Homilies on Romans, Homily 2

“First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for you all, that your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world.” An opening worthy of this blessed spirit, one that can teach everyone to offer God the firstfruits of their good deeds and words, and to give thanks not only for their own good deeds, but also for those of others. This also cleanses the soul of envy and resentment and draws God closer to the loving spirit of those who give thanks this way. That is why he also says elsewhere, “Blessed be God and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing.” (Eph. i. 3.) And we should give thanks not only when we are rich, but also when we are poor; not only when we are healthy, but also when we are sick; not only when we prosper, but also when we have to endure the opposite. For when our affairs sail ahead with a fair wind, being thankful is nothing remarkable. But when fierce storms come upon us, and the ship swings around and is in danger, that is the great opportunity to show patience and goodness of heart. This is how Job too won a crown, silenced the devil’s shameless mouth, and clearly showed that even in his good days he had been thankful because of his great love for God, rather than because of his wealth. And notice too what Paul gives thanks for: not earthly, perishable things, such as power, authority, and glory (for these things count for nothing), but real blessings: faith and boldness of speech. And how warmly he gives thanks! For he does not say “to God,” but “to my God,” as the Prophets also do, making their own what belongs to everyone. And why should it surprise us that the Prophets do this? For God Himself plainly does it continually with His servants, calling Himself the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, as especially theirs. “That your faith is spoken of throughout the whole world.” What then? Had the whole world heard of the Romans’ faith? Yes, the whole world, according to him. (Or, since that time, πἅσα ἐξ ἐκείνου). And this is not unlikely. For the city was hardly obscure; standing as though on a height, it was conspicuous in every way. But please consider the power of the preaching: how, in a short time, through tax collectors and fishermen, it took hold of the very head of all cities, and Syrians became the teachers and guides of Romans. He therefore testifies to two excellent qualities in them: that they believed, and that they believed with such boldness that their fame reached the whole world. “For your faith,” he says, “is spoken of throughout the whole world.” Your faith, not your verbal disputes, your questions, or your syllogisms. And yet there were many obstacles to the teaching there. Having recently gained dominion over the world, they were proud and lived in wealth and luxury. Fishermen brought the preaching there, and these were Jews, descended from Jews, a nation hated and detested by everyone. And the Romans were told to worship the Crucified, Who had been brought up in Judea. Along with the doctrine, the teachers also proclaimed a strict way of life to people accustomed to luxury and preoccupied with present things. And those who proclaimed it were poor, ordinary men, without distinguished ancestry, born to parents without distinguished ancestry. But none of these things stopped the word’s advance. The power of the Crucified was so great that it carried the word everywhere. “For it is spoken of,” he says, “in all the world.” He does not say it is made known, but it “is spoken of,” as though everyone had them on their lips. Indeed, when he testifies to this about the Thessalonians, he adds something else. For after saying, “from you the word of God rang out,” he adds, “so that we do not need to say anything.” (1 Thess. i. 8.) For the disciples had taken the teachers’ place, instructing everyone through their boldness of speech and drawing people to themselves. The preaching did not come to a standstill anywhere, but spread through the whole world faster than fire. But here he says only this: “it is spoken of.” He rightly says that “it is spoken of,” showing that there was no need to add anything to what had been said or take anything away. For a messenger’s business is simply to pass on to another what he has been told. That is also why the priest is called a “messenger” (Mal. ii. 7), because he speaks the words of Him Who sent him, rather than his own. And yet Peter had preached there. But Paul counts Peter’s work as his own as well. As I said before, he was free of all resentment to an extraordinary degree! Ver. 9. “For God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the Gospel of His Son.” These words reveal an Apostle’s deep affection and fatherly concern! What is he saying, and why does he call God as his witness? He needed to explain his feelings toward them. Since he had never yet seen them, he called no human witness, but Him Who enters hearts. For he was saying, “I love you,” and offered as proof his continual prayers for them and his wish to visit them. Since neither of these was evident to them, he turned to this trustworthy testimony. Can any of you boast that when he prays at home (ἐπὶ τἥς οἰκίας), he remembers the entire body of the Church? I think not. But Paul approached God on behalf of the whole world, not just one city, and did this continually, not once or twice or three times. If continually carrying someone in your memory requires great love, think how much affection and friendship it implies to include people in your prayers, and to include them continually. But when he says, “Whom I serve with my spirit in the Gospel of