Homily for the Feast of Pentecost
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,
On this holy and great feast of Pentecost, the Church places before us the fulfillment of every promise. The Lord has kept His word. The Comforter has come.
But before the fire, there was silence. Before the rushing wind, there was a closed door.
Think of those ten days between the Ascension and Pentecost. The disciples have watched the Lord ascend into a cloud. They have returned to Jerusalem. And now they wait — in an upper room, behind locked doors, not yet knowing what is coming. They had followed Him across Galilee. They had seen the tomb empty. They had eaten with Him after the Resurrection. And now He is gone again, and they are alone with a promise they cannot yet understand.
They did not know what fire felt like from the inside. They only knew that the Lord had said, "I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you." And He had said it plainly, on the night of His betrayal, at the Mystical Supper: "If you love Me, keep My commandments. And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever" (John 14:15–16).
And so they waited. And so they prayed.
Then — suddenly — a sound like a rushing mighty wind filled the whole house. Tongues as of fire appeared, resting upon each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit, and they began to speak in other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.
This is not only the birthday of the Church. This is the reversal of Babel.
At Babel, one language became many, and mankind was scattered. At Pentecost, many tongues became one proclamation, and mankind was gathered. At Babel, pride divided creation. At Pentecost, grace restored it. At Babel, man tried to ascend to God by his own strength. At Pentecost, God descended to dwell within man by His own mercy.
The movement of Pentecost is always this: from orphanhood to indwelling, from the law carved in stone to the Spirit written on hearts, from the confusion of Babel to the unity of the one Body of Christ.
Saint John Chrysostom illuminates this moment with breathtaking clarity: "Ten days ago, human nature ascended to the throne of God, and today the Holy Spirit has descended upon it. And lest anyone doubt what Christ accomplished when He ascended — whether He reconciled us to the Father, whether He caused Him to forgive us — since He wished to show us that the reconciliation was complete, He sent us directly the gifts of reconciliation." The Spirit does not come to complete what was lacking in Christ. He comes to apply to each soul what Christ has fully accomplished. He is the One who makes salvation not merely historical but personal, not merely proclaimed but received.
Father Alexander Schmemann writes that Pentecost reveals the final purpose of the Incarnation: God wished not only to walk among us, but to dwell within us. The Son became flesh so that the Spirit could make a home in flesh. Creation is not merely restored. Creation is glorified. Indeed, all of Christ's work — His coming, His teaching, His sufferings, His Resurrection, His Ascension — was oriented toward this: the coming of the Holy Spirit into the world, into the new creation.
At the beginning, the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters (Genesis 1:2), and by His breath all things were brought to life. Now, at the new creation, He hovers again — this time over the waters of Baptism, over the oil of Chrismation, over the gathered Body of the Church. The Spirit is the very breath of the Church. He searches the depths of God (1 Corinthians 2:10). He guides into all truth. He perfects the Mysteries. He teaches prayer. Without Him, nothing lives.
This is why the Church begins every prayer, every service, every blessing with the ancient invocation to the Holy Spirit: "O Heavenly King, the Comforter, the Spirit of truth, Who art everywhere present and fillest all things, Treasury of blessings and Giver of life: come and abide in us, and cleanse us from every impurity, and save our souls, O Good One."
We do not recite these words. We cry them. We cry them because we know what it is to feel empty, to feel absent from ourselves, to feel that God is far.
Beloved, let us ask ourselves today with honesty and without fear: Have I allowed the Holy Spirit to be truly at home in me? Or have I crowded Him out — with resentment I will not release, with habits I will not surrender, with a pride I call by other names? Do I feel the Spirit's presence, or have I grown so accustomed to His absence that I no longer notice the cold?
Perhaps you have prayed, and silence answered you. Perhaps you have repented, and felt nothing. Perhaps you have stood before the holy Mysteries and wondered whether anything is truly happening in you, whether grace is real, whether the Spirit still moves — or whether you have somehow placed yourself beyond His reach.
