Homilies on Hebrews 7

Let us therefore be diligent to enter into that rest, lest anyone fall after the same example of unbelief.

For the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart;

and there is no creature that is not manifest in His sight, but all things are naked and laid open before the eyes of Him with whom we have to do.

Great indeed is faith, and saving, and without it it is never possible to be saved.

But it does not suffice of itself to accomplish this, but there is need also of an upright manner of life.

Wherefore for this reason Paul also exhorts those who have already been counted worthy of the mysteries, saying:

Let us be diligent to enter into that rest.

'Let us be diligent,' he says, as though faith were not sufficient, but life too must be added, and much diligence be exercised.

For we truly have need of much diligence, in order to ascend into heaven.

For if those who endured so many hardships in the wilderness were not counted worthy of the earthly land, and could not obtain even the land, because they murmured and committed fornication;

how shall we be counted worthy of the heavens, if we live carelessly and slothfully? We have need then of much diligence.

And observe, he does not limit the loss to this alone—that of not entering.

Let us be diligent to enter into the rest, lest we fall away from so many good things;

but that which most of all stirs men up, this he added.

What then is this? It is: 'Lest anyone fall after the same example of unbelief';

that is, that we may have our mind fixed there, our hope, our expectation, that we may not fall away in like manner.

For that we shall fall away, the example makes plain.

Then, lest hearing 'after the same,' you should suppose the punishment to be the same, hear what he adds:

For the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

He shows here also that the Word of God Himself wrought those things too, and that He lives, and was not extinguished.

Do not therefore, because you have heard 'word,' think it a mere word;

for it is sharper, he says, than a sword.

Observe the condescension, and learn from this too why the prophets also needed to speak of a sword, and a bow, and a broadsword.

'Unless you turn,' He says, 'He will whet His sword; He hath bent His bow, and made it ready.'

For if now, after so long a time and the consummation, He cannot merely by the name of the Word strike men with awe, but has need of these expressions, in order to show the superiority derived from the comparison;

'Piercing,' he says, 'even to the dividing of soul and spirit.'

What is this? He hinted at something fearful.

For either he means that it separates the spirit from the soul;

or that it penetrates even the bodiless things themselves, not merely, as the sword does, bodies.

He shows here that the soul too is punished, and that the innermost things are searched out, and that it penetrates the whole man through and through.

And is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

And there is no creature that is not manifest in His sight.

Here most of all he struck fear into them.

For do not, he says, though you still stand in the faith—but not with full assurance—be over-confident;

He Himself will judge the things in the heart;

for thither He passes, both punishing and examining.

And why do I speak of men? he says. For whether you name angels, or archangels, or the Cherubim, or the Seraphim, or any created being whatsoever,

all things are laid bare to that Eye; all things are clear and manifest; there is nothing that can escape His notice.

before His eyes, to whom we must give account.

He said 'laid open' by a metaphor drawn from the skins of sacrificial victims that are stripped off from the beasts when they are slain.

For just as with those beasts, when a man has slain one and drawn off the skin from the flesh, all the inward parts are uncovered and become plain to our eyes,

so too before God all things lie open and manifest.

But consider with me how he continually has need of bodily images,

which was owing to the weakness of his hearers.

For that they were weak he made plain by saying that they were dull, and had need of milk, not of solid food.

'All things,' he says, 'are naked and laid open unto His eyes, to whom we must give account.'

But what does he mean by 'in the same example of unbelief'? It is as though one, giving the reason, should say:

Why did those men not see the land? They received, he says, an earnest of the power of God, and though they ought to have believed, they gave more heed to fear, and imagined nothing great concerning God, and became faint-hearted, and so perished.

And there is yet another thing one may say: namely, that when they had accomplished the greater part of the journey, when they were at the very doors, at the very harbor, they were shipwrecked.

This same thing, he says, I fear also concerning you.

This then is the meaning of 'in the same example of unbelief.'

For that these also suffered many things, he afterwards testifies of them, saying:

'Call to remembrance the former days, in which, after ye were enlightened, ye endured a great conflict of sufferings.'

Let no one therefore be faint-hearted, nor, giving up as he draws near the end, fall away.

For there are, indeed there are, those who at the beginning throw themselves into the struggles with fervent zeal;

but afterwards, being unwilling to add a little to the whole, they lost the whole.

Sufficient, he says, are your forefathers to instruct you not to fall into the same things, so as not to suffer the same as they suffered.

And this is the meaning of 'in the same example of unbelief.'

Therefore let us not grow slack, he says;

which also he says toward the end:

'Lift up the hands which hang down, and the palsied knees.'

That no one, he says, may fall in the same example.

