Uncategorized 7 - St. Paul Antiochian Orthodox Church

Don't Fast

February 21, 2013 By St. Paul Emmaus

Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee, February 5, 2012
Rev. Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

This coming week is the week when we don’t fast.

This may well come as a surprise to some folks, as we Orthodox can be known—even among us Orthodox—as the Christians who fast, observe all kinds of feast days, practice complex piety, have head-spinning formulas for calculating Easter, use a vast array of odd and foreign-sounding titles for clergy, and so on. But this is the week when we don’t fast.

This probably comes as a bit of a shock, really. It would not be at all controversial to say that Orthodoxy is really the only kind of Christianity in our country that actually takes fasting seriously, such that nearly half the days on our calendar are fasting days. Certain other groups nod their heads to the idea of fasting or pay some lip service to it, and a few members within those groups might take it seriously, but Orthodoxy really is the only significant group of Christians in America who have a centuries-old tradition of giving up all animal products on a regular and consistent basis. But this is the week when we don’t fast.

In fact, the tradition of the Church is not that fasting becomes optional this week, but that it’s actually forbidden. Don’t fast.

What does this mean? Here we are, humming along normally, fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays, and Great Lent is about to start in just a few weeks, and then the Church says, “For the next week, don’t fast”?

Anyone who has ever tried to understand the Orthodox Christian faith in any sense more than the purely superficial has discovered that, once in a while, the Church throws a curve ball like this. There is something that somehow doesn’t fit the expected method. Why is this?

It is to make the point that doing everything “right” isn’t what makes you a Christian. And of course, fasting is one of those “right” things that we as Orthodox Christians do. Now, don’t get me wrong. The point of this fast-free week is certainly not to say that fasting is wrong. After all, Lent is, indeed, coming, and fasting is the first thing most of us think of when it comes to Lent (though of course we should first think of more worship!). And in the New Testament Jesus clearly expects those who follow Him to fast (Matt. 6:16-18, 9:15, 17:21, etc.). Fasting is an excellent tool. But we’re keeping that tool in the toolbox this week.

The point of our not fasting this week is the point that is being made by this Gospel we hear today, the Gospel of the Publican and Pharisee. The Pharisees, of course, are the “model” Jews of their day. They’re so serious about piety that they actually take the time to tithe from the spices in their cupboard. The Pharisee do everything right. And today’s Pharisee knows it. He thanks God for it.

But the Publican, this tax collector, does everything wrong. He is hated by those around him. He steals from them. He collaborates with the Romans. He is a traitor to his people. But he is the one whom Jesus says goes home “justified,” a word that means “righteous.” He is the one who goes home having been changed by God into a truly righteous person. The Pharisee doesn’t get that.

Now, I know that some of you hear this and think, “What do publicans and pharisees have to do with me? Why should I want to be ‘justified’ or ‘righteous’?” And some of you may be thinking, “What does this have to do with the New York Giants and the New England Patriots?” I’ll let you work that one out, but if you’re wondering what publicans and pharisees have to do with you, there is an answer.

The most basic question that someone either inside or outside a church should ask himself when considering his involvement in the Church is, “Why should I be here?” That’s an excellent question, and we all probably need to ask it of ourselves more often. This question goes to the heart of what the parable of the Publican and Pharisee is all about.

You are probably well aware that there are people who are involved in the life of various churches who, just like the Pharisee, do everything “right.” But somehow, when you deal with them personally, they don’t really remind you of the One Whom they say they’re worshiping. They’re not like Jesus. So if you ask them why they’re in church, they may well say something about wanting to get to Heaven, but deep down, their hearts just aren’t in it. In fact, they may be downright mean. They may always try to get their way. They may try to control things. They may expect to be praised publicly. They may even just be here for show.

But then, there are the Publicans—people who are probably not admired, probably not the “star” church member, probably not the first person people mention when they think of a fine, upstanding member of the community. And yet, they are like Jesus. Their hearts are soft. They don’t constantly have something to complain about, but are grateful for what they have. They aren’t always looking for something to gossip about, but are ready to say good things about others. They don’t really want to be in charge of anything, but they’re ready to serve (or even not serve) in whatever way they’re asked.

So you have to ask yourself which one you are. You have to ask yourself why you’re here. If you’re here because you’re expected to be here, then you’re being the Pharisee. If you’re here because you want to be here, you’re being the Publican. If you focus on doing what’s expected, but no more, you’re the Pharisee. If you focus on doing as much as you can and always looking for ways to do more, you’re the Publican. If you will only serve the way you want to serve, you’re the Pharisee. If you’re ready to serve in whatever way is needed and asked of you, you’re the Publican.

What’s the difference between these two men? The Pharisee is full of pride. He wants to do things only his own way. But the Publican is humble. He’s ready to do whatever it takes, even if it’s not comfortable, even if it’s embarrassing, even if it means admitting to everyone that he’s a sinner.

Deep down, the reason we all come to church—both the Publicans and the Pharisees—is because we want forgiveness for our sins. But the Pharisees don’t think they have any sins, not any they’re really ready to deal with, so while they may ask for forgiveness, while they may say “No, I’m not perfect,” they just think of forgiveness as a sort of ticket to Heaven, a kind of insurance policy. But because their hearts are not really in it, they’re not ready to receive what God is trying to give them.

