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Pharisee & Publican – Great Lent Week By Week Meaning – Greek Orthodox Archdiocese Of America

Arrogance is the perversion of the soul and spirit of man; it is the greatest weapon of the evil one; it is the mother of hypocrisy; it is the obstacle of spiritual progress: it is the degradation of civilization; it is the greatest enemy of man; it is the opposite of repentance; it is the corruption of the conscience of man. This is why the Church designated the first Sunday of preparation for acceptance of the Message of the Resurrection of Christ, with the Parable of the Tax Collector and Pharisee being read. The root of evil, arrogance, should be uprooted and replaced with the virtue of humbleness, which is the teaching of this Parable. The highest degree of man’s arrogance is when a person speaks to God in prayers as did the Pharisee, who said, “God I thank thee”, only for the opportunity to enumerate his achievements publicly, comparing himself to others who, according to him, were sinners, saying “I am not like other men, sinners, or even like this tax collector”. He extolled himself saying, “I fast, I give tithe”, which he did. But the more he boasted, the more he condemned himself through arrogance.

On the other hand, the tax collector confessed: “God be merciful to me a sinner”. The repentance of the tax collector is the basis of Christian life; it is the passage into the Kingdom; it is the reestablishment of the image of God in the soul of His creature. Humbleness is the queen of all virtues. Thus, the first phrase of the hymnology of the day is: “Let us not pray pharisee-like. . . . Open to me the doors of repentance”. The combination of almsgiving, prayer and piety, along with the intention of repentance like that of the tax collector, is imperative in the life of a Christian. The attitude of the tax collector made him a steward of divine gifts. Repentance and confession of faith is the same two-sided coin.

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Pre-Lent – OCA Faith Series – Volume II Worship – The Church Year

The paschal season of the Church is preceded by the season of Great Lent, which is itself preceded by its own liturgical preparation. The first sign of the approach of Great Lent comes five Sundays before its beginning. On this Sunday the Gospel reading is about Zacchaeus the tax-collector. It tells how Christ brought salvation to the sinful man and how his life was greatly changed simply because he “sought to see who Jesus was” (Lk 19.3). The desire and effort to see Jesus begins the entire movement through lent towards Easter. It is the first movement of salvation.

The following Sunday is that of the Publican and the Pharisee. The focus here is on the two men who went to the Temple to pray—one a pharisee who was a very decent and righteous man of religion, the other a publican who was a truly sinful tax-collector who was cheating the people. The first, although genuinely righteous, boasted before God and was condemned, according to Christ. The second, although genuinely sinful, begged for mercy, received it, and was justified by God (Lk 18.9). The meditation here is that we have neither the religious piety of the pharisee nor the repentance of the publican by which alone we can be saved. We are called to see ourselves as we really are in the light of Christ’s teaching, and to beg for mercy.

The next Sunday in the preparation for Great Lent is the Sunday of the Prodigal Son. Hearing the parable of Christ about God’s loving forgiveness, we are called to “come to ourselves” as did the prodigal son, to see ourselves as being “in a far country” far from the Father’s house, and to make the movement of return to God. We are given every assurance by the Master that the Father will receive us with joy and gladness. We must only “arise and go,” confessing our selfinflicted and sinful separation from that “home” where we truly belong (Lk 15.11–24).

The next Sunday is called Meatfare Sunday since it is officially the last day before Easter for eating meat. It commemorates Christ’s parable of the Last Judgment (Mt 25.31–46). We are reminded this day that it is not enough for us to see Jesus, to see ourselves as we are, and to come home to God as his prodigal sons. We must also be his sons by following Christ, his only-begotten divine Son, and by seeing Christ in every man and by serving Christ through them. Our salvation and final judgment will depend upon our deeds, not merely on our intentions or even on the mercies of God devoid of our own personal cooperation and obedience.

. . . for I was hungry and you gave Me food, I was thirsty and you gave Me drink, I was a stranger and you took Me in, I was naked and you clothed Me, I was sick and in prison and you visited Me. For truly I say to you, if you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to Me (Mt 25).

We are saved not merely by prayer and fasting, not by “religious exercises” alone. We are saved by serving Christ through his people, the goal toward which all piety and prayer is ultimately directed.

Finally, on the eve of Great Lent, the day called Cheesefare Sunday and Forgiveness Sunday, we sing of Adam’s exile from paradise. We identify ourselves with Adam, lamenting our loss of the beauty, dignity and delight of our original creation, mourning our corruption in sin. We also hear on this day the Lord’s teaching about fasting and forgiveness, and we enter the season of the fast forgiving one another so that God will forgive us.

If you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will forgive you; but if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father forgive you your trespasses (Mt 6.14–18).

