Friday, April 1
2 Timothy 3.10-17: As a boy, Paul reminded him, Timothy had learned his Bible stories from his mother Eunice and his grandmother Lois (1:5). We should particularly remember that the “Scriptures” intended in this reference are the Old Testament—the histories of Abraham and Isaac, the travels of Jacob and Joseph, the exploits of Joshua and Gideon, the romance of Boaz and Ruth, the poetry of David, the tragedies of Jephthah and Samson, the adventures of Daniel and his three friends, the perils of Jeremiah, and the journeys of Jonah.
Timothy would not study this rich material until he had some proficiency in grammar. A first and most serious responsibility of those raising children is to teach them grammar, a discipline chiefly conveyed through narrative. Ideally, one learns grammar before he begins to read. Timothy’s mother and grandmother not only raised him in the faith, but also instructed him in the study of sacred grammar, an expression taken from today’s epistle, ta hiera grammata. This is St. Paul’s clearest reference to domestic pedagogy. Timothy’s father was not Jew. The boy received his grammatical and literary education from his mother Eunice and his grandmother Lois, both of whom were literate.
Timothy learned the identity conferred on him by tradition. Personal identity, likewise, is not a private thing. It is, first of all, a domestic thing. In this respect, we need to return to the subject of grammar. Grammar, like sports, is inherited from tradition, and, in grammar, as in sports, tradition carries authority. These are not private things—they are inherited.
Thanks to the two older generations that instructed him, Timothy was enabled to read Holy Scripture through the eyes of the living Sacred Tradition, in which alone the Bible is properly understood. Timothy was raised in a literary culture, and there is no such thing as a private culture. All culture is traditional culture.
Culture, itself, is not a commodity that can be purchased. By definition, a culture can only be inherited. All culture is necessarily transgenerational.
This is true also of biblical culture. It is social. Timothy’s study of sacred grammar was a great socializing agent in the formation of his character.
By it he became one with his own history, including his family’s history, where his spirit assimilated the organizing influences of biblical history, poetry, philosophy, and narrative.
through this pursuit of grammar, wisdom, and historiography, Timothy learned to take possession of his heart. The stories of the Bible, organized around its integrating themes, enabled him to make sense of his heart.
The boy learned who he was, his place in this world, what God expected of him, and what he could expect, both during his life and at the end of it.
The stories of the Bible, assimilated in the context of his family, gave shape to Timothy’s moral imagination, conferring on his conscience a narrative moral sense. The biblical narrative gave imaginative organization to his mind.
Saturday, April 2
Psalms 78 (Greek & Latin 77): Just as the early Christians saw the Passover and other events associated with the Exodus of the Old Testament as types and fore-shadows of the salvation brought by Jesus (cf. 1 Cor. 5:7; John 19: 36, etc.), so they interpreted the forty years of the Israelites’ wandering in the desert as representing their own pilgrimage to the true Promised Land. Thus, the passage through the Red Sea became a symbol of Baptism, the miraculous manna was a foreshadowing of the Eucharist, and so forth. In particular did they regard the various temptations experienced by the Israelites in the desert as typical of the sorts of temptations to be faced by Christians. This deep Christian persuasion of the true significance of the desert pilgrimage serves to make the Books of Exodus and Numbers necessary and very useful reading for serious Christians.
In the New Testament there are two fairly lengthy passages illustrating this approach to the Israelites’ desert pilgrimage. One is found in 1 Corinthians 10:1–13. In this text the Apostle Paul begins by indicating the sacramental meanings of certain components in the Exodus story: “All our fathers were under the cloud, all passed through the sea, all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink” (vv. 1–4). The Apostle’s chief interest, however, is moral; by way of warning to the Corinthians he points to the sins and failures of the Israelites in the desert: “Now these things became our examples, to the intent that we should not lust after evil things as they also lusted. And do not become idolaters as were some of them. . . Nor let us commit sexual immorality, as some of them did, . . . nor let us tempt Christ, as some of them also tempted, . . . nor complain, as some of them also complained” (vv. 6–10). For Saint Paul the entire story of the Israelites in the desert is a great moral lesson for Christians: “Now all these things happened to them as examples, and they were written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the ages have come” (v. 11).
