Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 23.1–23.4

“Judge not, that you be not judged.” What then? Ought we not to reprove those who sin? For Paul too says this very thing, or rather Christ there, speaking through Paul: “Why do you judge your brother? Or you, why do you despise your brother?” And, “Who are you that judge another’s servant?” And again, “Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes.” How then does he say elsewhere, “Reprove, rebuke, exhort,” and, “Those who sin, rebuke before all”? And Christ too said to Peter, “Go, reprove him between you and him alone; and if he does not listen, take another with you; and if not even so he yields, tell it also to the church.” And he set so many over him to rebuke him, and not only to rebuke but also to punish; for the one who listens to none of these he commanded to be as a Gentile and a tax collector. And how did he also give them the keys? For if they are not to judge, they will have authority over nothing, and they have received the power of binding and loosing in vain. And besides, if this were to prevail, everything would be ruined, both in the churches and in the cities and in the households. For if the master does not judge the servant, and the mistress the maidservant, and the father the son, and the friend his friend, wickedness will increase. And why do I say the friend his friend? If we do not judge our enemies, we shall never be able to put an end to enmity, but all things will be turned upside down. What then is it that has been said? Let us attend with care, so that no one may suppose that the remedies of salvation and the laws of peace are laws of overthrow and confusion. Above all, indeed, by what follows he has shown those who have understanding the excellence of this law, when he says, “Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the beam that is in your own eye?” But since to many of the more careless it still seems rather obscure, I will try to explain it from the beginning. Here, as it seems to me at least, he does not simply command us not to judge any sins at all, nor does he simply forbid doing such a thing, but he forbids it to those who are full of countless evils and trample on others for trifles. And it seems to me that he is also hinting here at the Jews, because, while they were bitter accusers of their neighbors for small and worthless things, they themselves were committing great sins without perceiving it. For this he reproached them toward the end as well, saying, “You bind heavy burdens, hard to bear, but you yourselves will not move them with a finger,” and, “You tithe mint and dill, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law, judgment and mercy and faith.” It seems, then, that he is aiming at them too, checking them in advance in the matters in which they were going to accuse the disciples. For even if the disciples had committed no such sin, nevertheless certain things were counted as offenses by those men, such as not keeping the sabbath, eating with unwashed hands, reclining at table with tax collectors; of which he says elsewhere too, “You who strain out the gnat and swallow the camel.” Yet he also lays down a general law about these things. And Paul too did not simply command the Corinthians not to judge, but not to judge those above themselves, and on a matter not admitted; not simply not to correct those who sin. Nor was he then rebuking all without distinction, but he was striking at disciples who did this to their teachers, and who, though liable for countless evils themselves, slander the blameless. This, then, is what Christ too hinted at here; and he did not simply hint at it, but also set over it great fear and a punishment that cannot be averted. “For with the judgment you judge,” he says, “you will be judged.” For it is not him you condemn, he says, but yourself, and you make the judgment seat fearful for yourself and the accounting strict. As, then, in the forgiveness of sins the beginning is from us, so also in this judgment the measures of condemnation are laid down by us. For we ought not to reproach or trample on another, but to admonish; not to revile, but to counsel; not to attack him with arrogance, but to correct him with tender affection. For it is not him but yourself that you hand over to the utmost punishment, if you do not spare him when you must give your verdict on his offenses.

