Notes for  19 August 2026

The Bible offers many examples of this “looking back”: Lot's wife, Israel during the Exodus... We look for ideals in the past, without realizing that the Kingdom of God is always here and ahead of us. Here it is worth recalling a thought from the contemporary author Richard Rohr:

“The Good News always points to the future, toward some new place, toward a promised land. It never points backward. Yet the irony of Christian history lies in our habit of turning backward and saying: ‘Miracles happened in the old days. It was back then that God was God, back then that the great prophets lived. It was in the Middle Ages that the great saints lived...’ Through this irony, the Word of God has changed from a liberating force into a defensive force. Because we did not truly listen to the Word of God, we began performing religious gymnastics and lost touch with the power of God's Word.”

Following the tradition established for the Twelve Great Feasts, we present liturgical reflections by the hymnographer Fathers devoted to the feast and its Gospel reading (the first two stichera are by St Cosmas of Maiuma, who died around 731; the authors of the third sticheron and of the kontakion are not known with certainty):

Before Your Cross, O Lord, the mountain became like heaven and the cloud stretched out like a canopy when You were transfigured and the Father bore witness to You. Peter was there with James and John, who were also to be with You at the time of Your betrayal, so that, having seen Your wonders, they would not be afraid of Your sufferings. In Your great mercy, grant that we may venerate them in peace.

Before Your Cross, O Lord, You took the disciples up a high mountain and were transfigured before them, illumining them with the radiance of power, so as to reveal the light of the Resurrection both through Your love for mankind and through Your authority. O merciful God and Lover of mankind, grant that we too may receive it in peace.

Christ, the Light who shone before the sun, dwelt bodily upon earth and, before the Cross, divinely accomplished the whole dread design. Today on Mount Tabor, mystically revealing the image of the Trinity, He led up the three foremost disciples alone, Peter, James, and John. Concealing for a little while the form of the flesh, He was transfigured before them, revealing the splendour of His original majesty, though not in its full perfection: confirming them, yet also sparing them, lest at the sight of it they should lose their lives, but showing as much as they could contain and behold with bodily eyes. He brought with Him the foremost prophets, Moses and Elijah, who bore sure witness to His divinity and to the fact that He is the true radiance of the Father, sovereign over the living and the dead. Darkness and cloud overshadowed them, and the voice of the Father bore witness from above out of the cloud, saying: This is He whom I incorruptibly begot from the womb before the morning star, My beloved Son, whom I sent to save those baptised in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, and those who faithfully confess the one, indivisible dominion of the Godhead; listen to Him. O Christ our God, Lover of mankind, illumine us too with the light of Your unapproachable glory and make us worthy heirs of Your endless Kingdom, O most good One.

You were transfigured on the mountain, O Christ our God, and Your disciples beheld Your glory as far as they could bear it, so that when they saw You crucified they might understand that Your suffering was voluntary and proclaim to the world that You are truly the radiance of the Father.

Today's reading is devoted almost entirely to parables of the Kingdom. It begins with an account of a healing on the Sabbath (vv. 1–6), a manifestation of the Kingdom which, as has happened more than once, perplexes religious people who see in the healing only work, an activity that violates the Sabbath rest. This is followed by two parables about the Kingdom, interspersed with the Saviour's teachings.

At first sight, one of them merely teaches us humility (vv. 7–11). But the point is not simply that those who seek the Kingdom should not strive for primacy. Of course, the desire to take first place can in itself distract us from the main task. Yet it is not only a matter of unnecessary rivalry, which is entirely irrelevant to the Kingdom, for the principle by which places are assigned in our still untransformed world differs radically from the one accepted there. It is a matter of the Kingdom's very nature: there each person is great not through his own greatness, but through the greatness of the Kingdom, which is all the more visible in a person the less he thinks about his own status.

The meaning of the second parable is connected with this (vv. 12–14). Of course, selflessness is important in itself: anyone who chooses his circle of companions solely for reasons of advantage is clearly not ready to enter the Kingdom. But something else is no less important: fellowship, like relationship, must not be conditioned by anything external, and only then can it become part of the Kingdom. A relationship has value in itself, and it is precisely this inherent value that must come first. When relations with God are concerned, this is not usually disputed; when relations with other people are in question, pragmatism often prevails. Jesus, however, warns that this must not happen, that a relationship with one's neighbour is as important as a relationship with God and must be built on the same foundations.

But one must be ready for such relationships, the relationships of the Kingdom, and this is the subject of Jesus' third parable, the parable of the wedding feast (vv. 15–24). Here freedom from pragmatism and from absorption in earthly affairs and concerns becomes the central theme. Clearly, the invited guests are prevented from coming to the feast by matters that are undoubtedly important and, from the point of view of our world, fully deserving of attention. But for those who seek the Kingdom there must be no business more important than the call of the One Who brought it into the world. It might seem that these things would not detain anyone for long: each invited guest could have arrived at the feast and would only have had to delay a little. But that is precisely the point: the way into the Kingdom tolerates no delays or postponements. One must set out when called, and one's whole life must be subordinated to this readiness. A person may spend his whole life awaiting the Kingdom and preparing for it, yet unreadiness to take the decisive step at the right moment can easily nullify all his expectations and all his previous preparation.

