In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Today the grace of the Holy Spirit has gathered us together, and we all take up thy Cross and say: Blessed is he that comes in the Name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.”

This hymn, which we heard over and over again at Vespers last night, has a very specific historical reference. At some Palestinian monasteries, it was customary for all of the brethren — or at least the most senior monks — to scatter out into the desert for the forty days of Lent, spending that time alone in ascetic struggle. Then, today, on Palm Sunday, they would return to the monastery for Holy Week. And so the monks would sing in joy, after that period of separation: “Today the grace of the Holy Spirit has gathered us together.”

While it is interesting to know the historical meaning of that hymn, we might ask, more importantly, whether it has any meaning for us. Has the grace of the Holy Spirit gathered us together?

The answer, of course, is yes. At the highest level, everything that happens is in accord with God’s providence, and every good that occurs is thanks to His grace. But God’s grace has also called us together in a more specific way. Whether we are fully initiated Orthodox Christians, or those preparing for illumination, or catechumens, or inquirers — the grace of the Holy Spirit has gathered us together to worship and, starting from wherever we may be at this moment, to enter more fully into the mystery of the faith.

Wherever we came from, we are here now. Out of our diversity, the Most Holy Spirit has made a unity, an “us.” The Greek word for “Church” is ἐκκλησία — literally “called out of, summoned, called together.” We gather — we are gathered together — as Church to accompany Christ to His Cross, death, and Rising. As He enters His royal city, we greet Him as our King.

In the words of St. Cosmas the Hymnographer, in the Matins canon for today’s feast: “The Church of the Saints offers praise to thee, O Christ, who dwellest in Zion, and Israel rejoices in thee that made him… O ye people, sing in Zion a hymn fitting for God, and offer prayer to Christ in Jerusalem. For he comes in power and glory: on him the Church is founded.”

But I want to pause and say something particular to those of you who are here as students, as the families of students, as faculty and staff of this seminary. You have come to this place because the same grace of the Holy Spirit that gathered the monks out of the desert has gathered you out of your ordinary lives into something extraordinary: the formation of men and women for the service of Christ’s Church. This, too, is a kind of entering Jerusalem. The disciples who accompanied Christ into the city did not yet fully understand where He was going. They carried palms and cried Hosanna — and within days, they had scattered. And yet they were there. They were present to the mystery, even before they could comprehend it. Seminary is precisely that — a place of being present to the mystery of Christ before one can fully comprehend it, a school of accompaniment. The formation that happens here is not merely academic. It is a training in how to walk with Christ toward the Cross, so that one day you may lead others to do the same.

However, the hymns of Palm Sunday also remind us that a shadow lies over the feast. The people of Jerusalem who came out to greet Christ and proclaim Him King turned on Him six days later. The same crowd who strewed the streets with garments and waved branches of palm and pussy willow later cried out: “Crucify him!”

And this, too, is no mere historical memory. We, the people whom Christ has called together, His Church — we are the same people who crucified Him with our sins.

This is what it means to be bought with His life; this is what it means to be redeemed with His blood.

In the words of the Akathist “Glory to God for All Things”: “I see thy Cross — I was the cause of it. I cast my spirit down in the dust before it. Here is the triumph of love and salvation.”

To save us from our sins, our King had to die. Our sins are the cause of His death. But His death is the founding of the Church: Blood and water from His side, Baptism and the Eucharist — these are the twin streams flowing through the centuries, giving life to the Church and sustaining her. Truly, divine grace — the gift of Christ’s utterly generous self-offering — has called us together.

This is the paradox of Palm Sunday: we are called together to worship the King whom we shall put to death. And this double perspective will remain with us throughout Holy Week. Even as we celebrate Christ’s Passion in solemn triumph, we also recognize ourselves in Judas, in the mob, in the soldiers, in Pilate, in the fleeing disciples, in the denying Peter. We are all villains and sinners who gave up Our Lord to death.

And yet — not we. He. He it is who, seeing our sin and villainy, decided to give Himself up for the life of the world.

And so today, our Prince enters Jerusalem in all His splendor. Today He is ready to reign. Today He prepares Himself to ascend the royal throne of the Cross. Today He declares Himself ready for His coronation with the crown of thorns. Today garments cover His way, foreshadowing the kingly robe of mockery in which our sins will clothe Him.

We have no illusions. We are the cause of the ignominious death to which He goes. And yet that death is the source of the grace that calls us together today; that death is the triumph of His kingdom — the kingdom of light and life, a kingdom that will be revealed clearly on the eighth day hence.

