Repentance – Page 6 – St John’s Adult Education

Why is humility the ’mother of all virtues’

“Humility is the root, mother, nurse, foundation, and bond of all virtue”
St. John Chrysostom

We begin our Triodion journey with the powerful and timeless example of the Publican’s humility and the Pharisee’s pride. We cannot manifest any of the virtues authentically without God. Without humility, we find ourselves isolated and alone without what we most need. With humility , we open the door of our hearts to the Triune God and our thirst for the true sustainability of the living water of His mercy and grace.

I love Father Thomas Hopko’s description of humility as “seeing reality as it is in God”. And in this reality , we can see each of our breaths as an unceasing reminder of our dependence and reliance on Him. In this deepening awareness and vision of His moment by moment grace that enlivens us ; we have a chance to see more clearly our ‘right size’ and become more open to the majesty of His.

We cannot authentically produce any virtue without this foundation of humility that allows this flow from God to us. The distortion of what we believe we are producing autonomously in good without Him is simply not real ; it is the vanity and ignorance of what we imagine. Our vanity and ignorance separate us from His Holy Spirit as the ‘giver of life’ who is ‘everywhere present and filling all things’. With this distortion of what we see as a reality without God, we ease God out (EGO) of our daily consciousness as well as the vision and experience of how we live our lives. We place ourselves in the center of our lives instead of God.

We can now see in our Church Fathers the ’inner coherence’ and great wisdom in placing the Publican and Pharisee as our first encounter in the Triodion. Whatever good we may experience in Lent will rely and depend upon its birth from this ‘mother’ of humility and our openness to be ’with God’ in the whatever of our lives.

The short extract below from Father Thomas Hopko also reminds us that Christ in his Triune relationship is our perfect model and demonstration of humility.

Volume IV – Spirituality … The Virtues … Humility by Father Thomas Hopko

In the Orthodox tradition, humility has often been called the “mother of all virtues,” and pride has been named “the cause of all sin.” The wise and honest person is the one who is humble.

Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

It is better to be of a lowly spirit with the poor, than to divide the spoils with the proud.

A man’s pride will bring him low, but he who is lowly in spirit will retain honor
Proverbs 16.18, 16.19, 29.23

According to the Gospel, in the Song of the Virgin, the Lord scatters the proud in the imagination of their hearts and exalts those who are humble and meek (cf. Lk 1.51–52). This is the exact teaching of Jesus.

For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted (Lk 14.11, 18.14, Prov 3.34).

Humility does not mean degradation or remorse. It does not mean effecting some sort of demeaning external behavior. It does not mean considering oneself as the most vile and loathsome of creatures. Christ Himself was humble and He did not do this. God Himself, according to the spiritual tradition of the Church, has perfect humility, and He certainly does not act in this way.

Genuine humility means to see reality as it actually is in God. It means to know oneself and others as known by God—a power, according to Saint Isaac, greater than that of raising the dead! The humble lay aside all vanity and conceit in the service of the least of God’s creatures, and consider no good act as beneath one’s dignity and honor. Humility is to know oneself, without the grace of God, as dust, sinful and dead.

God is humble because He cares about the least: the birds in the air, the grass in the fields, the worst of sinners (cf. Mt 6.25–30). Christ is humble because He associates with the lowly, becoming the slave of all in taking on Himself the sins of the world.

If I then, your Lord and Master have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you (Jn 13.14–15).

You know that the rulers of the pagans lord it over them, and their great men exercise authority over them. It shall not be so among you; but whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave; even as the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many (Mt 20.25–28).

All Christians are to follow the example of Christ in His divine humility. Saint Paul teaches:

Do nothing from selfishness or conceit, but in humility count others better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which you have in Christ Jesus, who though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form He humbled Himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted Him and bestowed on Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father (Phil 2.3–11).

The exaltation of Jesus as a man depended entirely on His self-emptying humility. True greatness, divine greatness, is the ability to be the least and do the least with the absolute certitude that it is externally and divinely important, that it is an imitation of God Himself.

True humility for the sinful man is to know that indeed, according to one’s own possibilities and gifts, each one is truly the first and greatest of sinners (cf. 1 Tim 1.15), for each one has sinned in his own way “like no other man” (Saint Andrew of Crete, 7th c., Penitential Canon). The truly humble person is the one who, confessing his sins, is “faithful over little,” and doing so, is exalted by the Lord and is “set over much.” Only such a person will “enter into the joy of his Master” (Mt 25.14–23, Lk 19.17).

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 ….

What is the condition of my heart?

