Imagine, my dear friend, a great reservoir before God, filling up with people's daily complaints. How large it must be, full of bitterness, grievances, sorrows, and grumbling. “I have something to say to God. I have something to ask for. I'm unhappy about something.” Then imagine another reservoir full of tears shed through life's hardships and trials. We human beings have so much within us. So much can come out of the soul and fill the reservoir I'm talking about. What is inside you can flow out

toward God, toward the world, toward your family.

That's how I'd like to begin our program today, “The Unseen Passages.” I hope you're well, and I greet you. I also greet Vasilis Chatzinikolaou. I thank him for keeping me company again today and for helping so much with his beautiful music and the sound production of this program. Vasilis, what would I do without you? Thank you so much. The phone numbers for the program are 4118602 and 4118640. There is also an email address: atheata.perasmata.gr. The station can tell you when this program airs. These programs are also online. I mention that because some people ask where they can find them. If you know how to search the internet, you can find this program and all the others.

As I was saying, we have many possibilities. We can let complaints, grumbling, sorrow, or joy come out of us. One wonderful thing the human soul can bring forth is prayer: the words of prayer, contact with the Creator of the world, contact with God's love. And imagine that you could be such a person. Why shouldn't you be? I wish that for you, and I hope you'll wish it for me too: that I might be someone who does not fill the reservoir with complaints, grumbling, resentment, and tears of stubbornness and pride, but fills the reservoir of

gratitude and prayer. Let it rise from my soul to the throne of God and fill that reservoir of prayer. How beautiful to live your life so that, as the years pass, people remember you, both while you are alive and after you have gone, as someone who brought forth kindness. You did not pour out complaints or grumbling, but prayer. You stayed in touch with the source of your life and of all creation, with the One who formed you. It is a beautiful thing to have

choices like that: for your mouth never to

grow angry or grumble. Of course, you're human, and sometimes you will. But let the usual pattern of your life be something other than complaints. Let it be ripples like these. I say “ripples” because if you throw a stone into a lake, it makes waves. Those waves keep going until they reach the shore. You throw the stone once and turn your attention elsewhere, but the lake continues to stir. The waves travel on and on. Something you do goes out from you; it does not disappear after a second. It touches the whole surface of the lake. What you do touches the world. Your holiness, your kindness, your love, your compassion, your tears,

and the prayer you offer from your heart for others do not simply vanish. They are like that little stone you throw into the waters of the world, into the sea of life. The ripples spread everywhere. Though you are here, that message of love reaches across the whole earth. Wouldn't it be wonderful to make deposits in that bank—not in the bank of complaints, indignation, and grumbling, but in this bank of prayer—and let it grow rich? Then all the poor of the world could come and say, “I need a little grace, a little help, a little mercy.” And God would see that the bank is full; it has not gone bankrupt. “Many people in the world have prayed for you, my child. Come and receive. There is love here for you.”

Someone from Africa comes, hungry, poor, and suffering, and God sees that your name too is in this bank of prayer. He sees that you, listening to me right now, have prayed for these people. Of course, when I speak of Africa and the hungry, prayers and words are not enough. They need food and clean water. We should do whatever we can to give them these things. But when we are here, far from them, and there is only so much we can do, the love that comes from your heart still matters. It is not wasted. Last time I told you something I'd like to continue today. I had set aside many messages, and when I looked at them again, they were so beautiful that I thought, why not share them too, so that the rest of us might be edified and reflect on them,

both I, as I remember them again, and you, as you listen? You told me afterward that you liked them. “I found strength,” you said, “and drew encouragement from the struggle of my brothers and sisters, because I thought I was alone in life.” You are not alone. Many others share the same struggle and effort with you. Remember how I told you that I was returning by boat from the Holy Mountain to the port of Ouranoupoli? I prayed a little on the way, then grew tired. So I sent a text message to many people I know, people whose confessions I hear: young and old, grandfathers and grandmothers, men and women, married and unmarried. I asked them, “How do you pray in your daily life? What do you read? What do you say? Your own words, prayers from the Church, the prayer rope? About how long do you pray each day?” And so they wouldn't worry, I added that I was only asking to learn; the question carried no judgment.

