Homilies on Second Corinthians 4

'But I call upon God as a witness against my soul, that it was to spare you that I came no more to Corinth.'

What do you say, O blessed Paul? Was it to spare them that you did not come to Corinth? Are you not then bringing in here some contradiction against us?

For higher up you were saying that you did not come because you do not deliberate according to the flesh, nor are you master of yourself, but are led about everywhere by the authority of the Spirit, and you brought your afflictions into the midst;

but here you say that your not coming is your own doing, no longer of the authority of the Spirit;

for he says, 'It was to spare you that I came not to Corinth.'

What then is one to say? Either that this very thing too was of the Spirit—that he himself indeed wished to come, but the Spirit suggested that he should not be present, putting forward the sparing of them;

or he is speaking of another visitation, making clear that before he wrote the former epistle he wished to come, but restrained himself out of love, so as not to come upon them while they were uncorrected.

And it is likely that after the second epistle also, when the Spirit no longer hindered him, he willingly remained away for this same reason.

Which one is rather to suppose, that at the outset the Spirit hindered him;

but afterwards he himself too, having reckoned that this was better, remained.

But do you consider with me how again he makes mention of himself—a thing I shall not cease continually to say—establishing his case from things contrary to himself.

For since it was likely that they would suspect this too, and would say, 'It was for this reason that you did not wish to come,'

he shows the contrary, that it was for this very reason that he did not wish to come—namely, because he loved them.

And what is the meaning of 'to spare'? 'I heard,' he says, 'that certain among you had committed fornication;'

'therefore I did not wish, by coming, to grieve you.'

For being present, there would be need to examine the matter, and to proceed against it and to punish, and to exact a penalty from many.

'So I judged it better to be absent, and to allow room for repentance, than being present to proceed against you and be provoked the more grievously.'

For indeed, toward the end of the epistle,

he plainly intimated this, saying:

'I fear lest, when I come, my God should humble me before you, and I should mourn many of those who have sinned before and have not repented of the licentiousness and uncleanness which they practiced.'

This, then, he intimates here also, and while he himself speaks as one making a defense, he yet checks them most vehemently and puts them in fear.

For he hinted that they were liable to punishment, and would even suffer something, if they were not speedily corrected.

Which very thing again he says at the end of the epistle: 'If I come again, I will not spare.'

However, there indeed he speaks more plainly, but here, since it was the introduction, he does not so state it, but in a subdued way;

and not even with this is he content, but he tends to this very thing again, employing a further correction.

For since the word was as of one displaying much authority—

(for one spares those over whom he also has authority to punish)—soothing this very thing, and casting a shade over what seemed harsh, he says:

'Not that we lord it over your faith.'

That is: 'I did not say, that it was to spare you I came not, as though I were lording it over you.'

And he did not say 'over you,' but 'over your faith;'

which was both gentler and truer.

For who is master enough to compel one who is unwilling to believe? 'But we are fellow workers of your joy.'

'For since,' he says, 'your joy is ours, I did not come, lest I should cast you into grief and increase my own dejection;'

'but I remained away, that being corrected by the threat, you might rejoice.'

'For all things we do for the sake of your joy, and for this we are eager, since we ourselves also share in it.'

See again how he discourses in a subdued manner.

For he is afraid to lay hold of them again, since he had touched them severely in the former epistle, and they had shown some change;

and this would tend to overthrow them, if, having changed, they should again undergo the same rebuke.

Wherefore this one is far gentler than the former.

'But I determined this for myself, not to come again to you in grief.'

The word 'again' shows that he had already been grieved on that former occasion;

and while seeming to make a defense, he secretly takes hold of them.

But if they had already grieved them, and were about to grieve them yet again, consider how great the vexation would naturally be.

Yet he does not say this, namely, 'You grieved me.'

Rather he manages his discourse in another way, hinting at this very thing, and saying that 'For this cause I did not come, that I might not grieve you.'

This has the same force as what I have said, but is more easy to accept.

'For if I grieve you, who then is he that makes me glad, but the same who is grieved by me?' What sort of consequence is this? A very great one indeed.

I was not willing, he says, to come to you, that I might not grieve you the more, by rebuking, by being indignant, by turning away from you.