And here is what that silence can cost us: if the Spirit of God is not working within us, if He is not illumining us, then Christ may indeed have accomplished His redemptive work for the salvation of the world — yet He remains a stranger to us. Not because He has withdrawn. But because we have not opened the door.
And the good news is this: the Spirit was not given to the worthy. He was given to those waiting behind a closed door.
He does not demand that you arrive already transformed. He comes to transform you. He does not wait for the cold heart to warm itself. He is the warmth. Saint Paul tells the Romans: "The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God." And to the Corinthians: "Do you not know that you are the temple of God and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?" Not that He will dwell in you, if you improve. He dwells in you now — in the temple that is broken, incomplete, still being built.
This is the holy synergy of salvation. God acts first. God calls first. God gives first. And we answer — with faith, even small faith; with repentance, even slow repentance; with love, even love that is still learning what love means.
I may not be able to explain every mystery of the Holy Spirit. I may not know how uncreated grace enters a created heart, or how the Holy Myron of Chrismation makes us temples of the living God. But this I know: the Spirit comes. He has come. He is here. And He does not come to visit and depart. He comes to abide.
The fruit of His abiding, as Saint Paul writes to the Galatians, is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Not power for its own sake. The quiet transformation of a human life that has said yes to God.
This transformation is not private. It is ecclesial. The Spirit was not poured out on scattered individuals. He descended upon those gathered together in one place, in prayer, in the Body. We receive the Spirit as members of one another — sealed in Holy Chrismation by the Holy Myron, entering thereby into the uncreated energies of God that the Comforting Spirit sets in motion; nourished by Holy Communion, renewed in repentance. There is no theosis apart from the Church. There is no divinization without the Mysteries.
The Church herself is a spiritual hospital, because the Spirit is present within her. She heals sinners and renders them saints. This is accomplished daily through humility, repentance, love, fasting, and Holy Communion — a path not of arrival, but of constant ascent, from glory to glory, for we are partakers of the life of the boundless God.
And so Saint John Chrysostom, with his characteristic boldness, reminds us: "We are able to celebrate Pentecost always" — first, by our sacramental life and sanctification; and second, by works of love. Pentecost is not only a feast on the calendar. It is the condition of the Christian life.
So today, let us pray: O Heavenly King, Comforter, Spirit of truth — come into the upper room of our hearts, wherever we have hidden ourselves behind locked doors. Breathe upon us. Set upon us tongues of fire that we may speak of the wonderful works of God not with eloquence, but with lives transformed. Cleanse us from every impurity. Restore in us the image of the Son. Make us temples worthy of Thy dwelling.
To Him be glory, together with His eternal Father and His all-holy, good, and life-creating Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.
Homily for the Sunday after the Ascension and the Holy Fathers of the First Ecumenical Council, 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, the Church places before us two lights shining from the same mystery: the After-feast of the Ascension and the commemoration of the Holy Fathers of the First Ecumenical Council.
The Lord has ascended in glory. He who came down from heaven, who took our flesh, who suffered, died, and rose again, now lifts our human nature to the right hand of the Father.
But before His Passion, He lifts His eyes to heaven and prays: “Father, the hour has come; glorify Thy Son, that the Son may glorify Thee.”
This is not only a prayer before suffering. It is the revelation of who Christ is. He is not a prophet asking for help. He is not a righteous man hoping for reward. He is the eternal Son speaking to the eternal Father, the One who had glory with the Father “before the world was made.”
And this is exactly why the Church remembers today the Holy Fathers of the First Ecumenical Council.
In the city of Nicaea, the Fathers gathered not to invent a new faith, but to guard the faith once delivered to the Apostles and their disciples. Arius tried to reduce the Son of God to a creature, to say that there was a time when the Son was not. But the Fathers, illumined by the Holy Spirit, confessed what the Church had always worshiped: that the Son is consubstantial and co-eternal with the Father, true God of true God.
