OrthoAnalytika

The Sunday of St. Mary of Egypt The life of St. Mary of Egypt shows that healing begins when we are willing to let go of what we think we cannot live without. Her struggle with memory and desire mirrors our own battles with distraction and constant stimulation. In these final weeks of Lent, we are invited to simplify our lives, endure the discomfort, and turn again toward the peace that comes from God. --- Today the Church gives us one of the most extreme lives in all of Christian history: St. Mary of Egypt. And if we are not careful, we will put her at a distance. We will say: "That's not me." "That's not my struggle." "That's not my life." But the Church does not give her to us as a curiosity. She gives her to us as a mirror. Mary began in complete disorder. Not gradually. Not reluctantly. She threw herself into a life of passion—seeking pleasure, attention, and control. And she is very clear: she was not even doing it for money. She was doing it because she wanted it, because she loved it, because it gave her a sense of freedom. And then comes the turning point. She tries to enter the Church in Jerusalem—to venerate the Cross. And she cannot. An invisible force prevents her. Everyone else walks in. She cannot. And suddenly, she sees—not just what she has done, but what she has become. That moment breaks her. Not into despair—but into repentance. She turns to the Mother of God, asks for mercy, and is finally allowed to enter. She venerates the Cross. And then she leaves—not just the Church, but the world. She goes into the desert. And here is where we often misunderstand her life. We imagine peace, clarity, instant transformation. But that is not what she experienced. Listen to her own words. She says that in the desert she was tormented by the memory of her old life: "The mad desire for songs and wine seized me… I longed to sing obscene songs… the memory of the things I was accustomed to filled my soul with great turmoil." She had left everything behind, but everything had not yet left her. And this is important. Because it tells us: removing ourselves from temptation does not immediately remove temptation from us. For years—years—she struggled. With memory, with desire, with imagination, with everything she had fed her soul. But she stayed. She endured. And over time, something changed. The passions lost their power. The memories lost their sweetness. And she found something greater: peace, clarity, freedom, union with God. Now here is where we need to be careful. Because it is very easy to say: "Well, that's her. She was dealing with extreme passions." But we are not so different. We also live in a world of constant stimulation—constant input, constant distraction. Not through wine and song in the same way, but through something else: social media, endless news cycles, commentary, outrage, entertainment, noise. And we do not just encounter these things. We consume them. We return to them. We depend on them. And like St. Mary, we often tell ourselves: "This is freedom." But what happens when we try to step away—even for a little while? We feel it. The pull. The habit. The restlessness. The desire to check, to scroll, to see what we are missing. And here is the question that reveals everything: what do we think we are missing? Because this is where the illusion lies. We think: "If I am not plugged in—if I am not consuming—if I am not aware of everything—then my life is being wasted." But St. Mary shows us the opposite. From the outside, her life looks wasted. No productivity, no recognition, no audience, no relevance. And yet—she becomes radiant with holiness, clear in mind, free in heart, alive in God. So now the question turns: whose life is wasted? The one who withdraws from distraction and struggles toward freedom, or the one who is constantly stimulated but never at peace? St. Mary did not lose her life in the desert. She found it—but only after enduring the pain of letting go. And this is where her life meets ours—very concretely, especially now. Because we are in Great Lent. And Lent is given to us for exactly this purpose: to simplify, to remove distractions, to reorder our lives toward God. Many people focus on food. And that is good. But it is only part of the pattern. Because for most of us, our greater excess is not meat and dairy. It is stimulation. And this is part of why the fast exists. Fasting is not just about what we give up. It is about what is revealed. When we fast from food, something happens. Our system is stressed. We feel hunger. We feel irritation. We feel weakness. And suddenly, we begin to notice our thoughts, our habits, our reactions. The fast makes visible what is usually hidden. And this is not a failure. This is its purpose. Now consider this: if fasting from food reveals this much, what might happen if we fast from stimulation? If we step away from constant input, constant scrolling, constant reaction? For most of us, this will be even more revealing—because this is whe

Taste and See that the Lord is Good UOL Retreat in Philadelphia PA on 3/28/2026 In this episode, we look at how the Church's pre- and post-Communion prayers prepare us not just to receive the Eucharist, but to be changed by it. They help us see our need, turn us toward God, and then teach us how to carry His presence into daily life. Communion becomes not just something we receive, but something we learn to live. --- PRE-COMMUNION PRAYERS (UOC-USA PRAYER BOOK) Through the prayers of our Holy Fathers, Lord Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy on us. Glory to You, our God, glory to You. Prayer to the Holy Spirit О Heavenly King, the Comforter, Spirit of Truth, everywhere present and filling all things. Treasury of Blessings and Giver of Life, come and dwell in us, cleanse us from every impurity and save our souls, O Good One. Thrice-Holy Hymn Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us. (3 times) Small Doxology Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Prayer to the Holy Trinity All-Holy Trinity, have mercy on us. Lord, cleanse us from our sins. Master, pardon our transgressions. Holy One, visit us and heal our infirmities for Your Name's sake. Lord, have mercy. (3 times) Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. The Lord's Prayer Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our Daily Bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the Evil One. For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory, of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Lord, have mercy. (3 times) Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Invocation to Jesus Christ Come, let us worship God, our King. Come, let us worship and bow down before Christ our King and our God. Come, let us worship and bow down before Christ Himself, our King and our God. Psalm 22 The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want. He settles me in a place of green grass; beside restful water He leads me. He restores my soul; He guides me on the paths of righteousness for His Name's sake. For even if I walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil because You are with me. Your rod and Your staff comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil and my cup overflows. Behold, Your mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will live in the house of the Lord for the length of my days. Psalm 23 The earth is the Lord's and all its fullness, the world and all who live in it. For He has founded it above the seas and prepared it above the waters. Who will ascend into the mountain of the Lord and who will stand in His holy place? One whose hands are harmless and whose heart is pure, who has not received his soul in vain and has not sworn deceitfully to his neighbor. He will receive blessing from the Lord and mercy from God his Savior. This is the kind who seek the Lord, who seek the Face of the God of Jacob. Lift up your gates, you rulers and be lifted up, you eternal doors and the King of Glory will come in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord of Hosts, He is the King of Glory. Psalm 115 I kept my Faith even when I said I am greatly afflicted. I said in my amazement: "Every person is a liar!" What shall I give to the Lord for all that He has given me? I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the Name of the Lord. I will pay my vows to the Lord, in the presence of all His people. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Lord, I am Your servant – and the child of Your handmaiden. You have burst my bonds apart. I will offer to You the sacrifice of praise and I will call upon the Name of the Lord. I will pay my vows to the Lord in the presence of all His people, in the courts of the house of the Lord, in your midst, Jerusalem. Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Alleluia, alleluiа, alleluia, glory to You, our God. (3 times) Tropar, Tone 8 Lord, born of a Virgin, overlook my faults, purify my heart and make it a temple for Your Spotless Body and Blood. Cast me not from Your presence for You have infinitely great mercy. Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit;How can I who am unworthy, dare to come to the Communion of Your Holy Things? For even if I should dare to approach You with those who are worthy, my garment betrays me, for it is not a festal robe and I shall bring about the condemnation of my sinful soul. Lord, Lover of mankind, cleanse the pollution from my soul and save me. Now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen.Great is the multitude of my sins, Birth-Giver of God. To you, Pure On

The Sunday of the Ladder reminds us that the Christian life is not a sprint, but a long obedience marked by small, repeated acts of faithfulness. St. John shows that the real struggle takes place in our thoughts, where healing begins with recognizing them and learning to turn back to Christ. Step by step, through endurance and humility, the heart is purified and made capable of peace. Sunday of the Ladder Winning the Battle of Thoughts In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Today the Church gives us St. John Climacus—St. John of the Ladder. And she gives him to us right here, in the middle of Great Lent. Not at the beginning, when everything feels fresh. Not at the end, when Pascha is in sight. But here. When we are a little tired. A little worn down. Maybe a little discouraged. And that is not accidental. Because St. John is not here to inspire us with dramatic moments. He is here to teach us how to keep going. St. John was a monk, writing for monks. And sometimes we hear that and think: "Well, that's not for me." But that's not how the Church reads him. The Church puts him in front of all of us and says: this is what the spiritual life looks like. Not because we are all called to live in monasteries—but because we are all called to be healed, to be purified, to be united to God. We are all, in that sense, spiritual athletes. And the Ladder is not a museum piece. It is a training manual. Now here is something we have to get clear right away. The Ladder is not a sprint, a quick transformation, or a series of glorious spiritual breakthroughs. It is a lifetime slog. Step by step. Fall, get up. Fall, get up again. No drama. No shortcuts. Just faithfulness. And this is where many people get discouraged. Because we want clarity, peace, and victory—and we want it quickly. But St. John shows us something different. The spiritual life is not built on big moments. It is built on small, repeated acts of faithfulness. So where does that struggle take place? Not primarily out there. Not in circumstances, other people, or events. But in here—in our thoughts. Think about your own experience. How much of your energy goes into replaying conversations, imagining arguments, worrying about what might happen, remembering what did happen, getting distracted in prayer, getting distracted in conversation—getting distracted, pulled away from what matters, from our responsibilities, from love. Most of our spiritual life is decided before we ever act—long before anyone else sees it—and often long before we notice it ourselves. At the level of thought. Now we need to say something very important. A thought is not a sin. Thoughts come. They arise. They pass through. You are not responsible for everything that appears in your mind. There are crazy people living within everyone's mind. No, you are not responsible for everything that appears in your mind—but you are responsible for what you do with it. Because the difference between peace and chaos often comes down to a very small moment: what do I do with this thought? Let me give you three very simple rules for dealing with intrusive thoughts. Not easy—but simple. Do not enter into conversation with them. When a bad thought comes, do not engage it, do not analyze it, do not argue with it, do not "just think about it for a second." Because once you start that conversation, you've already lost. Do not identify with them. Instead, you say: "This is not me. This is a thought passing through. This is normal. This happens all the time." That concept alone creates space. The resulting separation creates freedom. Redirect immediately. Don't wrestle—replace. Turn your attention to prayer, to a psalm, to something concrete, to crossing yourself, to saying "Lord, have mercy." Again and again. The teaching is clear—this is not where we need new insight. The difficulty is in doing it—this is where we need endurance. Because this is where the real work is. St. John says in Step 26 on discernment: "The beginning of salvation is the recognition of thoughts." Not controlling everything. Not fixing everything. Just recognizing—seeing thoughts clearly. Yes, that is where the healing of our minds—the salvation—begins. And most of us don't even get that far. Because we are already inside the thought, carried within it, buoyed along by the current of our emotions. We are already moving downstream, sometimes far downstream, before we even notice. In Step 4, speaking about obedience, St. John says: "Obedience is the burial of the will and the resurrection of humility." Now that sounds very monastic. But apply it here, to your life in the world. Every time you refuse a thought, every time you redirect, you are practicing obedience. You are saying: "I will not follow this. I will follow Christ." And that commitment does not happen once. It happens ten times, fifty times, a hundred times a day—quietly, unseen. Small victories that grow into a habit of victory. This is the Ladder

Great Lent 2026; Sunday of the Cross "Whoever desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me." (Matthew 16:24) Christ is talking as if "coming after" or "following" Him is something good. What is that all about? Where is He going? Where is He leading us? Christ talks about "denying" ourselves. In the next verse He ties that to being willing to die. This sounds important. We need to get it right. There is a great lie in our world: that all religions are basically the same. But Scripture warns us that the devil himself can appear as an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). So it is not enough simply to have faith in something. Why in the world are there so many warnings in the Bible about idolatry? Some people focus on sexual sin. But even Scripture often uses sexual sin as a metaphor for something even worse: worshipping false gods. One is bad—but the other is worse. Just as marriage is good, but union with God is even greater. So we need to get this cross thing right. Is it just about perseverance? Everyone has their own cross to bear? Well… kind of. But even that needs to be grounded. We are not simply stoics. If we are stoics at all, we are stoics of a very particular kind. So what is the cross? Yes, it involves pain. But not just any pain. Look to the prototype. We are Christians, and Christ is our standard. His cross was painful—but it was pain put to a purpose. It was sacrificial. He gave Himself as a sacrifice. And all sacrifice involves something valuable—something costly, something difficult. Pain can be like that. The cross was Christ's sacrifice on behalf of the people and the world that He loved. That gives us something to work with. Taking up our cross means doing things that are hard on behalf of others. At the very least, it means denying what we might prefer so that others can thrive. For Christ, that meant leaving the place where He was given the glory and honor that was His due and coming to live in a world where He would be disrespected, misunderstood, and even tortured and killed. And He did it so that we—the ones He loves—could join Him in eternal glory. When we voluntarily sacrifice our time, when we put up with people who misunderstand us, who may not value us, who may never fully appreciate what we are doing—and we do it out of a desire for their health and salvation … … then we are taking up our cross and following Christ into glory. So be patient when your ego tells you to lash out. Be courageous when your instincts tell you to hide. Figure out what love requires in each moment—and then dedicate yourself to it. In addition to patience and courage, this requires paying attention. It requires humility. It requires dedication to the needs of the moment. And it surely won't be easy. But this is the cup that our Lord accepted in the Garden of Gethsemane—the cup that led to the salvation of the world. And when we drink of that cup, we are united to Him through His passion on the Cross. But we must remember something very important. The cross is not the end of the story. Christ did not go to the cross in order to remain in the grave. He went through the cross into resurrection. And this is exactly where the Church is leading us during Great Lent. We are walking the road of the cross now so that we may stand together in the light of Pascha. Our Lord Himself told us how this works: "Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit." In Christ, the cross is never the final word. What passes through the cross is changed. We die with Him so that we may live with Him. Buried with Him in death, we rise with Him into newness of life. As St. Maximus the Confessor says, "The one who participates in Christ's sufferings also shares in His glory." Suffering offered in love becomes glory. Sacrifice becomes participation in His life. And even death becomes the doorway to life. This is the mystery the Church sings every year at Pascha: Yesterday I was buried with Thee, O Christ;today I arise with Thee in Thy resurrection. This is where Christ is leading us. Through the cross. Into resurrection. So when the moment comes—and it will come—when love requires something difficult from you, do not be afraid of the cross. Take it up. Follow Him. Because on the other side of the cross is life— life with Christ, life with all the saints, and life in the glory of the Kingdom.

In a world shaped by outrage and constant commentary, the Christian calling is different. Drawing on Scripture, the Desert Fathers, and the theology of St. Gregory Palamas, this homily explores why Christians must learn to speak in ways that build up rather than tear down. Sometimes the most faithful response is simply silence. --- Homily Notes: St. Gregory Palamas "Let Us Be Quiet" There are moments when the most truthful response a human being can give … is silence. What do you meet in silence? On Holy Saturday, during the First Resurrection service, we sing these words: "Let all mortal flesh keep silence, and in fear and trembling stand; for the King of kings and Lord of lords comes forth, to be slain, to give Himself as food to the faithful." Why should we be silent in the presence of God? Sometimes the reason is shame. When we see the goodness of God clearly, we recognize the ways we have failed Him. The proper response is not words of justification. It is silence. Sometimes the reason is gratitude. For those who have received God's gift of redemption through Christ, there is nothing we could say that would adequately express it. Sometimes the reason is relief. For those who have wearied themselves trying to do good in service to God, there is comfort in knowing that our efforts have not been in vain. The burden becomes light because God is real. Sometimes the reason is simply rationality. What could we possibly say that would improve the intellectual profundity of the moment? Remember St. Peter at the Transfiguration. He sees the glory of Christ and immediately begins talking: "Lord, let us build three tents…" But Scripture gently reminds us that he did not know what he was saying. This teaches us that sometimes silence is the only reasonable response. It also teaches us that the most profound experience of silence is simply awe. It is like standing in the sun after a long cold winter and feeling its warmth. You do not analyze the sun. You stand in it. But silence does not come naturally to us. Spiritually speaking, the opposite of silence is not just sound. The opposite of silence is distraction. Noise. Talking. Constant reaction. And today one of the loudest places in our lives is not the street. It is our phones. Social media trains us to respond instantly to everything. Every opinion must be expressed. Every disagreement must be answered. Every irritation must be broadcast. But the spiritual life teaches something very different. Sometimes the holiest thing you can do… is not to respond. Sometimes holiness means closing the app and being quiet. This struggle with speech is not new. The Desert Fathers understood this deeply. A brother asked Abba Pambo whether it was good to praise one's neighbor, and the old man said: "It is better to be silent." And if that is true about praise, how much more true it is when we are tempted to criticize or attack our neighbor [or even some rando on the internet]? Another brother asked Abba Poemen: "Is it better to speak or to be silent?" And the old man replied: "The man who speaks for God's sake does well; but the man who is silent for God's sake also does well." Scripture says something similar: "Even a fool, when he holds his peace, is counted wise; and he who shuts his lips is esteemed a man of understanding." (Proverbs 17:28) Or as Mark Twain later put it: "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt." But Christian silence is not just about avoiding foolish words. It is about growing out of our sin and toward divinity. And here we must be honest with ourselves. We see easily when other people speak with anger, bitterness, sarcasm, or cruelty. But we rarely notice when we do the same thing. It is a bit like bad breath: [pause] We notice it quickly in other people, but we may not realize when it is our own. So here is a simple rule many of us were taught as children: "If you cannot say something nice, do not say anything at all." That may sound simple. But it contains real wisdom. Before speaking, ask yourself: Will what I am about to say build up the person I am speaking to? This is not about sugar-coating reality. This is not about pretending evil is good or giving evil a pass. Rather, it is about learning to speak in a way that builds up rather than tears down—so that we become pastors and priests rather than pundits and prosecutors. There are already plenty of prosecutors. What the world needs are pastors. And that is precisely what we are called to be as the Royal Priesthood. But we need to acquire silence so that we might receive and share grace in this calling. Abba Arsenius said: "I have often repented of speaking, but never of remaining silent." And if you are not sure whether a word would be useful? And how could you be sure? Do you really know their heart? Do you know their struggles? Do you know their intentions? We so easily judge the surface of another person's life without knowing the weight they carry. So if

