NOTES for Luk 12:39-48

We constantly put off repentance until the last moment. Right now one can still sin, but on such and such a day I will go to confession and repent there; or when I am dying, then I will repent; or in general, when the Lord asks me at the Judgment, then I will repent!

We deceive God. After all, we know that He is with us all the time, that He sees us all the time. We know that we must always strive to imitate Him, not out of fear of punishment, but because with our sins we drive nails into His palms. And we can ask forgiveness right away, so that it will not seem to us that we can "store up" sins and then dump them on God. God carries our burden on Himself all the time, so that it will not be too heavy to bear.

But we can help Him carry at least a small corner of the Cross, for His Cross is made up of our crosses.

A person gets used to everything. To good things quickly, to bad things more slowly, but still gets used to them. That is why the apostle Paul gives so much attention to how those who have acknowledged their liberation from sin will live their life.

Our salvation is accomplished in eternity, but we receive it in time. It is easy to get used to the astonishing gift of freedom from sin and life in grace, and just as easy to return to existence under the old laws. The Gospel reminds us how repulsive life is for the one who "knew, but forgot" the price at which our life was paid for. The issue is not that we must fear punishment for returning to sin. Our task is never to get used to the fact that our life and grace were paid for by the price of Christ's blood.

Do we really believe that Jesus will come again? And if we do, are we waiting Him? And if yes, how are we waiting him: with a merry impatience (fast, Fast!), or with fear (oops, only not now!).

What do we have more in us: faith in Jesus and the desire to meet Him or the fear of His justice and pressing forward to avoid His glance?

The answer to this question depends on the way we regard our preparation to His advent. It is clear that we cannot be totally ready, and that is why it is said that He will come "as a thief, at night", and on the other hand He exactly delays His advent so that we could get ready (see 2 Peter 3:9). And if we are afraid of this advent, if Jesus is an austere Judge for us, then we shall repeat all the time consciously or unconsciously: "no, don't, I am not yet ready" - and not hurry up to be ready. But if His glance is for us a glance of love, if our heart looks for a meeting with Him, then we shall wait every day for His advent, crying internally: "Maranatha! The Lord is coming!”

In answering the Apostle Peter’s question about the parable of people awaiting their master’s return, Christ speaks of two things that are very important in our relationship with God. The first is faithfulness to God, the readiness to do His will in whatever He sees fit to entrust to you. In several parables the Lord uses this image: an absent master or king who has left his property in the care of servants. We may suppose that this image conveys something essential about the position in which God places us and the tasks He sets before us. And we can carry out this commission, which gives meaning to human existence, either according to the Master’s will or at our own discretion. It is of the fruits of this choice that the Lord speaks: ‘Blessed is that servant whom his master, when he comes, will find doing so.’ This is said of the faithful steward, faithful precisely to the Master’s commission.

The second important point is contained in the words: ‘…from everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required.’ This refers first of all to the people of God, both old and new, to those who truly know the Master’s will, which has been declared to them plainly: ‘He has told you, O man, what is good and what the Lord requires of you: to act justly, to love deeds of mercy and to walk humbly before your God’ (Mic 6:8). But in a broader sense these words refer to humanity’s unique place in creation: to be the image and likeness of God, part of the Body of Christ.

Jesus' words about the division He brought into the world trouble some readers of the Gospel, especially today. Unity seems more appropriate to us now than division; we would like all divisions between people to disappear. Unity seems better than division to us by definition.

And so it is when secondary matters are concerned. From the Gospel's perspective, as from that of spiritual life in general, all our divisions—cultural, linguistic, racial, even religious—are essentially secondary. They do not touch what matters most: our relationships with God and their dynamics. From the Gospel's perspective, as from that of spiritual life in general, it is precisely the dynamics of our relationships with God and our neighbors that are central; everything else is secondary. In this respect, people fall into only two categories: those whose lives contain a relationship with God and its associated dynamics, and those whose lives do not.

Of course, a complete absence of relationship with God means the complete destruction of the person, often followed by physical destruction as well. But we can speak of these relationships developing and growing stronger, or of their gradual deterioration, their tendency toward complete breakdown. Ultimately, in the context and perspective of the Kingdom entering the world, we must speak of striving for the fullness of the Kingdom's life or of self-isolation: an attempt to shut oneself away and create one's own small, closed world, becoming its king, its sole master and ruler. The fallen world exists in precisely this isolation. Thus the central Christian division is between those seeking the life of the Kingdom and those content with the life of this world, the fallen world.

