Ancient Answers

Guidance for Today from Scripture and Early Christianity

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Philippians 1:1-2

I begin here a commentary on Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians. I will be using the Greek text as given in the 28th edition of the Nestle-Aland critical text. For the English text I will be using whatever translation seems closest to the Greek, and I will make my own modifications wherever appropriate to get even closer to the Greek text. I have done a fair amount of reading in commentaries, but this is basically my own interpretation of the Epistle, verse by verse, word by word; so I will not make many references to specific commentaries. However, the one resource that I will be using quite consistently as a guide through the Greek text is Philippians, by Joseph Hellerman, in the series Exegetical Guide to the Greek New Testament, published in 2015. I also make reference to the volume on Philippians by John Reumann in the Anchor-Yale Bible Commentaries series (2008). I own this volume, but it is so large that my few references to it are based more on Hellerman’s references to it.

Paul and Timothy, slaves of Christ Jesus, to all the holy [ones] in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi, with the overseers and deacons: grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.


Παῦλος καὶ Τιμόθεος δοῦλοι Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ – Paul and Timothy, slaves of Christ Jesus

  • Σαῦλος was Paul’s “synagogue name” from birth, Παῦλος his name in the Greco-Roman world. Jews in the Greek world adopted names that sounded similar to their Hebrew names. Acts 13:9 is the first instance where he is referred to as Paul. Note the casual way this is done: But Saul, also known as Paul…)
  • Τιμόθεος was a common Greek name: “one who honors god.” He was Paul’s young protégé, first introduced in Acts 16:1, as the son of a Jewish woman who was a believer; but his father was a Greek.
  • Δοῦλοι – slaves, servants. Most of the times that Paul used the words δοῦλοι or the singular δοῦλος, it was with the customary secular meaning. But in a few of his letters (Romans 1:1, 1 Corinthians 7:22, Galatians 1:10, Ephesians 6:6, Colossians 4:12, Titus 1:1) he uses one or the other of these two words in the same way as here in Philippians 1:1. Let us not fail to remember the incident in Philippi (Acts 16:17) of the slave girl who referred to Paul and his companions as “slaves of the Most High God,” δοῦλοι τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ὑψίστου.
  • Paul instead refers to himself and Timothy as δοῦλοι Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ, offering no possibility of confusion with any pagan “most high god”! Paul is the “slave of Christ Jesus” Christ of course is the Greek version of the Hebrew Messiah, both meaning “the anointed one.” But it is very possible that Paul could have been using it in the sense of the personal name or title ascribed to Jesus, since his readers most likely were not familiar with the Hebrew background of the title. Thus, Christ Jesus analogous to Caesar Augustus? That possibility has been raised by some scholars, and I’m inclined to agree.

But without indulging in linguistic or mystical extrapolations, the word δοῦλος for Paul was simply a maximalistic synonym for disciple. A disciple is a δοῦλος of Jesus Christ. Interesting that in all Orthodox liturgical practice, we use the word δοῦλος to describe every member of the church – e.g. at communion, at all other sacraments, at funerals, at many of the prayers of the Liturgy, etc. However, the English translations we use all say “servant” or “servants”. Servant is an accepted translation of δοῦλος, less radical than “slave” to be sure. But how shocking would it be if we started saying “The slave of God _____ receives the body and blood of Christ”? Slavery was perhaps less shocking in the ancient world than it is today, but Paul’s language is bold any way we look at it.

But here is something else to consider. In John 15:15, Jesus says to his disciples: “No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.” (RSV translation) The words translated as “servants” and “servant” are precisely δοῦλοι and δοῦλος. Was Paul violating the intention of Jesus. Should Paul have written, “Paul and Timothy, friends of Christ Jesus”? No, I think Paul was completely correct. Jesus was referring to “servants”; Paul wrote “slaves”! There is a profound difference. A servant is not bound; he or she merely serves. A slave is bound/bonded – in Paul’s case to Christ. The two lexical meanings of δοῦλος come in very handy when translating John 15:15 and Philippians 1:1.

πᾶσιν τοῖς ἁγίοις ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ τοῖς οὖσιν ἐν Φιλίπποις σὺν ἐπισκόποις καὶ διακόνοις – to all the holy ones [saints] in Christ Jesus who are in Philippi with the overseers and deacons

