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- Yesterday12 min
Homily - Humility and Spiritual Sight
"I Once Was Blind": Humility and Spiritual Sight St. John 9:1-38 In this homily on the healing of the man born blind, Father Anthony reflects on how Christ not only gives sight, but gradually heals the whole person. Though baptism opens our eyes to the truth of God and His Kingdom, we still struggle to see clearly through the distortions of pride, fear, anger, and self-justification. The path to true spiritual sight is therefore not certainty or condemnation, but humility, repentance, patience, and trust in the One who already reigns over the world. Enjoy the show! --- Today's Gospel shows us two very important things about the Christ to whom we have given our lives: that He has compassion for human suffering, and that He has the power to heal it. The man in today's Gospel was not born partially blind. He was born completely blind. And Christ gives him sight so that we may trust not only His love for us, but His power to remake us and remake the world. Saint John tells us why these signs were given: "Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing, you may have life in His name." The miracles are not spectacles. They are revelations. They show us who Christ is, and they show us what He desires to do with us. There is also a symbolic meaning to this miracle, and here we should remember the words of the Lord from the Gospel according to Saint Matthew: "The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eye is sound, your whole body will be full of light." Now, growing up in Georgia, every time I hear this Gospel, I hear that hymn: "I once was blind, but now I see." And that is true for us. That is why that hymn resonates so deeply within our souls. Through baptism and chrismation, through union with Christ, through life in His Church, we have been given new eyes. For the first time, glory to God, we begin to see reality as it truly is. We begin to see God not as an abstraction, but as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We begin to see that life has meaning, that even suffering can become holy, that love is stronger even than death, and that the Cross is not defeat but victory. But we also know something else. Even after receiving sight, glory to God for opening our eyes, we do not yet see clearly. As Saint Paul says, we still see "through a mirror dimly." And like the man healed in stages, sometimes we only "see men like trees walking." Why? Because salvation is not magic. The Lord does not simply wave away every wound, every distortion, every habit of pride and fear the moment we come to Him. Yes, baptism gives us eyes, but the healing of the whole person takes time. Our minds were created to resonate, to be in harmony with God, but sin twists the strings out of tune. And alas, we do not only suffer from our own sins; we inherit confusion from a world that itself has forgotten how to see clearly. And so we live in a very difficult place. We have received sight. We have seen the light. But we are still learning how to see. Worse than this, we are learning alongside other people whose vision is also wounded. The world tells us that confidence is clarity, that loudness is wisdom, that certainty is discernment. But often it is the opposite that is true. As Proverbs warns us: "There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death." The proud man thinks he sees everything so clearly, but the humble man knows that he still needs healing. And this is where today's Gospel becomes painfully relevant to us. When we recognize that our sight is imperfect, humility teaches us to move carefully. How quickly we assume we understand another person's motives. How quickly we justify our own anger. How quickly we become certain that we are right and others are blind. But the fathers warn us: the blind cannot heal blindness, and if the blind lead the blind, both fall into the ditch. This is why humility is so important. Humility, unlike the world tries to tell us, is not weakness. Humility does not involve pretending that evil is good. Humility is not refusing to act when action is needed. Humility is the recognition that our own vision is still being healed. Humility acts as the pause that short-circuits the line between fallen instinct and sinful action: the pause between offense and judgment, the pause that protects us from self-justification and allows us time for repentance. Humility says: "I may not understand this completely." "My passions may be distorting what I see." "My fears may be speaking louder than wisdom." "My ego may be disguising it
- 1 weeks ago9 min
Homily - From Justification to Repentance: The Samaritan Woman
