Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 87.1–87.4

“Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the praetorium and gathered the whole cohort around him; and they stripped him and put a scarlet cloak on him, and they wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and a reed in his right hand. And kneeling before him they mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews.”

As if at some signal, the devil was then dancing in them all. For grant that the Jews, wasting away with envy and jealousy, raged against him like drunkards: but the soldiers—from where, and for what cause? Is it not plain that it was the devil who was then revelling in them all? For they made their insults against him a pleasure, being cruel and savage men. When they ought to have been humbled, ought to have wept, as the people did, this they did not do; on the contrary, they insulted him and trampled on him, perhaps themselves gratifying the Jews, or else doing everything out of their own perversity. And the insults were of many kinds. For that divine head they at one time struck with their fists, at another outraged with the crown of thorns, at another beat with the reed—foul and accursed men.

What excuse will we have any longer for being moved by insults, after Christ suffered these things? For what happened was the utmost limit of outrage. Not one member only, but the whole body throughout was outraged: the head through the crown and the reed and the blows; the face, spat upon; the cheeks, struck; the whole body through the scourges, through being wrapped in the cloak, and through the pretended worship; the hand through the reed, which they gave him to hold instead of a scepter; the mouth again through the offering of the vinegar. What could be harder than these things? What more insulting? For what was done passes all words. For as if afraid that they might seem to fall short in any part of the daring deed—having killed the prophets with their own hands, but this one by a judge’s vote—so they do everything: they become his murderers with their own hands, and they condemn him and pass sentence on him both among themselves and before Pilate, saying, “His blood be on us and on our children”; and they trample on him and insult him by their own doing, binding him, leading him away; and they make themselves the authors of the insults offered by the soldiers; and they nail him, and revile him, and spit on him, and mock him. For Pilate contributed nothing here; they did everything themselves, becoming accusers and judges and executioners and everything.

And these things are read among us when all come together. For so that the pagans may not say, “You display the bright and glorious things, such as the signs and wonders, to the crowds and the peoples, but you hide these shameful things,” the grace of the Spirit arranged that on a public festival, when men and women are present in full numbers, in short everyone, on the great evening of the Pascha—then all these things should be read; when the whole world is present, then these things are proclaimed with a clear voice. And while these things are read and made known to all, Christ is believed to be God and, along with everything else, is worshiped for this very reason, that he deigned to come down so far for us as

both to suffer these things and to train us in all virtue. Let us then read these things continually; for great is the gain, very great the benefit from it. For when you see him mocked by gestures and by deeds, and worshiped with such a farce, and struck with fists, and suffering the uttermost, even if you are a very stone, you will become softer than any wax, and you will cast all inflammation out of your soul.

Hear, then, what follows too. When they had mocked him, “they led him away to crucify him,” it says; and having stripped him they took his garments, and sitting down they watched him, to see when he would expire. And they divide his garments among themselves, which is done in the case of utterly worthless and outcast condemned men, who have no one and are in complete desolation. They parted the garments through which such great miracles had been done. But the garments did nothing then, since Christ held back his unspeakable power. And this too was no small addition to the outrage. For as toward one dishonored and outcast, as I said, and the meanest of all, so they dared everything. To the robbers, at any rate, they did nothing of the kind; but against Christ they dared everything. And they crucified him in the middle, so that he might share in their reputation. And they gave him vinegar to drink, this too to insult him; but he would not. Another evangelist says that when he had tasted it he said, “It is finished.” What does “It is finished” mean? The prophecy about him has been fulfilled. “For they gave,” it says, “gall for my food, and in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.” But neither does that evangelist show that he drank; for merely to taste does not differ from not drinking, but means one and the same thing.

Yet even here the outrage does not stop. Having stripped him and crucified him and offered him vinegar, they go further: seeing him impaled on the cross, they reproach him, both they themselves and those who passed by. And this was harder than all: that he suffered these things on the charge of being a deceiver and an impostor, and as a boaster, vaunting himself idly in what he said. For this reason they crucified him in public, so that they might make a show of him while everyone looked on; for this reason also by soldiers’ hands, so that, these things being dared even in a public court, the outrage might be heightened. [2] And yet whom would the crowd that followed him lamenting not have moved? But not these wild beasts. That is why he counts those people worthy of an answer, but these no longer. For after doing what they wished, they were eager to ruin his glory as well, fearing his resurrection. For this reason they say these things in public, and they crucified robbers with him, and wishing to show him a deceiver they said, “You who destroy the temple and build it in three days, come down from the cross.” For since, when they told Pilate to remove the charge (this was the inscription, “The King of the Jews”), they accomplished nothing, but he stood firm, saying, “What I have written, I have written,” they themselves then tried, by the things with which they mocked him, to show that he is not a king. Therefore they said both those things and these: “If he is King of Israel, let him come down now from the cross”; and again, “He saved others; himself he cannot save,” trying in this way to discredit even his former signs; and again, “If he is the Son of God, and God wants him, let him save him.” O foul and utterly foul men! What then? Were the prophets not prophets, nor the righteous righteous, because God did not snatch them out of their dangers? But surely they were, even while they suffered these things. What, then, could equal your folly? For if the dangers that came on them did not ruin their glory in your eyes, but they were prophets even while suffering what they suffered, much more ought you not to have been offended in his case, since both by what he did and by what he said he had always corrected this suspicion of yours in advance.

