On the Seals

The sacred teachings are a great provision for the soul’s journey to salvation. For iron sharpens iron, and the divine word whets the soul; and the body is nourished by bread, but the soul is strengthened by the divine word, as blessed Moses too, setting forth the nourishing power of divine teaching, says: “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.” The food of the soul, then, is the word of God. For to the soul that came into being according to the image of the Word who made the world, that is honored with reason and counted worthy of rational freedom, what could be more fitting than a word that nourishes it, instructs it, and swiftly leads it back to its own dignity? And by “word,” brothers, we mean not the word dressed up by sophistical cleverness for plausibility, but the word attested by the simplicity of faith for truth. For every virtue of life and of speech that has not received its first-fruits from the divine teacher must be held spurious; and as far as a shadow is removed from a body, and a dream from the truth, so far is the reputed wisdom of the world separated from the true wisdom of God. Hence blessed Paul too, the vessel of election, who once went out wickedly to hunt the saints but was well caught for the salvation of human beings, plainly bringing the godly and true word in against the spurious, said: “Yet we speak wisdom among the perfect, but not the wisdom of this age, nor of the rulers of this age, who are passing away, but … the wisdom of God in a mystery.” Our wisdom, then, is the prophetic tongue, the apostolic teaching, and the Gospel of the kingdom, the summit of rational authority. And when we hear “Gospel,” brothers, let us take up a sense worthy of the name. For many, often occupied with the habit of names, have not known the force of the things themselves. A gospel is an announcement of the event; for it brings us the good news of the much-hymned dispensation of the Savior: that God came to be among human beings out of love for humankind, not laying aside his eternal dignity, but putting on the saving dispensation. The Gospel brings us the good news that a physician has come to dwell among the sick, healing not with medicines but with the nod of his love for humankind; it brings us the good news that for those who had strayed a road has been shown, for those in darkness the light has shone, for those despaired of, salvation. For since, trained by the law, we did not turn back, and, guided by the prophecies, we were not called back to the knowledge of the truth, and there was danger that through our ingratitude all things would be destroyed and human affairs dissolved, when the love of God for humankind saw us both weary of the training of the law and wearied of the guidance of the prophets, it conquered our ingratitude with great and measureless goodness, and setting forth the Gospel of the kingdom like a royal gift to the whole inhabited earth, it bestowed everything on the unworthy out of love for humankind. So saving grace went forth benefiting all in various ways: freeing slaves, enriching the poor, recalling exiles, ransoming captives; it became all things to all, not because of our worth, but because of the goodness that befits the benefactor, who … taking up …; being in nature indivisible and without shape, he is God from God, “the image of the invisible,” “the radiance of the glory and the exact imprint of the substance,” and he puts on various names, not fitting his nature, but befitting his benefaction. For since all human affairs had collapsed, he takes all things up into himself, receiving the names by a kinship that renews all things by grace. There was a great famine, a famine of the divine word, a famine that God threatened against the synagogue, saying: “I will send upon them not a famine of bread, nor a thirst for water, but a famine of hearing the word of the Lord.”

