Lenten Reflection – Day 26 of the Great Lent
We Are Unprofitable Servants: St. Luke 17:1-10
“So likewise you, when you have done all those things which you are commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do.'” (17:10)
Yesterday a rich young ruler walked away from Jesus because he could not let go of his one thing. He had kept every commandment since his youth. He was morally impeccable. And it was not enough. The ruling love on the throne of his heart held him captive. He left sorrowful. Unable to follow.
Today Christ teaches three lessons that strip away the last layers of spiritual pretence the fast has not yet reached.
First: the terrifying weight of causing someone to stumble. Second: the relentless obligation to forgive. Third: the hardest word in the entire Lenten series. When you have done everything right, you are still an unprofitable servant.
Twenty-six days in. We are past the midpoint. The Cross stands in the middle of the church. The second half of the fast is underway. And today Christ says something that demolishes the last refuge of the religious achiever.
You did your duty. That is all.
It Is Impossible That No Offences Should Come (vv. 1–2)
“Then He said to the disciples, ‘It is impossible that no offences should come, but woe to him through whom they do come! It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were thrown into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones.'” (17:1–2)
We met the millstone on Day 18. Christ picked up a child and placed it in the centre. Whoever causes one of these little ones to stumble faces the heaviest judgment in the Gospels.
Today the teaching returns with a different emphasis. On Day 18, the focus was on the child. On greatness redefined as service to the small. Today the focus is on the inevitability. “It is impossible that no offences should come.” Stumbling blocks will come. People will be hurt. The question is not whether offences will happen. The question is whether you will be the one through whom they happen.
This is a sober word for a community in the middle of the fast. Twenty-six days of praying together, fasting together, worshipping together. In any community that spends this much time together, offences will come. Misunderstandings. Careless words. Harsh judgments. Someone who fasts strictly looking down on someone who fasts loosely. Someone whose prayer life is flourishing quietly despising someone whose prayer life has collapsed.
Christ says: offences will come. But do not be the source. The millstone is not a metaphor. It is a measure of how seriously God takes the damage done to vulnerable people by people who should know better. The fast does not exempt us from this warning. The fast may intensify it. Because the people around us are fragile right now. Tired. Hungry. Spiritually raw. And a careless word during the fast cuts deeper than a careless word in ordinary time.
Forgive Seven Times in a Day (vv. 3–4)
“Take heed to yourselves. If your brother sins against you, rebuke him; and if he repents, forgive him. And if he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times in a day returns to you, saying, ‘I repent,’ you shall forgive him.” (17:3–4)
On Day 2, we reflected on forgiveness. Forgiving one another as God in Christ forgave us. The Shubkono service of reconciliation. The principle of forgiveness as the foundation of the fast.
Today is not about the principle. Today is about the relentlessness.
Seven times in a day. Not seven times in a lifetime. Not seven times in a year. Seven times in a single day. The same person. The same offence. Seven times. And seven times you must forgive.
This is not reasonable. It is not fair. It is not how human justice works. Human justice says: once or twice, fine. Three times, you are pushing it. By the fourth time, trust is gone. By the seventh, you are either a fool or a doormat.
Christ says: forgive.
He does not say “feel good about it.” He does not say “pretend it did not happen.” He does not say “trust the person again as though nothing has changed.” He says forgive. Release the debt. Let go of the right to punish. Open the hand that is clenched around the offence the way the rich young ruler’s hand was clenched around his possessions.
The connection to yesterday’s passage is not accidental. The rich young ruler could not let go of his wealth. Today’s teaching asks whether we can let go of something even harder to release. The right to be angry. The right to hold a grudge. The right to say: you have used up your chances.
St. John Chrysostom, in his homiletical treatment of this passage, teaches that the seven-times-a-day standard is not a literal maximum. It is a way of saying: there is no limit. Chrysostom argues that if God forgave us only as often as we were willing to forgive others, we would all be condemned before breakfast. The person who refuses to forgive the seventh offence has forgotten that God has forgiven his own seven-hundredth offence without keeping count. The standard is not fairness. The standard is God’s own practice. And God’s practice is relentless, inexhaustible, unreasonable forgiveness.1
Twenty-six days of fasting. Have grudges accumulated during the fast? Has someone offended you in church? Has a family member said something careless? Has a fellow faster judged you? Has someone who should have encouraged you instead diminished you?
Forgive. Not once. Not when you feel like it. Now. Again. As many times as the offence returns to your memory. Each time it surfaces, release it. Again. And again. Seven times today if necessary. Because the fast that does not produce forgiveness has produced nothing.
Increase Our Faith (vv. 5–6)
“And the apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’ So the Lord said, ‘If you have faith as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, “Be pulled up by the roots and be planted in the sea,” and it would obey you.'” (17:5–6)
The disciples hear the teaching on forgiveness and their immediate response is: we cannot do this. Increase our faith. They know that forgiving seven times in a day is beyond their capacity. They need more. More faith. More power. More spiritual resources.
