Homilies on Colossians 12.2–12.7

Great praise, and greater than all the others, is to say of Epaphras, “who is one of you, a slave of Christ.” And he calls him a minister on their behalf, as he calls himself too a minister of the church, as when he says, “of which I, Paul, became a minister.” He raises the man to the same rank; above he calls him a fellow slave, and here a slave. “Who is one of you,” he says, as though speaking to a mother and saying, “who came from your womb.” But this praise might have bred envy. That is why he commends him not only from these things but also from his attitude toward them; and there he dissolves envy, and here too. “Always,” he says, “striving for you”: not only now, when with us, so as to make a display, nor only when with you, so as to make a display to you. He showed great eagerness by saying “striving.” Then, lest he seem to flatter them, he added that “he has great zeal for you and for those in Laodicea and those in Hierapolis.” And “that you may stand perfect” — this too is not flattery, but the language of a teacher who deserves respect. “And fully assured,” he says, “and perfect.” The one he granted them; the other he said they lacked. And he did not say, “that you may not be shaken,” but “that you may stand.” And to be greeted by many restores them, when not only their own people from among them but others too remember them. “And say to Archippus, ‘See to the ministry which you received in the Lord.’” He especially subjects them to him. For they could no longer find fault with him when he rebuked them, since they themselves had undertaken the whole; for it is not reasonable for disciples to speak about their teacher. But he writes this to stop their mouths. “Say,” he says, “to Archippus, ‘See.’” This word is everywhere the language of one who frightens, as when he says, “See the dogs”; “See lest anyone make spoil of you”; “See lest somehow this liberty of yours become a stumbling block to the weak.” Everywhere he speaks so when he frightens. “See,” he says, “to the ministry which you received in the Lord, that you fulfil it.” He does not leave him master of it, as he himself said: “For if I do this willingly, I have a reward; but if unwillingly, I have been entrusted with a stewardship.” “That you fulfil it”: using diligence continually. “Which you received in the Lord.” Again the “in” means “through the Lord”: he gave it to you, not we. He subjects them to him too, by showing that he was entrusted with them by God. “Remember my bonds. Grace be with you. Amen.” He dissolved their fear. For even if the teacher is in bonds, grace frees him. And this too is of grace, to allow him to be bound; for hear Luke saying that the apostles returned from the presence of the council rejoicing that they had been counted worthy to be dishonoured for his name. For to be dishonoured and to be bound is truly to be counted worthy. For if someone who has a beloved thinks it gain to suffer something for him, much more for Christ's sake. Let us not, then, be vexed at afflictions for Christ's sake; but let us too remember Paul's bonds, and let this be our exhortation. For example, are you exhorting some to give to the poor for Christ's sake? Remind them of Paul's bonds, and call yourself and them wretched, if he gave even his body to bonds for Christ's sake, while you do not even share your food. Have you been lifted up by your achievements? Remember Paul's bonds, and that you have suffered nothing of the kind, and you will no longer be lifted up. Have you desired your neighbour's goods? Remember Paul's bonds, and you will see how absurd it is that he should be in dangers and you in luxury. Have you desired luxury again? Bring to mind Paul's prison; you are his disciple, his fellow soldier. How is it reasonable that your fellow soldier should be in bonds and you in luxury? Have you been in affliction, and did you think yourself abandoned? Hear Paul's words, and you will see that being in affliction is no token of abandonment. Do you want to wear silk clothes? Remember Paul's bonds, and these will appear to you more worthless than rags … Bring to mind Paul's bonds, and your ornaments will seem to you no better than an old rope. Do you want to arrange your hair and appear beautiful? Consider Paul's squalor in prison, and you will be fired with love for that beauty, bitterly desiring those bonds. Do you want to put on cosmetics and paint and such things? Consider his tears: for three years, night and day, he did not cease weeping. Beautify your cheek with this adornment; these tears make it brilliant. I do not say that you should weep for others (I would like that too, but it is beyond you), but I exhort you to do this for your own sins. Did you order a slave to be bound, and were you angry and provoked? Remember Paul's bonds, and you will at once stop your anger; remember that we are of those who are bound, not of those who bind; of those broken in heart, not of those who break. Have you become dissolute and …? … and you will groan; these tears show you much more brilliant. Did you see people living in luxury and dancing? Remember his tears. What spring ever poured out such streams as those eyes poured tears? “Remember,” he says, “my tears,” as here, “my bonds.” And rightly he said this to those men when he summoned them from Ephesus to Miletus. For he was speaking to teachers; so from them he demands also the gathering of the flock, but from these only remembrance. What spring do you want to compare with these tears? The one in paradise, which waters the whole earth? But you will name nothing equal; for this spring of tears watered souls, not earth. If someone showed us Paul in tears and groaning, would it not be much better to see than ten thousand choruses gaily crowned? I do not say this about you; but