The Lord's Entry into Jerusalem: "Behold, your King comes, sitting on a donkey's colt" (Zech 9:9).

A reading from the Holy Gospel according to the Apostle and Evangelist Saint John (Jn 12:12-18).

"The next day, the large crowd that had come to the feast, heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet Him, and cried out: 'Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, the King of Israel!'

Then Jesus, when He had found a young donkey, sat on it, as it is written: 'Fear not, daughter of Zion; behold, your King is coming, sitting on a donkey's colt.'

At first, His disciples did not understand these things; but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things were written about Him, and that they had done these things to Him.

The crowd that had been with Him when He called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead, bore witness. For this reason, the people also met Him, because they heard that He had done this sign."

Homily

Dear brothers and sisters in the Lord,

"Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ" (Phil 1:2).

On this Palm Sunday, we enter the profound mystery of God's love that humbles Himself for us. The eternal Son of the Father, Jesus Christ, today enters Jerusalem not as an earthly king, but as a humble and meek King. The Church has always seen this act as the beginning of the great journey towards the Cross, which leads to the glorious Resurrection.

In our tradition, today we hold olive branches in our hands, symbols of peace and blessing. This practice has especially become widespread in Mediterranean countries, where the olive tree is a common plant, as opposed to the true palms spoken of in the Gospel. In Russia and northern countries, however, willow branches are often used, which sprout their first buds in the spring—these also symbolize hope and the new life that Christ gives us through His Paschal mystery.

In today's Gospel, we see how Christ, though being the King, does not approach Jerusalem with the pride of an earthly monarch, but with the humility of one who knows that His kingship is not of this world. This behavior introduces us to the concept of kenosis, a Greek term meaning "emptying." Because Christ did not want to remain in the glory of heaven, but emptied Himself, He stripped Himself of His divine majesty to fully share in our human condition, made of suffering, loneliness, and even death.

In fact, as Saint Paul writes in his letter to the Philippians (2:6-11), "Who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a servant" (Phil 2:6-7).

Here is the mystery we celebrate today: a God who humbles Himself to love. A King who enters His city to die in our place. This is the logic of God: not to rise, but to descend to lift us up.

Therefore, kenosis represents the act by which God, though omnipotent, chooses to "empty Himself" of His power to enter our human condition, made of weakness, suffering, and death. This act of emptying is not a loss, but an extraordinary act of love. Christ, though He is God, chose to live as one of us, to experience suffering and death, for our sake. He renounced His divine glory to embrace the reality of our life, to offer us His salvation.

Dear brothers, the Church Fathers have deeply reflected on kenosis. For example, Saint Athanasius of Alexandria (c. 296-373) writes in his "Letter to Serapion" that Christ assumed our humanity to divinize it, thus showing God's love for humanity: "He became man in order to make us partakers of His divinity" (Letter to Serapion, 1.1).

Saint Basil the Great (c. 329–379) emphasizes Christ's humility, who, though being God, chose to live among us as man, for our salvation. He writes in his "Homily on Baptism": "The Word of God did not come to be served, but to serve; He became man for man, not for His own glory, but for our salvation" (Homily on Baptism, 1).

Kenosis, or self-emptying, is at the heart of the Christian revelation as the supreme expression of divine love that humbles itself to elevate humanity. Christ's true kingship does not manifest in earthly power, but in renunciation, humility, and the conscious choice to become a servant out of love. It is in this emptying that God's greatness is revealed.

Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, riding on a humble donkey rather than a royal chariot, is already a powerful sign of this upside-down logic. He renounces every manifestation of earthly power to show the strength of love that humbles and gives itself. His kingship is fulfilled in vulnerability, in the rejection of worldly glory, in lowering Himself to share in the most fragile human condition. Jesus teaches us that true greatness lies in the emptiness we are willing to make to welcome God and serve our brothers.

This kenosis is not just a divine event, but also a call for us. We are invited to empty ourselves of our selfishness, our pretensions, and our securities, to make room for God. True peace and true joy do not come from domination, but from receiving Christ not as a king who imposes, but as a servant who loves. To live kenosis means learning to lose for love, to make room for others, to let ourselves be transformed by the same love that guided Jesus on the way to the Cross.

And it is precisely in this emptying, in this trusting abandonment to God, that the Christian joy Saint Paul speaks of takes root.

Saint Paul, in his letter to the Philippians (4:4-9), invites us to rejoice in the Lord. It is a strong invitation, almost paradoxical, given that we are about to enter the Week of the Passion. But, as Saint John Chrysostom says:

"Christian joy does not come from the absence of pain, but from the presence of Christ. If He is with us, who can be against us?" (Homily on the Letter to the Philippians, XIV).

And it is precisely this living presence that accompanies us even in the most uncertain moments, when the heart is divided between fear and hope, between fragility and the desire for trust. It is in those moments that Christ's humble kingship becomes personal, concrete, capable of illuminating our path.

I remember, dear brothers and sisters, last year's Palm Sunday, a day I will always carry in my heart. At that time, I was traveling to Australia, for a moment that marked the beginning of a new life: my priestly ordination.

I was far from my community, far from home, and that Palm Sunday found me in the middle of the journey. As I sat on a plane, crossing oceans and continents, I found myself thinking deeply about what I was about to face. The Orthodox Easter was approaching, but I felt that my soul was undergoing an entirely internal, personal preparation.

At that moment, emotions mixed: fear, uncertainty, but also great hope. I wondered if I would be able to live up to everything that was coming. The fear of not being the priest the Lord wanted me to be constantly crossed my mind. But, at the same time, there was that small light that urged me not to look back, not to be overwhelmed by insecurities.

I reflected on the Gospel of that Sunday, on the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. It seemed that, as I was journeying toward a new life, Christ was speaking to me. He was showing me that His kingship was not made of power and pride, but of humility and service. And perhaps, at that moment, God was telling me that I didn’t need to be perfect, but only willing to receive His love, to follow His path, despite my fears.

When I arrived in Australia, shortly thereafter, I found myself living an experience that deeply changed me. But I will always remember that Palm Sunday, with that profound sense of unease and hope that accompanied me. And, looking back, I can say that it was one of the most significant Sundays of my life, because it prepared me to receive the gift of the priesthood with all my heart.

That Palm Sunday, lived in the silence of an airplane and in the turbulence of my heart, made me realize that every authentic following of Christ passes through the way of humility, service, and total trust in the Father. It is a path I have not walked alone, and that today continues to be lived by many brothers and sisters around the world.

Today, as we sing "Hosanna" and acclaim Christ as our King, we cannot help but think of those Christians who, like Him, live a kingship that is not of this world, but manifests itself in sacrifice and suffering. Christ’s kenosis, as He empties Himself of His glory to take on the cross, invites us to look not only at His suffering but also at the suffering of many of our brothers and sisters in Christ, who, like martyrs, live in a total abandonment to God.

In Syria, many Christians daily live the mystery of the Cross. People who, despite persecution and violence, do not respond with hatred, but with love, welcoming in their hearts the Christ who forgave from the Cross. Their testimony is not just a testimony of faith, but of a life fully offered to God, emptying themselves of all fear, all desire for vengeance, to be transformed in the love that saves.

In the martyrdom of the Syrian Christians, we see a perfect image of kenosis: just as Christ empties Himself for our sake, they empty themselves of their lives to testify that the true power of the Christian is not in human resistance, but in the ability to let oneself be shaped by God’s love, which is manifested in forgiveness and hope. Like the Lord, who forgave His executioners on the Cross, they too, in moments of extreme suffering, do not respond with hatred, but with hearts full of charity. A young Christian from Aleppo, shortly before dying, said: "We do not respond with hatred, because we follow the Crucified who forgave." These words echo in our hearts, inviting us to a deep reflection on our Christian life. We are called to live kenosis, to empty ourselves of our selfishness and fears, to welcome the grace that allows us to forgive, to love without measure, even amid difficulties.

The Cross, which we celebrate today in its triumphant entry, is not just an act of suffering, but the path to the Resurrection. Christian martyrs in Syria, with their blood, are writing a new page of the Gospel. Not only do they resist violence, but through their suffering and death, they are witnessing the victory of love that overcomes all evil. The Hosanna we sing today must become our daily commitment to be witnesses of a cross that transforms us into children of God.

And on this Palm Sunday, we cannot forget that just a few days ago, last Monday, we celebrated the Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Theotokos, the moment when God, in a mysterious and humble way, became flesh in the womb of Mary. This "Yes" of Mary, who accepts God's plan with complete trust, perfectly merges with Christ's "Yes" on the Cross, where He empties Himself of His glory to do the will of the Father and grant us salvation. The Annunciation and Palm Sunday are two moments that, although separated in time, are connected by a single thread: both express the mystery of kenosis, the emptying of God to welcome and save us.

As St. Gregory of Nazianzus teaches us, "Christ was not first God and then man, but from the moment He was conceived, He is the God-man, united inseparably in the flesh and the Spirit" (Theological Discourses, 3). This "Yes" of Mary and the "Yes" of Christ on the Cross are not separate, but are one path of love that becomes a gift, that becomes a sacrifice. In Mary, we see humility and willingness to empty herself of her own will to welcome the Word of God, and in the same way, in Christ, we see the humility of a King who chooses the Cross as His throne to do the will of the Father.

Therefore, the kenosis of Christ on the Cross is not separate from Mary's "Yes" at the Annunciation: both are signs of a love that empties itself, of a royalty that is manifested in weakness. We are called to do the same: to embrace our Christian vocation with humility, emptying ourselves to make room for the Lord. If Mary said "Yes" to the angel, welcoming the Word that would change the world, we too are invited to say "Yes" to God's will for us, accepting the Cross and the Resurrection as the way to salvation.

In this path of kenosis, we cannot ignore the testimony of the martyrs, who with their blood teach us that the Cross is the sign of true royalty. The sacrifice of Syrian Christians, who do not respond to hatred with hatred, but with the love that comes from the Cross, is the continuation of that kenosis that began with Mary's "Yes" and culminates in Christ's "Yes" on the Cross.

In this Holy Week, we are called to enter more deeply into this mystery, opening ourselves to live a life that empties itself, that offers itself, that becomes a gift for others.

Brothers and sisters, as we enter into the Great and Holy Week, let us learn from Christ the way of humility. Let us not fear the Cross: it is the door to the Resurrection. May our hearts be like that colt on which Christ sat: free, ready to welcome the King of Glory.

And as St. Paul tells us today: "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable... think about such things" (Phil. 4:8). Because whoever has Christ in their heart has already overcome the world.

To Him be glory, now and forever, and forevermore. Amen.

Archpriest Michele Alberto Del Duca.