St. George Cathedral of Stockholm

Sunday, November 23, 2025

Dearly Beloved Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

Let us reflect upon two radiant feasts that illuminate the entire mystery of salvation, the Entrance of the Most Holy Theotokos into the Temple and the Nativity of our Lord Jesus Christ.

At first glance, these feasts may appear to stand far apart—one in November, the other at the brink of winter. Yet the Fathers teach us that they form a single arc in the divine story: the preparation and the fulfillment, the quiet beginning and the glorious revelation, the sowing and the harvest of salvation.

In the Entrance of the Theotokos, the Church shows us the quiet and hidden preparation of salvation. St. Gregory Palamas says that in her, “all the ages found their perfection,” for she is the one through whom God will enter creation. Her footsteps into the Temple are the first earthly signs of the “coming of the fullness of time.”

In the Nativity of Christ, that which was hidden is revealed. St. John Chrysostom proclaims that on this day “the earth becomes heaven,” for God Himself takes flesh. What the Entrance begins, the Nativity completes; what is offered in purity within the Temple becomes incarnate as the Savior of the world.

At her Entrance, the three-year-old Mary enters the Temple, but the Fathers repeatedly remind us that she is herself the true Temple. St. Andrew of Crete calls her “the Temple that contained God not in shadow, but in truth.” The Temple receives her, but only as a symbol receives its fulfillment.

At Christmas, we see this fulfilled when the Temple gives birth to the God who dwells within it. The one who entered the Temple now becomes the Mother of the Temple’s Lord. St. Ephraim the Syrian says, “The heavens cannot contain Him, yet a pure maiden’s womb has received Him.”

The Entrance reveals the Temple being prepared; the Nativity reveals the God who sanctifies the Temple.

In the Entrance, Mary is offered freely by her parents, Joachim and Anna, as a gift to God. St. Germanos of Constantinople writes that in her entrance, “humanity offers back to God its first truly spotless fruit.”

In the Nativity, God offers Himself as a gift to humanity. What Joachim and Anna did in symbol, God does in reality. The Fathers stand amazed: the one offered in the Temple becomes the one who offers Himself on behalf of all. The Entrance is the offering of the pure vessel; the Nativity is the outpouring of the divine treasure.

The Entrance is shrouded in silence. No crowds, no trumpets—only the quiet marvel of the angels, who, according to tradition, feed the child Mary with heavenly bread. St. Gregory of Nyssa tells us that “God delights to work in secret that which He later reveals in glory.”

The Nativity, by contrast, resounds with proclamation—angels singing to shepherds, a star calling magi, heaven and earth rejoicing. The silence of the Temple prepares the song of Bethlehem. What begins in stillness ends in cosmic praise.

In the Temple, Mary is formed—physically, spiritually, and mystically. The Fathers describe her upbringing as a continual ascent into holiness. St. John of Damascus writes that she “grew like a lily in the midst of thorns.”

At the Nativity, she becomes the fulfillment of that formation. The one formed in holiness now brings forth “the Holy One of Israel.” All her preparation leads to this moment when she becomes not only the Temple but the Gate through which God enters the world.

During the Entrance, little Mary ascends the steps of the Temple, climbing toward the Holy of Holies. This ascent is the icon of humanity rising slowly toward God, yearning for communion with Him.

At the Nativity, in a divine paradox, God descends the steps of heaven, born in a cave, laid in a manger, clothed in humility. What Mary does in miniature—ascending—Christ does in majesty—descending. The Entrance shows humanity seeking God; Christmas shows God seeking humanity.

In her Entrance, Mary is preserved in virginity as a living sign that God is preparing something utterly new. The Fathers emphasize that she is the “ever-virgin” not merely for purity, but to show that the coming salvation is not of human effort but of divine grace.

In the Nativity, this mystery reaches its summit: the Virgin gives birth, and her virginity remains intact. St. Ambrose famously teaches, “He entered the world through closed doors, and He left the tomb in the same way.” The Entrance reveals the virgin prepared; the Nativity reveals the virgin overshadowed by the Holy Spirit.

Therefore, the Entrance and the Nativity are not two separate stories but one mystery of love: The Temple is prepared; the Lord enters it. The Virgin is offered; God offers Himself. Silence prepares the hymn; the hymn reveals the mystery. Humanity ascends; God descends.

The Entrance gives us Mary, ready to receive God. The Nativity gives us Christ, ready to save humanity. In both feasts, God shows His humility and His lavish love; and in both feasts, humanity is invited to respond.

May we, like the Theotokos, become temples prepared for Christ. May we, like the shepherds, hasten to meet Him. And may the One born in Bethlehem also be born in our hearts. Amen!

By His Eminence Metropolitan Cleopas of Sweden

Allow me to begin not from a Patristic text, but from a world we often consider distant from the Church: the world of cinema – the world of art, of images, of contemporary storytelling.

The Church is not afraid of modern culture; whatever bears seeds of truth, she embraces, illumines, and transforms. As Saint Justin the Philosopher says: “Πάντες οἱ σπερματικοὶ λόγοι τοῦ Θεοῦ εἰσί” – “All the seeds of truth belong to God.”

Today, we will take such a “seed” from contemporary cinema and plant it beside the Gospel: a modern, unpretentious, moving American film, “Beauty in the Broken.”

It is a film which, without knowing it, speaks the language of the Gospel. A story which, without intending it, mirrors the story of a great Saint: the former tax collector Matthew, who became Evangelist, Apostle, martyr, and guide of generations.

In this film we meet a young girl. A girl living on the margins: homeless, afraid, deeply wounded. A human being who, in the eyes of the world, is not worth paying attention to. People walk past her as if she does not exist; some pity her, others avoid her, others almost fear her. A “broken” life.

But then something unexpected and ultimately saving happens. Someone sees her. Looks at her deeply. Not as others look at her, but as God looks at the human being: beyond clothing, beyond poverty, beyond wounds.

A psychiatrist, a man with an open heart, sees in this girl not a ruined life, but a life that hides within itself an invaluable treasure: the gift of art, the gift of creativity.

And from that single look, the transformation begins. Not because the girl suddenly becomes perfect, but because someone has recognized her worth. This person has seen the beauty within the broken.

Which figure in Scripture most brings this girl to mind? Who so closely resembles an existence on the margins, misunderstood, condemned? Who also lived in fractures, in social disdain, in moral loneliness? The tax collector Matthew.

The one who became the author of the first Gospel. The one who wrote about Christ, because Christ first “wrote” upon his own heart.

Before becoming an Evangelist, Matthew was a tax collector. And tax collectors in that era – as the Fathers of the Church describe – were dishonored people.

Saint Cyril of Alexandria says: “Οἱ τελῶναι ἦσαν τοῖς πολλοῖς βδελυκτοί” – “Tax collectors were abominable to the many,” that is, repulsive to most people, and “ἄνθρωποι ἄδικοι” – “unjust people,” because they were considered collaborators with the Roman occupiers, people of shame.

Saint John Chrysostom notes that “tax collector” meant “ἄδικος κατ᾽ ἐπάγγελμα” – “a professional in injustice.”

Saint Gregory the Theologian underscores that people of this sort were regarded as “ἀνίατοι τῇ κακίᾳ” – “incurable in their wickedness.”

This is how the world saw Matthew. Just as the world in the film sees the young girl: a lost cause.

And yet, Someone passes by in front of him. Not just anyone – Christ, the God-Man. The only One who can see into the soul more deeply than anyone else.

And Christ sees him. He looks at him without contempt, without disgust, without suspicion, but with love. With that love which Saint Basil the Great calls “ἀγάπη ἡ ἁγιάζουσα τὰ ἀμαρτωλά” – “love that sanctifies even what is sinful.”

And then Christ says to Matthew two words that changed the history of the world: “Follow Me.”

He does not ask him to correct his mistakes first. He does not say, “Become better and then come.” He gives him neither deadline nor conditions. He says: Come as you are. With your cracks. With your mistakes. With your wounds. And I will transform you.

Saint John Chrysostom comments: “Οὐκ ἐκ λόγων μακρῶν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκ μιᾶς ῥήσεως ἡ κλῆσις.” – “His calling did not come through long speeches, but through a single phrase.”

And elsewhere: “Εἷλκεν αὐτόν οὐ λόγων πλήθει, ἀλλὰ τῇ δυνάμει τοῦ βλέμματος.” – “He drew him not by a multitude of words, but by the power of His gaze.” Christ attracted him with the power of His divine look.

And Matthew rose up “immediately” and followed Him. From this moment onward, everything changes. The broken becomes strong. The margin becomes mission. Shame becomes glory.

Here the life of Matthew meets the film we mentioned. For what Christ does to Matthew is precisely what the doctor does to the girl in the film: He sees him. He recognizes him. He honors him. He lifts him out of insignificance. He gives him hope. He gives him identity.

In the film, when the girl paints, when she allows her soul to express itself, when her art gushes forth out of her wounds, we see something astonishing: the cracks do not disappear – they are transformed. They become color. They become lines. They become beauty.

So too with Matthew: his old self does not vanish, but is sanctified. His mistakes are not erased, but redeemed. His past is not cancelled, but transformed into Gospel.

