On the weekend of Saturday, August 1 through Sunday, August 2, His Eminence, Archbishop Michael of New York, the Diocese of New York and New…
When Jesus asks, “Do you believe that I am able to do this?” He is not asking for certainty. He is asking for trust. And their simple answer—“Yes, Lord”—opens their eyes.
Our parish had a fascinating visit this week from three scholars who are studying the work of iconographer Pimen Sofronov (1898-1973). Sofronov was from the…
Forgiveness is the first word of healing. It is the gentle restoration that steadies us before we stand, the mercy that loosens what has been tightened by fear, shame, or long discouragement. And when Christ speaks that word, He does not only mend the one who suffers; He reveals His authority, His identity, His heart. The God who heals is the God who forgives. The God who raises the body is the God who raises the soul.
There is something beautiful about the moment Jesus steps onto the shore of the Gergesenes. He arrives not to applause, not to welcome, but to a confrontation with the very forces that torment humanity. Two men—violent, isolated, living among tombs—rush toward Him. They are the picture of what darkness does to a soul: it isolates, dehumanizes, and buries a person long before death ever comes. Yet Jesus does not flinch.
There is something beautiful about the moment Jesus steps onto the shore of the Gergesenes. He arrives not to applause, not to welcome, but to a confrontation with the very forces that torment humanity. Two men—violent, isolated, living among tombs—rush toward Him. They are the picture of what darkness does to a soul: it isolates, dehumanizes, and buries a person long before death ever comes. Yet Jesus does not flinch.