Homilies on Acts, Homily 50

“Then the soldiers, as they had been commanded, took Paul and brought him by night to Antipatris. The next day they left the horsemen to go with him and returned to the fortress. When the horsemen came to Caesarea and delivered the letter to the governor, they also presented Paul before him.” Like bodyguards escorting a king, these men brought Paul along, in such large numbers, too, and at night, for fear of the people’s anger. Now then, you will say, once they have gotten him out of the city, do they stop their violence? Certainly not. But (the tribune) would not have sent him away with such care for his safety unless he himself had found nothing wrong with Paul but knew his opponents’ murderous disposition. “And when the governor had read the letter, he asked what province he was from. And when he learned that he was from Cilicia, he said, I will hear you when your accusers have also arrived.” Lysias has already spoken in his defense; (but the Jews seek to) win over the listener in advance. “And he ordered him to be kept in custody in Herod’s praetorium” (v. 34, 35): Paul is put in chains again. “And after five days the high priest Ananias came down with the elders.” See how, despite all this, they do not stop. Although countless obstacles stand in their way, they still come, only to be put to shame here as well. “And with an orator, a man named Tertullus.” And what need was there for “an orator”? “These (people) also brought charges against Paul before the governor.” (c. xxiv. 1.) See how this man too, from the very beginning, (b) tries to win over the judge with his praise. “And when he was called forward, Tertullus began to accuse him, saying, Since through you we enjoy great peace, and very worthy deeds are done for this nation through your foresight, we welcome it always and everywhere, most noble Felix, with all gratitude.” (v. 2, 3.) Then, as someone with much to say, he passes over the rest: “But so that I do not take up any more of your time, I ask you in your kindness to hear a few words from us. For we have found this man to be a pest, stirring up rebellion among all the Jews throughout the world.” (a) He wants to hand him over as a revolutionary and a rebel. And yet someone might answer, you are the ones who have done this. (c) And see how he tries to stir up the judge’s desire to punish him, since he now has an opportunity to restrain the man who turned the world upside down! As if they had accomplished something worthy of praise, they make much of it: “Having found this fellow,” etc., “stirring up rebellion,” they say, “among all the Jews throughout the world.” (Had he been such), they would have proclaimed him a benefactor and savior of the nation! “And a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes.” (v. 4, 5.) They thought this would count against him as an insult—“of the Nazarenes.” They also try to damage him through this, because Nazareth was an insignificant place. And “we have found him,” they say. See how maliciously they slander him: (found him), as though he had constantly been slipping away from them and they had finally managed to catch him with great difficulty, even though he had been in the Temple for seven days! “He also tried to profane the temple; we seized him, [and would have judged according to our law.”] (v. 6.) See how they insult even the Law! Beating, killing, lying in ambush—how very much like the Law, indeed! And then comes the accusation against Lysias: although he had no right to interfere, they say, in his excessive self-confidence he snatched him away from us: [“But the tribune Lysias came upon us, and with great violence took him away out of our hands, commanding his accusers to come unto thee]: by examining him yourself, you can learn about all these things of which we accuse him. And the Jews also agreed, saying that these things were so.” (v. 7–9). What, then, does Paul say? “Then Paul, after the governor had signaled for him to speak, answered, Since I know that you have been a just judge over this nation for many years, I am all the more glad to speak in my defense.” (v. 10.) His testimony to the judge’s justice is not flattery. No, the flattery was in the orator’s speech: “Through you we enjoy great peace.” If so, why are you stirring up rebellion? What Paul sought was justice. “Knowing you to be a just judge,” he says, “I gladly speak in my defense.” Then he reinforces this by mentioning the length of time: that (he had been judge) “for many years. For you can find out that it has been only twelve days since I went up to Jerusalem to worship.” (v. 11.) And what does this mean? (It means), “that I could not have stirred up a disturbance so quickly.” Because the accuser had nothing to point to (as done) in Jerusalem, notice what he said: “among all the Jews throughout the world.” That is why Paul here firmly draws his attention to the point—“I came up,” he says, “to worship,” so far am I from stirring up rebellion—and stresses