February 15th, 2026: Sunday of the Last Judgment: Fr Daniel York

It is a terrifying thing to speak on behalf of

the Lord, to speak in his name, particularly

on such a Sunday, the Sunday of the last judgment.

Father Thomas Hopko of blessed memory used to

say that the most frightening text in scripture,

especially for those in the priesthood, are the

Lord's words in the Sermon on the Mount. Also

in Matthew's gospel, not everyone who says to

me, Lord, Lord, will enter into the kingdom of

heaven. On that day, many will say to me, Lord,

Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and cast

out demons in your name and do many wonderful

works in your name? And then I will declare to

them, I never knew you. Depart from me, you who

work iniquity. you workers of lawlessness. Next

to these words, I would set our gospel text that

we just heard before us. In many ways, it's a

straightforward text. It doesn't need much explanation.

The Lord doesn't mince words. The Lord also reminds

us that despite what we often say in the Orthodox

Church, that salvation is primarily about healing,

which remains true, that salvific healing nevertheless

requires a judgment, that we be judged for what

we do in this life. We all have to stand before

the Lord as he sits on the throne of his glory

upon the cherubim, surrounded by all the angelic

hosts and powers. and give an account for our

life. To use the words of St. Paul to the Romans,

on that day when, according to my gospel, God

judges the secrets of men by Christ Jesus. And

that gospel this morning forces us to ask ourselves

afresh, where will we find ourselves? On the

side of the sheep, or on the side of the goats,

on the side of those who remember the hungry,

the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick,

the prisoner, and help them, or not. In various

ways, the hymnography we hear pertaining to this

Sunday assures us that all excuses or personal

zeal or how others prevented us from following

the Lord's commandment. Any excuse, any help,

anything, will not help us then, when it's just

us and the Lord on that day. Of course, until

that day, in this life, there's a tendency in

us to push back on the Lord's words, to justify

ourselves against what we don't do. That has

been the theme of these previous Sundays. Think

of the religious people flabbergasted that Jesus

goes into the house, the home of Zacchaeus, a

sinner. Think of the Pharisee and the temple

looking at that same sinner and tax collector.

Thank God, at least I'm not like him. Think of

the elder brother, unable to rejoice at the return

of his sinful brother. I have slaved for you

here, and you've never given me such a party.

Why should he get one? We give in to our thoughts,

what arises from our hearts. We might be afraid

to say it out loud, but it's latent. Didn't they

do it to themselves? The poor. the hungry, the

thirsty, the naked, the so -called marginalized

on the fringes of society, the sick and now languishing

and tired, those who have gotten themselves into

prison. That's the idea here in ancient Near

Eastern and Greco -Roman society, which has never

left but remains alive well in our day and age

and in our own thinking. If they've already squandered

their lives, will they responsibly use the help

that we give them, the time that we offer them?

But the Lord corrects us here. Notice what he

calls these kinds of people. He refers to them

as his brothers. Brethren is what we hear in

our translation, which slightly obscures how

this Sunday flows out of last Sunday. Brothers

here. Because it puts us right back into the

Sunday of the prodigal son, the two brothers.

Today, Christ puts himself in the position of

the elder brother, asking us if we can put ourselves

in the position of the prodigal's father. How

does God receive the prodigal son, the one who

squanders and ruins his life? When we look at

our own problems rightly, our own sin, our own

predicament, how we respond to such things, who

are we to judge anyone besides ourselves? What

justification can I bring into the presence of

Christ when he sits among his angels? Even here,

even now, where the divine liturgy is indeed

a judgment service, as it were, what can I say?

and offer, except God, be merciful to me, the

sinner. In my misery, I am first, as the hymnography

puts it. I have sinned. I have failed. You know

all my secrets. Have mercy on me. Who am I that

anyone would ask me for any help, any food, any

visitation, any solace? or consolation. And now,

but now, despite myself, because of the mercy

you have opened up to me, O Christ, how can I

not take my life, what I have in my life, my

gifts, my resources, my talent, whatever, and

give it away like Zacchaeus for my own healing

freedom from these things and salvation? Today

salvation has come even to this house, for he

too is a child of Abraham. Saint Maria Skopceva

of Paris, who herself lived a prodigal life,

embracing the atheism of the Bolshevik revolution

and ran among its intelligentsia before she became

a nun, who would provide a haven for the destitute.

