Homilies on Philippians 8.1–9.1

“So then, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God who works in you both to will and to work for his good pleasure. Do all things without murmurings and disputings, that you may be blameless and harmless, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding forth the word of life, for a boast for me in the day of Christ.” 1. Exhortations must be made with praises; for so they also become acceptable, when we call those we exhort to their own zeal, as Paul did here too. And see how wisely: “So then, my beloved,” he says. He did not simply say, “Obey,” but first praised them and said, “as you have always obeyed”; that is, I urge you to imitate not others but yourselves. “Not as in my presence only, but much more in my absence.” Why “much more in my absence”? Then perhaps you seemed to do everything out of honour and respect for me; but now no longer. If, then, it is shown that you have now increased your effort, it is shown that then too it was not for my sake but for God's. What do you want, tell me? Not that you should listen to me, but that “with fear and trembling you work out your own salvation”; for it is not possible for one who lives without fear to show anything noble and admirable. And he did not simply say “fear”, but added “and trembling”, which is an intensification of fear, wishing to make them more attentive. Paul had this fear; that is why he said, “I fear lest perhaps, having preached to others, I myself should be disqualified.” For if it is not possible to succeed in worldly affairs without fear, how much more in spiritual ones? For tell me, who learned letters without fear? Who became skilled in a craft without fear? And if, where the devil does not lie in wait but only sloth troubles us, we needed so much fear to overcome merely natural sloth, where the war is so great and the hindrances so many, how is it possible ever to be saved without fear? And how might this fear come about? If we consider that God is present everywhere, that he hears everything, that he sees everything, not only what is done and said, but also everything in the hearts and in the depth of the mind; “for he is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.” If we so dispose ourselves, we shall do nothing wicked, say nothing, think nothing. For tell me, if you stood continually near the ruler, would you not stand with fear? And how do you, standing before God, laugh and lounge, and are not afraid or shuddering? Do not despise his forbearance; for he is long-suffering to lead you to repentance. Do not bear to do anything without thinking that God is present in everything; for he is present. So whether you eat, or are about to sleep, or are angry, or seize something, or live luxuriously, or do anything whatever, think that God stands by, and you will never fall into laughter, never be kindled to anger. If you have this thought continually, you will continually be in fear and trembling, as standing near the King. The builder, even if he is experienced, even if very skilled, stands with fear and trembling, fearing that he may fall from the building. You too have believed, have done many good things, have gone up to a height: hold yourself in safety, and stand fearing, and keep your eye awake, so that you do not fall from there; for many are the spiritual forces of wickedness that wish to bring you down. “Serve the Lord,” it says, “with fear, and rejoice in him with trembling.” And how is there rejoicing with trembling? This is in fact the only rejoicing. For when we do some good thing, and such as is likely of those who do something with trembling, then only do we rejoice. “With fear and trembling” your own salvation … “Work out”: that is, with great zeal, with great care. But since he said, “with fear and trembling,” and made them anxious, see how he consoles the anxiety. For what does he say? “It is God who works in you.” Do not be afraid because I said “with fear and trembling”; I did not say it so that you might despair, so that you might think virtue something hard to attain, but so that you might pay attention, so that you might not let yourself go. If this is so, God will do everything; take courage. “For it is God who works in you.” If, then, he works, we must offer our will … ordered, not dissipated. “For it is God who works in you both to will and to work.” If he works the willing in us, how does he exhort us? For if he also makes the willing, it is in vain that you say to us, “you obeyed”; for we do not obey. In vain do you say, “in fear and in trembling”; for the whole is God's. I did not say for this reason, “For it is he who works both the willing and the working,” but wishing to relieve your anxiety. If you will, then he will work the willing. Do not be afraid, and do not toil; he gives us both the eagerness and the doing. For when we will, he then increases our willing. For example, I wish to do some good thing; he worked the good itself, and through it he worked the willing too. Or he says this out of great reverence, as when he says that our achievements are gifts.

