Adapted from The Purpose Podcast, hosted by Christina Ibrahim and Daniel Mawad, featuring Fr Mark Basily
To
understand the concept of having a relationship with God, we look back at the
beginning of creation of man. This begins to give us an explanation of the
necessity of a relationship with Christ, or the purpose of even knowing Him.
This begs
the question, why did God create us? Sometimes we need to look beyond the
standard answer of, “God is Love,” or “He did it because He loves us.” Anything
more than this may seem too difficult to comprehend.
To answer
the big questions, we can start with smaller questions; why do I want to have
children?
If you
think of it logically, it doesn’t make sense. Kids are a drainer; they drain
your money, your time, your sleep. And they give you nothing in return. The
reason why there is an inherent desire for children is the promise of a
potential relationship. This compels us to have children. To share love. To
enjoy life.
From here,
we begin to see why Christ wants to have a relationship with His creation. The
purpose of creation is to form a relationship, God is Love, and wants to share
that love. This may suggest that God was missing something before the creation
of man. The belief in the Trinity and the three Persons of the Trinity
nullifies this theory.
God was not
alone, and therefore did not need creation. He was already in a relationship
with the Persons of the Trinity. What makes Christianity unique is that it was
always about a relationship. God wanted to be in a relationship with humanity.
Thus, sin
can be seen as a break in the relationship with Christ. Religion poses a series
of rules, if you break one of these rules then you have sinned. This is a
constrained way of living, because if I step out of line that would make me a
sinner.
As
Christians, this is not how we perceive our all-loving God. All throughout
scripture, God presented Himself to the church as the Bridegroom. If this is
the relationship – as close as a bride and groom – then any break is not just
sin but adultery. It is being unfaithful to your Beloved. Christ presented it
in this way is to show that sin is missing the mark in your relationship with
Him; not a set of rules.
A key
difference in our relationship of God compared to our relationships with others
is that God will never give up on us. God gives us free-will and the ball is
always in our court to make a change. For as long as there is breath within us,
we are given the opportunity to know Christ. He presents Himself as a waiting
Father, take the parable of the prodigal son for example. The father waits for
his son’s return. He never gives up on creation.
Despite
this, we, as humans do not always want a relationship with Christ, even as
Christians. As humans, we’re clever at burying our heads in the sand. We search
for happiness and are often willing to pursue Christ if this doesn’t bring us
immediate satisfaction. Christianity can be too much, sometimes I just want to
live day to day, enjoy life. I don’t want to think too deeply. It can be a
struggle to be happy when trying to maintain a relationship with Christ.
How do we
get to a point where we are happy to strive for a relationship? There are so
many dimensions to take into consideration. If we have a journey with Christ, we
progress toward a destination, we should be quite confident that we are
developing a relationship. We are all at different levels, but on a journey. I
know Christ and I’m growing in faith over time. I haven’t reached the
destination but I am on a path that will lead to Christ. I’m not proud because
I’ve made it and I do not despair because I haven’t reached my destination yet.
What should
we expect on the journey? We all have a cross to carry, and the answer can seem
to be that if you have relationship with Christ then that is the solution. A
relationship with Christ transforms our life. It transforms the good times and
the tough times. When you are connected to Christ, you have His support, you
have power, you have patience, you have hope for a better tomorrow. The reality
is that we receive power by being connected to Him. When going through
difficult times, they don’t go away but I am given strength to push forward. In
times of joy, He magnifies my joy.
Having a
relationship with Christ is transformative, and pleasantly surprising even at
the start. We are more than physical beings, we have spirits and souls, we have
been breathed on by the breath of God. If we only live physical lives, then we
cannot be fully content. As soon as we embark on a relationship with Christ,
the void begins to be filled and this is most transformative part of a
relationship with Christ.
Our life
should be viewed in the context of eternity. Some people have extremely
difficult lives. A relationship with Christ helps, but it doesn’t make our
problems disappear. Christ Himself said, “In the world you will have
tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” – John 16:33.
He doesn’t
say, I will take away your problems, He says I have overcome the world. Be of
good cheer because there is another world to come. Even when I struggle, I have
another life to look forward to, and this is my hope in Jesus Christ. Will the
relationship help with my issues? Yes, it definitely helps, and there is power
and strength to help me overcome, but they do not disappear.
If we want
to start a relationship with Christ, the journey begins with communication. Narrow
is the path that leads to life and not many find it. The followers of Christ
are the minority. People come to realise that there is a place for Christ.
When you come to realise that nothing in this life satisfies you, there is only one conclusion – that you were created for another life
C.S. Lewis
We must
have been created for something more than the temporal world we know. Not only
do we claim eternity, but we enjoy life on earth in a different way. When you
taste God, the struggle becomes more beautiful, all good things take hard work.
Doesn’t mean that it’s not genuine because it’s a struggle. On the contrary,
anything that is precious, requires effort.
Our lives
can be transformed if we see Christianity as a relationship with Christ. It is
the pearl of great price.
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” – Philippians 4:13
I remember reciting this verse by heart. My mom always reminded me to recite that verse whenever I was feeling sad or alone, feeling anxious or desperate, or in any situation in which I forgot my identity in Christ. So what does it actually mean? What does it actually mean, that in any situation, Christ will strengthen me?
Since the perfect Being, had assumed imperfection on our behalf, He then had perfected imperfection. Simply put, Christ being God, strengthened our human nature through His incarnation. But He simply didn’t strengthen it. He perfected it, blessed it, and sanctified our human nature. God became man, that man may become like God. And as man, Christ had endured so many hardships that we are also bound, or if not already had encountered. Christ was mad when people were selling and stealing things at the place of worship; in His Father’s house.
