Son of Adam

Today Orthodox Christians join those of their Western brethren observing Lent. For us, Lent officially begins during vespers on the Sunday of Forgiveness. The gospel reading for the Sunday of Forgiveness gives its name to the day: Matthew 6:14-12 in which we read that unless we forgive others their sins, our Father in heaven will not forgive our sins. For this reason Lent begins with congregants asking forgiveness of each other during the Sunday evening vespers service.

Each congregant, one at a time. It can be somewhat daunting to look each person in the eyes and say, "please forgive me." The most common response, is "God forgives," though it is understood that the person saying this also forgives. It would be a bit more than slightly presumptuous to say "God forgives" and the same time think to oneself, "But I don't."

Of course such things can also be said in ritualistic way, merely repeating the words without meaning them. All of life is susceptible to such disconnection between what we say and think, not to mention what we actually do. Isn't this because we are all sons and daughters of Adam? We have been left somewhat clueless about what we have lost, though we have intimations of it at times--through conscience, through glimpses of utterable joy and beauty, and longings of the heart that reach beyond the materials things which we allow to dominate so much of our lives.

Forgiveness Sunday, then, is also called the Sunday on which commemorate "the casting out of Adam from paradise." This past Saturday we heard the voice of Adam during vespers:

"In my wretchedness I have cast off the robe woven by God, disobeying Thy divine command, O Lord, at the counsel of the enemy; and I am clothed now in fig leaves and in garments of skin. I am condemned to eat the bread of toil in the sweat of my brow, and the earth has been cursed so that it bears thorns and thistles for me. But, Lord, who in the last times wast made flesh of a Virgin, call me back again and bring me into Paradise."

This, and various other summaries of the fall, are read or chanted. One particular "sticheron" or verse poignantly points to what we have lost, and asks Paradise itself, personified, to offer prayers:

O precious Paradise, unsurpassed in beauty, tabernacle built by God, unending gladness and delight, glory of the righteous, joy of the prophets, and dwelling of the saints, with the sound of thy leaves pray to the Maker of all: may He open to me the gates which I closed by my transgression, and may He count me worthy to partake of the Tree of Life and of the joy which was mine when I dwelt in thee before.

I find as I get older some greater sense of the distance we have fallen, as well the distance the Lord travelled in seeking the lost sheep in the wilderness. Any time of the year it is good to reflect on such things. But I am grateful for the reminder that Lent presents us, for otherwise I wouldn't get around such reflections.

And so, while I have sense of trepidation whenever the period of "the fast" approaches, with the additional church services, and so on, I also look forward to the small steps closer to the Lord, the turning of the head more directly to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord, the inclining the ear to hear the voice that says, "Where are you?" To which we respond, "O merciful and compassionate Lord, I am fallen, have mercy upon me."

Then the Saviour said to him: "I desire not the loss of the creature which I fashioned, but that he should be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth; and when he comes to me I will not cast him out."