Saint Gregory the Theologian says this in a striking way: “Ὁ Θεός μεταποιεῖ τὰ ταπεινὰ εἰς ὑψηλά, καὶ τὰ ἀτιμασμένα εἰς τίμια.” – “God transforms what is lowly into what is exalted, and what is dishonored into what is honorable.” He “sees the being of the heart and not the seeming.”

This is what He does with Matthew. He does not see a sinner, but a hidden Evangelist. He does not see an unjust tax collector, but a future Apostle. He does not see the sin; He sees the beauty hidden within the broken.

This is what happens with Matthew. This is what happens in the film. This is what can happen for each one of us.

After his calling, Matthew does not simply become a believer. He becomes an Evangelist. He writes the first Gospel in order.

Saint Jerome says that the Gospel according to Matthew is the “Gospel of the prophecies,” because it shows that Christ fulfills the entire Law and the Prophets.

Saint Athanasius the Great calls Matthew’s Gospel “a fountain of truth and a treasury of wisdom.”

Saint Chrysostom says that the Sermon on the Mount – which only Matthew records in such detail – is “the Constitution of the Kingdom of God.”

The once “unjust tax collector” writes the Constitution of the Kingdom of God!

But he does not stop there. He becomes an Apostle. He becomes a missionary. He reaches distant nations. He preaches Christ to peoples unknown. He endures persecutions. And finally, he offers his life.

Chrysostom says: “Οἱ ἀπόστολοι ἐσφράγισαν τὸ εὐαγγέλιον οὐ λόγοις, ἀλλ᾽ αἵματι.” – “The Apostles sealed the Gospel not with words, but with blood.”

This is what Matthew does as well. He gives what he had: his life. This entire journey of holiness begins from a single look and two words. From the fact that Christ saw the beauty within the broken.

We all have cracks. We all have weaknesses, fears, wounds. No one is perfect, but Christ does not ask for perfection. He asks for a heart. He asks for a will. He asks that we open for Him even a small window so that He may enter and dwell within us.

Saint Basil says: “Οὐκ ἀπαιτεῖται τέλειος ἀρετή, ἀλλὰ προαίρεσις ἁγία.” – “What is required is not perfect virtue, but a holy disposition.” God does not wait for us to become saints in order to love us. He loves us so that we may become saints.

Just as, in the film, the girl discovers the power of art through the love of someone who believed in her, so too we discover our own gift when we allow Christ to see us.

Today, Christ says to us the very words He spoke to Matthew: “Follow Me.” Come. With your wounds, with your past, with your mistakes, with your weaknesses, with your “cracks,” because it is there, in the cracks, that the light enters.

Saint Nicholas Cabasilas says that the grace of God enters “ἐν ταῖς χαραγμαῖς τῆς ψυχῆς” – “into the cuts of the soul.” Into the scratches of the soul. Where we hurt. Where we are weak. There God opens a way.

We honor a Saint who teaches us that Christ does not see as the world sees. The world sees what is broken. Christ sees the beauty within the broken. The world sees sin. Christ sees a mission. The world sees the past. Christ sees the future.

This is why the message of Saint Matthew is so contemporary. Matthew – like the heroine of the film – teaches us that you are not what others, the ill-intentioned and toxic, say you are. You are not your mistakes. You are not your wounds. You are not your fears. You are what God sees within you!

Saint Gregory the Theologian says: “Τῷ Θεῷ οὐ τὸ τέλειον ἀρέσκει, ἀλλὰ τὸ προσφερόμενον.” – “What pleases God is not what is perfect, but what is offered.”

So let us also become people who see beauty. Let us learn to see others as Christ sees them. Let us learn to see ourselves as Christ sees us.

If a tax collector became an Evangelist, if a girl on the margins became an artist, then we too, by the grace of God, can become something we cannot yet imagine.

And if you allow Christ – if you open even a small chink in your heart – then you will see that what you consider cracks are in reality the very points where the light will enter. Because in the life of the Christian, as in art, the most beautiful designs are painted on surfaces that have been wounded.

Let us therefore be inspired by this film, by this parable of our age. Let us be inspired by the story of Saint Matthew. Let us learn to see others not through their fractures, but through their gifts. Let us learn to see beauty where the world sees only failure. And above all, let us learn to see ourselves as Christ sees us – through the promise of transformation.

The tax collector became an Evangelist. The weak became an Apostle. The broken became beauty. May our own life likewise become a wondrous story of transformation. May it become a small continuation of the Gospel. For, as Saint Basil the Great says: “Every Christian is called to become a living Gospel!”