Let us then ask that he intercede for us and for our sins, and rescue us from so many dangers and all our travails—for His own goodness, not for our own conscience. For who, or how many, are the fountains that could quench the flame of our sin? May He deign to bury our crimes: so that, as for a little while He commended His members to the new tomb, so in the fountain of pardon He may bury our sins, that we may ever rejoice with Him in the most holy Church. SERMON IV. On the Epiphany of the Lord and on the Innocents. Christ is born; heaven and earth alike rejoice, because the star is glad and the Magi offer gifts. The Magi offered a great present, because they sang a new song in the midst of the shepherds, saying:
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will" (Luke ii, 14). The stars of heaven too offered a gift. For behold, a star from the midst of the stars went forth, as though sent on a great embassy. It beholds the Magi making their journey, not knowing the way, and seeking the Lord. It is said to the star: "Go, show them the way: this is my grace to those who love me, that in a star they may have a forerunner." Behold, while the Magi consider the way—ready with their gifts, ignorant of the road, less instructed about the Lord—He gave them a star, to be a lamp for them in their nighttime journeying. He furnished them a torch, that in the night we might not suffer harm.
They began to follow the star; becoming discerning, well-guided envoys, they were led all the way to the place, and there the star withdrew where it had shown the Lord to the Magi. For when anyone begins to know the Lord, he has no need to fear any enemy. Behold how great things they merited who offered gifts to the Lord. Thus the angels also guide us, when we offer glory to the Lord, the everlasting King, and heap upon Him glory and honor. The angels furnish us the most sweet service of their guidance. But the gifts are to be weighed according to the quality of the person. He is Emperor: He should be adorned with gold; He is Lord: incense should be offered Him; He became man for us, that He might dwell among us;
of myrrh His burial should be made, that in our heart the living memory may abide, and that He may ever appear to us in glory. And the Magi were warned in a dream by an angel not to return to report to Herod, but to journey to their own region by another way. Then Herod, when he saw that he had been deceived by the Magi, his face changed, his mind troubled, sent to summon the scribes and elders, of whom he inquired, saying: "Where do you have it for certain that the coming King is to be born?" But they said: "In Bethlehem; for it is written: And thou, Bethlehem of Judah, shalt not be least among the rulers, for out of thee shall come forth a King who shall rule my people" (Matt. II, 4-5). Then Herod appointed armed soldiers, and, threatening them with a terrible command, said:
"Go into Bethlehem of Judah, and whatever you find there of two years old and under—the males, kill; but the females, let live." Then indeed I saw the Lord choosing friends for Himself, calling the innocent to Himself, that the innocent might be a friend, just as the Lord is innocent, the immaculate Lamb who took away the sin of the world. And the innocents became His friends, as it is written: "The innocent and upright have cleaved to me, because I have waited for Thee, O Lord" (Ps. XXIV, 21). He endured, fleeing into Egypt, and made for Himself as friends legions of infants, to whom He gave martyrdom without pain: for the mothers grieved, and the infants, not knowing, rejoiced. The conscience of the innocent, being struck, cared nothing for the executioner's blade, because it rejoiced.
With those infants was the innocent flight of the Savior. The Lord is sought, and His friends are slaughtered, so that innocent blood might mourn those whom the shameless sword had separated. O the unblushing right hand of the striker! It has nothing to strike among their limbs, and yet it stretches out arms of savagery. The sword had no place, and the executioner was not ashamed: the blade was broader than the vitals, so that the sword might have the crime, and not the innocence. For when they were torn from their mothers' embraces by the harsh hand of the torturers, clutching their mothers with tender fingers, and lamenting with piteous moans, the mother cried out: "O son, why dost thou hold me back, while the executioner separates thee from me? Thou dost grasp my hands, and my affection is racked."
