Notes for  5 August 2026

Believing Jews knew about the universal resurrection long before Christ came. They knew that the day of Judgment would come, and that everyone who had ever lived on earth would have to return to life, stand before God, and give an account of the life they had lived. They also knew about the messianic Kingdom, where those raised from the dead would become neighbors of those who were still alive when the Messiah came. In Paul's day, the messianic Kingdom was regarded as the Kingdom of God, in which the earthly and the heavenly were joined so that the righteous, raised from the dead and miraculously restored to life by God, would live alongside those who entered it without having died.

In those days, however, the Messiah was not regarded as the bearer of the Kingdom. He was merely its King, while the Kingdom itself was established by God according to His will. The Messiah was considered an ordinary human being by nature, given a special vocation: messianic ministry. One did not necessarily have to be born the Messiah; one could become the Messiah just as others became prophets. God called a person to ministry, and the prophet became what he was meant to be.

Paul, however, speaks of a different Messiah, the One who revealed Himself to him on the road to Damascus. This Messiah was not merely the King of a Kingdom established by God: He Himself bore that Kingdom within Himself and had borne it from His own birth, which was itself extraordinary. A Messiah who contains within Himself the entire fullness of the Kingdom is a new image; nothing like it existed in the traditional Judaism of the Gospel era.

The image of such a Messiah and such a Kingdom compelled people to look differently at familiar things. The Kingdom entered the world not simply as an external force, like the breath of God, originally foreign both to the fallen world and to fallen human nature. It entered the world through a Man who differs from each of us only in that His humanity is entirely free from the dominion of sin.

And the bonds of love established with this Man open the fullness of the Kingdom to each of us: they open it in a human way, just as these bonds of love unite us with Him in a human way. Human relationships themselves become the spiritual foundation of the Kingdom, and God enters into them, making them divine-human. Thus the life of the Kingdom becomes our life, its history becomes a fact of our spiritual biography, and its triumph becomes our salvation.

Jesus' short parable of the two sons illustrates as clearly as possible one of the fundamental laws of spiritual life: a true intention is one that is carried through to completion. One might, of course, say that even the theoretical agreement of one son, who readily expressed his willingness to obey his father's will, is important in its own way. One might also point out that this son, who ultimately failed to do what he had promised, may not have intended to deceive his father at all. How many times in the life of every one of us have seemingly good plans and intentions remained unrealized in the end, not because of external circumstances and not because we abandoned them, but because we simply forgot them without even noticing how or when it happened? And this often happens precisely to people who are quite respectable, decent and successful.

Yet those who lack such qualities can sometimes, paradoxically enough, do more good and prove closer to the Kingdom. This is probably due in no small part to the fact that the “tax collectors and prostitutes” mentioned by Jesus know perfectly well that all is not right with them and that they must devote themselves entirely to the task before them once an opportunity to change something has appeared in their lives. If they let it pass now, another opportunity may never come. And if these people decide to use the possibilities that have opened to them, they will use them to the fullest and make this the chief purpose and meaning of their lives. Their will is wholly devoted to solving just one task. They will not scatter their efforts; nothing will appear in their lives that could distract them from what matters most, and if something does appear, they will simply pay no attention to it. They know what threatens them if they fail to use the chance they have been given. Their will is directed towards one goal and focused on solving one task.

Yet it is precisely the will that determines the quality and content of spiritual life. Whoever makes the Kingdom his chief goal will certainly find it. Respectable religiosity, however, may be of no help, for every religion is the work of human hands and minds. No religion has any direct relation to the Kingdom, although the Kingdom is certainly not closed to religious people. An indefinite “yes” may remain indefinite forever. And a definite “no” can turn into an equally definite “yes.”

What makes this Canaanite woman's faith so great? Any mother would endure anything, any humiliation, for the sake of her daughter's health. Perhaps what matters to Jesus is not what prompted the woman's request or where her journey of faith began, but how far she travels along it. The Canaanite woman is a pagan, and Jews do not associate with pagans, so Jesus remains silent. When the disciples appeal to Him, He breaks His silence and reminds them that God helps His own people. Hearing this, the woman nevertheless asks for help. In doing so, she separates herself from her people for the sake of a relationship with the God of Israel. With His next phrase, Jesus shows that God cannot be compelled to help: He does not accept the magical approach to relating to Him that is characteristic of pagans. Her reply signifies consent to receive mercy from this God who is new to her. Thus, within a few minutes, she travels from being a pagan who relentlessly demands from Jesus what she needs to being a woman who trusts the God of Israel and humbly accepts His mercy.

