Homilies on Philippians 1.1–1.5

“Paul and Timothy, servants of Jesus Christ, to all the saints in Christ Jesus who are at Philippi, with the bishops and deacons: grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” Here, since he is writing to men of equal honour, he does not set down his rank as teacher, but another, itself also great. What is that? He calls himself a servant, and not an apostle. For this too is truly a great rank and the sum of good things: to be a servant of Christ, and not merely to be called one. The servant of Christ is truly free from sin; and being a genuine servant, he will not consent to become the servant of anyone else, since then he would not be a servant of Christ except by halves. Again, writing to the Romans he says, “Paul, a servant of Jesus Christ”; but writing to the Corinthians and to Timothy he calls himself an apostle. Why does he do this? Not because these were better than those or than Timothy … far from it! But rather because he honours them and pays them regard most of all those to whom he wrote; for he also bears witness to great virtue in them. Besides, there he was going to give many directions, and so he took up the rank of apostle; but here he gives them no orders, except what they saw for themselves. “To the saints in Christ Jesus who are at Philippi.” Since it was likely that the Jews too called themselves saints from the first oracle, when they were called “a holy people, a special people”, for this reason he added, “to the saints in Christ Jesus”. For these alone are saints; those others are now profane. “With the bishops and deacons.” What is this? Were there many bishops of one city? Not at all; but he called the presbyters so. For at that time the names were still shared, and the bishop was even called a deacon. That is why, writing to Timothy too, he said … For that he was a bishop is clear from his saying to him, “Do not lay hands hastily on anyone”; and again, “which was given you with the laying on of the hands of the presbytery”; but presbyters would not have ordained a bishop. And again, writing to Titus, he says: “For this reason I left you in Crete, that you might appoint presbyters in every city, as I directed you: if anyone is blameless, the husband of one wife”, which he says of the bishop. And having said this, he at once added: “For the bishop must be blameless, as God's steward, not self-willed.” So, as I said, in old times the presbyters were called bishops and deacons of Christ, and the bishops presbyters; hence even now many bishops write “to my fellow presbyter” and “to my fellow deacon”. But from then on each has been given its own distinctive name, bishop and presbyter. “With the bishops,” he says, “and deacons: grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.” Here one might reasonably ask why, when nowhere else does he write to the clergy, not at Rome, not at Corinth, not at Ephesus, but to all the saints in common, or to the faithful, or to the beloved, here he writes to the clergy. Because they had both sent to him and borne fruit, and they had sent Epaphroditus to him. “I thank my God,” he says, “upon every remembrance of you, always.” Writing elsewhere he said: “Obey your leaders …, for they keep watch over your souls, as those who will give account, so that they may do this with joy and not groaning.” If, then, groaning comes from the disciples' wickedness, doing this with joy comes from their progress. This, then, is what he says: whenever I remember you, I glorify God. He does this because he knows many good things of them. “I glorify,” he says, “and I pray.” Not, however, because … for you. “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making my prayer with joy.” “Always”: not only when I pray. And he did well to add “with joy”; for it is possible to do this with grief too, as when he says elsewhere, “For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you with many tears.” “For your fellowship,” he says, “in the gospel from the first day until now.”

He bears them a great testimony here, not an ordinary one but a very great one, such as one might bear to apostles and evangelists. For, he says, you were not entrusted with one city and so take care of it alone, but you do everything to become sharers in my labours, present everywhere, working with me and taking part with me in my preaching; not once, nor twice, nor three times, but always, from the time you believed until now, you have taken on the zeal of apostles. See how those who were at Rome turned away from him; for hear him saying, “You know this, that all who are in Asia turned away from me”; and again, “Demas deserted me”; and, “At my first defence,” he says, “no one stood by me.” But these, even while absent, shared his afflictions, sending men to him, serving him as far as they could, and falling short in nothing at all. “And you do this,” he says, “not only now but always,” helping in every way. So helping is fellowship in the gospel. For when he preaches and you serve the preacher, you share his crowns. Even in the outside contests the crown belongs not to the contestant alone, but also to the trainer and the attendant and, in short, to all who train the athlete; for those who strengthen and refresh him may rightly become sharers of the victory too. And in wars too, not only the champion but all who serve him may rightly lay claim to the trophies and share in the glory, since by their service they shared the struggle with him. For serving the saints has no small power but a great one: it makes us partners in the rewards laid up for them. For example, someone has thrown away much money for God's sake, is devoted to God continually, practises great virtue, keeping great exactness down to his words, down to his thoughts, down to everything. It is possible for you too, even without such exactness, to share the rewards laid up for him for these things. How? If you serve him by word and deed, if you encourage him both by supplying his needs and by performing every service. For it is you who make the rough road easier for him. So if you admire those in the deserts, who have taken up the angelic life, and those in the churches who achieve the same as they, if you admire them and grieve that you fall far short of them, you can share with them in another way: by ministering, by serving. For this too belongs to God's love for humankind, that those who are more slothful and cannot take up the hard, rough, and exact life, he leads by another road into the same rank as these. And Paul calls this fellowship: “They share with us,” he says, “in fleshly things; we share with them in spiritual things.” For if God gives a kingdom in return for small and worthless things, his servants too give spiritual things in return for small and material ones; or rather, it is he himself who gives both these and those through them. You cannot fast, or live alone, or sleep on the ground, or keep vigil? You can, if you go about the matter another way: by serving the one who labours in these things, refreshing him and anointing him continually, and lightening the toil that comes from them. He has stood fighting, he is the one receiving wounds; you, tend him as he returns from the contest, receive him with open arms, wipe away his sweat, refresh him … If we serve the saints with such zeal, we shall be sharers of their rewards. This is what Christ too says: “Make friends for yourselves by means of the mammon of unrighteousness, so that they may receive you into their eternal dwellings.” Do you see how these have become partners? “From the first day,” he says, “until now.” “That is why I rejoice,” he says, “over your fellowship.” And I rejoice not only for the past but also for the future; for from the past I infer the future too. “Being confident of this very thing,” he says, “that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion until the day of Jesus Christ.”