I said, “My dear, I hope you won't take my question the wrong way. I just want to know how things are.” I read many of their messages on our earlier program, if you remember, but I forgot, or perhaps didn't have time, to share the rest. One person wrote, “Sometimes I chant in the car, though if anyone heard me, they might crash. That's how beautiful my voice is!” I told him, “Never mind. No one else can hear you, so chant however you like.” I chant in the car too. I sing

whatever I want. No one else hears me, but God truly does. And God has no problem with it, because He hears the melody of the heart, even when the mouth cannot carry a tune. After all, you are not chanting at the Divine Liturgy, where the chanters need to take care with the music. In your car, in your room, or whenever you are alone, you can chant completely out of tune.

Make use of that time. Let yourself feel something. But, as I told you, the most important thing is to receive the sense of safety God gives, to feel His acceptance, to know that you are loved. Imagine a mother holding her little child, resting the child's head against her chest. She wraps the child in her arms and covers the child with kisses. When she lets go, you would expect to see a happy little face. That child could hardly say, “I feel alone. Nobody loves me. I have no worth. I am insignificant. I am nothing. I am trash.” How could the child say that, when

just moments before, its mother had covered it with kisses, held it close, and made it feel safe? She had said, “My child, I'm here with you. I'll help you with whatever you need.” Sometimes that is what is missing from our lives. We may say our regular prayers, yet lack the trust, safety, and inner strength that prayer can give. Sometimes we do not feel them. We pray but do not find peace, because we have not realized that we are reaching out to Christ, who is Light, Peace, Strength, Wisdom, boundless Love. He does not condemn anyone. He is everything: your Creator, the One who accepts you and will never humiliate you

or mock you. Perhaps you go out feeling poorly dressed or unhappy with your hair, or people at work do not notice you. You feel inadequate, disappointed, hurt, and bitter. You will never see a dismissive look in Christ's eyes. Never. Christ always receives you with boundless acceptance. From His lips comes a constant “yes”: “Yes, my child. Do not be afraid. I love you.” “But I am a sinner. I've done...” “Yes, and I love you all the same.” That, as I understand it, is what we seek in prayer. Otherwise, you may sit for hours saying beautiful things

and find that your pulse has not changed, your blood pressure has not gone down, your blood sugar has not steadied, sleep has not come, your insecurity has not left, and your nerves have not calmed. You feel just as you did before, so you have not felt something very powerful that prayer has to offer you.

Another young person wrote in reply, “I don't pray every day. I pray whenever I remember, and then I use my own words. I don't pray every day, only when I remember.” What an honest, sincere answer. Someone might say to me, “So now you're going to say it's fine for people to pray only whenever they remember?”

Well, I hope this person remembers more often. That's why I say: ask God to remind you. When you do remember, say, “My Lord, I'll pray a little now, but please remind me, because I forget.” What else can I say? Yes, pray more often. Of course we should all pray more often. But remember what we've said before: words like “must,” “duty,” and “obligation” can make it feel forced. It's like those films where a mother wants her son to marry a particular woman and insists, “No, he must marry her.”

A marriage forced on someone. Prayer can be like that too. The soul is being invited to hear, “Behold, the Bridegroom comes.” But if it does not yet feel Him to be the Bridegroom, if it has not yet tasted the sweetness of His coming, you cannot force it. Of course, appetite comes with eating. I agree with that too. Begin with something, and your soul may taste that sweetness and want more. The one who said this is still young, just a child. We cannot expect children to pray as adults do. Prayer often grows through deep suffering. When tears come, when there is pain, sighing, failure, heartache, anxiety, sleepless nights because a child is away, someone is ill, a husband has gone astray, or a wife has got into trouble, then prayers begin to come. Then you remember to pray. You cannot demand the same of a child.

