Category: Authors

What does Adam have to teach us about spiritual rebirth?

Below is powerful excerpt from Chapter 8 of Archimandrite Aimilianos’s book ’The Way of the Spirit’. As we prepare ourselves for Lent on the upcoming Sunday of Expulsion of Adam from Paradise, we have the essential of our need to become more conscious of our dependance on God’s Mercy.

On Spiritual Rebirth – Excerpts from Chapter 8 – The Way of the Spirit

“The Lord died for the sake of all, and now He calls all to life. And this life is a heavenly, spiritual rebirth, without which no soul can live, as the Lord Himself said: Unless a man is born from above, he cannot see the kingdom of God (Jn 3.3)”

St. Makarios the Egyptian , Homily 30.3

We have been reading from the Spiritual Homilies of St. Makarios the Egyptian, and reflecting on his doctrine of spiritual rebirth. 1 In one place, we read that Christ is like a painter, who “depicts the image of the heavenly man in the hearts of those who look to him in faith.” In another place, we saw how this heavenly image is illumined by the divine energies, and we spoke about how the ineffable light of the Holy Spirit dwells within us, making God a tangible reality in our souls. We heard how “the body receives life from the soul, and the soul receives life from the Spirit, so that the body lives through the soul, and the soul lives in God through the Spirit. “A person who is complete in this way is a “bearer” of the divine image, indeed a bearer of God Himself.

Thus a person “acting under the influence of the heavenly fire”—by which he means the Holy Spirit (cf. Mt 3.11; Lk 3.16; Acts 2.3)—“ ceases to be led about by his passions and the demons.” In the same way that “iron takes on all the qualities of fire, once it’s been placed in a furnace, so too does man, under the power of the Holy Spirit, take on the qualities of God.” 2 Whenever the Holy Spirit takes “man upon his wings, and elevates him above all things, nothing evil can lay hold of him; no demon, or evil thought, or temptation, or anything else at all, can draw near to him or touch him.”

In this way, the “new Israel,” consisting of these God-bearing souls, is “far above the old Israel, whose footsteps were confined to the bottom of the sea and the river (cf. Ex 14.22; Josh 3.14-17). But being freed from the brine and brackishness of life, the true children of God walk above the sea of bitterness, through which glide evil powers. “And they are able to do this because “both their souls and their bodies have become the dwelling place of the Holy Spirit,” and these three together make a complete human being.

Let us now continue with our reading of the text:

“On the day that Adam fell, God appeared, walking in paradise (Gen 3.8), and when He saw Adam, He wept, and said: ‘What is this that I see? I created you in My image, placed you in paradise, and gave you every blessing; what, then, is this evil thing you have chosen?’” The fall of Adam, the first human being, causes God to weep. Of course we know that God does not weep: this is a human, anthropomorphic way of expressing God’s concern for fallen man, the creation of His hands. The same is true concerning God’s initial surprise and subsequent question: “What is this strange thing I see? What is this evil thing you have chosen?” As if to say: “Where on earth did you find such a thing, and why did you choose to make it your own? I placed you in paradise (Gen 2.8), where evil did not exist. Everything was exceedingly good (Gen 1.31). How then, could this have happened? It seems impossible, absurd. It’s as if I said to you: ‘Here are pure, angelic souls: choose one for a companion,’ and you stretch forth your hand and select a foul demon’.” And so God weeps. He is at a loss to understand what happened. With tears in His eyes, He looks upon Adam and wonders aloud: “From what glory have you fallen, and with what shame have you clothed yourself? The leaves that cover you now, and the coats of skin you’ll put on later (cf. Gen 3.7, 21), are these not the symbols of your shame?” Indeed, they represent the fall itself, and the garment of sin in which Adam clothed himself. 3

“I raised you up to great glory, I made you a son of God, I made you the king of creation, I made you a perfect creature in order for you to become a perfect god. How was it, then, that you were able to turn away from the gift of glory, choosing instead to purchase disgrace? How were you able to clothe yourself in the vile garments of shame? I created you as a being of pure light, and now you are all darkness! I, God, your creator, am Light; My essence is light, My energy is light, and in My light I bathed and clothed you, what, then, is this darkness that now enshrouds you?”

What a terrible thing sin is! How unspeakably tragic is the fall of man! And the same thing happens to us when we quench the fire of the Holy Spirit (cf. 1 Thess 5.19); when we cease being bearers of the Spirit and are overtaken by the darkness of our passions, stumbling into the mud of corruption, and much else besides.

“When Adam fell into sin, he fell away from God and died spiritually. “Do you understand what he’s saying? The life of God is the life of the Holy Spirit within us. When Adam fell, he separated himself from the Spirit, and thereby lost God, and died a spiritual death. 4 The light drained from his body, and he was filled with darkness. He was suddenly deformed, disfigured, ugly, and vile. And thus God said to him: Adam, where are you? (Gen 3.9).

We can say that God’s lament, His tears, and His anxiety over the fate of His missing son, are all things which, in a sense, happened before he put this question to Adam. They are events in the life of God that occur during God’s search for fallen man. With the glorious light of His countenance, God searches the house of paradise for the lost coin, which bears His sovereign image (cf. Lk 15.8), and as He does so He cries out in hope: Adam, where are you? The response God was longing to hear was this: “Here I am, Father, waiting for You, because I have sinned; but I know that You are still my Maker and my God.” But what did Adam say? I heard the sound of You in the garden, and I was afraid, and so I hid myself. The woman whom You gave to be with me, she deceived me (Gen 3.10, 12).

Do you understand what Adam is saying? “I am no longer looking for God, but only to justify myself.” Instead of hearkening to God, Who had called out to him, Adam has turned inward, so that God becomes a frightening, external force: I heard the sound of You, and I was afraid. And what is he afraid of? He is afraid of the truth about himself, afraid that God will not accept his self-justifying explanation of what happened. And what explanation was this? That God Himself was to blame for what happened! Because that is what Adam meant when he said, “the woman whom You gave me, she deceived me, and thus this is all Your fault, God.” 5

And this is the appalling sin that we commit every day: we seek to justify ourselves before God and those around us. We are ready to blame God in order to save our own life, to preserve ourselves in our state of sin (Mt 16.25). But when David sinned, he said: Against You only have I sinned, and done this evil before You, so that You may be justified in Your words, and prevail when You are judged (Ps 50.6). But we do not care to see God, or anyone else, justified: only ourselves. Indeed nearly all that we say, think, and do, including our seemingly selfless “good deeds,” are essentially attempts to justify ourselves, and thereby sustain our egos in their fallen condition. That’s what Adam did, and that’s what we do, as true children of our fallen father.

But once Adam had spoken in this way, there was no longer any possibility for communion between him and God. And that is also what has happened to us. Cut off from God, severed from the light, we are but miserable little creatures, crawling around on the earth like ants, stealing into the dark holes of our passions and petty self-interest, which are more suffocating than any ant-hole, which for the ants are palaces. And all of this has happened because, like Adam, we are infatuated with our selves and have no interest in looking to God.

And this happens every day. Suppose you have words with another nun, and after a few minutes, you learn that the elder wants to see you. Right away you think: “Hmm. She’s told him we’ve had words. But I’ll tell him what really happened!” At that moment, you fall away from God. You’re thinking only about your self; you’re concerned only to justify your actions, to preserve yourself in your state of sin. For you, God becomes whatever it is you’re thinking about at that moment.

Suppose a farmer sees hail falling on his fields. Where will his thoughts be? On his fields. Or suppose a man who loves his wife sees a beautiful dress. Where will his thoughts go? To his wife, to give her a present. Every one thinks about that which is dear to him. In such moments, your true love is revealed, your treasure, your God (cf. Mt 6.21).

And so it was with Adam: “I’m over here, hiding, because I was afraid to see you, because I’ve sinned. I’m afraid that you wouldn’t accept my excuses; that You’d say it was all my fault. I was afraid that you would no longer acknowledge me as Your child.” To be sure, Adam’s desire to justify himself, the various excuses he contemplated, were the signs of certain death. And this is why St. Makarios says: “When Adam fell away from God, he died spiritually.” Seeking to justify himself, Adam condemned himself to life without God.

Until then, the damage wasn’t fully done; the blow could have been blunted, the tragedy averted. This was the critical moment, which we all must face, when it becomes clear whether we’ll choose God or our self. As a general rule, we choose our self. Every day we repeat the sin of Adam. He fell when he opened his soul to the poison of the serpent, but there was still hope that he might turn and embrace God. He could have raised his arms to God and cried: “God, I am your voice, your self-expression; I am your creation, your child, and I have sinned. Bend down and hold me; save me before I perish completely!” Instead, he said, in effect: “What do You want, God? Have you come here to judge me?”