For this is truly to fall.

Then, lest on hearing 'may fall in the same example' you should suppose the same death which those men also endured, see what he says:

'For the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword.'

For the word, falling upon their souls, works wounds more grievous than any sword, and deals mortal cuts.

And of these things he does not need to furnish proof, nor to establish them, having the narrative thus manifest.

For what war destroyed those men? he says; what sword? Did they not simply fall down of their own accord? Let us not therefore, because we have not suffered the same things, be without care: while it is called Today, it is possible for us to recover ourselves.

But since he spoke thus, lest hearing of the things of the soul they should grow careless, he adds also the things of the body, showing that just as a king, when rulers have committed great offenses, first strips them, as it were, of their military rank, then takes away the belt and the dignity, and setting the herald beside them, then punishes them;

so also the sword of the Spirit then does its work.

Then, having said this, and making his discourse still more awful, he speaks concerning the Son, and says:

That is, it is to Him that we are about to render account of the things we have done.

Let us not, therefore, sink down, nor be faint-hearted.

Now the things already said are indeed sufficient to instruct;

yet he is not content, but adds still more, saying:

'We have moreover a great High Priest, who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God.'

For that it was on this account that he added it, he went on to say:

'For we have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities.'

For this cause he had said above:

'In that He Himself has suffered, being tempted, He is able to help those who are being tempted.'

See therefore how here also he does the same.

And what he says is of this kind:

He came, he says, by the way which we too now travel—nay, even a rougher one;

for He took upon Himself the experience of all things human.

'There is no creature hidden from His sight'—hinting at His Godhead.

Then, since he had taken hold of the flesh, he again discourses in a more condescending manner, saying:

'Having therefore a great High Priest, who has passed through the heavens,'

and he shows the greater care, and that He watches over them as over His own household, and does not will that they should fall away.

For Moses, he says, entered not into the rest, but He Himself entered in;

And it is no wonder if he has nowhere set it down;

for either, that they might not seem to find an excuse, he included Moses too along with them;

or, that he might not seem to accuse the man, he did not say it openly.

For if, when none of these things had been said, they were bringing forward such charges, saying, 'This man has spoken against Moses and against the Law;'

'It is not Palestine, but heaven'—they would have said things even greater than these.

But he does not give all to the Priest; he also requires something from us, namely, the confession.

'Having therefore,' he says, 'a great High Priest, who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.'

What confession does he mean? That there is a resurrection, that there is a recompense, that there are countless good things, that Christ is God, that the faith is right;

these things let us confess, these let us hold fast.

And that these things are true is plain from the fact that the High Priest is within.

Therefore, that we are not fallen away, let us confess;

even if the things themselves are not yet present, yet let us confess;

so that this too is true, the deferring of them;

for indeed our High Priest is great;

'For we have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities.'

He is not, he says, ignorant of our affairs, as are many of the high priests, who know not those in afflictions, nay, nor even what affliction ever is.

For in the case of men it is impossible for one who has not made trial and passed through things perceptible to know the suffering of the sufferer.

Our High Priest endured all things;

for this reason He first endured, and then ascended, that He might be able to sympathize.

'Yet was in all points tempted like as we are, apart from sin.'

Observe how above he put 'in like manner,' and here 'like as we are.'

That is to say, He was persecuted, spat upon, accused, mocked, slandered, driven away, and at last was crucified.

'Like as we are, apart from sin.'

Here he hints at yet another thing: that it is possible, even while in afflictions, to endure without sin.

So that even when he says, 'In the likeness of flesh,' he does not mean that it was the likeness of flesh, but that He took on flesh.

'In the likeness'? He was speaking of sinful flesh;

for it was like our flesh;

for in nature it was the same as ours, but in sin it was no longer the same.

'Let us therefore come with boldness unto the throne of His grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.'

What throne of grace does he speak of? That royal throne concerning which he says:

'The Lord said unto my Lord:

Sit thou at My right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool.'

Let us come with boldness, because we have a High Priest without sin, who has overcome the whole world.

'For be of good cheer,' He says, 'I have overcome the world.'

For this is precisely it: to have suffered all things, yet to be pure from sins.

'If we are under sin,' he says, 'yet He is without sin.'

How, then, are we to come with boldness? Because it is a throne of grace, not now a throne of judgment.

Therefore, 'Let us come with boldness, that we may obtain mercy'—such mercy, he says, as we seek.

For the matter is one of munificence, a royal gift.

'And find grace to help in time of need.'

'If thou come now,' he says, 'thou shalt receive both grace and mercy;

but if thou come then, thou shalt receive them no longer;

for the approach then is out of season;

for then there is no throne of grace.'

It is a throne of grace so long as the King sits bestowing grace;

but when the consummation comes, then He rises up for judgment;

'For arise, O God,' he says, 'judge the earth.'

There is yet another thing that may be said:

'Let us come,' he says, 'with boldness'—that is, having no evil conscience within us, not being in doubt;

for such a one cannot come with boldness.

For this reason he says also in another place:

'In an acceptable time have I heard thee, and in a day of salvation have I helped thee.'

Since even now, for those who sin after the washing to find repentance is a matter of grace.

But lest, hearing that He is a High Priest, you should suppose that He stands, he immediately sets Him upon the [throne];

whereas the priest does not sit, but stands.

Do you see that to have become a High Priest is not a matter of nature, but of grace and condescension and self-emptying? This too it is now seasonable for us to say:

let us come with boldness, asking;

let us only bring faith, and He gives all things.

Now is the time of the free gift; let no one despair of himself.

Then is the time of despair, when the bridal chamber is shut, when the King enters to behold the guests, when those who are to be counted worthy of them receive the bosom of the patriarch;

for still the theatre is in session, still the contest stands, still the prize hangs in the balance.

'So run I, not as uncertainly.'

There is need of running, and of vigorous running.

He who runs sees none of all around him, whether he passes through meadows or through parched places;

he who runs looks not to the spectators, but to the prize;

whether they are rich or poor, whether someone mocks or praises or reviles, whether one pelts him with stones, or plunders his house, or he sees his children or his wife or anything whatsoever, he in no way turns aside, but becomes wholly given to one thing only: to run, to seize the prize.

He who runs stops nowhere;

since if he grows even a little slack, he has lost all.

He who runs not only takes nothing away before the end, but then most of all quickens his course.

This I have said with reference to those who say:

'In our youth we disciplined ourselves, in our youth we fasted; now we have grown old.'

It is now, above all, that we ought to quicken our devotion.

Do not reckon up for me your old achievements; rather be young and in your prime now.

For he who runs this bodily course cannot, reasonably enough, run in like manner once old age overtakes him;

for in the body lies the whole of that contest.

But you, for what reason do you lessen your course? For here there is need of the soul, of a soul thoroughly awakened;

and the soul in old age grows strong, then rather comes to its prime, then exults.

For just as the body, so long as it is beset by fevers and successive diseases, even if it be strong, is worn down, but when it is delivered from that siege, recovers its own strength;

so also the soul, while it is in youth, is fevered, and the love of glory holds it above all, and of luxury and of sensual pleasures and of many other fantasies;

but when old age comes upon it, all these passions are driven away, some because of the season of life, others because of its love of wisdom.

For old age, having relaxed the tensions of the body, does not permit the soul, even if it wish, to use them, but, having subdued them like manifold enemies, establishes the soul in a place clear of tumults, and works much calm, and brings in a greater fear.

For even if no one else, yet the aged know that they are coming to their end, and that they stand altogether near to death.

When, therefore, the desires of this life depart, and the expectation of the tribunal comes in, softening its stubbornness, does not the soul become more attentive, if it will? What then, one may say, when we see old men more troublesome than the young? You speak to me of an excess of wickedness;

for indeed, in the case of madmen, we see them, with no one pushing them, rushing over precipices.

When, therefore, an old man too is sick with the maladies of the young, this is an excess of wickedness;

and such a one would have no defense even in youth;

for he cannot say, 'Remember not the sins of my youth and my ignorance.'

For the man who remains the same in old age shows that even when he was in his youth he was not of such a character through ignorance, nor through inexperience, nor because of his age, but through slothfulness.

For that other man is able to say:

'Remember not the sins of my youth nor my ignorance'—he, that is, who does what befits an old man, who has been transformed in his old age;

but if a man behaves indecently in the very same ways even in old age, how is it fitting that such a one should be called an old man, when he does not even reverence his years? For he who says, 'Remember not the sins of my youth nor my ignorance,' says this as one who is living rightly in his old age.

Do not, then, by the deeds done in your old age, deprive yourself also of pardon for the sins committed in your youth.

For how is what happens not absurd and beyond all pardon? An old man

gets drunk, sits in taverns; an old man hastens to the horse-races; an old man goes up into the theatres, running with the crowd like a little child.

Truly it is a shame and a laughing-stock, to be adorned outwardly with gray hairs, but inwardly to have the mind of a child.

And if some young man commits an outrage, he at once puts forward the gray hairs as his defense.

You, first of all, reverence them yourself;

but if you yourself do not reverence your own, and that though you are an old man, how can you demand that the young man reverence your gray hairs? You do not reverence the gray hairs, but bring shame upon them.