  • The adjective πᾶς is used eight times in this letter, surely an acknowledgment of the unity that existed in the Philippian church.
  • He addresses the ἁγίοις – the holy ones, the saints, carrying also the Old Testament meaning of “set apart” as a people special to God. This was customary language for Paul when he addressed fellow believers. In his other letters he uses the word by itself, but here, perhaps to draw a verbal parallel with δοῦλοι Χριστοῦ Ἰησοῦ, he writes τοῖς ἁγίοις ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ. This can be seen as another indication of how close to his heart he held the Philippian Christians. It is extremely important to note that he only uses the word ἁγίοις in the plural when referring to believers in Christ, never in the singular, ἅγιος. The singular is only used to refer to God. Christians are not holy as individuals; they are holy as a community/communion in Christ Jesus. The communitarian commitment and vision of Paul is impossible to miss. Note the persistence of this language in the Liturgy: Εὐλογημένη ἡ εἴσοδος τῶν Ἁγίων σου – Blessed is the entrance of your saints (holy ones); Tα Ἅγια τοῖς Ἁγίοις – the holy [gifts] for the holy [people of God].
  • ἐν Χριστῷ Ἰησοῦ further articulates how Christians are “holy” – as a community “in Christ Jesus”. Of course every individual believer’s life is “in Christ”, as Paul often says about himself as well. But only as a community can believers be “holy in Christ”!
  • σὺν ἐπισκόποις καὶ διακόνοις, literally “with the overseers and deacons.” The word ἐπίσκοπος in the decades after Paul came to mean “bishop”, and that has remained its meaning for over 1,900 years. But Paul is not talking about bishops and deacons in the way we use those titles; he is talking about church leaders and ministers/servants/assistants. Deacons were first introduced in Acts 6, where their primary duty was to distribute food! Overseers, as the name implies, were the leaders of a local community – nothing to do with the later office of bishop. These were functions, not titles of privileged status. What was forgotten when “bishops” became privileged rulers over the church was what Jesus had said: The truly great is the one who is servant, διάκονος, and the one who is really first is the one who is slave, δοῦλος, of all (Mark 10:43-44). Nevertheless, this letter is the only one in which Paul singles out “overseers” and “deacons” – perhaps indicating that already some form of organization was emerging in some of the early Christian communities.


χάρις ὑμῖν καὶ εἰρήνη – grace to you and peace

  • This is Paul’s standard greeting in ALL his letters (with slight modification in his two letters to Timothy).
  • Χάρις meant “a beneficent disposition toward someone” according to a standard lexicon; in other words, kindness. As summarized by Reumann in his commentary, in the Greco-Roman world, this beneficence was bestowed by the gods and the Roman emperors. “Grace” is the straightforward literal translation of χάρις, but even some Reformed and Protestant scholars caution against reading “grace” with the theological weight the Protestant Reformation gave to that one word.
  • The word εἰρήνη, peace, in the Greco-Roman context meant pretty much what it means today. As Reumann sums up, the pacification of the world by the Roman armies was called the pax Romana. The ideology of universal peace and prosperity under Rome and the emperor was disseminated throughout the empire by coins bearing the terms Securitas, Salus, Concordia, and Libertas (“security”, “safety”, “concord”, and “freedom”). In the Hebrew background of the New Testament, the word for peace is shalom, a state of wholeness and well-being, both spiritually and physically, as well as materially. Both the Greek and Hebrew senses were important in Paul’s messages to all his congregations.

ἀπὸ θεοῦ πατρὸς ἡμῶν καὶ κυρίου Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ – from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

  • I adopt the customary capitalization of god, father and lord when used in the Christian sense of God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. This is customary in English, but it is not in the original texts. There was no capitalization in the Greek text of the New Testament. Even in modern Greek, capitalization is not always adopted.
  • Here is where Paul parts company with the Greco-Roman attributions of χάρις and εἰρήνη. They don’t come from the Roman Empire or the godds of the empire or the Emperor himself – but from God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. The interplay and opposition of Roman and Christian terminologies and theologies are constant factors in Paul’s thinking.

It has been understood for a long time that Paul intentionally used language that opposed imperial terminology with the lordship of Jesus Christ. And that is important in today’s context, where the Bible gets so easily confused with nationalist slogans, where flag and cross so easily co-habitate in the mental and visual horizons of so many Christian churches in Europe and, notably, in the United States; despite the fact that there is no national church in this country and no establishment of religion in the Constitution.

The question that hits me as I end this instalment of my commentary is simply this: Am I a “servant” or a “slave” of Christ Jesus? I drew a distinction in this commentary between these two translations of the Greek δοῦλος. What do they mean to me personally? How am I servant? And to whom or what am I a servant? How am I a slave of Christ Jesus?

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The Community Approach


How do we recognise Jesus? Do we expect him to look like we see him in our icons?

Icons are a very important part of our Orthodox tradition – so important that this First Sunday of Lent commemorates the restoration of icons in the year 843, after a long period of iconoclasm. But icons can also limit our ability and freedom to recognise Jesus! “When did we see you, Lord?” we might end up crying out, as they do in the parable of the sheep and goats (Matthew 25:31-46)

The answer Jesus himself offers in that parable is that we see him in the least of his brothers and sisters. But he is not only a brother to the least; he is also our brother. We need him as much as any of the least!

Let’s pick up the story of the Emmaus walk on that first Easter afternoon, from where we left off last week. The two disciples are walking to Emmaus and Jesus joins them on the road, but they don’t recognise him. They are sad and confused about what has happened to Jesus those last few days…

And he said to them, “O foolish men, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself.

