Homily for Christmas (December 25, 2025)

 

As preached by 

Brother Christopher

Holy Wisdom Church

 

 

“Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage.”  Mt 2:2

 

Isn’t it interesting that on this feast of the Nativity, Matthew’s chief focus is on the Magi, wise men from the east, and not primarily on the birth of Jesus itself? While Matthew obviously appreciates his birth, he’s almost matter of fact about it, offering no details. Recall how today’s gospel starts “After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea...” instead, he chooses to dwell on the effect this birth has both on the Gentile world as well as on Herod and the whole of Jerusalem.

          In this, Matthew doesn’t seem to be afraid of using symbols, particularly the star that leads the wise men on their long journey. This is no ordinary star, as Chrysostom observes, but a miraculous one, confirming their path as if it were an inner compass needle. And then there’s the wise men. They themselves symbolize the entire gentile world, who in this child will find the fulfillment of their hopes. In the Book of Numbers, Balaam offered the prophecy: “I see him, but not now, I behold him, but not near. A star will come out of Jacob; a scepter will rise out of Israel.” The star that the wise men followed was leading them to what their hearts longed for. They followed the light they had, but it only took them so far. Because they didn’t have the full revelation of the scriptures, they needed to inquire in Jerusalem where the infant king of the Jews was born. The irony is that while the Jewish leaders – Herod, the chief priests and the scribes had the scriptures, they were unable to see the star. Think of that: they knew the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem, but they were unable to see the star because they saw the Messiah as a threat to their power, a foreshadowing of the resistance Jesus would meet in his public ministry. So the star wouldn’t shine for them. One could say, metaphorically, it left them to rot in Jerusalem looking at themselves.

With the wise men it was different. On learning of that the Messiah-king was to be born in Bethlehem, they continued their journey, and the star immediately reappeared, filling them with joy and guiding them exactly to the place where the child was to be found. And here we see the real point of the story: upon seeing the child with Mary his mother, they knelt down and did him homage. The Greek word proskyneō that is used here is significant. In scripture it is used exclusively in reference to an object that is divine. Thus, in this context the proskynesis of the wise men reflects actually prostrating at the feet of a king, albeit an infant nursing at his mother’s breast. Their physical gesture reveals their need to give themselves utterly and completely to the one before them who is worthy of worship, that is to say to Christ. They do this before they ever offer him their gifts.

Which leaves us with a question: what would be the gift we offer Christ this particular day? It seems to me the real gift, the only gift that Christ is really interested in is the proskynesis, the prostration from the heart that signals our self-offering to him. For that is what puts us in authentic continuity with all that the wise men symbolize: the willingness to journey to the one true king who seeks to gather all into his kingdom. The good news is that we don’t have to wait for a yearly celebration to do this. We can reaffirm it every day.

Sermon 213 November 27, 2025: Mt 6: 25-34; Ph 4; 4-9; Dt 8:7-16 Thanksgiving

 As preached by Brother Luke
Holy Wisdom Church

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit!

 

       Back in the late 1950s and early 1960s my family attended a Methodist church. It had a huge Cross at the back of the sanctuary. The church was used by a Jewish congregation on Saturday. They did not want to display that symbol during their service so they hung a large cover over the cross. For Christians, the Cross is the central symbol of the promise and cost of our salvation. Yet, for many Christians, the promise is much more palatable than the cost.

       When the pilgrims celebrated the first Thanksgiving in this land in 1621 they could not know that only a few years later their settlement and all its inhabitants would be wiped out. We still remember and honor that celebration, but conveniently forget about the cost that they later paid.

       We don't want to think of our Thanksgiving holiday as a time to give thanks for disasters. After all, Thanksgiving is a time to celebrate the many wonderful blessings we have received and hope to continue to receive. And this is good to do, even if we do not do it as often as we might. But giving thanks for bad things, mishaps, disappointments, tragedies, this is another story. St Paul says give thanks to God for all things. [1 Thessalonians 5:18] That is a hard calling. This was the theme of one session of a recent on-line class we took, taught by Fr Sergius Halvorsen of St. Vladimir's Seminary. He called it radical thanksgiving.

