While studying this gospel (Matt 14:22-34), I came upon something curious in Matthew 14. Evening comes twice. Today we hear that evening came while Jesus was alone on the mountain (Matthew 14:23). And yet it was when evening came that his disciples had earlier called his attention to the need of the crowds for something to eat (14:15). We read the passage last Sunday. Each repeats the exact phrase: “And evening was come.”[i] How does evening come twice? Why does evening come twice?

Sure, the word can refer to a whole range of time from early evening until late evening, but why use the same phrase twice? Mark doesn’t do this in his account of these two sequential events. He makes a clearer distinction between a “late hour” for the first and “evening” for the second (Mark 6:35, 47). But Matthew duplicates the same phrase twice.

Objectively, I suppose, evening comes once a day. That’s the rhythm. On the other hand, I don’t know about you, but I have experienced evenings coming twice – especially since I have had children.

That is, a time comes each evening when I am ready to be done with the day. And many times, at this point I turn in. I go to my room. I shut the door. I get into bed. Perhaps I begin to read a book or even go to sleep. I have withdrawn from the crowds to a lonely place apart, so to speak (cf. Matt 14:13).

But then, the door will burst open! Or, a wailing from another room will be sounded. And the needs of the family will reassert themselves. And what I thought was the beginning of the evening will turn out not to have been so, at least subjectively. Many times, these needs will have something to do with getting a glass of water or a bedtime snack.

Incidentally, did you know that many cultures eat their dinner later on in the day than the Americans tend to? 6 o clock is our traditional evening meal time, I suppose. Well, when I was in the seminary, I would often come upon a Sicilian professor of ours eating at more like 8, which I found a little bit odd. Until I realized that was simply the way they do it. Many things we think of as normal or universal are really just our own cultural assumptions.

So it was not unusual, actually, that Jesus wanted to feed a whole crowd of people when it was already evening. In any case, as I say, I find myself doing the same thing many times, even when it is not my plan or intention. You might say I have compassion on the crowd (cf. 14:14). The crowd of children at my door anyway.

Well then, after this crisis is averted there comes what we might think of as a second evening. The intentions I had at the first evening reassert themselves and I once again withdraw to a lonely place and evening begins again (cf. 14:23). So, on some level I can relate to the two comings of evening at the end of one day.

And what Jesus goes through in Matthew 14 is not wholly dissimilar. Evening comes. He intends to withdraw to a lonely place (14:13). But the crowds follow him and he takes pity on them and addresses their needs (14:13-14). He heals their sick and feeds the hungry (14:14-20). And then evening comes again. And he withdraws again to a lonely place.

What can we learn about Jesus from this? One thing is, he will at time allow himself to be interrupted by us, like a father who loves his children allows himself to be interrupted by them. He will listen to us and address our needs. He set out to be alone for a while, but he allowed the crowds to delay that – not prevent it, but delay it. He has compassion on us.

We can see in good and loving families an image of our relationship with God. I remember what it’s like to be a child who cannot sleep after our parents have gone to bed. I remember the intense yearning to go and be with them where they are. And those of us who are parents know now the other side of it as well. The need to sometimes be alone. But also the love for our children and the willingness to sometimes let them in even when it’s inconvenient. There’s an incarnate image of God’s love for us in this.

But then, Jesus finishes what he started before being interrupted by the crowds. He instructs his disciples to cross the sea on ahead of him and leave him (14:22). And then he dismisses the crowd of thousands, whom he has just fed with the five loaves and two fishes. And then he goes up on the mountain alone (14:23). He stays there alone in prayer most of the night.

Meanwhile, his disciples are in distress. Their boat is beaten by the waves and the wind is against them. But Jesus does not come straight to their rescue. Mark says he can see them out there in the storm (Mark 6:48), perhaps from his vantage point on the mountain, but he lets them flounder in that boat most of the night.

And these are his closest disciples. Peter is among them. He had compassion on the crowds, but we might ask, where is his compassion for his disciples? Sometimes we feel like this while we’re weathering the storms of life. It’s storming outside today. Last I checked, there’s a flash flood watch until 2pm. But worse that this are our personal storms – the things we suffer in our relationships, illnesses of mind and body, the deaths of our loved ones. Aren’t we the Lord’s disciples? Won’t he take pity on us and deliver us?

