馬太福音講道集 第 90 章

Now on the morrow, which is after the day of preparation, the chief priests and the Pharisees were gathered together unto Pilate, saying:

Sir, we have remembered that that deceiver said while he was yet alive, After three days I rise again.

Command therefore that the sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his disciples come and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead;

and the last error shall be worse than the first.

Everywhere falsehood falls upon itself, and against its will pleads the cause of the truth.

It behoved that it be believed both that He died, and that He was buried, and that He rose again;

and all these things come to pass through His enemies.

Behold, at any rate, these words bearing witness to all these points.

We have remembered, he says, that that deceiver said while he was yet alive,

namely, After three days I rise again.

Command therefore that the sepulchre be sealed;

lest his disciples come and steal him away.

Well then, if the sepulchre be sealed, there will be no foul play.

Well then, the demonstration of the Resurrection has become incontrovertible, by the very means which you yourselves put forward.

For since it was sealed, no foul play took place.

But if no foul play took place, and the sepulchre was found empty, it is plain that He rose again, clearly and incontrovertibly.

Do you see how even against their will they contend together for the demonstration of the truth? But do you consider for me the love of truth in the disciples;

how they conceal nothing of the things said by their enemies, even though these say things full of reproach.

Behold, at all events, these men call Him even a deceiver, and the disciples do not pass this over in silence.

And these things show also the savagery of those men, that not even at His death did they lay aside their wrath;

and they show also the guileless and truth-loving manner of these disciples.

And it is worth inquiring into this also, where did He say, After three days I rise again? For one would not find it so plainly stated anywhere, except the example of Jonah.

So then they knew what had been foretold, and yet of their own will they did their wicked work.

What then does Pilate say? 'You have a guard; go, make it as secure as you know how.'

And they made it secure, sealing the tomb together with the guard.

He does not permit the soldiers alone to seal it.

For inasmuch as he had learned the things concerning Him, he was no longer willing to cooperate with them.

But for the sake of being rid of them he tolerates even this, and he says:

'Seal it as you wish, that you may have no others to blame.'

For if the soldiers alone had sealed it, they might have been able to say (even though what they said would have been improbable and false;

but nevertheless, just as in the other matters they were shameless, so in this too they could have said) that the soldiers had allowed the body to be stolen and thus furnished the disciples with the tale about the resurrection to fabricate.

But as it is, since they themselves made it secure, they cannot say even this.

Do you see how, even against their will, they labor on behalf of the truth? For they themselves came forward, they themselves made the request, they themselves sealed it together with the guard, so that they became accusers and refuters of one another.

And besides, when could they have stolen it? On the Sabbath? And how? They could not even—

And even if they had been transgressing the law, how would men so timid have dared to come forward? And how could they have persuaded the crowd? By saying what? By doing what? With what eagerness could they have taken a stand on behalf of a dead man? Expecting what recompense? What reward? While He was still living and had merely been arrested, when they saw it they fled;

and were they going to speak out boldly on His behalf after His death, if He had not risen? And how could these things stand to reason? For that they would neither have wished nor been able to fabricate a resurrection that had not happened is plain from this:

He had discoursed much to them concerning the resurrection, and continually said—as these very men have themselves declared—that 'After three days I will rise.'

If therefore He had not risen, it is quite evident that these men, having been deceived and made hostile to a whole nation on His account, and having become homeless and cityless, would have turned away from Him, and would not have wished to invest Him with such glory, seeing that they had been deluded and on His account had fallen into the utmost dangers.

And that they could not have fabricated it, had the resurrection not been true, this does not even require argument.

For in what did they trust? In the power of their words? But they were the most unlearned of all men.

Or in the abundance of their money? But they had neither staff nor sandals.

Or in the distinction of their birth? But they were of mean estate, and sprung from mean folk.

Or in the greatness of their homeland? But they were from obscure villages.

Or in their own numbers? But they were no more than eleven, and even these had been scattered.

Or in the promises of their Teacher? What promises? For if He had not risen, neither would those promises have been trustworthy to them.

And how could they have withstood a raging populace? For if their chief could not bear the word of a woman, a doorkeeper, and all the rest, seeing Him bound, were scattered;

how could they have conceived the thought of running to the ends of the world and planting a fabricated tale of resurrection? For if the one did not stand firm before a woman's threat, and the others not even before the sight of chains,

how could they have taken their stand before kings and rulers and peoples, where there were swords and frying-pans and furnaces and a thousand deaths daily, unless they had enjoyed the power and support of Him who had risen? Such signs, and so many, took place, and the Jews reverenced none of them, but crucified the One who had wrought them;

and were these men going to be persuaded about a resurrection by people who merely asserted it? These things are not so, they are not so;

rather, it was the might of Him who rose that wrought these things.

