Homilies on Second Corinthians 28

But let it be granted that I myself was no burden to you; yet, being crafty, I caught you with guile.

Did I take advantage of you by any of those whom I sent to you? I begged Titus, and I sent the brother with him.

Did Titus take any advantage of you? Did we not walk in the same spirit? Did we not walk in the same steps? [Chapter 1]

These words have been spoken by Paul very obscurely, yet not without cause nor at random.

For since the discussion concerns money, and a defence on its behalf, the words are with good reason cast in shadow.

What then is that which is said? He had said that «I took nothing, but am ready both to give besides and to spend»;

and much on this subject he discoursed both in the former and in this Epistle.

But now he says something further, introducing the argument as though by way of an objection, and resolving it beforehand.

And what he means is of this kind:

«I indeed did not take advantage of you;

but someone might perhaps say that, though I myself took nothing, yet being crafty I contrived that those sent by me should ask something of you in their own persons, and that through them I myself received it, putting myself apart so as to seem not to have taken, while taking through others.»

But not even this could anyone say;

wherefore he also advances the argument by way of question, saying:

«I begged Titus, and sent the brother with him.»

«Did Titus take any advantage of you? Did he not walk even as I?» That is, neither did he take anything.

Do you see how great is the intensity of his strictness, in that he not only keeps himself pure from taking, but also so regulates those sent by him, that he might give not even a small pretext to those who wished to lay hold of him?

For this is far greater than what the patriarch did.

For he, returning from the victory, when the king offered him the spoils, said that he would take nothing, except what those men had eaten;

but this man neither enjoyed even the necessary food himself, nor allowed his companions to partake, out of his great abundance stopping the mouths of the shameless.

For this reason he neither pronounces nor says that even those men took nothing, but—what was far greater than this—he brings forward the Corinthians themselves as witnesses that they took nothing, so that he might not seem to bear witness from his own person, but from their vote;

which is what we are wont to do in matters that are very fully agreed upon, and concerning which we are confident.

For he says, 'Tell me, did any of those whom I sent to you take advantage of you?' He did not say, 'Did anyone receive anything from you?' but he calls the thing covetousness, laying hold of them and shaming them severely, and showing that to take from an unwilling giver is covetousness.

And he did not say, 'Did not Titus?' but 'Did anyone?' For neither could you say this, he means, that such a one indeed took nothing, but another took.

For he did not say, 'I sent Titus,' but 'I besought him,' showing that even if he had taken, he would have taken justly; yet even so he remained clean.

Therefore he asks them again, saying, 'Did Titus take any advantage of you? Did we not walk in the same spirit?' What does 'in the same spirit' mean? He ascribes the whole to grace, and shows that all this praise was not

the achievement of our labors, but of the gift of the Spirit and of grace.

For indeed it was the greatest grace, that even while in want and hungering they did not receive, for the edification of those being taught.

'Did we not walk in the same steps?' That is, those men did not depart even a little from this exactness, but kept the very same rule.

'Again, do you think that we are excusing ourselves to you?' Do you see how everywhere he fears to incur the reputation of flattery? Do you see apostolic prudence, how continually he sets it forth? For before too he had said, 'We do not again commend ourselves to you, but give you occasion to boast on our behalf;'

and in the opening of the Epistle, 'Do we need letters of commendation?' But all things are for your edification.

And not even here does he say plainly, 'For this reason we do not receive, because of your weakness,' but 'that we may edify you.'

Speaking indeed more clearly than before, and uncovering what he was travailing with, yet not in a wounding manner.

For he did not say, 'Because of your weakness,' but 'That you may be edified.'

'For I fear lest, when I come, I should find you not such as I wish, and I myself should be found by you such as you do not wish.'

He is about to say something great and grievous.

For this reason he also sets down his defense, both by saying that 'all things are for your edification,' and by adding that 'I fear,' thus softening the harshness of what is about to be said.

For this was no longer a mark of self-will nor of teacher's authority, but of fatherly care, when one fears rather for those who have sinned, and trembles at the prospect of correcting them.

But not even so does he assail them, nor pronounce sentence, but speaking with hesitation he says, 'Lest, when I come, I should find you not such as I wish.'

He did not say 'virtuous,' but 'not such as I wish,' displaying through all things the names of friendship.

And the word 'find' denotes something contrary to expectation, just as also does 'be found by you.'

For the matter is not one of deliberate choice, but of necessity taking its cause from you.

Therefore he says, 'I should be found such as you do not wish.'

Here he did not say, 'Such as I do not wish;'

but, more woundingly, 'Such as you do not desire.'

For it was after all his will—not indeed his primary will, but nonetheless a will.

For he might again have said, 'Such as I do not wish,' and so have shown his love;

but he does not wish to relax the hearer.

Rather, the word became in this way even harsher;

yet now he both struck them the more forcibly, and showed himself the more gentle.

For this is peculiar to his wisdom: while cutting the deeper, to strike the more gently.

Then, since he had spoken obscurely, he uncovers it, saying, 'Lest perhaps there be strife, jealousies, wraths, backbitings, whisperings, swellings.'

