Vespers of Forgiveness – Cheese Sunday: What Does It Symbolize and What Should We Do?

On Cheese Sunday afternoon, we all experienced the Vespers of Forgiveness through which we enter the period of Holy and Great Lent—a journey of virtues, discipline, and healing that culminates in the Passion and Resurrection of the Lord.

At the conclusion of the service, we kissed the Holy Images and forgave one another. In other words, what did we do? We forgave together with God and with our fellow human beings. Forgiveness is not merely a formal absolution of sins—a legalistic notion of salvation. Rather, it is a resurrecting virtue that overturns our fallen state and transforms us into partners and co-heirs of Divine Grace.

We open our hearts to God and, in doing so, make room for our neighbor—entering into a relationship of mutual indwelling, just as the persons of the Holy Trinity interpenetrate one another.

Forgiveness begins the moment we decide to accept our brothers and sisters without expecting them to change; we accept them as they are—persons and images of God—thus lightening their burdens so that, eventually, transformation may become possible.

The prerequisite for forgiveness, however, lies within us. Guided by the Passion of the Lord, let us live by the words “bear one another’s burdens,” embracing the willingness to take up this cross so that others may be healed—or at least protected from evil.

This is something anyone can do; it only requires a moment of understanding, surrender, determination, and goodwill. For the recognition of our own weakness is the beginning of strength—a starting point that readjusts our relationship with our neighbor and, by extension, with our Savior, Christ.

Our wise tradition teaches that you cannot give what you do not have. Thus, forgiveness is not merely an external act or an exercise in sterile moralism; it is an inner conquest and transformation of the heart, with its outward expression being the natural result.

Consider how one who loves sacrifices unconditionally for the beloved Christ—through one’s neighbor. We see this in the lives of the Saints, such as the protomartyr Stephen, who forgave those who stoned him at the moment of his martyrdom.

Vespers of Forgiveness

In honor of Saint Charalambos, who blessed the common people even as they verbally assailed him at the age of 113; and of Saint Dionysius, who forgave and protected the murderer of his own brother through a Christ-like inner transcendence.

Thus, we are led to reconcile with others and with God when we recite the words of the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Father… and forgive us our debts.”

All of us, my beloved, continually ask for this—even within the Divine Liturgy, when we hear in the responses, “We ask the Lord for forgiveness and absolution of our sins and transgressions.”

With the resounding words of Christ on the Cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,” we see that forgiveness precedes martyrdom as an act of purification. It is the very element of all-encompassing love that “counts not the evil,” but instead embraces, resurrects, and transforms it into good through forgiveness.

Such a small word, yet with such power! It heals hard-heartedness and breaks through

stubbornness, allowing the roots of virtue to take hold.

Impossible, you might say—can anyone truly do this? How can one offer love to wickedness, to murder, to martyrdom, even to one’s enemy? And yet the answer lies in the hopeful words of our God-Man, Christ: “Without me, you can do nothing.”

Through the mysteries of our Holy Church and our spiritual struggle, we receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit, opening the gates of our hearts so that we may embrace our neighbor with sacrificial love.

This is a struggle that, during this Lenten season, employs fasting as an auxiliary, therapeutic means. But what exactly is fasting?

When was it given to us? Fasting is also known as the exercise of freedom. We first see it in the Book of Genesis, when God instituted it in the lives of the first creatures to test their faith and obedience.

When Moses, before receiving the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai, fasted for forty

days—just as the Saints have lived out—and with its climax in the Lord’s fast in the wilderness, we witness a model for our own practice.

Fasting is primarily a struggle for the healing of fallen man and, subsequently, a means of communion with God. Unfortunately, modern man—dominated by excessive

consumerism—often regards the discipline of fasting as a great deprivation or as a form of religious formalism meant only for clerics or the elderly.

He overlooks, however, that fasting was given to heal and liberate humanity—to cleanse one’s wings from passions, to lead one toward a divinization by grace, not to imprison the spirit.

Thus, when fasting is not accompanied by the spiritual life of the mysteries, it is reduced to a mere diet.

Fasting is not an act of religious, legalistic formalism; it is a practice and a pathway to

freedom—a healing of both soul and body. It is “a medicine that destroys sin,” as Basil the Great tells us; “a sword that severs the passions of the flesh and a chisel that dissects the impulses of the body,” as the Holy Fathers declare.

Through the spiritual struggle of fasting, we free ourselves from preoccupations and passions, descending into the depths of our hearts so that we may ascend to God. But how shall we fast, and in what manner?

Our Holy Church, as the healing mother that she is, provides us with the means to achieve healing—a dual process that is both physical and spiritual.

Fasting

Thus, fasting is not destructive to the body but rather a healing force.

We receive this healing from our spiritual father, just as an athlete does from his coach or a patient from his doctor. Likewise, our Spiritual Father, through the mystery of Holy Confession and with discernment, will reveal to us the proper method of healing—tailored to our spiritual and physical capacities—so that we may combat the old self and overcome the battles of our passions.

That is why fasting begins from the outside and works its way inward. When we can discipline ourselves over external passions and stimuli, we will be able to heal our internal wounds.

So come—let us welcome, with admiration and open arms, this Holy period of fasting, like a Queen who, within the hearth, aids; who protects within the lion’s den; who dispels demons; who suppresses the frenzy of passions and restores our freedom; and who brings abundant tranquility to our thoughts.

And through it, let us make forgiveness an inner conquest; let us sing, “Let us love one another, so that in unity we may confess,” establishing it as a heartfelt hymn and an act of sacrifice in our lives.

Amen.