NOTES for Jer 17:5-10; Luk 16:19-31

Today's Old Testament reading says that the one who withdraws from God will not see when good comes. And although this is a common biblical figure of speech meaning that no good will come at all, what matters for us here is that this is connected with a person's personal choice. When we withdraw from the Lord, we go into the wilderness. When we turn away from Him, we refuse to see the good. A person who chooses the way of unrighteousness plugs his ears and closes his eyes - and therefore does not hear the Good News.

A person who hopes in God gains an inexhaustible spring of life. No external, and not even internal, circumstances (for drought often happens in our hearts too) can deprive us of the living water that the Lord gives.

But the most interesting thing is that both parts of this passage apply to us. None of us can say that we have never, even for a moment, relied on flesh, that is, on purely human, worldly wisdom, which the apostle Paul called foolishness before God (1 Cor. 3:19). At the same time, each of us has been given the living water of the Lord's love, and every Christian has experience of drought endured in the peace of Christ, which surpasses all understanding. So both indifference and the freedom of the glory of the children of God are realities of our life. And every day, every minute, is an opportunity to choose: what or Whom am I hoping in?

Jeremiah's words about the fate of the righteous person and the sinner could be taken as ordinary exhortations to a righteous life. But there is something in his preaching that makes us see them quite differently. It is no accident that the prophet speaks of God, who knows the human heart as no person knows their own.

In the language of the Bible, the heart is the spiritual centre of the human person, their spiritual ‘self’, the very centre where choices are made and decisions taken. It is the heart that determines what a person will be before God and before other people. A person's spiritual path is also determined by the heart. God does not watch over a person in order to punish or reward them.

God looks into a person's heart to understand where they are going. And to discover whether there is room for Him in that heart and on that path. After all, this is the only way to determine whether the person before us is righteous or a sinner. In the Bible, both righteousness and sinfulness are regarded not as a person's properties but as states in which they find themselves. These states are connected with the relationship between God and the human person. Or with its absence.

Righteousness is not, in fact, natural to human beings at all; God alone is righteous, as the Bible says in various words and forms. But a person can become righteous if they trust God and allow Him to shape their life. Day after day. Step by step. It is no accident that the Bible describes righteousness as a path. A person's path of following God. Despite their own sinfulness. And the oasis at the end of the path, where a spring of living water flows, is not a reward as such, but the completion of the journey. Just as life in a barren desert is the consequence of losing one's way. The waywardness that characterises the sinner.

The oasis and the dry, waterless desert symbolise a goal reached or not reached. A life lived with meaning and understanding, or a meaningless life. It is no accident that the Torah speaks of the way of life and the way of death. It is not God who kills a person for their sin. Sin itself kills the person who refuses to follow the path of righteousness. Not always immediately, but always inevitably. For there is only one Kingdom. And only one life. And only one salvation — in this Kingdom and in this life. Because the alternative to the Kingdom and to life is emptiness and death. And it depends on the person alone which path they choose.

The Gospel says little about what "life after life" is like, and most likely this silence is due to the fact that the road to heaven passes over the earth, where we are to live according to our calling. But here before us is a story that slightly opens the mysterious veil. Even here, however, the focus of our attention is not the details of existence beyond the grave, which are mentioned briefly, but the meaning of the story as applied to our life.

And so we see how a man who thoughtlessly lived for his own pleasure ends up in hell because he has already received everything in earthly life. One might ask, what wrong did he do? True, he did not feed Lazarus, who was lying by the house like a filthy homeless man, but after all, one cannot feed everyone. Nothing else bad is said about this rich man; it is not mentioned that he robbed or murdered anyone. Why, then, did he end up in hell?

It must not be "for what," but "why": not because he enjoyed earthly pleasures, but because they blocked God from his sight. Just as the same substances can, depending on dosage and proportions, be either medicine or poison, so the gifts the Lord created to satisfy our needs can become destructive if because of them we stop noticing the Creator.