Yes, he is coming. But sometimes he allows his disciples to wait all night. After I have sent my children to bed for the second time, I often expect them to stay there until morning. They often do not want to, but there comes a time when I must put my foot down, even though they do not understand why. The Lord, too, will sometimes delay his coming, though we do not understand why.

But he does come. Jesus walks on the water to his disciples on the sea in the fourth watch of the night, which is really just before dawn – a time we nowadays more usually call early morning (Matt 14:25).

This give us a beautiful image of Jesus coming to us in the midst of the storm at the rising of the sun. At the irmos of ode 9 on Sunday in the 5th tone, at Matins, which is traditionally celebrated not long before the rising of the sun, we sing of Jesus, “His name is rising of the sun.” Or, “Orient is his name.” This is also sung at weddings and ordinations. The rising of the sun is an image of the coming of the Lord. He is coming, after the long and stormy night.  As surely as the sun will rise, he will come. When we’re in the midst of the storm, we may doubt it. But he will come. And when he comes, he will calm the storm and the wind will cease (cf. 14:32).

Though he comes to his disciples only after the passing of the night, whereas he allowed the crowds to interrupt him, and this is a difference between these two stories, they also have much in common. According to Matthew, evening comes twice, and both times Jesus goes off to be alone, and both times he has compassion on the people and then ministers to them, first the crowds and then the apostles. Perhaps with this duplication, Matthew is calling our attention to the similarities between these two miraculous stories.

The multiplication of evenings draws attention to a multiplication of the Lord’s coming to his people. There is the ultimate, final, and second coming of the Lord at the end of days. But there are other comings which point to that ultimate coming. There is the coming for which we wait while we are buffeted by storms and there are the comings of the Lord in the meantime, which comfort and sustain us as we wait.

We experience these comings of the Lord perhaps especially through the holy mysteries of the Church, each of which is an encounter with the Lord. Baptism is a coming of the Lord into our lives. And the Lord’s walking on the water and delivering his disciples on the sea is an image of baptism. Holy Communion is a coming of the Lord into the church, and the bread which the Lord multiplies to feed the crowd is an image of the Eucharist. Furthermore, we experience the coming of the Lord through loving one another.

 

---

[i] ὀψίας δὲ γενομένης

My little girl asked me if there is any such thing as magic.

Well, I believe the capacity of children for wonder is a holy gift, not to be trampled upon. We, like children, can learn to stand in awe before creation and before our life experiences or we can look at the same things with cynicism and skepticism. I have no desire to inject this cynicism or skepticism into my children, so I went on for some time describing the miracles and wonders worked by our Lord and his Saints.

There is a whole group of saints whom we call “thaumaturge” or “wonderworker”. You may have heard of Saint Gregory Thaumaturgus. You certainly know Saint Nicholas, who is also called “the wonderworker.” Then there are the holy unmercenary wonderworkers Cosmas and Damian, the holy great martyr George the wonderworker, and on and on and on. There’s a wonderworker on our calendar probably every other week.

So, with all of these wonderworkers, where are the wonders? A better question, I think, is where is our wonder? We can learn about that from our children. I believe that wonders and miracles are happening around us every day all the time if we would open our eyes to them.

Now, perhaps it is necessary to make a distinction between magic and miracles. We do not call Jesus a magician. And a few references to magic in the scripture are in connection to rather nefarious characters like Simon the Magician. Magic is used by them for self-promotion. And magic, certainly, is sometimes used to refer, on the one hand, to tricks or deceptions, and, on the other hand, to surprising feats performed with the aid of spirits. As has been rightly observed, not all spirits are holy. Magic tricks can be fun and entertaining. While magic of a more diabolical kind is of course something to be shunned and abhorred. In neither of these senses do Jesus or his wonderworkers do magic.

Still, we can overdo this distinction. Let us not abandon our childlike wonder while we pursue fine distinctions. And remember the Magi, whom God led to the Christ Child through their wonder at a marvelous star. And we do call the saints thaumaturge, as I mentioned earlier. And that same word is sometimes also used to describe magicians in the ancient world.

There may after all be room to say to a child that God has created a magical world, that is, a world to be wondered at and full of miracles.

We hear of one of these miracles today. The feeding of thousands with five loaves and two fish. For no other reason, as far as I can tell, than that they are hungry and that he has compassion on them, Jesus gives to the thousands who have followed him into a lonely place a wonderful picnic – a picnic to be wondered at. Looking at this as an example may help to reveal to us the quality and purpose of true miracles as opposed to magic tricks.

