Homilies on Matthew, Homily 58

"And while they were staying in Galilee, Jesus said to them, The Son of Man will be betrayed into the hands of men, and they will kill Him, and on the third day He will be raised again. And they were deeply grieved." That is, to keep them from saying, "Why do we keep staying here?" He speaks to them again about the passion. When they heard this, they had no desire even to see Jerusalem. And it is remarkable that even after Peter had been rebuked, Moses and Elijah had spoken about it and called it glory, the Father had spoken from above, so many miracles had been performed, and the resurrection was close at hand (for He said that He would certainly not remain in death for long, but would be raised on the third day), they still could not bear it, but were grieved—and not merely grieved, but deeply grieved. This happened because they did not yet understand the full meaning of His words. Mark and Luke expressed this indirectly, one saying, "They did not understand the saying, and were afraid to ask Him," and the other, "It was hidden from them, so that they did not perceive it, and they were afraid to ask Him about that saying." And yet, if they did not understand, why were they grieved? Because they were not completely ignorant. They knew that He was going to die, since they kept hearing it, but they did not yet clearly understand what this death would be, that He would soon be released from it, or that it would bring countless blessings. Nor did they understand what this resurrection would be. They did not understand it, and so they grieved, for they were deeply attached to their Master. "And when they came to Capernaum, those who collected the didrachma came to Peter and said, Doesn't your Master pay the didrachma?" And what is this "didrachma"? When God killed the firstborn of the Egyptians, He then took the tribe of Levi in their place. Later, because the tribe had fewer members than there were firstborn among the Jews, He commanded that a shekel be contributed for those needed to make up the number. From this, a custom also came into force that the firstborn should pay this tribute. Since Christ was a firstborn child, and Peter seemed to be first among the disciples, they came to him. Their practice, I suppose, was to collect it in every city. That is also why they approached Him in His hometown, for Capernaum was considered His hometown. They did not dare approach Him, however, but approached Peter. And they did not treat even Peter harshly, but spoke quite gently. They said, "Doesn't your Master pay the didrachma?" as a question, not an accusation. They did not yet have the right understanding of Him, but regarded Him as a man. Still, they showed Him some reverence and honor because of the signs He had already performed. 2. What does Peter say, then? "He says, Yes." He told them that He paid, but said nothing to Him about it, perhaps embarrassed to speak to Him about these things. So the gentle Jesus, knowing everything, spoke before Peter could, "saying, What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth collect customs or tribute? From their own sons, or from strangers?" And when he said, "From strangers," He replied, "Then the sons are free." To keep Peter from supposing that He was saying this because the others had told Him, He speaks first, partly revealing what had been said and partly encouraging Peter to speak freely, since he was reluctant to bring up these things himself. What He says amounts to this: "I am indeed free from paying tribute. For if the kings of the earth do not collect it from their sons, but from their subjects, I have far more reason to be exempt from this demand, since I am the Son, not of an earthly king, but of the King of Heaven, and am myself a King." Do you see how He has distinguished sons from those who are not sons? If He were not a Son, His example of the kings would serve no purpose. "Yes," someone may say, "He is a Son, but not truly begotten." Then He is not a Son. And if He is not a Son, nor truly begotten, He does not belong to God either, but to someone else. But if He belongs to someone else, the comparison loses its proper force. For He is not speaking of sons in general, but of genuine sons, men's very own sons, who share the kingdom with their parents. That is also why He mentions "strangers" in contrast, meaning by "strangers" those who are not born of them, and by "their own" those whom they have begotten from themselves. I also want you to notice how He again confirms here the exalted teaching revealed to Peter. Nor does He stop there: by His very condescension He declares this same truth, showing extraordinary wisdom. For after speaking this way, He says, "But so that we do not cause them to stumble, go and cast a hook into the sea, and take the first fish that comes up, and you will find a piece of money in it. Take that and give it to them for me and you." See how He neither refuses the tribute nor simply commands that it be paid. First He proves that He is not liable for it, and then He pays it. The first act keeps the people from stumbling; the second does the same for those around Him. He does not pay it as a debt at all, but does what is best in view of their weakness. Elsewhere, however, when speaking about foods, He disregards