Homily 43 — Acts 20, verses 1 to 16

“After the uproar had ended, Paul called the disciples to him, embraced them, and set out to go into Macedonia.” [a]

After that uproar there was need of much comforting. So, having done this, he goes into Macedonia, and then into Greece. For, it says, “when he had gone through those regions and had encouraged them with many words, he came into Greece and stayed there three months. And when the Jews plotted against him as he was about to sail for Syria, he decided to return through Macedonia” (verses 2 and 3). Again he is persecuted by the Jews, and goes into Macedonia. “And there went with him as far as Asia Sopater of Berea; and of the Thessalonians, Aristarchus and Secundus; and Gaius of Derbe, and Timothy; and of Asia, Tychicus and Trophimus. These went on ahead and waited for us at Troas” (verses 4 and 5).

But how can he call Timothy a man “of Thessalonica”? That is not what he means. He means, “Of the Thessalonians, Aristarchus and Secundus and Gaius; of Derbe, Timothy.” These, he says, went on ahead of him to Troas, preparing the way for him.

“And we sailed away from Philippi after the days of Unleavened Bread, and came to them at Troas in five days, where we stayed seven days” (verse 6). For it seems to me that he made a point of keeping the feasts in the large cities. “From Philippi”: where the affair of the prison had taken place. This was his third visit to Macedonia, and it is high praise that he gives them. “And on the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul spoke to them, since he was to leave the next day, and he kept on talking until midnight” (verse 7).

It was then the season between Easter and Pentecost. See how everything took second place to the preaching. And it was at that hour, it says, for the sake of quiet. Notice how he spoke at length, and even past the time of supper itself. But the devil disturbed the feast — not that he got the better of it — by plunging one of the listeners into sleep and making him fall. “There were many lamps,” it says, “in the upper room where they were gathered. And a young man named Eutychus, sitting in a window, sank into a deep sleep; and as Paul went on preaching a long while, he was overcome by sleep and fell down from the third story, and was picked up dead. But Paul went down, threw himself on him, embraced him, and said, ‘Do not be troubled, for his life is in him.’ Then, when he had gone up again and had broken bread and eaten, and had talked with them a long while, until daybreak, he left. And they brought the young man in alive, and were greatly comforted” (verses 8 to 12).

But notice, I beg you, the scene, how packed it was, and the miracle, what it was. “He was sitting in a window,” in the dead of night. That is how eager they were to hear him! Let us be ashamed of ourselves! “Yes, but it was a Paul who was speaking then.” Yes, and Paul speaks now — or rather, it is not Paul, either then or now, but Christ. And here there is no window, no pressing hunger or sleep, and still we do not care to listen. There is no crowding in a narrow space here, nor any other such hardship. And the remarkable thing is that though he was a young man, he was not listless and careless, and he sat where he was in danger of falling. It was not from listlessness that he dozed off, but from the demands of nature.

But notice, I beg you, how fervent their zeal was: they even gathered on the third floor, for they did not yet have a church building. “Do not be troubled,” he says. He did not say, “He will come to life again, for I will raise him up.” But notice how modestly he comforts them:

“For his life,” he says, “is in him. When he had gone up again, and had broken bread and eaten…” This incident cut the talk short; it did no harm, however. “When he had eaten,” it says, “and talked a long while, until daybreak, he left.” Do you notice how plain the supper was? Do you see how they spent the whole night? Their meals were such that the hearers came away sober and fit to listen. But we — how are we any different from dogs? Do you see what a difference there is between us and those men? “And they brought the young man in alive,” it says, “and were greatly comforted,” both because they had him back alive and because a miracle had been worked. [i]

“And we went ahead to the ship and sailed for Assos, intending to take Paul on board there; for so he had arranged, since he meant to go there on foot himself” (verse 13). We often find Paul parting from the disciples. For see, again he himself goes on foot, giving them the easier way and choosing the harder one for himself. He went on foot both so that he might arrange many matters, and to train them to bear being parted from him.

“And when he met us at Assos, we took him on board and came to Mytilene; and sailing from there the next day, we came opposite Chios” — so they sail past the island — “and the next day we touched at Samos, and after stopping at Trogyllium, the day after that we came to Miletus. For Paul had decided to sail past Ephesus, so that he would not have to spend time in Asia; for he was hurrying to be in Jerusalem, if possible, on the day of Pentecost” (verses 14 to 16).

