Homily 41 — Acts 19, verses 8 to 20

“And he went into the synagogue and spoke boldly for three months, debating and persuading about the things concerning the kingdom of God. But when some were hardened and did not believe, but spoke evil of that Way before the crowd, he left them and took the disciples apart, debating daily in the school of one Tyrannus.” [a]

Look at him: everywhere he forces his way into the synagogue, and everywhere he leaves it in this manner. For in every place he wanted the occasion to be given him by them. He wanted to take the disciples away from there, and to have the Jews themselves give the first cause for no longer meeting together with them. And it was not for nothing that he did this, as I have said. From now on he was “provoking them to jealousy.” For the Gentiles received him readily, and the Jews, when the Gentiles received him, repented.

This is why he kept stirring them up, “for three months arguing and persuading about the kingdom of God.” When you hear that he “spoke boldly,” you must not suppose there was any harshness in it. It was good things he spoke about — a kingdom. Who would not have listened to him? “But when some were hardened, speaking evil of the Way.” They were right to call it “the Way”: this truly was the way that led into the kingdom of heaven.

“He left them and took the disciples apart, debating daily in the school of one Tyrannus. And this went on for two years, so that all who lived in Asia heard the word of the Lord, both Jews and Greeks” (verse 10). Do you notice how much his persistence accomplished? “Both Jews and Greeks heard — all who lived in Asia.” This is also why the Lord did not allow him to go into Asia on an earlier occasion (Acts 16, verse 6). He was waiting, it seems to me, for this very moment. [c]

“And God worked extraordinary miracles by the hands of Paul, so that handkerchiefs or aprons were carried from his body to the sick, and the diseases left them, and the evil spirits went out of them” (verses 11 and 12). It was not only that those who touched the wearer were healed; people also took these cloths and laid them on the sick, and so healed them. “He who believes in me,” says Christ, “does greater works than those that I do” (John 14, verse 12). This, and the miracle of the shadows, is what he meant by those words.

“Then some of the wandering Jewish exorcists undertook to call the name of the Lord Jesus over those who had evil spirits, saying, ‘We charge you by Jesus, whom Paul preaches’” (verse 13). So completely was everything they did a matter of trade!

Notice: “wandering” — that is, going about from place to place — Jewish exorcists. They had no mind to believe; they only wanted to cast out the demons by that Name. [e]

“By Jesus, whom Paul preaches.” Just see what a name Paul had made for himself!

“And there were seven sons of one Sceva, a Jew and a chief priest, who were doing this. And the evil spirit answered and said, ‘Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are you?’ And the man in whom the evil spirit was leaped on them, overpowered them, and prevailed against them, so that they fled out of that house naked and wounded” (verses 14 to 16). They did it in secret; then their powerlessness is exposed in public. So the Name does nothing unless it is spoken with faith. See how they turned their own weapons against themselves! So far were they from thinking Jesus anything great that they had to add Paul, as though he were someone great.

Here one may wonder how it was that the demon did not go along with the exorcists’ fraud, but on the contrary exposed them and laid bare their play-acting. It seems to me that he did it in a towering rage — just as a man in the most extreme danger, if some wretched creature exposed him, would want to pour out all his fury on him.

“Jesus I know, and Paul I know.” So that no slight might seem to be put on the Name of Jesus, the demon first acknowledges him, and only then is given permission. For to show that it was not any weakness in the Name, but entirely the fault of these men’s fraud — why did the same thing not happen in Paul’s case? “They fled out of that house naked and wounded”: he battered their heads badly, and perhaps tore their clothes. [f]

“And this became known to all who lived at Ephesus, both Jews and Greeks; and fear fell on them all, and the name of the Lord Jesus was held in high honor. And many of those who had believed came, confessing and making known their practices” (verses 17 and 18). Since they had come to possess such power that they could do such things by means of the demons, this was naturally what followed. “And many of those who practiced magic brought their books together and burned them in the sight of everyone” — having seen that the books were of no more use, now that the demons themselves were doing these things — “and they counted up their price and found it to be fifty thousand pieces of silver. So mightily the word of God grew and prevailed” (verses 19 and 20).