the offense, teaching us to recognize when we should take account of those who are offended and when we should disregard them. Indeed, by the very way He pays, He reveals Himself again. For why does He not command Peter to give some of the money they have saved? So that, as I have said, He might show here too that He is God of all, and that the sea is also under His rule. He had already shown this by His rebuke and by commanding this same Peter to walk on the waves. Now He shows the very same thing again, though in another way, and in a way that inspires great amazement. For it was no small thing to foretell that the first fish to come his way out of those depths would be the one that would pay the tribute, and to cast His command like a net into that abyss and bring up the one carrying the piece of money. It took divine and inexpressible power to make even the sea bring gifts in this way, and to show its submission to Him in every way: when its raging fell silent, when, fierce though it was, it supported its fellow servant, and now again when it pays on His behalf those who demand the tribute. "And give it to them," He says, "for me and you." Do you see how extraordinarily great this honor is? Notice also Peter's self-restraint. Mark, this apostle's follower, does not appear to have recorded this detail, because it showed the great honor paid to Peter. Although he wrote about the denial just as the others did, he passed over in silence the things that brought Peter distinction, perhaps because his master asked him not to mention the great things about himself. And He used the phrase "for me and you" because Peter too was a firstborn child. Now, just as you marvel at Christ's power, I ask you also to admire the disciple's faith, because he accepted something impossible. For by the laws of nature it was utterly impossible. That is also why, as a reward for his faith, He joined Peter with Himself in paying the tribute. 3. "At that hour the disciples came to Jesus, saying, Who then is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" The disciples felt a certain human weakness. That is why the evangelist adds this detail, saying, "At that hour"—when He had favored Peter above them all. For one of the two, James and John, was also a firstborn son, but He had done nothing like this for them. Then, ashamed to admit their feelings, they do not say openly, "Why have you favored Peter over us?" or, "Is he greater than we are?" They were ashamed, so they ask in general terms, "Who then is greater?" When they saw the three being favored, they felt nothing of the kind, but now that the honor had fallen to one alone, they were upset. And it was not only this. They put together many other things that inflamed that feeling. To him He had said, "I will give you the keys"; to him, "Blessed are you, Simon Barjona"; to him here, "Give it to them for me and you." And seeing how freely he was generally allowed to speak also irritated them somewhat. If Mark says that they did not ask, but discussed it among themselves, this does not contradict the account. They probably did both. Having felt this before on other occasions, once and again, they now both expressed it and discussed it among themselves. But I say to you, "Do not look only at the charge against them. Consider this too: first, they seek none of the things of this world; next, they later put aside even this passion and yield first place to one another." Yet we cannot even rise to the level of their faults. We do not ask, "Who is greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" but who is greatest in the earthly kingdom, who is wealthiest, and who is most powerful. What does Christ say, then? He lays bare their conscience and answers their feelings, not merely their words. "For He called a little child to Him," Scripture says, "and said, Unless you turn and become like this little child, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven." "You," He says, "ask who is greatest and compete for the highest honors, but I declare that anyone who has not become the lowest of all is unworthy even to enter there." He does very well to present that example, and not merely to present it, but also to place the child among them, shaming them by the very sight and persuading them to be humble and guileless in the same way. For the little child is free from envy, from craving empty praise, and from the desire for first place, and possesses the greatest of virtues: simplicity and everything guileless and humble. So courage and wisdom are not the only things needed. This virtue is needed too—I mean humility and simplicity. Indeed, without them, even the most essential part of our salvation falters. Whether the little child is insulted and beaten or honored and praised, the first does not stir it to resentment or envy, and the second does not make it proud. Do you see how He again calls us to every natural excellence, showing that we can attain them by free choice, and so silencing the wicked frenzy of the Manichaeans? For if nature is evil, why does He draw His examples of rigorous virtue from it? You should understand the child He placed among them to have been very young indeed, free from all these passions. For such a little child is free from pride, the mad desire for