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Homily of the third Sunday of Pascha, 2026, 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! Truly He is risen!
 
Beloved in Christ,
 
Today, on the third Sunday of Pascha, our Holy Orthodox Church brings before us the holy Myrrh-bearing women, together with Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus. And through them, the Church teaches us what love looks like when faith is tested, what courage looks like when everything seems lost, and what hope looks like when it stands before a tomb.
 
The Gospel today begins at the most painful moment. Christ has been crucified. His disciples have scattered. The crowds have gone home. The voices that shouted, “Crucify Him,” have become silent. The body of the Lord hangs upon the Cross, and to the eyes of the world, everything is finished.
 
But in that silence, love begins to move.
 
Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council, a man who had been waiting for the Kingdom of God, takes courage and goes to Pilate.
 
The Gospel says he “took courage,” because this was not a small act. To ask for the body of Jesus was to identify himself with the Crucified One. It was to risk his position, his reputation, and perhaps even his life. Until now he had been a secret disciple, but at the Cross, secrecy could no longer contain his love.
 
And with him comes Nicodemus, the disciple by night, the man who once came to Jesus in darkness. Now, when darkness seems to have conquered, Nicodemus steps forward with myrrh and aloes. The one who came by night now serves the Light. The one who had many questions now gives his hands to bury the Answer Himself.
 
My beloved, this is the first lesson of today: true love for Christ eventually becomes visible. There may be moments when our faith is quiet, hidden, afraid, or weak. But when the hour comes, love must act. Joseph and Nicodemus teach us that it is never too late to become courageous. It is never too late to stand with Christ. It is never too late for the secret disciple to become faithful in the open.
 
Then the Gospel shows us the holy women. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome come very early in the morning, at the rising of the sun, carrying spices to anoint the body of Jesus. They are not coming because they expect a miracle. They are not coming because they understand the Resurrection. They are coming because they love Him.
 
This is the beauty of the Myrrh-bearing women. Their theology at that moment was not complete, but their love was complete. Their understanding was not perfect, but their faithfulness was real. They did not know how the stone would be moved. They did not know how they would enter. They did not know what they would find. But they went anyway.
 
And as they walked, they asked one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?”
How often this is also our question. Who will roll away the stone from my heart? Who will roll away the stone of my fear, my grief, my sin, my weakness, my anxiety, my past? Who will roll away the stone that seems too large for me to move?
 
The Gospel answers us with quiet power: when they looked up, they saw that the stone had already been rolled away. They worried about a stone that God had already moved.
 
My beloved, many times we spend our lives troubled by stones that the Lord is already preparing to roll away. We walk toward our duties, our prayers, our struggles, and our responsibilities saying, “How will this be possible?” But the Lord does not ask us to move every stone. He asks us to be faithful enough to go to the tomb. He asks us to bring the myrrh of our love, the myrrh of our prayers, the myrrh of our repentance, the myrrh of our service. And when we arrive, we discover that grace has gone before us.
 
The women enter the tomb, and instead of death, they find a messenger of life. The angel says to them, “Do not be amazed; you seek Jesus of Nazareth, Who was crucified. He is risen; He is not here; see the place where they laid Him.”
These words are the heart of our Paschal joy: “He is risen; He is not here.”
 
The tomb is empty, not because someone stole the body, but because death could not hold the Lord of Life. The grave received Him as a dead man, but it could not keep Him, because He is God. Hades opened its mouth to swallow Him, but instead it was destroyed from within. Death touched Life, and death died.
 
This is why we cry again and again, “Christ is risen!” We are not simply remembering an event from the past. We are proclaiming the victory that changes everything. If Christ is risen, then sin is not the final word. If Christ is risen, then death is not the end. If Christ is risen, then no tomb, no darkness, no despair, no failure, and no stone is greater than the mercy of God.
 
