...digging up the veins, they cause the water to flow in a wider channel; so too did the tyrant, while he pierced with the steel of his tongue the root [of the martyr’s faith], become flooded by the more violent torrents of his reproofs. I would have gladly danced out the martyr’s theme to the end, but the opportune time for moderation has arrived, and it enjoins silence upon me. For you, what has been said is sufficient for your profit, and the teachings of the Father are necessary for the completion of what has been spoken; but let us also embrace what has been said in the folds of our memory, and let us clear the furrows of our soul for what will be said hereafter, and above all, let us worship Christ the miracle-worker, for to Him be glory with the Father and the most holy Spirit, now and forever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. B
ON THE HOLY MACCABEES AND THEIR MOTHER
Homily I
1. How radiant and full of joy is our city today, and how much more splendid than the whole year is this day! It is brighter, not because the sun is sending forth a beam clearer than it is accustomed to shed upon the earth today, but because the light of the holy martyrs is illuminating our city more brilliantly than any lightning. For they are brighter than ten thousand suns, and more resplendent than the great luminaries. Through them, the earth today is more venerable than the heaven. Do not speak to me of dust, nor consider the ashes, nor the bones consumed by time; but open the eyes of faith and behold the power of God sitting beside them, the grace of the Spirit clothing them, and the glory of the heavenly light surrounding them. Rays are not sent from the solar circle to the earth such as the gleams and flashes that leap from these bodies and blind the eyes of the devil. For just as robbers and grave-robbers, when they see kingly weapons lying anywhere—a breastplate, a shield, a helmet—all gleaming with gold, they leap away at once, and they dare not approach or even touch them, fearing great danger if they were to attempt such a thing; so too do the demons, those true robbers, wherever they see the bodies of the martyrs lying, flee and leap away at once. For they do not look at their nature—which was, for a time, mortal—but at the ineffable dignity of Christ who wore them. For these weapons were not put on by an angel, nor an archangel, nor any other created power, but by the Master of the angels Himself. And as Paul cried out, saying: *Do you seek a proof of Christ speaking in me?* (2 Cor. 13. 3), so too can these cry out and say: "Do you seek a proof of Christ struggling in us?" For the bodies are precious because they received wounds for their own Master, because they bear the stigmas for Christ. And just as a kingly crown, adorned on all sides with various stones, sends forth diverse gleams, so too do the bodies of the holy martyrs, studded as if with precious stones—the wounds suffered for Christ—appear more precious and more venerable than any royal diadem. The trainers of the world, in holding games, consider it a great distinction when they bring young and vigorous athletes into the stadium and the contests, so that before the performance in the trials, they may provide a wonder to the spectators by the fitness of their limbs; but here it is not so, but exactly the opposite. For Christ, in proposing this contest, does not propose one like theirs, but one that is fearful and full of terror; for it is not a wrestling of men against men, but a battle of men against demons. Since He proposes such a contest for us, He does not…
A lead us to the struggle, but he brings in children, and with them an old man, Eleazar, and in addition to these, a woman, an old woman, the mother of the children. What does this mean, Lord? Are you leading an age useless for struggles and the wrestling school into the contest? Who ever heard of a woman struggling at such a great age? No one has heard it. But I, he says, will make this incredible, new, and unheard-of thing credible by the deeds themselves. For I am not such a contest-manager that I entrust everything to the strength of those who are struggling; but I am present, I help, I stretch out my hand to my athletes, and the greater part of what is bravely accomplished by them proceeds from my patronage.
Since, therefore, you see an old woman, trembling, needing a staff, entering the contest and prostrating the madness of the tyrant, overcoming incorporeal powers, easily prevailing over the devil, and vigorously breaking his strength, admire the grace of the contest-manager, and be astonished at the power of Christ. These athletes are not robust according to the flesh, but according to faith. Their nature is weak, but the grace that anoints them is powerful. Their bodies are broken by age, but their minds are strengthened by the love of piety. B It is not a visible battle; therefore, do not look at the athletes from the outside, but through your reason weigh the inner strength of their souls. Consider the fortitude of their faith, so that you may learn that the one who fights against demons does not need a robust habit and bulk of body, nor a flourishing age; but even if one is very young, or even if one has reached extreme old age, if one is possessed of a generous and robust soul, one suffers no damage from age in the contest.