Let the child do what they can and come to taste the sweetness of prayer. And even if you pray more, your prayer is never all it could be. All of us have room to grow. You told me you pray morning, noon, and night. But what about the time in between? Some medicines are taken every eight hours. What do you do during the other seven hours and fifty-some minutes?

So you reassure yourself: “I pray three times a day. I’m doing fine.” Yes, but do you pray without ceasing? Do you keep sensing God’s presence, even without words? Do you always need to say something? Think of walking with someone you love, someone you share a good friendship with. I remember coming back from trips with friends. We might spend two hours on the road without saying a single word. Literally, not one word. Yet in that silence, we don’t feel like strangers.

We feel close, loved, at ease with one another. There is love and warmth between us. It is as though we are speaking even while we are silent. The opposite can happen too: you can talk and talk without really communicating, while your heart remains untouched. These things cannot all be forced into one rigid pattern. Life is fluid, and within that movement there can be another kind of steadiness, a divine order. Now, someone else tells me, “Father, I pray in my own words, whatever I can, for as long as I can!” He even puts an exclamation mark after it. All right, we have scolded you enough: do what you can, for as long as you can. But know that you can do more. You can pray for longer. You can!

You can. Sometimes it takes time to get to know someone. A man might say, “I met a young woman, didn’t like her, and left after two minutes.” Yes, my friend, but if you had talked with her longer and spent more time together, you might have seen other qualities. You cannot get to know a person in a minute. Saint John Climacus says that, in prayer, the amount of time we give can also deepen the quality of our relationship with God. He says this in his discourse on prayer. Some people say, “Time doesn’t matter; what matters is how you pray. You could pray for hours, and that might be fine.” But two minutes of prayer is different from sitting for ten minutes, twenty minutes, or half an hour. Your soul begins to feel something more, and you slow the rush of thoughts, worries, and cares. Of course, when you try to pray, you discover how hard it is to quiet your mind and stop it from thinking about so many things.

Our minds keep buzzing and buzzing. My computer makes a hum when it is on. It is not loud enough to disturb the whole house, but when I switch it off completely, I notice the difference. It is like radiators humming in an apartment building. Because the sound never stops, you hardly notice it. Then they switch off and you say, “Listen to that quiet! At last, some stillness.” The mind is like that. What matters is for your mind to grow quiet, for you to be at peace, and to realize that God does not necessarily need your

words. What matters to Him is the disposition of your heart: that you offer yourself and entrust yourself to Him. Among ourselves, we often feel awkward when no one is speaking and want to fill the silence. But some of the most beautiful prayers to God are silent: a gaze, the longing of the heart, the touch of the soul, a little opening within you, a tear. That is prayer, and it is a great thing. Here is another reply. I am going quickly, or once again I will not get through all the messages people sent me about prayer. “Ten minutes,” this person says, “the Salutations to the Theotokos, the Psalter, and a little of the Jesus Prayer, while praying for certain people by name.” When you say someone’s name, you bring to mind a living person or a relative who has departed. You hold that person in Christ’s love. As Mother Gavrilia says, you place them at Christ’s feet, leave them there, and sense that the Lord is taking them into His care.

People ask, “Are we supposed to imagine these things?” We try to pray without using the imagination. Still, at the beginning, a little imagining is neither a terrible sin nor something demonic or forbidden altogether. I am not speaking of the moment when a person’s mind rises beyond this earth and is carried to God. Then you imagine nothing: you experience the infinite, God Himself, His eternal present. That is something else. But in the early stages, you may picture yourself taking your relative or your child and placing them before Christ. You leave them there, and Christ takes them into His care. And who is Christ? He is your surest refuge, your certainty, the physician of souls and bodies. So I say, “I have brought my child to Christ, who shines with light. As I pray and entrust my child to Him, my child receives that light.”

