Homilies on 2 Corinthians 4.1

“[But] I call God as witness against my soul that it was to spare you that I did not come again to Corinth.” What are you saying, blessed Paul? You did not come to Corinth in order to spare them? Then you bring a contradiction into the discussion here. For above you said that you did not come because you do not plan according to the flesh, and are not your own master, but are led about everywhere by the authority of the Spirit, and you brought your afflictions into the midst; but here you say that not coming was your own doing, no longer a matter of the Spirit’s authority; for you say, “It was to spare you that I did not come to Corinth.” What then can be said? Either that this too was of the Spirit, and that Paul himself wished to come, but the Spirit suggested that he not come, putting forward the sparing of them as the reason; or else he speaks of another visit, showing that before he wrote the first letter he wished to come and held himself back out of love, so as not to arrive while they were still uncorrected. It is likely too that after the second letter, when the Spirit no longer prevented him, he stayed of his own accord for this reason. One may rather suppose that at the beginning the Spirit prevented him, but later he himself, reckoning that this was better, stayed. But notice, I pray you, how he again mentions himself—which I shall never cease to point out continually—commending himself from the very things that seem against him. Since it was likely that they would suspect this too and say, “You did not want to come because you hated us,” he shows the opposite: that he did not want to come because he loved them.

What is “to spare you”? “I heard,” he says, “that some among you committed sexual immorality; so I did not want to come and grieve you. For if I had been present I would have had to investigate the matter, to proceed against it, to punish, and to exact a penalty from many. I thought it better, then, to be absent and give room for repentance, than to be present and proceed against you and so provoke you the more.” Toward the end of the letter he hinted at this clearly, saying, “I fear that when I come my God may humble me before you, and I may mourn over many of those who sinned before and have not repented of the licentiousness and impurity that they practiced.” This, then, he indicates here too; and he speaks as if defending himself, while in fact he rebukes them most sharply and frightens them. For he hinted that they were liable to punishment and would suffer something if they were not quickly corrected. This again he says at the end of the letter: “If I come again I will not spare.” But there he says it more plainly; here, since this was the opening, he does not say it so, but in a guarded way. Nor is he content with this, but he soothes this very word again … [the word “spare”] shows great authority (for one spares those whom he has power to punish), so softening this very word and what seemed harsh: “[Not that we lord it over] your faith.” That is, “I did not say, ‘It was to spare you that I did not come,’ as one who lords it over you.” And he did not say “over you” but “over your faith,” which was both milder and truer. For who has power to force one who does not wish to believe? “But we are fellow workers for your joy.” “For since your joy is ours,” he says, “I did not come, so as not to throw you into grief and increase my own dejection; but I stayed, so that, corrected by the threat, you might rejoice. For we do everything for your joy, and we are eager for it, since we too share in it.” “For you stand by faith.” See again how guardedly he speaks. For he fears to touch them again, since he had struck at them sharply in the first letter and they had shown some change; and it would have upset them if, having changed, they again endured the same rebuke. That is why this letter is much milder than the first.

“But I determined this for myself, not to come to you again in sorrow.” “Again” shows that he had already been grieved by them; and while seeming to defend himself, he touches them without their noticing. And if they had already grieved him, and were going to grieve him again, consider how much unpleasantness was likely to arise. But he does not say, “You grieved me”; he handles the statement differently, hinting at the same thing and saying, “I did not come for this reason, so as not to grieve you”; which has the same force as what I said, but is more acceptable. “For if I grieve you, who is there to make me glad but the one whom I grieve?” What sort of sequence is this? A very close one indeed. Consider: “I did not wish to come to you,” he says, “so as not to grieve you more, rebuking, being indignant, turning away from you.” Then, since this too was severe and contained an accusation against them, if they were going to behave so as to grieve Paul, he uses a correction and says, “For if I grieve you, who is there to make me glad but the one whom I grieve?” What he means is this: “Even if I was going to be in sorrow, compelled to rebuke you and see you grieved, yet this very thing gladdened me. For it is the greatest proof of love that I am worth so much to you that I can sting you by turning away.” [3.] And see his understanding. What belonged to the very duty of disciples, to be pained and to feel it when they are rebuked, he presents as a favor they are doing him. “For no one gladdens me so much,” he says, “as the one who turns at my words and grieves when he sees me angry.” And yet the consistent thing to say would have been, “For if I grieve you, who is there that can gladden you?” But he does not say this; he turns it round again, tending them and saying, “Even if I grieve you, you do me the greatest favor in this, that you are stung by what I say.”

