My Friend, St. Anthony the Great

A Personal Testimony

Dusk had turned to night as I walked the trail behind my house in search of a small wooden cross pendant. Earlier that day, I had lost it somewhere along this nearly two-mile trail. I had been running, and upon returning from my run, the cross was gone and all that remained on my neck was an empty cord. Heartbroken, I assumed the cross was lost forever. The darkness of night swallowed all hope that such a small item could be found, especially because the trail had no source of light. However, despite my resolve that the cross would never be found, my wife handed me a flashlight and told me to “go search, even if just for a little while.” Reluctantly, I obliged. And so, here I was, walking down a pitch-black trail with a small flashlight in hand in search of a tiny wooden cross.

The first five minutes of the walk were filled with complaints and groaning. “I’ll never find this cross,” I muttered. “I might as well return home now.” As I grumbled, my flashlight passed back and forth on the trail angrily. However, amid this interior tirade, I found my conscience wounded by the sudden thought of St. Helena, mother of St. Constantine the Great, who went on pilgrimage in search of the True Cross. I pictured her interior disposition and compared it to mine. Sorrow and repentance flooded my heart as I cried out, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner!”

As soon as I said these words, a chill ran down my spine. I felt the weight of a presence behind me—heavy, oppressive, and filled with malice. Turning slowly, I’m not sure exactly what I saw. To my mind, it looked like three featureless humanoid figures. Their darkness was not mere absence of light; it was a void that seemed to swallow my vision, much like staring into the sun but inverted. Was my mind playing tricks on me or was this darkness physically manifesting? I may never know. However, the presence of hell followed me on that path; of that I am certain. With my heart racing, all I could do was whisper, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.” With these words, I pressed on. Interiorly, I felt the peace of repentance bringing with it a renewed desire to search for this cross. However, exteriorly, I felt the presence of evil desperately attempting to discourage and vex me once again. This tension carried on for some time as my flashlight continued to search the trail ahead of me.

At some point, I recalled a story about St. Anthony the Great, who traveled from his cave to obtain water. After making the climb back up to his cave with the water, the devil appeared and dashed the vessel from his hands, pouring the water out upon the earth. Instead of engaging with the darkness, Anthony went back down the mountain, retrieved more water, and made his journey back up again. The devil once again dashed the vessel, spilling the water. This happened seven times. Not once did Anthony engage with the Satan. He showed no agitation, distraction, or weariness. He simply went about his business of obtaining water. The story ends with the devil fleeing in defeat because he could not disrupt the interior peace that St. Anthony had cultivated. As I thought about this story, my heart was strengthened in resolve to ignore the darkness of the path behind me entirely. Quietly, I resolved to ignore the darkness and said aloud, “St. Anthony the Great, pray for me to find this cross!”

Shortly after this invocation was spoken, an automatic sprinkler to the side of the path turned on. The sound of the water turning on immediately disrupted the stillness of my repetitive searching. Startled by the sound, I turned towards it with my flashlight. It was here that I noticed something in the grass near the sprinkler. The object was illuminated by water droplets that had formed on its surface against the beam of my flashlight. It was a small wooden cross; my small wooden cross.

During this journey, I had not been searching for the cross off of the main trail. Until this moment, my flashlight had never searched the grass. It was only here, at this precise time, that I turned and shone my light into the grass. I was stunned. I raced over to the cross, bending down to grasp it in my hands. Holding it, I kissed it with the deepest veneration I knew how to express. Whatever darkness had been behind me on the trail was vanquished by the joy of the cross before my eyes. I couldn’t believe I had found it—yet somehow, it felt inevitable. Rejoicing, I praised the name of Christ and began my journey home.

As I walked, clutching the cross tightly in my hands, I smiled thinking of St. Anthony. I knew that he had prayed for me. Through his prayers, not only did I find my cross, I also found a deeper connection to the ultimate treasure: the true Cross of Christ, where salvation was accomplished.

That day, St. Anthony became my friend, guide, and companion in the faith. I love him and cherish this moment in my life.

May he intercede for all of us.