Homilies on Acts, Homily 15

“And Stephen, full of faith and power, did great wonders and miracles among the people.” See how even among the seven one stood out and won first prize. Although he shared the same ordination as the others, he drew greater grace upon himself. And notice how he performed no (signs and wonders) before this time, but only when he became publicly known. This shows that grace alone is not enough; there must also be ordination, so that there was a further outpouring of the Spirit. For if they were full of the Spirit, it was with what comes from the washing of Baptism. “Then some members of the synagogue rose up.” (v. 9.) Again he uses the phrase “rising up” (ἀνάστασιν, Hom. xiii. p. 81) to indicate their exasperation and anger. Here we have a great crowd. And notice the difference in the accusation: since Gamaliel had stopped them from bringing charges on the previous grounds, they introduce another charge. “And some members rose up,” it says, “from the synagogue of those who are called (τῶν λεγομένων. Edd. τῆς λεγομένης) Libertines, along with Cyrenians and Alexandrians and people from Cilicia and Asia, arguing with Stephen. And they could not resist the wisdom and the spirit with which he spoke. Then they secretly recruited men to say, We have heard him speak blasphemous words against Moses and against God.” (v. 9–12.) To establish the charge, they use the phrase, “he speaks against God and against Moses.” This was also why they argued with him: to force him to say something. But he now spoke more openly, and perhaps spoke of the Divine Law coming to an end—or did not say it, but hinted at it. For if he had spoken plainly, there would have been no need for secretly recruited men or false witnesses. There were different synagogues: [to wit, “Of the Libertines”]: “of the Cyrenians,” that is, those in the regions beyond Alexandria [“of the Alexandrians,” etc.]. There too they seem to have had synagogues for their different nations, since many remained there to avoid having to travel constantly. The Libertines were perhaps freedmen of the Romans. Since many foreigners lived there, they had their own synagogues, where the Law was to be read. “Arguing with Stephen.” Notice that he did not take it upon himself to teach, but was forced to do so. Once again the miracles made people hostile to him; but when he defeated them in argument and became intolerable to them, they produced false witnesses! “They could not resist, etc.: then they secretly recruited men.” Everywhere. For they did not want to kill them outright, but through a judicial sentence, so that they could also damage their reputation. And leaving those (the Apostles), they attack these (the disciples), thinking that this will frighten those as well. They do not say, “he speaks,” but, “he never stops speaking.” “And they stirred up the people, the elders, and the scribes, attacked him, seized him, and brought him before the council. They produced false witnesses, who said, This man never stops speaking blasphemous words against this holy place and the law.” (v. 12, 13.) “Never stops,” they say, as though he made this his business. “For we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place and change the customs Moses handed down to us.” (v. 14.) “Jesus,” they say, “the Nazarene,” as an insult, “will destroy this place and change the customs.” This is also what they said about Christ: “You who destroy this Temple.” (Matt. xxvii. 40.) For they deeply revered the Temple (indeed, they had chosen to leave their own country (μετοικεῖν) to be near it) and the name of Moses. The charge is twofold. If He “will change the customs,” He will also introduce others in their place. Notice how bitter the charge is, and how full of danger. “And everyone sitting in the council, looking intently at him, saw his face as though it were the face of an angel.” (v. 15.) So even someone of a lower rank can shine. For what, I ask, did this man lack compared with the Apostles? He did not lack miracles, and he showed great boldness.—“They saw His face,” it says, “as though it were the face of an angel.” (Ex. xxxiv. 30.) For this was his grace; this was the glory of Moses. God gave him this gracious (ἐπίχαριν) face, now that he was about to speak, so that his very appearance would immediately fill them with awe. For there are, yes, there are faces filled with spiritual grace, lovely to those who love them, terrifying to those who hate them and are their enemies. It also mentions the reason they allowed him to speak.