The doxasticon of today says that these God-mantled Fathers instructed all to confess openly the Son of God, “that He is consubstantial and co-eternal with the Father before eternity.” This is not a small theological phrase. It is the foundation of our salvation.
If Christ is not truly God, He cannot unite us to God. If He is only a creature, He cannot give eternal life.
But in today’s Gospel, Christ Himself says: “This is eternal life, that they know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent.”
Eternal life is not simply endless existence. Eternal life is communion. It is knowing the Father through the Son in the Holy Spirit. It is being drawn into the life of God.
This is why doctrine matters. True worship depends on true faith. If we do not know who Christ is, we cannot know who the Father is.
If we confess Him wrongly, we worship wrongly. But when we confess Him as the Fathers did, then our worship becomes the worship of the Church: one God in Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
The Ascension reveals the same truth. The One who ascends is the Son who came down. The One who sits at the right hand of the Father is not separated from us, but carries our humanity into divine glory. He does not abandon the world.
He intercedes for His disciples. “I am praying for them,” He says. “Holy Father, keep them in Thy Name… that they may be one, even as We are one.”
This is a profound word. Christ prays for unity, but not a shallow unity, not a unity built on sentiment, compromise, or silence about the truth. He prays that we may be one “as We are one.”
The unity of the Church comes from the unity of the Holy Trinity.
Therefore, the Fathers of Nicaea defended not only a doctrine, but the very possibility of the Church being one. Heresy divides because it distorts Christ. Truth unites because it brings us into the life of the Father, through the Son, in the Holy Spirit.
Beloved, we live in a time when many say, “Doctrine is not important. What matters is only that we love one another.” But the Gospel teaches us something deeper. Love without truth becomes mere emotion. Truth without love becomes harshness. But in Christ, truth and love are one.
The Fathers did not defend the divinity of Christ out of pride or argument, but out of love for the Church, love for salvation, and love for every soul that needs the true Savior.
And here we must ask ourselves: do we guard the faith only with words, or also with life? The Fathers confessed Christ openly. They gave clarity to the Church. But we also are called to confess Christ, not by changing the Creed, but by living it.
When we say, “I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ,” do our actions show that He is truly Lord? When we confess Him as “Light of Light,” do we allow His light to illumine our thoughts, our homes, our judgments, and our relationships? When we proclaim Him as “very God of very God,” do we trust Him more than our fears, our opinions, and our anxieties.
The Lord says in the Gospel, “I have manifested Thy Name to the men whom Thou gavest Me.”
The Christian life begins with this divine manifestation: Christ reveals Himself to us and, in Himself, reveals the Father. Yet this revelation does not force itself upon the heart. The grace of God is free, abundant, and always first; but our response is necessary.
We must be open to receive Him, to keep His word, and to allow His light to enter the depths of our soul. This is the holy synergy of salvation: God acts, God calls, God illumines, but man must answer with faith, repentance, obedience, and love.
We do not climb to heaven by our own strength, yet we also do not remain passive before the gift of grace. Christ comes to us, gives us His word, keeps us in His Name, and through the life of the Church begins in us the process of purification, illumination, and divinization. Purified from the passions, illumined by divine truth, and united to God by grace, we become what we were created to be: partakers of the divine nature.
This is why our faith is not an ideology or a human philosophy. It is a life received, healed, and transformed; a gift guarded in the Church, nourished by the sacraments, proclaimed in the Creed, and lived in ongoing repentance.
Today, the Ascended Lord prays for us. The Holy Fathers teach us. The Church calls us to stand in the same faith, not with arrogance, but with gratitude.
We are not asked to invent Christianity or reshape it according to the spirit of the age. We are called to receive the faith once delivered to the saints, to preserve it in purity, and to enter into it as a living experience of God.
To be Orthodox is not only to confess the right doctrine, but to live in Christ. There is no true orthodoxy without orthopraxy, no right faith without right life.
The Creed we proclaim with our lips must become the path we walk with our whole being. The truth we confess must shape our prayer, our repentance, our humility, our mercy, and our participation in the holy Mysteries.
