Homilies on Colossians 13

Epaphras, who is one of you, a servant of Christ, greets you, always striving on your behalf in his prayers, that you may stand perfect and complete in all the will of God.

For I bear him witness, that he has much zeal for you, and for those in Laodicea, and for those in Hierapolis.

And at the beginning of the Epistle, he commended the man from love;

and love is shown also by his praising him.

'Who declared to us,' he says, 'your love in the Spirit.'

To pray earnestly on another's behalf also shows love and makes one beloved.

And he commends him, opening a door for his word (for that the teacher be held in reverence is a benefit to the disciples), and again by saying 'from you,' that they might take pride in the man, as bringing forth such men.

'And always,' he says, 'striving on your behalf in his prayers.'

He did not simply say 'praying,' but 'striving,' trembling and fearful.

'For I bear him witness,' he says, 'that he has much zeal for you.'

'That he has,' he says, 'much zeal for you.'

That is, that he loves you exceedingly, and is inflamed with affection concerning you.

'And for those in Laodicea,' he says, 'and for those in Hierapolis.'

He commends him to those also.

But how were they to know this? It was likely, then, that they should hear of it;

moreover, when the Epistle was read, they came to learn it.

'For see to it,' he says, 'that it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.'

At once he both censures them, and without giving offense exhorts and counsels them.

For it is possible both to be perfect and yet not to stand firm, as when one knows all things, but is still shaken;

and it is possible both not to be perfect and yet to stand firm, as when one knows only a part, yet stands, though not securely.

But he prays for both: 'That you may stand,' he says, 'perfect.'

See how again he reminded them of the discourse concerning the angels, and concerning the manner of life.

'And complete,' he says, 'in all the will of God.'

For it is not simply enough to do the will.

He who is complete does not allow any other will to be in him, since otherwise he is not fully assured.

'For I bear him witness,' he says, 'that he has much zeal.'

just as he himself also says, writing to the Corinthians;

'Luke, the beloved physician, greets you.'

This is the Evangelist.

Yet he does not place him afterwards to humble him, but rather to exalt that other man, Epaphras.

It is likely that there were also others called by this name.

And having said, 'Luke the physician greets you,' he added, 'the beloved.'

This too is no small commendation, but indeed a very great one—to be beloved of Paul.

'Greet the brethren in Laodicea, and Nymphas, and the church that is in his house.'

See how he cements and joins them to one another, not only by the greeting, but also by their exchanging the epistles.

Then again he shows favor, addressing him privately by name.

And he does this not without purpose, but also to bring the others into the same standing.

For it is no small thing, when one is not numbered together with the rest.

See, at any rate, how he shows the man to be great, if indeed his house was a church.

'And when the epistle is read among you, see to it that it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.'

It seems to me that there were certain things written there which these also ought to have heard.

And for these the benefit was the greater, when, others being accused, they should recognize their own sins.

'And that from Laodicea, that you also may read it.'

Some say that it is not the one sent by Paul to them, but the one sent by them to Paul;

for he did not say, 'that to the Laodiceans,' but, 'that from Laodicea,' he says, 'the one written.'

'Take heed to the ministry which you received in the Lord, that you fulfill it.'

For what reason does he not write to him directly? Perhaps he had no need of it, but only of a bare reminder, so that he might be more diligent.

'The salutation of Paul with my own hand.'

This is a token of genuineness and friendship—both to see the very handwriting, and to be moved by it in some way.

'Remember my bonds.'

For this was sufficient to urge them on to all things, and to make them more courageous for the contests;

and not only more courageous, but it also made them more intimately his own.

It is a great commendation, and greater than all the rest, to say concerning Epaphras, 'who is of you, a servant of Christ.'

And he calls him a minister on their behalf, just as he also calls himself a minister of the Church, as when he says:

'of which I, Paul, became a minister.'

He raises the man to the same dignity, and above calls him a fellow-servant, and here a servant.

as though conversing with a mother, and saying:

But this commendation might have engendered envy.

For this reason he commends him not only from these things, but also from his relations toward them;

and both there he dissolves the envy, and here.

