約翰福音講道集 第 18 章

On the morrow again John was standing, and two of his disciples.

And looking upon Jesus as He walked, he says:

'Behold the Lamb of God.' And the two disciples heard him speaking, and they followed Jesus.

Human nature is somehow sluggish, and prone to fall into destruction—not by reason of the constitution of nature, but by reason of the slothfulness that springs from our own choice;

wherefore it stands in need of much admonition.

And so Paul too, writing on this account to the [Philippians, says]:

'To write the same things to you, to me indeed is not irksome, but for you it is safe.'

For the earth, having once received the seeds, straightway renders back the fruits, and needs not a second sowing;

but with our soul it is not so; rather, one may be well content, after sowing often and displaying much diligence, at last to be able to reap the fruit even once.

For first of all, the things spoken settle with difficulty into the understanding, because much hardness lies beneath it, and it is beset by countless thorns, and there are many who plot against it and snatch away the seeds.

Then, when they have been fixed and rooted, they need the same diligence again, that they may come to full growth, and having come may remain unharmed, and be no way injured by anyone.

For in the case of seeds, when the ear has been completed and gained its proper strength, it easily despises blight and drought and all the rest;

but in the case of doctrines it is not so; rather, even after the whole has been perfectly wrought, often a single storm and tempest coming on, when difficulty assaults, when men skilled in deceiving lay their plots, and when other manifold temptations are brought to bear, has done it hurt.

These things have not been said by us without reason, but that when you hear John uttering the same things, you may not condemn him for idle babbling, nor deem him superfluous and tiresome.

For he wished indeed to be heard when he had spoken but once;

but since not many gave heed to what was said from the first, because of their deep slumber, he rouses them once more with a second cry.

He had said that 'He who comes after me has become before me;'

and that 'He is not worthy to loose the latchet of His sandal;'

and that 'He baptizes with the Holy Spirit and with fire;'

and that he had beheld the Spirit descending as a dove and abiding upon Him;

and he had testified that 'This is the Son of God.'

Yet no one gave heed, nor inquired, nor said:

'Why do you say these things? and on whose behalf? and wherefore?' He said again, 'Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.'

Not even so did he lay hold of their insensibility.

For this reason then he is compelled to say the same things over again, as though softening by fresh tillage some hard and unyielding ground, and by his word, as by a plough, breaking up and raising afresh the compacted mind, so as to cast the seeds down into the depth.

For this very reason he does not make his discourse long either, because he was earnest about one thing only—to bring them near and to knit them fast to Christ.

For he knew that once they had accepted this and been persuaded, they would no longer need anyone to testify to Him henceforth.

For if the Samaritans, after hearing Him, say to the woman, 'It is no longer because of your saying that we believe;

for we ourselves know that this is indeed the Saviour of the world, the Christ;'

much more would the disciples be won over the sooner—which indeed also came to pass.

For having come and heard for a single evening, they returned no more to John, but were so riveted to Him that they took up John's ministry and themselves proclaimed Him.

'For this one,' it says, 'finds his own brother Simon, and says to him:

We have found the Messiah (which is, being interpreted, the Christ).'

But consider for me this also: how, when he said, 'He who comes after me has become before me,' and, 'I am not worthy to loose the latchet of His sandal,' he won over no one;

but when he discoursed concerning the dispensation, and brought his word down to the humbler theme, then the disciples followed.

And it is not this alone that we may observe, but also that the multitude are not so much drawn on when something great and lofty is spoken concerning God, as when something is said that is kindly and full of lovingkindness, and tends to the salvation of the men who hear.

At all events, they heard that He takes away the sin of the world, and straightway they ran to Him.

'For if it is possible to wash away our charges, wherefore,' they say, 'do we delay? Here is present One who will set us free without toils;

how then is it not the utmost folly to put off the gift?' Let the catechumens hearken, who defer their own salvation to their last breath.

'John,' it says, 'stood again and says:'

Christ says nothing, but he says all.

So it is also in the case of the bridegroom.

He himself says nothing as yet to the bride, but he is present in silence, while others make him known and the bride, and yet others give her into his hand;

she merely appears, and he does not go off having taken her of himself, but another delivers her over to him.

And when he has received her, so delivered, he so disposes her towards himself that she no longer remembers those who betrothed her.

This has come to pass in the case of Christ also.

