January 16, 2026, the Orthodox practice of spiritual fatherhood is one of the most important elements in the spiritual well-being of the faithful. It is also one of the most demanding responsibilities placed upon the clergy. I am convinced that, for the most part, our priests do a faithful and sincere job in this role. Nevertheless, at times, it is common to hear people speak about being in search of a “living saint” to serve as their spiritual father.
That expectation, however understandable, misses something essential. Spiritual guidance in the Orthodox Church has never depended solely on personal proximity to extraordinary holiness. The Church has always lived from the continuity of wisdom, not merely from the presence of exceptional individuals. While it may be true that great saints are scarce, we should rejoice that those Saints who have fallen asleep, both in ancient times and in more recent times have not ceased to guide the Church. Their words, their discernment, and their spiritual clarity remain active, shaping how we understand the healing of the soul. Their teachings and writings are abundantly available.
One among the many guides is Saint Anthony the Great. Though separated from us by centuries, his wisdom speaks with remarkable clarity to the struggles of spiritual life today. In a brief exchange with a group of monks, he offers not a method or formula, but a clear-eyed diagnosis of the human condition and a faithful path forward when strength is lacking. The following account comes from the writings of the Desert fathers.
“Some monastic brothers visited Saint Anthony the Great and said to him, “Father, tell us how we are to be saved.” The elder said to them, “Have you not heard the Scriptures? That is good enough for you.” But they said, “We want to hear it from you, Father.” So the elder said to them, “The Gospel says that if someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other to him also.” They said to him, “We cannot do that.” The elder said to them, “If you cannot turn the other cheek, at least endure one blow patiently.” They said, “We cannot do that either.” The elder said, “If you cannot do even that, then at least do not return the blow.” They said, “We cannot do that either.” Then the elder said to his disciple, “Make them a little soup, for they are sick.” And he said to the brothers, “If you cannot do this, and you will not do that, what am I to do for you? There is need of prayer.”
This treasured saying is often read by Many as a mere moral lesson, but that is not really what it is. It is closer to a medical examination. Nothing in the exchange suggests anger, disappointment, or even surprise. What Anthony offers instead is a sober recognition of the human condition as it actually exists, not as we imagine it should.
The brothers come asking how they are to be saved, and that question already carries an assumption—that salvation is a method, a technique, or a set of instructions that can be handed from one person to another. Anthony unsettles that assumption immediately. He does not begin with advice. He begins by reminding them that they already know the Scriptures. In other words, the problem is not ignorance. The content is already present.
When they insist on hearing it from him, Anthony does not argue or elaborate. He simply places before them the Gospel command to turn the other cheek. This command is not chosen casually. It represents the life of a healed soul. Turning the other cheek is not a display of moral heroism. It is what love looks like when fear, pride, and self-defense no longer govern the heart.
The brothers respond honestly. They say they cannot do it. Anthony does not rebuke them, nor does he accuse them of hypocrisy. Instead, he lowers the demand step by step, not by changing the Gospel, but by meeting them where they truly are. If you cannot turn the other cheek, then endure one blow. When that proves impossible, he lowers it again: at least do not strike back.
Each step exposes the same reality with greater clarity. Their difficulty is not that the command is unreasonable. It is that they themselves are not yet healed enough to live it. This reflects a deeply Orthodox understanding of sin and salvation. Sin is not first treated as rule-breaking. It is treated as sickness. The will is weakened. The passions are disordered. The soul does not yet move freely toward the good, even when it recognizes it as good.
This is why Anthony does not continue reducing the command indefinitely. When the brothers refuse even the smallest form of restraint, he stops. There is nowhere else to go. At that point, he turns to his disciple and asks him to make the brothers some soup, explaining that they are sick.
This detail is the heart of the saying. Anthony is not mocking them. He is naming their condition. When someone is ill, you do not lecture them about what healthy people should be able to do. You do not shame them for their weakness. You care for them. You feed them. You pray for them.
From an Orthodox perspective, this moment clarifies what faithfulness actually looks like when strength is lacking. Moral effort is not dismissed here. It is redirected toward truthfulness. Faithfulness is not proven by claiming capacities one does not have. It is proven by standing honestly before God and refusing both self-deception and despair. When the soul cannot yet fulfill the command, faithfulness takes another form.
It takes the form of confession rather than accomplishment, of longing rather than performance, of endurance that does not flee the Gospel’s demand even when it cannot yet fulfill it. It appears as prayer that admits weakness without abandoning obedience, and as patience that remains under the command rather than explaining it away.
This is not a lowering of the standard. The Gospel remains exactly what it is. What changes is the manner in which it is approached. Obedience is not achieved by imagining a strength we do not possess, but by faithfully inhabiting the poverty we do possess, without resentment or self-justification, until grace does what effort alone cannot.
When Anthony says, “There is need of prayer,” he is not offering an escape from obedience. He is naming the only place where obedience can truthfully begin. What looks like concession is, in fact, the beginning of real ascent. It is the moment when the soul stops pretending and allows healing to begin.
Deacon Carlos Miranda is a Deacon in the Orthodox Church in America, at the Orthodox Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Miami, Florida
Source: Deacon Carlos Miranda Substack
