A Radical Critique of Selfishness - Lazarus and the Rich Man

 

Icon of the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man

Dear Parish Faithful,


“And as for what fell among the thorns, they are those who hear, but as they go on their way they are choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life, and their fruit does not mature.” (LK. 8:14)

There is an interior connection between the Parable of the Sower and the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man (LK. 16:19-31), heard yesterday at the Divine Liturgy. For the “rich man” of the parable is the embodiment of a person who has been “choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life,” as described in the Parable of the Sower. Brushing aside the teaching of the Torah, and the Jewish emphasis on charity as one of the great acts of true piety, the rich man remained coldly indifferent to poor Lazarus who was clearly visible at his very gate. Preoccupied with fine linen and sumptuous feasting (v. 19), the rich man was scarcely prepared in his heart to alleviate the sufferings of Lazarus, sufferings that were exemplified by the dogs that licked his sores (v. 20). Such indifference is frightening when seen in the light of the many scriptural admonitions that either chastise the neglect of the poor: “He who closes his ear to the cry of the poor will himself cry out and not be heard;” or encourage his care: “He who is kind to the poor lends to the Lord, and he will repay him for his deed.” (PROV. 21:13; 19:17)

And the severity of the consequences of such neglect of the poor is vividly described in the parable’s “reversal of fortune,” with the rich man languishing in hades, unable to be relieved of his torment there. The contrast of his fate and that of Lazarus being carried into the “bosom of Abraham” by a heavenly escort is striking. (v. 22-23) 

The Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man was delivered with the Pharisees in mind, for right before Jesus proclaimed the parable, we hear this unflattering description of the Pharisees:  “The Pharisees who were lovers of money, heard all this, and they scoffed at him. But he said to them, ‘You are those who justify yourselves before men, but God knows your hearts; for what is exalted among men is an abomination in the sight of God’.” (LK. 16:14-15) Whatever or whoever may have prompted the words of the Lord during his ministry, our concern now is with our own attitude and treatment of the poor. To think or believe otherwise is to fail to “hear” the parable as it is proclaimed today for our chastisement or encouragement. The words of the Lord – the “Gospel truth” – cannot be properly assessed within the narrow limits of any political allegiances – Democrat or Republican; nor even of a wider-scoped ideology – liberal or conservative. The Gospel transcends these categories as something far greater and infinitely more demanding of our allegiance. 

At a time when neither political parties nor even political ideologies existed or had any real impact on the prevailing cultural or social assumptions of the time, St. John Chrysostom (+407) delivered a series of brilliant homilies on the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man. (These seven homilies now exist in English translation under the title on Wealth and Poverty). With his impressive knowledge of the Scriptures; his unmatched rhetorical skills; but most importantly his profound zeal for the moral and ethical teaching of the Gospel; St. John offered a radical critique of selfishness and a radical exhortation to overcome such selfishness for the sake of the poor. Challenging conventional notions of what theft is, he famously expanded its definition by meditating deeply on the parable at hand:

I shall bring you testimony from the divine Scriptures, saying that not only the theft of others’ goods but also the failure to share one’s own goods with others is theft and swindle and defraudation. What is this testimony? Accusing the Jews by the prophet, God says, ‘The earth has brought forth her increase, and you have not brought forth your tithes; but the theft of the poor is in your houses.’ (MAL. 3:8-10) Since you have not given the accustomed offering, He says, you have stolen the goods of the poor. He says this to show the rich that they hold the goods of the poor even if they have inherited them from their fathers or no matter how they have gathered their wealth. And elsewhere the Scripture says, ‘Deprive not the poor of his living.’ (SIR. 4:1) To deprive is to take what belongs to another; for it is called deprivation when we take and keep what belongs to others. By this we are taught that when we do not show mercy, we will be punished just like those who steal. For our money is the Lord’s, however we may have gathered it. If we provide for those in need, we shall obtain great plenty. This is why God has allowed you to have more; not for you to waste on prostitutes, drink, food, expensive clothes, and all the other kinds of indulgence, but for you to distribute to those in need … If you are affluent, but spend more than you need, you will give an account of the funds which were entrusted to you … For you have obtained more than others have, and you have received it, not to spend it for yourself, but to become a good steward for others as well. (On Wealth and Poverty, homily two)

This is a radical teaching, though again not based on any particular social or political philosophy. For St. John the “true philosophy” was adherence to the Gospel. St. John is primarily concerned with uncovering the meaning and implications of what we discover in the Scriptures. If that is challenging to the point of seeming “impossible’” or of least taking us way out of our “comfort zones,” then rather than “soft-pedaling” the Gospel message, St. John would continue in the hope of inspiring us to strengthen our efforts and to put on “the mind of Christ.”