“And I wrote this very thing to you.” What thing? That “I did not come for this reason, to spare you.” When did he write it? In the first letter, when he said, “I do not want to see you now just in passing”? I do not think so, but in this very letter, when he said, “… lest when I come again my God humble me before you.” “I wrote this very thing,” he says, “toward the end: ‘lest when I come my God humble me.’” And why did you write it? “So that when I came I might not have sorrow from those who ought to make me rejoice, being confident in all of you that my joy is the joy of you all.” For since … this was rather self-willed and harsh, he turned it round again in another way and made it gentler by what he added. “For this reason,” he says, “I wrote to you beforehand, so that I might not find you in pain, uncorrected. That is why I said, ‘so that I may not be grieved,’ looking not to my own interest but to yours. For I know that if you see me rejoicing you rejoice, and if you see me [grieving] you are pained.” See, then, the sequence of what has been said from the beginning; for so the argument will be easier for us to follow. “I did not come,” he says, “so as not to grieve you, finding you uncorrected. And I did this looking not to my own interest but to yours. For when you are grieved I have no small pleasure, when I see you caring so much for me that you are grieved and pained when I am indignant: ‘For who is there to make me glad but the one whom I grieve?’ Yet even though I feel so, since I look to your interest, I wrote this very thing to you, ‘so that I may not be grieved’; and in this again I look not to my own interest but to yours. For I know that you too would be grieved to see me pained, just as you rejoice to see me rejoicing.” Consider, then, his understanding. He said, “I did not come so as not to grieve you”—“and yet I am gladdened,” he says. Then, so as not to seem to be gladdened when they are pained, he says, “I rejoice in this respect, in so far as I touch you; for in another respect I am grieved, when I am compelled to grieve those who love me so, not only by rebuking them, but because I myself am in sorrow and so grieve you again.” And see how he puts it with praise too, saying, “from those who ought to make me rejoice.” For this is the language of one who bears witness to true kinship and great affection, as if someone spoke of sons who had received many benefits and for whom he had labored. “If, then, I write for this reason and do not come, I do not come out of some great design, not hating you or turning away from you, but loving you greatly.”

Then, since he had said that the one who grieves gladdens, so that they might not say, “So this is what you are eager for, to be gladdened and to show everyone how much power you have?” he added, “For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you with many tears, not to grieve you, but that you might know the love that I have especially for you.” What is more affectionate than this soul? For he shows himself pained not less than those who had sinned, but far more. For he says not only “out of affliction,” but “out of much”; nor “tears,” but “with many tears and anguish of heart,” that is, “… and no longer bearing the cloud of dejection, I wrote to you, not that you should be grieved, but that you might know the love,” he says, “that I have especially for you.” Yet the consistent thing would have been to say, “not that you should be grieved, but that you might be corrected”; for that is why he wrote. But he does not say this; rather, sweetening his words and drawing them into greater affection, he puts this in place of that, showing that he does everything from love. And he does not simply say “love,” but “that I have especially for you.” For he wishes to draw them in this way too, by showing that he loves them more than all and is disposed toward them as toward chosen disciples. That is why he says, “If I am not an apostle to others, at least I am to you”; and, “Though you have many tutors, you do not have many fathers”; and again, “We conducted ourselves in the grace of God in the world, and more especially toward you”; and further on he says, “Though I love you the more, am I to be loved the less?”; and here, “the love that I have especially for you.”

