PRAISE OF ST. DEMETRIUS. A PANEGYRICAL SERMON BY THE SAME ON THE GREAT MARTYR SAINT DEMETRIUS
1. A Since it is thoroughly necessary, according to the ancient saying, that a man taking on a great task should feel hesitation (yet that kind which involves no blame surely possesses a certain virtue), it is not unreasonable if I, too, should feel such anxiety, having cast myself into so great and so difficult an undertaking. For if I were the first to approach this proposed task, or if I had some easily measured discourses with which I could feel confident that I might discover and say something worthy—something not already pre-empted by many—it would be as if someone, having seen precious metals being mined by one or two others, were himself also to discover and probe the earth; for thus he might more easily acquire what is sought than the person who comes after ten thousand others who have thoroughly investigated the depths of the mines. B But since, after very many men have already ascended to the depths and heights of eloquence and have scrutinized matters with a piercing eye, I am the last to prepare myself for another struggle of speech, which is hard to wrestle with, it is not without reason that I should feel hesitation.
2. But what, then, is this great task of mine? And what is the hesitation, or rather, the fear and lack of confidence? I feared, to sum it up briefly, that in praising the great martyr who is the protector of our city, I should exhaust my own powers. For nothing new remains by which others might extol the martyr’s victories. C For they have not set them forth in a crude manner, but have composed them most accurately and have expounded everything with the utmost precision of speech. Yet, for a sensible man to recount the same things is shameful. For if it is necessary to walk in the footsteps of good men, one still has another way to achieve similarity. For those who praise are not required to say the exact same things in opposition to others. If, therefore, it was not permitted to offer something more recent to the listeners, nor fitting to repeat the works of others, it was necessary to be silent. D For, among other things, a person would also incur mockery if, by imitating those who came before him, he were unable to surpass what they themselves said, but fell, defeated. And this is a grievous, self-inflicted, and willful evil. For it were better for one to appear wise by keeping silent than to be proven unwise by babbling.
A Since this is the case, then—the source of my hesitation and the reason why, like the saying, "an ox sits upon my tongue" (a joke directed at those who speak idly, as if one were tongue-tied), a stone also lay there like water trapped in a stagnant pool—I pondered other thoughts, which were not so much faster as they were wiser. This is something someone spoke before our time, but more slowly, and not entirely without wisdom: the ox was moved, the stone was rolled away, and the silence departed; and behold, a stream of words commensurate to the martyr.
B 4. But the reasoning that healed my hesitation and put silence to flight suggested that the heavens shine not only with the greatest luminaries and those that are secondary to them, but even with the smallest stars; and somewhere, even they indicate something manifest in their season. Therefore, our heaven too, the Church of God, has those most radiant stars, but it also has those that follow them. Yet it prides itself even on someone who shines with a dim light, just as a spark of fire might be cast off; a shooting streak of fiery spirit also appeared as a star, and thus it, too, contributed its own dignity to the starry firmament. Nature, having been commanded, brought forth all kinds of animals and other things, some established at the summit of honor, others set below in insignificance; yet even those so thoughtlessly cast aside are not missing from the glorification of creation: behold, even a gnat, the lowliest of animals, is considered worthy of some value. Often, the little insect stimulates the multitudes when it sounds its hum; C indeed, there are those who pay little or no attention to the sound but focus instead on what is useful. Since these things are so, a fortiori, let a man of sense be considered worthy of attention for how he properly sings the divine praises.
5. In the old law, precious materials sustained the tabernacle, and certainly there were many that were not so, and that celebrated temple was not composed entirely of the most precious things, but in part of small stones, held together and built up with mortar and lead poured into the joints of the stones. The sea does not bring forth things worthy of mention only from great islands, but even small ones boast of a certain wondrous appearance. There is perhaps a stone not of great value, yet it possesses a certain beautiful quality compared to those that are deemed worthy of reputation, and for that reason it is not despised. Iron compared to gold would be nothing in terms of honor, unless it were accurately fitted to some work needing great attention. Small pipes sometimes have a sound in a lower range; similarly, a larger pipe descending to deeper notes thus renders harmonic melodies. Voices are not entirely the same for everyone; the same talent does not shine in everyone.
6. I dare to raise the argument yet higher. D Among the supercelestial orders there are some that are higher and others that have taken a lower place. Not all are prophets, not all are apostles. There are also varieties of tongues, because there are also varieties of nations. And some have smooth, cheerful tones, while
others gargle roughly and grow wild because of their barbarian sounds. And yet, each nation, both those speaking nobly and the barbarian, remains and is not wiped away. And thus Providence weaves together the complexity of life. Just as there are many mansions in the order of salvation, so too are there various apparatuses of eloquent speech, which are not to be rejected by God or by those of God. Rivers flowing full and divided into many branches are good, nor are fountains lacking streams devoid of charm. A Someone shouted as much as fifty others, and their voice is sung of as Stentorian. And yet it was not necessary to cut the throats of those who spoke differently. Another saw things upon the earth, and at a distance that no one else perceived; but many, in an infinite number, are far off in their sight, and are not defrauded of the faculty of seeing. Certainly the mole is not removed because it is born and lives blind; on the contrary, it is preserved by the law of nature and completes the variety of creation. Another heard what no man heard. What then? Should the remaining ears be closed because they do not have a more facile energy? An army is composed both of the brave and of those who are not. David, while singing, did not disdain the dancers. And yet others did not hymn exactly as he did. The harmony of a choir is composed of diverse, and indeed even of dissonant and separate modes, as those who are wise in such matters, those skilled in the arts, say.
ζ. There is no way that all could converge into one and the same thing. Sirens are spoken of in the writings of old, whatever they might be; they seem to be something great. And Job did not disdain them, nor did he repel them from the ornament of that which is sung, equating his own lamentations to a different Siren, a small, tiny animal. It pleased men to reckon the cicada among the musicians; nor did the nightingale fall short in dignity. Even irrational creatures hymn God, not because they themselves emit the voice, but because they honor God who marvels at them, and who philosophizes on the beauty of nature, whatever it may be in that place. C For if we are caught by the fact that we seem to say nothing, having a lack of elegance in our speech, the listener who turns his mind toward us will be struck with amazement that we have kindled ourselves toward such a zeal; and in marveling at the better aspect, he will ascribe the cause to the one who, not because it is deserved, but because it is sung with a courageous heart, rewards those who speak in thanksgiving. And thus, our speech, too, will find some approval.
η. Revolving these things in my mind, and other such things by which one should embolden the late-speakers and the humble—that they are not to be placed too far from those who have achieved a grand way of speaking, D if only they speak according to right reason—and having thus prepared myself toward boldness, I loosen the speech, to which I had committed myself, and I arrive at the goal, not intending to set myself up above others (for the attempt at impossibilities is near to madness), but rather exhibiting the boiling of the soul and the heat of zeal, and thus boldly taming nature, and bracing that which is in me—though it be more modest—to deal with such matters as my own humble talent allows.
9. To recount how many miracles the martyr performs individually, and to break them down into minute detail, would be the same as if one, wishing to praise gold-bearing earth, were not to extol it from the fact that it abounds in gold both on the surface and in its depths, but rather, taking up a handful of metal, were to declare aloud that it overflows with great riches. There is no need for this here, but rather to treat it with due honor, leaving the work of the gold-mine to whomsoever wishes; A nor should one marvel at the martyr’s deeds piece by piece, but rather learn, as it were by type, how great and what kind of wonders he is able to perform, not wishing to labor over every single incident, especially those upon which others, with better speeches, have already occupied themselves. For we must be on our guard, lest we be accused of competitiveness, as though we were eager to advance against those who have written before us, or lest, B because it is not easy to build speeches, we be criticized for building upon someone else’s foundations.
