Homilies on Colossians 1.1–1.5

“Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Timothy our brother, to the saints and faithful brothers in Christ at Colossae: grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” All Paul's letters are holy; but those sent while he was in bonds have something more, such as the one to the Ephesians, the one to Philemon, the one to Timothy, the one to the Philippians, and this present one. For this one too was sent while he was a prisoner, as he says when he writes: “for which I am also in bonds, that I may make it manifest, as I ought to speak.” This one seems to be later than the Letter to the Romans. For he wrote that one before he had yet seen the Romans, but this one when he had already seen them and was near the end of his preaching. And this is clear from the following: in the Letter to Philemon he says, “being such a one as Paul the aged,” and makes a request on behalf of Onesimus; but in this one he sends Onesimus himself, as he says, “with Onesimus, the faithful and beloved brother,” calling him faithful and beloved and a brother. That is why he speaks with confidence in this letter: “from the hope of the gospel which you heard, which was preached in all creation under heaven”; for the preaching had already been going on a long time. Later than this one, I think, is the one to Timothy, written at the very end of his life; for there he says, “For I am already being poured out.” This one, then, is later than the one to the Philippians; for in that one he appears to be at the beginning of his bonds in Rome. Why do I say that these letters have something more? In this respect: that he writes them while in bonds, as if a champion were writing letters in the midst of battle and while setting up trophies; and so he himself did. For he too knew that this was a great thing; writing to Philemon he says, “whom I have begotten in my bonds.” He said these things so that we should not be vexed at hardships, but should even rejoice. Philemon was there among these people; for writing there he says, “and to Archippus our fellow soldier”; and here, “Say to Archippus.” This man seems to me to have been entrusted with some office in the church. He had not seen them when he wrote to them. Concerning the others he shows this in many places, but concerning these hear him saying, “and as many as have not seen my face in the flesh”; and again, “For though I am absent in the flesh, yet I am with you in the spirit.” So well did he know that his presence was everywhere a great thing; and he always sets himself before them even when absent. When he punishes the man who committed sexual immorality, see how he sets himself in the court: “For I indeed,” he says, “as absent in body but present in spirit, have already judged as though present”; and again, “I will come to you, and I will know not the word of those who are puffed up, but the power”; and again, “not only when I am present with you, but much more in my absence.” “Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God.” It is worth stating also the subject, which we have found from the letter. What is it, then? They were being brought near to God through angels, and they kept many observances, both Jewish and Greek. These things, then, he corrects. That is why at the very beginning he says, “by the will of God.” See, again he has put “by.” “And Timothy the brother,” he says. So he too was an apostle. And it is likely that he too was known to them. “To the saints at Colossae.” It was a city of Phrygia; this is clear from Laodicea being near. “And faithful brothers in Christ.” Tell me, he says, whence have you become holy? Whence are you called faithful? Is it not because you were sanctified through the death of Christ? Is it not because you believe in Christ? Whence have you become a brother? For it was not by deed, nor by word, nor by any achievement that you were shown faithful. Whence, tell me, were you entrusted with such great mysteries? Was it not through Christ? “Grace to you and peace from God our Father.” Whence is grace to you, whence peace? “From God,” he says, “our Father.” And yet in this place he does not set down the name of Christ. To those who slander the Spirit I will say: whence is God the Father of slaves? Who accomplished these great things? Who made you holy? Who made you faithful? Who made you a son of God? He who made you worthy of trust is himself the cause of your being entrusted with all things.

