NOTES for Luk 18:1-17

When people need something, they persistently beg for what they lack for happiness. And the Lord, it would seem, encourages us to call on Him persistently for help. How often, when we do this, we think of God as a great taker of bribes, acting on the principle: "we give to Him, He gives to us." But He, giving us what is for our good, will never give us what is harmful. Because He is unbending, He is whole, He is incorruptible. These qualities of His are described in the book of Wisdom: "...Your almighty word like a stern warrior. It carried a sharp sword." In this sense, being with Him is like walking on the edge of a razor that cuts away from us everything dangerous to us.

The parable told to us about the unjust judge is a very witty move by Jesus. Is it not a living illustration of human ideas about the mechanism by which God makes decisions? We, small and weak, yell and cry out, and only because of our persistence does something happen. This picture looks so absurd, especially when we are asking something of God, Who is merciful, that one wants to laugh and stop doing it.

Whatever may be going on in our heads, God still will not abandon us and will come to help. He will come, but will He find faith where people are calling Him for help? It can happen that such ideas about God replace what we know about Him from Scripture, what we have been taught.

As a rule, the most puzzling words in today's reading are these: "though He delays to protect them." Why does He delay, what is He waiting for, when things are so hard for us, people ask. So today let us think precisely about these words. We remember well the words of the psalm: let Your mercies quickly come before us, O Lord, for we have become very poor (Ps 78:8). We remember them especially well because they entered the prayers of the sixth hour, which means we often hear them in church. Three more times in the Psalter this cry is heard: "hear us quickly" (Ps 68:18, 101:3, 142:7). We very much want the Lord to help us sooner; we hurry Him. Who knows, perhaps if it were not for this, there would be no need to say that He delays. Not because, seeing how impatiently we wait for His help, He deliberately delays; no, of course not. Rather, it is because He seems to want to sober us. He wants us to turn toward ourselves and see how much He has already given us. More than anything, He wants our growth, which would be impossible if He did everything for us. A comparison with earthly parents is entirely appropriate here, it seems to us. When a child asks for help writing a school essay, any sensible parent first asks him to try to write something himself. The Lord, as a loving Parent, does not delay in only one case, when it is a matter of life and death. And it is precisely then that He works a miracle. If we remember this, we will understand miracles more correctly and will not look for false miracles.

Christ's words, "Will not God protect His chosen ones who cry to Him... though He delays in protecting them," in the Synodal Translation often trouble the reader. The Lord offers the disciples a parable about an unrighteous judge who nevertheless protects a poor widow because of her persistence. The unrighteous judge, from whom it would be absurd even to expect justice, could not withstand the firmness of the petitioner. All the more, Christ says, will God, who loves His chosen ones, respond to their requests. This is how the evangelist Luke understands the parable, and therefore he introduces it as "a parable about the need always to pray and not lose heart."

If a person does not immediately receive what he asks for, he begins to doubt God's goodness. This is a common mistake caused by not knowing God. Christ's parable directly refutes this opinion. But then why does God "delay in protecting them"? These words of the Synodal Translation correspond to entirely different words in the original. The Greek text contains here one verb meaning "to be patient, to possess endurance": "He is patient in them," in His chosen ones. Patientiam habebit in illis, "He keeps patience in them," the Vulgate echoes it. "And being long-suffering concerning them," the Slavonic text renders with great accuracy. The point, then, is God's participation in the endurance of the sufferings of His chosen ones.

It is hard to convey this meaning in Russian in such a way that the result is a translation and not an interpretation. Perhaps: "Will not God protect His chosen ones who cry to Him day and night? Is it not He who is long-suffering [in them]? Certainly He will give them swift protection... But when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?" It is important for us to understand that the Lord is not speaking of the indifference of a Creator who condescends to the cries of His people as if reluctantly, in an interval between more important matters. Not at all. Christ emphasizes precisely God's participation in our sufferings. Moreover, the original text shows that this participation enters into the very depth of God's relationship with the world and His design for it.

