馬太福音講道集 第 28 章

"And when He had entered into the boat, His disciples followed Him."

"And behold, there arose a great tempest on the sea, so that the boat was covered by the waves;"

Now Luke, relieving himself of being required to give the order of times, spoke thus:

"And it came to pass on one of the days, that He Himself went up into the boat, and His disciples;"

But this evangelist does not so, but here maintains the sequence.

For not all wrote all things in the same manner.

And this too I have said before, that no one may suppose there is any discrepancy by reason of an omission.

So then He sent the multitudes on before, but took the disciples with Himself;

for this also those others relate.

And He took them not without purpose nor at random, but so as to make them spectators of the miracle that was about to take place.

For, like some excellent trainer, He was anointing them for both ends: both to be undismayed in dangers, and to be moderate in honors.

For lest they should think highly of themselves, because, having sent away the others, He kept them, He allows them to be tossed by the storm—thereby accomplishing this, and training them to bear trials nobly.

For great indeed were the former miracles also, but this one both contained no small exercise, and was a sign akin to the ancient one.

For this reason He takes with Himself the disciples alone.

For where there was a display of miracles, He suffers even the crowd to be present;

but where there was a rising up of trials and terrors, these—the athletes of the world, whom He was about to train—these alone He takes to Himself.

And Matthew said simply that He was sleeping, but Luke says that He was on a pillow, thereby showing His freedom from pride, and teaching us from this much wisdom.

When, then, the surge had been stirred up, and the sea was raging, they awake Him, saying:

"Lord, save us; we perish!"

But He rebuked them before He rebuked the sea.

For, as I said, these things were permitted for the sake of exercise, and it was a figure of the trials that were about to overtake them.

For indeed even after this He often allowed them to fall into more grievous tempests of circumstances, and was longsuffering.

"But I would not have you ignorant, brethren, that"

"we were exceedingly weighed down beyond our strength, so that we despaired even of life;"

and after this again, "Who delivered us from so great deaths."

Showing therefore from this that one ought to be of good courage, even though the waves be stirred up mightily, and that He orders all things for our good, He first rebukes them.

For the very fact of their being terrified came to pass for their good, that the miracle might appear the greater, and the remembrance of what had happened might become abiding.

For whenever something marvelous is about to take place, many things productive of remembrance are prepared beforehand, that after the miracle has passed they may not fall into forgetfulness of it.

Thus also Moses first fears the serpent, and fears not simply, but with much anguish, and then he beholds that marvelous thing coming to pass.

So also these men, having first expected to perish, were then saved;

that, having acknowledged the peril, they might learn the greatness of the miracle.

For if it had happened while He was awake, either they would not have been afraid, or they would not have besought Him, or they would not even have thought Him able to do any such thing.

For this reason He sleeps, giving occasion to their fear, and rendering their perception of what was happening more vivid.

For one does not behold in like manner the things that happen in other men's bodies, and those that happen in one's own.

Since then they had seen all others benefited, but themselves had enjoyed nothing, and were supine—(for they had neither lameness nor any other such infirmity)—yet it was needful that they too should enjoy the benefits through their own experience:

He permits the storm, that through the deliverance from it they might receive a clearer perception of the benefit.

For this reason He does not do this while the crowds are present, lest they should be condemned for little faith;

but taking them alone, He corrects them, and before the storm of the waters He stills the storm of their soul, rebuking and saying:

"Why are you fearful, O you of little faith?"—teaching them at the same time that fear is wrought not by the assault of trials, but by the weakness of the understanding.

But if anyone should say that it was not a mark of cowardice nor of little faith to come and wake Him, I would answer this, that this very thing was above all a sign of their not having the fitting opinion concerning Him.

That He was able, once risen, to rebuke the sea, they knew;

but that He could do so even while sleeping, they did not yet know.

And why do you marvel that they were so minded now, when even after many other miracles they were still in a very imperfect state? For this reason they are often rebuked, as when He says, 'Are you also even yet without understanding?' Do not then be astonished if, while the disciples were still so imperfectly disposed, the crowds too formed no exalted notion concerning Him;

'What manner of man is this, that even the sea and the winds obey Him?' Yet Christ did not rebuke them for calling Him a man, but waited, teaching them through the signs that their supposition was mistaken.

