The next morning, Paul told Antony that he is about to die, and that the younger man had been sent to bury him. Antony was distraught, "weeping and groaning," and asked Paul to "take him with him as a fellow-traveler on the journey." Only when Paul convinced him to return for the cloak which Athanasius had given to Antony so that Paul could be buried in it, did Antony agree to leave. The younger man set out on his errand, but before he could return with the cloak, the older man died. Antony, in a vision, saw Paul climbing to heaven, accompanied by angels, prophets, and apostles, his face and entire body "shining white as snow." Antony was overcome with grief, and cried out in tears, "Paul, why did you send me away? Why did you go with no leave-taking?" Eventually, with the unexpected help of two lions, Antony buried his beloved friend, and then went back to the monastery, taking with him the tunic which Paul had woven out of palm leaves.
This story of two men's friendship that takes so long to be made and then is so quickly interrupted (at least on earth) is one that came to be much loved by Christians throughout the early church. Most likely what these two elders came to represent for them was the mutuality and reciprocity found in friendship, symbolized in the breaking of the bread, a metaphor for the eucharist. The presence of the crow represents God's graciousness and compassion in providing food for the two elders. The story of Paul and Antony probably revealed the paradox of intimate, loving friendships. When someone who is deeply loved dies, communion with that person is not necessarily lost at all, but often strengthened. Depending on the depth of the relationship, it is as if that person's spirit has been passed on to the survivors, integrated into their very core, their spirits, their hearts. Antony would always remember Paul, living in his memory, but most especially in his heart.
Time and again desert spirituality focuses on the importance of the heart: Metanoia takes place there, and purity of heart is a lifelong goal. Repeatedly in the desert stories we find references to the desert elders' ability to read other people's hearts. Apollo, whenever anyone appeared a little downcast in his community, would ask them the reason, and told each one what was in the secret recesses of his heart. John of Lycopolis was said an elder who could read hearts and discern reality more truly because he understood human nature so well, especially his own. Ammonas, a disciple of Antony, in his letters of spiritual guidance, speaks of the "eyes of the heart," and how the gift of discernment of hearts comes only by our requesting such a gift with the "whole heart." Among all the desert writers, John Cassian was the one who most fully explored the human need for disclosing sicknesses and secrets which lie in the heart in order to be free of them.
The fact that it's impossible to explain just what makes someone a great friend, or that we can't go out and apply a formula for finding true friends, indicates how deep and unintentional friendship can be. It is as though souls recognize the hidden treasure in each other and forget the alliance, while the conscious mind goes on with its intentions, hopes, and expectations.
It may be wise, then, to cultivate friendship in an indirect manner. Friendship may not respond well to pressure. It may be more fruitful to notice signs of potential friendship, and allow them to incubate.
is a like a body without a head."
~St. Brigit
~Edward Sellner