Homily on the Fourth Sunday of Great Lent*
By Righteous Alexei Mechev
By Righteous Alexei Mechev
“He said: ‘Teacher, I brought my son to You, who has a mute spirit… and I told Your disciples to cast it out, but they could not’” (Mark 9:17–18).
Many times our Lord healed the sick, even those gravely ill and possessed by unclean spirits: with a single word, by a touch, even from a distance. More than once the disciples of the Lord, by the grace given to them by Him, healed the sick, cleansed lepers, and cast out demons. But today’s Gospel tells us an example of a difficult and prolonged healing of a man possessed by a spirit of muteness. At the time when Jesus Christ was on the mountain, withdrawn in prayer, among the multitude of people gathered to see and hear the Lord, a father came with his sick son. Not finding the Lord, he turned to His disciples: they made attempts, laid hands on him, but could not cast out the evil spirit. The unfortunate father then approaches the Lord upon His return from the mountain, and see how even here, in the hands of the Almighty, the work of healing is accomplished slowly. The Lord commands that the sick boy be brought to Him; at that moment the boy had a severe seizure, “he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth” (Mark 9:20). It would seem that the merciful heart of the Lord would incline Him immediately to compassion and healing. But the Lord asks questions: how long this has been happening to him, how often it occurs; and in response to the father’s urgent pleas, the Lord requires faith from him — and only when the father cried out to the Lord with tears (that is, weeping, stricken with grief, he threw himself before the Lord) — only then did the Lord command the evil spirit to come out of him. The word of the Almighty could not fail to act, but even here resistance was shown. The evil spirit cried out violently, shook the boy greatly, as if struggling to remain in him, and, weakened, departed from him. Is this not the history of the correction of our sins? Is this not a vivid image of the slowness and stubbornness with which we part from our passions and infirmities? The father is each one of us — he brings into the infirmary his own sick soul; does not the same happen to it as to the afflicted boy? We resort to the saving remedies of the Church — and they do not help: prayer does not act, fasting is not accepted by our time, confession is cold, and the Holy Mystery of Communion does not change the sinner.
What is this, then — such incorrigibility, as if there were no return to what is better? Why does this resistance to the healing of our infirmities exist? Why can we not free ourselves from our sins?
Today’s Gospel points to the cause of the persistence of our sins in the sinfulness of society as a whole, in the spirit of the age. It would seem — what connection could there be between the illness of the boy and the condition of the whole people? And yet, in response to the father’s complaint about the failure of the healing, the Lord expressed indignation at the whole people: “O faithless generation! How long shall I be with you? How long shall I bear with you?” (Mark 9:19). Around the boy were gathered all classes, each with their own infirmities. There were crowds of idle people, running to every spectacle out of empty curiosity; there were scribes and Pharisees, proud of their status and unbelief; there were also the best among the people — the disciples of the Lord — but timid, uncertain, troubled.
The boy is afflicted by an unclean spirit — is it not because the whole society, the entire people, is sick?
They ask for the healing of the boy — but why do they not ask for the healing of the people’s illnesses: the darkness and ignorance of the crowd, the unbelief and mockery of the scribes and Pharisees, the timidity and uncertainty of the disciples themselves?
Is it not the same with us?
We are children of our time; we are flesh of the flesh of our society. How then can I separate myself from it? How can I go against an entire generation? How can I not resemble it? Before we ourselves begin the work of educating our soul, sins come to us from outside — from the world, from its established rules, customs, and temptations. This is why parental instruction, the guidance of school, and the examples of the best people are often of little effect; we guard our children, sow all that is good and honest, expect good fruits, and are surprised when different thoughts and characters appear in them, against which good influence is already powerless. How often now one hears complaints about the younger generation — that it begins early to live according to its own will, that it is burdened by dependence, that it does not need guardianship, even loving and familial, that in everything it relies on the present time, on the current way of thinking and living! When you compare former people with those of today and see that old, good customs are disappearing, that many things once honored and respected are now viewed almost with contempt, being said to be outdated, having outlived their time.
And what do we not witness in our present times? Visit the courts: whom will you not see there, what will you not hear there? What a sad spectacle of the decline of morality and honesty toward society: and all because in our times it is no longer shameful even to sit on the defendant’s bench. Read the reports of daily events: here theft, there suicide, there attempts on life — sometimes of those close and related. “We are not afraid of human judgment,” they say; but as for the Judgment of God — who remembers it in our times?
And so it turns out just as the Gospel tells us today: when we hear of evil deeds, when we are struck by some affliction, how can we not cry out: O faithless generation! O weak age, O sick people of a sick age!
What, then, must be done so that there may be good children, moral youth, honest workers, people of truth and goodness? Society itself must be more strict with itself; it must openly, even before the courts, condemn crime; it must clearly stand on the side of the Law of God and of man. Society must recognize above itself another force, a higher authority before which it would humble itself: we mean the power of holy faith, the authority of the Holy Church. Society must draw its convictions from the source of faith; it must test and correct its morals according to the examples of devout Christians; it must itself concern itself with its illnesses and their healing.
Before the gathered crowd — arguing, mocking — the disciples of the Lord showed doubt, lack of firmness, perhaps even uncertainty in the Teacher and Lord Himself, and were unable to bring about healing.
Do we not see even now this timidity, this hiddenness, this obscurity of true Christians? Where are they — the strong rebukers of the people’s illnesses, the strong bearers of holy convictions and rules, the good people who would shine to the world by their example? Society fears them, does not love them. It does not want to believe that one moral person, honorable and elevated in society, can widely spread his beneficial influence.
Society is guilty of our sins in that it lives and teaches us to live according to the spirit of the present time, and not according to the teaching of the Lord, not under the influence of the Holy Church.
Another cause indicated in the Gospel for our lack of correction is the deficiency, the superficiality, the coldness of our confession. Why did the Lord not immediately heed the father’s request for his unfortunate, sick son? Because in him there was neither deep faith in the Lord, nor personal compassion and heartfelt pity for his son, nor that parental sorrow which is expressed in tears, in anguish, in a gaze full of supplication and hope.
Listen to how cold the father’s request is: “I brought my son to You, and if You can do anything, help us.”
“If You can do anything”? This is doubt, this is lack of confidence in the Healer — how can there be success? And so the Lord begins to heal not the son, but the father himself: the Lord asks how long he has been ill. Did not the All-knowing One know this? It was not for Him — it was for the father, to awaken in him compassion for his son, for his sufferings, to make him feel the weight of his illness and to instill… (here the homily abruptly ends)
Notes:
* The sermon was delivered on the Sunday of Saint John Climacus, before the Revolution. The year is unknown. Published for the first time from the "Speech Plans" from the archive of E. V. Apushkina.
Source: Translated by John Sanidopoulos.