Nevertheless, even when these things were being said and done, they accomplished nothing, not even at that very moment. At any rate the man who had rotted in the utmost wickedness and had spent his whole life in murders and burglaries confessed him at the very time these things were being said, and made mention of the kingdom; and the people lamented him. And yet what was happening seemed, to those who did not know the dispensation of the mystery, to bear the opposite witness, that he was weak and powerless; but nevertheless the truth prevailed even through its opposites.

Hearing these things, then, let us arm ourselves against all wrath, against all anger. And if you see your heart inflamed, seal your breast, placing the cross on it; recall something of what happened then, and you will throw off all wrath like dust by the memory of what was done. Consider the words, consider the deeds; consider that he is Master and you a servant; he suffered for your sake, you for your own; he on behalf of those he had benefited and who crucified him, you on your own behalf; he on behalf of those who had insulted him, you often at the hands of those you have wronged; he while the whole city looked on, or rather the whole people of the Jews, strangers and natives alike, before whom he uttered those loving words; you with few present. And what added most to the outrage: even his disciples forsook him. Those who had served him before sprang away; and his enemies and foes, having him impaled in their midst, insulted, reviled, mocked, laughed, jeered—Jews and soldiers below, and on high, on either side, the robbers. For the robbers too insulted him, and both reproached him. How then does Luke say that one rebuked the other? Both things happened: at first both reproached him, but later the one no longer. For lest you should think the thing had been arranged by some agreement, and that the robber was not a robber, he shows you by the insult that up on the cross he was a robber and an enemy, and was changed all at once.

Reflecting, then, on all these things, practice self-command. For what do you suffer such as your Master suffered? Were you insulted in public? But not with such insults. Are you mocked? But not in your whole body, nor scourged and stripped like this. And if you were struck with fists, yet not like this. [3] And add to this, I beg you, by whom, and why, and when, and who it was; and, hardest of all, that while these things were being done no one complained, no one found fault with what was done; on the contrary, all praised it, and joined in mocking and jeering, and so they reviled him as a boaster and a deceiver and an impostor, unable to show in deeds what he had said. But he is silent toward all, preparing for us the greatest remedies of long-suffering. But we, hearing these things, do not bear up even toward our household servants, but leap and kick worse than wild asses—savage and inhuman over wrongs done to ourselves, but taking little account of those done against God. And toward friends we are disposed in the same way: if someone grieves us, we do not bear it; if he insults us, we grow wilder than wild beasts—we who read these things every day. The disciple betrayed him; the rest forsook him and fled; those he had benefited spat on him; the servant of the high priest … jeered and reviled; the robbers accused him; and to none of them did he utter a word, but by silence he overcame them all, teaching you by deeds that the more meekly you bear it, the more you will master those who do you wrong, and you will be admired by all. For who will not admire the one who gently bears the insults of those who abuse him? For just as, even if someone suffers justly, by bearing the evil meekly he is thought by most people to suffer unjustly, so, even if he suffers unjustly but turns insolent, he will incur the suspicion of suffering justly, and he will be ridiculous, dragged away like a captive by his anger and losing his own nobility. For such a man one ought not even to call free, even if he is master of ten thousand slaves.

