THE UNCONQUERED FORTRESS

Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the sixth Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Genesis 42:29-36, Joshua 10:28-36, and Isaiah 43:16-25
Holy Gospel reading: St. Luke 18:18-27

A ruler approaches Jesus with an admirable question: “Good Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” (v.18). An inheritance is not ordinarily earned by performing a task; it is received because one belongs to a household. Yet the ruler asks what he must do to inherit, approaching eternal life almost as though it were one more acquisition to be added to an already successful life.

Christ does not simply accept the flattering address of “Good Teacher.” He probes-“Why do you call Me good? No one is good but One, that is, God” (v.19). The Lord is not denying His divinity; He is pressing the ruler to confront the weight of his own words. If God alone is good, does the ruler understand Who stands before him? The ruler has come asking what good he must do; Christ begins by asking him to reconsider where goodness itself comes from.

Christ’s response also carries a searching lesson for our spiritual life-if goodness belongs ultimately to God, even our goodness must never become our possession. When the ruler declares, “All these things I have kept from my youth” (v.21), he may genuinely have lived an exemplary life yet virtue carries its own temptation. The commandments that should deepen our dependence upon God can quietly become evidence of our own righteousness. Wealth is not the only thing we can accumulate; virtues, disciplines and even a reputation for holiness can become another kind of treasure. Both material and moral wealth can occupy the place that belongs to God. Christ therefore leads the ruler beyond the comforting question, “What have I kept?” to the more searching one, “What am I still unable to surrender?”

Jacob’s Fear of Loss

The first Old Testament reading from Genesis 42 presents another person standing before the possibility of surrender. Jacob’s sons return from Egypt without Simeon and report that Benjamin must accompany them if they are to appear again before the governor. Jacob responds: “You have bereaved me: Joseph is no more, Simeon is no more, and you want to take Benjamin. All these things are against me.” (Genesis 42:36)

Jacob interprets his circumstances through the wounds of what he has already lost. Unknown to him, the events that appear to be dismantling his household are the very means through which God will preserve it. This is also the fear of the rich ruler. Jacob clings to Benjamin because Benjamin seems to be all that remains. The ruler clings to wealth because wealth has become his security, identity, and imagined guarantee against uncertainty.

Faith does not mean that surrender is painless. It means trusting that what God is doing cannot be measured solely by what appears to be disappearing. When God closes a path or asks us to release control, we may conclude that everything is against us. Yet the God who seems to be taking Benjamin may already be preparing a reunion with Joseph.

The Conquest Within

The second Old Testament reading from Joshua 10:28-36 recounts the conquest of several fortified cities; Joshua takes each city, defeats its king, and leaves no surviving power capable of reclaiming the land. These passages belong to a particular moment in Israel’s history and must not be turned into a justification for violence. Read spiritually, the uncompromising character of the battle speaks to the seriousness with which passions must be confronted.

The Promised Land cannot be peacefully inhabited while the powers opposed to God retain their thrones. In the same way, the human heart cannot belong wholly to God while cherished idols continue to rule secretly within it. That idol may be wealth, reputation, comfort, control or even our own righteousness. The rich ruler appears to have conquered many outward sins; many visible cities have fallen, yet one fortified city remains, and Christ places His finger precisely upon that unconquered territory. The command to sell and distribute is not divine hostility toward him but a campaign of liberation.

We frequently ask God to remove the consequences of our passions while leaving the passions themselves untouched. Surprisingly, the final fortress is often protected by our virtues. Because we pray, fast, serve, give, and live respectably, we assume that the heart is fully surrendered. Yet the last unconquered city may be the very thing from which we derive our deepest sense of security.

“Shall you not know it?”

In the third Old Testament reading the Lord identifies Himself as the One who made a way through the sea and a path through mighty waters. God now commands Israel not to remain confined to “the former things,” (v.18) because divine grace is preparing something new.This word speaks directly into the ruler’s crisis. Christ places a new future before him, but he cannot imagine life outside the structures that have sustained him until now. His wealth not only has provided him comfort but also narrowed his imagination. He cannot conceive that life with Christ might be richer than everything Christ asks him to release.

The Lord asks, “Shall you not know it?” (Isaiah 43:19) The question is one of spiritual perception. The ruler sees the cost, but not the new creation. St. Luke tells us that the ruler became “very sorrowful.” His sorrow reveals that the word of Christ has reached him; he knows that he stands before a genuine decision. The tragedy of the rich ruler was not that Christ asked for too much, but that his hands were too full to receive the One who had come to give him everything.

This last point brings us to the climax of the passage. When Jesus declares how difficult it is for the wealthy to enter the Kingdom, the hearers ask, “Who then can be saved?”. If even a disciplined, respectable and religiously observant person cannot secure eternal life, salvation must lie beyond human achievement. Christ answers, “The things which are impossible with men are possible with God.” (v.27) These words are more than a general assurance that God can overcome our difficulties; they announce the mystery of salvation itself.

As the liturgical year draws to its close, its final lessons leave us with a striking paradox. The rich fool filled his barns yet was not rich toward God while the rich ruler chooses his earthly treasure over Christ-the true Treasure. We leave the season of the Cross knowing that the riches of earth cannot save us and turn towards the manger to receive the One “who makes us rich by becoming poor for our sake” (2 Corinthians 8:9).

In Christ,
Rincy

WHEN RELIGION BECOMES A GARMENT

 Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the fifth Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Leviticus 2:1-3; Job 6:1-10; Isaiah 40:27-31
Holy Gospel reading: St. Mathew 23:1-12

Religion becomes dangerous when it is worn rather than lived. It can be worn in the form of titles, positions, theological knowledge, pious habits, or carefully cultivated reputations. It can be worn so convincingly that everyone mistakes it for holiness. Christ exposes this danger He says of the scribes and Pharisees- “whatever they tell you to observe, that observe and do, but do not do according to their works” (v.3). They wore religion as a garment, yet it had never become their life.

Yet the Gospel does not permit us to remain safely outside the scene, congratulating ourselves for not being Pharisees. Perhaps the first sign of the Pharisee is the certainty that the passage is speaking about someone else. Christ did not speak these words to satisfy our desire to identify villains. He spoke to expose a temptation that passes through every human heart. Whenever faith becomes a matter of appearance rather than transformation, reputation rather than repentance, or recognition rather than surrender, the Pharisaic mask quietly returns. The Lord's warning is therefore about us not about them.

The Grain That Consents to Be Broken
The first Old Testament reading from Leviticus presents an image strikingly different from the religious self-display condemned in the Gospel- “When anyone presents a grain offering to the Lord, the offering shall be of choice flour; the worshiper shall pour oil on it and put frankincense on it” (Leviticus 2:1)

Fine flour is grain that has surrendered its original form. Pride struggles to remain intact, recognisable, and superior. It measures itself against others and resists whatever threatens its carefully constructed identity. But the grain offering consents to be broken. It relinquishes its separate form so that it may become nourishment.

The grain offering reminds us that what is pleasing to God is not what is displayed, but what is surrendered. Our learning, authority, reputation, ministry, and spiritual gifts are not ornaments given for public admiration. They are flour, oil, and incense entrusted to us so that they may be offered to God and become nourishment for His people. Faith that costs nothing may decorate a life, but it can never become an offering.

The Burden
The reading from the second Old Testament reading introduces us to a man crushed beneath a great burden. Christ condemns those who “tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear and lay them on the shoulders of others, but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.” (St. Matthew 23:4)

Religious authority becomes dangerous when it speaks confidently about burdens it has never attempted to carry. It is easier to offer answers about parenting than to endure sleepless nights over a struggling child; easier to speak about stewardship than to wrestle with financial uncertainty; easier to comment on grief, illness, family conflict, or failure than to walk through their hidden wounds. There is a profound difference between explaining a cross and helping another carry it. When doctrine is severed from compassion, it becomes another burden tied upon wounded shoulders.

St. Clement of Alexandria preserves a moving tradition concerning St. John the Apostle. After returning from Patmos, the Apostle learned that a young man whom he had previously entrusted to a bishop had abandoned the Christian life and become the leader of a band of robbers. St. John did not dismiss him as a failed disciple or protect his apostolic dignity by maintaining a safe distance. Though elderly, he went in search of the young man and entered dangerous territory to recover him. When the young man saw the Apostle approaching, he turned and fled in shame. St. John ran after him, crying out for him to stop and assuring him that there was still hope in Christ. The young man finally stopped, wept bitterly, and was restored through repentance. (Who is the Rich Man That Shall Be Saved, ANF Volume II).

Here is the opposite of the Pharisaic leader who will not move another’s burden with one finger. St. John does not remain seated in apostolic dignity waiting for the sinner to return and apologise. He leaves the seat, enters the wilderness, and bears the danger of restoration. True spiritual fatherhood does not ask how the fall of the young man will affect the reputation of the Apostle or the Church. It is chiefly concerned with how the fallen person may be brought back to life.

It is precisely in this context that Christ's words, "Do not be called Rabbi... and call no man your father on earth" (v.8,9), must be understood. The very Scriptures contain references to "Father Abraham" (St. Luke 16:24), St. Stephen's address to the "brethren and fathers" (Acts 7:2), St. Paul's description of himself as a spiritual father (1 Thess. 2:11), and even Christ's reference to Nicodemus as "the teacher of Israel" (St. John 3:10).

Having warned His disciples against leaders who sought honour, titles, and recognition, Christ was not abolishing spiritual fatherhood but purifying it. His concern was not what leaders were called, but what they had become. The danger was that teachers, rabbis, and spiritual fathers might cease to be signposts pointing towards God and instead become destinations in themselves. St. Paul confronts this temptation in the Church at Corinth- “Now I say this, that each of you says, “I am of Paul,” or “I am of Apollos,” or “I am of Cephas,” or “I am of Christ.” Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?” (1 Corinthians 1:12-13). The apostles were never founders of personal kingdoms. They were witnesses and their greatness lay precisely in their willingness to disappear behind the One whom they proclaimed. The ordained ministry of the Church is called to the same vocation.

The God Who Gives Strength to the Weary
In the third Old Testament reading from the book of Isaiah, Israel laments- My way is hidden from the Lord, and my right is disregarded by my God”? (v. 27). It is the cry of those who feel unseen, forgotten, and exhausted. It may also be the silent cry of those upon whose shoulders religious communities have placed burdens while refusing to hear their pain.

Isaiah does not deny their weariness. He directs their gaze towards the One who does not grow weary- “The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary…He gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless.” (v. 28,29). Human power often seeks elevation, recognition, and distance from weakness whereas Divine power stoops towards the faint. This is why Christ declares that the greatest must become the servant. He is not introducing an arbitrary reversal of social conventions but revealing the very character of God. Service is greatness because God Himself ministers life to His creation.

“those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles” (v.31). Those who wait upon the Lord renew their strength because they have ceased treating themselves as the source of that strength. Humility is not self-contempt; it is freedom from the exhausting task of sustaining one’s own greatness. The proud must continually protect their status and defend their image but the humble can wait upon God because they no longer need to manufacture their own glory.

Our Lord condemns the hypocrisy of the Pharisees, yet elsewhere He gives an even more searching command- “Unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.”- St. Matthew 5:20. The Pharisees fasted, tithed, prayed, and maintained ritual discipline. Christ does not call His disciples to less serious faith. He calls them to a righteousness that goes deeper where it is not content with knowing the commandments but seeks to become their living expression.

The Desert Father Abba Pambo expressed this mystery with characteristic simplicity- “If you have a heart, you can be saved.” The spiritual life is ultimately the recovery of the heart. It is the journey from appearances to authenticity and from the mask we present to the world to the person whom God sees in secret. It is the place where faith is no longer displayed as an ornament but received as a transforming fire and where prayer is no longer performance but encounter. The greatest danger is not that we fail to appear holy, but that we become satisfied with appearances while remaining strangers to transformation.

In Christ,
Rincy

 

 

 

THE POVERTY OF FULL BARNS

Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the fourth Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Numbers 29:35-30:1; 1 Kings 8:27-30; Isaiah 54:5-8

Holy Gospel reading: St. Luke 12:13-21

The Holy Gospel reading focuses on the parable of the rich fool. In the preceding verses (St. Luke 4-12), Jesus speaks about remaining faithful when one’s life is threatened by persecution. A man in the crowd interrupts to ask Jesus to persuade his brother to divide the family inheritance. In the response and parable that follows, Jesus speaks of danger that comes from another direction- the confidence in possessions that promise to preserve life.

Christ refuses to settle the dispute merely at the level of property because He sees the deeper disorder; the property has already divided the brothers. This is why He warns- “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” (v.15)

Greed is not always obvious. It can disguise itself as fairness, ambition, or the desire to receive what one believes is deserved. A house, inheritance, salary, investment, field, or position may be good in itself. Yet once it becomes the measure of our worth, the foundation of our identity, or the source of our security, it begins to possess the possessor.

Leo Tolstoy’s timeless classic, How Much Land Does a Man Need? is a profound meditation on the tension between need and greed. The story follows Pakhom, a contented peasant whose desire for more land gradually becomes an obsession. He encounters the chief of a tribe who offers to sell him as much land as he can encircle on foot in a day, provided he returns to his starting point by sunset. Pakhom pushes himself beyond his limits and as the day wanes, he realizes he has ventured too far. He races desperately to reach the starting point in time. He collapses and dies from exhaustion, and his servant buries him in a grave in the very land he had sought so feverishly to acquire. The answer to the titular question is that, in the end, a man needs only enough land to bury him.

The Parable of the Rich Fool (St.Luke 12:13-21) tells of a wealthy landowner whose fields produce an abundant harvest. Believing his prosperity guarantees security, he plans to tear down his barns and build larger ones to store his grain and enjoy many years of comfort. Yet God declares him a fool, for that very night his life is required of him, and all he has accumulated is left behind.

It is the ground which he owns but cannot command bore the abundance. The rich man, who uses "I" and "my" over and over, did not generate anything. The parable does not mention any exploited labourers or any fraud, so the Scripture lets us assume the rich man has got the wealth through honest means. And this is where it should perturb us. The parable indicts the person whose wealth is clean, but whose life is still wrong.

The Day That Cannot Be Stored

The first Old Testament reading from Numbers 29:35-30:1 describes Israel’s observance of the feast of the tabernacles. On the eighth day, the people are summoned to a sacred assembly. Ordinary labour ceases, offerings are presented, and Israel’s time is reordered around the worship of God.

At first sight, this ceremonial passage may seem far removed from the parable however, it confronts the very illusion at the heart of the rich man’s plans; the belief that the future belongs to him. The rich farmer has counted his harvest and calculated his storage. But while grain can be stored, years cannot. Tomorrow cannot be locked inside a barn.

“On the eighth day you shall have a sacred assembly.” (v.35), The eighth day carries a profound Christian resonance. Christ rose on the first day of the week, which the Church also understands as the eighth day, the beginning of a life beyond the circle of mortality. The farmer’s imagination remains imprisoned within the repetitive cycle of earthly existence; sowing, harvesting, storing, consuming, and enlarging.

Israel’s sacred calendar taught the people that time was not an uninterrupted field for human productivity. Certain days were to be returned visibly to God. Labour ceased because economic activity did not have the final claim upon human life. Time belonged to the Lord before it belonged to the farmer, merchant, king, or the labourer.

Solomon’s Temple and the Farmer’s Barns

In the second Old Testament reading (1 Kings 8:27-30), Solomon stands before the newly completed Temple and confesses: “Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built!” (v.27). Solomon builds a magnificent Temple and immediately acknowledges that God cannot be contained within it. The farmer builds great barns and imagines that his life can be contained within them.

This contrast reveals two radically different uses of human structures. The Temple, for all its grandeur, remains open towards heaven. The farmer’s barns are closed in upon themselves. They gather everything towards the man and return nothing to God or neighbour. The rich farmer is not judged because he owns barns but because his barns have become his temple and his possessions have become his promised salvation.

With Great Compassion I Will Gather You

The third Old Testament reading Isaiah 54:5-8 reveals the true foundation of security. The prophet addresses Zion in a condition of grief, shame, and apparent abandonment. Yet the Lord promises that abandonment will not have the final word: “For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with great compassion I will gather you.” (v.7)

These words address one of the deepest human fears which is the fear of being forgotten or left without a future. The rich man attempts to answer this fear by accumulation. Isaiah offers a radically different answer. God’s people are secure not because they have accumulated enough, but because the Creator has bound Himself to them in covenant love.

Earlier in Isaiah 54, Zion is commanded to enlarge the place of her tent, lengthen her cords, and strengthen her stakes. But this enlargement does not arise from anxious accumulation but from the promise of divine restoration. There is an enlargement that makes the heart smaller, and there is an enlargement that makes the heart more like God. Genesis 41 also features a man who built great storehouses. But Joseph's barns were built on behalf of a famine-stricken world, and when hunger came, he opened them to Egypt and to his own starving brothers.

MAMMON IN THE AGE OF THE ALGORITHM

Reflection on the holy Gospel reading for the third Sunday after the Feast of Holy Cross

Old Testament reading: Genesis 42:18-21; Proverbs 1: 2-9; Isaiah 54:1-4
Holy Gospel reading: St. Luke 16:1-13

Few of our Lord's parables unsettle as much as the story of the steward who, on the very brink of ruin, cheats his way into favour and is, astonishingly, commended for it. Christ is certainly not blessing fraud. The steward remains unjust, and nothing in the parable excuses his earlier wastefulness.  What the master commends is his shrewdness, his sudden recognition of the seriousness of his condition that the present arrangement is coming to an end, and his decisive use of the short time remaining to him.

Christ tells that the tragedy is the “children of this age” showing greater urgency in securing a temporary future than the “children of light” show in seeking the Kingdom of God. We frequently live as though our possessions, offices, relationships, influence, and even our earthly lives belong to us permanently. The steward finally understands three truths that he had previously forgotten-the wealth in his hands belongs to another, his authority is temporary, and an account will be required. 

We sing in Friday Matins (Sheema Namaskaram) of this truth that stands at the heart of the Christian understanding of human life:

“How fearful is the morning when the Lord
Will come and the creation will tremble,
The judge will sit; the books will be opened
He will bring to light all the hidden things – Halleluiah
You who know all things have mercy on me”

The previous chapter, St. Luke 15, quietly prepares us for the unjust steward. The shepherd, the woman, and the younger son each hold something that ultimately belongs to another. The sheep, in Scripture’s larger vision, belong to God; the coins belong to a household larger than the woman herself;  and the inheritance belongs within the father's house. Yet the younger son mistakes a gift for an independent possession and squanders it in a distant country.

Significantly, St. Luke uses the same language when introducing the steward of chapter 16. The younger son squanders the father’s property, and the steward squanders the master’s goods. Both have wasted what did not truly belong to them. Both suddenly face the consequences and arrive at the same question: “What shall I do?” Yet their paths diverge.

The younger son turns vertically. At the lowest point of his life, “no one gave him anything.” (St. Luke 15:16) Turning towards his father, he offers no strategy for restoring his former position and no defence for his conduct. He genuinely repents and confesses: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you.” (v.18)

The steward turns horizontally. Rather than returning in repentance, he secures his future by obligating those who may later receive him. The younger son lays himself bare and places his hope in the mercy of the father. The steward places his hope in the gratitude of debtors.

