Homily 31

that I see the virtue of this soul; for since he called the boldness and folly that which was done by him, and that too while fixed in such necessity; nor was he content with words alone when he was intent on showing that he far excelled those, lest perhaps someone might think he was speaking these things out of self-love, he calls what he said by him "folly" once more; saying as it were: "For do I not know that I am doing a thing that stands against the many, and that it is not fitting for me? But the great necessity that pushed me compelled this; therefore forgive me," he says, "for speaking words of folly." ^B If we, to whom so many heavy burdens of sin are attached, were to imitate even the shadow of this, and do something good in a small way, and yet not tolerate keeping even this in the storehouses of our mind, but, because of desiring to hunt for glory from men, make a display of it and set it in the midst, and through this untimely chatter deprive ourselves of the reward from God! But this blessed man suffered no such thing, but once he had said, "I more," he proceeds to enumerate the achievements of his bravery, and says: "In labors more abundantly, in stripes above measure, in deaths often" (2 Cor. 11. 23). What are you saying? That which you say is strange and paradoxical. For is it possible to endure death often? "Yes," he says; if not in experience, yet in resolution; teaching us that he was continuously exposing himself to such dangers that birthed death for him; but the grace of God kept this athlete in the very midst of the dangers, so that great benefit might accrue to those being discipled by him; and what follows again obscures, so to speak, all that had been said: "For who is weak," he says, "and I am not weak? Who is offended, and I do not burn?" (2 Cor. 11. 29). Indeed, how great is the affection of this man, how great ^C his wakefulness, how great his anxiety! What mother’s heart is so torn when her child is feverish and lying on a bed, as was this blessed man's? For he was more sick for those who were sick in every place, and was burning for those who were offended. For consider for me the emphasis of the expression: he did not say, "Who is offended, and I am not saddened," but, "I burn," he says, declaring to us the intensity of his pain, and as it were showing himself inflaming and scorching within for those who were enduring the scandals. I know that I have extended the discourse to a great length; but I do not know how, having fallen into the wealth of the achievements of this saint, like one borne away by a most violent rush of waters, I have thus been carried off in my speech. Ending the discourse at this point, I beseech your love to carry this continually in your mind, and to consider this constantly: that he was a participant in the same nature as us and subjected to the same passions, and having a humble and contemptible trade, and stitching skins, and standing in a workshop, since he wanted and willed to surrender himself to the labors of virtue, and to make himself worthy of the reception of the Holy Spirit, he enjoyed the more abundant honor from above; which may we all attain, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and to the ages of ages. Amen.