But notice also the tenderness of the angel’s message: “Go, tell His disciples and Peter.”
And Peter. Why does the Gospel mention Peter by name? Because Peter had denied the Lord three times. Peter had wept bitterly. Peter may have thought, “I am no longer worthy to be called His disciple.” But the risen Christ sends a message especially for him.
 
This is the mercy of the Resurrection. Christ does not rise in order to condemn those who failed Him, but in order to restore them when they repent. He rises and calls Peter back. He rises and gathers the scattered disciples. He rises and heals fear with peace. He rises and turns denial into repentance, repentance into forgiveness, and forgiveness into apostleship.
 
So let no one here say, “I have failed too much.” Let no one say, “The Lord has forgotten me.” Let no one say, “My sin is stronger than His mercy.” The risen Christ says, “Go, tell My disciples and Peter.” In other words, tell the weak one. Tell the one who fell. Tell the one who is ashamed. Tell the one who thinks he is outside. I am risen, and I am going before him.
 
The Myrrh-bearing women went to the tomb carrying spices for a dead body, but they became the first preachers of the Resurrection. Joseph gave Christ a tomb, but Christ transformed the tomb into the doorway of life. Nicodemus brought myrrh and aloes for burial, but the fragrance of that love became part of the Church’s eternal memory.
 
This is why the Church honors them today. Not because they understood everything, but because they were faithful. Not because they were powerful, but because they loved. Not because they had no fear, but because their love was greater than their fear.
 
And this is the calling for us today. We may not have expensive myrrh like Nicodemus. We may not have a new tomb like Joseph. But each of us has something to bring to Christ. We can bring Him a repentant heart. We can bring Him our prayer. We can bring Him our service to the Church. We can bring Him forgiveness toward others. We can bring Him our patience in suffering. We can bring Him our courage to stand with Him in a world that often forgets Him.
 
The question is not whether our gift is great in the eyes of the world. The question is whether it is offered with love.
 
The Myrrh-bearing women teach us that love goes early in the morning. Love does not wait until everything is easy. Love does not wait until all questions are answered. Love does not wait until every stone is removed. Love walks toward Christ, even with trembling. And when love reaches the tomb, it finds that Christ is not dead, but risen.
 
Beloved, let us become myrrh-bearers in our own lives. Let our words carry the fragrance of Christ. Let our homes carry the fragrance of prayer. Let our parish carry the fragrance of unity and humility. Let our hearts carry the fragrance of repentance and Paschal joy.
 
And when we face the stones of life, let us remember: the stone was very large, but it was rolled away. The tomb was sealed, but it was opened. The Lord was crucified, but He is risen.
 
May the holy Myrrh-bearing women, Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus, and all the saints intercede for us, that we may love Christ with courage, serve Him with faithfulness, and proclaim His Resurrection with joy. Amen.
 
Christ is risen! Truly He is risen!
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Thomas Sunday Homily - The Second Sunday of Pascha — Antipascha, 2026

     By Fr. Fadi Rabbat

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

Christ is Risen!

Beloved in Christ, we stand here today still luminous from the light of the Resurrection. The candles may have burned lower, and the white garments have returned to the closets, but the feast does not end. Today the Church invites us once more to the upper room — to stand in that same locked space, behind those same sealed doors, and to hear once more the voice of the Risen Lord: *"Peace be unto you."*

This day carries three names, and each name is a revelation. We call it New Sunday, because it inaugurates the newness of every week — from this day forward, every Sunday we gather becomes a little Pascha, a weekly renewal of the great feast we celebrated eight days ago. We call it Antipascha — not "against" Pascha, but "in place of" Pascha, standing opposite it as a mirror, reflecting its light back to us so that we do not forget. And we call it Thomas Sunday, because on this day the Holy Church places before us the story of one man's journey from absence to the most luminous confession in all of the Gospel of John.

Let us enter the upper room together.

It is the evening of the first day of the week — Pascha itself. The disciples are gathered behind locked doors, and the text of the Holy Gospel is very specific: they are afraid. Fear is the air they breathe in that room. The doors are shut, the world outside feels dangerous, and they do not know what comes next. And then — without a key, without the creak of a hinge, without any announcement — He is simply *there*. Among them.

