NOTES for Luk 2:21-52

Every person knows that someday he will die. Death is a unique phenomenon: it is completely obvious and completely closed to those who have not yet experienced it. God speaks with a person, and that person remains alive. On the basis of this Gospel passage, one can say that a person who speaks with God, not somehow but face to face, receives both life and death: life full of His presence, the light of revelation for all, and death as the fulfillment of the promise, as the possibility of a full and final encounter.

Today's reading continues the account of the witnesses connected with the Nativity. And if the first witnesses were shepherds, now righteous people and prophets come to take their place. It would seem that these people are not at all like simple shepherds. But there is something common that unites them: all of them are waiting for the Messiah and are ready to receive him as he is. For a prophet, the revelation received from God is most important; he hears God directly, and for him there is no question about whether he can trust what he has heard.

The prophetic experience of direct communion with God is, of course, unique every time, but with all its uniqueness, none of those who had occasion to hear the voice of God raised questions of what modern theologians call theological verification: any prophet receives the revelation given to him as a direct instruction to act. And if God points to the infant brought into the Temple as the Messiah, then that infant truly is the Messiah, whoever may say otherwise and whatever doubts learned rabbis and teachers of the Torah may express on this matter.

Righteousness is a phenomenon of another kind, but a righteous person too is often given the ability to hear God. And if at times his mystical hearing is not as sharpened as a prophet's hearing, the habit of trusting God unconditionally helps the righteous person become certain of the authenticity of the revelation received. What unites these people with simple shepherds is not only the expectation of the Messiah, but also their attitude toward God and toward the will of God. One could say that, unlike the same Pharisees, for example, they are not very religious. Of course, all of them are members of the Synagogue, but there they are apparently not in the front rows: there are people there whose activity makes them barely noticeable, and sometimes completely unnoticeable.

In theological and religious-political disputes, so frequent in the synagogues of the Gospel period, they apparently either take part rarely and unwillingly, or do not take part at all. They do not belong to any religious school and perhaps do not even have what is usually called a religious worldview. They simply trust God, who long ago became the center and meaning of their life, and they live while listening attentively for what he will say to them. Or they pasture their flocks, like the Bethlehem shepherds. Of course, compared with learned theologians they may appear simple people, even, like the shepherds, ignorant. But they will certainly have no problems with the theological interpretation of what they have heard from God. Nor will they have needless doubts about the reliability of what they heard. That is why they are granted to see the Messiah before others. Including those who were sure they would see him first.

In addition to the other biblical parallels, today the evangelist tells how Jesus, like the ancient prophet Samuel, was brought to the Temple in order to dedicate the Firstborn to God. But unlike the other firstborn sons, who were only symbolically "offered as a sacrifice" to God and redeemed from Him with sacrificial animals (for example, a pair of doves; compare Leviticus 12), Jesus Himself is called "redemption," a term connected with sacrifice.

In the Temple, Jesus becomes sacrifice, sign, salvation, and the fulfillment of the prophecies, bringing together in Himself all biblical symbols and realities. For the evangelist Luke, this very moment becomes a sacrifice in which Christ accomplishes the redemption of the people and of the "Gentiles."

By taking part in this service, Simeon fulfilled his purpose in this world and can now depart, showing the readers of the Gospel that their goal in this life is also to become participants in the redemption and salvation of the world.

In the Gospel we read about how the infant Jesus is brought to the temple for the first time, what happens there, and what is said about it. Knowing the Gospel story and remembering how throughout the past twenty centuries Jesus has remained "a sign that is spoken against," we need not be surprised by anything. The prophet Malachi brings us back to what escapes us against the background of the heavy words of Simeon's prophecy. The Savior's first appearance in the temple is described this way: "the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to His temple." Everything here is unsettling. Does a person know what kind of God he is seeking? Are we seeking the Child who constantly causes contradiction and strife? You are waiting for God, and suddenly a little Child is brought in, and you stand before the need to accept that this very Child is the light for revelation to the Gentiles and the glory of Israel.

The word "Sretenie" is Slavonic; in Russian it means "meeting." What meeting is being discussed? The meeting of the Savior's parents with Simeon? Their meeting with the prophetess Anna? Of course, that too. But first of all the Gospel story tells us about the meeting of the people of God with their Messiah.

