The Gift of Grace

A story for the second Sunday of Great Lent! Gregory Palamas is a medieval monk who lived in the 1300's in Constantinople, Mount Athos, and Thessaloniki.

Little Gregory sat on the floor by the feet of his father. Younger brothers and sisters surrounded him, whispering. Two little sisters teetered on his father’s lap, giggling. The swaddled baby was asleep in a side room. Gregory, staring up at his father with wide eyes, waited for the news.

“Well children, the Emperor has given me a vacation next week.” His father’s voice had a twinkle, a hint of something exciting.

Father had been so busy lately at the Imperial Court, and it had been a long time since they had a vacation.

Gregory almost didn’t want to believe it. “But what about the Senate? Have they given you a vacation too?”

Father smiled. “Yes. The Senate too.”

Gregory exchanged a glance with his brother.

Father’s voice fished for an answer: “Where shall we go for vacation? Shall we go to the.... market?”

All the children joined together like a mismatched chorus, “Nooooo!”

“Shall we go to the…. Hippodrome for some races?”

“Nooooo!”

Mother walked into the room, and Father shared a secret smile with her, but Gregory saw it.

“Then where shall we go, children?”

“To the monastery!!!”

All at once, many voices spoke at the same time:

It’s in the middle of a Lake!

Let’s go to the island!

I want to play with the kittens!

Can we make lemon cakes again with Fr. Theo?

Father’s eyes sparkled as he nodded to each child.

***

On the morning they left, Mother had made sure each child was properly washed. She had brushed and oiled twelve sandals. She had overseen the combing of seven heads of hair. She had licked her thumb and cleaned off three smudged cheeks.

She had been everywhere all at once.

It wasn’t until they were on the boat to the island that she finally got to sit down.

As the ferrymen hefted their oars through the dark water, Gregory watched his mother. Wisps of her light brown hair were flying with the wind. She caught his eye and smiled at him.

Father jumped in his seat. “Oh no!” He looked at Mother with drawn-up eyebrows.

“What is it, dear?”

“Did you pack a gift for the monks?”

Mother did not blink. She did not draw in her eyebrows, but they did look very tight where they were. “No.” Her words came slower than usual. “No, I didn’t. I was getting seven children ready for a trip.”

“Of course, dear.” He looked down towards his chest and stayed still like that for a long time. It didn’t bother Gregory because Father did that all the time. Gregory understood he was asking God for help.

When Father looked back up, he smiled like nothing had happened. Then he stretched and reached his long arm over the side of the boat.

At that very moment a huge fish flew up out of the dark water and into his large hand. Tucking it onto his lap, he nodded at the children. “Well, look at that.” He smiled at his wife. “We have a gift for the monks. Thank God.”

The men rowing the boat slid sideways glances at each other and kept rowing. Gregory realized he was gripping the side of the boat tightly and that his wide-open eyes were still staring.

***

Years later, when Gregory was a grown man, he stood on a stage in an important debate in front of a big crowd. A man named Barlam was trying to convince everyone that human beings couldn’t know God. He said God was so big He was unknowable.

Gregory got very quiet and leaned close to Barlam. His voice was so low and so loving, it was almost like a whisper of a father to a son. “You lie, Barlam.” So gentle in sound, but somehow still so firm. “And you steal. You would steal our relationship with God from us.”

Barlam froze, eye to eye with Gregory. “It’s impossible. He is far away in Heaven, too far from us.” The words were quiet, but they were not gentle.

Gregory remembered many moments from his own life. “It is possible.” He looked at Barlam with pity and love. “God makes Himself known.”

Barlam spat the next challenge. “Prove it!”

Gregory answered in fatherly love. “I know it’s true, because I know Him myself.”

Barlam was at a loss for words. As he stomped off the stage, Gregory looked down towards his chest and stayed still like that for a long time.

When he finally looked up, he nodded goodbye to the crowd and went to find a quill and some parchment. Now he knew how to help everyone understand how to know God.

He had some writing to do.

Lagniappe

In Louisiana, we use the Creole French word (lan-yap) to mean "a little something extra." Here's your lagniappe this month.

1. Learn more about Gregory Palamas, born in 1296 in Constantinople.

2. The Way of a Pilgrim is about a topic dear to Gregory Palamas: learning to "pray without ceasing."