The second part of Contemplation lieth principally in affection, without spiritual light in the understanding or sight of spiritual things; and this is commonly of simple and unlearned men who give themselves wholly to devotion, and is had and felt in this manner: When man or woman being in meditation of God, through the grace of the Holy Ghost, feeleth fervour of love and spiritual sweetness, by occasion of thinking of Christ’s passion, or of some of the works done by Him in His humanity; or he feeleth cause of great trust in the goodness and mercy of God for the forgiveness of his sins, or admires the liberality of His gifts of grace, or else feeleth in his affection a certain reverential fear towards God, and His secret judgements and justice, which yet he seeth not; or being in prayer, he findeth all the powers of his soul to be gathered together, and the thought and love of his heart to be drawn up from all transitory things, aspiring and tending upwards towards God by a fervent desire, and spiritual delight, and yet, nevertheless, during that time he hath no plain sight in the understanding of spiritual things, nor in particular of any of the mysteries or senses of the holy Scriptures; but only that for that time nothing seemeth so pleasing and delightful to him as to pray, or think as he then doth for the savoury delight and comfort that he findeth therein... (John Climacus)

There can be experience of God without knowledge of God; just as there can be a knowledge of God without experience.

I am not sure where John is going. But having such so-called knowledge and having had such sentimental experiences I can confess that each is more self-serving than self-sacrificing.

This morning study and meditation makes me feel good. The experience of a fabulous sung Eucharist makes me feel good.

Neither necessarily suggests more than a polite acquaintance with God, a superficial relationship that satisfies a small sense of self rather than seeking a full sense of God.

It is interesting that John does not seem to question the validity or even the value of these partial encounters with God.

The image is Old Woman Praying by Rembrandt (1630)

This knowledge alone is but water, unsavoury and cold. And, therefore, if they that have it would humbly offer it up to our Lord, and pray for His grace, He would by His blessing turn their water into wine, as He did at the prayer of His Mother at the marriage feast; that is to say, He would turn their unsavoury knowledge into true wisdom, and their cold naked reason into spiritual light and burning love, by the gift of the Holy Ghost. (John Climacus)

Water is good. Much that is worthwhile can be done with water. But wine is better.

Intellectual knowledge of God is worthwhile. But an intimate relationship with God is better.

Reason is a great gift and essential to the Good. But love gives reason purpose and power.

Contemplative life hath three parts. The first consisteth in knowing God, and of spiritual things gotten by reason and discourse, by teaching of men, and by study in holy Scripture, without spiritual gust, or affection, or inward relish felt by them; for they have it not by the special gift of the Holy Ghost, as persons truly spiritual have their knowledge, which, therefore, is very tasteful to them in their interior. (John Climacus)

Can I know God without spiritual affection, and only through reason and discourse?

I can know of God. I can be acquainted with God. I can have an intellectual understanding of God.

John was writing in Greek, but I do not have his original Greek. I expect his "knowing" is a form of either γνῶσις (gnosis) or ἐπιστήμη (episteme). Using episteme would further strengthen the distinction he seems to make.

For anyone familiar with Aristotle, episteme is to know as we know geometry. It is to know something that does not change, a knowledge that can be demonstrated, it is a knowledge where theory and practice are in exact accord. It is also a knowledge that is explicit and without mystery.

Objects beyond explicit measure are not well-matched to episteme. Such objects may be experienced, but are beyond precise definition. The infinite can be experienced, but cannot be measured. This experiential knowing or gnosis is most appropriate for knowing God.

Contemplative life consisteth in perfect love and charity, felt inwardly by spiritual virtues; and in a true and certain sight and knowledge of God and spiritual matters. This life belongs to them especially who for the love of God forsake all worldly riches, honours, worships and outward businesses, and wholly give themselves soul and body (according to all the knowledge and ability that is in them) to the service of God, by exercises of the soul. (John Climacus)

John was writing specifically for the monastic. Can the contemplative life exist outside the monastery?

It can to the extent we give ourselves soul and body to the service of God... according to all the knowledge and ability that is in us.

To fully know God requires or results in (I am not sure of the sequence) forsaking worldly riches, honors, and other superficial distractions.

To fully know God may require some - in accordance with their particular knowledge and ability - to be largely separate from the world.

But others will have the knowledge and ability to grow more intimate with God because of their engagement in the world.