So they drew near to the village to which they were going. He appeared to be going further, but they constrained him, saying, “Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed, and broke it, and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened and they recognised him; and he vanished out of their sight. They said to each other, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the scriptures?” And they rose that same hour and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven gathered together and those who were with them, who said, “The Lord has risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he was known to them in the breaking of the bread.

Walking with the two disciples, still unrecognised by them, Jesus responds to their sadness and confusion by going back to the scriptures – meaning, of course, the Hebrew Scriptures, what we call the Old Testament. The two disciples are intrigued by how this stranger understood the scriptures, so they ask him to spend the night at the inn where they are staying for the night. They sit down for dinner. And that’s where it happens. “He took the bread and blessed, and broke it, and gave it to them” – and their eyes were opened. They immediately recognised him – but just as immediately he vanished from their sight.

“Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the scriptures?” Yes their hearts burned on the road, he touched them deeply as he opened their eyes to the meaning of the scriptures. But they only recognised him at the table, when he blessed and broke the bread and gave it to them. They immediately remembered how he did the same when he fed thousands, every time he sat down to eat with his disciples, and how he took the bread, blessed, broke it and gave it to them at the last supper.

It was at dinner that they recognised him. It’s always a dinner at the heart of Jesus’ teaching – a communal meal. We recognise Jesus when we are a community. When two or three are gathered in my name, there I am with you,” he promised. The two disciples going to Emmaus were two, and he came to them. We are two, three, fifty-three… We are a community, a communion – koinonia. Not just a community as an incorporated entity,. but a living organic communion of people – diverse in so many ways, but united by the presence and bread of Christ.

This past week I considered many reactions to the recent school shooting in Florida. One came in a New York Times column yesterday. The writer made an interesting connection between gun massacres and the opioid crisis. He concludes that the root cause of both crises is isolation. Specifically with respect to guns, over many years of research, he found the same description of assailants: a lost, isolated, unbalanced (usually white) young man with legal access to firearms. Isolated, rootless. And this NYT writer points to what is lacking: Community! “All this, in other words, is a community approach to a plague feeding on our isolation. Mass murder calls for the same.”

“A community approach”! When the “failing” New York Times starts talking about “community”, you know some important awareness is growing in our society of individualism. Drugs, mass shootings – “symptoms of our culture of isolation, in which we’ve lost the habit of collaborating with our neighbours.”

Dear friends, fellow believers in Christ Jesus. For many years my friend Leon Nicholas, a child of our churchcommunity and one of my altar boys years ago, has been telling me exactly the same thing: Rootless, isolated teenagers and young men are the ones most likely to go on a shooting rampage and the easy availability of deadly weapons makes it all too easy for them. Imagine, teenagers can’t drink legally but they can buy weapons of mass destruction. Of course they still drink – illegally – but that’s not an excuse for not changing some of the laws applying to gun purchases.

No, Leon has been right all these years that we have discussed social problems, and we talked again yesterday over coffee. Community is the key. An actual eucharistic community, that meets regularly, shares the same meal that Jesus shared with those disciples, and works together to manifest the grace and peace that only Christ can give. The peace that is beyond human understanding (Philippians 4:7).

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Paul at Philippi – Systemic Deception Unmasked

Acts 16 marks the point in time when the infant church moved beyond the confines of what we today call the Middle East and Turkey. The Aegean would prove to be the cradle of Christianity as we know it. The shores of the Mediterranean would be where Christian theology would develop over the next several centuries.

  1. The Macedonian Vision (16:6-10)

We have a vivid description of Paul’s fumbling to find his next mission. Twice the Holy Spirit stopped him from pursuing further missionary work in Asia. Finally Paul and his companions end up at Troas, on the coast. There they receive their marching orders from the Spirit, but in the form of a nighttime vision (or dream?) of a man of Macedonia, begging Paul to cross the sea into Europe. Paul understood the vision but no action was taken until there was concurrence – συμβιβάζοντες – that the vision was indeed of divine origin. Group discernment was crucial. Verse 10 marks the beginning of the ‘we’ mode of narrative in the Book of Acts. It is thought that the ‘we’ sections of Acts represent those segments of Paul’s travels when Luke, the author of Acts, joined the missionary group.

Wall icon of Paul’s vision at the chapel of the Orthodox Center of the Ecumenical Patriarchate at Chambésy, outside Geneva in Switzerland. This is a starkly modern interpretation of the scriptural passage (Acts 16:9). It combines a modern industrial image of Macedonia with a very traditional iconographic image of Saint Paul across the water from the industrial image that beckons him. This is the kind of iconography we need more of today as an evangelistic tool. But we must be careful not to impose a modern contrast between Europe and Turkey-Middle East to Paul’s time. The entire area was united by a common cultural heritage.

  1. Arrival at Philippi – Lydia (16:11-15)

Paul and his companions arrive in Philippi around the year 48. True to their usual practice as devout Jews, they look for a place of Jewish worship on the Sabbath, but they presumably acquainted themselves with the city and its people before the Sabbath (cf. verse 12), as Paul would do later in Athens (Acts 17:16-23).

