'...And now there is prepared for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing...' This sense that a crown awaits you, if not today then tomorrow, is known to every true Christian. Without it, our Christianity is not genuine. But what is the 'crown of truth' or 'crown of righteousness,' as Bishop Cassian translates, and is every suffering of ours this crown? In such translations it seems to us that this crown is something prepared only for saints. The word 'crown' itself sounds lofty, and adding to it the predicate of truth or righteousness raises the whole expression to a height inaccessible to ordinary mortals. How then are we to understand the apostle Paul's words that the crown is prepared for 'all'?

Let us turn to the Greek text. There stands the expression 'dikaiosynes stephanos.' Among its meanings there are indeed righteousness, rightness, truthfulness, faithfulness to law, desert, and worthiness; but in addition there are several somewhat different meanings, according to Dvoretsky's Ancient Greek-Russian Dictionary. Let us look at them: first, 'even, exact'; second, 'suitable'; third, 'having a right'; and finally, simply 'obligated.' Of course, the apostle hardly intended to put all these meanings into the text at once. But since we do not know his intentions exactly, by choosing only an elevated style we risk distorting the thought. Therefore it is no sin to look more closely at other, though related, meanings.

In fact, each of the four meanings given here is close to us. 'Even, exact' - for everyone knows that God gives us a crown exactly according to our strength. Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh observes that there is a certain boundary in attaining such spiritual clarity of sight that one can see one's soul in its true light, see it and freeze in horror at what is seen, sway as if about to fall - and yet stand. This state is familiar to everyone who has ever made an honest confession. 'Suitable': and is not the crown that God gives the only one, suitable only for me? As soon as we grasp at what is not ours, at a ministry not intended for us by God or simply not blessed by Him, we suffer shameful failure, drawing other people into it as well. We 'have the right' to our crown, for we received this right together with faith. And finally, we are simply 'obligated' to take it: for we are not saints and not martyrs; we are simply doing what we must.

At the end of the second letter to Timothy, Paul writes to his student that the end of his earthly path is near (vv. 6-8). At the same time, the apostle says of himself that he is "already being poured out," having in mind the libations that were made during sacrifice (v. 6; in the Synodal translation, "I am already becoming a sacrifice"). For an adequate understanding of what Paul says, it is important to remember that, according to the Torah, a sacrifice had to be accompanied by a libation: the sacrificial meat lying on the altar was poured over or sprinkled with wine and oil; otherwise it was considered unfit for sacrifice (Num 15:1-12). The libation was not the main component of the sacrifice; the meat remained that, or more precisely, the sacrificial blood with which those present were sprinkled, thereby sanctifying them. But the sacrificial meal, during which, unless the matter involved a whole burnt offering, those taking part in the sacrifice ate consecrated meat, would have been impossible without wine and oil, in many ways depriving the sacrifice of meaning, since an essential part of it was precisely the sacrificial meal. And Paul compares his life and his ministry with such a libation, and his death as a witness with the moment of sacrifice, when this libation alone can play the role appointed to it by God, becoming an element of the sacrifice that sanctifies the people of God and, through them, the whole world.

Such a comparison is certainly no accident: the apostle understands perfectly well that his whole ministry and his whole earthly path can receive meaning only in that fullness of the Kingdom which will be revealed to him at the moment of the complete transformation of his human nature, while through him also being revealed to the Church and to the world. Just as sacrifice was a divine-human action whose culmination became the encounter between God and the people taking part in it, an encounter that sanctified those people, so the witness's meeting face to face with the One to whom he bore witness all his life becomes the moment of his final sanctification and complete transformation. Of course, Paul himself, his life and ministry, turn out to be only part of the grand process connected with the unfolding of the Kingdom in the world, and not even its main part: at the center here, as is easy to understand, stands the Savior Himself. But now this part is finally united with the whole, becoming its inalienable element while still preserving all its uniqueness. And the history of the Kingdom takes one more step on the way toward that fullness which will include within itself the world transformed by the breath of God.

While imprisoned and summing up his ministry and his earthly path, Paul says of himself that he has "fought the good fight," "finished the race," and preserved the faith, evidently not simply as a certain system of views, but first of all as faithfulness to Christ and trust in Him. And now the Savior, according to the apostle's word, has prepared for him the crown of righteousness.

A crown which, by Paul's own testimony, turns his life into a sacrificial libation. Here the apostle clearly recalls the words of the Savior Himself about the life that in translation is often called "soul," and which a person can either give to Christ for the sake of the good news, thereby preserving it, or keep for himself and then in the end lose it.

Indeed, soul in the biblical sense is not a structure and in general not some static formation; it is a process, a flow, resembling a river flowing through a person, in which at the same time the person himself, his spiritual "I," his heart as the Bible calls this "I," mysteriously abides. And one can enter the Kingdom only by allowing the One who brought the Kingdom into the world to direct the flow of one's own life. One will have to part with that life; it will cease to belong to us even before our physical body dies.

While the body is still alive, it will belong to Christ, and we will exist in it as He commands us. The flow of our life will then really become something like a sacrificial libation: wine or oil are not sacrifices in themselves; they are only an addition to the main thing, but they become part of that spiritual-natural process which every true Yahwistic sacrifice was.

And now something similar happens, both within the boundaries of one human life and on the scale of the whole body of Christ. In this way a Christian obtains the crown of righteousness: through such surrender of himself into Christ's power he receives the fullness of the life of the Kingdom, in which his own life is also preserved. In many ways the Kingdom is like an ocean, but in one respect it differs from it: the stream of every life accepted by the Kingdom does not disappear in it without trace, as the stream of river water disappears when the river flows into the ocean.

The fullness of the Kingdom includes the fullness of the life of each of its inhabitants. And therefore the fullness of his righteousness as well, since unrighteous life cannot exist in the Kingdom. Of course, there is an alternative: one can keep one's life for oneself. But then after the death of the body it will go away like water into sand. The choice is simple: pour out one's life in vain, or give it to the King who can preserve it in His Kingdom. The apostle has clearly made his choice, and he does not regret it.