Christ had felt sorrow when his beloved Lazurus had died. Christ had felt deceived when He had witnessed Judas betraying Him for an easy thirty pieces of silver. Christ felt anxious and scared at the cup that He would soon be bearing, to the point that He had sweat blood. Christ felt abandoned and sad when His life-long disciples had left Him in the night of Gethsemane, when
He was being arrested. And Christ had felt rejected when Peter, His most outspoken disciple had once swore to die for him, but instead denied Him; not once, or twice, but three times. Christ had felt pain and humiliation when He was beaten, mocked, nailed, and stabbed. Christ had went through it all. But the God who had endured these things, emerged victorious in them, because He is God.
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me , means that I can overcome any obstacle, or all things , because Christ endured all things , and became victorious in them.
Whenever I feel alone, anxious, broken, betrayed, scared, or angry, or even faced with the very fear of death, I am reminded that Christ too went through these emotional and physical sufferings. So, I too can be victorious in them, because Christ overcame these things and was victorious in them.
The message
of this gospel is hope. For any despair, any despondency, this is the answer.
Hope
because of the restraint of Saint Matthew. Saint Matthew was restored to his
original rank that was a Levite. We need to understand what a publican is and
what a Levite is.
A Levite
belongs to a group of people that the Lord chose to be consecrated in the
temple. They lived in the temple, they don’t work and the temple covers all
their needs. An entire extended family would be sustained in this way. Levites
had an extremely high rank, like priests and deacons of the church.
Unfortunately,
it is not made known how he became tempted to pursue riches. He applied for the
role of publican of the Roman empire. A publican collects one tenth of the
money the people earn and gives it to the Roman enemy. This one tenth should be
given to the temple so that he, and the other Levites could live. He didn’t
choose this path, but chose to work for the Romans.
Publicans
get help from the Romans and are given police officers so that they may collect
money from the people. Each district had to give the Romans a certain amount of
money each year. Each publican was able to take as much money as they saw fit
from the people, and they had police officers to protect them. You can imagine
the hate the people had for the publicans, especially one that was originally a
Levite.
It can be
considered a priest in Egypt that loved money and devoted his efforts to collecting
money from the Christians to the ruling authority (which in Egypt, would be
Islam).
However, this
man had something different in his heart. He did not feel it was his place to
be a publican. At some point, he realised that he was not born to be a
publican. There was still hope that he could return to the temple, that he
could repent and be restored once more.
This day is
a feast of hope, because we all have a similar outlook. Sometimes it isn’t
money, but other worldly pursuits that interfere with our search for Christ.
Do I have hope? Can the Lord restore me?
The Lord
was passing by Levi and all his riches surrounding him. No one can befriend a
publican, he is not allowed to eat with people because he is considered defiled
among the Jews. Only his colleagues that are publicans like him. He was
boycotted from the temple. Great despair would have arisen within him.
The Lord
said two words to Matthew, “Follow Me,” and he left all his money and in great
joy, he knew he was restored.
This is our
hope – that one word from the Lord can unite us back to our Beloved.
Following
his restoration, Levi held a party and invited many people. The catering and
cost would be extremely great. He could not invite the Jews, but he had to
invite the sinners, publicans like him. How dare he make a feast of the Lord?
The Lord entered into a house that was considered defiled. Maybe he heard of Zacchaeus,
and how the Lord dined with him. The difference was that the Lord invited
himself to Zacchaeus’ home. He may have heard this, and this gave him courage
to invite the Lord.
Christ went
to his house that day and dined with sinners and publicans. This angered the
Jews and they saw this as betrayal. Jesus responded to them saying, “I have not come to call the righteous, but
sinners, to repentance” (Like 5:32). He came to restore the sick to
repentance. He is One of them. Today is the feast of hope. The church, in her
wisdom, prepares for today before another great feast – the Transfiguration.
How can I see the glory of God when I pursue the world? Jesus came to restore
us to our original rank as His children. The desires of the Lord entrap us in
sin and this is the day I say to the Lord, “tell me as you told Matthew. When
you tell me to follow You, I will follow You all the days of my life.”
Originally seen at Phoebe Farag Mikhail’s blog Being in Community (April 28, 2020)
A little bit over a year ago, my first book, Putting Joy into Practice: Seven Ways to Lift Your Spirit from the Early Church came out. And ever since the global COVID-19 pandemic began, the question of joy during this time of quarantine, stay at home orders, overflowing hospitals, widespread sickness, and numerous deaths comes up again and again. As speaking engagements converted to online meetings and webinars, the question came up again and again. How is joy possible in the midst of so much that is stealing our joy? After some time of struggling with the answer myself, and sharing different ideas with different audiences, I’ve come up with one answer that’s working for me: we can maintain our joy during this time by taking our thoughts captive.
200331-N-OE749-0057 NEW YORK (March 31, 2020) Army Spc. Daniel Fields, assigned to the 9th Hospital Center, takes a patient’s blood pressure reading in the Javits New York Medical Station (JNYMS). Soldiers, along with Department of Health and Human Services personnel and other federal, state and local agencies began operating a field hospital out of the JNYMS, March 30, to care for non-COVID-19 patients in an effort to relieve the burden on local hospitals, allowing them to focus on coronavirus patients. (U.S. Navy photo by Chief Mass Communication Specialist Barry Riley/RELEASED)
Watch the news (or visit a hospital in New York City), and you will get a sense that we are in war times. We are fighting an unseen force that we don’t completely understand and cannot fully control. This unseen force uncovered vulnerabilities in our society we didn’t realize we had, or didn’t want to admit we had.
As in war times, we are all doing our best to contribute to the war effort. Soldiers on the are health care workers and essential service workers. Doctors and grocery store cashiers, nurses and gas station attendants, emergency medical technicians and internet service providers. The rest of us are shopping for the elderly, sewing face masks for frontline workers and for each other, and donating money when needed. Some of us are finding ways to support local businesses, and sharing information about new jobs and other forms of economic relief. Authors and artists, libraries and museums are offering ways for us to enjoy the arts without having to travel for them.
