Homilies on First Timothy 14

'But if anyone does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his own household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.'

Many suppose that their own personal virtue suffices them for salvation;

if they order their own life well, they think that nothing further is lacking to them for salvation.

This the man who buried his one talent also shows;

for he did not bring it having diminished it, but whole, and such as he who had entrusted it had given.

And here too the blessed Paul shows it, speaking thus:

'But if anyone does not provide for his own.'

He means all forethought—that which concerns the soul, and that which concerns the body;

since this too is a kind of providing.

But he who does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his own household—that is, for those belonging to his kindred—is, he says, worse than an unbeliever.

This Isaiah too says, the chief of the prophets:

'You shall not overlook those of the household of your own seed.'

For if one should overlook those related by kindred and joined by close ties of blood, how shall he be tender toward others? Will not all call the thing vainglory, when, doing good to strangers, he despises and does not spare his own? And what, when, catechizing others, he lets these remain in error, though he has greater ease and a greater claim of right in doing them good? Surely so;

for will they not say, 'Tender-hearted, forsooth, are the Christians, who overlook their own!' And he is, he says, worse than an unbeliever.

Why? Because that man, even if he overlooks strangers, does not overlook at least those near to him.

And he who neglects his own wrongs both the law of God and the law of nature.

But if he who does not provide for those of his own household has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever, where shall he be ranked who even wrongs his own? With whom shall he stand? And how has he denied the faith? 'They profess,' he says, 'that they know God, but by their works they deny Him.'

And what has God, in whom we have believed, commanded? Not to overlook those of the household of one's seed.

And how does such a one believe, having become a denier of God? Let us consider how many of us, sparing our money, despise our own;

God for this reason also devised the union that comes from kinship, that we might have many occasions for doing good to one another.

When therefore you do not do what the unbeliever does, have you not denied the faith? Is not this, then, the mark of faith—not to believe by confession only,

but also to display works that are worthy?

And in each particular thing it is possible both to believe and not to believe.

For since he had discoursed concerning luxury and wanton pleasure, 'Not in this respect only,' he says, 'is she lost, in that she lives in luxury, but because she is also compelled to overlook her own.'

For she who lives for the belly is in this respect too lost, in denying the faith.

But how is she worse than an unbeliever? Because it is not the same to overlook one's own and one far off;

for how could it be? Rather, the charge is here greater—to overlook the familiar rather than the stranger, the friend rather than the one who is no friend.

'Let a widow be enrolled being not less than sixty years old, having been the wife of one man, well attested for good works.'

He said, 'Let them learn first to show piety toward their own household, and to repay their forebears';

He said, 'She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.'

He said that if anyone provideth not for his own, he is worse than an unbeliever.

He said that whatever things she lacketh, she is unworthy of enrollment in the roll of widows.

Here he tells what else she must have.

What then? Shall we approve her on the ground of her years? And what sort of merit is that? For it is not to her credit that she is sixty years of age.

Not from her age alone, he says; for even if she should pass beyond that age, yet if she have not the works, not even then let her be enrolled.

But why exactly does he speak so precisely concerning age? He sets forth the reason afterward, a reason introduced not by himself, but by the widows themselves.

But meanwhile let us hear what follows.

'Well reported of,' he says, 'for good works.'

By what works? 'If she have brought up children.'

Truly no small work is this, the rearing of children.

But to rear children is not simply this, merely to feed the children, but also to feed them as one ought, even as he said above:

'If they continue in faith and love and holiness.'

Do you see how everywhere he sets the kind deeds done to one's own before those done to strangers? For first he says, 'If she have brought up children,' and then, 'If she have lodged strangers, if she have washed the saints' feet, if she have relieved the afflicted, if she have diligently followed every good work.'

What then, if she be poor? Not even so is she deprived of rearing children, nor of lodging strangers, nor of relieving the afflicted.

She is not poorer than the woman who cast in the two mites.

Even if she be poor, she has a house.

'If she have washed the saints' feet,' he says.

'If she have diligently followed every good work.'

What kind of injunction does he here give? He exhorts her to render bodily service.

For women are especially well suited for such attendance, to make ready a bed, to give rest.

Wonderful! How great an exactness he requires of the widow!

Almost as much as he requires of him that holds the office of bishop.

For the words, 'If she have diligently followed every good work,' show this: that even if she was not herself able to perform it, yet she nevertheless shared in it and lent her help.

Cutting off luxury, he wishes her to be provident, thrifty in management, and constant in prayers continually.

