NOTES for Joh 14:1-6

How important it is for us that Jesus says these words: "Let not your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me" (John 14:1). First of all, it becomes clear that the Lord knows we can be troubled and doubtful. He does not say that this is bad; but the fact that He calls us not to be troubled means that there is something better for the human heart: joy, rejoicing, peace, and all of this is given to us as the fruit of faith.

This is precisely why the Lord calls us to believe, overcoming trouble and doubt by faith. True, this does not mean that joy and peace will come to us immediately, because God expects faith from us regardless of what is happening around us and longs for our steadfastness. Therefore verse 1 of today's passage can be received as a motto for life, suggested by God Himself.

"I am the way and the truth and the life." That is how these words sound, in a way unfamiliar to our ear. We are more accustomed to "I am the way, the truth, and the life"; then it would be a list of coordinate terms, each of which could be moved into first place. See Fr. Georgy Chistyakov's book Light Shines in the Darkness, chapter 19. Yet such an approach substantially distorts the picture: the word "way" stands at the beginning for a reason, for Christ is the way, and "the expression 'and the truth and the life' has, to use the scholarly term, an explicative character, from the Latin explicatio, explanation" (ibid.).

But it is hard to come to such a conclusion by limiting oneself to an attentive reading of this one phrase alone; it is necessary to turn to the whole New Testament text as a whole. Let us recall the words where the way and life again appear together: "narrow is the gate and narrow the way that leads to life" (Matthew 7:14). The way that leads to life. What sort of way is this? Let us note that here it says "gate and way." But the Lord says, "I am the door; if anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture" (John 10:9).

A door, like a gate, is something one must pass through in order to go out onto a way. But when the way is finished, one must pass through the gate and the door again, for this is the beginning and the end of the way. The Lord is the beginning and the end, but also what lies between them: the way itself. Let us recall another saying: "I know your works. Behold, I have set before you an open door, which no one can shut; you have little strength, and have kept My word, and have not denied My name" (Revelation 3:8). The opened door becomes, as it were, an icon of the Lord, who sends us on the way and waits for our return.

So we have tried to understand the link between "way and life." Now let us turn to the expression "way and truth." The word "truth" (like the words "to do," "works of God," "light," "hour," and some others) is key for the Gospel of John and does not occur in the synoptic text. First of all we must recall a fragment of the prologue: "for the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ" (John 1:17). It is not He Himself who is truth, as one could think if the words in the phrase we are considering were separated by commas; rather, truth came through Him. And although neither the Greek nor the Latin originals contain this etymological connection, in Russian the word proiskhodit, "comes forth," has the same root as khodit, "to walk," and one can walk only by one way or another.

In mathematics, the equality of two sets can be proved this way: first it is shown that all the elements of the first set belong to the second, and then the reverse - all the elements of the second belong to the first. And it turns out that this mechanism applies far beyond mathematics. As we read today in the Gospel, Jesus Himself uses it, saying: "I am in the Father and the Father is in Me" (John 14:10).

We do not know why He does not tell the disciples directly that He and the Father are one, since He had already said this publicly (see John 10:30). Perhaps to the people closest to Him He wants not simply to report this as a fact, but also to explain why it is so. This is enough for our understanding of how the Father and the Son can be one: everything one does is done through the other and in the other. If we try to penetrate fully and lay out "on shelves" the mechanism of the inner unity of our God, nothing may come of it. The Lord asks us simply to believe that it is so. And if we cannot, then simply to look at what Christ does and in this recognize the Father (see John 14:11).

It turns out that the Ascension of the Lord Jesus Christ did not complete God's plan for our salvation, but opened a new stage in the spiritual history of the world. And the Lord speaks to us about this in today's reading from the Gospel of John. "I will send you another Comforter, the Spirit of truth."

He speaks of such nearness of God as we are unable to imagine and could not have expected. The Spirit of God Himself, whom the world does not see and does not know, will be not only with us but also in us. The Lord says that the Spirit, the Comforter, will guide us into all truth; therefore we will no longer be alone in our search for God, but He Himself will lead us to Himself. And another name of the Spirit of God is the Spirit of life, the life-giving Spirit, as our Creed calls Him. He creates in us life that never ends, never grows poor, and never ceases.

