Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 81

Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper, there came to Him a woman having an alabaster box of very precious ointment, and she poured it upon His head as He reclined at table.

This woman seems indeed to be one and the same among all the Evangelists, yet she is not;

but among the three she seems to me to be one and the same;

whereas in John she is no longer the same;

but rather another, a marvellous one, the sister of Lazarus.

Not without purpose does the Evangelist make mention of Simon's leprosy, but that he might show whence it was that the woman came with such boldness.

For since leprosy was thought to be a most unclean and abominable affliction, and yet she saw that Jesus had both healed the man (for otherwise He would not have chosen to remain with the leper) and had come to lodge with him, she took courage that He would as easily wipe away also the uncleanness of her soul.

Nor without purpose does he also name the city, Bethany, but that you might learn that He goes to His Passion willingly.

For He who before this used to withdraw from them, at the very time when their malice was most inflamed, then comes near, at about fifteen furlongs distance;

so that His former withdrawing also was a matter of divine ordering.

So then, this woman, having seen Him and thence taken courage, drew near.

For if the woman with the issue of blood, though conscious of no such thing in herself, yet by reason of the uncleanness that seemed to belong to her nature, came trembling and afraid;

much more was it likely that this woman should hesitate and shrink back, because of her evil conscience.

For this reason too she comes after many women, the Samaritan, the Canaanite, the woman with the issue of blood, and yet more besides, because she was conscious in herself of much wantonness;

and not even in public, but in a house.

And while all the rest came only for the sake of bodily healing, she alone came for the sake of honour, and for the setting right of her soul.

For she was in no part of her body maimed;

so that on this account especially one might well admire her.

And she came to Him not as to a mere man;

for otherwise she would not have wiped Him with her hair;

but as to One greater than after the manner of man.

For this reason that member which was more honourable than all the body, this she brought to the feet of Christ, namely her own head.

But when His disciples saw it, he says, they were indignant, saying:

To what purpose is this waste? For this ointment might have been sold for much, and given to the poor.

Why trouble ye the woman? For she has wrought a good work upon Me.

For ye have the poor always with you, but Me ye have not always.

For in that she has poured this ointment upon My body, she did it for My burial.

Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also be told what

this woman has done, for a memorial of her.

And whence had they this thought? They had heard their Teacher saying, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice, and accusing the Jews, that they let go the weightier matters, judgment and mercy and faith, and discoursing much upon the mount concerning almsgiving; and from these things they reasoned within themselves and considered, that if He accepts not whole burnt offerings, nor the ancient worship, much less the anointing with oil.

But these men indeed thought thus;

but He, seeing her mind, permits her.

For great indeed was her reverence, and unspeakable her zeal;

wherefore also, condescending greatly, He suffered the oil to be poured even upon His head.

For if He refused not to become man, and to be borne in the womb, and to be nursed with milk, why do you marvel if He does not reject this? For just as His Father endured the savour and smoke of sacrifices, so also does He accept the harlot's offering, as I said before, receiving her intention.

For Jacob also anointed a pillar to God, and in the sacrifices oil was offered, and the priests were anointed with ointment.

But the disciples, not knowing her purpose, blamed her unseasonably; and by the very things wherewith they found fault, they show the woman's magnanimity.

For in saying that it might have been sold for three hundred pence, they showed how much this woman had expended upon the ointment, and how great was the magnanimity she displayed.

Wherefore also He rebuked them, saying:

Why trouble ye the woman? And He adds a reason, wishing again to remind them of His Passion:

For 'she has done it for my burial,' He says.

'For the poor you have always with you, but me you have not always.'

And, 'Wherever this gospel shall be preached, what she has done shall also be told.'

Do you see how once again He foretells the going forth to the Gentiles, and by this consoles them concerning His death, seeing that after the cross so great a power was to shine forth as to pour the preaching over every part of the earth? Who then is so wretched as to look upon so great a truth and gainsay it? For behold, what He said has come to pass.

And to whatever part of the inhabited world you may go, you will see this too being proclaimed.

And yet the person was not distinguished, nor did she have many witnesses, nor was the deed done in a theatre, but in a house, and in the house of a certain leper, with only the disciples present.

Who then caused it to resound and be spread abroad? The power of Him who spoke these things.

