Homilies on John, Homily 36

“This is again the second miracle that Jesus did when He came out of Judea into Galilee. After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.” [1.] Just as someone skilled in gold mining would not overlook even the smallest vein, since it can yield great wealth, so we cannot pass over a single jot or tittle in the holy Scriptures without loss. We must examine everything. For it is all spoken by the Holy Spirit, and nothing useless is written there. Consider, for instance, what the Evangelist says here: “This is again the second miracle that Jesus did when He came out of Judea into Galilee.” He has added even the word “second” for a reason: to praise the Samaritans still more, by showing that even after a second miracle had been performed, those who saw it had not yet risen as high as those who had not seen even one. “After this there was a feast of the Jews.” What “feast”? I think it was Pentecost. “And Jesus went up to Jerusalem.” He regularly visits the City at the feasts, partly to be seen celebrating with them and partly to draw the crowd who were free from deceit. For during these days especially, people of a more straightforward disposition gathered in greater numbers than at other times. Ver. 2, 3. “Now there is at Jerusalem a sheep pool, called in the Hebrew language Bethesda, with five porches. In these lay a great crowd of sick people, lame, blind, with withered limbs, waiting for the water to move.” What kind of healing is this? What mystery does it signify for us? These things are not written carelessly or without a purpose. Through a figure and type, they outline things to come, so that something so extraordinary would not, by arriving unexpectedly, damage the strength of faith among the many. What, then, do they outline? A Baptism was about to be given, with great power and the greatest of gifts—a Baptism that cleanses every sin and brings people from death to life. The pool and many other circumstances foreshadow these things as in a picture. First, water is given that cleanses the stains on our bodies and those things that seem to defile us but do not really do so, such as touching the dead, leprosy, and other similar causes. Under the old covenant, we can see many things done with water for this reason. But let us now return to the matter at hand. First, then, as I said before, He causes bodily defilements, and afterward illnesses of different kinds, to be removed through water. For God, wishing to bring us closer to faith in baptism, no longer heals defilements alone, but diseases too. The figures that came closer [in time] to the reality, whether of Baptism, the Passion, or the rest, were clearer than the more ancient ones. Just as the guards nearest the ruler are more splendid than those farther ahead, so it was with the types. And “an Angel came down and stirred the water,” giving it healing power, so that the Jews might learn that the Lord of Angels could do far more to heal the diseases of the soul. Yet here it was not simply the water’s nature that healed (for then healing would have happened all the time), but water joined to the Angel’s activity. So in our case, too, it is not merely the water that works; when it has received the grace of the Spirit, it takes away all our sins. Around this pool “lay a great crowd of sick people, blind, lame, with withered limbs, waiting for the water to move.” But then illness itself hindered anyone who wanted to be healed; now everyone can approach. For now it is not an Angel who stirs the water: it is the Lord of Angels who does everything. The sick person can no longer say, “I have no one”; he cannot say, “While I am coming, someone else steps down before me.” Even if the whole world came, the grace would not be used up, the power would not be exhausted, but would remain just as great as before. The sun’s rays give light every day, yet they are not exhausted, nor does their light diminish by giving so abundantly. In the same way, and far more, the power of the Spirit is in no way diminished by the number of those who enjoy it. This miracle happened so that people, after learning that water can heal bodily diseases and becoming accustomed to this over a long time, might more easily believe that it can also heal the diseases of the soul. But why did Jesus leave the others and come to someone who had been ill for thirty-eight years? And why did He ask him, “Do you want to be made well?” He did not ask to find out; that was unnecessary. He asked to show the man’s perseverance, and so that we might know that this was why He left the others and came to him. What, then, does the man say? “Yes, Lord,” he says, but “I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred, and while I am coming, someone else steps down before me.” Jesus asked, “Do you want to be made well?” so that we might learn these circumstances. He did not say, “Do you want Me to heal you?” (for the man had not yet formed any exalted ideas about Him), but “Do you want to be made well?” The paralyzed man’s perseverance was astonishing. He had been ill for thirty-eight years, and each year, hoping to be freed from his disease, he kept waiting there and did not leave. If he had not been so persevering, would not the prospect of the future, even if not the past, have been enough to make him leave the place? Consider how watchful the other sick people there were likely to have been, since no one knew when the water would be stirred. The lame and those who limped could observe it, but how did the blind see? Perhaps they learned of it from the shouting that arose. [2.] Let us be ashamed, then, beloved, let us be ashamed, and groan over our excessive laziness. That man had waited “thirty-eight years” without obtaining what he wanted, yet he did not leave. He had failed through no carelessness of his own, but because others pushed him aside and treated him violently; even so, he did not lose heart. Yet if we have kept praying for something for ten days without receiving it, we are afterward too lazy to continue with the same zeal. We wait on people for so long, fighting, enduring hardships, and doing servile work, often to be disappointed in the end. But we cannot bear to wait on our Master with the proper diligence, although we are sure to receive from Him a reward greater than our