馬太福音講道集 第 69 章

There was a certain man, a householder, who planted a vineyard, and set a hedge around it, and dug a winepress in it, and built a tower;

and he let it out to husbandmen, and went into a far country.

And when the season of the fruits drew near, he sent his servants to receive the fruits.

And the husbandmen took his servants, and beat one, and killed another, and stoned another.

Again he sent other servants, more than the first, and they did to them likewise.

Afterward he sent to them his son, saying:

Perhaps they will reverence my son.

But when the husbandmen saw the son, they said among themselves:

This is the heir;

come, let us kill him, and seize on his inheritance.

And they cast him out of the vineyard, and killed him.

When therefore the lord of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those husbandmen? They say to him:

He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out the vineyard to other husbandmen, who will render him the fruits in their seasons.

Did you never read in the Scriptures:

The stone which the builders rejected, the same has become the head of the corner? (1)

By this parable he hints at many things:

the providence of God that had been shown toward them from above;

their murderousness from the beginning;

that nothing was omitted of what pertained to their care;

that even after the prophets had been slain, he did not turn away from them, but even sent the Son;

that the God of both the New and the Old is one and the same God;

that his death would accomplish great things;

that they would endure the utmost penalty for the cross and for their daring deed;

the calling of the Gentiles, and the falling away of the Jews.

For this reason he places it after the former parable, that from this too he might show the charge to be greater and utterly beyond pardon.

How, and in what manner? Because, having obtained such great care, they were outdone by harlots and tax-collectors, and by so wide a margin.

Observe too both his own abundant providence, and their unspeakable slothfulness.

For indeed, what belonged to the husbandmen, he himself did;

the setting of the hedge around it, the planting of the vineyard, and all the rest;

And He left them but a small task: to take care of what was there, and to guard well the things that had been given.

For nothing was lacking, but all things had been fully prepared and completed.

And even so they gained nothing, and this though they had enjoyed such great benefits from Him.

For when they came out of Egypt, He both gave them a law, and raised up a city, and built a temple, and set up an altar.

That is to say, He was long-suffering, not always bringing down punishments hard upon the heels of their sins.

For by His long absence abroad He signifies His great long-suffering.

'And He sent His servants,' that is, the prophets, 'to receive the fruit,' that is, the obedience shown forth through works.

But here too they displayed their wickedness, not only by failing to render the fruit after enjoying such great care, which was itself but sloth, but also by being resentful toward those who came.

For toward those who had nothing to give and yet were in debt, one ought not to be indignant nor resentful, but rather to encourage them.

But they were not only indignant, but even filled their hands with blood.

And though themselves owing satisfaction, they were the ones demanding satisfaction.

For this reason He sent a second and a third company, that both their wickedness and the loving-kindness of Him who sent them might be made manifest.

And why did He not send the Son at once? That, condemning themselves out of what had been done to those others, and laying aside their wrath, they might reverence Him when He came.

But there are also other reasons.

But what does 'Perhaps they will reverence him' mean? Not that He was ignorant—far from it!—

but because He wished to show that the sin was great, and stripped of every excuse.

Since He Himself, knowing that they would slay Him, nevertheless sent Him.

And He says, 'They will reverence him,' declaring what ought to have come to pass;

namely, that they ought to have reverenced Him.

Since elsewhere too He says, 'If perhaps they will hear.'

But lest any of the ungrateful should say that His prediction became the compelling cause of their disobedience, He therefore frames His words in this way, saying, 'If perhaps,' and, 'Perhaps.'

For even if they had been ungrateful toward the servants, they ought at least to have respected the dignity of the Son.

What then did these men do? When they ought to have run to Him, when they ought to have asked forgiveness for their transgressions, they instead redoubled their former deeds, they stripped themselves bare for fresh defilements, ever concealing their earlier crimes beneath the later ones.

'Fill up the measure of your fathers.'

For from of old the prophets had charged them with these things, saying:

'Your hands are full of blood;'

and, 'They mingle blood upon blood;'

and, 'Building up Zion with blood.'

And this though they had received this commandment as the very first, namely, 'You shall not kill,' and had been enjoined to abstain from it for the sake of ten thousand other things, and had been led by many and manifold means to the keeping of this commandment.

Yet nevertheless they did not put off that wicked habit;

but what do they say when they behold Him? 'Come, let us kill Him.'