 

St Isaac of Syria on Human Nature, Death, and the Resurrection

 

Dear Parish Faithful, In a recent meditation, I referenced the Apostle Paul's tripartite understanding of human nature as consisting of spirit (pneuma), soul (psyche) and body (soma), as found in I Thess. 5:23. Many of the Church Fathers would echo this terminology of the Apostle Paul; while others would speak of only soul and body as encompassing human nature, with the spirit as the highest aspect of the soul. And, often, the later spiritual tradition would use the term nous to refer to the spirit, translating nous as "mind," but much more successfully as "spiritual intellect." When these levels of our human nature are harmoniously directed to the pursuit of virtue and the Kingdom of God, then the fulness of our nature is realized, so that our creation "in the image and likeness of God" shines forth to the glory of God. Be that as it may, there is a real fulness to our human nature, but also a certain complexity! But, again, this reveals that a human being is "more than meets the eye."  With this in mind, I recently came across a passage from the writings of St. Isaac the Syrian, the great ascetic and spiritual teacher from the Syriac tradition. His terms in describing human nature are derived from his native Syriac language, but they are closely related to the Greek language terms that he knew from reading such exponents of the ascetical/spiritual tradition as Evagrius of Pontus (+399), for example. Here, then, is a short but revealing passage from St. Isaac as he "prioritizes" the harmonious working of the spirit in directing our entire being toward God. Of great interest, is how St. Isaac relates this to faith in the resurrection: "The person who in his understanding is on the level of the body cannot be above fear of death in his thoughts; rather, he is continually terrified at the recollection of it. Because he is on the level of the body he thinks of the things of the body. Therefore there is always in him some doubt about the resurrection. "In the person who is on the level of the soul there vibrates a fear of soul. He does not think of the things belonging to the body - its death, affliction, or its welfare and misfortunes. Rather, he readily accepts these for the sake of what is to come, seeing that he is in truth endowed with reason. But he only possesses the level of the soul, which consists in continual reflection of what pertains to the resurrection from the dead. "As for the person who is on the level of the spirit, neither of these other descriptions is applicable: rather he stands in the knowledge and joy which is in God, seeing that he has become a child and sharer in the mystery of God." More than a little bit to mediate on!

The Thundering Message

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

We recently heard the powerful account of Jesus raising from the dead the widow's son at Nain (LK. 7:11-16). This particular event is unique to St. Luke's Gospel. In his Commentary on the Gospel According to St. Luke, the biblical scholar Carroll Stuhlmueller, summarized the over-all impression left by this extraordinary event in the following manner:

This incident, only in Luke, shows the Evangelist's special delight in portraying Jesus not only overwhelmed with pity at the sight of tragedy but also turning with kindly regard toward women (cf. 7:36-50; 10:38-42) ... This narrative possesses the charm, color, and pathos of an excellent story: two large crowds meet, approaching from different directions; the silence with which Jesus touches the bier and stops the funeral procession; the thundering message, calmly spoken, bringing the dead back to life. (The Jerome Biblical Commentary)

 

Truly, it is nothing less than a "thundering message" when Jesus said: "Young man, I say to you arise!" (LK. 7:14). And when the young man "sat up and began to speak" we should be able to understand, however dimly, the reaction of the crowd: "Fear seized them all; and they glorified God" (7:16). The pathos of this story is further increased by the fact that the young man was "the only son of his mother, and she was a widow" (7:12). There was no existing social safety net within first century Israel that would provide support for this woman. Without a son who could help provide for her, this widow would have been totally dependent upon the good will and the charity of her neighbors in the small village that Nain was known to have been. Hence, the power of the simple statement that accompanies the young man's restoration to life:  "And he gave him to his mother" (7:15). What a reunion that must have been! 

Now St. Luke makes it clear just who it was who encountered this funeral procession and dramatically brought it to a halt:  "And when the Lord who saw her he had compassion on her" (7:13). It was "the Lord." This was the first of many times throughout his Gospel that the Evangelist Luke will use this exalted title for Jesus. The Greek ho Kyrios — the Lord — is the translation found in the Septuagint of the divine name Yahweh. Ascribed to Jesus in the New Testament, this title reveals that as the Lord, Jesus has power over both life and death. Anticipating his own resurrection from the dead, the Lord Jesus Christ brings this young man back to life, revealing that even death is not beyond His authority and capacity to give life.

