Homily 50 — Acts 23, verse 31, to 24, verse 21

“Then the soldiers, as they had been commanded, took Paul and brought him by night to Antipatris. The next day they left the horsemen to go on with him, and returned to the barracks. And when they came to Caesarea and delivered the letter to the governor, they also presented Paul before him.” [a]

They escorted Paul the way bodyguards escort a king — and in such numbers, too, and by night, for fear of the people’s fury! Now then, will you say that since they have got him out of the city, they give up their violence? Not at all. The tribune would not have sent him off with such care for his safety if he had not known the murderous temper of Paul’s opponents, even though he himself had found nothing wrong in him.

“And when the governor had read the letter, he asked what province he was from. And when he learned that he was from Cilicia, he said, I will hear you when your accusers have also come.” Lysias had already spoken to clear him; but the Jews try to win over the hearer in advance. “And he ordered him to be kept under guard in Herod’s praetorium” (verses 34 and 35). Once again Paul is put in chains.

“And after five days the high priest Ananias came down with the elders.” See how even so they do not give up! Blocked as they were by countless obstacles, they come all the same, only to be put to shame here too. “And with an orator, one Tertullus.” And what need was there of an orator? “Who also informed the governor against Paul” (Acts 24, verse 1). See how this man too, from the very start, tries to win over the judge in advance with his praises. “And when he was called, Tertullus began to accuse him, saying, Since through you we enjoy great quiet, and very worthy deeds are done for this nation by your foresight, we accept it always and everywhere, most noble Felix, with all thankfulness” (verses 2 and 3). Then, as though he had a great deal to say, he passes over the rest: “But so as not to weary you any further, I beg you, in your consideration, to hear us for a few words. For we have found this man a public pest, and one who stirs up sedition among all the Jews throughout the world.” He wants to hand him over as a revolutionary and a troublemaker. And yet one might answer, “It is you who have done this!” And see how he tries to stir up in the judge a desire to punish, as though here was his chance to lay hands on the man who had turned the world upside down! They make much of it, as if they had done something praiseworthy: “Having found this man,” and so on, “one who stirs up sedition,” they say, “among all the Jews throughout the world.” If he had been that, they would have hailed him as a benefactor and savior of their nation! “And a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes” (verses 4 and 5). They thought this would count as a reproach — “of the Nazarenes” — and by this too they try to damage him, for Nazareth was a lowly place. [d]

And “we have found him,” they say. See how spitefully they slander him! “Found him,” as if he had always been slipping out of their grasp and they had caught him only with great difficulty — when he had been in the temple for seven days! “Who also tried to profane the temple; whom we seized, and would have judged according to our law” (verse 6). See how they insult even the law! As if it were so like the law, of course, to beat, to kill, to lie in ambush! And then comes the charge against Lysias: though he had no right to interfere, they say, in the excess of his self-assurance he snatched him from us. “But the tribune Lysias came upon us, and with great violence took him out of our hands, commanding his accusers to come to you. By examining him yourself you will be able to learn about all these things of which we accuse him. And the Jews also joined in, asserting that these things were so” (verses 7 to 9). [e]

What, then, does Paul say? “Then Paul, when the governor had nodded to him to speak, answered: Since I know that for many years you have been a just judge over this nation, I make my defense all the more cheerfully” (verse 10). To bear witness to the judge’s justice is not the language of flattery. No, the fawning was rather in the orator’s speech: “Through you we enjoy great quiet.” If so, then why are you stirring up sedition? What Paul was after was justice. “Knowing you to be a just judge,” he says, “I cheerfully make my defense.” Then he backs this up with the length of time — that he had been judge “for many years. Because you can find out that it is no more than twelve days since I went up to Jerusalem to worship” (verse 11). And what does this mean? It means, “I could not have raised a riot so quickly.” Because the accuser had nothing to point to that had been done in Jerusalem, notice what he said: “among all the Jews throughout the world.” That is why Paul presses the judge hard here — “to worship,” he says, “I came up,” so far was I from stirring up sedition — and leans on the judge’s justice as his strongest point. “And they did not find me in the temple arguing with anyone or stirring up the people, nor in the synagogues, nor in the city” (verse 12). And that was in fact the truth. The accusers used the word “ringleader,” as though it were a case of fighting and insurrection; but see how mildly Paul answers here. “But this I admit to you: that according to the Way, which they call a sect, so I worship the God of my fathers, believing everything that is written in the Law and the Prophets, and having a hope in God, which they themselves also accept, that there will be a resurrection of the dead, both of the righteous and of the unrighteous” (verses 14 and 15). The accusers were setting him apart as an outsider, but he identifies himself with the law, as one of themselves. [f]

