約翰福音講道集 第 63 章

'Now a certain man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, of the village of Mary and Martha her sister.'

'And it was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment.'

Many of men, when they see certain of those who please God suffering something dreadful—such as falling into sickness, or into poverty, or into some other such thing—are scandalized;

not knowing that to suffer these things belongs especially to the friends of God;

since Lazarus too was of the friends of Christ, and yet he was sick;

This indeed is what those who were sent also said:

But let us look at the passage from the beginning.

'There was a certain man,' it says, 'sick, Lazarus of Bethany.'

It was not carelessly nor by chance that he said from where Lazarus was, but for a certain reason which he will state afterward.

But for the moment let us hold to the subject before us.

He also profitably instructs us concerning his sisters;

and moreover that which Mary possessed in greater measure, he adds and says:

Now it was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment.

Here some are perplexed and ask: How, they say, did Christ permit a woman doing such things? First, then, it is necessary to learn this: that she is not the harlot who is in Matthew, nor the one in Luke;

for those were indeed certain harlots and full of many evils;

but this woman was both dignified and earnest.

For indeed she was diligent about the reception of Christ.

The evangelist shows that the sisters also loved him, and yet he allowed Lazarus to die.

But for what reason did they not, leaving their ailing brother, come to him themselves—as the centurion did, and the royal official—but instead send to him? They had great confidence in Christ, and had much familiarity with him.

Otherwise too, they were weak women and were held fast by grief;

for that they did this not out of contempt, they made clear later on.

That, then, this woman was not that former one, is plain.

But even that former one—for what reason, he says, did Christ receive her? In order to dissolve her wickedness;

that you might learn there is no disease that overcomes his goodness.

Do not, therefore, look only at this, that he received her, but consider also that other thing—how he transformed her.

And for what reason does the evangelist remind us of this history? Or rather, what does he wish to teach by saying, 'Now Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus'? That we should never be indignant nor discontented if some infirmity befall earnest men who are dear to God.

They wished to draw Christ to compassion.

For they still regarded him as a man;

and this is plain from what they say:

'If you had been here, he would not have died';

and from their not saying, 'Behold, Lazarus is sick,' but, 'Behold, he whom you love is sick.'

What then does Christ say? 'This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, that through it the Son of God may be glorified.'

Observe how again he speaks of one glory belonging to himself and to the Father.

For having said 'of God,' he added, 'that the Son of God may be glorified.'

'This sickness is not unto death.'

For since he was about to remain there two days, he for the time being sent them away to announce this.

Wherein one may also marvel at his sisters—how, having heard that 'It is not unto death,' and having seen him dead, they were not offended, though the outcome proved contrary to the matter;

but even so they came to him, and did not think that he had deceived them.

But the word 'that' here is not of cause but of outcome.

For the illness came about from another source;

but he made use of it for the glory of God.

And having said these things, he remained two days.

For what reason did he remain? That Lazarus might breathe his last and be buried, so that no one might be able to say that he raised him while not yet dead;

that it was a stupor, that it was a fainting fit, that it was a lapse, and not death.

For this reason he tarries so long a time, that decay might set in, so that they might say, 'By this time he stinks.'

Then he says to the disciples:

Why, having nowhere else foretold it, does he here foretell it? They were exceedingly afraid;

and since they were disposed in this way, he foretells it, lest the suddenness should trouble them.

But what do the disciples say? 'Just now the Jews were seeking to stone you, and are you going there again?' They were indeed afraid for him too;

but still more for themselves;

for they were not yet perfected.

Wherefore Thomas too, being shaken with fear, says:

'Let us also go, that we may die with him.'

For he was weaker than the others and more unbelieving.

But observe how Jesus, by the things he says, emboldens them.

'Are there not twelve hours in the day?' Either, then, he means this: that he who is conscious of no evil in himself will suffer nothing dreadful;

but he who does wicked deeds will suffer (so that we ought not to be afraid;

for we have done nothing worthy of death);

or that he who beholds the light of this world is in safety.

But if he who beholds the light of this world is safe, much more he who is with me, provided he does not separate himself from me.

Having emboldened them with these words, he adds also the necessary cause of the journey thither;

and showing that they are not going to depart to Jerusalem but to Bethany, 'Our friend Lazarus,' he says, 'has fallen asleep, and I go that I may awaken him';

that is: I am not going away again to dispute over the same matters and to come to close quarters with the Jews, but to awaken our friend.

'Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be saved.'

But this they said not simply, but wishing to hinder his presence there.