St. Makarios says that “Adam fell away from God” to indicate that Adam himself chose sin; of his own volition he departed from God, the source of life. And when he did, death covered him like a shroud. At this, “God wept, the angels wept, all the heavenly powers wept, and the earth and all its creatures lamented the death of Adam. “And as they wept, they said to him: “Adam, why were you thinking only of yourself, and not your Father? Why did you try to justify yourself? Why did you answer in the way that you did, instead of turning to God?”

After this, St. Makarios tells us that “all creatures saw the king who had been given to them.” The sky, the earth, the animals, and all the angels and heavenly powers, had been placed under a king. Who? Man. Yes, man was made king even of the angelic powers, because whereas they are ministering spirits, sent forth to serve (Heb 1.14), man was created a king, according to the image of God (Gen 1.26).

“They saw the king who had been given to them become a slave of evil powers.” He who had been given authority over all the angels, and was exalted over all heaven and earth, became the slave of a fallen angel. “Then his soul was cloaked in darkness, bitter and evil, for he was now the slave of darkness. He was the man who ‘fell among robbers’ and was ‘left for dead’ on the road ‘from Jerusalem to Jericho’ (Lk 10.30-37).” The man in the parable was Adam, although all of us, in our own way, retrace his steps, and fall victim to the same spiritual robbers. 6

“And Lazarus, whom the Lord raised from the dead, is also a symbol of Adam, for he was so rank with stench that no one could approach his tomb (cf. Jn 11.39). So when you hear of Lazarus, and of the man who fell among thieves, don’t let your mind wander off to the mountains. “That is, don’t let your mind wander off to the hill country of Bethany, where Lazarus lived, or to the hills of Judea, or to paradise with Adam, for that would be a mistake. Instead, “enter into your soul”—enter into your true self—“ because you too bear these same wounds, and this stench, and this darkness. That which befell Adam has befallen all of us, for we are all his children.”

The sin of Adam has affected all mankind, and is beyond any human cure. This is why St. Makarios at this point quotes from the prophet Isaiah: There is no soundness in them; but bruises and festering sores, which cannot be healed; it is not possible to apply a plaster, nor oil, nor bandages (Is 1.6). And this is why David says: There is no healing in my flesh (Ps 37.4). “I look at my flesh,” he says, “at my hands, my feet, my entire body, and all of it is sick; not a single part of me is healthy. And when I look at my soul, I see that it, too, is sick; black and blue with the bruises of sin. Then I look even deeper, to try and see the Holy Spirit, but my soul is empty, isolated, and dead.”

Isaiah says: There is no soundness in them, but bruises. Not just a bruise here and there; not just a little black and blue; not merely one festering sore, but an endless sore, because the whole of me is a bruise, the whole of me is festering: I am a massive, bleeding wound. It is not possible to apply plaster. Of course not: if I were to apply something soothing, such as a bit of plaster, or some ointment, or a strip of bandage, where would I put it? Here? There? But I’m inflamed all over, festering through and through. In any case, no amount of oil would be sufficient, nor could I obtain the necessary number of bandages, for we have been stricken with an incurable wound. 7

And let us ask ourselves this: how often do we realize that we’re in such a wretched state? Do we understand that our wound is fatal, and that there is no remedy for it, no cure? Do we realize this? Do we think about this? How often? When? And even if we don’t realize that there is no healing in our flesh, no soundness, at least we should know that, somewhere in our soul, there is a tiny wound, an imperfection. But we don’t even believe that. And even if, from time to time, we shed a little tear, and say “forgive me, Lord, I’m a sinner,” it’s a lie, an out and out lie. Why? Because when we say such things, it’s usually out of self-regard, or because our pride has been hurt, or our self-will frustrated, or because of some memory we’re clinging to, or something we’re after, or because of some failure we’ve experienced, or because of someone else’s success. That’s why we say we’re sinners and shed a tear or two, and not because we’re really thinking of God.

That’s the kind of liars and hypocrites we are when we supposedly repent. And when we set out to mourn over our sins, or commit ourselves to some other such practice, it’s nothing more than an effort to show God—as if He didn’t know!—that we are mighty, spiritual warriors. “See, God, I even shed tears.” And then a bit of squeezing around the eyes to get the tears rolling, just to be sure that God can see them.

For we have been stricken with an incurable wound of such proportions that only the Lord is able to heal it. With these words, St. Makarios is telling us that we, on our own, can do nothing (cf. Jn 15.5). God does everything. Your father, your mother, the abbess, they’ll all give you a little money, tell you to go shopping, and prepare dinner. But God doesn’t even ask you to do that much. He brings you the food, perfectly prepared, and says: “Keep the money.” And not only that, but He’ll even place it in your stomach, so you won’t tire from chewing! That’s how good God is!

Why, then, are you lacking in virtue? Why are you in the darkness, and not in the light? Why do you worry, and get sad and despair? Why do you care so much about your sin, your failure? What does it matter if you’ve got your health or not? What does it matter how people treat you? What does it matter if you’re rich or poor? What significance do those things have? Why should you worry about any of them, when, right now, at this very moment, God Himself is standing before you?

“And this is why He Himself came: because none of the ancients, not the Law itself nor any of the prophets, were able to bring healing. He alone, in virtue of becoming man, cured this incurable wound of the soul.” If you think you can do anything about this wound, you’re wrong. If you want to see what frauds we are, what hypocrites we are before God, examine yourself carefully when you fast, pray, keep vigil, and read your books; or when you perform some act of kindness, especially when you say “yes” to something which you really wanted to say “no” to. You feel as if you’ve achieved something, haven’t you? And you expect something in return for it, don’t you?

That’s the way we are. Our aim is always to prove that we’re somebody, or that we’ve achieved something which makes us better than everybody else. Do you see how sick we are? How deep the wound goes? “None of the ancients, not the Law itself, nor any of the prophets” could do a thing about it: but you, in your pride, are going to triumph, all by yourself. The truth, however, is that your heart, your mind, your wisdom, and all your virtue don’t amount to the husks that a pig eats (cf. Lk 15.16). But if you could be free of all that—free from your self!—and allow God into your life just once, that would be something! “

Let us then welcome God the Lord, the true healer, Who alone is able to heal our souls, having labored greatly for us.” He did all that was necessary in order to heal us, tiring Himself out (cf. Jn 4.6) as he descended into the grave, so that we might be freed from death and corruption. He suffered in order to free us from suffering; He died so that we might live; He redeemed us from our slavery so that He Himself could enter into our soul, and make it His dwelling.

Why is the ’Prayer of St. Ephraim’ our Lenten Prayer?

By Father Alexander Schmemann

Of all lenten hymns and prayers, one short prayer can be termed the lenten prayer. Tradition ascribes it to one of the great teachers of spiritual life – St. Ephraim the Syrian. Here is its text:

O Lord and Master of my life! Take from me the spirit of sloth, faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk.  But give rather the spirit of  chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant. Yea, O Lord and King! Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother; For Thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen

This prayer is read twice at the end of each lenten service Monday through Friday (not on Saturdays and Sundays for, as we shall see later, the services of these days do not follow the lenten pattern). At the first reading, a prostration follows each of the three petitions. Then we all bow twelve times saying: “O God, cleanse me a sinner.” The entire prayer is repeated with one final prostration at the end.

Why does this short and simple prayer occupy such an important position in the entire lenten worship? Because it enumerates in a unique way all the “negative” and “positive” elements of repentance and constitutes, so to speak, a “check list” for our individual lenten effort. This effort is aimed first at our liberation from some fundamental spiritual diseases which shape our life and make it virtually impossible for us even to start turning ourselves to God. 

The basic disease is sloth. It is that strange laziness and passivity of our entire being which always pushes us “down” rather than “up” — which constantly convinces us that no change is possible and therefore desirable. It is in fact a deeply rooted cynicism which to every spiritual challenge responds “what for?” and makes our life one tremendous spiritual waste. It is the root of all sin because it poisons the spiritual energy at its very source. 

The result of  sloth is faint-heartedness. It is the state of despondency which all spiritual Fathers considered the greatest danger for the soul. Despondency is the impossibility for man to see anything good or positive; it is the reduction of everything to negativism and pessimism. It is truly a demonic power in us because the Devil is fundamentally a liar. He lies to man about God and about the world; he fills life with darkness and negation. Despondency is the suicide of the soul because when man is possessed by it he is absolutely unable to see the light and to desire it.

Lust of power! Strange as it may seem, it is precisely sloth and despondency that fill our life with lust of power. By vitiating the entire attitude toward life and making it meaningless and empty, they force us to seek compensation in, a radically wrong attitude toward other persons. If my life is not oriented toward God, not aimed at eternal values, it will inevitably become selfish and selfcentered and this means that all other beings will become means of my own self-satisfaction. If God is not the Lord and Master of my life, then I become my own lord and master — the absolute center of my own world, and I begin to evaluate everything in terms of my needs, my ideas, my desires, and my judgments. The lust of power is thus a fundamental depravity in my relationship to other beings, a search for their subordination to me. It is not necessarily expressed in the actual urge to command and to dominate “others.” It may result as well in indifference, contempt, lack of interest, consideration, and respect. It is indeed sloth and despondency directed this time at others; it completes spiritual suicide with spiritual murder.

