March 2026 Homilies

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Saint George Antiochian Orthodox Church

El Paso, Texas

Homily for the Fifth Sunday of the Holy Lent — Sunday of Our Mother St. Mary of Egypt

By Fr. Fadi Rabbat

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

Beloved in Christ,

Today, on this fifth Sunday of the Great Lent, our Holy Orthodox Church places before us the luminous icon of repentance — our venerable mother, St. Mary of Egypt. This is no coincidence but divine wisdom.

After we meditated last week on the teaching of our holy father St. John Climacus, who showed us the ladder of spiritual ascent leading to the Kingdom, the Church now gives us not a concept, but a living person — one who climbed the entire ladder in her lifetime.

St. Mary of Egypt stands before us as a living witness of the mercy and love of God, proof that no human being is beyond His reach, and that repentance can transform even the darkest soul into a vessel of light.

Her life began far from holiness, immersed in sin and controlled by desire. Yet there is a beauty in her story that mirrors the parable of the prodigal son. God’s grace was silently watching over her, waiting for the moment when her heart would awaken. In Jerusalem, when she tried to enter the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, an invisible hand stopped her. It was not punishment but mercy — the divine grace that blocks our path only to redirect us to salvation. Standing before the icon of the Theotokos, she saw herself truthfully for the first time.

The holy Fathers teach that self-knowledge is the beginning of repentance. St. Isaac the Syrian says, “He who knows his own sins is greater than he who raises the dead.” In that moment, Mary’s spiritual resurrection began. With tears, she prayed to the Mother of God, promising a new life, and God accepted the offering of her contrite heart.

Then she left the world behind, crossing the Jordan into the silence of the desert to live wholly for God. Her true struggle began there. For forty-seven years she endured hunger, heat, loneliness, and the warfare of the passions. She confessed that for many years she battled fiercely against the memories of her former life before peace entered her soul. And yet, through patience, fasting, and prayer, she was renewed. The grace of the Holy Spirit, which had once been dormant in her, began to transfigure her entirely. The hymns of this day echo her transformation: “Thou didst sever with the sword of abstinence the snares of the soul and the passions of the body, O righteous Mary.”

Through ascetic struggle and tears, her soul became free, her mind clear, her heart aflame with divine love. St. Basil the Great once said, “The tears that arise from repentance are a second baptism.” In Mary’s tears we see that truth. Her life became a baptism by fire and water — the fire of repentance and the water of divine mercy.

It is significant that she did not run to confess immediately, nor speak of her conversion. For, as St. John Chrysostom reminds us, “Repentance is not merely a matter of words, but a change of life.” She spent decades purifying herself before the face of God, letting her soul become radiant again with His image.

Only after this long interior transformation did God send Abba Zosimas to her. Their meeting was not by chance but by providence. Through her, st. Zosimas saw the glory that human repentance can achieve. Before his eyes, a woman once lost in sin had become filled with divine grace, reading hearts and walking on water. Her confession was not a recounting of guilt but a revelation of the miracle of God’s forgiveness. Her holiness became his lesson, her humility his correction, her tears his awakening.

Most moving of all is the way she approached Holy Communion. For nearly half a century, she refrained from the Chalice — not out of neglect, but out of reverence. She understood what many have forgotten: that to receive the Body and Blood of Christ is to receive the very fire of divinity.

The holy Fathers remind us that the same fire that enlightens and purifies the worthy also burns the unprepared. As St. John Chrysostom warns us in his Liturgy: “Let us not draw near to this holy Table with a defiled conscience. Let us not partake of the Holy Gifts unworthily, lest we be condemned with Judas.” In the same Liturgy, the priest quietly prays: “That to those who shall partake thereof they may be unto cleansing of soul, unto the remission of sins, unto the communion of Thy Holy Spirit, unto the fulfillment of the Kingdom of Heaven, unto boldness toward Thee, and not unto judgment nor unto condemnation.”

Again, after that, he prays quietly: “Unto Thee we commend our whole life and our hope, O Master who lovest mankind; and we beseech Thee, and pray Thee, and supplicate Thee: make us worthy to partake of the heavenly and terrible Mysteries of this sacred and spiritual table with a pure conscience: unto remission of sins, unto forgiveness of transgressions, unto communion of the Holy Spirit, unto boldness toward Thee, and not unto judgment nor unto condemnation.” And just before the priest himself receives the Mysteries, he prays: “I believe, O Lord, and I confess that Thou art truly the Christ… accept me today as a partaker of Thy Mystical Supper, for I will not speak of Thy Mystery to Thine enemies.”

St. Mary of Egypt knew this Mystery by experience. She longed to receive the Eucharist only when she felt truly ready — purified by repentance and illumined by divine grace. When Abba Zosimas brought her the Holy Gifts, she received them with reverence, tears, and trembling joy. That single Communion became her passage into eternity. She had waited, been purified, and now her soul found rest.

Her example must awaken us today. How lightly we often approach the Holy Chalice! How easily we forget that this is the very Body and Blood of the Crucified and Risen Christ! The saints trembled before this Mystery. St. Symeon the New Theologian writes, “The fire of the Eucharist consumes all sin from the one who receives it with humility and fear of God.” But he also adds, “It burns the unprepared as fire consumes straw.” Therefore, we must prepare our souls as carefully as she did — through prayer, confession, fasting, forgiveness, and purification of the heart. The goal is not to refrain from Communion, but to approach it with faith, love, and holy fear.

