Sermons to the People 309.1–311.15

So welcome and devout a solemnity, on which we celebrate the passion of the blessed martyr, demands from us the sermon owed to your ears and hearts. Without doubt the Church was sad then, not at the loss of one falling, but from longing for one departing; always desiring to see so good a ruler and teacher present. But those whom anxiety about the contest had afflicted, the crown of the victor consoled. And now, not only without any sadness, but even with great joy, we recall by reading and loving all that was done then; and it is now granted to rejoice on this day, not to fear. For we do not dread it as coming terribly, but await it gladly as it returns. It is pleasing, then, to recall with exultation as past that whole passion of the most faithful, most brave, and most glorious martyr, which the brothers then endured with anxiety as future.

First, then, that for the faith of confessing Christ he was sent into exile to Curubis: no harm was done to Saint Cyprian, but much was given to that city. For where could he be sent where he would not be, for whose testimony he was being sent? So Christ, who says, “Behold, I am with you all days to the end of the age,” received his member in every place, wherever the enemy’s fury drove him. O foolish unbelief of the persecutor! If you seek an exile to which a Christian is to be ordered to go, first find, if you can, a place from which Christ may be compelled to go out. You think you are excluding the man of God from his homeland into a foreign one, he who is nowhere an exile in Christ, everywhere a pilgrim in the flesh. But now it delights us to consider and recall what followed in the order of his passion after that which Cyprian had not felt, but the enemy thought, an exile. For when Saint Cyprian, the martyr chosen by God, had returned from the city of Curubis, to which he had been sent into exile by order of the proconsul Aspasius Paternus, he stayed in his gardens; and from there he hoped every day that they would come for him, as had been shown to him.

How could the persecutor’s onset now rage against a heart always prepared, strengthened moreover by a revelation of the Lord? For when would he desert one suffering, whom he did not allow to be caught unawares? Now, that two were sent to bring him to his passion, who even lifted him with them into the chariot and set him in the middle: this too was of divine admonition, so that he might gladly recall that he belonged to the body of him who was reckoned among the wicked. For Christ, hung on the wood between two thieves, was offered as an example of patience; Cyprian, carried in a chariot between two officers to his passion, followed the footsteps of Christ.

What of that—when he was put off to another day and was with the guards, and a crowd of brothers and sisters gathered there and spent the night before the doors, he ordered that the girls be guarded—with what attention is it to be considered? With what praise proclaimed? With what renown commended? With the death of the body near, the pastoral vigilance did not die in the pastor’s soul; and the care of guarding the Lord’s flock was held with a sober mind to the last day of this life: nor did the hand of the bloody executioner, already near, shake out of his mind the diligence of a most faithful steward. He so thought of himself as about to be a martyr that he did not forget that he was a bishop: caring more what account he would render to the prince of shepherds of the sheep entrusted to him than what he would answer the unbelieving proconsul about his own faith. For he loved him who had said to Peter, “Do you love me? Feed my sheep.” And he fed his sheep, for whom, imitating him, he was preparing to shed his blood. He ordered the girls to be guarded, knowing that he had not only a simple Lord but also a crafty adversary. And so against the lion roaring openly he armed his manly breast in confession; against the wolf lying in wait for the flock he fortified the female sex.