10. Straightway, the pouring forth of the ever-flowing martyrial oil brought an immense amazement to all, and those who engaged in rhetoric found treasures of thoughts, cleverly preparing it for the eager listeners. And there is no possibility for any of us today to provide anything better, even if one were to sweat for a long time over the labor. In a similar manner, those who are wise in divine things approached the other wonders of the victor, celebrating his praises with excellent art; wherefore those who hold sound opinions will forgive us if, arriving later, we do not discover new things, C but speak in harmony with the others, and, running behind them, we find ourselves, as it were, walking in their footsteps. For it is no theft, nor is it something to be snatched from others, but rather, I think, a chance encounter of thoughts. For one must think more philosophically, that the same thought can often reach different minds, and someone—before the world was flooded (for so must one posit)—discovered a certain art. And such a thing, like that which penetrated to those who were with Noah, entered into their hearts, and has entered, and will enter. Therefore, those who dip their speeches into the martyr’s oil or the rest of his sea of wonders would not be doing a new thing if, just as those who bring their hands together to one place draw near to one another, so they too, in writing, should converge upon the same point, D as if drawing near to each other in their thoughts.
11. For my part, had I been able to fashion some new and fresh discovery regarding the martyr's works, it would have been a matter for boasting, as though a newer message had been found, and I would have rejoiced that the field of my soul was producing ears of corn not altogether ignoble, nor such as to be mown down. Yet, having encountered some of the same things which others have written so excellently, even this should not fall short of a fitting pride, for I too have been deemed worthy to think the same things as those eloquent men of old, and having launched the boat of my discourse into the same stream as theirs, I have traveled along almost the very same path.
12. Thus, having firmly established myself in good standing here, and having taken up the courage to speak, I first consider (for reason demands that one who is lacking should first put aside his deficiency as much as he can and treat things in order); for it happens that for so many and such great [deeds] for God
those who have laid down their souls and sweated in the greatest contests—some with wounds and blood from their athletic striving, others in different ways through asceticism—it happens that the flow of fragrant oil is not bestowed as an honor upon all, but on certain ones, measuredly, and whom it is possible for me to recount by number. Among these is that which is the singular report of this whole world of ours, and moreover its brightness. There circulates indeed an ancient account, establishing the release of the bond of the one who was in need [as being due] to the purity of his life and to his mercy, in which—to speak in supreme terms of the athlete—he was excellent, and he obtained from God the flow of fragrant oil as a reward. This account is indeed solemn, opening certain veins from which the good of the fragrant oil itself also B streams forth; but for me, the inquiry did not entirely cease. For while these good things—I mean the purity in life and the mercy—shone forth in myriads upon myriads, the sending forth of the fragrant oil was not bestowed upon all as an honor.
13. One must therefore seek also to discover the hidden secret of this resolution. And perhaps even this is not outside of what is appropriate, namely that it was decreed from on high that the miracle should occur in a timely manner in the places and for the persons among whom such treasures are stored. For it was necessary that those servants of His, sent to God from the beginning, should be accompanied by a sign of this kind for their glorious burial, or even in subsequent time, that this inheritance of a prodigy should come C to those dwelling nearby, where it was for a good and useful purpose; so that, by a sign suitable for the benefit of the incredulous, the neighbors might be confirmed in divine worship, and the weakness of their reasoning might be given a foundation. Therefore, that extraordinary good was then wrought miraculously, whether simultaneously with the translation [of the relics], or even after it; and once given, it remained, so that by the divine grace the gift might be preserved as irrevocable, and those who believe might be broadened in this way. As faith increased therefrom, through that which men saw as marvelous, and as the fervor of the soul, clinging to God and to divine things, was kindled by the permanence of the miracle and shone forth into something more brilliant, the good was established, preserved for ages, and poured forth eternally.
14. This, then, would be the reasonable explanation for this. It is also likely that those who exude fragrant oil requested such a great favor from God. And this was the work of a magnanimous soul. For just as it behooves a most magnificent king to desire that great things be asked of him by the worthy, and to rejoice when he is entreated, so also, just as much as there is spirit in his subjects, they should not approach him by asking for trifles in a small-minded way, D but rather petition for great things, and whatever might lead to great wonder. Therefore, the saints who are enriched by the fragrant oil know the Lord God, the King of kings, as a generous giver of gifts and a provider of rewards. Hence, they themselves asked that some gift from heaven be added to the gifts of this world, and He granted it. There is no place for envy in the abundance of divine gifts. For there is no cause to ask of any of the saints why he exudes fragrant oil, but rather [to recognize that] apart from this, which
A he possesses, even if he does not abound in oils, he has obtained great benefits in many other ways, the one working miracles in this manner, and another in that, and all in varied ways. Just as if a king, powerful in wealth, were to distribute to some select stones, to others pearls and gold, and to others other things, bestowing multiform gifts upon all alike. Thus, some of those who have served God stand by to provide for the healing of irrational animals, either having requested it themselves or having been challenged to this by men, which indeed appears to us to reveal the excellence of the oil. Others are brought to aim their prayers at the healing of pestilential diseases; others at other things—some B at greater, some at lesser maladies. They rescue sailors from the waves when they are in danger of not sailing on a straight course; they root out toothaches and blunt the sharp pains of the eyes. And most elegant of all, they even give heed to the requests of children, so that nothing of those endowed with reason might be left without providence, but rather that the "chatter of the Greeks"—which describes the power of Providence toward greater things as limited—might be refuted. And if they even return runaway slaves, the servants owe not just gratitude, but thank-offerings and gifts to the master. 15. And thus, whether by being asked, or by their own will from God, those who have been sanctified to Him C exult in such miracles, receiving as a reward for the fear of Him, which they conceived in their innermost being, the saving Spirit conceived from above, and the accompanying operation of miracles. For He does the will of those who fear Him, and He hearkens to their prayer, and there is nothing He does not give to those who ask. The fear, however, must be weighed by the miracle; and the miracle must be taken as the measure of the fear toward God, or to say it another way, the miracle must be weighed against the divine fear, and the miraculous work must be measured against that and understood, just as "his wrath," to speak according to the Psalms, is understood from the fear of God. D For in as much as we fear God, in that same measure do we, by weighing His wrath [in the balance], recognize the unfolding of our own transgressions, those which are not hidden from God. For when we fear [the] punishments for sins, we fully recognize God as the recompenser; but when we fear little, we think Him sluggish and sleeping, and unwilling to rise. Thus, indeed, we also weigh from the miracles the way those saints who are on earth toward God, and how they turned toward God. If, therefore, this is so, the gift of the ointment granted to the martyr must be weighed here against the divine fear, and the equality must be seen and stated with clear reason that, if this is great (and it is truly great), then that fear is so likewise.
16. So much, then, for these matters; and up to this point the dilemma and the questions pertaining to it have been considered. For it is not permitted for us to go further, except as it is given. But from this point on, the miracle must be viewed through another path, where the honor is great, especially through the correspondence of the martyr's sufferings with the Lord's Passion. For there, the piercing of the side and the opening of the wound poured forth blood after the life-giving death. Here also, even if the same thing is not preserved in all respects after the manner of the previous prototype, yet in the wounds, in whatever manner [they may be],
A a sympathy is manifested, in which God who is zealous for it definitely delights; it manifested a likeness of a miracle, which, before all things similar and to all people, brings about unspeakable astonishment. For it is good to see holy water flowing from sacred relics as if from springs, and healing thirsty peoples—in such a way that the spring is described by a cubit, whether by an arm or by some other solid part of the body—and to see what flows from thence running forth as a perennial, outpouring spring, and filling everyone who approaches it, as if a voice were echoing from it, summoning the thirsty to come. B It is also a miracle that fragrant myrrh flows from images, as if oil from the hardest stone. But it is even more wonderful that the divine body is hidden and covered, and yet the tomb is seen to be a river of myrrh for those who wish to draw from it, satisfying them. The one who floods in Lycia with outpourings of myrrh performs these miracles, as does the wise virgin martyr whom God planted as a living shoot on Mount Sinai, and many others, both men who shone like the sun in virtue, and women. And our protectant saint surpasses in the abundance of this myrrh those who do not possess it; but as for those who do possess the wealth of the myrrh, when compared to him, he boasts that which is even more extraordinary in other respects, and in those things where the athletic blood flows forth in fullness and is mingled with the myrrh, setting good upon good and wealth of souls upon wealth.
