On the basis of the Greek text, Paul’s words can be understood in two ways: either a person confident in his knowledge does not really know anything, or all the knowledge of such an expert, whatever and however much he may know, is worth nothing compared with the true knowledge of which he has no idea. In essence, here the apostle returns again to the theme of poverty that he has already touched on more than once in his letter to the Christians of Corinth. He also returns to the theme of “foolishness for Christ’s sake,” or, more precisely, to what this world considers foolishness when it looks at Christians and their life. For the poverty of which Paul speaks after Jesus Himself, and of which one of Israel’s great prophets, Isaiah of Jerusalem, had spoken centuries before Christ came, presupposes a corresponding attitude not only toward property or social status, but also toward knowledge, religiosity, piety, and even one’s own ascetic “achievements.”

For God’s poor person, none of these things has independent value, including knowledge: not only theoretical and speculative knowledge, but even mystical experience, which at first glance reveals far more than any speculation. God’s poor person understands perfectly well that all these things in themselves, including knowledge and even mystical experience, do not bring him closer to God. To be in God’s presence is the one thing in spiritual life that has meaning and significance, and it does not depend on the human being. A person can only ask for such nearness and strive toward it, but he cannot attain it or earn it by his own powers in such a way that it would belong to him by right or by merit.

And if that is so, then any human knowledge as such is worth nothing; and the person who thinks that he knows something, first, does not understand what is chief and real in spiritual life, and second, is mistaken by taking for real what is not real. The second, as a rule, follows from the first. This is the spiritual delusion of which the apostle reminds us, considering it quite dangerous: for it creates the illusion of spiritual life and a spiritual path where in fact there is neither the one nor the other.

Comparing the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew and Luke makes it clear that Luke generally presents it in less detail. Of course, hardly any of the evangelists transmitted Jesus' words verbatim. At that time it was customary to compile the sayings of teachers and preachers, shaping them into a special kind of literary text and sometimes into entire collections. Even taking this fact into account, however, it is obvious that Luke singled out what he considered most important in Jesus' sermon. For the evangelist, the most important thing is the absence of condemnation. “Judge not, and ye shall not be judged”—these are the Savior's words that Luke considers most important in the whole Sermon on the Mount. Why these particular words? Matthew, for example, has many other themes that are no less important.

Yet the absence of condemnation really can be considered a measure of the quality of a person's inner life. This is not about making an assessment, of course, but precisely about condemning. It is entirely natural to assess a person's particular action in a given situation. Condemnation is another matter: it concerns not the action but the person himself. A person thus becomes the judge of another person, although God never appointed him to be such a judge. A person's path, its outcome, and its evaluation are the prerogative of God and God alone. Even if someone is clearly heading straight for the lake of fire, only God can sentence him to that lake.

Any human being can only state the fact that a sinner is moving in that direction. Why, then, do we pronounce judgment so readily where no one has given us the right to do so? Evidently because we do not see the situation as God sees it and do not use the same criteria—not absolute criteria but relative ones. We see a person not in the fullness of the life God has given him, but only in his particular present condition. We apply certain formal criteria, usually moral and religious, to this condition and naturally obtain a completely distorted picture of reality. But this is no surprise: as long as our life is determined not by the breath of life God has given us but by our own nature, nothing else can be expected.

If, however, we live the life of the Kingdom, such a distortion of reality simply cannot occur. If it does occur, it means that we are still far from the Kingdom, as the evangelist bears witness to us.

These words seem deliberately to contradict ordinary human ideas. Why are the poor and hungry, the weeping and rejected, suddenly blessed, while woe is pronounced upon the rich, the full, and those who laugh? One might think that Christ is proclaiming a revolution that will turn the world upside down! The Kingdom of God that He brings to earth really is radically different from the order of the world familiar to us. Relationships within it are founded on the Father's mercy, not on the struggle for survival. Even as believers, we often forget that entirely different laws prevail in this Kingdom. We call happiness what Christ calls woe, and conversely regard His blessings as misfortune. How greatly we must change to become true citizens of this Kingdom!