Homily 22 — Matthew 6, verses 28 to 34

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they do not toil, nor do they spin. And yet I tell you that even Solomon in all his glory was not dressed like one of these.” [a]

Having spoken of the food we need, and having shown that we should not worry even about this, he passes on in what follows to something easier. For clothing is not as necessary as food.

Why, then, did he not use the same example here too, the birds? Why did he not mention the peacock, the swan, and the sheep to us? There were surely many such examples to be taken from that quarter. Because he wants to show how very far the argument can be carried in both directions: from the worthlessness of the things that share in such elegance, and from the generosity shown to the lilies in the way they are adorned. That is why, once he has dressed them up, he no longer even calls them lilies, but “grass of the field.” And he is not satisfied even with this name, but adds another mark of worthlessness, saying, “which today is.” And he did not say, “and tomorrow is not,” but something far lower still: “is cast into the oven.” And he did not say “clothe,” but “so clothe.”

Do you see how everywhere he piles up heightening and emphasis? He does this to touch them to the quick. And that is why he has also added, “Will he not much more clothe you?” This too carries great emphasis. The force of the word “you” is simply to hint at how highly our race is valued and how much care is shown for it. It is as if he had said: “You, to whom he gave a soul; for whom he shaped a body; for whose sake he made all the things that are seen; for whose sake he sent prophets, and gave the law, and did those countless good works; for whose sake he gave up his only Son.”

And only after he has made his proof clear does he go on to rebuke them too, saying, “You of little faith.” For this is what a counselor does: he does not only advise, he also reproves, so as to rouse people all the more to the persuasive power of his words.

By this he teaches us not only not to worry, but not even to be dazzled by the costliness of people’s clothes. Why, such good looks belong to grass, such beauty to the green plant! Or rather, the grass is even more precious than such finery. Why, then, take pride in things in which the mere plant wins the prize, and by a wide margin? And see how from the beginning he shows that the command is easy — again by contrasts, and by the very things they were afraid of, leading them away from these cares. So when he had said, “Consider the lilies of the field,” he added, “they do not toil,” so that it was out of a wish to set us free from toil that he gave these commands. In fact, the labor lies not in refusing to worry, but in worrying about these things. And just as in saying “they do not sow” it was not sowing he did away with but anxious worry, so in saying “they do not toil, nor do they spin” he put an end not to work but to care.

Now Solomon was surpassed by their beauty, and not once or twice, but throughout his whole reign. No one can say that at one time he was dressed in such clothing and afterward no longer was; no, not on a single day did he dress himself as beautifully as they. Christ made this plain by saying, “in all his reign.” And it was not that he was outdone by this one flower while he held his own against that one; he gave way to all of them alike. That is why Christ also said, “like one of these”: for the gap between those robes and these flowers is as great as the gap between the real thing and a counterfeit. So if he admitted defeat — the man more glorious than all the kings who ever lived — when will you be able to surpass such perfect beauty, or rather even come faintly near it?

After this he teaches us not to aim at such adornment at all. Just look at how it ends: after its triumph, “it is cast into the oven.” And if God has shown such great care for things that are mean and worthless and of no great use, how will he give you up, the most important of all living creatures? Why, then, did he make them so beautiful? To display his own wisdom and the surpassing greatness of his power, so that from everything we might learn his glory. For it is not only “the heavens” that “declare the glory of God,” but the earth too. David declared this when he said, “Praise the Lord, you fruitful trees and all cedars.” For some by their fruit, some by their size, some by their beauty send up praise to the one who made them.

And this too is a sign of wisdom beyond measure: that even on things of no worth at all — and what could be of less worth than what is here today and gone tomorrow? — he pours out such great beauty. So if he has given the grass what it does not need (for what does its beauty contribute to feeding the fire?), how will he not give you what you do need? If he has lavishly adorned the lowliest of all things, and done it not out of need but out of generosity, how much more will he honor you, the most honored of all things, in matters of necessity!

So when, as you see, he had shown how great God’s providential care is, and they were next to be rebuked as well, even in this he was sparing. He charged them not with having no faith, but with having too little: “If God,” he says, “so clothes the grass of the field, much more you, you of little faith.” [e]

And yet surely he himself works all these things, for “all things were made by him, and without him not even one thing was made.” But he nowhere yet mentions himself. For the time being it was enough, to show his full power, that at each of the commandments he said, “You have heard that it was said to those of old, but I say to you.”

