Homilies on Acts, Homily 52

"And the next day, when Agrippa and Bernice had arrived with great pomp and entered the hearing room with the chief captains and the leading men of the city, Paul was brought in at Festus’ command.” See what an audience has gathered for Paul. The governor has come with all his guards, along with the king and the tribunes, “with the leading men,” it says, “of the city.” Then, when Paul is brought in, see how he is proclaimed the victor. Festus himself clears him of the charges. For what does Festus say? “And Festus said, King Agrippa, and all men present here with us, you see this man, about whom the whole multitude of the Jews have appealed to me, both at Jerusalem and here, shouting that he should no longer be allowed to live. But when I found that he had done nothing deserving death, and that he himself had appealed to Augustus, I decided to send him. I have nothing definite to write about him to my lord. So I have brought him before you, and especially before you, King Agrippa, so that after an examination I may have something to write. For it seems unreasonable to me to send a prisoner without also stating the charges against him.” (v. 24–27.) Notice how he accuses them while he acquits Paul. Oh, how much evidence of his innocence! After all these repeated examinations, the governor can find no way to condemn him. They said he deserved death. That is also why he said: “When I found,” he says, “that he had done nothing deserving death.—I have nothing definite to write about him to my lord.” This too proves Paul’s blamelessness: the judge found nothing to say against him. “So I have brought him,” he says, “before you. For it seems unreasonable to me to send a prisoner without also stating the charge against him.” This is the desperate position into which the Jews brought themselves and their rulers! What happens then? “Agrippa said to Paul, You have permission to speak for yourself.” (ch. xxvi. 1.) The king is so eager to hear him that he gives him permission to speak. But Paul immediately speaks boldly. He is not flattering Agrippa when he says he is happy; he says it because (Agrippa) knew everything. “Then Paul stretched out his hand and spoke in his own defense. I consider myself happy, King Agrippa, because today I will defend myself before you against all the accusations the Jews have brought against me. Especially because I know you are well versed in all the questions that arise among the Jews, I ask you to hear me patiently.” (v. 2, 3.) And yet, if he had known himself to be guilty, he would have been afraid to be tried before someone who knew all the facts. But it is a sign of a clear conscience that he does not shrink from a judge who knows the circumstances accurately, but even rejoices and calls himself happy. “I ask you,” he says, “to hear me patiently.” Since he is about to give a long speech and say something about himself, he begins with a request, and (then) says: “All the Jews know my way of life from my youth, which I spent from the beginning among my own nation at Jerusalem. They have known me from the beginning, if they are willing to testify, and know that I lived as a Pharisee, following the strictest sect of our religion.” (v. 4, 5.) How, then, could I have become a rebel, when everyone testified to my character when I was young? Then he also appeals to his sect: “I lived,” he says, “according to the strictest sect of our religion.” “What, then, if the sect is indeed admirable, but you are evil?” On this point too I call everyone to witness—about my life and conduct. “And now I stand on trial because of my hope in the promise God made to our fathers. Our twelve tribes, earnestly serving God night and day, hope to attain that promise. It is for this hope, King Agrippa, that the Jews accuse me. Why should you consider it incredible that God should raise the dead?” (v. 6–8.) He presents two arguments for the Resurrection. One is the argument from the prophets; he does not bring forward any prophet (in particular,) but the doctrine itself as the Jews hold it. The other, stronger argument comes from the facts—(especially from this,) that Christ Himself spoke with him. He prepares the ground for this with (other) arguments, giving an accurate account of his former madness. Then too, speaking highly of the Jews, he says, “Serving (God) night and day, they hope to attain it.” So even if my life had not been blameless, I should not be brought to trial for this (doctrine):—“It is for this hope, King Agrippa, that the Jews accuse me.” And then another argument: “Why should you consider it incredible that God should raise the dead?” For if no such belief had existed, if they had not been brought up in these doctrines and these were now being introduced for the first time, perhaps someone might not have accepted the statement. Then he tells how he persecuted; this too helps prove his point. He brings forward the chief priests as witnesses, and the “foreign cities,” and the fact that he heard Him say to him, “It is hard for you to kick against the goads.” He shows God’s mercy: though He was being persecuted, He appeared (to men), and not only gave me this benefit, but also sent me to teach others. He also shows how the prophecy he heard then has now come true: “Rescuing you from the people and from the Gentiles, to whom I send you.” To show all this, he says: “I myself thought I ought to do many things against the name of Jesus of Nazareth. And that is what I did in Jerusalem. Having received authority from the