See how he also teaches them modesty. For since he bore them witness to a great thing, so that they might not suffer anything merely human, he at once trains them to refer both the past and the future to Christ. How? He did not say, “I am confident that as you began, so you will complete,” but what? “He who began a good work in you will complete it.” He neither deprived them of their achievement (for he said, “I rejoice in your fellowship”, plainly as though they were achieving it), nor did he say the achievements were theirs alone, but primarily God's: “For I am confident,” he says, “that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion until the day of Jesus Christ”, that is, God. And I am so disposed, he says, not only about you, but also about those who come from you. And this too is no small praise, that God works in someone. For if he is no respecter of persons, as indeed he is not, but looks to the will and joins in our achievements, it is clear that we are the cause of drawing him to us. So not even thus did he deprive them of their praises. Since if he worked indiscriminately, nothing would have prevented Greeks and all people from being worked upon, if he moved us like wood and stones and did not look for our part. So by saying, “God will complete it,” this too again becomes their praise, as people who have drawn God's grace to work with them in rising above human nature. And it is praise in another way also: your achievements are such that they are not human but need God's help. And if God will complete it, there will not be much toil; but you must take courage, as people who accomplish everything with ease, since you are helped by him. “Just as it is right for me to think this about you all, because I have you in my heart, both in my bonds and in the defence and confirmation of the gospel, you all being partakers with me of grace.” Here he shows great longing for them, if he had them in his heart and, bound in the very prison, remembered the Philippians. It is no small praise of these men to be remembered by this saint, since this saint's love does not come from partiality but from judgment and right reasoning. So to be loved so intensely by Paul is proof that one is great and admirable. “And in the defence,” he says, “and confirmation of the gospel.” And what wonder if he had them in mind in the prison? Not even at that time, he says, when I was going into the court to make my defence, did you fall out of my memory. So tyrannical is spiritual love: it yields to no occasion, but always holds fast the soul of the one who loves, and allows no affliction or pain to overcome the soul. For as in the Babylonian furnace, though so great a flame rose up, there was dew for those blessed youths, so too the friendship of one who loves and pleases God, taking hold of the soul, shakes off every flame and makes a wonderful dew. “And confirmation of the gospel,” he says. So his bonds were a confirmation of the gospel, and so was his defence. And very soundly: for if he had refused the bonds, he would have seemed a deceiver; but as it is, by enduring everything, bonds and affliction, he shows that he suffers these things for no human reason, but for God who repays. For no one would have chosen to die and to take on so many dangers, no one would have consented to offend such an emperor (Nero, I mean), unless he looked to another king, far greater. So the bonds were a confirmation of the gospel. See how abundantly he turned everything into its opposite. What they thought was weakness and a charge against him, this he calls confirmation; and if this had not happened, the gospel would have been in weakness. Then he shows that his love does not come from partiality but from judgment. Why? “I have you,” he says, “in my bonds and in my defence, because you are partakers with me of grace.” What is this? Was this the Apostle's grace, to be bound, to be driven about, to suffer countless terrible things? Yes: “My grace is sufficient for you,” he says, “for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I am content,” he says, “with weaknesses, with insults.” Since, then, I see you showing your virtue by deeds, and being partakers of this grace, and that with zeal, it is natural that I infer these things. For I who have had experience of you, and know you best of all, and your achievements, that though you are so far away from us you strive not to be left behind by us in afflictions, but to share in the trials for the gospel and to have no less than I who have entered the contests, you who are far off, I am worthy to bear witness to these things. And why did he not say “partakers” but “fellow partakers”? I myself too, he says, share with another, so that I may become a fellow partaker of the good things in the gospel. And what is wonderful is that they were all so disposed as to be called fellow partakers of Paul: “For you all,” he says, “are fellow partakers with me of grace.” From these beginnings, then, I am confident that you will be such to the end. For it is not possible for so bright a beginning to be quenched and come to an end, but it points to great endings.

[4.] Since, then, it is possible to share in another way too, in grace, in trials and afflictions, let us share too, I beg you. How many of those standing here, or rather all of you, would wish to share with Paul in the good things laid up! It is possible, if you will, to fight alongside and help those who have taken up his ministry, those who suffer something terrible for Christ. Have you seen your brother in a trial? Reach out a hand. Have you seen your teacher struggling? Stand by him. “But no one is like Paul,” someone says. At once arrogance, at once they pass judgment. No one is like Paul, I too admit; but “whoever receives a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet's reward.” Were those people admired because they worked with Paul? Not for that, but because they worked with one who had taken up the preaching. Paul was honoured because he suffered these things for Christ. No one is like Paul. Why do I say like Paul? Not even a little near that blessed man; but the preaching is the same as it was then. And not only when he was in bonds did they share with him, but from the beginning; for hear him saying, “You yourselves also know, Philippians, that in the beginning of the gospel no church shared with me in the matter of giving and receiving, except you only.” And even without trials the teacher has much toil: wakefulness, labour in the word, teaching, blame, accusations, charges, envy. Are these small things, to put up with countless mouths, when he could be minding his own affairs? Alas, what shall I do? I am caught between two things and at a loss. I want to urge and exhort you to support and help the saints of God; but I fear that someone may suspect something else, that I say this not for your sake but for theirs. But know that I say this not for their sake but for your own. And if you will attend, I will persuade you by the words themselves: the gain is not equal for you and for them. For if you give, you will give things that a little later, willing or unwilling, you will part with and leave to others; but what you receive is far greater. Or are you not so disposed, that by giving you will receive? If you are not so disposed, I do not even want you to give; so little am I pleading on their behalf. Unless someone has first so disposed himself, as receiving rather than giving, as gaining countless things, as being benefited rather than benefiting, let him not give; if he gives as doing the receiver a favour, let him not give. For it is not my great concern that the saints be fed; even if you do not give, another will. So what I want is this: that you have consolation for your own sins; and the one who does not give in this way will have no consolation. For giving is not what makes almsgiving, but giving with zeal, rejoicing, grateful to the receiver: “Not from grief,” it says, “nor from compulsion; for God loves a cheerful giver.” If anyone does not give in this way, let him not give; for this is loss, not almsgiving. If, then, you know that you will gain, not they, know that the gain becomes greater for you. Their body is fed, but your soul is approved; none of their sins is forgiven them when they receive, but most of your offences are cut away. Let us share with them, then, in their contests, so that we may also share in their … those who do this do not consider that they give rather than receive. Adopt Christ as your son, and you will have great security. Do you want to share with Paul too? Why do I say Paul, when it is Christ who receives?

And so that you may know that I say and do everything for your sake, not out of concern for others' relief: if there is one of those who preside over a church living in plenty and needing nothing, even if he is a saint, do not give, but prefer to him the one who is in need, even if he is not so admirable. Why? Because Christ too wishes it so, as when he says, “When you give a dinner or a luncheon, do not invite your friends or your relatives, but the maimed, the lame, the blind, who cannot repay you.” For such receptions are not to be given indiscriminately, but to the hungry, to the thirsty, to the naked, to strangers, to those who have fallen from wealth into poverty. For he did not simply say, “I was fed,” but, “I was hungry”: “For you saw me hungry,” he says, “and fed me.” The claim is twofold: if one must feed someone who is simply hungry, much more when the one who is hungry is also a saint. If, then, he is a saint but not in need, do not give; for there is no gain in this. Christ did not command it; or rather, the man who lives in plenty and still receives is not even a saint. Do you see that we have said these things not for the sake of shameful gain but for your profit? Feed the hungry, that you may not feed the fire of Gehenna. When he eats of what is yours, he sanctifies even the leftovers. Think how the widow fed Elijah: she did not feed him more than she was fed; she did not give more than she received. This happens now too, and much more. For it is not a jar of meal or a flask of oil, but what? A hundredfold, and eternal life is the reward for such things. … She was a widow, famine pressed upon her, and none of these things hindered her; she had children, and not even so was she held back. She became equal to the woman who put in the two small coins. She did not say to herself, “What shall I get from this man? He needs me. If he had any power, he would not be starving; he would have ended the drought; he would not be liable to the same things. Perhaps he too has offended God.” She thought none of these things. Do you see how good it is to do good with simplicity and not to be overly inquisitive about the one who receives it? If she had wished to be inquisitive, she would have hesitated and would not have believed. So too Abraham, if he had wished to be inquisitive, would not have received angels. For it is not possible, it is not, for one who is overly exact in these matters ever to meet a saint; such a one most of all falls among impostors. How so, I say? The devout man does not want to appear devout, and does not put on an appearance, even if he is going to be spurned; but the impostor, since he makes a trade of the thing, … So the one who does good even to those who seem not devout will come upon the devout; but the one who looks for those reputed … Therefore, I beg you, let us do everything in simplicity. Suppose the one who comes to you is an impostor: you were not commanded to busy yourself with these things. “Give to everyone who asks you,” he says; and, “Do not hold back from ransoming” those led to death; and yet most of those put to death suffer this because they were caught in crimes, but “do not hold back,” it says. For in this way we shall be like God, in this way we shall be admired and obtain the immortal good things; which may we all obtain, and so on.