NOTES for Mat 9:35-10:15

These are the verses that are usually read with extreme inattention: a list of names - what is more boring? Who remembers the names of all twelve apostles? Twelve seconds, time starts now. Hard to remember? There is no harm in that. The main thing is that the Lord remembers them.

Yet it is important that the evangelist considered it necessary to name each one. He could simply have said that there were twelve - and that would have been all. He could have. But then they would have remained completely faceless. By naming each one, the evangelist reminds us that every person is important and dear in God's eyes precisely because he is himself. The Lord does not love "everyone in general"; He does not choose "someone," but concrete people.

The beginning of apostolic preaching is connected with only one, but most important, message: the Kingdom has drawn near. The preaching of the Savior Himself begins with this same proclamation. And this is no surprise: the apostles had to bring the people that very same message that their Teacher was bringing.

The message was precisely the message about the Kingdom that had drawn near. This, in fact, was that very "good news," that very Gospel, which everyone had to hear. For now, however, Jesus sends His disciples only to the "lost sheep of the house of Israel," to the people of God, who must hear it first, not because of any special privileges, but because God has special plans connected precisely with them. It is no surprise that the Savior gives special attention to the "lost sheep": the Kingdom is open to everyone, including those whose life up to now has not been the best spiritually. Life in the Kingdom is a clean slate from which anyone can begin. What, then, is this life?

The answer to the question is found in the powers Jesus gives the disciples who go out to preach. In essence, He gives them the power to do the very same thing He Himself does. Authority over dark spirits, healing from every disease and from the weakness or "infirmity" so characteristic of fallen humanity and expressed very differently depending on the circumstances: these are manifestations of the Kingdom, of its breath, of its life. For the Kingdom is first of all precisely life, life in all its fullness, in the fullness God intended for His creation from the beginning.

From the beginning, God intended the world to be His Kingdom; on the first day of creation it was exactly that: it was permeated by the light of God's presence, and there was no place at all for darkness in this world. All divisions, all darkness, came later, after the fall. Now, with the coming of the Messiah, the world is once again becoming what God intended it to be, and everyone is given the opportunity to share in this new life and to try himself in it, to try to become part of the new reality God is creating, where, as on the first day, there will be no place for darkness, sickness, or death. Such is the good news that Jesus brings to people together with His disciples.

The apostles, proclaiming the good news of the Kingdom of God, come also into our house and say, "Peace to this house!" But for God's peace to remain in our house - in our heart, in the family, in the community - it is very important to prove worthy of this good news. But how can we do this if, according to the apostle Paul, the sin living in us does not let us fulfill God's commandments?

The apostle gives us a clear answer to this: the law of sin is overcome only by the law of the Spirit, by new life in Christ; only with His gracious help can we change and worthily receive the blessing of the Lord Jesus.

One incident comes to mind: a group of people came to a women's prison to congratulate the women held there on the feast of Easter, to share joy, to speak about God and about themselves, and simply to give them a chance to talk. One of the sisters brought a sweater there that she wanted to give away. But to understand who needed it most, she turned to the prison administration so that they themselves could decide who should receive the sweater. They could only say that humanitarian aid was already coming to them and that they tried not to leave anyone out. Then they added, "How can anyone tell who needs it most?"

So it is with us: can we really understand, can we keep track of who most needs our tenderness, warmth, kind word, or simply a smile? Which of the people passing by or sitting next to us on the subway needs our prayer? Who is hurting?

Yes, of course, there are times when the Lord as it were "points out" such a person to us, drawing our attention to the expression on his face, the sadness in his eyes... But above all, the Lord calls us to share unconditionally what we have: His peace, giving it in prayer, deeds, and a smile. And His peace will not diminish: "If the house is worthy, let your peace come upon it; but if it is not worthy, let your peace return to you" (Mt 10:13). For if it finds its place in the one "worthy" of it, then it will return to you "good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over" (Lk 6:38).

Calling the apostles, the Lord gives them a series of instructions and concludes them with a kind of summary in which He formulates one of the foundations of the Gospel vision of the world and of life: "freely you have received; freely give." These words are important because they can be applied to all the gifts God has given us. A gift, a present, is what this whole world rests on. As a gift it received its being and ordering; the people living in it have received everything as a gift, even life itself. But in Christ's commandment the key word is give. One may possess countless gifts, and all of them may lead to nothing good.

