使徒行傳講道集 第 21 章

And when Saul had come to Jerusalem, he attempted to join himself to the disciples;

and they were all afraid of him, not believing that he was a disciple.

But Barnabas took hold of him and brought him to the apostles, and related to them how on the way he had seen the Lord.

Here it is worth raising a difficulty: how is it that in the Epistle to the Galatians he says, 'I went not up to Jerusalem, but into Arabia and Damascus;'

and that 'After three years I went up to Jerusalem to visit Peter,' and that 'None of the apostles did I see;'

but here, on the contrary, that Barnabas brought him to the apostles?

Either, then, he means this: that 'I went not up in order to lay the matter before them' (for he says there, 'I conferred not with flesh and blood;'

'neither did I go up to Jerusalem to those who were apostles before me');

or, if not this, that the plot in Damascus took place after his coming from Arabia, he says, and then again the going up took place after his coming from there.

At any rate, he himself did not go to the apostles, but attempted to join himself to the disciples, inasmuch as he was not a teacher, but a disciple.

So it was not for this that he went up, that he might go to those who were before him;

for neither did he learn anything from them.

Or, he does not speak of this going up, but omits it, so that the order is thus:

He went into Arabia, then came to Damascus, then to Jerusalem, then into Syria.

Or, if not this, again thus: that He went up to Jerusalem, then was sent forth to Damascus, then into Syria, then to Damascus again, then to Caesarea, and then after fourteen years, perhaps when he brought up the brethren together with Barnabas.

Or, if not this, he is speaking of another occasion.

For the historian abridges many things, and brings many occasions together.

Observe how he is not fond of display, nor does he narrate that vision, but passes it by.

But he begins again thus, and says:

'And when he had come to Jerusalem, he attempted to join himself to the disciples.'

And from this again the ardor of Paul is shown;

Not from Ananias, nor from those who marveled at him there, but even from those in Jerusalem.

For that was truly beyond all human expectation.

And observe how he went, not to the apostles—out of modesty—but to the disciples, inasmuch as he himself was a disciple.

For as yet he was not reckoned worthy of trust.

But Barnabas took him and brought him to the apostles, and related to them how on the road he had seen the Lord.

This Barnabas was a man both gentle and mild.

For his name is interpreted 'Son of consolation.'

Whence also he became a friend to Paul.

And that he was exceedingly kind and easy of access, this is plain both from the matters now in hand and from what befell concerning John.

Hence this man is not afraid, but relates how on the road he had seen the Lord, and that He had spoken to him, and how at Damascus he had spoken boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus.

For it is likely that even at Damascus he had heard the things concerning him.

Therefore, making these things confirmatory of those, by his deeds he established what had been said.

And he was with them going in and going out at Jerusalem, and speaking boldly in the name of Jesus.

And he spoke and disputed with the Hellenists.

Since the disciples feared him, and the apostles did not believe him, on this account he there dispels their fear.

'And he spoke,' it says, 'and disputed with the Hellenists.'

By 'Hellenists' he means those who spoke in Greek.

For those others, the deep Hebrews, did not even wish to look upon him.

But they attempted to kill him.

This is a token of his vehemence and of his victory by main force, and of their being exceedingly grieved at what had come to pass.

But when the brethren learned of it, they brought him down to Caesarea.

For fearing henceforth lest the same should happen as in the case of Stephen, they bring him down to Caesarea.

And they sent him forth to Tarsus.

Even though it was through fear, nevertheless they send him—at once both to preach and to be in safety, seeing that he was in his own native land.

But mark me, how not all things come to pass by grace, but God permits them also to order many things by their own wisdom and after a human fashion.

For if this happened in his case, much more in others.

He permits it, therefore, that He may cut off the pretext of the slothful.

So then the Churches throughout all Judea and Samaria had peace, being edified and walking in the fear of the Lord, and were multiplied by the comfort of the Holy Spirit.

He is about to speak concerning Peter, and how he goes down to the saints.

Lest, then, anyone should suppose this to be from fear, he first relates in what state the Churches were, showing that when there was persecution it was in Jerusalem.

But when the affairs of the Church were everywhere in safety, then at last he leaves Jerusalem also.

So fervent was he, and at the same time vehement.

For not because there was peace did he think there was no need of his presence.

