歌羅西書講道集 第 1 章

Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Timothy our brother, to the saints and faithful brethren in Christ who are at Colossae: grace be unto you and peace from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ.

All Paul's epistles are indeed holy, but those which he sent while himself in bonds have something more; such is that to the Ephesians, such that to Philemon, such that to Timothy, such that to the Philippians, and such this present one.

For this too was sent while he was a prisoner, as he shows when he writes, saying:

'For which I am also in bonds, that I may make it manifest, as I ought to speak.'

But this epistle seems to be later than that to the Romans.

For that one he wrote to the Romans while he had not yet seen them, but this one when he had already beheld them, and was near the close of his preaching.

For in the epistle to Philemon he says, 'Being such a one as Paul the aged, and also making request on behalf of Onesimus.'

But in this epistle he sends Onesimus himself, as he says, 'With Onesimus, the faithful and beloved brother,' calling him faithful and beloved and a brother.

Wherefore also he speaks with confidence in this epistle:

'From the hope of the Gospel, which ye heard, which was preached in all the creation that is under heaven.'

For the preaching had already lasted some time.

This epistle then, I think, is later, and the one to Timothy comes near his very end;

for there he says, 'For I am now ready to be offered.'

That to the Philippians, then, is the earlier;

for in that one he appears to be at the beginning of his bonds at Rome.

But for what reason do I say that these epistles have something more? On this account, that he writes them while in bonds;

as if some victorious champion, in the very midst of the slaughter and while erecting his trophies, were sending letters.

For he too himself knew that this was a great thing;

for writing to Philemon he says, 'Whom I have begotten in my bonds.'

And this he said that we might not be vexed at hardships, but might even rejoice.

Here among these people was Philemon;

for there too, when writing, he says, 'And to Archippus our fellow-soldier;'

and here he says, 'Say to Archippus.'

This man seems to me to have been entrusted with some charge of the Church.

But he had seen neither these, nor the Romans, nor the Hebrews, at the time when he wrote to them.

And concerning those others he makes it plain in many places; but concerning these, hear him saying, 'And as many as have not seen my face in the flesh;'

and again, 'For though I be absent in the flesh, yet am I with you in the spirit.'

Thus he knew that his presence was a great thing everywhere, and always sets himself before them, even when absent;

and when he punishes the fornicator, mark how he sets himself before the tribunal.

'For I verily,' he says, 'as absent in body but present in spirit, have already judged as though I were present;'

and again, 'I will come to you, and will know not the speech of them that are puffed up, but the power;'

and again, 'Not only in my presence with you, but much more in my absence.'

'Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God.'

It is worth while also to state the subject-matter, which we have found from the epistle.

What then is it? They were being brought to God through angels, and had many observances, both Jewish and Gentile.

For this reason also at the very outset he says, 'By.'

Behold, again he has set down the word 'By.'

'And Timothy the brother,' he says.

So then he too was an apostle.

And it is likely that he too was known to them.

and this is plain from Laodicea being near.

'And to the faithful brethren in Christ.'

Whence, tell me, hast thou become holy? whence art thou called faithful? Is it not because thou wast sanctified through the death of Christ? Is it not because thou believest in Christ? Whence hast thou become a brother? For not by any work, nor by any word, nor by any right achievement of thine didst thou appear faithful.

Whence wast thou entrusted with so many mysteries, tell me? Was it not for Christ's sake? 'Grace be unto you and peace from God our Father.'

Whence is grace unto you? whence is peace? 'From God,' he says, 'our Father.'

And yet in this passage he does not add the name of Christ.

To those who calumniate the Spirit I will say: whence is God the Father of servants? Who wrought these great things? Who made thee holy? Who made thee faithful? Who made thee a son of God? He that made thee worthy of trust, He also is the cause of thy being entrusted with all things.

For we are called faithful not merely because we believe, but also because we have been entrusted by God with mysteries which not even the angels knew before us.

But it was a matter of indifference to Paul so to arrange these things.

'We give thanks to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.'

