Homily for Palm Sunday 2026
By Fr. Fadi Rabbat
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.
Today the Church leads us into the mystery of the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem—the radiant doorway to His voluntary Passion. The King of Glory, the Son of David, the Son of God, comes not in royal procession with chariots or armies, but humbly, seated upon the colt of an ass, fulfilling the prophecy: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Behold, your King comes to you, righteous and having salvation, humble and riding on a donkey” (Zech 9:9).
The people go before Him, spreading their garments on the road; children wave branches and cry: “Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord!” In this one moment, the Old Testament prophecy, the New Covenant mystery, and the liturgical life of the Church converge.
In the Orthodox tradition, Palm Sunday is never viewed as a mere festivity, but as the feast of Christ the King—a revelation of divine truth that lifts the believer to contemplate the face of the heavenly King. The Church contemplates this day not as an isolated event, but as the beginning of the one saving movement of the Lord: from the raising of Lazarus to the Cross, from the Cross to the Resurrection, and from the Resurrection to the ascetical life of every Christian soul.
The Christ who raised Lazarus, four days dead, is the same Christ who now approaches His own death. The One who looks like a King upon a young donkey is the same One who never departs from the bosom of the Father. The One who today is received with palms and hosannas will soon be rejected by those who never understood the nature of His kingship.
Palm Sunday is the manifestation of Christ the King—not a king in the worldly sense, but the revelation of His salvific rule. As the Gospel says, the people cried out: “Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord, the King of Israel!” (John 12:13). He enters Jerusalem not to impose dominion or to raise a sword, but to establish an eternal kingdom—the Kingdom of grace, virtue, goodness, righteousness, and gentleness. In His humble entrance, He introduces into the world a reign unknown before: a reign founded upon love and upon Sacrifice.
This kingship restores humanity to its original authority—authority over sin, passions, and the lower instincts. By sitting upon an untamed colt, the Lord signifies His dominion over the fallen, irrational impulses within the human heart. The animal, once unclean and unbroken, represents the nations that knew not God—wild and impure until tamed by the Law of the Holy Gospel. It is not only a sign of humility but a sign of redemption and of new creation.
Saint Eulogius of Alexandria interprets this mystery beautifully: “He sent the two disciples—meaning the two Covenants—to bring to Him the two peoples: the ancient synagogue aged in the Law, and the untamed new nation from among the Gentiles.” The donkey and the colt symbolize both the untamed nature of humanity and the universality of Christ’s redemption. Thus, the Lord’s words—“Loose him and bring him here” (Luke 19:30)—take on a saving meaning: Christ sends forth His messengers, the Law and the Gospel, to untie humanity from its bondage to sin and lead it to Himself.
Christ rides upon the donkey yet never departs from the Father’s embrace. He sits in humility yet remains enthroned upon the Cherubim. The incarnate God is present in lowliness without losing His glory, visible in time without being separated from eternity, entering the city without leaving heaven. The One hailed by the crowds is the very Word who “was with God and was God” (John 1:1). What we behold today is the descent of divine power cloaked in simplicity, the majesty of heaven revealed in gentleness.
The acclamation “Hosanna!” comes from the Hebrew “hōšî‘a na”—“Save now!”—the very prayer contained within the meaning of the name “Jesus”: “You shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins” (Matt 1:21). Thus, we proclaim that the One entering the city is the only‑begotten Son of God, consubstantial with the Father, who humbles Himself in love for the salvation of the world.
This is the victory the world does not understand. Those who expected an earthly uprising were blind to divine compassion. The same voices that shout “Hosanna!” today will soon cry “Crucify Him!” (John 19:6). In this tragic contrast lies the full revelation of salvation: the first cry fulfilled through the second. There is no true “Hosanna” apart from the Cross and no Cross apart from the Resurrection.
Therefore, when we lift palm branches today, we lift them as crosses—signs of victory over sin, tokens of purity, symbols of the virtues. The Cross is not the end of glory but its revelation; not defeat, but triumph. As St. Eulogius of Alexandria says, Christ’s coming is not “the presence of divine judgment, but the presence of divine mercy; not the presence of retribution, but of love for mankind.”
The palms we carry speak of conquest—the conquest of Christ over death; the victory of humility over pride; the triumph of forgiveness over hatred. The olive branches recall the Mount of Olives from which He descended, and the peace that He brings between heaven and earth. Olive oil heals and anoints; it marks kings, priests, and prophets. The olive branch in our hands signifies that Christ’s victory is a victory of peace, reconciliation, and the healing of creation itself.