Homily for the Sunday of Orthodoxy On the Sunday of Orthodoxy, the Church celebrates more than the restoration of icons in 843; she proclaims the full implications of the Incarnation. Drawing from St. John of Damascus, St. Theodore the Studite, Genesis, and the theology of beauty, this homily explores how Christ restores not only matter, but humanity's creative vocation. In Him, we are not merely icons — we are iconographers, shaping our marriages, friendships, and parishes into visible proclamations of the Gospel. --- The Restoration of the Image — and the Hands That Shape It Today we celebrate the restoration of the holy icons. In the year 843, after years of persecution and confusion, the Church once again lifted up the images of Christ, His Mother, and the saints. The Church proclaimed that icons are not idols. They are not violations of the commandments. They are proclamations of the Gospel of salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ. But if we reduce this feast to a historical victory or a doctrinal correction, we miss its depth. The Sunday of Orthodoxy is not only about winning a theological argument or correcting decades of injustices. It is about restoring something in humanity itself. We were made in the image and likeness of God. Our image is corrupted not just by sin, but by a particular way of missing the mark: bad theology. This isn't just about the suitability of having icons in worship; it's about us and our role in the Great Restoration. I. Matter and the Incarnation [You see,] Iconoclasm was not merely about pictures. It was about mediation. Can matter reveal God? Can created things proclaim the uncreated? [And especially this:] Can human hands shape something that participates in divine glory? On the first two questions, St. John of Damascus, answered with stunning clarity: "I do not worship matter; I worship the Creator of matter who became matter for my sake." And again: "When the Invisible One becomes visible in the flesh, you may then depict the likeness of Him who was seen." The Incarnation changes everything. If Christ truly assumed flesh — if He entered matter — if He allowed Himself to be seen and touched — then matter is not a barrier to communion. It becomes a vehicle of it. St. Theodore the Studite pressed this further. To reject the icon, he argued, is to weaken the confession that Christ truly became man. If He can be described in words, He can be depicted in color. We know that;"the honor given to the image passes to the prototype." The icon does not trap Christ in wood and paint; it confesses that He truly entered history. The restoration of the icons is the restoration of the Incarnation's full implications. II. Genesis: The First Iconography But to understand this feast completely, we must go back to Genesis. In the beginning, God creates. He speaks, and the world comes into being. And again and again we hear: "It is good." And finally: "It is very good." Creation is not neutral. It is beautiful. It reveals without containing. And in its beauty, it points beyond itself. Creation itself is iconographic. And humanity is made in the image and likeness of God. And here I don't mean as an icon of Him. We are going deeper into the mystery. Adam is placed in the garden not merely as a spectator, but as a cultivator. He names. He tends. He shapes. He receives creation from God and participates in its ordering. Humanity's vocation was always creative — not to rival God, but to cooperate with Him. Sin distorted that vocation. Instead of shaping toward communion and moving things to greater grace, we grow thorns and thistles. Creation groans in travail. And in our fallenness we forget the beauty of creation and turn it into an instrument to satisfy our own desires. [We exercise the power poorly, without grace.] Some think that this misunderstanding came about as a result of the enlightenment or of capitalism. Today we are reminded that the temptation to pervert our role in creation is much, much, older – iconoclasm was just another in a long line of perversity and deception. Iconoclasm is not only the smashing of panels. It is the denial that creation — and humanity — can [and should] bear glory. III. The Icon as Transfigured Humanity Leonid Ouspensky reminds us that the icon is not simply religious art. It is dogma in color. It expresses the Church's lived experience of salvation. The icon does not portray humanity as it appears in fallen naturalism [there are no shadows], but as it is restored and transfigured in Christ. The elongated figures. The stillness. The inverted perspective. These are not stylistic quirks. They proclaim something: Man is not closed in on himself. He is opened toward eternity.vThe icon reveals humanity healed. The restoration of icons in 843 was not merely permission to paint. It was the declaration that man, in Christ, may once again shape matter toward glory. IV. Beauty That Forms Vision We have spoken often about beauty. Beauty is not decoration. It is g

On the Sunday of the Last Judgment, the Gospel reveals that judgment takes place not in a courtroom, but in the throne room of God—a reality the Church enters every Sunday in the Divine Liturgy. This homily explores how worship forms repentance, trains us in mercy, and sends us into the world with lives shaped by the pattern of Christ's self-giving love. --- The Throne Room Now: Judgment, Mercy, and the Work of the Liturgy A Homily on the Sunday of the Last Judgment (Matthew 25:31–46) When we hear the Gospel of the Last Judgment, our attention is usually drawn—rightly—to the command to do good: to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the imprisoned. And the danger every year is that we hear this Gospel as if Christ were saying something like this: "Be good people during the week (ie take care of people)—and then come to church on Sunday." But that is not what the Lord is saying. In fact, the Gospel appointed for today does something far more unsettling—and far more hopeful. It places the Judgment not in a courtroom, but in the throne room of God. Christ says, "When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory." That is not legal language. It is liturgical language. The people who first heard this would have known exactly what that meant. They would have filled in the details instinctively from the Scriptures and from worship: the throne surrounded by cherubim and seraphim; the unceasing hymn of praise; even the River of Fire—not as punishment, but as the light and heat of God's own glory. And here is the first thing we must understand: We are not only told about that throne room. We are brought into it. Every Sunday, the Church does not merely remember something that will happen someday. We are brought into that reality now - as much as we can bear it. The Kingdom is revealed to us here and now, sacramentally, liturgically, truthfully. And that changes how we hear today's Gospel. First: There is a connection between doing good and coming to church Sunday is not an interruption of the Christian life. It is its measure. In a real sense, every Sunday is a little judgment—not a condemnation, but a revelation. We come into the light, and the truth about us is allowed to appear. And notice how this begins in the Divine Liturgy. It begins not with confidence, not with self-congratulation, but with repentance. The priest, standing before God as the leader and voice of the people, pleads at the very beginning: "O Lord, Lord, open unto me the door of Thy mercy." That is not theatrical humility. That is the truth. We are asking to be let in—not because we deserve it, but because without mercy we cannot even stand. And then, before the Trisagion, the priest names what God already knows about all of us: that He "despisest not the sinner but hast appointed repentance unto salvation." And so he begs Him directly: "Pardon us every transgression both voluntary and involuntary." This is what Sunday is. It is the people of God standing before the glory of His altar and asking to be healed. Asking to see clearly. Asking to be made capable of love. But repentance in the Liturgy does not remain on the lips of the clergy alone. Before Communion, the entire Church takes up the same posture and says together words that are almost shocking in their honesty: "I stand before the doors of Thy temple, and yet I refrain not from my terrible thoughts." We do not pretend that standing in church has magically fixed us. We confess that we are still conflicted, still distracted, still broken. And then, with no room left for comparison or self-justification, we each say: "Who didst come into the world to save sinners, of whom I am first." And finally, we make the plea that fits today's Gospel with frightening precision: "Not unto judgment nor unto condemnation be my partaking of Thy holy mysteries, O Lord, but unto the healing of soul and body." The Church is honest with us here. The same fire that heals can also burn, depending on whether we approach it with repentance or with presumption. This is not a threat meant to drive us away, but truth meant to help us approach rightly. That is why Sunday is a little judgment—not because God is eager to condemn, but because His throne room is opened to us now in mercy, so that we may be healed, corrected, and trained to recognize Christ when He comes to us in the least of His brethren. Second: Sunday worship is where we actually do the work Christ commands And once we see that, we can begin to understand what the Church is actually doing here - and why worship cannot be separated from judgment. Before we ever offer bread and wine, the Church first intercedes for the world. We pray for peace from above and the salvation of our souls; for the peace of the whole world and the good estate of the holy Churches; for this city and every city and countryside; for travelers by sea, by land, and by air; for the sick, the suffer

Meatfare/The Last Judgment Matthew 25:31-46 On the Sunday of the Last Judgment, the Gospel reveals that judgment takes place not in a courtroom, but in the throne room of God—a reality the Church enters every Sunday in the Divine Liturgy. This homily explores how worship forms repentance, trains us in mercy, and sends us into the world with lives shaped by the pattern of Christ's self-giving love. --- The Throne Room Now: Judgment, Mercy, and the Work of the Liturgy A Homily on the Sunday of the Last Judgment Matthew 25:31–46 When we hear the Gospel of the Last Judgment, our attention is usually drawn—rightly—to the command to do good: to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the imprisoned. And the danger every year is that we hear this Gospel as if Christ were saying something like this: "Be good people during the week—and then come to church on Sunday." But that is not what the Lord is saying. In fact, the Gospel appointed for today does something far more unsettling—and far more hopeful. It places the Judgment not in a courtroom, but in the throne room of God. Christ says, "When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory." That is not legal language. It is liturgical language. The people who first heard this would have known exactly what that meant. They would have filled in the details instinctively from the Scriptures and from worship: the throne surrounded by cherubim and seraphim; the unceasing hymn of praise; even the River of Fire—not as punishment, but as the light and heat of God's own glory. And here is the first thing we must understand: We are not only told about that throne room. We are brought into it. Every Sunday, the Church does not merely remember something that will happen someday. We are brought into that reality now—as much as we can bear it. The Kingdom is revealed to us here and now, sacramentally, liturgically, truthfully. And that changes how we hear today's Gospel. First: There is a connection between doing good and coming to church Sunday is not an interruption of the Christian life. It is its measure. In a real sense, every Sunday is a little judgment—not a condemnation, but a revelation. We come into the light, and the truth about us is allowed to appear. And notice how this begins in the Divine Liturgy. It begins not with confidence, not with self-congratulation, but with repentance. The priest, standing before God as the leader and voice of the people, pleads at the very beginning: "O Lord, Lord, open unto me the door of Thy mercy." That is not theatrical humility. That is the truth. We are asking to be let in—not because we deserve it, but because without mercy we cannot even stand. And then, before the Trisagion, the priest names what God already knows about all of us: that He "despisest not the sinner but hast appointed repentance unto salvation." And so he begs Him directly: "Pardon us every transgression both voluntary and involuntary." This is what Sunday is. It is the people of God standing before the glory of His altar and asking to be healed. Asking to see clearly. Asking to be made capable of love. But repentance in the Liturgy does not remain on the lips of the clergy alone. Before Communion, the entire Church takes up the same posture and says together words that are almost shocking in their honesty: "I stand before the doors of Thy temple, and yet I refrain not from my terrible thoughts." We do not pretend that standing in church has magically fixed us. We confess that we are still conflicted, still distracted, still broken. And then, with no room left for comparison or self-justification, we each say: "Who didst come into the world to save sinners, of whom I am first." And finally, we make the plea that fits today's Gospel with frightening precision: "Not unto judgment nor unto condemnation be my partaking of Thy holy mysteries, O Lord, but unto the healing of soul and body." The Church is honest with us here. The same fire that heals can also burn, depending on whether we approach it with repentance or with presumption. This is not a threat meant to drive us away, but truth meant to help us approach rightly. That is why Sunday is a little judgment—not because God is eager to condemn, but because His throne room is opened to us now in mercy, so that we may be healed, corrected, and trained to recognize Christ when He comes to us in the least of His brethren. Second: Sunday worship is where we actually do the work Christ commands And once we see that, we can begin to understand what the Church is actually doing here - and why worship cannot be separated from judgment. Before we ever offer bread and wine, the Church first intercedes for the world. We pray for peace from above and the salvation of our souls; for the peace of the whole world and the good estate of the holy Churches; for this city and every city and countryside; for travelers by sea, by land, and by air; for the s

The Father Who Does Not ControlA Homily on the Sunday of the Prodigal Son St. Luke 15:11-31 In the parable of the Prodigal Son, our attention is often drawn to the repentance of the younger son or to the resentment of the elder. But before we look at either son, we must first look carefully at the father. What stands out immediately is not simply the father's mercy at the end, but the way he loves throughout the story. The father gives an astonishing amount of freedom to his sons—but his love is not passive, negligent, or withdrawn. It is neither controlling nor indifferent. It is something more demanding than either. When the younger son demands his inheritance, the father does not argue. He does not threaten. He does not bargain. He does not attempt to manage the future. He divides his living and lets the son go. This is not ignorance. This is not indifference. This is love that refuses to become domination. As Nikolai Velimirović reminds us, the father in this parable gives far more than justice requires. When the son demands what is "his," justice would permit the father to give him nothing at all—for apart from what his father gives, the son possesses nothing but dust. Yet the father gives him more than dust. He gives him life and breath, conscience and understanding. He leaves within him a spark that can still recognize hunger, remember the father's house, and find the road home. As St. Nikolai says, he gives this "not out of justice, but out of mercy," preserving within the son a light that may yet be rekindled—even in the far country. Freedom is permitted, but grace is not withdrawn. And this unsettles us—because we know the danger the young son will face. And so does the father. Freedom Is the Risk the Father Takes—But Not the Whole of His Love The father does not need to be warned about what lies ahead. He knows the far country and all its terrible temptations. He has watched his son grow. He knows his immaturity as well as his great potential. He knows that his son will probably fail. He knows that his son will probably be hurt. And still, he lets him go. The younger son leaves because he is free. The elder son stays because he is free. And the father loves both sons without controlling either. But this does not mean the father is hands-off. The father does not manage his son's choices—but he does shape the conditions in which those choices will be understood. He does not eliminate consequences—but he ensures that consequences can teach rather than annihilate. He does not chase his son—but he preserves the meaning of home. A human parent is often tempted to intervene constantly—to explain, threaten, restrain, or negotiate—motivated by what the parent calls "love." This father does something harder. He does not protect his son from failure. Instead, he protects the possibility of return. The Far Country and the Formation of Repentance The son's freedom leads him exactly where freedom so often leads when it is exercised without wisdom: [it leads] to waste, hunger, and despair. He spends what he has been given. He discovers that independence cannot sustain life. He finds himself reduced to feeding swine, longing even for their food. This is not accidental. The far country is real and so are its dangers. Freedom has weight. Choices have consequences. The younger son suffers. Yet even here, something remains alive within him; the memory of his home and of real love. The spark the father put into him through years of his strong example and sacrificial love has not gone out. He remembers the house. He remembers bread. He remembers that it would be better to be a doorman in the house of his father than live in the palaces of the far country – much less among its swine. And so, at last, he comes to himself. This is the risk the father was willing to take—not merely rebellion, but suffering—so that wisdom could be learned rather than imposed; so that the movement from willfulness to self-control would not be coerced; so that repentance would be real, and not merely compliance; so that the son's growth into authentic manhood would be genuine. Love, here, does not manage outcomes. It prepares for, cultivates, and then, Lord willing, blesses the return. The Father Runs: Love That Restores Without Controlling When the son returns, the father does something no respectable patriarch would ever do. He runs. He does not wait on the porch. He does not demand explanations. He does not require proof of sincerity. He runs, falls upon the son's neck, and kisses him. The son begins his confession, but the father will not let him finish. The father does not allow him to negotiate his way back as a servant. He never seems tempted to belittle him or his bad choices. The repentance is already there. And so He restores him fully—as a son. The robe is placed on him. The ring is given. The shoes are fastened. The feast is prepared. This is not manipulation. This is resurrection. The father does not restore the son cautiously,