And what he was about to put first, this he sets down last;

for it was against himself that they were puffed up.

Therefore, lest he should seem to be seeking primarily his own concern, he speaks first of the common one.

For all these things were born of envy: the slanders, the accusations, the divisions.

For just as a single baneful root, envy gave birth to wrath, to accusation, to arrogance, and to all the rest, and from these it grew yet greater.

'Lest, when I come again, my God should humble me before you.'

And the word 'again' was that of one striking.

'For the former things are enough,' he says;

which also at the beginning he said, that 'To spare you I came not yet to Corinth.'

Do you see how he displays both indignation and tender affection? And what does 'humble me' mean? And yet this is glory—to bring charges, to punish, to demand accounts, to sit in the rank of a judge;

yet nevertheless he calls it humiliation.

So far was he from being ashamed of that humiliation, namely, that 'the presence of his body was weak, and his speech contemptible,' that he continually wished to be in this state, and prayed against the contrary.

And he says it more plainly as he proceeds, and reckons this especially as humiliation: to fall into such a necessity of chastising, of punishing.

And for what reason did he not say, 'Lest, when I come, I be humbled,' but 'Lest, when I come, my God should humble me'? Because, were it not for His sake, I would not have turned my concern that way, I would not have taken thought.

For I do not demand justice as one having authority and acting willfully, but on account of His command.

Above, then, he sets it forth saying, 'I should be found such as you do not wish;'

but here he lowers his tone, and speaks both more gently and

more mildly, saying, 'I shall mourn many of those who have sinned.'

Not simply those who have sinned, but those who have not repented.

And he did not say 'all,' but 'many;'

and not even these does he make manifest, thereby granting them from this very fact an easy return unto repentance;

and making it clear that repentance is able to set right things done amiss, he mourns those who do not repent, those who suffer from incurable maladies, those who remain in their wound.

Consider, then, the apostolic virtue, when, being conscious of no evil in himself, he laments over the evils of others, and is humbled for the offenses committed by others.

For this most of all belongs to the teacher: thus to grieve together at the calamities of the disciples, to smite the breast and mourn over the wounds of those under his charge.

Then he states also the kind of the sin;

'For the lasciviousness and uncleanness which they committed.'

And he himself here hints at fornication;

but if one should examine it accurately, every kind of sin also can be called by this name.

For even if the fornicator and the adulterer are called unclean par excellence, yet nonetheless the other sins too produce uncleanness in the soul.

For this very reason Christ also calls the Jews unclean, not charging them with fornication only, but with other wickedness as well.

Wherefore also He says, to make the outside also clean;

and that 'It is not the things that enter that defile the man, but the things that come out;'

and elsewhere it is said, 'Every one that is proud in heart is unclean before the Lord.'

For nothing is purer than virtue, nothing more unclean than vice;

for the one is brighter than the sun, but the other more foul-smelling than mire.

And to these things even they themselves would bear witness—those who wallow in the mire and those who pass their life in darkness—whenever someone brings them to look up even a little.

For so long as they are by themselves and drunken with their passion, like those spending their time in darkness they lie in an unseemly manner amid much foulness, being aware indeed even then of where they are, yet not accurately;

but whenever they see one of those living in virtue reproving them, or even merely appearing, then they more clearly discern their own wretchedness, and as though a ray had been let in, so they gather up their own unseemliness, and blush before those who are aware of it—even though the one be a slave and the other free, and the one a king and the other a subject.

Thus Ahab, seeing Elijah, was ashamed, and though the other had as yet said nothing, he was caught by his mere countenance;

and while the accuser was silent, he bore the sentence that condemned him, uttering the words of those who have been caught, and saying, 'You have found me, O mine enemy.'

In this way did Elijah himself in those days speak with great boldness to that tyrant of old.

In this way Herod, unable to bear the shame that came from being reproved (for the voice of the prophetic tongue, shining forth great and radiant, exposed him the more clearly), cast John into prison;

as though he were himself naked, and attempting to quench the lamp, that he might once more be in the darkness.

Or rather, he himself did not dare to quench it, but as it were placed it under a bushel by putting it in the prison-house;

but that wretched and miserable woman forced this to come to pass.

Yet not even so were they able to conceal the reproof, but rather they kindled it the more.

For those who asked why John dwelt in prison learned the reason; and all those who afterward inhabited land and sea, both those living then and those living now and those who shall be hereafter, have clearly known and shall know these wicked deeds, both their acts of licentiousness and of murder; and no length of time will be able to blot out the memory of them.

So great a thing is virtue; so immortal is the memory it possesses; so does it, even by mere words, strike terror into those who set themselves against it.

For on what account did he cast him into prison? Why did he not despise him? Was he then about to drag him into a court of law? Did he then exact a penalty for the adultery? Were not the things said as yet mere reproof only? Why then does he fear and tremble? Were they not words and bare speech? Yet they bit more sharply than deeds.

He did not bring him to a tribunal, but dragged him to another court, that of conscience, and made all men his judges,

he set as judges over him those who then, with authority, cast their votes in their own minds.

For this reason the tyrant trembled, unable to bear the brightness of virtue.

Do you see how great a thing is the love of wisdom? It made the prisoner more illustrious than the tyrant, and this man that tyrant feared and trembled at.

But he himself only bound him;

while that abominable woman rushed even to the slaughter.

And yet the accusation was directed rather against this man.

For neither did he then, upon meeting her, say to her, Why do you dwell with the tyrant? — not because she was without blame;

for how could that be? — but because from this quarter he wished to set the whole matter right.

For neither did he say, O abominable and utterly abominable, lawless and profane one, you have trampled on the law of God, you have despised His commandments, you have made your own power into law.

None of these things; but even in his reproofs great was the man's fairness, great his gentleness;

For it is not lawful for you, he says, to have your brother Philip's wife.

The saying was rather that of one teaching than reproving, of one instructing than punishing, of one setting in order than making a public spectacle, of one correcting than trampling down.

But, as I said, light is hateful to the thief; the righteous man is grievous to sinners even by simply appearing;

for he is a heavy burden to us even when merely beheld.

For they do not endure his rays, just as those diseased in their eyes cannot endure the sun's.

And to many of the wicked he is a burden not only when seen, but even when heard.

For this very reason that abominable and utterly abominable woman, the procuress of her own little daughter — or rather the murderess of her child — although she had neither seen him nor heard his voice, rushed to the slaughter;

and she prepared the one whom she had reared in licentiousness to come also to murder;

so exceedingly did she fear him.

And what does she say? Give me here on a platter the head of John the Baptist.

Whither are you borne headlong over the precipices, wretched and miserable woman? Is the accuser present? Is he seen and does he trouble you? Others said, He is a burden to us even when beheld;

but to her, as I said, he was a burden even when only heard;

wherefore she says, Give me here on a platter the head of John.

And yet he dwells in prison on your account, and is bound about with a chain, and you are free to play the wanton over your passion, and to speak thus:

I have overcome the king, seeing that, even when publicly accused, he did not give way, nor did he depart from his passion, nor did he tear asunder my adultery, but even bound the one who accused him.

Why are you mad and raging, when even after the reproof of sin you still have your bridegroom? Why do you seek a table of Furies, and prepare a banquet of avenging demons? Do you see how worthless, how cowardly, how unmanly is wickedness; how, precisely when it most prevails, it then becomes the weaker? For she too was not so troubled before she cast John into prison as she is disquieted now that he is bound, and she presses on, saying, Give me here on a platter the head of John.

And why here? I fear, she says, lest the murder be overshadowed, lest some rescue him from the peril.

And why do you not seek the whole corpse, but the head? The tongue that grieved me, she says, this I long to see silent.

But the contrary is the case — which indeed is exactly what came to pass, wretched and miserable woman — it will cry out more loudly after it has been cut off.

For then it cried out only in Judaea, but now it will reach to the ends of the inhabited world;

and wherever you enter into a church, whether in the land of the Moors, or in that of the Persians, or even to the Britannic isles themselves, you hear John crying out, It is not lawful for you to have your brother Philip's wife.

But she, knowing nothing of the love of wisdom, urges on and throttles and thrusts the senseless tyrant to the murder, fearing lest at some time he should change his mind.

But do you learn again, even from this, the strength of virtue.

She could not endure the righteous man even when shut up and bound and silent.

Do you see how weak a thing is wickedness, how unclean? For instead of meats she brings in a human head upon a platter.

What is more abominable, what more accursed, what more shameless than that girl? What manner of voice did she send forth in the theatre of the devil and at the banquet of demons? Do you see tongue and tongue — the one bearing saving remedies, the other holding deadly poison, and playing the caterer

becoming the provider of a diabolical feast? But for what reason did she not command him to be slaughtered within, at the banquet, where the pleasure would have been greater for her? She feared lest, having come and been seen, he should by his very appearance and by his boldness convert them all.

For this very reason she seeks the head, wishing to set up a brilliant trophy of fornication;

Do you see the wages of the dance, do you see the spoils of the diabolical plot? I do not mean the head of John, but the very man who dwelt with her.

For if one were to examine the matter accurately, the trophy will be against the king, and she who conquered was defeated, and he who was beheaded was crowned and proclaimed victor, and after his death shook the minds of the sinners more violently.

And that what has been said is no idle boast, ask Herod himself;

who, when he heard of the signs of Christ, said:

he himself is risen from the dead, and for this reason the powers work in him.

So flourishing did he keep his fear, and so unremitting his agony;

and no one was able to cast off the dread of conscience, but that incorruptible judge remained, throttling him and daily exacting from him a penalty for the slaughter.

Knowing these things, then, let us not fear to suffer evil, but to do evil;

for the one is victory, but the other is defeat.

Wherefore also Paul said, Why do you not rather suffer wrong? But you do wrong and defraud, and that your brethren.

For it is in suffering evil that the crowns and the prizes and the proclamation lie.

And this one may see in the case of all the saints.

Since, then, all were crowned in this way and proclaimed in this way, let us too journey along this road;

and let us pray that we may not enter into temptation;

but if it should come upon us, standing with much courage, let us display the fitting zeal;

that we may attain to the good things to come, 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.