NOTES for Mat 21:18-32

Today's reading consists of two parts that at first glance are not directly connected with each other. The first part is the account of the withered fig tree (vv. 18-22); the second gives the conversation of Jesus with the chief priests and elders in the Temple (vv. 23-32). And yet there is a connection between these two events, although it is not immediately obvious.

It is no accident that the account of the withered fig tree ends with a conversation about faith that, according to Jesus, can move mountains (vv. 21-22). Clearly, faith here is not only trust in God and in the One whom God sends into the world, but also a definite spiritual state. And the second part of the passage is devoted precisely to what prevents a person from acquiring and keeping that state.

The conversation with the chief priests and elders begins with the question, already discussed more than once, of who gave Jesus the authority to do what He does (v. 23). Jesus, as had happened before, answers a question with a question: was the washing ("baptism") with which John washed people true or false (v. 25)? Then Jesus' interlocutors begin thinking about how to answer Him (vv. 25-27). But they are clearly concerned not with the truth of John's ministry, but only with the possibility of getting out of a delicate situation without losing face. And in the end, as often happens in such cases, they avoid answering (v. 27).

Then Jesus also refuses to answer their question. There is no game here: in fact, with such an attitude toward the matter, trying to explain anything to these people is truly pointless. They are not interested in truth; their own opinion is more important to them - whatever they may say about spiritual life, purity of faith, and other things of that sort.

The parable Jesus tells about the two sons (vv. 28-32) characterizes the situation as well as possible: one can talk about faith and spiritual life as much as one likes, but if there is no sincere obedience to God's will, all of it is only words. And what prevents obedience is a lack of resolve and inner wholeness.

After all, Jesus' interlocutors cannot be called complete unbelievers. But this is not unconditional faith; it is faith with reservations and allowances. Such faith is worth little. It certainly cannot move mountains. The only thing such faith is good for is serving as self-consolation for those who would like to consider themselves believers without sacrificing anything. But such faith has nothing to do with the Kingdom.

The Lord continues His path to Golgotha, which is already felt in His clashes with the chief priests and elders, in His parables and conversations with the disciples. He entered the city as King. He must either be received by the people as the long-awaited Messiah or perish in a clash with the hypocrisy and rigidity of the leaders and the unfaithfulness of the people, in a struggle with the kingdom of darkness. Where Christ comes, no room for compromise remains. The fig tree that bore no fruit withers; Israel, which did not hear the preaching of John, cannot receive the Savior. More and more clearly it becomes visible that the conflict can end in only one way: the death of the Rebel.

We, together with the Israelites of the beginning of the first century, stand at the very center of these events. Christ enters us, or will yet enter us, in exactly the same way He entered Jerusalem. And He will encounter, or has already encountered, hypocrisy and rigidity in our hearts in exactly the same way. Like them, we are always on the edge of a choice: to kill the Messiah and wither like the fig tree, or to receive Him, hear His word, become as He wants to see us, and so obtain His mercy and the Kingdom.

What is the connection between the withered fig tree and the Savior's words about faith? And why does Jesus treat the tree He met on the road so harshly at all? After all, in nature everything happens in its own time, and it is foolish to take offense at that or be angry about it.

And yet the point is the Kingdom. The Kingdom that accompanies Jesus everywhere. And in the Kingdom there is no change of seasons as we understand it. Fruit can appear on a tree at any time. More precisely, it appears when it is needed by the one who comes to the tree. If there is no fruit, that means only one thing: the tree lives not by the laws of the Kingdom, but by the laws of the untransformed world, the world where there is no true life. In essence, the Savior's words merely state a sad fact: the fig tree did not enter the Kingdom. Why? That question remains open, and it will remain open until the end of time. But the disciples' question and the Savior's answer are truly very interesting. The point is exactly what can allow a person to avoid the fate of the withered fig tree: faith.

Faith is a capacious concept. It includes faithfulness, trust, and confidence in the rightness of the chosen path. But at the foundation of everything are will, choice, and resolve, the things that form the basis of spiritual life. This will and resolve determine what a person will be before God and people and to what degree the Kingdom will be opened to him. And Jesus draws His disciples' attention to one very important aspect of the will, understood not as a psychological effort but as a spiritual act: it is indivisible. True faith, understood precisely as spiritual will, is always equal to itself; the concepts of "more" or "less" are out of place here. It may be tiny from the point of view of the untransformed world, "like a mustard seed," but in it are the whole fullness of spiritual choice and the whole spiritual potential of a person, which can work miracles. And, of course, it can open the road to the Kingdom for the one who walks it.

Isn’t it too soundly to be true? It seems as if the doubts are quite justified. We only know to ask, but is no always possible to receive.

Today’s verse is obviously about this. It isn’t said indeed: “all things you ask, you will receive". Prayer and believe are added. How's that, to ask God isn’t prayer? There it is, so the word "prayer" is stronger than just the designation of our "give-give". Prayer is in the entire biblical context a communication with God that is the realization of our need, which is to be with Him and not just to receive something. That’s why it wouldn’t be correct to ask and consider it as a prayer, but to indwell in prayer (communication) and to ask for something during this prayer.

Another point concerns the believe; it is here above all about our trust to God’s absolute kindness, that is to accept that He wants for us something better, that we cannot imagine ourselves. So, our request in prayer will be exactly the scouting of what God wants to give us; besides, His desire and the possibility of giving us what we ask and our compliance to receive this good donation (Grace) will meet, and it means that the promise given by Jesus in today’s verse will come true.

The question the chief priests and elders ask Jesus after He cleanses the temple of commerce is given in a somewhat polished form. In essence, they are not asking about the source of Christ's power, because that would require them to imply the existence of that power, and neither the religious nor the public leaders want to do that. The Greek text here does not use the word kratos, power or might, which is usually used in the meaning of authority. Instead, the chief priests and scribes ask about exousia, permission or right. The same distinction is noticeable in other languages, for example in Latin. Thus the chief priests are speaking rather rudely: "By what right are You giving orders here? And who gave You this right?" Such a formulation of the question makes it much more familiar to us, because we constantly encounter it in our everyday life.

And therefore an important nuance is seen in Christ's answering question. When He asks them about the origin of John's baptism, He is asking about the rights of Heaven. "Does God have rights in your world, and what are they? Does God have the right to do anything at His own discretion?"

In our time we all know very well about human rights. In their ancient time the chief priests thought more about the rights of society and the state. But no one thinks about the rights and freedom of God. The ministry of John the Baptist thus becomes an example of the Creator doing something on His own initiative, at His own discretion, and outside the framework of human customs. And therefore the evasive answer of the chief priests, which they wanted to make nonnegative so that people would not think they were denouncing someone authoritative among the people, turns out not to be positive: "We do not know," they say, "whether God has rights or not." Do we know?

We are used to thinking that the more power a person has, the more significant his role in society, the more he must be concerned about what others will think of him. In the modern world this is called by the fine word "image," that is, translated from English, "appearance" or "representation." The word may be new, but the problem of choosing the right strategy for building an image was clearly relevant two thousand years ago as well. The chief priests are in a difficult position: either recognize John as a prophet and thereby, as people now say, disavow all their previous statements, or once again say aloud something that would most likely lower their standing sharply.

And that is precisely why Jesus refuses to continue the conversation with the Pharisees. It is pointless. They cannot even honestly say what they really think. A terrible paradox: the creature is speaking with the Creator, but is concerned only with its own image, not with remaining the image of God.

The forefather Jacob was not afraid to wrestle with God and received a blessing, but fear and self-absorption block us from God. What path do we choose?

