Fallen humanity tends to hope in the magical power of the word. Even in prehistoric antiquity, when pronouncing a word, naming something, the human being was sure that one could influence the thing named. Later this attitude was transferred to people and to gods. It was believed that by a word one could compel not only a person, but even a god or spirit, to do what the one pronouncing the word needed. Spells could be laid on gods and spirits, forcing them to serve a human being.

Of course, Yahwism, just like later Judaism, always had a sharply negative attitude toward magic and all magical practices, including incantations. But deep in the subconscious, even among religious people, confidence in the magical power of the word continued to live. And if in pagan antiquity it gave rise to the magical practice of spells, then in Yahwist life, as indeed in Jewish life and later in Christian life, it gave rise to the practice of solemn sacred oaths and doctrinal declarations. Publicly and solemnly proclaim the Nicene Creed, and you are "Orthodox." Just as publicly and solemnly swear eternal loyalty to Jesus, and you are a "Christian." And if the oaths are repeated again and again, if declaring one's "faith" becomes a profession, then no doubts remain at all: surely God cannot leave such activity without attention, surely the Savior will not turn away from those who have spoken so many words, perhaps even very correct ones, in His defense!

But it turns out that He can leave them without attention. He can also turn away. For Jesus needs neither advocates nor brilliant orators playing with words; He needs witnesses of the Kingdom, and that is something very different.

The desire for firmness, for a reliable ordering of life, belongs to almost every person. To a significant degree, many of our opinions and actions are explained by this desire. As Matthew concludes the account of the Sermon on the Mount, he includes in it today's parable of the houses built on sand and on rock: in it the Lord speaks precisely about this firmness of life.

This parable sounds like a kind of conclusion to the whole Sermon on the Mount. Some Protestants like to call the Bible an instruction manual for human life, and we see that this view is not without foundation. The whole Sermon on the Mount speaks of what is needed in order to be alive in the true sense of the word. And the concluding parable emphasizes that it is about real life, the kind no calamity can collapse.

This does not mean that there will be no calamities, but a person who lives by Christ's word and fulfills this word is stronger than any adversity. Moreover, by Christ's victory we become stronger with Him than death itself. Even hardships appear for such a person not as a depressing, oppressive accident, but as the way of the cross by which we can follow God.

The whole life of the Kingdom is built on a system of relationships: those that bind people to one another, unite them with God and with Christ, and, finally, the relationships of Christ Himself with His Heavenly Father. These relationships themselves make up the spiritual foundation of the Kingdom and give it form; that is why they turn out to be something absolutely important and valuable in themselves. But how, under what conditions, is a true, deep relationship possible? A relationship is an intention, an act of will, and the force of an act of will is determined by a person's inner state, the quality of that person's life - not by what he does, but by how he exists.

At creation God gives each person that power of life which, like a stream, flows through him, and in which he, in turn, also moves as in a stream. And He also gives each person His breath - the breath of life, the Presence that determines the quality of the stream of life in which we abide and which abides in us. The will is only the manifestation of this very breath of life. It is born where Presence meets nature. The measure of the fullness of Presence determines the quality of nature, the quality of life - and therefore the intensity of the act of will, its depth and strength. And with that, the depth of relationship, the very thing on which the Kingdom is founded. Everything else, all a person's outward activity, is only the outward manifestation of that stream of life which abides in us and in which we abide.

And miracles... well, miracles are possible. Healings too. And the casting out of demons. But for the person himself this often changes nothing, because both miracles and healings are performed by the action of God's breath, and demons flee from that same breath. But whether this breath will change the person himself, whether it will give a different quality to his existence, depends only on the person himself.

Of course, this will not happen automatically. And if a person relied on works - even miraculous and supernatural ones - and not on living relationships with Christ, at the end of the path he can find himself with nothing. After all, all the miracles and healings essentially took place only around him, without changing his own life, that depth of it which in the Kingdom becomes the surface. And then an answer sounds that is unexpected for the person and frightening in its unexpectedness - quite natural, alas.