"This the king has commanded, that thou be separated from me; but there is an eternal King through whom thou shalt be joined to me. Son, I bid thee farewell. The earth drinks thy blood, but God will receive thy spirit." On the other side one cried out, and on the other a mother lamented; everywhere mourning, everywhere groaning. The proclamation was not of covetousness, but of bereavement. So on this side and that the various mothers cried: "Executioner, thou dost hasten to tear my little one from me. Grant delay, if thou hast any pity. Thou takest from me my son, and shall I not have even a moment in him? I bore him, I brought him forth. But I have found thee a stepfather of cruelty. At least let not my little one depart from me fasting; I shall give him the viaticum of milk, that he may have vitals of fatness, where thou mayst glut the sword of cruelty."
"Little is his blood; let the nourishment of milk be added too, that thy blade may be sated, and my son's soul be enriched, made white with milk and blood. As with a tunic striped down the middle, the blood was purple, and the milk was a splendid white robe." What was it to behold the slain sucklings mingled with milk and blood, and not separated from one another? And the mother cried to the executioner: "With thee I go, with thee I come; I lead forth my sweetest son to gaze upon him. I plant a kiss, and do thou plant thy sword. Thou strikest, and I receive the blood of the innocent. Thou slaughterest without cause, and I receive my own flesh. If it was not permitted me to give milk, let it at least be permitted me to prepare a grave."
Amid the wailing of mothers and the howling of children, the Lord was in flight. The executioners struck, the mothers buried, and the angels received the spirits; and Christ was saying: "The innocent and upright have cleaved to me." If we wish to cleave to Christ, let us be free of malice, let us hold to simplicity, that we may merit mercy from the Lord. SERMON V. On Abraham. Pleasing is the spectacle to those who gaze upon the shaded picture on the curtain, when by the painter's brush the sword of the father is fashioned over his beloved son. There the father is painted upright, the son bowed down.
How the beholder's gaze is moved, pricked by a certain sting of pity, to behold the child bound with knees fixed and hands twisted behind, and no stranger captor binds him, but only a father's affection, contemner of his own flesh. Pleasing to the beholders is this picture on the shaded curtain; yet the truth of the Lamb offered in sacrifice, whom God the Father offered for the world, is watched by few, is despised by not a few—Him whom the whole host of angels beholds, both on the wood and on the throne. Some say: "What sort of one is He who demanded a sacrifice of blood?" It was not a desire for blood, but a proof of love and charity.
Behold therefore the hanging curtain of this lesson, and with willing eyes look: behold Abraham the father saddling the ass, entering upon the journey, accompanying his son—not to a banquet, but to a sacrifice; nay rather to a banquet, that the ram might present to them the sacrament. What does the altar built mean, if not the cross stretched out upon the mount? What is the son bound, if not Christ fastened with nails, that He Himself might bear the chain, He who had no debtor's conscience? The father raises his right hand; the angel with a mighty cry stirs the earth, that he might not be grieved over the slain boy, but rejoice over the Lord's lamb slaughtered: "Abraham, Abraham." He who had drawn the sword lifts his face. "What is it, Lord?" (Gen. XXII, 11).
"What Thou hadst commanded to be fulfilled, I have taken care of; Thou delayest my joy by the call of Thy cry. What dost Thou bid, Lord? Let there be no delay in what I do with gladness." For he was doing it with joy. For he heard inwardly, by the Spirit prophesying, that for the swollen one to be saved the innocent must be slaughtered, and he reckoned that through the son slaughtered salvation would come forth to the world. "Lay not," He said, "thy hand upon the boy" (Ibid., 12). One thing is what thou supposest, another what thou rejoicest in. Behold, thou hast a prince in the ram. For thy son belongs to His flock. He turns his face back, that he might grasp the hidden sacrament. Behold, the ram was held fast by the briars, and its brow was covered in their shade. His face is free, his gaze clear.