From a practical point of view, Christ's words about faith are important. About God's long-suffering and the sufferings of the chosen, Christ says something difficult to understand not only for us, but probably for the disciples as well. But, He says, the issue is not what God is like. The issue is the lack of faith that does not give us the possibility of seeing and knowing how quickly God grants His protection. And the same lack of faith deprives us of the possibility of asking for and receiving that protection.

In every age people ask this question: does God protect His chosen ones? If so, why do good people die, and if not, then where is His love? Such questions sound especially often after terrible catastrophes. Indeed, even if we have already understood that it is not God who brings these horrors, that all this is the consequence of sin, either directly or indirectly (as in the case of natural disasters: "the whole creation groans and suffers together until now" Rom. 8:22), the question of protection still remains.

Jesus does not give a direct answer, but He points to the right direction for reflection: "When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?" In order for God to give His protection, we need to trust Him; we need to entrust our life completely into His hands. Have we done this when asking for protection, or are we still counting on His help, but on our terms? For example, have we accepted His view of what human life is, or do we inwardly insist on our own understanding of it as, first of all, physical life? And it is on this above all that what God's protection consists of depends.

People ask this question at all period: shall not God avenge his own elect? If the answer is yes, then why good people die? And if no, then where is His love? These questions are especially often given after terrible disasters. Indeed, even if we already understand that God isn't the One causing these horrors, and that they are rather the consequences of sin - either directly, or indirectly (as in the case of cataclysms:"the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now" (Rom 8:22), still the question about avenger remains actual.

Jesus doesn't give a direct answer to this question, but He suggests the real direction for meditation:" When the Son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth?". It is necessary to trust God so that He can avenge us, we have to completely entrust our life into His hands. Have we done it, when asking for avenger, or we all the same count on His help, but under our own conditions? Do we accept for example His opinion on what is human life, or we insist inwardly on our own understanding of it as being firstly a physical life? Indeed what's God's avenger depends above all on this.

Jesus’ words: "shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry… unto him, though he bear long with them?", - in the King James Version translation arouse embarrassment to the readers. The Lord suggests to the followers a parable on an unjust judge, who protects nonetheless the poor widow because of her persistence. The unjust judge, from whom it would be absurd to expect justice, wasn't able to resist the firmness of the petitioner. All the more, Jesus says that God who loves His elect will answer their requests. This is how the evangelist Luke understands this parable, and that's why he entitled it "a parable that men ought always to pray and not to faint".

A person begins to doubt God’s kindness if he doesn’t receive at once his request. It is a popular error, due to our ignorance of God. The parable of Jesus refutes exactly such opinion. Then why God “bear long with them”? These words of the King James Version correspond with the original words; the Greek and the Vulgate texts contain the word “bear”. Therefore, the matter is about God's participation in the sufferings of His elect.

“When the Son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth?” –this is the question Jesus asks; He bears with us in our sufferings, and He "will of course avenge speedily", but "shall he find faith on the earth?". It is important for us to understand that Jesus doesn't speak here about the indifference of the Creator, who condescends in the wails of His people as if it was unwillingly, ad interium between the more important facts. No, far from it! Instead Jesus Christ underlines preeminently God's participation in our sufferings. This participation enters the depth of God's relationship with the world and His vision about this world.

From a practical point of view, Jesus’ important words are about faith. He speaks of something very difficult to understand not only for us, but probably for the followers too, concerning God's forbearance and sufferings of the elected. But He says that, the problem isn't at the level of God; the problem is in the lack of faith, which does not give us the possibilities to see, to know that God avenges us speedily. And the same lack of faith deprives us from the possibility of asking and of receiving this avenge.

The tax collector and the Pharisee are two sides of a person that coexist peacefully within us. At the same time, the Pharisee living in us can be a very worthy person: fasting, prayer, a tithe of everything one has. This is already not so little.

Even the Lord says that "this man went down to his house justified rather than the other." That is, the Pharisee received his justification, but not to the same extent as the tax collector. This happened because the Pharisee demanded fair treatment for himself, while the tax collector hoped for mercy.

In the end, we too need not justice, whose triumph the Pharisee within us wants so often; we need mercy, for which the tax collector quietly asks. For according to justice we are entitled to very little, if not to nothing at all, while according to mercy the Kingdom has been promised to us.

