Homilies on Acts, Homily 43

“After the uproar had ended, Paul called the disciples to him, embraced them, and left for Macedonia.” They needed a great deal of comfort after that uproar. So, after comforting them, he goes into Macedonia and then into Greece. For the text says, “When he had traveled through those regions and given them much encouragement, he came into Greece and stayed there three months. When the Jews plotted against him as he was about to sail for Syria, he decided to return through Macedonia.” (v. 2, 3.) Once again the Jews persecute him, and he goes into Macedonia. “Sopater of Berea accompanied him into Asia, along with Aristarchus and Secundus of Thessalonica; Gaius of Derbe and Timothy; and Tychicus and Trophimus of Asia. These men went ahead and waited for us at Troas.” (v. 4, 5.) But how does he call Timothy a man “of Thessalonica?” That is not what he means. Rather, “Of Thessalonians, Aristarchus and Secundus and Gaius: of Derbe, Timothy,” and so on. These men, he says, went ahead of him to Troas, preparing the way for him. “We sailed from Philippi after the days of unleavened bread and reached them at Troas in five days, where we stayed seven days.” (v. 6.) For it seems to me that he made a point of observing the feasts in the large cities. “From Philippi,” where the incident in the prison had taken place. This was his third visit to Macedonia, and he speaks very highly of the Philippians, which is why he stays there for a while. “On the day of the week, when the disciples gathered to break bread, Paul preached to them, since he was leaving the next day, and continued speaking until midnight.” (v. 7.) It was then the time of (season between Easter and) Pentecost. See how everything took second place to the preaching. It was also, the text says, the Lord’s day. He did not keep silent even at night; in fact, he spoke all the more then because it was quiet. Notice how he gave a long discourse, extending even beyond suppertime. But the Devil disrupted the feast—though he did not prevail—by plunging a listener into sleep and causing him to fall. “There were,” the text says, “many lights in the upstairs room where they had gathered. A young man named Eutychus was sitting in a window and fell into a deep sleep. As Paul continued preaching at length, he was overcome by sleep, fell from the third floor, and was picked up dead. Paul went down, threw himself on him, and embraced him, saying, Do not be alarmed, for his life is in him. Then he went back upstairs, broke bread and ate, and talked a long while, until daybreak, and then left. They brought the young man back alive and were greatly comforted.” (v. 8–12.) But look, please, at the theater: how crowded it was! And consider what a miracle this was. “He was sitting in a window,” in the middle of the night. That was how eager they were to hear him! We should be ashamed of ourselves! “Yes, but someone like Paul was speaking then,” you say. Yes, and Paul speaks now—or rather, it is not Paul, either then or now, but Christ—and yet no one cares to listen. Now there is no window to sit in, no pressure from hunger or sleep, and yet we do not care to listen. There is no crowding into a narrow space here, nor any other such comfort. And the remarkable thing is that, although he was young, he was not apathetic or indifferent; and although (he felt himself) weighed down by sleep, he did not leave or even fear the danger of falling. He fell asleep because of the demands of his body, not because he was indifferent. But notice, please, how intense their zeal was: they even gathered on a third floor, for they did not yet have a church. “Do not be alarmed,” he says. He did not say, “He will come back to life, for I will raise him.” Notice instead how modestly he comforts them: “For his life,” he says, “is in him. When he had gone back upstairs and broken bread and eaten.” This incident interrupted the discourse, but it did no harm. “When he had eaten,” the text says, “and talked a long while, until daybreak, he left.” Do you notice how simple the supper was? Do you see how they spent the whole night? Their meals were such that the listeners left sober and ready to listen. But how do we differ from dogs? Do you see what a difference there is (between us and those men)? “They brought the young man back alive and,” the text says, “were greatly comforted,” both because they received him back alive and because a miracle had been performed. “We went ahead to the ship and sailed to Thasos, intending to take Paul aboard there, for he had arranged this, intending to go on foot himself.” (v. 13.) We often find Paul separating from the disciples. Look: once again he goes on foot himself, giving them the easier route and choosing the harder one for himself. He went on foot both to attend to many matters and to train them to bear separation from him. “When he joined us at Thasos, we took him aboard and came to Mytilene. We sailed from there the next day and came opposite Chios”—then they pass the island—“and the next day we reached Samos. After stopping at Trogyllium, we came to Miletus the following day. For Paul had decided to sail past Ephesus because he did not want to spend time in Asia. He was hurrying to be in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost, if