Homilies on Acts, Homily 39

“And when they heard about the resurrection of the dead, some mocked, while others said, We will hear you again about this. So Paul left them. But certain men joined him and believed, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris, and others with them. After this Paul left Athens and came to Corinth.” Why did Paul leave Athens in such a hurry, when he had persuaded (some so far as to say) that they would hear him again, and there were no dangers? Probably he knew that he would do them little good; besides, the Spirit was leading him to Corinth. (b) For although the Athenians liked hearing strange things, they did not pay attention (to him); their concern was only to keep having something to say, and this was what kept them away from him. But if this was their custom, why did they accuse him by saying, “He seems to be a proclaimer of strange gods”? (ch. xvii. 18.) Yes, but these were things they did not know what to make of at all. Still, he did convert both Dionysius the Areopagite and some others. For those who were careful about (right) living quickly received the word; the others did not. Paul thought it was enough to have sown the seeds of the doctrines. (a) So, as I said, the Spirit led him to Corinth, the city where he was to stay. (c) “And finding a certain Jew named Aquila, born in Pontus, who had recently come from Italy”—for he had spent most of his life there—“and Priscilla his wife, because Claudius had ordered all the Jews to leave Rome.” (v. 2.) For although the war against the Jews reached its culmination during Nero’s reign, it had been building from the time of Claudius onward, at a distance, to be sure, so that, if only this would work, they might come to their senses; and now they were being driven from Rome as public pests. This is why Providence arranged for Paul to be taken there as a prisoner: so that he would not be driven away as a Jew, but could even be protected there under military custody. (Having found these,) “he came to them, and because he practiced the same trade, he stayed with them and worked, for they were tentmakers by trade.” (v. 3.) See what a reason he found for living in the same house with them! For here, above all places, he needed to accept no support, as he himself says, “So that in what they boast about, they may be found to be just as we are” (2 Cor. xi. 12); so Providence arranged for him to stay there. “And he reasoned in the synagogue every Sabbath and persuaded the Jews and the Greeks. And when Silas and Timothy came from Macedonia, Paul was pressed by the word, testifying to the Jews that Jesus is the Christ.” (v. 4, 5.) “And when the Jews opposed him and blasphemed,” that is, they tried to crush him (ἐπηρέαζον), they attacked him—what did Paul do then? He separated himself from them, and in a very solemn and fearsome way. Although he did not now say, “The word had to be spoken to you,” he hinted at it: “And when they opposed him and blasphemed, he shook out his clothes and said to them, Your blood be on your own heads; I am innocent. From now on I will go to the Gentiles.” (v. 6.) “And he left there and entered the house of a certain man named Justus, who worshiped God and whose house was right next to the synagogue.” See how, even after saying again, “From now on—,” he still did not neglect them. He said this to stir them up, and then went to Justus, whose house adjoined the synagogue, so that this very closeness might make them jealous. “And Crispus, the chief ruler of the synagogue, believed in the Lord with his whole household.” This too, more than almost anything, was enough to win them over. “And many of the Corinthians, hearing, believed and were baptized. Then the Lord spoke to Paul at night in a vision: Do not be afraid, but speak, and do not be silent, for I am with you, and no one will attack you to hurt you, for I have many people in this city.” (v. 8–10.) See how many reasons He gives to persuade him, and how He puts last the reason that influenced him most of all: “I have many people in this city.” Then how was it, you may ask, that they attacked him? Yet the writer tells us that they accomplished nothing, although they brought him before the proconsul. “And he stayed there a year and six months, teaching the word of God among them. And when Gallio was proconsul of Achaia, the Jews rose up together against Paul and brought him before the judgment seat.” (v. 11, 12.) Do you see why those men were always trying to turn the offenses (they accused them of) into matters of public concern? Look at this example: (b) “Saying, This man leads people astray by persuading them to worship God contrary to the law. And when Paul was about to open his mouth, Gallio said: If this were some wrongdoing or wicked misconduct, you Jews, it would be reasonable for me to hear you out. But if it is a question of words and names and your law, see to it yourselves, for I will not be a judge of such matters. And he drove them away from the judgment seat.” (v. 13–16.) This Gallio seems to me to have been a sensible man. (a) Notice that when they said, “He leads people astray by persuading them to worship God contrary to the law,” he “cared about none of these things.” And notice how he answered them: “If this were” some matter affecting the city, “some wrongdoing or wicked misconduct,” etc. (c) “Then all the Jews took