Those thorns were as fillets to its horns and adornments of gems, in which there were no thorns of sinners, so that a crown might be prepared for the head of the flock, from the precious head of the Shepherd. He seizes the ram and unbinds the child. The ram that took his place is silent; silent too is the angel who cried from heaven. Where is the voice of the angel who forbade for the child's sake? Why does it not likewise cry out for the ram? Lest it should let the world go in guilt, if the Lamb should cease from the cross. For in Isaac there had been the proof of charity, in the ram the prefiguring of the truth. There obedience, here mercy. There the will gave, here free grace. The angel is silent, because while He suffered, the angelic host rejoiced. If the angel had cried from heaven:
"Abraham, spare the lamb," as he said, "spare thy son"—wearied, the Lamb would have shrunk from His approaching passion, and no one would have suffered a stumbling-block over His death upon the cross. "My soul is sorrowful even unto death" (Matt. XXVI, 38). He did not cry out from heaven, because the Emperor was suffering of His own free will. "Father," He said, "if it be possible, let this cup pass from me" (Ibid., 39). And no angel cried out from heaven, but the angel came down disputing with his Lord; and He restrained him not by His own counsel, but rather by His own sacrament. Isaac returns unharmed to his home, and the lamb, glorified, returns to heaven. Abraham led his son to death, that he might the better receive him rising again.
Abraham offered his son; and do you, from just works and labors, offer to the Lord a sacrifice, that with Father Abraham you may have joy in the kingdom of heaven. SERMON VI. On the only son and the centurion's servant. Blessed be the Lord, who alone works wonders. The centurion is a witness for his servant; the widowed mother is a witness in her son. There power, here piety. There a great embassy, here a pitiable destitution. The centurion sent elders as envoys, and she sought bearers for her dead son. This one: "My servant lies in the house paralyzed, and is grievously tormented" (Matt. VIII, 6); and she said: "The fruit of my womb has been taken from me by bitter and cruel indignation."
"My son indeed has fallen asleep in peace, but my vitals are left in grief." The centurion sent word: "I am not worthy that Thou shouldst enter under my roof" (Ibid., 8); and she was thinking of preparing a pitiable tomb for her only one. Between these two persons—the centurion and the mother, the rich and the needy, the powerful soldier and the lamenting widow—the Lord dispensed His accustomed mercy, He who accepts no man's person. Quickly He sent His word and healed the paralyzed servant, that He might more speedily go on to raise the only son. He did not wait for an embassy: for He knew the wretched mother had no envoys, but was hiring workmen to dig a grave. He went on in silence to the city, He who opens Jerusalem
to those who believe. At the gate of the country the woman drew near with her dead son, and Christ was unlocking the door of healing. The apostles followed Him, and the rejoicing angels, and with the mother went the weeping crowds, pricked by their common condition. Between the dead man and the Lord a gate was set. He went out of the gate, and found life. The city's streets resounded with the mother's lamentations, and heaven resounded with the groan of pity. Cry out, angel Raphael, of the coming Lord's company! "Do not, do not weep, mother; joy is near to thee." But she who, wailing, was speaking—with what complaints she was filling heaven and earth—she who had lost the son she had!
"Where is, where is my only son, born in vain? Quickly snatched away—in peace be thy place, while a horrible sight is left to me. Thou art carried on the bier, and I am now a burden to the world. Why hast thou not, surviving me, closed a mother's eyes in death, and, my dying eyes pressed shut in ruin, gone before me, wretched as I am? Why did I not merit (as is ever to be wished) to be buried by thy hands, but merited to be bound with the most cruel chains of thy death? Thou shouldst have handed me over to the earth, because thou camest forth from my womb. No father, no brother—thinkest thou it true that a brother shall not redeem, but a man shall redeem?" (Ps. XLVIII, 8). Where is that Lord, judge of widows and father of orphans?
