NOTES for Ti1 4:9-15; Luk 19:1-10

Paul briefly mentions one institution characteristic of the early Christian church: the institution of presbyters, or elders. Judging by the fact that alongside the laying on of hands there is a mention of "prophecy" as a gift, or "prophesying" as a special spiritual state characteristic of a prophet at the moment when he experiences revelation (the corresponding Greek word can mean both), one may suppose that the community of "elders" (presbyters) was, at any rate in the Church of the earliest Christian period, a charismatic community. In any case, the laying on of hands involved prayer for God to send down the Spirit who was to renew the one for whom they prayed; and the whole Yahwistic, and later synagogue, tradition, as well as the tradition of the Jewish religious brotherhoods that existed in the Gospel era, connected such renewal with the gift of prophecy.

Of course, someone who had undergone this kind of experience did not necessarily become a prophet, but he experienced in himself the action of God's breath that, properly speaking, makes a biblical prophet a prophet. Among the people of God, certain ministries had long presupposed the need for such an experience; a well-known example is the first kings of Israel, who could not claim authority without passing through prophetic consecration (a typical example is Saul's consecration, 1 Sam. 10:1-12). However, Saul's example is also the best proof that no consecration in itself changes a person automatically, apart from his will and spiritual effort. That is why Paul urges Timothy to care for the gifts received from God during the laying on of hands, gifts that otherwise can easily be lost.

As for the community of "elders" (presbyters), it was apparently a charismatic community not in the sense that all its members were prophets, but in the sense that all of them had undergone the experience of the Spirit's descent, just as Timothy had. Probably after such a laying on of hands the one who had experienced spiritual renewal himself became a presbyter, as happened with Timothy, who before, judging by the context of the letter, had probably been an ordinary deacon heading the community. Now he became a deacon-presbyter, and, as one can see, unusually young from the standpoint of church practice that existed at that time; judging by the encouragement Paul sends his disciple, this caused some people to feel perplexity and contempt toward the young "elder."

As one can see, the apostle remembered what some of his fellow believers forgot: spiritual age and physical age are not the same thing. Physical age is determined by the number of years lived; spiritual age by the intensity of spiritual life and the measure of rootedness in the Kingdom. And Paul, as one can see, advises Timothy to care above all for the second, without giving great importance to the first.

"And Zacchaeus comes to mind too, the tax collector, a short man who wanted to catch even one glimpse of the Savior. He could not make his way through the crowd, and people despised him because he was short, but he climbed a tree and sat there, and watched... And the Lord called him and came to his house. And we too are short in stature, spiritually. We have not earned at all the right for Him to come to us. Yet He does come...

The Lord said to Zacchaeus: "Today I will be with you." And to each of us He says: "Today I will be with you." "I will be with you," says the Lord; what else do we need? Only to understand well that He comes into a poorly prepared house, not into the kind of house where everyone is waiting for the Guest, where everything shines and everything is decorated, but into a shabby, dark house, full of dust, as if abandoned.

Such is our soul, with its little faith and negligence, spiritual laziness, with prayer that barely glows like a dying flame. With neglect for the commandments and church rules, with constant irritation at everything, with continual bitterness and judgment of one another.

You come to us,
while our thoughts at that moment wander far away...
And it turns out that You are not our King,
but our pride, self-will, self-love,
ambition, vanity,
all the bustle after which we run,
to which we cling"

(Father Alexander Men, from Andrei Eremin's book "A Pastor at the Turn of the Century")

Sometimes, in order to see Jesus, we have to do something that seems impossible to us. This is not because God wants to punish us. God wants to show us that He created us for more, for eternity, for love. God cannot simply gather all perishing sinners and change them - that would be coercion. God helps those who are ready for it, who want to change, who want to give something up, to become different.

Perhaps Zacchaeus, the proud chief tax collector, would never have dared to promise what he promised Jesus ("Half of my goods I will give to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will restore it fourfold") if beforehand, overcoming his pride, his shame over his short stature, and his awkwardness, he had not climbed a tree in order to see God. Jesus saw him in the sycamore tree, and while sitting there, blushing with shame, Zacchaeus had already changed something so important in himself that it was not hard for him to change his whole life completely. Zacchaeus took a step toward humility, and the Lord moved him to step into love.

Today we read the evangelist Luke's account of Zacchaeus's conversion. From this day on, the Sunday Gospel readings will give us food for reflection and prayer to help us prepare for Great Lent and therefore, to some extent, for Easter. For us, this journey begins with the story of Zacchaeus, the chief tax collector, who disregarded his social standing just to see the Lord Jesus.