Then, since even this was severe and carried an accusation against them—if indeed they so lived as to grieve Paul—using a correction, he says:

'For if I grieve you, who then is he that makes me glad, but the same who is grieved by me?' And what he means is something like this:

But even if I were to be in grief, being compelled to rebuke you and to see you grieved, nevertheless this very thing gladdened me.

For this is a proof of the greatest love: that I should be of such worth in your eyes, that I am able to sting you even when I turn away from you.

For that which belonged to the rule of disciples—to feel pain and to be sensible when rebuked—this he introduces as though they were doing him a favor.

For no one, he says, so gladdens me as that man who turns himself toward my words, and is grieved whenever he sees me angered.

And yet the natural sequel would have been to say:

'For if I grieve you, who then is able to gladden you?' But he does not say this; rather he turns it round again, healing them, and saying:

Even if I grieve you, you bestow on me in this very thing a very great favor, in that you are stung by the things spoken by me.

For indeed I wrote to you this very thing.

What thing? That for this cause I did not come, sparing you.

When did he write it? In the former Epistle, when he said:

'I do not wish to see you now merely in passing'? I for my part do not think so, but rather it was in that very Epistle, when he said:

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

'I wrote this very thing,' he says, 'toward the end':

'my God should humble me, and I should mourn for many of those who have sinned before.'

And why did you write? 'That I might not, when I came, have grief from those over whom I ought to rejoice, having confidence in you all, that my joy is the joy of you all.'

For since he had said, 'I rejoice when you are pained,' and this was still somewhat too bold and harsh, he turned it round once more in another way, and made it gentler by what he added.

'For this cause,' he says, 'I wrote to you beforehand, that I might not find you in anguish, uncorrected.'

For this reason I said, 'That I might not be grieved,' not looking to my own interest, but to yours.

For I know that if you see me rejoicing, you rejoice;

and if you behold me in pain, you are pained.

Consider then, from the beginning, the sequence of the things that have been said;

for thus the discourse will be more easily grasped by us.

I did not come, he says, that I might not grieve you, having found you uncorrected.

And this I did, not looking to my own interest, but to yours.

For as for me, when you are grieved, I have no small pleasure, whenever I see you caring so much for me, as even to be grieved and pained when I am indignant.

For who is it that makes me glad, but he who is grieved by me? Nevertheless, being thus disposed, since I look to your interest, I wrote to you this very thing, that I might not be grieved;

and in this again I am not looking to my own interest, but to yours.

For I know that you also are about to be grieved, seeing me in pain, just as also you rejoice when you behold me glad.

'That I might not grieve you I did not come, although indeed I rejoice,' he says.

Then, that he might not seem to rejoice while they were in pain, 'In this respect,' he says, 'I rejoice, in that I lay hold of you';

since in another respect I am grieved, whenever I am compelled to grieve those who so love me—not only by this rebuking, but also by being myself in grief, and by grieving you again through this.

But observe how he sets it forth even with praise, saying:

For this belongs to one who bears witness to sincerity and to great affection;

as though one were speaking about sons who had been greatly benefited, and for whose sake he had toiled.

If then it is for this cause that I write, and do not come, it is while ordering some great matter that I do not come, and not out of hatred nor turning away, but rather because I love you exceedingly.

Then, since he had said, 'He who grieves gladdens me,' lest they should say:

Is this then the very thing you are zealous for—that you may be gladdened and may show to all how great a power you have?—he added:

'For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you through many tears;

not that you might be grieved, but that you might know the love which I have more abundantly toward you.'

What is more full of affection than this soul? For he shows himself to have been pained not less than the very ones who had sinned, but even much more.

For he does not say merely 'out of affliction,' but 'out of much';

nor 'of tears,' but 'through many tears and anguish of heart';

that is to say, I was being strangled, I was being choked by dejection;

and no longer able to bear the cloud of dejection, I wrote to you:

Not that you might be grieved, but that you might know the love, he says, which I have more abundantly toward you.

And yet the natural sequel would have been to say:

Not that you might be grieved, but that you might be corrected;

for indeed it was for this cause that he wrote;

but he does not say this. Rather, sweetening his discourse the more, and drawing them on to a greater affection, he sets this in place of that, showing that he does all things out of love.

And he does not simply say 'love,' but 'which I have more abundantly toward you.'

