1 Cor. 8: 8-9:2
Matt. 25: 31-36

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

A Bible study group was discussing the unforeseen possibility of sudden death. "We will all die some day," the leader of the discussion said, "and none of us really knows when, but if we did we would all do a better job of preparing ourselves for that inevitable event." Everybody nodded their heads in agreement with this comment. The leader then asked the group, "What would you do if you knew you only had 4 weeks of life remaining before your death, before your Great Judgment Day?"

One woman replied, "For those 4 weeks, I would go out into my community and minister the Gospel to those that have not yet accepted Jesus into their lives." A man replied, "For those 4 weeks, I would dedicate all of my remaining time to serving my family, my church, and my fellow man with a greater conviction." Finally, Fred in the back said, "For those 4 weeks, I would travel throughout the United States with my mother-in-law in a Ford Escort, and stay in a Motel 6 every night." This statement was met by a puzzled silence. "Why would you do that?" the group leader asked. "Because," Fred replied, "it would be the longest 4 weeks of my life."

With this morning’s Gospel passage Christ, too, asks us to consider our last days, and the eternity that lies beyond them. This morning’s Gospel speaks about priorities and a coming judgment, a judgment where the nature of our eternity will be determined. Jesus speaks about a time when all of the material things that we currently value won’t mean a thing. The only thing that will matter is: What is Jesus’ judgment of me and my life? Do I measure up to his Gospel? Am I one of the sheep, as I presume… or one of the goats?

At first glance, this morning’s Gospel passage seems to suggest that Jesus’ judgment of those on his left was based upon the things that they did for the poor, the implication of this being that Christians are to earn their way to heaven by doing things. But this is a misunderstanding: deeds are not a ticket to heaven. What Christ is trying to point out is that the things that we do for others… or don’t do for others… are evidence of what is in the heart, and… as always… it is the heart that Jesus is after.

Our actions spring from our heart, and in the end… despite God’s love for us… we will be held responsible for those actions. When Jesus says that those on his left will not enter heaven because of their lack of kindness to the poor, the sick and the needy, he is really saying that their lack of compassion is evidence of a heart made indifferent by self-centeredness.

A pious man, who had reached the age of 105, suddenly stopped going to church. Alarmed by the old fellow's sudden absence after so many years of faithful attendance, the Priest went to see him. To his surprise, the Priest found the man in excellent health, so he asked, "How come, after all these years of faithful attendance, we suddenly don't see you at services anymore?" Leaning towards the Priest like a fellow-conspirator, the old man whispered, "When I got to be 90, I expected God to take me any day. But then I got to be 95, then 100, then 105: Since he must be very busy, I don't want to remind Him!"

Meeting God: Like most of Jesus’ parables, this morning’s Gospel story turns our assumptions about meeting God upside-down. Most of us think of meeting God some day in the future when in fact, Jesus is saying, God is already here in our midst. This Gospel passage is a reminder that our actions with others are a reflection of the kind of relationship we actually have with God. If we cultivate an ability to ignore those around us, then it is quite likely that we actually do the same to God.
Today is also known as “Meatfare Sunday”, the last day, until Pascha, when the consumption of meat is allowed. This day is called Meatfare because during the week following it a limited fasting… meaning, abstention from meat… is prescribed by the church. With Meatfare Sunday the Church now begins to adjust us to the great effort which she will expect from us seven days later when we officially begin Great Lent. By giving up meat this week, the Church gradually takes us into that effort.
Meat, however, is not really the issue at the heart of this coming spiritual struggle to regain our balance, which is why the Church also calls this Sunday “Judgment Sunday”. The struggle, therefore, is not with meat, but with our ongoing self-centeredness.
Sometimes, our self-centeredness can make us blind even to danger. Great Lent and its emphasis on self-denial offers us an opportunity to seek release from those things that we have allowed, often unconsciously, to make us blind and to hold us captive… and the greatest of these is our love of ourselves. The struggle of the coming Great Lent is the struggle to pry our fingers off of ourselves, and through asceticism, to learn the necessity of opening our arms to others.
We need one another. And if we think that we don’t need others, then this morning’s Gospel makes all too clear that we are also saying that we don’t need God. If any attitude, and way of living, could be said to be in need of changing, this is surely one.

