Homilies on 2 Timothy 9.1–9.3

“All Scripture is inspired by God and [profitable for] teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, [equipped] for every [good] work.” Having given much encouragement and consolation from every source, he adds also the consolation from the Scriptures, which is more complete; and with good reason he gives so much encouragement, since he was about to say something great and painful. For if Elisha, who was with his teacher to his last breath and saw him taken away in a manner of death, tore his clothes, what do you think this man suffered, who was so loved and so loving, when he heard that his teacher was about to die, and that he had not even enjoyed his company in the time near his death, which above all things usually grieves people? For we are not so grateful for the time that is past, if we are left out of the time near the death of those who die. That is why, after giving much encouragement, he then speaks of his own death; and not simply, but he uses words able to console him and fill him with joy, so that the thing would be thought a sacrifice rather than a death, or rather a journey abroad—as indeed it was—and a removal to better things. “For I am already being poured out,” he says. That is why he wrote, “All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction.” All—which? The Scripture of which I spoke, he says, all that is sacred: the Scripture he was speaking of, of which he said, “From infancy you have known the sacred writings.” All such Scripture, then, is inspired by God. So doubt nothing, he says. “And profitable for … that the man of God may be complete, equipped for every good work.” “For teaching”: if there is anything we need to learn, or anything we need to be ignorant of, we shall know it from there; if we need to refute falsehoods, this too from there; if we need to be corrected and brought to our senses, for encouragement, for consolation, he says. “For correction”: that is, if anything is lacking and needs to be added. “That the man of God may be complete.” This is why, he says, the encouragement of the Scriptures was given: that the man of God may be complete. So it is not possible to become complete without it. In my place, he says, you have the Scriptures; if you wish to learn anything, you will be able to learn it from them. And if he wrote this to Timothy, who was filled with the Spirit, how much more does it apply to us? “Equipped for every good work.” Not simply sharing in it, he says, but with exactness … “I charge you before God and the Lord Jesus Christ, who is to judge the living and the dead.” He means either sinners and righteous, or both those who have departed and those now living, since many will be left alive. He made him afraid in the former letter too, saying, “I charge you before God, who gives life to all things”; but here he has set down something more fearful: “who is to judge the living and the dead,” that is, who is to demand an account. “By his appearing and his kingdom.” To judge—when? “At his appearing,” the appearing with glory, with the kingdom. He means either this, that he will not come as he did now, or that … “I charge you by his appearing and his kingdom.” He calls him as witness, showing that he had reminded him of this too. Then, teaching how one must preach the word: “[Preach the word; be ready] in season, [out of season; reprove, rebuke,] exhort with all patience and teaching.” What does “in season, out of season” mean? That is: do not keep to a fixed time; let it always be the time for you; not only in peace, not only in security, nor only when sitting in church; even in dangers, even if you are in prison, even if you wear a chain, even if you are about to go out to death, at that very moment reprove; do not shrink from rebuking. For the rebuke too has its proper time then, when the reproof has gone before, when the deed has been proved. “Exhort,” he says. As with doctors: having shown the wound, he applied the knife, then added the remedy; and if any of these is left out, the rest becomes useless. For if you rebuke without proofs, you will seem rash, and no one will put up with it; but after the proof has been given, a man accepts the rebuke too, while before it he will be insolent. And if you reprove and rebuke, and vehemently, but do not add exhortation, again everything is overturned. For reproof by itself is unbearable when it does not have exhortation mixed in with it. As with the knife: though it saves, if there are not many things to soothe the pain, the sick man will not bear being cut and lanced; so it is here too. “And with all patience,” he says, “and teaching.” For the one who reproves needs patience, so as not to believe a charge too readily, and the rebuke needs exhortation, so as to be accepted. What is it that he adds to patience when he says, “and teaching”? Not as one who is angry, not as one who hates, not as one who tramples on another, not as one who has found an enemy—let all these things be put away; but how? As one who loves, as one who shares the pain, as one who mourns more than the other does, as one who is wasting away over the other's troubles. “With all patience,” he says, “and teaching,” not with an ordinary patience. “For the time will come when they will not endure sound teaching” … all of them; that is why he said, “in season and out of season”: do everything so as to have them as willing disciples. “But according to their own desires,” he says, “they will heap up teachers for themselves.”

