Notes for  15 August 2026

This passage speaks in the most definite terms about what in Russian has come to be associated with the term “Pharisaism”: outward, ostentatious piety and complete corruption within, at the very core. “You are like whitewashed tombs...” This can happen only to a person who does not know God, who sees not only what is outward, as people do, but also what is within and inaccessible to human sight.

Christ's stern words have lost none of their relevance over the past two thousand years. Moreover, it is obvious to us today that Pharisaism is not a feature of a particular religion or era; it arises again and again, even within Christianity itself. The causes of this phenomenon should therefore be associated rather with traits of character and the religious psychology of people. This is precisely why what Christ says is addressed for all time to this outward, ostentatious form of relationship with God—a form in which, in essence, there is no room for relationship itself.

At the very beginning of His earthly ministry, Jesus said that He had come to bring the Torah to fullness, not to destroy it. One aspect of this process was evidently the logical completion of the meanings placed in it when it first appeared. This is how Jesus also views marriage. The Torah, of course, knows the depth that unites spouses, binding them not only at the physiological or psychological level but also at the spiritual one. Yet, condescending to the weakness of fallen human nature, it permits divorce in certain cases. At first sight this is an absurd situation, for it concerns bonds that are not subject to human control at all, something with which one cannot play and which one cannot manipulate. But the fallen world is full of absurdity in general, and the Torah, making allowance for human nature, had to take this into account.

Jesus, however, does not wish to make allowance for fallen human nature: He has brought into the world the Kingdom where the complete transformation of this nature is possible, and His task is to prepare everyone who desires it to enter the Kingdom. That is why He speaks of the inadmissibility of divorce. With one exception: if one of the spouses is guilty of sexual immorality, something by definition incompatible both with marriage and with the Kingdom.

The spiritual standard is, of course, set extremely high here. The disciples understand this, which is why they say that it is then better not to marry. On the lips of a Jew, for whom family life was effectively a religious duty, such a statement sounded strange, to say the least. But Jesus, of course, understood everything perfectly and answered directly that in principle a situation is possible in which a person postpones family life until the triumph of the Kingdom, postponing it in order to build it no longer according to the laws of the untransformed world, but according to the laws of the Kingdom. Yet, in His own words, by no means everyone is capable of this: it must be given to a person, and it depends on that person no more than being born a eunuch or being made one by others.

Obviously, such a renunciation of family life cannot and should not be a universal principle. Jesus evidently looks at everything through the eyes of the Kingdom. At the same time, He looks at everything through the Torah, which Paul will later compare, not by chance, to a tutor who leads seekers to Christ.

The history of creation and its meaning are shown in the Book of Revelation from several different points of view. This is hardly surprising, for it is a vision, a picture unfolding before the apostle's spiritual sight. And it changes depending on the point from which he looks at what is happening. The same processes may look different when viewed from different points in spiritual space. So it is in the book: at first John is shown historical events as they are seen by a person from within the fallen world. The spectacle, of course, remains symbolic. What is shown here is not historical realities as such, but symbols disclosing the spiritual meaning of events to come. Yet what is happening is presented as though seen by a person of this world, a world not yet transformed or made part of the Kingdom.

Now the apostle is shown the same thing as seen from the Throne of Glory, from the perspective of God's eternity. And here, as one would expect, the Messiah and His path stand at the centre of everything. Even before Christ's coming, believing Jews were certain that the Messiah, His coming and everything connected with Him had been conceived by God before the creation of the world. And this conviction is confirmed by the picture disclosed to the apostle. He sees the birth of Christ as the centre of history, not only the history of humanity, but of creation as a whole. The image of the Virgin Mary, “the woman clothed with the sun,” giving birth to Christ, stands at the centre of the spiritual cosmos that John sees when he finds himself at the Throne of Glory.

The entire meaning of world history, not only in its universal human but also in its cosmic dimension, comes down to the confrontation between God and the devil, who is represented here as a dragon with seven heads and ten horns. In the Bible, heads usually symbolize knowledge and authority, while horns symbolize strength. The seven heads indicate a claim to omniscience, to knowledge of everything that exists in the world, for the number seven in biblical books usually symbolizes the fullness of the created world, while the ten horns indicate superhuman and supernatural strength. This strength and this omniscience naturally oppose God's authority, God's power and God's plans for creation, including everything connected with the coming of Christ, Whom the dragon seeks to devour as soon as He is born.

