NOTES for Isa 25:6-10; Php 4:12-14; Php 4:19-20; Mat 22:1-14

Describing the messianic era, the prophet especially mentions the full and final victory over death. In general, the Bible says much about victory over death and about the universal resurrection at the end of time. As for what happens after death, the biblical books say almost nothing about it. Unlike Egyptian or Greek texts, the Bible says nothing about the immortality of the soul and recompense beyond the grave. This is not surprising: an immortal soul existing separately from the body is not yet life in all its fullness.

Life in all its fullness can only be the life of the whole human being, soul and body together, not apart. But that is not the only point. The point is also how the Bible sees the human being. We, people of the modern age, look at the human being more through the eyes of a Greek philosopher than through the eyes of the authors of the biblical books. For us, a human being is an eternal and unchanging soul joined to a temporary and fragile body. But in the Bible the soul is by no means unchanging.

In the biblical books, the soul is not a structure at all, but a process. It is the flow of human life in all its manifestations, from the highest spiritual aspirations to simple physiology, such as breathing and blood circulation. And into this essentially natural flow enters that "breath of life" which God "breathes" into the human being's "nostrils" at creation.

At the point where these two flows intersect, God's "breath of life" and natural existence, as a modern philosopher would call the biblical "soul," the human person is born. The fullness of human life is determined by the intensity of this natural process. And the intensity of the process depends on what determines its quality: nature or God's "breath of life." Here there are many possibilities, from the fullness of life in the Kingdom to its minimum in Sheol, in the world of shadows, where one can speak of life only in a very qualified sense.

In the Bible, death is not the disappearance of the human being, not his departure into nonbeing, but the draining away of life within him to the minimum that turns the dead person into an empty shell, a lifeless shadow. The opposite of death is not simply life, but life in fullness, in that fullness which is possible only in the Kingdom. In the Kingdom there is no place for death in any of its forms and there can be none. Therefore the coming of the Messiah and the arrival of the messianic Kingdom put an end to death: as long as death has not disappeared completely, life has not yet won. That means the Kingdom in all its fullness has not yet come either.

How little what Isaiah writes resembles what happens in Matthew... The healing of the sick and the multiplication of loaves in the wilderness seem so unlike the prophet's vision. Whichever verse we take, everything is different! And yet what happens in the wilderness, when the blind see, lepers are cleansed, and the Savior feeds all who are in need, is precisely the fulfillment of the prophecies in life. When words labor to express the inexpressible, a person tries somehow to fit them into his own understanding. Later, he finds it difficult to admit that they come to life differently from what he imagined. But this does not prevent God from fulfilling His promises and wiping away the tears from every face.

Once again, when we encounter Isaiah's prophecy, we ask ourselves: what day is the prophet speaking about? Is “that day,” “the Day of the Lord,” the intervention by God Himself that God's people expect, through which He triumphs over all Israel's enemies? On the one hand, yes; but on the other hand, the prophets constantly emphasize another theme: deliverance, salvation. And this is not merely salvation from the hands of enemies, but something far greater. Here too, one verse earlier (Isa 25:8), there is mention of victory over death and consolation from every sorrow. Our ninth verse affirms not God's “intervention” but His coming, and a visible coming at that, such that He can be pointed to: “Behold, this is our God!”—a coming that brings salvation to those who trusted in Him.

Thus, the coming of this day is connected with our trust, with what we believe. For Isaiah's compatriots this prophecy was fulfilled when God freed Israel from the Babylonian captivity, and then they rejoiced. For us, who believe in Jesus Christ and His victory over death, the joy of salvation came into the world two thousand years ago. For those who do not know God but thirst for this world's correction and transformation, that day still lies ahead—in the Lord's Second Coming.

Yes or no? The word announced by Isaiah almost 27 centuries ago will come true or not? One can say that it is the key question defining our relation towards life. One can live only by leaning on this prediction, only by hoping that it is truth. Otherwise everything loses its meaning, and life becomes horrible and absurd. Indeed, suffering swamps the world as a deluge, and deliverance from it is not seen. All our joy and high aspirations, all our good deeds, quite as all our sins, wickedness and greediness are vanities and chasing of wind, because death waits for everyone. But, when God says these words through the prophet – everything changes. The sovereignty of death is not definitive, it will be overcome, and all the suffering of people will find consolation – implying to have the meaning to live.