Here division really is absolutely inevitable. These two spiritual directions are incompatible, not because some people are “spiritual” and others are not, but because some seek life and move toward it, while others are content with a life of dying, a gradual sinking into the death that reigns in the fallen world. These are not different views or convictions, but opposite directions of spiritual movement, which inevitably divide those who choose them. After all, people going in different, opposite directions cannot remain united.

In our stereotyped notions, Christianity is usually covered with a certain sugary coating. Psychologically, this rosy, sentimental stereotype is quite understandable, but it is nevertheless inadequate. That is precisely why the Lord’s words in today’s passage from Luke’s Gospel so often shock and frighten us. The fire he came to cast upon the earth, division among those close to one another—these are the last things we want. And when he says that his disciples, following him, will also be brought before kings and tribunals, we stop our ears altogether, just to avoid applying these words to ourselves. Yet faith is nothing like syrup poured over human life and the whole world. Faith concerns life and death, and there comes a moment when compromise is impossible for a believer. The Lord says that we are called to recognize in our hearts the time when our faithfulness to God is being tested. This can happen in very different ways, but in any case the preservation of everyday comfort is not guaranteed. We are called to cover the sins of the world with love and forgiveness, but not to consent to them. That is why the world hates Jesus’ disciples, just as it hates Jesus himself. The division he speaks of today results from a human choice: to be with him, or to remain in the rosy, conflict-free realm of death.

The Saviour's words about the division He brings into the world may seem harsh to the point of cruelty: division means confrontation, and when matters are so serious, sooner or later it will inevitably lead to outright war. Yet evidently, where the Kingdom is concerned, confrontation is unavoidable. So is war, if we mean spiritual war. Spiritual, because what is at stake is the confrontation between the Kingdom, which, in Jesus' words, is ‘not of this world’, and this very world. The issue is not anyone's cruelty or intolerance, but the real incompatibility of the untransfigured world with the Kingdom. It is no accident that the Saviour points to the world's opposition to the Kingdom as a sign of the end of time: that end comes in such a frightening form precisely because the Kingdom and ‘this world’ cannot coexist in the same space.

Now the internal conflicts that arise in the fallen world because of its fallen condition cease to be fundamental: it is better to make peace with an adversary without taking the matter to court. Not because the adversary must always be right, but because times are coming when there will be more pressing concerns than lawsuits. And the issue, of course, is not that the very nature of the untransfigured world is utterly incompatible with the Kingdom. In its present form it is indeed incompatible, but it can be transfigured by God's breath, and then it will become a fully organic part of the new world.

But the Kingdom is indeed incompatible by definition with the evil in which, as the Gospel says, the fallen world lies. Hence the confrontation of which Jesus speaks. Over its two-thousand-year history, Christianity has often been accused of hating the world and opposing it. In reality, however, Christians—apart, of course, from religious extremes and spiritual abnormalities—have never opposed the world, never waged war on it, and certainly never wished for its destruction.

But the Church as a whole and individual Christians have always struggled for this world against the world itself: for the new world being transfigured by the Kingdom's power and breath, against the evil in which it lies. This confrontation must be regarded as the central confrontation of our age, the age of the coming Kingdom. And unlike conflicts that unfold within the untransfigured world and according to its laws, which can sometimes be quelled, the central conflict—the conflict between the Kingdom and the forces of evil at work in the fallen world—will end only on the day of the Kingdom's triumph and the complete defeat of those who oppose it.

The theme of suddenness, of the unexpected, often appears in the Saviour's parables about the Kingdom. As with the master of the house who appears when his servants are not expecting his return at all. Such a sudden visit can serve as a kind of emergency drill: since one never knows exactly what to expect, one has to remain constantly ready for anything.

This is, of course, an important quality for spiritual life, and for life in general. But it is not only a matter of constant readiness. It is also a matter of the inward state that such readiness presupposes. Being ready for everything at all times is impossible in principle—at least in the sense in which we speak of readiness in relation to life in this world. In our world, readiness usually means responses planned in advance for particular situations that have likewise been anticipated.

