Homilies on 1 Timothy 18.1–18.2

“I charge you before God, who gives life to all things, and Christ Jesus, who in his testimony before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, to keep the commandment unstained and blameless until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ, which he will display at the proper time, he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen.”

Again he calls God to witness, as he did a little before, at once increasing Timothy’s fear and making the disciple more secure, and showing that the commands are not human, so that he may receive the charge as from the Master himself, and, keeping the witness always in mind from the time he heard it, may guard his mind by remembering. “I charge you,” he says, “before God, who gives life to all things.” Here there is both encouragement in the face of dangers and a reminder of the resurrection. “And Christ Jesus,” he says, “who testified before Pontius Pilate.” Again the exhortation is drawn from the Teacher. What he says is this: as he did, so you too must do. This is why he bore witness, that we might follow in his footsteps in the good confession; as he does in the letter to the Hebrews too, saying, “Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God”; and again, “Consider him who endured such hostility from sinners against himself, so that you may not grow weary and lose heart.” He does the same now toward his disciple, as if he said: Do not fear death, for you are the servant of the God who can give life to all things.

What good confession does he mean? That when Pilate asked, “So you are a king?” he said, “For this I was born”; and again, “I came to bear witness to the truth”; and, “See, these heard me.” He says it either for this reason, or because, when asked whether he was the Son of God, he said, “You say that I am the Son of God.” And he bore witness and made confession in many other things. “To keep the commandment unstained and blameless until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ”: that is, until your end, until your departure. But he did not say so; he said “until the appearing,” so as to rouse him the more. What is “to keep the commandment unstained”? To contract no stain either in doctrine or in life.

“Which he will display at the proper time,” he says, “he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light.” Of whom is this said? Of the Father? Of the Son? Of the Son, certainly. “Which he will display at the proper time, the blessed and only Sovereign.” And this again is for comfort, so that Timothy may neither admire nor fear the kings here. “At the proper time,” that is, at the fitting and appointed time, so that he may not be distressed that it has not yet happened. And how is it clear that he will display it? From his being Sovereign; for he alone is Sovereign. So the blessed one will display it, blessedness itself. He says this to show that there is nothing grievous there, nothing unpleasant. “Only” he says either in contrast to human beings, or because he is unbegotten; as we too often say of people whom we wish to single out. “Who alone has immortality,” he says. What then? Does the Son not have it? Is he not immortality itself? And how could he not, being of the same substance as the Father? “Who dwells in unapproachable light,” he says. Is the light one thing, and he who dwells in it another? Is he then contained in a place? Far from it. It is not that we should understand this; but to set forth the incomprehensibility of the divine nature he said that he dwells in unapproachable light, speaking of God as far as it was possible for him. Do you see how the tongue grows weak when it wishes to say something great? “Whom no one has seen,” he says, “nor can see”; just as no one has seen or can see the Son. “To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen.” Well and necessarily did he speak of God here. Since he brought him in as witness, he says much about the witness, so as to put the disciple in greater awe. That is, glory to him: this alone we can say, this alone we can do, and not pry into what he is. If, then, his dominion is eternal, do not fear; even if the appearing does not happen now, honor is always his, dominion always his.

“As for the rich in the present age, charge them not to be haughty.” Well did he say “in the present age”; for there are other rich people in the age to come. He gives this advice knowing that nothing so breeds conceit, folly, and boastfulness as money. Then at once he brought them down, saying, “nor to set their hope on the uncertainty of riches”; from this comes the folly, whereas one who hopes in God is not lifted up. Why do you set your hope on what shifts in a moment? For such is wealth. And how can you set your hope on something about which one cannot be confident? How, someone asks, will they be able not to be haughty? If they see that wealth is unstable and insecure; if they see that the hope that comes from God is greater than wealth; if they see that God is the cause of this very wealth too. “But on God,” he says, “the living one, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy.” Well did he say “everything richly,” hinting at the yearly seasons, the air, the light, the water, and everything else. Do you see how richly he provides, and with what great abundance? If you seek wealth, seek that which remains, which is secure, which comes from good works. Showing this, he says: “to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous, sharing”: generous with money, sharing in love. By “sharing” he means sociable and gentle. “Storing up for themselves a good foundation for the future.” There nothing is uncertain; and where the foundation is secure, nothing is unstable; “so that they may take hold,” he says, “of eternal life.” For the doing of good works can win us the enjoyment of that life. “O Timothy, guard the deposit.” Do not diminish it; it is not yours, he says, but another’s. “Avoid the profane chatter and the contradictions of what is falsely called knowledge.”

