If they join the ranks of the Lord's enemies, it is chiefly because they see in His work a dangerous political phenomenon, given His influence on the masses, and sharing the prejudices common among the Jews about the Messiah as a conqueror and liberator from the Roman yoke, in the maintenance of which, and in general of the entire existing governmental system, which provided them with an idle, well-fed life, they will, of course, were interested.

Thus, selfishness, personal selfishness, which permeated their nature and life, irresistibly pushed them away from Christ.

And to this day this human selfishness is one of the most dangerous pitfalls of the Christian life. If it is not broken and removed, then it is impossible to follow Christ. It is impossible to unite with Him someday.

"Whosoever cometh unto me," saith the Lord, "shall not hate... of his very life, he cannot be My disciple... Whoever does not renounce all that he has, cannot be My disciple (Lk. XIV, 26, 33).

In order to be worthy of the Lord, one must forget, lose oneself and renounce everything. A person who values his own comforts and does not want to sacrifice anything for his neighbors cannot enter the Kingdom of God.

There is an old pious legend.

In one of the monasteries there once lived an abbot of a lofty ascetic life, who unceasingly prayed for the brethren and persistently, with great fervor and tears, asked God that all the monks of his monastery be vouchsafed the Kingdom of Heaven.

Once all the brethren were invited to a feast in a neighboring monastery. The abbot was detained by some business, and he promised to come later. The monks departed without him.

On the road they came across a traveler bitten by beasts. The poor old man could no longer move from severe loss of blood and lay near the forest path. The brethren approached him, talked, questioned, sympathized, and... they went on, leaving him lying in the forest.

It was a long way to the monastery where they were going, and they wanted to get there for the service, and especially for dinner. To be a guest, to a festive dinner - this pleasure so rarely fell to their lot. They had to hurry, and linger on the road to bandage the wounded man and carry him somewhere to a quiet shelter, they did not have time. An hour later, the abbot walked the same way. The bitten old man still lay motionless by the road, and it seemed that life had almost left him. Only occasionally did he moan softly. The hegumen approached him, and his heart contracted with compassion. He leaned over to the unfortunate man, bandaged his wounds as best he could, and lifted him from the ground, trying to bring him to his feet. It was impossible to leave the dying man in the forest.

"Can you go somehow?" he asked.

The old man only groaned muffled.

"Leaning on me," the abbot continued, "we will move together, slowly..." I know a house not far from here...

He embraced the old man with his decrepit arm and tried to make him go. It was all in vain: he could not stand on his feet and hung on his arm like a sack of dust. Then the abbot knelt, laid the wounded wanderer on his old shoulders, rose slowly and dragged his burden, groaning, stumbling, and barely stepping over with his weak legs; For his advanced years, the weight was beyond his strength.