Homilies on Hebrews 7.1–7.4

“Let us be eager, then, to enter into that rest, so that no one may fall by the same example of disobedience. For the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart; and there is no creature hidden before him, but all things are naked and laid bare to his eyes, to whom our account is to be given.” Faith is a great thing and saving, and without it one can never be saved. But it is not enough by itself to accomplish this; there is need also of a right way of life. That is why Paul too exhorts those already counted worthy of the mysteries, saying, “Let us be eager to enter into that rest.” “Let us be eager,” he says, as though faith were not enough, but life too had to be added, and great eagerness shown. For we truly need great eagerness to go up to heaven. For if those who endured so much hardship in the wilderness were not counted worthy of the land, and could not obtain the land, because they murmured and committed sexual immorality, how shall we [be counted worthy] of heaven? We need great eagerness, then. And see, he did not limit the penalty only to this, to not entering; for he did not say, “Let us be eager to enter into the rest, so that we may not fall from such great good things”; but he added what most rouses men. What is that? “So that no one may fall by the same example of disobedience”; that is, so that we may have our mind there, our hope, our expectation, so that we may not fall away in the same way. For that we shall fall away, the example makes plain: “by the same,” he says. Then, so that on hearing “by the same” you may not think the punishment is the same, hear what he adds: “For the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Here too he shows that it was the Word of God himself who did those things too, and that he lives and has not been quenched. Do not, then, because you hear “word,” think it merely a word; for it is sharper, he says, than a sword. See the condescension, and learn from this why the prophets too needed to speak of a sword and a bow and a broadsword. “If you do not turn,” it says, “he will polish his sword; he has bent his bow and made it ready.” For if now, after so long a time and maturity, he cannot strike them with awe by the name of “word” alone, but needs these expressions to show the superiority by comparison, much more then. “Piercing to the division of soul and spirit.” What is this? He hinted at something fearful. For he means either that it divides the spirit from the soul, or that it penetrates even the bodiless things themselves, not as a sword does bodies only. Here he shows that the soul too is punished, and that the innermost parts are searched, and that it penetrates the whole man through and through. “And able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And there is no creature hidden before him.” Here he frightened them most. What he says is this: Do not, he means, be confident if you still stand in the faith but without full assurance; he will judge what is in the heart; for there he passes, both punishing and examining. And why do I speak of men, he says? Even if you speak of angels, or archangels, or the cherubim, or the seraphim, or any creature whatever, all things are uncovered to that eye, all are plain and manifest; nothing can escape him. “All things are naked and laid bare to his eyes, to whom our account is to be given.” He said “laid bare” by a metaphor from the skins drawn off sacrificial victims when they are slaughtered. For just as with those, when someone has slaughtered and drawn the skin off the flesh, all the inner parts are uncovered and become plain to our eyes, so too all things lie plain before God. But see how he always needs bodily images; which was due to the weakness of the hearers. For that they were weak he made plain by saying that they were sluggish and needed milk, not solid food. “All things are naked,” he says, “and laid bare to his eyes, to whom our account is to be given.” And what is “by the same example of disobedience”? As if someone giving the cause should say: Why did those men not see the land? They had received [proofs], he says, of God’s power, and when they should have believed, they gave more weight to fear, and [thought] nothing great about … they perished. And one may say something else too: that having accomplished the greater part of the journey, when they were at the very doors, at the very harbor, they were sunk. This I fear for you too, he says. This, then, is “by the same example of disobedience.” For that these too had suffered much, he bears witness to them later, saying, “Remember the former days … you endured … of sufferings.” Let no one, then, lose heart, nor give up and fall down toward the end. For there are, there are those who at the beginning [ran] with vigor, but afterwards, not wishing to add a little to the whole, lost everything. Your forefathers, he says, are enough to teach you not to fall into the same things, so as not to suffer what they suffered. And this is “by the same example of disobedience.” Let us not, then, grow faint, he says; which he says toward the end too: “Lift up the drooping hands and the weakened knees.” “So that no one may fall,” he says, “by the same example.” For this is truly to fall. Then, so that on hearing “may fall by the same example” you may not suppose the same death that those men endured, see what he says: “For the word of God is living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword.” For falling upon the souls of these more grievously than any sword, the word makes grievous wounds and deals deadly cuts. And he does not need to provide proof of these things, nor to argue for them, since he has the history so plain. For what war destroyed those men, he says? What sword? Did they not simply fall of themselves? Let us not, then, because we have not suffered the same things, be careless; as long as it is called today, we can recover ourselves. But since he spoke so, lest on hearing of the things of the soul they should grow careless, he adds the things of the body too, showing that just as a king, when officers have committed great offenses, first strips them, as it were, of their military rank, then takes away their belt and their dignity, and having stationed the herald beside them, then punishes them, so too the sword of the Spirit then does its work. Then, having said this, and making the discourse still more fearful, he speaks about the Son, and says, “to whom our account is to be given”; instead of, to him we are to give account of our deeds. Let us not, then, fall back, nor lose heart. What has been said was enough to instruct; but he is not content, but adds still more, saying, “Having, then, a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the [Son of God] …”