[4.] So even if my words were full of anger, the anger came from much love and pain. And in writing … not only …, but because I was compelled to grieve you. And this too came from love; as one who has a true-born son with a festering sore, and is compelled to cut and cauterize, suffers on both counts, both because the son is sick and because he is compelled to cut him. So what you think is a sign of hating you was a sign of loving you greatly. And if grieving you came from love, much more being gladdened when you are grieved. Having defended himself, then (and he defends himself in many places and is not ashamed; for if God does this, saying, “My people, what have I done to you?”, much more Paul), having defended himself, then, and being about to pass on to the plea for the man who had committed sexual immorality, so that they might not be confused as though being ordered to do the opposite, and be contentious, since it was he who had then been angry and now bade them release the man, see how he prepared the way for it both by what he had said and by what he would say. For what does he say? “But if anyone has caused grief, he has not grieved me.” Having first praised them as rejoicing and grieving over the same things as he, he then launches into the discussion of this matter, saying first, “My joy is the joy of you all.” And if my joy is the joy of you all, [it is right that you rejoice] with me now too, just as you were pained with me then. For by what you grieved over you gladdened me; and by what you now rejoice over, if you are pleased, you will do the same. And he did not say, “My grief is the grief of you all,” but, having established this elsewhere, he now set down only what he needed, the joy, saying, “My joy is the joy of you all.” Then he recalls the former events too, saying, “But if anyone has caused grief, he has not grieved me, but in some measure, not to burden you all.” “I know,” he says, “that you were angry and indignant with me at the man who committed sexual immorality, and what happened grieved all of you in part. I said ‘in part,’ not because you were pained less than I, but so as not to burden that man who committed the sin. So he grieved not me only, but you equally; and to spare him I said ‘in some measure.’” Do you see how he at once relaxed their anger, by showing that they had shared in the indignation?

“For such a one this punishment by the majority is enough.” And he does not say “for the man who committed sexual immorality,” but again “for such a one,” as in the first letter; but not for the same reason: there out of shame, here out of mercy. That is why from now on he nowhere mentions the sin; for it was a time for pleading. “So that on the contrary you should rather forgive and comfort him, lest such a one be swallowed up by excessive sorrow.” He bids them not only to remove the punishment, but also to restore him to his former state. For if one merely releases a man who has been scourged and does not heal him, he has done nothing. But see how he checks that man again too, so that he may not become worse through the pardon. For even though he had confessed and repented, he shows that he receives the forgiveness not so much from his repentance as from the gift. That is why he says, “forgive and comfort.” And what follows shows the same thing again. For it is not because he is worthy, nor because he has shown sufficient repentance, but because he is weak, that he says, “I beseech you”; that is why he added, “lest such a one be swallowed up by excessive sorrow.” This was also to bear him witness of great repentance, and not to let him come to despair. What is “swallowed up”? Either by doing what Judas did, or by becoming worse while still alive. “For if he breaks away,” he says, “through not bearing the pain of an intensified rebuke any longer, often in despair he will go either to the noose or to greater wickedness from then on. We must therefore act beforehand, so that the wound may not become worse, nor may we lose by excess what we have achieved.” He said this, as I said already, both to check that man and to teach him not to become more careless after the forgiveness. “For I received him,” he means, “not as one completely washed clean, but as one fearing that he might do something worse.” From this we learn that penance must be fixed not only by the nature of the sins but also by the disposition and habit of those who sin; which is what the apostle did then. For he feared the man’s weakness, and that is why he said, “lest he be swallowed up,” as by a beast, as by a storm, as by a surge.

“So I beseech you.” He no longer commands but beseeches, not as a teacher but as an equal; and having seated them on the judges’ bench, he set himself in the rank of an advocate. For since he had achieved what he wanted, he uses supplication insatiably for joy. And what is it you beseech, tell me? “To confirm your love for him”; that is, to make it firm, not to receive him casually and as it may happen. This again bears witness to their very great virtue: that those who had loved and applauded the man so much as to be puffed up turned away from him so completely that Paul had to labor so hard to kindle their love for him again. This is the virtue of disciples, this the virtue of teachers: that they were so docile, and that he governed them so well. If this happened now too, sinners would not offend so insensibly. For one must neither love without discrimination nor turn away without some reason.

“For this is why I wrote to you, to know your proven character, whether you are obedient in everything,” not only in cutting off but also in joining again. Do you see how here too he sets the contest about them? For as, when the man sinned, he made them anxious lest they fail to cut him off, saying, “A little leaven leavens the whole lump,” and much else, so here again he sets before them the fear of disobedience, all but saying, “As then you had to take counsel not for him but for yourselves, so now too you must take counsel not for him more than for yourselves, lest you seem contentious and inhuman, and not obedient in everything.” That is why he says, “For this is why I wrote to you, to know your proven character, whether you are obedient in everything.” For the former might have seemed to come even from envy and malice; but this shows above all that obedience is pure, and whether you are fit for kindness. For this belongs to fair-minded disciples: to obey not only in those things but also when bidden the opposite. That is why he said “in everything,” showing that if they did not obey, they would condemn not him so much as themselves; [he said] this to push them toward being persuaded from this side too. That is why he says, “For this is why I wrote to you,” although he did not write for this reason; but he says so to draw them, for the main purpose was that man’s salvation. But where nothing is harmed, he gratifies them too. By saying “in everything” he again brought obedience into the midst.

