Homilies and Sermons 4.1–5.1

You have heard the words of the apostle in which he addresses the Thessalonians, giving a law for all of life. For his teaching was addressed to those who happened to be with him at the time, but its benefit extends to the whole life of mankind. "Rejoice always," he says; "pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks." What rejoicing itself is, and what benefit comes from it, and how it is possible to achieve unceasing prayer and to render thanks to God for everything, we shall explain a little later as best we can. But the objections our opponents raise against us, attacking the commandment as impossible, must be dealt with first. "What virtue is there," they say, "in spending night and day cheerful and glad in a relaxed state of soul? And how can this even be achieved, when we are beset by things that necessarily produce dejection in the soul, from which it is more impossible to rejoice and be of good cheer than for a man being roasted not to feel pain, or for one being stabbed not to suffer?" Or perhaps someone among those around us here, [putting forward] this weakness of reasonings … who, because of his sluggishness in keeping the commandments, tries to turn the blame on the lawgiver as one who lays down impossibilities. And he says: "How can I rejoice always, when the causes of joy do not lie with me? For the things that produce rejoicing are external and not stored up in us: the presence of a friend, a long-awaited meeting with parents, finding money, honors from people, recovery of health after a grievous sickness, the rest of life's prosperity: a house well supplied with everything, a full table, friends to share our good cheer, pleasant things to hear and see, the health of those dearest to us, and the rest of their life's good fortune. For not only the painful things that befall us are grievous, but also those that distress friends and relatives. So the gladness and good cheer of the soul must be gathered from all these things. And besides, when one can see the downfall of enemies, blows on those who plot against us, rewards to benefactors, and in short when nothing hard, present or expected, disturbs our life at all, then joy can arise in the soul. How then has a command been given us that is not achieved by choice but is the consequence of other things that come first? And how am I to pray without ceasing, when the needs of the body necessarily turn the attention of the soul to themselves, and it is impossible for the mind to be divided between two concerns at once?

"But I have also been commanded to give thanks in everything. Am I to give thanks while being racked, tortured, stretched on the wheel, having my eyes gouged out? Am I to give thanks when I am struck a shameful blow by someone who hates me? When I am frozen by the cold, choked by hunger, bound to the stocks, suddenly bereaved of my children, or even deprived of my wife herself? When I have suddenly fallen from prosperity through shipwreck? When I have fallen in with pirates at sea or robbers on land? When I am wounded, slandered, wandering homeless, living in prison?" These things and more besides they string together in accusing the lawgiver, preparing for themselves a defence of their sins … by slandering [the commandments] as impossible.

What then do we say? That while the apostle was looking at other things and trying to lift our souls from the ground to the height and to transfer them to the heavenly commonwealth, those who do not reach the greatness of mind of the lawgiver, wallowing about the earth and the flesh like worms in a swamp, in the passions of the body, [demand of the commands] what is possible … [He calls] to rejoicing always not the ordinary man, but one such as he was himself, no longer living in the flesh but having Christ living in him, since union with the highest of goods does not at all admit sympathy with the troubles of the flesh. Even if the flesh is cut, the dissolution of its continuity remains in the part of the body that suffers, since the transmission of the pain cannot reach the intelligent part of the soul. For if we have put to death our members that are on the earth, according to the apostle's counsel, and carry about in the body the dying of Jesus, then necessarily a blow to the deadened body does not reach the soul, which has been freed from union with it … will not rise up to the mind, nor turn the soul's height down to sympathy with things here. For if those who have fallen into hardships think as the earnest man does, they will cause no grief to another, since they themselves do not bear what happens to them with grief; but if they live according to the flesh, even so they will not grieve him; rather they will be judged pitiable, not so much for their circumstances as for not choosing what they ought. In short, a soul once bound to the longing for its Creator, and accustomed to delight in the beauties there, will not exchange its gladness and good cheer for the changing vicissitudes of the flesh's sufferings, but will make what is grievous to others an addition to its joy. Such was the apostle, who was content with weaknesses, with afflictions, with persecutions, with hardships, making his wants his boast, in hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness, in persecutions and distresses; in the very things at which others are vexed and give up on life, he exulted. Those, then, who are untaught in the apostle's mind, and do not understand that he is calling us to the life of the gospel, dare to accuse Paul of laying down impossibilities. Let them learn, rather, how many occasions for rejoicing with good reason lie before us through God's munificence. We were brought into being when we did not exist; we were made in the image of our Creator; we have mind and reason, which complete our nature, through which we have come to know God. And studying skilfully the beauties of creation, through them, as through letters, [we read] God's great [providence and wisdom] in all things … … we have knowledge of good and of worse; we have been taught by nature itself to choose what is advantageous and to turn away from what is harmful. Estranged from God through sin, we have been called back again to kinship with him, delivered from shameful slavery by the blood of the Only-begotten. The hopes of resurrection, the enjoyment of angelic goods, the kingdom in heaven, the good things of the promises, surpassing the power of mind and speech: how is it not fitting to think these sufficient causes of unceasing joy and continual gladness, rather than to suppose that the man who stuffs his belly and is entertained with flute music is the one who lives worthily of joy? I would say that it is fitting for such people to be lamented by those who have sense, and that we should call blessed those who pass the present life in hope of the age to come and exchange the present for the eternal. Even if those who are united to God live in the flame, like the three young men in Babylon, even if they are shut up with lions, even if they are swallowed by a sea monster, they ought to be called blessed by us and themselves to live in joy, not pained by the present but gladdened by the hope of what is stored up for us later. For I think that the noble contestant, once he has stripped for the stadium of piety, must bear the blows of his opponents bravely in hope of the glory of the crowns. For in the gymnastic contests too, those accustomed to … labors do not shrink at the pain of a blow but close with their opponents in desire of being proclaimed victor, disregarding the immediate pains. So for the earnest man, even if something harsher is present, it will not darken his rejoicing. For "affliction produces endurance, and endurance proven character, and proven character hope, and hope does not put to shame." That is why elsewhere the same apostle commands us to be patient in affliction and to rejoice in hope. It is hope, then, that makes joy the companion of the earnest man's soul.