God has honored you with the whiteness of your hair, He has given you great precedence;

why do you betray the honor? How shall the young man reverence you, when you are more licentious than he? For the gray head is then venerable, when it does the deeds that befit gray hairs;

but when it plays the youth, it will be more ridiculous than the young.

How then will you be able to admonish the young man in these matters, you old men who are drunk with disorder? Yet I say this not as accusing the old—God forbid—but as accusing the young.

For those who do these things, it seems to me, even if they reach their hundredth year, are young;

just as the young, even if they are little children, provided they are temperate, are better than the old.

And this saying is not mine, but Scripture too knows this distinction;

for it says, 'Honorable age is not that which standeth in length of time, and the measure of old age is an unspotted life.'

For we honor the gray head not because we prefer white color to black, but because it is a token of a virtuous life, and seeing the outward gray we infer from it the gray within;

but if they do the very opposite of what the gray head requires, they will become the more ridiculous on this very account.

Since we honor the king also, and the purple robe and the diadem, because they are symbols of his rule;

but if we should see him, purple and all, spat upon, trampled by the guards, throttled, cast into prison, torn to pieces—shall we then, tell me, reverence the purple or the diadem, and not rather weep over the very insignia? Do not, then, expect to be honored on account of your gray head, when you yourself do it wrong;

for it too must exact a penalty from you, because you thus disgrace so splendid and honorable an emblem.

We do not say these things against all, nor is our discourse against old age simply—I am not so mad—but against a youthful soul that shames its old age;

nor do we say these things grieving over those who have grown old, but over those who bring shame upon the gray head.

For the old man is a king, if he will, and more kingly than the one who wears the purple, mastering his passions and marshaling the passions like bodyguards in subjection;

but if he be dragged down and cast from his throne, and become a slave to the love of money and vainglory and adornment and luxury and drunkenness and anger and lust, and beautify his hair with oil, and show his years to be outraged by his own choice;

of what punishment would not such a one be worthy? But be not you, the young, of such a sort;

for neither is there pardon for you when you sin.

Why so? Because it is possible to be an old man in youth;

and just as in old age some are young, so also the reverse.

For just as there the whitening hair saves no one, so neither here does its being black hinder anyone.

For if these things make the old man more indecent, as I have said, much more do they the young;

yet nevertheless neither is the young man free from accusation.

For a young man there can have pardon only when he is called to the management of affairs, when he is inexperienced, when he needs time and practice; but when temperance and courage must be displayed, he can no longer, nor when money must be mastered.

For there are cases in which the young man is more to be blamed than the old.

For the latter needs much attention, since old age weakens him;

but the former, who is able, if he will, to be sufficient for himself—what pardon could he obtain, being unwilling, when he snatches more than the old man does, when he bears malice, when he despises others, when he does not take the lead as the old man does, when he speaks much out of season, when he acts insolently, when he reviles, when he gets drunk? And if he thinks that in the matter of temperance he cannot be reproached, see how here too he has many aids, if only he will.

For even if desire troubles him more violently than it does the old man, nevertheless

there are many things which he will be able to do better than the old man, and to charm away that beast.

What sort of things are these? Labors, readings, all-night vigils, fastings.

'What then have these things to do with us who are not monastics?' Do you say these things to me? Say them to Paul, when he says, 'Watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication;'

'Make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof;'

for indeed he wrote these things not to monks only, but to all who are in the cities.

For ought the man of the world to have anything more than the monk, save only to dwell with a wife? In this he has the allowance, but in all else no longer; rather it behooves him to do all things equally with the monk.

And the beatitudes pronounced by Christ were not spoken to monks only;

since then the whole world would have perished, and we would have accused God of cruelty.

But if the beatitudes were spoken to monks only, and it were not possible for the man of the world to fulfill them, while He Himself permitted marriage, then He Himself has destroyed all men.

For if it be not possible, together with marriage, to do the things of the monastics, all is ruined and corrupted, and the things of virtue have been shut up into a narrow space.

And how too is marriage honorable, if it hinders us so greatly? What then is to be said? It is possible, yea, exceedingly possible, even for those who have wives to attain virtue, if we will.

How? If, having a wife, we be as though we had none;

if we rejoice not over possessions, if we use the world as not abusing it.

But if some have been hindered by marriage, let them see that it is not marriage that is the hindrance, but the choice which has made a bad use of marriage;

since neither does wine produce drunkenness, but the evil choice, and using it beyond measure;

use marriage with moderation, and you shall be first in the kingdom, and shall enjoy all good things;

which may it be granted us all to attain, by the grace and lovingkindness 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.