Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 82

«And on the first day of unleavened bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying, Where wilt thou that we prepare for thee to eat the passover? And he said:»

«Go into the city to such a man, and say unto him:»

«The Master saith, My time is at hand;»

«I will keep the passover at thy house with my disciples.»

By «the first day of unleavened bread» he means the day before the unleavened bread;

for they were accustomed always to reckon the day from the evening;

and he makes mention of that day on which, in the evening, the passover was to be sacrificed;

for on the fifth day of the week they came.

And this day one Evangelist calls «the day before the unleavened bread», speaking of the time at which they came;

«Then came the day of unleavened bread, on which the passover must be sacrificed;»

and by saying «came», he means, It was near, it was at the doors, plainly having in mind that evening.

For it was from the evening that they began.

Wherefore also each one adds, «When the passover was being sacrificed.»

«Where wilt thou that we prepare for thee to eat the passover?» So that from this too it is plain that he had no house, no lodging;

and I think that neither did they themselves have one.

For otherwise they would have entreated him to come there.

But neither had these anything, having by now renounced all things.

But for what reason did he keep the passover? Showing through all things, even to the last day, that he was not opposed to the law.

And why then does he send to an unknown man? Showing hereby too that he could have avoided suffering.

For he who so persuaded this man's mind that he received them, and that by mere words, what would he not have wrought in those who crucified him, had he willed not to suffer? And what he did in the case of the ass, this also he does here. For there too he says:

«If any man say aught unto you, ye shall say that The Lord hath need of him;»

«The Master said, At thy house I keep the passover.»

But for my part I marvel not only at this, that he received him though a stranger, but that, expecting to draw upon himself such great enmity and implacable war, he despised the hatred of the multitude.

Then, since they knew him not, he also gives them a sign, such as the prophet gave in the case of Saul, saying:

«Thou shalt find one going up and carrying a skin of wine;»

and here, «carrying a pitcher of water.»

And behold again the manifestation of his power.

For he said not merely, «I keep the passover;»

but he adds also another thing, «My time is at hand.»

And this he did, at once continually reminding his disciples of the passion, so that, being trained by the frequency of the foretelling,

they might get used to what was to come to pass;

and at the same time showing both to those disciples themselves, and to the man who received him, and to all the Jews, what I have often said, that he came not unwillingly to the passion.

And he adds, «With my disciples», so that the preparation might be sufficient, and that the man might not suppose that he was hiding himself.

«Now when even was come, he was sitting at table with the twelve disciples.»

Oh, the shamelessness, Judas!

For he too was present there, and came to share in both the mysteries and the salt; yet even at the very table he is convicted, at a moment when, had he been even a wild beast, he would have grown gentler.

For this reason the Evangelist also notes that it was while they were eating that Christ spoke concerning the betrayal, so that both from the occasion and from the table He might display the wickedness of the traitor.

For as the disciples had done just as Jesus had appointed them, when evening was come, He was reclining at table with the twelve.

And as they were eating, He said, it says, 'Verily I say unto you, that one of you shall betray Me.'

But before the supper He had also washed their feet.

And see how He spares the traitor.

For He did not say, 'So-and-so shall betray Me';

but, 'One of you,' so as once more to give him room for repentance through remaining unnamed;

and He chooses to frighten them all, for the sake of saving this one man.

'Of you the twelve,' He says, 'who are with Me everywhere, whose feet I have washed, to whom I have made so many promises.'

An unbearable grief, then, seized that holy band at that moment.

And John says that they were perplexed, and looked one upon another, and each of them, in dread, asked concerning himself, though they were conscious to themselves of no such thing;

but this one (Matthew) says that, being exceeding sorrowful, they began every one to say unto Him, 'Lord, is it I?' And He answered and said:

'He to whom I, having dipped the morsel, shall give it.'

See at what moment He disclosed him: when He wished to deliver the rest from this trouble;

for they had indeed almost died of fear;

therefore also they pressed on, asking.

Yet He did this not only because He wished to release them from their agony, but also because He desired to set the traitor right.

For since, having often heard it indefinitely, he remained uncorrected, being without feeling, He, wishing rather to reach him, strips off his mask.

