Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 81.1–81.5

“Now on the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying, Where do you wish us to prepare for you to eat the Passover? And he said, Go into the city to such a one, and say to him, The Teacher says, My time is near; at your house I keep the Passover with my disciples.”

By “the first day of Unleavened Bread” he means the day before the Unleavened Bread; for they are accustomed always to reckon the day from the evening; and he mentions this day because on its evening the Passover was to be sacrificed; for they came on the fifth day of the week. And this evangelist calls it “before the Unleavened Bread,” meaning the time at which they came; while the other speaks thus: “And the day of Unleavened Bread came, on which the Passover had to be sacrificed,” saying “came” in the sense of “was near, was at the doors,” plainly referring to that evening. For they began from the evening; therefore each adds, “when the Passover was sacrificed.” And they say, “Where do you wish us to prepare for you to eat the Passover?” So from this too it is plain that he had no house, no lodging; and I think that neither had they. For otherwise they would have asked him to come there. But neither did these have one, having renounced everything by now. And why did he keep the Passover? Showing by everything, up to the last day, that he was not opposed to the law. And why does he send them to an unknown man? Showing by this too that he was able not to suffer. For he who persuaded this man’s mind to receive them, and that by mere words, what would he not have done with those who crucified him, if he had wished not to suffer? And what he did in the case of the donkey, he did here too. For there he says, “If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, The Lord needs it”; so here too: “The Teacher says, At your house I keep the Passover.” And I wonder not only at this, that the man received him though he was unknown, but that, expecting to draw upon himself so great an enmity and a war without truce, he despised the hatred of the many. Then, since they did not know the man, he gives them a sign too, as the prophet did in the case of Saul, saying, “You will find someone going up and carrying a skin”; and here, “carrying a jar.” And see again the display of his power. For he did not say only, “I keep the Passover,” but adds something else, “My time is near.” And he did this at once to remind the disciples continually of the passion, so that, exercised by the frequency of the prediction, they might ponder what was to happen; and at once to show to them, and to the one receiving him, and to all the Jews, as I have often said, that he goes to the passion not unwillingly. And he adds, “with my disciples,” so that the preparation might be sufficient, and so that the man might not think that he was hiding himself.

“When evening came, he reclined with the twelve disciples.” Alas for the shamelessness of Judas! For he too was present there, and came to share both the mysteries and the salt; and he is convicted at the very table, where, even if he had been a wild beast, he would have become gentler. For this reason the evangelist too points out that it was while they were eating that Christ speaks about the betrayal, so that by the time and by the table he might show the wickedness of the traitor. For when the disciples had done as Jesus had directed them, when evening came, he reclined with the twelve. “And as they were eating,” it says, “he said, Truly I say to you, one of you will betray me.” And before the supper he washed their feet too. And see how he spares the traitor. For he did not say, “So-and-so will betray me,” but “one of you,” so as again to give him the opportunity for repentance by keeping him concealed; and he chooses to frighten all for the sake of saving this one. “One of you, the twelve,” he says, “who are everywhere with me, whose feet I washed, to whom I promised so much.” Unbearable grief, then, seized that holy band. And John says that they were at a loss and looked at one another, and each of them asked, fearing for himself, although conscious of nothing such; but this evangelist says that “being very sorrowful they began to say to him, each one, Is it I, Lord? And he answered and said, He to whom I give the morsel when I have dipped it.” See when he revealed him: when he wished to free the rest from this turmoil; for they were dead with fear; therefore they also pressed him with questions. And he did this not only wishing to relieve them of their anguish, but also wishing to correct the traitor. For since, having often heard it said indefinitely, he remained incorrigible, being past feeling, he strips off his mask, wishing to reach him more. For when, being sorrowful, they began to say, “Is it I, Lord?” he answered and said, “He who has dipped with me in the dish, he will betray me. The Son of Man goes as it is written of him; but woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been good for that man if he had not been born.” Some say that he was so bold as not to honor the Teacher, but to dip with him; but to me it seems that Christ did this too, shaming him more and drawing him toward a better disposition; for this too has something more.

These things ought not to be passed over carelessly, but to be fixed in our minds, and anger would never find room. For who, considering that supper, and the traitor reclining with the Savior of all, and him who was about to be betrayed speaking so gently, would not cast out all the venom of anger and wrath? See, at any rate, how gently he deals with him: “The Son of Man goes as it is written of him.” And he said these things again both to restore the disciples, so that they might not think that the thing came from weakness, and to correct the traitor. “But woe to that man through whom the Son of Man is betrayed; it would have been good for him if that man had not been born.” See again in the rebukes the unspeakable meekness. For not even here does he bring the word vehemently, but rather with pity, and again in a veiled way; and yet not only his earlier insensibility but also his shamelessness afterward deserved the utmost indignation. For after this rebuke he says, “Is it I, Lord?” O the insensibility! He asks, though conscious of such things. For the evangelist too says this marveling at his boldness. What, then, does the most meek and gentle Jesus say? “You have said it.” And yet he could have said, “O foul and utterly foul one, accursed and profane! So long in travail with the evil, having gone away and made satanic contracts and agreed to take money, and having been convicted by me, do you still dare to ask?” But he said none of these things; but how? “You have said it,” fixing for us bounds and rules of forbearance.