For he wishes to draw them by this also, by showing that he loves them more than all, and that he is disposed toward them as toward chosen disciples.

'If to others I am not an apostle, yet doubtless I am to you';

and, 'Though you have many tutors, yet not many fathers';

and again, 'In the grace of God we conducted ourselves in the world, and more abundantly toward you';

and, 'Though loving you more abundantly, I am loved the less';

and here, 'which I have more abundantly toward you.'

So that even if the words were full of wrath, yet the wrath sprang from much love and pain.

And in writing the Epistle, I suffered, I was pained, not only because you had sinned, but because I was also compelled to grieve you.

And this very thing too was out of love;

just as one who has a genuine child afflicted with a gangrenous sore, being compelled to cut and to cauterize, would suffer on both accounts—both because the child is sick, and because he is compelled to treat him thus.

So that what you suppose to be a sign of hating you, this was a sign of loving you exceedingly.

And if to have grieved you was out of love, much more was it out of love to rejoice when you were grieved.

Having therefore made his defense on his own behalf (for indeed he makes his defense in many places;

for if God Himself does this, saying, 'My people, what have I done to you?' how much more shall Paul do so)—

having then made his defense on his own behalf, and being now about to pass on to the defense on behalf of the one who had committed fornication—

that they might not be perverted, as though enjoined contrary things, and fall into contention, seeing that it was he who both then was angered and now enjoins them to forgive him;

observe how he prepared the way for it beforehand, both from what has been said and from what is about to be said.

For what does he say? 'But if any has caused grief, he has not grieved me,'

First praising them, as rejoicing in the same things and grieving over the same things, he then casts them into the discourse concerning this matter, having first said that 'My joy is the joy of you all.'

But if my joy is the joy of you all, you ought now also to rejoice with me, even as you grieved with me then.

For by the very things through which you were grieved, you gladdened me;

and by the things through which you now rejoice, if indeed you are glad, you will do the same.

And he did not say, 'My grief is the grief of you all;'

but having established this in the other points, now he sets down only that which he needed, namely, the joy, saying that 'My joy is the joy of you all.'

Then he also makes mention of the former things, saying,

'But if any has caused grief, he has not grieved me, but in part, that I may not overcharge you all.'

'I know,' he says, 'that you were angered together with me and indignant together with me over the one who had committed fornication, and that what happened grieved you all in part.'

And I said 'in part' for this reason: not as though you grieved less than I, but that I might not bear too hard upon that man who had committed fornication.

Therefore he grieved not me alone, but you also. Likewise, both sparing him I said it—

Do you see how at once he slackened their wrath, by showing that they too had become partners in his indignation? 'Sufficient to such a man is this punishment inflicted by the greater number.'

And he does not say 'to the one who committed fornication,' but again 'to such a man,' as also in the former epistle;

yet not for the same cause, but there out of shame, here out of forbearance.

Wherefore neither does he any longer anywhere make mention of the sin;

'So that on the contrary you should rather forgive and comfort him, lest perhaps such a one be swallowed up with overmuch grief.'

For he does not merely bid them loose the censure, but he also leads them back to the former state.

For if one should merely release the man who has been scourged and not tend his wounds, he has done nothing.

But observe how he once more restrains that man too, lest by the pardon he become worse.

For even if he confessed and repented, he shows that he receives forgiveness not so much from his repentance as from the gift.

'To forgive and to comfort.'

And what follows again makes the same thing plain.

For it is not because he is worthy, nor because he displayed sufficient repentance, but because he is weak, that he says this;

wherefore also he added, 'Lest perhaps such a one be swallowed up with overmuch grief.'

And this was at once a testimony on his behalf of much repentance, and did not suffer him to come to despair.

And what is the meaning of 'be swallowed up'? Either that he should do what Judas also did, or that even while living he should become worse.

'For even if he should start away,' he says, 'through not being able to bear any longer the pain arising from the ever-intensifying rebuke,'

'ofttimes, falling into despair, he will come either to the halter or to yet greater wickedness.'

One must therefore anticipate the matter, lest the wound become more grievous, and lest by excess we lose what we have accomplished.

And he said these things, as I said before, both restraining that man and instructing him not to become more careless after the forgiveness.

'For I received him,' he says, 'not as one wholly washed clean, but as one fearing lest he work some more grievous thing.'

Whence we learn that we ought to determine repentance not only with regard to the nature of the sins, but also with regard to the disposition and habit of those who sin;

which the Apostle also did on that occasion.

For indeed he feared his weakness;

and for this reason he said, 'Lest he be swallowed up,' as of a wild beast, as of a storm, as of a surging sea.

He no longer commands, but exhorts;

not as a teacher, but as one of equal rank, and having seated them upon the judge's throne, he set himself in the position of an advocate.

For since he had accomplished what he desired, out of joy he made insatiable use of supplication.

And what then is it that you exhort, tell me? 'To confirm your love toward him.'

That is, to make it firm, not to receive him carelessly nor as it may chance.

And this again is a testimony to a very great virtue in them;

if indeed those who so loved him and rallied around him, so as even to be puffed up, thus turned away from him, so that Paul labors so greatly that they may confirm their love toward him.

This is the virtue of disciples, this the virtue of teachers, that the disciples should be so tractable, that the teacher should so mould them.

If this were the case now also, those who sin would not offend without feeling.

For one ought neither to love without reason, nor to turn away without some cause.

'For to this end also I wrote to you, that I might know the proof of you, whether you are obedient in all things;'

not only in cutting off, but also in joining together.

Do you see how here again he encompasses them with a contest? For just as, when the man sinned, he made them full of anxiety unless they should cut him off, saying, 'A little leaven leavens the whole lump,' and many other things besides;

so here too he again sets over them the fear of disobedience, all but saying that, 'Just as then it was not for his sake but also for yours, so now you must take counsel not so much for him as for your own selves, lest you seem to be contentious and inhuman, and not obedient in all things.'

Wherefore he says, 'For to this end also I wrote to you, that I might know the proof of you, whether you are obedient in all things.'

For that former thing might have seemed to be even of envy and of malice;

but this especially shows the obedience pure, and whether you are fitted for lovingkindness.

For this is the mark of right-minded disciples, to obey him who enjoins not only those things, but also the contrary things.

For this reason he said, 'In all things,' showing that if they do not obey, they put not so much him as themselves to shame, receiving the reputation of contentious men.

And he does this, that from this quarter also he may push them toward being persuaded;

wherefore also he says, 'For to this end I wrote to you.'

And yet it was not for this that he wrote, but he says it was for this, so as to draw them on;

for the leading purpose was that man's salvation.

But where he is in no way harmed, he gratifies them also.

And by saying, 'In all things,' he again commends them, having reminded them of their former obedience and brought it into the midst.

Do you see how again he gives the second place to himself, showing them as the rulers and himself as following? This is to soften a temper that is being roughened, this is to relax one that is contending.

Then, lest he make them supine, as being masters, and lest they should not forgive him, he again urges them on toward this, saying that he too had forgiven.

'For to whom I have forgiven anything, what I have forgiven, it is for your sakes.'

'For this very thing also,' he says, 'I did for your sakes.'

And just as, when he commanded that the man be cut off, he neither allowed them to become masters with authority to pardon—saying, 'I have already judged to deliver such a one over to Satan'—yet he again took them as partners in the sentence, saying, 'When you are gathered together, to deliver him up'; contriving two very great things, both that the verdict should be pronounced, and that it should not be apart from them, so that he might not seem to be striking a blow in this way. And he neither pronounces it alone, lest they think him self-willed and imagine themselves despised, nor does he entrust the whole to them, lest, having become masters, they should betray the sinner by showing him favor out of season—

so also here he acts, saying that 'I have already forgiven'—he who in the former epistle had already said 'I have judged.' Then, that they might not be smitten, as though despised, he says, 'For your sakes.'

What then? Did he grant the pardon for men's sake? By no means.

For this very reason he also added, 'in the person of Christ.'

What does 'in the person of Christ' mean? Either 'according to God,' he says, or 'unto the glory of Christ.'

'Lest we should be taken advantage of by Satan';

'for we are not ignorant of his devices.'

Do you see how he both entrusts the authority to them and again takes it away, that on the one hand he may soften matters for that man, and on the other cut off their self-will? Yet he establishes not only this from these words, but also shows that the harm would be common, should they disobey.

For at that time also he said, 'A little leaven leavens the whole lump';

and here again, 'Lest we should be taken advantage of by Satan.'

