Homilies on Acts, Homily 31

“When the Apostles, Barnabas and Paul, heard about this, they tore their clothes and ran in among the people, crying out and saying, Gentlemen, why are you doing these things? We too are men with the same human weaknesses as you, and we preach to you that you should turn from these worthless things to the living God, Who made heaven and earth and the sea and everything in them.” Notice how intensely the Apostles do all this: they “tore their clothes, ran in, cried out,” all from the powerful emotion of souls horrified by what was happening. For it was a sorrow, a truly inconsolable sorrow, that they should be thought gods and introduce idolatry, the very thing they had come to destroy! This too was a scheme of the devil—but he did not succeed. But what do they say? “We too are men with the same human weaknesses as you.” At the very outset they destroyed the evil. They did not simply say, “Men,” but “Like you.” Then, so that they may not seem to honor the gods, listen to what they add: “Preaching to you that you should turn from these worthless things to the living God, Who made heaven, the sea, and everything in them.” Notice how they never mention invisible things. (b) For they had learned that one should focus less on saying something worthy of God than on saying what benefits the hearers. (a) What then? If He is the Maker of everything, why does He not also care for these things through His Providence?—“Who in the past allowed all nations to walk in their own ways” (v. 16)—but he does not say why He allowed them, because for now he sticks to the immediately important matter, never introducing the name of Christ. Notice that he does not want to increase the accusation against them, but rather wants them to attribute everything to God. “Nevertheless, He did not leave Himself without a witness, because He did good, giving you rain from heaven and fruitful seasons, filling your hearts with food and gladness.” (v. 17.) (c) See how indirectly he makes the accusation: “because He did good,” etc. And yet if God did this, He could not have “left them alone”; on the contrary, they deserved punishment because, while enjoying such great benefits, they had not acknowledged Him even as the One Who fed them. “From heaven,” he says, “giving you rain.” David likewise said, “From the fruit of their grain and wine and oil they were given abundance” (Ps. iv. 7), and in many places, when speaking of Creation, he brings up these benefits. Jeremiah mentions Creation first, then Providence (shown) by the rains, so that the Apostle here speaks as one taught by those Scriptures. “Filling,” he says, “with food and gladness.” (Jer. v. 24.) Food is given with great generosity (φιλοτιμίας), not merely enough to get by on, nor limited to what is needed. “And by saying these things, they barely stopped the crowds” (v. 18)—indeed, this very thing won them the greatest admiration—“from sacrificing to them.” Do you see that their aim was to put an end to that madness? “But there came,” it says, “some Jews from Antioch and Iconium” (v. 19).—Truly children of the devil, doing these things not only in their own cities but beyond them as well, and working as hard to put an end to the preaching as the Apostles worked to establish it!—“and after persuading the crowd and stoning Paul, they dragged him out of the city.” (e) So then, the Gentiles regarded them as gods, but these people “dragged” him “out of the city, supposing he was dead. After persuading the crowd”—for it is unlikely that everyone honored them in this way. In the very city where they received this honor, they were treated so terribly. And this too benefited those who saw it. “So that no one,” he says, “may think more of me than what he sees me to be or hears from me.” (v. 20.)—“But as the disciples stood around him, he got up and went into the city.” (d) Here that saying is fulfilled: “My grace is enough for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Cor. xii. 9.) This is greater than raising the lame man! (f) “Went into the city.” Do you see his zeal? Do you see how fervent he is, how on fire! He went back into the city itself, proving that whenever he withdrew, it was because he had sown the word and because it was not right to inflame their anger. (h) Then they went through all the cities where they had been in danger. “And the next day,” it says, “he left with Barnabas for Derbe. And when they had preached the Gospel to that city and taught many, they returned to Lystra, Iconium, and Antioch, strengthening the souls of the disciples and urging them to continue in the faith, and saying that we must enter the kingdom of God through much suffering.” (v. 21, 22.) This is what they said; this is what they demonstrated. But this happens deliberately, not only through the Apostles but through the