Sermons to the People 342.1–342.5

A sermon is owed on the evening sacrifice. For we prayed by singing and sang by praying: “Let my prayer be directed like incense in your sight, the lifting up of my hands an evening sacrifice.” In the prayer we notice the man; in the stretching out of the hands we recognize the cross. This, then, is the sign that we bear on our foreheads, the sign by which we are saved. A sign mocked, so that it might be honoured; despised, so that it might be glorified. God appears, so that man may pray; and God is hidden, so that man may die. “For if they had known, they would never have crucified the Lord of glory.” This sacrifice, then, in which the priest is the victim, redeemed us by the shed blood of the Creator. Yet he did not create us with blood, but redeemed us by blood. For he created us in the beginning, which was the Word, “and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” By him we were created. The connected text adds: “All things were made through him, and without him nothing was made.” This is that by which we were created. But hear that by which we were redeemed. “What was made,” it says, “in him was life, and the life was the light of men; and the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” Still it is God; still that is spoken of which always remains unchangeable; still that is spoken of for the seeing of which hearts must be cleansed: but by what they are cleansed it does not yet say. “The light,” it says, “shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” But so that they may not be darkness and may be able to comprehend it—for the darkness is sinners, the darkness is unbelievers—so then that they may not be darkness and may be able to comprehend, “the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.” See the Word, see the Word made flesh, the Word before flesh. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God; all things were made through him.” Where is blood here? Look, here already is your author, but not yet your price. From where, then, were you redeemed? Because “the Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.”

Look a little higher up. “The light,” it says, “shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” Since, then, the darkness did not comprehend the light, men needed a human testimony. They could not see the day; perhaps they could bear a lamp. Since, then, they were unfit to see the day, yet could somehow bear a lamp: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came to bear witness to the light.” Who, and about whom did he come, to bear witness to the light? How was he not the light, if he was at least a lamp? First see that he was a lamp. Do you want to hear the lamp about the day, and the day about the lamp? “You,” he says, “sent to John, and you were willing for an hour to rejoice in his light: he was a burning and shining lamp.” What, then, did this John see, who held the lamp cheap? “He was not the light, but came to bear witness to the light.” To what light? “That was the true light, which enlightens every man coming into this world.” If every man, then John too. He who did not yet wish to show himself as the day had himself lit his lamp as his witness. But it was such a lamp as could be lit from the day. Hear John himself confessing: “We have all,” he says, “received from his fullness.” He was thought to be the Christ; he confessed that he was a man. He was thought to be the Lord; he confessed that he was a servant. Well do you acknowledge your humility, lamp, lest the wind of pride put you out. “For that was the true light, which enlightens every man coming into this world”: that is, every living being capable of enlightenment, that is, every man who has mind and reason by which he can share in the Word.

That, then, which was the true light, which enlightens every man who has a mind, coming into this world: where was it? “It was in this world.” But the earth too was in this world, and the sun and moon were in this world. Hear about your day, O eye of the human mind! “It was in this world, and the world was made through it.” It was here in such a way that even before the world existed it was not as though it had nowhere to be. For God by dwelling contains, he is not contained. So in a wonderful and ineffable way “it was in this world. And the world was made through him, and the world did not know him.” What is the world that was made through him? “In the beginning God made heaven and earth,” because all things were made through him. What world did not know him? The world and the world, as a house and a house: a house as a building, a house as its inhabitants. A house as a building, as in: “He made a great house, he built a most beautiful house.” A house as its inhabitants, as in: “A good house, may the Lord bless it; a bad house, may God spare it.” So the world was made through him, both the dwelling and the dwellers; “and the world did not know him”: the dwellers.

“He came to his own, and his own did not receive him.” Why, then, did he come, as though not knowing in advance that his own would not receive him? Hear why he came: “But as many as received him.” His own did not receive him, and his own received him; the world did not believe, and the whole world believed. As we say, “The whole tree is full of leaves”: is there no room left for fruit? Both can be said, both can be understood: the tree full of leaves and the tree full of fruit; one tree in both, but the leaves to be scattered, the fruit to be gathered. So, his faithful, his servants, those who love him, whose glory he is, whose hope, whose possession: when you hear, “His own did not receive him,” do not grieve, because by believing you are his. “His own did not receive him.” Who are they? Perhaps the Jews, called long ago out of Egypt, set free by a mighty hand, brought across the Red Sea, escaping on dry ground, rid of their pursuing enemies, fed with manna, rescued from slavery, led to a kingdom, purchased by so many benefits. Look, his own, who did not receive him; but by not receiving they became strangers. They were in the olive tree; by pride they were broken off. The wild olive, contemptible, despised for the bitterness of its berries, was throughout the whole world; the whole world bristled with that wild woodland olive; yet by humility it deserved to be grafted in there, from where the olive tree deserved by pride to be cut off. Hear the olive tree being proud and deserving to be broken: “We were not born of slavery; we have Abraham as father.” The answer is: “If you were children of Abraham, you would do the works of Abraham.” Against what was said, “We were not born of slavery”: “If the Son sets you free, you will be truly free.” You boast that you are free? “Everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin.” How much safer, man, would you be a slave of a man than of perverse desire! Yet they in their pride did not receive the humble one. See the wild olive worthy to be grafted in, that centurion, not from the Israelites but from the Gentiles: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under my roof.” And the Lord: “Amen I say to you, I have not found such faith in Israel.” In the olive tree I did not find what I found in the wild olive. So let the proud olive tree be cut off; the humble wild olive is grafted in. See him grafting, see him cutting off: “Therefore I tell you that many will come from east and west”—much wild olive will come to be grafted into the olive tree—“and will recline with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven.” You have heard how the humble wild olive is grafted in; hear how the proud olive is cut off: “But the children of the kingdom will go into the outer darkness; there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Why? Because “his own did not receive him.” And why was the wild olive grafted in? Because “as many as received him, he gave them power to become children of God.”

Lift up your heart, human race; breathe in the air of life and of the most secure freedom. What do you hear? What is promised you? “He gave them power.” What power? Perhaps that by which men are puffed up, of judging over human lives, of passing sentence on the innocent and the guilty? “He gave them power,” it says, “to become children of God.” For they were not yet children, and they were becoming children; because he through whom they become children of God was already Son of God, and became son of man. So they too were already children of men, and became children of God. He came down to what he was not, because he was something else. He raised you up to what you were not, because you were something else. So lift up your hope. What has been promised you is great, but it has been promised by one who is great. It seems much and incredible, and as though it were impossible for the children of men to become children of God. But more has been done for them, since the Son of God became son of man. So lift up your hope, O man; drive unbelief from your heart. Something more incredible has already been done for you than what has been promised you. Do you marvel that man should have eternal life? Do you marvel that man should come to eternal life? Marvel rather that God came to death for you. Why do you doubt the promise, having received so great a pledge? See, then, how he strengthens you, how he confirms God's promise: “As many as received him,” he says, “he gave them power to become children of God.” By what birth? Not that usual, old, passing, or fleshly one. “Not of flesh,” he says, “not of blood, nor of the will of man, but they were born of God.” Do you marvel, do you not believe? “The Word became flesh, and dwelt among us.” Look how the evening sacrifice came about. Let us cling to him; let him who was offered for us be offered with us. For so by the evening sacrifice the old life is put to death, and at dawn the new one rises.