St. Mary of Egypt

  • Celtic runnerIn the sixth cen­tury, Ortho­dox monas­ter­ies began to cir­cu­late the story of St. Mary of Egypt, an illit­er­ate woman with a sin­ful past whose ascetic labors and gifts sur­passed the strictest monas­tic. She had received no earthly tutor­ing, lived the major­ity of her life alone in the deserts of the Holy Land and would’ve died unknown except for her meet­ings with an extra­or­di­nary man named Zosi­mas who was per­mit­ted to see her and bring her story back to us. In the West­ern Church, she is com­mem­o­rated on April 2; in the East­ern Church, on April 1 and again on the fifth Sun­day of Lent. The fol­low­ing account was writ­ten by St. Sophro­nius, the patri­arch of Jerusalem (560–644).

    St. Sophronius“It is good to hide the secret of a king, but it is glo­ri­ous to reveal and preach the works of God.” (Tobit 12:7) So said the Archangel Raphael to Tobit when he per­formed the won­der­ful heal­ing of his blind­ness. Actu­ally, not to keep the secret of a king is per­ilous and a ter­ri­ble risk, but to be silent about the works of God is a great loss for the soul. And I (says St. Sophro­nios), in writ­ing the life of St. Mary of Egypt, am afraid to hide the works of God by silence. Remem­ber­ing the mis­for­tune threat­ened to the ser­vant who hid his God-given tal­ent in the earth (Mat. 25:18–25), I am bound to pass on the holy account that has reached me. And let no one think (con­tin­ues St. Sophro­nios) that I have had the audac­ity to write untruth or doubt this great mar­vel — may I never lie about holy things! If there do hap­pen to be peo­ple who, after read­ing this record, do not believe it, may the Lord have mercy on them because, reflect­ing on the weak­ness of human nature, they con­sider impos­si­ble these won­der­ful things accom­plished by holy peo­ple. But now we must begin to tell this most amaz­ing story, which has taken place in our generation.

    Zosimas>There was a cer­tain elder in one of the monas­ter­ies of Pales­tine, a priest of the holy life and speech, who from child­hood had been brought up in monas­tic ways and cus­toms. This elder’s name was Zosi­mas. He had been through the whole course of the ascetic life and in every­thing he adhered to the rule once given to him by his tutors as regard spir­i­tual labors. He had also added a good deal him­self whilst labor­ing to sub­ject his flesh to the will of the spirit. And he had not failed in his aim. He was so renowned for his spir­i­tual life that many came to him from neigh­bor­ing monas­ter­ies and some even from afar. While doing all this, he never ceased to study the Divine Scrip­tures. Whether rest­ing, stand­ing, work­ing or eat­ing food (if the scraps he nib­bled could be called food), he inces­santly and con­stantly had a sin­gle aim: always to sing of God, and to prac­tice the teach­ing of the Divine Scrip­tures. Zosi­mas used to relate how, as soon as he was taken from his mother’s breast, he was handed over to the monastery where he went through his train­ing as an ascetic till he reached the age of 53. After that, he began to be tor­mented with the thought that he was per­fect in every­thing and needed no instruc­tion from any­one, say­ing to him­self men­tally, “Is there a monk on earth who can be of use to me and show me a kind of asceti­cism that I have not accom­plished? Is there a man to be found in the desert who has sur­passed me?”
    Thus thought the elder, when sud­denly an angel appeared to him and said:

    “Zosi­mas, valiantly have you strug­gled, as far as this is within the power of man, valiantly have you gone through the ascetic course. But there is no man who has attained per­fec­tion. Before you lie unknown strug­gles greater than those you have already accom­plished. That you may know how many other ways lead to sal­va­tion, leave your native land like the renowned patri­arch Abra­ham and go to the monastery by the River Jor­dan.”
    Church02Zosi­mas did as he was told. He left the monastery in which he had lived from child­hood, and went to the River Jor­dan. At last he reached the com­mu­nity to which God had sent him. Hav­ing knocked at the door of the monastery, he told the monk who was the porter who he was; and the porter told the abbot. On being admit­ted to the abbot’s pres­ence, Zosi­mas made the usual monas­tic pros­tra­tion and prayer. See­ing that he was a monk the abbot asked:
    “Where do you come from, brother, and why have you come to us poor old men?”

    Zosi­mas replied:
    “There is no need to speak about where I have come from, but I have come, father, seek­ing spir­i­tual profit, for I have heard great things about your skill in lead­ing souls to God.”

    “Brother,” the abbot said to him, “Only God can heal the infir­mity of the soul. May He teach you and us His divine ways and guide us. But as it is the love of Christ that has moved you to visit us poor old men, then stay with us, if that is why you have come. May the Good Shep­herd Who laid down His life for our sal­va­tion fill us all with the grace of the Holy Spirit.”

