Homilies on First Thessalonians 6

'But concerning brotherly love we have no need to write to you.'

'For you yourselves are taught of God to love one another.'

'For indeed you do this toward all the brethren who are in all Macedonia.'

Why then, after having discoursed vehemently to them concerning self-control, and being about to speak concerning the need to work, and concerning not grieving over those who have departed, does he set forth this matter of love—which was the head of all good things—by way of passing it over, saying:

'We have no need to write to you'? This too comes from great prudence and spiritual teaching.

For here he shows two things: one, that the matter is so necessary that it does not even need teaching;

for exceedingly great things are plain to all;

and secondly, he shames them more than if he had exhorted them by saying this.

For he who supposes that they have already achieved it, and on this account does not exhort—even if they had not achieved it—would have induced them to it the more.

He does not speak of love toward all, but of that toward the brethren.

'We have no need to write to you.'

He ought then to have kept silence, and to have said nothing, if there were no need.

But as it is, by saying 'There is no need,' he did something greater than if he had spoken:

'For you yourselves are taught of God.'

And observe with how great a commendation he set God over them as the teacher of this.

'You have no need,' he says, 'to learn from man.'

Which the prophet also says, 'And they shall all be taught of God.'

'For you yourselves,' he says, 'are taught of God to love one another.'

'For indeed you do this toward all the brethren who are in all Macedonia;'

'and toward all the others,' he says.

These things are exceedingly effective in shaming them into doing it.

'And I do not simply say that you are taught of God, but I know it from what you do.'

And he bore much witness to them on this account.

'But we exhort you, brethren, to abound the more'—that is, to increase—'and to make it your ambition to be quiet, and to attend to your own affairs, and to work with your own hands, even as we charged you; that you may walk becomingly toward those who are without, and may have need of nothing.'

Here he shows of how many evils idleness is the cause, and of how many good things labor is;

and he makes it plain from the things among us, which he does in many places, and this wisely;

for the more part are induced by these things rather than by the spiritual ones.

For it belongs to love toward our neighbors, not to receive from them, but to supply to them.

Being about to exhort and admonish, he sets the good deed in the middle, so that they may take breath both from the former exhortation and from the threat, when he said:

'Therefore he who rejects, rejects not man, but God;'

and so that they may not on this account start away.

But this comes from working, so as not to receive nor to be idle, but by working to supply to others.

'For it is more blessed,' he says, 'to give than to receive.'

'And to work,' he says, 'with your own hands.'

Where then are those who seek the work that is

spiritual? Do you see how he took away from them every pretext by saying, 'With your own hands'?

Does anyone work fasting with the hands? or vigils? or lyings on the ground? No one would say this;

but he speaks concerning spiritual work;

for truly spiritual it is, by working to supply to others, and nothing is equal to this.

'That you may walk,' he says, 'becomingly.'

Do you see from what quarter he takes hold of them? He did not say, 'That you may not behave unseemly by begging,' but he hinted at the same thing, yet sets it forth more gently, so as both to strike them and not to burden them too heavily.

For if those among us are stumbled by these things, much more those who are without, who find countless accusations and occasions, when they see a man who is in health, and able to suffice for himself, begging and in need of others.

Wherefore they even call us Christ-mongers;

'On this account,' he says, 'the name of God is blasphemed.'

But he set down none of these things, but that which was most able to take hold of them—the matter of the unseemliness.

'But we would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning those who are asleep, that you sorrow not, even as the rest who have no hope.'

These two things especially were ruining them: poverty and despondency, which also ruin all men.

See then how he heals them.

Poverty had come upon them from their goods having been plundered.

But if he bids those whose goods were plundered for Christ's sake to feed themselves by working, much more the others.

For that they were plundered is plain from his saying, 'You became imitators of the Churches which are in Judaea.'

How? Because writing to those Churches he said:

'And you took joyfully the plundering of your possessions.'

Here at length he sets in motion the discourse concerning the resurrection.

And what? Was he not one who had discoursed to them concerning this? But here he hints at some other mystery.

