腓立比書講道集 第 2 章

'For God is my witness, how I long after you all in the bowels of Jesus Christ.'

'And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all discernment;'

'that you may approve the things that are excellent; that you may be sincere and without offense unto the day of Christ, being filled with the fruits of righteousness, which are through Jesus Christ, unto the glory and praise of God.'

It is not as one who is disbelieved that he calls God to witness, but he does this out of great affection, and because he is exceedingly persuaded and full of confidence.

For since he had said that they had shared with him, lest they should suppose that it was for this reason that he longed after them, and not simply for their own sake, he therefore added, 'In the bowels of Christ.'

What is this? It is equivalent to saying, 'According to Christ.'

Since you are believers, since you love Christ, for the sake of the love that is according to Christ.

And he did not say 'love,' but that which was more ardent: 'the bowels of Christ.'

As though saying this: from him who has become as your father through the kinship that is according to Christ.

he freely bestows warm and burning bowels of affection.

For to his genuine servants he bestows his bowels of affection.

'In those bowels,' he says;

I love you with bowels of affection that are not natural, but with those more ardent ones, the bowels of Christ.

'How I long,' he says, 'for you all.'

I long for you all, since you are all of such a kind.

It is therefore impossible to tell how I long for you;

for I am not able to set forth in words this yearning;

for this reason I leave it to God to know it, to him who searches the hearts.

But he would not, if he were flattering them, have called God to witness;

'And this I pray,' he says, 'that your love may abound yet more and more.'

for this good thing is insatiable.

See how, though he was loved, he desired still more to be loved.

For he who loves in this way desires that the one loved should nowhere come to a stop in his love;

for there is no measure to this good thing.

Wherefore Paul wishes that it should ever be owed, saying, 'Owe no man anything, save to love one another.'

The measure of love is to come to a stop nowhere.

'That your love,' he says, 'may abound yet more and more.'

See the disposition of the expression.

'Yet more and more,' he says, 'that it may abound in knowledge and in all discernment.'

He does not simply marvel at friendship, nor simply at love, but at that which springs from knowledge;

that is to say, not that you should exercise the same love toward all;

for that would be a mark not of love, but of coldness.

What does 'in knowledge' mean? That is, with judgment, with reasoning, with perception.

For there are some who love without reason, indiscriminately and at random;

wherefore it comes about that such friendships are not even fervent. 'In knowledge,' he says, 'and in all discernment, that you may approve the things that differ,' that is, the things that are profitable.

'I do not say these things for my own sake,' he says, 'but for your own sakes;'

for there is a danger lest anyone be corrupted by the love of the heretics.

For this is the whole thing he hints at by speaking in this way.

And see how he puts it:

'It is not for my own sake,' he says, 'that I say these things, but that you may be sincere;'

that is, that you may not accept any spurious doctrine under the pretext of love.

How then does he say elsewhere, 'If it be possible, be at peace with all men'? He said 'be at peace,' not indicating this, that you should not love in such a way as to be harmed by the friendship;

'For if your right eye offends you,' he says, 'pluck it out, and cast it from you;'

but rather, 'that you may be sincere,' that is, in what pertains to God, 'and without offense,' that is, in what pertains to men.

For friendships often harm many.

'For even if it does you no harm,' he says, 'yet another stumbles.'

that is, that you may then be found pure, having caused no one to stumble;

'Being filled with the fruits of righteousness which are by Jesus Christ, unto the glory and praise of God;'

that is, having together with sound doctrines an upright life as well.

For it is not enough simply to be upright, but one must be filled with the fruits of righteousness.

For there is a righteousness, but not one according to Christ, such as a life that is simply virtuous;

but rather, 'those which are by Jesus Christ,' he says, 'unto the glory and praise of God.'

Do you see that I do not speak of my own glory, but of the righteousness of God? And in many places he calls almsgiving too 'righteousness.'

'Let not love hinder you,' he says, 'from knowing the things that are profitable, and, because you love a certain person, do not fall.' I do indeed wish your love to increase, yet not in such a way as to be harmed by it;

and I do not simply wish it to be by a prejudgment, but that you should first test whether we speak rightly.

And he did not say, 'that you may choose our position,' but, 'that you may test it.'