The parable of the tax collector and the Pharisee was told to those "who were confident in themselves that they were righteous and despised others." And really, how can one be righteous while despising other people? One cannot. But one can simply fail to see something in oneself...

The Pharisee thanks God. And who knows what there is more of in this prayer: boasting and pride in his beloved self, or sincere gratitude to God for giving strength to fulfill the commandments, and for the fact that the Pharisee himself was born into a normal family and not into some family of robbers? But in his prayer he condemns not only sin, but also the sinner, as if raising himself up at another's expense. And when we condemn, there becomes one fewer person among those who allow for the possibility that a person can be corrected.

The Lord calls us to leave open the path to repentance and the mercy of God. We do not. Not to mention that through us the Lord can no longer help anyone, neither ourselves nor the people near us.

Is it bad to fast regularly, pray, and carefully fulfill religious prescriptions? Some, commenting on the parable of the tax collector and the Pharisee, say yes, it is bad. It is bad because this distracts from the main thing, from spiritual life as such, from a living relationship with God, and makes a person admire himself. Others object: no, it is not bad; the parable is about something else. It is about the pride that makes one exalt oneself and humiliate the neighbor standing nearby. If there is no pride and self-exaltation, then everything is in order, and one can fulfill all religious duties without becoming like the Pharisee in the Gospel.

With a closer look at the situation, it is not hard to see that both sides are right, each in its own way. The Pharisees really were deeply religious people. How sincere they were, and what stood behind their religiosity, is another question. Most of all, there was here what always hides behind any religiosity: a certain measure of sincerity, an occasional deep and rich spiritual life, and much more often superficiality covered by more or less zealous legalism. In short, everything was as it is with religious people of every age and tradition.

If such a religious person set out on the spiritual path and followed it to the end, he usually outgrew his religiosity so thoroughly that it practically ceased to define his life, only slightly touching its surface, though from the outside, to people whose gaze did not penetrate deeper than that surface, such a person might seem deeply religious.

Jesus, however, condemns in the Pharisee neither his religiosity nor even pride as such; pride is only a consequence. He draws attention to what gives birth to pride, to its spiritual root. That root is a person's gaze fixed on himself, on one or another of his abilities or qualities. This inner gaze, shifted by a person from God to himself, destroys all his spiritual efforts, redirecting them from their true goal and real object to a supposed goal, to an object that is in essence only an illusion, a mirage generated by the effort of a falsely directed human will.

The point is not even that fallen humanity is almost always inclined to overestimate its abilities and qualities, seeing itself as better than it really is. The point is that, if we speak specifically about spiritual life, fallen humanity has no abilities or qualities at all. Righteousness is not a property of a fallen person, but his state, derived from that dynamic of relationship between the person and God without which no righteousness can be spoken of at all. By examining and analyzing himself, a person loses that dynamic.

Even if, in such examination, he perceives something true, that truth turns out to be relative; it is only a static cross section of spiritual dynamics that cannot be grasped while spinning before the psychological mirrors set up in one's own soul, as the Pharisee does in the Savior's parable. This shift of attention from the process of living communion with God to its reflection in one's own soul is what breaks a person's spiritual life and destroys his relationship with God, even though outwardly it may seem that everything is in order. In the religious sense, he really remains as devout as he always was. Now, however, behind that piety there is spiritual emptiness, and this is what Jesus warns about in His parable.

Still, what exactly is the self-exaltation Jesus is talking about with regard to the Pharisee? Is it bad to keep the commandments and be a religious person? In itself, obviously not, since even the Savior does not condemn the Pharisee; He only says that the tax collector, who has nothing to say to God except words of repentance, is more righteous before Him than the Pharisee, who is ready to list his religious successes and achievements. But the problem, as one can see, is not religiosity as such, and not even that it allows one to look down on a sinner, but that it, paradoxical as it may sound, can sometimes distract a person from God.

In fact, the very fact that the Pharisee, standing in the Temple before God, thinks and speaks about himself, about the tax collector standing nearby, about his religiosity - in short, about anything at all except God - can be considered a spiritual failure, at least in that particular situation. Of course, one failure does not cancel out the Pharisee's achievements, but on that specific day he spent his time in the Temple without any spiritual benefit. And paradoxically, it was his own religiosity that brought him to this result.