What kind is this? That 'we who are living, who are left,' he says, 'unto the coming of the Lord, shall in no wise precede those who are fallen asleep.'

Now the discourse concerning the resurrection is indeed sufficient to comfort the one in grief;

and what is now being said is also sufficient to make the resurrection worthy of belief.

But first let us say this, which he himself also said: 'But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them that are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as the rest who have no hope.'

See how gently he speaks here also.

He did not say, as he did to the Corinthians, 'Are ye so foolish, so senseless, that though ye know the resurrection, ye grieve like those who have no faith?'

but very gently he said, 'I would not,' out of reverence for the rest of their virtue.

And he did not say 'concerning the dead,' bringing in his consolation straightway from the very opening.

'That ye sorrow not,' he says, 'even as the rest who have no hope.'

Therefore to lament bitterly over the departed belongs to those who have no hope.

For a soul that knows nothing of the resurrection, but supposes this death to be truly death, naturally beats its breast and wails and mourns beyond endurance, as over those who are utterly lost;

but you who look for the resurrection, for what reason do you lament? Then to lament belongs to those who have no hope.

Hear this, all you women who love to wail, who bear yourselves at funerals beyond all measure: you are doing the deeds of the heathen.

But if to grieve over the departed is heathenish, then to beat oneself and to tear the cheeks, tell me, whose deed is it? Why do you wail, if you believe that he will rise again, that he has not perished, that the matter is but sleep and repose? 'For the sake of habit,' you say, 'and of his protection, and his care of affairs, and all the rest of his attentions.'

When therefore you lose a child at a premature age, one not yet able to do anything at all, for what reason do you wail? What do you long for? 'He was showing good hopes,' you say, 'and I expected that he would be my support.'

'For this reason I seek my husband, for this reason my son, for this reason I beat myself and wail—not because I disbelieve the resurrection, but because I have been left without help, and have lost my protector, my housemate, my partner in all things, my comforter.'

'I know that he will rise again, but I cannot bear the separation in the meantime.'

'A great throng of affairs presses upon me; I lie exposed to all who wish to wrong me;'

'the servants who feared him before now despise me and trample upon me;'

'if anyone had received a kindness from him, he has forgotten his benefaction;'

'if anyone was ill-treated by him, in his grudge against the departed he vents his anger upon me.'

'These things do not let me bear my widowhood, nor lament with moderation;'

'for these reasons I beat myself, for these reasons I wail.'

How then shall we console such women? What shall we say? How shall we drive away their pain? First I will try to convince them that their lamentation does not spring from these words, but from an unreasoning passion.

For if you mourn for these reasons, you ought to mourn the departed continually;

but if, when a year has passed, you have forgotten, as though nothing had happened, then you are not mourning the departed, nor his protection.

But you cannot bear the separation, nor the breaking off of habit? What then would those women say who go on to a second marriage? Very much to the point;

for they do not go on longing for their former husbands.

But let us not direct our discourse to these, but to those who keep their affection for the departed.

Why do you mourn your child? Why your husband? 'The one,' you say, 'because I had no enjoyment of him;'

'the other, because I expected to enjoy him yet longer.'

But this very thing—how great an unbelief it shows, to suppose that it was your husband or your child that kept you in safety, and not God! How can you think that you do not provoke Him? For it is on this very account that He often takes them away, that you may not be so bound to them as to draw your hope away from Him to them.

For God is jealous, and above all things desires to be loved by us; and this, because He loves us exceedingly.

For you know that this is the way of those who love passionately:

they are exceedingly jealous, and would choose to give up their very life rather than be outdone by any of their rivals in love.

For these reasons God has taken him; for these reasons come these words.

For tell me, on what account was it that in ancient times there were no widowhoods, nor untimely orphanhoods? Why did He allow Abraham and Isaac to live a long time? Surely because even while he lived, he preferred God.

Why did He bring Sarah to so great an age? Because even while she lived, he hearkened to God rather than to her.