A man of small stature, he could not get close to Christ because of the crowd. It is important to notice exactly what Zacchaeus had to sacrifice. He was not only a rich man but also the head of the tax administration. He represented Roman authority, and his work collecting taxes and duties affected every inhabitant of Jericho. The Jews despised tax collectors as traitors but feared Roman authority. For Zacchaeus, therefore, to ‘lower himself’ in the eyes of the townspeople meant both incalculable difficulties and a surge of social contempt. All this, to use the apostle Paul's words, he ‘counted as loss’.

We read this account because, during the approaching fast, every Christian is given the opportunity to seek Christ without worrying about how they themselves appear in the eyes of those around them. That is why Zacchaeus's example is so important for us. And that is why it matters so much that the Lord rewards him with the words: ‘Today salvation has come to this house.’

As a chief tax collector, Zacchaeus could have satisfied his desire to see Jesus much more easily. All he had to do was order the guards to disperse the crowd, and in doing so he would have acted in a way that was, and still is, considered perfectly natural. When a person of standing in society turns to God, the temptations of power and wealth are joined by the temptation to cling to wealth and influence at any cost, on the pretext that they can be used for good. This is indeed possible if we put our hope in God and His will. But if our conversion has not gone deep and we continue to put more hope in our prosperity than in its Giver, it will do us no good. The issue is not at all how many material possessions we have, but our habitual adherence to our former outlook and way of life. All too often, after coming into the Church, we are afraid to begin a fundamentally new life and try to turn faith into an extra seasoning for our familiar dishes.

But this is not the way Zacchaeus turns to God: with Jesus nearby, the last thing on his mind is whether climbing a tree befits his standing. When the question is whether we need to change the entire course of our life radically, such trifles as our position or our accustomed wealth can easily recede into the background. By climbing the tree, Zacchaeus was not afraid to lower himself in the eyes of those around him, and so he was raised high by Jesus.

Alas, when Christ showed favour to a repentant sinner, it was not only the Pharisees, as in other Gospel episodes, but everyone who saw it who began to grumble. Human perception is all too often trapped in a superficial, habitual view of people and their deeds, in the inertia of settled judgements. But thanks to Christ, we have the opportunity to free ourselves from the familiar banality that blinds us.

What do Jesus’ words mean about the Son of Man, who came to ‘seek and save what was lost’? Do they mean that every sinner was considered lost? Or is this, as the passage is sometimes interpreted, about original sin, from which the Saviour came to deliver the human race? Or perhaps neither? In fact, neither Yahwism nor Judaism ever held that a sin, once committed, irretrievably destroyed a person. Sin defiles, but by repenting and performing the appropriate rites of purification — which included washing and sacrifice — one could be freed from sin and its consequences. This was possible, however, only if the sin had been committed involuntarily, through weakness or ignorance; a sin committed knowingly and voluntarily, even if the person repented of it, weighed upon that person for life. According to traditional beliefs, it was impossible to be cleansed of its consequences, even if the sin itself had been forgiven. Such was the position in Judea at that time of all the ‘publicans’, the tax collectors who cooperated with the Roman authorities: from the Synagogue’s perspective, such cooperation amounted to collaboration with the occupiers, a terrible sin, and one committed precisely knowingly and voluntarily. But Jesus, who brought the Kingdom into the world, looks differently upon such sinners. He gives everyone another chance. He offers the opportunity to begin a new life with a clean slate. And to begin it in the Kingdom.

Zacchaeus is an amazingly likable person. The evangelist tells us that he was short in stature. On the one hand, this is needed simply to explain his unusual action. But on the other hand, let us try to live a little into this image. People of short stature very often have a sore or vulnerable self-esteem, because in childhood, and later too, they are often teased and boys mock them. Recall in confirmation at least Wilhelm Hauff's fairy tale "Little Longnose." And now imagine: such a person climbs a tree in public, as if he were a cat, not fearing once again to become a laughingstock among people. This remotely reminds us of something holy-foolish. We always stand before this choice: people's opinion or striving toward God. If you live in an atheistic environment, people may tell you to your face or behind your back, and you always feel it, that you are not quite right in the head, that you go to church, that every family has its black sheep. Anything can happen. But what difference is there between people laughing at you and your being able to see God? In one of Vladimir Vysotsky's songs there are these words: "The giraffe is tall; he knows better." And if you are so short that even an old parrot will not stand up for you with such words, how much love for God must one have in order to overcome everything. Let us therefore try to see living people in the gospel figures, for that is what they were, and somehow make friends with them, as we make friends with members of our community.

