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

Thank you, Subdeacon, for that reading from Ephesians 5. It’s a very rich text, like everything in Ephesians; it’s an extremely dense text, and a beautiful text. I’ve selected three things from that text with which to reflect with you this morning, beloved in the Lord, three features of the life in Christ. This morning, Paul portrays the life in Christ as one of bearing forth fruit. That is to say, it is supposed to yield results, and we have it on good authority: Jesus said—and as someone remarked, “I’m disposed to believe him”—“The tree is known by its fruit.” How do you tell what type of tree it is? What type of fruit does it have. It’s the same with human beings. What kind of fruit do you see on that tree? It seems of extreme importance that we stress this point because of the many Christians who seem not to know about it.

Jesus tells us to look at the fruit. I believe that one of the reasons why the Orthodox Church, after two centuries in this hemisphere, has had very little, little to no, effect: because we keep looking at the roots and not at the fruits. We keep stressing: “We’re the true Church, and we can prove it from history.” Well, you’re supposed to be able to prove it from the lives of the Christians, not from historical study, but from an analysis of the Church that’s actually here. Such Christians may pride and preen themselves that they belong to the true Church; they know because they’ve studied the history; they’ve studied the roots. They fancy that this is enough to be pleasing in God’s sight, because they have the proper spiritual ancestry. And I notice that when converts come into the Church, what they’re made impressed by are the roots. In fact, it is very sad that when people come and join the Orthodox Church, one of their first responses is to look down on other Christians and compare them with what we have in the Orthodox Church. We think about them as rootless, because others cannot boast the same ancestry.

This is a theme common among the biblical prophets. “You are God’s chosen people,” they tell the children of Israel. “He brought you out of servitude in Egypt. You were nothing but slaves, but the Lord redeemed you. He led you to deliverance through the Red Sea. He brought you to Sinai, and to you he made the gift of the covenant and the Torah. God didn’t do that for anybody else. God did not do that for anybody else but the Israelites. You are God’s chosen people, to the end of history and forever. You are God’s chosen people.”

The prophets proclaimed this to Israel, but then they go on to ask, “Just what are you going to do about it? The Lord has planted you as his vineyard.” That’s an image that appears especially in Isaiah, isn’t it? “The Lord has planted you as his vineyard. When is he going to see some grapes?” This is the constant theme of the biblical prophets. Far from touting and tooting the glories of Israel, the biblical prophets are constantly using that fact, chosen people, to reprimand the people for not bringing forth fruit.

Today we have the prophecy—or have the prophet, rather—Zephaniah. We were listening about him at matins, weren’t we? Where is Steve? I think you read that this morning, didn’t you? Who read that this morning? John Coatney, you read that this morning about Zephaniah. Remind us what century he lived in. Seventh century before Christ. During the reign of—? Josiah, and a contemporary of—? [Laughter] The Prophet Jeremiah, yeah. We had that in matins this morning. Whenever we celebrate a feast of a prophet in the Orthodox Church—and we celebrate all of them, by the way; this is the only church that has all the feasts of the biblical prophets—when we celebrate that, at matins we read a brief biography of them, as we do for the other saints whose feast day it is.

Zephaniah, our prophet for today, lived in the closing decades of the seventh century, within just a few years of the fall of Jerusalem and the deportation to Babylon. You have borne no fruit, Zephaniah tells the children of Israel. Near is the great day of the Lord; a day of wrath is the day of the Lord. In fact, this expression, “that day, day of the Lord, day of wrath,” these seem to be expressions of Zephaniah himself, but they’ve passed into common vocabulary of the people of God. “On that day,” he says repeatedly. “On that day” in Latin: “in die ille”; on that day. Some of you are familiar with the music and the poetry that’s based on that. Mozart wrote an entire setting for it, didn’t he? Dies irae, dies illa, on that day, the day of wrath, on that day.

You see, this prophetic message to Israel is identical with the message of the Church, because theologically the Church is one with Israel, because we Gentiles—we Irishmen and other people—we got engrafted into the tree of Israel, and we worship Israel’s God, and we recognize Israel’s Messiah.

This morning’s text from Ephesians partially describes the fruit. “For the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth.” A more ample list of the fruit of the Spirit is available in Galatians 5. “The fruit of the Spirit is charity, joy, peace, long-suffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.” Now these are the fruit that come from union with Christ. This is the union of which Jesus says, “I am the vine; you are the branches.” The branches cannot bear fruit by themselves, but only by their attachment to the vine. “By this,” he goes on, “my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit, and so you will be my disciples.”

One of the figures prominent in our thought during this Advent is that, of course, of John the Baptist, isn’t it? Somebody whose image is always up front and near the center in the Orthodox Church: John the Baptist. During Advent, it’s appropriate to consult John the Baptist on this very point. Here is what John the Baptist says about bearing fruit. “Bear fruits worthy of metanoia. Bear fruits worthy of repentance, conversion, metanoia. And do not think to say to yourselves: We have Abraham as our father. Abraham abinou; we have Abraham as our father. For I say to you that God is able of these stones to raise up children to Abraham.” What stones are they? I’m looking at a bunch of stones here. [Laughter] God has taken these stones and raised up children to Abraham.

What shall we say to those who imagine that God will judge them by their roots? We will say, again, with John the Baptist, “Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Therefore every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.” And what is true of individual lives is true likewise of whole civilizations. I fear, when we look around right now, we’re watching the disintegration, the axe being laid to the root of the trees.

Someone who reflected on that nearly a hundred years ago was the poet Paul Valéry. He spoke about the fragility of civilization. Civilization does not take care of itself. I hope you won’t mind if I quote Valéry, first in his own eloquent words. “Nous sentons qu’une civilisation a la même fragilité qu’une vie. We feel that a civilization has the same fragility as one life.” It’s fragile, and when it doesn’t bring forth fruit, the axe is laid to the root of the trees.

Secondly, beloved, in this morning’s reading from Ephesians, Paul says the life in Christ is wise. It’s wise. It’s a life marked by discernment. Paul writes in his text, “See, then, that you walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise.” Now, he’s using there the vocabulary of the wisdom books of the Old Testament, isn’t he? We’re moving now from the prophets, moving from the Nevi’im to the Ketubim, to the wisdom books. In the book of Proverbs, which is the long and foundational wisdom book of the Old Testament, in the book of the Proverbs, the wise man is described as circumspect, honest, industrious, obedient, vigilant, cautious, and self-controlled. You see, the book of Proverbs was a book written for the instruction of young people, particularly for the instruction of young men, what do you teach those who are growing up. All these things—just go through the book of Proverbs, that long list of proverbs about how to bring one’s life in order.

Last week I spoke about the importance of taking charge of our lives, assuming responsibility for our life, taking an attitude of activity and energy toward our lives, not forever making excuses for ourselves, not invariably blaming others for what we believe to be our disadvantages in life. Beware of the dangers of self-pity. The young person addressed in the book of Proverbs is told to get busy about his life. The ascetical literature of the Church recognizes as the major temptation of one who wants to serve God, the major temptation, is what is called akedia. It’s a form of morbidity and laziness. The chief characteristic of akedia is moping. Beware of moping! I just thought of something. If you feel like moping, grab something and start mopping. [Laughter] I just thought of that; it’s not in my notes at all. Get out of what Ian McEwan calls the “prison of self-reference.”

In the book of Proverbs, the man dedicated to wisdom is contrasted with the fool, who is described as mentally lazy, dishonest, slothful, rebellious, imprudent, undisciplined, and spending all his time on video games. [Laughter] I think that’s in the book of Proverbs; I’m not sure. It must be there. I got it someplace. See, these are the qualities that Paul mentions in the present text as “unfruitful works of darkness.”

Wisdom, beloved, is a quality of the mind and heart. It is the highest form of understanding. Understanding is the knowledge of things and their causes, according to Aristotle. Wisdom is the knowledge of things and their highest causes, ultimate causes. Wisdom is a high quality of thought and the processes of thinking. Those who avoid thinking will never become wise, because God is to be loved with the whole mind. By the way, that’s in the gospels, and that is not in Deuteronomy. It’s implied in Deuteronomy by the word lev, heart, but in the gospels there’s a fourth component there, and that’s the love of God with the whole nous, the whole mind.

Therefore, Paul says in today’s text, “Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, and do not be unwise, but understand, because,” he says, “the times, the days, are evil.” Last week I preached on Ephesians 4, reflected [on] what Paul has to say about the renewal of the mind. That’s why it’s important to avoid attitudes that dull the mind. That’s why I mentioned video games: attitudes that simply… they do not… they give some sort of skill, but they do not actually feed the mind. That’s why it’s important to develop the habit of rigorous, honest, self-critical, and disciplined thought. In all the trials of life, our first question should be: What is God trying to tell me?

Earlier this past week, when I couldn’t sleep, I got up and spent the next couple of hours praying, just praying for light. I knew something bad was going on in my heart, and I didn’t know why. After a while, it was just: Tell me what is this. And then I realized that some of my judgments were idolatrous. I had a wrong picture of God. Idolatry had slipped into my mind. You see, the path through wisdom is discernment. The goal of the spiritual life, according to St. John Cassian, is purity of heart. First Conference of Abbot Moses in Cassian’s Conferences: “What’s the path to purity of heart?” he says. Second Conference: discernment. Discernment is the product of critical judgment, in which we take ourselves apart, analyze ourselves. St. John tells us not to trust every spirit, and in all things we are to pursue wisdom.

That brings us to a third characteristic this morning of the life in Christ. This will seem a little bit surprising, but let’s go ahead and work with it. A life in Christ is textual. Textual. When I say, “Text,” what do you think about? You think about some little apparatus: a phone, where you text somebody. Please put that thought out of your minds. Texting has absolutely nothing to do with little… When you come into church, one thing you don’t do with these icons up here is click on them. It’s interesting that they take two of our most sacred words, “textus” and “icon,” and completely change the meaning, almost an opposite meaning. Textual: the etymology here is interesting. It comes from the Latin verb tex-, texo, third conjugation texere, perfect tense texui, participle textum. Texo means to weave. That’s interesting, isn’t it? At least, I find that fascinating. A textum is something that’s woven. The Latin adjective textilis is obviously the root of the word “textile.” “Text” and “textile” come from exactly the same word source. We recall that sheets of papyrus were woven, and paper was originally made from fabric, not from wood. When we speak of a written text, the emphasis is on the material object, the thing that you could hold in your hand.

Paul mentions the texts that should fill our minds. He speaks this morning about the hymns and psalms. He says always have those going on in your minds, the hymns and the psalms, the psalms of the Church, the chants of the Church. And the music in the Church will stay with us, and it carries the text, which we should be doing when we drive down the street in the car. What should we be doing? Well, sing your favorite hymn. Mine would be: “O worshipful Lord, glorious above, we gratefully sing his power and his love…” and so forth. Or: “When thou, O Lord, wast baptized in the Jordan, the worship of the Trinity was made manifest…” These are texts as used in the Church. The text refers to the page, the material thing.

I don’t get to a synagogue as much as I would like, because I’m usually pretty busy on Friday nights, but when I do go, one of the things I’m most impressed by is that everyone rises when the text is brought out from the Aron. The book is brought in; everyone rises for the word of God. We do the same thing here, don’t we? When the gospel book is carried around in procession, we all rise. When the gospel was read this morning, we all rose, because of respect for the word of God, even the physical thing of the word of God.

I know that some of you like me to recommend books—not everybody, but some. One of the books that I’ve enjoyed the most in the course of my life has the wrong English title, although I’ve only read it in English. I’ve only read it English; I’ve not read the French of it. It was written by a man who was the second reader for my first master’s thesis, a man by the name of Jean Leclerc from Luxembourg. The French title of the book is an interesting title. L’amour des Lettres et le Desir de Dieu. Literally, that is The Love of Letters and the Desire for God. It’s translated as The Love of Learning. That’s really not… That’s a misleading title. It’s not the love of learning; it’s the love of letters. Something grammatical.

One of the things I learned from that book, and I think the first exposure to it was less than half my current age, is that Christian prayer is based on the study of grammar. Christian prayer is based on the study of grammar. He defends that thesis voluminously. There’s no question that you can’t really disagree with him when you see all the overwhelming evidence he has on this from Christian antiquity, that prayer is based on the study of grammar. Why? Why grammar? Why gramma, letters? Because before I know what to say to God, it is imperative to know what God is saying to me. If I don’t understand what God is saying—and that’s grammar—then I really can’t talk back to God, because prayer is conversation. We do that this morning. We’re talking to God, and God is talking to us, this morning.

Prayer is conversation with God. Conversation will not be very interesting if we do all the talking. I don’t know how many times over the years I’ve asked people that when I ask them about their prayer, and they describe their prayer. Then I ask the question that seems obvious to me: “Do you ever let God get a word in edgewise?” You think that God is the sort of person who is just an old, doddering man who likes to be read to, so you read him a prayer. You’re not even thinking about it; you’re just reading him a prayer. That’s not prayer. It’s a beginning, because you’ve got a text at least.

When we pray, it’s imperative that we let God speak to us, and that’s why the Bible is the book of prayer. God speaks to us in the Bible, and the prayerful reading of Scripture is an absolutely indispensable thing. I’m not sure how much my grandmother could read. My father always said she was illiterate, but after my father died, I found a letter that she wrote, so I knew she wasn’t illiterate. She made an enormous impression on me. Her favorite thing to do was to pray the rosary. I remember sitting out on the porch, late afternoon, four-thirty or so, sitting out on her porch in a rocking chair, telling her beads.

She had a text. The text was from the Bible, the Ave Maria, the Our Father, and so forth. And she is meditating on the mysteries of the life of Christ—the Annunciation, the Visitation, the Birth of Christ, the Finding in the Temple, the Agony in the Garden. She was meditating on it; every afternoon she did this. It’s very simple, but she was going to the Scriptures. She didn’t have it open in front of her, but she was going to the Scriptures for the substance of her prayer. She was praying the Word; it was Gospel prayer.

Some of the Fathers of the Church speak of the prayer—excuse me, of the Bible, rather—as the liber cordis, the book of the heart, because there is a deep affinity between the word of God and the human soul. And that which in the Bible is called divine inspiration is in the human soul called what? The image of God. I have very little patience with those who say that people must not pray with images; I have very little sympathy with that. The Hebrew word there is selim, by the way; man is made in God’s image, his selim, image of God. Hear the word “image” there? It’s the Latin form of “icon,” isn’t it? Imago, Latin form of “icon,” you see?

“Image” is the source of “imagination.” Imagination is an activation of the image, and we’re made in God’s image and likeness. And that image is reflected in sacred Scriptures because of divine inspiration. That’s why there’s an affinity between the soul and the Bible, and why prayer based on the Bible should be the constant and daily activity of the Christian, as he walks wisely in this world. The times being evil, he finds his refuge in the word of God, when God speaks to him, and he answers. In his 22nd Letter, St. Jerome says that when we read the word of God, he speaks to us; when we pray, we speak to him.