In the fifth chapter of The Compassion of the Father
This “prayer of the heart” is deeply rooted in Scripture, and it is also linked to the Church’s liturgy.
The liturgy is not only the public form of the prayer of the people, of the Church. The liturgy also echoes in the depths of the heart, where the human person is the celebrant at an altar of inner sacrifice. God calls us to this inner sacrifice: “Mercy is what pleases me, not sacrifice” (M 9:13; 12:7). Numerous Old Testament passages recount God’s abhorrence of blood sacrifices because truth and justice do not accompany them. Likewise, St Paul admonishes: “Offer your bodies as a living sacrifice; your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit; and you are this temple” (1 Cor 3:16 and Rom 12:1). The Fathers developed the relationship between the public worship of the Church and this inner worship as a philokalic theme. (101)
In Jesus and the Mother of God we see summarized the entire contents of the Old Testament in the transition to the New Testament. Taught by the Spirit Jesus reveals to us the Name of the Father.
In Jesus, prayer was unceasing, perpetual; it embraced the entire space of His heart and being. Jesus is prayer, a prayer concentrated primarily in the Name of the Father. To say “Abba” constitutes Jesus’ being one with the Father: “The Father and I are one.” (Lk 10:30) (103)
In the life of the Mother of God we see the secrets of the prayer of the heart disclosed. Citing St Gregory Palamas’ homily on the Presentation in the Temple, Father Boris suggests that the feast signifies
the passage from the temple made by human hand to the temple “not made by human hand” – precisely, the Mother of God herself, who carries within the divine Word. Mary is called to become the sanctuary and temple of God. … In her, the Name of Jesus and the Name of God blended. The entire mystery of Mary lies in the unceasing and loving invocation of these two names. (103)
In His kenōsis Jesus shares with His disciples what rightly belongs to Him, giving us the right to call upon God as Father.
Only by entering into the heart of Jesus can the name of “Father” truly be heard. Discerned in the very heart of Jesus are the groaning of the Spirit. …
The invocation of the name of God is inseparable from the mystery of the heart, for there the Name is engraved, the presence of the beloved is lived. We can speak of the heart of God, of the heart of the Father, of His bowels of mercy. In the heart of the Father, the Name of the Son resides, just as in the heart of the Son the Name of the Father resides. Until the agony at Gethsemene and Golgotha, the Name of the Father and that of God are placed upon the lips of Jesus. However, the last cry from the Cross was not “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt 27:46), but “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit (Lk 23:46). (104)
In this kenōsis Jesus’ glory is revealed and He is acknowledged as the Lord. The early Christians were distinguished from Judaism through the invocation of the Name of the Lord. “Thus, since Pentecost, we pass from the prayer of Jesus to the prayer to Jesus.” (105) This invocation is continued in the liturgy in the Kyrie eleison.
Contrary to what is thought, Christian prayer is not a simply refrain to petitions by the deacon in a litany. The Kyrie eleison, properly speaking, is the prayer; the deacon gives only the intentions. Unquestionably, the great universal litany that follows the Gospel is an example of this: “Let us say, with our whole soul and our whole spirit; Kyrie eleison.” (106)
Father Boris concludes this essay by noting that the Philokalia is intended for all the Christian faithful. It is moreover, at text that links spirituality and dogma and seeks to show the inner effects of external observations, such as fasting. He concludes:
Reading a few texts of the Philokalia may give the impression – a wrong one – that prayer of the heart is self-sufficient. People request, “Teach us about hesychasm, and the prayer of the heart.” Prayer of the heart is part of a whole, the fulfilment of the commandments, the struggle against the passions, and spiritual asceticism … All this takes place in and through the life in the Church.” (107)
A vow of conversation 
July 9, 2010 at 3:06 am
This idea of the inner temple is a fascinating one to me. When I first started blogging, I had started writing a long post on the subject, but then lost it. I could never work up the motivation to rewrite the whole thing!
July 9, 2010 at 12:43 pm
Aaron, Yes – I’d be interested in hearing your thoughts if you do get to rewriting it.
I think that my interest in this was first kindled by a talk by Dom Andre Louf a couple of years ago, which I reported on here. But what he presented somehow didn’t make the connection (at least for me) between the liturgy of the heart and the Church’s liturgy, between the inner and the outer temples. And it is precisely that connection that Father Boris makes – I think that it comes out clearer in the next chapter of this book (I don’t have it with me now), but he tends to repeat the same themes all over the place. He also draws on the work of Father Dumitru Stăniloae in this regard – a paper that he presented at a conference at St Sergius, which I would like to read/translate sometime.
August 8, 2010 at 10:35 pm
The “coherence” between liturgy and this prayer of the heart, along with the biblical and patristic living texts which witness to this coherence (at least as presented by Fr. Alexander Golitzin – I already gave you that link elsewhere: “Mysticism and Liturgy”) – this “lived tradition” provides a depth and richness within Orthodoxy, a living path, wherein the seeker (for wont of a better word) is “held” by the tradition but also “freed” to grow spiritually within it.
Ours is a small, poor Temple. Yet the first time I attended Vespers, with only the priest, the deacon, and myself, I had the distinct impression we were together lifting up the cosmos. I had already been to a Sunday Liturgy there and by the second Sunday (after two Vespers as well) I had the distinct sense that my heart fitted into the humble space filled with icons and the meditative Liturgy like a key into a lock. (I had already read Fr. Golitzin’s paper more than once before I even dared to show up – or, you could say, before I felt “driven” to show up.)
To find my own experience fitting with the writing of contemporary Orthodox priests and monks is a testimony to that coherence, I think.
(I wonder, if you ultimately write up your impressions of what disintegrated within the RCC – I refer to your comment elsewhere – whether it might be this element of “coherence” that’s missing (in the patristic, liturgical, biblical renewals). I say this is a complete non-expert here, so I’m not putting forth something I could necessarily defend or explain.)
Just some thoughts in case they have any relevance.
August 10, 2010 at 8:43 am
TheraP, Thanks. Yes, I recognise what you say in many regards – it is the link between everything that has, to a greater or lesser extent, been lost. But there are things around this – and rooted in my specific experience – that I think it’s probably better to not speak about in public.
I’ve read those articles quickly, but want to go through them more carefully when I have time. But they are certainly very worthwhile.