The Lord permits no evasions by which we might avoid openly and directly professing our faith and our position in life concerning one question or another. Yet we are more inclined to wait for signs from Him, trying to escape responsibility, for if we act or speak in whatever way suits us, all our falsehood will become evident. The elders likewise try to force Jesus Himself to answer His own question about John, secretly hoping to catch Him in something. “We do not know” is a very convenient position; in saying this, the elders continue to wait for some sign from Christ. Perhaps He will say that John's baptism was from God, and then they can accuse Him of being a self-appointed impostor. Perhaps He will condemn John, and then they can find common ground with Him. Christ is speaking with the elders and scribes, but they are not speaking with Him: they are neither communicating nor conversing with Him, but trying to “resolve the problem.” The Lord, however, does not allow this. With Him, only direct and open dialogue is possible.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions," everyone knows this folk wisdom. Why is that so? The parable of the two sons leads us to reflect on this. We readily agree in words to do good, because then we enjoy the thought of our own righteousness. But we all lack constancy, patience, and diligence. And we become like seeds that fell on rocky ground. "The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak," the Lord says at another time. But let us also think about the amazing gift of repentance that has been given to us. The possibility of a clean slate is always left to us. It is never too late to reject evil.

However, the idea of the unfulfilled good intentions of the son who said, "I will go," is only one possible interpretation. Another meaning can be ostentatious piety, which lets a person skim along the surface of life without entering into the depth of its problems.

Perhaps the great difficulty of our life with you is that we know too well what we ought to be. And most paradoxically, this comes from such a wonderful thing as knowledge and love of the Law.

We try on the costume of virtue and like ourselves very much in it. That is why it is so hard for us to admit our weakness, our unworthiness, our sinfulness before people. It is even hard for us to refuse a person who asks us for something, when we cannot fulfill the request, because we do not want to put ourselves in the position of someone who did not help another person in need. That role is unpleasant to us.

The parable we are talking about today has many meanings. But here is one of them: always be completely honest before yourself and before the one who asks you for something or comes to you with something. Sometimes one hears that this parable teaches that deeds are more important than words. No way. In fact, the second son sinned twice: first, by not telling his father the truth about his inner unwillingness to go work, and second, by not going to work. Therefore, on the contrary, this parable is about how important words are, the first sin, and about how important deeds are, the second sin.

Did the first son sin? I would say he did not. Yes, he grieved his father. But he was honest in speaking of his unwillingness; he was honest in describing his inner state, though he could not help understanding that it was unseemly. Let us strive for the same honesty. Of course, one should try to hide one's bad thoughts from people so as not to tempt them; the point is something else: not to promise more than we can actually do. This is difficult, because the request always exceeds our abilities and we always want to be kind to everyone. But let us understand that this is impossible and stop admiring ourselves, because we make those suffer who do not understand why we were so kind and then nothing came of it.

Today's composite passage from the Gospel of Matthew tells of two similar actions of the Lord Jesus Christ that caused no small astonishment among those who witnessed them. Both of these moments - the driving of the merchants from the Temple and the withered fig tree - fit within the framework of the "prophetic actions" well known in the Old Testament. These actions are performed at God's command and serve as a kind of visible parable. The prophets performed them in order to convey some revelation to their contemporaries, and to do so in a way that would be remembered for a long time.

The driving of the merchants from the Temple is directly the fulfillment of what was said about Christ in the Psalms and the prophets. This action is interpreted quite unambiguously as the fulfillment of prophecies, and therefore literally the next day the chief priests and elders ask Christ: "By what authority are You doing these things?" The Lord does not give them a direct answer, but His disciples, as the evangelists testify, understood Him well and remembered forever.

The withered fig tree most often raises the question: "for what?" The fig tree, of course, is guilty of nothing, but from ancient times the tree was a symbol that the prophets also used often. They spoke of Israel as God's planting, needed exclusively in order to bear fruit for God. If this does not happen, the existence of this planting loses its meaning. This is what the Lord directs His disciples to.