The workings of this miracle are mysterious – or perhaps even secret. They’re not performed in a dazzling or showy way the way a magician might on stage. Jesus simply takes the small amount of food, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to his disciples to distribute to the people. There is one thing to note about this, he works the miracle through his people. They cooperate, too, in a rather childlike way. Sure, they raised their objections, but now they obey him and walk out into a crowd of thousands with the intention of feeding them with so little. That’s a childlike step out in faith. Or anyway a kind reckless willingness to be thought of as a fool. Do we have that willingness and childlike trust in our Lord?

After his disciples carry the pieces into the crowd, the next thing we hear is that all eat and are satisfied. The mechanism of the multiplication is not described at all. It’s really only clear that there has been a multiplication after the fact, when the twelve baskets of pieces left over are gathered.

In the movie Millions, St. Peter appears in a vision to a young boy who’s trying to do the right thing with a big pile of money he’s found. In the movie, St. Peter says,

“This kid comes up to us with these loaves and fishes. And Jesus blessed them and passes the plate round. Now the first person he passes it to passes it on. He doesn’t take anything he just passes it on. Do you know why? Because he had a piece of lamb hidden in his pocket. And as he’s passing the fish, he sneaks a bit of the meat out and pretends he’s taking it off the plate. You see what I’m saying? And the next person exactly the same story…. As the plate goes around, they all got their own food out and started to share. And that plate went all the way around and back to Jesus and still got the fish and the loaves on it…. Jesus says, ‘What happened?’ And I just said, ‘Miracle.’ And at first I thought I’d fooled him. But now I see, it was a miracle. One of his best. This little kid stood up and everybody there just got bigger. That kid wasn’t planning on doing a miracle. He wasn’t planning anything except lunch. Something that looks like a miracle turns out to be dead simple.”

Well, that’s one interpretation of the event. The mechanism of multiplication is, as I say, not disclosed in the gospel. Further I’d go so far as to agree that inspiring generosity in a crowd of thousands would be a kind of miracle. We could do with more of that generosity in our world today. Every time I celebrate Litija, which I do at Great Vespers for all Great Feasts and Feasts with a Vigil, I pray,

“Lord Jesus Christ Our God, you blessed the five loaves in the wilderness and fed the five thousand. Likewise bless these loaves, wheat, wine, and oil and multiply them in this city and through your whole world.”

You see, we’re imitating Christ at Vespers. We bless the loaves, we break them, we ask him to multiply them in our city and the whole world. Where is the miracle?

Let me tell you, he has performed the multiplication! It’s done! Do you know, that this wonderful world in which we live produces more than enough food to feed all of its more than seven and a half billion inhabitants?

Why then are some going hungry? Because the people of the world are failing to do as the disciples did and carry the particles to the hungry. It’s inexcusable. It is a failure of generosity. We destroy food. We destroyed even more food during this pandemic, while people go hungry. Jesus invites us to participate in the miracle. And he expects our participation. He works his miracles through our participation.

This miracle of the loaves and the fishes also points to the miracle we’re about to witness hear it in the church – the miracle of the Eucharist. The bread which is the body of Christ is being multiplied throughout the world on this day of the Lord to feed his faithful throughout the world. We are going to witness a miracle. We would do well to stand in awe before it, with childlike faith. To look upon it with wonder. And to take inspiration from it to participate in the miracle Jesus is inviting us into. To become his instruments. To become those through whom he works his miracles. Our participation is as simple as us offering whatever we have however small. Be like the child who offers you a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Be like a small boy offering five loaves and two fish. If we obey Jesus and offer this, he will multiply it and we will delight in his wonderworking through us.

We hear today one of the scriptural roots of the Jesus Prayer. Two blind men follow Jesus, “crying aloud, ‘Have mercy on us, Son of David’” (Matt 9:27). And later they call him “Lord” (9:28). And Jesus opens their eyes.