The second New Testament text illustrating this theme is even longer, filling chapters 3 and 4 of Hebrews. The author of this book was much struck by the fact that almost none of those who had departed from Egypt actually arrived in the Promised Land. And why? Because of unbelief, disobedience, and rebellion in the desert: “For who, having heard, rebelled? Indeed, was it not all who came out of Egypt, led by Moses? Now with whom was He angry forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose corpses fell in the wilderness?” (3:16, 17). Here, as in 1 Corinthians, the story of the desert pilgrimage is remembered as a moral warning for those in Christ.
One of the longer psalms, Psalm 78, is largely devoted to the same theme, which makes it especially appropriate for prayer during this season of Lent. This psalm is a kind of poetic summary of the Books of Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, and even some of Joshua, Judges, and 1 Samuel. As a narrative, it concentrates on the Chosen People’s constant infidelity and rebellion but especially during the desert pilgrimage: “But they sinned even more against Him by rebelling against the Most High in the wilderness. . . . How often they provoked Him in the wilderness and grieved Him in the desert! Yes, again and again they tempted God, and limited the Holy One of Israel. They did not remember His power: The day when He redeemed them from the enemy.”
A few hours are required to read the whole story of the people’s infidelity in the desert as it is recorded through several books of the Bible. Psalm 78, however, has long served as a sort of meditative compendium of the whole account. Its accent falls on exactly those same moral warnings that we saw in 1 Corinthians and Hebrews—the people’s failure to take heed to what they had already beheld of God’s deliverance and His sustained care for them. They had seen the plagues that He visited on the Egyptians, they had traversed the sea dry-shod, they had been led by the pillar of cloud and fire, they had slaked their thirst with the water from the rock, they had eaten their fill of the miraculous bread, they had trembled at the base of Mount Sinai, beholding the divine manifestation. In short, they had already been the beneficiaries of God’s revelation, salvation, and countless blessings.
Still, “their heart was not steadfast with Him, nor were they faithful in His covenant.” And just who is being described here? Following the lead of the New Testament, we know it is not only the Israelites of old, but also ourselves, “upon whom the ends of the ages have come.” The story in this psalm is our own story. So we carefully ponder it and take warning.
Sunday, April 3
2 Timothy 4.9-22: During the two years that the Apostle Paul spent in prison at Caesarea (Acts 24:27), certain of his fellow workers had sufficient access to him that he could include them with the note “sends greetings” in the epistles that he wrote at that time. Their number included his “fellow laborers,” Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke (Philemon 24). It is curious, as we shall see, that Paul mentions Demas and Luke together. Near the end of the Epistle to the Colossians (4:14), composed during the same period, Paul wrote, “Luke the beloved physician and Demas greet you.”
It appears that these two men, Demas and Luke, afterwards traveled with Paul to Rome, where he spent another two years under house arrest (Acts 28:30). When, writing to Timothy toward the end of that time, Paul was preparing to die, he made one final and very significant reference to Demas and Luke: “Demas has forsaken me, having loved this present world, and has departed for Thessaloniki . . . Only Luke is with me” (2 Timothy 4:10).
We know a good deal about the rest of Luke’s career, of course, but about Demas we hear not another word, nor does this final reference prompt us much to hope for him—“having loved this present world.”
Demas had his chance, so to speak. Had he not loved “this present world” (literally, “the now age”—to nun aiona), there is every reason to suspect that he would be invoked throughout Christian history as Saint Demas and, like Luke, be remembered with a feast day in the Christian calendar.
So what happened? Demas loved “the present age,” we are told. That is to say, through all his time of ministry, even sharing in some measure the apostolic hardships of St. Paul, Demas remained at root a worldly man. Mark, another of his friends, described folks of this sort, in whom “the cares of the world [tou aionos], the deceitfulness of riches, and the desires for other things entering in choke the word, and it becomes unfruitful” (Mark 4:19).
Surely it was not the case that Demas, St. Paul’s fellow worker, had never been cautioned about worldliness. Is it possible to think he had not once heard Paul admonish, “do not be conformed to this world [to aioni touto]” (Romans 12:2)? How could any companion of the Apostle Paul be ignorant about the perils of “the world” or “the present age” (1 Corinthians 1:20; 2:6,8; 3:18; 2 Corinthians 4:4; Galatians 1:4; Ephesians 1:21; 6:12; Titus 2:12 [en to nun aioni]).
