Homilies and Sermons 5.2–5.9

What then? Was she enticed by wealth? Or did she, in her rivalry with the wrongdoer, overlook her advantage? Or was she terrified by the danger hanging over her from the judges? Not at all. "Let my livelihood go," she said, "let my money be gone; let not even my body be left to me, rather than I should utter any impious word against God who created me." And the more she saw the magistrate enraged at these words and inflamed to the utmost anger against her, the more she gave thanks to God, because in disputing about perishable goods she was seen to be securing for herself the possession of heavenly goods: losing land to gain paradise, condemned to dishonor that she might be counted worthy of the crowns of glory, [losing her] temporary [life] that she might lay hold of blessed hopes, to be found with all the saints in the joy of the kingdom. When, asked many times, she many times gave the same answer, calling herself a servant of Christ, and cursed those who urged her to deny him, then the judge of injustice not only deprived her of the possessions of which she had been robbed unjustly and against the laws, but also, as he thought, punished her with the loss of life itself, handing her over to the fire. And she ran to none of life's delights so eagerly as she went to that flame, showing the gladness of her soul by her face and bearing, by what she said, and by the cheerfulness that bloomed on her; urging the women standing by not to grow soft toward the labors for piety, nor to plead the weakness of their nature. "We are of the same lump as the men," she said. "We were made in the image of God, as they were. The female was made by the Creator capable of virtue in equal honor with the male. Why are we not akin to the men in everything? For not only flesh was taken for the making of the woman, but also bone from his bones. So firmness, vigor and endurance are owed to the Master by us equally with the men." Saying this, she leapt onto the pyre. And the fire, enclosing the saint's body like a chamber of light, sent up her soul to the heavenly country and its fitting lot, and preserved her precious body intact for her relatives. It lies in the most beautiful precinct of the city, and sanctifies the place and sanctifies those who come to it. And the earth, blessed by the coming of the blessed one, sent up from its own bosom a most pleasant spring of water, so that the martyr, becoming as it were a mother, nurses those in the city with a sort of common milk. It is a safeguard for the healthy, a supply of pleasure for those who live soberly, a comfort for the sick. The grace Elisha gave to the people of Jericho, the martyr has given to us, changing by her blessing the saltiness common to the waters of the region into a taste sweet, soft and pleasant to all. Men, do not consent to be seen inferior to women in piety. Women, do not fall short of the example, but hold to piety without excuse, having learned by experience that the deficiency of your nature hinders you from nothing good.

[3] Though I am eager to say much about the martyr, the discourse we began yesterday and left unfinished does not allow us to spend longer on this. And I am by nature impatient of anything incomplete. For an image with only half its likeness is an unpleasing sight, and the labor of a journey is useless if it does not reach the destination set before it … and in hunting, almost is as good as nothing; and runners in the stadium, falling short often by a single step, have lost the prizes. So we too, having called to mind the apostle's words yesterday, and hoping [to treat them] briefly, left out many times more than we said; that is why we think it necessary to pay you what was omitted. The apostle said, "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks." About the need to rejoice always enough was said the day before, if not for the subject, at least for us. But if [we must also speak of praying without ceasing], you who demand it are ready, and I will, as far as I can, complete the defence of the [command]. Prayer is a request for good made by the pious to God. But we do not by any means limit the request to words. For we do not think that God needs to be reminded by words, but that he knows what is useful even when we do not ask. What then do we mean? That we must not fulfil prayer in syllables, but rather fulfil the power of prayer by the choice of the soul and by virtuous actions extending through our whole life. "Whether you eat," it says, "or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God." When you sit at table, pray. When you take bread, render thanks to him who gave it. When you strengthen the body's weakness with wine, remember him who provides you the gift for gladness of heart and relief of sickness. Has the need for food passed? Let not the memory of your benefactor pass. Putting on your tunic, give thanks to him who gave it; taking up your cloak, increase your love for God, who has granted us coverings suitable for winter and summer, both preserving our life and covering what is unseemly. Is the day completed? Give thanks to him who granted us the sun to serve the works of the day, and provided fire to light the night and to serve the other needs of life. Let the night furnish other occasions for prayer. When you look up at the sky and fix your gaze on the beauties of the stars, pray to the Master of what you see, and worship God, the supreme craftsman of the universe, who "made all things in wisdom." When you see the whole nature of living things held by sleep, worship again him who even against our will releases us through sleep from the continuity of our labors, and from a little rest brings us back to the peak of our strength.