disciples too, so that from the very outset they may learn both the power of the preaching and that they too must suffer such things. Then they can stand firm with courage, not idly gaping at miracles, but much more (ready) for trials. That is why the Apostle himself also said, “Having the same struggle that you saw in me and heard about.” (Phil. i. 30.) Persecution followed persecution: wars, fights, stonings. (g) These things, no less than the miracles, both made them more distinguished and prepared greater joy for them. Scripture never says that they returned rejoicing because they had performed miracles, but (it does say that they rejoiced) because “they were considered worthy to suffer disgrace for that Name.” (ch. v. 41.) And Christ taught them this when He said, “Do not rejoice that the devils obey you.” (Luke x. 20.) For this is true, unmixed joy: to suffer anything for Christ’s sake. (i) “And that through much suffering”: what sort of encouragement (προτροπή) is this? How did they persuade them by telling them about suffering at the outset? Then there was another comfort. “And when they had appointed elders for them in every Church and had prayed with fasting, they entrusted them to the Lord, in Whom they believed.” (v. 23.) Do you see Paul’s fervor?—Then another comfort: “Entrusted them,” it says, “to the Lord. And after they had passed through Pisidia, they came to Pamphylia. And when they had preached the word in Perga, they went down to Attalia (v. 24, 25): (l) and from there sailed to Antioch, from which they had been entrusted to the grace of God for the work they had completed.” (v. 26.) Why do they return to Antioch? To report what had happened on their journey. Besides, a great purpose of Providence is involved, for they needed to preach boldly to the Gentiles from then on. So they come and report these things so that the others can learn about them. And Providence arranged for those who forbade associating with the Gentiles to arrive just then, so that the Apostles might receive great encouragement from Jerusalem and go on their way with boldness. Besides, this shows that there was no stubborn self-will in their character. For by coming they show both their boldness, since they had preached to the Gentiles without authorization from those (at Jerusalem), and their obedience, since they refer the matter to them. They had not become arrogant, as (ἀπενοήθησαν) people might after achieving such great successes. “From which,” it says, “they had been entrusted to the grace of God for the work they had completed.” And yet the Spirit had also said, “Set Barnabas and Saul apart for Me for the work to which I have called them.” (ch. xiii. 2.) “And when they arrived and gathered the Church together, they reported everything God had done with them and how He had opened the door of faith to the Gentiles. And they stayed there a long time with the disciples.” (v. 27, 28.) For the city was large and needed teachers.—But let us look again at what has been said. (Recapitulation.) “When the Apostles,” etc. (v. 14). First they checked them by what they saw: the tearing of their clothes. Joshua the son of Nun did this when the people were defeated. So do not think this action was beneath them. The people’s eagerness was so great that they could not otherwise have restrained it, could not otherwise have put out the blaze (πύραν). So when something appropriate needs to be done, let us not shrink from it. For if even after all this they barely persuaded them, what might have happened if they had not acted this way? If they had not done this, they would have seemed to be putting on a show of humility (ταπεινοθρονεἵν), and to want the honor all the more. And notice how measured their language is as they rebuke them, full of both amazement and rebuke. Above all, this statement held them back: “Preaching to you to turn from these worthless things to God.” (v. 15.) We are indeed men, they say, but greater than these, for these are dead things. Notice how they not only overthrow (the false), but teach (the true), saying nothing about invisible things: “Who made,” they say, “heaven and earth and the sea and everything in them. Who in the past,” etc. (v. 16, 17.) He calls even the years (in their courses) as witnesses. “And some Jews came there,” etc. (v. 19.) Oh, that Jewish madness! Among a people who had so honored the Apostles, they dared to come and stone Paul. “And they dragged him out of the city,” because they were afraid of those (others),—“Supposing he was dead.” (k) “But,” etc. “and went into the city.” (v. 20.) For so that the disciples would not lose heart because men who had been considered gods suffered such treatment, they came in and spoke to them. “Then the next day,” etc. And notice that first he leaves for Derbe, and then returns to Lystra, Iconium, and Antioch, (v. 