As for a third of the stars which the dragon casts down from heaven with himself, commentators often see in them the angels carried away by the fallen spirit at the moment of his fall. But it is also possible that what is meant here is the damage inflicted by the devil upon creation itself in the course of that fall. It is no accident that, at the end of time, catastrophes and cataclysms strike a third of nature: it suffers to exactly the extent to which it was damaged at that moment.

Today's reading brings us back to the theme of Gospel poverty, which Jesus regards above all as a spiritual state. The question of unrighteous wealth has been relevant in every age, and the steward in the parable quoted in this passage naturally knew perfectly well what a person who had broken the eighth commandment was required to do: he had to return what he had stolen and add something beyond the amount taken. This is precisely what the thieving steward does. When his master is already prepared to dismiss him (vv. 1–3), he thinks about his future and not only returns everything stolen to his master, but at the same time lightens the burden of his master's debtors in order to earn their gratitude (vv. 4–7). Thus this man not only atones for his own sin, but also does good to his neighbours. It is hardly surprising that such conduct restores his master's trust in him: a person who not only returns what he stole, but also helps his neighbours can be trusted, and such repentance deserves praise (v. 8).

The problem of wealth is thus placed in the context of relationships and priorities. Even when wealth has been acquired dishonestly, or, to put it simply, when it is stolen, the main point is not its redistribution in itself, but helping particular people and thereby establishing (or restoring) relationships with them, without which a person finds that he has nowhere to go. In this case, as in all others, the central question is one of priorities, of what matters more: relationships with God and other people, or wealth. Jesus speaks of this directly at the end of the parable (vv. 9–13).

The same applies to the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (vv. 19–31), but here the question of wealth is considered in the context of the messianic and eschatological perspective. The path of the rich man and the path of the poor man are shown in keeping with the traditional biblical idea of two ways, one of which leads to the Kingdom, “to Abraham's bosom” (v. 22), while the other leads to Sheol, the world of shadows, from which there is no escape and whose inhabitants have no path to the Kingdom (vv. 23–26; Sheol is called “hell” here). The meaning of the parable is perfectly transparent: wealth hid a human being from its owner and, together with that person, the Kingdom as well. For the rich man everything begins and ends in our limited world, where he receives everything, but where neither the Kingdom nor eternal life can be found. And no evidence will persuade someone who is not ready to break through the boundaries of the untransformed world (vv. 27–31), for each person chooses his own path and receives what he has chosen.

Once again the prophet preaches through a symbolic action, carrying his belongings out of the house and breaking through the wall. We understand what he means or, more precisely, what the Lord entrusted Ezekiel to say. But why must the prophecy about Jerusalem's fate be proclaimed not to its inhabitants, but far from the city, in the land of Babylon?

Apparently because the prophet is addressing the exiles: those who have not lost their inner ties with their native city and are at the same time able to heed his words and understand them better than most of those who remained in Jerusalem. These very exiles, separated from the main body of the people and having experienced and reconsidered much, can become not yet the faithful remnant, but already a likeness of that remnant which preserves faithfulness and is therefore the seedling of a restored people. They can once again become bearers of the teaching of faith and are therefore already ready to hear and receive prophetic words. If this is so, it must be affirmed that prophecy must not cease and that the corresponding proverb is false. It is true that the apostle Paul will later begin to teach that “prophecies will cease” (1 Cor 13:8), but in fact he will be speaking about something else: even if prophecies cease, love will never disappear. Those who repeated this proverb during the prophets' lifetime thereby revealed that they had lost hope in the Lord and did not know His love.

Therefore, when we hear popular sayings today as well, such as “we are not saints” or “miracles do not happen,” we should not yield to them. It is better to turn once more to the Source of faith.

One theme of this song is the roots of humanity's unfaithfulness to God. Unbelief is born of overindulgence, self-confidence, and self-sufficiency. It is no coincidence that the biblical image of godlessness is a heart grown fat, while the Kingdom of God belongs to the poor. Why does this happen? Why does a prosperous person begin to put hope in money, talents, and personal strength? Is it really impossible to receive all these things with gratitude and humility? It probably is possible, provided the heart has not grown fat, hope in God is preserved, and what He gives us is used not for ourselves but in service to others. Then there is a chance not to forget God but, on the contrary, to give Him glory and serve the work He is carrying out in our land.