As we begin our Pre-Lent Adult Education this Sunday , I thought it might be useful to raise questions which may be very relevant to our preparation process for Lent. This week’s upcoming Sunday of the Publican & Pharisee can stimulate lots of these opportunities for self reflection about where we stand in relation to pride and humility.

Here are two quotes … the first from a 4th century saint, St. Macarius of Eqypt and the second from a well known Nobel Prize winning Orthodox author of the 20th century, Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Both are useful reminders that our spiritual battlefield today and every day lies within our own hearts:

And the heart itself is but a small vessel, yet there also are dragons and there are lions; there are poisonous beasts and all the treasures of evil. And there are rough and uneven roads; there are precipices. But there is also God, also the angels, the life and the kingdom, the light and the Apostles, the treasures of grace—there are all things
St Macarius ‘50 Spiritual Homilies and Great Letter’ (Homily 43)

“The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart — and through all human hearts. This line shifts. Inside us, it oscillates with the years. And even within hearts overwhelmed by evil, one small bridgehead of good is retained”
Alexander Solzhenitsyn ‘The Gulag Archipelago’

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”

Exile Of Both Sons – Homily by Father Robert Arida

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

The parable of the Prodigal Son is perhaps the best known of the parables of the Lord. It has inspired literature, it has inspired the composing of operas and it has made an impact on the psyche of the culture. Yet all this familiarity, as I’ve said about other parables, can make us numb. This familiarity can make us become distant from the power of this parable.

There are three themes that are joined together are this brilliant, masterful parable of the Lord. They are the themes of life, exile, and rebirth. Here we need to remember that as we draw near to Great Lent we should not forget that it developed into a period of preparation for those catechumens who were to be baptized on Pascha. So these themes of life, exile, and rebirth are strongly connected to the theme of baptism. I want to stress to our catechumens that this morning’s parable provides a clear commentary on the mystery of baptism as precisely a passover from exile – from darkness and death to light and life.

The father is Life. It is clear from this parable that he is the one who is not only the financial support of his sons but also the very source of their life. In fact, when we think of this parable, we easily overlook the fact that it is based on the father and not only on his two sons. It begins, “A father had two sons.” This is extremely important since St. Luke is conveying to us that the action that takes place in the parable flows from and returns to the father. He is the life and light of his sons. He is the one who loves his sons and embraces them, making all that is his theirs. All that is the father’s is freely given to his sons. He is their life and they are his image and likeness. The father is life and yet his younger son wants to leave him. This son asks for his inheritance before the death of his father so he can cash it in and live on his own. This leads us to the theme of exile. It was not unusual for a father to divide his estate among his children before he died. However, it was unusual for a beneficiary, in this case the younger son, to cash in his inheritance and leave his benefactor. Liquidating his assets and leaving his home, the younger son treats his father as if he were already dead. By leaving his father this young son imposes upon himself exile – exile from light, exile from life.

Let us also not forget that there are two sons in this parable and both are prodigals. The older son who stays also sends himself into exile. How? The younger son takes his inheritance and leaves. The younger son treats the father as if his father were already dead. The older son stays with the father, yet he cannot see that what the father has is his. He cannot enjoy what the father has, and though he is obedient, though he listens to the command of his father as the text tells us, this son is also in exile. He distances himself from his father. He stands apart from light and life.

How else are these exiles revealed? Not only does the younger son leave his father, treating him as if he is dead, but he squanders the money he receives from his inheritance. He wastes what ultimately comes from his father. The older son, while he does not squander or deplete what the father has given him, is nevertheless unable to see that what belongs to the father also belongs to him. That which the father has establishes a union or communion with his sons. The younger son squanders his inheritance and therefore breaks communion with his father. And the older son, while keeping his inheritance, cannot enter into communion with his father even though they live under the same roof and share the same table.

Space is an important feature of this parable. The younger son is spatially removed from the father. He physically removes himself from light and life. The older son, while near to the father, is not able to enter into that light and life which the father freely, lovingly pours out upon him.

And what about rebirth? The younger son finds himself among swine. He would be happy to eat what they eat. No one gives him anything. He is alone with the beasts. As a Jew, there could be nothing worse than to be in the presence of swine and to have to care for them. He comes to himself, he comes to the point of repentance, and this repentance – this change of mind – leads this younger son back to life. Repentance is a change of mind, but not only the change of mind; it is also a change of direction. There are two words in Greek that express these ideas. The first, “metanoia”, is more commonly known. It refers to a change of mind. But there is another word, “epistrepho”, which refers to a physical change of direction. The young son not only changes his mind but also his physical orientation and makes his way back to the father, rehearsing how he would repent before the one who is his light and life.

