On Luke 16:19-31

I like to feast. That’s probably becoming more apparent as my girth expands. That’s because I feast too much. My Sicilian rector once observed that I am “a good fork.” God be merciful to me, the sinner.

But it’s not a bad thing to feast and to celebrate on occasion. Feasting itself is a good thing.

Recall the parable of the prodigal son. What does the father do when his son finally returns home to him? He kills the fatted calf and feasts and celebrates with his beloved child.

Jesus himself attends and contributes to a wedding feast in Cana.

The Church gets in on this too. We feast. We celebrate. On every icon screen are twelve icons of events we call ‘feasts.” We call them feasts because they celebrate events that call for a feast. Above all, this refers to the eucharistic feast of the divine liturgy – but it also carries the sense of celebrating and sharing a good meal with friends and family. There’s a time to fast and a time to relax our fasting, to cut loose and party. This is part of what’s good about being human and being children of God.

The first Franciscans were no Friar Tucks. They fasted severely and practiced strict asceticism. So much so that one day Brother Morico came to St. Francis and asked him if they should fast even on Christmas Day, because it fell on a Friday.  St. Francis was flabbergasted. Fast?! “On the day on which the Child was born to us? It is my wish,” he said, “that even the walls should eat meat on such a day, and if they cannot, we should smear the walls with meat!”[i] Francis, it would seem, recognized that here is a time for feasting – and even for rather extravagant feasting.

But today’s gospel begins with feasting of another kind. Jesus says, “There was a rich man, who was clothed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day” (Luke 16:19). He not only feasted, but feasted sumptuously, and he not only feasted sumptuously at times in celebration of great occasions, but feasted “every day!”

And furthermore, he acted in this way while the poor man Lazarus lay starving and full of sores just outside his gate (Luke 16:20). He did not ask this man in. He did not invite him to join his feast or send any portion to him at the gate. This is grotesque.

The prophet Amos saw grotesque imbalance like this in his day. He was a simple shepherd called by God to speak against corruption and injustice at a time of great material wealth and decadence. He says,

Woe to those who… eat lambs from the flock, and calves from the midst of the stall… who drink wine in bowls, and anoint themselves with the finest oils, but are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph! Therefore they shall now be the first of those to go into exile, and [their] revelry… shall pass away (Amos 6:4-7).

And we continue to see imbalance like this in our own day. Being as well sated as many of us are – as I am – can render us insensible to the sufferings of others. Too much comfort can blind us to the discomfort of the poor and needy. Perhaps we hate to be reminded of that because it disturbs our precious comfort.

The tradition of the Church gives us a remedy we ignore at our peril – a remedy that may well have saved the rich man from his torment in the flames had he observed it faithfully: a balanced cycle of feasting and fasting.

We celebrate occasional feasts as expressions of our joy in the Lord. Note that this feasting is occasional. We are not to feast every day, like the rich man. Cookies aren’t for every day, as Pani Katie tells the children and me, but only for special occasions. I should probably listen to her. And when we feast, let’s also remember that the less fortunate are always invited and welcome to join us.

And to balance this feasting, the Church invites us also to many days and seasons of fasting. Count them all up and about half the days of the year are fast days. Half and half. This is a balance.

Fasting is for many reasons, but sometimes we forget the reason of justice. We fast to humble ourselves before the Lord. We fast to train ourselves in virtue and to cleanse our hearts of vanity. We fast also so that we will have more to give. Fasting is to enable giving. Proper fasting consists in consuming less, which means spending less money. These savings are not meant to pad our investment accounts. They’re meant to be given to the poor.

The Shepherd of Hermas tells us,

You must taste nothing except bread and water on the day on which you fast. Then, you must estimate the cost of the food you would have eaten on that day…, and give it to a widow or an orphan or someone in need. In this way you will become humble-minded (Herm 56: 6-8).

This is good and practical advice for us if we are to avoid the tormented condition of the rich man in today’s parable. We might consider drawing up a more austere grocery budget during the fasting seasons and giving the savings to Food for the Poor or to another charitable organization. Or, better yet, giving it directly to those in need in our communities.

Our next fasting season, which will be in preparation for the feast of the birth of our Lord, begins in less than a month, so give this some thought.

Each fasting season ends with a feast. And a life lived simply in the Lord, without flaunting extravagance in the face of the poor, but rather sharing all that we have with those in need, will end at the heavenly banquet table with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Matt 8:11).

 

 

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[i] Saint Francis of Assisi, Celano, Second Life, Chapter CLI

 

on Luke 8:5-15

There is no question as to whether or not the Lord has sown the seed of the word of God in your heart. He has done so. He pours out his grace upon all of us constantly. He is present with us always. So, rather, the question is, do we receive him? If we become like good soil, we can receive the seed and with it live and grow forever.

Maybe we can recognize ourselves in the various kinds of soil that Jesus describes in his parable of the sower.

