Homily 18 — John 1, verses 35 to 40

“Again, the next day, John was standing there with two of his disciples; and looking at Jesus as he walked, he says, ‘Look, the Lamb of God!’ And the two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus.” [a]

Human nature is somehow a lazy thing, and it slides easily toward ruin — not because of the way that nature itself is made, but because of a laziness that comes from deliberate choice. That is why it needs a great deal of reminding. And for this reason Paul, writing to the Philippians, said, “To write the same things to you is not tiresome to me, and for you it is safe” (Philippians 3, verse 1).

When the earth has once received the seed, it gives its crop right away and does not need a second sowing. But with our souls it is not so. After sowing many times and taking great care, one must be content to be able to gather fruit even once. For in the first place, what is said settles in the mind only with difficulty, because the ground is very hard and tangled with countless thorns, and there are many who lie in wait and carry off the seed. Then, after it has been fixed and has taken root, it still needs the same attention, so that it may come to maturity, and once mature may stay unharmed and take no damage from anyone. With seeds, once the ear of grain is fully formed and has gained its proper strength, it easily shrugs off blight and drought and everything else. But it is not so with teachings. With them, after all the work has been fully done, a single storm and flood often comes, and — whether through the onset of hard circumstances, or through the plots of men skilled at deceiving, or through various other trials brought against them — brings them to ruin.

I have not said this without reason. I said it so that when you hear John repeating the same words, you will not condemn him for idle talk, or think him out of place or tiresome. He wanted to be heard the first time he spoke; but because not many paid attention to what was said at first, being deep asleep, he rouses them again with this second call. Now notice. He had said, “He who comes after me ranks ahead of me,” and, “I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandal,” and, “He baptizes with the Holy Spirit and with fire”; and that he “saw the Spirit coming down like a dove, and it remained on him,” and he “bore witness that this is the Son of God.” No one paid attention, or asked, or said, “Why do you say these things? On whose behalf? For what reason?” Again he had said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world”; yet not even so did he shake them out of their dullness. So after this he is compelled to repeat the same words again, as if softening some hard and stubborn soil by tilling it, breaking up with his word, as with a plow, the mind that had hardened into clods, so as to put the seed in deep.

That is also why he does not make his speech a long one: he wanted one thing only, to bring them over and join them to Christ. He knew that as soon as they had accepted this saying and had been persuaded, they would not need anyone afterward to bear witness to him. And so it turned out. For if the Samaritans could say to the woman, after hearing him, “Now we believe, not because of what you said; for we know that this is truly the Christ, the Savior of the world,” the disciples would be won over much more quickly — as indeed happened. For after they had come and heard him for just one evening, they never went back to John, but were so nailed to Jesus that they took over John’s ministry and proclaimed him themselves. For the evangelist says, “He finds his own brother Simon and says to him, ‘We have found the Messiah,’ which, translated, is the Christ.”

And notice this too, I ask you. When he said, “He who comes after me ranks ahead of me,” and, “I am not worthy to untie the strap of his sandal,” he caught no one. But when he spoke of the plan of salvation, and brought his speech down to a humbler level, then the disciples followed him.

And we can observe this not only in the case of the disciples. Most people are not drawn so much when something great and lofty is said about God as when something is said of his graciousness and love for humankind, something that bears on the salvation of those who hear. They heard that “he takes away the sin of the world,” and immediately they ran to him. For they said: “If it is possible to wash away the charges that stand against us, why are we waiting? Here is one who will set us free with no labor of our own. Isn’t it the height of folly to put off accepting the gift?” Let those who are catechumens listen to this — those who are putting off their salvation to their last breath.

“Again,” says the evangelist, “John stood, and says, ‘Look, the Lamb of God.’” Christ says not a word; his messenger says everything. So it is with a bridegroom. For a while he says nothing to the bride, but stands there in silence, while some present him to the bride and others give her into his hands. She simply appears, and he does not carry her off by himself; he receives her from another who gives her to him. And once he has received her, given in this way, he so wins her heart that she no longer remembers those who arranged the betrothal. So it was with Christ. He came to join the church to himself. He said nothing; he simply came. It was his friend John who put the bride’s right hand into his, when by his preaching he handed the souls of men over to him. And Christ, once he had received them, so won them over that they never again went back to John, who had entrusted them to him.

And here we can observe not only this but something more. At a wedding the young woman does not go to the bridegroom; he hurries to her, even if he is a king’s son, and even if he is about to marry some poor and lowly girl, or even a slave. So it was here. Human nature did not go up; he came to it, despised and poor as it was. And when the marriage had taken place, he did not let it stay here any longer, but took it to himself and carried it away to his Father’s house. [d]

“Why, then, doesn’t John take his disciples aside and talk with them about these things, and so hand them over to Christ, instead of saying to them publicly, along with all the people, ‘Look, the Lamb of God’?” So that it would not look like something arranged. If they had left him for Christ after being privately urged by him, as though doing him a favor, they would perhaps soon have broken away again. But as it was, having taken it on themselves to follow him after teaching that had been given to everyone, they afterward remained his firm disciples, since they had not followed him to please their teacher but were looking purely to their own good.

So the prophets and the apostles all preached him while he was absent — the prophets before his coming in the flesh, the apostles after he was taken up. John alone proclaimed him present. That is why he calls himself “the friend of the bridegroom” (John 3, verse 29): he alone was there at the wedding; it was he who did and carried out everything; he made the beginning of the work. And “looking at Jesus as he walked, he says, ‘Look, the Lamb of God.’” Not with his voice alone, but with his eyes too, he bore witness to Christ and showed his wonder at him, rejoicing and exulting. Nor for a while does he address any word of encouragement to his followers. He only shows his wonder and amazement at the one who stood there, and declares to all the gift he came to give and the way of cleansing. For “the Lamb” declares both of these. And he did not say, “who will take away,” or “who has taken away,” but “who takes away the sins of the world,” because he is always doing this. He did not take them away only at the time when he suffered; from that time to the present he takes them away — not by being crucified again and again, for he offered one sacrifice for sins, but by that one sacrifice he continually cleanses them.

As, then, the name “the Word” shows us his preeminence, and “the Son” his superiority over others, so “the Lamb,” “the Christ,” “the Prophet,” “the true Light,” “the good Shepherd,” and whatever other names are given him with the word “the” added, mark a great difference. For there were many “lambs,” and “prophets,” and “christs,” and “sons”; but John sets him apart from all of these by a wide distance. And he secured this not by the word “the” alone, but by adding “only Son”; for he had nothing in common with creation.

If anyone thinks it out of season that these things were said at “the tenth hour” — for that was the time of day; he says, “It was about the tenth hour” (verse 39) — that person seems to me very much mistaken. With most people, those who live for the flesh, the time after a meal is not very suitable for any serious business, because their hearts are weighed down with food. But here was a man who did not even eat ordinary food, and who in the evening was as sober as we are in the morning — or rather far more so. For often the remains of our evening meal left inside us fill our souls with fancies, but he took none of this cargo aboard his ship. So he had good reason to speak of these matters late in the day. Besides, he was staying in the wilderness by the Jordan, where everyone came to his baptism with great fear, caring little at that time for the things of this life — just as they also stayed with Christ three days and had nothing to eat (Matthew 15, verse 32). For this is the mark of an eager herald and a careful farmer: not to stop until he sees that the seed he has planted has taken firm hold.

“Why, then, did he not go around all the parts of Judea preaching Christ, instead of standing by the river waiting for him to come, so that he could point him out when he came?” Because he wanted this to be accomplished by Christ’s own works. His own aim in the meantime was only to make him known and to persuade some to hear about eternal life. The greater testimony, that of works, he leaves to Christ, as Christ himself says, “I do not receive testimony from men. The works which my Father has given me, these bear witness about me” (John 5, verses 34 and 36). See how much more effective this was. When John had thrown in a little spark, the blaze at once rose high. For those who before had not even paid attention to his words afterward say, “Everything John said was true” (John 10, verse 41).

Besides, if he had gone around saying these things, what was being done would have seemed to come from some human motive, and the preaching would have seemed full of suspicion. [h]

“And the two disciples heard him, and followed Jesus.”

Yet John had other disciples, and they not only did not “follow Jesus,” but were even jealous of him. “Rabbi,” one of them says, “the man who was with you beyond the Jordan, to whom you bore witness — look, he is baptizing, and everyone is coming to him” (John 3, verse 26). And again they appear bringing a charge against him: “Why do we fast, but your disciples do not fast?” (Matthew 9, verse 14). But those who were better than the rest had no such feeling. They heard, and at once followed — followed not because they despised their teacher, but because they were fully persuaded by him; and they gave the strongest proof that they acted out of a right judgment of what he had argued. For they did not do it on his advice — that might have looked suspicious. When he had simply foretold what was to happen, that “he would baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire,” they followed. So they did not desert their teacher; rather, they wanted to learn what more Christ brought with him than John did.

And notice their eagerness joined with modesty. They did not come up at once and question Jesus about essential and weighty matters, nor did they want to talk with him in public, with everyone there, straight off and casually, but in private. For they knew that their teacher’s words came not from humility but from the truth.

Verse 40: “One of the two who heard, and followed him, was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother.”

Why, then, has he not made the other one’s name known as well? Some say it is because the one who followed was the writer himself. Others say no, but that he was not one of the distinguished disciples, and so there was no need to say more than was necessary. For what good would it have done us to learn his name, when the writer does not give the names even of the seventy-two? Paul did the same. “We have sent with him the brother,” he says — one who has often proved eager in many things — “whose praise is in the good news” (Second Corinthians 8, verse 18). Moreover, he mentions Andrew for another reason. What is it? It is so that when you learn that Simon, hearing along with him, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4, verse 19), was not bewildered at so strange a promise, you may learn that his brother had already laid the beginnings of faith within him.

Verse 38: “Then Jesus turned, and saw them following, and says to them, ‘What are you looking for?’”

From this we are taught that God does not get ahead of our wills with his gifts; but when we begin, when we supply the willing, then he gives us many opportunities of salvation. “What are you looking for?” How is this? Does he who knows people’s hearts, who dwells in our thoughts, ask? He does — not so that he may be informed; how could that be? — but so that by the question he may put them more at ease, give them greater confidence, and show them that they are worthy to hear him. For they were likely to blush and be afraid, since they were strangers to him and had heard such things about him from their teacher’s testimony. So to remove all this, their shame and their fear, he questions them, and would not let them come all the way to the house in silence. Yet the outcome would have been the same if he had not questioned them: they would have kept following him, and walking in his steps they would have reached the place where he was staying. Why, then, did he ask? To do what I said: to calm their minds, still unsettled with shame and anxiety, and to give them confidence.

And it was not only by following that they showed their eager desire, but by their question as well. For though they had not yet learned or even heard anything from him, they call him “Teacher,” pressing themselves in, as it were, among his disciples, and declaring why they were following: to hear something that would do them good. Notice their wisdom, too. They did not say, “Teach us your teachings, or something else we need to know.” What, then? “Where are you staying?” Because, as I said before, they wanted to say something to him in quiet, and to hear something from him, and to learn. So they did not put the matter off, or say, “We will certainly come tomorrow and hear you speak in public.” They showed the great eagerness they had to hear him by not being turned back even by the hour, for the sun was already close to setting: “It was,” says John, “about the tenth hour.”

And so Christ does not tell them the signs by which to find his lodging, or where it lies, but rather draws them to follow him by showing them that he had accepted them. That is why he did not say anything like this to them: “It is not a good time now for you to come into the house; tomorrow you can listen, if you wish; go home now.” Instead he talks with them as with friends, as with people who had long been with him.

How is it, then, that in another place he says, “But the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (Luke 9, verse 58), while here he says, “Come and see” (verse 39) where I am staying? Because the words “has nowhere to lay his head” mean that he had no home of his own, not that he did not stay in a house. And this too is the meaning of the comparison. The evangelist has recorded that “they stayed with him that day,” but has not added why, because the reason was plain. They followed Christ, and he drew them to himself, for no other purpose than that they might be taught. And they received this so abundantly and so eagerly, even in a single night, that both of them went straight off to catch others.

So let us, too, learn from this to count everything secondary to hearing the word of God, and to consider no time out of season. Even if a person has to go into someone else’s house, and, as a stranger, make himself known to important men; even if it is late in the day, or any time at all — let us never neglect this trade. Let food and baths and dinners and the other things of this life have their set times; but let the teaching of heavenly philosophy have no separate time — let every hour belong to it. For Paul says, “In season, out of season, correct, rebuke, encourage” (Second Timothy 4, verse 2); and the prophet too says, “In his law he will meditate day and night” (Psalm 1, verse 2); and Moses commanded the Jews to do this always. [o]

For the things of this life — baths, I mean, and dinners — even if they are necessary, still, when they are constantly repeated, make the body feeble. But the teaching of the soul, the longer it goes on, the stronger it makes the soul that receives it. As it is, though, we portion out all our time for trifles and useless, silly talk. We sit together idly in the morning and the afternoon, at midday and in the evening besides, and we have set places for it. But hearing the divine teachings two or three times a week, we grow sick of them and are thoroughly glutted. What is the reason? We are in a bad state of soul. Its power of desiring and reaching after these things we have let go slack altogether, and so it is not strong enough to have an appetite for spiritual food. And among other things this is a great proof of weakness: not to hunger or thirst, but to be averse to both. Now if this, when it happens in our bodies, is a sure sign of serious disease and a cause of weakness, much more is it so in the soul.

Someone asks: “How, then, can we restore it to strength, fallen and slack as it is? What must we do? What must we say?” By applying ourselves to the divine words of the prophets, of the apostles, of the Gospels, and all the rest. Then we will know that it is far better to feed on these than on unclean food — for that is what we must call our untimely idle talk and our gatherings. Tell me, which is better: to talk about the business of the marketplace, or of the law courts, or of the army camp — or about the things in heaven, and what will come after we depart from here? Which is better: to talk about our neighbor and our neighbor’s affairs, and busy ourselves with what belongs to others — or to inquire into the things of angels, and into matters that concern ourselves? For your neighbor’s affairs are not yours at all; but heavenly things are yours.

But someone says: “A person can finish with these subjects entirely by speaking about them once.” Why do you not think this about the matters you talk of uselessly and idly? Why, though you waste your lives on them, have you never exhausted the subject? And I have not yet named what is far viler than this. These are the things the better sort talk about with one another. But the more indifferent and careless carry around in their talk actors and dancers and charioteers, defiling people’s ears and corrupting their souls, driving their nature into mad excesses with these stories, and through this kind of talk bringing every kind of wickedness into their own imaginations. For as soon as the tongue has spoken the dancer’s name, the soul has at once pictured his looks, his hair, his soft clothing, and the man himself, more effeminate than anyone. Another fans the flame in another way, by bringing some prostitute into the conversation — her words, her poses, her glances, her melting looks and curled locks, the smoothness of her cheeks, and her painted eyelids.

Were you not somewhat stirred when I gave this description? Do not be ashamed, and do not blush. The very necessity of nature requires it, and it moves the soul according to the drift of what is said. But if you were somewhat stirred at hearing it — when it is I who speak, and you are standing in church, far from these things — think how those are likely to be affected who sit in the theater itself, who are completely free of fear, who are absent from this reverent and awe-inspiring assembly, and who both see and hear those things with great shamelessness.

Perhaps one of those who pay no attention will say: “Then why, if the necessity of nature moves the soul this way, do you let nature go and blame us?” Because to be softened when one hears these things is nature’s doing; but to listen to them is not a fault of nature but of deliberate choice. In the same way, whoever meddles with fire is bound to be hurt — that is what the weakness of our nature decrees. Yet nature does not for that reason drag us to the fire and to the harm that comes from it; that can come only from deliberate perversity.

I beg you, then, remove and correct this fault, so that you do not throw yourself over the cliff of your own accord, or thrust yourselves into the pits of wickedness, or run of your own will into the blaze — so that we do not put ourselves in danger of the fire prepared for the devil. May it come about that all of us, rescued both from this fire and from that one, go to the very bosom of Abraham, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom and with whom be glory to the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever and ever. Amen.