But consider for me the ridiculous villainy of these men.

'We remember,' they say, 'that while He was yet living that deceiver said, After three days I will rise.'

And if He was a deceiver and boasted of falsehoods, why do you fear and run about, and employ such great diligence? 'We are afraid,' they say, 'lest His disciples steal Him away and deceive the many.'

And yet it was shown that this had no reason at all.

But nevertheless malice is contentious and shameless, and undertakes even irrational things.

And they command that it be made secure for three days, as though contending on behalf of doctrines, and wishing to show that even before this He was a deceiver; and they extend their malice as far as the tomb.

For this very reason He rose the sooner, that they might not say that He lied and was stolen away.

For to rise more quickly afforded no ground for accusation;

but to rise later would have been full of suspicion.

For indeed, if He had not risen then, while they were sitting there and keeping watch, but only after they had withdrawn following the three days, they would have had something to say and to allege in contradiction, however foolishly.

For this reason, therefore, He anticipated the time.

For it was necessary that the resurrection should take place while they were sitting beside it and keeping watch.

Therefore it was necessary that it should also come to pass within the three days;

for if it had taken place after these had passed and they had withdrawn, the matter would have been open to suspicion.

For this reason He also permitted them to seal it, as they wished, and soldiers were stationed there.

And they cared nothing that they were doing and working these things on the Sabbath, but they looked to one thing only, their own wickedness, thinking that by this they would prevail;

which was the height of madness, and of a fear that henceforth violently shook them.

For those who had seized Him while He lived, now dreaded Him when He was dead.

And yet, if He had been a mere man, they ought to have taken courage.

But since while living He willingly suffered what He suffered—behold, there was a seal, and a stone, and a guard, and yet they could not hold Him fast;

rather, one thing alone came to pass: that the burial was made public, and that thereby the resurrection came to be believed.

For indeed the soldiers were stationed there, and the Jews were keeping watch.

'Now late on the Sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to look at the tomb.'

'And behold, there was a great earthquake.'

'For an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven and drawing near, rolled away the stone from the door of the tomb, and sat upon it.'

'And his appearance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow.'

The angel came after the resurrection.

For what purpose, then, did he come and take away the stone? For the sake of the women;

for it was they who then saw Him in the tomb.

In order, then, that they might believe that He was risen, they behold the tomb empty of the body.

For this reason he removed the stone; for this reason too an earthquake occurred, that they might be roused up and awakened out of sleep.

For indeed they had come in order to pour on oil, and these things took place at night, and it was likely that some had even fallen asleep.

And for what reason, and why does he say, 'Fear not ye'? First he frees them from dread, and then he speaks to them concerning the resurrection.

And the word 'ye' is a mark of one showing much honour, and revealing that the uttermost punishments await those who dared what they dared, unless they repent.

'For it is not for you to be afraid,' he says, 'but for those who crucified Him.'

Having therefore freed them from fear, both by his words and by his appearance—for indeed he showed a bright and joyful aspect, as bearing such glad tidings—he added, saying, 'I know that ye seek Jesus who was crucified.'

And he is not ashamed to call Him crucified;

for this is the sum and crown of all good things.

'So that even if ye disbelieve me,' he says, 'remember His words, and ye will not disbelieve me either.'

'Come and see the place where He lay.'

For this reason he had lifted away the stone, that from this also they might receive the proof.

'And tell His disciples that ye shall see Him in Galilee.'

And he prepares them to bring the good tidings to others also—the very thing that most of all made them believe.

And he well said, 'Into Galilee,' delivering them from troubles and dangers, so that fear might not disturb their faith.

'And they went out from the tomb with fear and great joy.'

Why so? They had seen an astounding and marvellous thing—an empty tomb, where they had first seen Him laid.

For this reason too he led them to the sight, that they might become witnesses of both—both of the tomb and of the resurrection.

For indeed they reasoned that, with so many soldiers stationed there, no one could have taken Him away, unless He had raised Himself.

For this reason they both rejoice and marvel, and for such great perseverance they receive their reward, namely, to be the first to see and to bring the good tidings—not only of what had been said, but also of what had been seen.