Nothing is more expressive than this word; for by “heap up” he showed the indiscriminate crowd of teachers, and by … teachers, “having itching ears”: looking for teachers who speak to give pleasure and who delight the ear. “And they will turn away their ears from the truth and turn aside to myths.” He foretells these things not because he wishes to throw him into despondency, but so that when it happens he may bear it nobly; as Christ too did, saying, “They will hand you over, and scourge you, and lead you into the synagogues for my name's sake.” And elsewhere too this blessed man says, “For I know this, that after my departure fierce wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock.” He said these things so that they might be sober, so that they might use the present time as they ought. “But you,” he says, “be sober in all things; endure suffering.” Do you see that this is why he foretells these things? For Christ too said near the end, “There will be false christs and false prophets”; so this man too said these things when he was about to depart. “But you, be sober in all things. Endure suffering”: that is, toil, take precautions; before that ruin comes, put the sheep in safety; until the wolves are present, endure suffering everywhere. “Do the work [of an evangelist].” So this is the work of an evangelist: to endure suffering both from himself and from those outside. “Fulfil your ministry,” that is, fill it up. Here is another necessity for enduring suffering: “For I am already being poured out,” he says, “and the time of my departure has come.” He did not say, “of my sacrifice,” but something more. For of a sacrifice not all is offered up to God, but of a libation the whole. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.” Often, taking the apostle in hand and examining this passage, I remained perplexed as to why Paul speaks so grandly, saying, “I have fought the good fight.” But now I think I have found the reason, by God's grace. Why, then, does he say these things? He wishes to console the disciple's despondency, bidding him take courage, since Paul is going to receive a crown, since he has accomplished everything … one must rejoice, he says, not grieve. Why? “I have fought the good fight.” It is as if a father were to console his child sitting beside him and unable to bear being orphaned, saying, “Child, do not weep; we have lived well; we have reached old age and are leaving you; our life has been blameless; we depart with glory; you too can be admired for what we have done; the emperor owes us many favours.” As if he said, “We have set up trophies, [we have defeated] the enemies …”: [so Paul consoles] the child, and by these praises trains him to bear lightly what has happened, to have good hopes, and not to think the thing a burden. For separation is terrible, terrible; hear him saying, “But we, having been orphaned from you for a short time, in presence, not in heart.” If, then, he himself suffered such things when separated from his disciples, what do you think Timothy suffered? If Timothy wept when separated from him while he lived, so that Paul says, “remembering your tears, that I may be filled with joy,” how much more when he died? He wrote these things, then, to console him; and the whole letter is full of consolation, and is like a kind of testament. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course,” he says, “I have kept the faith.” “The good fight,” he says. So you too must lay hold of it. Where there is a chain, where there are bonds, where there is death, is this a good fight? Yes, he says, for it is fought for Christ; it has great crowns. “The good fight.” Nothing is better than this contest, whose end is this crown. It is not made of wild olive; it does not have a man as president of the games, nor men as spectators: the theatre is made up of angels. There, men labour and toil many days, and receive the crown in one hour, and at once the pleasure flies away; but here it is not so: it is forever in splendour, in glory, in honour. So one must rejoice; for I am going to my rest; I am leaving the stadium. You have heard that “to depart and be with Christ is better.” “I have finished the course.” For one must both contend and run: contend by enduring afflictions, and run, not aimlessly, but toward something useful. Truly good is the contest that does not merely delight the spectator but benefits him; and the course that does not lead to nothing, nor is a display of strength and ambition, but draws everyone to heaven. This course that Paul ran on earth is purer than the one the sun runs in heaven. How? … beginning from Galilee and from Arabia, and coming to the ends of the earth: “so that from Jerusalem and round about as far as Illyricum,” he says, “I have fully preached the gospel of Christ”; and running through the whole world like a bird, or rather faster than a bird; for a bird simply flies through, but he did not simply fly, but had the wing of the Spirit and cut his way through countless obstacles: deaths, plots, calamities. So he was swifter even than a bird. If he had been simply a bird, he would have been brought down and caught; but since he was lifted up by the Spirit, he flew above all the nets, like a bird with wings of fire. “I have kept the faith,” he says. For there were many things that wished to rob him of it: not only human friendships, but also threats and deaths and countless other things. But he stood firm against them all. How? By being sober and watchful. These things, then, are enough to console the disciples; but he also adds the prizes. What are they? “From now on,” he says, “there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness.” Here again he calls virtue in general righteousness. So one must not grieve, he says, because I am going away to be crowned with the crown that Christ places on my head. If I were to remain here, then rather one ought to grieve and to fear that I might fall away, that I might perish. “Which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award me on that day, and not only to me, but also to all who have loved his appearing.”

