“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” (Galatians 2:20)

When the Church pairs readings from the Epistle and the Gospel, it does so intentionally. The two are meant to interpret one another, to bring light and focus to what God is saying to us that day. This Sunday, Paul’s words about being crucified with Christ meet the Gospel story of the man possessed by many demons, whose name was Legion.

Christ crosses the sea, meets this tormented man, and commands the unclean spirits to depart. The demons plead to be sent into a herd of pigs, and when He allows it, the herd rushes down the steep bank into the water and perishes. The man is restored, clothed, and in his right mind.

You would expect the people to rejoice. Instead, they beg Jesus to leave.

Why? Because they lost their pigs. Their focus was not on the man’s salvation, not on the power of God revealed before their eyes, but on what it cost them. They valued their comfort more than the miracle.

This is the human condition in miniature. Christ comes to free us from the legion of passions and distractions that possess us. Yet when His presence disrupts our comfort, we resist Him. We say, in effect, “leave us alone,” because the cost of holiness feels too high.

The message from both St. Paul and the Gospel is the same: to live in Christ means to have a new center, a Christ-focused mindset. Paul says, “I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” Everything else—the pigs, the worries, the schedules, the social media feeds, even our fears—are noise compared to that reality.

We can look at the people of that village and shake our heads, but how often do we do the same thing? How often do we focus on what we’ve lost instead of Who stands before us? We lose a job, a friendship, a sense of control, and we act as if Christ is gone too. But He is still there, waiting for us to see the miracle, not the pigs.

A Christ-centered life does not mean ignoring the world. It means viewing the world through Him. It means that every moment—every decision, every joy, every hardship—is an opportunity to say, “Glory to God for all things.” It means asking, “Where is Christ in this?” before asking, “What’s in it for me?”

The Church gives us constant opportunities to re-center: every Liturgy, every prayer, every confession. Each one is a reminder that our life is not our own. We belong to Christ, who has already fought the battle against the demons and won. We simply need to stay close to Him, to remember that even in our distractions, He is near.

It’s easy to let the world fill our thoughts. We worry about our families, bills, schedules, politics, and sports scores. None of those are evil in themselves, but when they become our primary concern, they crowd out Christ. The demons of Legion were many—and today’s legions are too: anxiety, anger, greed, envy, entertainment, comparison, noise. They may look different, but their goal is the same: to keep us from peace in Christ.

The people begged Jesus to leave because He disturbed their normal life. True faith will always disturb our “normal.” It will change how we spend our time, how we treat others, how we pray, and even how we see the world. It replaces fear with trust, resentment with mercy, and distraction with focus.

When you wake up on Sunday and think, “I don’t want to go to church,” that’s precisely when you must go. When prayer feels like a burden, that’s when you most need to pray. When forgiving someone feels impossible, that’s the moment you’re closest to the Cross. These moments are not obstacles—they’re invitations to center ourselves again on Christ.

We are reminded each week in the Divine Liturgy that we are not spectators but participants in the Kingdom. Every “Lord, have mercy” is a declaration of faith against the chaos of the world. Every candle lit, every sign of the Cross, every prayer whispered says, “My life belongs to Christ.”

This is the lesson of both the Epistle and the Gospel: to turn away from distraction and self-focus, and to be crucified with Christ so that He may live in us. To see the miracle instead of mourning the pigs. To put Christ first above all things.

Because when our mind is fixed on Him, everything else finds its proper place. The noise fades, the fear softens, and we begin to see what those villagers missed—the Son of God standing before us, ready to make us whole.

Glory to Jesus Christ. Glory forever.