Since therefore they had gone out with fear and joy, 'Behold, Jesus met them, saying:'

And they laid hold of His feet, and running to Him with overflowing gladness, received also through the touch a token and full assurance of the resurrection; 'And they worshipped Him.'

What, then, does He Himself say? 'Fear not.'

Again He too casts out their fear, preparing the way for faith.

'But go, and tell My brethren, that they depart into Galilee.'

Consider how by these words He too proclaims good news to the disciples, and does that which I have often said: He brings a sex once held in dishonor into honor and into good hopes, and heals that which was afflicted.

Perhaps some one of you desired to have been in the place of those women, and to have held the feet of Jesus. You are able even now.

As many of you as will, may hold not the feet and the hands only, but even that sacred Head itself, receiving the awful mysteries with a pure conscience.

And not here only, but also in that Day you shall see Him coming with that ineffable glory and with the host of the angels, if you are willing to be loving to mankind;

and you shall hear not these words only, that He says 'All hail!', but also those words:

'Come, ye blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you before the foundation of the world.'

Become therefore loving to mankind, that you may hear these things—you too, the gold-bearing women, who having beheld the course of these women, may at length at last lay aside the disease of the lust for gold ornaments.

So that if you emulate those women, exchange the adornment which you wear, putting on almsgiving instead.

What is the profit, tell me, of these precious stones and of the gold-spangled garments? 'The soul,' one says, 'rejoices in these and is made glad.'

I asked you about the gain;

but you have told me the harm.

For there is nothing worse than to be busied about these things, and to rejoice in them, and to be nailed fast to them.

For this grievous bondage becomes more bitter, when one even takes delight while being a slave.

For to what spiritual thing will she ever apply herself as she ought, and when will she despise as she should the affairs of this life, she who accounts it a thing worthy of joy to be bound with gold? For he who abides in prison and is pleased with it will never wish to be delivered from it, even as neither will she;

but like one taken captive by this wicked lust, she will not even endure to hear a spiritual voice with the fitting desire and diligence, much less to go about a work of it.

What then is the gain of this adornment and of this folly? Tell me.

Again you have told me the harm and the ruin.

'But I enjoy much honor also,' she says, 'from those who behold me.'

And what of this? For this is the occasion of yet another corruption, when it lifts you up into vanity, when into arrogance.

Come then, since you have not told the gain, bear with me while I recount to you the harms.

What then are the harms from this? The anxiety greater than the pleasure.

Wherefore many of those who behold—those, that is, of the grosser sort—take more delight than she who wears the ornaments.

For you indeed adorn yourself with care;

but they, without this care, feast their eyes.

Then again another harm: the humbling of the soul, the being envied on every side.

For the women near you, being stung, arm themselves against their own husbands, and kindle grievous wars against you.

Together with these, the spending of all one's leisure and care upon this; the not clinging very earnestly to spiritual achievements; the being filled with vanity and arrogance and empty glory; the being nailed to the earth, and moulting one's feathers, and becoming, instead of an eagle, a dog and a swine.

For having given up looking toward heaven and flying, like the swine you bend down to the ground, busying yourself with mines and holes in the earth, and gaining a soul unmanly and servile.

'But you turn the heads of those in the marketplace by appearing thus?' Nay, for this very reason you ought not to wear gold, that you may not become a common spectacle, and open the mouths of many accusers.

For none of those who turn to look admires you, but they mock you as a lover of adornment, as boastful, as a fleshly woman.

And if you enter into the church, you come forth having gained nothing, but rather countless jeers and revilings and curses—not from those who behold you only, but even from the prophet.

For straightway the most loud-voiced Isaiah, on seeing you, will cry aloud:

'Thus saith the Lord against the ruling daughters of Zion:'

'Because they walked with a lofty neck, and with beckonings of the eyes, and in their gait trailing their tunics, and playing with their feet at the same time:'

'the Lord will lay bare their adornment, and instead of a sweet smell there shall be dust, and instead of a girdle you shall gird yourself with a rope.'

These things shall be yours instead of adornment.

For these things have been spoken not against those women only, but against every woman who imitates them.

And Paul too stands as an accuser along with him, when he charges Timothy to give commandment to the women:

They are not to adorn themselves with braided hair, or gold, or pearls, or costly array.

So then, the wearing of gold is harmful everywhere, but most of all when you enter into the church, when you pass by the poor.

