Homilies on Acts, Homily 44

“And from Miletus he sent to Ephesus and called for the elders of the Church. And when they came to him, he said to them, You know how I have lived among you the whole time, from the first day I came into Asia, serving the Lord with all humility of mind, with many tears and trials that came upon me through the plots of the Jews; and how I held back nothing that was beneficial to you, but showed you and taught you publicly and from house to house, testifying both to the Jews and to the Greeks about repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ.” See how he hurries to sail past, yet does not neglect them, but makes arrangements for everyone. He sends for the leaders and speaks through them to the others (the Ephesians). But what deserves admiration is how, when he finds it necessary to say some great things about himself, he tries to downplay them as much as he can (πειρἅτα μετριάζειν). “You know.” For just as Samuel, when he is about to hand over the government to Saul, says in their presence, “Have I taken anything from your hands? You are witnesses, and God also” (1 Sam. xii. 3, 5); (so Paul here). David also, when he is not believed, says, “I was with the flock, keeping my father’s sheep; and when the bear came, I frightened her away with my hands” (1 Sam. xvii. 34, 35). And Paul himself says to the Corinthians, “I have become a fool; you have forced me to it.” (2 Cor. xii. 11.) Indeed, God Himself does the same: He does not speak about himself on every possible occasion, but only when He is not believed does He bring up His benefits. See, then, what Paul does here: first he appeals to their own testimony. So that you will not imagine his words are mere boasting, he calls his listeners themselves as witnesses to what he says, since he would hardly tell lies in their presence. This is what makes an excellent teacher: having his own disciples as witnesses to his merits. And what is wonderful is that he says, I have continued doing this for more than a day or two. He wants to encourage them for the future, so that they may bravely bear everything, both their separation from him and the trials that are coming—just as in the case of Moses and Joshua. And see how he begins: “How I have lived among you the whole time, serving the Lord with all humility of mind.” Notice what is especially fitting for leaders: “hating pride” (Exod. xviii. 21, LXX.), says (Moses). This (qualification) is especially relevant to leaders, because for them becoming arrogant is (almost) inevitable. This (humility) is the foundation of everything good, as Christ Himself says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” (Matt. v. 3.) And (here) he does not simply say, “with humility of mind,” but “with all humility.” For there are many kinds of humility, in words and actions, toward leaders and toward those they lead. Would you like me to mention some kinds of humility? Some people are humble toward the humble and proud toward the proud: this is not what humility is like. Some, then, are like this. Then, so that he will not seem arrogant, he lays the groundwork beforehand, removing that suspicion: For, he says, “if I have acted ‘with all humility of mind,’ it is not out of arrogance that I say what I say.” Then notice his gentleness: he always lowers himself to their level, treating them as his equals. “With you,” he says, “I have been, serving the Lord.” He gives them a share in his good works; none of it belongs exclusively to him. “What?” (you will say). “How could he possibly act arrogantly toward God?” And yet many people do act arrogantly toward God; but this man did not act that way even toward his own disciples. This is the virtue of a teacher: to shape his disciples’ character through his own achievements in virtue. Then notice his endurance, which he also describes very briefly. “With many tears,” he says, “and trials that came upon me through the plots of the Jews.” Do you see that he grieves over their actions? But here too he seems to show how compassionate he was: for he suffered for those who were going to destruction, for the perpetrators themselves. As for what was done to him, he actually rejoiced in it; for he belonged to that company who “rejoiced that they were considered worthy to suffer disgrace for that Name” (Acts v. 41). And again he says, “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for you” (Col. i. 24); and again, “For our light affliction, which lasts only a moment, produces for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison.” (2 Cor. iv. 17). These things, however, he says while downplaying his merits (μετριάζων). But there he shows his courage, less in daring than in enduring: “I,” he says, “have been mistreated, but it was with you; and what makes the matter especially painful, it was at the hands of Jews.” Notice that he puts both love and courage here. Notice here, please, a characteristic of teaching: “I held back nothing,” he says—holding nothing back out of reluctance and never shrinking from speaking—“that was beneficial to you,” because there were things they did not need to learn. For just as concealing some things would have shown a grudging spirit, saying everything would have been foolish. That is why he adds, “that was beneficial to you. But showed you and taught you”: he has not merely spoken, but taught, and has not done this merely as a formality. To see that this is what he means, notice what he says: “publicly and from house to house,” showing his immense labor, his great earnestness and endurance. “Both Jews