So just as, when he calls them gifts, he does not drive us out of our free will but leaves free will in us, so when he says that he works the willing in us, he does not take away our free will, but shows that from doing right we receive great eagerness for willing. For just as doing comes from doing, so not doing comes from not doing. Have you given alms? You are urged on the more to give. Have you not given? You have grown idler. Have you been self-controlled for one day? You have an incentive for the second too. … “The ungodly,” it says, “when he comes into the depth of evils, despises.” Just as, then, when he comes into the depth of evils he despises, so when he comes into the depth of good things he is zealous. For as the one, having despaired, becomes more slothful, so the other, considering the multitude of good things, becomes more zealous, fearing lest he lose everything. “For his good pleasure,” he says: that is, because of love, because of his satisfaction, so that what pleases him may come about, so that things may be according to his will. Here he shows, and gives them courage, that he certainly works. For he wishes us to live as he wills. And if he wills, and works to this end himself, he will certainly work this too; for he wishes us to live rightly. Do you see how he does not take away free will? “Do all these things,” he says, “without murmurings and disputings.” The devil, when he cannot draw us away from doing good, contrives in another way to empty our reward. For he brings in either vainglory or arrogance, or, if not this, murmuring, or, if none of these, doubting. See, then, how Paul clears them away. He said what he said about humility, removing arrogance; he spoke about vainglory, pulling down the conceit; and elsewhere, “not in my presence only”; and here he speaks of murmuring and doubting. And why, when he removed this passion among the Corinthians, did he mention the Israelites, but here said nothing of the sort, but simply gave the command? Because there it had already happened; so it needed a stronger blow and a greater rebuke; but here he exhorts that it may not happen. … it was superfluous to secure them more sharply; for when leading them to humility too he did not set beside it the example in the Gospel, where the boasters were punished, but brought in the exhortation from God, and speaks to them as free men, as genuine children, not as servants. For in good things the grateful and noble man is drawn on by those who do right, but the ungrateful man not by these but by those who are punished; the one by honour, the other by punishment. That is why, writing to the Hebrews too, he spoke, bringing Esau into the midst, who sold his birthright for a single meal; and again, “If he shrinks back, my soul has no pleasure in him.” And among the Corinthians many had committed sexual immorality; that is why he said, “Lest when I come again my God humble me before you, and I mourn many of those who sinned before and did not repent of the uncleanness and sexual immorality and licentiousness which they practised.” “That you may become blameless and harmless,” he says: that is, irreproachable, sincere; for murmuring brings no small stain. And what is “without disputings”? “Is it good? Is it not good?” Do not dispute, he says, even if there is toil, even if there is labour, even if anything. He did not say, “so that you may not be punished” (for punishment is laid up for the thing, and he showed this in the Letter to the Corinthians); but here he said nothing of the sort, but, “that you may become,” he says, “blameless and harmless, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world, holding forth the word of life, for a boast for me in the day of Christ.” Do you see that he trains them not to murmur? So murmuring belongs to ungrateful and senseless slaves. For what son, tell me, working in his father's affairs and toiling for himself, murmurs? Consider, he says, that you toil for yourself, that you gather for yourself. Murmuring belongs to those others, when they toil for others, when they labour for others. But the one gathering for himself, why does he murmur? Because his wealth does not increase? But that is not so. The one who acts willingly and not by necessity, why does he murmur? It is better to do nothing than to do it with murmuring; for even what is done is lost. Or do you not see that in our own houses too we always say this: “It is better that these things not be done than with murmuring”? And often we have chosen to be deprived of service rather than put up with a servant who murmurs. For murmuring is terrible, terrible; it is close to blasphemy. Otherwise why did those men pay so great a penalty? The thing is ingratitude. The one who murmurs is ungrateful to God; and the one ungrateful to God is a blasphemer. Especially since at that time trials were continual and dangers came one upon another; there was no rest, no relief; countless terrible things flowed in from every side; but now there is deep peace, now ease.