In other words, the faith becomes real in us when it moves from the lips to the heart, when prayer, repentance, humility, and participation in the holy Mysteries make Christ not only the One we confess, but the One in whom we live, move, and have our being.
May the Lord Jesus Christ, consubstantial and co-eternal with the Father, who ascended in glory and never ceases to be with His Church, keep us in Holiness. May He grant us the unity of true faith, the humility of the Fathers, and the joy He promised to His disciples, “that they may have My joy fulfilled in themselves.” Amen.
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, one God. Amen.
Christ is risen! Indeed He is risen!
Beloved in Christ,
On this fifth Sunday after Pascha, the Church places before us the man born blind.
She does so, yes, to set before our eyes a miracle and to reveal to our hearts the mercy of Christ toward one suffering man. But the Church never gives us a miracle only as an event of the past, and never shows us mercy only as a beautiful memory. Through this miracle, she opens before us a mystery. Through this mercy, she draws us into the very work of God: the Light entering into darkness, creation being renewed, and man being restored by the hands of the Creator Himself.
The disciples look at this man and ask, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” They see suffering, and they look for blame. They see pain, and they want an explanation. But Christ refuses this narrow vision. He answers: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but that the works of God should be revealed in him.”
Here the Lord teaches us that the deepest tragedy is not bodily blindness.
St. John Chrysostom says, “Sin alone is an evil, but blindness is not an evil.”
The true tragedy is separation from God. The true darkness is not the darkness of the eyes, but the darkness of the heart when it cannot recognize the Light.
Then Christ does something astonishing. He spits on the ground, makes clay, anoints the eyes of the blind man, and sends him to wash in the Pool of Siloam.
Why clay? Why this gesture? Why does the Lord not simply speak a word?
Because this is not only a healing. This is a new creation.
In the beginning, God formed man from the dust of the earth and breathed into him the breath of life (Genesis 2:7).
Now the same Lord, the eternal Word through whom all things were made, takes earth again and fashions what was lacking.
St. John Chrysostom explains: “For since they had heard that God made man, taking the dust of the earth, so also Christ made clay.”
Christ shows by His action that the Creator has come in the flesh to restore His creation.
The man born blind had no memory of light. He had never seen the sun. He had never seen the face of his mother. He had never seen the beauty of the temple, the movement of the crowds, or the colors of creation.
Darkness was not an interruption in his life. Darkness was the only world he had ever known.
And yet Christ sees him.
Before the blind man sees Christ, Christ sees him. Before the man speaks, Christ acts. Before there is confession, there is mercy. Before there is understanding, there is divine initiative.
This is always the way of God’s work in us: grace comes first, not to abolish our freedom, but to awaken it; not to force the heart, but to heal it; not to replace our response, but to make true repentance possible. Christ sees, Christ approaches, Christ touches, and man is called to obey, to wash, to believe, and to worship.
We do not first illumine ourselves. The Light comes to us. We do not first climb out of darkness by our own strength. Christ enters into our darkness, calls us into His light, and we respond by opening the noetic eyes of the soul to His grace.
This is why the hymn of the Church places on our lips the prayer of the blind man, and also the prayer of every one of us: “Since my soul’s noetic eyes are blind and sightless, I come unto Thee, O Christ, as did the man who was born blind. And in repentance I cry to Thee: of those in darkness Thou art the most radiant Light.”
Beloved, this is not only his prayer.
This is our prayer. For we too have noetic eyes. We too have spiritual eyes. And those eyes can become blind.
They become blind through pride. They become blind through anger. They become blind through envy. They become blind through the refusal to forgive. They become blind when we see everyone’s sins except our own. They become blind when we stand before the grace of God and remain unchanged.
The man is anointed with clay. He is sent to the water. He washes. And he comes back seeing. This movement points us to baptism. It points us to illumination. St. Cyril of Jerusalem says, “Regard not the Laver as simple water, but rather regard the spiritual grace that is given with the water.” St. Gregory the Theologian calls baptism “Illumination” because it is “the participation of light, the dissolution of darkness.”