       The Eucharist we celebrate and the communion we will receive today is the body and blood of Christ "shed for you and for many." The Greek word eucharist means thanksgiving. As communion, it is the ultimate symbol of the transformation of something horrible into a blessing and a grace. Every time we receive communion we are participating in a Eucharist, a thanksgiving celebration of the destruction of the "last enemy," death, which opens the gates of the kingdom of God for all who believe.

       God has given us life knowing that life includes both good and bad things. We are born and we die, and in addition to our many joys, we have to traverse many interim deaths--the pains, and disappointments of life--before the final one. But as Christ tells us, he is with us in all things. All of our life comes from God and is in God's hands.

       We celebrate and enjoy the good, the pleasant, the happy times but we also have to live through the bad things, mishaps, disappointments, and tragedies. How do we transform these? How is God a part of that? We look to Christ's life and teachings for the answer. We see him transforming peoples' lives in healings, in praising and supporting their faith, in constantly reaching out to help others and finally in freely giving up his life on the cross for us. Even on the cross he forgave his executioners and offered the kingdom to one of the thieves. He conformed to  God's will.

       At matins this morning we sang a portion of the beautiful thanksgiving Akathist hymn written in 1934, by a man in a Siberian prison who was soon to die. The title of the Akathist? Glory to God for all things. He was facing death while thanking God. In such a situation it would be perfectly natural and understandable to harbor in one's heart the feelings of distrust, abandonment, despair, dismissal, pain, and rejection. However, this prisoner transformed a situation of horror into a life affirming experience by crafting a paean of praise to God for all things. He brought to mind what is good to transform what is bad.

       In this morning's gospel Christ tells us not to worry. God provides everything we need. This is true in the largest sense. The source of all goodness, the source of our very life, is God. But when the hard times come, as they inevitably will, the thanks we offer to God gives us the strength and support to transform us and these trials as we go through them. To change our heart and our mind from despair, anger, rage, and despondency to hope, perseverance, peace, and even joy in the assurance that God is with us and we are in God's hands, to the end of time.

 

Glory be to Jesus Christ!

Luke 8:16-25

 As preached by Brother Christopher
Holy Wisdom Church

“So take care how you listen... my mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and put it into practice.”

 

Have you ever had the experience of watching the evening news and then when the telecast was over, wondered what you just heard? I know I have. It has helped to remind me how listening is an active process that requires intention as much as attention and is not something automatic. We live at a time when listening isn’t something to be taken for granted. How many times have you said something to someone and soon realized that they didn’t hear you at all?  I remember early in my monastic formation learning that during the first centuries of the Church when books were precious and limited in number, how the early monks would memorize passages of scriptures after having simply listened to them in common. They would then meditate on them and interiorize them, making them a storehouse of wisdom that translated into action. That sounds astonishing to us in our day, but it points to how serious they took listening.

              The first reading from the prophet Ezekiel describes a different aspect of this: what I would call “pseudo-listening”. We might characterize this as listening to be entertained, turning the word of God into a lullaby. The people love to hear the gracious words flowing from the prophet’s lips but they have no effect on their behavior. They listen to words intended to challenge, to provoke positive change, but no one acts on them. And so we feel the frustration of the prophet, who realizes that their pseudo-listening is going to result in a disaster that ultimately leads them into exile.

              In this morning’s gospel from Luke we see how serious Jesus takes real listening. Those who truly hear him, who really get it and put his words into practice he describes in the most intimate of terms: they are truly his mother, brothers and sisters. They are part of his family, with all of the bonds such a connection implies. Yet here is where things get a little sticky. Are we as a Church really taking care how we listen? Would Jesus identify us as his mother and brothers and sisters? For example, what would he make of Orthodox Christians fighting against one another in Ukraine, or at times what feels like our insensitivity to those suffering in the mid-east, or risking starvation in parts of Africa? Or the horrific conditions in Haiti? But let’s even bring it closer to home: what about how some minorities are currently being treated here, to the poor in our midst who are struggling to feed their families, or those suffering from mental health issues who can’t get assistance?  What would Jesus say about the scandal of Christian divisions, where we seem to have grown comfortable with an immovable status quo? I don’t pretend to have easy answers to any of these issues, but shouldn’t the Church have a more prophetic voice in addressing life’s most pressing challenges? That has to come from our listening intently to the Gospel and acting on it. That involves each of us.

