Homily 6 — Acts 2, verses 22 to 36

“Men of Israel, hear these words of mine.” [a]

“Men of Israel”: he does not use this name to flatter them. He has pressed hard on them, so now he eases off a little and reminds them of their great ancestor, Israel. Here again he begins with an introduction, so that they will not become agitated now that he is about to mention Jesus to them by name. In what came before there was no reason for them to be agitated, while the prophet was the subject; but the name of Jesus would have given offense at the very outset. And he does not say, “Do as I tell you,” but “Hear,” as one who makes no demands at all.

And notice how he holds back from speaking of the high matters and begins with the very lowly ones. “Jesus,” he says, and then at once he names the place he came from, a place people thought little of: “Jesus of Nazareth.” He says nothing great about him, not even the sort of thing one would say about a prophet, so far: “Jesus of Nazareth,” he says, “a man shown to be from God among you.” Notice: what great thing was this, to say that he was sent from God? Yet this was the very point that he himself, and John, and the apostles were always careful to show. Listen to John saying: “He said to me, ‘The one on whom you see the Spirit coming down and remaining, he is the one’” (John 1, verse 33). But Christ himself does this to the utmost: “I have not come of myself; he sent me” (John 7, verse 28). And everywhere in the Scriptures this seems to be the point pressed most carefully.

That is why this holy leader of the blessed company, the lover of Christ, the good shepherd, the man entrusted with the keys of heaven, the man who received the wisdom of the Spirit, first subdues the Jews by fear, and shows what great things have been granted to the disciples and how much right they have to be believed, and only then goes on to speak about him. Just think what boldness it took to say it, in the middle of the murderers: that he is risen! And yet he does not say all at once, “He is risen.” What does he say? “He came,” he says, “from God. This is plain from the signs which” — he does not yet say, “which Jesus himself worked,” but what? — “which God did through him among you.” He calls them themselves as witnesses.

“A man shown to be sent from God among you by miracles and wonders and signs, which God did through him among you, as you yourselves know.” Then, having come to the mention of their sacrilegious outrage, notice how he tries to clear them of the crime: “This man,” he says, “handed over by the set purpose and foreknowledge of God” (verse 23). But he adds, “you took, and by wicked hands you crucified and killed.” For though it was determined beforehand, they were still murderers. [c]

“By the set purpose and foreknowledge of God”: he all but uses the same words Joseph did, when he said to his brothers, “Do not be angry with one another on the way. God sent me here” (Genesis 45, verses 5 and 24). It is God’s doing. Someone might say: “What about us, then? Then what we did was actually well done!” So that they will not say this, he adds, “By wicked hands you crucified and killed.” Here he hints at Judas, while at the same time he shows them that it was not by any strength of theirs, and would not have happened unless he himself had allowed it: it was God who handed him over. He has laid the whole evil on the head of Judas, who was already cut off from them, for it was he who handed him over to them with the kiss. Or else “by wicked hands” refers to the soldiers. For he does not simply say, “You killed him,” but, “You did this through wicked men.” And notice how everywhere they make it a matter of great importance that his suffering should first be admitted.

“Whom God raised up” (verse 24), he says. This was the great thing, and notice how he sets it in the middle of his speech. The earlier matters were already admitted: the miracles, the signs, and the killing. “Whom God,” he says, “raised up, having loosed the pains of death, because it was not possible for him to be held in its power.” He has hinted at something great and sublime here. For the expression “it was not possible” is itself the language of one who is giving a reason. It shows that death itself, in holding him, was in pain as if in labor, and was in desperate straits. (By the “pains,” or labor pangs, of death the Old Testament means danger and disaster.) And it shows that he rose so as never to die again. For the statement, “since it was not possible for him to be held by it,” means this: that his rising was not like everyone else’s. Then, before their thoughts can take in his meaning at all, he brings David in on them, an authority that sets aside all human reasoning: “For David says about him” (verse 25).