The Pool of Siloam means “Sent.” And who is the true Sent One, if not Christ Himself, sent from the Father for the life of the world?
The blind man washes in the pool called “Sent” because he is being illumined by the One sent from the Father.
He comes forth not only with bodily sight, but with the beginning of spiritual sight.
The Church sings again: “Grant me a stream of ineffable wisdom and knowledge from on high, O Christ, Thou Light of them that are in darkness and Guide of all them that are gone astray.”
This is what we ask today. Not only that our eyes may see the world, but that our hearts may know Christ. Not only that we may understand the Gospel with the mind, but that we may live it with repentance.
And notice the movement of the healed man. At first he says, “A man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes.” Then he says, “He is a prophet.” Finally, when Christ reveals Himself to him, he says, “Lord, I believe,” and he worships Him.
This is the journey of faith. It moves from hearing about Christ, to recognizing His power, to confessing Him as Lord, to falling down in worship.
But while the blind man moves from darkness to light, the Pharisees move from sight into blindness. They have eyes, but they refuse to see. They have the Law, but they miss the Lawgiver. They know the Sabbath, but they reject the Lord of the Sabbath. They examine the miracle, but they cannot rejoice.
This is spiritual blindness.
The true blind man in the Gospel is not the one who was born without sight. The true blindness belongs to those who stand before the works of God and refuse to glorify Him. It belongs to those who see mercy and call it a violation. It belongs to those who see a man restored and become angry. It belongs to those who love their own authority more than the mercy of God, and their own darkness more than light.
Beloved, the Gospel today asks each of us: Where am I blind? Where do I refuse the light? Where has my heart become closed? Where do I need Christ to touch me, to recreate me, to wash me, to illumine me?
And the good news is this: Christ does not pass us by indifferently. He sees us. He approaches us. He touches us. He sends us. He illumines us.
The blind man teaches us courage. When questioned, he does not deny what Christ has done for him. When pressured, he does not betray the truth. When mocked, he does not retreat into silence. He simply says, “One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see.”
This must become our testimony as well.
I may not understand everything. I may not be able to answer every accusation. I may not be able to explain every mystery. But this I know: Christ entered my darkness. Christ had mercy on me. Christ opened my eyes. Christ gave me life.
And therefore, I worship Him.
So today, let us pray with the Church: O Christ, my noetic eyes are blind and sightless. I come to Thee as did the man born blind. I cry to Thee in repentance. Thou art the most radiant Light of those in darkness.
Lord, enter into my darkness. Make for me new eyes. Teach me to see You. Teach me to see my neighbor. Teach me to see my own sins. Teach me to walk in Your light before it is too late.
For true blindness is not the loss of bodily sight. True blindness is to reject the Light when He stands before us.
And true healing is not merely that the eyes are opened. True healing is that the heart bows before Christ and says:
“Lord, I believe.”
To Him be glory, together with His eternal Father and His all-holy, good, and life-creating Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.
Homily for the Sunday of the Samaritan Woman
By Fr. Fadi Rabbat
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, One God. Amen.
Christ is risen! Indeed He is risen!
Beloved in Christ,
After the first three Sundays of Pascha, the echo of the Resurrection still resounds in the Church. It resounds in our hymns. It resounds in our prayers. It resounds in the Gospel readings of these holy days.
But now, this echo becomes quieter, deeper, and more hidden. The Church begins to prepare us for the crown of the Paschal season: Holy Pentecost, the descent of the Holy Spirit.
Pentecost is the fulfillment of the promise of the Father, the promise we heard from the Lord Jesus: that He would pray to the Father, and the Father would give us the Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, who proceeds from the Father and remains with His Church forever.
For this reason, during these Sundays, the Church places before us the mystery of water.
Last Sunday, we stood by the Pool of Bethesda.
Today, we stand by Jacob’s Well.