Here the Church’s wisdom shines in her placement of this Sunday right before Palm Sunday and Holy Week. The story of St. Mary is meant to be our final call — the culmination of Lent’s labor. If five weeks of fasting and prayer have softened our hearts, now is the time to let repentance bear fruit. St. Mary shows that every sin, no matter how great, can be forgiven; but she also shows that forgiveness is a path, not a shortcut. Purification takes time, humility, and perseverance.

If we take her example seriously, we will enter Holy Week not merely as spectators of Christ’s Passion but as true partakers in His victory. The tears of St. Mary prepare us to stand with the Theotokos at the Cross and to rejoice with her at the Resurrection.

Beloved in Christ, let us not despair over our sins. Let us imitate the repentance of St. Mary of Egypt and open our hearts to the mercy of God. Let us strive to purify our souls so that when we approach the Holy Chalice, we may receive the fire of Christ’s love as light and not as fiery judgment. For the same Lord who renewed St. Mary waits to renew each of us.

Through her prayers, may the Lord grant us a contrite heart, cleanse us from our iniquities, and make us worthy to behold His Holy Resurrection with joy and peace. Amen.

The Akathist Hymn: Orthodoxy’s Lenten Masterpiece of Faith and Song

Reflection by Fr. Fadi Rabbat, 2026

Introduction: the Akathist as Lenten doxological pivot

In the restrained solemnity of Great Lent, when Orthodox churches across the oikoumenē dim their lights and the faithful embrace the rhythm of fasting, prostration, and psalmody, one service emerges as a distinctive doxological apex: the Akathist Hymn to the Most‑Holy Theotokos and Ever‑Virgin Mary.¹ Chanted in the Friday services of the Great Fast, culminating in the full service on the Fifth Friday, the Akathist functions simultaneously as a Lenten preparation for the Paschal mystery and as a foretaste of the joy of the Resurrection.² It is not merely a devotional hymn; it is a theological and liturgical masterpiece that interweaves scriptural typology, patristic anthropology, and the ecclesial veneration of the Mother of God into a unified act of praise.³

Etymologically, the term akathistos (from the Greek a‑kathistos, “not sitting”) signifies that the faithful stand throughout its chanting, a bodily posture that aligns the whole person—body, soul, and spirit—in veneration of the mystery of the Incarnation.⁴ This standing itself is a liturgical sign: the Church, like the Virgin, “stands” in receptivity to the Word made flesh, offering praise not in ease but in spiritual labor.³

Historical origins: memory, miracle, and the “city’s” deliverance

Eastern Orthodox tradition situates the composition of the Akathist in the imperial capital of Constantinople during the early seventh century, closely associated with the deliverance of the city from siege in 626.⁵ According to the Synaxarion and later ecclesiastical historians, Patriarch Sergius I led an all‑night vigil of supplication, in which the hymn was chanted as a prayer‑hymn of thanksgiving to the Theotokos.³ When the besieging forces of Persians, Avars, and Slavs were suddenly scattered by a violent storm, the people perceived this not as a mere coincidence but as the miraculous intercession of the Mother of God.²

This event inscribed the Akathist into the Church’s memory as a “living” hymn of deliverance, analogous to the biblical Song of Moses after the crossing of the Red Sea (Ex. 15) and the hymns of victory in the Psalter.³ In the Eastern tradition, the Akathist is thus remembered as a liturgical historiography: the Church continually re‑narrates this moment of salvation, much as the Passover liturgy re‑actualizes the Exodus.⁵ Later deliverances—such as Constantinople’s rescue from Arab forces in 717–718—were also commemorated in conjunction with the Akathist, reinforcing its identity as a hymn of the Church’s “champion leader” (ἡ Στρατηγὸς τῶν Στρατηγῶν), the Theotokos.³

Romanos the Melodist and the theology of hymnographic art

Although the precise authorship of the Akathist remains debated in modern scholarship, the hymn is traditionally attributed to St. Romanos the Melodist (c. 490–556), deacon of Beirut (Lebanon) and later of Constantinople (Istanbul, Turkey today), and one of the most influential figures in Byzantine sacred poetry.⁶ Born in Emesa (modern Homs, Syria) and later ordained in the vibrant ecclesiastical milieu of Beirut, Romanos exemplifies the Syriac‑Greek synthesis that shaped much of Eastern Orthodox hymnody.³ According to hagiographic tradition, he was initially mocked for his poor singing, until a vision of the Theotokos granted him the gift of inspired poetry, enabling him to compose the first kontakion that revolutionized the liturgical life of the Great Church.⁶

Romanos is often called the “father of the kontakia,” having composed over eighty surviving hymns that transformed the liturgy from a recitation of psalmody into a dramatic, doctrinal narrative sung in the vernacular.³ Even if the Akathist is not directly attributable to him in the strictest philological sense, its structure and theological tone bear his unmistakable imprint: a deeply Christocentric hymn in which the praises of Mary are always ordered toward the praise of her Son, the Logos incarnate.⁶

Poetic and liturgical structure: an architectural “technology” of praise

The Akathist Hymn exhibits a highly refined “liturgical poetics” that makes it a summit of ecclesiastical hymnography.³ Composed of twenty‑four oikoi (stanzas), its structure corresponds to the twenty‑four letters of the Greek alphabet, an acrostic pattern that echoes the alphabetic psalmody of Psalm 118 (LXX) and underscores the hymn’s function as a doxological pedagogy.³ The stanzas (Stazis) alternate between twelve kontakia—short, metrically tight refrains—and twelve ikoi—longer, richly rhymed odes—creating a rhythmic binary that advances the hymn like a liturgical cadence.³

The refrain (“Hail, O Bride without bridegroom!” — Χαῖρε, Νύμφη ἀνύμφευτε) recurs twelve times within each ikos, functioning as a sonic anchor around which a cascade of scriptural images unfolds.³ The hymnographer draws on Jacob’s ladder, the burning bush, the ark of the covenant, and other biblical types to present the Theotokos as the living temple in which the uncontainable God is “contained” without division.⁶ This “refrain technology” is not merely aesthetic; it serves mnemonic, catechetical, and spiritual purposes, embedding the dogma of the Incarnation in the memory of the faithful through repetition and rhythm.³

In the Byzantine musical tradition, the text is calibrated to the eight tones, with vowel patterns and accentual structures chosen to fit the modal architectures of the church’s chant.³ The protopsaltes (chief chanters) employ techniques such as the isokratema—a sustained bass drone—that enhance the psychoacoustic experience of awe and reverence, effectively turning the hymn into a “liturgical techne,” a crafted art whose goal is the transformation of the worshipper rather than mere aesthetic pleasure.³

The Akathist icon and the life of the Virgin

Closely bound to the chanting of the Akathist Hymn in the Eastern Orthodox tradition is a distinctive type of icon known as the “Akathist icon” or “Icon of the Mother of God of the Akathist.”¹ In these icons, the Theotokos is depicted not only as the object of the hymn’s praise but also as the living thread that weaves together the significant moments of her earthly life and the economy of salvation.⁷ The icon becomes a visual gloss on the twenty‑four oikoi of the hymn, presenting the Mother of God’s life as a continuous epiphany of the Incarnation.⁷

In many such icons, the central image shows the Virgin and Child framed by a sequence of small narrative scenes—often arranged in registers or marginal panels—that correspond to the hymn’s stanzas. Typically, these scenes include the Annunciation repeated several times, the Visitation, the Nativity, the adoration of the Magi, the Flight into Egypt, the Presentation in the Temple, and Christ teaching in the Temple, as well as typological scenes such as the Resurrection or the Anastasis.⁷ In some versions, the Virgin is shown as the “Unfading Rose” or against a lush, floral background, symbolizing the church and the life‑bearing role of the Mother of God in the economy of salvation.⁷

Several recensions of the Akathist icon also depict the prophets of the Old Testament standing beside the Theotokos, holding scrolls inscribed with their prophecies, as if the hymn’s scriptural typology has been transferred directly into the visual language of the icon.⁷ This arrangement underscores the hymn’s theological claim that the Virgin Mary is the fulfillment of the messianic promises: the burning bush that is not consumed, the ladder by which heaven descends to earth, the ark of the new covenant, and the living table of the Bread of Life.⁷

Particularly venerated is the Akathist icon from Dionysiou Monastery on Mount Athos, traditionally associated with the myrrh‑flowing image before which the Akathist was chanted in Constantinople and later in the monastic life of the Holy Mountain.⁷ Over time, the flow of myrrh and the kisses of the faithful have blurred the surface of the icon, yet it remains a focal point of devotion, embodying the idea that the Mother of God’s intercession is not confined to a single historical moment but endures throughout the life of the Church.⁷

In parish practice, a special Akathist‑type icon of the Mother of God is often placed on the solea during the Friday services of Great Lent, sometimes adorned with flowers as a visual counterpart to the hymn’s floral imagery.¹ This icon functions as an iconographic summation of the Virgin’s life: from her Annunciation and Nativity of Christ to her role as chief intercessor before her Son, guiding the faithful from the penitential shadows of Lent toward the Paschal dawn.³ In this way, the Akathist icon does more than commemorate the Virgin’s biography; it presents her life as a living exegesis of the hymn itself, inviting the faithful to “stand” before her image just as they stand while chanting the Akathist.⁷

The Akathist in the rhythm of Great Lent

In the contemporary Eastern‑rite practice, the Akathist is integrated into the Friday services of Great Lent, providing a distinctive cadence to the penitential journey.² On the first four Fridays, one quarter of the hymn is chanted at Small Compline, so that the faithful gradually encounter its full breadth over the course of the Fast.⁶ On the Fifth Friday, the entire Akathist is sung in one continuous service, often lasting nearly ninety minutes, thus creating a dramatic climax that anticipates the joy of the Resurrection.⁶

This progression mirrors the salvific economy: the fragmented, penitential hours of Lent are gathered into a unified act of praise, just as the scattered peoples of the world are gathered into the one Body of Christ.³ Theologically, the Akathist is fundamentally Christocentric: every “Hail” directed to the Theotokos circles back to the mystery of the Word made flesh, her “yes” reversing the disobedience of Eve and her womb becoming the vessel of the Uncontainable.⁶ In conjunction with the icon of the Theotokos enthroned at the solea, often adorned with flowers, the service becomes a visual and aural icon of the Church’s veneration of the Mother of God as the living tabernacle of the Incarnation.¹