But someone will say, “And yet if it was written that he should suffer these things, why is Judas charged? For he did what was written.” But not with that intent, but out of wickedness. And if you do not examine the aim, you will free the devil too from the charges. But it is not so, it is not so. For both this man and that one deserve countless punishments, even though the world was saved. For it was not the betrayal of Judas that wrought salvation for us, but the wisdom of Christ and the resourcefulness of his skill, which used the wickedness of others for our advantage. “What then?” someone says. “If Judas had not betrayed him, would not another have betrayed him?” And what is this to the question? “Because if Christ had to be crucified,” he says, “it had to be through someone; and if through someone, certainly through such a man. And if all had been good, the dispensation for our sake would have been hindered.” Far from it. For the all-wise himself knew how he would manage our affairs, even had this happened; for his wisdom is resourceful and incomprehensible. For this reason, so that no one might think he had become a servant of the dispensation, he bewails the man. But someone will say again, “And if it was good for him not to be born, why did he let him come into the midst, him and all the wicked?” You ought to charge the wicked, because, though they were masters of not becoming such, they have become wicked; but you, leaving this, busy yourself with the things of God and pry into them, though you know that no one is wicked by necessity. “But only the good ought to have come into being,” he says, “and there would have been no need of Gehenna, nor of punishment and penalty, nor a trace of wickedness; and the wicked either should not have come into being, or, having come into being, should have departed at once.” First, then, it is right to say to you the apostolic word: “Who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its molder, Why have you made me thus?” And if you demand reasons too, we would say this: that the good are more greatly admired when they are among the wicked; for then especially their forbearance and great philosophy are shown. But you, saying these things, take away the occasion for wrestlings and contests. “What then? So that these may appear good, are others punished?” he says. Far from it; they are punished for their own wickedness. For they did not become wicked because they were brought into being, but through their own carelessness; therefore they are also punished. For how would they not deserve punishment, having so many teachers of virtue and gaining nothing from them? For as the noble and good deserve double honor, because they have become good and were harmed in nothing by the wicked, so too the worthless deserve double punishment, because they have become wicked when they could have become good (and those who became good show this), and because they gained nothing from the good.

