Sermons to the People 302.1–303.2

Today is the solemn day of the blessed martyr Lawrence. Holy readings fitting this solemnity have sounded. We have heard, we have sung, and we have received the Gospel reading most attentively. Let us follow, then, in the footsteps of the martyrs by imitating them, so that we do not celebrate their solemnities in vain. Who does not know of what merit the martyr we commemorate is? Who has prayed there and not obtained? To how many sick people has his merit granted even temporal benefits, which he himself despised! For they were granted, not that the weakness of those who pray should remain, but that, lesser things being granted, there might be more love for seeking better things. For a father often grants his little children certain small and trifling things, for which they weep loudly if they do not receive them. Kindly and fatherly indulgence imparts these, gives these, which it does not want to remain in its children when they are a little bigger and already advancing. So he gives nuts to the boys, for whom he keeps the inheritance. Fatherly affection gives way to them as they play and amuse themselves with certain trifles, lest the weakness of their age fail. This belongs to one who coaxes, not to one who builds up. What the martyrs built, what they could grasp, what they grasped with a great heart, for which they shed their blood, you heard in the Gospel: “Your reward is great in heaven.” Yet, dearly beloved, since there are two lives, one before death, the other after death, both have had and have their lovers. What need is there to describe what this short life is like? We experience how troubled it is, how full of complaint: surrounded by temptations, full of fears; burning with desires, subject to mishaps; grieving in adversity, puffed up in prosperity; exulting in gains, tormented by losses. And in the very gains it trembles in its exultation, lest it lose what it has acquired; lest for this reason one be sought out who before he had it was not sought. True unhappiness, lying happiness. The lowly man longs to climb; the one raised up fears to come down. The one who does not have envies the one who has; the one who has despises the one who does not. And who could explain in words the great and so conspicuous foulness of this life? And yet this foulness has such lovers that we wish we could find just a very few who love the eternal life, which they cannot end, as this one is loved, which both ends quickly and, if it is prolonged, is feared every day lest it end in any hour. What are we to do? What are we to undertake? What are we to say? What goads of threatening, what fires of exhortation are we to apply to hearts sluggish and hard and frozen with the ice of earthly stupor, so that they may at some time shake off the torpor of the world and catch fire for eternal things? What, I say, are we to do? What are we to say? It lies near me, and meanwhile it occurs to me, that everyday things themselves admonish us and suggest what to say. From the love of this temporal life pass, if it can be, to loving the eternal life, which the martyrs loved, who despised these temporal things. I ask, I beg, I exhort, not only you, but with you ourselves too: let us love eternal life. I do not want more, though it is greater: let us love it as the temporal life is loved by its lovers; not as the temporal life was loved by the holy martyrs. For they loved this either not at all or very little, and easily preferred the everlasting to it. So I was not looking at the martyrs when I said, Let us love the eternal as the temporal is loved: but as the temporal is loved by its lovers, so let us love the eternal, whose love a Christian professes.

For we have become Christians not for the sake of this temporal life. For how many Christians are snatched away untimely, while sacrilegious people last in this life to decrepit old age? But again, among them too many die untimely. Many losses of Christians and gains of the impious; and again many losses of the impious and gains of Christians. And many honors of the impious and humiliations of Christians; and again many honors of Christians and humiliations of the impious. Since, then, these goods and evils are common to both, did we, brothers, when we became Christians, give our names to Christ and submit our foreheads to so great a sign for the sake of avoiding these evils or obtaining these goods? You are a Christian; you carry on your forehead the cross of Christ. Your mark teaches what you profess. When he hung on the cross which you carry on your forehead (it is not the sign of the wood that delights you, but the sign of the one hanging), when, then, he hung on the cross, he looked around at those raging, he bore those insulting, he prayed for his enemies. In the very middle of being killed he was healing the sick with his blood. For he said: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” Nor was that voice void or empty. For afterward thousands of them believed in him whom they had killed, so as to learn to suffer for him who had suffered for them and at their hands. From this, then, brothers, it is understood—from this sign, from this mark which a Christian receives even when he becomes a catechumen—from this it is understood why we are Christians: not for temporal and passing goods or evils, but for avoiding evils that will not pass, and for obtaining goods that will have no end.