17. I know indeed that for others who have been consecrated to God such a grace has been awarded after their departure from life, among whom is she who is named for being celebrated, and who, according to true definitions after death—the most paradoxical thing—both served as a martyr and acted as a judge. C But I would be ashamed, by comparing the eternal to that short time, or by measuring the sea with a drop, to act in such a way before all such people.
18. May the wonder-workers listen, in whom rests an accurate confirmation. Our athlete is rich, having obtained from God an incomparable gift, with a great, infinite, and full effusion of myrrh, flowing like the sea at the same time as the blood, and remaining perpetually with the myrrh, manifesting the stability of life. But if at any time the good D superabounds, and the tomb desires to limit the precious thing—the myrrh which, having been emptied, undermines the foundations—it becomes, to speak poetically, a spring leaping up into life, and it runs as if overflowing and gives gifts to those wishing to draw from it. This is another wonder and a revelation of an abyss, leaping up from below, emitting myrrh and dividing it into two parts, into the tomb and into its atria, which "abyss calls to abyss," namely, the one shining forth and existing together with the wonder of the myrrh, with the infinite virtues of the miracles; which abyss it is indeed possible for us to contemplate in another way. For an abyss of waters supports the earth, just as a foundation supports a building; and this abyss, being our foundation, upholds this city of ours. And he who would inquire into the nature of this foundation would be foolish.
19 A Yet in this way, the good of the holy vessel of ointment poured forth is something new, so that this entire glory of the martyr is not enclosed within, but shines forth even to the outside, a herald showing the good that is within. And even if it is drawn out and placed into an alabaster jar, it does not desire to remain by itself, but overflows and streams forth, so that other vessels are filled as well, from which the same good likewise springs forth, flowing from these into others, these also fair, and being multiplied by succession. And it was absolutely necessary that it should happen this way. For the grace that commanded that first ointment to grow and multiply instilled the same power into the streams flowing from it; whence it is not only impossible for such a good to fail at the tomb, but it is also decreed that no other vessel should hold fast this impulse of flow. And what did the Lord of the saints not do, who, in favor of the prophet, kept the flask of oil, which was pouring forth the liquid from within, always brimming, and established it as a fountain that forever gushes?
20 B And one who grants himself some leisure for ancient histories might find somewhere a basin discovered in olden times that was full of some liquid, and those who drew from it were carrying it away diligently, yet it suffered no diminution; however, it was not possible for it to undergo such emptying. But to us, that appears as a kind of prodigy. But because eyes in later times did not look upon that sight, but it appeared then at some time, and then being hidden it was extinguished, it leads one to doubt whether the affair was so, and to weigh the confirmation of both cases. But our own prodigy stands manifest: the whole world is before it, all eyes are upon it, and the extraordinary thing is proclaimed throughout the entire earth, and everyone has it before their hands and before their eyes. And with this ointment of the righteous man, they anoint their intellectual heads, finding in this way the means to be gladdened by the summits of actions according to virtue; and with the blood, they seal the spiritual doorposts C according to a divine likeness, through which come both the entrances to contemplation and the advanced progressions toward diligent action. And thus they escape the destroyer, or, as they say, by allowing him to pass by the doors, or by letting him knock into nothingness.
21 This blood and this ointment are tokens of eternal life, and that the martyr has been offered to God as a sweet-smelling incense. These are repaid many times over for the sweat and the blood that he poured forth for Christ; He who repays the presents here adds ten thousand-fold, and adds eternal life. His spirit, having attained the paradise of incorruptible delight, prepares for us a similar grace, as he encounters the Guardian and Cultivator of that undying plantation, and restores to us the ancestral inheritance from which we were cast out by the envy of the devil; but his body itself becomes for us a delight like paradise, not only because of the fair things that we harvest from it as always, but also because in it we behold his magnificent wonders D, both the drip-pings of the ointment and the rivers of blood that boil up almost to abundance, which forever surge, and the spears which we compare to the trees planted by God for the beautiful body of the martyr's temple.
and which fashioned it into a paradise of delight according to the Spirit.
22. Hence we pass to another reflection of a similar kind, even if not quite so magnificent, and we call to mind A the grove in Eden, and the fountains and palms that are there, and we bring forward as a comparison the account of the martyr and of Israel. We see our own peoples of God gathered here, as if in a place sacredly delightful, and resting in this sanctuary of his, which, like plants, the fixed spears have adorned; and there are fountains flowing like rivers, also myrrh and blood, the fountainous outpouring of which, rising as if from the abyss of a perfume-box, waters the whole face of the earth. For there is nowhere that the good does not become distributable, running along with the sun, and reaching everywhere in the inhabited world. This place and river of God can be called, in the Davidic manner, not full of waters which wander in vain, but one pouring out B salutary waters, by which the thirsty are spiritually refreshed.
23. It is open to us, O martyr, to speak in another way, as the ancient killers of the saints once said: "His blood be on us and on our children." They who are of the world are mindful of the things of the flesh; they who are outside the world are mindful of spiritual things. For by this, as if by a certain sign, we are shown the divine fold, and we are strengthened and multiplied in fruitfulness; thy blood, like a scarlet curtain, purples this thy temple no less than it once touched the ancient tabernacle according to the law. It is not for thee to say with David: "What profit is there in my blood, that I go not down to corruption?" For let everyone who draws from it have to say: in whom, receiving profit, he departs C better, sanctified in both flesh and blood, quickened in life, taking up all the good he needed to obtain, and finding it. Or how could any weakness boast against this work, as if to say the martyr’s earthly part was a sterile thing, since he has opened not merely vast meadows, but also miracle-flowing springs?
24. These, too, are mysteries, not from afar, but established as very close to the life that is there, final and eternal. Whence, they say, shall there be for the resurrected bodies the power of coalescing, where there is no influx of food? The martyr solves the difficulty. Whence, he says, to me this vivifying effusion of blood? From God. Thence, therefore, the sensible man will also reflect: "The Lord abhors men of blood." Such is the race of tyrants who unjustly shed blood, and especially D when it is shed for Christ. Therefore, the Lord abhors them too. If this is so, He also vindicates the blood that has been shed, and judging in the manner in which He decrees, He so disposes and provides that He makes the martyr’s blood return to his body, whether in our times (which is wonderful), or in eternal times (which is most wonderful); a thing which befits our martyr in particular, who labored well for God and gave testimony concerning eternal life. For it was not fitting that he should be exempt from death who remained under the law of nature, whereby both to be bound and
to be loosed and to await the second indissoluble bond must come to pass; yet to return to life again after death, this indeed is set above the limits of the resurrection. Thus, the intermediate lot is ordered in a certain way: the body lies in the tomb—this is of death; yet blood gushes forth—this is the symbol of life. In a way, this is both a falling and a resurrection: a falling, by reason of death according to nature; a resurrection, by reason of the superabundance of blood, which is above nature.
