On Matthew 9:1-8 

Aslan always calls us humans “sons of Adam” and “daughters of Eve.” This is true. That is, Adam is a type of the humans we are. I am Adam. When the Lord walks in the garden in the cool of the day and calls out, “Adam, where are you?” it’s you and me that he is looking for (Gen 3:8-9).

As such Adamic humans, we are subject to all manner of affliction. Because, through our father Adam, “sin came into the world and death through sin, and so death spread to all men because all men sinned” (Rom 5:12). Affected and weakened by our mortality, we have all fallen into sin and short of the glory of God. We all stand in need of forgiveness. And we are all witness to suffering and death.

Today, one of our fellow suffering sons of Adam – a paralytic – is carried by his faithful friends to Jesus. And Jesus calls this suffering son of Adam, “my son.” So, the son of Adam becomes the son of Christ, who is the new Adam. Jesus says to him, “Take heart, my son” or, “Be of good cheer, my son,” or, “Have courage, my son. Your sins are forgiven.”

Through his father Adam, mortality and paralysis came to the man and in his weakness, he sinned. Through his father Christ, his sins are forgiven, his paralysis healed, and his life promised.

Jesus calls the paralytic man his son, his child, his τέκνον. This word is a term of endearment, an expression of loving fatherly regard. Sometimes there is a whole sermon in one word of the gospel. This word τέκνον is the gospel. When the Son of God calls the son of Adam, “my son,” that’s the gospel. That is God tenderly reaching out to humanity as to his own children and inviting us to reach out to God as to our own father. Jesus is inviting us to a relationship more intimate than that of master and slave, or of teacher and disciple. He lovingly relates to us as a father to his children.

Jesus does not frequently call us his children. Today’s gospel offers us a rare instance of that. Other friendly and familial images prevail. Jesus says that whoever does the will of his Father in heaven is his brother and sister and mother (Matt 12:50). So, we understand ourselves as brothers and sisters of Christ, our fellow human, our fellow son of Adam. He is the Son of God who became the son of Adam, the Son of Man. He is the God who became like one of us, our brother.

We do call him teacher and Lord, and fittingly enough, for that is what he his (John 13:13). He is our brother, but we are not his equals. He is our elder brother, the first born, “born of the Father before all ages,” and the first born of those who have died (Col 1:18). He is above us, of course, and so he is also like a father to us. In fact, his work is the work of the Father (cf. John 5:17). He is about his Father’s business (Luke 2:49). And those who see him, see the Father. He is the image of the Father for us.

Elsewhere, Jesus gives us another parental image of himself, comparing himself to a mother hen. He laments to Jerusalem, “How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would not!” (Mat 23:37). With words and images like these, Jesus invites us into a familial relationship.

St. Makarios the Great says, “He who wishes to be a friend of God, and a brother and son of Christ, must do something more than other men, that is, to consecrate heart and mind themselves, and to stretch up his thoughts towards God…. When a man gives God his secret things, that is, his mind and thoughts, not occupying himself elsewhere, nor wandering away, but putting constraint upon himself, then the Lord deems him worthy of mysteries… and gives him heavenly food and spiritual drink.”

Unfortunately, contrary to St. Makarios, we often get caught up in a minimalistic approach to life in Christ. We ask, “What must I do to be saved?” And we mean, what’s the least I can do and still make it to heaven? What kind of restrictions is Christianity going to place on me? What are the minimum requirements of the job of being a Christian? What rules do I have to follow if I am to be a follower of Christ?

Do I have to go to the liturgy every Sunday, or is it alright if I make it just once or twice a month, so long as I don’t miss three Sundays in a row? The Council of Trullo says that’s enough to keep from getting excommunicated, so that’s enough, right? What about feast days? Do I have to go to church on feast days, too? Which ones? Do I have to go on all the great feasts? Or just on those days that Byzantine Ruthenian Catholic Metropolitan Church of Pittsburgh has designated as holy days of obligation? What about fasting? Do I have to fast, too? Do I have to keep the full monastic fasting tradition as described in the Typikon or is it enough to just eat fish on Fridays? What about tithing? Do I have to offer a full ten percent, or can I figure the ten percent after the taxes have been taken out, giving the government the first fruits rather than the Church? Or, what if I just put in a five spot? That’s good enough, right?