Nor was this pessimism concerning the world a peculiarity of Paul. The Apostle John, though he does not use Paul’s expression aion to speak of it, often employs the noun kosmos in pretty much the same moral sense—namely, the “world” as creation in rebellion against God. This was the world for which Jesus refused to pray (John 17:9), the world out of which the Lord called His disciples that they should not belong to it (17:6,11), the world that hates both Him and them (15:18,19; 17:14; 1 John 3:1,13; 4:17).
The failure of Demas was that he “loved” the world. It is remarkable that Paul should use the participle agapesas in reference to Demas’s love of the world, because normally this verb refers to God’s love for men, men’s love for God, and their love of one another in God. However unusual, nonetheless, this is the same verb employed by St. John when he warns Christians, “Do not love the world [me agapate ton kosmon] or the things in the world” (1 John 2:15).
The context of this passage throws a helpful light on the tragedy of Demas, for John goes on to comment, “If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.” The world does not know God and cannot receive the Holy Spirit (John 14:7). There is an absolute gulf, therefore, between the world and the Father. We suspect that Demas did not see this right away, because a man does not suddenly go from complete fidelity to total loss of faith. The decline is usually by degrees.
Toward the end, however, and perhaps after years of compromising, Demas himself came to see that God and the world constitute a decisive either/or, because “all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world” (1 John 2:16). One cannot forever have it both ways. Faced with this radical either/or, worldly Demas made his choice.
Monday, April 4
Titus 1:1-16: This very solemn introduction (verses 1-4) rivals those of the longer epistles, which were addressed to whole congregations. In this respect the Epistle to Titus may be contrasted to the other epistles addressed only to individuals (Timothy, Philemon).
God’s promise was made at the dawn of history (verse 2), but now it is manifest in the preaching of the Gospel (verse 3). All of history was guided by that original promise, so the Gospel embraces all of history in its scope and interest.
Paul’s directions for the choice and ordination of ministers (verses 5-9) correspond to those that he had given to Timothy a year or so earlier (1 Timothy 3:1-7). Such a minister is called both an “elder” (presbyteros —verse 5) and an “overseer” (episkopos —verse 6). In these two Greek words we discern the etymological roots of the English words “priest” and “bishop.” Only in the very early second century, it would seem (for our first extant witness, Ignatius of Antioch, wrote in 107), did the two terms come to signify two distinct offices. (This reasonable hypothesis argues only that there was a development in terminology, not a development in the ministry itself.)
It is imperative to observe that the authority of these men comes from their choice and ordination by Titus (and Timothy and so on), who in turn were authorized by Paul. The New Testament knows of no legitimate ordained ministry except by an historical continuity traceable to those eleven men who received the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20).
That is to say, Christian ordination is an historical institution, literally “handed down,” conferred by the laying on of hands by those authorized to do so; the notion of a “succession” is essential to this ministry.
Paul is strict with respect to the moral and domestic lives of these ministers (verses 6-8), whose service he describes chiefly in terms of teaching (verse 9). In this respect they are contrasted with Jewish heretics (verses 10). The latter, he suggests, Titus was likely to meet because of the large Jewish community on Crete (Josephus, Antiquities 17.12.1-2, §323-331; The Jewish War 2.7.1, §103; Ad Gaium 282). The ideas of these Jewish teachers, Paul explains, can likely expect a better hearing among the Cretans! (verse 12) According to Clement of Alexandria, the poet quoted here by Paul was Epimenides (Stromateis 1.14; cf. Tatian, Oratio 27), a writer from the sixth century before Christ.
These Christian ministers must not be like those who profess God with their lips but not in their lives (verses 15-16).
Tuesday, April 5
Titus 2:1-15: In the previous chapter Paul had spoken about being “sound in the faith” (hygiainosin en tei pistei-—1:13). Such “soundness” is the mark that he further inculcates in the present chapter, exhorting Titus to “speak the things which are proper for sound doctrine” (hygiainousei didaskalioi-—verse 1), so that mature men may be “sound in faith” (hygiainantes tei pistei-—verse 2) and of “sound speech” (logon hygie-—verse 8). This “soundness” (in the Greek root of which, hygi, we recognize our English words “hygiene” and “hygienic”) is a noted theme also in the letters to Timothy (cf. 1 Timothy 6:3; 2 Timothy 1:13; 4:3). Christian teaching, that is to say, should carry the marks of intellectual, moral, and emotional health. It will not recommend itself if it encourages thoughts, sentiments, and behavior that are manifestly unhealthy.