God gives a multitude of confirmations of His loyalty throughout the history, so that we can believe preeminently in this promise. In the life of everyone who seeks for God, accumulates the experience showing that God is faithful - in particular so that you can believe. For our relation towards our self, towards life and towards the world it is the fundament, which psychology calls "basic trust". Without it, no person can grow intellectually and in emotionally healthy.

And all the same the prophet summons us to the exploit of trust. Believing to his words is also difficult, as it was difficult for Peter to believe the Lord Jesus, come down out of the boat and walk on the water. Indeed, we can receive a definitive assertion of the truthfulness of the words of the prophet only when his word will come true. But how difficult it is not to believe in these words! All our essence opposes to this sinister nonsense, in which is transformed our life of distrust. Somewhere in the inconceivable intimacy of the human nature is put the secret knowledge of the fact that this prediction is true. And that is why hope is so vivifying for us.

"That day"... For the prophet Isaiah this day is in the future. Where is this day for us? In the past, when the Son of God agreed to die on the cross for our salvation? Or in the future, when He will come in power and glory and will achieve the definitive victory on evil? And if this day was today, and in this day such a meeting is laid ahead for us, when we shall say: "lo, this is our God!"? Do we want this meeting? Is there in us this hope, without which the meeting is impossible? Are we ready to accept the joy that brings this meeting?

A distinctive feature of the righteous in all the times was considered, if not as a total indifference, at least, as a sober calm relation towards these circumstances of life, in which it was. And the problem here is not in the ascetic indifference to everything which takes place all around, but in this system of values and priorities of the life, which is inherent to everyone, going on the way of righteousness. We could have said that to the one who put himself on this way, it does not simply remain time for lamentations about the difficulties of life, also, as for the demonstrations of exuberant joy about their absence. But the problem is not only in it: the way of righteousness supposes the understanding by man of the simple fact that the question of good and evil, quite as the question of choice between them (the key issue on the way of righteousness) is connected not at all with the question on the difficulties of life or with their absence.

Neither poverty, nor wealth in themselves justify any sin. When it comes to the spiritual way of the Christian, all this is true to an even greater extent. Indeed, the way of the righteous in the pre-Christian era meant the choice of the laws of the Kingdom, despite the fact that the Kingdom had not entered our world and our lives yet. After the coming of Christ, opens to every Christian the possibility of joining this Kingdom, to try what is that life, of which the righteous of early eras could only guess.

On the background of this new life, the difficulties of the old life, the life of our not yet transformed world, only go to the second plan, unless the life of the Kingdom really became for us a reality, if we are Christians in deeds, and not only in our own imagination. And Paul, for whom the Kingdom and his life became an absolute reality, witnesses of his own indifference to the difficulties of life and the external conditions, as of something obvious. That is only how the Christian should look at everything which doesn’t influence on his life in the Kingdom.

A distinctive feature of the righteous in all the times was considered, if not as a total indifference, at least, as a sober calm relation towards these circumstances of life, in which it was. And the problem here is not in the ascetic indifference to everything which takes place all around, but in this system of values and priorities of the life, which is inherent to everyone, going on the way of righteousness. We could have said that to the one who put himself on this way, it does not simply remain time for lamentations about the difficulties of life, also, as for the demonstrations of exuberant joy about their absence. But the problem is not only in it: the way of righteousness supposes the understanding by man of the simple fact that the question of good and evil, quite as the question of choice between them (the key issue on the way of righteousness) is connected not at all with the question on the difficulties of life or with their absence.

Neither poverty, nor wealth in themselves justify any sin. When it comes to the spiritual way of the Christian, all this is true to an even greater extent. Indeed, the way of the righteous in the pre-Christian era meant the choice of the laws of the Kingdom, despite the fact that the Kingdom had not entered our world and our lives yet. After the coming of Christ, opens to every Christian the possibility of joining this Kingdom, to try what is that life, of which the righteous of early eras could only guess.