For what reason, and why? What at all had they to charge Him with, whether small or great? That He honored you, and, being God, became man for your sakes, and wrought those ten thousand miracles? Or that He forgave sins? Or that He was calling you to the kingdom? Behold, then, together with their impiety, both their great folly, and the pretext for the slaughter, brimming with much madness.

'For let us kill Him,' he says, 'and the inheritance shall be ours.'

And where do they plot to kill Him? Outside the vineyard.

Did you see how He prophesies even the place where He was to be slain? 'And casting Him out, they slew Him.'

And Luke says that He Himself declared what these men ought to suffer, and they said, 'God forbid!'

and He brought forward the testimony.

For looking upon them He said:

'What then is it that is written: The stone which the builders rejected, this has become the head of the corner;'

'and everyone who falls upon it shall be broken to pieces?' But Matthew says that they themselves pronounced the verdict.

But this involves no contradiction.

For they themselves brought forth the sentence against themselves, and then, perceiving what had been said, they cried out, 'God forbid!'

And He set the prophet against them as a rampart, persuading them that this would surely come to pass.

Yet even so He did not plainly reveal the Gentiles, so as to give them no handle against Him, but hinted at it, saying, 'He will give the vineyard to others.'

For this very reason He spoke by way of a parable, so that they themselves might bring forth the verdict;

the very thing that happened also in the case of David, when he passed judgment on Nathan's parable.

And consider with me from this also how just the verdict is, when those who are about to be punished condemn themselves.

Then, that they might learn that not only did the nature of what is just require these things, but that the grace of the Spirit had also foretold them from above, and that God had thus decreed, He brought in prophecy as well, and rebukes them in a shaming manner, saying:

'Did you never read, that The stone which the builders rejected, the same is become the head of the corner? This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.'

showing through all these things that they, being unbelieving, were to be cast out, while the Gentiles were to be brought in.

This He hinted at also through the Canaanite woman, this also through the ass, and through the centurion, and through many other parables.

'This is the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous in our eyes.'

foreshowing that the Gentiles who believe, and as many of the Jews as should themselves also believe, would become one, although so great a gulf lay between them before.

Then, that they might learn that nothing of what was taking place was contrary to God, but that what was coming to pass was even highly acceptable, and marvellous, and

astonishing to every one of those who beheld it;

(for indeed it was a wonder utterly beyond words;) He went on to say:

And He calls Himself a stone, and the teachers of the Jews builders.

'Those who build the wall, and daub it without tempering.'

But how did they reject Him? By saying, 'This man is not from God.'

and again, 'You are a Samaritan, and have a demon.'

Then, that they might know that the loss would not stop at their being cast out, He added the punishments as well, saying:

'Whosoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken to pieces;'

'but on whomsoever it shall fall, it will scatter him like chaff.'

Here He speaks of two forms of destruction:

the one, that which comes from stumbling and being offended;

for this is the meaning of, 'He that falleth on this stone;'

and the other, that which comes from their capture, and their calamity and utter ruin, which He also plainly foreshowed by saying, 'It will scatter him like chaff.'

Through these words He also hinted at His own resurrection.

Now the prophet Isaiah says that the vineyard was the object of accusation;

but here He also accuses the rulers of the people.

'What ought I to have done to my vineyard, that I have not done?' and again elsewhere:

'What fault did your fathers find in me?' and again, 'O my people, what have I done to you? or wherein have I grieved you?' showing their thankless disposition, and that, though they enjoyed all good things, they repaid Him with the opposite;

but here He sets it forth with even greater emphasis.

For He does not Himself pronounce the sentence, saying:

'What ought I to have done, that I have not done?' but rather brings in those very men themselves passing the verdict, that nothing had been left undone, and condemning themselves.

For when they say that 'He will miserably destroy those wicked men, and will let out the vineyard to other husbandmen,' they say nothing other than this, pronouncing the sentence with abundant fulness.

This is also what Stephen reproaches them with, the very thing that stung them most of all, that having ever enjoyed much providential care, they repaid their Benefactor with the opposite;

which of itself also was a very great sign, that it was not the one who punishes, but those who are punished, that were the cause of the vengeance brought upon them.

This very thing then is here also shown through the parable, through the prophecy.

For neither was He content with the parable alone, but He also added a double prophecy: the one of David, and the other from Himself.

What then ought they to have done, upon hearing these things? Was it not to worship? Was it not to marvel at His providence, both that which went before and that which came after? And if by none of these things they were made better, ought they not at least, through the fear of punishment, to have become more sober-minded? Yet they did not.

