March 29th, 2026: 5th Sunday of Lent, Fr Daniel York

As we begin our final week of Lent, Christ the

High Priest sets his face toward Jerusalem, stating

plainly that there in that holy city he will

be delivered over to the high priests and the

scribes who will condemn him to death and deliver

him over to the Gentiles who will mock him, spit

on him, flog him, and kill him. Yet three days

later he will rise, having offered himself through

the eternal spirit to obtain our eternal redemption,

to purify our flesh, and to cleanse our consciences

from dead works in order that we might serve

the living and true God. Today, as Christ proceeds

toward the city, before we join him in this journey

next week, we actually proceed away from it with

a certain priest monk, Zosima, into the desert

beyond the Jordan. Today the church sets forth

St. Mary of Egypt, whose life we read in full

on Monday with the great canon of St. Andrew

of Crete. The life of St. Mary culminates our

entire journey of Lent. It's not by coincidence

that things we commemorate in previous Lenten

weeks and the weeks leading up to Lent make cameos

today. It's an icon of the Theotokos that confronts

and turns Mary of Egypt's life upside down, recalling

the Sunday of Orthodoxy, the veneration of icons

and their significance for the Christian life.

It's the precious and life -giving cross that

Mary first mocks and eventually wants to see,

but is prevented from entering the church because

of her wanton sin, recalling the Sunday of the

cross. It's her participation in the energetic

life of God that enables Mary to discern things

clairvoyantly about Zosima, levitate off the

ground in prayer, speak scripture without ever

having read it, and walk on water, recalling

the life that flows out from the Sunday of St.

Gregory Palamas. It's the life of the prodigal

son that shapes Mary's as she rejects the love

of her parents and her baptism at age 12 to run

away and feed her sexual appetites, only to be

confronted with her own filth. recalling the

Sunday of the prodigal son, we could go on. But

today, I want us to recall the Pharisee and the

tax collector, which we reflected on well in

advance of Lent to frame our Lenten journey.

In that story, we meet the Pharisee and the tax

collector, the pride and self -righteousness

of the Pharisee. I thank you, God. that I am

not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers,

or like this tax collector. And the sheer humiliation

of the tax collector. God, be merciful to me,

the sinner. We have a somewhat easy time tearing

down the Pharisee in this story. I think sometimes

we think of him as if he inhabits a different

religion and faith altogether. But what if the

church, to close out Great Lent, brought this

story a little closer to home and told it fully

in an orthodox mode? What if the Pharisee and

someone like the tax collector, perhaps worse

than the tax collector, met and talked and interacted

and changed one another's life? Today we get

the story of Zosima, the priest monk in Mary

of Egypt. Zosima, a priest monk who does everything

right with intention, dignity, and meaning, fasts

well, always sings praises to God, never ceases

to study the divine scriptures, adheres and accomplishes

everything according to his ascetical rule. undoubtedly

akin to St. John of Sinai's in the divine ladder,

is renowned for his spirituality and his status

as a monastic elder, a staritz. For 53 years,

Zosima does these things. But all these things

bring him to a point where he believes he is

perfect and doesn't need instruction. Is there

a monk on earth? Who can be useful to me? And

show me a kind of asceticism that I haven't accomplished,

that I haven't yet mastered. Is there a man to

be found in the desert who has surpassed me?

Well, kind of. An angel comes to him. That's

how spiritually advanced Zosima is. And yet the

angel reminds Zosima that, no man has attained

perfection but to leave his native land like

Abraham and go into the desert so that the Lord

can eventually bring Zosima to Mary, who is intentionally

in this story not a man but a woman, and a sinful

woman at that, one who has never read Scripture.

who was baptized as a child and loved by her

parents, but scorned them and her life, who ran

away from home at age 12 to go to the city of

Alexandria, where she squandered her life and

her body in filth and gorged her sexual appetite.

We sometimes call her a prostitute, but that's

only partly true. It's much worse. She is a sex

addict, more like a nymphomaniac. The way she

frames her life is through the very words of

Ezekiel the prophet, Ezekiel 16, one of the most

horrific passages in the Bible, worse than a

prostitute. She scorned and mocked payment. At

least a prostitute provides for others, for her

kids perhaps, maybe her family, a sinful and

heinous sense of sacrifice, but sacrifice nevertheless.

In the words of Ezekiel, you gave payment. while

no payment was given to you. At the head of every

street, every hill, you seduced and made your

beauty an abomination, offering yourself to any

passerby and multiplied your whoring. That's

how St. Mary lived for 17 years, to the point

of joining a procession for the exaltation of

the cross, simply to seduce. and make to fall

as many men as possible, and youths, might I

add, away from Christ. She lives this way until

she arrives at the church of the resurrection

in Jerusalem, where the cross is set forth and

stands, and is prevented by the Theotokos as

an invincible force through her icon from entering

into the church. And that's where everything

comes tumbling down. Everything falls into place,

or out of it, perhaps. She sees her life for

what it is, and she resolves to change and give

her life entirely to God, after which she's able

to enter into the church, venerate the cross,

and hear the Theotokos say to her, if you cross

the Jordan, you will find glorious rest. And

Mary does, not before she confesses her sins

and receives communion in the church at the Jordan,

after which she goes into the desert for 47 years

with three pieces of bread and learns to live

on the word of God alone, taught directly by

Christ all the scriptures which she has herself

never read. Despite who she is, the Lord changes

Mary. And Mary enters into that change completely.