Why this haste? Not for the sake of the feast, but for the sake of the crowds. At the same time, by this he won over the Jews, as someone who honored the feasts, for he wanted to win even his opponents; and at the same time he also preaches the word. So see what great gain came from everyone being present. But so that the people of Ephesus would not be neglected on that account, he provided for them in another way. But let us go back over what has been said.

“And having embraced them,” it says, “he set out to go into Macedonia” (verse 1). By this he revived them again, giving them much comfort. “And having encouraged” the Macedonians “with many words, he came into Greece” (verse 2). Notice how we everywhere find him accomplishing everything by preaching, not by miracles. “And we sailed,” and the rest. The writer keeps showing him to us hurrying to reach Syria. The reason for it was the church, and Jerusalem; but still he held his desire in check, so as to set everything right in those regions too. [l]

And yet Troas is not a large place. Why, then, do they spend seven days in it? Perhaps it was large in the number of its believers. And after he had spent seven days there, on the day following he spent the night teaching, so hard did he find it to tear himself away from them, and they from him. “And when we came together,” it says, “to break bread” (verses 7 to 12). The talk began at the very time of breaking bread and ran on, which shows that they were hungry, and yet it was not out of season. For the main thing that brought them together was not teaching; they came together “to break bread.” But once the talk had begun, he drew the teaching out. See how everyone shared Paul’s table too. It seems to me that he spoke even while sitting at table, teaching us to count everything else as secondary to this.

Picture it, I beg you: that house with its lamps, with its crowd, with Paul in the middle speaking, and even the windows filled with people. What a thing it was to see, to hear that trumpet, and to look on that gracious face! But why did he speak through the night? Because “he was about to leave,” it says, and would not see them again. He does not tell them this, since they were too weak to bear it, but he did tell it to the others. At the same time, too, the miracle that took place would make them remember that evening forever, so that the fall turned out to the teacher’s advantage. Great was the delight of the hearers, and even when it was interrupted it grew all the more. That young man was to be a rebuke to all who are careless about the word — he whose death was caused by nothing but this, that he wanted to hear Paul.

“And we went ahead to the ship,” and the rest (verse 13). Why does the writer tell us where they came and where they went? To show, first, that he was making the voyage at a more leisurely pace — and this for human reasons — and was sailing past some places; and for the same reason he tells where he stopped and which places he sailed past, namely, “so that he would not have to spend time in Asia” (verse 16). For if he had gone there, he could not have sailed on; he did not want to hurt those who would have begged him to stay. “For he was hurrying,” it says, “if it were possible for him, to keep the day of Pentecost in Jerusalem”; and that would not have been possible if he had stayed.

Notice how he too is moved like other people. This is exactly why all this is told: so that we would not imagine he was above human nature. That is why you see him wanting things, and hurrying, and in many cases not getting what he wanted. For those great and holy men shared the same nature as we do. It was in their will and purpose that they differed, and that is how they drew upon themselves the great grace they did.

See, for instance, how many things they arrange by a wise management of their own: “that we give no one cause to stumble” (Second Corinthians 6, verse 3) — that is, those who want to stumble — and, “so that our ministry may not be blamed.” See here both a blameless life and, on the other side, stooping down to meet others. This is what truly deserves the name of wise management, at its very summit and height. For the man who went beyond the commandments of Christ was, on the other side, humbler than all. “I have become all things to all people,” he says, “that I might win all” (First Corinthians 9, verse 22). He also threw himself into dangers, as he says in another place: “in much endurance, in afflictions, in hardships, in distresses, in beatings, in imprisonments” (Second Corinthians 6, verses 4 and 5). And great was his love for Christ. For without this, all the rest is useless — the wise management, the blameless life, and the exposing of himself to dangers. “Who is weak,” he says, “and I am not weak? Who is made to stumble, and I do not burn?” (Second Corinthians 11, verse 29).

Let us imitate these words, and let us throw ourselves into dangers for the sake of our brothers and sisters. Whether it is fire or the sword, throw yourself on it, beloved, to rescue one who is your own member. Throw yourself on it; do not be afraid. You are a disciple of Christ, who laid down his life for his brothers; a fellow disciple with Paul, who chose to suffer countless evils for his enemies, for men who were … and avenged him. Moses despised the luxury of a king’s court, and for the sake of those who were oppressed he became a fugitive, a wanderer, alone and deserted; he spent his days in a foreign land. And yet he did not blame himself, or say, “What is this? I despised royalty, with all its honor and glory. I chose to avenge those who were wronged, and God has overlooked me. Not only has he not brought me back to my former honor, but here I am, spending forty years in a foreign land. What fine wages I have received, haven’t I!” But he said and thought nothing of the kind. So you too: even if you have to wait a long time, do not stumble, do not be upset. God will surely give you your reward. The longer the recompense is delayed, the more the interest on it grows.