chief priests, I imprisoned many of the saints, and when they were put to death, I cast my vote against them. I often punished them in every synagogue and forced them to blaspheme. In my extreme rage against them, I persecuted them even in foreign cities. While I was traveling to Damascus with authority and a commission from the chief priests, at midday, King, I saw on the road a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, shining around me and those traveling with me. And when we had all fallen to the ground, I heard a voice speaking to me in the Hebrew language, saying, Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads. And I said, Who are You, Lord? And He said, I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and stand on your feet, for I have appeared to you for this purpose: to appoint you as a minister and a witness both of what you have seen and of the things in which I will appear to you, rescuing you from the people and from the Gentiles, to whom I now send you, to open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, so that they may receive forgiveness of sins” (v. 9–18):—notice how gently he speaks—God, he says, said (this) to me, “so that they may receive forgiveness of sins and an inheritance among those who are sanctified by faith in Me.” These things persuaded me, he says. Through this vision He drew me to Himself and persuaded me so completely that I did not delay. “So, King Agrippa, I did not disobey the heavenly vision, but declared first to those in Damascus, then in Jerusalem and throughout all the regions of Judea, and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God and do works worthy of repentance.” (v. 19, 20.) How, then, could I myself have become the instigator of rebellion and conflict, when I taught others the most excellent way to live? “For these reasons the Jews seized me in the temple and tried to kill me. But with God’s help I have continued to this day, testifying to both small and great, saying nothing beyond what the prophets and Moses said would happen.” (v. 21, 22.) See how free his speech is from flattery, and how he attributes everything to God. Then notice his boldness—but even now I do not stop—and his firm grounds—for I draw the question from the prophets: “Whether the Christ was to suffer.” Then the Resurrection and the promise: “Whether He, as the first to rise from the dead, would proclaim light to the people and to the Gentiles.” (v. 23.) Festus saw his boldness, and what does he say? For Paul had been addressing the king all along, and Festus was somewhat annoyed and said to him, “You are out of your mind, Paul.” For, “while he was speaking this way, Festus said in a loud voice, Paul, you are out of your mind; all your learning is driving you mad.” (v. 24.) What does Paul say then? Gently, “I am not mad,” he says, “most noble Festus, but I am speaking words of truth and sound judgment.” (v. 25.) Then he also explains why he turned from Festus and addressed the king: “For the king knows about these things, and I speak freely before him. I am convinced that none of these things have escaped his notice, for this was not done in a corner.” (v. 26.) He shows that (the king) knows everything perfectly. At the same time, he is all but saying to the Jews, And you certainly should have known these things—for that is the meaning of what he adds: “For this was not done in a corner. And Agrippa said to Paul, ᾽Εν ὀλίγῳ you persuade me to become a Christian.” What does ἐν ὀλίγῳ mean? “Almost,” παρὰ μικρόν. “And Paul said, I could pray to God,” καὶ ἐν ὀλίγῳ καὶ ἐν πολλᾥ, (that is) “I could pray to God,” for my part, not “with little” (but “with much”): he does not merely pray; he prays (not briefly, but) at length and earnestly—“that not only you, but also everyone who hears me today, might become as I am.” Then he adds, “except for these chains.” And yet his chains were something to glory in. True, but because he takes their view of them into account, he says, “except for these chains.” (v. 27–29.) (Recapitulation.) “And the next day,” etc. (v. 23.) The Jews had stopped their efforts ever since Paul exercised his right of appeal. Then too the theater in which he appears becomes splendid: they were present “with great pomp.” “And Festus said,” etc. “The whole multitude of the Jews”—not just some of them and not the others—“both at Jerusalem and here,” said “that he should no longer be allowed to live.” (v. 24.) “And when I found,” etc. This shows that he was right to appeal to Caesar. For although they had no serious charge to bring against him, those (at Jerusalem) were still raging against him, so he had good reason to go to Caesar. “So that after you have examined him,” he says, “I may have something to write.” Notice how the matter is tested again and again. The Jews therefore have themselves to thank for this vindication (of Paul), which would also reach the ears of those in Rome. See how they become unwilling heralds of both their own wickedness and Paul’s virtue, even to the emperor himself. So Paul was taken away (to Rome) with greater renown than if he had gone there without chains. After so many judges had acquitted him, he was not now being taken there as an impostor and deceiver. He appears in Rome not only cleared of all the charges brought against him among the people with whom he was born and raised, (but) also free from all suspicion. “Then Paul,” etc. (ch. xxvi. 1–3.) And he did not say, Why is this happening? I have already appealed to Caesar once and for all. I have been