I am not sure of the Greek John uses for contemplate, but in his treatment of contemplation Plato is fond of σκοπέω or skopeo which is to look at, observe, be attentive to. Plato uses skopeo or skopos as both the process of contemplation and the target of contemplation.

In seeking God, by exercises of the soul and through the blessing of divine grace, we can know God.

Therefore the one who loves God also loves his brother or sister. Indeed, the second love is the proof of the first. (John Climacus)

To love brother and sister, neighbor I know and neighbor I do not yet know, is how I love God.

God reaches out to me in love. My thankful response ought to include reaching out in love to others.

As God is generous, I am to be generous. As God is patient and kind, rejoices in the truth, trusts and hopes. So should I. Love always perseveres. So should I.

When someone is completely permeated with the love of God, the brightness of his soul is reflected by his whole personality as if in a mirror. (John Climacus)

For several years Psalm 45 has annoyed me. It is a royal wedding song and describes the groom as:

You are the most handsome of men; fair speech has graced your lips, for God has blessed you forever.

Gird your sword upon your hip, mighty warrior! In splendor and majesty ride on triumphant!

In the cause of truth and justice may your right hand show you wondrous deeds.

I am not handsome, triumphant, or a doer of wondrous deeds. On my most difficult days the text seemed meant to taunt me. And it is regularly repeated in the list of readings.

As the psalm has reappeared in recent months I have begun to wonder if my sour response should push me to more careful reflection.

How might I love God so completely that I could reflect divine beauty, triumph, and wonder?

Love is the complete repudiation of any unkind thought about one’s neighbour, since, ‘Love thinks no evil.’ Love, unchangeable tranquillity and our adoption as children of God are different from each other only in name. As light, fire and flame are present in the selfsame operation, so are these three manifestations of the Spirit. (John Climacus)

In loving God and neighbor we fulfill our purpose.

In fulfilling our purpose we experience unchangeable tranquility that, regardless of turmoil and trouble, abides with us.

A flame gives forth light that is seen and fire that warms. Just as God, neighbor, and self are three expressions of the same essential relationship.

The image is of Pentecost by El Greco.

Love in its nature makes a human being like God, as far as is possible for a human being. The soul is intoxicated by the effects of it. Its characteristics are a fountain of faith, an abyss of patience, an ocean of humility. (John Climacus)

I have not previously thought of God as humble.

I think of God as majestic, powerful, all-encompassing: the opposite of humble.

In both English and Greek humility is to be grounded, of the earth, humus is derived from the same origins.

In seeking to be realistic and practical we might call for thinking and acting that is "down to earth."

For years I have known that Jesus, "humbled himself and was made man." (Philippians 2). Yet I did not fully understand that in doing so God in Christ has reached out to me in deep humility.

Fire is produced from stone and steel; lying comes from loquacity and gossip. And the lie destroys love. No one who has any sense would say that telling lies is not an important sin. The Holy Spirit has severely condemned it. "You destroy those that speak lies," says David to God. The mother of lying is hypocrisy, mother and also, often, its substance as well. Hypocrisy in fact works out the lie beforehand and then puts it into practice.(John Climacus)

To seek God is to pursue ultimate reality. Whatever obscures reality complicates our relationship with God.

John almost certainly used some form of the Greek ψεῦδος or pseudos for lying.

The simple Old Norse and Old English from which we derive lie always means a deceptive untruth.

The more subtle Greek can, depending on context, mean a fiction or a story that seeks to elucidate rather than deceive.

Chesterton perceives tension between rationality and imagination. We need both he insists.

Human rationality, alone, leads to self-absorbed detachment from reality. Imagination can draw us out of ourselves and toward greater truths.

Is it a matter of intent? Does a lie seek to harm another, while an imaginative fiction seeks to serve the other?

He whose will and desire in conversation is to establish his own opinion, even though what he says is true, should recognize that he is sick with the devil's disease. And if he behaves like this only in conversation with his equals, then perhaps the rebuke of his superiors may heal him. But if he acts in this way even with those who are greater and wiser than he, then his malady is humanly incurable. (John Climacus)

Conversation can have two very different purposes: either to convert or converse.

John critiques the willful desire to convert (from the Latin vertere to turn around) our listeners, "even though what he says is true."

Conversation should draw more on versare, the Latin for a line of poetry and from which we derive versatile.

To converse is to allow the discussions to take many turns, consider many sides, and to be open to - actively welcome - change.

A conversation with our neighbor or with God, is as much a matter of listening as pushing our own point of view.

The image is of Jesus in conversation with Simon the Pharisee by Peter Paul Rubens (see the Gospel of Luke)

But Adam did not wish to say, "I sinned," but said rather the contrary of this and placed the blame for the transgression upon God Who created everything "very good," saying to Him, "The woman whom Thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree and I ate." And after him she also placed the blame upon the serpent, and they did not wish at all to repent and, falling down before the Lord God, beg forgiveness of Him. For this, God banished them from Paradise, as from a royal palace, to live in this world as exiles. (John Climacus)

Another is usually to blame. My intention was good. It was the influence of another or of circumstance that led me to act badly or fail to act.

But however much the serpent may have tempted, it was my choice. Repentance begins in accepting my personal role in the outcome.

I must recognize my contributions, accept responsibility for my action or inaction, ask forgiveness, accept forgiveness, and apply the lessons learned to future decisions.

Repentance is the renewal of baptism. Repentance is a contract with God for a second life. A penitent is a buyer of humility. Repentance is constant distrust of bodily comfort. Repentance is self-condemning reflection, and carefree self-care. (John Climacus)

Repentance begins in regret. The penitent is sorrowful. I recognize how I have contributed to another's pain and I experience the pain I have caused.

The Latin from which both repent and penitent are derived is paenitere which can mean regret, but depending on context can also be to displease, make angry, or offend.

I bet John's original text uses the Greek μετάνοια or metanoia which is usually translated as repentance. Literally after (meta) thought (noia), this implies a second-thinking, a new perception, a change of mind, and altered purpose.

The Lenten season is set aside for second-thoughts and redirection. In self-condemning reflection we confess the pain we have caused those we love most, and especially the pain we have caused God.

In confession we recognize our sin, seek forgiveness and, if we can accept God's forgiveness, we find renewed purpose and direction.

Obedience is absolute renunciation of our own life, clearly expressed in our bodily actions. Or, conversely, obedience is the mortification of the limbs while the mind remains alive. Obedience is unquestioning movement, voluntary death, a life free of curiosity, carefree danger, unprepared defence before God, fearlessness of death, a safe voyage, a sleeper's progress. Obedience is the tomb of the will and the resurrection of humility. A corpse does not argue or reason as to what is good or what seems to be bad. For he who has devoutly put the soul of the novice to death will answer for everything. Obedience is an abandonment of discernment in a wealth of discernment. (John Climacus)

Obedience requires being in relationship with one's Master.

Obedience requires awareness of the Master's intention.

Obedience requires listening for the Master's instruction.

Obedience requires accurate understanding of instructions given by the Master.

Obedience requires acting on instructions received in the manner intended.

In all your undertakings and in every way of life, whether you are living in obedience, or are not submitting your work to anyone, whether in outward or in spiritual matters, let it be your rule and practice to ask yourself: Am I really doing this in accordance with God’s will? (John Climacus)

What is God's will for today? For you? For me? For all of us?

Can we find God's will in 3000 years of scripture?

Might we know God's will by studying the sun and stars?

Is the whisper of conscience a clue to God's will?

In the silence of prayer does God's will unfold slowly?

Or does God's will suddenly descend in a torrent?

What do we mean in saying, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven?

To establish a good and firm character within ourselves is something very difficult and troublesome, and one crisis can destroy what we have worked so hard to set right. Bad, worldly and disorderly company destroys good character. (John Climacus)

What I establish of my own effort alone will always be perishable. It may be beautiful, it may be good, it may even in some way be true. But if it is only my creation, it's essence will die with me, probably well before me.

What I establish together with another -- or many others -- is likely to be more long-lasting. The quality of the relationships involved in co-creating will amplify the effort of each. If each of us bring some good, our shared effort will be very, very good.

What we establish together with God will, likewise, take on aspects of divine character. Where I am weak, God will lend strength. Where I miss the mark, God will correct. Only in relationship with others and God can I co-create what is fully worthwhile.

An attachment to any of our relations or even to a stranger is hard enough to deal with. It can gradually pull us back toward the world and make cool the fire of our contrition. You cannot look to heaven and to earth at the same time; similarly, if you have not turned your back completely on your relatives and others in thought and in body, you cannot avoid endangering your soul. (John Climacus)

Is there a meaningful distinction between detachment and non-attachment?