Perhaps, like the overtrodden soil, into which the seed cannot nestle, we are beset constantly by distractions and temptations – devils convincing us to turn away from the word in our hearts – from what we really know is beautiful, good, and true, and to turn instead again and again to our enslaving passions and sins, gluttony, lust, pride, or drunkenness, or whatever else.

Perhaps, like the rocky soil into which the seed cannot grow roots, our commitment to the Lord is fleeting. We embrace him with a quick fervor when we hear the good news that Jesus offers us abundant life (John 10:10b), but when it becomes all too apparent that the way to this life is the painful and difficult way of the cross (Luke 9:23), we find there are stones within us blocking further growth – a stony stubborn unwillingness to give that much, to yield, to let go of our own way (cf. 1 Cor 13:5b).

Perhaps, like the thorny, weedy soil, which chokes the seedling to death as it tries to grow, we are not so much discouraged by suffering as seduced by comforts and pleasures of this life, so that, while the word of God sounds good enough to us, we’re deluded into believing we don’t really need it. That’s nice enough for other folks, we think, but I’ve got what I need from my bed or my couch and TV and internet. Endless diversion and entertainment at my fingertips. Who needs to go to church so often?

Perhaps, like me, you’re thinking, yikes, my soil is weedy, rocky, and overtrodden all at the same time.

But whatever kind of soil we have been like so far in our lives, the Lord returns and sows the seed again and again. Like a good gardener, he’s out every year with his bag casting seeds. A sower does not plant only one season, but every planting season as it comes around. We go through seasons in our life. However we have been until now, there is no reason to despair. There is every reason to hope. Our sower has not abandoned us. He is coming again and again.

We want to become like good soil, so that the next season when he comes around, we are prepared to receive him. Much can be done with soil to prepare it to receive seed. Gardening isn’t only sowing, and our Lord is a good gardener, not only a sower.

You and I are the earth. Remember that “you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Gen. 3:19). We are the earth in which the Lord is preparing to plant his garden.

If he sees that you’re overtrodden, he’s building a fence around you to redirect the path away from you. Your deliverer is coming to deliver you from the devils that tempt you. To cooperate with him in building this fence, change your habits. Stop treading the well-worn path from one sin to another. Stop returning again and again to your sin like a dog to his vomit. When the temptations come, as they surely will, immediately take refuge in the Jesus Prayer – “Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, the sinner.” And the Lord will deliver you. Repeat the prayer as often and as long as the temptation persists.

If the Lord sees that you’re like rocky soil, he is raking out the rocks. Whatever stony idols you’ve clung to, preferring them to God, he’s raking them out. He’s taking out your heart of stone and giving you a heart of flesh. He’s breathing his spirit into you so that you will walk in his ways. He is delivering you from all your uncleanness. And he’s summoning the grain and the fruit of the tree and the increase of the field and making it abundant (cf. Ezekiel 36:25-30). The Lord is the good gardener. To cooperate with him in this raking, yield and do not resist him. Let go of whatever you’re clinging to that is not God. You let it go and he’ll rake it out. He’ll loosen the soil and make it receptive to his seed.

If the Lord sees that you’re like soil choked with weeds, he’ll uproot those weeds. Whatever riches or comforts or pleasures you’re overly attached to are passing away. The Lord is uprooting your attachment to them. Unlike the stones, which are negatives, the weeds are positives – they’re living things too – but anything, even any good thing, that we put in the place of God will be uprooted. To cooperate with the gardener in pulling up the weeds, embrace ascesis. Simplify your life. Give any excess to those in need. Fast. Pray. Make some prostrations in your prayer. Humble yourself before your creator.

Finally, the soil is almost ready. It is no longer trod upon, nor rocky, nor weedy. The gardener has prepared it. Only one step remains. If we are gardeners or farmers, we know how best to enrich the soil at this point – with the compost. Soil is enriched by death and decay, out of which grows forth new and abundant life. Soil thus enriched will easily receive a seed and help it grow strong and lively. The remembrance of death will enrich our hearts to hear and keep the word of God.

In a Romanian skete on Mt. Athos, they keep the bones of the departed monks in an ossuary. And on the skull of one of them is written, “What I am, you will be, too. What you are, I’ve been myself.” Brothers and sisters, we are going to die. And then, we will stand again in the glory of the Lord. This whole life is preparation for that coming experience of God.

 

on Luke 7:11-16

Jesus, his disciples, and a great crowd following them come to the city of Na’in, which exists to this day – a small village near Nazareth at the foot of Mount Tabor. As they approach the gates of the city, a funeral procession pours out through them. The only son of a widow had died.

These funeral processions could be a spectacle. When a loved one would die, a crowd would soon gather – because the dead were usually buried immediately. There were people professionally dedicated to mourning those who died – sort of like funeral directors of the first century – accompanied by flute players, and people weeping and wailing loudly as they process and carry the departed one to the place of burial (cf. Matt 9:23; Mark 5:38; Luke 8:52).

Jesus comes upon this scene in Na’in and he has compassion.