Sanctifying the Moment: The Publican, the Pharisee, and the Seeds of the Kingdom Fr. Anthony Perkins; Luke 18:9-14 All of creation is good—and yet it was never meant to remain merely good. From the beginning, God made the world not as a finished product, but as something alive, dynamic, and capable of growth. Creation was designed to become better, to move toward beauty and perfection. Humanity was placed within it not as passive observers, but as gardeners, stewards, and priests—called to tend what God has made and lead it toward and into His glory. This brings us to the heart of the matter: The question is not whether God gives us good seeds, but whether we cooperate with grace so that the good becomes better—and the moment becomes a place where Christ and His Kingdom are made manifest among us. Nothing in God's creation is neutral. Everything that exists participates, however faintly, in the goodness of God—otherwise it would not exist at all. What is not offered toward its true end will still "grow," but in distorted directions—toward thorns rather than fruit. Grace is not resisted only by doing evil; it is resisted just as often by refusing to cultivate what God has given. Creation stands ready, waiting for the attention of its stewards. When what God has placed into our hands is met with humility, love, and understanding, it grows into something beautiful, bearing fruit that nourishes others and manifests the glory of God in tangible ways. But when it is met with pride, fear, or apathy, it still grows—only into something misshapen and bitter. As God warned after the Fall, we are perfectly capable of harvesting thorns and thistles as well as wheat. This is not abstract theology; it is how life actually works. Consider a newly married couple. Their relationship carries extraordinary potential. Will they cultivate it with patience, repentance, and self-giving love, allowing it to grow into a marriage that blesses their family and their community? Or will they water it with pride and resentment, forcing it to grow into something poisonous that wounds everyone who comes near? The same gift can grow in either direction. Consider, too, the life hidden in the womb. Like time and treasure, it is a gift entrusted to us, carrying breathtaking possibility. Will it be received with love and protection, allowed to grow into a bearer of light? Or will it be met with fear and rejection—so that what should have grown into life instead grows into wounds—shaping both a person and the culture that failed to guard it. Or think of the first meeting between strangers. In that brief moment lies the possibility of friendship, love, cooperation—or of manipulation, exploitation, or cold indifference. The moment itself is a seed. Whether it bears fruit depends on how it is received. If these examples feel distant, let us turn to what Americans understand very well: money and time. Every dollar we possess is a seed. It holds the potential to heal, to feed, to comfort, to build—or to be spent in ways that reinforce our addictions and fears. And every moment of time is heavy with possibility. Will it be offered in prayer or surrendered to distraction? Will it draw us toward communion or deeper into delusion? Each moment asks to be sanctified. This applies even to moments that seem only painful or broken. St. Dionysius reminds us that nothing exists without some participation in the Good, because God alone is the source of being. Even sorrow can become a seed—not because suffering is good, but because God can transfigure what we cannot fix. Such moments should not be rushed or explained away. But when they are met with humility and trust, God can draw forth fruit that would otherwise remain hidden. Today's Gospel gives us a clear image of how moments are either redeemed or ruined. The Pharisee was praying. He had the appearance of cultivation—fasting, tithing, religious seriousness—but pride spoiled the soil. The moment was not merely wasted; it was corrupted. The Publican was praying too. Whatever he had done with the gifts of his past, in this moment he offered humility. And God entered that small, pure offering. That single moment, received rightly, grew like a mustard seed, crowding out what had grown before. One humble moment outweighed years of distorted cultivation. St. John Chrysostom says it plainly: God is not offended by fasting; He is offended by pride. Humility can lift a life full of sins, and pride can ruin a life full of virtues. Within each of us lies the possibility of perfection, ready to manifest itself through every thought, word, and action. But this possibility can be warped by willfulness and pride. Let us not do that. Instead, let us receive every moment as an opportunity to cooperate with grace—to do something good and something beautiful—so that we ourselves, and the world entrusted to us, may become better and more beautiful. The Gospel today shows us that the sanctification of the moment does not begin w

In this pair of talks, Fr. Anthony examines why discernment so often fails in the Church—not because of bad faith or lack of intelligence, but because discernment is a matter of formation before it is a matter of decision. Drawing on insights from intelligence analysis, psychology, and Orthodox anthropology, he shows how authority, moral seriousness, and modern systems of manipulation quietly exploit predictable habits of perception, producing confidence without clarity. True discernment, he argues, is neither technical nor private, but ecclesial: formed through humility, ascetic practice, and participation in the Church's communal rhythms, where judgment matures over time through accountability, repentance, and shared life in Christ. --- Talk One: Why Discernment Fails Expertise, Authority, Manipulation, and the Formation of Perception Fr. Anthony Perkins Introduction Brothers, I want to begin today not with Scripture or a Father of the Church, but with a warning—from someone who spent his life studying failure in complex systems. Nassim Nicholas Taleb, in The Black Swan, writes this: "You cannot ignore self-delusion. The problem with experts is that they do not know what they do not know. Lack of knowledge and delusion about the quality of your knowledge come together—the same process that makes you know less also makes you satisfied with your knowledge." (pause) Taleb is talking about intelligence analysts, economists, and technical experts—people who are trained, credentialed, experienced, and entrusted with judgment under uncertainty. But if, just for a moment, you change one word in your mind—from expert to priest—the danger becomes uncomfortably familiar. We wear cassocks instead of suits, but the temptation is the same. Not arrogance. Not bad intentions. But unintentional self-delusion born of taking our calling to serve well seriously. A Necessary Pastoral Safeguard Before we go any further, I want to be very clear—because this matters. Taleb is not accusing experts of pride. He is not describing a moral failure. He is describing what happens to the human mind under complexity. And clergy live permanently in complex systems: human souls suffering families conflicted parishes incomplete information real consequences The danger is not that we don't care. The danger is that experience can quietly convince us that we are seeing clearly—especially when we are not. A Lesson from Intelligence Work When I worked in military intelligence, there was a saying—half joking, half deadly serious: The most dangerous person in the world is an intelligence analyst in a suit. At first, that sounds like gallows humor. But it isn't. The danger wasn't that analysts were malicious. The danger was that analysts don't just possess information—they interpret reality for others. And here's where psychology matters. Robert Cialdini has shown that one of the strongest and most reliable human biases is deference to authority. People are far more likely to accept judgments when they come from someone who looks like an authority—someone in a suit, a lab coat, or standing behind an official desk. Jonathan Haidt adds something crucial: people formed in conservative moral cultures—cultures that value order, continuity, and tradition—are especially inclined to defer to legitimate authority. That's not a flaw. It's one of the strengths of such cultures. It's one of the strengths of our Orthodox culture. But it carries a cost. Because when authority speaks, critical perception often relaxes. And when authority speaks with confidence, coherence, and moral seriousness, people don't just listen. They trust. And they trust in a way that they, like us - the ones who guide them - feel connected with the truth and the Source of all truth. But in our fallenness our sense of certainty may be driven by something other than a noetic connection with the deeper ontological of truth. Scripture about the devil appearing as angel of light (2 Cor 11:14-15) and wolves going around in sheep's clothing (Mat 7:15) are not just designed to keep us from trusting everyone who offers to speak a good work; a spiritual meaning is that our own thoughts can be deceptive, appearing as angelic and meek but lacking true virtue. All of this, combined with the seriousness of our calling, should reinforce our commitment to pastor humbly and patiently, erring on the side of gentleness … and trusting in the iterative process of repentance to bring discernment and healing to those we serve. From Suit to Cassock In intelligence work, the suit mattered. In science, it's the lab coat. In the Church, it's the cassock. When a priest speaks—especially confidently, decisively, and with moral gravity—people don't just hear an opinion. They receive guidance. And that means any blind spot—any overconfidence, any unexamined habit of thought—does not remain private. It spreads. Why This Is Dangerous (and Why It Is Not an Accusation) This is where Taleb's insight comes sharply back int

From Eden to the ChurchBeauty, Architecture, and the Space Where God Dwells Christian architecture is not primarily about style or preference. It is about ordering space so that human beings learn how to dwell with God. The Church building is Eden remembered and anticipated—a place where heaven and earth meet, so that God's people can be formed and then sent back into the world. Key Biblical Insights 1. Eden Was God's Dwelling Place Eden is first described not as humanity's home, but as God's planted garden—a place of divine presence, beauty, and order. Genesis 2:8–9 — God plants the garden; trees are "pleasant to the sight." 2. Eden Is a Garden and a Mountain Scripture explicitly identifies Eden as elevated sacred space. Ezekiel 28:13–14 — "Eden, the garden of God… the holy mountain of God." 3. Eden Is a Source of Life Life flows outward from God's dwelling. Genesis 2:10–14 — A river flows out of Eden and becomes four rivers. 4. Eden Is Not the Whole World Eden is placed within creation, not identical with it. Genesis 2:8 — Eden is "in the east." Genesis 1:28 — Humanity is commanded to "fill the earth." 5. Humanity's Original Vocation Human beings are called to guard sacred space and extend its order outward. Genesis 2:15 — Adam is placed in the garden "to till and keep it." 6. Gardens and Groves as Sacred Space After the fall, God's presence continues to be associated with cultivated places. Genesis 12:6–7; 13:18; 18:1 — God appears to Abraham at the oaks of Mamre. 1 Kings 6:29–32 — The Temple is carved with palm trees, flowers, and cherubim. Psalm 92:12–14 — The righteous are "planted in the house of the LORD." Isaiah 51:3; Ezekiel 36:35 — Restoration is described as becoming "like the garden of Eden." 7. Sacred Space After the Fall God re-establishes Eden's pattern through mountains and temples. Exodus 24:9–10 — God enthroned on Sinai. Psalm 48:1–2 — Zion as the mountain of the Great King. 8. The Church as Eden Continued The Church gathers the patterns of Eden—mountain, garden, throne, and life-giving water—into one place so that God may dwell with His people. 9. Eden Fulfilled, Not Abandoned Scripture ends with Eden expanded to fill the world. Revelation 21:3 — "The dwelling of God is with men." Revelation 22:1–2 — River of Life and Tree of Life healing the nations. Why Architecture Matters Architecture forms us slowly and quietly through repeated dwelling. Ordered, beautiful space trains us for patience, reverence, and stability. The Church is not an escape from the world, but a seed of the world's renewal. Takeaway Architecture is theology you inhabit. Eden is still the pattern—and the Church is where we learn to carry that pattern into the world.

Luke 17:12-19; The Grateful Leper I've included my notes, but I didn't follow them, choosing instead to offer a meditation on the "go show yourself to the priest" part of the Levitical command and noting how we do the same - and will all do the same one day at the Great Judgment. Homily: Healing, Vision, and the Mercy of God Onee of the things that sometimes gives people pause—especially when they encounter it for the first time—comes from the Book of Needs, in the prayers the priest offers for those who are sick. If you have ever been present for these prayers, you may have been surprised by what you heard. We expect prayers like: "O Lord, raise up this servant from the bed of illness and restore them to health." And those prayers are certainly there. But woven throughout are repeated petitions for the forgiveness of sins. And that can feel jarring. "Why talk about sin?" we think. "This person is sick—not sinful." But the Church is very intentional here. Imagine this: a person is lifted up from their bed of illness, restored to perfect physical health—yet still carries unrepented sin within them. Outwardly, they look alive. Inwardly, they are not. They are, in a real sense, a living corpse. On the other hand—and this is harder for us to accept—someone may remain physically ill, yet live in Christ: healed in their soul, united to Him, walking in holiness and freedom despite bodily weakness. That person is truly alive. Our Lord Himself tells us not to fear those things that can harm the body, but to attend to what shapes the soul. We often joke that it might be easier if spiritual states were visible—if holiness and sin showed up like physical symptoms. Imagine walking through the world able to see, immediately, who was struggling, who was wounded, who needed gentleness or prayer. But most sins are hidden. We become very good at concealing them. Some sins, however, are easier to spot. A habitual drunkard, for example, eventually reveals himself. And there is one sin in particular—one we often excuse—that Scripture treats with great seriousness: the sin of speaking badly about others. In the Old Testament, what we translate as leprosy was often not simply a medical condition but a visible sign—a manifestation of sin made public. Not every skin disease fell into this category, but some did. It was a way God taught His people: what you carry within eventually shows itself without. Consider Miriam, the sister of Moses. She was a holy woman, faithful, devoted—yet when Moses acted in a way she did not expect, marrying a foreign woman, she spoke against him. She gave herself over to resentment and gossip. And the consequence was immediate and unmistakable: she was struck with leprosy and sent outside the camp until she was healed. The warning is clear. How different would our lives be if sins like gossip and disparagement were marked visibly upon us? If a sign hovered over our heads that said: "This person cannot speak about their neighbor with charity." "Do not trust their words; they tear others down." We would recoil at such exposure. Yet spiritually, those signs already exist. And in our time, this sin has become not only habitual, but normalized—especially through social media. Even among Orthodox Christians, we see people eager to label one another heretics rather than first seeking understanding. The slow, patient work of charity has been replaced by accusation. To those with noetic vision—spiritual sight—these sins are as visible as white blotches on the skin. So how do we examine ourselves? One test is how we respond to criticism. Another is how we respond to praise—or its absence. But another, deeply revealing test is this: How do I speak and think about others—especially those who have wronged me? Do I love my enemies? Do my thoughts and words reflect what St. Paul describes as the natural fruit of love? Or do I secretly rejoice when others fall? Scripture gives us another powerful image in the story of Naaman the Syrian—a pagan general afflicted with leprosy. He obeys the prophet Elisha, washes in the Jordan, and is healed. More than that, he turns to the God of Israel with gratitude and humility. He even takes soil from the Holy Land so that he may always remember whom he serves. But then we see the tragic contrast: Gehazi, Elisha's servant. Greed overtakes him. He lies. He exploits grace for gain. And the leprosy that left Naaman clings to him instead. Grace rejected becomes judgment. And finally, we see the greatest transformation of all: St. Paul. Raised among God's people, zealous for the law, Paul persecutes Christ Himself. He bears the unmistakable mark of sin—not on his skin, but in his actions. Yet the Lord blinds him, then restores his sight. And what does Paul do? He does not presume upon grace. He repents. He gives thanks. He becomes like the Samaritan leper in today's Gospel—the one who returns to glorify God. This is the heart of the Gospel. We live in a world filled with sin—not only in i

Beauty in Orthodoxy: Architecture I The Beauty of Creation and the Shape of Reality In this class, the first in a series on "Orthodox Beauty in Architecture," Father Anthony explores beauty not as decoration or subjective taste, but as a theological category that reveals God, shapes human perception, and defines humanity's priestly vocation within creation. Drawing extensively on Archbishop Job of Telmessos' work on creation as icon, he traces a single arc from Genesis through Christ to Eucharist and sacred space, showing how the Fall begins with distorted vision and how repentance restores the world to sacrament. The session lays the theological groundwork for Orthodox architecture by arguing that how we build, worship, and inhabit space flows directly from how we see reality itself. --- The Beauty of Creation and the Shape of Reality: Handout Core Thesis: Beauty is not decorative or subjective, but a theological category. Creation is beautiful because it reveals God, forms human perception, and calls humanity to a priestly vocation that culminates in sacrament and sacred space. 1. Creation Is Not Only Good — It Is Beautiful Beauty belongs to the very being of creation. Creation is "very good" (kalá lian), meaning beautiful, revealing God's generosity and love (Gen 1:31). Beauty precedes usefulness; the world is gift before task. 2. Creation Is an Icon That Reveals Its Creator Creation reveals God without containing Him. The world speaks of God iconographically, inviting contemplation rather than possession (Ps 19:1–2). Right vision requires stillness and purification of attention. 3. Humanity Is the Priest and Guardian of Creation Humanity mediates between God and the world. Created in God's image, humanity is called to offer creation back to God in thanksgiving (Gen 1:26–27; Ps 8). Dominion means stewardship and priesthood, not control. 4. The Fall Is a Loss of Vision Before a Moral Failure Sin begins with distorted perception. The Fall occurs when beauty is grasped rather than received (Gen 3:6). Blindness precedes disobedience; repentance heals vision. 5. True Beauty Is Revealed in Christ Beauty saves because Christ saves. True beauty is cruciform, revealed in self-giving love (Ps 50:2; Rev 5:12). Beauty without goodness becomes destructive. 6. Creation Participates in the Logos Creation is meaningful and oriented toward God. All things exist through the Word and carry divine intention (Ps 33:6). Participation without pantheism; meaning without collapse. 7. The World Is Sacramental Creation is meant to become Eucharist. The world finds fulfillment as an offering of thanksgiving (Ps 24:1; Rev 5:13). Eucharist restores vision and vocation. 8. Beauty Takes Form: Architecture Matters Sacred space forms belief and perception. From Eden to the Church, space mediates communion with God (Gen 2:8; Ps 26:8). Architecture is theology made inhabitable. Final Horizon "Behold, the dwelling of God is with men" (Rev 21:3).How we see shapes how we live. How we worship shapes how we see. How we build is how we worship. --- Lecture note: Beauty in Orthodoxy: Architecture IThe Beauty of Creation and the Shape of Reality When we speak about beauty, we often treat it as something optional—something added after the "real" work of theology is done. Beauty is frequently reduced to personal taste, emotional response, or decoration. But in the Orthodox tradition, beauty is none of those things. Beauty is not accidental. It is not subjective. And it is not peripheral. Tonight, I want to explore a much stronger claim: beauty is a theological category. It tells us something true about God, about the world, and about the human vocation within creation. Following the work of Archbishop Job of Telmessos, I want to trace a single arc—from creation, to Christ, to sacrament, and finally toward architecture. This will not yet be a talk about buildings. It is a talk about why buildings matter at all. Big Idea 1: Creation Is Not Only Good — It Is Beautiful (Creation Icon) The biblical story begins not with scarcity or chaos, but with abundance. In Genesis 1 we hear the repeated refrain, "And God saw that it was good." But at the end of creation, Scripture intensifies the claim: "And God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good." (Genesis 1:31) In the Greek of the Septuagint, this is kalá lian—very beautiful. From the beginning, the world is not merely functional or morally acceptable. It is beautiful. Archbishop Job emphasizes this clearly: "According to the biblical account of creation, the world is not only 'good' but 'very good,' that is, beautiful. Beauty belongs to the very being of creation and is not something added later as an aesthetic supplement. The beauty of the created world reveals the generosity and love of the Creator." Pastoral expansion: This vision differs sharply from how we often speak about the world today. We describe reality in terms of efficiency, productivity, or survival. But Scripture begins

