In the Spirit of St. Paul the First Hermit, Confessor
On the feast of St. Paul the First Hermit, the Church venerates one of the earliest and most hidden of her sons—he who fled the world not out of disdain for its people, but out of an all-consuming love for the One who called him. His life becomes a living commentary on the twin pillars of today’s readings: the renunciation of all for Christ (Phil 3:7–12), and the restful meekness of the Savior (Matt 11:25–30).
As we turn to these sacred texts, the voice of the desert—so often forgotten in the clamor of the modern age—speaks once more through the stillness of the Fathers.
“I Count All Things Loss…” — Philippians 3:7–12
St. Paul writes:
“But what things were gain to me, the same I have counted loss for Christ. Furthermore, I count all things to be but loss for the excellent knowledge of Jesus Christ my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as dung, that I may gain Christ…”
In these words, we encounter not merely a rejection of worldly status or comforts, but a joyful loss—a trading away of transient treasures to receive the Pearl of great price.
St. John Chrysostom, in his homily on this passage, notes:
“He does not say, ‘I have despised them,’ but ‘I have counted them as dung’—a much more expressive term—to show that he despised them so utterly as not even to consider them worth mentioning.”
(Homily on Philippians 11)
This radical detachment is not bitterness, but freedom. The Apostle seeks to be “found in Him”—not clinging to the righteousness of the Law, but embracing the righteousness that comes through faith in Christ. He strives not merely for moral improvement but for conformity to the Crucified: “to know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings.”
And here, the example of St. Paul of Thebes becomes radiant. Fleeing the Decian persecution, he did not simply hide—he remained, for nearly a century, in solitude, nourished by the providence of God and the unceasing prayer of the heart. His loss was complete; his gain, infinite.
As St. Jerome recounts in his Life of St. Paul the First Hermit, when St. Anthony the Great found him shortly before his death, he beheld a man transfigured by silence, penance, and divine intimacy:
“There was nothing left in him of the earthly man; he was rather like a creature of heaven.”
“Learn of Me, for I Am Meek…” — Matthew 11:25–30
In the Gospel, Our Lord lifts the veil of His Sacred Heart:
“Come to Me, all you that labour and are burdened, and I will refresh you… Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me, because I am meek, and humble of heart…”
Christ’s invitation is not to a life of ease, but to one of restful obedience—a yoke that liberates by constraining us in love.
St. Augustine, in his Sermons, reflects:
“The burden of Christ does not crush, but it wings; it does not oppress, but exalts. If it presses, it is only that it may raise you.”
(Sermon 126)
The desert Fathers knew this yoke intimately. The renunciation of self-will, the long vigils, the fasting—these were not chosen out of grim severity, but because the “yoke” of Christ had become for them sweeter than all the luxuries of Rome.
St. Gregory the Great, writing of St. Benedict and the early monastic spirit, observes:
“What seemed harsh in the beginning turned sweet through love of God.”
(Dialogues, Bk. II)
The meekness of Christ does not lessen the demands of holiness—it changes the soul so profoundly that one wants nothing but Him. The burden ceases to be burden when borne in the heart of the Bridegroom.
St. Paul the Hermit: A Hidden Fire in the Desert
In a world so dominated by noise, acclaim, and visibility, the life of St. Paul the Hermit is a living challenge. He left no writings, founded no monasteries, performed no miracles known to men. And yet, the Church honors him as the first hermit, the prototypical desert dweller whose sanctity lies hidden with Christ in God.
The desert was, for him, both crucible and sanctuary. As St. Athanasius wrote of St. Anthony:
“He lived as if he had died to the world and was alone with God.”
(Life of Anthony)
Is this not the very goal of the Apostle’s cry—to “attain to the resurrection of the dead,” even while still in the body?
Conclusion: A Call to the Hidden Life
On this feast, we are invited to rediscover the hidden flame of the contemplative spirit. Whether in monastery or marketplace, the true hermit’s heart is fixed on one thing: to know Christ, to suffer with Him, and to find rest in His meekness.
The world cannot understand this. But Our Lord has already told us:
“Thou hast hidden these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them to little ones.” (Matt 11:25)
May we, too, become little—detached, meek, and aflame with divine love.
St. Paul the First Hermit, pray for us.