Showing posts with label Ephrem Arcement. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ephrem Arcement. Show all posts

Sunday, July 19, 2026

The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 11, July 19, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, July 19, 2026




In his book The Hero with a Thousand Faces, the great mythologist Joseph Campbell describes the narrative pattern of the hero myth as follows:


A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are encountered there, and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.


Campbell chronicles this narrative process of the hero myth through seventeen chronological stages, each infusing the protagonist with new experiences that gradually transforms his or her character into its destined ideal: a hero who has undergone adventure, transformation, and return to become the boon, or a blessing, to those yet to undergo the journey themselves.  The “thousand faces” of the hero’s journey refers to the multiple iterations that this universal, mythic journey manifests.  Underneath, though, for Campbell, there is only one transformative monomyth of adventure, transformation, and return.

This weekend one of the most paradigmatic of these hero journeys hits the big screen in the highly anticipated adaptation of The Odyssey by the great filmmaker Christopher Nolan.  The Bible, too, is full of these hero journeys beginning with Abram who is transformed into Abraham and his grandson, who we hear about today, Jacob who will be transformed into Israel. 

Up to this point in the story, Jacob, whose name means “supplanter,” has usurped his twin brother, Esau, at every turn.  Even at his mother’s bidding, Jacob will come to assume and own his identity as a trickster all to get what was not rightfully his, his father’s blessing.  Even though a twin, he is not the first-born twin.  He is the second…and his supplanting nature is memorably depicted in the story even in his birth with his tiny hand firmly fixed on his brother Esau’s equally tiny ankle.  Ever-grasping Jacob refuses to stand in the shadow of his brother and rightful inheritor of the blessing of the father and the promise of God.  So, all of his life, he grasps and strives and connives to supplant his brother to be somebody his society and religion said he could not be.  And yet, the irony at the heart of the story is that all along Yahweh, his god, had supplanted custom and already chosen him to be the son of blessing.  But to realize this, Jacob has to go on a hero’s journey of adventure, transformation, and return.

The story today picks up with Jacob on the run, living in fear of his brother’s retribution.  It’s here in the moment of his own, personal existential crisis that he meets his match.  With a stone for his head, he lies down and dreams of a ladder connecting heaven to earth with God’s messengers, angels, ascending and descending on it.  But the message does not come from these messengers but directly from God standing right beside him.  God’s message is a message not of castigation or reproach but one of assurance and promise.  Jacob learns that his god is with him to fulfill the promise of Abraham through him, just as he so desperately desired.  As he rouses himself, his eyes are awakened to new dimensions and exclamation says, “Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it!  How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”  For us, today, the journey ends here…but not for Jacob.  His transformation is only beginning and won’t be complete before having to wrestle with this god and be perpetually wounded in the fight.  Jacob will indeed be the vessel through whom the blessing of God flows, but it’s through a wounded, limping, humbled vessel…one who has gone through the fire and whose ego-ambition has been supplanted by God.  

But this is a lesson for another sermon in the weeks ahead, today the focus is on a very particular stage of this hero’s journey.  The truth discovered at this stage is a truth that appears again and again in the journey of spiritual maturation…it is the moment of awakening.  Ironically this happens while Jacob is asleep.  And maybe there’s a lesson in this irony…it’s only when we let go of control in our wakened life that the divine in our subconscious minds can make itself known.  And what is the revelation that here awakens Jacob?  It is the fact that his God, Yahweh, the God of the promise, is with him in this deserted place with only a stone for a pillow.  It’s the insight that it’s in the ordinary where the extraordinary is discovered and that he is now in God’s house (the literal meaning of Bethel) …that it’s when you’re worn down by running away from the thing you fear most and have to just stop over sheer exhaustion that you encounter the awesomeness of God and the gate of heaven.  

Jacob’s journey of awakening and discovery reminds me of another hero’s journey, the journey of Thomas Merton who chronicles a very similar experience.  After living about sixteen years as a Trappist monk in rural Kentucky, Merton, suffering from chronic back pain, goes to downtown Louisville to see a doctor.  While walking on a busy street corner he is suddenly stunned by what he sees.  He describes it as follows:


In Louisville, at the corner of Fourth and Walnut, in the center of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness….  And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun…. Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed…. I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.

“How awesome is this place!  This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”  Sound familiar?  

I have often wondered if anybody else on that busy day on Fourth and Walnut saw what Merton saw.  Probably not!  But why did he see it?  Was it a moment of total sovereign revelation?  I don’t think so.  Merton had spent sixteen years giving himself over to the monastic way of life and learning how to open himself up and listen deeply with the ear of his heart.  His spiritual senses were attuning themselves to the presence of God everywhere.  He was, in other words, ripe for something like this to happen.  And it did!  “The gate of heaven is everywhere” is Merton’s great insight…and he challenges us to awaken our spiritual senses to see it, hear it, taste it, touch it, and smell it in the everyday, ordinary moments of our seemingly mundane lives.  

