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<TITLE>Byzantine Catholic Priest: the Homilies of Father J. Michael Venditti</TITLE>
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		<td valign=top width=20%><p align=right><font face="Maiandra GD" color=#7c6262 size=+1>Lying to Our Lord is Never a Good Idea.<p align=right>Colossians 3:12-16;<br>Luke 18:18-27.*<p align=right>The Thirty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost.<p align=right><small>Our Venerable Father Macarius of Egypt.</small></font><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><font face="Maiandra GD"  color=#7c6262 size=-1><p align=right>Return to <a href="index.htm">ByzantineCatholicPriest.com</a>.</font></td>		

		<td align=right valign=middle width-80%><font face="Maiandra GD"><p align=justify>11:45 AM 1/19/2014 — Both the Apostolic reading from Colossians and the Gospel lesson from Luke are ones we've looked at before, and not too long ago.  The reading from Colossians was one of the passages we looked at in detail during our Philips Fast frolic through St. Paul.  The Gospel lesson is St. Luke's account of the Rich Young Man, which I've preached to you about many times; but, yesterday was the feast of St. Cyril of Alexandria, so I decided to look at his homily on this passage, and he got me to thinking that I might have to amend my thoughts.

<br>&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;The event seems to occur in the Holy Gospels three times: in Matthew, Mark and Luke.  Matthew's account of it we read on the Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost just after Transfiguration (19:16-22); Luke's we read on the Thirtieth Sunday, and it is repeated today because the date for Easter requires us to repeat some of the Post-Pentecost Gospels this year (18:18-23); Mark's we don't read in church at all (10:17-22).  And it's always been assumed—and not just by me—that the three accounts are nothing more than the three Evangelists' take on the same event.

<br>&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Remember that we compared the sincerity of the Rich Young Man to the self-righteousness of the rabbi at the beginning of the Parable of the Good Samaritan: the rabbi wants to justify himself while the Rich Young Man sincerely wants to perfect himself and join our Lord's company of disciples; but, he can't because he's unable to make the actual sacrifices that this would require; in other words, he had allowed himself to be caught up in the whole “Jesus thing,” but never stopped to consider the pragmatic ramifications of becoming a follower of Christ.  <img src="cyril-of-alexandria.jpg" align=right hspace=15 vspace=5>You might remember the analogy I gave you about the young couple falling in love and being driven by their emotions to be together, but without considering the practical concerns that two people seeking marriage must consider.  The lesson we drew from that was the dichotomy between our emotional desire to follow our Lord rubbing up against our attachment to the things of this world and our desire for pleasure and comfort; which is just a fancy way of saying that “the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak”: a cliché to be sure, but one which is not only evident in the Gospels, but self-evident in our own lives.  Of course, we all want to follow our Lord, but wanting it and doing it are two different things.

<br>&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;St. Cyril of Alexandria is the only one of the Fathers of the Church who posits—and he's not willing to go to the wall for it—that Matthew and Luke are actually talking about two different men, in spite of the fact that the two accounts are almost identical in both incident and wording.  One of the reasons he gives for this is that Matthew right out calls him “a rich young man,” while Luke, in today's Gospel, calls him a “ruler”;  the Greek word is <font face="System">ἄρχων,</font> which can be translated two ways: either “ruler” or “an eminent man.”  Certainly, they could still be the same man, and St. Cyril does not dispute that; but, he uses the possibility that they are two different men to take an entirely different view of the passage.

<br>&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;St. Cyril suggests that the <font face="System">ἄρχων</font> in Luke's account is more like the rabbi in the Good Samaritan: that, rather than sincerely seeking to follow our Lord more perfectly, he's actually looking for evidence that Jesus is some sort of heretic, and that his respectful manner of addressing our Lord is nothing more than a pretense.  In fact, let me read to you exactly what he says, even though I shy away from doing this because it tends to put people to sleep; but, why tell you what he says when he can tell you himself?

<blockquote><p align=justify>Now he, who is here called a Ruler, and who fancied himself to be learned in the law, and supposed that he had been accurately taught therein, imagined that he could convict Christ of dishonoring the commandment spoken by the most wise Moses, and of introducing laws of His own.  For it was the object of the Jews to prove that Christ opposed and resisted the former commandments, to establish, as I said, new laws, of His own authority, in opposition to those previously existing, so that their wicked conduct towards him might have a specious pretext.  He draws near, therefore, and makes pretense of speaking kindly; for he calls Him Teacher, and styles Him Good, and professes himself desirous of being a disciple... (Homily 122).</blockquote>

<p align=justify>He goes on to point out that Jesus throws his words right back into his mouth, saying, “Why dost thou call me good?  None is good, except God only” (18:19), proving that this man, who thought he was both wise and learned, was neither; for, in his attempt to find our Lord guilty of transgressing the law of Moses, he, himself, is caught by our Lord doing exactly what he was accusing Christ of doing: attributing to man what Moses said should be attributed only to God—which would be fine if he believed Jesus was God, but he obviously does not.

<br>&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Now, it's possible that you're thinking to yourselves exactly what our Holy Father Cyril's people may have thought to themselves when they heard him preach on this Gospel, which is, “This guy's got way too much time on his hands.”  But, I happen to believe that this is not only interesting—which may only prove the point that I have no life—but also practical.  If Cyril is right—and, as I said, he doesn't insist on it but only suggests it—then the duplicity of the ruler is quite striking: he doesn't indignantly march up to our Lord, wagging his finger and screaming, “I think you're wrong and here's why...”; he bows before our Lord, addressing him with great respect: “Good teacher, please tell me how to be saved,” but it's all just an act.  He doesn't want to learn anything from our Lord because he doesn't think our Lord has anything to teach him; he already believes he knows everything.

<br>&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;The apostate who openly rejects Christ and his Church, publicly declaring his rejection, is refreshing: he's not embarrassed or ashamed.  He denies that Christ is God—or at least God over him—and goes his own way; but, when we reject Christ in the countless little ways that we do each day by our many sins, there is a sliver of the ruler in us.  None of us ever says to our Lord, “I hate you, I reject you, you are no God of mine”; instead, we bow before him and call him Teacher and Lord; we just don't live as if we mean it.  It could be just a matter of simple weakness—as I said, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak—but it could also be a measure of duplicity.  The sin of pride exists in some measure in all of us.  The only way to gauge that for certain is by the frequency and sincerity of our confessions and our desire to live the Gospel more perfectly every day.  As we saw last week, the word “Christian” does not mean believer in Christ; it means follower of Christ, and one cannot follow by simply standing still.  As Jesus, in these pre-Triodion Gospels, travels about Galilee preaching the evil of sin and the need to do good, how far are we willing to walk along with him?

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<blockquote><font face="Maiandra GD" color=#7c6262><p align=justify>* The Byzantine Liturgy does not provide for Sundays beyond the 32nd Sunday after Pentecost; therefore, when the date of Pascha requires the Pentecostarion after Christmas to be extended beyond that point, the Typicon of the Byzantine Ruthenian Church indicates scriptural texts from previous Sundays, in this case, the 30th Sunday after Pentecost.</blockquote>

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