馬太福音講道集 第 84 章

Then comes Jesus with them to a place called Gethsemane, and says to the disciples:

Sit here, while I go and pray yonder.

And taking with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee,

he began to be sorrowful and deeply troubled, and says to them:

My soul is exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death.

'Remain here, and watch with Me.'

Since they clung to Him inseparably, for this reason He says:

'Remain here, until I go and pray.'

For it was His custom to pray apart from them.

And this He did, teaching us in our prayers to secure for ourselves quiet and great stillness.

And He takes with Him the three, and says to them:

'My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death.'

Why does He not take all of them along? That they might not fall away;

but these three, who had become the beholders of His glory.

Yet nevertheless He leaves these also, and going a little forward He prays, saying:

'Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me;'

'nevertheless not as I will, but as Thou wilt.'

And He comes to them, and finds them sleeping, and says to Peter:

'So, were you not able to watch one hour with Me? Watch and pray, that you enter not into temptation.'

'The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.'

It is not without reason that He addresses Himself especially to Peter, although the others also had fallen asleep;

but He touches him here too, on account of the cause which I mentioned before.

Then, since the others also had said the same thing (for when Peter had said, 'Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee,'

and likewise, it says, said all the disciples), He speaks to them all, reproving their weakness.

For those who had chosen to die with Him were not able, even while awake, to share His sorrow when He was grieving; but sleep prevailed over them.

But He prays earnestly, that the matter might not seem to be a pretense.

And drops of sweat pour down, for the same cause again, and that the heretics might not say that He feigned the agony.

For this reason also there was sweat like drops of blood, and an angel appeared strengthening Him, and countless tokens of fear, that no one might say the words were fabricated.

By saying, then, 'If it be possible, let it pass,' He showed His humanity;

but by saying, 'Nevertheless not as I will, but as Thou wilt,' He showed His virtue and His love of wisdom, teaching us to follow God even when our nature draws us the other way.

For since it was not enough for the foolish merely to show the countenance, He adds words as well.

Again, were words alone not enough, but deeds also were needed? These too He joins to the words, so that even those who most fiercely contend might believe that He both became man and died.

For if, even with these things present, this is still disbelieved by some, much more would it be so if these things had not been.

Do you see by how many things He demonstrates the truth of the dispensation? By what He utters, by what He suffers.

Then having come, 'He says,' it states, 'to Peter:'

'So, were you not able to watch one hour with Me?' All were sleeping, yet He rebukes Peter, hinting at him because of the things he had spoken.

And the words 'with Me' are not set down without purpose, as though He were saying:

You were not able to watch with Me, and yet you will lay down your life for Me? And what follows hints at this same thing.

'For watch,' He says, 'and pray, that you enter not into temptation.'

Do you see how again He teaches them not to be self-confident, but to have a contrite mind, and to be lowly-minded, and to refer all things to God? And now He addresses Himself to Peter, now to all in common.

'Simon, Simon, Satan has demanded to sift you as wheat;'

and to all in common, 'Pray that you enter not into temptation,' everywhere cutting off their self-will and making them anxious.

Then, that He might not seem to make His discourse throughout one of downcast reproach, He says:

'The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.'

For even if you desire, He says, to despise death, yet you will not be able, until God stretches out His hand;

For it drags down the carnal mind.

And again He prayed the same thing, saying:

'Father, if this cannot pass from Me unless I drink it, Thy will be done.'

showing here that He is wholly in accord with the will of God, and that in all things one must follow it, and seek after this.

And when He came, He found them sleeping.

For besides its being far into the night, their eyes also were weighed down by their despondency.

And a third time again He went away and uttered the same words, confirming that He had become man.

For the second and the third time is, in the Scriptures, most especially indicative of truth;

just as Joseph also said to Pharaoh:

'The dream appeared to you a second time?' It was for the sake of truth, and that you might be assured that this will surely come to pass, that it came about.

For this reason He too uttered the same thing once and twice and a third time, for the sake of confirming the divine dispensation.

And for what reason did He come a second time? So as to convict them, that they had been so overwhelmed by despondency as not even to perceive His presence.