B 25. This blood, this ointment, is powerfully effective against all manner of evils. Pains bite; and these [ointments] are applied, and that which causes pain departs; and somehow the sharpness of the pain is shamed, and those sharp lances, which, having been fixed in the body of the victorious martyr, opened up a beautiful river, are turned back. Wounds are torn open, which death approaches closely, gaping with open mouth. But if it be smeared with the ointment, death flees—just as with animals, as many as flee, driven wild by the scent of ointment—and the wound turns into a scar, and the body settles into wholeness. And thus, the moisture of the martyr’s wounds, springing forth, carries away human ailments, not only alleviating the burdensome, but also completely transforming that which is painful.
26. These things are forged, as it were, into arms that fight against the enemies of God. Many, therefore, carrying such things on their breast from those of the martyr, have learned the power that issues from there, overshadowing them in works on the day of battle. For a violent arrow was aimed at them, and it drew near, and it wanted to glance off and [yet] reach within, and somehow even to pass through, as is the case with things struck through; but it was turned aside, and it recoiled empty. For it was not right that the gift of the victor should have been carried off by the lesser. And a shield, C indeed, even one itself many times folded and strong by the union of materials, as if of the hides of seven oxen, failed under the missiles, but the simple garment, enclosing in the bosom of the martyr the treasure, did not succumb to the weapons.
27. And thus the martyr, who was covered in many wounds for the sake of the Savior Christ, does not only help those who are endangered by wounds, but he also crushes with ten thousand evils those who inflict such blows; and just as he does with the missiles, so does he also bring to naught their councils and deeds, and allows those who were already in their hands as prey to escape. The barbarian warriors know these things, and the other tribes, D as well as the tribe of Hagar, and they fear this incorporeal assistant, and they are terrified, and they wail frequently, and they find soothing offerings, calling upon him with prayerful words, entreating him, and offering graces—such as those of this kind would devise—depicting his likeness in an image, doing everything for the sake of propitiation. And they hesitate to pay heed to those torments by which the martyr was taken off by death, but they revere him who suffered. This was brought about by God, so that he might bring thanks to the martyr. For he is not confounded by those who exhibit wonders, but he grants even greater things to be performed for those who serve him. And these are the accounts of the barbarians, as many as...
A sant; but while refraining from doing good, they are nevertheless not carried away into insults, nor do they break out into harsh and manifest curses, nor do they spew forth bitter injuries, nor do they decline into more serious matters, but they present themselves more civilly to those who are suffering.
28. Not long ago, we saw the martyr’s temple filled with captives—the Agarene tribe had taken them captive; they were captives from the eastern region of upper Paphlagonia, which the Euxine Sea encircles; who, having been saved, poured forth prayers, which alone they had to offer in thanksgiving to the martyr who had released them. For, having been stripped of everything necessary for life, only their lives remained. And the men used to recount what had happened to them: how the onset of war had turned the fortune of battle not in their favor but against them; their bonds; their abduction, and that to a place very far away (for Babylon among the Persians was their dwelling); B the anguish in prison; the pious prayers with which they besought the martyr; the hunger by which they were tormented; the fasts—those indeed against their will, but the latter they encouraged one another to keep. For the race of Agar was driving them to the punishment of hunger, and hunger threw open to them an entrance of consolation. But since in this, too, it was well with them, they overcame the wickedness of the barbarians with an unresisting spirit, and receiving little of the strictly weighed food, they would subtract something even from that, and thus, reducing themselves to thinness, and as if lifted up by the wings of prayers, they flew to God; their mouth, indeed, was closed to the reception of food, but it was filled from above with honey. These things, therefore, the captives used to set forth in their narrative. And when it was night, and they were not only standing outside the prison, but their station was far removed from the city by long distances, surrounded by stones, open and exposed on all sides to every tree and shrub; they, however, did not know this, but supposed that they were staying on firm ground. When first the day dawned and the lamp of the sun lit up everything, then they learned that they were released from custody, nor could they learn to what place they had been abducted. Fear, therefore, and trembling possessed them again, lest they be subjected again to servitude, and they prayed concerning the liberation, lest perhaps there might still be a necessity for them to be bound and, having tasted a little sweetness, be seized by greater bitterness. Meanwhile, the voice of the newcomers sounded from behind, the clamor of the barbarians and voices not welcome: fear held their souls, C the earth held their bodies. Each one hid himself in the evident fissures of the rocks, not one by one, but many, more or less ten; not as their counsel D had been, but because it was not possible to be gathered otherwise in the hidden place (for the rocks were open with small fissures), nor to be divided for flight (for the clamor signified that the enemies were already rushing in), not because there was hope of being saved (for nothing like a cave was hollowed out, nor did a grove on either side spread a shadow that warded off the light from the eyes of those searching, since they could not even be hidden with their whole body; but they did what could be done, like animals for whom, when a stronger beast pursues, it is permitted to hide merely the head, as if thus all their limbs might be in safety. These were the helps of those in despair. They lay, therefore, according as each...
A fall had shaped him, and as fear, having impeded them, cast them down—perhaps even as if they had buried themselves in a self-made tomb, praying even to open up the abyss for themselves. Upon these the foreigners stand. And O the wondrous miracle! A darkness before their eyes, according to the tangible [darkness], for the hiding of those who were beseeching the martyr; or rather, it was not darkness, but a turning aside of their gaze; and yet not even this, but a pillar, I think, of cloud, filling the gaps of the ravine, causing those who were huddled there to escape notice, and, like hares having fled into rocks, to be hidden from those who were tracking them with such keenness. Many B hours were measured out, and the dogs did not have the quarry they were seeking. And so, having sufficiently worn out the feet of their horses in vain, they grew weary, and stood in terror, casting their eyes everywhere over that ground. And they seemed to be contemplating how to find matters further, searching out searches, until a man put an end to their fruitless toils, having looked down into the depth of the matter of truth, and having perceived that what had occurred was divine; who both said that they were toiling in vain in pursuing those whom they were not permitted to overtake, and were laying hands on things beyond comprehension. And he added that he would say, mixing it with philosophy… [Desunt multa...]
C 29. ...being thinned out into an immaterial existence, so that not only may they themselves be with the God who is above all, but may also lift others up above the earth; and thus far they cause them to be exalted, then indeed also to persist on earth again without deficiency. And thus, truly, it happened to him who bears the darkness, and to the prophets and apostles around him, and to whomever else among those who know the almighty God it befell to be lifted up and promoted to higher things, in as much as He who raises up on high has sustained them; they rejoice, seeing the beauty multiplied and heaven filled with men, so that the ether is no longer called deserted; by which flight, lifted up, they become as it were heavenly inhabitants, proceeding through the air. But if those who are freed are lifted on high as if by saving horses, seeming to be brought up together with the saving martyr, this too is another most wondrous thing, leading to D intellectual fantasies, such as many things deep and profound have shone forth to the blessed men of ancient times.
30. Of all these things whose narration is pleasing, if any of the listeners should seek ancient examples among us, I for one would not object. But long books, such as those that exist from the wise concerning these things, would not love the task. For it is not fitting to revolve what has been beautifully elaborated. But if the book of our mind is filled with what has already been said and is straitened by its narrations, we nevertheless send forth a final refrain, elaborating for the pleasantness of the hearing. For why should we tread in the footsteps of others, when the path of our discourse is not straitened and narrowed, but is broadened into the expanse of a sea?