'Always,' he says, 'striving on your behalf'—

not now only among us, so as to make a display, nor among you only, so as to make a show before you.

He showed great eagerness by saying this.

Then, lest he should seem to be flattering them, he added that he 'has much zeal for you, and for those in Laodicea, and for those in Hierapolis.'

And the phrase, 'That you may stand perfect,' this too is not the mark of flattery, but of a reverend teacher. 'And fully assured,' he says, 'and perfect.'

The one thing he granted them, but the other he said was still lacking.

And he did not say, 'That you may not be shaken,' but, 'That you may stand.'

The fact, moreover, that they are greeted by many wins them over, when not only their own kinsfolk from among them, but others also make mention of them.

'Take heed to the ministry which you have received in the Lord.'

Most of all he makes them subject to him.

For they would no longer have grounds to blame him when he rebukes them, since they themselves have undertaken the whole matter;

since it is not reasonable for disciples to speak concerning their teacher.

But to stop their mouths, he writes these things.

'Say to Archippus,' he says, 'Take heed.'

This word everywhere belongs to one who instills fear, as when he says:

'See to it that no one takes you captive;'

'Take heed lest this liberty of yours become a stumbling block to those who are weak.'

And everywhere he speaks thus when he would inspire fear.

'Take heed,' he says, 'to the ministry which you have received in the Lord, that you fulfill it.'

Nor does he allow him to be his own master, just as he himself used to say:

'For if I do this willingly, I have a reward;

but if unwillingly, I have been entrusted with a stewardship.'

continually employing diligence.

Again the word 'In,' means 'through the Lord';

He gave it to you, not we.

And those others too he makes subject to him, by showing that he has been entrusted with the charge from God;

'Remember my bonds.'

For even though the teacher is in bonds, yet grace looses him.

And this too belongs to grace—that it permitted him to be bound;

for hear Luke saying, that 'The apostles departed from the presence of the council, rejoicing that they had been counted worthy

to suffer dishonor for His name.'

For truly it is to be counted worthy, both to suffer dishonor and to be bound.

For if a man who has a beloved reckons it gain to suffer something for that person's sake, much more is it gain to suffer for Christ's sake.

Let us therefore not be vexed at afflictions for Christ's sake, but let us too remember Paul's bonds, and let this be our encouragement;

for instance, you exhort certain people to give to the poor for Christ's sake? Remind them of Paul's bonds, and count both yourself and them wretched, if he gave over even his body to bonds for Christ's sake, while you do not so much as share your food.

Are you lifted up over your good deeds? Remember Paul's bonds, and that you have suffered nothing of the kind, and you will no longer be puffed up.

Have you coveted your neighbor's goods? Remember Paul's bonds, and you will see how absurd it is that he should be in dangers, while you live in luxury.

Have you again longed for luxury? Call to mind Paul's prison;

you are his disciple, his fellow-soldier.

How is it reasonable that the fellow-soldier should be in bonds, while you are in luxury? Have you fallen into affliction, and thought yourself forsaken? Hear Paul's words, and you will see that being in affliction is no proof of being forsaken.

Do you wish to wear silken garments? Remember Paul's bonds, and these will appear to you meaner than filthy rags.

Do you wish to deck yourself with gold ornaments? Call to mind Paul's bonds, and these will seem to you disposed no better than an old rope.

Do you wish to arrange your hair and appear beautiful? Think of Paul's squalor in the prison, and you will burn with longing for that beauty, and you will count this the utmost ugliness, and you will groan bitterly, longing for those bonds.

Do you wish to put upon yourself paints and eye-liners, and all such things? Think of his tears;

for three years, night and day, he did not cease from weeping.

With this adornment beautify your cheek;

these tears make it radiant.

I do not say that you should weep for others (though I would wish this too, but this is beyond you), but I urge you to do this for your own sins.

Have you ordered a servant to be bound, and grown angry and provoked? Remember Paul's bonds, and at once you will still your anger;

call to mind that we belong to those who are bound, not to those who bind; to those whose heart is broken, not to those who break others.