It is not surprising that this people was represented by those who were awaiting the Messiah's coming. Something else is surprising: on behalf of the people He is met by people who, it would seem, were not the most prominent among those awaiting Him. Of course, in this sense there is no point speaking about the Temple priesthood: the priesthood was reserved and skeptical toward popular messianic expectations. But there was also the Synagogue; in the synagogue environment messianic expectations at that time were very intense. And yet God showed the Messiah not to the leaders of the Synagogue, but to people who, though known, were not among the leaders of the people.

The choice may seem strange, but on closer examination it is quite understandable. Of course, if not everyone, then very many in the Jewish people were waiting for the Messiah at that time. But most of those waiting for Him had their own ideas about the Messiah, about what He should be and what He should do. Meanwhile, He was not going to do almost anything that both ordinary people and learned rabbis expected from the Messiah.

They expected the Messiah to restore an independent and strong Jewish state, to drive the Gentiles from the holy land, and to establish a new rule based on the Torah that would become Israel's golden age. And, of course, they expected miracles from Him, miracles that would solve all the problems at once, both of the people as a whole and of each person belonging to it in particular.

Everyone expected triumph, and no one expected Judgment. Only Simeon, who possessed the prophetic gift, understood everything correctly. He understood that the Messiah is the One who would cause many to fall and many to rise, just as one could expect on the day of Judgment. Such a person could be allowed to see the Messiah: this would not produce in him either excessive, unjustified expectations or unnecessary excitement. Everyone else still needed to wait. They needed to wait for the day when the Father would bring the Son out into His earthly ministry.

Joseph and Mary were truly devout people who kept the commandments, as can be seen from the way they observed the feasts and performed all the prescribed rites. At the appointed time they brought the infant Jesus to the Temple to “present Him to the Lord.” There they were met in turn by Simeon, a longtime guardian of Scripture who, despite the apparent absurdity of the prophecy about the Savior, continued to await its fulfillment. This faithfulness is rewarded by God: He shows them His salvation.

Is this not the same faithfulness that the Lord expects from us? The promise to make us children of light, which each person receives at baptism, begins over the years to seem like something unreal. Our baptismal garment becomes covered with the marks of the passions, so that it is already difficult to understand what it once looked like. Only faith that the promise God once gave us cannot be false enables us to experience anew our encounter with Him: faith in His love, which overcomes all things.

There are people in the world of one thought, one goal, one idea. And if the idea or goal is worthy, God can meet such people. So it was with Simeon. He wanted only one thing: to see the Messiah. With his own eyes. To live to the day when the Messiah would come. And God promised him this.

Of course, if not everyone, then many among the Jewish people were waiting for the Messiah then. But they waited in different ways. In some way everyone probably expected Him. The only question is how. Some waited only to a certain extent. In principle they would not have minded seeing Him and meeting Him, but only to a certain extent. In any case, waiting for the Messiah was not the main work of life for such people. If He had come during their lifetime, well, they too would perhaps have been among those who met Him. If their business allowed.

Others waited more impatiently, with hope. These were usually deeply religious and religiously active people. For them the coming of the Messiah meant the culmination of their own religious life, and they certainly did not doubt that on that day they would be in the first ranks of those who met Him. Moreover, they were sure that the Messiah would come first of all precisely for their sake. There were especially many such people among the members of the Pharisaic brotherhood, but of course there were others who had no direct relation to the Pharisees and yet awaited Him with the same hope. For such people the Messiah and the Kingdom were the meaning and center of their religious life.

But there was, apparently, yet another category of those awaiting the Messiah's coming, probably a very small one. These people waited for the Messiah because He was not only the main meaning, but the only meaning of their life. Or, more precisely, the Messiah and the Kingdom were in fact their life; they knew no other. Perhaps only such people could strictly be called Christians before Christ: they were already living by what exists in God's eternity but had not yet entered our fallen world. They lived, of course, as expectation and forefeeling, but they lived. And naturally each of these people would have been happy to see the Messiah with his own eyes. For them this was not the culmination of their own life, but its source, life itself opened to them in fullness.

Of course, this was not given to everyone: many had to touch death, Sheol, the world of shadows on the way to the fullness of the life they sensed beforehand. Simeon was happier: he saw the Messiah not from Sheol, where he had not yet had time to descend, but from the world of the living. And now even Sheol was no longer frightening to him, for time had already ended for him. The eternity of the Kingdom had begun, and with it the fullness of times.