The son returns, the father runs to him, and as I mention every time we speak about this parable, this action of running is the sign of the father’s indissoluble love for his son. A father who had been treated as if he were dead would not have run to his ungrateful son. A proud and powerful Semitic father would defend his name and his pride. This father, Our Father, God the Father, runs to his child and embraces him. And he who was in exile, he who was dead, the one who was apart from light and life, is given new life. That’s why the vesting of the son – putting a new robe on him, placing a ring on his finger and shoes on his feet – this vesting, just as the vesting in Baptism, is the sign that new life has been bestowed upon this son. New life has been given to the exiled. New life has been given to the one who treated his father as if he was dead.

Now what about he older son? Like the Pharisee of last week’s parable, the older son did everything that was correct. But even while doing all that is correct, even while obeying the commandments of his father, he remains apart from his father. This older son remains distant. He has no connection with his father because he cannot enter the reality that the father offers him, although that reality of light and life is before him day after day. The love of the father is never withheld from him. The light of the father embraces him day after day, but this son who stays at home and obeys the commandments of his father remains removed. His exile from his father also leaves him isolated from his brother. Remember how he speaks to his father? “This son” – not “my brother” but rather “your son” – is being given a feast. “The one who has wasted everything that was yours now celebrates, while I, who have stayed here, who have worked for you, who have obeyed your commandments, never had such a feast.” The older son’s hard heart prevented him from seeing that the feast he speaks about had always been his! It had always existed with the very presence of his father who is his light and life.

Now what about us? This parable has a connection not only to those who are preparing for baptism. It has also something to say to we who are already baptized. Here we are together in the house of our Father; here we are in the temple of the God who continually pours His light and life upon us. We are His children; we are the ones He has brought from non-existence into being. We have to ask ourselves, not only as we approach Lent, but also continuously, “do I treat my Father as if He were dead? Do I truly appreciate, do I truly apprehend, the gifts He has given me – the gift of new life, the gift of being grafted onto the death and the resurrection of His Son, the gift of participating in this banquet of immortality – gifts which have been freely given to us? Do I see with the eyes of faith the gifts I have received? Or am I like that older son who while being in the house of the father cannot assess, cannot apprehend, cannot rejoice, cannot celebrate, and finally, cannot be thankful for all that has been given to him? Thankfulness comes from love. The young son returns, and the father shows his love. The son’s love is expressed in his repentance. The tragedy of this parable is with the older son. Does he reach a point when he realizes that what he is saying to his father was foolishness? Does he come to see that in spite of obeying the commandments and being faithful to the tasks that have been given him he utters nonsense before the father? For the father has never abandoned him! He has never rejected his son nor has he ever withheld his love from him!

We are in the house of the Lord and are now being compelled by the words of the Lord to see what kind of relationship we have with our Father. We are compelled by this parable to see that even if we are distant, this distance can be overcome, for we are always being called by our Father to draw near to him! The younger son comes to himself, he repents, for he is able to repent, knowing that his father is for all eternity his father. Likewise with us, we can repent, we can change our minds and our direction and return to the One Who never ceases to love us. Exile is self-imposed, separation from God is self-imposed, being placed in darkness and death is self-imposed. The parable calls us to arise, to move toward the Father and to truly enter into that banquet of new and eternal life.

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.

Taking the Lenten Journey – Ancient Faith – Father Ted Paraskevopoulos

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Many people have the—I guess you could say—common assumption that Lent begins with Clean Monday, which this year falls on February 23, and that that is the beginning of the Fast which leads to the Great Feast, the center of our faith, which is Holy Resurrection—Pascha, Easter. But really, if we look at the ecclesiastical year, and we look at the cycle of services and the themes that are being introduced to us, that journey towards the resurrection of Christ begins today, with the beginning of the cycle called the Triodion. The Triodion, it’s named after a book that we use—the psaltis use and the priests use inside the altar—which is called The Triodion, and it begins today and ends right before the resurrection of Christ.

The themes of the Triodion are of repentance, of self-examination, of self-discovery, and we see that the Triodion starts four weeks before the actual Fast begins. We start today with the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee, the theme of true repentance and pseudo-repentance, two different characters, and how we approach actual repentance and how we approach humility and whether we have true humility or not. Next week we will have the Sunday of the Prodigal Son, another beautiful story of repentance and coming back to the Father. The Sunday after that we have the Sunday of the Last Judgment. And the Sunday after that, which is the last Sunday before the beginning of the Fast, is the Sunday of Forgiveness, another beautifully themed Sunday.

