NOTES for Ti1 6:11-21

As he concludes his letter to Timothy, Paul reminds his disciple of the main task of a servant of the Church. It is also, however, the main task of every Christian: the task of bearing witness to the Kingdom so that the world may see it, and so that everyone seeking new life may know where to look for it (vv. 11-16).

Returning to the theme of wealth, the apostle, adding to what he has said already, by no means closes the door of the Kingdom to the rich, just as the Savior Himself did not close it when He said that it is hard for a rich person to enter the Kingdom, but never claimed that it is impossible. The apostle, as we can see, explains what the difficulty consists in: in order to receive the Kingdom, a rich person must stop thinking of his wealth as something on which he can lean in life (vv. 17-19). The point is not only that, when he dies, the richest and most influential person in the world can take no more wealth with him than a beggar who has lived all his life on alms. Many understood this and spoke about it long before the Savior came into the world. The point, above all, is where the rich person's spiritual attention is focused, toward what his will is directed, or, in Gospel terms, where his treasure and his heart are.

Wealth really does provide support and power in our world that is being transformed, but it provides them precisely to the extent that the world has not yet been transformed. The habit of relying on such support, as well as using such power, can play a cruel trick on the possessor of wealth when it comes to spiritual life in the proper sense of the word, to life in the Kingdom and the relationships that define it. On coming into contact with the Kingdom, everyone discovers his own unreadiness and inadequacy. Yet a person who has already had to experience something similar, a person with the relevant experience, finds it easier to pass through the disappointment, inevitable for fallen human nature, that usually accompanies such an experience, and perhaps even through resentment. Meanwhile, both disappointment and resentment, though not fatal in themselves, can easily drag on and become, at the least, a serious obstacle on the spiritual path, and at the most, turn a person away altogether from the Kingdom and from spiritual life. Paul warns the rich against this mistake, a mistake that can cost them the Kingdom and eternal life.

As he concludes his letter to Timothy, his testament, the apostle Paul urges his disciple to “keep the commandment.” He does not specify which one, because it is evident to him that there is only one commandment. It can be expressed in different ways: one can speak of love for one another, of love for God and neighbor, or of the good confession like Christ's confession before Pilate... In one way or another, it means living—living a genuine Christian life (“not I, but Christ in me”), living in constant communion with God, living by the power of the Holy Spirit. Such a life extends beyond earthly life toward the appearing of the Lord Jesus Christ, when the entire fullness of the Kingdom of the One who is “King of kings and Lord of lords” will be revealed, as Jesus Himself also said.

In instructing Timothy, the Apostle Paul uses a very characteristic expression in today's passage. Unfortunately, the Synodal translation renders it imprecisely as "hold on to eternal life." The Slavonic "take hold of eternal life" corresponds more closely to the Greek original: "seize, hold fast to the eternal life to which you were called." The Apostle says that the faith granted to us by the Lord Jesus can be a support to which we can cling and thus escape from the abyss of hell and death. It is significant that we read this passage as the celebration of the Nativity of Christ draws to a close. In a text dedicated to the Presentation, St Cosmas of Maiuma expresses this thought very vividly. He places these words about the elder Simeon the God-receiver on the lips of the infant Jesus: "It is not the elder who holds Me, but I who hold him, for he asks Me for his release." When we receive the infant Jesus, we discover in Him, in a wonderful way, not a burden that we are called to carry, but a support to which we should hold fast.

The apostle Paul instructs his disciple, calling him at the same time a "man of God." But does a person of God need instruction? He does. Our belonging to God begins with a small seed and grows. This growth is nourished by grace sent from God, and in just this way righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, and meekness enter and increase in our life. But all this is like what happens in our schooling: knowledge is given to us by teachers, but we must make progress so that the knowledge becomes ours. So Paul speaks of progress, of acceptance, of aiming at the gifts of grace, of the heartfelt labor, the struggle, of faith, and of constant awareness that this life here and now is the beginning of eternal life.

As seen, Paul opposes very firmly the tradition (legend is what was transmitted to Timothy and received by him, obviously, from Paul himself) of idle talks and disputes as regards this knowledge, which the apostle calls “science falsely". Of course, the ancient philosophers paid a lot of attention on the correctness of names, was already interested in this problem Socrates, who, before reasoning about whatever categories, put always at first the question: but what means the corresponding word? And will it not happen that when disputing, each will speak about what is appropriate for him, without even noticing it? But Paul, it seems, speaks all the same about another thing. He calls, it seems, "science falsely" in general everything that has no direct relation to the witness. The synagogue boiled in those days with theological disputes about various subjects, and also penetrated in the Church the tradition of the disputes and debates.

