希伯來書講道集 第 24 章

These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off and greeted them, and having confessed that they are strangers and sojourners upon the earth.

For they that say such things make it manifest that they are seeking a homeland.

And if indeed they had been mindful of that country from which they came out, they would have had opportunity to return;

but now they long for a better country, that is, a heavenly one.

Therefore God is not ashamed of them, to be called their God;

for He has prepared for them a city.

The first virtue, and the whole of virtue, is to be a stranger and a sojourner to this world, and to have nothing in common with the things here, but to be detached from them as from things alien, even as those blessed disciples of whom He says:

They wandered about in sheepskins and in goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, ill-treated—of whom the world was not worthy.

They, then, called themselves strangers;

but Paul said something even far greater.

For he did not simply call himself a stranger, but he said that he was dead to the world, and the world dead to him.

'For to me,' he says, 'the world has been crucified, and I to the world.'

But we, as though we were citizens here and very much alive as citizens, so do we transact all our affairs here.

And what the righteous were to the world—strangers and dead—that we are to heaven.

But what they were to heaven—living and conducting their citizenship there—that we are to the world.

For this reason we have died, because we denied the life that is truly life and chose this transitory one.

For this reason we provoke God, because although the enjoyment that is in the heavens lies set before us, not even so are we willing to withdraw from the things upon the earth; but, like certain worms, we keep turning about from earth to earth and again from this to this, and are utterly unwilling even a little to lift up our heads, nor to draw ourselves away from human affairs, but as though sunk beneath some torpor and sleep and drunkenness, we are stupefied by phantoms.

And just as those held fast by sweet sleep lie upon their bed not only in the night, but even when dawn has broken and bright day has come, and are not ashamed to indulge their pleasure, making the very time for work and diligence a time for sleep and sloth—

so indeed do we also, though the day draws near and the night is far advanced—or rather the day—

'For work,' he says, 'while it is day.'

While it is day, we do all the works of the night, sleeping, seeing dreams, reveling in fantasies.

And the eyes of our understanding are shut, as also those of the body; we mutter astray, we babble.

And though someone strike us a deep blow, we do not even feel it; though he plunder all our substance, though he set fire to our very house—

or rather, we do not even wait for others to do this, but we ourselves do it, goading and striking ourselves every day, lying in unseemly fashion, stripped bare of all good repute and all honor, neither covering over our shameful deeds ourselves, nor permitting others to do so, but lying exposed to the eyes of those who behold and

the passers-by, set forth as a laughingstock and as an object of countless mockeries.

Do you not think that even the wicked themselves laugh at those of like manners and condemn them? For since God has implanted in us an incorruptible tribunal, one never to be bribed, even should we come to the very depths of vice—

on this account even the wicked themselves condemn themselves; and should anyone call them by that which they truly are, they are ashamed, they are angered, they say the matter is an insult.

Thus, even if not by deeds, yet by words they condemn what they do—through their conscience, or rather even through their deeds.

For whenever they act in secret and in hiding, they bring forth the greatest proof of the opinion they hold concerning the matter.

For vice is so manifest that all are its accusers, even those who pursue it.

And such is virtue, that it is admired even by those who do not emulate it.

For indeed even the fornicator will praise chastity, and the covetous man will condemn injustice, and the wrathful man will admire forbearance and blame small-mindedness, and the licentious man will blame licentiousness.

'How then,' someone says, 'does he pursue these things?' Out of much slothfulness, not having judged it to be good—

since otherwise he would not have been ashamed of the deed, nor would he have denied it when another accused him.

And many, being caught out, unable to bear the shame, have even hanged themselves;

so great is the testimony within us to what is good and fitting;

thus are good things brighter than the sun, and their opposites more hideous than all else.

Strangers and sojourners were the saints.

How and in what manner? And where does Abraham confess himself to be a stranger and a sojourner? Perhaps he too confessed it;

but that David confessed it is somewhere plain to all;

and hear him saying, 'I am a stranger and a sojourner, as were all my fathers.'

For those who dwelt in tents, those who purchased even burial-places with silver, were plainly strangers to such a degree that they did not even have a place where they might bury their own dead.

What then? Were they saying they were strangers only to that land in Palestine? By no means, but to the whole inhabited world, and rightly so;

for they beheld in it none of those things which they desired, but all were strange and alien to them.

They themselves, then, wished to practice virtue;

but here, where there was much wickedness, the state of things was estranged from them;

they had no friend, no kinsman, save a very few.

But how were they strangers? By not caring for the things here—and this they showed not by words, but by their very deeds.

How and in what manner? He said to Abraham,

'Leave the fatherland that seems to be yours, and come into a foreign land';

and he did not cling to his own possessions, but as one about to forsake a foreign land, so did he leave it without any attachment.