Even those of us who can see with the eyes of the body are often spiritually blind. We do not know where we are going in life. We cannot see where God is in all of this. Note that the blind men were blind in body but that they could nonetheless follow Jesus from one place to another (Matt 9:27-28). Following Jesus set them on the right course. First, they followed. Then they could see. It is the same with us. If first we will follow Jesus (even for our whole earthly lives), then we will spiritually see. Our vision of God’s presence in our lives will be 20/20 if we first live faithfully and then look back upon it. Perhaps we cannot always see where God is in our lives right now, but we know by faith that he is present and, if we follow him, he will give us eyes to see that he was with us all along. I have experienced this already in my own life. Most of the time, I know where God intends me to go only after I get there, like a blind man following him through the streets of the city.

But how can I begin or continue to follow Jesus if I am blind and do not see where he is? It would help then to call out to him, like the blind men do. I promise, it will help us just to call out his holy name – the name of Jesus. Let us pray the Jesus prayer:

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

Can you hear how this is like the prayer of the blind men? “Have mercy on us, Son of David,” they pray. This is, as I say, one of the scriptural roots of the Jesus Prayer. There are also others:

• Another blind man sits outside of Jericho and similarly calls out to Jesus: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” (Mark 10:47; Luke 18:38; cf Matt 20:30–31).
• The publican (unlike the Pharisee in Jesus’ parable) shows us how to pray when he bows his head, beats his breast, and says, “God, be merciful to me, the sinner” (Luke 18:13).
• In a village between Samaria and Galilee, ten lepers stand at a distance, lift up their voices and say, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us” (Luke 17:13).

From these examples, I think we can see that the prayer of Jesus has been with us from the very beginning of Christianity. From these scriptural roots, the prayer developed further.

The Desert Fathers and Mothers of Egypt would frequently repeat short and simple prayers like these – “arrow prayers” we sometimes call them because, as St. Augustine observed, “the brethren of Egypt offer prayers that are frequent but very brief and suddenly shot forth” – rather like an arrow meant to pierce heaven.

Of these short prayers, St. Diadochus recommends we constantly repeat the utterly simple prayer, “Lord Jesus.” The frequent repetition of the divine name of Jesus serves as a constant reminder of his divine presence with us and helps us fulfill St. Paul’s instruction that we pray unceasingly (1 Thessalonians 5:17).

We are beset constantly by distracting thoughts and temptations, which threaten to remove remembrance of God from our minds and hearts. A short and simple prayer like this, that can be called upon at any moment and for any need, is a powerful tool against these thoughts and temptations. The prayer must be as constant as are the thoughts. It must be unceasing.

There are many ways to approach unceasing prayer. The Jesus Prayer is not the only way, but it is a great help and it may be the best way.

A benefit of constantly repeating this prayer is that it then enters into the unconsciousness and you begin to find it there behind the noise of life. It joins with your breathing and the beating of your heart – the rhythms of life itself – and helps us in this way to approach unceasing prayer and the constant remembrance of the presence of God.

Pray it at home and in church and in your car. Pray it a few times first thing in the morning and throughout the day as often as you can think of it and again before you go to bed. Pray the prayer while you do the dishes or the laundry. It was a great aid to Pani Katie while she was in labor. There is no time when it is not a good time to pray the Jesus prayer.

Sit quietly and pray it slowly again and again for 5 minutes or for thirty minutes. Use a chotki or don’t use a chotki. A chotki can be a helpful aid – a physical reminder to persist with the prayer when we become distracted by intrusive thoughts and imaginings. If you don’t have a chotki, get one. Some have 33 knots – one for each year of Jesus’ earthly life, others have 100 , or others 300. On each knot, you pray the Jesus Prayer. Simple.

There’s more than one way to say the Jesus Prayer. The formula of the Jesus prayer as we know it now –

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

– is good and was pretty well set already by the seventh century, but this is not to bind us and it’s not the only way. There’s no need to change it – all its elements are already there in the scriptural roots of the prayer, which I listed – but at the same time we may find other ways helpful.

We may want to pray as simply as St. Diadochus recommends: “Lord Jesus.” The holy name of Jesus itself is a saving cry.  It means “the Lord saves” or “the Lord is a cry for salvation”. Or, you can add to it, as do some of the nuns at our Christ the Bridegroom Monastery, saying “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me, the sinner.” Or, we can simplify it a bit and pray “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me,” as do many of the monks on Mount Athos. Or, we may wish to pray for others as well as ourselves and so pray “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us” – in the plural. (In this case, I personally recommend that we omit the word “sinners” because, while we accuse ourselves of sin, I find it better not to accuse others of sin while we pray). All this is to say that there are many good ways of praying the Jesus prayer. Pray it whichever way you will pray it. The important thing is to pray it.