In verse 2 we observe the triad of faith, love, and patience. This conjunction, common to the letters to Timothy (cf. 1 Timothy 6:11; 2 Timothy 3:10), is also found earlier in Paul (cf. 2 Thessalonians 1:3-4).
In verse 5, as elsewhere in Paul (1 Corinthians 14:35; Ephesians 5:22; Colossians 3:18; 1 Timothy 2:11-14), wives are exhorted to be subordinated (hypotassomenas, from the verb tasso, “to set in order,” “to arrange”) to their husbands. With respect to this exhortation, the Baptist exegete E. Glenn Hinson observes: “The initiative is to be with the wife. . . . Paul did not tell husbands to subdue their wives.” Even with this sage caveat, nonetheless, it is obvious that Paul’s exhortation runs directly counter to the contemporary egalitarian impulse.
Like Timothy (1 Timothy 4:12), Titus is to set a good example (verse 7). We recall that Paul rather often referred to his own good example. Pastors and missionaries surely teach more by example than they do in any other way.
The “great God” in verse 13 is identical with the “Savior Jesus Christ,” because in the Greek text a single article covers both words, God and Savior, and the rest of the sentence speaks only of Christ. It is He whose appearance we await (cf. 2 Thessalonians 1:7; 1 Corinthians 1:7; 1 Timothy 6:14-15; 2 Timothy 4:1).
Christ’s self-giving (verse 14) is a typical Pauline reference to the Lord’s Passion and blood atonement (Galatians 1:4; 2:20; Ephesians 5:2,25; 1 Timothy 2:6).
Wednesday, April 6
Titus 3.1-15: There are three things on which we want to remark in these closing verses of the Epistle to Titus.
First, the maintenance of the life in Christ requires consistent work. Paul says this twice today: “I want you to affirm constantly, that those who have put their trust in God should be careful to maintain good works,” and “et our people also learn to maintain good works, to meet urgent needs, that they may not be unfruitful.” The life in Christ is something at which we work.
We speak of people “practicing” their faith, and perhaps we should look more closely at this word “practice.” Those who seriously “practice” something do not merely dab at it. They work at it. A person will never learn to play the piano if he practices only twice a year, and only then if it is convenient. A person will never learn the piano, if he practices only once a week. What we want to do well, we practice everyday. Athletes, dancers, and musicians practice by the hour — everyday.
There is also a thing called “spring training,” which is the pursuit of that most exalted of athletic pursuits, baseball. Observe that these men are already professionals. They know baseball inside out. They are very good at baseball. Still, they find it necessary to go into what they call “spring training,” starting all over, as it were, as though they don’t know anything about baseball at all. During one entire season of the year, they review the basics and learn them all over again.
In the Church we have the same thing. It is called “Lent,” an Anglo-Saxon word that simply means spring. Lent is the spring training of the sport we work at all year round. It is the life in Christ. It is very important, during the year, that we do not completely lose the spirit of Lent. Our spring training is not just for spring. The life in Christ is year round.
Second, this attention to practice means that we don’t waste or time and energies. Especially, says St. Paul, we don’t waste time and energies arguing with heretics: “Reject a divisive man (hairetikon anthropon) after the first and second admonition, knowing that such a person is warped and sinning, being self-condemned.” (It is worth mentioning that this is the only place in the NT where we find the word “heretic.”) That is to say, we deliberately avoid getting bogged down in theological arguments. St Paul forbids it. Arguing with heretics is as strictly prohibited as murder and adultery. God is not pleased nor served by such activity. One or two conversations and it must stop.