“Anyone whom you forgive, I forgive too.” Do you see how again he gives himself the second place, showing them as leading and himself as following? This is to soften a mind that has grown harsh, this is to dissolve contentiousness. Then, so that they might not become careless as being masters, and refuse to release the man, he again presses them to it, saying that he himself had forgiven: “For what I have forgiven, if I have forgiven anything, has been for your sake.” “For this very thing I did for your sake,” he says. And as, when he bade them deliver him up, he did not let them be masters of forgiving him, saying, “I have already judged to deliver such a one to Satan,” and again made them partners in the verdict without their noticing, saying, “when you are assembled, to deliver him up,” so contriving two very great things—that the sentence was passed, and that it was not passed without them, so as not to seem to strike them in this way; he neither pronounces it alone, so that they might not think him self-willed and themselves slighted, nor entrusts the whole to them, so that, becoming masters, they might not betray the sinner by forgiving him out of season—so he does here too, saying, “I have already forgiven, I who in the first letter have already judged.” Then, so that they might not be hurt as though slighted, he says, “for your sake.” What then? Did he pardon to please men? No; that is why he added, “in the presence of Christ.” What is “in the presence of Christ”? Either “according to God,” he says, or “for the glory of Christ.” “So that we may not be outwitted by Satan; for we are not ignorant of his designs.” Do you see how he both entrusts the authority to them and takes it away again, so as to soften them by the one and cut off their self-will by the other? And not only this from here, but also to show that the harm would be common if they disobeyed, which he did at the beginning too. For then he said, “A little leaven leavens the whole lump”; and here again, “So that we may not be outwitted by Satan.” And everywhere he makes the forgiveness both his and theirs.

[5.] Consider from the beginning: “But if anyone has caused grief,” he says, “he has not grieved me, but in some measure, not to burden you all”; then again, “For such a one this punishment by the majority is enough.” This is his verdict and judgment. But he did not stop at his verdict; he makes them partners again, saying, “So that on the contrary you should rather forgive and comfort him. So I beseech you to confirm your love for him.” Having again made the whole theirs, he passes over to his own authority, saying, “For this is why I wrote to you, to know your proven character, whether you are obedient in everything.” Then again he makes the forgiveness theirs, saying, “Anyone whom you forgive”; then his own, saying, “I too; for what I have forgiven, if I have forgiven anything, has been for your sake”; then both theirs and his: “For I too,” he says, “if I have forgiven anything, for your sake in the presence of Christ,” either for the glory of Christ, or as if Christ too commanded this; which persuaded them most of all. For from then on they were afraid not to forgive a thing that passed into his glory and pleased him. Then again he sets down the common harm if they disobeyed, saying, “So that we may not be outwitted by Satan,” rightly calling it outwitting; for he no longer takes what is his own but snatches what is ours. “And do not tell me only that this man becomes the prey of the beast; consider this too, that the number of the flock is reduced, and especially now, when it can recover what it lost.” “For we are not ignorant of his designs”: that he destroys even under a pretext of piety. For he can destroy not only by leading into sexual immorality, but also from the opposite, by immoderate grief over repentance. When, then, he takes ours along with his own, when he destroys by bidding men sin, and snatches them away when we bid them repent, how is the thing not outwitting? For it is not enough for him to cast down through sin; he does this through repentance too, if we are not sober. That is why he rightly called it outwitting, when he prevails even through what is ours. For to take men through sin is his own; but through repentance is not; for that weapon is ours, not his. When, then, he is able to take men even from there, consider how shameful the defeat is, how he will mock and assail us as weak and wretched, if he is to subdue us with our own weapons. For it is utterly ridiculous and the height of shame that he should make wounds with our own medicines. That is why he said, “For we are not ignorant of his designs,” displaying his variety, his deceit, his wicked contrivance, his villainy, his doing harm under a pretext of piety.