[4] So let not the whole night be, as it were, the private and special property of sleep; do not consent to make half of life useless through the insensibility of sleep; but let the time of the night be divided for you between sleep and prayer. Indeed, let your sleep itself be an exercise of piety. For the fantasies of sleep are by nature, for the most part, echoes of the day's concerns. Whatever the pursuits of our life are, such our dreams must be. So you will pray without ceasing, fulfilling prayer not in words but by joining yourself to God through your whole way of life, so that your life is one continuous and unceasing prayer.

But also "in everything," it says, "give thanks." "And how," they say, "is this possible: that a soul pained by misfortunes and, as it were, pierced through by the sense of what hurts, should not be carried away to laments and tears, but give thanks for what is truly to be deprecated as though for good things? When I have suffered what my enemy would curse me with, how shall I be able to give thanks for it? A child has been snatched away untimely, and pangs worse than the first pierce the mother grieving for her beloved; how is she to leave her laments and take up words of thanksgiving?" How? If she reckons that God is a nearer father to the child born of her, and a wiser guardian and steward of his life. Why then do we not allow the wise Master to dispose of his own possessions as seems good to him, but are vexed as if robbed of our own, and pity the dead as if they had been wronged? Reckon rather this: that the child has not died but been given back; the friend has not perished but has gone on a journey, and has gone a little ahead on the road which we too shall necessarily have to travel. Let God's commandment be your companion, giving you unceasingly a kind of light and clearness for judging things; taking charge of your soul long beforehand and preparing true opinions about each thing, it will not let you be altered by anything that befalls you, but by the preparedness of your mind [will make you able], like a rock beside the sea, to endure safely and unshaken the onsets of violent winds and waves. Why were you not accustomed beforehand to think mortal thoughts about what is mortal, but received the death of your child as unexpected? When the birth of your son was first announced to you, if someone had asked you what kind of thing had been born, what would you have answered? Would you have said anything other than that what had been born was a human being? And if a human being, then obviously mortal. What is strange, then, if the mortal has died? Do you not see the sun rising and setting? Do you not see the moon waxing and then waning? The earth flourishing and then drying up? Which of the things around us stands still and has an unmoved and unchanging nature? Look up to the sky, and look at the earth. Not even these last for ever. "Heaven and earth will pass away," it says; "the stars will fall from heaven, [the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give] its light." What wonder, then, if we too, being part of the world, share in what belongs to the world? Looking at this, when your share of the common lot comes to you, bear it with closed lips; not impassively or insensibly (for what reward is there for insensibility?), but with toil and countless pains; yet endure it, like a noble contestant who shows his strength and courage not only by striking his opponents but also by bearing their blows firmly; and like a wise pilot, undisturbed through his long experience of sailing, keeping the soul upright, unsubmerged and higher than every storm. The loss of a beloved child, or of a wife after one's heart, or of any other of those dearest and joined to us by every bond of affection, is nothing terrible to one who has considered it beforehand and has right reason as the guide of his life, and does not walk by mere habit. For separation from what one is used to is very hard to bear even for irrational creatures. I once saw an ox weeping at the manger when its fellow at pasture and yokemate had died. And the other irrational creatures can be seen clinging strongly to what they are used to. But you have not so learned, nor been so taught. It is not unreasonable that friendship should take its beginning from long intercourse and long custom; but to lament the separation because of the long time spent together is utterly unreasonable.