HOMILY XXXI

the unwise, but he knows that death is for those who have lived rightly a translation to better things, and a departure to a superior state, and a race toward crowns. Therefore, throughout the cities, ^A to the very gates of the fields, and everywhere, a school of humility is proposed to us, that we may be constantly reminded of our own weakness. Someone is hastening to enter the imperial city, flourishing in wealth, power, and other dignities; and before he sees what he imagines, he sees what is: he is taught first into what he ends, and then he comes to see the inner phantoms. And not only this, but often a man, when he wishes to take a wife, submits to the law, writes the marriage settlement; and although the conjugal union has not yet taken place, death is immediately registered; he has not yet known his wife, and yet he places the sentence of death before himself and her, and writes such things as these: "If the husband dies before the wife; if the wife before the husband, this or that is established." And the calculation of death is not only applied to those who exist and live, but even to those not yet brought into the light. For what does it say? "If a child born should die." Behold, the fruit is not yet, and the decree has run its course. Is it, then, that one recognizes nature in documents? And if any human thing befalls him, or his wife passes away, he forgets what he wrote, and utters other tragic words, and says, "Was it for this that I was to suffer? Were these things to befall me, and was I to be widowed of my spouse?" What are you saying, O man? You were free of troubles, and you recognized the ends of nature; but after you fell into calamities, have you forgotten the laws of nature? Therefore, when you see someone of your kinsmen departing from this world, do not take it ill: return to yourself, and examine your conscience; consider that a little later the end also threatens you. ^B "But the deceased," you say, "is putrefying, and becomes dust and ashes." For this, indeed, one ought to be most glad. For when someone is about to rebuild a ruined and old house, he first ejects the inhabitants, and thus tears down the house itself and builds it more splendidly. And that situation does not grieve those ejected, but brings them even greater pleasure; for they do not look at the present demolition of the building, but conceive in their mind the future edifice. In the same way God also acts: when He is about to destroy our body, He first leads out the soul inhabiting it, as if from a house, so that when He has built another with more magnificent workmanship, He may introduce it again with greater glory. For Adam, when he was being formed, did not know that he had been raised from the earth; for God did not make the soul older than the body, lest it should see the creation: whence also he was ignorant of his own vileness. But when he is raised in the resurrection, he will know, because he is raised having put off the dust. For even if a dead man does not look at himself, he sees before him the corpse dissolved into dust, and is instructed by the things he perceives. Have you not seen the bold and haughty, how they are recalled to modesty in deaths, and are repressed? Death is announced, and the hearts of all are struck with fear. We philosophize around monuments, uttering many things; but, having scarcely exited the sepulchers, we have immediately forgotten humility. In funeral rites, everyone says to his neighbor in this way: "O the calamity! O our miserable life! What are we, after all? Why do we utter our voice, and