Jesus' disciples knew well that the Teacher was under close watch by the Pharisees and elders. What He preached did not fit in any way into the usual framework of their religious ideas. It was simply dangerous for Him to approach Jerusalem. The apostles repeatedly tried to dissuade the Teacher from coming to this city. Their fears were truly serious, since they considered going with Him to Jerusalem equivalent to death.

That is why it is so surprising that they so willingly and obediently go at Jesus' request for the donkey on which He is to enter the city. Most likely this is connected with the faith in Him as Messiah that spread after the raising of Lazarus, who had been four days dead. Evidently it seemed to them that the very time had finally come when their Teacher would show His true power and reveal the promised Kingdom. And then it is understandable why they justify themselves before the owners of the donkey without a shadow of doubt, saying simply that the animal is needed by the Teacher. One can justify oneself this way only if one's mentor is, at the very least, nearly a great ruler. And their expectations were justified, but not at all in the way they thought. Because His Kingdom turned out to be not of this world at all.

Today's passage is one of those that, at first glance, do not deserve special attention; it tells in detail about only one event, and not at all the most important event in the Gospel. Of course, the story of the donkey on which the Savior would very soon ride through the streets of Jerusalem amid cries of "hosanna" is interesting at least because here before us is an action reminiscent of those characteristic of the great prophets of the Old Testament. And yet, when reading the text carefully, one involuntarily begins to think about something else.

Indeed, the young donkey, although by local standards it was not expensive, was still a fairly costly possession for a Jerusalemite of modest means in Gospel times. And Jesus' disciples simply take it, saying only that it "is needed by the Lord." No details, no further explanations. And the people around them nevertheless believe them. In essence, they presented no obvious proof to anyone. Of course, the inhabitants of Jerusalem were mostly believers and trusted God, and they also paid attention to prophetic speech, since many among the people considered Jesus a prophet. But the story does not even mention that those around them understood for whom the apostles were taking the young donkey. It is possible, of course, that by that time the apostles themselves were already no less known in the city than their Teacher; in that case their actions would have had to be treated the same way prophetic actions in general were treated, and a prophet could often allow himself what an ordinary person was not allowed.

But even in this case, the readiness to part with one's property at the first demand of someone who wants to take it in God's name says a great deal. In essence, the matter is a sacrifice to God, and not a required one such as, for example, the Temple tithe, but an entirely voluntary one. And no doubt each of us can easily imagine how hard it can sometimes be to decide on a serious donation that noticeably affects our family budget or property situation. But here there are no questions, doubts, or hesitations. The matter is settled by a simple "the Lord needs it."

The parable of the fig tree puzzles many readers: why, in fact, did it have to wither, since the time for it to bear fruit had not yet come? At the same time, the story of the withered fig tree is usually not connected with the cleansing of the Temple, the account of which it frames. Meanwhile both stories form a single whole, and the key to them is the Savior's words about faith that moves mountains. What is faith here? Confidence in God's existence? Certainly, but that is only the foundation. Trust? Yes, of course: without trust in God one cannot speak of spiritual life at all. Yet both the one and the other are only preliminary conditions for the action called faith. The action itself is connected with recognizing the Kingdom as an undoubted and unconditional reality present here and now.

If any technical terminology were appropriate in this case, it would be most accurate to speak of a person's "switching" to perception of that reality which is called the Kingdom and which is always present in him. It is almost impossible to do this by oneself, or more precisely, almost impossible to remain in the state called the Kingdom, but with Jesus everything is possible. So it was with Peter, for whom the Kingdom remains reality as long as he looks at Jesus. And not only a purely inner reality: beginning to perceive it within ourselves, we very soon learn to perceive the Kingdom outside as well. Then everything listed becomes possible, including mountains that move. This is no surprise, because nature in the Kingdom is absolutely obedient to man. So too the fig tree: it withered not because it failed to bear fruit, and not as punishment for disrespect toward the Messiah, but because it did not become part of the Kingdom.

It proved useless for the Kingdom there and then, where and when fruit was expected from it. Contact with the Kingdom never passes without consequences. The one who does not acquire the fullness of life offered to him may well lose even the small part of it that he has. The only question is whether this will happen as quickly as it did with the fig tree. And the surest road to not entering the Kingdom is trading in the Temple. In every sense of that expression, from the literal to the most symbolic of all possible senses. Not because a person does not need money, since while we have a relation to this world we will need some amount of it, but because money has no place in the Kingdom. One can and should thank God for a successful deal if trade is our profession, but our gratitude must not become a deal. Otherwise the Kingdom closes itself to us, with all the consequences that follow.