Category: Desire

What do I truly treasure?

Our actions, attitudes, and awareness have a lot to teach us about what we honestly treasure in the depths of our hearts. I find this article by Father Stephen Freeman entitled ’The Treasures of the Heart’ very helpful as I enter this Pre-Lenten period and desire to see more clearly, with God’s help, the truth of what lies within me. I’ve created a slightly shortened extract of the full article below. I hope this may help you reflect and gain some clarity about this important question that we can ask and perhaps even answer right now today.

The Treasures of the Heart – Father Stephen Freeman

A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks. 

Matthew 12:34-35

Christ’s teaching on the heart points to it as the very center of our life. He does not describe it as inherently good or inherently bad. It is inherently central. It is that place in the core of our existence from which all words and actions flow. And so Christ tells us simply that if the treasure of our heart is good – it will be evidenced by the good things we say and do – and, conversely, if the treasure of our heart is evil – it, too, will be evidenced by the evil things we say and do. What we should take from this is the realization that we are daily laying up treasure (good or evil) in the heart.

I recently gave some thought to St. Macarius’ saying on the treasures of the heart – that we find dragons and lions, poisonous beasts, etc., and that we find God, the angels, the life and the kingdom, the heavenly cities and the treasuries of grace. My thoughts stayed with his imagery as I walked myself through the day. It was obvious that over the course of the day I myself added to the treasures of my heart – and to some extent – others added to that treasure as well.

One image that came to me was travel on our busy freeways. In East Tennessee it seems that our interstate highway system is in a constant state of “under construction.” At times traffic is heavy, too fast, and frightening (especially if you add in cell-phone usage and the like as we zip along at freeway speeds). The image that came to mind was of cars barreling down the highway with dragons and lions and poisonous beasts pouring out the windows as travelers cursed one another on their daily commute. “Road rage” is a common phenomenon all across the nation. I wondered how we would react if we could actually see the “treasures” of our heart pouring out of our cars.

The same image could be applied across the whole of the day. For we are either bringing forth good out of the treasure of a good heart or pouring out dragons from the treasure of an evil heart.

There was an additional thought. The nature of the heart’s treasure is their inexhaustibility. When we pour forth our treasure we do not see its decrease. Quite the opposite – dragons begat dragons. And in the same way, every act of kindness of mercy does not diminish the kindness and mercy of our heart but multiplies them. Kindness begats kindness.

And so it is that over the course of every day we not only nurture the treasure of our own heart (for good or ill), we also add, or attempt to add, to the treasures of those around us. Some of the poisonous beasts that I find within my heart have been dwelling there a long time – placed there even when I was a child.

And so a significant question for all of us (daily) is: what treasure do I share with others?

Meditating on such imagery should also drive us deeper into repentance (not guilt, but repentance). What am I doing with the beasts that inhabit my heart? Frequent confession – telling the truth about the state of my heart is important. But equally important (perhaps more so) is the attention we should give to the good treasures that are so lacking. Every act of kindness and mercy, every effort towards forgiveness of everyone for everything, does not exhaust the heart but stores up good treasures in the presence of the good God. Avoiding evil is an effort not to do something. I always find that such efforts alone are very weak indeed. The man who is busy being kind cannot be busy being evil. One of the powers of goodness is that it actually has substance rather than absence. And so St. Paul exhorts us, “Overcome evil by doing good” (Romans 12:21).

Dragons depart ….

The Sunday of Zacchaeus – Homily by Father Alexander Schmemann

To prepare us for Great Lent, the Orthodox Church starts announcing its approach a full month before it actually begins. Lent is a time of repentance, and repentance is a re-examination, a re-appraisal, a deepening, a shaking upside down. Repentance is the sorrowful uncovering of one’s neglected, forgotten, soiled “inner” person. The first announcement of Lent, the first reminder, comes through a short Gospel story about an entirely unremarkable man, “small of stature,” whose occupation as a tax collector marked him, in that time and society, as greedy, cruel and dishonest. 

Zacchaeus wanted to see Christ; he wanted this so much that his desire attracted the attention of the Lord Jesus. Desire is the beginning of everything. As the Gospel says, “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matthew 6:21). Everything in our life begins with desire, since what we desire is also what we love, what draws us from within, what we surrender to. We know that Zacchaeus loved money, and by his own admission we know that to get it he had no scruples about defrauding others. Zac­chaeus was rich and he loved riches, but within himself he discovered another desire, he wanted something else, and this desire became the pivotal moment of his life. 