    After this, Zosi­mas bowed to the abbot, asked for his prayers and bless­ing, and stayed in the monastery. There he saw elders pro­fi­cient both in action and the con­tem­pla­tion of God, aflame in spirit, work­ing for the Lord. They sang inces­santly, they stood in prayer all night, work was ever in their hands and psalms on their lips. Never an idle word was heard among them, they know noth­ing about acquir­ing tem­po­ral goods or the cares of life. But they had one desire — to become in body like corpses. Their con­stant food was the Word of God, and they sus­tained their bod­ies on bread and water, as much as their love for God allowed them. See­ing this, Zosi­mas was greatly edi­fied and pre­pared for the strug­gle that lay before him.

    Many days passed and the time drew near when all Chris­tians fast and pre­pare them­selves to wor­ship the Divine Pas­sion and Res­ur­rec­tion of Christ. The monastery gates were kept always locked and only opened when one of the com­mu­nity was sent out on some errand. It was a desert place, not only unvis­ited by peo­ple of the world but even unknown to them.

    There was a rule in that monastery which was the rea­son why God brought Zosi­mas there. At the begin­ning of the Great Fast [on For­give­ness Sun­day] the priest cel­e­brated the holy Liturgy and all par­took of the holy body and blood of Christ. After the Liturgy they went to the refec­tory and would eat a lit­tle lenten food.

    Then all gath­ered in church, and after pray­ing earnestly with pros­tra­tions, the elders kissed one another and asked for­give­ness. And each made a pros­tra­tion to the abbot and asked his bless­ing and prayers for the strug­gle that lay before them. After this, the gates of the monastery were thrown open, and singing, “The Lord is my light and my Sav­ior; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the defender of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 26:1) and the rest of that psalm, all went out into the desert and crossed the River Jor­dan. Only one or two broth­ers were left in the monastery, not to guard the prop­erty (for there was noth­ing to rob), but so as not to leave the church with­out Divine Ser­vice. Each took with him as much as he could or wanted in the way of food, accord­ing to the needs of his body: one would take a lit­tle bread, another some figs, another dates or wheat soaked in water. And some took noth­ing but their own body cov­ered with rags and fed when nature forced them to it on the plants that grew in the desert.

    Desert_3After cross­ing the Jor­dan, they all scat­tered far and wide in dif­fer­ent direc­tions. And this was the rule of life they had, and which they all observed — nei­ther to talk to one another, nor to know how each one lived and fasted. If they did hap­pen to catch sight of one another, they went to another part of the coun­try, liv­ing alone and always singing to God, and at a def­i­nite time eat­ing a very small quan­tity of food. In this way they spent the whole of the fast and used to return to the monastery a week before the Res­ur­rec­tion of Christ, on Palm Sun­day. Each one returned hav­ing his own con­science as the wit­ness of his labor, and no one asked another how he had spent his time in the desert. Such were rules of the monastery. Every one of them whilst in the desert strug­gled with him­self before the Judge of the strug­gle — God — not seek­ing to please men and fast before the eyes of all. For what is done for the sake of men, to win praise and honor, is not only use­less to the one who does it but some­times the cause of great punishment.

    Zosi­mas did the same as all. And he went far, far into the desert with a secret hope of find­ing some father who might be liv­ing there and who might be able to sat­isfy his thirst and long­ing. And he wan­dered on tire­less, as if hur­ry­ing on to some def­i­nite place. He had already walked for 20 days and when the 6th hour came he stopped and, turn­ing to the East, he began to sing the sixth Hour and recite the cus­tom­ary prayers. He used to break his jour­ney thus at fixed hours of the day to rest a lit­tle, to chant psalms stand­ing and to pray on bent knees.

    Desert_2And as he sang thus with­out turn­ing his eyes from the heav­ens, he sud­denly saw to the right of the hillock on which he stood the sem­blance of a human body. At first he was con­fused think­ing he beheld a vision of the devil, and even started with fear. But, hav­ing guarded him­self with the sign of the Cross and ban­ished all fear, he turned his gaze in that direc­tion and in truth saw some form glid­ing south­wards. It was naked, the skin dark as if burned up by the heat of the sun; the hair on its head was white as a fleece, and not long, falling just below its neck. Zosi­mas was so over­joyed at behold­ing a human form that he ran after it in pur­suit, but the form fled from him. He fol­lowed. At length, when he was near enough to be heard, he shouted:
    “Why do you run from an old man and a sin­ner? Slave of the True God, wait for me, who­ever you are, in God’s name I tell you, for the love of God for Whose sake you are liv­ing in the desert.”

    “For­give me for God’s sake, but I can­not turn towards you and show you my face, Abba Zosi­mas. For I am a woman and naked as you see with the uncov­ered shame of my body. But if you would like to ful­fill one wish of a sin­ful woman, throw me your cloak so that I can cover my body and can turn to you and ask for your blessing.”

    Here ter­ror seized Zosi­mas, for he heard that she called him by name. But he real­ized that she could not have done so with­out know­ing any­thing of him if she had not had the power of spir­i­tual insight.