But the tax collector did not spend his time in the Temple without spiritual benefit: he did not evaluate either himself or others. He simply communed with God. That turned out to be enough, because God does not need us to evaluate anyone at all. He Himself knows the worth of each of us. We need only look at Him. And then there will be no one before whom we can "exalt ourselves."

We often make one mistake with regard to this text. We judge the Pharisee too easily. But we forget that we must remember that apparently he really was righteous. And righteousness is worth no small thing. But the Lord calls us to understand that righteousness alone is not enough. What exactly does the Pharisee lack? The first thing that comes to mind is that he lacks a broken heart (Ps 33), or the New Testament quality closest to it, poverty of spirit. He lacks repentance. This is precisely why this text is also assigned to the beginning of Great Lent. But repentance is not only awareness of one's sinfulness and a plea for forgiveness. It is something more. It is something that joins us to one another as nothing else can. For we always see another person's sins very well, and awareness of our own sinfulness softens our heart toward the sins of other people. Let us remember the words from the Letter of James: For judgment is without mercy to one who has shown no mercy; mercy triumphs over judgment. (Jas 2:13). Repentance is not so much a request to God to lighten the judgment over me personally as it is mercy toward neighbors. And this too we often forget when reading the text of today's reading. For beating one's breast can sometimes even be very pleasant, when we read the text about the condemnation of the Pharisee and the justification of the tax collector only superficially.

The tax collector and the Pharisee are two sides of a person that coexist peacefully within us. At the same time the Pharisee living in us can be a very worthy person: fasting, prayer, a tithe of everything one has, this is already not so little. Even the Lord says that "this man went down to his house justified rather than the other." That is, the Pharisee received his justification, but not as much as the tax collector. This happened because the Pharisee demanded just treatment for himself, while the tax collector hoped for mercy.

In the end, we too need not justice, whose triumph the Pharisee inside us so often wants; we need the mercy for which the tax collector quietly asks. Because according to justice we deserve very little, if anything at all, while by mercy the Kingdom is promised to us.

Publican and Pharisee - two sides of man, those get on peacefully in us. Besides, the Pharisee living in us can be indeed a man of merit: fast, prayer, tithe of all that possesses, - and this is already not bad. Even the Lord says that "this man went down to his house justified rather than the other". That is the Pharisee received his justification, but not as much as the publican. This occurred because the Pharisee asked for a just relation for himself, while the publican hoped for mercy. Ultimately, we also need not the justice, triumph that the Pharisee who is inside us wants very often, we need mercy which the publican quietly asked. Because, very little (if not nothing in general) is given to us by justice, whereas the Kingdom is promised to us by mercy.

We understand and feel well the whole range of our tender feelings for children, and it does not surprise us that the Lord also loves them and wants them to be brought to Him. But besides this purely vital aspect, today's text has a deeply philosophical aspect. To understand it, let us turn to a fragment from Joseph Brodsky's Nobel lecture. "Every new aesthetic reality refines ethical reality for a person. For aesthetics is the mother of ethics; the concepts of 'good' and 'bad' are primarily aesthetic concepts, preceding the concepts of 'good' and 'evil.' In ethics, 'not everything is permitted' because in aesthetics 'not everything is permitted,' because the number of colors in the spectrum is limited. An uncomprehending infant who with tears rejects a stranger or, on the contrary, reaches out to him instinctively makes an aesthetic choice, not a moral one. Aesthetic choice is individual, and aesthetic experience is always a private experience. [...] The point is not so much that virtue is no guarantee of a masterpiece, but that evil [...] is always a bad stylist. The richer an individual's aesthetic experience, the firmer his taste, the clearer his sovereign choice, the freer he is, though perhaps not happier."