And why do I speak of an old man and a young one, when even women C have stripped for contests and have been crowned with brilliant wreaths? For while outward contests, which seek out age, nature, and rank, exclude servants, women, the elderly, and children, here the theater is opened with the greatest liberty to any condition, any age, and either sex, that you may learn both the liberality and the ineffable power of Him who instituted the contest, and may see that apostolic saying confirmed by deeds: "For His power is perfected in weakness" (II Cor. XII, 9). For when children and old men act bravely beyond nature, the grace of God working in them is brilliantly demonstrated.
And so that you may learn that this weakness of the athletes from without makes those who bear off the crown more glorious, come, let us leave aside the old man and the children and bring into the middle the weaker one, the old woman, the mother of the seven children; for the trials of childbearing offer no small impediment in these contests. What, therefore, should we admire first in her? The weakness of her nature, or her advanced age, or the fragile sense of maternal compassion? D For she was a mother; whence maternal affection could easily have overcome her in the torments of her own bowels, had not the higher virtue of divine piety armed the aged breast with manly faith. Great, indeed, are these obstacles to a course of such patience. But I have another thing to bring forward greater than these, by which we may see both the fortitude of the woman and the whole craftiness of the devil. What is this? Observe the wickedness of the abominable demon: he did not drag her first into the wrestling school, but led her to the contests after her sons. Why? So that after he had first dejected her soul with the torments of her seven children, and had softened the firmness of her mind, and her strength had been previously consumed by the spectacle of the suffering of her children, she might at last be made weaker and more easily overcome. Do not consider that they received the torments, but consider with yourself that she suffered heavier pains for each one, and was pierced through in each of them. And those who have known the pains of childbirth and have become mothers know well what we are saying. For often a mother, seeing her son burning with fever, would embrace every pain, if only she might transfer the fire of illness from that body to herself; so indeed do mothers exist, holding the hardships of their children more intolerable than their own sufferings. If this is true, as it is indeed true, the mother was tormented more grievously in the torments of her children than the children themselves, and there was more of a martyrdom in the mother than in the children. For if the news of the illness of even one child disturbs a mother's bowels, what must she not have suffered, when not one child only, but a whole chorus of children were slaughtered, and she perceived their tortures not by hearing alone, but by sight? How could she have been composed in mind when she saw each one gradually killed by diverse and horrific torments? How did her soul not break forth from her body? How did she not leap into the pyre at the first sight, so as to free herself from the rest of the spectacle? For even if she was philosophizing, yet she was a mother; and even if she was religious, yet she was clothed in flesh; and even if she was spirited, yet she was of the female sex; and even if she was burning with the zeal of piety, yet she was held by the bond of childbearing. For if we, being men, seeing a criminal led through the forum, having a rope on his mouth, and being dragged to the pit, even if we are joined in no friendship with him, are broken by this spectacle—even if we have an appropriate solace for tempering pity, namely the wickedness of the condemned man—how much must she have suffered, who did not see one criminal being led away, but seven children all at once and in one day, cut down not by a quick death, but by various torments? For even if she had been made of stone, even if she had intestines of adamant, would she not have been disturbed, would she not have suffered those things which it was fitting for a woman and a mother to suffer? Think for me how much we admire the patriarch Abraham, who bound his son to offer him and placed him on the altar: and then you will properly realize how great the fortitude of the woman was. O most bitter, and yet most sweet, spectacle! Most bitter, indeed, because of the nature of the things that were being done; but most sweet because of the disposition of the one who was looking on. For she was not looking at the flowing blood, but was looking at the wreaths of justice being woven; she was not observing the pierced sides, but was looking at the eternal tabernacles being constructed; she was not seeing the surrounding executioners, but was seeing...