This is the paradox we sing every Sunday in the Apolytikion: *"While the tomb was sealed, Thou didst shine forth from it, O Life. While the doors were closed, Thou didst come in to Thy disciples."* The sealed tomb and the locked doors belong to the same proclamation. Stone cannot contain Him. Wood and iron cannot restrain Him. The One who passed through death itself passes through every barrier we erect — every wall of fear, every door of grief, every barrier of sin and shame — and He enters with the same greeting: *Peace be unto you.*

Notice what the Lord's first word is, not just here but throughout His resurrection appearances. Not a rebuke. Not "Where were you when they took me?" Not a rehearsal of betrayals. The first word of the Risen Christ to His frightened, scattered, faithless disciples is *peace*. St. John Chrysostom comments on this very moment, noting that this is no mere social greeting — Christ reminds them of His own promise spoken before the Cross: *"My peace I leave unto you; My peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you."* This peace is something the world had never seen before and cannot give. This is the peace of One who has passed through the jaws of death and come out the other side victorious. This is eschatological peace — the peace of the Kingdom, breathed into the midst of human fear. When Christ says *"Peace be unto you,"* He is not wishing them well. He is imparting Himself.

And then He breathes upon them.

*"He breathed on them and said, Receive the Holy Spirit."*

Can you hear what the Evangelist is saying? St. Cyril of Alexandria, that great theologian of Alexandria, recognized immediately what this breath signifies. He writes that we must understand this moment in light of the very beginning — that in Genesis, the Lord God *breathed into the nostrils of Adam the breath of life*, and he became a living soul. That first breath was the gift of the Holy Spirit, the seal of God's image upon His creature. When Adam sinned, that seal was cracked, that life-giving breath was forfeited. And now, in the upper room, the Second Adam stands before His new creation, and He *breathes again*. The same Word through whom all things were made is now remaking what was unmade by the Fall. In this breath, the Church is born. In this breath, the new creation begins. The Resurrection is not merely a private miracle for Christ alone — it is the renewal of all things.

*"As Moses writes concerning our creation of old,"* says St. Cyril, *"that God breathed into his face the breath of life — as therefore Adam was fashioned and came to be, so too now is he renewed."* The breath of Easter Sunday morning is the breath of Genesis, and it is the breath that has filled this room and every church ever since.

But Thomas was not there.

We do not know why Thomas was absent. The Gospel does not tell us, and we need not speculate. What we know is that when the other disciples told him — *"We have seen the Lord!"* — he refused to believe. And the Church has called him "the doubter" ever since, with a kind of gentle reproach. Yet if we listen more carefully, both to the Gospel and to the Fathers, we discover something far more remarkable at work in Thomas's absence than a simple failure of faith.

St. John Chrysostom, preaching on this very passage, does not let Thomas entirely off the hook — he notes that Thomas's demand proceeded from a kind of earthly reasoning, a failure to grasp the reality of what the Resurrection truly meant. Yet the great Chrysostom immediately turns the gaze of his congregation elsewhere: *"But do thou, when you see the unbelief of the disciple, consider the lovingkindness of the Lord, how for the sake of a single soul He showed Himself with His wounds, and comes in order to save even the one."* Read that again. For the sake of a single soul. Christ does not appear the second time because ten out of twelve disciples had reached adequate faith. He comes back because Thomas — one soul, one man, one struggling, grieving, confused disciple — needed Him. And He comes.

This is the Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine.

And what happens when Christ comes? He does not wait for Thomas to speak. The Gospel is luminous here: before Thomas can even open his mouth, before he can repeat his conditions, before he can say *"Show me the wounds"* — Christ is already extending His hands. *"Reach hither your finger... reach hither your hand."* Thomas had set his terms, and Christ met them — not because the terms were wise, but because the love was boundless.

