Below are three of Fr. Abbot's homilies: for the Sunday of the Holy Cross, the Fifth Sunday of Lent, and Palm Sunday, 2008.

At this point, which is about halfway through the Lenten desert, the Church plants an encouraging signpost for the weary: the Cross of Christ, which reminds us of the goal of our efforts and indeed of our whole life. This Sunday's Offices focus not on the pain or the horrors of the Crucifixion, but on the glory of Christ's triumph and of the joy this brings to the faithful: "Shine, Cross of the Lord, shine with the light of your grace upon the hearts of those who honor you. With love inspired by God, we embrace you, O desire of all the world. Through you our tears of sorrow have been wiped away; we have been delivered from the snares of death and have passed over to unending joy… Hail, life-giving Cross, the fair Paradise of the Church, Tree of incorruption that brings us the enjoyment of eternal glory: through you the hosts of demons have been driven back and the hierarchies of angels rejoice with one accord as the congregations of the faithful keep the feast. You are an invincible weapon, an unbroken stronghold; you are the victory of kings and the glory of priests…"

I could go on and on (as the services do!), but at the mention of kings and priests I'd like to pause, for that connects us to the Epistle for the day (Heb. 4:14 — 5:6). Christ is here described as our High Priest, and our access to Him is described as approaching the Throne of Grace. If Christ were King only and not Priest as well, we might envision the Throne of Grace as a kind of heavenly version of the massive, glittering thrones we expect earthly kings to be seated upon. But Christ as High Priest reigns from the throne of the Cross, for that is the source of the grace that we seek for help in time of need, and indeed for salvation itself. This grace was won for us at the supreme cost of the Lord's self-offering on the Cross, the Sacrifice in which He is both Priest and Victim, the One who offers and is offered to the Father, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world, the One who receives our worship and whose sacrificed Body and Blood we receive in Holy Communion.

Christ's high-priesthood is inseparable from his divine sonship. In what may seem to be a curious formulation, the author of Hebrews says that Christ was appointed High Priest by the Father, who said "You are my Son; today I have begotten you." It is almost as if sonship necessarily implies priesthood, for "You are my Son" is offered as the first "proof text" for Jesus' high priesthood. Only after this is the pertinent psalm quoted: "You are a priest forever." Something of this mystery is preserved in the sacramental order of the Church. A man must be baptized before he can be ordained a priest. He must be an adopted son of God before he can have a share in the sacrificial priesthood of Christ.

By the grace of the Holy Spirit working through the priestly ministry in the Church, Christ's own sacrifice is perpetuated—not repeated, not added to, but simply made present in a mystical and sacramental manner for the sake of the sanctification of the faithful. This is our most fruitful and intimate access to the Throne of Grace.

But the priesthood of Christ extends, albeit in a different way, beyond the bounds of the sacramental ministry, because all who have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ and thus have become sons and daughters of God. There is also a priesthood of the faithful, and this leads us to reflect upon the Gospel for this Sunday (Mark 8:34 — 9:1). This particular share in Christ's priesthood does not give the faithful the grace and the command to make present the mystery of the Cross and Resurrection through offering the Divine Liturgy of the Holy Eucharist, but it is still intimately related to the sacrificial mystery of the Cross.

St Paul and St Peter and the author of Hebrews tell us that God expects all Christians to offer spiritual sacrifices of good works, almsgiving, etc, which are pleasing to God. Jesus puts it in the context of the Cross—carrying our own crosses as a way of sharing in the grace of his Cross. He doesn't offer it as an option, nor does He say to do this only "if you would be perfect." No, Jesus prefaces his teaching on bearing ones cross by saying, "If anyone would come after me," that is, if anyone wishes to be his disciple, the basic requirement is this: deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow Him.

Here is where we are tested to see what we are made of, if our profession of faith is just words or if it is backed up by commitment, fidelity, and sacrifice. It is easy to sing about the joy and glory and victory of the Cross on feast days, but what happens when it is actually laid upon our shoulders? What happens when we are called to share in the mystery of Jesus' redemptive suffering, when we are called to bear one another's burdens, to resist temptations, to endure hardships and setbacks for the sake of the Gospel? Maybe our liturgical hymns go a little flat at this point. Maybe the "yes" we say on feast days begins to waver under the pressure of the daily grind.