And why, one asks, does he do this, and come while there is peace, and after Paul had departed? Because they especially reverenced them, seeing that they had often stood forth and been marveled at by the multitude.

But him they despised, and rather were savage against him.

You see how peace succeeds to war? Or rather, you see what that war accomplished? It scattered abroad those who make peace.

In Samaria Simon was put to shame.

In Judea the affair concerning Sapphira took place.

Not, then, because there was peace were affairs relaxed; but such was the peace that it even needed exhortation.

Now it came to pass, as Peter passed throughout all quarters, he came down also to the saints who dwelt at Lydda.

Even as some general, he went about inspecting the ranks—which part was well compacted, which in good order, which had need of his presence.

Observe how everywhere he runs about, and is found the first.

When an Apostle had to be chosen, this man was first.

When there was need to discourse to the Jews about their not being drunk, when to heal the lame man, when to make a public address—this man is foremost of the rest.

When it was against the rulers, this man.

When it was against Ananias, when healings came to pass from his shadow, this man was there.

And where there was danger, this man; and where there was arrangement to be made.

But where matters are full of calm, they all act in common.

Thus he did not demand for himself greater honor.

Again, when there was need to work a miracle, he himself springs forward.

And here again this man toils in his own person, and journeys on foot.

And there he found a certain man named Aeneas, who had kept his bed for eight years, being paralyzed.

'Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you;'

'arise, and make your bed for yourself.'

And why did he not wait for the man's faith, nor ask whether he wished to be healed? For indeed the miracle was chiefly done for the encouragement of many.

Hear, at least, how great the gain was.

And all who dwelt in Lydda and in Sharon saw him, who turned to the Lord.

Whence also he gives a proof of the sign—the taking up of the bed.

For they did not merely deliver from diseases, but together with health they furnished strength as well.

And besides, at that time they had not yet given proofs of their own power, so that with good reason faith was not demanded of the man, since neither did they demand it of the lame man.

As, then, Christ at the beginning of the signs did not demand faith, so neither did these men.

For in Jerusalem, with good reason, their faith was demanded beforehand.

Whence also, through faith, as many as were held by infirmities were laid out in the streets, that when Peter came, at least his shadow might overshadow some one of them.

For many signs came to pass there, but here this happens for the first time.

For some of the signs were done for the sake of drawing others to them, but others for the encouragement of the believers.

Now at Joppa there was a certain disciple named Tabitha, which by interpretation is called Dorcas.

She was full of good works and of alms-deeds which she did.

And it came to pass in those days that she fell sick and died.

And when they had washed her, they laid her in an upper chamber.

And since Lydda was near to Joppa, the disciples, having heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him, entreating him not to delay to come through to them.

Why did they wait until she had died? Why was Peter not troubled to come even before this? Being philosophers henceforth, they thought it unworthy to trouble the disciples over such matters, and to trouble the

For it is on this account that he says that it was near by, so as to show that they made this request only as a secondary matter (for she was a disciple), but not as something they sought in the first place.

And Peter arose and went with them.

When he had come, they brought him up into the upper room.

They do not entreat him, but leave it to him, that of his own accord he might grant her life.

Thus here is fulfilled the saying, 'Almsgiving delivers from death.'

And all the widows stood about him weeping, and showing the coats and garments which Dorcas had made while she was with them.

Where she lay dead, they bring Peter up, perhaps thinking that they were conferring some favor upon him in respect of his high calling.

You see how great an increase there had come to be? Not without purpose is the woman's name mentioned, but that we may learn that it was fitly given, so watchful and vigilant was she, like a gazelle.

For many names are given with a providential design, as we have often told you.

'She was full,' it says, 'of good works and of the alms which she did.'

Great is the woman's commendation, if indeed she did both in such measure as to be full of both.

And it is clear that she first attended to those matters, and only then took care of this.

'All that Dorcas did,' it says, 'while she was with them.'

For they were not as we are, but all held things in common, making much account of almsgiving.

And Peter put them all outside, and knelt down and prayed;

and turning to the body he said:

And she opened her eyes, and when she saw Peter she sat up.

Why does he put them all outside? So that he might not be disturbed by their tears, nor thrown into confusion.

And he knelt down and prayed.

This is a token of earnest and intense prayer.