Pope Francis used to repeatedly say that God is a God of surprises and that we never know when God is going to surprise us.  We, therefore, need to develop what he called “a contemplative gaze” so that we don’t miss those divine surprises.

So, at the heart of our journey in our life with God is found one of life’s greatest lessons.  With Jacob we must close our eyes to the world around us and “fall asleep,” as it were, to the phenomenal world and awaken to the numinous depths within.  It is there that the awesome presence of God awaits us.  We don’t have to wait until Sunday morning or a moment of crisis to encounter this presence.  It abides with us!  And with Merton we give ourselves to lives of prayer and deep listening, ever sensitizing ourselves to the “deep calling unto deep,” so that with Pope Francis we can awaken from our slumber and return to our awakened state each morning ready for the adventure in God that awaits us.  

One further lesson in the Jacob story…this process of awakening to the vision of God in the hero’s journey is not easy and comes at a price.  It’s on a very hard, uncomfortable stone that you will have to sometimes lay your head.  It’s not what we would have chosen, and it is often what we wrestle with God to accept…but it is this very stone which becomes the catalyst of awakening and is transformed into a monument to God.  

The lesson Jesus teaches us today is that in this process of transformation there are weeds encroaching on us our whole lives.  Patient endurance, putting up with the weaknesses of body and behavior, as our Holy Father Benedict memorably put it, is not just a necessary burden, it is the very virtue transforming us into someone who will one day shine like the sun.  For Jesus, and for those in him, the good news is that the adventure we’re on is one much greater than any hero’s journey…and the transformation and boon of blessing far exceeds anything previously imagined.  We’re on a journey not just of adventure, transformation, and return…we’re on a journey of adventure, transformation, and transcendence into a whole new mode of being…what he called eternal life…and that this eternal life isn’t in some far away kingdom reserved for us when we die…but in the simple, but pregnant, moments of our everyday lives.  Let anyone with ears listen!  And let anyone with eyes see…we’re all shining like the sun!

Sunday, June 7, 2026

The Second Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 5, June 7, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Second Sunday after Pentecost, June 7, 2026




The journey of faith always begins with a call.  We see it with Abram in his encounter with a strange voice.  We see it with Moses before a flaming bush.  We see it with the prophets in all sorts of bazaar theophanies.  We see it with Jesus at his baptism.  We see it with Jesus’ disciples when he bids them, “Follow me.”  The call is given in an irrevocable summoning, but the response can go any sort of way.  We are free to say “yes” or to say “no,” to negotiate or maybe even to try to convince God why this is all might be a big mistake.  Yet, the call remains, and we are left with choices that will determine the course of our lives…and the lives of those who come after us…for generations to come. 

What is it about this call that can cause someone to act so utterly irrationally, so utterly contrary to normal expectations…Like Abram and Moses…Jesus and his disciples?  This is, I believe, the mysterious element at the heart of every religion and its most distinctive characteristic.  There would be no Hinduism or Buddhism without this mysterious summoning.  No Judaism, no Islam, and no Christianity.  And neither would there be any monasticism.  Every religious movement is ignited by the spark of this numinous, mysterious, existential demand that confronts us…some of us, with such conviction that we seem to be denied a choice in it at all…we are grasped by a God who simply will not let us go, and we are like Peter before Jesus, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

And, so, as God woos us along this wild journey of faith with promises of a better future…for lives of greater peace, greater joy, greater justice for all…we learn much about ourselves…and about those with whom we accompany along the way…and the intended maturation process begins.  All carefully designed by God, our journey of faith is not about getting there as quickly as possible, nor is it about getting there without ever taking a wrong turn…and it is certainly not about getting there first and leaving everyone else in the dust.  Our wilderness wandering is all about learning to discern the true and real value of life from all of the competing values and to learn to find the grace to finally lay all of our idols aside and embrace the one thing necessary alone and, in doing so, discover that the promises of God are actually not in some far distant future like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow but right here in our midst waiting to be discovered in our moment of spiritual awakening. The divine theophany at our calling, which gave us a foretaste of the promise to come, whose delight is usually obliterated by the squelching heat of the desert sun, is all directed to this…to the trying of our faith to discover a deeper type of faith which no longer finds life’s value in a projected future but in the here and now.  Taste and see!  There is a paradise in the middle of the vast, barren desert, and we discover that we are now standing on holy ground…and with Jacob we exclaim, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”  

“Listen…and you will arrive,” the first and final words of St. Benedict’s Rule for Monks, captures this journey of faith with perfect simplicity and perceptive insight.  Listen…and keep listening.  Listen deeply with the ear of your heart, for you have a father who loves you and has a promise to reveal to you.  Learn to put off the old self with its ears for titillation and gossip and become pure so that you can hear the deep, constant reverberations of divine love.  It’s the hearing, that tasting, and these sacred moments of encounter which bestow the grace to let go of the past which so seeks to cling to you and is where you will find the boldness to venture out into an unencumbered freedom where you will find yourself moving in the kingdom of God and not just toward it.