He came to espouse the Church;

He Himself said nothing, but was merely present;

but His friend, John, placed in His the right hand of the bride, delivering into His hand by his words the souls of men.

And He, having received them thenceforth, so disposed them that they no longer went off to him who had delivered them.

And not this only, but there is yet another thing to be observed here.

For just as in the case of marriages the maiden does not go to the bridegroom, but he hastens to her—even though he be a king's son, and though he be about to betroth some mean and outcast woman, or even a handmaid—

so the nature of men did not ascend into heaven, but He Himself came down to this despised and mean nature;

and when the marriage had taken place, He did not suffer her to remain here any longer, but taking her, led her up to the Father's house.

But wherefore does not John take his own disciples apart, and discourse to them concerning these things, and so give them to Christ, but publicly, in the presence of all, says to them:

'Behold the Lamb of God'? That the deed might not seem to be a matter of contrivance.

For if, being privately urged by him, they had gone off, and as though doing him a favour, they would perhaps quickly have started away again;

but as it was, having accepted the following out of the common teaching, they remained thenceforth steadfast disciples, as not having followed for the sake of the favour towards their teacher, but sincerely and looking to their own gain.

Now the prophets and the apostles all proclaimed Him when He was absent;

the former before His coming in the flesh, the latter after His ascension;

wherefore also he calls him the friend of the bridegroom, since he alone was present at the marriage.

For he himself did all and brought all to accomplishment;

he himself furnished the beginning to the matter.

'And looking upon Jesus as He walked, he says:'

He said this to show that he bore witness not with his voice alone, but with his eyes as well.

For indeed he marveled at Christ, rejoicing and exulting.

And for the time being he does not make his words hortatory, but only marvels and is amazed at the One who is present.

And he makes plain to them all the gift on account of which He came, as well as the manner of the cleansing.

For the Lamb signifies both these things.

And he did not say, 'He who shall take,' or 'He who has taken away,'

but rather, 'He who takes away the sins of the world,' as though He does this continually.

For He did not take them away only then, when He suffered, but from that time until the present He takes away sins—not being ever crucified (for He offered one sacrifice for sins), but ever cleansing through that one sacrifice.

Just as, then, the title 'the Word' points out to us His pre-eminence, and 'the Son' reveals His distinction from all others,

so too 'the Lamb,' and 'the Christ,' and 'the Prophet,' and 'the True Light,' and 'the Good Shepherd,' and whatever else is said of Him with the addition of the article, shows in great measure His singular distinction.

For there were indeed many lambs, and prophets, and anointed ones, and sons;

but He is set apart from all of those by a vast interval.

And he secured this not by the article alone, but also by the addition of 'the Only-begotten.'

For He has nothing in common with the creation.

But if to anyone it seems ill-timed that these things are said at the tenth hour (for this was indeed the hour of the day at that time—

'for it was about the tenth hour,' it says), such a one seems to me to be greatly mistaken.

For in the case of the many who are enslaved to the flesh, the time after a meal is reasonably not very suitable for anything of importance, because the heart is weighed down by food;

but here was a man who did not even partake of common food, but who also passed the evening

with as great a sobriety as we keep at dawn, or rather with far greater (for in our case the remnants of the evening meal often left behind stir up the imagination in the soul, whereas he weighed down his vessel with none of these things).

Reasonably, then, even in the late evening he spoke concerning such matters.

Moreover, he was passing his time in the wilderness beside the Jordan, where all came to the baptism with much trembling, at that time giving little thought to the affairs of life;

since they also persevered with Christ for three days and were without food.

For this is the mark of an earnest herald and a diligent husbandman: not to withdraw beforehand, until he sees the sown word taking hold.

But why then did he not go about everywhere throughout Judea proclaiming Him, but stood beside the river, waiting for Him to come and to point Him out when He arrived? Because he wished this to come about through the works themselves;

and his aim was for the time being only to make Him known, and to persuade some to give heed to the eternal life.

But the greater testimony he leaves to Him, that which comes through the works, just as He Himself says:

'I do not receive testimony from man;

for the works which the Father has given Me, these are they which bear witness concerning Me.'

See, then, how this was the more effective.

For when he had cast in but a little spark, all at once the flame rose on high.

For those who before this did not even give heed to the things spoken, afterward say:

'All things that John said are true.'

Otherwise too, if he had gone about saying these things, what was done would have seemed to come from some human striving, and the proclamation would have been full of suspicion.