Homily: The Sunday after Theophany Hebrews 13:7–16; Matthew 4:12–17 This homily explores repentance as the doorway from darkness into light, and from spiritual novelty into mature faithfulness. Rooted in Hebrews and the Gospel proclamation after Theophany, it calls Christians to become not sparks of passing enthusiasm, but enduring flames shaped by grace, sacrifice, and hope in the coming Kingdom. ---- Today's Scripture readings give us three interrelated truths—three movements in the life of salvation and theosis. First: darkness and light. Second: repentance as the way from darkness into light. Third: what children of the light actually do once they have been illumined. Point One: Darkness and Light In today's Gospel, St Matthew quotes the prophet Isaiah: "The people who sat in darkness saw a great light; and upon those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned." This is not merely a poetic description of history. It is a diagnosis of the human heart. Scripture teaches us that our calling as human beings—our calling as Christians—is to become "children of the light and children of the day." Light is not something we admire from a distance. It is something we are meant to live in, to be shaped by, and to reflect. Darkness, in Scripture, is not simply ignorance. It is disorder. It is the twisting of desire. It is the heart turned inward on itself. And Christ comes—not merely to expose darkness—but to heal us of it. That is why today's epistle begins by reminding us: "Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God; consider the outcome of their life, and imitate their faith." (Hebrews 13:7) Light becomes visible in lives that endure. The Christian life is not meant to flash briefly and disappear. God desires something steadier—not sparks, but flames. Point Two: Repentance — Leaving the Darkness Immediately after this proclamation of light, Christ begins His preaching with a single command: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." If we want to be part of the Light of Perfection, then the darkness in our lives and in our souls must be removed. Repentance is not optional. It is the doorway into illumination. Here we must confront a deep confusion in our culture—and often in our own hearts. We have the relationship between happiness and goodness exactly backwards. We tend to think: "It is good for me to be happy." And then we go looking for ways to become happy. But Scripture teaches the opposite: Happiness is not the path to goodness. Goodness is the path to real happiness. The epistle warns us: "Do not be led away by diverse and strange teachings; for it is well that the heart be strengthened by grace, not by foods." (Hebrews 13:9) Indulgence does not strengthen the heart. Novelty does not strengthen the heart. Only grace does. There is a danger here for neophytes because Orthodox is novel for them; there is an experiential conflation of the happiness that comes from new fascinations and their new connection with The Good Itself. More on this in a moment. Back to repentance. Repentance is how the heart is strengthened. It is how the flickering light of intention becomes steady. The iterated acts of repentance that constitute the Christian life is how God turns sparks into flames. Repentance and Tears This will bring tears. Christ does not say, "You have suffered enough—come get comfortable in the light." He says, "Repent." Repentance is rarely pleasant. We do not repent because it makes us happy, although it occasionally will in the short term; again, because of our fascination with things that are new and shiny. But regardless, we do not repent for happiness; we repent because the darkness that has accumulated in our souls cannot survive in the presence of the Light and we want to grow in that light. And that is going to involve suffering on account of the darkness that is within us; a darkness that has often come to define us. The epistle reminds us: "So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood. Therefore let us go forth to him outside the camp, and bear the abuse he endured." (Hebrews 13:12–13) Repentance means leaving what is familiar and comfortable. It means stepping outside the camp. It means allowing the old life to die so that a new one can endure. Point Three: What Children of the Light Do Christ does not defeat the devil in the wilderness and then rest. He immediately begins His ministry. And so must we. We do not hide the light God has given us. We let it shine. And because we have been given different gifts, we shine in different ways. But we must be clear about the direction of this life: "For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city which is to come." (Hebrews 13:14) Children of the light do not live for momentary brightness. They live toward the Kingdom. God is not basing the establishment of His Kingdom on bright flashes of enthusiasm; He is forming it on the constancy of the saints—not sparks,

Homily – Repent… and Change the World (Embrace Boredom) Sunday before Theophany 2 Timothy 4:5–8; St. Mark 1:1–8 This is the Sunday before Theophany, when the Church sets before us St. John the Baptist and his ministry of repentance—how he prepared the world to receive the God-man, Jesus Christ. John was the son of the priest Zachariah and his wife Elizabeth, the cousin of the Mother of God. When Mary visited Elizabeth during her pregnancy, John leapt in his mother's womb. But what we sometimes forget is what followed. While Zachariah was serving in the Temple, the angel Gabriel appeared to him and foretold that his son would be filled with the Holy Spirit from his mother's womb, that he would turn many of Israel back to God, and that he would go before the Lord in the spirit and power of Elijah—preparing a people ready to receive Him. That preparation came at great cost. When the wise men later alerted Herod to the birth of the Messiah, Herod ordered the slaughter of all male children two years old and under. John would have been among them. Elizabeth fled with her son into the wilderness. When soldiers came seeking the child, Zachariah refused to reveal his whereabouts and was martyred between the temple and the altar. Elizabeth soon died, and John grew up in the wilderness, emerging years later to preach repentance and prepare the way of the Lord. John's ministry brings us toward the heart of Theophany. This feast reveals humanity's true relationship with creation. From the Fall onward, mankind failed to live according to his calling. Creation continued to respond as God ordained, but human sin distorted that relationship. Christ alone entered creation without sin, and so creation responded to Him with blessing, not resistance. As we sing at Theophany, "The Jordan was driven back." The corruption in the water fled from His presence, and the waters became holy. This is not only Christ's work—it is also our calling. United to Him, we are meant to bring healing and grace to the world. But first, we must listen to John. First, we must prepare. And preparation begins with repentance. This is the calling of the Baptizer: "REPENT!" Why is repentance so necessary? Because even when we want to do good in the world, our inner lives are disordered. Without healing, our efforts—however sincere—can miss the mark or even cause harm. This is not because we are evil people, but because we are wounded people living in a wounded world; because we are corrupted people living in a corrupted world. Without repentance, our action in the cosmos – here represented as the Jordan – is corrupting rather than salvific. A story may help. In nineteenth-century Vienna, infant mortality was tragically high. Doctors were educated and well-intentioned, yet many babies died under their care. Ignaz Semmelweis discovered why: doctors who washed their hands before delivering babies had dramatically better outcomes. Those who did not—even with the best intentions—were spreading disease. Many doctors resisted this discovery. They were offended by the suggestion that they were unclean. But the truth remained: no matter how good their intentions, if they did not wash their hands, they caused harm. It is the same with us. We have tremendous power to change the world—with our time, our money, and our love. But if we have not allowed God to heal us, we will unintentionally pass along the wounds we carry. The Church teaches that this wound affects and disorders every part of us. This includes the three parts of our mind. First, it affects and disorders our desires. We were created to desire what is good, true, and beautiful, but over time those desires become confused. We begin to crave things that promise comfort or distraction, yet leave us restless and unsatisfied. Much of modern life is built around amplifying these cravings, which makes it difficult to recognize how shaped we have been until we step back. Second, it affects and disorders our thinking. We all rely on ideas and narratives to make sense of the world, but we absorb far more than we realize—from media, culture, and the people around us. Even when we know manipulation exists, we often assume it affects others more than ourselves. Learning to think clearly and truthfully takes time, patience, and humility. Third, it affects and disorders the heart—the spiritual center of the person, which the Church calls the nous. It is meant to perceive God and discern what leads to life. But the heart, too, becomes clouded. Instead of clarity, we experience confusion; instead of peace, anxiety. This does not mean the heart is useless—it means it needs healing. This is why repentance is required. Repentance is the decision to stop pretending we are already whole and to place ourselves where healing is possible. So repentance cannot remain a vague desire. It must become practical—like doctors washing their hands. That means first stepping away from what continually stirs and infects our wounds. Cut ba

Homily for the Sunday after Nativity The Child Christ in the World—and in Our Hearts Gospel: St. Matthew 2:13–23 [Retelling the Lesson] God humbles Himself to save mankind. He leaves His rightful inheritance as God and becomes man, born as a child in Bethlehem. And how does the world receive Him? Is He born in a temple? In a palace? Places that might seem fitting for the Ruler of the Ages? No—He is laid in a manger, in a stable. And even that is not the worst of it. When the leaders of the day learn of His birth, do they submit to Him? Do they nurture and protect Him so that He may grow into manhood as prophet, priest, and king? No. In today's Gospel we hear that the Holy Family must flee into Egypt to escape assassination. Christ the Logos, the awaited Messiah, the answer to all the worlds ills, enters the world, and the world tries to kill Him. The slaughter of the innocents becomes the terrible offering laid on the altar of human evil and hard-heartedness. [This Story is OUR Story] This is a shameful story, and it is told to us each year at this time as a warning. It is tempting to imagine ourselves as the angels, the wise men, or the shepherds. But Scripture is far more useful when we recognize that we are often the ones who belittle Christ, who persecute Him, and who push Him to the margins. Just as Christ humbled Himself to enter the world as a child in Bethlehem in order to transform it, so He humbles Himself now to enter the temple of our hearts in order to transform us. And the parallel continues: what kind of place does He find this time? Is our heart a dwelling fit for the Ruler of the Ages—or is it more like a forgotten corner of our lives, our own version of the manger? And once we realize that it really is Christ who dwells within us, how do we respond? Do we give Him the due He deserves and reorder our lives around Him, or do we quietly push Him aside—to the periphery of our thoughts, our plans, and our priorities? [Gnostic America] Many scholars have noted that the dominant religion in America has never truly been Christianity, but a kind of modern Gnosticism. Gnosticism teaches that the divine already dwells within us, that we are already enlightened, already whole. This belief permeates our culture and is magnified by consumerism and – dare I say it - Orthodox triumphalism. When clothed in Christian language, this belief sounds familiar—and dangerous. Whether consciously or subconsciously, when we hear that Christ dwells in our hearts, we are tempted to hear confirmation we already knew: that not only are we basically good people, and not only are we right pretty much all the time, we are already divine. But this is not true. God is God, and we are not. Yes, His desire is to transform us—that is the meaning of the Nativity—but when we claim divinity for ourselves, we do exactly what Herod did: we place ourselves on the throne and push Christ to the margins. Why did Herod seek to kill the Christ Child? Out of self-preservation. Christ was a threat. And if we are not careful, we will do the same. Our pride constructs a false reality in which we are the good ones—the good gods, if you will—and God merely works through us. This is spiritual delusion. It is prelest. We convince ourselves that we have built a glorious temple for God in our hearts from which He rules in glorious benevolence, when in fact we are still really only worshiping ourselves, no matter what words we use. [A Restatement] Let me come at this a different way. Christ truly has been born within us. He lives at the center of our souls. But our souls are clouded by thoughts and passions, and so we often fail to notice Him. If we do not struggle against our fallen nature, we will nurture our pride or our fallen conscience and call it "God." But the god of pride cannot save—it can only deceive and our conscience is rarely more than our feelings. So how do we tell the difference? How do we know whether Christ reigns within us, or whether it is our ego? The answer is not abstract; it is clear from scripture. Christ did not live for Himself. Every action of His life was offered in sacrificial service to others—especially to those who did not understand Him or appreciate Him. He did not act out of fear of punishment or hope of reward. He acted out of love. He was Love. If our lives are truly marked by this kind of self-giving love, then Christ is indeed growing within us. But we must beware: pride is a master illusionist. Encouraged by the enemies of the air, the master marketers and manipulators, it will always try to convince us that we are more generous, more loving, more sacrificial than we really are. Here is a practical test for us: Are we willing to leave our comfort zones, deny ourselves, and take up the cross? Are we willing to give without expecting anything in return? Are we willing to love even those who cannot repay us? What are we willing to give up so that some may be saved? Let's be even more concrete. What is our atti

St. Matthew 1:1-25 Why was the Son of God commanded to be named Jesus—the New Joshua? In this Advent reflection, Fr. Anthony shows how Christ fulfills Israel's story by conquering sin and death, and calls us to repentance so that we may enter the victory He has already won. --- Homily on the Name of Jesus Sunday before the Nativity In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. "They named Him Jesus, because He would deliver His people from their sins." (Matthew 1:21) Names matter in Scripture. They are never accidental. A name reveals identity, vocation, and mission. And so when the angel commands that the Child be named Jesus, we are being told something essential about who He is and what He has come to do. The name Jesus is simply the Greek form of Joshua. And that is not incidental. So we should ask: Who was Joshua? And why did the angel of the Lord insist on that name? Joshua was the successor of Moses, the one chosen by God to lead His people when Moses could not. Long before Joshua's time, God had made a covenant with His people and promised them a land—a place of rest, inheritance, and blessing. But that promise had been obscured by centuries of slavery in Egypt, under pagan gods who claimed power but offered only bondage. God sent Moses to remind the people who they truly were: not slaves, but God's own people. Through signs and wonders, God revealed His power over Pharaoh and over the false gods of Egypt. The people were delivered. They were free. They were heading toward the Promised Land. And yet, because of their disobedience and unbelief, that generation—including Moses himself—was not worthy to enter the land. And so God appointed Joshua to do what Moses could not: to lead the next generation into the inheritance God had promised. Joshua defeated the enemies of God—not by his own strength, but by God's supernatural power—and led the people into the Promised Land. All of this matters, because it prepares us to understand the name of Jesus and the mission it announces. "They named Him Jesus, because He would deliver His people from their sins." Now consider the situation at the time of Christ's birth. In many ways, it looked very much like the time of Pharaoh. God's people were again under foreign rule, again surrounded by pagan power, again longing for deliverance. The prophets had promised a Messiah, and the people waited for one who would set them free. But here is the crucial difference: this Joshua would not come to conquer territory. This Joshua would come to conquer the true enemy. Not Rome. Not armies. Not borders. But sin itself. In his homily on this Gospel reading, St. John Chrysostom says: "He did not say, 'He shall save His people from their enemies,' but 'from their sins,' showing that this is a greater and more fearful tyranny than any foreign power." (Homily on Matthew 2) And this is precisely why the Son of God had to be born as a child. In his homily on the Nativity, which, Lord willing, you will hear on Thursday, Chrysostom draws the connection between the Nativity and our salvation with striking clarity: "He became Son of Man, that He might make us sons of God. He took what was ours, that He might give us what was His." (Homily on the Nativity) Jesus is the New Joshua—not leading one people into one land, but opening the Kingdom of God to all who would receive Him. He conquers not by the sword, but by the Cross. He defeats not nations, but death itself. And we know how He did it. By obedience where Adam fell. By humility where pride ruled. By offering Himself fully to the Father, even unto death. As the Fathers remind us, the victory was not loud or coercive, but hidden and faithful—won through righteousness rather than force. So what, then, is our situation? It is tempting to compare our world to Egypt, or to the time of pagan occupation, and to imagine that we are still waiting for deliverance. After all, many of us know what it is like to feel tired, burdened, or trapped in patterns we cannot seem to break, even while outwardly everything appears fine. We live in a culture that constantly distracts us, that teaches us to manage our desires rather than heal them, and that quietly encourages us to accept forms of bondage as normal. Like God's people of old, we forget who we are and whom we belong to, and so we begin to live as though freedom were still far away. But the truth is far more sobering—and far more hopeful. We are not waiting for the Messiah. He has already come. If we live as slaves, it is not because Pharaoh rules us. It is because we have refused the Deliverer. Christ has already opened the doors of freedom. Advent is the season in which the Church calls us to turn back, to repent, and to remember who we are—so that we may step again into the life He has already given us. Christ lives within the heart of every believer. He comes into the midst of all who gather in His name. He is present here, now, in the Holy Liturgy—offering the sam

Fr. Anthony preaches on three types of pilgrimage and how they work towards our salvation.