    He at once did as he was asked. He took off his old, tat­tered cloak and threw it to her, turn­ing away as he did so. She picked it up and was able to cover at least a part of her body. Then she turned to Zosi­mas and said:
    Mary of Egypt_1>“Why did you wish, Abba Zosi­mas, to see a sin­ful woman? What do you wish to hear or learn from me, you who have not shrunk from such great struggles?”

    Zosi­mas threw him­self on the ground and asked for her bless­ing. She like­wise bowed down before him. And thus they lay on the ground pros­trate ask­ing for each other’s bless­ing. And one word alone could be heard from both: “Bless me!” After a long while the woman said to Zosi­mas:

    “Abba Zosi­mas, it is you who must give bless­ing and pray. You are dig­ni­fied by the order of priest­hood and for many years you have been stand­ing before the holy altar and offer­ing the sac­ri­fice of the Divine Mysteries.”

    This flung Zosi­mas into even greater ter­ror. At length with tears he said to her:
    “O mother, filled with the spirit, by your mode of life it is evi­dent that you live with God and have died to the world. The Grace granted to you is appar­ent — for you have called me by name and rec­og­nized that I am a priest, though you have never seen me before. Grace is rec­og­nized not by one’s orders, but by gifts of the Spirit, so give me your bless­ing for God’s sake, for I need your prayers.”

    Then giv­ing way before the wish of the elder the woman said:
    “Blessed is God Who cares for the sal­va­tion of men and their souls.”

    Zosi­mas answered: “Amen.”

    And both rose to their feet. Then the woman asked the elder:
    “Why have you come, man of God, to me who am so sin­ful? Why do you wish to see a woman naked and devoid of every virtue? Though I know one thing — the Grace of the Holy Spirit has brought you to ren­der me a ser­vice in time. Tell me, father, how are the Chris­t­ian peo­ples liv­ing? And the kings? How is the Church guided?”

    Zosi­mas said:
    “By your prayers, mother, Christ has granted last­ing peace to all. But ful­fill the unwor­thy peti­tion of an old man and pray for the whole world and for me who am a sin­ner, so that my wan­der­ings in the desert may not be fruitless.”

    She answered:
    “You who are a priest, Abba Zosi­mas, it is you who must pray for me and for all — for this is your call­ing. But as we must all be obe­di­ent, I will gladly do what you ask.”

    And with these words she turned to the East, and rais­ing her eyes to heaven and stretch­ing out her hands, she began to pray in a whis­per. One could not hear sep­a­rate words, so that Zosi­mas could not under­stand any­thing that she said in her prayers. Mean­while he stood, accord­ing to his own word, all in a flut­ter, look­ing at the ground with­out say­ing a word. And he swore, call­ing God to wit­ness, that when at length he thought that her prayer was very long, he took his eyes off the ground and saw that she was raised bout a forearm’s dis­tance from the ground and stood pray­ing in the air. When he saw this, even greater ter­ror seized him and he fell on the ground weep­ing and repeat­ing many times, “Lord, have mercy.”

    And whilst lying pros­trate on the ground he was tempted by a thought: Is it not a spirit, and per­haps her prayer is hypocrisy. But at the very same moment the woman turned round, raised the elder from the ground and said:
    “Why do thought con­fuse you, Abba, and tempt you about me, as if I were a spirit and a dis­sem­bler in prayer? Know, holy father, that I am only a sin­ful woman, though I am guarded by Holy bap­tism. And I am no spirit but earth and ashes, and flesh alone.”

    And with these words she guarded her­self with the sign of the Cross on her fore­head, eyes, mouth and breast, say­ing:
    “May God defend us from the evil one and from his designs, for fierce is his strug­gle against us.”

    Hear­ing and see­ing this, the elder fell to the ground and, embrac­ing her feet, he said with tears:
    “I beg you, by the Name of Christ our God, Who was born of a Vir­gin, for Whose sake you have stripped your­self, for Whose sake you have exhausted your flesh, do not hide from your slave, who you are and whence and how you came into this desert. Tell me every­thing so that the mar­velous works of God may become known. A hid­den wis­dom and a secret trea­sure — what profit is there in them? Tell me all, I implore you. For not out of van­ity or for self-display will you speak but to reveal the truth to me, an unwor­thy sin­ner. I believe in God, for whom you live and whom you serve. I believe that He led me into this desert so as to show me His ways in regard to you. It is not in our power to resist the plans of God. If it were not the will of God that you and your life would be known, He would not have allowed be to see you and would not have strength­ened me to under­take this jour­ney, one like me who never before dared to leave his cell.”

    Much more said Abba Zosi­mas. But the woman raised him and said:
    “I am ashamed, Abba, to speak to you of my dis­grace­ful life, for­give me for God’s sake! But as you have already seen my naked body I shall like­wise lay bare before you my work, so that you may know with what shame and obscen­ity my soul is filled. I was not run­ning away out of van­ity, as you thought, for what have I to be proud of — I who was the cho­sen ves­sel of the devil? But when I start my story you will run from me, as from a snake, for your ears will not be able to bear the vile­ness of my actions. But I shall tell you all with­out hid­ing any­thing, only implor­ing you first of all to pray inces­santly for me, so that I may find mercy on the day of Judgment.”