A Yesterday, then, and the day before, so that we might permit a small drop of the flow of written work within us to trickle out for the sake of demonstration, a military man—one who had long since been crushed in his physical frame and prevented from standing upright, to the extent that he was bent double and had to proceed on all fours for a considerable time like a grazing beast—ceased indeed to drag himself upon the earth; yet, having been raised to health at the time when it was altogether desirable for the martyr, he whom the infirm man had been persistently rolling before, being now completely restored, flew off; though he was caught by oversight, and had a complaint that, appearing before our eyes for a long time and provoking pity, he then, after his recovery, departed without having B spoken words as he should have, as though the wing of health and the longing for his homeland had snatched away the man who set everything in second place.
B 32. For such is, as someone said, a joy outside and beyond expectations, which suddenly breathing upon one, transports the one who rejoices; and he forgets everything around him, while he directs himself to one thing alone, the good which is before his eyes and in which this good comes to pass. And that the spontaneous sorrow which corresponds to such a good also does not preoccupy the sorrowful person with many things, but draws him to the one material evil of the immediate affliction, is something that can be understood by analogy.
C 33. But let this, having been introduced in this way, be said by me. I hold in very high regard that which concerns the martyr in my discourse: how the illumination of the divine Spirit, shining upon him and dissipating what obstructed him by nature, made the light of foreknowledge flash forth. For having purified his soul through chastity and whatever other goods history has handed down, he looked forward into the future, and this was the prophecy of him who, having raked through the meaning of Scripture, found immense honor in his own homeland; and he is not without honor there, but is called by a name of exceeding honor everywhere in the world.
D 34. And who is it in whose example for this discourse, Nestor, the prophetic discourse of our own discerning martyr resides, as if engraved upon a stele? And having been fulfilled, it reached its end. For he himself, as was foretold, fell defeated before the victor, and he himself lay a victorious athlete for the sake of Christ, where also the reward of the prophecy was fine for Demetrius. For the division of the prizes and the communion of the shedding of blood for the sake of God is just as it is for the athletes and of the heavenly blessedness. For the noble Nestor, in his martyrdom, had not learned to conceal his institutor and master. But neither had he learned that this was the desire of his teacher, and otherwise it seemed that envy would smolder if he, while ascending to heaven, did not take along his companion in the way, his own trainer. Indeed, not much time intervened. The disciple went up onto the heights, leaving the earthly weight below; but the master followed, treading in his footsteps, having the chosen lot of being himself distinguished by a variety of a thousand wounds, and just as he excelled in the outpouring of speech and wisdom, so too did he excel in countless wounds and in the multitude of the holes in his body. For those tyrants, desiring, as I suppose, to be sated by the very flesh of the martyrs,
A hesitated to use their teeth for cannibalism; yet, in another way, they cured that hesitation with lances hammered into sharp points. And the body of the martyr, being bitten in this way, was loosened from the integrity of its formation, and lay exposed to the multitude of the lances; everyone was ambitious to plunge a spear into him, hunting for this sweet prey for the tyrant. They not only searched through all the martyr’s bones along his sides, but they also crushed them. They dug out the veins of blood; and they did not burrow as into a well, but opened it up like a river. If they dug for a treasure in a different fashion, they themselves, according to the proverb, found coals, but the faithful found saving riches; yet this came to pass, while they, acting perversely, were digging. But what were the pains he suffered there compared to the later miracles? His flesh was filled with wounds, but his mouth with songs to God. Blood flowed down; but he considered these things as though it were the dye of a royal purple, for the blossom of the dye flowed forth as if from a certain murex of the martyr’s body, and he prayed that the beauty of this purple cloak would remain, and that it would never fall away from the beauty. And the prayer ascended, and God nodded assent, and the beauty was ratified. And behold, it remains permanent. He was immersed in the sweat and blood of his martyrdom, with which *having been washed he fell asleep in a blessed sleep, whose awakening is a rousing to delightful everlasting life.* And as much as this flowed out, so much did he pour out his prayer to God, that He might not overlook these things. He offered up an appeal; and, having been heard by the ear of God, he possesses what he requested, because it is not possible for the prayer of a righteous man to go ineffective. The tyrants were laboring to expel the martyr’s soul from his body more quickly; but he prayed for it to remain, and not to be released, so that the enemies of God, in their rage, might harm themselves. B C
35. Furthermore, would not the wicked-scheming demon also be exposed from this, knowing nothing, if he were to devise certain fears for such noble, intrepid, and stout-hearted men, seeking to restrain them from the struggle, and holding out the scorpion as a projectile of trepidation, wishing to obstruct the divine course of him who was running so strongly and nimbly toward the struggle, and leaping over the snares of the enemy like a gazelle? Why do you meditate on these things, O inventor of malice? Why do you attempt infantile terrors against one who is bravest among the valiant? Why do you compete to extinguish the vast fire of fortitude with a drop of cooling fear? A stinging scorpion, when it pricks, does not inject such cold fluid as to dampen the coals of his zeal toward God, which were burning with the hottest faith. If very many lances fixed in the martyr with sharp points could not loosen him from his stout-heartedness, would the sting of a scorpion force that noble-minded man to think something ignoble? It seems to me, O divine and wise audience, that the one acting tyrannically had been devised by a greater incitement of tortures than the demon who is the master of wickedness, from whom that ruler had taken his spirit. For the one who had learned to be a tyrant more nobly fixed lances into the martyr for the departure of his life; but he who sharpened the scorpion’s sting against him did not—
A prove to be very harmful at all, nor even a skilled opponent. He had indeed labored in vain, both in his intentions and now in his deliberations, whether he devised such an evil for the sake of fear or for death. For the scorpion—be it the devil’s sting or his dart—did not terrify the athlete; rather, it lay there dead. Here, it occurs to those who are more fervent to laugh at the things in which the cunning one, so wise in wickedness, played like a child. For it was surely in ignorance that he devised his schemes, and he was ignorant in both respects: whether the scorpion might afflict the saint with some evil, or whether the martyr might suffer any fear at the artifice. And he himself B might have called the scorpion a great power of his own, profanely using the divine utterance, perhaps indeed swelling it up to a great size, just as the ancients also write of Orion, or some other, whom those who dare all things also raised up into heaven; whence also, by striking his beast, he goaded the sting, made the venom more active, and inflamed it into intense motion, warmed by hopes that he would perhaps either terrify the athlete and persuade him to think some ignoble thought—which was by no means fitting for one who trusted in God—or else, by stinging him, would lay him low most ignobly, deprive him of his wrestling, and make him inferior to Nestor; for if he indeed brought down Lyaeus, who was so great, and Demetrius became the work of this animal, [then he would have succeeded]. C But he who acted foolishly at the beginning, and remained such to the end toward those who think rightly and according to God, fell into his own counsels. For he had not the sense to consider lions being set upon the saints of God in crowds, yet remaining idle when it came to harming them; nor bears clothed in horror, snapping and gasping as if at the wind; nor to look at other beasts, some of which proved incapable of bringing harm to the servants of God, some of which lay dead, and others which were brought into servile labor, or were otherwise dulled in the keenness of their ferocity and softened into tameness. Paul also suffered the bite of a viper; but, shaking it off, he applied the divine calling as an antidote, and the wound was healed. Therefore, for Demetrius there was no fear of danger; for having been stung, it fell to his lot to escape unharmed, and it also fell to his lot to escape the wound completely. But he made use of a greater miracle. For that he should have been wounded brought joy to the demon and to the demon-possessed tyrant; D but that he should not be allowed to be touched—which was a greater prodigy—but that the demon’s fosterling should be killed, was the greatest of all. For that the beast should live at all, without approaching the martyr, was not a great prodigy; but that it should lie dead, full of the demon—this was truly a thing of wonder, and much more so. For it was not by any bodily instrument, but by an incorporeal one—by the sign of the cross made with his fingers, launched like a select dart—that he caused the organ of the demon to lie idle; and by casting down this small underling of the terrible wrestler, he at the same time threw down that great trainer as well. And he who lay in wait with the force of a creeping animal, intending to subdue so heavenly a soul, was mocked by him, since he who is esteemed as so great appears in the form of a tiny creature, showing that he has fallen as a reptile from on high, and thus demonstrating the lowliness of his power, and that he has no ones whom he can openly, and as they say, to their face, harm the servants of God.
