What Matters Most: A Reflection on Abba Amoun 1 and Abba Anthony 24

When we talk about Desert monasticism, three figures stand above the rest as its founders and bright lights, Saints Anthony, Amoun, and Pachomius. They were famous even in their own day: Guests came in hopes of gaining some piece of wisdom, disciples came to live among them, and Anthony even had a biography written of his life shortly after his death. But being famous for one’s humility is a double-edged sword, and sometimes these great Desert Fathers too needed reminders of what was really important.

Born around the turn of the fourth century, Abba Amoun entered into an ascetic marriage before founding the monastic settlement at Nitria when he was around thirty-five years old. Known primarily for his self-control and ascetic feats, he was surprised when Abba Anthony, his older contemporary, attracted more attention than he did. This provides the setup for a memorable encounter between the two monks:

Abba Amoun of Nitria came to see Abba Anthony and said to him, ‘Since my rule is stricter than yours how is it that your name is better known amongst men than mine is?’ Abba Anthony answered, ‘It is because I love God more than you.’ (Abba Amoun 1)

I’d like to think this was a friendly conversation, full of knowing smiles and good humour. But because there’s no commentary about the interaction, we don’t really know. At any rate, the encounter served as a reminder to Abba Amoun that sacred practices and spiritual disciplines are not the point of monastic, let alone Christian, life. They are means to an end. If Abba Anthony is more famous than him, it’s because Abba Anthony’s love for God shines through whatever he does.

But lest this get the better of his ego, we have another story in the volume that puts Abba Anthony in his place:

It was revealed to Abba Anthony in his desert that there was one who was his equal in the city. He was a physician by trade and whatever he had more than his needs he gave to the poor, and every day he sang the Trisagion with the angels. (Abba Anthony 24)

This saying is a reminder, to us as much as to Abba Anthony or any monk or nun, that there is nothing ‘better’, more ‘righteous’, or ‘holier’ about the monastic life as compared to life ‘in the world’. Anthony’s equal is therefore to be found in a simple city physician, a man who dedicates his life to caring for the sick, who gives generously to those with less than him, and who is consistent in saying his prayers. (The Trisagion refers to a specific prayer, but is also often used in Eastern Christian literature to refer to a collection of prayers that form the backbone of prayer services.) In other words, in God’s eyes, consistently doing the simple things of faith is just as worthwhile and worthy as taking on a life of radical discipline. Again, disciplines are wonderful tools, but they are tools to help us live more faithful lives. In this way they’re like a good set of kitchen knives. They’re helpful and nice to have, but aren’t the point. The point is what you make with them. And someone with other, less fancy, tools, can make food just as tasty.

The ultimate idea behind both these stories is to warn us against comparison, which is the thief of joy. As long as we humbly do what’s set before us in love for God and neighbour, doing the next right thing (and coming to God in honest repentance when we don’t), that’s really what it’s all about, and that’s all that matters.