and Greeks.” Not (addressing myself) to you alone. “Testifying”: here is boldness in speaking, and the lesson that even when we accomplish no good, we must still speak. For this is the meaning of “testifying”: speaking to people who pay no attention. And this is how the word διαμαρτύρασθαι is generally used. “I call heaven and earth to witness” (Deut. iv. 26), διαμαρτύρομαι, Moses says; and now Paul himself says, Διαμαρτυρόμενος “both to Jews and Greeks repentance toward God.” What are you testifying to? That they should pay attention to how they live; that they should repent and draw near to God. “Both to Jews and Greeks”—for the Jews did not know Him either. Because of their works, he says, “repentance toward God”; and because they did not know the Son, he adds, “and faith in the Lord Jesus.” Why, then, are you saying these things? Why remind them of them? What has happened? Do you have some charge to bring against them? After first alarming them, he adds, “And now, look, I go bound in the Spirit to Jerusalem, not knowing what will happen to me there, except that the Holy Spirit testifies in every city, saying that chains and afflictions await me. But none of these things shake me, nor do I consider my life precious to me, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the Gospel of the grace of God.” (v. 22–24). Why does he say this? To prepare them to be ready at all times to face dangers, whether foreseen or unforeseen, and to obey the Spirit in everything. He shows that he is being led away from them for great purposes. “Except that the Holy Spirit,” he says, “testifies to me in every city, saying”—to show that he leaves willingly, so that (see Hom. xlv. p. 273) you will not imagine any compulsion or necessity when he says, “bound in the Spirit—that in every city chains and afflictions await me.” Then he adds this too: “I do not consider my life precious until I have completed my course and the ministry I received from the Lord Jesus.” Until I have finished my course, he says, with joy. Do you see how (clearly) these were the words of someone who was not lamenting, but who held back from making much (of his troubles) (μετριάζοντος), who wanted to instruct those (whom he addressed) and sympathize with them in what was happening? He does not say, “I do grieve, but I have to bear it.” Instead, he says, “None of those things matter to me, nor do I hold,” i.e. consider, “my life precious to me.” Why say this again? To teach them, not to exalt himself: just as his earlier words taught humility, these teach courage and boldness. “I do not hold it precious,” i.e. “I do not love it more than this: I consider finishing my course and testifying more precious.” And he does not say, “to preach,” or “to teach.” What does he say? “To testify (διαμαρτύρασθαι)—to the Gospel of the grace of God.” He is about to say something more distressing (φορτικώτερον), namely, “I am innocent of the blood of all people (because on my part) nothing is lacking.” He is about to place the entire weight and burden on them, so he first softens their feelings by saying, “And now, look, I know that you will see my face no more.” The comfort is twofold: both that “you will see my face no more,” for in heart I am with you; and that they were not the only ones (who should see him no more), for “you will see my face no more, all of you among whom I have gone about preaching the Kingdom.” So he can rightly (say), “Therefore I call you to witness (read διὸ μαρτ. for διαμαρτ.),—since I will no longer be with you—‘that I am innocent of the blood of all people.’” (v. 26.) Do you see how he frightens them, and how hard he presses them (ἐπιτρίβει), troubled and distressed as their souls already are? But it was necessary. “For I have not held back,” he says, “from declaring to you the whole counsel of God.” (v. 27.) So someone who does not speak has blood to answer for—that is, murder! Nothing could be more terrifying than this. He shows that they too, if they fail to do it, have blood to answer for. So while he seems to be defending himself, he is actually frightening them. “Therefore pay attention to yourselves and to all the flock, over which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers (or, bishops), to feed the Church of God (see note 3), which He purchased with His own blood.” (v. 28.) Do you see? He commands them to do two things. Success in setting others right brings no benefit by itself—for, he says, I fear “that after preaching to others, I myself might be rejected” (1 Cor. ix. 27)—and neither does being diligent only about oneself. For such a person is selfish, seeks only his own good, and is like the man who buried his talent. “Pay attention to yourselves”: he says this because, when we pay attention to ourselves, the flock benefits too, rather than because our own salvation is more precious than the flock’s. “In which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to feed the Church of God.” See, you receive your ordination from the Spirit. This is one binding obligation. Then he says, “To feed the Church of the Lord.” There is another obligation: the Church belongs to the Lord. And a third: “which He purchased with His own blood.” This shows how precious the responsibility is, and that what is at risk is no small matter, since He did not spare even His own blood. He poured out even His blood to reconcile those who were enemies; but you, even after they have become your friends, cannot keep them. “For I know this, that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock.” (v. 29.) Again he gets their