The Publicans, on the other hand, don’t just say, “I’m not perfect.” They really know it. They really confess it. They bring it to their confessor and want to deal with it. Of course they’re humble, because they know they don’t deserve to be here, to be in the presence of the holy and perfect God. And because they’re humble, they’re ready to receive what God is ready to give them.

This Gospel has everything to do with you. It aims at the very center of why you’re here. Ask yourself today whether your heart is really here, whether you’re really giving your heart to God. Really. Ask yourself that right now.

Now, if you instantly answered yourself, “Yes, of course!” then I would like to suggest to you that you may be here as a Pharisee. Why? Because you took the question as an accusation. And when you hear something as an accusation, you’re hearing it with pride. You’re not ready to be taught. You don’t actually see yourself as the “chief of sinners” (I Tim. 1:15).

But if you answered yourself with, “You know, I’m not really sure” or “I don’t think I’m really giving my heart to God,” then you’re here as the Publican. You’ve seen at least a little of your heart, and you know that, even if you have given some to God, there’s still a lot more to go.

Whichever you may be—and you may be one today and the other tomorrow—know this: Christ our true God loves you just as you are. He loves you and is ready to forgive you. He is ready to welcome you into His house here in this earthly life and into the great Temple of Heaven in the next. It doesn’t matter who you are. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter what you look like, what your name is, where you were born, how much money you have, and certainly not whether you know how to do all the “religious” stuff “right.”

So how do you receive this great gift? Give your heart. It’s the only way. The gift of God’s forgiveness really is free, but it can’t be received if you keep your heart to yourself. You have to give it. If you’re serious with yourself, you’ll know when you’ve done that. And I promise you’ll never regret it.

To God therefore be all glory, honor and worship, to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

Beneath the Veil

January 28, 2013 By St. Paul Emmaus

Thirty-First Sunday after Pentecost (Feast of St. John Chrysostom), January 27, 2013
The Rev. Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick

A recording of this sermon is available via Ancient Faith Radio.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

Today is one of the feasts of St. John Chrysostom, the compiler and editor of the tradition of our primary Divine Liturgy. On this day, we celebrate the recovery of his relics, when his body was brought back to Constantinople from the place of exile where he had died. Because of his importance to the Church, our epistle reading today is not the normal one assigned for this Thirty-First Sunday after Pentecost but is rather the one appointed for the feast of Chrysostom.

The epistle meditates on the theme of the priesthood of Christ, which since the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost is the only true priesthood that is at work among mankind. This theme is appointed for Chrysostom’s feast and subsequently for most feasts of sainted bishops, for whom Chrysostom’s feast in November provides a basic liturgical template. When we are celebrating a holy bishop, we naturally think about the priesthood, and therefore, because the priesthood of the bishop and of his presbyters is not their own, we consider the priesthood of Christ.

With that in mind, today I would like us to consider a particular aspect of the priesthood and how it works itself out in our worship. It is probably something that we don’t think too much about but I believe is worthy of our attention. And what is that? It is veiling.

If you think about it, there’s a lot of veiling going on in our services. One of the things people who first encounter an iconostasis may think is, “What’s going on back there?” The placing of a veil over something invites questions. It invites wonder. Just what is being covered? Why?

Before we think too deeply about the answers to those questions, let’s first draw our attention to some of the many places that veiling takes place in Orthodox Christian tradition. We have already mentioned the iconostasis, this wall of iconography which as it has developed is deliberately difficult to see through, and in some traditions has its doors closed quite often. But let’s think of some other veils in our architecture.

First, the fact that we have our church services in a building is itself a kind of veil. It is not only to protect us from the elements but rather to cover what is occurring inside here. There is also a veil separating the narthex from the nave, the place where you are now seated. In some ancient churches, that veil was literally a veil—that is, a curtain. Here, it is a wall with doors that are usually kept closed.

Now let’s think about some other kinds of veiling. The clergy and altar servers do not wear ordinary clothing to celebrate the divine services. Rather, they are veiled for this worship, drawing our attention away from their normal appearance and covering them up. And clergy and monastics are permanently veiled, not wearing ordinary clothing most of the time at all but veiled in black.

During the Divine Liturgy, the bread and the wine remain veiled for much of the service, beginning at the Proskomedia which the clergy celebrate privately (another kind of veiling!) to prepare the gifts before the Liturgy. They are also veiled when they are brought through the congregation at the Great Entrance, and then they remain veiled until the time of the Creed. And finally they are veiled again after we partake of Holy Communion.

There are also some other veilings that may occur to us. A newly-baptized Christian is veiled in a white robe immediately after baptism. Holy relics are placed in beautiful reliquaries, not just to protect them but also to veil them. The bodies of our departed in Christ are veiled in coffins and then finally in the ground, and a priest or bishop’s face is veiled in his coffin throughout his funeral and then in the burial itself. That same veil which covers the face of a deceased priest is the one that covers the Eucharistic bread and wine in the liturgy, and it is also placed over the head of a man who is about to be ordained as a deacon.

Other veilings that may not be as obvious as veils are the incense that we use in many of our services which veils the altar area or sometimes the whole nave, including those worshiping within it. The music sung by our choir and chanters also functions as a veil as when, for instance, they sing “We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee…” while the priest quietly prays the prayers of consecration over the bread and wine. And indeed, the quietness of many of the prayers said in the altar is itself a kind of veiling.

