NOTES for Co2 8:1-9

The Lord, speaking about love for enemies, knows how difficult this is for a person. Perhaps that is exactly why Jesus leaves such a commandment.

We often see enemies in people who are not enemies at all. And what would happen in that case if the Lord had not left us this commandment? Considering ourselves fully entitled to hate our enemies, we would hate these people who do not wish us harm at all...

But, naturally, the commandment to love one's neighbor and enemy was given to us not only to prevent such situations. Peace on earth, despite everything, is possible only through the pacification of the heart of every person living on this earth. And if there is malice and hatred in the heart, even if it is "justified," there is no peace in such a heart... And only love that "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" (1 Cor. 13:7) can forgive everything, including, sadly, the inevitable causing of pain.

Go out into the street and ask the first 10, 20, or 30 people you meet whether this is possible. What will the result be? Everyone wants to be a child of God, an heir of the One who is Almighty, all-knowing, and possesses everything. But for that one must also love everyone and be merciful to all (see Matt. 5:48). No, for human beings this is impossible.

Is Jesus really giving us commandments that are impossible in principle to fulfill? The answer is paradoxical: yes. But He also gives us the possibility of fulfilling them, because He is the One who, already being the Son of God, fulfilled them. This means that the impossible has become possible in Him and through Him, and perfection is attainable.

In his letters Paul often turns to the theme of mutual help among Christian churches. And in his letter to the Christians of Corinth he mentions the help he received from the churches of Macedonia during his ministry in that province (vv. 1-6). It is clear that he is speaking not only about donations, but also about the participation of the Macedonian Christians in all of Paul's affairs that involved supporting his missionary work in Macedonia. And the apostle, of course, does not emphasize by chance that his Macedonian brothers gave themselves to God and to him himself as God's minister (v. 5). For him, it seems, precisely this attitude toward ministry is the true attitude of the inhabitants of the Kingdom.

From the point of view of our world, not yet transformed, one can invest everything one has, including oneself, only in an absolutely reliable undertaking with a guaranteed return, the kind that does not exist in a fallen world. And if a person decides to devote himself to something without reserve, he is clearly acting no longer according to the laws of this world, but according to the laws of the Kingdom. Yet if in other matters a certain half-heartedness in self-giving may sometimes be possible, following the principle "do not put all your eggs in one basket," in the matter of witness to Christ and to the Kingdom it is impossible and unacceptable. Here it is all or nothing.

And yet, in a way that at first glance seems paradoxical, complete self-giving does not in this case mean that the one who gives himself loses everything. The readiness to give everything turns into its opposite side: it proves not to be as burdensome as it might have seemed. When everyone is ready to give everything he has, it turns out that in material terms no one demands "everything" from him. On the contrary, in this respect a certain balance is eventually established, in which no one lacks anything, though clearly no one lives in luxury either (vv. 11-15). But the issue is not merely a fair distribution of material goods. For the apostle, it seems, such mutual help among the churches is nothing other than a projection of the relationships of the Kingdom into the material sphere. After all, only in the Kingdom, when you give everything, do you receive immeasurably more than you gave. And the fact that the laws of the Kingdom can determine people's relationships in our world, which is being transformed but is not yet fully transformed, was visible proof that the Kingdom truly had, in the Savior's words, "drawn near" - drawn so near that it can already shape people's relationships in our world, if only people themselves want it.

In all the communities he had founded, Paul collected aid for the brothers of the Jerusalem church. Since the previous year, the Corinthians had wanted to take part in the ministry to the saints (believers) in Jerusalem (4). Now Titus, at Paul’s request, is ready to come to Corinth and give the brothers the opportunity to carry out what they desired. In his letter to them, Paul therefore gives attention to this matter, preparing them properly for the ministry ahead.

In mentioning the churches in Macedonia, which were “willing according to their ability, and beyond their ability” in their ministry to the saints, the Apostle tests the sincerity of the Corinthians’ love by the zeal of the Macedonian brothers. Through the example of those who, amid a great trial of affliction, overflow with joy (2), Paul shows the Corinthians how to make their gift pleasing to God.

His heart rejoices when he sees the zeal of the Macedonians, who gave more than anyone had hoped to receive from them: “they gave themselves first to the Lord and then to us by the will of God,” the Apostle writes (5). This complete devotion to God enriched their deep poverty: “if the willingness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has, not according to what one does not have” (12).

