A Lenten Reflection

 by Brother Christopher

 

There is a healthy tension in Orthodoxy during the weeks leading up to Great Lent. Interestingly, three out of the four pre-Lenten Sundays have forgiveness as their principal theme: the Publican and Pharisee, the Prodigal Son, and Forgiveness Sunday. It is as if the Church intends to have us experience the true meaning of forgiveness before Lent even begins, so that our Lenten observance is less one of “earning” God’s forgiveness through our ascetic practice, and more our response of gratitude for the forgiveness we have already received. Now, while that might be a consoling thought, such forgiveness is not the whole story. Sandwiched between the Sunday of the Prodigal Son and Forgiveness Sunday is Judgement Sunday, which offers a salutary counterbalance to any temptation to take God’s forgiveness for granted. So let’s reflect a bit on Matthew’s apocalyptic scene in chapter 25 of his gospel and that scary word “judgement,” which can make us twitch in our seats.

            In his story, Matthew presents the only vision of the final judgement found in the gospels. Jesus, the Son of Man, has before him the collective human family – panta ta ethnē in Greek, literally “all the nations.” Everyone. Not one human being who ever lived left out. And he starts to separate them into two groups: one on his right, one on his left, as a shepherd separates sheep from goats. We know the story: those on the right are welcomed into his kingdom, while those on the left are banished to the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. What is important to notice is that who gets in is not determined by what church or religion they belonged to, what doctrines they believed, whether they were regular churchgoers or whether they said their prayers each day. There was only one criterion: how they treated their fellow human beings, particularly the poor and vulnerable, those in need. What is significant is that Jesus identifies with all of them, without exception. But neither group realizes that when they either helped or didn't help the stranger—the poor one, the other—they didn't know they were actually meeting Christ. Nevertheless, they were judged solely by how they treated the other.   

            I don’t know about you, but I find that scary. For who among us can’t recognize times when we failed to recognize Christ in the brother or sister in need? I think it’s fair to say that no matter how many times we have fed the hungry, or given clothing to the poor, or offered hospitality to the stranger, visited the sick, or donated money to disaster relief, there have been other times when, at least I’ll speak personally, I was oblivious to the other in need, my heart stone cold to the Christ before me. There would be every reason for the Son of Man in the parable to shake his head sadly and say, “When you neglected to do this to one of the least of these, you neglected to do it to me.” And he would be right.

            But there is another angle to the word “judgement” that gives me hope. The word in Greek is krisis, from which we get the word “crisis.” While it is often translated as “judgement,” in the patristic era, drawing from how it was used in the medical tradition of its time, they took the word to mean “a critical point,” a moment of significant change. The krisis was a fundamental moment of transformation that either leads a person upward toward virtue and knowledge, or downward toward ignorance and vice. The krisis is the critical moment, the opportunity for transformation. So the krisis provoked by Jesus’ apocalyptic story is intended to help us, inspire us to change, not bury us in despair. By accepting our own imperfection, by humbly owning our shadow self, we have the chance to expand our recognition of Christ as he appears in the many faces we encounter each day of our lives. May it be so.