On the background of this new life, the difficulties of the old life, the life of our not yet transformed world, only go to the second plan, unless the life of the Kingdom really became for us a reality, if we are Christians in deeds, and not only in our own imagination. And Paul, for whom the Kingdom and his life became an absolute reality, witnesses of his own indifference to the difficulties of life and the external conditions, as of something obvious. That is only how the Christian should look at everything which doesn’t influence on his life in the Kingdom.

Perhaps someone will want to say to the apostle Paul: "Some problem! Living in abundance, what is there to learn!" But it is not so simple. The apostle Paul knows well what he is talking about. Abundance can be dangerous for us, both material abundance and spiritual abundance. Both create the danger of substitution. We feel comfortable and stop remembering God. Why should we, if everything is fine as it is? We lose gratitude... we lose our relationship with Him. Because if everything is in order for me without Him, then I end up without Him, separate. But learning to receive His gifts, to be grateful, and not to forget Him is not so simple.

Speaking about himself, Paul says that the outward circumstances of life are indifferent to him: he has learned to feel equally well living both in poverty and amid abundance. Such a statement may seem strange against the background of the idea of wealth, which, according to the Savior's words, hinders entry into the Kingdom, so that if it is possible for a rich person at all, it is in any case very difficult.

Meanwhile there is nothing strange in the apostle's words about himself and about his attitude toward wealth. He simply understands poverty as a state more spiritual than material. Wealth and social status are not especially important to him; for him wealth is connected rather with the habit of relying on it, and therefore on oneself, instead of on God. In this same sense, trust in wealth differs little from trust in poverty. If one draws from the Savior's words about the rich the conclusion that every poor person is guaranteed salvation simply because he is poor, one can easily fall into the opposite extreme, into which some Christian groups and communities have sometimes fallen.

In essence there is no difference, when salvation is at issue, between relying on wealth and relying on poverty: in both cases a person relies not on Christ and not even on himself, but on what he has or does not have. Counting on poverty in itself being salvific is just as absurd as counting on wealth in itself being salvific. Only God saves through Jesus Christ, and only relationships with God and with Christ can be salvific. This primacy of relationships in life became Paul's goal, just as in the normal case it becomes the goal of every Christian.

Everything else, including material position and social status, is merely the outward condition for building such relationships. Of course a person needs a certain material minimum for life, but here the Gospel principle applies: seek the Kingdom, and "all this," which in context means "what the Gentiles seek," what is needed for life materially, will be added, and in accordance with what and how much a person needs at the given moment. This is exactly how Paul lived: he followed Christ along his spiritual path, accepting what was "added" to him, and he did not regret it, advising the same path to others.

What does the apostle Paul pray for? For the fulfillment of all the desires of the Philippians to whom he writes? No, it is phrased somehow differently. He says: "My God shall supply every need of yours". What does it mean to supply a need?

To begin with, it does not mean fulfilling desires. It is about needs. So, will He satisfy every need? Give everything that is needed? Not exactly. Rather, the point is that He gives something more important than mere "needs." To some extent He fills, by grace, the lack of what is necessary, for example, He gives strength to live through a difficult situation, but He does not remove the difficulties.

A believer usually faces a difficult and important question: why do some people, like himself, see the meaning of their life in faith and in God, already now trying to live in His Kingdom, while others indifferently turn away, finding other meanings and values for themselves? This question also stood before the evangelist, who lived at a turning point when many of his people discovered Christ for themselves, while many preferred not to notice Him. He found the answer for himself in the words of Jesus addressed to the Jerusalem elders shortly before His execution.

"Many are called, but few are chosen": access to the Kingdom is open to all who desire it, regardless of their language, nationality, culture, or occupation; but those who truly want it enter, those for whom this reality matters more than the most important things - work, trade, or family - and who are ready to answer the King's invitation. And conversely, everyone who does not need all this, for whom it is not important, has the right and freedom to refuse, even after receiving a personal invitation. This is nothing like compulsory "universal happiness" or a closed club "for our own." All are called, and anyone who desires it will become "chosen."