For since, being sorrowful, they had begun to say, 'Lord, is it I?', He answered and said:

'He that dipped his hand with Me in the dish, the same shall betray Me.'

'The Son of Man indeed goeth, as it is written of Him;

but woe unto that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed;

it had been good for that man if he had not been born.'

Now some say that he was so brazen as not even to honor the Teacher, but to dip together with Him;

but to me it seems that Christ did this also to shame him the more, and to draw him toward a right disposition;

for this too carries something further in it.

These things we ought not simply to pass over, but to have them fixed deep in our minds, and then wrath could never find a place.

For who, considering that supper, and the traitor reclining together with the Saviour of all, and Him who was about to be betrayed conversing so gently, would not cast out all the poison of wrath and anger? See, at any rate, how meekly He deals with him.

'The Son of Man indeed goeth, as it is written concerning Him.'

And these things again He said both to recover the disciples, lest they should think the matter to be one of weakness, and to set the traitor right.

'But woe unto that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed;

it had been good for that man if he had not been born.'

See again, amid the reproofs, the unspeakable gentleness.

For not even here does He bring the word against him harshly, but rather more pitifully, and again in a veiled manner;

and yet not only his former insensibility, but also his shamelessness thereafter, was worthy of the uttermost indignation.

For after this reproof he says:

'Lord, is it I?' Oh, the insensibility!

He makes inquiry, though conscious in himself of such deeds.

For the Evangelist too, marveling at his brazen effrontery, says this.

What then does the most gentle and most mild Jesus reply? 'Thou hast said it.'

O foul and utterly foul, accursed and profane one!

for so long a time you have been in travail with your wickedness, and having gone off and made your Satanic compacts,

and having agreed to receive silver, and having been convicted even by Me—do you still dare to ask? Yet He said none of these things.

fixing for us the bounds and rules of long-suffering forbearance.

And indeed, if it was written that He should suffer these things, why is Judas accused? For he did the things that were written.

But it was not with this intent, but out of wickedness, that he acted.

And if you do not examine the purpose, you will also acquit the devil himself of the charges against him.

But these things are not so, they are not so.

For both this man and that one are deserving of ten thousand punishments, even though the whole world was saved.

For it was not the betrayal of Judas that wrought our salvation, but the wisdom of Christ, and the resourcefulness of His skillful contrivance, He turning the wickedness of others to our advantage.

even if Judas had not betrayed Him, would not another have betrayed Him? And what is that to the question at issue? Because, one says, if it was necessary that Christ be crucified, it had to be through someone;

and if it had to be through someone, then assuredly through some such man as this.

But if all had been good, the dispensation on our behalf would have been hindered.

For He Himself, the all-wise One, knew how He would order our affairs, even when this had come to pass;

for His wisdom is resourceful and incomprehensible.

For this very reason, lest anyone suppose that he had become a minister of the dispensation, He pronounces the man wretched.

And if it were good for him not to have been born, for what reason did He allow him to come into the world—both this man and all the wicked? You ought rather to accuse the wicked, that having power not to become such, they became wicked; but you, leaving this aside, meddle in the things of God and busy yourself with them;

and this though you know that no one is wicked by necessity.

But only the good ought to have come into being, one says, and there would have been no need of hell, nor of chastisement and punishment, nor any trace of vice;

and the wicked either should not have come into being, or having come into being should straightway have been taken away.

First then it is fitting to say to you the apostolic word:

'Nay but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus?' And if you demand reasons besides, we would say this: that the good are the more admired when they are in the midst of the wicked;

for their forbearance and their great wisdom of soul are then especially displayed.

But you, in saying these things, do away with the very ground of wrestlings and contests.

What then? one says—are others punished in order that these may appear good?

No, but because of their own wickedness.

For it was not because they were brought into being that they became wicked, but because of their own slothfulness;

For how would they not be deserving of punishment, having so many teachers of virtue, and yet gaining nothing thereby? For just as the noble and good are worthy of double honor, because they both became upright and were in no way harmed by the wicked;

so also the base are worthy of double punishment, both because they became wicked when they might have become good (and those who did so make it plain),

and because they gained nothing from the good.

But let us see what this wretched man says when convicted by his Master.