“And in this,” he says, “I train myself, always to have a conscience without offense toward God and toward people. Now after many years I came to bring alms to my nation, and offerings. While I was doing this they found me purified in the temple, not with a crowd, nor with any uproar” (verses 16, 17 and 18). Why then did you come up? What brought you here? To worship, he says; to give alms. This was not the act of a troublemaker. Then he also sets aside the accusers standing there: “but,” he says, the ones who found me were “certain Jews from Asia, who ought to have been here before you to make their accusation, if they had anything against me. Or else let these men here say whether they found any wrongdoing in me while I stood before the council, unless it is for this one thing that I cried out as I stood among them: Concerning the resurrection of the dead I am being judged by you today” (verses 19, 20 and 21). For this is more than enough to clear him: not to run from his accusers, but to be ready to give an account to all. “Concerning the resurrection of the dead,” he says, “I am being judged today.”

And he said not a word of what he could have said — how they had conspired against him, how they had held him by force, how they had laid an ambush for him. These things, of course, were told by the tribune; but Paul, though he was in danger, did not tell them. No, he keeps silent and only defends himself, though he had a great deal to say. “In which” — that is, the alms — “they found me,” he says, “in the course of purifying myself in the temple.” Then how did he profane it? It is not like the same man to purify himself, and worship, and come for that very purpose, and then to profane the temple. That he does not launch into a long speech itself suggests that his cause is just. And I suppose he also pleases the judge by keeping his defense short, since Tertullus before him had made a long public speech. This too is a proof of mildness: when someone has much to say, but says only a few words so as not to be a burden. But let us look again at what has been said.

“Then the soldiers,” and so on (verses 31 to 33). This too made Paul famous in Caesarea: his arriving with so large a force. “But,” says Tertullus, “so as not to weary you any further” — showing that Felix really is wearied by him. “I beg you,” he says. He does not say, “Hear the case,” but, “Hear us in your consideration” (Acts 24, verse 4). Probably he lays out his speech this way to curry favor. “For we have found this man a public pest, and one who stirs up sedition among all the Jews throughout the world” (verse 5). How then, if he did this somewhere else, and not here? No, he says; among us too he has profaned the temple. “He tried,” he says, “to profane it”; but how, he leaves untold. [g]

“Whom we also seized,” and so on. “But the tribune,” and so on. And while he exaggerates the tribune’s part, see how he plays down the part of the accusers themselves. “We seized him,” he says, “and would have judged him according to our law” (verse 6). He makes out that it is a hardship for them to have to come before foreign courts, that they would not have troubled Felix if the tribune had not forced them, and that the tribune, who had no business in the matter, had seized the man by force — for in fact, he means, the wrongs were done against us, and the trial belonged with us. That this is his meaning, see what follows: “with great violence” (verse 7), he says. For this conduct is violence. “From whom you may learn.” He does not dare to accuse the tribune — the man had been lenient, of course! — nor does he pass it over altogether. Then again, so as not to seem to be lying, he brings in Paul himself as his own accuser: “By examining him yourself, you will be able to learn about all these things” (verse 8).

Next, as witnesses to what had been said, he brings in the accusers — the same people both witnesses and accusers: “And the Jews also joined in,” and so on (verse 9). But Paul says, “Since I know that for many years you have been a just judge” (verse 10). So then, he is no stranger, no outsider, no revolutionary, since he had known the judge for many years. And he does well to add the word “just,” so that Felix would not look to the high priest, or to the people, or to the accuser. See how he did not let himself be carried away into abuse, though there was strong provocation.