However, when we ask those on the frontline what would be most helpful to them during battle, the answer is simple: stay home. Staying home, staying put, that is how most of us are contributing to win this invisible war. And staying home is its own sort of battle.
At home, stripped from our usual amusements, our numerous ways of living outside of ourselves, our multiple commitments that seemed so important until they were suddenly not so important at all, we are fighting a battle with our thoughts. Even those of us for whom being home during this time means juggling remote work schedules with our children’s remote schooling requirements, our thoughts still intrude on us whenever we need to get things done.
I’m one of those finding myself juggling more than I was before the quarantine. I manage my children’s schooling, cook and keep the household running during the day; teach my own students remotely in the evening, and then work on writing, grading papers, and lesson planning well into the night. My husband and I tag team when we can, though he faces even more of a workload than I do.
Still, in the midst of this, anxious thoughts invade.
What if one of us gets sick, what will happen to the family? What if our parents get sick? How long will we have to live like this? What if one of our incomes stops?
Angry thoughts invade.
What if the information we have is wrong or incomplete? What if the politicians don’t make the right decisions about public health?
Thoughts of despair invade.
What if everything I’m doing now is meaningless?
We stop our work to scroll the news, latching onto anything hopeful. We can’t focus so we get on social media to reach out to the friends we can’t see in person. Our shiny, bright screens are there to offer us distraction, but they’ve lost their luster. We try to get back to work, to the task at hand, and the thoughts keep pressing to the forefront.
Blogger and cartoonist Nic Hartmann drew this visual response to this blog post this morning (c) Nic Hartmann 2020
Left unchecked, sometimes those thoughts consume us, rendering us unable to focus on what is important and necessary. They turn into irritability towards those around us, or even lead us to seek distractions that numb us to the worry and pain—such as screen addictions, alcohol, even drugs. In other words, these thoughts unchecked lead us to what the Church Fathers and Mothers call “the passions.”
In my book, I talk about the “Joy Thieves.” While Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection conquered the great enemy of joy, death, there are still thieves that want to steal our joy. “These passions, or logismoi, also called “thoughts” and sometimes called “demons,” include gluttony, lust, greed, anger, envy, sloth, and vainglory. Each begins with a human thought or need that is not, in and of itself, sinful,” I wrote. Yet these thoughts, if they take root in our hearts, can steal our joy.
Footbridge to the fortress at St. Macarius Monastery, Egypt (c) Phoebe Farag Mikhail 2017
Centuries ago, a few Egyptians willingly went out into the desert and carved out cells to live in, stripping away almost everything that occupied them in the world, and facing headlong the same battle with their thoughts and passions. Some did so as hermits, others did so in communities, just as some of us are facing stay at home orders alone, and others with families. They’ve been doing so for at least 1700 years now, taking to heart these words from St. Paul:
“For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.”
A brother came to see Abba Poemen and said to him, “Abba, I have many thoughts and they put me in danger.” The old man led him outside and said to him, “Expand your chest and do not breathe in.” He said, I cannot do that.” Then the old man said to him, “If you cannot do that, no more can you prevent thoughts from arising, but you can resist them.”
Balance of the Heart p. 122
What are these weapons of warfare for bringing every thought captive? Well, they are the spiritual practices. How do we resist? By putting them into practice. Each of the spiritual practices I mention in my book are also ascetic practices, honed by the Christian tradition over centuries. During quarantine, I have found three of them particularly helpful: praying the Hours, giving thanks, and arrow prayers.
Arrow prayers came to my immediate help whenever anxious thoughts intruded.
Trying to force myself to focus on whatever was at hand was a fruitless effort. I finally realized there was no point in trying to prevent the thoughts from intruding. Instead, I turned each one to a prayer:
“My Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, protect us.”
“My Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, remember this sick person.”
“My Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, comfort this family.”
“My Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, give the leaders wisdom.”
“My Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
(c) Phoebe Farag Mikhail 2019
“Arrow prayers” are short prayers that call upon the name of Christ in word or intention, and can be easily repeated throughout the day while doing other tasks. Although they were started by the desert monastics, “arrow prayers are for all of us,” as I write in my book. Some are short verses from the Psalms, like “Save me, O God, for the waters have come up to my neck,” and the most popular one is the Jesus Prayer: “My Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
Arrow prayers help us pray unceasingly, help us feel peace and stillness when repeated often, and go straight to God’s ears when prayed in adversity. They are the prayers that my spiritual father recommended to me specifically for helping me calm my anxious thoughts. “Your thoughts can be your enemy, or you can make them your ally,” Anne Bogel writes in Don’t Overthink It. Arrow prayers help make my anxious thoughts my allies instead.
Giving thanks came to my rescue when angry or irritable thoughts intruded.
I’ve occasionally come across the memes chiding us that we are “not stuck at home, but safe at home.” And while this is a nice sentiment and a good perspective to have, it doesn’t consider those who might not be safe at home, or those who have no home at all. It also doesn’t fail to shame us for the difficult emotions we are processing, even when we are safe at home.
Yet, we are called to give thanks to God “in any condition, in every condition, and in whatever condition.” That means we are called to give thanks whether we are safe at home, not safe at home, stuck at home, and even if we have no home. Thanking God for our safe homes, if we have them, is only the beginning. Giving thanks in a way that helps us experience joy starts not by counting the blessings we may be privileged to have, but by remembering the people through whom God shows us His love.
On particularly hard days, I’ve gone through my gratitude journal just to remember the people I’ve been thankful for and how they’ve shown me God’s love. I’ve made lists and started writing thank you cards for them to mail. At a time when it’s difficult to get together in person, a letter is a still a physical way of reaching out. I talked about giving thanks this in greater depth on this webinar with Paraclete Press. The desert father Abba Copres said, “Blessed is he who bears affliction with thankfulness.” (From the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, translated by Sr. Benedicta Ward).
Praying the Hours came to my rescue when despair intruded.
The “Hours” are times of the day—in the Coptic Orthodox Church, seven times during the day—for prayer. Each “hour” of prayer (it takes only a few minutes) is primarily made up of Psalms, and no matter what hour we pray, there’s always one Psalm in which the words express despair and trouble—but always end with hope in the Lord. Not only this, but the Psalms are full of what desert father Evagrius of Pontus calls “counter-statements,” as Nicole Roccas describes in Time and Despondency. Counter-statements are scripture that “talks back” to the thoughts that plague us, and Evagrius has an entire manual of these for different destructive thoughts, or passions. These verses are to be used to “cut off” destructive thoughts. One of his favorites comes from Psalm 43:5, which is prayed during the Third Hour in the Coptic Prayer Book of the Hours:
“Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God;
For I shall yet praise Him,
The help of my countenance and my God.”
Psalm 43:5
When we pray the hours regularly, we repeat the Psalms until the words become our own, as St. Athanasius said. Some verses can also become arrow prayers, and others, like the one above, counter-statements. In moments of despair the verse asks me the question, “Why are you cast down, O my soul?” Nothing that casts me down or disquiets me can keep me down when I am reminded to put my hope in God, who knows all things and promises to be with us when we are suffering.
An Orthodox nun in the Old City of Jerusalem along the Via Dolorosa, (c) MJ Yostos Photography 2020
Many of us are suffering from a sense of isolation. Loneliness has been a struggle for so many even before these days of social distancing. Even before we were asked to shelter in place for what has now been over a month, we have already been living increasingly isolated lives, each of us moving through life in a whirl of commitments and activities that make us impervious to one another. The loneliness was already crushing us before it became enforced.
Praying the Hours takes us out of loneliness and into a transcendent connection with many others, both on earth and in heaven.This is because the practice of praying the Psalms at fixed hours of the day pre-dates even Christianity. These words have been prayed by generations. Even Christ Himself prayed them, and Christians continued to do so, especially in the monasteries, where the days are ordered by the Hours. As I write in my book,
The moment I pick up my prayer book to pray, someone else is praying the same prayer, someone else has prayed another prayer a few moments before me, and others will be praying when I stop. In this way, when I pray the Psalms, I become part of an eternal chorus, even if it seems like I am praying alone. “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them” (Matthew 18:20).
Putting Joy into Practice, p. 37
When we pray the Hours we are never alone. And when we pray the words of the Psalms, we are filled with hope rather than despair.
These are three of the tools the desert fathers and mothers have used for centuries to do battle with their thoughts—during times of persecution, plague, and famine. We know they work because they continue to use them, and so can we. We may not be able to get rid of them entirely, but we can resist the destructive thoughts with these practices, and take our thoughts captive.Not only this, but through them we can experience the joy that is only found in the giving and receiving of sacrificial love.
Contrary to popular belief, it isn’t a recent phenomenen. Very clearly, St Paul addressed anxiety in his Epistle to the Phillipians. Going back further, Solomon in the Proverbs discussed anxiety and worry. I dare say, our father Adam, anxiously walked out of the Garden of Eden after hearing the words, “cursed is the ground in your labors.” (Gen 3:17).
However, neither is anxiety an abnormal response. In fact, it’s crucial to our survival. Imagine yourself standing in a jungle, face to face with a lion who has just finished fasting for lent. On the menu? You. Your natural response should be, RUN. Reacting to stressors, and taking action is completely normal. It is critical to our survival.
So, where is the problem? When you’re sitting at home, and you perceive that uni assignment, task, meeting or phone call to be that lion about to eat you alive. Except you’re not in a jungle, and you’re not facing a lion.
While there is danger, it’s not nearly as bad as what we make it out to be. Anxiety is a distortion. It is distorting the facts of reality, making a mixtape of these distortions, then playing them on repeat. Over, and over, and over again.
This is good news! Why? It means something can be done about it. A physically unwell patient in a hospital is always joyful and hopeful to hear that their illness can be treated or cured, as opposed to being terminal. Similarly, we have the power to take a very active role in keeping ourselves mentally healthy. Just as a physically unwell Christian will combine both prayer and sacraments along with modern medicine, so too must anxiety be treated.
Often, especially as christians, we make the distinction with anxiety that it’s either a mental/physical problem, or a spiritual problem. There is no such distinction. Humans are not purely spiritual or physical beings. Anxiety, as a mental experience, has a clear physical state that can be measured, diagnosed, and described. However, as these physical signs accompany biological responses in our nervous system, as such they produce thoughts, affect emotions, and produce other physical and mental responses.
Our physical and mental experience of course cannot be separated from our spiritual one either. We cannot discount the importance of our relationship with Christ, the King of peace.
A contemporary elder of Mt Athos makes this observation:
The image which we can use to describe the relationship of soul and brain is the violin with the violinist. Just as even the best musician cannot make good music if the violin is broken or unstrung, in the same manner a man’s behavior will not be whole (see 2 Tim 3:17) if his brain presents a certain disturbance, in which case the soul cannot be expressed correctly. It is precisely this disturbance of the brain that certain medicines help correct and so aid the soul in expressing itself correctly.
Elder Epiphanios Theodoropoulos
I would like to offer some advice taken from St Paul’s epistle to the Phillipian, that we can use to help achieve this inner calm and stillness, and help combat anxiety.
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7
We hear this verse a lot, and sometimes we roll our eyes, “yes yes, prayer, but what else can I do.” St Paul is promising a lot, peace that surpasses all understanding, it means no one understands how or where this peace came from. No one can give you this same peace.
Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you.