Finally, idle talk. Of all created beings, man alone has been endowed with the gift of speech. All Fathers see in it the very “seal” of the Divine Image in man because God Himself is revealed as Word (John, 1:1). But being the supreme gift, it is by the same token the supreme danger. Being the very expression of man, the means of his self-fulfillment, it is for this very reason the means of his fall and self-destruction, of betrayal and sin. The word saves and the word kills; the word inspires and the word poisons. The word is the means of Truth and it is the means of demonic Lie. Having an ultimate positive power, it has therefore a tremendous negative power. It truly creates positively or negatively. When deviated from its divine origin and purpose, the word becomes idle. It “enforces” sloth, despondency, and lust of power, and transforms life into hell. It becomes the very power of sin.

These four above are thus the negative “objects” of repentance. They are the obstacles to be removed. But God alone can remove them. Hence, the first part of the lenten prayer; this cry from the bottom of human helplessness. Then the prayer moves to the positive aims of repentance which also are four.

Chastity! If one does not reduce this term, as is so often and erroneously done, only to its sexual connotations, it is understood as the positive counterpart of sloth. The exact and full translation of the Greek sofrosini and the Russian tselomudryie ought to be whole-mindedness. Sloth is, first of all, dissipation, the brokenness of our vision and energy, the inability to see the whole. Its opposite then is precisely wholeness. If we usually mean by chastity the virtue opposed to sexual depravity, it is because the broken character of our existence is nowhere better manifested than in sexual lust — the alienation of the body from the life and control of the spirit. Christ restores wholeness in us and He does so by restoring in us the true scale of values by leading us back to God.

The first and wonderful fruit of this wholeness or chastity is humility. We already spoke of it. It is above everything else the victory of truth in us, the elimination of all lies in which we usually live. Humility alone is capable of truth, of seeing and accepting things as they are and therefore of seeing God’s majesty and goodness and love in everything. This is why we are told that God gives grace to the humble and resists the proud.

Chastity and humility are naturally followed by patience. The “natural” or “fallen” man is impatient, for being blind to himself he is quick to judge and to condemn others. Having but a broken, incomplete, and distorted knowledge of everything, he measures all things by his tastes and his ideas. Being indifferent to everyone except himself, he wants life to be successful right here and now. Patience, however, is truly a divine virtue. God is patient not because He is “indulgent,” but because He sees the depth of all that exists, because the inner reality of things, which in our blindness we do not see, is open to Him. The closer we come to God, the more patient we grow and the more we reflect that infinite respect for all beings which is the proper quality of God.

Finally, the crown and fruit of all virtues, of all growth and effort, is love — that love which, as we have already said, can be given by God alone-the gift which is the goal of all spiritual preparation and practice.

All this is summarized and brought together in the concluding petition of the lenten prayer in which we ask “to see my own errors and not to judge my brother.” For ultimately there is but one danger: pride. Pride is the source of evil, and all evil is pride. Yet it is not enough for me to see my own errors, for even this apparent virtue can be turned into pride. Spiritual writings are full of warnings against the subtle forms of pseudo-piety which, in reality, under the cover of humility and self-accusation can lead to a truly demonic pride. But when we “see our own errors” and “do not judge our brothers,” when, in other terms, chastity, humility, patience, and love are but one in us, then and only then the ultimate enemy–pride–will be destroyed in us.

After each petition of the prayer we make a prostration. Prostrations are not limited to the Prayer of St. Ephrem but constitute one of the distinctive characteristics of the entire lenten worship. Here, however, their meaning is disclosed best of all. In the long and difficult effort of spiritual recovery, the Church does not separate the soul from the body. The whole man has fallen away from God; the whole man is to be restored, the whole man is to return. The catastrophe of sin lies precisely in the victory of the flesh — the animal, the irrational, the lust in us — over the spiritual and the divine. But the body is glorious; the body is holy, so holy that God Himself “became flesh.”

Salvation and repentance then are not contempt for the body or neglect of it, but restoration of the body to its real function as the expression and the life of spirit, as the temple of the priceless human soul. Christian asceticism is a fight, not against but for the body. For this reason, the whole man – soul and body  – repents. The body participates in the prayer of the soul just as the soul prays through and in the body. Prostrations, the “psycho-somatic” sign of repentance and humility, of adoration and obedience, are thus the lenten rite par excellence.

Triodion – Why do we fast? – Archbishop Kallistos Ware

The primary aim of fasting is to make us conscious of our dependence upon God. If practiced seriously, the Lenten abstinence from food – particularly in the opening days – involves a considerable measure of real hunger, and also a feeling of tiredness and physical exhaustion. The purpose of this is to lead us in turn to a sense of inward brokenness and contrition; to bring us, that is, to the point where we appreciate the full force of Christ’s statement, ‘Without Me you can do nothing’ (John 15: 5). If we always take our fill of food and drink, we easily grow over-confident in our own abilities, acquiring a false sense of autonomy and self-sufficiency. The observance of a physical fast undermines this sinful complacency. Stripping from us the specious assurance of the Pharisee – who fasted, it is true, but not in the right spirit – Lenten abstinence gives us the saving self dissatisfaction of the Publican (Luke I 8: 10-1 3). Such is the function of the hunger and the tiredness: to make us ‘poor in spirit’, aware of our helplessness and of our dependence on God’s aid.

Yet it would be misleading to speak only of this element of weariness and hunger. Abstinence leads, not merely-to this, but also to a sense of lightness, wakefulness, freedom and joy. Even if the fast proves debilitating at first, afterwards we find that it enables us to sleep less, to think more clearly, and to work more decisively. As many doctors acknowledge, periodical fasts contribute to bodily hygiene. While involving genuine self-denial, fasting does not seek to do violence to our body but rather to restore it to health and equilibrium. Most of us in the Western world habitually eat more than we need. Fasting liberates our body from the burden of excessive weight and makes it a willing partner in the task of prayer, alert and responsive to the voice of the Spirit.

It will be noted that in common Orthodox usage the words ‘fasting’ and ‘abstinence’ are employed interchangeably. Prior to the Second Vatican Council, the Roman Catholic Church made a clear distinction between the two terms: abstinence concerned the types of food eaten, irrespective of quantity, whereas fasting signified a limitation on the number of meals or on the amount of food that could be taken. Thus on certain days both abstinence and fasting were required; alternatively, the one might be prescribed but not the other. In the Orthodox Church a clear-cut distinction is not made between the two words. During Lent there is frequently a limitation on the number of meals eaten each day, 5 but when a meal is permitted there is no restriction on the amount of food allowed. The Fathers simply state, as a guiding principle, that we should never eat to satiety but always rise from the table feeling that we could have taken more and that we are now ready for prayer.

If it is important not to overlook the physical requirements of fasting, it is even more important not to overlook its inward significance. Fasting is not a mere matter of diet. It is moral as well as physical. True fasting is to be converted in heart and will; it is to return to God, to come home like the Prodigal to our Father’s house. In the words of St. John Chrysostom, it means ‘abstinence not only from food but from sins’. ‘The fast’, he insists, ‘should be kept not by the mouth alone but also by the eye, the ear, the feet, the hands and all the members of the body’: the eye must abstain from impure sights, the ear from malicious gossip, the hands from acts of injustice. 6 It is useless to fast from food, protests St. Basil, and yet to indulge in cruel criticism and slander: ‘You do not eat meat, but you devour your brother’ . 7 The same point is made in the Triodion, especially during the first week of Lent:

As we fast from food, let us abstain also from every passion. . .

Let us observe a fast acceptable and pleasing to the Lord.
True fasting is to put away all evil,
To control the tongue, to forbear from anger,
To abstain from lust, slander, falsehood and perjury.
If we renounce these things, then is our fasting true and acceptable to God.
Let us keep the Fast not only by refraining from food,
But by becoming strangers to all the bodily passions. 8

The inner significance of fasting is best summed up in the triad: prayer, fasting, almsgiving. Divorced from prayer and from the reception of the holy sacraments, unaccompanied by acts of compassion, our fasting becomes pharisaical or even demonic. It leads, not to contrition and joyfulness, but to pride, inward tension and irritability. The link between prayer and fasting is rightly indicated by Father Alexander Elchaninov. A critic of fasting says to him: ‘Our work suffers and we become irritable. . . . I have never seen servants [in pre-revolutionary Russia] so bad tempered as during the last days of Holy Week. Clearly, fasting has a very bad effect on the nerves.’ To this Father Alexander replies: ‘You are quite right. . . . If it is not accompanied by prayer and an increased spiritual life, it merely leads to a heightened state of irritability. It is natural that servants who took their fasting seriously and who were forced to work hard during Lent, while not being allowed to go to church, were angry and irritable.’ 9

