I Am in Trouble (Into the Desert for Lent)

A brother came to a very experienced old man and said to him, "I am in trouble."

I experience relief just reading the first line of this very short saying. At this time in the semester, I often have more work to do than there are hours in the day. Much of it is work that is due to other people: students' papers, letters of recommendation, reports or minutes to draft and distribute.

I am not alone. I said to a colleague, "It seems as though I work hard all day, but I am more behind when I go home than I was when I arrived." He said, "You just described my life."

But we put a brave face on it, try to look competent and productive, with a confident demeanor. The anxious "how will it ever get done?" goes unsaid, even if many here feel it.

What a relief to hear someone say, simply, "I am in trouble." The young brother has examined his heart, and knows the ills. He has sought out an abba with great experience in discernment.

I expect the elder to ask questions, uncover the nature of the trouble, propose solutions. In modern terms, I expect him to do problem-solving. His response surprises me.

The old man asks no questions. The exact nature of the trouble does not seem to matter much. If I think about my recurring bouts of overload, the details differ but the dynamic is much the same. Perhaps the old man has learned his - he is very experienced.

The old man said to him, "Sit in your cell and God will give you peace."

What? A person is in trouble - with thoughts of sin, perhaps with actual deeds - and this is the answer? The story records nothing more; its inclusion in the wisdom of the desert is evidence that the answer was recognized as true and insightful.

The reason is twofold, I think. First, the old man is not simply telling him to take a break. He sends him home, to a place of prayer and of orderly life. In his cell, the young monk will feel the call to prayer, to manual labor, to the daily horarium, to simplicity. Whatever the trouble, when he is in his cell, the elements that are not part of his primary desire, to seek God, will become apparent to him. The practices of the monastic life will recall him to the essence of his identity, help him to be more of his best self. Sitting in his cell is active and healing, not merely restful.

Second, he sees God as the source of change and help. God could give him peace by preparing his heart for reconciliation where a relationship is broken, or to amend a fault, or change a behavior. Peace may come through confessing sins, or doing penance. Peace may come through prayer. In the cell, with heart open to God, he is receptive and ready to listen for God's call on his life. Peace will not come because he solved the problem. Peace will come because he has become attentive and obedient to God's will in his life.