We see two possible responses from those invited. The case of those who assaulted the servants carrying the invitations seems clear: they themselves, and in a disgraceful manner, rejected the opportunity to attend the feast. But if we think about it, the peaceful people who put their current affairs, so important and urgent, first also insulted the one who invited them. They did not beat the messengers sent to them and therefore were not subjected to the same harsh punishment as the murderers, but neither can they be admitted later to the place they failed to enter at the proper time. By choosing their own affairs, they ended up placing themselves on the same side as the enemies of the host of the feast.

Entirely different guests are invited in their place, apparently quite by chance. By our usual reasoning, it is completely unclear why the host needed to invite these particular people. But let us consider: was their appearance at the feast really accidental? Those who found themselves there were all very different. Yet even against their varied background, the host immediately noticed a man who was improperly dressed. If so, this means that the other guests, though seemingly gathered at random, had managed to put on festive clothing in time. Thus they proved ready to respond to the host's call.

No one compels us to abandon our customary occupations. But if they become more important to us than what the Lord offers us, we risk losing His treasure, while doing our own affairs no good either.

Before us are two possible ways in which the invited guests may respond. The case of those who assaulted the servants carrying the invitations seems clear: they themselves, and in a disgraceful manner, rejected the opportunity to attend the feast. But if we think about it, the peaceful people who put their latest affairs, so important and urgent, first also insulted the one who invited them. They did not beat those sent to them and therefore were not subjected to the same harsh punishment as the murderers, but neither can they now be admitted to the place they failed to enter in time. By choosing their own affairs, they effectively put themselves on the same footing as the enemies of the feast's host.

Quite different guests are invited in their place, people who by every indication appear completely random. From the standpoint of ordinary logic, it is entirely unclear why the host needed to invite these particular people. But let us consider: was their appearance at the feast really so accidental?

Those who came to the feast are all very different. Yet even against their motley background, the host immediately noticed a man dressed inappropriately. If so, that means the other guests, though seemingly gathered at random, had managed to put on festive garments in time. It means they proved ready to respond to the master's call.

No one compels us to abandon our ordinary occupations without fail. But if they become more important to us than what the Lord offers, we risk losing this treasure. Nor will we help our own affairs.

The meaning of the parable of the wedding feast is, on the whole, clear enough: even in the pre-Christian period such a feast was a symbol of the messianic Kingdom, with the King understood as God Himself and the son as the Messiah promised by God. The wedding, in turn, was the marriage between the Messiah and the people of God, marking the moment of the Kingdom's complete and final triumph over all who oppose God and the Messiah He has sent. But on Jesus' lips the traditional plot takes on new shades of meaning.

We have an antithesis before us: on the one hand, those who were invited and expected turned out not to be ready to come, so that the King had to gather people from the streets, collecting the destitute and the poor, who are ready to come into any house where they are invited and received; on the other hand, for the person who refused the wedding garment, entry to the feast is closed, even though he readily responds to the invitation.

Strict requirements about clothing could seem out of place when the matter concerns the poor, if not for one historical detail: the host himself usually sent the feast clothing to the invited guests along with the invitation, and this clothing was proof that the person sitting at the table was not an impostor, but had truly been invited to the celebration. As can be seen, by those invited the Savior in this case means those who considered themselves the messianic remnant spoken of by the prophets.

The Pharisees, above all, considered themselves such a remnant. They were certain that the Messiah would come first of all to them and for their sake: they had long been waiting for Him, were always ready to meet Him, and would do so not simply with joy, but also with a sense of a duty well fulfilled, since they had made the goal of their whole life following the Torah as they understood it.

But the whole people of God, of course, were also expecting the Messiah, although popular ideas about Him were very far from the Gospel. Yet when they met the real Messiah, everything turned out to be entirely different from what both the Pharisees and the common people had expected.

Those who seemed to have been waiting for the Messiah's coming and the arrival of the Kingdom proved, in practice, not to be ready to meet Him and accept the Kingdom He brought. Some were distracted by the cares and values of the untransformed world ("fields and trade"); others preferred their own tradition and their own religiosity, hating both the Messiah and the Kingdom, which did not fit their ideas in any way and did not correspond to their concepts.

The destitute remained, the poor, those who have nothing to lose because they possess nothing. Such people respond readily. But they, like everyone who comes to the feast, absolutely need the wedding garment.