Reception and retrieval in the modern ecclesial imagination

The Akathist’s enduring vitality is evident in its global presence within Eastern Orthodoxy and its increasing availability through digital media.⁸ In 2026, for example, the Ecumenical Patriarchate marked the 1,400th anniversary of the hymn’s chanting in honor of Constantinople’s deliverance, underscoring its role as a living element of the Church’s memory and piety.⁸ His All‑Holiness Patriarch Bartholomew noted that the hymn has been translated into many languages, influencing every dimension of Orthodox culture—from theology and philology to iconography and sacred music—while remaining, above all, a prayer of the faithful heart.¹

Hierarchs, priests, and monastics continue to chant the Akathist with compunction, while the laity often recite it throughout the year, especially as a means of supplication and thanksgiving.¹ Theologians unpack its dense dogmatic content; poets and iconographers draw inspiration from its imagery; and composers of Byzantine chant clothe it in melodies that have shaped the auditory identity of Eastern Christianity.⁸ Yet the Ecumenical Patriarch insists that the Akathist ever remains a prayer worthy of God, uniting doxology, thanksgiving, supplication, and entreaty in one voice directed first to Christ, and through Him to His holy Mother.⁸

In the present age, marked as Patriarch Bartholomew notes by “manifold upheavals and armed conflicts,” the Church is called to invoke anew the intercession of the Mother of God as the “Champion Leader” and “Protector of the children of the Church.”⁸ The Akathist thus serves not only as a historical liturgical remnant but as an ecclesial act of hope, beseeching the Theotokos to grant the faithful the peace of her Son, “which passeth all understanding” (cf. Phil. 4:7).⁸

Conclusion: the Akathist as an icon of the Church’s standing

In the spirit of Romanos the Melodist, the Akathist Hymn democratizes the mystery of the Incarnation: peasant and professor alike apprehend the dogma of the Word made flesh through the medium of song.³ As Lent draws toward Passion Week, the Akathist whispers an invitation: “Stand firm, rejoice,” for the “Bride without bridegroom” leads the Church to the empty tomb and the triumph of Life over death.⁶ Through its acrostic structure, rich imagery, and Christocentric theology, the Akathist remains one of the most cherished jewels of Orthodox hymnography, standing—like the faithful who chant it—as a living icon of the Church’s praise.¹

References

Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America, “The Akathist Hymn,” https://www.goarch.org/akathisthymn.
Orthodox Witness, “The Akathist Hymn: History, Significance, Analysis,” https://www.orthodoxwitness.org/the-akathist-hymn-history-significance-analysis/.
Orthodox Christian Life, “FINDING YOUR VOICE (Part I): THE AKATHIST HYMN FOR …,” https://ocl.org/finding-voice-part-akathist-hymn-leaders/.
Athos Guide, “History and Significance of the Akathist Hymn,” https://athos.guide/en/blog/akathistos-ymnos.
Catholic World Report, “The Theotokos in Lent: Reflections on The Akathist Hymn” (2025), https://www.catholicworldreport.com/2025/03/28/the-mother-of-god-in-lent-the-akathist-hymn/.
Romanos the Melodist, legacy and kontakia; see general Orthodox sources on his life and works.
Icon Museum and Study Center, “Icon with the Akathistos Hymn”; OCA, “Icon of the Mother of God of ‘the Akathist’”; and related studies on Akathist‑type icons.⁹
Ecumenical Patriarchate, 2026 anniversary statement on the Akathist Hymn (paraphrased in Orthodox sources).

Homily for the Feast of the Annunciation of the Holy Theotokos (3.25.2026)

by Fr. Fadi Rabbat

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

Beloved in Christ,

Today, as we celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation of the Holy Theotokos, we stand before the beginning of our salvation, the moment when the eternal Word of God took flesh in the womb of a humble Virgin. The hymn of the feast proclaims: “Today is the beginning of our salvation and the revelation of the eternal mystery.”

On this day, the course of human history changes through the quiet obedience of a humble young woman who says, “Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it done unto me according to your word.”

This moment reveals the profound synergy between divine grace and human freedom, which lies at the heart of our Orthodox faith. God does not force salvation upon us; He invites us. The Archangel Gabriel brings the grace of God’s plan, but it is the Virgin’s free “yes”—her fiat—that allows it to become reality. As St. Gregory Palamas teaches, “The All-Holy Virgin cooperated with the divine will, and by her free consent, she became the instrument of our salvation.” This synergy is not abstract; it is the pattern of our entire sacramental life in the Church. In Baptism, God offers grace, but we must say yes through faith and ongoing repentance. In the Eucharist, Christ gives Himself fully, but we must approach with a heart open to receive Him. Every Mystery of the Church is this holy cooperation: God’s initiative met by our freedom, our “yes” to His grace. The Theotokos shows us how to live this way—freely, humbly, totally.

The Fathers teach that in this moment, all of humanity is represented in the person of the Theotokos. Saint Irenaeus of Lyon declares, “The knot of Eve’s disobedience was untied by Mary’s obedience; what the virgin Eve bound through unbelief, the Virgin Mary loosened by her faith.” St. John of Damascus echoes this: “Eve was the cause of death, but Mary the cause of life; Eve’s disobedience brought ruin, but Mary’s obedience brought salvation.” Eve listened to the serpent and doubted God; Mary listens to the Archangel Gabriel and trusts God. Through Eve, death enters history; through Mary, Life Himself enters history. In her free “yes,” the disobedience of the first creation is healed, and a new creation begins.

