Treasure of the Desert Fathers

A pivotal moment in my faith life came through a prayer that was passed on to me from a child of Christ in the Eastern Orthodox faith. This prayer succeeded in leading me to a place which numerous attempts at various meditation techniques had failed to accomplish.

I tend to suffer from a malady a dear friend of mine calls monkey-brain. It is the inability to control the paths my thoughts take or to quiet my mind long enough to hear from God. My repeated failures to achieve that inner peace had turned me into a bit of a sceptic about the supposed efficacy of "centering". While i dearly wished that it was possible, i had grown to accept that it was something i would never experience personally.

I was attending a fundraising banquet to benefit our local pregnancy counseling centre. The keynote speaker was an author who spoke very eloquently about the preciousness of life. In her speech she referenced the Jesus Prayer. Though she did not elaborate on it, the phrase caught on to me like a burr. I had never heard of it before and yet it demanded my attention. After the banquet there was an opportunity to meet with the speaker and i asked her to elaborate on the Jesus Prayer. She explained that it was a prayer which dated back to the Desert Fathers and had been passed down through the ages among Christians, particularly among those belonging to the Eastern Orthodox tradition. The purpose of the prayer was to tune our hearts to God. I confess that to a part of me it all sounded like another version of a meditation technique to achieve inner peace. There was another part of me, however, that seemed to believe all i was hearing. I picked up her short book "The Jesus Prayer: The Ancient Desert Prayer that Tunes the Heart to God" and set about to read it. 

Not long after, i made my first attempt at the prayer. I experienced the familiar jumbled cacophony of thoughts but managed to hang on to the thread of the prayer and persist through the turbulence until the thoughts quieted down and eventually faded into the background. The prayer is simple, like a mantra, yet brimming with profound significance: 

Jesus Christ, Son of God

Have mercy on me, a sinner.

What i noticed immediately was that it had a sobering effect on me. This went a long way in helping me to quiet my thoughts and kept a lot of silly notions at bay. As i continued praying, i did wonder whether my incessant repetition was annoying to God, but to my surprise, i found those fears dissipating almost as quickly as they had appeared. I continued to pray, concentrating on the words i was speaking and allowing them to define my posture before God. Unlike previous times, i seemed oddly disinterested in seeking an "experience". I simply prayed, desiring above all else, forgiveness. 

I became quietly aware of how my general condition of sinfulness was more of an issue than any particular sins that i may have been thinking about. I continued praying this way for a few days. While i still engaged in my usual prayers at other times of the day, i resisted the urge to wander off into random topics of prayer during the time i prayed the Jesus Prayer. While i cannot point to any road signs or clear signals along the way, i never the less felt secure in my path and its eventual destination, even though i could not have hazarded a guess about it. 

After a while, i became aware of the need to stop and just be silent. My mind was calm, clear and still. I remained in this state for a time, observing how comfortable i was in this place. Though i did not see God as such, i was conscious of being in His presence and having Him simply look at me, without either of us saying or doing anything. This continued for a while absent of any awkwardness or restlessness. 

Then, just as gently as i had been prompted to stop & be quiet, a slow unfolding of scenes started to happen. Layers of my life were being drawn back and the connections between actions and people were coming to light. I saw the ways in which my actions, some which were entirely inconsequential to me, had impacted people around me. I understood my culpability in matters i had never considered and the necessity to pray for the people my choices had affected. While i grieved for my sins, i felt no compulsion to hide or deny the truth of them. I simply wanted to confess them and ask God to redeem that which had been lost and to restore that which was broken.

The entire process was akin to the way i understood the process of sifting sand. As a kid, one of my favorite sandbox activities was to sift sand. I liked to sift out all the large pebbles, leaves and twigs first, working my way down until all that was left was a fine, soft pile of sand. I loved running my fingers through the smooth, soft sand. It was so clean and devoid of bits.

I wanted my life to be the same way, but i also understood that to get to that place, i needed to allow God to sift through all the layers of my life, removing all the bits and pieces that did not belong there. 

Through this process, i learned how God deals with sin and the sinner. I gained an understanding of hating the sin but loving the sinner. We are the fine sand that has been spoiled by so many bits and pieces of debris. Sometimes it is very hard to see the sand for all the rubbish, but God sees every fine grain of sand and desires for us to allow Him to sift it through back to its soft and clean state.

While i still battle vicious bouts of monkey brain and struggle with the daily need for repentance and renewal, i have found assurance of the Creator's love for me and of His close presence. The Jesus Prayer remains a treasured prayer which banishes the mindless meanderings of my mind and brings me swiftly to His Throne. I pray much more than i ever have before, yet i find myself saying far less. There is gravity in my prayers and long periods of total silence. These silences are not empty but brimming with life and meaning. They are vast and magnificent. Awesome yet comforting. The blessed destination of a forgiven sinner.

Spring Can Really Hang Me Up the Most….

It never fails, as soon as Spring takes her first halting steps, i am gripped with by a wistful homesickness that gnaws a chink into a wall that has successfully hidden a profound longing. I miss my homeland in a way that cannot be satisfied by spending hours scanning photos of landscapes, lake-front cottages (kesämökki), and the Helsinki market (tori)…and yet, here i am, pathetically feeding my homesickness.

The granite emerges from under the snow and beckons to be clambered upon in order to feel the spring breezes declare victory over winter.

There is something about the way the Finnish air feels at springtime. It's like the caress of a friend who knows & loves you. Though the lakes are still far too cold to dip into, there is the giddy anticipation of sunlit summer nights and Saturday evening saunas; languid rows on the lake, with frequent stops just to listen to the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of the boat while peering into the clear waters for a glimpse of little fish.



Finns welcome Spring in such jubilant way. Vappu is perhaps the most raucous celebration, usually headed up by university students engaging in a panoply of mayhem & tomfoolery. There is much drinking, singing and laughter. Joy abounds as the Finns shed their winter cocoons and prepare to welcome the approaching summer.



Children are treated to balloons and the first opportunity in a long time to go outside without their thick winter jumpsuits. Parks are teeming with people, music, color - unbridled jubilation.




Grammar schools end the school year with heartfelt ceremonies where children sing about the beauty of spring (Suvivirsi). My heart quivers with the same joy i felt as a child, whenever i hear this song. The connection that the vast majority of Finns have to their Creator is so inherent in their DNA that it is easy to take it for granted, and yet, i don't believe that there is a Finn alive who does not sense this connection without being profoundly moved.

As summer approaches, Finns begin looking to abscond to their summer cottages (kesämökki). There is a sacredness to the cottage vacation which does not permit the intrusion of business. Finns spend a healthy span of time completely untethered from their offices and work obligations. Colleagues would not dream of disrupting that time with work-related phone calls or e-mails. Businessmen shed their suits and ties in favor of a well worn pair of Nokia gumboots (kumisaappaat) and A-shirts. Life is simple and precious. The time is spent fishing, berry & mushroom picking, "cooking up" the sauna, rowing, and roasting sausages (HK'n sininen) over a campfire.

Finnish forests are full of wild strawberries and blueberries, cloudberries and cranberries, chanterelles, brittle gills and porcini. Poisonous mushrooms abound as well, so it is always best to pick with a knowledgeable companion.

There is nothing quite like sautéed fresh mushrooms in heavy cream, served over dill-boiled yellow potatoes & grilled lake fish, followed by bowl of berries in lightly sugared milk.

The simplicity of cottage life and the quiet immersion into nature's rhythm balances and restores a person unlike anything else.

There are no agendas or schedules, one simply goes with the flow. Anxieties and stresses evaporate upon exhaling, replaced by breathing in tranquility and contentment.

The aim is just to be, authentically, simply and thankfully: Just Be.

The beauty of it all is that everyone in Finland truly understands and permits this to happen. There is a joke that the Russians invaded Finland one summer and marched triumphantly into Helsinki only to find that everyone had gone to their cottages for summer holidays, rendering the victory rather pointless, so the demoralized Russians returned home. While some will insist that vacations are permitted in the States as well, i would contend that they are tolerated and usually come at a price many would rather not pay: from the formidable amount of office related pre-vacation prep to the hellacious volume of post-vacation e-mail, the paltry two-week escape suddenly turns from a blessing into a curse. To me this communicates a kind of disrespect or a passive-aggressive jealousy of the intending vacationer…yet, i realize that much of it happens just as a matter of course because of the way we conduct business and how our values and priorities are set up. But enough of the unflattering comparisons and back to my idyllic homeland.

Summers are preciously short, so not one moment is wasted. There are festivals all over Finland to satisfy every music preference, outdoor museums and theaters. As a land of the midnight sun, children can play in the parks well into the night and sidewalk cafes bustle with life till all hours. The otherwise serious and retiring Finns pack the dance halls (tanssilava) and gather around massive bonfires (kokko) during St. John's Festival (Juhannus), also known as Midsummer.

While summer is undoubtedly a beautifully mystical time in Finland, and therefore the best time to be there, i would never pass up an opportunity to go home. I can only hope that gas prices will fall so low that even paupers can afford a plane ticket across the Atlantic…In the meantime, there are always Google images.