Have you burst out and laughed aloud immoderately? Take thought of his lamentations, and you will groan;

these tears show you far more radiant.

Have you seen people living luxuriously and dancing? Remember his tears.

What fountain gushed forth so many streams as those eyes did tears? 'Remember,' he says, 'my tears,' just as here he says 'my bonds.'

And with good reason he said this to those men, at the time when he summoned them from Ephesus to Miletus;

so that from those men he requires even the gathering together, but from these only that they should face danger.

What fountain would you compare with these tears? The one in Paradise, which watered all the earth? But you will call nothing equal to it;

for this fountain of tears watered souls, not earth.

If someone showed us Paul weeping and groaning, would it not be far better to behold than countless choirs brightly crowned? I do not speak of you;

but if someone were to drag away from the theater and the stage one of the licentious, one inflamed and frenzied with the love of bodies, and were to show him a virgin maiden in the very flower of her age, surpassing her peers in all else, and in her countenance above the rest of her members, having a tender and soft eye set gently, turning gently, moist, mild, calmly smiling, encompassed with much modesty and much grace, crowned above and below with dark lashes, having, so to speak, a living pupil, her brow shining, and below again her cheek

coming to a perfect ruddiness, smooth like marble laid beneath, and even;

and then he showed me Paul weeping, I would let her go and leap up to the sight of him;

for a spiritual beauty shone forth from those eyes.

For the one causes the souls of the young to lose their senses, inflames and sets them ablaze;

but this, on the contrary, calms them down.

He who looks upon these eyes makes the eye of his soul more beautiful, subdues the belly, fills himself with wisdom and with much compassion, and is able to soften even an adamantine soul.

By these the Church is watered, by these tears souls are planted;

even if there be fire, these tears can quench it, both sensible and bodily fire;

these tears quench the fiery darts of the Evil One.

Let us therefore remember his tears, and we shall laugh to scorn all things present.

These were the tears that Christ pronounced blessed, when He said:

'Blessed are they that mourn, and blessed are they that weep, for they shall laugh.'

Such also were the tears that Isaiah and Jeremiah shed;

'Leave me alone, I will weep bitterly.'

'Who will give water to my head, and to my eyes fountains of tears?'—as though the natural spring did not suffice.

Nothing is sweeter than these tears;

these are sweeter than any laughter.

They that mourn know how great a consolation the thing brings.

Let us not deem it a thing to be shunned, but rather greatly to be desired.

Not that others should sin, but that, when they do sin, we should be broken with grief over them—let us remember these tears, these bonds.

So then, even amid his bonds tears flowed down;

yet the death of those who were perishing—those who bound him—did not permit him to feel the delight arising from the bonds.

For he grieved on their behalf;

for he was a disciple of Him who wept over the priests of the Jews—not because they were about to crucify Him, but because they themselves were perishing.

And He does not do this alone, but also exhorts others so to do, saying:

'Weep not for Me, ye daughters of Jerusalem.'

These eyes beheld Paradise, they beheld the third heaven;

yet I do not count them blessed on account of that vision so much as on account of those tears, through which he beheld Christ.

This indeed was truly a blessed thing;

for he himself also glories in it, saying:

'Have I not seen Jesus Christ our Lord?' Yet more blessed is it to have wept in this way.

Many have shared in that vision; yet those who did not share it Christ again pronounces blessed, saying:

'Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed;'

but of this thing not many have attained.

For if to remain here for Christ's sake is more needful than to depart to Him, because of the salvation of others, then also to groan for their sake is more needful than to see Him.

For if to be for His sake in hell is more to be longed for than to be with Him, and to be separated from Him for His sake is more to be longed for than to be together with Him (for this is what he meant when he said:

'I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ')—

much more, then, is it desirable to weep for His sake.

'I ceased not,' he says, 'to admonish every one with tears.'

Why so? Not because he feared the dangers;

but just as one sitting beside a sick man, not knowing the end, might weep out of affection, fearing lest he fall from life;

so also he himself, whenever he saw one who was sick, and had not the strength to rebuke him, would thereupon weep.

This Christ also did, that at least they might reverence His tears;

for instance, did someone sin? He rebuked;

did the one rebuked spurn Him and leap away? He wept, that thus at least He might draw him back.

Let us remember these tears;

thus let us bring up our own daughters, thus our sons, weeping whenever we see them in evil courses.

Let all women who wish to be loved remember the tears of Paul, and let them groan;

you who are counted blessed, you who are in bridal chambers, you who live in pleasure, remember these things;

mourn, exchange tears for tears.

That man mourned not for the dead, but for those who were perishing though yet alive.

Shall I speak of yet other tears? Timothy also wept;

wherefore also, writing to him, he said:

'Being mindful of thy tears, that I may be filled with joy.'

Many also weep out of joy.

So too this thing is a matter of pleasure, and indeed of pleasure heightened to the utmost;

thus the tears that come from such sorrow are not burdensome, but are far better than those shed for worldly pleasure.

Hear the Prophet saying:

'The Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.'

For where is the tear not profitable? In prayers, in exhortations? But we misuse them, employing them for that for which they were not given.

When we admonish a brother who is sinning, we ought to weep, smiting the breast and groaning;

when we exhort someone, and he heeds not, but is perishing, we ought to weep.

These are the tears of true wisdom;

but when someone becomes poor, when he is in bodily sickness, when he dies—no longer so;

for these things are not worthy of tears.

Just, therefore, as we abuse laughter by using it out of season;

so also tears, when we employ them out of season.

For the virtue of each thing is then made manifest, when it is directed to its proper work;

but when it is directed to what is foreign to it, no longer.

For instance, wine is given for gladness, but not for drunkenness;

bread for nourishment, intercourse for the begetting of children.

As, then, these things are abused when misused, so also are tears.

Let a law be laid down, to use these only in prayers and in exhortations;

and see how the thing will even become desirable.

Nothing so wipes away sins as tears.

And tears make even this bodily countenance fair;

for it draws the beholder to compassion, and renders it dignified in our eyes.

Nothing is sweeter than eyes that have wept.

For this is the nobler member in us, and the fairer, and it belongs to the soul.

Inasmuch, therefore, as we behold, as it were, the very soul lamenting, we are thus moved to compassion.

These things have not been said to you without purpose, but that you should not take part in weddings, in dances, or in satanic revels.

For consider what the devil has devised.

Since nature itself kept women away from the stage and from the indecencies enacted there, he brought the things of the theatre into the women's quarters—I mean effeminate men and harlots.

This ruin the law of marriage has brought in;

or rather not the law of marriage—God forbid—but our own folly.

What are you doing, O man? You do not know what you are about.

You take a wife for the sake of chastity and the bearing of children;

what then do the harlots want there? That the merriment, he says, may become greater.

And is this not sheer madness? You insult the bride, you insult the women who have been invited.

For if they take pleasure in such things, the affair is an outrage.

If to see harlot women behaving shamelessly brings some sense of honour, why do you not also drag in the bride, that she too may look on? It is altogether unseemly and disgraceful to bring effeminate men and dancers, and the whole satanic pomp, into one's house.

Remember my bonds, he says.

Marriage is a bond, a bond ordained by God;

the harlot is a loosing and a dissolution.

It is permitted to make the wedding bright by other means, such as laden tables and garments;

I do not cut these things off, lest I should seem to be exceedingly harsh;

and yet for Rebecca a veil alone sufficed.

It is permitted to be made bright with garments, it is permitted with the presence of venerable men and venerable women.

Why do you bring in those mockeries, why those monstrous things? Tell me the words you hear from them.

But do you blush to speak them? You blush, and yet you compel those others to do them? If it is good, why do you not do it yourself too? But if it is shameful, why do you compel another? All things ought to be full of chastity, full of gravity, full of decorum;

but now I see the opposite: men leaping about like camels, like mules.

For the virgin, the bridal chamber alone is fitting.

Since she is poor, she ought also to be modest;

let her have good character in place of wealth.

Why do you also make her contemptible in another way by her conduct? I commend it that virgins come to honour their peer, that married women come to honour her who is now brought into their company;

for these are two choirs, that of the virgins and that of the married women;

the one gives her over, the others receive her.