You say, he means, that he sleeps? Then going there is not urgent.

And yet he himself said this for this very reason—'Our friend'—that he might show his presence to be necessary.

Since, then, they were rather reluctant,

so first, wishing to display his freedom from boasting, he said:

but since they did not understand, he adds:

'He is dead, and I am glad for your sakes.'

Why then, 'For your sakes'? Because I foretold it while not being there, and because when I raise him, there will be no suspicion.

Do you see how the disciples were still more imperfectly disposed, and did not know his power as they ought? And this the fears that intervened brought about, troubling their souls and throwing them into confusion.

And when he said, 'He has fallen asleep,' he says:

'I go that I may awaken him';

but when he said, 'He is dead,' he no longer added, 'I go that I may raise him.'

For he did not wish, by his words,

to foretell the things which he was about to confirm by his deeds, everywhere teaching us freedom from vainglory, and that one ought not to make promises rashly.

But if in the case of the centurion He did this when entreated (for He said, 'I will come and heal him'), it was in order to display that man's faith that He spoke thus.

But if someone should say, Whence did the disciples suppose that Lazarus was asleep, and did not even from this understand that he was dead—I mean from His saying, 'I go that I may awaken him'? (for indeed it would have been folly if they truly expected that He would journey fifteen stadia merely to rouse him from sleep)—to this we would reply that they thought it to be a riddle, such as He often used in His discourses.

Now all of them feared the assault of the Jews, but beyond the rest did Thomas;

'Let us also go, that we may die with him.'

And some indeed say that he too desired to die;

for the saying betrays rather cowardice.

For he was still burdened by his weakness;

yet afterward he became stronger than all and beyond all seizing.

The marvel therefore is this: that the very man who was so weak before the cross, we see after the cross and after believing in the resurrection to be more ardent than all;

so great is the power of Christ.

For he who dared not go with Christ to Bethany, this same man, though not seeing Christ, ran over well-nigh the whole inhabited world, and moved about in the midst of peoples thirsting for blood and seeking to slay him.

But if Bethany was fifteen stadia off, which is two miles, how was Lazarus in the tomb four days? He remained two days, and before those two days someone came announcing on the very day on which he also died;

then on the fourth day itself He arrived.

For this reason too He waited to be summoned, and did not come of His own accord unbidden, lest anyone should suspect what had happened.

And not even the beloved women themselves came, but others are sent.

Now Bethany was about fifteen stadia off.

From this it is shown that it was likely many were present from Jerusalem.

At any rate He immediately added that there were many of the Jews consoling them.

Whence did they console the women beloved of Christ? And yet they had agreed that if anyone should confess Christ, he should be put out of the synagogue. Either it was because of the constraint of the calamity, or out of respect for them as of nobler rank, or those who were present were such as were not wicked;

at all events many even of them believed.

And the evangelist says these things to assure us that Lazarus was truly dead.

But why does Martha not take her sister along to meet Christ as He came? She wished to converse with Him privately, and to report what had happened.

And when He had led her into good hopes, then she departs and calls Mary, and she met Him while the mourning was still at its height.

Do you see how fervent her love was? This is she of whom He said:

'But Mary hath chosen the good portion.'

How then, one asks, did this woman appear the more fervent? She was not the more fervent;

for she who had heard so much, this same one says again, 'By this time he stinketh';

but the other, though she had heard nothing of the kind, uttered no such thing, but straightway, believing, says:

'Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.'

See how great is the wisdom of the women, even if their understanding was weak. For upon seeing Christ, they do not straightway break out into lamentations, nor into wailings, nor into shrill cries of grief;

which is what we suffer, whenever we see any acquaintances coming in upon our mourning;

but they straightway marvel at the Teacher.

Now both of them indeed believed in Christ, but not as was fitting.

For they did not yet accurately know either that He was God, or that He does these things by His own power and authority;

both of which things He taught them.

And that they did not know is plain both from their saying, 'If Thou hadst been here, our brother had not died';

and from their adding, 'Whatsoever Thou shalt ask of God, He will give Thee,' as though speaking of some virtuous and highly esteemed man.

But observe also what Christ says:

'Thy brother shall rise again.'

For the present He overturns that saying, 'Whatsoever Thou shalt ask.'

But what does He say? 'Thy brother shall rise again.'

Now to say, 'O woman, dost thou still look downward? I need no other's help, I do all things of Myself,' would have been very burdensome, and would have offended the woman;

but now by saying, 'He shall rise again,' He took a middle course,

and made His word such as was fitting, and through what followed He hinted at these very things which I have mentioned.