21) giving way to them while their passions are aroused, but taking them on again once their passions have subsided. Do you see that they accomplished all they did through their own diligent efforts rather than through (supernatural) grace? “Strengthening,” it says, “the souls of the disciples”: ἐπιστηρίζοντες, “further establishing”; so they were already established, but the Apostles added to this. “And that we must,” etc. (v. 22): they foretold (this) so that the disciples would not stumble. “And when they had appointed for them,” etc. Again the ordinations were accompanied by fasting, and again there was fasting, that purification of our souls. (m) “And having prayed,” it says, “with fasting, they entrusted them to the Lord” (v. 23): they taught them to fast in their trials too. (o) Why did they not appoint elders in Cyprus or Samaria? Because the latter was near Jerusalem and the former near Antioch, and the word was strong there. But in those other regions they needed much comfort, especially the Gentiles, who needed a great deal of instruction. “And when they arrived,” etc. (v. 27.) They came, showing them that the Spirit had ordained them with good reason. (n) They did not speak of what they themselves had done, but of “what God had done with them.” It seems to me that they mean their trials. They did not come here without a purpose, or to rest, but were guided by the Spirit’s Providence so that the preaching to the Gentiles might be firmly established. (p) And notice Paul’s fervor. He does not ask whether it is right to speak to Gentiles, but speaks immediately. That is why he says, “I did not consult flesh and blood.” (Gal. i. 16.) For a great, a great and generous soul (like this) is truly a great thing! How many have believed since then, and not one of them all has shone like him! What we need is earnestness, intense fervor, a soul ready to face death. Otherwise, without being crucified, it is impossible to reach the Kingdom. Let us not deceive ourselves. For if it is impossible to come safely through a war while living in luxury, trading, peddling, and idling, how much more so in this war. Or do you not think this is a war worse than all others? (Infra, p. 204, note 1.) “For we do not wrestle,” he says, “against flesh and blood.” (Eph. vi. 12.) Even while we eat, walk, and bathe, the enemy is with us, and he observes no truce except during sleep alone. Indeed, even then he often wages war, planting unclean thoughts in us and making us lustful through dreams. We do not keep watch, rouse ourselves, consider the number of forces arrayed against us, or reflect that this very thing is the greatest misfortune: although surrounded by such great wars, we live in luxury as though at peace. Believe me, we may now have to suffer worse things than Paul suffered. Those enemies wounded him with stones; words can wound even worse than stones. What, then, must we do? What he did: he did not hate those who threw stones at him. After they dragged him out, he went back into their city to benefit those who had wronged him so badly. If you too endure someone who insults you harshly and has wronged you, then you too have been stoned. Do not say, “I have done him no harm.” For what harm had Paul done to deserve stoning? He was announcing a Kingdom, leading people away from error, and bringing them to God. These benefits deserved crowns, a herald’s proclamation, a thousand good things—not stones. And yet (far from resenting) he did just the opposite. For this is the splendid victory. “And they dragged him,” (v. 19) it says. These people too are often dragged, but do not be angry; instead, preach the word gently. Has someone insulted you? Keep quiet, and bless him if you can, and you too have preached the word, given a lesson in gentleness, a lesson in meekness. I know that many people feel less pain from wounds than from the blow inflicted by words, since the body receives the one wound and the soul the other. But let us not feel the sting—or rather, let us endure it when we do. Do you not see how boxers, with their heads badly battered, bite their lips and bear their pain patiently? There is no need to grind your teeth, no need to bite (the lips). Remember your Master, and that memory immediately applies the remedy. Remember Paul. Reflect that you, the one being beaten, have won, and he, the one beating you, has lost; with this you have cured the whole trouble. It takes only a turn of the scale, a moment, and you have accomplished everything. Do not get carried away; do not even move, and you have put out the whole (fire). Suffering anything for Christ is powerfully persuasive: you do not preach the word of faith, but you preach the word of patience (φιλοσοφίας). But, you will say, the more he sees my gentleness, the more he attacks me. Is that why you are distressed, then, because