Homilies on Ephesians 10

There is one body and one Spirit, even as ye were called in one hope of your calling.

Whenever the blessed Paul exhorts to something greater, being exceedingly prudent and spiritual, he makes his exhortation from the things in the heavens, having learned this very thing from the Lord;

'Walk in love, even as Christ also loved us, and gave Himself up for us;'

and again, 'Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus, who, being in the form of God, thought it not'

'robbery to be equal with God.'

For whenever the examples set before us are great, he is vehement in zeal and in longing.

What then does he say, exhorting us to unity? 'There is one body and one Spirit, even as ye were called in one hope of your calling;'

'one Lord, one faith, one baptism.'

And what is 'one body'? The faithful in every part of the world, both those who are, and who have been, and who shall be.

Again, those also who were pleasing to God before the coming of Christ are one body.

How so? Because they too knew Christ.

Whence is this plain? 'Abraham our father,' He says, 'rejoiced to see My day; and he saw it, and was glad.'

And again: 'If you had believed Moses,' He says, 'you would have believed Me;'

'for he wrote of Me' — as did the prophets also.

But they would not have written concerning One of whom they were ignorant of what they were saying;

rather, knowing Him, they also worshipped Him.

A body is not distinct from a spirit, else it would not be a body at all.

So too it is our custom, in speaking of things that are united and have a close continuity, to say the like;

and so likewise, in the case of this union, we understand the body as belonging to one Head.

But if there is one Head and one body, the body is composed of members both honorable and less honorable.

Nevertheless, neither does the greater rise up against the meanest, nor does this latter envy that.

And though all the members do not contribute the same amount, yet each does so according to the measure of its necessity.

And because all have been made of necessity, and for different uses, all are of equal honor.

Yet some are the most important, and some less so;

for example, the head is more important than the whole body, having all the senses within itself, and the governing faculty of the soul;

and without the head it is not possible to live;

but with the feet cut off, many have lived on for a long time.

So that the head is superior to the feet not only in position, but also in its very working and rank.

Why do I say this? There are in the Church many who have been raised aloft, like the head, surveying the things of heaven, like the eyes that are in the head, standing far above the earth, having nothing in common with it;

while others hold the place of feet, treading the earth — yet feet that are sound and healthy.

For it is not the treading of the earth that is the charge against the feet, but the running into wickedness;

for 'their feet,' it says, 'run to wickedness.'

Therefore, He says, neither let these be high-minded against the feet, nor let those envy these;

for when this happens, the proper beauty of each is destroyed, and the self-sufficient usefulness is hindered;

for he who plots against his neighbor has first plotted against himself.

So then, if the feet were unwilling to carry the head where it must go forth on a necessary errand, they would also have injured themselves through their immobility and sloth;

and if the head were unwilling to take any forethought for the feet, it would itself be the first to receive the hurt.

But those members, with good reason, do not rise up against one another;

for by nature they are so ordered;

but how is it possible that a man should not rise up against a man? Neither does any angel rise up against angels;

since neither do those rise up against the archangels;

nor again can the brute beasts think anything greater against me;

but where the nature is of equal honor and the gift is one, and this one has nothing more than that, how should he not rise up? And yet for these very reasons you ought not to rise up against your neighbor.

For if all things are common, and one has nothing more than another, whence comes the arrogance? We partake of the same nature, of soul and body alike, we breathe the same air, we use the same food;

whence then the exaltation? And yet the power, through virtue, of prevailing over the bodiless powers is enough to lead one to boasting;

or rather, this would not be boasting.

For I have good reason to think highly of myself against the demon, yes, exceedingly highly.

And observe too how Paul thought highly of himself against the demon.

For when the demon was saying great and marvelous things about him, he silenced it, not enduring it even when it flattered him.

For when that servant-girl who had the spirit of Python was saying, 'These men are servants of the Most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation,' he rebuked it sharply and silenced its shameless tongue.

And again, in another place, he writes, saying:

'Satan under your feet shortly.'

Did he then in any way alter the difference of nature? (2)

Do you see that it is not the difference of natures that produces this, but the difference of purpose? Because of their purpose, then, they are far worse than all.

