CHRYSOSTOM'S FIRST HOMILY
When he was ordained presbyter, addressed to himself, to the bishop, and to the multitude of the people.
A Are the things that have happened to us true? Have the events that have occurred really taken place, or have we been deceived? Is the present moment not night and a dream, but is it truly day, and are we all awake? And who could believe these things—that while it is day, and people are sober and awake, a lowly youth, cast aside, has been lifted to such a height of authority? For at night, it is not strange for such things to happen. Indeed, some who were maimed in body, and who did not even have the necessary food, have slept and seen themselves become whole and handsome, enjoying a royal banquet; but the things that appeared were sleep and the deception of dreams. For such is the nature of dreams: it is a cunning and wonderful thing, and it delights in reveling in paradoxes. But these things are not happening by day, nor could one perhaps see this occurring in the reality of the facts themselves. But everything has now happened and come to pass, and it has an end, as you behold—these things which are more unbelievable than dreams. And a city so large and populous, and a populace so wonderful and great, has gaped at our insignificance, as if expecting to hear something great and noble from us.
And yet, even if I had perennial rivers flowing, and fountains of words stored up in my mouth, with so many having run together for this hearing, the stream would have quickly been stayed by fear, and the waters might have been turned back. But when I do not have a measure even of a drop of water, let alone of rivers and fountains, how is there not a fear that even this little outpouring might fail, dried up by fear, and that the same thing might happen which is accustomed to happen to bodies? And what is it that happens to bodies? Often, when we hold things in our hand and tighten our fingers, in our alarm we pour everything out, because our nerves have grown slack and the tension of the flesh has relaxed. This, indeed, is the fear—that this might happen today to our soul, and that the thoughts which we gathered for you with much labor, these few and meager ones, might escape under the strain of our anxiety, vanish, and fly away, leaving our mind desolate.
Therefore I beg all of you alike, governors and governed, that by the same measure of anxiety which you have cast upon us by your gathering for this hearing, you would likewise inspire us with courage through your diligence in prayer, and beseech the One who gives a word to those who preach with great power, to give us also a word in the opening of our mouth. There is surely no labor for you, who are so many and so great, to tighten again the soul of one youth that has been loosened by fear. And you would be right to grant us this request, since it is also for your sake that we have cast ourselves into this; it is for your sake and for the sake of your love—than which nothing is more forceful or tyrannical—that it has persuaded even us, who are not very experienced in speaking, to speak, and has prepared us to strip for the stadium of teaching, even though we have not touched these contests before, but have always been ranked among the listeners, enjoying a life of quiet leisure.
But who is so hard and intractable as to pass by your assembly in silence, and, having found such fervent lovers of hearing, not speak to them, even if he were the most speechless of all men? I wished, therefore, when I was about to utter a word for the first time in the Church, to begin the prelude with God, who has given this tongue to us; for so it was fitting. For it is necessary to offer the first fruits to the Word not only of the threshing floor and the winepress, but also of words—and of words much more than of sheaves. For this fruit is more familiar to us, and more pleasing to the God who is honored. For while the earth brings forth the grape and the ear of corn, and they are nourished by the downpour of rains and the hands of farmers, a sacred hymn is brought forth by the reverence of the soul, is nourished by a good conscience, and is received by God into the storehouses of the heavens. And by as much as the soul is better than the earth, by so much is this offering better than that one. Because of this, one of the prophets, a man wonderful and great—Oshea is his name—exhorting those who have offended God and are about to make Him propitious, tells them to bring with them not herds of cattle, nor measures of fine flour, so many and so much, nor turtledoves and pigeons, nor anything else of that sort, but what? "Bring with you words," he says.
And what sacrifice is a word? Perhaps someone might say. It is the greatest, beloved, and most venerable, and better than all the others. And who says these things? The very one who knows these things most accurately of all, the noble and great David. For when he was once offering thanksgivings to God on the occasion of a victory in war...
