Homilies on John 62.1–62.4

“Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. It was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment.” Many people, when they see some of those who please God suffering something terrible, such as falling into sickness or poverty or some other such thing, are scandalized, not knowing that to suffer these things belongs above all to those who are God’s friends. For Lazarus too was one of Christ’s friends, and he was ill. This, at any rate, is what those who were sent said: “See, he whom you love is ill.” But let us take the passage from the beginning. “A certain man,” it says, “was ill, Lazarus of Bethany.” Not simply or at random did he say where Lazarus was from, but for a reason which he will tell later. Meanwhile let us keep to the matter before us. And he usefully informs us about his sisters too, and what Mary had more, adding and saying, “It was Mary who anointed the Lord with ointment.” Here some are perplexed and say, “How did Christ allow a woman to do such things?” First, then, we must learn that this is not the prostitute in Matthew, nor the one in Luke; this is another. For they were prostitutes and full of many evils; but this woman was dignified and earnest, for she was eager in her care for receiving Christ. And the evangelist shows that the sisters too loved him, and yet he allowed Lazarus to die. And why did they not leave their sick brother and go to him, as the centurion and the royal official did, but send? They had great confidence in Christ and great intimacy with him. Besides, they were women, and weak, and held fast by grief; for that they did not do this out of contempt they showed later. That this woman, then, was not that one, is clear. “But why did Christ receive that other woman?” someone says. To do away with her wickedness, to show his love for humankind, so that you might learn that there is no disease that conquers his goodness. So do not look only at this, that he received her, but consider also how he changed her. And why does the evangelist remind us of this story? Or rather, what does he wish to teach by saying, “Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus”? Never to be indignant or vexed if some illness comes upon earnest men who are friends of God. “See, he whom you love is ill.” They wished to draw Christ to pity; for they still regarded him as a man. And this is clear from what they say, “If you had been here, he would not have died,” and from their not saying, “See, Lazarus is ill,” but, “See, he whom you love is ill.” What then does Christ say? “This illness is not unto death, but for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” See how again he says that his glory and the Father’s are one. For having said “of God,” he added, “so that the Son of God may be glorified.” “This illness is not unto death.” For since he was going to remain there two days, for the present he sends them away to announce this. And here one may admire his sisters, how, having heard, “It is not unto death,” and having seen the opposite happen, they nevertheless came to him even so, and did not think that he had spoken falsely. “That” here [does not indicate the cause, but the outcome]; for the sickness came from elsewhere, but he used it for the glory of God. “And having said this, he remained two days.” Why did he remain? So that Lazarus might breathe his last and be buried, so that no one might be able to say that he raised him before he had died, that it was a coma, a fainting, a seizure, and not death. That is why he remains so long, so that corruption too might set in and it might be said, “He already stinks.” “Then he says to the disciples, ‘Let us go into Judea.’” Why does he foretell it here, when he had nowhere foretold it elsewhere? They were very much afraid; and since they were in this state, he tells them beforehand, so that the suddenness might not trouble them. What then do the disciples say? “The Jews were just now seeking [to stone] you.” They feared for him, but still more for themselves; for they were not yet perfected. That is why Thomas, shaken by fear, says, “Let us go, that we may die with him.” For he was weaker and more unbelieving than the others. But see how Jesus encourages them by what he says. “Are there not twelve hours in the day?” He means either that one who is conscious of nothing evil in himself will suffer nothing terrible, while one who does evil will suffer (so that we need not fear, for we have done nothing worthy of death); or that one who sees the light of this world is in safety. And if one who sees the light of this world [is safe], much more one who is with me, if he does not separate himself from me. Having encouraged them with these words, he adds the necessary reason for his going there, and shows that they are not going to Jerusalem, but to Bethany: “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, and I go to wake him”; that is, “I am not going on the same errand as before, to dispute and come to grips with the Jews, but to wake our friend.” “The disciples said, ‘[Lord,] if he has fallen asleep, he will recover.’” They did not say this simply, but wishing to prevent his going there. “You say,” they mean, “that he is sleeping? Then there is no urgency to go.” And yet he said “our [friend]” for this reason, to show that his coming was necessary.

Since, then, they were rather reluctant, he then says, “He has died.” The first time he spoke as he did wishing to show his freedom from boasting; but since they did not understand, he adds, “He has died, and I am glad for your sake.” Why “for your sake”? “Because I foretold it when I was not there, and because when I raise him there will be no suspicion.” Do you see how imperfectly disposed the disciples still were, and did not know his power as they should? And this was the work of the [fears] that troubled them. And when he said, “He has fallen asleep,” he says, “I go to wake him”; but when he said, “He has died,” he no longer added, “I go to raise him.” For he did not wish to foretell in words what he was going to confirm by deeds, everywhere teaching us to be free of vainglory and that we must not make promises lightly. And if in the case of the centurion he did this when he was entreated (for he said, “I will come and heal him”), he said this to show the man’s faith. And if anyone says, “How did the disciples understand sleep, and not even from this perceive that it was death, I mean from his saying, ‘I go to wake him’? (For it would have been folly if they expected him to travel fifteen stades in order to wake him.)”, we would say this: that they thought it was a riddle, such as he often spoke. All, then, feared the attack of the Jews, but Thomas more than the others; that is why he said, “Let us go, that we too may die with him.” And some say that he too desired to die; but it is not so, for the saying belongs rather to cowardice. But he was not rebuked; for Christ still bore with his weakness. Later, however, he became stronger than all and invincible. This, at any rate, is the wonderful thing: that the man who was so weak before the cross, after the cross and after believing in the resurrection, we see more fervent than all; so great is the power of Christ. For the man who did not dare to go to Bethany with Christ, this man, not seeing Christ, ran through almost the whole world, and went about in the midst of peoples thirsting for blood and wishing to kill him. And if Bethany was fifteen stades away, which is two miles, how was Lazarus four days dead? He remained two days, and before those two days someone came with the news, on the very day on which he died; then he arrived on the fourth day itself. For this reason he waited to be called and did not come of his own accord, so that no one might suspect what happened. And not even the sisters whom he loved came, but others are sent. “Now Bethany was about fifteen stades off.” From this it is shown that many were likely to be present from Jerusalem. At any rate he added at once that many of the Jews were consoling them. [How did they console them?] “About fifteen stades.” He does not note this without purpose, but wishes to teach that it was near, and that many were likely to be present from there. So, showing this, he adds, saying, “Many of the Jews had come to console them.” And how did they console those whom Christ loved, when they had agreed that if anyone confessed Christ he should be put out of the synagogue? Either because of the necessity of the calamity, or respecting them as women of higher rank, or these were men who were not wicked; many of them, at any rate, believed. The evangelist says these things confirming that Lazarus had died. And why does she not take her sister with her when she comes to meet Christ? She wishes to meet him privately and tell him what had happened. And when he had led her to good hopes, then she goes off and calls Mary, and she met him while her grief was still at its height. Do you see how fervent her affection was? This is the woman of whom he said, “Mary has chosen the good portion.” “How then does this one [Martha] appear more fervent?” someone says. She is not more fervent; for the other had not heard; since this one was in fact weaker. For after hearing so much, she says again, “He already stinks, for he has been dead four days.” But the other, though she had heard nothing, said nothing of the kind, but believing at once, says, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Do you see how great is the wisdom of the women, even though their understanding is weak? For on seeing Christ they do not at once break into laments and wailing and howling, as we do when we see some acquaintances coming in upon our mourning; but they at once admire the teacher. Both believed in Christ, then, but not as they should. For they did not yet know exactly either that he was God, or that he does these things by his own power and authority; both of which he taught them. That they did not know is clear both from their saying, “If you had been here, our brother would not have died,” and from adding, “Whatever you ask of God, he will give you,” as though speaking of some virtuous and esteemed man. And see what he says. For the present he overturns that saying, “Whatever you ask.” For he did not say, “I ask,” but what? “Your brother will rise again.” To have said, “Woman, are you still looking downward? I need no other help; I do everything of myself,” would have been very burdensome and would have offended the woman; but as it is, by saying, “He