It does not appear that there was a synagogue in Philippi, but Paul found a place of prayer. Literally, the Greek text does not say “place of prayer”; it simply says “prayer”. In the mind of the author, prayer defined a place; there was no need in the Greek text to write “place of prayer”! The “prayer” was found outside the gate of the city by the river.

How does a place become prayer?

The gathering at prayer was a group of women. Paul and his companions sat down and talked with them. Were they all Jewish? We are not told. But Paul’s usual practice when entering a new town was to speak first to local Jews before going to the Gentiles. Lydia was among the gathered women – a prominent woman in the town and a woman of some means to be trading in the very expensive purple cloth. She was from Thyatira in Asia (today’s Turkey). So perhaps she had her first contact with Judaism in her home town. She was a worshiper of God. In other words, she was a “God-fearer” (θεοσεβής), a common term for Gentiles who were drawn to worship or honor the God of Israel. Luke tells us that the Lord opened her heart so that she paid close attention to Paul’s teaching, thus emphasizing the divine initiative in Lydia’s conversion.

Did God override Lydia’s free will in opening her heart to receive Paul’s teaching? No the choice was hers how to respond to Paul’s teaching. God opened her heart so she would pay careful attention to Paul, but the decision to become a disciple of Christ was hers. She and her entire household were baptised. No prolonged catechism, as became the custom in subsequent church development, just preaching the simple good news of Jesus Christ. Indeed, nothing ecclesiastical is needed when the Spirit is moving!

Lydia’s immediate response was to offer gracious hospitality to Paul and his companions. She was very persuasive – παρεβιάσατο ἡμᾶς, Luke tells us. The verb here represents a forceful action. She was indeed very persuasive. Hospitality is a perfect response to God’s initiative. Hospitality defines the mutuality of our story with God.

  1. The troubling spirit of a slave girl (16:16-24)

The main incident in Philippi involved a slave girl who had a “spirit of divination.” The Greek text refers to πνεῦμα πύθωνα, a python spirit. The python was a snake that was associated with the oracle of Apollo at Delphi in Greece. The high priestess at Delphi – called the Pythia – gave oracles while in a trance or state of ecstasy (μαντευομένη).

The English translation is rather misleading: “One day, as we were going to the place of prayer, we met a slave-girl…” This sounds like a chance encounter. But the Greek text implies something perhaps more confrontational: Ἐγένετο δὲ πορευομένων ἡμῶν εἰς τὴν προσευχὴν παιδίσκην τινὰ ἔχουσαν πνεῦμα πύθωνα ὑπαντῆσαι ἡμῖν = “It transpired as we were going to the prayer a young girl with a python spirit encountered us.” The verb ὑπαντάω can mean “go out to meet, draw near” – in other words, an intentional encounter, not a chance encounter! As a matter of fact, the verb has a second meaning: to oppose, to meet in battle. This was not a chance encounter! This was a confrontation between the Spirit of God that was guiding the apostles and a spirit of deception.

The girl was not just a slave to her masters, who made money off her, but also to the spirit that drove her divinations. She followed Paul and created a confusion between the God of Israel and the highest god of the pantheon of popular belief – whoever that highest god was; Zeus, perhaps, in Philippi? A cult of Theos Hypsistos is well attested in cities of the Aegean and Propontic Thrace in the middle of the first century. As the pagan philosopher Celsus would later put it, “I think that it makes no difference whether we call Zeus the Most High [ὕψιστος], or Zen, or Adonai, or Sabaoth, or Ammon like the Egyptians, or Papaeus like the Scythians.” Confusion of spirits is very much still with us. Syncretism is attractive to many people, especially self-identified “spiritual seekers.” Paul could not tolerate such confusion.

The poor slave-girl followed Paul for many days. Paul heard her; he heard her cries as cries for liberation. Do we hear the cries of the powerless on our way to “prayer”? Does pious, religious god-talk keep us from seeing the oppression of people? Ministry in the name of Jesus releases people from oppression, especially poor women, and gives voice to those who are voiceless. Who are some of the voiceless in today’s world?

Paul is “annoyed” the NRSV translators put it. The Greek says διαπονηθεὶς, deeply pained, disturbed throughout his being. He experienced not only anger at the deceptive spirit but also pain at the captivity of the girl. He performs an exorcism in the name of Jesus Christ. The Most High God is not Zeus or any other supreme being, but the God who works σωτηρία – salvation, deliverance – by the name of Jesus Christ.

The reaction to the exorcism is immediate and vicious. The girl’s masters, the authorities and magistrates, and the crowds – κύριοι, ἄρχοντες, στρατηγοί, ὄχλος – and later also the ῥαβδοῦχοι, the policemen [literally, the rod carriers], all ganged up against Paul and his companions. Their entire social order was under threat – a magnificent example of commerce, politics and religion working together to keep a system going when threatened by new teaching! This is a powerful scene. It clearly echoes the scene at the judgment and crucifixion of Jesus, where religious and political authorities were joined by crowds.