'And he took her,' it says, 'by the hand.'

Here he shows the life being brought in by degrees, and then the power: the one through the word, the other through the hand.

And giving her his hand, he raised her up.

And calling the saints and the widows, he presented her alive;

to these for their comfort, both because they had received back their sister, and because they had seen a miracle;

And it became known throughout all Joppa, and many believed on the Lord.

And it came to pass that he stayed many days in Joppa with one Simon a tanner.

See the unassuming and gentle spirit of Peter: how he does not lodge with this woman, nor with any other of the notable persons, but with a tanner;

leading all men by every means to humility of mind, neither suffering the lowly to be ashamed, nor the great to be lifted up;

who also for this reason decided to pass through those parts, since those who had believed had need of his teaching.

Let us then look again at what has been said, from the beginning.

'He attempted,' it says, 'to join himself to the disciples.'

He did not come forward shamelessly, but with reserve.

And he calls 'disciples' even those who did not belong to the company of the twelve;

because all were then called disciples on account of their great virtue;

for the likeness of the disciples was manifest in them.

'And they were all afraid of him,' it says.

See how they feared the dangers, how the terror still was at its height.

But Barnabas took hold of him, and brought him to the apostles, and told them.

It seems to me that Barnabas was a friend of his from earlier times;

for which reason also he relates all that concerned him.

But of these things he himself says nothing;

and I think that he would not have disclosed them even to the others later on, had not some necessity come upon him.

And he was with them going in and out at Jerusalem, and speaking boldly in the name of the Lord Jesus.

This also gave the others confidence to be bold.

Do you see how, both there and here, the others take forethought and make arrangements so that he might depart, and how as yet he nowhere enjoys any divine intervention? In this way at least his own vehemence is shown.

So that it seems to me he did not make the journey by land, but from that point onward also went by sea.

And this too comes about by a providential ordering, so that he might preach there as well.

So then even the plots against him were for their benefit, and his coming to Jerusalem was providentially ordered, that the things concerning him might no longer be disbelieved.

And he spoke and disputed with the Hellenists.

'And the churches had peace,' it says, 'being edified, and walking in the fear of the Lord;'

that is, they increased; and this very peace, I suppose, in relation to itself—the true peace.

For the war from without had grievously afflicted them.

And they were multiplied by the comfort of the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit comforted them both through the miracles and through their works;

and apart from these things, each one also in himself.

And it came to pass, as Peter passed throughout all parts, that he came down also to Lydda.

And he found there a man lying, and said to him:

Aeneas, Jesus the Christ heals you.

It was not of one making a display in the word, but of one confident that it would be so.

And it seems to me very likely that the sick man believed this word, and became whole.

And that he was free from arrogance is clear also from what follows;

but rather he relates it as a sign.

And those who dwelt at Lydda saw it, and turned to the Lord.

So then it was not in vain that I said the miracles were wrought for the purpose of persuading and exhorting.

'Now at Joppa,' it says, 'there was a certain disciple named Tabitha.'

And it came to pass in those days that she fell sick and died.

You see how everywhere the signs come to pass? Tabitha did not die without cause, but having fallen into sickness.

For which reason also they do not call Peter until after she had died.

And when the disciples had heard, they sent to him, entreating him not to delay to come through unto them.

Observe, they send and summon him through others.

And he is persuaded and comes, not accounting the matter—that he was thus summoned—to be an affront.

So great a good is affliction.

This it is that welds together our souls.

Nowhere is there any wailing there, nowhere any lamentation.

'When they had washed her,' it says, 'they laid her in an upper chamber'—

that is, they performed for her all the customary rites over the dead.

'Then Peter arose and went with them.'

'And having gone up into the upper chamber, he kneeled down and prayed, and turning to the body he said'—

God does not grant that all signs be wrought with the same ease.

For assuredly it was not only for the salvation of others that he took thought, but also for their own.

At all events, he who by his very shadow healed so many, now does so much toward raising her up.

There are instances, moreover, where the faith of those who came also co-operated.

Her, then, he raises first from the dead, calling her by name—

or rather, as one roused from sleep, she first opened her eyes, then straightway upon seeing Peter she sat up, and finally by the touch of his hand she was made strong.

But consider with me how here again is the cedar—and the fruit which is not for mere display.