“And he debated” in the school of one Tyrannus for two years. There were believers there, and believers far advanced in the faith. And Paul writes to them as to great men.

“And having gone into the synagogue,” and so on (verse 8). [h]

But why does it say he “spoke boldly”? It means he was ready to face dangers, and debated more openly, without veiling the teachings. “But when some were hardened and spoke evil of the Way, he left them and took the disciples apart” (verse 9). He put a stop to their slander, it means. He did not want to inflame their envy or draw them into more quarreling. From this let us learn, too, not to put ourselves in the way of slanderers, but to leave them. He did not speak evil of them when he himself was spoken evil of.

“He debated daily,” and he won over many by this very thing: that though he was mistreated and slandered, he did not break away from them altogether and keep his distance. The slanderers are defeated. It was the teaching itself they slandered; so he withdrew, in order to provoke neither the disciples nor them to anger, showing that everywhere alike they push salvation away from themselves. Here he no longer even makes a defense for it, since the Gentiles everywhere have believed. “In the school of one Tyrannus”: it was not that he went looking for the place; without more ado, wherever there was a school, there he taught.

And look: no sooner is the trial from those outside over than this one from the demons begins. Notice the senseless hardness of the Jews. They saw his clothes working miracles and paid no attention. What could be greater than this? Yet it had just the opposite effect. If any of the pagans, having seen the very dust working these effects, does not believe — let him believe! How wonderful, how great the power of those who have believed!

Simon sought the grace of the Spirit to make money by it, and these men did this for the same end. What hardness of heart! Why does Paul not rebuke them? It would have looked like envy; that is why it is arranged this way. The same thing happened in Christ’s case (Mark 9, verse 38), but there the man is not stopped, for it was the beginning of the new order of things. So Judas, too, is not stopped, whereas Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead; and many Jews suffered nothing even for opposing Christ, while Elymas was struck blind. “For I have not come,” says Christ, “to judge the world, but that the world might be saved” (John 3, verse 17). [l]

“And seven sons,” and so on (verse 14). See the villainy of these men! They went on being Jews, all the while wanting to make a profit out of that Name. Everything they did was for glory and gain. Look how in every case people are converted not so much by good things as by frightening ones. In the case of Sapphira, fear fell on the church, and people did not dare to join them. Here people received handkerchiefs and aprons and were healed; and it was after this that they came confessing their sins.

This shows how great the demons’ power is when it is turned against unbelievers. For why did the demon not say, “Who is Jesus?” He was afraid that he too might be punished. But so that he might be allowed to take revenge on those who mocked him, he did this: “Jesus,” he says, “I know,” and so on. He was in dread of Paul. For why did those wretched men not say to him, “We believe”?

How much more splendid they would have looked if they had said this — that is, if they had claimed him as their Master! Instead, they even spoke those senseless words, “By Jesus, whom Paul preaches.” Do you notice the restraint of the writer, how he tells the story and does not call them names? This is what makes the apostles admirable. [n]

“And the evil spirit,” and so on (verse 15). What had happened at Philippi (Acts 16, verse 16) had taught these a lesson too. He gives the name and the number, and so offers the people living at that time a credible proof of what he wrote. And why were they wandering from place to place? For trade — certainly not to carry the message of the word. How could that have been their aim?

And how is it that they soon ran off, preaching by the very things they suffered?

“So that,” it says, “all who lived in Asia heard the word of the Lord.” Should this not have converted everyone? Do not be surprised: nothing convinces malice. But come, let us look at the affair of the exorcists, and the evil intent with which they acted. Why the same thing was not done in Christ’s case is a question for another time, not for now — except to say that this too was well and usefully arranged. It seems to me that they did this in mockery as well, and that because of this punishment no one dared to name that Name carelessly. Why did this move them to confess? Because it was the strongest proof that God knows all things. So, before they could be exposed by the demons, they accused themselves, afraid that they might suffer the same things.