he spoke something like this: "Let me praise the name of my God with a song; I will magnify him with praise." Then, to show us the excellence of this sacrifice, he added: "And it shall please God more than a new calf, putting forth horns and hoofs." A Now, I myself wished to bring these sacrifices today, and to stain the spiritual altar with these offerings; but what can I do? A certain wise man stops my mouth and strikes fear into me, saying: "Praise is not seemly in the mouth of a sinner." For just as, in the case of garlands, not only must the flowers be clean, but also the hand that weaves them; so, too, in the case of sacred hymns, not only must the words share in piety, but also the soul that weaves them. But we are in a state of impurity, devoid of boldness, and full of many sins. And it is not only this law that silences those who are so disposed, but also another, more ancient than it and established before it. For David himself, who just now spoke to us about sacrifices, introduced this one as well; for having said, "Praise the Lord from the heavens, praise him in the highest," and after a little while again saying, "Praise the Lord from the earth," and having called upon both parts of creation—the upper and the lower, the sensible and the intelligible, the visible and the invisible, that which is above the heaven and that which is under the heaven—and having established one choir from both, and thus exhorted them to praise the Master of all—nowhere did he call the sinner, but even here he barred the doors to him. B
[439] β'. And in order that what is said may be clearer to you, I will read the psalm to you from the beginning. "Praise the Lord from the heavens," he says, "praise him in the highest; praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his hosts." Did you see the angels praising, did you see the archangels, did you see the Cherubim and the Seraphim, the higher powers? For when he says, "All his hosts," he takes in the whole heavenly throng. Did you perhaps see the sinner mentioned? And how could he be? Was it possible for him to be seen in heaven? He says: "Come then, let me bring you down to the earth, after having transferred you to the other part of the choir; and not even there will you see him again." "Praise the Lord from the earth, you dragons and all abysses, wild beasts and all cattle, creeping things and winged birds." Not in vain, nor at random, did I fall silent while saying these things; but the reasoning of my intellect was confounded, and it became bitter to weep and lament greatly. For what could be more pitiable? Tell me... Scorpions and vipers and dragons are called to the praise of the one who created them, but the sinner alone is left out of this sacred choir; and rightly so.
For sin is a wicked and untamed beast, not showing its malice toward our fellow-servants of the body, but pouring the venom of its wickedness onto the Master's glory. "For your sake," he says, "my name is blasphemed among the Gentiles." For this reason, the prophet drove him out as if from a holy country, the habitable world, and banished him to a foreign land. Thus too, the most excellent musician cuts away a cord of a well-tuned lyre that is out of tune, so that it may not harm the harmony of the other notes. In the same way, a skilled physician excises a rotting limb, so that the injury from it may not spread to the healthiness of the rest of the members. In the same way the prophet acted, having cut away the sinner, as if he were a discordant cord or a diseased limb, from the whole body of creation. C What then should we do? For since we have been cast out, since we have been cut off, it is necessary by all means to be silent. Shall we then be silent? Tell me: will no one permit us to praise our Master? Or did we call upon your prayers in vain? Did we take refuge in your intercessions in vain? Not in vain, God forbid. For I have found, I have found another mode of doxology, in the midst of your own prayers, in this predicament, just like lightning appearing in the darkness: I shall praise my fellow-servants. For it is permitted to praise one's fellow-servants; and when they are praised, the glory will by all means pass to the Master. And that he is glorified from this too, Christ himself shows, saying: "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven." Behold, then, another mode of doxology, which it is possible for a sinner to speak, without violating the law. D
γ. Whom then, whom of our fellow-servants shall we praise? And whom else, but the common teacher of the fatherland [440] and, through the fatherland, of the entire world? For just as he taught you to stand up for the truth until death, so you taught the other men to prefer the soul to piety no longer. Do you wish us, then, to weave for him from this the crowns of praise? I myself wished to do so, but I see a vast abyss of virtuous deeds, and I fear lest, having been carried down to the bottom, my discourse should be too weak to rise back up. For it is necessary to recount ancient deeds of virtue, sojourns abroad, vigils, cares, decisions, battles, trophies added to trophies, and victories added to victories—matters not only beyond our own tongue, but beyond every, human tongue, requiring an apostolic voice moved by the Spirit, by whom it is possible both to speak and to teach all things. But passing over this part, we shall come to another, safer one, which even a small boat can sail across.
