NOTES for Joh 14:27-31

Speaking about the peace that is not from this world, Jesus calls His disciples not to be afraid. The issue, of course, is peace in the sense in which this word is used in Yahwism and Judaism, and later began to be used by Christians: peace as God's presence, or more precisely, as the effect of God's presence on human nature, which evokes in a person a sense of inner peace and rest. But the main thing is not the sensations, but the Presence itself. It was, of course, familiar to those seeking God even before the coming of Christ, especially to Yahwists, for God never abandoned His people.

But to be completely delivered from fear: that had never happened. Even those who seemed to stand firmly on the path of righteousness experienced fear. This is understandable: righteousness is not naturally characteristic of the human person. It is not a property or quality of fallen humanity; it is only a state in which one can abide, but which is easy to lose. In essence, a fallen person is righteous in spite of his nature. And in any case he has to oppose the evil and sin that he carries within himself. This means that fears too can find a place in the life of a righteous person. Until human nature is transformed fully and to the end, they cannot be finally removed.

One can only make sure that they do not determine the course of spiritual life and of life in general. But with the coming of Christ the situation changed: with Him the Kingdom entered the world. And this means the possibility of that very full and final transformation of human nature. And accordingly, deliverance from all fears connected with the fall, including the fear of death and the fear of what people consider supernatural, the two main fears of modern humanity. In the Kingdom there are no fears, and Jesus calls His disciples precisely there. After Himself.

During the Last Supper Jesus is constantly trying to convey one simple thought to His disciples: He is leaving, but life goes on. And not just life, but life in the Kingdom. More than that: His departure is connected with the process by which that very Kingdom is being established. The Kingdom's entry into the world and its unfolding in the world. He is leaving for the sake of accomplishing the very thing for which He came.

That is why He says to the disciples: if you really loved Me, you would rejoice at My departure. I am going to accomplish exactly what you say you are waiting for. But the apostles do not understand this. They do not understand what sort of Kingdom this is, whose King must leave in order for it to appear. Humanly speaking, it could not be understood. In this world things do not happen that way. Here everything is the opposite: if the king disappears, that means the kingdom is gone as well. A kingdom, after all, at least in the sense in which it was understood in antiquity, is first of all a king and subjects, not a territory.

Territory can be acquired. But if there is no king, then there definitely will be no kingdom, even if everything is fine with the territory. If for no other reason, then because without a king order will very quickly disappear. The disciples, of course, understood all this perfectly, and that is why they were perplexed by the strange behavior, as it seemed to them, of the Teacher. Instead of beginning the creation of the messianic Kingdom and taking at least some understandable and natural steps toward it, He appears to be preparing to go somewhere, to hide.

Why? The only reasonable explanation that could have occurred to the disciples was the thought that He wanted to gather more people before beginning the uprising. Maybe He has secret followers. Maybe He is going specifically to them, so that He can return with forces more impressive than the eleven people who were present. After all, there were many who sympathized with Him, and the meeting at the entrance to Jerusalem had been solemn.

In any case, when Jesus rose from the table and called the disciples to follow Him, they understood that something was about to happen. Maybe at last something would happen that, if it did not explain the matter, would at least give a hint at the solution. All the more because, for now, He seems to be calling them to follow Him, which means that whatever happens, they will in any case take part in what is going on. The apostles' trust in Jesus remained, despite their lack of understanding. And that is what matters most: it is enough to follow Christ, despite all perplexities.

Jesus compares His listeners to branches on a grapevine, and not to fruitless branches, which are cut off, but to fruitful branches that the vinedresser must cleanse from pests, from growths and scars that take away the sap. The Lord says that the word He preached has brought His disciples such cleansing.

What does He mean? Perhaps that His word, His preaching, builds in a person a clear dominant focus, an awareness of the meaning of life and its direction. A word can crush, but it can also heal. The word of Christ, if it is heard and accepted, gives a person inner wholeness; it becomes in him an active power that allows him to bring joy and light into the world, for it is a word about God's love for us and about our love, a word about salvation and eternal life.

Jesus compares His listeners to branches of the vine, moreover not with fruitless branches- which are to be taken away - but rather with fruitful branches, which the husbandman should clean – from saboteurs, from excrescence and notches removing juices. The lord says that the word, which He taught, brought to His followers such a cleaning. What does He mean? Probably the fact that His word, His preaching, builds in man a precise dominant, a comprehension of the meaning of life, its tendency. Word can afflict, but it can also heal. Christ's word gives to man an internal integrity when it is heard and accepted; it becomes in him an effective strength, allowing bringing joy and light into the world - it is indeed a word of God's love towards us and of our love, it is word of salvation and everlasting life.