Two things are necessary for the right use of God's gifts. First, one must give thanks for every gift; otherwise the gift turns into something unlawfully appropriated. And, most importantly, only when we give these gifts away do we become like God, that is, become the image and likeness He intended us to be.

In Christ's instruction to the disciples, which we read today, there are a number of important aspects worth noting. Thus, the Lord tells the disciples, when coming to one city or another, to find out who is worthy to receive their word. In the Sermon on the Mount the Lord speaks a strikingly memorable phrase: "Do not give what is holy to dogs," that is, do not offer holy things to those who do not need them and for whom they are not holy. The words "inquire who in it is worthy" appear to say the same thing. The witness of Christ's disciples is addressed to all, but under no circumstances should it be imposed on those who have no need of it at all.

In recent decades people have placed on the Church expectations and claims connected with its ability to serve the moral formation of society. Of course, Christ's disciples have something to say about this, but that word can hardly be addressed to those who do not need it, who do not want to think about the moral content of life. In fact, Christ's disciples have nothing with which to frighten the crowds (the masses, as people used to say) into taking the path of good: they can only bear witness to those who themselves need it.

Further, the Lord commands the disciples to give blessing and peace, but not to seek to ensure that their word is accepted. This is fundamentally important, because this is precisely what distinguishes the disciples' witness from ideology: Christianity is impossible without respect for human freedom.

Sending His disciples out to preach, Jesus tells them something very important about how they must carry their witness to the Kingdom. Above all, He requires from them what some contemporary Christians call a "consecrated life." This is apparently how we should understand the Savior's words about gold and silver in their belts, as well as about clothing, footwear, and a staff. All these things were absolutely necessary on the road, but in the Temple they were not only inappropriate; they were directly forbidden. Those approaching the altar were not to have shoes or outer clothing; during the sacrifice they were not to have money with them, and in their hands they were not to have either a traveling bag ("a bag for the road") or a traveler's staff.

In this way Jesus, as we can see, wants to tell the apostles that throughout their witness they must live as if they were standing in the Temple court by the altar. This is no surprise: one can bear adequate witness to the Kingdom only when one lives by its life, and one can preserve the life of the Kingdom within oneself and not lose it only by preserving that state of inward standing before God that belongs to a person approaching the altar.

As for their attitude toward the people they meet on the way, Jesus advises His disciples to keep things simple: choose a worthy, as we would say today, respectable, house and stay there if they are received, without regard to persons and without looking at which religious party the host belongs to. One can and must bear witness to the Kingdom to everyone. Religious differences and theological subtleties have no significance here, and therefore there is no need to pay much attention to these questions by carefully asking, as the Pharisees often did, whether the owner of the house they had entered belonged to their own brotherhood or to some other one. The only reason to leave a house or even a city is the rejection of the witness, and then one must leave at once and decisively: compromises in what matters most are impossible, and where there is no one to listen, a witness has nothing to do. Otherwise, if one simply lives there while forgetting the main thing, one will have to forget the consecrated life. And then one will also have to forget the Kingdom to which Jesus called the apostles to bear witness.

The struggle with one's own bias and distrust toward other people is an integral part of practically every person's life. All of us face situations when we have to make ourselves trust another person by an effort of will, whether a stranger or someone close. To open what is most hidden, most precious, ourselves. This is difficult, because one can imagine that the person opposite treats others with the same condemnation and hostility as I myself do. And yet life forces us to trust other people and entrust ourselves to them. The Lord calls us to realize that our good intentions, our good will, our wish for peace will never be lost. Even if we are rejected and mocked, that peace which He has given us will remain with us. In the other case, we will also gain those who were able to receive this peace just as we did.

“Jesus had compassion on them.” How precious these manifestations of His feelings are to us! But His compassion is active: He calls the disciples to pray that God send His laborers into the harvest, and He Himself sends them out to preach. This is not yet the preaching that He will command them after His Resurrection; but the training of those who will later become the first fruits of Christ’s Church and carry the Word of God throughout the world must include a practical part. The disciples’ task on this occasion is limited: only to prepare the way for Jesus’ subsequent arrival in the towns of Israel. Yet even for such a mission they need a special gift, a special power, and Christ endows them with that power. At the same time, He makes it clear that this ministry has nothing in common with our ordinary human prudence; the disciples will appreciate this experience later, when they begin to proclaim the Gospel among all kinds of people, including those who are hostile.