Do you see how these two commands are both light and causes of great blessings to those who obey, as they are of evils to those who pay no heed? For the one who forgives his neighbor has freed himself from charges before the other, without any toil; and the one who examines with forbearance and pardon the offenses others have committed has laid up for himself beforehand, by his own verdict, a large contribution of pardon. “What then?” someone says. “If someone commits sexual immorality, am I not to say that sexual immorality is an evil, nor to correct the one who lives licentiously?” Correct him, yes, but not as a foe, nor as an enemy exacting a penalty, but as a physician preparing remedies. For he did not say, “Do not stop one who is sinning,” but, “Do not judge,” that is, do not be a harsh judge. And besides, as I said before, this was not said about great and forbidden things, but about things that do not even seem to be offenses. That is why he also said, “Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye?” For many do this now: if they see a monk who has a spare garment, they cite the Lord’s law against him, while they themselves seize countless things and take more than their share every day; and if they see him enjoying more plentiful food, they become bitter accusers, though they themselves are drunk and carousing every day, not knowing that, besides their own sins, they are gathering for themselves from this a greater fire and depriving themselves of every defense. For that your own affairs must be examined strictly, you yourself first laid down as law by judging your neighbor’s in this way. Do not then think it hard if you too are to undergo such an accounting. “You hypocrite, first cast out the beam from your own eye.” Here he wishes to show the great anger he has against those who do such things. For wherever he wishes to show that a sin is great, and the punishment and anger for it great, he begins with a reproach. As, then, in his indignation with the one who was exacting the hundred denarii he said, “You wicked servant, I forgave you all that debt,” so also here, “You hypocrite.” For such a verdict does not come from concern but from hatred of people; it puts forward a mask of kindness, but performs a work of the utmost wickedness, fastening needless reproaches and charges on one’s neighbors, and seizing the rank of teacher when one is not worthy to be even a disciple. That is why he called him a hypocrite. For you who are so harsh in the affairs of others as to see even small things, how have you become so careless in your own as to pass over even great ones? “First cast out the beam from your own eye.” Do you see that he does not forbid judging, but commands us first to cast out the beam from our own eye, and then to correct the faults of others? For each one knows his own affairs better than those of others, and sees greater things better than smaller, and loves himself more than his neighbor. So if you do it out of concern, be concerned first for yourself, where the sin is both plainer and greater. But if you neglect yourself, it is evident that you judge your brother too not out of concern but out of hatred, wishing to make a public show of him. For even if he ought to be judged, it should be by one who commits no such sin, not by you. For since he had set down great and lofty teachings of philosophy, so that no one might say that it is easy to philosophize about such things in words, he wished to show his own freedom of speech, and that he was liable for none of the things he had spoken of but had fulfilled them all; and so he spoke this parable. For he himself too was going to judge afterward, saying, “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!” But he was not liable for what he had said: he had neither a speck to cast out nor a beam in his eyes, but, being clean of all these, he thus corrected the offenses of all. For one must not, he says, judge others when one is liable for the same things. And why do you wonder that he laid down this law, when even the robber on the cross knew it, saying to the other robber, “Do you not even fear God, since we are in the same condemnation?”, speaking the same thoughts as Christ? But you not only do not cast out your own beam, you do not even see it; while you not only see another’s speck, but also judge it and try to cast it out; as if someone gripped by a severe dropsy, or some other incurable disease, should neglect it and accuse another who neglects a small swelling. And if it is an evil not to see one’s own sins, it is a double and triple evil to sit in judgment on others while carrying the beams about in one’s own eyes without feeling. For sin is heavier than a beam.

What, then, he commanded by these words is this: that one who is liable for countless evils should not be a harsh judge of the offenses of others, especially when these are small; he is not overthrowing reproof or correction, but forbidding men to neglect their own faults and to leap upon those of others. For this made men advance to great wickedness, bringing in a double evil. For the one who had practiced neglecting his own faults, though they were great, and examining harshly those of others, though small and trivial, was ruined in two ways: by despising his own, and by taking on enmity and hatred toward all, and being trained every day in the utmost cruelty and want of compassion. Having done away with all this, then, by this excellent legislation, he added another precept, saying, “Do not give what is holy to the dogs, nor throw your pearls before swine.” “And yet,” someone says, “as he went on he commanded, ‘What you have heard in the ear, proclaim on the housetops.’” But not even this is contrary to the former. For there too he did not command them simply to tell everyone, but to tell with boldness those to whom it should be told. By “dogs” here he hinted at those who live in incurable impiety and have no hope of a change for the better, and by “swine” those who spend their whole lives in licentiousness; all these he declared unworthy of such hearing. Paul too showed this when he said, “The natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit, for they are foolishness to him.” And in many other places he says that a