He truly takes counsel for himself who thinks of God as judge, before whom each will plead the case of this life as lived and of the office laid on him by him: where every man receives, as the apostle testifies, what he has done through the body, whether good or evil. He takes counsel for himself who, living by faith and anxious not to be caught unprepared by the last day, counts every day as the last, and so carries conduct pleasing to God through to the last day. So blessed Cyprian, a most merciful bishop and a most faithful martyr, took counsel for himself; not as the deceitful tongue of the devil seemed to advise him through the mouth of the impious judge whom he possessed, saying, “Take counsel for yourself.” For when he saw his unmoved mind, when he said to him, “The emperors have ordered you to perform the ceremonies,” and he answered, “I do not do it,” he added and said, “Take counsel for yourself.” This is the deceitful tongue of the devil: even if not of this man, who did not know what he was saying, yet of that one who spoke through him. For the proconsul was speaking not so much according to the princes, the men whose orders laid on him he boasted of, as according to the prince of the power of the air, of whom the apostle says, “who works in the children of unbelief”: whom Cyprian knew to be working through this man’s tongue too, which the man himself did not know. Cyprian knew, I say, when he heard from the proconsul, “Take counsel for yourself,” that what flesh and blood said stupidly, the devil said deceitfully: and he beheld two in one work, the one with his eyes, the other by faith. The one did not want him to die, the other did not want him to be crowned: and so toward the one he was calm, toward the other cautious; he answered the one openly, he conquered the other secretly.

“Do,” he said, “what you have been ordered: in so just a matter there is no taking counsel.” For he had said, “Take counsel for yourself.” To this the answer was, “In so just a matter there is no taking counsel.” For one takes counsel who either gives counsel or seeks it. But the proconsul did not want to receive counsel from Cyprian, but rather urged him to receive it from himself. But he said, “In so just a matter there is no taking counsel.” I am not still taking counsel, because I am not still in doubt: justice itself has taken doubt away from me. But the just man, so that we may die securely in the flesh, lives certain in faith. Many martyrs had gone before Cyprian, whom he had kindled by his most ardent exhortations to conquer the devil; and it was surely just that he should follow fearlessly in suffering those whom, speaking truly, he had sent ahead: so in so just a matter there is no taking counsel. What shall we say to this? How shall we exult at this? With so great a conception of joys, into what should our heart and our mouth break forth, if not into the very last word of the venerable martyr? For when Galerius Maximus had read the decree from the tablet, “It is resolved that Thascius Cyprian be punished with the sword,” he answered, “Thanks be to God.” Having, then, of so great a matter the memory of this present place, the festivity of a most solemn day, the setting forth of a most salutary example, let us too say with all our inmost being, “Thanks be to God.”

May the Holy Spirit teach us in this hour what we ought to say: for we are going to say something in praise of Cyprian, the most glorious martyr, whose birthday, as you know, we are celebrating today. The Church uses this name, “birthdays,” so frequently that it calls the precious deaths of the martyrs birthdays. The Church, I say, uses this name so frequently that even those who are not in it say it together with it. For who today—I will not say in this city of ours, but throughout all Africa and the regions overseas—not only a Christian, but a pagan, or a Jew, or even a heretic, could be found who does not say with us “the birthday of the martyr Cyprian”? What is this, brothers? When he was born we do not know; and because he suffered today, we celebrate his birthday today. But we would not celebrate that day even if we knew it. For on that day he contracted original sin; but on this day he conquered all sin. On that day he came forth from his mother’s womb, which brings weariness, into this light, which entices the eyes of the flesh; but on this day he departed from the most hidden bosom of nature to that light which happily and blessedly illuminates the sight of the mind.

Living, he governed the Church of Carthage; dying, he honored it. There he exercised the episcopate; there he completed his martyrdom. For in the place where he laid down the spoils of his flesh, a savage multitude had then gathered to shed Cyprian’s blood out of hatred of Christ; there today a venerating multitude runs together to drink the blood of Christ because of Cyprian’s birthday. And the more sweetly in that place is the blood of Christ drunk because of Cyprian’s birthday, the more devotedly was Cyprian’s blood shed there for the name of Christ. Finally, as you know, all of you who know Carthage, in that same place a table has been built for God; and yet it is called Cyprian’s table, not because Cyprian ever feasted there, but because he was sacrificed there, and because by his very sacrifice he prepared this table—not one on which he feeds or is fed, but one on which sacrifice is offered to God, to whom he too was offered. But the reason why that table, which is God’s, is also called Cyprian’s is this: that where now it is surrounded by those who serve, there Cyprian was surrounded by those who persecuted; where now it is honored by friends praying, there Cyprian was trampled by enemies raging; finally, where it has been raised up, there he was laid low. “Sing to God, sing a psalm to his name: he who ascends above the setting”—he did these things over the slain.