The bride is between these, neither virgin nor wife;

for from the one company she goes forth,

and enters upon that other band.

But the harlots—why? When it is fitting for them to hide themselves whenever there is a wedding, when it is fitting for them to be buried out of sight (for whoredom is the destruction of marriage), we, on the contrary, lead them into weddings.

And whenever you do anything, you take omens against the contrary even down to a word;

for instance, when you sow, or when you draw off the wine from the vats, you would not so much as utter the things that betoken sour wine;

yet here, where chastity is at issue, do you bring in the sour wine? For that is what the harlot is.

When you are preparing perfume, you let nothing foul-smelling come near;

why then do you bring in the stench of the mire into the making of the perfume? What do you say? Does the virgin dance, and is she not ashamed before her peer? For she ought to be more dignified than the bride;

for she has come forth from her mother's arms, not from the wrestling-school.

For the virgin ought not to appear at weddings at all.

Do you not see in the royal palaces that those who are held in honour are within, near the king, but the dishonoured are without? You too be within, near the bride.

But remain pure within the house;

do not parade your virginity abroad.

Each choir stands by: the one to show what kind of woman they are giving over, the other that they may guard her thus;

why do you put virginity to shame? For if you are such a one, the bridegroom will suspect the like about her as well;

if you wish to be loved, such behaviour belongs to a huckster-woman, a vegetable-seller, a common workwoman.

Are these things not a disgrace? Disgrace is to behave unseemly, even though one be a king's daughter.

For does poverty hinder it? Does one's occupation? Even if a virgin be a slave, let her abide in chastity;

for in Christ Jesus there is neither slave nor free.

For is marriage a theatre? It is a mystery, and a figure of a great reality;

and even if you do not reverence marriage itself, reverence that of which it is a figure.

This mystery, he says, is great;

but I speak concerning Christ and the Church.

It is a figure of the Church and of Christ, and do you bring in harlots? If then, he says, neither virgins are to dance, nor married women, who shall dance? No one;

for what need is there of dancing? In the mysteries of the Greeks there are dances, but in ours there is silence and good order, modesty and self-restraint.

Away with the harlots, away with the profane!

How is it a mystery? They come together, and the two make one.

Why is it that, when she was entering, there was no dance, no cymbals, but much silence and much stillness;

yet when they come together—making not a lifeless image, nor an image of any earthly thing, but of God Himself—you bring in such an uproar, and disturb those present, and put the soul to shame, and cause a tumult? They come to become one body.

Behold again a mystery of love.

If the two do not become one, they do not produce many, so long as they remain two;

but when they come into unity, then they are fruitful.

What do we learn from this? That great is the strength of union.

The resourceful wisdom of God divided the one into two at the beginning, and, wishing to show that even after being divided he remains one, He did not allow one alone to suffice for procreation.

For the one who is as yet alone is not one, but half of the one;

and it is plain that he does not beget children, just as neither did he before.

Have you seen the mystery of marriage? He made one out of one, and again, having made these two one, He so makes them one;

so that even now a human being is born out of one.

For woman and man are not two human beings, but one human being;

and it is possible to confirm this from many quarters—for instance from Jacob, from Mary the mother of Christ, from the saying:

Male and female He made them.

If the one is head and the other is body, how are they two? For this reason the one belongs to the disciple's station.

He holds the rank of a teacher;

the one has the place of him who rules, the other of her who is ruled.

And from the very fashioning of the body one may see that they are one; for she came into being from his side, and the two are, as it were, halves of one whole.

For this reason too He calls her a helper, that He might show that they are one;

for this reason too He sets their dwelling together above father and mother, that He might show that they are one.

And the father likewise rejoices when either a daughter or a son marries, as though the body were pressing on toward a member proper to itself;

and so great is the expense and the diminishing of wealth, and yet he does not endure to look on and see the child remain unmarried.

For as though the flesh had been rent away from him, each of the two is incomplete for the begetting of children, each is incomplete for the ordering of this present life.

