帖撒羅尼迦前書講道集 第 2 章

'For from you has sounded forth the word of the Lord, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but in every place your faith toward God has gone out, so that we have no need to speak anything.'

'For they themselves report concerning us what manner of entrance we had unto you, and how you turned to God from idols, to serve the living and true God, and to await His Son from the heavens, whom He raised from the dead, even Jesus, who delivers us from the wrath to come.'

Just as a fragrant perfume does not keep its sweet smell shut up within itself, but sends it forth far off, and, tinging the air with its scent, thus instils it also into the senses of those nearby;

even so do noble and admirable men not keep their virtue shut up within themselves, but through their fame benefit many and make them better.

Which is exactly what happened then too.

'So that you became patterns to all who believe in Achaia and Macedonia.'

'For from you,' he says, 'has sounded forth the word of the Lord, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but in every place your faith toward God has gone out.'

'With your teaching, then,' he says, 'you filled all who were near, but with the wonder of it the whole inhabited world;'

for the phrase 'in every place' means this.

He did not say, 'Your faith is talked about,' but, 'It has sounded forth.'

He shows that, just as when a trumpet sounds clearly every neighboring place is filled with its noise, so the fame of your courage, like that trumpet blast, is able to fill the whole world and to fall upon all men everywhere with equal resonance.

For great deeds, wherever they take place, are sung the more brilliantly; and though at a distance they are indeed sung, yet not so brightly.

But in your case it is not so; rather, a clear resonance has gone forth into every part of the earth.

And let no one suppose these words to be an exaggeration.

For this nation of the Macedonians was renowned even before the coming of Christ, and it was celebrated everywhere more than the Romans.

And the Romans were admired for this very reason, that they had subdued them.

For the deeds which the king of the Macedonians accomplished surpassed all telling: setting out from a small city, he took possession of the whole world.

For this reason the prophet also beholds him as a winged leopard, signifying his swiftness, his vehemence, his fiery ardor, and how he suddenly, as it were, flew across the world with trophies and victory.

They say, moreover, that when he heard a certain philosopher declaring that there are infinite worlds, he groaned bitterly, seeing that, when the worlds were infinite, he had not yet mastered even one.

So high-minded and great-souled was he, and he was celebrated in every part of the world.

Together with the fame of the king, therefore, the glory of the nation also rose.

For he was called Alexander the Macedonian.

So that, as he was noised abroad, it was fitting that the things done in that region should likewise be sung everywhere.

For nothing that pertains to illustrious men can remain hidden.

The affairs of the Macedonians, therefore, were no less notable than those of the Romans.

'Your faith toward God,' he says, 'has gone forth.'

Observe how, as though speaking of something living, he has set down the word 'has gone forth.'

And this too came to pass from their vehemence.

Then, showing that they had displayed their faith to be so vehement and active, he adds:

'So that we have no need to speak anything.'

'For they themselves report concerning us what manner of entrance we had unto you.'

They do not wait to hear about you, but those who are present and have beheld your

good deeds, those who were not present and had not beheld them, receive the report.

So manifest has it become everywhere to men's hearing.

Therefore we shall not need, by recounting your affairs, to lead them into the like zeal;

for the very things which they ought to have heard from us, these they themselves anticipate and tell.

And yet, in many cases, envy attends such matters;

but the surpassing greatness overcame even this, and they themselves are heralds of your struggles.

And yet, though left behind, not even so do they keep silence, but they hasten to speak first.

When they are such men, it is impossible for us not to be believed when we speak.

What does it mean, 'What manner of entrance we had unto you'? That it was full of dangers, of ten thousand deaths, and that none of these things troubled you;

but, as though nothing had happened, so you held fast to us;

as though we had suffered no evil, but had enjoyed ten thousand good things, so you received us thereafter.

For this was a second entrance.

For instance, they went away to Berea, and were persecuted;

and when they came again thereafter, they received them so as even to be honored by them, so that they even laid down their own lives for their sake.

The phrase 'What manner of entrance we had,' therefore, is a compound one;

for it contains the praise both of these and of those;

but he himself turned this to their credit.

'And how you turned,' he says, 'to God from idols, to serve the living and true God.'

That is to say, that you turned easily, with much vehemence, and that you did not require much dealing in order to serve the living and true God.

Here he has also introduced an exhortation, which makes the discourse less burdensome to the speaker.

'And to wait,' he says, 'for His Son from the heavens, whom He raised from the dead, even Jesus, who delivers us from the wrath to come.'

'And to wait,' he says, 'for His Son from the heavens'—Him who was crucified, who was buried;

wherefore, making this plain also, he adds, 'Whom He raised from the dead.'

Do you see all things together—the resurrection, and the ascension, and the second coming, the judgment, the recompense of the righteous, the punishment of the wicked? 'Even Jesus,' he says, 'who delivers us from the wrath to come.'

This is at once a consolation, an encouragement, and an incitement for them.

For if He raised Him from the dead, and He is in heaven, and from thence He shall come—and that this is so you have believed;

for you would not, had you not believed, have suffered so many things—

even these things are a sufficient consolation.

But if these men shall assuredly also pay the penalty—which indeed he says likewise in the second epistle—you also shall have another consolation, and that no small one.

And in another way, too, he said 'to wait for His Son from the heavens,' showing that the terrible things are at hand, but the good things are yet in the future, when Christ shall come from the heavens.

See how much hope is required—that He who was crucified was raised, that He was taken up into the heavens, that He comes to judge the living and the dead. 'For you yourselves know, brethren, our entrance unto you, that it was not in vain, but though we had suffered before and been shamefully treated, as you know, at Philippi, we waxed bold in our God to speak unto you the gospel of God with much conflict.'

Great indeed were your deeds also; yet neither did we employ a merely human argument.

But what he says above, that same he says here also: that the preaching is shown from both sides to be what it is—from the signs, from the purpose of those who preached, and from the ardor and eagerness of those who received it.

'For you yourselves know, brethren,' he says, 'our entrance unto you, that it was not in vain;'

that is to say, that it was not human, nor a chance thing.

For, having come out of great dangers and deaths and blows, we straightway fell into fresh dangers.

'But having suffered before,' he says, 'and been shamefully treated, as you know, at Philippi, we waxed bold in our God.'

Do you see how again he ascribes the whole to God? 'To speak unto you the gospel of God with much conflict.'

'It cannot be said,' he says, 'that there indeed we were in danger, but here not;'

you also know how great was the danger, and with how great an agony we came unto you;

writing that 'in weakness, and in labor, and in fear, and in much trembling I was among you.'

'For our exhortation was not of error, nor of uncleanness, nor in guile;'

'but even as we were approved of God to be entrusted with the gospel, so we speak; not as pleasing men, but God, who proves our hearts.'

Do you see that, as I said, from their steadfastness he makes a proof that the preaching is divine? For had it not been so, had it been a deception, we would not have endured so many dangers, which did not even give us leave to breathe.

What then is it? Unless something of the things to come had roused us, unless we had been persuaded that there is a good hope, we would not have been disposed to be the more ready even while suffering.

For who would choose to endure so much for the sake of things here, and to live a life full of conflict and laden with dangers? For whom would they persuade? For are not these very things enough to trouble the disciples, when they see their teachers in dangers? But you have not suffered this;

'For our exhortation,' that is, our teaching, 'was not of error.'

'The thing is not guile,' he says, 'nor deception, that we should give way.'

It is not over foul practices, such as those of sorcerers and magicians.

For this is the meaning of the words 'not of uncleanness.'

'Nor in guile,' nor by way of some conspiracy, such as Theudas contrived.

'But even as we have been approved by God to be entrusted with the Gospel, so we speak, not as pleasing men, but God.'

Do you see that there is no vainglory? 'But God,' he says, 'who tries our hearts.'