So do not be surprised when in later passages too he keeps himself hidden or says something humble about himself. For the present he had only one aim: that his word would be one they readily accepted, and that he would show in every way that he was not some sort of opponent of God, but of one mind with the Father and in agreement with him.

And this is just what he does here too. Through all the words he has spent, he does not stop setting the Father before us, admiring his wisdom, his providence, and his tender care, which reaches through all things, great and small. So when he was speaking of Jerusalem, he called it “the city of the great King”; when he mentioned heaven, he spoke of it again as “God’s throne”; and when he was speaking of his arrangement of the world, again he attributed all of it to him, saying, “He makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.” In the prayer too he taught us to say that his “is the kingdom and the power and the glory.” And here, speaking of his providence and showing that even in small things he is the finest of craftsmen, he says that “he clothes the grass of the field.” And nowhere does he call him his own Father, but theirs, so that by the very honor he might reprove them, and so that when he did call him his Father they would no longer take offense.

Now if we are not to worry about bare necessities, what pardon can we deserve, who worry about expensive things? Or rather, what pardon can those deserve who even go without sleep in order to take what belongs to others?

“So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the nations of the world seek after all these things.” [g]

Do you see how he has again shamed them all the more, and has also shown in passing that he had commanded nothing heavy or burdensome? When he said, “If you love those who love you,” he meant that it is nothing great you are doing, for even the Gentiles do the same; by mentioning the Gentiles he was stirring them up to something greater. So now too he brings them forward to reprove us, and to show that what he requires of us is a debt we are bound to pay. For if we must show something more than the scribes and Pharisees, what do we deserve, who, far from going beyond them, even stay on the low level of the Gentiles and copy their small-mindedness?

He does not stop at the rebuke, however. Having reproved and roused them by this, and shamed them with all the force of his words, he comforts them by another argument too, saying, “For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things.” He did not say, “God knows,” but “your Father knows,” to lead them to a greater hope. For if he is a Father, and such a Father, he will certainly not be able to overlook his children when they are in the direst trouble, since not even human fathers can bear to do that.

And along with this he adds yet another argument. What is it? That “you need” them. What he is saying is something like this: “What! Are these things superfluous, that he should disregard them?” Yet even with superfluous things he did not show himself lacking in care, as the grass shows; and these things are actually necessary. So the very thing you consider a reason for being anxious, I say is enough to draw you away from such anxiety. I mean, if you say, “I have to worry about them, because they are necessary,” I say the opposite: “No — for this very reason do not worry, because they are necessary.” Even if they were superfluous, we ought not to despair even then, but to be confident about being supplied with them. But now that they are necessary, we must not be in doubt any longer. For what kind of father can bear to fail to supply his children even with necessities? So for this reason too God will most surely give them.

For he is indeed the maker of our nature, and he knows its needs perfectly. So you cannot say either, “He is our Father, yes, and the things we seek are necessary, but he does not know that we need them.” The one who knows our nature itself, who fashioned it and formed it as it is, clearly knows its needs better than you do, you who are the one placed in need of them; for it was by his decree that our nature is in such need. So he will not set himself against what he himself willed, first subjecting our nature of necessity to such great want, and then in turn depriving it of what it wants, of absolute necessities.

So let us not be anxious, for we will gain nothing by it except tormenting ourselves. He gives both when we worry and when we do not, and more when we do not; so what do you gain by your anxiety, except to exact a needless penalty from yourself? Someone on his way to a lavish feast will certainly not let himself worry about food, and someone walking to a spring is not anxious about drink. So since we have a supply more abundant than any spring or than countless banquets set out — the providence of God — let us not be beggars, or small-minded.

