NOTES for Mar 8:31-32

Today's reading gives us an opportunity to reflect on the essence of love as the highest type of relationship possible between people and between a person and God. What is most frightening for us in love? That something will happen to the beloved, that he will fall ill or die - this is what is most frightening for us.

But is this not because we identify ourselves with the beloved so strongly that we are afraid and in pain for ourselves? We ourselves are not ready for the feat of bearing all the beloved's pain as our own cross. When the beloved dies, we do not rejoice that at last he has been released and is now with Christ, but we weep because the place he occupied in our life is now empty, and we have not learned prayerful connection. We have not learned to distinguish in our relationships what is not subject to decay.

On the other hand, when we love a person, are we always ready to tell him if he is doing something contrary to the commandments of Christ? We are afraid he will not understand us, will take offense, and so on; in other words, we often place our relationship above God's truth. And nothing is above it. And if the beloved is facing a trial, we must stand beside him, looking that trial in the face. But we want to run away and lead him away with us. And this even appears noble to us, as though we are saving someone. We are saving no one; we are inciting flight.

And one more point connected with today's reading. A person new to the faith may be surprised that in the Synodal translation the words are: "Get away from Me, Satan," while in the translation of Bishop Cassian (Bezobrazov) they are: "behind Me, Satan." It becomes somewhat clearer if one looks at a translation, for example, into English. There, in various translations, both new and old, the same phrase appears: get behind me, that is, stand behind me if translated literally, or do not stand in my way; stand where I cannot see you. We deliberately single out these three translations; from them, everything we have tried to say to you today becomes somehow immediately clear and alive.

"Take up your cross and follow Me..." A childhood, or more precisely half-childhood, story comes to mind. A man found himself in the most desperate situation, whether because of family tragedies and troubles or because of money, which was not enough even for the most basic necessities. So he cried out to God with reproach, saying, in effect, that his cross was too heavy. And the Lord said to him: Very well, have it your way. I will invite you to Heaven, and you yourself will choose the cross that will be within your strength. And so He did. The man walks along, and around him stand various crosses, as in our cemeteries: there are small wooden ones, there are metal ones, and there are huge stone ones, taller than a person. He walks and walks, and he sees a cross that pleases him: this one, he says, I choose. And the Lord, smiling, says to him: but that is your cross.

In fact, something simple is being said here, simple but important. We often complain about our life, but just try making us drag someone else's cross, and we will cry out. Because we are weak and frail. Only the Lord was able to make all our little crosses merge into His one Cross by the power of His all-good might. Therefore: "and I keep repeating: if things go badly for me, they were worse for my God and more painful for the Mother of God" (N.S. Gumilev)

But why should it hurt at all? Why should we have to drag these cursed crosses at all? Why could it not have been done without this? This question has no answer, but is it not joy to be with the Lord, is it not joy to do something so that it may become even a little easier for Him? It is, is it not? If so, we need only see this, realize that by carrying our cross we share in God's suffering and lighten it. How can we see this? Simply pray, and then you will see. Pray, presenting yourself to God not in some particular form, but in all simplicity. Thanking Him for this highest joy in the world: to be needed by someone.

Jesus twice asks who people say He is. Apparently, the first time He addresses those who have simply come to hear Him, and the second time His closest disciples. Drawing on everything he has already heard from the Teacher, Peter answers, “You are the Christ.” But as soon as the Lord explains to the apostle what awaits Him as the Savior of the world, Peter begins to protest and be indignant. His conception of the Messiah was formed and settled long ago. He is no longer very young and has no intention at all of changing his way of thinking. Yet this is precisely what the Lord requires of him when He says, “If anyone wishes to follow Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross.” He does not promise to deliver us from suffering; on the contrary, He insists on the necessity of accepting it. We often come to God with our own already formed ideas and expect from Him something “human,” while He Himself desires for us “the things of God.”

The evangelist Mark, in the account of Peter's confession, shows us today what it means to be a Christian. Three things are important in the evangelist's extremely brief story. The Lord asks, "Who do you say that I am?" This is a question addressed forever to everyone who wants to be His disciple. Peter answers on behalf of them all: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (Mark omits the final words for the sake of brevity). A disciple of Christ, a Christian, therefore believes that this Jesus of Nazareth is not merely a prophet (the Quran recognizes that too), not merely a teacher of righteousness (almost everyone recognizes that). He is the Messiah of Israel, the Son of the living God, the God-Man Jesus Christ. And this dialogue is crowned by Christ's answer, the revelation of His death and resurrection. It is on the Cross and in the Resurrection that the salvation of humanity is accomplished, and to be a disciple of Christ means not only to keep His commandments, but to worship His Cross and Resurrection.

As we confess Jesus as the Son of God, the Christ, we cannot on this day fail to bow in gratitude before the Virgin through whom His incarnation took place. The faith of the Most Pure Virgin, Her love for God and compassion for us, Her whole life, every glance, and Her very name are the joy of Jesus' disciples, because She obeyed God and gave birth to Him.

Peter's confession. What does it mean for us now, when we stand at the Cross and Pascha is still so far away? Pascha is far away, but the Cross is always before our eyes, and how necessary it is for us at this moment to hear: "You are the Christ." Because we are tired, because we are weak, because now the fast seems endlessly long to us, and the promised joy so undeserved. But this confession of Peter, which is so generously given to us today, both strengthens and confirms us; and, being spoken in such a difficult time, it makes us remember another confession. Mary's confession.