For when the demons who were their helpers become their accusers, what hope is left from then on, except a confession shown in deeds? [p]

But see, I beg you: after such signs had been worked, what evils follow within a short time! Such is human nature: it soon forgets. Or do you not remember what has happened among ourselves? Did God not shake our whole city last year? Did not everyone run to baptism? Did not the sexually immoral, the effeminate and the corrupt leave their houses and the places where they spent their time, change, and become devout? But three days passed, and they went back to their own old wickedness.

And why is this? From excessive laziness. And why be surprised if this happens once the events have passed, when the result is the same even where the visible reminders last forever? The fate of Sodom — tell me, does it not still remain? Well, did those who live beside it become any better? And what do you say about Noah’s son? Was he not what he is described as being? Did he not see so vast a devastation with his own eyes, and yet stay wicked? So let us not be surprised that, when such things had been done, these Jews at Ephesus did not believe, when we see that for them belief itself often turns around into its opposite, into malice — as, for instance, when they say that he has a demon, he, the Son of God!

Do you not see these things even now — how many people are like serpents, faithless and ungrateful? Like vipers, once they have enjoyed kindness and been warmed by someone, they sting their benefactors. We have said this so that no one will wonder how it was that, after such signs had been worked, they were not all converted. For look: in our own times there were the miracles connected with the martyr Babylas, those connected with Jerusalem, and those connected with the destruction of the temples, and not all were converted. Why need I speak of ancient things? I have told you what happened last year, and no one paid attention to it; little by little they fell away again and sank back.

The sky stands forever crying aloud that it has a Master, and that all this we see — I mean the world — is the work of a Craftsman; and yet some say it is not so. What happened to that Theodorus last year — whom did it not startle? And yet nothing came of it. For a while they became devout, and then they went back to the point from which they had started out in their attempt at devotion. It was the same with the Jews. This is what the prophet said of them: “When he killed them, then they sought him, and turned and came early to God” (Psalm 78, verse 34). And why speak of things common to everyone? How many have fallen sick, how many have promised that if they were raised up they would make so great a change — and yet they have become the same as ever!

This, if nothing else, shows that we have free will by nature: the fact that we change all at once. If evil were natural, this could not be. What is natural and necessary we cannot change from.

“And yet,” you will say, “we do change from such things. Don’t we see some people who by nature have the power to see, but are blinded by fear?” True — because this too is natural. We cannot change from what is natural unless a different necessity of nature also comes into play. So it is natural for us not to see when we are terrified; and it is natural that when a greater fear comes on, the other gives way.

“What then,” you will say, “if right thinking really is natural, but fear has overpowered it and driven it out?” What then if I show that some are not brought to a right mind even then, but stay reckless in the very midst of these fears? Is that natural? Shall I speak of ancient things?

Well then, of recent ones? How many, in the midst of those fears, went on laughing and mocking, and felt nothing of the kind? Did Pharaoh not change immediately, and just as quickly run back to his former wickedness? [w]

But here, as though the demons did not know him, the exorcists added, “whom Paul preaches,” when they should have said, “the Savior of the world,” “him who rose again.” By this they show that they did know, but did not choose to confess his glory. That is why the demon exposes them, leaping on them and saying, “Jesus I know, and Paul I know; but who are you?” “So it is not you who are believers; you are misusing that Name when you say this. That is why the Temple is deserted, the tool easy to overpower. So you are not preachers — you are mine,” he says.

Great was the demon’s rage. The apostles had the power to do this to them, but they did not do it yet. For those who had power over the demons that did these things to the exorcists had far more power over the men themselves. Notice how the apostles’ restraint shows itself: those whom these men rebuffed do these things, while the demons whom they courted do the opposite.

