Homily 44 — Acts 20, verses 17 to 31

“And from Miletus he sent to Ephesus and called for the elders of the church. [a]

And when they had come to him, he said to them, ‘You know, from the first day that I came into Asia, how I have been with you the whole time, serving the Lord with all humility and with many tears and trials, which happened to me through the plots of the Jews; and how I held back nothing that was profitable to you, but have shown you and have taught you publicly and from house to house, testifying both to the Jews and also to the Greeks repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ.’”

See how, though he is hurrying to sail past, he does not neglect them, but sets everything in order for them all. He sends for those who preside over them, and through them he speaks to the Ephesians. But it is worth admiring how, finding himself obliged to say certain great things about himself, he tries to speak of himself as modestly as he can. “You know,” he says. Just as Samuel, when he was about to hand over the government to Saul, says in the people’s presence, “Have I taken anything from your hands? You are witnesses, and God also” (First Samuel 12, verses 3 and 5), so Paul does here. David too, when he was not believed, says, “I was with the flock, keeping my father’s sheep; and when the bear came, I frightened her away with my hands” (First Samuel 17, verses 34 and 35). And Paul himself says to the Corinthians, “I have become a fool; you compelled me” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 11).

In fact, God himself does the same. He does not speak of himself on every and any occasion; only when he is not believed does he bring up the good he has done. So see what Paul does here. First he brings in their own testimony. So that you will not think his words mere boasting, he calls the hearers themselves as witnesses of what he says, since he was not likely to tell lies in their presence. This is the excellence of a teacher: to have his own disciples as witnesses of his merits. And what is wonderful: “Not for one day, nor for two,” he says, “have I kept on doing this.” He wants to encourage them for the future, so that they will bear everything bravely, both the parting from him and the trials that were about to come — just as it was with Moses and Joshua. [c]

And see how he begins: “How I have been with you the whole time, serving the Lord with all humility.” Notice what most becomes those who rule. “Hating pride,” Moses says (Exodus 18, verse 21, in the Greek Old Testament). That quality is especially to the point for rulers, because they are under an almost unavoidable pull toward arrogance. Humility is the foundation of everything good, as in fact Christ says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matthew 5, verse 3). And here it is not simply “with humility,” but “with all humility.” For there are many kinds of humility: in word and in action, toward rulers and toward those who are ruled. Do you want me to name some kinds of humility for you? There are some who are lowly toward the lowly and lofty toward the lofty. That is not what humility is like. Some, then, are like that.

Then, so that he will not seem arrogant, he lays a foundation beforehand and removes that suspicion. “If,” he says, “I have acted ‘with all humility,’ then it is not out of arrogance that I say what I am saying.” Next comes his gentleness: always stooping down to their level, he makes them his partners. “With you,” he says, “I have been, serving the Lord.” He makes the good works common to them and to himself, and none of it his own private possession.

“What? Could he possibly behave arrogantly toward God?” And yet there are many who do behave arrogantly toward God; but this man did not do so even toward his own disciples. This is the merit of a teacher: to shape the character of his disciples by his own achievements in virtue.

Then comes his courage, and on this too he is very brief. “With many tears,” he says, “and trials, which happened to me through the plots of the Jews.” Do you see that he grieves over what they did? But here too he seems to show how deeply he felt for others. For he suffered for those who were heading for destruction, for the very men who did these things. As for what was done to himself, he even rejoiced at it. For he belonged to that band who “rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for that Name” (Acts 5, verse 41). And again he says, “Now I rejoice in my sufferings for you” (Colossians 1, verse 24). And again: “For our light affliction, which lasts only for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory” (Second Corinthians 4, verse 17).

He says these things, however, as a way of speaking modestly of his merits. But there he shows his courage — not so much the courage of daring as the courage of enduring. “I,” he says, “have been mistreated, but it was with you; and, what is really the painful part of the business, it was at the hands of Jews.” [f]

Notice that here he puts both love and courage. Mark here, I beg you, what kind of teaching this is. “I held back nothing,” he says — a generous fullness, an eagerness that did not shrink — “that was profitable to you.” For there were things they did not need to learn. Just as hiding some things would have been like grudging them, so saying everything would have been foolishness. That is why he adds, “that was profitable to you.” “But have shown you, and have taught you”: not only said it, but taught it, and not doing even this as a mere formality. For that this is what he means, notice what he says: “publicly and from house to house,” showing the enormous labor, the great earnestness and endurance. “Both to Jews and to Greeks”: not to you alone.

“Testifying”: here is his boldness in speaking. And it shows that even though we do no good, we must still speak. For this is what “testifying” means: speaking to those who pay no attention. That is how the word is mostly used. “I call heaven and earth to witness,” Moses says (Deuteronomy 4, verse 26); and now Paul himself says, “testifying both to Jews and to Greeks repentance toward God.” What are you testifying? That they should take care over how they live; that they should repent and draw near to God. “Both to Jews and to Greeks,” for the Jews did not know him either. Because of their works, he says, “repentance toward God”; and because they did not know the Son, he adds, “and faith in the Lord Jesus.”

Then why do you say these things? Why remind them of them? What has come of it? Do you have some charge to bring against them? Having first shaken their feelings with alarm, he then adds: “And now, look, I am going bound in the Spirit to Jerusalem, not knowing what will happen to me there, except that the Holy Spirit testifies in every city, saying that chains and afflictions await me. But none of these things move me, nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my course with joy, and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the good news of the grace of God” (verses 22 to 24).

Why does he say this? To prepare them to be always ready to meet dangers, whether seen or unseen, and in everything to obey the Spirit. [i]

He shows that it is for great purposes that he is being taken away from them. “Except that the Holy Spirit testifies in every city, saying”: he says this to show that he is leaving willingly, so that you will not imagine it is some bond or compulsion when he says “bound in the Spirit” — “that in every city chains and afflictions await me.” Then he adds this too: “I do not count my life dear, until I have finished my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus.”

“Until I have finished my course,” he says, “with joy.” Do you notice how plainly these were the words not of a man lamenting, but of a man who played down his troubles, who wanted to instruct those he was speaking to and to share their feelings about what was happening? He does not say, “I do grieve, but it has to be borne.” Instead he says, “I take no account of any of these things, nor do I hold my life dear to me.” Why this again? Not to exalt himself, but to teach them: as by his earlier words he taught them humility, so by these he teaches them courage and boldness. “I do not hold it precious” means “I do not love it more than this. I count it more precious to finish my course, to testify.”

And he does not say “to preach” or “to teach.” What does he say? “To testify to the good news of the grace of God.” He is about to say something heavier to bear, namely, “I am innocent of the blood of all, for on my part nothing is lacking.” He is about to lay on them the whole weight of the burden, so he first softens their feelings by saying, “And now, look, I know that you will see my face no more.” The comfort is twofold. First, “you will see my face no more,” for in heart I am with you. Second, it was not they alone who would not see him, for “you will see my face no more, all of you among whom I have gone about preaching the kingdom.” So he may well say, “Therefore I call you to witness” — since I will be with you no more — “that I am innocent of the blood of all” (verse 26). [j]

Do you notice how he frightens them, and how hard he presses on their souls, troubled and afflicted as they are? But it was necessary. “For I have not shrunk,” he says, “from declaring to you the whole counsel of God” (verse 27). So then, the man who does not speak has blood to answer for — that is, murder! Nothing could be more terrifying than this. He shows that they too, if they do not do it, have blood to answer for. So while he seems to be declaring himself in the right, in fact he is frightening them. “Keep watch, then, over yourselves and over all the flock, over which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to feed the church of God, which he purchased with his own blood” (verse 28). Do you notice? He gives them two commands.

Success in setting others right is no gain by itself — for “I fear,” he says, “that after I have preached to others, I myself should be disqualified” (First Corinthians 9, verse 27) — nor is it enough to be diligent for oneself alone. Such a person is selfish; he looks only to his own good, and he is like the man who buried his talent. “Keep watch over yourselves.” He says this not because our own salvation is more precious than the flock’s, but because when we keep watch over ourselves, the flock gains too. [l]

“Over which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to feed the church of God.” See, it is from the Spirit that you have your ordination. That is one obligation. Then he says, “to feed the church of the Lord.” Look, another obligation: the church is the Lord’s. And a third: “which he purchased with his own blood.” This shows how precious the charge is, and that the danger concerns no small matters, since he did not spare even his own blood. He poured out even his blood to reconcile those who were his enemies; but you, even when they have become your friends, cannot keep them. “For I know this, that after I leave, savage wolves will come in among you, not sparing the flock” (verse 29).

Again he stirs them from another side, from the things that were to come afterward, as when he says, “We do not wrestle against flesh and blood” (Ephesians 6, verse 12). “After I leave,” he says, “savage wolves will come in among you.” The evil is twofold: he himself would not be there, and others would attack them.

“Then why go, if you know this in advance?” “The Spirit draws me,” he says.

And they are not only “wolves,” but “savage,” “not sparing the flock.” And what is worse, they come even “from among your own selves.” That is the painful thing, when the war is also a war within. The matter is extremely serious, for it is “the church of the Lord.” Great is the danger, for he redeemed it with blood; mighty is the war, and twofold. “Also from among your own selves men will arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away disciples after them” (verse 30).

“What then? What comfort will there be?” “Therefore watch, and remember that for the space of three years I did not stop warning every one night and day with tears” (verse 31). See how many strong expressions there are here: “with tears,” and “night and day,” and “every one.”

For it was not that he set to work only when he saw many; even if it were for a single soul, he was ready to do everything. That, in fact, is how he knit them together so firmly. [m]

“Enough has been done on my part: I have stayed three years.” They have been given foundation enough, he says, and roof enough. “With tears,” he says. Do you see that the tears were for this reason? The bad man does not grieve. You grieve, then; perhaps he will begin to grieve too. When a sick man sees his physician eating, he is moved to do the same; so here too, when he sees you weeping, he is softened, and he will become a good and great man.

“Not knowing,” he says, “what will happen to me” (verses 22 and 23). Then is this why you are going? Not at all. On the contrary, “chains and afflictions await me.” That there are trials, I know; but of what kind, I do not know. And that was harder to bear.

“But none of these things move me” (verse 24). Do not suppose I say these things as a lament, for “I do not hold my life dear.” He says all this to raise up their minds, and to persuade them not only not to run away, but also to bear it nobly. That is why he calls it a “course” and a “ministry”: on the one hand showing it to be glorious, since it is a race; on the other, showing what was owed, since it is a ministry. “I am a servant, nothing more.” He has comforted them, so that they would not grieve that he was so mistreated; he has told them that he bore those things “with joy”; and having shown the fruits of them, he then says what would give them pain, so as not to overwhelm their minds: “And now, look,” and the rest. “Therefore I call you to witness that I am innocent of the blood of all, for I have not shrunk from declaring to you the whole counsel of God” (verses 25 to 27) — that counsel which concerns the matter in hand. “For I know this,” and the rest (verse 29). [o]

Someone might say: “What then? Do you think yourself so great? If you go away, are we going to die?” “I do not say that my absence causes this,” he replies. “What, then? That certain men of another sort will rise up against you.”

He does not say “because of my departure,” but “after my departure,” that is, after he has set out on his journey. And yet this has already happened; much more, then, will it happen afterward. Then we have the cause: “to draw away disciples after them” (verse 30). That there are heresies — this is the cause, and nothing else. Then comes comfort as well: if he “purchased” it “with his own blood,” he will certainly stand up in its defense.

“Night and day,” he says, “I did not stop warning with tears” (verse 31). This could well be said in our case too. And though the words seem to apply particularly to teachers, they belong to the disciples as well. For what good is it, though I speak and urge and weep night and day, if the disciple does not obey?

That is why he says, “I call you to witness,” since he himself also says, “I am innocent of the blood of all, for I have not shrunk from declaring to you” (verses 26 and 27). So then, this alone is what it means to be a teacher: to declare, to preach, to instruct, to shrink from nothing, to urge night and day. But if, while one does all this, nothing comes of it, you know what remains.

Then you have him clearing himself a second time: “I am innocent of the blood of all.”

Do not think these words are spoken to us alone. This speech is addressed to you as well: that you should pay attention to what is said, and not flinch from hearing it. What can I do? Look, every day I tear myself apart crying out, “Stay away from the theaters!” and many laugh at us. “Give up swearing oaths, give up greed!” Our warnings are countless, and there is no one to listen to us. But I do not preach at night? I would gladly do this at night too, and at your tables, if it were possible for one man to be divided into ten thousand pieces, so as to be present with you and speak to you. But if we call to you once a week, and you shrink back, and some of you do not even come here, and those of you who do come go away without profit — what are we to do?

Many, I know, even sneer at us because we are always talking about the same things; so tiresome have we become to you through sheer surfeit. But for this it is not we who are to blame; the hearers have themselves to thank. For the man who is making good progress is glad to hear the same things always; it seems to him that he is hearing his own praises. But the man who does not want to get on is even annoyed, and though he hears the same thing only twice, he feels he is hearing it often.