Next Sunday, we will stand by the Pool of Siloam.
These are the “Sundays of Water.”
And this water is not only physical water. It is the sign of Baptism. It is the sign of cleansing. It is the sign of renewal. It is the sign of the living water of the Holy Spirit, poured into the human heart.
Today, on this fifth Sunday of Pascha, the Church commemorates the Samaritan Woman, Saint Photeini, the enlightened one, the holy and glorious Great-Martyr.
The Gospel tells us that Jesus came to a city of Samaria called Sychar, near the field that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. There was Jacob’s Well.
The Lord, tired from His journey and from the heat of the day, sat beside the well at the sixth hour, at midday. And when the Samaritan Woman came to draw water, He said to her, “Give Me a drink.”
Beloved, let us pause here.
The Lord is tired.
The Lord is thirsty.
The Lord asks for water.
But who is this Lord?
He is the One who created the seas.
He is the One who gathered the waters into their places.
He is the One who caused water to flow from the solid rock for the Hebrews in the wilderness.
He is the One who sanctified the Jordan by His baptism.
He is the Fountain of life.
And yet, He sits at the well as a tired traveler, asking a wounded woman for a drink.
This is the humility of our God.
This is the love of Christ.
He lowers Himself in order to lift us up. He asks for water in order to give living water. He begins with the thirst of the body in order to reveal the thirst of the soul.
And this conversation is not a small moment in the Gospel. It is one of the longest, and by many counts the longest, recorded conversations between Christ and a human person in the Holy Scriptures. And to whom does Christ reveal such depth? Not to a ruler. Not to a scholar. Not to one honored by society. He speaks at length with a Samaritan woman, a woman burdened by her past, a woman who came alone to the well in the heat of the day.
The Jews and Samaritans had no dealings with one another. The Jews considered the Samaritans separated from the true worship of Israel, and the Samaritans accepted only the first five books of Moses.
There was religious division, historical pain, and deep suspicion between them. Yet Christ crosses all these barriers. He crosses the barrier of ethnicity. He crosses the barrier of religious hostility. He crosses the barrier of social shame. He crosses the barrier of sin.
Why?
Because, as the Church sings, He came seeking His image.
St. Cyril of Alexandria says that Christ guides the Samaritan Woman “with most gentle leading of discourse.” He does not break her. He does not shame her. He does not expose her in cruelty. He gently leads her from the water of the well to the water of eternal life.
And this is how Christ comes to us.
He knows everything.
He knows our sins.
He knows our wounds.
He knows our hidden tears.
He knows the places in our hearts that no one else sees.
And still, He comes.
Not to destroy us.
But to heal us.
The Samaritan Woman came to the well carrying her water jar. But in truth, she was carrying much more than a jar. She was carrying her past. She was carrying her shame. She was carrying her brokenness. She was carrying her thirst for love, for meaning, for forgiveness, for God.
And are we not the same?
Each one of us comes to the well carrying something.
Some carry sorrow.
Some carry guilt.
Some carry fear.
Some carry anger.
Some carry memories that still hurt.
Some carry sins they have hidden for years.
Some carry a loneliness that no one around them can see.
But today the Lord is waiting at the well.
He is waiting for the Samaritan Woman.
He is waiting for us.
And He says, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water.”
This living water is the grace of the Holy Spirit. It is the life of Baptism. It is the mercy of God. It is the life of the risen Christ poured into the soul.
St. Cyril of Alexandria says, “He calls the quickening gift of the Spirit living water.” And St. Cyril of Jerusalem says, “Like a dry tree which puts forth shoots when watered, the soul bears the fruit of holiness when repentance has made it worthy of receiving the Holy Spirit.”
Beloved, without Christ, the soul becomes dry.
It may smile, but still be dry.
It may work, speak, serve, and appear strong, but still be dry.
It may be surrounded by people, and still be thirsty.
Because the deepest thirst of the human heart cannot be satisfied by this world.
Only Christ can give living water.
Only Christ can cleanse the heart.
