Sermons 21–24

[On the same.] Whenever Christ sleeps in our ship and is lulled in the body by the sleep of our sloth, a squall rushes in with a total confusion of winds, the threatening waves rage, and while they are often lifted and fall with foaming billows, they breed bitter shipwrecks for the sailors by the very expectation of them, as the present reading of the evangelist has declared, saying: “And Jesus said to them on that day, when evening had come: ‘Let us cross over.’ And leaving the crowd, they took him with them just as he was in the boat” (Mark 4:35–36). “And Jesus said to them on that day.” Which day? Surely that day on which, according to Isaiah, he rises to shatter the earth (Isa 2:19); that day on which the whole brightness of worldly light grows dark; that day on which, as the night of temptations draws near, the images of vanities that are to be fled grow thick. “When evening had come.” It is evening when the last time and the final hour announce to human senses the confusions of things that are coming. “Let us cross over”: from earthly things to heavenly, from present to future. And rightly “over,” because divine things are always contrary to human things: while these drag those subject to them toward frailty, those raise their followers toward virtue. “And leaving the crowd.” They leave the crowd who desert popular favor and the mob that always wanders with uncertain judgment; they are not delayed from the path of virtue by devotion to human rumors, but, firm and secure in a good conscience, with Christ accompanying them, they pass through the lying waves of praise and disparagement. “And they took him,” it says, “just as he was in the boat.” What is this? Christ is one way in heaven, another way he is held in the boat; he is perceived one way in the Father's majesty, another way in the lowliness of man; one way coeternal with the Father, another way seen as temporal, laid out in the stages of age; one way he sleeps in our body, another way he keeps watch in the holiness of his Spirit. “They took him,” it says, “just as he was in the boat.” It is the praise of faith to receive Christ as he is and is held in the boat, that is, in the Church: to confess that he was born, grew up, suffered, was crucified, was buried, ascended into heaven and sat down at the right hand of the Father, from where he will come as judge of the living and the dead: this is singular salvation. Whoever has so confessed and taken Christ into our boat, even if he is pounded by the stumbling blocks of the waves, is not sunk by the dangers nor overwhelmed by the billows. “And there arose,” it says, “a great squall of wind, and it was throwing the waves into the boat, so that the boat was being filled.” “And there arose a great squall”: it did not dare to probe the power of the sleeping Lord, but to beat upon the faith of the disciples, to expose their fear, so as to show its Author how much service it owed. “And he was,” it says, “asleep in the stern.” The wakeful flee to the sleeper, and believe that he whom they see ruled by sleep in deepest repose can resist the raging elements; they observe that the slumber of human necessity has so overtaken him that neither the crash of the sea nor the roar of the waves nor imminent shipwreck could wake him. And where is that saying: “Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep” (Ps 121:4)? In himself the majesty that knows no weariness and no need of rest does not sleep, nor slumber for itself; but he does everything through me for me, who, as often as he changes the appearance of his action and of his face, so often rebukes the changes of our conduct and the faults of our souls. Hear the prophet saying: “His eyelids question the children of men” (Ps 11:4). See how God's eyes are closed so as not to see those who sin, in order to punish them: “Turn away,” it says, “your face from my sins” (Ps 51:9). And again, being open, they look on suppliants, to spur on those running and lift up those growing weary. Here, then, the Lord's sleep tests the disciples' faith, exposes their doubt, and reveals them to be of little belief, who believe that the elements can rise up not only against themselves but against their very Author. “The waves,” it says, “were throwing into the boat.” For as much as the masses of the Gentiles strike the Lord's ship from outside and pour in like waves, so much do the swollen billows of heretics rush in and rage within. Blessed Paul declares that he endured this storm when he says: “Fighting without, fears within” (2 Cor 7:5). “So that the boat was being filled.” Rightly the evangelist reports that the ship was filled with foaming waves, since the Church suffers nearly as many heresies as we read there are questions in the divine law. “And he himself,” it says, “was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they wake him and say to him: ‘Teacher, does it not concern you that we are perishing?’ And rising he rebuked the wind and said to the sea: ‘Be silent, be still.’ And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. And he said to them: ‘Why are you afraid? Do you not yet have faith?’” While the reading lays open the event, it commends the time by its example. For a great and very grievous stormy tempest threatens, while a raging and destructive whirlwind thrusts itself in from every side: the seas roar, the very islands are overturned from their foundations, and every shore is struck with a mournful sound. But since, as we have said, Christ sleeps in our ship, let us approach him by faith rather than by body, and let us knock on him more by the work of mercy than by the touch of the desperate. Let us wake him not with insolent noise but with the cry of spiritual songs; not with wicked murmuring but with watchful supplication. Let us give God some of the time of our life, so that this unhappy vanity and pitiable anxiety may not consume the whole day, nor destructive sleep and empty slumber spend the whole night; but likewise let part of the day and night be set apart for the very Author of times. Keep watch, O man, keep watch; you have an example: what the cock renders to you, its host, you should show to your Creator; especially since it crows for your benefit, when it rouses you to work, when it announces that the day is already near: how much more fitting is it for you to rouse God from his heavenly seat with heavenly hymns to your salvation. Hear the prophet saying: “In the night my spirit keeps watch for you, O God” (Isa 26:9). And the Psalmist: “With my hands by night before him, and I was not deceived” (Ps 77:2). The same Psalmist advises that three times of the day are to be set apart for God, saying: “Evening and morning and at noon I will tell and announce, and he will hear my voice” (Ps 55:17). While Daniel diligently prayed to God at these three times, he obtained not only foreknowledge of the future but also deserved the freedom of his long-captive nation (Dan 6:10). Let us say, then, what the prophet says: “Rise up, why do you sleep, O Lord? Rise up, and do not reject us forever” (Ps 44:23). Let us say with the apostles: “Teacher, does it not concern you that we are perishing?” And truly Teacher, because he is not only the maker of all the elements but also their governor and ruler: when he has heard us, when he has deigned to wake, the waves will be leveled, the swollen billows and hills laid flat; the winds will scatter, the squall will perish, and this tempest that threatens, this great tempest, will be changed into the greatest calm. [Sermon 22. On despising care for earthly things, and on the watchful servant.] Rewards are always set for those to whom hard contests are proposed, and the greatness of the reward is set according to the greatness of the contest. This is why Christ places the kingdom in the lap of his disciples, so that in the contest they may not yield to dangers or to fear: whoever strives for a kingdom despises dangers; one eager for victory does not know how to fear. “Do not fear,” he says, “little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). A flock little to the world, great to God; little, because he calls glorious those whom he has trained to the innocence of sheep and Christian gentleness; it is a little flock, which is not diminished from great but grows from little; “little flock” so designates the infancy of the newborn Church, which he promises will soon come, by heavenly increases, to the insignia of his kingdom. “Do not fear, little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom.” He added what one who is to reign must do: “Sell what you possess and give alms; make for yourselves purses that do not grow old, a treasure in heaven that does not fail.” “Sell what you possess”: no one can rule over all things except one who is not held by his own; it is the mark of a cast-down mind to remember household property when called to a kingdom; a low, plebeian spirit sets a little coin before royal treasures; a poor understanding, brooding over small things, loses great ones; and, gaping after temporal things, deserts the everlasting. “Sell,” he says, “what you possess and give alms; make for yourselves purses that do not grow old, a treasure in heaven that does not fail.” O man, by such a warning Christ wished to enrich you, not to strip you; he wished your goods to remain yours, not to perish; to be made perpetual, not emptied: he commanded purses; he ordered you to transfer, not to lose. “A treasure in heaven that does not fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys.” He acts more by a father's counsel than by a master's right: he rebukes you for storing your goods amid the snares of robbers and the bites of moths; you are reminded not to make for yourself sleepless nights, anxious days, troubled times. The guardian of gold, the keeper of silver, has no security, knows no rest; and whoever lacks security has lost rest: he is rich in punishment, not in wealth. “A treasure in heaven that does not fail.” That is to say: where I am, put it there; I keep what is given to me. O man, give to the Father, entrust to God, because a father will not refuse an heir, nor God a man, what has been entrusted; he cannot keep what is yours, because he has given what is his. Does he need human things who bestows divine things? Is he greedy for our goods who has made us heirs of his own? Surely, what will he deny to those on whom he has conferred a kingdom? O man, if you are going to remain here, store your goods here; if you are going there, why do you leave your goods here? Whoever keeps what must be left behind is a guardian of others' goods, not of his own. If in this life, in which we live as pilgrims, it grieves us to be poor, sad, without honor for a little while, what will it be like in the everlasting homeland, among eternal citizens, to endure grief from contempt, punishment from obscurity, reproach from nakedness, and to be consigned to punishments when others are promoted to a kingdom, when the poor man is led to the assembly of God and the rich man dragged to the company of the punished? Alas, how lamentable the reversal, when those despaired of among men will possess the divine hope, and those endowed with human goods will be cheated of heavenly goods! And this is the work of treasure, which either lifts a man's heart to heaven through almsgiving or sinks it into the earth through avarice. And so he said: “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” O man, send, send ahead your treasure into heaven, so that you may not sink your heavenly soul into the earth. Gold comes from the depth of the earth, the soul from the heights of heaven. It is better, therefore, for gold to be carried to the seat of the soul than for the soul to be sunk in the tomb of gold. Those, then, whom he has granted to reign in heaven he commands to serve as his soldiers in the world, stripped of all the cares of riches and unencumbered in every way. “Let your loins be girded and your lamps burning in your hands, and you yourselves like men waiting for their master, when he returns from the wedding.” “Let your loins be girded”: virtue must be girded there where pleasure must be restrained. Whoever lays aside the belt of virtue does not know how to conquer the vices of the body. So, girded with the belt of chastity, which is the badge of Christian soldiering, let us cut down the loose sloth of the flesh, and, watchful in expectation of our King, let us know nothing of the sleepless sleep of the world. “They do not sleep,” it says, “unless they have done evil” (Prov 4:16). “And your lamps burning in your hands.” Blessed are those in whose hands the lamps of good works shine. For thus: “Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven” (Matt 5:16). And as a lamp before the eyes, so a good work shines in minds. A lamp does not shine only for the one carrying it but for many; and a good work, while it shines in one person's deed, enlightens many by example. A lamp drives back the darkness of nights; a good work puts to flight the darkness of malice. Let us light the lamp of good works in our hands, if we wish to shine before the Lord and before men. “And you yourselves like men waiting for their master, when he returns from the wedding.” Because torches are always friends to weddings, the chastity of weddings is celebrated with the witness of lights. For as one who presumes on unlawful things flees the light, so one who seeks lawful things gleams in manifold light. “And you yourselves like men waiting for their master, when he returns from the wedding.” Those are men who, in the manner of due service, await their master's coming with untiring vigils; but those who so serve the belly that they know nothing of divine service, and, anxious about the pleasure of the flesh, have lost their anxiety about the Lord's coming, are not to be called men but beasts of burden. “And you yourselves like men waiting for their master, when he returns from the wedding.” Since Christ came to betroth his Church, the bridal chamber of the bride has been adorned, and it is adorned with the gold of faith, the silver of wisdom, the gems of virtues, the veils of holiness, the roses of modesty, the lilies of chastity, the violets of shame. And the temple of purity, the pinnacle of virginity, is raised to the heights of heaven; nor are the harps of the psalms lacking, the organs of the prophets, the voices of the apostles, and all the music of the heavenly wedding. He is utterly the slave of sleep who is not roused to the heavenly King's wedding by so great a sound. “And you yourselves like men waiting for their master, when he returns from the wedding, so that when he comes and knocks they may open to him at once.” He comes and knocks: a heart with a good conscience opens, one with a bad conscience shuts; the just mind opens wide to its reward, the unjust shuts itself out because it did not deserve. Let us keep watch, then, dearly beloved, so that we may attain the blessedness that follows: “Blessed are those servants whom the master, when he comes, finds watching.” Let these promises of blessedness suffice; but since Christ speaks of the love that belongs to this very blessedness, let us put it off today, so that we may hear more fully what such a Father has promised his children.

[On despising care for earthly things, and on the promise of the kingdom.] You have heard today how the Lord joined the trumpet blast of heaven to the shepherd's joyful shout, so as to lift the long-bowed minds of the sheep to divine things and at once advance them to the heavenly kingdom. “Do not fear,” he says, “little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). Humility has acquired what pride lost, and the little and gentle flock has tamed all the various kinds of savagery by its own gentleness. The little flock has conquered and broken as many kinds of beasts as it has brought different nations under the yoke of Christ. The little and gentle flock long consented to be killed, long allowed itself to be devoured, until pagan savagery, sated with blood or with flesh, tasting the sweetness of the Gospel pasture and the streams of the divine fountain, shunned the whole contagion and pasture of the world, and returned from beast into man, having fallen from man into beast. That the prophets foresaw this, the apostles fulfilled it, the martyrs endured it, is certain, as he testifies who says: “For your sake we are put to death all day long; we are counted as sheep for the slaughter” (Ps 44:22). For this flock entered upon a battle of a new order, where he lives who has been killed, he who has fallen conquers, he who loses his life finds it; it imitated its King, that Sheep; it followed that Lamb who “was led like a sheep to the slaughter, and like a lamb before its shearer did not open its mouth” (Isa 53:7). He who suffers willingly is silent; he who is torn apart unwillingly cries out. Nor can he complain of death who took death on himself by condescension, not by compulsion. It is a mark of power when someone dies willingly for many; when he dies unwillingly, it is of extreme necessity; for the one comes from contempt of death, the other from the condition of nature. Christ, then, like a sheep, both willing and silent, is shorn so as to cover the nakedness that the first Adam brought in; like a lamb he is killed so as, once sacrificed, to absolve the sin of the whole world; he lays down his life for the sheep, so as to fulfill both the devotion and the care of a shepherd. For you, then, he became king, for you priest, for you shepherd, for you sacrifice, for you sheep, for you Lamb, for you he became everything, he who had made everything. And he who never changes for himself is changed so often for you; for your sake he is shown in various forms, he who remains in the one form of his majesty. And what more? God gives himself to you as man, as you can bear, because as he is you cannot endure him. But let us now hear what such a shepherd has promised the little flock. “Do not fear,” he says, “little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom.” O goodness poured out! O unheard-of kindness! O unspeakable affection! The shepherd takes the sheep into a partnership of wealth, the master admits slaves into a share of lordship, the king admits the flock of the whole people to participation in the kingdom: so, so gives he whose wealth cannot fail, whose kingdom cannot be diminished, whose power cannot be emptied by giving. The Lord began with foresight, saying: “Do not fear, little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom.” To hear the promise of a kingdom without fear is beyond a servile condition, since one who is scarcely worthy of freedom cannot take hold of the insignia of rule. So the Lord strengthens the minds of his servants with such a word, so that the sudden hearing of the promised kingdom may not overwhelm them. For a slave to want a kingdom is a crime; to approach it is danger; not to fear is rashness. But what is this to Christ? Or what wonder is it that he gives slaves a kingdom, that he makes slaves his partners in lordship, who washes the feet of slaves so as to serve slaves with the lowest servitude? Let them come here, let them come, those who dispute his power, and let them argue about his equality when they can grasp, speak of, and duly appreciate so great a kindness; and let them no longer bring false charges if he says that in our body he is less than the Father, he who not by word only but by deed, when he washed the feet of servants, submitted and subjected himself to the feet of little slaves. O man, spare yourself now, because, so that you might spare yourself, God washed, held, and embraced your feet. But let us return to what we began: “Do not fear, little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom.” See, he who gives says that the Father gives. Does he deny his own generosity by saying this? Far from it: he does not diminish his power but discloses his affection; by saying this he does not make a distance, but shows the Father's will and his own, and confirms their unity. And in that he said “it has pleased together” (complacuit) and not “it has pleased,” he teaches that it is the gift of the Trinity, because what pleased the Son toward us pleased the Trinity together. “Do not fear, little flock, for it has pleased your Father to give you the kingdom.” After so great a generosity, then, after his grace has been conferred on you so abundantly, the Lord commands you, who are to reign, to throw away the base and cheap savings of slavery. “Sell what you possess and give alms.” Royal power does not admit plebeian dress; august honor is conferred only with diadem and purple. So he who believes himself divinely consecrated a king must throw away the dress of slavery. This is why the King above ordered the man who dared to enter the banquet of his majesty in an unworthy garment to be bound, thrown out, and driven into the outer darkness (Matt 22:11–13), because the unseemliness of the one invited redounds to the insult of the one inviting. And whoever, now enriched with royal riches, keeps the savings of his former freedom, captive to misery, does not know that he is fortunate. It is the custom, it is the mark of a fortunate spirit, that one who has been raised to a kingdom at once liberally spreads what was his own, what was private, among his parents, relatives, and needy fellow citizens, so that he who has been endowed with wealth and honor may not be a beggar in spirit. With such foresight, then, with such counsel, the Lord commands us, who wish to possess in the heavenly kingdom everything in heaven and on earth, to sell, bestow, and give away what is cheap and perishable. But if you want to keep the price of your estates, and purses that are stored up please you, make for yourself purses such as he commanded who is now the guardian and provider of your desire. In short, when he saw that he had spoken harshly, “Sell what you possess,” he at once added: “Make for yourselves purses that do not grow old, a treasure in the heavens that does not fail.” Are you saddened again because you are compelled to place what you have in heaven? I beg you, trust your God, you who trust a slave, and commit it to God rather than to man. But if you fear that he may presume on it, that the kindness of the giver may scatter some of it, seal your purses with the ring of faith, so that with such a guardian you may sleep secure, because where he is there is no place for a thief. He cannot deny you your money who has conferred on you all that is his, who has enriched you with the honor and glory of his kingdom.

[On the watchful servant and the happiness of God's kingdom.] No one is unaware that vigils are always and in every respect beneficial, because in truth to watch more is to live more. For what is so like death as the look of one sleeping? What so full of life as the appearance of one awake? Sleep is to be indulged so that it may restore the body, not dissolve it; recall its strength, not unnerve it. So no one is unaware that vigils are always and in every respect beneficial. What art, what work, what time, what authority, what office does not seek out the gains of life by working late? This is why a king, keeping watch in battle readiness, foresees and avoids the snares of a crafty enemy; why a soldier in camp repels sudden night attacks by cautious watching through the night. So a sailor by watching enters the uncertain ways of a wide passage, crosses pathless tracks, and with stealthy course reaches the longed-for anchorage of a profitable harbor. Hence a shepherd joins nights to days and denies himself all time for sleeping, in which, with sleep aiding them, the wolves would be given occasion to attack the flock. So a skillful traveler, by traveling in the night air, gets ahead of the heat of the sun and with foresight sets aside the suitable day for resting. Knowing this, the prophet cried to the Lord not by day only but all night long: “O Lord, God of my salvation, by day I have cried and by night before you” (Ps 88:1). What more? The Lord himself spends the night in prayer to God (Luke 6:12), so as to free us by prayer before he redeems us by his passion. And if the master keeps watch for his servants, rightly does he command servants to keep watch for themselves. “Let your loins,” he says, “be girded and your lamps burning in your hands, and you yourselves like men waiting for their master when he returns from the wedding” (Luke 12:35–36). “Let your loins be girded.” A new order of vigils, a new dress is commanded. “Let your loins be girded and your lamps burning in your hands.” The watchful servants are told nothing about clothing, nothing about shoes, nothing about the preparations for the meeting itself; but all their care is commanded in girding the loins, the whole force of the precept is set on binding the loins, with only the comfort of lamps added, without which neither is the darkness of night opened nor does the face of the coming day grow bright. “Let your loins be girded and your lamps burning in your hands.” The belt is properly a sign of servitude, which makes servants unencumbered for running and ready to obey. But it would have been enough to say, “Be girded”; why does he name the loins especially? Why does the one commanding make such careful mention of the loins? Do you ask why? Because in the loins lies the whole cause of the body; from the loins all the business of the flesh is stirred up; in the loins is the whole occasion of human falling and human frailty. From there comes what makes people ignorant of virtue and more sluggish. This is why the Lord chiefly commands our loins to be bound with the belt of chastity, and orders all that is loose, fluid, and slack in our flesh to be bound fast with the continual girdle of virtue, so that, the flesh girded up, the gait of our mind may be made free, swift, and unencumbered for meeting the Lord. Yet hearing this, O man, you must know that the flesh does not delay you from meeting God, since it is the inseparable companion of that very meeting and duty, if you put its baggage in order, if you lighten its loads, if, as a provident traveler, you tie up its loose and trailing wrappings. What more? It will be a wholesome companionship for you, if you are not a lazy and slack trainer of it. How you ought to even out its baggage and moderate its unjust weights, the Apostle teaches, saying: “Put to death your members that are on earth: sexual immorality, uncleanness, lust, evil desire, and avarice, which is idolatry” (Col 3:5). The flesh, then, must be bound with the belt of continence, so that it may not, poured out in vices and weighed down with the whole weight of sins, be unable to keep to the heavenly paths above. Rightly, then, the Lord added: “And your lamps burning in your hands.” For lamps are always carried at night as a witness of innocence; and as darkness is always a friend to vices, so lamps are always enemies of crimes and always companions of good work. But in the hands of the saints the good works themselves are lamps, as the Lord says: “Let your light shine before men, so that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven” (Matt 5:16). And truly they carry their lamps, truly they kindle their lamps with the fuel of works, with the oil of mercy; and though in place and purpose they keep hidden, by their work and virtue they flash and shine through the whole world. And since the Lord knew that the moods of those waiting for him are sad enough and anxious enough, so that no one might be overcome by weariness, no one grow tired with delay, no one succumb to the fatigue of long waiting, he promises to those who persevere a heavenly service leading to heavenly blessedness. “Blessed,” he says, “are those servants whom the master, when he comes, finds watching.” And so that the nature of this blessedness might not be held uncertain, he at once added: “Amen I say to you, he will gird himself and make them recline at table, and he will pass by and serve them.” God will gird himself and make the servants recline, and will serve them. Behold an unheard-of change of things, behold a fearful reversal of lordship, behold an awesome conversion of servitude: because the servant stood for a little while girded in expectation of his master and bore the faith of waiting with brief fatigue, the Godhead, to repay him in kind, sets aside its divinity in its very divinity. “He will gird himself and make them recline at table, and he will pass by and serve them.” God stands by man as he reclines, and stands by him in heaven; the Lord serves the servant as he feasts, and serves him girded; Christ performs ministry to his slaves, his ministers, and does so when already established in the Father's glory. O man, do you still slander Christ for having deferred to the Father, he who on earth, by washing your feet, showed you the lowest service, and promises the lowest servitude in heaven? Believe, heretic, and strive to repay him in kind. He prepares a banquet for you in heaven with himself as server, and you on earth do not cease to heap and breed continual blasphemies against him. He too will make his passings, for “he will pass by and serve them”: he will pass from lordship to the devoted service of his faithful, and will move over; toward you he will pass from Father of mercy to most severe judge. “And he will pass by and serve them.” To those who confess and wait he will serve banquets; he will serve you too, but the sentence your denial deserves. “And if he comes in the second watch, and if he comes in the third watch and finds them so, blessed are those servants.” “If he comes in the second and third watch”: the world knows more watches; the expectation of the Trinity knows only three. Why, though, did he begin from the second and pass over the first? Because the first watch had already passed at the rising of the Lord's birth. The shepherds prove it, who, while they kept watch over their flock, deserved to find, see, and hold in the manger the very shepherd and author of the flock. But let us ask what the second and third watches are. As the first watch is his rising in the flesh, so the second watch is that in which he returns and is raised in our flesh; then, so as to come to the Risen One, the world is roused each year and keeps vigil. The third watch is that in which the whole expectation ends at his final coming, so that, as he rose for us, so we may now rise for him to everlasting life.