Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 80.1–80.3

“Now when Jesus was in Bethany, in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came to him having an alabaster jar of very costly ointment, and poured it on his head as he reclined at table.”

This woman seems to be one and the same in all the evangelists, but she is not. In the three she seems to me to be one and the same; in John no longer, but another, a wonderful woman, the sister of Lazarus. And it is not without purpose that the evangelist mentions Simon’s leprosy, but to show whence the woman took courage to approach. For since leprosy seemed to be a very unclean and abominable disease, and she saw that Jesus had healed the man (for he would not have chosen to stay with a leper) and had lodged with him, she took courage that he would easily wipe away the uncleanness of her soul too. And it is not without purpose that he mentions the town too, Bethany, but so that you may learn that he goes to his passion willingly. For he who before this used to escape them, now, when their envy was most inflamed, comes near, about fifteen stadia off; so his earlier withdrawing too was a matter of dispensation. Seeing him, then, and taking courage from this, the woman approached. For if the woman with the issue of blood, though conscious of nothing of this kind, approached trembling and afraid because of an uncleanness that seemed to come from nature, much more was this woman likely to hesitate and shrink back because of her evil conscience. Therefore she approaches after many women—the Samaritan, the Canaanite, the woman with the issue of blood, and several others—because she was conscious of much licentiousness; and not in public, but in a house. And while all the others came for bodily healing only, she came only for the sake of honoring him and for the correction of her soul. For she was not maimed in any part of her body; so that for this reason especially one might admire her. And she did not come to him as to a man (for then she would not have wiped him with her hair), but as to one greater than a man. Therefore the member that was the most honorable of the whole body, her own head, she brought to the feet of Christ.

“But when his disciples saw it, they were indignant,” it says, “saying, To what purpose is this waste? For this ointment might have been sold for much, and given to the poor. But Jesus, knowing it, said to them, Why do you trouble the woman? For she has done a beautiful work for me. For you always have the poor with you, but me you do not always have. For in pouring this ointment on my body she did it to prepare me for burial. Truly I say to you, wherever this gospel is preached in the whole world, what she has done will also be told in memory of her.” And whence did they get this idea? They heard the Teacher saying, “I desire mercy and not sacrifice,” and charging the Jews with having left the weightier things, justice and mercy and faith, and discoursing much on the mountain about almsgiving; and from these things they reasoned among themselves and thought that if he does not accept whole burnt offerings, nor the old worship, much less the anointing with oil. But they thought so; he, seeing her intent, allows it. For great was her reverence and unspeakable her zeal; therefore, greatly condescending, he permitted the oil to be poured even on his head. For if he did not refuse to become a man, and to be carried in the womb, and to be nursed with milk, why do you wonder if he does not repel this? For as his Father bore with the savor of burnt fat and smoke, so he too bore with the harlot, as I said before, accepting her intent. For Jacob too anointed a pillar to God, and oil was offered in the sacrifices, and the priests were anointed with ointment. But the disciples, not knowing her intent, found fault out of season, and by their very charges they show the woman’s munificence. For by saying that it could have been sold for three hundred denarii, they showed how much she spent on the ointment and how great a magnanimity she showed. Therefore he also rebuked them, saying, “Why do you trouble the woman?” And he adds a reason, wishing to remind them again of his passion: “For she did it for my burial,” he says. And another reason: “For you always have the poor with you, but me you do not always have”; and, “Wherever the gospel is preached, what she has done will also be told.” See how again he foretells the going out to the Gentiles, and by this consoles them about his death, since after the cross so great a power will shine forth that the preaching will be poured out everywhere on earth. Who, then, is so wretched as to set himself against so great a truth? For look, what he said has happened; and wherever in the world you go, you will see her too proclaimed. And yet neither was the person distinguished, nor did the deed have many witnesses, nor did it happen in a theater, but in a house, and in the house of a leper, with only the disciples present.