And this is the moment of insight…that moment when all becomes utterly clear and simple.  When the life that we lived with a plethora of competing allegiances is reduced to one, and we discover that the one thing necessary is not success, not prosperity, not notoriety; not a good name and not an honorable family; not the freedom to do what we want nor the health and means to do it.  It’s not the propagation and of our sacred traditions nor the strict adherence to them.  It is only one thing: faith working itself out through love.  

One thing that I have grown to appreciate more and more as I have reflected on my life as a monk over these past 15 years is that its integrity depends on its being rooted and grounded in precisely this and nothing else: faith working itself out in love.  The monastic vow is exactly that: conversatio: fidelity leading to love.  All of the various aspects of monastic life…and there are many behind which we can hide and evade our true calling…they all are assumed in the all-encompassing vow of conversatio morum: fidelity to the monastic way of life which blossoms in love.  It is not obedience.  It is not stability.  It is not celibate chastity.  It is not poverty or simplicity of life.  It is the commitment of my heart to give itself without compromise to the daily seeking of the face of God, the daily tasting of divine love, and the less romantic but as important daily struggle of humble service which keeps my heart beating with love and compassion and kindness and prevents it from taking refuge in whatever else may serve as a fake imitation of this love, however good in itself.  Obedience is not love.  Love bears fruit in obedience.  Stability is not love.  Love bears fruit in faithful stability.  Chastity and simplicity are not love.  Love bears fruit in chastity and simplicity.  Love, love, and love again.  This is the vow of a Benedictine monk.

Sometime in the middle of the 12th century, an English monk of immense spiritual depth and intellectual insight and the head of a lively community in the town of Rievaulx chronicled in one of the most beloved of monastic treatises of the Middle Ages the following: “The day before yesterday, as I was walking the round of the cloister of the monastery, the brethren were sitting around forming as it were a most loving crown.  In the midst, as it were, of the delights of paradise with the leaves, flowers, and fruits of each single tree, I marveled.  In that multitude of brethren I found no one whom I did not love, and no one by whom, I felt sure, I was not loved.  I was filled with such joy that it surpassed all the delights of this world.  I felt, indeed, my spirit transfused into all and the affection of all to have passed into me, so that I could say with the Prophet: ‘Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.’”

Aelred would then go on to compare this life of communal love with the kiss of Christ through his allegorical interpretation of the first verse of the Song of Songs: “Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth.”  The kiss represents the love of Christ outpoured through the Spirit, now binding brother to brother in love.  Spiritual friendship in the community of faith is the way that the Holy Trinity is glorified and made manifest.  And not only that, it is the way that God continues to live in the world of time and to transfigure it.

In the Gospel of Matthew we hear Jesus call Matthew himself to such a journey of faith leading to love…and we get a glimpse into the heart of his gospel message.  Jesus summons and sends to extend his presence of healing and deliverance, to restore justice and peace, and to make God’s dwelling of Trinitarian love among the human race.  

My beloved brothers…

We have encountered the divine in the theophany of our calling.  Each of us has heard the summons, and we have left all to follow Christ along this monastic way of the Lord’s service.  We have committed ourselves by a solemn vow to be faithful along this way: faithful to our God; faithful to our call as monks; faithful to one another.  We have each been given a task (some several tasks) in service to God and the community, and many demands have been placed upon our shoulders.  A sure sign that our fidelity is true is that these demands are not burdensome but delights, instruments through which our Lord lives in and through us his own faithful love and service.  This can only happen if our eyes and our hearts are focused upon the one thing necessary…upon faithful love…not our own but God’s for us.  We are not here just to be obedient, to give up our freedom and personal autonomy and desires.  We simplify our lives that we may focus them upon that one quality of life far exceeding all others…that which gives meaning and vitality to it.  We refuse the kisses of the crowds to receive the kiss of our Christ and to be filled with his Spirit.  And when this happens…and when we offer this kiss of faithfulness and love from brother to brother…a community of faithful love is formed and heart is bound to heart and God is glorified.