Since, then, the inhabited earth was hungry and wasting away with famine—for what lack of food is to the body, lack of instruction is to the soul—the fountain of good things cries out through the Gospels: “I am the bread that came down from heaven and gives life to the world.” For the bread of the senses comes up from the earth, as it is said, “to bring forth bread from the earth”; but the heavenly bread springs from heaven: “For I am the bread that came down from heaven.” The earth was a thirsty desert, deprived of the divine word and without the enjoyment of spiritual watering. What then? The same grace cries out again, pouring forth its benefaction: “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.” For since the prophets cried out in various ways, and the whole choir of the saints thirsted for his coming, saying, “O God, my God, I rise early to you; my soul has thirsted for the living God,” he, wishing to show that he is the one for whom the prophets thirsted, cries out through the Gospels: “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.” If anyone is like the one who says, “My soul has thirsted for you,” let him come to me. He saw the inhabited earth naked again—not naked in body, but stripped of virtue; he saw the creature he had formed, and had pity on what he had made, and gives himself as clothing to the naked, as we have already said before: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ.” The earth had strayed, seeking a road and not finding it; for every soul has in itself the seed of the knowledge of God, and having it, did not know how to hunt down what it longed for. Since, then, those who had strayed did not find the road: “I am,” he says, “the way.” But are you dead? “I am the resurrection.” But are you weak, needing to be led by the hand? “I am the rod from the root of Jesse,” which supports the weak, of which the prophet said: “Your rod and your staff, they have comforted me.” Why a rod, why a staff? Because it suits every age: it trains the young and supports the old. “But, O Master, you fed me when I was hungry, you gave me drink when I was thirsty, you clothed me when I was naked, you guided me when I had strayed, you gave me a staff when I was weak; having reached the road, I have found the tracks of godliness; I seek the door of truth: who will show it?” “I am the door; through me everyone enters to the Father.” “Through you—why?” “For I am the gate of salvation, standing open,” which blessed David seeks, having thought of many but found one. For at first he says: “Open to me the gates of righteousness; I will enter through them and give thanks to the Lord.” But when … he obtained his request and found what he had not expected—not many, but one—calling back his own words he says: “This is the gate of the Lord; the righteous shall enter through it.” Then, having passed within by prophetic sight and the longing of his soul, and as though having come inside the palace, he says: “I will give thanks to you, for you have heard me.” Tell me, O prophet and theologian, do you give thanks and praise to God? What have you found worthy of your expectation? For those who desire to enter a royal house expect to feast their eyes on the many-coloured flowers of wealth, on the bodyguard around the king, on the royal throne, on the gifts of kings; each, expecting to see these things, thirsts for the palace and hastens toward his longing. But what do you long for among the things you found when you entered within the gate? For what do you give thanks? What great thing have you grasped, what have you found worthy of your desire? Explain your longing, lest Jewish shamelessness slander the truth. What did you find? What do you proclaim? What do you admire? “I found Christ,” he says. “I saw the dispensation of Christ, the new grace, the strange benefaction, the glorious passion, the ineffable initiation; these I see, these I admire, for these I give thanks and say: I will give thanks to you, for you have heard me and have become my salvation. I do not hide the benefaction, I do not store up the salvation, but I proclaim the good news of the dispensation: The stone that the builders rejected has become the head of the corner.” Do you see how the thanksgiving laid bare the history? “I will give thanks to you, for you have heard me and have become my salvation. The stone that the builders rejected has become the head of the corner.” Do you see how the whole expectation of the prophets looked to the dispensation itself, and longed for Christ, despised in the synagogue but glorified among the nations? So, to return to what is before us: even if you seek the gate, you will find Christ. “And yes,” he says, “a door, out of love for humankind.” But since the one who enters into a kingdom and a temple of God must by all means have someone to lead him to what he desires—for no one dares to stand at the altar by himself without having the one who serves as priest—when you come inside the gate you find him as a priest, bringing you near: “For you are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.” But the priest needs a victim and an offering to propitiate God. The same one again becomes this for you: “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” You have heard all these things that are for your sake; hear also those that are for his own. Do not stop your contemplation at the rank of priest; do not see him standing as priest, but see him, because of his own dignity, seated with the Father. But let no one be an enemy of the truth, snatching some things and hiding others. I know that often a heretic, an enemy of the truth, has stood up saying: “Do you see that it is not possible to approach the Father without the Son? For he holds the rank,” he says, “of a mediator and a servant, bringing to the Father those who are saved.” For he says that new wisdom makes truth new: “Since human nature could not approach God by itself, the Son becomes a boundary between the created and the uncreated nature, bringing the inhabited earth near.” O the new madness! O the new drama! The excess of the Father’s goodness is endangered among the heretics; it blunts the dignity of the Godhead. But though heretical madness grows bold, the Savior’s power is not blunted, his glory is not quenched, his grace is not pulled down. “If we deny him,” it says, “he remains faithful; for he cannot deny himself.” He sits together with the Father because of his own dignity, but stands as priest because of the love for humankind that befits him.