And if we ever started taking Paul’s prohibition seriously, we would begin by closing down all those useless Orthodox blog sites where they do nothing else except ignore this solemn command of St. Paul. In the words of Tertullian: “nihil proficiat congressio Scripturarum nisi plane ut aut stomachi quis ineat eversionem aut cerebri—a controversy over the Scriptures clearly can produce nothing but a stomach ache or a headache.” In short, stay away from blog sites where theology is debated. They are arguably as bad as pornography. They are bad for both soul and body.
Third, these directions are for people whom St. Paul describes as “those who have put their trust in God” — hoi pepistevkotes theo. To “believe” in the Scriptural sense is not simply to assent to a proposition. It is an assent to a Person. To believe, as the Bible uses that term, establishes a relationship of trust. This is the force of the dative case. I have never been to the North Pole, but I believe in the North Pole, meaning that I assent to it as a proposition. That is not what is meant in the Bible by faith.
Faith, as understood in the Bible, is always a personal thing, not a merely propositional thing. To believe in someone is entirely different thing than to believe in something. The second is propositional, the first is personal; it denotes trust.
Thus, when merely I assent to the existence of God as a proposition, that is not what the Bible means by faith. To believe in God by faith is not merely to affirm His existence. It is to affirm my trust in Him. This personal trust in God is what we mean by faith, and it is the foundation of our lives.
Thursday, April 7
Philemon 1-25: Philemon lived in Colossae, a city in southwest Phrygia, near Laodicea and Hierapolis (Colossians 4:13) in the Lycus Valley. His wife’s name was Apphia (Philemon 2). Onesimus was his slave.
Although the Acts of the Apostles does not mention a visit to Colossae by the Apostle Paul, he certainly evangelized Philemon, at either Colossae or perhaps Ephesus, sometime during those three years (AD 52–55) that Paul spent as a missionary in the latter city (Acts 20:31). Anyway, Philemon became a Christian.
We would not know any of these things except for a letter Paul wrote to Philemon from prison at Caesarea, sometime between 58 and 60 (Acts 24:27). While there, Paul had received a surprise visit from Onesimus, Philemon’s slave, who had fled from his master and had come all the way to Caesarea to seek out the apostle.
It is not entirely clear what Onesimus expected of Paul, whom he had likely met some five or so years earlier, in the company of Philemon.
His approach to Paul, right there in a jail guarded by Roman soldiers, was rather bold. In the Roman Empire, runaway slaves were branded on the forehead by a hot iron with the letter “F” for fugitivus.
Nor had Paul given any explicit indication that he opposed the institution of slavery; on the contrary, he had urged each man, including slaves, to maintain the social position he held at the time of his conversion (1 Corinthians 7:21–24). Paul’s attitude toward slaves was perfectly clear: “Exhort bondservants to be obedient to their own masters,
to be well pleasing in all things, not answering back” (Titus 2:9). So, what did Onesimus expect?
Whatever he expected, Paul did what Paul did best. He evangelized and baptized the runaway slave right there in the prison (Philemon 10), surrounded by an impressive company of the Church’s finest: Mark, Luke, and several others (Philemon 23–24; Colossians 4:7–14).
But now Paul had a problem: What was he to do with Onesimus? What approach should he take with his friend Philemon, who might be rather upset about the flight of a slave? After all, Onesimus was a lawbreaker, to whom Roman law extended no mercy. Would Philemon show mercy?
In fact, Paul was not the only person in antiquity to face a problem of this sort. A few years later, Pliny the Younger (62–113) received the runaway servant of a friend, to whom he wrote a letter explaining the matter (Epistolae 9.21). Pliny exercised the greatest diplomacy in the affair, stressing the repentance of the fugitive, urging clemency for his offense, gently interceding by diplomacy instead of applying pressure based on mutual friendship.
Paul’s approach to Philemon is similar in each of these respects, but he also appeals to more explicit Christian motives. After all, Philemon and Onesimus are now brothers by baptism. He subtly addresses Philemon’s sense of compassion. In an epistle of only twenty-five verses, Paul mentions five times that he is writing from prison! He calls Onesimus “my son” (v. 10), perhaps suggesting that he might take personally any harm that came to the runaway. Paul stresses his solidarity with the slave (vv. 12, 17). He reminds Philemon what a generous person Philemon is (vv. 5–7), a reputation that he must now live up to. He almost makes it sound as though Philemon had sent the slave to take care of the apostle (v. 13). Still, Paul leaves the matter to Philemon’s conscience (v. 21).
