The Catalog of Good Deeds

I met Irakli Gogoladze in Samtavro Monastery. Out of the blue this young man of about twenty-five walked up to me and said, “You know, Elder Gabriel worked a miracle for me… I heard that a collection was being made of such stories. Could you please tell me who I could send this to?” I said reverently and happily, “I’m the translator and compiler of the Russian version of the book, The Elder’s Diadem…” Without letting me finish, filled with emotion he began telling me his story. I turned on the dictaphone and… listened to him tell me about one miraculous healing by Elder Gabrial (Ugrebadze). I would like to share this story with you, dear readers.

A miracle happened in my family through Elder Gabriel.

Elder Gabriel wasn’t yet canonized when I first heard about him. Our first “encounter” was when I was, I think, in the seventh grade and visited Samtavro Monastery with my friends. Still only a child, I was amazed by everything I saw at the elder’s grave—first of all by the unbelievable amount of people who came to venerate there. Without any real awareness of what I was doing I also approached the grave, and that was when my friendship with Elder Gabriel began. Bowing at the grave, I felt enormous grace. My heart was filled with love. Feeling this inner joy I wanted to shout as loud as I could, “I LOVE YOU ALL!” Nun Parasceva gave us some oil from the lampada over the grave of Elder Gabriel and explained how to anoint ourselves with it. I felt as though I had obtained some invincible power. And that is how it was!

A few months passed by, and disaster struck our home. My father fell sick with psoriasis. We made the circuit to all the hospitals but his was such a severe form and advanced stage that none of them would even receive us. After some time, through the intercessions of our relatives, my father was received in the Tbilisi hospital for skin and venereal diseases. The treatment went very slowly. The doctors said that he would need at least four months to completely recover. One night my father had a heart attack, and they were barely able to save his life. Then I remembered the elder, on whose grave miraculous healings take place. I ran home, took the oil from the lampada over Elder Gabriel’s grave, and came to the hospital. The doctors were not allowing anyone into his room, but when I explained the situation they agreed and allowed me in secretly. I went to my father, and he was sleeping. With my little finger I anointed him with the oil three times in the form of a cross, read the “Our Father,” and asked the elder with all my heart to heal my father. Then I left without a word.

In the morning, mother and I came along with a friend to the hospital. We went to my father’s room… to be more exact, we ran with horror when we heard the nurse’s shriek: “It can’t be!” We thought, well, it’s the end! My mother fainted. I was seized with trembling that I had no strength to control. I went into the room and saw my father sitting on the bed. I was stunned. He had no more rash on his body or face; his skin was like that of a newborn babe. Soon the head doctor came into the room—the same one who had allowed me to visit my father. I will never forget the expression on his face in that moment when he saw his patient with absolutely clear skin! The doctor began to weep and cross himself, saying, “Glory to God… Glory to that elder…” Then my father stopped us and asked what elder we were talking about. I wasn’t even able to start telling him about Elder Gabriel before my father told us about the dream he had that night. It was as if a priest with a gray beard came into the room and said to him, “Eh, my brother… Well, so far you haven’t once received Communion or had confession, but you have a believing son and wife who called me here. I can’t bear to see how they cry… Here, let me heal you, and you start living a religious life. Go to church often, confess and receive Communion. Then we’ll be friends… Otherwise, I’m not your friend. Get it?” He winked to my father, made the sign of the cross over him and left…

I wept—everyone in the room was weeping! Despite the fact that my father had never seen the elder in his lifetime, his description of the “priest” fit completely with St. Gabriel.

Glory to Thee, O God! Glory to thee, father Gabriel!

By Irakli Gogoladze

Source: http://www.orthochristian.com/90191.html

Byzantium... Everyone has his or her own perception of that legendary empire renowned for its great saints and emperors, marvelous icons and mosaics, magnificent Churches and palaces. Majestic Hagia Sophia is the wonder of the world and the epitome of Byzantine architecture. Besides that, Byzantine music is an undisputed part of the heritage of mankind.

“My Byzantium” album is a collection of chants, which should help modern listener contemplate on above-mentioned treasures of the ancient Byzantium. The album was created by Edward Lange, a soloist of the Festive Choir of St Elisabeth Convent in Minsk. Edward Lange is a graduate of Belarusian State Academy of Music who is known to have composed music with lyrics by Hieromonk Roman (Matyushin).