At the Last Supper, Jesus tries, for the last time during His earthly ministry and in as much detail as possible, to explain to His disciples what the Kingdom He has brought into the world is. And they struggle to understand Him: even after the Resurrection, their ideas about the Kingdom remained practically the same as those of their contemporaries. He tells them that there is room for everyone in the Father's house, while they are probably imagining a magnificent palace in an earthly kingdom, perhaps even miraculously appearing out of nowhere, where there really will be room for all their Teacher's followers—and, of course, for themselves too. He tells them: you know where I am going, meaning that they have already seen and know what the Kingdom is, for they have spent more than a day with Him, and He has spoken to them more than once of the death that awaits Him, as well as of the resurrection that will follow. Yet they probably still think that He intends to leave and go into hiding so that He can prepare in secret for that final messianic war which, they were sure, was about to begin, and in which they themselves would have to take the most direct and immediate part. And they also long, at last, to see God face to face. For afterwards, after the victory, the new Kingdom founded by their Teacher will undoubtedly be the Kingdom of God Himself, and they, as their Teacher's closest disciples, will at last see the God He calls His Father as closely as He Himself sees Him. If only they could see His Father right now, before the final, hardest war, and before the victory! There would be nothing more to wish for; then even dying would hold no terror, for after such an encounter there would be no doubt left about their own resurrection. But He speaks in riddles again; He says: whoever has seen Me has seen the Father. And again there is bewilderment: Who, then, is He, after all? Where is His Kingdom? And how will all the things He speaks of come about? The Last Supper is full of riddles and bewilderment. And no wonder: Jesus' disciples have not yet understood the main thing. And the evangelists were candid enough to describe the situation as it was at the time, without embellishing anything. So that we too, as we read these lines, would understand: apostles are not born, they become apostles. And not all at once. And only by grace.

Jesus' words about His unity with the Father, spoken during the Last Supper, take on a new meaning compared with what they conveyed before. Now Jesus speaks of this unity as the way, the truth, and the life. His life itself proves to be not only the fullness of living truth but also the living embodiment of the path everyone must travel—the path of the Kingdom. In those days, the ideas of way, truth, and life were traditionally associated with the Torah. The Torah was regarded as the way, the way of truth and the way of life, leading the one who walked it to God and to the threshold of the messianic Kingdom. The ideal was a living Torah, which a person could become if his life conformed to it completely.

By calling Himself the way, the truth, and the life, Jesus speaks of Himself as the living Torah. But His way becomes the way of the Kingdom. His relationship with the Father contains a dynamic that is revealed to the world as the dynamic of the Kingdom entering it. He goes to the Father—and the Kingdom enters the world. Such is the path of the Man who revealed the Torah to the world in all its fullness, the living Torah. But it is also the path of every Christian, everyone who wants to follow Christ into His Kingdom and travel that path to the end.

The Savior goes so that there may be a place in His Kingdom for each of His disciples and followers. But to become His disciple in truth, to reach those dwelling places in the Kingdom that He promises to prepare for them, one must repeat His journey. Not imitate it outwardly, but repeat it in essence, travel it oneself—and oneself become a living Torah.

Of course, a person does not remain alone on this path. Otherwise no one could become a living Torah, for without help from above this is impossible for a sinful human being. Yet everyone must still walk for himself. A person can be helped to walk, but only if he is walking rather than sitting on the sidelines. This is the path to which Jesus calls His disciples. He is confident that they know the way, for He Himself is before their eyes as a living example. They do not yet see or understand everything, of course, but what they do not yet see or understand can be understood only through their own experience, which each of them will gain in due course. Words are useless here. Jesus has already told His disciples the essential thing; the rest will become clear once they set out on the path.

The Lord continues His final conversation with the disciples about His new covenant with them. If since the time of Moses the bond between God and Israel had been carried out through sacred rites in the tabernacle and then in the temple, now Jesus becomes the center of God's presence, the new temple (John 2), He is the way to the Father, the manifestation of truth, and life itself living in people.