What then does he say? 'Is it I, Rabbi?' And why did he not ask this from the beginning? He thought to escape notice because it had been said, 'One of you';

but when He had made him manifest, he ventured to ask again, presuming upon the forbearance of his Teacher, as one who would not expose him.

For this very reason, indeed, he even called Him 'Rabbi.'

to what a pass did it bring him! For such is the love of money;

it makes men foolish and senseless, brazen and like dogs instead of men;

or rather, even more savage than dogs, and demons instead of dogs.

This man, at any rate, received the devil even while he was plotting against him, but betrayed Jesus even while He was doing him good—having already become a devil in his own choice.

For such is what the insatiable lust for money makes men become: frenzied, deranged, wholly given over to gain, just as Judas also became.

But how is it that Matthew and the others say that it was when he had made his arrangement concerning the betrayal that the devil then seized him,

while John says, 'After the morsel Satan entered into him'? Even this man knew it.

'Supper being ended, the devil having now put into the heart of Judas to betray Him.'

How then does he say, 'After the morsel Satan entered into

him'? Because he does not enter all at once, nor in a single moment, but first he makes many trials.

For having sounded him out at the beginning, and having assailed him gently, when he saw him fit to receive him, he then breathed himself wholly into him at this point, and altogether got the mastery over him.

But how, if they were eating the Passover, were they eating unlawfully? For they ought not to have eaten it reclining.

What then is one to say? That after they had eaten it, they thereafter reclined as they feasted.

And another evangelist says that on that evening He not only ate the Passover, but also said:

'With desire I have desired to eat this Passover with you.'

That is to say, in this present year.

Why so? Because at that time the salvation of the whole world was about to come to pass, and the mysteries were to be delivered, and the things that grieved were to be loosed through His death;

so much was the cross according to His own mind.

But nothing softened the savage beast, nor bent him, nor turned him back.

He struck fear into him again, saying:

'It had been good for him if he had not been born.'

'He it is to whom I shall give the morsel when I have dipped it.'

And none of these things held him back, but as though seized by a kind of madness he was taken by the love of money, or rather by a more grievous sickness.

For indeed this madness is more grievous.

For what such thing did the madman ever do? This man did not foam at the mouth, but he brought forth the murder of his Lord;

he did not throttle his own hands, but he stretched them out for the purchase of precious blood.

Wherefore his madness was the greater, in that being sound in health he raged.

But does not the madman utter meaningless sounds? And what is more meaningless than this utterance: 'What will you give me, and I will deliver Him to you? I will deliver Him.'

The devil sounded forth through that man's mouth.

But did he not strike the ground, convulsing with his feet? And how much better it is to convulse in that way than to stand upright thus? But did he not gash himself with stones? And how much better were it than to do such things? Would you have us bring into the midst the demoniacs and the money-lovers, and make a comparison of the two? But let no one deem the matter an insult to himself.

For we are not insulting our nature, but censuring the practice.

The demoniac never put on clothing, gashing himself with stones, and he traversed the pathless and rugged roads at a run, driven with violence by the demon.

Do not these things seem dreadful? What then if I show that the money-lovers work things more grievous than these upon their own souls, and so much more grievous that these seem child's play compared with those? Will you then withdraw from the sickness? Come then, let us see whether they are in any more tolerable a state than those.

For indeed they are more shameful than ten thousand naked men.

For it is far better to be naked of clothing than to go about clad in the spoils of covetousness, like those who revel in frenzy to Dionysus.

For just as those wear the masks and garments of madmen, so do these also.

And just as it is madness that produces the nakedness of the demoniacs, so also madness works this clothing too;

and this clothing is more pitiable than that nakedness.

And this I will try to show from what follows.

For whom should we say to be the more mad among the madmen themselves: if one gashes himself, or if one gashes together with himself all those he meets as well? It is plain that this latter one is.

Now those men stripped themselves naked, but these strip all whom they meet.

But those men tear their garments.

And how much rather would each of the wronged consent to have a garment torn than to be stripped of his whole substance? But they do not strike blows upon the face.

Nay, this too the covetous most certainly do.

And if they do not bite all men, yet by means of hunger and poverty they inflict upon all men pangs more grievous than any biting, striking at the very belly.