A For just as whoever examines this also perceives it as not alien to nature, so has the great beast made this kindred little creature, which is at one with it in its smallness, its own. For the scorpion offers no harm from its face or its mouth, but carries its deadly poison situated at the very tip of its tail. And the demon casts forth the leading parts of his counsels, so to speak, before the eyes and openly, carrying no harm in them, but anointing them with the ointment of pleasure by which most of us are flattered; but he carries the destruction at the back and in the end, involving the simpler person in the trap of Hades, leading them astray at the beginning and concealing the fear, but in the end overcoming them for slaughter—not by front-line struggles, but, as one might say, by the work of the tail.
36. Let this suffice for us. But there is also that sophistic trick of the crafty inventor of error: to conceal his apparent phantasms, while wishing to have the staging of his plot be persuasive and to outshine the truth. For to conjure up fear, even if it is great, does not have much power to stun a person who thinks soundly. For the soul judges that the truth does not coincide with a phantasm. But that which is truly terrifying—even if it is presented in a small matter—procures a greater fear among those who are truthful. For this reason, the author of illusions did not cause a dragon to appear, such as he has often supplied in other instances. For it would not have seemed a local evil, but the very sight would have been proven to be merely phantasmagoric. B Nor did he send forth a lion, or anything of that sort, into battle (for where is the thicket there, to hide and reveal such things?), but rather a scorpion—a native evil, and one that for the most part sleeps and is bred in such places—whence he thought he would not be mistaken, but would introduce the evil according to the truth. But if the creature is not by nature great, nor such as to be able to terrify one who remains composed, yet it is possible for us to imagine it as having, contrary to its nature, stood out in size, as if swollen by an unclean spirit; and having outstretched its claws like long hands—which someone might cleverly attribute to another similar animal—and having its legs on either side raised beyond measure, walking frequently, running competitively, C and brandishing its stinger as a long javelin beyond measure, intended to strike terror. And that was a storehouse of poison, as much as the beast had treasured up for the wealth of death by nature, and as much as the demon funneled into it, adding evil to evil. And he quickly mixed in a certain horrific, ash-grey and black color, which distinguishes such animals, and it varied into others, so that it might even rush headlong like the cowardly chameleon, to the astonishment of those standing by. Matters stood thus, when the athlete’s hand twisted the venerable weapon D and they were no more; for he who had breathed this into it fled, and that which had been breathed upon lay lifeless. And the common enemy, having foolishly taken the creature as his weapon against him, brandished his own strength, as they say, failing against the adversary-martyr. But he, from here and there, again and again, with his tool
⟨...and it lay breathless. And the common enemy, finding the beast as a weapon at his feet, armed it in such a manic fashion, as they say, for he let loose his own instrument against the opposing martyr. A And again, on the other hand, having utilized an instrument ready at hand, namely the sign of the Cross, he left the beast lying dead, as well as the one who had put it on for the sake of terrifying, for he had devised this as a covering, as if someone lurking in a wolf-skin or a fox-skin might wish to terrify the fearless man in the manner of a bogeyman, as a terror against the unshakable one.
37. But let the scorpion now lie there, having been thus dealt with by us. Let us, however, return to the praises of the great-souled martyr’s bravery. The unshakable martyr lay like a rock, B exposed to the strikes of spears, and unshaken in his faith toward God, washed not by waves, but by blood. And while they struck repeatedly, they were blunted. But he was in his prime, and knowing no dulling, in the way he had sharpened himself to be most cutting against error. The enemy tallied the blows he dealt to the martyr against those he received himself, and he was thus entirely wounded. And as he acted, he could not bear the suffering! He was shooting at heaven, and hurling javelins at the martyr’s body, as if he might yield and suffer in favor of impiety. The beast that delights in blood, the all-devouring one, could not rejoice even in the martyr’s lot. For those things were supposed to provide him with some pleasure, but he was instead choked by them. And at having a vein severed, or otherwise suffering a noble wound, and seeing it gushing blood, one is turned pale and suffers cowardice, having lost his natural redness. But he, C though being entirely drained of his vital force, not only suffered nothing ignoble, but as if blushing with beauty, was honored with manliness.
38. It seemed also that he was as Mount Zion, and as the fat mountain of God, elevated above the things below by his upright and tall frame of mind, flourishing with all kinds of good things like plantings, the fruit of which is given in its season—and already then by the spears that were stuck in him—gushing forth living waters, the streams of blood, with which the perfumes also flowed out to those approaching. He considered himself as bread, into which the enemies of God cast the wood of which the spears were fashioned; yet they did not hide it, so as to lead him away from the table of God. He first poured forth rivers of teachings, and swept away those in heresies; he also poured forth rivers of blood, and washed those possessed by demons. Not so does a multi-mouthed rock D vomit forth water stored within, nor does an aqueduct constructed with many holes by human ingenuity project the pressed-out water, as the copious blood flowed from the sides of the martyr, gushing forth from many spears.
39. The tyrant was grieved that the blood of Lyaius had been shed; and he sought vengeance twice for the same, and somewhere he even said it was welcome, that two might be condemned for one, but it turned out otherwise. For with these two lying there, Demetrius and Nestor, the legion of demons was confounded, and the tyrant was struck a mortal blow, and his companions suffered the same. Leeches would do more harm to someone by sucking out the vital force than these spears, which mock the martyr's blood. With pains...⟩
A they measured out the reward of the hope that was to be, according to God. He who had conducted himself bravely against bodiless spirits, and who had labored as one who had no body, did not know how to spare flesh and blood. The martyr even desired that his whole body be pierced with such spears, so that he might bear the wounds of Christ throughout it all; but because this did not happen, he rejoiced in the imitation of his Master through the piercings of his sides, and he said it was desirable if the disciple should become like his teacher, and the servant like his master. He professed gratitude to Nestor, who had pointed this out to him, and who had stoked the tyrant's rage even more, and hastened his departure to God. And he returned thanks, that he had received such valuable instruction from him. He measured out graces with the spears; he counted the rewards of learning by the wounds. And if he should die, persevering most steadfastly, yet this was for him the head of all good things. B He prayed, moreover, that the servant Lupus should not be put to shame in his life's service, but should take up counsel that would save his soul. And let the prayer here be finished, and let him follow, just as he himself followed the initiate Nestor, so that the servant might follow the master; so that not even in death, but rather having crossed over to a newer and endless life, should they be parted from one another, but dwelling together in the place of paradise, they should not be ashamed of their fair state, the one being taught, the other his teacher, the one serving, the other his master; and let those who apply their minds to divine things learn from this, that a serious man would not cultivate those who are unlike him, or otherwise lead them to intimacy. For both his companion Nestor and his servant Lupus were God-beloved to Demetrius, and therefore the same end of the course according to God befell them, having finished the race victoriously, C the outcome of which is a life together in paradise.