For if you had earnestly set out to accuse yourself, you could not have put on any other guise than this very mask of cruelty and inhumanity.

Consider, then, how many hungering bellies you pass by in this array, how many bodies left naked in this satanic display of vanity.

It is better to nourish hungering souls than to bore through the lobes of one's ears, and to hang upon them, idly and in vain, the sustenance of countless poor!

Is being rich a matter for praise? Is the wearing of gold a matter for commendation? Even if these things had been laid upon you from honest labors, still what you do would be a most grave accusation against you;

but when they come from injustice as well, consider how far the excess goes.

But you are in love with praise and glory? Then strip off this ridiculous attire, and then all will admire you; then you will enjoy both glory and a pure delight;

whereas now you are full of jeers, contriving for yourself many occasions of vexation from these things.

For if any of these should be lost, consider how many evils are thereby brought to birth;

how many maidservants are flogged, how many husbands are harassed, how many are hauled off, how many end up dwelling in prison.

And from this come lawsuits, and summonses, and countless curses and accusations from every side — against the wife from her husband, against the husband from his friends, against the soul from its own self.

For the most part, indeed, this is no easy matter;

but even if it should be kept safe throughout, the very keeping of it again brings much anxiety and worry and distaste, and no profit at all.

For what income comes from it to the household? What benefit is it to her who wears it? No benefit at all, but much unseemliness, and accusation from every side.

How will you be able to kiss the feet of Christ and to clasp them, decked out in such a way? He turns away from this kind of adornment.

For this reason He consented to be born in the house of a carpenter — or rather, not even in that house, but in a hut and a manger.

How then will you be able to see Him, when you possess no beauty that is desirable to Him, when you are decked with an adornment that is not lovely to Him, but hateful? For she who draws near to Him must not be beautified with such garments, but must be clothed with virtue.

Consider what in the world this gold really is. It is nothing other than earth and ashes.

Throw in water, and it has become mud.

Consider this, and be ashamed that you make mud your master, and that you leave all else and sit close beside it, and everywhere carry and bear it about, even when you enter into the church — the very time when you ought most of all to flee from it.

For it was not for this that the church was built — that you should display this wealth in it — but that you should display spiritual wealth.

But you, as though you were entering a procession, thus deck yourself out on every side, imitating the women on the stage; thus with lavishness do you carry about this ridiculous trash.

For this very reason you become a source of ruin to many; and when the church has been dismissed, in the houses, at the tables, these are the things that one may hear the greater number recounting.

For, leaving off saying, 'This and that the prophet and the Apostle spoke,' they recount instead the costliness of the garments, the size of the stones, and all the rest of the unseemliness of those who wear these things.

These things make you sluggish toward mercy, and those who dwell together with you as well.

For not one of you would readily choose to break off a piece of these bits of gold and to feed one who is hungry.

For seeing that you yourself would choose rather to be in straits than to see these things broken up, how could you nourish another out of them? For most women are disposed toward these things as toward living creatures, and no less than toward their own children.

Show me, then, this — show it by your deeds; since as it is now I behold the very opposite.

For who, of those utterly captivated by these things, ever melted them down and snatched a child's soul from death? And why do I speak of a child? Who ever, with them, purchased his own perishing soul? On the contrary, most women even sell their soul daily for the sake of these things.

And if a bodily sickness comes upon them, they do everything;

but if they see the soul corrupted, they do nothing of the sort, but neglect both their offspring and their own soul, so that these things may remain, gaining polish with the passage of time.

And you indeed are decked with gold worth countless talents;

but the member of Christ has not even the enjoyment of necessary food.

Yet the common Master of all, of heaven and of the things in the heavens, has given a share alike to all in the spiritual table;

but you do not share with Him even out of the things that perish, so that you may remain continually bound with these grievous chains.

Hence come the countless evils; hence come the fornications of husbands, when you do not prepare them to practice self-restraint, but train them to take delight in those very things by which the harlots deck themselves out.

For this reason too they are quickly ensnared.

For if you had trained him to despise these things, and to delight rather in chastity, in reverence, in humility, he would not easily have been caught by the wings of fornication.

For a harlot too can adorn herself in this way, and even more than this;

Accustom him, then, to delight in this adornment, which he cannot see displayed upon a harlot.

And how will you bring him into this habit? If you take away the one and put on him the other.

Thus both will the husband be in safety, and you in honour, and God will be gracious to you, and all men will marvel, and you shall attain the good things to come, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and dominion unto the ages of ages.