    The elder wept and the woman began her story.
    “My native land, holy father, was Egypt. Already dur­ing the life­time of my par­ents, when I was twelve years old, I renounced their love and went to Alexan­dria. I am ashamed to recall how there I at first ruined my maid­en­hood and then unre­strainedly and insa­tiably gave myself up to sen­su­al­ity. It is more becom­ing to speak of this briefly, so that you may just know my pas­sion and my lech­ery. For about sev­en­teen years, for­give me, I lived like that. I was like a fire of pub­lic debauch. And it was not for the sake of gain — here I speak the pure truth. Often when they wished to pay me, I refused the money. I acted in this way so as to make as many men as pos­si­ble to try to obtain me, doing free of charge what gave me plea­sure. Do not think that I was rich and that was the rea­son why I did not take money. I lived by beg­ging, often by spin­ning flax, but I had an insa­tiable desire and an irre­press­ible pas­sion for lying in filth. This was life to me. Every kind of abuse of nature I regarded as life.

    That is how I lived. Then one sum­mer I saw a large crowd of Libyans and Egyp­tians run­ning towards the sea. I asked one of them, ‘Where are these men hur­ry­ing to?’ He replied, ‘They are all going to Jerusalem for the Exal­ta­tion of the Pre­cious and Life­giv­ing Cross, which takes place in a few days.’ I said to him, ‘Will they take me with them if I wish to go?’ ‘No one will hin­der you if you have money to pay for the jour­ney and for food.’ And I said to him, ‘To tell you truth, I have no money, nei­ther have I food. But I shall go with them and shall go aboard. And they shall feed me, whether they want to or not. I have a body — they shall take it instead of pay for the jour­ney.’ I was sud­denly filled with a desire to go, Abba, to have more lovers who could sat­isfy my pas­sion. I told you, Abba Zosi­mas, not to force me to tell you of my dis­grace. God is my wit­ness, I am afraid of defil­ing you and the very air with my words.”

    Zosi­mas, weep­ing, replied to her:
    “Speak on for God’s sake, mother, speak and do not break the thread of such an edi­fy­ing tale.”

    And, resum­ing her story, she went on:
    “That youth, on hear­ing my shame­less words, laughed and went off. While I, throw­ing away my spin­ning wheel, ran off towards the sea in the direc­tion which every­one seemed to be tak­ing. And, see­ing some young men stand­ing on the shore, about ten or more of them, full of vigor and alert in their move­ments, I decided that they would do for my pur­pose (it seemed that some of them were wait­ing for more trav­el­ers whilst oth­ers had gone ashore). Shame­lessly, as usual, I mixed with the crowd, say­ing, ‘Take me with you to the place you are going to; you will not find me super­flu­ous.’ I also added a few more words call­ing forth gen­eral laugh­ter. See­ing my readi­ness to be shame­less, they read­ily took me aboard the boat. Those who were expected came also, and we set sail at once.

    How shall I relate to you what hap­pened after this? Whose tongue can tell, whose ears can take in all that took place on the boat dur­ing that voy­age! And to all this I fre­quently forced those mis­er­able youths even against their own will. There is no men­tion­able or unmen­tion­able deprav­ity of which I was not their teacher. I am amazed, Abba, how the sea stood our licen­tious­ness, how the earth did not open its jaws, and how it was that hell did not swal­low me alive, when I had entan­gled in my net so many souls. But I think God was seek­ing my repen­tance. For He does not desire the death of a sin­ner but mag­nan­i­mously awaits his return to Him. At last we arrived in Jerusalem. I spent the days before the fes­ti­val in the town, liv­ing the save kind of life, per­haps even worse. I was not con­tent with the youths I had seduced at sea and who had helped be to get to Jerusalem; many oth­ers — cit­i­zens of the town and for­eign­ers — I also seduced.

    Exaltation of the Cross_1The holy day of the Exal­ta­tion of the Cross dawned while I was still fly­ing about — hunt­ing for youths. At day­break I saw that every­one was hur­ry­ing to the church, so I ran with the rest. When the hour for the holy ele­va­tion approached, I was try­ing to make my way in with the crowd which was strug­gling to get through the church doors. I ad at last squeezed through with great dif­fi­culty almost to the entrance of the tem­ple, from which the Life­giv­ing Tree of the Cross was being shown to the peo­ple. But when I trod on the doorstep which every­one passed, I was stopped by some force which pre­vented by enter­ing. Mean­while I was brushed aside by the crowd and found myself stand­ing alone in the porch. Think­ing that this had hap­pened because of my woman’s weak­ness, I again began to work my way into the crowd, try­ing to elbow myself for­ward. But in vain I strug­gled. Again my feet trod on the doorstep over which oth­ers were enter­ing the church with­out encoun­ter­ing any obsta­cle. I alone seemed to remain unac­cepted by the church. It was as if there was a detach­ment of sol­diers stand­ing there to oppose my entrance. Once again I was excluded by the same mighty force and again I stood in the porch.

