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The Word Creates

The opening of Genesis and John shows that the world is made by God’s Word. Genesis 1 depicts God speaking the universe into existence: God does not build or struggle with raw materials; he simply speaks, and the Cosmos comes into being. Creation itself is a kind of liturgy, ordered and sustained by the living Word of God.

This shapes how we understand both the world and Jesus Christ. When Scripture says that God creates by speaking, it teaches that his Word is not just information but life‑giving power. God’s speech is supremely effective; it accomplishes what it declares. Every creature exists because it has been personally addressed by God.

The Gospel of John then makes this personal Word explicit: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Before anything was made, the Word already is, in perfect communion with the Father and truly God. “All things were made through him” means that the same divine Word who speaks in Genesis is the eternal Son, the one through whom all things came to be.

Creation is therefore Trinitarian: the Father creates through the Son in the Holy Spirit. The order and beauty of the world reflect the wisdom of the Word, the signature of Christ on everything that exists. The One who will later walk the roads of Galilee is the same One through whom galaxies, oceans, and atoms were brought into being.

The Holy Evangelist John then makes a staggering claim: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The eternal Word who called light out of darkness enters the very world he made, taking on our nature without ceasing to be who he is eternally. The hands that shaped the stars become the hands of a carpenter and are later stretched out on the Cross. The voice that said “Let there be light” will cry, “It is finished,” bringing about a new creation.

To say that Jesus Christ is the Word of God is to say that the Savior of the world is also its Maker. In him, the first creation and the new creation meet. He still speaks, calling each of us out of darkness into his light, and when he speaks, things change: the Word who once created now re‑creates, restoring in us the image first spoken into being at the dawn of this age.

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Christ’s Compassionate Mission: Healing the Gadarene Demoniac

The account of the Gadarene demoniac begins with Jesus intentionally traveling into Gentile territory — a region where no one expected a Jewish teacher to go — to seek rest. Instead of respite, He encounters a man who is possessed by many demons and has been completely cast out by his own community, living among the tombs and bound by chains.

Despite the man’s terrifying condition and social isolation, Christ is not afraid or offended; He approaches the demoniac with profound compassion. The Church Fathers see this moment as symbolic of Christ’s entire messianic mission. No one, no matter how lost or broken, has drifted so far as to be outside the reach of God’s love and saving power.

The healing of the Gadarene demoniac assures us that Christ’s grace extends to the lonely, the forsaken, and those on the very edges of community. Jesus invites all to experience dignity and new life in Him, drawing us from the fringes into his loving embrace, where we stand together as brothers and sisters in a communion of Divine love.

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The Soul-Body Connection

St. Paul prays that our “spirit and soul and body” be kept rightly ordered and blameless before Christ, showing that each part has its place under God. In the same spirit, he warns that if we “live according to the flesh” we move toward death, but if by the Spirit we put to death the deeds of the body, we truly live, pointing to the danger of bodily impulses ruling over the soul. (1 Thessalonians 5:23; Romans 8:13)

Human beings were created to be a harmonious union of soul and body, functioning in the Divinely-instituted framework of the soul guiding the body. When this order is disrupted, when the body overpowers the soul, we are left with a distorted experience of both God and the world. When the body leads, people become fragmented, restless, at the whim of obsessions, compulsions, and addictions.

Instead, we are meant to lead with our spiritual sense, known as the nous. In Orthodox teaching, the nous is the highest faculty, capable of perceiving God and the spiritual realm. When the nous is darkened by passions, it leaves a person spiritually blind; when it is illumined, it allows the soul to discern God’s will and align our lives with it. This gives right shape and order to our lives: instead of becoming our masters, food, drink, work, rest, and the innocent joys of the body are received as gifts and offered back to God in praise and thanksgiving.

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From Wilderness to Paradise

Immediately before beginning his messianic ministry, Jesus is lead into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit, where He fasts and faces temptation for forty days. This passage is deeply symbolic: it fulfills the Old Testament pattern of Israel journeying in the wilderness for forty years after being delivered through the Red Sea—a foreshadowing of Christian baptism, which delivers us from sin and death.
Jesus’s time in the wilderness also prefigures the spiritual journey of every Christian, showing that following Christ does not remove struggles or temptations, but instead marks the beginning of deeper spiritual warfare. (An example of what Fr. Thomas Hopko called, “The bad news of the Good News.”) This struggle is expected for those serious about their faith, as temptations often increase when we draw closer to Christ. The wilderness represents both a battleground against evil and a place where God’s peace and victory can be found. Facing these struggles is not a sign of failure, but a sign that one is authentically on the path toward God.
St. Ambrose of Milan offers further insight: just as Adam was sent into the wilderness from paradise, Christ—the Second Adam—returns from the wilderness to lead humanity back to God. Jesus deliberately enters the wilderness of the world’s brokenness to seek out the lost and guide them toward the kingdom of God, showing that His saving work involves joining us where we are and bringing us to where He is—at the right hand of the Father.
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Standing Fast in Christ

In his first epistle to the Corinthians, the Holy Apostle Paul offers the faithful these words of wisdom: “Watch, stand fast in the faith, be brave, be strong. Let all that you do be done with love.” (1 Cor. 16:13-14) From the very beginning, Christians have needed this encouragement.

There are always temptations either to compromise the faith or to give it up entirely. Yet standing fast in Christ does not mean being harsh or argumentative. Paul reminds us: everything must be done in love. Too often (especially online!), defending the faith looks like winning arguments or scoring “gotchas.” But in truth, no one has ever been argued into the Kingdom by clever comebacks.

Our calling is the same as that of the believers in Corinth who first heard St. Paul’s words: to witness through compassion, patience, and kindness—even when others take aim at us. Christ did not conquer by force or arrogance, but by emptying Himself in love on the Cross.

To stand fast in the faith means keeping our integrity, being brave to love when it’s hardest, and being strong enough not to sink into bitterness. The Kingdom is built on peace, kindness, and love, and as St. Paul urges, “Let all that you do be done in love.”

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“Do Justice, Love Kindness, Walk Humbly”

People were deeply moved by St. John the Forerunner’s warning of the coming judgment and wanted to know how to amend their lives. St. John’s answer was grounded in mercy and justice—the same command proclaimed by the prophet Micah, that we “do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God.”

John was not giving a detailed code of behavior for every circumstance, but rather revealing the heart of the law. Repentance meant a shift away from “each man for himself” to becoming one’s brother’s keeper. True turning to God always includes turning toward the neighbor, because love of God and love of neighbor cannot be separated.

In practical terms, this means that part of faithfulness to God is found in serving others. Just as our sins often make life harder for those around us, repentance produces the opposite effect: making another’s life a little lighter, even through small acts of mercy. These are the fruits worthy of repentance, the visible sign that one’s heart has truly turned toward God.
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“I Believe”

Looking over the text of the Divine Liturgy, we find very few “I” statements. The Liturgy is a communal act and the content of the prayers and hymns reflect this. There are, however, two notable exceptions. One is in the Creed and the other is the prayer that we read immediately before Holy Communion. Both of these sacred texts begin with the words “I believe.”
By saying “I believe,” we are making a personal confession of faith, aligning ourselves with the collective belief of the Church, first proclaimed by the holy apostles. “I believe” is not an abstract statement—this is the language of conviction, trust, and relationship.
We don’t say “I think” or “I theorize,” but “I believe.” In the New Testament, belief is never just intellectual agreement. It is an act of entrusting ourselves to God. St. Paul says clearly, “If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved” (Romans 10:9). To believe with the heart is to place our whole life in God’s hands. We hear this invitation over and over again in the Divine Liturgy: “…let us commend ourselves and each other and all our life to Christ our God.”
The Lord Himself connects belief with life. In John 11:25–26, standing at the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in Me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in Me shall never die. Do you believe this?” The question He asks Martha is the same He asks each of us when we begin the Creed and then again as we approach the Holy Eucharist: Do you believe this?
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A Cross of Tragedy and Victory

Metropolitan Anthony Bloom said that the Cross is both a tragedy and a victory, revealing what is perhpas the greatest and most beautiful paradox in the Gospel. The tragedy lies in Christ’s innocent suffering and the shameful nature of crucifixion—a punishment for criminals and political outcasts—yet Christ willingly endures it out of  selfless love.

Our Lord did not will to be lifted up on the Cross for his own sake. He did it for us. Because Christ’s death was freely offered, the Cross becomes the act of sacrificial love that transforms death from tragedy to glory. “The Cross,” he said, “an instrument of infamous death… because Christ’s death was that of an innocent, and because this death was a gift of self in an act of love—becomes victory.”

Christians are called to embrace this paradox: taking up the Cross means denying selfishness and opening ourselves to divine love, which is, in Metropoltian Anthony’s words, “love sacrificial, love crucified, but love exulting in the joy of life.” This transformation demonstrates how defeat leads to glory through self-emptying love and ultimate hope.