His Son,” he shows us both God’s grace and his own humility: God’s grace, because He entrusted him with so great a task; his own humility, because he attributes it all to the Spirit’s help rather than his own zeal. Adding “the Gospel” identifies the kind of ministry. For there are many different kinds of service. Under kings, everyone serves a single ruler, but they do not all serve (διακονοὕνται) in the same way: one is responsible for commanding armies, another for governing cities, and another for guarding the treasuries. So too in spiritual matters: one person serves God and labors (λατρεύει καὶδουλεύει) by believing and living well, another by caring for strangers, and another by taking responsibility for helping those in need. Even in the Apostle’s own time, Stephen’s companions served God by caring for widows, others (ἄλλοι2 mss., all ὡν) by teaching the word, and among these Paul served by preaching the Gospel. This was his form of service, for this was what he had been appointed to do. That is why he not only calls God as his witness, but also says what he was entrusted with: to show that, with such great things placed in his hands, he would not call Him Who entrusted them to him as a witness to a falsehood. At the same time, he wanted to make another point: that he could not help loving and caring for them. For they might say, “Who are you, and where do you come from, that you claim to be concerned about so great a city, the very seat of empire?” So he shows that he must have this concern, since the service entrusted to him was to proclaim the Gospel. Anyone entrusted with this must continually keep in mind those who are to receive the word. And by saying “in my spirit,” he shows something else: this service is far higher than either Gentile or Jewish service. Gentile service is both fleshly and mistaken; Jewish service is indeed true, yet it too is fleshly. But the Church’s service is the opposite of Gentile service and far higher than Jewish service. For our way of serving is not with sheep and oxen and smoke and fat, but through a spiritual soul. Christ also shows this when He says, “God is a Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.” (John iv. 24.) “In the Gospel of His Son.” Having said above that it was the Father’s Gospel, here he says it is the Son’s. It makes no difference whether he says the Father’s or the Son’s! For he had learned from that blessed voice that the Father’s things are the Son’s, and the Son’s things are the Father’s. For “all Mine are Yours, and Yours are Mine.” (John xvii. 10.) “That without ceasing I always mention you in my prayers.” This is what genuine love does. He seems to be saying just one thing, yet even here he states four things: that he remembers them, that he does so continually, that he does so in his prayers, and that he asks great things for them. Ver. 10, 11. “Asking whether somehow, at last, I might now have a prosperous journey by the will of God to come to you.” You see how painfully he longs to see them, yet cannot bear to see them against God’s will. His longing is mingled with the fear of God. For he loved them and was eager to visit them. Yet his love did not make him wish to see them against God’s will. This is true love, unlike ours, which violates the laws of love in either direction: either we love no one, or, if we do love, we love against God’s will. In both cases we act against the Divine law. And if these things are distressing (φορτικὰ) to speak about, they are more distressing when done. “And how do we love against God’s will?” you will say. When we neglect Christ wasting away with hunger, and provide our children, friends, and relatives with more than they need. Or rather, why carry the discussion further? Anyone who examines his own conscience will find this happening in many things. But that blessed man was different. He knew both how to love and how to love as he should (3 mss. omit “as he ought”), and in the right way. Although he surpassed everyone in love, he did not overstep love’s limits. See, then, how strongly two things flourish in him: fear of God and longing for the Romans. Continually praying and refusing to stop when he did not receive what he asked for shows extraordinary love. But continuing, while loving them, to yield to God’s will shows profound reverence. Elsewhere, however, after having “pleaded with the Lord three times” (2 Cor. xii. 8), he not only failed to receive what he asked for, but was very thankful that his request had not been granted. In everything, then, he looked to God. But here he did receive what he asked for, though after a delay rather than at the time he asked, and this did not make him dissatisfied either. I mention these things so that we may not complain when our prayers go unanswered or are answered slowly. For we are no better than Paul, who expresses his gratitude for both, and with good reason. Once he had surrendered himself to the Hand that governs everything, placing himself under it as obediently as clay under the potter, he followed wherever God led. After saying that he wanted to see them, he also explained why. And what was the reason? Ver. 11. “That I may share with you some spiritual gift, so that you may be established.” For he did not travel aimlessly and uselessly, as many do now, but for necessary and very urgent purposes. And he does not state his meaning openly, but hints at it. He does not say, “that I may teach you, instruct you, supply what you lack,” but “that I may share,” showing that what he gives them is something he received, rather than something of his own. Here again he is modest: by saying “some,” he means a small