tried many times. When will this end? What did he do instead? Once again he is ready to give an account, and before the man best informed about the subject. He speaks very boldly, since they were not his judges with authority to condemn him. But still, although they were not his judges, since the declaration “You will go to Caesar” remained in force, he gives an account and answers fully, “about all the things,” not merely one or two here and there. They accuse me of rebellion, accuse me of heresy, accuse me of profaning the temple: “I defend myself against all these things.” Now my accusers themselves are witnesses that these things do not fit my way of life: “my way of life from my youth,” etc. (v. 4.) This is what he says on an earlier occasion: “Being a zealot.” (ch. xxii. 3.) And when the whole people was present, that was when he called on them to testify: not before the tribunal, but before Lysias, and again here, when more people were present. At that hearing, however, he did not need to say much in his own defense, since Lysias’ letter cleared him. “All the Jews know,” he says, “who have known me from the beginning.” He does not say what kind of life he lived, but leaves that to their own consciences, and puts all the emphasis on his sect, since he would not have chosen that sect if he had been a man of evil disposition and bad character (πονηρὸς καὶ μοχθηρός). “But for this hope” (mss. and Edd. αἱρέσεως), he says, “I stand on trial.” (v. 6, 7.) They themselves also honor this hope. It is for this that they pray, for this that they worship, so that they may attain it. This is the very thing I proclaim. Why, then, it is madness to do everything to attain this, yet persecute someone who believes in the same thing. “I myself thought,” that is, I resolved, “to do many things against the name of Jesus of Nazareth.” (v. 9.) I was not one of Christ’s disciples; I was among those who fought against Him. That is also why he is a witness who deserves to be believed: a man who was doing countless things against the believers, waging war on them, urging them to blaspheme, stirring up everyone against them—cities and rulers—and doing all this himself of his own free will, was changed so suddenly. Then again there are the witnesses, those who were with him. Next he shows what good reason he had to be persuaded: the light, the prophets, the results, and the things that have now happened. See, then, how he confirms the proof for them both from the prophets and from these details. For although he had great things to say, so that he will not seem to be introducing something new, he again turns to the prophets and presents this as a question for discussion. Now what had actually happened had a stronger claim to belief. But since he alone saw (Christ), he again draws proof of it from the prophets. And see how he does not speak in the same way in the court of justice as in the assembly (of his own people). There he says, “You killed Him.” But here he says nothing like that, so as not to inflame their anger further. Still, he shows the same thing by saying, “Whether the Christ was to suffer.” In this way he frees them from accusations, for, he says, the prophets say this. So accept the rest as well. Since he has mentioned the vision, he then goes on fearlessly to speak of the good it accomplished. “To turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God. For I have appeared to you for this purpose” (v. 16–18), not to punish you, but to make you an Apostle. He shows the evils that possess unbelievers, “Satan, darkness,” and the good things that belong to believers, light, God, “the inheritance of the saints. So, King Agrippa,” etc. (v. 19, 20.) He not only urges them to repent, but also to display an admirable life. And see how everywhere the Gentiles are brought into fellowship with the people (Israel), for those present were Gentiles. “Testifying,” he says, “to both great and small,” (v. 22) that is, to both distinguished and ordinary people. This is also for the soldiers. Notice: he has left the role of defendant and taken up that of teacher—and that is also why Festus says to him, “You are out of your mind.” But then, so that he may not seem to be the teacher himself, he brings in the prophets and Moses: “Whether the Christ was to suffer, whether He, as the first to rise from the dead, would proclaim light both to the people and to the Gentiles.” (v. 23.) “And Festus said in a loud voice”—with such anger and displeasure (he spoke)—“Paul, you are out of your mind.” What did Paul say then? “I am not mad,” etc. “For this,” he says, “was not done in a corner.” (v. 25, 26.) Here he speaks of the Cross and the Resurrection: the teaching had reached every part of the world. “King Agrippa,” he says, “do you believe”—he does not say the Resurrection, but—“the prophets?” (v. 27.) Then he anticipates his answer and says: “I know that you believe.” ᾽Εν ὀλίγῳ (i.e. within a little,) “you almost persuade me to become a Christian.” (v. 28.) Paul did not understand what the phrase ἐν ὀλίγῳ meant. He thought it meant ἐξ ὀλιγου (i.e. with little cost or trouble), and so he answers (as) someone responding to that meaning: he was that uneducated. And he did not say, I do not wish (that), but, “I pray that not only you, but also everyone who hears.” Notice how free his speech is from flattery.