But whence did they suppose Him to be a man? From His appearance, from His sleeping, and from His using a boat.

For this very reason they fell into perplexity, saying,

'What manner of man is this?' For the sleep and His visible form showed Him to be man;

but the sea and the calm revealed Him to be God.

For since Moses too once did some such thing, from this very fact He shows His pre-eminence;

and that the one works wonders as a servant, but the other as Master.

For He did not stretch out a rod as that one did, nor extend His hands to heaven, nor have need of prayer;

but as befits a master giving orders to a handmaid, and a Creator to His creature, so did He subdue and bridle it by a word and a command alone;

and straightway all the tempest was loosed, and not even a trace of the disturbance remained.

For this the evangelist declared, saying,

'And there was a great calm.'

And that which had been spoken of the Father as a great thing, this He Himself again displayed through His works.

And what had been said concerning Him? 'He spoke,' it says, 'and the stormy wind arose.'

'He spoke, and there was a great calm.'

For this reason above all the crowds marvelled at Him, who would not have marvelled had He done it as that other did.

But when He had come out of the sea, another and more fearful miracle succeeded it.

For the demoniacs, like wicked runaway slaves seeing their master, cried out, saying,

'What have we to do with Thee, Jesus, Son of God?

Art Thou come hither before the time to torment us?' For since the crowds called Him a man, the demons came proclaiming aloud His Godhead;

and those who would not hear the sea, as it surged and again grew still, heard the demons crying aloud these things which the sea had proclaimed through its calm.

Then, that the thing might not seem to be flattery, from the actual experience of their sufferings they cry aloud, saying,

'Art Thou come hither before the time to torment us?' For this reason the enmity is confessed first, that their supplication might not become suspect.

For they were being scourged invisibly, and were storm-tossed worse than the sea, being pricked and set on fire, and suffering things past cure from His mere presence.

For since no one dared to bring them to Him, Christ Himself goes away to them.

And Matthew says that they said,

'Art Thou come hither before the time to torment us?';

but the others added that they also besought Him and adjured Him not to cast them into the abyss.

For they supposed that their punishment already stood over them, and they feared as though they were already about to fall into vengeance.

And if Luke's account says he was one, but this one says two, not even this shows any disagreement.

For had they said that there was one only, and there was not another, they would seem to speak contrary to Matthew;

but if the one spoke of the one, and the other of the two, what is said is not a matter of conflict, but of differing narration.

For to me it seems that Luke, having selected the more grievous of these two, spoke of him;

wherefore he also reports the calamity in more tragic terms;

namely, that breaking the bonds and the chains he wandered about in the desert;

while Mark says that he also cut himself with the stones;

and their very words are sufficient to display their savagery and shamelessness.

'For art Thou come hither before the time to torment us?' it says.

For that they had not sinned, they could not say;

but they ask that they may not pay the penalty before the time.

For since He had caught them working those incurable and lawless deeds, and distorting His own creation in every way and tormenting it, and they supposed that, by reason of the excess of what was being done, He would not await the time of chastisement, therefore they entreated and besought Him;

and those who could not endure even iron bonds come bound;

and those who ran over the mountains came out into the plains;

and those who hindered others from passing by, when they saw Him who walled up the road for them, stood still.

But why do they also haunt the tombs? Wishing to instil into the multitude a pernicious doctrine, namely, that the souls of the departed become demons;

which may it never come to pass, nor even to enter into one's mind.

'What then,' one might say, 'wouldst thou answer, when many of the sorcerers take children and slay them, that they may afterwards have the soul as a fellow-worker with them?' And whence is this plain? That they slay them, many say;

but that the souls of those slain are with them, whence didst thou learn it? Tell me.

'The demoniacs themselves,' one says, 'cry out, I am the soul of such a one.'

But this too is a kind of stage-play and a diabolical deception.