gift, suited to my abilities. And what might this small gift be that you are now going to share? It is this, he says: “so that you may be established.” So this too comes from grace: being unwavering and standing firm. But when you hear of grace, do not think that this sets aside the reward for our own resolve. He speaks of grace to puncture (ὑποτεμνόμενος, as piercing a thing inflated) the arrogance of a presumptuous spirit (ἀπονοίας), rather than to belittle the labor of our own resolve. So do not grow idle because Paul has called this a gift of grace. For in his great generosity he knows how to call even good deeds gifts of grace, because even in these we need much help from above. But by saying “so that you may be established,” he quietly shows that they needed considerable correction. What he means is this: For a “long time I have both desired” and prayed to see you, for no other reason than to “establish, strengthen, secure” you firmly in the word of God, so that you will not keep wavering. But he does not put it this way (for that would have offended them). Instead, he hints at the same thing in gentler language. For when he says, “so that you may be established,” he makes this clear. Then, since even this was very unwelcome, see how he softens it with what follows. They might say, “Are we wavering and being tossed about? Do we need your words to stand firm?” So he anticipates and removes any such objection by saying the following. Ver. 12. “That is, that I may be encouraged together with you through our mutual faith, both yours and mine.” It is as though he said: Do not suspect that I spoke to accuse you. That was not the feeling behind what I said. What, then, did I mean to say? You are undergoing many troubles, drenched on every side (by those who persecute you περιαντλούμενοι. 3 mss. παρενοχλούμενοι, harassed). So I wanted to see you to encourage you—or rather, not only to encourage you, but also to receive encouragement myself. See the teacher’s wisdom. He said, “so that you may be strengthened,” and knew that his words would weigh heavily on the disciples and trouble them. He says, “so that you may be encouraged.” But this too is burdensome, though less so than the first statement. So he reduces the sting of this as well, smoothing his words on every side and making them easy to accept. For he does not simply say “to be encouraged,” but “to be encouraged together with you.” Nor was he content with this: he adds something still more soothing when he says, “through our mutual faith, both yours and mine.” How great his humility was! He showed that he too needed them, as they needed him. He puts the disciples in the position of teachers, leaving himself no superiority, but pointing to their complete equality. The benefit is mutual, he means: I need encouragement from you, and you from me. And how does this happen? “Through our mutual faith, both yours and mine.” For just as gathering many lights together kindles a bright flame, so it naturally happens with the faithful. When we are alone, torn away from others, our spirits somehow sink. But when we see one another and are intertwined with the members of our own bodies, we receive great encouragement. You must not look at the present time, when, by God’s grace, there are great hosts of believers both in the city and in the desert itself, and all ungodliness has been driven out. Consider instead how great a blessing it was then for disciples to see their teacher, and for brothers arriving from another city to be seen by their brothers. But to make my meaning clearer, let me give an example. Suppose it actually happened (may it never do so!) that we were carried away to the land of the Persians or Scythians or other barbarians, scattered (7 mss. “torn asunder”) in groups of two or three through their cities, and then suddenly saw someone from here coming to us. Think what a harvest of encouragement we would reap! Do you not see how prisoners revive when they see someone they know, and how they flutter with pleasure? And do not be surprised that I compare those days to captivity and imprisonment. For those believers suffered far worse things than captives and prisoners: scattered and driven about, living amid famine and wars, trembling as they expected death every day, suspicious of friends, family, and relatives, and living in the world as in a foreign land—yes, in a far worse condition than people living in another country. This is why he says, “so that you may be established and encouraged with us through our mutual faith.” He says this, not because he himself needed any help from them (far from it! How could the pillar of the Church, stronger than iron and rock, the spiritual diamond, capable of caring for countless cities, need it?), but to keep his language from being forceful and his rebuke severe, he says that he too needs their encouragement. But if someone here were to say that this encouragement was his joy at the growth of their faith, and that Paul needed this, that would not misunderstand his meaning either. “If, then,” someone might say, “you desire it and pray for it, and will both receive and give encouragement through it, what keeps you from coming?” To remove this suspicion, he continues. Ver. 13. “Now I do not want you to be unaware, brothers, that I often desired to come to you (but have been prevented until now).” Here is obedience as complete as a slave’s, and a clear display of his excellent disposition (εὐγνωμοσύνης)! For he says that he was prevented, but does not go on to say why. He does not pry into his Master’s command, but simply obeys. And yet one might expect someone to ask why God kept so