But let us see what this wretched man says when convicted by the Teacher. What, then, does he say? “Is it I, Rabbi?” And why did he not ask this from the beginning? He thought he was escaping notice because it was said, “one of you”; but when Christ made him plain, he dared to ask again, trusting in the gentleness of the Teacher, as one who would not convict him. Therefore he even called him Rabbi. [3] O the blindness! Whither did it lead him! For such is the love of money: it makes men foolish and senseless, bold, and dogs instead of men; or rather worse than dogs, and demons instead of dogs. This man, at any rate, welcomed the devil even as he plotted against him, and betrayed Jesus even as he did him good, having already become a devil by choice. For such does the insatiable desire for money make men: out of their minds, deranged, wholly given to gain, as Judas too became. And how is it that Matthew and the others say that the devil seized him when he made the agreement about the betrayal, but John that “after the morsel Satan entered into him”? John too knows this. For above he says, “During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas to betray him.” How, then, does he say that after the morsel Satan entered into him? Because he does not enter all at once, nor in one move, but first makes much trial; which happened here too. For having sounded him at the beginning and attacked him gently, when he saw him fit for receiving him, he then breathed into him wholly and got complete mastery of him. And how, if they were eating the Passover, did they eat it unlawfully? For they ought not to have eaten it reclining. What, then, is one to say? That after eating it, they then reclined, feasting. And another evangelist says that on that evening he not only ate the Passover, but also said, “With desire I have desired to eat this Passover with you”: that is, in this year. Why? Because then the salvation of the world was to come about, and the mysteries were to be handed down, and the sorrowful things to be dissolved through his death; so much was the cross according to his will. But nothing softened the savage beast, nor bent him, nor shamed him. He bewailed him, saying, “Woe to that man.” He frightened him again, saying, “It would have been good for him if he had not been born.” He shamed him, saying, “He to whom I give the morsel when I have dipped it.” And none of these things held him back; but he was seized as if by some madness, the love of money, or rather by a worse disease. For this madness is worse. For what would a madman have done like this? This man did not foam at the mouth, but foamed forth his Master’s murder; he did not wring his hands, but stretched them out for the price of precious blood. Therefore the madness is greater, because he was mad while in health. “But he does not utter inarticulate sounds?” And what is more inarticulate than this utterance: “What will you give me, and I will betray him to you?” It was the devil that sounded “I will betray” through that mouth. “But he did not strike the earth with his feet in convulsions?” And how much better to convulse so than to stand upright thus! “But he did not cut himself with stones?” And how much better that would have been than to do such things! Do you wish us to bring into the midst the demon-possessed and the covetous, and to make a comparison of both? But let no one think the thing an insult to himself; for we are not insulting the nature, but condemning the thing. The demon-possessed man never put on clothes, cutting himself with stones, and ran over the trackless and rough roads, driven violently by the demon. Do these things not seem dreadful? What, then, if I show the lovers of money doing to their own soul worse things than these, and so much worse that these are thought child’s play compared with those? Will you then depart from the disease? Come, then, let us see whether they are in any respect more tolerably disposed. In nothing; but even worse. For they are more shameful than countless naked men. For it is far better to be naked of clothes than to go about clad in the gains of covetousness, like those who rave in honor of Dionysus. For as those wear masks and garments of madmen, so do these too. And as madness causes the nakedness of the demon-possessed, so madness works this clothing; and the clothing is more pitiable than the nakedness. And this I will try to show from the following. Whom would we say is more mad among the madmen themselves? One who cuts himself, or one who strips, along with himself, all who meet him? Plainly the latter. Well, then, those stripped themselves, but these strip all who meet them. “But those tear their garments.” And how much would each of the wronged have preferred to have a garment torn than to be stripped of his whole property! “But they do not strike blows in the face.” Indeed the covetous do this too; and if not all of them, yet all inflict on the belly, through famine and poverty, more grievous pains. “But they do not bite with their teeth.” Would that it were with teeth, and not with the darts of covetousness, more grievous than teeth! For their teeth are weapons and darts. For who will grieve more, he who was bitten once and at once healed, or he who is continually devoured by the teeth of poverty? For involuntary poverty is worse than a furnace and a wild beast. “But they do not seek the deserts, as the demon-possessed do.” Would that they overran the deserts and not the cities, and all in the cities would have enjoyed security. But as it is, in this too they are more intolerable than all those, that they do in the cities what those do in deserts, making the cities deserts, and plundering the goods of all as in a desert where there is no one to hinder. “But they do not stone those who meet them.” And what of that? For stones it is easy to guard against; but the wounds which they inflict through paper and ink on the wretched poor, composing documents full of countless blows—who of those who fall into them could ever easily guard against these?

And let us see also what they do to themselves. They walk naked about the city; for they have no garment of virtue. And if this does not seem shameful to them, this too comes from their excessive madness, that they do not even perceive their indecency; but when stripped in body they are ashamed, while carrying their soul about naked they pride themselves. And if you wish, I will tell you the cause of their insensibility too. What, then, is the cause? They are stripped among many who are stripped in the same way; therefore they are not even ashamed, just as we are not in the baths. For if there were many clothed with virtue, then their shame would appear more greatly. But as it is, this is what is especially worthy of many tears, that because many are wicked, evils are not even held in shame. For along with other things the devil has wrought this too, not to allow us even to perceive our evils, but by the multitude of those who pursue wickedness to overshadow its shame; since if such a man happened to be among a multitude of many who practice philosophy, he would see his nakedness more. That they are more naked than the demon-possessed, then, is plain from this; and that they also go about deserts, no one could deny either. For the broad and spacious street is more desert than any desert. For even if it has many travelers, yet it has no men, but serpents, scorpions, wolves, vipers, asps; for such are those who pursue wickedness. And not only is it a desert, but rougher than that. And this is plain from this: for stones and ravines and ridges do not so strike those who climb them as robbery and covetousness strike the souls that pursue them. And that they live among the tombs too, like the demon-possessed—or rather are themselves tombs—is plain from this. For what is a tomb? A stone, having a dead body lying in it. In what, then, do the bodies of these men differ from those stones? Or rather these are more pitiable than those. For here it is not a stone having a dead body, but a body more insensible than stones, carrying about a dead soul. Therefore one would not err in calling them tombs. For our Lord too called the Jews so, especially for this reason; at any rate he added, saying, “But within they are full of robbery and covetousness.” Do you wish me to show next how they also cut their own heads with stones? Whence, then, tell me, do you wish to learn this first—from things here, or from things to come? But they make little account of the things to come; so things here must be spoken of. For than how many stones are their cares more grievous, not wounding heads but consuming the soul? For they fear lest what came into their house unjustly should justly go out of it; they tremble for the utmost; they are angry, they are provoked, with their own people, with strangers; and now dejection, now fear, now anger takes them in turn; and as if crossing from precipice to precipice, they look out every day for what they have not yet acquired. Therefore they do not even enjoy what they have, both because they are not confident about its safety, and because they gape with their whole mind after what they have not yet taken. And as one who is continually thirsty, even if he drinks up countless springs, does not perceive the pleasure, because he gets no satiety, so these too not only take no pleasure, but are tormented, the more they surround themselves with goods, because they know no limit to such desire. And such are the things here; let us speak also of the day to come. For even if they themselves pay no heed, yet it is necessary for us to speak. On the day to come, then, one would see such men punished everywhere. For when he says, “I was hungry, and you did not give me to eat; I was thirsty, and you did not give me drink,” he punishes these; and when he says, “Go into the eternal fire prepared for the devil,” he sends there those who are wickedly rich. And the wicked servant, who does not give the master’s goods to his fellow servants, is of their portion, and he who buried the talent, and the five virgins. And wherever you go, you will see the lovers of money punished. Now they will hear, “There is a chasm between us and you”; now, “Go away from me into the fire prepared”; and now, cut in two, they will depart where there is gnashing of teeth. And one would see them driven from every side, and having no place anywhere, but gathered into Gehenna alone.