Constant fatigue, or, as today's reading says, exhaustion, is the ordinary condition of modern people. A hard, tense life, constant problems, and the struggle to survive force a person to gather all strength into a tight fist.

And sheep without a shepherd are a very exact image of how a person behaves in such a situation. Rushing from side to side, not finding the road, falling into the wolf's teeth, crying out in terror, not finding the way, running without knowing where - anyone who has seen lost sheep knows how quickly they lose all their calm.

A person left alone with himself sooner or later falls into the same existential panic before a cruel and frightening world whose laws he does not understand and cannot understand. Only by lifting his head and acknowledging his connection with God and his need for communion with Him does a person receive the help and support that give strength to live.

Where and when does the Kingdom of Heaven begin, the Kingdom the Apostles went out to preach? It begins wherever the Gospel proclaimed by the apostles comes, where the Lord Himself is present in the gracious gifts of the Church. It begins where a person dies to the law of sin and is born to life in Christ. The other question is when it begins... When not only the preaching about the Kingdom reaches us, but the Kingdom itself comes in our hearts and changes our life?

Sending the apostles out to preach, Jesus entrusts them with doing the same thing He Himself did throughout His earthly ministry: bearing witness to the Kingdom that has drawn near. And He gives them a universal principle not only for witnessing to the Kingdom, but also for life in it: freely you received, freely give.

This is not about a witness being unable or forbidden to receive anything from his hearers. He needs food and shelter, at least for the time he spends in a given city or village as he bears his witness. It is about something else: witness to the Kingdom cannot be a matter of personal gain. And the point is not simply whether someone takes payment for talking about Christ, about the Kingdom, or about one's own spiritual experience. The point is the very attitude toward what one is bearing witness to and bringing to others. A fallen person, consciously or unconsciously, considers everything within reach to belong to himself. Something ownerless is possible in the fallen world only if it brings no practical benefit to anyone or is beyond human reach. The instinct of ownership tolerates no vacuum, and every available gap is filled very quickly. A fallen person is inclined to treat the Kingdom as something "his own" in the earthly sense, that is, as something he can dispose of at his own discretion, even if in theory he understands and agrees that such an attitude is inappropriate and impossible here. A fallen person always wants, often without realizing it, to separate off a piece of the Kingdom and carry it away.

But there can be no such "Kingdom for oneself"; the very nature of the Kingdom does not allow it. Everyone who shares in it can receive it wholly, in all its fullness, but only on one condition: it must be available just as wholly and fully to each neighbor who shares the life of the Kingdom with him as it is to him himself. Such readiness to share with everyone everything one has received by being joined to the Kingdom is an indispensable condition of life in the Kingdom and witness to it. And no wonder: none of us has deserved or earned even a grain of the life that we receive in the Kingdom, all of it, as much as there is there. We truly have no right to the Kingdom. We receive it freely, not as property, but for open-ended and unpaid use, together with those who want to share it with us. Just as open-ended and just as free.

The distinguishing mark of Christ's disciples is that they are open to God and to the world. They carry the news of God's Kingdom, and at the same time they go to people; they hope only in God, yet they receive help from people; they address rulers and kings, yet they speak the words of the Spirit. Both are not simple: being open to God can be difficult and frightening; being open to people is always difficult and sometimes dangerous. The disciples will have to combine in themselves qualities that are hard to combine: to be lambs, wise as serpents and innocent as doves.

Nevertheless, this is the task of the disciples, each of whom is in some sense an apostle, that is, a representative, an ambassador of Christ in the world. For a messenger must in some way resemble his lord. So the disciples imitate the mission of the God-man Christ: belonging to God, they are turned toward the world and toward people, losing their connection neither with Heaven nor with earth.