40. If the athlete, in the abundance of all good things in life, excelled both the disciple and the servant, so too did he have [such abundance] with the miracles after his martyrdom. Flesh nurtured and blood increased by the influx of external food shall not inherit the kingdom of God. But this flesh, torn by martyrdom for the sake of God, and this blood, poured out from the very bones like water, to speak with the Psalmist, both attained the blessed inheritance, and, I say confidently, to us who occupy ourselves with the martyr’s deeds, they produce a similar good. How, then, was the martyr’s flesh, like some rich and choice earth—having already received the casting of good seed, when plowed by the plow of the apostolic teachings, D and having been irrigated by the sweat and blood flowing abundantly from it, and upon both accounts for God’s sake, and cultivated by the frequent piercing of spears—not meant to be like a vigorous field with crops growing lushly on all sides, and to yield for us a life-saving harvest for those wishing to reap it, since even the chlamys spread over that holy body, and participating in the grace flowing from it, becomes a sanctification to those who approach it?
41. And the ring, which adorned the athlete’s
hand, was a participant in the same grace, and it also draws the listener to admiration of it, being marked by many things: first, that it was a symbol indicating that the athlete rejoiced in those sufferings in which he was a witness to the greatest and foremost martyr of truth. Indeed, even in the contests themselves he did not cast off and lay aside the ornament of his hand, but by his outward joy displayed that which was within. And it was necessary for him to conduct himself in such a way, remaining unshaken in matters where many falter. For if it pleased many of those of old—courageous souls indeed, though dwelling outside our holy fold—when they happened to fall into the most terrible straits, not only to shed no tear, nor to scar their cheek, nor to open their mouth with a groaning word, nor to change the joy of their countenance, but to be adorned as if for a bridal chamber, and to strengthen the soul in patience, and the body in the elegance of its bearing, and thus to be compared to fearful things; then how much more was it necessary for him who was to be exalted to the place of delight for the sake of God to enter into the terrible torments inflicted by men with joy? This, then, is one venerable aspect of the ring, not according to the fable of the one that hides Gyges as if in shadow, and makes him vanish, and again reveals him, but a ring such as this radiates light, especially to those who have been empowered by God to perform wonders, and enriches its wearer with the same grace. B
42. From this there appeared also another similar dignity. For a soul betrothed to God, and already being joined to Him, and becoming a companion of the indissoluble bridal chamber there—which the purest Bridegroom of souls ordained, and which angels, having spread the curtains most decorously, prepared—rightly bears such a ring, placed upon the finger as a symbol of the betrothal according to the Spirit. And if, in the circular and encompassing nature of its shape, there was also a type of the martyr’s crown, this would not be without significance in our discourse, as it is worthy for the martyr to be crowned in every way, a type of which is the crown-like shape of the ring. One might also say that it bears a sign of the constraints of the prison and of the strangulation of the athlete. Venerable, too, is the seal of such a ring, inscribed as it is in a manner befitting it, and worthy of other things by its wearing. For these things clearly indicated both the dignity of the martyr and the secure seal of the divine grace derived from it, of which the one who steals the treasures of souls can never boast. Hence, as if by the finger of God, so also by this ring, demonic hordes are driven out; by this truly divine finger, that is to say, by the power of the divine Spirit. C
43. For as a vessel in which some good thing is kept cannot but be a participant in either its fragrance or some other virtue, so neither can a divine covering, wherever it may be placed upon a part of the body in which God has dwelt, fail to participate in the grace of that which it covers. Thus have the sacred semicinctia been filled with a more divine grace; thus do the sandals of the saints lead those who wander far from health, and who are troubled by the rougher path of life, back to the level and straight path according to nature; and the staves of men D
A sanctified to God thus become rods of power. A cloak covered the holy head; while it indeed laid aside human things, that which remained with it keeps and preserves the abundance of miracle-working. A melota clothes the holy body; and when he ascends to God, it itself is renewed, producing more miracles than while he was living, in that it never unlearns the beautiful things which it once learned. A discourse of this kind, having taken up the ring of the martyr from his athletic body, causes it to abound in miracles; so that, just as the finger is surrounded [by the ring], so also the ring surrounding it may, as in a communication, work wonders. And he leads the cloak also through the same good, since God by all means grants that such wonders happen, he who is glorified in his saints and does wonders and multiplies powers. Or how else could a soulless cloak be carried to have energy against diseases, or otherwise work wonders—such as, among other things, the river which a storm had rendered raging, and whose flooding billows it calmed, splitting it by division so that he who brought it as a protection for his journey might easily find a way, having passed over on dry shoes B to the opposite side?
44. This ring, being surely of precious material, through which the law—abounding in figures—signifies God and divine things, and by this and by its circular shape, typified the circle of the most divine virtues, with which it crowned the athlete as if with a chaplet, and indicated also the restraint and the tightness which he endured through life; not wandering outside of reason, nor dissolute and intemperately loose and soft, but reflecting within himself, strict and confining himself and restraining himself from dilation in delights on account of the torrent of pleasure, in which it is a sin for anyone to stand who has not walked along the narrow way of God; just as the narrative account does not establish as one of the Fortunate Isles him who C has not passed through the very narrow strait of Gades from the Hesperian Sea, if it is necessary to elucidate the greatest things by the smallest in passing.
45. These things, then, are new and such as to strike with astonishment one who correctly approaches them. But that the martyr also appearing in dreams should accomplish as much as he might have done while living, demands even greater wonder. For the wonder is no longer of the body, or of some member of the body from which power going forth works wonders; but this is something else, beyond all things stupendous. Nor yet is this new, by the divine will. For if the shadows of the apostles worked miracles, these things which occur in dreams do not fall outside the same category of wonder-working (for the things in dreams are, as it were, shadows of what is in reality), if indeed one may dare to call such divine and most solid things shadows. For what is so D substantiated and firm and stable and strong, as that which is able to lift from the earth a whole man, and this man for the most part weighted down by iron armor, such as the visions of the martyr are, as the discourse following upon this has taught, in which he lifts from the earth those deemed worthy of such
A exaltation and might confidently boast, I understand why their joy is mingled with fear. For indeed they rejoice that they are carried off from the land of their enemies and are returning to their own people; but they are disturbed, laboring with vertigo because of the great height above the things seen below. And while joy, affecting them, seems to lift up these nimble men, fear indeed, pressing upon them, seeks to weigh them down and cast them down as if into death; for though they traverse the air and, in walking, look down upon the things that happen upon the earth, they lack confidence in the miracle, but inquire whether wings have grown for them. Since, however, this is no place for fearing and trembling about a prosperous outcome, such anguish of soul is very reasonable. For if it was displeasing to the great disciple to cast himself into the water, terrified by the waves, who would rashly lift himself into the air, knowing that water is more solid than air?
46. But there are in such things also differences in the martyr, as though the convenience of delight were mingled with the miracles in such a varied way. For some, having taken them up on high from their captivity, he then places down upon the earth and leaves them to be wearied by the journey. For thus he judged it to be profitable that they should not be restored to their own without labor, but that they should procure their remaining salvation with toil, and recognize from what they had fallen into what. Others, however, having lifted them up B through the entire interval and snatched them away from the barbarians, he allows to tread upon no other ground but their own, so that they may taste no toil, but in a single bound traverse such a long journey through the air, as if sailing across the sea without hindrance. Many, indeed, he also settles in this his own temple, so that there, before others, they might be witnesses of the miracle.
47. This man is so great and possesses such power over the diffusion of the air; whom would he not easily snatch away whenever he might wish? How could he not also command the winds, threaten lightning, and, as for rains, restrain those that are gathering where and when there is no need for them, and yet pour them out when requested? For all these reasons it is to be prayed that he should guide us, he who does good in all things, who is borne as if swimming upon perfumes, and likewise upon miracles, and considers the whole world and is celebrated in every place of God’s dominion, C as one who followed the divine commands and is celebrated everywhere on earth, and has his own praises conjoined with the praises of the Lord.