But though Carthage had his chair, let Carthage have his memorial; from where would we celebrate his birthday, were not the death of his saints precious in the sight of the Lord? “His sound has gone out into all the earth, and his words to the ends of the world.” He taught faithfully what he was going to do; he did bravely what he had taught. By living justly he came to a precious death, and by dying unjustly to a glorious life; and he gained the triumphal name of martyr, because he carried the contest for the truth even to blood.

But since he not only said things to be heard but also wrote things to be read, and came to some places through other people’s tongues and to others through his own writings, and became known in many regions, partly through the fame of his most brave passion, partly through the sweetness of his most delightful reading: let us celebrate this day eagerly, and let us all pray with one mind that in the greater Church we may deserve to hear and see our common father; to have joy from his speech and profit from the glory of his passion, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

The passion of the most blessed martyr Cyprian has made this a feast day for us; the celebration of his victory has gathered us most devoutly into this place. But the celebration of the martyrs’ solemnity ought to be the imitation of their virtues. It is easy to celebrate a martyr’s honor; it is great to imitate a martyr’s faith and patience. Let us do the one in such a way that we long for the other; let us celebrate the one in such a way that we love the other rather. What do we praise in the martyr’s faith? That he contended for the truth even to death, and therefore conquered. He despised the world when it flattered, he did not yield to it when it raged: therefore he went to God a victor. Errors and terrors abound in this world: the most blessed martyr overcame errors by wisdom, terrors by patience. Great is what he did: following the Lamb, he conquered the lion. When the persecutor raged, the lion roared: but because the Lamb was looked to above, the lion was trampled below: the Lamb who destroyed death by death, hung on the wood, shed his blood, redeemed the world.

The first, the blessed apostles, rams of the holy flock, saw the Lord Jesus himself hanging, grieved at him dying, were terrified at him rising, loved him in his power, and themselves shed their blood for what they had seen. Think, brothers, what it was for men to be sent throughout the world to preach that a dead man had risen, had ascended into heaven; and for this preaching to suffer everything a raging world could inflict: losses, exiles, chains, tortures, flames, beasts, crosses, deaths. For some unknown person? For was Peter dying for his own glory, my brothers, or preaching himself? One was dying so that another might be honored; one was being killed so that another might be worshiped. Would he do this, except from the burning of love, out of awareness of the truth? They had seen what they were saying: for when would they die for something they had not seen? What they had seen they should have denied. They did not deny it: they preached as dead the one they knew alive. They knew for what life they despised life; they knew for what happiness they bore passing unhappiness, for what rewards they despised these losses. Their faith could not be weighed against the whole world. They had heard, “What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world but suffers the loss of his soul?” The allurement of the world did not slow them as they hastened, migrating from passing things: a happiness, however and in whatever way shining, that must be left here, cannot be carried over to the other life, and must at some time be left here even by the living.

Despise the world, then, Christians; despise the world, despise it. The martyrs despised it, the apostles despised it, blessed Cyprian despised it, whose memory we celebrate today. You want to be rich, you want to be honored, you want to be healthy: he despised all of it, to whose memorial you have come together. What, I beg you, do you love so much that he whom you so honor despised? Whom, had he not despised these things, you would surely not so honor. Why do I find you a lover of the things whose despiser you venerate? Certainly, if he loved these things, you would not venerate him. And you, do not love them: for did he go in and shut the door against you? You too despise them, and enter after him. It is open where you may enter: Christ is the door. And the door was opened for you when his side was pierced with the lance. Recall what flowed from there, and choose where you can enter. From the side of the Lord hanging and dying on the wood, after it was pierced with the lance, water and blood flowed out. In the one is your cleansing, in the other your redemption.