glory, envy, contentiousness, and all such passions. Though it has many virtues—simplicity, humility, and unworldliness—it takes pride in none of them. This is rigorous virtue in two ways: possessing these things and not being puffed up about them. That is why He brought the child in and placed it among them. Nor did He end His teaching there, but carried this admonition further, saying, "And whoever receives such a little child in my name receives me." "For know," He says, "that you will receive a great reward not only if you become like this yourselves, but also if you honor others like this for my sake. Even for the honor you show them, I grant you a kingdom as your reward." Or rather, He states something far greater when He says, "He receives me." "Everything humble and guileless is so very dear to me." For by "a little child" here He means people who are simple and humble in this way, and who are lowly and contemptible in the judgment of ordinary people. 4. After this, to make His words still more persuasive, He supports them not only with the honor but also with the punishment, going on to say, "And whoever causes one of these little ones to stumble, it would be better for him to have a millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea." "For just as those," He says, "who honor these people for my sake have heaven, or rather an honor greater than the kingdom itself, so those who dishonor them (for this is what it means to cause them to stumble) will suffer the most extreme punishment." And do not be surprised that He calls the insult "an offense," for many people weak in spirit have been seriously shaken by being slighted and insulted. To heighten and intensify the blame, He therefore states the harm that results. He does not go on to describe the punishment in the same terms, but uses familiar things to show how unbearable it is. For when He wants to make the strongest impression on coarser people, He uses physical images. So here too, to show the greatness of the punishment they will undergo and to strike at the arrogance of those who despise these people, He presents a kind of physical punishment: the millstone and the drowning. Surely it would have fit what came before to say, "He who does not receive one of these little ones does not receive me"—something more bitter than any punishment. But since this, terrible though it is, did not make so deep an impression on the utterly unfeeling and extremely coarse, He introduces "a millstone" and "a drowning." And He did not say, "A millstone will be hung around his neck," but, "It would be better for him" to undergo this, implying that another evil, more terrible than this, awaits him. And if this is unbearable, how much more so is that. Do you see how He made His threat terrifying in both ways: first, making it clearer by comparing it with a familiar image, and then showing how much it exceeds that visible punishment, making us imagine something far greater? Do you see how He pulls arrogance out by the root, how He heals the ulcer of craving empty praise, how He teaches us never to set our hearts on the highest honors, and how He persuades those who crave them to pursue the lowest place in everything? 5. For nothing is worse than arrogance. It even robs people of their natural good sense and gives them the character of fools—or rather, it actually makes them completely like idiots. Suppose someone three cubits tall tried to be higher than the mountains, or actually imagined he was, and stretched himself up as though rising above their summits. We would need no other proof that he was out of his mind. In the same way, when you see an arrogant man who thinks himself superior to everyone and considers it beneath him to live with other people, look for no further proof of his madness. He is far more ridiculous than someone born a fool, since he deliberately creates this disease in himself. And his misery lies not only in this, but also in falling into the very abyss of wickedness without realizing it. For when will such a person properly recognize any sin? When will he realize that he is doing wrong? Instead, he is like a degraded, captive slave whom the devil has seized and carried away, making him entirely his prey, beating him on every side and surrounding him with ten thousand insults. For in the end the devil leads them into such great folly that they become haughty toward their children, their wives, and their own ancestors. Others, by contrast, he makes proud of their ancestors' distinction. Now, what could be more foolish than this, when people are equally puffed up for opposite reasons: some because their fathers, grandfathers, and ancestors were people of low social standing, and others because theirs were glorious and distinguished? How, then, can we reduce this swollen sore in each case? By saying to the latter, "Go back beyond your grandfather and your immediate ancestors, and perhaps you will find many cooks, donkey drivers, and shopkeepers." But to the former, who are puffed up because their ancestors were of low social standing, say the opposite: "And you, if you go farther back among your ancestors, will find many far more distinguished than you." Come, let me prove to you from the Scriptures themselves that nature follows this course. Solomon was the son of a