There are even other veilings that may perhaps be less obvious. The apostolic tradition of women covering the heads in prayer is certainly a kind of veiling, as is our general cultural feeling that women’s bodies are to be kept more covered than men’s. But of course all of us keep ourselves covered, so we are all veiled in one way or another.

And as we sang this morning in the apolytikion for the resurrection: “While the stone was sealed by the Jews and the soldiers were guarding Thy most pure body, Thou didst arise on the third day, O Savior, granting life to the world.” The tomb where the Resurrection happened was sealed and the very moment when Life Himself came back to life was veiled. No mortal eyes saw what took place there in that grave. There are probably more examples we could think of.

So what are we to make of all this? What’s the point of all this veiling, all this covering up, shrouding and keeping things hidden? And what does this have to do with the meaning of the priesthood?

One of the most basic meanings we have as human persons is that there is something special, something sacred about that which is hidden, that which is kept from public view. Of course this finds its fullest expression in our religious sensibilities, but it also finds its way into popular culture, as well—how many adventure films or video games or novels are there in which the main focus of the story is to find something that is hidden, something that is lost, something that is veiled in mystery and secrecy?

A veil therefore communicates to us that there is something special, something higher, something mysterious about what is being covered. It is sacred. It is precious. It is not proper that it should be subjected to the openness characteristic of what is common. Is that not an element of the priesthood? Our Lord Jesus came to point us to that which is hidden, to the great mystery of the universe, and those who participate in His priesthood, whether it is the ordained clergy or all who have been baptized into Christ, also participate in this veiling, in showing that there is something great and glorious that is hidden beneath a veil.

And what is it that is being veiled? We have already mentioned many things that are veiled, but the ultimate mystery, the mystery that gives all other precious things their own mystery, is nothing other than the presence of God Himself. Invisible, ineffable, incomprehensible, ageless, mysterious, hidden from our eyes, inaccessible to our reason, hinted at by all our deepest desires and intuitions, yet still beyond the veil, beyond our sight. What is hidden beyond the veil? It is God.

And here is the astounding, astonishing thing: a veil has two functions. We have been discussing the first, that it keeps something hidden and therefore communicates to us its mystery and its power. But the veil communicates something else when it is taken away. When something is unveiled, what we see is revelation. Indeed, the very word in Greek for “revelation” is apokalypsis, from which we get our English word apocalypse, and its literal meaning is “unveiling.”

In the Christian’s experience of the Holy Trinity, God is for us both veiled and unveiled. His Essence—Who He is in Himself—remains eternally veiled for us, because we cannot comprehend the uncreated God, being created, finite, limited and mortal as we are. Yet His Energies—His active working in this world—are unveiled for us most especially by the coming of Christ but also in many resultant ways, particularly in the activity of His priesthood in this world.

So we therefore come to this holy place of veiling, and indeed, we see that which is precious and mysterious veiled in so many ways in our lives. And our Lord Jesus in His great high priesthood, also comes precisely to remove the veil, to reveal God to us. In the veil of His human flesh lies the great mystery of the Godhead. And when we receive Him, when we are baptized into Him, when we partake of His Body and His Blood, the God Who is veiled becomes known to us.

To our hidden and yet known God therefore be all glory, honor and worship, to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

This is Theophany

January 11, 2013 By St. Paul Emmaus

Holy Theophany, January 6, 2013
The Rev. Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick

A recording of this sermon is available via Ancient Faith Radio.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

If Christmas is that moment when the Creator of the universe arrives on the scene to reclaim the territory stolen from Him by Satan, then Theophany is the first all-out assault on the powers of darkness. So why isn’t Theophany a much bigger blip on the radar of Christians today?

In a 2009 survey by the Barna Group, who do research on faith and culture, it was found that 59% of American Christians agreed with the statement “Satan is not a living being but is a symbol of evil.” Most Christians in America do not believe that Satan is a real, personal being. Perhaps even more shockingly, almost the same number (58%) believe that the Holy Spirit is “a symbol of God’s power or presence” but “not a living entity.”

These attitudes may partially explain why Theophany isn’t a big deal to many American Christians. The voice of the Father speaks from the Heavens, the Holy Spirit descends in the form of a dove on the Son of God being baptized. The Holy Trinity is trampling down the influence of Satan and his demons in a public, powerful way. But if you don’t really believe in the Holy Spirit and you don’t really believe in Satan, then, well… so what? We just had Christmas, right? What’s the big deal about Jesus getting baptized?

To understand this remarkable feast, a feast which by liturgical standards is second only to Pascha and outranks Christmas, and to understand why it seems to make so little impact on so many, we have to take a look inside what’s really going on here. We have to ask some big questions about creation and redemption, about what happened to the creation and what it’s being redeemed from and how Theophany accomplishes that.

If you came to Great Vespers last night and listened to the first of the thirteen Old Testament readings, you were brought back to the very beginning of it all, the moment when God created everything. You listened to the first thirteen verses of the book of Genesis, which describe the first three days of creation, including the creation of light and darkness, the beginning of time, the creation and separation of the waters on the earth from the land, and finally the creation of the plants.