seize? Why do we remember injuries?" And thus, clearly, every one philosophizes, as if he immediately wished to renounce vices entirely; and within, indeed, he philosophizes with his thoughts, but externally he resists God by his actions. But let us return to the subject. ^C Why, then, do you bewail the one whose life is finished? Is it because he was evil? But for this, one ought to give thanks, that his vices have been hindered. But he was frugal and good? And for this, one ought to rejoice that he was taken quickly, before malice changed his understanding. But he was a youth? Even for this cause, give thanks, and praise God, who has accepted him. For just as many accompany those who are called to office with good wishes, so it is necessary to escort those departing from life with much goodly acclamation, as those called to a greater honor. For I do not say, "Do not mourn for the dead at all," but, "Do not do so immoderately." For if we had considered that he who has departed was mortal, and was taken by God, we would receive no mediocre consolation. For to be indignant in these things is the mark of those who require something greater than nature itself. You were born a human being and mortal: why, therefore, do you grieve that things according to nature have happened? Do you grieve because you are nourished by eating? Do you seek to live without food? So it is also in death; since you were born mortal, do not seek immortality: this has been defined and determined once. But when God calls, or wishes to take something from us, let us not, like wicked servants, steal those things which are the Lord's. ^D For whether He has taken money, or honor and glory, or the body, or the soul itself, He has taken His own: even if He has taken your son, He has not taken your son, but His own servant. If, therefore, we are not our own, how will what is His be ours? For if your soul is not yours, how will your money be yours? But if they are not yours, how do you consume those things that are not yours otherwise than is necessary? Do not, therefore, say, "I consume what is mine, I live sumptuously from my own"; for it happens not from your own, but from the things of others: I say, indeed, from the things of others, because you so wish; since God wishes those things to be yours which have been entrusted to you in the name of the poor. But things that are foreign become yours if you disburse them to them; if, however, you have consumed them upon yourself, things that were yours have become foreign. Do you not see, how in our bodies the hands minister, the mouth grinds, the belly receives? Does the belly say: "Because I have received, I ought to keep the whole"? And the eye, indeed, because it receives all the light, does it therefore keep it alone, and not rather illuminate the whole body? The feet, too, because they alone walk, do they transfer only themselves, and not transfer the whole body? And, in truth, any one of those who exercise some necessary function, unless he is willing to share the profit of his art with another, destroys not only others, but himself as well. For the poor, if they had taken revenge on your wickedness, O misers and rich men, would have quickly reduced you to poverty, had they not been willing to share their own with the needy. "But," he says, "I have lost my only son, reared with much wealth, showing a brilliant hope, he who was to succeed me in my inheritance." And what is this? Do not groan, but give thanks to God, and celebrate with praises Him who has received him: for thus, in this respect, you are in nothing inferior to Abraham.