this point of justice as his strong ground. “And they did not find me arguing with anyone or stirring up the people in the Temple, in the synagogues, or in the city” (v. 12), which was in fact the truth. The accusers use the term “ringleader,” as though this were a case of fighting and insurrection; but see how gently Paul answers here. “But this I acknowledge to you: according to the way they call a sect, I worship the God of my fathers, believing everything written in the Law and the Prophets, and having hope in God, which they themselves also accept, that there will be a resurrection of the dead, both the just and the unjust.” (v. 14, 15.) The accusers were setting him apart (as an alien), but he identifies himself with the Law as one of their own. “And in this,” he says, “I train myself always to have a conscience free of offense toward God and toward people. Now after many years I came to bring alms to my nation and offerings. While doing this, they found me purified in the temple, without a crowd or a disturbance.” (v. 16, 17, 18.) Why, then, did you come up? What brought you here? To worship, he says; to give alms. This was not the act of someone stirring up factions. Then he also rejects their claim to have been the ones involved: “but,” he says, (they that found me, were) “certain Jews from Asia, who ought to have been here before you and brought charges if they had anything against me. Or let these men here say whether they found any wrongdoing in me when I stood before the council, except for this one thing I cried out while standing among them: Concerning the resurrection of the dead I am being questioned by you today.” (v. 19, 20, 21.) For this is more than enough to establish his innocence: he does not flee from his accusers but is ready to give an account to everyone. “Concerning the resurrection of the dead,” he says, “I am being questioned today.” And he said nothing of what he could have said: how they had conspired against him, had forcibly held him, had lain in ambush for him—for these matters are naturally spoken of by the tribune. But Paul, even though he was in danger, did not speak of them. No, he keeps silent and only defends himself, though he had a great deal to say. (b) “While doing this” (alms), he says, “they found me undergoing purification in the Temple.” Then how did he profane it? For it made no sense for the same man to purify himself, worship, and come for this purpose, and then profane it. His not launching into a long speech also suggests the justice of his case. And I suppose he also pleases the judge by this (namely, by), keeping his defense brief: (d) since Tertullus before him had delivered a long speech. (f) This too is evidence of gentleness: when someone has much to say, he says only a few words to avoid being a nuisance. (c) But let us look again at what has been said. (Recapitulation.) “Then the soldiers,” etc. (v. 31–33.) (a) This also made Paul famous in Caesarea: his arrival with so large a force.—“But,” says Tertullus, “so that I do not take up any more of your time,” (e) showing that (Felix) does find him tiresome (ἐγκόπτεται): “I beg you”—he does not say, Hear the case, but, “in your kindness, hear us.” (ch. xxiv. 4.) He probably shapes his speech this way to win favor. (g) “For having found this man to be a pest, stirring up rebellion among all the Jews throughout the world” (v. 5): what then, someone might say, if he did this elsewhere (and not here)? No, he says; among us too he has profaned the Temple; “attempted,” he says, “to profane it.” But he does not say how. “We also seized him,” etc. “But the tribune,” etc. And while he exaggerates what the tribune did, see how he minimizes the accusers’ own part. “We seized him,” he says, “and would have judged him according to our Law.” (v. 6.) He presents their having to come before foreign courts as a hardship, saying that they would not have troubled him if the tribune had not compelled them, and that the tribune, having no involvement in the matter, had seized the man by force. For the wrongs, in fact, were done against us, and the trial should have been held among us. To see that this is what he means, look at what follows: “with great violence” (v. 7), he says. For this conduct is violence. “From whom you can learn.” He neither dares to accuse him (the tribune)—for the man was so very lenient, supposedly—nor does he pass over it altogether. Then again, so that he will not seem to be lying, he brings forward Paul himself as his own accuser. “From whom, by examining him, you can learn about all these things.” (v. 8.) Next come the accusers as witnesses to what has been said, the same people acting as both witnesses and accusers: “And the Jews also agreed,” etc. (v. 9.) But Paul says, “Since I know that you have been a just judge for many years.” (v. 10.) Why then, he is no stranger or foreigner or revolutionary, since he has known the judge for many years. And he does well to add the description “just,” so that