Christ is the physician. So as I pray, His healing power goes out and brings healing. Scripture says that the Lord “went about doing good and healing all.” When you pray for someone, you can picture the Lord filling that person with His healing grace, giving health and help, and sheltering them through your prayer. Then your heart grows calm. You say, “I have left my loved one before Christ, who is light and peace and protection.” Perhaps your child is staying out late at a café, driving carelessly on a motorbike, struggling with drugs, or in prison. Whatever is happening, at that moment you turn to Christ for them. There is no sin in thinking that the Lord, in whom I place all my trust and love, is now close to my child. These thoughts can also be for your

relatives, both living and departed. We sense that the Lord takes those who have departed into His care. You may say, “I loved my relative who died ten times, a hundred times over. Now I entrust this person to the Creator, who loves them infinitely more.” You try to sense Christ’s love. Christ loves this person of mine so deeply and surrounds them with His love. And you grow calm. Yet someone may go to a memorial service and leave with a heart full of bitterness and despair, “as others who have no hope.” You prayed, and still you have no hope. Then what were you doing? What were you saying to Christ? You say, “With the spirits of the righteous made perfect, give rest, O Savior, to the soul of Your servant.” Give rest. Do you believe that Christ gives that person rest

and that He Himself is our rest? Think about these things. That is what I mean when I say “imagine”: bring them to mind. The Lord is our rest. All His little sheep, all these souls, are near Him, and He gathers them into His arms. “I am the Good Shepherd. I know My sheep by name. I care for them and take them into My care, while they live and when they depart.” Then you grow calm. You rise from prayer with peace on your face and say, “That was enough for me. I feel settled now. I am at peace.”

Life itself is still the same, but you see it differently. There is bustle outside, but no turmoil within you. You hear of wars, earthquakes, disasters; you live through cold and heat, every season and every kind of event. Yet you say, “A little while ago I was in touch with the Creator of the world, and He knows what He is doing.” Stop and think: what does it mean to say that God is all-wise? Either He knows or He does not. If He knows, why do you protest at what He does? Do you see what I mean? Prayer is no mere formality. There is a deep wisdom in it. Understand it well, so that you may gather its fruits: peace, rest, a sense of safety, and calm. Now, another person tells me, “I had been reading the Psalter since Lent last year, one kathisma a day.”

“But I stopped two months ago, and on some days I pray Vespers in the afternoon.” The Psalter of David is beautiful. As we have said, we should read the Psalms. They speak to us in lovely ways, especially about our own lives and our spiritual struggles. One Psalm says, “Lord, be my rock, my refuge, my support. You can turn the sea into dry land.” A stormy time in life, an ordeal that feels like the sea or shifting sand, He can make solid like rock and help you stand firm. And He can turn rock into sea: with Him, everything can change if He wills it. That gives you hope and changes your outlook. Isn’t that beautiful? Another person says, “I pray the Salutations to the Theotokos and speak to God in my own words with my little child, my baby, before bedtime. I spend about twenty minutes on that. I know it isn’t enough. I have never used a prayer rope.”

This person has never used a prayer rope. You see what I was saying? Many people may go to the same spiritual father for confession, yet each has their own path, choices, character, and tastes. One person says, “I don’t connect with that kind of prayer. It doesn’t speak to me.” Another loves it. There is no single, absolute way to express love, no one method we can prescribe for everyone. Pray as you can, in the way that helps you. Someone else tells me, “On the bus I try to say the Jesus Prayer, but I often lose my place. At night I manage half of the Salutations to the Theotokos, half asleep.” Then the message ends, “Perhaps hearing the truth is disappointing.” No. Even in what you find disappointing, your honesty moves me, because...

These are no small things: making use of your bus ride and the traffic, saying a few prayers half asleep but with a willing heart, and telling Christ, “I’m about to fall asleep, but I’m thinking of You, even though I’m drowsy.” You may ask how this person will find time for other prayers. I ask, why should I judge what someone else does? Are you praying? Are you praying now? Do you sense Christ beside you, His presence near you? Do you feel that you live and move in the breath of God? Do you sense that we have something in common with Him, that there is something that binds us to Him? Do you feel a likeness to God? “He made me in His image and likeness.” There is a likeness, though we are not of one essence with God. We can be close to Him. Do you feel at home with God, rather than a stranger to Him? Do you feel that bond

and that closeness to God, that something unites you with Him and that you belong with Him? These are great things to experience in prayer. Through prayer, a person’s nous, the spiritual mind, together with the heart and soul, can rise to great heights.