"Why does He not attend to my mourning, He who promised joy to those who mourn? I heard Him saying: 'Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted' (Matt. v, 4). Behold, I am a widow: where is my judge? Behold, thou art an orphan: where is thy father? Would that, O Lord, Thou hadst brought sudden judgment upon me for my sin, and hadst made in my womb a grave for my only one, and my vitals had been a household ditch and a hidden burial! In the light of this air and sky has gone forth the eulogy of my dear funeral. Let those look on who have children and shine with the manifold crown of children: let them see one little tuft of my head, and one gem of my crown fallen from my head, and me left bald in place of a crown of gladness."
"Let no one accuse my tears. He whom I mourn was my only one; I am not blameworthy, because I have no other. And if there be any who reproaches me, thinkest thou that my comforter would meet me?" And immediately, before she had finished her complaints with these lamentations, heaven her witness, behold, now the Lord of the city came to the gates; He drew near to the gate, opened life, and shut hell. Dark mourning went forth from the gate, and light shone again at the coming of Christ. He flashed forth flashes, and scattered the following crowds. Yet He stood before them and suffered with her. For we have not a high priest who cannot have compassion on our infirmities (Heb. iv, 15). He had compassion for the only son, He who as the Only Son hung upon the wood.
"Stand," said the Lord, "stand, do not now labor, O bearers. Set down the dead man, await the miracle. Fill up the grave with earth, because at the raising of the dead earth and heaven will rejoice." They stood, they set him down, and gave silence: they awaited some work, but heard nothing except one word, and were amazed that the dead man was alive. He who spoke, and all things were made; He spoke, and the young man received life. He burst his shrouds, tore the fatal chain, sat up, rose, adored. "I give Thee thanks," he said, "O Lord my God. How terrible Thou art, how sweet Thou art! Because Thou art terrible, bridled hell is witness; because Thou art sweet, my mother is witness, and my life."
"I saw the terrible power of Thy name, when I saw death, which acknowledged Thee, refusing me as Thou drewest near to my mercy. And Thou didst command, and it trembled. It gave back him whom it had not begotten, and Thou didst press shut its opened jaws. I give Thee thanks, O Lord, that the pit did not open its mouth over me, but Thou didst wipe away my tears through the living fountains of water." Then the Lord, who had said, "Young man, I say to thee, arise" (Luke VII, 14), answered the mother: "Woman, behold thy son, and know that I am the judge of widows and the father of orphans (Ps. LXVII, 6). I saw thy tears, and I recognized thy complaints. I did not blame thee mourning, but comforted thee lamenting." And the mother, her voice troubled with joy, was saying:
"O Lord my God, what thanks shall I give Thee? Piety is my witness. With what praises ought I to honor Thee, because Thou hast not permitted me, desolate and wretched, to beg? Let the angels give Thee thanks for me, because they ascend and descend, and let the whole region of the heavens rejoice for me. Let the gate of heaven be opened to Thee, who before the gate hast given back to me the pledge of my funeral. O good and great miracle! Outside the gate the Lord raised the dead man, He who outside Jerusalem redeemed the human race. Behold, the only son went forth upon the bier—but with the reproach of the cross."
The women were weeping, but he was rejoicing, because that cross was not a reproach, but rather an adornment, whereby the whole world was adorned, and by which, together with the mother, the host of the faithful peoples shone again. SERMON VII. On the two blind men. How great is the gain to sit by the way where Christ deigns to pass! The way is royal, full of holy angels, that the sight of blindness might be enlightened by the eye-salve of brightness. Our Emperor passes by, not with chariots preceding in splendor, but with miracles preceding in power, while the lame merit to run and the blind to receive light. This is the way of our Emperor, by which one comes to life, because He Himself is the way, the truth, and the life (John XIV, 6).
He who sits by the way where Christ passes—no tyrant can lord it over him, nor can a man remain sick when the physician Christ passes by. These blind men believed this of the Lord, who, sitting by the way, cried out with a strong voice to the physician, longing to have their sight restored. At their voice the crowds of the preceding peoples murmured, the host of angels rejoiced, and He Himself, the enlightener of the blind, was preparing the medicine. For what were those blind men crying, who longed to behold the light? "Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David" (Matt. xx, 30). But the crowds thought it a weariness for our physician, and commanded them silence while Christ was passing. But they cried out the more loudly, and heeded not their rebuking voices.