All these themes that we have are done intentionally to prepare us for this journey, which we call in Greek the journey towards the resurrection, which is Great Lent. Even if we pay attention to the whole cycle of the year, we see that Pascha, the Resurrection, takes up a third of the year, if we take into account starting to today, leading to Pascha, and even the afterfeasts: the Ascension all the way up to Pentecost, which is fifty days after Easter. That whole block of time takes up a third of our year, which means that this Feast of Pascha is the most important. Most important not only for teaching, but most important for our own personal spirituality, that we dedicate such a long period of time to focus on one event.

Many people ask me, “Father, I really don’t feel that I can actually do the things that the Church asks me to do,” which is to fast, to pray, to confess, to go to more services. It seems a bit overwhelming, and it can be very overwhelming, especially when we’ve never done it before. Many people tell me, “Father, I’ve just become accustomed to fasting on the last week, Holy Week, and then I’ll just go into Easter and experience it.” Other people say, “Well, Father, I don’t even do that. I just show up for the Anastasi.” And as we can see with the thousands of people that show up on Anastasi night, that is usually the case, that many of our brothers and sisters simply show up for the light, as if the light saved them.

I always respond to people like this and friends of mine whom I grew up with that doing the journey, actually struggling through it and actually following the different traditions and the Fast, leading up to Easter and not doing it and simply just showing up at the end are two very different experiences. I used to have a professor in seminary who said it really beautifully to us. He said that the Lenten journey, and indeed the whole Triodion, is like climbing a mountain. The top, of course, is the goal. It is the union with God. It is the witnessing of the holy Resurrection. It is the beautiful view that you get from the top. So we begin from the bottom, and we struggle to climb this mountain. We have many difficulties: we fall, we get back up again. Some of us climb faster than others. Some of us turn around and help those who have fallen behind us; others help from behind. We all try to climb this mountain. For those who struggle and work hard and finally make it to the top, which is the end of Lent, beginning the actual Resurrection—for those the experience at the top is very, very different from [that of] those who simply hopped on the helicopter and flew to the top and got dropped off. Both will experience the view. Both will experience the light of the Resurrection. But those who struggled to reach the top, for them the experience will be completely different. They will appreciate it more, they will have a sense of accomplishment, and it will be much more of a profound experience than [that of] those who didn’t work for it but simply showed up.

I can attest to that even as a young man, growing up in Toronto. When I was a young man growing up, there were some years where I did the Fast, and there were some years where I did not, unfortunately. And I can attest to the difference in experience, of struggling and growing through the actual spiritual exercises and reaching that night of the Resurrection after having fasted for 47 days, and not only fasted but examining my conscience and going to confession and helping others and doing more volunteer work—the whole thing—and reaching that point of the Resurrection, it is a point that is quite moving, because we have opened up our souls, have cleansed our souls, and we have allowed for the light of the Resurrection to have entered into us. The years in which I did nothing—my heart was closed, so when I attempted to experience that light, it was not the same thing. It didn’t have the same spiritual potency as it did the years that I tried.

So I say all this not because I’m trying to force or trying to persuade everybody to go to church every Sunday, but rather so that we understand what the cycles of the Church are, why they are set up the way they are for the last 2,000 years, and why they work and why all these things are put in place to prepare us for what the Fathers say is the three-fold method of achieving salvation or achieving holiness.

For the Fathers, the three stages are katharsis, which basically means purification; photisis, which means illumination; and theosis, which means divinization, becoming like God, becoming holy. We have to understand that one cannot come before the other. First we have to purify ourselves before we can be enlightened. And after we are enlightened, we can actually become divine.

So if we don’t do these things, we will never be able to understand what the Church is talking about. We will never be able to see the reality which Christ reveals to us in the Resurrection. It will just simply be another night, another night of going to the church and lighting a candle and taking it back home, devoid of anything spiritual, devoid of anything that is truly profound in our lives. But for those who take the chance… And I hope that all of you take the chance this year, beginning with today, not to do everything perfectly—you can’t; that’s okay—but to try, to maybe take a few steps further, to do a little more than what you did the year before. And maybe next year you do a little more than that, but to try, a little bit.

And together we can climb the mountain, and together we can truly enjoy the light of the Resurrection as it’s supposed to be enjoyed, as it’s supposed to be perceived. It all begins with today, and it ends with the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ on the evening of Pascha. Amen.