Notice how the Theotokos is so silent in the Gospel. She does not speak often, but when she speaks, it is always for something essential in the mystery of salvation.

First, at the Annunciation, she answers the Archangel Gabriel with obedience: “Be it done unto me according to your word.” With this one sentence, she opens her womb to God and opens the world to the coming of Christ.

Second, she speaks when she visits Elizabeth, and her soul overflows in praise: “My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” She magnifies not herself but God; she disappears so that Christ may appear. St. Ephrem the Syrian marvels: “Mary is the field that brought forth the fruit of life; her Magnificat is the song of the new creation.”

Third, when the young Jesus is found in the Temple after three days, it is Mary who voices the anxiety of a mother’s heart: “Son, why have You done this to us? Your father and I have been searching for You in sorrow.” Yet even here, she ponders His words and keeps them in her heart.

Fourth, she speaks at the wedding of Cana, showing her motherly compassion and intercessory power: “They have no wine” to her Son, and “Do whatever He tells you” to the servants. This is the whole spiritual life: bring your need to Christ, then obey Him fully. She always points to her Son.

This constant pointing to her Son finds perfect expression in the ancient icon of the Hodigitria—*Η Οδηγήτρια* in Greek, meaning “She Who Shows the Way.” In this revered icon type, the Theotokos holds the Child Christ on her left arm while raising her right hand to direct our gaze straight to Him, the true Source of salvation. She seeks no glory for herself but intercedes by presenting her Son to us, just as she did at Cana, guiding travelers, soldiers, and sinners alike to the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Tradition holds that St. Luke painted the original in Jerusalem, brought to Constantinople where it worked miracles and protected the city; countless copies now grace our churches and homes, ever reminding us: through her, we find Him.

From that point on, the Theotokos is mostly silent again. The Gospel tells us she “kept all these things in her heart.” She accompanies Christ throughout His public ministry in the Holy Land, and Church tradition holds that she followed Him even to the regions of Tyre and Sidon in what is now Lebanon—always close, always praying, always contemplating. She stood with Him in joy, miracles, rejection, suffering, and finally at the foot of the Cross. Her greatest preaching is her presence: quiet, faithful, steadfast, united to Him.

At the Cross, another mystery unfolds. Jesus says to His Mother, “Woman, behold your son,” and to the beloved disciple, “Behold your mother.” This is no disrespect; “Woman” reveals her as the true Woman, the new and perfect Eve, echoing Genesis where Eve is named “mother of all living.” On the Cross, Christ makes her our Mother too, entrusting the whole Church to her care. The first Eve bore all in the old creation; the new Eve, the Virgin Mary, mothers all of us in the new creation of grace. St. Germanus of Constantinople affirms: “She who is full of grace becomes the Mother of all the living in Christ.”

The Fathers and hymnography see her as Jacob’s Ladder: angels ascending and descending, God above it. In the Akathist: “Rejoice, ladder by which God descended; rejoice, bridge from earth to heaven.” St. John of Damascus explains: “The Theotokos is the ladder seen by Jacob, over which the Lord of all descended to unite Himself with our nature.” She is that living ladder. Thus, our church Holy Doors of the Royal Holy Door bear the Annunciation icon: through them, as through her, Christ enters our midst in the Holy Gifts. And above the altar, we gaze upon her icon as the *Platytera ton Ouranon*—in Greek, “Πλατυτέρα των Ουρανών,” meaning “More Spacious than the Heavens.” We place her there because her womb, containing the uncontainable God, became vaster than the cosmos itself; she is the living vault of heaven over the divine mysteries celebrated below.

Within our holy Orthodox Church, and particularly in the Antiochian Orthodox tradition, we hold a profound and abiding love for the Theotokos. Icons of the Most Holy Theotokos grace every home—not as mere adornment, but as expressions of veneration. She is our Mother, interceding as she did at Cana, caring tenderly for us because her Son has entrusted us to her.

The Dormition icon seals this: apostles surround her bier, but Christ holds her soul as a swaddled infant—reversing the Annunciation. She who bore Him now rests in His arms. She who said yes in life is glorified in death, the first after Christ to taste resurrection’s fullness, promising the same for us. As St. John of Damascus sings: “In giving birth you preserved your virginity; in falling asleep you did not forsake the world, O Theotokos. You passed into life, you who are the Mother of Life.”

To honor her as Orthodox Christians: Love her, invoke “Most Holy Theotokos, save us.” Imitate her path of synergy with God’s grace:

- Obedience: Our “yes” to His will, as in every sacrament.

- Silence: Pondering Christ’s mysteries in our hearts.

- Humility: Magnifying the Lord alone.

- Intercession: Bearing others’ needs to Him.

Following her, Christ will cherish our souls as hers. Let her teach us to say yes daily, cooperating with grace until our Dormition, when He receives us in glory.