possible.” (v. 14–16.) Why this hurry? For the sake of the crowd, rather than the feast itself. At the same time, this won the Jews’ goodwill by showing that he honored the feasts, since he wanted to win over even his opponents; at the same time, he also delivers the word. So see how much was gained by everyone being present. But to keep the people of Ephesus from being neglected because of this, he provided for them in another way. But let us go back over what has been said. (Recapitulation.) “After embracing them,” the text says, “he left for Macedonia.” (v. 1.) By this he again renewed their strength (ἀνεκτήσατο), giving them much comfort. “After encouraging” the Macedonians “with much teaching, he came into Greece.” (v. 2.) Notice how everywhere we find him accomplishing everything through preaching, not miracles. “And we sailed,” and so on. The writer constantly shows him hurrying to reach Syria; his reason was the Church and Jerusalem. Still, he held his desire in check so that he could put everything in order in those regions too. Yet Troas is not a large place. Why, then, do they spend seven days there? Perhaps it had a large number of believers. After spending seven days there, he spent the night of the following day teaching: he found it so hard to tear himself away from them, and they from him. “When we gathered,” the text says, “to break bread.” (v. 7–12.) At that very time (of breaking bread), the discourse began* and continued: as an indication that they were hungry, and it was not an inappropriate time. For the main purpose (which brought them together) was not teaching; they gathered “to break bread.” But once the discourse began, he prolonged the teaching. See how everyone also shared Paul’s table. It seems to me that he spoke even while sitting at the table, teaching us to place everything else second to this. Picture, please, that house with its lights and its crowd, with Paul speaking in the middle and many people occupying even the windows. What a sight it was, to hear that trumpet and see that gracious face! But why did he speak at night? Because “he was about to leave,” the text says, and would see them no more. He does not tell them this, since they are too weak (to bear it), though he did tell the others. At the same time, the miracle that happened would make them remember that evening forever, so that the fall worked to the teacher’s advantage. The listeners’ delight was great, and the interruption made it even greater. That (young man) would rebuke everyone who is careless (of the word): his death had no other cause than his desire to hear Paul. “We went ahead to the ship,” and so on. (v. 13.) Why does the writer tell us where they arrived and where they went? First, to show that he was making the voyage at a more leisurely pace—and this for human reasons—and sailing past (some). Also (for the same reason he tells) where he stopped and which places he sailed past; (namely,) “so that he would not have to spend time in Asia.” (v. 16.) For if he had gone there, he could not have continued past it; he did not want to hurt those who would have begged him to stay. “For he was hurrying,” the text says, “to observe the day of Pentecost in Jerusalem, if possible,” and (this) was not possible (if he stayed). Notice how he, too, is moved by the feelings other people have. All this happens so that we will not imagine he was above human nature. (therefore) you see him wanting (something), hurrying, and often failing to obtain (his object). For those great and holy men shared the same nature as we do. They differed in their will and purpose, and that was how they drew such great grace upon themselves. See, for instance, how many things they arrange through their own exercise of economy. “So that we give no offense” (2 Cor. vi. 3) to those who want (to take offense), and, “So that our ministry is not blamed.” See both a blameless life and, alongside it, accommodation to others. This is (indeed to be) called economy at the (very) summit and height (of it). For the man who went beyond Christ’s commandments was also humbler than everyone else. “I have become all things to all people,” he says, “so that I might win them all.” (1 Cor. ix. 22.) He also exposed himself to dangers, as he says elsewhere: “With great endurance, in afflictions, in hardships, in distress, in beatings, in imprisonments.” (2 Cor. vi. 4, 5.) And his love for Christ was great. Without this, everything else is useless: the economy (of condescending accommodation), the blameless life, and the exposure to dangers. “Who is weak,” he says, “and I am not weak? Who is caused to stumble, and I do not burn?” (2 Cor. xi. 29.) Let us imitate these words and expose ourselves to dangers for our brothers’ sake. Whether it is fire or the sword, throw yourself into it, dear friend, so that you may rescue (him that is) a member of your own body. Throw yourself into it; do not be afraid. You are a disciple of Christ, Who laid down His life for His brothers, and a fellow disciple of Paul, who chose to suffer countless evils for his enemies, for people who were fighting against him. Be filled with zeal; imitate Moses. He saw someone being wronged and avenged him. He rejected royal luxury, and for the sake of those who were oppressed he became a fugitive, a wanderer, alone