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Hoe vreemd is ons geloof nie! Hoe werklik eienaardig en raar is die Bybel nie, as jy dit ‘n slag met aandag lees nie! Neem nou die gedeelte oor die Laaste Oordeel wat ons gelees het. Hier is ‘n hele rits rariteite. Ek noem net twee. Die eerstge is die klem op die ewige verdoemenis en die verskrikking daarvan: “Gaan weg van My, julle vervloektes, in die ewige vuur wat berei is vir die duiwel en sy engele.” Dis iets wat die moderne mens, wat glo dat ons voortdurend beter word – of minstens moet word – diep ongemaklik laat. Dis iets wat my en jou, as belydende Ortodokse Christene, ook diep ongemaklik moet laat. Want ons weet dat ons geoordeel en dalk veroordeel gaan word. Ons glo dit en bely dit: “. . . wat weer sal kom met heerlikheid, om te oordeel die lewendes en die dooies”. Wat maak mens daarmee?
En dan die maatstaf waarvolgens ons geoordeel gaan word. Geloof in Christus se kruisdood vir ons? Toe nie. Doop in die naam van die Drie-eenheid? Ook nie. Die feit dat ons Ortodoks is, of dalk ons askese en al ons Ortodokse gewoontes, soos die hou van ‘n gebedsreël, die bid van die Jesusgebed, en so aan?
Wel, nee: ons gaan geoordeel word volgens ‘n maatstaf waaroor niemand my al uitgevra het, tussen al die vrae oor Ortodoksie deur nie. ‘n Maatstaf waaraan niemand wat ek ken, homself meet nie: die vervulling van die geringstes se behoeftes. Dis by hierdie rariteit wat ek wil stilstaan.
Wat sal ons red van die ewige vuur? Hierdie vraag staan teen die agtergrond van die groeiende besef by baie mense dat stormwolke aan die saampak is in die wêreld. Ek lees die volgende gedig raak in Paul Kingsnorth se Against the Machine. Dis van die wonderlike Walliese digter R.S. Thomas:
. . . The machine appeared
In the distance, singing to itself
Of money. It song was the web
They were caught in, men and women
Together. The villages were as flies
To be sucked empty.
God secreted
A tear. Enough, enough
He commanded, but the machine
Looked at him and went on singing.
Hierdie gedig verwoord ‘n aanvoeling wat meeste van ons het, dat ons beskawing aan die intuimel is omdat die basiese aannames waarop dit gebou is, vervang is met die masjien van begeerte en gierigheid, wat almal van ons in sy kloue het. Die masjien verlei ons en vreet ons en verteer ons. Ons betaal vir ons gierigheid en begeerte met gebroke verhoudings en verskraalde, verwronge siele.
En kom ons wees eerlik: ons weet nie wat om daaraan te doen nie. Ons spartel vervaard en toenemend wanhopig. Soms skreeu ons, “Jy kan nie! Genoeg! Genoeg! Iemand doen iets!” Maar ons begeerte kyk ons aan en hou aan sing.
Maar die Heilige Maria Skobtsova van Parys het ‘n antwoord:
“Daar bestaan in die Christelike wêreld ‘n konstante neiging, in oomblike van verskillende historiese katastrofes, om met groot intensiteit ‘n inkeer na jouself te predik, ‘n onttrekking van die lewe, ‘n staan van die enkele menslike siel voor God.
Dit skep ‘n eienaardige prentjie van die wêreld: aan die een kant al die verskeie magte van die bose, verenig en bevestigend van die krag van die kollektiewe, van die massas, en die waardeloosheid en geringheid van elke aparte menslike siel; en aan die ander kant – verstrooide en vervreemde Christelike siele, wat hulleself bevestig in hierdie verstrooiing en vervreemding, vir wie die wêreld ‘n soort bose spookbeeld word, en die enigste werklikheid is God en my enkele siel wat bewend voor Hom staan.”
Skobtsova gaan voort en sê dat dié denkbeeld ‘n versoeking is, en so verskriklik vir die individu is as vir die Kerk van Christus, en dat sy mense wil oproep om sáám voor God te staan, saam te ly en saam die versoeking te weerstaan.
Daarmee gee sy die antwoord op dit wat ons sal red van die masjien en van die ewige vuur, van die tirannie van ons en die mensdom se matelose begeerte. Want die antwoord op albei verskrikkings is dieselfde, en kort en klein en versluier: Die voorsiening in die behoeftes van die behoeftiges.