It seems to me that he refers everything to the Father, so as not at once to set the doctrine before them.

'Praying always for you.'

Not by his thanksgiving only, but also by his unceasing prayer, he shows his love, that even those whom he had not seen he had continually within himself.

'Having heard of your faith in Christ Jesus.'

Having above said 'of our Lord,' here he says 'Jesus Christ.'

'He it is that is Lord,' he says;

not, the servants of Jesus Christ.

And these too are tokens of His benefaction;

'For He,' he says, 'shall save His people from their sins.'

'Having heard of your faith in Christ Jesus, and of the love which ye have toward all the saints.'

It is Epaphras who brings these tidings.

But he sends the epistle by Tychicus, keeping the former with himself.

'And the love,' he says, 'which ye have toward all the saints.'

'For the hope which is laid up for you in the heavens.'

'The good things,' he says, 'that are to come.'

This is said with a view to their trials, that they might not here seek their ease.

For lest any one should say, And what is the gain of love toward the saints, while they are being cut off? 'We rejoice,' he says, 'because ye are procuring great things for yourselves in the heavens.'

'For the hope,' he says, 'which is laid up.'

'Whereof ye heard before in the word of the truth.'

Here his word is one that smites them, namely that, having had it a long time, they had fallen away.

'Which you heard before,' he says, 'in the word of the truth of the Gospel.'

And he bears witness that the word is truth.

He does not say 'of the preaching,' but he calls it a Gospel, continually reminding them of the benefits of God.

And having first praised them, in this way he reminds them of these things.

'Which is come unto you, as it is also in all the world.'

He said 'is come' in a figurative sense.

It did not, he says, arrive and then depart, but it remained and is there still.

Then, since most people are especially confirmed by having many who share their doctrines, for this reason he added, 'As it is also in all the world.'

Everywhere, he says, it is present; everywhere it prevails; everywhere it stands firm.

'And it is bringing forth fruit, and growing, as it does also in you.'

Bringing forth fruit through works, growing by taking in many, by being more and more firmly established.

For indeed among plants they become thick and abundant precisely when the plant has been firmly rooted.

He wins over the hearer beforehand with praises, so that he may not fall away even unwillingly.

The marvel is that you drew near and believed so quickly, and immediately, from the very outset, you displayed the fruits.

'From the day that you heard, and knew the grace.'

Not in word, he says, nor in deception, but in the very works themselves. This, then, is what he means by 'bringing forth fruit';

that is, together with the signs and wonders, at the very moment you received them, at that same moment you came to know the grace of God.

How then is it not grievous that what immediately displayed its own power should now be disbelieved? 'As you also learned from Epaphras, our beloved fellow-servant.'

It is likely that this man had preached there.

Then, showing the man to be worthy of trust, he says, 'our fellow-servant.'

'Who is a faithful minister of Christ on your behalf, who also declared to us your love in the Spirit.'

Do not be in doubt, he says, concerning the hope that is to come;

you see the whole inhabited world turning to conversion.

And what need is there to speak of what happens among others? The things among yourselves are, even apart from these, trustworthy.

'For you knew the grace of God in truth';

that is, in the works.

So that these two future things are confirmed: both that all believed, and that you also believed;

and it was not that one set of things happened while Epaphras reported another.

But in what sense 'a minister on your behalf'? In that he went away to him, and declared to us, he says, your love in the Spirit;

that is, the spiritual love.

But if this man is a minister of Christ, how do you say that access is gained through angels? 'Who also declared to us,' he says, 'your love in the Spirit.'

For this love is marvelous and sure;

whereas the other loves have only the name of love.

But there are some loves that are not such;

and for that reason it becomes easily dissolved.

There are many occasions that produce friendships;

and for the present let us pass over the shameful ones;

for no one will contradict us concerning those, since they are wicked;

but, if you will, let us bring forward into the midst the natural and the worldly ones.

The worldly ones, then, are these:

as when someone received a kindness, or acquired a friend from his forefathers, or shared a table or a journey, or is a neighbor;

this kind, then, is not pure;

for it has in it a certain jealousy and envy.