              This past Friday we celebrated the Feast of the Entry into the Temple, which reminded us of the Theotokos as an example par excellence of one who listened to the word of God throughout her life and then acted on it. Jesus highlighted this later in the gospel of Luke when a woman raised her voice and said to him, “Blessed the womb that bore you and the breasts that fed you.” And he replied, “More blessed still are those who hear the word of God and keep it!” For Jesus, that’s where Mary’s virtue really lay: her hearing the word of God and then keeping it. May we benefit from her example and try our level best to hear God’s word to us and to keep it.       

Homily for Lk 7:1-10

As preached by Brother Christopher

Holy Wisdom Church

 

 

“When Jesus heard this he was amazed at the centurion, and turning to the crowd that followed him, he said, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.”

 

This morning’s gospel comes immediately after the conclusion of Luke’s account of the sermon on the plain. That ended with the memorable words, “Why do you call me, “Lord, Lord” and not do what I say?” and Jesus’ contrast between the person who built their house on rock versus the person who built on sand. It is significant that Luke follows this up by the healing of the centurion’s slave, for, given Jewish culture and beliefs at the time, the last model of faith one would expect to be given would be that of a Gentile. Yet here we are.

          This story foreshadows a more universal gospel message that would spread like wildfire during the early centuries of the Church: yes, even Gentiles shall be included in the Kingdom of God. And not only that: it is the example of a Gentile centurion that Jesus chooses to use as a teaching moment. The centurion most likely belonged to the militia of Herod Antipas, a formidable figure commanding a unit of 100 soldiers. He had the backing of Rome with no obligation to look on the Jewish people with respect. Yet he does. Luke tells us that he loves their nation, had built their local synagogue and now was showing love for his neighbor, a lowly slave whom he nevertheless valued highly and who was at death’s door.

It is noteworthy how he handles this situation. By initially sending a group of Jewish elders to ask Jesus to heal the slave, and then subsequently a group of his friends to intercept him along the way to deliver a further message, he shows a sensitivity to Jewish custom. It is more than false humility. He knows that were Jesus to enter the house of a Gentile he would risk ritual pollution. So tactfully he has the friends say to Jesus the memorable words, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you... only say the word and my servant will be healed.” He gets the bigger picture. Being a commander who understands authority himself on a human level, he knows that if Jesus’ authority comes from God, (which he believes it does), all that is required is the power of his word. He can heal the servant from where he stands. It is this level of faith, of trust in who he believes Jesus to be, that Jesus finds so amazing and which he then turns to the following crowd and commends to them. “Not even in Israel have I found such faith.”

This presents us with a challenge, as well: while we live 20 centuries apart from Jesus in his earthly existence and so were not witness to his mighty works, where his word is present the power that was revealed through him then expresses itself through the Spirit now – the power of the Risen Lord – in many and diverse ways, including places where we least expect it to be manifest. Who might be today’s centurion? A Muslim, a Buddhist,... a Jew? I wonder. Is our faith up to that?

         

Sermon 212 October 26, 2025: Is 7:13-17; Heb 9:1-11; Mt 1: 20b-23 "True self"

 As preached by Brother Luke

Holy Wisdom Church

Glory be to Jesus Christ!

 

       I can remember seeing, years ago, a group of nuns in full habit climb up our back stairs and proceed into our cloister! Surprise! "Who are you?" I asked, plus some other questions like, "what are you doing here?" "Visitors, just looking around," they said! Well, I escorted them out of the cloister.