But, as I had begun to say, brothers—what I had urged, what I had proposed—I beg you, let us consider how this temporal life is loved by its lovers; in how great fear people are lest they die, they who are going to die. You may see a man tremble, flee, seek hiding places, hunt for defenses, beg, throw himself at feet; if it can be, give whatever he has, so that life may be granted him, so that he may live one day more, so that an always uncertain lifetime may be stretched out a little longer. People do such great things: who does anything like it for eternal life? Let us address the lover of the present life: What are you doing? Why are you hurrying? Why are you trembling? Why are you fleeing? Why do you seek hiding places? “So that I may live,” he says. Surely so that you may live? So that you may live to live forever? No. So you are not busy to take death away, but to put it off. You who do such great things so as to die a little later, do something so as never to die.

How many we find who say, “Let the treasury take my goods, so that I may die later”; how rarely we find one who says, “Let Christ take my goods, so that I may never die.” And yet, O lover of temporal life, if the treasury takes them, it strips you in this world; if Christ takes them, he keeps them for you in heaven. For the sake of this life people want to have that by which they may live, and for the sake of this they are willing to give that by which they live. What you keep for yourself to live on, you give so that you may live, perhaps going to die of hunger. And yet you say: “Let it take it; what is it to me? I am willing to beg.” You give that by which you live, ready to beg so that you may live. Are you ready, having given even necessities, to beg in this world; and you are not ready, having paid out superfluities, to reign with Christ? Weigh it, I ask. If any scale of justice is found in the chest of your heart, bring it out, and put these two things in it, and weigh them: to beg in this world, and to reign with Christ. There is nothing to weigh. For in comparison with that, this has no weight at all. If I said, to reign in this world and to reign with Christ, there would be nothing to weigh. I am sorry I said, Weigh: there is absolutely nothing to weigh. “What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world but suffers the loss of his soul?” But he who has not suffered the loss of his soul will reign with Christ. But who reigns securely in this world? Suppose he reigns securely: does he reign eternally?

Notice what I was proposing, what kind of lovers the present life has—the temporal life, the short life, the foul life—what kind of lovers it has. Often a man becomes naked, a beggar, for the sake of this life. You ask him why. He will answer thus: “So that I might live.” What did you love, and loving it, where have you arrived? What will you say, perverse lover of a thing badly loved? What will you say to this beloved of yours, life? Say it, address her, coax her, if you can. What will you say? “Your beauty has brought me to this nakedness.” She cries to you: “I am foul, and you love me?” She cries: “I am hard, and you embrace me?” She cries: “I am fleeting, and you try to follow me?” See, your beloved answers you: “I will not stay with you; even if I am with you for a while, I will not remain with you. I could strip you; I could not make you happy.”

So, since we are Christians, having implored the help of the Lord our God against the flatteries of the badly loved one, let us love the beauty of that life which “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it gone up into the heart of man.” For this “God has prepared for those who love him”; and that life is God himself. You have cried out, you have sighed. Let us love it bravely. May the Lord grant that we love it. Let us shed tears for it, not only to obtain it but also to love it. What shall we admonish, what shall we show? Do we read out books to show how uncertain this life is, how transitory, how nearly nothing, how true it is what is written: “For what is your life? It is a vapor appearing for a little while; afterward it will vanish”? He was living yesterday; he is not today: a little while ago he was seen; now the one who was seen is not. A man is brought to the tomb: they return sad, quickly forgetting. It is said how nothing man is; and man himself says it; and man does not correct himself, so that man may be not nothing but something. Of this life, then, the martyrs were lovers, and of this life they are acquirers. They have what they loved; they will have it more abundantly in the resurrection of the dead. This road, then, they paved for us by their great sufferings.

Saint Lawrence was an archdeacon. The wealth of the Church was demanded of him by the persecutor, as is handed down; for which he suffered so many things that they are horrible to hear. Placed on a gridiron, he was burned in all his limbs; he was tortured with the most atrocious punishments of the flames: yet he conquered all the troubles of the body by the great ardor of love, with the help of him who had made him such. “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” But he did this to kindle the persecutor to anger—not wishing him to be angry, but desiring to commend his faith to posterity and to show how securely he was dying: “Let carts,” he said, “come with me, in which I may bring the wealth of the Church.” Carts were sent; he loaded them with the poor and ordered them to return, saying, “These are the wealth of the Church.” And it is true, brothers: the needs of the poor are the great wealth of Christians, if we understand where we ought to keep what we have. The needy are before us: if we keep it there, we shall not lose it. We are not afraid that someone may take it away: for he who gave it keeps it. Nor can we find a better guardian or a more faithful promiser.

Thinking on this, then, let us imitate the martyrs eagerly, if we want the solemnities we celebrate to profit us. We have always urged these things, brothers; we have never ceased, never been silent. Eternal life is to be loved, the present despised; one must live well, hope for good. He who was evil must be changed; the one changed must be instructed; the one instructed ought to persevere. “For he who perseveres to the end, he will be saved.”