  1. Conversion of the Jailer (16:25-34)

The prison scene is beautiful and needs little commentary. Here it’s an earthquake that sets the prisoners free, unlike in earlier imprisonments in the Book of Acts where an angel opened the prison doors (5:19 & 12:7). Another household baptism takes place and the jailer, just like Lydia, offers hospitality to the apostles. The jailer’s question to the apostles, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” echoes the rich ruler who asked the same question of Jesus: “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Mark 10:17, etc.). Although perhaps the jailer is not thinking of eternal life. Salvation carried many meanings for a pagan such as the jailer. Or, the author has put his question in terms that a Christian reader will understand. We must always be careful about how much of our current beliefs we read into ancient texts.

  1. The Denouement and Departure (16:35-40)

By morning, the apostles are back in jail. But the magistrates clearly want Paul and his companions to be let out of prison so they can go on their way – the quicker the better. The jailer himself understands this to be the intention and advises Paul to leave the city. But Paul will not go quietly. As Roman citizens, they meant to expose the illegal acts of the local authorities. They received an apology from the magistrates, who nevertheless asked them to leave the city – surely an echo of Luke 8:37, where the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave after he healed the demoniac. A return visit to Lydia to encourage her and the brothers and sisters with her and a farewell to Philippi. But Paul will be back on his next journey in the Mediterranean lands (Acts 20). And a few years after he established the Christian faith in Philippi he wrote a beautiful letter to the community in Philippi.

The Philippi episodes clearly unmask the collaboration of commercial, political and religious forces to keep a society ordered for the benefit of the powerful. Isn’t this the state of the world as we know it? How should Christians respond to the exploitation of the poor?

What does Acts 16 say about the ease with which societies point to foreigners as the reason for economic and social problems? Xenophobia was part of the established order that the authorities wanted to protect in Philippi.

Paul and Silas prayed and sung in prison – and the foundations of the prison were shaken. When God’s people pray and sing powerful things happen – but only when they are not for our own spiritual edification! This is the key that is missing in so much of today’s Christianity. Paul and Silas were singing and praying – and the other prisoners were listening. A community was being formed right there in prison. And this community should shake the foundations not only of that prison, but of the system of incarceration in general. That has not happened. Christians are among the most eager supporters of prison systems. Is there a difficulty here that we’re not seeing? That we are not debating?

At the end of Philippi sojourn, Lydia’s home becomes a house of ex-offenders! What does this say about the ways our society treats ex-offenders? How should the church reach out to prisoners?

The Philippi sojourn raises profound political and socio-economic questions that are still pertinent to the situations that prevail today in society. Do we have the courage to confront these questions?

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The Mystery of the Unrecognised Christ


Everything begins with forgiveness. Authentic life begins the minute we are able to forgive and receive forgiveness. Until then, all is theory and talk. The key moment on the Cross was when Jesus looked out at the soldiers and crowd and spoke the words, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.” Our salvation was sealed at that moment. Everything that comes after that, including 2,000 years of church history, is just footnote to those words Jesus spoke on the Cross.

But most of us don’t know that we are forgiven, and we go through life lurching from day to day, bouncing back and forth from one professional help to another, from one religious expert to another.

So I like to describe Lent this year as our voyage of discovery, the discovery that we are forgiven. But also the discovery of what we do with our forgiveness. How does it affect our lives, our attitudes and actions? This is what I want to explore in this series of Lenten sermons that I’m calling Emmaus Walk. Many years ago I was doing a 15 or 20-minute teaching every Sunday morning between the end of Matins and the beginning of Liturgy. I called it Emmaus Walk, a preparation for encountering the risen Christ at the Liturgy.

The series of sermons I’m now calling Emmaus Walk will take us to Easter. But along the way I want to discover together with you the Christ who is walking with us every step of the way.

Do you remember the Emmaus story in the Gospel of Luke? Here is the first half of the story as Luke tells it (chapter 24, beginning at verse 13):

That very day two of them were going to a village named Emma′us, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognising him. And he said to them, “What is this conversation which you are holding with each other as you walk?” And they stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, named Cle′opas, answered him, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” And he said to them, “What things?” And they said to him, “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since this happened. Moreover, some women of our company amazed us. They were at the tomb early in the morning and did not find his body; and they came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb, and found it just as the women had said; but him they did not see.”

The scene describes where most of us are most of the time. We have heard about Jesus Christ. We have listened to many Gospel readings in the Liturgy. We hear some of our friends and relatives talking with great conviction about Jesus, how their faith in him has transformed their lives. We go to church regularly, we follow some traditions handed down by our mothers or grandmothers. But we don’t quite know how to put it all together. We don’t know quite what to make of this Jesus Christ and all the talk about him. We don’t know why we follow certain traditions or how to pass them on to our children or grandchildren who have a different approach to life and who don’t worry about the same things we worry about. We begin to have doubts ourselves. Maybe it is all a myth after all. 