Meanwhile, some of those invited evidently decided that they were already good enough, and that their poverty itself gave them a right to the Kingdom. But this is not so, and those who disregard the wedding garment very soon become convinced that no one has a right to the Kingdom, not even the poor. Only the garment given by the King Himself opens the way into the Kingdom for those invited and appearing at the threshold. And that means the way to salvation as well.

Today's reading offers us another of Jesus' parables about the Kingdom: the parable of the wedding feast. To understand its meaning, it is important to remember that the relationship between God and the people of God had often been compared to marriage since the preaching of the prophet Hosea. And in the context of the prophet Jeremiah's teaching about the renewal of the union-covenant between God and the people of God on the day of the Messiah's coming, the wedding feast becomes a symbol of the messianic Kingdom.

Jesus' parable explains what keeps the invited guests from coming to this feast. On the one hand, they are hindered by attachment to everything earthly, to everything that makes them forget the Kingdom (vv. 3-9). Here, clearly, the situation in view is the one that had developed among the people of God even before the exile, when messianic preaching first sounded in Israel. In those days messianism was indeed thoroughly permeated with politics, and many understood the Kingdom in completely earthly terms, as an independent and powerful Jewish state that would be founded by the Messiah sent by God. But even after the Babylonian exile, already in the Gospel era, popular religious life still assumed precisely this view of the Kingdom. It is no surprise that this messianism was doomed to defeat, for no such earthly kingdom existed in God's design. Meanwhile, the rejection of the prophets was often connected precisely with the fact that they said about the Kingdom something other than what the majority expected from them. It is no surprise that those who expected an earthly kingdom ultimately come to ruin: they reject the true Kingdom for the sake of their own idea. But problems also arise for those who eagerly hurry to the wedding feast. It is no accident that the parable mentions a man who entered the banquet hall without wedding clothes (vv. 11-14). At first glance, this seems a strange complaint, considering what kind of people had gathered for the feast (vv. 9-10). But in those days the host sent festive clothing to the invited guests, so all they had to do was put it on. In such a situation, neglecting the clothing that had been sent meant disrespect for the host, a claim that the guest's own clothing was no worse, and perhaps even better, than what the steward of the feast had sent.

It is no accident that the parable of the wedding feast continues Jesus' conversation with the chief priests and elders about "the baptism of John": many Pharisees were held back precisely because they did not think they needed any cleansing, being sure that they were already fit for the Kingdom. But it turns out that merely accepting the Kingdom is not enough; true humility is also needed, an acknowledgment of one's own unreadiness for life in it. Only then can one put on the clothing given by the King.

After the Lord told the people the parable of those invited to the wedding feast, the Pharisees, as Matthew the Evangelist writes, went and plotted how to trap Him in His words. So it was after this parable that the Pharisees' patience ran out, and they began looking for a respectable pretext for doing away with Jesus. Why? What is there in this parable that annoyed the Pharisees so much? We can answer that question if we apply the parable to ourselves. The parable needs no special explanation, at least not for religious Israelites, including the Pharisees. The king and the royal feast are familiar images of the Kingdom of Heaven and reward. Those invited to the feast are the ones whom the king could not fail to invite. They are his military commanders, governors, chief priests, cupbearers, landowners: the whole elite of the kingdom. It is clear that the Pharisees considered themselves and their people to be precisely that elite, since it was Israel that had been told that it was the Almighty's chosen portion, the God-bearing people.

But the Teacher from Nazareth says something impossible: not that the King did not want to invite his close associates and friends, but that they themselves did not want to come to the royal feast. They preferred their own affairs and their own pride, and they rejected the royal invitation. The Pharisees expect that in such a situation God will value their historical and personal merits and wait for them alone in the banquet hall. But Christ says that the king sends servants to bring in anyone at all, and the royal feast is filled with all kinds of riffraff, but with people ready to answer the royal call. For us this means that you can gain the favor of the Heavenly King only when you personally answer His call and go to Him, counting everything else as less important. But if you suppose that He will wait for you because you are such a good person, you may end up outside the door.

The parable of those invited to the feast leaves no doubt that it is a parable about us. But which group are we in? Among those who were invited first but refused? Yes, for many of us were given so much from birth; many were born into stable families and received a good upbringing and education. It was as though, from the beginning, we held this invitation to the heights of the spirit in our hands. But often it turned out that our excellent upbringing and education could help us establish ourselves in society, and that sounded so tempting... Or perhaps, on the contrary, we were given nothing in particular: an ordinary Soviet neighbourhood school, parents forever away at work, and our spirit languishing in poverty. But then we were called. And what happened next? Let us quote a passage from a sermon by Metropolitan Anthony of Sourozh. ‘And here we come to what is perhaps the most incomprehensible thing at first, and then the most astonishing thing, in this whole parable. The people have gathered; the wedding feast is full; the host enters, and among this motley crowd he sees one man who is not dressed in a wedding garment. He orders him to be thrown out. How are we to understand this? He invited beggars, vagabonds, people who had nothing at all; where did the others get their wedding garments? Surely they had not gone through their whole lives with a wedding garment in reserve for the unheard-of possibility of being invited to a wedding feast?.. Here we need to understand what happens, what used to happen, in Eastern hospitality. A traveller would arrive; whether rich or poor, the host would meet him at the door of his house, receive him as a messenger of God, bend down and wash his feet—dusty, wounded and weary. He would be given new clothes and his head would be anointed, so that he could enter and feast alongside all the wealthiest guests, neither humiliated nor ashamed of his own poverty; so that, for a moment, he too might be everyone's equal, because love makes people equal.

‘And so a certain man arrived. He too was welcomed with love; they wanted to wash his feet, anoint his head and give him a wedding garment as well. But he probably simply said: “No, that is not why I came here. I was told there was food here; enough of all this preparation—I want to eat!” And he went in, scorning the hospitality, paying no attention to the love offered to him. He did not want the host's heart; he wanted only his bread. And there was no place for him in this kingdom, where there is enough bread for everyone, but which can be entered only through love.’

When reading the Gospel parables, one way or another we put ourselves in the place of different characters. Perhaps at that time the disciples saw in the figures of this parable the Pharisees and sinners, or the Jews and Gentiles. Today we can read it closely and see ourselves both in those who were invited but disregarded the wedding feast—for we have been invited—and in the “bad and good” who entered undeservedly—for we did not deserve it. But something unites those who were “invited” with the man “not wearing wedding clothes”: they do not respect God. We have read more than once that the chief thing to which we are called, Christ’s chief commandments, is love for God and our neighbor. But great things begin with small ones, and if the small is absent, can the great be present? If the fire of love is absent, we can begin simply by paying attention to God’s Word and to another person. If He has invited us, then to say that we have more important business, or that we are “unworthy of such an honor and therefore will not come,” is simple disrespect, like failing to notice an outstretched hand. But one can be rude in another way as well: come to Him, but on one’s own terms; make the king one’s servant; deliberately mix the light of the Kingdom with one’s own darkness.

The Apocalypse of Isaiah is not a story about coming disasters, but a vision of the triumph of God's Kingdom. Let us note for ourselves several details of which the prophet speaks: victory over the enemies of Israel, the gathering of Israel from dispersion, the Lord's feast for all nations on Mount Zion, the openness of the paths of personal righteousness, victory over death and the resurrection of the dead, the defeat of the serpent, and joy and gladness in God's salvation. Why was this written? We are called to take part in this victory - through our trust in the prophecy and our agreement with God's plan.

The middle of Great Lent is approaching, and today we therefore read the prophet Isaiah's words about God's victory. The prophet sings a hymn to the Almighty and speaks of a victory spreading ever more widely. At the beginning of the passage he praises God for the destruction of a kingdom opposed to Him; then the prophet's gaze turns to the salvation of the poor and oppressed. He says that, thanks to the Almighty's intervention, the breath of tyrants was like a storm against a wall, and He subdued the raging of the enemies. But then the prophet says that, just like earthly oppressors, oppressors of an entirely different kind will also be defeated and subdued. The Lord will destroy the covering that lies over all peoples, that is, the barrier between all people and Himself. Finally, the prophet praises the victory over death and suffering themselves: death will be swallowed up forever, and the Lord God will wipe away the tears from every face. Faith that this is how it will be can be a source of strength for us at all times.