Paul, as seen, doesn’t support at all this tendency. And of course, not because he is against the difference of opinions and debates. The problem is somewhere else: such debates do not have to destroy the Church as the body of the Christ. Everything can be discussed, and also disputes can be on anything, on whatever. But only as long as in these disputes and discussions, no doubt is put on the main part: the Messiah and the Kingdom. And the problem here is not only in the fact that if one doubts in fundamental things, the Church can be forgotten. The problem is also in the fact that such discussions easily transform the church meeting into a discussion club; it {the church} should not be such. There are things, about which it is possible and necessary to speak during the catechism, but no conversations which are convenient at all in the church meeting.

And not because they should not speak about them, but because the man, who did not answer these things in a unambiguous way to God, to himself and to others, simply cannot and does not have to participate in the church meeting. And if in the church meeting begin discussions about one of such subjects, it is better to cut them, and already talked with the one who asked the questions separately, outside the frame of the meeting. If there are in the church people, who participate in such discussions with pleasure, it can only be the sign of their personal spiritual hesitations.

Maybe, somebody of them made the decision to enter the Church angry, and someone else has perhaps just another spiritual crisis, the causes of which can be numerous, including the most ordinary spiritual maturation. But in every case such discussions contribute not at all to overcome the spiritual crisis: they allow only, so to speak, to let off steam so that after a while to begin to talk again. And the apostle of course perfectly understood that spiritual crises and spiritual problems are resolved differently. And he warned his disciple of what could easily transform the Church into a discussion club, the participants of which, not being able to solve any problem, would be engaged only in idle talks.

‘Some people's sins are already plain to everyone, even before the Judgement; others will be revealed later. The same is true of good deeds: some are already visible, and those that are not will still not go unnoticed.’ These words can be read in the Russian Good News translation, which seems the most successful in this instance and corresponds most accurately and simply to many other modern translations, such as the New American Standard or New Jerusalem. But why do both the Synodal translation and Cassian's somehow obscure this simple thought: not only will hidden evil become manifest, but hidden good will not go unnoticed either?

There is, of course, a certain reason for this, because the question is not so simple. On the one hand, we must acknowledge that hidden good too will become manifest, as follows directly from the Gospel's words: ‘…for there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed, and nothing secret that will not become known’ (Mt 10:26). There is no condition here regarding the righteousness of what will be revealed. Someone may point to such implications in the context: after all, it concerns evil deeds. Evil deeds, yes—before these words it concerns evil deeds, but immediately after them, the revelation of good. And context, by definition, includes the text that follows as well.

On the other hand, we must acknowledge that there is still a problem. But what is it? What troubled the authors of two of the greatest translations, the Synodal and Cassian's?

The problem is that of selflessness in doing good. If we do good in secret only because we are absolutely certain that it will be revealed at the Last Judgement and allow us to exalt ourselves above someone else, we are lost people. We are deliberately exaggerating to paint the picture in stark colours; of course, things are often much milder, but that is their essential character. And the point is that hidden good is the highest virtue for society, regardless of what a person is thinking… Even if someone has no thought of exalting themselves above another, but simply hopes that it will gain them something in the other world, that it will somehow be rewarded.

This is one of the most important ideas that repel thoughtful people from Christianity—or, more precisely, from Christians who look like saints but, in essence, have only one thought: my own salvation. Yet this is precisely no more than an idea, and Christianity is not a collection of ideas. Even if one can find words in the Gospel that speak directly of this, we may simply fail to understand their meaning. We are not given to know much about ‘the other world’. None of us is without sin, and we never know which pan will outweigh the other when our sins and virtues are weighed. There are sins we do not remember or think about, which we commit by the hundred every week; and it may be these that prove to be the sand that tips the scales.

Bishop Anthony tells a parable of two women who came to repent. One had committed a great and terrible sin; the other had done nothing out of the ordinary. Their spiritual father said to them: ‘Go and find stones to match your sins: you,’ he said to the first, ‘find a large, heavy one; and you,’ to the second, ‘many small ones—and bring them here.’ They did so. Then he said: now take them back and put them in their places. For the first woman this was easy; for the second, impossible.

How many sacks of sand, then, are we dragging behind us? We do not know, or even think about it. So perhaps the revelation of our good deeds is our tiny chance not to perish. All these thoughts utterly shatter the sceptics' doubts. But in fact, this is not even the argument. The argument is this: ‘Let your light so shine before people that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father who is in heaven’ (Mt 5:16)