—Geronda [that is Elder], say something…
—What should I say?
—Whatever your heart is telling you.
—My Heart is telling me to take a knife, cut my heart into pieces, give them to people and then die.~ St. Paisios the Athonite
To those unfamiliar with the life and charisms of Saint Paisios the Athonite (1924–1994), these words might fall on deaf ears. In our self-focused, therapeutic society, such a unidirectional aspiration seems unrealistic—if not harmful—for it appears to deny our deeply ingrained sense of “self-realization.” We live in a culture that values the creation of a self capable of standing apart from others, self-assured in its boundaries, lest we risk damaging our self-image.
But if we look more into the life and writings of Saint Paisios, we begin to see his radical statement point us to a profoundly different model of flourishing—one where pouring oneself out by taking on others’ suffering and burdens is the source of an ever-greater consolation: the Divine Joy of God Himself, as revealed in Christ taking up His cross to heal, redeem, and deify us.
Saint Paisios’s willingness to “cut his heart into pieces” and give them to others thus exemplifies not a desire for pain, but a longing for divine consolation that transcends this world, which is given only as much as we are willing to sacrifice our time and energy, and give them to others beyond the point of comfort—to bear their burdens and ease their pain, trusting that God will give us the strength to do so. When we do this, the strength no longer comes from us but from God. The sweetness of sacrificial self-giving love grows in our hearts, pressing us forward into participation in the Divine Life: the self-emptying, self-giving love of Christ.
The Life of St. Paisios
—Geronda, when I feel pain for others, I become anxious and cannot pray.
—This anxiety shows that there is a human element in you. The more I am pained by people’s sufferings, the more I pray and rejoice spiritually at telling Christ everything and having Him take care of it. And I notice that as time passes and physical courage diminishes, spiritual courage increases because love, sacrifice, and compassion for others provide great spiritual strength. And I must admit that this evening during your vigil, I wasn’t really up to it, but I received renewed strength from the pain of others. I was able to stand through the night until the Divine Liturgy by seeing all the people. Even later, standing in the Church, I didn’t feel tired because I felt compassion for those people, and this strengthened me. You, too, must pray and rejoice because Christ will take care of everything.
Saint Paisios continues:
There is no grief in the spiritual encounter. With those people now, I went through so much pain! I didn’t pass over their problems lightly. I was pained by them, I sighed over them, but with every sigh I turned the matter over to God—and in the pain I felt for the other person, God provided consolation. That is to say, divine consolation came with the spiritual approach, because the pain which carries with it hope in God also has divine consolation. Otherwise, how is one to endure? How could I possibly get through all the things that I hear?
This passage gives us great wisdom and confirms a spiritual rule: placing our hope in God to help us bear the suffering of others transforms sacrifice into the path to a consolation far greater than the pain. The pain itself becomes a way of sharing in Christ’s own self-emptying as He bore our sufferings on the Cross—accepting our human condition and enduring infinitely more than we do, as St. Maximos the Confessor teaches.
The Context
At the same time, these words might seem abstract without context. In reality, the pain Elder Paisios was speaking of was an extraordinarily painful cancer, which he chose not to treat with pain medication and would soon die of months later. Despite of this, he stood—holding onto a chair—to give his personal blessing and spiritual counsel to thirty thousand people in one day. Most of these visitors came because of Saint Paisios’s unique capacity to see into a person’s soul, identify its spiritual sickness, and bring about genuine healing, often through his prayer.
To stand and receive that many people while enduring excruciating pain is nothing short of superhuman—or more properly, a testimony to the power, courage, and consolation God grants when we are willing to take on others’ sufferings. Saint Paisios was even willing to accept those sufferings into his own body if it would make them well.
A Second Point: The Power of Prayer
This leads to a second point: how prayer can effect real change in the world—even miraculous healing. According to Saint Paisios’s teaching, we must be willing to bear another person’s suffering or illness for God to heal through our prayer. As extraordinary as that sounds, his example demonstrates that when love becomes utterly self-giving, God’s grace flows more freely, sometimes even resulting in miracles.
Watch the video below for the most intimate portrait of Elder Paisios I’ve encountered. It highlights his capacity to take on others’ burdens—and his conviction that Christ’s healing presence manifests most powerfully in those who are willing, like him, to “cut their heart into pieces” for the sake of others.
In the end, the Elder’s startling words—"give them to people and then die"—are not an invitation to despair. Rather, they are the clearest expression of a heart aflame with divine compassion, one that recognizes the real source of life is found in Christ-like love, poured out for others.
"Suppose you have two glasses of water before you; one empty, the other half full. Now suppose we pour water out of the half-full glass into the empty one, and imagine that the half-full glass becomes fuller and fuller be cause of what we are doing. The materialist would consider this kind of thing foolish; but, my dear friends, with a concept suitable for meditation it is not a question of its reality but of whether it is one which will form ideas in the soul. Just because it relates to nothing real, it can direct our senses away from reality. It may be a symbol especially for that soul-process which we describe as the mystery of love. The process of love is something like that half-full glass from which man pours into the empty one, and which thereby becomes fuller and fuller. The soul does not become more empty, it becomes fuller in the same measure in which it gives; and in this way that symbol may have great significance." (Steiner, GA 150)