Today the grace of the Holy Spirit has gathered us together, and we who were old and wizened in our sins have been made like unto little children, palms and branches in our hands, “Hosanna in the highest” on our lips.

We are sinners, but we repent. We are sinners, but today our Savior arrives in the holy city to renew and redeem us. We are sinners, but the grace of the Holy Spirit gathers us together to witness the events of our salvation.

And so, with childlike joy in our hearts, “we all take up” the “Cross” of the Lord “and say: Blessed is he that comes in the Name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.”

To Him who enters Jerusalem riding in royal triumph on the foal of an ass — Christ our true God and King and Savior — be eternal glory and adoration, together with His Father and His Most Holy Spirit, by Whose grace we are gathered in worship, unto ages of ages.

In the troparion for this two-day Feast of Palms, we sing: “By raising Lazarus from the dead before thy Passion, thou didst confirm the universal resurrection, O Christ. Like the children with the palms of victory, we therefore cry to thee, O Vanquisher of death.” Even as Christ goes to his Passion, we children of the Church already recognize, acknowledge, and celebrate the power of his Paschal victory. This is important to bear in mind during the coming week. Holy Week is not about historical commemoration, but about our own encounter with Christ’s saving work, work that was finished on the Cross and manifest in the Resurrection, but which continues to transform lives and hearts. May God grant us the grace to open our hearts to him throughout the coming days.

It is during these final days of the Great Fast – the fifth Thursday and the fifth Sunday, especially – that we contemplate the memory of St. Mary of Egypt. Her life serves to remind us that repentance is not the work of one day or even forty days. Rather, just as St. Mary spent the greater part of her life in the desert, remaining there to her dying day, repentance must be for us, too, a lifelong and daily labor. Lent may end, but our need for repentance does not.

In order to make this abiding repentance something more than a vague aspiration, it may be beneficial to adopt some concrete practices, such reciting Psalm 50 daily (or several times a day) and/or making a daily confession of our sins to God at the end of each day. This latter practice, by the way, is no replacement for the Sacrament of Confession; it is, however, a very useful way to prepare for the sacrament.

Could each of us make the time to read the akathist at least once a week, perhaps on Saturdays? For just as Saturday precedes Sunday, so it is that, through the Theotokos, we encounter Christ, who comes into the world through her.

Most holy Theotokos, higher than all creation and Mother of the new creation, O most pure and holy Lady, save us!

Your Holiness,
Your Beatitudes,
Your Eminence Metropolitan Shio and members of the Holy Synod
Your Eminences and Your Graces,
Your Excellencies, Mr. President and Mr. Prime Minister
Venerable clergy, monastics, and faithful of the Church of Georgia,
Distinguished guest,

His Holiness Patriarch Ilia once explained how one of his hymns came to be written. He said: “There were days, months and years when the church was in a very difficult situation. I could not find the way anymore — and at that time these words and this hymn came from the heart: I am tired, I am tired, come to me Lord.”
დავიღალე, დავიღალე, მოდი ჩემთან, უფალო
[transliteration: “Davighale, davighale, modi chemtan, upalo”]

Those words, which we heard at this morning’s liturgy, surprise us, coming from a man of such strength. But they are precisely the words that reveal his greatness. They are the words of a true father.

When we hear the Parable of the Prodigal Son, we naturally think of ourselves — wandering and lost, but perhaps coming to our senses and turning toward home. But today, standing here in the midst of your great grief, I find myself thinking not about the son, but about the father.

The father in that parable is mostly silent. He does not lecture or demand. But while his son is still “a great way off,” the father sees him — which means he has been watching and waiting, long before the son turned toward home. And when the moment comes, the father runs to meet his son.

Patriarch Ilia bore the weight of a father’s watching and waiting for nearly half a century. In moments of exhaustion and darkness, he did not reach for earthly power. He reached for God. “I am tired, I am tired, come to me, come to my side, Lord.” This is the prayer of a true pastor — one who has given everything and knows that what remains must come from beyond himself.

The thousands filling the streets of Tbilisi these past days have recognized in their Patriarch this image of fatherly love. They are not only mourning a great leader. They are mourning one whose great leadership remains precisely because he was a father.

To the Georgian faithful I say: the father in the Parable does not disappear at the end of the story. The One to Whom your Patriarch cried out — come to me, come to my side — is the same One who received him. And He is the same One who holds you now, even if you are tired, even in your sorrow.