    Hav­ing repeated my attempt three or four times, at last I felt exhausted and had no more strength to push and to be pushed, so I went aside and stood in a cor­ner of the porch. And only then with great dif­fi­culty it began to dawn on me, and I began to under­stand the rea­son why I was pre­vented from being admit­ted to see the life-giving Cross. The word of sal­va­tion gen­tly touched the eyes of my heart and revealed to me that it was my unclean life which barred the entrance to me. I began to weep and lament and beat my breast, and to sigh from the depths of my heart. And so I stood weep­ing when I saw above me the icon of the most holy Mother of God. And turn­ing to her my bod­ily and spir­i­tual eyes I said:

    Theotokos_2‘O Lady, Mother of God, who gave birth in the flesh to God the Word, I know, O how well I know, that it is no honor or praise to thee when one so impure and depraved as I look up to thy icon, O ever-virgin, who didst keep thy body and soul in purity. Rightly do I inspire hatred and dis­gust before thy vir­ginal purity. But I have heard that God Who was born of thee became man on pur­pose to call sin­ners to repen­tance. Then help me, for I have no other help. Order the entrance of the church to be opened to me. Allow me to see the ven­er­a­ble Tree on which He Who was born of thee suf­fered in the flesh and on which He shed His holy Blood for the redemp­tion of sin­ners an for me, unwor­thy as I am. Be my faith­ful wit­ness before thy son that I will never again defile my body by the impu­rity of for­ni­ca­tion, but as soon as I have seen the Tree of the Cross I will renounce the world and its temp­ta­tions and will go wher­ever thou wilt lead me.’

    Thus I spoke and as if acquir­ing some hope in firm faith and feel­ing some con­fi­dence in the mercy of the Mother of God, I left the place where I stood pray­ing. And I went again and min­gled with the crowd that was push­ing its way into the tem­ple. And no one seemed to thwart me, no one hin­dered my enter­ing the church. I was pos­sessed with trem­bling, and was almost in delir­ium. Hav­ing got as far as the doors which I could not reach before — as if the same force which had hin­dered me cleared the way for me — I now entered with­out dif­fi­culty and found myself within the holy place. And so it was I saw the Life­giv­ing Cross. I saw too the Mys­ter­ies of God and how the Lord accepts repen­tance. Throw­ing myself on the ground, I wor­shipped that holy earth and kissed it with trem­bling. Then I came out of the church and went to her who had promised to be my secu­rity, to the place where I had sealed my vow. And bend­ing my knees before the Vir­gin Mother of God, I addressed to her such words as these:
    ‘O lov­ing Lady, thou hast shown me thy great love for all men. Glory to God Who receives the repen­tance of sin­ners through thee. What more can I rec­ol­lect or say, I who am so sin­ful? It is time for me, O Lady, to ful­fill my vow, accord­ing to thy wit­ness. Now lead me by the hand along the path of repen­tance!’ And at these words I heard a voice from on high:
    ‘If you cross the Jor­dan you will find glo­ri­ous rest.’

    Hear­ing this voice and hav­ing faith that it was for me, I cried to the Mother of God:
    ‘O Lady, Lady, do not for­sake me!’

    With these words I left the porch of the church and set off on my jour­ney. As I was leav­ing the church a stranger glanced at me and gave me three coins, say­ing:
    ‘Sis­ter, take these.’

    BreadAnd, tak­ing the money, I bought three loaves and took them with me on my jour­ney, as a blessed gift. I asked the per­son who sold the bread: ‘Which is the way to the Jor­dan?’ I was directed to the city gate which led that way. Run­ning on I passed the gates and still weep­ing went on my jour­ney. Those I met I asked the way, and after walk­ing for the rest of that day (I think it was nine o’clock when I saw the Cross) I at length reached at sun­set the Church of St. John the Bap­tist which stood on the banks of the Jor­dan. After pray­ing in the tem­ple, I went down to the Jor­dan and rinsed my face and hands in its holy waters. I par­took of the holy and life-giving Mys­ter­ies in the Church of the Fore­run­ner and ate half of one of my loaves. Then, after drink­ing some water from Jor­dan, I lay down and passed the night on the ground. In the morn­ing I found a small boat and crossed to the oppo­site bank. I again prayed to Our Lady to lead me whither she wished. Then I found myself in this desert and since then up to this very day I am estranged from all, keep­ing away from peo­ple and run­ning away from every­one. And I live here cling­ing to my God Who saves all who turn to Him from faint­heart­ed­ness and storms.”
    Here ends the first half of the Life.

    Zosi­mas asked her:
    “How many years have gone by since you began to live in this desert?”

    She replied:
    “Forty-seven years have already gone by, I think, since I left the holy city.”

    Zosi­mas asked:
    “But what food do you find?”