king, and a distinguished king, but that king's father was one of the lowly and obscure. His grandfather on his mother's side was likewise, for otherwise he would not have given his daughter to a mere soldier. And if you go farther back beyond these people of low social standing, you will see that the family was more distinguished and royal. The same is true in Saul's case, and in many others one will reach the same result. So let us not take pride in this. For tell me, what is noble birth? Nothing but a name without substance, and you will know this on that day. But since that day has not yet come, let us persuade you even now, from present circumstances, that it gives no superiority. If war overtakes us, or famine, or anything else, all these inflated notions of noble birth are put to the test. If disease or plague comes upon us, it does not know how to distinguish between rich and poor, distinguished and obscure, noble-born and those who are not. Neither does death, nor any other reversal of fortune: all rise equally against everyone. And, if I may say something surprising, of the two groups, they strike the rich harder. For the less accustomed they are to these things, the more readily they perish when overtaken by them. The rich are also more afraid. No one trembles before rulers as they do, or before crowds—indeed, they fear crowds even more than rulers. Many such households have been overthrown both by the anger of crowds and by the threats of rulers. But the poor man is free from both kinds of troubled waters. 6. So set aside this nobility, and if you want to show me that you are noble, show me the freedom of your soul. Show the freedom that blessed man had—and he was poor—who said to Herod, "It is not lawful for you to have your brother Philip's wife." Show the freedom possessed by the man who was like him before him and will be so again after him, who said to Ahab, "I do not trouble Israel, but you and your father's house do." Show the freedom the prophets had, and all the apostles. But the souls of those enslaved to wealth are not like this. Like people under ten thousand guardians and taskmasters, they do not dare even to raise their eyes and speak boldly on behalf of virtue. The love of riches, of glory, and of other things glares at them threateningly and makes them servile flatterers. Nothing takes away freedom so much as entanglement in worldly affairs and wearing what people consider marks of distinction. Such a person has not one master, or two, or three, but ten thousand. If you would like to count them, let us bring forward someone honored at a king's court. Let him have immense wealth and great power, a birthplace superior to others, distinguished ancestry, and the admiration of everyone. Now let us see whether this very person is more enslaved than anyone else. Let us compare him not merely with a slave, but with a slave's slave, for many servants themselves have slaves. This slave's slave, for his part, has only one master. What if that master is not a free man? He is still only one, and the other has only his wishes to consider. Although his master's master seems to have authority over him, for the present he obeys only one person. If relations between the two of them are good, he will remain secure all his life. But our man has not just one or two masters, but many, and harsher ones. First, he worries about the sovereign himself. Having an ordinary person as a master is not the same as having a king, whose ears are filled with the whispering of many people and who becomes the tool of one group and then another. Our man, though aware of no wrongdoing, suspects everyone: his colleagues and his subordinates, his friends and his enemies. But the other man too, you may say, fears his master. Yet how is having one person to fear the same as having many? Or rather, if we examine the matter carefully, we will not find even one. How, and in what sense? That slave has no one who wants to remove him from his service and take his place (so he has no one plotting against him over it). These people, however, have no other occupation than to displace the man their ruler approves of and loves more. That is why he must flatter everyone: his superiors, his equals, and his friends. For where envy and the love of glory exist, even sincere friendship has no strength. Just as people in the same trade cannot love one another with perfect and genuine love, so it is with rivals for honor and those who desire the same worldly things. That is also why the war within is so great. Do you see what a swarm of masters, and harsh masters at that? Would you like me to show you another, even harsher than this? Everyone behind him struggles to get ahead of him; everyone ahead of him struggles to keep him from catching up and passing them. 7. But how astonishing! I set out to show you masters, yet as our discussion has advanced and gathered force, it has gone beyond what I promised, revealing enemies instead of masters—or rather, the same people as both enemies and masters. For while they are courted as masters, they are feared as enemies, and they plot against us as enemies. When someone has the same people as both masters and enemies, what calamity could be worse? A slave, though subject to commands, still has the benefit of care and goodwill