But many evil people say many evil things. And what would you want? Good things from the evil? Do not look for grapes on thorns: you have been forbidden. “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” If you can do anything, if you are no longer evil, wish the evil man to be good. Why do you rage against the evil? “Because they are evil,” you say. You add yourself to them by raging against them. I give you counsel: the evil man displeases you; let there not be two. Do you rebuke him and join him? Do you increase the number of the one you condemn? Do you want to conquer evil with evil? To conquer malice with malice? There will be two malices, both to be conquered. Do you not hear the counsel of your Lord through the apostle: “Do not be conquered by evil, but conquer evil with good”? Perhaps he is worse; still, since you too are evil, there are two evil men. I would wish that at least one were good. Finally, he rages even to death. What of after death too, where punishment no longer reaches that evil man, and the whole malice of the other evil man is exercised? This is to be mad, not to avenge.

What shall I say to you, my brothers? What shall I say to you: “Let such people not please you”? Am I really going to think of you that such people please you? Far be it from us to think this of you. But it is too little that such people displease you; it is too little: there is something to be required of you. Let no one say, “God knows I did not want it done.” See, you have said two things: “I did not do it, and I did not want it done.” It is still too little. It is altogether too little if you did not want it, unless you also prevented it. Evil people have their judges, have their authorities, of whom the apostle says, “For not without cause does he bear the sword. For he is an avenger for wrath, but to him who does evil.” An avenger for wrath to him who does evil. “But if you do evil,” he says, “fear. For not without cause does he bear the sword. Do you want not to fear the authority? Do good, and you will have praise from it.” “What then,” someone says, “had Saint Lawrence done evil, that he should be killed by the authority? How was it fulfilled in him, ‘Do good, and you will have praise from it,’ when for good he earned such great tortures from it?” If he did not have praise from it, he would not be honored today, not be preached by us, not be praised with so great a proclamation. So he has praise from it, even against its will. For the apostle did not say, “Do good, and the authority itself will praise you.” All the apostles and martyrs did good; and the authorities did not praise them, but rather killed them. So if he had said, “Do good, and the authority will praise you,” he would deceive you. But now he tempered his words, looked around, weighed, moderated, pruned. Learn what you have heard: “Do good, and you will have praise from it”: with it praising you too, if it is good. But if it is unjust, having died for faith, for justice, for truth, you will have praise from it, even with it raging. For you will have it from it, not with it praising you, but with it giving you the occasion of praise. So do good, and you will have it, and you will be secure.

“But that evil man did so many things, oppressed so many, brought so many to beggary and want.” He has his judges, he has his authorities. The commonwealth is ordered. “For those that exist have been ordered by God.” Why do you rage? What authority have you received? Unless it is that these are not public punishments but open robberies. For what? Consider that in the very ranks of the authorities a man destined for punishment and condemned, over whom the sword hangs, may not be struck except by the one who serves for this. The executioner serves: by him the condemned man is struck. If the clerk strikes the condemned man, already destined for punishment, does he not kill a condemned man and is he not condemned as a murderer? Certainly the man he killed was already condemned, already destined for punishment; but to strike out of order is murder. If it is murder to strike a condemned man out of order, what is it, I ask you, to want to strike a man unheard, to want to strike one not judged, to want to strike an evil man without having received any authority? For we do not defend evil people, or say that the evil are not evil. Those who judge will give account of it. Why do you want to take on the difficulty of giving account for another’s death, you who do not carry the burden of authority? God has freed you from being a judge: why do you usurp what belongs to another? Give account of yourself.

O Lord, how you pierced the hearts of the raging when you said, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone at her.” With a heavy and sharp word, their hearts pierced, they recognized their consciences, and blushed before justice present; and going away one after another, they left the wretched woman alone. But she was not left alone as accused: for with her was the judge, not yet judging, but extending mercy beforehand. For when the raging had departed, there were left wretchedness and mercy. And the Lord said to her: “Has no one condemned you?” She answered: “No one, Lord.” “Neither will I condemn you,” he said; “go, and from now on sin no more.”