Do You Want to Be Healed? Letting God Rewrite the Story Ephesians 8:5-19 Today, Fr. Anthony reflects on how the deepest obstacles to healing are often the stories we tell ourselves to justify, protect, and control our lives. Drawing on the Prophet Isaiah, the Gospel parables of the banquet, and the power of silence before God, he explores how true healing begins when we let go of our fallen narratives and allow Christ to reconstruct our story through humility, prayer, and repentance. The path of peace is not found in domination or self-justification, but in stillness at the feet of the Lord where grace remakes the soul. As St. Seraphim teaches, when we acquire peace, myriads around us are healed as well. One of the great problems we encounter in life is this: we desire healing, but we do not always know how to arrive at it. One helpful way to understand this struggle is through the language of story. Very often, the problem is that we do not have our story right. Scripture tells us to redeem the time, because the days are evil. One of the ways that evil operates is by corrupting our story—our personal story, the way we understand ourselves, the way we frame our relationships, and even the way we understand the great arc of history, what Christians call the economy of salvation. When we live in evil times, that evil does not remain outside us. It enters in, and our story becomes crooked. If all we do as Christians is add religious language to that crooked story—new words, even new scriptures—we have not truly been healed. We have only changed the decoration. The path itself remains bent. One day that story will be brought into the light. This is what the Apostle means when he says, "Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine upon you." As St. Jerome once observed, St. Paul seems to be paraphrasing Isaiah here—especially that great prophecy where the crooked ways are made straight. This theme runs deeply through Advent and the Nativity Fast. One small personal ritual during this season is listening to Handel's Messiah. Through that music, the words of Isaiah become alive: the great darkness that covers the earth, and the light that rises to overcome it. But darkness is not overcome by changing words alone. If all we do is rename our brokenness with religious language, the world's darkness will only pollute us more deeply. So the first discipline of the Christian life is this: we must let go of our story. Our fallen story becomes a way to protect the ego, to justify ourselves, to excuse the very things Saint Paul warns us against. Salvation begins with humility, with letting go of our justifications, with abandoning the need to construct a story that protects us from the world or grants us domination over it. We are called to let go and stand before the Lord in silence. Not to explain ourselves, not to defend ourselves—but simply to be our story before Him in quiet awe. If we do that work faithfully—and for many of us this must be done daily—then the reconstruction of the story can begin anew. This is where the disciplines of the Church come in: the prayer rule, the psalms, the prayers given to us by the Holy Spirit through the Church. These do not shame us; they heal us. They allow us to see our shortcomings not as excuses to hide, but as wounds that need restoration. This is how our crookedness is straightened so that we can be healed. The Lord also gives us Scripture to interpret our story. In Isaiah 60 we hear of darkness and of a light that rises. Israel is called a light to the nations—but whenever Christians hear that language, our minds are drawn immediately to the Prologue of the Gospel of St. John. And there, light is not mere illumination. It is transformation. It is grace. It is the energy of God entering the world. And when Scripture moves back and forth between Christ and Israel, it is not a mistake—it reveals our participation in this great movement of salvation. Just as we are healed by grace, so the world is transfigured by that same grace flowing from the Body of Christ into all creation. The Lord also teaches us through parables. Many parables may not resonate with many of us because of their agricultural contexts, but we can understand a banquet. We understand meals. We understand invitation. And in this parable, we are the ones who were called—and we came. We may not have been the first invited. We came blind, wounded, ashamed, hiding behind excuses. But the invitation came, and we showed up. Yet getting through the door is not the end of the story. The Lord teaches us what it means to live inside the banquet. When you enter the house, do tell the master how he should run it? Do you take the highest seat as if it belongs to you? No—He says take the lowest place, and let the master raise you up if he wills. This is the posture of true humility. If we were the authors of our story, it would end in darkness. But instead, we are invited into a feast that never ends. And n

I Corinthians 4:9-16 St. John 1:35-51 In this homily for the Feast of St. Andrew, Fr. Anthony contrasts the world's definition of success with the apostolic witness of sacrifice, humility, and courageous love. Drawing on St. Paul's admonition to the Corinthians, he calls Christians to recover the reverence due to bishops and spiritual fathers, to reject the corrosive logic of social media, and to return to the ascetical path that forms us for theosis. St. Andrew and St. Paul's lives reveals that true honor is found not in comfort or acclaim but in following Christ wherever He leads — even into suffering and martyrdom. Enjoy the show! ---- St. Andrew Day, 2025 The Orthodox Church takes apostolic succession very seriously; the preservation of "the faith passed on to the apostles" is maintained by the physicality of the ordination of bishops by bishops, all of who can trace the history of the ordination of the bishops who ordained them back to one or more of the apostles themselves. You probably already new that. But there is another part of that respect for the apostles that you may not know of: the ranking of autocephalist (i.e. independent) national Churches. The Canons (especially those of the Council of Trullo) give prominence to the five ancient patriarchates of Rome (Sts. Peter and Paul), Constantinople (St. Andrew), Alexandria (St. Mark), Antioch (St. Paul), and Jerusalem (St. James). St. Andrew travelled into dangerous barbarian lands to spread the Gospel, to include the Middle East, and, most notably, then North to the lands around the Black Sea; Ankara and Edessa to the south of the Black Sea in what is now Turkey, to the East of the Black Sea into the Caucuses, and up to the North of the Black Sea to the Scythian lands into what is now Ukraine. That was his first journey. After this, he returned to Jerusalem and then went on his second journey to Antioch, back up into the Caucasus, out to the land of the dog-headed people in Central Asia, down through what is now Afghanistan to the Arabian Sea, and then back up through Persia and finally into Greece, where he was martyred. He sacrificed so much for the Gospel and brought so many souls to salvation through the Christ he himself knew, both before and after His glorious Resurrection. His virtue and sacrificial service allow God's grace to flow into the world and he serves as the patron of several countries, cities, and all Christians who bear variations of His name such as Andrew, Andrei, and Andrea. As Orthodox Christians, we should know his story, ask for his intercession, and imitate his witness. And everyone, whether Christian or not, should respect his virtue. But does it? Does it even respect virtue? Do we? As Saint Paul points out in today's Epistle, many of us do not. And don't think the problem was just in Corinth; St. John Chrysostom's homilies on this epistle show that the people there were at least as guilty. And that was in the center of Eastern Orthodoxy, during the time of alleged symphonia between the Church and State. Should there be any doubt that we, too, allow the world to define the sorts of worldly things we should prioritize? After all … What is it that the world respects in a man? What is it that the world respects in a woman? Think for a second what it is that impresses you the most about the people you admire – perhaps even makes you jealous, wishing that you had managed to obtain the same things. I cannot read your minds, but if you are like most Americans, the list would certainly include: A long, healthy life, without chronic pain or major physical injury A life free of indictment, arrest, or imprisonment The respect, admiration, and popularity of their peers Money, a big house, a vacation house, and the ability to retire comfortably (and early) These are some of the things that many of you are either pleased to enjoy, regret not having obtained, or, if you are young, are currently striving for. The Apostles Andrew and Paul, gave up the possibility for all these things to follow Christ. Not because they wanted to; not because God made them; they gave up the life of worldly comfort and respect because – in a culture and time as messed up as theirs was – this is the only Way to live a life of grace and to grow in love and perfection. A long, healthy life, without chronic pain or major physical injury? Nope – gave it up. A life free of indictment, arrest, or imprisonment? Nope – gave it up. The respect, admiration, and popularity of their peers? No again. Money, a big house, a vacation house, and the ability to retire comfortably (and early) I don't think so (unless a prison in Rome and martyrdom count!). Because St. Paul is writing as an Apostle, instructing a parish that he was called to lead, it is tempting to put his sacrifices into the category of "things that clergy do". And clergy certainly should follow their example. While my example is not so bright, you may know that I gave up a life of wealth, admiration, and the

Ephesians 2:14-22 and St. Luke 12:16-21 In this homily, Fr. Anthony reflects on St. Paul's proclamation that the unity of the Church is not an ideal but a profound reality accomplished in the flesh of Christ. Drawing on Scripture, the Fathers, and even C.S. Lewis' "deeper magic," he shows how humanity's divisions are not healed by sameness, compromise, or civility, but by becoming a new creation through the Cross. True Christian unity demands the death of ego, the resurrection of a new humanity, and a mutual commitment to bear one another's burdens with patience, repentance, and love. When we refuse this calling, we do not merely disagree—we blaspheme against the very Body that unites us.

In this episode, Fr. Anthony reflects on Christ's call of St. Matthew as a revelation of the Lord's pastoral wisdom, patience, and mercy. Drawing on St. John Chrysostom, he shows how Christ approaches each person at the moment they are most able to receive Him, gently leading sinners to repentance while shielding the weak from the self-righteous. The homily invites us to imitate this divine pedagogy—offering mercy before rebuke, healing before judgment, and a way of life that draws others to the knowledge of God. +++ Mercy, Not Sacrifice: Christ's Pastoral Method in the Calling of Matthew St. Matthew 9:9-13 At that time, as Jesus passed on from there, He saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax office; and He said to him, "Follow Me." And he rose and followed Him. And as He sat at table in the house, behold, many tax collectors and sinners came and sat down with Jesus and His disciples. And when the Pharisees saw this, they said to His disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?" But when Jesus heard it, He said, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.' For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." When looking at this encounter, it is important to know the context. Jesus had been at this for a while. He had already called at least four of the twelve; Andrew, Peter, James and John, to be his disciples. Moreover, in addition to them, many others were following him. He had already been baptized, been tempted, given the Sermon on the Mount and performed several public miracles. Knowing this allows us to better appreciate Christ, how He operates, and therefore how we might better imitate Him as we claim to operate in + His name. Example One: Calling the disciples Let's go back to His calling the disciples. Why didn't He call Matthew at the same time He called Andrew, Peter, James, and John? St. John Chrysostom indicates that it was Christ's pastoral heart that determined when we called each of His disciples. Remember, as the Logos, He shares the Father's will that "all be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth." (1 Timothy 2:4). This means that He addressed people in the time and manner they were most likely to hear. St. John Chrysostom points out that Matthew's heart was not open to Christ's call at the same time as Andrew, Peter, James, and John. It took miracles and profound teaching to soften His heart for the encounter. And He didn't just do this for Matthew, look how long it took for the Apostle Paul! And perhaps, we can look at long he waited for us! We should learn from this lesson from Christ's earthly ministry and imitate Him. We may need to live among some people for a while, showing the miracle of God's love working in and through us in the way we act and the things we say, before they are ready to accept an invitation to join us in The Way that heals and perfects. Many of us jump the gun; skipping the vital step of living a public life of miraculous love – and then are surprised when the call to "follow Christ" goes unheeded. Yes, there are times when the modern equivalents of scribes and pharisees need to be confronted, but once again, let's imitate Christ and let them out themselves when they question our motives and sanity for performing acts of sacrificial compassion. If we skip the step of imitating Christ in His love for mankind, not only won't we win converts, we may also be indicating that we aren't really working in His Name at all. Example Two: Leaving, not owning the opposition Speaking of which, Christ also demonstrates his pastoral care at the very beginning of today's lesson. You may remember that today's lesson begins with something that seems to be a throwaway line; a transitional clause that lets the reader know that the narrative is moving on to another scene. St. Matthew writes; "At that time, as Jesus passed on from there,…" and then segues into this lesson about how Christ called him, the author, to be His disciple. But what did He leave and why? What did He "pass on" from in the previous scene? Let me share that with you; just prior to this, Jesus had publicly corrected some scribes - leaders in the Jewish community - by healing a man of his paralysis after they doubted His ability to forgive sins. Do you see how they out themselves as fools? But Christ doesn't want them to remain in ignorance. He desires that they, too, be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth … but He also knew that they were not ready to accept the truth, so He left before they could double down on their sin and thus become even less likely to change their way of thinking and eventually answer His call to discipleship. As St. John Christostom puts it; For when He had performed the miracle, He did not remain, lest, being in sight, He should kindle their jealousy the more; but He indulges them by retiring, and soothing their passion. This then let us als

In this episode, Fr. Anthony reframes prayer not as a spiritual transaction but as a lifelong conversation with God that restores our capacity to see, experience, and share His beauty, light, and love. Drawing on themes of theosis, maturation, and Zachary Porcu's vision of becoming human, he explores how prayer transforms our distorted desires, heals our blindness, and trains us to do the work God made us to do. The saints reveal that repentance and prayer are not a response to crises but a way of life — a steady ascent into clarity, freedom, and real communion with God and creation.

St. Luke 8: 41-56 Drawing on St. Nikolai Velimirović's image of divine grace as electricity, this homily on the raising of Jairus' daughter (Luke 8:41–56) invites us to become living conduits through whom God's uncreated energy continually flows. Christ's tender command, "Talitha koum," reveals the greater reality that in Him even death is but sleep, for the fire of His love transforms all who see with eyes full of light into partakers of His eternal life. Homily on Jairus' Daughter St. Luke 8:41–56 Glory to Jesus Christ! It is a blessing to be with you this morning. I have really appreciated your hospitality throughout this weekend. In his homily on this beautiful event in the history of our salvation, St Nikolai Velimirović compares our Lord to electricity—or perhaps to magnetism, and to light. What he is describing is what we in the West call grace. The idea is that the Lord's uncreated energy – His spiritual electricity - is continually available; and those who allow themselves to be connected to Him become receptacles and conduits of that spiritual electricity—of that grace, of that beautiful light. We see this especially at Pascha, when the priest sings "Come receive the light," and one candle lights another, and the flame spreads from person to person. Magnetism is a similar image: not only does it attract, but it also bestows magnetism in a lesser degree to some of the objects it touches. This a lovely and apt metaphor—though, as St Nikolai warns, don't take it too far or you'll end up spouting heresy– for instance, a screwdriver that has received magnetism from a magnetic source retains the magnetism even after the source is removed. As we discussed yesterday, anything that is removed from the Source of Divine Energy loses its spiritual life. Going back to the metaphor of electricity, our hope is not to become a sort of battery that receives grace and then stores it separate from its source; rather, our hope is to increasingly become pure conduits of divine energy through whom it continually flows. Switching metaphors again, Jesus Christ describes this as living water in the Gospel according to St. John when He says; If any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink. He that believeth on me, as the scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water. (St. John 7:37; also St. John 4:14) The grace that we share as Christians is flowing to and through us from its source, and that source is God. There is another lesson here. St. Nikolai points out that there were many people in the crowd that day, but only one was healed. Let me develop a point from yesterday's talk. You may remember my sharing that the scripture about the newly healed blind man seeing "trees walking" as a metaphor for our need to work on seeing the world as it really is. A related scriptural metaphor from Christ Himself has to do with the "eye of darkness;" "The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!" (St. Matthew 6:22-23). In part, these are eyes that fail to see the Lord even when He is present among us. Imagine that He turned to you and healed you after you had endured fourteen years of suffering. How would you respond? Lord willing, you would respond with thanksgiving and joy; a thanksgiving and joy that never fades. But the eye of darkness might quickly slip from thankfulness and joy back into bitterness and think or say: "Where have you been these fourteen years?" Do you see the trap? Do you see how such a response, such an attitude, misses the whole point of God's work among us — it's kind of like saying to Christ the God-man when He appears in His glory to bring us into His Kingdom; "O Lord, I thought you'd be taller." The eye of darkness is a terrible thing. For those who see truly, the world is permeated with the grace of God. Let us strive increasingly to the world with these eyes of light. Another lesson the Fathers draw from this story is that the healing itself wasn't even the main point. Do you remember the plot line we are following in the Gospel lesson? A ruler of the synagogue—a leader of the Jews—comes to Christ and begs: "My daughter lies dying. Please come to our house." As the Lord goes with him, the crowd presses in around Him. And even along the way, miracles happen. This is a lesson we need to learn: with the Lord, there is no such thing as "along the way." His grace is always active. Every moment with Him is transformed in Him and by Him. For the Christian, every moment of grace is an experience of eternal glory… and that moments lead in time to the next which is similarly transformed and transformative. For the Christian, after such an encounter, there is no darkness left to return to, only life in Christ so full that we can say with St Paul, "It is no longer I who live, but Chri

Today Fr. Anthony covers Chapter Nine, "Cosmic Revolution" of Zachery Porcu's "Journey to Reality" on the problem of suffering and evil. +++ AI Title and Summary: Keeping It Real About the Problem of Pain: Free Will, Moral Law, and the Ministry of Presence Beginning from a memorial service and C.S. Lewis' Problem of Pain, this talk wrestles honestly with Ivan Karamazov's challenge, the suffering of children, and what our visceral reaction to evil reveals about the moral law—the "Tao" or Logos—written into our very being, which cannot be reduced to mere biology or sentiment. From there it explores free will as the costly condition of genuine love, the way Christ transforms suffering into a kind of sacrament, and how practices like fasting and the simple "ministry of presence" allow us to stand with others in their pain as living icons of the God who is with us in every cross and every death.