And notice how, once again, the testimony is a lowly one. That is why he begins the quotation further back, with the matters of lowlier import: this is why death was not counted among the things to be dreaded, because, he says, “I foresaw the Lord always before my face, for he is at my right hand, so that I will not be shaken” (verses 25 to 27), and, “that you will not leave my soul in hell.” Then, having finished the quotation from the prophet, he adds, “Men and brothers” (verse 29). When he is about to say something great, he uses this form of address, to rouse them and to win them over. “Allow me to speak freely to you,” he says, “about the patriarch David.” [f]

What remarkable humility, when he was doing them no harm and there was no reason for his hearers to be angry! For he did not say, “This is not said about David, but about the Christ.” But look at it another way: by speaking so reverently of the blessed David he awed them, speaking of an acknowledged fact as though it were a bold thing to say, and so asking them to pardon him for saying it. That is why his expression is not simply “about David,” but “about the patriarch David, that he both died and was buried.” He does not add, “and has not risen again,” but he has said the same thing in another way (though even that would have been nothing great to say): “And his tomb is with us to this day.” Then — and even now he does not come to the mention of Christ, but what next? — he goes on praising David: “Being therefore a prophet, and knowing that God had sworn to him with an oath” (verse 30). He says this so that, if only out of regard for the honor shown to David and for their descent from him, they may accept what is said about Christ’s resurrection, since it would be an injury to the prophecy, and a slight to their own honor, if this were not so. “And knowing,” he says, “that God had sworn to him with an oath” — he does not simply say “promised” — “that of the fruit of his loins, according to the flesh, he would raise up the Christ, to seat him on his throne.” Notice how once again he has only hinted at what is sublime. For now that he has soothed them with his words, he adds this with confidence: the prophet spoke “of his resurrection, that his soul was not left in hell, nor did his flesh see decay” (verse 31). This again is wonderful: it shows that his resurrection was not like that of other men. For though death laid hold of him, it did not do its own work then.

As for their sin, he has spoken of it covertly and obscurely; of the punishment he has added nothing. But that they killed him he has said outright; and for the rest, he now comes to the sign God gave. And once it is proved that he, the one who was killed, was righteous and dear to God, then, even if you say nothing about the punishment, you may be sure that the one who committed the sin will condemn himself more than you could ever condemn him. So the reason he refers everything to the Father is that they may accept what is said; and that statement, “it was not possible,” he draws from the prophecy. Well then, let us go back over what has been said.

“Jesus of Nazareth, a man shown to be sent from God to you”: that is, one about whom, because of his works, there can be no doubt, but who, on the contrary, has been proved. So Nicodemus too said, “No one can do these miracles that you do” (John 3, verse 2). “By miracles and wonders and signs which God did through him among you”: not in secret. Starting from facts well known to those he was speaking to, he then moves on to hidden things. [i]

Then, in saying, “by the set purpose and foreknowledge of God” (verse 23), he shows that it was not because they had the power to do it, and that there was wisdom and a divine arrangement in what happened, since it came from God. He passes quickly over the unpleasant part, adding, “Whom God raised up,” and the rest (verse 24). For it is always a matter of great importance to them to show that he had once been dead. “Even if you deny it,” he says, “those who were present will bear witness to the fact.”

“Having loosed the pains of death.” He who gives death trouble can much more give trouble to those who crucified him. Yet nothing of that kind is said here, such as that he had power to kill you. Meanwhile, let us also learn this sense of “hold.” For one who is in pain like a woman in labor does not keep hold of what it holds; it is not acting but suffering, and it hurries to be rid of it.

And it is well said, “For David says about him” (verse 25), so that you will not refer that saying to the prophet himself. “Being therefore a prophet, and knowing…” (verses 30 and 31). Do you see how he now interprets the prophecy, and does not leave it bare, without comment? How did God “seat him on” David’s “throne”? For the kingdom according to the Spirit is in heaven. [k]

Notice how, along with the resurrection, he has also declared the kingdom, in the fact of his rising again. He shows that the prophet was under constraint, for the prophecy was about him. Why does he say, not “about his kingdom” (that was a great matter), but “about his resurrection”? And how did God seat him on David’s throne? Why, he reigns as King over the Jews too — and, what is much more, over those who crucified him. “For his flesh saw no decay.” This seems to be less than resurrection, but it is the same thing.

“This Jesus” — notice that he calls him by no other name — “God raised up, and we are all witnesses of it. Being therefore exalted by the right hand of God” (verses 32 and 33). Again he takes refuge in the Father, and yet what he had said already would have been enough; but he knows how great a point this is. Here he has hinted at the ascension too, and that Christ is in heaven; but he does not say even this openly. “And having received,” he says, “the promise of the Holy Spirit.” Notice how, at the beginning of his speech, he does not say that Jesus himself had sent the Spirit, but the Father. Now, however, having spoken of his signs, and of what the Jews did to him, and of his resurrection, he boldly brings in what he has to say about these things, again calling them themselves as witnesses through both their senses: “He has poured out this, which you see and hear.” And he has mentioned the resurrection again and again, but their outrageous deed he has spoken of once and for all.

“And having received the promise of the Holy Spirit”: this again is great. “The promise,” he says, because it was promised before his suffering. Notice how he now makes it all his — “he has poured out this” — quietly making a great point. For if it was he who poured it out, then it is of him that the prophet spoke above: “In the last days I will pour out of my Spirit on my servants and on my maidservants, and I will do wonders in the heaven above.”

(Acts 2, verses 17 to 19, above.) See what he quietly puts into it! But then, because it was a great thing, he veils it again with the words about his “having received from the Father.” He has spoken of the good things fulfilled and of the signs; he has said that he is King, the point that touched them; he has said that it is he who gives the Spirit. (Aristotle, Rhetoric, book 1, chapter 3.) For however much someone says, if it does not lead to something advantageous, he speaks to no purpose. It is just as John says: “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 3, verse 11). [m]

And it shows that the cross not only did not make him less, but made him even more glorious, since long ago God promised it to him, and now has given it. Or it may be “the promise” that he promised to us. He knew beforehand that it would be, and he has given it to us in greater measure after the resurrection. And “he has poured it out,” he says: not asking for worthiness, and not simply giving, but giving in abundance.

How is this made plain? From here on, after mentioning his giving of the Spirit, he speaks with confidence of his ascension into heaven as well. And not only that: he again brings in the witness, and reminds them of the one about whom Christ once spoke (Matthew 22, verse 43). “For David,” he says, “did not ascend into the heavens” (verse 34). Here he no longer speaks in lowly terms, since he has the confidence that comes from what has already been said. He does not say, “Allow me to speak,” or anything of the kind, but: “He himself says, ‘The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool.’” Now if he is David’s Lord, all the more should they not look down on him. “Sit at my right hand”: he has set the whole matter here. “Until I make your enemies your footstool”: here too he has brought a great terror upon them, just as at the beginning he showed what he does to his friends and what to his enemies. And again, as to the act of subduing them, so as not to provoke unbelief, he ascribes it to the Father.

Since these are great things he has said, he brings his speech down again to lowly matters. “Therefore let the whole house of Israel know for certain,” he says: that is, do not question, do not doubt. Then, in the tone of a command, there follows: “that God has made him both Lord” — this he says from David — “and Christ” (verse 36) — this from the psalm. For when the right conclusion would have been, “Therefore let the whole house of Israel know for certain that he sits at the right hand of God,” he holds back from this, which would have been great, and brings in something different and much humbler, with the expression “has made,” that is, “has appointed.” So there is nothing here about the conferring of his being; the expression refers to what has just been mentioned. “This Jesus, whom you crucified.” He does well to end with this, so stirring up their minds. For having shown how great it is, he then exposes their daring deed, so as to show it to be greater still and to fill them with terror. For people are not drawn so much by benefits as they are brought to their senses by fear.

But the admirable and great, and those whom God loves, need none of these motives. Such a man was Paul: he took no account of the kingdom, or of hell. For this is truly to love Christ: not to be a hired hand, not to treat it as a matter of trading and bargaining, but to be truly virtuous and to do everything for the love of God (Romans 9, verse 3). [p]

Then what tears does it not deserve, that when we owe so much, we do not even seek the kingdom of heaven the way traders seek their gain! He promises us such great things, and even so is he not worth listening to? What could equal this hostility? And yet people are mad after making money. Even if the people they have dealings with are enemies, even if they are slaves, even if they are the most hostile to them, even if they are utterly wicked — if only they expect to be able to make money through them, they will do anything: they will flatter, and fawn, and make themselves slaves, and hold those people in more reverence than anyone else, just to get some advantage out of them. For the hope of money does not let them give a thought to any considerations like these.

But the kingdom does not have the power money has — no, not the smallest part of its power. And yet it is no ordinary being who makes the promise; and this is greater even than the kingdom itself, that we receive it from such a Giver! As things are, it is as if a king, after ten thousand other benefits, wanted to make us his heirs and joint heirs with his son, and were despised; while some captain of a band of robbers, who has done ten thousand wrongs to us and to our parents, who is loaded himself with ten thousand wickednesses, and who has utterly ruined our honor and our welfare, were to offer a single penny and receive our worship. God promises a kingdom, and is despised; the devil helps us into hell, and he is honored!

Here God, there the devil. But let us look at the difference between the tasks each one commands. [q]

For even if none of these considerations were involved — if it were not God here and the devil there, not one helping us to a kingdom and the other to hell — the very nature of the tasks commanded would be enough to persuade us to obey the first. For what does each command? The one, the things that make us glorious; the other, the things that bring us shame. The one, the things that entangle us in ten thousand disasters and disgraces; the other, the things that bring abundant refreshment with them. Look: the one says, “Learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11, verse 29). The other says: “Be savage, and harsh, and hot-tempered, and furious, more a wild beast than a man.” Let us see which is more useful, which, I ask you, is more profitable. You say: “Don’t speak of that.” But consider that he is the devil — above all, if that is shown. There is need, too, to undergo toil, and on the other side the prize of victory will be greater. For the one who truly cares for us is not the one who commands easy tasks, but the one who commands what is for our good. Fathers too command unpleasant tasks, and that is exactly why they are fathers; and so do masters to their slaves. But kidnappers and those who ruin people do just the opposite.

And yet it is plain from that saying that Christ’s commands bring pleasure with them. For what sort of person do you take the hot-tempered man to be, and what sort the forbearing and gentle one? Does not the gentle man’s soul seem to be in a kind of solitary retreat, enjoying the deepest calm, while the other man’s soul is like a marketplace, like the uproar in the middle of a city? There the shouting of people going out is loud; there is the noise of camels, mules and donkeys, and of men calling loudly to those coming toward them so as not to be trampled; and again the noise of silversmiths and coppersmiths, and of men shoving and pushing this way and that, some knocked down, some knocking others down.

But the gentle man’s soul is like a mountaintop, with its delicate air, its clear sunshine, its bright gushing springs, its host of lovely flowers, while the spring meadows and gardens put on their plumage of shrubs and blossoms and sparkle with rippling streams. And if any sound is heard there, it is sweet, and fit to fill the ear with great delight. For either the singing birds perch on the outermost twigs of the spreading trees, and cicadas, nightingales and swallows, blended into one harmony, make a kind of concert; or the west wind, gently stirring the leaves, draws whistling notes from the pines and firs, often like the song of the swan; and roses, violets and other flowers, gently swaying and rippling dark, look like a sea just ruffled by gentle waves. Indeed, one could find many images. When you look at the roses, you will imagine you see the rainbow in them; in the violets, a heaving sea; in the lilies, the sky.

And it is not only by the sight of it, by looking, that such a place gives delight. It also refreshes the very body of the one who looks out over the meadow, and lets him breathe freely, so that he thinks himself more in heaven than on earth. There is also a sound of another kind, when water from the steep mountainside, carried by its own force through the ravines, gently splashes over its pebbly bed with a lulling noise, and so relaxes our body with pleasant sensations that it quickly draws the soft heaviness of sleep over our eyes. You have enjoyed hearing the description; perhaps it has even made you fall in love with solitude. But far sweeter than this solitude is the soul of the patient man.

For it was not to describe a meadow, or to show off fine language, that we brought in this comparison. Our aim was that you should see how great the delight of the patient is, and how much more you would be both delighted and helped by the company of a patient man than by visiting such places — and so go after such people. For when not even a breath of violence comes from such a soul, but only mild and winning words, then the gentle softness of the west wind has its counterpart. And his requests too, free of all arrogance, are like those winged singers — how is this not far better? For it is not the body that is fanned by the soft breeze of speech; no, it refreshes our souls when they are heated and burning. A physician, however much care he took, could not free a man from fever as quickly as a patient man cools, by the breath of his own words, someone hot-tempered and burning with anger. And why do I speak of a physician?

Not even iron, made red-hot and plunged into water, loses its heat as quickly as the hot-tempered man does when he meets the soul of the patient. But just as singing birds, if they happen to find their way into the marketplace, count for nothing there, so it is with our precepts when they fall on souls given over to angry passions. [r]

Surely gentleness is sweeter than bitterness and contrariness. Well then, the one was God’s command, and the other the devil’s. Do you see that it was not for nothing that I said that even if there were no devil and no God in the matter, the things commanded would be enough in themselves to turn us away? For the gentle man is pleasant to himself and useful to others; the other is unpleasant to himself and harmful to others. Nothing is more unpleasant than a man in a rage, nothing more offensive, more hateful, more repulsive; and nothing is more pleasing than one who does not know what it is to be in a rage. Better to live with a wild beast than with a hot-tempered man. For the beast, once tamed, keeps to its rule; but the man, however often you have tamed him, turns wild again, unless he settles down of his own accord into a habit of gentleness. Like a bright sunny day and a winter in all its gloom — so are the soul of the angry man and that of the gentle man.

But for now let us look not at the harm done to others, but at the harm done to the angry themselves — though it is also no small harm to oneself to do harm to another. For now, however, let that be what we consider. What executioner with his lash can tear the ribs so badly, what red-hot skewers ever pierced the body so, what madness can so rob a man of his natural reason, as anger and rage do? I know many cases of people who brought on diseases by giving free rein to anger, and the worst fevers are exactly these. But if they injure the body so much, think of the soul. Do not argue that you do not see the damage. Rather, consider this: if the body, which receives this evil passion, is hurt so badly, what must the soul, which produces it, suffer! Many have lost their eyes; many have fallen into the most serious illnesses. Yet the one who bears things bravely will endure everything easily.

But in any case, such are the troublesome tasks the devil commands, and the wages he pays us for them is hell. He is the devil and the enemy of our salvation, and yet we would rather do his bidding than Christ’s — Christ, who is our Savior, Benefactor and Defender, and who speaks such words as are sweeter, and more worthy of reverence, and more profitable and helpful, and are the greatest of blessings both to ourselves and to those who live with us. Nothing is worse than anger, my beloved, nothing worse than untimely rage. It does not wait long; it is a quick, sharp passion. Many a time a mere word blurted out in anger has needed a whole lifetime to heal, and a deed has been done that ruined a man for life. And the worst of it is this: in one small moment, by one act, by a single word, it has often cast us out of the possession of eternal good things and brought to nothing a world of labor.

So I beg you to do everything you can to curb this savage beast. So far I have spoken about gentleness and anger. If someone were to take up other opposites — greed and the mad passion for glory, set against contempt for wealth and for glory; lack of self-control against self-control; envy against goodwill — and to line them up each against its opposite, then one would know how great the difference is.

See how the very things commanded show plainly that the one master is God and the other the devil! Well then, let us do God’s bidding, and not throw ourselves into bottomless pits. While there is time, let us wash off everything that defiles the soul, so that we may attain the eternal blessings, through the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom, to the Father and the Holy Spirit together, be glory, power and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.