In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Most of the time this year our Sunday meditations are based on the text from the gospels. I don’t want to ignore this morning’s gospel. In fact, to honor this slaying of the swine, I’m planning my breakfast for after this is all over. [Laughter] We have a reading, however, from the epistle this morning, the first ten verses of the tenth chapter of the epistle to the Romans. I thought we might say some things about this.

When I sat down to write this sermon, I had certain ideas in mind; when I actually started to write, none of the ideas found their way to my pen. The pen seemed to take off on its own and came up with something completely different, and after it was all over, I had to ask myself, “Was I just using God’s word to give ideas of my own?” I don’t believe these are ideas of my own, however. We’ve been thinking about Romans a lot, at least those of us who do our duty and are here on Wednesday and Saturday nights for vespers. We’ve been hearing about Romans. I’ve been telling you for almost 20 years that the vitality of a parish is not determined by the Sunday attendance; it’s determined by the weekday attendance. Anybody could go to church on Sunday—it’s culturally expected—but midweek service and Saturday night vespers—ahh! There’s where you’re going to find out the commitment. Of course, last night we had a flood here. I should have preached on Noah, but I didn’t. [Laughter]

But we’ve been doing Romans. We’ve been going through Romans. We finished up chapter six last night. We’ve been doing Romans now for about six weeks or so, because those are the readings appointed by the Church for reading of the season. This morning we have Romans 10. It’s in the middle of a special section of Romans, chapters 9 through 11, about the dialectic of history. The chief argument in the epistle to the Romans has to do with God’s plan for the salvation of all men. It’s about justification by faith, and Paul speaks this morning about the baptismal commitment. We confess with our mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in our hearts that God raised him from the dead. We do that, and we will be saved, and that’s what we do when we’re baptized, isn’t it? We confess with our mouths and we believe in our hearts, and we are baptized as an expression of our faith.

Now the epistle to the Romans, which I believe was written in Corinth, between January and March of the year 56, as best I can date it, and that’s certainly within the ballpark, Paul takes his time with this epistle. In fact, it’s not really an epistle; it’s more like an article in Touchstone. [Laughter] Stop laughing! [Laughter] That is to say, it’s a treatise; it’s a treatise. You see, most letters, you’re getting one side of an argument, but in a treatise you get both sides of an argument. That’s the chief difference between the two. And in Romans, Paul is actually dialoguing with himself, and he asks questions of himself; it’s a dialogue back and forth. It’s an essay, at least to that extent; it’s a Christian essay to that extent. It could find its way into Touchstone if we work out the copyright. [Laughter]

Paul is dialoguing with himself. Now this is not just a theory that we’re justified by faith and not the works of the law; it’s not just a theory. This has actual application in history, and that thesis redirected history. When I speak about the thesis that Paul’s dealing with this morning, it comes from chapter eight. Listen closely, because chapter eight I believe is the key to understanding chapters 9, 10, and 11. Chapter eight says that God causes all things to work for good for those who love him. God causes all things to work for good—for everybody? No! For those who love him, for those who are the apple of his eye.

Now the significance of chapters 9, 10, and 11 is this: it’s an illustration of that principle. It’s an illustration of the principle that God works in history for the sake of the elect. God works in history for the sake of the elect. He causes all things to work for the good of those who love him. Now the significance of Romans 9-11 is this: it’s a dialectical view of history. The thesis is that God brings good out of evil and that where sin abounded, grace has abounded the more. God brings all things to good for those who love him, and especially he brings good out of evil.

My first point is this: this thesis, that God brings good out of evil, expresses the experience of Israel throughout her history. It was illustrated more recently, in those days, by the experience of the Babylonian captivity, where everything seems to have collapsed. For a generation, no sacrifices offered in the Temple; the masses of the people have been deported; the whole of Israel’s experience was transformed through that tragedy and catastrophe. In fact, the Israel that endured up until the present day was formed during that experience. Certain centrality, certain institutions came to the fore during that experience. It was during that experience, for example, that the rabbi replaced the priest in Israel’s daily life. Masses of Jews never got to Jerusalem at all, some of them never set foot in the Holy Land, but they could still be Jews as far away as China. The institution, the central institution of the synagogue arose out of that experience. The very fact that “synagogue” is a Greek word should tell you something.

In the experience of Israel, we have the guidance of God and what I’ll call the large picture: God’s governing of a whole people. It was in the Babylonian captivity that the Jewish religion itself was packaged. You couldn’t pick up a temple and take it anywhere; you couldn’t have these bulls and sheep following you around the whole world to be sacrificed, but you could take a book. You could take a book, and everything centered on the book. What did that do? Well, it guaranteed that the Jews would be the most literate people in all of history. The Jews are the only people in the world that had total, 100%, male literacy for the last 3,000 years; the only nation in the world! Because of the centrality of that book. As soon as you center your religion around a book, this requires schools. Eventually it requires universities. Notice how we always picture Christ our Lord: he’s holding a book. He is a man of letters. He is a grammarian. We have the hagia grammata, the sacred letters.