Today Fr. Anthony covers Chapters Seven and Eight from Dr. Zachery Porcu's Journey to Reality, "The Life of the Church" and "The Bible and the Church." Enjoy the show! +++ Journey to Reality Chapters Seven and Eight You are What You Do (Including Eat) 10/29/2025 As creatures, we were made malleable. It was built into our design so that we could grow towards perfection eternally. While this is a characteristic of the entire cosmos – and every member of it – it has a special purpose for us. We are the shepherds, farmers, and priests of the cosmos. The system is designed so that as we become better, we are able to shepherd or grow the cosmos from one made good – that is to say made both beautiful and beneficial into one that is even better; that is to say even better and more beneficial. This malleability is built into us. Alas, we have left our true home, so that malleability leads to malformation. Let's talk about the malleability. The way Dr. Porcu puts it is that we become what we do. Much of my own work reflects on the way our rituals form us. These rituals are embedded within a culture, and living within that culture shapes us into members and bearers of it. A few weeks ago, we talked about how we live in a materialist, secular, and consumerist culture. Living in it means that we automatically participate in its rituals. These develop within us a certain way of thinking, acting, and relating to other people, God, and our environment. How could it not? The unfortunate thing for us is that our primary culture is imperfect and reifies its imperfections into our way of being. I propose that the answer is not really to actively oppose it – as in some kind of culture war – because doing so before we break out of its conditioning is just going to ingrain its patterns more deeply into our hearts. Rather, we must find a new way of living. This new way of living should come with its own rituals that will gradually get enough traction to lessen the hold that the majority culture has on us and replace it with its own. To the extent that we must participate in the old rituals, we should reframe our participation in a way that resonates with our new life rather than our old one. We have to give them new meaning, so that, eventually, even these old ways of doing things can work with our new rituals to deepen the hold that our new way of life has on us and on our minds and how we relate to God, other people, and the environment. Some rituals, such as pornography, fornication (i.e., sex outside marriage), and driving slowly in the left-hand lane on the expressway, cannot be redeemed and so they have to be avoided. It will take discernment to figure out how to best engage in this process, so this way of life should involve developing a community that is all focused on the same sort of new life. Now let's go through chapter seven, "The Life of the Church." Quotes for discussion: "[Y]ou don't have to do anything, but if you want to become something, you have to participate in it." (77) "Sacramentally, the purpose of attending church services is to participate in a higher spiritual reality." (70) "[N]othing is 'just' physical. Objects and actions have intrinsic, spiritual meaning. Everything is participatory… [I]f the physical and the spiritual can't be separated, then imitation is always participatory. … You can't participate in something physically without also participating in its spiritual meaning." (72) "[As Orthodox Christians, our] goal is to imitate, and therefore participate in, a spiritual reality through the physical ritual. And the spiritual reality that sacramental Christians are trying to imitate through their liturgy is nothing less than heaven itself…. This is why sacramental Christians call their liturgy the "Divine Liturgy." To participate in it is also to participate in the exact same cosmic liturgy that the angels perform around the throne of God…. [W]hen you step into a sacramental church space that's correctly imitating the heavenly liturgy, you are stepping into a small bit of heaven itself – you are participating with the angelic powers in a higher spiritual reality." (73) "Sacramental Christianity is not just about doing a particular set of actions; it's a whole way of life. One way to describe this life is as participation in what the Church calls "liturgical time." (75) "[T]o be sacramental is not merely a matter of attendance, nor is it merely about thinking a certain way or performing certain ritual actions; it is a lifestyle… [G]oing to church and participating in the sacraments is about living out the idea that the physical and the spiritual are bound up together, and that you encounter them together through participation – not just in church, but in everything you do and are." (77) "You can't become healthy by sitting at home and reading a lot of articles about health. You don't become a member of a family by skipping family gatherings in order to sit at home looking at pictures of past family

Luke 16:19-31 Fr. Anthony reflects on the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, revealing how our blindness—born of sin and a materialist worldview—turns the world and one another into mere commodities. Yet when we learn to see with love and humility, tending creation as God's garden, we rediscover beauty, grace, and the feast of life already set before us. ---- The Gospel of Lazarus and the Rich Man Homily – gardening in love It is hard for us to live the way we should. From our time in Eden to now, we have failed, and the consequences to our hearts, our families, and our world have been disastrous. The world groans in agony. One of our challenges is that we do not see things as they really are. We do not see their beauty and we do not see how they are connected. Instead of seeing things as both intrinsically good and perfectible, we evaluate them based on what they mean for us; what we can get from them. We see through a mirror dimly, in part because of our personal sin, and in part because our corporate worldview is fallen. The two work together to blind us to the world and opportunities for grace. There is this idea that cultures that do not have a word for something, say for instance a specific color, then they cannot see it. Their visual system will receive the requisite frequencies for that color, but it will not match any concept within their minds, so it either gets mislabeled or simply missed altogether. This was certainly the case with the Rich Man in today's parable – somehow he missed seeing Lazarus and the opportunity for grace a relationship with him would have provided. Moreover, he and his community – here represented by his brothers – had missed the point of the entire religion that they claimed to be a part of. And Abraham says that even a great miracle – a man rising of a man from the dead – would not be enough to restore their sight. Humility is the root virtue of discernment; and in humility, we have to take it as a given that we are in may ways just like the Rich Man. And I say take it as a given, because if it is true, then we will automatically mislabel – in this case meaning justify – our misperceptions and the gaps in our vision. The Rich Man missed the purpose of his riches and his calling to serve the man at his doorstep; more than that, he missed the very purpose of his life; the thing he was put on this earth to do. We are like Him and his brothers – and we claim to know the truth of the resurrection. The Rich Man and his brothers had the same calling that all of us have. This is the calling given to us at the beginning; we talked about this yesterday. We were designed – made as God's imagers - to bring out the best in everything and everyone; to heal those that are hurt and to build up those who are already well towards perfection. But instead of this, our fallen materialist worldview and our sin combine, for example, to get us to think of things as objects and ourselves as consumers. We want to know what we can use things for and what we can get out of people. One of the results of this is that our souls are starving from - a lack of grace. We feast sumptuously on commodities, but cannot see the more real and and much more vital meal God has put before us. We feed our bodies, but take no thought of the food required for our souls. Again, let's go back to Adam and Eve. Think of how they fell. One of the ways to understand their fall (from St. Nikolai Velimirovich) is that they turned the thing they were meant to tend – the garden – into a commodity; from something that deserved respect and the greatest of care to something that was useful primarily as food. Even the thing God told them not to eat became a commodity to them: they wanted what it offered. And remember what they learned? That it "tasted good." What a loss. Hear me well: Adam and Eve were meant to eat the things that grew in the garden, but the availability of food was really just a side-effect (what economists call a "positive externality") of being a good steward. They got it all wrong when they put what they wanted from the garden before their love for it. Instead of tending the garden, they tended to themselves. They forgot about beauty; they forgot about connectedness; they forgot about service. And so all the fruits of the garden became completely unavailable to them. We are so much worse than they were; our commodification of people and things in this world knows no end. We are always looking for an angle; looking for the best deal. Looking for how things do or do not fit into our plans. And because the materialist worldview is fallen and because selfishness is a sin, we do not see grace nor the many opportunities God has given us to multiply it in this world. And so we starve in a world of plenty. Let me give you a concrete example. Marriage was given to us in the Garden. It was meant to bear fruit, and this fruit was meant to be both physical and spiritual. But men should not love their wives because they

This talk was given at St. Nicholas Orthodox Church (UOC-USA) in Charlottesville, VA. In it, Fr. Anthony presents Orthodoxy's sacramental view of creation and uses music as an example of how the royal priesthood, in Christ, fulfills its commission to pattern the cosmos according to that of Eden. My notes from the talk: I'm grateful to be back in Charlottesville, a place stitched into my story by Providence. Years ago, the Army Reserves sent me here after 9/11. I arrived with a job in Ohio on pause, a tidy life temporarily dismantled, and a heart that didn't care for the way soldiers are sometimes told to behave. So I went looking for an Orthodox church. I found a small mission and—more importantly—people who took me in as family. A patient priest and his matushka mentored me for six years. If anything in my priesthood bears fruit, it is because love first took root here. Bishops have a sense of humor; mine sent a Georgian convert with no Slavic roots to a Ukrainian parish in Rhode Island. It fit better than anyone could have planned. The Lord braided my history, discovering even ancestral ties in New England soil. Later, when a young man named Michael arrived—a reader who became a subdeacon, a deacon, and in time a priest—our trajectories crossed again. Father Robert trained me; by grace I was allowed to help train Father Michael; and now he serves here. This is how God sings His providence—melodies introduced, developed, and returned, until love's theme is recognizable to everyone listening. Why focus on music and beauty? Because they are not ornamental to the Gospel; they are its native tongue. Beauty tutors us in a sacramental world, not a "God of the gaps" world—where faith retreats to whatever science has not yet explained—but a world in which God is everywhere present and filling all things. Beauty is one of the surest ways to share the Gospel, not as salesmanship or propaganda, but as participation in what the world was made to be. The Church bears a particular charism for beauty; secular beauty can reflect it, but often only dimly—and sometimes in ways that distort the pattern it imitates. Beauty meets the whole human person: the senses and gut, the reasoning mind, and the deep heart—the nous—where awe, reverence, and peace bloom. Music is a wonderfully concrete instance of all of this: an example, a symbol, and—when offered rightly—a sacrament of sanctifying grace. Saint John begins his Gospel with the Logos—not a mere "word" but the Word whose meaning includes order, reason, and intelligibility: "All things were made through Him." Creation, then, bears the Logos' stamp in every fiber; Genesis repeats the refrain, "and God saw that it was good"—agathos, not just kalos. Agathos is goodness that is beautiful and beneficial, fitted to bless what it touches. Creation is not simply well-shaped; it is ordered toward communion, toward glory, toward gift. The Creed confesses the Father as Creator, the Son as the One through whom all things were made, and the Spirit as the Giver of Life. Creation is, at root, Trinitarian music—harmonies of love that invite participation. If you like, imagine the first chapter of Genesis sung. We might say: in the beginning, there was undifferentiated sound; the Spirit hovered; the Logos spoke tone, time, harmony, and melody into being. He set boundaries and appointed seasons so that music could unfold in an ordered way. Then He shaped us to be liturgists—stewards who can turn noise into praise, dissonance into resolution. The point of the story is not that God needed a soundtrack; it is that the world bears a pattern and purpose that we can either receive with thanksgiving or twist into something self-serving and cacophonous. We know what happened. In Adam and Eve's fall, thorns and thistles accompanied our work. Pain entered motherhood, and tyranny stalked marriage. We still command tools of culture—city-building, metallurgy, and yes, even music—but in Cain's line we see creativity conscripted to self-exaltation and violence. The Tower of Babel is the choir of human pride singing perfectly in tune against God. That is how sin turns technique into idolatry. Saint Paul describes the creation groaning in agony, longing for the revealing of the sons and daughters of God. This is not mere poetic flourish; it is metaphysical realism. The world aches for sanctified stewardship, for human beings restored to their priestly vocation. It longs for its music to be tuned again to the Logos. Christ enters precisely there—as the New Adam. Consider His Theophany. The Jordan "turns back," the waters are sanctified, because nothing impure remains in the presence of God. He does not merely touch creation; He heals it—beginning sacramentally with water, the primal element of both life and chaos. In our services for the Blessing of Water we sing, "Today the nature of the waters is sanctified… The Jordan is parted in two… How shall a servant lay his hand on the Master?" In prayer we cry, "Great

Today Fr. Anthony covers Chapter Six from Zachary Porcu's Journey to Reality, "Sacramental Being." (FWIW, he still doesn't buy the idea of something becoming a spiritual battery as batteries work seperate from an active power source and nothing is separate from the presence of God). Enjoy the show!

Luke 7:11-16 (The Widow of Nain) At the gates of Nain, the procession of death meets the Lord of Life—and death loses. Christ turns the widow's grief into joy, revealing that every tear will one day be transformed into the eternal song of alleluia. A "by-the-numbers" homily - enjoy the show! --- This was an encounter between two forces: death and the very source of life. We know how this encounter always turns out. Life seems so fragile (war, disease, accidents, violence) and we seem doomed to die. What happened (Jesus brought the dead back to life) Focus briefly on three parts of this Gospel reading: the procession, the grief of the mother, and how it ended. The funeral procession. How we do funerals. Preparation for it. Psalms. Preparation of the body. Funeral service(s). Burial. The movement of the person from one list in our daily prayers to the other. Nine-day prayers. Forty-day prayers. Annual prayers. Often with koliva or a special bread. The grieving mother. Do not weep. "Blessed are those who mourn." Jesus Himself, always in the Spirit, wept at the death of Lazarus. Do not weep "like those who have no hope…" (I Thessalonians). Repent of the sin that leads to unhealthy tears; and that repentance requires that we live knowing that we may never have another chance on this side of a funeral to mend a relationship. Tears of honest grief are cathartic, as are tears of outrage at the absurdity of living in a world where death is so prevalent. But let those tears flow in the knowledge that as outrageous, ignoble, and offensive as death is; that our tears of sorrow are being turned, as we sing in the funeral service, into the song "alleluia!" And that is how I want to conclude... How it ended. This was an encounter between two forces: death and the very source of life. Who won? And who won when death took a man captive and found that it, instead, it was forced to encounter God? Who won? It was no real contest! As we hear from St. John Chrysostom on Pascha: Christ-God annihilated death! In a world that was made and is governed by the source of Life, death place is temporary, a consequence and concession to our sin – sin which itself is, again through Christ, only temporary. It is holiness and life that endures forever. Conclusion. That is the side we have chosen: we reject sin and we reject death. We have intentionally chosen the side of holiness and of life. It seems as though our relationship with life is so vulnerable – to sickness, to violence, to sudden catastrophes; but in the only reality that matters in the end, it is quite the opposite. It and all its associated grief, anxieties, traumas, and pain are products of this world, doomed to end when it is remade in glory. Again, we have intentionally chosen the side of life. Let's live it as it was meant to be lived, not in fear of death but in the joy of the One who has through death defeated death and who desires us to live well both now and into eternity.

Luke 8:5-15. Faith is a living seed sown by God, but it cannot survive in the air of ideology or emotion—it must take root in the heart. Fr. Anthony calls us to cultivate this inner soil through the ancient disciplines of the Church so that our faith might stand firm and bear fruit a hundredfold. Enjoy the show! ---

Filling all things… Journey to Reality Chapter Five: Sacramental Thinking St John 14: 1-7. Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know. Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way? Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him. St. Basil the Great (On the Holy Spirit). We understand the "way" to be the road to perfection, advancing in order step by step through the words of righteousness and the illumination of knowledge, always yearning for that which lies ahead and straining toward the last mile, until we reach that blessed end, the knowledge of God, with which the Lord blesses those who believe in him. For truly our Lord is a good way, a straight road with no confusing forks or turns, leading us directly to the Father. For "no one comes to the Father," he says, "except through me." Such is our way up to God through his Son. ON THE HOLY SPIRIT 8.18. "Modern, westernized people tend to think about the world from the starting point of physicality. The physical world, as we would say, is the primary reality… It is the objective, measurable world on which we can all agree." Page 50 of 142. The assumption of materialists is that if a thing cannot be measured, then it is unprovable, a matter of opinion, AND of lesser importance. The natural world is everyone's baseline. Religious or spiritual people have an added category, that of the "supernatural," but as long as we operate in the material paradigm, these are the things that BY DEFINITION cannot be measured and are thus kind of optional. Belief then becomes a way to stand up and assert that there are some things that are important that cannot be measured directly. "I believe…" is our assertion that there is a supernatural reality and that it is well-ordered and that there are supernatural outcomes that should matter to us: · Forgiveness of sins · Sacramental marriage (vs. an agreement or contract) · Eternal life When we talk about religion, it is often in materialist terms. · What good is it (for health, family, society)? · What does it cost in terms of time and money? · Does its system make sense? E.g. Juridical vs. Therapeutic vs. Holistic Healing But this worldview can only take us so far. It "misses the mark" when it comes to understanding the world and how it works. An irony: the materialist world may allow us to see things objectively, but not truly. I am playing with words here, but it points to the difficulty. Objectivity refers to the quality of being unbiased and fair, making decisions based solely on facts rather than personal feelings or beliefs. It is often considered essential in fields like science and journalism to ensure accurate and impartial reporting or analysis. Objects have attributes that can be measured. As a social scientist, I was taught that we have a poor understanding of something if we cannot put a number to it and that if we took enough measurements, we could explain everything. Omniscience – or godhood – then is a matter of having enough data and the computing power to run the numbers. Omnipotence involves the ability to manipulate everything towards a desired outcome. This is no longer just the stuff of science fiction. This is another one of those areas where claims are being made for technology that should not be made. We can rightly question double-predestination, but what will keep us from doing the same thing as we grow in material understanding and power? A step in the right direction is to recognize that there is a moral dimension to the world. But the problem is that it cannot be measured. Outcomes can be measured, but their values can only be asserted. This is why both secular philosophers like Nichze and religious ones like C.S. Lewis and Fr. Seraphim Rose claim that this kind of worldview leads to nihilism and the assertion of will. Religious and spiritual people who believe in the supernatural will then say that God (or spirit, or Arche) is the solution to this problem. Again, this gets us heading in a good direction, but it usually keeps within the materialist worldview. Again, which system makes sense, agrees with what I prefer, has the best agape meal, and so on. But it really is strange to come at God in this manner. All we are doing is taking the "God of the Gaps" concept and applying to morality and value. This is like looking at the world through a two-dimensional, black and white filter. We can do better. Let's see how our ancestors did it. They did not see the natural and supernatural as se

St. Luke 6:31-36The Gospel's "Golden Rule" reveals more than an ethical ideal—it unveils the way God heals His creation. Fr. Anthony shows how practicing mercy, even toward our enemies, transforms hearts and communities, turning the parish itself into an ark of salvation and mechanism of the world's perfection.