labors (for, as the Apostle says, “Hope does not put us to shame”— Rom. v. 5 ,). What punishment this deserves! Even if we could receive nothing from Him, should we not consider the very act of speaking with Him continually a source of ten thousand blessings? “But continual prayer is hard work.” And what part of virtue does not involve hard work? “In fact,” someone says, “this is precisely the great difficulty: pleasure is attached to vice, and labor to virtue.” Many people, I think, raise this question. What, then, is the reason? In the beginning, God gave us a life free from care and labor. We did not use the gift rightly, but idleness corrupted us, and we were banished from Paradise. For this reason He made our life from then on a life of toil, explaining His reasons, as it were, to humanity: “In the beginning I allowed you to live a life of enjoyment, but freedom made you worse, so I commanded that from then on you should bear labor and sweat.” And when even this labor did not restrain us, He next gave us a law containing many commandments. Like horse trainers, He imposed it on us as bits and bridles are placed on an unruly horse to restrain its plunging. This is why life involves toil: because freedom from toil tends to ruin us. Our nature cannot bear to be idle, but easily turns aside into wickedness. Suppose that a temperate person, or someone who rightly practices the other virtues, had no need to exert himself, but could do everything in his sleep. How would we have used our leisure even then? Would it not have led to pride and boasting? “But why,” someone says, “has great pleasure been attached to vice, and great labor and toil to virtue?” Well, what credit would you have deserved, and for what would you have received a reward, if there had been no difficulty? Even now I can show you many who naturally hate sexual intercourse with women and avoid talking with them because they regard them as impure. Are we to call these men chaste? Tell me, are we to crown them and proclaim them victors? Certainly not. Chastity is self-restraint and mastery over pleasures that fight against us, just as in war trophies are most honorable when the struggle is fierce, rather than when no one raises a hand against us. Many people are naturally free from anger. Are we to call them good-tempered? Not at all. So the Lord, after naming three kinds of eunuchs, leaves two without a crown and admits one into the kingdom of heaven. ( Matt. xix. 12.) “But what need,” someone says, “was there for wickedness?” I ask the same thing. “What, then, brought wickedness into being?” What else but our deliberate negligence? “But,” someone says, “there should be only good people.” Well, what is characteristic of a good person? Staying watchful and sober, or sleeping and snoring? “And why,” someone says, “was it not considered good for a person to act rightly without effort?” Your words are fit for cattle or gluttons, or people who make their belly their god. To prove that these are foolish words, answer me this. Suppose there were a king and a general, and while the king slept or was drunk, the general endured hardship and set up a trophy of victory. Whose victory would you consider it? Who would enjoy the pleasure of what had been done? Do you see that the soul is especially drawn to the things she has labored for? That is why God has joined labor to virtue: He wants to make us attached to her. This is why we admire virtue even when we do not act rightly ourselves, while we condemn vice even though it is very pleasant. And if you say, “Why do we not admire those who are good by nature more than those who are good by choice?” we answer: because it is right to prefer the person who labors to the one who does not. Why do we labor? Because you did not handle freedom from labor with moderation. Indeed, if we examine the matter closely, idleness tends to ruin us and cause us great trouble in other ways too. Let us, if you like, shut someone up, merely feeding and pampering him, never allowing him to walk or taking him out to work. Let him enjoy the table and bed and live continually in luxury. What could be more miserable than such a life? “But,” someone says, “working is one thing, and toiling is another.” Yes, but at that time a person could work without toil. “And is that,” he says, “possible?” Yes, it is possible. God even wanted it, but you could not bear it. That is why He placed you in the garden to work, giving you an occupation without attaching toil to it. For if humanity had toiled in the beginning, God would not afterward have imposed toil as a punishment. It is possible to work without growing weary, as the angels do. To prove that they work, listen to what David says: “You who excel in strength, you who do His word.” ( Ps. ciii. 20 , LXX.) Lack of strength now makes work toilsome, but it was not so then. For “he who has entered His rest has ceased,” someone says, “from his works, as God did from His” ( Heb. iv. 10 ): meaning here, not idleness, but an end to toil. For God works even now, as Christ says: “My Father has been working until now, and I work.” ( c. v. 17.) So I urge you to put aside all carelessness and pursue virtue with zeal. For the pleasure of wickedness is brief, but its pain lasts; with virtue, on the other hand, the joy never grows old, while the labor lasts only a season. Even before the crowns are handed out, virtue encourages her worker and nourishes him with hope. Even before the time of vengeance, vice punishes the person who works for her, tormenting and terrifying his conscience and making it prone to imagine all (evils). Are these things not worse than any labor, any toil? And even if this were not so, if there were pleasure, what could be more worthless than that pleasure? As soon as it appears, it flies away, withering and escaping before it can be grasped, whether you mean the pleasure of beauty, luxury, or wealth, for they never stop fading day by day. But when there is punishment and vengeance besides (for this pleasure), who could be more miserable than those who pursue it? Knowing this, then, let us endure everything for virtue. In this way we will enjoy true pleasure, through the grace and loving kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father and the Holy Spirit be glory, now and forever, for ages without end. Amen.