and abandoned. He spent his days in a foreign land, yet he did not blame himself or say, “What is this? I rejected royalty, with all its honor and glory. I chose to avenge those who were wronged, and God has overlooked me. Not only has He failed to restore my former honor, but I have now spent forty years in a foreign land. I’ve certainly been well paid, haven’t I?” He neither said nor thought anything of the kind. Do the same yourself. If you suffer any evil for doing good, even if (thou have to wait) a long time, do not take offense or become upset. God will certainly give you your reward. The longer the payment is delayed, the more interest it earns. Let us have souls ready to sympathize and hearts that know how to share others’ sorrows: no merciless disposition (ὠμόν), no inhumanity. Even if you can offer no relief, still weep, groan, and grieve over what has happened. Even this serves a purpose. If we ought to feel for those whom God justly punishes, how much more should we feel for those who suffer unjustly at human hands. (They of) “Aenan,” the text says, “did not come out to mourn for the house near her” (Micah i. 11): they will suffer pain, “in return for building for mockery.” Again, Ezekiel accuses them of failing to grieve for (the afflicted). (Ezek. xvi. 2.) What are you saying, Prophet? God punishes, and I am to grieve for those He is punishing? Yes, indeed, for God Himself, Who punishes, wants this. He Himself does not want to punish; indeed, He Himself grieves when He punishes. So do not rejoice over it. You will say, “If they are justly punished, we should not grieve.” But this is precisely what we should grieve over: that they were found deserving of punishment. Tell me, when you see your son undergoing cautery or the surgeon’s knife, don’t you grieve? Don’t you say to yourself, “What is this? This cutting is for his health, to speed his recovery; this burning is to save him”? Yet even so, when you hear him crying out, unable to bear the pain, you grieve, and the hope that he will regain his health is not enough to overcome your natural distress. So too with these people: although they are punished for their health, let us still show a brother’s sympathy and a father’s concern. The punishments God sends are cuttings and cauteries. But this is why we ought to weep: they were sick and needed such a cure. If people suffer these things to win crowns, do not grieve—as, for example, when Paul or Peter suffered. But when someone suffers just punishment, then weep, then groan. This was how the prophets acted. Thus one of them said, “Ah! Lord, are You destroying the remnant of Israel?” (Ezek. ix. 8.) We see murderers and wicked people suffering punishment, and we are distressed and grieve for them. Let us not carry philosophical detachment too far. Let us show pity so that we may receive pity. Nothing equals this beautiful quality; nothing so clearly shows the stamp of human nature as showing pity and kindness to our fellow human beings. In fact, this is why the laws assign the entire work of punishment to public executioners. After requiring the judge to punish by pronouncing the sentence, they then summon others to carry out the act itself. So true is it that, even when punishment is just, inflicting it is not the work of a generous (φιλοσόφου) soul; it requires a different sort of person. Even God does not punish with His own hand, but through the angels. Are the angels executioners, then? Absolutely not! That is not what I am saying; they are avenging powers. When Sodom was destroyed, it was all done through them as instruments; when the judgments were inflicted on Egypt, it was through them. For “He sent,” the text says, “evil angels among them.” (Psalm lxxviii. 49.) But when there is a need to save, God does this Himself: thus He sent the Son:—(b) but, “Whoever receives you receives Me, and whoever receives Me receives Him Who sent Me.” (Matt. x. 40.) (a) Again He says, “Then I will say to the angels, Gather together those who do evil and throw them into the furnace.” (Matt. xiii. 30, 41, 42.) But with the righteous, it is different. (c) Again, “Bind him hand and foot and throw him into the outer darkness.” (Matt. xxii. 13.) Notice how in that case His servants carry out the work. But when it comes to doing good, see Him doing the good Himself, calling them Himself: “Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you.” (Matt. xxv. 34.) When the task is to speak with Abraham, He comes to him Himself; when it is to go to Sodom, He sends His servants, like a judge summoning those who are to punish. “You have been faithful over a few things; I will put you in charge of many things” (Matt. xxv. 21); I (will put you in charge). But it is His servants who bind that other man, not He Himself. Knowing these things, let us grieve instead of rejoicing over those who are being punished. Let us mourn for them and weep for them, so that for this too we may receive a reward. But now many people rejoice even over those who suffer unjustly. Let us behave differently and show complete sympathy, so that we too may be found worthy of God's mercy, through the grace and mercy of His only-begotten Son, with Whom to the Father and the Holy Spirit together be glory, might, and honor, now and always, for all eternity. Amen.