Come then, let us stir up discourses concerning temperance, and let us say how he mastered his stomach, how he despised luxury, how he mocked a sumptuous table, and this while having been raised in a great house. For it is no wonder for one who has lived in poverty to come to this stark and harsh life; for he has poverty as his companion and fellow-traveler, lightening the burden for him every day. But to become master of wealth and not easily cast off the temptations from it—so great a swarm of diseases flies around such a soul. Therefore, just as a dense and gloomy cloud of sufferings, blotting out the light of the mind...
does not permit it to look toward heaven, but forces it to look downward and to gape toward the earth. And there is no other obstacle to the journey toward the heavens such as wealth and the evils that come from wealth. This is not my own teaching, but the vote of Christ Himself, who said: "It is easier for a camel to enter through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven." But behold, this difficult, or rather impossible thing, has become possible; and that which Peter formerly puzzled over to the Master, and sought to learn, we have all known through actual experience, or rather, even more than that. For not only did he ascend into heaven, but he also introduces such a multitude—one who, along with wealth, had other obstacles no less great than this: youth and destitute orphanhood, which are more capable of charming a human soul than any other things, for they possess such incantations, they prepare such potions. Yet he overcame even these, and he laid hold of the heavens, and he transferred himself to the philosophy that is there; and he neither took note of the splendor of the present life, nor did he look to the fame of his ancestors—or rather, he did look to the fame of his ancestors, not those joined to him by the necessity of nature, but those who belonged to him by the choice of piety. A For this reason he became such a man. He looked to the patriarch Abraham, he looked to the great Moses, who, having been reared in a royal house, and having shared a Sybaritic table, and having been caught between the tumults of the Egyptians (and you know what the ways of barbarians are, how full they are of arrogance and vanity), having despised all those things, defected to the clay and the brick-making, desiring to be of the slaves and captives—he, king and son of a king. Therefore, for this reason he returned again with a more splendid appearance than that which he had discarded before. For after his flight and his service with his father-in-law, and his toil in a strange land, he returned as the ruler of the king, or rather, having become a god to the king: "For I have made you," He says, "a god to Pharaoh." And he was more brilliant than the king, not having a diadem, nor clothed in purple, nor driving a golden chariot, but having trampled upon all that vanity. "For all the glory of the king's daughter," he says, "is within." He returned, then, holding a scepter by which he gave orders not only to men, but to sky and earth and sea, and the nature of the winds and waters, and lakes and springs and rivers. For all things, as many as Moses wished, these elements became; and in his hands creation was transformed again, and like some submissive handmaiden, seeing a friend of the Master arrive, everything obeyed and was submissive as if to the Master Himself. Looking toward this man, he too became such, and that being young—if indeed he ever was young; for I am not persuaded, so gray was his wisdom from his very swaddling clothes. But even according to the logic of age, while still young, he laid hold of every philosophy; and having learned that our nature is like a field that is overgrown with wood, he cut away the diseases of the soul with the word of piety as if with a sickle, easily, B providing the ploughed land to the farmer for the sowing of seeds, and receiving everything, he sent it down into the depths; so that, having taken root from below, it neither gave way to the assault of the ray, nor was choked again by thorns. But he healed the soul in this way; and he curbed the agitations of the flesh with the medicines of temperance, just as to an unruly horse, placing upon his body the bridle of fasting, and pulling it back just enough to draw blood from the very mouths of the desires, with the necessary moderation. For he neither strained the body so that the horse, being hobbled, became useless to him for the service, nor did he allow it to fall into excessive vigor, lest, having become over-fleshed again, it might rise up against the reason that was driving it; but he took care both of his health and of his good order. And he was not only such a man while young, but when he had passed that age, and had loosened this care, even now, when he sits in old age as if in a tranquil harbor, he maintains the same care. C For youth, beloved, is like a raging sea, full of wild waves and evil spirits; but old age, as if into a harbor that is without waves, moors the souls of those who have grown old, providing them the security of being able to enjoy the age. Enjoying this now, and sitting in the harbor, as I have already said, he is no less full of struggle than those who are tossing in the midst of the sea; and he received this fear from Paul, who, although he had ascended into heaven, and had run through the region beyond that, and had again touched the third heaven, said: "I fear lest, having preached to others, I myself might become disqualified." For this reason he too set himself in a continuous fear, so that he might be in continuous confidence, and he sits at the helm, not as one ignorant of the stars watching the risings, nor the reefs and crags, but the uprisings of demons, and the wiles of the devil, and the wars of thoughts, and going around the camp in a circle, he establishes everyone in safety. For he does not merely look to how the ship might not be swamped, but he manages everything so that none of those sailing in it might be troubled by any disturbance. Because of him, we all sail his wisdom before a fair wind, having spread the full sails of our ship.
§ 4. And yet when we lost the former father, as also this one he begot for us, our affairs were in a state of desperation. Therefore we lamented piteously, as not expecting another man like him to receive this throne. D But when this one appeared and came into our midst, he caused all that despondency to pass away, like a cloud, and he hid all the gloomy things, not little by little wiping away our grief, but so suddenly, as if that very blessed man himself had risen from the coffin and ascended again onto this throne. But indeed, we have unconsciously, in our desire for the successes of the fathers, extended our words beyond the measure—not beyond the measure of things accomplished by him, for we have not even yet begun those, but beyond what is appropriate for our youth. Come then, just as into
harbor, let us once again rest our words in silence. But they are unwilling to depart, and they are vexed and indignant, desiring, as they do, to be filled completely with the meadow. But this is impossible, my children. Let us, then, cease pursuing what is unattainable; what has been said is enough for our consolation. For even with expensive perfumes, if one does not simply pour out the jar, but merely touches the very surface with one’s fingers, one has scented the air and filled all who are present with the fragrance. This is precisely what has happened now, not because of the power of our words, but because of the virtue of his A accomplishments. Let us depart, then, let us depart having ended in prayer; let us pray that our common mother may remain unshaken and immovable, and that this father, this teacher, this shepherd, this pilot, may be brought forth to a longer life. If there is any concern for you and for us—for we would not dare to rank ourselves among the priests, since it is not right to number the miscarried among the well-born—if there is any concern for you and for me, just as for a pitiable, B miscarried creature, pray that abundant support may come to us from above. For we had need of safety even before, when we were living a life of leisure to ourselves; but now that we have been brought into the midst—how that happened I pass over, whether by human effort or by divine grace; for I will not dispute it, lest someone call me dissembling—but since we have been brought, and have taken upon ourselves this yoke, heavy and hard, we have need of many hands and myriad prayers, so that we may be able to return the deposit C safe to the Master who entrusted it to us on that day, when those who have been entrusted with the talents are called and brought in, and must render an account. Pray, therefore, that we may not be numbered among those who are bound, nor among those who are cast into the darkness, but among those who are able to obtain at least a moderate measure of forgiveness, by the grace and loving-kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power and worship for ever and ever. Amen.
MONITUM
D [444] He delivered the first homily to the people while Bishop Flavian was absent. From this, he skillfully seizes the opportunity to praise the pastor; afterwards, he begins the long-determined battle against the Anomœans: he mentions that he had taken this up rather slowly because he saw many of the Anomœans attending his sermons and listening with pleasure, and for that reason, he says, so as not to frighten away the prey—inasmuch as he was ensnaring their souls—he restrained his tongue from such contests. Finally, at their own urging to step into the arena, he began to attack the errors of the Anomœans, though with a friendly spirit, not to strike down adversaries, but to raise up those who had fallen.
He delivered the second homily against the Anomœans after an interval of many days; for many things distracted Chrysostom from his intended course: namely, the sermon delivered against the Jews, a contest extremely necessary; and the arrival of certain spiritual Fathers—these, the one who composed the title of the homily says, were certain neighboring bishops; but more on this in the *Life of Chrysostom*: finally, after they had returned home, the holy herald was met by frequent commemorations of the martyrs, upon whose celebration he resumed the interrupted contest.
In the third, he pursues the same argument concerning the incomprehensibility of God against the Anomœans: towards the end, however, he inveighs vehemently against the listeners because, after the sermon to which they had been eagerly attending was finished, they would immediately withdraw and not take part in the holy mysteries that were being celebrated continuously.
In the fourth, after the usual skirmishes against the heretics, he congratulates the assembly for having followed his admonitions and for abandoning the bad habit of leaving before the holy mysteries: he complains, however, that certain purse-snatchers were disturbing the sermon, and he warns them not to carry gold or silver in their purses if they wish to drive away such a plague.
Finally, in the fifth, having briefly reviewed what he had said earlier, he brings forward new arguments against the Anomœans. In these sermons, furthermore, shines forth not only the eloquence of Chrysostom, but also his *energeia*, or the force of his arguments: and the responses to the objections of the heretics are no less to be admired; so that one does not stray from the truth if one ranks these homilies among the most outstanding works of the holy doctor.
We have rejected, moreover, the translation of Theodore Gaza, as it is adorned in a paraphrastic manner and is redundant in words and sometimes in meanings, and we have published a new one.