NOTES for Ti2 2:11-19

The very beginning of verse 11 suggests a two-way relationship between us and the sacred text. Paul, who repeatedly uses quotations from Scripture to confirm his words, here, on the contrary, himself affirms that a certain saying is true. This mutual recognition of the presence of the Holy Spirit in the Word and in a person is remarkable.

What follows is, apparently, a fragment of an ancient Christian hymn whose main meaning is the proclamation that life in union with God, beginning here with suffering and death shared with Jesus Christ, continues after death too, in His Resurrection and reign. Let us note for ourselves a certain paradox in the conclusion of this fragment: our denial of God, that is, the breaking of relationship with Him, also means our unfaithfulness, but God's denial of us is not unfaithfulness, because He remains faithful to Himself and to His purpose, and this gives hope to our existence in this changeable and unfaithful world.

For Paul it was obvious that Christianity is life with Christ in His Kingdom. It was just as obvious to him that there is no place in the Kingdom for evil or sin. But Paul always remained a realist. He knew human nature very well. From his own experience he understood that it is impossible for fallen man not to sin. And one can be completely freed from sin only after the complete transformation of human nature. Meanwhile the Savior calls each of us to new life, to life in His Kingdom, already now. How is this possible? Clearly, only despite our own sinfulness.

But what does "despite" mean? At the very moment when we give sin a place in our life, we thereby separate ourselves from the Kingdom, from its life. Yet sometimes this happens apart from our will: in the fallen state we are far from always able to control our own intentions, including those that lead us toward sin. If we sin consciously and do not repent of the sin committed, the Kingdom is closed to us. But another kind of unfaithfulness is possible: not betrayal, but a mistake, a spiritual breakdown. In that case we do not finally drown in our sin, though it may well overwhelm us completely for a time.

But as long as we ourselves do not consider such a state normal, sin does not have full power over us. That means we are not completely cut off from the Kingdom and its life. What, then, holds us in the Kingdom? Clearly, that true "I" of ours which does not agree with the sin that overwhelms us. Yet our faithfulness to the Kingdom and to its life still remains incomplete: at the moment when we find ourselves under the power of sin, we become inwardly divided, as it were. But Christ cannot be divided.

And not only because He bears in Himself the whole fullness of God, but also because His human nature is free from sin. He is an absolutely whole Person. And therefore only He can uphold the Kingdom. We will be able to become His full helpers only when we become the same kind of whole persons. Of course, we cannot contain the fullness of God, but the transformation of our human nature and its liberation from the power of sin is entirely real. We need only follow the path on which we have set out as Christians. To the end.

Interesting: why Paul exhorts Timothy to avoid disputes? Especially that the apostle was himself a great polemicist, is evident in all his messages. And he was not doubtless also a supporter of the conformity of ideas planted by the top in the Church. In what is thus the problem? And how can a community exist without disputes and discussions on subjects causing division of opinion? The questions are rhetorical. And the Jewish culture of the theological discussion is very well known, that one can imagine himself that Paul who received a Jewish traditional theological formation in a completely traditional school, could call to the ban in the Church of theological disputes and discussions.

But there was something essential in the life of the church that obliged Paul to relate to discussions and disputes with suspicion, especially when it comes to the church meetings. And this essential was the very essence of the Church, which was not at all a religious community, as was for example the Synagogue, as well as Christianity was never a religion similar to the Judaism.

Christianity is not a religion, but the life in the Kingdom. And the church meeting is not a religious event, although central in the life of the Church, but the form of updating of the fullness of the life of the Kingdom within a concrete community of church, taking place here and now. The members of the Church meet in their meetings not to express their religious essence, whether it is emotional or intellectual, but for the meeting with the Resuscitated at the sacred meal, similar to the last in the earthly life of the Savior Passover Seder, which in the church traditions received the name Last Supper.

So how relevant are here the theological disputes, even if during the most ordinary, without the participation of the Messiah, Seder or at the Sabbath meal, they usually try to avoid them? There they try not to discuss to give place to God and hear His voice; here the discussions are relevant even less, because it is about the meeting with the Resuscitated, Who is not less important to hear. And there will be certainly disputes in the Church, it is impossible to revoke or to forbid them, and it is not necessary. But they will be in their time and place. There and when and where they will be relevant.