The Jesus Prayer is the central private prayer of our spiritual tradition. So much so that some simply call it “the prayer.” It is profound, versatile, and life-changing. This is due above all to the holy name of Jesus, which is the name above every other name (Philippians 2:9). St. Theophan the Recluse says “The Jesus Prayer is like any other prayer. It is stronger than all other prayers only in virtue of the all-powerful name of Jesus, our Lord and Savior.” In his name and by his name, we find salvation. “There is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Acts 4:12).

 

 

---

Much information was provided by Kallistos Ware, “Foreword,” in On the Prayer of Jesus (Boston, Mass.: New Seeds, 2006)

Seeing a paralyzed man, Jesus says to him, “Your sins are forgiven” (Matt 9:2). Do you think this is why the people of Jesus’ own city brought to him a paralytic lying on a bed? So that Jesus would forgive his sins? I think these words may have been rather surprising to them.

He had just come from exorcizing the Gadarene demoniacs, as we heard last week (8:28-34). And he had just healed many people. He cleansed a leper who knelt before him saying, “Lord, if you will, you can make me clean” (8:2). He healed the centurion’s servant who said, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof, but only say the word and my servant will be healed” (8:8). Seeing Peter’s mother-in-law with a fever, he touched her hand and the fever left her (8:14-15). He cast out many demons and healed all who were sick (8:16). With all that healing – a whole chapter full of it leading up to this moment – he never mentions sin. Not until this paralytic is brought before him in his own city.

In fact, this is the first time in the gospel of Matthew that Jesus uses the word ἁμαρτία – which we translate as “sin.”

This word literally means “to miss the mark.” It is to do other than what we are created for. It is like hammering with a screwdriver. There is a better way. Just as a poor marksman can do all sorts of harm with his misspent arrows (those arrows can end up in his friends rather than his enemies) we sinners wreak havoc upon the world – upon others and ourselves – with our sin. When we speak of sin, it is helpful to bear all this in mind. Sin is not merely rule-breaking, but failure to fulfill our own created purpose.

Though not from Jesus until this moment, we do hear of sin from the beginning of the gospel. Remember, the angel of the Lord told Joseph that Jesus would “save his people from their sins” (1:21). And those who came to be baptized by John with a baptism of repentance (Matt 3:11; Acts 19:4), confessed their sins (Matt 3:6). When Jesus first began to preach, the first words he preached were in quotation of John the Baptist, saying “Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven is at hand” (3:2). He preaches repentance from the first, and repentance is to do with sin and includes the confession of sin (3:6). In his sermon on the mount, Jesus speaks of σκανδαλίζω, which is stumbling or giving offense, and is also related to sin.  But, still, Jesus himself first mentions sin – ἁμαρτία – in direct connection to illness, when he sees this paralytic brought to him. I suppose that’s a rather dubious distinction. How would you like to be the first person that Jesus calls a sinner?

Well, we’re all sinners and in need of his forgiveness, so his words, “your sins are forgiven” were surely welcome even if surprising. Some of us may have objected, “What sins? What are you talking about?” But this paralytic has more humility than that. In fact, he says nothing at all in this whole exchange.

The people were surprised to hear Jesus forgiving the paralytic’s sins because this wasn’t the pattern that Jesus had established. They knew he was healer who healed the sick who were brought to him. So, when they brought to him the paralytic, they surely expected that Jesus would immediately heal him and give him once again the power to walk. He does get to that, but he focuses first on the forgiveness of sins and the people are surprised. Some of them are not only surprised but scandalized because they think Jesus is a blasphemer and do not understand who he is. But all are surprised, I expect.

In a similar way, perhaps we are surprised to hear the prayers for forgiveness of sins in the holy mystery of anointing. We come to the presbyters of the Church to be anointed when we are ill, as St. James instructs us (James 5:14). We come hopeful of healing like the paralytic, and we are suddenly treated to prayers for the forgiveness of our sins, like the paralytic. Holding the Gospel book over the head of the sick person, the priest prays,

“O Holy King…, you do not desire the death of a sinner, but rather that he repent and live. I do not place my sinful hand upon the head of your servant who comes to you in sin, asking from you, through us, the forgiveness of sins; rather, I place your strong and powerful hand which is in this holy Gospel…. Receive your servant who has repented of his sins, and forgive all his transgressions.”

