The Resurrection is not a relic of history but a ‘perpetual eruption’—God’s life bursting through death’s brittle façade, pulsing through sinew and soil, transfiguring the very atoms of our despair. You write of Christ as the “Prince of Life,” and indeed, His rising is no mere reversal of decay but the sanctification of matter itself: the God who took flesh now hallows flesh eternally, turning tombs into wombs, graves into gateways.
This is the heart of incarnational mysticism I explore in Desert and Fire: redemption worked not ‘around’ the body but ‘through’ it. When Paul declares death’s defeat (1 Cor 15:26), he speaks not of abstraction but of cells and spirit interknit—the same mystery by which Christ’s scars remained risen, glorified yet tangible. To “walk in the Spirit” (Gal 5:16) is thus to let Resurrection’s current electrify our dust, our daily acts of prayer, labor, and love becoming conduits for the “vivifying power” you name.
The devil’s lie is always gnostic: that death’s shadow can eclipse the body’s sacredness. But the empty tomb refutes him. Every Eucharist, every act of mercy, every whispered ‘Kyrie’ is a defiance—a claim that flesh, redeemed, becomes the battleground where principalities fall (Col 2:15). The Cross was not a detour; it was the ‘way’—blood and splintered wood birthing a Life that now courses through our veins, burning away the “never-ending cycles” of shame like chaff.
Your call to vigilance is, in essence, a call to ‘embodied fidelity’: to let the Resurrection’s “steady stream” carve channels in our habits, our loves, our very bones. For the “protective boundaries” against death’s encroachment are not abstract laws but lived realities—the knees bent in prayer, the hands lifted in worship, the heart’s slow surrender to the God who makes His home in our cracked clay (John 14:23).
Death’s “relentless power” shrivels before the smallest act of incarnate love. So let us live as Resurrection’s flesh-and-blood icons—not ethereal souls, but “saints in skin”, radiating the unkillable Life that has already swallowed every grave.
Χριστός Ανέστη dear sister! I've been blessed to recently recieve your book from a hieromonk who urged me to really read it. Thank God for what you do and may this season overcome you with joy in our Risen Lord!
Thank you for your prose and perspective, Sister. Edifying as always…
Glory to God…!
All glory to my elder and to our GOD.
Christ is risen! Truly he is risen!
Amen and amen
Amen, Sister! Amen. Hallelujah!
Amen!
Christ is Risen! Thank you for sharing this Sister!
Truly He is risen!
So good Sister!
The Resurrection is not a relic of history but a ‘perpetual eruption’—God’s life bursting through death’s brittle façade, pulsing through sinew and soil, transfiguring the very atoms of our despair. You write of Christ as the “Prince of Life,” and indeed, His rising is no mere reversal of decay but the sanctification of matter itself: the God who took flesh now hallows flesh eternally, turning tombs into wombs, graves into gateways.
This is the heart of incarnational mysticism I explore in Desert and Fire: redemption worked not ‘around’ the body but ‘through’ it. When Paul declares death’s defeat (1 Cor 15:26), he speaks not of abstraction but of cells and spirit interknit—the same mystery by which Christ’s scars remained risen, glorified yet tangible. To “walk in the Spirit” (Gal 5:16) is thus to let Resurrection’s current electrify our dust, our daily acts of prayer, labor, and love becoming conduits for the “vivifying power” you name.
The devil’s lie is always gnostic: that death’s shadow can eclipse the body’s sacredness. But the empty tomb refutes him. Every Eucharist, every act of mercy, every whispered ‘Kyrie’ is a defiance—a claim that flesh, redeemed, becomes the battleground where principalities fall (Col 2:15). The Cross was not a detour; it was the ‘way’—blood and splintered wood birthing a Life that now courses through our veins, burning away the “never-ending cycles” of shame like chaff.
Your call to vigilance is, in essence, a call to ‘embodied fidelity’: to let the Resurrection’s “steady stream” carve channels in our habits, our loves, our very bones. For the “protective boundaries” against death’s encroachment are not abstract laws but lived realities—the knees bent in prayer, the hands lifted in worship, the heart’s slow surrender to the God who makes His home in our cracked clay (John 14:23).
Death’s “relentless power” shrivels before the smallest act of incarnate love. So let us live as Resurrection’s flesh-and-blood icons—not ethereal souls, but “saints in skin”, radiating the unkillable Life that has already swallowed every grave.
Christ is risen—in our midst, now and ever. Amen.
Amen. May God bless your writing and all that extends from it.
...."the perpetually active", δύναμης, Άξιος! 🔔☦️🔥 Grace and peace to you sister, CHRIST IS RISEN! Onward.....
Truly He is RISEN!
Χριστός Ανέστη dear sister! I've been blessed to recently recieve your book from a hieromonk who urged me to really read it. Thank God for what you do and may this season overcome you with joy in our Risen Lord!
Wow! Glory to God. Thank you. May it you, too.