“Jesus,” he says, “I know.” Be ashamed, you who do not know him! “And Paul I know.” Well said: “Do not think it is because I despise them that I do these things.” Great was the demon’s fear.

And why did he not tear their clothes without saying these words? That way he would both have satisfied his anger and confirmed the deception. As I said, he feared that power which no one can approach, and he would not have had such power if he had not said this. But notice how we find the demons everywhere more right-minded than the Jews: they do not dare to contradict or accuse the apostles, or Christ. There they say, “We know who you are” (Matthew 8, verse 29); and, “Why have you come here before the time to torment us?” (Mark 1, verse 24); and again, “I know who you are, the Son of God.” And here, “These men are servants of the Most High God” (Acts 16, verse 17); and again, “Jesus I know, and Paul I know.” For they greatly feared and trembled before those holy men. [x]

Perhaps one of you, hearing these things, wishes he had this power, so that the demons could not look him in the face, and counts those holy men happy for having such power. But let him hear Christ saying, “Do not rejoice that the demons are subject to you” (Luke 10, verse 20). He said it because he knew that everyone rejoices most in this, out of love of empty glory. For if you are seeking what pleases God and what is for the common good, there is another way, a greater one. It is not so great a thing to free someone from a demon as to rescue him from sin. A demon does not keep a man from reaching the kingdom of heaven. No, it even helps — unwillingly, to be sure, but it helps all the same — by making the one who has the demon more self-controlled. But sin throws a man out.

But someone will very likely say: “God forbid that I should ever be brought to self-control that way!” I do not wish it for you either. I wish you a very different way: that you would do everything out of love for Christ. But if — God forbid — it should happen to you, then even on that score I would comfort you. If, then, the demon does not shut a person out of the kingdom of heaven, but sin does, then to set a person free from sin is the greater kindness.

So let us make it our aim to free our neighbors from sin — and before our neighbors, ourselves. Let us see to it that we do not have a demon; let us examine ourselves strictly. Sin is more grievous than a demon, for the demon makes people humble. Do you not see those who are possessed by a demon, when they have come through an attack, how downcast they are, how gloomy their faces, how full of shame, how they do not even have the courage to look anyone in the face?

See how strange and inconsistent this is! They are ashamed of what they suffer, and we are not ashamed of what we do. They are abashed when they are wronged, and we are not abashed when we do wrong. And yet their condition is no cause for shame, but for pity and tenderness and forbearance. No, it calls for great admiration and much praise, when, struggling against such a spirit, they bear it all with thanksgiving. Our condition, on the other hand, truly is a matter for ridicule, for shame, for accusation, for correction, for punishment, for the worst of evils, for the fire of hell; it calls for no compassion whatever. Do you see that sin is worse than a demon?

Those people reap a double profit from the ills they suffer. First, they are sobered and brought to greater self-control. Second, having suffered the chastisement of their own sins here, they go from here to their Master purified. Indeed, we have often spoken to you on this subject: those who are punished here, if they bear it with thanksgiving, may reasonably be thought to put away many of their sins by it. But from sins the harm is twofold: first, we offend; second, we become worse.

Pay attention to what I am saying. The only injury we get from sin is not that we commit a sin. There is another, and a worse: our soul acquires a habit. It is just as with the body — the point will be plainer put in the form of an example. The man who has caught a fever is harmed not only in being sick, but also in being left weaker after the sickness, even if he returns to health after a long illness. So it is with sin: even if we regain our health, we are far from having the strength we need.

Take the case of a man who has insulted others. Does he not pay the penalty for his insults? Yes, but there is another and a worse thing to regret: his soul has become harder to shame. For from every single sin we commit, even after the sin is done and over, a kind of venom remains, dripped into our souls. Do you not hear people say, when they have recovered from an illness, “I do not dare drink water now”? And yet the man has his health back. Yes, but the disease has done him this harm as well.

