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Thoughts on the encounter of Mary of Egypt by Zosimas in the wilderness beyond the Jordan in the mid-fifth century CE, inspired by the largely-converted African-American Serbian Orthodox nuns in Kansas City, Missouri, who look to Mary of Egypt as an African witness of faith. "Marija" is the Serbian rendering of Mary.

1.

The dominating voices that we hear—
the privileged baritones that edit and
illuminate and illustrate and tell
a pale accumulated history—
embellish human orchestration, but
too many silent measures override
their hymn to Him of praise—and this is sin,
this silence of so many works of God
that, exercised in hidden lives of Love’s
forgotten saints, is more than harmony
ignored, but centrally melodic and
incarnate—if unnoticed—in the Word
that rides on psalms of fuller praises and,
like unburied talent, profits God.

2.

Marija, hear; the angel comes to you
with words: you’ll bear all Love divine for men.
Marija, here are men in need of you—
change man for full humanity. Amen.
You pray the mighty fallen from their thrones;
Marija, isn’t this your answer?— not
a holy priest, who by his office owns
a claim to bear to us the Holy, but
a little girl, a woman full of grace,
assumed of no more import than her womb
for useful work— a little girl will place
all Love among us: she the temple, tomb
and mercy seat set open, Love revealed
that full humanity be lovely healed.

3.

Remember Zosimas and learn from him
the limits of the patriarchs, for he
advanced in holiness like seraphim
ablaze in glory; and ascetically
the priest loved Love alone—but quietly,
how pride had filled the monk. What’s left to learn
from men, prayed Zosimas, and who will be
the man to teach me more of Love?—I yearn
for Love divine more wholly; and I spurn
the truth that I have loved in fullness, though
I haven’t any teacher left. I burn
and raise an incensed prayer: Now, Love, I go
to whom?—when I, a man so taught by men,
learn men have nothing left to teach. Amen.

4.

To be in body like a corpse and give
all strength to beauty framed in thought and mind—
To be in spirit like a jewel mined
from Sheol’s deepest pit, to lovely sieve
a soul from body’s flesh and solely live
by reason, praise and glory intertwined
in holy divination—there I shined
as holy flame, a sun: contemplative
and wasting in my self-consumption, filled
with faith that faithful dying edifies
what life all Love has made. The more I shrank
in volume as I prayed, the more I thrilled
my heart with graced theosis open eyes:
the more man’s flesh would give, his soul could thank.

5.

True offspring of the wilderness: he fled
to fast as Jesus had in land as bare
and barren as was Sarah’s womb—and there
within his vision quest, he found instead
his teacher: a distant form whose head
was naked, blackened— body burned, with hair
bled white and broken at the neck— and rare
and awful in the desert, almost dead.
Praise Love, who in the desert pours a fount—
wet, living wisdom set in such a gaunt
and ghostly shape— that I might learn of grace
beyond the disciplines I’ve mastered from
all faithful men— and may I seek Love’s face
with promised joys as laughs from Sarah’s womb!

6.

“Who are you, Slave of God?” – cried Zosimas.
“A naked woman; leave!” – Marija cried.
“Who are you, Slave of God?” – cried Zosimas.
“One naked and ashamed!” – Marija cried.
“Who are you, Slave of God?” – cried Zosimas.
“I cannot turn to you!” – Marija cried.
“Who are you, Slave of God?” – cried Zosimas.
“A servant of my God!” – Marija cried.
Marija cried – “Please throw your cloak to me!”
– he did and said – “I’m old and full of sin;
be not afraid, run not away from me.”
Marija cried – “I’m old and full of sin;
but let me dress and then come close to me.”
—two slaves of God, both old and full of sin.

7.

O bless me, Zosimas, both monk and priest,
and pray for me a sinner, last and least.
O bless me, Woman, slave of Love divine
who knows my soul, my name and office mine.
O bless me, Priest, who serves the mysteries
of holy Love above simplicities.
O bless me, Woman; mysteries abound
within our meeting here where Love is found.
Then pray for me, O Monk, and sweetly raise
the sacrifice I offer Love in praise.
But pray for me, O Woman, who is clearly dead
to selfishness and lives to Love instead—
for I, both priest and monk, am still untrained
to live on trust of Love as you’ve attained.

8.