And he did not say openly, 'Do not associate with such a one;'

but rather, 'I wish your love to be exercised toward what is profitable, not that you should be devoid of discernment.'

For it is senseless, if you do not work righteousness for Christ's sake and through him.

Behold the 'through him' once again.

Does he then use God as a subordinate helper? Away with the thought!

'I did not speak thus,' he says, 'that I might be praised, but that God might be glorified.'

'But I would have you know, brethren, that the things which happened unto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance of the Gospel;'

'so that my bonds have become manifest in Christ throughout the whole praetorium, and to all the rest.'

It was likely that those who heard he was bound would grieve, and think that the preaching was being hindered.

What then does he do? He at once removes this suspicion, and says:

'The things which happened unto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance of the Gospel.'

And this too belongs to one who loves, to make known to them his own affairs, seeing that they are anxious.

What do you say? You are bound, you have been hindered, and how does the Gospel make progress? 'So that my bonds,' he says, 'which are in Christ, have become manifest throughout the whole praetorium.'

This not only did not silence the others, nor make them timid, but this very thing rather emboldened them.

If then those who were near the very dangers were not only in no way harmed, but even took greater courage, much more ought you to be of good cheer.

For if, having been bound, he had borne it wretchedly and had kept silence, it was likely that those others too would have done the same;

but if, having been bound, he spoke with even greater boldness, he gave them more courage than if he had not been bound.

But how did the bonds become a furtherance of the Gospel? 'God so ordered it,' he says, 'that my bonds — those in Christ, those for Christ's sake — should not remain hidden, throughout the whole praetorium.'

For at that time they used so to call the imperial palace.

'Not in the praetorium alone,' he says, 'but also in the whole city.'

'And most of the brethren, being confident in the Lord through my bonds, are much more bold to speak the word without fear.'

This shows that even before they were of good courage, and spoke with boldness; but now much more.

'If then others,' he says, 'are of good courage because of my bonds, how much more I myself;'

'if to others I am a cause of courage, how much more to myself.'

'And most of the brethren in the Lord.'

Since it was a great thing to say that his bonds gave them courage, for this reason he first said, taking precaution;

Do you see how, even when he is under necessity of speaking loftily, he does not depart from being moderate? 'To be much more bold,' he says, 'to speak the word without fear.'

The word 'much more' indicates that they had already begun.

'Some indeed preach Christ even of envy and strife, but some also of good will.'

What then this means is worth learning.

Since Paul had been imprisoned, many of the unbelievers, wishing to stir up against him the fierce war that came from the emperor, themselves also began to preach Christ;

so that the emperor's wrath might become greater, inasmuch as the preaching was being spread abroad, and that the whole force of his fury might come down upon Paul's head.

For two reasons, then, his bonds became a cause.

For to some they gave much courage, while others, being led into hope of my destruction, they prepared to preach Christ.

That is, envying my glory and my steadfastness, and wishing me to perish, and contending against me, they nevertheless work together with me;

or in order that they themselves might also be honoured, and thinking to draw off for themselves some part of my glory.

'But some also of good will;'

that is, without pretence, out of all eagerness.

'Some indeed proclaim Christ out of contention, not sincerely;'

that is, not purely, nor for the sake of the thing itself, but for what reason? 'Thinking to bring affliction upon my bonds.'

For supposing that thus I should fall into greater danger, they bring affliction upon affliction.

O the diabolical activity!

They saw him bound and cast into prison, and yet they still envied;

they wished to increase his calamities for him, and to make him liable to greater wrath.

And he said well, 'Thinking;'

For they indeed supposed that they were grieving me by this, but I rejoiced because the preaching was advancing.

Thus it is possible to do a good work not from a good purpose;

and not only is there no reward laid up for this, but even punishment.

For since, wishing to surround the herald of Christ with greater dangers, they preached Christ, not only will they not

receive a reward, but will even be liable to vengeance and punishment.

'But the others of love, knowing that I am set for the defence of the Gospel.'

What is 'that I am set for the defence of the Gospel'? That is, cutting short for me the account I must give to God, and taking part with me somewhat in the defence.

I am about to give account, and to make my defence for the work to which I have been appointed;

so that my defence might be easy for me, they take part with me.

For if many of those who have been instructed be found to have believed, my defence will be easy for me.

