Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 83.1–83.3

“Then Jesus comes with them to a place called Gethsemane, and says to the disciples, Sit here, while I go away and pray there. And taking Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled, and says to them, My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me.”

Since they clung to him inseparably, for this reason he says, “Remain here, while I go away and pray.” For it was his custom to pray apart from them. And he did this teaching us in our prayers to make for ourselves quiet and much calm. And he takes the three, and says to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death.” Why does he not take all? So that they might not be cast down; but he takes these, who had been spectators of his glory. But nevertheless he leaves these too, and going on a little, he prays, saying, “Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless not as I will, but as you will.” And he comes to them, and finds them sleeping, and says to Peter, “So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray, that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” It is not without reason that he addresses himself to Peter especially, although the others too had slept; but he is touching him to the quick by this too, for the reason I gave before. Then, since the others too said the same (“For when Peter said,” it says, “Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you, likewise,” it says, “all the disciples said too”), he speaks to all, exposing their weakness. For those who chose to die with him could not even stay awake then to grieve with him in his grief, but sleep overpowered them. And he prays earnestly, so that the thing might not seem to be play-acting. And sweats pour down, again for the same reason, and so that the heretics might not say this, that he feigns the agony. For this reason there are both sweats like clots of blood, and an angel appeared strengthening him, and countless tokens of fear, so that no one might say that the words were invented. For this reason too the prayer. By saying, “If it is possible, let it pass,” he showed the human; and by saying, “Nevertheless not as I will, but as you will,” he showed what is virtuous and philosophic, teaching us to follow God even when nature pulls back. For since it was not enough for the foolish to show the countenance only, he adds words too. Again, words alone were not enough, but deeds too were needed; and these too he joins to the words, so that even the very contentious might believe that he both became man and died. For if, even with these things, this is still disbelieved by some, much more had these things not been. Do you see by how many things he shows the truth of the dispensation? By what he utters, by what he suffers. Then coming, he says to Peter, “So, could you not watch with me one hour?” All were sleeping, and he rebukes Peter, hinting at him for what he had uttered. And “with me” is not set down idly; as if he said, “You could not watch with me, and will you lay down your life for me?” And what follows hints at this same thing. “For watch,” he says, “and pray not to enter into temptation.” Do you see how again he teaches them not to be self-willed, but to have a contrite mind, and to be humble, and to ascribe the whole to God? And now he addresses Peter, now all in common. To him he says, “Simon, Simon, Satan has demanded to sift you; and I have prayed for you”; but to all in common, “Pray not to enter into temptation,” everywhere cutting off their self-will and making them earnest. Then, so that he might not seem to make his speech wholly vehement, he says, “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” “For even if you wish,” he says, “to despise death, you will not be able, until God stretches out his hand; for the mind of the flesh drags you down.” And again he prayed the same, saying, “Father, if this cannot pass from me unless I drink it, your will be done,” showing here that he is fully in harmony with the will of God, and that one must everywhere follow it and seek it. “And coming, he found them sleeping.” For besides its being late in the night, their eyes were weighed down by dejection. And a third time, going away, he uttered the same, confirming that he had become man. For the second and the third time are in the Scriptures especially indicative of truth; as Joseph too said to Pharaoh, “The dream appeared to you a second time for truth, and so that you may be assured that this will certainly be, this happened.” Therefore he too, once and twice and a third time, uttered the same, to confirm the dispensation. And why did he come a second time? To expose them, that they were so immersed in dejection as not even to perceive his presence. Yet he did not expose them, but stood apart a little, showing their unspeakable weakness, that not even when rebuked could they hold out. He does not wake them and rebuke them again, so as not to strike those already stricken, but going away and praying and coming back, he says, “Sleep now and take your rest.” And yet then they ought to have watched; but showing that they will not even bear the sight of the terrors, but will be routed and will desert him because of the agony, and that he needs no help of theirs, and that he must certainly be handed over, he says, “Sleep now and take your rest. Look, the hour has come near, and the Son of Man is handed over into the hands of sinners.” He shows again that what was happening was of the dispensation;

and not this only, but also by saying “into the hands of sinners” he raises their spirits, showing that the deed was the work of those men’s wickedness, not that he was liable for any offense. “Rise, let us go from here; look, the one who betrays me has come near.” For by all things he taught them that the matter was not of necessity, nor of weakness, but of some unspeakable dispensation. For he foreknew that he would come, and not only did not flee, but even went to meet him. “And while he was still speaking, look, Judas, one of the twelve, came, and with him a crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and elders of the people.” Fine instruments of priests! They come against him with swords and clubs. “And Judas,” it says, “with them, one of the twelve.” Again he calls him one of the twelve, and is not ashamed. “And the betrayer gave them a sign, saying, Whomever I kiss, he is the one; seize him.” Alas, how much wickedness the soul of the traitor took in! With what eyes did he then look at the Teacher? With what mouth did he kiss him? O the foul mind! What did he plan? What did he dare? What sign of betrayal did he give? “Whomever I kiss,” he says. He trusted in the gentleness of the Teacher; and this above all was able to shame him and to deprive him of all pardon, that he was betraying one so gentle. And why does he say this? Because often, when held by them, he passed through without their knowing. But nevertheless this would have happened then too, had he himself not willed. Wishing to teach him this very thing, then too he blinded their eyes, and himself asked, “Whom do you seek?” And they did not know him, although they were with torches and lamps and had Judas with them. Then, when they said, “Jesus,” he says, “I am he whom you seek”; and here again, “Friend, why are you here?” For after showing his own strength, he then permitted it. And John says that even up to that very hour he was correcting him, saying, “Judas, do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?” “Are you not ashamed even of the form of the betrayal?” he says. But nevertheless, since not even this hindered him, he consented to be kissed too, and gave himself up willingly; and they laid their hands on him and seized him on that very night on which they had eaten the Passover; so they were boiling and raving. But nevertheless they could have done nothing if he himself had not permitted. Yet this does not free Judas from the unbearable punishment, but condemns him the more, because, having received so great a proof of his power and of his gentleness, … Knowing these things, then, let us flee covetousness. For it was this, it was this that then drove him into frenzy; it trains those it catches in the utmost cruelty and inhumanity. For when it makes them despair of their own salvation, much more does it prepare them to disregard that of others. And so tyrannical is this passion that it has sometimes overcome even the keenest love of bodies. Therefore I am also much ashamed that many, sparing their money, have often bridled their licentiousness, but for the fear of Christ have not been willing to live chastely and with gravity. Therefore let us flee it; for I will not cease always saying this. For why do you gather gold, O man? Why do you make your slavery more bitter? Why your watching more grievous? Why your care keener? Think that the gold dust buried in the mines is yours, and that in the palaces. For even if you had all that mass, you would only have guarded it, and would not have used it. For if now you do not use what you have, but abstain from it as from what belongs to others, much more would you have suffered this if you had more. For lovers of money are accustomed, the more they surround themselves with, the more to be sparing of it. “But I know,” someone says, “that these things are mine.” So the possession lies in opinion only, not in enjoyment. “But I would be formidable to men,” he says. Rather you would become more easily overpowered by rich and poor, by robbers and false accusers, by servants, and simply by all who wish to plot against you. For if you wish to be formidable, cut off the handles by which all who are zealous for this can seize and grieve you. Or do you not hear the proverb saying that not even a hundred men coming together can ever strip the poor and naked man? For he has poverty as his greatest protector, which not even the reigning king himself could overpower and take.

But the lover of money all together grieve. And why do I speak of men, when even moths and worms make war on such a man? And why do I speak of moths? Long time alone is enough, with no one troubling him, to do such a man the greatest injury. What, then, is the pleasure of wealth? For I see its unpleasantnesses; but tell me its pleasure. “And what are its unpleasantnesses?” someone says. Cares, plots, enmities, hatred, fear, being always thirsty and in pain. For if someone should embrace a maiden he loves and be unable to fulfill his desire, he endures the utmost torment. So too the rich man. For he has abundance and is with it, but cannot fulfill all his desire; but the same thing happens as a wise man says: “The desire of a eunuch to deflower a maiden”; and, “as a eunuch embracing a virgin and groaning”; so are all the rich. What should one say of the rest? How such a man is unpleasant to all—to his servants, to his farmers, to his neighbors, to those in public affairs, to those wronged, to those not wronged, to his wife most of all, and to his children more than all? For he brings them up not as free men, but more wretchedly than slaves and bought servants. And he will provide against himself countless occasions of anger and grief and drunken insolence and laughter, set forth as a common comedy for all. These are the unpleasantnesses, and perhaps more than these; for one could never go through them all in words, but experience will be able to set them forth. But tell me the pleasure from it. “I seem to be rich,” he says, “and am thought to be rich.” And what pleasure is there in being thought so? Rather it is a very great name for envy. For wealth is a name only, bare of reality. “But the rich man luxuriates and delights in this reputation,” he says. He delights in what he ought to grieve at. “Grieve? Why?” he says. Because this makes him useless for everything, and cowardly and unmanly, both toward exile and toward death; for he thinks death double, desiring money more than light. Such a man not even heaven delights, because it does not bear gold; nor the sun, since it does not send forth golden rays. “But there are some,” someone says, “who also enjoy what they have, living in luxury, gorging, drunk, spending lavishly.” You tell me of those worse than these. For those above all are the ones who do not enjoy. For this man, even if he abstains from other evils, is bound to one love; but those are worse than these, bringing in besides what has been said a rabble of other harsh mistresses, and serving every day, as cruel tyrants, the belly, the pleasure of bodies, drunkenness and the other licentiousnesses, keeping harlots, preparing costly dinners, buying parasites and flatterers, falling into unnatural loves, surrounding both body and soul from these things with countless diseases. For they do not spend their goods for need, but to corrupt the body and to corrupt the soul along with it; and they do the same as if someone, adorning his body, should think he was spending for his own need. So that he alone enjoys pleasure and is master of his goods who uses his wealth for what is needful; but these are slaves and captives; for they aggravate both the passions of the body and the diseases of the soul. What enjoyment, then, is this, where there is siege and war, and a storm more grievous than every surge of the sea? For if wealth takes hold of the foolish, it makes them more foolish; if of the licentious, more licentious. “And what is the use of understanding to the poor man?” someone says. Naturally you do not know. For neither does the blind man know what the gain of light is. Hear Solomon saying that as great as the difference between darkness and light, so great is the excellence of the wise man over the fool. But how shall we teach one who is in darkness? For the love of money is darkness, letting none of the things that are appear as they are, but otherwise. For as one in darkness, even if he sees a golden vessel, a precious stone, purple garments, thinks them nothing, for he does not see their beauty, so too the one in love of money does not know as he should the beauty of the things worth seeking. Disperse for me the mist that comes from this passion, and then you will see the nature of things. And nowhere do these things appear so as in poverty; nowhere are the things that seem to be but are not so exposed as in philosophy.

[4] But O foolish men, who even curse the poor, and say that houses and life are put to shame by poverty, confusing everything! For what is the shame of a house, tell me? It does not have a bed of ivory, nor silver vessels, but all of earthenware and wood. This indeed is the greatest glory and distinction of a house. For to neglect worldly things often makes all one’s leisure spent on the care of the soul. When, then, you see much care spent on outward things, then be ashamed at the great unseemliness. For the houses of the rich especially lack seemliness. For when you see wood covered with carpets, and beds overlaid with silver, as in the theater, as in a stage procession, what could equal this unseemliness? For what house is more like the orchestra and the things on the orchestra, the rich man’s or the poor man’s? Is it not plain that it is the rich man’s? So this house is full of unseemliness. What house is like that of Paul, that of Abraham? Plainly the poor man’s. So this one is especially adorned and approved. And so that you may learn that this especially is the adornment of a house, go into the house of Zacchaeus, and learn how he adorned it when Christ was about to enter it. For he did not run to his neighbors asking for curtains and seats and couches made of ivory, nor did he bring out of his storerooms the Laconian coverings; but he adorned it with an adornment befitting Christ. And what was this? “Half of my possessions I will give,” he says, “to the poor, and whatever I have seized, I will restore fourfold.” So let us too adorn our houses, so that Christ may come in to us too. These are the beautiful curtains; these are made in heaven, woven there. Where these are, there is the King of the heavens too. But if you adorn otherwise, you invite the devil and his band. He came also into the house of Matthew the tax collector. What, then, did this man too do? He first adorned himself with eagerness, and by leaving all and following him. So too Cornelius adorned his house with prayers and alms; therefore even to this day it shines above the very palaces. For the meanness of a house lies not in vessels lying about simply, nor in a bed …, nor in walls full of smoke, but in the wickedness of those who dwell in it. And Christ shows this; for into such a house, if the dweller is virtuous, he is not ashamed to enter; but into that one, even if it has a golden ceiling, he will never enter. So this one is more splendid than the palaces, receiving the Master of all; while that one, with its golden ceiling and its columns, is like drains and unclean channels, having the vessels of the devil. And these things have been said by us not about those who are rich as they ought to be, but about the covetous and lovers of money. For there the zeal and care are not for necessities, but for gorging and getting drunk and doing other such unseemly things; but here they are for practicing philosophy. For this reason Christ did not enter a splendid house, but that of the tax collector and of the chief tax collector and of the fisherman, leaving the palaces and those who wear soft clothing. If, then, you too wish to invite him, adorn your house with almsgiving, prayers, supplications, vigils. These are the ornaments of Christ the King; those are of mammon, the enemy of Christ. Let no one, then, be ashamed of having a cheap house, if he has these coverings; let no rich man think great things of himself for having a costly house, but rather let him be ashamed, and, leaving that, let him emulate this, so that he may both receive Christ here and enjoy the eternal tents there, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and might to the ages of ages. Amen.