The call of God is always also a summons.  What are we as monastics summoned to do?  What is our evangelical imperative?  Do we not have one?  Have we, as sometimes accused, forsaken it looking up to heaven while the multitudes suffer and hunger for our help?  Not at all!  Our evangelical imperative is fulfilled in this:  in our love for one another.  “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”  Everything that we do and everything that we are flows from this well of grace…and when we’re doing it well, multitudes find healing and peace.  

Brothers, for nearly 150 years the spark of this love that found a place in the heart of our founder has persisted.  There have been seasons when that flame was but a flicker and others when it spread to nations far and wide.  This love that must burn is now seeking to burn anew in this new chapter in the OHC story about to begin.  What a privilege to be a part of this story…this story of faith showing forth itself in love.  Let us each receive this burning flame anew, remember our first love in our own calling, nurture it with ardent devotion, and share it with abandon.  Remember, there is never a reason to not choose to love.  If we choose it over bitterness and over animosity.  If we choose it over self-centeredness and self-assertion.  If we choose it over personal ambition and personal comfort…then the love of God revealed in the Holy Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ will reign supreme and the peace of God will keep our hearts bound one to the other and the joy of the Spirit will be our witness to a worried and wearied world that Christ is indeed risen over our shadowy existence with arms open wide bidding to one and to all through us, “Come, follow me…and you will find rest.” 

Sunday, May 17, 2026

The Seventh Sunday of Easter, May 17, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Seventh Sunday of Easter, May 17, 2026


Religion can be a very dangerous thing. We have used it to say all kinds of things about God, about ourselves, and about each other, often with frightening certitude, that entrap us in belief systems that perpetuate ideology over humanity, blind assertion over wisdom, and security over generosity. In the post-modern era, this realization brought about the condemnation of religion itself, a convenient way to circumvent the demands of healthy religion. Instead of deep observation and reflection on how religion can be manipulated, how God can be made to say what may serve our will instead of the divine will, or acknowledge the great good that religion has often inspired out of the heart of humankind, an easier option has been
chosen by many…to throw the baby out with the bath water and go at it religionless. This choice was understandable, even if shortsighted, in light of the gross violence perpetrated in the name of religion, indeed, in the name of God, throughout the centuries. In saying religion can no longer be trusted, the post-modern mind has, though, in effect, too quickly said God can no longer be trusted. And in this vast theological wasteland what has emerged is a human consciousness rootless and without a ground on which to stand and a spirit parched wondering where to slake its thirst.

This is not, however, an entirely bad thing. Sometimes, maybe oftentimes, our images of God need to die in order to give birth to more adequate ones. The crises of church history have done just this…forged theological revolutions which birth new belief systems which better serve the human spirit and better foster a more universal peace. Perhaps we are living in such a time now.

Liturgically speaking, we are indeed at the cusp of a new birth. The tide of Easter has crested, the Lord has Ascended, and, in a week’s time, the Holy Spirit will fill us anew. And the lections for this  seventh Sunday after Easter (note seven being the number of fullness), take us right into the heart of the story of this new birth…this revolution of a religion.

The birthing of Christianity out of Judaism is not about a Christian but about a Jew…a Jew suffused with the ancient stories of his faith and the sacred traditions which helped form his religious sensibilities and belief system. Yet, Yeshua (Jesus), son of Joseph and Mary from Nazareth of Galilee, had a special attunement to the divine, and this attunement allowed him to sniff out bad religion with the snout of a bloodhound. His fidelity to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was at once doggedly traditional and daringly original. In being traditional, Jesus would assert the messianic hope and hold to the fulfillment of the covenantal promises of Israel’s God. In being original, he would also assert that he was himself that fulfillment.

A rupture of the old from the new was bound to follow. Or from another perspective…a new birth.

From reading the Gospels one doesn’t, however, get the sense that Jesus saw himself as a religious revolutionary. One, rather, gets the sense that he was just a faithful Israelite with a strikingly original vision of God and his intimate proximity to this God. Jesus was less interested in intentionally overthrowing a religious system as in simply…and wholeheartedly…living inebriated in the love of the God his own religious system proclaimed and which so claimed him. This was no new god. This was the same God of the covenants, of the prophets, and of the sages of old but internalized in such a way that first-hand experience gave validation to the testimony of the sacred page. And it was this…his experience of the covenantal love of his God as a faithful Jew…that would become the arbiter of his spiritual compass and would lead him along a path where he would at once put forth his revolutionary teaching about God’s kingdom and simultaneously critique with the fire of a prophet any misrepresentation of this God he had come to know with such
personal assurance.

