Living Tradition and Apostolic Love

This past Sunday, we reflected on what it truly means to call the Church Apostolic, and how this identity is deeply rooted in love—a love that is not abstract or passive, but incarnate, active, and renewing.

Drawing on Fr. Georges Florovsky’s The Ways of Russian Theology, Fr. Robert challenged us to see tradition not as something static or trapped in the past, but as a “living yeast,” a “germinated seed”—dynamic, fertile, and always interacting with the world around it.

This vision of tradition is one that engages with science, culture, the arts, and economics—not with fear or suspicion, but with openness and discernment, continually watered and pruned by the Holy Spirit to bear fruit.

We are called to keep this living tradition vibrant—not as guardians of a museum, but as cultivators in the vineyard of the Lord—so that the Church might truly draw everyone and everything into the living Body of Christ.

The Holy Glorious and All-Praised Leaders of the Apostles, Peter and Paul

What Does it Mean that the Church is Apostolic?

Reflections on the Feast of Saints Peter and Paul

Each time we gather to celebrate the Eucharist—the new and everlasting covenant—we profess our belief in “one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.” But what does it mean to say the Church is Apostolic?

On the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, Fr. Robert reflected on this profound question. He drew us into the moment in the Gospel of John where Christ asks Peter three times, “Simon, son of Jonah, do you love me?”—a question that pierces the heart and reveals the depth of Christian discipleship.

The Apostolic Church, Fr. Robert reminded us, is rooted not merely in unbroken succession or doctrinal clarity, but in love—the self-emptying love of Christ, who offered himself for the life of the world. This is the tradition handed down from the Apostles, the very heart of our faith.

Quoting St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, he emphasized: “We can have all knowledge, and even faith that moves mountains, but if we do not have love, we are nothing.”

Synaxis of the Saints of North America

Does the Church Today Embody the Presence of God’s Love in the World?

On the Feast of All Saints of America, we honor Matushka Olga Michael of Alaska, recently glorified as a saint—joining the cloud of witnesses who manifest God’s love in our midst.

In his homily, Fr. Robert posed a powerful question:

What does it mean to be the Orthodox Church in America—or in Serbia, Russia, Ukraine, or anywhere the Church dwells today?

Drawing from the Epistle to Diognetus, an early Christian letter to a pagan inquirer, we’re reminded:

Christians live in the world, but are not of it.

They care for the sick, walk with strangers, and reveal the crucified and risen Christ through truth, beauty, and sacrificial love.

Even the word parish—from the Greek 'paroikia', meaning 'temporary dwelling in a strange land'—reminds us we are pilgrims, gathered not by nation, ethnicity or tribe, but by the call of Christ.

But do we truly live this way?

We are the Church “for the life of the world,” called to offer divine healing.

But when the Gospel is distorted, do we take a stand and speak in a strong, clear and edifying voice as the Church?

When our neighbors suffer, do we act?

In a broken world, do we manifest God’s love?

Synaxis of All Saints

THE CALL TO BE SAINTS

All Saints is the consequence of Pentecost—the outpouring of the Spirit that calls everyone and everything to be sanctified. Through the baptism of water and fire, we are anointed to become one with the Triune, tripersonal God.

Sanctity is not reserved for the few—it is the radiant sign of glory and light of Pentecost. Yet this call to holiness contains a deep tension.

As Fr. Robert reminds us, the "Hymn of Kassiani," chanted on Matins of Holy Wednesday, expresses the dramatic struggle between our desire for sin and our longing for the boundless mercy of God.

Yet, our ascent begins when we recognize our sinfulness in the light of divine compassion—when, like the sinful woman, we fall at Christ’s feet, anointing them with tears of repentance.

Such grace transforms. Without it, our hardened hearts risk wounding the living Body of Christ.

Holy Pentecost

Theological Significance of Pentecost: Unity in Diversity

In his Pentecost sermon, Fr. Robert reflected on the Icon of Pentecost and the giving of the Spirit—not as law in the old sense, but as the law of the Spirit: a gift that brings harmony, transformation, and divine order to the world through Christ and His Church.

He posed a powerful question: Does this Spirit-filled law shape the Church’s inner life today? Is the Church marked by calm, order, and a unity that makes space for difference—rather than demanding uniformity?