For this very reason, indeed, he also puts everyone forth outside, herein too imitating the Master.

For where there are tears, such a mystery ought not to be performed—

or rather, where there are miracles, there ought to be no tears present.

Hearken, I beseech you: even if no such thing takes place now, yet even in the dead of our own day a great mystery is accomplished.

Tell me now: if, while we were sitting, the king sent someone summoning us to the palace, ought we to weep and lament? Angels are here, sent from heaven and come from thence, dispatched by the King himself to call away their fellow-servant—

and do you weep? Do you not know what a mystery it is that is taking place? how awe-inspiring and fearful it is, and truly worthy of hymns and of joy?

Will you learn, that you may know that it is no season for tears? This is a most mighty mystery of the wisdom of God.

For, as though quitting some house, the soul goes forth, hastening toward its own Master—

and do you mourn? Then you ought to do this at the birth of a child also—

for indeed this too is a birth, and one better than that.

For the soul goes forth unto another light, it is released as from some prison, it comes out as from a contest.

'In the case of the approved,' you say, 'you speak these things rightly.'

And what is that to you, O man? For you do not do this even in the case of the approved.

Tell me now, what fault could you find with the little child? For what reason do you mourn it? What of the newly-baptized? For he too has come round to the same state.

For what reason, then, do you mourn him? Do you not know that, even as the sun rises pure—

so also the soul, leaving the body with a pure conscience, shines forth radiantly? Not even a king entering a city amid so great a silence can be beheld, as a soul that has left the body and departs in company with angels.

Consider what the soul is, in what amazement it then finds itself, in what wonder, in what delight.

For surely you do not do this only in the case of sinners?

Would that it were so, and I would not have hindered the mournings—

would that such were your aim.

This lamentation is apostolic; this lamentation is the Master's also—

for Jesus also wept over Jerusalem.

I could wish that mournings were distinguished by this rule.

But when, calling upon the dead, you speak of your familiar words and companionship and protection, it is not on this account that you mourn, but you make a mere pretext of it.

Mourn the sinner, groan over him, and I too will let fall my tears—

yea, I even more than you, inasmuch as such a one is liable to a greater punishment—

I too will lament, with such a purpose.

And it is not you alone that ought to lament such a one, but the whole city as well, and those who meet him, even as men do those who are led away to death.

For in truth this is a grievous death, the death of sinners.

But all things have been turned upside down.

This lamentation is both a matter of true wisdom and carries much instruction—

if we all mourned with this lamentation, we should be setting them right while yet they live.

Even as, then, if you had the power to apply medicines that would ward off that bodily death, you would do so—

so also now, if only you were to mourn this death, you would have prevented it from coming to pass both upon yourself and upon him.

But as it is, what is done is a riddle—

that, having the power not to suffer this death to come upon him, you let it come to pass, and once it has come to pass, you mourn.

They are truly worthy of lamentation: when they shall stand before the judgment-seat of Christ, what words shall they hear? what things shall they suffer? These men have lived in vain—

or rather, not in vain, but even to their hurt.

And concerning these it is seasonable to say—

'It had been profitable for them if they had not been born.'

For what profit is there, tell me, in having consumed so much time to the hurt of one's own head? For if it had merely been consumed in vain, the loss would not have sufficed.

Tell me, if some hired labourer, having served twenty years, were to wear himself out for nothing, would he not weep and lament, and seem to be more pitiable than all men? And this man too has worn out his whole life for nothing, nor lived a single day for himself, but for luxury, for wantonness, for greed, for sin, for the devil.

Shall we not, then, lament this man? tell me.

Shall we not try to snatch him from his perils? For it is possible—yes, it is possible, if we are willing—to make his punishment light for him.

If, then, we make continual prayers on his behalf, if we give alms—

even though he be himself unworthy, God will be moved to regard us.

If for Paul's sake He saved others, and for the sake of some He spares others—

how shall He not also for our sake work this very thing? Out of his goods, out of your own, from wherever you will, render aid—

drop upon him oil—nay rather, water.

Has he no alms-deeds of his own to show? Then at least those of his kindred.

Has he not those done by himself? Then at least those done on his behalf.

So with boldness shall his wife then intercede for him, having laid down a ransom on his behalf.