From reading the Gospels we also get a clear sense of Jesus’ own
understanding of his mission. The course of his life was set and his destiny was never in doubt. From the perspective of the Fourth Gospel, the purpose and identity of Jesus are intertwined as one. He is the Word of God come to reveal, at the appointed time, the glory of God, and he is the Son of God come to bestow the eternal life and love of the Father…and no one who heard him was prepared to
receive either.

The clashing of light and darkness that resulted was not just a clashing of good and evil, it was a clashing of competing theologies, ideologies, and authorities. There was no way that there would be two left standing in the end…one of these would have to be defeated for the other to survive. And Jesus was well aware of this. He had calculated the cost but there was no question that he could ever deny his experience of the one he knew as Abba. The love that so claimed him was the one and only truth of his life. Everything about him flowed from it and led back to it. And it was his mission, as he understood it, to share this love every chance he got.

So he calls others to follow him. He shepherds them, nurturing them on this good news about God’s love and merciful kindness. He challenges many in authority to see God differently. He incarnates the way of God not as a way of dominance and power but as a way of service and compassion. He confounds everyone while intriguing some and repelling others. Those who stick with him are asked what seemed impossible: to bear a cross of suffering and persecution for
remaining true to their own experience of the God they encountered in Jesus and his teaching.

This is all the backdrop of the “Farewell Discourse” of John’s Gospel. Beginning in Chapter 13 and stretching through Chapter 17, in the context of a meal, Jesus opens up his heart and shares God’s vision with astounding beauty and clarity. He first kneels before each of his friends and washes their feet, an act embodying what he is about to speak. He breaks bread with them not even leaving his betrayer out. And after his betrayer departs and the final act of Jesus’ life on earth is commenced, he begins to tell them what is about to take place.

He tells of the way God’s love will be made known to them very soon when he will be lifted up and glorified. This glory, he explains, is the very love of God, and it will also become their glory. So, he gives his friends a new commandment…to love one another. This is how the world will come to know who God really is. He tells them not to worry or be afraid in the troubling days ahead because he will soon send the Advocate to be with them always. He will have to depart soon. But this is a good thing because it is in this very departing that the love of God will be made known with the greatest intensity…with the greatest glory. This Advocate, the Holy Spirit, will strengthen their hearts when they are weak in faith and will comfort them in their sorrow at his departure. Stick to this Spirit, he says, as a branch to a vine, and you will indeed be comforted. This Advocate will also teach you everything about God’s love and you will come to know, he assures them, the Father in the very same way as he knows him.

It is here, after these instructions, that Jesus raises his eyes to heaven and, surrounded by his disciples, prays his prayer for glorification we hear in today’s Gospel. In his prayer he acknowledges that he is done preparing his disciples for his departure, “the hour has come” for him to be glorified. His glorification, his being lifted up both on the cross and back to the Father, he acknowledges, will be the gift of eternal life for those who have become his own. These, his own, will then come to know the love that has eternally existed between the Father and the Son…they will come to know the very name of God. There is nothing that will be held back. The name of God…God’s essence, reality, being…they will come to know as love itself in this glorious lifting up. Everything that God has is gifted. Everything that Jesus has is gifted. And the glory of the Father and the Son is to be known in the abounding love of God’s own: “All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.” So, Jesus prays that the Father may protect those that are his own in this name of glorious love and bear witness to this love in their unifying love they will share with one another. 

Friends of Christ, we too find ourselves now present at this same meal of Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse.” We have heard the Word, and we will soon call down the Holy Spirit upon bread and wine as a commemoration of his being lifted up and
glorified. The very same gift of God given once upon a cross is now given in bread and wine…and nothing will be held back. The full expression of God’s love,

God’s glory, will become personalized to you and to me. Spirit and sacrament together we will encounter and no one should be left wondering if they too are included in this family of love. Time, this moment in which we now find ourselves, will be impregnated with eternity, and heaven and earth will kiss. And the God of heaven will, once again, take abode in human flesh. This is the glory of God!

So, yes, religion is a very dangerous thing. But it needs to be purified rather than discarded. The Gospel of John presents us with a theological vision that does just this: it dismantles every form of human impulse that would seek to use religion as a cloak to buttress any form of self-propagation and strips it bear upon the altar of a cross. If religion is about anything other than love…and many have been, including Christianity…then it deserves to die. For the only hope for our world and its transformation is a religion where glory is found in sacrifice and power in a cross.