How does the Savior find the people whose house He is ready to enter? Perhaps the same way He finds those whom He calls to follow Him. And yet, how? Here is Zacchaeus, a man who by no accepted standards in a religious environment was suitable for a visit. Not merely a tax collector, but a chief, as we would say today, of the local tax office. The occupation itself was questionable, and in those specific conditions all the more so, since one had to work for Roman power, for strangers, one might say, for occupiers.

Of course, even the most religious Pharisees paid taxes, and no one except perhaps the Zealots doubted their piety. But the Zealots were true fanatics, calling for a religious war with Rome until final victory, until the Messiah came. Yet paying taxes is one thing, and helping collect them is quite another. The first is forced; the second is voluntary. And voluntary sin is not forgiven, one cannot be cleansed of its consequences even after sincere repentance. The will to evil is a terrible and irreversible thing, so believing Jews of that time thought.

Zacchaeus apparently very much wanted that very reversibility. That is why he climbed the tree, despite his respectable position. He had evidently heard that Someone was traveling through Judea and Samaria who could cleanse even from sin committed by one's own free will. And such a desire for purity, for deliverance from sin, is immediately visible to God's gaze. That means it is visible to the Messiah's gaze as well, for He sees the situation with God's eyes. And He at once goes to the house of the one who wants deliverance from the power of sin. That is why Christ came: to deliver from the power of sin those who want to be delivered from it. And to give such people the chance to begin life with a clean slate, in His Kingdom.

Christ's words bring us great joy, yet following these words is also the hardest thing of all. The position that the Lord Jesus expresses in these words provoked the greatest indignation and protest from the scribes and Pharisees around Christ.

These words of Christ place great responsibility on us. Above all, it is very important to remember them when we see people who are unpleasant to us, whose appearance or actions arouse our indignation, people whom we consider "bad." It is precisely them, the lost - not those in the process of perishing, but those already finally lost - whom the Lord Jesus came to find and save. After that, contempt for them is plainly impossible.

But most importantly, He came to seek out and save us, each one of us. Not some splendid righteous people who earned a reward and became worthy of it, but us, lost under the weight of incurable sins.

Timothy was a member of the council of elders that headed the Church in those days, having received a certain gift from God "by prophecy through the laying on of the hands of the presbyters" (in the Synodal translation the presbyters are called "the priesthood"). In those days the Church, like other Jewish religious brotherhoods of the Gospel era, was headed by a council of elders, which was partly a representative body - it usually included representatives of the separate communities that made up the brotherhood - and partly co-opted, since new members probably could not enter the council of elders except by the agreement of all its participants.

It is no surprise that, when new members were accepted into the council, they were prayed for with the laying on of hands: this ancient practice was connected with the tradition of prophetic communities and was a kind of initiation. Entering the community, a person had to experience what was connected with the experience of that community, to understand what exactly formed the foundation of its spiritual life.

Such a practice existed in every church community, and it would be strange if it were absent from the council of elders, which was, after all, first and foremost itself a church community, not some governing and administrative center. How exactly prayer with the laying on of hands took place in the earliest Christian times, we do not know, and we can only guess what "prophecy" the apostle mentions. It is possible that something special concerning Timothy's person and his ministry was revealed to one of the church prophets, since prophetic ministry in the earliest Christian period was normal in the Church.

If so, it is no surprise that Paul urges him not to forget what he received during that prayer. Judging by the apostle's mention of "teaching," into which the apostle advises Timothy to "delve," this concerns the ministry of a church teacher-rabbi, about which Paul says quite a lot in the letter to Timothy. It should be noted that teacher-rabbis often became members of the council of elders: their ministry was considered one of the most important in any brotherhood, and their experience, connected not only with the study of sacred books but also with acquiring the inner Torah, could prove important for the whole brotherhood - in this case, for the whole Church.

Meanwhile, Timothy, judging by the mention of his "youth," was younger than members of the council of elders usually were, and this fact may have troubled someone, so that Paul had to encourage him: if the members of the council considered him worthy to enter their community, then he truly is worthy of it, despite his age. As we can see, the apostle calls Timothy to be before God who he is, remaining himself under all circumstances: precisely in this way he will best handle the ministry entrusted to him by God.