The natural loves are such as that of father toward son, of son toward father, of brother toward brother, of a grandfather toward a grandchild, of a mother toward her children;

and, if you will, let us add also that of a wife toward her husband;

for indeed all marital loves are worldly and earthly.

These, then, seem to be more vehement than those;

but they only 'seem' so, I said, because they are often surpassed by the former.

For indeed in other cases friends have shown themselves more genuinely disposed than brothers, and than sons toward their fathers;

and the one who was begotten did not help, while the one who did not even know him stood by and gave aid.

But spiritual love is higher than all these, like some queen ruling over her own, and it has a splendid form;

for nothing earthly gives it birth, as it does that other love—not habit, not a benefit conferred, not nature, not time—but it comes down from above, from heaven.

And why do you marvel that it needs no benefit in order to hold together, when it is not even overturned by suffering ill? That this love is greater than that, hear Paul saying:

'I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren.'

What father would ever have prayed this, that he might be among evils? And again: 'To depart and be with Christ is far better;

but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for your sakes.'

What mother would ever have chosen to say these things, so as to overlook her own interests? And again hear him saying:

'For having been bereaved of you for a short season, in presence, not in heart.'

And here the father, when he was affronted, dissolved the friendship; but there it was no longer so—rather, he went off to those who were stoning him in order to do them good.

For nothing, nothing is so strong as the bond of the Spirit.

For he who became a friend on account of receiving a kindness, unless this continues perpetually, will become an enemy;

he who was inseparable through habit, again, once the habit is broken off, has quenched the friendship.

The wife again, if a quarrel arises, forsook her husband and dissolved her longing;

the son, if he sees his father living to a great age, is even burdened by it.

But in the case of the Spirit there is none of these things;

for by none of these is it dissolved, since it does not even arise from them.

neither time, nor length of journey, nor suffering ill, nor being ill spoken of, nor anger, nor insult, nor anything else comes in to break it, nor is able to dissolve it.

And that you may learn this: Moses was being stoned, and yet he interceded on their behalf.

What father would have done this on behalf of the one stoning him, rather than himself have stoned him too? Let us then pursue these friendships that spring from the Spirit;

for they are strong and hard to dissolve.

For there too we are forbidden to bring in such motives.

For hear Christ speaking in the Gospel:

'When you make a feast, do not call your friends, nor your neighbors, but the lame and the maimed.'

For great is the reward laid up for these things.

But you cannot, you say, nor can you endure to feast alongside the lame and the blind, but you count this a heavy and burdensome thing, and you decline? To be sure, it ought not so to be; yet even so there is no compulsion.

Even if you do not have them sit down at table with you, send them the food from your table.

For the one who calls his friends has done nothing great;

for he has already received his reward here.

But the one who calls the maimed and the poor has God as his debtor.

Let us not, then, be vexed when we do not receive our reward here, but rather when we do receive it here;

for there we shall no longer receive it.

Likewise, if a man repays, God does not repay;

but if this man does not repay, then God will repay.

Let us not, therefore, seek to do good to those who are able to repay us, nor let us do good to them upon such hopes;

If you invite your friend, the favor lasts only until the evening;

for this reason friendship is spent more quickly than the money laid out, or than the occasions themselves.

But if you invite the poor man and the maimed, the favor will never perish;

for you have as your debtor the One who always remembers and never forgets—God.

And how great a folly is it, tell me, not to be able to sit down with the poor? What do you say? 'He is unclean,' you say, 'and filthy.'

Then wash him, and bring him up to your table.

But has he filthy garments? Then change them, and give him a clean robe.

Do you not see how great the gain? Christ comes to you through him, and do you haggle over this? When you invite the King to your table, do you fear expense for such things? Let two tables be set: let the one be filled from these—the blind, the lame, the crippled in hand, the maimed in leg, the barefoot, clad in a single little tunic, and that one worn threadbare;

but let the other have potentates, generals, provincial governors, great rulers, clad in costly garments and fine linen, girded with golden belts.

Again, here at the table of the poor let there be neither silver nor much wine, but only what suffices and is able to gladden;

and let the cups and the rest of the vessels be made of glass alone;

but there, at the table of the rich, let all the vessels be of silver and gold, and let not one man carry the semicircular couch, but let two young men scarcely move it;

and let there be a gilded bowl weighing half a talent, so that two young men can scarcely lift it, and let the wine-jars stand in a row, gleaming with gold far more splendidly than silver;

and let the semicircular couch be spread on every side with a soft coverlet.

Again, here let there be many attendants, arrayed in garments no less finely than the guests who recline, splendidly clad, wearing trousers, fair to look upon, in the very flower of their age, vigorous and well-formed;

but there let there be only two attendants, who have trodden underfoot all this vanity;

and for the one company let the food be costly, but for the other only so much as will quench hunger and fill them with cheer.

Have I now spoken sufficiently? Are both tables prepared with precision? Is anything wanting? For my part I think not;

for I have gone over the guests, and the sumptuousness both of the vessels and of the coverlets and of the viands.

But even so, if we have left anything out, we shall find it as we carry the discourse further.

Come then, since each table has fittingly received its proper arrangement, let us see where you will take your place.

For I, for my part, will go off to that table of the blind, of the lame;

but most of you perhaps will choose this one, that of the generals, the bright and splendid one.

Let us see, then, which is fuller of pleasure;

for let us not yet examine the things to come;

for in those things this table of mine prevails.

Why? Because this one has Christ reclining at it, but that one has men;

this one has the Master, that one the servants.

But not yet let us speak of these things; rather let us see which has the greater pleasure in the present.

And in this respect, then, this pleasure of ours is the greater;

for to recline with a king brings greater pleasure than to recline with the household slaves.

But let us set even this aside, and examine the matter itself in and of itself.

Well then, I and those who have chosen this table with me will, with much freedom and gladness of heart, both say everything and hear it;

but you, trembling and afraid, and abashed before those who recline with you, will not even dare to stretch out your hand—as though you had entered a schoolmaster's court and not a banquet—trembling as before dread masters.

But the honor, you say, is great.

And yet I am in greater honor;

for your cheapness appears the greater, when, though you share the same table, you put forward the words of slaves.

For the slave then most of all appears a slave, when he is reclining together with his master.

For he comes to be where it does not befit him to be, gaining from the association not so much dignity as humiliation;

for then he is exceedingly humbled.

And one may see the slave as splendid in himself, and the poor man as splendid in himself, not when he walks together with the rich;

for the lowly, when it is near the lofty, then appears lowly, and the juxtaposition shows the lowly to be yet lowlier, not loftier.

So too does reclining with those men show you to be the cheaper, but not us.

In these two respects, then, we have the advantage—in freedom and in honor—and nothing is equal to these as a measure of pleasure.

For I, for one, would rather partake of bread with freedom than of ten thousand dainties with servitude.

For 'better,' it says, 'is a meal of herbs with friendship and favor, than a fatted ox from the stall with enmity.'

For whatever those men may say, the guests present must needs either praise it or give offense, having taken on the role of parasites—or rather, being worse than these.

For to those men, even if it be with shame and with being insulted, there yet belongs some measure of frankness;

But such is the cheapness on your side;

for you are afraid and cowering.

That table, therefore, is bereft of all pleasure, but this one is full of all gladness of heart.

But let us examine also the very nature of the viands themselves.

For there one must, even against his will, burst himself with the abundance of wine, whereas here it is not possible to eat and drink against one's will.

So that there the pleasure arising from the quality of the food is taken away both by the dishonor that goes before it and by the disgust that comes from surfeit.

For surfeit no less than famine destroys and pains our bodies, but rather much more grievously;

and whomever you may choose to give me, I would more easily burst him with surfeit than with famine.

For truly this is more bearable than that;

for a man might endure hunger even for twenty days, but fullness he could not endure for so much as two;

and those in the fields, continually wrestling with hunger, are in health and have no need of physicians;

but this—I mean fullness—they could not endure without continually summoning physicians;

or rather, the tyranny of this fullness has often put even the help of those physicians to shame.

And so, as regards pleasure too, this table holds the first place.

For if honour is sweeter than dishonour, and to be in authority than to be in subjection, and to be confident than to tremble and be afraid, and to enjoy what suffices rather than beyond

measure to be plunged into the surging sea of luxury, then this table is better than that even for the sake of pleasure.

And in respect of expense too, this is the better;

for that one is costly, but this one is not.

But what then? Is this table sweeter only to those who recline at it, or does it bring more pleasure than the other to him who gives the invitation as well? For this is what we are the more inquiring into.

Now he who invites those others makes preparation many days beforehand, and is compelled to have troubles and cares and anxieties, neither sleeping by night nor resting by day;

but forming many schemes within himself, conferring with cooks, with confectioners, with those who lay the table.

Then, when the very day is come, one might see him more fearful than those about to box, lest anything should turn out contrary to expectation, lest he be smitten by envy, lest he thence gain many accusers.

But this other man is delivered from all this care and trouble, providing his table on the spur of the moment, and taking no anxious thought many days beforehand.

And moreover, after all this, the one straightway loses his reward;

but the other has God as his debtor, and is nourished by good hopes, feasting every day upon that table.

For the victuals are consumed, but the grace is not consumed; rather, day by day he rejoices and is gladdened more than those who have gorged themselves with much wine.

For nothing so nourishes the soul as a good hope and the expectation of good things.

But let us now behold what follows.

There are flutes and lyres and pipes, but here no discordant strain;

but what? Hymns, psalmody.

There the demons are hymned, but here the God who is Lord of all.

Do you see how full of grace this one is, and how full of thanklessness and insensibility that one is? For tell me:

God has fed you from His good things, and while you ought to give thanks to Him after being fed, do you instead bring in the demons? For the songs sung to the harps are nothing else but songs of demons.

When you ought to say, 「Blessed art Thou, O Lord, for Thou hast fed me from Thy good things,」 do you, like some worthless dog, not even remember, but bring in the demons? Nay rather, dogs, whether they have received or not, fawn upon their own masters, but you do not even this.

The dog, even when it receives nothing, fawns upon its master, but you, even when you have received, bark against Him.

Again, the dog, even when it is well treated by a stranger, does not on that account lay aside its enmity towards him, nor let itself be drawn to friendship;

but you, though you suffer ten thousand evils at the hands of the demons, bring them in to your feasting;

so that you are doubly worse than the dog.

And I have well been reminded of dogs now, in speaking against those who give thanks only when they fare well.

Be ashamed, I beseech you, before the dogs, which even when famished fawn upon their masters;

but you, if you hear that a demon has healed someone, straightway forsake the Lord, O you who are more irrational than the dogs.

But the harlots, one says, afford pleasure when they are looked upon.

What kind of pleasure? And what kind of thing but dishonour? Your house has become a brothel, a madness and a frenzy;

and are you not ashamed to call these things pleasure? Now, if it be lawful to indulge in every pleasure, the shame is greater and the disgust that comes of it.

How so? It is no hard thing to make one's house a brothel and to take pleasure like swine wallowing in mire. But if it goes only so far as looking, behold again a greater anguish;

for the sight is not pleasure when there is no gratifying of it, but rather the desire is greater and the flame more vehement.

But would you learn the end? The one sort rise from the table resembling madmen and those distraught—insolent, wrathful, laughable even to their slaves;

and the servants withdraw sober, but these masters drunken.

But there is nothing of the sort in the other case; rather, having sealed the table with thanksgiving, they thus withdraw home, taking pleasure when they sleep, taking pleasure when they rise, delivered from all shame and accusation.

If you would also see the very guests who were invited, you will see these to be of such a kind:

inwardly, what those others are outwardly—blind, maimed.

And such as are the bodies of these, such are the souls of those, held fast by dropsy and inflammation;

for after luxury comes maiming;

for such is fullness and drunkenness, making men lame and crippled.

And you will see these too having souls such as the bodies of those—splendid, adorned.

For those who live in thanksgiving, who seek nothing beyond a sufficiency, who thus pursue the love of wisdom, are in all cheerfulness.

But let us behold the end here also, and there.

There is licentious pleasure, unrestrained laughter, drunkenness, buffoonery, foul language;

for since they themselves are ashamed to utter shameful things, this is done through the harlots.

But here is loving-kindness, gentleness.

Now beside him who invites those others stands vainglory, arming him;

but beside him who does this here stand loving-kindness and gentleness.

For loving-kindness sets that table in order, but vainglory and cruelty set this one, out of injustice and covetousness.

And that ends, as I said, in delirium, in ecstasy, in madness;

for such is the offshoot of vainglory;

but this ends in thanksgiving and the glory of God.

And the praise, too, that comes from men is greater for this;

for that man they even envy, but this man all have as a common father, even those who have not been benefited.

And just as, in the case of those who have been wronged, even they who have suffered no wrong grieve together, and all become common enemies;

so too, in the case of those who are well treated, even they who have not been benefited, just like those who have, praise and admire the doer.

And there is much envy, but here much affectionate care, many prayers from all.

And there, when Christ comes, this man will stand with much boldness, and will be heard before the whole world: 「Thou sawest Me hungry, and didst feed Me;

a stranger, and didst take Me in,」 and all such things;

but that man will hear the contrary: 「Thou wicked and slothful servant;」

and again, 「Woe to them that live delicately upon their couches, and that sleep upon beds of ivory, who drink the strained wine and anoint themselves with the choicest ointments, who reckoned these things as abiding and not as fleeting.」

These things have not been said by us idly, but so as to change your mind, and that you may do nothing unprofitable.

What then, one says, if I do both these things and those? This is a saying common with all.

And what necessity is there, tell me, when it is possible to do all things usefully, to make a division, and some things to spend not merely on no need but even at random, and others usefully? Tell me, if in sowing you cast some seed upon the rock, and some upon the best ground, would this content you, and would you say:

For what harm is done if we cast some seed at random and some upon the best soil? Why not cast it all upon the best soil? Why do you diminish the gain? Now if money had to be gathered, you would not talk like this, but would gather it from every quarter; yet there you gather no longer.

And if he had to lend, he would not say such a thing.

Why shall we give part to the poor and part to the rich, instead of giving it all to the poor?

But here, where the gain is so great, why do you not reckon this up and cease at last from squandering at random and spending in vain? Yet this too brings gain, someone says.

What kind, tell me? It increases friendships.

Nothing is colder than men who become friends from such things — from the table and from the gluttony of parasites.

Nothing is more distasteful than a friendship that takes its beginning from this.

Do not insult so wonderful a thing as love, nor say that this is its root.

It is as if, when a tree bore gold and precious stones, someone should say that its root was not such, but was born of rottenness.

For even if a friendship be born from this source, nothing could be colder than it.

But those tables (of charity) make friendship — not with men, but with God — and an intense friendship, when they themselves are performed with intensity.

For he who spends part here and part yonder, even if he give much, has done nothing great.

But he who spends all here, even if he have given but little, does the greater thing.

For what is sought is not to give much or little, but to give not less than one's own ability.

Let us call to mind him who had the five talents, and him who had the two.

Let us call to mind the woman who cast in the two mites.

Let us call to mind the widow in the days of Elijah.

That woman who cast in the two mites did not say:

'What harm is it if I keep one mite for myself and give the other?' But she gave her whole living.

But you, being in such abundance, are more sparing than she.

Let us not, then, be careless of our own salvation, but let us apply ourselves to almsgiving.

For nothing is better than this.

And the time to come shall show it.

Yet for the present the time now here has also shown it.

Let us therefore live to the glory of God, and let us do the things that are pleasing to Him, that we may be counted worthy of the good things that are promised;

which may it be granted to us all to attain, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the might, the honour, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.