And see the wonder, brother. Since they take the saying, “No one comes to the Father except through me,” in the sense of the rank of a servant and the guise of one who ministers, it is necessary to direct against the heretics the refutation of their ungodliness. If the Son’s bringing people to the Father lowers the dignity of the one who brings them, then when you see the Father bringing people to the Son, you extend your ungodliness there. Indeed, being ungodly toward the Son, you blaspheme the Father. So, brothers, that by the word of godliness and truth we may both muzzle wickedness and make known the godly doctrine (for “the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword”—he calls the sword two-edged because it uses a double word, one that strengthens and one that pulls down: pulling down the opponents and strengthening those who belong to the faith), hear the Lord himself saying: “No one can come to me unless my heavenly Father draws him.” It is necessary, brothers, to say what is fitting to the heretics, and to give the children of the faith full assurance about this sense. For what reason did the only-begotten Word of God divide the bringing near, saying in one place that people are brought to the Father by him, and in another that they are brought to him by the Father? For the things of the divine nature are not confused, but the word of truth is distinct and well defined, having nothing crooked, nothing twisted: “For all the ways of the Lord are straight.” Does the Father, then, brothers, sometimes occupy the royal presidency and receive those who are brought, and sometimes, when the Son has taken his seat in royal guise, pay him the debt, and stand in the rank of a servant and bring people to the Son? God forbid. For in the case of God, neither when one speaks of a seat may one think of anything human, nor again when one hears of standing may one think of anything belonging to us. If you hear of God that he stands, understand the unbending and upright character of the divine essence; and if again you read or hear that he sits, take it of the firm and unshaken character of the blessed nature. He himself says that he stands and sits. He says to Moses, “You, stand here with me”; and, “There was the place where the God of Israel stood,” as it says; and God says to Moses, as one standing, “Stand with me.” What then do we do when Jeremiah says, “You sit forever, and we perish forever”? Seat and standing are human words, but divine meanings. Because of human life, which is unstable and carried this way and that, God is said to stand; and because of our condition, which is unsupported and turned about in every direction, he is said to sit, because of his firmness; for what sits is settled. Flee what is suggested by the wording, and understand what is contemplated through faith. How then does the Son bring people to the Father, and how does the Father bring them to the Son? For we must not leave the word unexamined. The Father brings certain people, open and acknowledged, to the Son; the Son again brings certain people, open and acknowledged, to the Father. Do not seize the saying in advance for slander, but wait for the end and judge what is said; do not be a hostile judge, but a kindly fellow contender. In Israel God the Father was known, but the Son was unknown; among the nations both the Father and the Son were unknown, for the nations were enslaved to the error of many gods. Where, then, the Father is known but the Son is not known, the Father becomes the interpreter of the unknown Son. I will repeat the statement, to fix the sense. Where the Father is known and the Son is doubted, the one who is known becomes the interpreter of the one who is unknown; where the Father is unknown, the Son becomes the herald of the one who is unknown. Therefore, so that you may receive a precise examination of what has been said, I offer you the Gospel as guarantor. The Savior says of the nations: “I have manifested your name to the world”—that is, to the world that did not know, I have manifested your name. What name did he manifest? That he is God? But knowledge had already taken hold of the name: even those who err say “God,” and those cut off from godliness do not deny the title. What name, then, did he make known? That he is called Father: “I have manifested your name to the world.” Do you see that where the Father was unknown, the Son becomes the interpreter, making the truth clear by the proclamation of the Gospel; but where the Father was thought to be known, and the Son not known, he himself becomes the interpreter of the one who was unknown? For example, to show the truth from the facts themselves: Paul knew God, he did not know the Son; he knew God, but did not know that God is the Father of Christ; and he was a zealot for godliness, fighting for the law. God looked upon his zeal, full of ignorance but brimming with longing; and what does he do? He makes the unknown one known to the one who did not know him. Who makes this clear to us? He himself who once did not know and afterwards knew, he himself who once persecuted and afterwards proclaimed the good news. For what does he say? “And I was a zealot for the law of my fathers, … persecuting the church of God. But when he who called me through his grace was pleased to reveal his Son in me,” and the rest. For the testimony is to show what is sought, not the contemplation of the sense. Again the Savior asks the apostles: “Who do men say that I, the Son of Man, am?” He asks not to learn, but to banish supposition and establish the truth. “Who do men say that I am?” The apostles first set out the suppositions of the many: “Some,” they say, “Elijah, others Jeremiah, or one of the prophets.” What then does the Savior do? To the false opinions he makes no answer, judging the false suppositions unworthy of an answer. “But who do you say that I am? My concern is not with the many who have strayed, but with you who proclaim. For since you are the ones who are to carry the lamp of truth, to bear the proclamation of godliness into all the earth under heaven, in you human affairs are shaken, in you the things of truth are in danger; and just as your knowledge is the common benefit of human beings, so your ignorance is the common loss of the inhabited earth. That is why: But who do you say that I am?” Then Peter answered and said: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” This is the definition of faith, this is the word of truth, this is the confession of right belief. But since this voice too might be considered equal to the others—he had not deemed the others worthy of an answer, but to this one he gives his verdict—what does he say? So that this saying too might not be thought to come from human supposition, he seals it and sets on it the stamp of truth, saying: “Blessed are you, Simon bar Jonah.” Remember here that the Father reveals the unknown one also to one who knows him. “Blessed are you, Simon bar Jonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven.” Do you see that to the whole world, which did not know the Father, the Son becomes the interpreter of the one who was unknown; but to the synagogue and the Jews, who think they know God but do not recognize God the Word of God, the Father himself becomes the interpreter of the one who was doubted?