corrupt life is the cause of not receiving the more perfect teachings. That is why he commands us not to throw open the doors to them; for they become more insolent once they have learned. For to the right-minded and those who have understanding, these things appear venerable when they are revealed, but to the senseless they appear so rather when they are unknown. Since, then, they cannot learn them from their own nature, “let them be kept hidden,” he says. For … the pig does not know what a pearl is. Since, then, it does not know, let it not even see it, lest it trample what it does not know. For nothing comes of it but greater harm to those who are so disposed and who hear. For the holy things are drunkenly insulted by them, since they do not know what they are; and they are puffed up the more and arm themselves against us. For this is the meaning of “lest they trample them, and turn and tear you.” “And yet,” someone says, “these things ought to be so strong as to remain unassailable even after being learned, and not to give others a handle against us.” But it is not they that give it; it is that these men are swine. Just so the pearl, when it is trampled, is trampled not because it is contemptible but because it has fallen among swine. And well did he say, “turn and tear.” For they pretend to be gentle in order to learn; then, when they have learned, they become different men from what they were, and they mock, they jeer, they laugh at us as people who have been deceived. That is why Paul too said to Timothy, “Beware of him yourself, for he strongly opposed our words”; and again elsewhere, “Turn away from such people”; and, “After a first and second admonition, have nothing more to do with a man who is a heretic.” So they are not armed by those things; rather, they themselves become foolish in this way, being filled with greater madness. That is why it is no small gain for them to remain in ignorance; for then they do not despise these things as much. But if they learn, the loss is double: they themselves will reap no fruit from it but will be harmed the more, and they will cause you countless troubles. Let those hear this who associate shamelessly with everyone and make venerable things contemptible. For it is for this reason that we celebrate the mysteries with the doors shut and keep out the uninitiated: not because we have judged the rites to be weak, but because the many are still rather imperfectly disposed toward them. For this reason he himself also spoke to the Jews in many parables, because seeing they did not see. For this reason Paul too commanded them to know how they ought to answer each one. “Ask, and it will be given you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.” For he had enjoined great and wonderful things, and had commanded them to be above all the passions, and had led them up to heaven itself, and had enjoined them to strive to become like, not angels or archangels, but the Lord of all himself, as far as is possible; and he had commanded the disciples not only to accomplish these things themselves but also to correct others, and to distinguish the wicked from those who are not, the dogs from those who are not dogs (and much in human beings is hidden). So that they might not say that these things are hard and unbearable (for in what follows Peter uttered something of the kind, saying, “Who then can be saved?”; and again, “If such is the case of the man with his wife, it is not expedient to marry”),

so that they might not say this now too (chiefly, indeed, he had already shown by what went before that these things are easy, setting down many arguments one after another, able to persuade), he now adds the crown of their ease as well, devising no ordinary consolation for the toils: the help that comes from persevering prayers. For we must not strive by ourselves alone, he says, but also call on the help from above; and it will surely come and be present, and will take part in our contests with us, and will make all things easy. That is why he both commanded us to ask and pledged himself to give. Yet he did not command us simply to ask, but with much persistence and intensity. For this is what “seek” means. For the one who seeks casts everything out of his mind, gives himself to the thing sought alone, and thinks of nothing that is around him. Those who have lost gold or servants and are searching for them know what I am saying. By “seek,” then, he showed this; and by “knock,” coming with vehemence and a fervent mind. Do not, then, lose heart, O man, nor show less zeal for virtue than desire for money. For those things you have often sought and not found; and yet, though you know this, that you will not certainly find them, you leave no means of search untried; but here, though you have the promise that you will certainly receive, you do not show even the smallest part of that zeal. And if you do not receive at once, do not despair even so. For this reason he said “knock,” to show that even if he does not open the door at once, we must remain there. And if you do not believe my declaration, at least believe the example. “For which of you,” he says, “whose son asks him for bread, will give him a stone?” For among men, if you do this continually, you seem troublesome and burdensome; but with God, it is when you do not do it that you provoke him more. And if you persist in asking, even if you do not receive at once, you will surely receive. For this reason the door is shut, that it may draw you to knock; for this reason he does not grant at once, that you may … ask. Continue, then, doing these things, and you will surely receive. For lest you say, “What then, if I ask and do not receive?”, he has fortified you with the parable, again setting down arguments and leading you from human affairs to confidence about these things, and showing by them that we must not only ask, but ask for what we ought. “For which of you is there, a father, whose son asks him for bread, will give him a stone?” So, if you do not receive, it is because you ask for a stone that you do not receive. For even if you are a son, this is not enough for receiving; rather this very thing hinders receiving: that, being a son, you ask for what is not good for you. You too, then, ask for