'What then? Notwithstanding, in every way, whether in pretence or in truth, Christ is proclaimed.'

See the philosophic temper of the man;

he did not vehemently accuse them, but stated what was happening.

'For what,' he says, 'does it matter to me, whether in this way or in that? Notwithstanding, in every way, whether in pretence or in truth, Christ is proclaimed.'

He did not say 'Let it be proclaimed,' as though laying down a law; but first he announced what was happening, and secondly, even if he had spoken as laying down a law, not even so would he have introduced heresies.

For let us examine, if it seems good, the matter, and we shall find that, even if he had permitted preaching in this manner, as those men did, not even so would heresy have been introduced.

How? Because those men preached soundly, but the aim and the intention with which they did so was corrupted; the preaching itself was not altered.

And they had great necessity to preach thus.

Why? Because if they had preached otherwise, not as Paul did, if they had taught otherwise, not as he did, they would not have increased the emperor's wrath;

but now, by increasing his preaching and teaching in like manner, and making disciples equal to his, they were able to inflame the emperor against him, inasmuch as a great multitude of disciples was appearing.

But some abominable and senseless man, laying hold of this passage, says:

'Nay, they would have wrought the contrary; they would have driven away those who had already believed, they would not have caused the faithful to increase, if indeed they wished to bite him.'

What then shall we say? That those men looked to this one thing: to surround him with present dangers, not to let him escape;

and by this they thought rather to grieve him and to quench the preaching, than in that other way.

For in the other way they might have both quenched the emperor's wrath, and let him go forth, and preach again;

but in this way they thought to seize the whole through him, by doing away with him.

And this was not for the many to perceive, but only for certain bitter and exceedingly wicked men.

Then, 'And in this,' he says, 'I rejoice, yea, and I will rejoice.'

What is 'yea, and I will rejoice'? 'Even if it should increase yet more,' he says.

'For they work together with me even against their will, and of the labours toiled by them, they indeed shall receive punishment, while I, who contribute nothing, shall receive a reward.'

Is there then anything more abominable than the devil, who has devised a preaching that brings punishment upon those who obey it? Do you see with how many evils he pierces his own people? He devises for them punishment and vengeance out of this preaching and out of these labours.

And what other enemy and foe of their salvation could have disposed the whole matter thus? Do you see that he who wars against the truth has no power at all, but rather wounds himself, like one who kicks against the goads? 'For I know,' he says, 'that this shall turn out to me for salvation, through your supplication and the supply of the Spirit of Jesus Christ.'

Nothing is more abominable than the devil;

thus everywhere he surrounds his own people with unprofitable labours, and tears them asunder;

and not only does he not allow them to obtain the prizes, but he knows how to make them liable to punishment as well.

For not only preaching, but he also legislates for them such fasting and virginity as will not only deprive them of rewards, but will even bring great evil upon those who pursue it;

concerning whom he says also in another place:

'Having their own conscience seared.'

Wherefore I exhort you, let us give thanks to God for all things, that He has both lightened for us the

labours, and increased the rewards.

For the rewards which those who marry chastely among us enjoy, those who practise virginity among them do not enjoy; but rather those who practise virginity among the heretics have become liable to the penalty of fornicators.

Whence? From doing something not with a right aim, but for the slandering of God's creatures and of His unspeakable wisdom.

God gave us contests of due measure, having no toil.

But let us not on this account be contemptuous.

For if the heretics strain themselves with unprofitable labours, what defence shall we have, if we are unwilling to bear even the lighter ones, which have a greater reward? For what is burdensome, what is grievous, among the commandments of Christ? Are you unable to practise virginity? It is permitted you to marry.

Are you unable to strip yourself of all that you have? It is still in your power to give a share out of what you possess.

'Your abundance,' he says, 'for their lack.'

For these things seem burdensome — I mean, to despise riches and to gain the mastery over bodily desire;

but the other things require no expense, no violence to oneself.

For what violence, tell me, is there in not speaking evil, nor slandering anyone at all? What violence in not envying the good things of others? Or what violence in not being caught by vainglory? To be put to the test and to endure — that belongs to fortitude;

it belongs to fortitude also to practise the love of wisdom;

to fortitude belongs the bearing of poverty;

to fortitude belongs the wrestling with hunger and thirst.