Beloved in Christ, as we stand before the holy icons of the Annunciation and the Dormition, let us come with humble hearts, beseeching the Most Holy Theotokos to shape within us a faithful and sincere “yes” to the will of God. May her obedience become our example, her purity our striving, and her unfailing love our constant inspiration. At the time of our departure from this life, may she care for our souls and drive far from us the dark visions of Satan and the evil demons, so we may pass untroubled into Christ's arms. Through her holy prayers and motherly intercessions, may Christ our God have mercy upon us, strengthen us in every good work, and lead us into the joy of His eternal Kingdom.

Amen.

Homily for the fourth Sunday of the Holy Lent, Sunday of St. John Climacus, 2026,

By Fr. Fadi Rabbat

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

Beloved in Christ,

Today, the Holy Church in her divine wisdom appoints the commemoration of our venerable Father among the Saints, John of the Ladder, Saint John Climacus, the great abbot of Sinai and teacher of prayer. It is not by accident that his remembrance comes on the “Fourth Sunday of Great Lent”, placed precisely at the heart of our fasting journey. The Church gives him to us now as both encouragement and guidance—as the image of what repentance looks like when lived with perseverance.

Saint John’s book, “The Ladder of Divine Ascent”, is one of the spiritual treasures of our tradition. The “ladder” he describes has thirty steps—each a stage in our ascent from earth to heaven, from the passions to purity, from self-love to divine love. It reflects the vision of Jacob’s ladder described in Genesis, upon which the angels of God were ascending and descending. The Fathers teach us that this is a symbol of the soul’s approach to God through virtue, through grace, and through struggle.

Saint John writes, “The holy virtues are like Jacob’s ladder: for the virtues raise us up to heaven; but the demons try to pull us down.” And Saint Gregory Palamas echoes this by saying that “Lent is the season when we labor to make this ascent by grace, not by our own strength, for God Himself draws near to those who humble themselves.”

Why is Saint John placed here, in the fourth week? By now, our bodies may be weary from fasting. Our prayers perhaps grow distracted. The first zeal may begin to cool. But the Church knows the human heart. She gives us Saint John, not as a scholar sitting above us, but as a monk who has struggled, fallen, and risen again. He reminds us that repentance is not an event; it is a “way of life”. He says, “You cannot climb this ladder in one stride. Begin with the first step, and God will lift you.”

Beloved, the ladder is Christ Himself. He is both the goal and the way. Just as He descended from heaven to our human weakness, He now becomes the ladder by which we ascend toward the Father. Saint Athanasius the Great tells us, “God became man so that man might become god by grace.”Every step of repentance is participation in this divine ascent.

We do not climb alone. The Church surrounds us with the prayers of the saints, the strength of the sacraments, and the grace of the Holy Spirit. Even when we fall—as Saint John says—“Blessed is the man who, even if he falls every day, rises up to continue the struggle.” The measure of holiness is not that we never fall, but that we never despair.

Let us, therefore, examine our hearts. What step is God calling each of us to ascend this week? Perhaps the step of humility—confessing the truth of our sins before God. Perhaps the step of forgiveness—letting go of a resentment we have carried too long. Perhaps the step of silence—guarding the tongue so that our words may be seasoned with grace. If we take one step faithfully, the Lord will carry us ten steps higher through His mercy.

Saint Isaac the Syrian reminds us, “Make peace with yourself, and heaven and earth will make peace with you.” Lent gives us the time to make this peace—to be reconciled to God and to one another, to rediscover the quiet joy of the soul that rests in the mercy of Christ.

As we continue toward Holy Week, let us remember that the ladder does not end with our efforts but with the Cross. The Cross is the bridge between earth and heaven. And upon that Cross, our Lord stretched out His arms as if embracing the whole world—lifting us once again toward the heights of divine life.

Through the prayers of our Father among the Saints, John of the Ladder, may we each find the courage to climb faithfully, one step at a time, until we too behold the uncreated light of Christ. Amen.

Homily for the First Sunday of Great Lent: Sunday of Orthodoxy, 2026

by Fr. Fadi Rabbat

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.

Beloved in Christ,

Today we celebrate the radiant triumph of truth—the Sunday of Orthodoxy. It is not merely a remembrance of an event in history, the restoration of the holy icons, but a proclamation of the faith that makes our whole spiritual struggle during Great Lent meaningful and fruitful. For if our faith is distorted, our fasting and prayer lose their purpose. As Saint Gregory the Theologian tells us, “It is not the fast that sanctifies us, but the truth we hold while we fast.”

In the Gospel of Saint John, we hear how Philip finds Nathanael and says, “We have found Him of whom Moses in the Law and the Prophets wrote—Jesus of Nazareth.” Nathanael doubts and asks, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip answers not with argument, but with the simple invitation, “Come and see.”

That is the very spirit of our Orthodox faith—not blind belief or philosophical reasoning, but a personal and living encounter with the true and incarnate God. When Nathanael meets Christ, he discovers that Christ already knows him intimately: “Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.” And Nathanael responds in faith, “Rabbi, You are the Son of God, You are the King of Israel.” Then the Lord gives him this promise—“You shall see greater things than these.”

My beloved, these “greater things” are the revelation of truth to those who believe rightly and live faithfully. That is why the Church begins the Lenten journey with this Sunday—because true fasting, true repentance, and true prayer must all stand upon the foundation of true faith. A heart that believes falsely cannot be purified truly. Orthodoxy means right worship, right belief, right vision of God.

