Lenten Reflection – Day 6 of the Great Lent
Overcoming Evil with Good – Romans 12:10–21
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” (12:21)
For five days the Great Lent has been taking us deeper. We have fasted in the wilderness. We have been called to forgive. We have been told to act on what we hear, not just listen. We have stood before the narrow gate. We have faced the war inside our own hearts. And now, on this sixth day – the last day of the first week, the eve of Garbo Sunday, the Sunday of the Leper – the Apostle Paul gives us something we desperately need. He gives us a picture of what the Christian life actually looks like when it is working.
Not theory. Not theology. Not another warning. Paul gives us a description of love in action – practical, specific, ordinary, and impossibly demanding.
Tomorrow the Church will read the Gospel of the healing of the leper (St. Luke 5:12–16) – a man shut out from community, untouchable by law, who came to Christ and said, “Lord, if You are willing, You can make me clean.” And Christ, who could have healed with a word from a distance, reached out His hand and touched him. That touch – the willingness to cross the boundary between clean and unclean, between the healthy and the sick, between the comfortable and the suffering – is exactly what Paul is describing in Romans 12. It is love that moves toward the person everyone else moves away from.
This passage is the bridge between our inner Lenten work and our outward Lenten witness. The fasting, the prayer, the self-examination of the first five days must now begin to bear fruit in how we treat actual people – especially the ones who are hardest to love.
Love that is Not Pretend (vv. 10-13)
“Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honour giving preference to one another; not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer; distributing to the needs of the saints, given to hospitality.” (12:10–13)
Paul begins with a flood of short, direct instructions, each one meticulously crafted to strip away any ambiguity. There is no room to hide in vague generalities here; instead, he lays bare the essence of love in practical terms. He is describing what love looks like on a Tuesday afternoon, painting a vivid picture of mundane moments transformed into gestures of affection. This is not love as a fleeting feeling, but rather love as a deliberate pattern of choices made consistently over time. It is about those little acts of kindness, a knowing smile, or a gentle touch that speak volumes without uttering a single word. Each instruction serves as a reminder that love is not merely an emotion but a series of conscious decisions that affirm commitment and foster connection in everyday life.
Be kindly affectionate. This is not politeness. The Greek word philostorgoi carries the warmth of family affection – the way a mother loves a child, the way siblings love each other at their best. Paul is telling a community of strangers that they must learn to feel about each other the way a family feels. This does not happen naturally. It is built, day by day, through small acts of attention and care.
In honour giving preference to one another. This is the opposite of how the world works. In the world, we compete for honour. We want to be recognised, promoted, thanked, noticed. Paul says: go first in giving honour to others. Let the other person go ahead of you. Not because you do not matter, but because this is how the Body of Christ works – each member lifting the others up rather than climbing over them.
St. John Chrysostom, in his Homily 22 on Romans, says that Paul is describing a “contest of love” — a holy competition where each person tries to outdo the other not in receiving honour but in giving it. Chrysostom notes that this is the only kind of rivalry that builds up rather than tears down. He tells his congregation that if they find it difficult to honour others above themselves, they should start small: let someone else speak first, give credit to a colleague before taking it for yourself, notice the quiet person in the room and draw them in. Love, Chrysostom teaches, is not a single heroic act but a thousand small choices made faithfully over time.1
Given to hospitality. The Greek is philoxenia – literally, “love of the stranger.” Not love of friends, not love of people who are like us, but love of the person we do not know, the person who is different, the person who has nothing to offer in return. In the ancient world, hospitality was a sacred duty. In the Church, it became something more – it became a way of encountering Christ Himself, who said, “I was a stranger and you took Me in” (Matthew 25:35).
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Hymns on the Nativity, teaches that God Himself practised philoxenia when He welcomed humanity – strangers, rebels, runaways – into His own life through the Incarnation. Every act of hospitality we offer to a stranger is a small echo of what God did when He took on our flesh. We welcome the stranger because God first welcomed us.2
Tomorrow, on Garbo Sunday, we will hear how Christ welcomed the leper – a man whom every law and custom said should be kept at a distance. The love Paul describes in these verses is the same love. It is the love that does not wait for the other person to become acceptable before reaching out. It reaches out first.
Blessing Those Who Hurt Us (vv. 14-16)
“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. Be of the same mind toward one another. Do not set your mind on high things, but associate with the humble. Do not be wise in your own opinion.” (12:14–16)
This is where the passage gets hard. It is one thing to be hospitable to strangers. It is another thing entirely to bless the person who is actively trying to hurt you.
Paul does not say: “Tolerate those who persecute you.” He does not say: “Ignore those who persecute you.” He says: Bless them. Speak well of them. Pray for their good. Desire their flourishing. This is not natural. It is supernatural. It is the work of grace in a human heart that has been broken open enough to let God’s love flow through it even toward enemies.
St. Dorotheos of Gaza, in his Instructions, teaches that the ability to bless those who hurt us comes not from willpower but from a change in how we see ourselves. As long as I believe I deserve better treatment than I am receiving, I will be angry when I am mistreated. But when I begin to see my own sinfulness clearly – when I understand that I have received far more mercy from God than I deserve – then the mistreatment of others loses its power to destroy me. I can bless my persecutor because I know that I, too, am a person who needs blessing. Dorotheos calls this “self-accusation” – not self-hatred, but the honest recognition that I am in no position to demand justice from others when I myself survive only by mercy.3
Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. This sounds simple. It is not. It is often easier to weep with those who weep than to rejoice with those who rejoice. When someone else succeeds – receives a promotion, has a child, is praised publicly – something in us tightens. We compare. We measure. We wonder why it was not us. To genuinely rejoice in another person’s joy requires the death of envy, and envy is one of the last passions to die.
Associate with the humble. The Greek literally says, “Be drawn along by humble things.” Let yourself be pulled toward the lowly, the overlooked, the unimpressive. This is the opposite of social climbing. It is social descending – choosing the company of those who cannot advance your career, improve your reputation, or increase your influence. It is choosing the company Christ chose: fishermen, tax collectors, lepers, sinners, the poor.
Do Not Repay Evil for Evil (vv. 17–20)
“Repay no one evil for evil. Have regard for good things in the sight of all men. If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men. Beloved, do not avenge yourselves, but rather give place to wrath; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay,’ says the Lord. Therefore if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap coals of fire on his head.” (12:17–20)
Paul is not asking us to pretend that evil does not exist. He is not asking us to smile at injustice or to call cruelty acceptable. He knows that evil is real. He knows that people do terrible things. What he is saying is this: you are not the one who gets to settle the account. That belongs to God.
This is not passivity. This is the deepest kind of trust. It is the trust that says: “I believe God sees what has been done to me. I believe He will set things right. And because I trust Him with the outcome, I am free to respond with love instead of revenge.” Revenge is what happens when we do not trust God. Love is what happens when we do.
St. Isaac the Syrian, whose writings have shaped the spiritual life of the Oriental Orthodox churches for over a thousand years, teaches that the person who takes revenge has placed himself in the seat of God – and that seat will burn anyone who sits in it without permission. Isaac says that mercy is the only safe posture for a human being, because mercy is the posture of God Himself. When we show mercy to those who have wronged us, we are not being weak. We are being like God. And there is nothing stronger than that.4
“If your enemy is hungry, feed him.” This is not a strategy for making your enemy feel guilty. The “coals of fire” are not punishment – most of the Fathers read them as the burning conviction of conscience, the warmth that melts a hard heart. When you feed the person who hates you, you do something that their hatred cannot explain or absorb. You break the cycle. You introduce something new into the equation – grace – and grace changes everything it touches.
St. John Chrysostom, in his Homily 22 on Romans, is direct about this: “Nothing so much puts an end to enmity as doing good to your enemies. For it at once amazes and shames them.” Chrysostom does not promise that every enemy will be converted by your kindness. But he insists that you will be transformed by it. The person who blesses and feeds his enemy is becoming more like Christ – and that transformation is worth more than any victory revenge could provide.5
Overcome Evil with Good (v.21)
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
Paul saves the summary for last, and it is one of the most important sentences in the New Testament.
Notice the two dangers. The first is obvious: evil can overcome us. We can be defeated by the hatred, injustice, and cruelty of the world. This happens not only when we suffer evil but when we respond to evil with more evil. Every act of revenge, every bitter word, every grudge nursed in secret – these are victories for the evil we claim to oppose. When we fight evil with evil, evil wins twice.
The second danger is more subtle: we can be overcome by evil even while appearing to resist it. We can become so consumed by the fight against injustice that we lose our own souls in the process. We can hate the oppressor so deeply that we become oppressive ourselves. We can oppose cruelty so fiercely that we become cruel. The history of the world – and, sadly, the history of the Church – is full of people who fought evil and became evil in the fighting.
Paul’s answer is not resistance alone but replacement. Do not merely resist evil – replace it with good. Where there is hatred, bring love. Where there is hunger, bring bread. Where there is cursing, bring blessing. This is not naïve optimism. This is the strategy of the Cross. Christ did not overcome evil by overpowering it with superior force. He overcame it by absorbing it into Himself and returning love in its place. The Cross is the ultimate act of overcoming evil with good. And Paul is asking us to live the same way.
St. Athanasius the Great, in On the Incarnation, teaches that the Incarnation itself was God’s way of overcoming evil with good. God did not destroy humanity for its rebellion. He entered into humanity and healed it from within. He took on our sickness and gave us His health. He took on our death and gave us His life. This is the pattern for all Christian action – not destruction of the enemy but transformation of the situation through self-giving love.6
Toward the Sunday of the Leper
Tomorrow the Church reads the account of the leper who came to Christ (St. Luke 5:12–16). That man was the living picture of everything the world considers untouchable – diseased, outcast, unclean, avoided by everyone. And Christ, full of the love that Paul describes in Romans 12, did not step back. He reached out and touched him.
The entire first week of the Great Lent has been preparing us for this moment. We have been stripped in the wilderness. We have been told to forgive. We have been called to act, not just listen. We have been shown the narrow gate. We have faced the war within. And now, on this sixth day, Paul tells us what the life on the other side of all that inner work looks like: it looks like touching the leper. It looks like feeding the enemy. It looks like blessing the person who curses you. It looks like overcoming evil – not with superior evil, but with stubborn, costly, impossible good.
This is the shape of the Christian life. This is what the fast is training us for.
For our Journey Today
Feed an enemy. Not necessarily with food – though that would be fine. But let us find one concrete way to do good to someone who has wronged us or who we find difficult to love. Send a message of encouragement. Pray for them by name. Do something kind that they will never know about. Let grace enter the equation.
Descend. Paul says to associate with the humble. Today, deliberately seek out the person who is overlooked – the quiet colleague, the elderly neighbour, the person who sits alone at church. Give them your time and attention. This is philoxenia – the love of the stranger.
Trust God with the outcome. If you are carrying a grievance, a desire for revenge, or a sense that someone owes us something, lay it down today. Not because what they did was acceptable, but because we trust the God who says, “Vengeance is Mine.” Let Him carry the weight. Our hands are needed for something better – for blessing, for serving, for overcoming evil with good.
Lord Jesus Christ, who reached out Your hand and touched the leper when all the world drew back, give us the courage to love as You loved. Teach us to bless those who curse us, to feed those who hurt us, to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep. Free us from the poison of revenge and fill us with the power of Your self-giving love. As we approach Garbo Sunday, prepare our hearts to see in every suffering person the face of the One who became poor that we might become rich. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Apostle Paul, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
References
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407) — Homily 22 on Romans, on Romans 12:14–21. Edition: Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (NPNF), Series I, Vol. 11: Homilies on the Epistle to the Romans, translated by J.B. Morris, W.H. Simcox, and George B. Stevens (available at newadvent.org and ccel.org). ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373) — Hymns on the Nativity (Madrāshē d-Yaldā). Edition: Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns on the Nativity, in Ephrem the Syrian: Hymns, translated by Kathleen E. McVey, Classics of Western Spirituality (Paulist Press, 1989). McVey’s translation includes both the Nativity and Epiphany hymns with extensive introductions and notes. ↩︎
- Abba Dorotheos of Gaza (6th century) — Instructions (Didaskaliai), particularly Instruction 7: “On Self-Accusation.” Edition: Dorotheos of Gaza: Discourses and Sayings, translated by Eric P. Wheeler, Cistercian Studies Series 33 (Cistercian Publications, 1977). ↩︎
- St. Isaac the Syrian (7th century) — Ascetical Homilies, particularly Homilies 48 and 71. Edition: The Ascetical Homilies of Saint Isaac the Syrian, translated by the Holy Transfiguration Monastery (Holy Transfiguration Monastery Press, Boston, revised edition 2011). Selections also in Sebastian Brock, The Wisdom of Saint Isaac the Syrian (SLG Press, 1997). ↩︎
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407) — Homily 22 on Romans, on Romans 12:14–21. Edition: Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (NPNF), Series I, Vol. 11: Homilies on the Epistle to the Romans, translated by J.B. Morris, W.H. Simcox, and George B. Stevens (available at newadvent.org and ccel.org). ↩︎
- St. Athanasius the Great (c. 296–373) — On the Incarnation of the Word (De Incarnatione Verbi Dei), particularly chapters 6–10. Edition: On the Incarnation, translated by a Religious of C.S.M.V., with an introduction by C.S. Lewis (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1944; reprinted many times). Also available in the NPNF, Series II, Vol. 4. A more recent scholarly translation is by John Behr, On the Incarnation (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, Popular Patristics Series, 2011). ↩︎
