“And he cried out, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ So Jesus… asked him, saying, ‘What do you want Me to do for you?’ He said, ‘Lord, that I may receive my sight.’ Then Jesus said to him, ‘Receive your sight; your faith has made you well.’”

Glory to Jesus Christ! Glory forever!

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

“Enter into the Church and wash away your sins. … The Church is a hospital for souls, and not a courtroom. She does not condemn on behalf of sins, but grants remission of sins. Nothing is so joyous in our life as the thanksgiving that we experience in the Church. In the Church, the joyful sustain their joy. In the Church, those worried acquire merriment, and those saddened, joy. In the Church, the troubled find relief, and the heavy-laden, rest. ‘Come,’ says the Lord, ‘near me, all of you who labor and are heavy-laden [with trials and sins], and I will give you rest’ (Matt 11:28). What could be more desirable than to meet this voice? What is sweeter than this invitation?” (St. John Chrysostom).

The Orthodox Church, brethren, is not so unique or narrow in her soteriology, that is, in her understanding of the salvation of man. When you read comparative Christian theology, it comes across that way sometimes. “Orthodox Christians hold to the Christus Victor model of the atonement. Calvinists hold to the Penal Substitutionary model,” and so forth. This just isn’t true. It is easy to box in traditions and to characterize them in tidy ways, but usually, some injustice is done to the true nature of said traditions’ theologies. The same can be said of Orthodoxy. In my experience, Orthodox soteriology is so beautiful and so true, because it is so holistic, meaning, it is so biblically comprehensive. Orthodoxy does not interpret our salvation through so narrow a lens as one (1) juridical, or (2) moral, (3) or satisfactory, or (4) medicinal. Orthodox soteriology is catholic (little “c”) soteriology. It draws from the wealth of all biblical analogy, and—by the grace of God—maintains a unified, though ultimately mysterious, paradigm.

            In today’s Gospel Reading, we are given immense insight into one such principle interpretive matrix of our salvation. At face-value this encounter between our Lord and the blind man may read as a generic story of healing. “The Gospels are littered with these,” you may say. Yes, Jesus does a lot of healing throughout his ministry. But do we understand the point of it all? Yes, healing testifies to Christ’s divinity (not just any old conjurer can make the lame to walk or the blind to see), but even more than this: Christ’s healing ministry reveals a fundamental aspect of God’s salvific plan and telos for mankind.

“Then it happened, as [Jesus] was coming near Jericho, that a certain blind man sat by the road begging. And hearing a multitude passing by, he asked what it meant. So they told him that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by. And he cried out, saying, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Then those who went before warned him that he should be quiet; but he cried out all the more, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’” (Luke 18:35-39).

“Have mercy on me! … Have mercy on me!” Before becoming Orthodox, I do not know if I ever said those words to God: “Have mercy on me.” “I love you, Lord. I worship you, Lord. I praise you, Lord. Forgive me. Help me.” Yes, I said those kinds of things to God. Now that I am Orthodox—and I do not need to tell any of you!—my oh my, how often do we say, “Lord, have mercy”? At the Great Litany, all the Little Litanies, the Augmented Litany, the Litany of Supplication, the Litany Before the Lord’s Prayer, the Litany of Thanksgiving… “Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy!” It’s almost crazy how much we say, “Lord, have mercy.” Why do we say it so much? And what do we mean by it? Could our fathers in the faith simply not come up with anything better to say?

            First, I do not think we have a good grasp on the etymology of the phrase, “Lord, have mercy” (“Oh no,” you think, “Deacon is going to give us another one of his pedantic etymology lessons.” Say it: “Lord, have mercy!” Please, bear with me). When we say, “Lord, have mercy,” or if we were to say to another, “Have mercy on me,” we would mean it in a most colloquial way, “Forgive me.” As a colloquialism, that is fine. But it is an English colloquialism, not a biblical one, certainly not a Greek one. The Bible testifies to a logical relationship between “mercy” and “forgiveness,” certainly.

“No one who conceals transgressions will prosper, but one who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy” (Prov 28:13).

“The Lord is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him” (Dan 9:9).

The two terms, “mercy” and “forgiveness,” are theologically complementary. But they are not synonymous, and biblically speaking, there is no etymological relationship.

            However, “mercy,” in the Greek eleos, as in the Greek phrasing of our common liturgical refrain, Kurie eleēson, “Lord, have mercy,” this term does have an etymological relationship with a rather unexpected term. Does anyone know it? Listen to the following verse from a well-known parable in St. Luke’s Gospel:

“He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on elaion and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him” (Luke 10:34).