For when she said, 'I know that he shall rise again in the last day,' showing His authority more plainly, He says, 'I am the resurrection and the life';

declaring that He needs no other to aid Him, if indeed He Himself is the life.

But if He needed another, how could He Himself be the resurrection and the life? Yet He did not say it thus openly, but hinted at it.

And again, when she said, 'Whatsoever Thou shalt ask,' He again says:

'He that believeth in Me, though he die, yet shall he live';

showing that He Himself is the Giver of good things, and that of Him one must ask.

'And whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.'

See how He raises up her mind.

For this alone was not what was sought, namely to raise Lazarus, but it was needful that both she and those present with her should learn the resurrection.

For this reason, before the resurrection, He instructs them by His words.

But if He Himself is the resurrection and the life, He is not confined by place, but being everywhere present, He knows how to heal.

If, then, they had said, as the centurion did, 'Speak the word, and my servant shall be healed,' He would have done this;

but since they called Him to themselves and besought Him to come, for this cause He goes down with them, so as to raise them up from their lowly thoughts concerning Him, and He comes to the place.

Yet even in coming down He shows also in this way that even when absent He is able to heal;

and for this reason indeed He also delays.

For the grace would not have appeared to be given so straightway, had not the stench also come on first.

And whence did the woman know of the coming resurrection? She had heard Christ often speaking concerning the resurrection, yet even so she just now desired to see it;

and see how she still turns downward.

For having heard, 'I am the resurrection and the life,' not even so did she say, 'Raise him up';

but what? 'I believe that Thou art the Christ, the Son of God.'

What then does Christ say to her? 'Every one that believeth in Me, though he die, yet shall he live' (meaning this death);

'and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die';

declaring that other death.

'Since therefore I am the resurrection, be not troubled if he has even already died, but believe.'

For this is not death.

For the present He consoled her over what had befallen, and held out hopes, both by saying, 'He shall rise again,' and by saying, 'I am the resurrection.'

And that, having risen, even if he should die again, he will suffer nothing.

So then, one ought not to shudder at this kind of death.

And what He says amounts to this: that neither has this man died, nor shall you die.

'Do you believe this?' She says to Him:

'I believe that You are the Christ, the Son of God, He who comes into the world.'

It seems to me that the woman did not understand what had been said.

Yet she perceived that it was something great;

For this reason, when questioned about one thing, she answers with another.

Meanwhile, however, she gained this much: the dissolving of her grief.

For such is the power of the words of Christ.

For this reason the one went before, and the other followed.

For their goodwill toward the Teacher did not permit them to be very sensible of what was present.

So that, together with the grace, the disposition of these women was also full of wisdom.

But now, along with the other evils, this malady too holds sway over women.

For they make a display of their laments and wailings, baring their arms, tearing their hair, and gouging furrows down their cheeks.

And they do this, some out of grief, others out of ostentation and vainglory, and others out of wantonness;

And they bare their arms, and that too in the sight of men.

What are you doing, O woman? You strip yourself indecently, tell me, in the midst of the marketplace, though you are a member of Christ, with men present throughout the marketplace? And you pluck out your hair, and rend your garment, and wail aloud, and gather a chorus about you, and preserve the very image of frenzied maenad women—and do you not think you are offending God? Of how great a madness is this? Will not the pagans laugh? Will they not suppose that our affairs are but fables? For they will say:

'There is no resurrection; the affairs of the Christians are a mockery, a deception and a contrivance.'

For just as though there were nothing after this, so do the women among them wail;

They pay no heed to the words that are inscribed in their own books.

All those things—they themselves make them plain.

For if they believed that the departed has not died, but has passed over into a better life, they would not have mourned him as one no longer existing, they would not have so beaten themselves, they would not have uttered such cries full of unbelief:

'No longer shall I see you, no longer shall I have you back.'

All the things among them are a fable.

But if the very sum of good things is thus disbelieved, much more are the other things they hold sacred.

The pagans do not thus play the woman;

Many among them have shown philosophic fortitude.

And a pagan woman, on hearing about her son who had fallen in battle, at once asked:

'And how do the affairs of the city stand?' And another philosopher, wearing a crown, when he heard that his son had fallen for his fatherland, took off the crown, and asked which of the two it was; and when he learned that it was the one who had fallen, he at once put the crown back on.

And many gave up even their sons and daughters to slaughter, in honoring demons.

And the Laconian women even exhort their sons either to bring the shield safe home from the war, or to be carried home dead upon it.