And everywhere he makes the remission belong both to himself and to them.

'But if any has caused grief,' he says, 'he has not grieved me, but in part—that I may not overcharge you all';

then again, 'Sufficient to such a one is this punishment, which was inflicted by the many.'

This is his sentence and judgment.

But he did not stop at the sentence; rather he again makes them partners, saying:

'So that, on the contrary, you should rather forgive and comfort him.'

'Wherefore I beseech you to confirm your love toward him.'

Again, having made the whole matter theirs, he passes over to his own authority, saying:

'For to this end also I wrote to you, that I might know the proof of you, whether you are obedient in all things.'

Then again he makes the favor theirs, saying, 'But to whom you forgive anything';

then his own, saying, 'And I also, if I have forgiven anything, it is for your sakes';

then both theirs and his own;

'For I also,' he says, 'if I have forgiven anything, it is for your sakes in the person of Christ';

either 'unto the glory of Christ,' or 'as though Christ Himself also commanded this';

for henceforth they were afraid to grant a matter that passed over into His glory and seemed good to Him.

Then again he sets forth the common harm, should they disobey, saying, 'Lest we should be taken advantage of by Satan';

well did he name it 'advantage-taking' (greed);

for henceforth he does not take what is his own, but seizes what is ours.

Do not say to me merely this, that this one man alone becomes the prey of the beast; but consider also this, that the number of the flock is diminished—and now especially, when it is possible to recover what had been cast away.

'For we are not ignorant of his devices';

that even under a pretext of piety he destroys.

For not only by leading into fornication, but also from the opposite side, is he able to destroy—through immoderate grief over one's repentance.

When therefore, along with his own, he takes ours also; when, on the one hand commanding to sin, he destroys, and on the other, while we bid to repent, he snatches away—how is the matter not advantage-taking? For it does not suffice him to cast us down through sin, but he does this through repentance also, if we are not vigilant.

Wherefore he fittingly called it advantage-taking, when he prevails even through what is ours.

For to take through sin is proper to him;

but to take through repentance is no longer his;

for the weapon is ours, not his.

When therefore he is able to take even from this quarter, consider how shameful the defeat is—how he will laugh us to scorn and run us down as weak and wretched, if indeed he is going to overpower us with our own weapons.

For it is exceedingly ridiculous and of the utmost disgrace, that he should fashion our wounds by means of our own remedies.

'For we are not ignorant of his devices';

thereby setting forth his craftiness, his guile, his malicious contrivance, his villainy, his spitefulness under a pretext of piety.

Considering these things then, let us also never despise anyone, nor ever, when we sin, fall into despair;

nor again let us be slothful, but let us crush our mind when we offend, and not merely put forward words.

For indeed I know many who say that they mourn over their sins, yet accomplish nothing great; who fast indeed and wear rough garments, yet crave money more than the hucksters, and are gripped by anger more than wild beasts, and delight in slandering others more than others delight in praise.

These things are but an image and shadow of repentance, not repentance.

Wherefore concerning these also it is good to say:

'Take heed lest we be taken advantage of by Satan';

'for we are not ignorant of his devices.'

For some he destroys through sins, others through repentance; and these last by yet another way—by suffering them to reap no fruit from their repentance.

For since he did not find how to destroy them by the straight way, he came by another road, intensifying their toils but taking away their fruits, and persuading them, as though they had achieved everything perfectly, thus to be careless of the rest.

In order therefore that we may not beat ourselves in vain, let us converse a little with such women;

for this malady belongs especially to women.

Good indeed is this too which you now practice—fasting and sleeping on the ground and ashes;

but when the other things are not present as well, there is no profit from these.

God has shown how He forgives sins;

why then, forsaking that road, do you cut out another for yourselves? The Ninevites once sinned, and did these very things which you also now do;

but let us see what profited them.

For just as, in the case of the sick, physicians apply many things, but the wise man considers not that the patient did this or that, but what profited him;

so also here we must consider.

What then profited those barbarians? They applied fasting to their wounds, and applied a vehement fasting, and sleeping on the ground and the wearing of sackcloth and ashes and lamentations;

they also applied a change of life.

Let us see then which of these things made them whole.

'And whence shall we know?' one asks. If we go to the physician, if we ask Him;

for He will not hide it from us, but will even tell it plainly.