he increases your rewards all the more? “But this is the way,” you say, “to make him good for nothing.” This is only an excuse for your own small-mindedness. On the contrary, taking revenge is the way to make him good for nothing. If God had known that refraining from revenge made unjust people good for nothing, He would not have done this Himself. Instead, He would have said, Take revenge. But He knew that the other course was more likely to do good. Do not make a law contrary to God’s; do as He tells you. You are not kinder than He Who made us. He has said, “Endure being wronged”; you say, “I repay wrong for wrong so that he will not become good for nothing.” Do you care for him more than God does? Such talk is only passion and bad temper, arrogance and setting up laws against God’s laws. For even if the man were harmed (by our forbearance), would it not be our duty to obey? When God commands something, let us not make a contrary law. “A submissive answer,” we read, “turns away anger” (Prov. xv. 1), not an argumentative answer. If it benefits you, it benefits him too. But if it harms you, who are supposed to set him right, how much more will it harm him? “Physician, heal yourself.” Has someone spoken badly of you? Speak well of him. Has he abused you? Praise him. Has he plotted against you? Do him a kindness. Repay him with the opposite, if you care at all about his salvation and do not want to avenge your own suffering. And yet, you will say, although he has often met with patience from me, he has become worse. That is his responsibility, not yours. Would you like to learn what wrongs God suffered? They tore down His altars and killed His prophets (1 Kings xix. 10), yet He endured it all. Could He not have hurled a thunderbolt from above? Indeed, after He had sent His prophets and they killed them, He sent His Son (Matt. xxi. 37). When they committed greater acts of impiety, He sent them greater benefits. You too, if you see someone enraged, should yield all the more, since this madness has greater need of soothing (παραμθίας). The harsher his abuse of you, the more meekness he needs from you. Just as a gale needs to be yielded to when it blows hard, so does someone in a rage. When a wild beast is at its most savage, we all flee; so too should we flee from an angry person. Do not think that this honors him. For do we honor wild beasts and madmen when we turn aside out of their way? Certainly not; it is dishonor and contempt—or rather, not dishonor and contempt, but compassion and humanity. Do you not see how sailors lower their sails when the wind blows violently, so that the ship will not sink? How, when horses run away with their driver, he simply guides them into the (open) plain and does not pull against them, so that he will not deliberately exhaust his strength? Do the same yourself. Anger is a fire, a swift flame that needs fuel. Do not feed the fire, and you will soon put out the evil. Anger has no power by itself; someone else must feed it. You have no excuse. He is possessed by madness and does not know what he is doing. But when you see his condition and fall into the same evils, instead of being brought to your senses by the sight, what excuse can you have? If you came to a feast and, at its very beginning, saw someone drunk and behaving disgracefully, would not someone who got drunk after seeing him be much more inexcusable? It is just the same here. Do we think it is any excuse to say, I did not start it? This counts against us: even the sight of the other person in that condition did not bring us to our senses. It is just as if someone said, “I did not murder him first.” This very thing makes you deserve punishment: even with such a sight to warn you, you did not restrain yourself. If you saw the drunk vomiting, retching, bursting, his eyes bulging, covering the table with his filth, everyone hurrying out of his way, and then fell into the same condition yourself, would you not be more hateful? A person in a rage is like him. More than the one vomiting, his veins are swollen, his eyes inflamed, his bowels racked; he vomits words far filthier than that food. Everything he says is raw, nothing properly digested, because his passion will not allow it. Just as an excess of fumes (χυμων), stirring up turmoil in the stomach, often throws out all its contents, so here an excess of heat, stirring up turmoil in the soul, does not allow him to keep to himself what should be left unsaid. Instead, he says everything alike, fit or unfit to be spoken, shaming himself rather than his hearers. So just as we get out of the way of people who are vomiting, let us get out of the way of those who are angry. Let us throw dust on their vomit. By doing what? By keeping quiet. Let us call the dogs to eat up the vomit. I know you are disgusted to hear this, but