Love, and do not love: love for some purpose, and for some purpose do not love. For there is what is loved for advancement, and there is what is loved for hindrance. Do not love the hindrance, if you do not want to find torment. What you love on earth is a hindrance: it is birdlime on the spiritual wings, that is, the virtues, by which one flies to God. You do not want to be caught, and you love the birdlime? Are you not caught because you are caught sweetly? The more it delights, the more strongly it strangles. I say these things: and you praise, and you shout, and you love. Wisdom answers you—not I: I want conduct, not voices. Praise wisdom by living; not by sounding, but by sounding in harmony.

The Lord says in the Gospel, “We have sung to you, and you have not danced.” When would I say this, unless I were reading it? Vanity mocks me, but authority helps me. If I had not said first who said this, which of you could bear me saying, “We have sung to you, and you have not danced”? Is anyone to dance in this place, even if a psalm is to be sung? At one time, not very many years ago, even this place had been invaded by the wantonness of dancers. This so holy place, where the body of so holy a martyr lies, as many remember who are of age; this place, I say, so holy, the plague and wantonness of dancers had invaded. All night long wicked songs were sung here, and people danced to the singers. When the Lord willed it, through our holy brother, your bishop, from the time holy vigils began to be celebrated here, that plague, having resisted a little, afterward gave way to diligence, and blushed before wisdom.

Since, then, by God’s favor these things are not done here now—because we do not celebrate games for demons, where such things are usually done for the delight of those who are worshiped, and by their uncleanness they usually corrupt their worshipers; but the holy solemnity of the martyrs is celebrated here—there is no dancing here; and where there is no dancing, still it is read from the Gospel, “We have sung to you, and you have not danced.” Those who did not dance are rebuked, chided, accused. Far be it that that wantonness should still return: listen rather to what wisdom wants to be understood. He sings who commands; he dances who does. What is dancing, if not to be in harmony with the song by the movement of the limbs? What is our song? I will not bring it forth myself; let it not be mine. I am better as a minister than as an author. I tell our song: “Do not love the world, nor the things that are in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him: because all that is in the world is the desire of the flesh, and the desire of the eyes, and the ambition of the world, which is not from the Father but from the world. And the world passes away, and its desire: but whoever does the will of God abides forever, as God also abides forever.”

What a song, my brothers! You have heard the singer; let us hear the dancers: do by the harmony of your conduct what dancers do by the movement of their limbs. Do this within: let your conduct be in harmony. Let greed be rooted out, let love be planted. Whatever comes from that tree is good. Greed can generate nothing good; love nothing evil. And it is said, and it is praised; and no one is changed. Far from it! What I said is not true. The fishermen were changed; afterward very many senators too were changed; Cyprian was changed, whose memory we keep today. He himself writes, he himself testifies, what his life once was, how wicked, how impious, how blameworthy and detestable. He heard the singer: he showed himself dancing, not in body but in mind. He fitted himself to the goodness of the song, he fitted himself to the new song: he fitted himself, loved, persevered, contended, conquered.

And you say: “Troublesome times, heavy times, wretched times are these.” Live well, and you change the times by living well: you change the times, and you have nothing to murmur about. For what are times, my brothers? The spaces and revolutions of the ages. The sun has risen; after twelve hours it has set in another part of the world; the next day in the morning it has risen again and set; count how often: these are the times. Whom has the rising of the sun harmed? Whom has the setting of the sun harmed? So time has harmed no one. Those who are harmed are men; those by whom they are harmed are men. O great grief! Men are harmed, men are robbed, men are oppressed. By whom? Not by lions, not by snakes, not by scorpions, but by men. Those who are harmed grieve. If they could, would they not themselves do what they blame? Then we find a man who used to murmur, when he is able to do that about which he murmured. I praise him, I praise him, if he has not done what he used to accuse.