See how great an exactness he requires of the widow, greater even than of the virgins.

And yet of them too he required much exactness and the height of virtue.

For in saying, 'Comely, and that they may attend upon the Lord without distraction,' he in a way comprehends in a summary the whole of virtue.

Do you see that it is not enough to show a widow that she has not entered into a second marriage, but that many other things are needed? For why, tell me, does he exhort her not to enter into a second marriage? Did he condemn the thing? By no means.

But because he wishes her henceforth to be occupied in spiritual things, and to be transferred to the pursuit of virtue.

For marriage is not uncleanness, but preoccupation.

Since even when he says, 'That they may have leisure,' he does not say, 'That they may be made clean.'

For truly marriage is the cause of much occupation.

If then for this cause you do not marry, that you may have leisure for the fear of God, and yet you do not use that leisure, there is no profit to you from the matter, that you may show forth all your service toward strangers, toward the saints.

When therefore you do not do these things, you have abstained from marriage as though rather condemning the matter.

So too the virgin who is not crucified with exactness has declined marriage as though condemning it as foul and unclean.

Do you see that he speaks of hospitality, not the merely superficial kind of courtesy, but that which is with earnestness, with a cheerful purpose, with eagerness, that goes about the matter as though receiving Christ Himself? For he does not wish this service toward these to be laid upon the maidservants, but that the women do these things by themselves.

'For if I,' He says, 'your Teacher, have washed your feet, much more ought you to do this one to another.'

For even if one be rich ten thousand times over, even if she chance to be in the greatest distinction, and prides herself greatly on the nobility of her ancestors, there is not so great a difference between her and the poor as there is between God and His disciples.

If you receive him as Christ, be not at all ashamed, but rather glory in the deed.

But if you do not receive him as Christ, do not receive him at all.

'He that receiveth you,' He says, 'receiveth Me.'

If you do not receive him in this way, you have no reward.

Abraham received men passing by as wayfarers, as he supposed, and did not entrust the whole preparation for their reception to his servants, but the greater part of the ministry he himself performed by his own hand, and bade his wife knead the meal, and that though he had three hundred and eighteen home-born servants, among whom it is likely there were also maidservants.

But he himself wished to have the reward together with his wife, not only of the expenditure, but also of the ministry.

Thus ought we to show forth hospitality, doing all things by ourselves, that we may be sanctified, that our hands may be blessed.

And even if you give to the poor, do not disdain to give with your own hand.

For you do not give to the poor man, but to Christ.

And who is so wretched as to disdain to stretch out his hand to Christ? This is hospitality, this is truly to do a thing for God's sake.

But if you give commands with haughtiness, even if you bid him enjoy the chief place, such a thing is not hospitality, nor is it for God's sake.

The stranger needs much attendance, much...

For it is a welcome thing that even after so much he should not blush.

Since the matter has such a nature that he who is well treated is put to shame, one must by the excess of one's attendance take away the cause of shame, and show both by words and by deeds that the doer of good does not confer a benefit, but that he himself is well treated and receives a kindness rather than confers one.

Thus is that which is done increased by the disposition of the will.

For just as he who thinks he suffers loss has lost everything, and he who thinks he confers a benefit has lost everything,

so he who thinks he is well treated has gained the more.

'For God loveth a cheerful giver.'

So that you owe thanks rather to the poor man for receiving.

For if there were no poor, you would not have cut away the greater part of your sins.

They are physicians of your wounds.

They provide you with their own hands as your medicines.

The physician does not so provide healing by stretching out his hands and applying a remedy, as the poor man, by stretching out his hand and receiving what comes from you, becomes a wiping-cloth of your evils.

You gave the silver, and your sins went out along with it.

'They eat up,' He says, 'the sins of My people.'

So that you receive more than you give, you are benefited rather than you benefit.

You lend to God, not to men.

You increase your wealth, you do not diminish it.

But you diminish it, if you do not lessen it, if you do not give.

'If she have lodged strangers,' he says, 'if she have washed the saints' feet.'

Of what sort are these? The afflicted, not simply the saints.

For it is possible to be holy, and to enjoy much attention and care from all.

Do not seek out those who live in abundance, but those who are in affliction, the unknown, those who are not recognized by many.

'Whoever did it,' He says, 'to one of these least, did it to Me.'

Do not give it to those who preside over the Church to distribute;

you yourself minister it, so that you may have the reward not only of spending but also of serving.

Here there is no need to fix a plough, nor to yoke an ox, nor to await a season, nor to cut into the earth, nor to wrestle with frost;

this sowing is delivered from all such laborious toil.

For you sow into heaven, where there is no frost, nor winter, nor anything else;

you sow into souls, where no one takes away what is cast in, but it is held fast with great exactness and with much diligence.

Why do you rob yourself of the reward? It is a great reward to be able to administer even the goods of others.

There is a reward not only for the giving, but also for the good administration of what is given.

Why do you not receive the reward yourself? For that there is a reward for this too, listen:

'The apostles,' it says, 'appointed those around Stephen to the ministry of the widows.'

Become you the steward of your own goods;

love for mankind ordains you, the fear of God ordains you.

This is free from vainglory, this gives rest to souls, this sanctifies the hands, this brings down pride, this teaches true wisdom, this makes one labor more eagerly, this makes you receive blessings;

your head departs having received all the blessings from the widows.

Become more zealous in prayers; seek out also holy men, those who are truly holy, those seated in the deserts, those unable to beg, those who cling to God; walk a long road, give by your own hand;

for it is possible to profit much by one's own doing, if you give.

Do you see the tent and the lodging? Do you see the wilderness? Do you see the solitude? Often, having gone to give money, you have given your whole soul, and were held captive, and became a fellow-prisoner with that man, and became a sojourner together from the world.

It is a great thing even to look upon the poor.

'It is better,' it says, 'to go into the house of mourning than into the house of laughter.'

From the latter the soul becomes inflamed.

For if you have the means to live likewise in luxury, you have taken an incitement to wantonness;

but if you do not have the means, you have received grief.

But into the house of mourning there is nothing of the sort; rather, even if you have not the means to live in luxury, you have not been pained; and even if you have the means, you are restrained.

Truly the monasteries are a house of mourning, where there is sackcloth and ashes;

where there is solitude, where there is no laughter, nor any throng of worldly affairs, where there is fasting, where there is sleeping on the ground; all things pure from the reek of cooking, from blood, from tumult, from confusion, from the press of crowds.

They are like beacons shining from on high to those approaching from afar, seated upon the harbor, and drawing all men toward their own calm, not allowing shipwreck to those who look to them, not allowing to pass their life in darkness those who gaze thither.

Go to them, show them kindness, draw near, touch holy feet;

for it is far more honorable to touch their feet than the head of others.

For tell me, if some men embrace the feet of statues because they bear altogether a royal likeness, will you not lay hold of the feet of one who has Christ Himself within him, and so be saved? Holy are the feet, even if they be lowly;

but of the profane, not even the head is honorable;

for the feet of the saints have prevailed in great things.

Wherefore they also punish, when they shake off the dust from themselves.

When a holy man is among us, let us be ashamed of nothing of theirs.

And holy are all those who have right faith together with a right life;

even if they work no signs, even if they cast out no demons, they are holy.

Go to the tents of the saints;

as from earth into heaven, so is it to take refuge in the monastery of a holy man.

You do not see there the things that are in the household;

that whole company is pure of all things;

there is no 'Mine' and 'Thine' there.

But if you stay even one day, or even a second, then you will perceive the pleasure yet more.

Day comes, or rather, before day the cock has crowed.

And it is not as in the household, where the servants snore, the doors are shut, all resemble the dead as they sleep, and the muleteer shakes the bells.

There is nothing of the sort there, but at once all, having laid aside sleep with reverence, rise up, the superior rousing them, and they stand, having formed the holy choir, and stretching out their hands at once, they sing the sacred hymns.

For they do not, as we do, need many hours to shake off sleep and heaviness of head.

For we, as soon as we have risen, sit for a long while stretching ourselves, then go off to relieve our need, then wash our face and hands;

after that we take our shoes and clothes, and much time is consumed.

He needs not many garments, needs not to shake off sleep, but the moment he has opened his eyes, he resembles one long awake, by reason of his sober watchfulness.

For when the heart is not weighed down and plunged below by food, it needs not much time to recover itself, but is at once in wakefulness;

No one hears any snoring there, no one panting, nor does one see anyone tossing in his sleep, nor uncovered, but they sleep lying more decently than men awake.

And this whole thing comes from the good order in the soul.

Truly these are holy, and angels among men.

And do not be amazed at hearing these things;

for the great fear of God does not allow them to descend into the depths of sleep and to submerge their mind, but from the surface it lies upon them, only giving them rest.

And their sleep being such, their dreams too must needs be such—not phantom-filled, nor monstrous.

But, as I said, the cock crowed, and at once the superior comes, and simply nudging with his foot the one lying down, raised them all up;

for neither is it lawful there to sleep naked.

Then, having risen, at once they stand, singing prophetic hymns with much harmony, with well-measured melodies.

Neither harp, nor pipes, nor any other musical instrument sends forth such a sound as it is possible to hear in deep stillness and in the wilderness, when the saints are singing.

And the songs themselves are fitting, and full of love toward God.

'In the nights,' it says, 'lift up your hands to God;'

and again, 'From the night my spirit rises early to Thee, O God, because Thy commandments are a light upon the earth.'

And the songs of David, stirring up many fountains of tears.

'I am weary with my groaning; every night I wash my bed, I drench my couch with my tears;'

and again, 'For I have eaten ashes like bread;'

and again, 'What is man, that Thou art mindful of him? Man is like to vanity, and our days pass away like a shadow;'

and, 'Fear not, when a man grows rich, and when the glory of his house is increased.'

And again: 'He who settles the solitary in a house';

and: 'Seven times a day have I praised Thee, because of the judgments of Thy righteousness';

and again: 'At midnight I rose to give thanks unto Thee, because of the judgments of Thy righteousness';

and: 'God shall redeem my soul from the hand of hell';

and: 'Though I walk in the midst of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me';

and again: 'I shall not be afraid of the terror by night, nor of the arrow that flieth by day, nor of the thing that stalketh in the darkness, nor of the calamity and the noonday demon';

and again: 'We were accounted as sheep for the slaughter';

he shows their fervent love toward God.

But when they sing again together with the angels (for the angels also sing at that hour), saying, 'Praise the Lord from the heavens'—while we lie yawning, scratching ourselves, snoring, or simply sprawled on our backs and pondering ten thousand deceits—

what a thing it is that they should spend the whole of the night in this! And when day is about to break, they take their rest at last;

and when we begin our labors, they have their time of rest.

When day has come, each of us calls to his neighbor, reckons up his expenditures;

if he goes into the marketplace, he stands before a magistrate, trembles, and dreads the reckonings.

Another is at the theater, another at his own trade.

But those men again, having completed their morning prayers and hymns, turn to the reading of the Scriptures;

and there are some who have learned to copy books as well.

Each one, taking a single cell assigned to him, practices unbroken silence, no one chattering, no one saying anything at all.

Then they perform the third, sixth, and ninth hours, and the evening prayers, and dividing the day into four parts, at the completion of each part they honor God with psalmody and hymns.

And while all others are feasting, laughing, playing, bursting with gluttony, these men give themselves to hymns.

Nowhere is there a time for the table, nor for these things of sense.

Again, after the meal they hold to the same practices, having first given themselves to sleep.

Now worldly men sleep even in the daytime;

but those men keep vigil even through the night.

Then those who have spent the greater part of the day in sleep go forth weighed down;

but these are still sober, remaining without food until evening, and giving themselves to hymns.

And when evening has come again, some hasten to the baths and to relaxations;

but those men, having released themselves from their labors, then give themselves to the table—not rousing a multitude of servants, nor running about the house, nor making an uproar, nor setting out many dishes full of savory smells, but some have bread only and salt, others add oil, and others still, those who are weaker, partake also of vegetables and pulse.

Then, having sat but a little while—or rather, having sealed the whole with hymns—they take their rest, each upon a pallet made only for repose, not for luxury.

There is no fear of magistrates there, no arrogance of masters, no dread of slaves, no clamor of women, no disturbance of children, no multitude of coffers, no superfluous laying-up of garments, no gold, no silver;

there are no watch-guards and outposts;

there is no treasury, nor any other such thing;

but all is full of prayer, all of hymns, all of spiritual fragrance; there is nothing fleshly there.

They do not dread the assaults of robbers;

for they have nothing whereby they might suffer loss;

there is no money; there is a body and a soul;

and if they take away this, they have not harmed him, but rather benefited him.

'For to me,' he says, 'to live is Christ, and to die is gain.'

They have loosed themselves from all bonds.

Truly, 'The voice of rejoicing is in the tents of the righteous.'

It is never possible to hear there a wail or a lamentation;

their roof is clean of these unpleasantnesses, clean of this outcry.

For men die among them also;

for they are not immortal in the body;

but they do not know death as death.

With hymns they escort those who have departed;

such a thing they call an escorting-forth, not a carrying-out for burial.

And if it be announced that such a one has died, there is much gladness, much delight;

or rather, no one even dares to say that such a one has died, but that such a one has been made perfect.

Then follows thanksgiving, much glory, gladness, each one praying to receive such an end, so to come forth from this contest, to find rest from labors and struggles, to see Christ.

And if one falls sick, there are no tears, no wailing, but again prayers;

not the hands of physicians, but faith alone has often delivered the sick man.

But if there should even be need of physicians, great is the philosophy here too, great the endurance;

no woman stands by loosing her hair, nor children bewailing the orphanhood not yet come upon them, nor servants entreating the dying man to entrust them with security to some patron;

but the soul, freed from all these things, looks to one thing only in its last breath—how it may depart as a friend to God.

And if sickness does come, it does not come from gluttony, nor from a heavy head, but the very occasions of their sicknesses are full of praises, not of accusation, as ours are;

for either intensity of vigil, or of fasting, or something of this kind, produces their sicknesses;

wherefore they are easily cured;

for it suffices, when they no longer toil in like manner, to be delivered from all their troubles.

'Tell me then,' he says, 'if anyone has washed the feet of the saints in the church, whether it is possible to find such men here also.'

Only let us not, because we have recounted the life of those men, despise those who are in the churches.

Many such men, often, are in the very midst of the churches, but in hiddenness.

For let us not despise them because they go about houses, nor because they enter into the marketplace, nor because they preside over affairs.

For this too God enjoined;

'For judge,' He says, 'for the orphan, and do justice to the widow.'

Many are the ways of virtue, just as also among pearls there is much difference—though all are called pearls—but one is bright and round on every side, while another does not have this beauty, but another kind.

And what is this? Just as, by some art, the coral has an elongated line and its angles finely wrought, and one white color more delightful than another, while the sea-green is far more delightful than every shade of green;

another displays the bloom of blood in its flowering, another is more azure than the sea, another more lustrous than the purple;

and one might find ten thousand others vying with the flowers in their variety, or equaling the colors of the sun;

such indeed are the saints also;

some train themselves, while others train the churches as well.

Rightly, then, did he say, 'If she has washed the feet of the saints, if she has relieved the afflicted.'

For it was in order to stir all up to imitation that he spoke in this way.

Let us, therefore, hasten to this work, so that we may have cause to boast there, that we washed the feet of the saints.

But if we ought to wash their feet, much more ought we to give them money from our own hand, and to be eager to do it in secret.

'Let not thy left hand know,' he says, 'what thy right hand doeth.'

Dost thou take witnesses? Let not even a household servant see it, if it be possible, nor thy wife.

Many are the stumbling-blocks of the deceiver;

often she who has never before been a hindrance becomes at that moment a hindrance, whether through vainglory or through some other cause.

Since Abraham too, though he had an admirable wife, when he was about to offer up his son, kept it hidden from her—and that although he did not know what the outcome would be, but was persuaded that he would altogether slay him.

What, then, would he have said, if he had been one of the common sort of men? Would he not have said, 'Who is this that does such things?' Would he not have reproached him for cruelty and boorishness? The woman was not even counted worthy to see her own child, nor to hear its last cry, nor to behold it gasping, but he led it away as though he had taken a captive.

But that righteous man thought of none of these things, being drunk with longing.

For he saw nothing else, but only how he might accomplish what was commanded; nor was there any child there, nor any wife;

or rather, not even he himself knew what the outcome would be;

so earnestly did he strive on every side to bring the victim up pure, defiling it neither with tears nor with any gainsaying.

See, too, with how great gentleness Isaac asks, and what he says to him:

'Behold the wood and the fire; but where is the sheep?' What then says the father? 'God will provide Himself a sheep for a whole burnt-offering, my child.'

And this is spoken also as a prophecy, that God will provide for Himself the Son for a whole burnt-offering;

and at the same time it was fulfilled even then.

'Why dost thou hide even him, tell me—him who is to be slain?' 'Yes,' he says, 'I fear lest he grow faint-hearted, I fear lest he be found unworthy.'

Hast thou seen how he did all things with great exactness? Rightly, then, did the Scripture say, 'Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth';

that is, Even though we have someone as a member of our own household, let us not be eager to show it to him, unless there be some necessity.

For from this many grievous evils arise.

One is lifted up into vainglory; oftentimes it becomes a hindrance.

For this very reason let us hide our deeds even from ourselves, if it be possible, that we may obtain the good things that have been promised, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, and honour, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.