Want hoewel dit nie klink na ‘n manier om die wêreld te red nie en ook nie onsself nie, is dit die antwoord wat Christus kom leer het en leef het.
Hoe doen ons dit?
Ons begin deur saam met die Heilige Efraim die Siriër te bid,
“Gee my, Here, ‘n fontein van trane,
dat my hart gereinig mag word
en my hardheid mag oplos.”
Ons moet begin deur te bid vir sagte harte teenoor ander; en aanhou bid daarvoor. Klippe word opgelos deur druppels wat aanhoudend daarop drup.
Dan neem ons Christus se vreemde woorde ter harte:
Voorwaar Ek sê vir julle, vir sover julle dit gedoen het aan een van die geringstes van hierdie broeders van My, het julle dit aan My gedoen.
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Voorwaar Ek sê vir julle, vir sover julle dit nie gedoen het aan een van hierdie geringstes nie, het julle dit aan My ook nie gedoen nie.
Wat sê Christus hier? Dat die geringstes sy broers en susters is; en dat liefde aan hulle, liefde aan Christus self is. En dat onagsaamheid teenoor die geringstes, ongeërgdheid teenoor Christus is.
Sodat ons die geringstes moet begin ag soos Christus. En ons besittings reg moet begin sien, as gawes van God wat aan ons gegee is om ons naaste te dien.
En dan maak jy ‘n praktiese plan en voer dit uit. Gee te ete, gee te drinke, gee herberg, gee klere, besoek die siekes, besoek die gevangenes.
Gaan dit moeilik wees? Gewis, veral aanvanklik. Ontmoontlik, om die waarheid te sê, as jy nie afhanklik van Christus is en bly nie. Gaan jy foute maak? Sonder twyfel. Maar dis nie die maatstaf nie. Die vraag is of jou liefde voete en hande gekry het.
Dis waarvolgens jy geoordeel sal word. Bid. Begin klein. Vind een behoeftige. Help daardie een. Kom naby. Luister. Gee.
As ons dit leer doen, word ons uiteindelik soos Simeon die Godontvanger en Anna die Profetes. Ek het ‘n rukkie gelede gepraat oor die hopeloosheid van die Israel waarheen Christus gekom het. Dit het duidelik gelyk asof dit klaarpraat was met die Jode as ‘n volk, asof God sy heilsplan vir hulle laat vaar het. Die masjien van hulle begeerte na afgodery het die einde van die koninkryk van Israel beteken; en dit het gelyk asof ontsag vir God dood was. Die laaste profeet het immers 400 jaar gelede gesterf. Christus het telkemale die heersende vormgodsdiens veroordeel, wat vir die skyn lang gebede doen maar die weduwees en wese opeet.
En tog was daar twee heiliges wat Jesus in die Tempel kon ontmoet toe sy ouers Hom bring om as eersgeborene aan God gewy te word. Een van hulle was Anna, die onbekende profetes. Die ander was “Símeon; en hierdie man was regverdig en vroom en het die vertroosting van Israel verwag, en die Heilige Gees was op hom.” Hy was regverdig, wat beteken dat hy genadig was. Daarom is aan hom gegee om Christus in sy arms te neem en God te loof, en te kan sê:
“Nou laat U, Here, u dienskneg gaan in vrede volgens u woord . . .”, die woorde van ‘n man wat die verwoesting van sy volk en die ewige oordeel nie gevrees het nie, omdat hy geleef het wat liefde is en daarom gegee is om Liefde in sy arms vas te hou. Amen.
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How strange our faith is! How truly peculiar and rare the Bible is, once you read it carefully! Take the passage about the Last Judgment that we read today. Here is a whole string of oddities. I will mention only two. The first is the emphasis on eternal damnation and its terror: “Depart from Me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.” That is something which the modern person—who believes that we are continually becoming better, or at least ought to be—finds deeply uncomfortable. It is something that should also leave you and me, as confessing Orthodox Christians, deeply uncomfortable. For we know that we shall be judged and perhaps condemned. We believe it and confess it: “… who shall come again with glory, to judge the living and the dead.” How does one respond to that?
And then the standard according to which we will be judged. Faith in Christ’s death on the cross for us? Apparently not. Baptism in the name of the Trinity? Not that either. The fact that we are Orthodox – or perhaps our asceticism and all our Orthodox customs, such as keeping a prayer rule, praying the Jesus Prayer, and so on?
Well, no: we shall be judged according to a standard about which no one has ever questioned me, among all the questions about Orthodoxy. A standard by which no one I know measures himself: the meeting of the needs of the least. It is at this peculiarity that I want to pause.
What will save us from the eternal fire? This question stands against the background of a growing awareness among many people that storm clouds are gathering in the world. I came across the following poem in Paul Kingsnorth’s Against the Machine. It is by the wonderful Welsh poet R. S. Thomas:
. . . The machine appeared
In the distance, singing to itself
Of money. Its song was the web
They were caught in, men and women
Together. The villages were as flies
To be sucked empty.
God secreted
A tear. Enough, enough
He commanded, but the machine
Looked at him and went on singing.
This poem gives expression to a feeling most of us have: that our civilisation is collapsing because the basic assumptions on which it was built have been replaced by the machine of desire and greed, which has all of us in its claws. The machine seduces us and devours us and consumes us. We pay for our greed and desire with broken relationships and with shrivelled, distorted souls.
And let us be honest: we do not know what to do about it. We struggle in alarm and growing desperation. Sometimes we shout, “No, you can’t! Enough! Enough! Someone do something!” But our desire looks at us and keeps on singing.
But Saint Maria Skobtsova of Paris has an answer:
“There exists in the Christian world a constant tendency, in moments of various historical catastrophes, to preach with great intensity a turning inward, a withdrawal from life, a standing of the single human soul before God.
This creates a peculiar picture of the world: on the one hand all the various forces of evil, united and affirming the power of the collective, of the masses, and the worthlessness and insignificance of each separate human soul; and on the other hand—scattered and estranged Christian souls, affirming themselves in this scattering and estrangement, for whom the world becomes a kind of evil phantom, and the only reality is God and my single soul trembling before Him.”
Skobtsova goes on to say that this idea is a temptation, and as terrible for the individual as for the Church of Christ, and that she wishes to call people to stand together before God, to suffer together and to resist the temptation together.
In that she gives the answer to what will save us from the machine and from the eternal fire, from the tyranny of our own and humanity’s boundless desire. For the answer to both terrors is the same, and short and small and veiled: the provision for the needs of the needy.
For although it does not sound like a way to save the world, nor ourselves, it is the answer Christ came to teach and to live.
How do we do this?
We begin by praying with Saint Ephrem the Syrian,
“Give me, Lord, a fountain of tears,
that my heart may be cleansed
and my hardness dissolved.”
We must begin by praying for soft hearts toward others—and keep on praying for it. Stones are dissolved by drops that fall on them continually.
Then we take Christ’s strange words to heart:
“Truly I say to you, insofar as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me,”
and
“Truly I say to you, insofar as you did not do it to one of the least of these, neither did you do it to Me.”
What is Christ saying here? That the least are His brothers and sisters; and that love toward them is love toward Christ Himself. And that neglect of the least is indifference toward Christ.
So that we must begin to regard the least as Christ does. And begin to see our possessions rightly, as gifts from God given to us in order to serve our neighbour.
And then you make a practical plan and carry it out. Give food, give drink, give shelter, give clothing, visit the sick, visit the prisoners.
Will it be difficult? Certainly, especially at first. Impossible, in fact, if you are not and do not remain dependent on Christ. Will you make mistakes? Without doubt. But that is not the standard. The question is whether your love has acquired feet and hands.
That is what you will be judged by. Pray. Begin small. Find one needy person. Help that one. Draw near. Listen. Give.
If we learn to do this, we eventually become like Simeon the God-receiver and Anna the Prophetess. Some time ago I spoke about the hopelessness of the Israel into which Christ came. It clearly seemed as if it was finished with the Jews as a people, as if God had abandoned His plan of salvation for them. The machine of their desire for idolatry had meant the end of the kingdom of Israel; and it seemed as if reverence for God was dead. The last prophet had died 400 years earlier. Christ repeatedly condemned the prevailing formal religion, which for appearance’s sake makes long prayers but devours widows and orphans.
And yet there were two saints who could meet Jesus in the Temple when His parents brought Him to dedicate Him to God as firstborn. One of them was Anna, the unknown prophetess. The other was “Simeon; and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him.” He was righteous, which means that he was merciful. Therefore it was given to him to take Christ in his arms and praise God, and to be able to say:
“Now You let Your servant depart in peace according to Your word …”
the words of a man who did not fear the destruction of his people or the eternal judgment, because he had lived what love is and was therefore given to hold Love in his arms. Amen.