Sosthenes, the ruler of the synagogue, and beat him in front of the judgment seat, and Gallio cared about none of these things” (v. 17): he did not take their beating him as an insult to himself. The Jews were that insolent. But let us go over what has been said again. (Recapitulation.) “And when they heard,” (ch. xvii. 32) such great and exalted doctrines, they did not even pay attention, but jeered at the Resurrection! “For the natural man,” Scripture says, “does not receive the things of the Spirit.” (1 Cor. ii. 14.) “And so,” it says, “Paul left.” (v. 33.) How? Having persuaded some and been mocked by others. “But certain men,” it says, “joined him and believed, including Dionysius the Areopagite and some others.” (v. 34.) “And after this,” etc. “And finding a certain Jew named Aquila, born in Pontus, who had recently come from Italy because Claudius had ordered all Jews to leave Rome, he came to them, and because he practiced the same trade, he stayed with them and worked, for they were tentmakers by trade.” (ch.xviii. 1–3.) This Aquila, who was from Pontus, * * * . Notice how (the crisis) was coming quickly, but not in Jerusalem or nearby; it was coming farther away. And Paul stayed with him and was not ashamed to stay; indeed, he stayed for this very reason, because he had found a suitable place to live, far more suitable for him than any king’s palace. And do not smile, beloved, when you hear (of his occupation). For (it was good for him), just as a training ground is more useful to an athlete than luxurious carpets; likewise, an iron sword (is useful) to a soldier, not a gold one. “And worked,” even though he preached. Let us be ashamed, we who live in idleness even though we have no preaching to occupy us. “And he reasoned in the synagogue every Sabbath and persuaded both Jews and Greeks” (v. 4); but “when they opposed him and blasphemed,” he withdrew, expecting this to draw them closer. For why did he leave that house and come to live right beside the synagogue? Was it not for this reason? It was not because he saw any danger here. That is why Paul, after testifying to them—he no longer teaches now, but testifies—“shook out his clothes,” to frighten them by action as well as words, and “said to them, Your blood be on your own heads” (v. 6). He spoke more forcefully because he had already persuaded many. “I,” he says, “am innocent.” Then we too are accountable for the blood of those entrusted to us if we neglect them. “From now on I will go to the Gentiles.” So too, when he says, “From now on let no one trouble me” (Gal. vi. 17), he says it to frighten them. For the punishment did not frighten them as much as this stung them. “And leaving there, he came into the house of a man named Justus, who worshiped God and whose house adjoined the synagogue” (v. 7), and stayed there, wishing by this to convince them that he was serious (πρὸς τὰ ἐθνη ἠπείγετο) about going to the Gentiles. Accordingly, notice that immediately after he did this, the ruler of the synagogue was converted, along with many others. “Crispus, the ruler of the synagogue, believed in the Lord with his whole household; and many of the Corinthians, hearing, believed and were baptized.”—(v. 8.) “With his whole household”: notice how the converts in those days did this with their entire households. This is the Crispus he means when he writes, “I baptized no one except Crispus and Gaius.” (1 Cor. i. 14.) I take this (same) man to be the one called Sosthenes—(evidently) a believer, since he was beaten and was always with Paul. “And the Lord said at night,” etc. Now even the number (of the “much people”) persuaded him, but Christ’s claiming them as His own (moved him) more. Yet He also says, “Do not be afraid,” for the danger had now grown greater, both because more people believed and because the ruler of the synagogue did too. This was enough to stir him to action. It was not that he was being reproached for being afraid; but to keep him from suffering any harm, He said, “I am with you, and no one will attack you to hurt you.” (v. 9, 10.) For He did not always allow them to suffer harm, so that they would not become too weak. Nothing grieved Paul so much as people’s unbelief and their setting themselves (against the Truth); this was worse than the dangers. That is why (Christ) appeared to him now. “And he stayed a year and six months,” etc. (v. 11.) After the year and six months, they attacked him. “And when Gallio was proconsul of Achaia,” etc. (v. 12, 13), because they could no longer use their own laws. (c) And notice how sensible he was: he did not immediately say, I do not care, but, “If,” he says, “this were a matter of wrongdoing or wicked misconduct, you Jews, it would be reasonable for me to hear you out; but if it is a question of doctrine and words and your law, see to it yourselves, for I do not choose to be a judge of such matters.” (v. 14, 15.) (g) He taught them that such matters do not require a judicial ruling, but they do everything in a disorderly way. And he did not say, It is not my duty, but, “I do not choose,” so that they would not trouble him again. So Pilate said in Christ’s case, “Take Him yourselves and judge him according to your law.” (John xviii. 