And the brave exploits of ten thousand kings and generals, whose very memorials remain, have been buried in silence;

and those who founded cities, and threw walls about them, and conquered in wars, and set up trophies, and enslaved many nations, are not known even by report, nor even by name, although they also erected statues and enacted laws;

but that a harlot woman poured out oil in the house of a certain leper, with ten men present—this all the world sings throughout the inhabited earth, and so great a time has passed, and the memory of what was done has not faded;

but Persians, and Indians, and Scythians, and Thracians, and Sauromatians, and the race of the Moors, and those who inhabit the British Isles carry about what was done secretly in a house in Judea by a woman who had lived as a harlot.

Great is the loving-kindness of the Master.

He bears with a harlot—a harlot who kisses His feet, and wets them with oil, and wipes them with her hair; and He receives her, and rebukes those who accuse her.

For it was not right that the woman should be driven to despair over so great a zeal.

But consider you also this for me: how lofty and eager they had by now become toward almsgiving.

And why did He not simply say that 'She has done a good work,'

but first, 'Why do you trouble the woman?' That they might learn not to demand from the outset the loftier things from the weaker ones.

For this reason He does not examine the deed simply in itself, but together with the person of the woman.

And yet, if He had been laying down a law, He would not have added 'the woman';

but that you might learn that these things were said for her sake—so that they should not maim the faith that had sprouted in her, but rather nourish it—for this reason He speaks thus, teaching us to receive and to cherish whatever good is done by anyone, even if it is not done with great exactness, and to lead it on to what is

greater things, and not from the very beginning to demand all exactness.

For that He Himself also willed this rather is plain from the fact that He, who had nowhere to lay His head, commanded that a money-box be carried.

But at that time the occasion did not require this—namely, to correct what had been done—but only to accept it.

For just as, if someone had asked Him apart from the woman's having done this, He would not have declared it thus;

so, since she had done it, He now looks to one thing only—that she should not be thrown into perplexity by the rebuke of the disciples, but should depart more cheerful and better through His own tending of her.

For indeed, after the oil had been poured out, their rebuke had no longer any occasion.

And you also, therefore: if you see someone who has prepared sacred vessels and is offering them, or someone else laboring at some adornment for the Church upon the walls and the floor, do not bid that what is being done be sold or overturned, lest you maim his eagerness.

But if, before he prepares it, someone asks, then bid it be given to the poor;

since He Himself also did this, that He might not maim the woman's purpose, and whatever He says, He says for her consolation.

Then, since He had said, 'She has done it for my burial,'

lest the woman should seem to be at a loss, having called to mind such a matter—the grave and death, I mean—see how through what follows He restores her again, saying:

'In the whole world what she has done shall be told.'

And this was both a consolation to the disciples, and an encouragement and praise to her.

'For all,' He says, 'shall sing her praises hereafter;'

and even now she has beforehand proclaimed the Passion, bringing the things for burial;

let no one, therefore, rebuke her.

'For I am so far from condemning her as having done ill, or blaming her as having wrought amiss, that I will not even allow what has been done to remain hidden, but the world shall know of what was wrought in a house and in secret.'

For indeed what was done proceeded from a devout mind, and from fervent faith, and from a contrite soul.

And why did He promise the woman nothing spiritual, but only remembrance forever? Preparing them, by these things, to be confident also concerning those spiritual matters.

For if she has done a good work, it is quite evident that she shall also receive a worthy reward.

'Then one of the twelve, he that was called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said,'

'What are you willing to give me, and I will deliver Him to you?' 'Then' — when? When these things were being spoken, when He said, 'For My burial.'

And not even by this was he pricked to the heart; nor, when he heard that the gospel would be preached everywhere, was he seized with fear —

for indeed the saying was of unspeakable power — but when women displayed so great an honor, and women who had lived as harlots, then he himself was working the works of the devil.

Why then do they add his distinguishing mark? Because there was also another Judas.

And they do not even shrink from saying that he was one of the twelve;

so completely do they conceal none of the things that seem to be matters of reproach.

And yet it was possible to say quite simply that he was one of His disciples;

but as it is they add, 'of the twelve,' as though they were saying, of the first band of those chosen for their excellence, of those together with Peter and John.

For one thing alone was their concern — the truth only — not to throw a shadow over the things that came to pass.

For this reason they pass over many of the miracles, but of the things that seem to be matters of reproach they hide nothing; rather, whether it be a word, or a deed, or whatever such thing there may be, they proclaim it aloud with all boldness.

And not these only, but even John himself, who utters the more sublime things.

For he above all tells of the insults and the reproaches that were directed against Him.

And behold how great was the wickedness of Judas, seeing that he came of his own accord, that he did this for money, and for so paltry a sum of money.

But Luke says that he made an agreement with the captains.

For since the Jews were prone to sedition, the Romans set over them those who should attend to their good order.

For indeed their government had by then passed away, in accordance with the prophecy.

To these, then, he came and said,

'What are you willing to give me, and I will deliver Him to you?' And they weighed out to him thirty pieces of silver.

'And from that time he sought an opportunity to betray Him.'

For indeed he feared the multitude, and wished to take Him apart, alone.

how utterly the love of money had maimed him.

For he who had often seen Him pass through the midst of them and not be laid hold of, and who had witnessed the many proofs He gave of His own Godhead and power, yet expected that he would seize Him;

and this too, though so many words, both fearful and gentle, were being chanted over him to charm away this wicked design.

For not even at the supper did He desist from this care, but until the very last day He kept speaking to him concerning these things.

But that man gained nothing.

Yet not for this did the Master cease from doing His own part.

Knowing these things, then, let us also not cease from doing everything toward those who sin and are slothful — admonishing, teaching, exhorting, urging, counseling — even though we profit nothing.

For Christ also foreknew the incorrigibleness of the betrayer;

yet nevertheless He did not cease from contributing what was His part — admonishing, and threatening, and lamenting over him — and nowhere plainly nor openly, but in a veiled manner.

And at the very moment of the betrayal He even condescended to kiss him;

but this too availed that man nothing.

So great an evil is the love of money;

for this it was that made him both a betrayer and a sacrilegious thief.

Hear this, all you who are lovers of money, you who have the disease of Judas;

hear, and guard yourselves against the passion.

For if he who was together with Christ, and who had worked miracles, and had enjoyed so great teaching, since he was not delivered from the disease, was carried down into so great a pit;

how much more shall you, who do not so much as hear the Scriptures, who are continually nailed to the things that are present, become an easy prey to this passion, unless you enjoy unremitting care.

Every single day that man was together with Him.

with Him who had nowhere to lay His head, and every day he was being instructed, by deeds and by words, to have neither gold nor silver nor two coats; and yet he was not brought to soberness.

And how do you expect to escape the disease, when you neither enjoy any vigorous treatment nor apply much diligence? For this beast is a dreadful thing, dreadful indeed.

Yet nevertheless, if you are willing, you will easily prevail over it.

For this desire is not natural;

and this is plain from those who are free of it.

For the things of nature are common to all;

but this desire arises from indolence alone.

From there it springs up, from there it grows;

and when it lays hold of those who gape after it, it makes them live contrary to nature.

For when they fail to recognize their fellow men, their friends, their brothers, their kinsmen, all people quite simply, and along with these even their own selves, this is to live contrary to nature.

Hence it is plain that wickedness is contrary to nature, and so too is the disease of avarice, into which Judas also fell and became a traitor.

And how, one asks, did he become such a man, when he had been called by Christ? Because the calling of God is not compulsory, nor does it force the will of those who are unwilling to choose virtue; rather, it exhorts and counsels, and does all things and takes every pains, so as to persuade men to become good;

but if some do not submit, He does not compel them.

And if you wish to learn whence he became such a man, you will find that he was ruined by avarice.

And how, one asks, was he caught by this passion?

For hence come such reversals, just as, by diligence, the changes toward the opposite come about.

How many, at any rate, who were violent, are now gentler than sheep? How many who were licentious have afterward become chaste? How many who were greedy before, have now even cast away their own possessions? And the contrary, again, has happened through indolence.

For Gehazi also lived with a holy man, and yet he himself became wicked from this same disease.

For this passion is the most grievous of all.

Hence come tomb-robbers, hence murderers, hence wars and battles, and whatever evil you may name, it comes from here.

And everywhere such a man is useless, whether he must command an army or lead the people;

or rather, not only in public affairs, but also in private ones.

And if he is about to take a wife, he will not take the virtuous one, but the basest of all;

and if he is to buy a house, not the one befitting a free man, but the one able to bring in much rent;

and if he is about to buy slaves, or anything else whatever, he will take the meanest.

And why do I speak of a general's command, of leading the people, of stewardships? For even

if he be a king, he is the most wretched of all men, and a plague upon the world, and the poorest of all.

For he will be disposed like one of the many, not considering that all things are his, but himself one among all;

and while snatching what belongs to all, he thinks he possesses less than all.

For measuring what he has by the desire for what he has not yet acquired, he will consider these present things as nothing compared with those.

Nothing is more lawless than the lover of money.

For such a man even sells his own self, and goes about as the common enemy of the world, grieving that the earth does not bear gold instead of ears of grain, and the springs gold instead of streams of water, and the mountains gold instead of stones;

vexed at the good season, contracted with gloom amid the common blessings;

turning away from every occasion from which it is not possible to gain silver;

enduring all things from which it is possible to gather even but two obols;

hating all men, both the poor and the rich;

the poor, lest they come and ask of him;

and the rich, because he does not have what is theirs.

He thinks that all men possess what is his, and, as though wronged by all, so is he vexed at all.

He knows no fullness, he is acquainted with no satiety, he is the most wretched of all men;

just as, on the other hand, the man who is free of these things and lives in wisdom is the most enviable of all.

For the virtuous man, though he be a household slave, though he be a prisoner in chains, is more blessed than all men.

For no one shall do him harm, not even if all the men in the whole world should come together against him, setting arms and armies in motion, and warring upon him.

But the wicked and worthless man, such a one as we have described, though he be a king, though ten thousand diadems be set about his head, shall suffer the uttermost even at the hands of any chance comer.

Why then do you mourn while in poverty? Why do you lament while keeping festival? For indeed it is a time of festival.

Why do you weep? For poverty is a solemn assembly, if you are of a sound mind.

Why do you wail, child? For such a one must be called a child.

Has such a one struck you? And what of that? He has made you more steadfast in endurance.

But he has taken away your money? He has cut off the greater part of your burden.

But he has stripped away your glory? Again you are telling me of yet another kind of freedom.

Listen even to those outside our faith who philosophize on these matters, and who say:

You have suffered no evil, unless you pretend that you have.

But he has taken away your house, that great one with its enclosing courts? But behold, the whole earth is before your eyes, the public buildings, whether you wish to have them for delight or for use.

And what is more delightful or more beautiful than the firmament of heaven? How long will you remain poor and needy? It is not possible for that man to be rich who is not rich in soul;

just as it is not possible for that man to be poor who does not hold poverty within his mind.

For if the soul is of greater authority than the body, the things of lesser authority are not able to dispose it toward themselves;

but rather the sovereign soul draws to itself and transforms the things which are not so sovereign.

For indeed the heart, whenever it receives some injury, disposes the whole body accordingly;

and if it becomes distempered, it brings ruin upon the whole;

but if it is well tempered, it benefits the whole.

But if any of the remaining parts is corrupted, while this one remains sound, it easily shakes off the harm of those parts also.

And that I may make what I say still clearer: what use, tell me, are green branches, when the root is withering? And what harm is there in the leaves that have dried up above, while the root is sound? So also here there is no benefit in riches when the soul is impoverished;

nor is there harm in poverty, when the soul is rich.

And how, someone says, could a soul become rich, while it is in poverty of money? Precisely then it would become so;

for then indeed it is wont to grow rich.

For if, as we have often shown, this is the mark of one who is rich, to despise money and to need nothing, and again the mark of poverty is to be in need;

and since one would more easily despise money in poverty than in wealth;

it is quite plain that being in poverty is what most of all makes one rich.

For that the rich man craves money more than the poor man is surely plain to everyone;

just as the drunkard thirsts more than the one who has partaken of drink in due measure.

For desire is not of such a nature as to be quenched by having more; rather, on the contrary, it is by nature kindled all the more by this.

For fire also, whenever it receives more fuel, then most of all

and so the desire for money, whenever you cast in more gold, then most of all it rises up.

If then to crave more belongs to poverty, and the man in wealth is of this sort, then this man above all is in poverty.

Do you see that the soul is then most of all poor, when it is rich, and then rich, when it is in poverty? And if you will, let us also exercise the argument upon particular persons, and let there be two men, the one having ten thousand talents, the other ten;

and let us take these away from both of them;

which of them then will grieve the more? The one who has lost the ten thousand.

But he would not have grieved the more, if he had not loved the more;

and if he loves the more, he desires the more;

and if he desires the more, he is the more in poverty.

For that thing we most of all desire, in which we most of all stand in need.

For desire springs from want.

For where there is satiety, there can be no desire.

For indeed we thirst most keenly when we are in want of drink.

Now I have said all these things in order to show that, if we are sober and watchful, no one will do us harm;

and that the harm comes not from poverty, but from ourselves.

Wherefore I exhort you with all diligence to cast out the disease of avarice, that we may both be rich here and enjoy the eternal good things; which may it be granted to us all to attain, by the grace and love toward mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory unto the ages of ages.