Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 55.1–55.5

“[Then] Jesus said to his disciples, ‘If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross [and follow me].’” “Then”: when? When Peter said, “Mercy on you; this shall never happen to you,” and heard, “Get behind me, Satan.” For he was not content with the rebuke alone, but, wishing to show abundantly both the absurdity of what Peter had said and the gain from the passion, he says: “You say to me, ‘Mercy on you; this shall never happen to you’; but I say to you that not only is hindering me and being displeased at my passion harmful and ruinous to you, but you will not even be able to be saved unless you yourself are always prepared to die.” For so that they might not think suffering unworthy of him, he teaches them the gain of the thing not only by what went before but also by what follows. In John, then, he says, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit”; but here, working it out abundantly, he extends the discourse about the necessity of dying not only to himself but also to them. “For so great is the gain of this thing that even in your case not wishing to die is a dreadful thing, but being ready for it is good.” But this he makes clear by what follows; for the present he works it out from one part. And see how he also makes his word free of compulsion. For he did not say, “Whether you wish or not, you must suffer this”; but how? “If anyone wishes to come after me. I do not force, I do not compel, but I make each one master of his own choice; that is why I say, ‘If anyone wishes.’ For I call to good things, not to evil and burdensome ones, not to punishment and vengeance, that I should compel. For the very nature of the thing is enough to draw one.” And by saying this he drew them the more. For he who uses force often turns people away; but he who leaves the hearer master draws him the more. For gentle treatment is stronger than force. That is why he himself said, “If anyone wishes.” “For great,” he says, “are the good things that I give you, and such that people should run to them willingly.” For if someone were offering gold and setting out a treasure, he would not invite with force. And if not with force to those things, much more to the good things in the heavens. For if the nature of the thing does not persuade you to run, you are not worthy even to receive it, nor, if you receive it, will you rightly know what has been received. That is why Christ does not compel, but exhorts, sparing us. For since they seemed to be murmuring much privately, troubled at what had been said, he says: “There is no need of trouble and confusion. If you do not think that what was said is the cause of countless good things, even when it happens to you, I do not force, nor do I compel; but if anyone wishes to follow, him I call. For do not think that following is what you are doing now in coming after me. You need many labors, many dangers, if you are to come after me. For you must not, Peter, because you have confessed me Son of God, expect crowns for that alone, and think that this is enough for your salvation, and from now on enjoy security, as though you had done everything. For I could indeed, being the Son of God, not even let you experience dangers; but I do not wish it, for your sake, so that you too may contribute something and become more approved.” For neither, if someone were president of the games and had an athlete who was his friend, would he wish to crown him by favor alone, but also for his own labors; and for this reason most of all, because he loves him. So too Christ: those whom he loves most, these he most wishes to be distinguished also by their own efforts, not by his help alone. But see how he also makes his word not burdensome. For he does not set the dangers around them alone, but sets the teaching before the whole world in common, saying, “If anyone wishes”: whether woman or man, whether ruler or subject, let him come this way. And he seems to have said one thing, but the things said are three: “let him deny himself,” and, “let him take up his cross,” and, “let him follow me”; and two are joined together, while one is set by itself. But let us see first what denying oneself is. Let us first learn what denying another is, and then we shall know what denying oneself is. What, then, is denying another? He who denies another, a brother, say, or a servant, or anyone whatever, even if he sees him being flogged, or bound, or led away, or suffering anything whatever, does not stand by him, does not help, is not moved, feels nothing toward him, as being once for all estranged from him. So, then, he wishes us not to spare our body, so that even if they flog, even if they drive us out, even if they burn us, even if they do anything whatever, we may not spare it. For this is to spare it. For fathers too spare their children when, handing them over to teachers, they bid them not to spare them. So too Christ did not say, “Let him not spare himself,” but more intensely, “Let him deny himself”; that is, let him have nothing in common with himself, but let him give himself up to dangers, to contests, and be disposed as though another were suffering these things. And he did not say, “Let him deny,” but, “Let him utterly deny,” showing again by this small addition the great excess. For this is more than that.