But what happened after this? "When they had heard it," it says, "they perceived that He spoke concerning them."

And though they sought to lay hold of Him, they feared the multitudes, because these held Him as a prophet.

For they now perceived that He was hinting at themselves.

At one time, then, when held fast, He withdraws through the midst of them and is not seen;

at another time, appearing openly, He checks their travailing desire.

And marveling at this too, they said:

"Is not this Jesus? Behold, He speaks boldly, and they say nothing to Him."

But here, since they were held back by the fear of the crowd, He is content with this, and does not work a marvel as before—by withdrawing through their midst and not being seen.

For He did not wish to do everything in a manner beyond man, so that the dispensation might be believed.

But they were not brought to their senses either by the multitude or by the things that had been said;

they respected neither the testimony of the prophets, nor their own verdict, nor the judgment of the many;

so utterly had the love of rule and the passion for vainglory blinded them, together with the seeking after things temporal.

For nothing so thrusts a man headlong and hurls him down the precipices;

nothing so surely brings men to their fall as being nailed fast to these perishable things;

and nothing so hinders men from enjoying both these things and those, as the preferring of those above all else.

"For seek ye," says Christ, "the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you."

And yet, even if this had not been added, not even so ought we to have set our desire upon them.

But as it is, in the very gaining of those things, it is possible to obtain these also;

and yet not even so are some persuaded;

but they are like senseless stones, and pursue the shadows of pleasure.

For what is there that is sweet among the things of the present

life? And what is there that is delightful? For today I wish to converse with you with greater freedom of speech;

but bear with me, that you may learn that this life which seems to be burdensome and grievous—I mean the life of the monks and of those who are crucified to the world—is far sweeter and more desirable than this life which seems to be pleasant and softer.

And of this you yourselves are witnesses, you who have often asked for death amid the calamities and despondencies that have overtaken you, and have counted blessed those in the mountains, those in the caves, those who have not married, those who live a life free from care—yes, and those in the trades, and those in the armies, and those who simply live at random, spending their days in the theatre and among the dancers.

For even there, though ten thousand pleasures seem to gush forth and fountains of merriment, yet ten thousand more bitter arrows are begotten.

For if a man be caught by love for one of the girls dancing there, he will undergo a torment more grievous than ten thousand campaigns, more grievous than ten thousand journeys abroad, being in worse plight than any besieged city.

But nevertheless, in order that we may not for the present scrutinize those matters—leaving them to the conscience of those who have been ensnared—come, let us discourse concerning the life of the many;

and we shall find the difference between each of these two ways of life to be as great as the difference between a harbour and a sea continually broken up by winds.

Consider, then, from their very dwellings the first tokens of their well-being.

For having fled the marketplaces and cities and the tumults in their midst, they chose the life in the mountains—the life that has nothing in common with things present, that endures nothing merely human: no worldly grief, no pain, no such anxiety, no dangers, no plots, no envy, no jealousy, no unseemly lusts, nor any other such thing.

From this point they already practice the things of the kingdom, holding converse with glades and mountains and springs, and with much stillness and quietness, and, before all these, with God.

And their little dwelling is clean of all tumult, and their soul is free from every passion and disease—refined and light, and far purer than the most rarefied air.

And their work is the same as was Adam's also in the beginning and before sin, when he was clothed with glory, and held converse with God with boldness, and dwelt in that region full of much blessedness.

For in what respect are these worse off than he was, when before his disobedience he was placed to till Paradise? He had no worldly care; but neither have these.

He conversed with God with a pure conscience; and so do these also.

Nay rather, they have even much greater boldness than he, inasmuch as they have enjoyed even greater grace through the supply of the Spirit.

It were fitting, then, that you should take in these things with your own eyes;

but since you will not, but spend your days amid tumults and marketplaces, let us at least instruct you by word, taking one portion of their manner of life;

for it is not possible to go over the whole of that life of theirs.

These lights of the world, as soon as the sun rises, or rather long before its rays appear, arise from their bed, healthy and wide awake and sober;

(for neither any grief nor anxiety, nor heaviness of head nor toil nor throng of affairs, nor any other such thing troubles them, but they pass their life like angels in heaven); rising then straightway from their bed cheerful and glad, and forming themselves into a single choir, with a bright conscience they all together in harmony, as though from one mouth, sing hymns to the God of all, honoring Him and giving Him thanks for all things, both for their own private benefits and for those common to all.