This universalizing of the Jews through the experience of the captivity and the diaspora, by the grace of God led to the formation of the Church itself. And when the apostles went out to preach across the Mediterranean Basin and across the Fertile Crescent, where did they first go? To the synagogues. And what did they find in the synagogues? They find Gentiles mingled with Jews, all worshiping the same God. You see, there’s the avenue to which the Gospel was proclaimed, all the way from the Persian Gulf to the coast of Ireland. A certain literature came out of that experience; I just mention it for now. The chief works of literature that came out of that experience, in canonical literature, was the book of Daniel, which is about Jews living in exile, and the book of Esther, about a woman and her uncle living in Persia. I just mention that literature and some of the context; I’ll talk about some of the characteristics of diaspora literature.

Second point: God brings good out of evil not only in general—it’s not a general providence—but also in particular. God doesn’t bring good out of evil only for the people in general, but for each of those who love him, for each of the elect. I spoke about the story in Daniel, but, you see, the story in Daniel is actually… From a literary perspective, the story in Daniel is modeled on the earlier story of Joseph. Joseph likewise is a viceroy in another nation. He spends most of his life in Egypt. If you just read the last section of the Joseph cycle in Genesis, read the book of Daniel, read the two of them together, the parallels are remarkable. Both these men, both of them particularly good in the interpretation of dreams—a very easy thing to pick up—and both of them living under the providence of God.

Now the story of Joseph is one of the dearest stories to all of those who are formed in the liturgical tradition of the Orthodox Church. It would be almost impossible to overestimate the importance of the Joseph story in the piety of Eastern Orthodox Christians. Every Lent, you hear the end of the story when we finish… through Lent, we read all of Genesis, right? At least, you’ll know that if you come here for the weekday services; if you come for Presanctified Liturgy on Wednesday night, you will know this, that we read through the whole book of Genesis. We finish up with the Joseph story, which is where Genesis finishes up. And the music of those services, the hymnography, start to speak over and over again about Joseph, of Joseph as a type of Christ.

In the last week of Lent, preparing for Holy Week, when we read Exodus—during the last week of Lent, on that Wednesday, we come to chapter 45 of the book of Genesis, and we stand here every year and listen to chapter 45 of the book of Genesis, and I have to get a grip on myself up here when we do, because on many occasions over these many years, I find I’m not able to listen to that story without crying, when Joseph reveals himself to his brothers. This story has a very prominent place in the piety and the narrative piety of the Church.

The story of Joseph is not just about the survival of Israel—it is that—because all of Joseph’s family would have starved to death if he had not been sold into slavery, but they’re the ones that sold him into slavery. Last week, I spoke about the characteristics of a dysfunctional family. Wasn’t that point two of last week’s sermon? The characteristics of a dysfunctional family? When you sell your little brother into slavery? [Laughter] You know, if you find a family… And it’s always been in my experience… [Laughter] Any time I find a family where the siblings have sold their little brother into slavery, I say, “You know, you could do with some family counseling.” That’s how I feel when I read about Samson. There’s a man who could have learned a few things about anger management! But anyway…

Joseph is sold into slavery. The problem as the story starts is not about the survival of Israel; the problem is about the survival of Joseph. He’s sold into slavery. And things are pretty bad, and he’s sold out to a fellow of the name of Potiphar. He’s there about a week and he’s in charge of Potiphar’s whole operation. And you know the story of Mrs. Potiphar, who was—well, we won’t describe her in detail. We’ll just say she took an improper interest in Joseph, and when he says no, well of course—[Snap]—she accuses him, and he’s thrown into jail. No problem. Within a week or so, he’s in charge of the jail. And you remember how he gets out of jail. And he finally comes and is introduced into Pharaoh’s court. He’s no sooner introduced into Pharaoh’s court than he’s in charge of it; he becomes the vice-regent of the whole land of Egypt. Incredible, remarkable story.

It’s a story about a man of faith. In all of these things, all of these hard times, for 20 years, he lives in the trust of God, knowing that God will make it all work out for the good of those who love him. During these last couple of years, there are times when I think that life is getting a little bit rough—and there are times when you do—our brand-new car, almost seven weeks ago now, was crashed into, and we still haven’t gotten it back from the shop. I mention that only because it’s silly to worry about things like that or become impatient about things like that. If I’m tempted to become impatient about things like that, I remember that we now have two of our bishops who were kidnapped by Muslim terrorists, and they’re living in captivity. We’re not sure entirely where, although the evidence points to Turkey; the evidence points to Turkey, because the Turks have never had any use for Syrian bishops. I’m sure you know that. But think about that. These men have been separated from their flocks and they’re living in captivity. We’ve been praying every Sunday since then for their release. But let’s pray that prayer fervently, because this is a great, a serious trial, to be in captivity.

