NOTES for Luk 15:1-10

Today's parables of the Lord Jesus about the lost sheep and the lost drachma, especially the first one, have had an exceptional influence on the consciousness of many generations of Christians. The image of the shepherd carrying the found sheep on his shoulders was painted on the walls of the Roman catacombs by Christians of Rome, and it became the first icon of Christ. From the eighth century to this day in the Eastern Church, as we accompany brothers on their final journey, we sing: "I am the lost sheep; call me back, O Savior, and save me". This is one of the most vivid images of salvation and one of the shortest summaries of the essence of the Gospel. God came into this world as the Shepherd in order to save the sheep that had run away from Him. Into ravines, into the very depths of the earth, and even down to hell He descends in order to find us. Everything here matters: that the sheep gets lost through its own foolishness, not following the Shepherd; that this sheep is unable to return to Him on its own; and that the Shepherd goes after it, moved by love and compassion.

But what matters most is what the Lord wanted to say through this parable to the Pharisees who were questioning Him. They believed that Christ should occupy Himself with them, people who carefully observed petty ritual prescriptions and despised others. Today we have various honorary titles: distinguished physician, distinguished teacher, distinguished this or that. The Pharisees, in our language, wanted to be distinguished righteous people, entitled to privileges in the Kingdom of Christ. But in these two parables the Lord answered them that God needs all His sheep, not only some of them. And only repentance makes you a found sheep rather than a proud and disobedient ram.

The Gospels often mention the attention with which tax collectors and sinners listen to Jesus. In this case, of course, this does not mean that the same Pharisees, for example, considered themselves sinless. In those days the Synagogue knew enough about spiritual life for all its members to understand that there are no sinless people in the world. Only a very naive or extremely self-confident person could consider himself sinless.

The path of righteousness in those days, as later, was seen as the path on which a person overcomes his own sinfulness on the way to God and after God. And the difference between a righteous person and a sinner lay precisely in this path, in whether a person was walking it or not. The Pharisees considered themselves righteous in this sense: they were sure that they had set out on the path and were walking it more or less successfully. But tax collectors, for example, could not say this about themselves.

And the point was not that tax collectors were necessarily some terrible villains and frightful sinners, but that they, as at least people commonly thought, were committing a very serious and, what was especially frightening, absolutely voluntary and conscious sin: entering the service of pagans who oppressed the people of God. One may look at this situation in different ways, but the logic is clear: a person who sins voluntarily and consciously cannot by definition walk the path of righteousness. Such people are what the evangelists usually call sinners, in keeping with the usage of their time.

Of course, not only tax collectors could be such people, but tax collectors were sinners by definition, according to their occupation. At the same time it is important to keep in mind that it was impossible to be cleansed from the consequences of a voluntarily and consciously committed sin; even purification sacrifices did not help here. A person could repent of the conscious sin he had committed, and God could forgive him, but the consequences of such a sin continued to weigh on the person, depriving him of the possibility of setting out on the path of righteousness.

But with the coming of Christ everything changed. Now the possibility of beginning spiritual life with a clean slate and setting out on the path of righteousness appeared even for those who had sinned consciously and then repented of what they had done. It is no wonder that tax collectors and sinners listened to Christ especially attentively: He alone could give them the possibility they were seeking and, as it had seemed, could not find. But of course the Messiah opened the way into the Kingdom not only for them. They simply valued the opened possibilities especially deeply, and therefore listened to the Savior as no one else did.

Here is another confirmation that we live in a very different time from Jesus... To describe the joy in heaven over a repentant sinner, He chooses the now familiar form of storytelling, a parable. And now we hear His words addressed to the people sitting around Him: "Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?" (Luke 15:4).

What would a modern person think in answer to this question? First, more than half the inhabitants of the globe would immediately note that they do not have any sheep. And second, we try to call logic to our aid. Logic is completely opposed to leaving ninety-nine sheep in the wilderness, where they can easily get lost or be eaten by wolves, and going after one foolish sheep. Besides, that sheep may have been caught by those same wolves long ago... In short, the risk is too great, and it is not worth it.