Fasting, then, is valueless or even harmful when not combined with prayer. In the Gospels the devil is cast out, not by fasting alone, but by ‘prayer and fasting’ (Matt. 17: 21 ; Mark 9: 29); and of the early Christians it is said, not simply that they fasted, but that they ‘fasted and prayed’ (Acts 13: 3; compare 14: 23). In both the Old and the New Testament fasting is seen, not as an end in itself, but as an aid to more intense and living prayer, as a preparation for decisive action or for direct encounter with God. Thus our Lord’s forty-day fast in the wilderness was the immediate preparation for His public ministry (Matt. 4: 1-11). When Moses fasted on Mount Sinai (Exod. 34: 28) and Elijah on Mount Horeb (3 [1] Kgs. 19: 8-12), the fast was in both cases linked with a theophany. The same connection between fasting and the vision of God is evident in the case of St. Peter (Acts 10: 9-17). He ‘went up on the housetop to pray about the sixth hour, and he became very hungry and wanted to eat; and it was in this state that he fell into a trance and heard the divine voice. Such is always the purpose of ascetic fasting – to enable us, as the Triodion puts it, to ‘draw near to the mountain of prayer’. 10

Prayer and fasting should in their turn be accompanied by almsgiving – by love for others expressed in practical form, by works of compassion and forgiveness. Eight days before the opening of the Lenten fast, on the Sunday of the Last Judgment, the appointed Gospel is the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Matt. 25′: 31-46), reminding us that the criterion in the coming judgment will not be the strictness of our fasting but the amount of help that we have given to those in need. In the words of the Triodion:


Knowing the commandments of the Lord, let this be our way of life:
Let us feed the hungry, let us give the thirsty drink,
Let us clothe the naked, let us welcome strangers,
Let us visit those in prison and the sick.
Then the Judge of all the earth will say even to us:
‘Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you.’ 11

This stanza, it may be noted in passing, is a typical instance of the ‘evangelical’ character of the Orthodox service-books. In common with so many other texts in the Triodion, it is simply a paraphrase of the words of Holy Scripture. 12

It is no coincidence that on the very threshold of the Great Fast, at Vespers on the Sunday of Forgiveness, there is a special ceremony of mutual reconciliation: 13  for without love towards others there can be no genuine fast. And this love for others should not be limited to formal gestures or to sentimental feelings, but should issue in specific acts of almsgiving. Such was the firm conviction of the early Church. The second-century Shepherd of Hermas insists that the money saved through fasting is to be given to the widow, the orphan and the poor. 14 But almsgiving means more than this. It is to give not only our money but our time, not only what we have but what we are; it is to give a part of ourselves. When we hear the Triodion speak of almsgiving, the word should almost always be taken in this deeper sense. For the mere giving of money can often be a substitute and an evasion, a way of protecting ourselves from closer personal involvement with those in distress. On the other hand, to do nothing more than offer reassuring words of advice to someone crushed by urgent material anxieties is equally an evasion of our responsibilities (see Jas. 2: 16). Bearing in mind the unity already emphasized between man’s body and his soul, we seek to offer help on both the material and the spiritual levels at once.

‘When thou seest the naked, cover him; and hide not thyself from thine own flesh.’ The Eastern liturgical tradition, in common with that of the West, treats Isaiah 58: 3-8 as a basic Lenten text.


So we read in the Triodion:

While fasting with the body, brethren, let us also fast in spirit.
Let us loose every bond of iniquity;
Let us undo the knots of every contract made by violence;
Let us tear up all unjust agreements;
Let us give bread to the hungry
And welcome to our house the poor who have no roof to cover them,
That we may receive great mercy from Christ our God. 15

Always in our acts of abstinence we should keep in mind St. Paul’s admonition not to condemn others who fast less strictly: ‘Let not him who abstains pass judgment on him who eats’ (Rom. 14: 3). Equally, we remember Christ’s condemnation of outward display in prayer, fasting or almsgiving (Matt. 6: 1-18). Both these Scriptural passages are often recalled in the Triodion:

Consider well, my soul: dost thou fast? Then despise not thy neighbor.
Dost thou abstain from food? Condemn not thy brother.

Come, let us cleanse ourselves by almsgiving and acts of mercy to the poor,
Not sounding a trumpet or making a show of our charity.
Let not our left hand know what our right hand is doing;
Let not vainglory scatter the fruit of our almsgiving;
But in secret let us call on Him that knows all secrets:
Father, forgive us our trespasses, for Thou lovest mankind. 16

If we are to understand correctly the text of the Triodion and the spirituality that underlies it, there are five misconceptions about the Lenten fast against which we should guard. In the first place, the Lenten fast is not intended only for monks and nuns, but is enjoined on the whole Christian people. Nowhere do the Canons of the Ecumenical or Local Councils suggest that fasting is only for monks and not for the laity. By virtue of their Baptism, all Christians – whether married or under monastic vows – are Cross-bearers, following the same spiritual path. The exterior conditions in which they live out their Christianity display a wide variety, but in its inward essence the life is one. Just as the monk by his voluntary self-denial is seeking to affirm the intrinsic goodness and beauty of God’s creation, so also is each married Christian required to be in some measure an ascetic. The way of negation and the way of affirmation are interdependent, and every Christian is called to follow both ways at once.

In the second place, the Triodion should not be misconstrued in a Pelagian sense.If the Lenten texts are continually urging us to greater personal efforts, this should not be taken as implying that our progress depends solely upon the exertion of our own will. On the contrary, whatever we achieve in the Lenten fast is to be regarded as a free gift of grace from God. The Great Canon of St. Andrew of Crete leaves no doubt at all on this point:

I have no tears, no repentance, no compunction;
But as God do Thou Thyself, O Saviour, bestow them on me. 17

In the third place, our fasting should not be self-willed but obedient. When we fast, we should not try to invent special rules for ourselves, but we should follow as faithfully as possible the accepted pattern set before us by Holy Tradition. This accepted pattern, expressing as it does the collective conscience of the People of God, possesses a hidden wisdom and balance not to be found in ingenious austerities devised by our own fantasy. Where it seems that the traditional regulations are not applicable to our personal situation, we should seek the counsel of our spiritual father – not in order legalistically to secure a ‘dispensation’ from him, but in order humbly with his help to discover what is the will of God for us. Above all, if we desire for ourselves not some relaxation but some piece of additional strictness, we should not embark upon it without our spiritual father’s blessing. Such has been the practice since the early centuries of the Church’s life:

Abba Antony said: ‘I know of monks who fell after much labor and lapsed into madness, because they trusted in their own work and neglected the commandment that says: “Ask your father, and he will tell you.'” (Deut. 32: 7)


Again he said: ‘So far as possible, for every step that a monk takes, for every drop of water that he drinks in his cell, he should consult the gerontes, in case he makes some mistake in this.’ 18

These words apply not only to monks but also to lay people living in the ‘world’, even though the latter may be bound by a less strict obedience to their spiritual father. If proud and willful, our fasting assumes a diabolical character, bringing us closer not to God but to Satan. Because fasting renders us sensitive to the realities of the spiritual world, it can be dangerously ambivalent: for there are evil spirits as well as good.


In the fourth place, paradoxical though it may seem, the period of Lent is a time not of gloom but of joyfulness. It is true that fasting brings us to repentance and to grief for sin, but this penitent grief, in the vivid phrase of St. John Climacus, is a ‘joy-creating sorrow’ . 19 The Triodion deliberately mentions both tears and gladness in a single sentence:

Grant me tears falling as the rain from heaven,O Christ,
As I keep this joyful day of the Fast. 20

It is remarkable how frequently the themes of joy and light recur in the texts for the first day of Lent:


With joy let us enter upon the beginning of the Fast.
Let us not be of sad countenance. . . .
Let us joyfully begin the all-hallowed season of abstinence;
And let us shine with the bright radiance of the holy commandments. . . 
All mortal life is but one day, so it is said,
To those who labor with love.
There are forty days in the Fast;
Let us keep them all with joy. 21

The season of Lent, it should be noted, falls not in midwinter when the countryside is frozen and dead, but in spring when all things are returning to life. The English word ‘Lent’ originally had the meaning ‘springtime’; and in a text of fundamental importance the Triodion likewise describes the Great Fast as ‘springtime’:


The springtime of the Fast has dawned,
The flower of repentance has begun to open.
O brethren, let us cleanse ourselves from all impurity
And sing to the Giver of Light:
Glory be to Thee, who alone lovest mankind. 22

Lent signifies not winter but spring, not darkness but light, not death but renewed vitality. Certainly it has its somber aspect, with the repeated prostrations at the weekday services, with the dark vestments of the priest, with the hymns sung to a subdued chant, full of compunction. In the Christian Empire of Byzantium theatres were closed and public spectacles forbidden during Lent; 23 and even today weddings are forbidden in the seven weeks of the fast. 24 Yet these elements of austerity should not blind us to the fact that the fast is not a burden, not a punishment, but a gift of God’s grace:

Come,O ye people, and today let us accept
The grace of the Fast as a gift from God. 25

Fifthly and finally, our Lenten abstinence does not imply a rejection of God’s creation. As St. Paul insists, ‘Nothing is unclean in itself’ (Rom. 14: 14). All that God has made is ‘very good’ (Gen. I: 31): to fast is not to deny this intrinsic goodness but to reaffirm it. ‘To the pure all things are pure’ (Titus I: I S), and so at the Messianic banquet in the Kingdom of heaven there will be no need for fasting and ascetic self-denial. But, living as we do in a fallen world, and suffering as we do from the consequences of sin, both original and personal, we are not pure; and so we have need of fasting. Evil resides not in created things as such but in our attitude towards them, that is, in our will. The purpose of fasting, then, is not to repudiate the divine creation but to cleanse our will. During the fast we deny our bodily impulses – for example, our spontaneous appetite for food and drink – not because these impulses are in themselves evil, but because they have been disordered by sin and require to be purified through self-discipline. In this way, asceticism is a fight not against but for the body; the aim of fasting is to purge the body from alien defilement and to render it spiritual. By rejecting what is sinful in our will, we do not destroy the God-created body but restore it to its true balance and freedom. In Father Sergei Bulgakov’s phrase, we kill the flesh in order to acquire a body.

