NOTES for Luk 14:15-35

The Kingdom of God comes into this world, but a person must take a step toward it, for it is like a wedding feast to which everyone is invited, but not everyone wants to come. Very much depends on this step; that is why Christ speaks of it in such serious words. He may require everything from a person, even to the point of forgetting himself for the sake of the Kingdom. In order to take this step, the Good News must become more important than the things most important to a person: home, household, family, confidence in the future. (The Aramaic pair "love-hate" here simply means "prefer.")

But a serious step requires a serious decision, perhaps even more serious than the decision of the king or the tower builder in these parables. Christ wants trust, but He does not require madness: a person must soberly "calculate" whether the Gospel is truly more precious to him than all the rest of life, and if so, step toward it.

The words "many are called, but few are chosen" are often perceived as an assertion of a certain elitism. However, if we look more carefully at the parable, we can notice something else. The feast was prepared for a certain number of guests who refused to come. Others were invited in their place, and their number was probably about the same. But then still more guests were called, which means that, on the contrary, there turned out to be even more chosen ones than those originally called. Perhaps this visible contradiction is what troubled the evangelist Matthew and prompted him to add the episode about expulsion from among the chosen.

But we know that when we speak of a visible contradiction, the matter concerns some important message for us. Let us remember the words: "The servant said, 'Sir, what you commanded has been done, and there is still room.'" It seems to us that in these words, "there is still room," there is some very important indication that no matter how desperate a condition we may be in, no matter how much it may seem to us that now "the pit will close its mouth over me" (Ps 68:16), there is always this hope that "there is still room," and there really is.

And still this strict refrain sounds: many are called, few are chosen. Yes, but who said that strictness is bad? Strictness is good right up to that very line beyond which depression, despair, despondency, and so on begin in the person to whom strictness is applied. At that point strictness must urgently be changed to tenderness.

Of course, one must sense that a person is at the line. No human being is capable of this, however much we may encourage ourselves with our emotional sensitivity. But "what is impossible for people is possible for God." And He always places boundless kindness beside strictness. Then He needs to tune a person's heart to perceive one or the other, depending on the state that person is in. And He always succeeds well at this if the person loves Him.

Briefly, the main meaning of the parable of those invited to the supper is that those who take part in the feast are not the ones to whom it is "owed," but the ones who are in need. The servant invites those who are close to the one giving the feast, those who had already been warned beforehand about the celebration being prepared. Clearly, the Lord has in mind the Jews, to whom faith in the One God had been given and who awaited the coming of Christ. For us, however, it is essential to keep in mind that immediate concerns about material things turn not only Jews away from participation in the Kingdom. Thanks to two thousand years of Christian culture, all of us have been notified in advance in one way or another. Even if we have not read the Gospel, we know of the existence of the Church, of Christ and His resurrection; we know of the existence of faith and of God.

No less important is the kind of people who do come to this feast. The poor, the blind, the crippled: those who need it most of all. The fact that they were not called from the very beginning does not mean that they are second-class people; the genre of a parable has its own limits, after all. The Kingdom of Heaven is, of course, offered to everyone, and each of us, depending on our own choice, turns out to be either invited but refusing, or needy and agreeing to come. Of course, faith is a gift of the Holy Spirit, but as Christ said, we do not know where He comes from and where He goes. For this gift to take place and become reality, our decision is undoubtedly also necessary: our readiness to ask for this gift and make use of it. This decision, to need God, to respond and come to the feast in the Kingdom of Heaven, is the main thing for which will and freedom have been given to us at all.

As we can see, Jesus directly warns each person what the way into the Kingdom costs. And He advises: before you decide to follow Me, weigh everything calmly and soberly. Do you want what I can give you? Are you ready to walk the path you will have to walk? Of course, there is no desire here to frighten anyone or turn anyone away from the way into the Kingdom. But there is an understanding that, once a person has set foot on this path, turning aside from it later, if it remains possible at all, will come with serious spiritual losses, and perhaps not only spiritual ones.

It is no accident that the Savior compares the situation of someone preparing to enter the Christian path with the situation of a person preparing to build a watchtower in his field, or with the situation of a ruler preparing to go to war against a neighbor. In both cases it is better to think everything through before beginning, because failure can leave a person in a position far worse than the one he would have been in if he had abandoned the plan. According to Jesus, the cost of the way is renouncing everything this untransformed world, lying in evil, can give.

It is no accident that the Savior uses the image of the cross. In the Gospel era it was clear to everyone in Judea, since all the inhabitants of the country still remembered the revolt that had taken place earlier, during the years of independence, when the revolt organized by the Pharisaic brotherhood against Alexander Jannaeus was suppressed. In the rebels' judgment, that ruler had pursued a policy completely contrary to the Torah. At that time the participants in the revolt suppressed by the authorities were crucified: a punishment not only agonizing, but also humiliating for any Jew.

Jesus directly warns everyone who wants to follow Him: one must be ready for anything, as the participants in that revolt were ready for anything for the sake of their faith, and even the cross did not frighten them. The point here is not that the Kingdom Jesus brought into the world will have to be established by force, as the participants in the revolt under Alexander Jannaeus wanted to establish it by force.

The point is that, according to the Savior's own word, it is "not of this world." Therefore "this world" will always be hostile to it, not because of nature, which can be transformed and which in the end will be transformed, but because of the evil that entered the world after the fall. This conflict with the forces of evil acting in the world is what makes the cross inevitable for every Christian, in one form or another. But, as we can see, there is no other road into the Kingdom. And each person, of course, decides for himself whether to walk it.

To know the will of God, the gift of wisdom is necessary, but so is our effort in using that gift. The Holy Spirit who has been sent down gives us the ability to determine the costs and calculate our strength, but we ourselves must do this. At the same time, Jesus also points to the right result of such a calculation: our strength will be enough precisely to give up everything, take up the cross, and follow Him.

Jesus often connects the path into the Kingdom with a kind of evaluation, calculation, and analysis of a person's possibilities. The one who is going to begin building must first assess his resources and understand whether they will be enough to complete the work; if not, it is better not to begin. Such an attitude is just in any case when the issue is a spiritual path.

Indeed, when setting out on a road, we always hope to reach the goal and always try to understand how difficult or dangerous the road may prove to be, and whether it will be within our strength at all. And if what has been said is true of every spiritual path, it is especially true when the matter concerns the Christian path: here the issue is the Kingdom, the path into which is harder than any other even though the Savior Himself constantly accompanies us on this path. Of course, if Christianity were simply one more new religion, the situation would be different. Every religion is, to a certain extent, a goal in itself.

And even if the issue is something greater than itself, every religious person can always comfort himself by saying that even if he has not reached that greater thing, he has at least done something, and what he has done is valuable in itself. Usually in such cases a religious person tells himself and others that he did what he could and never counted on more: after all, he is not a saint or a righteous man, but an ordinary person. But that is precisely the point: Christianity as a religion has no meaning at all.

Christianity is the path into the Kingdom and life in the Kingdom, and the only goal of a Christian can be the Kingdom in all its fullness; otherwise it is not worth beginning. This is what Jesus speaks about, giving as an example the owner's plan to build a watchtower in his garden. An unfinished or poorly built tower is not only useless; it can even harm by creating for its builder the illusion of safety where there is none. Then it is better not to build anything at all.

So also a Christian who has not reached the life of the Kingdom in all its fullness may fall into a trap: it may seem to him that everything is in order with his spiritual life because he fulfills certain "religious duties of a Christian," while in fact he is no closer to the Kingdom than anyone else who never thinks about religion at all. This maximum, this reaching of the goal, is what Jesus sets before His listeners, calling them to consider whether they are ready to go to the end, and if not, whether it would not be better for them to leave Him and live their ordinary life, the one they lived before.

This thought is repeated in the Gospel many times in different forms. What is going on? Why does the Lord consider it so important? Perhaps because He sees that our desire "to have" carries a deeply sinful nature. It is the desire to secure the foundation of our selfhood, our independence from God and from one another, the desire to reinforce our pride and our exaltation over others, over those who "do not have." But God's design is a universe founded on love, that is, on mutual connection, mutual dependence, and mutual self-giving. Jesus is not saying here that we should have nothing. He calls us to "renounce," not to attach too much importance to what we have, not to consider our property any kind of serious support in our life, but to place all our hope, all our trust, only in God.

The Gospel gives us such an example. People always try to set something aside "for a rainy day"; for older people it is generally common to save for their own funeral. And the Gospel tells us about one such elderly, respected man who had taken care in advance of his future burial and prepared an expensive tomb for himself... Then he met Jesus and began to consider himself His disciple, a secret disciple, because he feared the opinion of the religious authorities. But then Jesus dies on the cross, and this man, Joseph of Arimathea, loses his fear. He goes to Pilate and obtains permission from him to bury the Lord. By giving Jesus his tomb, he renounces what he has, the human basis for hope in the respect of others and in a dignified end to life, and at that moment he stops being Christ's "secret" disciple and becomes His real disciple.

We all learnt and continue to learn; but what do we understand by the word “learn”? Generally speaking, it is when something is being spoken to us and we listen to. In the best case, they show us something, and we look. That is the school model. But Jesus uses completely another model. He calls His followers to follow Him, to share with Him His life, to learn in the process of this life, to make an effort to look like the Master.

Let us think now, what life Jesus lives Himself, which life should likened His followers to their own life? He is not any more a carpenter, He has no constant house (remember- "The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head " - Mt 8:20), He has no money, nor a family … He Himself forsook everything He had to serve all! So what are we expecting, when we think of ourselves being His followers? Let us not repeat the error of the sons of Zebedee, "who were already sharing the ministerial portfolios" in the coming Kingdom (Mk 10:35-37)?

We have all learned and continue to learn. But what do we mean by that word? As a rule, it means that someone tells us something and we listen. At best, someone shows us something and we watch. That is the classroom model. Jesus proposes something completely different: He calls His disciples to follow Him, to share His life, to learn in the course of that life, and to strive to become like their Teacher.

And here it is worth considering how Jesus Himself lives and precisely what aspects of His life His disciples should model their own lives on: He is no longer a carpenter; He has no permanent home (we need only recall the words: “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head” — Mt 8:20); He has no money, no family... He Himself gave up everything in order to serve everyone.

And what do we expect when we think of ourselves as His disciples? Are we not repeating the mistake of the sons of Zebedee, who were “dividing up cabinet posts” in the future Kingdom (Mk 10:35-37)?

This idea is repeated several times in the Bible in various versions. What's the matter? Why the Lord considers it so important? Maybe because He sees that our will "to have" has a deep sinful nature. This will is going to assure the base of our “self”, our independence from God and from one another, the desire to strengthen with whatever it is our pride and to rise on the others "poor". But God's plan is the creation based on love that is interconnection, interdependence and mutual exchange.

Jesus does not say here that we should have nothing; He asks "to give up ", not to grant a lot of importance for what we have, not to consider our property in any way as a valid support in our life, but to put all our hope, all our confidence in God. Of course, people always try to keep aside something for "the bad day". And aged people have habit to save up for their funeral. And now we can remember this example. The Gospel tells us about one of these aged people, a respectable man, who beforehand took care of his future funeral, and got ready a precious grave … And later, he made acquaintance with Jesus and began to consider himself as one of His followers, a hidden follower because he was afraid of religious authorities. Now Jesus is dying on the cross, and this man called Joseph of Arimathaea loses the fear. He goes to Pilate and obtains the permission to bury the Lord. Giving his grave to Jesus, he gives up what he has: the human foundation of hope for the respect of the surrounding and a worthy end of life; but instead, it is especially at this moment that he stops being a "hidden" follower of Jesus and becomes a real follower.

The teaching about a meal to which it is better to invite those who need it and cannot repay us has many parallels in Christ’s words. Apparently He spoke about this often, and the thought recurs repeatedly in the Evangelists’ accounts. “And your Father who sees in secret will reward you,” the Lord says in the Sermon on the Mount. In essence, He says the same thing in the parable of the Last Judgment: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for Me.” What we do for another person, we do for God. Strictly speaking, this in itself is an abundant reward beyond measure. By humbling Himself so far as to need us, God thereby exalts us to an inconceivable dignity that we have done nothing to deserve. Moreover, when we act in this way, we act like Him. For when God does good to us, what repayment can He expect? What can we give Him except the gratitude of our hearts? And when we realize the likeness to God that He has granted us, this means that He Himself is acting within us, for the source of this likeness to God is in Him, not in us. Thus the source of God’s eternal life is opened within you.

Behind Jesus' words about whom one should invite to one's feast stands a definite Jewish tradition connected with the idea of the distribution of goods in the present age and in the age to come. At the foundation of this tradition lies the understanding that each person is allotted by God a certain amount of those goods he can receive, common to the present age and the age to come. Accordingly, the greater amount of them a person uses in the present age, the less will remain for the age to come. From this point of view, it is indeed better to invite to the table those who cannot repay you in kind in the present age: your reward in the age to come will be that much greater.

There is also something more in the Savior's words, something connected with the Kingdom, its laws, and its life. The issue here is no longer the present age or the age to come, but how we relate to our own deeds and actions. It should be noted that practically all ascetic traditions in one way or another reflect an understanding of the fact that normal spiritual life and spiritual growth are possible only with the right attitude toward one's own activity. The right attitude is considered to be one that does not involve attachment to the results, to the fruits of one's labor.

Every task must be, for a person in a certain sense, an end in itself; it must have value in itself. The intention with which a person undertakes his work must be directed precisely toward the work, not toward future results. This is not only because striving for the fruits, for the results themselves, can make a person neglect the quality of his work for the sake of reaching the result more quickly. It is also because, by shifting the center of one's spiritual effort into the future, a person thereby concentrates on the unreal, on something that does not yet exist and whose nature remains unknown.

If this is true for our world, which has not yet been transfigured, then it is even more true for the Kingdom: in the Kingdom there is not and cannot be either past or future in the form in which they are known to us. In relation to the Kingdom, one can speak only of life here and now and of what one receives here and now. And if there is no fullness here and now, there will be none later. For the Kingdom is one for all times. And so is its life.

Today's parable of the wedding feast directly concerns the question of life, joy, and love. After all, we all strive for these things. We all need them. But one fine day, or more often than that, we face a choice: where should we seek life and joy? We can begin to build our own life and our own happiness, whether family happiness or some other kind. Or we can go to the wedding feast, a constant Gospel image of Christ's Kingdom. The choice is entirely free.

Speaking about the Kingdom, Jesus never tires of reminding His listeners that one still has to enter it, and that this will not happen by itself. For the sake of the Kingdom one must leave everything. One must be ready to take up the cross. These words of the Savior were quite understandable: His listeners still remembered how, a little more than a hundred years before the Gospel events, during the reign of Alexander Jannaeus in then-independent Judea, the participants in an anti-government uprising were crucified, people who demanded that the authorities strictly observe the norms of the Torah in the country. The participants in that uprising wanted one thing: the Kingdom. Of course, the Kingdom as they knew it. And for that Kingdom they gave everything. Their ideas about the Kingdom were little like what Jesus speaks of. But He sets their resolve as an example for His listeners. They really did leave everything.

Not like the characters in Jesus' parable, who refuse to come to the feast. They refuse under pretexts that may seem quite reasonable, but still they refuse. And they lose the main thing. Their place is taken by those who have nothing in this world. And no reasons to refuse. Is it a question of priorities? Yes, of course, of priorities too. But not only of priorities. Jesus does not speak by chance about a feast, about the first and the last, about those places where many strive to sit even under threat of being driven from them.

The Kingdom is not a place. It is not a structure. It is not a hierarchy. The Kingdom is a state. It is a state in which one can abide, but which cannot at all, so to speak, be fixed in place. And people very much want to fix it in place. That is where the better and worse places come from. In reality there are no good or bad places in the Kingdom. There is only one criterion there: whether a person is in his own place. Whether he is in the very place God appointed for him, or in the place he chose for himself because he considered it more suitable for himself.

From this comes the question: should one go to the feast or to the field just bought? The wedding feast is a symbol of the Kingdom. And if a person does not know what to choose, then he does not know what the Kingdom is. If he knew, it would not enter his mind to compare the significance of the life he lives with anything belonging to him. Life is fullness, while the field bought, property, even family, are only derivatives of that fullness. Here it is important not to confuse the part with the whole, the main thing with the secondary. And only one thing can help in this: the experience of the genuine life of the Kingdom, that very life which is salvation.