The current album features the singing style resembling Church and folk music traditions of the Balkan peninsular. The singer seems to intentionally prefer Serbian pronunciation for the chants performed in Church-Slavonic language. Unique timbre of the Edward’s voice does achieve the main goal of the album, i.e. revealing antiquity through modern sound.

I have to mention, however, that the album lacks Greek language. There is the word “Byzantium” in the title, after all. And the only chant performed in Greek language, “It is Truly Meet”, is ironically the shortest track of the album. Indeed, a lot of Slavic nations, including Serbia, Bulgaria, and Macedonia were part of the Byzantine Empire. Nonetheless, it was the Greek culture that constituted the Empire’s backbone. On the other hand, the use of Kratima, an old melismatic element of Greek Orthodox music, adds a touch of traditional Greek style to the album.

Above all, the album’s primary mission is spreading the faith among those people who are doing first steps in their search for God. It should be noted that jazz is one of music genres where Edward Lange is active too. So, I believe that many people from our modern secular society will obviously become curious to discover the “spiritual repertoire” of a young and talented jazz singer. In its turn, this may be the turning point in their spiritual life. Perhaps, one day they will cross the threshold of the Church.

You can visit the Catalog of St. Elisabeth Convent to listen to a short preview of the album.

By Vladimir Sypchu,

the chorister of the parish of

the Entry of the Most Holy Mother of God into the Temple

The Catalog of Good Deeds, 2018

Mtskheta: the ancient capital of Georgia. This small town attracts tourists and pilgrims – and not without reason. The famous Djvari, Zedazeni, Svetitskhoveli, and Samtavro monasteries are here. It is to Samtavro Women’s Monastery that a torrent of suffering people flows in a continuous stream. They come to the grave of Starets Gabriel (Urgebadze), who was glorified in the choir of saints of the Georgian Church on December 20, 2012. This occurred an unbelievably short time after his repose—17 years later.

In 2006, the Mount Athos Publishing House ("Svyataya Gora") published a beautiful book entitled “The Elder’s Diadem.” You don’t read this book, you devour it—it’s impossible to tear yourself away from it. The starets was called “the great love of the twentieth century.” He often wore a placard around his neck that said, “A man without love is like a pitcher without a bottom.”

A Man Full of Love

Aliis inserviendo consumor.

(I am consumed in serving others.)

Latin proverb

The holy confessor Gabriel (Urgebadze) was born on August 26, 1929. His name in the world was Goderdzi. For a long time, his mother was against her son’s aspiration to monasticism, but towards the end of her life she reconciled herself with his choice, and subsequently she herself took the veil. She also was buried at Samtavro Monastery.

Goderdzi came to believe in God while he was still a child. One time the neighbors were fighting, and one of them said, “You have crucified me like Christ.” The boy began to wonder what “crucified” meant, and Who Christ was. The adults sent the child off to the church, where the church warden advised him to read the Gospel. He saved up his money, bought a Gospel, and in a few years had learned the text practically by heart.

A longing for monasticism arose in him in his youth. Later, the elder would say, “There is no greater heroism than monasticism.” And he proved this by his whole life.

He took monastic vows when he was 26, receiving the name of Gabriel, after St. Gabriel of Mt. Athos, the starets who had walked through the water and brought to shore the Iveron Icon of the Mother of God, which had floated to Athos over the sea. Fr. Gabriel especially revered the wonderworking copy of the Iveron Icon kept at Samtavro Monastery.

Fr. Gabriel built a church with several cupolas in the courtyard of his home on Tetri Tskaro Street in Tbilisi. He erected it with his own hands and finished around 1962. Fr. Gabriel found the icons for this church at the town dumps, where in those atheistic times people brought and threw out, along with the trash, a large number of sacred objects. Sometimes he wandered around the dumps days on end. He had a small studio where he cleaned the icons and gave them frames and settings of various materials. The walls of his church were covered with icons. He even framed photographs and pictures of icons from secular magazines.