It is very difficult to live this way, and it is no accident that Jesus calls His listeners to consider everything and decide whether they are ready for it (vv. 28–33). But for those who are ready, the reward is the Kingdom in all its fullness.

In what sense does Jesus call us to be “like children”? How is a child's perception of the world so different from ours? A hint of the answer can be found in the parable of the tax collector and the Pharisee. It would seem that the Pharisee is telling the complete truth about himself. He was hardly being hypocritical when he thanked God that he was not like the tax collector standing beside him. No Pharisee would ever allow himself to commit a deliberate sin. There were exceptions, of course, but on the whole the Pharisees, as deeply and sincerely religious people, really did try to avoid every sin.

To become a publican, a tax collector, and cooperate with the Roman authorities was an obvious sin in the Pharisees' eyes. And the tax collector himself, it should be noted, has no doubt about this at all. He merely asks God to forgive the sins he has committed without even trying to justify himself. He understands no less well than the Pharisee standing beside him that apart from his sins he has nothing to present to God. The Pharisee is in a different position: he has something to say to God and something for which to thank Him. Indeed, what religious person does not thank God for the life He has given him? At least as long as that life proceeds more or less steadily, without serious crises or spiritual breakdowns.

The problem here is not what each of them has brought to God. The problem is whom the Pharisee is looking at and whom the tax collector is looking at. The Pharisee looks at himself. He lists his merits before God and admires himself. It is as though he were saying to God: look at how good You have made me! Thank You, Lord, that I have turned out so well in Your hands. And there would be nothing wrong even with such gratitude but for one thing: the Pharisee has no time to communicate with God. He is occupied with self-presentation. He is presenting himself to his God.

But God wants simple, ordinary communication. He already knows everyone; He knows that the Pharisee has succeeded in his religious life. What matters to Him is that the Pharisee should succeed equally well in his spiritual life. And for this a person must look not at himself, but at God, even if he is very religious, and perhaps especially if he is very religious. One can live a spiritual life only by keeping one's eyes fixed on God. Like the tax collector. He repents of his sins without taking his eyes off God. That is what matters most. God will do the rest. For Him there are no insurmountable sins. And this is where children find it easier than adults.

Up to a certain age, they usually pay almost no attention to themselves or to how they look in the eyes of others. They are not focused on themselves. Even if a child is a pronounced introvert, he does not look at himself. He simply lives in his inner world and looks at that inner world, not at himself. This freedom from self-absorption is the most important condition for a full spiritual life. Otherwise it is impossible to keep one's eyes fixed on God, and such a gaze is a necessary condition of salvation. Necessary and, on the whole, sufficient, for nothing is impossible to God's love.

The uselessness of Jerusalem after it turned away from its calling is compared to the uselessness of a grapevine: too fragile for construction, unsuitable for weaving mats, and unfit as fodder for livestock. It is good only for being thrown into the fire, and even there the vine quickly burns away without producing heat comparable to that of other fuels.

But if this is so, why will Jesus compare Himself specifically to a grapevine when He bids farewell to His disciples? Is His self-emptying revealed in this comparison as well? Or perhaps, by likening Himself to a “worthless and good-for-nothing” vine, did He wish to show us that in His eyes everything people are accustomed to reject—and all the more those whom society habitually looks down upon because of their unappealing appearance—also possess a value that eludes human perception?

The final chapter of the Book of Deuteronomy tells of the death of Moses, the death of the leader who saw from afar the land towards which he himself was journeying and leading his people, but which he was not to enter. Strange? At first sight, yes. On the other hand, it was not Moses who was leading his people to the land promised by God; it was God who was leading both the people and Moses himself there. But then why was even the prophet not allowed to enter where all the others entered?

Yes, many things happened along the way, and even Moses, the man of God, sometimes did things of which God disapproved. If, however, Moses is compared with all the others in this respect, then those others certainly had no business being in God's land at all. Moses remained a man of God, whereas this could not be said of most of those who made up God's people. If Moses did not deserve to set foot on the land that God had intended for His people, then who did?

Yet in reality things are not so simple. The land is not merely a reward for proper behaviour or spiritual qualities. Abiding in it is itself a spiritual process. It requires a quite definite state corresponding to the quality of the land as God conceived it. God is not simply leading the people to a place where He wishes to settle them; He is leading them to a place of encounter with Himself. He leads them there so that a new life may begin for the people, a life in God's presence, and so that He may work with His people, making them the people and community He intended them to be from the very beginning.

There can be no single universal standard here. Everything depends on a person's capacities and spiritual potential. Indeed, following God presupposes the unfolding of the possibilities He has given to the person who follows Him. It is a process involving both God and man, and each person's fullness of life with God is unique, as is the path towards it. That is why far more was required of Moses than of anyone else among the people.

This is not about punishment, but about where exactly Moses was to attain that fullness of earthly existence which was to complete his earthly journey, just as, in the normal course of things, every person's earthly journey should be completed. God decided to bring Moses' journey to its completion on the threshold of the land He had promised His people. It was His decision, and its wisdom is hardly worth doubting, just as Moses himself did not doubt it.