Person to Person: Becoming Present

This memoir was written as a talk to mark the centenary of Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh (1914–2003), the Russian Orthodox archbishop of London. A charismatic preacher and spiritual director, Metropolitan Anthony became widely known through his religious broadcasts on the BBC and his many books on prayer, published under the name of Anthony Bloom. He thus attracted thousands of disciples among Anglicans as well as Orthodox Christians in Great Britain, Russia, and Europe. The talk was meant for a conference in Moscow (September 2013) on the theme of “Learning to See.” But unforeseen circumstances made it impossible to deliver as planned, so I offer it here in revised form to honor the memory of a great spiritual teacher.

There may be few things in life that we take more for granted than vision—until it fails us. In my case, that happened early. I was born so nearsighted that I wore glasses from the age of eight and got my first contact lenses at fifteen. But a few summers ago I had surgery on both eyes, and suddenly those lenses were a thing of the past. No more groping blindly for a hotel bathroom in the dark; no more fumbling with my contacts on a transatlantic flight. I had to learn to see all over again—a joyful process, but one that required patience and adjustment. Attaining new physical vision reminded me of what I experienced thirty-five years ago when I first met Metropolitan Anthony, and learned to see—a little—with the eyes of Christ.

The theme of vision was central to the bishop’s teaching, for he had the gift not only to see with God’s eyes, but to convey that vision to others. Because of this, standing in his presence could be unnerving. An encounter with him, even in private, always felt to me like walking into a spotlight on a stage. Anyone who stepped into that circle of light would be brilliantly illumined, from without and from within. There is no way to hide from that light, no way to banish it, any more than by blinking we can extinguish the sun. It is a true light, not a flattering one; flaws do not vanish. Yet whatever it touches, it reveals as beautiful. To stand in that light, seeing and being seen in it, is a searingly personal experience. But it is also quite impersonal, for anyone at all could have the same experience just by being on the spot. The light does not shine because of any special quality in the one who stands there; it simply shines.

Orthodox Christianity and the World

I do not think we can see with God’s eyes until, at least once, we have had the experience of being seen with them. If we are lucky, that happens in ordinary human love—between friends or lovers, between parent and child. But the ability to see everyone in such a way—not just our friends or people we admire, but everyone, from the screaming infant to the dangerous enemy—is both a discipline and a gift. Like every gift of the Holy Spirit, it is given freely. But, as Bishop Anthony taught, we first have to ask for it and show with our whole life how much we long for it. How then do we learn to see?

If we are Christians, we have the Incarnation as a lens provided by God himself, a precise way to focus divine light so we can see it, to filter that light so we can bear it. Through this lens alone we truly see God and the world. So many other lenses obstruct our eyes, like grimy windows or distorting mirrors, that we are not even aware of them. First there are the lenses of sheer self-interest. Looking through those glasses, I see that I am the center of the universe, and other people matter only insofar as they can help or harm me. This is the devil’s vision—and if we want to see truly, we have to resist...