John and Maximos and most - if not quite all - Western monastics advocate a very rigorous detachment. This is characterized by physical, temporal, mental, and spiritual separation from networks of worldly relationship. In the space opened up we are better able to find God and craft a meaningful relationship with God.

Might we be able to remain in worldly networks but find or make more space for God and our relationship with God?

Attach is derived from the Old French atachier which is to hold in place with a stake or a spike. It is the pounding of the stake, the effort to or insistence that we remain bound in place, that is the strength and the limitation of attachment. Pontius Pilate presumed to put Jesus in his place by driving spikes through his arms and legs.

Where I agree with John and other monastics is in the need to free ourselves from the social and egoistic stakes that hold us back from God. But in my experience it is our meaningful relationships with others that can often free ourselves to reach out to God.


The image above is Driving the Last Spike by Thomas Hill, showing the joining of the transcontinental railroad near Ogden, Utah.

Contradiction and dissent are pleasing to God when they arise from love of Him, but have a care that you do not find yourself swept away on a tide of sentiment while you are yet passionately attached to what was familiar to you. (John Climacus)

What is our motive? Our source? Our purpose? Our goal?

If these emerge from love of God then, even when we are mistaken, God can apply our efforts to fulfill divine intention.

To enter into a fuller relationship with God, contradiction and dissent are welcome. Argument can, if conducted in love, deepen understanding.

Such an argument may be intense, but is not angry. Such an argument always involves listening and seeking to truly understand the other.

If we are passionately attached to God, our other passions are transformed and fulfilled through God's grace.

If you long for God, you must drive out your love for family. Anyone telling you he can combine these yearnings is deceiving himself. "No one can serve two masters". "I did not come to bring peace on earth," says the Lord, knowing how parent would rise up against sons or brothers who chose to serve Him. "It was for war and the sword," to separate the lovers of God from the lovers of the world, the materially-minded from spiritually minded, the vainglorious from the humble. (John Climacus)

Scripture makes a strong case for John's specific critique of family. In the twelfth chapter of Matthew Jesus' rejection of family seems very sharp. Paul's expectation of an imminent parousia also discouraged marriage and child-bearing.

Family is demanding and distracting. Love of family can become a kind of idol. But I am not sure family is uniquely tempting. The single, childless, and deeply religious can easily find obsessions just as distant from God's intent.

Jesus did speak of separating sheep from goats. But he brought together Jews, Samaritans, Greeks and more. Jesus did not remain in the desert, but came back to home, family, and his own region. Whenever two or three are gathered together, he is with us.

The intimacy - and insistent demands - of family can be a fertile context for framing and anchoring our relationship with God. Finding the discipline, vulnerability, and love to allow God to be the master of our family might make the monastery seem more like a spa in comparison.

Any fascination has the potential to be sinful. In every challenge is a sacramental opportunity. It depends on how we engage God in the relationship.

Many set themselves the aim of rescuing the indifferent and the lazy - and end up lost themselves. The flame within them gets dim with the passage of time. So, if you have the fire run, since you never know when it may be doused, leaving you stranded in the darkness. Not all of us are summoned to rescue others. "My brothers, each one of us will give an account of himself to God," says the holy Apostle. Again, he declares, "You teach someone else, but not yourself." It is as if he were saying, "I do not know about the others, but we have surely to look to what we must do ourselves." (John Climacus)

The flame does dim. But it dims in the monastery as well as in the world, in the chapel and in the streets.

It has been my relationship with others that has often restored the flame of faith. Not infrequently it has been a relationship with the spiritually indifferent and lazy that has acted as the accelerant.

The first quote above is from the 14th chapter of Romans. This is Paul's sermon on mutual toleration. The chapter opens with,

Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on disputable matters. One man's faith allows him to eat everything, but another man, whose faith is weak, eats only vegetables. The man who eats everything must not look down on him who does not, and the man who does not eat everything must not condemn the man who does, for God has accepted him. Who are you to judge someone else's servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand. One man considers one day more sacred than another; another man considers every day alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. He who regards one day as special, does so to the Lord. He who eats meat, eats to the Lord, for he gives thanks to God; and he who abstains, does so to the Lord and gives thanks to God. For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone. (Romans 14: 1-7)

I don't see how John can derive from this context encouragement to separate from the lazy and indifferent... or any of our neighbors.