[5] For example, a wife was allotted to you to share your life, providing you every pleasure in life, a maker of good cheer, an agent of delight, increasing your blessings, taking away in griefs the greatest part of your distress; she was suddenly [taken] … do not say that what happened is a chance occurrence, as though no guardian governed the world; and do not suppose some evil creator, adopting wicked doctrines out of immoderate grief; and do not fall outside the limits of piety. Since the two of you had become entirely one flesh, there is great allowance for one who receives the cutting in two and the severing of the union with pain; yet it is not profitable for you on this account to think or say anything unfitting. Consider that God who fashioned and ensouled us gave each soul its own course of life and fixed different limits of departure for different people. One he arranged to remain longer in the presence of the flesh; another he appointed to be released more quickly from the bonds of the body, according to the inexpressible reasons of his wisdom and justice. As, then, of those who fall into prison, some are shut up longer in the misery of the jail and others find quicker release from their hardship, so too some souls are held longer in this life and others for a shorter time, according to the proportion of each one's worth, since our Creator foresees what concerns each of us wisely and deeply and in a way the human mind cannot reach. Do you not hear David saying, "Bring my soul out of prison"? Have you not heard of the saint that "his soul was released"? And Simeon, when he took our Lord in his arms, what did he say? Was it not, "Now you are releasing your servant, Master"? For to one [hastening] toward the life above, staying with the body is heavier than any punishment and any prison. Do not, then, demand that the arrangements concerning souls follow your own enjoyment, but reckon about those joined in life and then separated by death that they are like travellers going along one road, united by habit through spending time continually with one another. When they have gone through the common road and find it then dividing, their needs now necessarily separating each of them, they do not sit down beside their habit and neglect what lies before them, but remembering the cause that set them moving at the beginning, each hurries to his own destination. As those travellers had another aim for their journey, and their familiarity on the way merely arose from habit, so too for those joined in marriage or any other partnership of life a proper end of life was plainly set for each; and the end of life appointed beforehand necessarily separated and parted those who had been joined to one another.

It belongs to a grateful mind, then, not to be aggrieved at the separation but to be thankful to the one who joined us for the union at the beginning. But you, even when your wife or friend or child, or whatever it is you now lament, was still with you, did not give thanks to the giver for what you had, but complained about what was lacking. If you lived with a wife alone, [you complained] that there were no children …; if you had children too, that you were not very rich, or that you saw some of your enemies prospering. Take care, then, that we do not make the loss of those dearest to us necessary for ourselves … [we] live, not perceiving the things that are present but clinging to those that have passed. For since we do not give thanks for the good things from God while they lie before us, their removal becomes necessary for us so that we may perceive them. As the eyes do not see what lies too close but need a moderate distance, so ungrateful souls seem to perceive a past grace only when they are estranged from the good things. For when they enjoyed the better things they felt no gratitude to the giver; after the loss they call the past blessed.

But none of us is shut out from giving thanks by any circumstance of life, if he is willing to reckon up each thing gratefully. For the life of each of us has many reflections, and not unpleasant ones, if only we consent to look at what is below us, and so, by comparison with the worse, to measure how much the good we have is worth. Are you a slave? You have someone lower than yourself; give thanks that you are above one person, that you have not been condemned to the mill, that you are not beaten. Not even he lacks occasions for giving thanks: he has no fetters, he is not bound in the stocks. The prisoner has life as a sufficient occasion for thanksgiving: he sees the sun, he breathes the air; let him give thanks for these. Are you punished unjustly? Rejoice in the hope of what is to come. Have you been justly condemned? Even so give thanks, paying here the penalty for what you have dared, and not being reserved with your sins intact for eternal punishment. By the same reasoning, in every walk of life and in every pursuit the grateful man can render great thanks to his benefactor for what he has.