But in rendering the body spiritual, we do not thereby dematerialize it, depriving it of its character as a physical entity. The ‘spiritual’ is not to be equated with the non-material, neither is the ‘fleshly’ or carnal to be equated with the bodily. In St. Paul’s usage, ‘flesh’ denotes the totality of man, soul and body together, in so far as he is fallen and separated from God; and in the same way ‘spirit’ denotes the totality of man, soul and body together, in so far as he is redeemed and divinized by grace. 26 Thus the soul as well as the body can become carnal and fleshly, and the body as well as the soul can become spiritual. When St. Paul enumerates the ‘works of the flesh’ (Gal. 5: 19-21), he includes such things as sedition, heresy and envy, which involve the soul much more than the body. In making our body spiritual, then, the Lenten fast does not suppress the physical aspect of our human nature, but makes our materiality once more as God intended it to be.

This has been extracted from the full article that replicates what is in the Triodion.

A Sensitive & Loving Heart

As we prepare for the Sunday of Last Judgment, we are presented with another opportunity to more fully commit to the ’change of heart’ (i.e metanoia) of repentance. The reflection below can be a powerful reminder that our real goal is to deepen our reliance on God’s mercy for the ’renewal’ (Romans 12:2) of abandoning false paths and returning to our true home in Him. There we find His mercy is sufficient. 

If we’re wondering where to start, perhaps the simplicity and undercurrent of the Jesus Prayer throughout the day is a way to soften our hearts to His healing presence

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me , a sinner

What is the criteria for God’s judgement – Excerpt from homily for Sunday of Last Judgement by Abbot Seraphim Holy Cross Monastery

This is the real criterion of judgment, that we be merciful, as our heavenly Father is merciful (cf. Lk. 6:36). Then Christ will come, and He will recognize us as truly His own. All the Apostles make this clear: as St. Paul says, though I give my body to be burned and have not love, I am nothing (Cf. 1 Cor. 13:2-3); or St. John when he says, If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar (1 Jn. 4:20); or again in St. James, If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding, ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit? (Jam. 2:15-16).

In God’s great condescension and compassion, He identifies Himself with these poor brethren, saying, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me (Mt. 25:40); just as it says in another place, he is not ashamed to call them brethren (Heb. 2:11), having made Himself like unto them, partaking of flesh and blood, living a life on earth in poverty and obscurity, personally undergoing all the vagaries of our mortal existence. Thus, He accepts a good deed done to any person at all as done unto Him; and even a deed as small as providing a cup of cold water He promises will not go unrewarded (cf. Mt. 10:42).

Seeing then that we have such a plentiful field for performing God-pleasing deeds, and that they do not require anything exceptional or impossible from us, but only a sensitive and loving heart, how will we not justly be condemned at the appearing of the God Who is love, if we ourselves are found bereft of that love? If we are thus found, the shame of being near Him, and beholding His face, full of the terrible beauty of holiness, will be more unbearable for us than outer darkness and gnashing of teeth; His presence will burn us hotter than any lake of fire. He does not drive us away out of petty anger, but merely gives us what we ourselves have been preparing our whole life long: for he shall have judgment without mercy that hath shown no mercy (Jam. 2:13).

But what about those who themselves are poor, naked or sick; or those of us who have chosen the monastic life, and no longer have the material things needed to help alleviate our brother’s suffering? Listen to St. Mark the Monk, who says, “you don’t have money, but you do have free will and the will to act.” So let us give of what we do have. Is your brother sick and ailing from some infirmity? Visit him at least with your prayers. Is he imprisoned in the dungeon of despondency? Come to him with a kind, encouraging word. Are his faults naked and exposed to your sight? Clothe him with your good thoughts. Is he a stranger because he offended you in some way? Take him in with your forgiveness. In these ways, anyone can perform the deeds necessary for salvation; and truly, these things are better than material alms, just as the soul is better than the body.

So, let us be sobered by reflection on God’s judgment, but let us not despair of God’s mercy: for mercy rejoiceth against judgment (Jam. 2:13). And it is precisely a heart that is merciful like His that He seeks of us at His judgment. Let us make this our aim in the coming season of fasting; because food does not commend us to God (1 Cor. 8:8), as we hear in today’s epistle. The impending struggle of the Fast is only a means to a higher end, a powerful tool that the Church places in our hand, so that we can harrow the stony ground of our hearts, covered with the tares of self-love, and thus acquire a heart of mercy which in the sight of God is of great price (1 Pet. 3:4). Having achieved this end with God’s help, may we also be found worthy to stand on His right hand at the Last Day, and behold unashamed the face of Jesus Christ when He returns in glory.

Bearing the Shame of Confession – Extract from the book ‘Remember thy First Love’ by Archimandrite Zacharias Zacharou

In our prior classes , we discussed the topic of shame. I thought it might be useful to further explore this. Below is a short Q&A that looks at this topic in the context of the Sacrament of Confession:

Question: In taking the steps which you have presented to us, the most difficult thing, I think, is to overcome the fear of shame. This is what I try to do in my parish. People will not come to confession although their souls are burdened and things are driving them crazy, because they cannot overcome the shame to admit their sins. How do you lead people in this direction?

Answer: I think that the strength to bear shame is a gift from God. When I was a young and inexperienced spiritual father, Elder (i.e now Saint) Sophrony told me to encourage the young people to confess precisely the things of which they are ashamed, for if they learn to do so, shame is transformed into strength against the passions, and they will overcome sin. This is precisely what occurred in the person of Zacchaeus. He bore shame voluntarily, and the Lord, Who was on His way to Jerusalem in order to suffer the Cross of shame, saw Zacchaeus bearing shame for His sake and recognized in him a kindred spirit. Zacchaeus had put himself prophetically in the way of the Christ, in the way of the Cross, and in a prophetic way the mystery of the Cross and Resurrection of Christ was activated in the heart of Zacchaeus. His heart was enlarged and he was able to enter into the power of faith. Christ has saved us through the Cross of shame, so when we suffer shame for His sake He considers this as gratitude, and in return He transmits to us His grace which regenerates our life.

This is exactly what happens in confession. Those who confess sincerely and take upon themselves the shame for their sins are regenerated. But those who shrug their shoulders and say, ‘Nothing special, the usual things…’ they do not bear any shame, their heart remains unmoved, and they hardly receive any benefit. But those who, with shame and a contrite heart, strip their souls naked before God and before another mortal, ‘of like passions’ (Acts 14:15) with them—that shame of theirs really finds the heart, humbles it and brings it to the surface. This then, opens the heart to receive the grace of regeneration, of consolation. We see this in the life of many that come to us: the greater the shame they bear with contrition, accusing themselves before God, the greater the grace they receive to amend their lives and make a new beginning.

Last Judgment – Father Alexander Schmemann from his book ’Great Lent’

Our Pre-Lenten journey now brings us face to face with something that many of may find uncomfortable: Christ’s parable of the Last Judgment. Our temptation may be to elevate our own judgment(s) above the starkness and clarity that Christ presents to us in this powerful parable.

Certainly, one possibility of why the Church Fathers have placed this in our path at this point is to wake us up to the seriousness and sobriety we need for the journey ahead. It may also be true that this sobriety, this wakefulness, needs to apply itself to our tendencies to dismiss those judgments from our Lord and Savior that we may find difficult to understand or accept.

We are not alone. I think of the Apostle Peter’s response to what he perceived as the unacceptable truth of what would happen to Christ.

From that time forth began Jesus to shew unto his disciples, how that he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.  Then Peter took him, and began to rebuke him, saying, Be it far from thee, Lord: this shall not be unto thee.  But he turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.