Considering these things, then, let us never despise anyone, and never despair when we sin; nor again, being careless, let us simply put forward words. For I know many who say they mourn their sins but do nothing great. They fast and wear rough garments, but they long for money more than tradesmen, they are captured by anger more than beasts, and they delight in slander more than others do in praise. This is not repentance; it is an image of repentance and only a shadow, not repentance. That is why with these too it is well to say, “Take care that we are not outwitted by Satan; for we are not ignorant of his designs.” For some he destroys through sins, others through repentance, and these again in another way, by letting them reap no fruit from repentance. For since he did not find a way to destroy them directly, he came by another road, increasing their labors but taking away the fruits, and persuading them, as if they had achieved everything, to neglect the rest. So that we may not beat ourselves in vain, let us say a few words to such women; for this disease belongs above all to women. What you are doing now is good—fasting, sleeping on the ground, ashes; but when the other things are not present, there is no profit in these. God has shown how he forgives sins; why then do you leave that road and cut another for yourselves? The Ninevites once sinned, and they did these things that you are doing now; but let us see what helped them. As with the sick, the doctors apply many things, but the sensible man does not consider that the patient did this and that, but what helped him; so here too we must consider what helped those barbarians. They applied fasting to their wounds, and a severe fast; they applied sleeping on the ground, putting on sackcloth, ashes, and lamentations; they applied a change of life too. [6.] Let us see, then, which of these made them well. “And how shall we know?” someone says. If we go to the physician, if we ask him; for he will not hide it from us, but will tell us gladly. Or rather, so that no one may be ignorant or need to ask, he has written down the medicine that raised them up. What then is it? “God saw,” it says, “that each turned from his evil way, and he repented of the evil that he had said he would do to them.” He did not say, “He saw fasting and sackcloth and ashes.” And I do not say this to do away with fasting—God forbid—but urging you to do what is better than fasting: to abstain from all wickedness. David too sinned; let us see how he too repented. He sat on ashes for three days. But he did this not for the sin but for the child, still drunk with grief; the sin he wiped away otherwise: by humility, by contrition of heart, by compunction of soul, by not falling into the same things again, by remembering it continually, by bearing thankfully everything that came upon him, by sparing those who grieved him, by not taking revenge on those who plotted against him, and even by restraining those who wished to do so. When Shimei poured countless reproaches upon him, and the general who was present was indignant, he said, “Let him curse me, for the Lord has bidden him.” For he had a broken and humbled heart, which above all wiped away his sins; for this is confession, this is repentance. But if we fast and are boastful, not only do we gain nothing, we are harmed. Humble your heart, then, you too, so that you may draw God to you: “For the Lord is near to the brokenhearted.” Do you not see in splendid houses those who have been disgraced, how they do not answer back even when lesser servants insult them, but bear it because of the disgrace that sin has put upon them? Do so yourself: if someone abuses you, do not grow savage, but groan—not at the insult, but at the sin that cast you into disgrace. Groan when you sin, not because you will be punished—for that is nothing—but because you have offended your Master, who is so gentle, who loves you so, who hangs so upon your salvation that he gave up even his Son for you. Groan for these reasons, and do this continually; for this is confession. Do not be cheerful now, gloomy tomorrow, then cheerful again; but remain always in mourning and in breaking yourself. “For blessed,” he says, “are those who mourn,” that is, those who do this continually. Continue doing this always, attending to yourself and breaking your heart, as one would mourn who had lost a true-born son. “Rend your hearts,” it says, “and not your garments.” What has been rent cannot be puffed up; what is broken cannot rise up. That is why one says, “Rend,” and the other says, “A broken and humbled heart God will not despise.” Even if you are wise, or rich, or powerful, rend your heart; do not let it be proud or puffed up. For what has been rent does not swell; even if something lifts it, it cannot hold the swelling because it has been rent. So you too be humble. Consider that the tax collector was justified by one word; and yet that was not even humility, but a true confession. If this has such power, how much more humility? Forgive the sins of those who have offended against you; for this too forgives sins. Of the former it says, “I saw that he went about gloomy, and I healed his ways”; and in the case of Ahab too this loosed God’s wrath; of the second, “and it will be forgiven you.” There is another road again that brings us this medicine: the condemnation of our offenses: “Declare your iniquities first, that you may be justified.” And giving thanks when one suffers ill looses sins; and almsgiving, greater than all. Count, then, the medicines that heal your wounds, and apply them all continually: humility, confession, not bearing grudges, giving thanks when you suffer ill, showing mercy by money and by deeds, praying persistently. So the widow appeased the cruel and harsh judge. If she appeased the unjust one, much more will you appease the gentle one. With these there is yet another road: standing up for those who are wronged. “Judge,” it says, …