Now Is the Hour to Rise from Sleep
A Reflection on the Sunday of Forgiveness
Sunday of Forgiveness – (Romans §112 (13:11b-14:4) / Saint Matthew §17 (6:14-21))
Beloved in Christ,
Each year, on the Sunday of Forgiveness, the Church stands at the threshold of Great Lent. It is a moment in which we find a kind of holy tension between comfort and awakening, between the preparatory days behind us and the bright, searching light of repentance before us.
At this crossing into Lent, the Apostle Paul confronts us with words that are as bracing now as they were to those to whom he first wrote them: “Now is the hour for us to rise from sleep. For now our salvation is nearer than when we believed.”
There is something arresting about that word now. Not someday. Not when life settles down. But now. Lent does not wait for convenience. The Church, like a mother who loves her children too much to let them drift, rings the bell loudly: Wake up.
The Danger of Sleep
Let’s take notice of what Saint Paul does not say. He does not say, “Now is the hour to rise from rebellion,” or “Now is the hour to rise from open wickedness.” He says: “Now is the hour for us to rise from sleep.“
This sleep of which Saint Paul writes is not scandalous. It is natural and unerstandable. It is soft. It is the slow settling of the soul into comfort. But it is also distraction mistaken for peace: a spiritual drowsiness. Very few people fall away from God through bold defiance. Most simply drift off. We scroll through our social media feeds, we work, we fill every quiet space with noise. Without noticing, we become comfortably unconscious of eternity.
But “the night is far spent, and the day is at hand.” History is not standing still. Time does not stand still. We heard last week concerning the judgment, and every passing year brings us closer to our own reckoning before the throne of God, not in terror, but in truth.
“You are closer to meeting Christ than you were last Lent; closer than last Pascha; closer than yesterday.” Now is the hour.
Cast Off and Put On
The Holy Apostle gives us two movements: “Let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and put on the armour of light.”
It bears repeating every day: we cannot negotiate with darkness. We cannot redecorate it, we cannot baptize it. We cast it off. Paul names these works plainly: rioting and drunkenness, impurity, contention, and envy.
That last pair startles us. Contention and envy may seem tame compared to the more obvious sins of the flesh, but Paul places them side by side. The quarrelsome spirit, the resentment that simmers quietly, the constant agitation of the heart, these too belong to the darkness.
We live in what some call an “age of outrage.” There is always something to be angry about, always someone to blame. But the armor of light is not forged from fury. It is forged from repentance.
Clothed in Christ
At the heart of Paul’s call is this simple command: “Put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh.”
Lent is not about becoming interestingly miserable. It is not a hobby in spiritual self-improvement. It is about clothing ourselves once more in Christ.
In baptism, we were clothed in Him. In sin, we have soiled that garment. In distraction, we have forgotten it altogether.
To “put on Christ” is to allow His life to become our own, His patience to be our patience, His gentleness our strength. It means preferring mercy to victory, self-possession to self-justification, prayer to performance.
Forgiveness: The First Light of Morning
On Forgiveness Sunday, the Gospel speaks simply and directly: “If you forgive men their offences, your heavenly Father will forgive you also.”
Before we fast from meat or cheese, before we abstain from oil or wine, we must fast from resentment.
Forgiveness is not sentimental; it is surgical. One cannot enter Lent clutching a grudge. One cannot put on Christ while withholding His mercy from another. Bitterness dulls the soul, it keeps us in the dark. Forgiveness, by contrast, is like the first light of morning, the dawning of grace in the soul and in new life.
When we bow before another and say, “Forgive me,” something ancient is healed. The blame of Adam begins to loosen. The night cracks, and the day draws near.
The Secret Combat
Christ also speaks about the manner of true fasting: “When you fast, be not as the hypocrites, sad…but anoint your head and wash your face.”
The world expects religious people to look severe. Christ expects them to look awake.
Authentic fasting is quiet, dignified, and sincere. The Father sees in secret. Lent is not measured by endurance or display, but by awakening.
Do we pray more attentively? Speak more purely? Forgive more mercifully? Judge more justly? That is the armor of light.
Now Is the Hour
It is easy to treat Lent as an annual exercise, something we have done before and will do again. But the Apostle’s words do not allow such complacency. He does not say, “This is the season.” He says, “Now is the hour.”
We are not guaranteed another Lent, or even another year. But we are given this moment.
Rise from sleep. Cast off what you know must go. Do not negotiate with it; do not excuse it. Put on Christ.
Begin not tomorrow, begin before the sun sets tonight. Begin when you bow before your brother or sister and say, “Forgive me.” Begin when you go home and close the door and pray. Begin when you choose silence over argument, mercy over memory, light over heat.
“The night is far spent. The day is at hand.” May we be found awake when it comes.
22 February 2026