Friday, April 8
Matthew 23: 1-39: In the main, the material in this chapter is proper to Matthew; there are few direct parallels in Mark and Luke. It begins with exhortations to humility and service, traits which Jesus contrasts with the pride and self-serving characteristic of those who have made themselves his enemies. The religion of these people, Jesus declares, is only self-aggrandizement, none of it very subtle.
In the more reliable manuscripts, there follows a series of seven imprecations, verses that begin with “woe to you.” The number seven, which is significant of fulfillment and completion, indicates total spiritual corruption in those to whom Jesus so speaks. In other words, these hypocritical, self-satisfied men have brought to completion and fulfillment the myriad infidelities recorded in biblical history. In denouncing them, therefore, the Lord uses the traditional formula of the prophets, whom their forefathers had murdered—“Woe!”
In this final discourse of Jesus—the last of five—there is a correspondence with his first discourse, the Sermon on the Mount. As that first discourse was an explanation of the beatitudes—“blessed are the poor in spirit”—the final discourse explains these “woes”—“woe unto you.”
The scribes and Pharisees are censured for neglecting the weightier matters of the Torah while concentrating on small particulars of lesser moment. The burden of the Lord’s judgment falls on the failure of these hypocrites to go deeper than the mere surface letter of observance—deeper in the Torah, deeper into their own hearts, where all is corruption and death. They clean the outside, but the neglected inside is in sorry shape. They stay away from an interior transformation that would render valuable the observance of the Torah: judgment, mercy, and faith. This criticism, with its accent on interiority, is an echo and summary of what Israel’s prophets taught over the centuries.
Hence, these leaders deserve the “woe” that those prophets spoke against earlier infidelities. This is pretty standard fare in the prophets. For example, Amos had proclaimed, “Woe to you who desire the day of the Lord!? For what good is the day of the Lord to you?? Darkness it will be, and not light. . . Woe to you who are at ease in Zion,? and trust in Mount Samaria” (5:18; 6:1).
Or Isaiah: “Woe to the crown of pride, to the drunkards of Ephraim” (28:1). Or Micah: “Woe to those who devise iniquity and work out evil on their beds!” (2:1).
This discourse of Jesus identifies what is about to happen as the fulfillment of a very long and very bad history. Here the parable of the vineyard is pertinent; the proprietor of the vineyard does not send His Son until the vinedressers have killed the prophets who were sent before him.
All that blood of just men just will now descend on those identified as “this generation”; this expression appears repeatedly in Matthew (11:16; 12:39,41; 16:4; 17:17; 24:34).
The story in the Gospel does not constitute a body of truth capable of abstraction from the story itself. The truth of the Gospel is inseparable from the historical drama in which it was presented. The individuals portrayed in the Gospels were not “types”; no one else can substitute for them. The drama of the Gospel cannot be replaced by some other story.
When we declare that Salvation has been wrought upon the earth, we implicitly assert its intrinsic relationship, not only to geography, but also to history. Jerusalem is not reducible to a model; it is a real place, and very real things happened there which decided the destiny of the human race.
Jesus knew this to be the case. Matthew knew this to be the case. Indeed, when Matthew wrote this story, it is most probable that he had already witnessed the downfall of Jerusalem to the Romans in A.D. 70.
Observe the irony: Immediately after Jesus weeps over Jerusalem, the Apostles fail to take the measure of what he has said. Matthew describes their response: “Then Jesus went out and departed from the temple, and his disciples came up to show him the buildings of the temple. And Jesus said to them, ‘Do you not see all these things? Amen, I say to you, not one stone shall be left here upon another, that shall not be thrown down.’”
Since tonight’s reading begins with a moral theme—the contrast between humility and pride—it would be easy to read the rest of the material as simply a continuation of that theme; that is to say, we might understand this story as teaching a moral lesson universally applicable. There would be an obvious value in doing this, inasmuch as it is always true that the proud will be humbled and the humble will be exalted.
But this is more than a moral story. It is a story of the righteous judgments of God at a particular time and in a particular place. In tonight’s reading from Matthew, we are presented with the righteous judgment of God, which altered the course of world history. The history of the human race is not simply the arena in which man makes moral decisions.