A Monastic Life Today: Vigil

The kingdom of heaven is taken by force - Matt 11:12

The alarm rings at 1:15. Making the sign of the cross, the canonarch heaves a sigh as she gets up, brushing away sleep and trying to ignore the aching of muscles from a hard day of work the previous day. She rings the bell through the corridors, opening the door of each room in an effort to raise the other tired sisters out of their beds. Outside it is a beautiful night with a clear sky scattered with numberless stars shining in the distance. The moon is full and one can walk to the church without any other light. The lovely air and light are a refreshing boost to the nuns as they go from the monastery house to the little church for the morning service.

Though they may have been doing these night services for years, they are only easy on some occasions, perhaps on a feastday or a special saint who sends them a gift of grace which manifests itself through effortless wakefulness and attention. Otherwise, Matins is a daily podvig, a daily ascetic labor that does violence to the sluggish human body and spirit. It is a minimum of three hours fighting sleep, fighting for attention, to offer at least one little prayer to God. As hard as it is, the great advantage of night prayer is that usually there are no other distractions besides the brute struggle with the body. It is no wonder that the holy fathers say that the prayers during vigil go straight to heaven, because they are won by force. The darkness of the night, the heaviness of sleep which weighs on us represent our own spiritual darkness and languor. To the extent that we can pay attention to the words of the services, so full of beauty and power, we can pierce through that darkness into the heavenly realm, evoked by the twinkling stars. Free from the concerns of the light of day, this is our real life, and even more than that, our contact with eternity.