—“Then,” it continues, “the high priest said, Are these things so?” (ch. vii. 1.) Notice that he asks the question gently, to bring about some great harm. For this reason Stephen also begins his speech gently and says, “Men, brothers, and fathers, listen: The God of glory appeared to our father Abraham when he was in Mesopotamia, before he lived in Harran.” (v. 2.) Right at the beginning he overturns their conceit and shows by what he says that the temple is nothing, and the customs are nothing either, without letting them suspect where he is going. He also shows that they will not overcome the preaching, and that out of powerless (ἀμηχάνων) things God always makes powerful (εὐμήχανα) instruments for Himself. Notice, then, how these threads form the fabric of the whole speech. He also shows that, although they had always enjoyed extraordinary goodness, they continually repaid their Benefactor with the opposite behavior, and that they are now attempting the impossible. “The God of glory appeared to our father Abraham when he was in Mesopotamia, before he came to Harran.” There was no temple and no sacrifice, and yet Abraham was granted a vision of God, even though his ancestors were Persians and he was in a foreign land. He does well to call Him “the God of glory” at the beginning of his speech, since He has made those without honor glorious. “Because,” he says, “it was He who made them glorious, He will make us glorious too.” Notice how he first leads them away from bodily things, away from the place, since the place was in question. “The God of glory,” he says, again implying that He does not need the glory that comes from us, that comes through the Temple, since He Himself is its Fountain. Do not think, he means, that this is how you glorify Him. “And from your relatives.” How, then, does Scripture say that Abraham’s father was willing to leave? From this we learn that Abraham’s vision moved his father to join the migration. (Gen. xi. 31.) “And He said to him, Leave your country and your relatives, and come into a land that I will show you.” (v. 3.) This shows how far these men are from being children of Abraham, and how obedient he was. “And from your relatives.” Both thoughts are uncomfortable (φορτικὰ): that he endured the hardships while you reap the fruits, and that all your ancestors were in a bad condition. “Then he left the land of the Chaldeans and settled in Harran. From there, after his father died, He moved him into this land where you now live. And He gave him no inheritance in it, not even enough to set his foot on.” (v. 4, 5.) See how he turns their thoughts away from (their possession of) the land. For if He said (that) He will give it, clearly [all came from him], and nothing came from themselves. For Abraham came after leaving both his relatives and his country. Why, then, did He not give it to him? It was truly a figure of another land. “And He promised to give it to him.” Do you see that he is doing more than simply picking up the thread of his speech? “He did not give it to him,” he says, “and He promised it, and to his descendants after him, when he still had no child.” Again, see what God can do: He brings everything out of impossibilities. Here is a man in Persia, so far away, and God says He will make this man lord of Palestine. But let us look back at what was said before. Where, I ask you, did that grace blooming on Stephen’s face come from? (Recapitulation.) Earlier the writer gives this account of him: he was “full of faith.” (ch. vi. 8). For it is possible to have a grace that does not consist in works of healing: “For to one the grace of the Spirit is given (1 Cor. xii. 8, 9) in such and such a way (τοιὣσδε).” But here, it seems to me, it says that he was also gracious to look at: “They saw his face as though it were the face of an angel.” “Full of faith and of power”: (v. 15) this is also how Barnabas is described: “he was a good man, full of faith and of the Holy Spirit.” (ch. xi. 24.) From this we learn that the sincere and innocent, above all others, are the people who will be saved, and that these same people are also more gracious. “Then they secretly recruited men to say, We have heard him speak blasphemous words.” (v. 11.) In the Apostles’ case, they were annoyed that they preached the Resurrection and that so many people flocked to them; but in this case, that people were having their diseases healed. (ch. iv. 2.) They turned the things they should have been thankful for into grounds for accusation. What madness! They expected to defeat with words the men who had defeated them with deeds! This is just what they did in Christ’s case, and they always forced them into verbal disputes. For they were ashamed to seize them outright when they had nothing to charge them with. And notice that the people who bring them to trial do not testify against them themselves, because they would have been refuted. Instead, they simply hire others, so that it will not seem to be an act of sheer violence. It is entirely consistent with what they did in Christ’s case. And notice the power of the preaching: although they are not only whipped but stoned, it still prevails. Although they are private individuals, they are not only dragged into court but attacked from every side. And their enemies themselves are witnesses: they were not only defeated, but “were not able” even “to resist” (v. 10), although they were utterly shameless. So powerfully did the preaching overthrow them, despite everything they could do with their absurd fabrications (such as saying that He had a devil—He who cast out devils!). For the battle was not man’s, but God’s against men. And many had joined forces, not only those in Jerusalem, but others as well. (v. 9.) “For we have heard him,” they say, “speaking blasphemous words against Moses and against God.” (v. 11.) You shameless people! You do blasphemous deeds and think nothing of it. This is why Moses is added—because the things of God were of little concern to them. It is always, always Moses they mention: “This Moses, who brought us out.” (ch. vii. 40.) “And they stirred up the people.” (v. 12.) How fickle the crowd is! And yet how could a man who was a blasphemer have been so successful? How could a blasphemer work such miracles among the people? But the unruly crowd strengthened those who had been defeated (in argument).