St. Luke 5:1-11. Drawing on St. Luke's account of Christ calling His disciples to become fishers of men, this homily explores why marriages and parishes often falter when built on human strength alone. Fr. Anthony reminds us that brokenness, poor models, and cultural confusion cannot be overcome by willpower or good intentions, but only through Christ and His Church. Just as the apostles' empty nets were filled at the Lord's command, so too our families and parishes flourish when rooted in His blessing and obedience. --- Homily: Why is it so hard to build a good marriage (and parish)? Saint Luke 5:1-11; Fishers of Men So it was, as the multitude pressed about Him to hear the word of God, that He stood by the Lake of Gennesaret, and saw two boats standing by the lake; but the fishermen had gone from them and were washing their nets. Then He got into one of the boats, which was Simon's, and asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the multitudes from the boat. When He had stopped speaking, He said to Simon, "Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch." But Simon answered and said to Him, "Master, we have toiled all night and caught nothing; nevertheless at Your word I will let down the net." And when they had done this, they caught a great number of fish, and their net was breaking. So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats, so that they began to sink. When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!" For he and all who were with him were astonished at the catch of fish which they had taken; and so also were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. And Jesus said to Simon, "Do not be afraid. From now on you will catch men." So when they had brought their boats to land, they forsook all and followed Him (St. Luke 5:1-11). Introduction: How Christ Builds the Church This is a beautiful story from the ministry of Jesus Christ. It comes on the heels of his Baptism, his temptation by the devil in the wilderness, and the beginning of his preaching ministry in the synagogues of Galilee. In this Gospel, Christ has started building something very special; something that would never fall; something that would bring healing to broken humanity; something through which He would change the world. He began building the Church. And He did it with simple fishermen on the side of a lake. Continuation: We are Building, too We are participating in this work as well. We want to build something that will never fail; something that will bring healing to broken people; something that will transform a troubled place. We are building a parish. Today's Gospel provides a wonderful lesson for us on this very thing. In his homily on today's Gospel, St. Nikolai Velimirovich writes; "Except the Lord build the house, all who labor labor in vain." (Psalm 126:1) If the builders build in God's name, they will build a palace, even their hands are weak and their material poor. If, though, the builders build in their own name, in opposition to God, the work of their hands will be brought down as was the Tower of Babel. There is no power that can bring God's work to ruin. Pagan palaces and cities fall into ruin, but God's huts remain standing. That which God's finger upholds stands more firmly than that which [the mythical titan] Atlas supports on his back… May the almighty Lord preserve us from the thought that we can achieve any good without His help and His blessing… May today's Gospel serve as a warning that such vain thoughts must never be formulated our souls. It speaks of how all men's efforts are in vain if God does not help them. While Christ's apostle's were fishing as men, they caught nothing; but when Christ commanded them to cast their nets once more into the sea, they caught such a great haul of fish that their nets tore. Why would anyone think they can build something worthwhile without Christ? I don't know. It is futile. We know better. But we do it all the time. Understanding the Curse of Sin: the example of marriage Let's look at the example of marriage. It can be so hard to get it right, and there are just so many ways to get it wrong. Why is it so hard? It isn't because people aren't trying. In fact, they are trying all kinds of things… but they aren't working very well. At best, some couples might end up with a marriage that lasts, but marriage was not just meant to endure. It's not supposed to be like a boxing match that makes it to the final round; with the two so tired they can hardly lift a glove and they just lean on one another gasping and looking forward to the bell (or, as is as likely to happen in marriages, the two just hang out in their separate corners doing their own thing until the final bell sounds). A good marriage does more than last, it brings joy to its members and its fruit brings happiness that endures

This episode introduces our series on Orthodox Christian virtue, beginning with the call to authentic masculinity. Fr. Anthony explains that true manhood is humble, courageous, and sacrificial, and can only be formed through living a life in fellowship with others. ------------- Introduction to our Series on Orthodox Christian Virtue Men's Group, Christ the Saviour in Anderson SC Fr. Anthony Perkins, 28 September 2025 Etymological note: the word "virtue" is from the Latin virtus, which means strength, manliness, and moral excellence. The trick is not to redefine moral virtue around fallen concepts of manliness, but to regain the sort of masculinity that is, by its nature, both strong and godly (ie, holy). Why a Series on Orthodox Christian Masculinity? · Men struggle with the development of a proper goal and worldview that would allow them to thrive, specifically as Christian men. · Men increasingly lack sound role models and guides, but there are many influencers who would fill that role for all the wrong reasons and give bad advice. · This combination of high demand and unreliable supply means that everyone suffers; men who are called to be part of the solution to the problem of the world's pain instead increase it. · The Orthodox Church is the fullness of the faith, but has addressed this problem inconsistently (Note on the book "Why Men Hate Going to Church"). It is great to have Orthodox influencers addressing the issue, but this happens at the expense of building the kind of community would and should naturally foster community. Men can watch videos, listen to podcasts (do men even read books anymore?!), and increase their tribal commitment to virtue, but unless they are in the trenches with other men committed to the same goal and part of a system that blesses and supports the goal and its pursuit, this is idle posturing. o This is the problem of superficial mentorship: ideas without connection or skin in the game. (incomplete or bad ecclesiology). It is both gnostic (because it is anti-incarnational) and Protestant (in that each person becomes their own guide, moving to the idea/guru that matches their inclinations rather than joining and submitting to something substantial and real). o The temptation of clericalism. Leaving all teaching and mentoring to the parish priest. (incomplete or bad ecclesiology) o As on the internet, the men who might want to step up and fill this void may not be suited for it because they lack the proper temperament, manner of life, experience, or training. (Self-selection is bad ecclesiology.) Remember Matthew 15:14b on the blind leading the blind. · This is NOT a series that is going to present THE ORTHODOX CHRISTIAN UNDERSTANDING OF MASCULINITY ™ so that we can all adjust our minds to its reality. Lord willing, it will teach the right ideas, but that is not how real spiritual formation happens. · It is a series that is part of our effort to create a community of men who not only understand masculine virtue and commit themselves to its achievement, but also one where we train and work towards that standard together. So it includes NOT JUST ideas of manliness but intentionally develops scalable ecclesial institutions that incarnate the living of those ideas through the brotherly support, mentorship, encouragement, and accountability. Your role in the process: commitment to living a life of virtue in community with others. My role in the process and why I am the leader of our local chapter · Long-standing commitment to Christian virtue and all the sacrifices that entails; as well as the many blessings that have followed. · Married thirty-five years. · A respected and decorated leader in the Army, community, and Church. o Retired Military Intelligence Chief Warrant Officer with deployments throughout the world, to include two to Afghanistan. o Three master's decrees: political science, divinity, and special education. o Ordained as a priest in 2007, have been teaching seminary since 2008; and have served in multiple leadership positions in the national church and at seminary. · Trained and experienced in the concepts of teamwork, spiritual development, community, and theology. · A lifetime of experience teaching these concepts and discipling others to teach them in the military, academia, parishes, seminary, and on the internets. If I were into self-promotion or social media, these might get me a following; but the real reason that I am the leader of the process is ontological, that is to say baked into our reality: I am the legitimately and canonically ordained priest assigned by our bishop to the priest – that is to say the "elder" and pastor – of this parish. This would be true even if I had never served in the military, taught at seminary, or enjoyed the benefits of a healthy marriage. It is accepting the fact that we "go to war with the army and leaders we have, not the ones we want" that allows us to get traction in doing the work we are called to do. We might gain a

God is a Personal Triune Arche' Journey to Reality Chapter Three: Who is God? Money quote from this chapter:"The reality is that Christianity is profoundly different from every other religion in history precisely because the Trinity solves this problem of the One and the Many on the basis that God's nature is love. No other religion is like that." (pg 37 of 142) Framing Scripture on the Godhead (this is just an introduction to the subject): Genesis 16:7&13. Now the Angel of the Lord found her by a spring of water in the wilderness by the spring on the way to Shur… Then Hagar called the name of Lord who spoke to her, "You-Are-the-God-Who-Sees-Me"; for she said, "I have seen the One who appeared to me face to face." Genesis 19:24. Then the Lord rained brimstone and fire on Sodom and on Gomorrah from the Lord out of the heavens. (repeated in Amos 4:11). Genesis 22:15-16. Then the Angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time out of heaven and said, "By Myself I have sworn, says the Lord, because you did this thing and for My sake did not spare your beloved son. [God appears many times to Abraham in human form. Jesus confirms that that was Him in John 8:56-58; Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day. He saw it, and was glad." Therefore, the Jews said to him, "You are not yet fifty years old! Have you seen Abraham?" Jesus said to them, "Most certainly, I tell you, before Abraham came into existence, I AM.] "God had appeared to Jacob visibly in a dream at Bethel (Gen. 28:10–22), where he was identified as the Lord. Later the Angel of God came to Jacob in another dream and told him point-blank that he was the same God who met him at Bethel earlier (Gen. 31:11–12)." (Heiser, Supernatural), Ch 6). Exodus 3:4. When the Lord saw he turned aside to look, God called to him from the midst of the bush, and said, "Moses, Moses!" And he said, "Here I am." Exodus 23:20-22. Behold I send My Angel before your face, to keep you in the way and to bring you into the land I prepared for you. Listen to Him and obey His voice; do not provoke Him, for He will not pardon your transgressions; for My Name is in Him. [In 1 Corinthians 10 and Hebrews 11, St. Paul explains that it was Jesus the Logos that brought the Israelites out of Egypt, was with them in their journey, and brought them into the promised land. Jude 1 does the same.] Judges 6:20-24. The Angel of God said to him, "Take the meat and the unleavened bread and lay them on this rock, and pour out the broth." And he did so. Then the Angel of the Lord stretched out the end of the staff that was in his hand and touched the meat and the unleavened bread. And the Angel of the Lord departed out of his sight. Now Gideon perceived that this was the Angel of the Lord. So Gideon said, "O Lord, my Lord! For I have seen the Angel of the Lord face to face." Then the Lord said to him, "Peace be with you; do not fear, you shall not die." So Gideon built an altar there to the Lord, and called it the Peace of the Lord. To this day, it is still in Ephrata, the father of Esdri. Jeremiah 1:4-9. Now the word of the Lord came to me saying, "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations." Then I said, "Ah, Lord God! Behold, I do not know how to speak, for I am only a youth." But the Lord said to me, "Do not say, 'I am only a youth'; for to all to whom I send you you shall go, and whatever I command you, you shall speak. Be not afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord." Then the Lord put forth his hand and touched my mouth; and the Lord said to me, "Behold, I have put my words in your mouth. Proverbs 8:22-30. Wisdom's role in creation. All this is to say that God has always been Three Persons and has always made Himself known to us through His Son. Of course, the Incarnation is the most obvious of this. We could do the same with the Holy Spirit. Which brings us back to Chapter Three: The moral reality of the Arche'. Not just the unmoved mover – reality itself – but also GOOD itself. This idea is fairly widespread. The Personal God. But the Arche' is also personal, with a mind and a will. Must avoid allowing this to bring us back to the idea of gods like Zeus or such; or even the Universe as a person. These pagan ideas are often well-intentioned, but they are too small. You can imagine something being a person. A rock with a personality, or a cosmos with a spirit, but we mean a lot more than that. "We're not taking some object (a rock, a mountain, a planet) and adding the idea of personhood to it. We're saying that the ultimate governing principle of reality – distinct from the created universe – is personal. This is what we end up with "I AM" as His name. The One or the Many? What is a person like? Are persons like water, appearing to be separate, but they merge when you put them together and their distinctiveness disappears. In this view, the Arche is the source of all water, and persons

Sunday after the Exultation of the Cross Galatians 2:16-20; St. Mark 8:34-9:1 On the Sunday after the Exaltation of the Cross, Fr. Anthony reflects on Christ's call to "take up your cross and follow Me." Drawing on the imagery of military service, he shows how the Christian life demands selfless duty, not comfort, as we bear the Cross in love rather than mere suffering. He contrasts the marketer's dream of the radiant sun with the scandal of the Cross, explaining why the Church, in wisdom, sets the Cross—not the Sun—as its banner. In Christ, the Cross becomes not a sign of death, but the Tree of Life that transforms our pain into victory and joy. ___ Homily: the Cross and the SunThe Sunday after the Exaltation of the Cross "Take up your cross and follow me" There are many ways to understand this command. Many take it as God's way of saying we need to put up with all the sufferings that our bodies give us. That's true, but there's more to it that. I want to use the example of the soldier to explain how. In the army, we would sing as we walked. It made the time go by more quickly, developed camaraderie, and taught us some valuable life lessons. One of the most popular went like this: 82nd patch on my shoulder, pick up your chutes and follow me, Airborne infantry, 10th Mountain patch on my shoulder, pick up your rucks and follow me, Mountain Infantry. That is what comes into mind every time I hear; "take up your cross and follow me". The new verse might go something like this; Christ the Saviour patch on my shoulder pick up your cross and follow me, Christian infantry. Why is this useful? Think about it: what are these things that the soldiers are picking up? Why do they pick them up? They use these things to battle the nation's enemies. They use these things to protect their families and keep their nation safe. Most of all, these things are used in selfless service and duty for something other than themselves. Why do we pick up the cross? For the same reason. Selfless service and duty for something other than ourselves. Is there suffering involved? Yes. Soldiers suffer. But it's not about the suffering, it's about the love (call it duty, that's fine). Yes. Christ suffered. But it's not about the suffering; its about the love. Is there suffering involved for us? Yes. But we don't count it as suffering. It is just the cost of doing what is right. The Cross: A marketer's nightmare Have you ever thought about the implications of having the Cross as our standard? It isn't the kind of thing that a marketing team would come up with. After all, who would market their product by saying, "Try this – it will cause a lot of pain!" Marketers would have chosen the wonderful image of the Sun: it gives warmth, allows things to grow, and makes it so that we can see things as they really are. Plus, in English at least, it is a homophone for "the Son", so putting the "Sun of Righteousness" on our shields and chests could still be a witness of our reverence for Christ, our King and God. The Sun of Righteousness People love the sun. I probably took it for granted growing up in the south, but after living in New England and other parts of the North for most of my adult life, I love and appreciate it even more now. A sunrise after a long and difficult night gives new hope; a warm sun after a trying winter brings new life to tired bones. Another tie-in that would make this a shoe-in for the marketing team is that we orient our churches to the East so that we can await the coming of the Messiah – again, the "Sun of Righteousness". The sun is such a huge part of our human subconscious, and it resonates with our Christian theology – surely it would be a better advertisement of the healing and resurrection power of the Church than a cross! Think about it! The cross is the opposite of the sun. The sun builds up life, the cross destroys it. The sun gives comfort and warmth, the cross brings pain. Everyone recognizes the value of the sun; the only ones who value the cross are tyrants and psychopaths – and they certainly don't want it for themselves. The marketers wring their hands, wondering who could possibly be attracted by such a symbol! The Logic of the Cross of Christ So why the cross? I have told you before that when the Orthodox Church reveals something to me that doesn't make sense, I rejoice because it means I am about to learn something new and grow as a Christian. [Leave aside the fact that non-human representations of Christ are problematic, e.g. the 82nd Canon of the Council of Trullo…] The Sun might have been the perfect emblem for us if we had not broken our covenant with God in the Garden of Eden. Just as plants in the well-tended garden mature upwards towards the rays of the Sun, we were made to grow naturally towards the goodness emanating from the Christ. Take a look sometime at the iconography from Genesis, chapter one. There is a series by Michael Kapeluk available from the Ancient Faith Store, but the originals are in

"I AM" (not a tribal god) Journey to Reality Chapter Three: Who is God? Preamble. First – apologize. If you want to see an object's strengths and weaknesses, put it under stress. We do this with our asceticism: prayer rules, regular participation in worship, fasting, and tithing are useful not just because they develop virtue, but because they test it. They show the extent to which we need to work on our patience, reliability (faith), kindness, and trust. For most people, most of the time, the responses are not life-threatening and they allow for repentance and change towards the better. Big stresses to the system do an even better job at exposing flaws and virtues. They can also do real damage to people's souls. Many have been going through that kind of a trial the past week. As your pastor and, for many of you, your spiritual father, my main calling is to care for your souls. I understand the complexity and dynamics at work in our society as a trained and experienced social scientist, intelligence analyst, and theologian and, I will be happy to share some observations with you. But these are sorts of things that many of you have been binging on over the past week. And that in itself is often a tell; an indicator of a sickness. So first, I ask you the most important question: what have you learned about your spiritual health over the last week? NOTE: I am not asking about your alleged discernment about the spiritual health of others, but of your own. 1 Corinthians 13:4-9. 4. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. [But love never ends.] How are we doing on this? To the extent we have been pulled off our peace, we are subject to manipulation. If the con is well-done, people won't even know they are being used. Propaganda doesn't just work on THEM, it works on everyone. And there are always demonic propagandists looking for opportunities to manipulate for various purposes. None of them good. Now on to the Scripture Preparation for our Reading There is always a temptation to: · Turn God into a created and anthropomorphized god SO THAT WE CAN UNDERSTAND HIM (Compare this to the Incarnation) · Turn God into a tribal god. This shows up in the Scriptures. God has emotions (anger, jealousy) and sets aside the Jews as his portion/tribe. The Bible is True, but its meaning is not always obvious. · Deuteronomy 4:23-24. So watch yourselves, that you do not forget the covenant of the Lord your God which He made with you, and make for yourselves a graven image in the form of anything against which the Lord your God has commanded you. For the Lord your God is a consuming fire, a jealous God. · Deuteronomy 32:5-10. When the Most High divided the nations, When He scattered the sons of Adam, He set the boundaries of the nations by the number of God's angels. For the Lord's portion became the people of Jacob; the allotment of His inheritance is Israel. We can turn God into our own tribal God and subsume our worship to tribal virtue signaling. But that would be heresy. Christian nationalism brings too many temptations. It is NOT Orthodox. We have the fullness of the faith, but we do not own God and His is the God of all mankind. And more. Worship and prayers are not spells, but our offering to the absolute source of all good things who has adopted us into His kingdom. Exodus 3:14. God said to Moses, "I AM WHO I AM." And he said, "Say this to the people of Israel: 'I AM has sent me to you.'" St. Hilary of Pottiers (On the Trinity); In [the Books of Moses and the Prophets] I found the testimony of God the Creator about himself expressed in the following manner: "I am who I am," and again, "Thus shall you say to the children of Israel: He who is, has sent me to you." I was filled with admiration at such a clear definition of God, which spoke of the incomprehensible nature in language most suitable to our human understanding. It is known that there is nothing more characteristic of God than to be, because that itself which is does not belong to those things which will one day end or to those which had a beginning. But that which combines eternity with the power of unending happiness could never not have been, nor is it possible that one day it will not be, because what is divine is not liable to destruction, nor does it have a beginning. And since the eternity of God will not be untrue to itself in anything, he has revealed to us in a fitting manner this fact alone, that he is, in order to render testimony to his everlasting eternity. St. Jerome (Letter 15): There is one nature of God and one only; and this, and this alone, truly is. For absolute being

