NOTES for Luk 12:35-48

The call to keep watch is repeated very often in the Gospel. Among other reasons, because always being on alert, always remembering why and how we live, is unbearable labor. It is unbearable because we live in time, but we must keep watch in expectation of eternity.

Having met God, we are so blinded by Him that at first such frequent reminders of our changeability seem ridiculous to us. But time passes, and it becomes harder and harder to preserve that inner tension of the first days of faith. Like the first Christians, we suddenly understand that we are waiting impatiently for the Second Coming, but no longer for a day or two; we are waiting ten or twenty years, and who knows how many more decades of difficult and frightening life will be needed before we wait for Him. And He keeps saying: "Keep watch, do not relax, be ready. Above all, be ready."

How hard it is to be ready. Every day to give an account to oneself that one must wait for Him to come, and not for something else. How much one would like to put things in order once and for all. But even if one stops moving and sits absolutely still, there will be no disorder, but one will become covered with dust. And day after day, in expectation of Christ's coming, one will still have to put things in order, wipe off the dust, wash the floors, and wait until He comes.

In the different Gospels much is said about the need to be ready for action, whether witness to Christ or meeting Him. Many of the Savior's parables speak about this. The words about girded loins and a burning lamp return us to the same theme. Jesus is clearly speaking about readiness for action, for making one's life truly Christian. A belt, especially a warrior's belt, said a great deal about its owner in antiquity, and in the army it was generally a mark of distinction, replacing epaulettes.

An officer who removed his belt and handed it to his superior was in effect submitting a request for resignation. And before a campaign everyone in the army had to gird himself, first of all so that everyone could see his military rank. But in ordinary civilian life too, taking off one's belt meant relaxing and even becoming unrestrained. Without a belt it was hard to imagine a long journey: on the belt one usually carried a water skin, a special small pouch for money and necessary papers, and small but necessary travel items such as a fire steel.

Therefore to gird oneself usually meant to prepare for a road, most likely a long road. But the Savior clearly has in mind not only this outward side of the image. He also speaks of the inner collectedness that is reached through consistent keeping of the commandments and following the inner Torah. Such following forms in a person the spiritual core necessary for full Christian life.

The image of the lamp is just as multivalent, indeed even more so: in the same Sermon on the Mount it means both witness, which cannot and need not be hidden, and a person's spiritual sight, the image of the eye as the lamp that illumines the human body. Of course, there can be no purity of sight if there is no spiritual core, which is reached by following the inner Torah. But this purity will remain only a possibility if a person is not aware of the inner wholeness he has managed to reach and the measure of its fullness.

If awareness is present, then a person's body is bright: such a person is not mistaken about himself, being aware of his inner life and of every intention born in his heart. Such a person knows who he is and what he can do, and what he cannot do and therefore had better not undertake. Yet awareness is also necessary for full witness. Christian witness cannot be theoretical; only a person who has experienced what he speaks about can be a witness, and such experience can only be the experience of communion with Christ and life in the Kingdom.

Experience of this kind cannot be acquired without inner wholeness and conscious life: even if some meeting occurs or an experience of spiritual reality, or even of the reality of the Kingdom, takes place, without inner wholeness and awareness a person will not be able to retain, remember, or understand what he has experienced. That is why the Savior draws His listeners' attention to girded loins and to the lamp: without them not only witness, but the very path of the Kingdom is impossible. And therefore being His disciple is impossible.

The Savior compares the position of God's servants in the people of God with the position of a slave-steward. Today it seems strange to us to entrust care of a house and servants to a slave. But in antiquity such a practice was quite widespread: everything depended only on the measure of the master's trust in one or another slave.

Such a situation was especially widespread where, as in Israel and later in Judea, slavery was domestic, so that slaves lived in the house practically as junior members of the family. If the master of the house placed one of such slaves in the position of steward during his absence, this slave, of course, by no means ceased to be a slave, but the circle of his duties, and accordingly his rights in the house, expanded significantly, coming close to the duties and rights of the master.

But one could speak of the duties and rights of such a steward only in relation to the other household slaves and servants, who owed him formal obedience. In relation to the master, however, he remained a slave, bound to him by those partly formal and partly personal relations that usually connected master and slave in a situation of patriarchal slavery. And only on the stability of these relations, on the master's favor, did the slave's position in the house depend: whether he would remain steward or not, and how the master would deal with him on his return. A slave, in himself, of course, had no rights and could have none, and woe to the slave who forgot this. These are the very relations Jesus gives as an example, as an earthly analogue of the relations of the Kingdom.