For it is not the soul of the deceased that cries out, but the demon who feigns these things, so as to deceive the hearers.

For if it were possible for a soul to enter into the substance of a demon, much more into its own body.

And otherwise it would have no reason that the soul which had been wronged should work together with him who had wronged it;

nor that a man should be able to change an incorporeal power into another substance.

For if in the case of bodies this is impossible, and one could not make a man's body into an ass's;

much more in the case of the invisible soul is this impossible, and no one could have the power to transfer it into the substance of a demon.

So that these are the sayings of drunken old women, and bugbears for children.

For it is not possible that a soul, once torn away from the body, should thereafter wander about here.

For 'the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God';

and if the souls of the righteous, so also those of the children;

and the souls of sinners also are straightway led away from hence.

And this is plain from the case of Lazarus and the rich man;

and elsewhere too Christ says,

'This night they require thy soul of thee.'

And it is not possible for a soul, having gone out of the body, to wander about here;

for if, walking upon the earth that is familiar and known to us, and clothed with a body, when we journey by an unaccustomed road we know not which way to go unless we have one to lead us by the hand;

how shall the soul, once torn from the body and gone forth from all its familiar surroundings, know whither it must go without one to guide it? And from many other quarters likewise one may perceive that it is not possible for a soul, once gone forth, to remain here.

And Paul says, 'To depart and to be with Christ is far better.'

And concerning the patriarch too the Scripture says:

'And he was gathered to his fathers, having been nourished into a good old age.'

But that not even the souls of sinners are able to linger here, hear the rich man entreating much on this account, yet not obtaining his request.

For had it been possible, he would himself have come and announced the things that had taken place yonder.

Whence it is plain that, after their departure from this world, souls are led away to a certain region, no longer having power to return, but awaiting that fearful day.

But should someone ask, Wherefore did Christ do the very thing the demons requested, permitting them to depart into the herd of swine? To this we would reply that He did this not in compliance with them, but ordering many things thereby.

One thing, to teach those who had been delivered from those wicked tyrants the greatness of the injury of the beings that plotted against them;

another, that all might learn that the demons dare not lay hold even of swine, unless He Himself permit;

third, that they would have wrought things harder than what they did to the swine upon those men, had they not, even amid their calamity, enjoyed much of God's providence.

For that they hate us more than the brute beasts is surely plain to everyone.

So that they who spared not the swine, but in one instant of time cast them all headlong down, would much rather have wrought these things upon the men whom they held, leading and driving them into desert places, had not, even in the very tyranny, God's care been great, curbing and restraining their further onrush.

Whence it is plain that there is no one who does not enjoy the providence of God.

And if not all alike, nor in one and the same manner, this too is a very great kind of providence.

For the working of providence is shown forth precisely in what is profitable to each.

And besides what has been said, we learn yet another thing from this, namely that He provides not only for all in common, but also for each individually;

which He also declared in the case of the disciples, saying:

'But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.'

And from these very demoniacs too one might clearly discern this, seeing that they would long ago have been choked to death, had they not enjoyed much care from above.

For this reason, then, He permitted them to depart into the herd of swine, and also that those who dwelt in those regions might learn His power.

For where His name was widely known, He did not display it so greatly;

but where no one knew Him, but they still lay in insensibility, He caused His miracles to shine forth, so as to draw them to the knowledge of God through Himself.

For that those who inhabited that city were insensible people is plain from the outcome.

For whereas they ought to have worshipped and marvelled at His power, they instead sent Him away, and 'besought Him to depart from their borders.'

But wherefore did the demons destroy the swine? Everywhere they are eager to cast men into despair, and everywhere they rejoice in destruction.

This at least the devil also did in the case of Job;

and yet there too God permitted it;

but not there either in compliance with the devil, rather willing to render His own servant more illustrious, and to cut off from the demon every pretext of shamelessness, and to turn back upon his own head the things done against the righteous man.

Since now too the very opposite of what these desired has come to pass.