the poor, and the refugee. In particular, she

would shelter and hide Jews during the Second

World War until she was finally caught and taken

herself, and as multiple survivors testified

about her, gave her own life for a Jewish woman

in the Ravensbrück concentration camp. St. Maria

interpreted this Sunday's gospel text as a revelation

from Christ. That he is truly and mystically

present in every suffering person. That these

brothers, he speaks of, are the very place of

divine encounter with Christ himself. Not unlike

how St. John Chrysostom, whose liturgy we are

currently celebrating, puts it, if you cannot

find Christ in the beggar at the church door,

you will not find him in the chalice. St. Maria

reflects on this Sunday, at the last judgment,

I will not be asked whether I was successful

in my ascetic exercises, nor how many bows and

prostrations I made. You can add all sorts of

things here, things that we are particularly

proud of, perhaps. Instead, I will be asked,

did I feed the hungry? Clothe the naked. Visit

the sick and the prisoners. That's all I will

be asked. Something to think about as we're about

to enter Lent. The Lord asks us to feed, to give

drink, to clothe, to welcome, to visit. Notice

that he doesn't actually ask us for that much.

St. Augustine points this out. Quote, the Lord

doesn't say, I was sick or I was in prison and

you delivered me. No, but you visited me. He

isn't asking for great things, but for kindness.

End quote. He asks for decency, for us to notice

the needs of others, which can only spring forth

from our love for him. Which is just another

form of the question he will ask us on the day

of judgment. Do you love me? Do you love me?

Do you love me? The Sunday of the last judgment

is intense. It's Old Testamental in a way that

we might not always be ready for. It makes me

recall the words of Habakkuk, the prophet, who

has a vision of the day of judgment, a vision

of the Lord in his holy temple, shining bright

with light and power, looking upon all the nations

as he shakes mountains and turns over hills,

as he makes rivers to rise, seas to part, the

depths to open, as he splits the earth. and turns

the entire world upside down. As the Lord calls

the nations to account, and all flesh keeps silent,

as the priests will utter at the cherubic hymn

on Holy Saturday as Christ is trampling death,

Habakkuk utters these simple words as if he is

the tax collector who walks into the temple.

In wrath, remember mercy. Or, in judgment, Lord,

remember mercy. In judgment, remember mercy.

As we prayed yesterday on Memorial Saturday to

prepare the departed and us too for the last

judgment, the prayers put these things together.

For thou art a good God and lovest mankind. For

there is no man who lives and yet does not sin.

For thou only art without sin. That is, we are

sinners, but you, Lord, please be merciful in

overlooking our failures. In judgment of ourselves,

we should pray, Lord, you are holy. and I am

not worthy of you. I have no righteousness, no

excuses, nothing to bring to the table. I myself

am poor, hungry, and thirsty. I myself am a stranger

and feel out of place. I myself am sick and in

prison to sin and death. And myself, I myself

am naked and exposed and have no secrets to hide

before you. But you, you are compassionate. and

you love mankind. How can I not have mercy and

help others? Have mercy on me, a sinner. In judgment,

remember mercy. And Lord, let me remember mercy

too. Truly, we have to feel the weight of this

Sunday. But this Sunday is also a grace. It's

an announcement. a foghorn that cuts through

and pierces through all other noise. That judgment

has already started. The day of salvation is

at hand. Today, we come to the end of the world.

Today, we all stand before Christ as he judges

us. Today, we have no excuse not to listen. Today,

we judge ourselves. How can we hear the Lord's

words today and not change? In what ways can

we repent? In what ways have we not seen Christ

standing right in front of us in the very people

he sets before us? As we prepare for Lent, brothers

and sisters, think on these things. Pray about

them. Bring them to confession. And with Christ's

help, use Lent to discern him more clearly and

to become more Christ -like, more God -like,

and even more human. Amen?