the encircling angels. She forgot the pains of childbirth, she disregarded nature A, she ignored age; she disregarded nature, B a tyrannical thing, a nature which is accustomed to mastering even beasts. For many of the beasts, which are difficult to capture, are caught in this way, by their sympathy for their young, neglecting their own safety and falling unguarded into the hands of the hunters. And there is no animal so weak that it does not defend its offspring; nothing so tame that it is not provoked when its children are taken away. But she dissolved the tyranny of nature, which is stretched tight both through rational humans and through irrational animals; and not only did she not jump at the head of the tyrant, nor did she tear out his eyes, seeing her whelps being torn apart, but she displayed such an excess of philosophy that she even prepared for him the inhuman feast, and while the former were still being punished, she was training those who remained for the ordeal of the same torments.
3. Let mothers hear these things; let them reveal the endurance of the woman and her affection for her offspring. Let children be nurtured in this way; for it is not the act of giving birth that makes a mother—this belongs to nature—but the act of nurturing; this belongs to the faculty of choice. And in order that you may learn that to give birth does not make a mother, but [to do so] well, hear Paul crowning the widow not because of the act of bearing, but because of the nourishment of the children. For having said, *Let a widow be listed not less than sixty years old, having been testified to in good works* (1 Tim. 5:9-10), he added the head of all good works. What, then, is this? *If she has nurtured children* (1 Tim. 5:10), he says. He did not say, "If she has borne children," but, *If she has nurtured children.* Let us consider, therefore, what was likely to be the state of that woman—if one must even call her a woman—seeing fingers twitching on the coals, a head jumping off, an iron hand being placed on the head of another child, skin being torn away, and the one suffering these things still standing and speaking. How did she open her mouth? How did she move her tongue? How did her soul not fly away from her flesh? How, I will tell you. She was not looking to the earth, but was preparing everything for the things to come; she feared only this: lest the tyrant spare them and curtail the struggle, lest he break up the chorus of children, lest some remain uncrowned. And that she feared this, C she took the last one, as it were, with her own hands and thus cast him into the cauldron, using the exhortation and counsel of words instead of hands toward him. We do not hear of the sufferings of others without pain, yet she looked upon her own without pain. Let us not hear these things simply; rather, let each of the listeners take up this entire tragedy regarding his own children—let him depict the looked-for face, and describing the most beloved ones to himself, let him paint these passions upon them, and then he will know well the power of what is said; or rather, not even then; for no speech can convey the passions of nature, but experience alone teaches. It is fitting to say to her that prophetic word after the crowning of the seven children: *But you are like a fruitful olive in the house of God* (Ps. 51:10). Now, in the Olympic games, even though a thousand athletes often enter, the crown settles on one only; but here, out of seven athletes, seven have become crown-bearers. What land can you show me so fertile? What womb so bountiful? What such pains? The mother of the sons of Zebedee became a mother of apostles, but of two only; but I do not know of any womb that has brought forth seven martyrs and itself, again, been added to them, not in the addition of one martyr only, but in [that of] many more. For the children D were seven martyrs only; but the body of their mother, once added, was one body, yet it filled the place of twice seven martyrs, because she was a martyr in the case of each of them, and because she rendered them such that she brought forth an entire Church of martyrs for us. She travailed with seven children, and she travailed with no one for the earth, but all for heaven—or rather, for the King of the heavens—having brought them all forth into the life that is to come.
[LATIN COLUMN] 623 S. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM, ARCHBISHOP OF CONSTANTINOPLE participation in the same: may we all be granted to attain this, by the grace and loving-kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom to the Father glory, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and for ever and ever. Amen.