But when none of these things is present, and it is possible, while enjoying what you have as befits a Christian, not to envy the possessions of others — what violence is there in that? Envy comes from nowhere else than from being glued fast to present things; or rather, all evils come from that.

For if you considered riches, and the glory of this world, to be nothing, you would not envy those who have them.

But since you gape after them, and marvel at them, and are all aflutter over them, for this reason the pangs of envy trouble you, and for this reason also the pangs of vainglory;

and everything springs from this — from marvelling at the things of the present life.

You envy so-and-so because he is rich? Yet such a man is worthy rather of pity and of tears.

It is I who am worthy of tears, not he.

You too are worthy of tears — not because you are poor, but because you reckon yourself pitiable.

For those who have no ill and yet are discontented — these we weep for, not because they have some evil, but because, having none, they think they have.

Tell me: if a man freed from fever should toss and turn restlessly, lying on his bed though he is well, is not such a one more worthy of tears than the fevered — not because he has fever, for indeed he has none, but because, having nothing dreadful, he thinks he has something? So you too are worthy of tears for this reason, that you reckon yourself pitiable — not on account of your poverty;

for on account of your poverty you are rather to be counted blessed.

Why do you envy the rich man? Because he has made himself liable to more cares, because he is under a harsher slavery, because he is bound to his own riches by ten thousand chains, like a dog? Evening comes upon him, night comes upon him, and he keeps the time of rest as a time of tumult, of distaste, of grief, and of anxiety.

A noise is heard? At once he springs up.

Has so-and-so been robbed? The one who has lost nothing is more anxious than the one who has lost.

For that man lost his goods once for all, and, having grieved, laid aside his care;

but this man keeps his anxiety perpetually.

Night has come — the haven of our ills, the solace of our misfortunes, the medicine of our wounds.

For indeed those held fast by some overwhelming pain have often not yielded nor given way to friends and kinsmen and household members, and often not even to fathers who sought to console them, but were even provoked at their very words;

for the bitterness of pain oppresses our souls more than any burning heat;

yet to sleep, which bids them cease, they had not strength even to look back in resistance.

Just as, then, a body burning hot and worn out by wrestling with a fiercer ray of heat, as though into some

lodging that has many springs and the solace of a gentle breeze;

so night delivers our soul over to sleep;

or rather, it is not night, nor sleep, that accomplishes this, but God, who, knowing this wretched race of ours, wrought all these things.

But we do not pity ourselves; rather, as though we were enemies of ourselves, we have devised a tyranny greater than natural necessity and rest — the sleeplessness that comes from riches.

'For the anxiety of wealth,' it says, 'drives away sleep.'

And behold how great is God's providence;

He did not entrust rest to our resolve, nor the need of sleep to any choice of ours, but bound it fast by natural necessities, so that even against our will we might be benefited;

for to sleep belongs to nature.

But we, as though hating ourselves exceedingly, as though warring upon and afflicting others, have devised a tyranny from riches greater than this natural necessity.

Has day come? Such a man dreads informers.

Has night come? He trembles at robbers.

Has death drawn near? He is stung by death all the more, because those things become others'.

Has he had a child? His desire grows greater;

and then he seems to himself to be poor.

Has he had none? He is grieved the more.

Do you then count this man blessed — the man who can find pleasure from nowhere? Do you envy this man, tossed by the storm, while you yourself stand in the calm harbour of poverty? Truly this too is a defect of human nature, not to bear good things nobly, but to run riot amid prosperity.

But when we depart to that place, hear what the rich man says — he who was lord of ten thousand good things, as you would put it;

for I, at least, would not call these things good, but indifferent.

This man, then, the lord of ten thousand good things — hear what he says, and of what he stands in need:

'Father Abraham,' he says, 'send Lazarus, that with the tip of his finger he may drop water upon my tongue, for I am scorched as in a frying-pan.'

For even if that rich man had suffered none of the things I have spoken of, even if he had passed his whole life in security and free from care;

why do I say his whole life? that one brief moment;

for our whole age, it says, is but as a single moment compared with the age that is without end;

if, then, everything had gone forward for him according to his wish, is he not to be pitied for these words — or rather, for these facts? Did not your table overflow with wine? Yet now you are not master even of a drop of water, and that when you stand in great need.