But as it is, most people suffer what discontented people suffer: they dishonor what they have and desire what is absent. They do not count those below them and so render thanks to their benefactor for what they have; but by comparison with those above them, reckoning how far they fall short, they are pained and find fault as if deprived of their own, when it belongs to others. The slave is vexed that he is not free; the man brought up in freedom, that he is not a patrician nor among those admired for noble birth, nor that he can count seven generations of grandfathers back, brilliant horse-breeders or men who spent their wealth on gladiators. The man of famous family complains that he does not abound in wealth; the rich man grieves and laments that he is not ruler of cities and nations; the general, that he is not king; the king, that he does not rule the whole world under the sun together, but there are nations that do not bow to his sceptre. From all this the result is that the benefactor is thanked for nothing. But let us leave grieving over what is absent and learn to render thanks for what is present. In the gloomier circumstances of affairs let us say to the wise physician, "In a small affliction your discipline was with us." Let us say, "[It is good] for me that you humbled me." Let us say that "the sufferings of the present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us." Let us say that "we have been scourged for few of the sins we committed." Let us entreat the Lord: "Discipline us, Lord, but with judgment, and not in anger." For "when we are judged, we are disciplined by the Lord, so that we may not be condemned along with the world." And in the brighter course of life let us say that word of David: "What shall I render to the Lord for all that he has rendered to me?" He brought us from non-being into being; he honored us with reason; he granted us arts as helpers of life; he sends up food from the earth; he has given us the service of cattle. For us the rains, for us the sun; the mountains and the plains have been arranged for our sake, providing refuges for us on the mountain heights. For us the rivers flow, for us the springs gush; the sea is open to us for trade; the wealth from mines, enjoyments from every side, the whole creation bringing us gifts, through the rich and abundant grace of the benefactor toward us.

[7] And why mention small things? For us God was among men; for the sake of the corrupted flesh "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us." The benefactor [came to live] with the ungrateful; to those sitting in darkness, the sun of righteousness; to the cross, the one beyond suffering; to death, the life; to Hades, the light; the resurrection, for the sake of the fallen; the Spirit of adoption, the distribution of gifts, the promises of crowns; and the other things which it is not easy even to count, for all of which the prophet's word is fitting: "What shall we render to the Lord for all that he has rendered to us?" For again, he is not said to have given, but to have rendered in return, the munificent one, as though he did not begin the grace but repaid those who had begun; for he counts the gratitude of those who receive as … the alms from you through the hand of the poor; and if [the poor man] receives what is his own, he repays you in full, as though it were his own. What then shall we render to the Lord for all that he has rendered to us? For I do not let go of the prophet's word, who rightly is at a loss and looks round at his own poverty, because he has nothing worthy to render. He who, besides such great and splendid benefits, which admit no surpassing, promises us many times more for later: the delight of paradise, glory in the kingdom, honors equal to the angels, and the contemplation of God, which for those counted worthy of the good things is the highest, which every rational nature longs for, and which may we too attain, having cleansed ourselves from the passions of the flesh.

"How then," someone says, "shall we show our fellowship and affection toward our neighbors (which is the first and most perfect of good things, since 'love is the fulfilling of the law'), if, when we visit people held fast by great misfortunes, we do not weep with them or shed tears with them, but give thanks for what has happened? For to bear one's own suffering with thanksgiving gives proof of endurance and steadfastness; but to give thanks to God for others' misfortunes belongs to one who rejoices in evils and provokes those who grieve; and that when the apostle permits us to weep with those who weep." What shall we say to this? Shall we not again necessarily remind you of the Lord's words, at what we have been commanded to rejoice and at what to mourn? "Rejoice," he says, "and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven"; and again, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for your children." So the divine word permits us to leap and exult with the righteous, but … [to mourn] those who are insensible, because they do not even know how they are perishing.