Only Christ can turn a dry soul into a garden.
Only Christ can make the sinner righteous.
The Church sings today that the Samaritan Woman came to the well in faith and beheld Christ, the Water of Wisdom. Having drunk abundantly of Him, she inherited the Kingdom on high forever.
This is the mystery of today’s feast: the woman who came for ordinary water discovered the eternal Fountain.
She came seeking water from Jacob’s Well, but she found the One greater than Jacob.
She came with an empty jar, but she left filled with the grace of the Holy Spirit.
When the Lord revealed the hidden truth of the Samaritan Woman’s life, He did not do it to humiliate her. He did it to free her. He revealed her wound so He could heal it. He touched the place of shame and turned it into the place of salvation.
This is why we should never be afraid to come to Christ as we are.
We do not need to hide from Him.
We do not need to pretend before Him.
We do not need to come with perfect words or perfect lives.
We simply need to come with faith and repentance.
Because the One who knows everything about us is also the One who loves us more than anyone.
The Samaritan Woman says, “I know that Messiah is coming.” And Jesus says to her, “I who speak to you am He.”
What a holy moment.
Christ reveals Himself to her.
Not to the proud.
Not to the powerful.
Not to those who thought they were righteous.
But to a wounded and thirsty woman at a well.
And when she receives this light, everything changes.
She leaves her water jar.
She runs to the city.
She says, “Come, see a Man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”
St. John Chrysostom says, “So kindled was she by His words, that she left her water pot and the purpose for which she came, ran into the city, and drew all the people to Jesus.”
She leaves the jar because she has found the true Well.
She leaves the jar because her old thirst has been healed.
She leaves the jar because her past no longer controls her.
She came to the well ashamed.
She returned to the city as a witness.
She came as a sinner.
She became an evangelist.
She came in darkness.
She became Photeini, the enlightened one.
And here, beloved, we see something beautiful. The Samaritan Woman believed, and immediately she became a source of living water for others. Leaving behind her life’s cares, forgetting her water pot and even her need for earthly water, she brought to the city a living witness to the miracle that had been revealed to her. And the inhabitants of the city came out to meet Christ, the true Source of living water.
Through her, many Samaritans believed.
This is what happens when a person truly meets Christ. The grace received in the heart cannot remain locked inside. It becomes witness. It becomes proclamation. It becomes invitation. It becomes, “Come and see.”
This, beloved, is the power of Pascha.
Christ is risen, and because He is risen, no past is stronger than His mercy.
Christ is risen, and because He is risen, no sin is deeper than His love.
Christ is risen, and because He is risen, no darkness can overcome His light.
So today, each one of us must ask:
What is my water jar?
What am I still carrying?
What do I need to leave at the feet of Christ?
Is it pride?
Is it resentment?
Is it despair?
Is it a hidden sin?
Is it an old wound?
Is it fear?
Is it the thought that I cannot change?
Today the Lord says to us:
Leave the jar.
Leave the shame.
Leave the darkness.
Leave the old thirst.
Come and drink.
Come and be healed.
Come and be illumined.
Come and live.
Beloved in Christ, the Church today brings us to Jacob’s Well, because Christ is still there. He is waiting for us in His Church. He is waiting for us in the Gospel. He is waiting for us in repentance. He is waiting for us in the Holy Eucharist. He is waiting to give us Himself.
Let us say to Him with all our heart:
Lord, give me this water.
Give me the water of repentance.
Give me the water of forgiveness.
Give me the water of the Holy Spirit.
Give me the water that springs up into eternal life.
And then, like Saint Photeini, let us go and tell the world:
Come and see Christ.
Come and see the One who knows us completely and loves us completely.
Come and see the One who reveals our wounds and heals them.
Come and see the One who gives living water.
Come and see the One who died and rose again, so that we may live.
Christ is risen!
Through the prayers of the holy and glorious Great-Martyr Photeini, the Samaritan Woman, O Lord Jesus Christ our God, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
