Notes for  23 August 2026

In saying this, Paul was undoubtedly recalling the words of the prophet Jeremiah, who maintained that the new, messianic covenant would become possible only when the Torah was not merely engraved on stone but written in every person's heart. By the “letter of Christ,” the apostle means first and foremost precisely this inner Torah. In Gospel times, people spoke often and at length about the inner Torah; in the mind of a believing Jew of that age, the path of the inner Torah was inseparable from ideas about righteousness. The ideal of righteousness—an unattainable ideal—was a person who had become a living Torah: someone whose life was determined by the inner Torah alone, and by nothing else.

This ideal was unattainable because a fallen human being, whose nature had been corrupted in the Fall, could not become a living Torah. To do so, one would have had to become sinless and completely overcome the consequences of the Fall within oneself. The letter of the Torah showed a person a path that fallen humanity could not walk. A person could only die on that path, escaping the power of sin at the moment of death; to remain alive and become a living Torah was impossible for fallen humanity. The Torah engraved on stone bore witness against the human person, and service to it was a ministry of condemnation. The more someone strove toward the ideal—to have the inner Torah govern their whole life, to become a living Torah—the more convinced they became that the goal was unattainable. The closer the goal appeared, the more insurmountable became the barrier of sin separating the traveller from it. In the end, the goal stood very near—and yet remained absolutely beyond reach.

Only the breath of God, the breath of the Kingdom that entered the world through Christ, could radically change this situation. Christ's coming made possible what had previously been impossible: the living Torah ceased to be the righteous person's unattainable ideal and became a very real goal of their journey. More than that, there was no other way to enter the Kingdom. In the Kingdom, by definition, there could be no place for any sin. Therefore, not only the One who brought the Kingdom into the world had to be free from sin, but everyone who wished to become its inhabitant as well. This is why the first Christians looked upon Christ as the living Torah while striving, with His help, toward the same goal themselves. In this sense, every Christian truly was a “letter of Christ”: only the One who is Himself the living Torah can make a living Torah of someone who trusts Him and follows Him. Thus the “letter of Christ,” written in the hearts of the faithful, becomes for them a pass into the Kingdom and a path to salvation.

This conversation strips away all exaltation. “Ah, I have already kept all the commandments. Ah, Lord, how wonderful You are; what could I do for You? Just say the word: I am ready for anything.” In such a state of mind, we forget that God is entirely the wrong partner for the game “ask whatever you want, as long as it is not that”. He always proposes His own course, and there is no guarantee that His proposal will suit us. It may grieve us, offend us, and show us where we are. And, if we are able to see, help us understand where we ought to be.

When we ask God what we can do for Him, we must understand that God is free. It is ridiculous to judge Him by ourselves. He does not deceive Himself, nor does He deceive us. In His mercy, He does not show us everything He sees in us, but teaches us gradually and gently. And when we tell Him, “I am ready for anything,” we must be ready for Him to ask for everything without exception, leaving nothing, to the very end.

The question of who people consider Jesus of Nazareth to be may seem formal. Indeed, when it comes to the relationships on which the whole spiritual life is built, the question of formal confession is not usually the main one. Many came to Jesus, found themselves in the Kingdom and were healed while regarding Him as a prophet or a teacher. Peter's confession is important in a different respect. What comes to the fore here is the depth, fullness and permanence of the bond connecting Christ's disciples with their Teacher.

Of course, Jesus never rejected anyone who came to Him with a pure heart and sincere intentions. He demanded no creeds from anyone. Yet those who came to Him often went away. Having received what they asked for, they returned to their former lives. Well, perhaps not entirely to their former lives, for such encounters do not pass without leaving a trace, but no lasting and enduring relationship with Jesus was established, no conscious relationship of the kind needed to become His disciple.

With the apostles, however, the relationship had to be precisely of this kind. What was at stake was full discipleship, the journey in Christ's footsteps, not only an outward but also an inward journey, in which a person does not merely follow Jesus, but is changed within and with every step becomes more like his Teacher. In this context the Saviour's question acquired an entirely special meaning. It became a question about what the disciples expected from their Teacher and what they wanted from Him.

Of course, even Peter's confession offered no guarantees. Peter sees Jesus as the Messiah, but his messianic ideas bear very little resemblance to who Jesus really is and why He came. At the same time, Peter nevertheless dares to call Jesus the Messiah despite everything that He does. Jesus had already done quite enough to disappoint anyone who regarded Him precisely as the Messiah. And this is exactly what happened: people constantly demanded that Jesus finally declare His messiahship openly, and His persistent refusal to do so turned many away from Him. Peter's confession meant that he trusted his Teacher precisely as the Messiah despite the generally accepted messianic ideas. It was this “despite” that made the further journey possible, for it signified a readiness to cast aside all one's own notions of “how things ought to be” and to accept the real Messiah as He is.