Homily - Sunday after Ascension

In this homily on Christ’s prayer “that they may be one,” Father Anthony reflects on humanity’s calling to communion and the tragic ease with which sin turns even good things into instruments of division. Drawing on the example of Arius and the divisions of the modern world, he argues that the deepest fractures in society begin not in institutions but in the human heart. The healing of the world therefore begins not with self-righteous outrage or victory over enemies, but with repentance, humility, holiness, and the difficult work of learning to love one another in Christ.  Enjoy the show!
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Homily - Becoming One in Christ
Sunday after Ascension
John 17:1-13

Today we hear our Lord pray for His people: that they may be one. Not merely friendly, not merely cooperative, but one. And not just one in purpose or organization. He says: “that they may be one, as We are one.” This is an astonishing thing. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are distinct persons, yet perfectly united in love, perfectly united in will, perfectly united in life. And this is what mankind was created for. We were not made for isolation. We were not made for hatred. We were not made for endless suspicion and division. We were made for communion.

The Apostle Paul gives us another image for this mystery. He says that we are one body, with Christ Himself as the head. This is what salvation is: not merely individual forgiveness, but the healing and reunification of humanity in Christ. The Church exists so that the scattered may be gathered together. So that enemies may become brothers. So that strangers may become family. So that what sin shattered may be made whole again.

But if we are honest, we know that we are not doing a very good job of this. We live in a world increasingly defined by division. And the frightening thing is how naturally division now comes to us. Even the tools that were meant to unite us become instruments of separation. Not long ago, new technologies promised to reconnect people. Families separated by distance could remain close. Old friends could reconnect. Communities could stay in touch. And for a moment, it seemed wonderful.

But how quickly did sin find a way to use those same tools for anger, condemnation, mockery, tribalism, and hatred? Love creates communion. Pride creates factions. And pride is endlessly creative. We divide ourselves by politics, by class, by race, by ideology, by education, by culture, by nation, and even by theology. We define ourselves not by what we love together, but by whom we oppose. And once division takes hold, it begins to feel righteous. We become certain that we are the ones who see clearly, and everyone else is blind.

This is not a new temptation. The early Church struggled with it as well. In the fourth century, a priest named Arius became convinced that he understood the mystery of Christ better than the Church herself. He read the Scriptures, formed his conclusions, and became absolutely certain that he was right. When the bishops gathered together at Nicaea and proclaimed the faith handed down through the apostles—that Christ is eternally begotten of the Father, true God of true God, of one essence with the Father—Arius refused to repent.

Now it is easy for us to hear this story and imagine ourselves standing heroically with the saints. We imagine ourselves as Athanasius defending the truth. Or perhaps as Saint Nicholas rebuking heresy. But if I am honest, that is usually not who I am in the story. I am the man who justifies himself. I am the man who explains why his anger is righteous, why his condemnation is necessary, why his enemies deserve contempt, why his divisions are justified. I am the man who says: “I know how the world works. I know who is wrong. I know who is to blame.”

And this is where the healing must begin. Because the greatest divisions in the world do not begin in legislatures, or courts, or media, or institutions. They begin in the human heart. Sin always begins there. And sin does not remain private. We often imagine that our bitterness, our contempt, our pride, our hatred remain safely hidden within us. But they do not. Sin has consequences. Sin shapes perception. Sin distorts judgment. Sin affects families, friendships, communities, and nations.

Love creates communion. Pride creates factions. And if pride rules the heart, even good things become corrupted. Policies cannot save us. Technology cannot save us. Political victories cannot save us. Because sin will always find a way to weaponize them. A divided heart creates division wherever it goes.

This does not mean that justice does not matter. It does not mean that laws do not matter. It does not mean that evil should be ignored. But it does mean that the healing of the world begins somewhere much closer than we often imagine. It begins with repentance. Not the repentance of our enemies. Our own.

The saints understood this. Saint Seraphim famously said: “Acquire the Spirit of peace, and thousands around you will be saved.” Notice where he begins. Not with controlling the world. Not with defeating enemies. Not with forcing outcomes. But with repentance. With purification of the heart. With peace in Christ.

This is incredibly liberating. Because when we look at the divisions of the world, it is easy to become overwhelmed. It is easy to think: “This can never be healed.” But Christ has already shown us how healing begins. I repent of my sins. I learn humility. I learn patience. I learn how to forgive. I learn how to see my brother not as an enemy, but as someone for whom Christ died. And then grace begins to spread outward.

Christ heals my heart. Then my family. Then my friendships. Then my parish. And through the lives of repentant people, the world itself begins to change. This is how the saints transformed civilizations. Not primarily through power. Not through outrage. Not through self-righteousness. But through holiness.

The Lord did not command us to win every argument. He commanded us to love one another. And this love is not sentimental weakness. It is crucifixion. It is humility. It is patience. It is refusing to hate. It is the hard and holy work of becoming one in Christ.

My brothers and sisters, the world is hungry for this kind of witness. Not more noise. Not more fury. Not more factions. The world is hungry for peace. For holiness. For communion. For Christ.

So let us begin where the saints always begin: with repentance.

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

And through that prayer, may Christ heal our hearts, our homes, our parish, and through them, the world.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.