On May 1, 1965, during a demonstration, Hieromonk Gabriel burned a 12-meter portrait of Lenin which hung on the building which housed the Supreme Council of the Georgian SSR, and he began to preach about Christ to the people who were gathered there. He was severely beaten for this and put into a solitary confinement cell at the Georgian KGB. At the interrogation Fr. Gabriel said that he did it because “it is forbidden to treat a man like God. The Crucifixion of Christ ought to hang where the portrait of Lenin was. And you need to write, “Glory to the Lord Jesus Christ.” In August 1965 Fr. Gabriel was put into a psychiatric hospital for an examination. There he was diagnosed as insane: “A psychopathic individual who believes in God and angels.” They gave him a “white ticket.” But after that even more horrible things happened to him. In order to please the authorities, the hierarchs of the Church did not allow him to come into the church and did not let him into the services—they drove him away. Batiushka did not have the possibility of receiving Holy Communion, which he wanted with all his heart. He could go several days without food, could go a long time without sleep, but he could not live without the Church. And the starets often cried out of powerlessness, opening his soul to his sisters.

Fr. Gabriel settled in Samtavro in the 1980’s, and in the latter years he lived in a round tower. For a while, the nuns wondered at Batiushka’s eccentricities, not seeing in them as yet any special podvig. At first it seemed strange to them that for some time he lived in the hen house, where there were large chinks in the walls, and that in the winter he went barefoot…. The elder’s behavior didn’t fit into any kind of framework and didn’t correspond to any human conceptions. But later they began to feel that extraordinary love radiated from him: he loved everyone. The starets would often shout at the sisters, demand obedience of them, make them do something, or make them eat from dirty plates. But it was impossible to take offense at him—in his eyes shone tender love.

Before Mother Theodora became Abbess, Fr. Gabriel brought her with him to Tbilisi and made her go begging. The two of them would beg for alms, but then the elder would distribute everything to the poor. If they took a taxi back, he might shout at the taxi driver and give him no money at all, or he might pay many times more than he owed.

During Holy Week the sound of continuous weeping could be heard coming from his cell. While he was praying, some people saw him rise 15–20 inches off the ground and saw light coming from him. The faithful revered Fr. Gabriel as a great ascetic and they would come to him as to a living saint. When the starets would receive a large number of guests, he would always see to it that “the professor”—that is what he call red wine—was on the table. He would generously treat his guests, while he himself ate almost nothing. Father used to say that you have to be nourished with Divine love, and not just on food.

Otar Nikolaishvili was Batiushka's spiritual child and often spent time in his cell. Once Fr. Gabriel unexpectedly said to him that they had to go right then and there to the Monastery of St. Anthony Martkopsky—that it was urgent. Otar didn't know what to say: his car wasn't working right, he was having problems with it. Batiushka insisted, and somehow they started out. Then the road began to go up a mountain, and the automobile began to cough and sputter, but the starets suddenly said, "Don't worry, son—St. Anthony Martkopsky himself is sitting in the back seat—but don't you turn around." And the car suddenly tore off ahead so fast that the driver had to step on the brakes. As soon as they drove in through the monastery gates, the engine cut out on the spot. Just at that time, several armed people came in there looking for trouble. The starets stepped out in front and said, "Shoot me." This embarrassed and sobered the bandits, and they left the monastery.

According to the elder's will, his body was wrapped in a mat and given over to the earth in the place where St. Nina had labored. Fr. Gabriel died on November 2, 1995 of edema. He suffered terribly from the pains, but never showed it.

A countless number of healings began to occur at his grave after his death. All Georgia deeply venerates the elder.

The Samtavro-Transfiguration Church and the Monastery of St. Nina have a website called Starets Gabriel—Confessor of Christ, which is dedicated to Archimandrite Gabriel. Many well-known people have left their comments about him; among them are:

Mother Superior Georgia of the Gorny Convent in Jerusalem: “You have a true starets. You are in Paradise…” and

Schema-Archimandrite Vitaly (Sidorenko): “Monk Gabriel is the greatest monk.”

From the Sayings of the Elder

Whoever learns to love will be happy. Only do not think that love is an inborn talent. One can learn love, and we must.

Without sacrifice for the sake of the Lord and of our neighbor nothing will come of the spiritual life. You won’t learn to love without sacrifice.