And that same person will then eat and drink, spend time with a spouse and children, tend to relationships, shop for clothes, drive a car, and attend to everything else. Yes, it is all connected. All of it belongs to this life with God. We made a mistake when we divided life into pieces and made God just one part of it. God embraces the whole of life; He is present in all these things. He is not outside them. I love something Father Alexander Schmemann says in his diary. As a priest, he says, he feels wonderful

eating a sandwich with his wife, drinking coffee, watching the sunset together, and feeling the warmth of their love. That has more meaning for him than saying words he does not feel, going through religious motions, acting the spiritual father or the saint, and imagining that holiness lies somewhere else while eating a sandwich and drinking coffee are somehow

“Oh dear, how worldly! Well, I suppose we have to do it.” No, I do not think so. The Lord Himself, during a meal, said to us, “Take, eat; this is My body,” and “Drink of it, all of you; this is My blood.” When did He say this? At mealtime. There were dishes before them and cups, along with whatever utensils people used then, and you could hear the sounds of the meal. It was an ordinary, everyday moment. The Lord did not divide that moment into what was sacred and what was not, what was good and what was bad.

In other words, in that moment of loving fellowship with Him, the wine becomes His blood. Do the same in your own life: pray amid everything you do. Whatever you do, pray. Yes, it is not a sin. Whatever you do. Wherever you are. The more sinful you consider what you are doing, and the more you think it does not go with prayer, the more beautiful it is at that moment to feel God present. To feel that He is present, that He is blessing, that He is the one who blesses. He blesses your love, your work, your meals, your shopping, your sleep, your washing—whatever you do in this world. There is nothing you do that God cannot be part of.

“I also read a little of Psalm 22,” someone says, “the one that begins, ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,’ to find comfort and strength.” It is a beautiful Psalm, Psalm 22: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside waters of rest. He restores my soul; He guides me in paths of righteousness.”

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.”

So prayer can lift you up. It changes your whole mood and the way you think. And you know what? When your way of thinking changes, you see things differently. The things themselves may stay the same; your eyes change. Your outlook changes, like putting on a different pair of glasses. Put on the glasses of depression, melancholy, or disappointment, and everything looks gloomy. It rains, and you complain that it’s raining. The sun comes out, and you say, “Oh, what a glare! Who can stand it?” You’re wearing the glasses of complaint. Prayer helps you see through Christ’s eyes, to see the world as He saw it. Christ looked at the birds and spoke about trusting God and His providence. Do you see? He saw a rushing torrent and spoke of how, if you believe, you will be like the rock, like the house built on rock that the torrent cannot sweep away. See what He saw?

He took what He saw as an opportunity to draw near to God, to reflect on it, and to give us its meaning: what Saint John Chrysostom calls true philosophy. To see life as Christ saw it—that is what prayer does. Someone else tells me, “I say the Salutations to the Theotokos and some short prayers from an old booklet we have. I also pray with three short prayer ropes, the little ones with three knots, saying, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.’” Then he adds, “I also say some things in my own words.” Good. Those words of your own are wonderful. I don’t know what you say, but I have the feeling Christ waits for us to finish the prayers we recite and speak to Him ourselves. I think He loves those words very much.

It’s like someone coming to greet you and starting with the usual courtesies: “Hello, how are you? How’s the family? Everyone well?” Those are the customary things we say, aren’t they? There is nothing wrong with them. They have their place. But then you look the other person in the eye and say, “I’m so sad today,” or, “I’m so happy! I’ve just met a woman, and we’re going to get married. She told me she wants to be with me, and things are going so well.” Now you’re speaking from your own heart. That is the personal relationship we have in prayer: opening your heart and sharing who you really are. As someone once said, “My Christ…”

“I love You very much, but right now I can hardly bring myself to pray. I’m sleepy. I love You, and I want to speak to You, but I can’t.” That is prayer in your own words. I think Christ holds such words very dear: spontaneous, heartfelt, personal words.