For along with what has been said, he gives yet another reason for being confident about such things, saying, “Seek the kingdom of heaven, and all these things will be added to you.” [h]

So once he had set the soul free from anxiety, then he mentioned heaven too. For he came to do away with the old things and to call us to a greater homeland. That is why he does everything to set us free from things we do not need and from our attachment to the earth. For this reason he mentioned the pagans too, saying that “the Gentiles seek after these things” — people whose whole labor is for the present life, who have no regard for the things to come and no thought of heaven. But for you, these present things are not the main things; other things are. For we were not born for this — to eat and drink and be clothed — but to please God and attain the good things to come. So just as the things here are secondary in our labor, let them be secondary in our prayers too. That is why he also said, “Seek the kingdom of heaven, and all these things will be added to you.”

And he did not say, “will be given,” but “will be added,” so that you might learn that the present things are no great part of his gifts, compared with the greatness of the things to come. Accordingly, he does not tell us even to ask for them, but, while we ask for other things, to be confident that these too will be added to those. So seek the things to come, and you will receive the present things as well. Do not seek the things that are seen, and you will certainly obtain them. Yes, for it is beneath you to approach your Lord for such things. You ought to spend all your zeal and care on those blessings beyond words; so you greatly disgrace yourself by using it up in desire for things that pass away.

Someone says: “What, then? Didn’t he tell us to ask for bread?” Yes, but he added “daily,” and to this again “this day” — which is in fact exactly what he does here too. For he did not say, “Do not worry,” but, “Do not worry about tomorrow,” at the same time giving us freedom and fastening our soul on the things that are more necessary for us.

For this was also why he told us to ask even for those things: not as though God needed reminding by us, but so that we might learn that it is by his help we accomplish whatever we do accomplish, and so that we might be made more his own by our constant prayer for these things.

Do you see how by this again he would persuade them that they will certainly receive the present things? For the one who gives the greater will much more give the lesser. He says: “It was not for this reason that I told you not to worry and not to ask — that you should suffer hardship and go about naked — but so that you might have plenty of these things too.” And this, you see, was suited above all to draw them to him. When he was deterring them from making a show before people in almsgiving, he won them over chiefly by promising to supply them with that very thing more generously — “for your Father,” he says, “who sees in secret will reward you openly.” Just so here too, in drawing them away from seeking these things, his persuasive point is that he promises to give it to them in greater abundance if they do not seek it. So he says: “This is why I tell you not to seek — not so that you will not receive, but so that you will receive plentifully; so that you will receive in the way that befits you, with the benefit you ought to have; so that you will not, by worrying and distracting yourself with anxiety over these things, make yourself unworthy both of them and of the spiritual things; so that you will not undergo needless distress, and then fall away from what is set before you as well.”

“So do not worry about tomorrow, for the day’s own evil is enough for it” — that is, its hardship and its bruising. Is it not enough for you to eat your bread by the sweat of your face? Why add the further hardship that comes from anxiety, when you are about to be set free from here on even from those earlier toils? [j]

By “evil” here he does not mean wickedness — far from it — but hardship, trouble, and disasters. It is much as he says in another place too: “Is there evil in a city which the Lord has not done?” — not meaning robberies, or wrongs, or anything like that, but the scourges that come from above. And again: “I,” he says, “make peace and create evils.” Here too he is not speaking of wickedness, but of famines and plagues, things most people count as evil, for the common run of people usually call these things evil. So, for example, the priests and prophets of those five lordships, when they had yoked the cows to the ark and sent them off without their calves, gave the name “evil” to those plagues sent from heaven, and to the dismay and anguish that sprang up in them because of those plagues.

This, then, is his meaning here too when he says, “The day’s own evil is enough for it.” For nothing pains the soul so much as worry and anxiety. So Paul too, when urging people to remain unmarried, gave this advice: “I want you to be free from worry.”

And when he says, “Tomorrow will worry about itself,” he does not say it as though the day worried about these things. But since he had to speak to a people still somewhat imperfect, and wanted to make what he said more vivid, he gives the time a voice as if it were a person, speaking to them the way most people speak.

Here he gives advice; but as he goes on, he even makes it a law, saying, “Get no gold or silver, nor a bag for your journey.” That is, having first shown it all in his actions, he then brings in the spoken law more decisively, when the command had also become easier to accept, confirmed beforehand as it had been by his own actions. Where, then, did he confirm it by his actions? Hear him saying, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” And he is not satisfied with this alone; in his disciples too he gives full proof of these things, shaping them in the same way, yet not letting them lack anything.

But notice his tender care too, how it surpasses the affection of any father. He says: “I command this for no other reason than to free you from needless anxieties. For even if today you have worried about tomorrow, you will have to worry again tomorrow. Why, then, the extra? Why force the day to take on more than the distress allotted to it, and add to its own troubles the burden of the next day as well — and this when there is no chance of lightening the other day by adding it, and you will only show yourself greedy for needless troubles?” So, to reprove them all the more, he all but gives life to time itself, and brings it on the stage as someone wronged, crying out against them for their groundless abuse. Why, you received the day to care for its own affairs. Why, then, add to it the affairs of another day too? Does it not have burden enough in its own anxiety? Why, I ask you, do you make it heavier still?

Now when the Lawgiver says these things — the one who is to pass judgment on us — consider the hopes he holds out to us, how good they are. He himself testifies that this life is wretched and wearisome, so that the anxiety of even one day is enough to hurt and afflict us.

Nevertheless, after so many and such weighty words, we worry about these things, but no longer about the things in heaven. Or rather, we have turned his order upside down, fighting against his sayings on both sides. For look: [n]

“Do not seek the present things at all,” he says; but we are always seeking them. “Seek the things in heaven,” he says; but we do not seek those things even for a short hour. On the contrary, as great as the anxiety we display about worldly things is the carelessness we show in spiritual things — or rather, it is much greater. But this will not go well forever; this cannot last forever. What if we make light of it for ten days? Or for twenty? Or for a hundred? Must we not, of absolute necessity, depart and fall into the hands of the Judge?

“But the delay brings some comfort.” And what kind of comfort is it to be looking every day for punishment and vengeance? No — if you want some comfort from this delay, take it by gathering for yourself the fruit of amendment after repentance. For if the mere postponement of vengeance seems to you a sort of relief, it is far greater gain not to fall into the vengeance at all. So let us make full use of this delay, so as to be fully delivered from the dangers that press on us. For none of the things commanded is heavy or burdensome; all are so light and easy that, if only we bring a genuine purpose of heart, we can accomplish them all, even though we are guilty of countless offenses.

So Manasseh had committed countless defilements: he had stretched out his hands against the saints, brought abominations into the temple, filled the city with murders, and done many other things beyond excuse. Yet nevertheless, after wickedness so long and so great, he washed all these things away from himself. How, and in what way? By repentance and reflection. For there is not — no, there is not — any sin that does not yield and give way before the power of repentance, or rather before the grace of Christ. For if only we would change, we have him to help us. And if you want to become good, there is no one to stop us. Or rather, there is one to stop us — the devil — yet he has no power, as long as you choose what is best and so draw God to your aid. But if you yourself are unwilling and turn aside, how will he protect you? For he wants you to be saved not by necessity or compulsion, but of your own will.

Think: if you yourself had a servant who was full of hatred and dislike for you, and was constantly running off and fleeing from you, you would not choose to keep him, even though you needed his services. Much less will God, who does everything not for his own profit but for your salvation, choose to keep you by force. On the other hand, if you show only a right intention, he would never choose to give you up, no, not whatever the devil may do. So we ourselves are to blame for our own destruction. For we do not come to him, or plead with him, or beg him as we ought. Even if we do draw near, it is not as people who need to receive, nor with the proper faith, nor as people pressing a claim; we do everything in a yawning, listless way.

And yet God wants us to press our claims on him, and for this he counts himself greatly in your debt. For he alone of all debtors, when the claim is made, counts it a favor, and pays what we never lent him. And if he sees the one making the claim pressing hard, he pays out even what he has not received from us; but if the claimant is sluggish, he too keeps putting it off — not because he is unwilling to give, but because he is pleased to have the claim pressed on him by us. [o]

That is why he told you the example of that friend who came at night and asked for a loaf, and of the judge who did not fear God or respect people. And he did not stop at parables; he showed it in his very actions too, when he sent away that Phoenician woman after filling her with his great gift. For through her he showed that he gives to those who ask earnestly even things that do not belong to them. “For it is not right,” he says, “to take the children’s bread and give it to the dogs.” But for all that, he gave, because she pressed her claim on him earnestly. By the Jews, on the other hand, he showed that to those who are careless he does not give even what is their own. So they received nothing, but lost what was theirs. And while they, because they did not ask, did not receive even what was their very own, she, because she besieged him earnestly, managed to obtain even what belonged to others, and the dog received what was the children’s.