“Pouring on elaion and wine… .” Eleos, “mercy”; elaion… what is the Greek word here? “Oil.” And what is the parable? “The Parable of the Good Samaritan.” In ancient times, oil was used for lots of things: cooking, fuel for lamps, and importantly: as a healing salve.

“Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be cleansed: thou shalt wash me, and I shall be made whiter than snow” (Ps 50:9).

Oil connotes healing, and “mercy” is the etymological derivative of “oil.” When we say, “Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. Lord, have mercy,” this is most fundamentally a plea for healing. And why does the Church litter—if even such a characterization is appropriate—why does the Church punctuate every instance of her liturgical services with that common phrase: “Lord, have mercy?” Because the concept of healing—physical, spiritual, psychological—is inseparable from the basic soteriology of biblical Christianity. Let me say that again: the concept of healing—physical, spiritual, psychological—is inseparable from the basic soteriology of biblical Christianity.

            In today’s Gospel Reading, the blind man does not ask Jesus to forgive him (not that he is not in need of forgiveness!); he does not ask Jesus to instruct him (not that he is not in need of instruction). Rather, he asks Jesus to heal him.

“‘What do you want me to do for you?’ He said, ‘Lord, that I may receive my sight.’ Then Jesus said to him, ‘Receive your sight; your faith has made you well [your faith has saved you, in some translations!]’” (Luke 18:41-42, add. mine).

Brethren! At this point in Jesus’ ministry, he—Jesus—is still quite alive and well! He is not crucified! He is not dead! He is not resurrected! Jesus has not yet died for this man’s sins, and yet, this man has been “saved,” in—if you will again entertain my semantic obsessions—[he has been saved in] the most fundamental meaning of that term; “saved,” in Greek sōdzo, “to save/to heal,” in the Latin translation (from whence we get our term) salvo (“salvation”), “to rescue/to heal.” Salvation, brethren, is not biblically defined in such narrow terms: forgiveness, and justification. Salvation is not merely the “balancing of the accounts.” Yuck! So gray, so cold, so sterile, so “textbook.” Salvation, brethren, is the healing of the body. It is the healing of the mind. Salvation, defined in the most biblically comprehensive way is the restoration of man’s relationship with God, and with that: the full restoration of man’s physical, spiritual, emotional, psychological, and relational faculties. Will there be forgiveness involved in this process? Surely! Will there be justification and sanctification? Surely! But do you know what the arrival of the Kingdom of God in the world looks like in a most real and palpable way?

“As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. She came up behind [Jesus] and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped” (Luke 8:44).

Holy smokes! What a miracle! In the presence of God, in faith: what is broken is healed.

            It is from within this theological framework, brethren, that we pray each and every service, with each and every litany. They are not rote words; they do not nicely and conveniently “fill in the gaps” of our liturgical operations.

“For the peace from above and for the salvation—[did you catch that? Salvation/healing, ‘for the healing’]—of our souls, let us pray to the Lord.”

            “Lord, have mercy. Lord, heal us!”

“For this holy house, and for those who enter with faith, reverence, and the fear of God, let us pray to the Lord.”

            “Lord, have mercy. Lord, heal us!”

For our country, its president, for all those in civil authorities, and for the armed forces everywhere, let us pray to the Lord.”

            “Lord, have mercy. Lord, heal us!”

“For the unborn of this nation, … for those suffering for the faith of the Cross, … for those known only unto God and who have no one to pray for them.”

            “Lord, have mercy. Lord, heal us!”

Brethren, our God is indeed Judge, by virtue of his moral perfection. He is the only one who can rightly judge. Our God is Teacher, by virtue of his infinite wisdom. But today, I want to especially remind you that our God is Healer and Physician.

“Enter into the Church and wash away your sins. … The Church is a hospital for souls, and not a courtroom. She does not condemn on behalf of sins, but grants remission of sins. Nothing is so joyous in our life as the thanksgiving that we experience in the Church.”

That’s what St. John said. “The Church is a hospital for souls.” We are the bruised and battered traveler on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. We have been stripped of all glory. We have been left for dead. In our humiliation and our suffering, God does not look upon us and say, “Sin-sick fool, serves him right.” But Christ is the Good Samaritan who bandages our wounds, and anoints us with wine and oil, and picks us up, and carries us to safety, to a place of rest and refreshment. We need only to call on his name, and he will save us.

‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! … Then Jesus said to him, ‘Receive your sight. Your faith has made you well’” (Luke 18:38, 42).

Through the prayers of our holy fathers, O Lord, Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.

Glory to Jesus Christ! Glory forever!