Notes for  14 July 2026

The words of the risen Christ, whom Paul met on the Damascus road, make a twofold impression. On the one hand, everything is simple and clear: it is useless to kick against the goads, God is in any case stronger than a human being, and it is not for a human being, even one as gifted in every respect as Paul, to resist the Kingdom entering the world. And yet: are there so few people resisting it? Does Christ appear to all of them as He appeared to Paul? The answer is obvious. Only one question remains: why is it so? Can the Risen One not appear to every doubter and even every opponent, so that, having run into Him as into the goad, the person would be convinced and turn from an opponent into a faithful follower, as happened with Paul?

If we consider this question, to use a modern expression, from a technical point of view, there is no problem here. The problem lies elsewhere: in a person’s spiritual choice and in the freedom of his will. The Kingdom cannot be imposed by force; it can only be accepted voluntarily. And not because an unbelieving person cannot see it, for if God wills, anyone will see the Kingdom, but because the structure of the Kingdom is formed by relationships of love that bind its inhabitants with God and with Christ, all of them with one another, and finally Christ Himself with His heavenly Father. Here one cannot get anywhere without goodwill: one cannot be made loving by force, and it is impossible to love against one’s will.

But what then about Paul, who ran into Christ and His love as into the goad? Where is freedom here? At first glance it seems that in this case there is no question of any freedom, if not for one “but”: Paul, while still Saul, had already made his choice. A choice in favor of God, the Torah, and the path of righteousness, as he understood them, of course. Now God only had to correct his ideas about Himself, about the Messiah, about the Torah, and about the path of righteousness. And He does this, quickly and decisively, in keeping with the character and personal qualities of the one whose path He wants to set straight. Having become Paul, Saul changed radically, qualitatively: he was joined to the life of that Kingdom about which previously he could only dream. But his spiritual vector remained the same; in this respect he did not betray himself. He only walked his path to the end, and at the end found what he had been seeking: the Messiah and the Kingdom.

When you prayerfully reflect on the image of John the Baptist, as though focusing your gaze on his icon, you understand that he is some entirely special person. After all, the Gospel contains many remarkable people, kind and sincerely loving the Lord... But in John there is something that seems to separate him from everyone, to set him a little aside. “Among those born of women there has not arisen anyone greater than John the Baptist...” (Matt. 11:11) — perhaps precisely here lies the reason for this feeling of inaccessibility, of remoteness.

And yet he was only a human being. There is one other human being before whom we have a similar feeling of inaccessibility: Mary. She is simply a woman, and at the same time She is far greater than any woman, for She carried in Her womb the Son of God Himself. This is what unites these two people, apart from blood kinship. But not only this: both became those through whom the birth of Christ was accomplished, in the flesh through Mary, and in the Spirit through John. And both at the same time felt themselves to be humble, unworthy witnesses of the miracle taking place before their eyes.

This is probably why these three icons stand at the center of the Deesis row: Mary, the Savior, and John. And the words of the prayer become somehow especially understandable: “As by natural kinship and by prayerful concord you are one, Mother of the King of all and divine Forerunner, offer together a supplication for the servant who has greatly angered the All-merciful One, that He may show mercy and save, bowing to your intercessions, and change me from my fiery kinship.”

Everything is simple and obvious: a serious threat hangs over Israel. The prophet Isaiah does not begin calculating the probability of one outcome or another, or what there is to say about the numbers of Israelite and enemy troops... He turns to the One Person who can deal with the situation. And he receives a simple answer: “Thus says the Lord God: it shall not stand, and it shall not come to pass.” The key words here are “thus says the Lord”! If He has spoken, then there is nothing to fear.

Every person knows that someday he will die. Death is a unique phenomenon: it is completely obvious and completely closed to those who have not yet experienced it. God speaks with a person, and that person remains alive. On the basis of this Gospel passage, one can say that a person who speaks with God, not somehow but face to face, receives both life and death: life full of His presence, the light of revelation for all, and death as the fulfillment of the promise, as the possibility of a full and final encounter.

The next, harshest words of Jesus are addressed to... Jews who had believed in Him. Evidently, they believed in some way other than the Lord wanted. Therefore we too need to think: do we believe rightly or not? They proudly declare that they were born free, being children of Abraham, the chosen people. Therefore they do not need freedom, for they are not slaves, and they do not need the truth, for they already know it. They call God their father, but this already follows from their belonging to the holy people; no step is required of them in order to be adopted by the Lord.

And what is most frightening is that all this is characteristic not only of the Jews. Do we not believe in the same way? Do we not consider ourselves chosen people who have freedom and truth in our pocket, and who have long since been God’s own people? If so, why do we need to believe in Jesus? Let us think about this...

“It is with us that the Lord made the covenant!” Moses emphasizes. “Not with the fathers, but with us.” He lists the same ten commandments that God gave Israel forty years earlier, but now they are addressed directly to the new generation of Israelites. If the covenant was made only with the fathers, it may become an important part of tradition, a religious inheritance, but not the foundation of life.

Today’s reading is a good occasion for us to think as well: on what are our relationships with God built? Do they rest only on the authority of the past, the tradition of the Church and Holy Scripture, or on a personal encounter, on the experience of living faith?