Learning the Holy Scriptures

In the winter of 1947–48, having secured the necessities of material existence, life in our colony was marked by the intensity of spiritual activity. We read extensively from the writings of the great theologians of Orthodoxy, as well as from both older and contemporary Apusinian theologians. We also studied the Philokalia and the Patristic texts.

In Aiud, under the guidance of Fr. Serghie, we had all gone through Fr. Stăniloaie’s Jesus Christ or the Restoration of Man, the Hristoitia of St. Nicodemus the Hagiorite, and many other works. At least once a week, Mr. Trifan would be challenged by the younger members to help deepen our understanding of the words of the Holy Fathers.

We also began to memorise the Scriptures, focusing especially on the New Testament, and soon discovered that this practice illuminated the meaning of the Word. The mind, through association, correspondence, and even healthy debate, revealed to the soul the depth of God’s Word. It ceased to be a burden to remember; instead, it became part of the soul itself, providing guidance and significance to other knowledge and constituting a permanent spiritual nourishment for mind and spirit.

A disciple once asked his father, “Father, why are the Scriptures so easy to learn?”

“Because these divine words are given to the soul. The other knowledge belongs to the world and is therefore more difficult to master. The divine words are a gift from God Himself. The worldly knowledge is offered by the devil,” the father replied. (Paterikon)

Yet one must beware of learning only at the level of memory.

– “Father, I have memorised the Scriptures,” boasted a disciple.

– “You have filled the sky with words, my son!” the father answered.

– “Father, I wrote them all down,” said another, proud of his effort.

– “You have filled the table with papers!” the father replied.

– “Father, I have grown grass on my cooktop,” boasted yet another, who practiced strict abstinence by avoiding cooked food.

– “You have driven away the love of strangers from you,” the father admonished, “for grass has grown on the cooktop, meaning that you have not even welcomed the guest.”

(Virgil Maxim – Hymn for the Carried Cross)