His creative paraphrasing of Paul - "we have surely to look to what we must do ourselves" - strikes me as going well beyond the text he quotes for support.

The image above is The Good Samaritan by Ferdinand Hodler (late 19th Century)

There is such a thing as exile, an irrevocable renunciation of everything in one's familiar surroundings that hinders one from attaining the ideal of holiness. Exile is a disciplined heart, unheralded wisdom, an unpublicized understanding, a hidden life, masked ideals. it is unseen meditation, the striving to be humble, a wish for poverty, the longing for what is divine. It is an outpouring of love, a denial of vainglory, a depth of silence. (John Climacus)

There is such a thing as internal exile. Ovid was exiled to the shore of the Black Sea. Joseph Brodsky was exiled to Archangelsk. J.D. Salinger exiled himself to Cornish, New Hampshire.

Each could follow whatever muse might find them there. But they were unpublicized, hidden, and unseen. At least that was the intent.

Ovid is still read. Brodsky was acclaimed, as much for being exiled as for his poetry. Salinger was celebrated for the depth of his silence.

In some ways I have exiled myself. But it is less than whole-hearted. I would be thrilled to be called from exile, admired for the sacrifice of exile.

It is vainglory and undermines whatever discipline, wisdom, and understanding the exile has cultivated.

Mortification of the appetite, nightlong toil, a ration of water, a short measure of bread, the bitter cup of dishonor -- these will show you the narrow way. Derided, mocked, jeered, you must accept the denial of you will. You must patiently endure opposition, suffer neglect without complaint, put up with violent arrogance. You must be ready for injustice, and not grieve when you are slandered; you must not be angered by contempt and you must show humility when you have been condemned. Happy are those who follow this road and avoid other highways. Theirs is the kingdom of heaven. (John Climacus)

The second step on John's ladder of divine ascent is detachment. In separation from family, from earthly ambition, from sensuality, from any expression of independent will we will draw closer to God.

Most -- perhaps all -- of the early fathers perceive see our neighbors as temptations to neglect God. This is certainly true. But I am not convinced separation is the answer.

The willfulness that so troubles the fathers is expressed in pride, greed, gluttony, sloth, wrath, envy, and lust. These also separate.

In pride we claim to be better than others. The glutton separates mind from body. With envy we worry that others are more fortunate than ourselves. Lust seeks to use the other rather than be in full relationship with the other.

Rather than detachment, there is need for strengthening the bounds of love that link self, neighbor, and God.

All monastic life may be said to take one of three forms. There is the road of withdrawal and solitude for the spiritual athlete; there is the life of stillness shared with one or two others; there is the practice of living patiently in community. (John Climacus)

Faith alive in the world may be said to take one of three forms. There is the road of engagement and self-sacrifice for the spiritual athlete. For to be in the world yet striving for goals beyond the world requires the strength to be constantly challenged, often fail, and a deep dependence on spiritual coaching.

There is the life of prophecy shared with one or two others. The prophetic role is honored in retrospect and almost always despised in real time. To be in partnership with God and one or two others is essential to the prophet's ability to persist.

There is the practice of living patiently in community. To love our neighbors as we love ourselves; to be patient with our neighbors as we are patient with ourselves; and to actively seek the best for our neighbors is to be faithful to God.

And for those on any of these three paths it is helpful to regularly seek renewal through periods of withdrawal, solitude, and stillness.

The image above is of St. Benedict orders St. Maurus to rescue St. Placidus by Fra Filippo Lippi (1445)

The real servants of Christ, using the help of the spiritual fathers and also their own self-understanding, will make every effort to select a place, a way of life, an abode, and the exercises that suit them. Community life is not for everyone... and the solitary life is not for everybody... Let each seek out the most appropriate way. (John Climacus)

John is writing of the various forms of monastic life. But the same is true for those of us still in the world.

If we seek to serve Christ we must give close attention to the spiritual fathers. We are by no means the first to make this journey. There is much to learn from those who came before us.

We need self-understanding. Given the goal to serve Christ, and the experience of others, how can we understand ourselves in relationship to our context? I expect John may be pointing us toward the classical notion of φρόνησις or phronesis.

We must make practical choices. Where are we to live? How are we to live? How will we organize our time? What will we eat? These are - or can be - profoundly spiritual questions.

God has given us and all creation great freedom. The questions we ask and the answers we seek as we engage this freedom will largely determine our outcomes.