Speaking of the spiritual foundation laid by God, Paul gives two quotations from the Book of Psalms and from the literature we today call instructional, or the writings of the sages: "Yahweh knows His own" and "let everyone who confesses the name of Yahweh depart from iniquity." These two sayings briefly set out the Yahwistic and Jewish teaching on righteousness as we find it in the Bible. Righteousness is not a human matter, but God's. Only God is righteous, and only to Him does righteousness belong as something inseparable. To a human being, by contrast, it is not natural. For a human being, righteousness is not a property or a quality, but only a state in which a person may abide, and such abiding contradicts fallen human nature.

In a certain sense one could say that a person can be righteous only in spite of himself, not his true self, of course, but the self he became after the fall. But it is possible for a person to abide in a state of righteousness only when God "knows" him, in God's presence. Of course, God in one way or another sees and knows everyone; no one can hide from Him anywhere. But His immediate presence beside a person is not merely knowledge that such and such a person lives in the world, nor even the omniscience by which no human heart is hidden from God.

Here there is always the will of God directly addressed to a specific person, and this is impossible if the person himself does not seek God and does not strive for communion with Him. Through such striving a person becomes "His own" for God, not in the sense that such a person becomes God's favorite, but in the sense that the person's relationship with God becomes conscious. But consciousness also implies something else: the one who is conscious of his relationship with God and puts it first must shape his life accordingly, keeping the Torah in view, and above all the inner Torah.

Only if the commandment becomes an inward imperative for a person, spiritual and moral, will he be able not only to become conscious of his relationship with God, but also to make it stable. And where relations with God are stable, conscious and voluntary sin can no longer have a place in a person's life. Of course, anyone can stumble and fall, but such things usually happen apart from a person's will. This building of conscious and stable relations with God is the spiritual foundation of which the apostle speaks.

Paul urges Timothy to avoid unnecessary and useless arguments, which give no one anything and only destroy the inner peace of those taking part in them. It should be noted that both the Greco-Roman and Jewish worlds were worlds of many words, many arguments, and many opinions. This is not simply about what today is called pluralism; it is about a cult of argument, debate, and discussion. Conversation, often on fairly abstract subjects, argument, and philosophical debate were considered the most respectable occupation for a free person who had leisure for such pursuits; that was how it had been in the Greco-Roman world since antiquity.

In the Jewish world, discussions and debates, but on religious subjects, on matters connected with the Torah, were common; and often not only learned rabbis and teachers of the Torah took part in them, but ordinary people as well. After all, every believing Jew read and studied the Torah, and there were no others then, so there were people to talk and argue, and things to talk and argue about. Of course, in a certain respect such an atmosphere was very productive: new ideas, views, concepts, and theories appeared in it almost daily.

Intellectual life flourished, but spiritual life did not always. This is understandable: such a setting encourages argument, debate, and discussion to become ends in themselves, so that taking part in them is already considered important work and a serious pursuit, while often no time remains for spiritual work, and it is not considered especially important anyway. After all, correct views and opinions appeared to be the main thing, not correct life.

Such an atmosphere also made its way into church communities, and there it had to be resisted. Even if Christianity were simply a new religion, sooner or later it would have been necessary to stop and think not about words but about life. But since Christianity never was a religion and always was precisely a new life, life in that Kingdom which the Savior brought into the world, the excess of words, arguments, and discussions threatened Christians with serious spiritual losses.

Of course, serious questions that arose in the Christian environment had to be answered, because they really could affect a person's spiritual life. If, for example, someone, like the "teachers" mentioned by the apostle, seriously thought that "the resurrection had already happened," that everything was already over and Christianity had essentially remained in the past, he would hardly be able, with such views, to live a full Christian life.

