The one thing needful
(From the spiritual diary of St. John of Kronstadt, “My Life in Christ”)

What do I need? There is nothing on earth that I need, except that which is most essential. What do I need, what is most essential? I need the Lord, I need His grace, His kingdom within me. On earth, which is the place of my wanderings, my temporary being, there is nothing that is truly mine, everything belongs to God and is temporal, everything serves my needs temporarily. What do I need? I need true and active Christian love; I need a loving heart which takes compassion on its neighbors; I need joy over their prosperity and well-being, and sorrow over their sorrows and illnesses, their sins, failings, disorders, woes, poverty; I need warm and sincere compassion for all the circumstances of their lives, joy for those who are joyous and tears for those who are in tears. Enough of selfishness, egoism, living only for oneself and acquiring everything only for oneself: riches, pleasures, the glory of this world; enough of spiritual dying instead of living, grieving instead of rejoicing, and carrying within oneself the poison of selfishness, for selfishness is a poison that is continuously poured into our hearts by Satan. O, let me cry out with King David: Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides Thee. My flesh and my heart fail, but God is the strength of my heart. Grant me, O Lord, true life, dispel the darkness of my passions, disperse their power with Thy strength, for with Thee all things are possible!

I grew up among the Plymouth Brethren a community of earnest but stern men and women in headscarves with large hearts beneath their long hair and dresses (no pants back then).

The hymns were without instruments and the eucharist, although it wasn’t the eucharist, was every Sunday. We read the Bible, a lot, and the men tried as best they could to preach but it was a labor of love both to do and to listen. Wednesday was prayer meeting, a near hour on our knees and a rap on the back of the head if we fell asleep.

Most certainly their heart was in the right place. They were people who had been saved and were trying their best to live as saints in a world they knew was soon to pass away. If the odd ideas of dispensationalism and a propensity to deal with the end times was their low point their high point was in a desire for everyday piety, a love of sacred texts, and a vision for heaven.

I remember their songs from time to time and still sing them occasionally when I’m by myself in the car. In some ways I am a million miles away from those days. I’m sure the thought of me, presuming that I am even remembered, being Orthodox may be proof to some of how far I’ve wandered away, of the dangers of leaving the fold, and the jeopardy of drifting from the assembly.

Yet here I am, after all these years, in a community of faith where the singing is without music, the Eucharist is every Sunday, the Scriptures are venerated, people kneel, and women sometimes still wear headscarves. In some ways I’m on the other side of the world, in some ways I’m not very far from where I started.