John 14:27
If we’re given this promise, we should take the commandments seriously. Keep in mind, St Paul wrote this verse from prison, not on holidays in Santorini, or at his holiday house in the countryside. Prison, for the crime of being Christian.
So what is St Paul commanding us?
Firstly, to be anxious for nothing. Easier said than we’d done. Don’t be anxious about that friend that ignored you, that job you lost, the exam you have in a week that you haven’t studied for, the bills that are piling up. Nothing. Does that mean it all magically goes away? Unfortunately not. That friend may very well be upset at you, you still don’t have a job, you might fail that exam, you still don’t have money for those bills. But let’s go back to the promise, we’re not always promised solutions, we’re promised peace. The peace of God. However, in gaining that peace, I now have greater strength, focus and grace to pursue solutions and to open my eyes to a way out that God is providing. I can confidently learn a new skill and find a job, I lovingly confront my friend and resolve the conflict, I get a wake up call and learn new ways of utilising my time to study, I learn to be generous with my money and not be concerned with how God will look after me.
The reason that the Bible and the Church fathers are so adamant on the path of suffering being the path to salvation is this; in suffering we partake in the same path that Christ took. More than anything, this is our calling, to share with our Creator, our God, our Bridegroom; to share in His suffering is to share in the Resurrection after the crucifixion, to share in the Kingdom of Heaven. The same Kingdom of Heaven that is within us.
The second commandment, in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.
St Paul here gives us the other extreme. On one hand, “Be anxious for nothing”, on the other hand, “but in everything”. Whatever we may have been anxious about, past, present or future, he’s saying, turn it into a prayer. We crucify the anxiety, and raise it in prayer. If anxious and worrisome thoughts consume my mind all day, imagine turning each thought into a prayer. There is now a very real chance of attempting to “pray unceasingly.” Orthodoxy continuously teaches us this method of spiritual growth and progress. God glorifies our weaknesses for His glory, turning anxiety into peace, pain into healing, death into life. One of the most powerful tools for this is the Jesus Prayer. Fr Seraphim Rose in the book, “His Life and Works” says,
“Pain and suffering drive one to seek a more profound happiness beyond the limitations of this world. I am at this moment in some pain, and I call on the name of Jesus, in Whom alone we may transcend this world, may be with me during it, and His will be done in me.”
Finally, “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
We are promised this peace, which is beyond comprehension, and we are promised protection by this peace. Peace guards our hearts and minds from the worries and fears of this world. It shields us from those destructive and intrusive thoughts that shatter our inner peace and gnaw away at our connection with Christ.
This peace also doesn’t make sense. We don’t understand how it works, we don’t understand why it gives us so much strength and grace. In guarding our hearts, we are shielded from attaching our hearts to any other loves that are not Christ. Our emotions, feelings and desires are redirected towards all that is holy and pure. In protecting our minds, our thoughts, conscious and unconscious are transformed and instead of leading us away from our Creator, they lead us to Him.
The Lord
uses the analogy of the wicked vinedressers in a parable that recounted the
story of Israelites and God up until this point in history. The Lord set up
everything nicely and entrusted the land to the vinedressers.
In the Old
Testament, the Lord gave the people the law and the commandments. He was always
amongst them and created the entire earth for humanity to inhabit. Similarly, the
vinedressers wanted the gifts that God had to offer but they didn’t want God
Himself.
Israel was
God’s chosen people in the Old Testament. He gave them the land, the
tabernacle, He dwelt among them, and despite all this, they still rejected Him.
Today, people are given so many gifts and benefit immensely from these gifts,
yet they continue to reject the source of these gifts. People want the good in
life without God, the Provider of goodness.
This could
be an issue we face from time to time. When we want the gifts of God, but we
don’t always want God. God is patient with all His children. In the Old
Testament, He sent prophets, Kings, priests, all people that could voice His
Word. The message was clear – to strive for godliness and righteousness. And
yet, they rejected Him. To the extent that the prophets were beaten. Isaiah was
sawn in half. Zachariah was murdered between the temple and the altar. Jeremiah
and Ezekiel were stoned.
All the
prophets that were sent suffered and were destroyed for the message they
preached. The Lord remains patient with them, and us, to the extent that He
sent His Own Son, so that they may return to God. He too, was crucified. God is
very patient with us all. He asked for a small amount of fruit among the entire
produce, and even that was rejected. The vinedressers believed they were the
owners and didn’t need Him.
In the
fullness of time, Christ found someone patient and longsuffering who was the
virgin Saint Mary. When she was born, she was given as a servant of the temple
to do all the tedious jobs that no one else wanted to do, like clean after the
animals. When she grew up and it was time for her to leave the temple, they
needed somewhere for her live. Throughout this, she was patient. The angel came
to her and told she would have a Son, but she wanted to remain a virgin. This was
the ultimate answer from God, she was a virgin but still a mother.
Patience
was exhibited when she gave birth in a manager. She suffered in her travels to
Egypt by night which was a foreign land where no one wanted them. She suffered
greatly, the height on this was Christ on the Cross and the accusations that
followed.
All the
glory that she was given was not something that she took to heart, but she gave
glory to God. When she was told she was to be the mother of God, she called
herself the maidservant of the Lord. This is all glory that she did not take
upon herself. The miracles that followed did not cause her to esteem herself.
What do we
learn from St Mary? Long suffering. When we are impatient when we are asked the
same question more than once. This is the time to pursue long suffering. Are we
impatient with the Lord and our requests of Him? We must recognise the
importance of patience. The Lord teaches us, “By your patience possess your
souls” – Luke 21:19.
Patience is
a virtue we all need. When tribulation passes us by, in patience we trust that
Lord will solve it. We need to be patient in order to attain peace with others.
The Lord is telling us to be patient, to be like His own mother.