That’s where Cleopas and his unnamed companion were on that Sunday afternoon long ago. (And by the way, why does the second, unnamed disciple have to be another man? Why couldn’t it have been a woman, as the beautiful but very unusual – very “un-Orthodox” – icon on the right imagines?) They had seen Jesus die on the Cross, they were deeply troubled by how things ended, they are confused and sad. They saw all their hopes disappear on the Cross. But now they hear that some women had found the tomb empty. They keep walking, not knowing what to make of it all.

Only one person can explain it to them – Jesus himself. He joins them in their walk, but they don’t recognise him. Perhaps his appearance was different after the resurrection? What happens after he joins them we’ll explore in the next few sermons.

Only Jesus can satisfy our questions, our doubts. And he does come to us. We don’t recognise him, because he comes to us as one of the least of his brothers and sisters as we heard last week in our Gospel reading (Matthew 25:31-46). Very often the answers we need at a particular moment come from the most unexpected persons. This is the mystery of the unrecognised Jesus.

The mystery of the unrecognised Christ is all around us. We just need to open our minds and hearts to see it and hear it. Christ is with us – usually in the least expected places and persons. We might see him in the person we forgive or who forgives us. We might hear his wisdom from the mouth of a child. We might understand his Cross in a tragedy such as the one in Florida this past week. Everything is a mystery of his presence, his unrecognised presence.


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An Ash Wednesday of Sin and Horror

Among the most poignant scenes from yesterday’s carnage in the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School yesterday were grieving and anxious parents with ashes on their forehead. Yesterday, of course, was Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent for Roman Catholics and Episcopalians. This is how the website summarizes the meaning of Ash Wednesday: Roman Catholic churches of the Latin Rite use this service to prepare church members to better appreciate the death and resurrection of Christ through self-examination, repentance, prayer, fasting, and self-denial. Ashes from the burned palms of the preceding year’s Palm Sunday are blessed. With these ashes, the priest marks a cross on the foreheads of worshipers, saying, “Remember, man, that dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return” (Genesis 3:19 KJV). Besides showing sorrow for their sins, those who honor Ash Wednesday add an additional meaning; the need to prepare for a holy death.

Yesterday was indeed a day of huge sin and a horrible encounter with death. So many young lives, full of promise and energy, cut down by the bullets of one angry, hate-filled youth! The images of parents with ashes on their foreheads were a blunt reminder that we are very much a human race that is still sunk in sin, despite the salvation and grace that God poured upon us through the death and resurrection of his Son. Lent is the time in which we prepare to confront the death and resurrection of Christ every year. But Christ told us last Sunday that he is in every one of the least of his brothers and sisters, and what we do to the least of his brothers and sisters we do unto him. It was Christ who was murdered yesterday in those 17 lives. Not just a liturgical commemoration of his death this time; but an actual, dark reminder that we live in a death-culture society. Yes, I’m sorry if that strikes some of you as an exaggeration or unnecessarily pessimistic, but there is no other word for it that I can think of. We are a death-culture society!

Death has become a constant in our society: Gun deaths, terrorist deaths, drug-induced deaths, poverty-driven deaths, refugee deaths, unborn deaths, environmental death and deaths…and the death of morality, of civic responsibility, of communication, of accountable political leadership…Need I go on? Flags at half mast. Have you noticed how many times flags are at half mast every year? Yes, half mast. It doesn’t cost anything to fly flags at half mast. A sign of national humility? Perhaps. But the arrogance comes right back up a few days later. And the forgetfulness. We shrug our shoulders and move on – until the next round of bullets at a school or at a concert or a party or a troubled home. Nothing changes, except the statistics which become more brutal every year. Second Amendment they say. I can assure you that the Founding Fathers of this nation never envisaged a future such as ours or weapons such as ours in the hands of teenagers and people with mental problems.

Talk about gun deaths in this country and you’ll be criticised for now getting “political”. “Political” – a nice label people resort to when they don’t want to confront reality. I weep with those parents with ashes – and the many others without ashes – in Parkland, Florida. I wish the Orthodox Church had an Ash Wednesday to start Lent. Every year, it’s becoming more and more clear that there are forces that aim to foreshorten human life and to return us to dust and ashes prematurely. Let’s make this Lent a time not for self-improvement and weight loss, but a time for reaching out to this death culture to transform it in any small way we can. Make this Lent a time to reach out to anyone who is troubled, to someone who is alone and needs the human touch, a kind word, a positive vision of life. Although I’m pessimistic about the death culture around us, I’m very optimistic about our power to transform it. Let’s make this Lent a time of resurrection power in the midst of sin and death.

Agape and Shalom to you today.

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The “God is with us” Judgment


I’ve always been puzzled and somewhat amused by the choice of readings on this Meatfare Sunday. And by the way, that is a terrible English version of the Greek name for this Sunday: Κυριακή της Απόκρεω. Apokreo means “from meat”; in other words, leave-taking of meat, saying goodbye to meat! “Meatfare Sunday” almost sounds like a Sunday dedicated to celebrating meat!