Did you not overlook the poor man covered with sores? Yet now you crave to see him, and no one grants it.

He lay beside your gate, but now he is in the bosom of Abraham;

you lay beneath great roofs, but now you are in the fire of Gehenna.

Let the rich hear these things;

or rather, not the rich, but the unmerciful;

for it was not because he was rich that he was punished, but because he showed no mercy.

For it is possible, while being rich and merciful, to attain to every good thing.

And for this reason he sees no other, but only that man who was in need of him, so that he may learn that he suffered these things justly, being brought to remembrance of what he had done.

Were there not ten thousand righteous poor? But the one who lay at his gate — this one appears to him, teaching both him and us how great a good it is not to have put one's trust in riches.

Poverty in no way harmed that man as regards attaining the kingdom;

riches in no way profited this man as regards escaping Gehenna.

How long will you be poor? How long beggarly? He is not, he is not poor who has nothing, but he who desires much;

he is not rich who has acquired much, but he who is in need of nothing.

For what profit is it to have gained the whole world, and yet to pass one's days in greater despondency than the man who has nothing? It is the disposition of the will that makes men both rich and poor, not the abundance of riches nor the lack of it.

Do you, who are poor, wish to become rich? It is in your power, if you will, and there is no one to hinder you;

despise the riches of the world;

reckon them to be nothing, just as indeed they are nothing; cast out the desire of wealth, and you have become rich.

This is the rich man — the one who does not wish to be rich;

He who is unwilling to be poor, this is the man who is truly poor.

Just as that man is sick who frets even while in health, and not he who bears illness more easily than any state of health, so too here the poor man is he who cannot endure poverty, but who amid wealth deems himself poorer than the destitute; not he who bears poverty more easily than the rich bear their riches.

For this latter is rather the richer man.

Tell me, why do you dread poverty? Why do you tremble at it? Is it not because of hunger? Is it not because of thirst? Is it not because of cold? Or is it not for these things? But there is not, there is not a single man who has ever wanted for these things.

For look to the generations of old, and behold:

who ever put his trust in the Lord, and was forsaken? Or who ever hoped in Him, and was put to shame? And again: Behold the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and your heavenly Father feeds them.

No one could point out to us any man who has speedily perished from hunger and cold.

For what reason, then, do you tremble at poverty? You cannot say.

For if you have the necessities in abundance, why ever do you tremble at it? Because you have not a multitude of servants? This is to be rid of masters, this is perpetual blessedness, this is freedom from care.

But is it because you have no vessels and couches and furniture fashioned out of silver? Yet what more does the man who possesses these have in the way of enjoyment? Nothing.

For the benefits of use are equal, whether the thing be made of this material or of that.

But is it because you are not fearsome to the many? May you never be so.

For what pleasure is there in others' trembling and being afraid of you? But is it because you are afraid of others? Yet there is no cause to be afraid.

Do you wish not to fear the authority? Do what is good, and you shall have praise from it.

But is it, one says, because we are held in contempt and are ready targets for suffering ill? Above all, it is not poverty that does this, but wickedness.

Since, while many poor men pass their whole life free from trouble, rulers and rich men and potentates have come to an end more wretchedly than all evildoers and robbers and grave-plunderers.

For what poverty is in your case, that wealth is in his.

For just as those who wish to harm you do you ill here because you are despised,

so they harm him out of envy and malice;

and these more than those;

this necessity of doing ill is the stronger.

For he who envies does everything with all his might and power, whereas he who despises has often even taken pity on the one despised;

and this very thing has proved to him the cause of his deliverance—that he is poor, that he has no power to wield strength.

You will accomplish great things, they say to the great man, if you destroy so-and-so, if you kill a single poor man;

how many rewards will you not enjoy? And thus we soften their wrath.

But over the rich stands envy, not ceasing until it accomplishes what it wills and pours out its own venom.

Do you see that neither poverty nor wealth is a good, but rather our own free choice? Let us therefore order this rightly, let us train it to practice true wisdom.

If this is well disposed, neither will wealth be able to cast us out of the kingdom, nor will poverty make us the poorer;

but we shall bear poverty gently, suffering no harm either in the enjoyment of the good things to come, nor here.

but we shall both enjoy these things, and attain the good things in the heavens;

which may it be granted us all to attain, and so forth.