God will not accept empty words. God loves deeds. Good deeds are what love is.

Live so that not only God would love you, but also so that people would love you—there is no greater thing than this.

Read the full article here: http://orthochristian.com/65883.html

There is a huge difference between a precentor and a choir conductor. A real conductor doesn’t need a diploma—it’s not my own phrase but I agree with it. Many famous conductors became outstanding performers first. David Oistrakh, Vladimir Spivakov were fantastic violinists and then became conductors; Mikhail Pletnev is a remarkable pianist who later became a conductor; Yury Bashmet originally played the viola.

A musician grows from within. The conductor’s gestures also come from within, not from outside. That is why it is great if you already have a set of gestural patterns and conducting skills under your belt, if you know the basics of this profession, but you can get to the same point via a different route.

I didn’t know why the Lord put me in charge of the choir but now that’s what I see: God knew that He would make me a nun. I had never wanted to become a nun: I was a down-to-earth mother of three kids. Convent? Really? But God had a plan for my life. I sang in a choir conducted by a friend of mine. It turned out that the cathedral needed another choir. They suggested that I try. When you’re a neophyte, you have no fear: got the blessing? Go and fight!

At first, I was scared. I didn’t know how to conduct the choir. For a long time, I was unsure of how I even dared conduct a choir. Later, I understood that if God needs it, it will happen whether you like it or not.

The participants of our choir hailed from the Academy of Music and from College of Music, so they all demanded a lot from themselves and from each other, and no one was left behind. That’s how we organised our work: “Listen to what I want; I’ll explain it to you, and please do it.” We all had diplomas of conductors and musicologists. When we started performing at concerts, I needed different conducting gestures and I learned them by looking at other conductors and seeing that some of their signs didn’t suit me and didn’t provide the sound that I wanted to hear. So I adapted their signs to fit our choir better. I saw that my singers didn’t understand some gestures, so I showed them what they had to do in a different way, and they finally understood what I meant. I asked for their feedback, and they said, “Keep it simple, do it that way…” and showed how. Sadly, the “conductorship” gets in the way. I see other conductors, even precentors (who are basically singers who stand on the other side of the lectern), and I notice that the usual conducting gestures are exaggerated most of the time, especially at a concert where the audience can see the conductor (as opposed to the church, where the choir is in a separate place). For example, a conductor conducts The Door of Repentance Open Unto Me. That is the first chant sung in anticipation of the Great Lent, and no matter whose music it is—by Chesnokov, Bortnyansky, or just plain obikhod chant—its spirit must be special; it is penitential; you must not wave your arms like a windmill! When things like these happen on stage, I feel distaste and I say to myself, “Regardless of how well you sing, it’s not right.” The visual impression of the conductor on stage is crucial: he or she provides clues as to what people should feel. Whether we want it or not, this indication goes on. That is why every conductor who stands on stage with his or her back to the audience, facing the choir, willy-nilly shows with his posture and all his motions what we should feel according to his interpretation of the piece that is being performed.

A precentor’s job is different. He doesn’t have to demonstrate anything. He stands in the choir loft or in a corner where no one can see him. All he needs to do is lead the choir and provide timely information for the choir about to the text, and know the service, of course, so that everything is in time. A precentor’s gestures must be modest. Everything he does must be aimed at enabling people in the nave to hear the sacred texts of those chants and at avoiding all shades of affection, i.e., passions, like I’m sad—I’m scared—and that’s a siiiin! When a church choir highlights the texts like that, you can’t expect a prayerful mood. Sometimes I hear people say, “They sang so well! So loud and emotional!” That’s the opposite of praise for a church choir. We must not be emotionally unstable. Even Saint Ignatius Bryanchaninov said so. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky didn’t call himself a church composer, although he composed a Liturgy and an All-Night Vigil. He didn’t intend it for church use. A humble priest, whom I had heard of before I came to the Convent, approached our choir after we sang the Cherubic Hymn by Tchaikovsky and said, “You sang really well but please never sing it again. When I hear your Cherubic Hymn, I imagine Russian birch trees.” It was Tchaikovsky’s music.