She repents. She turns her life toward Christ

completely. It isn't a magical one and done kind

of change. She counts the cost. She has to confront

her sin. It takes 17 years just to do that, likely

to offset the 17 years of debauchery until she

begins to sense. the glorious rest of Jordan.

The Lord answers Zosima's question, is there

a monk, is there a man who can show me up with

this woman, Mary, whom the Lord uses to bring

the celebrated priest monk elder to his knees.

As Zosima himself puts it, truly God has shown

me through this thy handmaid. How far away I

stand from perfection. Perhaps we can distill

the Sunday of St. Mary to two points. And they're

really one and the same point when we juxtapose

our lives vis -a -vis Christ. Brothers and sisters,

there's no one that Jesus can't change, save,

and heal. No one. No one descends below the grace

and love of God. Not anything that we do. Not

anything that we have done. Not anything that

we will even do. No one. Full stop. But there's

also no one who has reached perfection or should

think of themselves as perfect and having arrived

in this life. should think of themselves as more

highly than we ought. No one ascends above the

wisdom and mercy of God. That's not what Lent

reveals to us, or at least that's not what it

should reveal to us. We should not be feeling

like we are doing well. 47 years, 47 years Mary

lives in the desert by herself. before she meets

Zosima. And 47 years, Zosima lives in the monastery

of St. John the Baptist on the Jordan after he

meets Mary. Zosima meets her when he's 53, and

we're told that he dies at 100. You can do the

math. That number, 47, in truth, it's 48 for

St. Mary. is significant for us here, I think.

In her 48th year in the desert, Zosima communes

her on Holy Thursday, and she departs this life

on Holy Friday, anticipating the fullness of

Pascha, the resurrection. For us, that number

48 transfers not into years, but into days. Perhaps

we will be given 48 years to contend with ourselves.

Perhaps some of you have been. But we are most

definitely given 40 and 8 days every year, the

time of Great Lent and Holy Week, to confront

ourselves, the state of our hearts, to ask God

and ourselves, what have we offered him, or perhaps

not offered him, in our bodies? To ask God and

ourselves, how have we died to this world? Or

again, perhaps, not died at all, to juxtapose

our lives vis -a -vis the life of Christ, who

today sets his face toward Jerusalem. How have

we set our face toward him? When situated in

the life of St. Mary, the questions in today's

gospel readings hit us all at once. Who will

love me more? The one who knows how much he has

sinned and been forgiven. or the one who doesn't

think he's really done anything bad at all. Perhaps

that's given to us, who might be a little more

experienced than others. As it is the question

that our Lord asks Simon the Pharisee, as the

sinful woman washes the Lord's feet with her

tears, something that Zosima, the celebrated

priest monk, does three times to Mary, the sinful

woman's feet. Or another question, what is it

that you want me to do for you? Good question.

The question the Lord asks James and John after

they command Christ to do whatever they want

to do for them. A demand that should make all

of us cringe to sit at his right and left in

his kingdom. Rather, the real question should

be the one the Lord asks James and John. Are

you able to be baptized with the baptism that

I am baptized with? Are you able to drink the

cup from which I drink? Maybe put toward the

catechumens who are preparing for holy illumination

a little more pointedly. Are you ready to be

baptized? Are you ready to drink from the chalice?

Because what Christ is really talking about is

entering into his own death, into the cross where

he drinks the cup most truly, into the cross

where he is baptized most truly, drinks the cup

most truly, and it's only through it that he

gives life -giving blood and water for us to

drink. Catechumens, are you ready to enter into

that life? A life that will require your death

and genuine change. A life that will turn your

former life upside down or perhaps already has

begun to, like St. Mary's. A life where you will

lose your life in order to gain it. A life where

you will take up your cross. And deny yourself

in order to feel the power of the resurrection.

In order to experience the love of God coursing

even through you. And it's a reminder to us all

here. The Christian life, Lent is in a sense

designed for the catechumen. Preparing for baptism.

That is its historic purpose. And yet, we all

enter into it to renew that baptismal vow, to

recall the vow we made to Christ. The cup, the

chalice that we drink from. The Christian life

requires that from all of us. We never arrive.

No one here should feel like they have arrived.

No one should ever treat anyone else as if they

have arrived. And are beyond dying to self. Not

in the way that we receive one another. Not in

the way that we talk to one another. In no way.

Because it is only through that life. Our death.

The world becoming crucified to us. And us to

the world. The taking up of our cross and denying

ourselves. The losing our life in order to gain

it. The emptying of ourselves. And all of our

pride. that we will be filled with the fullness

of Pascha, that we will cry on Pascha. Christ

is risen from the dead, trampling down death

by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing

life, the life of the resurrection. Through the

prayers of St. Mary, St. Zosima, and St. Sophronius,

Lord, have mercy upon us.