My brothers and sisters in Christ, it’s not about being good enough. We get caught up sometimes in this. Rules are good and they have their place. They are there for us when we need to fall back on them. But Jesus is inviting us to more than this. Not to less, but to more. He’s calling us to be his children, his brethren, his friends. He loves us as more than slaves, followers, servants, disciples, or students. We are these things, or should be, but he freely and gratuitously loves us more than that. He loves us as his brothers and sisters and mothers, and as his friends. He says to his true disciples, “I no longer call you servants, but friends” (Jn 15.15). And he loves us as his children, saying to those who are faithful, “take heart, my children, your sins are forgiven.”

So let’s not seek what is the least we can do for Christ who has done everything for us – who lives and dies for us. Rather, let’s seek to do the most we can do. Let’s seek to make everything we do to be for Christ.

In terms of our worship, let us everywhere worship God who is everywhere. Let us come often to the church for worship, but let us also worship God everywhere. Pray unceasingly. Make everything we do prayerful. Worship Christ, who is present in the least of his brethren, by serving them wherever they are in the world.

In terms of giving, let’s give all that we can to the parish, yes, but also recognize that all that we have is really the Lord’s – not ten percent, but one hundred percent. Even the money we pay toward our mortgages is for the Lord’s work, if we are living in Christ. Our houses are to be for the building up of the domestic Church. The Church includes and needs the parish, but it is not limited to parish buildings, programs, and operations. It is everywhere. It is where we live and work and play.

What I’m saying is that life in Christ is not to be merely a part of our life, but our whole life. Jesus does not want to walk into our lives like a boss walks into an office and around whom everyone feels the need to look busy. When Jesus comes into our lives, let’s invite him to make himself at home. He gives us the unbearably profound opportunity to be on intimate, friendly, and familial terms with God. So let us practice constantly an awareness of God’s presence in every moment of our lives, in everything that we do, everywhere that we go. Because, Christ wants to be more to us than our master. Not less than our master, but more. He wants to be our friend, our brother, and our father.

Archimandrite Irenei says, “Christianity proclaims, into our broken and disfigured world, promises that defy our expectation – that sin can be forgiven, that the broken can be restored, that the sick can be healed, that the dead can arise. And yet in the midst of so many great and wonderful promises, there is perhaps none greater and none more profound than the promise that the human person, for all his frailty, weakness, rebellion, and apostasy, this human creature may become the friend of the Creator of all; that he may become brother and son to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.”

Sermon on Matt 8:28-9:1 

Two demons meet Jesus and cry out, “What have you to do with us, O Son of God?” (Matt 8:29) Now, a demon is an angel that strives to separate itself and others totally from the light, utterly devoid of kindness, grace, truth, and love. In other words, they seek to have nothing whatsoever to do with God or God’s son. And this is the basis of their question. Their malice and the grace of God have nothing in common (Remig.). As Paul observes, there can be no fellowship of light with darkness (2 Cor 6:14).

John teaches us that “God is light and that in him there is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5). Whereas the sole project of these demonic creatures is to snuff out all the light, if such were possible.

Now, this relationship between the darkness and the light, between good and evil, between presence and absence, between life and death is not a balanced or symmetrical relationship. You can find that idea in other religions, but not in Christianity.

You have probably at some point seen a yin yang. This is a Taoist symbol. A circle divided by an S-shaped line, half black and half white, with a small circle of black in the white and the small circle of white in the black. I’m oversimplifying, but this is meant to show that everything is in balance and that seemingly opposing forces – like darkness and light, life and death, and so on – are actually dependent on each other. This is not the Christian perspective.

Remember, “God is light and in him there is no darkness at all.” There is no dark circle in the light of God. If we were to draw a similar symbol as Christians, we would put no dark circle in the light segment. However, the opposite is not true. There is indeed a bright circle in the dark segment. That is to say, there is goodness and light in everything that exist. But there is not evil and darkness in everything. There is no evil or darkness in God. Our perspective is asymmetrical. We recognize a dualism between good and evil, but ours is a modified, imbalanced dualism, with the scale tipping very much in favor of the good.

According to Abbot Tryphon, some Gnostics taught “that the entirety of being is made up of two realms which have forever existed together: the kingdom of light, and the kingdom of darkness.” Now someone might say, “Oh, that sounds like heaven and hell.” But this is to misunderstand that relationship totally. We reject this teaching and any notion of equivalence between light and darkness, between life and death, or between God and the evil one.

We do believe there is a devil and that he is indeed a powerful creature. The gospel today tells us of demons and of some of the destructive power that they can wield over human lives. But notice that I call them “creatures.” They are created. They are not uncreated like God. They are not his equals. They are dependent upon him for everything, even for their being, for their very existence. Just as you are and just as I am. We are creatures too.