Jesus answers with a mustard seed. The smallest seed they know. He says: you do not need more faith. You need real faith. Even a tiny amount of genuine faith can do the impossible.
On Day 9, we reflected on the mustard seed parable in Mark 4. There the point was patience. The seed grows in secret. Today the point is different. The mustard seed here is not about growth. It is about potency. A seed that small, planted in genuine trust, has the power to uproot a mulberry tree and plant it in the sea.
The mulberry tree had roots that went deep. Ancient. Stubborn. Nearly impossible to pull up. It was proverbial for being rooted. And Jesus says: even a mustard seed of faith can uproot it.
The mulberry tree is the grudge. The attachment. The ruling love from yesterday. The thing that has been rooted in our heart so long we cannot imagine it not being there. The anger we have carried for years. The resentment that has grown roots so deep they reach into the soil of our identity. We think it cannot be removed. It is too old. Too deep. Too much a part of us.
A mustard seed of faith can uproot it.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, teaches that Christ’s point is not that faith is small. It is that faith is alive. A seed is alive. It contains within it the power to become something far larger than itself. The mustard seed of faith is not impressive to look at. It is not the faith of the spiritual hero. It is the faith of the person who says: I cannot do this. But I believe God can. And that tiny, honest, desperate admission of helplessness, combined with trust in God’s power, is enough to uproot anything.2
On Day 25, we heard “with God all things are possible.” Today we hear how the possible happens. Through faith. Not great faith. Mustard-seed faith. Faith the size of a breath. Faith the size of a whisper. Faith the size of: I cannot forgive this person seven times in a day. But I believe You can forgive through me.
Unprofitable Servants (vv. 7–10)
“And which of you, having a servant plowing or tending sheep, will say to him when he has come in from the field, ‘Come at once and sit down to eat’? But will he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare something for my supper, and gird yourself and serve me till I have eaten and drunk, and afterward you will eat and drink’? Does he thank that servant because he did the things that were commanded him? I think not. So likewise you, when you have done all those things which you are commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do.'” (17:7–10)
Here is the hardest teaching in the passage. And possibly the hardest teaching in the Great Lent.
A servant comes in from the field. He has been plowing all day. Tending sheep. Working from dawn to dusk. He is exhausted. And the master does not say: sit down, rest, you have earned it. The master says: now serve my dinner. After you have served me, then you may eat.
Does the master thank the servant for doing what he was commanded? No. The servant did his job. That is all.
“So likewise you, when you have done all those things which you are commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do.'”
Twenty-six days of fasting. Twenty-six days of prayer. Twenty-six days of repentance and self-examination and giving and serving. And the correct posture at the end of it all is not: look what I have achieved. It is: we are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do.
This cuts against every instinct of the religious achiever. We fast and expect recognition. We pray and expect reward. We serve and expect gratitude. We keep the commandments and, like the rich young ruler, expect something extra in return. We arrive at Day 26 with a sense of accomplishment. Twenty-six days! We have done it!
Christ says: you have done your duty. That is all. Unprofitable. Not in the sense of worthless. In the sense of generating no profit. No surplus. No extra credit. No claim on God. You did what you were supposed to do. The appropriate response is not self-congratulation. It is honesty. We are servants. We did our work. We have earned nothing.
This sounds harsh. It is not. It is freedom.
Because if our obedience earns nothing, then our failure costs nothing. If perfect performance creates no claim on God, then imperfect performance does not forfeit God’s love. The system of merit is dismantled entirely. Not just on the failure side (Day 16: grace saves, not works). On the success side too. Even when we succeed, even when we do everything right, even when we keep every commandment from our youth, we are still a servant who has done his duty. Nothing more.
And God’s love for us has nothing to do with our duty. It has to do with God.
On Day 16, Paul said “by grace you have been saved, not of works, lest anyone should boast.” On Day 17, the master came home and served his watching servants dinner. On Day 23, Christ offered rest for the heavy laden. Today is the completion of that thread. Grace is not only the foundation under failure. Grace is the reality above success. Even our best day as a Christian does not put God in our debt. And that is not bad news. That is the best news in the world. Because a God who owes you nothing but gives us everything is a God whose love is pure. Unmotivated by obligation. Free. Gratuitous. Given because He wants to give. Not because we earned the right to receive.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Hymns on Faith, writes about this paradox with characteristic wonder. He says that the servant who knows he is unprofitable is the servant who understands grace. The servant who thinks he has earned something has misunderstood the entire relationship. Ephrem compares the human person to a child who “helps” his father in the workshop. The child hammers a few nails. The child carries a few boards. The child believes he has built the house. The father smiles and lets the child believe it. But the house was built by the father. Every nail the child hammered was a nail the father guided. Every board the child carried was a board the father placed within reach. The child is not unprofitable in the sense of being unwanted. The child is unprofitable in the sense of being utterly dependent. And the father’s love for the child has nothing to do with the child’s productivity. It has to do with the father’s heart.3
St. Isaac the Syrian, in his Ascetical Homilies, takes this further. He teaches that the person who grasps the meaning of “unprofitable servant” is closer to God than the person who has fasted for forty years and believes he has accomplished something. Isaac says that the whole spiritual life is a process of discovering that you have contributed nothing. Not because you are worthless. Because God has done everything. The fast does not produce holiness. God produces holiness. The prayer does not generate grace. God generates grace. The obedience does not create a claim. God creates obedience. From top to bottom, the entire project is His. And when we finally see this clearly, the only honest thing to say is: we are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do. And even the duty was a gift.4
What This Means for Day 26
Twenty-six days. More than half the fast. You have been working. Hard. Honestly. Faithfully. Some of you have not missed a single prayer. Some of you have fasted every day without complaint. Some of you have been more generous, more patient, more forgiving during this fast than at any other time of the year.