And Thomas's response is not simply conversion. It is transfiguration.

*"My Lord and my God!"*

St. Gregory the Theologian calls us to understand what these words contain. This two-word confession — "My Lord and my God" — is the highest Christological confession in the entire Gospel of John. It is the resolution of everything the Evangelist began in the Prologue: *"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God."* After thirty-three years of walking the earth, after the Cross and the tomb and the sealed stone, it is Thomas — the one who was absent, the one who doubted — who becomes the first human being in the Gospel to address the Risen Christ directly as God. The one the Church calls doubter is, in this moment, the model of perfect faith. His hands touched what the whole cosmos was waiting to know. His words became the confession of every Christian who would follow.

Chrysostom names this providential: *Thomas's doubt served the faith of all.* Had Thomas simply believed on hearsay, we might wonder whether the Resurrection was a rumor, a vision, a pious hope. But because Thomas insisted on evidence, and Christ provided it, and Thomas fell to his knees and cried *"My Lord and my God"* — we have the testimony not just of a man who was told, but of a man who touched. His hands became the hands of every generation that came after him.

And then — these words fall toward us across twenty centuries: *"Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed."*

Beloved in Christ, look around you.

You did not see the sealed tomb. You did not stand in that upper room on Easter evening. You have not placed your fingers in the marks of the nails. You have believed without seeing. And the Lord calls *you* blessed. Not those disciples, not Thomas, not the Myrrhbearers — *you*. This community, gathered here at St. George in El Paso on this New Sunday, is precisely the community of the blessed that Christ was speaking about. You are the fulfillment of His beatitude. You have received the peace He breathed out in that upper room, not through locked doors in Jerusalem, but through the holy mysteries, through the Scriptures, through the prayer of the Church, through every Sunday's Eucharist.

Because that is the final gift of Thomas Sunday. Every Sunday from this day forward is Anti-Pascha. Every Sunday the Church renews what happened in that upper room. Every Sunday the Risen Lord enters through the sealed walls of our ordinary week and says to us: *"Peace be unto you."* Every Sunday He breathes upon us in the prayer and in the Body and Blood. Every Sunday we are invited to do what Thomas did — not to demand proof, but to *fall on our knees* and say with our whole heart: *My Lord and my God.*

So let us live as what we are — the blessed ones who believe. Not a community of the comfortably certain, but a community that, like Thomas, has wrestled with doubt, with grief, with the absence of God in hard seasons, and has encountered Him on the other side. You carry the peace of the Resurrection into your homes this afternoon. Into your workplaces on Monday. Into every conversation, every sorrow, every place where doors are locked and fear sits in the room.

Go and open those doors. You have seen nothing with your eyes — and you are blessed. You have believed, and in believing, you have found that He was already there, standing among you, saying what He has always said:*"Peace be unto you."*

To Him be glory — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — now and ever, and unto ages of ages.

**Amen. Christ is Risen!**

Homily for the Great and Holy Saturday, 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 stand with the Church on Great and Holy Saturday, a day of sacred silence, deep mystery, and hidden triumph. This is the day between the Cross and the Resurrection, between the burial of the Lord and the first proclamation of Pascha. It is a day that appears quiet on the surface, yet within it the whole mystery of salvation is already at work. Christ lies in the tomb according to the flesh, and by His divine power He descends to Hades, shattering the gates of death and revealing that even the darkest place has been touched by light.

The Church’s ancient voice proclaims this mystery with awe: “Today there is a great silence over the earth, a great silence and stillness, a great silence because the King sleeps.” The ancient homily continues by showing Christ entering Hades not as a captive, but as the Liberator: “I command you: Awake, sleeper, I have not made you to be held a prisoner in the underworld. Arise from the dead; I am the life of the dead.” These words reveal the meaning of Holy Saturday better than any explanation can. Christ descends into death not to be overcome by it, but to overthrow it from within. He trampled death by death.