I haven’t always lived a lovely life.
I wasn’t born to faith, but was to wealth—
and that was not enough; I wanted love
and love, as far as I could tell, came fast
upon my back on jealousies of one
man’s pleasure pitted on another’s—and
I left my father’s house and in my breast
I felt no heartache, just a warm request
to soon be held and touched. And had I planned
it, ease was mine to have—but it was fun
I wanted, not more wealth; and at last
I begged the streets for food and of
my lovers just their bodies’ slide. My health
was freedom: no one’s chattel, no one’s wife.

9.

Then I was gorgeous, wanted, loved and rife
with power over anyone I chose
because I knew my body and I used
with pride the only leverage I had
at my disposal: me. And who can fault
a songbird flying on the wings it has
and crying out the only song it knows
and taking full advantage when it goes
in refuge under wings as welcome as
a homeless beast can count on? If I sought
my independence, I received it mad
and anxious—hear me: I was not abused,
but soared on sexy currents and I rose
on self-assurance come from sex and strife.

10.

Ironic then, how simply sex and strife
would serve as ticket stubs to Love divine—
I can’t describe the droves of men who came
to go on pilgrimage: the Holy Cross
in adoration raised Jerusalem
above all lower aspirations, so
I stood in wonder watching pilgrims pass
my sexy glories for some other mass
appeal: this Cross, my competition—though
I now regret that thought. I followed them,
those pilgrim men, and sex-wise paid the cost
to travel too. So it was not the same
for them as it became for me: the sign
of Jesus’ cross so truly bought with life.

11.

I couldn’t do it, couldn’t look upon
the two-beam bed where Jesus laid him down
and got himself so bloody nailed by man
and woman time and time again—and why?—
I pray and fear I know: for power, for
the simple fact that bodies give us clout.
My body was my power source in might,
but his when ravished, wrecked and benedight—
Marija, Jesus’ mother— what is it about
virginity that people so adore?—
that you could do what we cannot do? I
adored that cross and vowed: as best I can,
will I remain no chattel. I had grown
to see me more than all the sex I’d drawn.

12.

I live on trust of love, but I maintain
that trust uneasily at times and give
myself for discipline the desert here
to teach me strength when I am weak— to grace
my life with power, spiting loneliness—
to not deprive, but use my sense for Love.
No, this is not the only way, but here
I learn to love a Love I find more dear
because my flesh, so cheaply spoken of
in youth, is now my gift of loveliness:
a naked, blackened, sun-burned haggard face
with hair bled white and wispy in the clear
hot desert light. So blest be God who lives
to save all losers’ lives, their lives to gain.

13.

I bless you, Zosimas, but I am still
a human sinner, bound to sinful will.
Still pray, O Woman, sinner if you be;
ask Love for grace for sinners such as we.
I pray you save what you have founded, Love.—
She whispered prayer and floated ground above.
He watched and Zosimas was deeply moved—
what grace or malice had such movement proved?
I’m not a hypocrite and do no fear
me, Zosimas, but Love draws near.
But who are you, O slave of God, to be
so great of faith and yet my teacher be?
But earth and ash and flesh am I alone—
I pray atop the holy Cornerstone.

14.

“You’ve seen my naked shame.” – Marija cried.
“And I must die to sin.” – cried Zosimas.
“And Love takes shame for life.” – Marija cried.
“And I must die to pride.” – cried Zosimas.
“And life perfected loves.” – Marija cried.
“And I must love perfect.” – cried Zosimas.
“But perfect love is Love.” – Marija cried.
“And I must live in Love.” – cried Zosimas.
Cried Zosimas – “God-bearer, bear me Love!”
– she did and said – “I’m old and full of sin;
and this is grace, Theotokos of Love
to be when I am old and full of sin—
and also you, Theotokos of Love.”
—God-bearers both, both old and full of sin.

15.

No privacy in nudity, with hair
for modest cover— kneeling by a skull,
by desert bones— a lifeless image, full
of penitence like arid desert air
to crack her canyon skin and bare
her human heart, alone and pitiful
and hungry— here is mercy bountiful,
a hermitage away from inward cares
for Hagar’s sisters: those who name the Love
that sees their need and raises them above
all blemish scars and pains and infant graves.
Praise Love, who in the desert bores the wells
and overflows their brimming cups, who saves
full bodies where Love’s holy image dwells.

16.