'And his two disciples heard, and they followed Jesus.'

And yet he had other disciples too, but those not only did not follow, but were even disposed jealously toward Him;

for they say, 'Rabbi, He who was with you beyond the Jordan, to whom you have borne witness, behold, this man baptizes, and all are coming to Him.'

And again these same ones appear as complaining:

'Why do we and the Pharisees fast, but Your disciples do not fast?' But the better ones suffered nothing of this kind; rather, at one and the same time they heard and followed.

And they followed, not as despising their teacher, but as being most fully persuaded by him, and bringing forth this as the greatest proof that they did so by a right judgment of their reasoning.

For they did not do it upon being urged—which would have been suspect—but when he had merely foretold what was to come, that He would baptize with the Holy Spirit, they followed Him.

They did not, therefore, forsake their teacher, but wished to learn what He brought that was greater than John's.

And observe their earnestness joined with modesty.

For they did not straightway approach and question Jesus about necessary and most weighty matters, nor in public with all present, plainly and just as it happened, but they were eager to converse with Him in private.

For they knew that the words of their teacher were of truth, and not of mere humility.

'It was Andrew,' it says, 'the brother of Simon Peter, one of the two who had heard John and had followed Him.'

For what reason, then, did he not make known the name of the other one? Some say it was because the one who was writing was himself the one who had followed;

but others say not so, but rather that that man was not among the notable ones.

There was no need, therefore, to say anything more than what was necessary.

For what profit is there from learning that man's name, since he does not even give the names of the seventy-two? This too one may see in Paul: 'For we sent with him,' he says, 'the brother, in many things and on many occasions earnest, whose praise is in the Gospel.'

But he mentions Andrew also for another reason.

What indeed is this? That, when you hear that Simon, upon hearing along with him, 'Come after Me, and I will make you fishers of men,' did not doubt at this paradoxical promise, you may learn that his brother had already laid down beforehand the beginnings of faith.

'And Jesus, turning and seeing them following, says to them:

What do you seek?' From this we are instructed that God does not anticipate our wills with His gifts;

but when we ourselves have begun, when we have furnished the willing, then He too gives us many occasions for salvation.

'What do you seek?' What is this? Does He who knows the hearts of men, who penetrates our thoughts, ask? But not that He might learn (for how could that be?), but that through the question He might rather draw them to Himself, and impart to them greater confidence, and show them to be worthy of His hearing.

For it was likely that they blushed and were afraid, inasmuch as they were unknown to Him, and had heard their teacher bearing such witness concerning Him.

Loosing all these things, then—the shame, the fear—He asks, and did not permit them to come in silence as far as the house;

and yet the same thing would have happened even had He not asked.

For they would have remained following Him, and, walking close at His heels, would have stood by the house.

For what reason, then, does He ask? To bring about that very thing which I said, calming their reasoning, which was blushing and still in agony, and granting them to take courage.

And they manifested their longing not through the following alone, but also through the question.

For not yet having learned from Him, nor having heard Him, they call Him teacher, thrusting themselves in among the disciples, and showing the reason for which they followed—as being about to hear something profitable.

But consider for me also their discernment.

They did not say, 'Teach us about doctrines or about some other necessary matter;'

but what? 'Where do You abide?' For, as I said before, in quietness they wished both to say something to Him and to hear something from Him and to learn.

Wherefore they neither deferred it, nor said:

'We will surely come tomorrow, and will hear You discoursing in public;'

but they display the great eagerness they had concerning the hearing, by not being turned aside even by the hour.

For the sun happened by then to be near its setting.

'For it was about the tenth hour,' it says.

For this reason Christ also does not name the marks of the house, nor the place, but rather draws them the more toward following Him, showing thereby that He had received them.

And for this reason neither did He Himself say any such thing:

'It is not the right time for you to come into the house now; you shall hear tomorrow whatever you wish; withdraw to your home for now';

but He converses with them as with friends who had spent much time in His company.

Now 'the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head';

yet here He says, 'Come and see where I abide.' For the saying, 'He has nowhere to lay His head,' signifies that He possessed no lodging of His own, not that He did not lodge in a house at all;

for indeed the parable too means this.

That they abode with Him that day, then, the Evangelist has told us;

but for what reason, he did not further add, since the cause was evident.

For it was for no other reason either that they followed Him, or that Christ drew them to Himself, except for the sake of the teaching;

of which they partook so abundantly and so eagerly, and in a single night, that straightway they went to hunt others also for the same catch.

