Judgement Sunday
It is remarkable that even today, after nearly 2000 years, just the mere mention of the name “Jesus” stirs up controversy. Add the opportunity to tell someone else how they should be spending their money, and, well, you get a Super Bowl commercial that prompts the kinds of conversation I’m not sure its creators had in mind. But there is no such thing as bad publicity, right?
In any relationship there are few touchpoints of contention more volatile than finances. For example, how money is earned and spent remains one of the principle causes of marital strife and divorce. Any kind of board meeting—even our Parish Council meetings—have their most acrimonious “discussions” during the treasurer’s report. And have you ever watched the U.S. Congress hammer out the Federal government’s spending? Not pretty.
This Superbowl ad, though, was an interesting case. It reminded me of the uproar generated by Elon Musk’s purchase of Twitter, when many people criticized him for spending his money on a social media platform when he could have solved world hunger. As with Musk then, the criticism seems mainly to be that the people supporting these commercials could have spent their money on better things, and that Jesus himself would disapprove of dropping the kind of coin required for something as fleeting and superfluous as a high-profile commercial.
The problem isn’t that they are wrong, necessarily. It may be worth discussing whether or not that money could have been better spent. The problem, rather, is that when we can comfortably cast such aspersions on how other people spend their money, we tend to overlook the plank in our own eye. How many of us cling more tightly to the $5 bill in our pocket when walking past a pan-handler, because we planned to use that money for our half-caf, mochachino latte at the Starbucks? I mean, we can’t be sure a panhandler isn’t going to buy drugs with it, right? It’s far easier to rail at billionaires, bureaucracies, and systems, and how they screw things up, than it is to look honestly at ourselves. As a man once said, “We are too prone to judge ourselves by our ideals and other people by their acts,” and cut ourselves a little slack.
So when we read this Sunday’s Gospel we have to be careful about where we place ourselves in the story. We’ll be tempted to number ourselves with the sheep. After all, I shared all the right memes, made a viral TikTok, and scolded people I don’t know that they should do better. I even threw a few dollars into one of those red kettles last Christmas. As long as I pledged some stewardship money at the parish and throw a dollar in the plate when I get my candle and when the ushers pass the tray, then I must be doing all right. Better than some people.
What we MUST DO is number ourselves amongst the goats, because if I am certain that I have fed, clothed, and slaked the thirst of my Lord Jesus, then I can be assured that I HAVE NOT.
Never forget the shock of the righteous upon hearing that they have done it. “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?” They had no idea. And if they didn’t, then YOU don’t either, and you especially CANNOT know if anyone else has. Yet, we still look for the chink in our brother’s armor before we even get our breastplate on.
The whole effort of this organization called He Gets Us, it seems to me, is to get past the “bad press” that Jesus typically gets from us who claim to be his followers. It is true that many people in pop culture tend to associate Christianity with so many bad things. When was the last time you saw on any of the programs you watch a Christian portrayed as anything other than cruel and vindictive or ridiculous and stupid? It’s one of the last remaining stereotypes from which no one will seek to disabuse you. As if only Christians behave this way.
But this mischaracterisation has become so pervasive that no one, not even Christians sometimes, know who Jesus really is, and our parishes have done very little to shed any light on the topic. We’ve all come to accept Christianity as a religious or moral system, some kind of thing to be a part of, rather than a person with whom we can have a relationship. And this is where I think the commercials are on to something. We have to get past ourselves and introduce people to who Jesus really is. Maybe that takes a fresh and expensive new approach, maybe not, but it isn’t my money. And what’s clear in the Gospel this week is that we will be judged by what we did, not by what we told others they should do.
So much of our current social unrest is attributable to the fact that we want to look outward, to society and governments, as both the cause and the solution to all of our problems. But that outward look puts the onus on others to fix my problems, which only amplifies the cycle of frustration at the helplessness of my situation. Since the problem lies with others, and I can’t make them do what I want, I end up just waiting for the world to change, and getting more and more frustrated when it doesn’t.
A certain psychologist puts it this way, “Set your house in perfect order before you criticize the world.” When I concentrate on me and my house, I find there are meaningful changes I can actually make that will improve my life, and when I do better, it makes the world around me better. It may not seem to make a huge impact, but this is what St. Seraphim of Sarov meant when he said to “acquire the Holy Spirit, and thousands around you will be saved.” We save the world by knowing God.
Even before I read the novel from which it came, the Bishop has been my favorite character in Les Miserables. If you know the musical, then you know that Jean Valjean, the main character, after enjoying the warm hospitality of the bishop’s home, steals the bishop’s silverware (actual silver) and runs off. When Valjean is caught and brought back to the bishop to confirm the thief’s story—doubted by the police—that the bishop gave him the silver, the bishop not only confirms the lie as true, but adds his silver candlesticks to the take. If you read the novel, then you also know that the silver was the only thing that the bishop kept after selling off everything else he had inherited. It was the only thing of worldly value he had left, and when it was stolen from him, he berated himself as the thief for keeping to himself this one pleasure. By giving it up he changes Valjean’s life.
Victor Hugo didn’t have to invent a story of such sacrificial giving, there are countless examples among the saints. St. John the Almsgiver, Patriarch of Alexandria in the 7th century, was one saint famous for his generosity. He referred to the poor as his “lords and masters,” and would often stroll the neighborhoods of his city handing out money to people who needed it. Once on his walk, St. John gave alms to a man, who then changed his clothes and came back for more. This he did twice before a deacon in the saint’s retinue became suspicious and warned the Patriarch that he was being taken advantage of. St. John merely said “Give unto him; he may be Our Lord in disguise.” And we worry what a beggar might do with our $5?
Because I’m stationed overseas, I didn’t see the “He Gets Us” commercials until there was a controversy that prompted me to look them up online. I confess, I was excited that such a message was presented to such a wide audience, many of whom don’t really know who Jesus is. I don’t know if it was a necessary or appropriate expense, I don’t know if it will be effective, but I know that I have no actual control over that decision. What I can do is give, directly and through charities, to the people in whom Jesus said he would be found. And then keep giving.
As we enter Holy and Great Lent, we’re reminded that our highest aspiration is to know God by acquiring the Holy Spirit and that this is done only with a balance of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving. We know what these things are, but tend to only dabble in them, like a hobby. If they cost us nothing, then we aren’t doing it right, especially the almsgiving. Even the arrogant Pharisee gave 10% of his income to the poor and needy. How much do we give? Is it enough? Are you sure?
If we are sure our house is in order, certain that our giving is appropriate, then we don’t need to worry about “He Gets Us.” We need to ask “Do we get him?”
An Orthodox Priest Abroad 