Epektasis

Today the Church stands at the threshold.

The Nativity of Christ is near, yet not yet placed before our eyes. On this Sunday before the Feast, the Church does not immediately lead us to the cave or the manger. Instead, she opens the Gospel according to Matthew and reads the long genealogy of Christ—names layered upon names, generations unfolding in patience and time. The Word who is without beginning approaches us through history, flesh, and human becoming.

“The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matthew 1:1).

Christ does not descend into the world as an interruption, but as a fulfillment. He enters the long story of longing, promise, exile, and hope. God moves slowly, reverently, through the contours of human life. The Incarnation does not abolish the journey; it sanctifies it.

It is here, in this space of nearness without arrival, that Epektasis begins.

The Nativity as Beginning Without End

The Nativity of Christ is a historical event, yet it is not confined to history. The Church proclaims that the Word became flesh “once for all,” and yet she also confesses that this mystery is inexhaustible. Christ is born in Bethlehem, but He also seeks to be born continually in the heart of the believer.

As the Apostle writes, “My little children, for whom I am again in travail until Christ be formed in you” (Galatians 4:19).

The Fathers speak of this not as repetition, but as depth. God reveals Himself truly, yet never completely. The closer one draws near, the more one discovers that there is still more to receive.

St. Gregory of Nyssa gives voice to this mystery with a paradox that has echoed through the centuries:

“The limit of virtue is the absence of limit.”

For St. Gregory, perfection does not mean completion or rest from desire. It means the endless stretching of the soul toward the infinite God. Even in the vision of God, the soul does not stop moving. Revelation does not end longing; it purifies and deepens it.

The Nativity, then, is not the conclusion of God’s self-disclosure, but its beginning within the bounds of our humanity. God makes Himself known—not so that mystery might cease, but so that we might enter it.

Approaching the Infinite God

The Orthodox Church does not approach God as a problem to be solved, but as a mystery to be lived. The Incarnation does not flatten divine transcendence; it reveals it in love.

St. Maximus the Confessor speaks of this with great clarity:

“The Word of God, very God, wills always and in all things to accomplish the mystery of His embodiment.”

This mystery is not exhausted by the past. It unfolds in the life of the Church, in the sacraments, in prayer, in repentance, and in love. To know Christ is not to contain Him, but to be drawn continually beyond oneself.

St. Isaac the Syrian describes this movement with characteristic tenderness:

“As a handful of sand thrown into the great sea, so are the sins of all flesh in comparison with the mind of God.”

For St. Isaac, nearness to God does not produce certainty or pride, but humility and wonder. The deeper one enters the divine mercy, the more immeasurable it appears. Knowledge opens into awe. Light gives way to greater light.

This is the pattern of the Christian life—not arrival, but deepening; not possession, but participation.

Why Epektasis

Epektasis is the name St. Gregory of Nyssa gives to this unending movement into God. It names the truth that growth in Christ does not cease—not in this life, and not even in the life of the age to come. For God is infinite, and therefore love for Him can never reach a final boundary.

This blog exists within that conviction.

It is a place for poetry, reflections, and contemplative writings rooted in the life of the Orthodox Church—her Scriptures, hymns, saints, and ascetical wisdom. It is written in the belief that faith is not static, but alive; not a system to be mastered, but a mystery to be entered.

Orthodoxy does not seek to explain God away. It teaches us how to stand before Him: attentively, reverently, and with longing. It forms the heart to dwell in paradox—to confess that God is truly known, and yet always beyond knowing.

As St. Gregory of Nyssa writes elsewhere:

“This is the true vision of God: never to be satisfied in the desire to see Him.”

Beginning Where the Church Begins

That Epektasis should begin on the Sunday before the Nativity is not accidental. Today the Church reminds us that God comes to us through patience, time, and expectation. We are taught to wait—not idly, but attentively. To stand at the threshold, aware that what is coming will always exceed what we imagine.

This site does not claim to offer answers, conclusions, or spiritual mastery. It offers words shaped by prayer, silence, struggle, and hope—traces along the path for those who find themselves still walking.

If these writings serve at all, it is as a quiet companion to fellow pilgrims: those drawn forward by the beauty of Christ, those who sense that faith deepens rather than settles, those who know that the nearer God comes, the more spacious the heart must become.

For the Word has entered history.

And the journey has only just begun.

May Christ, born in humility and glory, draw us ever onward into His infinite life—granting light for the path, repentance of heart, and joy without end.