Unfortunately, despite what we say, the way that we live often gives the lie to our professed love of God and others: I was hungry… and you went out to eat. I was imprisoned… and you thanked God that you were not me. I was naked… and you, with your full closet, complained that you had nothing that you wanted to wear. I was sick… and you avoided being contaminated by me. I was lonely… and you told me to just get over it.
What will we do when, on the day of our judgment, God asks us what we did for others? Will our excuse of “I simply didn’t have the time for others” be found acceptable? After hearing this morning’s Gospel reading, I wouldn’t count on it.
Fred and his girlfriend Lucinda were on their way back from a Conference when their car broke down. Since they were unable to get it fixed, they decided to spend the night in a hotel. The only hotel in the town, however, had only one room available. Fred was delighted with the possibilities that this situation afforded; Lucinda, not so much. But it being so late, they took the room anyway.
When they got to the room Lucinda surprised Fred by saying, “I'll sleep on the couch and you sleep in the bed.” Fred tried to object, but Lucinda replied, “That wasn’t a suggestion!” So they turned out the lights and each lay down in their appointed places. Ten minutes later, Fred called out, “I'm terribly cold.” So Lucinda got up, got another blanket, put it over Fred, and went back to the couch. Ten minutes later Fred says, “I'm still really cold. I don't think the Lord would mind if we acted as man and wife just for this one night.” Lucinda replied, “You're probably right, so as your wife for only tonight: Get up and get your own blanket!”
When we go home to our comfortable lives this afternoon, we might all want to reflect upon Christ’s words about Judgment in this morning’s Gospel, and ask ourselves: What do I do for others? Do I do anything for others? What will be the outcome for me if I continue thinking and living this way? We need to take this seriously because, like it or not, the ending of this morning’s Gospel makes clear that there is such a thing as awareness coming too late, and that is what being a goat is all about when the Gospel declares about the goats:

“And these will go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Glory to Jesus Christ!

The Sunday before Great Lent,
The one known as
“Meatfare Sunday”

Meatfare Sunday. This Sunday is called Meatfare because during the week following it a limited fasting –abstention from meat- is prescribed by the church. The Church begins now to adjust us to the great effort which she will expect from us seven days later. She gradually takes us into that effort.
Christ left with his disciples not a doctrine of individual salvation but a new commandment “that they 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. Sin is always absence of love, and therefore separation and isolation. 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.
It is love that constitutes the theme of Meatfare Sunday. The Gospel lesson for the day is Christ’s parable of the Last Judgement. When Christ comes to judge us, what will be the criterion of his judgement? The parable answers –love…not a mere humanitarian concern for abstract justice and the anonymous “poor”, but concrete and personal for the human person that God makes me encounter in my life.
To remind mankind of this personal love and vocation to love, to fill the sinful world with this love…is the true mission of the Church. 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.

1 Cor. 6: 12-20
Luke 15: 11-32

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

Glory to Jesus Christ!

A new Target store opened and since Fred had never been to one he decided to check it out. As he wandered up and down all of the aisles he was amazed by the amount of stuff and by the fantastic prices. He became fascinated by one item in particular, a shiny silver thermos, so he brought it to a clerk.

“What is this for?” he asked. The clerk looked at him like he was crazy, and said, “You’re kidding, right?” “No,” Fred replied, “Really, what’s it do?” Getting control of herself, the clerk patiently replied, “That, sir, is a thermos. It keeps hot things hot and cold things cold.”

Fred bought the thermos and brought it to work on Monday, plunking it down on his desk near his computer. Around mid-day his supervisor poked his head into the cubicle, saw the thermos and commented, “Nice thermos, Fred.” Fred replied, “Yes; it keeps hot things hot and cold things cold.” The supervisor asked, “So what do you have in it?” Proudly, Fred replied, “Two popsicles and some hot coffee.”