ON THE HOLY MACCABEES
A It is impossible to praise the holy martyrs with a single tongue; but even if we had ten thousand mouths and as many tongues, we would still not bring an oration equal to their praise. The same happens to me when I contemplate the glorious deeds of the seven martyrs as it does to a certain avaricious man who sits by a fountain from which flows gold, having seven spouts, and attempts to exhaust it all; but after spending much immense labor, he departs with the greater part left behind. For no matter how much you draw from a fountain, the greater part remains. What then? Because we cannot bestow it according to their dignity, shall we be silent? Not at all; for it is the martyrs who receive the gifts, and in passing judgment on such a bestowal, they imitate their own Master. And what does He do? When someone offers gifts, He does not measure the reward by the magnitude of the thing offered, but by observing the alacrity of the soul of the one who offered it. Thus did He act toward that widow: the woman let fall two mites (Luke 21:2–4), and she was preferred to those who had let fall much. For God did not regard the smallness of the money, but the magnificence of the soul; the two mites were money, but the soul was more precious than six hundred talents of gold.
Let us therefore proceed with boldness to the praise, and let us do now, if you please, what we did yesterday. For yesterday, we spent our whole discourse on the praises of the mother alone—a thing done by us, not because we were eager to tear her away from the choir of her sons, but that we might render the riches for ourselves more secure. Let us do the same now; having taken away one of the sons, let us say a few things about him; for there is a fear that the praises of the seven martyrs, like seven rivers flowing together in one place, might overflow and overwhelm our discourse. Let us therefore take one from the youths, not however to abstract him from the choir of his brothers, but that we might make our burden lighter; for when one is praised, the crown will be common to the others, since all were participants in the same contests. But the mother will clearly thrust herself upon us today as well, even if we do not touch upon her; for the sequence of the discourse will surely draw her in, and she will not be able to desert her children; for she who did not desert them in their contests will not separate herself from them in their praises.
B Which of the seven athletes, then, do you wish us to take? The first, or the second, or the third, or the last? But in truth, there is no one among them who is the last; for it is a choir, and the beginning and the end of a choir do not appear. But that we may better designate whom we are praising, we call him the last in age; for they are genuine and similar contests, and the deeds are akin to one another; where there is kinship of deeds, there is neither first nor second. Let us therefore take the one who is last in age, and contemporary in greatness of soul—not only contemporary to his brothers, but even to the old man himself. He was the only one of the brothers led to the torments unbound; for he did not wait for the hands of the executioners, but forestalled their cruelty with the alacrity of his soul, and was led unbound. And he had no spectator among his brothers; for all had already been taken away by death; but he had a more glorious theater than his brothers: the eyes of his mother.
Did I not tell you that, even if we should not be eager, the mother would nonetheless thrust herself upon us? Behold, the sequence of the discourse has introduced her. This theater, however, was so glorious and great that it had the host of the angels, or rather the brothers themselves, as spectators—not now from the earth, but from the heavens. For they sat enthroned, like judges in the Olympic games, not to preside over the judgment of the contests, but to incite the victor to receive the crown. He stood, therefore, loose and unbound, uttering words full of philosophy; for he was eager to convert the tyrant to his own piety; but when he could not do so, he performed thereafter that which was his own part: he exposed himself to punishment. And that one [the tyrant] indeed pitied him on account of his age, but he [the martyr] wept for him on account of his impiety; for the tyrant and the martyr do not view the same things: both have the same eyes, but the eyes of the flesh and the eyes of the faith are not the same; the former was looking at the present life, but the latter was looking at the future, to which he was about to fly; the tyrant indeed saw the frying-pan, but the martyr saw the Gehenna into which the tyrant was about to cast himself.
C If we praise Isaac, because he was bound by his father and did not retreat from the altar (Gen. 22), and did not recoil when he saw the sword brought forward, this man is much more justly to be praised, who was not bound, nor had need of the necessity of chains, nor waited for the hands of the executioners, but was himself to himself both victim, and priest, and altar. For when he had looked about on every side, and saw none of his brothers present, he was troubled; he was spurred on so that he might hasten and attain, lest he be separated from that glorious choir. For this reason, he did not wait for the hands of the executioners; since he feared the clemency of the tyrant, lest perhaps, having pity on him, he might tear him away from the society of his brothers; therefore, by forestalling him, he snatched himself away from his inhuman humanity. For there were many things that could bend the tyrant: his youthful age, the execution of so many brothers, which would have been sufficient even to glut a wild beast, although he was already saturated...