The Epistle reading for this Sunday was presumably chosen by monks because of Paul’s line about not eating meat. But Paul’s statement has nothing to do with Lenten fasting! As always, it’s the context that we fail to recognize. It was customary in Corinth at that time to sell meat in the marketplace that had been offered in the pagan temples. So many Christians in Corinth were offended to see a fellow Christian eating such meat. Paul had no qualms about eating such meat, but if it meant that weak Christians would be offended (scandalized), he would give up meat. “Therefore, if food would cause my brother or sister to fall, I will never eat meat, lest I cause my brother or sister to fall.” Paul’s concern is for the other, for the brother or sister, and this text is the opposite of the usual Lenten focus on my own spiritual condition. The Epistle and Gospel today tell us that the focus is the other, the brother and sister. And that is the real meaning of Lent. The message is the exact opposite of the self-righteous, self-absorbed, finger-pointing Christianity that comes so easily to us.

Matthew’s Gospel is the “God with us” Gospel… Emmanuel

Michelangelo’s famous rendition of the Last Judgment in the Sistine Chapel. (click to enlarge)

If God is with us, how can life go on as usual? This is Matthew’s overall message. God is with us and nothing can be the same again. And yet Jesus near the end of his earthly ministry told his disciples, “the poor you will always have with you.” The poor will always be among us as a challenge, as the fulcrum for judgment. The Parable of the Sheep and Goats is the “God is with us” judgment.

Poverty is unacceptable to God. It is unacceptable because God created everything to be good. God created a world, a universe, that is abundant in all the necessities of life. I believe that before long, life will be discovered in other parts of the universe. I believe I will live to see proof that there is other life in the universe. And that will only show yet again that God is the God of abundance – not only here on our earth, but throughout the universe.

God’s purpose for us is to have life and have it abundantly. Those were Jesus’ words. So when people, God’s children, are denied the necessities of life, it is tragedy and sin beyond measure.

The parable about the hungry and thirsty, the naked, the stranger, the sick and the prisoner, is Jesus’ final teaching! It was his final parable. The very next words Matthew wrote after this parable are these:

When Jesus had finished saying all these things, he said to his disciples, “You know that after two days the Passover is coming, and the Son of Man will be handed over to be crucified.”

Then the chief priests and the elders of the people gathered in the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas, and they conspired to arrest Jesus by stealth and kill him. But they said, “Not during the festival, or there may be a riot among the people.” (Matthew 26:1-5)

The parable was indeed the beginning of the end for Jesus. But did you notice the beginning of the parable?

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats…..

The parable is aimed at nations, entire societies. In chapter 16 of Ezekiel, God accuses Israel of “pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but [you] did not aid the poor and needy.”

Does that mean we are not judged individually? No, we are judged as individuals, but also as members of a nation, a society. What are the nation’s priorities? How do our personal priorities fit in? Is it hard to clothe the naked, to welcome a stranger, a homeless person into your home? Is it hard to visit a prison? And by the way, all English translations say “stranger” in this parable. But the Greek word is ξένος, which more accurately means foreigner, alien. All the things Jesus lists in this parable are difficult for most of us. But are they too difficult for a society, a nation? God says, No – there is no excuse for a nation to neglect the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the sick, the foreigner! No excuse.

But wait, what about the church? We are a society. Jesus placed the church in the world not to massage our egos, but to enable us as a group, as a community, to do what we can’t do as individuals or as a nation. Can’t we as a church do the things Jesus speaks in this parable? Can’t we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give shelter to the homeless, visit the sick and the prisoner?

Why are we not more involved in soup kitchens? Why are we not out there advocating for the homeless and the refugees? Why do we call the poor lazy? Surely we can find ways to fulfill Jesus’ commands? Surely he is not asking us to do the impossible. Take something like ministry to prisoners. While it may be much harder to visit prisoners now than it was centuries, or perhaps even decades, ago, a ministry to prisoners is within the ability of every church. I remember many years ago Eula Chrissikos, despite her severe physical disability, used to visit regularly a prisoner at the state penitentiary, a man who was serving a life sentence for murder. I went along with her on one or two of her visits.

The church is capable of many things, but not so that we leave a calling card behind everything we do, so we receive thanks. Not to us, Lord, not to us the glory or the thanks. When, Lord, when did we see you naked or in prison? This is not a parable to depress us, but to challenge us to new faith. Every year we read this a week before Lent begins to remind us that Lent is not about our needs, but the needs of people around us. We are on a journey to Easter, but on this journey we encounter the other – whoever the other happens to be.


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The Truth About Repentance


I read an incredible story in the Washington Post.  A man is trying to get his son’s death sentence commuted to life. What was the son’s crime? He conspired with two other men to kill his parents and his brother! The mother and brother were killed and the father barely survived. The father forgave his son from the beginning, and is now begging the governor of Texas to commute his son’s death sentence. In many ways it reminds me of the Gospel parable of the prodigal son.

It’s a story of sin, self-awareness, love and repentance.  Who is more prodigal, the son in his sinfulness or the father in his forbearance and love? I’ve asked that question in other sermons in the past, and my answers is of course the father, he’s the real prodigal in this story, and he reflects the prodigal, excessive love of God the Father and his Son our Lord Jesus Christ. One could even call Jesus the prodigal son of his Father. Prodigal in love, humility and self-sacrifice.

We read this parable every year as part of the church’s preparation for Lent. But the monks, who over a thousand years ago decided what Gospel readings we would read at the Liturgy, got it wrong. This is a story of repentance, but not the kind of repentance monks preach.

I turn to Romans 2:1-4 for a particularly enlightening passage:

Therefore you have no excuse, whoever you are, when you judge others; for in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, are doing the very same things. You say, “We know that God’s judgment on those who do such things is in accordance with truth.” Do you imagine, whoever you are, that when you judge those who do such things and yet do them yourself, you will escape the judgment of God? Or do you despise the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience? Do you not realize that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?

Focus on that last statement: Do you not realize that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance? This question strikes me as the key we have ignored. We are taught by church tradition that repentance is about us grovelling to God and begging for forgiveness, which God then gives to us because he is kind and loving. Paul says it’s the other way around: It’s God’s kindness and goodness that leads us to repent! A very crucial difference, in my opinion.

Paul didn’t use the word μετάνοια very often in his letters, probably because he was very aware how people are prone to take it legalistically, which is precisely the way it has been taken for most of church history. Paul uses the word here in Romans and in only two other places:

2 Cor 7:9-10 Now I rejoice, not because you were grieved, but because your grief led to repentance; for you felt a godly grief, so that you were not harmed in any way by us. For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation and brings no regret, but worldly grief produces death. Crucial contrast: ἡ γὰρ κατὰ θεὸν λύπη…ἡ δὲ τοῦ κόσμου λύπη.

2 Tim 2:25 And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but kindly to everyone, an apt teacher, patient, correcting opponents with gentleness. God may perhaps grant them repentance so they may come to knowledge of the truth.

So Paul basically says that two things lead to repentance: God’s kindness and the grief that comes from God κατὰ θεὸν. The only repentance that has any chance of producing genuine faith is the repentance that arises from God’s kindness and the grief that God plants in our souls. It is not repentance that we manufacture in ourselves in order to bargain with God.

What kind of repentance did the prodigal son experience in the parable? He was hungry, he missed being in his father’s home where he could eat anything and as much as he wanted. “But when he came to himself,” Luke tells us, he decided to return home. He came to himself, εἰς ἑαυτὸν δὲ ἐλθὼν. That’s not repentance; that’s just awareness of how hungry he was and how well fed he was at his father’s home!

He goes home, speaking his well rehearsed speech – as a form of bargaining – to his father, who doesn’t even listen to it. The father is not interested in grovelling and long speeches. He has been waiting in love and ready to pour all his kindness on his son. He doesn’t even say I forgive you. He is all kindness and love. And it is here, I believe, that repentance happened in the son, although the parable says nothing more about him. I bet he also experienced that godly grief that Paul wrote about. It’s left to us to picture the scene and what transformation happened in the soul of that young son. The older son objects to the easy way the father took his son back, and the father teaches him also the ways of God.

This is repentance, dear friends: To receive the love and kindness of God. Let the kindness of God lead you to repentance. If Lent this year does nothing else than reveal the kindness of God it will be a transformational. time. Let it begin here at the Liturgy, where God waits to embrace us and clothe us with love and mercy and the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ.

AFTERWORD: A friend told me about a Fresh Air story he heard this morning on NPR. It concerns a white supremacist who changed his ways because of the kindness that was shown him by people that he targeted with his racism. It is a perfect example of kindness leading to repentance! Here are his own words:

What it came down to was receiving compassion from the people that I least deserved it [from], when I least deserved it. Just before I left the movement, I opened a record store to sell white-power music that I was importing from all over the world. In fact, I was one of the only stores in the United States that was selling this music. And I also knew that to stay in the community and get their support I would have to sell other music. So I started to sell punk-rock music and heavy metal and hip-hop and when the customers came in to buy that music, who were often African-American, or Jewish, or gay, at first I was very standoffish, but they kept coming back.

The community, even though it’s Chicago, everybody knew what I was doing, everybody knew how hateful I was and how violent I was, but these customers came in despite that. And over time I started to have meaningful interactions with them, for the first time in my life.

In fact, I had never in my life engaged in a meaningful dialogue with the people that I thought I hated, and it was these folks who showed me empathy when I least deserved it, and they were the ones that I least deserved it from. I started to recognize that I had more in common with them than the people I had surrounded myself for eight years with — that these people, that I thought I hated, took it upon themselves to see something inside of me that I didn’t even see myself, and it was because of that connection that I was able to humanize them and that destroyed the demonization and the prejudice that was happening inside of me.