Wednesday, March 25, 2026

The Annunciation of our Lord Jesus Christ to the Blessed Virgin Mary, March 25, 2026

Holy Cross MonasteryWest Park, NY
Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Annunciation of our Lord Jesus Christ to the Blessed Virgin Mary, March 25, 2026

          Listening to the Infancy Narrative from Luke’s Gospel in snippets may be necessary for liturgical worship but much is missed when we don’t see the whole canvas on which Luke paints his grand, programmatic overture.  But when we do see the whole, we begin to appreciate Luke’s rhetorical and theological strategies.  And, in this case, what stands out among them all are the series of contrasts he makes between the birth of John and the birth of Jesus.  His point is clear: while comparisons with John are understandable, they ultimately and woefully fail because in Jesus God is doing something utterly unique…something no one has ever seen before…not even dared to imagine.

          Between the two birth stories many elements are shared: the angelic visitor, the proclamation, the overcoming of a human deficiency (age and barrenness in the first instance, youth and virginity in the second), and a sign to legitimate the prophecy.  Because the form of the angel’s statement in each case is so similar, the difference in content concerning the identity and role of the respective children attracts the reader’s eye.  John will be great before the the Lord, but Jesus will be Son of the Most High.  John will prepare a people, but Jesus will rule the people.  John’s role is temporary, Jesus’ kingdom will never end.  John is to be a prophet, but Jesus more than a prophet: he is Son of God.  John will be “filled with the Holy Spirit,” but the overshadowing of the Spirit and Power will make Jesus “the Holy One.”  The full meaning of these epithets become clear only in the course of Luke’s narrative, but from the start the reader is prepared to see in Jesus something far more than a Davidic king.

          Luke expands his theological vision by also drawing contrasts between Zechariah and Mary.  In contrast to Zechariah, we notice, Mary holds no official position among the people, she is not described as “righteous” in terms of observing Torah, and her experience does not take place in a cultic setting. She is among the most powerless people in her society: she is young in a world that values age; female in a world ruled by men; poor in a stratified economy.  Furthermore, she has neither husband nor child to validate her existence.  That she should have found “favor with God” and be “highly favored” shows Luke’s understanding of God’s activity as surprising and often paradoxical, almost always reversing human expectations.

          Mary’s mode of response is more positive than Zechariah’s.  Instead of his “how shall I know,” which is a demand for proof, Mary simply asks how the promise might come true in the light of its obvious roadblock, her virginity.  When the angel makes clear that not human actions but divine power will effect this birth, she responds in obedient faith as powerful as the response spoken later by her son in the garden before his death, “let it be with me according to your word.” 

          Finally, there is the contrast in signs.  Zechariah is struck mute, but Mary will magnify the Lord in song.

          Yet, even as this overture comes to an end and the themes have been clearly introduced, no human ear will be prepared to hear or apprehend the chords struck and melodies developed by the Gospel’s end, and we, too, will sit awestruck like Mary before Gabriel wondering how can this be?

          The Annunciation of Our Lord Jesus Christ by the angel Gabriel to Mary, the maiden of Nazareth is, then, about the total subversion of all norms and customs and paradigms.  Nothing that has come before can contain this new thing that God is about to do.  Except two things…a faith that is open to discover new wonders and an imagination wild enough to contain it.  And its Mary, not Zechariah, who serves as our guide to this expansive faith and wild imagination. 

          Mary, then, is the archetype of how God’s new thing, God’s kingdom, comes into our world and establishes itself.  Several points can be made to help us follow her example and live into this archetype. 

          First, we should be open to surprises from God.  Pope Francis used to always say that God is full of surprises.  So, we need to develop a contemplative gaze so that we don’t let them pass us by.  Mary had that contemplative gaze and open heart that didn’t let this divine theophany pass her by.

          Second, we should listen with humble reverence to what God is trying to tell us.  “Listen, my son, to your master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart.”  To listen humbly with a burning desire to know, to understand, and to put what we hear into practice is the proper posture of the Christian disciple and monk.

          Third, we should never allow our circumstances to limit the power of God.  Though Mary knew she was a virgin, she had a faith that God was bigger than her circumstances and not constrained by her limitations.  “For nothing will be impossible with God.”

          Fourth, it is not a lack of faith to seek clarity like Mary.  It is a lack of faith to doubt the power of God like Zechariah.  Reason should be a handmaid to faith, not its substitute.

          And fifth, we should consent whole-heartedly to the mystery of God’s message and come to know the implications of it through pondering it in our hearts. 

          Through the movement of this five-fold process a uniquely Marian spirituality is developed.  Every Christian is called to be a God-bearer and to birth the divine life into our world.  We do this just like Mary did through this process of openness, deep, reverential listening, faith in God’s power, the acknowledgment of our own limitation, and the contemplation, or, in this case, gestation, of God’s word. 

          Yet, this Marian spirituality remains part of the overture to Luke’s programmatic prophecy.  The story to be told is not ultimately about her.  The events of her life, at this point in the story, foreshadow a similar, yet altogether greater, event about to unfold. 

