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.
Matthew 6:22–33, Romans 5:1–10; Third Sunday of St. Matthew The Lord said, “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is…
Christ’s words in today’s Gospel are demanding, almost severe. He speaks of confessing Him before others, of loving Him above every earthly tie, of taking up the cross. These are not the requirements of a spiritual elite. They are the simple, unvarnished conditions of discipleship. The saints are those who heard these words and allowed them to take root. They did not become holy by striving for greatness, but by surrendering to love—by letting Christ become the center around which everything else turned.
Pentecost is not simply the anniversary of something God once did. It is the revelation of what God is doing now. The same Spirit who descended as wind and fire has not withdrawn from the world. He comes to us today with the same purpose: to make Christ alive in us.
Letter from His Eminence, Archbishop Michael of New York and the Diocese of New York and New Jersey