A of the mother, that she might gain nothing more from the punishment of those who had gone before.
B 2. Having pondered all these things within himself, the youth cast himself into the torment from which it was impossible to escape, and as if into a fountain of cold waters, so he plunged headlong into the cauldrons, considering them a divine bath and baptism. For just as men who are burning with heat cast themselves into a channel of cold waters, so he, being inflamed with longing for his brothers, cast himself into that torment.
The mother brought forward an exhortation, not because he stood in need of exhortation, but so that you might learn again the steadfastness of the woman; for regarding none of the seven children did she suffer what mothers usually suffer—or rather, she did suffer what mothers suffer for each one. She did not say to herself: "What is this that has happened? The choir of my children has been snatched away from me; this one is left alone; in him the prospects of my childlessness are at risk; who will care for my old age if he departs? For did it not suffice for me to present half of them, or if not half, two parts, but must I also surrender the one who was left to me alone for the consolation of my old age?" None of these things did she say or contemplate, but as if raising her son toward the cauldron with the hands of her persuasive words, she cast him in, glorifying God that He had received the whole fruit of her womb, and had rejected none, but had harvested the entire tree. So that I could confidently say that she suffered more than the children. For in them, the intensity of the pain and the loss of breath were eventually cut short, but she, with an integral mind and a pure purpose, received a clearer perception of what was happening due to her nature.
And it was possible to see a triple fire: that which that tyrant lit, that which nature kindled, and that which the Holy Spirit ignited. The Babylonian tyrant did not kindle such a furnace as when this tyrant lit the furnace for that mother. For there, the fuel for the fire was naphtha, pitch, tow, and vine-twigs; but here, it was nature, the pangs of childbirth, strong affection, and the concord of the children. They were not being roasted as they lay upon the fire in the way that she was roasted on account of her strong affection. But she prevailed on account of her piety; nature fought against grace, and the victory was grace’s. Piety got the better of the pangs, and fire prevailed over fire—the spiritual over the physical—and over that which had been burned by the cruelty of the tyrant. And just as a sea-rock, receiving the onsets of the waves, itself remains unmoved, while it easily dissolves and makes invisible those things turning into foam, so too the heart of that woman, like some sea-rock receiving the onsets of the waves of her pains, she herself remained unmoved, while she dissolved those onsets with a firm reasoning filled with philosophy. She was ambitious to show the tyrant that they were truly her children, truly they were her genuine offspring, not through the kinship of nature, but through the communion of virtue. She did not consider that she was seeing a C punitive fire, but a bridal torch. A mother decorating her children for marriage does not rejoice as much as she rejoiced seeing them being punished; and just as one who surrounds one with a bridal robe, another with crowns, and another placing them in bridal chambers, so seeing one running to the cauldrons, one to the frying pans, and one being beheaded, she exulted.
And all things were full of smoke and the odor of burnt offerings, and through all her senses she received the experience of her children; seeing through her eyes, hearing the footsteps of her beloved ones, and receiving with her very nose that smoke of their flesh—that smoke which is sweet yet unpleasant: unpleasant indeed to the unfaithful, but to God and to her, the sweetest of all. That smoke dimmed the air, but it did not dim the mind of the woman; for she stood motionless and unswerving, enduring all things that were being done.
But it is time now to cease the discourse, so that they may enjoy more of the encomia from the common teacher. Let fathers imitate this, let mothers emulate this, and women and men, those living in virginity, and those clothed in sackcloth, and those wearing chains—for wherever we may arrive in terms of discipline and philosophy, the philosophy of this woman surpasses our endurance. Let no one, therefore, of those who have reached the pinnacle of courage and endurance, consider it unworthy to have the aged woman as a teacher. But let us all pray in common—those living in cities, those practicing asceticism, those shining in honorable marriage, those living in the wilderness, and those who have crucified their virginity—to be able to embark upon the same path as she, to be deemed worthy of the same boldness as she, and to stand near her at that day through the prayers of that holy woman, and of her children, and of Eleazar, who completes their choir, the great and noble old man who showed a heart of adamant in the face of terrible things.