But, dearly beloved, those who seem powerful in the world, how are they praised when they do less than they can? Scripture has praised such a one: “Who could transgress and did not transgress; who did not go after gold.” Gold ought to go after you, not you after gold. For gold is good. For God created nothing evil. Do not you be evil; and gold is good. See, I set gold between a good man and an evil one. Let the evil man take it: the needy are oppressed, judges are corrupted, laws are perverted, human affairs are thrown into confusion. Why this? Because the evil man took the gold. Let the good man take it: the poor are fed, the naked are clothed, the oppressed are freed, captives are redeemed. How many goods come from the gold that a good man has! How many evils from the gold that an evil man has! Why then do you sometimes say in vexation, “Oh, if only there were no gold!” Do not love gold. If you are evil, you go after gold; if you are good, it goes after you. What is “it goes after you”? You lead, you are not led: because you possess, you are not possessed.

So let us return to the words of holy Scripture: “Who did not go after gold. Who could transgress and did not transgress. Who is this, and we will praise him?” Who is this, or who is this? How many hear it: and who is this? And yet far be it from me to despair that there is someone here, or rather not someone, but some. Far be it from me to despair of the threshing floor of so great a householder. He who sees the threshing floor from afar thinks it only chaff; he who knows how to look finds grain. Where the chaff offends you, there lies hidden a mass of grain. Where what is pounded by threshing offends you, there is what is cleansed by the threshing: it is there, be sure; it is there. Finally, he is sure who sowed, who reaped, who gathered to the threshing floor: he knows that there is that from which the barn will be filled when it has been winnowed. There was some small winnowing in the time of persecution: what grains came out of it? From it flowered the White Mass of Utica; from it so great and choice a grain, here, the most blessed Cyprian. How many rich then despised what they had? How many poor then failed in temptation? See, in that temptation, as in a winnowing, having gold did not harm the rich; what did not having gold profit the poor? The former conquered, the latter fell away.

Good conduct is made only by good loves. Let gold be taken out of human affairs: no, let gold be there, to test human affairs. Let the human tongue be cut out because of the blasphemers of God: and where will the praisers of God come from? What has the tongue done to you? Let there be one who sings well, and the instrument is good. Give a good mind to the tongue: good things are said, the discordant are reconciled, mourners are consoled, the dissolute are rebuked, the angry are restrained; God is praised, Christ is commended, the mind is inflamed to love—but divine, not human; spiritual, not carnal. The tongue does these good things. Why? Because the mind that uses the tongue is good. Give an evil man to the tongue: there will be blasphemers, quarrelers, slanderers, informers. All evils from the tongue, because he who uses the tongue is evil. Let things not be taken out of human affairs: let things be, and let there be the use of good things. For some goods are such as exist only in the good, and other goods are common to the good and the evil. The goods that exist only in the good are piety, faith, justice, chastity, prudence, modesty, love, and the rest of this kind. The goods common to the good and the evil are money, honor, the power of this world, office, health of the body itself. And these are goods, but they seek good people. Now here is that murmurer who always seeks something to blame—and this in God; would that he returned to himself, saw himself, blamed himself, corrected himself: that critic and arguer, then, will soon object to me against God: “And why does God, who governs all things, give these goods to the evil? He should give them only to the good.” Do you expect to hear from me the counsel of God? Who, from whom, and what? Yet according to my own understanding, as far as I grasp it, as far as he deigns to grant, I point out to you what perhaps will not suffice for you, but there is someone here for whom it will suffice. So let me sing: for truly in so great a multitude there cannot fail me someone who will dance. See, hear, wise man—but by contraries: hear. That God gives these goods also to the evil is, if you will understand, your instruction, not God’s perversity. I know you still have not understood what I said: hear, then, what I was saying, you to whom I was saying it, who blame God and accuse God because he gives these earthly and temporal goods also to evil men, which by your judgment you think he ought to have given only to the good. For it is from here that a deadly impiety has crept into some, so that they believe altogether that God does not look upon human affairs. For they say and argue: “If God attended to human affairs, would that man have riches, would that man have honors, would that man have power? God does not care for human affairs: for if he cared, he would give these things only to the good.”