The image of the vine is astonishing in how much it tells us about relations with God. And all this comes from the mouth of Jesus Himself. How wonderful it is to understand that you are not alone in this world: everything that happens to you comes from God. And He also gives the strength to accept it, just as the vine nourishes the branches. Besides, there is also the Vinedresser, attentively watching over His vineyard (see Jn. 15:1-2). It is enough to imagine the caring hands of the vinedresser, everything he does, tying up and cleansing each branch, in order to understand how God cares for us. The branches need only be aware that they are branches, not trying to become the vine, and accept the Father's care.

Is Jesus not too rash in promising the fulfillment of our desires? And what if I desire... well, something improper? But what "improper" thing will I desire if His word truly abides in me? Not in a book on the shelf, not in someone else's sermon, but in me myself? What "improper" thing will my will want if I exist as an organ inside a body whose head, that is, the One who makes the main decisions, is Christ Himself?

Describing the Kingdom, Jesus turns to the image of a vineyard, a vine, traditional for Yahwism and Judaism. But into this traditional image He places a new meaning connected with the essence of the Kingdom that He brought into the world. Of course, there is also room here for the traditional understanding of the Kingdom as a place where only one will acts: the will of God, who created the world. It is no accident that Jesus says that the "prince of this world" "has nothing in Him": for the Kingdom He brought into the world does not exist according to the laws of this world, so that the "prince of this world" can have no power over it, even though the Kingdom, while abiding in our untransfigured world, constantly touches it.

But the image of the vine also becomes an image of relations within the Kingdom, where all are connected with one another and with Christ just as branches are on a vine. This bond is absolute, immediate, and organic: every branch is a continuation of the vine; if it is torn off, it dries up. All the branches live one life with the vine, fed with it by the same sap from one source. Evidently this is exactly how the inhabitants of the Kingdom are connected with one another and with Christ.

From this point of view, the Kingdom can be defined as a single space of relations linking all its inhabitants with one another, with Christ at the center. And it is precisely the fact of Christ's presence that makes the Kingdom the Kingdom. For in order for it to remain itself, such constancy of relations, such stability, is necessary as is unthinkable in the fallen world for the human will damaged by the fall. Only the will of the One who, being Man, remained untouched by sin can become the basis of the stable unity necessary as an indispensable condition for the existence of the Kingdom in our transfiguring, but not yet transfigured, world. This is what the Savior evidently has in mind when He says, "Without Me you can do nothing."

Of course, even in a fallen state a person can sometimes, with God's help, do something good. But to do anything at all for the Kingdom is possible only by being part of the Kingdom. And it is impossible to be part of it without spiritual unity with the One who constitutes its spiritual foundation, who is the spiritual core on which the Kingdom rests.

One end of this core is held by God, who raised His Son from the dead. At the other end are we, who consider ourselves Christians and try, as far as we can, to be Christians. And between us is the Kingdom, entering the world through us.

Someone somewhere said: "Love is an instrument of knowledge." And in fact, what can we know about someone we do not love? Having turned away from a person, one cannot come into contact with him, cannot become closer to him, cannot understand him. The same is true when the matter concerns the knowledge of God. What can be known about Him without loving Him, without striving toward Him, is only dry and relative "scholasticism" about the fact that He is, supposedly, so great and strong and wise.

But truly to know Him, ("to know," in the language of Scripture, to be united with Him, to "abide in Him") is given only to the one who is ready to love. That is why Jesus says that He will reveal Himself not to the whole world, but only to the disciples, who will receive the Spirit of truth, revealing the Father to those who can understand Him, that is, love Him.

Speaking to His disciples about His path and ministry, Jesus mentions a “Comforter” whom the Father will send them and whom, Jesus Himself says, the world can neither see nor know (vv. 16-17). This “Comforter,” whom Jesus also calls the “Holy Spirit” (v. 26) and the “Spirit of truth” (v. 17), will in due course remind the apostles of everything they are now hearing from their Teacher (vv. 25-26). The mention of God's spirit, or breath—the corresponding Greek word, like its Hebrew equivalent, can mean either—in the context of an account of the Kingdom is, of course, no accident. The Old Testament prophets were the first to speak of God's spirit, or breath. For them the spirit was not an abstract theological or philosophical concept but part of a living experience of communion with God; they truly felt God breathing in their hearts.