We are not told how this young man died. In our contemporary world, death can be more-or-less defined in a clinical manner. The shift in this clinical definition has moved toward a final determination of "brain death." Be it the cessation of breath, permanent "cardiac arrest," or the brain death just mentioned, we can identify death and its effect on our biological organism. And so could anyone in the ancient world, where death was such a more immediate and "up close" reality compared to the rather antiseptic experience of death that we promote today in a attempt to distance the living from the dying as well as that is possible. But as Christians, we certainly understand death in a way that moves far beyond its current clinical definition and determination. That is because we understand life in such a way that the clinical is transcended by the mysterious:  "What is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?" (PS. 8:4). Conversant with a biblical anthropology that refuses to limit a human person to his or hers biological functions, we perceive ourselves in a more complex and meaningful manner. 

There are many ways over the centuries that within our theological tradition we have elaborated on that inexhaustible biblical affirmation that we are created "according to the image and likeness of God." The Church Fathers will speak of the human person as a psychosomatic union of soul and body. Or, following the Apostle Paul of a union of spirit, soul and body. (I THESS. 5:23) Because of some of the Greek philosophical connotations - primarily dualism - of using the terminology of soul and body, there has been a concerted movement within theological circles today to use the more biblically-based terms of "spirit and flesh" to describe the mystery of human personhood. Whatever the exact terminology employed to describe the fullness of human existence, the essential point being made is that the human person is more - much more - than "what meets the eye." We are even greater than the angels according to some of the Fathers, because we unite in our person the "spiritual" and the "material" as the pinnacle of God's creative acts. We have our biological limitations, but we can still know the living God! Even though we are so frail in our humanity, the psalmist can still exclaim in wonder:  "Yet you have made him little less than the angels, and you have crowned him with glory and honor" (PS. 8:5).

In describing the mystery of death as it pertains to all creatures, including human beings, the psalmist says (and we hear this at every Vespers service):  "When you take away their spirit, they die and return to their dust" (Ps. 104:29). This is what happened to the young man from Nain regardless of whatever may have been the immediate cause of his death. Something had happened that could not be fully described as merely brain death. His "spirit" had been taken away and his flesh was destined to return to the dust. Another expression that became almost classical as a theological description of death - and which essentially means the same thing - is that of the "separation of soul and body." Either way, the wholeness and integrity of the human person is lost in death. This is what renders death a tragedy and why the Apostle Paul can refer to death as "the last enemy." 

When the Lord brought this only son of his mother to life again, the spirit of the young man returned to his flesh - or the soul to his body - and he began to live again in the full meaning of that word. Yet, this is not resurrection in the fullness of that word's meaning as we apply it to Christ:  "For we know that Christ being raised from the dead will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him" (ROM. 6:9). The young man was resuscitated to life. He lived — and died — again, to then await the resurrection of the dead at the end of time, a resurrection prefigured and promised by the Lord's resurrection and victory over death. The same can be said of the synagogue elder Jairus' daughter and, of course Lazarus, the friend of Christ who had been dead for four days. 

There is a passage from his Discourse on the Holy Pascha, in which St. Gregory of Nyssa offers a very "modern" - or is that "post-modern?" - evaluation of the loss of a moral/ethical dimension to life when we discard the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead:

... If there is no resurrection, and death is the end of live, then leave off your accusations and reprimands, having been granted an unimpeded authority for homicide:

let the adulterers destroy marriage; let the covetous live in luxury at the expense of their opponents; do not scold anyone; let the perjurers curse continuously, for death awaits him who sticks to cursing; let another lie as much as one may desire, because there is no reward for truth; let no one help the poor, for the merciful will remain without a prize.

Such considerations occur in the soul of those more chaotic than the flood; they cast out every wise thought and encourage every foolish thought and thievery. For if there is no resurrection, there is no Judgment; if then the Judgment is denied, the fear of God is denied along with it. Where there is no one who is humbled by fear, there the devil exults.

 

We are told today that we are essentially a walking bag of chemicals with an evolved consciousness. This further implies that at death this biological organism collapses, all consciousness is irreversibly lost, and that final oblivion is our common fate. The Scripture revelation that we accept as coming from God tells us something radically different. To hear the Gospel is to fill us with the faith, hope and love that can only come from the living God. It is to hear of a different destiny and one that makes life infinitely more meaningful and hopeful. We too can cry out together with the crowd at Nain: "A great prophet has arisen among us!" and "God has visited his people!" (LK. 7:16). And living within the Church we know that this is the Lord who "shall come again with glory to judge the living and the dead; whose Kingdom shall have no end:" thus allowing us the final joyful affirmation: "I look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Amen."