Creation’s first moments are elemental and primal, the very beginning of everything we know and experience. And what is present there at that first beginning, the beginning of all beginnings? Earth, water, light and darkness. It is the most basic, most foundational stuff of the physical universe, and it is God Who brings them into being. Later revelation would illuminate mankind that the Holy Trinity’s creation of this world was in and through the Son of God, Who would become incarnate of the Virgin Mary in the fullness of time.

So in the Son of God, we have to see not only the heroic Savior Who comes to rescue mankind but also the sovereign Creator, through Whom and by Whom and for Whom the creation was made. This place is His. He made it. And so when it came time for the Holy Trinity to express the ultimate in divine love for the creation, it is the Son of God Who becomes incarnate—that is, He becomes created while yet remaining uncreated. He takes on createdness into His uncreated Person.

When Adam and Eve sin, the design that the Creator had given to the creation is rejected by our primordial parents, and the creation instead is subjected through them to another design, the design of Satan, communicated initially to Eve by the snake who successfully tempts her and through her, Adam himself. Mankind was designed to be creation’s priest, mediating between the creation and the Creator to keep the creation in harmony with the Creator. But when Adam and Eve subject themselves to Satan’s design rather than God’s, their intimacy with creation also subjects the whole of creation to this new design—and it is not the design of freedom and beauty and creativity and holiness that God gave it, but of the slavery and and ugliness and selfishness and mindless tediousness of Satan.

That is why when the Son of God arrives in creation as part of creation by becoming a man, that moment is nothing less than the arrival of conqueror Who has come to take back what is His own, with all the fierce love and desire that only come when a man defends his homeland and his family from a domineering invader. We are not only His family—His children, His brothers and sisters and friends, but this Earth is also His own land, His own place that He created and saw both beautiful and good from the beginning.

So this brings us to Theophany. With the great feasts of the Annunciation and the Nativity of Christ, we have established the Incarnation—that the Son of God, the second Person of the Trinity, has become truly a man—and in the great feast of Theophany, we see the Incarnate God begin His reclamation of the very universe itself. He comes to be baptized today not to fulfill a Jewish ritual or to draw attention to John the Baptist, but to bring His holiness in contact with the elemental, primal stuff of creation—earth and water, swirling about in that muddy Jordan River—and to imbue them with His own presence, with His own divine energy, His own holiness.

And it is from the blessing of that water that the blessing now goes out. Its primary purpose is to begin the re-creation of mankind, to baptize humanity so that we might also put on Christ. Christ is baptized to begin Christian baptism. He enters into the water to put into it what we now receive when we enter into it. And how does He accomplish this? It is done because of Who He is, but it is also with the voice of the Father and the descent of the Holy Spirit.

This is why this feast is called Theophany, a word meaning “the appearance of God,” because here for the first time in the history of time itself are the Father, Son and Holy Spirit made plain to the creation. Here we find the very fountain of all of our prayers, both for our own souls and bodies and for the blessing of all the material creation. Christ entered into the water so that water could again become what it was destined to be from the beginning—the means of communicating God’s presence to this world.

And so from today this water will go out. This water will go out to baptize the nations. This water will go out to bless your homes. This water will go out to heal the sick. This water will go out to bring blessing and sanctification to every corner of creation, carried there by those who have become the very extension of the Incarnation of the Son of God—you and me, brothers and sisters! It is we who carry this holy water throughout the creation to reclaim it from Satan, to rip it away from bondage to our enemy, to renew it all again in the energy and power and life of the Holy Spirit, by the Word of the Father, the Word of God Who has become flesh and dwelt among us.

This is the meaning of Theophany. If at Christ’s Nativity we are introduced to the great Captain of our holy hosts of people who bear within them the Resurrection, then it is at Theophany that He leads us into that great cosmic battle.

And it is a battle. We cannot afford to take this lightly. We cannot afford to try to tame this and domesticate this and “fit” it somewhere “into” our lives. This is our life. This is our only hope. We fight this battle for our eternal souls. We fight this battle for our wives and husbands and parents and children and brothers and sisters and friends. We fight this battle for the whole of the universe, for the whole cosmic order, to bring everything—not just this one place, this one room—but everything, every little thing, every great thing and everything in between back into harmony with the One Who created us and loved us from the beginning.

This is Theophany. This is the beginning. As many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ. You have put on Christ. You know what to do.

To Him therefore be all glory, honor, power and worship, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

Theophany Sermon of St. Gregory the Wonderworker

January 7, 2013 By St. Paul Emmaus

St. Gregory the Wonderworker ("Thaumaturgus"), ca. 213-270 — St. Gregory the Wonderworker (“Thaumaturgus”), ca. 213-270

On the Holy Theophany, or on Christ’s Baptism

O ye who are the friends of Christ, and the friends of the stranger, and the friends of the brethren, receive in kindness my speech to-day, and open your ears like the doors of hearing, and admit within them my discourse, and accept from me this saving proclamation of the baptism of Christ, which took place in the river Jordan, in order that your loving desires may be quickened after the Lord, who has done so much for us in the way of condescension. For even though the festival of the Epiphany of the Saviour is past, the grace of the same yet abides with us through all. Let us therefore enjoy it with insatiable minds; for insatiate desire is a good thing in the case of what pertains to salvation—yea, it is a good thing.