3. Why, then, do you murmur? Because you are poor? But think of Job. Because you are sick? What then, if, conscious of so many good things and achievements as that saint, you had fallen sick? Think of him again: for a long time he went on teeming with worms, sitting on the dunghill, and scraping off the pus. “For when much time had passed,” it says, “his wife said to him, ‘How long will you hold out, saying, I will wait a little longer? Say some word against the Lord, and die.’” But your child has died? What then, if you had lost them all, and by an evil death, as he did? For you know, you know that it brings great consolation to close the eyes, to touch the beard, to hear the last words. But the righteous man was granted none of these, but all were buried together. And why do I say these things? If you yourself had been commanded to slaughter your son and sacrifice him and see him burned, as that blessed patriarch was, what would you have done? And what was he like, building the altar, laying on the wood, binding the boy? But some reproach you? What would you be, then, if you heard these things from friends who came to console you? For now we have many sins, and are reproached with reason; but then that true man, righteous, God-fearing, abstaining from every evil thing, heard the opposite of these from his friends. And what, tell me, if your wife reproached you, saying, “I am a wanderer and a hired servant, going about from place to place and from house to house, waiting for the sun, when it will set, so that I may rest from the pains that hold me”? Why do you say these things, foolish woman? Is your husband the cause of these things for you? Not he, but the devil. “Say some word against the Lord,” she says, “and die.” Then, if the man lying there speaks and dies, will you be better off? There is no disease worse than that one, even if you say so ten thousand times. It was such that he could not even be in a house and under a roof; it was such that everyone despaired. For he would not have sat outside the city if his disease had not been incurable, being worse off than those held by elephantiasis. For they enter houses and live together with one another; but he spent the nights in the open on the dunghill, naked, naked; he could not even put on a garment. How could he? Perhaps pain would have been added to his pains. His flesh produced pus and worms, and that continually. Do you see how each of us is numbed hearing these things? And if these things are unbearable to hear, are they bearable to see? And if unbearable to see, much more to suffer. Yet the righteous man suffered, and not for two or three days, but for a long time, and he did not sin, not even with his lips. What disease of this kind can you tell me, having many pains? For was this not worse than being maimed? “For I see my food as a stench,” he says. And not this only, but what is rest to us, night and sleep, brought him no consolation, but was harder than any torture. And hear him saying, “Why do you terrify me with dreams and frighten me with visions? If it is morning, I say, When will it be evening?” And suffering such things he did not murmur. And this was not the only terrible thing, but also the evil opinion of the many: for as one who had committed countless evils … those whose fathers I did not count worthy of my sheep-dogs. How many deaths is this not worse than? But though struck on every side by so great a surge, and though a harsh storm, cloud, and squall rose up on every side, he sat as in a calm amid so great and so harsh a surge, and did not murmur. And this before grace, before anything had been said about resurrection, before Gehenna and punishment and penalty. But we, who hear prophets and apostles and evangelists, and see countless examples, and have learned the teachings about resurrection, are still distressed, though no one could say that so many things have befallen him. For even if someone lost money, he did not lose so many sons and daughters; and if he lost them, perhaps it was because he had sinned; but he lost them suddenly, in the midst of the sacrifices, in the midst of the service of God. And if someone lost children and money together in such numbers, which is impossible, he was not also covered with sores continually and scraping off pus; and if this too, he did not also have people trampling on him and reproaching him, which is wont to sting us more than all our misfortunes. For if, having people who encourage us in misfortunes and console us and hold out good hopes to us, we are so distressed, consider what it was to have people reproaching. If “I waited for one to grieve with me, and there was none, and for comforters, and I found none” is terrible and unbearable, how great an evil is it to find, instead of comforters, reproachers? “Miserable comforters are you all,” he says.

If we turned these things over continually, if we reckoned them up, nothing of the present would grieve us, as we looked to that athlete, to that adamantine soul, to that unbreakable and brazen mind; for as though he wore a body of bronze or stone, he bore everything nobly and steadfastly. Considering these things, let us do everything without murmurings and disputings. You do something good, and murmur? Why? Is necessity laid on you? I know, he says, that many around you compel you to murmur (for he hinted at this by saying, “in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation”); but this is the wonder, that even when provoked one suffers nothing of the kind. For the stars too shine at night, appear in darkness, and are in no way harmed in their own beauty, but even appear brighter; but when there is light they do not appear so. So you too, when you remain straight among the crooked, shine the more; this is the wonder, to become blameless. For so that they might not say this, he forestalled it and set it down himself. What is “holding forth the word of life”? That is, being about to live, being among those who are saved. See how he at once sets down the prizes. The lights, he says, hold forth the word of light; you, the word of life. What is “the word of life”? Having the seed of life, that is, having pledges of life, holding life itself, that is, having the seed of life in you; this is what he means by “life”. So all the others are dead; for by saying this he showed it so; otherwise the others too would have held forth the word of life. “For a boast for me,” he says. What is this? I too share, he says, in your good things. So great is your virtue that it not only saves you but also makes me glorious. What boast? … us; that is why he says, “in the day of Christ”: “that I did not run in vain,” he says, “nor labour in vain”; but I can always boast, he says, that I did not run for nothing. “But even if I am poured out as a libation.” He did not say, “But even if I die,” just as he did not when writing to Timothy either; for there too he used the same expression, saying, “For I am already being poured out as a libation”; consoling them about his own end and training them to bear gladly death for Christ. I become, he says, as a libation and a sacrifice. O blessed soul! He calls their bringing to God a sacrifice. So it is much better to offer a soul than to offer oxen. If, then, in addition to this offering I give myself too, he says, as a libation, I rejoice, he says, at my death; for he hints at this by saying, “upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I rejoice and rejoice with you all; and in the same way you also rejoice and rejoice with me.” Why do you rejoice with them? Do you see how he shows that they ought to rejoice? I rejoice, he says, that I become a libation; and I rejoice with you, because I have offered a sacrifice. “And in the same way you also rejoice and rejoice with me,” he says, as I rejoice at my death. So the end of the righteous is not worthy of tears, but of joy. If they themselves rejoice, we must rejoice with them; for it is absurd for us to weep while they rejoice. “But we miss the companionship,” someone says. These are excuses, a pretext. See, then, what he commands: “Rejoice with me, and rejoice”; and do you miss the companionship? If you were going to remain here yourself, you would say so with reason; but if a little later you will overtake the one who departed, what companionship do you miss? For one misses companionship when someone is separated forever; but if he will travel the same road as you, what companionship do you miss? Why do we not weep for those who are abroad? Do we not, after weeping a little, stop at once after the first or second day? If you miss the companionship, weep only so much as to show your nature; but after that rejoice, as Paul says: I suffer nothing terrible, but even rejoice in departing to Christ: “you also rejoice, rejoice with me,” he says. Let us rejoice, then, we too, when we see a righteous man die, or rather even when we see one of those despaired of. For the one departs to receive the reward of his labours, the other has cut short something of his sins. “But perhaps,” someone says, “he would have changed if he had lived.” But God would not have taken him if he was going to change. For he who arranges everything for our salvation, why would he not have let him remain, if he was going to please him? If he leaves those who do not change, much more those who change. So let lamentation be cut off on every side, let mourning be ended on every side; let us give thanks to God for everything; let us become pleasing to him in everything, so that we may obtain the good things to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father together with the Holy Spirit be glory, power, honour, now and always and to the ages of ages. Amen.

“But I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, so that I too may be cheered by knowing how you are. For I have no one like-minded, who will genuinely care for your affairs. For all seek their own, not the things of Christ Jesus.” He said that what had happened to him had turned out for the advance of the gospel, “so that my bonds have become manifest in the whole praetorium”; he said, “Even if I am poured out as a libation upon the sacrifice and service of your faith”; by these things he strengthened them. Perhaps they suspected that the former things were said for the sake of consolation. What, then, does he do, and how does he dispel the suspicion? I am sending Timothy to you, he says; for they longed to hear everything about him. And why did he not say, “so that you may know how things are with me”, but, “so that I may know how you are”? Because Epaphroditus was going to report his affairs before Timothy; that is why he says further on, “to send him back to you”. But your affairs, he says, I wish to learn. For he had probably spent a long time with Paul because of his bodily sickness. So, he says, I wish, as I must, to learn how things are with you. See how he refers everything to Christ, even the sending of Timothy, saying, “I hope in the Lord Jesus”, that is, I am confident that God will make this easy for me, “so that I too may be cheered by knowing how you are”. As I revived you, he says, when you heard what you prayed for concerning me, that the gospel advanced, that those men were put to shame, that by the very things by which they thought to harm me they gladdened me, so I wish to learn your affairs too, “so that I too may be cheered by knowing how you are”. He shows here that they ought to rejoice at his bonds and follow them, for they gave him great pleasure; for “so that I too may be cheered” means “as you were”. Ah, how great a longing he had for Macedonia! To the Thessalonians too he bears the same witness, as when he says, “But we, being bereaved of you for a short season.” And here: “I hope,” he says, “to send Timothy, so that I may know how you are”; which belonged to the greatest care. For when he himself could not come, he sent his disciples, unable to bear being ignorant of their affairs even for a short time; for he did not, of course, learn everything by the Spirit. And this too happened fittingly. For if the disciples had been persuaded of this, they would have become shameless; but as it was, expecting to escape notice, they reformed more easily. And by this especially he turned them, by saying, “so that I too may be cheered”, and made them more zealous, so that Timothy, when he came, might not find things otherwise and report it to him. He himself also clearly used this method, putting off his coming, so that the Corinthians might change. That is why he wrote, “To spare you I did not come again to Corinth.” For love is shown not only by reporting one's own affairs, but also by seeking to learn theirs; for this belongs to a soul that is anxious and careful and always in suspense. At the same time he also honours them by sending Timothy. What are you saying? You are sending Timothy? Why? Yes, he says: “For I have no one like-minded”, that is, of those who care as I do, “who will genuinely care for your affairs.” Did he, then, have no one with him who was like-minded? No one. What does this mean? Instead of “caring for you and concerned for you as I am”. No one would readily choose, he says, to make so long a journey for this reason. The one who loves you as I do is Timothy. For it was possible to send others too, but no one is such. So this is what belongs to one like-minded: to love those taught by him as he does. “Who will genuinely care for your affairs,” he says; that is, as a father. “For all seek their own, not the things of Jesus Christ”: that is, their own rest and being in safety. This he says when writing to Timothy too. Why does he lament these things? To teach us, the hearers, not to fall into the same; to teach the hearers not to seek ease. For the one who seeks ease does not seek the things of Christ but his own; for one must be prepared for every toil, for every hardship. “But you know his proven worth,” he says, “that as a child with a father he served with me in the gospel.” And that I do not speak idly, he says, you yourselves know, that as a child with a father he served with me in the gospel. He commends Timothy here, rightly, so that he may enjoy great honour from them. He does this too when writing to the Corinthians, saying, “Let no one despise him; for he does the work of the Lord, as I also do”; caring not for him but for those who receive him, so that they may carry off a great reward. “Him, then, I hope to send at once, as soon as I see how it will go with me.” That is, when I see where I stand and what end my affairs will have. “But I trust in the Lord that I myself also shall come to you soon.” I am not sending him because I shall not come, but “so that I may be cheered by knowing how you are”, so that I may not be in ignorance even in the meantime. “But I trust in the Lord,” he says; that is, if God wills.