We shall be able to do this if, along with their holy prayers, we also bring forward all that is in our power, before the wars and terrible things, in the time of peace, by mastering the passions within us, beating and enslaving the body. Thus, by cutting off the disordered jumpings of the flesh, whether we live in peace, we shall have the bright crowns of our exercises; or if it seems good to the philanthropic God for us to finish the same contention, we shall come prepared for the wrestling matches, and we shall attain the heavenly goods; may it be for all of us to attain these, by the grace and philanthropy of our Lord Jesus Christ, through Whom and with Whom, with the Holy Spirit, be glory, honor, and power unto the ages of ages. Amen.
CONCERNING THE HOLY MACCABEES. Homily III
Seeing the reputation for deeds that is owed to the martyrs, and seeing the crowd pressed, I hesitate. Therefore, if it seems good, the teaching—
let us set aside the present discourse, and let us strive to imitate the endurance of the martyrs. Therefore, let the elder Eleazar come forward first, the beginning of the struggles, the foundation of martyrdom, the portal to the stadiums, the prince of fortitude, the precursor of endurance, that youth-rejuvenating hoary head, the protomartyr of the Old Testament, the image of Peter, the chief of the apostles. A The adversary, both coaxing and striking with rods, gave way; nor yet did he desist from rhetorizing, he who was being punished; the elder was standing, trembling from extreme old age; the tyrant was sitting, breathing out threats and slaughter; and he who was trembling departed vigorous; he who was reveling in the flower of his age departed vanquished: the hoary head stood tormented, while the brutalized youth exercised judgment with authority, and the hoary head carried away the victory. O new mode of victory! One old man, wounded, put to flight an entire army shooting its arrows at once. B The miracle of the old man does not permit me to advance to the fortitude of the youths in the struggles; but yet it is necessary that we proceed to them, even as they brought force to bear; for they too won glorious triumphs over the tyrant: for the youth ought not to have appeared more timid than the hoary head. Seven youths, therefore, having struggled strenuously, were crowned, who had run from one womb into one battle line. If it seems good, I will make an end of speaking, O bold dancers of bold martyrs! But, as I was saying, seven youths were then crowned, who had run from one womb into one battle line, adorned by one fraternity of parents and by their character; one after another they burst into the struggle. C Now, O noble ones, I must recall to you that evangelical saying: "Blessed is the womb that bore you, and the breasts that you have sucked" (Luke 11:27). But when I made mention of breasts and womb, it is time for me to pass to the mother of these brave warriors, who in one body died many times, or rather was slaughtered many times, and did not grieve even once—to her, I say, who was simultaneously invulnerable and wounded with many wounds. The first of her children did not disturb her so much, when he was being drawn to slaughter, as the second, who had not yet approached the struggles, brought movement; nor did the destruction of the second again sadden her, as the life of the third son terrified her, D of whom the end was as yet unknown; of very little value to her was the third, and the fourth son slaughtered, when the fifth had not yet been killed; nor did the fall of the sixth overcome her philosophy: there remained next the last, the seventh, for the struggles, who would complete the seven-stringed cithara of the martyrs. What then? Did immature age move her? Or did she grieve when she saw these remnants of nature being taken away? She was certainly urging the boy to death, if not with her hands, yet with her counsels. Do not, O son, diminish the number of the crowns: be to your brothers, as in birth, so also a companion of their right actions; imitate the communion of nature with the communion of deeds; show yourself to be the brother of those who have been slaughtered, even in their agonies. You are my seventh son born by nature; rise up as my seventh martyr by intention; do not cause, O son, that I be called the mother of seven children but only of six martyrs. Where now, I pray, are those who do not bestow even the offerings of their money upon God? Today a mother brought seven tender children to the Lord, and she did not grow torpid when she offered the sacrifice from her own bowels: but many sluggishly confer upon us at times the offering of a few obols. 633 But let us offer to God the offering of our souls, and our money, and our bodies, praising Christ above all, to whom be glory and imperium unto the ages of ages. Amen.