nothing worldly, but for all things spiritual, and you will surely receive. For Solomon too, because he asked for what he ought to have asked, see how quickly he received. Two things, then, must belong to one who prays: to ask earnestly, and to ask for what one ought. For you too, he says, even though you are fathers, wait for your sons to ask; and if they ask you for something harmful, you withhold the gift; just as, if it is good for them, you consent and provide it. You too, then, considering these things, do not give up until you receive; do not withdraw until you find; do not relax your zeal until the door is opened. For if you come with this mind and say, “Unless I receive, I will not go away,” you will surely receive, if you ask for such things as are fitting for the one who is asked to give and good for you who ask. And what are these? To seek spiritual things in all; to come asking forgiveness having first forgiven those who have wronged us; to lift up holy hands without anger and disputing. If we ask in this way, we shall receive. As it is, our asking is a laughingstock, the asking of drunken men rather than of sober. “What then,” someone says, “when I ask for spiritual things too and do not receive?” Surely you did not knock with zeal; or you made yourself unworthy to receive; or you quickly gave up. “And why,” someone says, “did he not say what we ought to ask?” Yet he did say it all in what went before, and showed for what things we ought to come. Do not say, then, “I came and did not receive.” For it is never God’s doing that one does not receive, who loves us so much as to surpass fathers, and to surpass them as much as goodness surpasses this wickedness. “For if you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father.” He said this not to slander human nature, nor to condemn the race, but calling paternal affection wickedness by contrast with his own goodness: so great is the abundance of his love for humankind. Did you see an argument beyond words, able to raise even one who has utterly despaired to good hopes? Here, then, he shows his goodness from fathers; but in what went before, from the greater things he has given: from the soul, from the body. And nowhere does he set down the chief of blessings, nor bring forward his own coming; for he who so eagerly gave up his Son to slaughter, how will he not freely give us all things? For this had not yet come to pass. But Paul sets it down, saying, “He who did not spare his own Son, how will he not also with him freely give us all things?” But he himself still converses with them from human things. Then, showing that one must neither trust in prayer while neglecting one’s own part, nor, while striving, trust in one’s own zeal alone, but must both seek the help from above and contribute one’s own share, he sets down now this and now that, continually. For having given much counsel, he taught them to pray as well; and having taught them to pray, he came back to counsel about what must be done; then from that again to the need to pray continually, saying, “Ask, and seek, and knock”; and from there again to the need for them also to be earnest themselves: “For all things,” he says, “whatever you wish that people should do to you, do also to them,” summing up everything briefly and showing that virtue is concise and easy and known to all. And he did not simply say, “all things whatever you wish,” but, “all things therefore, whatever you wish.” For he did not add this “therefore” idly; he was hinting: If you wish to be heard, he says, do these things also, along with those I have spoken of. And what are these? “Whatever you wish that people should do to you.” Do you see how from here too he showed that, along with prayer, we need a strict way of life? And he did not say, “Whatever you wish to be done to you by God, do this to your neighbor,” lest you say, “And how is that possible? He is God, and I am a man”; but, “Whatever you wish to be done to you by your fellow servant, show this yourself toward your neighbor.” What is lighter than this? What more just? Then the praise too, before the rewards, is very great: “For this is the law and the prophets.” From this it is plain that virtue is natural to us, that from within ourselves we all know what we ought to do, and that it is never possible to take refuge in ignorance. “Enter through the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad the way that leads to destruction, and many are those who enter through it; and narrow is the gate and hard the way that leads to life, and few are those who find it.” And yet afterward he said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light”; and in what was said just now he hinted at the same thing. How then does he say here that it is narrow and hard? Chiefly, if you attend, here too he shows that it is very light and easy and simple. “And how,” someone says, “is the narrow and hard way easy?” Because it is a way and a gate; just as the other too, though it is wide and broad, is itself also a way and a gate. And none of these things lasts, but all things pass by, both the painful and the pleasant things of life. And not only in this way are the things of virtue easy, but by their end they become easier still. For not only the fact that the toils and sweat pass, but also that they arrive at a good end (for it ends in life), is enough to console those who contend. So both the brevity of the toils, and the perpetuity of the crowns, and the fact that the one comes first and the other after, would be the greatest consolation for the toils. That is why Paul too called affliction light, not because of the nature of what happens, but because of the purpose of those who contend and their hope of what is to come. “For the lightness of affliction,” he says, “works an eternal weight of glory, while we look not at the things that are seen but at the things that are not seen.” For if waves and seas are light and bearable to sailors, and slaughter and wounds to soldiers, and storms and frosts to farmers, and sharp blows to boxers, because of the hope of rewards that are perishable and pass away, much more, when heaven is set before us, and the ineffable blessings and the immortal rewards, will one feel none of the present hardships.