I want you to feel the same disgust when you see these things happen, and to take no pleasure in them. The abusive person is filthier than the dog that returns to its own vomit. For if he vomited once and were done with it, he would not be like that dog. But if he vomits the same things again, clearly he does so because he has eaten them again. What, then, is more repulsive than such a person? What is filthier than the mouth that chews such food? And yet the one is a work of nature, while the other is not—or rather, both are contrary to nature. How? Because being abusive without cause is contrary to nature, not in keeping with it. So he says nothing like a human being, but speaks partly like a beast and partly like a madman. Just as bodily disease is contrary to nature, so is this. And to show that it is contrary to nature, if he continues in it, he will gradually perish; but if he continues in what is natural, he will not perish. I would rather sit at a table with someone who eats dirt than with someone who says such things. Do you not see pigs devouring dung? These people do the same. For what stinks more than the words abusive people utter? They make it their aim to say nothing wholesome, nothing pure. Whatever is base, whatever is indecent, that is what they strive both to do and to say. Worse still, they think they are disgracing others when they are actually disgracing themselves. That they disgrace themselves is clear. Leaving aside those who tell lies (in their railings), suppose someone is a notorious prostitute, or even some other (abandoned creature) from the stage, and that person is quarreling with someone else. Then let the second person throw this in the first person’s face (what she or he is), and let the first throw the same reproach back at the second. Which of them is most harmed by the words? The first is only called what he or she actually is, which is not true of the other. So the first gains no additional shame (than there was before), while the other gains a great deal of disgrace. But again, suppose there are some hidden deeds (mod. text εἰργασμένα “which have been done”), known only to the person hurling the abuse. Then, after keeping quiet until now, let him publicly parade (ἐκπομπευέτω) the disgrace. Even so, he disgraces himself more than the other person. How? By making himself the herald of the wickedness, he earns either a reputation for making accusations about things he knows nothing about or a reputation for being untrustworthy. And you will see everyone immediately accuse him: “If he really had known that a murder was committed, he should have revealed it all.” So they recoil from him as though he were not even human. They hate him, call him a wild beast, savage and cruel, while they are much more ready to pardon the other person than him. For we do not hate those who have wounds as much as those who force them to uncover and show them. Thus this man has disgraced not only the other person but himself as well, his hearers, and our shared human nature. He has wounded the hearer and done no good. That is why Paul says, “If there is any word that is good for building others up, so that it may give grace to the hearers.” (Eph. iv. 29.) Let us develop a tongue that speaks only good things, so that we may be lovable and pleasant. But everything has reached such a height of wickedness that many people boast about the very things that should make them hide their faces. For this is how many threaten others: “You cannot stand up to my tongue,” they say. These are words fit only for a woman, a depraved, drunken old hag, one of those dragged (to punishment) in the marketplace, a woman who procures prostitutes. Nothing is more shameful than these words, nothing more unmanly, more womanlike, than finding your strength in your tongue and thinking highly of yourself because you can hurl abuse, just like the fellows in processions, like buffoons, parasites, and flatterers. Those who pride themselves on this are pigs rather than human beings. You should (sooner) have buried yourself, and if someone else described you this way, you should recoil from the accusation as hateful and unmanly. Instead, you have made yourself the herald of (your own) disgrace (ὓβρεων). But you will not be able to harm the person you speak badly of. So I beg you, considering that wickedness has reached such a height that many boast about it, let us come to our senses, let us restore those who are so mad, let us remove these councils from the city, let us make our tongues gracious, let us rid them of all evil speech, so that, cleansed of sins, we may draw down goodwill from above and receive mercy from God, through the grace and compassion of His only-begotten Son, with Whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, honor, now and always, forever and ever. Amen.