Today's reading presents us with the parable of the Good Samaritan, familiar to every reader of the Gospel (vv. 25-37). This parable is often understood simply as a call to show mercy to everyone, regardless of social status, religious affiliation, or anything else that so often divides people. Yet the situation described in the parable is not so simple. The question asked by the “lawyer,” probably a teacher of the Torah, was: “Who is my neighbour?” In modern language, this distinction is usually expressed in terms of “our own” and “outsiders.” Jesus' interlocutor evidently understands “neighbour” in precisely this way: who is one of “my own”? Surely I cannot love everyone I happen to meet!

Without answering him directly, Jesus tells a parable about a devout man who had apparently suffered at the hands of Samaritans on the road from Jerusalem back to his own region (v. 33). In those days, the road from Galilee to Judea passed through Jericho, and Jews making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem had to pass through Samaria along the way; its inhabitants were generally extremely hostile to them. Most likely, it was they who attacked the lone traveller. The situation became utterly incredible: the beaten man's compatriots and fellow believers passed him by (vv. 31-32), while help came from the person from whom it could least be expected, a Samaritan (vv. 33-35). Thus his own people became outsiders, and an outsider became one of his own.

The point here is not assistance as such, or even mercy. It is relationships, without which there is no Kingdom: people's relationships with God and with one another. This is the meaning of the commandment that Jesus' interlocutor knew perfectly well (vv. 25-28). The relationships of the Kingdom cannot and must not be conditioned or limited by anything: they are unconditional and absolute, or there can be no question of the Kingdom. Having told His parable, Jesus called His interlocutor to build relationships with every person as if they were already dwelling in the Kingdom; otherwise, the way into it will never open.

Every evangelist without exception bears witness to the manifestations of the Kingdom that accompanied Jesus' earthly ministry. But only in John do we find a testimony to it connected with the person of the risen Saviour. And perhaps the most remarkable thing about this testimony is precisely the fact that it is astonishingly similar, like two drops of water, to what the Gospels relate when describing the Messiah's earthly journey. Here again we have an account of a miraculous catch of fish, like the one that accompanied Peter's first encounter with Jesus (vv. 1–6). Of course, Jesus also acts in this way to make it easier for the apostles to recognize Him, and they apparently do understand at once Who is standing on the shore (v. 7). But this is probably not the only point. The laws of the Kingdom are still the same, and its effect on the world remains unchanged, just as the apostles had seen it even before their Teacher's resurrection.

And yet something changed after the Resurrection. It is no accident that Peter rushes towards Jesus (vv. 7–8) and that He asks him the same question three times: “Do you love Me?” (vv. 15–17). Peter had always been the first in the apostolic community. He was the first to call Jesus the Messiah; he swore that he would die for his Teacher, and he was also the one who denied Him three times after His arrest, in the courtyard of the high priest's house. Of course, this denial can hardly be regarded as deliberate, and it cannot in any way be compared with Judas' long-premeditated and carefully planned betrayal. Here one can speak rather of a kind of spiritual breakdown which, unfortunately, can happen to anyone in our fallen world. In our fallen world, but not in the Kingdom, where there is no place for such breakdowns.

And now, in entrusting His Church to Peter, it is no accident that Jesus requires him three times to confirm his love for Him. Relationships form the foundation of the Kingdom: relationships with God, with Jesus, and between people. The Lord requires Peter to confirm the relationship that already exists, and having received that confirmation, He testifies to the apostle that the day will come when Peter will have to confirm his love for Him not only by his life, but also by his death (vv. 18–19).

Here we probably see one of the most important laws of the Kingdom, where there are no irreparable mistakes, but where every mistake is corrected by the very person who made it. Testimony is important not only for those around the witness; it is no less important for the witness himself, who becomes part of the Kingdom through bearing witness. That is why every voluntary or involuntary refusal to bear witness becomes an obstacle to life in the Kingdom, an obstacle that must be overcome. Not only for the sake of the fullness of the Kingdom, but also for the sake of the fullness of the spiritual life of the person whom it hinders.

We always find it very difficult to understand that God calls us into a relationship that embraces every area of our lives. This does not mean that we must immediately give away all our possessions or, for example, all go off to a monastery, or do anything of that sort. It means belonging wholly to God. One-sided distortions are the exact opposite of this approach: either donate a bundle of money to the poor while remaining without God and outside prayer, or withdraw from the world and begin to live a “purely spiritual life.” Today's laws about property relations in Deuteronomy illustrate this very principle: a rich (or not so rich) person may live and work, but not for himself; he may own property, but for God and for his brothers and sisters.