It is very important for us to note two things in these words: an infant makes an aesthetic choice because he does not know ethics, and in a certain sense ethics depends on aesthetics. This is why "to such belongs the Kingdom of God." This is much harder for us to understand than tender feelings for children, ours and Jesus'. The mastering of Christianity's ethical norms comes so hard to us, yet children have not yet walked this thorny path, so why do they turn out to be ahead of us? Here is Joseph Brodsky's answer. Indeed, on some deep level aesthetics comes before ethics. In essence, only the lack of genuine aesthetics in this earthly life determined the necessity of ethics. Ethics is inevitably connected with our suffering, because it forbids us what we sometimes greatly want, and this already testifies to its earthly "etiology." Genuine aesthetics carries no suffering in itself and is an echo of the Heavenly. And precisely children, who do not yet know ethics, who simply have not yet been taught ethics, up to a certain point still have a sense of genuine aesthetics.

Let us note one more thought of Brodsky: "Aesthetic choice is individual, and aesthetic experience is always a private experience." This also brings us to the level of childlikeness. Because ethics is, in essence, the norms of intra-social existence, the existence of adults, while children, until we send them to kindergarten and for some time after that, are beings individual in the highest degree simply because they have not dealt with society. But how much wealth there is in this individuality, if only our prayer to God were like that. And then they bring you from kindergarten or school what other children or the caregiver, teacher, and so on say. Then they are already afraid of not being like everyone else. There is something like this in our life in God too, some kind of schoolboy spirit; and if it is said when and how to read, then we read then and that way, and think that we are praying. But in reality prayer is the hardest labor of seeking the true Face of God, yes, many remember this, but also one's own true face. We must not forget this. And very often it turns out that it must be sought in one's early childhood.

In the East there is everywhere a belief that if a prophet or righteous person touches an infant, the child's fate will be happy. People have always sought, and still seek, to touch those known for their righteousness, even adults; and if parents manage to have a person known for his righteousness, for example, stroke their infant on the head, they can desire nothing greater for their child.

Clearly, infants were brought to the Savior for the same reasons. The disciples, as we can see, thought that what was present here were certain prejudices widespread among the people. Indeed, traditional Jewish ideas of spiritual life presuppose that it must be at least somewhat conscious, so that, for example, with respect to a child unfamiliar with the Torah, one cannot speak of any spiritual life.

And they perceived the parents' desire to bring infants to Jesus as absurd and meaningless: at such an age, after all, one still cannot speak of any spiritual life. Jesus Himself, however, sees this situation somewhat differently. Of course, He is not going to teach anything to the infants brought to Him. But neither does He drive away those who find themselves nearby.

This is understandable: if Jesus were simply a teacher of the Torah, even the greatest of all, infants would have nothing to do near Him. But He is not only Teacher; He is the Messiah who brought the Kingdom into the world. The Kingdom is always with Him and can be opened to seekers if they entrust themselves to Him. And here it is not always important to understand what is happening. Sometimes the breath of the Kingdom acts even on those who have only the vaguest ideas about God, the Kingdom, and the Messiah.

Of course, in this case there can be no talk of conscious spiritual or church life: for such life a person must understand and be aware of how God is working with him. But the action of the breath of the Kingdom can sometimes be useful from the point of view of preparing a person for conscious spiritual life. In any case, it will never be superfluous, and therefore the Savior does not reject any of those who come to Him with pure, even if naive, intentions.

People often cannot understand Christ's call to become like infants, to try to be like children, "for to such belongs the Kingdom of God," as today's reading tells us. "What does this mean?" they ask. "After all, children not only lack the proper measure of reason; they also do not know sacrificial love. Their love is selfish. Only as people grow up, and not all of them even then, do they master this most difficult art of loving without receiving anything in return."

As so often happens, in our lack of understanding the apostle Paul comes to our help. It does not follow at all from his letters that we must blindly try to become like infants. On the contrary, in some places he speaks negatively about our infancy: "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, thought like a child, reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I put away childish things" (1 Cor 13:11), or, for example, 1 Cor 3:1, Eph 4:14, Heb 5:13. At first it looks as though this contradicts Christ's call.

But the solution is given by another text from the apostle: "Brothers, do not be children in your thinking; be infants in evil, but in your thinking be mature" (1 Cor 14:20). This, then, is what Christ is speaking about: that we should perceive evil as infants do, just as defenselessly, just as having nothing in common with it. "He is still an unspoiled person," people say in such cases. It is to this unspoiled perception of the world that the Lord calls us.