Luke's Gospel mentions a mysterious person about whom we learn only from this evangelist, since no other information about him exists in other sources. It is a man named Shimon (Simeon), of whom it is said that he was waiting for the "consolation of Israel," that is, the coming of the Messiah, and that the Holy Spirit was upon him. From this one can conclude that Simeon was either a prophet or one of those wise teachers of the Torah whose experience of revelation was comparable to the prophetic.

There were never many such people, of course, but one can hardly find an age in Jewish history when they did not exist at all. Judging by the evangelist's words, Simeon often turned to God in prayer, asking that God give him the chance to see the Messiah, whom in those days many, if not all, were awaiting. And, as one can see, in response to his prayers Simeon received a revelation that he would indeed see the One he awaited so much before he died. Such a promise was, of course, a miraculous gift from God to this man. But Simeon's own stance also played a certain role here.

The Messiah too can be awaited in different ways. One can wait for Him in passing, without of course forgetting Him altogether, but also without keeping Him constantly in mind. One can wait while understanding that most likely one will not live to see Him, and therefore should not make this expectation the meaning of one's life. Or one can wait as Simeon did, waiting by making this expectation the only goal, the only meaning of one's earthly life. Such expectation may appear unreasonable, since there are no guarantees. But on the other hand, the life of each of us has meaning only insofar as it is completed in the Kingdom. Otherwise it will sooner or later pass into nonbeing.

Already for this reason the meeting with the Messiah cannot fail to be the chief goal of any of us, if only we take our life seriously. And if one lives this way, then God comes to meet us. Even if our ideas about Him or about His Messiah do not fully correspond, or do not correspond at all, to reality. What matters is what we want and what we strive for, not how we imagine what we take to be the goal and meaning of our life. In the end, God is one, the Messiah is one, and the Kingdom is also one. And every sincere seeker at the end of the path will find precisely them, and not something else.

Righteous Simeon was waiting for the Messiah. Of course, he was not the only one. In those days in Judea, if not everyone, then very many were waiting for the Messiah. But they waited in different ways. Simeon waited with his whole heart. Waiting for the Messiah became the sole meaning of his life. Of course, death, departure into Sheol, did not change anything radically for a righteous person. In the end, when the Messiah comes and the day of universal resurrection and Judgment arrives, all will come out of Sheol. They will return to the fullness of life - at least until the Judgment.

Because before God a person must appear precisely in fullness - in that greatest fullness which was opened to the person and which he managed to contain. So that it becomes clear what the person can do. This is not a competition, but precisely an evaluation: can the Kingdom be entrusted to this person? And if it can, then in what measure? But it is one thing to pass through death and Sheol, and quite another to meet the Messiah while still alive.

Many dreamed of such a meeting, dreamed of it in every age. And Simeon lived by this hope. And God promised him that he would see the Messiah. With his own eyes. During his life. Without descending into Sheol. And now what God had promised came to pass. Before Simeon was the Messiah. Waiting ended in meeting. For Simeon this was the Meeting with a capital M: after all, he understood Whom he was seeing. And now he could depart in peace. Leave this world. And not only because God's promise had been fulfilled, but also because with the Messiah the Kingdom had entered the world.

It had not yet been revealed, but it was already here, in our fallen world. And that means death now ceased to be simply a departure into Sheol, as it had been before. It is not by chance that the corresponding Greek word means not only "release" but also "set free." The point is not only that Simeon was bound by waiting for the coming of the Messiah. The point is that before the Messiah's coming, the only alternative to earthly life for him was Sheol. Now another alternative appeared: the Kingdom. Simeon was free. As were hundreds of righteous people who had completed their earthly path before him and had also waited for the Messiah or at least had foreseen the Kingdom. "With my own eyes I have seen Your salvation." And now I am free. Ahead are the Messiah and the Kingdom.

Simeon's prophecy proved unexpected for Joseph and Mary. They are amazed. This can seem strange: both of them knew the good news that God's messenger had announced to Mary before Jesus was born. And yet they are amazed. Why? Here the nature of fallen man shows itself. The peculiarities of human memory. And of human perception as well. In fact, the functioning of memory, like that of all human nature, both physical and psychic, is determined by a person's spiritual condition. And the question of spiritual condition is the question of what predominates in that stream of human life which the Bible calls the soul, and which a modern philosopher would call existence.

According to God's design, the life of the human soul was to be determined by that breath of life which God gave the human being at creation. By God's breath. But in fallen man, according to the Bible's witness, the soul is "in the blood." Just as it is in animals. And its quality is determined, as in animals, by nature and not by spirit. And memory is one of the abilities of the soul, one of the functions of a person's psychic nature.