“Believing,” he says, “that there will be a resurrection.” Now a man who believed in a resurrection would never have done such things. “Which” — the resurrection — “they themselves also accept” (verse 15). He does not say of them that they believe “everything written in the Prophets.” It was he who believed it all, not they; but how he believed “all” of it would take a long discussion to show. And nowhere does he mention Christ. Yet here, by saying “believing,” he does in effect bring in what concerns Christ. For the present he dwells on the resurrection, a teaching they held in common with him, and one that removed any suspicion of sedition. And as for why he went up: “I came,” he says, “to bring alms to my nation, and offerings” (verse 17). How then could I have troubled the very people I had come so long a journey to bring offerings to? “Not with a crowd, nor with any uproar” (verse 18). Everywhere he clears away the charge of sedition. [i]

He also does well to challenge his accusers from Asia: “who ought to make their accusation before you,” and so on. But he also does well not to refuse these men either: “or else,” he says, “let these men here say.” “Concerning the resurrection of the dead,” and so on (verses 19, 20 and 21). For in fact this is what had troubled them deeply from the first: that he preached the resurrection (Acts 4, verse 2). Once this was proved, what concerned Christ could easily be brought in too: that he had risen. “What wrongdoing,” he says, “they found in me.” He says “before the council,” since the examination had not taken place in private: “The very men who bring this charge against me are witnesses that what I say is true.” “Having,” he says, “a conscience without offense toward God and toward people” (verse 16). This is the perfection of virtue: when we give not even people any handle against us, and take care to be without offense before God. “That I cried out,” he says, “in the council.” He also shows up their violence. They cannot say, “You did these things under cover of almsgiving,” for it was “not with a crowd, nor with any uproar” — especially since, when inquiry was made into the matter, nothing more was found.

Do you notice his moderation, even though he was in danger? Do you notice how he keeps his tongue from speaking evil, how he seeks only one thing — to free himself from the charges against him, not to incriminate them, except so far as he was forced to in his own defense? Just as Christ also said: “I do not have a demon; but I honor my Father, and you dishonor me” (John 8, verse 49). [j]

Let us imitate him, since he too was an imitator of Christ. If he said nothing offensive to enemies who went as far as murder and slaughter, what pardon will we deserve, who fly into a rage with insults and abuse, calling our enemies villains and detestable wretches? What pardon will we deserve for having enemies at all? Do you not hear that to honor another is to honor oneself? So it is — but we disgrace ourselves. You accuse someone of having abused you: then why do you bring yourself under the same charge? Why strike a blow at yourself? Keep free of passion; keep unwounded. Do not bring the hurt on yourself by wanting to strike someone else. What, is the other turmoil of our soul not enough for us — the turmoil that is stirred up even when there is no one to stir it, such as its wild cravings, its griefs and sorrows, and the like — but we must pile up a heap of others as well?

And how is it possible, when one is insulted and abused, to bear it? And how is it not possible, I ask? Is a wound made by words? Do words leave bruises on our bodies? Then where is the harm to us? So if we are willing, we can bear it. Let us lay down a law for ourselves not to be grieved, and we will bear it. Let us say to ourselves, “It is not from hatred; it is from weakness.” For it really does come from weakness. And the proof that it comes not from hatred or from a malicious disposition but from weakness is this: the other man too would gladly have held himself back, even if he had suffered countless wrongs. If only we keep this thought in mind, that it comes from weakness, we will bear it; and while we forgive the one who offends, we will try not to fall into it ourselves.

