Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 23 part 2/2

Let us not then be troubled, when we see many such men existing even now; for this too Christ foretold from the outset.

For neither did He say, 'Punish them,' but, 'Be not harmed by them, do not fall into their power unguarded.'

Then, lest you should say that it is impossible to recognize such men, He again sets down an argument drawn from a human example, speaking thus:

'Do men gather grapes from thorns, or figs from thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruits;

but the corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruits.'

'A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruits, neither a corrupt tree bring forth good fruits.'

And what He means is this:

They have nothing gentle, nothing sweet;

the sheep is such only as far as the fleece;

wherefore also the discernment is easy.

And that you may not doubt even in the least, He compares to natural necessities the things which cannot come to be otherwise.

For 'the mind of the flesh is death;'

'for it is not subject to the law of God.'

But if He sets down the same thing a second time, it is not a mere repetition.

For lest anyone should say that the evil tree

bears evil fruits indeed, yet bears good ones also, and so makes the discernment difficult, the yield being twofold;

for it bears only evil fruits, and could never bear good ones;

even as also the contrary is true.

What then? Is there not a good man who becomes evil? And the reverse also holds true, and the lives of many are full of such examples.

But Christ does not say this, that it is impossible for the evil man to change, or that the good man cannot fall away;

rather, that so long as one lives in wickedness, he will not be able to bring forth good fruit.

For while being evil he is indeed able to turn to virtue;

but remaining in wickedness, he will not bear good fruit.

What then? Did not David, being good, bring forth evil fruit? Not while remaining good, but after he had been changed;

for had he remained continually what he was, he would not have brought forth such fruit.

For assuredly it was not while abiding in the habit of virtue that he dared what he dared.

And these things He said also to stop the mouths of those who slander without reason, and to bridle the tongues of the evil-speakers.

For since many suspect the good on account of the evil, He said this to deprive them of all excuse.

For neither couldst thou say, 'I have been deceived and led astray;'

for indeed I have furnished thee with an exact discernment drawn from their works, having also charged thee to walk according to their deeds, and not to throw everything into confusion indiscriminately.

Then, since He did not command them to punish these men but only to guard against them, at once comforting those who were being ill-treated by them, and also frightening and reforming those others, He set up over them the punishment that comes from Himself, saying that 'Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.'

Then, making the word less burdensome, He added:

'So then, from their fruits ye shall know them;'

so that He might not seem to bring in the threat as the leading point, but in the guise of exhortation and counsel to shake their minds.

Here it seems to me that He also hints at the Jews, as displaying such fruits.

Wherefore also He reminded them of the words of John, sketching out their punishment for them by means of the very same terms.

For John too spoke these things, making mention to them of the axe, and of the tree being hewn down, and of the unquenchable fire.

And it seems indeed to be one single punishment, namely to be burned up;

but if one examine it accurately, these are two punishments.

For he who is burned assuredly also falls away from the kingdom;

and this punishment is more grievous than the other.

And I know indeed that many shudder only at hell;

but I affirm that the falling away from that glory is a far bitterer punishment than hell.

And if it be impossible to set this forth in words, that is no marvel.

For neither do we know the blessedness of those good things, so as also to see clearly the misery that comes from being deprived of them;

since Paul, who knew these things clearly, knew that to fall away from the glory of Christ is more grievous than all things.

And this we shall know then, when we fall into the very experience of it.

But may we never suffer this, O only-begotten Child of God, nor ever have any experience of this incurable punishment.

For how great an evil it is to fall away from those good things, it is not possible to say clearly;

nevertheless, as far as I am able, I will strive and contend, by means of an illustration, to make it in some small measure manifest to you.

For let us suppose there is a wonderful child, who together with virtue possesses also the kingdom of the whole world, and is so virtuous in every respect that he is able to establish all men in the affection of a fatherly disposition toward him.

What then do you not suppose the father of this child would gladly suffer, so as not to be deprived of his company? What evil, small or great, would he not accept, so as to behold him and to enjoy him? This same thing, then, let us reckon also concerning that glory.

For not so dear and lovely is a child to his father, even were it ten thousand times virtuous, as is the attainment of those good things, and to depart and to be with Christ.

Insupportable too is hell, and that punishment.

Nevertheless, though one should set down ten thousand hells, he will say nothing to compare with falling away from that blessed glory, with being hated by Christ, with hearing 'I know you not,' with being accused

that 'when they saw Him hungering they fed Him not.'

For indeed it is better to endure ten thousand thunderbolts than to see that gentle countenance turning away from us, and that serene eye not enduring to look upon us.

For if He, when I was an enemy, and hated Him, and turned away from Him, so pursued me that He did not even spare Himself, but gave Himself over to death;

when, after all those things, I should not even count Him worthy of bread as He hungers, with what eyes shall I henceforth behold Him? But consider here also His gentleness.

For neither does He speak of His benefactions, nor say that thou didst overlook Him who had done thee so many kindnesses.

Me, who brought thee from non-existence into being, who breathed into thee a soul, and set thee over all things that are on the earth, who for thy sake made earth and heaven and sea and air and all things that are; Me, who was dishonoured by thee, and was thought to be more dishonourable than the devil, and yet even so did not withdraw, but after these things devised ten thousand things; Me, who chose to become a servant, who was smitten and spat upon, who was slain, who died the most shameful death, who even above intercedeth for thee, who bestoweth upon thee the Spirit, who deemeth thee worthy of a kingdom, who promiseth such things, who willed to be thy head, and bridegroom, and garment, and house, and root, and food, and drink, and shepherd, and king, and brother, and who chose thee for His heir and joint-heir, who led thee from darkness into the authority of light.

For though He could say these things and more than these, He says none of them;

but what? Only the sin itself.

And herein He shows His love, and makes manifest the longing which He hath for thee.

For He did not say, 'Depart into the fire prepared for you,' but, 'that which is prepared for the devil.'

And first He tells of the wrongs they had done, yet not even so does He endure to recount them all, but only a few.

And before these He calls forth those who had done well, so that from this also He might show that He accuses them justly.

How, then, are these words not more grievous than any punishment? For if a man, seeing his benefactor perishing of hunger, would not overlook him;

and if he did overlook him, when reproached for it he would rather choose to sink into the earth than to hear such things in the presence of two or three friends;

what shall we suffer, hearing these things before the whole world—things He would not even then have uttered, had He not been eager to make His own defense? For that He brought them forward not to reproach but in His own defense, and to show that it was not in vain nor at random that He said to them, 'Depart from Me,' is plain from His unspeakable benefits.

For if He had wished to reproach them, He would have brought all those things into the midst;

but as it is, He speaks only of what He Himself suffered.

Let us fear, then, beloved, to hear these words.

Life is no plaything;

or rather, the present life is a plaything, but the things to come are no play.

And perhaps life is not merely a plaything, but something even worse than this.

For it does not end in laughter, but brings much harm to those who are unwilling to order their own affairs with exactness.

For in what, tell me, do we differ from children who play at building houses—we who build our splendid houses? Or from them making their little feasts—we who live in luxury? In nothing, except that we do these things to our own punishment.

But if as yet we do not perceive the worthlessness of these things, it is no wonder;

for we have not yet become men;

but when we have become so, we shall know that all these are but children's toys.

Since, when we grow to manhood, we laugh at those things too;

but while we were children we thought them worthy of great earnestness, and gathering potsherds and mud we were no less proud than those who rear great walls.

Yet nonetheless it is straightway destroyed and falls down, and even were it to stand somewhere, it would be of no use to us—just as neither are these splendid houses.

For they could not receive the citizen of heaven, nor would he who has his homeland above endure to remain in them;

but just as we pull these down with our feet, so too does he overthrow them with his mind.

And just as we laugh at children weeping over the overthrow;

so also do these, when we lament over such things, not

only laugh, but also weep;

since their affections are compassionate, and from this the harm is great.

How long shall we be dragged along the ground, priding ourselves on stones and timbers? How long shall we play? And would that we only played;

but as it is, we even betray our own salvation;

and just as children, when they spend their leisure in these things and neglect their letters, endure the utmost stripes;

so also we, spending all our zeal on these things, and then being required by our deeds to render an account of the spiritual lessons, and having nothing to offer, shall pay the uttermost penalty.