So do not make his surpassing love for humankind a provision for ungodliness; do not lessen his dignity because of the dispensation; do not pry into an unmeasured nature, do not search out an incomprehensible essence. Let Isaiah persuade you not to search into or describe such things: “For who will tell his generation?” But O the shameless daring of those who dare to think and say everything easily! And the Anomoean is not afraid, as he searches into the nature of God, and dares to speak the unspeakable and to make public what is holy; and naturally so: for since he does not know the truth, he professes to know what is not known, so as to hide what is proclaimed. Has he not heard holy Scripture advising, “Think about what has been commanded you; for you have no need of hidden things”? The blessed God, the only master of wonders, wishing once to strike Job, who shone with endurance, with amazement by the story of creation, says to him: “Where were you when I founded the earth? When the sea came into being?”—to be brief—“when the mountains …” “Tell me,” he says, “the shaping of the world, the birth-pangs of the wild beasts, the feeding of the cattle, the state of everything in the world, its variety.” He said this to him to teach him that even the things that appear in creation itself are incomprehensible to human beings. Then the blessed man, amazed, says: “Lord, I have spoken once; but a second time I will not add.” Then the inquiry into visible things defeated Job; and is your daring not defeated even by the ineffable generation of the Only-begotten? But since you announce what you do not know, I demand an account of what we all know. Tell me how the earth was fixed upon the waters; tell me how Adam was formed from earth; tell me how the manna was supplied, how the sea was divided, and the other miracles, not to be long. Tell me how the angels ate the calf set before them by …? There was no stomach, there were no receptacles for food in the nature of angels; for “he makes his angels spirits, and his ministers a flaming fire.” How was it consumed? At once the heretic says: “And why do you seek the impossible? It was made to vanish by the power of the angels.” And do you believe in the power of the angels, and not examine it, but pry into the generation of God? How did God make heaven and earth? He answers: “As he knows, as he willed.” Then the power of God is not subjected to reasonings but handed over to faith, while the divine generation is to be hemmed in by the compulsions of reasonings? Have you not heard David saying, “Whatever the Lord willed, he has done”? You do not pry into the will, and do you meddle with the nature? And what, brothers? What God made by willing is visible, but the one whom he begot from his own essence is invisible (for he is the image of the invisible God; the visible things are works); and now is the invisible generation to be a slave to reasonings? What he made by willing is not called to account; what he brought forth according to the divine and undefiled nature, do you … ? O new daring! O strange undertaking! O will honored and nature insulted! Well did blessed David say: “Sons of men, how long will you be heavy of heart? Why do you love vanity and seek falsehood?” For everything foreign to the teaching of Christ is both falsehood and vanity. For if he speaks truly when he says, “I am the truth,” whatever is outside the teaching of Christ leads to falsehood. Lift your soul from the questions that lie on the ground and from vain reasonings to the height of theology, and leave the poor search of reasonings; take the treasure of truth: “The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden.” Why is the Savior named a treasure? Pay careful attention here. Just as a treasure does not come into existence when it is found, but is old in its placing and new in its finding, so too the saving Word is old in dignity and the beginning of all things, since “in the beginning was the Word,” but the proclamation is new because of the dispensation of the flesh. Indeed, brother, that you may learn that he shines like a treasure for those who long for him, and those who find him run to him as to a treasure found: Andrew, proclaiming the find to Peter, says: “We have found the one of whom Moses wrote in the law, and the prophets, the Christ.” For … and the prophets laid up the proclamation in the holy books as in treasuries. But just as those who lay up a hidden treasure see what they deposit but cover it from sight, so that it may not be easily plundered by strangers, so too the prophets who proclaimed Christ hid the treasure by the obscurity of their words. Why? For if they had spoken clearly, it would not have been prophecy but proclamation, and the untimeliness of the declaration would have anticipated the right time of the proclamation. What then do they do? They both interpret and hide. Who says this? Isaiah: “And this book shall be like a sealed book; if it is given to a man who knows letters, he will say, I cannot read it, for it is sealed. And if it is given to one who does not know letters, he will say, I cannot read it, for I do not know letters.” What does this