And as one who had no son, so did he offer him up; as one not clothed with his own nature, so did he offer him up. His goods he held in common with all the passers-by, and reckoned the matter as nothing;

he yielded the chief places to others, he cast himself into dangers, he suffered countless hardships;

he built no splendid houses, nor did he live in luxury, he took no care for fine clothing, nor for anything else that belongs to the things here;

but he lived out all the ways of the city that is above, displaying hospitality, brotherly love, mercy, forbearance, contempt for riches and for present glory and for all else.

And his son too was such a man;

being driven out and warred against, he gave way and yielded, inasmuch as he was in a foreign land;

for strangers, whatever they suffer, bear it, seeing that they are not in their own fatherland.

And when his wife was taken from him, this too he bore, inasmuch as he was a stranger;

and all the things above he lived out, displaying all self-control and orderliness.

For indeed, after begetting children, he no longer had relations with his wife;

and when the prime of youth had passed, then he took her, showing that he did this not for passion's sake, but in service to the promise of God.

And what of Jacob? Did he not seek only bread and clothing, which are truly the requests of strangers who have come into great poverty? Was he not driven out and forced to withdraw, like a stranger? Did he not serve as a hireling? Did he not suffer countless hardships, wandering about everywhere like a stranger? And these things

they bore while suffering, showing that they were seeking another fatherland;

they, indeed, were in travail every day, longing to depart from here and to return to their own fatherland;

for if a fever falls upon us, forsaking all things, like little children who are crying, we dread death;

and with good reason do we suffer this.

For since we do not pass our life here as strangers, nor hasten as toward a fatherland, but are as men departing to punishment, on this account we grieve, because we did not use things as we ought, but reversed the order;

on this account we lament when we ought to rejoice; on this account we shudder, like certain murderers and arch-robbers about to be brought before a tribunal, reckoning up all that they have done, and on this account fearing and trembling.

But not such were those men; rather, they hastened onward;

and hear him saying, 'And we ourselves who are in this tent groan, being burdened.'

Such were those about Abraham;

strangers, he says, they were to the whole inhabited world, and they were seeking a fatherland.

Which one, then? Was it the one they had left? By no means;

for what hindered them, if indeed they had wished, from returning again and becoming citizens? But they were seeking that fatherland which is in the heavens.

Thus did they hasten toward the departure from hence, and thus were they pleasing to God;

wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God.

He deigned to be called their God.

What do you say? He is called God of the earth, and God of heaven, and yet you have set it forth as some great thing that He is not ashamed to be called their God? It is great, truly great, and a token of much blessedness.

How so? Because He is called God of earth and of heaven in such a way as He is also God of the Greeks; He is God of heaven and earth as He created and fashioned them;

But with those holy ones it was not so; rather it was as with some genuine friend.

I will make this plain to you by an example.

For instance, in great households, when certain of those who manage the house are held in high esteem—and held in very high esteem—and themselves administer everything, and have great freedom of speech toward the masters, the master comes to be named after them.

And one might find many who are so named.

But what am I saying? It was as though one were to say, 'God'—not of the nations, but of the whole inhabited world;

even so it was to say, 'The God of Abraham.'

But you do not know how great this dignity is, since we do not even attain to it.

For just as now the Lord is called the God of all Christians, and yet the name surpasses our worthiness,

if He should be called the God of a single man, consider how great the magnitude of it.

The God of the whole inhabited world is not ashamed to be called the God of three men—and with good reason;

for the saints are a counterweight, not merely to the inhabited world, but to countless such worlds.

For one man doing the will of the Lord is better than countless transgressors.

That they called themselves strangers in this way is clear.

But grant that these called themselves strangers because of the foreign land;

but what of David? Was he not a king? Was he not a prophet? Did he not dwell in his own homeland? Why then does he say, 'I am a stranger and a sojourner'? How are you a stranger? 'Even as,' he says, 'all my fathers were.'

Do you see that they too were strangers? 'We have a homeland,' he says, 'but not the true homeland.'

For as they were, so also is he; and as he is, so also were they.

Let us then become strangers too, at least now, so that God may not be ashamed of us, to be called our God.

For it is a shame to Him when He is called the God of wicked men, and He is Himself ashamed of them; just as, on the contrary, He is glorified when He is the God of good and kindly men who practice virtue.

For if we decline to be called the masters of our wicked slaves, and let them go free,

and if someone comes and says, 'So-and-so does countless evil deeds—is he your slave?' we at once reply, 'By no means,' shaking off the reproach;

for there is a bond between the slave and the master, and the ill repute passes over even to the latter from the former;

but those men were so illustrious, so full of freedom of speech, that not only was He not ashamed to be called their God, but He even called Himself so, saying, 'I am the God of Abraham, and the

God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.'

Let us too, beloved, become strangers, so that God may not be ashamed of us—so that He may not be ashamed and deliver us over to hell.

Such were those who said, 'Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name, and in Your name do many mighty works?' But see what Christ declares to them:

the very thing that masters would do to wicked servants who come running to them, wishing to shake off the reproach.