This Gospel story poses a question to each of us: what do you love, what do you desire–not superficially, but deeply? “Behold, I stand at the door and knock,” the New Testament says (Revelation 3:20). Do you hear this quiet knock? Desire. The soul taking a deep breath. The little man, Zacchaeus, with his eyes to the ground focusing on earthly desires, encounters Christ and now ceases to be little as his victory over himself begins. Here is the start, the first step from exterior to interior, toward that mysterious homeland which all human beings, unknown often to themselves, long for and desire.

Zacchaeus Homily Feb 4th – Prologue of Ohrid – St. Nikolai Velmirovich

“Today, salvation has come to this house” (St. Luke 19:9).

Thus it was spoken by the One Whose word is life and joy and restoration of the righteous. Just as the bleak forest clothes itself into greenery and flowers from the breath of spring, so does every man, regardless of how arid and darkened by sin, becomes fresh and youthful from the nearness of Christ. For the nearness of Christ is as the nearness of some life-giving and fragrant balsam which restores health, increases life, give fragrance to the soul, to the thoughts and to the words of man. In other words, distance from Christ means decay and death and His nearness means salvation and life.

“Today, salvation has come to this house” said the Lord upon entering the house of Zacchaeus the sinner. Christ was the salvation that came and Zacchaeus was the house into which He entered. Brethren, each one of us is a house in which sin dwells as long as Christ is distant and to which salvation comes when Christ approaches it. Nevertheless, will Christ approach my house and your house? That depends on us. Behold, He did not arbitrarily enter the house of the sinner Zacchaeus, rather He entered as a most desired guest. Zacchaeus of little stature climbed into a tree in order to see the Lord Jesus with his own eyes. Zacchaeus, therefore, sought him; Zacchaeus desired Him. We must also seek Him in order to find Him and desire Him in order that He would draw nearer to us and, with our spirit, to climb high in order to encounter His glance. Then He will visit our house as He visited the house of Zacchaeus* and with Him salvation will come.

Draw near to us O Lord, draw near and bring to us Your eternal salvation.
To You be glory and thanks always. Amen.
The Prologue from Ohrid: Lives of Saints by Saint Nikolai Velimirovič
http://livingorthodoxfaith.blogspot.gr/2009/12/prologue-february-4

*Later on, Zacchaeus followed the Apostle Peter who appointed him bishop of Caesarea in Palestine where he faithfully served the Gospel and died peacefully.

What does Zacchaeus have to teach us about repentance – St. Nikolai Velimirovic

“Repentance is the abandoning of all false paths that have been trodden by men’s feet, and men’s thoughts and desires, and a return to the new path: Christ’s path. But how can a sinful man repent unless he, in his heart, meets with the Lord and knows his own shame? Before little Zacchaeus saw the Lord with his eyes, he met Him in his heart and was ashamed of all his ways”

Open To Me The Gates Of Repentance – Song & Lyrics

YouTube Recording

Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Open to me the doors of repentance O Lifegiver; for my spirit rises early to pray towards Thy Holy Temple, bearing the temple of my body all defiled. But in Thy Compassion purify me by the loving kindness of Thy Mercy. Now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen. Lead me on the paths of Salvation O Mother of God, for I have covered my soul in shameful sins and have wasted my life in lazy acts. But by your intercessions, deliver me from all impurity. Have mercy on me O God according to Thy Great Mercy and according to the multitude of Thy Compassions blot out my transgressions. When I think of the many evil things I have done, wretched I am, I tremble at the fearful day of Judgement, but trusting in Thy loving kindness, like David I cry to Thee. Have mercy on me O God, have mercy on me O God, Have mercy on me O God according to Thy great Mercy.

Open To Me The Gates of Repentance – Ancient Faith- Homily on Pharisee & Publican – Father Patrick Reardon

Audio LInk


In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Well, this morning at matins, after the recitation of the 50th psalm, we all knelt down and began the Triodion. “Open unto me the gates of repentance.” Yesterday I called Hannah, and I said, “Let’s make sure we do that during communion tomorrow as well: Open to me the gates of repentance.” This little hymn-snatch signifies that the Church begins the season known in the East as the Triodion, which consists of the Great Fast and the three Sundays just prior to the Great Fast. Until recent times, this period was known in the West as Septuagesima, which also consisted of the Great Fast and the three Sundays just prior to the Great Fast. They stopped calling it that some time back in the ‘60s, I believe—at least the Roman Catholics did; the Episcopalians persevered for another ten years, and then they petered out.

In English-speaking countries, but only in English-speaking countries, the season of the Great Fast came to be called Lent. The Church actually knows nothing about a “Lent.” It’s a term derived from the Old English expression, lencten, which means, simply, “spring.” The purpose of the first part of the Triodion, or Septuagesima, as it was called in Latin, is to get our hearts and minds ready for the Great Fast. Now, one would think it’s enough just to do the Great Fast just to get ready for Pascha. You would think that would be enough getting ready. No, that’s not enough getting ready. You’ve got to get ready for the Fast, too. At least if you’re going to take it seriously, you’ve got to get ready for it!