'We do nothing,' he says, 'for the sake of pleasing men.'

For to what end should we have done these things? Then, having praised them by saying, 'Not as wishing to please men, nor seeking honors from men,' he added:

'But even as we have been approved by God to be entrusted with the Gospel.'

Had He not seen us set free from every worldly concern, He would not have chosen us.

As therefore He approved us, such do we also remain.

'We have been approved,' he says, 'by God.'

That is, He proved us and entrusted us with the Gospel.

As therefore we were shown approved unto God, so also do we remain.

The proof of this virtue is that we were entrusted with the Gospel.

For had there been anything base in us, God would not have approved us.

The word 'He approved' here stands for 'He found us approved and entrusted us,' not for the act of scrutinizing.

For we indeed act after examining, but He acts without any need of examination.

Therefore we so speak, as it is fitting for those who have been approved by God and entrusted, being worthy of the Gospel.

And, 'We speak, not as pleasing men.'

That is, we do not do all these things on your account.

Since he had first praised them, that he might not bring his words into suspicion, he says:

'For neither at any time did we use words of flattery, as you know, nor a pretext for covetousness, God is witness; nor sought we glory from men, neither from you nor from others, though we might have been burdensome as apostles of Christ.'

'For neither at any time,' he says, 'did we use words of flattery.'

That is, we did not flatter, which is the mark of deceivers, of those who wish to gain a hold and to dominate.

It cannot be said that we flattered in order to prevail, nor that we came to this for the sake of money.

For this then, which was manifest, he calls them themselves to witness.

'If we flattered,' he says, 'you yourselves know.'

But for that which was hidden—namely, whether it was by way of covetousness—he calls God to witness.

'Nor sought we glory from men, neither from you nor from others, though we might have been burdensome as apostles of Christ.'

That is, neither seeking honors, nor boasting, nor going about with a train of attendants.

And yet, even if we had done this, we should have done nothing strange.

For if those who are sent by kings are nevertheless held in honor, how much more we?

And he did not say that 'We were dishonored,' nor that 'We did not enjoy honor,' which would have been to reproach them.

We then, who, though it was allowed us to seek it, did not seek it—and this even though the preaching demanded it—how should we do anything for the sake of glory?

And yet even if we had sought it, not even so would it have been a matter for accusation.

For it is fitting that those sent from God to men, coming as it were now as ambassadors from heaven, should enjoy much honor.

But we, out of abundance, do none of these things, that we may stop the mouths of our adversaries.

And it cannot be said that toward you we behaved thus, but toward others not so.

For thus also, writing to the Corinthians, he said:

'For you bear with it, if a man brings you into bondage, if a man devours you, if a man takes of you, if a man exalts himself, if a man strikes you on the face.'

And again, 'His bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible.'

And again, 'Forgive me this wrong.'

For there too he shows that he was exceedingly lowly from having suffered so much.

But here he speaks also concerning money, saying:

'Though we might have been burdensome as apostles of Christ.'

'But we were gentle in the midst of you.'

'As a nurse cherishes her own children, even so, being affectionately desirous of you, we were well pleased to impart to you, not the Gospel of God only, but also our own souls, because you were become dear to us.'

'But we were,' he says, 'gentle.'

That is, we displayed nothing oppressive, nor grievous, nor burdensome, nor having any pomp.

And the phrase 'in the midst of you' means this, as one might say, 'from among you,' not having received our lot from on high.

'As a nurse,' he says, 'cherishes her own children.'

Such ought the teacher to be.

Does the nurse flatter, that she may obtain glory? Does she ask money of the little children? Is she burdensome and grievous to them? Are they not rather more tender than mothers? Here he shows his tender affection.

'Thus,' he says, 'being affectionately desirous of you,' that is, longing for you.

'So closely are we bound to you,' he says, 'that not only do we take nothing, but if it were needful to impart even our souls, we would not have declined it.'

Is this then, tell me, of human mind? And who is so foolish as to say this? 'We were well pleased,' he says, 'to impart to you, not the Gospel of God only, but also our own souls.'

So that this is greater than that.

And what is the gain? From the Gospel, indeed, there is gain.

But to give one's soul is, in respect of its difficulty, greater than that.

For it is not the same thing simply to preach and to give one's soul.

For the former is indeed more honorable, but the latter was of greater difficulty.

'We were willing,' he says, 'if indeed it had been possible, even to pour out our very souls into you.'

Since therefore he had praised them and still praises them, on this account he says: 'Not seeking money, not flattering you, not desiring glory, do we do this.'

If, after they had contended much and were to be praised and admired for their marvelous deeds, so that they might become more steadfast, then the praise would have carried suspicion with it.

For this reason, repelling the suspicion, he speaks of the perils.

And again, lest he should be thought to speak of the perils on this account—as though laboring on their behalf, and owed honor by them—on this very account, after speaking of the perils, he added:

'Because you were become dear to us.'

Showing that on this account we would gladly have given even our souls for you, because 'We are exceedingly bound to you.'

The Gospel, then, since God commanded it, we proclaim.

But we love you so greatly, that if it had been possible, we would have given even our souls.

One ought so to love the one who loves us that, even if he were asked for his very soul, and it were possible, he would not refuse to give it.

Why do I say, 'if he were asked'? Rather, one should himself run eagerly to make such a gift.

For nothing, nothing could be sweeter than such love.

There nothing grievous shall ever befall.

Truly a faithful friend is the medicine of life.

Truly a faithful friend is a strong shelter.

For what would a genuine friend not accomplish? How much delight would he not create? How much benefit? How much security? Though you should name ten thousand treasures, none is worth as much as a genuine friend.

And first let us speak of friendship itself, how great a delight it possesses.

He rejoices at the sight of him and is filled with gladness; he is entwined with him in a certain embrace of soul that holds an unspeakable delight.

And even if he but calls him to mind, he is roused and uplifted in soul.

I am speaking of genuine friends, of kindred souls, of those who would choose even to die for one another, of those who love fervently.

Do not, thinking of those who love merely in a common way—table-companions and friends in name only—suppose that my argument is refuted.

If anyone has a friend such as I describe, he will recognize the truth of these words.

Even if he sees him every day, he is not sated.

He prays for him the same things that he prays for himself.

I know a man who, entreating holy men on behalf of a friend, begged them to pray first for the friend, and only then for himself.

So great a thing is a good friend that even places and times come to be loved for his sake.

For just as radiant bodies shed their bloom of light upon the neighboring places, so also friends, in whatever places they are present, leave behind their own grace.

And often, coming without our friends to those places, we have wept, remembering the days in which we were together, and we have sighed.

It is not possible for words to set forth how great a delight the presence of friends imparts.

Only those who have had the experience know it.

From a friend it is possible both to ask a favor and to receive a favor without any suspicion.

When they lay a command upon us, then we are grateful to them; but when they hesitate, then we are troubled.

when they hesitate, then we are distressed.

We have nothing that is not also theirs.

Often, despising all things here, we are unwilling to depart hence for their sake.

and they are more longed-for than the light.

For indeed a friend is truly more longed-for than the light itself.

For it were better for us that the sun be quenched than that we be deprived of friends;

better to live in darkness than to be without friends.

For many who see the sun are yet in darkness, whereas those who are rich in friends would never fall into affliction;

I speak of spiritual friends, of those who prefer nothing above friendship.

Such was Paul, who gladly gave up his own soul, even unasked, and would gladly have fallen into hell for their sake.

Thus ought one to love, with a disposition set aflame.

I wish to give an example of friendship.

Friends surpass fathers and sons—friends, that is, according to Christ.

Do not tell me of the men of the present day, that this good also, along with the rest, has passed away;

but consider that in the days of the apostles—I do not mean the chief among them, but the very ones who had believed—

'The soul and heart of all,' it says, 'were one, and no one said that anything of his possessions was his own;'

'and distribution was made to each, according as anyone had need.'

There was not then 'mine' and 'thine.'

This is friendship: that one should not regard his own things as his own, but as his neighbor's, and his own as belonging to another;

that he may so spare his friend's soul as his own, and that the other likewise may display the same disposition.

'And where is it possible,' one says, 'to find such a man?' Yes, it is not possible—because we are unwilling;

since, if only we were willing, it would be entirely possible.

For if it were not possible, Christ would not have commanded it, nor would he have discoursed so much concerning love.

Friendship is a great thing, and how great it is, no one can learn, nor can any word set it forth, save the experience of it alone.

This it was that produced the heresies; this it is that still keeps the Greeks being Greeks.

He who loves wishes neither to command nor to rule, but rather is grateful when he is ruled and commanded;

he wishes rather to bestow a favor than to receive one;

for he loves, and is disposed as though he had not yet fulfilled his desire for him.

He does not so much delight in receiving good as in doing good;

for he wishes rather to have his friend in his debt than to be indebted to him;

or rather, he wishes both to be indebted to him and to have him as his debtor;

and he wishes to bestow a favor, yet does not wish to seem to bestow it, but rather to be his debtor.

Perhaps many of you do not, I think, understand what has been said;

so it is necessary to state it again. He wishes both to take the lead in benefaction and not to seem to take the lead, but to be making a return;

just as God also did in the case of men.

He was about to bestow His Son on our behalf; but, that He might not seem to be bestowing a gift but rather to owe us a debt, He commanded Abraham to give his son,

so that, though doing a great thing, He might seem to be doing nothing great.

For when there is no friendship, we even reproach men with our benefactions and exalt the small ones;

but when friendship exists, we even conceal them, and wish to make the great ones appear small, so that we may not seem to have our friend as a debtor, but rather ourselves to be his debtors in the very act of having him as our debtor.

I know that most people do not even grasp what is being said;

and the reason is that I am discoursing about a thing that now dwells in heaven.

Just as, then, if I were speaking of some plant that grows in India, of which no one has had any experience, my words could not set it forth, though I should say ten thousand things;

so also now, whatever I may say, I shall say in vain;

for no one will be able to comprehend it.

In heaven this plant is planted, bearing branches weighed down not with pearls, but with a life of virtue far sweeter than these.

What kind of pleasure do you wish me to name? The shameful? The honorable? But the pleasure of friendship surpasses them all, even if you should name that of honey.

For that becomes cloying;

But a friend never grows wearisome, so long as he remains a friend; rather the longing for him increases, and such a pleasure never reaches satiety.

A friend is sweeter than the present life itself;

many, at any rate, after the death of their friends have no longer wished to go on living.

With a friend a man would gladly bear even exile, while without a friend he would not choose to dwell even in his own homeland;

with a friend even poverty is bearable, but without him even health and wealth are unbearable.

Such a man possesses another self.

I am at a loss, because I cannot express it by way of an illustration;

for then I would have made it plain that what has been said falls far short of what is fitting.

But from God there is so great a reward for friendship as cannot even be told.

He gives us a reward, that we should love one another;

'Love,' He says, 'and receive a reward, for that very thing for which we owe a reward;'

'Pray,' He says, 'and receive a reward, for that for which we owe a reward, because we are asking for good things;'

'For that which you ask,' He says, 'receive a reward;'

'Fast, and receive a reward;'

'Become virtuous, and receive a reward,'—and this though you owe the reward;

but just as fathers, when they have made their children virtuous, then also give them a reward,

for they are debtors, because their children have established them in gladness;

so also God says, 'Receive a reward, if you become virtuous;'

'for you gladden your Father, and for this I owe you a reward;'

'for you provoke Him who begot you.'

Let us not, then, provoke God, but gladden Him, that we may attain the kingdom of heaven in Christ Jesus our Lord, and what follows.