NOTES for Luk 12:35

In the different Gospels much is said about the need to be ready for action, whether witness to Christ or meeting Him. Many of the Savior's parables speak about this. The words about girded loins and a burning lamp return us to the same theme. Jesus is clearly speaking about readiness for action, for making one's life truly Christian. A belt, especially a warrior's belt, said a great deal about its owner in antiquity, and in the army it was generally a mark of distinction, replacing epaulettes.

An officer who removed his belt and handed it to his superior was in effect submitting a request for resignation. And before a campaign everyone in the army had to gird himself, first of all so that everyone could see his military rank. But in ordinary civilian life too, taking off one's belt meant relaxing and even becoming unrestrained. Without a belt it was hard to imagine a long journey: on the belt one usually carried a water skin, a special small pouch for money and necessary papers, and small but necessary travel items such as a fire steel.

Therefore to gird oneself usually meant to prepare for a road, most likely a long road. But the Savior clearly has in mind not only this outward side of the image. He also speaks of the inner collectedness that is reached through consistent keeping of the commandments and following the inner Torah. Such following forms in a person the spiritual core necessary for full Christian life.

The image of the lamp is just as multivalent, indeed even more so: in the same Sermon on the Mount it means both witness, which cannot and need not be hidden, and a person's spiritual sight, the image of the eye as the lamp that illumines the human body. Of course, there can be no purity of sight if there is no spiritual core, which is reached by following the inner Torah. But this purity will remain only a possibility if a person is not aware of the inner wholeness he has managed to reach and the measure of its fullness.

If awareness is present, then a person's body is bright: such a person is not mistaken about himself, being aware of his inner life and of every intention born in his heart. Such a person knows who he is and what he can do, and what he cannot do and therefore had better not undertake. Yet awareness is also necessary for full witness. Christian witness cannot be theoretical; only a person who has experienced what he speaks about can be a witness, and such experience can only be the experience of communion with Christ and life in the Kingdom.

Experience of this kind cannot be acquired without inner wholeness and conscious life: even if some meeting occurs or an experience of spiritual reality, or even of the reality of the Kingdom, takes place, without inner wholeness and awareness a person will not be able to retain, remember, or understand what he has experienced. That is why the Savior draws His listeners' attention to girded loins and to the lamp: without them not only witness, but the very path of the Kingdom is impossible. And therefore being His disciple is impossible.

The call to keep watch is repeated very often in the Gospel. Among other reasons, because always being on alert, always remembering why and how we live, is unbearable labor. It is unbearable because we live in time, but we must keep watch in expectation of eternity.

Having met God, we are so blinded by Him that at first such frequent reminders of our changeability seem ridiculous to us. But time passes, and it becomes harder and harder to preserve that inner tension of the first days of faith. Like the first Christians, we suddenly understand that we are waiting impatiently for the Second Coming, but no longer for a day or two; we are waiting ten or twenty years, and who knows how many more decades of difficult and frightening life will be needed before we wait for Him. And He keeps saying: "Keep watch, do not relax, be ready. Above all, be ready."

How hard it is to be ready. Every day to give an account to oneself that one must wait for Him to come, and not for something else. How much one would like to put things in order once and for all. But even if one stops moving and sits absolutely still, there will be no disorder, but one will become covered with dust. And day after day, in expectation of Christ's coming, one will still have to put things in order, wipe off the dust, wash the floors, and wait until He comes.

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 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.

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.

"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).