In the apostle Paul’s letter, the Christian life appears completely different from the way we are accustomed to seeing it. Our chief task becomes the constant youthfulness of the spirit. We cannot allow ourselves to become tired, relax, or decide that we already know everything. What matters most is to keep searching and following the truth at all times. We cannot allow ourselves not to burn, to be lukewarm. We must always remain aware that we are young and inexperienced, still only at the beginning of the journey. To travel it to the end, we must stay watchful and keep learning.

It is difficult to determine how the same words of Holy Scripture sound in different centuries. Perhaps today's reading has often been relevant during the two thousand years of Christian history, but for us it can become a daily reading. Eat this, do not eat that. What was regarded as natural throughout human history is now considered harmful, and vice versa. Marriage and family are evil, and life is valued at nothing. What matters most is not godliness, but exercise, diet, and a gleaming white smile. Yet to all who reproach the Church and Christians for worshiping ritual and ceremonial, and therefore external, things, one can offer only the apostle's words, which remain to this day the rule of life for those who believe in the death and resurrection of Jesus: “...bodily exercise is of little benefit, but godliness is beneficial for all things, since it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.”

Speaking about the last times, Paul mentions certain false teachers with a "seared conscience" who, according to him, will try to forbid the faithful things that God by no means forbids them (vv. 1-5). Apparently, some of these false teachers had already tried to preach something similar in the Church, if we suppose that the "old wives' tales" mentioned by the apostle (vv. 7-9) are connected with the false teachings he is discussing. Paul, as we can see, does not mention bodily exercise here by accident: the corresponding Greek word could mean not only gymnastics in the sense in which we use the word today, but in general some system for keeping the body in a certain state, including perhaps one that today we would call not gymnastics but ascetic practice.

Of course, what is clearly present here is Judaism's restrained and skeptical attitude toward asceticism in the form in which it existed in some pagan, including Greek, religious and philosophical systems. Later, practices of this kind partly entered church life, but this happened noticeably later, already in the Middle Ages. The early Christian church, judging by everything we know of it today, avoided them, orienting itself more toward traditional Jewish piety, where the key role was played not by external, bodily asceticism, but by the practice of unceasing prayer and by efforts connected with acquiring the inner Torah.

But the matter, apparently, was not only this. Paul, judging from all his letters, generally did not attach special significance to religiosity and piety, considering them not especially important for spiritual life. But he always spoke out decisively against religion or traditional piety standing in the way of someone who wants to live the life of the Kingdom in all its fullness. And now the apostle, as we can see, is not speaking against one variety of piety in favor of another, but against restrictions that are completely unnecessary for a person on the way into the Kingdom. He understands perfectly well that ascetic practice is often connected not so much with the desire to fulfill God's will as with the desire for self-assertion, for which ascetic achievements are excellent nourishment. Therefore the apostle speaks sharply against those who make ascetic practice the center and meaning of spiritual life, rightly pointing out that such a shift in emphasis has nothing in common with Christian revelation.

And this is not surprising: ascetic practice understood in this way presupposes not the "life in abundance" which, according to the Savior, He brought into the world when He opened the Kingdom to the world, but eternal lack and self-limitation. This kind of religiosity involuntarily suggested that God was not a loving Father who lacks nothing, but a strict and not very merciful steward, sparingly measuring out His gifts to those ready to suffer for Him, to suffer not because the world lies in evil, but because these sufferings are needed by the steward himself. Such religiosity was not witness, but counter-witness. A counter-witness with which the apostle could not and would not put up, allowing its bearers to darken the face of God and lead those seeking the Kingdom off the right path.

What is meant by the minas of silver—or talents in another version—in this parable? These are not merely “talents” such as the ability to play the violin or multiply four-digit numbers in one's head. Clearly, they are everything that has been given to us. (And what has not been given to us?) Every good thing that appears in our lives, even occasionally, can serve as suitable currency for acquiring the Kingdom of God. Not that it can be bought, but one can “invest” in it.

Zacchaeus, for example, did not spare his money or his reputation as a respectable “bandit,” as people would say nowadays. Many did not spare their lives or, at least, their comfort and “worldly happiness.” Yet we often begrudge even a smile to a passer-by. We begrudge the strength needed to help those close to us, and the time needed to tear ourselves away from the bustle and think about eternity.

Spiritual stinginess leads to bankruptcy even faster than material stinginess. This is because, first, the return on spiritual transactions is much higher and, second, spiritual valuables cannot be kept as cash—they quickly lose their value. Therefore, the Gospel calls us to put someone else's “funds” into circulation as quickly as possible, especially since we have nothing of our own.