We’re not so smart as we think we are. Sometimes, we don’t get it and don’t even know that we don’t get it; as a result, we sometimes make bad choices which we, later, come to regret. The desires of our disordered heart can deceive us into making choices which, in the end, make us exiles from home, from our family, and even from ourselves. This “exile-ment” is exactly what this morning’s Parable of the Prodigal Son addresses: our estrangement, through our choices, from God, our Father.

In this morning’s parable the younger son rejects his “sonship” and wanders away, only to come to the realization that, in rejecting his relationship with his father, he has become an exile from his heart’s own home.

One needn’t leave home to become an exile. In this morning’s parable there is a second son, the elder, the “supposedly” obedient one, who never left home. And yet, in his remark of “…this son of yours” it is all too clear that he, too, disowned his sonship to his father, and as a result he, too, was an exile… even while remaining in his father’s home.

So what does this parable have to do with us this morning?

How many times this past year have we done something, or said something, that turned out to be ill-advised and left us estranged from others, that left us not able to recognize who we are or why our heart would have wanted what we chose? This is the experience of being an exile. This morning’s parable shows us that the way to end our exile is by repentance, by eating a bit of crow, and by turning around in order to head home.

The church caretaker needed to get into the attic above the sanctuary in order to check on a rodent problem, so his wife went with him in order to hold the ladder as he climbed up through the ceiling in the sacristy. Once the man was up in the attic, his wife went back out into the nave and sat in a pew to wait for him to call her back. Scattered around the church were various individuals occupied with their devotions. The wife waited and waited, and becoming concerned, and forgetting where she was, she called out, “Fred, are you up there? Did you make it okay?” There was a veritable stampede for the exits when Fred’s annoyed voiced called back down through the ceiling, "Yes, I made it up here just fine, now leave me alone!"

What we misunderstand can make repentance difficult. What we misunderstand fuels the attitudes that we take, and it is often our attitude which makes for so much of the mayhem in our lives. It is the attitude of this morning’s “this son of yours” that makes it so difficult for us to actually repent, to come back to our senses, to return home to the Father who waits to forgive. And this is why, when Great Lent begins on March 6th, the season of repentance begins with the service of Forgiveness Vespers, during which service we confess to one another that, through wrong and foolish choices, we have distanced ourselves from one another, and therefore from the one who is the Father of us all. Forgiveness Vespers is a service of reconciliation, of coming home to one another in order that we all might go home to our Father.
Year after year we put off addressing what our particular repentance calls for. We tell ourselves that we really do need to get around to changing that attitude, and yet, when the next Great Lent rolls around, we are still our old selves. This year, let us not put off repentance another day, not one more minute! Let us not wait for March 6th to begin: Let us begin our journey home this morning by changing our attitude about at least one thing right now!
Now, about the Pastor’s Jaguar Fund…

Glory to Jesus Christ!

The Sunday before Great Lent,
The one known as
“Sunday of the Prodigal Son”

Sunday of the Prodigal Son. (Return from exile) On the third Sunday of preparation for Great Lent, we hear the parable of the Prodigal Son. Together with the hymns of this day, the parable reveals to us the time of repentance as man’s return from exile. A person who has never felt that he is exiled from God, and from real life, will never understand what Christianity is about. And the one who is perfectly “at home” in this world and its life, who has never been wounded by the yearning for a greater Reality, will not understand repentance.
Repentance is the feeling, and conviction, of alienation from God, from the joy of communion with Him, from the real life as created and given by God. It is the realization that I have defiled and lost my spiritual beauty, that I am far away from my real home, that something essential to myself has been broken in the very texture of my existence. This realization gives rise to the desire, the urgent need, to return to and recover my lost home, my relationship with God.
One liturgical particularity of this Sunday of the Prodigal Son must be mentioned. At Matins of this Sunday, following the solemn and joyful Psalms of the Polyelion, we sing the sad and nostalgic words of Psalm 137: “By the waters of Babylon, there we sat down, and we wept when we remembered Zion.” This is the Psalm of exile. It was sung by the Jews in their Babylonian captivity as they thought of their holy city of Jerusalem. It has become forever the song of man as he realizes his exile from God, and realizing it, becomes man again.

