In the prophetic vision
of Isaiah, the Lord declares that Shebna, the unfaithful steward of the royal
household, will be replaced by Eliakim, son of Hilkiah: “I will commit your
authority to his hand… I will place on his shoulder the key of the house of
David; he shall open, and none shall shut; he shall shut, and none shall open”
(Isaiah 22:21–22). The key symbolises not only access but authority, indicating
what Eliakim opens cannot be closed by others, and what he closes cannot be
opened.
This Old Testament image
echoes in the Gospel when Jesus leads His disciples to Caesarea Philippi, a
place associated with the “gates of Hades.” There, He asks, “Who do you say
that I am?” Peter responds, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living
God.” Jesus affirms this confession and declares, “You are Peter, and on
this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail
against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven…”Just as
Eliakim received the key of David, the keys of the Kingdom are entrusted to the
faith confessed by Simon Peter - a faith shared by the apostolic community.
The Lord
further promises Eliakim, the faithful steward, saying, “I will fasten him
like a peg in a secure place” (Isaiah 22:23). Yet Isaiah’s prophecy ends with a
warning: “On that day… the peg that was fastened in a secure
place will give way; it will be cut down and fall, and the load that was on it
will perish.” (v.25). This is a sobering reminder that human
steward, however faithful, is ultimately not the foundation; his peg gives way.
Immediately after Peter’s confession, he is rebuked by Jesus: “Get behind
me, Satan!” (St. Matthew 16:23). This shows that Peter, like Eliakim, is a
fallible steward, not the cornerstone.
The Holy Scripture is clear about who the true foundation is. St. Paul
writes, “For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid,
which is Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:11). St. Peter himself affirms this
in his epistle: “Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone chosen
and precious, and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame” (1
Peter 2:6, quoting Isaiah 28:16). St. Paul echoes this in Ephesians 2:20,
describing the Church as “built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets,
Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone.”
The Church, therefore, is not built on Peter the man, but on the faith he confessed, and on the Lord he proclaimed. The Church is not sustained by titles or positions, but by the Crucified and Risen Lord. All other pegs, however secure, will eventually fall. Only Christ remains.
When Christ Jesus says, “the gates of Hades shall not prevail against
it,” He is not promising invincibility to a man, but to the faith that
confesses Him as the Son of the living God. This is the faith that has endured
through persecution, martyrdom, and suffering. When the apostles and martyrs
chose death over life, when they embraced the Cross rather than deny Christ,
their faith stood firm. The gates of Hades, the powers of death and darkness,
have tried to silence this faith, but it did not prevail. As we sing in Thursday Matins:
“Glory to Christ who built upon His hands;
The Church and set up the altar in it
And set the prophets, apostles and the
Martyrs who triumphed as its foundation
Blessed is He who built and confirmed His Church.”
The keys are not symbols of individual authority, instead, they are instruments of ecclesiastical stewardship to exercised in humility, in obedience to the Gospel, and fundamentally anchored in Christ, who is the true and eternal bearer of this responsibility. “These are the words of the Holy One, the True One, who has the key of David, who opens and no one will shut, who shuts and no one opens.” (Revelation 3:7). Christ is the one who holds the keys-not just of David’s house, but of death and Hades (Revelation 1:18).
Yet, we often perceive the keys only as glorious emblems of authority and power. As we sing in the Saturday Matins:
“…the
apostles of our Lord
Who by their suffering and pain
Were pleasing to Christ, their Lord
And they received His Spirit
And the keys of the kingdom…”, Beneath that divine commission, however, lay the
cruciform path of suffering; the apostles bore the weight of these keys through
pain, persecution, and unwavering fidelity to Christ.
St. Peter’s answer is not the sole voice in the Gospel that recognises Christ’s true identity. At the foot of the Cross, a Roman centurion, witnessing the suffering and death of Jesus, declares, “Truly this man was God’s Son!” (St. Matthew 27:54). St. Peter’s confession, that comes before the Cross, is shaped by proximity and growing understanding. It is reverent and faithful, yet still within the framework of messianic expectation.
The
centurion, a Roman outsider, stands at the foot of the Cross. The centurion
sees suffering, darkness, and death. His response is visceral, and
transformative; one that is born from encounter with the sacred in the midst of
violence. This very confession, uttered in the shadow of Golgotha, planted the
seed of faith in the Roman world, eventually reaching the heart of Cappadocia.
St. Gregory
of Nyssa, in Letter XIII, affirms the centurion’s recognition of
Christ’s divinity as a foundational moment for Cappadocian Christianity: “...and
we Cappadocians (received the Gospel from) the centurion, who at the Cross
acknowledged the Godhead of the Lord...” This is no passing reference. It
suggests that the centurion’s exclamation became a spiritual landmark, a point
of origin for the Gospel’s journey into the region. Centuries later, from that
same soil, the Cappadocian Fathers (St. Basil the Great, St. Gregory of Nyssa,
and St. Gregory of Nazianzus) would produce some of the most profound
theological treatises on the Trinity and the divinity of Christ. Their writings
would shape the Nicene faith and defend the truth that the centurion first
glimpsed: that Jesus is truly God.
The centurion’s voice,
rising from beneath the Cross, joins Peter’s in proclaiming the Son of God, not
in triumph, but in surrender. And it is this faith, born in suffering and
sealed in witness, that has carried the Gospel to the ends of the earth.
Sanctification
is a story of God’s desire to dwell among His people and to shape them into a
holy nation. From
Abraham’s call to the Exodus, from Sinai to the tabernacle, God moves His
people toward consecration. The tabernacle’s edifice (from the
outer court to the Holy of Holies) imitated a progressive spiritual journey. The altar of
sacrifice marked the beginning of repentance and cleansing; the Holy Place was the
sacred chamber where the bread of presence was reverently kept; and the
Holy of Holies, hidden behind the veil, was the place of intimate union with
God. Yet, access to God was limited and the veil was a constant reminder of this
separation.
At the Cross, “the veil
of the temple was torn in two” (St. Matthew 27:51). In Christ, the Holy of
Holies is opened, and we are invited not merely to enter, but to ascend the
mountain of sanctification.
Koodosh Etho is not simply the start of a liturgical cycle; it is the renewal
of our journey into holiness, reminding us that sanctity is not static but dynamic.
As we bid adieu to the
season of the Cross, may we not part from its memory or its mandate, for
without the Cross, the path of sanctification is not only obscured but
incomplete. The Cross remains the eternal sermon, inviting us to
recognise the Son of God and dwell in His presence. May we, like Peter, confess
Christ boldly, and like the centurion, be transformed by the mystery of the
Cross.
Wishing all a blessed liturgical New Year!
In Christ,
Rincy
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