The more he has become liable for the greater number of sins, so much the more does he need almsgiving.

And not for this reason only, but also because it no longer possesses equal strength now, but far less.

For it is not the same thing for a man to do it himself, and for another to do it on his behalf.

Since therefore it is the lesser, let us by numbers make it very great.

Let us not busy ourselves about tombs, nor about grave-clothes.

Bid all to make supplications on his behalf, and prayers of intercession;

this will move God to compassion; for even though it be not by the man himself, yet on his account another becomes the cause of the almsgiving.

And this too is a token of God's love toward man.

Widows standing round and weeping are able to rescue, not from the present, but even from the death that is to come.

Many too have profited from the alms done by others on their behalf.

For even if not completely, yet still they found some consolation;

since, if this were not so, how are infants saved? And yet there they contribute nothing themselves, but the parents do the whole;

and to women children have often been granted, though the children brought nothing of their own.

God has given us many ways to be saved; only let us not be careless.

What then, one says, if a man be poor? Again I say, the greatness of the alms is not judged only by what is given, but also by the purpose of the will.

Only give not less than thy ability, and thou hast paid the whole.

And what if he be a stranger, and have no one? And why has he no one? tell me.

In this very thing he pays a penalty, that he has no one so friendly, so virtuous.

This then comes to pass, that even if we ourselves be not virtuous, we may be diligent to have virtuous comrades and friends, both wife and son, as reaping some benefit through them also;

reaping indeed but little, yet reaping nonetheless.

If thou be diligent to take, not a rich, but a devout wife, thou shalt enjoy this consolation.

Likewise if thou be diligent to leave behind, not a rich son, but a devout one, and a modest daughter, thus too shalt thou enjoy this consolation.

If thou be diligent in these things, thou thyself also shalt be such a one.

And this too is a part of virtue, to choose such friends, and wife, and children.

Not in vain are the oblations made for the departed, not in vain the supplications, not in vain the alms-deeds;

all these things the Spirit ordained, willing that we should be benefited one by another.

That man is benefited by thee, and thou art benefited by him;

thou didst despise riches, being moved to do some noble deed;

and thou hast become to him the cause of salvation, and he to thee the cause of almsgiving.

Doubt not that he shall reap some good thing.

Not without meaning does the deacon cry aloud:

'For those who have fallen asleep in Christ, and for those who make the memorials on their behalf;'

it is not the deacon who utters this voice, but the Holy Spirit;

What sayest thou? The sacrifice is in the priest's hands, and all things lie ready prepared;

angels are present, archangels;

the Son of God is present;

with such awe do all stand;

those ministers stand crying aloud, while all keep silence;

and dost thou think that what is done is done without meaning? Then are the other things also done without meaning—both what is offered for the Church, and what for the priests, and what for the whole congregation? God forbid;

but all things are done with faith.

What thinkest thou is the offering made for the martyrs, the being named in that hour? Even though they be martyrs, even though it be for martyrs, it is a great honour to be named in the presence of the Master, when that death is being celebrated, that awful sacrifice, those unutterable mysteries.

For just as, while the king is seated, whatever a man may wish, he accomplishes;

but when he has risen, whatever he may say, he says in vain;

so also then, so long as the mysteries lie set forth, it is for all a very great honour to be deemed worthy of remembrance.

Then is proclaimed the awful mystery, that God gave Himself for the world;

together with that wonder He seasonably reminds Him of those who have sinned.

For just as when the triumphs of kings are celebrated, then are acclaimed all who shared in the victory, but those also are released who are in bonds, for the occasion's sake;

but when the occasion is past, he who did not obtain it no longer enjoys any such thing;

so verily also here, this is the season of the triumph.

For 'as often,' He says, 'as ye eat this bread, ye proclaim the Lord's death.'

Let us not then approach carelessly, nor imagine that these things come to pass as it may chance.

Moreover we make mention of the martyrs, and this for a proof of faith, that the Lord is not dead;

and this is a sign that death has been put to death, that He has become dead.

Knowing these things, let us devise as many consolations as we can for the departed—instead of tears, instead of laments, instead of monuments, our alms-deeds, our prayers, our oblations—that both they and we may attain the good things that have been promised, by the grace and love toward man of the only-begotten Son, with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, honour, now and ever, and unto the ages of the ages.