To be in Love and disembodied not
and sensory and faithful and approved
in having flesh— To be in Love and moved
by such relationships as lovely ought
to coexist: above all God, though not
to human peers’ exclusion— there I proved
myself imperfect, and removed
from poor perfection’s goal, more clearly sought
true Love and Love that gazes on the cross
as blest Marija did, with knowledge of
the intimate necessity of grace
that through her flesh, and not because of loss
of it, all flesh—all is—would meet that Love-
Incarnate, Maker, Savior’s face.

17.

Remember Zosimas and know he learned
her name: Marija— she who bore him God
and taught him faith in body, she who yearned
in youth for power, she who later trod
the desert powerful in weakness, awed
by Love that so transcends the status quo
that Love would claim her early freedoms, flawed
in human application, for to show
a faithful self-determination—no
more built on abstinence as punishment,
as pointless acts ascetic, or as oh
so many works of self-refurbishment,
so countless works of righteousness for peace.
Marija taught a Love that loves increase.


18.

Marija, hear; the angel comes to you
with words: why seek the living with the dead?
Marija, here are men in need of you—
go tell my friends, “I go ahead
of you.” Be not afraid—be silenced not
and be my witness till the people hear
you crying in the desert, crying out:
“Prepare the way of Love!” And do not fear—
Marija, I have made you; you are mine
and I have heard you pray to be revived
and I’m aware how you are bruised, maligned,
ignored, unheard, unwanted—and alive
against all odds. You prove the power of
my love to bear my world my Love in kind.

19.

A child, a sheet of paper and a black-
ink pen and all the time since time began:
no wonder when the paper is complete
and every space is colored perfectly,
no wonder when the child is hailed a gift,
a prodigy depicting midnight skies
on starless nights—what else is there to draw?
What ease, what ignorance for pride to claim
within that child: there’s nothing left to learn
to draw—until a box of crayons comes
and suddenly the universe is fresh—
the former genius child, a babe. And when
a mother and a father both collide
to teach their children art, what joy must come.

beautiful prayer flow, I like medieval stories but I didn´t know this one, thanks!.
You made me google, friend!

St Mary of Egypt
Memory celebrated 1 April and 5th Sunday of Great Lent
One of the most celebrated (and discussed) saints in the Orthodox pantheon, Mary of Egypt has a long history. Scholars attribute the earliest known version of her legend to Sophronios, Patriarch of Jerusalem (+ 639 A.D.). Written first in Greek, it appeared later in Latin, French, Spanish, Dutch, Portuguese, Italian, German, Norwegian, English, Armenian, Ethiopian, Syrian and Ukrainian translations. Immensely popular throughout the Middle Ages, both in the East and West, the haunting figure of Mary of Egypt is known also in modem literature.

Dostoevsky mentions her in The Brothers Karamazov (1880), James Joyce in Ulysses (1922). The subject of a poem by the American poet John Berryman, she is named in its title, No 47: April Fool's Day or Saint Mary of Egypt (1964). Along with this "funny title," the poem's final two verses note that Mary's feast day falls on April 1.

We celebrate her feast with our caps on,
whom God has not visited.
The poet suggests that unlike Mary, whom God "visited," some of us wear a "fool's cap."

In addition to April 1, this saint is also commemorated in the Orthodox Church on the Fifth Sunday and Thursday of Lent.

As indicated by her name, Mary was born in Egypt. When she was twelve years old, she ran away from home. She went to Alexandria, the cosmopolitan city founded and named for the world conqueror born in Macedonia. There the runaway girl became a prostitute. For seventeen years Mary led a licentious life on the streets of that busy Mediterranean seaport. She enjoyed the life she had chosen. Money did not interest her. Mary had, she confessed, "an irresistible passion for wallowing in the mud."

One year, she encountered some young men down by the harbour Wishing to venerate the Holy Cross in Jerusalem, the young men were about to sail to the Holy Land. Mary, always ready for adventure, joined them. She had no money. So she offered herself as payment for her passage. The young men accepted her offer.

On arrival in Jerusalem, the pilgrims from Alexandria went to the great church to venerate the Cross. (It had been discovered in 326 AD by Saint Helen.) Out of curiosity, Mary joined the procession with her fellow-travellers. Unlike them, however, she could not step across the threshold into the church. She tried repeatedly, but each time invisible hands held her back.

After Mary's companions entered the church, she remained alone, outside in the courtyard, frustrated and weeping. Suddenly the thought crossed her mind that it was her dissolute life which prevented her from entering the church. Mary then noticed an ikon of the Theotokos. Falling on her knees before it, she appealed to the Mother of God to help her enter the church. Always as compassionate as her son, the Theotokos granted Mary's request.