The healing of the blind men spoken of in today's Gospel reading is, in a certain sense, very typical. As they approach, the blind men call Jesus the Son of David, offering their initial confession. As happens almost always, He asks a question about faith, and then says, according to your faith be it done to you. As in other cases, He asks them not to spread word of the miraculous healing. This is important because, as the Lord performs more and more miracles, people face a growing temptation to make Him an earthly ruler, so this request is entirely clear.

But what does it mean for the blind men themselves, who, incidentally, were not able to fulfill it? What does it mean in the broader context of a person's calling to proclaim and glorify the great works of God? What is it like for a person to become a participant in a miracle of God's mercy and then receive a command to be silent about it? We, of course, do not know the true motives of what happened, but, looking in the mirror, we can guess something. In particular, perhaps the matter is simply ordinary boasting. This is how we take pride in knowing some famous person. We collect completely useless autographs of rather dubious celebrities. Why? To boast. If a celebrity paid attention to me, then there is something in me. And we imagine the Creator as a kind of super-celebrity. Since He healed us of blindness, it means we are good in some way, better than others. How simple. And how foolish. For God is not a celebrity; He is not trying to appear before people's eyes more often, nor is this needed by the One who created heaven and earth. But the main thing, and the hardest thing for us, is that His mercy has no cause in us. He healed the blind men not because they were better than others, but because each of us is unique to Him.

An undisclosed miracle can become the content of deeply personal, secret relations with God. There is something that only You and I know, and by this we become so close. To possess this is vitally important. The day will come when He says to you, as to Nathanael, "...when you were under the fig tree, I saw you," and your very metabolism will become life. But if you publicize the miracle, violating Christ's request, then there are no personal relations, and the miracle becomes the autograph of a celebrity, grows dim, and is forgotten.

So, after all, does a miracle convince? As it turns out, not everyone and not always. Faced with manifestations of God's power, the power of the Kingdom, that Jesus made entirely obvious to everyone, it would seem impossible not to believe in the miracle. But apparently one can bear witness to the Kingdom, yet it is impossible to prove its reality to someone who does not want to believe. The Pharisees, for example, invent ever new explanations for something that, in essence, needs no explanation at all but only needs to be accepted. They have no wish to accept it, and therein lies the whole problem.

One might think that the Pharisees, of all people, since they professed messianic hope, should only have rejoiced at the appearance of the Messiah and the Kingdom in the world. And they probably would have, had Jesus acted as the Messiah was supposed to act according to those same Pharisees' ideas. But the problem was precisely that Jesus did not conform to those ideas and had no intention of doing so.

Then what could not fail to happen did happen: the logic of opposition demands escalation, and eventually escalation came. Previously the leaders of the Pharisaic movement had tried to explain Jesus' miracles and healings in more or less neutral terms. Now they move to direct and very serious accusations, in effect accusing the Savior of paganism and demon worship. The calculation is simple: if you strike, strike with all your strength and without restraint; if you accuse, make the accusation as difficult as possible to answer.

Nor is this merely a desire to rid themselves of Jesus. His accusers, it seems, are trying to convince not only others but themselves that they are right. To do so they need the gravest possible accusations, and it no longer matters how plausible those accusations are. In such a situation the mind will accept any argument as long as it justifies rejecting what cannot reasonably be rejected. They seek to frighten not only others but themselves, and to frighten themselves so thoroughly that there can be no road back and no one will even dare think that this Man might be from God.

Such intimidation requires a taboo that blocks, even at the subconscious level, every attempt to view the situation differently. The accusation of demon worship was just such a taboo—a taboo that became the last refuge of religiosity opposed to the Kingdom.

Every time a healing takes place in the Gospel, a miracle occurs. It is not merely a miracle of a medical or psychological nature; rather, it is a miracle of revelation about God, showing that He is not as we imagined Him. In nearly all the healings described, Christ truly acts by destroying existing religious notions: He touches the uncleanness of illness and death, He accepts outcasts and the disabled, and He makes not a person's righteousness but their faith the condition for the miracle... Therefore Jesus' Good News concerns not only what God does, healing, forgiving, and raising the dead, but, more importantly, what He is like. For on the path of faith and hope in God, what most often stands in our way are our distorted notions about Him: that He will not rummage in our earthly filth, that He will not want to deal with people like us, and that if He does, He will act according to our ideas of good and evil. Yet we have Good News: there is hope that He is different.