Rather, that no one might be ignorant, nor need to ask, He has even written down the medicine that raised them up.

What then is this? 'God saw,' it says, 'that each one turned from his evil way, and He repented of the evil which He had spoken of doing to them.'

It did not say that He saw the fasting and the sackcloth and ashes.

And I say these things not to do away with fasting;

but exhorting you to do what is greater than fasting—namely, to abstain from all wickedness.

Let us see then how this man also repented.

For three days he sat upon ashes.

But he did this not for his sin, but for the child, being still intoxicated with grief.

His sin, however, he wiped away by another means: by humility, by contrition of heart, by compunction of soul, by no longer falling into the same faults, by remembering it continually, by bearing thankfully all that befell him, by sparing those who grieved him, by not avenging himself upon those who plotted against him, but even restraining those who wished to do this.

Indeed, when Shimei heaped upon him countless reproaches, and the general who was present grew indignant, he said: 'Let him curse me, for the Lord has commanded him.'

For he had a heart broken and humbled, which above all things wiped away his sins.

For this is confession, this is repentance.

But if while fasting we are boastful, not only have we gained nothing, but we have even been harmed.

Humble your heart also, therefore, that you may draw God to yourself.

For the Lord is near to those who are broken in heart.

Do you not see in the great houses those who have fallen into disgrace, how, even when servants of lower rank insult them, they do not answer back, but bear it because of the dishonor with which their fault has clothed them? Do you also act thus.

And if anyone reviles you, do not grow savage, but groan—not over the insult, but over the sin that has cast you into dishonor.

Groan when you sin, not because you are about to be punished,

but because you have offended your Master, who is so gentle, who so loves you and is intent upon your salvation, that He even gave up His Son for you.

For these reasons groan, and do this continually.

Be not cheerful today and gloomy tomorrow, then cheerful again, but abide always in mourning and in bruising yourself.

For 'Blessed,' He says, 'are they that mourn'—that is, those who do this continually.

Continue doing this without ceasing, and paying heed to yourself, and bruising your heart, as one who has lost a true-born son would mourn.

'Rend your hearts,' He says, 'and not your garments.'

But that which is rent cannot be lifted up in pride,

that which is broken cannot rise up.

For this reason the one says, 'Rend,' and the other says, 'A broken and humbled heart God will not despise.'

Even if you are wise, even if you are rich, even if you are powerful, rend your heart; do not let it think great thoughts nor be puffed up.

For that which is rent is not puffed up; and even if there be something to lift it up, it cannot contain the swelling, because it is torn.

So do you also be humble-minded.

Consider that the publican was justified by a single word;

and yet that was not even humility, but a true confession.

But if this has such great power, how much more does humility? Forgive the sins of those who have offended against you;

for this too remits sins.

Concerning the former He says: 'I saw that he went about mournful, and I healed his ways.'

And in the case of Ahab too, this loosed the wrath of God.

But concerning the second: 'Forgive, and it shall be forgiven you.'

There is yet another way that brings us this remedy: the condemnation of the faults we have committed.

For 'Declare you your iniquities first, that you may be justified.'

And to give thanks when suffering ill dissolves our sins, as does almsgiving, the greatest of all.

Count up, therefore, the remedies that heal your wounds, and apply them all continually: humility, confession, the not bearing of grudges, the giving of thanks when suffering ill, showing mercy through money and through deeds, and praying with perseverance.

Thus the widow appeased the harsh and unfeeling judge.

But if she appeased the unjust one, much more will you appease the gentle One.

There is with these yet another way: to stand up for those who are wronged.

For 'Judge,' He says, 'for the orphan, and do justice to the widow;

and come, let us reason together, and though your sins be as scarlet, I will make them white as snow.'

What defense, then, would we be worthy of, if, having so many ways leading up to heaven, and such remedies to heal our wounds, we yet persist in the same faults even after the washing? Let us not, then, persist; but let those who have not yet fallen abide in their own beauty—or rather, let them practice it the more.

For even if one find no sins, these good deeds make one's comeliness greater;

and let us who have committed many faults use what has been said for the correction of our sins, that we may stand before the tribunal of Christ with great boldness;

which may it be granted us all to attain, by the grace and love toward mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father together with the Holy Spirit be glory, might, and honor, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.