Who, then, made it resound and spread abroad? The power of him who said these things. The brave deeds of countless kings and generals, whose very memorials remain, have been silenced; and those who founded cities and surrounded them with walls, and won wars and set up trophies, and enslaved many nations, are not known even by hearsay or by name, though they set up statues and enacted laws; but that a harlot woman poured oil in the house of some leper, with ten men present, this all sing throughout the world; and so much time has passed, and the memory of what happened has not faded; but Persians and Indians and Scythians and Thracians and Sauromatians and the race of the Moors and those who inhabit the British Isles tell abroad what was done in Judea, secretly, in a house, by a woman who had been a harlot. Great is the love for mankind of the Master. He bears with a harlot, a harlot kissing his feet, and wetting them with oil, and wiping them with her hair, and he accepts her, and rebukes those who find fault. For the woman ought not to be thrown into perplexity for so great a zeal. And consider this too, I pray, how lofty they were already, and how eager for almsgiving. And why did he not simply say, “She has done a beautiful work,” but first, “Why do you trouble the woman?” So that they might learn not to demand the loftier things of the weaker from the very beginning. Therefore he does not examine the thing simply by itself, but together with the person of the woman. And yet if he were legislating, he would not have added the woman; but so that you may learn that these things were said on her account, so that they might not maim her budding faith but rather nurture it, for this reason he says it, teaching us that whatever good is done by anyone at all, even if it is not very exact, we should receive it and cherish it and lead it on to what is greater, and not demand all exactness at the beginning. For that he himself rather wished the other, almsgiving, is plain from his having commanded a money bag to be carried, he who had nowhere to lay his head. But then the occasion did not demand that what had been done should be corrected, but only that it be accepted. For as, if someone had asked him before the woman did this, he would not have pronounced so, so, since she had done it, he looks to one thing henceforth, that she might not be perplexed by the disciples’ rebuke, but might go away more cheerful and better through his care. For after the oil had been poured out, their rebuke had no occasion either. You too, then, if you see someone who has made sacred vessels and offers them, or busies himself with some other adornment of the church, about the walls and the floor, do not bid it be sold or overturned, lest you maim his zeal. But if someone asks you before making them, bid it be given to the poor; since he too did this so as not to maim the woman’s intent, and all that he says he says for her comfort. Then, since he said, “She did it for my burial,” so that the woman might not seem to be perplexed at his mentioning such a thing—a tomb and death, I mean—see by what follows how he restores her again, saying, “In the whole world what she has done will be told.” And this was a consolation for the disciples too, and an encouragement and praise for her. “For all will sing of her afterward,” he says; “and now she has proclaimed the passion beforehand, bringing what belongs to burial; let no one, then, rebuke her. For I am so far from condemning her as having done ill, or blaming her as not having acted rightly, that I will not even let what was done be hidden, but the world will know what was done in a house and in secret.” For what was done came from a devout mind and warm faith and a contrite soul. And why did he promise the woman nothing spiritual, but only the everlasting memory? By these things he prepared her to be confident about those too. For if she did a beautiful work, it is plain that she will also receive a worthy reward.

“Then one of the twelve, called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said, What will you give me, and I will hand him over to you?” “Then”—when? When these things were being said, when he said, “for my burial.” And not even by this was he pricked to the heart, nor, hearing that the gospel would be preached everywhere, was he afraid (for what was said was of unspeakable power); but when women showed so great an honor, and women who had been harlots, then he did the works of the devil. And why do they give his distinguishing name? Because there was also another Judas. And they do not refuse to say that he was of the twelve; so they hide nothing of what seems to be shameful. And yet one could have said simply that he was one of his disciples, for there were others too. But now they add, “of the twelve,” as if they said, of the first band, those chosen for excellence, those with Peter and John. For one thing only concerned them, the truth alone, not the overshadowing of what was done. Therefore they pass over many of the signs, but hide nothing of what seems to be shameful; but whether it is a word, or a deed, or anything whatever of the kind, they proclaim it with boldness.