For that he added this for this reason, he went on: “For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses.” That is why he said above, “For in that he himself has suffered, being tempted, he is able to help those who are tempted.” See, then, how he does the same here too. What he says is this: He came, he says, … the road that we too now [travel], or rather a rougher one; for he had experience of all human things. There he said, “There is no creature hidden before him,” hinting at the Godhead. Then, since [he had touched on] the flesh, … “Having, then, a great high priest who has passed through the heavens”; and he shows the care to be greater, and that he protects them as his own, and does not wish them to fall away. For Moses, he says, did not enter into the rest, but he himself entered; and how, I will tell you. And it is no wonder that he nowhere set this down; for either, so that they might not seem to find an excuse, he included him too; or, so that he might not seem to accuse the man, he did not say it openly. For if, when none of these things had been said, they brought these charges, saying, “He has spoken against Moses and against the law,” much more, if he had said, “It is not Palestine, but heaven,” would they have said greater things than these. But he does not give everything to the priest, but seeks also what is ours, I mean the confession. “Having, then,” he says, “a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.” What confession does he mean? That there is a resurrection, that there is a recompense, that there are countless good things, that Christ is God, that the faith is right; these let us confess, these let us hold fast. And that these things are true is plain from the high priest’s being within. Let us confess, then, that we have not fallen away; even if the realities are not present, still let us confess; if they were present already, it would be false. So this too is true, that they are deferred; for our high priest is great. “For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses.” He is not, he says, ignorant of our affairs, as many of the high priests are, who do not know those in afflictions, nor even what affliction is. For among men it is impossible for one who has not had experience and gone through it by the senses to know the misery of the one in misery. Our high priest underwent everything; for this reason he first underwent it, and then went up, so that he might be able to sympathize. “But one who has been tempted in every respect according to likeness, without sin.” See how above he put “likewise,” and here “likeness.” That is, he was persecuted, spat upon, at last crucified. “According to likeness, without sin.” Here he hints at something else too, that it is possible even for one in afflictions to come through without sin. So when he also says, “in the likeness of flesh,” he does not mean that it was a likeness of flesh, but that he took flesh. Why then did he say “in the likeness”? He was speaking of sinful flesh; for it was like our flesh; in nature it was the same as ours, but in sin no longer the same. “Let us, then, draw near with boldness to the throne of his grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace for timely help.” What throne of grace does he mean? The royal throne, about which it says, “The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.” As if he said: Let us draw near with boldness, because we have one without sin … “I have overcome the world,” he says. For to suffer all things and yet be clean of sins, this is it. If we are under sin, he means, yet he is without sin. How let us draw near with boldness? Because it is a throne of grace, not a throne of judgment now. For this reason “let us draw near with boldness, that we may receive mercy,” such as we seek, he says. For the thing is munificence and a royal gift. “And find grace for timely help.” He rightly said, “for timely help.” If you draw near now, he says, you will receive both grace and mercy, for you draw near in good time; but if you draw near then, no longer; for then the approach is out of season; for then it is not a throne of grace. It is a throne of grace as long as the King sits granting favors; but when the consummation comes, then he rises up to judgment: “Arise, O God,” it says, “judge the earth.” And one may say something else too: “Let us draw near,” he says, “with boldness,” that is, having nothing evil on the conscience, not doubting; for such a person cannot draw near with boldness. That is why he says elsewhere too, “At an acceptable time I listened to you, and in a day of salvation I helped you.” For even now, that those who sin after the washing find repentance is of grace. And so that, hearing him called high priest, you may not think that he stands, he at once leads him to the throne; but the priest does not sit, he stands. Do you see that becoming high priest is not of nature, but of grace and condescension and self-emptying? This it is fitting for us too to say now: let us draw near with boldness, asking; let us only bring faith, and he gives everything. Now is the time of the gift; let no one despair of himself. Then is the time of despair, when the bridal chamber is shut, when the king comes in to see the guests, when those who are to be counted worthy of these things receive the bosom of the patriarch; but not yet now; for the theater is still assembled, the contest still stands, the prize is still held up.