“But this soldier did so much to me.” I would like to know whether, if you were a soldier, you would not do similar things. Nor do we want such things to be done by soldiers, by which the poor are oppressed: we want them too to hear the Gospel. For it is not military service that forbids doing good, but malice. Soldiers coming to the baptism of John said: “And what shall we do?” John said to them: “Extort from no one, slander no one; let your pay be enough for you.” And truly, brothers, if soldiers were like that, the commonwealth itself would be happy. But not only should the soldier be like that; the toll collector too should be such as is described there. For the publicans, that is, the toll collectors, said to him: “And we, what shall we do?” The answer was: “Exact nothing more than what is appointed for you.” The soldier was corrected, the toll collector corrected: let the provincial too be corrected. You have a universal correction given. What shall we all do? “Whoever has two tunics, let him share with him who has none; and whoever has food, let him do likewise.” We want soldiers to hear what Christ commanded; let us too hear it. For Christ is not theirs and not ours. Let us all hear, and live together in peace.

“He oppressed me when I was a merchant.” Did you conduct the business itself well? In that business did you not commit fraud? In that business did you not swear falsely? Did you not say, “By him who brought me across, by the sea itself, I bought it for so much,” when you did not buy it for so much? Brothers, I tell you expressly, and as freely as the Lord grants: none rage against the evil except the evil. The necessity of authority is another thing. For a judge is often compelled to draw the sword and strike unwillingly. As far as it rested with him, he wanted to keep his sentence bloodless; but perhaps he did not want public discipline to perish. It belonged to his office, to his authority, to his necessity. What belongs to you, except to ask God, “Deliver us from evil”? O you who said, “Deliver us from evil”: may God deliver you from yourself.

In short, brothers, what are we to avoid? We are all Christians: we bear the burden of even greater danger. It is often said of us: “He went to that official; and what does a bishop want with that official?” And yet you all know that your needs compel us to go where we do not want: to wait attendance, to stand before the door, to wait while the worthy and the unworthy go in, to be announced, scarcely sometimes to be admitted; to endure humiliations, to ask, sometimes to obtain, sometimes to go away sad. Who would want to suffer these things unless we were compelled? Let us be let off; let us not suffer them; let no one compel us. See, let it be granted us; give us a holiday from this business. We ask you, we beg you, let no one compel us: we do not want to have dealings with the authorities; he knows that we are compelled. And we treat the authorities themselves as we ought to treat Christians, if we find Christians in that authority; and pagans as we ought to treat pagans; wishing good to all. “But let him warn the authorities,” someone says, “to do good.” Are we to warn them with you present? Do you know whether we have warned them? You do not know whether we have done it or not done it. This I know: that you do not know, and you judge rashly. Yet, my brothers, I beg you, it can be said to me of the authorities: “He should have warned him to do good.” And I answer: I warned him, but he did not listen to me. And I warned him where you did not hear. Who warns a people in private? We could at least warn one man in private and say, “Act thus, or thus,” where there was no one else. Who can take a people aside and warn the people without anyone knowing?

This necessity has compelled us to speak such things to you, lest we give a bad account to God concerning you; lest it be said to us, “You should have warned, you should have given; I would have exacted.” Turn away, then, turn away altogether from these bloody deeds. When you see and hear such things, let nothing belong to you but to pity. “But an evil man has died.” He is to be grieved for twice: because he is both dead and evil. To be grieved for twice: because he has died twice, both temporally and eternally. For if a good man had died, we would grieve with human affection, because he has left us, because we wanted him to live with us. The evil are more to be grieved for, because after this life they are received by eternal punishments. Let grieving, then, be your part, my brothers; let grieving be your part, not raging.

But it is too little, as I said, it is too little that you do not do these things, it is too little that you grieve, unless you also prevent, as far as you can, the things that belong to the power of the populace. I do not say, brothers, that any of you can go out and restrain the populace: not even we can do this; but each one in his own house: his son, his slave, his friend, his neighbor, his client, his younger one. Deal with them, so that they do not do these things. Persuade those you can; and over those whom you have authority, apply severity. One thing I know, which all know with me: that in this city many houses are found in which there is not even one pagan; no house is found where there are no Christians. And if it is examined carefully, no house is found where the Christians are not more than the pagans. It is true; you agree. You see, then, that the evils would not be done if Christians did not want them. There is no answer to this. Hidden evils could be done; public ones could not, with Christians preventing them; for each would hold his slave, each would hold his son: the young man would be tamed by the severity of his father, the severity of his uncle, the severity of his teacher, the severity of a good neighbor, the severity of the correction of one older. If these things were done so, evils would not much sadden us.

My brothers, I fear the wrath of God. God does not fear crowds. How quickly it is said, “What the people did, let it have been done: who is there to punish the people?” Is it so: who is there? Not even God? For did God fear the whole world when he made the flood? Did he fear so many cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, when he destroyed them with heavenly fire? I do not want now to speak of present evils, how great they are and where they have been done, and what has followed; I do not want to mention them, lest I seem to insult. Did God in his wrath separate those who did them from those who did not? But he joined those who did them with those who did not prevent them.