riddle mean? “The prophecy about Christ,” it says, “was unknown to both Jews and Greeks”: to the Jews, who knew letters, the law and the prophets, because it was sealed. The Jews knew letters and were instructed; that is why God says to them, “You who are carried from the womb and instructed until old age”: they were instructed, but did not know, because it was hidden in obscurity. But to the Greeks it was unknown not because of obscurity, but because they did not know the letters at all. That is why Paul says to Timothy, who was brought up in the law: “From infancy you have known the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation.” So the prophecy was stored up as treasure and hidden in the holy books; for one must not depart from what is hidden. And not Isaiah alone shows the prophecies sealed, but Daniel too; for the angel, after disclosing to him the revelation of what was to come, says to him: “And you, Daniel, seal up this book of the vision, for its disclosure is far off.” That is why blessed David, reading the law and reading the prophets in the person of the people (for he who prophesied was not himself ignorant), wishing to show that the people receives some impression of the dispensation of Christ but cannot understand it because of the obscurity of the words, experienced something like those who see a sealed purse. What then does he do, seeing the letters and not grasping their meanings? He says: “Uncover my eyes, and I will perceive the wonders of your law”; and again the same: “Blessed are you, Lord; teach me your statutes.” “Did you not read it in the law? Did Moses not teach you the ten commandments?” “But I wish to learn your things, those from you, the lawgiver; from the fountain of the law I wish to learn the truth of the law.” But he sought to learn, and the grace was stored up for those who were to receive the benefaction. That is why the Savior said to the disciples: “Many kings and righteous men desired to see what you see, and did not see it, and to hear what you hear, and did not hear it; but blessed are your …

But we ask when at last the seal was broken, when the bond of ignorance was loosed, when what was shut was opened. The hearer demands it of us: “Besides the word,” he says, “you have told me the manner of the sealing; do you not tell me the time when what was sealed was loosed? You have shown me the gates shut; will you not show them opened?” What then? Setting aside many things, I will present what is sought from a single saying. What then? After the Savior’s resurrection, when the divine grace was unknown to the many, “two of the disciples,” it says, were going out to a village and, as friends on the road, were discussing the dispensation with one another. The Savior, changing his appearance and his manner of speech (for what the face is to those who see, the voice is to those who do not see the face), hides both his voice and his form, and he who knows all things says to them: “What are these words that you are exchanging with one another?” He who learns all things from him … to the one who knows all things: “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there?” He says: “What things?” This is the God who knows all things and yet asks, … the son … from the fountain of the law, not from the servant of the law … ; the one who said to Cain, “Where is Abel your brother?” They say: “The things concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who was a man mighty in word and deed.” Still a man? After so many miracles, a man? After so many works of power, after so great a demonstration of divine power? “But we,” they say (so that the sermon may not grow long by examining everything), “but we had hoped that he was the one who would redeem Israel.” See how faith had almost been quenched in them, and the hope of the dispensation had now been pulled down. “We had hoped.” He does not say, “We hope,” but, “We had hoped.” He knew, then, that their faith was weak and their mind had sunk; and he stood by them, he who supports those who have fallen and sets upright all who are broken down. And what does the benefactor say to them? “O foolish ones, and slow of heart, do you not understand the Scriptures? Was it not necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and enter into his glory?” “And beginning from the law and the prophets, he opened the Scriptures to them.” Do you see that until Christ stood by them, the gate of truth was not opened, nor was the bond of ignorance loosed? He opened the Scriptures like shut doors. What doors? Those of which Paul speaks: “that God may open a door to the nations”; and again, in the case of Cornelius: “Then God has opened the door of repentance to the nations too.” And see what the fountain of good things arranges. When he reached the village of Emmaus, where the travellers were bound, still unknown to them, he appeared to the one who doubted. For when he reclined with them—at first treated with kindness as a stranger (“Stay with us,” it says, “for the day is far spent”)—so that ignorance might not wholly cover his dignity, “taking bread he blessed it, and breaking it he gave it to them, and