Let us be eager, then; for Paul too says, “So I run, not aimlessly.” There is need of running, and of vigorous running. The runner looks at none of all the others, whether he passes through meadows or through dry places; the runner looks not to the spectators but to the prize; whether they are rich or poor, whether someone mocks or praises, insults or throws stones, whether he plunders his house, whether he sees children or wife or anything whatever, he does not turn round at all, but is wholly given to one thing only, to running, to winning the prize. The runner stops nowhere; for if he slackens even a little, he has lost everything. The runner not only does not let up before the finish, but then above all he strains his pace. This I say to those who say, “We have … we have grown old now.” Now above all you should strain your devotion. Do not count up your old achievements for me; be young and in your prime now rather. For one who runs this bodily race naturally can no longer run as before once gray hair overtakes him; for in the body the whole contest lies. But you, why do you slacken your race? For here there is need of the soul, of a soul wide awake; and the soul is strengthened in old age; then rather it is in its prime, then it is in high spirits. For just as a body, as long as it is gripped by fevers and successive illnesses, is worn out even if it is strong, but when it is freed from that siege recovers its own strength, so too the soul in youth is fevered, and the love of glory especially holds it, and of luxury and sexual pleasures and many other fancies; but when old age comes upon it, all these passions are driven out, some by the season of life, others by wisdom. For old age, slackening the sinews of the body, does not let the soul use them even if it wishes, but, having subdued all kinds of enemies, as it were, sets it down in a place clear of tumults, and produces a great calm, and brings in greater fear. For if no one else, the old at least know that they are dying, and that they stand quite near to death. When, then, the worldly desires withdraw, and the expectation of the judgment seat comes in, softening its disobedience, does it not become more attentive, if it will? “What then,” one says, “when we see old men worse than the young?” You tell me of an excess of wickedness; for with madmen too, with no one pushing them, we see them rushing over cliffs. When, then, an old man too suffers the diseases of the young, this is an excess of wickedness; and such a man would not have an excuse even in his youth; for he cannot say, “Remember not the sins of my youth and of my ignorance.” For one who remains the same in old age shows that in his youth too he was such not through ignorance, nor through inexperience, nor through his age, but through carelessness. For the one who can say, “Remember not the sins of my youth and of my ignorance,” is the one who does what befits an old man, who is changed in old age; but if in old age too he behaves in the same unseemly way, how is it right for such a man to be called old, who does not respect even his age? For the one who says, “Remember not the sins of my youth and of my ignorance,” says it as one who does right in old age … yourself, and [deprive yourself] of the pardon for the sins of youth. For how is what happens not absurd and beyond pardon? An old man gets drunk, sits in taverns; an old man hurries to the horse races, an old man goes up to the theaters, running with the crowd like a child. It is truly a shame and a laughingstock to be adorned outwardly with gray hair, but inwardly to have the mind of a child. And if some young man insults him, he at once puts forward his gray hairs. You respect them first yourself; but if you do not respect your own, though you are an old man, how do you expect the young man to respect your gray hairs? You do not respect your gray hairs, you disgrace them. God has honored you with whiteness of hair, he has given you great precedence; why do you betray the honor? How will the young man respect you, when you are more wanton than he? For gray hair is venerable then, when it does the things of gray hair; but when it acts like youth, it will be more ridiculous than the young. How then will you old men be able to give this advice to the young, you who are drunk with disorder? I do not say these things accusing the old, God forbid, but the young. For those who do these things, it seems to me, even if they reach their hundredth year, are young; just as the young, even if they are small children, if they are self-controlled, are better than the old. And this word is not mine; Scripture too knows this distinction: “Honorable old age is not that of length of time … and a spotless life is ripe old age.”

