Today in America is Election Day which for me means an end to the hate mail which has been stuffed into my mailbox or hung on my screen door. I’m referring to the political flyers and ads which these days I consider to be “hate mail” – they proclaim a hatred for the opposing politicians and they are intentionally trying to incite us to hate them as well. And though for me they fail in their task, I do come to hate getting those flyers and I hate the people and their political parties who send them. But Election Day means the end of this hate mail, at least for this year. All the political parties’ efforts to incite us to hate is spiritually demonic in my opinion. I think St Paul describes the two American political parties and politicians well:

You must understand this, that in the last days distressing times will come. For people will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, arrogant, abusive … ungrateful, unholy, inhuman, implacable, slanderers, profligates, brutes, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, swollen with conceit, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, holding to the outward form of godliness but denying its power.
Avoid them! (2 Timothy 3:1-5)

Perhaps the most difficult part of Paul’s words is how to fulfill his exhortation to “Avoid them!” How? Political ads are ubiquitous before our elections. Turning them off is not easy since they electronically invade our lives, cell phones, and homes. [I’m not much of a TV watcher, so I’m not slammed by those hate filled attack ads, but from what I hear those ads are vile.] Some 55 years ago, an elderly retiree friend of mine quipped that during the election season he put his TV on his lawn so that the political commercials would fertilize the grass. Things haven’t changed since then.

Politics and elections do not have to be dirty and negative. That is a conscious choice by the political parties and the candidates to use hatred to attain their ends. We should not reward them for their evil efforts. Don’t read those flyers or pay attention to the media’s political ads. Treat those flyers and ads as toxic. Take the flyers and put them immediately into a recycle bin where maybe they can be converted into something good. Never base your vote on any political ad or on a politician’s rhetoric – instead get your information on candidates from more neutral sources like the League of Women Voters Guide or from a voters guide that your local newspaper offers. As for the ads on the internet or TV, turn the volume off when they come on. Don’t let them into your ears, heart or mind. I wish there were ways to deter the political parties and politicians from relying on attack ads, but I cannot come up with anything more than never donate to their campaigns and don’t vote for them. In my mind they have no right to use my cell phone to send me their hate filled messages. “Stand your ground” should also protect our personal devices from being invaded by politicians’ attack ads.

American judges have decided that political hate speech is protected by the Constitution’s free-speech rights. But we are warned in the New Testament: “As servants of God, live as free people, yet do not use your freedom as a pretext for evil. Honor everyone… Fear God…” (1 Peter 2:16-17). Would that we could inject Christian behavior into the politics of a country that claims to be Christian. As Christians we are told to fear God not to fear politicians. The political parties want us to fear the politicians from the “other” party, their fearmongering is not godly. “Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated, but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord. Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence. Keep your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who abuse you for your good conduct in Christ may be put to shame.” (1 Peter 3:14-16)

American politics and the American political parties have so embraced negative and repugnant attack ads as well as fearmongering that it seems impossible to think that the Holy Eucharist (thanksgiving) and the election could be held together in the same thought. Two Orthodox instructors, however, have brought the two together for our consideration. David Bentlely Hart and John Chryssavgis write:

Christian hope lies in the Kingdom of God and not in the kingdoms of this world. The Church puts her trust not in princes, in sons of men and whom there is no salvation (Psalm 146:3), but rather in the Son of God who has entered history to liberate his creatures from all those practices and structures of sin, oppression and violence that corrupt the fallen world. Over the course of Christian history, Christians have lived under diverse forms of government – empires, totalitarian regimes, liberal democracies, nations with Christian establishments, nations with other established creeds, secular states – some of which have proved amicable to the institutional church, some hostile and some indifferent.

No matter what the political regime to which they have been subject, however, the principal home of Christians in this world is in the celebration (at times open, at times in secret) of the Holy Eucharist, where they are enjoined to ‘set aside all earthly care’ (Divine Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom) and to enter at once both into the unity of the Body of Christ in history and into the joy of God’s Kingdom beyond history. The Eucharist, in being celebrated and shared by the faithful ever and again constitutes the true Christian polity, and shines out as an icon of God’s Kingdom as it will be realized in a redeemed, transfigured and glorified creation.