And this story also contains an important prophecy: if people do not listen to well-known prophetic words, they will not believe even the One who rises from the dead. To this day, it is difficult for those who hope for endless life amid earthly luxury to believe the Risen One. But when He descended into hell, He overcame the great chasm that until then could not be crossed.

Christ tells a rather frightening parable about how one indifferent man, who paid no attention to the suffering of his neighbor, ended up in hell in a completely irreversible way. But the thing is that parables are told not about hell or paradise, but about you and me, about how we are to live on this earth. The point is not that we are being frightened with the torments of hell, but that a definite alternative is placed before us: to try to "receive all the good things in life" or to see the pain and loneliness of someone who was less fortunate in this life than we were. And here the decision must be made completely freely, because if a person is deaf to the voice of conscience, to human and divine law, then he can be frightened with hell or anything else as much as one likes: even if someone rises from the dead, he will not believe. And all that is needed is simply to tear ourselves away from our own happiness, or unhappiness, and share "at least the crumbs" of our life, for that is why it was given to us...

Reflecting on today's text, one can notice one of its features. The rich man's name is not given. Lazarus's name, by contrast, is given. One may think, what is so special about that? But if we try to recall other parables and stories in the Gospel, it becomes clear that the names of bad people are almost nowhere mentioned, with those rare exceptions when not mentioning them is impossible, as in the case of Judas, Caiaphas, and Pontius Pilate, because this is factual testimony to historical authenticity. This differs from the Old Testament. If one were to sketch, somewhat conditionally, two tables for the Old and New Testaments, each with two columns, names of evil people and names of good people, then in the first case these columns would, perhaps, be comparable in length, also with some qualification, simply as a trend. But in the case of the New Testament... It seems that the column of good names would be much longer than that of evil names. Not, of course, because there was much less evil. But this seems to be a sign of the new theology of the New Testament. Several reasons can be given for this.

A name is something very important for a Christian. Why? For some, because of superstition; someone sees in a name some sacred meaning; we often hear from our contemporaries that by giving your child a name you influence his destiny. But superstitions leave no room for true faith, and true faith lies in the very important circumstance that, by assigning Adam the right to give names to the things He had created, the Lord called the human being to participate in His Creation. To give a name means to share creativity in the world with God; a name serves, as it were, as an icon of Synergy.

Why does a person change his name when being tonsured a monk? There is an opinion that this is done in order to break completely with one's life in the world. Such an interpretation seems doubtful: life in the world, from the point of view of Orthodox doctrine, is not in any way considered something lower in relation to life in monasticism. The fact that a monk changes his name, on the contrary, testifies to the meaning of the name as an icon of co-working. And so Jesus comes and, as it were, renews that moment when Adam gave names to the animals and birds.

Such a small ratio of evil names to good ones in the Gospel draws, as it were, an icon of the Kingdom of Heaven, where evil will no longer exist. Let us note in parentheses that icons differ from paintings precisely in this: above every saint depicted on an icon, and above all, above the Lord, there is always a name. Evil is described, but it is not named, and by that very fact it is allotted, as it were, a lesser degree of existence, just as Adam, by giving names, completed the creation of things in the world.

The parable of the rich man and Lazarus is one of the hardest for us to understand. Much of this is because we read a written text, while Christ's parables are an oral genre. When we read a book, we can go back and consider different shades of meaning, but the listeners did not have that opportunity and grasped one or two essential images. Therefore, when Jesus wanted to communicate something truly new, He presented the background information in keeping with the system of ideas His listeners had. Check it: all His parables are built this way.

The two most essential points in this parable are, of course, its final phrase about the one who will rise from the dead, and the connection between existence here and existence after death. For the rest, Jesus relies on traditional ideas: Abraham's bosom, Sheol - without yet trying to change them. All of that still lies ahead: after descending into Hades following His death on the cross, Jesus abolishes the idea of Sheol as a place where God is not present.

Atheists and skeptics who assert their unbelief in God very often appeal to the claim that the miracles spoken of by believers are inventions, that they do not want to believe in them, and that this is the main thing repelling them from faith. Today the Lord says very important words to them and to us: if they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they believe if someone rises from the dead. In reality, then, they are mistaken about the causes of their unbelief. Even if a miracle happened before their very eyes, they would not believe it.

Only the word of God—"Moses and the prophets"—teaches us to discern a miracle. A miracle can be seen only by a heart filled with the divine word, because "what is essential is invisible to the eye," as Saint-Exupéry's character said. Just as the eyes of the rich man's five brothers would not have helped them recognize in the man who might come to them the risen Lazarus, so the eyes of today's unbelievers do not help them see that "the whole earth is veiled in the smoke of the Lord's love."

It is the last words that Jesus makes go out of Abraham's mouth in the parable of the Rich man and of Lazarus. Certainly, the parable is first of all about a posthumous reward, even if it is not the only meaning. We are in general, let say used to this meaning, however for the Jews, first people to listen to this parable, it was an important and new revelation. But the last words of the Lord's parable talk about the testimony of the Resuscitated from the deaths: "…neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead ". Of course, it is here about His Resurrection, and it is essential for us to know that a man is capable of believing the Resuscitated only if he "hears Moses and the Prophets". It is necessary to note that the expression "Moses and the prophets" means first of all the Bible in all its completeness as it was known and accepted when Jesus was on earth. Secondly the word “hear" in this context doesn't mean as much an aural perception, as obedience, the execution of God's word. The great sign of Resurrection will not bring us to change our lives if we do not execute God's word.

“Cursed is the person who trusts in man”—in our endlessly tangled relationships with God and the world, we are unable to help one another reach the surface; in this we can rely on no one, including ourselves. We can hope only in God, but the distance to Him is inscribed “with a diamond point on the tablets of the heart”: the human being is incurably sick with the inability to love. This is a rather pessimistic picture, but it closely resembles the truth. And from this despair a new hope grows (one cannot live entirely without hope)—not hope in our own faith and love, but hope that God Himself will come and put everything right. And He came and put it right—then, on the Friday when the curtain in the temple was torn, the curtain that separated humanity from a fatal encounter with the Holy One. The door toward life has stood open for two thousand years.

The places where pagan rites were performed had become so dear to the people that the prophecy compares the people's attitude toward them with their attitude toward their own sons. But sons are those who are to inherit everything their parents have; meanwhile, what the parents possess has been received from the Lord. It turns out that they intend to hand His gifts over to false gods, hateful to Him. Such actions are already more than turning away from the Lord: they are the defilement of the gifts of His love.

Hearing the warning that those who turn away from God will be written on the dust, we remember His words spoken to the first human being after he first turned away from Him: dust you are, and to dust you shall return. Dust will be scattered by the wind, and no trace of it will be found; all that apostates hope in will turn to dust. We also remember how Jesus wrote on the ground - on that same dust - in the moments when the accusers brought a sinful woman to Him. These episodes of the Old and New Testaments are interconnected, and what was written on the dust reminded sinners of their own wrongs.

But again the prophet reminds us that sinners are given the possibility of correcting their ways. Through the prophet, the Lord calls them to remember the Sabbath day, and in this context that means something more than simply observing an established tradition: it means dedicating oneself completely and one's whole life to the Lord, just as the seventh day is dedicated to Him.

Speaking of the new era that began with his coming, Jesus describes it this way: the Torah and the prophets were until John—clearly John the Baptist—and now, a ‘now’ that continues to this day, people enter the Kingdom by making the effort this requires. Yet this certainly does not mean that the Torah has lost its force and is no longer needed: heaven and earth will pass away sooner than a single stroke of the Torah disappears.

The Saviour's words make it clear that we live in the era of the Kingdom's coming. The former order of things has passed into history, whether we realise it or not. The era of the Kingdom's coming means that everyone who seeks it can share in it, but doing so requires the appropriate effort. Clearly, the moment must one day come when the Kingdom triumphs in full, a moment bound up with Christ's appearing in glory. The central spiritual content of the present era, however, is precisely the process of the Kingdom's entering the world.