       I would guess we can all remember occasions when we bumped into people in unexpected places and asked the question, "Who are you?" What would we say if someone asked us that question? Of course, our answer would depend, in part, on the circumstances. No surprise then, that at the Annunciation the Virgin Mary in seeing the angel would wonder: "who are you?" And then after hearing his message, would ponder: "Who am I?"

       The feast we celebrate today gives us a wonderful example of how icons can symbolize visually what would require many paragraphs of text to accomplish. Just a glance at the icon, not to mention a time of meditation, clearly shows what lies in the center of Mary's life: Jesus.

       "Who are you?" is the question we wrestle with throughout our lives. Most often people answer this question by identifying the work they do, or the activities they enjoy, or the groups they belong to, or the place they come from, or the family tree they inhabit, but seldom do they consider deep down who are they when they take off all these wrappings and look to the core reality of their person.

       What did Joseph hear from the angel in his dream? "Don't be afraid to take Mary as your wife. What is in her is of the Holy Spirit." [Mt 1:20] What is in us is of the Holy Spirit! What is in us is nothing less than God.

       What did we hear in the Letter to the Hebrews? "Christ has already come as the High Priest of the good things that are already here." [Heb 9:11] "The good things that are already here!" And these good things are to be found within us, but we have to strip away what is overing them up. We have to shed that false image of ourselves. Christ's language is that we have to die to ourselves in order to live in Christ. Thomas Merton would say we have to let go of our false self in order to find our True Self.

       Richard Rohr captured the essence of this idea when he said "What really has to die is our false self, created by our own mind, ego, and culture. It is a pretense, ... that gets in the way of who we are and always were--in God." [Yes and ... ,p. 254] Or as St. Paul says in the Letter to the Colossians, [3:3-4]  "you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. Your real life is Christ."  The false self, we create, the true self, God creates. Since God creates all things, God is in all things, including us. Finding our true self, created and inhabited by God, is true freedom, a freedom that is joyful, as the celebrated Romanian monk, Nicolae Steinhardt proclaims in his Journal of Joy [p. 532].

       All of this brings us back to the image we are celebrating today. When we are finally able to rest calmly in the reality that Christ is at the center of our lives, this recognition makes us free, because anxieties evaporate since we do not have to prove anything to anyone, especially ourselves. Then the expression we use in greeting each other in the Divine Liturgy carries even more meaning.

       Christ is in our midst!

 

October 19, 2025 - Lk 5:17-28

 As preached by Brother Christopher

Holy Wisdom Church

“And they were all astounded and praised God and were filled with awe, saying, “We have seen strange things today.” (Lk 5:26)

 

In this morning’s gospel, there is an interesting dynamic at play that’s worth reflecting on. It is the tension between “law” and “spirit”. Jesus is teaching to a packed house when suddenly a paralyzed man is let down on a bed from a hole in the roof and placed at Jesus’ feet. It’s a bold and astonishing thing to imagine, and the expression of faith by the friends that let the man down moves Jesus deeply. But what he does next is surprising, even shocking to the scribes and Pharisees in the crowd. Instead of focusing on the physical disability, Jesus addresses the deeper paralysis that afflicts the man: paralysis of the Spirit that no doubt had left him feeling alienated from God. Jesus says, “Your sins are forgiven.” Now this freaks out the scribes and Pharisees, whose unspoken thoughts were pretty clear to Jesus: “Blasphemy! Who does he think he is? Only God can forgive sins. He’s broken the law.” However, while ostensibly standing up for religious orthodoxy, their protests include another less noble aspect: that sins can be forgiven only after visiting the religious authorities and completing a rite of purification, which also involved paying a fee. Jesus’ pronouncement is thus a threat to the authority and livelihood of the religious elite. Jesus manifests a different authority – one of the spirit – one with no connection to power or financial gain: the authority of God whose forgiveness cures the paralysis of the soul.