Isaiah's prophecy speaks of Christ's Resurrection: "And He will remove the reproach from His people." Reproach is not only insults, suffering, and oppression. It is also the burden of sin, which, like disease, like leprosy, separates a person from God and from other people. It is also original sin, by which we are marked and from which we cannot be freed except through death and Resurrection on the day of Judgment. And His people are everyone who lays down his soul for Him and for the Gospel.

Death has already been swallowed up forever. And the joy of the Resurrection is with us every day. And on the last day there will be a rainbow, and the Lord will restore paradise on earth, and His people will go up the mountain and celebrate their meeting with the Lord and the restoration of the world. The world as it was conceived and created in the first days.

Paul concludes his discussion of spiritual life with a call to joy (v. 4). Such a call may seem an ordinary wish to encourage the letter's readers, whose situation may not have been easy. But that is probably not the whole point. Joy is also a distinctive sign of the Kingdom's life. This is not, of course, ordinary human joy. Ordinary human joy can certainly have spiritual causes too, but that is not always the case. Here, however, we are speaking of a state that outwardly resembles ordinary human joy but is in fact nothing other than the human psyche's response to the breath of God that pervades the Kingdom. It is no accident that, having mentioned joy, the apostle immediately speaks of humility (‘gentleness’), of complete surrender to God's will, and of peace—apparently the very peace of which the Saviour said at the Last Supper that it was ‘not of this world’ (vv. 5–7). At the same time, he calls his readers to a virtuous life, not only in their actions but also in their thoughts (v. 8).

Clearly, for a person living in our world, which is being transformed but has not yet been fully transformed, such a life is an unattainable ideal. Clearly, it is possible to live as Paul urges only in the Kingdom. We can then see that this is precisely the way of life the apostle is proposing to his brothers and sisters in Philippi. It might seem that little depends on the person here, since no human effort can earn the Kingdom. Yet, on the other hand, it depends decisively on the person whether, having come to share in the Kingdom, they can hold on to what they have received and become rooted in their newfound life. Life in the Kingdom is a divine-human process: God's breath transforms the person who shares in the Kingdom's life to the extent that this person is willing to entrust themselves to God's hands. Here humility—that true humility which is possible only before God—plays the decisive role, allowing God to transform a person and prepare them for life in the Kingdom so fully that even what was once impossible becomes possible. It is precisely to such a life that Paul calls his readers.

Paul gives special emphasis to humility ("meekness"), without which the Christian path, and therefore salvation, is impossible. At the same time, the apostle describes in considerable detail what humility means as a spiritual state. First of all, following Christ, he calls the recipients of his letter to be anxious about nothing, handing everything over to God, to whom Paul urges them to turn with all their desires.

It would seem simple, but in practice such simplicity turns out not to be easy to attain. Indeed, in order to live this way, one must realize that our very life does not belong to us. In fact, that is how it is, and the Bible says this quite plainly: what makes a human being human is the "breath of life" that God "breathes" into his "nostrils" at creation, and this breath belongs to God, not to the human being.

Yet the realization that his life belongs to God comes to fallen humanity with great difficulty. Direct divine intervention is needed here, the very peace about which Jesus Himself says that it is not of this world. Not of the world in the sense that it cannot be found in nature, in the world, in that space which the ancient Greeks called the cosmos; it belongs to the Kingdom, which is also not of this world. A person experiences it precisely as peace, as inner silence that stops and extinguishes in him all spiritual movements connected with fallen human nature.

The spiritual "I" of a person, which the apostle here, as in his other letters, calls by a Greek word literally meaning "mind," in the fallen state inevitably falls under the power of that nature which, according to God's design, it was meant to control and direct. Meanwhile, to be a Christian means to enter into the relationship that unites the Son with the Father, so that the person's entire spiritual life takes place within the space of these relationships. Without the direct influence of the breath of the Kingdom, which frees a person from the power of his own nature and immerses him in inner silence, it is impossible to enter there. And from inner silence one can already enter into the relationship of the Father and the Son, to "keep hearts and minds in Christ Jesus," as Paul calls it.