June 23, 2018

St. Elisabeth Convent

From a letter of Archimandrite Irenei

to a mother and father (2012):

My dear N and A,

You are Orthodox parents raising Orthodox children in the loving embrace of the Church, and you have asked an important question relating to the cultural “celebrations” surrounding what has come to be known as “Halloween”. Let us start by saying, then, that you must put out of your mind these thoughts about “going with the culture” and permitting your children to take part in such customs “so that they won’t feel out of place with their friends.” Where secular people may feel they have the option to divorce the spiritual realm from the physical and do one thing with their bodies while believing another in their minds, we Christian people do not. We know that the actions of our bodies, and the things we do with our lives, affect our hearts and are directly connected to spiritual realms of which we are, on account of our weakness, not always immediately aware. Can you honestly think—you who gaze at and touch the holy icons in your home and in our temples, and know that the saints are present with you, and that you are drawn into their holy lives—that to be willingly surrounded by images of the demons (however childish and infantile their representation) will not also affect your heart, and your children’s hearts, and draw them closer to powers that none would call holy? And not just to gaze upon such images, but to fashion them into clothes and costumes and wear them on one’s body?

Some will say, “Ah, but it is only a bit of fun, these days. It’s just fancy dress. No one believes in these things!” But tell me, do you think the devil is so foolish that he does not see the opportunity that comes from something being perceived as “just fun and games”? Do you believe he does not understand that such circumstances cause us to let down our guard, to tease and toy with the very ideas of demons and spiritual darkness? That he does not rejoice precisely because such images become things of play, and therefore things that we do not guard against when the play is done? Yet others will say, “But it is not all macabre: children trick-or-treat in costumes of angels, of cartoon characters, of animals.” But this is to fail to see the point, that it is the very admixture of these two things—the playful and the demonic—that does such damage to the soul. The Scriptures say, What concord hath Christ with Belial? (2 Cor. 6.15), and yet modern man feels perfectly comfortable to join the demons to teddy-bears and unicorns; to mix the sinister with the trivial. This is because he has lost the sense of how powerfully our idle “play” affects the inner disposition of the heart. We think that if we don’t take something “seriously”, it cannot seriously affect us—but look how much woe and despair there is in the world, as the result of this delusion!

No, it is time to stand fast against this ridiculous trend. God has given you children; and now, in this very dilemma you are feeling in your heart, He is asking you how you will look after them. Will you, for the sake of “social norms”, start them at so precious and tender an age down the path of considering the spiritual world a realm of partying and jest, toying with images of evil as if they were of no consequence? Or will you spend this night teaching them of the joy of the spiritual life as it really is? “Halloween” (18th / 31st October) coincides with the eve of the feast day of our beloved pastor and illumined Father in the faith, St John of Kronstadt; and it is also the feast day of the pious virgin St. Frideswide of Oxford. Look, how God has planted for you two spiritual trees that can bear fruit in your family’s life on this very night. Take your children to the Divine Services; encourage them precisely in the fact of doing something that others are neglecting—that while the world outside plays about in the frivolities of delusion and mixes demons with daydreams, you will enter into the Holy Temple where the God of all spirits dwells, to receive the Holy Spirit and be joined into a life that turned a parish priest into a clairvoyant miracle worker and a meek young woman into a wonder-working healer! And teach your children that He longs to do the same for them, that He desires to make of them great saints whom the whole world will know, if only they, and you, will let Him.

May God give you strength to stand steadfast with joy amidst these worldly trials! May He bless you, and bless your children.

By Archimandrite Irenei (Steenburg),

now Bishop of Sacramento (ROCOR)

Source: https://orthodoxethos.com/post/a-brief-word-on-halloween-as-to-whether-you-ought-to-participate-or-not

There is disagreement among contemporary scholars and commentators about which of the Evangelists wrote first: Matthew or Mark. But it is safe to assert that Luke was the third in order. He certainly knew Mark’s text well, and possible Matthew’s; he also made use of other sources. These three are often called the “synoptics”; the Greek word means that these three authors “saw together.” Their texts are much more similar to one another than to the Gospel according to John, which was written much later and in an entirely different manner; he sought to supplement the synoptics by elaborating on that which they had remained silent about.

Matthew and Mark were eyewitnesses of many events of the Gospel, but the same cannot be said of Luke. Tradition calls him one of the Apostles of the seventy, but the Gospels do not mention him; it is certainly not apparent from his own text that he spoke as an eyewitness. We encounter him only in Acts, not even at the very beginning, where he accompanies the Apostle Paul (who, incidentally, also did not participate in any way in the Gospel narrative). He is mentioned in several Pauline epistles as his most faithful and intimate companion and even as his personal physician. We know from the same sources that Paul suffered from some sort of serious illness, for which Luke’s help was necessary. Incidentally, a doctor’s perspective can also be seen in the pages of his Gospel: when describing the healing of the sick, Luke specifies the illnesses from which they were suffering.

But, one might wonder, what right did such a person have to talk about Jesus when immediate eyewitnesses to these events were still alive and known to all? Yet even today we rarely know about past events from eyewitnesses; we more often hear about them from historians. Luke was such an historian. As he himself says in the introduction to his Gospel, many had already told the life of Jesus (and, most likely, not always fairly), so it was worth carefully questioning eyewitnesses, comparing all available sources, and compiling a fuller and more trustworthy account. And this is just what he did. The text was apparently composed in Rome in the beginning of the 60s, most likely under Paul’s guidance.

As with the other synoptics, we know relatively little about Luke. He was born, according to tradition, in Antioch, Syria; this was one of the largest cities of the time, where a Christian community arose immediately after the Resurrection. He was most likely not a Jew, but a Greek (the only one of all the New Testament writers!); in any case, he received a fine education and wrote in excellent Greek. Tradition calls him a doctor and an artist (an iconographer, as it is called in church tradition); it was he who painted the first portrait, or icon, of the Theotokos. There is nothing unusual about this: in those days there was not the same kind of narrow specialization as exists today; someone well versed in the healing arts could well delve into art and historiography.

In any case, it is only this Gospel that relates the story of the Nativity in such detail and even an episode from the childhood of Jesus: how He went with His family to Jerusalem for the feast day and later lingered in His Father’s house, that is, the Temple. Joseph had by then long since died, so only the Virgin Mary could have told Luke about this. Might she have told him about this while he was painting her portrait?

Accuracy and attention to detail are characteristic of Luke. For instance, he alone tells of the wise thief who turned to Christ when already on the cross. There is nothing surprising about this: almost all of Jesus’ disciples had fled and whoever remained at the Cross would likely not have heard the words of the thieves crucified with Him. But Luke found an eyewitness who had heard and remembered the conversation of Jesus with the repentant thief, who was promised an immediate encounter in Paradise.

Just as Matthew cites Old Testament prophecies in detail and Mark emphasizes Jesus’ power and majesty, Luke speaks with special thoroughness about His sacrificial death and its salvific meaning for humanity. This is why the ox, a sacrificial animal, was chosen as his symbol.

But the primary distinction of this Gospel from the others is its literary elegance. Luke combines different styles (which, unfortunately, is normally lost in modern translations): here we see refined Greek prose, poetic hymns (the only in the entire New Testament), grand narrative in the style of the Old Testament, and aphoristic sayings. Luke clearly wrote for the discerning and educated Hellenistic public, which did not need to be simply surprised by new ideas, but to have these ideas presented in an elegant form in order for them to listen.

The parables are likely the peak of his literary craftsmanship. It is in Luke that we find stories that even people who have never opened the Bible know well: for instance, the parables of the prodigal son and of the rich man and Lazarus. Parables make up a significant part of his book: these are little stories that one can understand without any deep knowledge of history or Palestinian geography; indeed, one hardly need know anything in order to grasp their general meaning. But to penetrate their depths is no simple matter. A series of easily remembered everyday events pass before us, but it is not always possible to reach unequivocal conclusions concerning them. Why, for instance, did Christ praise the unjust steward who wrote off part of the debt of his master’s debtors? To this day, interpreters offer different responses.