Let us not be horrified at or judge harshly those who renounce the religious life because of external circumstances. I have seen some men run away and accidentally meet the emperor, tarry with him, go to live in his palace, and take food with him. I have watched seed that accidentally fell in to the ground bear much fruit again and again, though the opposite has also happened. I have seen someone go to a doctor for one kind of problem, and, because of that doctor's skill, be treated with an astringent and be cured of failing eyesight, for it often happens that very definite and lasting results emerge through chance rather than through the workings of prescience and planning. (John Climacus)

That John does not point to the hidden hand of angels or divine intent, but an emergence through chance is a bit surprising.

But I agree such emerging is at the heart of God's gift of freedom. In another context I recently read, "Chaos is order without predictability."

God has crafted an order in which we can have substantial confidence, but we ought not imagine we can control.

Our Creator God clearly wants to be surprised by our creativity, and not just ours but the fruits-of-freedom of the whole universe.

We are invited to engage this order with faith, hope, and love in a process of discovering and creating the beautiful, good, and true.

It is detestable and dangerous for a wrestler to be slack at the start of a contest, thereby giving proof of his impending defeat to everyone. Let Us have a firm beginning to our religious life, for this will help us if a certain slackness comes later. A bold and eager soul will be spurred on by the memory of its first zeal and new wings can thus be obtained. (John Climacus)

I was born into a family, time, and place for which the church was a key institution. Our weekly schedule was organized by church, school, work and singing (and football during the season).

I accepted these priorities. In high school I was fortunate to be part of a large church youth group. But there was nothing in this inherited relationship with a religious institution that inspired much zeal. In fact, my religious tradition was suspicious of zealousness.

My spiritual beginnings, while not exactly slack, do not inspire. I have not been born again. Instead, it seems to me I have ascended one rung at a time, seldom stepping back, but after a half-century beginning to reach an inspiring height.

Let all those coming to this marvelous, tough, and painful -- though also easy -- contest leap, as it were, into a fire, so that a non-material flame may take up residence within them. But let each one test himself, draw food and drink from the bread of pain and the cup of weeping, lest he march himself to judgment. (John Climacus)

The Ladder is written especially for monastics. But lessons can be found for those still in the world.

Enthusiasm -- the Greek is en theos, to be possessed by God -- is absolutely a characteristic of faith. But no amount of enthusiasm will avoid the bread of pain and the cup of weeping.

In the Eucharist we recall the pain of Jesus on the cross and are reminded that God is with us, especially in suffering.

In the pain of Jesus, in the pain of others, and in our own pain there is much to learn. When pain comes, what does its cause and effect tell us of God's intention?

We may often find the cause of pain is random, accidental. But in responding to the pain of another, love can be a consequence of pain.

An impious man is a rational being, one that must die, who willingly runs away from life, and refuses to believe in the existence of his own everlasting Creator. A transgressor is someone who observes the divine law only in his own depraved fashion and holds on to heretical belief in opposition to God. A Christian is an imitator of Christ in thought, word and deed, as far as is humanly possible, and he believes rightly and blamelessly in the Holy Trinity. A friend of God is the one who lives in communion with all that is natural and free from sin and who does not neglect to do what good he can. (John Climacus)

We are in relationship with all of Creation. We share all that is natural. We participate in all that is natural. We hold in common with others all of Creation.

Do I live in a manner coherent with this reality?

I do not expect to be free from sin. But if I honor my relationship with others and actively cultivate the relationship, I am well on my way to becoming a friend of God.

In too many cases I have not - am not - doing what good I can. I neglect the poor, the angry, and those who make me uncomfortable.

Thank you God for the gift of discomfort, may I accept it as your help in recognizing an opportunity to see and heal what is broken.

God is the life of all free beings. He is the salvation of all, of believers or unbelievers, of the just or the unjust, of the pious or the the impious, of those free from passions or caught up in them, of monks or those living in the world, of the educated or the illiterate, of the healthy or the sick, of the young or the very old. He is like the outpouring of light, the glimpse of the sun, or the changes of the weather, which are the same for everyone, without exception. (John Climacus, shown above)

God is the source, purpose, and destination of life.

To renounce God is to renounce life. To be separated from God is, to the extent of separation, to be life-less.

To embrace God is to celebrate life. To be engaged with God is, to the extent of engagement, to to be fulfilled.