This is why Holy Saturday is both a day of rest and a day of light. The rest of Christ in the tomb is the completion of His saving work, just as God rested on the seventh day after creation. Yet this rest is not empty stillness. It is the rest of the One who has entered the depths in order to free those held there. The ancient homily says that He goes to seek out our first father as a lost sheep and that He comes holding the cross as His victorious weapon. The tomb, then, is not the end of His work, but the place where His victory begins to shine from within.

This is also why Holy Saturday is so closely linked to illumination and baptism. St. Cyril of Jerusalem speaks to the catechumens as those who are already nearing the mystery of enlightenment, saying, “Already there is an odor of blessedness upon you, O ye who are soon to be enlightened.” He also calls baptism “a ransom to captives; a remission of offenses; a death of sin; a new-birth of the soul; a garment of light.” In these words we hear the same mystery celebrated today: Christ enters the darkness of death so that we may enter His light through baptism.

St. Cyril teaches that those preparing for baptism are not merely students, but those being formed for illumination. He speaks of them as the soon-to-be enlightened, already gathering the spiritual flowers of heaven.

On Holy Saturday the Church traditionally received the catechumens into the sacrament of baptism because this day is the very image of what baptism accomplishes. We go down into the waters as Christ went down into the tomb, and we rise with Him into the brightness of life. The baptismal font becomes, in a holy sense, the tomb and the womb at once: the place where the old life is buried and the new life begins.

This is why the liturgy of Holy Saturday is so different from the liturgy of Pascha, and yet so deeply united to it.

Today the Church does not yet burst forth in full resurrection joy, but neither does she remain in sorrow. She stands between grief and triumph, between silence and song. The Old Testament readings, the solemn prayers, and the gradual movement from mourning to joy all show that the Church is already passing through the tomb with her Lord. The light has begun to shine, though the full dawn has not yet broken.

The fathers teach us that this is not only a historical event, but a present spiritual reality. Christ enters the depths of human existence to bring light to all who sit in darkness and the shadow of death. He enters our fears, our sins, our grief, and our inner tombs. He does not stand far off from our suffering. He descends into it, and by descending, He transforms it. This is the hope of Holy Saturday: that no darkness is too deep for Christ, no grave too sealed, no heart too burdened for His light.

So today, beloved, let us keep watch in reverence. Let us wait with the Myrrh-bearing Women, with the apostles, and with the catechumens of old who were about to be illumined.

Let us remember that the light of Pascha is already hidden in the tomb. And let us hear in our hearts the voice of the Lord who says: “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light.”

To Him who descended into Hades and shattered its gates, who enlightened the faithful and brought the dead to life, to Christ our true God, be glory, honor, and worship, with His Father who is without beginning and His all-holy, good, and life-creating Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages. Amen.

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The Resurrection Service and the Rush Procession (صلاة الهجمة): What It Is and Why We Do It?
By Fr. Fadi Rabbat
 
The Resurrection Service with Rush Procession (صلاة الهجمة) is one of the most profound and symbolic moments of the Paschal celebration.
 
According to Sacred Tradition, when our Lord Jesus Christ descended into Hades after His death in the flesh, He was accompanied by the angelic hosts led by Michael and Gabriel.
 
When Gabriel commanded the keepers of Hades to open the gates for the King of Glory, they asked, “Who is this King of Glory?” and Michael answered, “It is the Lord, strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.”
 
This divine event was foretold by the Prophet David, who proclaimed, “Lift up your heads, O you gates; and be lifted up, you everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall enter in. Who is this King of Glory? The Lord of hosts—He is the King of Glory.”[1]
Saint Sophronius of Bulgaria vividly describes the scene, recounting how the angels cried out to the demons to open their gates for the coming of the King of Glory. When the demons demanded to know who this King was, the angels replied that He was the Lord Almighty, the One who had cast them down from heaven for their pride, the Son of God whom they failed to recognize when He raised Lazarus or when the earth shook and the sun darkened at His crucifixion. At that moment the gates of Hades shattered, and Christ entered glorified in His divinity and His soul.
 