Matthew 16: 21 – 23

When we think about the first two weeks of our Pre-Lenten preparation, it is clear what the examples of the Publican and Prodigal have to teach us about repentance. But what do the examples of the Pharisee and the elder son have to teach us about what prevents us from repenting? Are there some common barriers to repentance that these examples illumine and illustrate?

Certainly, most of us would point to the pride of the Pharisee as a barrier that prevented him from the experience of ongoing repentance so essential to our spiritual journeys.

Isn’t an important aspect of this pride the inflation we place on our own judgements of ourselves and of our knowledge of what ’God’s will’ should be in our circumstances? The Pharisee’s judgement that I am not like these others men … these sinners? The elder son’s belief that his judgement of what is just and fair about what should happen to his brother should be the way his Father sees this?

And isn’t it clear that these judgements of the Pharisee and elder son are completely lacking in a fidelity to what Christ has given us as our Great Commandment?

Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

Matthew 22: 36 – 40

Isn’t a way of thinking about the sin and separation between the elder son and his Father, this allegiance we have to our distorted judgements that are devoid of an experience and expression of love? The possibility that our judgements are separating us from the most basic and foundational experience of a communion of Love with our Father and the expression of that Love to our neighbor.

I find this quote very compelling:

“Repentance is the beginning, middle and end of the Christian way of life.”

St. Gregory Palamas

Perhaps, our Church Fathers have prepared us for the Sunday of the Last Judgement by reminding us of how far our own judgements are from those that are inspired by Him. With this in mind, let’s look now at what Father Schemman has to say.

Father Alexander Schemman on the Last Judgement

Christianity is the religion of love. Christ left with his disciples not a doctrine of individual salvation but a new commandment “that you love one another”, and He added: ”By this shall all know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Love is thus the foundation, the very life of the Church which is, in the words of St. Ignatius of Antioch, the ”unity of faith and love.” Sin is always absence of love, and therefore separation, isolation, war of all against all. The new life given by Christ and conveyed to us by the Church is, first of all, a life of reconciliation, of ”gathering into oneness of those who were dispersed,” the restoration of love broken by sin. But how can we even begin our return to God and our reconciliation with Him if in ourselves we do not return to the unique new commandment of love?

When Christ comes to judge us, what will be the criterion of His judgment? The parable answers: love – not a mere humanitarian concern for abstract justice and the anonymous ”poor,” but concrete and personal love for the human person, any human person, that God makes me encounter in my life.

Christian love is the ”possible impossibility” to see Christ in another man, whoever he is, and who God, in his eternal and mysterious plan, has decided to introduce into my life. .. For indeed, what is love if not the mysterious power which transcends the accidental and the external in the ”other” – his physical appearance, social rank, ethnic origin, intellectual capacity – and reaches the soul, the unique and uniquely personal ”root” of a human being, truly the part of God in him? If God loves every man it is because He alone knows the priceless and absolutely unique treasure, the “soul” or ”person” He gave every man. Christian love then is the participation in that divine knowledge and the gift of that divine love. There is no ”impersonal” love because love is the wonderful discovery of the ”person” in ”man,” of the personal and unique in the common and general. It is the discovery in each man of that which is ”lovable” in him, of that which is from God.

In this respect, Christian love is sometimes the opposite of ”social activism” with which one so often identifies Christianity today. To a “social activist” the object of love is not ”person” but man, an abstract unit of a not less abstract ”humanity.” But for Christianity, man is ”lovable” because he is person. There person is reduce to man; here man is seen only as person. The ”social activist” has no interest for the personal, and easily sacrifices it to the ”common interest.” Christianity may seem to be, and in some way actually is, rather skeptical about that abstract ”humanity,” but it commits a mortal sin against itself each time it gives up its concern and love for the person. Social activism is always ”futuristic” in its approach, it always acts in the name of justice, order, happiness to come, to be achieved. Christianity cares little about that problematic future but puts the whole emphasis on the now – the only decisive time for love. The two attitudes are not mutually exclusive, but they must not be confused. Christian love aims beyond “this world”. It is itself a ray, a manifestation of the Kingdom of God; it transcends and overcomes limitations, all “conditions” of this world because its motivation as well as its goals and consummation is in God.

The parable of the Last Judgment is about Christian love. Not all of us are called to work for ”humanity,” yet each one of us has received the gift and grace of Christ’s love. We know that all men ultimately need this personal love – the recognition in them of their unique soul in which the beauty of the whole creation is reflected in a unique way. We also know that men are in prison and are sick and thirsty and hungry because that personal love has been denied them. And, finally, we know that however narrow and limited the framework of our personal existence, each one of us has been made responsible for a tiny part of the Kingdom of God, made responsible by the very gift of Christ’s love. Thus, on whether or not we have accepted this responsibility , on whether we have loved or refused to love, shall we be judged. For ”inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, you have done it unto Me … ”

Prodigal Son Adult Education Class

In our class this week, our major theme will be the experience of ’exile’ as it relates to the parable of Prodigal Son. We’ll explore this experience through Orthodox homilies and reflections that link exile as essential to repentance. These readings contain very useful insights about not just the younger son but also the older one.

We’ll also review some begin key quotes/messages from Triodion.

Additionally, our Church Fathers have added Psalm 137 (By the Rivers of Babylon) to the Matins service beginning this week. It continues through the remaining Sundays before Lent. This psalm is a further powerful exploration of this theme of exile quite poignant to the ear. We’ll discuss the significance of this psalm and also listen to it during our class time together.

Below is an outline of the class tomorrow with links for you to explore and review if you have an opportunity before the class.

I.Reading,Group & self reflections on this week’s key themes of exile (30 minutes)

Exile Of Both Sons

What lessons can we gain from the elder son?

Why is exile so essential to an authentic experience of repentance?

II. Key Quotes/Messages From Triodion (10 minutes)

Sunday of Prodigal Son Triodion Quotes

Matins Change – Singing of ‘By the Rivers of Bablyon’ Psalm 137 (10 minutes)

YouTube Recording

Father Thomas Hopko Commentary on Psalm 137

What does the elder son in the Prodigal Son parable have to teach us?

The theme of exile and how it relates to both sons is crucial and often overlooked. Archimandrite Zacharias (Zacharou) in his book ’At the Doors of Holy Lent’ does a powerful deep dive into how much the elder son has to teach us about the condition of our hearts, how distant our hearts may be from God, and our need for repentance. I think this article is a very good compliment to the article entitled ’Exile of Both Sons’ by Father Robert Aida.

At The Doors of Holy Lent – Archimandrite Zacharias

The elder son may have been a child of the Father, but his heart was not with Him. He lived in his Father’s house enjoying His wealth, but he had not given his heart to Him. He had put his confidence in external works and he never worked on his heart. Therefore, he could not enter the house and join the feast for the return of his brother. He speaks about his brother with no compassion as if he were a stranger. In his dialogue with the Father, without even naming him, he resentfully refers to him with the words, ‘this your son’. 

The firstborn son had wasted his life, turning it into the formal fulfilment of his duty, instead of increasing it and enriching it as an offering of love. If he had nurtured tender love for the Father, he would not have condemned any of His acts, but would have followed His slightest desire as something holy and sacred. 

The elder son represents first the Pharisees, who justified themselves in all things and would have preferred to see a sinner be destroyed rather than forgiven. They put their confidence in their rights and considered themselves to be the elect of God. They thought they knew His law and that they were not transgressing His commandments. On the other hand, blinded as they were by pride, they were not only unable to recognise the Son of God in the Person of the meek and lowly Jesus, but they also confronted Him as a criminal. They condemned Him and in the end they even killed Him. 

This son also represents a number of Christians, who live a comfortable life, performing external pious works and taking for granted their own salvation. Yet, for created and sinful man to enter the heavenly banquet, it is not enough to pay a visit to the church, light a candle, listen to the beautiful chanting and then leave. An ontological transformation must occur in his heart and man must develop an inner relationship of love with his Father ‘which is in heaven’. And since through His incarnation, Christ has become the most known among the three Persons of the Holy Trinity, He is our Father, brother and Saviour, He is all things. Through the invocation of His Name, the heart is changed and cultivated. 

‘Therefore came his father out, and intreated him.’ God humbles Himself before man and condescends to his weaknesses, so as to sustain and care for every soul in His goodness, and receive them in His Kingdom. The Father not only hastened to comfort the prodigal son, but also came out to console his other son who protested at being treated unjustly. 

‘And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad: for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.’ 

The elder son had fallen prey to the illusion that he had never broken any commandment, his heart was far from his Father. The eyes of his soul were not open to discern the repentance of his brother and the change in his soul. Instead, he only judged his external actions, and though he lacked accurate knowledge of them, he enumerated them. His words contained wilfulness, envy and harshness. The elder son is the personification of human justice, who considers that God is obliged to him and resists His will. If he had given his heart to the Father without reserve, he would have found the trust to take part in the feast with no need to ask for details. He would have rejoiced with the joy of his Father. The man who repents and returns to God is not concerned about anything except His justice and wisdom, which he unquestioningly accepts in times of both sorrow and joy. 