Here he raised Timothy up too. If the crown is given to all, much more to Timothy. But he did not say, “and to you,” but “to all,” showing that if to all, much more to him. How would one love the appearing of Christ? If one rejoices at his coming; and whoever rejoices at his coming does what is worthy of that joy: he will give up his possessions, if need be, and his life too, so as to obtain the good things to come, so as to be counted worthy to see the second coming in fitting array, with boldness, with glory and splendour. This is what it is to love his appearing. Whoever loves his appearing will do everything so that, even before that general appearing, the particular one may come to him. “And how is this possible?” someone says. Hear Christ saying, “Whoever loves me will keep my commandments, and I and the Father will come and make our dwelling with him.” Consider what it means that he who is going to appear to all in common promises to appear to us privately. “For we will come,” he says, “and make our dwelling with him.” If anyone loves his appearing, he will do everything to call him to himself and to keep him, so that the light may shine upon him. Let there be nothing unworthy of his presence, and he quickly comes to lodge with us. It is called an “appearing” because it shines forth from above and rises from on high. Let us, then, seek the things above, and we shall quickly draw those rays to ourselves. No one who stoops down and buries himself in the earth will be able to see the light of the sun; no one who defiles himself with the affairs of this life will be able to see the Sun of righteousness; he does not shine upon any of those who are taken up with these things. Come to your senses a little, come up from the deep, from the surge of this life, if you wish to see the sun, if you wish to obtain his appearing; if you obtain this appearing of his, then you will see him with great boldness. Practise wisdom now. Let there be in you no spirit of madness, so that darkness may not beat upon you, so that you may not dash your ship upon the rocks there; let there be no deceit, for hidden reefs cause the most grievous shipwrecks. Do not nourish wild beasts—I mean the passions; for they are worse than wild beasts. Do not trust in things that flow away, so that you may be able to stand firm. No one stands on water, but on rock everyone stands securely. The affairs of this life are water: “The waters have come in,” it says, “even to my soul,” like a torrent flowing past. Spiritual things are rock: “On a rock,” it says, “you have set my feet.” The affairs of this life are mire and mud; let us draw ourselves up out of them; for so we shall be able to obtain the appearing of Christ. Whatever comes upon us, let us bear it; suffering for Christ is sufficient consolation in everything; let us repeat this divine charm, and the pain of the wound will cease. “And how is it possible to suffer for Christ?” someone says. Someone has slandered you, not for Christ's sake at all? If you bear it nobly, if you give thanks, if you pray for him, you are doing all this for Christ. But if you curse him … even if you cannot do it, it is not for Christ; you have suffered a loss and have been deprived of the fruit because of your own choice. For it is in our power both to gain from terrible things and to be harmed by them; this does not come from the nature of the terrible things, but from our own choice. I mean something like this. Job suffered so much and bore it with thanksgiving … not because he suffered, but because, having suffered, he bore it with thanksgiving. Another suffers the same things—or rather, not the same (for no one has suffered such things, but far less)—and he blasphemes, curses the whole world, is indignant against God: this man is condemned and sentenced, not because he suffered, not because of the necessity of what befell him. For if the necessity of what befell him had caused this, Job too would have had to blaspheme; but if Job, though he suffered harder things, did nothing of the kind, the other's fall did not come from this, but from the weakness of his will. We need, then, a strong soul, and nothing will seem hard to us; just as, when the soul is weak, there is nothing that does not seem hard. It is our disposition that makes everything either bearable or unbearable; let us fortify it, and we shall bear everything easily. For a tree, when it sends its root down deep, cannot be shaken even by a violent storm; but if it lies on the surface, above the ground, even a small gust of wind falling on it tears it up by the root. So it is with us too: if we nail down our flesh with the fear of God, nothing will be able to shake us; but if we simply set ourselves on the surface, even a small gust has destroyed and ruined us. Therefore I beg you to bear everything with great eagerness, and to imitate the prophet who says, “My soul has clung to you.” See what he says: “My soul has clung.” He did not simply say, “drew near,” but “clung.” And again, “My soul has thirsted for you.” He did not simply say, “longed,” but “thirsted,” so as to show by these words the intensity of his longing. And again, “Nail down my flesh with the fear of you.” For God wishes us always to cling to him and to be bound to him in such a way that we never depart from him. If we hold to God in this way, if we nail our minds to him, if we thirst with longing for him, everything we wish for will be ours, and we shall obtain the good things to come, in Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom be glory, might and honour to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always and to the ages of ages. Amen.