^A For just as he gave to God when He commanded, so you did not moan when He received. For if, seeing your son dying, you give thanks to the merciful God, you will receive no less a reward than he who led his son and sacrificed him; and even if you disperse these wailings and cries, and excite everyone to doxology, you will receive myriad rewards from above and below, with people admiring you, angels applauding, and God crowning you. And how is it possible, someone says, not to mourn for him from whom I am no longer called a father? What are you saying? Have you lost the child? Have you destroyed the son? Rather, you have acquired him and kept him more firmly. For you have not lost the being called father, but you have gained the being called it more exceedingly; for you shall no longer be called the father of a mortal child, but of an immortal one. For do not because he is not present, think that he has perished; for even if he happened to be traveling abroad, the name of kinship would not have departed from you with his body. This is not the child who lies here, but that one who flew away and ran back to heaven. When, therefore, you see his eyes closed, and his mouth shut, and his body motionless, do not think this: "This mouth no longer speaks, these eyes no longer see, these feet no longer walk"; but rather that "This mouth will speak better, and the eyes will see greater things, and the feet will appear upon the clouds, and this body which is decaying will put on immortality, and I shall receive my son more brilliantly." Remember the patriarch Abraham, who did not see Isaac dying, but—what was much more bitter and painful—he was commanded to slaughter him himself; and he did not speak against the command, nor was he vexed, nor did he utter anything like this: "Did you make me a father for this reason, that you might make me a child-slayer? It would have been better not to give at all, than to give and then take him back again in such a manner. Do you wish to take him? Why do you command me to slaughter him, and to stain my own right hand? Did you not promise to fill the earth with descendants from this child? How then do you give the fruits, while destroying the root? What is this? Who has seen such things, who has ever heard them? I have been deceived and tricked." He said none of these things, he did not even think them, he did not argue against the One who commanded, he did not demand an accounting; but having heard, "Take your beloved son, whom you loved, Isaac, and offer him to Me for a whole-burnt-offering upon one of the mountains that I shall tell you" (Gen. 22.2), he fulfilled the command with such readiness that he did even more than was commanded. For he actually hid it from his wife, and escaped the notice of his attendants, leaving them to remain down below. Consider, therefore, how great a thing it was to converse with the child alone, with no one present, when the inward parts were burning ^B more intensely, and the love was becoming more vehement. What word will be able to represent it? He led the child up, he bound him, he placed him upon the wood, and he snatched up the knife, and he was about to inflict the blow. How I am to speak of this and in what manner, I do not know; he alone knows who performed these deeds, for no word will be able to represent it. How did his hand not tremble? How was the tension of his nerves not dissolved? How did the sight of the desired child not hold him back? And it was possible to see at once this man becoming father and priest, and a sacrifice being offered without blood, a whole-burnt-offering without fire. For he slaughtered his son and did not slaughter; he did not slaughter with the hand, but he slaughtered with his readiness; in order to teach all those after this, that one must prefer the commands of God to children, and to nature, and to all existing things, and to the very soul itself. For consider with me the nobility of the man, when he was commanded to slaughter his son, the only-begotten, the beloved, the one given to him beyond all hope, how many reasonings he had rising up against him. Yet he subjected them all, and all of them trembled before him more than soldiers before a king; and with his look alone he held them all in check, and not one of them dared to even mutter, but they stood in such good order that they adorned him rather than frightened him. And behold his patience: nature was cast upon the ground with its weapons, while he stood extending his hand, not holding a crown, but a knife more brilliant than any crown; and the host of angels was applauding, and God was proclaiming it from the heavens. What could be equal to this trophy? For if when an athlete has won, not a herald below, but the king from above has proclaimed him the Olympic victor, would this not seem more brilliant to him than the crowns, and would it not have turned the whole theater? When, therefore, not a human king, but God Himself, not in such a theater, but in the theater of the inhabited world, in the assembly of the angels and archangels, proclaims him with a clear voice, crying from above: "Where shall we place this holy man, tell me?" For if parents are not easily able to despise their children, even when they are wicked, but actually mourn for them; when it is a son, and a genuine one, and an only-begotten, and beloved, and he is about to be slaughtered by the father himself, who could tell the excess of his philosophy? O blessed right hand, what a knife you were deemed worthy of! ^C O marvelous knife, what a right hand you were deemed worthy of! O marvelous knife! To what purpose were you fashioned, and what service did you accomplish, and what type did you serve? How were you stained, and how were you not stained? For I do not know what to say, so fearful was the mystery. You did not touch the neck of the child, nor did you pass through the throat of that holy one, nor were you stained with the blood of the righteous; or rather, you both touched and passed through and were stained and were washed, and were not washed. I seem to you perhaps to have lost my mind by speaking so contradictorily. For indeed I am distracted as I consider the wonder of the righteous man, but I am not speaking contradictorily. For the hand of the righteous man plunged it into the throat of the child, but the hand of God did not allow it, even when plunged, to be polluted by the blood of the child. For not only did Abraham hold it, but God also did; and the one was driving it through by his intent, while the other was holding it back by His voice. And observe: He said, "Slaughter," and he was armed immediately; He said, "Do not slaughter," and he was immediately disarmed; for he chose not to be called a father, so as to be seen as a grateful servant; and because he departed from the things of nature for the sake of God, for this reason God granted him his own things along with these; and He halts the command at the point of readiness. And do not tell me only this, that he built an altar, and placed wood upon it, but remember also the voice of the

^A boy, and consider within yourself how many thoughts, like storm-clouds, rushed upon him, armed with fiery spears, piercing and rending him on every side, when he heard his son say: "Father, where is the sheep?" (Gen. 22:7). For if many who are not even fathers cannot contain themselves even now, what was it natural for him to suffer, who had begotten him, who had reared him, who had received him in his old age, who had this one child, who was looking at him, who was listening to him, who was about to slay him? Yet none of these things overthrew or shook that loving man, nor did he say: "Why do you call him father who a little later will not be your father, who has already lost this honor?" But what? "God will provide for Himself a sheep for a burnt offering, my son" (Gen. 22:8). Both use the names of nature: he calls him father, and he calls him son; on both sides a grievous war was excited, and the storm was great, but the shipwreck was not. But Isaac, ^B after he heard God, said nothing more, nor did he search curiously: so wise was the boy, in the very flower of his age. Did you not all grow warm? Does not each one of you embrace and kiss that boy in your mind, and marvel at his prudence, and reverence his piety? For while he was being bound and placed upon the wood, he did not tremble, he did not draw back, nor did he condemn his father as a madman; but he was being bound and raised up, and placed upon the wood, and he bore all things in silence like some lamb. Or rather, like the common Lord of all, whose gentleness he was imitating, and whose figure he was keeping. "For he was led as a sheep to the slaughter, and as a lamb before its shearer is dumb" (Isa. 53:7). And let no one say to me that Abraham did not grieve, nor did he endure the things that belong to a father; and let him not, in a desire to show a philosophy beyond measure, deprive him of his principal praise. For if, when we suddenly see those who are caught in the greatest ^C crimes, and who have spent a long time using this life, being unknown and never seen by us, being led through the marketplace to death, we are constricted and grieve, and often even weep: how could he who is commanded to slaughter and burn with his own hands his own genuine son—most beloved, born contrary to hope, born after such a long time, and at the end of his old age—how could he not have endured a tribulation and grief more grievous than any punishment? For even if he had been stone, if iron, if he had been adamant himself, could he not have been bent, could he not have been broken by the sight of the boy, by the prudence of his words, by the piety of his soul? For he heard, "God will provide for Himself a sheep for a burnt offering, my son," and asked nothing more. He watched his father binding him, and did not resist; he was placed upon the pyre, and did not draw back; he saw the sword being brandished against him, and was not terrified. What could be more godly than this soul? Would anyone therefore still dare to say that Abraham suffered nothing ^D in all these things? For if he had been about to kill an enemy, if a foe, even if it had been a beast, would he have performed these things without grief? It is not so, it is not. Wherefore I ask and entreat, if you ever lose a son or a daughter, O man, do not lament so indecently and tear yourself apart; but consider in your mind that Abraham slew his own son, and did not weep, nor did he utter a harsh word. And Job did indeed grieve, but only as much as it was natural for a father who loved his children to grieve: since what we do now is rather of enemies and foes. For if, when someone is led to royal palaces and crowned, you were to weep and mourn, I would not call you a friend of him who was crowned, but an enemy and a foe. "But I do not know," you say, "where he has gone." Why, tell me, do you not know? Whether he has lived rightly or otherwise, it is manifest whither he is going. "For this reason," he says, "I lament, because he departed from life a sinner." But for this reason one ought to rejoice all the more, that he has been held back in his sins and has not increased his wickedness; and to help him as much as possible, not with tears, but with prayers and supplications, with alms and offerings. For this was not devised in vain; nor do those who stand at the altar, while the dread mysteries are being performed, cry out without cause, "For all those who have fallen asleep in Christ, and for those who offer up remembrances of them," but these things are done by the ordinance of the Holy Spirit. For if the sacrifice of the father purified the children of Job, why do you doubt that we, too, offering for the departed, will bring them some consolation? Let us not, therefore, weep for the dead rashly, but let us weep for those who died in their riches, and have procured no consolation for their own souls from their riches: who also have had the opportunity to wash away their own sins, and would not; let us weep for these, both privately and publicly, all of us, not for one day or two, but all our life, and let us help them with all our strength. Let us provide them with some help, a small help, indeed, yet let us bring them help. But who, and by what means? By pouring out prayers, and by exhorting others to make prayers for them, and finally by giving alms continually for them to the poor. This matter has some consolation: for hear God saying: "I will defend this city for My own sake, and for David My servant" (4 Kings 19:34). But if the memory of a righteous man alone could do so much, if even works are performed for him, what will they not be able to do? These things were not ordained in vain by the apostles, that there should be a commemoration of the departed during the dread mysteries. They know that much gain, much profit, arises from it for them. For when the whole people stands, stretching forth their hands to heaven, and the priestly company too, and the dread sacrifice is set forth, how could we not appease God, by praying for these? Truly, we say this concerning those who have departed in the faith: but catechumens are not even held worthy of this consolation, but are destitute of every such help, with one exception. What is that? It is permitted to give to the poor continually in their name: which thing provides them with no small consolation. It is not, therefore, a bad thing to die, but to die badly. Do you wish that I should tell your charity why we fear death? The love of the kingdom has not wounded us, nor does the desire for future things set us on fire: for otherwise all present things

would not have terrified us—neither death, nor loss of money, nor anything else of that kind. Give me, then, the confidence to speak about the kingdom of heaven, and, if you wish, slaughter me today; I shall even be grateful to you for the slaughter, because you are sending me quickly to those good things.

But I fear dying unjustly, you say. What are you saying, tell me? Do you fear dying unjustly? But would you have preferred to die justly? And who is so wretched and miserable that, when it is possible to die unjustly, he would rather choose to die justly? For if we must fear death, we must fear the one that comes upon us justly; for the one who dies unjustly, by that very fact, participates with all the saints. For most of those who have pleased God have undergone an unjust end; and first, Abel. For he had not transgressed at all against his brother, nor had he offended Cain, but because he honored God, for this reason he was slaughtered. And did God allow it—was He loving him or hating him? It is evident that He loved him, and wished to make his crown more brilliant through this most unjust slaughter. Do you see that we ought not to fear dying unjustly, but dying in our sins? Abel died unjustly; Cain lived groaning and trembling. Who then, tell me, was more blessed? He who ended his life with justice, or he who lived in sin? He who died unjustly, or he who was punished justly?

And what is more grievous than murder, tell me? Yet it was able at some point to produce justice for the one who committed it; and listen to how. The Midianites once, wishing to make war on God in the person of the Jews, and hoping to prevail over them in this way if they could deprive them of the favor of the Master, adorned maidens and set them before the army, and lured them, and led them into fornication. When Phinehas saw this, taking a sword and catching those who were fornicating, [в] he ran both of them through in the very act of sinning, not hating those who were taken away, but sparing the rest. And while what happened was a murder, what was achieved therefrom was the salvation of all who were perishing; he killed two and saved countless myriads. And just as physicians, by cutting away the rotting limbs, save the whole body, so too did he do, and it was reckoned to him for justice.

Let us not, therefore, simply weep for those who are dying, but for those who are dying in their sins; these are worthy of lamentations, these of beating of breasts and tears. For what hope, tell me, is there to depart with sins, where there is no opportunity to put off sins? For as long as they were here, there was perhaps much expectation that they would repent, that they would be better; but if they depart to Hades, where there is no way to gain anything from repentance (for "in Hades," he says, "who will confess to You?" [Ps. 6:6]), how then are they not worthy of lamentations? Let us weep, therefore, for those who are departing in this way; I do not forbid weeping, but let it not be done indecently, not tearing hair, not baring arms, not scratching the face, but rather shedding a small, quiet tear from the soul; this indeed benefits us. For he who mourns him thus will himself be much more zealous never to fall into the same things. Again, when you see a corpse carried through the forum, orphan children following, a widowed wife being distraught, servants wailing, friends downcast, consider the vanity of present things, and that it differs in no way from shadows and dreams.

Observe for me the houses of the great and famous, and how they have now been brought down to the ground; consider how powerful they once were, and now not even a memory of them is left. For many tyrants have sat upon the ground, and one who was not suspected has worn the diadem [Eccl. 11:5]. But is this not enough? Consider also before death, when you sleep, what you are worth; will not even a small beast be able to kill you? For many times a small little creature brought down from the roof or gouged out an eye, or became the cause of some other danger. Reflect on these things; and do not admire the flower of the human face, nor the lifted neck, nor the cloak and the horse and the attendants; but consider where all these things end. But if you admire the things that are seen, I will tell you of those in the Scriptures that are much more brilliant than these. But even as we do not admire those because of their appearance, seeing their substance, that the whole thing is clay, so too do not admire these; for these also are clay, or rather, even before they are dissolved and become dust. Show me this man who is lifted up, fever-stricken, breathing his last, and then I will converse with you and ask: Where now are those who with much arrogance, and with many attendant servants, were bragging in the forum? Those who were dressed in silk, and breathing of perfumes, and feeding parasites, and always fastened to the stage? Where is the luxury of those feasts, the multitude of musicians, the flattery of the sycophants, the excessive laughter, the relief of the soul, the diffusion of the mind, the life that was lush and loose and superfluous? *Everything has departed and flown away.* What has become of the body that enjoyed such care and purity? Go to the coffin, behold the dust, the ashes, the worms, the foulness of the place; behold and groan bitterly.

And would that the loss were only up to the ashes; but now move your reasoning from the coffin and these worms to that never-ending worm, to the gnashing of teeth, to the outer darkness, to the unquenchable fire, and to those bitter and unbearable punishments, which stretch into ages without end. For here both the good things and the grievous have an end, and this very quickly; but there both are extended into immortal ages; and in quality, they differ from the present things so much that it is impossible to express. What then has become of that great luxury? And where has gone all that flattery and the serving of slaves, and the abundance of money and possessions? What wind, having entered, blew them all away? And what is the meaning of this superfluous and useless expense at the funeral, bringing much loss to those who conduct the funeral, but no profit to him who has departed? When you hear that the Master rose naked, cease from the madness of the funeral. For not even when Christ said, "You saw me hungry, and fed me; thirsty, and you gave me drink; naked, and you clothed me" [Matt. 25:35-36], did He add, "And dead, and you buried me." For if He commands that even the living should have nothing more than a covering, much more so those who have departed. What defense, then, shall we have, when...