Yet He did not rebuke them, but withdrew a little, disclosing their unspeakable weakness, that not even when reproved were they able to hold out.

Nor does He rouse and rebuke them again, so as not to strike those already stricken, but having gone away and prayed and returned, He says:

'Sleep on now, and take your rest.'

And yet it was then that they ought to have watched;

but showing that they would not even bear the sight of the terrors, but would be put to flight and would withdraw out of anguish, and that He had no need at all of their help, and that He must by all means be delivered up, He says, 'Sleep on now, and take your rest.'

'Behold, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.'

Again He shows that what was happening belonged to the divine dispensation.

And not this only, but also by saying 'into the hands of sinners,' He raises up their spirits, showing that it was the work of those men's wickedness, not that He was liable to any transgression.

'Rise, let us be going hence;

behold, he who betrays Me is at hand.'

He taught them that the matter was not one of necessity, nor of weakness, but of some ineffable dispensation.

For indeed He foreknew that they were coming, and not only did He not flee, but He even went to meet them.

'While He was yet speaking, behold, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a great multitude with swords and staves, from the chief priests and elders of the people.'

Fine instruments indeed of the priests;

with swords and staves they come upon Him.

'And Judas,' he says, 'with them, one of the twelve.'

Again he calls him one of the twelve, and is not ashamed.

'Now he that betrayed Him gave them a sign, saying:

Whomsoever I shall kiss, that is He: seize Him.'

how great a wickedness did the soul of the traitor take in!

For with what kind of eyes did he then look upon the Teacher? with what kind of mouth did he kiss Him? O the abominable purpose!

what did he plot? what did he dare? what token of the betrayal did he give? 'Whomsoever I shall kiss,' he says.

He presumed upon the gentleness of the Teacher;

which most of all was enough to shame him, and to deprive him of all pardon, that he was betraying one so mild.

And for what reason does he say this? Because, having oftentimes been laid hold of by them, He had passed through their midst, they not knowing it.

But nevertheless even then this would have come to pass, had He not Himself so willed.

Wishing therefore to teach him this very thing, then also He blinded their eyes, and Himself asked, 'Whom seek ye?' And they knew Him not, although they had lanterns and torches, and had Judas with them.

Then, when they said 'Jesus,' He says:

And here again He says, 'Friend, wherefore art thou come?' For after He had displayed His own might, then at last He gave them leave.

But John says that even up to that very hour He was setting him right, saying:

'Judas, betrayest thou the Son of man with a kiss?' Art thou not ashamed even of the very manner of thy treachery? He says.

Yet nevertheless, since not even this restrained him, He submitted even to be kissed, and gave Himself up willingly; and they laid their hands upon Him, and seized Him on that very night in which they ate the Passover;

so were they boiling and raging with fury.

Yet nevertheless they would have had no power at all, unless He Himself had given them leave.

This, however, does not free Judas from the intolerable punishment, but rather condemns him the more greatly, in that, having received so great a proof of His power, and of His forbearance, [and of His meekness,] and of His gentleness, he became more cruel than any wild beast.

Knowing these things, therefore, let us flee covetousness.

For it was this, it was this that then drove him to frenzy;

it is this that trains those whom it has taken captive unto the utmost savagery and inhumanity.

For when it makes a man despair of his own salvation, much more does it dispose him to disregard the salvation of others.

And so tyrannical is this passion, that it sometimes overpowers even the most burning love of the body.

Wherefore I am also exceedingly ashamed, that while many, sparing their money, have oftentimes bridled their licentiousness,

yet for the fear of Christ they have not been willing to live soberly and with dignity.

For I shall not cease ever saying this.

For why, O man, dost thou heap up gold? Why dost thou make thy slavery more bitter? Why thy imprisonment more grievous? Why dost thou make thy care more piercing? Reckon as thine own the grains of ore buried in the mines, and the treasures in the royal palaces.

For indeed, even if thou hadst that whole mass, thou wouldest only have guarded it, and wouldest not have used it.

For if now thou usest not that which thou hast, but keepest thyself from it as from another man's goods, much more, if thou hadst more, wouldest thou suffer this same thing.