          The two other lessons for today’s feast point also to this utterly new thing that God is doing, not just in Mary but more specifically in Christ.  Hebrews quotes Psalm 40, “Sacrifices and offerings you have not desired, but a body you have prepared for me…. Then I said, ‘See, God, I have come to do your will.…’”  The old order of worship is abolished in the establishment of the new in the offering of the body of Jesus Christ as a sacrifice for sin once for all.  Isaiah captures the utter newness of what God wants to do when God insists on giving King Ahaz a sign: “Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and shall name him Immanuel.” 

          The feast we celebrate today is the feast of new beginnings.  But, let’s be clear, it’s new beginnings of a very special kind.  This is not about renewal; nor about reform.  This is about the birthing the unimaginable…about putting human ingenuity and control aside and letting God be God.  This isn’t just another feast that marks the changing of the seasons of time.  The Feast of the Annunciation is more like a turning point in history…the turning point of time itself.  For here, in the womb of this humble maiden, the eternal, transcendent, all-holy God bears a human face…to be seen, known, and embraced…but, also, with the possibility of being despised, rejected, and spat upon.  In the Annunciation, God becomes Immanuel in daring, vulnerable immediacy, and the Word becomes flesh, and God speaks directly to the human heart.

          What will the human response be to this appearing?  This is the fundamental question which each of the Gospels pose to those who read them.  Luke, here in the Infancy Narrative, as he will do throughout his two-volume work, interrogates us with this question.  Will we be like Mary who responds in humble faith?  Or will we be like Zechariah who doubts, only to come around after much rationalizing?  Or will we be like those to come who will reject him altogether?  For, as he will soon put forth in Simeon’s address to Mary, “Behold, this child is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel….”

          Today different paths ahead now open up before us in this feast of the turning of time, and Mary and her Son show us the way to proceed forward.  Luke’s Gospel, his good news to us, is that heaven and earth are becoming one in this new, decisive in-breaking of God to humankind…and God is in search of some who will give their unequivocal fiat, their whole-hearted “yes” to this summons.  God’s power plus our “yes” equals a new creation…one where the dust of the earth is transfigured and can bear the face of God.  Will you dare to believe?  Will you, too, out of the dust of your life come to bear the face of God?

Sunday, January 25, 2026

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany, January 25, 2026

Holy Cross MonasteryWest Park, NY
Br. Ephrem Arcement, OHC

The Third Sunday after the Epiphany, January 25, 2026

Click here for an audio of the sermon

Some of the most fascinating people we encounter in the Bible are the prophets of the Old Testament.  To be a prophet was not an envious thing, and few in ancient Israel would likely have told their parents that they wanted to be prophets when they grew up.  Because to be a prophet meant that you would place your life in the balance…that you would be despised by many and appreciated by few.  And your life may very well become the target of those who felt threatened by you…and those people were often the ones with the power to, at a whim, remove your head.  

Prophets were the conscience of Israel.  They held up the people of God to the standard of the law and the covenants.  They were the voice calling for fidelity and uncompromising commitment.  They pointed out sin and wickedness with clarity and precision and exposed the secrets of the heart before the discerning gaze of a righteous God.  

But there was another function of the prophet that those prone to apocalyptic visions of doom and gloom often overlook…the prophet was also a visionary who saw things that most others failed to see.  This vision into the future was marked by a vision of what could be in spite of what actually is.  This wasn’t a denial of reality but the conviction that reality is not a fixed, determined constant but open and malleable, able to be moved in directions that sometimes are surprisingly new.  In other words, prophets were those who stood up in the midst of an anxious, fearful people trapped by the threatening visions of the immediate reality before them and dared to see a way-out giving hope and courage to move a people forward into freedom.

The context of the first four verses of Isaiah chapter 9, our Old Testament reading today, is a bleak historical situation in which Israel (the small northern kingdom) is facing a brutal attack from the superpower Assyria.  Prophecies of judgment for sin are present.  But even though Israel has gotten herself into this mess in which she now finds herself, her God will not ultimately forsake her but, through Isaiah, promises a messiah, a coming Child, a Wonderful Counselor, a Prince of Peace, who will bring light and lasting peace to a land devastated by darkness and war.  The yoke of burden she now bears will be broken and she will know the salvation of God as on the day of Midian.  But what was the day of Midian?  The day of Midian refers to the decisive victory of Israel, led by Gideon in Judges 6 and 7, over the oppressive Midianite army, symbolizing God’s powerful deliverance from bondage.  Isaiah highlights God’s faithfulness to Israel in the past in order to offer faith and hope to her now in her current crisis: though all you see now is darkness and deep gloom, a liberating light is about to dawn once again!