31.) But they were just like drunken, mad men. (d) “And he drove them away from the judgment seat” (v. 16)—he effectively closed the court to them. “Then all” (the Jews) “seized Sosthenes, the ruler of the synagogue, and beat him in front of the judgment seat. And Gallio cared about none of these things.” (v. 17). (a) This, more than anything else, spurred them on (to this violence)—their belief that the governor would not even lower himself (to notice it). (e) It was a splendid victory. What shame they were put to! (b) For it is one thing to emerge victorious from a dispute, and another for those men to learn that he cared nothing about the affair. (f) “And Gallio cared about none of these things,” even though the whole thing was intended as an insult to him! Yet it was as though they had been given authority (they did this). Why did he (Sosthenes), although he too had authority, not beat (them)? But they had been (otherwise) trained, so that the judge could learn which side was more reasonable. This was no small benefit to those present—both the reasonableness of these men and the audacity of the others. (h) He was beaten and said nothing. Let us imitate this man too: let us return blow for blow through gentleness, silence, and patience when people beat us. These wounds are more painful; this blow is greater and heavier. To show that what hurts is not a blow to the body but a blow to the mind, we often hit people, yet because we do it in friendship, they are actually pleased. But if you strike someone who has no particular connection to you in an insulting way, you hurt him deeply because you have touched his heart. So let us strike their hearts. But come, let us prove in words, as far as we can, that gentleness strikes a greater blow than ferocity. The sure proof comes from actions and experience; but if you wish, let us also examine it in words, though we have often done so already. When we are insulted, nothing hurts us as much as the judgment of the spectators. Being insulted in public is not the same as being insulted in private: we can even bear those same insults easily when they happen in a secluded place, with no one there to witness them or know about them. So clearly it is not the insult itself that humiliates us, but having to endure it in everyone’s sight. For if someone honored us in everyone’s sight and insulted us in private, we would still even feel grateful to him. The pain, then, lies not in the nature of the insult but in the opinion of those watching: we do not want to seem contemptible. What, then, if their opinion should favor us? Is not the man trying to disgrace us himself more disgraced when people judge in our favor? Tell me, whom do the bystanders despise: the person who insults, or the person who keeps silent while being insulted? Anger suggests that they despise the person being insulted. But let us examine it now, while we are free from that agitation, so that we will not be carried away when the time comes. Tell me, whom do we all condemn? Clearly, the person who insults. If he is of lower rank, we will say he is actually mad; if he is an equal, that he is foolish; if he is of higher rank, we still will not approve. For which man, I ask, deserves approval: the man who is agitated, tossed about by a storm of anger, enraged like a wild beast, behaving this way against our common human nature; or the man who lives in calm, in a harbor of rest, with virtuous composure? Is not the one like an angel, while the other is not even like a human being? For the one cannot even bear his own troubles, while the other bears the troubles of others too. Here is a man who cannot even put up with himself; there is one who puts up with another as well. The one is in danger of shipwreck; the other sails safely, his ship carried along by favorable winds. For he has not allowed the squall of anger to catch his sails and overturn the vessel of his understanding. Instead, a gentle, sweet breeze blowing on it, the breath of patience, carries it peacefully into the harbor of wise composure. When a ship is in danger of sinking, the sailors do not know what they are throwing away, whether what they grab belongs to them or to others. They throw everything overboard without distinction, precious things and things that are not precious alike. But once the storm has stopped, they count up everything they have thrown out and weep. They cannot appreciate the calm because of the loss of what they have thrown overboard. So it is here: when anger blows hard and the storm rises, people fling out words without knowing how to speak in an orderly or fitting way. But when the anger has passed, they remember the words they spoke, think about their loss, and feel no peace as they recall the words by which they disgraced themselves and suffered a terrible loss—not of money, but of their reputation for self-control and gentleness. Anger is darkness. “The fool,” Scripture says, “has said in his heart, There is no God.” (Ps. xiii. 1.) Perhaps the same can fittingly be said of the angry man too: the angry man has said, There is no God. For Scripture says, “Because of the greatness of his anger he will not seek” (after God). (Ps. x. 4.) Whatever reverent thought enters, (passion) thrusts it out and drives it away, throwing everything into confusion. (b) When you are told that the person you abused did not say one bitter word, does this not hurt you more than you hurt him? (a) If you do not feel more pain in your own mind than the person you have abused, go on abusing