One cannot help recalling the poor widow who put two small coins into the temple treasury (Mark 12:42-44). Others, who were rich, put in much, but it was the poor woman who gladdened Jesus’ heart because, out of love for God, she put in everything she had—all her livelihood.

Such sincere love and devotion to God make every offering pleasing to Him.

By calling His disciples and followers to be "perfect, as the Heavenly Father is perfect," Jesus thereby continues and brings to its logical completion a tradition that goes back to pre-exilic times. It was then, in the second part of the Book of Leviticus, written around the middle of the ninth century BC, that God's regularly repeated call appears: "be holy, because I am holy." This call presupposed that, once sanctified at God's altar, a person would then preserve the state of sanctification by remaining in it constantly.

The post-exilic tradition connected with the concepts of the inner Torah and the "living Torah," without which righteousness was unthinkable, was connected with the desire to carry out what the author of the second part of the Book of Leviticus called for. As can be seen, Jesus also calls His disciples and followers to the very same thing, though in somewhat different words. But He considers the main sign of the fullness of righteousness and the fullness of sanctification to be love, and love not only for friends and in general for those who love us, but also for enemies.

Of course, the Torah says something about love for enemies, and post-exilic Judaism considers love for enemies one of the signs of righteousness. But neither the Torah itself nor the post-exilic tradition requires love for enemies from a person as something absolutely necessary. Jesus, however, clearly poses the question in exactly this way.

What is this: a demand for the fullness of righteousness, which was formerly an ideal and now must become the norm? Probably yes. But why? Only out of a desire to see His disciples and followers as the best people in the world? Probably not for that reason, or at least not only for that reason. Rather, out of a desire to see them as inhabitants of the Kingdom. And in the Kingdom one must indeed be perfect. Not because others are looked down on there, but because in the Kingdom it makes sense only to be perfect or to become perfect. Otherwise there is nothing to do there, because there is no other way to participate in the fullness of the Kingdom's life. And without that, even being in it loses all meaning.

Christ's commandment to love our enemies, offenders, and persecutors is perhaps one of the commandments hardest for us to fulfill. Of course, one can say, "I love everyone, I forgive everyone, and I have no enemies," but few can say it sincerely. After all, anyone can be a person's enemy, even those closest to him; in fact, it is precisely among close people that the greatest tensions arise first of all - they wound most painfully, and from them one has to endure the hardest persecutions. Perhaps that is why the Lord said elsewhere, "A man's enemies will be those of his own household" (Mt 10:36).

And yet He calls us to love our enemies - both near and far. And we try to pray for and bless not those we like, not those who make us feel good, but those whom it is hardest to love - those who cause us pain. Someone may call this approach masochistic, but it is not: it is precisely what Christianity can set against masochism - the humility and meekness commanded to us not because life is easier that way, but because they are an inseparable characteristic of our Lord Himself. We are not obliged to follow His way of acting, but if we want to understand what true love and true happiness are, then we will have to learn to forgive our enemies.

'For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?' There is one remarkable saint - Mother Teresa of Calcutta. It is sometimes not easy for us to enter into the prayer experience of the saints, since we are completely different. But she has words that immediately penetrate the heart. And although they are addressed to another person, which means she surely addressed them to herself as well, one still wants to call them a prayer, for such things can be said only in the presence of God. So let us call this a prayer.

And when you think about it, it feels as if it arose as a response to today's reading. Here is what she once wrote: 'People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway. If you do something good, you will be accused of selfishness and ulterior motives. Do good anyway. If you succeed, you will gain false friends and true enemies. Work anyway. The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Honesty and openness will make you vulnerable. Even so, be honest and open. What you spent many years building may be destroyed in one minute. Build anyway. Your help is truly needed, but when you help people, they may attack you for it. Help anyway. You will give the world everything, and you will get your teeth knocked out. Even so, give the world everything.'

It is hard to take in what is said here. Here we are given the very commandments that opponents of Christianity have been used to mocking for centuries. Let us not deny that Christians themselves also find them hard to take in.

But let us note that Christ nowhere speaks of nonresistance to evil. After all, He Himself, in the wilderness not long before this, resisted temptations, that is, the same evil. What is being discussed here is nonresistance to the evil one, that is, to a person possessed by evil. But evil is the disease with which all of us are infected, and from which Christ wants to heal us.

In ordinary perception, the words about turning the right cheek have for too long seemed like another name for weakness and surrender. But for some reason few people notice that in many situations turning the cheek requires courage. For example, we may rightly say that a person who goes unarmed to meet enemies, whether a negotiator trying to enter talks about a ceasefire or someone going to take the place of captured hostages, is turning the other cheek for the sake of saving people. And in general, anyone who tries to stop hostility, especially deep-rooted hostility, risks being beaten by both sides. Yet such attempts do not cease.

If we think about it, we are offered here the most normal rules of behavior: not to be fixated on ourselves, not to be greedy, to forgive offenses. But these commandments are strengthened by the call not to divide people into ours and enemies. In essence, the Lord calls us to begin ending hostility and hatred.

And here Jesus reveals to us the height to which we are called to rise. He calls the disciples not simply to keeping the commandments or to piety; that is not enough. We must become perfect, as our Heavenly Father is perfect.

Of course, we are used to considering ourselves weak sinners, but neither sins nor weaknesses should rule over us, because Christ came precisely to free us from them.

What Christ offers us here still seems impossible to most people. But if we want to do only what is within our power, we will not have enough strength even for that.

Christ's words about love for enemies provoke perhaps more debate and more attempts at interpretation than anything else. Some reject them, defending their right to revenge and hatred of the enemy, while others, on the contrary, respond with the ideology of pacifism and nonresistance. But it seems that in both cases the driving force is the desire to secure oneself, to establish one's own invulnerability before the enemy - either by force or by indifference. The Gospel offers precisely a behavior built not on the pursuit of one's own safety, not on withdrawal into oneself, but on an active response to the offender: "bless, do good, pray..." And the point, it seems, is not pacifism and not the ability to endure pain and bear insults, but a far more difficult art - the ability to love.

Today's passage shows how seriously God takes us. Here Jesus speaks about what He would like us to be, without making any allowances for our weakness or infirmity. And as we honestly read these words, all we can do is be crushed: "I cannot do this. And I cannot do that. And I cannot do this either." So we read all the way to the last, forty-eighth verse, and almost with relief exhale: "Well, there, I told you I cannot!"

But, of course, here is also the answer to all our "I cannot." Only God can be perfect, and Christ's whole call to us is this: "Make room for God in your life, and it will become perfect!"

The psalm's concision expresses humanity's most intimate knowledge of God. It has been given through centuries of experience in the relationship between Creator and creation. It is difficult to accept and impossible to reject. We must accept that the horse's strength is not what matters, nor merits and achievements, nor the swiftness of legs. The one thing that matters is our hope in the One who can help us survive. The Creator of every living thing, who laid immutable laws at the world's foundation and teaches us to respect the world given to us for life—only in Him can we place our hope, and only from Him can we ask help and protection. For just as in His mercy He helps the raven's young, so He will not leave a human being without help and protection.

When reading the Psalms, one constantly comes up against an apparently unfair fact: God chooses some people and not others. This fact provokes an angry, childish reaction even in adults. Why is something given to one person but not to another? Why does someone else have a piece of candy while I do not?

Candy really is not so simple. But election and blessing, as the Psalm teaches us, are not a lollipop. They are responsibility, duty, and an awareness of the weight of one’s calling—which, for every believer, consists in praising, thanking, and singing to God despite all the apparent injustice of the world.

Before us is a song praising the greatness of God, who wisely created the universe. Everything in the universe is in His hand, from distant stars to small birds. Yet the list of His works begins by mentioning the building of Jerusalem and recounting the blessings He has bestowed upon people. This is no accident, for the Lord revealed in the Bible is not the “God of philosophers and scholars,” but the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He is not an abstract ruler of soulless space, but the living God, who created human beings in His image and likeness and entered into a close relationship with them.

When the psalmist calls people to sing to God in turn, we first remember those appointed to serve and sing in shifts in the Temple. But we may also think that all the faithful, not only singers set apart for special ministry, are called to sing praise, that is, to prayerful union with the Lord. For He knocks at everyone’s door.

The song of thanksgiving comes not only from the heart of one particular Psalmist; it reflects the feelings of the whole people and expresses their gratitude to the Creator for everything He has done for the people He chose. But He also sends wind and snow, the possibility of peaceful life, abundant harvests, and many other gifts to other peoples. These gifts cannot be called small; often they are more abundant than those given to Abraham's descendants.

But to the children of Abraham He gave His word and His statutes. Someone accustomed to measuring everything by the standards of material well-being may not immediately recognize the value of this gift, yet it is precisely this gift, unobtrusive against the background of evident gifts of nature, that proves to be the most important.

The one specially favored by God is not the person who makes extensive use of the fruits He created, but the one with whom He remains in communion.