Today the Church rejoices in the victory of true faith over every false teaching. The restoration of icons in the year 843 was not only about the return of sacred images to our churches; it was the visible sign that the Church had triumphed over all error that denied the reality of the Incarnation. The icons we venerate proclaim that the eternal Son of God truly took flesh and became man. As Saint John of Damascus beautifully teaches: “When the Invisible One became visible in the flesh, then you may draw His likeness. For when He who is bodiless and formless took a body and form, you may represent Him.”

And so, on this day, as we venerate the holy icons, we also reaffirm all the councils of the Church—the Seven Holy Ecumenical Councils, and all that they confessed concerning Christ, the Trinity, and the mystery of salvation. The faith we proclaim today is the same faith handed down from the Apostles through the Fathers, the faith of the Church throughout all ages.

Without that faith, beloved, Lent cannot lead us to transformation. The Church gives us fasting, prayer, and acts of mercy not as ends in themselves, but as paths toward union with the living God. If our image of God is false, then our worship and our repentance are built on sand. That is why the Church guards true doctrine so carefully—not as a matter of argument, but as a matter of salvation.

Today the Synodikon of Orthodoxy is read in churches and monasteries throughout the world, proclaiming “Anathema” to heresy and “Eternal Memory” to those who defended the truth. In doing so, we renew our promise to remain steadfast in the same confession: “This is the faith of the Apostles; this is the faith of the Fathers; this is the faith of the Orthodox; this faith has established the universe.”

And next Sunday, the Church continues this same theme of true knowledge and divine light by honoring Saint Gregory Palamas. The Sunday of Saint Gregory is not separate from today—it is the continuation and deepening of this same confession. For Saint Gregory defended the distinction between the “essence and “energies” of God, teaching us that the living God, though beyond comprehension in His essence, truly reveals Himself and unites Himself to us through His uncreated grace and light.

The light that shone on Mount Tabor, the light of Christ in His Transfiguration, is not a symbol but the very uncreated energy of God Himself. Saint Gregory Palamas says, “We know our God from His energies, but we neither assert that we can approach His essence, nor do we say that His essence and His energies are separated.” In this, he shows that the same Lord Whom we behold in icons is the God Who makes Himself known to the pure in heart through His divine light.

Our ascetic struggle, therefore, is not merely moral effort—it is participation in this divine light. As we fast, as we pray, as we confess and forgive, we prepare our hearts to receive that same uncreated grace which sanctified the saints and illumined the Apostles. Our goal is not simply to abstain from food but to be filled with divine life; not merely to control the body but to see God by grace as He truly is.

Orthodoxy, beloved, is a way of life, a life. It is not a memory of ancient victories or a collection of doctrines—it is the living truth of God present in His Church today. To live as an Orthodox Christian means to confess Christ rightly, to worship rightly, to love rightly, to see rightly. It means to let the light of God transform every thought, word, and deed.

So let us keep this feast not only with processions and icons, but with a renewed heart and a steadfast faith. Let our fasting be illumined by truth, our prayers strengthened by love, and our works of mercy inspired by right belief.

And so, as Philip once said to Nathanael, the Church today says to each of us: “Come and see.”

Come and see the truth that saves.

Come and see the light that no darkness can overcome.

Come and see the beauty of the uncreated light of God reflected in His saints and in His holy Church.

May this Great Lent lead us from repentance to illumination, from the vision of holy icons to the vision of the uncreated light, and from faith in words to faith in life—so that, beholding the glory of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we too may become by grace what Christ is by nature.

Amen.

Homily for the Second Sunday of Great Lent, The Sunday of St Gregory Palamas, 2026

By Fr. Fadi Rabbat

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Beloved in Christ,

Today, on the second Sunday of Great Lent, our Holy Orthodox Church places before us the great fourteenth‑century Father, Saint Gregory Palamas, Archbishop of Thessaloniki, whom the Church has called a second Triumph of Orthodoxy. His usual feast day is November 14, the day of his repose and heavenly birth, but we commemorate him again now because his teaching was formally vindicated by the Church in the fourteenth century, just as the veneration of the holy icons was vindicated in the ninth century. In this way, today’s feast continues last Sunday’s celebration of Orthodoxy and shows us how our faith is not only confessed with words but actually lived and experienced.

Last Sunday, we processed with the holy icons and proclaimed that Christ is true God and true man, not a creature, and that in His one Person the divine and human natures are united without confusion, change, division, or separation. The icon of Christ proclaims what the Ecumenical Councils taught: that the God‑man has two natures and two wills, divine and human, and that He alone is the Savior of the world. The icon also shows us that Christ is “light”—the Light of the world who shines in the darkness, the same uncreated light that the apostles beheld on Mount Tabor at His Transfiguration.

But this raises a crucial question for us during the Fast: How does this faith become life? How do these dogmas move from our books and our lips into our hearts and our experience?

This is why the Church brings St Gregory Palamas before us today. He is not honored simply as a brilliant theologian but as a saint who shows us how the truth we confessed last Sunday can be tasted and lived. In all his teaching, St Gregory does not only tell us who Christ is; he shows us how the human person can be united to Christ. He does not only define deification (theosis); he explains how a Christian can actually begin to experience deification in his or her own life. He does not only speak about what the Church is; he teaches how to become a true, glorified member of the Church.