Consequently, the gospel readings for these three Sundays were chosen with great care, because they are directed at themes central to the purpose of the Great Fast. It may be said that the gospel story we just heard—the parable of the Publican and the Pharisee—goes to the very heart of the matter by introducing the Pauline theme of justification. Indeed, let us make this idea, justification, the first of today’s three reflections on the gospel reading.

Here, once again, the first sentence of that reading says that Jesus spoke this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were just and despised others. Observe here the word “just” in the plural form this morning is dikaioi. We recognize in this adjective a basic concern with the theology of St. Paul. Beginning with the Galatian controversy in the early 50s and going on to its full elaboration in the epistle to the Romans about five years later, the Apostle Paul was preoccupied with the question: How do human beings become just, dikaios, in the sight of God?

This question came to the fore in the mind of Paul when certain Christians arrived in Galatia in the early 50s, claiming that Christians were obliged to observe the Mosaic law, all the prescriptions of the Mosaic law, just as Jesus had observed the Mosaic law. This was the claim that Paul himself felt obliged to refute. He contended that God’s eternal word did not come to earth simply to reinforce the claims of the Torah; he came, rather, to elevate human beings into the divine life and to transform them by the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. That is to say, Paul insisted that one does not become a child of God by observing the Torah—now, that’s a Jew saying that: one does not become a child of God by observing the Torah—but by the transformation of the heart and mind, by the energy of the Holy Spirit.

In the epistle to the Romans Paul wrote that

There is no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus, for as many as were led by the Spirit of God, these are the sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the spirit of adoption, by whom we cry out: Abba, Father! The Spirit himself bears witness to our spirit (he says) because we are the children of God.

Now, in today’s parable, just what was wrong with the prayer of the Pharisee? Luke indicates the problem when he declares that Jesus spoke this parable to some who trusted in themselves. It is with this verse that we commence the period of the Triodion, that Jesus spoke this parable to those who trusted in themselves. The first parable of which we are warned in this season, brothers and sisters, is the real danger of self-reliance. As we prepare for Lent and for this great celebration that follows it, our first concern must be not to trust in ourselves. So important is this message in today’s parable that it appears again at the end of the story where Jesus says of the publican: “I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other.” Here is a man who did not trust in himself.

Once again, notice the modifier: the just man (dikaios) is the justified man (dedikaiōmenos). The former is the perfect passive participle: we become just by being justified, and we are justified only if we rely on God and not on ourselves.

We don’t fast because the man in this morning’s gospel is standing up there bragging that he fasts—twice a week! He was a Jew, so it was Monday and Thursday, but for us it means Wednesday and Friday—but not this week! I’ve always had a feeling—but I must be hesitant to say this, I think—that the chief purpose of Lent is to prove to yourself that you have got the guts to hurt yourself, but maybe that’s not right.

Ironically, one of the normal aspects of the annual observance of Lent is the experience of failure. I say it’s a normal aspect simply because it happens a lot. Indeed, the rigors of the lenten discipline are so severe that arguably most Christians fail to observe all of them. Somewhere along the line they’re going to inadvertently going to eat peanut butter or something, which certainly none of the early Christians would have touched. Even now, the fast we have is so modified. Now, I do not find this view written down anywhere as a point of principle, but I have not failed to observe over the years how many Christians feel like failures during Lent. And, you know, that’s not the American way. America is the country of winners! So it’s very hard to have this experience of failure. We’re supposed to win.

Recently, I was visiting the grandchildren down in Georgia, and they’re all into sports. It seemed to me, my impression was that no matter where you appeared in the standings in the league, everybody got a trophy at the end of the year, because America’s a country of winners! It’s very difficult, with that kind of mindset, to appreciate the Cross. If you find this to be the case in your own lives, I ask you to remember this parable we heard today. The evangelist tells us that Jesus spoke this parable “to some who trusted in themselves.” Perhaps the most important lesson that we may learn in this annual “spring cleaning” of our souls is not to trust in ourselves, but in the God to whom we plead, “Have mercy on me, a sinner!” I don’t believe it’s going to be possible to become a saint at all unless we find some way of dealing with a sense of failure, incorporating this sense of failure into our experience of the Christian life. And that’s what the Cross means.