And those possessed people are thankful, though they suffer ill; while we, when all goes well with us, blaspheme God and think ourselves very badly treated. You will find more people behaving this way in health and wealth than in poverty and sickness. For over the possessed stands the demon like an executioner, fierce, uttering many threats, like a schoolmaster brandishing the lash, and he does not let them grow slack at all. And suppose some of them are not brought to a sober mind at all: even they are not liable to punishment, and that is no small thing. Just as fools and madmen and children are not called to account, neither are these; for no one could be so merciless as to call people to account for what they did without knowing what they were doing.

Why, then, we who sin are in a far worse condition than those who are possessed by evil spirits. We do not, it is true, foam at the mouth, or roll our eyes, or throw our hands about in convulsions. But as for that — I wish we did it in our bodies and not in our souls! Do you want me to show you a soul foaming and filthy, with the eyes of the mind distorted? Think of people in a passion, drunk with rage. Can any form be filthier than the words they spew out? It truly is like a spray of foul slobber. And just as the possessed do not recognize anyone who is present, neither do these. Their understanding darkened, their eyes distorted, they do not see who is a friend and who a foe, who deserves respect and who is beneath notice; they see everyone alike, without any distinction. And then, do you not see how they tremble, just like those others? But, you say, “They do not fall to the ground.” True, but their soul lies on the ground and collapses there in convulsions; for if it had stood upright, it would not have come into the state it is in. Or do you not think that the things people can do and say when drunk with rage show a soul sprawling abjectly on the ground and stripped of all self-possession?

There is also another form of madness, worse than this. What is it? It is when people cannot even bring themselves to vent their anger, but instead nurse within their own breasts, to their own hurt, the rancorous memory of wrongs, like an executioner with his lash. For the malice they bear is a bane to themselves first. To say nothing of what is to come, what torture, do you think, must that man undergo in the scourging of his soul, as day after day he watches for a way to avenge himself on his enemy? He chastises himself first, and he suffers punishment — swelling with his pent-up passion, fighting against himself, setting himself on fire.

For the fire must always be burning inside you. While you raise the fever to such a height and do not let it go down, you think you are doing the other man some harm; but it is yourself you are wasting away. You carry around with you a flame that is always at its height, you never let your soul rest, you are forever in a state of fury, your thoughts in turmoil and storm. What is more grievous than this madness — to be always smarting with pain, always swollen and inflamed?

For such are the souls of the resentful. When they see the man on whom they wish to be revenged, at once it is as though a blow had struck them. If they hear his voice, they cower and tremble. If they are lying in bed, they picture to themselves countless revenges, hanging and torturing that enemy of theirs. And if, on top of all this, they see him enjoying a good name as well — oh, the misery they suffer! Forgive him the offense, and free yourself from the torment.

Why stay forever under punishment, just so that you may punish him once and take your revenge? Why bring on yourself a wasting fever? Why, when your anger would gladly leave you, do you hold it back? Do not let it last until evening, says Paul (Ephesians 4, verse 26). For like some gnawing decay or a moth, anger eats through the very root of our understanding. Why shut a wild beast up inside you? [y]

Better that a serpent or an adder should lie in your heart than anger and resentment. Those would soon be done with us; but this stays forever, fixing its fangs in us, dripping its poison into us, and letting loose on us an invading host of bitter thoughts. You say: “To think that he should laugh at me! That he should look down on me!” Wretched, miserable man! You will not bear to be laughed at by your fellow servant, and will you bear to be hated by your Master? You will not bear to be despised by your fellow servant, and do you despise your Master? Is it more than you can bear to be despised by him, and do you not think that God is indignant when you laugh at him, when you despise him, by refusing to do what he tells you?

