If we recast the dialogue between Christ and the scribes in terms of modern life, what is being discussed becomes much clearer.

On the one hand, certain religious rules are put forward concerning the outward side of life and resting on the authority of particular people. The Greek πρεσβυτέρων is very accurately translated here as “elders”: it refers not only, and not so much, to people of ancient times as to those who are older and authoritative. In the New Testament Church the word immediately came to be used for clergy and leaders, regardless of age. We too now call people who are very much our contemporaries elders. On the other hand, the Savior says that such traditions (Latin traditionem, traditions) do not necessarily possess divine infallibility.

So: “Why do Your disciples transgress the tradition of the elders? For before Communion they do not read all the prayers prescribed in the prayer book.” He answered them: “And why do you transgress the commandment of God for the sake of your tradition? For God commanded: You shall not kill. But you say: if anyone works as a defender of the homeland, he may kill. Thus you have made the commandment of God void by your tradition.”

The scribes and the Lord use examples of completely different orders: a tiny detail of everyday ritual and one of the Ten Commandments. Christ’s conclusion sounds like a verdict: “In vain do they worship Me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.” The point, strictly speaking, is not that ritual is secondary; after all, one cannot do without it. The Lord Himself says: “These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others” (Mt. 23:23). Yet there are weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy, and faith. By sinning against them, you cannot become truly human, even if you observe every smallest detail of ritual and custom.

Today's reading touches on one of the most important questions of religious life: the relationship between Holy Scripture and tradition. For every religion the problem of ritual purity has always been central, because ritual purity determines the very possibility of full participation in religious life. It is no wonder that the followers of the Pharisaic religious schools, being exceptionally devout people, asked Jesus questions concerning Jewish norms and rules of ritual purity. The question about washing hands is one of these questions (vv. 1-2).

In this case, of course, the issue is not hygiene but a purifying washing that was supposed to be performed before eating. The reference to the "tradition of the elders," however, clearly suggests that this is not about a commandment of the Torah, that is, of Holy Scripture, but about its interpretation connected with the Pharisaic tradition. Jesus answers a question with a question: can a commandment given by God and clearly expressed in Scripture be replaced by human opinions that have formed within any tradition at all, even an authoritative one? After all, any tradition is the fruit of human creativity, while the commandment is given by God (v. 3). By answering this way, Jesus appears to avoid the question, at least for a time. Yet very soon He answers it too, returning His listeners to the understanding of purity that the Torah originally implied (vv. 10-11, 16-20).

But on a more attentive reading it becomes clear that this answer is directly connected with the question of authentic and false tradition. Authentic tradition always puts first a person's spiritual condition, as well as his relationships with God and with his neighbors. This is what determines a person's destiny in the Kingdom, and also whether a person will be able to enter it at all. For religious consciousness, however, the external form is important. Any religiosity always carries something magical within it, even when the religion of Revelation is in view. And it often turns out that the external expressions of religiosity become more important than the essence. There is no dispute that God is more important than family; but does that mean that an offering for the Temple is more important than helping elderly parents? Hardly, since such an offering in itself does not determine the quality of the giver's relationship with God. Moreover, it may well turn out to be a means of forgetting about elderly parents without feeling any pangs of conscience, because formally the commandment has not been violated! Such formalism is always present to one degree or another in any religious tradition.

Perhaps this is precisely why Jesus did not create any new religion: Christianity is not a religion, but life itself in the Kingdom, and He constantly reminds His listeners that authentic tradition is the experience of the Kingdom. Such a tradition does not need to be maintained artificially: even without that, it will never lose its significance and will organically enter the Kingdom, becoming an inseparable part of it.

"...Peter answered Him and said, Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water. And He said, Come..." How often we are overcome by doubts in our faith. This is a good sign, a sign that our faith is healthy. As Psalm 3 tells us: O Lord, why are those who trouble me multiplied? Many rise up against me; many say to my soul, There is no salvation for him in his God (Ps 3:2-3).

In the spiritual interpretation of this psalm, these many who rise up against my faith are a very real force, even if no one is visibly persecuting me. And when this force attacks, we so want to cry out to the Lord and say: "If this is You, command me to know Your divine nature, making me at least partly like Yourself; share Your divinity with me, make me a participant in Yourself, so that I may be convinced: it is You." For what is Peter's action? In essence, he desired a transcendent, unearthly experience that would strengthen his faith. There are moments when we also want this very much. Our fear becomes so great, our faith is shaken so badly, that we desperately want to seize the Lord's hand.

And how do we handle this? We hear an inner voice: "Who are you, anyway, that such miracles should happen to you? What would be left of your faith then? It would already be certain experience, not faith. Go to church, look at the faith of others, be strengthened by it; and besides," it tells you, "miracles do not happen in our day. Who has seen them, except for some madmen and church people?..." But all this self-reassurance is good, yet not good enough. Because the Lord says something else. He says, "Come." Come. It is very important to hear this. If you doubt, go, be bold, test, seek experience. For true faith comes only after the real experience of meeting God; before that event, it is only a search, only piety, only intention. Our self-reassurance may appear to us to be something supremely correct, very humble, very virtuous. But humility is empty without boldness. We must always remember this.

In some ways today's reading about Peter is close in spirit to the story of Thomas being convinced. Thomas also wanted real experience, and he received it; he received it because the Lord Himself wanted it. His will is that our faith should not be a set of written regulations, not a letter, even one received reverently, not only a rite, not only piety, not only virtue, and not our monologue sent in His direction with some frantic desire that He might at least hear it, like a letter sent to the highest government offices: of course they will not answer, but perhaps there is a small chance they will read it. The Lord does not expect such faith from us. He wants real life together, real cooperation. He wants us to break through boldly toward speaking with Him face to face. If you truly want this, go to meet Him. Go alone, leave everyone else in the boat, and go.