But the point is that we are not the Lord. And glory to Him for that! Only He has enough faith in the human person, enough hope and mercy, to save the lost. And only He trusts us enough to give us the freedom of God's sons and daughters. That means He can leave us alone for a time, if that is what is needed...

Can it really be that one person is more important to God than 99? What about each of those 99? And what is wrong with righteousness? Are we not all called to righteousness?

These striking words of Jesus can bring us to a couple of thoughts. First, each person stands before God personally, not as part of a collective. We all have many kinds of human ties - family, work, neighbors, church - and they matter, but the meeting with God happens only one on one, and that meeting transforms our life and brings real change into our relationships with other people. Second, what do we stand before God with? With our righteousness? But "there is none righteous, not one" (see Rom. 3:10). Here it matters whether we recognize our unrighteousness, our sinfulness, and ask God to do something about it, or whether we think that everything with us is "no worse than with others" and see no need for repentance. The first path opens us to meeting God, while the second makes the abyss between us and Him even deeper.

Can it be true that one person is really more important than 99? What happens with each of these 99 persons? In what righteousness is bad? Aren't we called to be righteous?

It seems that these shocking words of Jesus can suggest us a pair of idea: in the first place, every person will appear alone in front of God, and not in group. Each of us has a variety of human relations - family, work, neighborhood, religion - and they are quite important, but the meeting with Jesus takes place in private, one by one, and this meeting transforms our life and brings qualitative changes in our relationships with others. Secondly, with what shall we appear in front of God, with our righteousness? But is it not written "there is none righteous, not one" (Rom 3 :10). And what is important here is to know if we are conscious of our unrighteousness, sinfulness, and if we ask God to do something with all that, or we think that "we are not worse than others ", and so we don't see the necessity for repentance? The first way opens us for a meeting with God, and the second digs even more profoundly the pit between God and us.

"This son of yours," says the older son. The younger son renounced sonship by demanding his share of the estate as if his father were already dead, and by living as if there were no father, as if he were not the son of one who knows how to love. The older son did not do this; he lived with his father and did everything his father asked him to do. He may even have truly loved his father. But, as one priest said in a sermon on the prodigal son, by refusing his brother, by not wishing to call him brother, the older son also refuses the father; he deprives himself of sonship just as the younger one did before. For if the younger one is now a son, "this son of yours," and he does not consider him a brother, then by that very fact he ceases to be a son.

It follows that only lack of love for our neighbors deprives us of the possibility of being children of God. And it is precisely love that makes us His children, because love is the family trait of the saints. A saint is one who belongs to God, and God is love.

These three parables are usually called parables about repentance, but repentance is shown in them from a completely unusual side. What is described here is not so much the experience of the repentant person, his feelings, pain, and so on. Jesus speaks about how God and His angels rejoice when a person finds the road home. This is repentance "from God's point of view."

This is apparently not accidental. When a person reasons about his conversion, about seeking God, about faith, he is always inclined to think about himself: about his motives, about his spiritual path. God here is imagined as an impersonal "goal" that one has to reach, as an abstract "meaning of life" that one has to find. But it turns out that for God our conversion is far more important than we realize. He rejoices like a shepherd who lost a beloved sheep and found it again, like a poor woman who gathers her neighbors for a festive treat out of joy over a found coin, like a father who saw a son who had been lost forever. "God is not indifferent to your fate," Jesus seems to say. "Let this support you on the way."

The parable of the prodigal son is built on contrast. On one side is the son's despair; on the other, the father's joy. It seems to me that these are two very important aspects of repentance. The Lord says that repentance cannot be a bargain (as though God forgives me, and from now on I will be good). The son's break with his father looks more like a bargain: you give me my inheritance, and I will have no more claims on you. Nor is repentance like “turning oneself in”: you have repented—well done, you will get off with a stern reprimand. Repentance has nothing in common with indifference or with any form of calculation. The son's thought that his father might take him on as a hired worker seems blasphemous, and he never actually voices it. What, then, is repentance like? One word occurs six times in this chapter: joy. God is VERY GLAD that we have come. What remains for us but to rejoice with Him?