And there is no one to deliver;

not even were it a father, nor a brother, nor anyone whatsoever.

But all these things shall pass away, while the torment arising from them remains immortal and unceasing;

which indeed happens also in the case of children, the father utterly doing away with their childish toys because of their sloth, and setting them to weep continually.

And that you may learn that these things are of such a kind, let us bring into the midst that which above all seems most worthy of earnest pursuit—namely wealth—and let us set against it any virtue of the soul you please, and then above all you will see its worthlessness.

Let us suppose, then, that there are two men;

and I do not yet speak of covetousness, but for the present of righteous wealth;

and of these two, let the one gather money, and sail the sea, and till the land, and devise many other modes of trade;

although I know not whether, in doing these things, he is able to gain justly;

but nevertheless let it be granted and supposed that he gains just gains, and buys fields and slaves and all such things, and that no injustice attaches to these;

while the other, who possesses just as much, let him sell fields, let him sell houses, and vessels of gold and silver, and give to the needy, relieve the poor, tend the sick, loose those in distress, cast out those from bonds, set free those in the mines, bring down those from the gallows, deliver the captives from their punishment.

Of which portion, then, would you wish to be? And I have not yet spoken of the things to come, but for the present have told of the things here.

Of which, then, would you wish to be? Of him who gathers gold, or of him who looses calamities? Of him who buys fields, or of him who makes himself a haven for the human race? Of him who is clothed about with much gold, or of him who is crowned with countless blessings? Does not the one resemble some angel come down from heaven for the amendment of the rest of mankind, while the other is not even like a man, but like some child gathering all things in vain and at random? But if to grow rich justly is so ridiculous and of the utmost folly;

when not even righteousness is present, how is not such a one the most wretched of all? For if the laughter is so great when hell too is present and the fall from the kingdom, of how many lamentations would he be worthy, both living and dead?

But would you have us take in hand yet another portion of virtue? Then let us bring forward again another man who is in power, commanding all, clothed about with great dignity, having a splendid herald and girdle and lictors, and a great retinue of attendants.

Does not this seem great and blessed? Come then, and let us again set against him another, the man who bears wrong patiently, and is gentle and lowly and long-suffering;

and let this man be insulted, be beaten, and bear it easily, and bless those who do such things.

Which, then, is the admirable one, tell me? He who is puffed up and inflamed, or he who is composed? Does not the one again resemble the powers above, which have great freedom from passion, while the other is like a bellows blown up, or a man with dropsy, and much inflammation? And the one like a spiritual physician, the other like a ridiculous child puffing out his cheeks? For why do you pride yourself, O man? Because you are borne aloft upon a chariot? Because a team of mules draws you? And what of this? For this same thing one may see happening to wood and to stones as well.

But is it because you are clothed about with fine garments? Yet behold the man who has put on virtue instead of garments, and you will see yourself like rotting grass, but him like a tree bearing wondrous fruit, and affording much delight to those who behold it.

For you carry about food for worms and moths, which, if they fasten upon you, will quickly make you naked of this adornment;

(for indeed garments and gold and silver are, the one the threads of worms, the others earth and dust, and again earth, and nothing more;) but he who is clothed about with virtue has such a robe as neither moths, nor even death itself, can harm;

For these virtues of the soul do not have their origin from the earth, but are the fruit of the Spirit;

therefore neither are they subject to the mouths of worms.

For indeed these garments are woven in heaven, where there is no moth, no worm, nor anything else of the kind.

Which, then, is better, tell me—to be rich, or to be poor? To be in power, or in dishonor? In luxury, or in hunger? It is quite plain: to be in honor, and in luxury, and in wealth.

If then you desire the realities, and not the mere names, forsaking the earth and the things in it, remove your dwelling to heaven;

for the things here are a shadow, but the things there are realities immovable, and fixed, and beyond the reach of all.

Let us choose them, then, with all exactness, that we may both be delivered from the tumult of things here, and, having sailed into that calm haven, may appear with much freight and unspeakable riches of almsgiving;

which may it be granted us all to attain, by the grace and love toward mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and might unto the ages of ages. Amen.