Glory to Jesus Christ. Glory to the Father, and
to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. I'm your
guest preacher today. It's so good to be back
among you, worshiping together. The first Sunday
I was gone, we joined the Orthodox community
in Rome. under the exarchate of Metropolitan
John of Paris. That's what Father Theodore is
under. And we served at this parish in a rather
new Roman church, only 400 years old, which the
Catholics loaned to the Orthodox. There was a
choir of, oh, maybe nine or 12 young women. I
would say none over the age of of 45, and most
under the age of 30. They were magnificent. It
was so beautiful. Of course, not as beautiful
as ours. But it was beautiful. And to be there
in that place was just such an inspiration. In
the second week, last Sunday, our little group
of pilgrims stopped at a church between Venice
and Padua. It's an 11th century, correct me if
I'm wrong, 11th century small basilica, much
smaller than this, which is not really used,
and it still has some frescoes from the Middle
Ages, and we did a typical service, because we
don't have a dementia, and we didn't have anything
else that we could do to serve liturgy. So, while
there, of course, I prayed for you as you were
praying for me. I want to speak a little about
this gospel, the first one we heard from St.
Luke about the widow and her son being taken
for burial. This is the Feast of St. Tikkun,
the anniversary of the glorification, that is,
the canonization of St. Tikkun of Moscow. His
icon, his threshold is here, up here, and in
the middle. Great missionary. wonder worker,
and confessor of the church. But I want to focus
on this gospel for a particular reason which
I hope will become clear. One doesn't have to
live too long before you experience the loss,
the death of a beloved member of your family,
a beloved friend. you're young enough and you
haven't had that experience, but you come to
church and you participate in the funerals of
those that are your brothers and sisters, your
fathers and mothers in Christ, so that you understand
that you are on a funeral procession in your
life. I'll say more about that in a moment. Very
recently, you witnessed the death of beloved
brother John Canagius, a long -time member of
this parish, a dear friend of mine. Now his wife
is a widow. We learned of her post, and both
men are righteous before God, I believe, looking
at their life, hearing them speak. the repose
of the monk Maximus, our former parishioner,
Vincent, who now leaves his family as orphans.
We have orphans and widows. The scriptures are
very clear about the church's caring and responsibility
to care for orphans and widows, all throughout
the Old Testament. Why? Because they have no
one. And in our present context, in this society,
it's not only orphans and widows, it's probably
single mothers, it's homeless men and women and
teens who, because their families are so terribly
broken, they're orphans too. And there's grief.
There's grief. We experience the grief of the
loss of John and Father Maximus. It doesn't matter
if they're 80 years old or 40 years old or whatever.
Doesn't matter that they lived a life in the
church. We have grief because of love. But it's
not grief that has no hope. Jesus our Lord, in
the gospel story that you heard today, that St.
Luke recounts, came upon a funeral procession
coming out of a small village. Of name. Coming
out of the gate. Two processions. St. Luke tells
us that Jesus, on the day after he healed the
centurion's servant, the centurion's slave, again,
a helpless person, the day after that, Jesus
is walking, intentionally going towards his gate,
and it is a procession of life, because Jesus
is the head of this procession. And there's a
traffic jam at the gate. Who's going to give?
Neither. Because Jesus, seeing that this is a
widow who has lost her son, do you know what
that means in that cultural context? This woman
had no one. No one. It wasn't just grief of the
loss of her son. Built upon the grief of the
loss of her husband. It was helplessness in that
society. She had no one. Her life would be one
of begging her neighbors to survive. That's the
way it was. There's no safety net to catch anyone.
Jesus looked into the eyes of that mother and
he saw her pain. He saw real questioning. He
saw a complete lack of understanding. How this
could have happened? My son has died. How could
God have allowed this? How could God have abandoned
me? And what does St. Luke say? The same thing
he says about the father of the prodigal son.
The same thing he says about the king who...
forgives the debt. The same thing he says over
and over in the Synoptic Gospels about Jesus.
