The lust, the flesh, the eyes and the pride of life

MICHELE MARR

One recent morning while doing dishes from the evening before, I

found myself grumbling about members of a family I’m acquainted with.

Thank God, for what it’s worth, I was only grumbling to myself.

They make a big hullabaloo about being Christians, I complained,

and they talk like every single thing they’ve got in their lives is

not only a blessing from God, but also a blessing and proof of their

exemplary virtuous living.

What’s so holy about telling other people how swell God thinks you

are? I suppose I was posing the question to God.

Besides, I went on, if they don’t cheat on their taxes, they at

least hedge a heck of a lot. That I know because they recommend their

little tricks to me. I might be able to afford a vacation house and

luxury cars, too, if I did like them.

And they don’t even tithe, I tell you. They say, with the kids

about to start college, they can’t afford, too. Humpf.

I felt my brows knit together. Then I felt myself flush with

shame. God was listening to me and looking into my heart and he had

let me know it.

All those things I was thinking might -- might -- well be true,

but it was my envy that instigated them. Envy of things that, when

push comes to shove, I don’t even care to have. God knows they’re not

among the things I’ve ever asked for.

But that doesn’t keep me from being peevish about someone else

having more. Uh-uh. Especially not when they do it with great pride.

Yet, I realized, my envy grieves God every bit as much as their pride

does (if I sized them up correctly).

Among the seven deadly sins -- pride (or vanity it’s called

sometimes), envy, gluttony, lust, anger (also known as wrath), greed

(or avarice) and sloth -- both pride and envy are there.

For all my best efforts, I’m often tempted to say, I still sin in

spite of myself, but it’s really more accurate to say I sin, not in

spite of, but because of myself.

My sudden shame as I stood at the kitchen sink brought to mind an

Eastern Orthodox Christian practice that occurs on what is called

Forgiveness Sunday -- for the Orthodox, it’s the day on which Great

Lent begins at sundown. Great Lent, sometimes named the Holy Great

Fast, is the long, spiritual journey that leads to Pascha, as the

Orthodox call Easter or Resurrection Day.

This year, Forgiveness Sunday falls on March 13, with Pascha

coming on May 1, because the calendar of the Eastern Church differs

from that of the West.

There is a fourth century prayer, the Prayer of St. Ephrem the

Syrian, recited in the service for Forgiveness Sunday. In the order

of things, it comes after the chanting of “Lord, have mercy” 40

times.

The prayer implores, “O Lord and Master of my life! Take from me

the spirit of sloth, despair, lust of power and idle chatter.”

Here the prayerful, as their physical conditions allow, get down

on their knees and place their palms and foreheads on the floor. This

is called prostration, a position considered fitting before God.

When the people stand again the prayer continues, “Rather, give

me, your servant, the spirit of chastity, humility, patience and

love.”

Back down on their knees, the worshipers press palms and foreheads

to the floor then stand again.

With a third prostration the prayer concludes, “Yea, O Lord and

King, grant me to see my own transgressions and not to judge my

brother; for blessed art thou unto the ages of ages. Amen.”

To overlook our own faults and dwell on the faults of others is so

ingrained in our human nature. The tendency is like a weed with deep,

subterranean roots, all of which are nearly impossible to either dig

out or smother. It’s an impulse illuminated in the biblical parable

of the publican and the Pharisee.

As told by Jesus in Luke 18:10-14, both a Pharisee and a tax

collector went up to the temple in Jerusalem to pray. “God,” prayed

the Pharisee, “I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves,

rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a

week; I give a tenth of all my income.” Meanwhile, the tax collector,

not daring to so much as look up to heaven, asked, “God, be merciful

to me, a sinner!”

“This man [the tax collector],” Jesus told his audience, “went

down to his home justified rather than the other.”

It’s no accident that the Sunday three weeks before Great Lent is

called the “Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee,” after this

parable.

The fasting of Great Lent is rigorous and the worship services are

many. It’s a time, above all, to focus on entering into communion

with God through fasting, prayer and almsgiving. Yet none of these

things can be accomplished in a fitting spirit apart from

forgiveness.

On that recent morning as I did dishes, I had done as the Pharisee

did. Such is the need for Forgiveness Sunday, to ask and to give

forgiveness.

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer from Huntington Beach. She

can be reached at [email protected].