their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.” Why did he first give the bread, and then their eyes were opened? Since Adam’s eating opened his eyes wrongly, an eating was now brought in instead that works a strange recovery of sight. Let the children of the heretics too recover their sight, and see the light of truth; let them see the one who was God in the beginning, being God and the Word of God; let them hear often the “was,” and stop saying “there was when he was not.” “In the beginning was the Word.” It was not proclaimed at once, for the world could not contain it. There are four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; when they began their proclamation, they did not at once speak what befitted his dignity, but what suited their hearers. Matthew, making the beginning of the Gospels, says: “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.” Why not “Son of God”? Why do you hide his dignity with a poor expression? Why do you cover divine things from human beings? “I am preaching,” he says, “among Jews, who do not believe that Christ was even a righteous man. They have not yet accepted him as son of Abraham; will they bear him proclaimed as Son of God?” And where do we learn this? That they did not even acknowledge him to be of the race of Abraham. Have you not heard how often, blaspheming him, they said: “Are you not a Samaritan, and do you not have a demon?” Those who cast him out of the race of the saints … the divine dignity. What then does he say? “The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.” First he leads them on by familiar names, joined to them by kinship, so that, caught by these, they may little by little find the truth: the generation without passion, undefiled, proclaimed by a word fitting God and handed down to all. Again Mark, … those who had been trained beforehand, says “Son of God,” but at once he drew in his word and curtailed the sense, to soften the hearer. So he immediately adds what concerns the Baptist, saying: “The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, as it is written in Isaiah the prophet: Behold, I send my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way before you.” He showed the torch of truth and at once hid it. And he brings forward the servant first, so that the hearer, with the voice ringing round him, might then receive soundly the complete word of the divine generation. Luke follows third, and goes in the middle between these; he touches the divine Word, yet does not interpret and unfold his dignity, but says: “Since many have undertaken … of the events that have been fulfilled among us, it seemed good to me also, having followed all things from the beginning, to write, just as those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and servants of the word handed them down to us.” He said “word,” but he did not say that the Word was also God. What then does he too do? Having touched on his being, and perceiving that he is sounding in dead ears, he hides the dignity and brings forward the dispensation: “There was a priest Zechariah,” and the rest of the Gospel. All of them, then, went on to the dispensation of the flesh, and quietly, through the miracles, made known his dignity. The rank of God the Word was proclaimed, but the arrows against the heretics were hidden, and the rampart of right belief was not yet … by the proclamation. So John, the son of thunder, came last to theology, after those three heralds; and rightly the one followed and the others went before, flashing the lesser things for a time. For just as lightning goes before thunder, so that the thunder, bursting from the clouds all at once, may not strike the hearer, so, since John was going to thunder, the three evangelists came like lightnings: they flashed the dispensation, he thunders the theology. And thunder, brothers, comes with rain; thunder is a terror to the wicked; and as though using thunder as a trumpet, heaven calls the rain, but first it summons the shower with lightnings—“for God made lightnings for the rain”—and then it moves the clouds with thunder. What then? Since so many lightnings of the word had gone before, there follows, as I said, the thunder of theology, striking many with amazement by the height of its theology, but bringing the showers of blessing; and to us it becomes a thunder of theology, but to the heretics a thunder that drives away the evil beasts by the height of its great voice: “At your rebuke they will flee, at the voice of your thunder …”