Exultation of the Cross Behold the Man: The Cross and Our Shared Criminality Homily on the Passion and the Cross I Corinthians 1:18-24; St. John 19:6-11, 13-20, 25-28, 30-35 Christ was crucified among criminals, a mirror of our own sinfulness and complicity in His Passion. Yet like the repentant theif, we are invited to turn to Him in humility, behold His mercy, and enter the Kingdom with the New Adam who reveals true humanity. Enjoy the show! ++++++ Our Lord Jesus Christ, the God-man, was condemned and put on a cross to die in the midst of criminals. Not just the obvious criminals, such as the thieves on his right and his left, but he was surrounded by them. For the entire world had been given over to sin. The religious authorities, the ones who knew the law and the prophets, and should have been the first to support him, were certainly criminal. They "assembled together… unto the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas, and consulted that they might take Jesus by subtlety and kill him." (Matthew 26:3-4). They were jealous of Jesus, seeing how "the world is gone after him." (John 12:9). They did not want a trial; they wanted his death. Remember that when the good and law-abiding man, Nicodemus, called them on this and suggested to them that Jesus be brought before the court for a hearing, saying, "Does our law judge any man, before it hears him, and know what he does?" They mocked Nicodemus, saying, "Art thou also of Galilee? Search, and look: for out of Galilee ariseth no prophet." They were not interested in the Law or the Truth or even the facts; they were preserving their own comfort and power, and were willing to break the law and commit murder (deicide!) to protect it. They were criminals. Nor were they the only criminals. Think also of Judas, who participated in their perfidy by betraying his alleged friend and teacher for thirty pieces of silver. And then there was the entire crowd who came out, and in their own criminality, chose the convicted criminal Barabbas over Christ. As St. Nikolai Velimirovic puts it; "God or a criminal? And the criminals choose the criminal." Yes, Christ was surrounded by criminals. But before we condemn them, let's remember one of the first rules of biblical interpretation; when the scriptures speak of bad men, be they the scribes and pharisees, Judas, the Jewish people, or even common criminals, we are to think not just of them, but how it is that we are like them. In our fallenness, it is easy to see the criminality of others, especially those with whom we disagree or are from other Babelic tribes than our own. But so often their crimes are not obvious because they are so heinous, but because they have been magnified by the problems with our vision – we can only see darkness when our eyes are full of darkness and it is hard to see anything objectively when we have giant honking logs sticking out of our eye-sockets. When tempted by such judgment, let us remember Christ, draw in the sand and say, "Let he who is without sin, throw the first stone." Yes, we are all criminals of the sort that participated in the passion of our God; petty, jealous, riotous, scheming – it's all there in our hearts and on our lives for everyone to see. We are the criminals of this story. All of us have sinned against God and against His Way. But there was one criminal who stepped out of his sin and the propaganda of the devil, and repented. He accepted that he had earned his suffering. Again, paraphrasing St. Nikolai; blessed is the criminal who, in the midst of his very real agony, does not lash out in condemnation of the other criminals but rather recognizes that he has earned his cross because of his sins. The resulting clarity then allows him to see the God-man in his midst, repent, beg for God's mercy, and then find himself in Paradise with his saviour. We quote this saint every time we take communion: "Remember me, O Lord, when Thou comest into Thy kingdom". We imitate his words, but do we imitate the deep transformation that allowed him, while feeling such pain, to say them? And now that we have looked at the crowds of the scene described in today's Gospel, let us look to Christ. Right before today's reading, Pilate had brought our Lord out before the people after he had been beaten and scourged and had a crown of thorns put on his head and had said, "Behold the man!". Yes, let us behold the man. For Jesus was both fully God and fully man. And His humanity had brought Him immense agony. Earlier, we saw Him as a man when He was an infant in a cave, and when He and his family fled to Egypt, and when He was hungry and thirsty and had no place to lay his head. Of course we also saw Him as God, walking on water, quelling storms, healing the sick, and multiplying loaves. But at no time was his humanity more on display than from the Garden of Gethsemane to the Cross. First, sweat poured from his head like blood because of anguish, and then that blood was joined by more from the lash

In this episode, Fr. Anthony examines the nature of ultimate reality—God, gods, and the arche'—through Scripture and the Fathers. With insights from Journey to Reality, he shows how God transcends all categories and draws us into worship and transformation. Enjoy the show! ------ Ultimate Reality: God, gods, arche' Fr. Anthony Perkins; 10 September 2025 Text: Zachery Porcu, PhD. 2025. "Chapter 2 – Ultimate Reality" in Journey to Reality; Sacramental Life in a Secular Age. Ancient Faith Publishing. Verses to Frame the Discussion Exodus 24:10. And they saw the God of Israel; and there was under his feet as it were a pavement of sapphire stone, like the very heaven for clearness. Exodus 33:11. Thus the LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. When Moses turned again into the camp, his servant Joshua the son of Nun, a young man, did not depart from the tent. Isaiah 6:5. And I said: "Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!" HE IS GREATER EVEN THAN THIS (SOME FUN WITH AN "INCONSISTENCY" Exodus 33:17-20. And the LORD said to Moses, "This very thing that you have spoken I will do; for you have found favor in my sight, and I know you by name." Moses said, "I pray thee, show me thy glory." And he said, "I will make all my goodness pass before you, and will proclaim before you my name 'The LORD'; and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. But," he said, "you cannot see my face; for man shall not see me and live." St. Ambrose: "Who shall see my face and live?" Scripture said, and rightly so. For our eyes cannot bear the sun's rays, and whoever turns too long in its direction is generally blinded, so they say. Now if one creature cannot look upon another creature without loss and harm to himself, how can he see the dazzling face of his eternal Creator while covered with the clothing that is this body? St. Gregory of Nyssa: He would not have shown himself to his servant if the sight were such as to bring the desire of the beholder to an end, since the true sight of God consists in this, that the one who looks up to God never ceases in that desire. For he says, "You cannot see my face, for man cannot see me and live." Scripture does not indicate that this causes the death of those who look, for how would the face of life ever be the cause of death to those who approach it? On the contrary, the divine is by its nature life-giving. Yet it is the characteristic of the divine nature to transcend all characteristics. Therefore he who thinks God is something to be known does not have life, because he has turned from true being to what he considers by sense perception to have being. Job 38:19-20. "Where is the way to the dwelling of light, and where is the place of darkness, that you may take it to its territory and that you may discern the paths to its home? 1 Timothy 6:16. I charge you to keep the commandment unstained and free from reproach until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ; and this will be made manifest at the proper time by the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality and dwells in unapproachable light, whom no man has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen. John 1:18. No one has ever seen God; the only Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, he has made him known. On the resulting religion: Revelation 9-11. And whenever the living creatures give glory and honor and thanks to him who is seated on the throne, who lives for ever and ever, 10 the twenty-four elders fall down before him who is seated on the throne and worship him who lives for ever and ever; they cast their crowns before the throne, singing, "Worthy art thou, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for thou didst create all things, and by thy will they existed and were created." 2 Corinthians 3:18. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding[a] the glory of the Lord, are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit. St. John Chrysostom. The Spirit is God, and we are raised to the level of the apostles, because we shall all behold him together with uncovered faces. As soon as we are baptized, the soul beams even more brightly than the sun because it is cleansed by the Spirit, and we not only behold God's glory, we also receive from it a kind of splendor. Segue to the book chapter (theosis requires a repentant mind) Religion should be more than our consumer society would lead us to believe it is. "What is the nature of reality?" What does it all mean? Mankind wants to know, and he has tried to provide answers. Many involve a mysterious higher power we call God. The problem with the word "God." [Psalm 94:3. For the Lord is the great God, the great King above all gods.] [Isaiah 45:5.. I am

Today we started our Fall Wednesday evening education series, during which we are working our way through Zachery Porcu's "Journey to Reality" from Ancient Faith Publishing. Today, after framing our discussion with the "trees walking" account of the healing of the blind man from the Gospel according to St. Mark (8:22-38 - see below), we cover the main topics in chapter one. Enjoy the show! ------ Trees Walking: the Problem of Discerning the Gospel Fr. Anthony Perkins; 03 September 2025 Text: Zachery Porcu, PhD. 2025. "Chapter 1 – What is Christianity" in Journey to Reality; Sacramental Life in a Secular Age. Ancient Faith Publishing. St. Mark 8:22-38 (KJV) 22 And he cometh to Bethsaida; and they bring a blind man unto him, and besought him to touch him. 23 And he took the blind man by the hand, and led him out of the town; and when he had spit on his eyes, and put his hands upon him, he asked him if he saw ought. St. Ambrose; Through the font of the Lord and the preaching of the Lord's passion, your eyes were then opened. You who seemed before to have been blind in heart began to see the light of the sacraments. 24 And he looked up, and said, I see men as trees, walking. Why would he see men as trees??? 25 After that he put his hands again upon his eyes, and made him look up: and he was restored, and saw every man clearly. Note the progression. 26 And he sent him away to his house, saying, Neither go into the town, nor tell it to any in the town. 27 And Jesus went out, and his disciples, into the towns of Caesarea Philippi: and by the way he asked his disciples, saying unto them, Whom do men say that I am? 28 And they answered, John the Baptist; but some say, Elias; and others, One of the prophets. How could they not know? 29 And he saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am? And Peter answereth and saith unto him, Thou art the Christ. But even using the right word, how much did he understand? 30 And he charged them that they should tell no man of him. 31 And he began to teach them, that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected of the elders, and of the chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32 And he spake that saying openly. And Peter took him, and began to rebuke him. And how much of this plain speaking were they able to hear? 33 But when he had turned about and looked on his disciples, he rebuked Peter, saying, Get thee behind me, Satan: for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but the things that be of men. This is the warning: a poor understanding of the truth can lead us to condemnation. (segue to text) So how can we know the Gospel in a way that saves? Intellectual knowledge. Study the Bible! [oops] More intellectual knowledge. Study the Fathers. [oops] The Bible is not the source of the Gospel or of the Church or of Christianity. All the written texts of Holy Tradition – to include the Bible - are not the source of Orthodoxy. How can I make this claim? It is not the way that the members of the early Church were saved and grew in holiness. It was not a text that evangelized the Roman Empire. It was a way of being; a way of thinking; a way of relating. It was first called "The Way." The metaphor of the family (p 13) Our way of relating to information is new. Before, information was contextualized within relationships. We still have some of this, but even people's experience of Orthodoxy is increasingly a-contextual and un-Orthodox. The metaphor of sex (p. 15) Two types of Christianity Text-based (re-enactment). Ideas. Dissolute community. Sacramental participation. A community with a life-energy (an angel!) Problems with using the Bible. Genres: myth, song, prophecy, history, rules, authors, styles. Needs interpretation! Need to avoid: ignoring – forsaking both the culture AND the text (progressive/individualist). Make the text and the culture what we want it to be. A paradigm shift to Sacramental Reality.

St. Matthew 19:16-26 (Rich Young Man) Hebrews 9:1-7 In this homily, Father Anthony reflects on the Gospel of the rich young man, reminding us that salvation is more than meeting a minimum standard—it is a lifelong journey toward holiness. He shows how Christ gently leads us beyond comfort, calling us to surrender our attachments, whether wealth, time, opinions, or fears, in order to live in love and trust before God. Through the practice of kenosis, or self-emptying, we learn to soften our hearts, grow in grace, and allow Christ to transform us into His likeness. NOTE: The prayer that Fr. Anthony references at the beginning of the homily is: "The Holy Spirt shall come upon thee, and the power of the Most High shall overshadow thee." It is from St. Luke 1:35, with the Archangel Gabriel pronouncing this blessing upon the Virgin Mary. As Fr. Anthony notes, the Orthodox Church uses this blessing liturgically during the Divine Liturgy.

St. Matthew 18:23-35 (The Unforgiving Servant) I Corinthians 9:2-12 In this homily, Father Anthony explores the calling of Christians not only to pursue personal holiness, but also to help cultivate a culture of holiness that shapes the life of the parish and the wider world. Using the Divine Liturgy as our pattern, he explains how intentional practices—such as the placement of prayers, offerings, and the way we relate to one another—form habits that naturally move us toward mercy, patience, and love. Reflecting on the parable of the unforgiving servant and St. Paul's guidance to the early Church, Father Anthony shows that true salvation is not simply release from debt, but the ongoing transformation of our hearts and relationships into the likeness of Christ.

I Corinthians 4:9-16 St. Matthew 17:14-23 Fr. Anthony reflects on St. Paul's call to imitation, teaching that we are shaped by those around us and must guard our hearts and minds against sin while cultivating holiness. He explains the spiritual power of the Antiochian pre-communion prayers, showing how their repetition trains our minds, transforms our souls, and unites the faithful as one body in Christ. Enjoy the show! --- Here is the Antiochian Orthodox Pre-Communion Prayer for the Divine Liturgy: I stand before the doors of thy temple, and yet I refrain not from my terrible thoughts. But do thou, O Christ God, who didst justify the publican and hadst mercy on the Canaanite woman and didst open the gates of paradise to the thief: open unto me the compassion of thy love toward mankind, and receive me as I approach and touch thee, like the harlot and the woman with the issue of blood; for the one, by but touching the hem of thy garment, received healing, and the other, by embracing thine immaculate feet, received the forgiveness of her sins. And I, who am pitiful, dare to partake of thy whole Body. Let me not be consumed, but receive me as thou didst receive them, and enlighten the senses of my soul, burning up the accusations of my sins, through the intercessions of her that without seed gave thee birth and of the heavenly powers; for thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen. I believe, O Lord, and I confess that thou art truly the Christ, the Son of the living God, who didst come into the world to save sinners, of whom I am first. And I believe that this is truly thine own immaculate Body and that this is truly thine own precious Blood. Wherefore I pray thee, have mercy upon me, and pardon my transgressions both voluntary and involuntary, of word and of deed, of knowledge and of ignorance; and make me worthy to partake without condemnation of thine immaculate mysteries, unto remission of my sins and unto life everlasting. Amen. Behold, I approach Divine Communion; O Maker, burn me not as I partake, for Fire art thou which burneth the unworthy. But purify thou me of every stain. Of thy mystic supper, O Son of God, accept me today as a communicant; for I will not speak of thy mystery to thine enemies, neither will I give thee a kiss as did Judas; but like the thief will I confess thee: Remember me, O Lord, in thy kingdom. Tremble, O man, as thou beholdest the deifying Blood, for it is a burning coal consuming the unworthy. The body of God both deifieth and nourisheth me. It deifieth the spirit and wondrously nourisheth the mind. Thou hast smitten me with yearning, O Christ, and by thy divine love hast thou changed me. But with thine immaterial fire, consume my sins and count me worthy to be filled with delight in thee, that leaping for joy, O Good One, I may magnify thy two comings. Into the splendour of thy Saints how shall I, the unworthy one, enter? For should I dare to enter the bridal chamber, my vesture doth betray me, for it is not a wedding garment; and as one bound, I shall be cast out by the Angels. Cleanse, O Lord, the defilement of my soul, and save me, since thou art the Friend of man. O man-befriending Master, Lord Jesus my God, let not these holy Gifts be unto me for judgment through mine unworthiness, but for purification and sanctification of both soul and body, and as an earnest of the life and the kingdom to come. For it is good for me to cleave unto God and to place in the Lord the hope of my salvation. Of thy mystic supper, O Son of God, accept me today as a communicant; for I will not speak of thy mystery to thine enemies, neither will I give thee a kiss as did Judas; but like the thief will I confess thee: Remember me, O Lord, in thy kingdom. Not unto judgment nor unto condemnation be my partaking of thy holy mysteries, O Lord, but unto the healing of soul and body.