When the Lord appeared after the Resurrection to the disciples at the lake of Gennesaret, He restored Peter as the chief of the apostles with His threefold question: ‘Dost thou love me?’, and then foretold him his martyrdom. Peter turned to John and asked Christ puzzled: ‘What shall this man do?’ The Lord then gave him another great lesson through the words: ‘If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow thou me.’ 37 Our eyes must not wander around to see what the others do, how they react, what they say. Our gaze must remain fixed on the Lord, Who will lead us to the haven of salvation, if we follow Him. 

‘Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine.’ When we convince God that we love Him as our Father, He gives us all His life. He gives to all the same commandments and the same promises. The knowledge of His love and of His thirst to impart to us by grace all that belongs to Him by nature, floods the soul with gratitude and leaves no room in the heart for the hideous passion of envy. 

The word of the Father, ‘All that I have is thine,’ is fearful. If God Himself is mindful of all things and makes us partakers of His eternal treasure, then we cannot lack anything. His Light shines for all and is not diminished when it illumines not only us but also our brethren. It is like the flame of the candle, which remains the same, even if it ignites millions of other candles. In every portion of His Body and Blood, He gives us the entire wealth of His gifts. The Lord gives us all things, but we also have a great debt: to follow Him and consider the salvation of our brother and of the whole world as our own concern and joy. Then, all the abundance of gifts that sprang from the coming of the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit, will become our own. 

The Light proceeding from the Father gives us the ‘light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ’ 38… The image of the only begotten Son of one substance with the Father, the Logos, kindles a strong desire in us to become like Him in all things… We suffer but in a hitherto-unknown way… We shrink into ourselves, knowing ourselves for what we are, while at the same time God comes forward to embrace us like the father of the prodigal son. Fear and trembling depart from us, giving place to wonder at God. He clothes us in rich garments. He adorns us with great gifts, the noblest of which is all-embracing love. Our initial suffering of repentance is transformed into the joy and sweetness of love which now takes a new form–compassion for every creature deprived of divine Light. 39 

The Lord Jesus Christ Who overcame the world, is a Living God, always present among us. He reigns unto all ages. If we surrender our whole heart to Him with trust and cultivate a relationship of love, humility and thanksgiving with Him, nothing will be able to make us waver. Through the continual and painful struggle of our repentance, we will leave behind our old sins. We will make a new beginning to return to the house of the Father and our life will be blessed and renewed. When the end of time will come, this relationship with the Lord will continue, but on another level, stronger, more perfect, indescribable.

Revelation & Knowledge of God In Humility – Archimandrite Aimilianos

In his marvelous book, ‘The Way of the Spirit – Reflections on Life In God’ , we have an outstanding homily (Chapter 10) given by Archimandrite Aimilanianos at this time of beginning our preparation for Lent. It is powerful and quite simple in its message of how essential our humility is to allowing God to find us and to reveal Himself to us. I’ve dramatically shortened this homily but hopefully captured much of the essence of his message that was delivered on February 23rd, 1986.

Revelation & Knowledge of God in Humility Homily

Today is the beginning of the Triodion, which is one of the most significant days in the life of the Church. 1 Today we cross a threshold. Today a shift occurs, the atmosphere changes, and all the essential elements are transformed. And all of this happens in order to prepare us for the greatest and most wonderful period of the year: Great Lent. The Triodion opens up a door which leads directly to heaven. The Triodion is an enchanting meadow, where Christ is the shepherd, and God feeds His spiritual flock. 2

As we heard in the Matins service this morning, Christ enters the life of the Church with a special mission, ”teaching us, by parables, to correct our lives”. What does it mean to ”correct our life”? It means to clarify your position with respect to God and the Church. It means to get to know God better, and to establish a relationship with Him that you won’t abandon. Are we going to live with God, or, in the end, go our separate ways? Nobody gets married in order to get divorced, but divorces often happen The same thing occurs with God.

Today we heard the parable of the Publican and the Pharisee (Lk 18:10-14). It speaks of humility. I won’t repeat the story to you now, because you all know it perfectly well. But within the larger meaning of the parable, there’s something I’d like you to take careful note of. The Pharisee thought he knew God. He believed that he and God were friends. He was, however, mistaken in this belief, and it was rather the other man, the Publican, who was God’s friend.

The Pharisee thought he knew God, but he didn’t. It’s not that easy to know God. But because he faithfully observed the outward rules of religion, he was under the false impression that God was somehow in his debt, that God owed him something. God for him was a kind of accountant, keeping a set of books showing what people owed him and what he owed them. But it’s not like that.

The moment the Pharisee said, I’m not like those other people (Lk18:11), he cut himself off from God. Why? Because God is humble, and since the Pharisee felt no need for humility, it follows that he felt no need for God. He knew the law, and the traditions of his faith, but he did not know God.

The Publican, on the other hand, had no illusions about himself. He was sunk up to his neck in the swamp of his sins. And yet, even though he was awash in the slime of his transgressions, what did he say to God? Be merciful to me a sinner (Lk 18.13). And at that moment, in his sinful, suffering, disconsolate heart, he felt certain that he was justified, thanks to his humility and the frank acknowledgement of his sinfulness. As the Lord tells us, he went down to his house justified (Lk 18.14), which means that God recognized and received him. As a sinner he had been living in darkness, but his humility brought him into the light of paradise and granted him communion with God. 5

Next Sunday, we shall hear another wonderful parable: the story of the Prodigal Son (Lk 15:11-32), which also speaks of humility and our return to God. This parable reveals that God is our Heavenly Father, and the founder, builder, and Lord of the Church, into which he welcomes all who approach him with compunction, and who ultimately choose God over the things of the world.

On the third Sunday, we will hear the parable about the Second Coming of Christ and the Final Judgement (Mt 25:31-46). This parable present us with a vision of Christ enthroned in His glory, and reveals to us that He does not judge us by human standards of justice, but rather by the measure of our humility. For in his own humility, Christ has concealed Himself in the person of the poor, and only those with the spirit of humility are able to stoop down and minister to Him.

Thereafter we come to the last Sunday before Lent, called Cheese-Fare Sunday. Having reached the end of this preliminary period of preparation, we begin again at the beginning, with a review of history; the God of humility invites us to return, not simply to paradise, but into the very kingdom of heaven.

In each of these Gospel stories, we find the answers to our deepest questions: Who is God? What is God? How is God revealed? To whom does God reveal Himself? These are universal human questions, and thus they are our questions too, and so our theme today is how God is revealed and made known to us.

The Son of God does not come in symbols, or in clouds or still breezes. Instead, He removed his garments of light (cf. Ps 103.2) and clothed Himself in the garments of human nature. Long ago, God made man a little god. Now, God Himself becomes man, and this is beyond anything that man could ever have imagined or hoped for.

Until God become man, He built bridges, so that He might cross over to us, and we to Him. Now He abolishes all distances, removes all boundaries, and comes to dwell with us forever. Unable to endure the loss of His creation, He sets aside His unspeakable glory and humbles Himself, definitively taking on our condition. 15

And His whole life was an ongoing self-abasement, an unending self-emptying, from the moment of His conception until His death and burial and beyond. In the extreme humility of His descent, God did not stop at the clouds. Neither did His journey end on earth. He went all the way to hell. In His extreme humility, He descends to the extremity of man’s damnation, and stretches forth His hands to those sitting in the darkness and the shadow of death (cf. Lk 1.79). In stretching forth His hands, He embraces all: those who loved Him, and those who hated Him; those who stood by Him throughout His life, and those who denied Him. He extends His open hands to all, so that anyone who wants can take hold of Him, and He will pull them out of Hell. 16 Lower than this, there is no place for man or God to go.

In light of God’s descent, everything has changed. When the highest entered the lowest, when God entered the realm of hell, everything there was turned upside down. The Devil was defeated. Death yielded to life. Darkness was swallowed up by light. Fallen man ascended into heaven. In union with Christ, human nature now sits on the throne of God, being filled with the Holy Spirit. God has descended, and reduced Himself for our sake, while redeemed humanity has become a great mass, exalted, so high as to surpass heaven itself. In his sermon on humility, St. Basil says that “from a state of nothingness, man has expanded into the heavens.” 17 And all of this can be ours, if only we humble ourselves.

But to commune truly with the humble God, we must be humble. This is why Christ says: He who humbles himself will be exalted (Mt 23.12). What does exalted mean here? It means that such a person will attain to the knowledge of God. It doesn’t mean being glorified in some abstract way, or being established in a comfortable place in heaven, still less does it mean that men will honor and praise us. It means that the Holy Spirit will reveal all things to our hearts, as long as we humble ourselves and bow our heads to God.

In the person of Christ, we can see that humility is a quality of God, a feature of His hypostasis. God is not God if He is not humble. And neither can I be like god unless I am humble. Indeed, without humility, I’ll become a demon. Humility must therefore be a condition of my being. I must embrace humility, knowing that, when I live in humility, I live in God.