    The woman said:
    “I had two and a half loaves when I crossed the Jor­dan. Soon they dried up and became hard as rock. Eat­ing a lit­tle I grad­u­ally fin­ished them after a few years.”

    Zosi­mas asked.
    “Can it be that with­out get­ting ill you have lived so many years thus, with­out suf­fer­ing in any way from such a com­plete change?”

    The woman answered:
    “You remind me, Zosi­mas, of what I dare not speak of. For when I recall all the dan­gers which I over­came, and all the vio­lent thoughts which con­fused me, I am again afraid that they will take pos­ses­sion of me.”

    Zosi­mas said:
    “Do not hide from me any­thing; speak to me with­out con­ceal­ing anything.”

    And she said to him:
    “Believe me, Abba, sev­en­teen years I passed in this desert fight­ing wild beasts — mad desires and pas­sions. When I was about to par­take of food, I used to begin to regret the meat and fish which of which I had so much in Egypt. I regret­ted also not hav­ing wine which I loved so much. For I drank a lot of wine when I lived in the world, while here I had not even water. I used to burn and suc­cumb with thirst. The mad desire for prof­li­gate songs also entered me and con­fused me greatly, edg­ing me on to sing satanic songs which I had learned once. But when such desires entered me I struck myself on the breast and reminded myself of the vow which I had made, when going into the desert. In my thoughts I returned to the icon of the Mother of God which had received me and to her I cried in prayer. I implored her to chase away the thoughts to which my mis­er­able soul was suc­cumb­ing. And after weep­ing for long and beat­ing my breast I used to see light at last which seemed to shine on me from every­where. And after the vio­lent storm, last­ing calm descended.

    And how can I tell you about the thoughts which urged me on to for­ni­ca­tion, how can I express them to you, Abba? A fire was kin­dled in my mis­er­able heart which seemed to burn me up com­pletely and to awake in me a thirst for embraces. As soon as this crav­ing came to me, I flung myself on the earth and watered it with my tears, as if I saw before me my wit­ness, who had appeared to me in my dis­obe­di­ence, and who seemed to threaten pun­ish­ment for the crime. And I did not rise from the ground (some­times I lay thus pros­trate for a day and a night) until a calm and sweet light descended and enlight­ened me and chased away the thoughts that pos­sessed me. But always I turned to the eyes of my mind to my Pro­tec­tress, ask­ing her to extend help to one who was sink­ing fast in the waves of the desert. And I always had her as my Helper and the Accepter of my repen­tance. And thus I lived for sev­en­teen years amid con­stant dan­gers. And since then even till now the Mother of God helps me in every­thing and leads me as it were by the hand.”

    Zosi­mas asked:
    “Can it be that you did not need food and clothing?”

    She answered:
    Desert_1“After fin­ish­ing the loaves I had, of which I spoke, for sev­en­teen years I have fed on herbs and all that can be found in the desert. The clothes I had when I crossed the Jor­dan became torn and worn out. I suf­fered greatly from the cold and greatly from the extreme heat. At times the sun burned me up and at other times I shiv­ered from the frost, and fre­quently falling to the ground I lay with­out breath and with­out motion. I strug­gled with many afflic­tions and with ter­ri­ble temp­ta­tions. But from that time till now the power of God in numer­ous ways had guarded my sin­ful soul and my hum­ble body. When I only reflect on the evils from which Our Lord has deliv­ered me I have imper­ish­able food for hope o of sal­va­tion. I am fed and clothed by the all-powerful Word of God, the Lord of all. For it is not by bread alone that man lives. And those who have stripped off the rags of sin have no refuge, hid­ing them­selves in the clefts of the rocks (Job 24; Heb. 11:38).”

    Hear­ing that she cited words Scrip­ture, from Moses and Job, Zosi­mas asked her:
    “And so you have read the psalms and other books?”

    She smiled at this and said to the elder:
    “Believe be, I have not seen a human face ever since I crossed the Jor­dan, except yours today. I have not seen a beast or a liv­ing being ever since I came into the desert. I never learned from books. I have never even heard any­one who sang and read from them. But the word of God which is alive and active, by itself teaches a man knowl­edge. And so this is the end of my tale. But, as I asked you in the begin­ning, so even now I implore you for the sake of the Incar­nate word of God, to pray to the Lord for me who am such a sinner.”

    Thus con­clud­ing here tale she bowed down before him. And with tears the elder exclaimed:
    “Blessed is God Who cre­ates the great and won­drous, the glo­ri­ous and mar­velous with­out end. Blessed is God Who has shown me how He rewards those who fear Him. Truly, O Lord, Thou dost not for­sake those who seek Thee!”

    And the woman, not allow­ing the elder to bow down before her, said:
    “I beg you, holy father, for the sake of Jesus Christ our God and Sav­ior, tell no one what you have heard, until God deliv­ers me of this earth. And how depart in peace and again next year you shall see me, and I you, if God will pre­serve us in His great mercy. But for God’s sake, do as I ask you. Next year dur­ing Lent do not cross the Jor­dan, as is your cus­tom in the monastery.”