Well, Joseph was in captivity, but he has a personal faith in a personal God. When he finally reveals himself to his [brothers] in chapter 45—remember that, he finally turns and switches to talk in Hebrew. He sends everybody else out. They’ve been talking in Hebrew all along, and he’s been using a translator as he speaks an early form of Coptic. He sends everybody else out and then he turns to Hebrew. “Anokhi Yosef. I am Joseph, your brother.” This is the brother they sold into slavery 20 years earlier, and they become very dismayed and bewildered. This man is now in charge of Egypt, and they are there in his court. What does he say? “Let’s not have a pity party. Don’t go moaning about this. Don’t go blame yourselves. God was in charge all along, making all things work for the good of those who love him. You meant evil, rakah; you meant evil. The Lord meant tov, meant good. The Lord foresaw this day, and he prepared for it.” And he hugged his brothers and he kisses them.

When we celebrate the resurrection of our Joseph, every spring, we chant these praises, and we all look forward to them. It’s one of the best parts of hymnography for the entire season. “Let us embrace each other. Let us call brothers even those that hate us! And let us forgive all by the resurrection,” because there is a consummation of God’s victory and God’s righteousness in this world that overcomes all evil. What we need to have, my beloved, is a personal faith in a personal God.

Let’s take point three: God brings good out of evil. The supreme example of this, let me submit to you, is Christ himself. You know what happened to Jesus of Nazareth, humanly speaking—humanly speaking—did not have to happen. Just speculate for a moment. Suppose the Jews of that time, and particularly the Jewish leaders, had in fact accepted Jesus. Suppose they had. Humanly speaking, they might have. Humanly speaking, they should have! Many years ago, I read one of the most important books I’ve ever read. It’s still in print, by the way. It’s called The Lord, in the original, Der Herr. You would think that would be written by a German. It was written by a German, whose name was Romano Guardini. [Laughter] A German with an Italian name, he taught theology in Munich. Munich has been very much in the news recently, hasn’t it? One of my favorite cities in the whole world, Munich; what an incredible city.

Anyway, Romano Guardini wrote this book, The Lord, Der Herr, which I read in my late teens; I think I was 18 when I read this book, and all of it is still vividly in my mind. It’s a series of meditations—it’s a fairly substantial book, about 400 pages—meditations on the gospels of the Lord. At the beginning of that book, Romano Guardini explores the question: Suppose Jesus had been accepted by the Jewish authorities? Humanly speaking, it could have happened. He would have grown old as a venerated rabbi. He would be the most venerated rabbi in the Jewish religion. I was speculating as I wrote this. He might be quoted in the Mishnah—but no! If he had been accepted, there would be no Mishnah, because if any work is the work of the diaspora, it’s the Mishnah, the original collection of the sayings of the rabbis. There would have been no Mishnah. The second Temple would still be standing, the Temple in the book of Ezra; the Temple that Zerubbabel saw would still be standing. Everything would have been different. Everything would have been different! But would it have been better?

Now I ask that question not because I’m expecting an answer, because you can’t answer questions like that; I ask that question for the sake of reflection on the grand measure of history. The important point is the experience of Jesus, that God had prepared this people since the call of Abraham back in the 18th century BC. Abraham’s a contemporary of Hammurabi; it’s an easy way to remember it. Just remember this—it’s really easy—that Abraham left Ur of the Chaldees the same year Paul Revere rode out of Boston—only it was BC. [Laughter] And what year did Paul Revere ride out of Boston? Hello there! 1775—and hardly a man is now alive who remembers that famous day and year! All right, go home and read some Longfellow. [Laughter] “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.” I’m off the subject here; come back.

18th century BC: God had been preparing the chosen people for two millennia, and then the Messiah is rejected. That’s the experience of Jesus. Is all of this for naught? Is everything for naught, that all of God’s preparatory work—the calling of the patriarchs, the giving of the Law, the Davidic covenant, all the experience of the Babylonian captivity—should end up on a cross, the instrument of execution? You see, Jesus is God’s Son, but he’s also the Heir of Israel’s history. “Thy will be done” is essential to the experience and the vocation of Jesus of Nazareth. It sums up everything about Jesus of Nazareth. “Thy will be done.” And what is the will of God? It’s absolutely buried in mystery, but one thing we know about it is he brings good out of evil.

All of human history has been redirected by reason of what Jesus did in obedience to the will of his Father. Jesus incorporated into his own identity— What I’m saying to you I could not think of saying had it not been for the Council of Chalcedon. The Council of Chalcedon, I’ll take my stand on that one any day. The Council of Chalcedon authorizes me to say that Jesus incorporated in his own identity the faith he learned from his mother as a child. The tradition was handed on. His mother gave him his faith. This is the Son of God; his mother gave him his faith. What doth the Scripture say? “He went down with them and came to Nazareth and was subject to them, but his mother kept all these things in her heart, and Jesus grew in wisdom, in favor with God and man.” Notice the juxtaposition: She kept all these things in her heart, and he grew in wisdom. She taught him!

You see, even the faith of the Son of God was the family faith. It was an inherited faith. It was a faith learned in the home. And if a Christian cannot say that, I’ll call him a Monophysite, because he doesn’t really believe in the humanity of Christ, if he can’t say that. Being a family faith, the faith of Jesus was a Jewish faith. The faith of the chosen people comes to its white-hot point at the cross. Jesus is the supreme expression of faith, and the personal God who brings out good from evil. Amen.