he (Felix) will not defer to the chief priest, the people, or the accuser. See how he did not let himself be swept into abuse, although he had been strongly provoked. “Believing,” he says, “that there will be a resurrection.” Now a man who believed in a resurrection would never have done such things—“which” (resurrection) “they themselves also accept.” (v. 15.) He does not say of them that they believe “everything written in the Prophets.” He believed it all, not they; but to explain how he believed “all” would take a long discussion. And nowhere does he mention Christ. Here, by saying “Believing,” he does (virtually) introduce what concerns Christ. For the present he stays with the resurrection, a doctrine they also shared, which removed any suspicion of rebellion. And as the reason for his going up, “I came,” he says, “to bring alms to my nation and offerings.” (v. 17.) How, then, could I have troubled those for whom I had traveled so far to bring offerings? “Without a crowd or a disturbance.” (v. 18.) Everywhere he refutes the charge of rebellion. And he also does well to challenge his accusers from Asia, “Who ought to bring charges before you,” etc. But he also does well not to reject this point either: “or else,” he says, “let these men here say. Concerning the resurrection of the dead,” etc. (v. 19, 20, 21). For in fact this was what had deeply disturbed them from the beginning: that he preached the Resurrection. Once this was established, the things concerning Christ—that He had risen—could also be introduced easily. “What wrongdoing,” he says, “they found in me. In the council” (ch. iv. 2), he says: the examination had not taken place in private. Those bringing this charge against me are witnesses that what I say is true. “Having,” he says, “a conscience free of offense toward both God and people.” (v. 16.) This is perfect virtue: when we give even people no grounds for accusing us, and take care to be free of offense before God. “That I cried out,” he says, “in the council.” He also shows their violence. They cannot say, You did these things under the pretext of giving alms, for it was “without a crowd or a disturbance,” especially since an inquiry into this matter found nothing further. Do you see his restraint, even amid dangers? Do you see how he keeps his tongue from speaking evil, how he seeks only one thing: to clear himself of the charges against him, rather than to accuse them, except as far as he might be compelled to while defending himself? Just as Christ also said: “I do not have a demon, but I honor My Father; but you dishonor Me.” (John viii. 49.) Let us imitate him, since he too imitated Christ. If, when faced with enemies who went so far as murder and slaughter, he said nothing offensive to them, what forgiveness will we deserve when we become furious and lash out with insults and abuse, calling our enemies villains and detestable wretches? What forgiveness will we deserve for having enemies at all? Do you not hear that to honor (another) is to honor yourself? That is so, but we disgrace ourselves. You accuse (some one) of abusing you: then why do you bring the same accusation on yourself? Why strike yourself a blow? Stay free from anger; stay unwounded. Do not hurt yourself by wanting to strike someone else. What, is the other turmoil in our soul not enough for us—the turmoil stirred up even when no one is there to stir it up, such as its outrageous lusts, its griefs and sorrows, and the like—but we must pile up still more? And how, you will say, is it possible to bear it when someone insults and abuses you? And how is it impossible, I ask? Do words give us wounds? Do words bruise our bodies? Then where is the injury to us? So if we choose, we can bear it. Let us make it a rule for ourselves not to be distressed, and we will bear it. Let us say to ourselves, “It does not come from hostility; it comes from weakness.” For it really does come from weakness. As proof that it comes neither from hostility nor from a malicious disposition, but from weakness, the other person too would have liked to restrain (his anger), even though he had suffered countless wrongs. If we only keep this thought in mind—that it comes from weakness—we will bear it, and while forgiving the offender, we will try not to fall into it ourselves. For I ask all of you here: would you have wanted the self-control that comes from such a philosophical outlook, so that you could bear with those who insult you? I think so. Well then, he insulted you against his own will. He would rather not have done it, but he did, driven by his passion. Restrain yourself. Do you not see (how it is with) people possessed by demons (in their fits)? Just as it is with them, so it is with him: it is not so much from hostility as from weakness (that he behaves as he does). Bear it. And as for us, we are stirred less by the insults themselves than by what is within us. Otherwise, how is it that when insane people offer us the same insults, we bear