What, then, is the benefit to us of right faith for salvation, when we hear these things? There, the gnashing of teeth, and outer darkness, and the fire prepared for the devil, and being cut in two, and being driven out; here, enmities, slanders, false accusations, dangers, cares, plots, being hated by all, being loathed by all, even by those who seem to flatter. For as not only the good but also the wicked admire the good, so not only the virtuous but also the worthless hate the wicked. And that this is true, I would gladly ask the lovers of money whether they are not disgusted with one another, and do not think one another more hostile than those who have done them the greatest wrongs; whether they do not even accuse themselves; whether they do not call it an insult when anyone brings this reproach against them. For this is the utmost reproach and the proof of much wickedness. For if you cannot bear to despise money, what will you ever overcome? Lust, and the madness for glory, and anger, and wrath? And how could one be persuaded of it? For lust after bodies, and anger and wrath, many ascribe to the constitution of the flesh, and the children of physicians attribute the excesses to it, and they say that the hotter and moister man is more lustful, and that one who has fallen into a drier imbalance is impetuous and irascible and passionate. But for love of money no one has ever heard them say anything of the kind. So the disease belongs to carelessness alone and to a soul past feeling. Therefore I exhort you, let us be zealous to correct all such things, and to turn the passions that come upon us at each age to the opposite. And if in each part of our life we sail past the labors of virtue, suffering shipwrecks everywhere, and come to the harbor empty of spiritual cargo, we will suffer the extreme. For the present life is an outspread sea. And as in this sea there are different gulfs having different storms—the Aegean is grievous because of the winds; the Tyrrhenian strait because of its narrowness; Charybdis by Libya because of the shoals; the Propontis outside the Euxine because of its violence and surging; the parts beyond Gades because of the desolation and the untrodden and unexplored nature of the places; and another part for another reason—so too it is in our life. And first one may see the sea of childhood, which has much tossing because of its folly, its pliancy, its want of firmness. For this reason we set over children tutors and teachers, supplying by care what is lacking in nature, as there by the art of steering. After this age the sea of youth succeeds, where the winds are violent, as in the Aegean, as desire grows in us. And this age especially is bare of correction, not only because it is more violently assailed, but also because its sins are not rebuked; for both the teacher and the tutor withdraw from then on. When, then, the winds blow more violently, and the pilot is weaker, and there is no one to help, consider the greatness of the storm. After this again comes another part of life, that of men, in which the cares of the household press upon us: when there is a wife, and marriage, and the begetting of children, and the charge of a house, and many snowstorms of cares. Then especially the love of money flourishes, and envy. When, then, we pass each part of life with shipwrecks, how shall we suffice for the present life? How shall we escape the punishment to come? For when in the first age we learn nothing sound, and in youth are not self-controlled, and when we become men do not overcome the love of money, coming to old age as into a bilge, and having made the ship of the soul weaker with all these blows, its planks loosened, we will arrive at that harbor bearing much rubbish instead of spiritual merchandise, and we will provide laughter for the devil but lamentation for ourselves, and draw down on ourselves unbearable punishments. So that these things may not happen, then, let us bind ourselves tight on every side, and stand against all the passions, and cast out the desire for wealth, so that we may also obtain the good things to come, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory to the ages of ages. Amen.