But Jesus apparently means something more. He speaks of the spirit as a reality on a universal, cosmic scale that nevertheless remains hidden from the world, for this reality belongs to a different order than our still untransformed world. The breath of God unites everyone who abides in the Kingdom, making them one whole: the Father, Jesus Himself, the apostles, and all who will enter the Kingdom through their prayers and under the influence of their preaching. In the past, only certain people felt God's breath at special, exceptional moments in their lives; now it is revealed to everyone who abides in the Kingdom. And no wonder: God's breath permeates the Kingdom, gives it life, and gives it the power to affect the world by transforming it. Because of this breath there are no distances in the Kingdom; here only the quality of relationships and the intensity of love determine mutual closeness.

Until now, the apostles had seen the Kingdom only because of Jesus: they looked at Him, and through Him God's power was revealed to them. Now they were to enter and see from within what they had previously seen only from outside. The time was coming when Jesus would become invisible to a world capable of seeing only what had not yet been transformed. The apostles themselves would therefore no longer see Him with physical sight; but after entering the Kingdom, they would find Him there, seeing Him no longer with their eyes but with their hearts (vv. 19-20). It is no accident that Jesus speaks of a peace unknown to the untransformed world (v. 27): true peace and harmony are possible only in the Kingdom, permeated by God's breath and joined by bonds of love. Again and again Jesus calls the apostles into this Kingdom so that, having become part of it, they may carry it into the world that so greatly needs transformation and sanctification.

Every branch that bears fruit, the Father prunes so that it may bear more fruit. Jesus says that the disciples have already been cleansed through the word He preached, and now the task is to abide in Him.

Something within us constantly strives for independence, and this is normal, since God created us free. But when we begin seeking freedom from Him, sooner or later we receive it, and then it turns out that without the Living Vine we perish and dry up.

Most often, however, we exist like a cracked branch that still appears connected to the vine and receives nourishment from it, but the connection is weak and there is not enough sap. It depends on our choice whether it breaks off completely or is grafted back into the vine.

We are called to abide in the vine because, when separated from it, the branches are cut off from the source of life and quickly wither. The branches are free to break away, but they themselves will gain nothing from it. None of the branches grafted into this vine can remain fruitless. The Gardener calls us to bear fruit precisely because He constantly prunes the branches and enables them to do so—each branch according to its own measure, and there is no need to be troubled that each has a different measure. But if we refuse to bear fruit and intend to settle comfortably on the vine without making any effort, we will fall away from it. We are warned that in that case we will be cast out and wither. In fact, we will begin withering even before visibly separating from the vine, for a branch that has not completely broken off but is separating inwardly already deprives itself of life-giving sap.

It is no accident that fallen vine branches are used as a symbol of spiritual barrenness. Once cut off, their weakness when dry makes them unsuitable for use in objects such as baskets or fences. Even as fuel they are inferior to other branches: they burn quickly and give little heat...

Today's reading lets us see the foundation of what is, properly speaking, called Christianity. Jesus tells His disciples: I am the vine, and My Father is the vinedresser (v. 1). The image of the vineyard was already a symbol of the messianic Kingdom among the ancient prophets. And by calling Himself the vine, Jesus bears witness to Himself as the spiritual core of this Kingdom. This is not about some new religion of the Kingdom founded by Jesus. The vine is not a teaching and not a religion, but Jesus Himself. He is the One who brought the Kingdom into the world, and if it can exist, it is only because He will continue to remain its center and support. Jesus carries in Himself the fullness of God, and therefore also the fullness of the Kingdom, which is inseparable from His Person. In philosophical language, this is an ontological unity; it cannot be destroyed. And the Father truly is the vinedresser, for it is His power that gives life to the Kingdom, and Jesus reveals His fullness to the world (John 14:8-11).

Christianity, then, is life in the Kingdom, life inseparable from the life of Jesus Himself, who compares His disciples to the branches of the vine (vv. 4-5). This, properly speaking, is Christianity in the Gospel sense of the word: living one life with Christ in His Kingdom. As we can see, one can speak of Christianity only when the life of Christ's followers is as inseparable from the life of the Savior as the life of the Savior Himself is inseparable from the life of the Father. The unity of the Kingdom is determined not by a shared teaching, religion, or morality, but by a shared life.