On the Sunday of the Samaritan Woman, this homily reflects on the encounter between Christ and Saint Photini, focusing on the deeper moral psychology of repentance. It explores how we instinctively justify our sins and construct explanations to protect ourselves, even in the presence of divine truth. Drawing on Scripture and the witness of the saints, it shows how true healing comes not through self-defense, but through humility, repentance, and stepping fully into the light of Christ. Enjoy the show! --- From Justification to Repentance: The Samaritan Woman St. John 4:5–42 "He told me all that I ever did." (John 4:29) There is nothing new in the idea that God knows everything about us. The Prophet David proclaimed it long ago: "Whither shall I go from Thy Spirit? Or whither shall I flee from Thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, Thou art there; if I make my bed in Hades, Thou art there… The darkness hideth not from Thee, but the night shineth as the day." (Psalm 138/139:7–12) The question, then, is not whether God knows our deeds. The question is: what do we make of that knowledge? What does it mean that we cannot hide from Him? First, we must remember something essential: God's omniscience is not cold or distant. The One who knows all things is also the One who is quick to save. There is nowhere we can go that is beyond His love. Nowhere we can fall that is outside His reach. But there is also a harder truth here. The only way to experience His mercy, the only way to receive His salvation, is through humble repentance. The Samaritan woman—whom the Church honors as Saint Photini—stood before Christ and heard Him reveal her life: "You have had five husbands, and the one whom you now have is not your husband." Imagine the temptation she must have felt in that moment. To defend herself. To explain. To justify. Her life—what we might call "serial monogamy"—is exactly the kind of brokenness that our culture normalizes and even celebrates. And the human mind is very good at protecting such patterns. As we have said before: our fallen moral reasoning often works like this—first we decide instinctively what we want to be true, and then the advocate in our mind builds a case to defend it. We become our own lawyers, our own spokesmen, our own cheerleaders. We can justify almost anything. We may even convince others. But this is not real justification. Because we are sinners, the only true justification is in the blood of Jesus Christ—who offers Himself "on behalf of all and for all." And yet the fruit of that offering can only be received through repentance. This is why we celebrate Saint Photini. <p class="MsoNo
- 2 weeks ago13 min
Homily - The Paralytic and Moving from Explanation to Obedience
On the Sunday of the Paralytic, this homily explores Christ's piercing question: "Do you want to be made well?" It examines our tendency to respond not with repentance, but with explanation—justifying our condition rather than opening ourselves to healing. Grounded in the Church's therapeutic vision of salvation, it calls us to move beyond self-justification and into obedience, where Christ's command becomes the source of our transformation. Enjoy the show! --- Homily for the Sunday of the Paralytic John 5:1–15; Acts 9 Christ is risen! What effect do you have on others? Is it like St. Peter's? Do you walk in the midst of broken people, bringing them healing? Do others, recognizing the peace within you, go out of their way just to be near you? Have you attained even a small measure of the purity and goodness—the peaceful spirit—that, as St. Seraphim of Sarov teaches, becomes the salvation of thousands? These are important indicators—ways to examine how we are doing in this walk of salvation. Some of them are internal and relatively easy to observe: How do I react to praise? How do I respond to criticism? How quick am I to anger, to despondency, to lust? But here is another indicator—an external one: How do people react to us? Do they find peace when we enter the room, or when we leave it? We need to be honest about this. When it comes to the things that truly matter—in our lives, in our families, in this parish, and in the great story of our salvation—we are always moving in one of two directions: either we are cooperating with grace, with healing, or we are cooperating with corruption. St. Peter, glory to God, became a man who cooperated fully with healing. But that was not always the case. There was a time when he was driven by pride, fear, and the expectations of others. By the time we meet him in Acts, however, he is no longer just occasionally doing what is right. He has been transformed. He has become the kind of person through whom Christ works. In today's Gospel, we see the beginning of such a transformation. The paralytic had been suffering for thirty-eight years—thirty-eight years of waiting, hoping, and being unable to heal himself. We can hardly imagine the weight of that suffering. And what does Christ ask him? "Do you want to be made well?" It is a strange question. In some ways, it is obvious—he is lying by the pool, waiting for healing. And yet we must name the desire. Not everyone who is sick truly wants to be healed. Notice how the paralytic responds. He does not answer the question directly. Instead, he explains his situation. He explains why he has not been healed. "I have no man… When the water is stirred, someone else steps down before me…" We recognize this, don't we? This is how we often respond to God—not with repentance, not with surrender, but with explanation. We explain why we are the way we are. We explain why change is so difficult. We explain why our situation is unique. Much of what we say is not wrong. But it is not healing. It does not open us to grace. St. John Chrysostom, reflecting on this passage, notes that Christ does not wait for a perfect answer, nor does He require a full confession before acting. But neither does He accept the man's explanations as sufficient. Instead, He goes directly to what is needed—not explanation, but transformation. Christ commands the man to do what he cannot do, and in the