Notes for  4 July 2026

In Gospel times there were many religions in the pagan world. And Paul, of course, knew this very well: he was born in Tarsus, a pagan city. In his life he had to see many different gods and cults. And he does not try to deny their existence at all, but only gives them the proper assessment. "So-called gods," he says of them. And he adds: in the world there are indeed many gods, and many lords too. But God with a capital letter is one. In this way the apostle defines the attitude of Christianity, and of monotheism in general, toward paganism.

Christians, like other monotheists, look at religious life quite realistically. It is pointless to deny what is reality for a pagan. In the end, gods are generated not by nature but by man. He creates gods for himself in his own image and likeness and makes them his lords, although it seems to him that these gods exist for his sake, that they protect him and help him.

In practice, however, it turns out that he cannot live without them. The gods created by human imagination really become lords for a person, his masters, not imaginary at all but quite real. And only the true God, the One with a capital letter, frees a person. This is no wonder: fallen man will not create for himself gods that could free him from himself. That would most resemble trying to pull oneself out of a swamp by one's own hair. The true God is different: man did not create Him. On the contrary, He created man, and only He can save His creation and free it from sin.

Only people do not always understand this. Fallen man is still more accustomed to his own gods. They may not always be able to help, but they do not demand that he give up a fallen but familiar and customary world. The true God, in saving, will lead him into His Kingdom. There is no other way to help a person. And here one must decide on serious change, or remain with one's own gods, one's own sins, and one's own masters.

What exactly so outraged the Pharisees when they saw Jesus beside a tax collector? Association with a sinner? But the Torah too knows conversion and repentance. More than that, it even knows special purification rituals performed by repentant sinners to be cleansed from the impurity caused by that sin. In essence, nothing more was required of the sinner: he had only to repent of it, then perform a purifying washing and bring a purification sacrifice, otherwise called a sin offering or guilt offering. At the same time, however, one indispensable condition had to be observed: it could concern only a sin committed involuntarily, through ignorance or weakness. If the sin had been committed consciously and voluntarily, no purification at all could be in question, even if the sinner repented of his sin deeply and sincerely. God, as was believed, could of course forgive a person even such a sin, but it was impossible to be freed from the consequences of a deliberate sin; they weighed on the person his whole life.

The tax collector's sin was exactly such a sin: everyone who took up this work entered into conscious cooperation with the Roman authorities, and not forced cooperation but voluntary cooperation. In the synagogue environment this was considered betrayal, a terrible and unforgivable sin, so that the one who committed it was forever cut off from his people, losing everything he could count on as a representative of his people, including the covenant and all the promises connected with it. Jesus, meanwhile, considers that even such a sinner, if he repents and turns, can be saved.

So what, then: was the pre-Christian approach too rigorist and completely without mercy? Hardly. Rather, one can think that with the coming of Christ the spiritual situation in the world in general, and among the people of God in particular, changed radically. Previously the inner intention with which an action was performed completely determined its consequences, and a conscious sin committed once, or rather its consequences, truly weighed on a person for his whole life, so that even God could not change it: for then, in essence, the world would have had to be created anew. But in the Kingdom one can begin with a clean slate, even one who has sinned consciously and voluntarily: repentance for what has been done is enough. And not because the world has become different, but because the laws of the Kingdom entering the world differ from the laws of this untransformed world. And the chance for salvation is now given to everyone who wants to be saved.

Once again we read the promise of Israel's restoration. Why, then, does He do this again and again: allow the kingdom of Israel to be destroyed and then restore it again? We have already spoken many times about the reasons for destruction: these are the normal, logical consequences of life without God. But why does He again and again restore the tabernacle of David?..

In today's reading God says nothing about Israel's repentance, nothing about anyone asking Him to restore the kingdom... He forgives and has mercy again and again not because we ask Him for mercy, though that too is important so that we can receive His mercy. No, the main thing is that He is merciful; He loves to show mercy and to save. By His goodness He forgives each of us again and again, not because we suddenly became good, but because He loves us.

From a shoot torn from a cedar tree, a grapevine grew. This does not happen in living nature, but let us not insist pedantically on a literal reading of the parable; let us look more closely at what it says.

A cedar is a beautiful and mighty tree, accustomed to growing in freedom, in inseparable connection with wild, natural life. The grapevine that comes from it is more fragile and requires constant care. The vine was provided with everything necessary to bear fruit and become a splendid vine. But it turned away from the eagle that had transplanted it, and by doing so refused the one who cared for it.

The kings of Israel and Judah, striving for alliance with pagans, hoped for earthly greatness acquired apart from God. But it is unattainable, and even efforts aimed at seeking earthly power sooner or later lead not to it, but to exhaustion and degeneration. Such efforts themselves turn out to be the consequence of spiritual betrayal, a refusal of communion with the One who gives everything necessary. An endless running in a circle begins, and only repentant return to God can break it.

Gradually the Lord begins to reveal to the disciples, and not only to them, the mystery of His ministry. He came to earth to "do" what His Father "does." As the Father gives life to people on the Sabbath, so Jesus gives life to people with the life of the Father. He has the right to do this because He Himself is the presence of the Father, the executor of His work: to judge and to give life.

And the evangelist calls us to that breakthrough which he calls faith: to see the unobvious, to see behind what is happening in our life, whether healing or the sense of divine peace in the heart, the face of Jesus, who carries out the Father's will and leads us to the knowledge of the One whom we cannot see by ourselves, but whom we await and honor. And whoever honors the Father must treat the One whom He sent with equal reverence and love.

As they wandered from Egypt to Canaan, the sons of Israel had many opportunities to learn from experience what their Lord is like. And the central figure in the narrative of this wandering turns out to be the one who, in the most difficult moments, was ready to hope in Him. The history of Israel, and then the history of the Church, and our own life as well, will confirm more than once that those who hope in God find blessedness, while those who turn away from Him find destruction.