Guest Meditation: 'Notes on An Evening with Archbishop Kallistos Ware'

 

Dear Parish Faithful,

Following our "Evening With Archbishop Kallistos" on Sunday, one of our participants - Jenny Harkins - expanded her impression of Archbishop Kallistos's words - words of authority, insight and wisdom - with the following reflection. Jenny here has expanded the words of the talk from our personal lives into the very structure and flow of the Liturgy. I would like to share this with the parish, as it deserves a careful reading and reflection.

Also related to Archbishop Kallistos Ware:

Remembering Archbishop Kallistos - For those who would be interested, on Monday, October 3 at 5:00pm EDT, St. Vladimir's Seminary will be livestreaming a memorial service for Archbishop Kallistos, followed by personal remembrances of him shared by Very Rev. Dr Chad Hatfield, His Eminence, Archbishop Alexander (Golitzin), and Dr Peter Bouteneff.

 

Registration is required. Follow this link for full info and to register for the livestream.  

- Fr Steven

__________

I'll try to solidify my thoughts on Met. Ware's three phases of prayer as they seem to relate to the progression of the Divine Liturgy. Met. Kallistos said, "Prayer begins with prayer of the lips or prayer with words. But then it grows more inward and becomes prayer of the mind or intellect. Then there is a further stage where it becomes prayer of the heart or more exactly prayer of the mind in the heart. Heart signifies not just the affections and emotions but the deep self, the inner shrine, the spiritual center of the total human person. The heart is the place where we encounter Christ and the Holy Spirit dwelling within us." 

It struck me that as we first come together to worship on Sunday mornings, quieting ourselves from the bustle of getting the family ready, the commute, and settling into our places amidst friendly greetings, our first phase of prayer as "the Body" gathered is this "prayer of the lips" in our several litanies and answering antiphons. Then as our thoughts align with our words and focus-in on the Lord and his presence with us, we are warmed and ready, so to speak, to enter into the next phase of prayer- "prayer of the mind (nous)." As you pray the words, "Illumine our hearts, O Master who lovest mankind, with the pure light of thy divine knowledge, and open the eyes of our mind to the understanding of thy Gospel teachings," our intellect is attentive and receptive to the very Word of God; fertile soil being fed and fertilized as the Gospel takes root and grows spiritual fruit, our distractions and anxieties from the week being uprooted as grace and truth till deeper still. (God's promise in Is 55:10-11 comes to mind- "For as the rain and the snow come down from Heaven and do not return there but water the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.") 

And now, with our minds refreshed and purified, we enter into Met. Kallistos' third phase of prayer, "prayer of the heart- or the mind in the heart (kardia)." From the Great Entrance as the gifts are offered and blessed and we prayerfully examine our innermost being in preparation for the Divine union, it seems that we are opening into this deepest level of prayer, when we receive and miraculously commune with the Lord in the reception of his precious Body and Blood. There is no space left here. Our "inner shrine" is completely aflame in the refining love of God (whether or not our minds can comprehend it or our words express it).

Glory to God for Autumn

Dear Parish Faithful & Friends in Christ,

(Here is an older meditation from over a decade ago. I thought to bring it back to life in case anyone would be interested in something that deals with the season of Fall that begins today).

 

Glory to God for Autumn

This year, the Fall officially begins at 9:03 p.m. on Thursday, September 22. And that means later today. From my personal—and, admittedly, “subjective”—perspective, there is nothing quite like the fall among the four seasons. For me, one of this season’s greatest attractions is found in the flaming red, orange, yellow and golden leaves that transform familiar trees into a series of neighborhood “burning bushes,” each one seemingly brighter than the other. When combined with a piercing blue sky on a sunlit day and a certain crispness in the air, I find myself more vividly aware of the surrounding world and thankful for God’s creation.

On a somewhat more “philosophical note”—more apt to emerge, perhaps, on an overcast, windswept day—we may realize that this “colorful death” signals the fleeting nature of everything beautiful in this world, “for the form of this world is passing away” [1 Corinthians 7:31]. And yet this very beauty, and the sense of yearning that accompanies it, is a sign of the beauty ineffable of the coming Kingdom of God and our restless desire to behold and experience that beauty.

Growing up on a typical city block in Detroit, I distinctly recall a neighborhood “ritual” that marked this particular season: the raking and burning of leaves that went on up and down the entire block once most of the leaves had spiraled and floated to the ground. Everyone on the block raked the leaves down toward the street and into neatly formed mounds of color that rested alongside the curb. Then they were lit and the task of raking now became that of tending and overseeing the piles of burning leaves. This usually occurred after dinner for most families, but one could still see the shimmering waves of heat that protected one from the early evening chill and the ascending ashes rushing upward. Please momentarily forgive my politically incorrect indifference to the environment, but I thoroughly enjoyed those small bonfires near the curb as the pungent smell of burning leaves filled the air. This unmistakable smell would, as I recall, linger in the air for a couple of weeks or more as different neighbors got to the task at different times.

The entire scene embodied the wholesomeness of a 1950s first-grade reading primer, as “Mom” and “Dad,” together with “Dick” and “Jane” (and perhaps “Spot,” the frisky family dog) smilingly cooperated in this joint, familial enterprise. The reading primer would reformulate this “celebration” of healthy work and a neatly ordered environment into a staccato of minimally-complex sentences: “See Dad rake;” “Dick and Jane are raking too;” “Here comes mom!” This all served to increase the budding student’s vocabulary while reinforcing a picture of an idealized—if not idyllic—American way of life.

Since my parents were peasants from a Macedonian village, we never quite fit into that particular mold—especially when my mother would speak to me in Macedonian in front of my friends! And yet I distinctly remember teaching my illiterate mother to read from those very “Dick and Jane” primers so that she could obtain her American citizenship papers, which she proudly accomplished in due time.

Before getting too nostalgic, however, I will remind you that this wholesome way of life - something of an urban idyll - was taking place at the height of Cold War anxiety. This, in turn, evokes another clear memory from my youth: the air-raid drills in our schools that were meant to prepare us and protect us from a Soviet nuclear strike. (Khrushchev’s shoe-pounding exhibition at the United Nations, together with his ominous “We will bury you!” captured the whole mood of this period.) These carefully-executed air-raid drills were carried out with due solemnity and seriousness—lines straight and no talking allowed! We would wind our way down into a fairly elaborate—if not labyrinthine—series of basement levels that were seemingly constructed, and thus burdened, with the hopeless task of saving us from nuclear bombs! We would then sit in neatly formed rows monitored by our teachers, and apparently oblivious to the real dangers of the Cold War world, until the “all clear” signal was given, allowing us to file back to our classrooms. Thus did the specter of the mushroom cloud darken the sunny skies of “Dick” and “Jane’s” age of innocence.

I must acknowledge that my short nostalgic digression does not offer a great deal for reflection. So as not to entirely frustrate that purpose—and because I began with some brief reflections on the created world—I would like to offer some of the wonderful praises of the beauty of the world around us from the remarkable Akathistos Hymn, “Glory to God for All Things.”

This hymn, which has become quite popular in many Orthodox parishes, was said to have been composed either by an Orthodox bishop or priest slowly perishing in a Soviet prison camp in 1940. In unscientific, yet theological-poetic imagery, he reminds us of what we are often blind to: God’s glorious creation. Would he have “missed” all of this if his life was as free as ours are to be preoccupied with daily concerns and cares that leave no time or room to look around in wonder? Whatever the case may be, this is a magnificent hymn that fills the soul with delight if only for the moment that it is being chanted:

O Lord, how lovely it is to be Your guest. Breeze full of scents; mountains reaching to the skies; waters like boundless mirrors, reflecting the sun’s golden rays and the scudding clouds. All nature murmurs mysteriously, breathing the depth of tenderness. Birds and beasts of the forest bear the imprint of Your love. Blessed are you, mother earth, in your fleeting loveliness, which wakens our yearning for happiness that will last forever. In the land where, amid beauty that grows not old, rings out the cry: Alleluia! [Kontakion 2]

You have brought me into life as if into an enchanted paradise. We have seen the sky like a chalice of deepest blue, where in the azure heights the birds are singing. We have listened to the soothing murmur of the forest and the melodious music of the streams. We have tasted fruit of fine flavor and the sweet-scented honey. We can live very well on Your earth. It is a pleasure to be Your guest. [Ikos 2]

I see Your heavens resplendent with stars. How glorious You are, radiant with light! Eternity watches me by the rays of the distant stars. I am small, insignificant, but the Lord is at my side. Your right arm guides me wherever I go. [Ikos 5]

Brings to mind Dostoevsky’s enigmatic phrase:  “Beauty will save the world.”