In a certain sense, in the Kingdom all are without rights except the King who brought this Kingdom into the world, since no one has deserved it and no one can enter it by right. And when the Kingdom is projected into our still untransformed world, it often turns out that a servant of God receives power over people, since the laws of the untransformed world presuppose such power. For God acts in our world so that His action proceeds as if from within, without blowing up the world or destroying it.

And here everything depends on whether such a servant feels himself in the position of a slave to whom the true Master has entrusted temporary management of His house, or imagines himself a full-rights manager whose rights are not conditioned by a concrete situation of service, but belong to him from the beginning by virtue of some special status or special position in the Kingdom. The issue here is not that the true Master will be offended and want to punish the usurper, but that any attempts at self-assertion in one's own independence separate the one who tries to do this from the Kingdom. And therefore from the One who brought the Kingdom into the world.

We constantly put off repentance until the last moment. Right now one can still sin, but on such and such a day I will go to confession and repent there; or when I am dying, then I will repent; or in general, when the Lord asks me at the Judgment, then I will repent!

We deceive God. After all, we know that He is with us all the time, that He sees us all the time. We know that we must always strive to imitate Him, not out of fear of punishment, but because with our sins we drive nails into His palms. And we can ask forgiveness right away, so that it will not seem to us that we can "store up" sins and then dump them on God. God carries our burden on Himself all the time, so that it will not be too heavy to bear.

But we can help Him carry at least a small corner of the Cross, for His Cross is made up of our crosses.

A person gets used to everything. To good things quickly, to bad things more slowly, but still gets used to them. That is why the apostle Paul gives so much attention to how those who have acknowledged their liberation from sin will live their life.

Our salvation is accomplished in eternity, but we receive it in time. It is easy to get used to the astonishing gift of freedom from sin and life in grace, and just as easy to return to existence under the old laws. The Gospel reminds us how repulsive life is for the one who "knew, but forgot" the price at which our life was paid for. The issue is not that we must fear punishment for returning to sin. Our task is never to get used to the fact that our life and grace were paid for by the price of Christ's blood.

Do we really believe that Jesus will come again? And if we do, are we waiting Him? And if yes, how are we waiting him: with a merry impatience (fast, Fast!), or with fear (oops, only not now!).

What do we have more in us: faith in Jesus and the desire to meet Him or the fear of His justice and pressing forward to avoid His glance?

The answer to this question depends on the way we regard our preparation to His advent. It is clear that we cannot be totally ready, and that is why it is said that He will come "as a thief, at night", and on the other hand He exactly delays His advent so that we could get ready (see 2 Peter 3:9). And if we are afraid of this advent, if Jesus is an austere Judge for us, then we shall repeat all the time consciously or unconsciously: "no, don't, I am not yet ready" - and not hurry up to be ready. But if His glance is for us a glance of love, if our heart looks for a meeting with Him, then we shall wait every day for His advent, crying internally: "Maranatha! The Lord is coming!”

In answering the apostle Peter's question about the parable of people waiting for their master's return, Christ speaks of two things of great importance in our relationship with God. The first is faithfulness to God, readiness to do His will in whatever He sees fit to entrust to you. In several parables, the Lord uses this image: a master or king who has gone away, leaving his property in his servants' care. We may suppose that this image contains something essential about the position and tasks God assigns to us. And we can carry out this charge, which gives meaning to human existence, either according to the Master's will or at our own discretion. It is of the fruits of this choice that the Lord speaks: “Blessed is that servant whom his master, on returning, finds acting in this way.” This is said of the faithful steward, faithful precisely to the Master's charge.

The second important point lies in the words: “...from everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required.” First of all, this concerns God's people, old and new, those who truly know the Master's will, plainly declared to them: “O man, you have been told what is good and what the Lord requires of you: to act justly, to love deeds of mercy, and to walk humbly before your God” (Mic. 6:8). In a broader sense, however, these words concern humanity's unique place in creation: to be God's image and likeness, part of the Body of Christ.

The coming of the Kingdom of God is a mystery perhaps no less profound than the mystery of the Kingdom itself. The Lord therefore calls the disciples to keep watch, lest they miss or sleep through the Kingdom's coming into their lives. This probably does not refer merely to constant readiness for death or for Christ's Second Coming.

Christ also enters a person's life when that person least expects it: at any moment we may find ourselves facing a vitally important choice or a decisive encounter. Woe to the person who fails to notice Christ at the moment when he is called to take part in bringing about God's Kingdom. It is not that God will take offence and punish him, but that, by passing this Kingdom by, he will miss the most important event and the most important encounter of his life. Therefore, as the final Encounter approaches, the Lord calls people not to miss His presence even now, here on the way towards the triumph of God's Kingdom.