In the
coming two weeks of fasting, let us practice patience with everyone. Let us
wait on the Lord to give us joy. And in turn, imitate Saint Mary. People learn
from the patience they see in others.
Original post found at Phoebe Farag Mikhail’s blog Being in Community (June 5, 2020)
We have a common enemy and it is not a race or a religion or class.
The enemy is a chameleon. Where it can destroy because of race it does. Where it can destroy because of class, it does. Where it can destroy because of religion or region or accent, it does. But it is the same enemy. If we stop long enough we can turn and stand together and fight together against the common enemy, Satan.
“The Great Reconciliation,” an imaginative icon of St. Stephen and St. Paul by Annie Africa Claudius
Where God brings love, he brings hatred. Where God brings unity, he brings division. Where God brings hope, Satan brings hopelessness and despondency. God call us sons and daughters…co heirs, Satan calls us illegitimate.
Where God focuses on oneness in Him, Satan encourages us to focus on our differences and to categorize the value of a man or woman or child in any way that breaks us away from the truth and isolates us from love.
We can NOT remain silent but we must make sure we are fighting the right enemy. If we fight each other we will not have the strength to stand in the end.
May God give us courage like those who have left the world behind to follow Him in hope and love.
May God make us like the saints amd martyrs who had hope in the resurrection and the world to come.
May God remove the scales from our eyes like he did for Saint Paul who held the coats of those who murdered Saint Stephen and then united Jew and Greek into one faith.
There are
so many characters with varied roles in the story of the raising of Lazarus
that we can learn from.
Two of the characters we meet are Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus. Martha runs to the Lord and says, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died” (John 11:21). She had some understanding of who Christ was, but she didn’t have a complete understanding. She knew Jesus was powerful and had authority over death but she also had a misunderstanding that His power was limited by distance. IF You were here, perhaps she didn’t know the number of miracles He did when He healed from a distance. The centurion’s daughter for example.
When Jesus tells her that he will rise, she responds with theological insight when she says, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day” (John 11:24). Jesus clarifies that He meant beyond this.
Her sister, Mary, comes to the Lord with the exact same sentence, word for word. Jesus doesn’t seem to engage with Mary theologically as He did with Martha but simply completes the miracles.
Regardless
of if I am Mary, coming to the Lord broken-hearted with no understanding or if
I come to Him with questions, concerns and debates, He still comforts me in the
language I understand best and is for my benefit.
Another character that is easily missed in this story is Thomas. The one known as, “doubting Thomas,” has a powerful role in this story. When Jesus informs the disciples that Lazarus had died and they must go to him, Thomas replies, “Let us also go, that we may die with Him” (John 11:16).
Earlier in
the Gospel, Jesus makes a bold claim of divinity, saying that He is the Son of
God. The Jews hearing this want to kill Him for making Himself equal to God.
And now the disciples see that Lazarus has died, that the Jews are surrounded
in the area after they had just escaped from them. It would natural for the
disciples to think that if they went to the Jews, they would kill Jesus. Thomas
concludes the same but sees this is an opportunity to follow the Lord even unto
death.
Are we like
Thomas, ready to follow the Lord regardless of the cost and consequences? For
Thomas, this became an accidental prophecy of his own martyrdom. Doubting
Thomas, in this instance, proved to be brave and courageous. What can we learn
from Thomas’ example today? Even if I must sacrifice for you, Lord, I am ready.
Let us also go that we may die with Him. Let us aspire to have the courage of
Thomas.
The compassions of our Lord are magnified in the shortest verse of the Bible which reads, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35). When He saw His beloved weeping, He also wept. How can we perceive the depth of this verse? He groaned in the Spirit and was troubled. The Comforter, the Counsellor, weeps and is troubled. This gives us an insight into the compassion of the Lord and how much He loves us. We call Him, “Abba, Father” which is to say, “Dad.” This is a real mystery, a compassionate father or mother carry the burden of their children’s needs, even if it is nonsense, even if it is not a big deal. Jesus does not take humour in our requests but He shares with us every feeling that distresses us.
Can I bear
the burdens of others? Can I share in the joy and sorrow of others? The Creator
wept, groaned and was troubled.
We see a final group that responds saying, “Could not this Man, who opened the eyes of the blind, also have kept this man from dying?” (John 11:37). Does this not sound like those who mocked Christ on the Cross saying, “He saved others; Himself He cannot save. If He is the King of Israel, let Him now come down from the cross, and we will believe Him” (Matthew 27:42). Do I see myself in this group? Lord, if You are so powerful then why did I fail my exam, why did I endure such hardship, where were You in my struggles?
This brings
about the second groaning within the Spirit of our Lord, perhaps this was not
sharing in grief but in the hardness of their hearts, their utter lack of
faith.
Which of
these characters am I like?
Mary,
who approaches the Lord in broken-heartedness
Martha,
who approaches the Lord with a question and incomplete understanding
Thomas,
who was ready to die for the sake of the Lord
The
Jews, who questioned why Jesus would not save Lazarus from dying
Jesus,
who we are called to like. Full of compassion and sharing the burdens of
others. Groaning and weeping for those that are pained
Lazarus,
the one raised from the dead
St
Augustine describes the difference between the raising of Christ and the
raising of Lazarus. When Jesus rose, the woman found the linen folded and left
behind. Lazarus rose while still bound in linen. Simply because Lazarus will
need those again, but Jesus will not. In whatever earthly things we receive from
the Lord, we will eventually lose. If I am healed, I will be sick again. If I
have a job, a time will come when I don’t have a job. Whatever earthly things
we have, will be taken.
When I come
to the Lord, let me ask for the imperishable. For any worldly concern, I bring
forth before the Lord, He cries with me, He shares my suffering with me. Let me
ask of something that is fitted for the Giver. Lord, teach me to pray.