“But so-and-so provoked you severely?” And what of it? That is when one ought to show self-command; for when there is no one to irritate them, we shall see even wild beasts tame, for they too are not always fierce, but only when someone rouses them. And so we too, if we are quiet only when there is no one to provoke us, what more are we? For those beasts are often justly angered and have much excuse: they are roused when they are stirred and goaded; and besides, they are deprived of reason, and being savage is in their nature. But you, tell me, from what source will you be able to obtain pardon when you turn savage and wild? What terrible thing have you suffered? Were you robbed? For this very reason you ought to bear it, so as to gain the more. But were you deprived of reputation? And what of it? Nothing of yours is diminished by it, if you practice self-command. And if you suffer nothing terrible, why are you angry with the one who has done you no harm, but has even benefited you? For those who honor us make those who are not watchful even more slack, but those who insult and despise us make those who attend to themselves more steadfast. For the careless are wronged more by being honored than by being insulted. And the latter, if we are watchful, become for us the causes of self-command; but the former puff up our pride and fill us with arrogance, vainglory and sloth, and make our soul softer. Fathers bear witness to this, who do not flatter their own sons as much as they rebuke them, fearing that they may take some harm from flattery; and teachers too use this remedy with them. So if one must turn away from anyone, one ought to turn away from flatterers rather than from those who insult; for this bait does more harm than insult to those who are not watchful, and it is harder to master than that passion. And the reward from it is much greater, and the admiration greater. For it is more wonderful to see a man insulted and not moved than beaten and struck and not falling.

“And how is it possible not to be moved?” someone says. Someone insulted you? Place the sign on your breast; recall all the things that happened then, and everything is quenched. Do not think only of the insults, but of whether anything good has ever come to you from the one who insulted you, and at once you will become gentle. Or rather think, before all, of the fear of God, and quickly you will be moderate and gentle. [4] Along with these, take admonition about these things from your own household servants too. And when you see yourself insulting and him silent, consider that it is possible to practice self-command, and condemn yourself for being harsh; and in the very moment of the insults learn not to insult, and so you will not be pained when you are insulted either. Consider that the one who insults is beside himself and raving, and you will not be indignant when insulted; for those possessed by demons strike us too, and not only are we not moved, but we even pity them. Do this too: pity the one who insults you; for he is held by a terrible beast, wrath, by a harsh demon, anger. Free him, worked on as he is by a harsh demon and being destroyed in a short time. For such is this disease, that it needs no length of time for the ruin of the one it has seized. That is why someone said, “For the sway of his wrath is his downfall,” showing above all its tyranny, that in a short time it works great evils and needs no long continuance; so that if, besides its strength, it were also lasting, it would be hard to overcome.

I wished I could show who the man is who insults and who the man is who practices self-command, and bring the soul of each, naked, into the open. For you would see the one like a sea tossed by waves, the other like a harbor free from turmoil. For it is not troubled by these evil winds, and it easily stills them. For those who insult do everything in order to bite; so when they fail of this hope, they themselves stop as well, and go away corrected. For it is impossible for a man who is angry not to condemn himself severely, just as it is impossible for one who is not angry to condemn himself. For even if one must proceed against someone, it is possible to do it without anger, both more easily and more wisely than with anger, and without suffering anything unpleasant. For if we are willing, the good things will come from ourselves, and we shall be sufficient, with the grace of God, for our own safety and honor. Why do you seek glory from another? Honor yourself, and no one will be able to insult you; but if you dishonor yourself, even if all honor you, you will not be honored. For just as, if we do not harm ourselves, no one else will harm us, so, if we do not disgrace ourselves, no one else will put us to shame. Let there be a man admirable and great, and let everyone call him adulterer, thief, grave-robber, murderer, robber; but let him neither be provoked nor indignant, nor be conscious of any of these things in himself: what insult will he suffer from this? None. “What then,” someone says, “if many hold such an opinion of him?” Not even so has he been insulted; rather they have disgraced themselves, thinking him such when he is not. For tell me, if someone thought the sun was dark, would he have slandered the star, or himself? Himself, plainly, bringing on himself the reputation of a blind man or a madman. So too those who think the wicked good, and those who do the reverse, disgrace themselves. Therefore we ought to take more care to cleanse our conscience, and to give no handle against ourselves, and no evil suspicion; but if others choose to rave even when we are so disposed, not to care much about it, nor to be pained. For the one who gets a reputation for wickedness while being good is not harmed by it in being what he is; but the one who suspected him rashly and in vain has received the utmost harm. Just so the wicked man, if he is suspected of the opposite, gains nothing from it, but will have a greater judgment and will come to greater carelessness. For the man who is such and is suspected might perhaps be humbled and recognize his sins; but when he escapes notice, he falls into insensibility. For if, when all accuse them, offenders scarcely rouse themselves to compunction, when people not only do not accuse them but even praise them, when will those who live with wickedness be able to see clearly? Do you not hear that Paul too lays this charge, that the Corinthians not only did not allow the man who had committed sexual immorality to recognize his own sin, by applauding and honoring him, but even drove him further into wickedness by it? Therefore I exhort you: leaving aside the suspicions of the many, both their insults and their honors, let us be zealous for one thing only, to be conscious of nothing evil in ourselves and not to outrage ourselves. For so we shall enjoy much glory both here and in the world to come; which may we all attain, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.