Today's reading touches on another theme, one very important for understanding what life in the Kingdom is. But the meaning of what Jesus says becomes clear only in the context of the situation of that transitional era which began with the coming of the Savior and in which we live. It could be called the era of the advancing Kingdom, and it will be completed by Jesus' return. But since we do not know the exact timing of this return, readiness is required always, every day and every hour.

In fact, this is the meaning of the parables Jesus tells (vv. 36-48). When the Gospel speaks about the nearness of the Kingdom, what is meant is not the date of Christ's second coming, but the fact that the Kingdom has already entered the world, that its presence for us today is no longer future but present; and if we notice nothing of the sort, it is only because we do not want to notice. Of course, sometimes for those to whom God entrusts ministries connected with the Kingdom, the apparent remoteness of the time when the process will be completed has a relaxing effect, like the effect produced on the unrestrained servant in the parable by the thought that the master was far away (v. 45).

It is not surprising that those who knew everything and, despite everything, allowed themselves to relax are called to a more serious account than those who knew less (vv. 47-48). What is interesting is something else. In the world there are those who know more and those who know less, but, as one can see, there are none who know nothing. It is no accident that Jesus compares the signs of the advancing Kingdom to the signs by which people in those days recognized a coming change in the weather: they were just as obvious and just as understandable to everyone, so that it was simply impossible not to notice them at all and understand nothing (vv. 54-57).

That is why the coming of the Kingdom divides people, and the division, as one can see, does not run along any national, class, or religious border, but across all borders, separating those who accept the Kingdom from those who reject it, people sometimes living not only in one country and one city, but even in one house (vv. 51-53). And this happens not because God needs divisions, but because the Kingdom is an absolute reality; it is impossible to enter it partly or halfway, and even entering it "almost completely" will not work: one enters the Kingdom either to the end and without looking back, or one does not enter at all. That is why in the Church, according to the word of the Apostle Paul, there can be "neither Greek nor Jew": if the Church remains the Kingdom and does not turn into a religious organization, one among many, then only one division remains relevant for it: between those who accept the Kingdom and those who reject it. All other divisions are conditional and relative; this one is absolute, as absolute as the division between eternal life and eternal death can be.

The theme of suddenness, of the unexpected, often appears in the Saviour's parables about the Kingdom. As with the master of the house who appears when his servants are not expecting his return at all. Such a sudden visit can serve as a kind of emergency drill: since one never knows exactly what to expect, one has to remain constantly ready for anything.

This is, of course, an important quality for spiritual life, and for life in general. But it is not only a matter of constant readiness. It is also a matter of the inward state that such readiness presupposes. Being ready for everything at all times is impossible in principle—at least in the sense in which we speak of readiness in relation to life in this world. In our world, readiness usually means responses planned in advance for particular situations that have likewise been anticipated.

These responses are set out in the relevant instructions, which those responsible for making decisions are required to follow. But anticipating every possible situation is an impossible task. This is not even because there are infinitely many of them, but because, at any given moment, we are capable in principle of forecasting only certain kinds of situation, related to what we know at that moment. In other words, at any given moment a situation can, in principle, arise that is absolutely unpredictable.

Absolutely unpredictable means impossible to predict not because of a lack of information or forecasting tools, but in principle—even if we had all the information existing in the world at that moment and every forecasting tool possible at that same moment within the limits allowed by the nature of our world.

In the development of any complex system, there are moments when its future development cannot, in principle, be predicted from its current state. Scientists call such moments bifurcation points. But the system remains unpredictable only when viewed from outside. From within, the situation looks different: everything depends entirely either on chance or on the choice of the person who finds themselves in such a situation.

The Saviour's return and the fullness of the Kingdom, revealed in its entirety, entail the world passing through just such a bifurcation point: a moment when nothing can be calculated or predicted in advance, and everything is determined by each person's concrete choice. If a person shares in the life of the Kingdom even before that moment comes, the moment itself does not take them completely by surprise, throw them off course or disorient them to the point of being utterly unable to make decisions. This is what it means to be ready to meet the returning master. The King. And the Kingdom in all its fullness.

Jesus' words about the division He brought into the world trouble some readers of the Gospel, especially today. Unity seems more appropriate to us now than division; we would like all divisions between people to disappear. Unity seems better than division to us by definition.

And so it is when secondary matters are concerned. From the Gospel's perspective, as from that of spiritual life in general, all our divisions—cultural, linguistic, racial, even religious—are essentially secondary. They do not touch what matters most: our relationships with God and their dynamics. From the Gospel's perspective, as from that of spiritual life in general, it is precisely the dynamics of our relationships with God and our neighbors that are central; everything else is secondary. In this respect, people fall into only two categories: those whose lives contain a relationship with God and its associated dynamics, and those whose lives do not.