A person is able to remember only what is at least somewhat akin to his own life. And the more akin it is, the better, more fully, and more deeply a person remembers this or that event. The longer and more clearly he remembers it. The more real the event itself becomes for him. Conversely, what touches a person's life only partly, what is not akin to him, what, though beautiful, astonishing, and altogether extraordinary in itself, still clearly exceeds the ordinary spiritual level of his life, will remain in human memory as something not entirely real.

As something remembered like a beautiful dream, yet still more like a dream than reality. And even if everyday life constantly reminds one that the apparent dream was no dream at all, the sharpness of perception is still almost inevitably dulled. Then everything becomes ordinary. And the thought comes to mind: what if everything is not like that at all? What if nothing special happened? And nothing unusual lies ahead?

Of course, neither Joseph nor Mary could forget what had been said to them about Jesus. They were expecting something extraordinary. And yet what is happening becomes for them an expected surprise. Everything depends on the mode of perception, on what predominates in one's gaze: spirit or nature. If nature predominates, then the Kingdom itself becomes an expected surprise. But that is not the main thing. The main thing is how a person responds to the expected surprise. Will he accept what enters his life, or reject it? Will he take a step into the Kingdom, even in amazement and bewilderment, or remain outside?

Today's account of Jesus remaining in the Temple in Jerusalem recalls the words from the Book of Proverbs (9:1): “Wisdom has built her house...” Having come to Jerusalem for the Passover feast, He remained in His Father's house. The Evangelist paints two pictures at once: the teachers of the people, the scribes, marvel at Jesus' wisdom, while His parents search the city for Him in distress. His answer to His Mother sounds like a riddle: where else should a boy be but in his father's house? A person should live at home. Even then the Lord begins to reveal His origin and calling to people: He is God's Wisdom and God's Son, for those who can understand this. And if someone does not want to understand it? Well then, if he still wants to listen to Jesus, he will have to spend his whole life solving His riddles...

Why did Christ accept circumcision, and what is the spiritual meaning of this event? Of course, one can say that He was little then. But He allowed this to happen, and therefore, despite the fact that He was little, this event has spiritual content. So what is it? To confirm that "salvation is from the Jews" (John 4:22)? Or to pass through the whole path of His humility, limiting Himself not only by human appearance but also by all the limitation of human culture?

It is also certain that He knew that after Him the apostle Paul would come, sternly rebuking all who do not understand the full limitation of this rite, as of every rite in general. In the Epistle to the Romans alone he speaks of this more than once; see chapters 2, 3, and 4. For example: "For he is not a Jew who is one outwardly, nor is circumcision that which is outward in the flesh" (Rom. 2:28), or "Circumcision is nothing and uncircumcision is nothing, but keeping the commandments of God" (1 Cor. 7:19).

The Lord knew this and still allowed His circumcision to take place. In this is His humility before the Law, which He came to fulfill (Matt. 5:17), and this is precisely what allows the apostle Paul to say: "In Him you were also circumcised with a circumcision made without hands, in the putting off of the body of the flesh, by the circumcision of Christ" (Col. 2:11).

What is a person's growing up? When the matter is fallen man, whose nature has been damaged by the fall, growing up is usually understood above all as the process of a person's physical formation and development. In the second place people speak of psychic formation and development. Only after that, and not always, do they begin to speak of spiritual formation and development. And by this they usually mean not spiritual development in the proper sense, but something that often substitutes for it in the fallen world: intellectual or aesthetic development, for example.

Meanwhile, spiritual life has no direct relation either to the intellect or to aesthetic experiences. Spiritual life is the relations that bind a person to God and to other people. And it begins in that depth of the human person where the will is born and the breath of life breathes, the breath God gives each of us at creation.

This breath is the foundation of our spiritual life and the only possibility of genuine communion with God. For the breath of life is from God; it is a kind of inner theophany, God's presence in us, which is always with us. And if not for the fall, we would become aware of this presence in ourselves with every year of our growing up: physical and psychic growing up would be accompanied by spiritual growing up.

In the fallen world everything is not so simple: here a person can grow up physically while remaining a spiritual infant, and can live his whole "conscious" life without being aware in himself of the main thing, that breath which connects him with God. But if, even in the fallen world, a person still seeks genuine awareness and does not ignore in himself the gift of God that he has, the breath of life given him at birth, then in the end he contains God within himself according to the measure that God opens to him. The same is true with regard to Jesus, for He too is Man, as we are.