How hard it was for Mary to live out the Good News, how heavy it was for her to bear this burden, and she went to Elizabeth. Not in order to share this burden with her. No, for it was her burden alone. She made this journey because she simply needed very much to see someone close to her. So that someone dear could simply be nearby. And now this other confession of faith is given to us. "And Mary said: My soul magnifies the Lord" (Luke 1:46). The fast has passed the middle - the hardest time. We have already had time to grow tired, and Pascha is still so far away. And now two wonderful confessions of faith in Jesus are given to us. "Unwedded Virgin and All-Pure Mother, having received the annunciation from the Archangel, you hastened with care into the hill country; and having greeted your kinswoman, the most honorable Elizabeth, you were called by her the Mother of the Lord, and you magnified the Lord who magnified you: Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the Fruit of your womb" (the troparion for the day of the Praise of the Most Holy Mother of God, that is, for today). Let us also magnify the Lord; and although Pascha is still far away, it will come, and each one will be magnified.

Messianic expectations in Gospel times assumed that the Messiah would lead a movement of His supporters that would end in His complete victory over all enemies and in the restoration of an independent Jewish state, which was to become the foundation of the messianic Kingdom.

It was assumed that God would intervene and support His Chosen One if anything went wrong. Of course, this meant a completely real, physical war, during which the Messiah was also in real danger of dying, but it was assumed that God would not allow that. Of course, the Messiah could suffer in some way during the messianic war, but He could not die, because then His mission would remain unfulfilled. Jesus' disciples shared these expectations too; after all, they were people of their time.

It is no accident that in response to the Savior's words about His death, Peter begins to argue with Him. He was sure that the Teacher's death meant the end, the failure, the collapse not only of their own expectations but also of God's plan, and that was already completely impossible. Jesus Himself had just confirmed that He was the Messiah, so He could not die; that simply could not be. Yet He speaks about His death as something not only possible but directly inevitable.

How could all this be understood and brought together? Jesus, of course, knows perfectly well that all those truths about His death and resurrection that seem self-evident to us today in fact do not fit at all into the consciousness of fallen humanity. They seem self-evident to us today only because they are widely accepted and therefore familiar. That is why He begins the conversation about what true life is and what it is like. Without understanding these basic things, without grasping them, a conversation about death and resurrection - not only of the Messiah but of any person at all - becomes quite meaningless.

Jesus reminds His disciples that life, the "soul," is not the property of an individual person, not his possession. Life is given to a person by God as the stream into which the person is immersed and in which he remains, while that stream also dwells mysteriously within the person. The body is only the outer and passing shell of the stream of life, but to fallen humanity it seems as though the person preserves life in his own body as in a vessel, and if the vessel is broken, life will disappear, spill out, and run away like water into sand.

In reality, death and the destruction of the body are only a transformation, provided, of course, that a person is not truly trying to hold back the stream of life, stop it, and seal it inside his own physical body. In that case, in trying to save his life, or "soul," a person truly loses everything. But if he gives up such attempts, he can receive the life of the Kingdom in all the fullness available to him, like that inexhaustible river of living water of which the prophets spoke.

Peter's confession is a very important moment in the whole Gospel, because here there is an astonishing manifestation of the Holy Spirit, who descends upon a person and speaks through his lips. Yet for all the divine inspiration of this scene, it is at the same time astonishingly human, astonishingly alive. It looks like an impulse of the soul. But at the same time it could not have been merely an impulse of the soul, because these are the words on which the Church is built. This is Revelation.

In biblical culture, however, we are used to revelations of a completely different kind, complex and full of symbolism. And yet the brief and simple words of Peter's confession are also revelation, also a kind of apocalypse, because in the words "You are the Christ" there is the recognition that what is happening all around is the end, the fulfillment of the times. For here He is, the beginning and the end, the Alpha and the Omega.

The special significance of this text is also shown by the fact that these words, having become a prayer, are heard at the most trembling moment of the Liturgy. "When at the end of the Liturgy the priest comes out of the Royal Doors with the Holy Chalice, we all together - both the clergy and the laypeople taking part in the service - read the prayer composed in the fourth century by John Chrysostom: "I believe, O Lord, and confess that You are truly the Christ, the Son of the living God, who came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am first..."," as Fr. Georgy Chistyakov writes in his book "Over the Lines of the New Testament."

If we are bound to Christ by faith and love - and all His disciples are called to this - then the question, "Who do you say that I am?" in a certain sense means, "Who do you say that you are?" For as Jesus is, so His disciples must be; Christians are named from Christ. And here lies our saddest gap between theory and practice. We believe that He was incarnate and became Man for our sake, while we ourselves cannot and do not want to draw nearer to those whom we call our "neighbors." We say that He died on the cross for the sins of humanity, while we ourselves "do not want to lift a finger" for much more modest goals. We teach that He rose from the dead, but we continue to live an old, unenlightened, unresurrected life. Yes indeed, for such Christianity one could well earn the name "apostate," "Satan." Following the example of the apostles, it is time for us, most of whom consider our faith the most correct, to begin bringing our life into conformity with our faith.