Jesus doesn't let up, however. He drives his point home: "For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it. For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?" Some translations read "life" instead of "soul," and the Greek psyche can be translated either way, but if we're going to say "life" it can only mean eternal life, that is, the life of the human being that is more than mere biological or earthly life. For everyone is going to lose his life, that is, endure bodily death, whether they gain the world or not. But Jesus is making a point here concerning something about which we have a choice. We don't have a choice about eventually losing our bodily life. But we do have a choice about whether or not we are going to lose our immortal souls.

In order to secure the salvation of our souls, Jesus says we have to sacrifice our lives. We have to understand the plays on words here. First, if we really are concerned merely with saving, that is, prolonging as much as possible our bodily lives, we must know that we will eventually lose them. But people today don't want to think about death. There are definite benefits to having reasonable concern for bodily health, but many people turn it into an obsession, seeking out the ultimate "anti-aging" drugs or herbs, undergoing endless cosmetic surgeries, trying desperately to preserve their quickly-fading youth. Underlying all these efforts is the fear of death, plastered over with the denial of death. But sooner or later, the naked truth will have to be faced.

For others, saving their lives means not primarily preserving physical youthfulness but simply having whatever they want as long as they can enjoy it. The selfish, the greedy, the hedonists all want to "save their lives," that is, they make pleasure and comfort and wealth their goals, their idols, and any invitation to take up their crosses and follow the Crucified Carpenter of Nazareth is not only an unwelcome intrusion, it is viewed with contempt or ridicule. But Jesus is trying to warn them: what you are enjoying today will be gone tomorrow; you are trying to save your life, which you identify with your pleasures, but you will lose it—unless you decide to follow Me.

So then, to take up our crosses is to lose our lives, it is to exercise the sacrificial priesthood of daily life. It is to lose our preoccupation with ourselves, our health, our looks, our possessions, our comforts and all our idols, whatever they may be. Look at how much time you spend in any selfish occupation or fantasy and you will know what your idols are. Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Jesus Christ, the King and High Priest who reigns from the Throne of Grace—the precious and life-giving Cross—calls us to come up higher, calls us out of self-preoccupation so that we can gain the eternal perspective that should characterize our world-view. He wants us to realize the unsurpassable value of our immortal souls, which are worth even losing our very lives to save. Nothing in this world is worth so much to justify exchanging our own souls for it. For this world is passing away, but Heaven remains forever.

Let each one of us, in the particular way and measure we share in the priesthood of Christ, take up our crosses as a spiritual sacrifice offered to God in union with Jesus. Let us not fear to follow Him, whatever the cost in this passing life. Lose your life to save it: that is the word of the Cross that our Lord Jesus shares with us today. As we accept that rough and heavy wood as our daily companion, let us lift up our eyes and see the Cross of Jesus opening the gates of Paradise to us. On that day all our hymns will find their fulfillment in truth: the Cross will shine like the New Jerusalem, with all the beauty and glory of God. And the Master will invite us to lay down the burdens we faithfully carried in this life, and to come and share his everlasting joy.

On the fifth Sunday of Lent we honor St Mary of Egypt, since she was such a dramatic example of a conversion from a life of deep sinfulness to one of profound holiness. Lent is all about repentance and conversion for the sake of a fruitful experience of the Paschal Mystery as well as for ongoing growth in holiness. So we read the gospel prescribed in her honor (Lk. 7:36-50) as well as the gospel prescribed for the Sunday (Mk. 10:32-45). I think that both of them taken together will help us to prepare better for Pascha.

First of all, let us look at the contrast in the two gospel readings between the approach to Jesus of the sinful woman and of the two "sons of thunder," the apostles James and John. The woman stood behind him at his feet, weeping so much in her sorrow over her sins that her tears fell upon his feet; she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and anointed them with fragrant oil. The apostles, on the other hand, stood before Jesus and asked to be granted the highest places in his Kingdom! Evidently they were not reflecting at that time upon their own unworthiness even to be in his presence. Jesus gently rebuked his disciples but granted his approval, forgiveness, and salvation to the repentant harlot.

Jesus also rebuked the Pharisee who had invited him to dinner, for he did not so much as offer the customary courtesies, while the woman that the Pharisee viewed with contempt gained the Lord's favor by her humble veneration of Him. The key here, explained Jesus, is love. There are two complementary ways in which He presented this. One is that if you are forgiven much you will love much, and if you are forgiven little you will love little. The other is that if you love much you will be forgiven much, and if you love little you will be forgiven little.

Simon the Pharisee probably considered himself righteous according to the law. That's why he felt justified in scorning the sinful woman, who was unrighteous according to the law, for he felt superior to her. Thinking himself to be righteous, he would have thought that he needed little or no forgiveness, so his love was small. He was self-sufficient—in his own eyes, anyway. And with his love being as small as it was, he disqualified himself from receiving the forgiveness that he really needed—if only his love were great enough to recognize it!

Now the woman loved much. Perhaps that's what got her into a life of sin in the first place: she loved too much, but loved wrongly, unchastely. The fire in her heart only had to be properly re-directed. We see this also in the case of St Mary of Egypt. At first her lustful passion was insatiable, but when she turned to God, all her love was directed toward Him, and her passion became zeal for holiness and undying devotion to the Lord, even in the midst of severe hardships. Anyway, the sinful woman in the gospel was somehow stricken with the awareness of her sin, and she boldly went to Him—entering uninvited into the house of a stranger where Jesus happened to be—and threw herself at his mercy. Jesus forgave her sins and so her love increased even more, knowing what a heavy burden He had lifted from her. The Lord did not make light of her sins—He emphasized that they were many—but his mercy was greater still, and, to the astonishment of all the dinner guests, He forgave her sins then and there, declaring that her faith had saved her.

Here we see how faith and love are inseparably bound. Jesus said she was forgiven because she loved much, and then said it was her faith that saved her. You can't really believe in Jesus without loving Him, and it seems obvious that you won't love Him if you don't believe in Him.

This faith and this love are what must enable us to go with Jesus to his Passion and to stand by his Cross. Jesus solemnly announces in the gospel: "Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be… condemned to death… and they will mock him and spit upon him and scourge him and kill him…" The Church proclaims this gospel on this Sunday because next Sunday is Palm Sunday, the arrival at Jerusalem. This is not a journey that the timid or the wavering can make. We need to be unshakable in our faith in Christ and love for Him. Jesus said to his own disciples at the Last Supper: "You will all fall away." So they would fail when their faith and love were put to the test. Judas betrayed Him, Peter denied Him, and all the rest abandoned Jesus when He was arrested in the garden.

How shall we strengthen our faith and love, so that we can in spirit go with Jesus to Jerusalem, ritually re-live the mystery of his suffering and death, and receive the grace that He wishes to grant to those who lovingly gratefully honor his complete self-sacrifice for our salvation? The Church offers us the usual and indispensable means: prayer, the sacraments, meditation on the word of God. But Jesus gives us an additional one in the gospel, one that is also indispensable if all the others are going to bear fruit: we have to learn how to serve, to acquire the heart and mind of a servant of the Lord.

James and John manifested just the opposite spirit in their request to Jesus. (These two are the same ones that Jesus earlier rebuked when they would call fire from heaven down upon their enemies—Jesus told them they did not realize what manner of spirit was in them.) They asked not to serve but to reign! They wanted the glory, but they hadn't learned their lessons concerning the conditions by which glory is granted. That's why Jesus told them: "You do not know what you are asking." Then when Jesus asked them if they could drink the cup He had to drink, they responded—having no idea what this cup entailed—that they were able to do so. So they still didn't get it. Then the rest of the disciples got all indignant—probably not only at the selfish ambition of the two, but also because those two thought of it first! They probably all wanted the highest places, because several times in the gospels it is mentioned that all the disciples argued with each other about who was the greatest.

None of them understood really what it meant to serve. So Jesus, after three years of teaching and example, had to sit them all down again and explain it. Whoever would be great among you, He said, must be a servant. Must be. It's an indispensable condition. He didn't say, if you want to be great in the eyes of God, it's probably a good idea to be a servant as well. Jesus gave Himself as an example: "The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for the many."

Let us return to the repentant harlot. She had it right. She fell at Jesus' feet, humbled herself and wept over her sins, because she loved Him and believed that He had the power to forgive and save her. She was ready to serve Him for the rest of her life and probably did. She "got it," unlike the apostles, who at this point were more like the Pharisee than the repentant woman. Only someone who is convinced of his own righteousness can ask for the glory without first taking the lowest place, without first serving. We serve, however, not merely as a necessary, though irksome, means to a glorious end, but because we recognize that that's what we are, servants of the Lord, and in the very serving is our glory, our blessing, our forgiveness and salvation.

Behold, we are on our way to Jerusalem—not to make a pilgrimage to the holy places where Jesus once walked, but to mystically re-live with Him, now, his Passion: offering Him our faith and love, and recognizing the love with which He loved us in giving his life so that our sins might be forgiven. We have been forgiven much; let us love much. And as we love the more, we will be forgiven the more.