And today Christ says: you are an unprofitable servant. You did your duty.
Let it land. Do not rush past it. Do not soften it with qualifications. Let it land.
Now feel the freedom that follows.
If your duty creates no claim, then your failure creates no debt. If your best performance does not put God in your debt, then your worst performance does not put you in God’s bad graces. The whole economy of earning and deserving is abolished. Not just on the forgiveness side. On the achievement side too.
You are free. Free from the need to measure your fast against anyone else’s. Free from the need to feel satisfied with your progress. Free from the quiet pride that has been building since Mid-Lent. You have done your duty. That is all. And God’s love for you today is exactly the same as it was before the fast began. Not one degree warmer because of your obedience. Not one degree cooler because of your failures. The same. Because His love is not a response to your performance. It is a feature of His nature.
The Cross in the middle of the church was not placed there because you earned it with twenty-six days of fasting. It was placed there because God loved the world. Before the fast. Before your obedience. Before your duty. The love came first. The duty is the response. And the response, however faithful, is still the response of an unprofitable servant.
And that is the most liberating thing anyone has said to you during this entire fast.
For Our Journey Today
Say it out loud. “We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do.” Say it. Mean it. Not as self-hatred. As honesty. Twenty-six days of fasting have earned us nothing. Not because the fasting was meaningless. Because the fasting was duty. And duty is what servants do. The love of God toward us has not increased by a single degree because of our performance. It was already infinite before we began.
Forgive the seventh time. There is someone we have been forgiving during this fast. And the forgiveness keeps needing to be repeated. The memory returns. The anger surfaces. The hurt comes back. Today, forgive again. The seventh time. Or the seventy-seventh. Not because we feel like it. Because the God who forgives us has lost count of our offences. And He asks us to do the same for the person who offends us.
Release the claim. If we have been building a case before God during this fast, listing our disciplines, cataloging our sacrifices, building a spiritual résumé to present at the end of Lent, stop. We have no claim. None of us do. And the moment we release the claim, we discover something better than a claim. We discover grace. The love that has nothing to do with what we have earned and everything to do with who God is.
Lord Jesus Christ, who told Your servants to call themselves unprofitable after doing everything that was commanded, strip away our pride today. We confess that twenty-six days of fasting have inflated us. We have been keeping score. We have been building a case. We have been secretly pleased with our performance and quietly critical of those who have not matched it. Forgive us. We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do. And even the duty was a gift from You. The strength to fast was Yours. The desire to pray was Yours. The capacity to forgive was Yours. From top to bottom, the entire project is Yours. We contributed nothing but our willingness. And even that was drawn out of us by Your grace. Free us from the economy of merit. Free us from the need to earn Your love. It was already there before we began. It will be there when we finish. And it has nothing to do with our twenty-six days. It has to do with Your nature. You love because You are love. And we are Yours because You chose us. Not because we performed. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Evangelist Luke, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
A blessed twenty-sixth day of the Great Lent. We are unprofitable servants. We have done what was our duty to do. And God’s love for us today is exactly the same as it was before the fast began. Not one degree warmer because of our obedience. Not one degree cooler because of our failures. The same. Because His love is not a response to our performance. It is a feature of His nature.
References
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407) – Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers (NPNF), Series I, Vol. 10: Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, translated by George Prevost and M.B. Riddle (for parallel passages on forgiveness). Also St. John Chrysostom: On Repentance and Almsgiving, translated by Gus George Christo, Fathers of the Church Series, Vol. 96 (Catholic University of America Press, 1998). Available at newadvent.org and ccel.org. ↩︎
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444) – Commentary on the Gospel of Luke, translated by R. Payne Smith (Studion Publishers, 1983; reprinted by Astir Publishing, 2009). Excerpts also in the Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture: Luke, edited by Arthur A. Just Jr. (IVP Academic, 2003). ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373) – Hymns on Faith (Madrāshē d-Haymānutā), translated by Jeffrey T. Wickes, Fathers of the Church Series, Vol. 130 (Catholic University of America Press, 2015). For the Syriac critical text, see Edmund Beck (ed.), Des Heiligen Ephraem des Syrers Hymnen de Fide, CSCO Vols. 154–155, Scriptores Syri 73–74 (Louvain, 1955) ↩︎
- St. Isaac the Syrian (7th century) – 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). ↩︎