For this reason God said to him:

'Hearken unto Sarah thy wife.'

Neither for love of a husband, nor for a wife, nor for the protection of a child did anyone then provoke God.

But now, since we are prone to fall, and have sunk very low, and husbands love their wives more than God, and wives prefer their husbands to God, for this cause He draws us, even against our will, into longing for Himself.

Do not love your husband more than God, and you will never feel widowhood;

or rather, even if it should happen, you will not feel it.

Why? Because you have as your protector One who loves you more, One who is immortal.

If you love God more, do not mourn;

for He who is loved more is immortal, and does not let you feel the loss of the one who is loved less.

I will make this plain to you by an example.

Tell me, if you have a husband who does everything according to your mind, who is held in honor, who makes you illustrious everywhere and not to be despised, well esteemed among all, prudent, wise, loving you, and you are counted blessed on his account, and by him you also bear a child, and then, before it comes to the prime of its age, this child should depart—will you feel the grief? By no means;

for the one who is loved more hides that grief.

So now too, if you love God more than your husband, first of all He will not quickly take him;

but if indeed He should take him, you will not feel the grief.

For this reason the blessed Job also suffered nothing terrible when he heard of the sudden death of his children, because he loved God more than them.

Since then the One who was loved was living, those things were not going to grieve him.

What are you saying, O woman? Your husband and your child protected you, but God does not spare you? And that very man, who gave him to you? Was it not He? And who made you?

Was it not He? He who brought you from nonexistence into being, and breathed a soul into you, and put in you a mind, and counted you worthy to grant you the knowledge of Himself, and did not spare His own only-begotten Son for your sake—does He not spare you, and shall your fellow-servant spare you? Of how great wrath are these words! What such thing did you have from your husband? You would have nothing to say.

For even if he did do you some kindness, yet it was after receiving good himself, and after you had first existed;

but in the case of God no one could say any such thing.

For it is not because God has received good from us that He thus benefits us, but being in need of nothing, out of goodness alone He does good to the race of men.

He has promised you a kingdom, immortal life, glory; He has given you brotherhood, adoption as sons, He has made you a joint-heir with the Only-begotten;

and after so many good things do you still remember your husband? What such thing did he bestow on you? God made His sun to rise, gave the rain, nourishes you with the yearly harvests.

Woe to us for our great ingratitude!

For this reason He takes your husband away, that you may not seek him;

but you, though he is departed, still cling to him, and forsake God, when you ought to give thanks, when you ought to cast all upon Him? For what is it that you received from your husband? Birth-pangs, and toils, and insults, and often revilings, and rebukes, and fits of anger.

Are not these the things that come from husbands? 'But there are also,' you say, 'other good things.'

What sort of things then are these? Did he adorn you with costly garments? Did he put gold about your face, and make you revered by all? But if you will, even after his departure he will adorn you with a far better adornment;

for gravity of demeanor makes her who has it far more admirable than gold.

This King also has garments, not such as those, but far better;

put those on, if you are willing.

What sort then are these? It is a raiment having tassels wrought with gold;

if you are willing, clothe your soul with this.

But did he not make you despised by men? And what great matter is that? Yet widowhood does not suffer you to become despised by the demons.

Then you ruled over your servants, if indeed you ruled at all;

But now, in place of household servants, you hold sway over the bodiless powers, the principalities, the authorities, the ruler of this world.

Yet you do not speak of the grievous things in which you shared with him: the fear of rulers when it came, and the being outshone by your neighbors.

From all these things you are now set free—from fear and from dread.

'But who,' you are anxious, 'will nourish the children left behind?' The Father of orphans will.

For tell me, who gave them to you? Do you not hear Christ saying in the Gospels, 'Is not the soul more than food, and the body more than raiment?'

Do you see that the lamentation arises not from custom but from unbelief? 'But the children are not equally illustrious now that the father has died.'