These responses are set out in the relevant instructions, which those responsible for making decisions are required to follow. But anticipating every possible situation is an impossible task. This is not even because there are infinitely many of them, but because, at any given moment, we are capable in principle of forecasting only certain kinds of situation, related to what we know at that moment. In other words, at any given moment a situation can, in principle, arise that is absolutely unpredictable.

Absolutely unpredictable means impossible to predict not because of a lack of information or forecasting tools, but in principle—even if we had all the information existing in the world at that moment and every forecasting tool possible at that same moment within the limits allowed by the nature of our world.

In the development of any complex system, there are moments when its future development cannot, in principle, be predicted from its current state. Scientists call such moments bifurcation points. But the system remains unpredictable only when viewed from outside. From within, the situation looks different: everything depends entirely either on chance or on the choice of the person who finds themselves in such a situation.

The Saviour's return and the fullness of the Kingdom, revealed in its entirety, entail the world passing through just such a bifurcation point: a moment when nothing can be calculated or predicted in advance, and everything is determined by each person's concrete choice. If a person shares in the life of the Kingdom even before that moment comes, the moment itself does not take them completely by surprise, throw them off course or disorient them to the point of being utterly unable to make decisions. This is what it means to be ready to meet the returning master. The King. And the Kingdom in all its fullness.

Today's reading touches on another theme, one very important for understanding what life in the Kingdom is. But the meaning of what Jesus says becomes clear only in the context of the situation of that transitional era which began with the coming of the Savior and in which we live. It could be called the era of the advancing Kingdom, and it will be completed by Jesus' return. But since we do not know the exact timing of this return, readiness is required always, every day and every hour.

In fact, this is the meaning of the parables Jesus tells (vv. 36-48). When the Gospel speaks about the nearness of the Kingdom, what is meant is not the date of Christ's second coming, but the fact that the Kingdom has already entered the world, that its presence for us today is no longer future but present; and if we notice nothing of the sort, it is only because we do not want to notice. Of course, sometimes for those to whom God entrusts ministries connected with the Kingdom, the apparent remoteness of the time when the process will be completed has a relaxing effect, like the effect produced on the unrestrained servant in the parable by the thought that the master was far away (v. 45).

It is not surprising that those who knew everything and, despite everything, allowed themselves to relax are called to a more serious account than those who knew less (vv. 47-48). What is interesting is something else. In the world there are those who know more and those who know less, but, as one can see, there are none who know nothing. It is no accident that Jesus compares the signs of the advancing Kingdom to the signs by which people in those days recognized a coming change in the weather: they were just as obvious and just as understandable to everyone, so that it was simply impossible not to notice them at all and understand nothing (vv. 54-57).

That is why the coming of the Kingdom divides people, and the division, as one can see, does not run along any national, class, or religious border, but across all borders, separating those who accept the Kingdom from those who reject it, people sometimes living not only in one country and one city, but even in one house (vv. 51-53). And this happens not because God needs divisions, but because the Kingdom is an absolute reality; it is impossible to enter it partly or halfway, and even entering it "almost completely" will not work: one enters the Kingdom either to the end and without looking back, or one does not enter at all. That is why in the Church, according to the word of the Apostle Paul, there can be "neither Greek nor Jew": if the Church remains the Kingdom and does not turn into a religious organization, one among many, then only one division remains relevant for it: between those who accept the Kingdom and those who reject it. All other divisions are conditional and relative; this one is absolute, as absolute as the division between eternal life and eternal death can be.

The coming of the Kingdom of God is a mystery perhaps no less profound than the mystery of the Kingdom itself. The Lord therefore calls the disciples to keep watch, lest they miss or sleep through the Kingdom's coming into their lives. This probably does not refer merely to constant readiness for death or for Christ's Second Coming.

Christ also enters a person's life when that person least expects it: at any moment we may find ourselves facing a vitally important choice or a decisive encounter. Woe to the person who fails to notice Christ at the moment when he is called to take part in bringing about God's Kingdom. It is not that God will take offence and punish him, but that, by passing this Kingdom by, he will miss the most important event and the most important encounter of his life. Therefore, as the final Encounter approaches, the Lord calls people not to miss His presence even now, here on the way towards the triumph of God's Kingdom.