Come therefore, all of us, from Galilee to Judea, and let us go forth with Christ; for blessed is he who journeys in such company on the way of life. Come, and with the feet of thought let us make for the Jordan, and see John the Baptist as he baptizes One who needs no baptism, and yet submits to the rite in order that He may bestow freely upon us the grace of baptism. Come, let us view the image of our regeneration, as it is emblematically presented in these waters.

“Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him.” O how vast is the humility of the Lord! O how vast His condescension! The King of the heavens hastened to John, His own forerunner, without setting in motion the camps of His angels, without despatching beforehand the incorporeal powers as His precursors; but presenting Himself in utmost simplicity, in soldier-like form, He comes up to His own subordinate. And He approached him as one of the multitude, and humbled Himself among the captives though He was the Redeemer, and ranged Himself with those under judgment though He was the Judge, and joined Himself with the lost sheep though He was the Good Shepherd who on account of the straying sheep came down from heaven, and yet did not forsake His heavens, and was mingled with the tares though He was that heavenly grain that springs unsown.

And when the Baptist John then saw Him, recognising Him whom before in his mother’s womb he had recognised and worshipped, and discerning clearly that this was He on whose account, in a manner surpassing the natural time, he had leaped in the womb of his mother, in violation of the limits of nature, he drew his right hand within his double cloak, and bowing his head like a servant full of love to his master, addressed Him in these words: I have need to be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me? What is this Thou doest, my Lord? Why dost Thou reverse the order of things? Why seekest Thou along with the servants, at the hand of Thy servant, the things that are proper to servants? Why dost Thou desire to receive what Thou requirest not? Why dost Thou burden me, Thy servitor, with Thy mighty condescension? I have need to be baptized of Thee, but Thou hast no need to be baptized of me. The less is blessed by the greater, and the greater is not blessed and sanctified by the less. The light is kindled by the sun, and the sun is not made to shine by the rush-lamp. The clay is wrought by the potter, and the potter is not moulded by the clay. The creature is made anew by the Creator, and the Creator is not restored by the creature. The infirm is healed by the physician, and the physician is not cured by the infirm. The poor man receives contributions from the rich, and the rich borrow not from the poor.

I have need to be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me? Can I be ignorant who Thou art, and from what source Thou hast Thy light, and whence Thou art come? Or, because Thou hast been born even as I have been, am I, then, to deny the greatness of Thy divinity? Or, because Thou hast condescended so far to me as to have approached my body, and dost bear me wholly in Thyself in order to effect the salvation of the whole man, am I, on account of that body of Thine which is seen, to overlook that divinity of Thine which is only apprehended? Or, because on behalf of my salvation Thou hast taken to Thyself the offering of my first-fruits, am I to ignore the fact that Thou “coverest Thyself with light as with a garment?” Or, because Thou wearest the flesh that is related to me, and dost show Thyself to men as they are able to see Thee, am I to forget the brightness of Thy glorious divinity? Or, because I see my own form in Thee, am I to reason against Thy divine substance, which is invisible and incomprehensible?

I know Thee, O Lord; I know Thee clearly. I know Thee, since I have been taught by Thee; for no one can recognise Thee, unless He enjoys Thine illumination. I know Thee, O Lord, clearly; for I saw Thee spiritually before I beheld this light. When Thou wert altogether in the incorporeal bosom of the heavenly Father, Thou wert also altogether in the womb of Thy handmaid and mother; and though held in the womb of Elisabeth by nature as in a prison, and bound with the indissoluble bonds of the children unborn, leaped and celebrated Thy birth with anticipative rejoicings.

Shall I then, who gave intimation of Thy sojourn on earth before Thy birth, fail to apprehend Thy coming after Thy birth? Shall I, who in the womb was a teacher of Thy coming, be now a child in understanding in view of perfect knowledge? But I cannot but worship Thee, who art adored by the whole creation; I cannot but proclaim Thee, of whom heaven gave the indication by the star, and for whom earth offered a kind reception by the wise men, while the choirs of angels also praised Thee in joy over Thy condescension to us, and the shepherds who kept watch by night hymned Thee as the Chief Shepherd of the rational sheep. I cannot keep silence while Thou art present, for I am a voice; yea, I am the voice, as it is said, of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord.

I have need to be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me? I was born, and thereby removed the barrenness of the mother that bore me; and while still a babe I became the healer of my father’s speechlessness, having received of Thee from my childhood the gift of the miraculous. But Thou, being born of the Virgin Mary, as Thou didst will, and as Thou alone dost know, didst not do away with her virginity; but Thou didst keep it, and didst simply gift her with the name of mother: and neither did her virginity preclude Thy birth, nor did Thy birth injure her virginity. But these two things, so utterly opposite—bearing and virginity—harmonized with one intent; for such a thing abides possible with Thee, the Framer of nature. I am but a man, and am a partaker of the divine grace; but Thou art God, and also man to the same effect: for Thou art by nature man’s friend.

I have need to be baptized of Thee, and comest Thou to me? Thou who wast in the beginning, and wast with God, and wast God; Thou who art the brightness of the Father’s glory; Thou who art the perfect image of the perfect Father; Thou who art the true light that lighteneth every man that cometh into the world; Thou who wast in the world, and didst come where Thou wast; Thou who wast made flesh, and yet wast not changed into the flesh; Thou who didst dwell among us, and didst manifest Thyself to Thy servants in the form of a servant; Thou who didst bridge earth and heaven together by Thy holy name,—comest Thou to me? One so great to such a one as I am? The King to the forerunner? The Lord to the servant? But though Thou wast not ashamed to be born in the lowly measures of humanity, yet I have no ability to pass the measures of nature.