But they face separation: He is going where access is still closed to the disciples. He promised to return, but how many generations must pass before His words are fulfilled? How can the disciples preserve their bond with God if Jesus leaves them? And the Lord reveals a new mystery to them: He remains despite His departure. He will abide with them through the One whom the Father will send to them, the Comforter, who will remind them of Jesus and make His presence among them manifest, so that each person may recognize in the Spirit the face of Christ and, having recognized Him, see the Father in Him...

Christ tells the disciples that they know where He is going and even know the way there, yet they immediately admit that they do not know. Characteristically, it is Thomas, inclined to examine critically what he hears, who makes this admission. But it seems that he voices a perplexity troubling the other disciples too.

The disciples, like all of us, really do lack the kind of knowledge that settles in the mind as rationally presented information. But the knowledge they have received from their Teacher—the knowledge of His love—is far more important than facts stored in the head, and still more than what many people habitually regard as ‘secret knowledge’. What Christ gives us may not always be apparent to rational understanding, but when received in the heart it provides reliable bearings. In that case, if reason supplies no right answer, it may come from Christ.

Philip, who asked to be shown the Father, was among the first called by Jesus. Even when close by, one may fail to understand the meaning of what is happening nearby; often only at a distance does one see what one had failed to notice. But now the hour has come when the disciple asks for the very thing for which the Teacher came to humanity. We do not know whether the disciple immediately understood the answer; even two thousand years later, not everyone hears and accepts it. It is hard to understand how the Son's unity with the Father comes about, and hard also to grasp what our unity with the Son of God should be in its fullness. Yet it is precisely unity with Him, and through Him with the Father, that makes it possible to do works like His and greater than these.

The last two lines of today's passage from the Gospel of John read as one, as something similar and repeated. But in the words "If you ask anything in My name, I will do it" (John 14:14) there is what appears to be a small difference: it does not say of whom we may ask anything in Jesus' name. We can ask anyone: relative or stranger, acquaintance or unknown person, evil or good. And despite this, He says that He will do it. The main thing is that the request be in His name.

And a person who, without embarrassment, openly pronounces the name of his Lord, without being sure that the one listening will understand him, trusts God. And his faith is strong. According to this faith the Lord does what we ask.

On Good Friday, on a Good Friday that is not distant from us but closer than ever, although we were not yet alive then, Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh spoke these words from the pulpit. '<...> The Mother stood by the Cross; Her Son, betrayed, reviled, cast out, beaten, torn, tormented, was dying on the Cross. And She was dying with Him… Many, surely, looked at Christ; many, surely, felt shame and fear and did not look into His Mother's face. And now we turn to Her, saying: Mother, I am guilty—among others, yes—of Your Son's death; I am guilty—intercede for me. Save us through Your prayer, through Your protection, because if You forgive, no one will condemn or destroy us… But if You do not forgive, Your word will be stronger than any word spoken in our defense… <...> Let us stand before the judgment of our conscience, awakened by Her grief, and bring a repentant, contrite heart. Let us bring Christ our prayer that He may give us strength to awaken, come to our senses, come alive, become human, make our life deep and broad, capable of holding the Lord's love and presence. And with this love let us go out into life to create life, to fashion and build a world, deep and spacious, that would be like a garment clothing the Lord's presence, shining with all the light, all the joy of paradise. This is our calling; this is what we must accomplish by breaking ourselves, giving ourselves, dying if need be—and it is needed!—because to love is to die to oneself, to cease valuing oneself and instead value the other, whether God or a human being; to live for another, laying aside concern for oneself. Let us die as much as we can, let us strive with all our strength to die, so that we may live by love and live for God and for others.' So close to us is that Friday on which the Metropolitan spoke these words, as are all the Good Fridays that have been and will be. 'I am guilty.' I was not alive then, but I am guilty. We cannot regard this day as a symbolic commemoration of events that once took place. No. For the Body and Blood of which we partake are not a symbol, but the very Body and the very Blood. Here I am, and I am guilty here and now. It is frightening when people begin to greet one another for Easter in advance—this really happens, and happens often! Today I know nothing of Easter; I know only one thing: whether woman or man, I am guilty, for He died, and I did nothing to prevent it.