Let us, at last, learn what it means to serve. The coming two weeks will be rather arduous here in the monastery, with the long services, the fasting, the interior strain of entering with Christ into his anguish and pain—and you must also share this to the extent your state of life and the will of God requires. Let us acquire the heart of a servant, and not resist or resent the demands that will be placed upon us. Let us accept whatever difficulty or hardship these days will bring, offer the necessary sacrifices, be patient, forgiving, charitable, take it upon ourselves to go above and beyond what is strictly required, carry the burden of others—in short, let us be humble servants. We are sinners and we deserve nothing from God or man, but let us approach the Lord with faith, love, and humility, asking not for the glory but rather for the opportunity to serve, to be like Him, to give our lives for the sake of others: one day, one sacrifice at a time.

Then the Lord will look upon us not as upon the self-righteous Pharisee, and not even as upon his self-seeking disciples, but as upon the one who wept and kissed his feet, the one whom He blessed, and to whom He said, "Your sins are forgiven," and "Go in peace; your faith has saved you."

We are beginning now the celebration of the great and holy mysteries that lie at the heart of our life and salvation. The Gospel for Palm Sunday (Jn. 12:1-18) actually brings four mysteries together, all related to the coming Passion of the Lord: the raising of Lazarus, the anointing by Mary of Bethany, the treachery of Judas, and Jesus' entry into Jerusalem.

The raising of Lazarus was the "last straw" for the religious leaders in Jerusalem. They had been nervously keeping track of the teachings and miracles of Jesus, and they were trying to figure out the best way and time to silence Him. Suddenly they were forced to show their hand; Jesus' popularity had reached its peak with the raising of Lazarus. The Gospel makes this clear and says that this is one of the main reasons the crowd met Jesus with such great acclamations when He entered Jerusalem. The crowd came, says the Gospel, "not only on account of Jesus, but also to see Lazarus, whom he has raised from the dead." Because Lazarus was an undeniable and living sign of Jesus' divine power, the authorities planned to put Lazarus to death as well, though they never did manage that. Finally, the Gospel states it clearly: those who saw Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead bore witness, so "the reason why the crowd went to meet [Jesus] was that they heard he had done this sign." The Pharisees exclaimed in exasperation: "the whole world has gone after him!" So there was only one thing left for them to do…

Meanwhile, at a dinner held in Jesus' honor at Bethany, his dear friend Mary, Lazarus' sister, anointed Jesus' feet with fragrant and costly oil, as a token of her love and immense gratitude. (How many people can say of another: I'm really indebted to him, for he raised my brother from the dead!) A few days later, at the house of Simon the leper—we can assume that he was a cleansed leper by this time—another woman similarly anointed Jesus' head with oil. Both times the response from the other guests (rather surprisingly, one would think) was indignation. It's almost as if they had forgotten just who it was that was being anointed, and how urgent it was that they understand what He was about to do for them. He explicitly mentioned his burial, perhaps as a wake-up call for those who were in denial about his previous predictions of his suffering and death. At that particular moment, other concerns for charitable activity had to be given second place.

Here in the Gospel of John only Judas is mentioned as complaining about the extravagance. Feigning care for the poor, Judas was upset because if that money had instead been donated to Jesus, Judas would have had the opportunity to spend it on himself. The evangelist notes that Judas regularly helped himself to what was deposited in the community coffer. So we have love and treachery side by side, the devout woman and the dishonest disciple, and this seems to be the lot of fallen man ever since our banishment from Eden. Goodness is ever marred by wickedness, yet evil is ever redeemed by holiness. We don't hear in this reading about Judas' actual betrayal, but John sets the stage by pointing out his bad character and secret sins.