For both was the power of Christ brilliantly proclaimed, and the wickedness of the demons—from which He had delivered those held in their grip—was more clearly shown forth, and that they are not even lords to touch swine unless the God of all permit.

But if anyone should take these things in a higher, anagogical sense, there is nothing to prevent it.

namely, to know clearly that swinish men are easy prey to the workings of the demons.

And so long as those who suffer these things are still men, they are often able even to get the upper hand;

but if they become wholly swine, they are not merely possessed, but are also cast headlong down.

And in another way too, lest anyone suppose that what happened was mere play-acting, but that he might believe clearly that the demons had gone out, this is made manifest from the death of the swine.

But mark also His gentleness together with His power.

For when, having received such benefits, the inhabitants of that country were driving Him away, He did not resist, but withdrew, and left those who had shown themselves unworthy of His teaching, giving as teachers to them those delivered from the demons, and also the swineherds, so that from them they might learn all that had taken place;

and He Himself, having withdrawn, leaves the fear yet flourishing among them.

For the magnitude of the loss spread abroad the report of what had happened, and the event took firm hold of their understanding.

And from many quarters voices were borne along, proclaiming the marvel of the miracle—from those who had been healed, from those who had been drowned, from the owners of the swine, from the men who tended them.

One may see these things happening even now, and many demoniacs among the tombs, whom nothing restrains from their frenzy—not iron, not chain, not a multitude of men, not exhortation, not admonition, not fear, not threat, nor anything else of the kind.

For indeed, whenever a man is unchaste, all agog after every body, he differs in nothing from one demon-possessed;

but he goes about naked like that other, clothed indeed in garments, yet stripped of the true covering, and bared of the glory that befits him, cutting himself not with stones, but with sins harder than many stones.

Who then shall be able to bind such a man? Who to stay him from his unseemly, frenzied conduct—never coming to himself, but ever haunting the tombs? For such are the haunts of harlots, full of much stench, full of much corruption.

But what of the covetous man? Is he not such a one? For who shall ever have strength to bind him? Do not daily fears and threats, exhortations and counsels? But all these bonds he bursts asunder;

and if anyone come to set him free, he adjures him not to set him free, accounting it the greatest torment not to be in torment;

than whom what could be more wretched? For that demon, even though he despised men, yet yielded to the command of Christ, and speedily leaped away from the body;

but this man yields not even to the command.

Behold, at any rate, day by day he hears Him saying, 'Ye cannot serve God and mammon,' and threatening hell and irremediable punishments, and he is not persuaded;

not that he is stronger than Christ, but that Christ does not bring us to soberness against our will.

For this reason such men dwell as it were in deserts, even though they be in the midst of cities.

For who in his right mind would choose to consort with such men? For my own part, I would rather consent to dwell with ten thousand demoniacs than with one man sick of this disease.

And that I err not in saying this is plain from what each of the two suffers.

For these men account as an enemy him who has done them no wrong, and desire even to take as a slave one who is free, and beset him with a thousand ills;

but the demoniacs do nothing of this sort, rather they turn the disease upon themselves.

And these overturn many houses, and cause the name of God to be blasphemed, and are a plague to the city and to the whole inhabited world;

but those troubled by demons are rather worthy of pity and of tears.

And the latter do most of their deeds in insensibility;

but the former rave with deliberate reasoning, playing the bacchant in the midst of cities, and mad with some strange new madness.

For what such thing do all the demoniacs work as Judas dared, displaying the utmost transgression? And all who emulate him, like fierce wild beasts that have escaped from their cage, throw the cities into uproar, with none to restrain them.

For bonds are set about these men too on every side;

such as the fear of the judges, the threat of the laws, the condemnation of the many, and many others more than these;

but nevertheless, bursting through all these too, they turn everything upside down.

And if anyone were to take these bonds entirely from them, then would he clearly know that the demon within them is far fiercer and more raving than the one that has now gone out.

But since this cannot be, let us for the present suppose it in argument, and strip off from him all his chains;

and then shall we clearly perceive his glaring madness.

But fear not the beast when we shall have unveiled it;

for the scene is in the argument, the reality is not in the thing itself.