48. He loves this of his own especially, and no indifference toward it is detected even in the least things. If the Lord loves the gates of Sion more than all the tabernacles of Jacob, and dwells there in His own tabernacle, we too, having transferred from thence in a similar way the laudable majesty toward this his tabernacle, may find that the discourse is enriched in a manner very conformable to reason. He sees the place in which he proposes something other than the evangelical precept.
A 49. The pitiless ones visited him in prison, and gave no bread to the hungry; rather, they changed the very bread of God into wood for him, as we have already seen in the discourse. Nor did they give drink to the thirsty; on the contrary, they withdrew from him all vital moisture. And the venerable one, seeing these things, becomes illustrious through them. Because of love he endures imprisonment, whereby, like a lamp placed under a bushel, he was hidden for a time, then appeared and illuminated the whole world. The bath of his incarceration also pours forth, a symbol of the washing by blood, and the vaults as well, as if marking out the heavenly arch into which he ascended through martyrdom. There, contemplating himself as a grape of the true vine of our Savior God—a grape already ripe, even at the harvest—he considers the enclosure of the prison as a winepress, and the blood flowing from him as the must drained by those who rushed in tyrannically, which even to this day does not cease to spring forth, gladdening the hearts of men, as we say with David, and inviting them to enjoy it. That blood accuses the killers, but delights the faithful. For not only does the voice of Abel’s blood carry a cry from the earth to the Most High, but this martyr’s blood also cried out at that time against the tyrant in accusation, and now it cries out with a challenging voice to the astonishment and veneration of the faithful people, and to their possession of it, as it produces salvation for both soul and body.
B 50. These and the other venerable things, of which if anyone wished to make a catalogue he would be compelled to write books, establish the martyr as the protector of his fatherland; which he has not in the least abandoned, nor has he left behind even the smallest relics of his body. This mystery was revealed to us by those who dug into the sacred martyrial sarcophagus to take up some relic, or rather, to find the precious treasure; but, restrained by a more reverent fear, and hearing that it is not fitting to be over-wise, they ceased, and thus learned that this is an inviolable and hidden treasure of God. From this I am pleased to celebrate the magnanimous and venerable martyr. For it is indeed beautiful for him to be handed from hand to hand among many, and to be present in many places through the division of his relics, and to produce the fruits of salvation sown and abundantly poured forth in many places, and not to be straitened or circumscribed C into one. But he who was consecrated by the divine unction, destined to be distributed everywhere, and who received the command to save as many as should receive him, chose to remain in integrity, to remain whole and intact in the midst of all those among whom he accomplished his martyrdom, helping them; and [he chose] not only to be lacking in none of his members which the seal of martyrdom confirmed, but also to abound. Therefore, nothing of the athlete’s body failed him; and the blood remained in perpetuity, and the unction was added moreover—a surplus of those things which the martyr rightly lent to God in return. But if ten thousand other athletes, who endured the battles of the Lord or pious exercises, allowed themselves to be divided limb by limb by those reverently cutting them, and to be stored up in many ways for salvation,
and partitioned out in the smallest parts for a blessing to those who derive profit from them; such was their will. But it is the will of our martyr that nothing of his own should be shattered or torn apart, but that he should preserve his natural structure. And indeed, it was more honorable that good things should go forth from him, as from some apostles, whether ointment or blood, than that he himself should be given over, present in body, to provide what was sought. For the latter is more common, B but the former—to send forth—possesses more dignity and leans toward magnificence; and it inflames the fire of longing in the lovers of martyrs even more, such that they desire to love the martyr’s tabernacle and to enter his courts.
51. And behold, this also helps realize the argument for us which we examined at the beginning, by attributing to the martyr’s soul a sense of honor, from which the grace of the pouring ointment has been desired and, being sought, has been granted by God, and the integrity of nature has been beloved and honored. Along with this, there shines forth both the love of country and the will in the martyr, that he should not become a deserter of his country, neither in his whole being nor in any of his parts, but should remain in the region forever, just as he remains in his form, and preserve his integrity in all things.
52. However, although he thus holds his country dear and belongs wholly to it, we must observe that we do not provoke him to indignation, draw him away from kindness, or discourage him from fighting on our behalf. There is mercy, but there is also great wrath, as was said elsewhere. An example of this war is a mouth that once gaped wide at this city and opened in vain; and again another war that completely reaped the city’s field, beautiful as it was, so that not even the smallest gleaning remained for it. The former was mercy, the latter the turning away of the martyr’s face; the former was an alliance in war, C the latter a desertion. Was this done, or that, without the deliberation of the victorious martyr? Only a fool would think so. For us, he concerns himself as a servant of God and of his own; and just as a mother, treating her most beloved infant with care, drives away annoying flies so that a sweet sleep may envelope him, thus he himself wards off all baneful things, even the most minute, so that we may rest pleasantly. He bestows all things, good things from the air, and from the earth, and from the sea; and for us, he works the health of both body and soul. But if he sees us degenerating, he either casts us into evils, or, when evil comes upon us, he brings no aid, but seems to sleep, and as if sheathing the avenging sword, he permits the war to rage. He allows the terrors of the air to constantly assault us, which he permits to rush upon us. D Nor does he bless the land so that it might yield its good things; and he commands the sea to either bristle up stormily so as to swallow those sailing in its vast whirlpool, or he makes it become impassable to us and unfruitful, and, I dare say, barren. But if pirates also, traversing the sea, plunder our possessions, no one would affirm that this is not the work of a martyr who has turned away from us. Or does Elisha awaken those who take vengeance for some brief sorrow...
A 53. ... so that we do not say more on matters about which others might philosophize, and—not according to our own estimation, for which no one would pay any price, but according to the pinnacle of wisdom—having procured a prayer suitable for those things just spoken concerning the martyr, let us put an end to our discourse and grant you rest.
54. O great victor, martyr of Christ, B you who do not begrudge anyone any of the good things in which a person of truth flourishes; but you who have ascended so high in the nobility of your lineage that it suffices for honor, even if you did not shine forth in any other kind of worldly happiness; and you who are preeminent in beauty, in such a way that anyone possessing it would appear resplendent even if he could not boast of the refinement of his birth; and you who are dignified in speech, which triumphs even over nobility and bodily grace, so that these earthly things are nothing compared to the ethereal realm of your wisdom; and you who are so endowed with both internal and external riches, that you do not want the many who are placed within to bow their heads toward internal glory, but rather to be among the number of the worshippers; you who have obscured and sealed all things with the beauty of your martyrdom; and now, standing before the King of kings, God, and having obtained that supreme rank among the blessed—you who satisfy those who rightfully request things—fulfill every good thing for our Emperor. C Cause the barbarians, being dead by his hand, to lie at his feet like scorpions; and even if they belch forth deadly things, shattering the weapons and the mortal stings which they have raised, crush them, and if any poisonous thing has been instilled by their dead, heal the wounded area with a remedy—just as is the case with the scorpion, which, having once stung to produce death, if it is crushed and applied to the wound, delivers one from the disease. Turn back the lances which they hurl at the Roman ranks and cast them into the hearts of the Emperor's enemies. Hide the earth which they tread under their ruins, as if it were soaked with the blood of those who get drunk. Bestow a peaceful life upon your people. Awaken your power and do not delay in saving us. For the gifts of God in you are complete, and they have not ceased in any way. Therefore, neither cease to do good. O God in Trinity, before Whom you stand with the heavenly choirs, performing appropriate worship until He has wrought salvation in all things; imitating Him, may you yourself also be for us a dispenser of the customary good things, an ever-constant healer; so that in this way also God, Whom you glorified by the things you suffered for His sake, may be glorified all the more, He to Whom alone it is fitting to be glorified unto the ages of ages. Amen. D