    Zosi­mas was amazed to hear that she know the rules of the monastery and could only say:
    “Glory to God Who bestows great gifts on those who love Him.”

    She con­tin­ued:
    “Remain, Abba, in the monastery. And even if you wish to depart, you will not be to do so. And at sun­set of the holy day of the Last super, put some of the Life­giv­ing Body and Blood of Christ into a holy ves­sel wor­thy to hold such Mys­ter­ies for me, and bring it. And wait for me on the banks of the Jor­dan adjoin­ing the inhab­ited parts of the land, so that I can come and par­take of the Life­giv­ing Gifts. For, since the time I com­mu­ni­cated in the tem­ple of the Fore­run­ner before cross­ing the Jor­dan even to this day I have not approached the Holy Mys­ter­ies. And I thirst for them with irre­press­ible love and long­ing. And there­fore I ask and implore you to grant me my wish, bring me the Life­giv­ing Mys­ter­ies at the very hour when Our Lord made His dis­ci­ples par­take of His Divine Sup­per. Tell John the Abbot of the monastery where you live. Look to your­self and to your broth­ers, for there is much that needs cor­rec­tion. Only do not say this now, but when God guides you. Pray for me!”

    With these words she van­ished in the depths of the desert. And Zosi­mas, falling down on his knees and bow­ing down to the ground on which she had stood, sent up glory and thanks to God. And, after wan­der­ing thor­ough the desert, he returned to the monastery on the day all the broth­ers returned.

    For the whole year he kept silent, not dar­ing to tell any­one of what he had seen. But in his should he pray to God to give him another chance of see­ing the ascetic’s dear face. And when at length the first Sun­day of the Great Fast came, all went out into the desert with the cus­tom­ary prayers and the singing of psalms. Only Zosi­mas was held back by ill­ness — he lay in a fever. And then he remem­bered what the saint had said to him: “and even if you wish to depart, you will not be able to do so.”

    Many days passed and at last recov­er­ing from his ill­ness he remained in the monastery. And when attain the monks returned and the day of the Last Sup­per dawned, he did as he had been ordered. and plac­ing some of the most pure Body and Blood into a small chal­ice and putting some figs and dates and lentils soaked in water into a small bas­ket, he departed for the desert and reached the banks of the Jor­dan and sat down to wait for the saint. He waited for a long while and then began to doubt.

    Then rais­ing his eyes to heaven, he began to pray:
    “Grant me O Lord, to behold that which Thou hast allowed me to behold once. Do not let me depart in vain, being the bur­den of my sins.”

    And then another thought struck him:
    “And what is she does come? There is no boat; how will she cross the Jor­dan to come to me who am so unwor­thy?”
    And as he was pon­der­ing thus he saw the holy woman appear and stand on the other side of the river. Zosi­mas got up rejoic­ing and glo­ri­fy­ing and thank­ing God. And again the thought came to him that she could not cross the Jor­dan. Then he saw that she made the sign of the Cross over the waters of the Jor­dan (and the night was a moon­light one, as he related after­wards) and then she at once stepped on to the waters and began walk­ing across the sur­face towards him. And when he wanted to pros­trate him­self, she cried to him while still walk­ing on the water:
    “What are you doing, Abba, you are a priest and car­ry­ing the divine Gifts!”

    He obeyed her and on reach­ing the shore she said to the elder:
    “Bless, father, bless me!”

    He answered her trem­bling, for a state of con­fu­sion had over­come him at the sight of the mir­a­cle:
    “Truly God did not lie when He promised that when we purify our­selves we shall be like Him. Glory to Thee, O Christ our God, Who has shown me through this thy slave how far away I stand from perfection.”

    Mary of Egypt communingHere the woman asked him to say the Creed and our Father. He began, she fin­ished the prayer and accord­ing to the cus­tom of that time gave him the kiss of peace on the lips. Hav­ing par­taken of the Holy Mys­ter­ies, she raised her hands to heaven and sighed with tears in her eyes, exclaim­ing:
    “Now lettest Thou Thy ser­vant depart in peace, O Mas­ter, accord­ing to Thy word; for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.”

    Then she said to the elder:
    “For­give me, Abba, for ask­ing you, but ful­fill another wish of mine. Go now to the monastery and let God’s grace guard you. And next year come again to the same place where I first met you. Come for God’s sake, for you shall again see me, for such is the will of God.”

    He said to her:
    “From this day on I would like to fol­low you and always see your holy face. But now ful­fill the one and only wish of an old man and take a lit­tle of the food I have brought for you.”

    And he showed her the bas­ket, while she just touched the lentils with the tips of her fin­gers, and tak­ing three grains said that the Holy Spirit guards the sub­stance of the soul unpol­luted. Then she said:
    “Pray, for God’s sake pray for me and remem­ber a mis­er­able wretch.”