“And let him take up his cross.” This comes from the former. For so that you may not think that one must deny oneself only as far as words and insults and reproaches, he says how far one must deny oneself: that is, as far as death, and a shameful death. That is why he did not say, “Let him utterly deny himself as far as death,” but, “Let him take up his cross,” showing the shameful death; and that one must do this not once nor twice, but throughout the whole of life. “For carry this death about continually,” he says, “and be ready every day for slaughter. For since many have despised money and luxury and glory, but have not disregarded death, but feared dangers, I wish my contestant,” he says, “to wrestle even to blood, and the contest to go as far as slaughter; so that even if one must endure death, even a shameful death, even an accursed death, even under an evil suspicion, he may bear all nobly, and exult in this the more.” “And let him follow me.” For since it is possible to suffer and yet not follow, when one does not suffer for his sake (for robbers too suffer many hard things, and grave-robbers and sorcerers), so that you may not think the nature of the sufferings enough, he adds the reason for the sufferings. And what is this? That in doing and suffering these things you may follow him; that you may endure all things for his sake; that you may have the rest of virtue too. For this too is shown by “let him follow me”: so as to display not only courage in dangers, but also self-control, and gentleness, and all wisdom. For this is to follow as one ought: both to care for the rest of virtue, and to suffer all things for his sake. For there are those who follow the devil and suffer these things, and give up their lives for his sake; but we do so for the sake of Christ, or rather for our own sake; they, to harm themselves both here and there, but we, to gain both lives. How then is it not the height of folly not to show even the same courage as those who are perishing, and that when we are about to reap so many crowns? And yet Christ is present to help us, but no one helps them. He had, then, already given this command too, when he sent them out, saying, “Do not go into the way of the Gentiles; for I send you as sheep in the midst of wolves,” and, “You will be brought before governors and kings”; but now more intensely and more severely. For then he spoke only of death, but here he also mentioned the cross, and a continual cross. “For let him take up his cross,” he says; that is, let him carry it continually and bear it. And this he is accustomed to do everywhere, not from the beginning nor at the outset, but bringing in the greater of his commands gently and little by little, so that the hearers may not be startled. Then, since what was said seemed severe, see how he consoles it by what follows, and sets out prizes exceeding the sweat; and not prizes only, but also the wages of wickedness. And on these he dwells more than on those, since the giving of good things does not so much bring the many to their senses as the threat of severe things. See, at any rate, how he both begins from this and ends in it. “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,” he says, “but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will a man be profited, if he gains the whole world and forfeits his life? Or what will a man give in exchange for his life?” What he says is something like this: “I give these commands not because I do not spare you, but because I spare you exceedingly.” For he who spares his child destroys him; but he who does not spare saves him. Which a wise man too said, that “if you beat your son with a rod, he will not die, but you will deliver his soul from death”; and again, “He who pampers his son will bind up his wounds.” This happens also in an army. For if the general, sparing his soldiers, commands them to stay inside continually, he will also destroy along with them those inside. “So that this may not happen to you too,” he says, “you must be drawn up for continual death. For now too a hard war is about to be stirred up. Do not, then, sit inside, but go out and fight; and if you fall in the battle line, then you have lived.” For if in wars of the senses the one drawn up for slaughter is more esteemed than the others, and harder to capture, and more fearful to the enemy, though the king for whom he takes up arms cannot raise him after death, much more in these wars, where the hopes of resurrection are so great, he who exposes his life to death will find it: in one way, because he will not quickly be captured; in a second, because even if he falls, he will lead it by the hand to a greater life.

Then, since he had said, “He who wishes to save it will lose it, but whoever loses it will save it,” and had set down salvation and destruction both there and here, so that no one might think this destruction and that one equal, or the salvations, but might learn clearly that the difference between that salvation and this is as great as between destruction and salvation, he establishes these things once for all also from the opposite. “For what is a man profited,” he says, “if he gains the whole world but forfeits his life?” Do you see how the wrong kind of saving of life is destruction, and worse than any destruction, inasmuch as it is incurable, since there is nothing left to buy it back? “For do not tell me,” he says, “that the one who escaped such dangers saved his life; but along with his life set down the whole world too, and what more has he from it, when his life is lost?” For tell me, if you saw your servants in luxury but yourself in the worst evils, would you gain anything from being a master? Not at all. Reckon this, then, about the soul too, when, while the flesh lives in luxury and wealth, it awaits the destruction to come. “What will a man give in exchange for his life?” Again he dwells on the same point. “For have you another life to give in place of your life?” he says. “For if you lose money, you will be able to give money; or a house, or slaves, or anything else of your possessions; but if you lose your life, you will not be able to give another life in its place; but even if you have the world, even if you are king of the whole world, you will not be able, paying down all the world’s goods along with the world itself, to buy a single life.” And what wonder is it if this happens with the soul? For one may see it happening with the body too. Even if you wear countless diadems, but have a body sickly by nature and incurable, you will not be able, even if you give your whole kingdom, to set this body right, even if you add countless bodies, and cities, and money. Reckon so, then, about the soul too, or rather much more about the soul; and, letting all else go, spend all your zeal on it. Do not, then,

… while caring for the things of others, neglect yourself and what is yours; which everyone now does, like those who work the mines. For they have no benefit from this work, nor from the wealth; but even great harm, both because they run risks in vain and because they run risks for others, reaping nothing from that sweat and those deaths. These too many now imitate, who mine wealth for others; or rather they are more wretched than these, inasmuch as Gehenna awaits us after these labors. For death stops the sweat of those men; but for us death becomes the beginning of countless evils. But if you should say that you enjoy your labors by being rich, show me your soul gladdened, and then I am persuaded. For the soul is the more sovereign part of us. But if the body is fattened while that wastes away, its prosperity is nothing to you; just as, when the maidservant is merry, the handmaid’s prosperity is nothing to the mistress who is perishing, nor the fine adornment of the robe to the weakness of the flesh. But Christ will say to you again, “What will a man give in exchange for his life?”, commanding you to turn up and down about that, and to take account of it alone. Having struck fear by this, then, he consoles them also from the good things. “For the Son of Man,” he says, “is about to come in the glory of his Father with his holy angels, and then he will repay each according to his deeds.” Do you see how the glory of Father and Son is one? And if the glory is one, it is plain that the essence too is one. For if within one essence there is a difference of glory (“for one is the glory of the sun, and another the glory of the moon, and another the glory of the stars; for star differs from star in glory,” although the essence is one), how could those whose glory is one be thought to be of a different essence? For he did not say, “in such glory as the Father,” so that you might again suspect some variation; but, showing exactness, he says that he will come “in that very glory,” so that it is understood to be one and the same. “Why then are you afraid, Peter,” he says, “hearing of death? For then you will see me in the glory of the Father. And if I am in glory, so are you. For your lot does not end with the present life; but another, better portion will succeed for you.” Yet having spoken of the good things, he did not stop there, but mixed in the fearful ones too, bringing into the midst that judgment seat, and the accounts that cannot be excused, and the verdict that cannot be bribed, and the judgment that cannot be deceived. Yet he did not let his word appear gloomy only, but mixed it also with good hopes. For he did not say, “Then he will punish those who have sinned,” but, “He will repay each according to his conduct.” And he said this reminding not only sinners of punishment, but also those who have done right of prizes and crowns. But he said these things so as also to encourage good men; but I always shudder when I hear them, for I am not among those who are crowned. And I think that others too share our fear and agony. For whom is this word not enough to terrify, once it has entered his conscience, and to make him shudder, and to persuade him that we need sackcloth and a more intense fasting than the people of the Ninevites? For our discourse is not about the overthrow of a city and a common death, but about eternal punishment and the fire that is not quenched.

