Homilies on John 39.4

[4] Yet though he had said and done so much, since they were still weak, he is not content with this, but by the words he adds he also checks their contentiousness, saying, “I can do nothing of myself. As I hear, I judge; and my judgment is just, because I do not seek my own will but the will of him who sent me.” For he seemed to be saying strange things, different from the prophets. They said that God is the one who judges the whole earth, that is, the human race; David proclaims this everywhere, saying, “He will judge the peoples with uprightness,” and “God is a just judge, strong and patient”; and so do all the prophets and Moses. But Christ said, “The Father judges no one, but has given judgment to the Son”; and this was enough to disturb the Jew who heard it then, and to make him suspect again that he was an enemy of God. So he condescends greatly here in his speech, as much as their weakness demanded, so as to pull this ruinous suspicion up by the roots, and says, “I can do nothing of myself”; that is, you will see nothing strange, nothing different, nothing that the Father does not will, done by me, or hear it said. And having said before that he is Son of Man, and having shown that they still suspected he was a man, so here too he adds this. As, then, above he said, “What we have heard and what we have seen we testify,” and John said, “What he has seen he testifies, and no one receives his testimony,” and both are said of exact knowledge, not simply of hearing and sight, so here too, by speaking of hearing he shows nothing else than that it is impossible for him to will anything other than what the Father wills. But he did not say it so plainly (for they would not yet have received it if they had heard it so directly); but how? In a very condescending and human way: “As I hear, I judge.” Again, he is not speaking of teaching here (for he did not say “as I am taught,” but “as I hear”), nor does he say this as needing to hear (for not only had he no need of being taught; he did not even need to hear), but he is showing the agreement and the exact sameness of the verdict. What he says is this: I judge as if the Father himself were the one judging. Then he adds, “And I know that my judgment is just, because I do not seek my own will, but the will of him who sent me.” What do you say? Do you have a will different from the Father's? And yet elsewhere you said, “As I and you are one”; and again, speaking of will and agreement, “Grant to them that they too may be one in us,” that is, in faith in us. Do you see that the expressions that seem most humble are the very ones that have the lofty meaning hidden in them? For what he hints at is this: that the Father's will is not one thing and his another, but as one mind has one will, so mine and the Father's is one. And do not marvel if he spoke of so close a union. For Paul too uses this example in the case of the Spirit, saying, “For who among men knows the things of a man except the spirit of the man that is in him? So too no one knows the things of God except the Spirit of God.” He says nothing else, then, than this: I have no will different from the Father's and my own; whatever he wills, I too will; and whatever I will, he too wills. As, then, no one would accuse the Father when he judges, so neither me; for each verdict proceeds from the same mind. And if he speaks these things in a rather human way, do not marvel; for they still thought him a mere man. That is why in such passages one must above all not only examine what is said, but also take into account the supposition of the hearers, and so hear what is said as spoken in view of that supposition; otherwise many absurdities will follow. For consider: he said, “I do not seek my own will.” So his will is different and greatly inferior; and not merely inferior, but in that case not even beneficial. For if it were saving and agreed with the Father's, why do you not seek it? Men might reasonably say this, since they have many wills contrary to what seems good to God; but why do you say this, who are like the Father in all things? One would not call this the language even of a perfected and crucified man. For if Paul so blended himself with the will of God as to say, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me,” how would the Lord of all have said, “I do not seek my own will, but the will of him who sent me,” as though that were another's? What then does he mean? He brings his discourse forward as in the case of a man, and speaks in view of his hearers' supposition. For since he had shown from what preceded what he was saying, speaking sometimes as befits God and sometimes humanly, he again establishes the same things as a man, and says, “My judgment is just.” And how is this clear? “Because I do not seek my own will, but the will of him who sent me.” For as among men one free from self-love could not justly be accused of having judged wrongly, so neither will you now be able to find fault with me. One who wishes to establish his own interests might perhaps be suspected by many of corrupting justice for that reason; but one who does not look to his own interests—what pretext would he have for not voting justly? Examine this reasoning in my case too. If I said I had not been sent by the Father, and did not refer the glory of what is done to him, perhaps one of you might suspect that, wishing to make myself illustrious, I do not speak the truth; but if I credit and ascribe what is done to another, why, or from what, could you suspect what is said? Do you see to what level he brought the discourse down, and that he said his judgment was just on grounds which any ordinary man might also have used in his defense? Do you see what I have often said shining out clearly? And what is it that I said? That the very excess of humility in the expressions most of all persuades people of sense not to take what is said at face value and fall down, but rather prepares them to come to the height of the meanings; and this too then raised up little by little, with great ease, those who were crawling on the ground.

[5] Considering all these things, then, I urge you, let us not simply pass over what is said, but examine everything with exactness, and look everywhere for the reason of what is said; and let us not think that ignorance and simplicity are enough for our defense. For he commanded us to be not only innocent but also wise. Let us then practice wisdom along with simplicity, both in doctrines and in good deeds of life; let us judge ourselves here, so that we may not be condemned with the world then; and let us be such toward our servants as we wish our Master to be toward us. “For forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors.” I know that the soul does not bear it meekly when struck; but if we consider that we are doing a favor not to the one who has hurt us but to ourselves, we shall quickly let go the poison of anger. For the one who did not forgive the hundred denarii to the one who had offended him did not wrong his fellow servant, but made himself liable for the ten thousand talents of which he had earlier received forgiveness. When, then, we do not forgive others, we do not forgive ourselves. Let us then not only say to God, “Do not remember our sins,” but let each also say to himself: let us not remember the sins of our fellow servants committed against us. For you judge your own case first, and then God follows; you write the law of forgiveness and punishment, and you pronounce the verdict in such matters. So you are master of God's remembering and not remembering. That is why Paul too commands us to forgive if anyone has a complaint against another; and not simply to forgive, but so that not even traces remain. For Christ too not only did not bring our sins into the open, but did not even remind us that we had offended, nor say, “You sinned in this and that,” but he both forgave and blotted out the bond, not reckoning the trespasses, as Paul too showed. Let us too do this, and blot out everything from our mind. If something good has been done by the one who has hurt us, let us reckon that alone; but if something painful and grievous, let us cast it out and blot it out so that not even a trace remains. And if nothing good has been done to us by him, the reward is again greater for us who forgive, and the approval fuller. Others blot out their sins by vigils, sleeping on the ground and countless hardships; but you are able to wipe out all your offenses by the easier road—not bearing grudges, I mean. Why then do you thrust the sword against yourself, like madmen and lunatics, and cast yourself out of the life to come, when you ought to do everything to obtain it? For if the present life is so desirable, what would one say of that one, where pain and grief and groaning have fled away? There one cannot fear death, nor suspect an end of those good things. Blessed and thrice blessed, and many times over, are those who enjoy that blessed lot; just as wretched and thrice wretched, countless times over, are those who cast themselves out of that blessedness. “And what is it,” someone says, “that makes us enjoy that life?” Hear the judge himself, speaking about this to a certain young man. For when he asked, “What shall I do to inherit eternal life?” Christ, having told him the other commandments, ended with love of neighbor. And perhaps one of the hearers will say, like that rich man, “We too have kept these; [we have not robbed or murdered].” But surely you will not be able to say this, that you have loved your neighbor as you ought to have loved. For one who [envied, or did not help] someone wronged, or did not share his possessions, did not love. But now Christ commanded not only this, but something else too. What is that? “Sell your possessions,” he says, “and give to the poor, and come, follow me,” calling imitation through deeds following. What then do we learn from this? First, that one who does not have all these things cannot obtain the first places in that lot. For after he said, “I have done everything,” he concludes, “If you wish to be perfect, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and come, follow me.” This, then, one can learn first; second, that he exposed that man as boasting idly. For one who lives in such abundance and overlooks others in poverty, how could he have loved his neighbor? So he did not speak that truly either. But let us do both that and these, and be eager to empty out our possessions and buy heaven. For if someone has often spent his whole substance for a worldly dignity, a dignity that will remain here, and not even remain long with its holder (for many have been stripped of this office long before their death, and others have often lost even their life because of it; and yet, knowing these things, they empty out everything for it)—if, then, they do so much for this, what could be more wretched than we, if for that lasting and inalienable dignity we give up not even a little, nor offer even those things which we shall leave a little later while still here? What madness would it not be, then, not to wish to give willingly now, and take with us, what we shall leave unwillingly? If someone were being led to death, and it were proposed that he go free by giving up all his possessions, we would even think the thing a favor; but now, when it is possible for us who are being led on the road to Gehenna to be freed by giving half, we choose both to be punished and to hold uselessly what is not ours, so as to lose what is ours. What defense, then, shall we have? What pardon, when so easy a road to life has been cut for us, if we rush down cliffs and walk the fruitless road, depriving ourselves of everything both here and there, when it is possible to enjoy both securely? But if not before, then at least now let us recover ourselves, and, coming to our senses, dispose of present things as we ought, so that we may receive the future ones with ease, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, to the ages of ages. Amen.