'But I do not rise up against an angel,' one says;

'for great is the distance between me and him.'

And yet you ought not to rise up against a man, any more than against an angel.

For the angel differs from you in nature, which is neither a praise to him nor a fault;

but man differs from man no longer in nature, but in purpose;

and there is even among men an angel.

So that if you do not rise up against angels, much less against men who have become angels while in this nature.

For if there should be found among men one as virtuous as an angel, this one is far greater to you than that other.

Why so? Because what that one had from nature, this one has achieved by his own purpose;

and because the angel is far removed from you both in place, and dwells in heaven;

but this man lives among you, and gives you an impulse toward zeal.

And yet this man too is more removed than that other.

'For our citizenship,' he says, 'is in heaven.'

And that this man is the more removed, hear where his Head is seated;

'Upon the royal throne,' he says;

and by how much the throne is far from us, by so much is this man also.

'But I see him enjoying honor,' one says, 'and I am led to jealousy.'

This it is that has turned everything upside down, and has filled not the world only, but the Church also, with countless tumults.

And just as wild winds falling contrary upon a calm harbor make it more perilous than any reef or any strait;

even so the love of glory, coming in, has overturned and confounded all things.

You have often been present at the burning of great houses;

you have seen how the smoke goes up to heaven, and, with no one coming forward to quench the mischief, but each man looking only to his own concerns, the fire in all quietness devours everything;

and often the whole city has stood round about, and there have stood spectators of the calamity, not allies nor helpers;

and one may see all who stand around doing nothing, but each of them stretching out his hand and pointing out to one who has just come to the spot, either a flame darting out incessantly through a window, or beams crashing down, or a whole enclosing wall torn from its supports and hurtling to the ground.

And there are many of the bold and reckless who have even dared to come close to the very burning buildings, not so as to reach out a hand to them and quench the mischief, but so that the spectacle might become the more delightful, since from near at hand they can survey everything which often escaped those without.

But if the house should happen to be splendid and great, the sight seems all the more pitiable and worthy of many tears.

And one may indeed behold a pitiable sight: the capitals of the columns turned to dust, and many of the columns themselves shattered—some worked upon by the fire, others often thrust down by the very hands that had built them, so that no further fuel might be given to the flames.

And one may see statues which, when the roof lay over them, had stood amid much adornment, now laid bare, the covering having been removed, standing under the open sky in all their deformity.

And what of this? Who could describe the wealth that had been stored within—the golden garments and the silver vessels? For even that inner chamber, into which the master alone entered with his own wife, where lay the treasury of the many garments and spices, the receptacles of the costly stones—once a single conflagration broke out, bath-attendants and dung-collectors and runaway slaves and everyone else were now within, and all that was inside became water and fire and mire and dust and half-burnt timbers.

But why have I drawn out this image at such length? Not because I wished merely to depict the burning of a house—

for what concern of mine is that? Rather, because I wished to set before your eyes, as far as possible, the evils that befall the Church.

For just as an actual conflagration, or some thunderbolt hurled from above, so has this calamity come crashing down upon it—

upon the very roof of the Church, and it rouses no one;

but while our ancestral house is burning, we sleep on in a certain deep and insensible slumber.

For what has this fire not touched? Which of the statues standing in the Church has it spared? For the Church is nothing else than a house built up out of our souls.

But this house is not all of equal worth; rather, of the stones that contribute to it, some are bright and gleaming, others less than these and dimmer, yet far better than others still.

Here one may see many who hold the rank of gold—of the gold that adorns the roof;

one may see others who supply the adornment that comes from statues;

many one may see standing like pillars.

For he knows how to call men pillars too, men who supply much adornment not by their strength alone but also by their beauty, having their heads gilded with gold.

One may see so great a multitude that the extent and spaciousness of the enclosures is vast;

for the great multitude holds the rank of the stones that build up the walls.

But rather, we must come to a more splendid image.

This Church is built not of these stones, but of gold and silver and precious stones, and everywhere the gold is abundantly spread abroad.

But alas, the bitter tears!

For the tyranny of vainglory, that all-devouring flame, has consumed all these things, and no one has risen above the matter;

but we stand marveling at the flame, no longer able to quench the evil.

And even if we should quench it for a brief while, yet again after two or three days, as though from some heap of ashes, a smoldering spark has overturned everything, even all that it had not accomplished before.

So indeed it happens here too;

for in the case of a fire this too is wont to occur.

And the cause is this: the buttresses of the very pillars of the Church escaped us—those that uphold the roof and formerly held together the whole edifice—and the fire enveloped them.

For this reason the fire's course to the remaining walls also became easy.

For in the case of buildings, when the fire lays hold of the timbers, it arms itself the more against the stones;

but when it has brought down the pillars and cast them to the ground, it needs nothing further to consume the rest with its flame.

For when those that prop up and support the upper parts fall down, those upper parts too follow of their own accord, with great readiness.

So indeed it has now come to pass with the Church;

we seek the honors that come from men, and are inflamed with regard to glory, and do not hearken to Job when he says:

'If, even having sinned unwillingly, I was ashamed before the multitude?' Have you seen a virtuous soul? 'I was not ashamed,' he says, 'to confess my unwilling sins before the whole multitude.'

But if that man was not ashamed, much more ought we to do this.

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

Great has become the vehemence of this evil; everything has been overturned and brought to ruin.

We have become slaves of honor, having forsaken God;

we can no longer rebuke those under our charge, being ourselves held fast by the same fever;

and we ourselves stand in need of healing, we who were appointed by God to heal others.

What hope of salvation, then, is left, when even those who heal themselves stand in need of another's hand? These things I have not said idly, nor do I lament in vain, but that we all in common, together with wives and children, having sprinkled ourselves with ashes and girded ourselves with sackcloth, may intensify our fasting and beseech God to stretch out His hand to us and to quench the terror.

For truly there is need of that hand of His—the great, the wondrous hand.

We must become greater than the Ninevites.

'Yet three days,' he says, 'and Nineveh shall be overthrown.'

Fearful was the proclamation, and full of much menace;

for how could it not be? To expect that after three days the city would become their tomb, and that all should perish by a single form of punishment.

For if, when it happens at some time that in a single house two children perish, the calamity becomes unbearable—and if to Job this above all things seemed unbearable, that upon all

his children the roof fell, and thus they were destroyed—

what a thing it was to see, not one house, nor two children, but a nation of a hundred and twenty thousand buried beneath the roofs! You know how great was the calamity.

For upon us too, lately, this same threat has come—not with some prophet uttering his voice (for we are not worthy to hear such a voice), but with the threat from above crying out more clearly than any trumpet.

But, as I said, 'Yet three days,' he says, 'and Nineveh shall be overthrown.'

Yet there is now nothing of the sort.

For it is not 'yet three days,' nor 'Nineveh shall be overthrown,' but many are the days since the Church throughout the world has been overthrown and lies level with the ground, all alike being held fast by the evil—or rather, those who hold office being liable for the very same things;

whence the evil is worse, inasmuch as the necessity upon them is also greater.

Do not, then, wonder why I have exhorted you to do greater things than the Ninevites;

rather, I now proclaim not fasting alone, but I also point out that remedy which raised up that falling city.

What sort of remedy is this? 'The Lord saw,' he says, 'that each turned back from his evil ways, and He repented of the calamity which He had spoken of doing to them.'

Let us also, both we and you, do this;

let us turn away from the love of money and from the love of glory, beseeching God to stretch out His hand and to raise up again the fallen members.

For the fear is not on behalf of the same things.

For then stones and timbers were about to fall down, and bodies to be destroyed;

but now nothing of these, but souls are about to be delivered over to the fire of Gehenna.

Let us beseech Him, let us confess, let us acknowledge thanks to Him for things past, let us ask concerning things to come, that we may be counted worthy—being delivered from this grievous and most terrible beast—to send up thanks to the loving God and Father, with whom, to the Son together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, power, and honor, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages.