An Ancient Path for a Modern World (III): Breathing

If you look closely at the depiction of the saints as they appear in the ancient icons of the Orthodox Church, you will notice that they all have very long, thin, quite distinct noses. This is true of all the icons, but we see a great example of it in one of the more famous icons of Christ, the “Christ the Pantocrator.”

I once read a very nuanced “reading” of this icon that interpreted every aspect of it in loving detail. The two eyes are actually looking in two different directions, for instance: one looking off to the eternal horizon of Heaven and the other starting directly at you, piercing the soul with its knowing gaze. The visual perspective on the Bible in his arms, as another example, is skewed and distorted. This suggests that the book (and, more importantly, the Gospel message it contains) is from another dimension and yet, at the same time, still inhabits this dimension, for all it’s having crossed the eternal divide to speak to us.

The imagery in icons is never representational, is my point. It is always deeply, subtly and mysteriously symbolic of the heavenly truths the icon is seeking to express. This is true of the position of the fingers in Christ’s hand (spelling out the initials of Jesus Christ, in Greek), the shape of the mouth, and, as I mentioned, the distinctly long, delicate nose.

The meaning behind the nose, I’ve been told, is that it suggests either the presence of the Holy Spirit, or the spirituality of the person, or both (that is, a Spirit-filled person is also a deeply spiritual person). You may wonder what the length of a saint’s nose has to do with his spirituality, but consider: in both the Greek and the Hebrew languages, the words for “breath” and “spirit” were the same. It was pneuma in Greek, and ruach in Hebrew, and, depending on the usage, it could mean either “spirit” or “breath”’; and in places where the biblical writers are feeling especially playful, it means both. With this in mind, it begins to make sense why the ancient iconographers, when they wanted to indicate that a person was deeply filled with the Holy Spirit and, as a consequence of this filling, was deeply spiritual, they would draw them with a long nose. All the better to breathe deeply with, my dear.

As we continue looking at the spiritual disciplines of the Christian Faith—and especially those disciplines, like fasting, silence, and so on, that don’t get much mention next to the basics of reading your Bible and praying every day—I think this ancient connection between the spirit and the breath is worth some careful reflection. It may be because of its suspect use in non-Christian spiritual practices (Zen meditation, Yoga, and so on), or its unfortunate association with New Agey mumbo-jumbo, but for whatever the reason I don’t hear Christians talking that much about the practice of breathing, and breath control, and the way intentional breathing can be a practical way of regulating our emotions, grounding us in the present, and focusing our thoughts and energy.

This is odd, inasmuch as almost every other form of human endeavor that involves the kind of mind-body-spirit connection that Christian holiness and discipleship also involves, uses breathing as part of its practice. I’ve already mentioned other, non-Christian practices that make use of breathing. We might add to that the way psychotherapists use breathing exercises to treat patients with anxiety disorders, PTSD and so on. In most of the traditional martial arts, too, and especially in the advanced forms of martial arts, breath control is essential to mastery. From what I understand, the training that Navy SEALS go through also makes use of it. Singers and athletes and effective public speakers all need to learn how to master their breath if they are to master their craft. Like I say, in any human endeavor that requires us to be “whole selves"—mind, body and soul together—to do it well, at some point or another, you have to learn how to breathe.

So it leaves me scratching my head a bit, that we don’t employ breathing practices more in Christian spiritual formation, teaching followers of Jesus to breathe well. You may say: it’s because nowhere in the Bible does it describe “breathing” as a spiritual discipline. To which I’d say, I’m not so sure. I’ve already mentioned the breath/spirit connection in the biblical languages. Think, for instance, of God breathing into his newly-formed human beings “the breath of life.” Or remember the Risen Jesus doing it again, in John’s Gospel, when he breathes on them so that they may receive the Holy Spirit.

If that’s not concrete enough for you, let me remind you about Jesus, sitting all night on the mountain top in communion with his Father, and let me just wonder out loud if that kind of sustained prayer could have lasted for hours if Jesus hadn’t been practicing the kind of calm, controlled, deep breathing that is physiologically necessary if we’re to focus our thoughts and attention for hours on end. What about Peter in Acts 10:10-11? It says he sat down on the roof to pray and he “fell into a trance,” during which he receives a life-altering vision from God. I don’t know for sure if his trance-inducing prayer involved controlled breathing or not, but it sure doesn’t sound like it was of the “now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep” variety. We see a similar thing in Revelation. “On the Lord’s Day,” writes John the Seer, “I was ‘in the Spirit’ and I received”... well... a vision so heavenly and disturbing that 2000 years later we still tremble to read it.

I admit that none of this is what you’d call “hard biblical data,” and I also acknowledge that, as with all spiritual disciplines, it’s by the fruit you’ll know it. I can easily imagine someone practicing breathing as a gimmick or a “technique” and not drawing any nearer to Jesus, maybe even drawing away. But at the same time: when I imagine St. John the Seer on the Island of Patmos, so deep in his prayers that he passes “into the Spirit,” I can’t imagine that happening without some careful attention to his breathing.

I say that partly because, as I have been learning about breathing and its effect on us as whole creatures, I have been tentatively trying to be more aware of my own breathing. In my prayers, for instance, I often start with a simple breathing exercise that quiets my mind and focuses my thoughts on Jesus. I have started practicing breath control to ground me in the moment when I am doing ministry. I have started experimenting with breathing exercises as a way of regulating my response to stressful situations. What I have found as I’ve become more aware of my breathing as a spiritual practice is that I am able to direct my thoughts to Jesus more easily in any given moment, I am more attentive and receptive to his voice in my prayer times, and I am better able to “take thoughts captive” in my day-in-day-out response to the world around me.

I don’t want to be dogmatic about this reading, but maybe this is what Job was getting at, in Job 27:3, when he says: As long as my breath is in me, the Spirit of God is in my nostrils.

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