Let us run back, then, to the God who was in the beginning, let us run back to the eternal light, let us run back to the Word who became man for your sake. And when I say “became,” I do not mean a nature that was changed, but the divine dignity that took up what is ours. For “the Word became flesh” does not indicate a change of nature, but the taking up of our weakness. For if you think “became” means a change, then when you hear Paul saying, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us,” you take the expression to mean a curse in nature and a change into a curse. So just as “having become a curse” means nothing else than that he took upon himself the curse that was against us, so too “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” presents nothing else than the taking up of the flesh. You have an image in yourself: your own word will teach you about God the Word—not as bearing a complete likeness, but as having a trace and an impression of the divine dignity. Pay careful attention to me here, so that the words may not be spoken in vain and the divine meanings disappear. The word of human beings (the image is faint, not presenting the whole dignity, but teaching from what is ours the things above us)—our word is bodiless, invisible, intangible, received by hearing alone. No one knows a word by sight, no one has held it in the hand; it is invisible, intangible, held by one sense alone, hearing, and that invisibly. For the hearing does not stretch out hands to hold it, but the word itself enters and is held. The word itself is the offspring of the mind, but it is begotten not by passion, not by …, not by division; it is not parted from the mind that begot it, it is not separated, it does not move away. Lend me your hearing here, heretic: understand first what is yours, and then imagine what is above you. The mind begets, the word goes forth; it goes forth from the one who begot it, fills all who hear, and does not depart from the one who begot it. A word goes forth, distributed to all, and nowhere divided. For each receives the word whole, and it is in each; and though distributed among so many, it is poured in whole. Our word, then, shows in itself the mind that begot it; for from the word the thought is grasped. And consider this too: by this word of ours God sketched beforehand the dispensation of God the Word, taking up beforehand a wonderful image, adorned with earthly flowers but fitting for a foreshadowing of the Word. What then? Our word, which is invisible, has no body, and cannot be held, God reshaped by another wisdom, and made it both visible and capable of being held. For what does he do? Since it was not seen by sight, he clothes it with a body, the letter, and put on it, as it were, a flesh, the appearance of the letters; and the word you once heard but did not see, you see when you read; the one you could not meet, you carry by means of the book. But the word is embodied through the letter without being shut up in the letter; it is with the one who speaks and with the one who reads. And if someone, brothers, takes a book and tears it, he has torn the body of the word, but has not cut the word. And that you may learn that the word is not destroyed with the letter, God says to Jeremiah: “Sit down and write on a scroll all the words, and give it to King Jehoiakim.” And the word was full of reproof. Since, then, the powerful do not bear reproofs—for rank does not easily submit to what is just, but blunts the truth—struck by the reproofs, he tore up the scroll, and cut it with the scribe’s knife, and threw it, it says, into the brazier of fire. What then does God say to Jeremiah? “Sit down and write the same words, and give them to the king,” so that he might learn that he cut up the letter but did not cut the word. Have you seen the image? Now lift your mind to the height. God the Word himself, the only-begotten of God, puts on a body, so that the one who is not seen may appear; he puts on flesh, so that the one who cannot be held may be held. That is why John, finding that longed-for one, once held by hearing but afterwards grasped by sight, says: “That which was from the beginning, which we have seen and heard, and our hands have touched.” So he wore the flesh as a garment of his dignity, a seemly garment: “For the Lord has reigned, he has clothed himself with seemliness.” The Jews fight against what appears, not knowing the one who does not appear; and they crucify the flesh, but do not destroy the Godhead. For if my word is not destroyed together with the letter, which is the garment of the word, did God the Word, the fountain of life, die together with the flesh? The suffering concerns the body; the impassibility concerns the dignity. Why then does Paul say, “For if they had known, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory”? Because the one who put on the flesh makes the suffering of the flesh his own. If you insult a royal garment, do you not insult the one who wears it? Do you not know that if someone insults the image of a king, he carries the insult to the original of the dignity? Do you not know that if someone drags down an image of wood or a bronze statue, he is judged not as having dared something against lifeless matter, but is destroyed as having stretched out his hands against the king? Lifeless matter bearing the image of the king carries its own insult up to the king; and did the living form that God the Word put on, when insulted, not carry the insult up to the one who put it on? Understand, then, the dignity, and do not insult the dispensation. But this is enough; storing up for another sermon what remains of the contemplation of God the Word, let us honor proportion by order, and send up glory to God, to the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and to the ages of ages. Amen.