2 Tim. 3: 10-15
Luke 18: 10-14

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

Fred and his wife were in bed one night listening to their neighbor’s dog who, night after endless night, barked for hours. “That’s it!” Fred proclaimed as he jumped out of bed. His wife begged, “Please, dear, don’t do anything stupid.” But Fred was in no mood to listen. “I’ve had enough!” he shouted and stomped downstairs. After about ten minutes he returned and climbed back into bed. The dog continued barking. His wife asked, “The dog is still barking; what were you doing?” With a look of triumph on his face, Fred replied, “I moved the dog into OUR backyard; NOW, let’s see how THEY like it!”

We sometimes assume that we are much smarter than the evidence of our lives would warrant, and some of those assumptions create the misery in our lives. With this Sunday of “the Pharisee and the Publican” we are now on Great Lent’s doorstep. On this day we begin using the Triodion. The emphasis from now until Pascha will be on repentance, on changing our heart’s assumptions about ourselves.

The verse right before today’s Gospel reading states: “Also, he spoke this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others.” This morning’s Gospel parable has, at its heart, a warning for us about the blindness of our assumptions about ourselves.

The Pharisees spoken of in this morning’s Gospel reading were an ancient sect among the Jews known for their diligent observance of the outward matters of the Law. As a result of their public holiness they were thought by all… including themselves… to be righteous.

The Pharisee’s prayer began well enough: “God, I thank thee…” But then his heart revealed its secret agenda when he continued: “… that I am not like other men.” The Pharisee’s great sin is summed up in his assumption, “…I am not like other men,” and it was that assumption that made him blind to how he really was.

How many times have our hearts whispered, “Thank you, Lord that I am not like other men!” Assumptions such as this may lead us away from the truth of ourselves. Even though we may feel repulsed by the attitude and the behavior of the Pharisee, if we are honest with ourselves we will admit that there are more than a few times when our resemblance to him is uncomfortably accurate. This morning’s parable is given to us by the Fathers to point out to us that every one of us, to a greater or a lesser degree, has something of that Pharisee inside of us… at least a touch of self-adulation and self-righteousness which comes at the expense of others.

The Old Preacher was out fishing one afternoon when he heard a noise beside him. He looked down and saw a frog sitting next to him. The frog said, "Buddy, I've had a spell cast on me. If you'll kiss me, I'll turn into a beautiful princess and I'll make you happy for the rest of your life." The Old Preacher smiled, picked up the frog and put it in his pocket.

A little later, he looked into his pocket to see how the frog was doing. The frog said to him again, this time with exasperation, "Buddy, I've had a spell cast on me. If you'll kiss me, I'll turn into a beautiful princess and I'll make you happy for the rest of your life." The Old Preacher just smiled and kept on fishing. A little later he checked on the frog again. This time it said, "What's wrong with you?! I said I've been bewitched. Just kiss me and I'll turn back into a beautiful princess and make you the happiest man on earth for the rest of your life."

The Old Preacher just smiled and said, "Frog, I hate to tell you this, but at my old age, I'd rather have a talking frog than a beautiful princess!"

Part of the problem with aging is that we can reach a point where we are too tired to try and become better. While we know that the good news is that we don’t have to be perfect in order for God to love us, we sometimes us that knowledge to assume that we don’t NEED to be better. How would we feel if others talked about us the way that we talk about them, about how we are only too eager to tell others about someone’s latest blunder? Would we like others to dismiss us the way that we secretly dismiss at least one other member of the parish? How often do we indulge in thinking that… “At least I’m not as bad as so-and-so”? There is no difference between this thought and this morning’s Pharisee’s “I am not like other men.” This Great Lent we must face the fact that we do, indeed, have assumptions of which we need to repent and let go.
Great Lent is a time to come to see the deluded mindset with which we have become so comfortable over this past year. Jesus Christ shared the parable of the Publican and the Pharisee with us to warn us of the great spiritual danger of thinking too well of ourselves, of cultivating an arrogant self-confidence in our own righteousness, and of the subtle contempt for others that goes along with all this.
There was an Orthodox Bishop, an Orthodox Priest, and a Baptist minister. One day the Bishop went to get a hair cut. After the barber cut his hair the Bishop wanted to pay him. The barber said, "Oh no, I will not accept any money from a man of God." The next day when the barber went to open his shop he saw a loaf of bread with a thank you note. So the next day the Priest came for a hair cut. Again the barber said, "Oh no, I will not accept any money from a man of God." When he went to open his shop the following day he found a bottle of wine and a thank you note. Finally, the Baptist minister came for his hair cut. Again the barber said, "Oh no, I will not accept any money from a man of God." When the barber arrived the next morning he found a thank you note and 10 other Baptist ministers.
Now, in a way, that joke is funny. But in another way: Why is it all right for us to make a scapegoat of the Baptist ministers in the joke? Ironically, we do that because they are not like us. Does this sound familiar: “Thank you, Lord, that I am not like other men!” If we laughed at that joke, I would like to suggest that we are more like the Pharisee than we realize.
Let us determine, this morning, that this Great Lent will be about questioning our assumptions about ourselves and our supposed goodness. As we prepare to go into Lent, the Church presents us with this Gospel passage this morning by way of trying to get us to think about the change of heart that the Lenten season should help us to accomplish. Therefore, throughout this coming week…this week of the Publican and the Pharisee… let us not assume that we are “not like other men”; instead, let us ask ourselves: What needs changing in me to which I, like the Pharisee, am blind?

Glory to Jesus Christ!

1 Tim. 4: 9-15
Luke 19: 1-10

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

Glory to Jesus Christ!

One day, an old German Shepherd went running madly after rabbits and eventually discovered that he was lost. Just then, he noticed a young panther heading rapidly in his direction with the clear intention of dining on the Shepherd. Being the superior breed of all the canines that the German Shepherd is, he was quick-witted: Noticing some bones on the ground nearby, he turned his back, hunched down, and acted as if he was chewing on the bones. When he could sense that the young panther was near, the old German Shepherd exclaimed loudly, “Boy, that was one delicious panther! I wonder if there are any more around here that I could eat?” Terror-stricken, the panther turned tail and fled.

Up in the trees was a crafty squirrel who had watched the whole episode play out; he thought to himself that he could use his secret knowledge to good advantage for himself. So he ran off and soon caught up with the panther, told him what had actually happened, and struck a deal with the panther. The furious young panther said, “Get up on my back and come with me. I want you to see what’s going to happen to that old dog.”

The German Shepherd saw the panther coming, and once again sat down with his back to the panther. Just when the panther got close, the German Shepherd asked loudly, “Where is that squirrel? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another delicious panther!”

We can pretend as if we know exactly what we’re doing, but God knows how confused we actually are. Out of that confusion we make mistakes and forge habits which, in the long-run, do not serve us well. The problem is that after living by these habits for so long we forget that they can be changed. Great Lent is about that very change that we both long for and yet fear.

Central to the feasts of Christmas, Theophany and the Encounter with Christ in the Temple… is the fact of God’s coming to us so that we might encounter him. In this morning’s Gospel, we hear about another encounter with God…that of Zacchaeus with Jesus…and it is with this Gospel incident that the church alerts us to a change of emphasis from what God has done for us… to… what we must do. From this Sunday of Zacchaeus, until Pascha, all the Sunday Gospels will now have to do with repentance.

Zaccheus was a man who was not well liked in Jericho… or, for that matter, anywhere at any time because Zacchaeus was a tax collector! But he was no ordinary tax collector: he was the Head tax collector for that area. Romans had military control over Israel and used Jews to collect taxes; therefore, by collecting taxes for a foreign power, tax collectors were viewed as traitors to their community… a “sinner” of the worst order, a Jew unworthy to be considered “a son of Abraham”.

Zacchaeus was rich and powerful. Some people would say that he “had it all.” But, apparently, Zacchaeus didn’t think so: some perceived need drove him up that tree in order to encounter Jesus Christ. And in order to meet Christ Zacchaeus had to climb up out of the rut of his habits. This Sunday, and the other 3 Sundays before Great Lent, lead us towards the yearly season of repentance, that season of “Bright Sadness”, that season in which we need to do something about changing those habits which take us away from God.