But Saint Andrew of Crete reminds us that the branches God desires are not those of the trees, but those of our hearts. We must spread before Him our souls, our faith, our repentance—laying before His feet our anger, pride, and indifference—so that He may tread upon them and transform them into sanctity through His love.
Palm Sunday is not only the prelude to Holy Week; it is the beginning of interior transformation. The King who enters Jerusalem seeks also to enter the citadel of the heart, the Heavenly Jerusalem—the citadel of inner peace with ourselves, with our brothers, and with God. The feast becomes a call to surrender: to renounce superficial triumphalism and to follow Christ into the mystery of the Cross. The Christian life, like the Lord’s entry, is a procession that leads from joy to sacrifice, from Hosanna to Crucifixion, from humiliation to Resurrection.
As we hold our palms and olive branches, we carry symbols of our vocation. Let us become what we hold: palms raised in steadfast praise; branches of peace stretched out in forgiveness; lights of faith shining in a darkened world. Let us follow the King who conquers through love.
Our eyes turn today to the children leading the procession with their decorated candles. Their small lights are a living icon of the Church herself. The candle’s flame symbolizes Christ, the Light of the world; its oil, the anointing grace of the Holy Spirit; its warmth, the divine love that purifies the heart. Their tender voices join the ancient cry, “Hosanna!”—a hymn that the Church repeats in every Liturgy as heaven unites with earth around the Lamb who was slain. In their hands we see the mystery of hope: childlike faith illumining the way through the shadows of suffering and death. Their simplicity manifests the truth that the Kingdom belongs to such as these—to those who receive the Lord in humility and trust.
Beloved, the entrance into Jerusalem points beyond itself—to Golgotha, to the Tomb, to the Resurrection. The raising of Lazarus that we celebrated yesterday prefigures the universal resurrection. The Cross that awaits our Lord will be the judgment of the world and the victory of divine love: for by dying, Christ destroys death; by descending into Hades, He frees the captives; and by rising on the third day, He opens the way for all to share in His life.
Let us therefore walk with Him through this Great and Holy Week—through the Mystical Supper, the agony in Gethsemane, the shameful accusation, the Cross, and the Tomb. May our palms, olive branches, and candles lead us beyond outward joy into the interior Pascha of the soul—a passage from the death of sin to the life of grace.
The King who once entered the earthly Jerusalem now seeks entry into the Jerusalem of the heart. Let us open to Him the gates of faith, love, and repentance, that He may reign in us and bring us to the unending feast of His Glorious Resurrection.
To Him be glory, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.
Homily for Lazarus Saturday, 2026
By Fr. Fadi Rabbat
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.
On this day in the Holy Orthodox Church—the Saturday before Palm Sunday—we celebrate the resurrection of the friend of Christ, the holy and righteous Lazarus, who had been dead four days.
Lazarus Saturday marks a triumphant turning point: it concludes Great Lent and opens the door to Holy Week, proclaiming Christ’s power over death even before His Passion.
Lazarus was beloved of Jesus, as were his two sisters, Martha and Mary, who often hosted and served Him, as recorded in the Holy Gospels. They lived in Bethany of Judea, just two miles from Jerusalem.
With gentle tears and divine authority, our Lord Jesus Christ stands before the sealed tomb of His beloved friend—dead four days—where corruption had already begun, and He calls out: “Lazarus, come forth!”
Our Savior had deliberately delayed His coming, saying to His disciples when He heard of Lazarus’ death: “For your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe” (John 11:14).
After consoling Martha and Mary and weeping at the grave of His friend—“Jesus wept” (John 11:35)—He commanded Lazarus to come forth. And Lazarus emerged, bound hand and foot with grave clothes.
The heavy stone rolls away, the chains of death are broken, and Lazarus steps into the light—alive by the life‑giving Word made flesh.
This wondrous sign is far more than an ancient story; it is the promise of our own resurrection, a foretaste of the victory Christ has secured for all humanity. Lazarus was raised, yet he would die again. But Christ will rise, and death will never hold Him. Thus, Pascha is revealed not as mere resuscitation, but as new creation.
Through this miracle, our Savior shows both His humanity and His divinity: He raises the dead as He will soon raise Himself, confirming the “universal resurrection.”
According to ancient tradition, Lazarus was 30 years old when Jesus raised him. He lived another 30 years and died in Cyprus around the year 63 A.D.
