It would probably not be wrong to say that the central message of Christ's preaching is the message of the Father. In many other parables, the Lord portrays God in a way close to Jewish ideas and perhaps sometimes necessary for us: as a King who has absolute power over His subjects. But in today's parables He appears only as a father who loves his children whatever they may be like, or as a friend ready to help even at the most inconvenient moment.

Jesus' listeners know from their own experience that, however gloomy and unkind a person may be, he is still capable of showing tenderness and care towards what is dearest to him—his children. They also know that people are able to help one another in need even when it is unpleasant for them. Now, Jesus says, understand one simple thing: God is better than you, kinder and more generous—can He really be a worse Father to you than you are to your children? In this light, the prayer “Our Father” becomes not simply one possible form of addressing God but an astonishing revelation of the mystery of the Father's love, stronger and more tender than anything else in the world.

Today's reading presents us with the parable of the Good Samaritan, familiar to every reader of the Gospel (vv. 25-37). This parable is often understood simply as a call to show mercy to everyone, regardless of social status, religious affiliation, or anything else that so often divides people. Yet the situation described in the parable is not so simple. The question asked by the “lawyer,” probably a teacher of the Torah, was: “Who is my neighbour?” In modern language, this distinction is usually expressed in terms of “our own” and “outsiders.” Jesus' interlocutor evidently understands “neighbour” in precisely this way: who is one of “my own”? Surely I cannot love everyone I happen to meet!

Without answering him directly, Jesus tells a parable about a devout man who had apparently suffered at the hands of Samaritans on the road from Jerusalem back to his own region (v. 33). In those days, the road from Galilee to Judea passed through Jericho, and Jews making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem had to pass through Samaria along the way; its inhabitants were generally extremely hostile to them. Most likely, it was they who attacked the lone traveller. The situation became utterly incredible: the beaten man's compatriots and fellow believers passed him by (vv. 31-32), while help came from the person from whom it could least be expected, a Samaritan (vv. 33-35). Thus his own people became outsiders, and an outsider became one of his own.

The point here is not assistance as such, or even mercy. It is relationships, without which there is no Kingdom: people's relationships with God and with one another. This is the meaning of the commandment that Jesus' interlocutor knew perfectly well (vv. 25-28). The relationships of the Kingdom cannot and must not be conditioned or limited by anything: they are unconditional and absolute, or there can be no question of the Kingdom. Having told His parable, Jesus called His interlocutor to build relationships with every person as if they were already dwelling in the Kingdom; otherwise, the way into it will never open.

The image of Martha and Mary has become a classic in Christian tradition, symbolizing two kinds of Christian service—the active and the contemplative—and at the same time establishing their priorities, for the Savior speaks quite unambiguously about what matters most in service. His words are usually understood as pointing to what Mary was doing as she listened to Jesus' words without being distracted for even a minute. Yet “one thing” and “many things” also allow a somewhat different interpretation. It is no accident that Jesus speaks of the “many things” as something that causes a person anxiety and distress—at least, that is what follows if the Greek text is read literally.

Martha busies herself with many things; she is constantly thinking about something that troubles her and deprives her of peace. She has no time to listen, not because she is occupied with household tasks, but because of this constant anxiety that robs her of inner peace. Her many tasks worry her precisely because she is wholly immersed in them: inwardly she rushes from one task to another, anxious that she will not have enough strength for everything she thinks she must do. It is her anxiety, not the number of tasks, that exhausts her so completely that she no longer has the strength to listen to the Savior.

There is only one way out, and Jesus points to it: leave the many for the one, for the central thing that sustains a person—a relationship with Him, with Jesus. When this relationship becomes the center and focus of a person's inner life, all outward affairs are also arranged around that center. The person is no longer scattered or fragmented into a multitude of self-projections connected with everyday tasks, but remains inwardly whole and gathered around the one thing that truly fills both the person and all his work with life.