'But they do not bite with teeth,' you say.

Would that it were with teeth, and not with the darts of covetousness, which are more grievous than any teeth!

For their teeth are weapons and arrows.

For who will suffer the more, he that is bitten once and straightway healed, or he that is continually devoured by the teeth of poverty? For involuntary poverty is a thing more grievous than any furnace or wild beast.

'But they do not haunt the deserts, as those possessed by demons do.'

Would that they overran the deserts, and not the cities! Then all who dwell in the cities would enjoy security.

But as it is, in this very respect they are more intolerable than all those, because they do in the cities the very things which those men do in the deserts, turning the cities into deserts, and, just as though in a wilderness where there is none to hinder, so plundering the goods of all.

'But they do not cast stones at those who meet them.'

And what of that? For stones, indeed, it is easy to guard against;

but the wounds which by paper and ink they inflict upon the wretched poor, drawing up bonds teeming with countless blows—who could ever easily guard against these when he has fallen among them? (4)

But let us also see how many evils they work upon themselves.

They walk about the city naked;

for they have no garment of virtue.

And if this does not seem to them to be shameful, this too is a mark of their surpassing madness, that they do not even perceive their own unseemliness;

but while, when stripped of body, they are ashamed, yet, carrying about a naked soul, they take pride in it.

And if you wish, I will tell you also the cause of this insensibility.

What then is the cause? Among many who are thus naked they are stripped, and therefore they are not even ashamed—just as neither are we in the bathhouses.

For if there were many who were clothed with virtue, then their shame would appear the more conspicuous.

But as it is, this above all is a thing worthy of many tears, that because the wicked are many, evil deeds are not even held in shame.

For along with his other works the devil has wrought this also, not to allow men even to perceive their own evils, but by the multitude of those who pursue wickedness to cast a veil over its shame;

since if it should happen that a man were among a multitude of those who pursue true wisdom, such a one would the more clearly see his own nakedness.

That, then, they are more naked than those possessed by demons, is plain from these things;

and that they also frequent the deserts, this too no one could gainsay.

For the broad and spacious way is more desolate than any desert.

For even though it has many who travel it, yet nevertheless it has no men, but serpents, scorpions, wolves, vipers, and asps.

For such are they that pursue wickedness.

And it is not only a desert, but also rougher than that other one.

For not so grievously do stones and ravines and mountain peaks smite those who climb them, as rapine and covetousness wound the souls that pursue it.

And that they also live among the tombs, like those possessed by demons—nay rather, that they are themselves tombs—is plain from this.

For what is a tomb? A stone, having a dead body laid within it.

In what, then, do the bodies of these men differ from those stones? Nay rather, these are even more pitiable than those.

For it is not a stone having a dead body within it, but a body more insensible than stones, carrying about a dead soul.

Wherefore one would not err in calling them sepulchres.

For indeed our Lord also called the Jews thus, for this very reason:

'Within they are full of rapine and covetousness.'

Will you then have me show how they also cut their own heads with stones? Whence first, tell me, do you wish to learn this—from things present, or from things to come? But of the things to come they take little account;

for than how many stones are their anxieties not more grievous, which do not wound their heads, but consume their soul? For they are in dread lest the things which have unjustly come in should justly go out of their house;

they tremble for the future; they are angry, they are provoked—against their own household, against strangers;

and now dejection, now fear, now wrath takes hold of them in turn; and, as though crossing from one precipice to another, they anxiously watch day by day even for the things not yet acquired.

For this very reason they take no pleasure in what they possess, both because they have no confidence about the security of these things, and because with their whole mind they gape after what has not yet been acquired.

And just as one who is perpetually thirsty, though he should drink up ten thousand fountains, is not aware of any pleasure, because he never reaches satiety;

so too these men not only take no pleasure, but are even tormented, the more they acquire, since they know no limit to a desire of this kind.

And such indeed are the things that pertain to this present life;

but let us speak also concerning the day that is to come.

For even though they themselves pay no heed, yet it is necessary for us to speak.

In the day to come, then, one might behold such men punished on every side.

'I was hungry, and ye gave me no meat;'

'I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink' — these He punishes;

and when He says, 'Depart into the everlasting fire which is prepared for the devil,' it is those who are wickedly rich whom He consigns thither.