Your own heart. After all, when the prophet David wrote the Psalms, he too was praying in his own words. The same is true of every prophet and Saint. Why else would they have written? Should the Old Testament have contained only one prophet’s prayer? Why did others write new prayers instead of simply repeating the old ones? Because life goes on, and each person has a story and a relationship with God. I cannot merely repeat someone else’s life, even if that person is a Saint. I will draw on their spirit and learn from them, but I must also build my own relationship with God. God might say, “Yes, my child, that is what David said then. Now tell Me something of your own. What do you say to Me?” Christ asked, “But who do you say that I am?”

“What do you say about Me? Other people say all sorts of things about Me; they have their opinions. Now you tell Me.” I think Christ wants that from us.

Here’s a lovely message: “I say the Jesus Prayer throughout the day. I say the Salutations to the Theotokos at least once a day. I say a short prayer when I wake up, before bed, before eating, and before starting work. Lately I’ve also been saying Psalm 22 once or twice: ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’ Sometimes I say something in my own words, too.”

“Rarely, though. So I can’t work out how much time I spend praying.” And the message ends, “But I haven’t managed to pray truly yet.” Well, yes. When you begin to understand the beauty of prayer, you don’t feel you have mastered it. Its greatness makes you aware that there is always room to grow. But when you can say that, you have already begun to pray well. Recognizing that your prayer falls short can be a sign that something good and genuine has begun.

Besides, what counts as good or bad prayer? I don’t know. Perhaps God receives the prayers we think are poor as very good. And perhaps prayers we think are excellent, as the Pharisees thought theirs were, do not seem so good to Christ because they are full of self-righteousness, self-confidence, a Pharisee’s attitude, smug certainty, and hardness of heart toward others. If you have prayed well, then when you see your brother, you should feel united with him. Nothing separates you. A moment ago you were speaking to our common Father, and now here is your brother. Before God, you felt that we all share troubles and worries. You love him; you cannot see him as an enemy. If, after praying, you see your brother as an enemy, a rival, an opponent, or a threat to your life, then you have not understood that you both stand before the same Father, who embraces you both.

You both come from Him, and you are both going to Him. You are traveling together toward God. There is nothing between you to fight over. If you think carefully, you have nothing to fight over with the person you do not love right now. You are like two lines moving toward God. Through death we will pass into the awareness of God’s presence, into eternal life. Along the way, we face the small troubles of this life: you have yours, and the other person has theirs. Prayer helps you feel all this. Someone else tells me, “With how lazy I am, I usually just say a few words of my own, and even that isn’t every day or for more than five minutes.”

“I neglect prayer and don’t do what I could.” Someone else says, “At night I pray with my prayer rope for an hour to an hour and a half, until I get tired. I listen to the Psalms. During the day, when my mind isn’t busy with something else, I say, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.’” Good.

Another person says, “I say the Salutations to the Theotokos and then pray in my own words. Altogether that takes fifteen or twenty minutes, and I say the Jesus Prayer too.” I’m reading these quickly so I can get through the messages; then I can add a comment or two, if you like. Another says, “Usually I say the Salutations and pray a little with my prayer rope. When I’m very tired, I just use the prayer rope for a little while and say things in my own words until I fall asleep.” Another tells me, “I pray every day, usually in my own words, and every morning I drink water from the blessing of water, the Agiasmos.” So his soul feels God in prayer, and his body feels the blessed water going down into it. That meets a bodily need to experience something tangible, too. There is nothing wrong with that. Many people drink blessed water and, in the morning, eat a little antidoron, the blessed bread distributed after Liturgy, blessed through the prayer we offered in the Church.

These are good things. They are not necessary or compulsory for everyone, though, all right? Don’t start worrying about where to find blessed water or rushing around asking for antidoron. Each person has their own path. You may do one thing; someone else may do certain things for a time and then change their way of praying. There is variety.

Someone tells me, “In the morning I say my morning prayers. Then I say the Salutations to the Theotokos on my way to work. In the afternoon I pray a hundred knots on my prayer rope. I make twenty full prostrations and say many troparia to the Saints. I especially like those for Saint Arsenios of Cappadocia, Saint Nektarios, Saint Ephraim, Saint Nicholas Planas, Saint Marina, and Saint Luke the Physician.” And, of course, the other Saints too: Saint Raphael, Saint Nicholas, Saint Irene, Saint Savvas the New, Saint Matrona of Russia, and Saint John the Russian.

“At night,” the message continues, “I say Compline and then offer my own prayers to the Lord, the Most Holy Theotokos, Saint Gerasimos, Saint Anastasia the Deliverer from Potions, Saint Theonas, Saint Nicholas, Saint Paraskevi, Saint Kyriaki, Saint Spyridon, and Venerable David.” Oh, there are so many Saints this person calls upon. Wonderful. There is nothing wrong with being close to many Saints and having many people praying for you. Another person says, “I regularly try to say the Salutations, part of Compline, and prayers in my own words. I also say the Psalm ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’ Altogether it takes about half an hour, I think. But there are days when I neglect prayer because I go to bed late, and on some days I pray a little with my prayer rope while I’m out. That’s all.” Even a little is good—enough to sustain you and help you toward salvation. Another says, “I pray for about half an hour. I also say the Jesus Prayer on my way home, which takes about an hour, and I say some dismissal hymns I know by heart.”

That’s something you can do: start saying the dismissal hymns you know. The time passes pleasantly as you call upon each Saint and say a few words. Another says, “Every morning I say the Our Father three times.” Someone else lists: “In the name of the Father, O Heavenly King, O Holy Trinity, the Our Father.” Then three times the dismissal hymn of Saint Phanourios. I know why this person says it: they want to find a parking space in a neighborhood where parking is scarce. Finding a space can be an ordeal. So you pray and ask God, who cares for your life, to help you. Once a woman called me because I had mentioned this. She was struck by it and began saying the hymn while driving to a tax office in a part of Athens where parking is very difficult.

She was on Mesogeion Avenue. As she said the hymn for the third time, a parked car pulled out of nowhere and left a space right in front of her. You might call it a coincidence. Still, it happened just as she finished saying the dismissal hymn of Saint Phanourios for the third time, and she found a space. She was delighted, and so was I. Now, another message mentions the hymn “O Theotokos and Virgin.” This person says the Jesus Prayer for fifteen minutes while riding to work, inside a motorcycle helmet. That helps the mind reach beyond the helmet toward God! You wear the helmet on your head, but your thoughts are not confined there. They rise toward God, drawing your heart along too. “And for fifteen minutes on my way home in the evening,” the message says, “I pray for different people, living and departed. And for myself.”

Then this person says, “And I commit many sins.” In other words, “I pray, and I sin as well.” That is a description of the human person: a creature who prays and sins. We do both, and we hope in God’s love. Someone else tells me, “I say the Salutations, Compline, a passage from an epistle in the New Testament, and the Psalter. I like various Psalms, especially 22, 6, and 118. That’s what I do, though I don’t know how long it takes.” That’s fine. Another says, “I finish the Salutations each day, then pray in my own words. I use the prayer rope whenever I feel moved to during the day. I don’t have a schedule. I say the Jesus Prayer inwardly, too. If I wake up late at night, I say the Midnight Office.” That’s lovely. When you wake in the night, say a few words: “My God, my Christ, my Jesus, thank You.”

“I am here, resting. Thank You for loving me. Thank You that I can go back to sleep. Good night.” I’m not asking you to give a long speech. Another person tells me, “I say the Salutations, read Holy Scripture and a Christian book, use my prayer rope, say Compline, and pray in my own words. I used to say the Paraklesis, the supplicatory canon.” This person says they sin too. “Altogether,” the message says, “it may be four hours.” This isn’t a church caretaker or the child of a priest, or even a priest. It’s a person who works at a desk in a public office and manages to pray for four hours a day. Not all at once, of course. It adds up over the day.

You told me he asks them, “How many calories did you have today?” And you say, for example, “I had 1,700 calories.” Yet you sat down and ate them all at once—breakfast, lunch—but all the calories went in. Is that a good thing?

Someone tells me, “I say Compline three or four times a week, not every day.” Three or four times is good. Some people do nothing because they cannot do a lot. You do not have to do a lot, but do not give it up altogether because you cannot do a lot. Someone says, “I cannot say Compline every day, so I never say it.” No, my dear, say it once a week. Does that seem too little? Say it twice. Want to do a little more? Do it. You do not want to? Then do not. Do as much as you can bear. Strive a little more if you want to, but do not pray while inwardly kicking against it and saying, “I do not want to. I am forcing myself.” Prayer should not feel like oppression. Saint Porphyrios the Kafsokalyvite stressed this too: God does not want prayer to be a chore. Another person tells me, “I mostly pray in my own words.” He does that every day. Nothing else, just his own words. I see. Someone else says, “I pray in my own words a little at night, not even five minutes, if that.” Well, my dear, you may need a little more to get started, because...

That is it; those are the messages. Others came in too, but I could not read them all. I also received emails about this. We do what we can. Why have we talked about all this? To take comfort, to see that we are not alone, and to know that in this heavenly bank of prayer, where everyone deposits something, there is something for you as well.

God may even give you something from what others have deposited. They have prayed so much for you, for me, and for the rest of the world. So we can have hope for our world. I do not say that with a weary resignation, or with unbridled enthusiasm. I do not know how each person’s journey will turn out, but I cannot give in to despair.

And Vasilis Hatzinikolaou, thank you again today for listening and helping with your music and your prayer. You too have been touched by this whole spirit of prayer. Thank you. When I sent this question to friends, acquaintances, and especially my spiritual children, I asked how long they prayed and roughly what they said. I only wanted to know. I was not trying to fit anyone into a mold or examine their prayers in a fussy way. I am not judging anyone; I am simply asking. Truly, I did not expect people with ordinary jobs, worries, children, and so much running around—I cannot give details without making it clear who they are—to pray so much.

Believe me, often I do not pray as much as people might expect of a priest. I say this honestly, not to boast: what you told me strengthened me. It made me marvel, made me wish I could do as you do, and made me rejoice in what you have achieved. It comforted me, because we are all brothers and sisters, united with one another. Your prayer will help my poor soul. You will help lift me up too, carrying me on your wings closer to God. And I say, “Glory to God.” There are people who send out waves of love and support, who raise a wall of protection around us. As the prayer says, “Surround us like a wall with Your holy angels, that we may be guarded and guided by their ranks.” That is what some people do. They become like angels, forming a wall around others.

With their love and with their tears, which reach every person in pain, they protect and comfort a suffering world. What a beautiful thing. So, where did we begin? No more grumbling, no more complaints, no more deposits in that bank of indignation and resentment. Let us invest in prayer. Let the strength of our souls become prayer instead of irritation and anger. All those other things come to nothing. They work against us and wear us down. Prayer does so much good for me, for you, and for everyone else.

Help your child, your loved ones, your wife or husband, those still living and those who have departed through your prayer. It is a beautiful thing. And so you know I am speaking from real life, I read you what people told me in messages on my phone. I have deleted the messages now because the phone was full of replies, but God has not erased them, because these people are praying. And all these words are recorded: every sigh of pain and sorrow, but also of love, passionate love, gratitude, and praise. It is all recorded. Take care, and be strong. If you are hurting, wipe the tears from your heart and turn your tears into prayer. Everything will be all right. I am sure of it. God told me so in prayer.

And He will tell you too. Until we speak again, be strong. Goodbye.