After venerating the Holy Cross, Mary returned to the ikon to thank the Theotokos for the mercy and grace given her. As she stood in front of the ikon, Mary heard a mysterious voice, instructing her to cross the Jordan. She obeyed the voice.

En route to the river, she met a Christian who gave her three loaves of bread. By nightfall Mary reached the Church of Saint John the Baptist, located near the Jordan. When she had washed her face in the sacred water, she returned to the church and received Holy Communion. She then ate half of one of the three loaves of bread and drank water from the Jordan.

The next morning, Mary found a boat and crossed over into the desert on the other side. She was at that time twenty one years old. She spent the rest of her life in the wilderness. For forty-seven years Mary lived in total isolation from the world. Until the day a monk named Zosimas found her, she had neither seen nor talked with any human being.

Zosimas was a holy man much honoured for "the purity of his way of life and the fervour of his repentance." For fifty three years, since childhood, he had submitted himself to a strict ascetic discipline. Although he had attained spiritual perfection, Zosimas had the uneasy thought that somewhere there was someone who surpassed him spiritually. He decided he must somehow find that person.

Zosimas therefore entered the Monastery of Saint John the Baptist, near the Jordan, "the holiest of rivers." This monastery was famous throughout Christian East for its austere rules and the extraordinary holiness of its community.

Every year, on the first Sunday of Lent, the monks of Saint John's crossed the Jordan and withdrew into the desert. Each monk went his separate way, to pray and fast alone until Palm Sunday. Zosimas also made this Lenten retreat.

After walking twenty days into the interior of the desert, he saw a human figure in the distance. Fearing it might be a demon, he made the sign of the cross. He then began to pursue the strange, black-skinned, white-haired creature, begging it to stop.

Mary stopped. Calling Zosimas by name, she asked him for a cloak to cover her naked, sun-baked body. That the stranger knew his name astonished the monk. At the same time, it revealed to him that she was a "vessel" of the Holy Spirit.

Mary and Zosimas prostrated themselves at the same moment. Each thus acknowledged the holiness of the other. Mary, respecting Zosimas because he was a priest, asked for his blessing. For his part, Zosimas, certain that Mary was a saint, asked her to bless him. "Your grace," he declared, "is greater than mine."

Zosimas had expected to find his spiritual superior among the monks in the monastery by the Jordan. Instead, he discovered a woman in the desert whose spiritual triumphs outshone his.

This was Mary's first contact with a human being in the forty- seven years since, led by the Theotokos, she had crossed the Jordan into the barren desert.

She wanted to know about Zosimas. She also questioned him about conditions in the world. Was there peace? Did the church prosper? How were the Christians? Zosimas answered her questions. Reverently addressing Mary as "my spiritual mother," he begged for her intercessions in heaven.

While the monk continued to lie prostrate on the ground, Mary stood in silent prayer, her arms stretched toward heaven. When Zosimas lifted his eyes, to his amazement he saw Mary standing in the air, several feet above the ground.

The thought again crossed his mind that she must be a demon. Demons, it was well known, inhabited the desert wastelands. But Mary, reading his unspoken thought, reassured him. "Do not doubt," she said, "that I am only a woman and a sinner."

Impressed by Mary's insight and powers of discernment, Zosimas wanted more than ever to hear her story. Mary described to him her career as a prostitute for seventeen years on the streets of Alexandria, her conversion in Jerusalem and the experiences of forty-seven years in the desert.

Zosimas wondered how she had managed to survive alone in such a hostile environment. She explained. "For seventeen years I lived on the two and half loaves of bread I had brought with me. Although they became hard as rocks, I ate them, little by little. After that, I lived on plants growing in the desert."

The first seventeen years had been the hardest. "This was a time of daily struggles against temptations of all kinds. Songs of the devil, which I used to sing, echoed through my head. When I was thirsty and had no water to drink, I remembered the refreshing sweet wines of Egypt. Then I would turn my thoughts to the Theotokos. And a bright light would shine in front of me, chasing away all bad thoughts. It was always the Theotokos who restored peace to my soul."

In the course of their conversation, Mary quoted from the Scriptures, the "books of Moses, Job and Psalms." This surprised Zosimas. When he questioned her, she replied: "I never learned to read or write. For forty-seven years I have seen no one, not even an animal. I have had no teacher. God taught me these words."