command itself, He gives the power to obey. This is where we must be careful. When the soul is disordered, it does not remain neutral. It becomes a source of distortion—not only for ourselves, but for others. The problem is not simply "out there." The problem begins within. And the great difficulty of living in this world is that it teaches us to normalize this condition. It calls distortion authenticity. It calls self-justification wisdom. But the Church is not here to affirm our condition. The Church is here to heal it. The Church is a hospital. But what good is a hospital if those within it refuse to be healed? What kind of peace can we offer if we are at war within ourselves—and with one another? It is very easy to remain in this disordered state. Our instincts are not neutral; they are wounded. And our minds—brilliant as they are—often serve those instincts rather than correcting them. We use our intelligence to justify our condition instead of correcting it. The mind becomes a kind of spokesman, explaining why we are the way we are and why it is acceptable. We justify our anger. We excuse our selfishness. We baptize our pride. Scripture gives us clear examples. Ananias and Sapphira likely thought themselves generous. Simon Magus likely convinced himself that
- 3 weeks ago11 min
Homily - The Myrrhbearers, the Living Christ, and the Living Church
On the Sunday of the Myrrhbearers, this homily examines the temptation to treat Christ as a figure of the past rather than the Living Lord. It explores how even faithful Christians can reduce Him to something studied at a distance—especially in an age of endless religious content. Grounded in the Church's sacramental and communal life, the message calls us to encounter Christ where He truly speaks: in His Body. The result is both comforting and demanding, as the living Christ not only teaches, but calls us to repentance and transformation. Enjoy the show! --- Homily for the Myrrhbearers St. Mark 15:43–16:8; Acts 6:1–7 Today we celebrate the holy Myrrhbearers: Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, the most holy Theotokos, Mary Magdalene, Mary the wife of Clopas, Joanna, Salome, Mary and Martha, and Susanna—those who loved Christ enough to come to Him even in death. Their love is beautiful. It is courageous. It is faithful. But it is also, in one very important way, mistaken. They came to anoint a corpse. They came expecting silence, stillness, finality. They came to do one last act of love for someone who was no longer present to receive it. And that is where we must be careful—because we can do the same thing. We sing again and again, "Christ is Risen!" But how often do we live as if He were not? Think about how we relate to the dead. We remember them. We honor them. We reflect on their words. We study what they said, and we try to apply it to our lives. But we do not expect them to speak to us now. We do not expect them to guide us in real time. And this is exactly how many Christians treat Christ. We treat Him as a figure from the past—a great teacher, whose words are preserved in a fixed collection of texts. If we want to know what He thinks, we go back and study what He said, like we would with Plato or any other historical figure. Please—do not misunderstand me. We need the Scriptures. We must study them. But if that is all we are doing—if Christ is only someone we study—then we are treating Him as if He were dead. Because if He were truly risen—if He were truly alive—then we would expect Him to still be teaching. And He is. Christ is alive—not only in heaven—but here and now. He lives in the hearts of the faithful. He lives in His sacraments. He lives most fully as the Head of His Body—the Church. And that means something very concrete: the Church is not a memory. She is not a museum. She is not an archive. She is alive. And here is where the danger comes in—because just as we can treat Christ as if He were dead, we can also treat the Church as if she were dead. We do this when we reduce her to an institution, when we treat her traditions as relics instead of life, when we experience the Liturgy as repetition instead of encounter, and when we assume that nothing truly happens here—nothing new, nothing real—only the preservation of the past. We do this when we think, "I already know what the Church says," "I'll decide how to apply it," or "I'll take what is helpful." But a living body does not work that way. If Christ is alive, then His Body is alive. And if His Body is alive, then it speaks—not just in the past, but now. In the hymns, in the prayers, in the canons, in the counsel of those who are faithful and wise, in the real, sometimes difficult life of the parish—where we are taught through living out our salvation with one another, in patience, repentance, and love—and in the quiet voice that speaks when we have learned to be still. And this leads to the second reaction—the more difficult one. It is one thing to doubt that Christ is speaking. It is another thing to realize that He is. Because "it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God" (Hebrews 10:31). A dead teacher can be interpreted. A living Lord must be obeyed. A dead teacher can be studied at a distance. A living Lord sees you, knows you, and calls you to change. And here is one of the ways we avoid this. We listen to the Church—but at a distance. We listen through podcasts, through videos, through discussions online. We hear sermons, teachings, arguments, explanations. And again, these things can be good. But notice what happens when this becomes our primary way of listening. We receive the words, but not the life. We hear, but we are not known. We learn, but we are not accountable. We can pause it, skip it, choose one voice over another, agree or disagree without consequence. In other words, we remain in control. <p data-star