They repeated their cry the more, that by those very voices they might reach the Savior: "Have mercy on us, O Lord, Son of David" (Ibid., 31). "We care not at all for human voices: do Thou have mercy, who healest human errors." So the Lord was walking on His way, He who is eternal life. He was passing by, and healing, and He saw beforehand the thoughts of the blind, and rejoiced at their cry. He was not delighted by the service of the contradicting peoples, but rejoiced at the desire of the blind crying with a loud voice. He stood still, that the medicine might walk more than His footsteps. And, the crowds following, He bids the blind come to Him and fear nothing of the sight beneath heaven. The crowds rebuked, compelled, invited, and marvelously urged them on.
How greatly were they delighted who were called by the Lord! This their cry gained for them, whom the contradiction of the peoples did not frighten. They saw the Savior with desire before they saw the brightness of light. There stood before the Lord brightness and blindness. The Way stood before those sitting in the way. There stood those abiding in darkness, while the light of eternity stood, He who makes light to arise in the darkness. A theater was made of the following and preceding crowd, and the Church of the angels rejoiced. Jesus says to them: "What do you wish that I should do for you?" (Ibid., 32). And they, having heard the physician's voice, prostrate in voice and heart: "Lord, Thou seest our cause; do Thou grant Thy medicine,
that our eyes may be opened, and that we may merit to be companions of Thy journey, because from Thee we have merited to be cured by medicine on the way." The Lord, who raises up the fallen and enlightens the blind (Ps. CXLV, 8-9), heard, had mercy, and healed. No remedies intervened, and the blind began to see by the word alone. No observance of foods; the authority alone of the healing precepts intervened. Jesus says to them: "As you have believed, so be it done to you" (Matt. IX, 29). At once blindness flees, brightness is restored. They gaze upon the Savior's face, whom they had not known as healing by His power. They learn with their eyes Him whom they had presumed with their words.
They fall at His knees, knowing now to touch the footsteps of Christ, they who with voice alone had cried out, sitting by the way, and they began to accompany Christ the Lord on one journey. Rejoicing in His company, now united in brightness, never at all to depart from Christ. So let us too, brethren, sit in that very way by which we hope the Lord Christ can pass. For he walks not in the way of the ungodly, who has not stood in the way of sinners. Christ the Lord now makes His passage from the world, while He intercedes for us in heaven. But He does not walk except in the clean way, because His way is undefiled. There let us sit, there let us cry out. He passes by daily, because He never departs from us.
But if any of the world's murmurers see us, and see us calling out more strongly to Christ, and begin to blaspheme us over their own scandal, we ought not to care at all for their envy. There let us keep our gaze, whence we hope for help. SERMON VIII. On the three young men. Near is the deliverance of the redeemed, for already the free captivity of the young men triumphs. It is now near that, just as the chains of the saints melt into fire, so too the sins of the elect are dissolved into a fountain. In both places a pleasant tranquility of dew breathes, because a warm charity refreshes them. In the fountain burning iniquity is quenched, because both in the furnace and in the fountain the Angel of great counsel shall descend from heaven:
that what He granted the young men as refreshment, this He might bestow upon believers in the sacrament. Behold, how the trumpets of so many saints sounded singly; now three horns blare together in one pleasant field of flames. Beautiful it is to see three golden candlesticks. Beautiful it is to behold the assailed bodies of the three young men, because there was one soul, while they strove toward the crown. The flame did not divide them, and they composed songs together: because the Angel of great counsel embraced them, and cherished them with shading arms. What are the palaces of kings compared to the furnace of the singing young men? The king's hall was made a sanctuary of holiness, that there the king might delight to gaze rather than to dwell in the royal house. O those pavements paved, not with marble, but with fire!
not with slabs, but with flames! Proud kings walk on purple carpets, sporting with delicate step; but in the fiery pavement our men walk, chanting. Whom would it not delight to accompany them with equal footstep, when it delights the angel to be joined with them in equal song? One thing the sight revealed, another the sense afforded, another the touch showed; one thing within, another without: because the angels within and the enemies without, within they were singing, without they were burning. See, my brethren, how great a difference it is to be within the great house, in which are golden and silver vessels (II Tim. II, 20), rather than to burn without among the wooden vessels, among the wood, hay, and stubble.