For indeed the covetous are wont, by so much the more as they compass themselves about with abundance, so much the more to spare their goods.

But I know, saith he, that these things are mine.

Then the possession is in supposition only, not in enjoyment.

But I was to be, saith he, an object of fear to men.

Nay rather, thou wouldest thereby have become the more easy to be mastered, both by rich and poor, and by robbers, and by false accusers, and by household servants, and in a word by all who are minded to plot against thee.

For if thou wilt be an object of fear, cut off the handles by which all who are eager for this are able to take hold of thee and to grieve thee.

Or dost thou not hear the proverb which saith, that the poor and naked man not even a hundred together, coming upon him, are ever able to strip? For he hath a mighty protectress, even his poverty, which not even the reigning monarch himself

could subdue and take.

The covetous man, however, all together vex.

And why do I speak of men, when even moths and worms make war upon such a one? And why do I speak of moths? The mere long lapse of time suffices of itself, even with none to trouble him, to do the greatest wrong to such a man.

What then is the pleasure of wealth? For I, for my part, behold the unpleasantnesses thereof;

but do thou tell me the pleasure.

And what are the unpleasantnesses? saith he.

Anxieties, plots, enmities, hatred, fear, the being ever athirst and in pain.

For if any one were entwined with a beloved maiden, but unable to satisfy his desire, he endures the uttermost torment.

For he hath abundance, and is with her;

yet he cannot satisfy the whole of his desire, but the same thing befalls him as a certain wise man saith:

'The desire of an eunuch to deflower a virgin;'

and, 'As an eunuch embracing a virgin, and groaning;'

so are all they that are rich.

Why should one speak of the other things? How is such a one displeasing to all, to his household servants, to his husbandmen, to his neighbours, to those who manage public affairs, to those whom he wrongs, to those whom he wrongs not, to his wife most of all, to his children more than all? For he rears them not as free men, but more miserably than slaves and bought servants.

And he will furnish against himself countless occasions of wrath, and of grief, and of drunken insolence, and of mockery, being set forth as a common comedy to all.

And such are these vexations, and perhaps still more numerous than these;

for no one could ever recount them all in words, but experience alone will be able to set them before us.

But tell me now of the pleasure that comes from this.

'I seem to be rich,' he says, 'and I am reckoned to be rich.'

And what pleasure is there in being so reckoned? Rather, it is the surest ground for envy.

For wealth is a mere name, empty of any real thing.

'But the rich man,' he says, 'also luxuriates and rejoices in this reputation of his.'

He rejoices over the very things for which he ought to grieve.

Because this makes him useless for everything, both cowardly and unmanly, whether for a journey abroad or for death;

for he counts this death double, since he longs after his riches more than after the light of day.

Such a man is not even delighted by heaven itself, because it does not yield gold;

nor by the sun, because it does not send forth golden rays.

'But there are some,' he says, 'who actually enjoy their possessions, living luxuriously, feasting their bellies, drinking to excess, spending lavishly.'

You are speaking to me of those who are worse than these others.

For it is those very ones above all who do not truly enjoy their goods.

For the first man, at least, keeps himself from other evils, being bound fast to a single passion;

but these others are worse than they, for in addition to what has been said, they bring in upon themselves a rabble of other harsh mistresses, and, as though to certain cruel tyrants, they render daily service to the belly, to the pleasure of the body, to drunkenness, and to the other forms of licentiousness; keeping harlots, preparing costly banquets, purchasing parasites and flatterers, falling into unnatural lusts, and by these means enveloping both body and soul in countless diseases.

For they do not spend their possessions upon any real need, but upon the corrupting of the body, and, together with it, the corrupting of the soul;

and they do the very same thing as if a man, in decking out his body, should think that he was spending upon his own need.

So that he alone enjoys pleasure and is master of his possessions who uses his wealth for what is needful;

but these men are slaves and captives;

for they aggravate both the passions of the body and the diseases of the soul.

What sort of enjoyment, then, is this, where there is siege and warfare, and a tempest more grievous than every storm at sea? For even if wealth lays hold of foolish men, it makes them more foolish still;

and if it lays hold of licentious men, it makes them more licentious.