It is plain in today’s gospel that, although the demons have destructive power, and although they want to have nothing to do with the Son of God, they remain entirely under his authority. They can sense that he is going cast him out and that they therefore will be cast out, and so they beg for permission to enter the swine. They and we can do nothing without the permission of our creator.

He tells them to go into the swine and they do go, driving the whole herd to its death in the waters. They take any opportunity for death and destruction they can get, no matter how petty.

Before I said that there is goodness in everything that exists, and I mean that. But, what about these demons? you may ask. Is there is goodness in them? Well, do they exist?

Let me back up. Evil does not exist in and of itself. It has no essence of its own and it was not created by God. We reject the Gnostic notion of uncreated and eternal evil existing alongside the uncreated good God. Darkness is not a thing that exists, but is only the absence of light. Likewise, cold is the only absence of warmth. And death is only the absence of life. And evil is only the absence of good.

But the opposites are not true. Good is not merely the absence of evil. Evil is a privation, but good is what really is.

For example, you are not your sin. Who you are is good. You are a good image of God. That’s what makes your sin a sin – it goes against who you really are.

An evil cannot exist without a good to deprive, but good has always existed for all eternity before creation and for all eternity yet to come, and it has existed without any evil in it at all. God, who alone is both uncreated and everlasting, is entirely good and in him there is no evil at all.

God created angels, just as he created every creature that exists, and his creation is good. Those angels who choose to use their God-given power destructively, rebelliously, and pridefully we call demons. But inasmuch as the demons continue to exist, there remains some good in them. If there did not, they would cease to exist. The paradox is that without that good of existence, they could do no evil.

It remains an unplumbable mystery as to why God allows evil to exist. There is no answer to that question. But today Jesus gives us the clear example of how to deal with it. Tell it to go.

Let’s do the good we can do. Bring comfort to the afflicted, as Jesus does today to the two men possessed by demons, even at the expense of a herd of pigs. Two human beings are worth more than many pigs, and you are worth more than many sparrows (Matt 10:31). See the value in one another and go to whatever lengths and expense necessary to love another, comfort one another, support one another. This will go a long way in driving out the evil influences in our lives.

And for some additional ammo against the evil ones, remember what Saint Anthony of Egypt said: “The devil is afraid of us when we pray and make sacrifices. He is also afraid when we are humble and good. He is especially afraid when we love Jesus very much. He runs away when we make the Sign of the Cross.”

Sermon on Matt 8:5-13. 

All of us are under authority. Most of us have some authority.

And Many of us have problems with authority.

A mother says to her son, “Go.” And the son says, “Send my brother instead. He’s not doing anything.” A priest says to his parishioners, “Come.” And they say, “Maybe we’ll come next time. We’re too busy with other things at the moment.” A manager says to his worker, “Do this.” And the worker says, “Do it yourself.” Maybe the worker gets fired for this, but it feels really good for a minute to tell off the boss. Many of us would like to say something like that to our boss, because many of us have problems with authority.

Of course, maybe the parent or the priest or the boss is an autocratic tyrant. That’s another kind of problem with authority – a failure of the authority to recognize that they are also under authority. There’s an important distinction between being authoritative and being authoritarian.

Our society is so given over to democratic ideas, we may be particularly bad at understanding and accepting authority – other than our own authority over our own selves. Nobody else better tell me what to do, we think. We forget – some of us – that heaven is a kingdom. And that Jesus Christ is King – not president – of every nation. But the government of God is not by the consent of the people – the δῆμος. Whether or not you have voted for Jesus Christ, he is your king. His authority over you and me is real and essential.

You see, real authority comes from above – from God – not from below – neither from the δῆμος or the demonic. But both people and demons seek to imitate authority – to seize power that is not theirs but truthfully is God’s, to assert their own will upon others instead of submitting to the will of God.

Well, the centurion in Capernaum (kuh-PERR-nay-uhm ) has something to teach us about authority – both about leadership and obedience. He lived and worked in a framework of authority – a chain of command – that helped him to understand the authority of Jesus Christ, the Word, who can heal the servant by his word.

A centurion in the Roman army was a person who had command of a century, which sounds like it would be a hundred soldiers but was usually around eighty. But he was also under authority. He was in the midst of a chain of command – both one to give orders and one to follow them. Maybe he can help us with our problems with authority.

He says to Jesus, “I also am a man under authority,” and, he says, “[There are] soldiers under me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my slave, ‘Do this,’ and he does it” (Matt 8:9). Such crisp obedience he speaks of. How alien to us! The centurion is a witness for us of both leadership and obedience.