For we honor gray hair too, not because we prefer the white color to the black, but because it is a sign of a virtuous life, and seeing it we infer from it the gray hair within; but if they do things contrary to gray hair, they will become the more ridiculous for this. For we honor the king too, and the purple and the diadem, because they are symbols of rule; but if we see him in the purple … being beaten, shall we respect the purple or the diadem, tell me? Shall we not rather weep over the very dress? Do not, then, expect to be honored for your gray hair when you yourself wrong it; for it too ought to exact a penalty from you, because you disgrace so splendid and honorable a dress. We do not say these things against all, nor is our discourse simply against old age (I am not so mad), but against a young soul that disgraces old age; nor do we say these things grieving over the aged, but over those who disgrace the gray hair. For the old man is a king, if he wishes, and more kingly than the one who has the purple, if he rules his passions and subjects them as in the rank of bodyguards; but if he is dragged down and pulled from the throne, and becomes a slave of the love of money and of vainglory, of adornment and luxury and drunkenness and anger and sexual pleasures, and anoints his hair with oil, and shows his age insulted by his own choice, of what punishment would such a man not be worthy? But do not you young men become such either; for there is no pardon for you either when you sin. Why? Because it is possible to be old in youth; and just as some are young in old age, so the reverse too. For just as there whitened hair saves no one, so here black hair is no hindrance. For if these things that I have mentioned make the old man more unseemly, much more the young man; yet even so the young man is not free from accusation. For a young man can have pardon only there, when he is called to the management of affairs, when he is inexperienced, when he needs time and experience; but when he must show self-control and courage, no longer, nor when he must master money. For there are cases where the young man is more to be accused than the old. For the old man needs much care, since old age has weakened him; but this one, being able to suffice for himself if he wishes, what pardon would he obtain if he will not, when he plunders more than the old man, when he bears grudges, when he despises others, when he does not protect others more than the old man, when he talks much out of season, when he insults, when he reviles, when he is drunk? And if he thinks that in the matter of self-control he cannot be blamed, see that here too he has many helps, if he wishes. For even if desire troubles him more vehemently than the old man, yet there are many things by which he will be able to do more than the old man and to charm that beast. What are these? Toils, readings, all-night vigils, fasts … “What then,” you say, “are these things to us who are not monks?” Do you say these things to me? Say them to Paul, when he says, “watching with all perseverance and supplication”; when he says, “Make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.” For he did not write these things to monks only, but to all who are in the cities. For does the man of the world have anything more than the monk, except only living with a wife? In this he has pardon, but in other things no longer; it befits him to do all things equally with the monk. And the beatitudes spoken by Christ were not spoken to monks only; otherwise the whole world would have perished, and we would have accused God of cruelty. And if the beatitudes were spoken to monks only, and it is not possible for the man of the world to achieve them, and he himself permitted marriage, then he himself has destroyed all. For if it is not possible with marriage to do the things of monks, all is lost and corrupted, and virtue has been shut up in a narrow space. And how is marriage honorable, if it hinders us so much? What then is one to say? It is possible, very possible, for those who have wives also to pursue virtue, if we will. How? If, having a wife, we are as though we had none; if we do not rejoice in possessions; if we use the world as not abusing it. And if some have been hindered by marriage, let them see that it is not marriage that is the hindrance, but the will that used marriage badly; since it is not wine that produces drunkenness, but the evil will, and using it beyond measure. Use marriage with moderation, and you will be first in the kingdom, and will enjoy all the good things; which may we all obtain, by the grace and loving-kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, might, honor, now and always and to the ages of ages. Amen.