『OrthoAnalytika』のカバーアート

OrthoAnalytika

OrthoAnalytika

著者: Fr. Anthony Perkins
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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.Common courtesy. キリスト教 スピリチュアリティ 聖職・福音主義
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  • Homily - The Name of Jesus
    2025/12/21
    St. Matthew 1:1-25 Why was the Son of God commanded to be named Jesus—the New Joshua? In this Advent reflection, Fr. Anthony shows how Christ fulfills Israel's story by conquering sin and death, and calls us to repentance so that we may enter the victory He has already won. --- Homily on the Name of Jesus Sunday before the Nativity In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. "They named Him Jesus, because He would deliver His people from their sins." (Matthew 1:21) Names matter in Scripture. They are never accidental. A name reveals identity, vocation, and mission. And so when the angel commands that the Child be named Jesus, we are being told something essential about who He is and what He has come to do. The name Jesus is simply the Greek form of Joshua. And that is not incidental. So we should ask: Who was Joshua? And why did the angel of the Lord insist on that name? Joshua was the successor of Moses, the one chosen by God to lead His people when Moses could not. Long before Joshua's time, God had made a covenant with His people and promised them a land—a place of rest, inheritance, and blessing. But that promise had been obscured by centuries of slavery in Egypt, under pagan gods who claimed power but offered only bondage. God sent Moses to remind the people who they truly were: not slaves, but God's own people. Through signs and wonders, God revealed His power over Pharaoh and over the false gods of Egypt. The people were delivered. They were free. They were heading toward the Promised Land. And yet, because of their disobedience and unbelief, that generation—including Moses himself—was not worthy to enter the land. And so God appointed Joshua to do what Moses could not: to lead the next generation into the inheritance God had promised. Joshua defeated the enemies of God—not by his own strength, but by God's supernatural power—and led the people into the Promised Land. All of this matters, because it prepares us to understand the name of Jesus and the mission it announces. "They named Him Jesus, because He would deliver His people from their sins." Now consider the situation at the time of Christ's birth. In many ways, it looked very much like the time of Pharaoh. God's people were again under foreign rule, again surrounded by pagan power, again longing for deliverance. The prophets had promised a Messiah, and the people waited for one who would set them free. But here is the crucial difference: this Joshua would not come to conquer territory. This Joshua would come to conquer the true enemy. Not Rome. Not armies. Not borders. But sin itself. In his homily on this Gospel reading, St. John Chrysostom says: "He did not say, 'He shall save His people from their enemies,' but 'from their sins,' showing that this is a greater and more fearful tyranny than any foreign power." (Homily on Matthew 2) And this is precisely why the Son of God had to be born as a child. In his homily on the Nativity, which, Lord willing, you will hear on Thursday, Chrysostom draws the connection between the Nativity and our salvation with striking clarity: "He became Son of Man, that He might make us sons of God. He took what was ours, that He might give us what was His." (Homily on the Nativity) Jesus is the New Joshua—not leading one people into one land, but opening the Kingdom of God to all who would receive Him. He conquers not by the sword, but by the Cross. He defeats not nations, but death itself. And we know how He did it. By obedience where Adam fell. By humility where pride ruled. By offering Himself fully to the Father, even unto death. As the Fathers remind us, the victory was not loud or coercive, but hidden and faithful—won through righteousness rather than force. So what, then, is our situation? It is tempting to compare our world to Egypt, or to the time of pagan occupation, and to imagine that we are still waiting for deliverance. After all, many of us know what it is like to feel tired, burdened, or trapped in patterns we cannot seem to break, even while outwardly everything appears fine. We live in a culture that constantly distracts us, that teaches us to manage our desires rather than heal them, and that quietly encourages us to accept forms of bondage as normal. Like God's people of old, we forget who we are and whom we belong to, and so we begin to live as though freedom were still far away. But the truth is far more sobering—and far more hopeful. We are not waiting for the Messiah. He has already come. If we live as slaves, it is not because Pharaoh rules us. It is because we have refused the Deliverer. Christ has already opened the doors of freedom. Advent is the season in which the Church calls us to turn back, to repent, and to remember who we are—so that we may step again into the life He has already given us. Christ lives within the heart of every believer. He comes into the midst of all who gather in His name. He is present here, now, in the ...
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    10 分
  • Homily - The Pilgrimage to Peace
    2025/12/15

    Fr. Anthony preaches on three types of pilgrimage and how they work towards our salvation.

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    12 分
  • Homily - Do You Want to Be Healed? Letting God Rewrite the Story
    2025/12/07
    Do You Want to Be Healed? Letting God Rewrite the Story Ephesians 8:5-19 Today, Fr. Anthony reflects on how the deepest obstacles to healing are often the stories we tell ourselves to justify, protect, and control our lives. Drawing on the Prophet Isaiah, the Gospel parables of the banquet, and the power of silence before God, he explores how true healing begins when we let go of our fallen narratives and allow Christ to reconstruct our story through humility, prayer, and repentance. The path of peace is not found in domination or self-justification, but in stillness at the feet of the Lord where grace remakes the soul. As St. Seraphim teaches, when we acquire peace, myriads around us are healed as well. One of the great problems we encounter in life is this: we desire healing, but we do not always know how to arrive at it. One helpful way to understand this struggle is through the language of story. Very often, the problem is that we do not have our story right. Scripture tells us to redeem the time, because the days are evil. One of the ways that evil operates is by corrupting our story—our personal story, the way we understand ourselves, the way we frame our relationships, and even the way we understand the great arc of history, what Christians call the economy of salvation. When we live in evil times, that evil does not remain outside us. It enters in, and our story becomes crooked. If all we do as Christians is add religious language to that crooked story—new words, even new scriptures—we have not truly been healed. We have only changed the decoration. The path itself remains bent. One day that story will be brought into the light. This is what the Apostle means when he says, "Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine upon you." As St. Jerome once observed, St. Paul seems to be paraphrasing Isaiah here—especially that great prophecy where the crooked ways are made straight. This theme runs deeply through Advent and the Nativity Fast. One small personal ritual during this season is listening to Handel's Messiah. Through that music, the words of Isaiah become alive: the great darkness that covers the earth, and the light that rises to overcome it. But darkness is not overcome by changing words alone. If all we do is rename our brokenness with religious language, the world's darkness will only pollute us more deeply. So the first discipline of the Christian life is this: we must let go of our story. Our fallen story becomes a way to protect the ego, to justify ourselves, to excuse the very things Saint Paul warns us against. Salvation begins with humility, with letting go of our justifications, with abandoning the need to construct a story that protects us from the world or grants us domination over it. We are called to let go and stand before the Lord in silence. Not to explain ourselves, not to defend ourselves—but simply to be our story before Him in quiet awe. If we do that work faithfully—and for many of us this must be done daily—then the reconstruction of the story can begin anew. This is where the disciplines of the Church come in: the prayer rule, the psalms, the prayers given to us by the Holy Spirit through the Church. These do not shame us; they heal us. They allow us to see our shortcomings not as excuses to hide, but as wounds that need restoration. This is how our crookedness is straightened so that we can be healed. The Lord also gives us Scripture to interpret our story. In Isaiah 60 we hear of darkness and of a light that rises. Israel is called a light to the nations—but whenever Christians hear that language, our minds are drawn immediately to the Prologue of the Gospel of St. John. And there, light is not mere illumination. It is transformation. It is grace. It is the energy of God entering the world. And when Scripture moves back and forth between Christ and Israel, it is not a mistake—it reveals our participation in this great movement of salvation. Just as we are healed by grace, so the world is transfigured by that same grace flowing from the Body of Christ into all creation. The Lord also teaches us through parables. Many parables may not resonate with many of us because of their agricultural contexts, but we can understand a banquet. We understand meals. We understand invitation. And in this parable, we are the ones who were called—and we came. We may not have been the first invited. We came blind, wounded, ashamed, hiding behind excuses. But the invitation came, and we showed up. Yet getting through the door is not the end of the story. The Lord teaches us what it means to live inside the banquet. When you enter the house, do tell the master how he should run it? Do you take the highest seat as if it belongs to you? No—He says take the lowest place, and let the master raise you up if he wills. This is the posture of true humility. If we were the authors of our story, it would end in darkness. But instead, we are invited into a ...
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    15 分
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