Of course, a complete absence of relationship with God means the complete destruction of the person, often followed by physical destruction as well. But we can speak of these relationships developing and growing stronger, or of their gradual deterioration, their tendency toward complete breakdown. Ultimately, in the context and perspective of the Kingdom entering the world, we must speak of striving for the fullness of the Kingdom's life or of self-isolation: an attempt to shut oneself away and create one's own small, closed world, becoming its king, its sole master and ruler. The fallen world exists in precisely this isolation. Thus the central Christian division is between those seeking the life of the Kingdom and those content with the life of this world, the fallen world.

Here division really is absolutely inevitable. These two spiritual directions are incompatible, not because some people are “spiritual” and others are not, but because some seek life and move toward it, while others are content with a life of dying, a gradual sinking into the death that reigns in the fallen world. These are not different views or convictions, but opposite directions of spiritual movement, which inevitably divide those who choose them. After all, people going in different, opposite directions cannot remain united.

The Saviour often speaks of the master's return—meaning, as one may readily guess, Himself—as an unexpected event. Although this unexpectedness may itself be expected, judging by Jesus' words it is quite possible that those waiting will be unprepared to meet the One they await. Why is this? Much can of course be explained by uncertainty about the time: it is not easy to keep oneself constantly ready; this demands too much inward strain.

Jesus Himself does not regard that argument as an excuse. He says plainly that if the householder knew when the thief would try to break into his house, life would be much easier—but, alas, that is not how things are. Nevertheless, if the householder wants to protect his house, he must always be on his guard. So must the servants awaiting their master, unless they want trouble from their unexpectedly returning lord. Clearly, a Christian's spiritual life requires constant spiritual alertness, without which one cannot remain in the Kingdom. Of course, one could say that any serious spiritual or ascetic system requires the same of its adherents. It could hardly be otherwise: this is a spiritual path, on which all kinds of unexpected things are possible.

Moreover, without maintaining spiritual alertness, we can forget about moving forward: every step on a spiritual path requires effort, as does the very ability to hold the new position reached through that effort. Otherwise, if a person relaxes spiritually, they can easily slide back to their former state. But spiritual alertness has special significance for life in the Kingdom. In the age of the advancing Kingdom, every inhabitant of it inevitably stands on the boundary between two worlds. Without the necessary efforts, one can easily fall out of the Kingdom's spiritual realm and find oneself wholly under the power of the evil in which the untransformed world lies.

Then there can no longer be any question of readiness to meet the Risen One. One cannot prepare for that meeting in a single instant: a spiritual process involving the transformation of human nature is required. For that process we have been given the time between the Saviour's coming into the world and His future return in glory. What the meeting will be like depends on how we use that time.

"Fear not, little flock!" That was also the title of an article by Fr. Georgy Chistyakov, which contains the following passage:

"If we analyze Sacred Scripture on the basis of what linguists call the 'frequency' of the use of a given word, we discover that almost 370 times in it there is the call: 'Fear not!' It is addressed now to Abraham, now to Jacob, now to Gideon in the Old Testament, now to the apostles and the myrrh-bearing women in the Gospel. This call is constant and insistent. God does not say: do not be afraid of this or that. He addresses us with extreme simplicity: do not be afraid. Never and of nothing! Of course, fear is embedded in our nature from the beginning - as are many other things. But some natural traits must be developed, while others must be outgrown. Overcome. God addresses precisely our animal memory: 'Fear not, little flock!' - and even more sharply: 'I send you as sheep among wolves.'" ("Ogonyok," 1999).

Everything here is said with the utmost precision and unity; it is hard to add anything. Still, one can recall these well-known words of the evangelist: "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear, because fear has torment. The one who fears is not perfected in love" (1 John 4:18). For us this is paradoxical; with us everything is usually the other way around: the more we love, the more we fear for the beloved. But that is only the beginning of love. After all, if the Lord is all-good, and the final "station" will be the state when "God is all in all," then what is there for us to fear? Only to endure and wait remains, and to endure and wait means to believe. But the fearful thing stands clearly before our eyes, while the angelic world is hidden. How can one not be afraid? How can one not want to eat, not want to sleep, and so on... It is impossible. And precisely because of this impossibility, this is something utterly true.

I will accept all, take all that You give,
Whatever You give, whatever You send me.
Let wild folly come to pass,
Let dark falsehood envelop me.
Grant that I may hear You amid the lie
And not confuse Your voice with another.
Help me, strengthen me, uphold me
With Your careful breath.
(Yuly Shreider)

"Let wild folly come to pass" - somehow these words really are frightening. Still, as another poet said, "We do not need to fear this darkness, and we will not pretend to be happy" (B. Okudzhava).