May the Christ-like love and humility of your patriarch continue to shine as a beacon of our heavenly Father’s abundant and abiding love and may his memory be eternal.

მარადიულ იყოს მისი ხსენება.
[Transliteration: “Maradiul ikos khseneba misi”].

The Cross is not merely an aspect of our faith: the Cross is the center of our faith, such that the saints tell us that the very world is cruciform, structured by the Cross of the Lord. Creation, salvation: this is all possible in, through, and for the Cross of the Crucified God, the throne on which he reigns in majesty, the throne from which he judges the world, the throne from which he embraces each of us with his mercy.

All of this reminds us that hesychasm, properly understood, is not a rejection of life with all its texture, troubles, and demands: after all, in the Incarnation, God himself entered into this messy world and its multitudinous trials. Rather, hesychasm entails our striving to open ourselves up to encounter God’s grace in the midst of these very tumults. “Be still, and I will fight for you,” God says to Moses (Exod. 14:14). Moses was not fleeing the battle; rather, in the midst of battle, he trusted in God to take up his cause. Likewise, as we try to make our own, in some small way, the practice of the Jesus Prayer and silence, we are not fleeing from worldly concerns, but turning those concerns over to God, taking refuge, through stillness, in his boundless love and mercy.

Holy hierarch, father Gregory, pray to God for us!

Glory to Jesus Christ!

During the sacred season of Great Lent, the Church calls us to sobriety and renewed stewardship. Through fasting, prayer, and almsgiving, we learn again that every aspect of our life—spiritual and material alike—is entrusted to us by God and must be ordered toward his service. Among those entrusted with a particular stewardship are our clergy and their families.

The priest, called to celebrate the Divine Services and care for souls, carries sacred responsibilities week by week in the life of the parish. His household shares in the demands and sacrifices of that calling.

In recent years, it has become clear that many clergy households experience financial strain—not as a dramatic crisis, but as a steady pressure. Some priests have reflected that financial concerns absorb attention that would otherwise be devoted to parish life. Others have noted the necessity of outside employment in order to provide stability for their families.  These realities invite a measured and responsible response.

Through the Office of Pastoral Life, the Orthodox Church in America has established the Financial Health Initiative. Supported in part by a grant from the Lilly Endowment, this initiative provides clergy households with financial literacy education, practical planning tools, and professional coaching. Upon completing the program, families may submit a simple application to receive a grant administered by the Office of Pastoral Life, assisting with debt reduction, emergency savings, or retirement preparation.

The Lilly grant requires matching funds. For every dollar distributed in assistance, a dollar must be raised. Gifts offered to this initiative are therefore doubled, directly increasing the support available to clergy families.

Such support is not charity. It is an expression of stewardship of our shared life in Christ. When a clergy household gains financial stability, the priest is freer to devote his attention to the pastoral ministry entrusted to him. When a family stands on firmer ground, the parish it serves is strengthened.

In this Lenten season, I invite you to consider supporting this matching effort. In doing so, you participate directly in strengthening the households of those who serve at the altar and labor for the salvation of souls.

May the Lord, who provides for all our needs, bless this work and grant peace and perseverance to all who serve in his vineyard.

To him, together with his Father and his All-holy Spirit, be all glory, honor, and worship, now and ever and unto ages of ages.  Amen.

Yours in Christ,
+TIKHON
Archbishop of Washington
Metropolitan of All America and Canada

Your generosity drives the Office of Pastoral Life’s vital work, strengthening our parishes’ health and vitality by supporting clergy and their families. When our clergy thrive, our local communities flourish, creating a ripple effect that enhances the overall mission and good work of the Church.

Consider a gift to the Office of Pastoral Life today! opl.oca.org/giving/

About the Office of Pastoral Life
The Orthodox Church in America’s Office of Pastoral Life supports the well-being of clergy and their families, the foundation of parish life across North America. Believing the health of the Church is inseparable from the health of her clergy, the Office offers programs that build resilience, connection and pastoral joy. Programs include Thriving in Ministry peer-learning groups, Financial Health Initiatives, quarterly Synaxis Gatherings, Retreats and Clergy Wives Ministry. In partnership with bishops, dioceses, parishes and our generous donors, the Office of Pastoral Life helps create sustainable conditions in which priests, deacons and their families of the Orthodox Church in America can flourish spiritually, vocationally and personally through every season of parish ministry.