him; (but) even if no one calls you to account, the judgment of your conscience will take you aside and give you a thousand lashes, (when you think) how you poured out a flood of insults on someone so gentle, humble, and patient. We are always saying these things, but we do not see them put into practice. You, a human being, insult your fellow human being? You, a servant, insult your fellow servant? But why am I surprised at this, when many even insult God? Let this comfort you when you are insulted. Are you insulted? God is insulted too. Are you verbally abused? God was verbally abused too. Are you treated with contempt? So was our Master. He shares these things with us, but not their opposites. For He never insulted another unjustly—God forbid! He never verbally abused anyone or did any wrong. So we are the ones who share with Him, not you. For enduring insults is God’s part; simply hurling abuse is the devil’s part. Look at the two sides. “You have a devil” (John vii. 20; ib. xviii. 22), Christ was told; He was struck in the face by the high priest’s servant. Those who insult people unjustly belong in the same class as these men. For if Peter was even called “Satan” (Matt. xvi. 23) for one remark, how much more will these men, when they do the works of the Jews, be called what those men were called, “children of the devil” (John viii. 44), because they did the devil’s works. You insult people; who are you, I ask (that you do so)? Rather, the reason you insult people is that you are nothing: no one who is human insults others. So the question people ask in quarrels, “Who are you?” ought to be turned around: “Go on insulting, for you are nothing.” Instead, the phrase is, “Who are you to insult me?” “A better man than you,” comes the answer. Yet the opposite is true. But because we ask the wrong question, they give the wrong answer, so the fault is ours. We ask, “Who are you to insult me?” as though we thought insulting people were the privilege of great men. And that is why they answer this way. Instead, we ought to say, “Are you insulting people? Go on insulting them, for you are nobody.” But to those who do not insult, we should say, “Who are you, that you do not insult? You have risen above human nature.” This is nobility, this is generosity: to say nothing mean, even when someone may deserve it. Tell me now, how many people are there who do not deserve to be put to death? Yet the judge does not do this himself; instead, he questions them—and he does not even do that himself. But if it is unacceptable for the judge, while sitting in judgment, (in his own person) to speak with a criminal, and he does everything through a third person, we have all the more duty not to insult our equals in rank. For all we will gain over them is not so much the satisfaction of disgracing them as the lesson that we have disgraced ourselves. Well then, in the case of the wicked, this is why we must not insult (even them); in the case of the good, there is another reason too: they do not deserve it. And a third reason is that it is not right to be abusive. But as things stand, look at the result: the person being abused is a human being, the person abusing him is a human being, and the spectators are human beings. What then? Must the beasts come between them and settle the matter? That is the only thing left. For when both those doing wrong and those who enjoy the wrongdoing are human beings, the role of peacemaker is left to the beasts. Just as, when the masters quarrel in a house, there is nothing left but for the servants to reconcile them—even if that does not happen, the situation itself calls for it—so it is here. Are you abusive? That is just what one would expect, for you are not even human. Insolence seemed to be something noble; it seemed to belong to the great, whereas it belongs rather to slaves. Speaking kindly belongs to free people. For just as doing wrong is the part of the former, suffering wrong is the part of the latter. Imagine some slave stealing the master’s property, some old hag—that is what the abusive man is like. And just as some detestable thief and runaway deliberately slips inside and looks all around, wanting to steal something, so this man, like that thief, scrutinizes everything on every side, trying to find some (reproach) to throw out. Or perhaps we can portray him with a different example. If someone stole filthy vessels from a house and brought them out in everyone’s sight, the stolen things would not disgrace the people robbed as much as they disgraced the thief himself. So too, by bringing out his words in everyone’s sight, this man disgraces himself rather than others through those words, by giving vent to this language and fouling both his tongue and his mind. For when we quarrel with bad people, it is just as though someone, trying to strike a man submerged in rotting filth, were to dirty himself by plunging his hands into the foulness. So, reflecting on these things, let us escape the harm that comes from them and keep our tongues clean, so that, free from all abusive speech, we may be able to live this present life with careful discipline and attain the good things promised to those who love Him, through the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, with Whom to the Father and the Holy Spirit together be glory, might, and honor, now and always, forever and ever. Amen.