This contrast exposes one of the most subtle spiritual temptations-the desire to secure the future without confronting the truth of the past. Repentance cannot be delegated, brokered, or negotiated. We are most like the steward when we place our confidence in networks, influence, and reputation, forgetting that every hidden thing ultimately stands revealed before God.

Unfortunately, the cover-up of abuse in church and other forms of leadership often works in precisely this way. Where leaders who have wronged the vulnerable are shielded by peers or by hierarchs, reassigned quietly, or protected by mutual favours, the steward's logic of self-preservation is at work. The currency is not money but silence, reputation, and reciprocal protection. Meanwhile, the same institution may preach the prodigal son to the congregation, urging every believer to confess, and repent, while its own leaders secure their future through a network of obligations. Clerical leadership that teaches the road of the prodigal son but walks the road of the steward has inverted the Gospel.

Christ also warns that we cannot serve both God and mammon. Mammon has become far subtler than the coin in a purse or the grain in a storehouse. Today it appears as the performance metric that determines a person's worth, the follower count that quietly governs identity, the algorithm that profits from attention and anxiety, and the public image that must be protected even when truth is sacrificed. Christ says- “make friends for yourselves by unrighteous mammon, that when you fail, they may receive you into an everlasting home.” (St. Luke 16:9). Mammon does not merely risk failure. Its failure is assumed. Wealth fails. Markets fail. Influence fails. Institutions fail. Recessions, illness, conflict, and economic upheaval simply make visible what the Gospel has always declared, that every earthly security eventually crumbles.

The steward's wisdom is that he acts before the collapse. He reduces debts not because he has become selfless but because he wishes to secure his own future. Nevertheless, real burdens are lifted, and his actions create space for others under debt to breathe.

This is part of the unsettling force of the parable. Christ does not permit us to divide the world neatly between pure people who do good and corrupt people who do evil. The steward is no outsider prophet. He is a manager working within a system he did not create. That describes most of us. We are managers, professionals, accountants, loan processors, engineers, executives, teachers, clergy, administrators, and employees working within structures we did not create and cannot completely control. We often exercise limited authority within systems much larger than ourselves.

The parable therefore refuses two excuses; we cannot claim innocence because we did not design the system, nor can we claim helplessness because the system is imperfect. Christ calls us to use whatever influence we possess on behalf of those who bear the heaviest burdens. The person with access to the ledger may not be able to abolish the entire system but may still be able to reduce a burden. The person inside an institution may not possess ultimate authority but may still be able to speak for someone whose voice is ignored.

St. Luke gives us a living example of such stewardship in Joanna. In St. Luke 8:3 she is among the women who supported Christ's ministry from their own resources, while in St. Luke 24:10 she appears among the first witnesses of the Resurrection. Her husband Chuza served as a household manager under Herod Antipas. The steward acts only after he is dismissed while Joanna acts while her position remains intact. She gives from her possessions while still within Herod's household. Her wealth is entangled with the court of an unrighteous ruler, but she refuses to let that entanglement have the final word. She directs what is available to her toward Christ. Joanna begins inside the ledger of Herod's household. She ends as a witness and bearer of news no mammon could ever purchase- "The tomb is empty, and the Lord is risen."

The witness of St. Yeldho Mar Baselios, commemorated on October 03, embodies this same vision of faithful stewardship. In advanced age he undertook the difficult journey to Malankara in response to the needs of the Church. He came without the forms of power the world of mammon ordinarily admires. Aged, physically vulnerable, and wearied by travel, he nevertheless carried the true riches of apostolic faith and pastoral courage.

In an age governed by metrics, algorithms, reputation, and endless competition for attention, Christ's warning remains as urgent as ever-we cannot serve both God and mammon. The question is not whether we possess wealth, influence, authority, or platforms, but whether these possess us. And when the books are opened before the judgment seat of Christ, may we be found not as owners clinging to what was never ours, but as faithful stewards returning to the Master, the lives that were healed and burdens that were lifted.

In Christ,
Rincy