Hey! We didn’t say we were sinners, did we? We only said we were sick and need healing! What’s all this talk of us being sinners in need of forgiveness? Doesn’t that belong in the sacrament of confession rather than anointing? In truth, these two holy mysteries are intimately linked. Holy Anointing is also for the forgiveness of sins and Holy Repentance is also for healing. Indeed, from a certain perspective, forgiveness is healing and healing is forgiveness. Our souls and bodies are not two separate things in need of two separate remedies – but they are one. We are both spiritual and bodily, and we need both forgiveness and healing in both spirit and body. And our Lord, the Physician of our souls and bodies, is eager to provide us with both. When he looks upon us, he sees the whole us, with nothing left out. He knows us inside and out and through and through.

When he sees the paralyzed man, he knows he needs healing but he also knows he needs forgiveness and that these two things are really the same thing. Immediately, there is a connection drawn between paralysis and sin.

Now, in the Gospel of John, we learn that a man is born blind not because of any sin (John (9:2-3). But now Jesus sees a man paralyzed, and knows that he is a sinner in need of forgiveness. Of course, the Jesus knows everything. He knows who is a sinner and who is not. Which is to say, he knows that “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (Rom 3:23). And that we all are in need of forgiveness. Still, I believe there is a connection here between this man’s paralysis and his sin. It is not the causal connection, perhaps, that we immediately jump to. We look for someone to blame. We say, it’s his own fault. He brought it on himself. He is a sinner, and this paralysis is the wages of his sin, just as ultimately death will be the wages of sin. Or, we may say it is the sins of others that have led to this. The man born blind shows us, I think, that that is not always so clear-cut.

Still, this does not eradicate the connection between illness and sin. Sin is like paralysis. And paralysis is like sin. There is at least an analogical connection between the two. The one is like the other. Sin is more like an illness in need of healing than like a crime in need of punishment. Jesus further demonstrates the connection between illness and sin by asking, “Which is easier? To say ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’?” (Matt 9:5).

He demonstrates that he does have the power to forgive sin because he also has the power to end paralysis. The one power proves the other, he says. Perhaps this is because they are, in one sense, the same power. They are the power of God over sin and paralysis, over all illness, over all suffering, and even over death. These are our enemies that the Lord will ultimately defeat and destroy. This really may be boiled down to good over evil. Paralysis and sin are in the same camp – the camp of evil. And that whole army of evil ones is subject to God. He will drive them out before us.

Today’s is a popular gospel story (Matt 8:28-9:1). All three of the synoptic gospel writers, that is Matthew, Mark, and Luke, make sure to include this story of possession, exorcism, and pigs. Most gospel stories we hear only once a year at the Sunday Divine Liturgy, but this one we get to hear twice. Once, as today, according to Matthew and once according to Luke. Some of us priests, as a result, when we see that the pig gospel is coming up again in the lectionary, find ourselves running out of things to say about it, having to preach on the subject twice a year.

But this is, as I say, a popular story. It was popular with the gospel writers and it was popular with those who arranged our Byzantine lectionary. Even today, stories of possession and exorcism are popular. Hollywood periodically uses sensationalized versions of them as fodder for horror movies. Everyone, it seems, likes a good exorcism story.

As some of you are aware, I post my writings on a blog and my most popular post of all time, by many thousands of views, is a piece I wrote called Iconography of the Devil. People are fascinated by the demonic. And this gospel story is one of the more detailed accounts we have in the gospels about a demonic possession and exorcism. So perhaps it is for this reason that it is so popular. People are eager to hear the details of extraordinary demonic activity. Curious, we are, and there can be a danger in that.

Not all stories of exorcism in the gospels are so elaborate. In the next chapter of Matthew, we read, “a dumb demoniac was brought to [Jesus]…. And when the demon had been cast out, the dumb man spoke” (Matthew 9:32-33). Notice that Matthew skips the whole exorcism this time. Interestingly, Matthew’s version of today’s story is the least elaborate of the three versions. Mark and Luke recount details about the powers and torments of the possessed that Matthew chooses to omit. In the spirit of the point I will be making, I will not recount those details at this time. Don’t you want to hear about them? Aren’t you disappointed? They are exciting and strange events.