conspicuous and great a city, toward which the whole world looked, from enjoying such a teacher, and for so long. For whoever won over the ruling city could easily go on to its subjects. But someone who left the imperial city alone and lay in wait for its dependents left the main point neglected. Yet he does not busy himself with any of these questions, but yields to the incomprehensibility of Providence. In doing so, he shows his soul’s right disposition and teaches us all never to call God to account for what happens, even if what is done seems to trouble many people’s minds. For it is the Master’s role alone to command, and the servants’ role to obey. That is why he says he was prevented, but does not say why. He means: Even I do not know, so do not ask me about God’s purpose or mind. For neither “will the thing formed say to the one who formed it, Why have you made me this way?” Tell me, why do you even try to find out? Do you not know that everything is under His care, that He is wise, that He does nothing at random, that He loves you more than your parents do, and that He far surpasses a father’s tender affection and a mother’s anxious care for you? So ask no more, and go no further. This is enough to comfort you, since even then things were well arranged for the Romans. And if you do not know how, do not be troubled. For this is a central feature of faith: accepting what we are told about His Providence even when we do not know how His arrangements work. Paul, then, has succeeded in his purpose (and what was it? To show that his failure to visit them came from being prevented despite his great desire, rather than from disregard for them). He has cleared himself of the charge of negligence and persuaded them that he wanted to see them no less than they wanted to see him. Now he shows his love for them in other ways too. For even when I was prevented, he means, I did not give up the attempt. I kept trying, and was always prevented, yet I never gave up. In this way, without opposing God’s will, I still maintained my love. By planning the visit and refusing to abandon it, he showed his affection; by being prevented and yet not resisting, he showed the fullness of his love for God. “That I might have some fruit among you also.” He had already told them the reason for his longing and shown that it was appropriate for him, but here again he states it, clearing away all their suspicion. For the city was conspicuous and had no equal anywhere on land or sea, and for many people the mere desire to become acquainted with it was reason (πρόφασις) enough to travel there. To keep them from thinking anything like this about Paul, or suspecting that he wanted to be there merely for the glory of claiming them as his own, he repeatedly explains the reason for his desire. Earlier he says that he wanted to see them so “that I may share with you some spiritual gift,” but here he speaks more clearly: “that I might have some fruit among you also, just as among other Gentiles.” He places the rulers alongside their subjects. After their countless triumphs and victories and the glory of their consuls, he places them alongside the barbarians, and rightly so. For where the nobility of faith exists, there is no barbarian, no Greek, no foreigner, no citizen, but everyone rises to the same height of dignity. And see his modesty here too. He does not say, “that I may teach and instruct,” but what? “That I might have some fruit.” And not simply “fruit,” but “some fruit,” again minimizing his own share in it, just as he said above, “that I may share some gift.” Then, to restrain their pride too, as I said before, he says, “just as among other Gentiles.” For your wealth and advantages over others do not make me less concerned about the rest. We are seeking the faithful, rather than the rich. Where now are the wise men of the Greeks, who wear long beards, dress with their shoulders bare, and puff out grand words (τὰ μεγάλα φυσὥντες)? The tentmaker has converted all Greece and all barbarian lands. But Plato, so widely praised and celebrated among them, came to Sicily a third time with his bombastic words and brilliant reputation (ὑπσλήψεως), and could not win over even a single king. Instead, he fared so miserably that he even lost his freedom. But this tentmaker traveled through the whole world, rather than Sicily or Italy alone. And even while preaching, he did not abandon his trade, but continued sewing skins and overseeing his workshop. Even this did not offend those born to consuls, and with very good reason. For teachers usually become easy targets of contempt because of falsehood and fabricated doctrines, rather than their trades and occupations. That is why even Athenians still laugh at Plato. But even barbarians listen to Paul, as do foolish and uneducated people. For his preaching is offered to everyone alike. It recognizes no distinction of rank, no superiority of nation, or anything else of the kind. It requires faith alone, rather than reasoned arguments. It therefore deserves the greatest admiration, both because it benefits and saves people, and because it is readily accepted, easy (Sav. “lovable”), and understandable to everyone. This is a central purpose of God’s Providence: He offers His blessings to everyone in common. For what He did with the sun, the moon, the earth, the sea, and other things—giving the rich and wise no greater share of their benefits and the poor no smaller share, but offering their enjoyment to everyone alike—He also did with the preaching, and to a much greater degree, since it is so much more indispensable than they are. That is why Paul repeatedly says “among all