As such, the Eucharist is a prophetic sign as well, at once a critique of all political regimes insofar as they fall short of divine love and an invitation to all peoples to seek first the Kingdom of God and its justice (Matthew 6:33). Here we have no enduring city and must look instead for the city that is to come (Hebrews 13:14); here we are strangers and pilgrims (Hebrews 11:13); but here also we enjoy a foretaste of that final redemption of all social order in God’s Kingdom, and have been entrusted with the sign to exhibit before the nations, by which to call them to a life of peace and charity under the shelter of God’s promises. (FOR THE LIFE OF THE WORLD, pp 8-9)

Politicians and political parties want us to think they represent ultimate values and if we don’t vote for them, all hell will break loose. The Liturgy reminds us that nothing that politicians do is of eternal value. They do affect our life in this world but we are also citizens of God’s eternal Kingdom and temporal political parties cannot touch that aspect of our humanity. No political party represents God as by nature they are worldly, concerned with maintaining political power in this world. Every politician today is another Ozymandias whose mighty statue Poet Percy Shelley described in 1819 – fallen over, laying prone in the dust of the earth despite the mighty epitaph carved on its pedestal. It speaks of human hubris for even the mighty politician falls and disappears in history:

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision nor uncircumcision avails anything, but a new creation. (Galatians 6:15)

Sometimes Christians reduce Christ’s salvation to meaning the forgiveness of sins. While this is part of what Christ accomplishes, the New Testament also presents to us a bigger picture – the renewal of all creation which goes way beyond just forgiving sins. God always intended to dwell in His creation and with His creatures. But the spiritual rebellion of humans and  angels introduced sin and demonic activity into creation which made it inhospitable to our Holy God. God sends His Son into the world to reclaim creation for Himself. Human religious activity – rules, rubrics, liturgies, typikons and the Torah – were not able to cleanse the world of sin, death and demons. Only God’s presence in creation could accomplish this salvation. The Book of Revelation describes salvation this way:

“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.” And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:1-5)

Note salvation is not our going to heaven, but God coming to live with and in us! This emphasis on a new creation, not just the forgiveness of sins, is obvious in the Orthodox Baptism service, where not only are the catechumens cleansed of evil spirits, but so too are the waters in which they will be baptized. The blessing of water which is part of every baptism is the renewal of creation and the elimination of evil spirits from creation. So too the exorcism is an essential part of what Christ accomplishes for us – removing all evil spirits from our lives and giving us complete and total victory over them. So we pray in the exorcism:

O Lord of Sabaoth, the God of Israel, Who heals every malady and every infirmity: Look upon Your servant; prove him (her) and search him (her) and root out of him (her) every operation of the devil. Rebuke the unclean spirits and expel them, and purify the works of Your hands; and exerting Your trenchant might, speedily crush down Satan under his (her) feet; and give him (her) victory over the same, and over his unclean spirits; that, having obtained mercy from You, he (she) may be made worthy to partake of Your heavenly Mysteries; and may ascribe unto You glory, to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages.

Expel from him (her) every evil and unclean spirit which hides and makes its lair in his (her) heart.

The spirit of deceit, the spirit of evil, the spirit of idolatry and of every covetousness; the spirit of falsehood and of every uncleanness, which operates through the prompting of the devil. And make him (her) a reason-endowed sheep in the holy flock of Your Christ, an honorable member of Your Church, a consecrated vessel, a child of the light and an heir of Your Kingdom, that having lived in accordance with Your commandments, and preserved inviolate the seal, and kept his (her) garment undefiled, he (she) may receive the blessedness of the Saints in Your Kingdom.

In today’s Gospel lesson of the Gadarene swine (Luke 8:26-39) we see Christ renewing creation. In the ancient world, many Jews believed that bodies of water were the dwelling place of demons. When the demon-possessed pigs stampede into the water and are drowned, Christ shows the world, that the earth is no longer a safe place for demons as God has reclaimed creation for Himself. Creation is no more the haunt of demons. Never again can they safely abide in the human heart or anywhere else in creation. All things are made anew in Christ, free of any demonic influence.

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.   . . .  For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. (1 Thessalonians 4:13-16)

For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability, and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:52-55)

So it is with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body, it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a physical body, there is also a spiritual body.   . . .  The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven. As was the man of dust, so are those who are of the dust; and as is the man of heaven, so are those who are of heaven.  Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we will also bear the image of the man of heaven. (1 Corinthians 15:42-49)

Then comes the end, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father, after he has destroyed every ruler and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.  (1 Corinthians 15:24-26)

And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day. This is indeed the will of my Father, that all who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day. (John 6:39-40)

Rejoice, O Pure Virgin!
Again I say: Rejoice!
Your Son is risen from His three days in the tomb!
With Himself He has raised all the dead!
Rejoice, all you people!

[This is the conclusion of the short story “Purgatory” written by Christopher Albee. The story begins at Purgatory (I). The previous post is Purgatory (IV).]

Harold stood for a long moment and tried to think of what to say. There were so many words, so much anger and grief that had gathered up like filthy sludge behind a dam over the decades, that he didn’t know where he would begin. Finally, he simply steeled his will and strode with purpose and vigor toward the island garden.

As soon as he crossed into the verdant space, his senses changed. He could smell, see, and hear everything, from the most subtle flowery fragrances to the smallest, thinnest blade of grass, to the busy, cheerful hum of the honeybees roving from blossom to blossom. As he stood in the midst of the island, he heard something he did not expect: weeping. A soft, poignant weeping.

Harold stepped quietly toward the sound–around a bush and behind a tree–and saw something that thrust a keen blade into his angry heart: a child. A child, a little girl, about eight years old, dressed in linen white, kneeling on the grass, hands clasped in prayer, and tears falling from her cheeks onto the ground, where Harold watched with astonishment that each tear brought forth a flower from the soil where it fell.

As he wondered who the child was, he discerned suddenly that this was his mother. Harold cleared his throat a bit, and the girl looked toward his direction until her eyes met his face, and her eyes became as big as saucers and her hands flew to her face and she stood to face him. “Harold!”

Harold staggered–visibly staggered–and fell to his knees. “Mom?” he said.

Harold’s mother stood quietly, not moving, although the tears never ceased to fall from her eyes to become flowers at her feet moments later. As she looked at her son, her son beheld her, and he saw nothing of the hard, callous, manipulative, hateful, spiteful creature who lied and wheedled and used and stole and even killed. He saw instead a child in her innocence, guileless and pure, and filled with compunction and great sorrow.

They regarded one another for a long while, and then mother and son began to talk and say things that had to be said. They wept and shouted, and in the end, Harold realized that she denied nothing, confessed everything, and sorrowed for all she had done to him.

“I hope that one day you will forgive me,” she said.

“I hope one day I can,” he replied hoarsely. She nodded.

“Can I give you a hug,” she asked.

Harold blinked and to his own surprise replied, “Yes.”

She ran to Harold, who was still on his knees, and nearly bowling him over, wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged her son hard. Like a child hugs. Harold smelled her hair and it smelled like springtime.

“I love you,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

Harold hesitated and at first resisted the words he had so longed to hear from her. And then he melted and relented and then he replied, “I love you too.” And they held each other for a long time, mother and son.

Then, Harold felt a gentle tap on his head from somewhere unseen and apprehended an old priest’s sign of the cross. Harold’s mom unhugged him and stepped back as he transformed once more into swirling, diminishing particles of golden light and returned to the world as she watched, but not before a single tear fell from his cheek onto the ground, where sprang forth slowly…a small, white flower.

The End.

[This is the 4th post in a series of five presenting an original short story by Christopher Albee. The story begins at Purgatory (I). The previous post is Purgatory (III).]

Harold felt himself materializing into a place he had never been before. When he had reified fully, he gazed around himself and saw that he was standing atop an immense wall–easily 50 yards thick and impossibly high. Thousands of feet at least. The wall on which he stood was made of white marble, and where he stood was flat, like a great road. He looked down the wall’s crest and saw large islands of greenery planted atop the wall periodically for as far as his vision would allow.

To his right, inside the great wall was an enormous city unlike anything he had ever seen, having palaces and towers and grand avenues crisscrossing throughout. Flying creatures and beings that walked busied the city. He saw parks and greenscapes and all manner of beautiful things. The more he looked, the more he yearned to walk its boulevards; but also, the more his eyes hurt from the brilliance of all he saw.

As Harold turned and gazed to his left, he saw standing very close by a man no less than eight feet tall whom he knew instantly to be St. Benandonnagal. He knew it as surely as he knew he wore mismatched socks that day. St. Benandonnagal looked to be a young man–but it was youth that follows after having been old. He wore a white robe with threads of silver woven in, and these silver threads pulsed with gentle light that travelled along their length of their own accord.

St. Benandonnagal looked down at Harold, lifted an eyebrow, and said, “Lad.”

Harold answered upward with wide eyes and a whisper: “Sir.”

“Ye’ll be wantin’ to see yer mother, aye?” He asked in an ancient brogue. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Come this way.” They began to walk together along the top of the wall.

As they walked together, Harold’s mind began to fidget, and he soon asked, “Why is my mother here? I figured she’d be in hell for all she’s done.”

The giant slowed his pace, then stopped, and then turned to Harold with a disappointed expression on his rugged countenance. And then he asked, “Ye ever had a bad day?”

“Yeah, sure. More than I can count.”

“I mean, a day so bad that it completely changed yer life and set you off in a direction ye never intended and never wanted before that day? Have ye?”

“Yes. And I think you know that I have.”

“Aye. I do. And do ye know yer mother had a bad day like that too? Except she was but a wee lass, an’ it was the worst sort of trouble that befell her that anyone could imagine. She was never the same, an’ her life took the worst turns after that.”

Harold was silent.

“She’s over there, in tha’ greeny space. She’ll have permission to speak to you when ye approach. Ye’ll have all the time ye want to speak your peace, but don’t ye dare disrespect her. Not here. She’s yer mother, aye?”

“Aye,” Harold stammered.

“Good lad,” replied the saint, and he strode away.

Tomorrow: The Conclusion – Purgatory (V)

[This is the 3rd post in a series of five presenting an original short story by Christopher Albee. The story begins at Purgatory (I). The previous post is Purgatory (II).]

St. Mary’s on Fifth was five blocks away, so he found the church easily, and he made his way to the back entrance. Sure enough, affixed to the wall next to the door was a small, simple, wooden box. On the lid of the box was a slot meant for accepting coins. He fished the token out of his pocket and dropped it into the slot, and he could hear it join the other tokens lying inside. At once he heard a latch click and the back entrance door swung slowly open on creaky hinges, allowing him to enter the rear of the church.

“Hello?” Harold called out as he stood in the doorway. No answer.

“Hello???” He called out more loudly. Still nothing.

Cautiously, Harold stepped into the rear of the church and continued walking down a dimly lit hallway until he entered the nave near the front row of pews. The nave was dimly lit by candles and their light cast a warm glow in the large space. He made his way to the second row of pews near the altar, sat down–without genuflecting–clasped his hands together on the back of the pew in front of him, and laid his head down on his clasped hands. He sighed.

Harold began to consider how it didn’t seem real that his mother was dead even though he wasn’t the least bit shocked about it. He sat and thought and pondered; and in the midst of the quiet, sacred space, he silently thanked Mike for directing him here to sit for a spell.

And then he heard the priest.

Harold lifted his head quickly toward the sound and saw an older man with white hair and beard approach slowly, painfully, though his face radiated peace and compassion. He wore an old, black cassock. The priest was the very image of simplicity and care, and the hard-boiled detective found himself surprised that he sensed no suspicion in himself as the man sat near him on the pew.

“I’m Father Severus,” announced the priest. “As in, Severus of Antioch, 6th century. Not Harry Potter.” His voice was gentle, like rustling leaves in autumn.

“Pleased to meet you,” Harold replied, irritated at the intrusion.

“I see my presence irritates you,” said Fr Severus, “so I will not delay. I know about your mother and your grief; I am deeply sorry. The token which you dropped in the box near the back door entitles you to a single visit to the afterlife. You can tell your mother off there. Not everyone gets this chance.”

Harold looked at the priest with astonishment.

“Well, my son, what do you say?”

Harold replied, “Uhh…”

“Good enough. St. Benandonnagal will meet you there to guide you.” And with that, Fr Severus made the sign of the cross and rapped Harold gently on his forehead with the end of a finger, and he gazed at him with profound compassion as the detective was transformed into swirling, diminishing particles of golden light, a look of wide-eyed, flabbersmacked disbelief on his face.

Tomorrow: Purgatory (IV)

[This is the 2nd post in a series of five presenting a short story by Christopher Albee. The previous post is Purgatory (I).]

Mike waited patiently for his friend, at first near the examination table, and then while sitting at a small desk nearby, writing notes on a form. Finally, Harold cried himself out and he wiped his tears from his face with his handkerchief. He stood and walked slowly back again to the exam table. Mike met him there, and Harold said again, unnecessarily, “That’s my mom.”

Mike nodded and made a note on his clipboard. Had he been in his right mind, Detective Harold Connelly would have peppered the M.E. with questions about how his mother died, where she died, and all the other questions a good detective would ask, but he wasn’t in his right mind, and he knew very well it was probably an overdose that killed her, and that all of the things he had prepared to say to her before she would depart from this life were now worthless rantings that would never find a hearing. Somehow, he felt more grief for those wasted words than he did for his mother, and he turned to leave and go find a tavern where he could get drunk. Or just go home and get drunk. Whatever.

Mike said, “Before you go, I have something for you,” and he walked the few steps back to his little desk. Harold shook his head, bothered, but went to where Mike was standing and holding something in his hand.

“This is for you,” Mike said, and placed in Harold’s palm something that looked like a train token.

“So? What’s this?” Harold asked, looking at the token. “We haven’t got any trains that accept this.”

“No, we don’t,” Mike replied. “Take this token with you to St. Mary’s on Fifth Avenue. Go around to the back entrance and put the token into the wooden box next to the door. The door will open for you. Go inside and sit in a pew near the altar. I think you’ll find some comfort there.”

“Like hell I will,” Harold growled. But as soon as he took the token, he felt a pull, a gentle urging, and his mind considered it more favorably. He put the token in his pocket and said to the M.E., “Thanks for taking the time, Mike.”

Mike nodded again and walked Harold out of the exam room and to the door leading outside, where of course it had begun to rain.

Tomorrow: Purgatory (III)

[For the next 5 weekdays, I’m posting a short story, “Purgatory”, written by Christopher Albee, a friend of mine. I liked it so much I asked permission to publish it on this blog and he graciously agreed.]

Detective Harold Connelly answered his cell phone as he was leaving the house of a family whose son was suspected of doing something awful. He listened to the voice at the other end tell him to stop at the precinct as soon as possible to talk to the captain. The tone of voice told Harold it was not good news. He tucked the cell phone into his sport coat pocket as he walked around the front of his car and got in, slamming the door shut harder than he had to. He started the car and made his way down the residential toward the precinct station, his suspicions troubling him.

Harold walked into the city morgue after his police captain informed him of the bad news. He’d been in the morgue many times in his career, but never as an immediate family member of someone recently deceased. The Medical Examiner and Harold knew each other well since their paths crossed often enough. Harold walked into the M.E.’s office and said, “Mike.”

Mike, the Medical Examiner, looked up from the paperwork he was completing and sighed as he saw Harold standing in his doorway. He stood up and said quietly, “Come with me to the examination room, Harold.”

Without a further word, the two men walked down the short corridor to the exam room and went in. Lights flickered on automatically, and Mike led the way to an examination table where a figure lay unmoving beneath a white sheet. Harold followed, and the two of them stood across from one another at the head of the table, silent for a very long few seconds. The light in the room was bright but not garish, and the sheet draped over the figure was smooth and white. Clean.