Well did he say so. For when there is no faith, there is no knowledge; when something is born of one’s own reasonings, it is not knowledge. Or perhaps he says this because some at that time called themselves Gnostics, as knowing more about the faith; by professing it some have missed the mark. Do you see how again he commands him not even to come to grips with such people? “Turning away,” he says, “from the contradictions.” So there are contradictions to which one ought not even to reply. Why? Because they drive people out of the faith, because they do not let them stand firm or be fixed. Let us not, then, hold to them, but to the faith, the unbreakable rock. Neither rivers nor winds falling upon us will be able to harm us; for we stand unshaken upon the rock.

So too in this life: if we choose that true foundation, again we stand firm and suffer nothing terrible. One who chooses that wealth, that good repute, that glory, that honor, that pleasure, will suffer nothing terrible: all of those are secure and admit no change; all things here are altered and subject to turning; everything changes. What do you want? Glory? “His glory will not go down after him,” it says; and often it does not even stay with him while he lives. But the things of virtue are not so; they all remain. One who is glorious here because of his office becomes a nobody when another succeeds to the office, one of the governed; the rich man, when robbers attack, or informers and plotters, suddenly becomes poor. But our things are not so. If the self-controlled man attends to himself, no one will be able to take away his self-control; no one will make the man who rules and masters himself a private person or a subject. That this rule is greater than the other, learn by examining it. What use is it, tell me, to rule whole nations and be a slave of the passions? What harm is it to rule no one and be above the tyranny of the passions? This is freedom, this is rule, this is kingship and power; those things are slavery, even if one is wrapped in countless diadems. When the crowd of masters rules within him (love of money, I mean, love of pleasure, anger, and the other passions), what use is the diadem? The tyranny of the passions is greater when not even the crown can rescue a man from this subjection. It is as if a king fell among barbarians and became a slave, and they, wishing to show their power to be greater, took away neither his purple nor his diadem, but commanded him, wearing them, to carry water and cook and do every other service, so that their honor and his shame might be the greater. So too now: the passions lord it over us more harshly than any barbarian. One who despises them will laugh at the barbarians too; but one who bows to them will suffer far worse than from barbarians. The barbarian, at his most powerful, maltreats the body; but these passions torture the soul, tearing it on every side. The barbarian, at his most powerful, hands one over to this death; but they to the death to come. So he alone is free who has his freedom from within, just as he is a slave who bows to the irrational passions.

No master, however harsh, gives such cruel and harsh commands. “Shame your soul,” it says, “idly and for nothing; offend God; disregard nature itself; even if it is your father, even if your mother, have no respect; stand against them.” Such are the commands of the love of money. “Sacrifice to me,” it says, “not calves, but men.” The prophet says, “Sacrifice men, for the calves have failed”; but the love of money does not say this; while there are calves, it says, “Sacrifice men; slaughter those who have done no wrong; even if you have received kindness, kill.” Again: “Be hostile; go about as the common enemy of all, of nature itself and of God; gather gold, not to enjoy it but to guard it, so as to make your torment greater.” For the lover of money cannot enjoy his money; he is afraid that the gold may be diminished, that his treasures may grow poor. “Stay awake,” it says, “hold everyone in suspicion, servants and friends; be the guard of what belongs to others. If you see a poor man perishing of hunger, give him nothing; rather, if possible, strip off his very skin. Even if you must walk into fire, do not refuse; even if you must undergo countless deaths, perish of hunger, wrestle with disease.” Does not the love of money lay down these laws? “Be reckless and shameless, impudent and bold, foul and wicked, unfeeling, insensible, friendless, implacable, without natural affection, a beast rather than a man. Surpass every snake in bitterness, every wolf in rapacity; outdo even the savagery of their nature; even if you must reach the wickedness of a demon, do not refuse; disregard your benefactor.” Does it not say these things, and is it not obeyed? But God says the opposite: “Be a friend to all, be gentle, loved by all; offend no one idly and for nothing; honor your father, honor your mother; enjoy a good name; be not a man but an angel; say nothing shameless, nothing false; do not seek to have things by robbery; be neither insolent nor bold.” And no one listens.

Is not Gehenna just, then? Is not the fire deserved? The worm that never ends? How long shall we hurl ourselves over cliffs? How long walk on thorns? How long pierce ourselves with nails and be grateful for it? We submit to cruel tyrants and refuse the gentle Master, who says nothing burdensome, nothing barbarous, nothing heavy, nothing useless, but everything useful and profitable and of great benefit to us. … let us gather ourselves together, let us love God as we ought, so that we may be counted worthy of the good things promised to those who love him, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, power, honor, now and always, and to the ages of ages. Amen.