the Gentiles,” showing that he gives them no preferential treatment, but is fulfilling his Master’s command. And directing them to give thanks to the God of all, he says: Ver. 14. “I am a debtor to the Greeks and to the Barbarians, both to the wise and to the unwise.” He also said this when writing to the Corinthians. And he says it to attribute everything to God. (1 Cor. ix. 16.) Ver. 15. “So, as far as it depends on me, I am ready to preach the Gospel to you in Rome also.” What a noble soul! He had taken on a task loaded with such great dangers: a sea voyage, trials, plots, uprisings. For someone going to address so great a city, held under the tyranny of ungodliness, was likely to encounter trials as thick as snowflakes. And this was how he lost his life in that city, killed by its tyrant. Yet although he expected to endure such great troubles, none of them made him less energetic. He was eager, laboring as though in childbirth, and ready. That is why he says, “So, as far as it depends on me, I am ready to preach the Gospel to you in Rome also.” Ver. 16. “For I am not ashamed of the Gospel.” What are you saying, Paul? When it would be fitting to say, “I boast of it, I am proud of it, I delight in it,” you say something less: that you are “not ashamed.” This is not what we usually say about very glorious things. What, then, does he mean, and why does he speak this way, when he rejoices in it more than in heaven? At least, when writing to the Galatians, he said, “God forbid that I should boast except in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Gal. vi. 14.) Why, then, does he say here, rather than “I even boast,” “I am not ashamed”? The Romans were intensely eager for worldly things because of their wealth, empire, and victories. They considered their kings equal to the gods and even called them gods. That was also why they worshiped them with temples, altars, and sacrifices. They were so puffed up, and Paul was going to preach Jesus, who was thought to be the carpenter’s son, brought up in Judea in the home of a woman of low social standing, who had no bodyguards, was not surrounded by wealth, and even died as a criminal with robbers, enduring many other disgraceful things. The believers were therefore likely to be hiding, since they did not yet know any of the inexpressible and great things. For this reason he says, “I am not ashamed,” since he still had to teach them not to be ashamed. He knew that if they achieved this, they would soon go on to boast as well. So if you hear someone saying, “Do you worship the Crucified?” do not be ashamed or look down. Delight in it, let your face shine, and with the eyes of a free man and your head held high, make your confession. And if he says again, “Do you worship the Crucified?” answer him, “Yes! Not the adulterer, not the one who insults his father, not the murderer of his children” (for such are all their gods), “but Him Who through the Cross silenced devils and put an end to their countless tricks.” For the Cross is for our sake, the work of unspeakable Love for humanity, the sign of His great care for us. In addition to all this, since they were puffed up by pompous speech and a cloak of outward wisdom, he means to say: I bid a complete farewell to these reasoned arguments and come to preach the Cross, and I am not ashamed of it, “for it is the power of God for salvation.” For there is also a power of God for discipline (when He disciplined the Egyptians, He said, “This is My great power,”) (Joel ii. 25), and a power for destruction (for He says, “fear Him Who is able to destroy both body and soul in hell”) (Matt. x. 28). That is why he says: I come to bring the powers of salvation, rather than these powers of discipline and punishment. What then? Did the Gospel not speak of these things too: hell, the outer darkness, and the venomous worm? Indeed, we know of these from no other source than the Gospel. In what sense, then, does he say, “the power of God for salvation”? Just pay attention to what follows: “To everyone who believes; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.” For it is not for absolutely everyone, but for those who receive it. Even if you are a Greek (i.e. Heathen), and have plunged into every kind of vice; even if you are a Scythian, a barbarian, or a mere brute, full of every kind of irrationality and weighed down by endless sins—as soon as you receive the word concerning the Cross and are baptized, you have blotted all these out. And why does he say here, “to the Jew first, and also to the Greek”? What does this distinction mean? Yet he has often said, “Neither circumcision is anything, nor uncircumcision” (1 Cor. vii. 19. See Gal. v. 6 and vi. 15). How, then, does he distinguish between them here, placing the Jew before the Greek? Why is this? Being first does not mean receiving more grace (for the same gift is given to both). Rather, “first” is an honor only in the order of time. He has no advantage of receiving greater righteousness, but is honored only by receiving it first. For among those who are enlightened (you who are initiated know what this means), everyone runs to baptism, though not everyone at the same hour: one comes first and another second. Yet the first receives no more than the second, nor the second more than the person after him, but all enjoy the same gifts. “First,” then, is an honor in wording here, rather than a superiority in grace. Then, after saying “for salvation,” he magnifies the gift further, showing that it does not stop at the present point but goes further. For this is what he explains when he says: Ver. 17. “For in it the righteousness of God is