The Torah is not thereby left in the past. This is understandable: the Torah is not, strictly speaking, a religious phenomenon, but a spiritual one. It is not merely legislation given by God or a moral code he established; it is a revelation of the spiritual laws that govern a person's relationships with God and with other people. As such, the Torah obviously cannot lose its significance in any era, even when the Kingdom is revealed in all its fullness.

At the present stage of history, in the era of the Kingdom's coming, those who seek the Kingdom need the Torah as a means of shaping their spiritual life. For the Kingdom enters the world with human participation—with the participation of those in whose hearts it has found a place. But for the heart to be ready not only to receive but also to retain that breath of the Kingdom without which there is no Christianity, it needs the Torah: the inner Torah that gives a certain form to our existence and shapes our spiritual life.

Otherwise, God's breath, the breath of the Kingdom, having touched us and even entered our hearts, will leave us as easily as it came. There will simply be no vessel in our hearts in which it can be held. Then every touch of God's breath will mean beginning a new life from scratch. And every joyful sharing in this new life will be followed by a retreat to our former state. The inner Torah is needed precisely to prevent such a retreat. Down to the last stroke. In all its fullness.

In the Gospel, parallels are very often drawn between earthly and heavenly wealth. This is no accident, because life always works out so that some people always have more of something (material or spiritual) than others.

Perhaps the central words in this chapter are verses 9-12. Do we realize that everything we have is not ours? That it has been given to us only as stewards, who must rightly manage what they have? And Christians (and human beings in general) can have only one goal: to make God's eternal love real in their own place, that is, to serve one another. Therefore, if we use this wealth that belongs to another rightly (guided by love), then in return we will receive what is truly our own: the fruits that grow out of such relationships, abiding in God's love and light.

Today's reading brings us back to the theme of Gospel poverty, which Jesus regards above all as a spiritual state. The question of unrighteous wealth has been relevant in every age, and the steward in the parable quoted in this passage naturally knew perfectly well what a person who had broken the eighth commandment was required to do: he had to return what he had stolen and add something beyond the amount taken. This is precisely what the thieving steward does. When his master is already prepared to dismiss him (vv. 1–3), he thinks about his future and not only returns everything stolen to his master, but at the same time lightens the burden of his master's debtors in order to earn their gratitude (vv. 4–7). Thus this man not only atones for his own sin, but also does good to his neighbours. It is hardly surprising that such conduct restores his master's trust in him: a person who not only returns what he stole, but also helps his neighbours can be trusted, and such repentance deserves praise (v. 8).

The problem of wealth is thus placed in the context of relationships and priorities. Even when wealth has been acquired dishonestly, or, to put it simply, when it is stolen, the main point is not its redistribution in itself, but helping particular people and thereby establishing (or restoring) relationships with them, without which a person finds that he has nowhere to go. In this case, as in all others, the central question is one of priorities, of what matters more: relationships with God and other people, or wealth. Jesus speaks of this directly at the end of the parable (vv. 9–13).

The same applies to the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (vv. 19–31), but here the question of wealth is considered in the context of the messianic and eschatological perspective. The path of the rich man and the path of the poor man are shown in keeping with the traditional biblical idea of two ways, one of which leads to the Kingdom, “to Abraham's bosom” (v. 22), while the other leads to Sheol, the world of shadows, from which there is no escape and whose inhabitants have no path to the Kingdom (vv. 23–26; Sheol is called “hell” here). The meaning of the parable is perfectly transparent: wealth hid a human being from its owner and, together with that person, the Kingdom as well. For the rich man everything begins and ends in our limited world, where he receives everything, but where neither the Kingdom nor eternal life can be found. And no evidence will persuade someone who is not ready to break through the boundaries of the untransformed world (vv. 27–31), for each person chooses his own path and receives what he has chosen.