    Touch­ing the saint’s feet and ask­ing for her prayers for the Church, the king­dom and him­self, he let her depart with tears, while he went off sigh­ing and sor­row­ful, for he could not hope to van­quish the invin­ci­ble. Mean­while she again made the sign of the Cross over the Jor­dan, and stepped on to the waters and crossed over as before. And the elder returned filled with joy and ter­ror, accus­ing him­self of not hav­ing asked the saint her name. But he decided to do so next year.

    And when another year had passed, he again went into the desert. He reached the same spot but could see no sign of any­one. So rais­ing his eyes to heaven as before, he prayed:
    “Show me, O Lord, Thy pure trea­sure, which Thou hast con­cealed in the desert. Show me, I pray Thee, the angel in the flesh, of which the world is not worthy.”

    Then on the oppo­site bank of the river, her face turned towards the ris­ing sun, he saw the saint lying dead. Her hands were crossed accord­ing to cus­tom and her face was turned to the East. Run­ning up he shed tears over the saint’s feet and kissed them, not dar­ing to touch any­thing else.

    For a long time he wept. Then recit­ing the appointed psalms, he said the bur­ial prayers and thought to him­self: “Must I bury the body of a saint? Or will this be con­trary to her wishes?” And then he saw words traced on the ground by her head:
    “Abba Zosi­mas, bury on this spot the body of hum­ble Mary. Return to dust that which is dust and pray to the Lord for me, who departed in the month of Fer­moutin of Egypt, called April by the Romans, on the first day, on the very night of our Lord’s Pas­sion, after hav­ing par­taken of the Divine Mys­ter­ies.” [St. Mary died in 522 A. D.]

    Read­ing this the elder was glad to know the saint’s name. He under­stood too that as soon as she had par­taken of the Divine Mys­ter­ies on the shore of the Jor­dan she was at once trans­ported to the place where she died. The dis­tance which Zosi­mas had taken twenty days to cover, Mary had evi­dently tra­versed in an hour and had at once sur­ren­dered her soul to God.
    Then Zosi­mas thought: “It is time to do as she wished. But how am I to dig a grave with noth­ing in my hands?”

    And then he saw nearby a small piece of wood left by some trav­eler in the desert. Pick­ing it up he began to dig the ground. But the earth was hard and dry and did not yield to the efforts of the elder. He grew tired and cov­ered with sweat. He sighed from the depths of his soul and lift­ing up his eyes he saw a big lion stand­ing close to the saint’s body and lick­ing her feet. At the sight of the lion he trem­bled with fear, espe­cially when he called to mind Mary’s words that she had never seen wild beasts in the desert. But guard­ing him­self with the sign of the cross, the thought came to him that the power of the one lying there would pro­tect him and keep him unharmed. Mean­while the lion drew nearer to him, express­ing affec­tion by every move­ment.
    Lion

    Zosi­mas said to the lion:
    “The Great One ordered that her body was to be buried. But I am old and have not the strength to dig the grave (for I have no spade and it would take too long to go and get one), so can you carry out the work with your claws? Then we can com­mit to the earth the mor­tal tem­ple of the saint.”

    While he was still speak­ing the lion with his front paws began to dig a hole deep enough to bury the body.

    Again the elder washed the feet of the saint with his tears and call­ing on her to pray for all, cov­ered the body with earth in the pres­ence of the lion. It was as it had been, naked and uncov­ered by any­thing but the tat­tered cloak which had been given to her by Zosi­mas and with which Mary, turn­ing away, had man­aged to cover part of her body. Then both departed. The lion went off into the depth of the desert like a lamb, while Zosi­mas returned to the monastery glo­ri­fy­ing and bless­ing Christ our Lord. And on reach­ing the monastery he told all the broth­ers about every­thing, and all mar­veled on hear­ing of God’s mir­a­cles. And with fear and love they kept the mem­ory of the saint.
    Mary of Egypt communing_2Abbot John, as St. Mary had pre­vi­ously told Abba Zosi­mas, found a num­ber of things wrong in the monastery and got rid of them with God’s help. And Saint Zosi­mas died in the same monastery, almost attain­ing the age of a hun­dred, and passed to eter­nal life. The monks kept this story with­out writ­ing it down and passed it on by word of mouth to one another.

    But I (adds Sophro­nios) as soon as I heard it, wrote it down. Per­haps some­one else, bet­ter informed, has already writ­ten the life of the Saint, but as far as I could, I have recorded every­thing, putting truth above all else. may God Who works amaz­ing mir­a­cles and gen­er­ously bestows gifts on those who turn to Him with faith, reward those who seek light for them­selves in this story, who hear, read and are zeal­ous to write it, and may He grant them the lot of blessed Mary together with all who at dif­fer­ent times have pleased God by their pious thoughts and labors.

    And let us also give glory to God, the eter­nal King, that He may grant us too His mercy in the day of judg­ment for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord, to Whom belongs all glory, honor, domin­ion and ado­ra­tion with the Eter­nal Father and the Most Holy and Life-giving Spirit, now and always, and thought all ages. Amen.


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    April 16th, 2005 | Grace | 3 Comments |

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