I know how great is the measure of difference between earth and the Creator. I know how great is the distinction between the clay and the potter. I know how vast is the superiority possessed by Thee, who art the Sun of righteousness, over me who am but the torch of Thy grace. Even though Thou art compassed with the pure cloud of the body, I can still recognise Thy lordship. I acknowledge my own servitude, I proclaim Thy glorious greatness, I recognise Thy perfect lordship, I recognise my own perfect insignificance, I am not worthy to unloose the latchets of Thy shoes; and how shall I dare to touch Thy stainless head? How can I stretch out the right hand upon Thee, who didst stretch out the heavens like a curtain, and didst set the earth above the waters? How shall I spread those menial hands of mine upon Thy head? How shall I wash Thee, who art undefiled and sinless? How shall I enlighten the light? What manner of prayer shall I offer up over Thee, who dost receive the prayers even of those who are ignorant of Thee?

When I baptize others, I baptize into Thy name, in order that they may believe on Thee, who comest with glory; but when I baptize Thee, of whom shall I make mention? and into whose name shall I baptize Thee? Into that of the Father? But Thou hast the Father altogether in Thyself, and Thou art altogether in the Father. Or into that of the Son? But beside Thee there is no other Son of God by nature. Or into that of the Holy Spirit? But He is ever together with Thee, as being of one substance, and of one will, and of one judgment, and of one power, and of one honour with Thee; and He receives, along with Thee, the same adoration from all.

Wherefore, O Lord, baptize Thou me, if Thou pleasest; baptize me, the Baptist. Regenerate one whom Thou didst cause to be generated. Extend Thy dread right hand, which Thou hast prepared for Thyself, and crown my head by Thy touch, in order that I may run the course before Thy kingdom, crowned like a forerunner, and diligently announce the good tidings to the sinners, addressing them with this earnest call: “Behold the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world!”

O river Jordan, accompany me in the joyous choir, and leap with me, and stir thy waters rhythmically, as in the movements of the dance; for thy Maker stands by thee in the body. Once of old didst thou see Israel pass through thee, and thou didst divide thy floods, and didst wait in expectation of the passage of the people; but now divide thyself more decidedly, and flow more easily, and embrace the stainless limbs of Him who at that ancient time did convey the Jews through thee. Ye mountains and hills, ye valleys and torrents, ye seas and rivers, bless the Lord, who has come upon the river Jordan; for through these streams He transmits sanctification to all streams.

And Jesus answered and said to him: Suffer it to be so now, for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness. Suffer it to be so now; grant the favour of silence, O Baptist, to the season of my economy. Learn to will whatever is my will. Learn to minister to me in those things on which I am bent, and do not pry curiously into all that I wish to do. Suffer it to be so now: do not yet proclaim my divinity; do not yet herald my kingdom with thy lips, in order that the tyrant may not learn the fact and give up the counsel he has formed with respect to me. Permit the devil to come upon me, and enter the conflict with me as though I were but a common man, and receive thus his mortal wound. Permit me to fulfil the object for which I have come to earth.

It is a mystery that is being gone through this day in the Jordan. My mysteries are for myself and my own. There is a mystery here, not for the fulfilling of my own need, but for the designing of a remedy for those who have been wounded. There is a mystery, which gives in these waters the representation of the heavenly streams of the regeneration of men.

Suffer it to be so now: when thou seest me doing what seemeth to me good among the works of my hands, in a manner befitting divinity, then attune thy praises to the acts accomplished. When thou seest me cleansing the lepers, then proclaim me as the framer of nature. When thou seest me make the lame ready runners, then with quickened pace do thou also prepare thy tongue to praise me. When thou seest me cast out demons, then hail my kingdom with adoration. When thou seest me raise the dead from their graves by my word, then, in concert with those thus raised, glorify me as the Prince of Life. When thou seest me on the Father’s right hand, then acknowledge me to be divine, as the equal of the Father and the Holy Spirit, on the throne, and in eternity, and in honour.

Suffer it to be so now; for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness. I am the Lawgiver, and the Son of the Lawgiver; and it becometh me first to pass through all that is established, and then to set forth everywhere the intimations of my free gift. It becometh me to fulfil the law, and then to bestow grace. It becometh me to adduce the shadow, and then the reality. It becometh me to finish the old covenant, and then to dictate the new, and to write it on the hearts of men, and to subscribe it with my blood, and to seal it with my Spirit. It becometh me to ascend the cross, and to be pierced with its nails, and to suffer after the manner of that nature which is capable of suffering, and to heal sufferings by my suffering, and by the tree to cure the wound that was inflicted upon men by the medium of a tree. It becometh me to descend even into the very depths of the grave, on behalf of the dead who are detained there. It becometh me, by my three days’ dissolution in the flesh, to destroy the power of the ancient enemy, death. It becometh me to kindle the torch of my body for those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. It becometh me to ascend in the flesh to that place where I am in my divinity. It becometh me to introduce to the Father the Adam reigning in me. It becometh me to accomplish these things, for on account of these things I have taken my position with the works of my hands. It becometh me to be baptized with this baptism for the present, and afterwards to bestow the baptism of the consubstantial Trinity upon all men.