suppose someone dragged from the theatre and the stage one of the licentious, burning and frenzied with love of bodies, and showed him a maiden in the very flower of her youth, surpassing her companions in everything else and in her face above her other features, having a tender and soft eye that rests quietly and turns quietly, liquid, gentle, calm, smiling, wrapped in much modesty and much grace, crowned with dark lashes below and above, with a pupil, so to speak, alive, a shining forehead, and below again the cheek, smooth and even like marble; and then showed me Paul weeping: I would have left her and leapt to the sight of him; for a spiritual beauty shone from those eyes. For the one makes young men's souls lose their wits, kindles and inflames them; but this does the opposite and calms them. He who sees these eyes makes the eye of his soul more beautiful … of much divine …, and they can soften even an adamantine soul. With these tears the church is watered, with these tears souls are planted; even if there is fire, these tears can quench it, both sensible and bodily fire; these tears quench the fiery darts of the evil one. Let us then remember his tears, and we will laugh at all present things. These tears Christ blessed, saying, “Blessed are those who mourn,” and “Blessed are those who weep, for they shall laugh.” Such tears Isaiah too shed, and Jeremiah: the one said, “Let me alone, I will weep bitterly”; and the other said, “Who will give water to my head, and to my eyes fountains of tears?”, as though natural ones were not enough. Nothing is sweeter than these tears; they are sweeter than any laughter. Those who mourn know how much comfort the thing holds. Let us not think it a thing to be prayed against, but very much a thing to be prayed for: not that others may sin, but that when they sin we may be broken. Let us remember these tears, these bonds. Perhaps tears ran down even upon the bonds; and the death of those who were perishing, of those who were binding him, did not let him feel the pleasure that came from the bonds. For he grieved for them too; for he was a disciple of him who wept over the priests of the Jews, not because they were going to crucify him, but because they themselves were perishing. And not only does Christ do this himself, but he also exhorts others so, saying, “Do not weep for me, daughters of Jerusalem.” These eyes saw paradise, saw the third heaven; but I do not count them blessed for this sight so much as for those tears through which they saw Christ. That indeed is blessed; for he himself takes pride in it, saying, “Have I not seen Jesus Christ our Lord?”; but it is more blessed to weep so. Many shared in that sight, and Christ again blesses those who did not share it, saying, “Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed”; but this not many attained. For if remaining here for Christ's sake is more necessary than departing to him, for the salvation of others, then groaning for them is more necessary than seeing him. For if being in Gehenna for his sake is more desirable than being with him, and being separated from him for his sake more desirable than being with him (for this is what he said: “I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ”), much more is weeping for his sake. “I did not cease,” he says, “to admonish each one with tears.” Why? Not because he feared the dangers; but as someone sitting by a sick man, not knowing the outcome, weeps from longing, fearing lest he lose his life, so he too, when he saw someone sick and could not rebuke him, wept at last. This Christ too did, so that they might respect at least the tears. For example, someone sinned? He rebuked him; he spurned him …

Let us remember these tears; so let us bring up our own daughters, so our sons, weeping when we see them in evil ways. All you women who … of Paul, and let them groan; all you who are counted blessed, all you who are in bridal chambers, all you who live in pleasure, remember these things; all you who are in mourning, exchange tears for tears. He mourned not the dead, but those who were perishing though alive. Shall I mention other tears too? Timothy too wept, for he was his disciple; that is why, writing to him, he said, “Remembering your tears, that I may be filled with joy.” Many lament even out of pleasure. So this thing belongs to pleasure too, and to a very intense pleasure; so tears that come from such pain are not burdensome, but much better than those shed for worldly pleasure. Hear the Prophet saying, “The Lord has heard the voice of my weeping.” For where is a tear not useful? In prayers, in exhortations. But we bring tears into disrepute by not using them for what they were given. When we exhort a sinning brother, we must weep, beating our breast and groaning; when we exhort someone, and he does not heed but is perishing, we must weep. These are the tears of philosophy; but when someone becomes poor, when he is in bodily sickness, when he dies, no longer; for these things are not worth tears. Just as we bring laughter into disrepute by using it out of season, so too tears, by handling them out of season. For the virtue of each thing appears when it is led to its proper work; but when it is led to an alien one, no longer. For example, wine was given for gladness, not for drunkenness; bread for food; intercourse for the begetting of children; … so too tears. Let the law be laid down that we use them only in prayers and exhortations; and see how desirable the thing will be. Nothing scours away sins like tears. Tears make even this bodily face beautiful; for they draw the onlooker to pity, and make the face dignified for us. Nothing is sweeter than tearful eyes. For this is the nobler and more beautiful member in us, and belongs to the soul. As then the very … These things have not been said to you idly, but so that you may not attend weddings, dances, satanic choruses. For see what the devil has devised. Since nature itself kept women away from the stage and the indecencies there, he brought the things of the theatre into the women's quarters, I mean effeminate men and harlots. This pest the custom of weddings brought in; or rather not the custom of marriage, God forbid, but our own silliness. What are you doing, man? You do not know what you are doing. You take a wife for chastity and the begetting of children; what then are the harlots for? “So that the festivity,” he says, “may be greater.” And yet these things are not … For if they delight in such things, the thing is an outrage. If seeing harlots disgrace themselves brings some distinction, why do you not drag the bride there too, so that she may watch? It is altogether unseemly and shameful to bring effeminate men and dancers and the whole satanic pomp into the house. “Remember,” he says, “my bonds.” Marriage is a bond, a bond appointed by God; the harlot is a loosing and a dissolution. It is possible to brighten the wedding by other things, such as full tables and garments; I do not cut these off, so as not to seem very harsh, although a veil alone was enough for Rebekah; but … women. Why do you bring in those mockeries, those monsters? Say what you hear from them. But you blush to say it? You blush, and do you force them to do it? If it is good, why do you not do it yourself? But if it is shameful, why do you force another? Everything must be full of chastity, everything of dignity, everything of decorum; but now I see the opposite: people skipping like camels, like mules. For the virgin the bridal chamber alone is fitting. “But she is poor,” someone says. Since she is poor, she ought to be all the more modest; let her have character instead of wealth. She has no dowry to give? Why do you make her contemptible in another way too by her conduct? I praise it when virgins attend to honour their companion, when women attend to honour the one who is brought down to them; this is well ordained. For there are these two choirs, that of the virgins and that of the married women; the latter hand her over, the former receive her. The bride is between these, neither virgin nor wife; for she is leaving the one … But the harlots, why are they there? They ought to hide themselves when there is a wedding; they ought to be buried (for sexual immorality is the ruin of marriage); but we bring them to weddings. When you do anything else, you take omens even from a word, avoiding anything ill-omened: for example, when you sow, when you draw the wine from the vats, you would not even answer a word that means vinegar; but here, when chastity is being celebrated, do you bring in vinegar? For that is what the harlot is. When you prepare ointment, you let nothing foul-smelling come near. Marriage is an ointment; why then do you bring the stench of the mire into the preparation of the ointment? What do you say? The virgin dances, and is not ashamed before her companion? For she ought to be more dignified than the bride; she has come from her mother's arms, not from the wrestling ground. For a virgin ought not to appear at weddings at all. Do you not see in the palaces that the honoured are within, about the king, and the dishonoured outside? You too be within, about the bride. But remain chaste at home; do not parade your virginity. Each choir stands by, the one showing what sort of virgin they are giving, the other so that they may guard her; why do you shame virginity? For if you are such, the bridegroom will suspect such things of her too; if you want to be loved … these things. Is this not a disgrace? It is a disgrace to behave indecently, even if she is a king's daughter. Does poverty prevent it? Does one's occupation? Even if a virgin is a slave, let her remain in chastity; “for in Christ Jesus there is neither slave nor free.” Is marriage a theatre? It is a mystery and a type of a great thing; even if you do not revere it, revere that of which it is a type. “This mystery,” he says, “is great; but I speak concerning Christ and the church.” It is a type of the church and of Christ, and do you bring in harlots? “If then,” someone says, “neither virgins nor married women are to dance, who will dance?” No one; for what need is there of dancing? In the mysteries of the Greeks there are dances, but in ours silence and decorum, modesty and restraint. A great mystery is being performed: out with the harlots, out with the profane! How is it a mystery? They come together, and the two make one. Why, when he entered, was there no dancing, no cymbals, but much silence, much quiet; but when they come together, making not a lifeless image, nor an image of anything on earth, but of God himself … do you … and shame the soul, and make an uproar? They come to become one body. See again a mystery of love. If the two do not become one, they do not make many, as long as they remain two; but when they come into unity, then they make them. What do we learn from this? That the power of union is great. God's wise contrivance divided the one into two at the beginning, and wishing to show that even after being divided it remains one, he did not let one suffice for generation. For one who is not yet united is not one, but half of one; and it is clear that he does not beget children, just as before. Do you see the mystery of marriage? He made one from one, and again, making these two one, so he makes one; so that even now a human being is born from one. For wife and husband are not two human beings, but one human being. And one can confirm this from many places, for example from Jacob, from Mary the mother of Christ, from the saying, “Male and female he made them.” If he is the head and she the body, how are they two? That is why she holds the rank of a disciple and he of a teacher; he of a ruler, she of one ruled. And from the very formation of the body one could see that they are one; for she came from the side, and they are like two halves. That is why he calls her a helper, to show that they are one; that is why he prefers living together to father and mother, to show that they are one. And the father rejoices alike when his daughter and his son marry, as though the body were hastening to its own member; and though so much expense arises and loss of money, yet he cannot bear to leave a child unmarried. For just as, the flesh having been cut in two, each is incomplete for the begetting of children, so each is incomplete for the constitution of the present life. That is why the prophet says, “the remnant of your spirit.” And how do they become one flesh? Just as if you take the purest part of gold and mix it with other gold, so here too the wife receives the richest part, melted down by pleasure, nourishes and cherishes it, and, contributing her own share, gives it back as a man. And the child is a kind of bridge; so that the three become one flesh, the child joining each to the other from either side. For just as, if there were two cities and a river divided them right through, they become one city when a bridge touches either side, so it is here, and more so; for the bridge itself is made from the substance of each. And in this way they are one, as body and head are one body; for they are divided by the neck, yet they are not so much divided as joined; for being in the middle it brings both together. It is the same as if a chorus that had been separated were made one, by taking one part of it from here and the other from the right; or as those who stand apart become one by stretching out their hands; for the hands, stretched out, do not let them be two. That is why he said exactly, not “they shall be one flesh,” but “into one flesh,” clearly joined in the flesh of the child. “What then, when there is no child, will they not be two?” Clearly they are one even then; for intercourse does this, pouring out and mixing the bodies of both. And just as one who puts ointment into oil makes the whole one, so it is here too.

I know that many are ashamed at what is said; and the cause of this is licentiousness and lack of self-control. Holding weddings in this way, and their corruption, has brought the thing into disrepute; for “marriage is honourable, and the bed undefiled.” Why are you ashamed of what is honourable? Why do you blush at what is undefiled? These attitudes belong to heretics, to those who bring in harlots. That is why I want marriage cleansed, so as to bring it back to its own nobility and stop the mouths of the heretics. God's gift has been insulted, the root of our birth; for much dung and mire lies about the root. Let us then cleanse this away by our discourse. Bear with me, then, a little, since one who clears away dung puts up with the stench too. I want to show that one should not be ashamed of these things, but of the things you do; but you, leaving off being ashamed at those, are ashamed at these; so you condemn God, who ordained it so. Shall I tell how it is also a mystery of the church? Christ came to the church, and came into being from it, and joined it in spiritual union. “For I betrothed you,” he says, “to one husband, as a pure virgin.” And that we are from him, hear how he says: “Of his members and of his flesh are we all.” Considering all these things, let us not shame so great a mystery. Marriage is a type of Christ's presence, and do you get drunk? Tell me, if you saw an image of the emperor, would you shame it? By no means. The things done at weddings seem indifferent, but they are the causes of great evils. Everything is full of lawlessness. “Let filthiness and foolish talk and jesting not come out of your mouth,” he says. But all those things, filthiness and foolish talk and jesting, are done not simply but with intensity; for the thing is an art, and great praise goes to those who pursue it; sins have become an art. We pursue them not simply but with earnestness and skill; and the devil now commands his own ranks. For where there is drunkenness, there is licentiousness; where there is obscene talk, the devil is present, contributing his own share. Feasting on these things, tell me, do you celebrate a mystery of Christ and invite the devil? Perhaps you think me burdensome. For this too belongs to the great perversion, that even the one who rebukes incurs laughter as austere. Do you not hear Paul saying, “Whatever you do, whether you eat or drink or do anything else, do all to the glory of God”? But you do it to ill repute and dishonour. Do you not hear the Prophet saying, “Serve the Lord with fear, and rejoice in him with trembling”? But you are dissolute. Is it not possible to be pleased, and that with safety? Do you want to hear beautiful songs? It ought not to be so at all; but I condescend, if you wish: do not listen to the satanic ones, but to the spiritual. Do you want to see dancers? See the chorus of angels. “And how is it possible,” someone says, “to see it?” If you drive these away, Christ too will come to this wedding; and when Christ is present, the chorus of angels is present too. If you wish, he will work wonders now too, as he did then; he will make the water wine now too; and, much more wonderful, he will turn the dissipation, the flowing and cold desire, and transfer it to the spiritual. This is making wine from water. Where there are pipers, Christ is nowhere; and even if he enters, he first casts them out, and then works wonders. … where everything is inarticulate; and if anything is articulate, again everything is shameful, everything unpleasant.

Nothing is sweeter than virtue, nothing more pleasant than decorum, nothing more desirable than dignity. Let someone hold a wedding such as I describe, and he will see the pleasure. What kind of wedding? Pay attention. First, seek for the virgin a husband who is truly a husband and a protector, as one who is going to set a head on a body, as one who is going to hand over to him not a slave but a daughter. Do not seek money, nor splendour of family, nor greatness of country — all these are superfluous — but piety of soul, gentleness, true understanding, the fear of God, if you want your little daughter to live with pleasure. For if you seek a richer man, you will not only not benefit her, but even harm her, making her a slave instead of free. For the pleasure from the gold ornaments is not as great as the unpleasantness of being a slave. Do not seek these things; but most of all seek one of equal rank; and if this is not possible, a poorer man rather than a richer, if indeed you want not to sell your daughter to a master but to give her to a husband. When you have examined the man's virtue exactly and are about to give her, beseech Christ to be present; for he will not be ashamed; it is a mystery of his presence. Indeed beseech him even before, that he may give such a suitor. Do not be worse than Abraham's servant, who, sent on so long a journey, knew where to take refuge; that is why he obtained everything. When you busy yourself and seek the husband, pray; say to God, “Arrange it with whomever you will”; entrust the matter to him, and he, honoured by you with this honour, will repay you. Two things must be done: to entrust it to him, and to seek such a man as he himself would wish, decent and chaste. When then you hold the wedding, do not … for the thing is not for display, nor are you bringing your little daughter in a procession; but brightening the house with what is in it, invite neighbours and friends and relatives. Invite as many as you know to be decent, and exhort them to be content with what there is. Let no one from the orchestra be present; for that is superfluous and unseemly expense. Invite Christ before all others. Do you know through whom you will invite him? “Whoever does it,” he says, “to one of the least of these, did it to me.” Do not think it a disagreeable thing to invite the poor for Christ's sake; the disagreeable thing is to invite harlots. For inviting the poor is an occasion of wealth, but the other of ruin. Adorn the bride not with these gold ornaments, but with gentleness and modesty and the customary garments; instead of all adornment of gold and braiding, put on her blushing and modesty, and not seeking those things. Let there be no uproar, no confusion; let the bridegroom be called, let him receive the virgin. Let the luncheons and dinners not be full of drunkenness, but of spiritual pleasure. For countless good things will come from such a wedding, and the affairs of life will be in safety; but from the weddings held now (if indeed one should call them weddings, and not processions), see how many evils come. The bridal chambers are dismantled, and at once there is anxiety and fear lest something of what was borrowed be lost, and unbearable despondency succeeds the pleasure. But this is the anxiety of the bride's mother; or rather not even the bride herself is free of it: all that follows belongs to the bride herself. For to see everything dismantled is a cause of despondency; to see the house deserted, an occasion of dejection. There Christ, here Satan; there gladness, here anxiety; there pleasure, here grief; there expense, here nothing of the kind; there indecency, here decorum; there envy, here freedom from envy; there drunkenness, here sobriety; here salvation, here chastity. Considering all these things, let us stop the evil at this point, so that we may please God and be counted worthy to obtain the good things promised to those who love him, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father together with the Holy Spirit be glory, might, honour, now and always, and to the ages of ages. Amen.