And not these only, but John himself too, who utters the loftier things. For he especially tells the insults and reproaches done to him. And see how great the wickedness of Judas is, when he comes of his own accord, when he does this for money, and for so little money. And Luke says that he made the agreement with the captains. For since the Jews were seditious, the Romans set over them men who would take care of their good order; for their rule had by now passed away, according to the prophecy. Coming to these, then, he says, “What will you give me, and I will hand him over to you? And they weighed out for him thirty pieces of silver. And from then on he sought an opportunity to hand him over.” For he feared the crowd, and wished to take him alone. O the folly! How the love of money blinded him once for all! For he who had often seen him pass through their midst and not be held, and give many proofs of his Godhead and power, expected to hold him; and that though he had sung over him so many words, both fearful and gentle, to dissolve this wicked thought. For not even at the supper did he cease this care, but up to the last day he spoke to him about these things. But that man gained nothing. Yet not on this account did the Master cease doing his part. Knowing these things, then, let us too not cease doing everything for those who sin and are careless—admonishing, teaching, exhorting, advising, counseling—even if we accomplish nothing. For Christ foreknew that the traitor was incorrigible, but nevertheless he did not cease contributing his part, admonishing and threatening and bewailing, and nowhere plainly or openly, but in a veiled way. And at the very time of the betrayal he even consented to be kissed by him; but this did him no good. So great an evil is the love of money; for it made him both traitor and temple-robber. Hear, all you lovers of money, who have the disease of Judas; hear and guard against the passion. For if he who was with Christ, and worked signs, and enjoyed so much teaching, since he was not freed from the disease, was carried down to such a pit, much more will you, who do not even hear the Scriptures, who are continually nailed to present things, be easily caught by this passion, unless you enjoy continual care. Every day he was with him who had nowhere to lay his head, and every day he was taught by deeds and by words not to have gold, nor silver, nor two tunics; and nevertheless he was not brought to his senses. And how do you expect to escape the disease, when you do not enjoy strong treatment, nor use much zeal? For terrible, terrible is this beast; but nevertheless, if you will, you will easily overcome it. For the desire is not natural; and this is plain from those who have been freed from it. For the things of nature are common to all; but this desire comes from carelessness alone; from this it springs, from this it grows; and when it seizes those who gape after it, it makes them live contrary to nature. For when they do not know their countrymen, their friends, their brothers, their kinsmen, all of them simply, and with these themselves too, this is to live contrary to nature. Hence it is plain that wickedness is contrary to nature, and the disease of the love of money, into which Judas too fell and became a traitor. “And how did he become such,” someone says, “when he had been called by Christ?” Because God’s calling is not compulsory, nor does it force the will of those who do not wish to choose virtue; but it exhorts and counsels, and does and arranges everything so as to persuade them to become good; but if some will not endure it, it does not compel. And if you wish to learn whence he became such, you will find that he was destroyed by the love of money. “And how was he caught by this passion?” someone says. Because he was careless. For from this come such changes, as from zeal come the changes to the opposite. How many, at any rate, who had been violent are now gentler than sheep? How many licentious men have afterward become self-controlled? How many who were covetous before this have now thrown away even their own goods? And again the opposite has happened from carelessness. For Gehazi too lived with a holy man, and he too became wicked from the same disease. For this passion is the most grievous of all. From it come tomb-robbers, from it murderers, from it wars and battles, and whatever evil you may name, from it. And such a man is useless everywhere, whether he must be a general or lead the people; or rather not in public affairs only, but also in private ones. If he is going to marry a wife, he will not take the virtuous one, but the worst of all; if to buy a house, not the one fitting a free man, but the one that can bring in much rent; if he is going to buy servants or anything else whatever, he will take the worst. And why do I speak of generalship and leading the people and household affairs? For even if he were a king, he is the most wretched of all, and a plague of the world, and poorer than all. For he will be disposed as one of the many, not thinking the things of all to be his, but himself to be one of all; and seizing the things of all, he thinks he has less than all. For measuring what he has by his desire for what he has not yet acquired, he will think it nothing compared with that. Therefore someone also says, “Nothing is more lawless than a lover of money.”