—“I pray that today they may all become as I am, except for these chains.” (v. 29.) The man who glories in his chains and displays them as a golden chain wishes to spare these men from them. For their minds were still too weak, and he spoke this way to accommodate them. For what could be better than those chains, which in his letters he always prefers (to all things else), saying, “Paul, a prisoner of Jesus Christ” (Eph. iii. 1), and again, “For this reason I am bound with this chain” (Acts xxviii. 20), “but the word of God is not bound,” and, “Even to the point of chains, as a criminal.” (2 Tim. ii. 9.) The punishment was twofold. For if he had been chained with his good in view, that would have brought some comfort. But as it was, (he is bound) both “as a criminal” and with terrible harm intended for him. Yet he cared about none of these things. Such is a soul given wings by heavenly love. For those who cherish the foul (earthly passion which men call) love consider nothing glorious or precious except what satisfies their lust. Those things alone they consider glorious and honorable, and their mistress is everything to them. How much more, then, do those taken captive by this heavenly love think nothing of the cost (τὰ ἐπιτίμια). But if we do not understand what I am saying, it is no wonder, since we have no experience of this Divine Wisdom. For anyone caught by the fire of Christ’s love becomes like someone living alone on the earth: he is completely unconcerned about glory or disgrace. Just as he would care about nothing if he lived alone, so he cares about nothing in this case. As for trials, he looks down on them—both whipping and imprisonment—as though the body suffering these things belonged to someone else, or as though he had acquired a body made of unbreakable stone. As for the sweet things of this life, he laughs at them contemptuously and is as unresponsive to them as we are to dead bodies when we ourselves are dead. He is as free from captivity to any passion as gold refined and purified in the fire is free from alloy. For just as flies do not dart into the middle of a flame but fly away from it, so the passions do not even dare approach this man. I wish I could bring forward examples of all this from among ourselves. But since we have none to offer, we must turn to this same Paul. Notice, then, how he felt toward the whole world. “The world is crucified to me,” he says, “and I to the world” (Gal. vi. 14): I am dead to the world, and the world is dead to me. And again: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.” (ib. Gal. ii. 20.) And to show you that he regarded present things as though he were living alone, hear what he himself says: “While we do not look at the things that are seen, but at the things that are not seen.” (2 Cor. iv. 18.) What are you saying? Answer me. Yet what you say reverses the usual order: you see invisible things, and you do not see visible things. The eyes you acquired are the kind Christ gives. For just as these bodily eyes see visible things but do not see invisible things, so those (heavenly eyes) do the opposite. No one who looks at invisible things looks at visible things; no one who looks at visible things looks at invisible things. Is this not true of us too? For when we turn our minds inward and think about any of the unseen things, our sight rises above earthly things. Let us despise glory. Let us be willing to be laughed at rather than praised. For the person who is laughed at suffers no harm, but the person who is praised suffers great harm. Let us think little of the things that terrify people, and act here as we do with children. If we see someone terrifying children, we do not admire that person. In fact, whoever frightens people is only frightening children, for if the person were a grown man, he could not frighten him. Just as those who frighten (children in sport) do so by pulling up their eyelids or otherwise distorting their faces, but could not do so with their eyes looking natural and gentle, so these others do it by distorting their mental vision (τὸ διορατικὸν τἥς διανοίας). So no one would be afraid of a gentle man with a beautiful soul. On the contrary, we all respect, honor, and revere him. Do you not see how the man who causes terror is also hated and loathed by us all? For what is there among the things that can only terrify us that we do not turn away from? Is that not true of wild beasts, sounds, sights, places, and conditions of the air, such as darkness? So let us not consider it a great thing if people fear us. For in the first place, no man is really frightened of us; and in the second, it would be no great thing (if they were). Virtue is a great good, and see how great it is. However miserable we may consider the circumstances in which it takes shape, we still admire virtue itself and consider those who possess it blessed. For who would not consider the patient sufferer blessed, even though poverty and similar things seem miserable? So when virtue shines through things that seem miserable, see how extraordinarily great it is! Do you think highly of yourself, man, because you hold power? And what kind of power? Tell me, did you receive it by appointment? (If so,) you received power from men. Appoint yourself to power from within. For a ruler is not someone who is called one, but someone who truly is one. Just as a king cannot make someone a physician or an orator, neither can he make someone a ruler. Neither the (imperial) letters nor the title makes someone a ruler. If you like, let someone build a pharmacy, take on students, acquire instruments and drugs, and visit the sick. Are these things enough to make him a physician? Certainly not. He needs skill, and without it these things not only do no good but even cause harm. For it would be better for someone who is not a physician not even to possess medicines. Someone who does not possess them neither saves nor destroys; but someone who possesses them destroys if he does not know how to use them. For healing power lies not only in the nature of the medicines, but also in the skill of the person applying them. Without that, everything is ruined. It is the same with a ruler. His instruments are his voice, anger, executioners, banishments, honors, gifts, and praise. His medicine is the law; his patients are people; his place of practice is the court of justice; his pupils are the soldiers. If, then, he does not know the science of healing, none of these things does him any good. The judge is a physician of souls, not bodies. But if the art of healing bodies requires so much care, how much more does the art of healing the soul, since the soul is more important than the body? So merely having the title of ruler does not make someone a ruler. Others too bear great names, such as Paul, Peter, James, and John. But their names do not make them the people they are named after, just as my name does not make me John’s equal (to be that which John was). I bear the same name as that blessed man, but I am not the same thing (ὁμώνυμος, οὐ μὴν συνώνυμος). I am not John, but I am called John. In the same way, they are not rulers, but are called rulers. Those others, however, are rulers even without these outward trappings, just as a physician remains a physician even if he is not actually practicing his science, provided he possesses it in his soul. Those who rule themselves are rulers. For there are these four things: soul, family, city, world. They follow an orderly progression (ὁδᾥ προβαίνει). So anyone who is to oversee a family and manage it well must first put his own soul in order, for it is his family. But if he cannot manage his own family, where there is only one soul, where he himself is master, where he is always with himself, how will he manage others? Anyone who can regulate his own soul, making one part rule and the other submit, will also be able to regulate a family. And someone who can do this with a family can also do it with a city; and if with a city, then also with the world. But if he cannot do it for his own soul, how will he be able to do it for the world? I have said these things so that we may not become obsessed with positions of authority, and so that we may know what ruling is. For this (which is so called) is not ruling, but a mere object of ridicule, sheer slavery, and many other things one might call it. Tell me, what is a ruler’s proper task? Is it not to help his subjects and do them good? What, then, if that is not happening? How will someone who has not helped himself help others? How will someone whose own soul is subject to countless tyrannical passions root them out of others? Again, consider “luxury,” or a delightful life. True luxury or delight is not this (which is so called), but something quite different. For just as we have shown that a ruler is not someone called by that name, but another person (who has something more than the name), so the person who truly lives in delight is a different sort of person (than the person we describe that way). For “luxury,” or a delightful life, seems to consist in enjoying pleasure and satisfying the belly. Yet it is not this, but the opposite: having an admirable soul and being in a state of pleasure. Suppose a man is eating, drinking, and indulging himself, but is also weighed down by worries and discouragement. Can this man be said to be living in delight? So it is not eating and drinking, but being in a state of pleasure, that makes true luxury or a delightful life. Suppose a man has only dry bread to eat, but is filled with gladness. Is that not pleasure? Well then, that is true luxury. Let us see, then, who experiences this: the rich, or those who are not rich? It does not belong to either group as a whole, but to those who order their own souls so that they have few reasons for sorrow. And where can such a life be found? For I see that you are all eager and want to hear what this life without sorrow is. Well then, first acknowledge that this is pleasure, this is true luxury: having no sorrow to trouble you. And do not ask me for foods, wine, sauces, silk robes, and a lavish table. But if I show that a life like this is available (within our reach) without all these things, then welcome this pleasure and this life. For most of the painful things that happen to us come from our failure to judge things as we should. Who, then, will have more sorrows: someone who cares about none of these things, or someone who cares about them? Someone who fears changes, or someone who does not? Someone who lives in dread of jealousy, envy, false accusations, plots, and destruction, or someone who stands apart from these fears? Someone who lacks many things, or someone who lacks nothing? Someone enslaved to countless masters, or someone enslaved to none? Someone who needs many things, or someone who is free? Someone who has one lord to fear, or someone who fears countless despots? Well then, the greater pleasure is here. Let us pursue this, and not become obsessed with present things. Let us laugh contemptuously at all the pomp of life and practice moderation everywhere, so that we may pass through this life without pain 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 always, forever and ever. Amen.