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Lent and the Shaping Of Desire – Public Orthodoxy by John Monaco

Christianity is a religion of desire. At first glance, this statement may seem counterintuitive and contradictory. After all, Christians are told to deny themselves, to take up their cross and follow Christ (Mt 16:24). Several prayers, especially in the Divine Liturgy, also seem to downplay desire. In the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, prior to the reading of the Holy Gospel, the priest prays for the revering of the Lord’s commandments so that, “having trampled down all carnal desires,” the Christian may do that which is pleasing to God. Similarly, the the prayer during the Cherubic Hymn, the priest prays that “No one bound by carnal desires and pleasures is worthy to approach, draw near, or minister to You, the King of Glory.” Church history is filled with numerous examples of ascetics and saints who renounced their desires, whether that includes St. Benedict throwing himself into the thorn bush to chasten his sexual desire, or Eudocia the Samaritan (whom the Orthodox Church commemorated on Forgiveness Sunday) who abandoned her earthly riches and physical beauty to the disdain of her former lovers. Countless entries within the Church’s illustrious hagiography follow a similar trajectory: a person with worldly fame and material pleasures experiences a conversion, and then sells her belongings, and embraces a life of poverty and self-denial. It would then seem that “desire” has an awfully negative place within Christian discourse. In other words, if you desire something, it is probably bad and sinful, and the way to holiness is thus avoiding what we desire and instead pursue those things we do not like.

In theory, one could pursue the Christian life this way. In fact, many have. Assuming desire is evil (particularly bodily desire), one trods the path of famous historical figures: Mani, whose ideas produced the dualistic philosophy of Manichaeism which tormented Augustine of Hippo; Marcion, the Gnostic heretic who repudiated the idea that Christ could have assumed human flesh; Severus, who led an extreme sect of ascetics (the Encratites) and believed marriage, as well as women, were inherently sinful. Orthodox Christian theologians were quick to denounce these figures among others, as such ideas were seen as dangerous and heretical. In affirming the goodness of creation, Orthodox Christianity rejects any notion that matter is evil or that, in order to achieve union with God, one must renounce one’s humanity. At the same time, Orthodoxy is hardly a religion of comfort: the fasting rules (which, of course, can be modified and determined by one’s spiritual father) and extolling of the ascetical life dismisses any idea that Orthodoxy places no demands on its adherents.

Christianity is a religion of desire, precisely because it is concerned with a God who desires to save the human race and who loves mankind. Christians are those who desire to respond to God’s free invitation to love and serve Him here on earth and worship Him forever in eternity. A desire-less Christian is an oxymoron; our intellects are oriented to seek truth and the knowledge of God, and our wills are directed towards loving that which is good and making good use of temporal goods for the sake of loving the Eternal Good. The Christian is the one who desires to follow Christ and orders her desires to pursue those things which lead her closer to Him.

However, as we all know, we do not desire things in a vacuum. Here on earth, human desire is always staged within the context of a fallen world. Our passions move us to desire things outside of their proper place. Desiring sex is good, but the desire to view pornography is not, as it is the selfish inversion and objectification of the sexual act. Desiring to support one’s family and have daily sustenance is good, but the ravenous desire for wealth is not, as it seduces a person to seek pleasure solely earthly things at the expense of finding joy in God. Desiring justice for victims of assault is good, but the desire for revenge is not, as it prevents us from loving our enemies.

Lent is the perfect opportunity for Christians to examine and train their desires—not to eschew them. What is the purpose of asceticism, if not for being the exercise by which we shape our desires to be pure and ordered to their proper ends? Food is good, but an inordinate love for food can result in health problems as well as social ones. Can our time of fasting from meat and dairy help us examine the way in which those popular industries contribute to environmental degradation? Games, movies, and other forms of entertainment are good, but an obsession with the virtual can distract us from the real— including those who are right in front of us. Can our time of fasting from unnecessary purchases and Netflix-binging help us be better stewards of our God-given time, money, and energy? As Philip Kariatlis wrote, “Fasting finds its true meaning when the outward abstinence of food is connected with the inward struggle to intensify our longing for God through the dynamic of purity and repentance.” Renunciation is not an end in itself, but only as a means of ongoing union with God.

Fasting, prayer, and almsgiving are activities by which our desires are purified, our wills healed, our intellects open to the glory of divine truth. Far from being a distraction to Christian life, desire is the very vehicle by which we move closer or farther from Christ. Returning to the liturgy, the lex orandi by which Christians are to base their lives, we come across an anonymous prayer to be recited following the reception of Holy Communion. In this prayer, we see the end (that is, the telos) of our desire: “For You are, indeed, the true object of our desire and the inexpressible gladness of those who love You, O Christ our God, and all creation praises You unto the ages. Amen.”

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