[4] For such a man sells even himself, and goes about as the common enemy of the world, grieving that the earth does not bear gold instead of ears of corn, and the springs instead of streams, and the mountains instead of stones; vexed at abundant harvests, depressed by the common blessings, turning away from every occasion from which it is not possible to get silver, enduring everything from which one may collect even two obols; hating all, the poor and the rich: the poor, lest they come and ask; the rich, because he does not have what is theirs. He thinks that all possess what is his, and as though wronged by all he is vexed with all. He knows no satiety, understands no fill; he is the most wretched of all; just as he who is free of these things and practices philosophy is more enviable than all. For the virtuous man, even if he is a servant, even if a prisoner, is more blessed than all. For no one will do him harm, not even if all who are in the world come together, moving arms and armies and warring against him. But the wicked and worthless man, such as we have described, even if he is a king, even if he wears countless diadems, will suffer the extreme even from anyone at all. So weak is wickedness, so strong is virtue. Why, then, do you mourn being in poverty? Why do you lament while keeping festival? For it is a time of festival. Why do you weep? For poverty is a feast, if you are self-controlled. Why do you lament, child? For one must call such a man a child. So-and-so struck you? And what of it? He made you more enduring. But he took away your money? He cut off the greater part of the burden. But he cut off your glory? Again you tell me of another form of freedom. Hear those outside too, who philosophize about these things and say, “You have suffered no evil, unless you take notice of it.” But he took away your house, that great one with its enclosures? But look, all the earth is before you, and the public buildings, whether you wish to have them for delight or for use. And what is more delightful, more beautiful than the firmament of heaven? How long shall we be beggars and poor? It is not possible for one to be rich who is not rich in soul; just as it is not possible for one to be poor who does not have poverty in his mind. For if the soul is more sovereign than the body, the less sovereign things cannot dispose it to themselves, but the sovereign one draws to itself and changes the things that are not so sovereign. For the heart too, when it receives some harm, so disposes the whole body; and if it becomes ill-tempered, it injures the whole; and if well-tempered, it benefits the whole. But if any of the other parts is corrupted while the heart remains healthy, it easily shakes off their injury too. And to make what I say clearer: what is the use of green branches, tell me, when the root is withering? And what harm from leaves dried up above, when the root is healthy? So here too there is no use of money when the soul is poor, nor harm from poverty when the soul is rich. “And how,” someone says, “could a soul become rich while it is in poverty of money?” Then especially it would become so; for then it is wont to be rich. For if, as we have often shown, this is the token of one who is rich, to despise money and to need nothing, and of poverty again to be in need; and if one could despise money more easily in poverty than in wealth; it is plain that to be in poverty especially makes one rich. For that the rich man desires money more than the poor man is plain to everyone, just as the drunkard is thirstier than one who has taken enough of drink. For desire is not such as to be quenched by more, but on the contrary it is naturally kindled by it. For fire too, when it gets more fuel, then is most savage; and the desire for money, when you throw in more gold, then most rises. If, then, desiring more belongs to poverty, and the man in wealth is such, he is above all in poverty. Do you see that the soul is poorest when it is rich, and rich when it is in poverty? And if you wish, let us exercise the argument on persons too; and let there be two men, one having ten thousand talents, the other ten; and let me take these from both. Which, then, will grieve more? The one who lost the ten thousand. But he would not grieve more unless he loved them more; and if he loves more, he desires more; and if he desires more, he is more in poverty. For we desire that most of which we are most in want; for desire comes from want. Where there is satiety, there cannot be desire. For we are thirstiest when we are in want of drink. All this has been said by me to show that if we are sober, no one will harm us, and that the harm comes not from poverty but from ourselves. Therefore I exhort you to cast out with all zeal the disease of the love of money, so that we may be rich here too, and enjoy the eternal good things; which may we all obtain, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory to the ages of ages. Amen.