Let us have a soul quick to sympathize; let us have a heart that knows how to feel with others in their sorrows — no savage temper, no inhumanity. Even if you can give no relief, still weep, groan, grieve over what has happened: even this is not for nothing. If we ought to feel for those who are justly punished by God, much more for those who suffer unjustly at the hands of men. “The people of Aenan,” it says, “did not come out to mourn for the house next to her” (Micah 1, verse 11); they will feel pain “in return for having built for mockery.” And again, Ezekiel makes this a charge against them, that they did not grieve for the afflicted (Ezekiel 16, verse 2).

What are you saying, prophet? God punishes, and am I to grieve for those he is punishing? Yes, indeed; for God himself, who punishes, wants this, since he does not even want to punish. No, he himself grieves when he punishes. So you must not be glad at it. “If they are justly punished, we ought not to grieve.” Why, the very thing we ought to grieve over is this: that they were found deserving of punishment. Tell me, when you see your son undergoing the burning iron or the knife, do you not grieve? Do you not say to yourself, “What is this? This cutting is for his health, to hasten his recovery; this burning is for his rescue”? And yet for all that, when you hear him crying out and unable to bear it, you are torn apart; the thought of his health being restored is not enough to outweigh the shock to nature.

So also with these people: even though it is for their health that they are punished, let us nevertheless show a brother’s feeling, a father’s heart. The punishments God sends are cuttings and burnings; but what we ought to weep over is this, that they were sick, that they needed such a way of cure. If anyone suffers these things for crowns — as Paul, as Peter suffered — then do not grieve. But when someone suffers justly, as punishment, then weep, then groan. This is the part the prophets played. One of them said, “Ah, Lord! Will you destroy the remnant of Israel?” (Ezekiel 9, verse 8). We see murderers and wicked men being punished, and we are distressed and grieve for them.

Let us not be philosophers beyond measure. Let us show ourselves compassionate, so that we may receive compassion. There is nothing to equal this beautiful quality; nothing so plainly marks us with the stamp of human nature as showing pity, as being kind to our fellow human beings. That, in fact, is why the laws hand over the whole business of punishment to public executioners. They require the judge to punish only so far as pronouncing the sentence; after that they call on others to carry out the act itself. So true is it that, even when punishment is just, inflicting it is not the part of a philosophic soul; it takes another sort of person. Even God does not punish with his own hand, but through the angels.

Are the angels executioners, then? Far from it! I do not say that; but they are powers that carry out vengeance. When Sodom was destroyed, the whole thing was done through them as the instruments; when the judgments were brought on Egypt, it was through them. For, “He sent,” it says, “evil angels among them” (Psalm 77, verse 50). But when there is need of saving, God does it himself: so he sent the Son. But, “Whoever receives you receives me, and whoever receives me receives him who sent me” (Matthew 10, verse 40). And again he says, “Then I will say to the angels, Gather together those who do wrong and throw them into the furnace” (Matthew 13, verses 30, 41 and 42). But concerning the righteous it is not so. And again, “Bind him hand and foot and throw him into the outer darkness” (Matthew 22, verse 13). See how in that case his servants do the work. But when the point is to do good, see him doing the good himself, calling them himself: “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you” (Matthew 25, verse 34).

When it is a matter of talking with Abraham, he comes to him himself; when it is a matter of going off to Sodom, he sends his servants, like a judge who calls up those who are to carry out the punishment. “You have been faithful over a few things; I will set you over many things” (Matthew 25, verse 21): “I will set you.” But as for that other man, it is not he himself who binds him, but his servants. [y]

Knowing these things, let us not rejoice over those who are being punished, but rather grieve. Let us mourn for them, let us weep for them, so that for this too we may receive a reward. But as it is, many rejoice even over those who suffer wrong unjustly. Not so with us: let us show every kind of sympathy, so that God may be granted to us as well, through the grace and mercy of his only Son, with whom, to the Father and the Holy Spirit together, be glory, power, and honor, now and always, and forever and ever. Amen.