For we are called faithful not only because we believe, but also because we have been entrusted by God with mysteries which not even angels knew before us. But it makes no difference to Paul how he sets these things down: “[We give thanks] to God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” It seems to me that he refers everything to the Father, so as not to confront them at once with the argument. “Praying always for you.” Not only by his thanksgiving but also by his continual prayer he shows his love: even those whom he had not seen he held always within himself. “Having heard of your faith in Christ Jesus.” Above he said “our Lord”; here he says “Jesus Christ.” He himself is Lord, he says, not those who are slaves. And these names are tokens of his benefaction: “For he,” it says, “will save his people from their sins.” “Having heard of your faith in Christ Jesus, and of the love which you have toward all the saints.” Already he makes them his own. Epaphroditus is the one who reports these things. He sends the letter by Tychicus, keeping that man with himself. “And the love,” he says, “toward all the saints”: not toward this one and that one; so toward us too. “Because of the hope laid up for you in heaven.” He means the good things to come. This is said with a view to their trials, so that they would not seek relief here. For lest anyone should say, “And what is the gain of love toward the saints, when they are being cut down?” — “we rejoice,” he says, “because you are procuring great things for yourselves in heaven.” “Because of the hope,” he says, “laid up”: he has shown its security. “Of which you heard before in the word of the truth.” Here the saying tells against them, because after holding it a long time they have shifted. “Which you heard before,” he says, “in the word of the truth of the gospel.” He bears witness to the word as truth — rightly, for there is no falsehood in it. “Of the gospel.” He does not say “of the preaching,” but calls it gospel, continually reminding them of God's benefits; and having first praised them, he then reminds them of these things. “Which is present among you, as also in all the world.” Already he gratifies them. He said “present” by a metaphor: it did not come, he means, and then depart, but remained and is there. Then, since most people are strengthened by having many who share their beliefs, he added, “as also in all the world.” Everywhere, he says, it is present, everywhere it prevails, everywhere it stands firm. “And it is bearing fruit and growing, as also among you.” Bearing fruit through works, growing in that many receive it and it is more firmly established. For in plants too the fruit grows thick when the plant is firmly established. “As also among you.” He wins the hearer over beforehand with praises, so that he would not fall away even against his will. “Since the day you heard.” That is the marvel, he means: that you came quickly and believed, and at once, from the very outset, displayed the fruits. “Since the day you heard and came to know the grace of God in truth.” Not in word, he says, nor in deceit, but in the very deeds. This, then, is what he means by “bearing fruit”: perhaps the signs and wonders, because as soon as you received it you came to know the grace of God. How then is it not a grievous thing now to distrust what at once displayed its own power? … “[As you learned from Epaphras] our beloved fellow slave.” It is likely that he had preached there: from him you learned the gospel. Then, showing the man's trustworthiness, he says, “our fellow slave, who is a faithful minister of Christ on your behalf, who also declared to us your love in the Spirit.” Do not doubt, he says, about the hope to come: you see the world turning to God. And why need we speak of what is among others? What is among you yourselves is trustworthy even without these. “For you came to know the grace of God in truth,” that is, in deeds. So these two things confirm the things to come: that all have believed, and that you too have; and it is not that one thing happened and Epaphras said another. “Who is,” he says, “faithful,” that is, true. And how is he “a minister on your behalf”? By going to him and “declaring to us,” he says, “your love in the Spirit,” that is, your spiritual love toward us. And if this man is a minister of Christ, how do you say that you are brought near through angels? “Who also declared to us,” he says, “your love in the Spirit.” For this love is wonderful and firm, whereas other loves have only the name of love. There are some that are not of this kind; but that is not friendship, and that is why it is easily dissolved.

Many are the causes that make friendships; and for the present we will pass over the shameful ones, for no one will speak against us on their behalf, since they are wicked; but, if you like, let us bring forward the natural ones and those of ordinary life. Those of ordinary life are these: for example, someone has received a kindness, has inherited a friend from his ancestors, has shared a table or a journey, or is a neighbour (these too are good); or has been of the same trade (this one, however, is not pure, for it has some rivalry and envy). The natural ones are such as that of father to son, son to father, brother to brother, grandfather to grandson, mother to children; and if you like, let us add that of wife to husband, for all the ties of marriage are of ordinary life and earthly. These, then, seem to be stronger than those; they seem so, I said, because they are often outdone by those. For friends have sometimes proved more genuinely disposed than brothers, and than sons toward fathers; the one begotten did not help, while the one who did not even know him stood by and helped. But spiritual love is higher than them all, like a queen ruling her own subjects, and it has a splendid bearing; for nothing earthly gives birth to it, as to that other love — not habit, not kindness, not nature, not time — but it comes down from above, from heaven. And why do you marvel if it needs no kindness in order to subsist, when it is not even overthrown by ill treatment? That this love is greater than that one, hear Paul saying: “I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ for my brothers.” What father would have prayed this, to be in evils? And again: “To depart and be with Christ is far better; but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for your sake.” What mother would choose to say this, so as to disregard her own interests? And again hear him saying: “For we, having been bereaved of you for a short time, in presence, not in heart.” Here a father who has been insulted dissolves the friendship; but there it is no longer so: he went to those who stoned him, to do them good. For nothing, nothing is so strong as the bond of the Spirit. One who has become a friend through receiving kindness will become an enemy unless this happens continually; one who was inseparable through habit quenches the friendship when the habit is interrupted. The wife again, if a quarrel arises, leaves her husband and dissolves her affection; the son, if he sees his father living a long time, is even burdened by it. But in the case of the Spirit there is none of this; for it is dissolved by none of these things, since it did not arise from them: neither time, nor length of road, nor ill treatment, nor ill report, nor anger, nor insult, nor anything else enters in or can dissolve it. And that you may learn this: Moses was being stoned, and he interceded for them. What father would have done this for one who stoned him, and would not rather have stoned him in return? Let us then pursue these friendships that come from the Spirit, for they are strong and hard to dissolve; not those from tables, for there we are even forbidden to bring these in. For hear Christ saying in the gospel: “Do not invite your friends nor your neighbours when you make a feast, but the lame, the maimed” — rightly, for great is the reward for these. But you cannot, you will not endure feasting with the lame and the blind, but you think this heavy and burdensome, and you refuse? It ought not to be so; still, there is no necessity: even if you do not seat them with you, send them the dishes from your table. For he who invites friends has done nothing great, for he has received his reward here; but he who invites a maimed man and a poor man has God as his debtor. Let us not, then, be vexed when we do not receive repayment here, but when we do receive it here; for there we will no longer receive it. Likewise, if a man repays, God does not repay; if he does not repay, then God will repay. Let us not, then, seek to do good to those who can repay us, nor do them good in such hopes; this is a cold way of thinking. If you invite your friend, the favour lasts until evening; that is why such a friendship is used up faster than the food laid out; but if you invite the poor and maimed man, the favour will never perish, for you have as your debtor God, who always remembers and never forgets. And how great a folly is it, tell me, not to be able to sit with the poor! What do you say? “He is unclean,” he says, “and dirty.” Then wash him and bring him up to your table. “But he has soiled clothes.” Then change them, and give him a clean garment.

Do you not see how great the gain is? Christ comes through him, and are you petty about this? When you are inviting the King to your table, are you afraid about such things? Let two tables be set out. Let one be filled with these people, and let it have the blind, the lame, those maimed in the hand or crippled in the leg, barefoot, wearing a single tunic, and that one worn through; and let the other have potentates, generals, governors, great magistrates, clothed in costly garments … Again, here at the table of the poor let there be neither silver nor much wine, but enough to suffice and to cheer; and let the cups and the other vessels be made of glass only. But there, at the table of the rich, let all the vessels be of silver and gold, and let no single man carry the semicircular table … and let there be a gilded bowl weighing half a talent, so that two young men can scarcely move it, and let the jars stand in a row, gleaming with gold far more brightly than with silver; and let the semicircular table also be … Here let there be many servants, adorned in their clothes no less than the guests, splendidly dressed and wearing trousers, handsome to look at, in the very flower of their youth, vigorous and well built; but there let there be only two servants, who have trampled on all this vanity. And let the one group have costly dishes, and the others as much as will quench hunger and fill them with good cheer. Have I described it sufficiently? Are both tables set out with exactness? Is anything lacking? I do not think so; for I have gone through the guests, and the costliness of the vessels, the coverings, and the dishes. However, if we have left anything out, we will find it as we carry the discourse on. Come then, since each table has fittingly received its proper form, let us see where you will recline. For my part I go to that one, the table of the blind, of the lame; but most of you perhaps will choose this one, the generals' table, the bright and splendid one. Let us see, then, which is fuller of pleasure; for let us not yet examine the things to come, since in those mine prevails. Why? Because this one has Christ reclining at it, and that one men; this one the Master, and that one the slaves. But not these things yet; let us see which has more of present pleasure. In this respect, indeed, this pleasure is greater; for to recline with a king brings more pleasure than to recline with servants. But let us take this away too, and examine the thing itself by itself. I, then, and those with me who have chosen this table, will say everything and hear everything with great freedom and gladness; but you will not dare even to stretch out a hand, trembling and afraid and in awe of those reclining with you, as if you had entered a schoolroom and not a luncheon, trembling as before harsh masters. But those people are not like that. “But the honour,” he says, “is great.” Yet I am in greater honour; for your cheapness appears the greater, because even while sharing the same table you put forward the words of slaves. For a slave shows most when he reclines with his master. He is where it does not befit him, and he gets not so much dignity from the familiarity as humiliation; for at that moment he is greatly humbled. One may see the slave splendid by himself, and the poor man splendid by himself, but not when he walks with a rich man; for the lowly appears lowly when it is near the lofty, and the comparison shows the lowly lowlier, not loftier. So too reclining with those men makes you cheaper, but not us. In two things, then, we have the advantage over these: freedom and honour, and nothing equals these in the account of pleasure. For I would rather share bread with freedom than ten thousand dishes with slavery. “For better,” it says, “is a meal of herbs with friendship and grace than an ox from the stall with hatred.” For whatever those men say, those present must either praise it or give offence, having taken on the role of parasites, or rather being worse than they. For they, even if with shame and insult, nevertheless have some freedom of speech; but you have not even that. Such is the cheapness, for you are afraid and cower; and the honour is nowhere. That table, then, is robbed of all pleasure, while this one is full of all gladness.

But let us also examine the nature of the foods themselves. There one must burst with much wine even against one's will; here no one need eat and drink against his will. So there the pleasure that comes from the quality of the food is taken away both by the dishonour that came before and by the disgust that comes from surfeit. For surfeit damages and pains our bodies no less than hunger, but much more severely; whomever you like to give me, I will burst him more easily by surfeit than by hunger. For truly hunger is more bearable than surfeit: a person might endure hunger even for twenty days, but surfeit not even for two. Those in the fields who constantly wrestle with hunger are healthy and do not need doctors; but surfeit they could not endure without constantly calling doctors, or rather its tyranny has often defeated even their help. In respect of pleasure, then, this table holds the first place. For if honour is pleasanter than dishonour, being in authority than being subject, being confident than trembling and fearing, and enjoying what suffices than being drowned in a flood of luxury beyond measure, then this table is better than that one also in respect of pleasure. And in expense too things are better here; for that one is costly, but this one not at all. But what? Is this table pleasanter only to those reclining at it, or does it bring more pleasure than that one to the host as well? For this is what we are chiefly asking. Well, the one who invites those men prepares for many days beforehand, and is forced to have business and cares and anxieties, neither sleeping at night nor resting by day, but picturing many things to himself; and when the day itself arrives one would see him more afraid than men about to box, lest something go amiss, lest he be struck by envy, lest he gain many accusers from it. But this man is rid of all this anxiety and business, improvising his table and not worrying about it for many days beforehand. And after this, the one has at once lost the favour, but the other has God as his debtor and is nourished by good hopes, feasting every day from that table. For the food is used up, but the favour is not used up; every day he rejoices and is glad, more than those who have filled themselves with much wine. For nothing nourishes the soul so much as good hope and the expectation of good things. But let us see what follows. There are pipes and lyres and panpipes; here no discordant song, but what? Hymns and psalmody. There the demons are praised in song, here God, the Master of all. Do you see how full of grace this table is, and how full of ingratitude and insensibility that one is? For tell me: God has fed you from his good things, and when you ought to thank him after being fed, you bring in the demons? For the songs of the harps are nothing but songs of demons. You ought to say, “Blessed are you, O Lord, because you have fed me from your good things”; but you, like some worthless dog, do not even remember him, but bring in the demons? Or rather dogs fawn on their own masters, but you do not even do this. The dog fawns on its master even when it receives nothing, but you, even when you have received, turn against him. Again, the dog, even when it receives kindness from a stranger, does not on that account end its hostility toward him or let itself be drawn into friendship; but you, though suffering countless evils from the demons, bring them into your luncheons, so that you are twice worse than the dog. I have done well to mention dogs now, against those who give thanks only when they are well treated. Be ashamed, I beg you, before the dogs, which fawn on their masters even when hungry; but you, if you hear that a demon has healed someone, at once abandon the Master, you who are more irrational than dogs! “But the harlots,” he says, “give pleasure when they are watched.” What pleasure? Or rather, what dishonour do they not give? Your house has become a brothel, madness and frenzy; and are you not ashamed to call these things pleasure? If you are allowed to use every pleasure, the shame and the disgust from it are greater. How so? Is it not a grievous thing to make your house a brothel, and to take pleasure like swine wallowing in mire? But if it goes no further than seeing, look, again the pain is greater; for sight is no pleasure when there is no use, but the desire grows greater and the flame more violent. But do you want to learn the end? Those people rise from the table like madmen and the deranged, rash, irascible, ridiculous even to slaves; and the servants go away sober, but they drunk. O the shame! But here there is nothing of the kind; closing the table with thanksgiving, they go home, sleeping with pleasure, rising with pleasure, freed from all shame and accusation.