But the moment finally came for Jesus to be rightfully acclaimed as Messiah and Lord, as the One whom God had sent to save the world, to heal the sick and raise the dead and speak the word of life to his people. So, with the crowds still awestruck, retelling the tale of the raising of Lazarus, Jesus entered Jerusalem. The crowd cried out, "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, the King of Israel!" The evangelist then quotes the prophet Zechariah: "Fear not, daughter of Zion. Behold, your king is coming…"

We might recall an earlier time (Jn. 6:15) when the people wanted to acclaim Jesus as King but He fled from them and hid Himself. Why was He now accepting their acclamations as his publicly entered the holy city? Perhaps we could simply say that in the first instance his hour had not yet come, as St John often says. That is true, but it doesn't really explain much. I think that Jesus accepted this praise of his kingship on that first Palm Sunday—even though they still didn't "get it", still didn't realize that his kingdom was not of this world, still thought He was about to liberate them from social and political oppression—because his true kingship would be manifested in a very short time. Five days later Pontius Pilate would present Him to them, crowned with thorns and rent with scourges, saying: "Behold your King!" His kingship was manifested in sacrifice, in the laying down of his life for his people, out of love for them and for their eternal happiness. (The Good Thief recognized this, for even when seeing Jesus disgraced and tormented on the Cross, he could say, "Remember me in your Kingdom.")

Unfortunately, the people still didn't get it, for they no longer wished to have anything to do with Jesus. They renounced their former allegiance to Him and demanded instead his execution. This is the usual fruit of merely earthly hopes and ambitions: fickleness, treachery, hatred, and violence. Today's powerful leader is tomorrow's disgraced failure. Jesus knew all that and He didn't try to gain anyone's favor or make promises of temporal peace, freedom, or prosperity. Everything He said and did was directed toward the Kingdom of God and the salvation of souls. He knew He wouldn't fare well with this people's misguided expectations, so He took their Palm Sunday acclamations with a grain of salt and headed resolutely toward fulfilling his Father's will on Golgotha.

Jesus might be viewed by some as a sort of "tragic hero," a noble and righteous man who died for his righteous cause through the malice and treachery of the very ones to whom He was bringing Good News. His brief and ill-fated life became the subject of songs, and his death, though externally shameful, was considered honorable as his mighty deeds were sung in subsequent generations. Perhaps if Jesus did not rise from the dead, all we would be left with would be the memory of a tragic hero. I've been reading some of Tolkien's writings lately, and they are full of tragic heroes. They go courageously into battle against the legions of evil creatures, and they die in the act of slaying a dragon or defeating some other wicked power. Their bodies are carried away in honor and songs are sung of their valor and their glorious deeds. But they remain a memory, and life must go on without them.

Not so the thorn-crowned King of the Jews. True, his deeds were mighty and his courage unsurpassed, and his wisdom and glory are the stuff of legends. He died while destroying the power of the fiercest dragon of them all, "that ancient serpent who is called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world" (Rev. 12:9). But lo, even though his body was carried away by his loyal followers and buried in reverence, there was no time to compose dirges honoring his glorious deeds, for the greatest of these deeds was accomplished shortly after his death! His death was vindicated by his resurrection, and He lives on, not only in the memories of those knew him or heard of his mighty works, but He remains personally present, through his Holy Spirit and in the mystery of the Holy Eucharist, to all generations: "Behold, I am with you always, until the end of the world" (Mt 28:20).

Today, on this Palm Sunday, many centuries after the first one, we too acclaim Jesus as King. But let us ask ourselves: will Jesus have to take our acclamations with a grain of salt, knowing that we don't get it either? Sure, we have the knowledge of hindsight: we're not asking Him to run for President, and we know He is risen from the dead. But perhaps our own expectations are still a little misguided. Are we deceived by the "gospel of prosperity"? Do we acclaim Him because we think He has come to make us happy in this life and give us all that our hearts desire? Have we forgotten that his Kingdom is not of this world? Do we try to pass quickly over the accounts of his Passion, forgetting that the Father's will had to be accomplished in Gethsemane and on Golgotha if we were not to remain under the doom of the ancient sin?

Before the Lord hands us our heavenly crowns He will hand us a crown of thorns. Before we don our heavenly Easter bonnets He will ask us to take up our cross and follow Him. No servant is greater than his master. Look at this Palm Sunday gospel reading. We too will experience in this life both love and treachery; we will be both praised and reviled. But like Jesus we must go forth resolutely to do the Father's will, without counting the cost—because our kingdom is not of this world, either. We belong to the King of Heaven and will reign with Him, as Scripture promises. But it doesn't come without a price, without sacrifice and fidelity. "If we have died with him," writes the Apostle, "we shall also live with him; if we endure, we shall also reign with him" (2Tim. 2:11-12).

So let us endure that we may reign; let us die—to sin, to our own selfishness—that we may live with Jesus, who is eternally acclaimed King by all the angels and saints. Let us stay close to Him during the painful and sorrowful mysteries of Holy Week, and He will raise us up to his own joy when the dawn of Easter breaks upon us.

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