But in order to remain there, in order not to fall out of the spiritual space of the relationship of the Father and the Son, one must not admit into one's spiritual life any intentions or even thoughts except those that are "virtue and praise." Otherwise there will be no spiritual path: a person will only sometimes, and only for a very short time, touch the Kingdom and its life, but will not be able to enter it. This is what the apostle recalls at the end of his letter.

Paul concludes his discussion of spiritual life with a call to joy (v. 4). Such a call may seem an ordinary wish to encourage the letter's readers, whose situation may not have been easy. But that is probably not the whole point. Joy is also a distinctive sign of the Kingdom's life. This is not, of course, ordinary human joy. Ordinary human joy can certainly have spiritual causes too, but that is not always the case. Here, however, we are speaking of a state that outwardly resembles ordinary human joy but is in fact nothing other than the human psyche's response to the breath of God that pervades the Kingdom. It is no accident that, having mentioned joy, the apostle immediately speaks of humility (‘gentleness’), of complete surrender to God's will, and of peace—apparently the very peace of which the Saviour said at the Last Supper that it was ‘not of this world’ (vv. 5–7). At the same time, he calls his readers to a virtuous life, not only in their actions but also in their thoughts (v. 8).

Clearly, for a person living in our world, which is being transformed but has not yet been fully transformed, such a life is an unattainable ideal. Clearly, it is possible to live as Paul urges only in the Kingdom. We can then see that this is precisely the way of life the apostle is proposing to his brothers and sisters in Philippi. It might seem that little depends on the person here, since no human effort can earn the Kingdom. Yet, on the other hand, it depends decisively on the person whether, having come to share in the Kingdom, they can hold on to what they have received and become rooted in their newfound life. Life in the Kingdom is a divine-human process: God's breath transforms the person who shares in the Kingdom's life to the extent that this person is willing to entrust themselves to God's hands. Here humility—that true humility which is possible only before God—plays the decisive role, allowing God to transform a person and prepare them for life in the Kingdom so fully that even what was once impossible becomes possible. It is precisely to such a life that Paul calls his readers.

Paul gives special emphasis to humility ("meekness"), without which the Christian path, and therefore salvation, is impossible. At the same time, the apostle describes in considerable detail what humility means as a spiritual state. First of all, following Christ, he calls the recipients of his letter to be anxious about nothing, handing everything over to God, to whom Paul urges them to turn with all their desires.

It would seem simple, but in practice such simplicity turns out not to be easy to attain. Indeed, in order to live this way, one must realize that our very life does not belong to us. In fact, that is how it is, and the Bible says this quite plainly: what makes a human being human is the "breath of life" that God "breathes" into his "nostrils" at creation, and this breath belongs to God, not to the human being.

Yet the realization that his life belongs to God comes to fallen humanity with great difficulty. Direct divine intervention is needed here, the very peace about which Jesus Himself says that it is not of this world. Not of the world in the sense that it cannot be found in nature, in the world, in that space which the ancient Greeks called the cosmos; it belongs to the Kingdom, which is also not of this world. A person experiences it precisely as peace, as inner silence that stops and extinguishes in him all spiritual movements connected with fallen human nature.

The spiritual "I" of a person, which the apostle here, as in his other letters, calls by a Greek word literally meaning "mind," in the fallen state inevitably falls under the power of that nature which, according to God's design, it was meant to control and direct. Meanwhile, to be a Christian means to enter into the relationship that unites the Son with the Father, so that the person's entire spiritual life takes place within the space of these relationships. Without the direct influence of the breath of the Kingdom, which frees a person from the power of his own nature and immerses him in inner silence, it is impossible to enter there. And from inner silence one can already enter into the relationship of the Father and the Son, to "keep hearts and minds in Christ Jesus," as Paul calls it.

But in order to remain there, in order not to fall out of the spiritual space of the relationship of the Father and the Son, one must not admit into one's spiritual life any intentions or even thoughts except those that are "virtue and praise." Otherwise there will be no spiritual path: a person will only sometimes, and only for a very short time, touch the Kingdom and its life, but will not be able to enter it. This is what the apostle recalls at the end of his letter.