The Trinity is not a riddle. The Trinity is the life of God opened to us. That matters because many of us were taught doctrine as if it were mostly about getting the right answer. Learn the right words. Repeat the right formula. Avoid the wrong explanation. Keep yourself safely inside the lines. There is a place for careful words. The Church had to fight hard for them. They were prayed, argued, suffered over, and defended because the Church knew that that God shapes the truth

We often treat Pentecost like an important feast, but not quite as important as Christmas or Easter. We know the story. We have heard it many times. The disciples are gathered. The Holy Spirit descends. There is wind. There are tongues of fire. They begin to speak in other languages. Peter quotes the prophet Joel. The Church is sent into the world.

Every time we say the Creed, we are doing more than reciting doctrine. We are standing inside a wounded inheritance. We stand with the Fathers of Nicaea. We stand with the martyrs. We stand with the myrrhbearers. We stand with Thomas touching the wounds. We stand with generations who did not have perfect understanding but had stubborn faith. And we stand with those today whose faith is still wounded, still limping, still searching for a Church that looks like Jesus.

The story of Emmaus begins with two disciples walking away from Jerusalem. That detail matters. They are not standing at the empty tomb with joy. They are not gathered with the apostles ready to preach resurrection. They are walking away from the place where everything fell apart.

We celebrate Good Shepherd Sunday, a feast that, while not universally observed in Eastern churches on this day, holds a cherished place in our parish’s life. It was central to Father Tom’s ministry among us, and so we retain it as an opportunity to reflect on God as our shepherd and to honor those who have served as shepherds in our own lives.

Today the Church gives us one of the most beautiful and necessary commemorations of the Paschal season, the Sunday of the Holy Myrrhbearers. We remember the women who came to the tomb at dawn carrying spices and myrrh, ready to honor the body of the Lord. We remember Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, who showed courage when many others hid. But today, above all, we look upon those faithful women whose love proved stronger than fear.

Today the Church keeps Thomas Sunday. We remember the moment Christ returns to his disciples, and this time Thomas is there. He does not stand at a distance. He steps forward. He touches the wounds. And he speaks words the Church still holds onto.

Palm Sunday always unsettles me, because it begins with celebration, yet we already know how quickly the mood will change. The crowds gather. They wave branches. They shout Hosanna. They welcome Jesus as king. Within days, everything shifts. The same city that welcomes him will reject him. The same voices that praise him will condemn him. The same crowd that shouts Hosanna will cry Crucify. Palm Sunday forces us to sit in that tension. This is not only their story. This is th

Today we come to the Fourth Sunday of Lent, the Sunday of the Ladder. In the Christian East, this Sunday is tied to Saint John of the Ladder, the abbot of Sinai who wrote about the spiritual life as a kind of ascent toward God. That image has stayed with the Church because it tells the truth. The life of faith is not static. We are either being drawn upward into the life of God, or we are settling back into the old patterns that keep us bound. Lent puts that plainly before us

Lessons: Sir 24:23-34; Ps 95; Ro 1:16-32; Jn 4:5-26 The Third Sunday in Lent is often called the Sunday of the Living Water. The Gospel reading brings us to the well in Samaria, where Jesus meets the Samaritan woman. At first glance the story seems simple. Jesus arrives at Jacob’s well. A woman comes to draw water. They speak. But this is one of those passages where it helps to read the Bible within the life of the wider Church. The Samaritan woman is not simply an unnamed fi

Many of us prefer religion to rebirth. Religion gives structure. Rebirth demands surrender. Abram had to die to the security of his father’s house. Nicodemus had to die to the security of his religious status. Lent is about dying before Easter. Not emotionally. Not theatrically. Practically.

Last week we remembered Adam and Eve cast out of paradise. Humanity exiled. Creation fractured. We are born into a world bent away from God. Not personal blame for Adam’s act, but a shared wound. We feel it in our habits. We feel it in our desires. We feel it in the way we repeat what we swore we would never repeat.

Lessons: Joel 2:2-20; Ps 103; Romans 13:11-14:4; Mt 6:14-21 Forgiveness Sunday is not sentimental. It is not soft. It is not about being polite. It is surgical. We stand at the edge of Great Lent, and the Church will not let us walk in carrying poison. Listen to Jesus again. “If you forgive others the wrongs they have done to you, your Father in heaven will forgive you. But if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive you.” There is no theological loophole t

This is the Sunday of the Last Judgment. That title alone is enough to make people uneasy. The lectionary does not soften the blow. It confronts us.

The Church is wise in how she prepares us for Lent. She does not begin with ashes. She does not begin with fasting rules. She does not begin with denial. She begins with stories. Stories that disarm us. Stories that refuse to let us remain at a safe distance. Stories that force us to ask where we are standing. On Prodigal Sunday, the Church gives us one of the most dangerous stories Jesus ever told. Dangerous not because it is unfamiliar, but because it is. Most of u

Today the Church places before us the Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee. A publican, for those who may not know, is simply an old-fashioned word for a tax collector. This is one of the Sundays that prepares us for Lent. We call this season Pre-Lent, or Proetoimasía. It is a winding up. A season that already carries the emphases of Lent itself: humility, repentance, fasting, and honest self-examination. Before the great fast begins, the Church gives us time to get our

The Church does something wise before Lent begins. It slows us down. It refuses to rush toward discipline, fasting, or repentance without first tending to desire. In the Eastern tradition, this threshold season is called Proetoimasia. Preparation. Readiness of the heart.

Today we commemorate the Theophany. The word itself sounds distant, maybe even technical, but it is simple in meaning. A theophany is a divine manifestation. It names those moments when God does not remain hidden, when God presses into history and makes himself known. While this feast technically occurred a few days ago, the Church in her wisdom gives us time to sit with it. To notice what it is really saying to us. In our tradition, Theophany centers on the baptism of Christ

Christ is born into the world and into our lives not to leave things untouched, but to draw us back together. To gather what was scattered. To heal what was worn thin. To turn mourning into joy without denying the truth of grief. We do not rush past this mystery. We stay long enough to be changed. We walk long enough to be gathered. We trust long enough to find our way home.

John tells us Jesus is the Word. The Word who always was. The Word who comes from the Father. The Word through whom creation itself comes into being. This is not poetry for poetry’s sake. John places Christ at the center of all reality. Genesis echoes in every line. Wisdom literature hums beneath the text. Early Christians heard this and recognized something bold. The Word who spoke to the prophets. The Word who wrestled Jacob. The Word who met Moses on Sinai. The Word who st