attention (ἐπιστρέφει) from another direction, through what will happen afterward, as when he says, “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood” (Eph. vi. 12). “After my departure,” he says, “fierce wolves will come in among you.” The evil is twofold: he himself will not be present, and others will attack them. “Then why leave, if you know this beforehand?” The Spirit draws me, he says. They are both “wolves” and “fierce, not sparing the flock”; and worse still, they come even “from among you yourselves.” This is what is so painful, when the war is also a war within. The matter is extremely serious, for it is “the Church of the Lord”; the danger is great, for He redeemed it with blood; the war is fierce and fought on two fronts. “Also from among you yourselves men will arise, speaking perverse things, to draw disciples away after them.” (v. 30.) “What then? What comfort will there be?” “Therefore stay watchful, and remember that for three years I never stopped warning each one of you night and day with tears.” (v. 31.) See how many strong expressions there are here: “with tears,” “night and day,” and “each one.” For he did not take up (the work) only when he saw a crowd; even for a single soul, he was capable of doing everything (for that one soul). This was, in fact, how he bound them together (συνεκρότησεν) (so firmly as he did). “I have done enough on my part: I have stayed three years.” They had enough work on their foundations, he says, enough roofing. “With tears,” he says. Do you see that this was the reason for the tears? The wicked person does not grieve: you grieve; perhaps he will grieve too. Just as a sick person, seeing his physician eat, is encouraged to do the same, so here too, when he sees you weeping, he is softened: he will be a good and great man. (Recapitulation.) “Not knowing,” he says, “what will happen to me.” (v. 22, 23.) Is that why you are leaving, then? Certainly not; on the contrary (I know that), “chains and afflictions await me.” I know that (there are) trials, but I do not know what kind, which was more distressing. “But none of these things shake me” (v. 24). Do not suppose I say these things because I am lamenting them, for “I do not consider my own life precious.” He says all this to lift their spirits and persuade them not only to refuse to flee but also to endure bravely. That is why he calls it a “course” and a “ministry”: on the one hand, he shows its glory by describing it as a race; on the other, he shows the duty it entails by calling it a ministry. I am a minister, nothing more. After comforting them so that they would not grieve over his mistreatment, telling them that he endured these things “with joy,” and showing their fruits, then (and not before) he introduces what will hurt them, so that he will not overwhelm their minds. “And now, look,” etc. “Therefore I call you to witness that I am innocent of the blood of all people, because I have not held back from declaring to you the whole counsel of God” (v. 25–27): * * * that (counsel) which concerns the present matter. “For I know this,” etc. (v. 29.) “What then,” someone might say, “do you think you are so great? If you leave, are we going to die?” I am not saying, he replies, that my absence causes this. What am I saying? That certain people of another kind will rise up against you. He does not say, “because of my departure,” but “after my departure,” that is, after he leaves on his journey. And yet this has already happened; all the more (then will it happen) in the future. Then we have the cause: “to draw disciples away after them.” (v. 30). This is the cause of heresies, and nothing else. Then comfort follows too. If He “purchased” it “with His own blood,” He will certainly come forward to defend it. “Night and day,” he says, “I never stop warning you with tears.” (v. 31.) This could rightly be said in our case too. And although the speech seems to apply especially to teachers, it applies to disciples as well. For what if I speak and exhort and weep night and day, while the disciple does not obey? That is why he says, “I call you to witness,” since he himself also says, “I am innocent of the blood of all people, for I have not held back from declaring it to you.” (v. 26, 27.) This, then, is what it means to be a teacher: to declare, to preach, to instruct, to hold back from nothing, to exhort night and day. But if someone does all this and nothing comes of it, you know what remains. Then you have another defense: “I am innocent of the blood of all people.” Do not think these words are spoken only to us. This speech is addressed to you too, so that you will pay attention to what is said and will not turn away from listening. What can I do? Look! Every day I tear myself apart crying out, “Stay away from the theaters,” and many laugh at us. “Stop swearing, stop being greedy.” We give countless exhortations, and no one listens. But do I not speak to you at night? I would gladly do that too, at night and at your tables, if a person could be divided into ten thousand pieces so as to be present with you and speak. But if we call to you once a week and you draw back, and some of you do not even come here, while those who do come leave without gaining anything, what are we to do? I know that many even sneer at us because we are always speaking about the same things: you have had so much of us that we have become tiresome to you. But we are not to blame for this; the listeners have themselves to thank. For someone who is making good progress is glad to hear the same things continually: it