from those who give him orders. But these people, while receiving commands, are made enemies and set against one another, far more bitterly than those in battle, because they wound secretly, treat people as enemies would while wearing the mask of friends, and often gain credit for themselves from the misfortunes of others. But our circumstances are different. If someone suffers, many grieve with him; if he receives honor, many rejoice with him. The apostle likewise says, "For whether one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; or one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it." And the one who gives these admonitions says at one time, "What is my hope or joy? Isn't it you?" At another, "Now we live, if you stand firm in the Lord"; at another, "Out of great affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you"; and, "Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to stumble, and I do not burn?" Why, then, do we still endure the storm and waves of the world outside, instead of running to this calm harbor, leaving behind the names of good things and coming to the things themselves? For glory, dignity, wealth, reputation, and all such things are names among them, but realities among us. In the same way, the painful things—death, dishonor, poverty, and everything like them—are indeed names among us, but realities among them. If you like, let us first bring forward glory, which they all find so lovely and desirable. I am not speaking of its being short-lived and quickly extinguished. Show it to me in its very bloom. Do not remove the prostitute's painted colors and lines. Bring her forward adorned and display her to us, so that I can then expose her ugliness. Well then, of course you will describe her finery, her many lictors, the heralds' voices, the attention of every class, the silence of the crowd, the blows dealt to everyone who gets in the way, and the gaze of all. Aren't these her splendors? Come, then, let us examine whether these things are empty and nothing but a useless illusion. How is the person we are discussing any better for them, either in body or in soul? For these make up the man. Will they make him taller, stronger, healthier, or faster? Will his senses become sharper and more penetrating? No one could say that. So let us turn to the soul and see whether we can find any benefit there. Well then, will such a person become more self-controlled, gentler, or wiser through having this kind of entourage? Not at all, but quite the opposite. For the result here is different from that in the body. The body gains nothing toward its proper excellence, but here the harm is not only that the soul bears no good fruit. It also receives much evil from these things, which sweep it into haughtiness, craving empty praise, folly, anger, and ten thousand similar faults. "But he rejoices," you will say, "and delights in these things, and they cheer him up." Those very words describe the height of his evils and the incurable part of his disease. For someone who rejoices in these things would be unwilling to be freed from the source of his evils, however easy that might be. Indeed, by taking delight in them, he has blocked his own path to healing. So the greatest harm lies precisely here: as his diseases grow, he feels no pain but rejoices instead. For rejoicing is not always good. Thieves rejoice in stealing, an adulterer in defiling his neighbor's marriage bed, the greedy in plundering by violence, and a killer in murder. So let us ask not whether he rejoices, but whether he rejoices in something beneficial. And let us examine this carefully, for we may find that his joy is like the adulterer's and the thief's. For tell me, why does he rejoice? Because of his standing with the crowd, because he can puff himself up and be stared at? What could be worse than this desire and this misplaced attachment? Or, if it is not bad, you must stop ridiculing those who crave empty praise and continually mocking them. You must stop cursing the haughty and contemptuous. But you would not stand for that. Well then, these people too deserve plenty of blame, even if they have plenty of lictors. And I have said all this about the more tolerable rulers, since we will find that most of them commit worse offenses than robbers, murderers, adulterers, or grave robbers, because they misuse their power. Their thefts are more shameless, their butcheries more callous, and their impurities far more monstrous than those of the others. And they break through not one wall, but countless estates and houses, their authority making this very easy for them. They live in the harshest slavery, both bowing shamefully beneath their passions and trembling before all their accomplices. For the only free man, the only ruler, the one more kingly than all kings, is the man who has been freed from his passions. Knowing these things, then, let us pursue true freedom and free ourselves from evil slavery. Let us consider neither the pomp of power, nor the dominion of wealth, nor anything else like them a blessing, but virtue alone. For in this way we will both enjoy security here and attain the good things to come, through the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and might, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen.