On the Resurrection of Christ 1.617–2.633

is the one the sermon now looks to: that since God had transformed the whole man into the divine nature by mingling him with himself, at the time of the dispensation of the passion what had once been mingled did not withdraw from either part (“for the gifts of God are irrevocable”); rather, the Godhead of its own will separated the soul from the body, but showed that it itself remained in both. Through the body, in which it did not admit the decay that comes from death, it destroyed him who had the power of death; and through the soul it opened the way for the robber's entry into paradise. Both are accomplished at the same time, the Godhead achieving good through both: through the incorruption of the body, the destruction of death; through the soul, hastening to its own hearth, the return of humankind to paradise. Since, then, the human compound is twofold, but the nature of the Godhead is simple and of one form, at the time of the separation of the body from the soul the indivisible is not split along with the composite; rather, the opposite happens. For by the unity of the divine nature, which is equally in both, the separated parts grow together again. And so death comes from the division of what had grown together, and resurrection from the union of what had been divided. And if you ask how, while in paradise, he commits himself into the hands of the Father, the lofty Isaiah will explain to you what is sought here. For he said, speaking in the person of God about the Jerusalem above, which we believe to be none other than paradise: “I have painted your walls on my hands.” If, then, Jerusalem, which is paradise, is drawn on the hands of the Father, clearly he who has come to be in paradise surely dwells in the Father's palms, on which the divine city has its outline. So much for this. But it would be worth adding briefly to the sermon what we hear the Jews say when they attack our teaching with vehement accusation. They say that in the law about the Passover Moses enacted for the Jews the fourteenth day of the moon's course, and the eating of unleavened bread for seven days, and the use of bitter herbs as a relish with the unleavened bread. “If, then,” says the Jew, “you are careful to keep the fourteenth day, let the bitter herb and the unleavened bread be kept with it. But if these deserve to be disregarded, why the zeal about that?” For of one and the same lawgiver one command is not judged just and profitable for the soul and another useless and to be thrown away; so that it is necessary either that we carry out all that has been enacted about the Passover, or that we keep none of it. What, then, do we say? Let us remember him who commanded us not to fear the reproach of men and not to be overcome by their contempt. For we know the profit to the soul in the observance of unleavened bread, and the gain

of the bitter herbs, and the usefulness of the fourteenth day. The reasoning is this, and we will examine it briefly. The law, which has the shadow of the good things to come, looks first of all to one aim: that through its various commands the human being may be cleansed of the evil mixed into him. This is achieved in circumcision, in the Sabbath, in the observance about foods, in the various sacrifices of animals, in each one of the observances of the law. It would take long to set out precisely what the law shows us in figures about each of them for the cleansing of life. Just as, then, through circumcision performed spiritually, nature puts off what is subject to passion, stripping away the fleshly life; and through Sabbath-keeping it is taught to be idle in evil; and the sacrifice of animals slaughters the passions; and the distinction of unclean foods laid down by law counsels you to estrange yourself from a filthy and unclean life; so too this feast shows you that other feast, for which the soul is prepared through unleavened bread, keeping itself pure for seven days from eating anything leavened. Their figure means this: the number of seven days shows you this passing time, which goes round in cycles of weeks. In it one must take care that no remnant of yesterday's evil be kept into the present day, so that stale evil may not give some sourness and acidity to today's dough. “Do not let the sun go down on your anger,” says the Apostle, who bids us keep the feast “not with old leaven, nor with the leaven of malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.” What we have learned about one kind of evil, we are taught by analogy about the other kinds of evil. The bitter herb drives out what is slack and dissolute in life and brings in instead a life that is self-controlled, hardened, and harsh to the senses, since “all discipline seems for the present to be not a matter of joy but of grief.” So whoever, through the whole week of this life, keeps each present day unleavened and unmixed with old evil, making self-control the relish of his life, separates himself from every admixture of darkness. For this is what the fourteenth day of the moon's course indicates. Since the days of the moon's course are twenty-nine and a half in all, in which the moon, from the new moon, is completed into a full circle by waxing, and returns again by waning to the total eclipse of its light, half of that number is clearly fourteen and a little more. So when the moon happens to be in this shape, since, advancing on its own course along with the interval of the night, it adds what is lacking to its circle, so that, filled with light, it mingles its own brightness with the rays of the day, so that neither at evening

nor at dawn does any intrusion of darkness break the continuity of the light in the succession of the heavenly bodies, the radiance remaining undivided. For before the sun's ray has quite set, the moon appears directly opposite the sun, diametrically, and lights up what lies below with its own light. And again, before its disk has gone entirely below the horizon, the light of day is mingled with what remains of the moonlight. And so on that day of the full moon the darkness is done away with both at dawn and at evening, being made bright by the succession of the luminaries. What happens to the visible light on the fourteenth day, then, that through the whole night and day it admits no mixture of darkness, the spiritual law wishes to become a symbol for those who keep the feast spiritually, so that through the whole week of life they may make the whole time of their life one Passover, full of light and without darkness. For this is the meaning of the commands about Passover for Christians. For this reason we look to the fourteenth day, taking up through this visible and material light the image of the immaterial and intelligible light, so that while we seem to look for the full moon, which gives its own light continuously all night long, in truth the observance is a law for us that all our time, measured by night and day, should be continually bright for us and unmixed with the works of darkness. So much on these matters. But as for all the thoughts that the cross contains, through which the mystery of the passion is completed, who could easily make them clear in words? Were there not countless ways leading to death, through which the dispensation of death for our sake could have been fulfilled? But out of them all this one was fixed by him who, by his own authority, fixed his passion for himself. For he says: “The Son of Man must.” He did not say, “The Son of Man will suffer this and that,” as one might say simply in foretelling what will happen; but by his word he lays down as doctrine what was bound to happen of necessity for some secret reason, when he says: “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected and be crucified and on the third day rise.” Consider for me the sense of “must,” through which it is found that the passion so laid down had to take place in no other way than through the cross. What, then, is the reason for this? Only the great Paul, who was taught by the unspeakable words he heard when he was initiated in the inner sanctuary of paradise, could make clear the mystery about this, as he hinted at the hidden thing in part in his words to the Ephesians, saying: “that you may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length, the depth and height, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled to all the fullness of God.” For not idly did that divine eye of the Apostle

contemplate the shape of the cross; through this too he showed clearly that whoever has cast the scales of ignorance from his eyes sees the truth itself purely. For he knows that this shape, divided into four arms from the meeting point in the middle, signifies the power and providence, reaching through all things, of him who appeared on it; and for this reason he names each arm with its own word, calling “depth” what runs down from the middle, and “height” what lies above, and “breadth” and “length” what stretches out sideways on either side of the meeting point, so as to call the part on one side of the middle “breadth” and the part on the other “length.” By these words he seems to me to signify clearly that there is nothing among things that exist which is not held fast by the divine nature: what is above the heavens, what is under the earth, and what stretches out sideways on every side to the limits of things. For by the height he signifies what lies above; by the depth, what is under the earth; and by the length and breadth, the limits in between, which are held together by the power that holds all things fast. Let the proof of what is said come from what happens in your own soul when you think about God. Look up to heaven, consider in thought the depths below, stretch your mind to the sides and the extremities of the frame of the universe, and reckon what power it is that holds these together, being a kind of bond of the universe. And you will see how of itself the thought of the divine power stamps on the mind the shape of the cross, reaching from the heights down to the depths and stretching crosswise to the limits of the extremities. This shape the great David too sang in his own words: “Where shall I go from your Spirit, and where shall I flee from your face? If I go up into heaven” (this is the height); “if I go down into Hades” (this is the depth); “if I take up my wings at dawn,” that is, at the rising of the sun (this is the breadth); “if I should dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea” (for so he names the west) (this is the length). You see how he paints the shape of the cross in his words? “You are,” he says, “the one who reaches through all things, the bond of all that comes to be, holding all the limits within yourself. You are above, you are present below; your hand is at this limit, and at the other your right hand guides.” For this reason the great Apostle too, where all things of faith and knowledge are to be fulfilled, says that he who is above every name is worshiped in the name of Jesus Christ by those in heaven and on earth and under the earth; again, by these words too, he divides the worship of the cross according to the shape of the cross. For the order above the world offers worship to the Master in the upper part of the cross; the order within the world, in the middle parts; and the order under the earth keeps to the depth. This, in my view, is also the iota

seen together with its stroke, which is more permanent than the heavens, firmer than the earth, and more lasting than the whole frame of things. “Heaven and earth will pass away,” and “the form of the whole world passes away”; but the iota and the stroke of the law do not admit of passing. The vertical line, reaching from above down to the depth, is called iota; the line drawn crosswise along the side is named the stroke (keraia), as one can learn even from sailors. For the beam that lies crosswise on the mast, from which they spread the sail, they call the keraia (yard), naming it from its shape. Therefore the divine voice of the Gospel seems to me to look to this: that this is that in which all things hold together, more everlasting than the things held fast in it, which shows its own power, the power that preserves all things, as through a riddle and a mirror, by the shape of the cross. For this reason he says that the Son of Man must not simply die, but be crucified, so that for those who see more keenly the cross might become a theologian, proclaiming by its shape the all-powerful authority of him who was displayed on it and who is all in all. Let us not pass over in silence, brothers, that noble councillor either, Joseph of Arimathea, who, receiving that undefiled and holy body as a gift, wraps it in a clean linen cloth and lays it in a clean tomb. Let the deed of that noble councillor be a law for us, that we too, when we receive that gift of the body, should likewise take counsel not to receive it in a soiled linen cloth of conscience, nor to lay it in a tomb of the heart that stinks of dead men's bones and all uncleanness, but, as the Apostle says, that each should examine himself, so that the grace may not become judgment for the one who receives the grace unworthily. But even as I speak I feel myself flashed upon by the shining robe of the angel, and that sweet earthquake shakes my heart with joy, the earthquake that rolls away the heavy stone of the human tomb, through which the door of the resurrection is opened to all. Let us too run to see the wondrous spectacle, for the Sabbath is already past; let us not arrive after the women. In our hands too there will be spices: faith and conscience. For this is the fragrance of Christ. Let us no longer seek the living among the dead. For the Lord pushes away one who seeks him in that way, saying: “Do not touch me; but when I go up to the Father, then you may touch me.” Let us hear what good news the woman too proclaims, who went ahead of the man through faith, and did well to do so, so that by taking the lead toward the good she might make amends for being the cause of evil. What, then, is the woman's gospel? Truly “not from men nor through men, but through Jesus Christ.” “Hear,” she says, “what the Lord has commanded us to tell you”—you, whom he also calls his brothers—“I am going to my

Father and your Father, and to my God and your God.” What fine and good tidings! He who for our sake became like us, so that by becoming of one race with us he might make us his brothers, brings his own humanity to the true Father, so as to draw to himself through it all that is of one race with it, so that those who served gods that by nature are not gods might no longer be under reproach. Through being brought back to the living and true God, those who followed the Son through adoption are not to be cast out and disowned from the Father's inheritance. He who through the flesh made himself the firstborn among many brothers drew to himself the whole creation which he shared through the flesh mingled with him. But since the unleavened bread before the Passover has the bitter herb as its relish, let us see with what seasoning the bread after the resurrection is sweetened. Do you see, as Peter is fishing, bread and a honeycomb in the Lord's hands? Understand what the bitterness of life prepares for you. So let us too rise from the fishing of words and now run to the bread, which the honeycomb of good hope makes sweet, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory and power with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always and to the ages of ages. Amen.

On the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, and that the evangelists, without contradicting one another in anything, recounted in different ways what happened at the resurrection of Emmanuel.

All, beloved, one may say, welcome the reading of the holy Gospels about the resurrection of our great God and Savior Jesus Christ, which we have fittingly brought in on the night of the Lord's day. Some, however, while they admit that they are helped, say that, since they seem to hear it rather often, they are troubled, because the evangelists do not say the same things about the same event, but contradictory things, and rather lead the hearer toward unbelief. For whom should one believe? Matthew, who writes that the resurrection took place “late on the Sabbath”; or John, who records that this same thing happened “early, while it was still dark”; or Luke and Mark, of whom the one called the same time “deep dawn” and the other “the rising of the sun”? For the solution of the problem before us, then, and of the other questions that spring up in examining the texts, we must be roused by the risen God, weak though we are, and set out a clear interpretation. For he who cast the seed of the reading and spread it abroad in everyone's ears is bound also to give an account of the questions that have grown from it. This I will try to do, bringing the solution from the very words of those who raised the difficulty. For the sacred writers of the Gospels did not say that the Lord was raised late on the Sabbath, or when most of the night had passed, or again at dawn, or after the sun's ray had shot forth; for then there would be a contradiction, if the writers had recorded that the one event took place not at one time

but at different times. Rather, they wrote that the women came to the tomb at different times and in different ways, and not at the same time. For how could women who came at different times all alike have heard from the angels about the Savior, “He has been raised, he is not here,” without the “when” being added? All agree and are in harmony that the resurrection took place in that divine night; but no one marked the hour, which is unknown to all except the risen God, and the Father, who alone knows the Son as he himself is known by the Father, and the Spirit, who searches all things, even the depths of God. For Matthew said that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came “late on the Sabbath” to see the tomb; that there was a great earthquake; and that an angel came down from heaven, his appearance like lightning and his robe like snow, so that by his fearfulness he might strike the guards with terror (they could not bear the sight and almost perished, becoming like dead men from fear), and by his brightness call the women and put courage into those who by nature are easily scared and timid, and announce the resurrection joyfully by his very appearance. For he had been sent for these purposes. For when he rolled away the stone, he found the Lord already raised, having left the tomb, in a manner worthy of God, closed, secured with seals, and guarded by the soldiers' watch, just as he also came into the room among the disciples when the doors were shut. That is why the angel said, “He is not here, but has been raised,” showing that the Savior's resurrection had been worked as a wonder before his own arrival; for the Savior, as God, accomplished it by his own power and carried out the dispensation without needing the help of angels. If this were not so, he would have said, “Behold, he is being raised,” indicating what was happening at that moment; but since it had happened before, he used the past tense and said, “He is not here, but has been raised.” From this it is also clearly shown that when the apostles, preaching the Gospel, said that Christ was raised by the Father, they did so because of the weakness of their hearers, making the message easier to accept in this way. But the angel, breaking into the voice that announced the resurrection, cried out, displaying unveiled the most divine authority of the one who rose: “He is not here, but has been raised.” And the saying that he was raised by the Father makes allowance, as I said, for the weakness of the hearers, but has the same meaning and not another. For in what does the Father work? Clearly in his own power. And who is the power of the Father? None other than Christ; for “Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God.” So the Savior raised himself, even if he is said to have been raised by the Father. And “late on the Sabbath” does not indicate the evening at sunset; for he did not say in the singular

“late on the Sabbath” (sabbatou), but in the plural, “late on the Sabbaths” (sabbatōn). It is the Hebrews' custom to call the whole week “Sabbaths.” So the evangelists say “on the first of the Sabbaths,” meaning “on the first day of the week.” So too we use it in ordinary speech, calling the second and third days of the week “second of the Sabbaths” and “third of the Sabbaths.” He did not say, then, “late on the Sabbath” or “on the evening of the Sabbath,” to indicate the evening of that day, but “late on the Sabbaths,” to show the lateness and the long interval. For it is our custom to speak this way too: “You have come late for the occasion, late in the hour, late for the need”; these phrases do not mean the evening and the time after sunset, but indicate that something happened late, after the need or the occasion. And “late on the Sabbaths” indicates the distance and lateness of the week that has been completed. Each week is completed at the sunset after the Sabbath. Indeed Matthew, showing the long interval toward the end of the completed week, and as if interpreting himself, added: “as it was dawning toward the first of the Sabbaths.” The night, he means, had passed so far that it was the time of cockcrow, which heralds the light of the coming day. This is why we too break our fasts at this hour, and not on the evening after the Sabbath, and begin our rejoicing, the custom that prevails everywhere supporting the point. At this time, then, Mary Magdalene and the Mary of the same name came to the tomb, and saw the angel who had come down from heaven in the way described, who had rolled away the stone and was sitting on it; called forward by him, they saw the place where the Lord had lain; and, ordered to run and tell the disciples, they left the tomb quickly and ran. And as they were running Jesus met them and greeted them: “Rejoice.” For it was necessary that the race of women should be the first to have the resurrection announced to it by the angel, and to see the Lord, and to hear from him the first word, “Rejoice.” For a woman was the first to listen to the serpent's deceit, and to look lawlessly at the fruit of the forbidden tree, and she was condemned to grief. That is why the Savior allowed them to worship him and hold his feet, as those who had been the first to fall away and be estranged from him; and he ordered them to announce the joy to the disciples, wishing a woman to become a messenger of joy to men, as a woman had become the minister of grief to Adam, healing opposites by opposites. “As they were going,” he says, “to tell the disciples, behold, some of the guard came

into the city and told the chief priests all that had happened. And when they had assembled with the elders and taken counsel, they gave the soldiers a large sum of money, saying: Say that his disciples came by night and stole him while we were asleep; and if this comes to the governor's hearing, we will persuade him and keep you out of trouble. So they took the money and did as they were taught; and this story has been spread among the Jews to this day.” The other Mary, then (it follows that we should believe her to be the Theotokos, since she was not absent from the passion but stood by the cross, as John recorded; and it was fitting that she should announce the good news of joy, being the root of joy, and having rightly heard, “Rejoice, you who are favored, the Lord is with you”), fulfilled the Lord's command and certainly told the disciples. For it was not right that what had been so wisely arranged and commanded should not be fulfilled, even if those who heard did not believe; for this often follows when the wonders reported are extraordinary. For they would not have stayed idle if they had believed. But the Magdalene, going with the Theotokos and hastening likewise to report, suffered something human. Just as Peter, arrested by Herod and freed by the angel from chains that fell off of themselves, and having got outside the prison and walked a long way, so as even to pass through the city gate, did not think that what was happening was real, but supposed he was seeing a vision, so she too reckoned the very greatness of the wonder as something almost out of place; and at the same time, since the guards had arrived first and had begun with the chief priests to weave their slander against the resurrection, she surely perceived something of the kind being whispered, admitted thoughts of doubt, and, neglecting the report and the Savior's command, went to the tomb “early, while it was still dark,” as John says. For just as the Lord allowed Thomas to say out of unbelief, “Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe,” and through Thomas's inquisitive unbelief and his touching we were confirmed in faith, believing that Emmanuel was raised in the very body in which he suffered, and dismissing the fables of the Docetists, so too he allowed Mary Magdalene, who had slipped back into unbelief and suffered this very readily (for the instability of women's nature is not unknown), through her curious searching to make more credible the wonder of the resurrection, which is beyond faith and all reasoning. And after this, coming with a doubtful mind and seeing only the stone rolled away