So then, if it seems good, leaving Adam aside, let us ask in what respect this choir of those who sing upon earth and say the following differs from that of the angels:

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace."

And their garment too is worthy of their manly courage.

For they are not arrayed like those with trailing robes, who are enervated and effeminate;

but after the fashion of those blessed angels, of Elijah, of Elisha, of John, after the fashion of the apostles;

their garments being made for them, for some out of goats' hair, for others out of camels' hair;

and there are those for whom skins alone sufficed, and

Then, when they have uttered those songs, bending their knees they entreat the God whom they have praised in hymns, on behalf of matters which some men do not even quickly come to conceive of.

For of things present they ask nothing;

for they make no account of these things;

but that they may stand with boldness before that awful judgment seat, when the only-begotten Son of God shall come to judge the living and the dead;

and that no one may hear that dreadful voice which says, "I know you not";

and that with a pure conscience and with many good deeds accomplished they may pass through this laborious life, and sail across the difficult sea with a fair wind.

And the one who leads them in prayer is the father and the one who presides.

Then, having risen and finished those holy and continual prayers, when the sunbeam rises, each departs to his work, gathering thence much revenue for those in need.

Where now are those who give themselves over to the devilish choruses and to lewd songs, and who sit in the theaters? For I am indeed ashamed to make mention of them;

yet because of your weakness it is necessary to do even this.

"For as you presented your members as slaves to uncleanness, so now present your members as slaves to righteousness unto sanctification."

Let us then, come now, set side by side the choir composed of prostituted women and of youths who have played the harlot, gathered together on the stage,

and this very choir of these blessed ones, with regard to the pleasure on account of which especially many of the careless youths are caught in the snares of those others.

For we shall find the difference to be as great as if one heard angels singing on high that all-harmonious melody, and dogs and swine howling and grunting on the dunghill.

For through these mouths Christ speaks, but through those tongues the devil utters his voice.

But do pipes sound together with those others, with an unmeaning noise and an unpleasant sight, while their cheeks are puffed out and their sinews are strained? But here the grace of the Spirit resounds, making use of the mouths of the saints instead of flute and lyre and pipe.

Or rather, whatever we may say, it is not possible to convey the pleasure of it to those who are nailed fast to the clay and the brickmaking.

For this reason I could wish to take one of those who are mad about these things, and to lead him away there, and to show him the choir of these saints, and thereafter I should have no further need of words.

Nevertheless, even though we discourse to men of clay, we will try, by our word too, if only after a while, to draw them up out of the mire and the marshes.

For from that other place the hearer straightway receives the fire of an unseemly love;

for as though the sight of the harlot were not enough to inflame the mind, they add also the corruption that comes from her voice;

but here, even if the soul has anything of the kind, it lays it aside straightway.

And not the voice only, nor the sight, but the garments too, more than these, throw into confusion those who behold them.

And if any poor man, of the coarser and neglected sort, be present, from the spectacle he will often be a thousand times distressed, and will say to himself that the harlot and the male prostitute, though children of cooks and cobblers, and often even of household slaves, live in so great luxury;

"but I, though free and of free parents, choosing honest labors, cannot so much as picture these things even in a dream";

and thus, inflamed by his despondency, he goes away.

But in the case of the monks there is nothing of the kind, but rather the very opposite in every respect.

For whenever one sees the children of the rich and the descendants of illustrious forebears clothed in such garments as not even the lowest of the poor would wear,

and rejoicing over this, consider how great a consolation for his poverty he carries away as he departs.

And if he be rich, having been brought to soberness he withdraws, having become a better man.

Again, in the theater, whenever they see the harlot decked round about with gold, the poor man will lament and bewail, seeing his own wife having nothing of the kind;

But the rich will look down with contempt and, from this spectacle, will despise the women who share their homes.

For when that woman displays to the onlookers her figure, her glance, her voice, and her gait, all of them enervating and dissolute, they go away inflamed, and

thereafter they enter their own houses as captives.

From this come insults and dishonour; from this come enmities, wars, and daily deaths;

from this, life becomes unbearable to those thus ensnared; his wife thereafter is distasteful to him, his children are no longer equally dear, everything in the household is turned upside down, and he seems to be troubled even by the very light of day.

But from these choirs there is no such distaste;

rather, the wife will receive her husband gentle and mild, freed from every unseemly pleasure, and she will find him more agreeable to deal with than before.