[3?] "But the same apostle," they say, "commands us to weep with those who weep, and writing to the Galatians he wept over the enemies of the cross of Christ. And why need I mention Jeremiah weeping, and Ezekiel writing laments for princes at God's command, and many of the saints groaning? 'Woe is me, my mother, as what sort of man did you bear me?' and 'Woe is me, for the godly man has perished from the earth, and there is none among men who acts uprightly,' and 'Woe is me, for I have become like one gathering straw at harvest.'" And in general, search out the words of the righteous, and if you find someone uttering a gloomier word, you will be persuaded that all of them groan over this world and this wretched life in it. "Woe is me, that my sojourn has been prolonged." For he "has the desire to depart and be with Christ." So he is vexed at the prolonging of this sojourn as a hindrance to his joy. And David left us in songs a lament for his friend Jonathan, with whom he lamented his own enemy too: "I grieve for you, my brother Jonathan," and "Daughters of Israel, weep over Saul." He laments the one as having died in his sin, and Jonathan as one who had shared his life to the very end. And why mention the others? The Lord himself wept over Lazarus, and wept over Jerusalem. He calls blessed those who mourn, and again those who weep.

[4] "And how," they say, "do these things agree with 'Rejoice always'? For tears and joy do not have their origin from the same principles. The one comes as from a blow, when the onset of something unwanted strikes and contracts the soul; joy is a kind of leaping of the soul exulting in what is to its liking. Hence the effects in the body differ too. In those who grieve the bulk of the body becomes pale, livid and chilled; in those who are cheerful the condition of the body blooms and is flushed, the soul all but leaping and pushed outward by pleasure." To this we shall say that the laments and tears of the saints came about through their love for God. Always looking at the Beloved, and increasing the gladness they had from him, they took care of their fellow servants, mourning those who sinned and correcting them by their tears. As those standing on the shore, sympathizing with those who are going under in the sea, do not give up their own safety in their concern for those in danger, so neither do those who grieve over the sins of their neighbors destroy their own gladness. On the contrary, they make it greater, … being counted worthy. That is why "blessed are those who weep" and "blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted," and "they shall laugh." By laughter he does not mean the noise bursting through the cheeks when the blood boils up, but pure cheerfulness unmixed with anything gloomy. The apostle, then, allows us to weep with those who weep, because this tear becomes, as it were, a seed and a loan of eternal joy. Go up with me in your mind and behold the state of the angels, whether any other state befits them than rejoicing and good cheer, because they have been counted worthy to stand before God and to enjoy the inexpressible beauty of the glory of our Creator. It is to urge us toward that life that the apostle commanded us to rejoice always.

[5] As for the Lord's weeping over Lazarus and over the city, we can say this: that he also ate and drank, not because he himself needed these things, but leaving you measures and limits for the necessary passions of the soul. So too he wept, … correcting what is mean. For if anything, weeping too needs the proportion that comes from reason: over what it should happen, and how much, and when, and how. That the Lord's tear was not one of passion but of teaching is plain from this: "Lazarus our friend has fallen asleep, but I go to wake him." Which of us mourns a friend who is asleep, whom he expects to wake a little later? "Lazarus, come out." And the dead man was brought to life, and the bound man walked. A wonder within a wonder: to have the feet bound with grave-bands and not be hindered from moving! For the power that strengthened him was greater than what hindered him. How then could the one who was about to do such things judge the event worthy of tears? Is it not plain that, supporting our weakness on every side, he bounded the necessary passions with certain measures and limits, avoiding insensibility as brutish and rejecting love of grief and much lamenting as ignoble? That is why, by weeping over his friend, he both showed his sharing of human nature and released us from both extremes, permitting us neither to be [softened] toward the passions nor to be insensible to what is grievous. As the Lord accepted hunger when the solid food in him had been spent, and accepted thirst when the moisture in his body had been consumed, and grew weary when the muscles and sinews were overstrained by the journey (not that the divinity was overcome by fatigue, but the body received the symptoms that follow from nature), so too he accepted the tear, allowing the symptom natural to the flesh to occur. This happens when the cavities of the brain, filled with the vapors from grief, discharge the weight of the moisture through the passages of the eyes as through channels. Hence ringing in the ears, dizziness and fainting come on at unexpected news of grief, as the head is whirled about by the vapors that the contraction of heat into the depths sends up. Then, I think, as a cloud dissolves into drops, so the thickness of the vapors is dissolved into tears. Hence there is even a certain pleasure in lamenting for those who grieve, as what weighs them down is emptied out without their noticing by weeping. Experience of what happens confirms the truth of this account. For we have known many who, in incurable misfortunes, forcibly held back their tears and then some fell into incurable afflictions, strokes or paralyses, and others died outright, their strength giving way under the weight of grief like a weak prop. For what one can see in a flame, that it is choked by its own smoke when the smoke does not escape but rolls round it, they say happens too to the power that governs the living creature: it withers away and is quenched by pains when there is no outward breathing.

Let not the lovers of grief, then, put forward the Lord's tear in defence of their own passion. For as the food the Lord ate is not an occasion of soft living for us, but on the contrary the highest rule of self-control and sufficiency, so too his tear is not a law to lament, but a most seemly measure set before us and an exact rule, by which we ought to bear what is grievous with dignity and decorum, keeping within the limits of nature. Neither women nor men, then, are permitted [more than] to shed a small tear over what is grievous, and that quietly, not roaring or wailing or behaving in any other such unseemly way, as those do who are untaught in heavenly things. For one who has been purified by the divine teaching must be fenced about with right reason as with a strong wall and must repel bravely and steadfastly the assaults of such passions, and not, as if crouching in some low place, receive the flood of the passions pouring in through the lowness and yielding of the soul. For it belongs to an unmanly soul, which has no strength from hope in God, to be violently broken down and to give way to grief. For as worms [grow in softer wood], so griefs grow in the softer characters of men. Was Job's heart made of adamant? Were his inward parts made of stone? Ten children fell to him in a brief moment of time, crushed by one blow in the house of feasting, in the time of enjoyment, when the devil shook the house down on them. He saw the table mixed with blood; he saw children born at different times but … in common … he tore his hair, he uttered no ignoble cry, but spoke that thanksgiving that is celebrated and sung by all: "The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away; as it seemed good to the Lord, so it has happened; blessed be the name of the Lord." Was the man without feeling? How could he be, who says of himself, "I wept over every one in distress"? Was he lying, then, when he said this? But the truth bears witness that besides his other virtues he was also truthful: "a man," it says, "blameless, [true] …" … you lament with songs [made for] dejection; and as the masks of tragedians have their own make-up, so you think that a fitting appearance belongs to the mourner: a black garment, unkempt hair, darkness in the house, dirt and dust, and a doleful song, keeping the wound of grief always fresh in the soul. Leave these things to those who have no hope. But you have been taught about those who have fallen asleep in Christ that "it is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorruption; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power; it is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body." Why then do you weep for the one who has departed …? … being deprived of someone [as a support] for life: "For it is good," it says, "to trust in the Lord rather than to trust in man." And do not lament him as one who has suffered terrible things. For a little later the trumpet from heaven will wake him, and you will see him standing before the judgment seat of Christ. Let go, then, of these mean and uneducated cries: "Alas for these unexpected evils!" and "Who would have thought this would happen?" and "When would I have expected to bury that dearest head in the ground?" For even when we hear another say these things, we ought to blush, who from the memory of the past and the experience of the present have been taught the necessary passions of nature …

[7] Neither untimely deaths, then, nor any other misfortunes … ever [cast down] those who are trained by the word of piety. For example: I had a son, a young man, the only successor of my life, the comfort of my old age, the ornament of the family, the flower of his generation, the prop of the house; he had reached the most charming time of life; he has been snatched away and is gone, and he has become earth and dust, who a little while ago spoke so sweetly to hear and was the sweetest sight to his father's eyes. What then am I to do? Tear my clothes, roll on the ground, bewail my lot, show myself to those present like a child crying out and writhing under blows? Or, heeding the necessity of what happens, that the law of death is inexorable and passes through every age alike and dissolves in turn everything that is composite, [shall I not bear it calmly,] not stunned as by an unexpected blow, having long been taught that, being mortal, I had a mortal son, and that nothing human is secure, nor is it its nature to remain forever with those who possess it? Great cities, famous for the splendor of their buildings, the power of their inhabitants and the prosperity of their countryside and marketplace, now bear only in ruins the tokens of their ancient dignity. A ship often saved from the sea, which has made countless swift voyages and carried countless cargoes for its merchants, has vanished at one gust of wind. Armies that have often conquered their enemies in battle … have become a spectacle and a tale. Whole nations and islands that rose to great power, set up many trophies on land and sea, and amassed great wealth from spoils, have either been consumed by time or, made captive, have exchanged freedom for slavery. In short, whatever you name of the greatest and most unbearable evils, life has already furnished examples of it. As, then, we judge weights by the tipping of the balance and test gold by rubbing it on the stone, so, if we bring our memory back to the measures the Lord has set before us, we shall never fall outside the limits of self-control.

When something unwanted befalls you, then, the best is not to be troubled at all, because your mind is prepared beforehand; next, to make the present lighter by the hope of what is to come. For as people with weak eyes turn their gaze from things that are too bright and rest it on flowers and grass, so the soul should not look constantly at what is grievous, nor be fixed on present distresses, but turn its eye to the contemplation of what is truly good. So you will succeed in rejoicing always, if your life always looks toward God and the hope of reward lightens the griefs of life. Have you been dishonored? Look to the glory laid up in heaven through endurance. Have you suffered loss? Fix your gaze on the heavenly riches and on the treasure you have stored up for yourself through good works. Have you been driven from your country? But you have as your country the heavenly Jerusalem. Have you lost a child? But you have angels, with whom you will dance round the throne of God and rejoice with everlasting gladness. So by setting the good things expected against present distresses you will keep your soul free of grief and undisturbed, to which the apostle's law calls us. Let neither the bright side of human affairs produce immoderate exultation in your soul, nor its grievous side lower its pride and loftiness with dejection and shrinking. For unless you have been trained beforehand about the affairs of life, you will never live a life calm and undisturbed. And you will easily achieve this if you have as your companion the commandment that urges you to rejoice always: sending away the troubles of the flesh and gathering up the joys of the soul, rising above the perception of present things and stretching your thought toward the hope of eternal things, the mere imagining of which is enough to fill the soul with gladness and to settle angelic exultation in our hearts, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory and might for ever. Amen.

… and on the remaining parts of the homily on thanksgiving delivered earlier.

The occasion of this assembly is the proclamation made about the blessed martyr. For we announced this day to you as holding the memorial of her great contest, a contest most manly in a woman's body, which caused astonishment both in those then present at the spectacle and in those who later received the account from those who had witnessed it … [a woman, if one should] call a woman her who by the greatness of her soul concealed the weakness of the female nature. By her, I think, our common adversary was most of all stricken, unable to bear defeat at the hands of women. He who boasted those great things (that he would shake the whole world, and "seize it like a nest, and take it up like eggs that have been left," and lay waste cities) was shown to be defeated by virtue. Trying in the time of temptation to prove that, because of the weakness of her nature, she could not keep her piety toward God to the end, he found by experience that she was braver than her nature, and that she laughed at his terrors as much as he had expected her to cower before the dangers.

She had a lawsuit against one of the powerful men of the city, a grasping and violent man who had amassed his wealth by plunder and robbery. He had cut off a great quantity of her land, and had transferred to himself from the woman fields and villages, cattle and slaves and all the remaining equipment of her life; he had taken possession of the courts, relying on informers and false witnesses and on bribing the judges. When the lady appeared, and the herald called, and the advocates were ready, and she began to inform the court … the manner of the original acquisition, and the length of time that confirmed the ownership, and then to lament the man's violence and greed, he came forward and said that the case was not admissible: for it was not lawful for those who do not worship the emperors' gods and do not abjure faith in Christ to share in the common rights. The magistrate thought he spoke justly and put forward what was necessary. At once there were incense and a brazier, and a proposal to the parties: if they denied Christ, they should enjoy the laws and the benefit from them; if they held to the faith, they should share neither in courts nor laws nor the rest of civic life, as people deprived of rights under the law of those then in power.