In the fourteenth century, there were bitter disputes about whether it is truly possible for human beings to have direct communion with God or to see the divine light. Some claimed that between God and humanity there is an unbridgeable gap, that we can never really know Him but only speak about Him from a distance. St Gregory, drawing on the Holy Fathers and his own experience as an Athonite monk and hesychast, articulated the Church’s faith: God in His essence remains beyond every creature and every concept, utterly unknowable; yet God truly reveals Himself and makes Himself accessible in His energies—His actions, grace, and uncreated light. When we encounter God’s grace in prayer, in the mysteries, and in a life of purification and love, we are not touching a created symbol or a mere effect; we are truly participating in God Himself, in His uncreated energies.

This is why the Church calls St Gregory the theologian of the uncreated light and of the Jesus Prayer. As a monk, and later as a bishop, he devoted himself to inner stillness, to watchfulness of the heart, and to the continual invocation of the Name of Jesus. Night and day he cried to God with the simple prayer, “Enlighten my darkness,” and through obedience, humility, fasting, and unceasing prayer he learned by experience what he taught: that the light of Tabor is the same uncreated grace that can shine in the heart purified from the passions. This grace illumines us, unites us to God, and gives us a foretaste of the glory that will fill the saints after the resurrection.

The Synodikon of Orthodoxy, which we heard last Sunday, reflects this deep unity. In its first part it proclaims the restoration of the holy icons and the Orthodox doctrine defined at the Seventh Ecumenical Council. In its second part it proclaims the teaching of St Gregory Palamas and the councils that defended him, especially concerning the uncreated light of God seen by the apostles on Mount Tabor. Thus the first Sunday of the Fast celebrates the truth of Orthodox doctrine; the second Sunday shows us the method, the way in which this doctrine becomes a lived experience through hesychasm, ascesis, and prayer.

Beloved in Christ, this means that church life is not just about what is outward and visible: not only statistics, statements, analyses, or, God forbid, scandals. The true life of the Church is often hidden from the eyes of the world in the secret work of grace in the heart, in the repentance of sinners, in the tears of prayer, in the quiet faithfulness of those who call upon the Name of the Lord. And that is why, at Great Vespers yesterday evening for this Sunday, the Church put on our lips such exalted words for Saint Gregory. We sang:

“With what fair crowns of praise shall we crown the divine and all‑laudable hierarch?—that clear trumpet sounding theology, the mouth of grace that doth breathe forth fire, the venerable vessel of the Spirit, the mighty unshaken pillar of the Church of Christ, the great and exceeding gladness of the whole world, the mighty river of wisdom of God’s inspiration, and the lamp of the divine light, the bright and far‑shining star that maketh creation radiant.”

In other verses we called him “the illustrious hierarch,” “the brave champion fighting for piety, who fought against all impiety,” “the ardent protector of our true Faith, the mighty leader and teacher who doth show the way, the lyre of the Spirit sweet and all harmonious, the tongue august and gold‑gleaming, and the spring that gusheth with the floods of healings for all the faithful, our very great and praiseworthy Father Gregory.” When we recall what we sang yesterday, we understand that the Church does not see Gregory as a distant theologian in a library, but as a living trumpet of theology, a pillar of the Church, a lamp and a star filled with the uncreated light he preached, a spring of grace for us today. And if the Church dares to praise him in such terms, it is because what God accomplished in him, He desires to begin—according to our measure—in us as well: that our mouths, too, might become mouths of grace, our hearts vessels of the Spirit, our lives small lamps of the same divine light.

This is the life that the saints lived and that St Gregory Palamas describes for us.

For us today, in the middle of Great Lent, this feast is a consolation and a challenge. It is a consolation because it tells us that our fasting, our extra services, our efforts at prayer and repentance are not empty exercises or mere rules. They are a way of making room in our hearts for the uncreated grace of God, of clearing away the noise so that we can truly encounter Him. They are a path toward becoming “friends of Christ,” sharing in His glory with all the saints whose faces shine in the holy icons.

And it is a challenge because St Gregory reminds us that Orthodoxy is not simply correct ideas about God. The demons also know that God exists, and they tremble. Orthodoxy is right worship and right life—a living tradition of prayer, sacramental participation, and transformation. The hesychast tradition that St Gregory defended is not the possession of monks alone. Every Christian can begin, according to his or her state, to practice inner attention, the remembrance of God, the Jesus Prayer, and to receive Holy Communion with awareness that we are united to the very Body and Blood of the incarnate Son of God.

So, on this Sunday of St Gregory Palamas, let us ask ourselves:

- Do I believe that it is truly possible to experience God, or do I live as if He were far away and unreachable?

- Do I treat prayer and the fast as mere obligations, or as a way of opening my heart to the uncreated light?

- Do I approach the holy icons, the Scriptures, and the Mysteries as windows into the Kingdom, as encounters with Christ Himself?

Let us take up with new zeal the prayer of the saint we honor today: “Lord, enlighten my darkness.” May this simple cry accompany our fasting, our Confession, our reception of the holy Eucharist, and our little efforts at love and forgiveness in our families and community. If we persevere, even in weakness, the Lord will indeed enlighten us. He will show us who He is, what Orthodoxy truly is, what the holy icon means, and how we can share in the glory of His Church on earth and in heaven.

Through the prayers of our holy father Gregory Palamas, Lord Jesus Christ our God, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.