For this reason the prophet also says:

But how do they also become one flesh? Just as if you take the purest part of gold and mingle it with other gold, so also here: the woman, receiving the richest part of the pleasure as it is fused together, nourishes and cherishes it, and contributing her own share, gives back a man.

And the child is a kind of bridge.

So that the three become one flesh, the child joining the two on either side.

For just as, if there were two cities and a river dividing them throughout, they become one city when a bridge touches them on either side,

so is it here, and even more;

for the bridge itself is formed out of the substance of them both.

And in this respect they are one, as the body and the head are one body;

for they are divided by the neck;

yet they are not so much divided as they are joined together;

for being in the middle, it brings both together.

And the same thing comes to pass as if a chorus that had been pulled apart should, taking its one part from this side and the other from the right, make one;

or as these persons who are drawn together and stretch out their hands become one;

for the hands, being stretched out, do not allow them to be two.

For this reason, then, He spoke precisely, not, 'They shall be one flesh,' but, 'Into one flesh,' being joined together, that is, into that of the child.

What then, when there is no child, will they not even then be two? It is quite evident that they will not;

for the union effects this, having poured together and commingled the bodies of both.

And just as one who casts perfume into oil has made the whole one, so also here.

I know that many are ashamed at the things being said;

and the cause of this is licentiousness and unbridled behavior.

The fact that marriages are contracted in this way, that they are corrupted, has brought the matter into disrepute;

since 'Marriage is honorable, and the bed undefiled.'

Why are you ashamed of what is honorable? Why do you blush at what is undefiled? These are the ways of heretics, these are the ways of those who bring in harlots.

For this reason I wish to purge it thoroughly, so as to lead it back to its own nobility, so as to stop the mouths of the heretics.

The gift of God has been outraged, the root of our coming into being;

for there is much dung and filth about the root.

Let us therefore purge this by our discourse.

Bear with me, then, a little, since even he who holds filth endures the foul smell.

I wish to show that one ought not to be ashamed at these things, but at those things which you do;

but you, letting go of being ashamed at those things, are ashamed at these;

therefore you condemn God, who ordained it thus.

Shall I tell how it is also a mystery of the Church?

Christ came to the Church, and was born of her, and entered into union with her in a spiritual fellowship.

'For I have espoused you,' he says, 'to one husband, a chaste virgin.'

And that we are of Him, hear how he says:

'Of His members, and of His flesh are we all.'

Considering therefore all these things, let us not put to shame so great a mystery.

Marriage is a type of the presence of Christ, and do you get drunk? Tell me, if you saw an image of the king, would you dishonor it? By no means.

The things that are done about a marriage seem indeed to be matters of indifference, but they are causes of great evils.

'Let filthiness, and foolish talking, and jesting not proceed,' he says, 'out of your mouth.'

And all those things—filthiness and foolish talking and jesting—not merely, but with intensity;

for the thing has become an art, and there are great praises for those who pursue it;

sins have become an art.

We do not pursue them simply, but with diligence, with expertise;

and thenceforth the devil commands his own battalions.

Where there is filthy speech, the devil is present, bringing in the things that are his own.

Being feasted with these things, tell me, do you celebrate the mystery of Christ, and yet call in the devil? Perhaps you think me burdensome.

For this too belongs to the great perversion, that even he who rebukes incurs laughter as being austere.

Do you not hear Paul saying, 'Whatsoever you do, whether you eat, or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God'? But you do it to the dishonoring and disgracing of it.

Do you not hear the Prophet saying, 'Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice unto Him with trembling'? But you dissipate yourselves.

For is it not possible both to take delight and to do so with safety? Do you wish to hear beautiful songs? Best of all indeed it were not even needful;

nevertheless I condescend, if you wish;

only do not hear the satanic songs, but the spiritual ones.

Do you wish to see dancers? Behold the chorus of the angels.

'And how is it possible,' one says, 'to see them?' If you drive these things away, Christ also will come to this wedding;

and Christ being present, the chorus of the angels is present also.