Pentecost reveals the Spirit as both living water and fire—two seemingly opposite elements, united in divine purpose. In the same way, the Spirit gathers all people—of every gender, background, and identity—into a sacred unity that honors, rather than erases, our unique gifts.

What does this vision of unity in diversity mean for the way we build community today—and how we respond to the challenges facing our world?

John 17:1–13

The Ascent into the Depths

In reflecting on the Feast of the Ascension and the gospel this past Sunday, Fr. Robert draws upon the Christological, anthropological, and ecclesiological dimensions of this pivotal moment in the life of Christ and His Body, the Church.

As Christ ascends to the Father, He does not leave behind His humanity—He brings it with Him. In doing so, He brings our humanity, wounded and broken though it may be, into the glory of the divine life. And yet, our ascent as members of the one Body of Christ carries with it a profound responsibility: how we manifest the Church in the world today.

If our eyes are fixed only on heaven—on spiritual heights—without concern for the world Christ came to redeem, then we risk betraying the very mission of the Incarnation. The Ascension is not an escape from the world, but a call to deeper engagement with it.

Christ descended into the depths of human suffering, took on the darkness of the world, and in doing so, redeemed it. As His Body, we are called to the same descent. If the light of Christ is to permeate the world through us— we must acknowledge our sins, to bear one another’s burdens, and—as Christ did—to heal the sick, visit the imprisoned, clothe the poor, and love without condition.

The Church and the gospel do not call us to greatness and triumphalism as the world defines it, but to humility, compassion, and solidarity with the least of these.

In ascending, Christ does not abandon the world; rather, He ascends in order to send the Holy Spirit upon it. And now, through us—His Church—His light continues to shine in the darkness.

Sunday of the Blind Man

From Darkness to Light:
Overcoming Spiritual and Intellectual Blindness

Fr. Robert reflects on the healing of the blind man, revealing Christ as the light in darkness, the initiator of new creation, and the one who patiently draws us into living faith..

In healing the man born blind, who may have had a condition known as anophthalmia (born without eyes)—Jesus does more than restore sight. By mixing clay and anointing the man’s eyes, then sending him to wash in the Pool of Siloam ("the one sent"), Christ mirrors the mystery of our own baptism. This movement from blindness to sight becomes a symbol of our journey from ignorance to divine illumination.

Through this healing, Jesus is not only opening physical eyes—He is awakening the soul, enlightening it (photismos, in Greek), and refashioning humanity in the image of the new creation. He is the Light of the World, still at work in each of us, drawing all into communion with the Father through the Holy Spirit.

Sunday of the Samaritan Woman

Making the World Church

Christ’s entry into the pagan therapeutic pool in last Sunday’s Gospel foreshadows His entry into Samaria—a movement of divine compulsion. He is compelled to proclaim the Gospel because He stands at the very center of creation as the universal Savior of the world, breaking down barriers between pagans, Samaritans, and Jews. His encounter with the Samaritan woman, to whom He offers the living water, reveals His desire to restore humanity to a renewed relationship with the Father.

Through the Holy Spirit, Christ continues to dwell in our midst, uniting us in Himself and transforming the many into the one Body of Christ. In this transformation, the Church is not merely a refuge from the world—it becomes the very means by which the world is transfigured. Christ’s living water makes this communion possible, enabling the Church to become what it is called to be: the sacrament of reconciliation and unity, through which the world is made into the Church.

Sunday of the Paralytic

Christ the Universal Savior of the World

The healing of the paralytic at the pool of Bethesda is more than a miracle—it is a revelation. It marks the inbreaking of God's kingdom into time and space, not just for the Jews, but for all nations. Archaeological findings place the pool outside the ancient walls of Jerusalem, in a location likely frequented by gentiles seeking healing. Christ’s decision to enter this hydrotherapeutic center—something that would have been deemed controversial—declares something profound: the Messiah came for all peoples. His mercy knows no boundaries. His kingdom knows no walls. He is the universal Savior of the world, and His reign has no end.

Sunday of the Holy Myrrhbearing Women

A Reflection on Discipleship 

In a powerful sermon on the Sunday of the Myrrhbearers, Fr. Robert illuminated the profound theological importance of the Myrrhbearers. The Church singles out these extraordinary women as the supreme disciples—those who remained when others fled, who ministered to Christ, and who became the first to proclaim the good news of His resurrection and were crucial to the early public ministry of the Church. They carried this message, “with fear and trembling,” yet ecstatic about the nature of their mission. 

He challenged us to wrestle with the Word revealing the rich theological reflection on the difference between the Synoptic Gospels and the Gospel of John—particularly the unique placement of Mary and the beloved disciple John at the foot of the Cross, and posed the piercing question: If the Church claims to be faithful to the Word, can it remain silent in the face of suffering? Can it be a true exemplar of the Word while neglecting to speak on behalf of the weak, the helpless, the marginalized, and the poor? These are the questions that we must ask ourselves.

Saint Thomas Sunday

On the Gospel of Doubting Thomas

In reflecting on the Gospel of Thomas, Fr. Robert invited us to consider the nature of doubt. There is the kind of doubt that isolates us— from God, from neighbor, and from ourselves. But there is also good doubt—the kind celebrated in the Vespers stichera—a doubt that awakens the soul, that refuses complacency, and that draws us into a deeper intimacy with the crucified and risen Lord.

O blessed doubt of Thomas, you led him not away from faith but into deeper communion with the crucified and risen Christ.

Great and Holy Thursday

In that darkest hour, Christ is shrouded in abandonment—forsaken by everyone and everything.

Hanging on the Cross, He cries out:

“My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Psalm 22)

Yet from within this profound darkness—this loneliness and utter forsakenness—the divine, uncreated light, transfiguring all things, breaks forth.

The Cross, once a symbol of death, becomes the new Tree of Life, drawing Jew and Gentile into the mystery of the new creation— the Church.

Great and Holy Wednesday

“With fervent desire (ἐπιθυμίᾳ ἐπεθύμησα) I have desired to eat this Passover with you…” (Luke 22:15)

Knowing that one of his disciples is going to betray Him and the others are going to abandon Him at Golgotha, despite our struggle between our love for sin and our love for God, our Lord invites us to His table, seeking communion with us at his never ending mystical supper — sealing the new and eternal covenant — the celebration of the body and blood of the crucified and risen Lord.

This is the Good News that nothing separates us from the never ending love of God. With this powerful meditation of our Lord's intense longing for us Fr. Robert enjoins us to enter into the celebration of the great and mystical supper that is offered for us now and forever.

Great and Holy Tuesday

"Woe is me, for I have lived in the night of my sensuousness, shrouded in the dark, moonless night of sin."
— The Hymn of Kassiani

This single line contains an intense world of longing and inner tension. St. Kassiani’s words reveal the painful beauty of repentance—of recognizing sin not only as darkness, but as something once loved. And yet, within this recognition, there awakens a tender and urgent desire to be healed and restored.

This tension is resolved as Kassiani throws herself at the feet of our Lord—to weep, to anoint, to become vulnerable with a deep longing to be reunited with the One who will renew and restore her.

Fr. Robert reminds us: we are invited to introspect, to look within, as we stand at the threshold of Pascha. The mystery of Christ’s three-day burial, death, and resurrection is not just to remember but to enter into it.

In doing so, we may rediscover the love we already hold for God—often buried, sometimes forgotten, but never extinguished. And through this love, may we return to communion: with Him, with one another, and within ourselves.

Great and Holy Monday

Bridegroom Matins – The Dangers of the Spiritual Life

As we listen to the Gospel and hymns that speak of Judas, we are called to resist the temptation to judge the other—rather than turning inward. The word that demands our attention tonight is “hypocrite," as Fr. Robert explores the dangers of spiritual life.

The rich liturgical life of the Church holds a paradox: it can either open our hearts to the living, transcendent God—or it can become a veil, a camouflage. We may perform the forms, chant the hymns, wear the vestments of piety… and yet fail to strip away the masks. We risk hiding behind ritual rather than being transformed by it.

The question confronts us:

Are we approaching the living God with trembling awe and repentance?

Or, under the guise of faithfulness, are we offering our hearts to false gods—comfort, pride, control?

And yet, Holy Week gives us this gift:

An invitation to be renewed.
To be purified.
To be sanctified.
Even to be deified.

Entry of Our Lord into Jerusalem (Palm Sunday)

Entering the Land of the Living 

The Lord’s entry into Jerusalem is often called triumphant—but it leads not to a throne of gold, but to a Cross. The crowds cry Hosanna!—some hoping for a political liberator, the long-awaited King who would overthrow Roman rule and wave palm branches. But the Anointed One, the true King of Glory, enters the Holy City not to seize power, but to surrender Himself: to be crowned with thorns, stripped, scourged, and crucified outside its gates.

And yet—this is His glory.

Palm Sunday is not merely a celebration; it is the threshold of the passion. The waving palms point not to worldly victory, but to His divine self-emptying, that will lead us to the land of the living.

As Fr. Robert reminds us, it is through baptism into the crucified and risen Christ that we are granted entry into the Land of the Living—a place where death no longer reigns.

We follow not the powers of this world, but the One who emptied Himself entirely, becoming vulnerable out of love for us. In raising Lazarus, Christ not only confirms His power over death, but unveils the mystery of our own resurrection. He comes to gather all into His eternal life—through the Cross, and into glory.

The Raising of Lazarus (Lazarus Saturday)

A Prelude to Glory

This day’s Gospel is so rich, so layered, that it defies simple summary.

The Raising of Lazarus stands as a liturgical bridge—spanning the end of Great Lent and the entrance into Holy Week. It draws our gaze and centers it fully on the person of Christ: His Christology, His Kenosis, His Ekonomia, His Missiology and His divine love.

In the Gospel of John, the narrative swells with intensity—rising through Martha’s dialogue with the Lord, and reaching its crescendo as Christ cries out to the dead man: “Lazarus, come forth!”

Here, the anointed One of God—He who is coming into the world to save and renew it—is unveiled. The resurrection of Lazarus is not merely an act of compassion. It is a declaration of power, a foretaste of that which was foretold: Christ’s own death and resurrection.

Christ draws near to the tomb, weeps at the sorrow of mortality, feels the full weight of fear, pain, and darkness. And still, He enters into it.

It is precisely there—in the depths of human frailty and fear—that His final act of deliverance begins.

As Fr. Robert reminds us, Lazarus Saturday calls us to renew our discipleship with the Lord. The One who will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead is already among us—calling each of us by name, drawing us out from the tombs of fear, indifference, and despair into the radiant light of His eternal life.

Sunday of Mary of Egypt

On the threshold of Holy Week, we examined the layers of St. Mary’s life — a living icon of the Cross. In her, the Cross is no longer an idea but a way of life — a path to transformation.

Through the awakening of her conscience, and repentance, the desert blooms. St. Zosimas beholds beauty beyond appearances. Creation itself is renewed. In Christ, male and female, sinner and saint — all divisions are healed.

Fr. Robert reminds us: "When we take up the Cross and make it our own we affirm what we proclaim in the Resurrection Matins, 'Through the Cross joy has come into all the world.' "

Sunday of John Climacus

Today, we reflected on the three dimensions of repentance from The Ladder of Divine Ascent and its cosmic significance. Fr. Robert’s sermon reminded us of the gifts we have received as Orthodox Christians—gifts we often neglect or squander. Yet, through repentance, we find renewal, restoration, and healing—not only for ourselves but for those around us and the entire universe.

What a powerful gift we have in the ascetical witness of St. John, calling us to embrace the fullness of ecclesial life in all its glory. What treasures await discovery through a sober reading of St. John's Ladder. 

Sunday of the Cross

At the heart of Great Lent stands the Cross, a beacon of self-emptying love and sacrifice. Our crucified and risen Lord draws all creation to Himself through the Cross, and in His ultimate act of humility and love, He saves us.

As we marked the Sunday of the Cross at the midpoint of Great Lent, we reflected on its profound implications:

What does it mean to deny/disown ourselves, take up our Cross, and follow Christ?
How does the Cross shape our Christian identity and the Church as the living body of Christ?
How is the Cross misused or distorted in today's world?

The Cross is not a symbol of power or dominance, but of self-emptying love and sacrifice. True repentance and self-denial lead us to embody the outpouring of divine mercy—a mercy that heals, restores, and unites.

May we embrace the Cross with faith and humility, allowing Christ’s love to flow through us and into the world.