Thus, the descent into Hades became the moment of cosmic triumph—Christ’s victory over darkness, Satan, death, and every power of corruption.[2]
 
This same victory resonates in the service of Great and Holy Saturday, often called the Saturday of Light. The hymns proclaim the collapse of Hades’ power: “When He approached me, my power was broken; He crushed my bronze gates and raised the souls I held captive, for He is God.”
 
In the words of Saint John Chrysostom’s Paschal homily, “He that was taken by death has annihilated it! He descended into Hades and took Hades captive!” The depths of Hades trembled before the Redeemer, confirming the ancient confession preserved from the Council of Ariminum in 358 A.D.: “He was crucified, died, and descended into the lower parts of the earth, where He subdued all things. The gatekeepers of Hades saw Him and trembled.”[3][1]
 
The Resurrection Service with Rush Procession, celebrated before the Divine Liturgy of Pascha, brings this mystery to life in the worship of the Church.
 
It begins outside the church doors, where priests and faithful gather holding candles, crosses, and often icons, awaiting the joyful announcement of the Resurrection.
 
The Gospel is read in the courtyard, and the priest exclaims, “Christ is risen,” to which the people respond, “Indeed He is risen.” This marks the moment when Christ, having broken the gates of death, calls all humanity into the light of new life. Saint John Chrysostom captures this joy with his famous Paschal proclamation: “Let no one fear death, for the Savior’s death has set us free.”[3]
The priest then stands before the closed doors of the church and engages in a symbolic dialogue drawn from the Twenty-Fourth Psalm with a voice from within representing the Prince of Darkness. At the command to open the gates for the King of Glory, the doors swing wide, and the faithful rush into the brilliantly illuminated church.
 
This movement is not mere ritual but a living image of the Resurrection—an act of passing from the darkness of death into the light and joy of eternal life.
 
As the people enter, the church itself resounds with the ringing of bells and the shaking of “triyata”, echoing the cosmic tremor that marked Christ’s victory and the overthrow of the abyss.[1]
The name “صلاة الهجمة” — meaning the “Rush Procession” — expresses multiple layers of meaning. It recalls Christ’s mighty advance against the powers of evil, His descent into Hades to release the souls held captive, and the triumphant rush of the faithful into the radiant church, rejoicing in the Resurrection.
 
In the Antiochian and Byzantine Churches, this term captures the fervor and movement of Paschal joy, while Slavic traditions call the service simply “Pascha” or the pre-dawn Resurrection vigil.
In both, the mystery is the same: life has conquered death, and light has swallowed up the shadow of the grave. As Saint Melito of Sardis so powerfully writes, Christ is the One who “destroys death, and triumphs over the enemy, and crushes Hades.”[2]
 
Sources
[1] The Paschal Sermon - Orthodox Church in America https://www.oca.org/fs/sermons/the-paschal-sermon
[2] Melito of Sardis's “On Pascha” | the theological beard https://theologicalbeard.wordpress.com/.../melito-of.../
[3] Paschal Homily of Saint John Chrysostom https://www.saintstevens.org/paschalhomilyofsaintjohnchry...
[4] The Pascal Homily of Saint John Chrysostom : r/OrthodoxChristianity https://www.reddit.com/.../the_pascal_homily_of_saint.../
[5] Quote for Holy Pascha - OrthodoxInsight https://orthodoxinsight.com/?p=3238
[6] Trampling Down Death by Death: Beating Down the Doors of Hell ... https://rusynsociety.com/.../trampling-down-death-by-death/
[7] Paschal Homily - Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paschal_Homily
[8] On Pascha - Melito of Sardis - Glory to God For All Things https://glory2godforallthings.com/.../on-pascha-melito.../
[10] St. John Chrysostom: Paschal Homily - Orthodox Church Quotes https://orthodoxchurchquotes.wordpress.com/.../st-john.../
[11] St. Melito and Pascha - Hell Is Not the Last Word https://glory2godforallthings.com/.../st-melito-and.../
[12] Pascha | Orthodox Church Quotes https://orthodoxchurchquotes.wordpress.com/.../pascha/
[13] [PDF] The Paschal Homily of St. John Chrysostom - God With Us Online https://godwithusonline.org/.../The-Paschal-Homily-of-St...
[14] Origin of the dialogue from Psalm 23 on Pascha http://analogion.com/forum/index.php...
[15] Hades is Embittered — Fr. Andrew Stephen Damick https://blogs.ancientfaith.com/.../18/hades-is-embittered/
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Homily for Great and Holy Thursday: The Mystical Supper

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 Church gathers us into the radiant mystery of Great and Holy Thursday—the institution of the Mystical Supper, wherein our Passover, Christ the Lamb, transforms the shadow of the Hebrew sacrifice into the radiant reality of the New Covenant. Since the Passover of the Hebrews stood ready to be slain on Friday, divine wisdom ordained that truth should perfectly fulfill the type: our Passover, the Lord Jesus Christ, offered upon the Cross that very day. In holy anticipation, as the divine Fathers teach, He celebrated this Supper with His Apostles on Thursday evening, for the Hebrews reckon evening and the full day as one, counting night before light.[1]

The Lord, ever obedient to the Law lest He seem its transgressor, performed this rite as St. John Chrysostom attests (Hom. 82 in Matth.): standing, loins girded, shod with sandals, staff in hand, precisely as Exodus commands—all prepared by Zebedee, the water-bearer, according to St. Athanasius the Great. Yet surpassing these shadows, when night fell in the upper room, He revealed the perfect mystery to the Twelve: “And supper being ended, He reclined with them” (Jn. 13:25). Here was no Mosaic feast of fire-roasted shank and unleavened matzah, but reclining at table with leavened bread, water, and wine—the foretaste of Eucharistic koinonia.

Before the meal’s true course—as Chrysostom recounts—“The Lord, having loved His own, loved them to the end, and gave them Himself as food.” He rose, laid aside His garments, poured water into the basin, and washed their feet: first Judas the betrayer, seated in brazen audacity; then Peter, fervent yet resisting, who at last yielded to his Master’s touch. Through this act of humility, Christ unveils exalted kenosis, declaring: “He who would be first among you, let him be servant of all” (Mk. 10:44). Reclining once more, He enjoins them to love one another without seeking precedence, modeling the Kingdom’s gentle rule.[1]

Amid this fraternal repast, He foretells betrayal. To the troubled Apostles, quietly to beloved John: “He it is to whom I give the sop” (Jn. 13:26); and openly, “He who dips his hand with Me in the dish” (Mt. 26:23)—both fulfilled in Judas’ doom. Then, taking leavened bread to reprove azymite error, He commands: “Take, eat; this is My Body.” The chalice follows: “Drink all of it; this is My Blood of the New Covenant—do this in remembrance of Me” (Mt. 26:26-28). He Himself partook with them, weaving us eternally into His deified life—as St. Cyril of Jerusalem affirms: “The bread and the wine... before the holy invocation... were simple bread and wine, but the invocation having been made, the bread becomes the Body of Christ and the wine the Blood of Christ” (Catech. Lect. 19:7). After the sop, Satan enters Judas fully, and he departs to bargain with the chief priests for thirty pieces of silver (Mt. 26:15)—the shadow of Friday’s Passion.[2]

Beloved, this Mystical Supper, enshrined in the Vesperal Liturgy of St. Basil, is no mere commemoration but our living participation in Christ’s eternal offering. Here humility triumphs over pride, love over betrayal, and the New Covenant over the old. As the same mouths that cried “Hosanna!” on Palm Sunday will soon shout “Crucify!”, so we behold the paradox of salvation: no true Supper without the Cross, no Cross without the Tomb, no Tomb without Resurrection. St. Ignatius of Antioch warns those who deny this sacred Flesh: “They abstain from the Eucharist... because they do not confess that the Eucharist is the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ, which suffered for our sins” (Ep. ad Smyrn. 6-7).[3]