But one should not think that the man who wails over human deaths and cries out with the mourners fulfils the commandment. For I do not praise a physician who instead of helping the sick … nor a pilot who, instead of mastering those on board, fighting the winds, escaping the waves and encouraging the more timid, is seasick and distraught along with the inexperienced passengers. Such is the man who visits mourners and does not give them the benefit of his own reason, but takes a share of the unseemliness of the others' passions. It is fitting, then, to be sad at the misfortunes of mourners; for so you will make yourself one with those who suffer, not making light of their misfortunes nor being indifferent to others' pains. But one ought not to be carried further along with those who grieve, so as to cry out or lament together with the sufferer, or in other ways imitate and emulate the one darkened by passion: for example, shutting oneself up with him, wearing black with him, sitting on the ground with him, and neglecting one's hair. For these things rather intensify the misfortune than soothe it. Do you not see that poultices and compresses, laid some on wounds and others on fevers, intensify the pains, while hands calm what hurts by their gentle touch? So do not you either inflame the passion by your presence, nor fall down along with the fallen. For one who raises up the man lying down must surely be higher than the fallen; but one who falls down equally needs another to raise him up. It is fitting, rather, to be stung by what has happened and quietly to be sad at what is grievous, showing the soul's feeling by a thoughtful face and a dignity that has weight; and when you speak, you should not leap at once to rebukes, as if jumping on and trampling those who lie down (for rebukes are burdensome to those whose souls are afflicted by grief; they are hard for the suffering to accept, and the words of people wholly free of feeling carry no conviction for consolation). Rather, having allowed them to cry out and lament in vain, when the evil has already abated and slackened somewhat, then you should take up consolation tactfully and gently. For horse-breakers too do not at once choke unruly colts with the bit or pull them up (for so they teach them to rear and throw their riders), but at first give way and run along with them, and when they see them [spent] by their own impulse and violence, they make them more obedient by their art. So, according to Solomon's word, [it will be better to go to the house of mourning than] to the house of drinking, if one is going to give the sufferer a share of one's own health by using reason skilfully and gently, and not to take a share of another's grief.

Weep, then, with those who weep. When you see your brother lamenting in repentance for his sins, weep with such a one and share his suffering. For so it will be yours to correct your own faults in the sufferings of others. For one who sheds a hot tear for his neighbor's sin heals himself, through [which] … "Dejection seized me because of the sinners who forsake your law." Weep for sin. This is the sickness of the soul; this is the death of the immortal; this deserves mourning and unceasing lament. For this let every tear flow, and let not the groaning sent up from the depth of the heart cease. Paul wept for the enemies of the cross of Christ. Jeremiah wept over the perishing of his people; since natural tears were not enough for him, he sought a fountain of tears and a last refuge: "And I will sit," he says, "and weep for this people many days, those who are perishing." Such tears and such mourning the word calls blessed; not the disposition that is easily led to every grief and on every pretext readily carried away to laments. I have already seen some lovers of pleasure who, from an excess of soft living, turned to debauchery and drunkenness on the pretext of grief, and tried to excuse their intemperance from Solomon's words, where he says, "Give wine to those in grief." But the proverb does not grant license for drunkenness; it upholds human life. For, to pass over its riddling sense (in which wine means the joy of reason), even the obvious meaning has no small concern: that we may not be swallowed up by the violence of mourning … but that the heart of the lover of grief may be strengthened with bread, and the collapse of strength be propped up with wine. … not soothing grief, but exchanging evils for evils, and becoming wicked traders, they exchange diseases of the soul for diseases; imitating those who equalize the scales of a balance, they take away from grief as much as they add to love of pleasure. But I think that wine should be given as a help to nature, and that unmixed wine should not be allowed to be poured in so much as to darken the reasonings. For grief will not flow away with the wine, and the evil of drunkenness will be added to the soul. If reason is the physician of grief, drunkenness would be the last of evils, hindering the healing of the soul. But take up each of the things said in reason, and you will find both the possibility and the benefit of the apostle's legislation: how you will rejoice always if you follow right reason, how you will pray without ceasing, how you will give thanks in everything, and in what way you will comfort those who grieve, so that you may be complete and fully equipped for everything, with the help of the Holy Spirit and the indwelling of the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and might for ever and ever. Amen.