So great a good is persistence. For even if you are a dog, if you are persistent you will be preferred to the child who is negligent; for everything that affection could not accomplish, persistence did accomplish. So do not say, “God is my enemy, and will not listen.” He answers you at once when you keep troubling him, if not because you are his friend, then because of your persistence. And neither enmity, nor an unseasonable hour, nor anything else becomes a hindrance. Do not say, “I am unworthy, and I do not pray,” for the Syrophoenician woman was like that too. Do not say, “I have sinned greatly, and I cannot plead with the one I have angered,” for God does not look at what we deserve, but at our disposition. For if the ruler who did not fear God and had no shame before people was overcome by the widow, much more will the one who is good be won over by constant pleading.

So even if you are no friend, even if you are not claiming what is owed you, even if you have devoured your father’s property and been out of sight for a long time, even if you are without honor, even if you are last of all, even if you come to him while he is angry, even if he is greatly displeased — only be willing to pray and to return, and you will receive everything, and will quickly put out the wrath and the condemnation.

Someone says: “But look, I pray, and nothing comes of it.” That is because you do not pray like those people — I mean the Syrophoenician woman, the friend who came late at night, the widow who keeps troubling the judge, and the son who squandered his father’s property. If you prayed like that, you would quickly obtain. For even though he has been insulted, he is still a Father; even though he has been provoked to anger, he still loves his children dearly. And he looks for only one thing: not to take vengeance for our insults, but to see you repenting and pleading with him.

If only we were warmed toward him in the same measure as his heart is moved with love for us! But this fire needs only a beginning; if you give it a little spark, you kindle a full flame of kindness. For he is not deeply grieved because he has been insulted, but because it is you who are insulting him, and so going out of your mind. For if we, who are evil, grieve for our children’s sake when they wrong us, much more is God, who cannot even be harmed by insult, deeply grieved on account of you, who committed it. If we, who love by nature, feel this, much more does he, whose kindness is beyond nature. “For even if a woman should forget the fruit of her womb,” he says, “yet I will not forget you.”

So let us draw near to him and say, “Yes, Lord, for even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Let us draw near “in season and out of season.” Or rather, no one can ever draw near out of season; what is out of season is not to be coming to him constantly. For it is always the right time to ask the one who wants to give. Yes, just as breathing is never out of season, so praying is never unseasonable either; rather, not praying is. For as we need this breath, so we also need the help that comes from him; and if we are willing, we will easily draw him to us. [r]

The prophet, to make this plain and to point out how ready his kindness always is, said, “We will find him prepared as the morning.” For however often we draw near, we will see him waiting for us to move. And if we fail to draw from his ever-flowing goodness, the blame is all ours. This, for example, was his complaint against certain Jews when he said, “My mercy is like a morning cloud, and like the early dew it goes away.” His meaning is something like this: “I for my part have supplied everything. But you — just as a hot sun coming up scatters both the cloud and the dew and makes them vanish — you have held back my kindness beyond words by your great wickedness.”

And this in turn is itself an instance of his providential care: that when he sees us unworthy to receive good things, he holds back his benefits, so as not to make us careless. But if we change a little, even just so far as to know that we have sinned, he gushes out more than the springs, he is poured out more than the ocean; and the more you receive, the more he rejoices, and in this way he is stirred up to give us still more. For he counts it as his own wealth that we should be saved, and that he should give generously to those who ask. And this, it seems, is what Paul was declaring when he said that he is “rich toward all and over all who call on him.” For when we do not pray, then he is angry; when we do not pray, then he turns away from us. For this reason “he became poor, that he might make us rich”; for this reason he underwent all those sufferings, to urge us on to ask.

So let us not despair. Since we have so many motives and good hopes, even though we sin every day, let us come to him, pleading, begging, asking forgiveness for our sins. For in this way we will be slower to sin in the time to come; in this way we will drive away the devil, call forth the loving-kindness of God, and attain the good things to come, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and might forever and ever. Amen.