For these reasons I am ashamed, that the pagans practice such fortitude, while we behave unseemly.

Those who know nothing about the resurrection do the deeds of those who know;

But those who know do the deeds of those who are ignorant.

Many, moreover, do out of respect for men what they do not do for God's sake.

For the wealthier women do not pluck out their hair, nor bare their arms;

Which itself is a matter of the utmost reproach—not because they do not bare themselves, but because they do it not out of reverence, but so as not to seem to disgrace themselves.

Then does shame prevail over grief, but the fear of God does not prevail? And how are these things not worthy of the utmost reproach? Therefore what the rich women do for the sake of their wealth, the poor women ought to do for the fear of God.

But as it is, everything is reversed: the former display fortitude out of vainglory, while the latter behave unseemly out of littleness of soul.

What is worse than this inconsistency? We do everything for the sake of men, everything for the sake of things here below.

And they utter words full of madness and of much absurdity.

'Blessed are those who mourn'—meaning those who mourn over their sins;

And no one mourns that kind of mourning, nor takes thought for the soul that is perishing;

But this we were not commanded to do—and we do it.

And is it possible, being human, not to weep? Neither do I forbid this, but I forbid the beating of the breast, the doing of this beyond measure.

I am not brutish, nor unfeeling;

I know that nature is put to the test, and longs for its accustomed and daily companionship.

This too Christ showed;

For He wept over Lazarus.

Weep, but gently, but with decorum, but with the fear of God.

If you weep in this way, you do it not as one disbelieving the resurrection, but as one unable to bear the separation.

Since we also weep over those who travel abroad and depart from us;

But we do not do this as though despairing.

So do you also weep, as one seeing off someone journeying abroad.

These things I say not as one laying down a law, but as one condescending.

For if the one who has died was a sinner, and had greatly offended God, one ought to weep;

Or rather, one ought not merely to weep (for this is of no benefit to him), but to do the things that are able to procure some consolation for him—almsgivings and offerings.

And in this too one ought to rejoice: that his career of wickedness has been cut short for him.

But if he was righteous, one ought to exult the more, that his affairs lie in safety, and that he has been delivered from the uncertainty of the future;

If young, because he was quickly delivered from the evils of this present world;

But if old, because he departed having received to the full that which is thought desirable.

But you, letting go of reasoning thus, urge on the handmaids to beat themselves, as though forsooth you were honoring the departed—which is the utmost dishonor.

For the honor due to the deceased is not laments and wailings, but hymns and psalmody, and a most excellent life.

For that one, departing, will depart with angels, even if no one should be present at his remains;

But the corrupt one, even if he should have the whole city escorting him, will reap no benefit.

Do you wish to honor the departed? Do it another way.

Honor him by doing almsgivings, benefactions, and services.

What benefit is there from the many lamentations? But I have heard yet another grievous thing:

That many women actually draw lovers to themselves by means of their laments, contriving for themselves a reputation for loving their husbands by the vehemence of their beatings of the breast.

How long shall we be earth and ashes? How long blood and flesh? Let us look up to the heavens, let us take thought of the things of the Spirit.

How shall we be able to rebuke the pagans? How shall we comfort others while doing such things ourselves? How shall we discourse with them concerning the resurrection? How concerning the rest of our philosophy? How shall we ourselves live in security? Do you not know that death issues forth from grief? For grief, darkening the discerning eye of the soul, not only permits it to see none of the things it ought, but even works much harm.

In that way, then, we both offend God, and profit neither ourselves nor the departed;

but in this way we both please God and are well approved among men.

For if we ourselves do not fall down under it, the remnant of despondency is quickly done away;

but if we are resentful, grief lets us become its captives, given over to it.

If we give thanks, we shall not be despondent.

And how is it possible, one asks, that he who has lost a son, or a daughter, or a wife, should not grieve? I do not say, do not grieve, but do not do so beyond measure.

For if we consider that God has taken away, that we had a mortal husband and son, we shall quickly receive consolation.

For to be resentful belongs to those who seek something greater than their nature.

You were born a man, and mortal;

why then do you grieve that what is according to nature has come to pass? Do you grieve that you are nourished by eating? Do you seek to live without this? Do the same also in the matter of death, and do not, being mortal, seek immortality for the present.

Do not, therefore, grieve, nor beat your breast, but be content with what has been ordained as a law common to all;

but grieve rather over your sins.

For this is a noble mourning, this is the greatest philosophy.

Let us therefore mourn over this continually, that we may attain to the joy that is there, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory unto the ages of ages.