“One of the brothers from the monastery near his cave came to Abba Sisoes and complained: “I am unjustly accused by the other monks; they say I eat in secret, look at women and at the time of prayer sleep in my cell.” Abba looked at him and said, “Why do you come to me?” The monk answered him, “I am innocent of the accusations. Will you do nothing?” Abba Sisoes said, “I will not steal from you.” The monk said, “Abba, what do I have for you to steal?” The old man replied, “The reward that you have of being ill-thought of and spoken about. These things are of more good to the soul than many days of fasting and spiritual labor.”
Since the Lord Jesus spoke the first words of the Gospel, His followers have looked for ways to empty His words of their power. “If someone strikes you, invite them to slap you again.” “If someone takes your coat, give him your shirt, too.” “When you are slandered, don’t defend yourself but leap for joy.” If someone actually lived this way, we wouldn’t think of them as living the Gospel life—we’d call them crazy. No normal, right-thinking person is going to follow Jesus’ commandments.
But that’s why those who followed God into the burning desert went there. They lived in the uncompromising desert to put themselves to the most uncompromising of tests, the ultimate trial of the human spirit: can a human being really and truly do what the Lord Jesus told us to do?
The unnamed monk seeks out Abba Sisoes and grumbles that he’s being ill-used by his brothers. Sisoes sends him away without condolences, offering no sympathy, showing him none of the milk of human kindness we all crave. “You’re being mistreated? Congratulations! This is why you came to the desert in the first place!”
We all like to hear the Gospel—or what we imagine is the Gospel—about God loving us regardless, God answering our prayers, God taking care of us like the lilies of the field. All true, but all incomplete. And the incomplete Gospel, the compromised Gospel, the Gospel of “olly olly oxen free” turns out to be no Gospel at all; it’s a trick.
The Gospel that doesn’t challenge us, that reinforces our prejudices and bolsters our politics—whatever they are—isn’t the Gospel of God but the soothing gospel of man.
The Gospel of the Lord Christ isn’t concerned with our comfort but our salvation. He doesn’t invite us to follow Him to a feel-good sing-along but along the tortuous Way of the Cross; when we get there it’s not to wring our hands but have nails driven through them.
“I am crucified with Christ,” St Paul cried, “it is no longer I who live, but Christ Who lives in me.” That’s the Gospel Abba Sisoes hoped to get the monk to embrace. It’s the uncompromising Gospel of Lent.
How do we embrace it? More to the point, do we even want to?
I can keep the comfortable Gospel, a chocolate Lent, and be proud of myself when the forty days are over. Or I can keep a bold Lent, not struggling with sugar but with my love of prestige, of being well-thought of, of having my way and being right. How do I do that? I ask God to humble me, break my arrogance, strike at my pride. If I do, if you do, He will.
Keeping the uncompromising Lent of the desert is asking God to fight alongside us against our real, day-to day sins—and not complaining when He does.
No comments:
Post a Comment