An illiterate woman, Mary had been transfigured into a "theologian of the divine Word."

Convinced that he was in the presence of a person "who was pleasing to God," Zosimas tried again to kneel before her. But Mary, taking his hand, again did not let him.

Before they parted, she told him to keep her story a secret. Mary also asked Zosimas to return next year on Holy Thursday and to bring her Holy Communion. He should not however, cross the Jordan: they would meet on the other side.

The following year passed slowly for Zosimas. He was eager to see Mary again. On Holy Thursday, Zosimas prepared the consecrated bread and wine in a small chalice. He took a few dates, figs and soaked lentils and went to the bank of the Jordan. There he waited for Mary as she had instructed

Night fell. A full moon rose and shone in the sky. Mary still had not appeared. Zosimas sat and waited. No boat was in sight on either bank. He wondered how Mary would cross the river.

All of a sudden, Zosimas saw her standing on the opposite bank. Mary made the sign of the cross over the river. Then she walked across the Jordan. Her feet remained dry. It was as if Mary had crossed on dry land. (Saint Peter almost drowned when he tried to walk on water.)

After reciting the Creed and the Lord's Prayer, Mary received Holy Communion from Zosimas. It was her first Communion in forty-seven years. Filled with joy, Mary then sang Saint Symeon's canticle:

"Now, Lord, let your servant depart in peace, according to your word. For my eyes have seen my Saviour."
Zosimas offered Mary the dates, figs and soaked lentils that he had brought. But she refused everything, taking nothing except three tiny grains of the soaked lentils.

Before parting from Zosimas, Mary asked him to return on Holy Thursday next year to their first meeting place in the desert. Mary then left him. She walked across the Jordan again and vanished from his sight into the desert. Zosimas had in vain tried to detain her longer.

The monk then returned to his monastery, "joyful and amazed." Nevertheless, he regretted one thing. Zosimas did not know her name. He was sorry that he had not asked the woman for it. At their next encounter he would ask.

The next year, on Holy Thursday, Zosimas crossed the Jordan and went to the place in the desert where he had first met Mary two years earlier. He found her dead. Her head faced the east. Her hands were crossed. On the ground beside her body were written these words: "Father Zosimas, bury the body of wretched Mary. Return to the earth that which is made of earth. Add dust to dust."

Mary our Holy Mother had died the year before, after Zosimas had given her Holy Communion. Now as he chanted appropriate hymns and prayers, Zosimas wept. Then with a small stick he began to dig a grave for Mary. But he made little progress. The ground was hard and he was a feeble old man.

Suddenly a large strong lion appeared and began digging the hard ground. His appearance startled Zosimas because Mary had told him that she had seen no animals in the desert. Soon the lion excavated a grave large enough for the saint. Zosimas then buried Mary. She was still wearing the cloak he had given her at their first meeting.

After the burial, the lion and monk parted. The lion bowed to Zosimas and disappeared into the desert. The monk returned to his monastery. Before dying at the age of one hundred, Zosimas had told the story of Mary of Egypt.

Later, patriarchs of Constantinople and emperors of Byzantium glorified Saint Mary of Egypt in sermons and hymns.

"O holy transformation that brought you to a noble way of life.
O godlike love, O burning faith in God.
We bless you, Mary, worthy of great praise. And forever we exalt you above all others."


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Note:

Byzantine hymnographers address Mary as "holy mother." They describe her as "god-bearing," "god-minded," and victorious over Satan who deceived a "gullible little woman" (Eve). At the hands of Saint Mary of Egypt, Satan had endured disgrace, "defeat and ridicule."

Trusting in her powers of intercessions in heaven, and relying on her sympathetic understanding, generations of Orthodox have turned in prayer to Saint Mary of Egypt.

"O Holy One, behold my sorrow and the groaning of my heart. See the narrowness of my life. Save me from my sin and have mercy on my soul, through your mediation before the Lord."
from Saints and sisterhood: the lives of 48 Holy Women
by Eva Catafygiotu Topping,
Light and Life Publishing, p 165-172

Joel this piece you've written, in my opinion, is breathtaking.
Rounds of chills stirred, as if reading a master's work. Truly. I am astonished. Your gift of writing is a gift to read.

Arcadia, thank you so much for posting that information so relevant.
I am, (pardon my unmasterful expression) Wowed.
H