Why so? They have God as their Father, and yet they are not illustrious? How many could I point out to you who were reared by widows and became men of proven worth? And how many who had fathers and yet came to ruin? For if you rear them from their earliest years as they ought to be reared, far more will they enjoy the benefit of a father's protection.

For that this matter—I mean the rearing of children—belongs to widows, hear what Paul says:

and again, 'She shall be saved through childbearing' (he did not say, 'through the husband'), 'if they continue in faith and love and holiness with self-control.'

Implant in them the fear of God from their earliest years, and it will preserve them better than any father;

this will be an unbreakable wall.

For when the guardian is seated within, we have no need of the contrivances that come from without;

but when he is not present, all the outward defenses are in vain.

This will be to them both wealth and glory and comeliness; this will make them illustrious, not upon earth only, but also in the heavens.

For do not look, I beg you, to those girded with golden belts, nor to those borne upon horses, nor to those who shine in royal palaces because of their fathers, nor to those who have attendants and tutors.

For it is perhaps these very things that make widows beat their breasts over their orphans,

reflecting that 'this child of mine too, had his father but survived, would have enjoyed such great blessedness;

but as it is, he is in dejection and dishonor, and worthy of no account.'

Do not, then, dwell on these things, O woman, but throw open the gates of heaven with your mind, learn thoroughly the palace that is there, behold the King who sits enthroned there, consider whether these earthly ones can be more resplendent there than your own child, and only then groan;

but if there are some upon earth who are held in esteem, this is worthy of no account;

it is possible, if you will, to enroll him as a soldier in the heavens, to number him in that army.

For those who are enrolled there are not borne upon horses, but upon clouds;

they do not walk upon the earth, but are caught up into heaven;

they do not have children as their forerunners, but the very angels;

they do not stand before a mortal king, but before the immortal One, the King of kings and Lord of lords;

they do not wear a leathern belt about their loins, but that unutterable glory, on account of which they become more resplendent than kings and than all who have ever been held in esteem.

For in those royal courts it is not wealth, nor noble birth, nor anything else, but virtue alone that is sought;

and when this is present, nothing is lacking for them to attain the foremost honors.

Nothing is difficult for us, if we are willing to practice heavenly wisdom.

Look up to heaven, and see how much more resplendent it is than the roof of royal palaces.

But if the pavement of the palaces above is by so much more venerable than those below, that this is reckoned as mire in comparison with that;

then, if anyone should be counted worthy to behold those palaces exactly, of what blessedness would he not be worthy? 'But she that is a widow indeed,' he says, 'and desolate, has set her hope on God.'

To whom is this said? To those who have children, showing that these are all the more approved, and have greater occasion to please God;

because all their bonds have been loosed;

there is none to hold them back, none to force them to drag along those chains.

You have been severed from your husband, but you have been united to God;

you no longer have a fellow servant for your companion, but you have the Master.

When you pray, tell me, do you not converse with God? When you read, hear Him conversing with you.

And what does He say to you? Words far more to be longed for than a husband's.

For if a husband flatters, there is no great honor in it;

but when the Master caresses the handmaid with kind words, then great is the tender care.

How, then, does He tend us? Hear by how many means He does this.

'Come to me,' He says, 'all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'

And again He cries aloud through the prophet, saying:

'Shall a woman forget to have compassion on the offspring of her womb? Yet even if a woman should forget, still I will not forget you, says the Lord.'

How great is the affection in these words! And again, 'Return to me;'

and again elsewhere, 'Turn to me, and you shall be saved.'

And if anyone should wish also to choose from the Song of Songs, he will hear, taking the words in a more mystical sense, 'My fair one, my dove,' as He converses with each soul that is fitting for Him.

What is sweeter than these words? Do you see the discourse of God with men? But tell me, do you not see how many children of those blessed women have departed and lie in tombs? How many have suffered even harder things, and have lost both husbands and sons? To these things let us give heed; for these let us take thought;

and nothing will be grievous to us, but we shall pass all our time living in spiritual joy, and shall enjoy the eternal good things;

which may it be granted us all to attain, by the grace and love toward mankind, and so forth.