And only about Jesus this word is used. It says,
he has compassion. Now, for us, compassion, thank.
What does it mean? You feel sorry for that person.
But the word in Greek doesn't just mean you feel
sorry. It means, in English too, you co -suffer.
But in Greek it means that he felt the sorrow
and the grief in the gut of his stomach. He carried
her grief. He took it upon himself. This is what
Jesus does with our sins, with our ignorance,
with our stupidity, with our sorrow and our grief.
He takes it on himself. He is the compassionate
God. And for the Greek world, which St. Luke
was writing for. A God who is compassionate?
Impossible! Not possible. God is distant and
unfeeling and uncarried about the lesser beings,
the humans, that walk upon the earth as ants.
But God made himself like us in Christ. And his
compassion reveals to us something new to the
world, that deep in his heart, God continues
to ache for our sins, for our grief. He is the
good shepherd. This is why he wept at the grave
of Lazarus. Everyone, without exception, is on
a funeral procession. Each one of us living our
life. We may take some detours, but in the big
picture, it's a funeral procession. You that
are baptized into Christ and have put on Christ
and have died with Christ and have already risen
with Christ and co -reign with Christ, walk with
him and know that all will be raised, all people,
and the world. will be renewed when the Lord
reveals himself in glory at the end. We Christians,
we have to realize we are already living the
life of the resurrection. Christ raised this
boy from the dead for the sake of his mother,
but he would die again, just as Lazarus would
die again, just as the young girl. who he rose
from the dead, from her bed, would die again.
So we are living now. That's why we come together
in the Divine Liturgy. To experience God's compassion,
yes, to gain some for ourselves, to give to others,
and to live as if we are already risen from the
dead, despite what the evidence around us says.
Because as I get older, I don't feel too resurrected.
But if my soul isn't participating in God's compassion
and glory and resurrection, then I will never
enjoy the blessings of the kingdom of God. We
don't let sin reign as king in our mortal bodies,
says St. Paul. We don't obey it. We did hear
just this extraordinary quote from the second
Corinthians. An admonition to choose the right
procession to be in. Not the procession of death,
but the procession of life. The procession to
the kingdom of God. Yes, we will experience death,
but we've already died. And we have been raised
in Christ. And our life is hid with him. So when
St. Paul says that what agreement has the temple
of God with you? Yes, collectively as the church,
but individually you have been given the Spirit.
What has the temple of God to do with idolatry?
With lust, he says, with rebelliousness, with
pettiness, with self -will or unbelief or jealousy,
gossip, lying, self -abuse, sin. What agreement
does the temple of God have with these things?
None. Because you are the temple of the living
God. I will walk in them. I will dwell with them.
They should be my sons and daughters. This gospel
also serves as a pattern to remind us that as
we are on this procession of life, not a processional,
a procession. of corruption to the grave, but
a procession to the resurrection, that our soul,
which can be like that sun, dead before meeting
Christ, is always going to be risen the moment
we meet Christ in prayer and in the divine liturgy.
I'll end with these words of St. Gregory of Nyssa.
This is his prayer at the funeral of his sister,
St. Macrina, who's depicted on the wall right
over there. Thou, O Lord, hast freed us from
the fear of death. Thou hast made the end of
this life the beginning to us of true life. Thou,
for a season, rests our body in sleep and awaits
them again at the last trumpet. Thou givest our
earth, which Thou hast fashioned with Thy hands,
to Thee, Earth, to keep in safety. One day Thou
will take again what thou hast given, transfiguring
with immortality and grace our mortal and unsightly
remains. Thou hast saved us from the curse and
from sin, having become both for our sake. Thou
hast broken the head of the dragon who has seized
us with his jaws in the yawning gulf of disobedience.
Thou hast shown us the way of resurrection, having
broken the gates of Hades and brought to nothing
him who had the power of death. That is the devil.
To our Lord, the victor over death and the giver
of life, be glory now and ever, to ages of ages.
Amen.