Let us then also be taught hence to count all things secondary to the divine hearing, and to reckon no season an unsuitable one; but even if we must go into a stranger's house, even if we must, though unknown, come to the acquaintance of great men, even at an unseasonable hour of the day, even at whatsoever time, let us never neglect this traffic.

Let food, then, and baths and suppers, and the other things of this life, have their appointed time;

but the teaching concerning the wisdom that is above, let it have no set hour, but let its season be all the time.

For 'in season,' he says, 'out of season, reprove, rebuke, exhort.'

And the Prophet too says, 'In His law will he meditate day and night';

and to the Jews Moses commanded to do this continually.

For the things of this life—I mean baths and suppers—even if necessary, yet when done continually make the body enfeebled;

but the teaching of the soul, the more it is intensified, so much the stronger does it render the soul that receives it.

But now for idle talk and unprofitable trifling we set apart every season—that of early morning, and that toward evening, and midday, and even the evening itself we sit together to no purpose, and we have assigned places for this;

whereas hearing the divine doctrines once or twice a week, we grow nauseated and surfeited.

What then is the cause? We are ill-disposed as to the soul.

The desiring and appetitive part of it, which concerns these things, we have utterly relaxed.

For this reason it has no vigour for the appetite of spiritual food.

And this too, along with the rest, is a great proof of sickness—not to hunger, nor to thirst, but to be ill-disposed toward both.

But if, when this happens in the case of bodies, it is a token of grievous disease and productive of infirmity,

much more so in the case of the soul.

How then shall we be able to restore it, when it has collapsed and become enfeebled? By doing what, he asks, and by saying what? By laying hold of the divine words—the prophetic, the apostolic, the evangelical, and all the rest.

For then we shall know that it is far better to feed on these than on those unclean foods;

for so must we call the unseasonable trifling and gatherings.

For which is better, tell me, to converse about the things of the marketplace, about the things in the law-courts, about the things in the camp, or about the things in the heavens and about the things after our departure from here? Which is better, to talk about one's neighbour and one's neighbour's affairs, and to be a busybody in others' matters, or to inquire into the things of the angels and the things that pertain to ourselves? For the things of one's neighbour are in no way yours;

'But it is possible,' one says, 'having spoken these things once, to complete the whole matter.'

But as to the things about which you converse in vain and to no purpose, do you not consider this—that, though you spend your whole life on it, you have never exhausted that subject? And I do not yet speak of things far more burdensome than these.

For the more decent sort discourse these things to one another;

but the more slothful and more neglected sort carry mimes and dancers and charioteers about in their conversations, defiling the hearing, corrupting the soul, driving their nature into frenzy by such tales, introducing into their own mind through this kind of talk every form of vice.

For as soon as the tongue has uttered the dancer's name, straightway the soul forms an image of his face, his hair, his soft raiment, and of the man himself, more effeminate than these.

Another again from another quarter fans the flame, bringing a harlot woman into the conversation, and her words, her postures, the rollings of her eyes, the melting look of her face, the twistings of her hair, the paint upon her cheeks, the pencillings of her brows.

Did you not suffer something even as I was relating these things? But be not ashamed, nor blush;

for the necessity of nature demands this, and so disposes the soul according as the force of the things reported has power.

But if, when I was speaking, if, while standing in church, if, while far removed from those things, you suffered something toward the hearing;

consider how it is likely those are disposed who sit in the very theatre, who have much license, who are outside this solemn and awful assembly, who with much shamelessness both behold those things and hear them.

'And why then,' perhaps one of the inattentive might say, 'if the necessity of nature so disposes the soul, do you leave her alone and accuse us?' Because the being softened when one hears such things is the work of nature;

but the hearing of such things is no longer of nature, but a sin of the will.

Since he too who has to do with fire must needs be injured, and this the weakness of nature intends;

yet nature does not lead us on to the fire and to the destruction that comes thence;

for this would belong to the perversion of the will alone.

This, then, I beg you to remove and to correct, so that we may not willingly cast ourselves down headlong, nor thrust ourselves into the pits of vice, nor of our own accord run to the pyre;

that we may not make ourselves liable also to the flame prepared for the devil.

And may it be that all of us, being delivered both from this and from that, may pass to the very bosom of Abraham, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father be glory, together with the Holy Spirit, unto the ages of ages. Amen.