Such are the evils that the one kind of choir brings forth, but this kind brings forth good things;

the one making wolves out of sheep, but this one working lambs out of wolves.

But as yet we have perhaps said nothing at all about the pleasure of it.

And what could be sweeter than for the mind not to be thrown into turmoil, nor to be pained, nor to be despondent and to groan? Nevertheless, let us carry the discourse further, and examine the enjoyment of each — of the song and of the spectacle;

and we shall see that the one lasts only until evening, so long as the spectator sits in the theatre, but afterwards vexes him more grievously than any goad;

whereas the other flourishes continually in the souls of those who have beheld it.

For indeed the very character of the men, the loveliness of the place, the sweetness of the way of life, the purity of the manner of living, and the grace of that most beautiful and spiritual song — all these they have ever seated within themselves.

Those, then, who continually enjoy these havens flee from the tumults of the many as from some storm.

Not only singing and praying, but also poring intently over the books, they are a delightful sight to those who behold them.

For when they have dismissed the choir, one takes up Isaiah and converses with him, another holds discourse with the apostles, another goes over what has been composed by others, and philosophizes about God, about this universe, about things visible, about things invisible, about things sensible, about things intelligible, about the meanness of this present life, and about the majesty of the life to come.

And they are fed with the finest food, setting before themselves not the boiled flesh of irrational beasts, but the oracles of God, sweeter than honey and the honeycomb — a wondrous honey, and far better than that which John of old ate in the wilderness.

For this honey no wild bees settling upon the flowers gather, nor do they, ripening the dew, deposit it into the hives;

but the grace of the Spirit prepares it, and, instead of combs and hives and cells, stores it away in the souls of the saints, so that whoever wills may eat of it freely and without ceasing.

Imitating these bees themselves, they too fly about among the combs of the holy books, gathering thence great pleasure.

And if you wish to learn about their table, draw near, and you will see them belching forth such things — all gentle and sweet, and full of spiritual fragrance.

Those mouths can bring forth no shameful word, nothing scurrilous, nothing coarse, but all things worthy of the heavens.

One would not err in likening the mouths of the many, who are dragged about in the marketplaces and rave after the affairs of this life, to channels of some filth, but the mouths of these to springs flowing with honey and pouring forth pure streams.

But if anyone was offended that I called the mouths of the many channels of filth, let him know that I spoke very sparingly.

For the Scripture does not use even this measure, but a far more vehement comparison.

For it says: 'The poison of asps is under their lips, and their throat is an open sepulchre.'

But the mouths of these are not such; rather, they are full of much fragrance.

And such are the things here;

but what discourse will set before us the things yonder? What understanding will conceive them — the angelic portion, the ineffable blessedness, the unspeakable good things? Perhaps many of you have now been kindled and have fallen into a longing for this noble way of life;

but what is the gain, if only while you are here you have this fire, but on going out you quench the flame, and this longing withers away? How then may this not happen? While this love is warm in you, go away to those very angels.

For our word will not be able to kindle you as the sight of these realities can.

Do not say, 'Let me first talk it over with my wife, and settle my affairs.'

This postponement is the beginning of slackness.

Hear how a certain man wished to take leave of those in his house, and the prophet did not permit it.

And why do I speak of taking leave? A disciple wished to bury his father, and not even this did Christ allow.

And yet what matter seems to you so necessary as the burial of a father? But not even this did He permit.

Why ever so? Because the devil stands vehemently at hand, wishing to gain some entrance;

and if he lays hold of even a little occupation and delay, he works great slackness.

For this reason one exhorts: 'Put not off from day to day.'

For in this way you will be able to accomplish the greater things, and in this way too the affairs of your household will be well ordered for you;

For 'seek,' He says, 'the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you.'

For if we set in great freedom from care those who despise their own concerns and prefer the care of what belongs to us,

how much more will God, who even apart from these things cares for us and provides for us,

Therefore do not be anxious about your own affairs, but leave them to God.

For if you take thought, you take thought as a man;

but if God provides, He provides as God.

Do not be anxious about these things to the neglect of the greater things, since then He Himself will not be very careful of them for you.

In order, then, that He may provide for them exceedingly, commit all things to Him alone.

For if you yourself handle these matters, forsaking the spiritual things, He too will not take much thought for them;

In order, then, that these things also may be well ordered for you, and that you may be freed from all anxiety, cleave to the spiritual things, and despise the things of this life;

for thus you shall possess the earth together with the heavens, and shall attain the good things to come, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the might unto the ages of ages.