Learning the Same Lessons Over Again
Profound beauty and truth can be found even in the most unlikely places. Our Lord uses parables to disclose beautiful things to us that we might come to behold the Kingdom of God. And, as we hear in the Akathist of Thanksgiving, the Holy Spirit inspires artists, poets, and scientific geniuses to share with us the beauty of God’s creative power and enable us to touch reality as it really is. And so, as we contemplate for a moment the two men before us (i.e. the Pharisee and the Publican), I’d like us to consider a few lines from a song called Lessons:
I can't keep learning the same lessons over again
I keep learning the same lessons over again
I've tried to kick so many habits that I hold
But they hold on to me even when I let go of them
I can't keep learning the same lessons over again
I know my weaknesses; I could tell you every one
But I know that doing so won't make me any stronger at all
I can't keep learning the same lessons over again-Lessons by Ha Ha Tonka
How many of us, I wonder, can share and identify with this sentiment? How many of us go through life wondering how many times will I have to learn the same thing? Why does this keep happening to me? Why doesn’t God grant me peace here? Or victory there? Why do the people I serve not offer service in return? Why do the people I pray for not change? Why do I still struggle with these seemingly endless passions that blindside me out of nowhere time and time again?
Lest we think we’re alone in our thoughts and imaginings, the words of the scriptures make it clear we are not. Let us pay attention to the example given by the Psalmist as he laments in Psalm 12 LXX (taken from The Psalms of David: Translated from the Septuagint Greek by Donald Sheehan):
How long, O Lord? Wilt thou forget me forever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? When can I put an end to my soul’s endless plans, having terror in my heart every day? How long will my enemy be exalted over me?
Many times we have, undoubtedly, said these things to ourselves and to our God,—in other words, we have prayed thus with ourselves: “I can’t keep learning the same lessons over again.” Perhaps we have grown weary because we are still plagued by the sins we confessed 20 years ago. This is an experience that we all share as human beings. Each of us has grown weary of learning the same lessons over and over again. But this is necessary for us, and for our salvation. As a mirror to these experiences, the Church gives us time and again, the same scripture readings, the same stories of miracles, the same parables, the same words of the God-man. We are given these texts repeatedly because we have to learn the same lessons over again.
Indeed, when we actually read the words of Christ, how many of us can say that we have learned the lesson? (Luke 6:27-38 RSV):
But I say to you that hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To him who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from him who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to every one who begs from you; and of him who takes away your goods do not ask them again. And as you wish that men would do to you, do so to them.
If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. And if you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return; and your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the selfish. Be merciful, even as your Father is merciful.
Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you; good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap. For the measure you give will be the measure you get back.
Have we learned these lessons? I can say that I have not. Or, when we encounter the lesson, do we attempt to defend ourselves as the Pharisee does today? When confronted with yet another encounter, another situation, another foible, another sickness, or another person wherein we can come to know God by giving, by blessing, by forgiving, by doing mercies, which one of these men before us do we resemble? With the increasing political, social, and racial divides—not to mention the philosophical and theological ones, we stand before the icon of the God of the universe and say: I’m a good person. I pay my tithe. I don’t kill people. I’m against abortion. I’m not a racist. I wear my mask, I do all the right things. So, why does this keep happening? Why do I have to continually contend with terrible people and terrible situations? I’m Orthodox, so why am I not holy? Why can’t I sway people with my arguments? Why don’t I have the experience of the Saints? Why can’t I see the angels serving the Liturgy? Why can’t I work wonders and raise the dead? Why do I still sin?
How is it that we come to the throne of grace, to the banquet table of the Lamb, thinking that because we believe the right theological doctrines, we follow the fasts, and we pay our tithe, that we have nothing left to learn? Do we dare say to God himself that we’ve learned our lessons here and those failures will never happen again? Or worse still, do we dare to thank God that we are not like other men?
Do we actually accept the lesson being taught to us? Today, two men are brought before us. Two men, whose lives are not so different from one another. They are both Jewish men, so they have the same value within their society. Both are religious. We know this because they have both come to the Temple to pray. They are quite possibly of the same economic class—if anything, the Publican is probably more wealthy than the Pharisee.
So, we might suggest that they are of the same racial, gender, religious, and economic status. Yet one is learning the lessons God is teaching and one is not. One is haughty and selfish and one is not. One comes to distinguish himself from his fellows, and one knows his depravity. One knows the Law and affirms that he keeps it well, while the other cannot raise his eyes to heaven, but simply beats his breast, crying out for mercy.
“I keep learning the same lessons over again.”
God, in his mercy and love for mankind, once again gives us the parable of the Publican and the Pharisee in preparation for the coming Fast. Once again, Christ uses a story to reveal to us the Kingdom of God and how we may receive it. Once again we sing, “Lord, have mercy,” dozens of times as again and again, we cry out to God. Again and again, we ask God to forgive those who have wronged us. Again and again, we ask for the remission of our sins. Again and again, we receive the most holy, life-giving, and awesome Body and Blood of our Lord God and Savior, Jesus Christ. Again and again, we are taught the lessons of Life.
Here, in the divine services, we are taught. We are given the strength, the knowledge, the courage, and the tools to learn the only lesson we will ever need: how to become like God and live. But it takes more than academic inquiry and hymns. It requires a life lived—specifically a right-glorifying life. It requires belief, certainly, and it requires acceptance. But it also requires action. It requires trials and tribulation. It requires the crucible. In short, it requires the cross.
Dear ones, as we come face-to-face with God, let us not attempt to justify ourselves and make excuses for not dying on behalf of others. Rather, let us confess that we have not properly learned the lesson. In the acceptance of this revelation, let us beat our breast, and cry out to God for mercy, believing and knowing that he gives it. And when we leave this temple and we encounter existential opportunities to become like God, let us remember what we have heard. Let us remember the strength of God. Let us remember that the very Body and Blood of God, the very power of God, has entered our members, our veins, and our hearts. All of this so that we may give, and forgive, and lend expecting no return. Let us serve, doing good to those who wrong us, turning the other cheek, interceding on behalf even of the ungrateful and the selfish. Let us, through the very Life of God, learn to die to self so that we may live to God.
To him who grants us life, we give glory, honor, and worship now and ever, and to the ages of ages. Amen.