Homily - Cross the Digital Jordan and Find Peace

The Sunday of St. Mary of Egypt

The life of St. Mary of Egypt shows that healing begins when we are willing to let go of what we think we cannot live without. Her struggle with memory and desire mirrors our own battles with distraction and constant stimulation. In these final weeks of Lent, we are invited to simplify our lives, endure the discomfort, and turn again toward the peace that comes from God.

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Today the Church gives us one of the most extreme lives in all of Christian history: St. Mary of Egypt. And if we are not careful, we will put her at a distance. We will say: "That's not me." "That's not my struggle." "That's not my life." But the Church does not give her to us as a curiosity. She gives her to us as a mirror.
Mary began in complete disorder. Not gradually. Not reluctantly. She threw herself into a life of passion—seeking pleasure, attention, and control. And she is very clear: she was not even doing it for money. She was doing it because she wanted it, because she loved it, because it gave her a sense of freedom.
And then comes the turning point. She tries to enter the Church in Jerusalem—to venerate the Cross. And she cannot. An invisible force prevents her. Everyone else walks in. She cannot. And suddenly, she sees—not just what she has done, but what she has become.
That moment breaks her. Not into despair—but into repentance. She turns to the Mother of God, asks for mercy, and is finally allowed to enter. She venerates the Cross. And then she leaves—not just the Church, but the world.
She goes into the desert. And here is where we often misunderstand her life. We imagine peace, clarity, instant transformation. But that is not what she experienced.
Listen to her own words. She says that in the desert she was tormented by the memory of her old life: "The mad desire for songs and wine seized me… I longed to sing obscene songs… the memory of the things I was accustomed to filled my soul with great turmoil." She had left everything behind, but everything had not yet left her.
And this is important. Because it tells us: removing ourselves from temptation does not immediately remove temptation from us.
For years—years—she struggled. With memory, with desire, with imagination, with everything she had fed her soul. But she stayed. She endured. And over time, something changed.
The passions lost their power. The memories lost their sweetness. And she found something greater: peace, clarity, freedom, union with God.
Now here is where we need to be careful. Because it is very easy to say: "Well, that's her. She was dealing with extreme passions." But we are not so different.
We also live in a world of constant stimulation—constant input, constant distraction. Not through wine and song in the same way, but through something else: social media, endless news cycles, commentary, outrage, entertainment, noise.
And we do not just encounter these things. We consume them. We return to them. We depend on them. And like St. Mary, we often tell ourselves: "This is freedom."
But what happens when we try to step away—even for a little while? We feel it. The pull. The habit. The restlessness. The desire to check, to scroll, to see what we are missing.
And here is the question that reveals everything: what do we think we are missing?
Because this is where the illusion lies. We think: "If I am not plugged in—if I am not consuming—if I am not aware of everything—then my life is being wasted."
But St. Mary shows us the opposite.
From the outside, her life looks wasted. No productivity, no recognition, no audience, no relevance. And yet—she becomes radiant with holiness, clear in mind, free in heart, alive in God.
So now the question turns: whose life is wasted? The one who withdraws from distraction and struggles toward freedom, or the one who is constantly stimulated but never at peace?
St. Mary did not lose her life in the desert. She found it—but only after enduring the pain of letting go.
And this is where her life meets ours—very concretely, especially now. Because we are in Great Lent. And Lent is given to us for exactly this purpose: to simplify, to remove distractions, to reorder our lives toward God.
Many people focus on food. And that is good. But it is only part of the pattern. Because for most of us, our greater excess is not meat and dairy. It is stimulation.
And this is part of why the fast exists. Fasting is not just about what we give up. It is about what is revealed.
When we fast from food, something happens. Our system is stressed. We feel hunger. We feel irritation. We feel weakness. And suddenly, we begin to notice our thoughts, our habits, our reactions. The fast makes visible what is usually hidden. And this is not a failure. This is its purpose.
Now consider this: if fasting from food reveals this much, what might happen if we fast from stimulation? If we step away from constant input, constant scrolling, constant reaction?
For most of us, this will be even more revealing—because this is where we are most attached.
And so here is a simple challenge. We have two weeks left before Pascha. Two weeks. And in two weeks, we will hear that the Lord receives even the one who comes at the eleventh hour.
So let us use this time well.
For these next two weeks: simplify. Deliberately. Intentionally. Greatly reduce the time you spend on your devices—not a little, greatly.
You will feel the pull. You will feel the temptation. You will feel the restlessness. That is not a sign that something is wrong. That is the point. It reveals what has taken hold of us.
And like St. Mary, you may find that even when the external stimulus is gone, the memory remains. But stay. Endure. Redirect. Return.
Because the same principle applies: what we repeatedly attend to forms us.
If we fill our minds with noise, we will become restless. If we fill our hearts with distraction, we will become fragmented. But if we endure, if we simplify, if we turn toward God, then slowly, quietly, something changes.
The noise loses its power. The pull weakens. And we begin to taste something better: peace, clarity, the presence of God.
And so we end with this: St. Mary was not missing out. She was being healed.
The world says: "Stay connected. Stay informed. Stay engaged." The Gospel says: "Be still—and know God."
So again: whose life is wasted?