Firstly, unlike autocrats, who are concerned first of all always with themselves – always with maintaining their own authority over others – the centurion, who bears his authority well, is concerned first of all for the welfare of those under him. This is to be the priority for those who lead.

The centurion’s servant “was dear to him,” according to Luke (7:2). He comes to Jesus full of concern and solicitude for his servant. He comes to Jesus and beseeches him – “with grief,” as St. Rabanus puts it – and says, “Lord, my servant is lying paralyzed at home in terrible distress.” And he says, “Only say the word and my servant will be healed.” He seeks what is good for his servant: healing from the true healer. He treats his servant with compassion. As St. Rabanus says, “In like manner, ought all to feel for their servants and to take thought for them.”

We can see easily enough, I hope, how good and appropriate it is for a leader to take care of those under his authority in this way. What we might miss if we don’t understand the historical-cultural context of this passage is how counterculturally the centurion is behaving.

He comes to Jesus about his “servant.” The word used for “servant” here is “παῖς.” Now, a παῖς is a boy – rather like a garçon. But the word connotes more than that. The next entry in the lexicon is παίω, which means to strike or to smite – to hit as if by a single blow with the fist. Now, these words are likely related because a παῖς is a boy whom you may beat with impunity – a punching bag, a whipping boy. A παῖς is really more a kind of slave than what we would think of as a servant. In fact, in Luke’s version of the story, he’s called a δοῦλος – a slave (Luke 7:2-10).

Now, you wouldn’t want to be a slave under Roman law. It was chattel slavery. It was almost – though not quite – as bad as American slavery. It was even permitted – and thought in some cases economically well-advised – to work your slaves to death, rather than wasting resources on feeding them and housing them.

But this is not how the centurion treats his servant. Even in defiance of his own culture, he cares for those over whom he has authority. A real leader must not succumb to the social and cultural pressures all around him to do other than what is best and right for those whom he leads.

The centurion does not seek the best way to use others for his own purposes and ends and goods, but seeks their own good with humility – admitting to the Lord that he is not worthy that the Lord should enter under his roof (Matt 8:8).

He is not first of all concerned with self-promotion or causing others to recognize his authority. He is concerned first of all with helping one under him who is suffering, and he does this by honoring the authority of someone else – namely, the authority of Jesus Christ over all things and his power to heal all sicknesses.

The centurion recognizes the real authority of Jesus Christ. He is intimately familiar with the workings of authority in ways that we – in our more democratic age – may not be. He even kind of identifies himself with Jesus. Pseudo-Chrysostom says that the centurion “clearly” does not draw a “distinction,” but points “to a resemblance… between himself and Christ.” Listen to the way he says to Jesus, “I also am under authority.”

What authority is Jesus under? Pseudo-Chrysostom says he is “under the command of the Father, in so far as [he is] man, yet [he has] power over the Angels.”

Then, it’s as if the centurion goes on to intimate, “I also wield authority. As one who has authority, I recognize that you have authority, too. I give commands and my soldiers obey. You, O Lord, give commands and the whole cosmos obeys. You order all creation by your word. Your authority is the source of all authority. Only say the word and my servant will be healed.”  This is the absolute authority of Christ. What he says is so. Just like that. If he says, “Let it be,” then it is.

Let’s consider the authority of Christ for a moment. Authority – ἐξουσία – means literally that which comes out of essence or being. And Christ himself is the being one – ὁ ὤν – the one who is – the very God and ground of all being who reveals himself to Moses in the burning bush. When truth himself and the author of truth speaks, it is clear enough he speaks with authority. And, more than this, he is the ground of all authority that exists. We may covet power, authority over others, control of others, but unless the authority is given by Christ, it is no authority at all but only an illusion of authority.

And, if we have indeed been given authority, we must always remember, like the centurion, and even in some ways like Jesus, that we are also under authority. Leaders actually function in a long line of authorities responsible for guiding and protecting others. And the Lord – the true and highest authority – will hold leaders accountable for how they exercise their power.

Drawing on his experience in a chain of command, the centurion was able to see and understand the spiritual workings of authority in the Kingdom of Heaven so well that Jesus says of him, “not even in Israel have I found such faith.” Let us share his faith and wield our God-given authority as he does – with humility, with obedience to all who truly have authority over us, with awareness of Christ’s absolute authority, and with care, concern, and love for those we lead.

Jesus says, “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is sound, your whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is not sound, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!” (Matt 6:22-23).