Pope Kyrillos would wake up at 2am for his formal prayers would end at 10am and he has a constant dialogue with God. When people asked how he had such great insight, his response was simple, if you spend time speaking with God more than anyone else, He will speak to you. Lord teach me to imitate Pope Kyrillos.
For any wrongdoing,
help me to let is go. Teach me to sacrifice, to love, to be humble. We pray for
things worthy of the Giver.
The words of the Gospel today from Luke 9 begin with a realisation about something that’s happened. The disciples had been travelling with Jesus and multitudes had been following to hear him speak. And then it says, “when the day began to wear away” – when the people were exhausted and the day had come to its close, the disciples said to Christ, “Send the multitude away, that they may go into the surrounding towns and country, and lodge and get provisions; for we are in a deserted place here.”
You hear those words – “send them away” – and they can sound arrogant. It almost sounds as if the disciples are annoyed – that they’ve had it with these people that they’ve been with for an entire day, even days perhaps, following them, serving them, caring for them. So in annoyance, they say: “send them away”.
But one of the most remarkable this is that this is not how the early church read these words. St Cyril of Alexandria in the fourth century spent almost an entire homily talking about these words, “send them away”. He said
“[the disciples] seized with love toward the multitudes, and beginning to have a concern for the people…”
They were beginning to have concern for them.
When they say, “send them away”, they aren’t doing it out of annoyance or frustration or arrogance – they’re doing it because they’re starting to feel people. They’re starting to become sensitive to the needs of people. So they ask the Lord to send them away to the surrounding towns before it gets dark so that they can go and eat and sleep – because this is a deserted place. It’s likely the multitude themselves hadn’t realised it – it had just started to get dark, and perhaps they were distracted, unaware of their needs that would come in just a few hours. So the disciples start to become very sensitive – St Cyril is very specific that they “seized with love… beginning to have a concern for the people”.
St Cyril goes on to say,
“for to draw near, and make supplication on the people’s behalf, is an act becoming to the saints”.
To be sensitive to people and their needs is the beginning and act of becoming to the saints. So from here, Christ commands the disciples: “You give them something to eat”. Christ could feed the multitude, but he wanted the disciples to share in that. They told Him that they had no more than five loaves and two fish, so He takes those, blesses them and gives them out to people in groups of 50, to feed perhaps 50,000 people – an event which we call the Blessing of Multiplication or the Blessing of the Little – a remarkable miracle which would’ve reminded people of the days of Moses when Manna would come from heaven and the people would eat from it.
All of this comes first in the beginning of sensitivity. Sensitivity to others, and not myself. It creates the space in which God can work, can heal and can love through us. But that sensitivity requires me first to move out of myself. It means I have to move out for my own lusts, desires, ambitions – I have to see others.
If we do not see others, we cannot be sensitive to them. We can’t feel them or their needs. If we see ourselves, we only care for ourselves. This is actually where the word “narcissism” comes from – it’s a word that we painfully throw around at others who are quite self-absorbed – but actually, the word “narcissism” comes from one of the Greek gods in mythology, Narcissus, a handsome young Greek man who was being chased by a woman, the nymph Echo, and rejected her.
He didn’t want to be loved or to love somebody else. She wasn’t beautiful enough for him. One day after hunting he came before a pool of water, and he sat down in front of the pool, as he went down to drink, he saw himself. He looked at that image, and couldn’t stop looking at it because it was so beautiful. Eventually, after hours of staring at his own image in the water, he realised he couldn’t consummate his love. He couldn’t embrace the person. And so after gazing, enraptured in his own image, he killed himself – because he couldn’t attain the object of his desire. And that’s where we get the word narcissism – somebody that was so self-absorbed, all they could see was themselves.
Yet Christ is the exact opposite. Something that always strikes me in the gospels is that if you pay attention to the words carefully you see how many times Christ sees people. How many times, the evangelists stop to make a point that He looks and sees somebody.
“And Jesus, walking by the Sea of Galilee, saw two brothers” (Matt. 4:18). He saw Nathaniel, and said, “Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” (John 1:48). With the paralytic man, it says, “When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he already had been in that condition a long time, He said to him, “Do you want to be made well?”” (John 5:6). In Matthew, Jesus “saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion for them, because they were weary and scattered, like sheep having no shepherd” (Matthew 9:36). When Christ sees the rich young man and is asked how he can be saved, it says, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him” (Mark 10:21). When Jesus looks up at Zacchaeus, it’s up in the sycamore tree, and he is hiding because he is so embarrassed as a tax collector to be seen by people. It says, “when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and saw him, and said to him, “Zacchaeus, make haste and come down, for today I must stay at your house.” (Luke 19:5).
These are just a few examples – the gospels are littered with them. Christ sees us. He is sensitive to our needs. He feels our needs. He looks beyond himself, He sees others, and so He is sensitive to our needs. Sensitivity to others is the beginning of saintliness. It is the beginning of drawing near to Christ and becoming like Him.
Many years ago, perhaps when I was in my first year of university, I didn’t attend university very much. I was a very poor student – I was probably attending about half an hour a week – so I had nothing to do and took up many hobbies that no 18-year-olds do.
One priest had asked me to help him – so I used to pray one liturgy every Thursday morning from 5-7 a.m., and afterwards I would drive around this elderly priest to help him give people communion, sometimes for four or five hours, sometimes until 2 p.m.
And every time after we’d finished the liturgy, I would watch this priest take the Eucharist and put on his head, and I’ve never seen anyone do what he does. He would refuse to drive – he let me drive – and he would sit in the car with the Eucharist on top of his head for five hours, going from place to place with incredible reverence. Often I would drive in silence for hours because I didn’t want to disturb him, until we’d visit the very last person receiving communion, after which, I would try to go to the drivers seat but he would refuse to give me the keys and let me drive, and say the exact same words: “before you drove because you were driving Christ. But now it is Yohanna, and I cannot allow you to drive Yohanna.” He would refuse to let me drive him, ever – but I could drive when Christ was on top of his head. This went on for a year, every Thursday, until one Thursday we came to the last communion. He told me to park the car and stay in the car, because the person he was visiting had a personal issue that he didn’t want anyone to know about except for his priest.
So as I went to park the car, I went straight into a brick wall and knocked off the bumper bar. So I sat there for a nervous half an hour trying to find the way to bring the bumper bar up, so the priest wouldn’t notice that I knocked off his bumper bar, until eventually, the priest came after the last communion as I was down on the ground trying to fix it, and in just one glance, he saw what the situation was and he looked away. I opened my mouth to begin to apologise – but he just laughed and said, “it’s nothing”. He went into his pocket and threw me the keys, and said “quick, let’s drive”.
For a year, he refused to ever let him drive him after communion, because I couldn’t drive Yohanna, I could only drive the Eucharist. But after I crashed his car with the bumper bar hanging off, he threw me the keys just so I wouldn’t be upset.
He was sensitive. Because he feared that I would become upset or feel guilt or shame because I crashed his car, he gave me the keys and let me drive him. In that moment, I possibly receive the greatest lesson of my life.
To become sensitive to others. To feel them. And that means, forgive me, we need to look very carefully at ourselves. Do I see others or do I see myself only?
How many times each day do I see others? Do I feel for others? Do I live for others? How many times a day, if at all?
And yet if I don’t go out of myself – beyond my desires, needs and ambitions, and I cannot see or feel others, I cannot be sensitive to their needs or feel for them. And if I don’t live for them, I don’t live for Him.
But if I see others, if I feel their needs much more deeply than they themselves feel their own needs, and I live for them, then I live for Christ. And that is why St Cyril of Alexandria says, being sensitive to others is an act of becoming of the saints. It was the entire beginning of the Blessing of the Multiplication story, with the disciples becoming sensitive to others.
So let us all, as one church, especially in the coming weeks, let us train ourselves to become sensitive to others. To see others and to feel their needs. To look beyond ourselves and our needs, but to see others.
Walking into an Orthodox church is an overwhelming experience – the
incense, the candles and architecture never fail to grab your attention,
transporting you to another place – a heavenly sanctuary, the House of God.
Slightly elevated, ornamenting the walls of the church are icons, saints who
are the exemplars of the spirituality we strive for, seemingly peering at the
people entering. It is often said that these saints are amidst the church
congregation, praising and praying with us, but they appear to reflect a
spirituality which seems so above us, so distant and out-of-reach. We sit in
church pews, longing for change, yet as soon as we walk out of the heavy,
wooden doors, we are back in the world, as if returning to reality from a
dream, unscathed.
It wouldn’t be contentious to say that our world today is a busy one.
We’re occupied – working, studying, going out, getting fit – and while all
these pursuits seem to be for our own growth and development, it puts us in a
selfish oblivion, so distracted that we fail to consider anything that lies
outside of our personal bubble.
The saints we see in icons are amidst us. To this day, 260 million
Christians around the world are persecuted for their faith. They are martyrs of
the present day. Needless to say, improving their lives isn’t in the question.
Having a life at all is what consumes their minds.
Everything they’ve wanted – their desires, passions, hobbies – are all
trivial. Their own will means nothing – they are subject to the will of another
without question.
We are lucky enough, in the Western world, to have the liberty of
choice. We have the freedom to believe what we want to believe and do what we
want to do.
But to choose to submit your will to another?
In a world that upholds the autonomy of the individual, that can be
hard. Very hard. It’s almost like social suicide. You are fortunate enough to
get to choose what you want, lay out your whole life for yourself, and then
you’re going to let someone dictate your life for you? It doesn’t make sense.
And who are you going to listen to? A supernatural being in the sky who you’ve
never seen? It’s a hard pass.
But is this who our God is? Is this how we, as his children, see him?
Our God is a loving, kind Father. Our God is all-knowing and
all-powerful. Our God shepherds us and guides us to the path where we should
go. He cares for us, and knows the details of our futures more than we could
imagine.
This isn’t how we see His Son. Jesus, begotten of the Father, came down
from heaven so that we may have a personal relationship with him. He lived a
life of humility, and submitted His life to the Father as an example for us.
This isn’t how we see the Holy Spirit, who moves through our hearts like
the wind, leading and guiding us as a soft breeze, whispering where we should
go.
Of course, we know God is a mighty, powerful being. But the way in which
he so freely loves, and gives, and has compassion, surely does not characterise
a fire-and-brimstone, wrathful entity. It illustrates an image of a God who
walked upon a fork in the road and, like us, had a choice. There wasn’t even
much of a choice at all – He knew the journey would be difficult. He knew he
would be spited and spat upon by generations upon generations of these
creatures whom He loved and created. But this God, who we push to the side,
this very God took the narrow path, and submitted His power and glory for
us.
When we put on God’s will, we put on the armour of God: the belt of
truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of peace, the shield of
faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit.
But we must also feel protected by this armour and let our guard down,
to let God’s Spirit move through us and guide us. So that we can be still, and
listen. To put away our pride and to feel prepared, as the five wise virgins,
as the faithful servant waiting for his masters’ arrival, as the wedding guests
dressed appropriately for the great banquet. We need to take off our self will,
to let go of the wheel and trust that God will lead us to the path where we
should go.
To live as God intended us to will always be one of the greatest struggles for man. But our life is a path full of decisions. And when we come across a fork in the road, we should see Christ running, without hesitation, down a rocky, narrow path and never looking back. With His hands raised, calling out your name, running to bring you in His fatherly embrace. For He, a deity, submitted all for our weak, mortal selves so that we could have salvation. Is submitting to Him for our own selfish good not the least we could do in return?
