NOTES for Luk 12:21

What does it mean to "be rich toward God"? We can reflect on the words of the apostle Paul: "To me, the least of all the saints, this grace was given: to preach to the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ" (Eph 3:8). "The unsearchable riches of Christ." What are they? But they are called unsearchable precisely so that we would not understand this fully, and therefore would not fully understand what it means to be rich toward God.

Our holy teachers say that this means doing works of mercy, giving away one's material possessions and one's labor, and that is understandable and beautiful. But, truly, this is not quite enough. It is possible to fall into such an abyss on this path if you are not now "the one to whom it has been given from above" to do such works. We have all witnessed such sad stories in life. A person appears to have everything: kindness, self-denial, and the desire to give everything away; yet after several years of "holy" life, he falls into the abyss. Why? Because the things we have listed, summing up, let us say, St. Philaret's teaching on the words "be rich toward God," are still not enough. After all, this wealth toward God, wealth for God, wealth of God remains unsearchable. It is deeply symbolic that in our language these words have the same root.

But let us listen to what the apostle says next. "And to bring to light for everyone what is the stewardship of the mystery hidden from eternity in God, who created all things, so that now the manifold wisdom of God might be made known through the Church to the rulers and authorities in the heavens, according to the eternal purpose that He accomplished in Christ Jesus our Lord, in whom we have boldness and confident access through faith in Him." (Eph 3:9-12) In fact, here the description of what this wealth is has been revealed in full measure. It is hard to retell, hard to try to convey these words in our own words, to bring them closer and make them more understandable. But the main point appears to be that this "manifold wisdom in the heavens" is acquired, which, as we see it, is this wealth, only through "boldness and faith in Him."

Jesus' parable of the rich man who gathered a good harvest is well known, and its meaning seems quite clear. Indeed, the Old Testament books contain many references to the insecurity of wealth accumulated on this earth.

Of course, the chief argument has always been the mortality of the person accumulating riches. Everything amassed—and this did not always mean material goods alone—could naturally be passed on to heirs, successors, those who would carry on the work begun: in short, to posterity. But the argument that “it all remains for others” offered little comfort. Ecclesiastes had already observed that someone departing for the next world can only guess how those very people will use what has been left to them.

With regard to the Savior's parable, one should add that, judging from His other parables, the field and the harvest signify respectively the world and the spiritual fruits that ripen within it toward the end of our age of the coming Kingdom. Evidently, this is not simply about material wealth, but about what might provisionally be called spiritual savings, which a person can, of course, also “store in a barn,” even if it is not a physical one.

Yet even spiritual hoarding is apparently no better than material hoarding. Even achievements in the spiritual field, if a person tries to keep them for himself, hold out no promise of fullness of life. The fool does not share in the life of the Kingdom; he dies like any other human being, and no riches or savings, even spiritual ones accumulated in the “right” field, can help him in any way.

Only one thing, it seems, can help him: finally to stop speaking exclusively to “his own beloved self,” to “his soul,” and to turn to God, opening himself to Him. Of course, this will also mean opening all his barns, with everything that has accumulated in them. But in return, the Kingdom will open to the one who has opened himself and opened his stores—and with it, the fullness of life.

One remarkable detail draws attention in this text. The rich man talks to himself. It is precisely to his own soul that he addresses the words: "rest, eat, drink, be merry." And this contains the key point that allows us to understand the text correctly.

To talk to oneself is madness. But not simply madness; it is the worst madness in the world, because it means that, for the person, God does not exist in principle. It means that the place of God is occupied by the person himself. A person accustomed to living before God cannot talk to himself at all, because how can one talk to oneself when God is near?! After all, we usually call mad not simply people who talk to themselves, but those who talk to themselves when other people are nearby. But when there are no people nearby, God is nearby. This means it is no lesser, but even greater madness (though society usually considers the opposite) to talk to oneself, even silently, when no one is nearby.

And what good would there be, someone may say, if he had addressed those same words not to himself but to God? Would his sin have been any less because he addressed God with the same self-confident boasting? But the whole truth is that this is impossible. Even if a person tries to boast before God, as if declaring his independence from Him, very soon, if the person is truly addressing God, God softens his heart and turns him to Himself. Only when a person talks to himself can God do nothing.

The rich man about whom the Lord speaks in today's parable rejoices in an abundant harvest because it gives him the chance not to worry about daily bread or be anxious about his future. This wealth creates the illusion of independence, and it feels as though there is no need to be afraid. At the same time, no room remains at all in the person's heart for the grace-filled experience of dependence on God. The size of the wealth in this case is not so important: you can feel like a rich man dependent on no one on the day of a microscopic paycheck; the only difference is the length of this illusion.

Yet a person's life is still essentially dependent on the Creator, and therefore the Lord calls the attempt to free oneself from this dependence madness. A person who relies on earthly wealth tries to drown out the feeling of dependence on God. If, however, one does not do this, then the experience of knowing that you live only because God so wills can become for you a truly exceptional means of finding humility, and therefore of finding God.

The key phrase in today’s Gospel reading is, of course, the passage’s closing words: “Seek first the Kingdom of God, and all these things will be added to you.” Christ’s preceding words, which lead to this conclusion, concern chiefly human nature. Speaking to his disciples about what should concern them, the Lord asks them a question: “Which of you, by worrying, can add even a cubit to his stature?” The self-evident answer—“no one”—implies that we cannot change the way a human being is constituted. It also follows that what matters in our lives is not our outward circumstances but our inward disposition, and that this is precisely what we ought to care about.

At the beginning of today’s passage, the Lord also says: “A person’s life does not depend on the abundance of his possessions.” The Synodal translation offers a paraphrase here; the Greek original can be translated literally as follows: “A person’s life [is] not in the abundance of possessions.” If life does not consist in outward circumstances or material security, what does it consist in? This is the central question Christ answers. A person’s life consists in the Kingdom of God; abiding in it is essential to being alive. The Lord calls us to entrust everything else to the care of the heavenly Father, who knows our needs.

In the Gospel there are many parables told by the Savior about rich people, about wealth, about its meaning in life, and about life itself. Sometimes, as in this case, the parables were connected with a concrete situation: Jesus is asked to resolve what today would be called an inheritance dispute, and He refuses, declaring that such disputes are not His business. The parable becomes an illustration of His words, an explanation of His refusal to deal with the division of someone else's property. Meanwhile, the request addressed to Jesus was precisely evidence of His authority in the eyes of those who came to Him, recognition of the fact that He, Jesus, would be able to divide the inheritance justly and in accordance with the Torah. Among the Jews in antiquity, and later as well, people often brought questions to teachers of the Torah and learned rabbis that Gentiles usually resolved in courts. They resolved them, including problems connected with family, inheritance, and property law. In principle, anyone could be a judge if he knew the Torah, could make a decision corresponding to the Torah, and if the litigants trusted him. This kind of arbitration was widespread in Jewish society at all times.

So Jesus is asked to become such a judge in an inheritance matter, and He refuses. And after refusing, He then tells that very parable of what we usually call the foolish rich man. It can appear that by this parable Jesus only wants to tell us that it is better to be poor than rich, because that makes it easier to enter the Kingdom. In reality, however, everything is somewhat more complex. Different people experience poverty in different ways too.

The main point here is different: a person's real, genuine life does not depend on his possessions. A person's life, not only spiritual life but life in general, is determined not by what and how much he has, but by who and what he is. One can be poor or rich. The main question is what a person connects himself, his "I," with, where, to speak in Gospel language, his treasure is. For where his treasure is, there his heart is also. There is his genuine life.

If it turns out to be connected with what a person can easily lose, even simply by dying, then his life will end at the moment he parts with what he cannot take and carry away with him. Then the only and absolute reality at the moment of parting with earthly life will be separation, loss, and death. And the life, that life of the Kingdom which he could have lived in fullness, the person will never know. Here, however, it is his own choice. To each his own.

This parable is humanity’s dream. To gather as much as possible, insure ourselves against every misfortune, cushion every possible fall, so that nothing can destroy our comfortable existence. The whole development of civilisation is built on this desire: after working, to gather everything into the barn and feel independent of what is happening. In conversation with people, one constantly encounters the conviction that this is possible and that, if this goal cannot be achieved, it may be regarded as a misfortune and complete defeat in the struggle for the barn.

Yet the problem is that this illusion is the first to perish—not only when it collides with reality, but even when we look more closely at what is happening around us. We need only look attentively, and it becomes clear that our only guarantee is not to build a barn, but to grow into union with God. It was precisely this state that Jesus Himself described as the life of branches on the vine, so that no storm could tear us away from Him. This is the only prescription He gives us for life in the world.

Today's reading continues the theme of the Kingdom and religiosity. It begins with Jesus' warning about the ‘leaven of the Pharisees’ (v. 1). And it is certainly no accident that Luke places this well-known saying of Jesus in the context of another saying of His: there is nothing hidden in the world that will not be revealed (v. 2). For religion changes a person only outwardly; inwardly, that person remains the same, and on entering the Kingdom will be unable to conceal their true nature behind religiosity.

But rejecting the ‘leaven of the Pharisees’ inevitably leads to conflict and persecution, of which Jesus immediately warns His disciples (vv. 4–5). Here the Saviour returns to the theme of poverty as a spiritual condition. On the one hand, it is, of course, wholly incompatible with the pursuit of profit and possessions. This apparently explains why Jesus has no intention of settling the inheritance dispute in which He is asked to intervene (vv. 13–15). Moreover, He immediately tells a parable about a man who has laid up provisions for years to come, which, as the parable makes clear, he will never get to use (vv. 16–21). What we have here is not simply a condemnation of greed, but an indication of misplaced priorities that distort a person's spiritual life and render it meaningless. Jesus also explains how to put those priorities in their proper order (vv. 6–7, 22–34).

This is not a call to live in destitution, but simply a reminder of the Kingdom, which must in any case come first. Then God will give those who seek the Kingdom everything else: enough to live on, while those who seek the Kingdom have no need of stockpiles. And then the essential thing happens: a person begins to live no longer their own life, but the life of the Kingdom (v. 32). A life that no one can take away, unless the person living it renounces it of their own accord. Only someone who lives the life of the Kingdom can be a faithful witness to Christ: such a person knows that they are living not their own limited, finite life, which anyone can easily take away, but the life of the Kingdom, which can be lost only by yielding to the one who can ‘cast into Gehenna’ (v. 5). In this way Jesus reminds His disciples of the essential thing that gives a Christian's life its meaning: the triumph of the Kingdom, and the fact that the chief task of anyone wishing to follow Christ becomes the endeavour to do everything possible to become part of the Kingdom and, in due time, share in that triumph.

Speaking to the disciples about the Kingdom, Jesus describes it above all as a new life opened to those who seek it. But it can be found only in the case of absolute openness on one's own part. To live the life of the Kingdom, one must renounce one's own life. Not one's life-space as such, not that flow of life which the Bible calls the soul, but the attempt to appropriate this space and this flow for oneself, to regard it as one's inalienable property, belonging to oneself by right.

In the Kingdom everything is different. There life is shared. One life for all. It is not owned; it is given for use. And the measure of this use is limited by nothing except the spiritual potential of the person himself. As much of the life of the Kingdom as he can contain, that much he will receive. But it does not become anyone's own in the sense in which we are accustomed to use that word with reference to property relations in our world.

The life of the Kingdom is yours insofar as you can live by this life. And therefore Jesus advises surrendering oneself to the flow of the life of the Kingdom. Enter it like a river. And move together with it. Without trying, as people say today, to fix anything in place. Without trying to evaluate one's own states, achievements, or failures. Without clinging to anything that attracts and holds a person in this world. And certainly without trying to fit the life of the Kingdom into religious frameworks: the new life cannot be kneaded on either Pharisaic or Sadducean leaven. The Kingdom does not fit into any human frameworks, but it does fit into the human heart. If, of course, it becomes the person's chief treasure. For where the treasure is, there is the heart.

“You are worth more than many little birds”—for many people today these words sound like a revelation. When a human life is worth next to nothing (or worth a great deal of money), food inevitably becomes more important than the soul, and clothing more important than the body. The reality of the Kingdom of God frees us from this slavery to money, food, clothing, and the oppressive anxiety about tomorrow. The Lord simply tells us: “To Me, you are more important and more precious than all these things.” We are very good at seeing the ugliness of this world and the ugliness of those around us (and sometimes our own). But the Lord says: “To Me, you are more beautiful than the flowers of the field.” We tremble in fear for our well-being, health, and life. But He comforts us: “Do not be afraid; My Kingdom belongs to you.”