Notice how the Jews carry the body out of the city gates. They take the body away from us. They don’t keep the body here with us where we live. This is of course a common approach toward dead bodies even now. And it was common in the ancient world also among both pagans and Jews.

Dead bodies were regarded as unclean by the Jews. The Lord said to Moses and Aaron that any who touch a dead body or even go into a tent where a person has died shall be unclean seven days (Num 19:11, 14). Therefore, priests, who had to remain ritually pure at all times so that they could serve in the temple, especially had to keep their distance from the dead (Lev 21).

Bear that in mind when we see Jesus, our great High Priest, go near the body of the dead man and touch his funeral bier out of compassion. The bearers stopped & stood still (Luke 7:14). And no wonder, for such an act would have surprised them.

Among the Jews, the mitzvah to accompany the deceased to burial is more important than most other obligations, which is why they would willingly accept that period of uncleanness on behalf of their loved ones. Even a priest would do so if it was for his own son or other close relation (Lev 21:2). But for a stranger? That is unusual.

It would have been customary for Jesus and those with him to turn and escort the funeral procession a short distance to show respect for the man who had died and sympathy for his mother and the other mourners. But for Jesus, who was not of this man’s family, to defile himself by reaching out and touching the bier and stopping the procession was far from customary. He does this out of compassion and to teach us a new attitude toward the dead.

Think about what Christians do with the dead. Rather than keeping them is a separate place, we go into to the catacombs to worship God there. We use the tombs of our martyrs as our altars. We commune with those who have died. We believe in the communion of the saints. We bring their bodies inside our churches and put them in our altars. We venerate relics, which we sew into the antimension on the holy table. We kiss the bones of our saints. Our attitude toward the dead is different because we follow Jesus who raises the dead.

And the first person he ever raised from the dead was the only son of a widow in Na’in at the foot of Mount Tabor. Jesus touches the bier and says to the dead man, “I say to you, rise.” And the young man sits up. The one who gave him life gives him life again. The one who speaks life into being in the beginning speaks life into being again.

This is the first time that Jesus raises the dead, but it’s not the last. Three times he raises the dead before he himself dies and rises from the dead.

He later raises the daughter of Jairus, practically at the moment of her death (Matt 9:18–26, Mark 5:21–43, Luke 8:40–56).

He raises this son of the widow from Na’in, who had died earlier that day.

And he raises Lazarus who was four days in the tomb and beginning to decay (John 11:39).

Sometimes doctors have to say they were too late to save someone, but it’s never too late for the Lord. When Lazarus is dying, Jesus waits four days before coming to him. Already he has risen the dead but still people don’t understand and so they think it a pity he had not come sooner (John 11:37). Still, people are bound up so temporally in their thinking. It’s now or never, we think, but in Christ there is forever.

These resurrections prefigure our own coming resurrection. It makes no difference to the Lord who made Adam out of dust whether we have just died or have turned back to dust. He will raise us up because he has compassion on us.

Jesus has compassion on the widow and he tells her, “Do not weep.” Maybe everyone around her was telling her that – “Don’t weep.” Sometimes people say that more for their own comfort than to comfort the afflicted one. It is not something I would recommend saying to a mother who has just lost her son. But Jesus alone has the authority to say “Do not weep.” For Christ alone, the Word of God, words bring into being. When he says to the widow, “Do not weep,” he knows what comfort he alone can give. He alone can give her back her son and so he alone can righteously say, “Do not weep.”

When he later comes to the house of Jairus and the crowd is beginning to mourn the little girl, Talitha, with wailing and weeping, and the flutes are beginning to sound, Jesus has compassion on them and he says “Do not weep.”

But later still he comes to Bethany and sees Mary weeping over her brother Lazarus, already four days in the tomb. And, deeply moved, Jesus weeps (John 11:35). Now, he who alone has the authority to say, “Do not weep,” weeps. So he is with us even in our weeping. And he raises Lazarus also from the dead.

Before his own death and resurrection, Jesus raises these three. Then, at the moment of his death, “the tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised” (Matt 27:52).

All of this is to show that Jesus’s resurrection is also for us. In him, we rise from the dead.

If we really believe this, it changes things for us. It changes the consequence of everything for us if we remember that after we die we will rise again and live forever in Christ. We are infinite and everlasting. You only live once, they say, but in Christ you live forever. I’m telling you, this erases our fear of death and changes our perspective about everything.

It might change what you want to put on your bucket list, for example.

It changes our attitude toward politics. Here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come (cf. Hebrews 13:14).  To Christians “every foreign land is a homeland, and every homeland is a foreign land” (Letter to Diognetus). Death and resurrection erase distinctions we think are so important.

The resurrection changes our attitude about wealth. What is the point of saving and accumulating great personal wealth, I wonder, except to increase our comfort on this earth? This earthly and temporal life becomes pretty inconsequential when held up against eternal life (cf. Matt 6:19-20).

The resurrection changes everything. So let us remember the resurrection and be changed by it.