For I ask all of you who are here: would you want to have such philosophy that you could bear with those who insult you? I think so. Well then: he insulted you against his will. He would rather not have done it, but he did it, driven by his passion. Hold yourself back. Do you not see how it is with the demon-possessed? Just as it is with them, so it is with him: it is not so much from hatred as from weakness. Bear with it. And as for us, it is not so much the insults in themselves that upset us as our own selves. Otherwise, how is it that when madmen hurl the same insults at us, we bear it? Again, if those who insult us are our friends, then too we bear it; or our superiors, and then too we bear it. How then is it not absurd that in these three cases — friends, madmen, and superiors — we bear it, but when they are our equals or our inferiors, we do not? I have said it often: it is only an impulse of the moment, something that sweeps us away all of a sudden. Let us hold out for a little, and we will bear the whole thing. The greater the insults, the weaker the one who offers them.

Do you know when we ought to grieve? When we have insulted someone else and he keeps silent. Then he is strong and we are weak. But if it is the other way around, you ought even to rejoice. You are crowned, you are proclaimed the victor, without even entering the contest, without putting up with sun and heat and dust, without grappling with an opponent and letting him come to grips with you. Nothing but a wish on your part, sitting or standing, and you have won a mighty crown — a crown far greater than the athletes win. For to throw an opponent who stands up to you is nothing like so great a thing as to overcome the arrows of anger. You have conquered without even letting him come to grips with you. You have thrown down the passion that was in you, slain the beast that had been roused, and quelled the anger that was raging, like some excellent herdsman. The fight would likely have been a war within, a civil war. For just as those who lay siege from outside try to entangle the besieged in civil strife and so overcome them, so the one who insults us will not be able to overcome us unless he rouses the passion within us. Unless we light the flame in ourselves, he has no power.

Let the spark of anger be within us, ready to be lit at the right moment — not against ourselves, and not so as to entangle us in countless evils. Do you not see how the fire in a house is kept apart, and not thrown about at random everywhere — not among the straw, nor among the linen, nor just anywhere it happens to be — so that there is no danger of its bursting into flame if a wind blows on it? Whether a maidservant has a lamp or the cook lights a fire, many orders are given: not to do it in the draft of the wind, nor near a wooden panel, nor at night. And when night has come on, we put the fire out, afraid that while we are asleep and there is no one to help, it may set the house alight and burn us all.

Let us do the same with anger. Do not let it be scattered everywhere, up and down in our thoughts; let it lie in some deep recess of the mind, so that the wind that rises from the words of our opponent cannot easily reach it, and so that it takes its wind from ourselves, who know how to rouse it in due measure and safely. If it takes its wind from outside, it knows no moderation; it will set everything on fire. Often this wind will come on it while we are asleep and burn everything up. So let it be kept safe with us in such a way that it only kindles a light; for anger does kindle a light when it is managed as it should be. And let us have torches against those who wrong others — against the devil. Do not let the spark lie anywhere it happens to fall, or be thrown about. Let us keep it safe under ashes; let us keep it slumbering in humble thoughts. We do not need it at all times, but only when there is need to subdue, to make someone tender, to soften stubbornness, and to convict the soul.

What evils anger and rage have worked! And what makes it truly grievous is that once we have parted ways, we no longer have the strength to come together again, but wait for others to do it. Each is ashamed and blushes to come back himself and make peace with the other. See: he is not ashamed to break away and be separated — no, he takes the lead as the author of the evil — but to come forward and mend what is torn, this he is ashamed to do. It is just as if a man did not shrink from cutting off a limb, but was ashamed to join it back on. What are you saying, my friend? Have you done great wrongs, and were you yourself the cause of the quarrel? Why, then you would rightly be the first to go and make peace, since you yourself supplied the cause. But he did the wrong; he is the cause of the enmity! Then for this reason too you must do it, so that people may admire you all the more, and so that, having won the first prize already, you may carry off the first prize in this as well: just as you were not the cause of the enmity, so neither will you be the cause of its going further. Perhaps, too, the other man, conscious within himself of countless wrongs, is ashamed and blushes.