Let us at last end the sermon, then, my brothers. We exhort you, we beg you by the Lord and his gentleness, to live gently, to live peaceably; to let the authorities do peaceably what belongs to them, of which they will give account to God and to their superiors; whenever a request must be made, to make it respectfully and peaceably. Do not mix yourselves with those who do evil and rage unhappily and out of order; do not desire to be present at such deeds, even to watch them. But as far as you can, each in his own house and in his neighborhood, with the one to whom he has a bond of some kinship and love, warn, persuade, teach, rebuke; restrain them even by threats of any kind from such great evils: so that God may at some time have mercy, and put an end to human evils, and not deal with us according to our sins, nor repay us according to our iniquities, but, as far as the east is from the west, put our sins far from us; and for the honor of his name deliver us, and be merciful to our sins, lest perhaps the nations say, “Where is their God?”

The martyrdom of blessed Lawrence is illustrious, but at Rome, not here: for I see how few you are. As Rome cannot be hidden, so the crown of Lawrence cannot be hidden. But why it should still be hidden from this city I cannot know. So, few as you are, hear a few words: for we too, in this weariness of body and in the heat, cannot say much. He was a deacon, a follower of the apostles; he lived in the time after the apostles. When, then, the persecution, which you have just heard from the Gospel was foretold to Christians, was burning fiercely at Rome as in other places, and the property of the Church was demanded of him as archdeacon, he is said to have answered, “Let carts be sent with me, in which I may bring the wealth of the Church.” Avarice opened its jaws; but wisdom knew what it was doing. At once it was ordered: as many carts as he asked for, so many went. And he asked for many: and the more carts there were, the greater was the hope of plunder conceived in the heart. He filled the carts with the poor and returned with them; and it was said to him, “What is this?” He answered, “These are the riches of the Church.” The mocked persecutor demanded flames; but Lawrence was not cold, so as to fear flames: he burned almost with fury, but more in soul with love. What more? The gridiron was brought, and he was roasted. And when he had burned on one side, he is said to have borne those torments with such tranquillity that there was fulfilled in him what we just heard in the Gospel: “In your patience you will possess your souls.” Finally, burned by the flame but tranquil in patience, he said: “It is cooked now; for the rest, turn me over and eat.” Such was the martyrdom he underwent; with such glory he was crowned. His benefits at Rome are so famous that they cannot be counted at all. He is the one of whom Christ said, “Whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.” He saved it through faith, saved it through contempt of the world, saved it through martyrdom. How great is his glory with God, when his praise among men is so great?

Let us follow his footsteps by faith; let us follow also by contempt of the world. Heavenly rewards are promised not only to martyrs, but also to those who follow Christ with whole faith and perfect love. For he too is honored among the martyrs, as the Truth himself promises, saying: “There is no one who leaves house, or field, or parents, or brothers, or wife, or children, and does not receive seven times as much in this time, and in the age to come he will have eternal life.” What is more glorious for a man than to sell his own things and buy Christ, to offer to God a most acceptable gift, the uncorrupted strength of the mind, the unharmed praise of devotion; to accompany Christ when he begins to come to take vengeance on his enemies; to stand at his side when he sits to judge; to become a co-heir of Christ, to be made equal to the angels, to rejoice in the possession of the heavenly kingdom with the patriarchs, with the apostles, with the prophets? What persecution can conquer these thoughts, what torments can overcome them? The mind, hard, strong and stable, founded on devout meditations, stands firm; and the spirit, which sure and solid faith strengthens, stands unmoved against all the terrors of the devil and the threats of the world. Eyes are closed in persecutions, but heaven is open. Antichrist threatens, but Christ protects. Death is inflicted, but immortality follows. To the slain the world is snatched away, but to the restored paradise is shown. Temporal life is extinguished, but eternal life is restored. How great is the dignity and how great the security, to go out from here glad, to go out glorious amid pressures and distresses; to close in a moment the eyes with which men and the world were seen, to open them at once so that God may be seen, even by migrating happily! What swiftness! You are suddenly withdrawn from the earth so as to be set in the heavenly kingdoms. These things one must embrace in mind and thought, meditate on day and night. If persecution finds such a soldier of God, the strength ready for battle cannot be conquered. Or if the summons comes first, the reward is rendered by God the judge without loss of time to the faith which was prepared for martyrdom. In persecution, the soldiering is crowned; in peace, the constancy.