              But the story gets even better: Jesus sees right through the duplicity of the scribes, calling out their toxic, hidden thoughts. He then demonstrates his authority to speak for God by ordering the paralytic to pick up his bed and walk... and so the man does – leaving everyone astonished. Who has ever seen anything like this? But what is even more astonishing is that after having seen such a miracle, no one in the crowd decides to become a disciple, at least as Luke reports it. They seem to be frozen in their astonishment, not realizing the implications of what they’ve seen. All they can say is, “We have seen strange things today.”  Interestingly, at the end of the passage, it is only Levi the tax collector – who wasn’t even at the miracle – who falls under the gaze and the word of Jesus. He is the one who shows us what is of real importance: following Jesus. He hears Jesus’ call and in one definitive moment, leaves behind his addiction to money. Perhaps it’s another healing of paralysis of a different sort.

              All of this is happening early on in Luke’s gospel and it sets the stage for the gradual unfolding of Jesus’ destiny. His mighty works attract significant attention but they are accompanied by a radical call to change, one that rattles the authorities. And even here in this morning’s passage we get a subtle premonition of what is in store for Jesus. While the charge of blasphemy by the scribes foreshadows Jesus’ death, the raising of the paralytic foreshadows his resurrection. Which leaves each of us with a question: do we stay on the level of the crowd’s astonishment, almost entertained by the tales of Jesus’ mighty works, or do we embrace the more challenging commitment of being a disciple, one who is open to fresh movement of the spirit? That can only be answered by each of us repeatedly in the depths of our heart.

             

Homily for the Feast of St Francis 2025

 

Preached by Brother Christopher
Holy Wisdom Church

 

I suppose it is not surprising that of all the saints one could think of in Christian history – including St Paul – none has enjoyed the popularity and affection as much as Francis of Assisi. And it is not confined solely to Roman Catholics. Indeed, more than any other saint post schism and Reformation, Francis is able to transcend religious divisions and elicit a respect and appreciation that inspires people of all faiths. It is believed that more books and essays have been written about him than any other saint, and while our culture seems to tilt more and more towards secularism, Francis is one saint that is still somehow taken seriously. Why is that?

              It might be tempting to single out Francis’ commitment to Lady Poverty, whose praises Francis sung throughout his life as being chiefly responsible for this. As a genuinely poor man, Francis made himself equal to the least in his culture, and so won their love and devotion. Or could it have been his unapologetic love for nature, for recognizing in the grandeur of the environment God’s presence and glory? Certainly in our own day when the fate of the earth is at risk through our reckless and profligate exploitation of its resources and our deafness to the ecological consequences of global warming, it’s not hard to see how today many would see his example as a desperately needed voice in the wilderness, calling us to sanity. Then again, perhaps it was due to his awesome sharing in the sufferings of Christ, as evidenced by the stigmata that he received on Mount La Verna two years before his death. It would have been hard for his contemporaries to ignore what such a miracle represented.

              Each of these aspects of his life and spirituality are important and no doubt have a role in Francis’ enduring importance. But with respect, I believe what undergirds them all and what gives his spiritual legacy perennial wings is simply his radical adherence to the Gospel. It is said that when Francis crafted his initial rule for his followers he began by stating that “The Rule and the Life of the Friars Minor is to simply live the Gospel.” And in the ensuing rule he penned it was primarily a collection of New Testament passages strung together into a coherent whole. When Francis sent it off to Rome for approval it is said that Pope Innocent said, “This is no rule; this is just the Gospel.” And I can imagine Francis saying, “Exactly, that’s precisely the point!” Francis’ total simplicity and transparency captivated an entire generation, helping it to believe that the Gospel could be lived in a radical way. Francis showed them it was possible.

              Francis could never have imagined how his order and influence grew over the centuries and how that very growth and expansion forced the Friars to face adjustments to Francis’ radical vision. There’s the paradox that faces Christianity more broadly, and religious life and monasticism more specifically: in order to be truly faithful to the Gospel and the specific way the Spirit calls us to follow, we have the courage to continue to listen to what a radical following of the Gospel looks like in our own day, realizing that it cannot be a literal imitation of Francis. But what is possible is to take the passion, the desire, the creativity that characterized Francis’ life and use it as inspiration for charting our own way forward. What does such love look like today? And in this, I believe, we follow Christ.