And it happens (which is also said in this parable) that we perceive the word, but there are so many cares, so many needs in our life; When should we care about what we hear? Eternity? "It is still ahead, it will "have time", and now we need to get rich, we need to be with friends, you never know what needs to be done. And then it turns out that the cares of this world, as the parable says, drown out the word, we have no time to deal with eternity, we only take time.

Dostoevsky has a wonderful place where he remembers his arrival in Naples. He stands on the deck of a ship and sees indescribable beauty: the blue bottomless sky and nature, the mountains, the city, the sea. He is completely overwhelmed by this beauty, and those around him who arrived at the same time do not look at nature, at the sky. All this will be in time, now they must take care of their luggage, disembark as soon as possible, before the others, in order to have time to find the cabmen... Dostoevsky looks at it and says: Yes, and the sky is deep, bottomless, but the sky will always be there, it will "have time" to look at it, and now we have to land...

Do we not live this way very often, not only in relation to God, but also in relation to people? Too often, when we sense something deep where we could dwell on, we dismiss it, because there is something else, something small, insignificant, that "must" be done now. It may leave us, my luggage may remain on the ship, or I may lose it on the way, and I shall have time to look at the sky. So it is with God. And I will "have time" to reach God.

I want to talk about this in more detail, using another parable.

A certain man made a great supper, and called many, and when the time for supper came, he sent his servant to say to those who were invited, "Go, for all things are ready." And everyone, as if by agreement, began to apologize. The first said to him, "I have bought land, and I must go to see it; Please forgive me. Another said, "I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I am going to try them; Please forgive me. A third said, "I am married, and therefore I cannot come." And when the servant returned, he reported this to his master... (Luke 14:16-21).

The parable goes on, but I'll stop here, because that's the only thing I wanted to read to you. Here is a clear picture of what happens to us. We are called into the Kingdom of God, that is, we are called to enter into a relationship with God of such intimacy, such mutual love, that we will become His closest friends. But for this, of course, you need to find time for Him, you just need to find time to communicate with Him, just as it happens with friends. We do not call a friend a person who sometimes, meeting us on the street, says: "Oh, how glad I am to see you!" and then never shows up at our home, whether we have sorrow or joy. It's the same here.

The lord (under the name of the lord it is here referred to God) invited friends to the marriage of his son. And each of them began to refuse. "I bought a piece of land, now I own the land, it's mine..." And he does not understand that he is saying "the wrong thing": because at the moment when he "owned" the land, he became a slave of the land. He cannot tear himself away from her, he cannot leave her in order to share the joy of his closest friend; the earth holds him captive. Not necessarily great wealth, it can be the most insignificant affection. You think about what will happen if you take even a small coin in your hand, which you do not want to part with for anything. You clenched it in your fist - what can you do with this fist now? No problem. And with this hand? Forearm? Shoulder? You can't do anything, or you'll drop that coin. And as a result, because you have taken the most insignificant coin in your hand, it turns out to be a penny, you have enslaved your whole body, all your attention, all your heart to this penny, to this copper. This image should be clear to all of us. Therefore, a person who says: "I am now the owner of the land" is in fact only a slave of this piece of land, the field in which he has taken root, and these roots do not allow him to move anywhere from the field.

Another man bought five pairs of oxen, he had a business, he had a calling, he had to do something with these oxen: either to cultivate the land, or to harness them to a wheelbarrow to carry some of his wealth. He also cannot respond to the call of his friend, he "has a job", he has a calling, he must do something on earth. When he does this on earth, well, then he can remember heaven, then he can remember God, he can remember a friend, someone's needs can be remembered, someone's joy can be remembered...

The third example speaks of joy. The third invitee replies to his friend (or God, call it what you will): "I have just married myself, I cannot come to your feast. How can I come to your joy when my heart is full of my own? There is no place for your joy in my heart. If I come to your joy, I must forget mine for a moment. No, I won't do that!" What I mean is that our hearts are filled with something, and there is no room in it to share someone else's joy or someone else's sorrow. It's scary to think! But this is what this parable tells us. It is very important for us to perceive this, because otherwise we will continue to live, putting down roots in the earth, thinking that we possess it when we are its slaves. ("Earth" here denotes everything that can materially enslave us: wealth in any form).

Or we have a high idea of our calling. We have something great to do; I am an artist, I am a writer, I am an intelligent person; Let us even say: I am a priest, I am a preacher, I am a theologian. I have no time to deal with God, because I am engaged in expounding to other people who He is, what He is, I speak about the mysteries of the Kingdom of God... It's creepy to think about this in relation to yourself, but also to others!

Now we may be able to understand what freedom this parable requires of us in relation to what we hear; This freedom does not mean renunciation, but independence. After all, for the most part, what we call love is the enslavement of another and at the same time the enslavement of oneself, it is such an attitude towards someone when we are attached to this person, like a donkey is tied to a wall; This is not love. Such affection is something quite different; This is slavery. We are called to the kind of love that denies itself, that is detached and fervent to the other, and that is able to see him or her rather than oneself in reflection.

You probably remember the passage from the Epistle to the Romans, where the Apostle Paul says: "Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God" (Romans 10:17). Faith, that is, at least rudimentary knowledge about God, at least some idea, comes to us thanks to the fact that someone has told us something. When this word reaches us not in the form of a mental concept, but somehow touches and ignites our heart, we feel at least for a moment a new life, delight. But it is impossible to live long on delight. You can live on rapture for a few moments or a few hours (so a lover can, as it were, live in the fog of his experience for some time); And then you have to return to everyday life. And rapture must die in us, as fire dies and leaves ashes behind it; Ecstasy must turn into a serious receptivity to what we have heard, and faithfulness not only to what we have heard, but also to how we ourselves have responded to what we have heard.

I remember the unpublished poems of one émigré poet:

He said to us: you will go through the wilderness – beware, do not go astray. Ignorance saved you; henceforth Only loyalty can save you...