But you the furnace of God's temple contains as tested gold; from gold are your little vessels produced, in which Jerusalem, the everlasting fatherland, may rejoice; and let not Nebuchadnezzar himself marvel, but from the flames of the world, in the refreshment of a pleasant life, may the Savior from heaven console you together with us. SERMON IX. On the woman taken in adultery. The Son of God is to be feared and to be loved—feared as judge, loved as king: because He came not first to judge, but first to deliver, and afterward justly to judge. Meek and true; but the calumniating Jew did not know it. They wished to blame His meekness, and found in their own crime His virtue. They sought to violate in Christ both meekness and justice, or to reprove justice out of meekness.
They stood in the narrow pass of two walls, besieging the Savior, that He might be handed over as a robber. They contrive a calumny, and are found guilty in their own conscience. They accuse, that they themselves may be accused, and the adulteress be set free. It was not the deed that displeased them, but the Lord who did not please them. For all were adulterers. They find occasion from the adulteress, that they might fit, as it were, a justly-colored calumny. They find a wretched woman, blackened by the branding of recent adultery, that before the Lord's feet they might behold her made white as snow by pardon. Very many gathered together bring the calumniators and sinners, the plotters and thieves. With the adulterer they were setting their portion (Ps. ...).
(Psalm XLIX, 18), and they were dragging along an adulteress. Many brought one woman forward, to the pardon of the one Lord. Drag her, O Jews, drag her, cast the adulterous woman out from iniquity; free the ship, torn apart, from the open waves by means of its planks. You took counsel over a broken vessel; the Master, the Craftsman, knows how to join it together, to close it, to correct it, to caulk it. He has drained the water-laden bilge out of her, but a filthy conscience remains for you. You were unwilling to hold well the oars of malice against the wretched vessel; behold, you shall begin to labor in the inward waves of your own slander, and she shall begin to sail with the sails of chastity. Go, woman, you are led to mercy, not to severity; you are drawn before an Emperor, not before a judge. To them and to you the end has come:
for you, that you may not live wickedly; for them, that they may recognize themselves as living wickedly. A great crowd gathers, the trembling woman is held fast, she is led by the hands of many, she is set in the midst. As if not about to question but already about to condemn, with their cloaks and tunics raised on high in fury, with faces disturbed, eyes bloodshot, voices confusedly mingled, standing before Him who was seated, they cried out to Him who was silent, yet silently judging: 'This woman,' they say, 'has been caught in adultery. Moses commanded that such a one be stoned. What then do you decree concerning her?' (John VIII, 5, 6). They question the Judge for a judgment, He who is the Judge of judges. But He, seated with head bowed in humility, was writing meekness with His fingers upon the ground—not upon the Jewess, but upon the Christian soul.
They were preparing stones, and He was writing with His finger on the ground. Having questioned Him, they received no answer, and they shamelessly repeat their inquiry, thinking that He could find no reply. They press on, raging, demanding a sentence, wishing to entrap a sparrow that is not slow, nor an eagle flying on high. Lifting up a countenance of piety, with a slow and deliberate step He answered, giving both what she wished and what they did not wish. 'What do you say? Do you demand the judgment of Moses? You ask justly; let justly be done what you seek. The woman is to be stoned—be yourselves the executioners, you who are the accusers, if you presume yourselves innocent. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone at her' (Ibid., 7).