Homily 63 — John 11, verses 30 to 40

“Now Jesus had not yet come into the town, but was in the place where Martha met him. Then the Jews who were with her…” and what follows. [a]

Philosophy is a great good — the philosophy, I mean, that we have among us. What the pagans have is only words and fables, and there is nothing truly wise even in those fables, since everything among those men is done for the sake of reputation. True wisdom, then, is a great good, and it pays us back even here. The man who despises wealth reaps the benefit at once, because he is set free from cares that are needless and useless. The man who tramples on glory receives his reward at once, because he is no one’s slave but free with the real freedom. And the man who longs for heavenly things receives his reward here too, because he counts present things as nothing and easily rises above every grief.

Look, for example, at how this woman received her reward even here by practicing true wisdom. Everyone was sitting around her as she mourned and lamented, yet she did not wait for the Teacher to come to her. She did not stand on what might have seemed her due, and she was not held back by her sorrow. (For besides their other misery, women in mourning have this sickness too: they want to be made much of because of their loss.) She was not affected that way at all. As soon as she heard, she went to him quickly.

“Jesus had not yet come into the town.” He went on rather slowly, so that he would not seem to rush at the miracle, but rather to be begged for it by them. At least, either the evangelist said, “she rose quickly,” to hint at this, or else he is showing that she ran so as to meet Christ before he arrived. She did not come alone; she drew after her the Jews who were in the house. Her sister acted very wisely in calling her secretly, so as not to disturb those who had gathered, and in not mentioning the reason either. Certainly many would have gone home. But as it was, they all followed her, thinking she was going out to weep. By these means again it is proved that Lazarus was dead.

Verse 32: “And she fell at his feet.” She is more ardent than her sister. She paid no attention to the crowd, or to the suspicion they had about him — for many of his enemies were there, the ones who said, “Could not this man, who opened the eyes of the blind, have kept this man from dying?” (verse 37). She put aside everything mortal in the presence of her Teacher and gave herself to one thing only: the honor of that Teacher. And what does she say? “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

What does Christ do? For the moment he does not talk with her at all, and he does not say to her what he said to her sister, for a great crowd was standing by, and this was no fitting time for such words. He only acts with restraint and stoops down to meet them. To prove his human nature, he weeps in silence and puts off the miracle for the present. That miracle was a great one, the kind he seldom worked, and many were going to believe because of it. If he worked it without the crowd there, it might become a stumbling block to them, and they would gain nothing from its greatness. So, in order not to lose his catch, he draws many witnesses to himself by stooping down to them, and he gives proof of his human nature. He weeps and is troubled, for grief usually stirs up the feelings. Then, rebuking those feelings — for “he groaned in spirit” means “he held back his distress” — he asked, “Where have you laid him?” (verse 34).

This was so that the question would not come out with lamenting. But why does he ask at all? Because he did not want to throw himself into the miracle, but to learn everything from them and do everything at their invitation, so as to free the miracle from any suspicion. “They say to him, ‘Come and see.’”

Verse 35: “Jesus wept.” Do you see that he had not yet given any sign of raising him, and that he goes, not as though to raise Lazarus, but as though to weep? The Jews show that to them he seemed to be going to mourn him, not to raise him. At least they said (verses 36 and 37), “See how he loved him!” And some of them said, “Could not this man, who opened the eyes of the blind, have kept this man from dying?”

Not even in the midst of disaster did they let up on their wickedness. Yet what he was about to do was far more wonderful, for to drive death away after it has come and won is far greater than to hold it back while it is still coming on. So they slander him by the very things that should have made them marvel at his power. They grant for the moment that he opened the eyes of the blind; and when they ought to have admired him for that miracle, they use this present case to cast a slur on it, as though it had never even happened. And this is not the only thing that shows how corrupt they all were. Before he had even arrived, before he had done anything, they got in ahead of him with their accusations, without waiting for the end of the matter. Do you see how corrupt their judgment was?

So he comes to the tomb, and again he rebukes his feelings. Why does the evangelist take care to mention in several places that “he wept” and that “he groaned”? So that you may learn that he had truly taken on our nature. This evangelist is remarkable beyond the others for saying great things about Christ; yet here, in matters that concern the body, he also speaks far more humbly than they do. Concerning his death, for instance, he has said nothing of the kind. The other evangelists declare that he was exceedingly sorrowful, that he was in agony; but John, on the contrary, says that he even threw the officers backward. So by mentioning his grief here, he has made up for what he left out there. [f]

When speaking of his death, Christ says, “I have power to lay down my life” (John 10, verse 18), and there he says nothing lowly. That is why, at his suffering, the evangelists attribute much that is human to him, to show that the plan of salvation was real. Matthew proves it by the agony, the distress, the trembling, and the sweat; John by his sorrow. For if he had not been of our nature, he would not have been overcome by grief again and again.

What did Jesus do? He made no defense against their charges. Why should he silence with words those whom he was soon to silence with deeds — a way that would irritate them less and was better suited to put them to shame?

Verse 39: “He says, ‘Take away the stone.’” Why did he not call Lazarus from a distance and set him before their eyes? Or rather, why did he not make him rise while the stone still lay over the grave? The one who could move a corpse by his voice, and show it alive again, could far more easily have moved a stone by that same voice. The one who by his voice enabled a man bound and tangled in grave clothes to walk could far more easily have moved a stone. Why, then, did he not do so? To make them witnesses of the miracle, so that they could not say, as they did in the case of the blind man, “It is he,” “It is not he.” Their own hands, and their coming to the tomb, testified that it really was he. If they had not come, they might have thought they were seeing a vision, or one man in place of another.

But as it was, there was the coming to the place, the lifting of the stone, and the order given them to free the dead man, bound in grave clothes, from his wrappings. The friends who carried him out of the tomb knew from the grave clothes that it was he. His sisters were not left behind, and one of them said, “By now there is a stench, for he has been dead four days.” All these things, I say, were enough to silence the ill-disposed, since they had been made witnesses of the miracle.

That is why he tells them to take the stone away from the tomb: to show that it is he who raises the man. That is also why he asks, “Where have you laid him?” — so that those who said, “Come and see,” and who led him there, could not say that he had raised someone else. So their voices and their hands would bear witness — their voices by saying, “Come and see,” their hands by lifting the stone and loosing the grave clothes — and their eyes and ears as well, the ears by hearing his voice and the eyes by seeing Lazarus come out. Even their sense of smell would bear witness, by noticing the stench, for Martha said, “By now there is a stench, for he has been dead four days.”

So I was right to say that the woman did not understand Christ’s words at all: “Even though he were dead, yet he will live.” At least notice that she speaks as though the thing were impossible because of the time that had passed. And it was indeed a strange thing to raise a corpse that had been dead four days and had begun to decay. To the disciples Jesus said, “that the Son of Man may be glorified,” speaking of himself; but to the woman, “You will see the glory of God,” speaking of the Father. Do you see that the weakness of the hearers is the reason the words differ? So he reminds her of what he had told her, almost rebuking her for having forgotten. Yet he did not want to throw the onlookers into confusion just then, and so he says (verse 40), “Did I not tell you that if you would believe, you would see the glory of God?”

Faith is truly a great blessing — great, and it makes great those who hold it rightly, together with a good life. Through it people are able to do the works of God in his name. Christ spoke well when he said, “If you have faith, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move,’ and it will move” (Matthew 17, verse 20); and again, “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do, and he will do greater works than these” (John 14, verse 12). What does he mean by “greater”? The works the disciples are seen doing afterward. Even Peter’s shadow raised a dead man, and in this way the power of Christ was proclaimed all the more. For it was not as wonderful that he should work miracles while he was alive, as that after he died others should be able, in his name, to work greater ones than he had worked. [j]

This was an undeniable proof of the resurrection. Even if the resurrection had been seen by everyone, it would not have been believed so firmly. People could have said it was an apparition. But no one who saw that greater miracles were done by his name alone than when he lived among people could disbelieve, unless he was utterly senseless.

Faith, then, is a great blessing, when it springs from glowing feelings, great love, and a fervent soul. It makes us truly wise. It hides our human lowliness, and leaving reasonings below, it practices philosophy about the things in heaven — or rather, what human wisdom cannot discover, faith grasps in full and succeeds in. So let us cling to it, and not hand over to reasonings what concerns ourselves.

Tell me, why were the Greeks unable to discover anything? Did they not know all the wisdom of the pagans? Why, then, could they not win out over fishermen and tentmakers and unlearned men? Was it not because the one side entrusted everything to argument, and the other to faith? And so these last were victorious over Plato and Pythagoras — in short, over all who had gone astray. They surpassed men who had worn out their lives in astrology and geometry, mathematics and arithmetic, and who had been thoroughly trained in every kind of learning. They were as far above them as true and real philosophers are above people who are foolish by nature and out of their minds.

For look: these men declared that the soul was immortal — or rather, they did not merely declare it, they persuaded others of it. The Greeks, on the other hand, did not at first know what kind of thing the soul was. And when they had found out, and had distinguished it from the body, they were in the same position again, one saying that it was bodiless, another that it was bodily and was dissolved along with the body. About heaven, again, the Greeks said that it was alive and was a god; but the fishermen both taught and persuaded people that it was the work and handiwork of God.

That the Greeks should rely on reasonings is nothing surprising. But that those who seem to be believers — that they should be found fleshly — this is what we may rightly lament. That is why they have gone astray. Some say that they know God as he knows himself, something not even any of those Greeks dared to claim. Others say that God cannot beget without passion, and do not even allow him any superiority over human beings. Others again say that a righteous life and a careful way of living are of no use at all. But this is not the time to refute these things.

Yet both Christ and Paul declare that a right faith is of no use if the life is corrupt; indeed they took the greater care over this second part. Christ does so when he teaches, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 7, verse 21); and again, “Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, did we not prophesy in your name?’ And I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you. Depart from me, you who practice wrongdoing’” (Matthew 7, verses 22 and 23). (For those who do not watch over themselves easily slip into wickedness, even if they have a right faith.) And Paul does so when, in his letter to the Hebrews, he speaks to them and urges them: “Pursue peace with all people, and holiness, without which no one will see the Lord” (Hebrews 12, verse 14). [n]

By “holiness” he means chastity: each man should be content with his own wife and have nothing to do with any other woman. For a man who is not content in this way cannot be saved. He will certainly perish, even if he has ten thousand good deeds to his name, since no one can enter the kingdom of heaven with sexual immorality. Or rather, from that point on it is no longer sexual immorality but adultery. Just as a woman who is bound to a husband commits adultery if she comes together with another man, so a man who is bound to a wife commits adultery if he takes another woman. Such a man will not inherit the kingdom of heaven, but will fall into the pit. Hear what Christ says about such people: “Their worm will not die, and the fire will not be quenched” (Mark 9, verse 44).

There can be no pardon for the man who, having a wife and the comfort of a wife, then behaves shamelessly with another woman, since from then on this is sheer loose living. Many people abstain even from their own wives in a season of fasting or prayer. How great a fire, then, does a man heap up for himself who is not even content with his wife, but goes with another woman? And if a man who has sent away and cast out his own wife is not permitted to go with another — for this is adultery — how great an evil does he commit who brings in another woman while his wife is in his house? So let no one allow this sickness to settle in his soul; let him tear it out by the root. He does not wrong his wife as much as he wrongs himself.

This offense is so grievous and unpardonable that if a woman leaves a husband who is an idolater without his consent, God punishes her; but if she leaves a husband who is sexually immoral, he does not. Do you see how great an evil this is? “If any believing woman,” Scripture says, “has a husband who does not believe, and he is pleased to live with her, let her not leave him” (First Corinthians 7, verse 13). It does not say this about the man joined to a prostitute. What does it say? “Whoever sends away his wife, except for the cause of sexual immorality, makes her commit adultery” (Matthew 5, verse 32). For if coming together makes one body, the man who comes together with a prostitute must become one body with her. How, then, can the chaste wife, who is a member of Christ, receive such a man? How can she join to herself the member of a prostitute?

And notice how far the one, sexual immorality, exceeds the other, idolatry. The woman who lives with an unbeliever is not impure, “for,” Scripture says, “the unbelieving husband is made holy by the wife” (First Corinthians 7, verse 14). Not so with the man joined to a prostitute. What does it say? “Shall I then make the members of Christ the members of a prostitute?” (First Corinthians 6, verse 15). In the one case holiness remains, and is not taken away even though the unbeliever lives with his wife; in the other case it departs.

Sexual immorality is a dreadful thing, a dreadful thing, and it brings on everlasting punishment. Even in this world it carries ten thousand woes with it. The man guilty of it is forced to live a life of anxiety and toil. He is no better off than those who are being punished: he creeps into another man’s house with fear and much trembling, suspecting everyone alike, slave and free. That is why I urge you to be free of this sickness. And if you will not obey, do not set foot on the sacred threshold. Sheep that are covered with scab and full of disease may not graze with the healthy ones; we must drive them from the fold until they are rid of the sickness. We have been made members of Christ. Let us not, I beg you, become members of a prostitute. This place is not a brothel but a church. If you have the members of a prostitute, then, do not stand in the church, or you will insult the place.

Even if there were no hell, even if there were no punishment — after those contracts, those wedding torches, the lawful marriage bed, the bearing of children, the intimacy — how could you bear to join yourself to another woman? How is it that you are not ashamed, and do not blush? Do you not know that men who bring another wife into their house after their own wife has died are blamed by many? Yet that act carries no penalty; but you bring in another woman while your wife is still alive. What lust is this! Learn what has been said about such men: “Their worm,” Scripture says, “will not die, and the fire will not be quenched” (Mark 9, verse 44). Shudder at the threat; dread the vengeance. The pleasure here is not as great as the punishment there.

But may it never happen that anyone here becomes liable to that punishment. Rather, may all practice holiness, and so see Christ and obtain the good things promised. May we all enjoy them, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, be glory forever and ever. Amen.