And life depends on the sincerity and trust of the relationship between Jesus and those who seek the Kingdom. That is why, as we can see, those entering it need the cleansing by the word that Jesus mentions when He tells the disciples about the Kingdom (v. 3). To be a Christian means, properly speaking, to live the life of the Kingdom. All the other elements of Christian tradition are needed only for this "cleansing by the word"; they are only the means needed so that the words Jesus once spoke may sound again and again, becoming a guide for new generations seeking the Kingdom.

There can be no other Christianity by definition: Jesus Himself points to Himself with complete clarity as the only foundation of the Kingdom, and therefore of the Church. Any alternative is, in the Savior's language, the alternative of a "withered branch," doomed to destruction (vv. 4-6).

And this is no surprise: in the untransformed world that lies in evil, there is nothing that can give life to the person seeking the Kingdom. The world is vast, but there is only one Source of life in it. Whether to accept Him or reject Him is something each person decides.

Before going to His death, Jesus speaks the most important words to His disciples. He reveals the very essence of what it means to be His disciple. Each of us is called to be a branch on the vine, and therefore to be directly connected with Christ and nourished by life-giving sap, as happens in a plant. If a flower is cut from its stem, however beautiful it may be, it will inevitably wither. In the same way, a person who has lost his connection with God loses life and is unable to bear fruit.

There are many indications in the Gospel that this connection with the Lord is realized through His Word. Here Jesus once again addresses the apostles and all of us, saying that “the words that abide in you” are a necessary condition for fruit to appear and for the whole branch to remain alive. If this condition is met, even the most incredible things become possible; then, “ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.”

Speaking of the word by which He has cleansed His disciples, Jesus again bears witness to Himself as the living Torah. After all, it was precisely the words of the Torah that people in those days said cleansed a person. Of course, this did not mean memorizing the text of the Pentateuch and repeating it in the hope that the repetition itself would free the one repeating it from all sins. Although there were many people in those days, as indeed there are today, who really did know the Pentateuch by heart among the Jews.

But the point was not to memorize the Pentateuch by heart, but to allow God's commandment to change one's life. First inwardly, and then outwardly as well. The commandment was viewed not simply as some legal or even moral norm, but as a direct revelation of God's will. As God's intention directed toward the human being. It had to be accepted as such, and one's own life had to be built in accordance with it. One's human intentions had to be brought into accord with God's. In those days this was called the inner Torah. The very Torah that cleansed a person. Because it truly became the living word of God, which could cleanse. And Jesus speaks of the cleansing power of His words. Thereby He affirms that every word of His is the word of God. But cleansing through the word alone proves insufficient. One must also preserve an essential unity with Christ; otherwise full life in the Kingdom is impossible. Essential means the kind of unity in which one lives one life with Him.

Like shoots on a grapevine: normal life is possible for them only as long as they remain united with that vine. Yet participation alone is not enough: the same life must also continue in the shoot itself. Dry shoots, like dry branches on trees, are not needed; they are only a burden for the tree or for the vine. It is not enough to be near Jesus and share in His life, not enough to experience the breath of the Kingdom as reality; one must also become oneself a vessel and bearer of this life and this breath.

Of course, the breath of the Kingdom that blows over a person changes him, and a meeting with Christ does not pass without leaving a trace. But if after all this a person does not change inwardly, does not become, in Paul's words, a "temple of the Holy Spirit," a place where the Spirit dwells, then one can say that all the meetings were in vain and the whole experience was wasted. The inner Torah is necessary for a Christian precisely so that what is received in meetings with Christ and in the experience of the Kingdom does not leak out of his soul like water through a sieve. Only in this twofold unity of the Law, the inner Torah, and grace is the life of the Kingdom possible: not episodic and accidental, but full.

Speaking of the word by which He cleansed His disciples, Jesus again bears witness to Himself as the living Torah. It was precisely about the words of the Torah in those days that people said they cleanse a person. The point, of course, was not to memorize the text of the Pentateuch and repeat it in the hope that the repetition itself would free the one repeating it from all sins. Although among Jews there were many people in those days, as there are today, who truly knew the Pentateuch by heart.

But the point was not to memorize the Pentateuch, but to let God's commandment change one's life. First the inner life, and then the outer one. The commandment was seen not simply as some legal or even moral norm, but as the direct revelation of God's will. As God's intention addressed to a person. It had to be accepted as such, and one's own life had to be built in accordance with it. One had to bring one's human intentions into agreement with God's. In those days this was called the inner Torah. The very one that cleansed a person. Because it truly became the living word of God, which could cleanse. And Jesus speaks of the cleansing power of His words. By this He affirms that every word of His is the word of God. But cleansing through the word alone proves insufficient. One must also preserve essential unity with Christ; otherwise full life in the Kingdom is impossible. Essential unity means the kind in which one lives one life with Him.

Like shoots on a grapevine: normal life for them is possible only as long as they remain united with that vine. Yet participation alone is not enough; that same life must also continue in the shoot itself. Dry shoots, like dry branches on trees, are not needed; they are only a burden for the tree or for the vine. It is not enough to be near Jesus and share in His life, not enough to experience the breath of the Kingdom as reality. One must also become a vessel and bearer of this life and this breath.

Of course, both the breath of the Kingdom that surrounds a person and the encounter with Christ change him, and neither passes without a trace. But if after all this the person does not change inwardly and does not himself become, in Paul's words, a "temple of the Holy Spirit," a place where the Spirit abides, then one can say that all the encounters came to nothing and the whole experience was wasted. This is why the Christian needs the inner Torah: so that what is received in encounters with Christ and in the experience of the Kingdom does not run out of his soul like water through a sieve. Only in this twofold unity of the Law (the inner Torah) and grace is the life of the Kingdom possible: not episodic and accidental, but full.

Before going to His death, Jesus speaks the most important words to His disciples. He reveals the very essence of what it means to be His disciple. Each of us is called to be a branch on the vine, and therefore to be directly connected with Christ and nourished by life-giving sap, as happens in a plant. If a flower is cut from its stem, however beautiful it may be, it will inevitably wither. In the same way, a person who has lost his connection with God loses life and is unable to bear fruit.

There are many indications in the Gospel that this connection with the Lord is realized through His Word. Here Jesus once again addresses the apostles and all of us, saying that “the words that abide in you” are a necessary condition for fruit to appear and for the whole branch to remain alive. If this condition is met, even the most incredible things become possible; then, “ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.”

The vineyard, the vine — ancient Old Testament symbols of Israel (Isa. 5:1-7; Ps. 79:9). Jesus Himself also uses these images in His parables (Matt. 20:1-16; 21:28-46). And now, speaking with His disciples alone, He reveals to them the mystery of their new calling — gathered around Him for the messianic meal, they join themselves to the true vine, to the One who is the real Chosen One, forming a new people. Their belonging to the true religion, the true people — to everything claimed by all the "orthodox," "patriots," and "true believers" — is now determined not by nationality, not by confession, not by any orientation, but only by whether they "abide" in Jesus, live His life, and bear His fruit...

Describing the Kingdom, Jesus turns to the image of a vineyard, a vine, traditional for Yahwism and Judaism. But into this traditional image He places a new meaning connected with the essence of the Kingdom that He brought into the world. Of course, there is also room here for the traditional understanding of the Kingdom as a place where only one will acts: the will of God, who created the world. It is no accident that Jesus says that the "prince of this world" "has nothing in Him": for the Kingdom He brought into the world does not exist according to the laws of this world, so that the "prince of this world" can have no power over it, even though the Kingdom, while abiding in our untransfigured world, constantly touches it.

But the image of the vine also becomes an image of relations within the Kingdom, where all are connected with one another and with Christ just as branches are on a vine. This bond is absolute, immediate, and organic: every branch is a continuation of the vine; if it is torn off, it dries up. All the branches live one life with the vine, fed with it by the same sap from one source. Evidently this is exactly how the inhabitants of the Kingdom are connected with one another and with Christ.

From this point of view, the Kingdom can be defined as a single space of relations linking all its inhabitants with one another, with Christ at the center. And it is precisely the fact of Christ's presence that makes the Kingdom the Kingdom. For in order for it to remain itself, such constancy of relations, such stability, is necessary as is unthinkable in the fallen world for the human will damaged by the fall. Only the will of the One who, being Man, remained untouched by sin can become the basis of the stable unity necessary as an indispensable condition for the existence of the Kingdom in our transfiguring, but not yet transfigured, world. This is what the Savior evidently has in mind when He says, "Without Me you can do nothing."

Of course, even in a fallen state a person can sometimes, with God's help, do something good. But to do anything at all for the Kingdom is possible only by being part of the Kingdom. And it is impossible to be part of it without spiritual unity with the One who constitutes its spiritual foundation, who is the spiritual core on which the Kingdom rests.

One end of this core is held by God, who raised His Son from the dead. At the other end are we, who consider ourselves Christians and try, as far as we can, to be Christians. And between us is the Kingdom, entering the world through us.