What is at stake here not the power of Israel or even her faithfulness, or not, toward her God.  What is at stake is the power of God and God’s faithfulness to Israel.  A prevailing question tucked in the back of Israel’s mind has always been: have we sinned so greatly that our God will finally give up on us and leave us to become prey to our oppressors?  This was a nagging question with which she had to contend throughout her history.  This is, unfortunately, true also of many in the Christian church whose beliefs about God are determined more about what they do than upon who God is.  But have we really heard the gospel?  Have we really understood it?  

St. Paul says he has come not to baptize but to preach the gospel…and not with eloquent words so as to empty the cross of its power…for the message about the cross is the power of God to save.  What does this mean?  It means that when we look upon the crucified messiah, we see the revelation of God in its purest form.  The cross is the revelation of the unfathomable and unhinged love of God gratuitously given in total freedom without coercion or constraint.  It is love unconditional, unrestricted, and unlimited.  It is the peak of the glory of God, where the light of God’s love shines brightest.  It is a disarming folly, a most unexpected and unimagined declaration of the wisdom of God that communicates something absolute and all-determining.  It declares that you are infinitely loved no matter what you have done, no matter where you have been or where you come from, no matter what you look like or how you speak, no matter what you have or don’t have, no matter what you can do or can’t do.  You are the beloved of God and God sees you and knows you and God’s desire for you in not ever condemnation but only salvation.  And in this declaration of love comes the confirming, vivifying Spirit that was always within, but it now felt and known.  So that now, even though darkness may seem to prevail, a light has shown, and we know that this light will ultimately cast out this darkness.  All this flowing out from the wounded side of our crucified God.

And then another question arises: how do we live into this light?  How do we allow the light of God’s love shine out through our lives?  This happens for us just as it happened for Jesus…and just as it happened to those he first called to follow him.  

Notice that, in today’s Gospel, just after Jesus first hears of John’s arrest, he withdraws to Galilee.  Jesus had just gone down from Galilee to Judea to be baptized by John and is subsequently driven by the Spirit into the wilderness down there in southern Palestine to be tested by the devil.  It is immediately after this that Jesus hears about John being arrested.  The Gospel seeks to communicate that the age of John is coming to an end…that the path has been paved and that it is now time for Jesus to become the fulfillment of what John, with his baptism of repentance, began.  So, he withdraws to his hometown of Nazareth in Galilee to begin to tell his own story.  But notice, he leaves Nazareth and goes to the land of Zebulun and Naphtali, which would have been just north of Nazareth.  The point being, as we will also see in those he will soon call, the withdrawing from what is familiar, the detaching from what is custom, in order to hear and discover a deeper truth about oneself and to give oneself the time and space to reconstruct a life on this new foundation.  It plays itself out in Jesus’ call to Simon and Andrew and to James and John…leaving their parents and their livelihood in order to hear and discover something new…in this case, something profoundly new.

This call of Jesus to follow him…to be driven into the wilderness, away from family and the familiar customs which can so often hijack our minds and keep them bound in subservience to those customs, is quintessentially a monastic call.  We hear the Lord call us to come apart with him, leaving everything behind.  And in that place of the stripping of the old self we begin to hear and discover a new self, a deeper and more secure self that begins to reveal itself not by our ascetical efforts or our “perfect” monastic observance, but only by our unencumbered, contemplative listening…and hearing…the divine voice saying, “You are my beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  It is in that voice and that voice alone that the light of God’s glory erupts in and through our lives.  It is in that voice alone that the power to cut through the lies and illusions of our old self lies.  And it is only after every other voice has been silenced that we can hear it and know it and then begin to live it.  Everything else about the monastic life to this is secondary.  Without this…the personal knowledge of God’s love for us…a root of bitterness will likely soon spring up.  

It might be important, here, to point out how John and Jesus were both similar and different.  They both entered upon the public stage preaching…and they preached on a similar theme: repentance.  But where John stopped, Jesus continued.  While John focused on repentance, Jesus focused on what this repentance could lead to: the presence of the kingdom of heaven in the here and now.  This was unique from the message of John…and, for that matter, from what anyone else had ever dared to preach.  Jesus’ message was as clear as it was shocking: the hoped for time of God’s salvation has come…it is here…it is now.  And the question which confronted the first disciples who heard this shocking message also confronts us: will we leave the old behind…without looking back…and focus all our heart and mind on the one leading us into the great unknown?  Will we trust this voice, this experience, this deep longing of our hearts?  Brothers (and sisters), let us indeed trust it because that is the only place where the great transformation of our lives…and of all of life…can take place…where the epiphany of our true selves hidden in Christ can shine out and offer the world a way through the darkness.