- 4 weeks ago12 min
Homily - From Doubt to Communion: What It Means to Believe in Christ
This homily reflects on belief as trust that creates communion and makes true life possible in Christ. Drawing on the encounter with Thomas, it shows how Christ patiently leads honest doubt into faith while calling us away from prideful questioning that blocks love. --- St. Thomas Sunday St. John 20:19–31 Does God hate doubt? Does He shame those who struggle to believe? No. He does something very different. Christ does not simply want us to know facts about Him. He wants us to know Him. Because He does not say, "I teach the truth." He says: "I am the Truth" (cf. Gospel of John 14:6). This changes everything. Belief is not first about ideas—it is about relationship. And yet, God does not want us to remain in doubt. He does not want us to be uncertain about His love, His power, or His promise to save us. Because, as He says elsewhere, "Whoever believes in Me shall never die" (cf. John 11:26). Belief is not optional. It is the doorway into life. But notice how He brings people to belief. He does not force it. He does not shame it into existence. He draws it out—patiently, personally, just as He did with Thomas. So what does it mean to believe in someone? It means you trust them. You trust their intentions, their character, and their power to do what they say. We understand this instinctively. In a healthy marriage, a husband believes in his wife, and a wife in her husband. In a healthy home, children believe in their parents—not because they have proven every detail, but because they have learned to trust who they are. And when that kind of belief is present, something happens. There is freedom. A husband does not second-guess every word his wife says. A wife does not interpret every silence as betrayal. They are free to give themselves to one another without fear. There is peace. The home is not filled with suspicion or quiet anxiety, but with a steady confidence that they are for one another. There is growth. Because when you are not constantly defending yourself, you can repent, forgive, and become better. And there is joy—not because everything or anyone is perfect, but because love can actually be received and returned. This is what belief does. It creates the conditions where life—real life—can exist. And when that belief is gone, the relationship begins to collapse. If a spouse becomes convinced the other is unfaithful, the mind will begin to manufacture evidence to support that fear. Everything changes: suspicion replaces trust, distance replaces unity, and anxiety replaces peace. Without belief, there is no communion—no harmony, no shared life. And where communion is lost, what remains begins to resemble hell: isolation, suspicion, and the slow unraveling of love. Christ has come to trample down that isolation and to bestow life. Trust and belief are how we share in that victory. This is what makes today's Gospel so important. Christ is worthy of our trust. His intentions toward us are not hidden: He loves us and desires that we share eternal life with Him. His power is not uncertain: He has risen from the dead. And He has not left us empty-handed. He gives us Himself—His Body and His Blood—so that this trust is not abstract, but lived, received, and renewed. You have already begun this. You have united yourself to Christ. You believe in His love, and you have accepted it as your own. You believe in His power, and you are learning to live in it. But the fallen mind will still produce doubts. That is what the fallen mind—especially the intellect—does. It generates possibilities, questions, fears. And that is not, by itself, a problem. Do not be afraid of your doubts. In any real relationship, questions must be brought into the light—not during the Liturgy, but within the life of the Church, within this community, where truth can be sought in humility and trust. You are not the first to ask hard questions. Some of the greatest minds and the greatest saints have wrestled with them. If your questions come from love—from a genuine desire to know God—then working through them becomes a holy act. Because honest dialogue leads to deeper communion. Not every thought needs to be followed—only the ones that lead us toward Christ. And this leads us to another kind of questioning—a kind that works against the asker's salvation. Questions that come from pride, from mockery, from a desire not to know but to dismiss. "I'm only asking questions." But pride blocks the way to truth. Because the problem of our salvation is not lack of information—it is a prideful and poisoned heart. And no amount of facts can heal that. Only repentance can. And Christ shows us one more thing. He is patient with doubters like Thomas, but He is not patient with those who "believe" in the wrong way—those who cling so tightly to false beliefs that they harm others in the name of God. The Pharisees were not condemned
- Apr 5, 202611 min
Homily - The Dangerous Joy of Palm Sunday
