Forgive me,
Father, for I have interrupted your observance of your Rule. The hermit
replied, my Rule is to receive you with hospitality, and to let you depart in peace.
(Merton, LXXV)
To know God, the hermits sought solitude. In solitude, God
taught them to love. And the love of God cannot be separated from love of neighbor.
Their solitude prepared them for hospitality.
The joy of
hospitality
The hospitality of the hermits is usually described as
joyful. It’s not seen as a burden accepted obediently; it’s a plain joy. For
example, there’s the story of an elder who fasted most days. But when he met
his brothers, he invited them with joy to dine with him. With joy: that’s a
part of the story. We today, who are accustomed to luxury, might be quick to
explain that joy: the old man had a good excuse to eat, and he was hungry! But
the story asserts otherwise. The elder explained his joy, giving two reasons.
Out of charity, he set aside the rewards of fasting, and fulfilled two
commandments: he set aside his own will, and he refreshed his hungry brethren.
Joy! (Merton CXLI)
There’s a similar story about Abbot John the Dwarf at Skete.
A group of priests came to visit. During their dining, a very old priest, one
of the visitors, got up to serve, offering a cup of water to each person there.
No one would permit this esteemed old man to be a servant to them, except John
the Dwarf. Afterwards, they all questioned John, asking how he could dare to
accept the service of such a revered old man. He said that when he got up to
pour water for his friends, he was happy when they accepted. He took the drink
because he thought it would please the old man, and protect him from feeling
sad because no one took what he offered (Merton, CXVIII). In other words,
hospitality is a fountain of joy for the giver as well as the receiver.
Visitor jokes
The stories about the Desert Fathers includes a collection
of visitor jokes. We tell (or listen patiently to) knock-knock jokes, a
recognizable sub-genre of literature. They had visitor jokes. For example,
there’s the story of a hermit who was visited by several men from a nearby
community. The visitors were monks, from a new-fangled thing, a monastery;
there was a little competition between the hermits who lived alone and the
monks who lived on groups. To be properly hospitable, the hermit brought out all
the food he had stored away, and they ate it all. That night, he heard his
visitors whispering amongst themselves, saying that this hermit ate far better
than they ever ate at the monastery. So in the morning, when they were
preparing to leave to visit another hermit, he asked them to bring a message:
be careful not to water the vegetables. The second hermit understood the
message, and he had the visitors sit down and weave baskets for hours without a
break. Then he fed them a little bread with salt. Then they started reading the
Psalms, and prayed right through the night until it as almost dawn. Then they
got a short rest. When they got up, they were ready to leave; but he insisted
they accept his hospitality for several days. Charity demanded that he serve
them. That night, under the cover of dark, the monks fled (Merton, VIII).
Abbot Simon worked hard to avoid visitors who came to him
for enlightenment. Hearing that a provincial judge with a retinue was coming,
he scrambled up a tree and pretended to be a workman picking dates. They asked
where to find the man of wisdom. “Not here!” he assured them. Another time,
friends warned him that another judge was on the way, to get a blessing. This
time, his disguise was food. He sat in the entrance of his cave, eating bread
and cheese. So when this judge with his retinue arrived, they saw a glutton,
not a disciplined hermit. They insulted him, and departed. Which left him in
peace. (Merton, CIV)
Hospitality to the
weak
Some brothers approached Abbot Anthony, asking what they had
to do to be saved from damnation. At first, he tried to deflect the question:
you have Scripture, and you can find the answer to this question by yourself!
But they pressed, asking for a word of wisdom direct from his mouth. So he suggested
they try to follow the teaching from the Sermon on the Mount: if someone hits
your left cheek, offer him your right cheek. They said they couldn’t do that.
Okay, if you can’t offer your other cheek, at least accept the first blow
patiently. They said they couldn’t do that either. Okay, then don’t hit back. A
third time, they demurred, saying that the challenge was beyond their strength.
At that, Anthony turned to his servant and asked him to cook some food for these
men, because they were weak. And he said to the men that if they couldn’t
listen to the words of Jesus, how could he help? He could only pray for them.
(Merton, CXXXVII)
When Anthony began to prepare food for them, was he just
being sarcastic? Was he dismissing their efforts to live an ascetic life in the
desert? If they couldn’t do what the Lord asked, why were they undertaking a
life of fasting? That’s plausible. But it’s also plausible that what he did was
simple: he saw their weakness, and so he fed them. Hospitality is not a curse
or an insult!
Hospitality: the test
of holiness
Two brothers got a reputation for humility. The desert
fathers were not pleased when people developed reputations and received praise
for their lives; at best, it’s a nuisance and a temptation, and it may be a
fraud. So one holy man went to test them. He visited them, and they received
him with joy. They prayed the psalms together, and then the father went outside
to their little garden, and destroyed it, smashing every plant with a stick.
The brothers watched without saying a word, nor even showing dismay on their
faces. When the destruction was over, the three went back inside and prayed
Vespers together. Then the brothers found one remaining cabbage, and invited
their guest to dinner. The elder fell to his face in front of them, and thanked
God. He was convinced that the Spirit of God rested there. What was the proof?
Hospitality. (Merton, CX)
The Old Testament and
hospitality
There is a story that there was a brother who wanted to know
how to do good, and went to a friend of Abbot Anthony, Father Abbot Nisteros.
“What good work should I do?” he asked. Abbot Nisteros said he should
understand the models in Scripture, then pay attention to what his soul desired
when he was praying, and do that. The elder held up three possible models:
Abraham and Elijah and David. These men pleased God in different ways, by
hospitality and solitary prayer and humility. (Merton, III)
Thus the story. What can we take from it? Obviously, it doesn’t
make sense to do one and not the other two; the brother should focus and work
hard on one, without neglecting the others. All three are necessary; they correspond
to the teaching of the Lord that the Church recalls in Lent, when we seek to
renew and deepen our spiritual life, so we pray (like Elijah’s solitary prayer)
and fast (to learn humility, like David) and give alms (imitating the
hospitality of Abraham).
The priority:
almsgiving over fasting
The hermits and monks in the desert were committed to prayer
and ascetic practices. However, love mattered more. A brother put this question
to an elder. There are two brothers, one who prays all day, fasts six days a
week, and does penance. The other cares for the sick. Which work pleases God
most? The elder did not say, listen to your heart and choose. He said that the
one who fasts could also hang himself up by the nose, and he would still not
come up to the level of the one who took care of the sick. (Merton, XCVI)
On another occasion, a young monk avoided work in the
kitchen, because he was busy praying. He said he had chosen the better part,
like Mary. So they didn’t feed him. When he got hungry, they urged him to be
spiritual, and avoid food that perishes. He thought that over a bit, then
apologized. Martha’s work of hospitality is necessary for Mary’s work of
listening at the feet of Jesus. (Merton, XXXIII)