Precisely Man with a capital M, not less than any of us, but more. Because, unlike any of us, His human nature from the very beginning was completely free from original sin. And because His measure of spiritual fullness was absolute from the moment of conception: it was the measure of absolute divine fullness that made Him God-man. But, like every human being, He had to grow up spiritually and physically, becoming conscious within Himself of His measure, the fullness of His own spiritual life. In this respect Jesus did not differ from any other human being. But the results of His spiritual and physical growing up were unique, as was to be expected from the Messiah and the Son of God.

The life of Jesus between the Nativity and His going out to preach is closed to us, but the story of the journey to Jerusalem gives us the only glimmer in the fog. Why, then, did the evangelist include only this episode from the Savior's childhood in his narrative? Hardly only because no other information had survived by the time the text was composed; rather, it was because this particular episode is important for understanding later events. For before us is a testimony that already in childhood Jesus was conscious of His mission.

Jesus must have been sociable as a child; otherwise it is hard to explain why Mary and Joseph, at first thinking that He was traveling with relatives and neighbors, showed no concern about His absence. We, for our part, may conclude that already in childhood He knew how to communicate with very different people, and that His conversation in the temple anticipated His coming work as Teacher. And that the temple is His Father's house is witnessed not only by His words, but also by how naturally He behaved in the temple. As for His three-day absence from those close to Him, many interpreters advise seeing it as a foreshadowing of His absence from the earth after Golgotha...

The glorification of the Lord in Hannah’s hymn and in Isaiah’s prophecy rings out solemnly. God accomplishes something immense, changing the destinies of nations and of the entire universe—such is the power of God. Yet the Gospel of Luke tells us how this power, for the first time and still not very clearly, reveals its presence in the young Jesus. This power contains no violence or cruelty, because it is the power of God’s love. This power does not crush; it saves. And the very name Jesus means “God saves.”

The appearance of the adolescent Jesus among the teachers of the Torah and learned rabbis caused a sensation. He was very young and had clearly had no chance yet to receive any education anywhere, yet He reasoned with the well-known Jerusalem experts of the Torah as their equal. Meanwhile Jesus' relatives, with whom He had come to the city for the feast, were very troubled and anxious over His disappearance.

There was nothing strange about this: Jerusalem, unlike quiet provincial Nazareth, was the capital of Judea, a large city where a provincial teenager could easily get lost. Besides, the Temple in Jerusalem was a special place with special rules of conduct, which Jesus' relatives thought the boy might not know. Moreover, He had gone where, by traditional standards, someone His age should not have gone at all.

Of course, religious education among the Jews in every age was quite open and did not imply any class exclusiveness; even among the disciples of the most famous rabbis there were sometimes poor people of no aristocratic origin at all. But a certain hierarchy existed here too: one could become a disciple of some famous Jerusalem teacher of the Torah only after receiving the appropriate elementary and secondary education in a local Jewish religious school, a yeshiva.

There were likely such yeshivas in Nazareth as well, as there were wherever Jewish communities and, accordingly, synagogues existed. It is hard to say whether Jesus studied in any yeshiva: none of the Gospels mentions anything of the kind. But during that visit to Jerusalem He was in any case still too young to count on becoming a disciple of any of the famous Jerusalem teachers of the Torah. Yet He was not simply listening to them; He was asking them questions, and questions of such a kind that they made the experts of the Torah marvel and ask one another which of them, or which other teachers, this teenager who asked such questions had studied under.

All this could not help but alarm Jesus' relatives. Of course, taking part in the conversations of venerable teachers was not in itself a violation of the law and was not punishable in any way, but such behavior could well be taken as the unacceptable arrogance of an upstart claiming what he plainly had no right to claim. It goes without saying that Jesus' relatives did not want such a reputation for Him. All this together made them live through several anxious hours, which nevertheless ended quite well for everyone.

The twelve-year-old Lord Jesus, who remained in the Jerusalem Temple, answers the sorrowful question of His Most Pure Mother by speaking of His Father's House. This is the House in which He must be. Perhaps the thought of this served as the basis for the revelation of the Book of Proverbs: "Wisdom has built her house..." The evangelist paints two pictures at once: the teachers and scribes are amazed at Jesus' wisdom, and His parents are searching the city for Him in distress. His answer to His Mother sounds like a riddle: where else should a boy be, if not in his father's house? A person should live at home. Already then the Lord begins to reveal to people His origin and calling: He is God's Wisdom and God's Son.