And the wicked servant, who did not give to his fellow-servants their master's goods, belongs to the portion of these;

and he who buried the talent, and the five virgins.

And wherever thou mayest go, thou shalt see the lovers of money being punished.

And at one time they shall hear, 'There is a great gulf betwixt us and you;'

and at another, 'Depart from me into the fire that is prepared;'

and at another they shall be cut asunder and go away where is the gnashing of teeth;

and one might see them driven from every side, and finding place nowhere, but gathered together into Gehenna alone.

What profit, then, is our right faith to us for salvation, when we hear these things? There is the gnashing of teeth, and outer darkness, and the fire prepared for the devil, and the being cut asunder, and the being driven away;

and here there are enmities, slanders, accusations, dangers, anxieties, plots, being hated by all, being abhorred by all, even by those very ones who seem to flatter.

For just as the good are admired not only by the good but even by the wicked, so the evil are hated not only by the upright but even by the base.

And that this is true, I would gladly ask the lovers of money whether they are not ill-disposed toward one another, and whether they do not deem one another more hostile than those who have wronged them in the greatest matters, whether they do not condemn their own selves, whether they do not call the thing an outrage when anyone flings this reproach at them.

For indeed this is the uttermost reproach, and a proof of great vice.

For if thou canst not endure to despise money, over what wilt thou ever have the mastery? over desire, and the madness for glory, and passion, and wrath? And how could one be persuaded of it? For as regards the desire of the body, and wrath and passion, many even lay these to the constitution of the flesh, and the sons of the physicians ascribe the excesses thereto;

and they say that the man of hotter and moister temperament is more lustful, while he who has fallen into a drier ill-temperament is impetuous, quick-tempered, and prone to wrath.

But as regards covetousness, no one has ever heard any of them say anything of the sort.

So truly is this malady the mark of mere sloth and of an unfeeling soul.

Wherefore I exhort you, let us be earnest to correct all such things, and to turn to the contrary the passions that come upon us at each period of our age.

But if at each part of our life we sail past the labours of virtue, suffering shipwrecks everywhere, then when we come to the harbour destitute of spiritual freight, we shall undergo the uttermost penalties.

For the present life is a wide-stretched ocean.

And just as in this sea there are diverse gulfs, having diverse storms;

and the Aegean is difficult on account of the winds;

and the Tyrrhenian strait, on account of its narrowness;

and the Charybdis near Libya, on account of its shallows;

and the Propontis outside the Euxine Sea, on account of its violent and rushing current;

and the parts beyond Gadeira, on account of their desolation and the untrodden and unexplored nature of those regions;

and another part for another reason;

so it is also in the case of our life.

And first one may see the sea of childhood, having much tossing on account of its foolishness, on account of its fickleness, on account of its want of stability.

For this reason we set over them both guardians and teachers, supplying by our diligence what is lacking to nature, just as there this is done by the art of the pilot.

After this age there succeeds the sea of youth, where the winds are violent, as in the Aegean, our desire waxing greater.

And this age above all is bereft of correction;

not only because the passions trouble it more violently, but also because its sins are not reproved;

for by this time both the teacher and the tutor withdraw.

When therefore the winds blow more violently, and the pilot is weaker, and there is none to ward them off, consider the greatness of the storm.

After this again comes another portion of life, that of grown men, upon whom the cares of a household press;

the begetting of children, the governing of a house, and snowstorms of many anxieties.

Then above all do both covetousness and envy flourish.

When therefore we pass through every portion of life amid shipwrecks, how shall we suffice for the present life? How shall we escape the punishment to come? For when in the first age we learn nothing wholesome, and in youth we are not chaste, and having become men we do not master covetousness, but come to old age as into a bilge, and by all these blows have made the vessel of the soul weaker, its planks loosened, we shall arrive at that harbour bearing much refuse instead of spiritual merchandise, and shall furnish laughter to the devil but lamentation to ourselves, and shall draw upon ourselves unbearable torments.

In order, then, that these things may not happen, let us gird ourselves on every side, and standing firm against all the passions, cast out the desire of wealth;

that we may also attain the good things to come, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory unto the ages of ages.