But he is arrogant! For this reason above all, do not hesitate to run and meet him. If his illness is twofold, both arrogance and anger, you have named the very reason why you ought to be the first to go to him — you who are in good health, you who are able to see. As for him, he is in darkness, for that is what anger and false pride are. But you, who are free of these and in good health, go to him: you, the physician, go to the sick. Does any physician say, “Because so-and-so is sick, I will not go to him”? No, this is the chief reason they do go, when they see that he is not able to come to them. For they think less of those who are able to come, as people who are not seriously ill; but not so of those who lie sick at home. Or do you not think that pride and anger are worse than any illness? Is not the one like a sharp fever, and the other like a body swollen with inflammation? Think what it is to have fever and inflammation. Go to him, put out the fire — for by the grace of God you can — go, cool the heat as though with water.

What if he is only puffed up all the more by my doing this very thing? That is nothing to you. You have done your part; let him answer for himself. Only let our conscience not condemn us, as though this happened because we failed to do something we ought to have done. “In doing this,” says the Scripture, “you will heap coals of fire on his head” (Romans 12, verse 20). And yet, even though this is the result, it bids us go and make peace and do him good turns — not so that we may heap coals of fire, but so that our enemy, knowing what is to follow, may be softened by the present kindness, may tremble, may fear our good turns more than our hostility, and our friendship more than our schemes against him. For a man does not hurt the one who hates him as much by showing resentment as an enemy as by doing him good and showing him kindness. By his resentment he has hurt himself, and perhaps the other too in some small degree; but by doing good turns he has heaped coals of fire on his head. [l]

Why then, for fear of heaping coals like this, one ought not to do it, but ought to carry the enmity still further! Not at all. It is not you who cause this, but he, with his brutish disposition. For if, while you are doing him good and honoring him and offering to make peace, he persists in keeping up the enmity, it is he who has kindled the fire for himself; he has set his own head on fire. You are guiltless. Do not try to be more merciful than God — or rather, even if you want to, you will not be able, not even in the smallest degree. How could you? “As far as the heaven is from the earth,” Scripture says, “so far are my counsels from your counsels” (Isaiah 55, verses 8 and 9). And again: “If you, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more your heavenly Father” (Matthew 7, verse 11). But in fact this talk is nothing but pretext and evasion. Let us not play false with God’s commandments. [m]

And how are we playing false? He has said, “In doing this you will heap coals of fire on his head,” and you say, “I do not want to do this.” But are you willing to heap coals in another way — that is, on your own head? For this is in fact what resentment does, since you will suffer countless evils. You say: I am afraid for my enemy, because he has done me great wrongs. Is that really what you are saying? But how did you come to have an enemy? How did you come to hate your enemy? You are afraid for the man who has wronged you, and are you not afraid for yourself? If only you cared for yourself! Do not do the kindness with such an aim as this — or rather, do it, even if only with such an aim. But you do not do it at all. I do not say to you, “You will heap coals of fire.” No, I say something else and greater: only do it. For Paul says this only to call you to put an end to the enmity, if only in the hope of vengeance. Because we are as savage as wild beasts in disposition, and would not otherwise bring ourselves to love an enemy unless we expected some revenge, he offers this like a cake, so to speak, to a wild beast. For to the apostles the Lord does not say this. What does he say? “That you may be like your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5, verse 45). Besides, it is not possible for the one who does good and the one who receives it to remain enemies. That is why Paul has put it this way.

Why, when you put on a lofty and generous principle in your words, do you not keep even common moderation in your deeds? It sounds fine: you do not feed him, for fear of heaping coals of fire on him. So you are sparing him, then? So you love him, then, and you act with this aim in view? God knows whether you have this aim when you speak like this, and are not passing this talk off on us as a mere pretense and evasion. You care for your enemy, you are afraid he will be punished — then would you not have put out your anger? For the man who loves so much that he overlooks his own interest for the other’s good has no enemy. Then indeed you might say this.

How long will we trifle with things that are not to be trifled with, and that admit no excuse? So I beg you, let us cut away these pretexts; let us not despise God’s laws, so that we may be able to pass this present life in a way that pleases the Lord and obtain the good things promised, by the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory, power, and honor to the Father and the Holy Spirit together, now and always, forever and ever. Amen.