NOTES for Luk 9:57-62
The Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head. Nowhere... but why? Why do we find somewhere to lay our heads, while there is no place for Him? Even the most destitute homeless person in Moscow will find some warm corner in a railway station or elsewhere, but there is no place for our Lord. Why? He did, after all, recline at meals and even visit wealthy homes, which means that rich people received Him. Why, then, does He say that He has nowhere to lay His head? Is He really complaining of homelessness and poverty? Certainly not.
One might say that our first reaction to these words really is boundless pity, love, and tenderness. How many mystical experiences these words have inspired, how much has been said about giving the Lord one's heart so that He might lay His head there. But are these the only feelings the Lord wants to awaken in us through the words of today's reading? If so, it would mean that He is simply complaining, simply asking to be pitied. One cannot say that this is entirely absent, for the Lord also assumed human nature, in which the desire for love and tenderness is embedded and is not in itself sinful. Yet there remains a sense that we should not stop at this understanding of His words alone; we must think more deeply and seek other meanings.
When a child is ill and lies feverish at night, the mother cannot sleep. Even if nothing depends on her and there is nothing she can do, she cannot lay down her head and fall asleep. But as soon as the temperature falls, sleep comes of itself. In reality, our world too is gravely ill. Think about it: has a single minute ever passed on earth without someone dying somewhere or some disaster occurring? For us, time is divided into night and day; for the Lord, in whose hands is the whole earth, there is neither night nor day.
One recalls the “Evening Prayer” of Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh: “In a hospital or in a sick person's room there are people who will not fall asleep because they are in pain, because they are afraid, because they are anxious for those they love, some of whom share the burden of their illness while others will be left bereaved by their death. There are people in the solitude of prison; some are young, and somewhere beyond the walls there is a girl they love, there are their children, their friends, there is freedom, there once was hope, and now nothing remains. There are also prisons where the nights are terrible, where interrogations are about to begin; they drag on for long hours in the heart of the night; someone will be beaten, someone tortured. They will return to their cells exhausted and enter a day in which they will have no comfort, only fear of the coming night. Night is now closing over them, fear enveloping their body and soul. Moreover, in every city there is the noisy night, the night of bars, the night of gambling, the drunkard's night, the night in which young men and women will lose their purity; the night when spouses, forgetting love and seized only by desire, will be harsh with one another. There are people who will lose their honour and be ashamed to wake in the morning.”
And as we reflect on these words of the Metropolitan, we may ask: when there are such nights on earth, how can the Lord sleep?