revealed.” But the person who has become righteous will live, both in the present life and in the life to come. And along with this he hints at something else: the splendor and glory of such a life. For it is possible to be saved, yet not without shame (as happens to many who are released from punishment through royal mercy). So that no one will suspect this on hearing of salvation, he also adds righteousness—and God’s righteousness, rather than your own—also hinting at its abundance and the ease of receiving it. For you do not achieve it through toil and labor, but receive it as a gift from above, contributing only one thing of your own: “believing.” Then, since his statement seemed incredible—that the adulterer, the effeminate man, the grave robber, and the magician should suddenly not only be freed from punishment but become righteous, and righteous with the highest righteousness—he confirms his claim from the Old Testament. First, in a short sentence, he opens up a vast sea of historical accounts to anyone able to see them. For after saying “from faith to faith,” he directs the hearer back to God’s dealings in the Old Testament, which took place in this way. When writing to the Hebrews, he explains this with his usual great wisdom, showing that even then both the righteous and sinners were justified in this way. That is why he mentioned both the prostitute and Abraham. But here, after only hinting at it (for he was hurrying on to another, urgent subject), he again confirms what he has said from the Prophets, bringing Habakkuk before them, crying out and saying that it is impossible for someone who is to live to live in any other way than by faith. For “the righteous,” he says, “will live by faith” (Hab. ii. 4), speaking about the life to come. Since what God gives entirely surpasses reasoning, it is only reasonable that we need faith. But the person who thinks little of it and is contemptuous and conceited will accomplish nothing at all. Let heretics listen to the Spirit’s voice, for this is the nature of reasoned arguments. They are like a labyrinth or puzzles with no end anywhere. They keep the mind from standing on the rock, and their very origin is vanity. For, ashamed to accept faith and to appear ignorant of heavenly things, they entangle themselves in the dust cloud of countless arguments. Then, you miserable, tormented man, deserving endless tears: if someone asks you how heaven was made, or how the earth was made—and why do I mention heaven and earth?—how you yourself were born, nourished, and grew, are you not ashamed of your ignorance? But if something is said about the Only-begotten, do you let shame drive you into a pit of destruction, thinking it beneath you not to know everything? Yet being argumentative is beneath you, as is curiosity at the wrong time. And why do I speak of doctrines? Even from the corruption of our present life, we have escaped only through faith. This is how all those in earlier times shone: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. This too is how the prostitute was saved, both the one in the Old Testament and the one in the New. For “by faith,” he says, “the prostitute Rahab did not perish with those who did not believe, when she had welcomed the spies.” (Heb. xi. 31.) For if she had said to herself, “How can captives, exiles, and refugees, living like wandering tribes, overcome us, who have a city, walls, and towers?” she would have destroyed both herself and them. This is also what happened to the ancestors of those who were then saved. For when they saw great, tall men and questioned how victory could be won, they all perished, without a battle or battle formation. Do you see what a pit unbelief is, and what a wall faith is? The one brought down countless thousands; the other not only saved a prostitute, but made her the protector of so many people! Now that we know these things and more, let us never call God to account for what is done. Whatever He may place upon us, let us accept it, and let us not get caught up in hair-splitting and prying questions, even if what He commands seems wrong to human reasoning. For what, let me ask, seems more wrong than a father killing his only son, his legitimate son, with his own hands? (Gen. xxii. 3.) Yet when the righteous man was told to do it, he raised no quibbling objections, but simply accepted the command because of the dignity of the One Who gave it. Another man, told by God to strike a prophet, raised quibbling objections about the command’s apparent unreasonableness instead of simply obeying, and was punished most severely. (1 Kings xx. 35, 36.) But the man who struck him won approval. Saul too, when he spared people against God’s decree, lost his kingdom and suffered punishment that could not be reversed. And one could find other examples besides these. Through all of them we learn never to demand a reason for God’s commands, but simply to yield and obey. But if it is dangerous to raise quibbling objections to anything He commands, and extreme punishment is appointed for those who pry into these things, what possible excuse will those have who pry into things far more secret and awesome than these—for instance, how He begot the Son, in what manner, and what His Essence is? Knowing this, let us warmly welcome faith, the mother of all blessings, so that, sailing as though in a calm harbor, we may both keep our doctrines orthodox and steer our lives safely on a straight course, and attain those eternal blessings by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, through Whom and with Whom be glory to the Father, with the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen.