In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Glory to Jesus Christ!
This day, the day before the beginning of Great Lent, goes by many different names. It is Cheesefare Sunday, a name that emphasizes the seven-week fast that begins at sundown this evening. It is also the commemoration of the expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise, a name that emphasizes our sinfulness and our need for redemption. It is known as Forgiveness Sunday, a name that emphasizes the Rite of Forgiveness that happens during Vespers. And this year, today, the 18th of February, is also the feast of Pope St. Leo the Great of Rome. It is with St. Leo that I would like to begin.
In one of his lenten sermons, St. Leo writes:
“At every moment the earth is full of the mercy of God, and nature itself is a lesson for all the faithful in the worship of God. The heavens, the sea and all that is in them bear witness to the goodness and omnipotence of their Creator, and the marvellous beauty of the elements as they obey Him demands from the intelligent creation a fitting expression of its gratitude. But with the return of that season marked out in a special way by the mystery of our redemption, and of the days that lead up to the Paschal feast, we are summoned more urgently to prepare ourselves by a purification of spirit. The special note of the Paschal feast is this: the whole Church rejoices in the forgiveness of sins.”
Nowhere in here does St. Leo emphasize fasting. Rather, the emphasis is placed on forgiveness. This is in line with the Tradition we hold of beginning our preparation with Forgiveness Vespers. It is also in line with the Gospel reading this morning, which opens with:
“...if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
The implication here is that the beginning of our forgiveness from God lies in our forgiveness of others. We ask precisely this of God every time we say the Lord’s Prayer, which, not coincidentally, was part of the Gospel reading yesterday:
“And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.”
So we ask God to forgive us in the same way we forgive others. Of course, being human, we often place requirements on our forgiveness. We expect more than just an, “I’m sorry.” We expect a real change to occur in the other person. I’ll forgive you, but you have to promise to never do this again.
That’s not all that unreasonable, considering God expects the same from us. The first words of Christ’s public ministry are not, “Be sorry, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand,” but rather, “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” The Greek word for “repentance” is “metanoia”, a word that under a strict interpretation means, “change of thought”. Repentance goes beyond being sorry for what we’ve done, asking us to actually change not just our actions, but the very thoughts that lead to those actions, a request that is repeated over and again by Christ: “Go and sin no more.”
But the logic there is in the wrong direction. The commandment is not, “Well, since God requires this of me, I’m allowed to require this of others.” Rather, the commandment is, “What you require of others, God will require of you.” So, if we expect others to repent, we better begin by repenting. Actually, we should probably just repent, and leave any requirements of others to God.
So how do we keep that focus on our sins and on our repentance? This is where fasting comes in. Fasting is not the end in and of itself. Fasting is a means to the end. Fasting asks us to gain some self-control in an area of our life where it should be relatively easy for us to do so. If we’re honest about it, we have no chance of controlling our emotions and actions when someone else wrongs us, if we can’t even control whether or not we use half-and-half in our coffee in the morning. Fasting is nothing new, and it is nothing new that we humans have a hard time with it. After all, God’s first commandment was to fast from the fruit of one tree, but even that proved to be too difficult for Adam and Eve. So it should come as no surprise that we, their descendants, struggle with self-control in the same way.
Which brings us back to the commandment, “Go and sin no more.” I’ve been reminded of this a lot recently. My ordination to the diaconate was two months ago yesterday, and throughout the last two months I have made mistake after mistake in serving the Liturgy and Vespers. It hasn’t been anything earth-shattering, and I’m told that the mistakes aren’t noticeable, but of course that isn’t the point. So I commit myself to not making the same mistake during the next service. The trouble, of course, is that, while I succeed at not making the same mistakes at the next service, I instead make new mistakes that need to be corrected.
And so it is with us in our lives. We repent of one sin, only to go and commit a different one. Hopefully, fasting not only reminds us of our need to dedicate ourselves to not repeating a particular sin, but nudges us toward the self-control required to “Go and sin no more.”
In the same sermon, St. Leo mentions this, when he says:
“Initially, men are made new by the rebirth of baptism. Yet there still is required a daily renewal to repair the shortcomings of our mortal nature, and whatever degree of progress has been made there is no one who should not be more advanced. All must therefore strive to ensure that on the day of redemption no one may be found in the sins of his former life.”
As we enter into Great Lent, may we strive to make a little progress each day, at the end of each day, may we long to be a little more advanced, and upon the arrival of Pascha, may we at the very least no longer be found in the sins of our current life.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Glory to Jesus Christ!
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