Philippians 4:4-9; John 12:1-18 Palm Sunday reveals both our love for Christ and our temptation to abandon Him when He does not meet our expectations. This homily invites us to see ourselves in the Gospel, to embrace the deeper work of transformation, and to follow the King who leads us not to comfort, but to life through the Cross. --- Palm Sunday Homily 2026 For the Jews two thousand years ago, today was the culmination of their long waiting: the Messiah had come to save them. "Hosanna in the Highest! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!" It is a great day for us as well—the end of Great Lent, the celebration of Christ's triumphal entry into Jerusalem. We take up the first fruits of spring—palm leaves and pussy willows—not just as decoration, but as a sign of renewal. The winter of waiting is over. Christ has come among His people. As the Church sings in the Triodion: "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." And more than that: He has come into our lives. This feast is not only about what happened in Jerusalem long ago. It is about the moment when Christ entered into our own story—when we first recognized Him as Lord, when we opened our hearts to Him, when we felt the relief of His presence. For many of us, that moment was marked by healing: the easing of despair, the forgiveness of sins, the restoration of hope. And so we cried out: "Hosanna in the Highest—the King has come to save!" Not just Israel. Me. But here is where the Gospel becomes dangerous for us. Because the people who cried "Hosanna" were not wrong to rejoice. They were wrong about what that joy meant. They loved Christ because He met their expectations. He healed the sick. He raised the dead. He gave them hope that their visible, worldly problems would be solved. Of course they loved Him. And we do the same. We love Christ when He meets our expectations: when He brings peace when He answers prayers the way we want when He restores what we think should be restored We love the Church for the same reason: when it comforts us when it feels
- Mar 30, 202613 min
Homily - Cross the Digital Jordan and Find Peace
The Sunday of St. Mary of Egypt The life of St. Mary of Egypt shows that healing begins when we are willing to let go of what we think we cannot live without. Her struggle with memory and desire mirrors our own battles with distraction and constant stimulation. In these final weeks of Lent, we are invited to simplify our lives, endure the discomfort, and turn again toward the peace that comes from God. --- Today the Church gives us one of the most extreme lives in all of Christian history: St. Mary of Egypt. And if we are not careful, we will put her at a distance. We will say: "That's not me." "That's not my struggle." "That's not my life." But the Church does not give her to us as a curiosity. She gives her to us as a mirror. Mary began in complete disorder. Not gradually. Not reluctantly. She threw herself into a life of passion—seeking pleasure, attention, and control. And she is very clear: she was not even doing it for money. She was doing it because she wanted it, because she loved it, because it gave her a sense of freedom. And then comes the turning point. She tries to enter the Church in Jerusalem—to venerate the Cross. And she cannot. An invisible force prevents her. Everyone else walks in. She cannot. And suddenly, she sees—not just what she has done, but what she has become. That moment breaks her. Not into despair—but into repentance. She turns to the Mother of God, asks for mercy, and is finally allowed to enter. She venerates the Cross. And then she leaves—not just the Church, but the world. She goes into the desert. And here is where we often misunderstand her life. We imagine peace, clarity, instant transformation. But that is not what she experienced. Listen to her own words. She says that in the desert she was tormented by the memory of her old life: "The mad desire for songs and wine seized me… I longed to sing obscene songs… the memory of the things I was accustomed to filled my soul with great turmoil." She had left everything behind, but everything had not yet left her. And this is important. Because it tells us: removing ourselves from temptation does not immediately remove temptation from us. For years—years—she struggled. With memory, with desire, with imagination, with everything she had fed her soul. But she stayed. She endured. And over time, something changed. The passions lost their power. The memories lost their sweetness. And she found something greater: peace, clarity, freedom, union with God. Now here is where we need to be careful. Because it is very easy to say: "Well, that's her. She was dealing with extreme passions." But we are not so different. We also live in a world of constant stimulation—constant input, constant distraction. Not through wine and song in the same way, but through something else: social media, endless news cycles, commentary, outrage, entertainment, noise. And we do not just encounter these things. We consume them. We return to them. We depend on them. And like St. Mary, we often tell ourselves: "This is freedom." But what happens when we try to step away—even for a little while? We feel it. The pull. The habit. The restlessness. The desire to check, to scroll, to see what we are missing. And here is the question that reveals everything: what do we think we are missing? Because this is where