Second, this morning, let’s speak of prayer. The parable begins: “Two men went up to the temple to pray.” This is the story about prayer. Specifically, it is a story about how to pray. Now draw your attention to the personal nature of this prayer. The prayer in this morning’s parable is not liturgical prayer; it is solitary prayer, which in the gospel stories is chiefly exemplified by Jesus himself. Indeed, there is the major mark to prove that Jesus is a human being: he prays. He prays. On so many occasions, we read that Jesus went out to a solitary place to pray. This is the kind of prayer concerning which Jesus instructs us. “When you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to the Father in secret.”Beloved, let me spare no efforts of rhetoric in emphasizing how fundamental this kind of prayer is. It is absolutely essential that each of us, every day, and if possible several times a day, retire from everything else and pray to the Father in secret, all by ourselves, placing our hearts and minds under the gaze of the Father who sees in secret. Jesus tells us to do that. I sometimes ask people—very often I ask people, in confession—“How often do you pray?” “Well, I sort of pray while I’m doing other things.” Not good enough! You’re supposed to do that anyway. You must retire from what you’re doing and pray exclusively. Praying to the Father in secret: that’s the instruction that Jesus himself gives us.This kind of prayer, this dialogue with God, is the most important part of the day, and we need to be convinced on this point. There is no life in Christ without this solitary prayer. What do we say to God when we come to him in secret, when we enter into the inner temple and close the door to all distractions, when we lay aside, at least for a while, all earthly cares? What are the words and sentiments that rise in our minds, take shape in our hearts, and are expressed with our lips? It could be all sorts of things, but the one thing we must not do is tell God something we don’t mean, just pray empty prayers, just recite prayers that we really do not mean because they’re just words, they’re just formulas.In the words of prayer, I believe, we’re not left on our own. Primacy of place belongs surely to those prayers which we know to be inspired by the Holy Spirit. If one cannot pray and mean the psalms, then revert to what we had today—beat your breasts—because there’s something seriously wrong. If you can pray the psalms and not mean them, there’s something seriously wrong with the heart and mind. Beat the breast and pray for mercy.When we pray those prayers, we are surely praying in the Holy Spirit, because they’re inspired by the Holy Spirit. So we stand before the holy Father and say to him something like this: “Receive me according to thy word, that I may live, and let me not be put to shame in my expectation.” May I have a show of hands of those of you who would not mean that if you said it?Receive me according to thy word, that I may live, and put me not to shame in my expectation. Come to help me, and I will be saved, and I will meditate on thy statutes continually. My flesh trembles for the fear of thee, and I am terrified by thy judgments. I have done judgment and justice; leave me not to mine oppressors. Receive thy servant unto good, and let not the proud oppress me. Mine eyes have failed for thy salvation and for the word of thy righteousness. Deal with thy servant according to thy mercy, and teach me thy statutes. I am thy servant; give me understanding that I may know thy testimonies.Where did I find this prayer? Opened the Bible and put my finger on something. The Bible’s full of such prayers! If you have a better prayer than that, then for heaven’s sake, pray it! [Laughter] But we make our own the inspired prayers of holy Scriptures. Let us try with all our hearts and with the full force of concentration to mean what we say, use great effort to mean it, work at it. Prayer must be worked at. And thereby we become such worshipers as the Father seeks. What we hope for in such prayer is a total transformation of our inner life, keeping our minds fixed on God, and remaining aware that he reads our hearts.This Triodion, this Lent, let’s be resolved to become people of prayer—but don’t give it up when Pascha comes. Keep working at it.Third, this parable indicates that we pray from a sense of need. The Pharisee in the story didn’t need anything; he had it all. He was not like other men, and he thanked God for the fact. He practiced tithing; he kept the fast days. Indeed, he needed nothing and he asked for nothing. You might notice that in today’s prayer: the Pharisee didn’t ask for anything. The presumption of Jesus is that we’re praying from a position of need, and therefore we ask for things.According to St. Cyril of Alexandria, this Pharisee was practicing self-deception. His prayer lacked one of the most essential components of prayer, which is vigilance over one’s soul. The publican, on the other hand, prayed entirely out of sense of need, even desperation. He asked only for one thing, the one thing necessary: God’s mercy. According to the story, this publican, as he prayed, beat his breast. That is to say, he attempted to break his heart, because “a broken and contrite heart, God will not despise.” In this respect, several Church Fathers commented that being a repentant sinner is a better state than not being a sinner at all. I don’t believe I would have the nerve to make such a claim if it had not already been made by the likes of Macarius the Great, Gregory the Theologian, and John Chrysostom. I rely on their authority.Repeated prayer for the divine mercy is, above all, an affirmation of Christ’s redemptive lordship as the defining revelation of God in history. “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God”—there is the act of faith: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.” It’s a proclamation of faith in the form of address to the Savior of the world. It’s only in the Holy Spirit can we proclaim that Jesus is Lord. It is permeated with the divinizing energies of that Holy Spirit. Furthermore, it is a confession of sinfulness, trapped in a place with a broken and contrite heart, continuously in the presence of the living Christ and under the bounteous mercy of his blood.

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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