Lend me, therefore, O Baptist, thy right hand for the present economy, even as Mary lent her womb for my birth. Immerse me in the streams of Jordan, even as she who bore me wrapped me in children’s swaddling-clothes. Grant me thy baptism even as the Virgin granted me her milk. Lay hold of this head of mine, which the seraphim revere. With thy right hand lay hold of this head, that is related to thyself in kinship. Lay hold of this head, which nature has made to be touched. Lay hold of this head, which for this very purpose has been formed by myself and my Father. Lay hold of this head of mine, which, if one does lay hold of it in piety, will save him from ever suffering shipwreck. Baptize me, who am destined to baptize those who believe on me with water, and with the Spirit, and with fire: with water, capable of washing away the defilement of sins; with the Spirit, capable of making the earthly spiritual; with fire, naturally fitted to consume the thorns of transgressions.

On hearing these words, the Baptist directed his mind to the object of the salvation, and comprehended the mystery which he had received, and discharged the divine command; for he was at once pious and ready to obey. And stretching forth slowly his right hand, which seemed both to tremble and to rejoice, he baptized the Lord.

Then the Jews who were present, with those in the vicinity and those from a distance, reasoned together, and spake thus with themselves and with each other: Was it, then, without cause that we imagined John to be superior to Jesus? Was it without cause that we considered the former to be greater than the latter? Does not this very baptism attest the Baptist’s pre-eminence? Is not he who baptizeth presented as the superior, and he who is baptized as the inferior?

But while they, in their ignorance of the mystery of the economy, babbled in such wise with each other, He who alone is Lord, and by nature the Father of the Only-begotten, He who alone knoweth perfectly Him whom He alone in passionless fashion begat, to correct the erroneous imaginations of the Jews, opened the gates of the heavens, and sent down the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, lighting upon the head of Jesus, pointing out thereby the new Noah, yea the maker of Noah, and the good pilot of the nature which is in shipwreck.

And He Himself calls with clear voice out of heaven, and says: “This is my beloved Son,”—the Jesus there, namely, and not the John; the one baptized, and not the one baptizing; He who was begotten of me before all periods of time and not he who was begotten of Zacharias; He who was born of Mary after the flesh, and not he who was brought forth by Elisabeth beyond all expectation; He who was the fruit of the virginity yet preserved intact, and not he who was the shoot from a sterility removed; He who has had His conversation with you, and not he who was brought up in the wilderness.

This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased: my Son, of the same substance with myself, and not of a different; of one substance with me according to what is unseen, and of one substance with you according to what is seen, yet without sin. This is He who along with me made man. This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. This Son of mine and this son of Mary are not two distinct persons; but this is my beloved Son,—this one who is both seen with the eye and apprehended with the mind. This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased; hear Him. If He shall say, I and my Father are one, hear Him. If He shall say, He that hath seen me hath seen the Father, hear Him. If He shall say, He that hath sent me is greater than I, adapt the voice to the economy. If He shall say, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am? answer ye Him thus: Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.

By these words, as they were sent from the Father out of heaven in thunder-form, the race of men was enlightened: they apprehended the difference between the Creator and the creature, between the King and the soldier, between the Worker and the work; and being strengthened in faith, they drew near through the baptism of John to Christ, our true God, who baptizeth with the Spirit and with fire.

To Him be glory, and to the Father, and to the most holy and quickening Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of the ages. Amen.

The Wise Thief

December 30, 2012 By St. Paul Emmaus

The Flight Into Egypt: This icon features St. James (the son of Joseph), walking with the Theotokos, led by St. Joseph the Betrothed, who carries Christ.

Sunday after the Nativity of Christ, December 30, 2012
The Rev. Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick

A recording of this sermon is available via Ancient Faith Radio.

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

Christ is born!

On this day, the Sunday after the Nativity of our God and Savior, Jesus Christ, we remember how the Virgin Mary with the Righteous Joseph took the child Jesus to Egypt, fleeing from the massacre of the Holy Innocents that the evil king Herod inflicted on the people of Judea, hoping to kill the One born King of the Jews. Some 14,000 boys age two and under were killed, the first of many millions to be sacrificed for the sake of the Lord Jesus. Their feast day was yesterday. The mournful English Christmas song “Coventry Carol” is in commemoration of this slaughter.

The Scriptures don’t say much about that trip to Egypt nor of how long the Lord and His family spent there, though there are traditions that come out of Egyptian Christianity that give us a deeper story regarding the sojourn of the God-man in Egypt. One such story is passed on to us today by St. Nikolaj of Zicha, a Serbian saint who spent some time as the rector of St. Tikhon’s Seminary here in Pennsylvania in the 1950s. In his work The Prologue from Ohrid, St. Nikolaj writes:

When the holy family fled before Herod’s sword to Egypt, robbers leapt out on the road with the intention of stealing something. The righteous Joseph was leading the donkey, on which were some belongings and on which the Most-holy Theotokos was riding with her Son at her breast. The robbers seized the donkey to lead it away. At that moment, one of the robbers approached the Mother of God to see what she was holding next to her breast.