the illusion lies. We think: "If I am not plugged in—if I am not consuming—if I am not aware of everything—then my life is being wasted." But St. Mary shows us the opposite. From the outside, her life looks wasted. No productivity, no recognition, no audience, no relevance. And yet—she becomes radiant with holiness, clear in mind, free in heart, alive in God. So now the question turns: whose life is wasted? The one who withdraws from distraction and struggles toward freedom, or the one who is constantly stimulated but never at peace? St. Mary did not lose her life in the desert. She found it—but only after enduring the pain of letting go. And this is where her life meets ours—very concretely, especially now. Because we are in Great Lent. And Lent is given to us for exactly this purpose: to simplify, to remove distractions, to reorder our lives toward God. Many people focus on food. And that is good. But it is only part of the pattern. Because for most of us, our greater excess is not meat and dairy. It is stimulation. And this is part of why the fast exists. Fasting is not just about what we give up. It is about what is revealed. When we fast from food, something happens. Our system is stressed. We feel hunger. We feel irritation. We feel weakness. And suddenly, we begin to notice our thoughts, our habits, our reactions. The fast makes visible what is usually hidden. And this is not a failure. This is its purpose. Now consider this: if fasting from food reveals this much, what might ha
- Mar 29, 20262h 30m
Retreat - On the Communion and Post-Communion Prayers
Taste and See that the Lord is Good UOL Retreat in Philadelphia PA on 3/28/2026 In this episode, we look at how the Church's pre- and post-Communion prayers prepare us not just to receive the Eucharist, but to be changed by it. They help us see our need, turn us toward God, and then teach us how to carry His presence into daily life. Communion becomes not just something we receive, but something we learn to live. --- PRE-COMMUNION PRAYERS (UOC-USA PRAYER BOOK) Through the prayers of our Holy Fathers, Lord Jesus Christ, our God, have mercy on us. Glory to You, our God, glory to You. Prayer to the Holy Spirit О Heavenly King, the Comforter, Spirit of Truth, everywhere present and filling all things. Treasury of Blessings and Giver of Life, come and dwell in us, cleanse us from every impurity and save our souls, O Good One. Thrice-Holy Hymn Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us. (3 times) Small Doxology Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Prayer to the Holy Trinity All-Holy Trinity, have mercy on us. Lord, cleanse us from our sins. Master, pardon our transgressions. Holy One, visit us and heal our infirmities for Your Name's sake. Lord, have mercy. (3 times) Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. The Lord's Prayer Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy Will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our Daily Bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the Evil One. For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power and the Glory, of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Lord, have mercy. (3 times) Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever and to the ages of ages. Amen. Invocation to Jesus Christ Come, let us worship God, our King. Come, let us worship and bow down before Christ our King and our God. Come, let us worship and bow down before Christ Himself, our King and our God. Psalm 22 The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want. He settles me in a place of green grass; beside restful water He leads me. He restores my soul; He guides me on the paths of righteousness for His Name's sake. For even if I walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil because You are with me. Your rod and Your staff comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil and my cup overflows. Behold, Your mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will live in the house of the Lord for the length of my days. Psalm 23 The earth is the Lord's and all its fullness, the world and all who live in it. For He has founded it above the seas and prepared it above the waters. Who will ascend into the mountain of the Lord and who will stand in His holy place? One whose hands are harmless and whose heart is pure, who has not received his soul in vain and has not sworn deceitfully to his neighbor. He will receive blessing from the Lord and mercy from God his Savior. <p class="Paragraph14pxJustifiedStyleGr
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About OrthoAnalytika
Welcome to OrthoAnalytika, Fr. Anthony Perkins' podcast of homilies, classes, and shows on spirituality, science, and culture - all offered from a decidedly Orthodox Christian perspective. Fr. Anthony is a mission priest and seminary professor for the UOC-USA. He has a diverse background, a lot of enthusiasm, and a big smile. See www.orthoanalytika.org for show notes and additional content.
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OrthoAnalytika covers topics including Religion & Spirituality, Spirituality, Christianity. Our AI identifies the specific themes in each episode and highlights what matters most to you.
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Free forever for up to 3 podcasts. No credit card required.
Free forever for up to 3 podcasts. No credit card required.