If you are willing, He will work wonders even now, just as He did then;

He will make the water wine even now;

and, what is far more wonderful, He will turn about the dissoluteness, the desire that flows away and is cold, and will translate it into the spiritual.

This is to make wine out of water.

Where there are flute-players, Christ is nowhere present;

but even if He should enter, He first casts these out, and then works His wonders.

What is more distasteful than the pomp of Satan, where all is inarticulate, where all is meaningless? And if there be anything articulate, again all is shameful, all is loathsome.

Nothing is sweeter than virtue, nothing more delightful than decorum, nothing more to be desired than gravity of soul.

Let a man celebrate weddings such as I describe, and he shall behold true pleasure.

But what sort of weddings? Give heed.

First of all, seek for the maiden a husband who is truly a man and a protector, as one who is about to set a head upon a body — as one about to hand over to him not a slave, but a daughter.

Do not seek wealth, nor splendour of lineage, nor greatness of country; all these things are superfluous. Rather seek reverence of soul, gentleness, true prudence, and the fear of God, if you wish your little daughter to live in gladness.

For if you seek a wealthier husband, you will not only fail to benefit her, but will even harm her, making her a slave instead of a free woman.

For she will not reap so much pleasure from his gold as she will bitterness from her servitude.

But do not seek these things; rather seek above all one of equal standing.

But if that be not possible, seek one poorer rather than more affluent — that is, if you wish to give your daughter to a husband, and not to sell her to a master.

When you have carefully examined the man's virtue and are about to give her in marriage, call upon Christ to be present.

It is a mystery of His presence.

Most of all, then, even at that time make your entreaty, that He may grant such a suitor.

Do not become worse than the servant of Abraham, who, when sent upon so great a journey, knew whither he must have recourse.

When you take pains and search out the husband, pray.

Say: 'Whomsoever Thou wilt, do Thou dispose.'

Entrust to Him the matter, and being honoured by you with this honour, He will requite you.

Two things, then, must you do: both entrust it to Him, and seek such a one as He Himself would wish — orderly and self-controlled.

When therefore you make the wedding, do not go about the houses borrowing mirrors and garments.

For the matter is not for display, nor are you leading your little daughter forth into a pageant.

But rather, brightening your house with what you have, call in neighbours and friends and kinsfolk.

As many as you know to be seemly, these call, and exhort them to be content with what is provided.

Let none from the theatre be present.

For there the expense is superfluous and vain.

Call Christ before all others.

Do you know by whom you shall call Him? 'Whosoever,' He says, 'shall do it to one of these least, has done it unto Me.'

Do not think it a disagreeable thing to invite the poor for Christ's sake.

Disagreeable it is to invite harlots.

For to invite the poor — this is an occasion of wealth, but that other, of ruin.

Adorn the bride, not with these ornaments of gold, but with gentleness and modesty and her accustomed garments; instead of all adornment of gold and braided tresses, put upon her blushing and bashfulness, and the refusal to desire such things.

Let there be no uproar, no confusion.

Let the bridegroom be called; let him receive the maiden.

Let the meals and suppers be full, not of drunkenness, but of spiritual pleasure.

For from such a wedding numberless good things will come, and the affairs of life will stand in security.

But from the weddings now celebrated (if indeed one ought to call them weddings, and not rather pageants), see how many are the evils.

The bridal chambers are broken up, and straightway comes anxiety and fear lest anything of the borrowed things should be lost; and an unbearable dejection succeeds the pleasure.

But this indeed is the agony of the mother-in-law.

Or rather, not even the bride herself has been set free.

For all that comes after belongs to the bride herself.

For to behold all things dismantled is a ground of dejection; to behold the house left empty is an occasion of downcast gloom.

There is Christ, here is Satan.

There is cheerfulness, here is care.

There is pleasure, here is grief.

There is expense, here nothing of the sort; there is unseemliness, here is good order.

There is envy, here is freedom from grudging.

There is drunkenness, here is sobriety; here is salvation, here is self-control.

Considering, then, all these things, let us set a stop to the evil at this point, that we may please God and be counted worthy to attain the good things promised to those who love Him, 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 the ages. Amen.