“I am innocent,” he says, “of the blood of all” (verse 26). This was fit and proper for Paul to say; but we dare not say it, conscious as we are of countless faults. For him, always watchful, always at hand, the man who endured everything for the salvation of his disciples, it was fit and proper to say this. But we must say what Moses said: “The Lord was angry with me because of you” (Deuteronomy 3, verse 26), because you lead us too into many sins. For when we are dejected at seeing you make no progress, is not the greater part of our strength struck down? For what, I ask you, has been accomplished? Look, by the grace of God we too have now passed the space of three years — not warning you night and day, it is true, but doing it often every third day, or every seventh. And what more has come of it? [p]

We accuse, we rebuke, we weep, we are in anguish — not openly, it is true, but in our hearts. And those inward tears are far more bitter than the outward ones. The outward ones bring a kind of relief to the feelings of those who grieve, but the inward ones make the grief heavier and bind it fast. When a man has cause for grief and cannot give vent to his sorrow for fear of seeming to seek empty glory, think what he suffers! If people would not accuse me of an excessive love of display, you would see me shedding fountains of tears every day. But my room is witness to those tears, and my hours alone.

Believe me, there have been times when I despaired of my own salvation; but from mourning over you I do not even have time to lament my own evils, so completely are you all in all to me. If I see you making progress, then, from sheer delight, I do not feel my own troubles; and if I see you not making progress, such is my grief that again I put my own cares out of my mind. I brighten over your good things, though my own evils are without number; and I am saddened over your painful things, though my own successes are without number. For what hope is there for a teacher when his flock is destroyed? What kind of life, what kind of expectation, is there for him?

With what confidence will he stand before God? What will he say? Grant that he has nothing laid to his charge, has no punishment to suffer, but is “innocent of the blood of all.” Even so he will suffer a grief that has no cure. Fathers too, though they are not called to account for their children’s sins, still feel grief and distress. And that is no help to them, and no shield. For “they watch over our souls, as those who must give an account” (Hebrews 13, verse 17). This seems a fearful thing; to me it matters nothing, once you are lost. For whether I give an account or not, it does me no good. [q]

If only you might be saved, and I have to give an account because of you! You saved, and I charged with not having done my part! For my anxiety is not that you should be saved through me as the means, but only that you should be saved, no matter who is the instrument. You do not know the pangs of spiritual childbirth, how overwhelming they are; how the one in labor with this birth would rather be cut into ten thousand pieces than see one of those he has brought to birth perishing and lost.

How, then, shall we convince you? By no other argument than what has been done: in everything that concerns you, we will clear ourselves. We too will be able to say that in nothing have we “shrunk from declaring” to you the whole truth. Nevertheless we grieve; and that we do grieve is plain from the countless plans we lay and the means we devise.

And yet we might say to ourselves, “What does it matter to me? I have done my part; I am innocent of their blood.” But this is not enough for comfort. If we could tear open our heart and show it to you, you would see how widely it holds you within it, women and children and men. For such is the power of love: it makes the soul more spacious than the heaven. “Receive us,” Paul says; “we have wronged no one. You are not cramped by us” (Second Corinthians 7, verse 2, and 6, verse 12). He had all Corinth in his heart, and he says, “You are not cramped; open wide your hearts too” (Second Corinthians 6, verse 13). But I could not say this myself, for I know well that you both love me and receive me. [r]

But what is the good of my love, or of yours, when the things of God do not thrive among us? It is a ground for greater sorrow, an occasion of worse harm. I have nothing to lay to your charge: “For I bear you witness that, if it had been possible, you would have torn out your own eyes and given them to me” (Galatians 4, verse 15). “We long to give you not only the good news but also our own souls” (First Thessalonians 2, verse 8). We are loved, and we love you; but that is not the question. But let us love Christ, for “the first commandment is, You shall love the Lord your God; and the second is like it, and your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22, verses 37 to 39).

We have the second; we need the first — and need it greatly, both I and you. We have it, but not as we ought. Let us love him. You know how great a reward is stored up for those who love Christ. Let us love him with fervor of soul, so that, enjoying his favor, we may escape the stormy waves of this present life and be found worthy to obtain the good things promised to those who love him, through the grace and mercy of his only Son, with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, power and honor, now and always, forever and ever. Amen.