But to devote one's life to arguments and discussions in order to win them and become the most famous and unbeatable debater, and still more to see such victory as the meaning of one's church ministry, is a spiritual dead end. Arguments will never end, and in the end they will simply swallow a person, leaving him no time for life, even ordinary life, to say nothing of Christian life. This is the danger Paul warns his disciple against.

In the Second Letter to Timothy, the apostle Paul probably quotes the words of one of the Christian hymns (2 Tim 2:11-13). He writes of these lines, “The saying is trustworthy,” as though adding his signature to their content. Indeed, in their construction they resemble verses that convey so much meaning in so few words. They touch upon what matters most in human life: its meaning and, as a result, how this life should be lived and what should be remembered. If we bind our life to Christ’s life so closely that we give our life to Him, then He, our Lord, has the power to restore our life in full by raising us from the dead. We then read about the content of this bond with God: to endure with Him, sharing His sufferings, and to remain faithful. The fearsome words about His denying us in response to our denying Him mean only His acknowledgment that the bond with the Creator has been broken. It has been broken on our side. And He can respond in only one way: with His faithfulness, “for He cannot deny Himself” (2 Tim 2:13).

The question of suffering for Christ is always one of the most difficult. Unbelievers consider it foolish to defend one's faith even unto death: they say it is not worth it, that one proves nothing to anyone in this way, and that there is no need to prove anything. Believers understand that in a difficult situation they may lack the spirit, strength, and courage to resist physical and moral pressure. Nevertheless, while awaiting death, Paul calls us to remain steadfast in the face of every trial, because denial of Jesus is always the consequence of what he calls being entangled in the affairs of everyday life. We fear the unknown, pain, and the possible consequences of our persistence for family and friends. Paul gives us no recipe for resisting the temptation to deny Christ; he simply calls us always to remember that, despite all our unfaithfulness, God is always faithful and always for us. And there is nothing more terrible than denying the One who entrusted His very Self to us.

Continuing the conversation about witness, Paul draws attention to the witness's responsibility. For the apostle, witness is a kind of spiritual relay, in the course of which everyone who has received the possibility of sharing in the life of the Kingdom afterward becomes a witness for those seeking new life (vv. 1-2). And the issue here, as we can see, is not merely a sense of duty, even a duty that people sometimes call sacred. The point is that witness is the normal spiritual state of a Christian. Of course, this does not mean that a Christian must spend whole days preaching, telling everyone around him about Christ and the Kingdom. It means something else: if Christianity for a person is truly new life, and not simply a new religion or a new morality, he will not be able to hide this new life from those around him, and will hardly want to hide it. The issue is not only the joy experienced by everyone who knows what the Kingdom is.

The point is also that the Kingdom can exist only by continuously expanding and including new inhabitants within itself. The breath of the Kingdom was not accidentally experienced, particularly on the day of Pentecost, as wind: like the wind, it knows no barriers, and like air, it penetrates everywhere it possibly can, occupying all available space. The difference between this breath and physical air is only that it spreads from heart to heart, and love for neighbor becomes for it the same organic medium of spreading that the atmosphere is for the wind. And a Christian, unless he wants to lose the Kingdom, must certainly become part of this process, this spiritual movement connected with the spread of the Kingdom in our world, which is being transformed but is not yet fully transformed. Only then will his own spiritual life be complete, as Paul reminds Timothy (vv. 3-7).

He also reminds his disciple of something else: the faithfulness to Christ without which there is no Kingdom (vv. 8-13). For Paul it is obvious that faithfulness to Christ and faithfulness to the Kingdom are one and the same, because Jesus of Nazareth is not simply a Teacher who shows the way. He Himself is the Kingdom; He bears it in Himself in all its fullness. A Christian can renounce the Kingdom to the extent that, before the complete transformation of his human nature, he still lives a divided life. Belonging to the Kingdom only in part, he also still belongs in part to the old, untransformed order of things. Christ is different: He is wholly the Kingdom. There is no other life in Him, and for Him to renounce the Kingdom would mean to renounce Himself. And Paul, as we can see, calls Timothy and all other Christians to become like Christ precisely in this fullness, in the fullness of the life of the Kingdom.