That is why I praise and admire the monks who have occupied the deserts, both for other reasons and because of this saying. For they, after their midday meal, or rather after their supper (for they never know a midday meal, since they know that the present time is one of mourning and fasting)—after supper, then, saying certain hymns of thanksgiving to God, they also remember this saying. And if you wish to hear the hymns themselves, so that you too may say them continually, I will recite to you that whole sacred song. Its words, then, are these: “Blessed is God, who feeds me from my youth, who gives food to all flesh: fill our hearts with joy and gladness, that always having all sufficiency we may abound in every good work, in Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom be glory, honor and might to you with the Holy Spirit to the ages. Amen. Glory to you, Lord; glory to you, Holy One; glory to you, King, for you have given us food for gladness. Fill us with the Holy Spirit, that we may be found well-pleasing before you and not be put to shame, when you repay each according to his works.” The whole hymn, then, deserves admiration, but especially this ending. For since the table and food tend to relax and weigh down, they put this saying on the soul like a kind of bridle, reminding it, at the time of relaxation, of the time of judgment. For they have learned what Israel suffered from a costly table: “For he ate,” it says, “and grew fat, and the beloved kicked.” That is why Moses also said, “When you have eaten and drunk and been filled, remember the Lord your God.” For after that table those lawless deeds were dared by them. Take care, then, that you too do not suffer something like this. For even if you do not sacrifice sheep and calves to stone or gold, take care that you do not sacrifice your own soul to anger, that you do not sacrifice your salvation to sexual immorality or to other such passions. For this reason those men too, fearing these precipices, when they have enjoyed their table, or rather their fast (for their table is a fast), remind themselves of the fearful judgment seat and of that day. And if those who discipline themselves with fasts, and sleeping on the ground, and vigils, and sackcloth, and countless other things, still need this reminder, when shall we be able to live in decency, we who set out tables that carry countless shipwrecks, and do not pray at all, neither at the beginning nor at the end? So, then, to undo these shipwrecks, let us bring that hymn into the midst and unfold it all, so that, seeing the gain from it, we too may sing it continually at table, and check the leapings of the belly, bringing the ways and laws of those angels into our own houses. For you ought to go there and reap these things; but since you will not, at least through our words hear this spiritual melody, and let each say these words after table, beginning so: “Blessed is God.” For at once they fulfill the apostolic law which commands, “Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Then the thanksgiving is made not for that one day alone, but for the whole of life: “who feeds me,” it says, “from my youth.” And from this there is teaching in wisdom: since God feeds us, we must not be anxious. For if a king promised to supply you with daily food from his own storehouses, you would from then on have taken courage; much more, when God supplies it, and all things flow to you as from springs, must you be freed from every care. For this is why they also say these things, so as to persuade both themselves and those whom they make disciples to strip off every worldly anxiety. Then, so that you may not think they offer this thanksgiving for themselves alone, they go on to say, “who gives food to all flesh,” giving thanks for the whole world; and like fathers of the whole world, so they offer praises for all, and anoint themselves for genuine brotherly love. For they cannot hate those for whom they give thanks to God because they are fed. Do you see love brought in through the thanksgiving, and worldly anxiety cast out, both by what went before and by this? For if he feeds all flesh, much more those devoted to him; if those bound by worldly cares, much more those freed from them. This too Christ established when he said, “Of how many sparrows are you of more value?” And he said this, teaching us not to trust in wealth and land and seeds. For it is not these that feed us, but the word of God. By these words they also stop the mouths of the Manichaeans and of the followers of Valentinus, and of all who are sick with their diseases. For he is surely not evil who sets out his own goods for all, even for those who blaspheme him. Then the petition: “Fill our hearts with joy and gladness.” What sort of joy, then, do they mean? Not that of this life? God forbid; for if they wanted this, they would not have occupied the mountain peaks and the deserts and put on sackcloth; but they mean that joy which has nothing in common with the present life, the joy of the angels, the joy above. And they do not ask for it simply, but with great intensity: for they do not say, “Give,” but, “Fill”; and they do not say, “us,” but, “our hearts.” For this above all is the heart’s joy: “for the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace.” For since sin brought in grief, they ask that righteousness be planted in them through joy; for otherwise joy could not arise. “That always having all sufficiency we may abound in every good work.” See them fulfilling that saying of the Gospel which says, “Give us this day our daily bread,” and asking even this for the sake of spiritual things. “For that we may abound,” it says, “in every good work.” They did not say, “that we may do only what is owed,” but, “even more than what is commanded”; for this is what “that we may abound” means. And from God they seek sufficiency in necessities, but they themselves wish to obey not just sufficiently, but with great abundance, and in all things. This belongs to grateful servants, to wise men: always and in all things to abound. Then, again reminding themselves of their own weakness, and that nothing noble can be done without the help from above, having said, “that we may abound in every good work,” they add, “in Christ Jesus our Lord, with whom be glory, honor and might to you to the ages. Amen,” weaving the end like the beginning by thanksgiving.