'And what profit,' he says, 'is understanding to the poor man?' It is with good reason that you are ignorant of it.

For neither does the blind man know what is the gain of the light.

Hear Solomon saying that, 'As far as light excels darkness, so far does the wise man's advantage exceed the fool's.'

But how shall we teach the man who is in darkness? For the love of money is darkness, letting nothing of what really is appear as it is, but otherwise.

For just as the man in darkness, even if he sees a golden vessel, or a precious stone, or purple garments, thinks them to be nothing;

for he does not see their beauty;

so by covetousness a man does not know, as he ought, the beauty of things worthy to be earnestly sought.

Scatter for me the mist that comes from this passion, and then you will see the true nature of things.

But nowhere do these things appear so clearly as in poverty;

nowhere are the things that seem to be, yet are not, so plainly convicted as in the love of wisdom.

But O foolish men, who even curse the poor, and say that both their houses and their manner of life are put to shame by poverty!

For what is the shame of a house? Tell me.

It has no couch of ivory, nor vessels of silver, but everything is of earthenware and of wood.

Yet this very thing is the greatest glory and distinction of a house.

For the neglect of the things of this life, for the sake of the care of the soul, often causes all one's leisure to be spent upon it.

When, therefore, you see much care bestowed upon outward things, then be ashamed at the great unseemliness of it.

For it is above all the houses of the wealthy that lack all decency of form.

For when you see beams draped with tapestries, and couches bound about with silver, as in the theater, as in the pageantry of the stage, what could equal such unseemliness? For which house more resembles the dancing-floor and those who perform upon it, the rich man's or the poor man's? Is it not plain that it is the rich man's? Therefore this house is full of unseemliness.

Which house resembles that of Paul, that of Abraham? Plainly the poor man's.

Therefore this one above all is adorned and held in honor.

And that you may learn that this is the true adornment of a house,

enter into the house of Zacchaeus, and learn how, when Christ was about to come into it, that man adorned it.

For he did not run to his neighbors, asking for folding doors and chairs and stools made of ivory, nor did he bring out from the storerooms Laconian coverlets;

but he adorned it with an adornment befitting Christ.

And what was this? 'I will give the half of my goods,' he says, 'to the poor; and if I have taken anything from any man by fraud, I will restore it fourfold.'

So let us too adorn our houses, that Christ may come in to us as well.

These are the beautiful folding doors, these are fashioned in the heavens, there they are woven.

Wherever these things are, there also is the King of the heavens.

But if you adorn it otherwise, you are inviting the devil and his troupe.

He came also into the house of Matthew the tax-collector.

What then did this man also do? He first adorned himself with eagerness, and by leaving all and following Him.

So too Cornelius adorned his house with prayers and almsgiving;

and for this reason, even to this day it shines more brightly than royal palaces.

For the meanness of a house lies not in vessels lying about in disorder, nor in a neglected couch, nor in walls filled with smoke, but in the wickedness of those who dwell within.

For into such a house, if he who dwells in it is virtuous, He is not ashamed to enter;

but into that other one, even though it have a roof of gold, He will never enter.

So that this house is more splendid than palaces, since it receives the Master of all;

but that other, with its golden roof and its columns, resembles foul sewers and drains, holding within it the vessels of the devil.

But these things have been spoken by us not against those who use their wealth as they ought, but against the greedy and the lovers of money.

For there is no zeal there, nor care for necessities, but only for gorging and drunkenness, and for behaving disgracefully in other such ways;

but here it is for the practice of true wisdom.

For this reason Christ nowhere entered into a splendid house, but into that of the tax-collector, and of the chief tax-collector, and of the fisherman, passing by the palaces and those clothed in soft garments.

If therefore you also wish to invite Him, adorn your house with almsgiving, with prayers, with supplications, with all-night vigils.

These are the offerings of Christ the King, but those others are of Mammon, the enemy of Christ.

Let no one therefore be ashamed of having a lowly house, if he has these coverlets;

let no rich man think highly of himself for having a costly house, but let him rather be ashamed, and let him emulate the one and forsake the other;

that both here he may receive Christ, and there enjoy the eternal tabernacles, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and might unto the ages of ages.