Listen now to the holy voice of our Church in the Apolytikion we chanted today:
>“In confirming the common Resurrection, O Christ God, Thou didst raise up Lazarus from the dead before Thy Passion. Wherefore, we, like the children, bearing the symbols of victory, cry to Thee, O Vanquisher of death: Hosanna in the highest! Blessed is He that comes in the Name of the Lord.”
These sacred words embrace our souls, weaving Lazarus’s rising with the Cross ahead, transforming our Lenten struggles into hymns of unending joy.
Yet even as life triumphed, darkness stirred. After Lazarus was raised, the leaders resolved to put Jesus to death. Life itself became the cause of the Cross.
St. John Chrysostom, our golden‑mouthed father, reflects deeply on this in his Homilies on the Gospel of John. He marvels that the Pharisees, seeing Lazarus alive and walking among them, did not soften their hearts, but even plotted to kill him again—he whom Christ had raised! “They not only sought to slay Christ,” Chrysostom laments, “but this man too!” Why such hardness? The pure light of the Resurrection exposed the shadows of their pride. Lazarus stood as living witness to Christ’s divinity; many believed, yet others went to accuse Him.
Dear ones, this teaches us with quiet power: God’s greatest gifts can stir resistance in hearts still enslaved by unbelief. Let us not be like them—but open our hearts wide to His merciful call.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, that steadfast guardian of the Orthodox faith, draws us deeper into the mystery. In his “Commentary on the Gospel of John”, he assures us that Lazarus’ rising is no fleeting return to mortal frailty, but an image of our future glorification—body and soul renewed in Christ’s eternal light. “Christ raises Lazarus,” writes Cyril, “to show that He is Lord over soul and body alike, restoring what death had torn apart.”
Notice how Lazarus comes forth still wrapped in burial cloths—symbols of our sins and passions that remain even after Christ raises us from spiritual death in Baptism. Yet our Lord commands, “Loose him, and let him go.” Through the sacraments—Confession, Holy Unction, and the precious Eucharist—Christ Himself continues to unbind us, healing and freeing us by His mercy.
The Kontakion of the feast echoes this truth: “O Christ God, when we were buried with Thee in Baptism, we became worthy of immortal life by Thy Resurrection. Wherefore, we cry Hosanna, and sing praises to Thee: Blessed is He that comes in the Name of the Lord.”
What consolation that even now, through Baptism, we have already begun to share in Christ’s immortal life—just as Lazarus was raised as the firstfruits of that victory.
Why a full Resurrection service on this Saturday? Because in our Orthodox Church, the joy of this miracle cannot be contained. Lazarus Saturday—and Holy Saturday—are the two Saturdays of resurrection, when death’s defeat already resounds through the week.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his luminous hymns, portrays Lazarus as an image of Adam himself—fallen into death’s grasp, yet called forth by Christ, the Second Adam. “Death was angry,” says Ephrem, “for Life had stolen his prey.” Here we behold the heart of our faith: resurrection already dawns within us through the synergy of divine grace and our repentance.
Great Lent has tilled the soil of our hearts—fasting humbles the body, prayer lifts the spirit, almsgiving releases love. The Pharisees’ hardness warns us: do not silence the Spirit’s voice within you. Hear Christ calling your name as He once called His friend: “Lazarus, come forth!” Resurrection is not only a future promise—it is a present reality.
Beloved, tomorrow as we hold our palms and olive branches high, shouting “Hosanna in the highest,” let Lazarus walk beside us in spirit. His rising foreshadows the Cross and the Resurrection to come. In this single mystery, we see Christ—true God who conquers death, true Man who shares our tears. The Church sings: “Blessed is He who comes in the Name of the Lord; God is the Lord and has revealed Himself to us.”
St. Gregory Palamas teaches that God’s divine energies flow within us, making us partakers of His immortal life. Therefore, beloved, step out from your hidden tombs—from resentment, weariness, and despair—and live anew in His radiant light. Step forth from every shadow of envy and bitterness, from the cold graves of fear and regret, from the tombs where we have buried prayer, hope, and love. As Christ called Lazarus by name, so He calls you also: “Come forth.” Let the grave‑clothes of pride and pain fall away, and walk freely in the light of His Resurrection.
If Christ gave life to Lazarus, how much more does He give life to us—sealed with His precious Body and Blood, filling our hearts with His peace.
Christ our God, who by calling Lazarus from the tomb confirmed the common resurrection, trampling down death by death and bestowing life upon those in the tombs—may He also call us out from every tomb of sin and sorrow. To Him, together with His unoriginate Father and the all‑holy, good, and life‑creating Spirit, belong all glory, honor, and worship, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.