Luke, as we see, is not aspiring towards didacticism (do good and do not do bad), but rather expresses his thought in metaphors. Take, for instance, the parable of the prodigal son. Is the son its main hero? A dissolute youth who affronts his father, squanders his money, and then returns to him – this is a clear picture, one that indeed happens in real life. There is nothing in particular to say here. But this parable compels us to marvel at something else: the father’s behavior seems completely illogical. He does not hinder his insolent son from leaving; he patiently awaits his return; and he accepts him as soon as he sees him. He has the right to punish him severely, but he forgives him; he does not even allow him to finish speaking, but returns him to his former dignity. Is this not how the Heavenly Father awaits our repentance? Thus it turns out that this parable is not in fact about the prodigal son, but about the patient and endlessly loving father.

Or perhaps it is also about the elder brother? He diligently fulfilled all instructions; he was a model son. And he, of course, was not at all happy that his father showed mercy to this dissolute young man, whom he did not want to call his own brother. Was this fair? But it turns out that you can be your father’ son only when your most dissolute brother remains a brother to you. Indeed, one could say much more about this parable; it does not resemble the sort of fable in which there is only one obvious moral. This story gives us several lessons at once, revealing different layers depending on how we look at it.

Luke is also a master of artistic detail. He describes how Jesus healed ten lepers, who went to the Temple in order to live henceforth among other healthy and happy people. Only one returns to thank the Healer: and he was a Samaritan (Luke 17:16). A despised alien, an outsider! Perhaps the remaining nine tolerated him only so long as they were all leprous outcasts, but now they are going to the Temple, which the Samaritan cannot enter, and he has no choice but to part from them? Or perhaps he thought of simple human gratitude precisely because he was not able to perform the rite? Thus it happened that the person who was most distant, the Samarian, suddenly became the one who was closest – just as in the other parable about mercy. There is something worth pondering here.

Luke accompanied Paul on one of his missionary journeys, which he describes thoroughly in Acts, constantly using the pronoun “we” while never saying anything about himself personally. This, too, is a vivid personality trait! The level of detail in the depiction of Paul, his unfailing teacher and companion from the moment they left to preach, is matched only by the inconspicuousness of the author himself.

After the death of the Apostle Paul, Luke continued his missionary work in Italy, Gaul, Dalmatia, Greece, and Africa. He preached the Gospel in these countries, established Christian communities, and healed the sick – not only as a physician, but as an Apostle. He was martyred in old age in the Greek city of Thebes, where he was crucified on an olive tree for lack of a prepared cross. His body was buried there; later, in the fourth century, it was taken to Constantinople. His relics remained there until the Turkish conquest, after which they, like many other sacred objects, fell into the hands of the Venetians. Today they are preserved in the Italian city of Padua; a portion of these relics was returned to Thebes in the 1990s. The Apostle’s memory is celebrated on April 22 and October 18 (Old Calendar).

It was stated above that nothing about Luke himself is mentioned in the Gospels. While this is the case, there is still one clue. At the very end of his Gospel, Luke mentions a nameless disciple of Jesus who, along with his fellow disciple Cleopas, travelled from Jerusalem to a village called Emmaus shortly after the Resurrection (about which they still knew nothing). On the way they spoke about everything that had taken place in Jerusalem: their hope that Jesus would establish His Kingdom here and now had not proven true. They suddenly met a stranger who began to ask them why they were so downhearted. Then he began to explain to them, beginning with the prophecies of the Old Testament, that this was how Christ was to suffer for people’s salvation.

They continued their learned conversation along the way; when evening had arrived, they invited their companion to share a meal with them. When he blessed and broke the bread, they recognized His voice, His hands, His face – this was their risen Teacher! Their hearts burned while they were talking on the road, but their minds were too occupied with difficult theological questions simply to recognize Him. This required accepting the bread broken by Him, participating in a meal with Him.

It appears that this story was indeed told by an eyewitness – he cites so many details and is so captivated by his narration. Perhaps the second disciple, who is not named in the account, was indeed named Luke? In any case, this account tells the story of all who have received a good education, who have gathered a multitude of historical facts, and who have given thought to their interpretation – but for whom the primary, decisive conclusion required a living and immediate encounter with the Teacher. This lesson of the Apostle and Evangelist Luke is especially dear and intimate to me.

By Dr. Andrei Desnitsky

Source: http://www.pravmir.com/the-evangelist-luke-historian-and-literary-genius/

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