The washing of feet calls us to servant love; the sop warns of spiritual peril; the Eucharist binds us to the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world. Let us approach this throne of grace not as Judas, hardening the heart, nor as Peter in unrefined zeal, but as John, reclining upon the Lord’s breast in trusting communion. Spread before Him, as the crowd once spread garments, the virtues of your soul—repentance, humility, charity—that He may tread upon your passions and lead you into the bridal chamber of His Kingdom. 

Today’s children, with their candles aglow, echo the Supper’s light: their innocence images the Church, pure and fervent, receiving the Bread of Life. Their small hands hold the mystery we all pursue—the passage from deathly betrayal to undying union with Christ. 

As we venerate this Mystical Supper, let it transform us: from slaves of sin to partakers of divinity, from shadows of Passover to radiant children of the Resurrection. Walk with Him through Gethsemane’s agony, the false trial, the Cross, and the Tomb—not as spectators, but as disciples bearing His life within. 

The Lamb who instituted this Supper now knocks at the door of your heart. Open to Him in faith, that He may reign in you, washing away every stain, feeding you with His Body and Blood, and guiding you to the unending Pascha.

To Him be glory, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Sources

[1] 10 Saint Quotes to help you reflect on Holy Thursday (Maundy ... https://www.instagram.com/reel/DWpoOcRDefj/

[2] What the Early Church Believed: The Real Presence https://www.catholic.com/tract/the-real-presence

[3] The Real Presence - Church Fathers https://www.churchfathers.org/the-real-presence

[4] 10 Saint Quotes to help you reflect on Holy Thursday (Maundy ... https://www.facebook.com/thyflameoflove/posts/10-saint-quotes-to-help-you-reflect-on-holy-thursday-maundy-thursday-of-holy-wee/122210244158499241/

[5] Maundy Thursday 2017: 20 Quotes To Celebrate, Remember Jesus ... https://www.latintimes.com/maundy-thursday-2017-20-quotes-celebrate-remember-jesus-last-supper-415678

[6] Quotes from the Church Fathers on the significance of the Eucharist? https://www.reddit.com/r/Catholicism/comments/tdlh8p/quotes_from_the_church_fathers_on_the/

[7] Holy Thursday - My Catholic Life! https://mycatholic.life/saints/saints-of-the-liturgical-year/holy-thursday/

[8] Early Church Fathers, prior to Nicaea, did not believe in the physical ... https://www.reddit.com/r/DebateACatholic/comments/wy1gop/early_church_fathers_prior_to_nicaea_did_not/

[9] Holy and Great Thursday / OrthoChristian.Com https://orthochristian.com/61194.html

[10] Lord Jesus, on this Maundy Thursday, we remember Your humility ... https://www.facebook.com/groups/1705055086343223/posts/2848894095292644/

[11] The Eucharistic Theology of Early Church Fathers - St. Paul Center https://stpaulcenter.com/posts/the-eucharistic-theology-of-early-church-fathers

[12] Quote/s of the Day – 29 March – Holy Thursday 2018 - AnaStpaul https://anastpaul.com/2018/03/29/quote-of-the-day-29-march-holy-thursday-2018/

[13] Thy - 10 Saint Quotes to help you reflect on Holy Thursday (Maundy ... https://www.facebook.com/thyflameoflove/photos/10-saint-quotes-to-help-you-reflect-on-holy-thursday-maundy-thursday-of-holy-wee/122210244134499241/

[14] Did the Early Church Teach Transubstantiation? https://blog.tms.edu/did-the-early-church-teach-transubstantiation

[15] [PDF] The Eucharist According to the Early Fathers of the Church https://www.hebrewcatholic.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/17.07-Eucharist-According-to-Early-Church-Fathers-pdf.pdf

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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.
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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.