As is often the case in Holy Scripture, the meaning here is multivalent. More than one truth is revealed by Christ through a single expression. But one thing that Jesus Christ does not mean, as St. Athanasius points out, is that physical blindness would in any way exclude a person from future and eternal blessedness. The eye Christ speaks of here is not the eye in your head, except by analogy. [i]

St. John Chrysostom tells us that Christ uses this analogy, which is “within reach of our senses, so that we may not be confused.” Maybe some of us are confused anyway, I know I have been, but a purpose here is to speak of immaterial things using physical concepts we can more easily relate to and understand.

So if we are not speaking of bodily eyes, what sort of eye does Jesus speak of? Saint Simeon the new Theologian say, “What other eye does he mean here than the mind?” Chrysostom says the same. “For what the mind is to the soul, the eye is to the body,” he says. Mind and body are related, of course, and so we can learn from the body about the mind.

One word for mind or intellect in Greek is nous. The nous is also sometimes called “the eye of the soul,” and I think this is the best word for what Jesus is talking about here.

And I think it is above all to this faculty that Jesus refers when he speaks of the eye giving light to the whole body. The nous is that faculty in us that illuminates our soul. “It is the highest faculty in man, through which – provided it is purified – he knows God” or the true being of any created thing “by means of direct apprehension or spiritual perception.” This must be carefully distinguished from reason. Deductive reasoning, which we use to formulate abstract concepts and then argue on their basis to reach a conclusion, is a useful tool and ability that we humans have. It also is a gift from God. But sometimes there is a tendency to elevate reason above all else. Frankly, there is a tendency among some to idolize reason and to fail to recognize its limits. Reason cannot give us the principles or truths upon which we reason. It is not self-sufficient. It is useful for bringing one idea into consistency with another, but it cannot provide the axiom.

The nous, in contrast, “understands divine truth by means of immediate experience, intuition, or ‘simple cognition,’” as Saint Isaac the Syrian puts it. Saint Diadochos says that the nous “dwells in the ‘depths of the soul’” and that “it constitutes the innermost aspect of the heart. The nous is the organ of contemplation, the ‘eye of the heart.’” All the preceding definition by the way, comes from the excellent glossary of the Faber and Faber edition of the Philokalia, which I highly recommend.

Look, this all may sound overly philosophical so let me try to put it in simpler terms. How do we know God? Or, how do we know anything? My father would have said, “I know in my knower.” I always liked that expression of his. And, that’s really what this nous is that I’m talking about. It’s your knower. It’s how you know things. Not how you think or decide, it’s how you know. Knowing is deeper and more experiential than just thinking. It’s like how you know you are loved by a parent, a spouse, or a friend. No one can argue away that knowledge, no matter how skilled or clever their reasoning.

The only way true knowledge can be corrupted is if the knower itself is compromised. St. John Chrysostom say,

“Just as when the eyes are blinded, some of the ability of the other members [of the body] is diminished, their light being quenched, so also when the mind is depraved, your life will be filled with countless evils. As therefore in the body it is our aim to keep the eye sound, so also it should be our aim to keep the mind sound in relation to the soul. But if we destroy this, which ought to give light to the rest, by what means are we to see clearly anymore? For as he who destroys the spring may also dry up the river, so he who has quenched the understanding may have con-founded all his actions in this life. So it is said, “If the light that is in you is darkness, how great is the darkness?” For when the pilot is drowned, when the candle is put out, when the general is taken prisoner, what sort of hope will remain for those that are under his command?

You see how important it is to keep this faculty pure, or to purify it if it has become darkened? An unpurified mind knows nothing.  Our mind can become completely darkened and enslaved to the passions.

A purpose of this penitential season is to free us from this enslavement and to purify our minds. So that we can again see clearly the love of God and the truth of God with the eye of our soul. Fix your eyes on Jesus, on his holy icon, rather than on worldly or fleshly images. Lift your heart to him in prayer. Remove the distraction that comes by always sating our appetites and our lusts. There is no quicker route to a darkened intellect than constant self-indulgence. Let us give to those who ask, rather than only to our own tyrannical bellies. Let us repent!

Come to confession. Confession is the shortest and quickest route I know to purification of the mind. I don’t know how people live without it. After a good confession, I can experience God so much more readily. He is always present, but my unrepented sins cloud my ability to see him clearly. They darken the eye of my soul. If the light in me is darkness, how great is the darkness! Nihilism, doubt, depression and despair seem to make so much more sense if we have blocked out all the light of God. Let in the light of God and see the truth of his presence and love for you. Confession is good for the soul, and it is good for the eye of the soul.

 

 

[i] From his discourses on the gospel of Matthew