But there is one more important aspect of this event. The Lord speaks of the House that belongs to His Heavenly Father; in our language, this is precisely what the word "homeland" means in its deeper sense. And when we read that His homeland is heaven, should we not ask where our homeland is? Not the territory where the people who gave birth to us live, but the homeland in the deeper sense: where we are from, and where the home is that we could call our eternal dwelling. As we try to find the answer to this question, we understand that thanks to the Incarnation of the Son of God, His homeland becomes ours as well, and through Him we receive the eternal Home.

Twelve years old Jesus who remained behind in the temple of Jerusalem speaks about the House of His Father in answer to the lugubrious question of His holy Mother. It is in this House that He is going to live. This thought has may be served as base for the revelation of the book of proverbs: "Wisdom built His house ". The evangelist highlights two scenes: teachers and scribes are surprised by Jesus’ wisdom on one hand, and on the other hand His parents in disarray look for Him in the entire city. His answer to His mother look like an enigma: where can a little boy be again, if it is not in the house of His father? A Person should live in his own house. Jesus already begins here to open to people His origin and His vocation: He is the God of Wisdom and the Son of God.

There is another important aspect of this event. The Lord speaks about the House, belonging to His Celestial Father - it is indeed what is called in our language "homeland". Don't we have to ask the question: where is our homeland, by reading that the Homeland of Jesus is in the sky? We don't speak about the territory where our ancestors lived and where we live today; we talk about the homeland in a wider sense. Where are we from and where is the house which we could call our eternal house? When we try to find the answer to this question, we understand that the homeland of the Son of God becomes ours and through Him we find the eternal house thanks to His Incarnation.

Sometimes one wants to declare with complete certainty that no one likes to obey. The reasons for this are described in the book of Genesis: God created the human person free, and the human person used this freedom by carrying out his desire to be in charge, to determine good and evil independently, to be "like gods" (Gen. 3:5), and therefore to obey no one.

How often everything boils inside us when we understand that we need to submit, even though there is sense in it and we must do it because of our position. And what happens inside when we disagree, and we are not even very obligated to submit? How we want to do everything the other way around, and if that does not work, to give ourselves over to irritation and indignation!

But our Teacher gives us an entirely different example. By the way, it is worth paying attention to His age: despite the fact that in Israel a child of twelve ceased to be considered such, before us is still a twelve-year-old boy... And in a situation where He is undoubtedly right, for the Savior simply could not act wrongly, Jesus submits to His parents, and not only on the day when they found Him in the Temple, but also afterward. And He does this because the Lord commanded us to honor father and mother (Deut. 5:16), and the word of God, the will of God, is most important for Him.

We know almost nothing about Jesus' childhood and youth. That is not surprising: the evangelists focused their attention on Jesus' messianic ministry, on the reason for which He came into the world. But He came here like every human being. The difference was only one thing: His nature was not touched by original sin. It had no share in it to any degree. From the very beginning it was completely free from it. But the process by which this human nature of Jesus came to maturity was the same as it should have been according to God's design for human nature. And according to this design, the physical and psychological formation of a person should be accompanied by his spiritual formation.

When the matter concerns nature, whether physical nature or psychological nature, we easily understand that a person's formation and development is nothing other than the unfolding of the possibilities placed in his nature by God, which, once unfolded, make a person what he is. But the person must unfold his possibilities himself, although without God's help this is impossible. Spiritual formation is somewhat different. Spirit is not nature; it does not develop, become more complex, or grow as natural structures do. Spirit has no structure; it manifests itself as will, and its growth is the strengthening of its will. And correspondingly, it is the widening of the circle of influence available to the will, the inclusion of ever new objects in this circle of influence, and, of course, the widening and deepening of interaction with other spirits. With other wills. With other persons, because a person is self-aware will. The spiritual formation of a human being therefore presupposes the widening and deepening of his awareness of himself. Of his will. Of his personhood. And of that on which it rests: the breath of life that is in a person from God.

Thus self-awareness leads a person, if of course he remains consistent and faithful to his true self, to communion with God. To a meeting with God, who dwells in that depth of the human person which in the language of the Bible is called the heart. All this applies fully to Jesus as well. After all, He too is human. More than that: He is Man with a capital letter. To each person God's presence in the heart is given in its own measure, and to Him alone it is given fully and absolutely. As the Messiah and the God-man. It is no wonder that He too grew as every human being grows. In order to grow into His own measure, the measure of the Messiah and the God-man.