will rise again,” he made his word a necessary middle course; and by what follows he hinted at what I said. For when she said, “I know that he will rise again on the last day,” he, showing his authority more clearly, says, “I am the resurrection and the life,” showing that he needs no other to help him, if indeed he himself is the life. For if he needs another, how could he himself be the resurrection and the life? But he did not say this so openly; he hinted at it. And again, when she said, “Whatever you ask,” he in turn says, “Whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live,” showing that he himself is the giver of good things, and that one must ask of him. “And everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die.” See how he lifts her mind. For the thing sought was not only to raise Lazarus, but she and those present with her also had to learn about the resurrection. That is why before the resurrection he teaches wisdom through words. And if he himself is the resurrection and the life, he is not confined by place, but being present everywhere he knows how to heal. If, then, they had said, like the centurion, “Only say the word, and my servant will be healed,” he would have done this; but since they called him to them and asked him to come, for this reason he comes down to them, so as to raise them from [their low opinion] of him, and comes to the place. Yet even while coming down, he shows that even absent he can heal; that is why he delays. For the grace would not have been evident if given at once, unless the stench too had set in. And how did the woman know of the future resurrection? She had heard Christ speaking much about resurrection; but nevertheless she wished to see it now. And see how she still turns downward. For on hearing, “I am the resurrection and the life,” not even so did she say, “Raise him,” but what? “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God.” What then does Christ say to her? “Whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live” (speaking of this death); “and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die,” meaning that other death. “Since, then, I am the resurrection, do not be troubled even if he has already died, but believe. For this is not death.” For the present he comforted her about what had happened and held out hopes, both by saying, “He will rise again,” and by saying, “I am the resurrection,” and that once risen, even if he dies again, he will suffer nothing. So one need not shudder at this death. What he means is this: “Neither has this man died, nor will you die.” “Do you believe this?” She says, “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who is coming into the world.” The woman seems to me not to have understood what was said. She perceived that it was something great, but did not comprehend the whole. That is why, being asked one thing, she answers another. For the present, however, she gained this: her grief was ended. Such is the power of Christ’s words. That is why the one went ahead and the other followed. For her goodwill toward the teacher did not let her feel the present much. So, together with grace, the women’s mind too was wise.

But now, together with the other evils, this disease of the women also prevails. For they make a display in their laments and wailing, baring [their arms], tearing at their cheeks. And they do this, some from grief, some from display and ambition, some from wantonness; and they bare their arms, and that in the sight of men. What are you doing, woman? Tell me, do you strip yourself shamefully in the middle of the marketplace, you who are a member of Christ, while men are present in the marketplace? And do you tear your hair and rend your garment and wail loudly and set a chorus around you and keep up the image of maenad women, and do you not think you offend God? What madness is this? Will not the Greeks laugh? Will they not think our teachings fables? For they will say, “There is no resurrection; the things of the Christians are a mockery, a deceit, and a contrivance. For as if there were nothing after this, so their women wail; they do not heed the words engraved in their books. All those are fictions, and the women themselves show it. For if they believed that the one who died has not died, but has passed to a better life, they would not have lamented him as no longer existing, they would not have beaten themselves so, they would not have uttered such cries full of unbelief: ‘I shall see you no more, I shall have you back no more.’ All their teachings are a fable. And if the chief of their good things is so disbelieved, much more the other things among them that are held in reverence.” The Greeks are not so effeminate; many among them have practised wisdom. A Greek woman, hearing that her son had fallen in war, at once asked, “And how are the affairs of the city?” And another philosopher, wearing a crown, when he heard that his son had fallen for his country, took off the crown and asked which of the two it was; when he learned which had fallen, he at once put the crown on again. And many gave up both sons and daughters to slaughter, honoring demons. And the Laconian women exhort their sons either to bring their shield safe from the war or to be carried home dead upon it. That is why I am ashamed that Greeks practise such wisdom while we behave disgracefully. Those who know nothing of resurrection act like those who know, and those who know act like those who are ignorant. And many often do out of respect for men what they do not do for God. For the wealthier women do not tear their hair or bare their arms; which is itself worthy of the utmost blame, not because they do not bare them, but because they do this not out of piety but so as not to seem to disgrace themselves. Then does respect for men prevail over grief, while the fear of God does not prevail? And how is this not worthy of the utmost blame? What the rich women do because of their wealth, the poor ought to do for the fear of God. But as it is, everything is the opposite: those women practise wisdom from vainglory, and these behave disgracefully from smallness of soul. What is worse than this inconsistency? We do everything for men, everything for the things here. And they utter words full of folly and much laughter. And the Lord says, “Blessed are those who mourn,” meaning those who mourn their sins; and no one mourns that mourning, nor cares for a soul that is lost; but this other mourning we were not commanded to do, and we do it. “What then?” someone says. “Is it possible for one who is a man not to weep?” Neither do I forbid this; but I forbid beating oneself, doing this immoderately. I am not savage nor harsh; I know that nature is tested and seeks familiar company and daily intercourse. It is not possible not to grieve. Christ too showed this, for he wept over Lazarus. Do this too: weep, but quietly, with decorum, with the fear of God. If you weep in this way, you do it not as one who disbelieves in the resurrection, but as one who cannot bear the separation. For we weep for those who go abroad and depart too, but we do not do it as despairing. So you too weep, as though seeing off one who is going abroad. I say these things not laying down the law, but coming down to you. If the one who died was a sinner and had greatly offended God, one must weep; or rather, not only weep (for this is of no profit to him), but do the things that can procure some consolation for him: almsgiving and offerings. One must also rejoice at this, that his course of wickedness was cut short. But if he was righteous, one must exult the more, that his affairs are laid up in safety and he is freed from the uncertainty of the future; if he is young, that he was quickly freed from the evils of this life; if old, that he departed having had his fill of what seems desirable. But you, leaving off reckoning these things, urge your maidservants to beat themselves, as if honoring the departed, which is the utmost dishonor. For the honor to the dead is not laments and wailings, but hymns and psalmody and an excellent life. For he, departing, will go away with angels, even if no one attends his remains; but the corrupt man, even if he has [the whole city following his bier, gains nothing]. Do you wish to honor the departed? Honor him in another way, by doing almsgiving, good works, services. What is the use of many lamentations? I have heard of another grievous thing too: that many women even attract lovers through their laments, by the fervor of their [wailing]. How long shall we be earth and ashes? How long blood and flesh? Let us look up to heaven; let us take thought of spiritual things. How shall we be able to rebuke the Greeks? How console them, when we do such things? How shall we discourse to them about resurrection? How about the rest of the life of wisdom? How shall we ourselves live in security? Do you not know that from grief comes death? For by darkening the soul’s power of sight, it not only lets us see nothing of what we ought, but also does much harm. In that way, then, we both offend God and benefit neither ourselves nor the departed; but in this way we both please God and are well thought of among men. For if we ourselves do not collapse, he quickly takes away what remains of the despondency; but if we are indignant, he leaves us to be given over to grief. If we give thanks, we shall not be despondent. “And how,” someone says, “can one who has lost a son or a daughter or a wife not grieve?” I do not say not to grieve, but not to do it immoderately. For if we consider that God took them away, that we had a mortal husband and son, we shall quickly receive consolation. For to be indignant belongs to those who seek something greater than nature. You were born a man, and mortal; why then do you grieve that what is according to nature has happened? Do you grieve that you are nourished by eating? Do you seek to live without this? Do so in the case of death too, and do not seek immortality for the present when you are mortal. This has been fixed once for all. So do not grieve nor beat yourself, but accept what has been laid down for all in common; but grieve for sins. For this is good mourning; this is the greatest wisdom. Let us, then, mourn this continually, so that we may attain the joy there, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory to the ages of ages. Amen.