And that your enemy will not laugh at you at all is plain from this. If you follow through with your revenge, great is the ridicule and great the contempt, for this is the mark of a small mind. If, on the contrary, you forgive him, great is the admiration, for this is the mark of greatness of soul. But you will say: “He does not know that.” Let God know it, so that you may have the greater reward. For he says, “Lend to those from whom you do not hope to receive” (Luke 6, verse 34). So let us also do good to those who do not even notice that anyone is doing them good, so that they do not lessen our reward by paying us back with praise or anything else. For when we receive nothing from people, then we will receive greater things from God.

But what is more ridiculous, what more paltry, than a soul that is always angry and wanting revenge? This disposition is womanish; it is childish. Little children get angry even with lifeless things, and unless their mother beats the ground, they will not let go of their anger. In the same way these people want to take revenge on those who have hurt them. Why, then, it is they who deserve to be laughed at. To be overcome by passion is the mark of a childish understanding; to overcome it is the sign of a man. So it is not we who are the objects of ridicule when we keep our temper, but they.

What makes people contemptible is not this — refusing to be conquered by passion. What makes them contemptible is this: being so afraid of ridicule from outside that for that reason they choose to put themselves under the passion that besets them, to offend God, and to take revenge on themselves. These are the things truly worth laughing at. Let us run from them.

Let a man say that he did us countless wrongs and suffered nothing in return; let him say that he could attack us wildly again and have nothing to fear. Why, there is no better way he could have proclaimed our virtue. If he had wanted to praise us, he would have looked for no other words than the very ones he seems to say in abuse. I wish everyone would say these things about me: “He is a poor, tame creature. Everyone heaps insults on him, and he puts up with it. Everyone tramples on him, and he does not avenge himself.” I wish they would add, “And even if he wanted to, he could not” — so that I might have praise from God and not from people.

Let him say that it is for lack of spirit that we do not avenge ourselves. That does us no harm, since God knows everything; it only makes our treasure the safer. If we are to pay attention to such people, we will fall away from everything. Let us not look to what they say, but to what is fitting for us. But, someone says, “Let no one laugh at me!” And some people even make a boast of this. Oh, what folly! He says, “No one has ever wronged me and laughed at me for it.” That is, “I had my revenge.” And yet this is the very thing you deserve to be laughed at for — that you took revenge.

Where did these sayings come from among us? They are a disgrace and a plague to us, the ruin of our own way of life and of our discipline. When you talk like that, you are speaking in direct opposition to God. The very thing that makes you equal to God — not avenging yourself — you think a matter for ridicule! Do we not deserve to be laughed at for this, both by ourselves and by the pagans, when we speak against God this way?

I want to tell you a story of something that happened in the old days, as people tell it — not about anger, but about money. A man had a piece of land with a hidden treasure in it, unknown to the owner, and he sold the land. The buyer, digging it to plant and cultivate it, found the treasure buried there. He came and tried to make the seller take the treasure, insisting that he had bought a piece of land, not a treasure. The seller for his part refused the gift, saying, “The land is not mine; I have sold it, and I have nothing whatever to do with this treasure.” So they fell to arguing about it, the one wanting to give it, the other refusing to take it.

Then, coming upon a third man, they laid the matter before him and said to him, “Which of us ought to have the treasure?” The man could not settle that question, but he said he would put an end to their dispute: he would take the treasure himself, if they were willing. So he received the treasure, which they gladly gave up to him. And afterward he fell into troubles without end, and learned from his own experience that they had done well to have nothing to do with it.

That is how it ought to be with anger too. We ourselves should compete not to take revenge, and those who have wronged us should compete to make amends. But perhaps these things also seem ridiculous. For when that madness has spread widely among people, those who keep their temper are laughed at, and among many madmen the one who is not mad seems to be the madman.

So I beg you: let us recover from this sickness and come to our senses, so that, made clean of this destructive passion, we may be able to attain the kingdom of heaven, through the grace and mercy of his only Son, with whom be glory, power and honor to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.