—This was what annoyed them most. “We have heard him,” they say, “speaking blasphemous words against Moses and against God” (v. 13); and again, “This man never stops speaking blasphemous words against this holy place and the law,” with the added phrase, “the customs” “which Moses handed down to us” (v. 14): Moses, not God. On the assumption that he intended to overthrow their way of life (πολιτείας), they accused him of impiety as well. But to show that it was not in such a man’s nature to say such things or speak harshly, we read: [“Then all,” it says, “which were in the council, looking steadfastly upon him, saw his face, as it had been the face of an angel”] (v. 15). Even his expression was so gentle. For when people were not falsely accused, Scripture mentions nothing of this kind. But since in this case the accusation was entirely false, God rightly sets the matter straight through the man’s very appearance. For the Apostles were not falsely accused, but were forbidden to speak; this man, however, is falsely accused, and so his face pleads for him before anything else. This put even the priest to shame. “And he said,” etc. (ch. vii. 1.) He shows here that the promise was made before the Place, before Circumcision, before Sacrifice, before the Temple, and that it was not because of their merit that they received either Circumcision or Law, but that the land was the reward of obedience alone. Furthermore, the promise was not fulfilled even when circumcision was given. He also shows that these were figures, as was his leaving his country at God’s command—not contrary to the law (for home and country are wherever God leads): “Then he left,” it says, “the land of the Chaldeans” (v. 4). And if one examines the matter closely, the Jews are of Persian origin. He also shows that, even without miracles, one must do what God commands, whatever hardships may follow, since the Patriarch left both his father’s grave and everything he had in obedience to God’s command. But if Abraham’s father was not allowed to share with him the privilege of migrating to Palestine because he was unworthy, much more will the children (be excluded at last), however far they may have traveled along the way. “And He promised,” it says, “to give it to him and to his descendants after him.” (v. 5.) This shows the greatness both of God’s goodness and of Abraham’s faith. For the expression “when he still had no child” shows his obedience and faith. “Promised to give it to him and to his descendants.” And yet events showed the opposite: after he came, he did not have “even enough to set his foot on,” and he had no child—these very things ran counter to his faith. Having seen these things, let us likewise accept whatever God promises, however much events may seem to contradict it. And yet in our case they do not contradict it, but fit it very well. For where the promises apply, events that turn out the opposite really do contradict them. But in our case it is just the reverse: He has told us that we will have affliction here, but our rest there. Why do we confuse the times? Why do we turn things upside down? Tell me, are you afflicted, living in poverty and dejection? Do not be troubled. You would have reason to be troubled if you were destined to be afflicted in that world; this present affliction, however, brings rest. “This sickness,” He says, “does not lead to death.” (John xi. 4.) That affliction is punishment; this is training and correction. This present life is a contest. If so, our business now is to fight: it is war and battle. In war people do not look for rest; in war they do not look for luxurious living. They are not anxious about riches, and their concern then is not for a wife. They look to one thing alone: how to defeat their enemies. Let this be our concern as well. If we overcome and return victorious, God will give us everything. Let our only concern be how to overcome the devil—although, after all, it is not our own effort that does it; God’s grace does it all. Let our one concern be how to attract His grace, how to draw that help to ourselves. “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. viii. 31.) Let us concern ourselves with one thing: that He should not be our enemy, that He should not turn away from us. Being afflicted is not an evil; sinning is the evil. This is the painful affliction, however luxuriously we may spend our days—and this is true even in the present life, quite apart from the life to come. Think how our conscience is stung by remorse, and whether this is not worse than any kind of torture! I would like to question those who live in evil ways (ἐν κακοῖς) closely: do they never reflect on their own sins? Do they not tremble, feel afraid and distressed? Do they not think those who live in self-denial are blessed—those in the mountains, those who follow the strict rule? (τοὺς ἐν πολλῇ φιλοσοφίᾳ.) Do you want to find rest in the life to come? Endure affliction in this life for Christ’s sake: nothing equals this rest. The Apostles rejoiced when they were whipped. Paul gives this encouragement: “Rejoice in the Lord.” (Philip. iv. 4.) And how can there be rejoicing where there are chains, tortures, and courts of justice? That is where there is rejoicing most of all. But tell me, how can there be rejoicing where these things are absent? For someone who is conscious of no evil will feel an extraordinary delight, so that the more you speak of his affliction, the more you describe his delight. Will a soldier who has received countless wounds and come home again not return with extraordinary delight, with his wounds giving him the right to speak boldly and serving as evidence of his glory and renown? And you, if you can exclaim as Paul does, “I bear the marks of Jesus” (Gal. vi. 17), will be able to become great and glorious and renowned. “But there is no persecution.” Take your stand against the desire for glory. And if anyone says anything against you, do not be afraid of being spoken against for Christ’s sake. Take your stand against the tyranny of pride, against the assaults of anger, against the torment of lust. These too are “marks”; these too are torments. For, I ask, what is worst about tortures? Is it not that the soul is in pain and on fire? In the other case the body shares in it too, but in this case it all belongs to the soul. All the pain falls on the soul alone when someone is angry or envious, or does—or rather suffers—anything else of this kind. For in fact, being angered and feeling envy are not actions but passions, not things we do but things we suffer. That is precisely why they are called passions (or sufferings) (πάθη, perturbationes) of the soul—yes, wounds and bruises. For it really is suffering, and worse than suffering. Remember, those of you who are angry, that you do these things in “passion,” in a state of suffering. Therefore, someone who is not angry does not suffer. Do you see that, as I said above, the person suffering is not the one being abused, but the one doing the abusing? That he is suffering is clear, first, from the very fact that this condition is called a passion, and also from the (effects on the) body. For these are the affections (πάθη) (or “sufferings,” as we call them) produced by anger: dimness of vision, insanity, and countless others. “But he insulted my servant,” you say; “but [he called him] a country bumpkin.” Do not think it is weakness to refrain from doing the same thing yourself. For I ask you, was it a good thing to do? You will not say so. Then leave undone what would be wrong to do. I know what passions arise in such cases. “But,” you say, “what if he despises me? What if he says it again?” Show him that he is wrong. Rebuke him, appeal to him: gentleness puts anger down. Go and reason with him. For although it is right not to do even this when we ourselves have been wronged, it is quite necessary to do it on behalf of others. Do not treat an insult to your servant as an insult to yourself. You may be upset for his sake, but not as though you yourself had been insulted. For your servant’s mistreatment does not mean that you are disgraced; the person who mistreated him is disgraced. Quench (thine anger), that sharp sword; let it lie in its sheath. If we keep it drawn, it will carry us away, and we will be likely to use it even at the wrong time. But if it is hidden, even if a need arises, the anger will die down while we look for it to draw it. Christ does not want us to be angry on his account: (listen to what He says to Peter: “Put your sword back into its sheath:”) (Matt. xxvi. 52) and are you angry over a servant? Teach your servant too to live wisely: tell him about your own sufferings; follow your Teacher’s example in this. (John 15:20.) When they too (His disciples) were about to be dishonored, He did not say, “I will avenge you,” but, “They have done the same to Me too,” He says; “bear it nobly, for you are not better than I.” Say these words too to your son and your servant: “You are not better than your master.” But these words of wisdom are dismissed as the talk of a widow. Alas, words cannot bring this home to people as actual experience can teach it! To learn this, stand between two people fighting and take the side of those who have been wronged, not those doing the wrong [that you may learn] whether you will not see the victory on your side, whether you will not receive splendid crowns.—See how God is insulted and how He answers, how gently: “Where,” He says, “is your brother Abel?” And what does the other say? “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9–10.) What could be more insolent than this? Would anyone have listened to it (patiently) even from a son? And if it came from a brother, would he not have considered such behavior an insult? What then? See how gently God answers again: “The voice of your brother’s blood,” He says, “cries out to Me.” “But God,” someone will say, “is above anger.” Yes, but this is why the Son of God came down: to make you a God as far as human ability allows. “But I cannot,” someone says, “since I am human.” Well then, let us give you human examples. And do not suppose I mean Paul or Peter. No, I mean people of a lower rank, indeed, much lower. Eli’s servant insulted Hannah, saying, “Put away your wine.” (1 Sam. i. 14.) What could be more insulting than this? What, then, did she say? “I am a woman whose life is hard.” Indeed, nothing equals affliction: affliction is the mother of true wisdom. But this same woman, although she had a rival, did not insult her. What did she do instead? She took refuge in God, and in her prayer did not even mention her or say, “Avenge me, because this woman insults me.” So generous in spirit was that woman (let us men be ashamed)—and yet you know that there is nothing like jealousy. When the tax collector was insulted by the Pharisee, he did not insult him in return, although he could have done so if he had wanted. Instead, he bore it with wisdom, saying, “Be merciful to me, a sinner.” (Luke xviii. 13.) Memphibaal, after being accused and slandered by his servant, neither said nor did anything evil to him, even in the king’s own presence. (2 Sam. xix. 26.) Shall I tell you even about a prostitute, and the wise generosity of spirit she showed? Listen to Christ saying, as she wiped His feet with her hair, “The tax collectors and prostitutes enter the kingdom before you.” (Matt. xxi. 31.) Do you see her standing there, taking courage and washing away her own sins? Notice how she was not angry even with the Pharisee when he reproached her: “for if He had known,” he says, “that this woman is a sinner, He would not have allowed her” (Luke vii. 39). And she did not say to him, “What then? Tell me, are you free from sins?” Instead, she felt more deeply, wept more, and shed hotter tears. But if women and tax collectors and prostitutes live with such wisdom, even before grace (i.e. of Baptism), what pardon can those deserve who, after receiving such great grace, fight, harass, and kick one another, worse than beasts? Nothing is more degrading than passion, nothing more disgraceful, nothing more frightening, nothing more hateful, nothing more harmful. I say these things not only so that we may be gentle toward men, but also so that, if your wife talks too much, you may bear it. Let your wife be a school of training and exercise for you (παλαίστρα καὶ γυμνάσιον). For how can it be anything but absurd to submit to exercises that yield no profit, in which we torment the body, but refuse to practice exercises at home that offer us a crown even before the contest? Does your wife abuse you? Do not become a woman yourself: being abusive is womanly; it is a disease of the soul, a weakness. Do not think that your wife’s abuse is beneath your dignity. What is beneath your dignity is for you to be abusive while she bears it patiently (φιλοσοφῇ): then you behave shamefully; then you are disgraced. But if you bear abuse patiently, you give great proof of your strength. I do not say this to encourage wives to be abusive—God forbid—but only in case it happens at Satan’s prompting. It is the role of strong men to bear with the weak. And if your servant contradicts you, bear it with wisdom. Do not say or do what he deserves to have said or done to him, but what it is right for you to do and say. Never insult a girl by using some foul word against her. Never call your servant a scoundrel (μιαρὸν): you disgrace yourself, not him. It is impossible to control yourself when you are in a rage. Like a sea whose waves rise mountain high, everything is in uproar. Or it is like a clear spring when mud is thrown into it: it becomes muddy, and everything is stirred up. You may beat him, you may tear his coat to rags, but you suffer the greater damage. For he receives the blow on his body and clothing, but you receive it on your soul. It is your own soul you have cut open; that is where you have inflicted a wound. You have thrown your own charioteer from his horses and left him being dragged along the ground on his back. It is just as if one driver, angry with another, chose to be dragged along like this himself. You may rebuke, you may scold, you may do whatever it may be—just do it without anger and passion. For if the person who rebukes is a physician to the offender, how can he heal another when he has first injured himself and does not heal himself? Tell me, if a physician goes to heal another person, does he first wound his own hand, first blind his own eyes, and then set about healing the other? God forbid. So too, however you rebuke, however you scold, let your eyes see clearly. Do not muddy your mind, or how will the cure be accomplished? It is impossible to be as calm in a rage as when you are free from passion. Why do you first knock your master out of his seat and then speak with him as he lies sprawling on the ground? Do you not see how judges, when they are about to hold court, take their seats on the bench in suitable clothing? In the same way, dress your soul in the judicial robe (which is gentleness), and then sit as judge on the judgment seat. “But he will not be afraid of me,” you say. He will be more afraid. In the other case, even if what you say is just, your servant will attribute it to anger. But if you speak gently, he will condemn himself. And, most important of all, God will accept you, and so you will be able to receive the eternal blessings through the grace and loving kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ. To the Father, together with Him and the Holy Spirit, be glory, power, and honor, now and always, forever and ever. Amen.