Return to your heart, and from there to God. For you return to God from near at hand if you return to your heart. For when these things offend you, you have gone out even from yourself: you have become an exile from your own breast. You are moved by things that are outside you, and you lose yourself. You are within; these things lie outside; they are goods outside, but they are outside. Gold, silver, all money, clothing, clients, households, cattle, honors are outside. If these lowest goods, earthly goods, temporal goods, passing goods, were not given to the evil too, they would be thought great by the good. So God, who gives these goods to the evil, leads you to desire better ones. See, I say, by this ordering of human affairs God your Father in a way addresses you, and teaches you like a foolish child with these words, which I bring out to you as I can, the more confidently the more he deigns to remain in me. Picture God, who has renewed and adopted you, saying to you: “O son, why is it that every day you rise and pray and bend the knee and strike the ground with your forehead, and sometimes even weep, and say to me: ‘My Father, my God, give me riches’? If I give them to you, you think yourself to have obtained something good and great. Because you asked, you have received: see, do good with it. Before you had it, you were humble: you began to have riches, and you despised the poor. What kind of good is it by which you have become worse? You have become worse because you were evil: and you did not know what could make you worse; that is why you asked these things of me. I gave, and I tested: you found, and you were found out. You were hidden when you did not have. Correct yourself: vomit out greed, drink in love. What great thing is it that you ask of me,” says your God to you? “Do you not see to whom I have given these things? Do you not see to what sort of people I have given them? If what you ask of me were a great good, would the robber have it? Would the faithless have it? Would my blasphemer have it? Would the infamous actor have it? Would the shameless prostitute have it? Would all these have gold, if gold were a great good?” But you say to me: “Is gold not good, then?” No, gold is good. But the evil make evil things from good gold; the good make good things from good gold. “Since, then, you see to whom I have given these things, ask better things of me, ask greater things of me; ask spiritual things of me, ask me myself of me.”

“But evils happen in the world,” you say, “harsh, unclean, hateful things.” It is foul: let it not be loved. See, it is such, and yet it is so loved. The house is in ruins, and you are reluctant to move out. Mothers or nurses, so that boys may not suck too much, when they see them growing big and that it is no longer fitting for them to be fed with milk, yet still gaping troublesomely for the breasts, smear their nipples with something bitter, so that the little one, offended by it, may no longer seek the milk. Why then is it still sucked so delightedly, if the world has become bitter for you? God has filled the world with bitternesses; and you gape, you lean on it, you suck; you take pleasure only from here and there. How long? What if it were sweet? How would it be loved? Do these things offend you? Choose another life. Love God; despise these things. Look down on human affairs, since at some time you are going from here: for you will not be here forever. And yet, such as the world is, evil, bitter, full of calamities, if it had been said to you by God that you would always be here, you could not contain yourself for joy; you would exult, you would give thanks. Why? Because you would not end your misery. That is the greater unhappiness, which forces itself to be loved. It would be less if it were not loved: it is the worse the more it is loved.

Lift up your heart! There is another life, my brothers: there is after this life another life, believe it. Prepare yourselves for it: despise all present things. If you have them, do good with them; if you do not have them, do not burn with greed. Migrate; send things on ahead of you: let what you have here go where you will follow. Hear the counsel of your Lord: “Do not store up for yourselves on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves dig through and steal; but store up for yourselves treasure in heaven, where no thief approaches, where no moth corrupts. For where your treasure is, there is your heart also.” You hear every day, faithful man, “Lift up your heart”; and as if you heard the contrary, you sink your heart into the earth. Migrate. Do you have the means? Do good. Do you not have the means? Do not murmur against God. Hear me, O poor: what do you not have, if you have God? Hear me, O rich: what do you have, if you do not have God?