All of Jesus' earthly preaching speaks of the approaching Kingdom. And He gives very much attention to our readiness to enter it. The coming of this Kingdom includes judgment and division, because in it one cannot be lukewarm and cannot serve two masters. And while we are on the way to it, we have an opportunity, perhaps the last one, to make peace with the one who will accuse us at the judgment. It may be our conscience, it may be people whom we have wronged, and it may also be the Lord Himself, as in the parable of the Last Judgment (Matt. 25). And the more the sprout of Christ's Kingdom grows in our hearts, the sooner we need to run to make peace with our adversaries, so that we come to judgment with them already as friends.

The Saviour often speaks of the master's return—meaning, as one may readily guess, Himself—as an unexpected event. Although this unexpectedness may itself be expected, judging by Jesus' words it is quite possible that those waiting will be unprepared to meet the One they await. Why is this? Much can of course be explained by uncertainty about the time: it is not easy to keep oneself constantly ready; this demands too much inward strain.

Jesus Himself does not regard that argument as an excuse. He says plainly that if the householder knew when the thief would try to break into his house, life would be much easier—but, alas, that is not how things are. Nevertheless, if the householder wants to protect his house, he must always be on his guard. So must the servants awaiting their master, unless they want trouble from their unexpectedly returning lord. Clearly, a Christian's spiritual life requires constant spiritual alertness, without which one cannot remain in the Kingdom. Of course, one could say that any serious spiritual or ascetic system requires the same of its adherents. It could hardly be otherwise: this is a spiritual path, on which all kinds of unexpected things are possible.

Moreover, without maintaining spiritual alertness, we can forget about moving forward: every step on a spiritual path requires effort, as does the very ability to hold the new position reached through that effort. Otherwise, if a person relaxes spiritually, they can easily slide back to their former state. But spiritual alertness has special significance for life in the Kingdom. In the age of the advancing Kingdom, every inhabitant of it inevitably stands on the boundary between two worlds. Without the necessary efforts, one can easily fall out of the Kingdom's spiritual realm and find oneself wholly under the power of the evil in which the untransformed world lies.

Then there can no longer be any question of readiness to meet the Risen One. One cannot prepare for that meeting in a single instant: a spiritual process involving the transformation of human nature is required. For that process we have been given the time between the Saviour's coming into the world and His future return in glory. What the meeting will be like depends on how we use that time.

"Fear not, little flock!" That was also the title of an article by Fr. Georgy Chistyakov, which contains the following passage:

"If we analyze Sacred Scripture on the basis of what linguists call the 'frequency' of the use of a given word, we discover that almost 370 times in it there is the call: 'Fear not!' It is addressed now to Abraham, now to Jacob, now to Gideon in the Old Testament, now to the apostles and the myrrh-bearing women in the Gospel. This call is constant and insistent. God does not say: do not be afraid of this or that. He addresses us with extreme simplicity: do not be afraid. Never and of nothing! Of course, fear is embedded in our nature from the beginning - as are many other things. But some natural traits must be developed, while others must be outgrown. Overcome. God addresses precisely our animal memory: 'Fear not, little flock!' - and even more sharply: 'I send you as sheep among wolves.'" ("Ogonyok," 1999).

Everything here is said with the utmost precision and unity; it is hard to add anything. Still, one can recall these well-known words of the evangelist: "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear, because fear has torment. The one who fears is not perfected in love" (1 John 4:18). For us this is paradoxical; with us everything is usually the other way around: the more we love, the more we fear for the beloved. But that is only the beginning of love. After all, if the Lord is all-good, and the final "station" will be the state when "God is all in all," then what is there for us to fear? Only to endure and wait remains, and to endure and wait means to believe. But the fearful thing stands clearly before our eyes, while the angelic world is hidden. How can one not be afraid? How can one not want to eat, not want to sleep, and so on... It is impossible. And precisely because of this impossibility, this is something utterly true.

I will accept all, take all that You give,
Whatever You give, whatever You send me.
Let wild folly come to pass,
Let dark falsehood envelop me.
Grant that I may hear You amid the lie
And not confuse Your voice with another.
Help me, strengthen me, uphold me
With Your careful breath.
(Yuly Shreider)

"Let wild folly come to pass" - somehow these words really are frightening. Still, as another poet said, "We do not need to fear this darkness, and we will not pretend to be happy" (B. Okudzhava).