Let there be, then, a certain man discharging fire from his eyes, black, having serpents dangling from either shoulder in place of hands;

and let him have also a mouth with sharp swords fixed in it in place of teeth, and in place of a tongue a fountain gushing up with poison and deadly venom;

Give him too a belly more wasteful than any furnace, consuming everything that is cast into it;

and let his feet be winged and swifter than any flame;

and let his face be fashioned out of dog and wolf;

and let him utter nothing human, but something jarring and loathsome and terrifying;

and let him hold fire also in his hands.

Perhaps what has been said seems frightful to you;

but we have not yet portrayed him according to his true worth;

for besides these things others too must be added.

For let him also slaughter those he meets, devour them, and fasten upon their very flesh.

But far more grievous than even this is the lover of money, who falls upon all like Hades, swallowing up all men, going about as the common enemy of the human race.

For he wishes that no man should exist, so that he alone may possess all things.

And not even here does he stop; but when he has destroyed all men by his lust, he desires also to make away with the very substance of the earth, and to behold it turned into gold;

and not the earth only, but mountains too, and glens, and springs, and in a word all things that appear.

And that you may learn that we have not yet set forth his madness, let there be no one to accuse or to overawe him; but for the moment take away by our discourse the fear that comes from the laws, and you shall see him snatch up a sword, and make away with all, and spare no one—neither friend, nor kinsman, nor brother, nor even the very one who begot him.

Or rather, there is no need here even of a supposition;

but let us ask him whether he does not continually frame such imaginings within himself, and in thought fall upon and destroy all men—friends, and kinsmen, and even the very ones who begot him.

Or rather, there is no need even to ask;

for all know that those held fast by this disease are burdened even by a father's old age, and reckon that which is sweet and desirable to all—the having of children—to be heavy and grievous.

Many at least have for this reason even purchased barrenness, and maimed nature, not by making away with children after they were born, but by not suffering them to come into being at all.

Marvel not, then, if we have thus portrayed the lover of money (for he is far worse than the things we have described);

but let us consider how we may deliver him from the demon.

How then shall we deliver him? If he should learn plainly that the love of money is most of all opposed to this very thing—namely, to the procuring of wealth;

for those who wish to gain little things undergo great losses;

whence indeed a proverb also has been coined upon this very point.

Many at any rate, wishing often to lend at high interest, in their expectation of gain did not scrutinize those who received the loans, and lost, together with the interest, their whole principal as well.

Again, others, having fallen into perils, and being unwilling to part with a little, lost their life together with their substance.

Again, when it was in their power to purchase either profitable offices or some other such thing, by being niggardly they lost the whole.

For since they know not how to sow, but have practised only ever to reap, they continually fall short even of the harvest.

For no one is able to reap for ever, even as neither to gain for ever.

Since, then, they are unwilling to spend, they know not how to gain either.

But even if he must take a wife, again he undergoes this same thing;

for either he was deceived, taking a poor woman instead of a wealthy one;

or, having brought in a rich one, laden with countless faults, he underwent a yet greater loss.

For it is not abundance, but virtue, that produces wealth.

For what profit is there in wealth, when she is extravagant and profligate, and carries all away more violently than the wind? And what, if she be wanton, and draws to herself countless lovers? And what, if she be a drunkard? Will she not speedily make her husband poorer than all men? And men not only marry, but also make their purchases perilously, being led by their great lust to busy themselves not with the excellent among the slaves, but with the cheap.

Reckoning up, therefore, all these things (for as yet you are not able to hear the discourses concerning hell and the kingdom), and calling to mind the losses which you have often undergone from the love of money—in loans, in purchases, in marriages, in patronages, and in all the rest—desist from loving money.

For thus you will be able both to live the present life with security, and, advancing a little, to hear also the discourses concerning heavenly wisdom, and, looking straight up unto Him, to behold the Sun of righteousness, and to attain unto the good things promised by Him;

which may it be granted us all to attain, by the grace and love toward mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the might unto the ages of ages. Amen.