The robber, seeing the Christ-child, was astonished at His unusual beauty and said in his astonishment: “If God were to take upon Himself the flesh of man, He would not be more beautiful than this Child!” This robber then ordered his companions to take nothing from these travelers. Filled with gratitude toward this generous robber, the Most-holy Virgin said to him: “Know that this Child will repay you with a good reward because you protected Him today.”

Thirty-three years later, this same thief hung on the Cross for his crimes, crucified on the right side of Christ’s Cross. His name was Dismas, and the name of the thief on the left side was Gestas. Beholding Christ the Lord innocently crucified, Dismas repented for all the evil of his life. While Gestas reviled the Lord, Dismas defended Him, saying: “This man hath done nothing amiss” (Luke 23:41). Dismas, therefore, was the wise thief to whom our Lord said: “Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with Me in Paradise” (Luke 23:43). Thus the Lord granted Paradise to him who spared Him in childhood.

We might be tempted to dismiss this story as a mere legend, but if you have experience with the way the Lord prefers to work, there are many such “coincidences.” He is God, after all. But even if it is a legend, which I don’t believe it is, there is something here for us that tells us something about our salvation and the kind of God we serve.

This thief Dismas first encountered God in the flesh with the worst of intentions. He planned to steal from the Lord and His family and possibly even to do violence to Him. So often when people encounter what is holy, they treat it with disdain or even as an object for exploitation. Some people even treat church in this way, that it is a place not for them to commit their lives to God and to be healed by Him, but rather for anything else—perhaps for some kind of prestige, to feel like they are in charge, to see their friends, to preserve a culture, or even just out of habit.

But then comes a moment when Dismas and people who are like him encounter real beauty, and he is so struck with the power of the beauty of God—not with doctrinal argument, with strong persuasion, or with offers of personal gain, but simply with beauty and wonder. Here is a man who is converted, even if just for a moment, by beauty and wonder.

I can think of few themes more suitable for this Christmas season. When we look into the manger at God as a human child, there is much to wonder at. How can this be God? How can He empty Himself of His divine glory and power and majesty and take on our humanity, while still remaining God? How can he simultaneously be here on Earth and in Heaven with His Father? How can He Whose character is to be outside of time step into it? How can the one Who is boundless and invisible become bounded and visible?

Not even the angels know the answers to those questions, but they do have the right idea when it comes to how we should react at seeing this awesome mystery. “Glory to God in the highest,” indeed.

We have to imagine that this thief, Dismas, while having been momentarily changed by what he saw riding on that donkey into Egypt, probably went back to his old ways. After all, the next time we meet him is on a cross, suffering the punishment for a life of crime. Yet there must have been something he carried with him all those years, because when he came face to face with that divine beauty again, this time marred by scourging, beating and crucifixion, he saw the same thing. He saw purity and innocence. He looked again with wonder on the God become man, Who was taking away the sins of the world, even the sins of that thief.

From the story of Saint Dismas—for, yes, we do count him among the saints, since the Lord Himself said he made it to Paradise—we learn the remarkable power of the Gospel. The Gospel is not only a piece of news, but it is an encounter with the Lord of Heaven and Earth. It is coming face to face with a love that demands everything from you but pours out more than you could possibly ever ask or give. The Gospel is so compelling that anyone who truly hears it can never walk away the same.

Even Dismas, with a life defined by public sin that ended in what many might regard as his just deserts, carried the seed of salvation with him for decades, and then it sprouted at the opportune moment. There is always hope. None of us is ever a lost cause. None of us can ever be so callused that the love of God cannot break through and turn our hearts from hearts of stone into hearts of flesh, surging with the life of the Holy Trinity.

Perhaps you are one whose sins sometimes overwhelm them, who are so aware of their shortcomings in comparison to Christ that they believe that He would never bring them to live with Him forever. But He can save you.

Perhaps you are one who has an occasional, inconsistent faith—sometimes with real love in your heart, but sometimes with cold negligence. Today, you want to love God, but tomorrow, you just sort of get on with life. Christ can save you.

Perhaps you are one whose heart is so overgrown with the weeds and thorns of the cares of this world—money, possessions, career, power, prestige, position, luxury—that encounters with true beauty just leave you bored. The gates of Heaven look much less interesting than nearly any form of transient entertainment. Christ can save you, too.

Most especially during this holy season, we are invited by the angels, the shepherds, the Magi, the Righteous Joseph, the Virgin Mary and the Lord Himself, to come and stand at the manger. We do not stand here to see a cute baby, someone Whose birthday is just an occasion for presents, a few days off work, and to bring retailers back into the black. We are here to wonder.

And if we are filled with the awe and wonder at seeing the very Author of beauty Himself become one of us, then perhaps we can be saved. If we are even for a moment inspired by something nobler, something higher, something finer than the momentary pleasures of this ever more trivial yet tragic world, then there is hope for us.

My prayer for you is that this year, God will plant a seed in your heart that will sprout, grow and blossom, that will so change who you are that when you stand face to face with Him at the end, it will be the most natural thing in the world for Christ to say to you: “Today you will be with Me in Paradise.”

To Him, therefore, with His Father and Holy Spirit, be all glory, honor, and worship, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen. Christ is born!

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The Wise Thief

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