What is humility? It is, as we have been saying, the life of God, the form of divine life, and we see this clearly in the life of Christ, who descended from heaven to extreme lowliness. In everything that concerns Him we find lessons of humility. He was born in a cave, and placed not in a crib but in a trough. He grew up in the house of a poor carpenter. He was subject to His mother and Joseph. He was taught, and applied Himself to lessons He did not need to learn. He accepted baptism from the hands of John His servant. When He was slandered and arrested and threatened with death, He did not make use of His marvelous powers (Mt 26.53). He subjected Himself to temporal authority. He was brought before the high priest as if he were a common criminal, and then led to the governor. He silently bore insults and false accusations, and in silence He submitted to His sentence, although with one word He could have refuted the false witnesses. He was spat upon by the lowest and vilest of men. He surrendered Himself to death on the cross, the most shameful form of death known to man. From His birth to the end of His life, He displayed humility in all things. 18 And this is why St. Isaac the Syrian says that “humility is the raiment of divinity.” 19

Following the example of Christ, humility is the distinguishing characteristic of the Christian life, and the foundation for our relation with God. The more humble we are, the more God will reveal Himself to us. And the more we know about God, the more humble we become. We need all the virtues, but without humility they achieve nothing. Even fasting, prayer, and love itself can do nothing without humility. But when prayer and fasting are joined with humility, we become the companion of God, and enter the divine environment in such a way that, as we’ve said, we become gods ourselves.

We must not seek to know God, or anything else from or about God. We must rather humble ourselves. God will then come to us and give us that which we desire. If you don’t humbly acknowledge your spiritual poverty, you won’t be able to ask God to give you the treasures of His grace. But through humility and prayer, God pours out the riches of His knowledge, granting us communion in His own life.

But rather than being filled with the knowledge of God, we normally live with a void at the center of our existence. There is a hole in our heart, into which crawl all the cares and worries of life. We work ourselves to exhaustion in pursuit of success and happiness. We struggle to improve our position in society, to attend the right schools, and move in the right kinds of circles. But the void within us is always on the increase. Nothing in the world can fill it, because it can only be filled by God.

But we mustn’t despair, because despair itself is a sign of pride, and thus will take us even further away from the humble God. Avoid that road. Resist temptation, struggle, take up your cross, and God will come and find you, wherever you are. As He did to Adam, He’ll ask you where you are, what’s happened, and extend His hand to you. You will awake from your state of spiritual confusion, and you’ll see Him wishing to draw you toward greater knowledge of Him.

Then, the empty place within you will become like the ark of the covenant. It will become a holy place in which God will dwell. Though your heart was a tomb in which Christ was dead, it will now be filled with light, with angels sitting on either side of it, as the resurrected Christ comes to meet you. For your part, you need to endure a little darkness, and struggle against temptations; to hold fast when you feel like despairing. But don’t despair. God will come.

Another problem we have is that we tire easily. When it comes to worldly pursuits, our energy knows no bounds, but we grow weary very quickly when God is concerned. Those who chase after wealth or glory never tire of doing so. Others pursue sensual pleasures, tirelessly chasing after sin. But even the thought of running after God leaves us feeling fatigued. We get tired, and then we forget, and then we’re led astray by the world. But then something happens to make us think of God, and so we make promises and resolutions, but, after a little while, forget all about them, and so it goes round and round. But think about the material things you’re chasing after and accumulating in great piles: they’re all banal, fleeting, and utterly without meaning.

If you are able to see this, then sink the eyes of your soul deep into your heart—be it ever so twisted and perverted—and ask God to take over. Hovering over the chaos of your life, God will shine His light (cf. Gen 1.3), and the abyss of hell that was in you will be transformed into heaven. God is humble, and will not shrink from entering into your sinful heart in order to rescue you from sin. That’s God! And only God can do this. No one and nothing else in this world can raise you from your state of death. There is no other cure for your wound, no other remedy for what ails you. In whatever you do, choose the path of humility, and God will glorify you. In that way, you will travel on a safe and sure road, having angels as your companions, and quickly arrive at the house of God. Christ will acknowledge you as His own disciple, and shall grant you His peace, for He says: Learn from me, because I am meek and humble of heart, and you shall find rest for your souls (Mt 11.29).

What does it mean to repent?

Father Stephen Freeman published an article entitled ’The Instinct of Repentance’. I’ve excerpted some of this article that focuses on repentance as something very straight forward and tangible that we do and therefore experience.

Here are some highlights from this article:

The Instinct Of Repentance – Father Stephen Freeman

In the original language of the New Testament repentance is metanoia, a change in the mind (nous). The word nous, in Eastern Christian tradition, is often used interchangeably with the word heart. Repentance is an inner change of heart. Repentance is not concerned with clearing our legal record but with being changed – ultimately into the likeness of Christ.

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me

Psalm 50:10

The fathers of the Church – particularly those who strove the most deeply for repentance (found predominantly in the desert tradition of the ascetics) – borrowed the language of their own day, as well as that of Scripture… The result is the language of the canons and the patristic writings. Most of the “road map” that is attached to these words is an experiential map. It is a reflection on how the heart changes in practice that dominates the teaching of the desert fathers and the tradition that flows from their labors. Theory is not driven by a priori assumptions about the constructs of man’s inner life. Thus there is no particular account of the mechanics of the inner life, other than a description given from experience – what works. The coherence of this patristic language is found in its common assumption that the human heart (nous) – the core of our being – is capable of change and can indeed be conformed to the image of Christ. Thus the goal of repentance is this very metanoia – a change of heart. There is nothing within modern psychology that reflects this particular concern.

Modern man is not predisposed to think about a change of heart. We think of psychological wholeness or well-being, but we do not have a language of conformity to Christ. We do speak of “hardness of heart,” but we know very little about how such a heart is changed.

This creates difficulties for us. Our temptation is to translate the language of the Church into concepts with which we are more familiar. Those coming to confession often give evidence of our psychologized world. We not only confess our sins, but we often want to give a small psychological analysis of where our sins came from and a progress report on how we are doing. (I have often thought that this makes a confession sound much like a monologue from Woody Allen, the comedian).

So, how do we repent?

The Scriptures give one of the clearest examples of how we should think about repentance. The encounter of John the Baptist with the crowds who came to and heard his message of repentance contain an interesting exchange:

Then he [John the Baptist] said to the multitudes that came out to be baptized by him, “Brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Therefore bear fruits worthy of repentance, and do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I say to you that God is able to raise up children to Abraham from these stones. And even now the ax is laid to the root of the trees. Therefore every tree which does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

So the people asked him, saying, “What shall we do then?”

He answered and said to them, “He who has two tunics, let him give to him who has none; and he who has food, let him do likewise.”

Then tax collectors also came to be baptized, and said to him, “Teacher, what shall we do?”

And he said to them, “Collect no more than what is appointed for you.”

Likewise the soldiers asked him, saying, “And what shall we do?”

So he said to them, “Do not intimidate anyone or accuse falsely, and be content with your wages.” (Luke 3:7-14).

John’s response to the people who came was not to launch them into a world of introspection. The heart changes in the crucible of our actions. Generosity and kindness are begotten of generosity and kindness. If you have enough to share – then share.


I have always been bemused by the great lengths that modern interpreters of Scripture go when trying to account for sayings such as, “Sell what you have, give to the poor and come and follow me.” Or “How hardly shall a rich man enter the kingdom of God.” We are often told that such passages are really about how we feel about our wealth – that our wealth should not be the center of our lives. But if we have and do not share, then “feeling good” about our wealth is just delusion.

The commandments of Christ are not difficult because they are so complex or mystical – they are difficult because they are so clear and we do not want to keep them.

The disciplines traditionally practiced during the season of Great Lent, prayer, fasting, almsgiving, are given to us not in order to generate a season of introspection. They are given to us as a call to a season of action. Prayer is something we do. It is a struggle, but it is an action (Orthodox prayer is particularly marked by action – even physical action). Fasting is an action as well. In our psychologized culture, it is hard for many to understand fasting as having anything to do with repentance. But it is the experience of Scripture and generations of the Church, that the discipline of fasting (abstaining from certain foods and eating less) has a clear effect on the heart – our inner disposition – particularly when that fasting is coupled with prayer and almsgiving. Almsgiving is an action that is all too often ignored in our thoughts about repentance.

Giving is an action. Give money away. Give sacrificially of your time. Give mercy and kindness to others. Forgive the sins of others as if your own forgiveness depended on it (it does). If we would see our hearts change in the direction of the image of Christ – the “roadmap” is not hidden. Pray, fast, be merciful and give.

This is the instinct of repentance. With practice it becomes the habit of the heart. Kindness, practiced consistently over a period of time, by the grace of God results in our becoming kind. To be kind is to be like God (Luke 6:35). Repentance is the path to the kingdom of God. The actions of repentance (under grace) – given to us in the Tradition of the Church – are the means by which such a changed heart will be formed within us.