Desperate to raise funds to pay the church’s bills, one Sunday the Pastor announced, “There is a certain man among us this morning who is flirting with another man's wife. Unless he puts ten dollars in the collection box, his name will be read from the pulpit." When the collection plate came back, there were 19 ten dollar bills, and a five dollar bill with a note that read: "Will send other five on payday."

Playing around, gambling, drinking often during the day: The chances are that if we have a habit that we wish to remain secret, that habit is most probably destructive to our spiritual life. There is a Spanish proverb which says that “habits are first cobwebs, then cables.” In other words… only with effort will we be able to change our habits this coming Great Lent, and we will only do so when, seeing how destructive those habits are, we come to the conclusion that we have no recourse but to change them.

Since last Pascha we have grown habits, of course… habits of laziness, habits of making excuses for not addressing what we know needs to be addressed, habits justifying why we don’t need to change, why it is my spouse who needs to change and not me. For some of us, it is not new habits that we have grown; rather, after Pascha, we went back to our old habits. We know that we should exercise, and then we excuse our not doing it. We know we should smile at people, and then promptly forget about smiling when someone angers us. We know that we should stop gossiping, but then rush to tell someone the latest news that we have just heard.

Why have we come here this morning? Was it to be reassured that we are just fine? If so, then we are in the wrong place. Do we stay away from church services in order that I won’t remind us that we need to be better? If we think that we are fine the way we are… that very thought proves just how wrong we are!
A member of the church who, previously, had been attending services regularly, stopped going. After a few weeks, the Pastor decided to visit him. It was a chilly evening and the Pastor found the man at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. Guessing the reason for his Pastor’s visit, and yet saying nothing, the man settled both of them in comfortable armchairs by the fire. And waited.
The Pastor said nothing as they both stared into the flames licking around and over the logs. After some minutes, the Pastor took the fire tongs and carefully picked up a brightly burning ember and placed it to one side of the hearth, all by itself. He then sat back in his chair, and they both watched the ember in silence. As the one ember’s flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow, and then the ember’s fire was no more, quickly becoming cold and dead.
Not a word had been spoken by either man during the whole visit. As the Pastor slowly stood to leave, he picked up the cold dead ember with his hands and placed it back into the middle of the fire; immediately, it began to glow and came back to life from the warmth of the burning coals around it.
At the front door, the Pastor saw a tear running down his host’s face but before the Pastor could say anything the man said, “Thank you for your visit, and for the fiery sermon. I will be back in church on Sunday.”
Central to the Orthodox Church’s understanding is that while we sin alone we are saved through membership in the church, that body of believer’s whose own faith fans ours. We can make up all sorts of excuses for why we don’t come to church, to feast day services, to parish meetings, but in the end, that’s all they are: Excuses. Before us stands the tree of Great Lent, which can only be climbed through the asceticism of repentance. If we make excuses for why we should not climb it this year, for why we can’t/shouldn’t/won’t participate in the services of the season, then neither will we encounter Jesus Christ when he rises at Pascha.

Glory to Jesus Christ!

The Sunday before Great Lent,
The one known as
“Zacchaeus Sunday”

Zacchaeus Sunday. The very first announcement that Great Lent is coming is made on Zacchaeus Sunday, when the Gospel lesson about Zacchaeus is read. It is the story of a man who was too short to see Jesus but who desired so much to see Him that he climbed up a tree. Jesus responded to Zacchaeus’ desire and went to Zacchaeus’ house. Thus, the theme of this first announcement of Great Lent is desire, and this fundamental psychological truth about human nature is acknowledged by the Gospel: “Where your treasure is,” says Christ, “there shall your heart be.
Zacchaeus desired the “right thing”; he wanted to see and approach Christ. He is the first symbol of repentance, for repentance begins as the rediscovery of the deep nature of all desire: the desire for God and His righteousness, for the true life. The lesson for us in this Gospel passage is that if we, too, desire deeply enough, strongly enough, Christ will respond.