Mike looked at Harold and asked, “Harold, do you recognize this person?” and he pulled the sheet down from the head of the body. Harold looked down and saw the face of the person who lay there dead. The clean white sheet covered a mess of humanity: a known prostitute and drug user, charged with manslaughter at the death of one of her children, utterly negligent and completely devoid of the ability or desire to care for herself or anyone else. She was despicable, and Harold hated her.

“Yes,” he replied. “This is my mother.”

Harold gazed at her silently for a minute and then stepped back and shut his eyes. Deep within him, a monstrous wave of anger and resentment—kept so carefully tamped down and controlled by sheer will for decades—rose unstoppably, inch by inexorable inch, within his chest. It grew and crescendoed, rising faster and faster, until tears escaped Harold’s eyes as he tried helplessly to hold it down. He grimaced and expelled a forceful breath as he lost the last bits of control.

“You stupid, horrible cow,” he rasped. He looked at Mike and his voice rose in agony, “That bitch”–Harold pointed at the corpse–“got what she deserved.” And with a rush of rage Harold shouted at the body, “Damn you to hell! DAMN. YOU. TO. HELL!!!”, while hovering menacingly over her body, jabbing his finger in her face, the angry judge condemning a criminal.

Harold shoved the exam table and cursed and staggered away from it toward a chair near the door and sat in it heavily. He began to weep, and he pulled out a handkerchief and held it in his hands, a thin pillow for his face as he sobbed. He sat for a long time, and his muffled cries filled the lonely room as he heaved and shook.

Next: Purgatory (II)

There was a certain rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and fared sumptuously every day. But there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, full of sores, who was laid at his gate, desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table. Moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. So it was that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s bosom.

The rich man also died and was buried. And being in torments in Hades, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. Then he cried and said, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus that he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.’ But Abraham said, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted and you are tormented. And besides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed, so that those who want to pass from here to you cannot, nor can those from there pass to us.’ (Luke 16:19-26)

St Ambrose of Milan says:

Wealth which leads men the wrong way so often, is seen less for its qualities than for the human misery it stands for. The large rooms of which you are so proud are in fact your shame. They are big enough to hold crowds and also big enough to shut out the voice of the poor. True, even if the voice were heard, it would be ignored.  …  The poor man cries before your house, and you pay no attention. There is your brother, naked, crying, and you stand confused over the choice of an attractive floor covering.

Early Church Fathers saw the spiritual danger which wealth can be for people. It is not that wealth itself is evil, but it is how it affects our hearts, minds, and souls, which is the problem.  When smitten with wealth, we are more concerned with how to accumulate more rather than with how we can use it for the good of others. As St Paul tells his spiritual son Timothy: “... those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pains“ (1 Tim 6:9-10).

Despite the many warnings in the New Testament about the spiritual risks of wealth, Americans shaped by consumerism and capitalism still lust after wealth and riches and often treat wealth as the greatest good and see the ‘filthy’ rich as the most successful people, blessed by God, and the ones whom they want to rule the country. On the contrary, our Lord Jesus Christ’s mother sang these words about how the Lord relates to the rich: “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:51-53). The Theotokos reminds us that God is not deceived by wealth and the wealthy as we are. He has far different criteria for evaluating who among us is good. Wealth is not His criterion for judging us. [See Christ’s parable of the Last Judgment – no one is judged by God for having or not having wealth, but all are judged on how they used whatever wealth (no matter how much or little) they had.]

St James also saw how wealth deceives and tempts the people in his own congregation in New Testament times: “Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him? But you have dishonored the poor. Is it not the rich who oppress you? Is it not they who drag you into court? Is it not they who blaspheme the excellent name that was invoked over you?“ (James 2:5-7)

Wealth is not THE sign of God’s favor and certainly it tells us nothing about the person’s relationship to God. As Christ bluntly teaches: “You cannot serve God and wealth” (Luke 16:13).