Notes for  12 August 2026

Jesus' words about the dead burying their own dead may seem too harsh in the situation in which they were spoken. But on reflection, it is not hard to see that the situation itself was essentially critical, although the man whom Jesus called to follow Him apparently asked nothing extraordinary of Him. On the contrary, he was speaking of what we would normally call a sacred duty: burying his own father. There is an interesting interpretation of this request. Some commentators believe that the father of the man mentioned in the account was not already dead, but was still alive and awaiting death, either because of illness or simply because of advanced age. The man was asking for a postponement so that his father could live out in peace the—probably few—years remaining to him on earth. He was ready to follow Jesus; he was only asking for a delay.

But Jesus did not grant him this delay. Why? One might say that postponements weaken a person, often depriving them of the resolve they had at a particular moment, a resolve that fades with time because they never did what they had decided to do. But this is only one side of the matter. The other is that, in spiritual life, there is generally no “later” at all. God is outside time, and one can meet Him only in the present, only here and now. Yet “here and now,” as the meeting point between a person and God, is projected into one entirely specific moment in time and one entirely specific point in space. Jesus marked out precisely this point for the man mentioned in the account. At that point, the utmost concentration is required on God's presence, on the revelation of His will, and on the task set before the person in the context of all this.

But the man of whom the evangelist speaks does not have this concentration. He is not in the eternal present where his meeting with God took place; he is in the temporal present, where the past gives way to the future and the present proves to be not a meeting point with God but merely the place where what does not yet exist meets what no longer exists. The Savior's sharp words are needed to tear the man out of the temporal present and set him before God in the eternal present. This, of course, is still no guarantee in itself, for a person is free. But a moment of the greatest clarity possible for a person always becomes their moment of truth: the truth toward which they must take a stand—for the sake of the Kingdom and salvation.

Jesus' words leave the impression of the Judgement coming upon Jerusalem and of retribution for all the evil committed in its streets over the centuries. One could, of course, say that the coming of the Messiah marks the beginning of the Judgement, and this would be true. But there is something here that does not fit the messianic expectations traditional for that time. What is most striking is that Jesus links the city's condemnation precisely with its rejection of Him as Messiah. Here it is no longer God who punishes Jerusalem; Jerusalem punishes itself by rejecting its own salvation.

This rejection is evidently connected with the same religiosity that prevented so many Pharisees from seeing the Messiah in Jesus and entering the Kingdom. And it seems not to change over the centuries, while adapting perfectly to new realities and incorporating into its tradition even that to which it has no moral right. For Jesus, the monuments over the prophets' graves become a symbol of such opportunism: once they were killed by the predecessors, the “fathers,” of those who now erect monuments to them and honour their tombs.

History, of course, knows many similar examples: contemporaries seldom appreciate great people in accordance with their greatness, especially in matters of spiritual life. But the issue is evidently not belated recognition as such, but its causes. And those causes do not change over the centuries: formal, legalistic, or ritual religiosity, hostile to any revelation that threatens in any way to disrupt the integrity of its religious system. Jesus, of course, understands perfectly well that the Pharisees of His day who reject Him would have rejected in exactly the same way the prophets to whom they erect monuments had those prophets appeared before them alive. He likewise understands that the road leading Him to the cross has been laid out by the same forces that brought about the death of the prophets who, in their time, bore witness to the very Kingdom that He has now brought into the world.

Can it really be true that “whatever they ask, it will be done for them”? But what if...? Concerning every prayer, the Lord says that the heavenly Father knows all our needs, while we should seek His Kingdom and pray, “Thy will be done.” Two points in the Lord's words are fundamentally important for us.

First, He speaks of our human agreement with one another. This proves to be so important that God promises unfailingly to hear the united prayer of several people. In practice, this explains why Christians value the Church so highly: it is precisely here that we ask together. It also means that through prayer you can share in the needs of others.

Second, the Lord speaks of His presence. To the question “Where is God?” or “Where is the Kingdom of Heaven?” the Gospel gives a simple answer: wherever people agree to be together and to share one another's lives and needs. This is at once an empirical fact and God's promise, which we can trust.

Today's reading continues the theme of the Kingdom, but now in a somewhat different, eschatological aspect. Eschatology is often confused with apocalyptic, yet they are not the same. Eschatology is a rupture in time and history through which the Kingdom can be seen; apocalyptic is a philosophy of history in which history is viewed as the process of the world's movement towards the Kingdom.

Jesus often speaks of the coming of the Kingdom as a rupture in time, when the former order of things comes to an end. It then becomes clear that, in the face of the new reality revealed at the moment of rupture, former assessments and criteria prove inadequate. This is manifested first of all in a change of priorities: if outward proximity previously played the decisive role, spiritual relationships now do.

When speaking of outward proximity, of course, one must not have only territorial or geographical proximity in mind. National, religious, and every other kind of proximity determined in one way or another by the structure and laws of the untransformed world is also implied here (vv. 25-28). Spiritual proximity, by contrast, becomes decisive (vv. 29-30). This is why the path into the Kingdom proves narrow (vv. 23-24): it begins in a world not yet transformed, living by laws very far from the laws of the Kingdom, but in order to enter the Kingdom, one must begin living by its laws here and now.

This is neither a whim nor a test of loyalty. One can follow the path into the Kingdom only by living according to its laws. For the Kingdom itself, in our world which is not yet fully transformed, depends on those who seek it. It is no accident that Jesus draws His listeners' attention to the fact that at first the Kingdom is completely imperceptible in the world that rejects it and becomes visible only at the end, when the world is transformed (vv. 18-21). Only the person who bears the Kingdom within can find it, and such a person cannot live according to the laws of the world lying in evil. This is why the path leading into the Kingdom proves narrow. But at its end lies the fullness of life awaiting everyone who follows this path to the end.

The Lord addresses the prophet not only to tell him what the people are to endure. He also addresses Ezekiel as part of that people, and in his person rebukes all its sinners. The prophet himself did not commit the sins in question, but he listens to the Lord and does not object, because he does not separate himself from other people and is ready to share the guilt of others. In the same way, conscientious people who are innocent sometimes do not protest accusations levelled at them which concern a group from which they do not separate themselves, because they are ashamed even of the deeds of others.

Meanwhile, this trait helps us to glimpse, however faintly, the mystery of the sinless Christ taking our sins upon Himself. We are accustomed to the innocent often having to suffer for the sins of others, but all too often we see such suffering merely as payment. Yet the innocent person also suffers from the very fact of another's sin, and is tormented by what the sinners themselves do not feel for the time being.

In Hebrew, the Book of Deuteronomy is called “Words,” because many of its sections begin in the same way as today's chapter: “These are the words...” The theme of God's word is central to this book. In fact, in the Bible “word” means any contact between God and humanity: His revelation and the way our communion with Him takes place. It is no coincidence that the Lord Jesus is called the Word in the Gospel (John 1:1).

As this chapter shows, the Word of God addressed to us implies our responsibility and our personal consent to fulfil it. This concerns not only particular commandments or laws, but everything we know about God, ourselves, and the world (verse 29): knowledge that requires an appropriate response from us.