How then do you punish those whom you do not know? 'I do not know'—I have said it in another sense; that is, 'I disown you and refuse you.'

But may it never be that we should hear this deadly and dreadful voice!

For if those who cast out demons and worked prophecies were disowned, because their life did not accord with their words,

how much more shall we be? And how, someone asks, is it possible that those who displayed prophecies, and worked signs, and cast out demons should be disowned? It is likely that they afterwards changed and became wicked;

hence they gained no benefit even from their former virtue.

For one must have not only a brilliant beginning, but an even more brilliant end.

For tell me: does not the orator strive to make the closing parts of his speech brilliant, so as to depart amid applause? And he who performs a public service for the city—does he not display the concluding parts of that service as the more splendid? The athlete, if he does not make those latter contests the more brilliant and win to the very end—even if, after conquering all, he is conquered by the last—is not everything rendered useless to him? The pilot, if after crossing the whole sea he wrecks his vessel right at the harbor, has he not lost all his former toil? And what of the physician? If, having freed the sick man from his disease, at the very moment he is about to set him wholly free he then destroys him, has he not destroyed the whole? So too with virtue: all those who did not set upon the beginning an end that follows it, harmonious and in concord, have perished and been ruined.

Such are those who leap forth from the starting-line brilliant and proud, but afterwards grow slack and become feeble;

wherefore they were deprived of the prize and were not acknowledged by the Master.

Let us who love money hear these things;

for this happens to be the greatest lawlessness.

For 'the love of money,' he says, 'is a root of all evils.'

Let us hear, we who wish to make our existing substance greater;

let us hear, and let us at last cease from covetousness, so that we may not hear the very things that they too heard.

Let us hear them now and keep ourselves on guard, so that we may not hear them then;

let us hear now with fear, so that we may not then hear with punishment: 'Depart from Me,' He says, 'I never knew you'—not even then, He says, when you were displaying prophecies and casting out demons.

It is likely that here He hints at something else as well: that even then they were of a wicked life;

but in the beginning grace wrought even through the unworthy.

For if it wrought even through Balaam, much more through the unworthy—and this for the sake of those who were to profit thereby.

And if even signs and wonders had no power to free from punishment, much more—though a man happen to be in the priestly dignity, though he attain to the highest honor, though grace wrought in his ordination, though it wrought in all else for the sake of those who need oversight—he too will hear: 'I never knew you; not even then, when grace wrought in you.'

Ah, how great is the demand for purity of life there!

how it, even by itself, suffices to bring us into the kingdom!

and how, when it is absent, it betrays the man, even if he has countless wonders and signs to display!

For nothing so gladdens God as an excellent manner of life.

'If you love Me,' He says—He did not say, 'Work signs,' but what? 'Keep My commandments.'

'I call you friends'—not when you cast out demons, but 'If you keep My words.'

For those former things are of the gift of God;

but these latter things, after the gift of God, are also of our own diligence.

Let us be diligent to become friends of God, and let us not remain His enemies.

We are always saying these things, always exhorting both ourselves and you to them, but nothing more comes of it;

and I would indeed have wished to be silent, so as not to increase your danger;

for to hear often and yet not act accordingly is to provoke the Master;

but I too fear that other danger, the danger of silence, seeing that, being appointed to the ministry of the word, I should be keeping silent.

'What then shall we do,' someone asks, 'that we may be saved?' Let us make a beginning of virtue while we still have time;

let us apportion the virtues among ourselves, just as farmers apportion the work of husbandry;

in this month let us master reviling, insolence, and unjust anger, and let us lay down for ourselves a law, and say, 'Today let us succeed in this';

and in the next month let us train ourselves in long-suffering, and in another another virtue;

and when we have come into the settled habit of this virtue, let us pass on to another—just as with lessons—guarding what we have already acquired and taking on others besides.

After that let us come to the contempt of riches;

first let us restrain our hands from covetousness, and then let us practice almsgiving;

let us not confound everything indiscriminately, both plundering with the same hands and supposedly showing mercy;

after this to another virtue, and after that to yet another.

'Filthiness,' he says, 'and foolish talking and jesting—let it not even be named among you.'

There is no need of expenditure, no need of toils, no need of sweat.

It is enough merely to will, and everything is accomplished.

There is no need to travel a long road, nor to cross a boundless sea, but only to be earnest and eager, and to put a bridle upon the tongue to restrain untimely revilings.

Let us cast out from our soul wrath, unseemly desires, luxury and extravagance, the craving for riches, false oaths, and habitual swearing.

If we thus cultivate ourselves, plucking up the former thorns and casting in the heavenly seed, we shall be able to attain the good things that have been promised.

For the Husbandman will come, and will lay us up in His storehouse, and we shall obtain all good things.

which may it be granted us all to attain, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, honor, and adoration, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.