Many of us are fascinated with evil. But evil is nothing to be fascinated with. It is our fascination with it that gives it whatever power it has. Evil has no power of its own. It has only the power that we and other beings give it. Evil itself has no being.

I don’t know how many of you may be familiar with The NeverEnding Story – either the book or the movie, but it is a fantasy story in which the whole land of Fantasia is being destroyed by what they call “The Nothing.” A little man asks a giant rock biter what he means by this “nothing.” Does he mean like a hole? But the rock biter says, “A hole would be something. No, this was nothing.” Perhaps it was unintentional, but I think that’s a pretty good description of the emptiness and non-being of evil.

Saint Gregory of Nyssa says, “No evil exists in its own substance lying outside the faculty of free choice.” Evil, you see, does not come from God, who is all good and from whom only good comes. Furthermore, nothing exists except what God creates and sustains in existence. Therefore, evil does not exist of itself. Rather, it is the absence of good. Darkness is the absence of light. Cold is the absence of warmth.  Darkness and cold are absences rather than things in themselves and evil is like them. Evil is not being but non-being. Commenting on Psalm 107, Saint Gregory even refers to evil as nothingness.

So if evil is nothing, why does it give us so much trouble? Because we and all other free created beings have the faculty of free choice and many angels and humans have chosen to serve evil rather than good. To strive vainly against the light, against the day, and against God.

While evil is nothing, demons are something. And they are real. And as much as they exist, like all things that exist, they are good. That is to say, their nature, which is angelic, is good, just like your created human nature is good – but they have chosen to turn their will rather against the good – even against themselves. In The Neverending Story there is a terrible and fierce wolf-like creature named Gmork. He refers to himself as “the servant of the power behind the nothing.” This is a good description, I think, of what the demons are and of what we become if we allow fascination with evil to consume us.

It‘s important to recognize the reality that evil has servants and that many of them are powerful. But it is even more important to remember that their power is as nothing next to the power of God. Indeed, any power that they have, they have only inasmuch as God permits them to have it.

If we are living in Christ, we can afford to be dismissive of the demons rather than fascinated with them. When the devil in the form of a monkey came to torment Saint Dominic in the dark of the night, one story goes, he treated the monkey as his servant and had him hold a candle by which he read the scripture. This is the kind of power our Lord has given his servants over the servants of evil.

And it’s a good thing, because there is nothing more common than demonic activity. Full-blown possession is a rare event (although there are some indications that it is becoming less rare as more people neglect a life of prayer and sacrament and instead give themselves over to demonic activity). Regardless, there is nothing more common and ordinary than demonic activity. Demons are as low and common as a pig, making their choice to be cast into the pigs rather fitting.

The Church has long understood that demons are present and active throughout the world. It was once the practice to regularly exorcise catechumens who did not yet have the benefit of the sacramental life while they were preparing for baptism. We retain a few of these exorcisms in the baptismal rite itself at the beginning in the narthex where we renounce the devil and cast him into Tartarus. If you’ve been to a baptism in this church, you’ve been to an exorcism. It’s not so exotic as you may have thought.

If you pray the Our Father every day, as I hope you do, you are praying a kind of exorcism. We say at the end, “deliver us from evil,” but really a better translation would be, “deliver us from the evil one.” Evil as an abstraction, as I have said, has no being. It is from the being who gives himself over to evil that we need deliverance.

Listen to the prayers on Theophany over the water. We pray that the Jordan water be a destroyer of demons and immune to hostile powers. We exorcise the water and make it an instrument of exorcism.

These are the more ordinary forms of exorcism for the more ordinary forms of demonic activity which are the most ordinary thing in the world.

So, pray the Lord’s Prayer, drink the holy water, go regularly to confession, frequently receive the holy Eucharist. These are your most powerful weapons against the demons.  And if you do not use them, the demons will make headway against you in unseen ways. Theirs is usually unseen warfare and they want nothing more than to destroy you, if that were possible. Let as avoid fascination with evil, which gives it power, and “abstain from every form of evil,” and immerse ourselves instead in the good.

 

 

---

Mosshammer, Alden A. “Non-Being and Evil in Gregory of Nyssa.” Vigiliae Christianae, vol. 44, no. 2, 1990, pp. 136–167. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/1584329. Accessed 5 July 2020.