them? Again, if those who insult us are our friends, we bear it then too; or if they are our superiors, we bear it in that case as well. How, then, is it not absurd that we bear it from these three—friends, insane people, and superiors—but do not bear it from our equals or inferiors? I have often said: it is only a momentary impulse, something that suddenly sweeps us away. Let us endure it for a little while, and we will bear the whole thing. The greater the insults, the weaker the offender. Do you know when we ought to grieve? When we have insulted someone else and he stays silent. For then he is strong and we are weak. But if the reverse is true, you should even rejoice: you are crowned, you are proclaimed the victor, without even entering the contest, without enduring the discomfort of sun, heat, and dust, without grappling with an opponent and letting him close in on you. Simply by choosing, as you sit or stand, you have gained a mighty crown—a crown far greater than those (combatants earn). For throwing an enemy who stands ready to fight is nowhere near as great as overcoming the arrows of anger. You have conquered without even letting him close in on you. You have thrown down the passion within you, killed the beast that was roused, and quieted the raging anger, like an excellent herdsman. The fight was about to become an internal conflict, the war a civil war. For just as those who lay siege from outside (endeavor to) embroil (the besieged) in civil strife and then defeat them, so the person who insults us cannot defeat us unless he rouses the passion within us. Unless we kindle the flame in ourselves, he has no power. Let the spark of anger be within us, ready to be lit at the right moment, without turning against ourselves or involving us in countless evils. Do you not see how fire in houses is kept separate, rather than scattered at random everywhere—among straw, among linens, or wherever it happens to land—so that if a wind blows on it, there will be no danger of its bursting into flame? Whether a maidservant has a lamp or the cook lights a fire, many instructions are given: do not do this in a draft, or near a wooden panel, or at night. And when night comes, we put out the fire, afraid that while we are asleep, with no one to help, it might catch and burn us all. Let us do the same with anger. Let it not be scattered everywhere throughout our thoughts, but kept in some deep recess of the mind, where the wind arising from our opponent’s words cannot easily reach it. Let it instead receive the wind (which is to rouse it) from ourselves, who know how to rouse it in the right measure and safely. If it receives wind from outside, it knows no restraint: it will set everything on fire. Often this wind will come upon it while we are asleep and burn everything up. So let us keep it (in safe keeping) in such a way that it only kindles a light. For anger does kindle a light when it is managed as it should be. And let us have torches against those who wrong others, against the devil. Let the spark neither lie wherever it happens to fall nor be scattered about. Let us keep it safe under ashes; let us keep it sleeping beneath humble thoughts. We do not need it all the time, but when there is a need to subdue and soften, to soften stubborn resistance and convict the soul. What evils the passions of anger and rage have caused! And what makes this especially grievous is that, once we have parted, we no longer have the strength to come together again, but wait for others (to do this). Each is ashamed and blushes at the thought of returning on his own to make peace with the other. See, he is not ashamed to break away and be separated. No, he takes the lead in causing the evil. But to step forward and mend what has been torn—this he is ashamed to do. It is just as if a man did not shrink from cutting off a limb but was ashamed to join it back together. What are you saying, man? Have you committed serious wrongs and caused the quarrel yourself? Then you should rightly be the first to go and make peace, since you yourself caused the quarrel. But did he do the wrong? Is he the cause of the hostility? Then for this reason too you must do it, so that people will admire you all the more, and so that, besides the first victory, you may win first prize in this second one too: just as you did not cause the hostility, neither did you cause it to continue. Perhaps the other person, conscious of countless wrongs within himself, is also ashamed and blushes. But is he arrogant? For this reason above all, do not hesitate to run and meet him. If his illness is twofold, both arrogance and anger, you have named the very reason why you should be the first to go to him—you who are healthy, you who can see. As for him, he is in darkness, for that is what anger and false pride are. But you, who are free from these and healthy, go to him. You are the physician: go to the sick person. Does any physician say, Because this person is sick, I will not go to him? No, this is the very reason above all that they go, when they see he cannot come to them. For they are less concerned about those who can (come), as people who are not seriously ill, but that is not how they regard those lying sick at home. Or do you not think pride and anger are worse than any illness? Is not one like a raging fever, the other like a body swollen with inflammation? Think what it means to have a fever and inflammation. Go to him; put out the fire, for by God’s grace you can. Go, cool the heat as though with water. “But,” you will say, “what if this very action only makes him more conceited?” That is no concern of yours. You have done your part; let him answer for himself. Let our conscience not condemn us because this happened through our failure to do something we ought to have done. “By doing this,” Scripture says, “you will heap coals of fire on his head.” (Rom. xii. 20, cf. Hom. in l. xxii. §3.) And yet, although this is the consequence, it commands us to go and be reconciled and show kindness—not so that we may heap coals of fire, but so that (our enemy), knowing that future consequence, may be calmed by our present kindness, so that he may tremble, so that he may fear our kindness more than our hostility, and our friendship more than our hostile schemes. For a person does not hurt someone who hates him as much by expressing resentment and acting as an enemy as by doing him good and showing kindness. By resentment he has hurt both himself and perhaps the other person a little as well; but by acts of kindness he has heaped coals of fire on his head. “Why then,” you will say, “for fear of heaping coals in this way, we ought not to do this (b), but should carry the hostility still further.” Certainly not. You are not the cause of this; he is, with his brutal disposition. For if, when you do him good, honor him, and offer reconciliation, he persists in maintaining the hostility, he has kindled the fire for himself; he has set his own head on fire. You are innocent. Do not wish to be more merciful than God (b), or rather, even if you wish it, you will not be able to, not in the slightest degree. How could you? “As far as heaven is from the earth,” Scripture says, “so far are My counsels from your counsels” (Isa. lv. 8, 9). And again, “If you,” He says, “being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more your heavenly Father” (Matt. vii. 11)? But in fact this talk is merely a pretext and an evasion. Let us not evade God’s commandments. “And how do we evade them?” you will say. He has said, “By doing this, you will heap coals of fire on his head,” and you say, I do not want to do that. (a) But are you willing to heap coals in another way, that is, on your own head? For that is what resentment actually does: (c) since you will suffer countless evils. (e) You say, “I am afraid for my enemy, because he has done me serious wrongs.” Is that really what you mean? But how did you come to have an enemy? How did you come to hate your enemy? You fear for the person who has injured you, but do you not fear for yourself? If only you cared for yourself! Do not act (the kindness) with an aim like this—or rather, do it, even if only with such an aim. But you do not do it at all. I am not telling you, “you will heap coals of fire.” No, I tell you something else, something greater: only do it. For Paul says this only to call you (if only), through hope of vengeance, to put an end to the hostility. Because our dispositions are as savage as those of wild beasts, and would not otherwise be willing to love our enemy unless we expected some revenge, he offers this like a cake, so to speak, to a wild beast. For to the Apostles (the Lord) does not say this. What does He say? “That you may be like your Father who is in heaven.” (Matt. v. 45.) Besides, it is impossible for the person doing good and the person receiving it to remain enemies. That is why Paul has put it this way. Why, while professing a lofty and generous principle in your words, do you fail even to show (common) restraint in your actions? (It sounds) good: you do not feed him for fear of heaping coals of fire on him by doing so. So then, you are sparing him? So then, you love him and act with this aim in mind? God knows whether that is your aim in speaking this way, and whether you are passing this talk off on us as a mere pretext and evasion. You care for your enemy; you fear that he may be punished. Then would you not have put out your anger? For someone who loves so deeply that he sets aside his own interest for the other person’s benefit has no enemy. (Then indeed) you could say this. How long will we play games with matters that are no game and allow no excuse? So I beg you, let us cut off these pretexts. Let us not despise God’s laws, so that we may be able to live this present life in a way that pleases the Lord and attain the good things promised, 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 forever, for all eternity. Amen.