seems to him that he is hearing his own praises. But someone who does not want to advance actually seems annoyed; even if he hears the same thing only twice, it seems to him that he hears it all the time. “I am innocent,” he says, “of the blood of all people.” (v. 26.) This was right and proper for Paul to say, but we dare not say it, aware as we are of countless faults. So it was right and proper for him to say this, since he was always watchful, always available, enduring everything for the salvation of his disciples. But we must say what Moses said: “The Lord was angry with me because of you” (Deut. iii. 26), because you lead us too into many sins. For when we lose heart at seeing you make no progress, doesn’t that strike down most of our strength? What, I ask you, has been accomplished? Look! By the grace of God we too have now spent three years, though we have not been exhorting you night and day, but often every third day or every seventh. What more has come of it? We accuse, we rebuke, we weep, we are in anguish, if not openly, then in our hearts. But those (inward) tears are far more bitter than these (outward ones). These bring some relief to the feelings of those who grieve, while those make the sorrow worse and hold it fast. For when someone has a reason to grieve but cannot give vent to his sorrow, for fear of seeming vain, think what he suffers! If people would not accuse me of an excessive love of display, you would see me shedding fountains of tears every day. But my room and my hours alone bear witness to those tears. Believe me, I have (at times) despaired of my own salvation, but because I mourn for you, I do not even have time to lament my own evils: so completely are you everything to me. If I see you advancing, my delight makes me unaware of my own evils; or if I see you failing to advance, my grief is so great that again I put my own concerns out of my mind. I brighten at your blessings, though I have countless evils of my own, and I am saddened by your troubles, though I have countless successes of my own. For what hope does a teacher have when his flock is destroyed? What kind of life, what kind of future can he expect? With what confidence will he stand before God? What will he say? For suppose he has no charge against him, no punishment to suffer, but is “innocent of the blood of all people”: even then he will suffer incurable grief. Fathers too, though they are not liable to be held accountable for their children’s sins, still suffer grief and distress. And their freedom from accountability does them no good, nor does it shield them (προίσταται). “For they watch over our souls as those who must give an account.” (Heb. xiii. 17.) This seems frightening; but if you are lost, my accountability gives me no concern. For whether I give an account or not, it does me no good. If only you could be saved, even if I had to give an account because of you: you saved, and I charged with failing to do my part! For my concern is that you should be saved, regardless of who serves as the means, rather than that you should be saved through me. You do not know the pains of spiritual childbirth, how overwhelming they are; how someone laboring in this birth would rather be cut into ten thousand pieces than see one of those to whom he has given birth perish and be ruined. How shall we persuade you? By no other argument, certainly, but by what has been done; in everything concerning you, we will clear ourselves of blame. We too will be able to say that we have in no way “held back from declaring” the whole truth to you. Nevertheless, we grieve; and the countless plans we make and means we devise show that we grieve. And yet we might say to ourselves, What does it matter to me? I have done my part; “I am innocent of” (their) “blood.” But this is not enough to comfort us. If we could tear open our heart and show it to you, you would see how much room it has for (you) within it, women, children, and men alike. For such is the power of love that it makes the soul more spacious than heaven. “Receive us,” says (Paul): “we have wronged no one; you are not cramped within us.” (2 Cor. vii. 2; vi. 12.) He held all Corinth in his heart and says, “You are not cramped: open your hearts wide too” (2 Cor. vi. 13). But I myself could not say this, for I know well that you both love me and receive me. But what good is either my love or yours when the things of God do not flourish in us? It is a reason for greater sorrow, an occasion for worse harm (λύμης, al. λύπης). I have no charge to bring against you, “for I testify about you that, if it had been possible, you would have torn out your own eyes and given them to me.” (Gal. iv. 15.) “We long to give you not only the Gospel, but also our own souls.” (1 Thess. ii. 8.) We are loved, and we love (you); but that is not the question. Let us love Christ, “for the first commandment is, You shall love the Lord your God; and the second is like it, And your neighbor as yourself.” (Matt. xxii. 37–39.) We have the second; we need the first. Both you and I need the first very much. We have it, but not as we should. Let us love Him. You know how great a reward is stored up for those who love Christ. Let us love Him with all the fervor of our souls, so that, enjoying his goodwill, we may escape the stormy waves of this present life and be found worthy to receive the good things promised to those who love Him, through the grace and mercy of His only-begotten Son, with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, and honor, now and always, forever and ever. Amen.