Most Christians usually understand the parable of the minas precisely as a parable about minas - perhaps not about money in the strict sense, but certainly as a parable about the gifts God gives a person. About the fact that the talents God gives cannot be left undeveloped: after all, on the day of Judgment one must return everything to Him with a profit. But this is only one, outer side of the situation described by the parable. It also has a deeper layer of meaning. And it is no accident that the Savior uses money as the central image of His parable, money entrusted to different people so that they would put it into circulation. Everyone knows that money must work. It must be in circulation. In constant motion. Otherwise, in one way or another, it loses value.

The value of money is maintained by the dynamics of its circulation. And it is precisely this, paradoxical as it may sound, that makes money most resemble that breath of the Kingdom which we call grace. What they have in common is precisely dynamics. As money can function normally only while in circulation, so the breath of the Kingdom, grace, can exist only in constant movement. A person receives this breath from God freely, but its further existence is determined as much by God as by the person. This is understandable: breathing is a process; it cannot be limited to one inhalation and exhalation. And this process cannot be sustained without human participation.

Meanwhile, a person's spiritual life depends on the intensity of this process. Or, more precisely, this process itself is spiritual life. A person's participation in it gradually turns the participant into a bearer of the breath of the Kingdom, turning his heart into a vessel that contains this breath. And it determines what a person will bring to God on the day of Judgment.

It is no wonder that the one who returned the whole sum to his master without profit lost what had been given to him. He had not changed. He remained the same. There was no merit of his in the breath of the Kingdom that breathed within him: he had received it freely. And he did nothing so that it would touch him in any measure. So that it would in some way change his own life. By the end of the path this man remained just as he had been at the beginning. And he was left with nothing. A sad but fitting outcome.

If earlier Jesus displeased pious people by associating with tax collectors, that is, tax farmers, and sinners, those who openly did not keep the law, now He crosses every boundary: He enters the house of the chief extortioner and declares forgiveness of sins to him simply because he promised to change his ways. He explains this by saying that Zacchaeus too is, after all, a "son of Abraham." In that language this means that he too is a human being, that God created him for Himself, for life and joy.

In theory, we too know that "man is created for happiness," but for us humanity is still divided into those who have deserved this happiness and those who have not, into the worthy and the unworthy. We ourselves, of course, end up among the "better part"; that is why the Pharisees, like all normal people, "began to grumble" when Christ turned out to be in the house of a "sinful man." The Lord knows how to see a human being in everyone, and this is a skill that should be learned.

Today's reading returns us once more to the question of who enters the Kingdom and how. Its main theme is the resolve without which one cannot enter the Kingdom. Zacchaeus demonstrates such resolve when, despite holding a substantial position, he is not ashamed to climb a tree in order to see Jesus (vv. 1–4). And Zacchaeus needed considerable resolve: according to the religious ideas of the time, he, like all tax collectors, had committed a sin from which it was impossible to be cleansed.

Jesus appreciated his resolve, giving him, as he gives everyone, the opportunity to begin a new life, which Zacchaeus immediately seized (vv. 5–10). The parable Jesus tells also concerns resolve (vv. 12–27). Clearly, conducting business with borrowed money requires courage and decisiveness: if things go wrong, one must answer to the creditor with one's own property, especially if that creditor really is ‘a harsh man’ (v. 21). Nevertheless, investing the borrowed money in a profitable business proves to be the only possible course; otherwise the borrower loses everything, like the servant who returned the borrowed sum to his master without profit (vv. 24–27).

Thinking in terms of our world, one could say that a master has no need of servants who bring in no income. But in a certain sense the same could be said of the One who rules in the Kingdom: he too needs everyone who has received fullness from the fullness of the Kingdom to increase that fullness, or else the Kingdom will not spread in the world it is to transfigure and bring into itself. That is why one cannot receive the Kingdom and then store it in a secluded place, like the indecisive servant with the money he was lent, intending to present what has been saved to the Saviour on the day of his return as proof of faithfulness. For it is not we who receive the Kingdom; it receives us, and we remain part of it only as long as it lives in us. But in our as yet untransformed world, the Kingdom's life means its spreading, and if we do not take part in this process, we very soon fall out of the Kingdom and lose it. This is no surprise: the Kingdom's life means, above all, relationships with God and with other people, and here there can be no standing still. Any relationship exists only in movement; without that movement, it dies. But movement means change. If we refuse change in an effort to preserve everything as it was at the very beginning, when the relationship was first established, it will die. And with it, we too will die to the Kingdom if we do not dare to accept the Saviour's invitation to follow him along the path to the fullness of life.